Page 119 of Once Upon A Second Chance
She can feel her body responding to mine, her walls clenching around me as I hit her sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure through us both.
"You feel so good, Penny," I groan, my voice thick with desire as I start to move faster, my hips snapping against hers.
"So fucking tight, so wet..."
My words send a jolt of need through her, and I feel her body responding to mine, her pussy clenching around my cock as she meets my thrusts, her nails digging into my back as she rides out the pleasure.
The room is filled with the sounds of our passion, our moans and gasps echoing off the walls as we move together, our bodies a tangle of limbs and desire.
She feels my cock throbbing inside her, and she knows I’m close, my body tensing as I near the edge.
"Cum with me, Penny," I pant, my voice a rough whisper as I looks into her eyes, my expressionintense. "Let go, baby..."
My words are like a trigger, sending her over the edge as her body convulses around my cock, her cunt clenching and releasing as I cum, her voice a loud, keening cry that fills the room.
I follow in short order, my body stiffening as I thrust deeply, my cock pulsing inside her as I fill her with my seed.
As our breathing slows, and our hearts return to a steady rhythm, I collapse onto her, my weight a comforting pressure as I nuzzle her neck, my lips brushing against her skin.
She smiles, her fingers tracing the contours of my back, feeling the warmth of my skin beneath her touch.
Afterward, we lie tangled in the blankets, the windows cracked to let in the cooling night air. The room smells like cedar soap and her skin, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more anchored to a moment than I do now.
Penny rests her head on my chest, fingers tracing slow circles over my ribs. Her breath has evened out, but she’s not asleep. Neither am I.
I press a kiss to her forehead.
“I’m proud ofyou,” I whisper.
She doesn’t respond right away, but her fingers tighten just a little, like the words landed somewhere she needed them most.
I’ve performed eight-hour surgeries. I’ve replaced joints, rebuilt bones, and once kept calm through a power outage mid-operation while the anesthesiologist panicked and a resident nearly fainted.
But nothing—nothing—makes me more anxious than sitting in this beige, too-warm OB office with my hand clasped tightly in Penny’s and a clipboard full of intake forms half-filled out on my lap.
“Are you sure we didn’t forget anything?” I ask for the third time.
Penny looks over at me, one eyebrow raised. “Yes. Again.”
“There was a question on your supplement intake. Did you putdown the magnesium?”
She leans closer, lips brushing my ear. “Richard. Breathe.”
I do, sort of.
We’re here for the first official prenatal visit, and the stakes feel impossibly high for something so routine.
Penny’s only about nine weeks along, and according to the twelve thousand articles I’ve accidentally read since she took the test, that makes this a critical visit.
Confirmation of viability. Baseline vitals. Due date estimate. Possibly even a first ultrasound.
I’ve spent most of my adult life being the expert in the room. Today I’m a wreck in jeans and a gray button-down that I changed into three times before deciding it looked “trustworthy but not smug.”
The door opens, and a nurse calls Penny’s name.
We stand together, and I immediately overcorrect by grabbing the clipboard, the empty water bottle, and her purse before realizing she doesn’t need a personal valet.
She smirks at me, takes back her purse, and laces our fingers together.
