The path curves around one last bend and the main house comes into view through the branches. It’s enormous. A huge white building sitting at the edge of the woods like it belongs in a period drama rather than the middle of a Welsh outdoor centre. The walls are bright against the dark green trees, tall windows stretching up the front of the building beneath a steep slate roof.
“Looks like a hospital,” Freya says.
“Or a haunted boarding school.”
“Do you think it’s haunted?”
“Statistically speaking, probably.”
We push through the front door into the entrance hall. Inside it’s warm and vast. The ceilings stretch high above us, wooden beams crossing overhead, the space echoing slightly as our boots step across the floorboards. To the left a huge common room opens up, filled with long wooden tables, battered sofas and a massive stone fireplace that could probably roast an entire pig. The place smells faintly of soap, wood polish and whatever lunch the kitchen staff made earlier.
“Kitchen’s through here,” Freya says.
She leads us through to a long galley kitchen that runs along the back of the house. Two large industrial sinks sit beneath tall windows looking out toward the forest. Stainless steel counters line the walls and cupboards are stacked high with plates and mugs. Beyond the kitchen a corridor leads toward the communal shower rooms and the staircase that climbs up to the dormitories in case the weather turns bad. The whole place is completely empty.
“No one here,” I say.
“Good,” Freya replies. “Less witnesses to my terrible washing up singing.”
We dump the crates beside the sink. She rolls her sleeves up immediately and fills the basin with hot water.
“You wash,” she says. “I’ll dry.”
“Yes ma’am.”
For a while the only sounds in the kitchen are the tap running and the clink of plates. Sunlight spills through the windows, catching in her hair as she dries each dish with a tea towel. I watch her longer than I should. She notices, obviously.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up.
“Sorry.. I err.”
Then she reaches across me to grab another mug. Her hip bumps mine. Neither of us moves away.
“Rory,” she says quietly.
“Yeah.”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Looking at me like you’re thinking something inappropriate.”
Well. She’s not wrong. We stand close, way too close, staring at each other for a beat. Her icy blue eyes bore into mine and her mouth parts slightly as her tongue darts across her bottom lip. My hand slides to the small of her back before I can stop it. It isn’t a decision I consciously make. It’s instinct. The kind that takes over when you’ve been standing too close to someone for too long while pretending you’re not aware of every inch of space between you. Freya inhales sharply. The sound is small, but it instantly makes my dick twitch. She turns, her body shifting so she’s facing me fully. She’s close enough now that I can see everything. The faint flush in her cheeks from the walk up the hill. The loose strands of hair that have escaped from the knot at the back of her head and fallen around her face. The way her lips part slightly when she breathes in like she already knows exactly what I’m about to do.
Fuck.She’s beautiful.Not in the obvious, polished way that people mean when they say that word. There’s something softer about Freya than that. Familiar in a way that sinks straight into your bones because you’ve known the shape of her face and the sound of her laugh for most of your life.And right now she’s looking at me like she knows exactly what I’m thinking and hasn’t decided to stop me.
My free hand lifts before I have the sense to talk myself out of it. I drag my knuckles slowly up along the line of her jaw. Freya’s eyes close briefly. Just for a second. But it’s enough to almost finish me entirely. My fingers slide down to the side of her neck, curling slightly into the hair at the nape. A faint shiver runs through her body when my thumb brushes the edge of her jaw. And that’s the moment something in me snaps. Because I have been thinking about kissing her for far too long. I’m already leaning toward her before my brain catches up. And then I kiss her. It isn’t careful. It isn’t slow. It’s the kind of kiss that happens when two people have spent too long pretending they don’t want it. Her mouth opens against mine immediately. Like she was expecting it. Like she was waiting for it. Her hands come up and grab the front of my shirt, fingers fisting the fabric hard enough that it pulls me closer against her, and the moment our bodies meet properly something hot and electric shoots straight through me.
Jesus.She tastes like coffee and sugar and warmth.
My brain stops doing anything useful and my cock immediately grows in my jeans.
Her fingers slide into my hair, gripping the back of my head as she kisses me back with the same intensity that’s been simmering between us for weeks.
My hand tightens at the back of her neck, holding her there as I deepen the kiss, my thumb brushing slowly along the line of her jaw while her breath catches softly against my mouth.
My tongue swipes across hers, exploring every space in her mouth. Every nerve in my body seems to wake up at once. The warmth of her. The way she presses closer instead of pulling away. The quiet moaning sounds she makes when I pull her fully against me.
