Not my story
"Are you pregnant yet? Are you pregnant yet? Are you pregnant yet?" she mimicked in a mocking voice. "I swear, the next person who asks me that question is getting punched straight in the face."
Clarke paced their living room, her hair pulled back into a loose braid, while Bellamy reclined on the couch and watched the scene play out with resigned amusement.
"But, babe, you are pregnant," he reminded her.
She planted her feet and turned to face him square on. "That's not the point!" Her brows shot up and one hand found its place on her hip. "We'll tell them when we're damn well ready," she grumbled under her breath.
He narrowed his eyes, trying to read Clarke's expression. "Is this one of those times where I'm supposed to get you ice cream and pickles?" he asked cautiously, tilting his chin as he spoke.
Her arms moved to cross in front of her chest and she shifted her weight to one leg. "No, Bellamy, this is one of those times where you're supposed to agree with me."
"Isn't that all the time?" he stated, tone flat.
"Bellamy!" she admonished, throwing her hands up in a huff and turning away from him.
Clearing his throat, he straightened himself up from the couch and walked over to where she was standing. Bellamy could feel the slight swell of her belly as he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Right, okay." He planted a kiss at the base of her neck "People are being a bit intrusive."
"A bit?" she barked, angling her head to the side so she could arch a brow in his direction.
He sighed, allowing her to twist in his embrace so they were facing each other. "You're right." She grinned at that, allowing her arms to snake up his chest until her fingers were loosely clasped behind his neck. "Getting interrogated about our sex life every time we talk to your family is too much."
"It's only been two years since the wedding," she whined. He kissed her on the forehead in response. "Aren't we allowed to have just a little time to ourselves?"
"Tell you what," he started, kissing a lazy trail from her jaw line to her collarbone. "How about we blow off dinner with your folks tomorrow night?"
She shook her head stubbornly. "We can't do that, they're-"
"They're driving you up a wall." Bellamy pulled back to catch her eyes, nodding encouragingly when he saw her mouth quirk to the side thoughtfully.
"Yeah," she heaved a sigh, conceding his point. "They are."
"So..." he resumed his previous activity of peppering kisses down her neck, "we'll stay in," a kiss to the corner of her jaw, "I'll make us dinner," a kiss to her temple, "and afterward," a kiss to her cheek, "I'd like to take my wife to bed for a long evening orgasms and back massages." Bellamy gently pressed his mouth to hers, drawing her bottom lip between his teeth once the stiff lines of her body relaxed into him.
"Mm," she moaned, a soft smile pulling her lips taut as she lolled her head to the side to give him better access to her throat. "Do we have to wait until tomorrow for that last part?"
He nipped at the flesh near the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "I was hoping you'd say that," he rumbled, scooping her into his arms in one smooth motion.
"Bellamy!" she squealed, throwing an arm behind his shoulders to steady herself as he cradled her to his chest.
He hummed. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing you say that." Pulling her closer to him as he guided their bodies down the hallway to their bedroom, he kissed the top of her head.
She had to stifle a snort, remembering the way the elderly woman next door had awkwardly requested that they have sex more quietly. "The neighbors might, though."
"Good," he said, a self-sure grin curling up his mouth and a playful glint sparking behind his eyes.
(Mrs. Kane paid them a visit the next day and, once again, asked that they keep their marital activities to a dull roar. "No promises," Bellamy said, winking at Clarke and giving her a spirited smack on the bottom. Clarke apologized, promising to be quieter in the future as she shut the door on the poor woman's stunned face.)
