Page 83 of Flashback for the Forward

A groan vibrated through his chest. “Fuck.”

“Still dreaming, baby?” I moaned, my head falling back as pleasure mounted.

Teeth nipped at the skin of my shoulder, and his tongue immediately darted out to soothe the hurt. “Feels too fucking good to be real.”

He could say that again.

Behind me, Cole’s hips began to move, the shallow thrusts creating the perfect friction.

Panting breaths caressed the shell of my ear, and his sleep-roughened voice rasped, “Touch yourself. Make yourself come while I’m buried so deep inside you that I don’t know where I end and you begin.”

Eager to obey his filthy command, I wedged a hand between my tightly squeezed thighs. The pad of my index finger grazed my hypersensitive clit, and my pelvis rocked forward, desperate for more.

“Jesus, you’re choking the life out of my dick. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

His encouragement spurred me on, and I put firm pressure on that bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles that sent sparks of electricity down my spine. Within minutes, I was a writhing, whimpering mess, nearly sobbing in my need for release.

The knot of pressure in my lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, growing almost painful.

Eyes squeezed shut in concentration, I clenched my core, which allowed the sparks to finally catch fire, and an explosion of pure ecstasy burst through me.

“Cole!” I clutched at his head, holding him close as the unending waves crashed over me.

In my ear, his exhales transitioned to a symphony of grunts as the rhythm of his hips grew jerky. Then he buried his face in my neck, his body stilling as he reached his own climax.

The afterglow was so peaceful—safe in the arms of the man I loved, his hands gently caressing over my exposed skin—that I never wanted this feeling to end.

After catching a few extra hours of shut-eye, we showered—separately, because we couldn’t be trusted to keep our hands to ourselves if we took one together—and headed down to the kitchen for breakfast.

Cole passed over my cup of coffee before pouring one for himself.

Humming in gratitude, I took a sip. “Can we talk about last night?”

He froze with his mug halfway to his mouth. Clearing his throat, he lowered his hands, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the marble island between us. “What about it?”

Nerves gathered in my belly as I prepared to broach this sensitive subject.

“Why did you get a vasectomy?”

“Because I don’t plan on having kids.” His gaze searched mine. “Is that a dealbreaker for you?”

I shook my head. “No, because I feel the same way.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You do? But weren’t you trying for a baby before?”

Exhaling heavily, I said, “Aiden was. Or at least he thought he was.”

Confusion was etched across Cole’s face. “I don’t understand.”

“I was on birth control the entire time we were together, even when we were ‘trying.’ When he found my pills, that’s what set him off that night.” A shudder rolled through me at the memory. “For a second, I thought he was going to kill me. He was that furious.”

“So you don’t want a baby?”

My lips folded inward as I set aside my coffee. “Bennett’s death all but destroyed my parents. And it forced me to imagine myself in their shoes. To picture carrying a child inside my body before watching them grow into their own little person, a piece of my heart walking around with them everywhere they went . . . Then for them to just be gone one day? And have to keep on living without them? I know deep in my soul that I wouldn’t be able to survive that type of loss.”

He nodded. “That’s fair.”

I appreciated his understanding. After a while, I’d learned to keep quiet about the decision not to procreate. Most people couldn’t fathom that, as a woman, I wouldn’t want a baby of my own. Or worse, they chalked it up to the fact that I was only twenty-six and said I’d change my mind as I got older.