Page 88 of Flashback for the Forward

My girl’s laughter filled the air. “Oh my God. Do you remember when we snuck in to see that at the movie theater because it was rated R and we weren’t old enough?”

“How could I forget, when this one”—Crew hitched a thumb in my direction—“was a total stick in the mud, refusing to come in and insisting we watch the movie we paid to see.”

Bridget placed a loving hand on my forearm. “Aw, come on. It’s kinda cute how he’s always been such a rule-follower.”

“Rules exist for a reason, you know,” I grumbled under my breath.

“Soooooo, is that a yes to the movie?” Crew hedged.

Even if I was a little salty that they were making fun of my moral compass, I agreed with a “Sure, why not?”

“Yes!” My brother fist-pumped the air in victory before shoving back from the table and declaring, “I’m gonna make popcorn.”

This was the most animated I’d seen him since the injury, and I could admit it was nice to see a hint of his signature spark returning.

Thirty minutes later, the movie was playing on the flatscreen TV in the living room. Crew was in my leather recliner, eyes closed and mouthing every word of dialogue, while Bridget was curled into my side on the sofa, a blanket covering most of her body.

I chuckled at the part where they found a tiger in the bathroom as my fingers drew lazy circles on Bridget’s hip.

She sighed in contentment, snuggling into my chest.

Emboldened, I skimmed the exposed strip of skin at the waistband of her leggings. Her breathing hitched as I moved back and forth along the line, keeping my touch featherlight.

“Cole.” My name was both a warning and a plea on her lips.

Dipping my head, I placed my mouth directly beside her ear. “His eyes are closed. If you keep quiet, he’ll never know.”

When you were sneaking around with your best friend’s little sister, you learned to get creative, and Bridget and I had gotten handsy beneath a blanket—with no one being any the wiser—more times than I could count.

I dragged the callous pad of a fingertip over her lower belly again, dipping beneath the stretchy fabric of her pants a fraction of an inch. “Is this okay?”

Her lips lifted, and she hummed in the affirmative.

“I need words, beautiful.”

“Don’t you dare stop.” She gripped my forearm, shoving my hand down the front of her leggings.

“So needy,” I rumbled in her ear.

She shifted restlessly. “Mm-hmm.”

My hand continued its trek south, and a growl was pulled from my chest when I made direct contact with the neatly trimmed hair covering her mound. “Where the fuck are your panties, Bridget?”

Her head fell back onto my shoulder. “Oops.”

I tsked. “Such a dirty girl.”

It was so fucking hot to think that only a thin layer of spandex had been separating me from her pussy all damn day.

“Your dirty girl,” she panted.

Fuck, I was so hard I could barely see straight. This woman coming into her own sexually might very well be the death of me.

My eyes darted toward Crew in the recliner to ensure his eyes were still closed—they were—before plunging between Bridget’s spread thighs. A hiss escaped past my lips when my fingers dragged through the slickness there, gliding easily through her slit.

Burying my face in her hair, I groaned. “Goddamn, you’re drenched. Does it turn you on knowing we could be caught any second?”

She arched against me with a breathy “Yes.”