The Kiss Quotient(10)

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.

She scrubbed at the moisture and took a hard breath. “No more crying.”

“Other men had sex with you when you were like this?” He strove to sound gentle, but the words came out harsh. The thought of some asshole sweating over her while she was pale and terrified made his fists itch.

“Three.”

“Goddamned piece-of-shit assho—”

His words dried up when she turned around to face him with a wounded expression.

“No, I’m not talking about you. You’re not the problem. It’s those men. Me.” A wrinkle formed between her eyebrows, and he smoothed it out with a fingertip. “You need someone to go slow with you.”

“You have been going slow with me. The others were done by now.”

“I don’t want to hear about the others,” he bit out.

She looked away and held the folds of her shirt together. “What now?”

Michael had no idea. Whatever it was, it had to be ultra slow. He looked around the hotel suite for inspiration, and the large TV mounted on the wall across the bed grabbed his attention. “A movie and cuddling. We can try for the baseline afterward.”

Her face became pained. “I don’t really like cuddling.”

“You can’t be serious.” All women were suckers for it. Even he liked cuddling. At least, he had back before he’d started escorting. Cuddling with clients was something he tolerated at best, but his instincts told him this was something she needed.

“I might like it with you, I suppose. It’s your smell, I think. Your body wages biological warfare on me.”

“So you’re saying I’m your Achilles’ heel?” He kind of liked the sound of that. They’d never see each other after tonight, but maybe she’d remember him. He knew he’d remember her.

Instead of smiling, as he thought she would, she searched his face. She looked into his eyes for a split second before she got out of bed and padded to the bathroom. After several moments inside, she returned wearing her glasses and holding his now neatly folded T-shirt. She set it on the nightstand, picked up the remote, and sat on the far edge of the bed, turning the TV on. As she flipped through the viewer guide, her expression was cool with concentration. Dressed in professional business attire, she could have been at a board meeting—but for the tangled, finger-swept state of her hair. “What do you want to watch?”

Her sudden distance shouldn’t have bothered him. But it did. He wanted her back the way she’d been before. “No K-drama, please. My sisters force me to watch with them so they can laugh when I cry.”