The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

He sucked on her bottom lip and laved the sensitized skin before taking her mouth again. The room began spinning, and she realized she’d forgotten to breathe.

Coming up for air, she said, “Oh my God, you taste good.”

For a moment, he stared at her mouth like she’d taken something that he wanted back. He blinked the expression away, and a gravelly chuckle escaped kiss-reddened lips she wanted to touch with her fingertips. “Do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?”

“Either that or I don’t talk.” No matter how she tried, she couldn’t overcome it. Her brain simply wasn’t wired for social sophistication.

“I like hearing what you’re thinking. Especially when I’m kissing you.” But instead of kissing her again, he stepped away and tugged on her hand. “Come on. I don’t want to bruise you on this counter.”

That was when she noticed the hard granite pressing into her back. As she let him lead her from the bathroom, she glanced at her hazy reflection in the mirror. She didn’t recognize that girl with the flushed cheeks and wild hair, could hardly believe she’d kissed a man and enjoyed it. Was it possible she’d be able to conquer what came next, as well?

{ CHAP+ER }

4

Michael rubbed his lips to hide a grin as Stella balanced on the very edge of the bed and folded her hands in her lap. If he kissed her right now, she’d fall to the floor. She was the kind of girl who got weak when she was hot. He fucking loved that. Every bit of effort it had taken to get past her guard had been worth it.

She’d been pretty before, but like this, she was almost too much. Freed from her tight bun, her hair framed her face in large ringlets. Arousal brightened her chocolate eyes, and her lips were swollen from his kisses. Gorgeous. He almost wished they were meeting again after tonight.

Instead of sitting next to her, he stretched out near the center of the king-sized bed, propped himself up on an elbow, and patted the area next to him. After a momentary hesitation, she crawled across the bed and lay down next to him, her body corpse-straight and her eyes staring ahead. Her pulse drummed under her jaw, and she stiffened like she was bracing herself for an attack.

That wouldn’t do.

“I’m going to kiss you again.” Because he sensed she needed to be forewarned, he added, “French kissing.”

“Okay.”

He leaned over her and kissed her, starting right back at the beginning with innocent brushes of their lips and teasing licks before taking her mouth once again. She really had no idea how to kiss, but it was entertaining feeling her learn. What she lacked in skill she made up for in pure enthusiasm.

She kissed him with untrained strokes of her tongue, following his mouth when he tried to pull back so he could dim the lights further. Experience told him she’d be much more comfortable with sex if the lights were low.

He tried to reach for the switch without breaking the kiss, but she buried her fingers in his hair. If there was one thing that drove Michael crazy—aside from BJs—it was having a woman play with his hair. Her nails scraped over his scalp with just the right pressure to send pleasure shooting down his spine, and he forgot about the light.

He ran his hand along the length of her body, cupped the curve of a small breast. Even through the layers of her shirt and bra, he could feel the firm ball of her nipple. He wanted to pinch it, love on it, but there was too much fabric in the way. He kissed her harder, and she arched into his body. If she hadn’t been wearing a pencil skirt, he would have spread her thighs. He’d bet everything she was wet for him.

Leaning back and pulling cool air into his lungs, he assessed his handiwork. She breathed through parted red lips that glistened, and her eyes were pure sex. She was ready for more.

He fingered the button at her collar and slipped it free.

It was like flipping a switch; the change was that dramatic. One moment, her body was loose and languorous. The next, she was tense as a stretched rubber band. The color bled from her face. Her expression went from sensual to downright scared. She dropped her hands to her sides and balled them into fists.

“Stella?”

She gulped down a ragged breath and started unbuttoning her shirt. “I’m sorry. Let me get them.” With uncoordinated fingers, she loosed one button, then another.

He covered her hands with his to halt her progress. “What are you doing?”

“Undressing.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you when you’re like this.” It was wrong. He’d never had sex with a woman who wasn’t one hundred percent into it, and he wasn’t going to start now.

She turned onto her side to face away from him, and her chest shook. Dammit, she was crying. He lowered his hands toward her before hesitating. Would his touch help her or make it worse? Fuck it. He had to do something. He couldn’t let her cry like this. Tears gutted him like nothing else. He wrapped himself around her. When she tried to shrink away, he held her tighter. What the hell? It had just been one button.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. What happened? Did someone . . . hurt you? Is that why you tensed up on me?” The thought of someone assaulting her sent a murderous rage through Michael’s brain, and adrenaline spiked, preparing him for a superb ass-kicking.

She dug her palms into her eyes. “No one hurt me. I’m just like this. Can you please continue and establish the baseline?”

“Stella, you’re trembling and crying.” He stroked tear-soaked tendrils away from her face.