Chapter Text
Red.
That’s all she could see.
It fell down her face.
Liquid spread down her hair.
She could hear them now.
Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
Ears ringing, vision blurry.
Don’t cry.
Don’t speak.
Don’t yell.
Don’t cry.
Don’t speak.
Don’t yell.
Don’t cry.
Don’t speak.
Don’t yell.
Don’t cry.
Don’t speak.
Don’t yell.
Don’t Don’t Don’t Don’t.
Don’t Don’t Don’t Don’t.
Don’t Don’t Don’t Don’t.
DON’T.
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1923 April 7th
“Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”
―
Roseline stood by the door of her apartment, surveying the space. It looked just as she had left it when she went on her honeymoon. Throughout her life, she had moved many times, but she had never felt sentimental about any of her homes. She walked over to the books, picked them up, and placed them on the bed.
The blonde opened the cabinet and took out a few jars. She then opened her drawers and looked at the clothes inside. Tommy had told her that she didn’t need them anymore, and he was right. He had bought her so many clothes, more than she ever thought possible. Even so, these clothes were still in good condition; they could benefit others, even if they weren’t for her anymore.
She placed everything on the bed and let out a sigh as she observed it all. First, she set the jars down, then folded a few clothes on top until the pile was complete. Rose then put an empty bag on the bed.
Yes, she was never one to be sentimental.
But for some reason, this felt different. The young woman looked around the apartment; perhaps it was because there was now someone to share her life with. Knowing this, she couldn’t help but feel pity for him.
She returned to the now open drawers and set aside the folded clothes, uncovering a small key. The key was tiny and attached to a string. Rose glanced back at the bags and decided to tie the string around her neck, allowing the key to dangle above her chest.
In about fifteen minutes, Rose had nearly gathered everything she needed, but something was still missing. The only item she hadn’t yet examined was the last drawer. Kneeling down with trembling hands, she pulled it open. After setting aside some clothes, she uncovered a wooden box. Quickly, she took the box with shaking hands and placed it in one of the bags, using a few books and folded clothes to cover it.
With all her belongings now ready to go, holding two bags, Roseline scans the apartment one last time.
This was it.
Time for a new chapter.
Again.
Closing the door and locking it, the blonde walks down the stairs to the receptionist.
The receptionist looked up from his ledger, squinting over the rim of his glasses. “Well, well. Thought you’d vanished for good, Miss Roseline.”
She gave a small smile, shifting the weight of the bags. “It’s Mrs. now.”
He blinked, then chuckled, tapping his pen against the desk. “Mrs., is it? Fancy that. You always struck me as the fiercely independent type.”
“I still am,” she said.
“You look different.” He leaned back in his chair, giving her a once-over. “Happier, maybe. Or just better dressed.”
“He has a taste for silk and impractical shoes.” She laughed softly.
“Sounds like love,” he said with a wink. “Or a very persuasive tailor.”
“I won’t be needing these anymore.” Roseline placed the keys on the counter.
“Shame.” He picked them up, turning them over in his hand. “You were one of the quiet ones. Never complained about the plumbing, never slammed a door. I’ll miss that.”
“I’ll miss the quiet,” she said, glancing toward the staircase.
He nodded, then added with a grin, “No letters for you today. Just me and my charming company.”
“That’s all I need,” she replied, and for a moment, it felt true.
He watched her go, the door swinging closed behind her with a soft click.
Outside, the air was crisp. The car waited at the curb, sleek and black, its surface catching the afternoon light. Tommy stood beside it, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigar. He didn’t smile when he saw her, just flicked the cigar to the ground and crushed it under his heel, the ash smearing across the polished metal.
Without a word, he stepped forward and took the bags from her hands. She resisted, fingers tightening around the straps.
“I can carry them,” she said.
He looked at her. Not with annoyance, but something quieter. Something final, taking the bag from her.
“I know,” he said, and walked to the car.
Roseline followed, her steps slow. The door was already open. She slid inside, picking up the violin case and laying it on her lap.
Tommy joined her moments later, placing the bags in the back without ceremony.
Inside the car, a few wrapped boxes were scattered on the seat and the floor. Her fingers traced the violin case; Tommy had bought her the violin from a beautiful shop in New York. The shop owner clearly had an obsession, as he showed her the perfect strings for it.
Thomas sat beside her, the boxes pooling beneath his feet.
The car sat still at the curb, heat rising from the hood. Inside, the air was quiet, filled with the smell of leather and cigarette smoke. Thomas moved, his boot nudging one of the wrapped boxes at his feet. The paper crinkled.
He glanced down, then up at Roseline. “What’s all this then?”
She didn’t look at him. Her fingers were still on the violin case, but her voice was steady.
“Gifts. For the staff.”
“Staff don’t need gifts.” Thomas scoffed, low and sharp. “They need wages. You pay them, they work. That’s the arrangement.”
“You said we’d have help.” Roseline turned her head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “A cook, a driver, someone to keep the house. They’ll be living with us. I thought it might be kind to make them feel welcome.”
“They’re not family, Rose. They’re not friends.” Thomas leaned back, jaw tight. “They’re paid to do a job. If they don’t do it, I’ll find better.”
She reached for one of the boxes, the one wrapped in navy paper with a silver ribbon. “This one’s for the driver. I thought he might appreciate gloves. It’s cold in the mornings.”
Thomas exhaled through his nose, a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You think gloves’ll make him drive straighter?”
“No,” she said softly. “But maybe he’ll look me in the eye when I speak to him.”
“You want them to like you. That’s bloody sweet. But it’s not fuckin’ necessary.” Thomas turned toward her fully now, his voice dropping into something darker. “They’ll do what they’re told because I pay them. Not because you gave them a bloody ribbon.”
Roseline didn’t flinch. “And what if I want them to stay? To feel safe? To not flinch when you walk into a room?”
His eyes flicked to hers, sharp and unreadable. “Then you’re wasting your time.”
She held his gaze. “Maybe. But it’s my time to waste.”
A beat passed. The engine ticked. Outside, the city moved on.
Thomas reached into his coat, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with a practiced flick. Smoke curled toward the roof of the car. “You do what you want, Rose. Just don’t expect it to change anything.”
He flicked ash out the cracked window, his profile sharp against the fading light. The wrapped boxes rustled as the car shifted slightly, settling into the curb. He glanced down again, then back at Roseline.
“They’ll be in our home. Every day.” She adjusted the violin case on her lap, her fingers steady. “It’s better to be on good terms with them than have none at all.”
Thomas turned his head slowly, cigarette between his fingers. “Good terms don’t keep people in line. Pay does. Fear does.”
“They do have choices, Thomas. Everyone does.” Roseline leaned forward, picking up one of the boxes and setting it gently on the seat between them. ”But if they’re going to be part of this house, I’d rather they feel welcome than watched.”
He studied her for a long moment, unreadable. Then he leaned back, tapping ash to the wind from the now open window. “They’re not part of anything. They’re tools. If one breaks, I replace it.”
“And if they break because they’re afraid of you?” Roseline’s voice was quiet, but firm.
“Then they weren’t worth the wage.”
She looked out the window, the city blurring past in streaks of grey and gold.
“You can run a business like that. Not a home.”
The silence between them felt heavy with things left unsaid. Outside, the wind pushed against the windows like a restless thought.
She sighed, not dramatically, just enough to let the moment shift.
“Leave these things for me to worry about,” she said, voice low. “I’m not a nurse anymore.”
Thomas didn’t respond right away. He watched her, the tension in his shoulders loosening like a thread pulled free. His smirk was slow, crooked—more shadow than smile.
“So you’ll be a good little wife then?” he asked, almost teasing, but with that edge that never quite left his voice. “Waiting at home. Curtains drawn. Tea warm.”
Roseline turned her head, met his gaze with a flicker of amusement.
“Of course,” she said, dry as dust. “I’ll wait for you day and night. Like a ghost in the hallway.”
Thomas chuckled, low in his throat. He leaned closer to her, studying her like she was a puzzle he’d already solved but couldn’t stop touching.
“You say it like you mean it,” he murmured.
“I always mean it,” she replied.
He reached out, fingers brushing her jaw, then tilted her chin up with the kind of care that felt almost dangerous. His lips met hers, not rushed, not tender, but deliberate. A claiming. She kissed him back, steady and unflinching, her hand resting lightly on his chest.
When he pulled away, he lingered close, breath warm against her cheek.
“What does it look like?” she asked, voice low. “The house.”
“You’ll see it soon,” he said. “We’re close.”
Roseline glanced at the luggage stacked behind them, cases of polished leather, parcels wrapped in cloth, boxes with beautiful ribbons.
“It must be big,” she murmured. “You brought a big staff.”
Tommy turned his head then, just slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting into a crooked smirk.
“Could be a tent in a field,” he said. “Wouldn’t change a fuckin’ thing.”
She raised a brow, amused. “You’d still bring all this?”
“I’d still bring a driver. A cook. A housekeeper. A man for the horses. People who know how to keep quiet.”
Then he took her hand. His fingers were cool, deliberate. He turned her palm upward and kissed it—slow, firm, just below the knuckles.
“These hands,” he said, voice low and final. “I don’t want to see them working.”
Roseline didn’t pull away. Her fingers stayed relaxed in his grip.
“No scrubbing. No lifting. No bleeding.”
His thumb brushed her wrist, eyes steady on hers.
“You’ll play music. You’ll paint. You’ll spend my money.”
“And if I want to do more?” She looked out the window, the trees blurring past like ghosts.
Tommy leaned in, breath warm against her cheek.
“Then you’ll ask me first.”
The car rocked gently as it rolled over a patch of uneven road, the rhythm steady, hypnotic. Roseline leaned forward, her breath warm against Tommy’s cheek. She kissed him again—slow, her fingers brushing the edge of his collar. He responded instantly, cradling her face with both hands, his grip firm, possessive.
His mouth claimed hers, deeper this time, unrestrained. She gasped softly against him, her body shifting, knees sliding over his lap as the space between them vanished. The scent of tobacco and leather wrapped around them, thick and heady.
Then the car lurched to a stop.
Roseline pulled back with a sharp breath, her chest rising, lips parted. She turned toward the window, eyes wide.
Outside, the world had changed. A vast green field stretched before them, framed by tall trees that swayed gently in the breeze. The grass was lush, almost too perfect, and the air shimmered with late afternoon light.
“Where are we?” she asked, voice still breathless.
Tommy adjusted his coat, eyes on her rather than the view.
“We’re here,” he said simply.
He reached for her again, fingers grazing her waist, but Roseline was already moving. She slid off his lap, smoothing her dress with practiced grace.
“We have to get out,” she said, voice clipped now, composed.
She reached beside her seat and retrieved the small wrapped box—the driver’s gift. The ribbon had loosened slightly, but the paper was still intact.
Tommy watched her, the smirk returning to his lips.
“You always know how to ruin a fuckin’ moment,” he muttered, half amused.
Roseline glanced at him, eyes cool.
“And you always know how to stretch one too far.”
The driver stepped out first, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. He moved with quiet efficiency, opening the rear door without a word. The wind had settled, leaving the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine.
Tommy stepped out, coat sweeping behind him, the cigarette still burning between his fingers. He stood tall, surveying the grounds with the calm detachment of a man who already owned everything he saw. Then he turned, extended a hand into the car.
Roseline took it with her empty hand, the other clutching the small wrapped box—navy paper, silver ribbon, slightly creased from the ride. His grip was firm, steady, and she let him guide her out.
The gravel crunched beneath her heels as Roseline stepped down, the weight of the gift anchoring her left hand. Tommy’s grip lingered a moment longer than necessary, as if steadying her for more than just the descent. She didn’t look at him; her gaze was already sweeping the grounds.
The house stood ahead, large and symmetrical, with its patterned brickwork glowing in the fading light. Ivy wrapped around the windows like veins, and the decorative arch above the door had an old crest that she couldn’t read yet. A statue in front of the entrance looked worn and faceless, and it seemed to be watching.
By the front door, the staff stood in a quiet line. Men and women, dressed in crisp uniforms, hands folded, expressions neutral. A driver, a cook, a housekeeper, a gardener, and others she couldn’t yet place. Their eyes flicked to her, then to Tommy, then back again, trained, cautious.
The driver stood next to the couple, with a straight posture and looking ahead. He hadn’t moved since opening the door, but his presence felt solid, like part of the building.
Roseline turned to him, her expression composed, the gift held out with graceful precision.
“Mr. Halbridge,” she said, offering the box. “This is for you. Thank you for the drive.”
The man blinked, visibly startled. His name, spoken with such ease and dignity, seemed to hang in the air like a bell. He glanced at Tommy, instinctively, as if seeking permission or confirmation.
Tommy didn’t move. He stood behind Roseline, cigarette between his fingers, watching with his signature poker face.
Halbridge looked back at her, his voice catching slightly.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, taking the box with both hands. “That’s... very kind.”
Roseline nodded, her smile faint but genuine.
Tommy reached into the car and pulled out the violin case with care, his fingers brushing the worn leather handle as if it were something sacred. He held it in his hand, waiting patiently for her introductions to the staff.
She turned to the driver, her voice soft but clear.
“Would you mind helping us with the other boxes, Mr. Halbridge?”
He nodded immediately, already moving toward the trunk with quiet efficiency.
She turns fully to the mansion, and for a moment, the world narrows to its towering presence.
The building stands before her as a strong symbol of wealth and stability. Its red brick and stone are arranged carefully together. The design is balanced, with two wings on either side of a central entrance that draws the eye. Each wing has bay windows that stick out like careful observers, their glass shining in the afternoon sun. Above them, chimneys rise in a straight line.
The entrance is framed by an ornate archway carved in pale stone, its details worn soft by time but still proud. Above it, decorative flourishes, scrollwork, and cresting. A small statue stands sentinel near the door, half-shrouded in ivy, its expression unreadable.
The driveway forms a perfect circle and is lined with a garden. The garden looks neat and colorful, not wild but lively. Topiary bushes stand like guards, while the flower beds are filled with bright colors, reds and whites, resembling blood and bone.
Roseline has to tilt her chin to take it all in. The height, the symmetry, the silence. It’s not just a house—it’s a statement.
The young woman stepped forward, the gravel crunching beneath her heels as she approached the line of staff waiting near the entrance. They stood in a neat formation—housekeeper, cook, gardener, maids, footmen, all dressed in muted tones, their expressions a blend of curiosity and caution.
The housekeeper stepped out first. She wasn’t tall, with short silver-streaked brown hair.
“Welcome, Mrs. Shelby,” she said, her voice warm but formal. “I’m Frances. I oversee the household.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Frances.” Roseline smiled, her eyes lighting with genuine warmth.
“You must be exhausted from the journey.” Frances inclined her head.“We’ve prepared everything for you—your rooms, your supper, even a fire in the drawing room.”
“I couldn’t rest until I met everyone.” Roseline shook her head gently, still smiling.
Frances’s expression softened, and she turned slightly, gesturing to the others.
“This is Mr. Keene, our head cook. And Mr. Alton, the gardener.”
Both men stepped forward with polite nods. Mr. Keene had flour dust on his sleeves and a kind smile; Mr. Alton smelled faintly of rosemary and soil.
Frances continued, introducing each maid and footman by name: Lydia, Elsie, Nora, James, Mark, and the rest. Roseline greeted everyone with a nod and a smile. Her presence was calm and bright, like sunlight coming through stained glass.
Rose turned slightly, her gaze drifting to the driver still unloading the trunk.
“Mr. Halbridge,” she said gently, “did you get the red box?”
He paused, then nodded. From beneath the other luggage, he retrieved a small, lacquered box, deep crimson with gold trim, polished to a soft gleam. He handed it to her with both hands, as if it were something fragile.
Roseline accepted it with quiet reverence, then turned back to Frances.
“This is for you,” she said, offering the red box. “I chose it especially.”
Frances blinked, her composure briefly faltering. She took the box slowly, fingers brushing the ribbon, eyes searching Roseline’s face.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Shelby.”
Roseline smiled, but didn’t linger. She moved down the line, retrieving smaller parcels from Mr. Hallbridge as he handed them to her, each one wrapped in soft paper, tied with ribbon, labeled in her own handwriting.
To Mr. Keene, the cook, she handed a box that smelled faintly of imported spices.
“For your kitchen,” she said. “I hope it inspires something warm.”
To Mr. Alton, the gardener, she gave a parcel wrapped in green silk.
“For your hands,” she said.
To each maid and footman: Lydia, Elsie, Nora, James, Mark, and the others. She handed boxes one by one, her smile never faltering, her voice soft but clear.
“I hope you’ll like them,” she said. “Just a small thank you.”
The staff stood stunned, their roles momentarily suspended. This wasn’t protocol.
Eventually, Thomas led her through the grand entrance, his stride slow but purposeful, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the thick stone walls. The air inside was cooler, tinged with wood polish.
The hallway stretched long and stately, paneled in dark oak, with arches on either side that opened into separate wings of the mansion. Each arch had carved molding, showing the work of skilled craftsmen from the past. In front of them, a wide staircase rose through the house. On both sides of the staircase, two heavy doors stood like guards.
Thomas gestured casually.
“Left leads to the workers’ quarters,” he said. “Right goes to the cellar.”
Roseline glanced at the right-hand door, her brow faintly furrowed.
They moved on, passing through a series of rooms, each one grander than the last. Parlors with velvet chairs, libraries with gilded spines, corridors lined with portraits whose eyes seemed to follow her.
Then they reached the dining hall.
It was vast, solemn, and steeped in elegance. The walls were dressed in rich wood paneling, interrupted by tall windows that poured in golden light. A long dining table stretched nearly the length of the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs with carved detailing. Statues flanked the walls, each holding lamps that cast a warm, amber glow. Paintings hung in measured symmetry.
But it wasn’t the table or the art that caught her breath.
Near the largest window, bathed in light, stood a piano.
It was a grand piece, polished to a mirror sheen, its curves elegant and commanding. The keys gleamed like ivory and bone, and the lid was propped open slightly, as if waiting.
Roseline walked toward it, drawn like a tide. Her fingers reached out, tracing the edge of the keys, the cool surface humming beneath her touch.
“Do you like it?” Thomas watched her from a distance, his voice low.
She turned, eyes bright.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”
She sat down, her posture instinctive, graceful. Her fingers hovered above the keys, not pressing yet—just listening.
“You chose perfectly.” Roseline smiled, her fingers finally pressing down, coaxing a single note from the silence.
Thomas gestured for her to follow, his voice low and casual.
“There’s more to see. You’ve only scratched the surface, love.”
Roseline smiled and rose from the piano bench, smoothing her dress as she stood. The house was vast, larger than the one she’d lived in with the Marshalls, more intricate, more commanding. She wondered how long it would take to memorize its corridors.
They descended a short flight of stairs, the wood cool beneath their steps, and passed through a corridor that opened into one of the living rooms, warm, dimly lit, with velvet chairs and a fireplace that still held the scent of last night’s smoke.
Just beyond it, Thomas opened a heavy wooden door and stepped into his office.
The room was a study in masculine elegance. Dark wood paneling lined the walls, carved with intricate detailing that caught the light like secrets. A towering bookshelf dominated one side, filled with leather-bound volumes, ledgers, and files, some pristine, others worn at the edges from use. The fireplace was grand, its mantel adorned with brass accents and a clock that ticked softly, almost ceremonially.
A chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden glow over the space. Heavy curtains framed the tall window, drawn halfway to let in the late afternoon light. The desk at the center was broad and commanding, its surface scattered with papers, a lamp, and a typewriter that looked as if it had been used that morning.
Roseline stepped inside slowly, her eyes scanning the space. It wasn’t just an office. It was a command center.
He watched her from the doorway, cigarette between his fingers.
“This will be my workplace,” he said.
Roseline turned to him, her voice quiet.
“It suits you.”
Thomas set the violin case down on the edge of his desk, the soft thud of leather against wood. He turned to Roseline, his cigarette now forgotten in the ashtray, and reached for her hand.
“There’s one more thing,” he said, voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Since we’re already down here.”
She let him take her hand, her fingers curling into his instinctively. They passed through a few quiet corridors, the stone walls narrowing, the light dimming. Then they reached a heavy backdoor, iron latch, weathered wood. Thomas pushed it open, and they stepped outside.
The back of the house was quieter, more wild. No gravel paths, no manicured hedges. Just grass, soft and damp, leading straight into the woods. The trees stood tall and close, their branches whispering above them.
Roseline giggled, the sound light and rare.
“Where are we going?” she asked, teasing.
Thomas didn’t answer. He just walked beside her, his grip steady, his pace slow. The air was fresh, tinged with pine and moss, and something about it tugged at her—familiar, like a dream half-remembered.
She felt it then. A sense of déjà vu. The way the light filtered through the leaves. The hush of the forest. The rhythm of her own breath.
Then Thomas stopped behind her.
“Stay calm,” he murmured. “Just listen.”
His hands came up gently, covering her eyes. She didn’t resist. She trusted him, even when she shouldn’t.
They walked like that for a few minutes, his voice guiding her, his steps in sync with hers. She could hear birds, the rustle of leaves, and then… something else. A scent. Water. Mud. The kind of smell that clings to memory.
Thomas stopped.
The light shifted.
He removed his hands.
Roseline blinked, the sunlight soft against her face. And then she saw it.
A lake.
Wide, still, and breathtaking. Surrounded by trees that leaned in like guardians, their reflections rippled gently across the surface. The water was deep blue, edged with reeds and wildflowers, and the sky above it stretched open and endless.
She stood there, stunned.
“Tommy...” she whispered. “How did you find this?”
“Found it after buying the place,” he said. He stepped beside her, his gaze on the lake, not her.
She hesitated for a moment, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin, then began to slowly slip the straps of her dress from her shoulders. The fabric whispered down her body, pooling at her feet.
“What the fuck are you doing, woman?” Tommy asked, his voice a mix of surprise and curiosity. She turned to look at him, a playful smile on her lips, and shrugged.
“It would be a shame not to enjoy such a beautiful scene,” she replied.
Thomas watched in quiet admiration as her pale skin glowed under the sunlight, a stark contrast to the vibrant greens and blues surrounding her. Her movements were graceful and unhurried as she reached up to unclasp the delicate necklace she wore, his eyes catching on the small key that dangled just above the gentle curve of her breasts.
Her laughter echoed across the lake as she waded deeper, the water cool and invigorating against her skin. Turning back to face him, she tilted her head invitingly.
“Care to join me, darling?” she called, mischief dancing in her eyes.
Without hesitation, he began to shed his clothes, the sunlight catching on his broad shoulders as he moved toward the water’s edge, ready to join her in the tranquil embrace of the lake.
As he waded into the refreshing water, Roseline suddenly splashed him playfully, her laughter ringing out.
“Catch me if you can!” she teased, before diving smoothly beneath the surface. Thomas, caught off guard but amused, chuckled and propelled himself forward, his strokes strong and determined as he pursued her across the shimmering expanse of the lake.
Thomas felt a rush of exhilaration and freedom, the kind he hadn’t experienced in years. The cool water invigorated his senses, and the playful chase filled him with a youthful joy he thought he’d long forgotten.
He eventually caught up to her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close. Roseline let out a surprised laugh, her body arching against his as she splashed water playfully at him.
“Gotcha!” he declared, his voice a mix of triumph and amusement. Roseline squealed, her laughter echoing across the lake as she tried to wriggle free.
“Not fair!” she protested, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re too fast!”
Thomas chuckled, his grip tightening, holding her securely in place. “And you’re too slow,” he teased, his voice low and husky.
Roseline pouted, her lips curling into a playful frown. “I’ll show you slow,” she retorted, her hands reaching up to tangle in his damp hair.
Thomas groaned, the sensation of her fingers in his hair sending a shiver down his spine. He pulled her closer, his body pressing against hers, feeling the cool water against his skin, her warmth enveloping him.
His mouth found hers, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss, the taste of her sweet and salty on his tongue. Roseline moaned softly, her body melting into his, her legs wrapping around his waist as she deepened the kiss. Thomas broke away, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire.
“You’re playing with fire, love,” he growled, his hands sliding down her back, cupping her firm ass, pulling her even closer.
Rose smiled, her eyes locked onto his, her voice a sultry whisper. “I like the heat,” she replied, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, her touch feather-light.
Tommy groaned again, his body responding to her touch, his cock hard and ready. He turned, carrying her to the shallow edge of the lake, the water receding as they stepped onto the soft grass. He laid her down gently, her body sprawled out, her hair fanned out around her like a halo.
He stood over her, his eyes roaming over her naked form, his breath hitching at the sight. Her pale skin glistened with water, her breasts heaving with each breath, her nipples hard and erect. He reached down, his fingers tracing the curve of her breast, his thumb circling her nipple, causing her to arch her back, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Tommy,” she whispered, her hands reaching up to pull him down, her fingers tangling in his hair.
The man complied, his mouth finding her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple, his teeth gently nipping at the sensitive flesh. Rose gasped, her hands gripping his hair, her body writhing beneath him. He moved to her other breast, giving it the same attention, his hands roaming over her body, his touch igniting a fire within her.
He kissed his way down her body, his mouth leaving a trail of fire, his hands exploring every inch of her. He reached her stomach, his fingers tracing the curve of her hip, his mouth finding the sensitive spot just below her navel. Roseline moaned, her body arching, her hips grinding against his mouth.
Thomas smiled, his fingers sliding down her body, finding the wet heat between her legs. He slipped a finger inside her, his thumb circling her clit, his mouth finding her breast again. She cried out, her body shaking, her legs wrapping around his head, pulling him closer.
He continued his assault, his fingers moving in and out of her, his thumb circling her clit, his mouth sucking on her breast. Roseline’s body tensed, her breath coming in short gasps, her hands gripping his hair, her body on the edge of release.
“Tommy,” she gasped, her voice a plea. Thomas looked up, his eyes locked onto hers, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder.
“Come for me, love,” he growled, his voice a command.
Roseline’s body convulsed, her back arching, her legs tightening around his head, her body shuddering as she cried out, her orgasm washing over her. Thomas held her through it, his fingers never stopping, his mouth never leaving her breast. When her body finally stilled, he pulled away.
His cock hard and ready, his eyes never leaving hers. "Your turn,” he said, his voice a low growl.
Roseline smiled, her eyes locked onto his, her body still tingling from her orgasm. She reached for him, her hands sliding down his body, her fingers wrapping around his cock. She stroked him, her touch gentle, her eyes locked onto his. Thomas groaned, his body responding to her touch, his hips moving in sync with her hand.
“Fuck, dollface,” he growled, his voice a low rumble.
Roseline smiled, her eyes locked onto his, her body aching for him. She guided him to her, her legs spreading wide, her body ready for him. Thomas entered her slowly, his eyes locked onto hers, his body shaking with the effort of holding back. She moaned, her body arching, her legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.
Thomas began to move, his hips thrusting, his cock sliding in and out of her, his body claiming hers. Rose met his thrusts, her body moving in sync with his, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. The sound of their bodies coming together filled the air, their moans and gasps echoing across the lake. Thomas felt his body tensing, his breath coming in short gasps, his body on the edge of release.
“Come with me, dollface,” he growled, his voice a command.
Roseline nodded, her body tensing, her legs tightening around his waist, her body ready for release. Tommy thrust into her, his body shaking, his cock pulsing, his release washing over him.
Roseline cried out, her body convulsing, her orgasm washing over her, her body shuddering, her legs tightening around his waist. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies joined, their breaths ragged, their hearts pounding.
Then, slowly, he pulled away, his body still trembling, his eyes locked onto hers. She smiled, her eyes soft, her body sated.
“That was... incredible,” she whispered, her voice a soft purr. Thomas smiled, his eyes soft, his body still tingling from their lovemaking.
“I’m glad you think so,” he replied, his voice a low rumble.
He reached down, his fingers tracing the curve of her breast, his thumb circling her nipple, causing her to arch her back, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Because I plan to do it again,” he said, his voice a low growl. Roseline laughed, her eyes locked onto his, her body already aching for him.
And with that, they lay back, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating in sync.
But Rose knew something; she knew the unspoken truth.
In reality...
She traded one prison for another.