Page 62 of Flashback for the Forward

A halo of dark hair around her head, tangled from thrashing against the pillows.

Full tits with puckered pink nipples that made her scream in ecstasy when I sucked on them.

Arousal clinging to my lips and chin as she came all over my face.

High-pitched cries, begging me to never stop.

“Never,” I grunted, fisting my length faster.

My toes curled, my balls tightening in warning. It had been far too long since I touched myself, and pleasure clawed at me from all sides, demanding I let go and succumb to the release I so desperately sought.

Slamming one hand against the tiled wall, I pulled brutally on my dick with the other. The pressure grew overwhelming until suddenly, the dam burst, and an orgasm hit me with the force of a freight train. A roar of completion tore up my throat, echoing throughout the space, and jets of cum spilled from my tip, only to be quickly washed down the drain.

Completely spent, I rested my head on my forearm, panting through the aftershocks still buzzing beneath my skin.

Damn, I’d needed that more than I realized.

After a quick rinse, I turned off the faucet, stepped out of the shower, and grabbed a towel. I was running it over my head to dry my hair when I heard what sounded like a knock on the door to my bedroom.

Then came a cry of, “Cole!” and all the tension that had fled my body after masturbating was back in full force.

Panicked, I tripped over my own damn feet in my rush to get to Bridget, crashing into the doorframe that separated my ensuite from my walk-through closet. My shoulder took the brunt of the impact, and I cursed under my breath. Ignoring the burst of pain, I righted myself and barely managed to knot the towel around my waist before flinging the door wide open.

Bridget was right there on the other side, and while my brain was still coming back online—the blood in my body slowly moving north with my cock now deflated—it looked as if she were on the verge of tears.

“Bridget?” I inwardly groaned at the husky quality of my voice.

Bright green eyes lifted and instantly widened, the pupils blowing out as she scanned my naked torso.

There wasn’t much time to revel in the fact that she was checking me out, because it wasn’t long before she sucked in a sharp breath, and I realized she’d honed in on the black ink along my sternum. The tattoo was an exact replica of the pendant from my half of the pair of friendship necklaces I’d given to her on the occasion of her sixteenth birthday.

“Cole,” Bridget breathed, lifting her fingertips to trace the half-heart shape. “When did you get this done?”

Swallowing thickly, I replied, “The day after we broke up.”

She pulled in a shuddering breath, and those tears I wasn’t sure were there before now clung to her lashes.

Blinking up at me, she confessed, “That’s why I came here.”

My brows drew down. “What?”

“I was digging for the cash I had hidden, with no clue where I was headed. All I knew was that I needed to get out. The necklace you gave me was at the bottom of the shoebox, and it felt like a sign. So I ran as fast as I could to the library where I used to volunteer, broke in after-hours—though, technically, I did have a key—and called a cab using their landline. When he asked me, ‘Where to?’ I told him your address. And now here I am.”

“Here you are,” I repeated in awe.

God, it scared the living hell out of me to think of where she might’ve ended up if her younger self hadn’t kept that symbol of my undying love.

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter, because regardless of the circumstances, she did find her way back to me.

Her touch fell away, and instantly, I mourned the loss of it.

Shifting on her feet, Bridget said, “I came to see if maybe you wanted to have dinner with me?”

Not sure why she was asking, I replied, “Sure, seeing as we have dinner together every night.”

A blush colored her cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”

Okay . . .