54
Noah’s place in Auckland surprised her.
It wasn’t the sleek, impersonal apartment she’d imagined a professional athlete might own. It was a modest house tucked into a quiet street, warm light spilling from wide windows, a small garden out front that looked like it had been planted by someone who intended to stay.
Noah opened the door and stepped aside, letting her enter first, guiding her by the waist.
The house wrapped around her in warmth from the way it felt lived in with quiet intention.
Pale timber floors stretched beneath her feet, softened by woven rugs.
The walls held framed photographs of his parents on a windswept beach, him and his sisters as children in muddy jerseys, a candid shot of him mid-laugh with the team.
Nothing was ostentatious. Nothing was performative.
It felt like a place built for breathing.
She turned slowly, taking it in. “This is… not what I expected.”
He smiled from behind her. “Too boring? I know it’s not like your house in England.”
“No,” she said, still looking around. “It’s perfect.”
He closed the door and shrugged off his jacket, while watching her take in his only space of solidarity he had left. “Wine? Or I can make you a cocktail or something.”
“Wine sounds perfect.”
He led her through an open-plan living space into the kitchen, and Claire’s breath caught.
It was expansive, high ceilings, warm pendant lights, and a massive stone island anchoring the room.
Every surface was clean but not sterile, like it was used often and loved.
A cutting board sat near the sink, a half-squeezed lemon resting beside it.
Herbs hung in small bundles near the window.
It was the kind of kitchen people gathered in without thinking.
Noah moved with easy familiarity, pulling a bottle from the rack and pouring two glasses. He slid one across the island toward her.
She gladly took the drink and leaned against the island, watching him. His sleeves were rolled exposing his tattoos, hands steady, posture relaxed in a way she’d never seen on the pitch. Here, he wasn’t Captain. He was just Noah. A man in his own home, offering her a place in it.
“It feels strange,” she admitted softly, “being here. Like I’m seeing a part of you no one else gets.”
His gaze lingered on her. “That’s because you are.”
“Really?” she asked.
“I have never brought anyone here. No one on the team, and no one… off the team.” Noah hinted. Claire understood, he never brought women to this slice of paradise. She was the first, and perhaps only.
He set his glass down and crossed the space between them, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted. She didn’t. He kissed her briefly.
“Let me show you around,” he said.
Noah pulled Claire by the hand, leading her to the different rooms of the house.
The living room unfolded in soft light and open air, its far wall made entirely of glass that stretched from floor to ceiling, blurring the boundary between inside and out.
Beyond the panes lay a sweep of green that sloped gently toward a ribbon of pale sand, the private beach resting below like a secret kept by the land itself.
Sheer curtains stirred with the breeze when the doors were open, carrying the scent of salt into the room.
Low, comfortable furniture faced the view rather than a television, as if the horizon were meant to be the evening’s entertainment.
Claire saw patio furniture and pictured herself lounging there.
“This is a little slice of heaven, huh?”
Noah beamed. “It is very private. You can scream and no one can hear you for kilometers and kilometers.”
Claire stared at him in disbelief. “Why would you say that right now?” She started laughing and he laughed too.
She was looking out into the expanse of the horizon over the ocean. Getting lost in the sound of the waves and ocean gulls squawking overhead. Claire thought to herself how easy it would be to get used to this life. This life with Noah.
Noah came up behind her and slipped his strong arms around her waist, drawing her back against his chest. “Are you hungry?” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.
Claire turned in his embrace, eyes lifting to meet his. A slow smile curved her lips. “Hungry for what?” she asked softly. “Food… or you?”
His answering grin was pure heat and tenderness all at once. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
She laughed under her breath, one hand resting over his heart. “You started it,” she murmured.
“You wicked woman,” he said into her mouth. He kissed her. Noah’s restraint unraveled the moment she kissed him back.
His hands slid into her hair desperate and rough, drawing her closer as his mouth covered hers, the warmth of the kiss made the room fall away.
It deepened quickly, shedding any trace of restraint or courtesy.
His lips parted, and when her tongue brushed his, he responded without hesitation, meeting her with a slow, intentional stroke that pulled the breath from her lungs.
A soft, unguarded sound slipped from Claire, vibrating against him, and he felt it settle low in his chest.
The world tipped.
She rose onto her toes without realizing it, fingers clutching his shirt, tugging the fabric up and over his head.
“How private is this place?” she asked him in between kisses.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he slipped a hand under Claire’s t-shirt and cupped her breast, giving it a tease before ridding her body of her shirt all together.
Claire didn’t hesitate.
She pressed her hands to Noah’s chest and guided him backward, her movement deliberate, confident. He went easily, surprised laughter breaking from him as he sank into the curve of the rattan lounger by the window. The glass behind them reflected moonlight and sea, the night pressing close.
She followed him down, bracing one knee beside his hip, hair falling around them like a curtain.
“Undo your belt,” she commanded him. He stared at her curiously. Then he complied.
Claire knelt in front of his length, ready and eager to take it into her mouth. She swirled the tip of his cock with her tongue. A moan escaped his lips. She licked from the base to the tip, all the way up his shaft.
“Just like that,” Noah whispered. His hand wrapped around the back of her head. He pushed her head down, letting her take the whole of him down her throat.
Claire took him to a place of euphoric completion.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand and swallowed his hot salty cum. He leaned forward and kissed her.
Noah broke the kiss only to press his mouth along the corner of hers, her cheek, the soft skin just beneath her ear. “You undo me, Claire Ashford” he breathed.
She pulled him back by the neck and kissed him again, answering with everything she hadn’t yet dared to say.
“I think I’m hungry now,” Noah told Claire.
She responded with a coy smile. “For food or something else?” Repeating back the same words from just moments ago.
A clothed Noah moved back into the kitchen with an ease that surprised her, rolling his sleeves higher as he set a pan on the stovetop.
The windows along the far wall were open, evening air drifting in from the field and the sea below, carrying salt and grass and something alive.
Claire lingered at the island with her wine, chin resting in her hand, watching him.
He worked with quiet confidence, chopping, seasoning, and tasting.
The knife moved in steady rhythms against the board.
Oil hissed in the pan. He added herbs with a practiced pinch, murmuring something under his breath in Māori that sounded like a threat to the spitting oil.
Every so often, he glanced back at her, and each time their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them.
“You look like you’ve done this a hundred times,” she said.
“My mum made sure I could feed myself before I ever left home,” he replied with a small smile. “Said it was a form of respect.”
“For who?”
“For whoever you invite into your home.”
She softened at that.
“Is that why you don’t cook very often?”
“I have never cooked for anyone else in this home before,” Noah confirmed.
He turned a piece of fish in the pan, steam rising in fragrant curls. “You can come closer,” he added gently. “I won’t bite.”
“Hmmm…” she contemplated. She set her glass down and stepped beside him, close enough to feel his warmth. He handed her a spoon. “Taste.”
She did. Citrus and smoke bloomed on her tongue. “Noah,” she breathed, “this is incredible.”
He watched her reaction like it mattered more than any scoreboard. “Good.”
They stood shoulder to shoulder as he finished, her presence changing the rhythm of the room. Outside, the sky deepened toward indigo, and inside, something gentle and inevitable began to take shape.
By the time they left Noah’s house, the sky was already bruising into dawn.
Claire stood in the doorway for a moment, tugging her coat tighter around herself, glancing back at the quiet luxury she’d only just learned the shape of.
The wide kitchen, the impossible windows, the king-sized bed that still held the warmth of him.
Noah locked the door behind them and slipped his hand into hers like it was the most natural thing in the world, unafraid of what the team and the public will think of them together.
At the airport, there was no pretense anymore.
They walked in together, shoulder to shoulder, bags slung low, the team already scattered across the terminal in clusters of black duffels and loud voices.
Heads turned. Grins spread. Kelsey clocked them first and made a show of nudging some rookies, who both looked up in unison, unphased.
“Cap is here, with Doc,” someone muttered.
Noah didn’t let go of her hand.
On the plane, he claimed the window seat and tugged her in beside him, long legs stretched into the aisle, arm draped behind her shoulders like he’d always belonged there.
The engines roared. The lights dimmed. Somewhere over the Pacific, Claire rested her head against him and let herself forget the looming decision she would have to make.
Wales waited on the other side of the world.
They landed in Cardiff in a blur of jet lag and fluorescent corridors.
The team moved as one through immigration, passports stamped in quick succession, joking even as their eyes burned with exhaustion.
Tania and Claire peeled off at the fork in the line, clutching her thick folder of declarations, medical equipment forms, and her working visa.
Noah hesitated.
“I’ll see you at the hotel,” she said softly, squeezing his fingers. “Go.”
He nodded once, reluctantly, then leaned in and kissed her temple in full view of everyone. Not hidden. Not rushed.
“Don’t get arrested by customs without me,” he murmured.
Claire watched the guys disappear through the glass and promptly went over checklists with Tania.
Claire imagined the team leaving the airport and having the paparazzi waiting, then being blinded by the flashes of cameras and photographers yelling their names.