Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,26

her.

Hazel.

“Tell me yes.” I bend closer, so that my mouth brushes her neck. “Or tell me good night. But you have to choose for us, Zee.”

I’ve stood next to her, beside her, behind her hundreds of times. Objectively, I know exactly how tall she is and when she changes her shampoo or tries a new scent. We’re friends and yet I run my mouth up her throat, breathing this new, unfamiliar side of her in. The scent of her skin floods my lungs. I want to make her part of me, draw her deep inside my body so that she’s always part of me and not this strange, exotic terra incognita that makes me wild to explore.

She reaches up, her arms sliding around my neck to pull me closer as her head tips back in invitation. “Yes, kiss me.”

I can’t bite back my smile. “You’re the boss.”

Her eyes narrow because she hates being teased, but now there’s no way I don’t kiss her. I cover her mouth with mine and I learn something new about my best friend. Her mouth is soft and warm. She tastes amazing. And she’s an all-in kisser. Her lips part and she angles her head, trying to devour me. It’s fucking hot. Her tongue strokes across my bottom lip and she groans something. A word. A plea. Knowing Hazel, it’s probably a demand for more.

Her hands pull at my waist, tugging my shirt free and skimming up my back. Butterfly touches. Heat ignites in me. I pull back so that I can kiss her bottom lip and then the top. Her mouth is surprisingly, shockingly soft. She’s hungry. I can hear her ragged breathing as if there’s not enough air. Not enough touching. She’s all warm female, sweet welcome and porn-star noises.

I could kiss her all night, but instead I ease my mouth away from hers. Her eyes meet mine as my thumb traces the curve of her lower lip. She’s in a hurry, but me... I want to take this slow. I want to savor my first real taste of Hazel. A kiss is an audition. It’s the magic moment when you judge me. Are we compatible? Do I want more? Do you? That cheek kiss with May? Not an accident. Bad kisses are the worst. They’re hard to fix or to figure out why the hot ones rock our world so hard. Kisses are personal.

Christ, she’s... These are the same lips that have barked at me, argued with me, laughed with me and told me more than once that Hazel’s way is the best way. But I’ve never seen them this way before, not as belonging to someone I’d like to kiss. Not wet and slick from my mouth. Not kiss-bruised and greedy for me.

I find her hand with mine and thread our fingers together. It’s silly, but I sort of want all the date things with her, and we haven’t held hands yet. I cup her face with my other hand because I’m a greedy bastard. I’m a big guy and Hazel’s petite, so my fingers curl around her neck and slip into her knot of hair. For one moment, I let myself imagine pulling her hair. Taking charge, taking over. I want to fuck her more than anything I’ve ever wanted.

“Again,” she demands.

Anything. Everything, as long as it happens now.

Our mouths meet, clash, our hands running over each other, learning the outlines of our bodies. She’s all warmth and lean strength, and I kiss her harder, deeper. She has a death grip on my neck now, her nails biting my skin as she makes a throaty, needy sound.

I rest my forehead against hers. “How am I doing?”

She beams at me and undoes my tie. “Nailed it.”

CHAPTER SIX

YOU NEVER FORGET your first kiss.

Even when you want to. My first first kiss was a wet, enthusiastic middle-school attempt. Jenny Dormon cornered me behind the big oak tree on the far corner of the playground and I gave as good as I got. By high school, I’d learned why French kissing was the best, and by college I was a master. And, yes, this is technically our second kiss, but it’s our first on-purpose kiss and it’s fucking amazing.

I look down at Hazel. Her brown eyes are sparkling and she’s got those happy crinkles she bemoans because she claims they’ll lead to Grand Canyon–sized wrinkles when she’s older. Her face is flushed, her lips still parted and damp. It should not surprise me that