The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient #1)(59)

“Skirt off, Stella. If I can’t touch you, I’ll go crazy.” He needed his hands between her legs, needed to taste her.

She sat up on her knees and lowered her skirt. Sitting back down, she pulled the skirt all the way off and set it on the nightstand. She peeked at him from beneath her eyelashes as she curled her legs under herself and fiddled with her open cuffs. Her unbuttoned shirt exposed her skin-tone bra and panties and flawless creamy skin.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” he said.

She drew her shirt off with a shy shrug of her shoulders and unhooked her bra, letting it fall from her breasts. Michael almost groaned at the sight of her stiff nipples. When she ran her palms over her breasts and rubbed the tips with restless motions, he did groan. That was fucking hot, and she had no clue.

“It makes them ache when you look at them like that,” she whispered.

“Like what?” he rasped, wondering if she’d say it.

“Like you want t-to . . .”

“Lick them? Suck them?”

Her face went bright red, but she nodded.

“Come here.”

She crawled to him and pressed herself to his front, nuzzling his neck as her hands snuck behind him under his shirt and grasped his back. The hard tips of her nipples grazed his chest, and Michael couldn’t resist cupping her tits and tweaking the pebbled flesh with his fingers. Her breath was a ragged sigh against his throat before her teeth scraped at his skin.

“You’re wearing a lot more clothes than I am, Michael.”

“Then take them off for me.”

Her eyes brightened, and a smile curved on her lips. As he’d known she would, his Stella really liked the idea of undressing him. She brushed her hands over the black silk of his vest before she pushed it over his shoulders and set it on the nightstand carefully—because it was his work, and she respected that. Such a simple thing, but it made him want to wrap her up and never let her go.

His shirt came off, was draped over the nightstand as well, and when her attention returned to him, she lost her focus. She ran greedy hands over his arms, chest, and abs, traced his tattoo. She kissed the dragon’s eye, licked it.

“I love your tattoo.”

“You don’t strike me as a tattoo girl.”

“It’s yours, Michael,” she said simply.

He pulled her hips against his and arched into her so she could feel what she did to him.

Her head fell back, and her body softened. Michael was good, but he’d never been this good. It was like Stella was made for him, specially designed to respond to him. Only him. The thought filled him with fierce possessiveness.

His hands grew rough as he touched her body, molding her to him as he claimed her mouth. The kiss was a savage thing of teeth and tongues, but she didn’t protest. Instead, she matched him roughness for roughness, kissed him until she was gasping.

He was unprepared when she stroked over the fly of his pants. Pleasure coursed through him in a heated wave. His cock jumped, and a hoarse groan tore from his throat. His stomach muscles flexed as he tried to catch his breath.

“I love this part of you,” she whispered with another stroke. “Show me how to make you feel good.”

Some vague sense of self-preservation told him to deny her, warned that he shouldn’t arm her with tools that would lead to his downfall, but as always, he couldn’t refuse her. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and withdrew the hard length of his cock, almost losing it when her eyes went dark with naked longing.

“Like this.” He wrapped her fingers around himself with a groan and taught her the rhythm he preferred, the pressure that drove him out of his mind, things he’d never shown his clients. They’d only cared about themselves.

Stella was different. Her entire being was focused on pleasing him. Because she wanted to learn how to do this for someone else or because he mattered to her like no one ever had? He knew which one it was. He still wanted her anyway.

He eased his hands down the swan line of her spine and hooked his thumbs in the elastic of her panties, pushed the material down her thighs. They were soaked clear through, and the scent of her arousal pushed him to the edge of his control. He almost spilled into her palm. She might be pleasuring him as part of her sex ed, but she was loving it, too. You couldn’t fake this kind of evidence.

After settling her back onto the bed, he tore her panties off, balled them up, and brought them to his nose to inhale her scent. “I’m keeping these.”

“They’re not—they’re—”

He spread her thighs wide and took in the sight of her beautiful pussy. Wet, swollen folds flushed deep pink and blossomed wide open for him. His fingers rubbed over her of their own volition and pushed into her.

Fuck, the heat, the tightness. So perfect for him. His body became one enormous ache of wanting.

“Stella, do you have any idea how hot your—”

“Michael,” she whined, bending her legs restlessly. “Don’t say it.”

He paused. Her words said no, but her body . . . Her chest heaved on ragged breaths, and she was clenched tight around his fingers.

“I think you like it when I talk dirty to you,” he whispered.

She shook her head frantically. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Your pussy doesn’t think so. You’re milking my fingers, Stella.”