Page 10 of Once Upon A Second Chance (Once Upon A Time…To Happily Ever After #2)

Our eyes meet for one charged second before he looks back at the road. The air between us crackles—something electric and old, alive again in the space between breaths.

The sun dips lower, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold as we wind our way into the mountains.

The trees grow thicker, the air cooler through the cracked windows. Richard’s playlist shifts to something softer—The Cranberries, Mazzy Star, songs that feel like nostalgia and new beginnings all at once.

I catch him glancing at me every so often, like he’s making sure I’m still here. Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he looks away too long.

“What?” I ask finally, when his gaze lingers.

He smiles, small and private. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much I missed this.”

The honesty in his voice steals my breath.

I reach across the console, threading my fingers through his. His hand is warm, his grip firm. He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles without taking his eyes off the road.

No grand declarations. No over-the-top gestures.

Just this.

Just us.

The tires crunch over the gravel driveway as Richard eases the truck to a stop.

Through the windshield, the cabin rises like something from a dream—dark wood siding, a steeply pitched roof dusted with pine needles, and a wraparound deck that overlooks the valley below.

The last rays of sunset paint the mountains in fiery hues, setting the entire scene ablaze with golden light.

I exhale, my breath fogging the window slightly. "You undersold this."

Richard kills the engine, grinning. "Did I?"

"You said it was 'a place in the woods.'"

"It is in the woods."

I shove his shoulder. "You're impossible."

He catches my hand before I can pull away, his thumb brushing my knuckles.

"You love it."

I don't correct him.

The air is crisp up here with the scent of pine and damp earth as we step out of the truck. Somewhere in the trees, a wood thrush calls, its song echoing through the quiet.

Richard rounds the truck bed to grab our bags, his shirt stretching across his shoulders as he hefts them effortlessly.

"Keys?" I ask.

He pats his pockets, frowns, then produces them from the cup holder with a sheepish grin. "Forgot I already had them."

"Still a disaster, I see."

"Your disaster," he shoots back, tossing me the keys.

The porch creaks underfoot as I approach the door, the sound oddly comforting. The key turns smoothly in the lock, revealing an open-concept space bathed in the warm glow of fading daylight.

Inside, a massive stone fireplace dominates one wall, surrounded by overstuffed leather couches and a well-loved wool rug.

To the right, a small but tidy kitchen features a gas stove, a farmhouse sink, and—surprisingly—a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter. I pause for a second. Who stocked this?

A spiral staircase winds up to a loft, where two bedroom doors stand slightly ajar, inviting and quiet.

Richard drops the bags just inside the threshold and takes a long look around. “Home sweet home.”

I wander further in, running my fingers along the rough-hewn dining table. "Your 'med school buddy' has good taste."

"He's an orthopedic surgeon now. Married a decorator."

Richard moves to the fridge, pulling out two beers. "Apparently she 'doesn't trust him to pick out a throw pillow.'"

I snort, accepting the bottle he offers. "Smart woman."

The label is local—some microbrew from Chattanooga. The first sip is crisp and citrusy, perfect for the end of a long day.

Richard watches me over the rim of his bottle. "So. Tour?"

The larger of the two spaces, with a wrought-iron bed and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the mountain vista. A private balcony juts out over the tree line.

Richard leans against the doorframe. "This one's mine."

I raise an eyebrow. "Because you called dibs?"

"Because it has the better view." His gaze doesn't leave mine.

Heat creeps up my neck. I take another swig of beer.

"Show me the rest."

Cozy but bright, with a quilt-covered twin bed and a stack of well-worn paperbacks on the nightstand. The window looks out on a cluster of birch trees, their leaves fluttering in the evening breeze.

I set my beer on the dresser. "This is perfect."

Richard hums, stepping closer. "You sure you don't want the master?"

"Positive."

"Not even if I promise to stay on my side?"

I turn to face him, finding him closer than expected. The fading light catches the flecks of gold in his eyes, the stubble along his jaw. The air between us crackles.

"Tempting," I murmur. "But rules are rules."

He sighs dramatically. "Worth a shot."

Twilight has settled by the time we unpack and make it outside with a bottle of good Cabernet, the first stars winking to life overhead.

The hot tub steams invitingly in the corner, but we settle for the Adirondack chairs, our shoulders brushing as we take in the view.

Richard tips his head back. "No light pollution out here."

I follow his gaze to the Milky Way stretching across the sky like spilled paint. "It's beautiful."

A comfortable silence settles between us, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl. Then—

"Pen."

I turn to find Richard watching me, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah?"

He reaches over, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger, tracing the curve of my jaw. "Nothing. Just... glad you're here."

The words settle in my chest, warm and heavy.

I lean into his touch. "Me, too."

The fire he’s built crackles in the fire pit, casting flickering shadows across the trees. Richard fills my glass, his fingers brushing mine.

"So," he says, settling into the chair beside me. "Ground rules for the trip?"

I sip my wine. "No mariachi bands."

"Damn."

"No sudden declarations of love."

"Boring."

I set my glass down with a clink. "And no—"

He leans in, cutting me off with a kiss that tastes like wine and wood smoke. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark. "Too soon?"

I don't answer. Just fist my hands in his shirt and drag him back in.

I moan and arch my body towards him, definitely encouraging more of that behavior. I grab my wine and pull him toward the house, where we collapse onto the couch, setting our glasses on the coffee table.

He lays his hand over one of my breasts and starts moving it in circles, lightly rubbing the nipple.

His breath is warm against my throat, his hands skating under my shirt, pushing it over my head. The heat of his skin makes me dizzy; I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, laughing breathlessly when they refuse to cooperate.

“Need help?” he asks, amused.

“No,” I say, finally managing to tug it off his shoulders. “Yes.”

He grins against my neck, one hand moving to the waistband of my leggings. “These too?”

“Yeah.” My voice catches as he slips them down along with my underwear in one smooth motion. “God, yes.”

His mouth trails a line of heat across my collarbone, down between my breasts. I shiver despite the warmth.

“You’re sure about this?” His eyes find mine, serious and questioning.

I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. “I am if you are.”

His hands slide under my thighs, lifting me easily as he stands. I wrap around him instinctively, his bare chest hot against mine.

We make it up the stairs and into the master bedroom without disentangling—he’s always been strong like this—falling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

The air between us is thick with anticipation, a decade’s worth of longing hanging heavily between us.

I can feel my skin flush, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I watch Richard loom over me.

He is a commanding presence, his broad shoulders filling the space, his eyes dark and hungry as they roam over my body. His voice, a low growl, cuts through the silence, a stark contrast to the soft rustling of pine trees outside.

His words send a shiver down my spine, my pussy dampening as I recall our recent sexual encounter. A mix of desire and apprehension coil in my chest.

I remember this version of Richard—relentless, unyielding, masterful.

He’s the same man I fell for in college, but now, after all this time, I sense there’s a new edge to him, a raw intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

He doesn’t wait for a response, his hands already moving, claiming me as if I’m an extension of him.

He starts at my ankles, his strong grip deliberate, his touch both firm and reverent. His mouth and fingers trail up my calves, slow and purposeful, as if mapping my body anew.

I feel my breath hitch as his hands glide over my knees, my thighs, his movements deliberate, calculated to heighten my anticipation, which is already considerable.

With a swift, deliberate motion, he spreads my legs wide, and I gasp, my body arching toward him, instinctively seeking his touch as my cunt releases juices that spill down my thigh.

Richard’s eyes never leave mine as he climbs my body inch by inch, his gaze piercing, as if he’s searching for something deeper than my desire.

His tongue traces up my inner thighs, feather-light, a stark contrast to the intensity in his expression. My skin tingles wherever he kisses or licks, every nerve alight with a mix of pleasure and longing.

“Richard,” I whisper, my voice a breathy plea, my body already aching and arching, reaching for more.

He smirks, a slow, sensual curve of his lips that sends a shiver down my spine. “What do you want, Penny?” he asks, his tone deceptively casual as his tongue finally hovers over my wet core.

I whimper softly as he circles my clit, his tongue licking, teasing, withholding the pressure I crave. I can feel the throb of my cunt as it begs to be fucked.

My hips buck involuntarily, my body desperate to be consumed by him, but he’s relentless.

“Richard,” I plead again, my voice trembling with need.

He leans down, his breath hot on my ear, his presence overwhelming. “Tell me what you want, Penny. Tell me now,” his tone much more forceful this time.