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She should have been used to being surprised by Elliott.
At first, he was only the too eloquent stranger with immaculate manners and a voice like mead. Then she watched him drink enough wine at the saloon to abandon the act entirely. He wasn’t sloppy. Elliott was never sloppy. But his laughter had become easier and his careful speeches softened at the edges. He leaned in when he spoke. Touched more easily. It was unexpected to realize how much effort went into the polished version of him, and how warm the man beneath it actually was.
After that, she began noticing the other things.
How private he was, until the very moment he decided not to be. Those unprovoked confessions about his plans and struggles. The intensity with which he spoke about his writing when excitement loosened his restraint. The comical competitiveness that surfaced during the ice festival and silly carnival games.
Then, the unexpected strength hidden beneath his tailored coats which he revealed when he first pinned her against the mattress with confidence. The breathless discovery that nearly everything about him was larger than her first impressions allowed.
Each surprise should have made the next one easier. Instead, loving Elliott often felt like standing at the edge of the ocean; steady enough to be lulled by his presence, unpredictable enough to command awe.
Marriage had softened some of that unpredictability.
They moved around one another with the ease of repetition now; it was its own rhythm brought on by intimacy. Shared jokes and shared silences. Muddy boots by the door and story drafts spread across the dining table. The brush of his fingers at her waist while passing behind her in the kitchen. The steady comfort of knowing how his voice would sound when he called her name from another room.
There was strong passion in it still, but it lived alongside habit now, woven into the fabric of their life. Which was why his question caught her off guard so much.
“Have you ever thought about children?”
The farmer looked up from the counter. A basket of cranberries were now forgotten by the sink.
Rain hit against the windows in slow patterns. The kitchen smelled faintly of rosemary and wine. Elliott stood near the stove with his shirt’s sleeves pushed to his forearms, one hand resting against the counter as he watched his wife very carefully. Not just casual curiosity, then.
“I don’t know,” she admitted after pausing for a moment. “I never really thought about it in the past.”
Elliott’s gaze didn’t leave hers.
“And now?”
The question sounded easy. It should not have felt this intimate. But something in his voice made warmth unfurl slowly beneath her ribs. Outside, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the valley.
“Well,” she said lightly, almost smiling and afraid to get too serious about it, “I haven’t had time to picture it much, have I?”
He was quiet at first, then he inhaled softly, his eyes darkening in that subtle way she learned to recognize long ago. It was the look that said his restraint was slowly giving way to want. By the time he was near her, her pulse had begun to thrum low and heavy. She couldn’t tell if it was uneasiness or something else. His walked toward her like a great cat clashed with how careful he was clearly being.
He rested one hand at her waist with tenderness, fingers spreading just enough for her to feel the warmth through her clothes.
“I never used to think about children,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t something really I longed for. I thought my life would remain singular, I suppose.” A faint amusement crossed his face. “Writing. Wandering. Enjoying people briefly, never long enough to build a future around them…”
His thumb moved against her waist.
“But then you came along.”
The room felt smaller as Elliott stepped closer, until the edge of the counter pressed lightly against her hip.
“And now,” he continued, voice lowering, “I find myself thinking about all sort of things.”
Her brows rose, as if to ask ‘Like what?’ but she didn’t speak. He was the one with many words, always had been.
“Like… Seasons changing around us. You in the garden with earth on your hands and sun on your face. You asleep beside me in the mornings.” His gaze moved over my face with attention. “You standing in this kitchen, looking at me as though you don’t realize what you do to me. And then,” he said, voice low, “You carrying our child.”
The words settled between them and heat climbed instantly into her throat. Elliott stepped even closer, until they could almost feel each other’s warmth.
“I imagine your body changing, beneath my hands.” His composure faltered slightly, enough for her to hear the short breath he took afterwards. “I imagine seeing life growing inside you, and knowing it’s because of me.” Her pulse and breath stumbled. His eyes darkened at the reaction, fixed on his wife’s face with new intensity. “And,” he murmured, the polish in his voice beginning to crack, “the thought of that does something to me.”
The farmer exhaled shakily as Elliott’s hand slid slowly along her waist, towards her flat midriff.
“I think that’s what’s surprising,” he said. “Not that I could want a child but,” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “That I want it with you so badly, it has begun to consume me a little.”
She watched Elliot, unable to chime in with her usual ease. Both their breaths sounded heavier in the silence of the room. Her mind was rushing through her past and future as she thought.
Before she moved here, children were something that belonged to strangers’ lives. She never really had kids around her until she came to Pelican Town. No young kids in her family as she grew up. Only a handful of friends in adulthood that she saw less and less over the years, and none of them with babies. Also, life was different then. A tedious survival game where the win of the day was leaving work on time. Eight hour shifts that easily blurred into ten hours or more without apology. Quick ready meals in front of the TV because she was too tired to cook or even shop for a proper dinner. She was always barely making it to the next month, only focused on the next meager pay check and the next set of bills to be paid. The idea of a husband was laughable then. Dating felt like a series of job interviews, trying to qualify for disappointing sex. No real relationships, no time to even just exist.
A baby was something she thought she didn’t get to consider before. It never crossed her mind. She was very young, she had time. Life would sort itself out, eventually.
And it did.
Now, she was here. Not as young as she was back then, but young still. She had abundant income that came through rewarding hard work. She had a good, kind, beautiful man by her side. She could still take her time, think, make lists, plan, consider. What could he see when he thought about her like that? She tried to see it too.
She saw Elliott and their house, and the farm. The valley stretching around them, all green and blue and lush. Seasons making themselves known, a town full of people that she knew and liked and trusted. She tried to see herself as a mother, but she also saw in Elliot’s eyes that he could see her pregnant. It was a warm thought. Warm all over. And imagining her body with a part of Elliott did something to her too. His hand was resting against her stomach almost reverently now, like he was afraid to want it too much.
After a moment, she covered it with her own hand and held it there.
Elliott went still under her touch. She could see his throat working through a lump. His eyes dropped to their hands, and she watched the exact second the gesture reached him for what it was. A deep inhale. His jaw tightening once beneath otherwise perfect stillness. The flicker of disbelief crossing his face before something else swallowed it whole.
His hand flexed beneath her instinctively, fingers spreading against her skin in earnest now, as if he could already feel something there. The thought seemed to hit him all over again a moment later, because his eyes closed and a rough breath left him through his nose.
When he looked at her again, she could see that the restraint in his eyes was hanging on for dear life.
“You’re considering it?” he said softly.
“I am. Tell me,” she said equally soft. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking about.”
She could see him trying to pace himself, trying to remain measured and careful but his imagination was clearly outrunning him. His eyes keep dropping helplessly to where their hands rest together against her body.
“I think of you,” he said, voice scratching under his usual velvet tone. “Living this life, with me.” His thumb shifted beneath her hand, unconsciously possessive. “In this house, pregnant with our child-”
Elliott exhaled shakily after his unfinished sentence, like speaking it aloud was cost him more than composure.
“You have no idea what you are allowing me to imagine.” His forehead nearly brushed hers when he spoke again. He was almost amused by his loss of composure. “You could ask me for anything right now, dear, and I would give it to you. Anything.”
“You are already giving me something to think about,” she said, her voice warmer. He was giving her something she hadn't allowed herself to consider, much less imagine in the light that Elliott was seeing it. Surely more planning had to go into a decision like this... Or maybe it didn't. She couldn't think straight. “Do you mean it?”
Elliott went still again at that because she clearly had misunderstood the scale of it entirely. His gaze held hers for a long moment, dark and steadfast, and she watched something move through his expression.
His hand remained spread against her stomach beneath hers, as he repeated.
“Mean it?” The words carried no mockery, only disbelief threaded with something far more loaded underneath. “My love,” he murmured, “I would not speak to you this way over a passing fantasy.”
She remembered him wanting and eager like this before their first time, back then. And she had thought she wouldn’t see him so lost in his imaginations again. She was wrong.
Elliott drew in a slow breath, visibly trying to gather himself before continuing. It only half worked.
“When I look at you, I do not imagine something fleeting, or something abstract.” His eyes searched hers carefully, intensely. “I imagine our life, solid and real. Continuing. Expanding.” His thumb shifted beneath her hand. “Our home becoming fuller because you are in it.”
Elliot’s gaze dropped between them again. He closed his eyes afterwards, jaw tightening as though he heard himself too. When he opened them again, the need in his expression had shifted into something almost too sincere.
“So yes,” he added. “I mean it.” He took one last step and there was no distance left between them. “I mean it enough that I have spent months trying to find a better way of saying this to you.” A breathless laugh, stripped of amusement. “Do you know how many times I have looked at you across this kitchen and thought about asking?”
“Why didn’t you?” she said in return but Elliott just shook his head, apparently reaching his limit. Their foreheads were brushing now, breath tangling with breath. Her question was brief but the answer, maybe not so much.
She could see the life he was imagining.
She allowed herself to envision all the best case scenarios. Their predictable days altering, expanding, like her body. Giving room to more. Imagining Elliott looking at her with the same love and hunger in his eyes as she grew heavy with child. Him devoted and adoring. Him suggesting another one almost too quickly after their first.
She needed to know what he wanted, what he saw, how he wanted it, how he wanted her.
"Tell me then, my love.” She tried to be sweet but her request came out as a breathless demand. She tried not to be so swayed by the thought but the heat was building between her legs. “Tell me what you see. Let me see it too."
The sound that left Elliott then was quiet enough to barely exist. Her encouragement undid him more thoroughly than any seduction ever could have. This was no longer him confessing a private longing or a secret desire. She was asking him to share it. To place it in her hands and trust her with the full weight of it.
His eyes closed again, forehead resting against hers as if he needed to anchor himself before he could speak again. When he could, his voice had changed to something lower, rough around the edges.
“I see you everywhere,” he admitted, his want threaded with affection.
His hand moved over her midriff, unhurried. Lingering. Imagining.
“I see you in the mornings, first. Standing barefoot in the kitchen, with your bump newly showing, while I make tea because the smell of coffee suddenly makes you ill.” The corner of his mouth twitched faintly, distracted by the image even as desire darkened his gaze again. “Me foraging heaps of ginger from the island for you, because it settles your nausea. You pretending to be irritated with me for hovering while allowing me to hover anyway.”
His eyes opened then, fixed entirely on her.
“Then I see you stealing my shirts because none of yours fits comfortably anymore.” His fingers dragged against her over her shirt. His unapologetic contact meant she couldn’t help but feel it there, with him. “And me becoming so distracted by the sight of pregnant you that I forget what I was saying.” Heat flickered visibly across his face, his composure slipping yet another degree as the fantasy sharpened. “And I see my hands on you,” he confessed, quieter now. His other hand wandered over her breast, feather light. “Every time you pass me, every time you lie beside me, every time I remember what is happening inside you.”
The words settled between them like steam.
“How long have you been thinking about this?” she whispered, as if her voice alone was heating up. Her nipple hardened under his touch. “How long have you been thinking of us- me, growing?” Her body was almost refusing to listen to her now, with her catching herself leaning into his hands as his fingers on her stomach slowly worked through her buttons, reaching her skin.
Elliott’s eyes darkened at the question. He remembered the moment something switched in him, almost too clearly. She could see the calculation fade from his expression, along with the last attempt at deciding how much honesty he should allow himself.
His fingers moved against her skin again, now bare under her undone shirt.
“For longer than I intended to admit.”
Rain tapped harder against the windows now.
“It began innocently,” he murmured. “Or so I told myself.” A self-aware smile passed across his lush mouth. Her eyes kept fixating on his lips. “The mind wanders when you are stuck on a tricky scene, you know? Just thinking about us and the future… But then I saw you,” he continued, “that day in town, holding Jodi and Kent’s daughter…”
He stopped himself. His eyes lowered again before he forced himself onwards.
“I thought about how you would look holding our child instead.”
She couldn’t remember the exact day he was talking about. Jodi and Kent had an oopsie baby not too long ago. The little girl was now walking but this meant that Elliott must have been in this reverie for months. She had no idea.
“I tried not to indulge it at first.” His gaze lifted back to hers. “But then I would catch myself imagining things. Daydreaming.” His hand rubbed fully over her belly now, pressing warm against her skin, as if he could just will a baby in there. “The weight of you beneath my hands. The curve of your body changing every month. You beside me in bed, warm, and heavy, and swollen with child while I touched you, and made love to you and wondered how I had become fortunate enough to deserve any of it-”
He stopped. Too intense. She watched his throat work once again before he continued, his voice noticeably coarser.
“I don’t think you understand what this is doing to me.”
She kept listening it all, her body humming with a strange new urgency. “I see it too,” she whispered, imagining herself the way he saw her. Radiant, fertile, ready and full with the life he had put inside her. The thought had become vivid now, almost overwhelming, and she didn’t want to let it go. A smile spread across her face as her hand pressed harder on his. Who would have thought a hand resting on her midriff could make her feel this roused?
“Will you still look at me like this?” she teased softly. “Will you still find me beautiful? Will you still want me?”
Elliott made a sound beneath his breath that resembled pain. Because he could tell, she was seeing it now, really seeing it. And worse, she was offering herself inside the vision willingly, speaking about it in that voice that made every thought in his body turn molten.
He exhaled through his nose with great effort, and echoed her. “Still want you?” The question seemed to undo him. When he looked at her, there was nothing curated left in his expression. Only naked devotion sharpening into pure hunger.
“My dear,” he said, almost disbelieving, “I will simply lose my mind over you.” His hand moved over her reverently, as though imagination had already transformed her beneath his touch. “You speak as if I would merely tolerate it. As if I would not spend every day watching you in awe.”
His eyes drifted between them helplessly again.
“I would worship you, as I do now” he admitted. “I would worship your body changing and think you more beautiful for it every single day. Strong. Lush. Round with my child. Glowing with everything we created together.”
The possessiveness in his tone emerged before he could smooth it away.
“And no,” he continued quietly, eyes darkening as they lifted back to hers, “No, I do not think I would be capable of keeping my hands off you, or you off my sight.” His fingers flexed at her waist to prove it. Once he was talking, he couldn’t stop. Confessions kept spilling. “I think I would become worse. You being pregnant would only remind me that you are mine and I am yours.” His breath shuddered again. “That your body trusted me enough to make room for what’s mine.”
Elliott leaned, gaze fixed on her eyes now.
“And if you asked whether I would still desire you…” He was murmuring, voice rough and low enough to vibrate through her. He took her hand and led it to his bulging groin, shuddering at the contact. “I think the answer is obvious.”
It was. She could feel him, painfully hard already, without a single touch yet. It took all the restraint in her not to reach in his pants when he leaned in. She wanted it, all of it, all of him. The thought was maddening now, as if Elliot’s words were witchcraft, they had wrapped her in a cocoon of wanton need, only imagining his seed inside her, growing by spring and born by harvest moon.
A whimper escaped her lips and Elliot, encouraged and indulged, crashed into her with a hot kiss. She could feel his hands making a quick work of undressing her while she blindly grabbed at whatever she could away from his body. No patience to be delicate, no restraint to be slow about any of it. Her shirt fell on a chair unceremoniously, followed by her bra. Her breasts, suddenly exposed to air, shivered under his hands. When she reached for Elliot’s cock, he stopped her abruptly, and cleaned his throat between raspy gasps.
“Don’t. I won’t last. Don’t-”
“-waste it?”
Her question drew a choked moan from him; and his fingers, long and shapely and elegant, tore his own belt off with impressive dexterity. She found herself nodding to questions unasked as he freed himself from his underwear and she just took in the sight, as if words were beyond her now. His cock, under his toned abs, red hot and needy. Looked almost painful, like he could burst. Torn between wanting it in her mouth and wanting to feel him inside her, she licked her lips and got distracted by another kiss. When his hands pulled off her jeans and found her folds beneath her underwear, she could only pant, embarrassed by how soaking wet she was, the fabric was sliding off her cunt with audible slicks. She always wanted his hands on her, except now.
“No,” she echoed him. “I need- now”
Strong arms pulled her over the counter, with her ass and cunt now in the open, and held her legs while she tried to keep herself up, eyes for only Elliot’s cock. “Fuck me,” she gasped, feeling as limp as her pile of clothes on the floor, her mind foggy. “Need you, n-”
He was inside her in one full stroke, slick and almost too deep. Her eyes rolled back, a loud moan escaped her mouth and Elliott grunted, stalling. He could just fill her up to the brim then and there, his cum leaking creamy rings down the base of his cock as he pulsated inside her. Too hot, too wet, too needy. He had wanted this for too long and she was giving it to him so gladly.
“Fuck,” she could hear him whisper over and over, his face buried in her neck, hands grasping her hips like a lifeline, trying not to come already. “Fuckfuckfuck-”
His tentative stillness was agony and her hips started to move, fucking herself on his shaft, refusing his attempts at a slower pace. Her hand found her clit and started to work it fast, her keening growing too loud, so soon. He was all bare and weighty inside her, his length matching his solid girth, best she ever had. How did she become so fortunate? Love of her life, best fuck of her life, a cock that deserved its own poems. Buried deep in her, even in his desperation still trying to last longer, to make this worth her while. She didn’t care. She wanted him fast and hard, cumming loads and filling her up, with no regards to her climax. She wanted to be fucked silly, she wanted his release more than her own. She wanted him sobbing and grunting, she wanted her walls covered in his seed. All she could manage was whimpers, scattered.
“Need- Fuck me fuck me fuck me I need you I need you cock now please-”
Elliott grabbed her hand on her clit and pulled it aside. His face was consumed by all that was said and all he couldn’t say. She panted; legs spread wide, hands on her sides, buck naked for Elliot. So exposed for him, so ready.
No more words exchanged and Elliott gave in, his hips snapping against her with ravenous speed. Each slap coming from her skin interrupted with his grunts, moans, louder and louder, peppered with promises and prayers, to her, to her womb, to all their unborn children,
Held in place by his hands, her gaze dropped between them, watching his cock pistoning into her with abandon, his breath like fever against her breasts now. She imagined them heavy, full of milk, leaking under his touch-
It was too much. Her head fell back while she braced herself against the counter. She didn’t manage to say she was close. Only fucked out squeals and whines mixing with his growl.
As if he could read her mind, Elliott licked and kissed and sucked her nipples, his fingers digging bruises into her hips. His strain now showed on the veins of his neck. She wanted to tell him to fill her up, fuck his baby into her, make her belly and her tits swell, make everyone in town know he fucked her raw and fucked her right. She wanted to tell him she was his and he was hers. She couldn’t.
Her orgasm rose fast and tore through her thoughts, nothing but raspy whines in her throat and the thoughts of his seed in her womb.
Barely coherent, she could feel her husband letting go, his hips now starting to snap erratic. Elliott grunted her name over and over, choking on his own breath. His forehead fell on her chest while his hips kept drawing into her, sending ropes of his cum, load after load, shocked by the violence of his own release.
She reached for a kiss, unwilling to let go. As their kiss lingered, he palmed her taut belly wantonly, making her whine again with the pressure. She let the afterglow take her, basking in the unbearable fullness, surprised yet again at how addictive the feeling was. They had been sensible and careful, only her mouth knew the taste of his bare cock until now. She wasn’t sure she could go back.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, pressing his load further in, while he left wet soft kisses over her shoulder and neck. Only slowing breaths now and his overstimulated whimpers. Not a drop to spill.
Elliott is surprised how quickly his wife gets pregnant. Neither of them was cocky enough to assume that their quickie in the kitchen would do it, and their attempts continued. They assumed it would take them months to conceive. And yet, it was shockingly soon that she starts feeling queasy and she realises she skipped a period.
He proves time and time again that his dreams and promises were not hollow.
As he promised, he brings bags of ginger from the island for her, for when her queasiness is rough. Willy jokes that he hasn’t seen Elliott this often since he moved to the farm, and asks if he is avoiding his wife. Elliott only laughs. Too soon to tell anyone. In time, they learn. They accept congratulations and do their best to avoid cautionary tales. Elliott is there with his own best case scenarios whenever her mind is muddled with worry.
He makes good on his promise to desire her more.
As his wife’s body settles into the pregnancy and she grows less annoyed with him for putting her through morning sickness, she wants him again. He can only thank her hormones. She starts to need him at the most inconvenient times, with no intention of compromise or delays. They are so used to having no neighbours, be it at the farm, the cabin or the house on the island. Having to keep their voices down becomes a novelty. Back row of the movie theatre and loo at the saloon witnesses many orgasms, concealed to the best of their abilities. If it were up to Elliot, he would take her anywhere.
Her belly grows, even more beautiful than he imagined. Whenever they fuck, he can’t keep his hands off it.
He can no longer make preferences as to how he wants to take her. Each way is a marvel with her body ever changing. She is spread before him, legs open wide and breast sprawled, her body swaying with each thrust, a perfect pillow princess. He would only be so lucky to serve her until death. And then she bends over, tits swinging and hips almost rippling at each stiff snap. His hands cradle her bump when he mounts her, feeling like an animal lost in his lust. He adores it when they fuck against the kitchen counters again, her knees shaking when she comes, and he pressing her against his chest, making sure she doesn’t stumble. But then she rides him, and he sees her bounce and writhe on his cock, her round belly and full body and swinging hair and pleasure on her face in full display... He cannot pick a favourite. However she wishes to take him, he is hers.
Her womb is occupied already but he fills her up anyway, night after night, day after day, whenever she asks for him. The farmer tells him that she wants him bare from now on, kids or no kids, and it is almost enough for him to take her then and there. He suggests getting a vasectomy, to spare her the birth control hassle. She suggests they make sure they are done with having babies first. Music to his ears.
Her belly has grown big now, giving her trouble sleeping and resting. They take walks in the evening, summer warm and easy around them. He does his best to comfort her, however he can.
She asks for him again, on their walk on the beach, and they make it to Elliot's cabin. He devours her pussy over and over again, his mouth almost an offering to a life giver, a mother goddess. Her moans are like prayers answered. Once he is buried inside her again, her body bare for him on his old bed, his hands rub her belly at the same pace with his hips, thinking of their very first time, on this very same bed. He was stunned that night that his wishes could come true and he could have her until the first light of day, with the sound of waves muffling their sounds all night.
He cannot believe his luck that his life would turn out so perfect.
If he hadn’t followed his dream to write, he wouldn’t be in this town. If she hadn’t grown sick of her old life, she wouldn’t have taken over her grandfather’s farm. If she hadn’t walked past his cabin in that sundress that morning, collecting shells and coral, would they even be here now, in the same old cabin, years later?
He watches her panting and cumming around him and takes in her sight while feels his own release build. The cabin is dark and humid around them; the waves keep crashing against the beach. His cock throbs and twitches inside his wife; and with a strangled grunt he cums, thinking of his very first night with her. What a night that was. What a night this is. Elliott thanks his stars that life remains surprising.