The sun rose hot and slow over the mountain, spilling gold through every open window like it had been personally invited.
Elena woke first, as she often did now that her belly was so heavy. She lay on her back in the center of the big mattress, legs splayed comfortably, one hand resting on the taut drum of their fourth child. Caleb was curled against her left side, cheek on her breast, lips still loosely wrapped around her nipple as if even in dreams he couldn't bear to let go. A thin trail of milk had dried on his chin overnight.
She smiled, brushed his hair back, and felt the baby give a lazy kick against her palm.
Outside, the meadow hummed with bees and grasshoppers. Inside, the house smelled of warm skin, milk, and the faint sweetness of sex that never quite aired out because it never quite stopped.
Caleb stirred at her touch. His eyes opened slowly (still that shy boy's blue) and the first thing he did was tighten his arm across her belly, as if making sure she and the baby hadn't vanished while he slept.
"Morning, Mommy," he whispered, voice rough with sleep and love.
"Morning, my perfect boy," she answered, guiding his mouth back to her breast. Milk let down instantly; he drank in long, grateful pulls while his free hand drifted lower, cupping the slick heat between her thighs.
They had fallen asleep joined again (they almost always did now), and he was already half-hard inside her. Elena rocked her hips in a slow, welcoming circle.
"Stay right there," she murmured. "Love me lazy."
Caleb groaned around her nipple and began the gentlest possible thrust (barely movement at all, just enough to remind them both where he belonged).
They made love like that for an hour, maybe two (time had lost all meaning). Sunlight crawled across the sheets, warming their skin, painting moving patterns over her pregnant belly while Caleb nursed and rocked and whispered "I love you" against her skin every few breaths.
When they finally came it was soft and rolling and perfect (her fluttering around him, him spilling warm and slow, both of them smiling through the haze).
Afterward, Caleb kissed his way down her body, pausing to nuzzle and whisper to the baby ("Good morning, little one, Daddy's got you both"), then lower still. He licked her clean with slow, reverent strokes until she was trembling again, then crawled back up to kiss her so she could taste them both on his tongue.
"Breakfast," he declared, voice still husky.
He carried her to the kitchen (naked, leaking, glowing) and sat her on the counter while he made pancakes. Every few minutes he paused to lean in and take a drink from whichever breast was dripping at the moment. Syrup ended up on her thighs; he licked that clean too.
Later, when the heat climbed, they took the big quilt to the porch swing. Elena straddled him facing outward so they could watch the meadow together. He slid into her easily (always easily now) and they rocked for hours, slow and sun-drunk, her back to his chest, his hands cradling her belly while butterflies drifted past like confetti.
Their eldest (now three) found them in the late afternoon, toddled up the steps naked and sticky with blackberry juice, and climbed into Elena's lap without a trace of surprise at finding Daddy moving gently inside Mommy again.
"Hi, baby," Elena laughed, kissing sticky cheeks. "Did you save any berries for us?"
The little girl nodded solemnly and fed them both from purple fingers while Caleb kept rocking (slow, careful, never stopping). Milk dripped down Elena's front; the child latched on to the other breast like it was the most natural thing in the world, and for them it was.
Evening came violet and humming. Fireflies rose from the grass. They ate supper on the porch floor (watermelon, cold chicken, milk straight from the source). The children fell asleep curled against Elena's sides while Caleb sat behind her, still inside her, chin on her shoulder, hands stroking the place their newest child grew.
When the stars came out, he carried the sleeping kids to their beds, then came back for her.
"Bed, Mommy," he whispered, lifting her easily despite the weight of her belly.
She wrapped legs around his waist and let him walk them to the mattress, never separating (never, ever separating).
They made love one more time under the open window, moonlight striping their bodies, crickets singing them through another long, perfect climax.
Afterward, Elena traced his face in the dark.
"This summer," she said softly, "is the one I'll remember when I'm old and gray. The one where we never once left the house… and never once needed anything but each other."
Caleb kissed her slow and deep, hips giving one last gentle push to seat himself fully again.
"Then let's make it last forever," he answered.
And outside, the mountains kept their ancient promise:
No roads.
No visitors.
No end.
Just the summer, the house, the meadow, and the family that love built (one slow, endless joining at a time).