The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

Her body clenched hard, clenched even harder when he pressed a finger deep, filling her. He massaged her with lazy swirls of his thumb, and she started trembling. He licked her tortured nipple back into the heat of his mouth, and that was all it took. She climbed quick and sharp toward release.

And it scared the hell out of her.

She clawed at his wrist. “Stop, stop, I’m not ready.”

As he pulled away, she dug her heels into the mattress, propelling herself to the far side of the bed. She hugged a pillow to her chest to hide her nakedness. Its coolness helped to dampen her arousal, and she took deep breaths. The impending orgasm retreated.

Michael’s face was a mask of slack-jawed incomprehension as he considered her. Her cheeks burned, and shame weighed down on her chest. She had to be the worst client he’d ever had. When he lifted a hand, panic spiked and she backed up farther.

He dropped his hand. “Stella, calm down, I won’t . . . touch you. Not if you don’t want it.”

She clutched at the pillow. “I know. I’m sorry. I just . . .”

“What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing.”

His eyebrows rose in patent disbelief.

“I’ve never orgasmed with another person,” she confessed.

He parted his lips, shook his head, started to speak, shook his head again. “Does that mean you’ve never . . . at all?”

Her face burned so hot, if she had been wearing her glasses they would have fogged up. “I have. By myself.”

“You don’t like it?” he asked in bewilderment.

“No, I do.” She exhaled a tight breath and sifted through her thoughts, trying to structure a coherent explanation. “I just feel safer experiencing that alone. And I’ve had sex before—very bad sex. I spent the time watching as the men grunted and sweated and heaved over me. To be honest, it disgusted me. I wanted the sex to bring me closer to someone, but it only made me feel more distanced. I don’t want to do that to you.”

“Not even close. I was right there with you, loving it.”

She made an exasperated sound. “I’m paying you to say those things. Well, you think that’s what I’m paying for. That’s not what I want.”

“Do I look like I’m disgusted by you?” He waved a hand in the vicinity of his hips, where an impressive bulge strained at the fly of his pants.

She pursed her lips as she kept silent. If she spoke right now, chances were high she’d say The Wrong Thing. He was a seasoned escort. His body probably took commands like a show dolphin.

“You think I’m a liar.” A predatory light shone in his eyes, and he crawled over the wrinkled bedcovers toward her.

She backed up reflexively.

And fell off the bed.

As she rubbed at her head, he peered at her over the side of the mattress. “Are you okay?”

Her throat clogged with embarrassment, and all she could manage was a curt “Fine.”

He assessed her ungraceful, ground-crumpled form for a long moment. “I think we should call it a night.”

She leaned against the wall and hugged her legs to her chest. The unchecked boxes of the lesson plan weighed on her, but she needed to understand and untangle all the emotions clashing inside her head before she could move forward. “Do you mind?”

He shook his head. Without a word, he stood, pulled his shirt back on, and did the buttons. She swallowed a protest as he covered up skin and muscle she’d been too preoccupied and rattled to properly appreciate.

After he put on his shoes and shrugged into his suit jacket, she remembered something, jumped to her feet, and retrieved her tablet from her purse. “One second.” It was difficult to cue up the page while one of her arms still held the pillow to her front, but she eventually managed and handed him the tablet.

“What’s this?”

“Could you sign up for an alternate phone number, please? I think it’s a good idea to be able to contact each other during the week if we need to. For logistical reasons.” In case he wanted to cancel things. “I spoke to customer support at the agency and suggested they develop some kind of anonymous texting program, but in the meantime . . .”