18. Henry

18

Henry

T he walk back to the kitchen was silent, save for the occasional rustle of my phone in my pocket. I needed Jensen out of my house. I had security for a reason, and they knew how to handle things discreetly.

When we reached the kitchen, Freya went straight to the pantry and pulled out a first aid kit.

"How'd you find this?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

"When you have nothing to do, you explore," she replied without looking up.

"No." I shook my head. "Someone else would have gone shopping or been on social media."

"Is that what you want from me?" She turned to face me, eyes sharp, challenging.

I watched her take the kit to the island and sit on a stool. Her expression softened as she opened the kit and looked up at me with an expectant gaze.

"Can I have your hand?" she asked, voice steady.

I handed her my hands, letting them rest in her small, steady grip. My knuckles were raw and bloody from the earlier fight, the skin torn and bruised. Freya's touch was gentle, yet there was an unspoken tension between us.

"I don't understand why you did that," she muttered, beginning to clean the wounds.

The sting of the Neosporin hit my knuckles, and I clenched my teeth, glaring at her. She smirked, a hint of satisfaction dancing in her eyes. She'd done it on purpose.

"You're my wife," I said through gritted teeth. "Why can't you understand that?"

"Because it doesn't make sense," she replied, dabbing at the cuts with a cotton swab. "You claimed me, sure, but we've been engaged our whole lives. Why the change?"

"Who said anything about changing?" I watched her work, her movements methodical and precise.

"Oh, come on, Henry," she scoffed. "We've barely spoken until... until now."

I pressed my lips together, suppressing a sigh. "There was no need," I said finally. "But that doesn't change how I feel about you."

"And what's that?" Freya asked, looking up at me with those piercing eyes.

"You're mine."

"So... a possession?" She sneered.

"A wife," I corrected her.

"Does that mean I get to possess you?" she asked, her voice sharp as she finished wrapping my fingers.

"It doesn't work like that." I tried to keep my tone steady, but the tension crackled between us.

"Why not?" She focused on the bandage, her fingers deftly tying it off. "I know you got Dan to break up with me. Could I have done the same thing to Rebecca? To whoever you were sleeping with?"

"Dan isn't allowed to touch what's mine," I growled, my jaw tightening.

"Well, neither does Rebecca," she shot back, fire lighting her eyes. The heat of her fury matched my own.

I looked away, feeling a stir in my gut that I didn't want to acknowledge.

"Why would you want to possess me?" I muttered, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. "I thought you hated me."

"I do." She held my gaze steady. "But that doesn't mean you don't belong to me."

She finished bandaging my fingers and leaned back, inspecting her work as if it mattered more than our words.

"Do you have any practice or game or anything?" she asked.

"Tomorrow," I replied. "Morning skate."

"And if I tell you to sit out?" Her tone was challenging, daring me to respond. "Especially if it'd add damage?"

A smirk curled at the corners of my mouth as I reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'd tell you you're cute for thinking you could order me to do anything."

"I thought I was your wife?" She arched a brow, feigning innocence.

"You are," I said firmly. "But I lead. That's how it's always been in my family."

Freya crossed her arms, lips pressed together in annoyance. "Well, I've always been ignored. I'm assuming you'll be doing the same." With a scoff, she stood up as if dismissing the conversation.

I grabbed her wrist before she could walk away. Her gaze dropped to where my fingers encircled her wrist, surprise flickering across her face.

"My grandfather…" I paused, not even sure what I wanted to tell her or why I felt the need to reassure her in the first place. "My grandmother died when I was young. Too young to remember."

"I'm sorry," Freya murmured, and I believed the sincerity in her voice. She looked at me, her eyes softening just a fraction. "But that doesn't mean you have a right to treat me like… like I'm a trophy or something. You just left, Henry. Tonight, I mean. You left. You can't do that, even when we fight. It's like… it's like you're running away because you don't want to deal with…" She clenched her teeth. "Where did you go?"

I didn't like being questioned. "You don't get to?—"

"Fine." Freya pulled her wrist from my grip, fire igniting in her eyes. "Then I'm leaving too. And I don't have to tell you anything."

"Don't even think about it," I snapped, standing up and towering over her. She was so petite but stood there with defiance radiating from her.

I wanted her.

Fuck, I wanted her.

"Do I have to remind you all the ways you belong to me?" I asked, voice low and dangerous. "How your body responds to me? How easy it is to just… get such responses from you?"

Her cheeks heated up, but she didn't back down. There was something intoxicating about that fire in her eyes.

"Or maybe I'll remind you that you belong to me," she said, surprising me with the intensity of her words.

For a moment, we stood there in a silent standoff, both of us breathing heavily. The air between us crackled with tension and unspoken emotions.

"Let's play a game," she said, a challenge lighting up her eyes. "If I win, I get you in whatever way I want."

"And if I win?" I asked, leaning in slightly, curiosity piqued.

"I'll marry you right now," she replied. "Or… whenever you want. I won't complain. I'll even find a dress."

My eyes flared with heat at her boldness. "What's the game?"

"Something we both know," she said, a hint of mischief dancing in her gaze. "Poker."

"You know how to play poker?" I raised an eyebrow.

"My grandfather taught me when I was young," she said with a soft smile. "Back before… well, before he died."

Her words made me soften for a moment. I'd had a close relationship with my grandfather too, though he'd been more of a stern mentor than a gentle teacher.

"Unless you're scared," she added, arching a brow.

"Are you trying to goad me, Mrs. Mathers?" I asked, the sound of her married name causing an unexpected rush of desire. My cock stiffened at the sound.

"That's Miss Henderson," she snapped back. "Well? Do we have a wager?"

I smirked, enjoying the fire in her eyes. "I'll get the deck of cards," I said, rising from my seat. "You take the time to browse through the dresses."

"Big talk," she said, crossing her arms and leaning back with confidence. "Let's see if you can back it up."

I turned and walked towards the study where we kept an old deck of cards in the drawer of my desk. My thoughts swirled with the unexpected turn our conversation had taken. Freya had always been unpredictable, but this was something new altogether.

The sound of my footsteps echoed through the mansion as I made my way to the west wing library. I needed to ensure that Jensen had been dealt with. My fists still ached from the beating I gave him, but that pain was nothing compared to the rage simmering inside me.

When I reached the library, it was eerily silent. The heavy oak doors creaked as I pushed them open, revealing an immaculate room. Shelves lined with ancient tomes, polished wooden tables, and leather-bound chairs—all untouched. It was as if nothing had happened here just hours ago.

Anger flared through me like wildfire. Jensen had dared to try something so audacious under my roof. The thought of it made my blood boil, but I forced myself to push it aside. Not now. Not when Freya was waiting back in the kitchen with her ridiculous poker challenge.

I scanned the room again, looking for any sign of the earlier chaos. Nothing. My security team had done their job well, too well perhaps. There wasn't even a hint of blood on the Persian rug where I'd left Jensen crumpled and broken.

I clenched my fists, feeling the bandages Freya had so carefully wrapped around them tighten against my skin. Jensen had crossed a line, and he would pay for it—just not right now.

Turning on my heel, I left the library and headed back towards the kitchen. My thoughts were a tangled mess of anger and frustration, but also something else—something unsettlingly close to admiration for Freya's unexpected boldness.

As I walked back through the corridors, my mind kept drifting back to her challenge. Poker? It seemed almost absurd given everything that had happened tonight. But there was something about her fire, her defiance, that made me want to see this through.

I reached the kitchen door and paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady myself. Then I pushed it open and stepped inside, ready to face whatever game she had in mind.

Freya looked up from where she was sitting at the island. I showed her the deck of cards, and her eyes met mine with that same challenging glint.

"Got your deck?" she asked casually, as if this were just another night.

"Let's play," I replied, walking over and taking a seat opposite her.

I set the cards down on the island and began shuffling them expertly. Her eyes followed my movements with interest and determination.

"You sure you're ready for this?" I asked, dealing out the cards.

She met my gaze without hesitation. "More than ready."

Freya looked me dead in the eye, her expression serious. "Three games. Best two out of three. Five-card draw."

I nodded, my mind already calculating strategies. "Deal."

I shuffled the cards one last time and dealt five to each of us. The tension between us was almost tangible, but I forced myself to focus on the game. Freya picked up her cards and studied them, her face a perfect mask of concentration.

We both discarded two cards and drew replacements from the deck. Freya's eyes flicked up to meet mine, challenging me silently. I looked at my hand: a pair of sevens and an ace. Not great, but not terrible either.

"Ready?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Always," I replied, smirking.

We laid our cards on the table simultaneously. Freya had three eights.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath.

Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she scooped up the cards and started shuffling for the next game. "One down," she said, almost teasingly.

I leaned back in my chair, watching her nimble fingers work through the deck. She was better than I expected, but that just made this more interesting. If she thought she'd won already, she had another thing coming.

The next round began with the same intensity. I drew three cards this time and ended up with a straight—five through nine. Better.

Freya discarded one card and drew another, her expression unreadable. We laid our hands on the table again. This time, my straight beat her two pair.

"One-one," I said, feeling a sense of satisfaction as I collected the cards.

Freya’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept her composure. She shuffled with practiced ease before dealing the final hand. The room felt electric; every sound seemed amplified—the shuffle of cards, our breathing, even the ticking of a distant clock.

I drew two cards and ended up with three queens. Solid hand.

Freya drew three cards this time, her face still giving nothing away. When we laid down our hands, I felt a surge of triumph seeing my queens against her pair of jacks.

"Looks like you owe me that dress," I said, leaning forward slightly.

Freya's lips curled into a smile that was half annoyance, half amusement. "Or we could make this more interesting."

I met her gaze and saw the fire still burning there, and I knew this was far from over.

"How about strip poker?" she suggested, her voice low and challenging.

I stared at her, momentarily taken aback by the boldness of her proposal. My mind raced, trying to process the implications.

"And what's to stop me from taking what I've already won?" I asked, my voice hardening. "The secret to gambling is knowing when to quit."

Freya didn't flinch. Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, revealing the lacy black bra beneath. She tossed the shirt onto the floor; her gaze never leaving mine.

"For good faith," she said simply.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from her torso, from the curves that seemed to beckon me closer. I wanted to get my hands on her, to map out every inch of her skin, to memorize and taste each curve and hollow.

"No more add-ons," I said firmly, my voice rough with desire. "Once I win this round, that's it. You marry me."

"I'll marry you," she replied, her eyes sparkling with defiance. "If you win. But if I win? I get to do whatever I want with you."

I narrowed my eyes at her, trying to read the depths of her intentions. "What do you want with me?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

She smirked, leaning back in her chair with an air of confidence that only fueled my need to conquer her. "Deal the cards," she murmured.

I took a deep breath and began shuffling the deck, my fingers moving automatically through the familiar motions. The tension between us was almost unbearable as I dealt out the cards for what could be our final game.

Freya picked up her hand and studied it intently, her expression unreadable once again. I focused on my own cards, trying to keep my mind clear and strategic despite the distracting sight of Freya sitting there in just her bra.

The game progressed in silence, each move calculated and deliberate. As we discarded and drew new cards, the stakes felt higher than ever before. This wasn't just about winning a game; it was about claiming each other in a way that went beyond any contract or ceremony.

When it came time to reveal our hands, I laid mine down with a sense of finality: a full house—kings over sevens.

Freya's eyes flickered as she revealed her hand—a flush.

"Looks like I've got you," she said softly, a triumphant smile playing on her lips.

I felt a strange mix of frustration and admiration as I looked at her across the table. Freya had won this round, but something told me our game was far from over.

"One down," she said with a smirk. "Now… strip."