Page 70 of Too Far

I sink into his arms and smile, extra grateful for his embrace.

“How long has this been happening?” Kylian questions, examining the two devices in front of him as his dad peers over his shoulder.

“Well, uh, a couple of weeks? Right, honey?”

Mrs. Walsh looks up from the sink. “At least,” she offers. Then, to me, she murmurs, “He doesn’t like bothering Kylian to ask for help with these things.”

“Fixed.”

“What? How—”

“If it happens again, let me know immediately,” Kylian states, standing from the table and handing the devices back to his dad.

“How long until dinner?” he asks his mom.

The table is set, and she keeps insisting she doesn’t need help. The house smells amazing—savory and homey, like she’s been cooking all day. I’ve already decided Kylian and I will do the dishes. It’s the least we can do.

“Another fifteen or twenty minutes. Why?”

“I want to show Jo something upstairs. We’ll be down in twenty.”

He grabs my hand and marches out of the kitchen, around the corner, and up the stairs.

He doesn’t look back and he doesn’t slow until we reach the end of the hallway. Even then, he only pauses to turn the handle, push through a door, pull me into the room. Then he closes and locks that door behind us.

“What’s gotten into you?” I laugh, breathless from scurrying up the stairs.

In answer, he pins me against the door and kisses me.

Hard. Fast. Deep.

It’s an urgent kiss—one meant to banish doubt and soothe anxiety.

One I so deeply appreciate. One I’m happy to return in earnest.

Gripping my waist, he pulls me closer, teasing my mouth with his tongue and nipping at my bottom lip.

He shuffles backward, and I follow him willingly.

I’ll follow him anywhere. I’ll follow him always.

When he stops, he bends at the knees and crashes into a seated position, taking me with him, his hands on my ass, grinding my hips against his.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” I tease, shifting in his lap as he grazes both hands up my back under my sweater.

Without answering, he unfastens my bra, then leans back on his elbows.

“Did I say I wanted to show you something?” he asks. His gaze is hot, intense, and predatory, but there’s a hint of mischief in his tone. More and more, that humor appears, and every time, I want to stop and savor it. “I meant I needed you to show me something.”

My heart rate spikes, but now is not the time or the place.

“Kylian,” I hedge.

“Jo.”

He flips me until I’m flat on my back on a buoyant surface, practically floating.

“What is this?” I crane my neck and take in our surroundings.