The Kiss Quotient

by Helen Hoang

  These people mattered to her because they mattered to him.

  “Where did you grow up, Stella?” his mom asked after they’d moved from bún to mangoes.

  “Atherton. My parents still live there,” Stella provided.

  His mom’s eyebrows climbed at the mention of the wealthiest zip code in California. “Do you like babies?”

  Michael almost dropped his fruit, and his voice was gruff with horror when he said, “Mẹ.”

  She shrugged innocently.

  “You don’t have to answer that,” he said to Stella.

  She met his eyes like she hadn’t with everyone else. Her facial muscles relaxed, but the intensity of her concentration didn’t. Her beautiful mind focused on him. Michael admitted to himself he loved it.

  Stella lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know if I like babies. I haven’t been around that many. My parents want grandchildren, though. My mother, mostly.”

  “That has to be why she keeps setting up blind dates for you,” Michael said.

  Stella nodded. “I think so.”

  “Meddling mothers.”

  At his comment, Stella’s lips curved into a smile, and her eyes shined. He forgot what they’d been talking about. If he couldn’t kiss her soon, he would go mad.

  “When you get to my age,” his mom said, crossing her arms over her chest, “you want to play with babies. It’s natural.”

  Sophie jumped to her feet. “Help me with the dishes, Stella?”

  “Sure, I’d love to help,” Stella said. “Is there a particular way you do it?”

  “Just whatever way gets them clean.”

  Evie cleared the table as Sophie and Stella piled things into the sink. His mom and Ngoại stared at him with serious expressions. He braced himself for something bad.

  “She won me at the shop today. It’s important to know how to admit when you’re wrong. You should keep her,” Mẹ said in Vietnamese.

  He shook his head and thinned his lips. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re too different. She’s really smart and makes loads of money.”

  “You’re smart,” his mom insisted.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “You’re not like your dad wanted, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. And you don’t make as much because you’re busy helping me at the shop. I told you I don’t need you anymore. You let so many opportunities pass because of me. I don’t want that for you, Michael, and I don’t want you to lose this girl, either. She’s a good one. Keep her.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is. She likes you. You like her.”

  If he had less control, he would have pointed out his mom’s relationship with his dad, but that was hitting below the belt. His dad loved his mom—in his own way. But he also loved cheating. Michael would never understand why his mom took his dad back every single time.

  “Just promise to try, all right? I like this one,” his mom said.

  Michael could have laughed. Of all the girls he’d ever brought home, she liked the one he couldn’t have. His client. His rich, highly educated, beautiful client, who was paying him to help her learn how to get someone better.

  “You’re just saying that because she’s doing dishes.”

  Michael knew the way to his mom’s heart, and it wasn’t food. It was cleaning, doing dishes. He didn’t have to do dishes because he cooked. For whatever reason, none of the women in this house cooked. He’d had to learn in order to survive.

  “She doesn’t mind working,” his mom said. “That’s important.”

  “Mmmmm,” Ngoại agreed.

  For a moment, the three of them watched as Stella washed bowls, rinsed them, and handed them to Sophie to dry. She’d rolled her sleeves up and worked with great attention, listening and smiling distractedly as Sophie chatted with her.

  “Take her home,” Ngoại said. “She looks tired.”

  His mom nodded. “Take her home.”

  He pushed away from the table and went to wrap his arms around Stella’s waist. Because he couldn’t resist, he ran his lips down her neck so she shivered. The soapy sponge paused in midscrub, and her expression was confused as she gazed at him over her shoulder. He slid a hand down her delicate forearm and hijacked the sponge from her. He finished washing the frying pan and the rest of the dishes with her in front of him, occasionally pausing to kiss her ear, her neck, or her jaw.

  Sophie slanted him a go get a room look as he handed her the last colander—one of many that he’d made his mom promise never to stick in the microwave again—and he could tell she was dying to say something dry and caustic but was holding back because she didn’t want to embarrass Stella.

  Stella’s eyelids had gone heavy, and her nails dug into the tile counter as she tried unsuccessfully not to respond to him.

  “Ready to go home?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  They said their good-byes and piled into Stella’s car, and he pressed the Tesla’s on button.

  Before Stella could buckle her seat belt, he asked, “What are you seeing in terms of living arrangements and frequency of visits?”

  “What do most couples do when they’re in committed relationships?”

  “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 Ngoại’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.�
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  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.

  “Good morning.” His voice was a husky rasp that sent shivers down her spine.

  “G-good mor—” A hand dipped inside her bra and cupped her breast. He stroked the tip until it ached and pinched, sending a burst of sensation straight to her core. When he headed downward, smoothing a hand over her belly, her stomach muscles clenched.

  “I want to touch you here.” He palmed her sex with a bold grasp, and the heat of his touch spread through the cotton of her panties, searing her.

  She gripped his wrist, fully intending to pull him away, but her hands refused to cooperate. His forearm was firm with defined muscle, his skin smooth, utterly distracting.

  “Is that permission?” he whispered.

  She’d given him permission last night. She wanted this, but she didn’t know how to handle this side of herself. Her body told her to say yes. Her mind told her to say no.

  Her body won the fight, and her hips arched against his hand. He edged the crotch of her panties aside. He kissed her nape as he traced the slick entrance to her body with his fingertips. A sharp breath tore from her lungs. Panic and pleasure collided.

  “You’re wet already, Stella. You’re like a Lamborghini. Zero to sixty in two point seven seconds.”

  “You like Lamborghinis?” She tried desperately to cling to coherent thought. She needed to think at all times, to weigh her actions and her words. When she let go, she always made mistakes. She did the wrong thing, hurt people, mortified herself.

  He continued touching her lightly, trailing around and around her opening in maddening circles. His teeth scraped against her neck before he licked and kissed her. Goose bumps spread over her skin.

  “Yes, I like them. No, don’t get me one,” he said.

  “Why not?” She rubbed her feet against his shins, dug her fingernails into his arm. Push him away. Pull him closer. Regain control. Let go.

  “It doesn’t suit my lifestyle, and my mom would be very, very curious how I got it.” He emphasized the word very with barely there strokes over her clitoris. Her sex spasmed and trembled at the edge of release.

  He bit her earlobe. “You’re about to go off, aren’t you? That’s all it took.”

  “It’s because I’ve been fantasizing about you ever since last Friday.” Oh God, what had she just said?

  He removed his touch and sat up. His expression was soft as he brushed tendrils of hair away from her face. “What does Fantasy Michael do?”

  “Everything.”

  He laughed before his eyes went intense. “Does he make you come with his mouth? Real Michael wants to do that.”

  She squirmed as the need to please him warred with her inhibitions. That was one thing Fantasy Michael hadn’t done. “I’m more interested in giving oral sex than receiving it.”

  “Maybe we should work on it,” he said in an unusually subdued tone. “I’m not the only guy who loves going down on women.”

  She sank her teeth into her lip and fisted the sheets. Women. Plural. For a regular man, that meant anywhere from one to ten, maybe twenty. For Michael . . . hundreds. It might even be thousands, for all she knew. A new type of anxiety weighed down on her. Could she possibly measure up against all of his past clients?

  “I don’t want to disgust you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “How do I make it good for you? Are some women better at receiving oral sex than others? What do they do?” She badly wanted to be good at it. She wanted to blow all the others out of the water—but there had been so many of them.

  “What is going on in that beautiful brain of yours?” he asked in bafflement.

  “I just—I want—I need—I think—”

  “No more thinking,” he said as he touched a thumb to her lips.

  He ran warm hands from her shoulders down to her wrists, interlaced their fingers and squeezed their palms together. Her muscles tensed as she worried she wasn’t responding the right way. What was she supposed to do? Now that she understood he wanted her to feel pleasure, she wanted to give it to him, wanted to make him happy.

  “Stella, you’re locking up on me.” His eyes searched hers, worried now.

  “I’m sorry.” She felt the sweat between their hands and fingers and winced. Her heart pounded. She was screwing this up.

  He gathered her in his arms and held her, smoothing a hand through her hair in slow sweeps. “This is because of oral sex? We don’t have to have it.”

  Stella pressed her forehead to his neck and breathed in his scent. By slow degrees, she relaxed into his embrace. “I’m very competitive.”

  He brushed a kiss against her temple. “Okay, but how does that factor into anything?”

  “It means I want to please you more than all your other clients have.”

  “Stella, I’m the one who’s being paid to please here.”

  “I’m not paying you for sex anymore, remember?”

  He made a frustrated growling sound and held her tighter.
“What am I going to do with you? I have you hot and naked in my arms, and you’re still not ready.”

  She sighed and rested against him. She idly traced the dragon scales on his bicep. “We could floss, brush, shower, and dress.”

  He threw the covers off. “Let’s do it, then.”

  * * *

  • • •

  “Don’t you have any casual clothes?”

  Michael swept her damp hair to the side and kissed her neck as she stared at her wardrobe, trying to make her clothing selection for the day.

  “I didn’t need them when I started working, so I gave them all away,” she said.

  “You had them, though? Or were they all knee-length skirts and button-downs?” As he spoke, his arms stole around her bathrobe-clad waist and hugged her to his naked chest. Her body couldn’t decide if it wanted to relax or stiffen.

  She suspected he was seducing her. It was almost working. It was definitely making her mind fuzzy, but that was a good thing. He was distracting her from her headache and the fact that she was terribly off-schedule today, something that normally filled her with irritation and frustration until she could start over and do things right.

  “They were skirts and button-downs. How do you know me so well?”

  His hot breath fanned over her ear as he chuckled. “You are my favorite puzzle lately. I want to see you in sundresses, Stella.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “It’s Sunday. We could go shopping.”

  She turned around, feeling a spike of anxiety at the thought of going out in public, going somewhere new, and worst of all, trying on itchy, scratchy clothes that were probably dusted with rat feces from warehouse floors. “Can you make me sundresses? I was serious when I said I wanted custom Michael designs. I’ll have to get anything I buy seriously altered before I can wear it, anyway.”

  Instead of answering, he pulled a pink shirt off its hanger and inspected the inside seams. “French seams. The fabric is . . .” He rubbed it between his fingers. “It’s plain cotton.”