Evan spent the day sinking into the slow, honest pulse of the Ashcroft household.
For a man who once lived glued to glowing screens, the work felt almost meditative. He swept the packed-dirt floors until the dust swirled in lazy clouds, watered the vegetable patch until the leaves drank deep and shone, fed the two bony cows their scraps of hay and kitchen greens. Sweat beaded on his neck and trickled down his spine, soaking the thin linen shirt until it clung to every ridge of muscle and the soft, sensitive curve of his chest. His long black hair stuck to his temples in damp strands.
By noon the sun was merciless. Evan untied the apron, wiped his brow, and decided lunch needed to happen. The pantry was humble—eggs, a few herbs, salt, oil. He cracked the eggs into a sizzling pan, folded them with quick flicks of the wrist, sprinkled chopped greens. Simple omelettes. Nothing fancy. But the smell rolled through the house like sin.
The front gate creaked.
Maya's voice hit first—bright, greedy. "My god, that smell! Brother-in-law must've made something filthy delicious for lunch!"
They stepped inside: Maya carrying one of Elara's massive baskets like it was a feather, Elara limping behind with the other still balanced on her head. Both were flushed, dusty, sweat-darkened at the neck and under the arms.
Evan turned from the stove, apron streaked with flour, sleeves rolled to show forearms corded and gleaming. "Made omelettes. Sit. I'll bring the salad."
"No—let me!" Elara moved behind him instantly, reaching for the plates. "I'll carry them."
Evan blocked her gently with his hip. "I've got it. Just sit."
They ate cross-legged on the cool floor mat—plates on knees, windows thrown wide to catch any whisper of breeze. Maya shoveled food like a starved wolf, moaning around every bite.
"Wonderful, brother-in-law. So fucking tasty. I'd die happy if I could eat like this every day."
Evan laughed, pleased. "Don't die. Just tell me what you want. I'll cook it."
Maya beamed at Elara. "See, sister? He said we can have whatever we want—every day!"
Elara said nothing. She ate quietly, eyes on her plate, cheeks flushed. Something heavy sat behind her silence—thoughts she wasn't ready to voice.
After lunch Maya took the dishes without complaint. Elara moved to the workbench and started kneading dough for tomorrow's cakes—simple fried flatbreads topped with fresh strawberries.
Evan watched from the side. "Do you do this every single day? Sell in the morning, knead in the afternoon heat, sell again tomorrow? Aren't you tired? You work from dawn till you collapse."
Elara didn't look up. "It's not tiring. I don't labor under the sun like the field hands. It's easier for me."
Evan's chest tightened. She didn't say it because she loved the grind. She said it because it was survival. Lame leg, a short stature and being mocked since childhood had taken all her confidence.
He rolled up his sleeves. "I've watched enough. Time to try."
Elara's hands stilled. "No—don't worry. I can handle it. You should rest. You've had a long day with chores."
"I was idle most of it," he said, sliding in beside her. "Let me help. We can talk while we work."
Elara bit her lip—embarrassed, but unable to refuse when he looked at her like that. She shifted slightly, making room.
They worked side by side. His hands fumbled at first—dough tearing, sticking—but he learned fast. Soon they found a rhythm: press, fold, turn. The kitchen filled with the soft thump of dough and their quiet breathing.
When the batch was ready, Evan grinned. "Let's make steamed buns. Egg filling. We've got plenty of eggs."
Elara nodded, curious. They boiled, chopped, seasoned. Filled the soft dough, pinched the edges closed. Steam rose from the bamboo basket in fragrant clouds.
Maya wandered in, nose first. She snatched a bun without asking, bit in, and moaned like she'd been struck.
"Sister—did you buy these from the village?"
Smack! Elara's hand came down on Maya's head. "No. Your brother-in-law made them. And wash your damn hands."
"Brother-in-law is a genius!" Maya mumbled around a mouthful. "These are so soft—so good!"
"You only know how to eat," Elara grumbled, though her eyes were soft. "Get out of the kitchen."
Maya huffed playfully and retreated.
Evan chuckled, wiping flour from his cheek. "You're a strict sister."
"She's been naughty since she could walk," Elara sighed. "I just keep her in line a little."
Evan's smile softened. "That's sisterly love."
Elara caught his gaze—and froze.
Sunlight slanted through the window, catching the sweat on Evan's neck, making his skin glisten. His tunic clung wetly to his chest—every ridge of muscle, every dip between ribs, visible through the thin fabric. His nipples poked stiff against the cloth.
Her face detonated crimson. She jerked her eyes away, throat working.
Evening fell fast.
All work done. The house smelled of steamed buns and clean sweat.
Evan stretched, shirt still plastered to him. "You bathing first, or me?"
"You go," Elara said quickly, staring at the floor. "I washed a few days ago. It's fine."
Evan stopped. "That's not good, Elara. You have a husband now. You've been sweating all day in this heat. You really want to sleep like that?" His voice dropped, low and edged with heat. "Have you considered my feelings?"
Elara blinked. "Your… feelings?"
Maya appeared like magic, leaning in to whisper loudly in her sister's ear. "Stupid. He means you'll stink when you sleep together. Do you really think brother-in-law wants to fuck you if you're covered in flour and sweat?"
"Maya!" Elara hissed, face burning. "What are you saying? We don't even—"
"Whatever, Sis. You're married now. Take care of yourself. Take care of your husband. Bathe every day. Dress up nice. And of course…" She waggled her brows. "…satisfy him."
Elara couldn't argue. She couldn't admit they hadn't shared a bed—hadn't even touched.
Evan headed for the bath hut, saying as he walked. "I'll go first."
Inside the wooden tub he sank into hot water with a groan. Steam curled around him. He scrubbed lazily, mind drifting.
Honestly? I'm happy here. Old life—loser, nothing. Here? A Gorgeous wife, Sexy sister-in-law and a actual family. Life's good.
He wasn't ambitious anymore. Just wanted peace, Cooking and Teasing. Eventually—when they were ready—fucking Elara until she screamed.
Then a stray thought hit.
If this is Roses… Sophia exists here too.
His cock twitched under the water. Looks like there will be some difficulties.
He finished, combed his long hair with difficulty—still damp, unruly—then pulled on loose sleep trousers and a thin shirt.
Outside, Elara waited in the yard, fresh clothes folded in her arms.
"I boiled water for you," he said. "Just dump the old stuff."
She nodded mutely and disappeared into the bath hut.
Evan sat on the low bench, letting the evening breeze dry his hair. Crickets sang. Stars pricked the sky.
The door creaked open.
Elara stepped out.
Evan's breath punched out of him.
She wore only panties—thin white cotton, damp from the bath, clinging to her hips and the plump mound of her pussy. Nothing else. Her breasts hung free—heavy, full, nipples dark and stiff in the cooling air. A neat triangle of dark blonde pubic hair peeked above the waistband, visible through the sheer, wet fabric. Water droplets still traced slow paths down her stomach, over the gentle curve of her belly, disappearing into the shadowed cleft between her thighs.
She froze when she saw him staring.
Evan didn't hide it. His eyes raked her—lingering on the sway of her breasts, the stiff peaks of her nipples, the way the panties cupped her pussy so tightly he could see the faint outline of her lips, the hint of wetness that wasn't just bathwater.
"What… are you doing sitting here?" Elara asked, voice trembling.
Evan's smile was slow. Hungry.
"Just enjoying the evening breeze…" His gaze lifted to hers, dark and burning. "…and watching my beautiful wife after her bath."
Elara's entire body flushed—from cheeks to chest to the tops of her thighs. She crossed her arms instinctively, only pushing her tits higher, nipples hardening further under his stare.