The Kiss Quotient(50)

He gripped her knees, pulled them apart to bare her sex to his eyes. His chest expanded on a sharp inhalation, and his dragon tattoo rippled. His throat worked on a loud swallow. “I should have known you’d have the prettiest little—”

“Michael, don’t say it,” she said quickly.

He paused, considered her with a naughty glint in his eyes. “You mean . . . pussy?”

Flames burned her face, and she wanted to hide inside herself.

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “No wonder my mom likes you so much. It’s very Vietnamese to be modest about sex. I didn’t even know the correct Vietnamese word for girl parts until I was twenty. Most people call it a little bird. My aunt refers to it as a sweet potato. Those aren’t the right words for yours. You have a pussy, Stella.”

Her face burned even hotter, and the blush spread down her neck to her chest, touching everything. “That’s a cat. They purr and catch mice. Me—that part—it doesn’t—the image is so ridiculous—I can’t—”

“It’s a pussy, Stella, and it’s wet for me, and I want to eat it.” Focusing a dark look between her legs, he traced her folds, dipped inside briefly, and began circling the part of her that wanted him most. “And this, this is your clit. It wants my mouth so bad it’s bright red. Put us both out of our misery, and let me taste you. If you hate it, I’ll stop.”

It hit her then that he truly wanted this, her. He liked what he saw. His unabashed craving for her most private parts was real. And dirty. And . . . exciting. A secret Stella woke up and stretched, drawn to Michael and his words.

“Will you be disappointed if I don’t like it and I don’t respond like other women?” She wanted to like it, wanted to orgasm for his mouth like so many other women had, and because of that, her arousal started fading away as performance anxiety took its place.

“If you don’t like it, then we’ll move on.” Running his hands down her inner thighs, he spread her wider. The tip of his tongue pressed against his gorgeous upper lip.

He bent down close to her wet flesh, making her nervousness spike to heart-pounding levels, and took a deep breath. “I’m beginning to understand your addiction to my smell. It’s a good thing you don’t smell like this everywhere, though. I’d have a constant hard-on for you. I’m having enough trouble as it is.”

A gentle closed-mouth kiss landed on her clitoris, and her entire body stiffened. That was not what she’d expected.

“Hate it?” he asked.

“I—I . . .”

Another kiss, followed by a slow tasting. He hummed his approval and covered her with his mouth, sucking with slight pressure as his tongue laved her. Soft and warm and delicious. Stella’s body went limp as heat bloomed inside her.

“I can tell you don’t like it,” he rasped. “Just let me . . .” His tongue stroked into her, lapping at the moisture that flooded from her. “One last taste.” He returned to her clitoris, scraping his teeth against the sensitive nerves before he kissed her again, sipped at her, licked her.

She buried her face in the blankets as pleasure concentrated low and deep. His tongue was so clever, but release stayed just out of reach. This was too new. Her body was in a state of shock from the sensations bombarding her. When he stopped she was going to cry.

Two fingers worked into her, and her eyes rolled back into her head. He began a steady rhythm as his tongue flickered over her, and she couldn’t prevent her hips from rising to meet his thrusts. Oh God, she was riding his hand, smothering his face with her sex. That had to be bad. She told herself to stop. She couldn’t.

Somehow, she found her hands tangled in his short hair. Her body was coiling tighter, grasping at his fingers, so wet now she could hear the slippery sounds every time he drove back into her.

“I’ll stop, Stella. Clearly . . .” His tongue rubbed over her fast and hard, and she clenched helplessly around his fingers. “Clearly, you hate this.”

“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.