Page 71 of Too Far

“This is my childhood bedroom.”

My stomach tumbles at the notion of being in this space. Predictably, every item in the room is classic Kylian. The walls are painted a navy so deep it’s almost black. One is covered in schematics and diagrams of electronics. A small computer is set up at a clean desk. The double bed is pushed against the opposite wall.

The entire space smells like him: citrus and eucalyptus, with maybe a hint of spice that makes me think of the body spray teenage boys are so fond of.

The ceiling is painted a soothing Caribbean blue: The color of the sky. The color of his eyes.

But the most remarkable feature is whatever the hell is below me that makes me feel weightless, like I’m floating, or maybe flying.

“I can see we’re in your room. But what am I laying on?” Kylian is looming above me, his thumb tracing his lower lip as he surveys me.

“It’s a zero-gravity beanbag that I modified to my liking.”

The hunger in his expression is so visceral I can’t help but play along.

“This is to your liking?” I give him a coy smile as I slip my bra off one arm, then the other, without taking off my shirt.

“Or is this the modification you had in mind?” I peel my shirt off and gently set it on the floor so it won’t wrinkle before dinner.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, bringing a fist to his mouth. “My sixteen-year-old self would have busted a nut if he knew the girl of his dreams would one day be spread out on the beanbag chair in his bedroom.”

I squirm, giggling each time I reposition and it molds to me. It’s the strangest sensation—or lack of sensation, I guess.

“Girl of your dreams, huh?” I run my knuckles over my breasts, mewling when my nipples pebble on contact.

Kylian sinks to his knees, which causes the beanbag to ripple like an ocean wave. He grips the hem of my leggings, fucking smoldering as he fixates on me. If the man knew he could smolder, he’d scoff, I’m sure, but damn, is it hot. “Girl of my dreams. Woman of my every desire. Beat of my fucking heart.”

He pulls off my pants with a flourish, giving me no time at all to protest. Making out on the beanbag chair sans shirt is one thing, but lying completely naked in the middle of his bedroom with his parents one floor below us is another.

“Kylian,” I hiss. “We’re here for dinner.”

“We are. I’ll take my appetizer now.”

I stifle a laugh as he kisses one of my bare hips. A shudder rolls through me when he runs his tongue along my stomach and kisses the other.

I tweak my nipples again and welcome the arousal warming my core, no longer fighting him.

Kylian caresses my inner thighs. “That’s a good girl.” His praise encourages me to relax into his touch.

Stretching out, I savor the weightless support of the chair and the feel of his hands and his mouth on my body.

He kisses lower, lower, and lower still, but just as he makes it to the place I want him most, he freezes.

A rush of air leaves me, and I sag against the soft surface below me.

“I want to try something new. Trust me?”

A smile spreads across my face unbidden. “Always.”

“Roll to your side.”

He supports my hip as I follow his instruction, his palm warm and comforting.

“Now, scissor out your legs—just like that, perfect.” He guides my body until I’m positioned the way he wants me.

I shiver with anticipation, which he notices, of course.

“Cold?” he asks. Before I can answer, he adds, “You won’t be for long.” With a lift of both brows, he removes his glasses and lines his mouth up with my pussy.