Page 72 of Your Second Chance
“Fuck,” I whimpered, tangling my hands in his hair, tugging hard as his pace grew rougher. “You feel so good. So fucking big. I can’t—I can’t get enough of you.”
He brought his hand between us, his thumb finding my clit and circling it with enough pressure to send my pleasure spiraling. “Let go for me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. “I want to feel you. I want all of you.”
“Ollie,” I cried. “Fuck. Ollie.”
I shattered. My vision blurred as I screamed his name, my body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed through me.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough as his own release hit, his cock pulsing inside me as he buried himself to the hilt. “Fuck, Nova. You’re perfect.”
He collapsed against me, his breath hot and uneven against my neck, his body still pressed firmly to mine as the aftershocks rippled through both of us.
He pulled out slowly, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he wrapped those big, wide arms around me, cradling me close. Itwas impossible not to notice how perfectly I fit inside them, like they were built for this—for holding me, anchoring me.
“I’m sorry I got you so dirty after your bath.”
His warmth, the safety of his embrace, and the raw intensity of everything we’d shared hit me all at once. It was too much and before I could stop myself, the tears came.
I turned into him, pressing my face against his chest as the sobs racked my body. He didn’t say a word. He held me and stroked slow circles along my back as I let it all out.
The emotions poured out of me—every fear, every insecurity, every moment I’d carried alone for far too long. And he stayed.
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nova
“I’m sorry for crying.” I slid off the bed.
My legs were unsteady, and my chest was still too tight. I needed a moment. I needed to breathe.
“I’m going to . . . wash up.”
He nodded, his eyes tracking my every movement, but he didn’t stop me.
I hoped he knew what he’d done for me. I hoped he understood the depth of it—how much he’d given me, how much he’d unraveled in me, and how safe I felt because of him.
The air in the bathroom was cooler, the soft light stark against my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, my hair wild, my eyes still shining with unshed tears. I let the water run, pressing my hands against the counter as I took a deep breath.
I splashed the cool water over my face, letting it run down my skin. The weight of what had happened sat heavy, but it wasn’t suffocating. It was something else entirely. Something lighter. Something that seemed like healing.
I stared at my reflection. My chest was still tight, but not from fear. It was the weight of release, of something breaking free inside me that had been locked away for so long.
The first time I had sex, it had been in that dirty bathroom. Dirty. Used. Shameful. I had let it happen because I thought it was what I was supposed to do, a way to fill the emptiness I didn’t know how to handle.
That feeling had lingered long after. That shame had clung to me, a shadow I couldn’t escape. I’d been so sure my next “first time” would feel the same—that I would be left with the same hollow ache, the same disgust with myself.
This was nothing like that.
It had been everything. A mix of softness and passion. It wasn’t just sex—it was connection. A piece of myself I’d been afraid to let anyone see, finally laid bare, and instead of recoiling, he’d held it like it was something precious.
More tears fell, but they weren’t out of sadness. They were cathartic, a release of years of shame and fear I hadn’t even realized I was still carrying. It was overwhelming, but in the best way, like I was finally letting go of something I’d been clutching too tightly for too long.
I sank onto the edge of the bathtub, pressing my hand against my chest as I let the tears come. Hope flickered—not just in him, but in myself. I could heal. I could be whole again. Maybe I could finally feel worthy of something good.
I cleaned up and grabbed a wet towel. When I got back into the bedroom, I handed it to him, and he took it. We finished in silence, the kind that felt more like understanding than anything else.
When we slipped back into bed, he shifted closer, gently pressing his hand against my belly. He moved and rested his ear against the curve of my abdomen, his breath warm against my skin.
“Hey, little girl.” He rubbed slow circles over my stomach, his touch tender. “I want to tell you something, because if I tell your mummy, she might get scared.”
