The Kiss Quotient(21)

Pulling back, he asked, “Are you okay, Stella?”

She cleared her throat twice. “Tell me what you’re planning. Please.”

“I’m going to suck on your pretty nipples and lick them with my tongue.”

Her grip tightened on his shoulders. “That was a bit more graphic than I was expecting.”

“How would you have said it?” He ran his mouth from the underside of her breast up to the place where pale skin gave way to dark areola.

“I don’t know what—”

He covered her nipple with his mouth and sucked hard.

“Michael.”

The sound of his name falling from her lips was just as unexpected as it was hot. He pulled her closer so he could feast on her. No man could stay sane with tits like this in his face, in his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He could play with these for days. Relinquishing one, he licked his way to the second.

She worked her fingers blindly through his hair, twisted and arched her back with unconscious demand. Stella was loving this, losing her genius mind over his caresses.

Before he knew what he was doing, he dragged his lips up her throat, along her jaw, back toward her mouth. He caught himself at the last second and pressed their cheeks together as he mentally shook himself. He was seriously fucked up. She’d said she didn’t want it, and he kept—

Their lips touched. He stiffened from the electric shock of it. She stroked his bottom lip with her tongue, and his instincts took over. He claimed her mouth like a starved man.

Her taste, her softness, her nails on his scalp, kiss after kiss after kiss.

“I’m sorry. I know I said no kissing.” She kissed him again. “But I couldn’t resist. I thought about kissing you all week.” Her words sank into him. He hadn’t been the only one, after all. Another drugging kiss. “And now, I can’t seem to stop.” A murmuring sound hummed in her throat as she kissed him yet again.

“Then don’t stop.”

Michael twined his tongue with hers, and her body went soft in his arms. She undulated her hips against the aching bulge beneath his fly and scraped her nipples over his chest. He bit back a groan. He hadn’t wanted a woman like this in . . . Had he ever wanted a woman like this?

When he drew back, her lips were parted on soundless gasps of desire. It took a moment for her eyes to clear enough to focus on him, and he expected her to turn around and check another box off her list. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close, holding him. She crushed her lips against his temple.

A shocking sense of being cherished spread through him. She wasn’t acting like what happened between them was services rendered for payment received. She was acting like it meant something, like she cared, maybe even about him.

Another hotel room, another bed, and another client in his arms. It was a regular Friday night. Only he’d never felt so exposed, so raw, and he still wore his goddamned pants.

This was supposed to be plain fucking. There wasn’t supposed to be any caring. He couldn’t keep doing this if he cared. Caring would turn the escorting into cheating, and he refused to cheat. Time to shake this nonsense out of his head and get down to business.



* * *



? ? ?

Michael’s weight settled between Stella’s legs. Icy coldness dug into her belly, jolting her back to reality. Metal. His belt buckle.

They’d fallen off track. What were they supposed to be doing? She called up the list in her head. Hand jobs. It was time to learn hand jobs.

He trailed kisses to her neck, leaving her mouth free for talking, but by that time, she couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say. His teeth scraped her skin, and shivers cascaded over her body. Her nipples tightened to the point of hurting, but warm palms soothed them. He flicked his tongue at one tip before he drew on her again, making her toes curl.

A rough hand skated down her stomach and slipped beneath the waistband of her panties. Clever fingers caressed her with bold strokes. He was touching her there. Right where she needed him to, even though she hadn’t known it. Men had touched her before, but it hadn’t felt like this. She only responded like this when she was alone, and never with this intensity.

“Stella, you’re drenched.” With each syllable, his lips grazed her stiff nipple. A hot exhalation gusted over her hungry flesh before he closed his teeth around her and bit with care.

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.”