Page 89 of Once Upon A Second Chance

His words are like a spell, weaving a web of desire that tightens around me.

He shifts his weight, his hand leaving my hip to guide his cock to my entrance.

I hold my breath, my body tense with anticipation, as he presses the tip against me, teasing the edge before slowly sinking in.

A moan escapes my lips, involuntary and raw, as he fills me inch by inch with his massive cock, his thickness stretching me in a way that feels both foreign and achingly familiar, until it feels as if I can’t possibly take any more of him inside me.

"Fuck, you’re tight," he groans, his voice strained with restraint. "So fucking tight, Penny. Like you were made for me, like you were made for me to fuck over and over.”

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him deeper. "Move," I plead, my voice desperate.

“What do you say, Penny? How do you get what you want?”

"Please, Richard, move. Please. I need you to moveinside me."

He chuckles, a dark, satisfied sound, before withdrawing slowly, torturously, only to thrust back in with deliberate force, over and over.

The sensation is overwhelming, a blend of pleasure, pain, and pressure that leaves me breathless.

"Is this what you want?" he asks, his hips snapping into a steady rhythm, each thrust driving him deeper. "Me fucking you like this?"

"Yes," I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders as he hits a spot inside me that makes my toes curl. "Oh, yes, Richard, yes!"

There’s no past, no fear, no old ghosts rattling at the windows.

Just the two of us, tangled together in the dark, moving in a rhythm older than whatever walls we spent years building.

It’s not perfect. It's better.

It's raw and messy and very, very real.

I don’t think about anything except how good it feels to be with him, to have him here, to be wanted like this—completely, without conditions or second thoughts.

To be vulnerable with him, to let him dominate me in bed the way he likes to—and the way I’ve learned to love.

The room is filled with the sounds of our passion—our moans, our gasps, the creak of the bed—and I lose myself in it, in him.

“Richard,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I—I’m close.”

He smiles, a wicked glint in his eyes, and increases his pace even more, his thrusts deeper, harder.

I cry out, my body tightening around him as I fall over the edge again, my orgasm crashing into me like a storm.

Richard follows, his body tensing as he finally finds his own release, my name on his lips as he cums.

When it’s over, we lie tangled together, our hearts still pounding, our breaths slowly evening out.

Richard kisses my forehead, his arms tight around me.

The silence is comfortable, the moment perfect.

Later, after we’ve come down, after he’s lying half draped over me with one arm slungprotectively across my waist and his face tucked into the curve of my neck, I stare at the ceiling, dazed and loose-limbed.

There’s a tiny nagging itch in the back of my mind—like I forgot to lock the back door or left a light on somewhere—but I can’t quite grab onto it.

It doesn’t matter.

Not right now.