The Kiss Quotient

by Helen Hoang

  “You’re right. I didn’t think to include that.” She hurried past him to the nightstand. After she considered the list for a moment, she bent down and picked up the pen, demonstrating the only reason why a woman should wear a pencil skirt: to show off the perfectly rounded curves of her fine ass.

  That had to be why it took so long for her cluelessness to register. She hadn’t caught his rudeness or his sarcasm. Maybe she was one of those book-smart people who didn’t know how to socialize, and he was being too hard on her. “If I told you your lesson plans are insulting, what would you do?” he asked quietly.

  She looked at him over her shoulder with alarmed eyes. “Are there parts I should reword? I’d be happy to change things.” She turned back to the lesson plan and skimmed her fingers over the lines at a thoughtful pace.

  The ball of irritation in his chest loosened. He couldn’t be annoyed with her when she didn’t understand.

  She worried the inside of her lip and tapped her fingers on the table with increasing speed before sending him an anxious look. “Should I have written something other than Performance Review? I hope you know when I wrote that, I meant my performance. There’s nothing wrong with your performance. Even if there were, I wouldn’t know. I’m not qualified in any way to judge—”

  Before she could work herself into another panic attack, he said, “It was just a hypothetical question. Forget about it.”

  She seemed confused for a second, but she blinked the look away and released a relieved breath. “Oh, okay.” After adjusting her glasses, she turned back to her papers and neatly wrote Stella’s in front of each iteration of Performance Review.

  That was a good reminder. This was about helping with Stella’s performance. That was it. So what if she wasn’t viewing this as the fulfillment of secret fantasies like his other clients did? He needed to take his own advice and stop thinking.

  When she flipped to the second page in the pile, he shrugged out of his jacket, draped it over the arm of a chair, and unbuttoned his shirt. Tugging the tails free, he sat on the bed next to Stella. She snuck a quick glance at him, and her gaze dropped to the portion of skin revealed by his open shirt. The pen paused in midscrawl, clattered to the tabletop.

  He smiled with satisfaction. Not so clinical now.

  She squared her shoulders before she lifted her hands to her collar. Buttons came undone at a painstaking pace, and white fabric fluttered to the floor, followed by her gray skirt. The set of her jaw was determined as she let him look at her. And look he did.

  He usually preferred women with bigger breasts, lusher hips, and rounded thighs. He liked their softness, the way they filled his hands. That was not Stella. Everything about her was modest. Wearing only a flesh-toned bra and panties, her petite body was composed of elegant shoulders and arms, a little waist that flared to gently curved hips, and shapely legs with delicate ankles. She wasn’t what he’d thought he’d always wanted, but she was perfect.

  “Take your bra off.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, but he couldn’t help it. He was dying to see the rest of her. She might not have fantasized about their time together, but he had.

  Down at her sides, her hands fisted. “Is that necessary? They’re not my best feature. They’re small.”

  “Yes, it’s necessary. Men like to see them even when they’re small.” And touch them. God, he wanted to touch them.

  She grimaced, looking like she wanted to argue with him. When she reached behind herself and slid her bra off, he caught his breath.

  Then he bit his lip as he grinned. Stella didn’t seem to know it, but she had the kind of nipples men and babies dreamed about. Rosy-tinted areolas gave way to extravagantly protruding tips that—no question about it—had to stay pointed 24/7, hot or cold, rain or shine. Stella Lane, conservative economist, had porn star nipples. And he wanted them in his mouth.

  “What now?” she asked in a near whisper.

  He slipped his shirt off and tossed it on the far side of the bed. “I think you get to check a box.”

  She peeled her eyes from his chest and stared at him like he’d spoken another language. After several hard blinks, she shook her head and said, “Right.”

  Leaning over, she checked a box at the top of the list. She adjusted her glasses and paused. The glasses came off, and she pulled the tie from her hair and shook out the mass so it framed her face. Vulnerable brown eyes searched his before she focused on the wall to the side.

  The air seeped from his lungs as his internal organs melted and the rest of him hardened. So gorgeous.

  And scared. How did he ease her fear?

  “Let me hold you.”

  She inched as close as she could get without actually touching him.

  He suppressed a smile. “It might help if you sat on my lap.”

  Biting her lip, she crawled onto him and straddled his hips. Fuck, so close. That part of her, opened wide. He went hard in an instant but forced himself to take things slowly. This was about Stella. He expected her to sit stiff as a board until he thought up some kind of sorcery to make her relax, but she immediately settled in close and rested her cheek against his shoulder. When his arms encircled her, she released a ragged sigh and went boneless.

  Seconds stretched into minutes, and he let himself savor the moment—not speaking, not fucking, not doing anything, just being with someone. The room was so quiet he heard the cars driving by outside. Talking voices passed their room, receded.

  “Are you falling asleep again?” he asked finally.

  “No.”

  “Good.” He ran his fingertips down the length of her arm and smiled when goose bumps rippled outward. Nuzzling her neck, he breathed in the soft scent of her skin and kissed the sweet spot just behind her jaw. Her lips called to him, but instead of trespassing, he sucked on her earlobe and bit it, startling a shaky sigh from her.

  “This is foreplay?” The breathy quality of her voice sent satisfaction curling through him.

  “It is.” Even though he knew the answer, he asked against her ear, “Do you like it?”

  She shivered and burrowed closer to him as additional goose bumps dotted her skin. “Yes, but it’s not what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  She shook her head.

  “Tell me if you want me to stop or there’s something specific you want.” As he spoke, he threaded his fingers into her hair and angled her head back. He trailed kisses along her jawline, nipped her chin, and kissed the corner of her mouth.

  Too close to the temptation of her lips. His body ached at the thought of taking her mouth in a deep kiss, and he almost did it despite everything. He’d been dreaming of that mouth all week. Feeling like he was swimming against the tide, he forced his lips down to the column of her throat.

  “Touch me.” He brought her hands to his chest.

  She scraped her palms over him until they encountered his nipples. As if fascinated by the texture, she rubbed her thumbs on the hardening tips. His muscles tightened, and he shuddered with pleasure.

  “Is that right?” she asked.

  “I like that. And this.” He cupped dainty breasts in his palms and pinched the nipples just so.

  Her breath broke, and she gazed down at her chest. With his tanned hands on her pale skin and her decadent nipples captured between his fingers, it was an erotic sight, indeed. He couldn’t resist pinching her again and enjoying her sharp intake of breath.

  “Why does it feel so good when you do that?” The wonder in her voice had him grinning.

  “Want to try something even better?” At her hesitant nod, he said, “Come up on your knees for me.”

  Her thighs flexed as she rose off his lap. Body stiff and breaths shallow, she settled her hands on his shoulders. Just as he’d planned, the new position brought her nipples to face level. Though, if she wasn’t careful, she�
��d poke an eye out with those things. Only in his line of work was blindness by nipple assault a true hazard. To be honest, however, he didn’t really feel like he was working. There was no fantasy playing in his head, and he wasn’t telling himself a new lie every fifteen seconds. This moment, this woman, and his undeniable attraction to her were all real.

  He smoothed his hands up and down her back until her muscles relaxed beneath his palms. That was when he gave in and kissed the underside of one breast. She curled her fingers, and her nails pricked his skin.

  Pulling back, he asked, “Are you okay, Stella?”

  She cleared her throat twice. “Tell me what you’re planning. Please.”

  “I’m going to suck on your pretty nipples and lick them with my tongue.”

  Her grip tightened on his shoulders. “That was a bit more graphic than I was expecting.”

  “How would you have said it?” He ran his mouth from the underside of her breast up to the place where pale skin gave way to dark areola.

  “I don’t know what—”

  He covered her nipple with his mouth and sucked hard.

  “Michael.”

  The sound of his name falling from her lips was just as unexpected as it was hot. He pulled her closer so he could feast on her. No man could stay sane with tits like this in his face, in his mouth, rolling on his tongue. He could play with these for days. Relinquishing one, he licked his way to the second.

  She worked her fingers blindly through his hair, twisted and arched her back with unconscious demand. Stella was loving this, losing her genius mind over his caresses.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he dragged his lips up her throat, along her jaw, back toward her mouth. He caught himself at the last second and pressed their cheeks together as he mentally shook himself. He was seriously fucked up. She’d said she didn’t want it, and he kept—

  Their lips touched. He stiffened from the electric shock of it. She stroked his bottom lip with her tongue, and his instincts took over. He claimed her mouth like a starved man.

  Her taste, her softness, her nails on his scalp, kiss after kiss after kiss.

  “I’m sorry. I know I said no kissing.” She kissed him again. “But I couldn’t resist. I thought about kissing you all week.” Her words sank into him. He hadn’t been the only one, after all. Another drugging kiss. “And now, I can’t seem to stop.” A murmuring sound hummed in her throat as she kissed him yet again.

  “Then don’t stop.”

  Michael twined his tongue with hers, and her body went soft in his arms. She undulated her hips against the aching bulge beneath his fly and scraped her nipples over his chest. He bit back a groan. He hadn’t wanted a woman like this in . . . Had he ever wanted a woman like this?

  When he drew back, her lips were parted on soundless gasps of desire. It took a moment for her eyes to clear enough to focus on him, and he expected her to turn around and check another box off her list. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close, holding him. She crushed her lips against his temple.

  A shocking sense of being cherished spread through him. She wasn’t acting like what happened between them was services rendered for payment received. She was acting like it meant something, like she cared, maybe even about him.

  Another hotel room, another bed, and another client in his arms. It was a regular Friday night. Only he’d never felt so exposed, so raw, and he still wore his goddamned pants.

  This was supposed to be plain fucking. There wasn’t supposed to be any caring. He couldn’t keep doing this if he cared. Caring would turn the escorting into cheating, and he refused to cheat. Time to shake this nonsense out of his head and get down to business.

  * * *

  • • •

  Michael’s weight settled between Stella’s legs. Icy coldness dug into her belly, jolting her back to reality. Metal. His belt buckle.

  They’d fallen off track. What were they supposed to be doing? She called up the list in her head. Hand jobs. It was time to learn hand jobs.

  He trailed kisses to her neck, leaving her mouth free for talking, but by that time, she couldn’t remember what she’d been about to say. His teeth scraped her skin, and shivers cascaded over her body. Her nipples tightened to the point of hurting, but warm palms soothed them. He flicked his tongue at one tip before he drew on her again, making her toes curl.

  A rough hand skated down her stomach and slipped beneath the waistband of her panties. Clever fingers caressed her with bold strokes. He was touching her there. Right where she needed him to, even though she hadn’t known it. Men had touched her before, but it hadn’t felt like this. She only responded like this when she was alone, and never with this intensity.

  “Stella, you’re drenched.” With each syllable, his lips grazed her stiff nipple. A hot exhalation gusted over her hungry flesh before he closed his teeth around her and bit with care.

  Her body clenched hard, clenched even harder when he pressed a finger deep, filling her. He massaged her with lazy swirls of his thumb, and she started trembling. He licked her tortured nipple back into the heat of his mouth, and that was all it took. She climbed quick and sharp toward release.

  And it scared the hell out of her.

  She clawed at his wrist. “Stop, stop, I’m not ready.”

  As he pulled away, she dug her heels into the mattress, propelling herself to the far side of the bed. She hugged a pillow to her chest to hide her nakedness. Its coolness helped to dampen her arousal, and she took deep breaths. The impending orgasm retreated.

  Michael’s face was a mask of slack-jawed incomprehension as he considered her. Her cheeks burned, and shame weighed down on her chest. She had to be the worst client he’d ever had. When he lifted a hand, panic spiked and she backed up farther.

  He dropped his hand. “Stella, calm down, I won’t . . . touch you. Not if you don’t want it.”

  She clutched at the pillow. “I know. I’m sorry. I just . . .”

  “What did I do wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  His eyebrows rose in patent disbelief.

  “I’ve never orgasmed with another person,” she confessed.

  He parted his lips, shook his head, started to speak, shook his head again. “Does that mean you’ve never . . . at all?”

  Her face burned so hot, if she had been wearing her glasses they would have fogged up. “I have. By myself.”

  “You don’t like it?” he asked in bewilderment.

  “No, I do.” She exhaled a tight breath and sifted through her thoughts, trying to structure a coherent explanation. “I just feel safer experiencing that alone. And I’ve had sex before—very bad sex. I spent the time watching as the men grunted and sweated and heaved over me. To be honest, it disgusted me. I wanted the sex to bring me closer to someone, but it only made me feel more distanced. I don’t want to do that to you.”

  “Not even close. I was right there with you, loving it.”

  She made an exasperated sound. “I’m paying you to say those things. Well, you think that’s what I’m paying for. That’s not what I want.”

  “Do I look like I’m disgusted by you?” He waved a hand in the vicinity of his hips, where an impressive bulge strained at the fly of his pants.

  She pursed her lips as she kept silent. If she spoke right now, chances were high she’d say The Wrong Thing. He was a seasoned escort. His body probably took commands like a show dolphin.

  “You think I’m a liar.” A predatory light shone in his eyes, and he crawled over the wrinkled bedcovers toward her.

  She backed up reflexively.

  And fell off the bed.

  As she rubbed at her head, he peered at her over the side of the mattress. “Are you okay?”

  Her throat clogged with embarrassment, and all she could manage was a curt “Fine.”

 
He assessed her ungraceful, ground-crumpled form for a long moment. “I think we should call it a night.”

  She leaned against the wall and hugged her legs to her chest. The unchecked boxes of the lesson plan weighed on her, but she needed to understand and untangle all the emotions clashing inside her head before she could move forward. “Do you mind?”

  He shook his head. Without a word, he stood, pulled his shirt back on, and did the buttons. She swallowed a protest as he covered up skin and muscle she’d been too preoccupied and rattled to properly appreciate.

  After he put on his shoes and shrugged into his suit jacket, she remembered something, jumped to her feet, and retrieved her tablet from her purse. “One second.” It was difficult to cue up the page while one of her arms still held the pillow to her front, but she eventually managed and handed him the tablet.

  “What’s this?”

  “Could you sign up for an alternate phone number, please? I think it’s a good idea to be able to contact each other during the week if we need to. For logistical reasons.” In case he wanted to cancel things. “I spoke to customer support at the agency and suggested they develop some kind of anonymous texting program, but in the meantime . . .”

  A funny smile touched his lips as he considered the glowing screen. “You gave me your real number. I’m surprised you’re not expecting mine in return.”

  “This is better for you, right?” Because it was definitely better for her.

  Once lessons ended, neither of them wanted her calling him over and over just to listen to him hanging up on her. She couldn’t see herself acting so desperate. But she’d never been obsessed with a person before, either.

  Not that she was. Yet.

  His facial expression was difficult to read as he said, “It is better for me. Thank you.”

  He fished his phone out from his jacket pocket and tapped through a series of screens on both gadgets. After a few moments, a vibrating sound emanated from her purse.

  “Done,” he said with a smile.

  “Perfect. Thanks.” She forced her lips into an answering smile.