Chapter fifty-one
freya
For a second after his words leave his mouth, the whole kitchen seems to go quiet. Not silent exactly. The fridge hums softly behind us. Somewhere outside a car passes along the road. The house creaks in that familiar way it does when the temperature drops. But inside me everything pauses.
I want to do life with you.
Rory Bennett has always been good with words.
He’s cocky with them, playful with them, reckless with them sometimes.
He says things to provoke reactions. To tease.
To get a rise out of people. But this doesn’t feel like that.
This feels different. He’s standing so close that I can feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of my top, his hands still resting lightly at my waist as though he’s not entirely sure if I’m about to pull away.
Which is ridiculous. Because if anything I’m leaning closer.
I search his face for a second, trying to see if there’s even a hint of that familiar smirk.
Some sign he’s joking. Some softening that suggests he’s about to laugh and say he didn’t mean it like that.
But there isn’t. His expression is steady.
Almost cautious. Like he’s said something that matters more than he expected it to.
“I want that too Rory. But I meant now. What do you want from me right now?” I say eventually, breaking the tension with something daring.
“I want to ruin you for any other man. I want to make you come so many times that you can’t even remember your own name. I want to make up for all the years of not having you and your amazing body.”
“You say things like that very casually,” I say cautiously. My voice sounds calmer than I feel.
His thumb shifts against my hip, absentmindedly tracing a slow circle through the fabric. “I didn’t mean it casually.”
And that’s the problem. I exhale softly, leaning back against the counter for a second so I can look at him properly.
My legs still feel slightly shaky, which is deeply unfair considering he seems perfectly composed for a man who has just completely rearranged my brain and my entire nervous system in the last ten minutes. Typical Rory.
“I just mean,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “those are big statements to drop into the middle of… whatever this is.”
His eyebrow lifts slightly. “Whatever this is?”
I gesture vaguely between us. “This.”
He laughs. “You mean the part where I’ve been trying not to lose my mind over you for the last two decades or the part where you’ve just made a mess all over your kitchen counter?”
My lips twitch. “Both.”
He steps closer again, closing the small gap I’d created without even noticing. His hands slide back around my waist naturally, like they already belong there. My stomach flips. God, this man.
“You asked what I wanted,” he says quietly.
“I did.”
“So I told you.”
I swallow.
His eyes soften slightly as he looks down at me. “Frey… I’m not saying we’re suddenly planning our wedding and buying matching pyjamas.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Thank God.”
“Speak for yourself,” he says dryly. “I’d look fantastic in a silk two piece PJ set.”
“You absolutely would not.”
“I absolutely would.”
“You’d look like a rugby player in drag.”
“I could pull that off.”
“You couldn’t.”
He grins, that familiar cocky grin that used to drive me completely insane when we were younger. Still does, if I’m honest. But then the grin fades slightly and his expression turns serious again.
“I just mean,” he says more quietly, “I don’t want this to be something we pretend didn’t happen tomorrow.”
The words scare me a little. Because that’s the part I’d been avoiding thinking about. Tomorrow. The school run. The playground. The messy overlap of our real lives that exists outside this kitchen. Outside this moment.
“I have Theo,” I say softly.
He nods immediately. “I know.”
“My life is… complicated.”
“I know.”
“I don’t have space for drama.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Freya, you’re talking to a professional rugby player who has spent most of his adult life in the tabloids. I am very familiar with drama.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “Are you trying to talk yourself out of this?”
My mouth opens. Then closes again. Because the honest answer is…
Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. Which is deeply frustrating considering I usually know exactly what I’m doing at all times.
I’m the organised one. The sensible one.
The woman who runs a house and has a child and runs school schedules and work and life like some kind of slightly chaotic but very determined project manager.
I don’t usually feel like this. Like my entire brain has been replaced with static.
“I’m trying to be sensible,” I say eventually.
He gives me a slow look. “You’ve known me since we were teenagers, Freya. When have I ever made you sensible?”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s exactly the point.”
His hands tighten slightly at my waist as he pulls me closer again. Just enough that I feel the steady warmth of him, solid and grounding.
“I’m not asking you to change your entire life overnight,” he says.
“Good.”
“I’m just saying that what’s happening between us isn’t something I want to pretend away.” His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. “And I don’t think you do either.”
I hate that he’s right. Not because he’s smug about it. But because the truth sits there between us, obvious and impossible to ignore. I could walk away. I could absolutely do that. I’m good at walking away from things that feel too complicated. But the problem is… I don’t want to.
My fingers slide lightly over the back of his neck without me even realising I’ve moved. His breath catches slightly. “Rory,” I say softly.
“Yeah?”
“You’re trouble.”
“I’ve always been trouble.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
I laugh quietly, shaking my head. For a moment we just stand there like that. Close enough that I can feel his heartbeat through his chest. Close enough that everything else in the world seems slightly less important. Which is both comforting and terrifying.
“You know this might be a terrible idea,” I say.
“Most good things start like that.”
“That’s so not a true statistic.”
“It absolutely is.”
“You just made it up.”
“Maybe.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re very confident for someone whose entire future currently depends on my decision making.”
He smiles slowly. “That’s because I know you.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
“How exactly?”
He brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear and I swear it makes my knees go weak. “Because it’s us Frey. It’s always been us. I know you panic, but I also know how brave you are.”
The words catch me off guard. “I’m not brave.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I panic about literally everything.”
“Still brave.”
“I make lists for things that don’t require lists.”
“Still brave.”
“I once cried because I couldn’t find a parking space outside Tesco.”
“That sounds extremely stressful. I’d have cried too.”
I stare at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he says lightly, “here I am.”
Yep. Here he is. Not disappearing. Not brushing this off like some impulsive moment. Not pretending it meant less than it did. Just… here.
“You could walk away from this very easily,” I say quietly.
His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it would be simpler.”
“Since when have I ever chosen simple?”
“That’s also a fair point.”
His hand lifts, brushing lightly along my jaw. “Frey…”
The way he says my name softens something inside me that I didn’t even realise was tense.
“I’m not looking for simple,” he says. “I’m looking for real. I am, and always have been looking for you. I was just too damn stupid to realise that for all these years.”
I swallow and will myself not to cry. And suddenly the fear that’s been hovering quietly at the edge of my thoughts finally finds its way out.
“What if this goes wrong?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Then we deal with it.”
“What if it gets messy?”
“It probably will.”
“What if we hurt each other?”
His thumb brushes lightly over my cheek. “That’s the risk you take when you care about someone. But I would never knowingly hurt you Frey.”
I look at him for a long moment. Really look.
At the man he’s become. Not the cocky boy I used to know.
Not the chaotic rugby player everyone else sees.
But this version of him. Completely unapologetic about the way he feels.
And for the first time in a long time… I stop trying to overthink everything.
My hands slide slowly up his chest, resting lightly on his shoulders.
His body stills slightly beneath my touch.
“Okay,” I say softly.
His eyes search mine. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “You sure about that?”
“No,” I admit honestly.
He laughs quietly, and before I can say anything else he lifts me effortlessly into his arms. Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist as he captures my mouth in a long, consuming kiss.
It’s the kind that steals the air from my lungs and makes the rest of the world fall away.
He carries me up the stairs without breaking the kiss.
The realisation hits me halfway up. Fuck.
I have never, in my entire life, had a man strong enough to carry me upstairs like this.
I’m not exactly heavy. I’m actually quite petite.
But Rory lifts me like I weigh absolutely nothing, like I belong exactly where I am, and the sheer strength of it sends a shiver down my spine.
It might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced.
When we reach my bedroom he pushes the door open with his foot, the wood swinging wide as he walks straight inside before dropping me onto the bed with a soft bounce. I laugh breathlessly, pushing myself up onto my elbows.
“You asked me what I wanted,” he says, his voice low and rough. There’s something different in his tone now. Something darker. Hungrier. “Well,” he continues, stepping closer to the bed, “I’m about to take what I want.”
His eyes drag slowly over me, and heat floods straight to my stomach.
“Only this time,” he adds, “it’s not going to be on a common room sofa.”
I can’t help it. I grin. “I quite enjoyed the common room sofa actually.”
He laughs deeply, shaking his head slightly, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s already three steps ahead of me. “Oh, Frey,” he murmurs, his voice dropping another octave as his hands move to the button of his jeans. “You’ve got no idea.”
He pushes them down his hips, kicking them aside along with his boxers, his gaze never leaving mine. And the way he’s looking at me makes it very clear that whatever happens next… I am absolutely not leaving this bed unscathed.