Kissing the Boss
“You can’t be real. Too perfect to be real.”
With his eyes still twinkling with delight, he leaned in and kissed me. And those lips. Dear God. They should come with a warning. Too hot to handle first thing in the morning. Easing closer, he opened his mouth and, bam, I groaned, sliding my body under his without realizing what I was really doing, just needing friction, more friction everywhere. He tasted good. Too good. The turd must’ve gotten up sometime recently and gargled with my mouthwash or something, because no morning breath could ever possibly taste this good.
Oh hell. What if my morning breath was atrocious? What if—