Work Text:
Intermission
Something’s off.
It gnaws at Belly that – for once – she can’t name it.
In the soft morning glow spilling through the window of their Boston loft, the crease between Conrad’s brows looks even sharper than it had last night under the dim light of the downtown restaurant Taylor and Steven dragged them to. Dark shadows rim his eyes. He’s still out cold, dead to the world in that bone-deep way only a string of grueling hospital shifts can bring, but there’s nothing peaceful about his expression this time, and it irks her. Normally, she could watch him like this for hours, drinking in the boyishness that sneaks back into his face when he sleeps. Sometimes, he even smiles in his sleep. Those are her favorite mornings. She always hopes it’s because he’s dreaming of her.
Today is not one of those days. Today, a trace of something heavy lingers in his features. Not even nine much-needed hours of sleep could erase it.
Honestly, she’d been surprised he’d even offered to go with her last night. Knowing Conrad, she was certain he only did it to please her, because he knew how much she’d longed to see Steven and Taylor. Knew, too, how badly she’d wanted him there. She feels like she’s barely seen him all week.
But it can’t be just exhaustion, though that probably explains part of it. Belly knows him too well. She can always tell when something is tucked beneath the surface, something he’s not ready to share.
She allows herself a few more moments to drink him in. Damn, he looks good, exhausted or not. Shirtless, blanket slipping low on his hips, hair a tousled mess of dark strands. Sunlight spills across the curve of his chest and highlights the muscles in his shoulders.
Belly wonders briefly how many of the nurses on his station have unrequited crushes on him. She bets the number isn’t zero. The thought makes her smile. Chances are, he wouldn’t even notice.
Her fingers trace the seam of the curtain just above his head, the fabric brushing her hand in the breeze. Conrad always sleeps on the window side. He claims it’s so she won’t wake him when she slips out for late-night bathroom trips, but she knows the truth: he likes the view.
Even three years later, Belly still can’t believe they managed to snatch this place. It’s not the biggest, but their bedroom window looks right out over Boston Common, green in the summer, golden in the fall, white with snow in the winter. From here, they hear laughter and music from concerts, the chatter of families spreading picnic blankets, the quiet shuffle of early-morning joggers. On nights when they can’t sleep, they’ve leaned against this very window together, watching the city lights blink awake one by one. On those nights, the world seems both impossibly big and just theirs. It’s not Susannah’s summer house in Cousins – nothing will ever come close – but it has its own quiet kind of magic.
The curtain sways, threatening to brush against Conrad’s face. Belly pushes it aside.
She aches to reach for him instead, but she lets him rest. He needs every minute of sleep he can get. She’s happy to just watch over him for now.
At least until he murmurs, “You’re staring.” His voice is low and rough with sleep. He doesn’t open his eyes, but the faintest smile tugs at his mouth.
Belly doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull back either. A smile curves her own lips as she finally lets her hand sink into his hair to comb through the soft, sleep-mussed strands.
Might as well. He’s awake now.
“Can’t help it,” she whispers. “You’re beautiful.”
Conrad snorts into the pillow, the sound muffled. “Hardly. I probably look like I got smacked in the face with a toaster. Three hours of sleep this week, max.”
“Must’ve been a not very nice toaster,” Belly teases, which, granted, not her sharpest line, but she’s nearly as exhausted as he is – her week at the practice was brutal, one of the busiest she’s ever had, plus… that other thing. It drained a lot of her energy, too. She shakes her head slightly and leans in to kiss the tip of Conrad’s nose. “Very nice face, though. Just saying.”
“You’re a terrible liar. Nothing nice about it.”
“Okay, yeah, you’re right. Our toaster is a dick. Ugly as fuck, too.”
It’s ridiculous and a little nonsensical, but it pulls a laugh from him, so she counts that as a win. Belly’s heart skips at the sound, her worry easing just a little. God, she loves his laugh. Loves it even more when it’s just for her, when he laughs like he doesn’t have to feel guilty about it. She will never get tired of it.
Still smiling too, Conrad blinks his eyes open at last. The crease in his forehead deepens against the sunlight as he turns toward her. His hand instinctively finds hers. “I know, right? What was Aunt Julia even thinking when she picked out that atrocity?”
“Probably nothing beyond the fact that we both like sandwiches?” Belly lets him lace their fingers together. “And clearly she wasn’t wrong, since we use that thing basically every day. One of our more useful wedding gifts.”
“Fair point. I take it back. It was thoughtful. I love that toaster.” He sneaks his free arm under her and pulls her closer to kiss her softly. “What would we do without it? Honestly, I think it might even be one of the three things I’d take to a deserted island with me.”
“A toaster? Are you serious? How are you somehow a million years old at thirty-one?”
“I’ll show you a million years old,” he whispers against her mouth, his voice dropping low. The sound sends a charge of heat racing down her spine. Belly wonders if it’ll ever fade, the way Conrad still sets off fireworks inside her after all this time.
God, she hopes not.
She almost asks him, but the thought slips away when he pushes the blanket off and rolls over her, pressing her into the mattress. His mouth claims hers again as he turns the kiss deeper, every touch full of intention. Her fingers tangle in his hair and tug him closer. He groans softly into her mouth and the sound vibrates through her chest.
“How would you even plug in the toaster?” Belly teases, just to needle him. It’s still the most effective seduction technique she knows. It always gets a rise out of him. “No electricity on a deserted island.”
“Don’t use logic on me right now,” he growls.
Perfect. She’s got him right where she wants him. She giggles, and he grinds down on her, turning her laugh into a gasp, which was clearly the intention. Her legs curl around his hips, pulling him closer until there’s nothing between them but heat and urgency. When his hands skim down her sides and slip under the oversized T-shirt she’s wearing, she arches up to meet him.
She loses her train of thought when he kisses her again, only regaining it when he releases her lips and pushes her hair aside to nibble at her neck.
“So, tell me,” she begins again, breathless. “What else would you take to a deserted island with you?”
He pauses just long enough to lift his head, voice thick with disbelief and the remnants of sleep. “That’s what you want to talk about right now? Really?”
“Come on, Connie. Just tell me.”
Conrad groans, then finally says, “Ugh, fine.” He pretends to think for a moment. Then that wicked gleam lights up his eyes, the one she knows all too well. Whatever he’s about to say is meant to rile her up, she can already tell. This game they’re playing goes both ways.
“I think I’d have to take Agnes.”
“Agnes?” Belly screeches, smacking his shoulder. “Get off me, you asshole.”
He doesn’t budge, only laughs at her outrage. His grip tightens just enough to keep her in place. “Of course. We need at least one competent person on this expedition, don’t you think? Since, obviously, you’re my third thing, and let’s be honest, you and I won’t exactly be spending much time building shelters or hunting for food.” His hands slide lower, fingers tracing her sides, while his teeth tug lightly at her earlobe until she gasps. “We’ll be too busy doing this.”
“This? On a deserted island? With Agnes around?”
“She can have the other side of the island.” His mouth trails down her neck, kissing her infinity necklace. “Plenty of beaches to go around. We’d feel right at home.”
Heat coils in her belly at the insinuation, memory rushing in unbidden. Christ, she still can’t believe they actually did that. And on their wedding night, no less. What started as a picture-perfect picnic at sunset had ended with her pressed against the sand, breathless beneath him, the ocean crashing just feet away while he moved inside her.
They’d been reckless. Lucky no one had stumbled onto the beach and caught them.
Even now, just remembering it makes her shiver. Probably the hottest thing they’ve ever done.
“Hold on, back up. Let me get this straight,” she says, mock-offended, trying to mask how flustered the memory still makes her, even as she fights the shiver that runs through her when he nudges her thighs further apart, spreading her open for him. “So first, it’s our toaster. Which you can’t even use without a power outlet, as we’ve established. Then Agnes. Then me? And I’m just there for the… fun beach activities, not, I don’t know, to tend to your wounds after a coconut knocks you out, or to fend off a tiger that wants to eat you. Good to know exactly where I stand.”
“I’m not going to get knocked out by a coconut, Belly. That’s ridiculous.”
Belly laughs at how deeply offended he sounds by the suggestion. “Are you sure? You’ve got a real talent for injuring yourself when you’re trying to get my attention.”
“Are you still going on about that?” he groans. “It was a wipeout. I didn’t do it on purpose. Honestly… it was kind of humiliating. Can we let that go now?”
Belly giggles at the way his cheeks pink, boyish even now. “Did I ever tell you I totally lied back then? When I said it was barely a scratch? I was this close to calling my mom for help. Remember that time she had to take you to the hospital after you broke your arm? Laurel would have known exactly what to do.”
“Laurel always knows what to do,” Conrad agrees, his voice warm with fondness. “Thank you for not calling her, though. I think I would have died of sheer mortification. Pretty sure I would have rather bled out.”
“Don’t I know it.” Belly sighs. “For the record, I only said you were acting like a baby to distract you. In reality, I was already mapping out the fastest route to the ER for stitches. It was that bad.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Conrad says, rolling his eyes, though there’s no real bite in it. “I was a med student, Belly. I did clock that it was bad.”
Her laughter softens into something quieter as she studies him. Her thumb traces along his jaw. “I was pretty worried about you.”
Still am, is what she doesn’t say.
Something flickers in his eyes. Fondness, if you were feeling generous, but it could be something else, too. Irritation, maybe.
He dips his head and kisses her again, clearly done with the topic. When she parts her lips for him, he deepens the kiss. Belly’s pulse spikes when his hand slides under her shirt again, fingers tracing the curve of her waist. They drift along her ribs, igniting her skin. She arches into him, already aching for more.
His mouth trails from her lips to her jaw… then lower.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” he murmurs against her collarbone.
I can’t help it, she thinks. It’s what we do. This is what it means to be someone’s person.
“You still have a way of getting my attention,” she says instead, shivering as he drags her panties down in one smooth motion, never breaking eye contact. “Even when you put a useless toaster ahead of me.”
“In my defense, I’m kind of starving right now.”
“Yeah,” Belly gasps when his mouth returns, brushing heat across her lower stomach. “I can tell.”
“Feels like I haven’t seen you all week.” Conrad slides a finger inside her. The groan he lets out at how ready she is makes her dizzy. “You clearly missed me too. When was the last time we did this?”
“Your fault, not mine,” she manages. “You’ve been working nonstop. And before you protest, trust me, I know. I know I have no right to complain about that, not when you’re out there literally saving lives.”
Belly can instantly tell that the words land wrong. His expression shutters, the change so sharp it steals the air from her lungs. The crease between his brows has returned too, deeper than before.
Shit. That’s it. That has to be it. Something happened at work.
Conrad doesn’t answer, just hums low in his throat, noncommittal, and lowers his mouth to her cunt, giving her exactly what she’d been craving moments before. But Belly can’t fully give in, not anymore. It’s not that it doesn’t feel incredible – because it does – but she can’t focus, not when she knows something is truly weighing on him. She needs to reach him, to uncover what he won’t say.
He goes all in anyway, utterly relentless, giving her no time to adjust. Too late, she realizes this is his distraction. His deflection. Because he knows her too. He must know that she knows.
They’d gotten a lot better at this part in the last three years: the talking. Therapy had helped, sure, but more than that, it was the shared fear of losing each other again, both of them terrified of slipping back into the miscommunication that once tore them apart and nearly ruined them the first time they tried this.
We have to be better this time, Belly had whispered against his shoulder in the half-dark of her dorm room in Paris. This time, you have to talk to me.
Anything, Conrad had said, reverent, like he couldn’t believe she was really there, willing to try again, when really, he was the one traveling halfway around the globe to see her. Anything, for you.
Promises made in the blissful afterglow in the city of love weren’t enough, as it turns out. The road was still hard. There were plenty of days Belly would have loved to smack him in the head with a toaster, plenty of nights she wanted to crawl into his ear and drag his true feelings out. There will likely be many more in the years to come. Therapy hasn’t changed the fundamentals of who he is. Conrad’s first instinct is still to carry things alone.
But – and she’d realized this mid-argument one day, through tears and frustration at being shut out once again – at least he is willing to try. To put in the work. That’s the difference between him and Jeremiah. With Jeremiah, Belly had always been the one who bent first. She’d spent so much of their relationship trying to keep Jere happy that somewhere along the way, she’d forgotten love wasn’t supposed to feel like you were constantly giving something up.
Being with Conrad is different in every way. He challenges her. Matches her. She can yell, fight, rage at him, but he will stay. It wasn’t an accident that both of the only real fights she ever had with Jeremiah in four years ended with breakups. That would never happen with Conrad – not anymore. He meets her fire with his own, sure, but underneath it, they both know it won’t burn them, because what they feel for each other is stronger than any adversity.
For so long, Belly thought the sign of a good relationship was the absence of arguments. Now she knows better. The right person doesn’t silence you. The right person makes you feel like you can finally speak.
Sometimes, love is apologies. It’s Conrad finding her on the windowsill, her cheeks still damp from tears, and sitting next to her until their knees brush together. It’s him saying, I have no idea why this is so hard for me, and her answering, I should have given you the space you needed.
Love is a hundred different exchanges like this.
“Belly.” Conrad flicks her thigh, snapping her attention back to the present.
“Huh?”
“What’s wrong?” His brow furrows. His head is still between her legs, though his touch has stilled. “You seem distracted. Do you need something else, or—”
It bothers him, she can tell. That she isn’t a moaning mess under him yet.
Belly bites back a smile. Conrad likes to show his love that way. By undoing her, by giving her pleasure. It makes him feel useful, like he’s giving something back. She sometimes thinks he would be perfectly content to spend hours between her legs without getting anything in return. He needs to pleasure her the same way she needs him to talk.
She brushes a strand of hair from his eyes. “Sorry. I’m just—” She braces herself. “Trying to figure out what it is you’re not telling me.”
Conrad doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but it’s a close call. Instead, he lets out the most exasperated sigh she’s ever heard, clearly resigning himself to a morning without getting laid. Then he crawls up beside her and drops onto the mattress with a huff.
“This could’ve been a perfectly good morning,” he complains, glaring at the ceiling – not upset, but definitely annoyed – before draping one arm over his eyes.
“Only because you’re in denial,” Belly says. She scoots down until her face is level with his and tugs his arm away. “Hey.”
Another sigh, but he rolls onto his side anyway, wearing such a long-suffering expression that she nearly laughs. You’d think she’d suggested abstinence for a year. God, he’s so dramatic.
“So. What’s up?” She has a feeling she already knows, but it needs to come from him.
His face sobers, surrender written across it. “I lost a patient this week.”
There it is.
“Someone you liked.” It’s not a question.
He nods, and when he speaks, his voice nearly breaks. “She was nine. Eva.”
Fucking hell. Even worse than she thought. A child.
Tears prick at Belly’s eyes. Her chest aches for him. In the past, seeing her sad might have silenced him immediately, but now he reaches for her instead, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, sharing the grief rather than shielding her from it.
This, she’d worked for. Moments like these are confirmation that it hasn’t all been in vain.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all she can give him. She doesn’t add, I’m sure you did everything you could, though she believes it. She knows he wouldn’t. Not right now. Words like that would only feel hollow.
“Sometimes,” he begins again, and Belly’s breath hitches. There’s more. He’s actually going to talk about it. This is good. “Sometimes I’m not sure I’m cut out for this. It was a nightmare, all of it. That last night. Having to tell her parents…”
“Anyone would feel that way,” she whispers, voice hoarse. She can’t even imagine. She can’t even think about it without crying, and she didn’t even know this girl. “It’s impossible to deal with. The unfairness of it all.”
Conrad nods, and now his eyes glisten too. “I think the reason this hit me so much harder than it would have a few months ago is, well, ‘cause—” He breaks off, clears his throat, but his hand trails down her body. Belly’s eyes follow it until it comes to rest on her stomach.
Her gaze snaps up again, shocked. Their eyes meet, brown and blue-green.
He knows.
“How—” she stammers.
Conrad’s lips twist into a grin, though the edges are still tinged with the remnants of sadness. “I am a doctor, Belly.”
Not for the first time, she’s rendered speechless in his presence. He stays quiet, letting her process it, while his fingers trace gentle circles on her stomach.
Finally, she asks, “For how long have you known?”
“I’ve suspected for about two weeks. Been ninety-nine percent sure since Tuesday, when I saw that untouched pill box lying around. And then I heard you throwing up yesterday before I left for work. That sealed the deal.”
Irrationally, a flash of irritation zips through Belly. Not even at him, but at the universe, maybe. This isn’t how she’d envisioned the moment. She’s been trying to figure out how – and when – to tell him for the last two weeks, but there’s never been a good time: his hospital shifts, her hours at the practice, the endless social obligations. They’ve been invited to a hundred birthday parties this month alone. She hasn’t had Conrad to herself like this since returning from Cousins four weeks ago.
“How far along are you?” he asks when she stays quiet.
“Oh, so that’s the one thing you couldn’t figure out for yourself, Mr. I’m-a-doctor Fisher?”
Conrad’s eyebrows draw together at her tone. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes,” she huffs, rolling onto her back. This time, she’s the one covering her eyes with her hands. “I was going to tell you soon. I had a hundred different scenarios planned. But you had to ruin it.”
To her further annoyance, Conrad chuckles softly. He grabs her wrists, pulling them from her face and pinning them gently to the bed, then turns her head with the other hand to kiss her nose, the same way she had kissed his earlier. “I won’t apologize for knowing my wife too well and realizing what’s going on. I’m not sorry about that.”
“You should be,” Belly says, pouting. She’s not really mad, just… surprised. Just when she thought it was impossible to love him more, he goes and does this. It isn’t how she imagined it would go, but then again, nothing in her life ever is – with one exception.
Growing up, she never pictured these moments in great detail, never clung to a version of how things should unfold.
But she always pictured him. He’s the constant in all of it.
It’s what threw her for a loop the night of that disastrous bachelorette party all those years ago. When Conrad told her she deserved everything she’d ever pictured for her wedding day, she never could have imagined that one day, she would actually have it. Even then, it had seemed impossible.
To have him.
“How do I make amends?” he whispers against her face, that teasing grin still in place. It’s both a peace offering and a promise, and Belly bites her bottom lip to hold herself together. Now that she finally knows what’s going on with him, the idea of morning sex feels irresistible. She’s ready to try again, to lose herself completely in him this time.
Conrad catches on instantly, moving closer, hips pressing into her side, seeking friction. Yeah, he’s ready too.
“Keep doing that,” she whispers, surrendering. “It’s a good start.”
“Yeah? Feels good? Do you forgive me?”
At the Arcade, during the summer everything went to shit, she’d had a conversation with Jeremiah about what it takes to make the Fisher boys happy. For Jeremiah, Belly had come up with something silly – Ariana Grande or something like that – but for Conrad, she remembers saying the key to his happiness was competition. Even then, she’d known it wasn’t the whole truth. Sure, Conrad loves a good challenge, a worthy opponent, but he is happiest when the people he loves are happy.
Belly can’t take his pain away, but she can give him this. She can let him take care of her, because in doing so, she’s taking care of him too. The rest can wait.
“Yeah,” she gasps. “Please, Conrad.”
His fingers slip back inside her with ease. Once, she might have been embarrassed by how obviously her body responds to him. And she was, that first time in front of the fireplace, when he was so gentle and careful with her. Now, after many years and hundreds of nights spent together, she doesn’t give a damn anymore. Let him see how much she wants him. It never fails to turn her on, how badly he needs this too. How badly he needs her.
This is her husband, her first love and the love of her life.
And now, the father of her child.
Fuck, this will take some getting used to. The thought still makes her giddy with equal parts excitement and nerves.
“Don’t come,” Conrad orders, and Belly moans at the tone, struggling to obey as he rubs her clit with his thumb while sliding two fingers in and out, stretching her to take something bigger later on. “I want you to wait until I say you can. If you come before, I’ll have to punish you.”
Belly squeezes her eyes shut, throwing her head back into the pillow with a whine.
One of those times, then. She’s not going to survive this, is she?
He only does this when she’s so lost in her head that she can’t stay present during sex, which isn’t often. He’s a skilled lover, and she’s crazy about him, wants him constantly, but whenever she hits a mental block and her brakes are on, this approach always works. Now Belly’s mind is consumed with not coming, and, as everyone knows, it’s basically impossible not to picture the pink elephant when someone tells you not to think about it.
He once told her he’d read about that concept in a book – the staved-off orgasm thing, not the pink elephant – because, of course, Conrad Beck Fisher is the kind of overachiever who reads books about female pleasure to make sure he knows how to take care of her in bed properly. She’d laughed at him in response, secretly charmed, then teased him until his remarkable patience finally snapped and he bent her over the kitchen island, railing her so thoroughly that she was clawing at the marble and sobbing by the end of it, half-mad with pleasure. Then he carried her to their bedroom and did it all over again.
A memorable night, to say the least. She still can’t think about it without blushing, even in public.
He’s going to torture her this morning too, she realizes, a shiver of anticipation running through her. She recognizes the glint in his eyes. The first night they’d spent together in Cousins during their summer vacation had been exactly like this. They’d both just come off exhausting stretches at work where they’d barely caught glimpses of each other except over the rims of coffee mugs in the mornings or the occasional clink of wine glasses in the evenings.
She remembers that night vividly: how the air had smelled like sweat and sunscreen and salt from their day at the beach, how Conrad’s hands had traced her body as if by memory, and the way, even in exhaustion, they found each other like magnets, ravenous for each other. Afterward, they’d both slept for sixteen hours straight.
“Isabel. What did I tell you? Stop thinking.” Conrad bites her bottom lip, and she gasps, fully pulled back into the present.
“In my defense, it was horny thoughts.”
“Oh?”
She laughs. “I was thinking about our first night in Cousins this summer.”
“Yeah? You liked that night?” He grins too, a dirty, mischievous glint in his eyes. Then his expression shifts, turns thoughtful. “Do you think that’s when it happened?”
When what happened? she’s about to ask, when – oh. She’s never even thought about it, but…
“Could be.” She does the math in her head, then nods. “The timing checks out, yeah.”
She can tell he likes that answer, because he shifts against her, sliding closer until his chest presses firmly into hers, pinning her so she can’t move an inch. His lips trail along her neck, leaving little marks on the soft skin in all the right places, each in close proximity to her necklace. Normally, she’d swat at him and call him a possessive caveman, but now she can’t help the moan that slips out. He’s always been obsessed with her neck. Obsessed with her hair, too.
His fingers are not idle either. Every movement is deliberate, a perfect balance of gentleness and insistence that leaves her gasping. Her hands tangle in his hair again, pulling him closer. He varies the pressure with which he fucks her, speeds up only to slow again, teasing, coaxing. The heat between her legs builds steadily, until she’s letting out little shameless noises into his mouth at every stroke.
“God, you’re killing me, Belly,” Conrad groans, his voice thick with need. His pupils are so dark there’s hardly any green left, and he sounds almost as undone as she feels. “You’re mine. All of you.”
“Yes,” she moans, trembling. She knows he needs to hear this right now. It’s not like he’s wrong, either. If she’s being honest, even when she was with Jeremiah, she’s only ever been his. Nobody else ever made her feel this way. Even now, her body aches with anticipation at the thought of being his once again, letting him take her. “It’s only ever been you. I want you so bad.”
“Good.” He’s grinning again. “Because I’m not letting you off easy this morning. That’s what you get for earlier.”
Belly moans at the promise, the words sending shivers down her spine. Every nerve in her body seems alive, attuned to his touch. He pushes her shirt up and over her head, teases her bottom lip with his teeth, then moves lower to drag his mouth over the swell of her breast until she’s writhing beneath him.
“Conrad,” she breathes, a warning. She’s not distracted anymore. She won’t have trouble coming now. She doesn’t want this to be over yet.
He ignores it. His hands and mouth work in tandem, knowing exactly what will unravel her first, what will make her scream his name without thinking. Every once in a while, he pauses and lets her catch her breath, ignoring her whines and pleas for him to keep going.
Belly remembers the trust they’ve built over the years, the shared fears and confessions that make this different from anyone else. She remembers the way he’d begged her to leave his brother and be with him instead, there on that beach. Not once did she regret choosing him that night, even when she couldn’t tell him right away, when she had to lie and watch his heart break before her eyes. Every moment was necessary to bring them here, to this.
It took time, a lot of healing, but what they have now – what they were always destined to have – is love and desire intertwined; a knowing of each other so deep it’s almost frightening. No one could ever hope to understand the depths of her soul as he does. While he was away at Stanford, Belly used to tell herself it was easier, being with Jeremiah, but she now knows that was a lie. That relationship only lasted as long as it did because Conrad was absent for most of it. All it took for her illusions to unravel was one day at Christmas in Cousins with him.
Whenever they’re together like this now, nothing feels easier. It’s the difference between following her true nature and fighting against it. She’s been in denial too long. Deep down, she always knew she belonged here, with him, in this life they’ve built together.
“Let go, baby. Let me take care of you,” he murmurs against her breast.
Yes, she thinks. Yes, please.
She likes to be in control in most areas of her life. But not here. Here, it’s a relief to surrender, to let him lead, to feel every inch of him, to take in everything he’s giving her.
By the time he finally pushes inside her, what feels like hours later, her body is slick with sweat, burning with the need she’s barely managed to contain.
“God, you feel so good,” he mutters against her shoulder, her hair tangled between his fingers as if he can’t hold her close enough.
She’s already begged him to fuck her at least three times in the last ten minutes, and she’s ready to do it again. If he doesn’t get on with it soon, she swears she might combust.
“Please, Connie… c’mon—”
“Fuck,” he groans. “You drive me insane.”
“I want you to drive me insane. Please—give it to me.”
And he does.
Every touch, every glide of his fingers along her side, every press of his body against hers, every thrust inside her pulls her closer to the edge. But he’s not done teasing her. He slows his hips every time she thinks she’s adjusted to his rhythm, then fucks her deeper instead. All the while, his eyes stay locked on hers, as if he’s making sure she feels every ounce of desire before release. Her vision blurs when he grinds deep, and she swears she sees stars when his hand snakes between them and starts tracing circles around her clit.
As she teeters on the edge, her mind drifts briefly to the unspoken – his grief, the week’s stress, the countless ways their life is about to change – but those thoughts dissolve when his rhythm falters, when he finally grows too desperate to maintain the slow, torturing pace, and starts fucking her for real.
It feels like their first kiss on the beach all over again, the moment all her dreams had come true for the first time. It left her so stunned she nearly blacked out, too overwhelmed to stay in her own body with how good it felt to finally have him like that.
She’d felt it again in Paris, after a long day of tiptoeing around the truth, when neither of them could keep it in any longer. They crashed together in the dark of her dorm room the moment they were through the door, mouths colliding in mutual desperation. Conrad pinned her flat against the wall, kissing her like he was starving, and she kissed back the same way, writing her name all over his tongue.
And she feels it now, still. Only this time, she’s fully present. Every breath, every shiver, every inch of him pressed against her, she feels it all.
Right now, right here, they are each other’s world.
Belly knows she won’t be able to hold back much longer. “Conrad, I can’t, I can’t… please, you have to… please, let me—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he pants into her mouth. “Of course, anything. Come for me, baby.”
Relief floods through her as she obeys. When the release finally hits, it’s electric, a jolt that feels like fireworks exploding from the center of her. She shatters against him, trembling in his arms until she’s utterly spent.
Moments later, Conrad follows her over the edge. He collapses atop her, but makes sure to hold just enough of his weight so he doesn’t crush her. Both of them pant helplessly as their hearts pound against each other’s ribcages, and for a moment, the room is filled with the sound of ragged breaths. Still a little dazed, Belly trails her fingers up and down his spine, the touch grounding them both. His uneven breaths drift over her hair, and she counts the seconds silently.
They stay like that for a while. Her arm falls asleep at some point, and only when she winces and moves to extract it does Conrad stir.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, shifting off her. She winces again as he slides out. “Didn’t mean to crush you. Think I dozed off for a bit.”
She rolls her eyes. “Men.”
He ruffles her hair in retaliation. “Shut it. Three hours of sleep, remember?” He rolls over to his side of the bed to grab a box of tissues from his nightstand.
“No, come back,” she whines, grabbing for him. “I’m cold.”
“In a second.” He cleans her first, maybe a little more thoroughly than necessary. When she squeezes her eyes shut and whimpers, still overstimulated and a little overwhelmed, he presses a gentle kiss to her chin in apology.
So far, so good. Just like every other time they’ve done this in the past. Until his hands come to rest on her lower belly again. Feeling for something that cannot be felt yet.
When Belly’s eyes flutter open again, he’s already looking at her.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she says, suddenly desperate for his approval, his reassurance. She’s held this for herself for too long. This is his secret too. “About this.”
Conrad props his head on his elbow, gazing down at her. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier about anything in my entire life.”
Belly’s lips curl into a soft smile. “Really?”
“Really.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and lingers there. His thumb brushes her cheek, grazes her lips. “This is what we’ve always wanted, right?”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure the timing was right. With all those conferences coming up for you, and me opening the new practice—”
“We’ll figure it out. We always have.” His voice leaves no room for doubt. His hand drifts to her stomach again. Belly pushes her own hand into his hair, lets her fingernails trace over his scalp in the way he loves.
With Conrad, everything feels safe in a way it never did with Jeremiah. Not everything has to be a fight or a surrender. Some days, they need each other’s feedback to grow, honest and raw.
On all other days, peace isn’t the exception or a fragile compromise; it’s the default.
The sun rises slowly outside their window, spilling soft gold across the sheets and across his face. Belly steals small glances at him now and then, occasionally making a quiet remark about something trivial that he acknowledges with a hum, but mostly they just lie together in comfortable silence, wrapped in each other’s warmth. For once, there’s no rush, no obligations beyond the walls of their room. Just the two of them.
Well… three of them, really.
“I think I’m going to request a transfer,” Conrad says quietly after a long stretch of silence, just as Belly had started to convince herself he’d dozed off again. Her breath catches, and she looks up at him just before he adds, “Maybe help out in another station for a while. I don’t think I could handle another week like that again anytime soon.”
Her heart swells at his admission. Yeah, this is what she’s been talking about. The good work they’ve both been doing hasn’t been in vain. “I’m proud of you, baby. That’s brave. Listening to yourself like that… it’s not easy, but it’s the right thing.”
“Not gonna lie, it kind of feels like throwing in the towel. Like I’m giving up, somehow.”
Belly leans closer, tilting his jaw down so he’s forced to look at her. “It’s not giving up,” she says firmly. “It’s taking care of yourself. You’ve been through absolute hell this week, Conrad. You’re human. Nobody’s perfect. Not even you. It’s not your job to save the world.”
She’d told him parts of this before, once, in the car on the way to Michaels, in what feels like another lifetime. She is going to tell him again, as many times as he needs to hear it, until he finally believes it.
“You’re probably right.” He lets out a sigh, kisses her forehead, then buries his face in her hair again.
“I’m always right.”
She can practically hear Conrad raise a brow. “Always? Are you sure about that? Isabel, you once swore you saw a shark in the Cove, and when we all came running, it turned out to be a floating pool noodle. Not to mention that time you—”
Belly slaps her hand over his mouth before he can finish, muffling whatever rude lie he’s about to spin.
“This could’ve been a perfectly good morning,” she grumbles. He laughs against her palm, and when she finally lets go, he’s still smiling.
“It still is.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” And then, because it feels right, she adds, “I love you.”
“I love you too. Obviously.” His gaze drops to where his hand still rests on her stomach. “Both of you.”
Her chest tightens, tears springing before she can stop them. She thinks her heart might actually burst.
“More than the toaster?”
His laugh fills every corner of her heart. “So much more than the stupid toaster. Who even needs the toaster? You and I could rule a deserted island on our own, don’t you think?”
“Maybe not entirely on our own,” Belly says, sliding her hand over his. She glances down at her belly, then back at him. “But yeah, I think so too. We’re gonna be fine.”
“We’re gonna be more than fine,” he confirms. “This is going to be great. We’re infinite.”
Yeah, she believes him.