starliis

When he gets out his truck and starts walking down the market strip to Bo’s store, his eyes land on you, standing near a produce stand, dressed in a faded yellow dress that’s hugging your curves just like he remembers. 

Smoke hasn’t seen you since he left for Chicago. He didn’t expect to see you here but since the opportunity to talk to you has introduced itself, he’s going to take it. 

Right when he’s about to make his presence known, greet you in a respectful manner, one that would make it seem like he’s happy to see you, you turn in another direction, giving him a full view of yourself.

There’s a baby girl on your hip, can’t be any older than two years old. She has big, bright eyes, curls wild across her head, and she’s gnawing on some candy like she didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

Smoke stops walking. He doesn’t say a word. He can’t even blink because then he’ll feel like his eyes are playing tricks on him. He just stands there, like his whole body has forgotten how to move.

You’re digging through a crate full of plums, slow and careful, talking soft to the baby. Something about the sweetness of the fruit and how you have to smell the bottom to know if it was ripe.

You look around, glancing at your surroundings and that’s when your eyes lock with Smoke’s, making your heart skip beat. Time doesn’t just slow down, for you it completely stops. You never thought you would see Smoke again, not after how he left you high and dry, not even leaving you any type of letter or explanation for his sudden disappearance. 

Your lips part, like you want to say his name but no words come out. After staring each other down, Smoke finally approaches you but not the way a gentleman should. He just stares at the child, then at you with a face expression cold as ice. “That baby yours?” 

Your arms tense around the girl, adjusting her on your hip before acknowledging Smoke’s presence. You blink at him once, tilting your head to the side, your attitude coming to the forefront while your lips curl with bitterness. “You ain’t seen me in almost a decade and that’s how you approach me? Don’t even ask how I been?”

Smoke’s jaw flexes, his hand twitching where it hangs by his side. He glances back at the little girl, eyes narrowing just enough to show the storm brewing behind them. “Is she yours?” he asks again, completely ignoring what your previous words, voice much sharper than before, like he ain’t got time for you to give him the run around.

You press your lips together, not answering him right away. Instead, you sway the baby gently, rubbing her back like you didn’t feel his question hit you in the gut.

You wipe the sweat from your brows with the crook of your arm, letting his question hang in the air like smoke from a low-burning fire. “She eat like she mine. Sleep like she mine. Cry like she mine.” you say with an annoyed tone, looking at him as if he’s asking the dumbest question on Earth. “Now, what that tell ya’?”

Smoke let out a breath through his nose, sharp and quick, trying to push down the smart remark that’s burning his throat, not wanting to get smart with you. “She looks too young to be yours… sure as hell ain’t mine.” He mutters, averting his eyes from you and looking at the little girl who’s resting her head on your shoulder, ready for her afternoon nap. “So whose is she?”

“Ain’t none of your concern, Smoke.”

“The hell it ain’t.” 

“I ain’t yo’ woman no more, not since you left. You don’t get to ask me questions like that.” Your walls are up, that much is clear. Smoke’s looking right into your pretty brown eyes but he can only see a coldness in them, he doesn’t see that shimmer you always carried inside them before he left. 

“Whatchu want with me, Smoke? Why did you come ova’ here?” You ask, tired of standing in this smoldering heat talking to him when the only thing he cares about is if this child was your daughter, not even asking about your well being since he ran off in the middle of the night for Chicago.

Smoke doesn’t immediately respond, he just stands there, jaw so tight it looks like he’s gonna break it. His eyes flicker from the baby to your face, trying to piece together parts of your life that aren't none of his business anymore. 

He knows he doesn’t deserve to ask you things like this anymore, doesn’t deserve to know what's transpired in the last seven years since he left but that doesn't end his curiosity, it doesn’t make him not care about you. 

He shifts his weight, looking down before taking off his blue scalley cap, his eyes becoming a tad bit softer than before, looking as if your previous words hit a nerve. “Me and Stack openin’ up a juke joint. Down at the old sawmill.”

You don’t say anything. Just raise an eyebrow, bouncing the girl on your hip slowly, still swaying like the heat itself is keeping time with your movements. You hum softly, clearly unimpressed by this voluntary piece of information. “And you tellin’ me this ‘cause…?”

“Figured you’d wanna come, check out the place.”

You let out a breathy laugh, one with no joy in it, one that’s not in the mood to dance or drink in the same room with Smoke and act as if everything is alright between the two of you. “Well, you figured wrong.”

A silence between you and him, both of you just looking into each other’s eyes before Smoke breaks the quietness. “I ain’t know if I’d see ya’ again. Thought you woulda left the Delta by now.” 

“Well, you done seen me. Reckon you can go on ‘bout your business now.”  The little girl shifts against your shoulder, her candy-sticky fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. You stroke her back soothingly, but your eyes don’t leave his. You want him to see what he ran from and how you haven’t let it break you.

Smoke swallows hard, not trying to be vulnerable in such a public place but not wanting you to think he’s just stone walling you. You can see him struggling, like he has a million things he wants to say but can’t find the right words. “Jus’ come by.” he murmurs. “That’s all I’m askin’. Nothin’ mo’.”

You stare at him a moment longer, letting out a puff of air before nodding once, not giving him a definitive answer. “We’ll see. Ain’t makin’ no promises.”

You don’t give him a goodbye, just turn on your heels and walk away, the hem of your dress swishing behind you, dust curling around your ankles. Smoke watches you go, not saying anything to try and keep you here, his hand still gripping the brim of his hat, heart caught somewhere in the hollow space behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t know if you’re going to show up tonight and if he’ll ever have the chance to apologize but he wants to make things right with you, even if you're going to chew him up in the process.

—

The juke is currently thriving and alive. Sweat dripping down walls and everyone’s backs. Men clapping dominoes on tables, Sammie’s guitar slicing through the cigarette haze, Delta Slim playing the hell out of the piano and Pearline sings a song that has the crowd dancing across the wooden floor. 

Smoke’s leaned up against the wall, cigarette between his lips, watching the door like a soldier watching the tree line. He’s been eyeing the door ever since they opened, hoping that he’ll see you walking inside. He’s been trying to keep hope alive, but it’s been a few hours and he hasn’t seen you yet, making him agitated.

“She comin’?” Stack asks, sliding beside his brother, making sure he’s alright. Smoke doesn’t answer at first. He just takes a slow pull, eyes trained on the open door like if he stares hard enough, he might conjure you up outta thin air.

Stack follows his gaze, then huffs a little, shaking his head. “Man, we got a whole club full’a pretty women and you worried about her. Ones that ain’t cussin’ yo’ ass out in the middle of the market, too.” Stack jokes, elbowing him lightly, trying to make Smoke feel better but it ain’t working. Smoke gives him a look, stone cold and sharp, one that speaks for him, a look that says ‘don’t play with me right now’.

“Aight, Aight.” Stack mutters, hands raised in surrender, not wanting to make his brother feel any worse than he already does. “Just sayin’. Don’t burn a hole in the floor waitin’ on somebody who might not show, ‘specially after you fucked up.”

Smoke doesn’t respond, he just sucks his teeth and turns back toward the door, lips pressed tight, taking another puff, trying to keep himself from wringing someone’s neck… and deep down trying to hold himself together.

He doesn't care about other women, never did, even when he was in Chicago. Not when his mind still played memories of the time he’s spent with you. Memories of you laughing in the kitchen barefoot without a care in the world, or riding with him around town, hugged up in each other's arms, acting as if the world revolves around the other. 

Seeing that baby on your hip today really shook him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it out loud. He's been standing around wondering if your her mother, if you were able to finally conceive a baby without him. Just the thought of it makes a pain strike his chest. It makes him feel sick to his stomach because that baby should be his, not some other man.

Smoke has gotten to the point where he’s ready to give up, to leave his post and make sure Club Juke is running smoothly, thinking that his little brother is right, but right when he’s about to go and find Stack, that’s when it happens.

The door creaks open, loud enough to cut through the swell of music. There you are, standing in the doorway, talking to Cornbread at the door, looking like heaven on Earth. You’re in a soft colored satin dress, clinging to your figure like a second skin, lips painted a soft berry shade, hair done up real pretty, with your earrings catching the low light as you scan the room, assessing the scenery. 

As your eyes dance around the room, that’s when you find Smoke, standing a few feet from the bar. You take a few steps inside, slow and deliberate, hips swaying easily beneath the satin material, like you aren't in a rush, like you know he’s been watching the door all night just hoping you’d show. Cornbread tips his hat at you as you pass, and a couple heads turn too, the men whistling as you pass by but you ain’t paying them no mind.

Smoke straightens off the wall, putting out his cigarette in a nearby ash tray, while his eyes boring into you like a wolf watching if it’s prey is brave enough to run. He doesn't move toward you right away, doesn’t want to seem too eager, but he damn sure ain’t letting you walk in without sparking up a conversation.

You cut across the room slow, graceful, while Smoke is already making an effort to meet you halfway, the heat between y’all thick as molasses. Folks move out the way without even thinking about it, sensing something in the air, like some drama is stirring up.

Once Smoke is in front of you he takes in a small whiff of your scent, the smell of gardenias and honey filling his nostrils, making his heart settle at the familiarity of it. His eyes drag over your face, pausing at your lips, then finally settling in your eyes. “Ain’t think you was gon’ come.” 

“Ain’t think I was either, but my sister convinced me to show my face. Thought it would be good fuh’ me.”

You both stand there a moment, just taking in each other's presence, both of you secretly happy to see the other, even if your trying not to show it. “You look good,” his voice comes out rough like sandpaper but soft at the edges, his eyes gazing over each curve of your hips and the deep cut in your dress, accentuating the plumpness of your breasts. “Real good.”

You hum, trying to repress the smile that’s trying to creep onto your lips from the compliment, not wanting to let him off the hook so easily. “Ain’t gotta butter me up, Elijah. I’m here now but me showin’ up doesn't mean I forgot how we got here in the first place, how you jus’ up and left.”

His jaw ticks at the sound of his birth name in your mouth again, he ain’t heard it sound that pretty in years. And hearing it now, even with the sharpness behind it, it still makes his heart flutter. 

A flash of frustration passes through his eyes, he already can tell where this conversation is headed. You showed up looking like sin wrapped in silk, just to remind him of all the ways he failed you and your relationship and ready to rip him a new one.

He doesn’t wanna do this down here, not with all these nosy folks watching and trying to catch a whisper of y’all business, wanting to have something they can gossip about come tomorrow morning. He steps in closer, close enough that his voice dips into something just above a growl. “Come upstairs.” It’s not in the form of a question or a plea, just a demand.

And you blink, slightly taken aback since you haven’t heard him use that tone with you in years, the one that’s sprinkled with dominance. It’s the boldness, that edge in his voice, it’s what cuts through your self proclaimed armor. 

Still, you aren’t about to make it easy for Smoke, not after what he’s put you through. You tilt your chin up, squaring your shoulders like you’re thinking about telling him no, wanting him to sweat a little bit. You just nod slightly, lips parting as you murmur, “Lead the way.” 

He doesn’t respond, just turns and walks, weaving through the crowd without looking back, knowing you’re going to trail right behind him. While you’re walking you feel holes burning into your skull, knowing people are watching. You just ignore the eyes that follow y’all path, ignoring the hum of whispers and curious glances. Folks always did love a good reunion, especially a messy one like this.

You follow him up the creaky stairs, heart hammering louder with every step. The music fades behind you, replaced by the low thump of your own pulse and the sound of your heels clicking against the old wood. The second-floor hallway is dim and hot, lit only by a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.

He leads you down the hall and opens the door to a small room. It’s private, clean, and it’s far enough away so your voices won’t be heard downstairs. The room is just a table, chair by the window, a trunk full of the twins' guns and ammo, and a safe for their valuables. A fan clicks lazily overhead, doing little to fight off the heat but it does help. 

Once you both are inside, he shuts the door and leans against it for a beat, while you stand in the middle of the room, arms crossed tight over your chest. He watches you. Watches the way you shift your weight from one hip to the other, your expression trying to stay hard but your fingers twitching like you aren’t as composed as you pretend to be. “Why now, Elijah?” you ask softly, wanting some answers from him. “Why you come back here, after all this time?”

Smoke’s never been the type to show much emotion. But right now, the weight behind his eyes is heavier than you’ve ever seen it. When you talk to him in that tone, look at him with those hypnotizing eyes, he can’t help but become vulnerable, allowing you to break down his walls and get him to open up. “I ain’t know how to stay,” he says, pushing off the door and coming towards you. “I ain’t know how to look at you every night, wantin’ somethin’ I couldn’t give you.”

“You think leavin’ fixed that?” you ask, voice cracking in the process. “You think disappearin’ made the ache go away?”

“I ain’t know how to handle it. Felt like I failed you. Watchin’ you in that bed cryin’ and couldn’t do nothin’ but hold your hand. I felt like shit, like I was less of a man.”

The time y’all were together before he left for Chicago, your days were filled with doctor visits, herbs, prayers, and tears soaked into your cotton sheets. You cried yourself hoarse each time you found out you weren’t pregnant.

You and him were trying to conceive for a long time, trying to fill your womb with a child, wanting to bring a life into the world that was a mixture of you and him, but for some reason it never happened.

Any method you learned about in books or from talking to the neighborhood midwives who delivered more babies than you can count, you and Smoke tried and yet you could never become pregnant. You and Smoke tried to keep each other lifted up, tried to keep hope alive but after months turned into years it started weighing on both of you.

You both were at your breaking point so when Smoke had the opportunity to leave for Chicago, he was gone on the first train smoking, leaving you to deal with the pain of not being able to conceive alone.

“You was my man, Elijah.” you snap, your voice sharp and trembling, not being able to hold back the storm of emotions that been brewing inside you all these years. “I never wanted perfect. I never wanted you to fix the problem, I wanted you but you ran. Like it was easier to vanish than stay and hurt wit’ me.”

Smoke swallows thick, chest rising with a breath, like he doesn't know how to hold right. “I didn’t know how to sit in that pain, not with you lookin’ at me with that hurt in your eyes. I felt useless to ya’.”

“You think I felt useful?” you spit, stepping toward him now, eyes flashing with anger. “Every month, bleedin’, gettin’ another reminder that I ain’t having your baby. Every time somebody else in town got pregnant and I had to smile like it didn’t feel like I was dyin’ inside? Having to see my friends take care of their kids and pretend I wasn’t jealous. All those times I needed you here, not runnin’ around Chicago like you ain’t got a woman at home.”

The silence between you crackles, heavy with grief, fury, and years of love stretched too thin because of sorrow. You’re both breathing hard now, standing in the middle of the room like two hurricanes about to collide. He doesn’t speak, not because he doesn’t have anything to say, it’s because you’re right.

After watching Smoke just stand there in silence, seeing the hurt in his eyes and feeling the sting of his actions in your own heart, that’s when you break.

You try not to, try to stay hard and proud, but the pain rips through you anyway. “You left me with nothin’ but an empty bed. You ain’t send me a letter, try to get a call to me, nothin’. I ain’t hear from you in seven years, Smoke. Seven damn years.” you whisper, voice raw and tired, tears starting to spill freely down your cheeks. “I hated you for it. I hated you so much, but I couldn’t stop lovin’ you either.”

At this point in your life, your tired of crying over Smoke, tired of the pain you just can’t shake no matter how much you try, but that’s what happens when you truly love someone. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t let them go, even if what they did is unforgivable.

He doesn’t ask permission, just crosses the room in large strides and pulls you into his chest like he’s been dying to touch you since the moment he saw you at the market. His arms wrap around you tight, and your fists beat against his chest once, then twice, then a third.

You try to fight his embrace, not wanting to weaken under his touch but after a few moments your arms fall limp, clutching his vest, resting your head against his shoulder while your tears soak his clothing.

Silence stretches like wire strung too tight before your voice cracks just enough to show the emotional bruise on your heart, showing the true wound that’s been hurting you for years, the thought that’s been plaguing your mind since he left. “I thought I wasn’t enough for you anymore. That without being able to give you a baby I was less of a woman, that I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”

Smoke’s breath stutters against your temple, your words splitting him clean down the middle. His voice is so low you barely catch it over the creak of the fan above but you catch every single word. “Don’t you ever say that, aight? You always been enough fuh’ me.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, tilting your head up at him and then pressing his fingers into your waist like he’s trying to make you feel every word before it even can leaves his lips. “You the only thang in this world that makes me feel whole. I left ‘cause I felt like I wasn’t enough for you, not ‘cause you ain’t.”

“Then why you aint jus’ say that? Why you ain’t tell me you was hurtin’ too?”

His jaw flexes again, and you can see it, shame, writing all over his face. It rolls off him in waves, thick as Mississippi fog. You can tell he’s ashamed of how he left things, how he practically abandoned you just because things were overwhelming. “I ain’t know how,” he confesses, his voice soft and vulnerable, a side of him you don’t see often but when you do it makes butterflies flutter around your stomach.

His way of being open, honest, and raw has always had that affect on you, even when you were kids. “Wasn’t raised to talk ‘bout no feelings. Wasn’t raised to sit in pain. All I know is how to survive, and I thought leavin’ was survivin’, tryin’ to find another way to provide for us. Tryin’ to forget the pain.”

And that’s when your breath catches, because you can tell he means every word. You can see it in his eyes. All the self-loathing, all the love, wrapped up in one tortured look. Your lips part, but nothing comes out, lost for words at the moment. 

He lowers his forehead against yours, the heat of his breath brushing your face, making your skin prickle. And for a second, it’s just the two of you, truly seeing each other past the masks you put on for other people. You see the pain brewing inside, the hurt of your past, and the ache of your love, weighing on both of you like a stone.

For a while Smoke just holds you. His arms don’t shake, no tremble in his hands, but his breath does, hitching in his chest as he leans into you, a single tear rolling down his cheek, another expression of his vulnerability and how apologetic he is about the whole situation, filling in the gaps where his words couldn’t. 

The fan creaks overhead, spinning slow and lazy, the outside noise muffled through thick walls and heavy heat, but none of it matters. In this room, it’s just him and you, buried under years of silence and heartbreak, finally getting things off your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice full of conviction and thick with regret. “sorry fuh’ how I left ya’. I’m sorry I made you carry all that weight alone. I ain’t never stop lovin’ you. I ain’t askin’ for your forgiveness ‘cause I don't deserve it. But I wanna make things right, get back in your good graces.”

You stare at him, your hands still clutching the front of his shirt, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. You’re quiet for a moment, like you’re testing the truth of his words by the rhythm of his breath. It’s clear to you that he means what he says, that he isn’t just telling you what he assumes you want to hear so you decide to give him some truth as well.

You pull back to look him in the eye, telling him the thing that’s been burning him up inside since he first saw you. “That baby you saw me with earlier…” you begin softly, brushing a tear from your cheek before wiping the one that’s cascading down his. “She ain’t mine. She’s my sister’s little girl.” you explain. “I was jus’ babysittin’ her cause she had to run some errands, is all.”

You didn’t tell him your true connection to the baby at the market because you wanted to see him hurt, wanted him to think you could just move on and sleep with another man, wanted his blood to run hot with jealousy. You had to give him a reality check, make him realize that the world doesn’t revolve around Smoke, that what he does hurts people, hurts you.

Smoke blinks slowly, shoulders drop in the kind of relief that’s so heavy it almost knocks the wind out of him. “Shit,” he murmurs, running his hand down his face, wiping the beads of sweat that’s surrounding his brows. “I thought—” he shakes his head, letting out a thankful sigh. “thought you moved on. Thought I came back too late.”

You shake your head, lips curling into something too tender to call a smile, followed by a bitter laugh coming from your lips. “I ain’t moved on, Elijah. Been stuck right where you left me.” Your voice cracks just a little, but this time with something softer. “I tried to forget you but no matter what I did, I still wanted you. Still do, even with all we been through.”

That does something to him. Smoke’s whole frame seems to shift, like his heart just lifted back into place within his chest. His jaw unclenches, his brow eases, and the way he’s looking at you now,  like he would fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness if you asked. 

He cups your face with one calloused hand, thumb dragging slow across your cheek, wiping away the last wet trace of tears staining your skin. “I was a damn fool.” he says quietly, voice thick with grief, his tone apologetic. “But I ain’t finna be one no more. I’m gon’ spend every day tryin’ to prove to you that I still know how to love you right. That I’m worthy enough to be with ya’.”

You exhale softly, the heat in the room no longer stemming from the Mississippi heat or from Club Juke being packed from wall to wall with people. It’s the air between you, charged with years of everything unsaid, thick with all the thirst and longing for the others touch. Your fingers tighten around the front of his shirt, playing with the buttons of his shirt. “Then show me, ‘lijah. Prove that you mean what you say.”

You barely finish the sentence before his lips are pressed against yours. It’s not gentle, at least not at first. It’s desperate, seven years of silence, hurt, desire, and love pouring out into a single kiss. His mouth claims yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers again if he waits too long, and you don’t resist. You part your lips leaning into him like your body remembers this rhythm, this man, the one it’s been waiting on all this time.

His other hand slips around your waist, pulling you flush against him, allowing you to feel the bulge growing in his slacks. The second your mouth parts and your tongue brushes his, everything changes. The kiss grows hotter, deeper, like you both just realized how much you missed this. You break the kiss long enough to whisper against his lips, “Lock the door.”

Smoke’s already two steps ahead of you. He pulls you backwards with him and he reaches behind blindly and turns the lock, the soft click making your pulse stutter with anticipation. Once it’s locked he’s back on your body, kissing you like he’s been starving for years, because he in fact has.

You start taking off his vest, taking loose the few buttons before taking it off him and starting the whole process over with his dress shirt. After fidgeting with one that’s giving you trouble, you just rip the shirt open and throw it on the floor once his arms are free, along with his gun holster.

Smoke doesn’t even flinch when you rip open his shirt, he doesn’t care about the buttons scattering across the floor like dice, he just lets it happen and allows you to take the lead. 

You pull up his white t-shirt, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over his head, and once you see his body glistening before you, a small smirk curls at your lips.

His body is just as you remember, broad chest, taut muscles beneath his brown skin, a few faded scars and wounds carved into his skin, a reminder of everything he’s endured over his thirty-ish years of walking this Earth. You press your palms flat against his pecs, like you’re trying to memorize the feeling of him again after all this time.

You trace your fingers down the slope of his shoulder, down to the scar that runs over his ribs, a scar you remember from the fight with some hotheads back in 1923, a fight he got into because the men were catcalling you, saying some filthy things he ain’t appreciate being spoken about you. 

Smoke watches your hand move, eyes half-lidded with heat and memory, like the feel of your fingers on his skin brings him back to every piece of who he used to be when he was with you. Your touch is gentle but there’s a certain fire behind it, a look in your eye that tells him you want to swallow him alive.

“Ain’t nothin’ changed,” you murmur, dragging your hand back up to his jaw, tracing the stubble that has grown thick and rough around his lip and chin. Your hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing the faint trail of hair leading into his slacks.

His breath hitches when you reach the waistband, your nails scraping against his skin, sending a shiver across his skin. “I still know every inch of you.” you whisper, lips trailing his neck, moving up his to his ear and swirling your tongue around his lobe, making him close his eyes and let out a groan. 

“Goddamn.” Smoke’s eyes flutter closed for just a second, jaw tightening as your tongue teases his ear, that sweet, warm breath of yours sending a bolt straight down his spine. He lets out a low grunt, deep, guttural, the kind of sound that vibrates from somewhere low in his belly, a sound he hasn’t let out in years, a sound only you can pull out of him. 

Your fingers keep tracing slow paths across his skin, like you’re relearning him, mapping out all the places you used to kiss, used to bite, used to hold when the nights got too heavy. His breath hitches with every pass of your hands, his body coiled tight like a live wire, like he’s only hanging on by a thread. 

You pull back just a little, your lips still brushing his throat, your voice coming out sounding like honey but your tone stern like you mean business. Asking him a question that’s been burning a hole in your mind since you heard through the grapevine he was living it up with Al Capone. “You let any women touch you while you was up there in Chicago?”

Smoke opens his eyes slow, looking down at you, holding your gaze steady like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered. “No.” He says smooth as butter, without a stutter or crack in his voice. “Ain’t nobody touched me but myself. Ain’t want nobody else.”

You stare at him for a second with a raised brow before allowing a pleased smile to dance across your lips. “Good,” you mutter, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach again, teasing the waistband of his pants before pulling the loops out of his belt. “’Cause if you did, I woulda cut yo’ ass too thin to fry.”

That pulls a small smirk out of him, half amusement, half awe, but full of lust. “Shit, I believe ya’.” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, eyeing your full hips and pretty physique, licking his lips while he looks you up and down, feeling you pull his belt from around his waist and opening his fly, leaving only one more step before you see the part of him you missed the most.

In one swift motion, he grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you without warning, walking over and laying you down flat on the wooden table towards the back of the room.

Your breath leaves your lungs in a soft gasp, the wood cool against your back, your dress bunched up around your hips, thighs parted just enough for his body to slide between them. His hands slide down your waist, rough palms catching on the satin of your dress. 

You slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders, letting them fall before pulling the dress over your head, with some assistance from Smoke, helping you avoid messing up your hair even though he’s about to sweat it out.

Your body is now on full display, your full breasts sitting pretty in your brassiere, plump and full against your chest while your sex is being covered by your cotton panties, keeping the part of you Smoke desires the most hidden.

Smoke takes his time admiring your body, especially since he hasn’t seen it in years. His eyes move slowly, as if he’s savoring the moment, like every inch of you is a hymn he forgot the words to but still knows the rhythm of. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, chest rising and falling with something too heavy to simply be called desire. 

What Smoke currently feels is hunger. Not the kind that lives in his stomach, but the kind that’s rooted in his veins. The kind that started the moment he walked away all them years ago and never died. Just sat there. Festering. Waiting for this very moment.

He leans over you, big hands dragging up your thighs, prying them open as he lowers his mouth to your belly, pressing slow and purposeful kisses against your skin. One kiss. Then another. Then one more just above the waistband of your panties. “You still the prettiest thang I eva’ seen.” he murmurs against your skin, voice raspy and raw, like it burns his throat as the words pass through.

Your breath hitches as you feel his hand reach up, thumb grazing the swell of your breasts, his lips trailing higher, brushing the valley between them. He doesn’t unclasp your bra just yet, he cusps them like he’s trying to mold a piece of clay, reminding himself what it’s like to have his hands on a woman’s body after having no intimacy for seven years.

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to look in your pretty eyes. “Then come get what’s yours.” And those words are all it takes for Smoke to finally unclasp your bra and toss it to the floor with all the other clothing that no longer matters. 

Your nipples harden under the air and his harsh gaze, and he leans down to wrap his lips around one, sucking slow and precise, his tongue swirling while his hand kneads the other, making you moan softly as your back arches off the desk. “Missed this mouth.” you whimper, running your hands along his arms, gripping onto his muscular arms.

He hums against your breast, switching his attention to the other side without missing a beat. “Missed you.” He mumbles while his hand slides down your belly, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and dragging them down your thick thighs, the same thighs he loves putting his head between whenever he gets the opportunity. 

He watches your body the whole way down like it’s some kind of sacred text he’s not worthy of reading but refuses to look away from. He lets out a sharp breath when he sees you bare.

When his eyes fall into your wet core, seeing how your is slick smeared across your sex and how it makes your puffy folds glisten in the warm lighting, he can’t help but curse. “Damn, this pussy sexy.”

You grin through your blush, biting your lip while looking at him with darkened eyes, enjoying the feeling of having him worshiping your body again like the way he used to but also missing the feeling of his lips wrapped around your clitoris until you see stars. “Stop starin’ at it an’ do somethin’ then.”

And that he does. Smoke sinks to his knees, spreading your legs wider and planting wet kisses to the inside of your thigh that makes your breath stutter. Within a few minutes his mouth is attached to your pussy, tongue moving meticulously, licking long, lazy stripes up your slit before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking it soft and steady.

Your fingers run across his coarse hair as your head falls back, a whimper escaping your throat. His hands grip your thighs tight, keeping you in place while he eats you like he’s been starving for years, and in a way, he has. He moans into your heat, like tasting you is the first time he’s been able to breathe since crossed state lines out of Mississippi.

You grind your hips up into his face, one hand tugging his hair, and the other gripping the edge of the table, your chest heaving as your mind starts to become fuzzy. “Shit, Elijah…” you breathe. “Don’t stop.”

“Baby, I wasn’t plannin’ on it.” He says as he comes up for air before diving back into your heat. He sucks harder, tongue circling and flicking your shining pearl until your thighs begin to twitch. His nose presses into the mound of your pussy, his warm breath causing your skin to prickle.

The more he devours your sex, the more your whimpers and moans bounce off the wooden walls of the room. Smoke wants to warm you up as best as possible for what’s to come, so he places his fingers at your folds, scissoring them open and allowing your slick to collect on his digits and once there’s a good amount he slowly pushes them into your pussy, making you gasp from the sudden insertion.

You arch off the table, thighs tightening around his head like your body’s trying to trap him there, and honestly? He doesn’t mind one bit. You could be suffocating him and he would still be happy, knowing that he has the opportunity to taste your sweetness on his tongue.

Smoke grunts low in his throat, the sound vibrating through your wetness as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, slow at first, but picking up rhythm with every moan that spills from your lips.

His mouth never stops showing your clit attention, tongue flicking simultaneously with the curl of his fingers, still remembering how you like your body caressed and touched after all these years you’ve been apart.

You’re singing for him now: soft gasps, whispered curses, the kind of sounds that echo with the ghost of every lonely night you spent wishing his mouth was between your legs instead of your own fingers.

Your voice comes out broken, barely hanging on, like the coil in your stomach is only a few moments, or a few kitten licks from snapping.“I’m so close, baby…” 

That “baby” unravels something in Smoke. It makes him groan deep and double down in your heat, making a sharp gasp spill from your lips. He adds a third finger, stretching you nice and wide, thumb rubbing circles where his mouth used to be so he can look into your pretty eyes while you fall apart from his touch.

“That’s it, baby.” he murmurs, looking down at you with those deep brown eyes that always make you buckle and listen to his every command when he speaks. “Gon’ ‘head and give it to me, mama. Let me see that pretty face when you cum.”

And you do just that. Your back bows off the table, legs quivering as they rest on his shoulders, a cry ripping from your throat so sharp it could make a mirror shatter. Your pussy clenches around his fingers like it’s trying to keep him inside, slick gushing down his hand and past his wrist as your orgasm rolls through you like a Delta heatwave.

Smoke doesn’t stop massaging the sweet spot inside you until your body jerks from the sensitivity, until your hand weakly pushes at his head, telling him you can’t take it anymore. He obeys this time, deciding not to push you past your limit just yet. 

He pulls away, pulling his fingers out of you slowly, making you whimper once you feel him exit. “Tastes better than I remembered.” He states, his voice thick with heat while he licks your juices off his digits. “Sweeter, too.” His lips curl into a soft smile, something he doesn’t flash often but when he does it warms your heart… and your pussy.

You blink up at him, chest still heaving, a lazy smile spreading across your lips. “That’s ‘cause I been waitin’ on you.”

Smoke’s gaze lingers on your face, soft now, as he leans over you, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your lips, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue, making your toes curl at the sensation. “I ain’t ever gon’ make you wait like that no mo’.” he murmurs against your mouth.

“You better not, not after all this time.” you breathe, placing your hands around the base of his neck.

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips. “You gon’ punish me if I do?” Smoke has never been the type of man who would openly admit he likes a woman who’ll dominate him, but there've been multiple moments in your relationship where you had Smoke right under your finger, submitting to your every move so you punishing him sounds like music to his ears.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “Damn right I will.” Your hands move down his body, running down his chiseled frame until you reach his slacks, pulling them down towards the floor, removing the last piece of clothing keeping him from being close to you as humanly possible. 

Once his pants are at his ankles, you take him in your hand, watching his brows knit when your palm wraps around his heavy length. His breath catches, head tilting back as you stroke him slow, feeling his thick, aching dick throb against your palm as his pre-cum leaks down your fingers.

He was already painfully hard from eating your pussy but feeling your hands wrapped around him, he’s hard as concrete. “Told you I ain’t let nobody else touch me,” he says,. “Ain’t want nobody else, ‘cause nobody else makes me this goddamn hard.”

You grin at that, slow and satisfied, eyes flicking up to meet his while your hand keeps moving in smooth, steady strokes. “Good,” you murmur, voice thick with pride that your soul ties so deeply to Smoke that he can’t even look at another woman sexually or romantically.  “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now that you back.” You grab him by the chin and pull him closer to you, putting your lips right against his ear, wanting him to hear every word. “ I’m gon’ keep ya’ so deep in this pussy, that you won’t ever wanna leave the Delta again.”

Smoke bites his lip and feeling your fingertips glide over his protruding veins, making him groan. Your words hit him just as hard as your precious touch. He watches you like he’s starving, like every inch of you is something he’s been fighting to survive without. 

Smoke’s eyes darken, the sound of you talking filthy tightens something in his gut. He places one hand behind your neck, the other stroking your cheek, his thumb dragging down to rest on your lip. “I’m gon’ fuck this pretty pussy so deep yo’ body ain’t never gon’ forget me, no matter how long I’m gone.”

As he mutters his last words, he takes his dick out of your hands and guides himself to your entrance, the tip of his dick dragging slowly through your slick-covered folds, making you moan at the feeling. 

He doesn’t rush. He teases, rubs, and takes in the way your pussy flutters and twitches for him, how it’s so wet and open, begging for his dick stretch you out. 

You whine, nails digging into his arms, tired of him playing around when he sees how much you’re aching for him. “Smoke, don’t play with me—”

He cuts you off with a roll of his hips, pushing into you slowly, creating a delicious burn to spread through your core. Your mouth falls open, back arching as you feel every inch of his cock fill you up. “Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, holding onto him like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.

The stretch burns at first, just like it always did but especially now since it’s been almost a decade since a man has been inside you. But it’s a welcomed pain, one you’ve missed more than you’re willing to admit. Your walls flutter around him, greedy and wet, clinging to every inch as he slowly thrusts inside you.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, brows furrowed, hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You feel so fuckin’ good.” As he thrusts his dick into your pussy, trying to reach that sweet spot before really doing some damage, he gets a moment of Deja Vu. 

The feeling of your walls tightening around him each time kisses your skin or mutters out compliments that are dripping in pure filth, he remembers when you and him were just teenagers, pressing your bodies against each other for the first time, trying to express your love for each other in the best way possible.

Smoke presses his forehead to yours, his chest heaving as he pushes deeper into your warmth. The sound of your breath catching, the way your mouth hangs open, and the way your walls squeeze around him like you want to stay connected like this forever, edges him closer to his orgasm.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this every fuckin’ night since I left.” He grits through a moan, starting to move once he bottoms out, slow at first, dragging his hips back just enough to feel some resistance, then pushing in deeply, making your breath hitch. “Ain’t just ‘cause I missed yo’ pussy… I missed how you sound. Missed how you smelled. Missed everythang ‘bout you.”

You whimper beneath him, legs trembling from the deep drag of his thrusts. One of your hands moves to cradle the back of his head while the other claws lightly down his back, leaving faint trails on his skin, one of your methods to claim him as yours. “Missed you too,” you breathe out, voice catching on a moan as he rocks into you again, deeper this time. “Missed feelin’ you like this...”

“Yeah?” he asks in a growl, jaw tight as he sinks deeper into you, giving you one long hard thrust, while the heat of you squeezing around him like a vice floods his veins. “Missed this dick fillin’ you up?” He presses against your lower body, hand against the bulge his cock makes each time he thrusts inside.  “Missed feelin’ me reach yo’ stomach?”

“Yes, missed it so much!” You yell out before crying out his name, tightening your grasp around the back of his neck, holding onto him for dear life as he starts thrusting into you at an agonizing pace.

Smoke grits his teeth at the way you cry out, like your moans and cries are chipping away at his self restraint, like your body is begging him to release all seven years of pent up sexual energy into this very moment. 

His mouth presses against your throat, licking and kissing and sucking your soft and supple skin while his hips grind into you deep and slow, thick strokes dragging every sound you can make right out your mouth. 

Even through the lust-fueled heat and haze of endorphins, there’s a softness in the way he holds you, a type of gentleness that only comes from your souls being tied to one another. “You want me to stay?” he pants, his voice low and husky in your ears. “Huh? Want me to stay right here… keep ya’ full’a this fat dick?”

You answer him right away, nodding frantically while a fire starts spreading through your body, throwing your legs around his torso, locking him in place, wanting him to stay deep inside. “Yes, Smoke—don’t stop, please—fuck—you strechin’ me out!”

The back and forth between you and him continues, your bodies locked in a rhythm older than memory. You and Smoke match each other in every way: body, rhythm, desire. Smoke touches you like a man who’s been lost, finally made his way back home, and hoping what comes next will make up for the time lost.

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your legs tremble harshly around his waist. “Damn, girl,” he pants in your ear. “You takin’ me so good… like this pussy know exactly who it belong to.”

“It belong to you,” you whimper, leaning more into his body, wrapping your arms around his back to hold him even closer, like you can pull him into your soul, like if you hold him close he’ll become fused with your body. “Always did.”

Hearing that makes his eyes flutter closed for a second. You feel the tremble in his arms, the way he slows his pace just enough to look at you again, to really look into the windows of your soul. He can see everything your feeling, even the things you haven’t voiced yet. 

He can feel a yearning in your spirit, not for him, but something else, something you’ve wanted for years, even since you were a little girl and honestly what he’s been wanting since the day he met you. 

Smoke opens his mouth and speaks low, almost like it’s a secret between just you, him, and the wet sounds of your bodies colliding. “Still want that baby?” Smoke asks softly, like he’s scared of what your answer will be, like he’s in some type of uncharted territory. 

He knows he’s been gone for years, and he knows that trying to have a child is one of things that put a strain on your relationship but he can’t stop thinking about bringing a beautiful baby into the world with you. 

The question makes your breath hitch, makes your eyes snap open at the mention of a baby. Even in the midst of his thick dick continuously pushing against your womb, sweat dripping down your skin, and insides being rearranged, the question still lands heavily in your mind. 

It takes you by surprise for sure, you weren’t expecting this conversation so soon, let alone in the middle of sex but you aren’t opposed to talking about it since you know it’s one that has to be discussed.

You blink up at him, eyes glassy with tears you refuse to shed, overwhelmed by the feeling of finally having him in your arms again and what could be if you become pregnant. Your hands cup his face as you repress a moan, your voice a little breathy from all the physical activity but still clear as day. “You still wanna give me a baby? You… you still want that wit’ me after everything?” 

Smoke’s eyes searched yours, raw and honest in the dim light, holding every ounce of hope and fear tangled inside the pit of his stomach. “‘Course I do.” he whispers with a strong tone, gliding his thumb across your skin and whiping the tear you finally allowed to roll down your cheek. “I still want that baby. I want our baby. Never wanted anything else.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing against your chest, flooding you with a mix of longing and cautious hope. You’ve dreamed of this moment many times, but hearing it spoken from his lips and not your imagination makes your heart swell in a way you hadn’t expected. 

“I want it too, Elijah. I always did. Ain’t never stopped wantin’ a baby with you.” Your fingers trace slow, delicate circles on his cheek, feeling the roughness of his facial hair beneath your touch. “I wanna get round with yo’ baby. Carryin’ somethin’ of us both inside me.”

Smoke’s eyes soften even more, like a weight lifts off his shoulders once he hears that you and him are on the same page. He leans in, pressing his lips against yours, breath and saliva mingling with yours. Smoke starts thrusting again but this time his hips jerk into you a little harder than before. 

“Then I’ma give ya’ one. Gon’ make you a mama jus’ like you want.” he promises, voice shaking as he starts to lose control, his need of wanting to breed you taking over. “Gon’ make sure my seed sittin’ deep. You gon’ walk outta here wit’ it drippin’ out of ya’.”

Before responding to him vocally, you place your hands on the sides of his face, pulling him in for a kiss, sliding your tongue so far down his throat you can taste a mixture of yourself and the beer he was drinking earlier. 

The kiss is full of fire, passion, love, and all the above. 

In the beginning, this escapade was just full of hot passion but now, talking about trying to make a baby, it quickly turns intimate, making both you and him soften up.

Your lips part from his, swollen and slick from the kiss, and you keep your forehead pressed to his, eyes fluttering shut as your hands rest on his shoulders. His weight, his warmth, it’s all wrapped around you, and for the first time in years, it feels like you can finally breathe again.

Smoke rolls his hips into you at a delicious pace, each thrust deeper than the last, but not rushed. It’s slow and sensual, something both of you have been craving since you and him were apart. 

His hands slide under your back, holding you delicately like the diamond you are. Your arms wrap around his neck, pressing his body against yours, clinging to him like a lifeline. Your bodies move together in a perfect rhythm, the kind born from years of loving each other, of knowing every scar, every mole, and every inch of skin by heart.

“God, I missed you.” you whisper into the crook of his neck, your voice breaking as you feel the tip of his dick pressing against your cervix.

Smoke groans low, the sound vibrating from deep in his chest. “Missed you too, baby. Gon’ stay right in the Delta with you. I swea’.”

He buries his face into your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin like intoxicates him every time he inhales. His breath is shaky, warm against your throat, causing your skin to prickle. The gentle rocking of his hips turns more deliberate and forceful, and you can feel the difference almost instantly.

Every stroke is intense, every moan and whimper he pulls from you feels like a prayer. Your fingers thread through his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and his arms tighten around you like he is trying to mold your body to his. 

You whisper against his ear, voice trembling as your words become vocal, “So deep, baby… feel so full.” He lifts his head just enough to look at you, sweat glistening along his brow, jaw tight from the effort of holding back, not wanting to completely wear you out. “I love you,” he says in between kisses against various areas of your body. “And this pussy.”

Your eyes fill again, tears catching in your lashes, but you don’t blink them away. You allow him to see it, see how much he still moves you. How much you still love him. He brushes a kiss over each cheek, then your lips, then your chin. His mouth lingers everywhere and each place his lips touch leaves a trail of fire behind.

Soon he starts to tremble. Hips stuttering, breath going ragged, while you feel your own release stirring inside you, slow and consuming your body and soul. It wraps around your spine, makes your toes curl and your walls tighten around him. “I’m close,” 

“Me too,” he grits through another surge of pleasure, hands slipping down to hold your hips steady. “ Let it happen, baby. Come wit’ me.” His speed doesn’t lessen, it only rapidly increases, making it feel like his dick is reaching the depths of your soul. 

Every drag of his hips feels like he’s trying to make up for every night you cried and every moment you thought he forgot you. And with every moan you make, arch to meet his movements, and whispers of praise, you let him know that never stopped wanting him. 

Your second orgasm hits hard: tighter, deeper, it makes your body quiver as your walls convulse around him. Your mouth parts in a moan that sounds like his name, your legs trembling around his waist, as your juices splash against his pelvis and your cream surrounds the rim of his dick. 

And that’s all it takes for Smoke to follow, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep, groaning into your neck as he spills his seed into the depths of your womb, not wanting a drop of it to escape because every droplet counts when trying to have a baby.

Once he releases he doesn't pull out right away. He just stays buried inside you, allowing his seed to travel inside you to its rightful place. Both of you are breathing hard, bodies tangled, skin slick with sweat, and your hearts pounding in sync. He runs his fingers along your jaw and gently kisses you, like a man who’s finally at peace. 

You run your fingers along the strong line of his back, the soft curve of his nape, eyes closed and body humming with the aftershock. “I hope it took.” you whisper, gliding your hand against the back of his head.

Smoke doesn’t respond right away, first he kisses the curve of your shoulder, then soft of your cheek, and lastly he looks in your eyes. “That baby already on the way,” He mumbles, reassuring you while moving a few strands of your hair out of your face. “I can feel it.” He places his hand on your stomach, rubbing your skin like he already feels something growing there. 

You laugh softly, feeling a flutter in your chest when you feel him acting as if you’re full of his child already. “Don’t play. Once you get me pregnant, you stuck with me fuh’ good.”

Smoke lifts his head, eyes locked on yours with a serious expression on his face. “Wanna be stuck. Wanna have a house full of kids,” he murmurs while his hands still linger against your skin. “Want all of ‘em lookin’ jus’ like you.” You smile when you hear him say that, Smoke has always had a way of saying the words that make you feel all mushy inside. 

You pull him in for another kiss, allowing your lips to linger against his before pulling away. After you and him take a few moments to gather yourselves, you find yourself tangled together once again but this time you're on top, you can’t let have Smoke have all the fun of being in control.

For the rest of the night it's just you and him in the little office. Rekindling your love, fucking each other senseless, while the scent of sweat and love lingers in air. For the first time in a long time, both of you are right where you want to be, in each other’s arms. 

—

ONE MONTH LATER….

The morning started slow, like most have lately. You’re sitting at the small wooden kitchen table, sunlight slipping through the curtains and beaming on the tablecloth your mama gifted you years ago. The smell of frying pork fat still hung in the air, and the biscuits you made sits half-eaten between you and Smoke.

You’re wearing one your many nightgowns, cotton thin and soft against your skin, while your feet are propped on the edge of his chair, knees bent. He’s eating quietly, calm as always, big hands steady as he sopped up syrup with a piece of biscuit. 

He doesn’t seem to have a care in the world but your mind has been running wild all week. Something in your body has been feeling off. You’ve been nauseous almost every morning, tired all the time, snapping at Smoke for no good reason, and your breasts have started to ache. 

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. A stretch behind your ribs, a mysterious heat low in your belly. You’ve been trying to brush it off. Tell yourself it’s too early to get your hopes up, reminding yourself it will take a while before your in the family way. But this morning you can’t hold it in anymore. “Elijah?”

He glances up, chewing slow, then wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Hm?”

You hesitate at first, fidgeting with the food on your plate, pushing the scrambled eggs around with a fork, before speaking. “I… I think somethin’ goin’ on wit’ me.”

His brow crease as he straightens up in his seat. “What kinda somethin’?”

“I don’t know. I jus’ feel different. Been tired, sick in the mornin’, and my body been achin’. I think i’m comin’ down with somethin’.”

You look up at him for the first time since sitting across from him, searching for any sign of emotion in his face. At first Smoke doesn’t blink. He just stares for a beat, then his face softens just a little, making your heart flutter. “I been watchin’ you.” he says, voice low and still filled with sleep. 

Smoke is an attentive man, his eyes are always on you no matter what. So when he noticed you moving slower, how you could no longer stomach certain foods, and how your emotions have been all over the place, his mind started to spin with his own ideas of what could be going on. “Baby, ion think you sick.” He looks down at your belly, then back at you. “I think you pregnant.”

Your heart clenches at the mention of a baby possibly forming in your womb. You set down the fork and rest your hand on your stomach, feeling your nerves begin to get the best of you. “You think so?”

He nods, standing firm in his statement. “Don’t jus’ think it. I feel it.”

“I ain’t wanna get my hopes up. Not after all we been through…” You express to Smoke. Everything you and him went through years ago, all the emotions it brings out of you and the strain it can cause on your relationship, you don’t want to go through that again. You know you won’t be able to handle it a second time and Smoke knows that too.

“I know.” Smoke says as he takes a deep breath, reaching across the table and lays his palm over your hand that’s tapping nervously against the wood. “But this time feels different. You feel different.”

You sigh sharply, feeling yourself calm down just a little when you see how confident Smoke is about you being pregnant even though there’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you it’s impossible after you’ve only been trying for a month plus all the prior failed attempts. “You think Annie would come by? Check me out?”

“She’ll come,” Smoke reassuringly tightens your hand before standing up, reaching for his tweed jacket thats hanging off the back of his chair. “I’ll go get her myself.” Before he walks out the door, he places a kiss on your temple, making a soft smile come across your lips.

After almost thirty minutes, Smoke shows up with Annie trailing behind him inside the house, basket in hand with all of the supplies she needs for a full exam, her haint blue dress hugging her full figure. Annie is your closest friend, and you trust her to guide you through this journey more than any backwoods doctor or neighborhood midwife. 

She’s caught babies all across the county and laid hands on sick folks so long, folks say her touch can pull a fever right out the skin. Her first love is hoodoo but her second is bringing new life into the world. She sets her basket down with a thud and gives you a look, letting you know that something sassy is about to roll off her tongue. “You gon’ make me dig around or you gon’ tell me what’s goin’ on first?" 

“I’m late,” you say quietly, fidgeting with the lace pattern along your dress that you changed into before she arrived. “Been sick, tired. I jus’ wanna see if I’m...”

Annie knows how hard it has been for you and Smoke to conceive, and how long you’ve yearned to become a mother so she understands the weight of this moment, and how its hard for you to allow the word “pregnant” to slip through your lips until you know for sure. She flashes you a soft smile and gives you a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Alright then. Let’s see what’s goin’ on.”

You lead her to the back of your home where your bedroom resides and you lie down on your bed, with Smoke right by your side. Most men don’t want to be around for exams like this, thinking it’s just “womanly work” or gross but Smoke is far from that mindset, he wants to be included in every phase. Plus, you don’t want him far. You’ve separated from each other for far too long and you need him right by your side holding your hand, whether it’s good or bad news.

Annie’s touch is gentle as she presses and prods your body, asking you a series of questions, humming under her breath while her eyes are half-closed like she’s feeling more with her spirit than her fingers. She uses a series of instruments, including a Pinard Horn, searching for a fetal heartbeat to fill her eardrums.

After what feels like hours of long silence and tension so thick it can be sliced with a knife, she completes her routine exam. When she first looks up at you and Smoke, her face is neutral, not really showing any sign of emotion until she flashes a smile. “Honey, you with child.”

Your throat closes and it feels like you can’t breathe for a second. The air leaves your lungs in a rush, chest heaving while tears immediately fill your eyes. You cover your mouth with your hand, trembling all over. “Really? I’m… I’m pregnant?” The word finally emerges from your throat, your tone sounding like you barely believe what Annie despite her many years of expertise.

Annie nods, her smile growing even wider. “Yes, y/n. You pregnant. Belly’s already startin’ to swell. You ain’t too far along. Maybe five, six weeks, but it’s a baby in there, no doubt.” She says, rubbing your belly softly. “Baby strong too. I heard that heartbeat clear as day.”

The tears fall freely now, spilling down your cheeks as you turn your face into Smoke’s shoulder. He’s already there, leaning down, wrapping you up in his arms before you have the opportunity to fall apart. “Breathe, baby,” he murmurs against your temple, voice calm despite his own brewing excitement, soothing you in the moment. “You hear that? You carryin’. We gon’ have a baby.”

“I can’t believe it,” you say, fingers clutching at his jacket, holding on like you might drown in your own of tears and waves of emotion. “we tried for so long. I thought— I thought it would never—”

Smoke tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are wet too, though he hasn’t allowed a single tear to fall. He just looks at you with his usual brooding intensity, but much softer now. “Believe it. I told you. I felt it. From the night I put it in ya’, I knew.”

You choke on a laugh, even through the tears, not believing he said that right in front Annie without a care. “You so sure of yo’self.”

Annie clears her throat gently, gathering up her things, wanting to give you and him some time alone to reflect on the joyful news. “I’ma leave y’all to it. Let her rest, Smoke. Don’t you let her lift nothin’ heavy, and make sure she eat good.” She gives you a wink, letting you know that you and her will be talking later, before slipping out the door, leaving the two of you wrapped in silence.

When she’s gone, you lie back against the pillows, still trembling, your hands covering your belly as if you could already feel something moving inside. Smoke gets in the bed with you, pulling you close to him until your skin presses against his own. 

His hand rests on yours, circling his thumb against your very slightly swollen belly while a warmth spreads through him that he’s never felt before. Since that night in Club Juke he believed you would become pregnant, he just didn’t know exactly when but now that the day has come he is the happiest man on Earth. 

He can now become a “Papa” to little boy or girl. “Thank you,” he whispers with a vulnerability you haven't heard from him since that long talk you and him in his office. “Thank you for givin’ me a second chance. For givin’ me this baby.”

You run your fingers through his hair, caressing the strong line of his nape, then smoothing over the crown of his head, something you know he loves, something that always makes him melt a little no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Smoke’s hand never leaves your belly, he just rubs gently against your skin in a way that calms your soul. His head dips towards you, his full lips pressing against your temple, your damp cheek, and then the curve of your jaw. Your tears quickly turn into sniffles, chest still hitching as you let out a trembling laugh while Smoke’s lips continuously press against your skin. “You gon’ smother me, Smoke.”

“I ain’t smotherin’ you. I’m lovin’ on you.” he corrects, wrapping both of his arms around you while giving you one last kiss. “You, me, and this little one. We gon’ be alright.” Despite Smoke’s seven year absence, he’s a good man, you know that. One thing he’s always been is devoted to you, even hundreds of miles away.

Now that Smoke is going to be a family man, his devotion and love for you will only grow stronger, he’ll never cross over state lines without you by his side.

One thing Smoke loves about you is how nurturing and loving you are, how strong you care for the people you love. In his eyes, you have all the qualities to be a perfect mother to your baby boy or girl. “You gon’ be a good mama.”

“And I already know you gon’ be the best papa.” When he hears that he can’t help but smile. With all the trauma he experienced with his own father, he’s always vowed that once he had children he would treat his children with love, kindness, and most of all respect. 

He leans down and kisses for the millionth time, slow and sweet, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than by your side. “We gon’ have a house full of babies. Jus’ like I told you.” The words run off Smoke’s tongue so easily, like he’s already planning future pregnancies before you can even complete your first trimester.

You giggle softly, shaking your head at the seriousness in his tone. “One thing at a time, Smoke. Lemme give birth to this one first before we talk about havin’ more.”

In this moment, with Smoke’s warmth around you and the spark of new life growing inside your womb, you feel like all the trials and tribulations that you and Smoke went through in your relationship is worth it. 

Everything you’ve ever wanted in life has now fallen into place. Smoke has come back into your life, your womb has been filled with a child, and your relationship couldn’t be better. In the end, all the pain, crying, longing, and tearing was worth it. Your heart is now complete.

𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 — @Yungblud423 @nostlicions @loveabledovee @secretisme4 @pinkkycherrish @bl3ssyn @shamansha @queenofklonnie22 @rios-st4rs @Secretlifeofpreshap @bxrbie1 @t-wylia @bendoverboo18 @milesf4vg1rl @secret89sblog @gabbysbl0gg @li-da-savage @minyara-kun @st4rrdrexm @rose-bliss @sajoi @plan3tch1ld @queenofklonnie22 @n-ae-vis @3tallions @weirdwhimsicalblackgirl @avatar4eva @d1gitalb4rbie @deexoxomuah @tnychellee @moundbayou @sweet13aby @whammyy @n-ae-vis