The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)
Stella couldn’t help being impressed. “That’s really determined.”
“That’s nothing. You don’t know my mom.”
She forced a smile and focused on the menu. What did it say about her that she wanted to know his mom? No, wait, she knew the answer to that. It said she was nuts. Mothers were scary she-
bears when it came to their sons, especially sons like Michael.
And Stella wasn’t a doctor.
Enough of this. She wasn’t dating Michael. It didn’t matter what his mother thought of her. Stella was never going to meet the woman. She needed to get back to the matter at hand.
“Let’s discuss my lessons,” she said briskly.
“That’s a good idea.” Michael leaned back in his chair, looking at ease.
Stella tried to copy his relaxed air as she retrieved three folded sheets of paper from her purse. “Because we’re pressed for time, I took the liberty of drawing up lesson plans. They’re not set in stone. In fact, please suggest changes where you see fit. I have no idea if what I’ve written is feasible, but it helps me to keep things structured. I don’t deal well with surprises.”
Michael’s expression went unreadable. “Lesson plans.”
“Exactly.” She pushed the salt and pepper shakers and candle aside. After placing her papers in the middle of the table, she smoothed the creases out with her fingertips and pointed at the first sheet, which was labeled Lesson One. “I put boxes next to each item so we can check things off as we go.”
Eyes on the paper, he opened his mouth to speak, caught his breath, and tapped a finger to his lips. “Give me a moment.”
LESSON ONE
? Hand Job Lecture and Demonstration
? Hand Job Practice
? Performance Review
? Missionary Intercourse Lecture and Demonstration
? Missionary Intercourse Practice
? Performance Review
Michael read and reread the clinical lesson plan, and surprise melted into amusement, which then dissipated as frustration crept over his back and up his neck. He curled his fingers and restrained the sudden urge to crumple Stella’s papers into ugly balls. Irritated. He was irritated. Fuck if he knew why.
With words like lecture and demonstration involved, he should be getting off on this. It was exactly like having the teacher role in Hot for Teacher—except there was no “hot for” part.
“Who’s going to check the boxes? You or me?”
“I can if you don’t want to,” she offered with a helpful smile.
A picture of her pausing in the middle of sex to put her glasses on and scribble notes on a legal pad flashed in Michael’s head. Like he was a sexbot or a fucking science experiment.
“I notice there’s no kissing,” he said.
“I was under the impression we’d moved beyond that.”
His eyebrows twitched. “How’s that?”
“You said I’d picked it up, so it’s best not to waste time on it. Kissing you makes it hard for me to think, and I really want to get this right. Beyond that, it feels like something people do when they’re dating—which we’re not. I want things to stay clear and professional between us.” She took a prim sip of ice water and set the glass down, leaving a sheen of moisture on her pink lips—lips he wasn’t allowed to kiss.
Her kisses weren’t for him anymore. He was supposed to fuck her and let her jerk him off, but she was saving those soft lips for someone else. The thought made him almost violent, and he shoved his feelings down deep.
“You’ve watched Pretty Woman too many times. Kissing doesn’t mean anything, and it’s always best if you’re not thinking too much in bed. Trust me,” he said.