His words combined with the sound of him fucking me tip me over the edge. A thick, tight knot of pleasure uncurls below my bellybutton. “Yes.” I tug at his hair roughly. “Yes, yes, yes.”
I scream, shattering around him as white hot lightning rips through me in waves. He roars, his thrusts turning more forceful, his own release barreling toward him. “Motherfucker—” He twitches inside me, and then he’s coming, his body shuddering above mine.
He collapses beside me, pulling me into his arms, his heart hammering against my chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, hisbreath evening out.
“You are amazing,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
I smile, my body still buzzing, my mind reeling. The cabin is quiet around us, the only sound the rustle of the sheets, the steady rhythm of our breathing.
His hand brushes my hair back, his thumb grazing my cheek. “What now?” I ask, my voice soft.
His blue eyes met mine, a promise in their depths. “Now?” His thumb grazes my cheek. “Now you are mine.”
23
DEGREES OF FREEDOM (KIERAN)
By the time Monday fades into afternoon, the spell breaks.
Not all at once. It unravels in warm, lazy pieces: the soft thud of her water bottle closing, the rustle of her hair as she ties it up, the quiet way she starts gathering her books—the reality of Presidents Day weekend coming to an end.
We barely left the bed.
The whole Sunday blurred—sheets tangled, heat everywhere, her quiet sounds against my throat, my shoulder, my mouth. We tried to get up for food once or twice; we never made it farther than the edge of the bed. The pizza went cold on the counter while she tugged me back down, fingers skating over my spine, shifting under me with this slow, deliberate confidence that kept wiping my mind clean.
The girl who walked into this cabin on Friday wasn’t the woman I held all weekend. This version of her moved without hesitation, trusting me with every breath, every touch. Open. Certain. Absolutely wrecking me in ways I didn’t understand yet. She caught on fast. Every sound she made, every way she pulled me closer, every time shewhispered what she wanted—it went straight to my head. She met me with this precision that wasn’t practiced, just instinctive. Curious. Hungry. Completely without fear.
And every time she let go in my arms, something in my chest went tight.
Now it’s time to head back, and the world outside the cabin has the audacity to still exist.
I’m hauling our bags to the car while she locks up. My muscles ache in places I didn’t know could ache. She walks down the path with her hair in a loose braid, looking like she spent the weekend rewriting my nervous system.
“You know,” I say, opening the trunk, “I think you’ve given me a good workout this weekend.”
She pauses next to me, one brow lifting. “You say that like it’s a complaint.”
“Oh, it’s a brag.” I grin. “I didn’t know you’d be so…athletic.”
She snorts, the corner of her mouth lifting. “I was a karate champion, you know.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to finish me.” I press a hand to my lower back in mock injury. “We’re stopping for Tylenol on the way. Maybe ice packs.”
“Fine,” she says, but her smile betrays her. “Should I text your coach for you?”
“Be gentle with me, Marin.”
“That’s not what you said earlier.”
Jesus Christ. I almost drop her backpack.
She doesn’t even blink, just walks to the passenger side and waits.
That’s what kills me.
The quiet confidence.
The trust.
