Chapter 23 Degrees of Freedom （Kieran）
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 she whispered 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.
The way she gave herself to me without hesitation, without the armor she usually hides behind.
There were moments—soft ones—where she curled against my chest and traced the line of my collarbone with her fingertips while telling me about her lab, or her aunt’s obsession with her cousin’s extracurriculars, or how she never buys perfume because she dislikes strong scents and how her cousin fills her aunt’s apartment with a trendy body spray.
She laughed into my skin and affectionately kissed my jaw.
She let me hold her like this wasn’t temporary.
And I did hold her.
I didn’t want to stop.
Not once.
Which is why the guilt creeps in now, quiet and sharp, threading itself between every sweet memory of her mouth and her breath and her tiny sounds.
The bet.
The fucking bet.
She has no idea.
She has no idea she spent a weekend with a guy who started chasing her for all the wrong reasons.
She has no idea she let me close before she knew the whole truth.
She has no idea I said yes to something stupid in a room full of idiots before I knew her voice, her laugh, the way her body fits along mine, the way she looks at me like I’m not just Liam O’Connor’s younger brother or BU’s golden boy, but a real person.
She has no idea she trusted someone who doesn’t deserve it.
I slide into the driver’s seat and watch her settle in, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, adjusting her seatbelt, pulling her hoodie around her like she’s cold. She glances at me for a second—barely a heartbeat—but something warm flickers there. Soft. Open. Real.
And it hits me hard enough to make my fingers tighten on the steering wheel.
If she ever finds out this started as a bet, I’ll lose her.
Not because she’ll be humiliated.
Not because she’ll be angry.
Because it will break something in her. Something I’m already terrified of hurting.
She deserves better than the guy I was when this started.
She deserves the guy sitting in this car right now—the one who knows exactly what he’s risking. The one who knows she wouldn’t look at him this way if she knew the truth.
The guy who didn’t want to leave that bed at all, because for the first time in longer than I can admit, being close to someone felt like coming up for air.
I know that reaching for her again means stealing that air from her later.
“Kieran?” she asks softly.
I blink. “Yeah?”
“You’re staring.”
“Just thinking,” I say.
She studies me, head tilted, eyes narrowed like she’s trying to solve an equation. “About what?”
I lie without blinking. “Whether we should pick up real food before we get home.”
She nods right away. No suspicion. No hesitation. Just trust, easy and unguarded, like she’s already standing on my side of the storm.
And that’s the part that guts me.
The trust.
The calm.
The way she sinks into the seat and closes her eyes, feeling safe.
I start the car, guilt burning low and slow in my chest.
I know, if I want to keep her, if I want this to be something real, not a weekend built on a stupid dare, I’m going to have to tell her the truth.
Because she wouldn’t touch me like this if she knew.
I’ll tell her.
Eventually.
But not today.
Today, all I want is the sound of her breath beside me and the last scraps of the world we left inside that cabin. Today, I want just a little more of her.
The highway stretches wide ahead of us, traffic thick and slow, forcing us into pockets of stillness between pockets of movement. She tucks her knees up, wraps her hoodie tighter around herself, and glances over.
“I don’t want to go back,” I say.
It slips out before I can control it.
Her expression softens—barely, but I catch it. “Me neither.” A small smile curves her mouth. “I’ve had a really great time this weekend, Starboy. Now I get what the hype is all about.”
“The hype?” I raise a brow. “About sex?”
She laughs, low and warm. “About you. Also about sex.”
I bite back a grin and focus on the road. It’s too much—the pull in my chest, the heat in my stomach, the way her voice goes all soft around me. I shouldn’t want more. I know this isn’t casual for her.
I do anyway.
When I take a quiet exit that doesn’t lead back to campus, she lifts her head.
“Where are we going?”
“Quick detour,” I say.
“You need a bathroom? Because I don’t think there are any—”
“That’s not what I need.”
I reach across the console and take her hand, lifting it, threading my fingers with hers for half a second before guiding it down to my lap.
Her breath catches.
“Still sore,” I murmur. “Still tired.” I turn my head and catch her eyes. “But not too tired for another round. You up for it?”
For half a beat, she freezes, eyes widening just slightly. Then it hits—the spark I’ve already learned to recognize: the flare in her pupils, the soft parting of her lips, the faint pink rising at her cheeks. Her pulse stutters in her throat; I can see it from here.
That look. Hungry. Curious. Completely unafraid.
Yeah. She’s game.
The side road is empty. I pull onto the shoulder and shove the gearshift into park.
She wets her lips. “You took an exit for this?”
“I took an exit because I want you,” I say quietly. “And because I’m not ready for today to be done yet.”
Her eyes flash with hunger as she leans over and pulls down my zipper, reaching for my cock through the slit in my briefs.
She wraps her fingers around me, watching it twitch with wide eyes.
She runs her fingers up my head, knocking the air out of me, and I fall back on the headrest with an audible sigh.
“Kieran,” she whispers, and I swear my heart trips over itself. The engine rumbles as she works my shaft, flicking her wrist, her palm moving over the tip.
Maybe she will come home with me tonight.
“Rules.” I can barely breathe. “Why don’t you come sit on my lap for a while?”
She smirks, leaning over the console. “Not yet, Starboy.”
Then her head is in my lap. Holding my dick in her hand, she licks the tip, swirling her tongue.
“Fuuuuck—”
“I watched a few movies.” She smirks, sucking my head into her mouth before she begins bobbing up and down. She licks me again and again, savoring me.
I brush her hair back and gather it in my hand so I can watch her suck me, her cheeks hollowing in a maddening rhythm. My hips jerk, my balls contracting.
“If you want to ride me,” I manage through gritted teeth, somehow managing to hold my orgasm at bay, “you better get to it now. Because I’m a few measly pumps away from coming into that pretty mouth of yours.”
She gently lifts her head and looks at me. Next thing I know, she’s climbing into my lap, her knees straddling me. In a frenzy, we manage to yank down her leggings and panties.
When I slide a hand between her thighs, I suck in a breath, feeling how wet she is. “Aww, baby.” I circle my finger around her clit, the way I know drives her mad. “Sucking my dick turns you on?”
She nods, as I pull out a condom from my pocket and sheathe myself with a flick of my wrist. I slide my other hand inside her sweatshirt, pressing my thumb against her nipple.
“Get on my dick, sweetheart,” I growl. “Now.”
A breath stutters as she grabs me and lines me at her entrance, slowly sinking onto my length. Her eyes are open and glistening.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little,” she manages as she starts circling her hips.
“If it’s too much—”
“Quiet,” she whispers, licking my lip and putting a hand over my mouth. “Let me fuck you the way I want to.”
Her pussy grips me, and she holds my gaze the whole time, her hand sliding to my face.
“Baby,” I rasp, so deep inside her I can barely think. She circles her hips in slow, deliberate rolls, taking me deeper each time, the whole car shifting with her rhythm. My hands lock around her waist, guiding her, holding her, my thumb finding the spot that unravels her.
Her breath breaks.
Her body tightens.
A shiver runs through her so strong I feel it everywhere.
“Oh my God, Starboy—Kieran—Kieran—”
She falls forward against me, boneless and warm, and I thrust up into her once, twice, and then everything inside me detonates. I pull her in tight as the aftershocks roll through both of us.
For a while, we just breathe. The windows are fogged. The air is thick and sweet. Our heartbeats tap against each other, slowly syncing.
When she finally lifts her head, the late sun cuts across her face, turning her hazel eyes a soft moss green, almost translucent. She looks open. Unarmored. Beautiful in a way that makes my chest hurt.
She settles back against me, breath slowing, fingers absently tracing the seam of my hoodie. The quiet stretches—comfortable, earned.
Outside, the sky has shifted—sun slipping low, tinting everything gold, like the universe wants to apologize for what’s coming.
Wren brushes a kiss against my jaw, soft as breath. Then she reaches for her leggings, her hoodie, her hair tie, moving with that quiet certainty that makes my chest ache.
She trusts me. God help me. She actually trusts me.
And for a moment, sitting there in the driver’s seat with her warmth still pressed into my skin, I let myself believe I can hold onto this.
Then my phone buzzes in the cupholder.
A name flashes on the screen.
Not anyone she knows.
A reminder of the version of me she hasn’t met yet.
Wren glances at the sound but doesn’t ask questions. Of course she doesn’t. She just offers me a small, sleepy smile as she pulls her hoodie over her head.
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I lie.
Because I know what the next chapter of our lives looks like.
Classes. Teammates. Crowded hallways.
The bet shadowing every step she takes.
I grip the steering wheel until the leather bites into my palms.
I’ve never been more certain of someone. And never more terrified of what I’m about to lose.
“Let’s go home, Starboy,” she says.
I put the car in drive, knowing home is exactly where everything is about to get complicated.