The Kiss Quotient(7)

A black imperfection on his bicep caught her eye, and she turned around to inspect it closer. She lifted a hand to touch it but stopped before making contact. She never touched people without permission. “What is this?”

His lips curved with a slow, crooked grin, showing off perfect white teeth. “My tattoo.”

Her throat worked on an involuntary swallow, and a wave of heat swept over her. She’d never seen the point of tattoos. Until now. Michael with a tattoo was just about the hottest thing she could imagine.

Her fingers itched to pull his sleeve up farther, and she wavered over his arm until he caught her hand in his and pressed it to his skin. An electric jolt shot from her fingertips straight to her heart. He looked so perfect, like carved stone, but his skin was smooth and hot, firm but giving, alive.

“You can touch me,” he said. “Anywhere.”

Even as the invitation thrilled her, it gave her pause. Touching was such a private thing. She didn’t understand how he was able to do it so well with people he didn’t know.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asked.

That crooked grin returned in full force. “I like being touched.”

When she continued to hesitate, he drew his sleeve up himself, exposing black ink marks that swept across his upper arm, over his shoulder, and disappeared beneath his T-shirt. The tattoo had to be quite large because the shape hadn’t even begun to materialize. Just how much of him did it cover?

The swell of his muscles distracted her from further investigating. She’d never touched hard rounded flesh like this before. She wanted to touch him all over. And his scent. How was it she was just noticing it now?

“Are you wearing cologne?” she asked as she filled her lungs.

He stiffened. “No, why?”

She leaned as close as she could without burying her face against his neck, seeking out more of that intoxicating scent. “You smell really, really good. What is it?”

Where was that scent coming from? It seemed to be everywhere on him, but too light. She craved a more concentrated dose.

“Michael?”

A funny look crossed his face. “It’s just me, Stella.”

“You smell this good?”

“Apparently. You’re the first to comment on it.”

“I want this smell all over me.” As the words left her mouth, she worried she’d said the wrong thing. That statement had sounded a little too personal, a little strange. Would he notice how strange she really was?

He bent down so his lips hovered a hairsbreadth away from her ear and whispered, “Are you sure you’re bad at sex?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It means so far you’re very good at it.”

Her fingers flexed on his arm, and she battled the urge to press herself against him like a stripper on a pole. It bewildered her. She was not at all stripperish, and unlike him, she actively disliked touching. But she craved connection so much she hurt with it. “So far we haven’t done anything yet.”

“You’re very good at the talking part.”

“I’ve had sex. There isn’t a talking part.”

A spark danced in his eyes. “There’s definitely a talking part.”

Please, don’t let there be a talking part. There was no hope for her if it involved talking. “So far—”

He gathered her hair to one side and brushed a fleeting kiss behind her ear. It happened so quickly that by the time her body tensed up he’d already pulled away. When he didn’t move to repeat the caress, her muscles relaxed once again. The place where he’d kissed her burned with awareness.

Without touching her skin, he stroked his fingers over her hair. Slow, measured movements that swept from her crown, past her neck, and down her back. The motions calmed her even as they put her on edge.

“I think you should kiss me,” he said in a husky voice.

Her heart squeezed tight, and her skin pricked with panic. She was a horrible kisser. Her awkward attempts were sure to embarrass them both. “On the mouth?”

The corner of said mouth kicked up. “Wherever you want to. The mouth is usually a good place to start.”

“Maybe I should brush my teeth. I can do that right—”

He pressed a thumb to her lips, silencing her, but his eyes were gentle. That touch, too, was gone before it fully registered in her brain. “Let’s try this another way. Do you want to see my tattoo?”

Her mind eagerly switched gears, jumping from fear straight to excitement. “Yes.”

With a small smile that was half amusement and half self-deprecating, he pulled his white T-shirt over his head and tossed it on the counter.

Stella’s mouth went lax as she filled her eyes with him. A dragon’s head, its mouth open in midroar, covered the entire left half of his wide, sculpted chest. The ink on his shoulder and arm formed one of the creature’s claws. The intricate scales of its body worked diagonally across his abs and disappeared inside his jeans.

“It’s all over you,” she commented.

“It is. Here . . .” He captured her right hand and pressed it to the ink over his heart. “Feel it.”

“You don’t mind?” When he shook his head, she bit her lip and tentatively settled her left hand on his chest as well.