Chapter 22

When Bellamy first woke up, Clarke was still asleep. He didn't want to disturb her, and a glance at the bedside clock let him know that he still had about an hour before he had to be at work. So he decided to shut his eyes and keep lying there with her a little longer, until he absolutely had to get up.

About ten minutes later, when he'd been close to nodding off again, Clarke started to stir in his arms. He loosened his hold on her, lay back a bit, and waited for her to wake up. When she did, she looked up at him with a sleepy smile on her face and said, "Hey."

"Morning." It actually felt kind of weird to not be naked right now, because usually when he and Clarke spent the night together, clothes ended up coming off. But last night, after letting it all out on the beach, they'd just come upstairs, kissed for a little while, and then fallen asleep together. It'd been nice.

Dragging her hands through her hair (which was sort of adorably all over the place right now), she looked around confusedly and asked, "What am I doing on this side of the bed?"

True, most of the time he took the left side and her the right. "You were movin' all around last night," he told her. "At one point, you crawled right over me."

"Sorry," she apologized. "I'm just really restless these days."

"I noticed." Although he couldn't say that he'd slept soundly next to her, he'd definitely slept well. He loved being able to pull the covers up over her when she kicked them off and started shivering, loved being able to hold her to warm her up even further. "I think you got up to go to the bathroom three times," he said, amazed that she wasn't sprinting there now.

"It sucks so much," she lamented. "I'm really sorry."

"Nah, that's alright. It's fine." He could deal with a restless girlfriend in bed next to him.

"Are you sure?" she said, lightly rubbing his chest through his t-shirt. "Because if it's not, you might wanna get out now. While you still can."

He laughed at that.

"Because it's gonna get bad, you know," she warned him. "We're talking mood swings like you wouldn't believe—I've already had a few, but luckily no one's been around to witness them. And ridiculous cravings. And swollen feet. And complaining. Lots of complaining. Because my back hurts, and my boobs hurt, and I have so much indigestion. I think the morning sickness is dying down, but there's a lot of other stuff that's probably just starting up. And it's not gonna be fun."

It didn't sound fun, especially not for her. But all the more reason for him to be around, trying to make her feel better. "I think I can handle it," he said. Backing out now just wasn't an option. He was in this thing with her for the long haul, and he wasn't leaving.

Averting her eyes, looking down at the hand she had covering his heart rather than up at his face, she quietly said, "Last night was . . ." But she trailed off before finishing her thought.

"It was," he agreed, getting what she was saying without actually hearing her say it.

"We've never opened up to each other like that before."

"About time we did." He'd never opened up to any girl like that, ever. It wouldn't have surprised him if Clarke had said 'I love you' to Lexa and even to Finn at some point, but he'd never said those words to anyone except his mom and his sister. And that was a different kind of love. "I meant every word," he told her, just in case she was having any doubts.

"Me, too," she said, tilting her head back to look into his eyes again. "Are you nervous?"

He made a face. "What, about us?"

"Yeah."

"No," he replied without hesitation. "I'm happy."

A smile slowly formed on her face, and they both leaned in to kiss each other. Morning breath be damned. It was just a simple kiss, but Bellamy just got the sense that it was Clarke's way of telling him that, despite her fears, she was happy right now, too.

...

Advanced cell biology was a waste of time. Clarke didn't feel like it was advanced at all; she didn't feel like she was learning anything new, and honestly, some of her freshman and sophomore year classes had been a lot harder. Cell biology was easy as long as she read the chapters and knew the material before the test. There were no homework assignments to do, no papers to write. She just showed up, sat through a lecture, occasionally took a few notes, and took a test after every unit. Easy.

When the professor's lectures were boring, as they often were, she found herself getting distracted. Typically, she was able to re-focus a little better than she was today, though. Today, her mind was so elsewhere that she couldn't help but pull her sketchbook—the one Bellamy had given her for her birthday—out of her backpack and flip to a blank page. She sketched hurriedly and with a regular pencil, so it wasn't exactly her best work. But it wasn't horrible, either. She drew her and Bellamy on the beach last night, holding each other, her crying tears of both guilt and joy while he made her feel like they could do anything as long as they were together.

When they were dismissed, the guy sitting next to her complimented her drawing. "That's good," he said.

"Oh, thanks." She closed her sketchbook and put it away, deciding she might touch it up with some actual art pencils if she was still feeling inspired later.

Basically feeling like she'd just wasted an hour of her life, Clarke headed onto her next class. Except she was halfway there when she realized she had her days mixed up and that she didn't have any other classes that day. Damn pregnancy brain, she thought. It was already affecting her.

Fortunately, heading to the parking lot meant that she got to walk by the site of the library expansion, where Bellamy—no, where her boyfriend—was hard at work with the rest of the construction crew. He was busy using a saw to slice a beam of wood in half. Since he had on a sweatshirt, she couldn't properly admire his arm muscles or anything like that, but he still looked damn good out there. Working with his hands. His amazing hands.

As tempting as it was to just stand there and salivate or maybe even go over and say hi, Clarke's phone rang, interrupting her staring. It was her dad calling, which was . . . kind of rare these days. She had to answer it.

"Hi, Dad," she said as she continued on down the sidewalk towards the commuter parking lot a few blocks away.

"Clarke." Right away, she could tell by his tone that he was upset with her. "Is there something you wanna tell me?"

She was so taken aback by such an unpleasant start to their conversation that she didn't even know what he was talking about. "What do you mean?"

"Please don't pretend like you don't know," he said.

Me and Bellamy? she wondered. The baby? Oh, god. She touched her stomach, feeling like that had to be it. Someone had mentioned that she was pregnant to him.

"Imagine my surprise when Alyssa shows me a picture on your . . . Facebook?" he said. "I don't even know what it is."

"Instagram, Dad." No one her age used Facebook anymore.

"Whatever. She shows me a picture you posted of you and your friends from Halloween. She points out the shirt you were wearing. I could barely make out what it said, but . . ."

"Oh, god, Dad. I'm so sorry," she apologized. The Not a Food Baby shirt. That wasn't exactly how she'd hoped to reveal it to him. "I didn't even think about that when I posted it."

"Apparently you didn't think about a lot of things," he bit out angrily. But the anger subsided a bit when he asked, "So how far along are you?"

"Just a couple days left in my first trimester," she said.

"So you've known for a while."

"Yeah." She cringed, hating that she'd probably hurt his feelings by not telling him sooner. "I'm really sorry. I was going to tell you, but the day I came to visit, Alyssa was over there and . . . I just didn't wanna have that conversation with her around."

"I understand," he said, sounding as if he were trying to keep his voice calm. "It would've been nice, though, to hear it from you face to face. And what about your mom? Does she know?"

"Yeah." It wasn't like she was trying to favor one parent over the other or anything. It was just that . . . well, her mom was still around. She saw her multiple times per week.

"And she didn't tell me, either," her father grumbled. "Lovely."

"Don't be mad at her, please," Clarke begged. The last thing she wanted to do was be the source of any more hostility between her parents. "She knew it wasn't her right to tell anyone. If you wanna be mad, then be mad at me."

"I'm not mad, Clarke," he insisted. "I'm just . . ."

"Disappointed?" she filled in glumly. God, parents really needed to retire that line. Hopefully she'd never use it with her son or daughter.

"I'm surprised," he corrected. "I thought you'd be more careful."

She looked down at her feet, ashamed that she hadn't been, and slowed to a stop at the crosswalk.

"But if you're this far along, I take it you're having the baby," her father said.

She swallowed hard. "Yep."

"That's good. I'm glad," he said. "Who's the father?"

"Finn."

"Your boyfriend?"

"He's . . . not really my boyfriend anymore," she mumbled. Her dad was really out of the loop if he didn't even know that.

"Oh, well, this just gets better and better," he said sarcastically.

"Look, Dad, I'm already dealing with enough stress right now. Can you just not add to it?" she said. "Please?"

"Well, forgive me for being worried about my daughter, for wanting to know more about what's going on with you," he said. "You never tell me anything anymore, Clarke."

"Because you're not around."

"So pick up the phone and call me," he suggested. "Talk to me."

She was just about to remind him that phone conversations could go both ways and that he could make more of an effort to call her, too, when all of a sudden somebody bumped into her from behind. A skateboarder or a biker or something. "Oh!" she yelped, spilling out onto the street. Luckily, she was able to catch her balance to keep from falling, but her phone went flying out of her hands. The last car through the intersection rolled right over it as the walk sign on the crosswalk switched on.

Clarke stared at her crushed phone helplessly as people moved past her. Somebody said, "Ooh, that's rough," and another person empathized, "That sucks."

Yeah, a destroyed cell phone did suck, especially since she'd had a nice one. But she had a coverage plan where she could still get a new one pretty cheap. And at least the bright side was that this put an end to her conversation with her dad. For now, at least.

...

Bellamy sat on the couch with Clarke that night, letting her use his lap as a pillow. His mom had insisted on having her over for dinner, but there was no way she was making it that far, not when she was so tired.

"Oh, no, so your phone got run over?" his mom said from the kitchen.

"Yep," Clarke said. "Destroyed. Boom."

Bellamy smiled at her minimal sleepy conversation skills, and he gently rubbed her head, even as she started to drool on his jeans.

"That's okay," she said. "I needed a new one."

His mom kept conversing from the kitchen, much more awake than Clarke was. "Phones are expensive," she said. "Ridiculous, if you ask me."

"Is that why you kept your slide phone so long?" Bellamy teased.

"Hey, that was a great phone," she insisted. "Super reliable. I dropped it dozens of times, and it was just fine."

Yeah, he didn't hear her complaining about her new phone, though. He'd saved up, bought her an older version of an iPhone last Christmas. Sometimes he'd catch her awake in the middle of the night, sitting on the couch playing games on it.

"Is she gonna want anything to eat?" his mom asked, coming into the living room.

"I don't know," he said, "she's pretty tired."

"No, I'm awake," Clarke said, pushing herself up off his lap. It seemed to take a great deal of effort just to sit up right, though, and she never really did fully open her eyes. Whenever she tried, they always just fluttered shut again.

"Are you hungry, Clarke?" his mom asked her.

"Always," she said. But she ended up tilting over and resting her head on Bellamy's shoulder. She seemed more tired than she did hungry right now.

"Maybe I'll just make a plate for her and put it in the fridge," his mom decided.

"Good idea. Hey, Clarke?" Bellamy tried to move his sleepy girlfriend.

"Hmm?"

"Grab onto me, alright?" he told her.

One of her hands reached down for his crotch.

"No, not that part of me," he hissed.

"Oops, sorry." She lazily wrapped her arms around his neck, and he scooped her up, carrying her down the hallway and into his bedroom. He could have just let her rest on the couch, but his bed was comfier.

"There you go," he said, laying her down. "Is that alright?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said, curling up on her side. She was lying on the sheets, so he just pulled the bedspread up over her to keep her warm. Kneeling down by the side of the bed, he pushed her hair off of her forehead and out of her eyes and just took a moment to soak in how pretty she was. He'd always known Clarke was pretty, of course—he had eyes, after all—but lately, there was just something extra to it. Maybe pregnancy glow was a real thing.

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, sure that she was sleeping now. He'd come wake her up later, drive her home and put her to bed there. He didn't mind taking care of her. In fact, it was kind of nice to feel needed again.

...

With the semifinal game being on a Saturday, that meant Arkadia had the whole morning and some of the afternoon to get pumped up. Every store Bellamy drove by had signs in the window supporting the Rockets, and anyone who saw him wished him luck tonight. He didn't believe in luck, though; he believed in skill. And he had skill.

At the elementary school, someone was sponsoring a gigantic pep rally for the kids. The cheerleaders were there, the dance team, the band. So Bellamy made a pit-stop before it was time to get on the bus and travel to the host school. They'd been fortunate enough to host the first two rounds of playoffs and the quarterfinal match, but everything had to be on neutral sites now. The semifinal game was taking place a half an hour away.

He wove through a bunch of little kids doing all sorts of activities—musical chairs, shooting hoops, and Twister to name a few—and found Clarke at her own little station. Someone had brought in a small table, and she had some paints and designs set out on it. She was face-painting.

"That tickles," the little boy in the chair in front of her said as she ran a thin brush over his cheek.

"I know," she said. "Just a little bit more. You're almost done."

"You can't rush art, kid," Bellamy informed him as he approached.

Clarke stopped painting, and the boy looked up at Bellamy with wide eyes. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, taking in his jersey. "You play football?"

"He's our best player," Clarke informed him. "In fact, you've got his last name and his number on your face now. Take a look." She held up a mirror, and the boy marveled at the design she'd painted on his cheek. It was indeed a #7 with the name Blake running up the number.

"Cool!" the kid said, smiling excitedly.

"Didn't it turn out good?"

"Yeah! Thanks!" He shot up from his chair and ran off to show either his friends or his parents. Bellamy took his seat and asked Clarke, "How'd you get roped into this?"

"Oh, I didn't," she said, dipping her brush in a glass of water. "I volunteered. And I'll have you know, the Blake #7 is my most popular design."

"Oh, yeah?" He had to admit, he took some pride in that. "What're some of the others?" he asked, moving the chair closer so he could get a better look at the options.

She handed him a paper with all the designs, and he was amazed at how good they all looked. There was their school mascot, a football with the words State Bound above and below it, a Go Big Green in fancy letters, and a whole host of others. "These are awesome, Clarke," he said. "You could be, like, a tattoo artist or something."

"Yeah, right," she said, laughing a little. "My mom and dad won't settle for anything less than med school." She took the paper back from him and asked, "You want one?"

"Oh, I can't. Coach would flip his lid if I show up with anything other than eye-black on my face," he would've gotten the mascot if he could have, though. It was cool that so many people were getting the one with his name on it, but he wasn't the whole team. There were other guys out there on the field who were going to contribute to them winning, too. "I can paint something on you, though," he offered, taking the brush out of her hand.

"Okay. Do the #7," she said, turning her left cheek towards him.

"Alright, I got this." He dipped the brush into the green paint, not really sure how much he needed for it to show up well and not fade. "Don't worry now, babe," he said as he smeared it on in roughly the shape of a seven. "You're in the hands of a master."

"You do have masterful hands," she said, screwing the design up a bit when she smiled. "So are you ready for tonight?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." He blew on her cheek, trying to get it to dry quickly so he could use the white paint on top of it. "It's gonna be a tough game, but we got this."

"Is the other team undefeated, too?"

"Yep. And they're favored to win by a touchdown." He scoffed at that, switching paintbrushes to one that was already covered in white.

"But you're not gonna let that happen," she said confidently.

"Nope." If any team was going to win by a touchdown, it was going to be his team. They'd never gotten this far before. He sure as hell wasn't backing down now.

"Well, I think the whole town's gonna show up to cheer you guys on," she said as he outlined the green seven in white.

"Are you gonna cheer me on?"

"Of course," she said. "I'm a cheerleader."

"A sexy cheerleader."

Since he was looking right at her cheek right now, it was so obvious when she blushed. He loved making Clarke blush, getting those coy smiles and looks out of her. Flirting with her was definitely one of his favorite pastimes. It just never got boring.

As he attempted to write Blake inside the number seven, she said, "Maybe if you're not too tired from all the touchdowns you score tonight, you can score with me."

"That'll be my best score of the night." He grinned, excited by the thought, and then sat back, surveying his . . . artwork. "Alright, I'm done," he announced.

"Let's see how you did." She picked up the mirror, took one look at her cheek, and shrieked, "Oh my god! Bellamy!"

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I have no artistic talent." It looked more like a Z than a seven, and his last name wasn't even legible. "Hey, it's one of a kind, though," he said. "Just like you are."

She set the mirror down, trying and failing to give him an annoyed look.

"That was a good one, wasn't it?" he recognized. "One of a kind. I'm so smooth."

She rolled her eyes, then cracked a bit of a smile and admitted, "Yeah, it was pretty good."

He would have gladly sat there and watched her paint someone else's face, since she actually had artistic talent and knew how to use it, but he heard Miller call to him, "Bellamy! We're leavin'."

He groaned, not exactly bummed to be heading to the game so much as he was bummed to have to leave her there. "Gotta go get on the bus," he said. "Not that I need it, but . . . wish me luck?"

"Good luck," she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

When he got up to leave, a few kids followed him out the door. It was kind of surreal knowing that they looked at him and saw . . . almost a celebrity. Coach had always reminded the team that young kids looked up to them and wanted to be like them someday, but an event like this really drove home how true that was. He had kids asking to go with him and shouting words of encouragement. It was nuts, but in a good way.

When he got on the bus a few minutes later, he headed straight for the back. Nobody sat with him, because everyone knew his ritual for away games. He sat by himself, put his earbuds in, and listened to pump-up music the whole ride there. They could sit and talk all they wanted to, but he had to get himself in the zone.

Just as the bus had started to drive off, he got a text from Clarke. A picture. She'd sent him a picture with a few of the kids whose faces she'd painted today. They were all representing the Blake #7, and even though most of them probably wouldn't even be at the game, they looked so excited.

Looks like you've got a lot of cheerleaders, Clarke's message beneath the picture read.

He smiled, thinking about all the other people in that crowd who were going to be rooting him on tonight. His mom. His sister. Scouts from at least four different schools. He had a lot of people depending on him to get the job done and win that game. He wasn't gonna let them down.

...

When Bellamy shuffled out into the kitchen, his mom was just finishing up with dinner. "Is she asleep?" she asked as he made up a plate for Clarke.

"Yeah." She was drooling all over his pillow now, but hell if he cared.

"Oh, the poor thing," his mom empathized. "I remember what it's like to feel so zapped for energy."

Leaning back against the counter, he asked, "Who zapped your energy more, me or Octavia?"

"Oh, Octavia, for sure."

He chuckled, figuring as much. Octavia had always just been a high energy kid. He'd given her so many piggy-back rides when he'd been younger that she'd nicknamed him Horsie—luckily that hadn't stuck—and hide-and-seek games with her had always lasted at least an hour.

Bellamy wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject of the . . . well, the evolution in his and Clarke's relationship with his mother, but he figured that right now was his chance, so he cleared his throat and went for it. "Well, hey, now that it's just the two of us," he started in, "I should probably let you know . . . Clarke and I are back together."

"Not surprising," she said, wrapping up Clarke's plate with tin foil. "Saw that coming a mile away."

"It's . . . pretty serious," he said. "Very serious, actually."

"Oh, I'm sure." His mom opened up the fridge and started re-arranging things, trying to make room for Clarke's food.

"I told her I love her," he blurted out.

Quickly, she stashed the plate, shut the fridge, and spun around to look at him with an excited gleam in her eyes.

"And she said she loves me, too," he added.

His mom smiled, tears rushed to her eyes, and she put her hand over her heart.

"Don't get all mushy," he told her.

"I can't help it," she said, closing the space between them. "I'm so happy for you, both of you."

"Thanks." He'd figured she would be, which was why he hadn't worried about telling her. "So I'm gonna be there for her with everything she's got goin' on," he told her. "The father isn't . . . he's kinda out of the picture, so . . . I think I'm gonna step in."

"With the baby?"

"Yeah." Truth be told, that was the only part he was a little bit nervous telling her about. Because it was a really big decision.

"Oh, Bellamy . . ." Trying to fight back her tears, she hugged him, much like she had after every football game, and said, "I'm so proud of you."

He hugged her back, glad that he was able to make her proud, especially since he felt like it'd been a while since he'd done that. Of course, she'd claim that she was always proud of him, that she'd never stopped being grateful that he was her son. But he felt like he'd kind of been a lousy one the past couple years. Sure, seeing the world had been great, but . . . he had a world back here, too. And now, there were three women and a baby at the center of it.

...

Clarke loved the feel of Bellamy's arm around her waist as he walked up the stairs with her. Even the simplest touch from him was comforting, reassuring. She needed that.

"Sometimes I wish my parents were more like your mom," she said as they headed to her bedroom. "Just understanding and supportive no matter what."

"You don't think your parents will be supportive of us?" he asked.

"I think they'll be . . ." She paused, searching for the right word. "Skeptical. Especially my mom." She pushed open the bedroom door, pushing any concerns about her parents' reaction out of her mind along with it. "But oh, well. We can prove her wrong."

"Mmm-hmm," he agreed, setting his hands in the curve of her hips when she turned to face him. "So are you still tired," he asked, "or . . ."

"No, my little nap helped me out," she said, a bit embarrassed that she'd slept the majority of the night away at Aurora's. The woman had cooked her dinner and everything.

"So do you want me to stay the night?" Bellamy questioned.

"If you want to," she replied sweetly.

"Oh, I want to," he said. "If you want me to."

She slid her hands down his forearms and took his hands in hers. "You know what I want?" she said.

"What?"

Linking their fingers together, she felt the rumblings of desire stirring in her stomach. "You." She wasn't sure if she'd been dreaming about sex earlier or what, but she'd definitely woken up feeling . . . horny.

"Is it just me, or is pregnancy making you extra thirsty?" he teased.

"Well, all my apps did say that sex drive can pick up at this point," she said with a subtle shrug. "I don't know." If there were any plus sides to pregnancy, she was going to cling to them. "So are you down for it?"

"Uh, no," he said. "It's safe to say I'm . . . up."

She glanced down at his pants, happy to see a slight bulge. Nothing huge just yet, but . . . well, it would get huge, because Bellamy had such a nice package, and she so loved that about him. "Let's have sex, Bellamy," she said bluntly, fine with just cutting to the chase.

He didn't take much convincing. "Okay," he said. "Anything I should know?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Like . . . anything you're in the mood for?" he said, unhooking his hands with hers so he could touch her sides. "Or anything you wanna avoid? 'cause I'm all about making you feel good right now."

That sounded like pure pleasure. Bellamy was always pretty focused on her during sex, but now more than ever, that was just what she needed. "Well, my boobs are still kind of tender," she told him. "And my nipples are getting huge now. I'm so self-conscious about them. So maybe just stay away from up there for now."

He pouted momentarily, and she could tell he was disappointed because he loved paying attention to her breasts. "And what about . . ." He trailed off, not needing to ask the question when he slipped one hand down into the waistband of her sweatpants to give her panty-clad pussy a nice stroke.

She inhaled sharply at the touch and said, "Oh, that's open for business. Except no blowing air into there."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. One of my apps just said not to do that. But licking's fine."

Almost as if to preview what was to come, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Alright," he said. "What else?"

"Well . . . you can still be on top for now, but you can't be lying on my stomach," she said. "You gotta hold yourself up. Which . . ." She squeezed his strong biceps, grinning. ". . . shouldn't be a problem." Bellamy was a strong guy. He could handle any position she threw at him. "I think that about covers it."

"Got it," he said. "Let's get you naked then." After that, his hands were just everywhere, undressing her hastily but lovingly. Every time a new expanse of her skin was exposed, he massaged it with his calloused palms. Her back, her shoulders, her ass . . . sometimes it felt like he was the artist and she was clay for him to mold.

While he stripped down to nothing, she crawled up onto the bed, on all fours at first as she debated the position. Doggy style was always good, but they'd be having a lot of sex that way once she got further along. She wanted to do some more missionary while they still feasibly could, so she lay on her back and put a pillow under her hips right away.

"God, you look beautiful," he said, joining her on the bed once he was naked.

"Thanks for saying that." She really was self-conscious about how her breasts were looking, though. She'd gone up a cup size already, which was uncomfortable but manageable, but there were all these veins showing up that weren't normally there, and she was so worried something was going to leak out at some point.

"No, you do," he insisted, settling in next to her. First he kissed her lips, then her chin, her throat, down to her collarbone and . . .

"Ow," she yelped when he grabbed one of her breasts.

"Sorry," he apologized, immediately letting go.

It was going to be an adjustment for both of them, for sure, not starting the foreplay up there. Hopefully the tenderness would subside and she'd get over her insecurities, because Bellamy had once made her cum just from lavishing attention to her boobs, and she really wanted to see if he could pull that off again.

He ventured further south, stopping to pay deliberate attention to her stomach. Each kiss he planted around her bellybutton was feather light and even tickled a bit, and it just looked so sweet, him kissing the place where the baby was.

Things quickly escalated, however, when he moved down even further, to the juncture between her legs. She felt super wet already—increased lubrication was another side effect of pregnancy, she'd read. Bellamy's mouth on her pussy made some absolutely obscene smacking sounds as he kissed and licked at her, doing what he did best. Literally the best out of everyone she'd ever been with. He was better at oral sex than girls were, and that was saying something.

"Mmm . . ." she moaned, closing her eyes to lose herself in the stimulation. "Oh . . ." His technique combined with his utter enthusiasm for going down on her just made it an exhilarating experience, one that quickly worked her body into a frenzy. "That feels so good."

"You taste so good," he whispered against her without even lifting his head.

She shuddered at the feel of his breath against her pussy. Her whole body was starting to get that charged feeling, and judging by the way he was rolling his hips against the mattress, he was pretty worked up, too. "Bellamy, I need you," she told him, giving his hair a tug to get him to lift his head up. His mouth and his tongue and his hands . . . all of that was great, but right now, she wanted his cock inside her. It'd been over a week at this point. Too long.

Bellamy sat back on his knees, moving forward on them when she spread her legs out to the sides. Holding the base of his cock in one hand, he guided it inside her, and she was such a soaked mess down there that he just slid in like butter. "Oh, god," she said, never tiring of this, this initial rush of being joined with him. Bellamy felt so good inside her.

"Fuck," he swore, shutting his eyes for a moment. He took a few deep breaths, then leaned forward, putting one arm on either side of her, keeping them straight as he starting thrusting. He took things slow, maybe because he was testing out the position or maybe because he just wanted to go slower. She wanted to go a little faster, though, so she groaned and tried to press her hips into his. He got the hint, bent forward farther, and resorted to holding himself up on his forearms, kind of in a push-up position. It must not have been the most comfortable, but it kept him from lying on her stomach while still allowing them to be close.

His movements never did become that fast, but they were strong. Deep, determined thrusts that moved her whole body. "Oh, Clarke," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Whenever he did that, he was usually trying to keep from cumming. "I love you so much," he said, his words just blending together into one big one.

"Mmm," she purred, rubbing his straining arm muscles. He'd never said that to her during sex before. But now that he had, it was such a huge turn-on.

"Is this okay?" he asked her unsurely, his hips never halting.

She nodded, unaccustomed to him asking that. He was always so confident in what he was doing when it came to sex, but this was new to him, she supposed, being so conscious of the baby.

"Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah." His cock was like this obedient machine just sliding in and out of her, making her feel so good all over. How had she ever gone five years without this on the regular?

"Oh god, I'm gonna cum," she choked out. "I'm gonna cum, Bellamy."

"Do it," he urged as a bead of sweat dropped down the side of his face. He was definitely getting a workout.

"Oh," she gasped, zoning in on the pleasure pulsating through her pussy and swirling in her stomach. "Oh . . ." Letting go, falling over that edge, she let her orgasm just completely ripple through her. Every part of her body that had felt charged felt electrified and alive, and she appreciated the way he kept fucking her straight through it. Just as she was coming down, he was getting off, ramming his cock into her hard a few times as he came. She sort of loved that there was no need for a condom right now, because she loved feeling him spill himself inside her.

Normally, he might have collapsed onto her for a minute or two, only rolling off of her when he got too heavy, but this time he pulled out quickly. Not because he wanted to, of course, but because he needed to give his arms some relief. He practically crashed next to her, and his hand started to come up towards her breasts before he remembered not to. So instead, he slithered down on the bed just a bit so that his head was close to her stomach. As she tangled one hand in his hair to massage his scalp, he spread his fingers out over the small bump and made circles around her bellybutton with his thumb. It all just felt very . . . soft. And very loving.