Page 76 of Flashback for the Forward

My girl.

Chapter 23

Cole

“Bridget!” I called out when I saw all the lights were still on inside the house.

“Upstairs,” she shouted back.

Jogging up the steps, I began to loosen my tie. Maybe after I was changed, I could coax her into a movie night.

“Did you catch the end of the game? Levi’s goal was—”

The words died on my tongue as I stopped dead on the threshold to my bedroom and did a double take. Then, just to make sure what I was seeing wasn’t a figment of my imagination, I rubbed at my eyes.

My hands fell away, only to confirm that Bridget was indeed kneeling at the center of my mattress, wearing nothing but a Surf jersey.

And not just any Surf jersey. Mine.

“What, uh—” I swallowed. Hard. “What are you doing in here?”

A coy smile played on her lips, her voice sultry as she replied, “What do you think?”

I think this is my every dream come true.

When I stood there silent, Bridget’s fingers toyed with the hem of the oversized garment that branded her with my name across the back. “Do you remember the last time you found me like this?”

How could I forget? That was the night I became addicted to eating her pussy.

With the phantom taste of her playing across my tongue, I barely managed a nod in response.

She crawled on her hands and knees over the comforter, allowing the neck of the jersey to gape open and giving me a peek at the naked body beneath.

Holy shit.

My blood rushed south, my dick tenting my slacks.

I wanted her. So fucking badly.

But the memory of what happened in the gym forced me to pump the brakes.

“Bridget.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m not sure you’re ready for this.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you think I should be the one who gets to decide what I am or am not ready for?”

“Of course, but—”

“I want to share something with you.” Bridget climbed off the bed, padding to where I still stood on the threshold of the room.

I pulled in a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Aiden, he—” My fists clenched at the mention of that fucker’s name. “He used to hold me down when we had sex.”

“Son of a bitch,” I gritted out, seeing red.

Bridget lifted a hand, smoothing a thumb over the divot between my brows. “I’m not telling you this to make you angry on my behalf; I’m telling you so that you can understand why I’ve been struggling with this part of our relationship. And I’m hoping that by being open and honest about my past trauma surrounding physical intimacy, we can find a way to take this next step. Because I really want this.”

“God, I want it too,” I breathed, dropping my forehead to hers.