The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient #1)(52)

“Stella,” he said with a groan. “You feel too good. Sweet Stella, my Stella.”

His words soothed and excited. She tried to speak as he’d asked her to, but all that came out were gasps and sighs of pleasure. Instead, she communicated how she felt with her body. She spread her thighs wider and writhed to match him thrust for thrust. Did he like that? Or was she being too debauched? The hand propped against the mattress captured hers, and he interlaced their fingers.

“Just like that,” he whispered. “Perfect.”

Her sex fisted tight. For a timeless moment, she hovered on the brink, breathless, possessed, loved. The orgasm crashed over her. She rippled around him as he drove into her relentlessly. She attempted to meet his thrusts, but the strong convulsions gripping her body stole her coordination.

His lips traveled from her neck to her jaw, and when she turned toward him blindly, he captured her mouth, stroking his tongue deep. The caresses between her legs did not ease, and before the last orgasm had finished, she felt another building. Her muscles fluttered around his impalement, clamped down, and exploded yet again. With a hoarse groan, he surged into her one last time.

He rubbed his jaw against her cheek and neck and lowered her shaking body to the bed, held her close like she was his. She stroked clumsy hands over the strong arms wrapped around her and held him back.

Until she remembered sex didn’t mean anything to him, and she loosened her grip somewhat. Michael enjoyed physical intimacy. That was all.

Emotion clogged her throat, anyway. If this was just practice, she never wanted the real thing. How long could she live in a fantasy?





{ CHAP+ER }





16



As Michael embraced a boneless, contented Stella, his heart stumbled around his chest like a drunken man.

That hadn’t been practice fucking for a practice relationship or pro bono fucking to prove he was better than his dad.

He’d fucked hundreds of women, but he’d never been so in tune with one woman’s body. He’d never been so desperate to please or so elated when she cried his name and came for him again and again and again.

He didn’t know what that had been, but it sure as hell hadn’t been fucking.

She hugged him tighter, pressed sloppy kisses to his shoulder and neck, and grinned up at him. She arabesqued her fingers on his chest—apparently this was not always a bad sign—and it tickled like hell.

He flattened her fingers against his heart to still their tapping and tried to put himself in a professional state of mind. “Look at you. I’m expecting another five-star review.”

“Six stars.” Her grin widened, and chocolate eyes shone at him and forgot to dart away, letting him really look at her for the first time that morning. It made him feel like he’d won something priceless, kicked the breath straight out of his lungs.

“You’re bad for my ego. It’s big enough as it is,” he made himself say in a light tone.

“You don’t act egotistical. You’re very modest but confident. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

Love?

Sharpness panged inside his chest.

She could never love him. He felt the certainty with every fiber of himself. Love required trust, and only a fool would trust him. He was his father’s son.

But he could prove he was more if he did this right. That was all he could ask for. He glanced at the clock and was amazed to see it wasn’t even ten yet. The events of the morning had felt life-changing, but they’d only been awake for two hours.

“I’m starving, and I need coffee,” he said. “I also need to get my car. All of my clean clothes are in there.”

Mostly, he needed some space. She was getting too close, and he needed to put distance between them. He got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, fully aware of his audience’s appreciative gaze. He felt a little ridiculous about it, but maybe he did it slowly. Maybe he flexed his abs and biceps as he zipped his fly and buttoned his pants. Because really, putting on pants required a lot of muscle.

“Hurry up and get ready, Stella.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“We’re going shopping. Couples do that on Sundays.”



* * *



? ? ?

Stella pursed her lips as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Michael had just opened up an entire new branch of apparel to her.

Yoga clothes.

In particular, yoga pants.

She was very possibly in heaven. The pants didn’t itch at all, and they were tight. She loved clothes that hugged her. Even better, they made her legs and butt look outstanding. She looked like a dancer. Or a yogi. Or some hybridized version of the two.

“Come out so I can see,” Michael said from outside the changing room.

Biting her lip to hide her smile, she opened the door and stepped out.

His crooked grin came out in full force, and his rare dimple winked. “Knew it.”

“Do you like it?” She smoothed a hand over her tummy and turned in a slow circle.

He stood up from the waiting chair and approached her, running appraising eyes over her curves. He slid a hand down the length of her neck to her shoulder and across the tight-fitting long sleeve so he could interlace their fingers. “I love it.”

“I’m sexy in this.”