The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

“Michael.” That breathy, needy voice was hers. She didn’t care. She rubbed her hungry flesh against his tongue, nearly sobbing when he took her back into his mouth.

He sucked

with perfect pressure, and she came apart with strong, wrenching convulsions. He rode out the orgasm with her, dragging out the pleasure with soothing flicks of his tongue. As the aftershocks spaced out, he pressed a parting kiss to her sex and rose over her to blanket her with his body. She buried her face against his chest, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than she’d ever been.

She’d let him do that to her. She’d made all those sounds, lost all control.

“You came on me like a porn star, Stella. I almost spilled in my jeans.”

“Did it take me too long? Was that a lot of . . . work?” It discomforted her that she’d been the only one to derive pleasure from that act. She much preferred to be on the giving side of things.

He laughed softly. “I drew it out on purpose, Stella. You were sexy as hell.” Peeling away from her, he sat back on his heels and extracted a small foil from his pocket. “Do you want to?”

She pushed herself up, and the bathrobe slipped off her shoulders. She stifled the reflex to cover her nudity but couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Her pulse was out of control. “Yes, I want to.” She took the foil from his hand and tore it open with shaky fingers.

He got down from the bed and unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. His muscles bunched and shifted, and the dragon tattoo winked at her as he stepped free of his pants with masculine grace. This was Michael in all of his naked glory. He was perfection. Even that part of him.

Oh God, especially that part of him. His erection stood at attention, thick and veined, in flawless proportion to the rest of his beautiful body. She’d just had the most intense orgasm of her life, but she wanted more. She wanted that. It made her mouth water, and she’d never given a man oral sex.

She couldn’t remember how to breathe as he kneeled on the bed and wrapped one of her hands around him. He was so hot, satiny soft, but rigid underneath. Want, want, want. In any way she could. In whatever way he liked.

“Stella, the look on your face.” His voice was hoarse, almost a groan. He guided her fist up and down his length, saying, “This is my cock. When you want it, when you need it, that’s the word I want you to use.”

Unable to speak, she nodded. Secret Stella loved the idea of demanding his . . . cock . . . and him providing it, though she didn’t think she’d ever be able to get that word past her lips. Not unless they were talking about farm animals. Probably not even then.

“Do you want to put it on me?” he asked, indicating the forgotten condom in her other hand.

She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Yes.”

Her hands weren’t steady, so she and Michael ended up doing it together. When they finished, he pulled her close, and she shivered at the feel of their skin coming in contact. Her nipples grazed his chest, and his solid length burned against her lower belly. He swept his hands up and down her back as he angled his head, trying to catch her gaze.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

She trained her eyes on the notch at the base of his throat and hunched her shoulders forward. “I’m feeling very self-conscious.”

“We’re both naked.”

She didn’t know how to explain that it was on the inside that she was feeling naked. If he looked into her eyes, he’d see all of her, the person she kept hidden away. No one wanted to see that. This was supposed to be fun and educational, not soul-baring.

He tipped her chin back, and she caught a glimpse of tender eyes before she squeezed her own shut.

“Kiss me, please,” she said.

Warm lips took hers, tasting of her and him and sex. His hands grew urgent as he caressed her. He grabbed her thigh and hooked her leg around his hips, opening her to him. With a flex of his hips, he stroked over her sex. The friction sent blood pooling fast and hot.

“Now, Stella.”

She wrapped her arms around the barrel of his chest and pressed her lips to his neck. “I’m ready.”

He lowered her to the bed, and his body covered her. He nuzzled against her jaw and ear, pressed soft kisses to her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her lips. “You have to talk to me, okay? If something hurts, if you don’t like it, if you want something more, if it’s perfect. Say everything.”

Eyes still shut, she said, “I’ll . . . try.”

Unexpectedly, he flipped her around so she was on her hands and knees. “I think you’ll feel less self-conscious this way.”

She opened her eyes, taking in the rumpled pillows and wooden headboard. He was right. This was better. He couldn’t see her. She immediately relaxed. “Will it be good for you this way?” The other men had all preferred the missionary position.

“No, it’s going to be excellent.” Rough hands glided down her back and massaged her with voluptuous motions. His firm chest brushed against her shoulder blades as he propped an arm on the bed next to her. Reaching in front of her, he slid a hand up her inner thigh. He searched through her folds and sank his fingers deep, working her until her hips were rocking and fresh moisture drenched the both of them. Withdrawing, he teased her clitoris with gentle touches.