“It’s not…”
“It is,” she cuts in. “You’ve done it since we were teenagers. You make a decision in your head and then you behave like the rest of us should simply catch up with it.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “Freya.”
“No, because I am not doing this again. I am not letting you decide that you kissing me was some tragic lapse of judgement that you have to nobly recover from.”
Something in my chest snaps. Like a rope that has been pulled tight for too long and finally gives. Because she’s still talking and the firelight is catching in her hair and she looks furious and beautiful and very much like the same girl I’ve been quietly wanting since we were both far too young to understand what that meant. And suddenly my brain stops trying to be sensible.
Fuck it. That’s the exact thought. Freya is mid sentence.
“…and quite frankly if you think you get to decide what I deserve without even asking me…”
I cross the space between us in two steps, grab her entire head in my palm and kiss her. Not gently. Not carefully. Just… decisively. Her words cut off against my mouth in a startled breath. For half a second there is nothing but the feeling of her freezing in surprise. Then her hands fist the front of my shirt and she kisses me back. Hard.Holy shit.The force of it pushes us both slightly off balance and my hands come up automatically to her waist, pulling her closer before my brain can even begin producing another warning about how catastrophically stupid this is.
Freya makes a small sound against my mouth that shoots straight to my dick. Right. That’s it. Any remaining intention of behaving like a responsible adult quietly leaves the building. Because she’s kissing me like she’s been just as frustrated all day and suddenly all the distance and restraint from the last twenty four hours collapses into something messy and immediate.
Her hands slide up into my hair, gripping slightly, and something low in my stomach tightens hard enough that I almost come on the spot.Again.Christ.
How long have I wanted this? Years. Literal years. Not that I’ve ever admitted that to anyone. Not even to myself most of the time. It’s always been easier to pretend it was nothing. A passing thought. A nostalgic crush from when we were teenagers that never quite left properly. Except right now, with Freya pressed against me and her mouth moving against mine like she’s not planning to let go anytime soon, it feels very obvious that none of that was true.
I back her up two steps without really thinking about it until the back of her legs hit the edge of the sofa. She laughs softly into the kiss, breathless, and then pulls me back down to her mouth again like she’s just as uninterested in stopping as I am.
My hands slide down to her hips. Her fingers tighten in my hair. For a second I break the kiss just long enough to look at her. Her lips are flushed. Her hair has completely escaped whatever knot it started in. Her eyes are darker than usual. And the look on her face does absolutely nothing to help my self control.
“You were saying something,” I murmur.
She gives me a look that is half annoyed, half something else entirely.
“Rory.”
“What.”
“You’re…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence because I kiss her again. This time slower. Deeper. She pulls me closer and my hands slide around her waist and suddenly we’re falling onto the sofa together in a way that is neither elegant nor particularly planned. Freya lets out a soft laugh that turns into a breath when I kiss her again. Her fingers curl into the front of my shirt as shepulls me down toward her and the sound she makes when I kiss her neck sends another sharp wave of heat straight through me.Fuck.I’ve imagined this before. More times than I would ever admit out loud. But the reality of it, the warmth of her, the way she moves closer instead of pulling away, the way she says my name is just… fuck.
My hand slides up her top on her soft, smooth skin. There’s nothing careful about this. Nothing polished or romantic. It’s messy and urgent and a little bit reckless. Exactly the sort of thing I spent the entire day trying to prevent. Which would probably feel like a failure if it didn’t also feel this fucking good.
At some point she laughs softly again, breathless against my shoulder.
“You are such a hypocrite.”
I grin against her neck. “Probably.”
“You spent all day avoiding me.”
“Yeah.”
“And now…”
I kiss her again before she can finish the sentence. Because if she keeps talking I might actually remember why I thought resisting this was a good idea.
“Still think it’s a mistake?” she murmurs against my mouth.
“Very much so,” I mutter.
“Good.”
