The Kiss Quotient(8)

Her touch was timid at first, but when he didn’t object, she grew bolder. She pushed her hands across his firm chest, enjoying the ridges of defined muscle and the smoothness of his hairless skin. Tactilely, she couldn’t discern a difference between his inked skin and his unmarked skin. Fascinating.

Her fingertips bumped down his abdomen, and she counted under her breath, “—Five. Six. Seven. Eight.” Her fingers met the waistband of his jeans, and his stomach muscles flexed and rippled as he took a breath.

“You couldn’t have a regular six-pack? You had to make it eight?”

He rolled his eyes as his lips curved. “Are you complaining, Stella?”

“Nothing to complain about. I had no idea I liked tattoos until now.”

“So you like it?”

She thought that should be obvious, so she didn’t answer. Besides, it was getting difficult to concentrate. The sight of his perfect athlete’s body and his excessive tattoo, the feel of his hot skin, and his delicious scent overwhelmed her senses.

“Can I take your glasses off? Will you still be able to see without them?”

She swallowed and nodded. “I’m nearsighted, so I won’t be able to see things far away, but that’s all right because—”

He slipped her glasses off. A soft clinking sounded as he set them on the counter behind her. The hotel suite and everything around her became a soft blur. Only he stood out in sharp focus. The solid feel of him against her palms grounded her.

“It might be easier to kiss me if you wrap your arms around my neck,” he suggested.

Her fingers twitched as she dragged them across the decadent expanse of his stomach and over his hard chest. After looping her arms stiffly around his neck, she said, “Done.”

“Closer.”

She inched forward.

“More.”

She inched forward again, stopping before their bodies could come flush together.

“Stella, closer.”

Understanding broke over her, and she settled herself against him. They were touching almost everywhere. Only the thin layers of her clothes separated them. Her nerves jangled, and panic threatened, but he didn’t rush her. He stood still, watching her with his patient, kind eyes. Against all odds, she relaxed.

“Are you still with me?” he asked.

Coming up onto her tiptoes, she aligned their bodies until they fit . . . just right. Her heart crashed in a crazy rhythm against her sternum, but she was still in control of herself—because, clever person that he was, he’d given her that control. “I’m okay.”

When he closed his arms carefully around her, his heat sank through her shirt and warmed her skin. The pressure of his undemanding embrace reached deep inside her, calming her and loosening knots she hadn’t known were there. Maybe she was better than okay.

She would gladly pay his escorting fee again just for him to hold her like this. This was heavenly. She burrowed her face into his neck and breathed him in. She skated her hands over his bare skin as she tried to nestle closer to him. If he could hold her a little tighter . . .

Something hard prodded her belly, and she drew her head back.

“You can ignore that,” he said.

“We haven’t kissed or anything. How can you . . . ?”

Hooded eyes searched hers as he lowered a hand from between her shoulder blades to the small of her back. The heat of his palm penetrated her clothes, and all the fine hairs on her body stood up. “This goes two ways, Stella. You like the feel of me. I like the feel of you.”

That was a novel concept to her. Intimacy almost always was a one-way thing with her. The men enjoyed it—sort of. She did not.

She was enjoying this, however. It made her feel brave and reckless.

Her gaze locked on his lips again, and her blood raced with something new: anticipation. “Will you show me how to be a good kisser?”

“I’m not certain you aren’t one already.”

“I’m really not.”

His mouth was inches away, but she couldn’t quite push herself to kiss it—even though she wanted to. She’d never initiated a kiss before. In the past, the men had just kind of . . . fallen on her.

“Can I tell you where to kiss me?” she whispered.

A smile slowly stretched his lips. “Yes.”

“M-my temple.”

His breath fanned over her ear, sending goose bumps down her neck, before he pressed a kiss to her left temple. “Now where?” The words were spoken softly against her skin, each one a caress.

“My cheek.”

The tip of his nose grazed her skin as he moved lower. He kissed the hollow beneath her cheekbone. “Now?” he asked without lifting his lips.

So close. She could hardly breathe. “The corner of my m-mouth.”

“Are you sure? That’s very close to being a real kiss.”

Impulsive impatience seared through her, and she sank her fingers into his hair, held him in place, and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to his lips. Bolts of sensation zigzagged straight to her chest. After a surprised hesitation, she did it again, and he took the lead, showing her how it was done, drawing the kisses out.

This was kissing. Kissing was glorious.

When his tongue slipped between her lips, she went stock-still. Not glorious anymore. His tongue. Was in. Her mouth. She couldn’t stop herself from pulling away. “Is that absolutely necessary?”