The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient #1)(47)
“They live together, and they see each other every day. Is that what you want?” It was strange hearing himself say the words out loud. These were things he’d spent his entire adult life avoiding, but with Stella, he might be ready for them. If she wanted them, too.
She rubbed her cheek on her shoulder. “I want that, then. I have a guest bedroom you can use. But if you’re uncomfortable staying with me, I understand. Not all couples live in the same house.”
“What if I want to share your bed, Stella?” he asked in a low tone.
Despite how much he wanted to help her and prove he wasn’t his dad, he wasn’t sure he could do this if sex was off the table. He wanted her too much. Besides, most of her problems stemmed from lack of confidence. Bed was a great place to work on that.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said.
“That wasn’t the question. I know I don’t have to.”
Staring out the passenger window, she said, “My bed is open to you if you want it, but you know where my skill levels are at. That hasn’t changed since our last time together.”
He smiled at that. She sounded worried about pleasing him. Something his clients almost never cared about.
“Let’s seal the deal.”
“Oh, all right.” She pulled a hand out from under her thigh and held it out toward him.
“We’re going into a practice relationship. I think we should kiss on it.”
She locked eyes with him as her lips parted in surprise, and that was all the invitation he needed. Leaning across the center divide, he kissed her. He meant for it to be a seductive, slowly enflaming kind of kiss, but the sighing sound she made drove him straight out of his mind. He took her mouth with hungry strokes of his tongue. She wound her fingers through his hair, scraped them down his chest and abdomen, and tucked them into his jeans. Yes. Finally, they could get back to checking boxes—
Knuckles rapped against the driver’s-side window. A muffled voice spoke incoherent words.
He launched himself back into his seat before powering the window down.
Sophie crossed her arms and tapped her bare foot on the pavement before she bent down, narrowed her eyes, and clearly mouthed the word pervert at him. “Mom wanted me to remind you your headlights are lighting up Ngo?i’s room so she can’t sleep.”
“Sorry, forgot. We’ll head home now.”
Peering into the car, she said, “Good night, Stella. Hope we see you again soon.”
Stella swiped at the loose hairs falling over her face and cleared her throat with a cough. “Good night, Sophie.”
Sophie sent him one last reproving look and sauntered back into the house. Seconds later, his phone lit up with rapid text messages from Sophie.
Geez Michael, go easy on her.
You’ll scare her away, and we all really like her.
Honestly, in the DRIVEWAY? What are you, 13?
He choked on a laugh and handed the phone to Stella so she could read the messages.
She bit down on the tip of a fingernail as she grinned. “I’m not scared.”
He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and adjusted the painfully stiff flesh rising against his fly. “Let’s get you home.”
He drove with gratuitous disregard of the law through the empty residential streets, envisioning himself peeling her librarian clothes off and pinning her against the wall, the floor—he didn’t care where.
It was going to be so good with Stella, spectacular even. He was going to—he glanced at Stella, trying to decide what to do first, and his hopes plummeted. He was going to carry her into her house and put her to bed.
In the scant minutes since they’d left his mom’s, she’d fallen fast asleep. Her head lolled to the side, and her glasses sat on her nose at a crooked angle. She didn’t so much as flinch when her garage cranked open and her tires squeaked over the epoxy floor.
He tried to shake her awake, but she didn’t react. Her breathing remained deep and even, her body relaxed. With a sigh, he lifted her out of the car and headed toward her bedroom—their bedroom as of tonight.
{ CHAP+ER }
15
Stella awakened by slow degrees. She registered the sunlight on her face, the distant barking of a neighborhood dog, and Michael’s delicious smell. It was all around her, warm and concentrated, and she burrowed into the sheets with a happy sigh.
A heavy weight over her side kept her from rolling the sheets around her like a burrito, and she frowned. What was that? She lifted the blankets and stared in shock at the muscular arm wrapped around her waist. Her naked waist. She’d slept in her bra and panties last night.
And she hadn’t gone through her night routine. She was covered in nastiness. Her mouth. It was probably forming an ecosystem for antibiotic-resistant strains of bacteria. She shot up in bed, her entire being focused on running straight to the bathroom. Floss, brush, shower, pajamas. Floss, brush, shower, pajamas.
Michael yanked her back down and kissed her nape. “Not yet.”
“I’m gross. I have to get clean. I—”
He sucked on her neck and pulled her hips back as he rocked forward, making her achingly aware of the firm flesh prodding against the backs of her thighs through his boxers.
Her body went into total system failure. Her limbs weakened. Between her thighs, she flushed and tingled with wanting. The intensity of her desire frightened and embarrassed her. She needed to be in control of herself and her body. Control was gone.