Page 105 of The Bridges I've Burned

I felt his hand slide up my spine as his mouth met mine again.

God, I could spend days kissing Zander, and considering the way he leisurely explored my mouth while his fingers dug into my hair gave me the impression he felt the same.

That hand that still rested on my spine slowly started to drift upward, reaching for the clasp of my bra. With a slight twist, it came undone. I pulled back as he slid the straps down my shoulders and dropped it to the floor.

“Come here.” His voice was rough as his eyes took me in. A hand slid under my ass as he hauled me forward on my knees. It created the perfect angle to?—

“Shit!” I cried as his mouth closed over my nipple.

With his free hand palming my other breast, he ran his tongue over the sensitive bud, making me buck in his arms. His fingers dug into my ass.

“How attached are you to these?” he asked, grabbing a fistful of lace under his palm.

“I could live without?—”

He didn’t even let me finish, twisting the material until it shredded under his strength. He did the same thing to the other side, and they fluttered to the floor.

Those had been expensive as fuck, but, damn, that was hot.

Those emerald-green eyes were roaming my body again, mapping every new inch of exposed skin.

I looked down at the black shorts he still wore.

I’d failed miserably at my task. He was most definitely not naked.

My hands went to his zipper. Time to remedy that.

He silently watched as I undid the button and worked on that zipper. When my fingers reached his waistband, he lifted his hips, and together, we slid off the last piece of clothing and dropped it to the floor.

I took in every impressive inch of him.

Once, when Marin had been pretty hammered on red wine, she’d gone into some rather lengthy detail about…well, Macon’s lengthy details.

I smiled. It seemed that some things indeed did run in the family.

“Shit,” Zander cursed. “Grab my wallet out of my shorts.”

Oh, right. That. I shifted in his lap, twisting around toward the floor.

“Jesus, Elena. You’re killing me here,” he said as I wiggled against his crotch.

I popped back up, laughing but triumphant. I handed him his wallet, and he opened it up.

“This had better not be one of those lucky condoms you’ve had in there since high school.”

He pulled out not one, but two condoms, setting the second on the side table.

That’s promising.

“No.” He gave me a pointed look. “I bought these a few days ago.”

Oh.

“A bit presumptuous, wouldn’t you say?”

He tore the wrapper open and quirked an eyebrow as he rolled it on.

“Hopeful maybe?” he said. “Confident even.”

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