Hot Boss - Anne Marsh Page 0,27

she’s a champion kisser. Hazel doesn’t like to be anything but the best, and she’s competitive. I bet she’s amazing in bed. She probably thumbs through her monthly Cosmo looking for sexy tricks to add to her bag even though she’s totally awesome just being Hazel.

“I’m the king of good-night kisses,” I whisper against her hair because somehow we’re touching again, her body melting into mine as if she’s trying to imprint every second of our kiss. As if maybe she also wants so much more than just this.

“So,” she says. “Answer a question for me?”

“You got it.”

“As your practice date, will you respect me in the morning if I let you hit a home run?”

Considering how much time I’ve spent thinking about Hazel tonight, there’s only one possible choice. “Open the door, Hazel.”

She grabs my head with one hand and pulls my mouth down to hers. Our third kiss is rougher and hungrier than our first two. I break it off, scoop her up in my arms and tuck her against my chest as I open her front door.

“Viking man.” It doesn’t sound like an objection—plus, the way she’s laughing and wriggling makes my dick harder still.

I tap her butt in mock warning, my palm sliding over the curve of her ass.

“I feel passionately about level playing fields and treating all participants equally,” she warns. Laughter warms her voice, and fuck me if she doesn’t reach around and pinch my butt.

“Are you a completely even-Steven kind of girl?” I head toward her bedroom. I’ve been in Hazel’s house hundreds of times, so I know exactly where I’m going. Her bedroom’s at the end of the hallway. “So if I go down on you for twenty minutes, you’ll go down on me for twenty?”

“I’m the best partner ever,” she says smugly as I toe-open her bedroom door. It looks almost the same. A mountain of decorative pillows devours the bed, and bookcases line the south-facing wall. The shelves are filled with her beloved paperbacks. The room is dark except for the night-light in the bathroom, which is more like a lighthouse or the Eye of Sauron, that cuts through the dark.

I shove the heap of furry, completely useless pillows off the bed with one hand, juggling my Hazel present as I yank back the duvet. Hazel’s bought a new one since the last time I was here—it’s pink and velvety soft. Strangely, it’s not awkward, not like I thought it would be, not even when I drop her onto the space I’ve cleared and our eyes meet. Or when she laughs and throws herself backward, kicking her legs up for some reason known only to her.

I totally want to do this with her.

My fingers are reaching for her before I’ve finished replaying the steps of tonight’s plan in my head. Thanks to yoga and designer jeans, bendy Hazel’s got her ankles on my left shoulder now and my hands are reaching for the zippers on those merciless fuck-me boots. She has the best taste in footwear.

The air rasps out of me as I tug down the zipper on her left boot and slip her foot free. The boot goes...fuck if I know. Later—as in many, many orgasms later—I’d like to have Hazel wearing just the boots and nothing else, but right now I’m crazy for her and I can’t wait. The right boot joins its mate on the floor and then my hands are reaching for the waistband of her jeans. She helps me shove them down, grinding her hips against the bed as if she’s already skipped ahead in her beautiful, sexy head.

“Wait for me.”

“Hurry up.” The smirk on her face is awesome.

I run my hands up the silky skin of her inner thighs. She has a freckle above her right knee that merits much closer inspection. With my mouth. I kiss her there, drinking in the greedy sounds she makes. She jumps as I move higher, the muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. Her skin is so warm.

“Cute.” Hazel’s panties are black cotton boy shorts. I pause my upward quest to breathe her in.

“I was in a rush or I would have worn my date-night panties.”

I grin and run my thumbs higher. She squeaks. “Are those like day-of-the-week panties? I’m going to need to check what you’re wearing in the office.”

“Don’t make me put you in the naughty corner. The not-in-the-office rule stands.” She wriggles, stretching, and her hand disappears between us. A second later, her fingers