25. Rosenna
Chapter twenty-five
Rosenna
“H e’s just standing there… menacingly,” Kira whispered as she looked outside through the glass over to Beckham, who was standing in the middle of the gallery on the phone.
He glanced over to my office for a moment, and I averted my eyes so as not to make direct eye contact. I had come the gallery after running a few more errands. Kira, to no one’s surprise, was unhappy that I wasn’t taking my day off seriously, but she perked up right away when she saw me with Beckham.
I didn’t want to break down all the details of what was going on between us, but I had to tell someone to get this weight off my chest and talk me into ignoring the man. Yet the person I asked for help was rooting for us to be together?! Not one of my best decisions.
“Kira, I need help,” I muttered.
“With what?” she genuinely asked.
I glared at her. “Getting away from that man and getting my marriage back on track with Gavin, that’s what!” I yelled angrily.
“Rose… I truly think it’s going to be easier said than done. You’ve been trying for weeks, and frankly, it probably hasn’t been enough, considering how much Vincent Garcia likes you, too.”
“How do you think I feel, Kira? Gavin hasn’t exactly been husband material for the last five years. Now this man shows up, demands to sleep with me on the regular, has a way with words, is protective, pays for everything, and quite literally gets on his knees to ’cherish me,’ as he puts it.”
“What a dream to live in…” Kira sighed, shaking her head, and I groaned as I grabbed a pillow from the other couch and threw it at her. She caught it in mid-air, then we both looked over to the knock at the door to see Beckham standing in the middle of the frame, his facial expression depicting his version of amusement.
“Flower... Is everything okay?” he asked in that dark voice of his.
Kira gushed as she practically fangirled, holding the pillow under her chin while she kicked her legs back and forth.
Pushing my hair out of my face, I shook my head. “Where did I go wrong?”
He simply approached me, wrapping his arms around my waist as if Kira wasn’t about to scream in excitement.
“Almost finished up your work?”
I reluctantly nodded as I crossed my arms.
He hummed for a moment before leaning down into my ear. “Let’s go back to my place for dinner tonight…”
I sighed as I looked up at him through my eyelashes, feeling small like he always made me feel.
“I shouldn’t… You know I can’t,” I began.
“Actually!” Kira interjected, causing my head to snap around. “Gavin isn’t in town… so technically, you can .. and it’s just dinner.”
I internally groaned, feeling the urge to kick her in the back of her head. It would never be just dinner with Beckham. Everything he did had an intention. Whether it was to make me jealous of another woman, get closer to me by befriending my husband, or charm me into seeing he isn’t the sex-crazed, obsessive man I knew him to be.
I sighed heavily as he brushed his hand over my shoulder, pushing my hair behind it. I shuddered, trying hard not to show it, but there was a faint gleam in his eyes as he caught the gesture—subtle, amused, and far too satisfied.
“I-I have to put the groceries away and… and clean up the bedroom—” I tried to reason.
He tilted his head innocently. “I can always help, Flower.”
“As a friend, I suppose…?”
Beckham let out a dark, knowing chuckle, making me close my eyes as my blush wanted to surface even more. Beckham doesn ’ t laugh. Yet when he does, it makes him look more dominating, human, and dangerous… all at the same time.
“As a friend , Flower.” He said it like a joke, but his grip on my waist told a different story.
I sighed as I turned away from him and walked over to my desk. I ignored Kira’s eyes as I shut off my computer and grabbed my belongings.
“Call me if anything goes wrong,” I told Kira. “I’ll be in tomorrow to go over some things.”
Walking past Beckham, I listened to his footsteps as he followed me to his car. He opened the front door for me, and I took a seat.
I sighed as he placed the seatbelt over me, and he closed the door before he walked over to his side.
Throughout the entire car ride, I weighed the pros and cons of going to dinner with him at his place.
Pro… Why am I going with pros first?!
Con: I spend more time with a man who’s trying to blackmail me.
Pro: Free dinner.
CON!: I risk digging myself a deeper hole as I open the door for a deranged man to make me cheat on my husband.
Pro: The hole is already dug.
Upon arriving at my home, Beckham got straight out of the car and opened my door for me. As I went to stand, I watched him go to the trunk, and he grabbed the majority, if not all, of the bags I had accumulated.
“Mind getting the door, Flower?”
I walked over to the front door to unlock it. I stepped inside, him following behind, a bit too close for comfort. He barely seemed to struggle with the damn near twenty bags in his hands.
At the kitchen counter, he placed the bags down, and I washed my hands in the sink and went to dry them when I felt him hovering over me. He placed his hands on the counter, and I sighed as he breathed me in before placing a kiss on my shoulder.
“You still haven’t said yes to dinner…” he muttered.
I turned to look at him as I crossed my arms. “You’re literally insufferable, Beckham. This feels like having to say no to a child. Why do you even want to have dinner?”
“Why not?” he questioned.
I pushed him away as I went over to the kitchen island. I heard him sigh as I opened the bags, taking everything out to be organized.
As I reached the top shelf to put away the cereal, I jumped as his arm wrapped around me from behind.
I had half a mind to push him away, yet a smile couldn’t help but surface. I felt ticklish as he ran his hand up and down my side. I tried to cough to hide my giggles, and he turned me around in his hold and pulled me closer as I rested my hands on his chest.
“That’s why I want to have dinner.”
“To what? See me smile?” I asked.
“Yes,” was all he said, and I sighed as he pulled me closer. “To hear your voice…” he continued, his fingers brushing over my cheek, “hear your laugh… hear you joke. Just this once.”
I already felt my body urging me to say yes… feeling smitten by his words and his gestures all over again.
“I don’t believe… that it would be just this once,” I whispered, and he hummed.
“ You shouldn ’ t.”
I… I don’t entirely know how I get myself into these kinds of situations. It’s almost as if my mind turns to mush when I need to make rational decisions, and all thoughts about my “happy wife life” go out of the door.
Almost as if I wasn’t a happy wife. And holding Beckham’s hand as he walked me over to his home while he held my overnight bag seemed to clarify that statement. I wasn ’ t a happy wife.
I wasn’t happy with a man who gaslit me into thinking everything I did was a mistake, only to apologize as if it never happened. I wasn’t happy with a man who complimented me or spoke nicely about me only when it was convenient for him. I wasn’t happy with an impatient, degrading, misogynistic man who could barely last ten minutes in bed. I wasn’t happy.
Stepping into Beckham’s house, I watched as he placed my bag down and continued walking me into his studio home. Already waiting on his dining room table was our dinner, arranged with care.
A bottle of red wine rested on a marble tray beside a basket of artisan bread. Two thick-cut and perfectly seared ribeye steaks rested on porcelain plates beside a generous serving of creamy garlic mashed potatoes, and roasted veggies with lemon zest. Everything still steamed, like it had just left the hands of a private chef moments ago.
How he managed to call in his personal chef and assistant to make this dinner possible was beyond me. But he found a way… he would always find a way.
I watched as he placed my bag down by the steps, and slowly, he stepped behind me. As he pulled my jacket off of my shoulders, I sighed internally as he placed a few rather sensual kisses on my neck and shoulders.
His hands ran down my arms gently, and I gulped as he entangled my left hand in his. Slowly, he pulled off my ring, and a weird feeling of liberation seemed to come over me.
A fresh wave of heat rolled through me as he set it down.
“Tonight… it’ll just be about us. No doubts, no hesitation, just us,” he whispered in my ear, and I bit my lip as he placed another small kiss on my neck.
He walked me over to the table before pulling a seat out. He sat; and then another blush found my face as he directed me over by the hand to sit in his lap.
“Come here, Flower.”
His voice was steady, like it wasn’t a request at all.
Before I could respond, his hands were on my waist, settling me into his lap like I belonged there.
I couldn’t recall the last time Gavin had taken me on a date that I enjoyed. Usually, my enjoyment for the night would wear off sometime during the date as we would either argue about my work or about me being too busy… but I always blamed our fights, his neglect, or his oversight of my feelings on his stress at work. At least, that’s what he would use as his excuse when he came to me and “apologized” for his behavior.
Though I was hesitant about staying so close to Beckham, I hated admitting how good he made me feel today. How he listened to me. How he never dismissed my words. How he touched me. How he cherished me. How he made me feel pampered and spoiled, even if it was only for a little bit.
Coming out of my thoughts as Beckham finished pouring my wine, I watched him silently bring the perfectly cooked steak to my lips. Taking a bite, I savored the taste as he watched my reaction.
“Good?” he asked, his voice smooth, calculated.
I nodded, my throat suddenly dry as I reached for the wine glass. Before I could lift it, Beckham’s fingers closed over mine, effortlessly prying it from my grasp.
“Allow me.”
He tilted the glass to my lips, and I let him, feeling the warmth of the wine slide down my throat. His other hand rested on my leg, tracing idle patterns over my inner thigh.
I did my best to ignore how overwhelming his presence was all of a sudden. His touch, his words. They’d always had an effect on me, but tonight… tonight, perhaps because it was just us , I found myself being even more drawn to him.
Looking into his lustful, flaming gaze, I realized I was playing with fire, risking my marriage, my sanity, and my control for a man filled with temptation… seduction… sin.
At times, Beckham made me feel like the only woman on earth… other times, he made me feel powerless, vulnerable, under his dangerous spell that allowed him to access my deepest and darkest desires and passions.
For some reason, I just couldn’t stay away. No matter how much I tried. No matter how much I tried to convince myself of the potential consequences, he knew how to ease his way back into my mind. He knew how to make me forget why I had to stay away—but none of that seemed to matter when he made me feel wanted… desired… cherished.
And even though I was playing with fire… I wanted him to burn me.