A/N: I wrote this as a dirty Clexa one-shot because it flowed better that way. I'm still in two minds as to whether I'll continue it as a story or not. But, please read and enjoy…

"She's totally looking at me."

Christ, if he says that one more time, I'm going to –

"Seriously. You can't see it? She can't get enough."

"Bellamy, Jesus, you're an ass at the best of times. Please don't demote yourself to a dick just because you're drunk."

It seemed Octavia beat me to it. Instead of his sister's comment deterring his behaviour, however, it simply exacerbated it, "Look, O… I'd prefer to be a dick than an ass any day. It's way more exciting. Wouldn't you agree, Lincoln?" He smirked, before his expression fell, "In fact… don't answer that. I don't want to know what excitement your dick has…"

Octavia, it seemed, had just about had enough of her brother's drunk ass. She rolled her eyes and grabbed her boyfriend's arm, pulling him into the crowd.

"Seriously?" I muttered, "You're leaving me alone with this?" I indicated bluntly to the intoxicated young man staring dopily into the VIP area of the club. My complaint was to of no avail as Octavia and her counterpart had already disappeared.

Oh, joy.

"For god's sake." I couldn't refrain from subjecting Bellamy to a dramatic eye roll, only to find it seemed to amuse him all the more.

His smirk returned and he leaned forwards to ruffle my hair playfully, "What's the matter, Princess? Getting jealous or something?"

"Of the other girl supposedly giving you the eyes? Definitely. Because she's somewhere over there out of your perverted reach." I shoved at his chest lightly, barely budging him a centimetre, "What's so special about her anyway? Which one is she?" I craned my neck, failing to follow his gaze to the target of his attention due to the number of broad backed bouncers blocking off the entrance.

"Oh, not your type." He teased, running his fingers through his tangle of black hair.

"No? And how do you know what my type is, jackass?" I couldn't help but laugh, still trying to get a glimpse of the girl.

"You like tall, handsome, dark-haired strangers shrouded in mystery. Men like me, obviously." He rested an elbow on my shoulder, offering me a mock-patronising smile. This was the treatment I was used to from Bellamy. He was like an older brother to me. God no, wait. Scratch that. He was far too inappropriately flirtatious to be considered in that category.

"Oh, honey, you and I both know I'm renouncing men for now. Even the tall, handsome, dark-haired ones." In fact… especially those.

"You mean ever since you fucked Finn Collins and then found out he had a long-term girlfriend?"

"I'm over that." I fibbed, "Boys are just too much trouble."

Bellamy shrugged, "Hell yeah we are."

I wasn't sure I could pinpoint the first time I met the Blakes; Bellamy and his sister Octavia. I assumed it was as a teen. We ran in the same circle of friends and went to the same parties. I'd known about them both – he had never been on my list of liked people, but I'd always gotten along well enough with Octavia (when she wasn't busy being a spitfire). I'd never been a fan of Bellamy; in fact I was pretty sure I'd despised him at first. Arrogant, self-centred, roguish. The exact material needed to be a ring-leader of a group of irresponsible teens. Maybe that's why we clashed.

I was definitely arrogant and self-ascertained myself.

We'd ended up accidentally enjoying each other's company and found ourselves caught in the brief limbo of: are we just friends, or are we more?

But the longer we left it, the vague chemistry we'd had neutralised and left us as comfortable friends. Now the thought of anything more than that put me off. To be honest, we both preferred it that way.

"God, Bel, this is killing me. Just get over there if she's showing she's interested." I sighed, "You're like a lost puppy."

"Clarke…" He began, turning his eyes in my direction briefly, "…do you have any idea how long it took me to bag us tickets to get here? I'm not about to get chucked out by approaching the VIP section. Do you know how strict they are with that shit?"

"You mean how long it took you to persuade Lincoln to get us on the guest list?" I smirked.

He just gave a low laugh before he reached into his pocket, "Do you want to see Charlie?"

I knew immediately he was referring to the cocaine in his jeans. I chewed on my lip for a moment, trying to talk myself out of it, "I shouldn't. You know they do random drug checks at work."

"But you will. You always do." Bellamy had already seen my hesitation, and had pulled me against him, surreptitiously sliding the packet of powder into the hand I had trapped between our stomachs, "If you get caught, don't mention my name." He laughed quietly.

"I will." I grinned, curling my hand around the packet and holding it subtly by my side, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'll see you in a minute."

Automatically, I glanced to my VIP lounge as I walked towards the bathroom.

That was when I saw her.

Fuck.

It wasn't the most eloquent of words I could've chosen, but it was the only one left in my vocabulary once my eyes landed on hers.

She was, in a word, striking.

Maybe that didn't even cover it.

I wasn't sure there was a singular word that did cover it.

She possessed an unmistakable presence about her – despite the fact she was simply sitting at a table, a glass of wine held deftly in her fingertips.

It was hard to tell whether she knew I was ogling. But despite the distance, I could see the piercing green of her intense gaze and the way it bit into me. It contrasted startlingly with her dark eye makeup and olive skin. Her burnished brown hair was pulled back over her shoulders, a few locks braided together. She couldn't have been much older than me, if at all, and I was just shy of 21.

No wonder Bellamy couldn't look away.

With one simple stare, she had left me feeling completely exposed.

I stumbled for a moment, accidentally knocking into somebody.

"Shit." I muttered, feeling the packet slip from my fingers. I reached down, quickly trying to retrieve it, praying nobody had noticed.

Once it was safely returned to my hold, I ducked out of the crowds, my heart thudding wildly behind my sternum.

I couldn't work out whether that physiological response was due to almost losing the cocaine, or because of the unexpected eye contact I'd made with the girl Bellamy had been pining about all goddamn evening.

I pushed the cubicle door closed behind me and tipped the white powder out onto the ridge of my house key. I knew I was making a mistake doing this.

I'd been planning on quitting the use of recreational drugs ever since I'd started working at my mother's hospital. The party lifestyle I'd led as a teen had gotten me into far too much trouble, so why was I still doing this? Especially considering what I could lose if I got caught.

I sat on the closed toilet lid, telling myself not to think too deeply about what I was doing to avoid the self-disgust I would imminently feel.

I hated doing it.

But I did it anyway.

There was a time a few years ago I would've refused to do anything too outrageous. Even when partying. Hence why my friends tended to call me 'Princess'. Yet, even now, the name had stuck. Along with other bad habits.

Moments later, I slid the key back into my bag, tossing the empty packet into the sanitary waste bin. Once the familiar feeling of my head detaching itself from the rest of my body set in, I opened the cubicle door and swayed from the room. Before I could stop myself, my eyes had drifted back over to the VIP lounge, but she'd gone.

Bellamy would be devastated, of course. Unless he'd finally found the balls to approach her and that was the reason of her absence…

Alas, my eyes landed on the crestfallen expression of my friend and his sister (who was in absolutely no way trying to console him).

"It was definitely meant to be… I could feel the fates smiling down on me!" Bellamy was explaining theatrically, much to Lincoln's amusement.

"I highly doubt that." He informed him.

Bellamy creased his eyebrows, "Way to kill my mood, man. She was definitely looking at me."

Lincoln just shrugged, a smirk on his lips as he condescendingly responded, "Babe, you're gorgeous. Nobody's disputing that. But she wasn't staring at you."

"Oh no? What makes you say that?"

Lincoln gestured to me before folding his arms over his broad chest, "She was staring at Clarke."

At the mention of my name, I became instantly attuned to the conversation.

"Yeah, right." Bellamy rolled his eyes, as Lincoln pulled on his arm with raised eyebrows.

"You don't believe me?" He pointed up to the balcony above the dancefloor, "She doesn't dig the dick."

I let my eyes travel with Bellamy's to the higher tier of the VIP lounge and caught myself mid-breath.

The girl with the pale green gaze was currently leaning forwards against the railing, permitting some pretty little blonde thing to run her fingers up and down her bare arm. The blonde chick was moving in close to her, whispering into her ear.

But it seemed the brunette was utterly unaffected.

Her eyes were fixed elsewhere.

On me.

"See?" Lincoln teased.

Bellamy groaned, "For god's sake, Princess. Why do you always get the hot ones?"

I would've responded to his comment, but I was otherwise engaged in setting my jaw and angling my body in the girl's direction. I couldn't figure out whether she was looking at me out of interest, or simply because she wanted to coerce me.

The steeliness of her glare made it pretty difficult to tell.

Either way, I wasn't about to let her think she had the upper-hand just because she was in the VIP section and had girls upon girls hanging out nearby like she was some pimp. Maybe it was my liquid confidence, or just my outright stubborn nature, but I handed her stare straight back to her. My directness seemed to catch her attention, and I noticed her eyebrows raise mildly.

"Clarke… Clarke." Lincoln's voice brought me back to the dancefloor, "Careful."

"Careful? With what? Just because she thinks she owns the VIP lounge, it doesn't mean I'm going to let her try intimidate me."

This amused Octavia's boyfriend further, and he gave a soft laugh, "Clarke, she doesn't just own the VIP lounge… She owns the entire club."

This threw me. Naturally.

I blinked and turned to look at him, "Come again?"

My reaction was met with entertained laughter, "Does she intimidate you now?" Octavia asked, bumping my hip with hers.

"Not at all." I muttered.

Maybe it was a tiny white lie.

I let my eyes drift back over to the club-owner, watching the way she had turned to address the blonde growth beside her, her hand resting lightly on the girl's waist. It was a subtle gesture – one that showed no promise of affection, but didn't deny the blonde of receiving the attention she had been craving (presumably all night). She pouted at the brunette's words, but turned away to join the rest of the girls at the table.

"I smell fear." Bellamy jibed, standing on the other side of me to Octavia, dropping his elbow on my shoulder.

"Is that your new cologne?" I asked, sarcastically.

He ignored my remark with a grin, "It seems Princess has finally met her match."

"Oh, fuck off, Bel. You're just jealous it's me she's eyeing up." I smirked, glancing up to him.

"Well, if you get the chance to ask her… see if she likes threesomes. I'd be happy to consent to that."

I shuddered visibly, knocking his elbow off my shoulder, "If I was to have a threesome, Bellamy Blake, it would not be with her… and it would certainly not be with you." I flicked the tip of his nose and turned away from the balcony.

Octavia, on the other hand, was busy gagging at her brother's words, "Jesus, Bel. Can you not?"

Bellamy ignored her and laughed, sipping his drink, "You'd really turn her down?" He asked.

I took his glass from his hand and downed the rest of the content, "Like she'd even ask…"

"You mean, she'd just demand you?" He tilted his head to the side and I could practically see the array of scenes he was playing out in his head, "Damn, that's hot."

"That's not what I meant, idiot. I meant she looks like the sort that just wait for people to come crawling to her. That is not who I am, thank you very much."

Lincoln's eyes had drifted to a tall bearded figure who was currently approaching us, and it became quickly clear he wasn't here to party.

He was dressed in full black, his bouncer ID strapped around his bicep. I made to get out of his way so he could sift through our group, but he stopped right in front of me, "You've been asked to join the VIP lounge."

His words barely registered.

"What?" I asked numbly.

"Don't make me repeat myself. You've been requested to join the VIP lounge. Quickly, before shechanges her mind." The bouncer folded his arms over his thick-muscled chest. He looked like he'd recently digested 20 barrels of protein powder.

"Requested?" I raised my eyebrows, unable to stop myself from bristling at his words, "I'm good thanks."

The bouncer evidently wasn't used to being denied. He raised his eyebrows and took a step forwards, "Do you want to get kicked out?"

Lincoln stiffened beside me – well, nobody told me this club was so shady! I wasn't about to let myself be loaned out like I was an item.

"If the alternative is getting forced to go somewhere I don't want to go without my friends."

Who the fuck did this club-owner think she was? She had more arrogance than both Bellamy and I put together.

"Your friends… no." He didn't even spare them a glance, "She's asked for you."

"Tell her I politely decline." I muttered, sidling past him, "And that if she wants me then she can come and get me herself."

"Do you want escorting out?" He growled. I knew I shouldn't have done it, but I couldn't stop myself flashing him the middle finger as I headed towards the exit.

"No, I can walk, thank you."

Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I should have been flattered. But if she'd wanted to talk to me, she could've come down off her pedestal and spoken to me herself.

I was pretty sure I'd get an earful from the others, but I didn't care. I wasn't an object.

Once the fresh air hit my chest, I pulled out a cigarette and placed it between my lips. Another bad habit I was planning on quitting.

"Hey, Clarke."

I turned, seeing Octavia standing behind me.

"You don't have to come with me. Stay with the others and enjoy the rest of your night." I knew Octavia hated cutting her evenings short.

She shook her head, "No. It's not worth it. It's all just wankers in there anyway. Are you okay?"

I nodded, feeling calmer once I'd taken a few deep breaths and let the nicotine ease my mood, "Yeah. I know I was just being contrary… but it's like… Just because I've paid entry into her club, it doesn't mean she can summon me as she pleases."

"I know. She probably thought it was a compliment or something."

"As flattering as it was to have a large bearded brute demand my presence in the VIP lounge, I just had to refuse – no matter how painful it was." I couldn't help but snort to myself at the incredulity of what had just happened, and that was all it took for Octavia to giggle as I placed my hand theatrically over my chest to feign the heartbreak.

"Come on. Let's go somewhere else." Bellamy had emerged out of the exit, followed closely by Lincoln, "You should have seen her face, Princess. It's like she'd never been told 'no' in her life."

I struggled to believe she'd let any kind of emotion betray her expression, but it made me feel better all the same.

…

…

It wasn't a regular occurrence for me to show up at my own clubs. I did every now and again just for the sake of showing my face.

I'd already gone through the custom greetings with those I knew, deciding who could stay in the lounge and those who I wanted to leave.

"Are you having a drink?"

I turned to the girl currently heaving her breasts in my general direction, twirling a lock of pale blonde hair around her finger. I gave her a brief once-over and shrugged. Surprise me.

"It's been a while since you last came here, right?" She asked, paying for a bottle of wine at the bar and setting it down on the glass table by my hip. I just inclined my head and sat down, letting her pour me a glass. In truth, I couldn't remember whether I'd met her before or not.

I was used to this sort of behaviour elicited by other females – and males alike, although the latter species quickly discovered I wasn't interested in their offerings. The girls who dared speak to me first usually became flustered when I actually replied, so I'd rapidly learned not to open my mouth. Let them make whatever they wanted of the situation.

It was all the same to me.

I let my eyes graze along the floor of the club, recognising a few regulars. Mostly, the club was filled with testosterone pumped men and women in slutty dresses.

It wasn't that I didn't enjoy admiring the bare skin from where I sat – it was just too common for it to be exciting to me anymore.

I knew that for some people, getting into the club was a big deal for them. You had to know somebody who had been coming a while before you could get your name put on the guest list. That sort of atmosphere made everybody act either over-confident, or utterly unsure of themselves.

There was nothing new tonight.

Not until a group of people I hadn't seen before fell into the room, already buzzing off their own vibes. I recognised perhaps one of them. The tall dark-skinned male. He'd been here before. The others in the group were cautious to begin with – aside from the blonde in the white floaty dress.

She walked with natural confidence, already gelling effortlessly with the other members of the crowd. Which wasn't exactly an easy task. She caught a few eyes and offered playful smiles to people she'd never met. Already, I could tell she was new to this sort of scene, and if she recognised the unspoken rules of the club, she didn't seem to care about them.

I wondered how long it would take before she got kicked out for having too much fun…

While her male friends waited at the bar, she stumbled into a group of girls and clapped a hand over her mouth, offering her apologies.

Newcomers got punched in this club for less.

But somehow, she'd managed to freely strike up conversation, resting a hand on one girl's hip as she leaned closer to say something quietly in her ear. Whatever it was she said, it got a good reception. I was almost certain the girl had blushed, her own hand resting atop the blonde's. She parted ways with the group of girls, offering the one she'd interacted with the most a small wink.

Watching her at first was a game; waiting to see how long it took before she rubbed somebody up the wrong way. But the longer I let my eyes follow her, the more she intrigued me. She was unconventional, and she pulled it off well. She passed the time by dancing with her female friend, and occasionally breaking away from her to run her fingers down a man's chest, or to smile coyly at another girl.

Interesting.

When her friends had returned she was blocked from my view, and I allowed myself some input into the conversation occurring at the table, picking up my glass of wine and swilling the contents around the edges lightly.

Once I'd taken a sip, I let my eyes drift back to the floor, seeing the tearaway weave her way in and out of the crowd as she made her way towards the bathroom. But this time, she saw me.

The blue hues of her eyes landed directly on my stare, and widened. It seemed she hadn't been paying attention to where she was walking while she was busy trying to make sense of me – I could see the collision happen before it did.

This time, she made no attempt to sweet talk her way out of confrontation, and instead crouched down to pick something up before she hurried off into the bathroom.

Curiouser and curiouser…

I took another sip of wine and lazily placed it back down on the table top, standing up to stretch my legs. Now she'd seen me watching her, I felt my game wouldn't be as exciting. I'd thrown her off-guard… and for some reason, it turned me on.

I made my way up the stairs to the balcony where it was a little less populated by people trying to state their superiority to everybody else. Except me. When they addressed me, it was to impress me.

I quickly tired of that sort of behaviour.

I leaned forwards, resting my elbows on the railing of the balcony, hearing the blonde piece who had bought me wine speak.

I didn't mind the attention so long as it didn't require any kind of effort on my part.

"I've heard things about you…" She was murmuring, reaching forwards and running her fingers over my shoulder. I said nothing but waited for her to continue, "…I've heard about the way you fuck."

I internally rolled my eyes; wonderful. Another girl avoiding the use of any kind of intelligence to gain my interest.

The girl in the white dress had emerged from the bathroom, her head turning back towards the place I was sitting last. I almost smirked.

She had returned to her group and was talking with her friends, once again animated in the conversation.

But… judging by the way they kept stealing glances in my direction, I assumed I was the topic. Nothing I wasn't used to.

"I'd like to see it for myself." The girl trailing her hand over my skin had moved closer to my body, but I disregarded her comment, watching the way the blonde on the dancefloor had moved to face me, her eyes meeting mine fiercely.

The man I'd seen before shifted uncomfortably and leaned over to murmur something to her, presumably to explain who I was. The expression on her face after that was almost amusing. I sighed, sensing the girl hanging onto my side was beginning to feel rejected by my silence. I turned, allowing my fingers to brush her waist lightly, "I'm not looking for that tonight." Not from you, "Go. Enjoy yourself."

I doubted that's what she expected to hear, and she sent me a chagrined frown, but consented and moved away to join the other girls.

"Somebody caught your attention?"

I glanced over to Gustus, the bouncer in charge, standing in the corner of the balcony a few steps away from me, "The blonde. On the dancefloor." I shrugged.

"Do you want me to fetch her?" He asked, his eyes following my gaze.

Once again, I shrugged, "You can ask her. But I'm not sure she'd want to join me."

Gustus scoffed, "And since when has anybody ever said no to you?"

This was a valid question. "Never."

But something told me this girl might.

Gustus had bowed his head and strode down onto the ground floor, parting the crowds like he was Moses, and stopping in front of the blonde girl.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to agree to this. Gustus wasn't the most softly spoken of men.

Well… maybe that was an understatement.

He had about as much tact in him as my little toe.

But he was a myrmidon. My myrmidon.

The scene unfurled in a way that even I hadn't predicted, and ended with the blonde tearaway flipping Gustus the rod. It was a good job she was slight enough to lose herself in the crowd before leaving, or I was pretty certain he would've slung her over his shoulder and dragged her outside himself.

Disgruntled, he shoved his way back through the clubbers and found himself back at my side.

"She, uh… politely declined." He said carefully.

"Yes, I saw that. What did you say to cause that kind of reaction?" I raised an eyebrow, fully expecting the worst.

Gustus explained the extent of their conversation – in diluted words. He was a deeply misunderstood character; I'd known he'd only meant well for me, but the blonde in the white dress had evidently rejected any kind of force he'd suggested.

I knew that she hadn't turned down the offer because she wasn't interested in me. She'd turned down the offer because it was Gustus who'd offered it on my behalf.

It was entertaining for me… simply because, in her position, I would've done the exact same.

…

…

I was presently halfway through an internal debate as to whether I wanted to stick out the rest of the night, or just go home. I flicked the crumbling ash from the end of my cigarette and pressed it back to my lips for a final drag.

I saw the faces of my friends before I realised what (or who) they were looking at.

Initially I wondered what could have caused their mouths to gape open as I tossed the butt of my cigarette to the floor.

Until I felt a cool hand slide into mine.

Holy shit.

Before I could respond, I was being pulled back inside.

My reactions hadn't caught up with the rest of me until I found myself standing in the VIP lounge, face to face with the club-owner.

"Wha– how dare you?" I exclaimed, tearing my hand from hers, only to discover she was staring at me intently, unperturbed at my outburst.

"Was this what you meant when you told my bouncer to come get you myself?" She arched a single eyebrow, her expression remaining steady.

In my building fury, I struggled to formulate an appropriately witty reply and just let my lips part, affronted. It wasn't helping that her features were all the more striking from such a close distance. She didn't seem to mind waiting for me to speak, the power of her presence and the beat of the music knocking away the edge of the silence.

She had evidently taken my words literally, and I suppose it was intentional. She was making a statement the same way I did. She wasn't afraid of chasing things she wanted.

Although I was surprised she considered me worth the bother.

After a moment, I took a step closer, "So, what do you want?"

I wanted her to suffer. I wanted her to tell me outright.

I waited, crossing my arms beneath my breast.

Tell me.

She let her eyes run me up and down, the hint of a small smirk pulling at one corner of her lips, "Isn't it obvious? I want you."

She'd said the words with such certainty, I'd forgotten I was supposed to be angry with her.

"What?" I murmured, quietly. All hints of mockery had drained from her features as she spoke the words, her voice like a river running over smooth stones.

"I said: I want you." She repeated, barely betraying a glimpse of vulnerability at making such a direct statement not just once. But twice.

It took me a moment to recover from her proclamation, but eventually I recalled myself and creased my eyebrows, "You're aware I'm not here to whore myself out, right?"

"If I thought that, I'd be offering you money."

Her pale gaze was wearing me down. Fast.

"So, what are you offering, hm?" I was a little pissed off at myself for even bothering to humour her.

"Tell me your name."

Sure, just outright ignore my question.

It was a reasonable demand though, considering the situation.

"Clarke." I muttered, caught in a state of uncertainty; for a start, I wasn't sure why I was still bothering to engage in conversation, but something about her kept me rooted to the floor.

"Well, Clarke…" She began, taking a deliberate step forwards, tightening the distance between us. "…I could offer you a screaming orgasm."

Jesus.

She was testing my limits, trying to catch me off-guard. Saying things for the effect.

I took a slow breath inwards, discounting the narrowing of my windpipe.

I doubted I'd ever met somebody this intense. She wasn't scared of being rejected – probably because until me, she hadn't been told 'no'.

"And what would be in it for you?"

Her lips twitched as though she could've been about to smirk, but stopped herself short, "That depends on what you're offering, Clarke."

Finn Collins had been my last. Maybe it was time to forget about him. But the stubborn part of me couldn't relent that easily.

"I'm going to offer you a taste. I'm not going to fuck you. You don't get that from me tonight."

I severely questioned my own intelligence.

What the hell was I doing?

She waited for me to continue, her unblinking eyes never straying from mine, even as the blonde chick she was entertaining beforehand tried to catch her attention as she walked past.

"You're going to dance with me. Not here. On the floor. Right where people can see."

This was the real test; if she wanted me, she had to be willing to sacrifice something first.

"Compromise… The underground floor. That's where we dance."

I hadn't been aware there was an underground level – it was probably VIP too…

When I didn't protest, she let her hand find mine once again, linking our fingers together gently. She turned, leading me to the stairs. I followed out of curiosity. And intrigue.

And because I was slightly turned on.

This didn't have to mean anything.

I was doing this purely for selfish purposes…

The underground level was shaped like a halfpipe, fog from the smoke machines preventing me from seeing the end of the room; I had no idea how long the tunnel stretched, or how many people were in it. All I knew was that it was pretty goddamn packed out.

"Drink?" She asked, resting her elbow on the bar, her other hand still clasped in mine.

"Surprise me."

She surveyed me for a moment before turning to the bartender, the sound of the heavy bass making it difficult to hear what she ordered.

The final product was pushed over the marble surface towards me in a martini glass. I picked it up and took a cautious sip; it was refreshingly tangy, but sweet. All at the same time.

I hated to admit it, but it tasted good.

"You like it?" She asked, raising her own to her lips.

I shrugged a shoulder, "It'll do."

"You like it." She clarified, once again moving us through the crowds to the centre of the dancefloor.

I ran my tongue over my lips to taste the residue and rolled my eyes, "Fine. I like it." I conceded.

Her fingers released mine, but she took a step closer to once again create an inflexibly small space between our bodies, "Good. It's my new recipe. I'm trialling it."

"Your recipe?" I questioned, raising an eyebrow as her eyes shifted from her drink to meet mine.

She inclined her head, finishing off the contents and handing both our empty glasses over to a passing waiter.

"A woman of many talents, clearly." I smirked, noticing the transition of songs and finding my body automatically swaying to the rhythm.

She seemed unaffected by my comment and simply moved both hands to my hips, "Tell me about you, Clarke."

My fingers ran over her forearm and curled around her elbow, my eyes dropping to examine the ink enveloping her upper arm, "There's not a lot to tell."

I could feel the potency of the alcohol revive my mood, and I couldn't help but gravitate closer to her body as she held my gaze, "Liar." She said simply, "Tell me what you do."

I shook my head, my hand moving along her surprisingly firm bicep. I'd thought there was nothing on her to begin with – that she was just skinny. But as I let my fingertips map her arms, I could feel the toned muscles wrapping around her bones, "It wouldn't compare to your lifestyle. Besides, we're not here to talk."

"Have it your way." She tightened her hold on my hips, her fingers sliding to rest on my lower back. She could move. I could feel it in her hips, and I knew she could feel it in mine.

That knowledge alone was enough to spur along the natural flirt within me and I rested my arm around her neck, pulling her head closer to mine, "I always have it my way."

This time, I saw the definite hint of a smile on her lips. Her face turned to my jaw as if she wanted nothing more than to hide the betrayal of humour on her features, "Then this might end up problematic." She murmured, her nose brushing over my skin as her hips moved in sync with mine, "Because I always have it my way too."

"It's only problematic if we want different things." I breathed, my hand dragging over the bumps of her spine.

"Then tell me what you want." Her teeth grazed over my jugular, her musky but intoxicating scent filling my nose.

"I want to feel something." I told her honestly, the compactness of our bodies imposing a false sense of intimacy.

But it was true. I guess that's why I hadn't given up the drugs or the smoking… or the reckless nights out. I was so busy trying to save lives at the hospital, living up to expectations of responsibility, and organise myself that I no longer had time to feel anything.

She was quiet against me, one hand sliding around my waist to press against the flat of my stomach. Despite the voluminous noise surrounding us, and the potential distractions of alcohol and other people, I knew she was listening.

"Then feel." She said steadily, spinning me around so my back was pressed up to her front, my hands automatically moving to rest over her thighs. Her lips were on my neck, her fingers trailing over my stomach, grasping at my hips.

She moved her mouth so artfully down my skin, it was all I could do to stop the quiet moan leaving my chest. My eyes fell closed, permitting the sensation of being close to another person run over my body. I let my fingers tauten on her thighs, my nails cutting lightly into her soft skin. She was breathing heavily, her tongue trailing along my shoulder.

I was feeling.

Sure, it was erratic pleasure; unfamiliar intimacy with a stranger.

But I was feeling.

She had opened the gateway to raw passion, disregarding any kind of reservations I may have had.

I purposefully hadn't asked her name; I didn't want to create the illusion that this could be more than a one-night thing. It wasn't. I highly doubted she was planning on extending it longer than just tonight, either.

Besides, knowing her name would take away the mystery.

God, Bellamy was right about me. I did like tall, dark-haired strangers shrouded in mystery.

Shit. Bellamy.

And the others.

I'd completely ditched them. Would they be worried?

My thoughts were quickly discarded as I felt the woman's fingers graze down the side of my throat, reminding me of the place I'd been in just moments before.

I let my head tilt back, the heat of our bodies moving together spread a dusting of pink over my cheeks, "Clarke…" Her lips were by my ear, "I want you to tell me about you."

She knew she'd helped me feel something; God, I was pretty certain that there wasn't a single person in the room that hadn't seen me feel something.

But she was demanding something in return.

I turned, my eyes locking onto hers.

Her hand fell to my rear and she tugged me back to her front, her eyes appealing to mine for an answer.

I could feel the warmth of her skin on my backside even through my dress.

"Like what?"

"What do you do?" She pushed her hips subtly into mine, but I was already shaking my head.

I wasn't making crappy discussion about what I did for a living, where I grew up, or how many siblings I did or didn't have while I was dirty dancing with an austere club-owner. She already had my attention, so why was she determined to pretend like she was interested in me for something other than pleasure?

"Are you normally this difficult?"

I nodded and moved my fingers to tangle into her hair, tugging her head back slightly so I could press my lips to her throat, "Always."

I could feel her ragged breaths tear through her chest as I exploited the bare skin on her neck. I doubt what we were doing could even be classed as dancing anymore.

Her hands had claimed my ass, pulling my hips into hers carelessly; taking control seemed natural to her, as though it was expected of her lovers to willingly submit.

I could understand why they did.

She made it all too easy, leading my body with her rhythm, placing my hips exactly where she wanted them. I almost acquiesced to her instinctive dominance until I recalled just how stubborn I could be.

I clenched my fingers tighter in her locks, yanking her head back one more time, "What makes you think I would be the one to have the screaming orgasm? The way I see it, you'd be begging for me to give it to you."

This knocked her off-balance, and her lips parted; I could see why she got a thrill out of doing it to me.

Before she had time to react, I shook my head, pressing my finger to her open mouth, "You're not in charge anymore."

I could see the heavy desire in the green of her eyes as they widened. If she wasn't turned on before, she definitely was now.

"Time to go?"

I wasn't making a suggestion. I was making an order.

She just silently nodded her head and slid her hand into mine, pulling me out of the crowds.

Not a word transpired between us as we exited the club, nor as she opened the door of a sleek black car, indicating for me to get in first. I eased back into the comforts of the leather, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

This was really happening.

"Are you going back to your hotel, Madam?" The driver was well suited up, his gloved hand resting on the steering wheel as he glanced at the woman over his shoulder. She just inclined her head, maintaining her composure.

But I could see the lust set deep in her eyes.

It took every ounce of my self-control not to reach over and take her right where she was sitting.

By the way her fists clenched in her lap, I could tell she was having a similar thought process.

Moments later, we'd arrived outside a fancy hotel – I'd have given the descriptive details, but honestly, I couldn't focus on anything else except the pale green stare locked on mine.

Within seconds, she'd pushed me into the lift, backing me up against the mirror, "Not in charge?" She asked, quietly.

It seemed my comment had stuck.

I gave her only a smirk in response, knowing it would likely piss her off all the more.

It did.

Her hand gripped onto my hip harshly, letting the severity of her stare drive into me – and yes, it was unnerving. But my smirk only widened. Her mouth drew closer to mine, and I could taste the dizzying sweetness on her breath. Everything about her stretched my desire.

The instant the lift doors opened, she pulled away, her fingers linking with mine as she pulled me to her hotel room. With ease, she unlocked the door – there was no fumbling I was used to experiencing with one-night flings at hotels. She swiped the card, opened the door, dragged me inside, and kicked it closed.

I barely had time to breathe before she was on me, shoving my back into the wall, her lips finally finding mine.

The force of her kiss was staggering, and the thud of my spine colliding with the wall sent a small shudder over my skin.

Her teeth clamped on my lower lip, dragging it roughly into her mouth.

Holy shit.

I couldn't help the small moan that tumbled from my throat as she moved her thigh between my legs, letting the pressure roll against me. But the second she thought she'd reclaimed her throne, I yanked my arm from her hold and jabbed her back a step, tangling my hand into her hair and directing her towards the bed, "No. You're not in charge." I resolved, throatily.

She gave me one exposed glance before I felt her legs hit the edge of the mattress. I reached behind her, finding the zip at the back of her black dress and jerked it down so the material fell from her shoulders. I couldn't help but let my eyes roam. She was wearing a dark matching lace set, the colour complimenting her skin tone.

As I'd vaguely imagined on the dancefloor, her stomach was trimly toned, along with the rest of her figure, despite her slender curves. She didn't just act tough as nails – it seemed she was.

I already wanted to drag my nails over her torso.

She let me look, her breast heaving with each breath.

Once I was just about satisfied I'd examined each inch of her body twice over, I began to step out of my dress, kicking it to one side.

This was like a cliché porno scene – two girls getting off in underwear and heels.

Well, she was wearing thick heeled boots, showing the smallest hint of Gothicism.

But I was already destroying the image by kicking off my shoes and crouching down to undo her laces.

She watched me, her gaze thick with anticipation.

Once I'd untied both boots, I barked a husky demand, "Sit."

She complied – surprisingly – and lowered herself to the bed so I could raise up each leg in turn and ease off her footwear.

With a clunk, they both hit the floor next to mine, but I remained crouching, my eyes staying on hers the entire time.

I knew she was quickly losing the will to gain her dominance back. It was pretty obvious she wasn't used to having somebody fight back more than once.

Slowly, I ran my fingers along the underside of her calf, up to the bend of her knee. I did so deliberately, knowing that the change of pace would throw her off. Pushing her legs apart so I was kneeling between them, I relocated my hands to her thighs, moving them over her skin to tuck beneath the elastic of her underwear. Her breath caught in her throat as I began to pull the material down.

It ended up in a pile along with the rest of the discarded items.

Pressing my lips to her inner thigh, I kissed my way upwards, finding the spot between her legs with my tongue. The soft sound emitting from her lips was enough to make me sweat. As I moved my mouth, pushing my fingers to join, her hand tangled into my hair, gripping onto me hard.

I didn't relent.

Not for a moment.

Not until I felt her thighs crush my head and her muscles convulse around me.

Not until I heard her scream.

And she did.

I hated admitting it. But it was the sexiest sound I'd heard in a long time – smooth, yet hoarse, both at the same time.

The pain of her fingers in my hair and her legs wrapping around me equalled the pleasure it caused.

I expected her to collapse backwards, but she didn't. She controlled her breathing after a few heated seconds before she released me, her eyes opening and finding mine.

I gave her a breathless smirk, coyly wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Stand up." She whispered.

I raised an eyebrow, "What?"

"I said: stand up."

Slowly, I pulled myself to my feet, eyeing her with caution.

She stood with me, pressing her front to mine subtly, "I want you to lay on the bed, Clarke."

Without questioning her, I moved to the mattress, leaning back into the pillows, refusing to let my eyes leave hers for a second.

She was still wearing her bra, and I caught myself wishing I'd taken that off earlier. I didn't expect I'd get the chance now… I knew she was plotting her revenge.

And a sick part of me loved it.

She tossed her hair back over her shoulders and knelt on the bed, "Take off your underwear."

I did.

I cast the fabric around my middle to the floor.

This time it was her turn to scrape her eyes over my body, although she appeared unsatisfied. I raised an eyebrow as she edged towards me, "Roll over."

I did that too.

With one quick flick of her fingers, my bra snapped open. Her fingers pulled down my spine, moving to my rear. She clipped the skin with her fingertips, allowing herself a handful before she dragged me by my hip to lay on my back once again. My pale blue bra was swiftly plucked from my body and tossed nonchalantly to the floor. Once again, she subjected me to a thorough appraisal, her lower lip moving to rest beneath her teeth; any impression of dissatisfaction had quickly dispersed, leaving only raw appreciation on her features – even if her jaw was set, determined to keep her uncaring reputation intact.

Lowering her lips to my breast and settling her teeth on skin, she pressed her thumb into the front of my hip (a particular sensitive spot for me), and seemed to enjoy the way I arched my back from the bedding.

"You like that." She murmured, raising her head up and examining my facial expression – God only knew what it was doing.

She returned her mouth to my skin, running her tongue down my sternum, over my stomach, and hesitated just above the place I wanted her the most.

She was doing this on purpose.

She wanted me to beg.

I moved my hand to her hair, the way she had with me and grazed my nails over her scalp. Do it.

The silent plea in my fingers seemed to suffice, and she finally pressed her mouth over the heat between my legs, sending a wave of pre-gratification through my blood.

She fucked me exactly the way I knew she would; controlled, intense, deep.

She was giving me this pleasure as punishment.

My other hand curled into the bedding, gripping at the sheets as she pushed herself in and out of me, over and over.

I tried clamping my teeth over my lip to prevent the strained sounds leaving my mouth, but I knew she could hear me struggle; if anything it made her work harder, driving me to the brink of white-hot fulfilment, and slowing her movements to let me peer over the edge. I could feel the ache of anticipation swell. Her eyes flickered up to mine, her lips raising from my flesh for just long enough to utter a command, "Scream."

Even if I'd have wanted to keep my silence, I couldn't.

Her mouth disappeared and she pushed me over the edge in blinding pleasure.

I cursed loudly, my body convulsing before the curve of my spine hit the bed.

She only stopped moving once my body began to relax in recovery.

Pulling away from me and drawing herself upright, she let her eyes scan my helpless form once more.

She didn't need to speak, and neither did I.

We'd both gotten what we deserved.

We'd both gotten what we desired.

A/N: It was weird not using Lexa's name throughout the chapter, but I kind of liked her anonymity. It sort of added to her appeal in my opinion. I may carry this on, yet… But I haven't decided. For now, I'm going to keep it as a one-shot. Hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to review, or PM me with your thoughts.

-Lady of Cythera

xox