Chapter 3
Waking up was always a challenge for Clarke. Once she was up, she was a productive person, but the struggle of getting out of bed in the first place was very, very real.
Waking up in Bellamy's bed was . . . interesting. It only took her a second and a few rapid blinks of her eyes to clear her head out of its sleepy haze and remember where she was. But it had just been so long since she'd woken up in anyone's bed other than her own—Raven's didn't count—that she had to just lie there a bit, taking it all in.
Bellamy wasn't asleep beside her, not that she'd expected him to be. But he had fallen asleep with her, she was pretty certain. Not cuddled up with her or anything, but next to her, sweaty hair completely plastered to his forehead. He'd fucked her three times before succumbing to exhaustion, and even though she'd contemplated calling a cab or seeing if Raven could come pick her up, she'd decided it was fine to just crash there for the night. If he wasn't kicking her out of bed, why leave?
She sat up slowly, holding the covers to her chest, getting her first real look at this room. It'd been too dark in there—and they'd been too preoccupied—for her to see much of anything last night. But now that the sun was peeking in through the gap in his curtains and she didn't have him to distract her, she was able to see it more fully. For a bedroom, it was pretty big, probably the master. And even though there were a few items of clothing on the floor, it was actually pretty clean. The bed itself they'd fooled around in was quite nice, probably a queen-sized, with four different pillows strewn about up at the top. The headboard was looking a little iffy, and she wasn't sure if it'd been like that before or ended up like that because of them. The sheets were simple and probably filthy right about now, but . . . it was comfortable.
Glancing over at his nightstand table, a big red 10:06 greeted her on the alarm clock, meaning she'd definitely slept in. Beside that clock was a picture that caught her attention, a picture of Bellamy with a beautiful, thin, dark-haired girl. She picked up the frame and took a closer look at it, smiling because she assumed the girl was his sister. They were both wearing white t-shirts that said Blake on the chest, and both white t-shirts were covered in paint splatters, like they'd just gone and played paintball before it was taken. His sister had on dark sunglasses and posted with attitude, pouting exaggeratedly, and making a sideways peace sign with her right hand. Bellamy kind of looked like a big dork compared to her, wearing big, round glasses and a goofy smile.
Clarke set the picture back down and decided to get up, because she had to be at work in two hours and definitely had to get home and take a shower before then. As she scooted towards the side of the bed, she winced, feeling a dull ache between her legs. Damn, he'd really done her hard last night. Not that she was complaining. She'd loved every second of it.
Wrapping the sheet around her naked body, she padded towards the window, pulling one of the long curtains back so she could look outside. There were some kids running around and playing across the street, and a young guy walking a huge Sandlot-type dog down the sidewalk. Bellamy's truck wasn't parked out front anymore, which she took as an indication that he was gone.
Damn, she thought, disappointed as she closed the curtain.
Next to the window was an old, possibly antique blue chair, where she noticed he'd folded and piled all of her clothes for her. Thank God. The idea of walking through the house and picking them up like pieces of a puzzle had been mortifying. Her purse was sitting there, too, and on top of it was a yellow post-it note with his name and phone number. She smiled excitedly, because that had to be a good sign. He wanted to see her again.
Even though she probably should have just gotten dressed and been on her way, Clarke was nosy as fuck. She walked over to his dresser, once again scoping out the framed pictures set up there. His sister was in a few more of them, along with another dark-haired woman who Clarke assumed to be his mom. There was a picture of Bellamy and his sister in front of a Christmas tree back when they'd just been kids, a picture of Bellamy and his mom standing by a Berlin Wall exhibit at some museum; and in between those photos was a picture of the three of them at Bellamy's high school graduation, standing together outside a building that had East Arkadia High School painted in faded letters above its entrance. Bellamy looked ridiculous and so different in his blue cap and gown, but when Clarke squinted to get a closer look, she spotted something else in that picture, too: There was a gold stole around Bellamy's neck, the thing that valedictorians and salutatorians wore. Clarke knew exactly what that was since she'd graduated third in her class and just barely missed out on wearing one herself.
Smart and sexy, she thought as she pulled open the top dresser drawer and snooped around. Rare combo. She didn't disturb the contents of his drawer too much, and there didn't seem to be much more in there than a vast collection of t-shirts. When she looked over her shoulder at his closet, though, the door was opened enough for her see that he had plenty of nicer shirts, too, and nicer pants, even a couple suits shoved in the back, it seemed.
She shut his drawer again and shuffled towards what she assumed was a bathroom. She twisted the knob carefully, hoping it didn't lead her to Murphy's room, and when she stepped on a cool tile, she knew her first assumption was correct. She flipped the light switch, and a bright overhead light flickered on, revealing a modest, but once again fairly clean, bathroom to her eyes. There was a tub that doubled as a shower, and she immediately wondered if he'd gotten in there and washed off this morning. If he had, she really regretted sleeping through that.
When she caught sight of her own reflection in the bathroom mirror, she was horrified. She clutched at her hair in distress and whimpered dramatically. Was this what Bellamy had seen when he'd woken up this morning, her looking like a cat had just died on her head?
After desperately raking her fingers through her unruly mane and making it at least presentable, she used her finger to brush her teeth and thankfully found some mouthwash in one of the bathroom cabinets. She browsed a couple pages of the Playboy magazine sitting next to his toilet while she did her morning business, then contemplated squeezing in a quick shower before leaving. But that just seemed weird to do without him actually being there, so she put on a bit of his deodorant, not caring if she smelled like a dude, used her hands to comb out her hair one more time, and then went back into the bedroom to get dressed.
Once clothed, she pocketed his phone number, slipped on her shoes, grabbed her purse, and headed out without fixing up his bed. Because really, she wasn't some hotel maid, and the bed hadn't been made last night anyway, so maybe he was the type of guy who left his bed unmade. Halfway to the stairs, though, she remembered that she hadn't left her number for him, so she scurried back to his room, rummaged around his nightstand drawer, and managed to find a Sharpie. She couldn't find anything to write on, though, so she ended up picking one of last night's silver condom wrappers up off the floor. She smoothed it out and scribbled her phone number on it, hoping he'd be able to read it and would notice it if she left it right next to his alarm clock. Then she left.
The goal, of course, had been to slip out without being noticed, get outside and figure out the address of this place so Raven or Niylah or Wells could come get her. But she heard noises coming from the kitchen as she was creeping down the stairs and knew that wouldn't be possible.
It wasn't Murphy scrambling eggs atop the stove. It was a different guy, African American, built like a wrestler, pretty awesome beard. He glanced up when she stepped onto the bottom stair with a creak and said, "Hey."
"Hey," she said, assuming this was the third roommate Bellamy had mentioned. It would've been nice if he'd been there to introduce them.
"I'm Miller," he said, turning the heat on the stovetop burner down.
"Clarke," she said, taking a few hesitant steps forward.
Nothing about him was hesitant, though. He strode towards her with his hand outstretched and said, "Nice to meet you."
"Yeah, you, too." God, it would have been nice to be so effortlessly friendly and at ease around strangers. The good thing about this guy, though, was that he didn't seem like he was judging her for this very obvious walk of shame. Which perhaps prevented it from being a walk of shame at all.
"Hey, uh, Bellamy had to leave early this morning," Miller explained. "Someone called him up for work, so . . ."
"Oh, yeah, that's fine." Somewhere in that neighborhood was probably a broken dishwasher, and Bellamy, with his talented hands—oh so talented hands—was probably fixing it.
"I can give you a ride home, though," Miller offered, using a spatula to push his eggs around in the frying pan.
"Oh, you don't have to. I can have someone pick me up."
"It's not a problem," Miller said, turning off the heat on his breakfast altogether. "I got the whole day open."
"Are you sure?" She didn't want to inconvenience him, but if he was willing . . .
He grabbed his keys off the end table next to the couch and said, "Yeah, let's go." He walked out the door, motioning with his head for her to follow.
Sensing that Bellamy's friend was perfectly trustworthy, Clarke got into his car with him and told him her address. He just nodded as though he knew exactly where it was, and indeed, as he started zipping down the streets, she got the feeling he knew this town like the back of his hand. His vehicle rumbled worse than Bellamy's, and it was a bumpy ride; but even though she lived across town, he'd probably get her there in record time.
"So are you the Walmart girl?" he asked as he slowed to a stop at a red light.
Her heart fluttered a bit, just because that meant Bellamy had mentioned her. "Yeah, I guess I am."
Miller smirked. "Cool."
"And you're . . . Bellamy's friend, I take it, if you live with him."
"Best friend," he corrected. "You met Murphy?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"Well, don't let him tell you Bellamy likes him better, 'cause he doesn't. Bellamy and I have been best friends since high school."
"Oh, really?" She supposed he'd know if Bellamy had been the valedictorian or salutatorian then, but that kind of seemed like a weird question to ask.
"Yeah, I moved to Arkadia as a freshman," Miller explained, "'cause they had a good wrestling program. So that's how I met Bellamy. We were on Varsity together all four years."
"Ah." So Bellamy had wrestled. Great. Now all she could do was picture that amazing body of his in a skin-tight singlet, rolling around on a mat with another man.
The light turned green, and Miller honked impatiently when the vehicle in front of them remained stationary. It leapt forward then, and he pressed down hard on the gas, doing the same. "Bellamy's actually one of the first people I came out to, a couple years ago," Miller revealed.
"Oh, really?" As awful as it was to have judged a book by its cover, she never would have pegged him as gay.
"Yeah, but he already knew. I guess everyone already knew. There were all these rumors goin' on about me in high school, and it got really bad, you know? Guys wouldn't share a locker room with me, wouldn't even wrestle with me during practice. But Bellamy didn't give a fuck. He just kept bein' my friend, and then when I finally did tell him I was gay, he was just like, 'Yeah, what else is new?'"
She laughed, knowing how important it was to have that kind of person in your life. Raven had been that friend for her, back when she'd had the courage to come out about her own orientation. "I'm bisexual," she told Miller.
"Awesome."
"Yeah, I haven't really told Bellamy yet. But it sounds like he'd be cool with it?"
"Oh, yeah, he won't care," Miller said, barely applying the break as he whipped the car around the corner at the next big intersection. "He's a guy, so he'll probably think it's hot."
She really wanted to hear more Bellamy stories, but there wasn't enough time as he zig-zagged down a couple backroads, pulling up in front of her apartment before she had the chance to ask just how big of a history nerd Bellamy really was—underneath that Playboy magazine had been a World War II book, and hanging on the wall of his bathroom was a newspaper report about the Kennedy assassination.
She thanked Miller for driving her, and he reiterated that it was no problem. Then he said, "Hopefully I'll see you again," as she got out of the car.
"Yeah," she said, shutting the door and waving goodbye. He waved back and drove off down the street.
She frowned when he was gone, not liking the sound of his last words to her. Hopefully he'd see her again? Was that not likely? She'd assumed that, with Bellamy leaving her his number, maybe it was likely she'd be back. But then again . . . maybe it was just wishful thinking. Sure, she'd managed to transform her one-night stand into a two-night one, but . . . what if that was all it would be?
Don't worry about it, she told herself, turning to head into her apartment. She had other things to think about today, things that weren't spontaneous and sexy and ridiculously skilled in bed. Routine things, normal things. Work. Studying. The usual.
...
Bellamy got done fixing Diana Sydney's dishwasher at 3:00 in the afternoon. That woman was a real bitch, and he hated her with every fiber of his being. But she had plenty of money in her bank account ever since her divorce, so in that respect, she was his favorite customer. She paid him double what anyone else would have, and the tip she gave him was insanely generous, probably because she had a cougar crush on him. He used that to his advantage, going shirtless whenever he worked on anything for her. The more he went shirtless, the more she paid up.
He flopped down on the living room couch next to Miller when he got home, back hurting. Maybe part of that was because he'd spent hours today hunched over a dishwasher. Maybe part of it was because of what he'd done last night.
Miller was absorbed in a game of Grand Theft Auto and didn't even glance up from the TV screen. "Wanna play?" he asked, thumbs moving quickly and expertly on the controller.
"Nah, I'm good," Bellamy said, yawning.
"Hey, I met Clarke today."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, I drove her home. She seems nice."
"Yeah, she is." He shut his eyes for a moment, feeling like he could just fall asleep right there.
"Guess where she lives, bro."
Bellamy opened his eyes again, trying to remember the apartment complex he'd dropped her off at after their . . . truck ride. "I don't remember."
"Polaris."
"Polaris?"
Miller nodded emphatically.
"Really?" He scratched his head, confused. He was pretty sure that wasn't where he'd driven her. He would have remembered dropping a girl off at that fancy of an apartment complex.
"Didn't we used to call that place 'the palace?'" Miller recalled.
"Yeah, we did."
"Well . . ." Miller shrugged. "Looks like you scored yourself a princess."
Bellamy chuckled, a little bit mind-blown by that. Girls from Polaris didn't know guys like him. What the heck had a girl from Polaris been doing at Walmart in the first place? Clarke was a mystery, it seemed.
"Hey, did O stop by?" he asked his friend, changing the conversation abruptly.
"No." Miller swore under his breath when the game froze up suddenly. When he whacked the side of the controller, somehow that started it going again.
"Probably holed up with Lincoln, if they're even back from Mexico yet," Bellamy muttered, none too happy about that possibility. He used to see Octavia all the time, every day, almost, but ever since she'd gotten this damn boyfriend of hers, their sibling time was increasingly limited. When Octavia wasn't gallivanting off to Mexico with the guy, she was . . . doing things with him behind closed doors Bellamy preferred not to think about.
"I'm sure she'll come by soon," Miller said.
"Yeah." If not, he'd swing by the campus rec center and sit in on one of those martial arts classes she taught. She'd hate that. "Alright, well, I'm gonna go crash for a little while," he announced, standing up and stretching. "I'll come kick your ass at this later, though."
"In your dreams," Miller said, right as his character finally died. "Dammit."
When Bellamy walked into his room, the first thing he did was make a detour for the bathroom and grab some room spray. Because it still kind of smelled like sex in there. He sprayed a generous amount, then took the wad of money from Diana Sydney out of his pocket and slapped it down on top of his dresser. That'd pay for this month's electricity, his phone bill, and Octavia's birthday present.
Exhausted, he lay down, still fully clothed, thinking he could squeeze in a few good hours of rest before his neighbors stopped by for the evening. It didn't even matter that they didn't have plans. Jasper and Monty almost always came over on Saturday nights, and usually they brought their girlfriends with them, so it was a full house.
Something on his nightstand caught his eye as he was about to drift off, though. What the hell was a condom wrapper doing up there? He reached over and picked it up, perplexed to see numbers written on it. But when he realized it was a phone number, that made more sense.
You frisky princess, he thought, staring at the number a little longer than necessary. She wanted more.
He flicked the condom wrapper back onto the table, not about to throw it away. Hell, no. Clarke was a pretty girl, and even though he'd really put it to her good last night, she'd kept up, handled it better than he'd thought she would. She'd surprised him, honestly, with her tenacity, and if she wanted another go-round . . . well, maybe he'd call her.
...
Clarke stuck the post-it note with Bellamy's phone number onto her bathroom mirror and looked at it every morning when she brushed her teeth and every night before she went to bed. She wanted to call him, really, but she was nervous to do so. What if that came across as too clingy, too desperate? She'd already been blatantly obvious when she'd 'just happened to drive by' Dropship the other night. Maybe it was best to let him make a move this time.
She waited for four days, not even bothering with her brand new vibrator during that time because she knew it would be unsatisfying. Each time her phone rang, she got her hopes up, thinking it might be him. She'd already programmed his number into her phone so that she'd see his name on the screen if he called. But he never did, and she was starting to think he never would.
On Tuesday, Wells aced a particularly difficult political science test, so he suggested a night out on the town to celebrate. Clarke didn't feel especially energetic, but Niylah was always down for clubbing, and Raven proudly proclaimed that she was ready to "get her flirt on" with some new guys. So they got dressed up and headed out to Mount Weather, which was one of only two clubs in all of Arkadia. The other, TonDC, was way grungier, and they hardly ever hung out there. Mount Weather had two floors, a VIP lounge area they sometimes managed to squeeze into by accident, mixologists instead of regular bartenders, and an in-house fog machine that occasionally hazed up the dance floor.
Clarke didn't really mind clubbing, but it definitely wasn't her favorite thing to do. Usually she found a booth, table, couch, whatever and sat there sipping on a martini while her friends hit the dance floor. On the rare occasions that she drank too much, she'd get out there and join them, but there had to be enough alcohol in her system to get all her inhibitions to come down for that. Raven and Niylah didn't have that same problem. They were both naturally good dancers, and whether it was a pulsating techno beat or a hard hitting rap one, they were able to find their rhythm right away. It wasn't uncommon for guys to forget about their girlfriends and start watching Raven dance, which seemed to be happening tonight. Without Wick there to lay claim to her, Raven was a totally free-spirited girl. She danced with all sorts of boys, never really letting them get so close that they were grinding, but allowing them close enough to get them worked up. Niylah did the same thing with the girls. If they weren't bi before, they certainly were questioning it when she started making out with them right out there on the dance floor. And Wells . . . well, poor Wells didn't have as much luck as the girls did, but he was usually charming enough to find some nice girl to chat up, and sometimes those girls would recognize him the next time they were there. Eventually, it was going to get to the point where he took one of those girls home and finally lost his virginity, but for now, he was still too chaste for that.
Despite sitting by herself for the majority of the evening, Clarke was still having a decent time. It was fun to watch her friends have fun, particularly Raven, who was always most lively when she was a single woman. Clarke didn't even really allow herself to feel lonely until a couple sat down on the couch across from her, both of them clearly intoxicated and very into each other. The girl's dress was so short, her ass was practically hanging out, and her boyfriend didn't hesitate to rub his hands all over it. She practically straddled him, and the two of them made out like they were the only two in the club, like no one else was there.
Seeing them made Clarke think about Bellamy, made him wish that he was there with her. Not that they needed to make out like that in front of everyone. No, that much PDA was a little too much PDA. But it would have been nice just to have someone there, to have someone to talk to and maybe get out on the dance floor with. If he gave her that grin, the one that she swore should be illegal, he'd have been able to convince her to get out there and dance.
Something told her to reach into her purse in that moment and pull out her phone, and when she did . . . it was like fate. There, right in front of her on that screen was a new text message. From Bellamy.
No way, she thought, clicking on it. It was very short, very blunt, very to the point: Want to come suck my dick?
It was such an obscene question that she surely blushed. Even though no one was looking, she tried to hide her phone from prying eyes and texted back, Maybe. Because yeah, maybe she did.
She set her phone face down in her lap, looking around the club, trying to locate her friends again. Niylah was nowhere to be seen, which usually meant she'd found someone to hook up with. Wells was up at the bar with some adorable girl in a short skirt, saying something that made her laugh. And Raven was in the middle of a circle of boys, arms in the air, tossing her hair about and yelling, "Woo!" as she shook her hips in time with the song.
They don't need me here, Clarke thought. She wasn't adding anything spectacular to their night. They were having fun without her, and Bellamy . . . well, Bellamy wanted to have some fun with her.
Her phone vibrated a minute later when he texted her back. Come on over, it read invitingly.
Her stomach clenched with nervous anticipation. Oh god, what if she wasn't as good at giving him head as he was at eating her out? Clearly Bellamy had ten times the sexual experience she had. What if she couldn't give him exactly what he wanted and ended up being a letdown, a disappointment?
Well aware that she was psyching herself out and over-analyzing again, she quickly texted back on my way before she could change her mind.
She finished her martini and grabbed her clutch, slinking past people to the center of the dance floor. "Raven!" she called.
At first, her friend didn't hear her.
"Raven!" she called again.
Raven stopped dancing and said, "Clarke, come dance!"
"No, I'm leaving!" Clarke tried to tell her.
"What?" Raven squeezed past the men around her so she could hear Clarke better. "What'd you say?"
"I'm leaving," Clarke repeated. "I'm not really feeling that well."
"Oh, no." Raven frowned. "Well, I'll go with you."
"No, you should stay," Clarke told her. "You're having fun."
"No, Clarke, I don't have to stay."
"I just have a little headache anyway. It's not that bad."
"Are you sure?" Raven asked, ever the best best friend in the world.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she insisted. "Just stay and do your thing."
"Are you good to drive?" Raven made sure to question.
"Yeah, I only had, like, one drink."
Raven sighed, reluctantly agreeing to it. "Okay. Just call me if you need anything, alright? I'll be right over."
"Okay." Clarke gave her best friend a quick hug and said, "Bye."
"Bye."
On the drive over to Bellamy's—in which she took several wrong turns because she couldn't exactly remember where it was; Miller had driven her home at light speed after all—she wondered why she hadn't told Raven about her second night with Bellamy yet. Raven wouldn't judge her behavior at all; hell, she'd probably encourage it. But if she told Raven that she and Bellamy had hooked up again and that she was on her way over there now, then Raven would assume they were starting up a relationship. She'd start referring to Bellamy as her boyfriend. She'd want Clarke to invite him over for dinner. And Bellamy might not agree to all that.
But . . . he might, if she mentioned it.
It took her a little longer than she would have liked to get to Bellamy's house, and she found it more by accident than anything else. Finally, though, she got there, and when she walked in the door, he already had his pants undone and was waiting for her.
He sat leisurely on the couch, legs spread while she knelt in between them, bobbing her head up and down his cock. She held her hand around the base, gripping and squeezing it gently, trying to keep up a steady rhythm with her mouth. It wasn't easy. Because he was so well-endowed, she could at first only take the head of his cock without gagging. Gradually, she loosened up her throat muscles, managing to take more of him, about half. And what she couldn't fit into her mouth, she made sure to lavish with long strokes of her tongue, licking up from base to tip before resuming her sucking rhythm again.
"Oh, yeah," he groaned quietly. He'd kept the TV on to drown out some of his sounds, but he managed to keep it pretty quiet altogether. That probably meant his roommates were home tonight. At any minute, either of them could stroll out into that living room and see her sitting there on her knees, sucking him off. For some reason, that was an incredibly arousing thought, and she felt a subtle wetness between her legs when she imagined it.
"Good?" she asked, hoping she was delivering what he'd wanted tonight.
"Yeah, keep going," he urged, reaching down to tangle his hand in her hair. He pushed her head back towards his cock, and she swirled her tongue around the head of it engulfing as much of him as she could again. He hit the back of her throat, causing her to cough and gag a bit.
"You're a good girl," he praised, massaging her scalp.
She pressed a kiss to the underside of his cock, inhaling the musky, manly smell of him, and then sucked some more, surprised by how natural this felt. She hadn't given a genuine blow job in years, not since Finn. In fact, Finn had been the only person she'd ever blown before. Strapons didn't count, so yeah, it had just been him. And Finn was nowhere near as large as Bellamy was. Regardless of size, though, it seemed like giving a blowjob was like riding a bike. You didn't ever forget how. And Bellamy seemed to be enjoying what she was doing, so she just kept at it.
When his hips started to buck up into her mouth a bit, almost as if he couldn't control them, she figured he was getting close. And even though she knew guys liked it when girls swallowed, she didn't feel quite ready for that yet. That was something she hadn't even done with Finn, and she wasn't sure she'd like it. So she released him from her mouth with a loud pop and then jerked him off with her hand the rest of the way. He came quickly, flinging his head back into the pillow, shutting his eyes. His cum squirted all over her hand, and some of it even shot up and splattered on her eyes.
"Sorry," he apologized right away.
She wiped off her eye with her free hand, laughing a little, and stroked his cock a few more times until she was convinced he was done. His whole body went languid on the couch and he smiled appreciatively. "Wow."
"Did you like that?"
"Yeah, it was great."
She wasn't about to tell him how relieved she was to hear that, but . . . oh, yeah, she was relieved. Getting up, she treaded into the kitchen, needing to clean up. She lifted the sink handle with her elbow and washed off her hands very thoroughly, then splashed some water on her face. There didn't seem to be any other . . . remnants.
"You did good, Princess," Bellamy said from the living room.
"Princess?" she echoed as she wiped down the whole sink.
"Yeah, that's what I'm gonna call you."
"Well, I've had worse nicknames." She shut off the water, grabbed a paper towel to dry off her hands, and tossed it the trashcan. "I'm glad it was good, though," she said, returning to the couch. She sat down beside him, watching in fascination as he tucked his cock away and pulled up his pants again. He didn't bother zipping them, though, which led her to believe that the night might not be over. Oh, she prayed it wasn't.
Before she could even try to be seductive and tell him how wet she'd gotten just by blowing him, some moaning and groaning sounds started to come from a room down the hall. Distinctly guy/girl sounds, which could only mean one thing.
"Is that Murphy and Emori?" she asked.
"Yep." No sooner had he confirmed that, a bed upstairs started squeaking. "And that'd be Miller and Jackson."
"God, it's like a symphony of sex sounds around here," she teased.
"Yeah, the mating den," he agreed, readjusting his cock inside his jeans. "You know," he said, staring at her suggestively, "we could make a few sex sounds of our own." Then he was cupping her head, leaning in to kiss her, and at first, she just wanted to kiss him back. Because yeah, the idea of making sex sounds with Bellamy Blake? She loved it. She wanted it. But doing that while both these other couples were doing the same thing . . . something about it bothered her.
She actually opened her eyes and frowned while he kept trying to kiss her, and it didn't take him long to realize something was off. "What?" he said.
She shook her head. "Nothing."
"What's wrong?"
As much as she just wanted to go with it, as much as she tried to shut her mind off yet again, there was just no avoiding these thoughts. "What're we doing, Bellamy?" she asked, needing some kind of solid answer.
"What do you mean?" he said.
"Just . . . all of this." It wasn't feasible to keep waiting for her next night with him, never knowing when it would happen or how often it would happen or even why it would happen.
"We're having fun," he said, squeezing her knee. But that was what he always said.
"So are they," she said, gesturing down the hall and upstairs. "But they're . . . dating."
He groaned exasperatedly and scooted away a bit, and she worried she'd just majorly fucked things up, like that one word had really freaked him out.
"Clarke," he said, shaking his head sadly. "Don't ruin this."
"Ruin what?" she asked, not about to let up now. Hell, there was no going back now. She'd brought up the issue, and now it would be the big fat elephant in the room if they didn't talk about it.
"This. Us."
"And what are we, exactly?"
"We're . . ." He paused for a few seconds, tongue-tied for the first time that she could remember. She'd never seen Bellamy be anything but smooth, but now, he seemed frazzled. "We're Bellamy and Clarke," he finally said, and it wasn't the answer she was looking for.
"I feel like you're avoiding the question."
"Yeah, 'cause I am."
"Why?"
"Because you probably aren't gonna like my answer."
She had to look away from him then, because that felt like a knife to the heart. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Was this all just about sex to him?
"Maybe you should just leave," he mumbled, looking down at his lap as if he were too ashamed to look at her.
Oh my god, she thought, mortified. Unbelievable. Was this really the same sweet guy who'd kissed her cheek at Dropship a couple weeks ago, the same thoughtful guy who gathered up all her clothes for her the other morning? Was this the same adorable guy whose runaway watermelon had started all of this in the first place?
"Way to be a jerk, Bellamy," she squeaked out, quickly heading for the door.
"I'm not trying to be a jerk," he said.
"Well, it's a jackass move, so . . ." Suddenly, she felt like she couldn't get out of there fast enough, so she shoved on her shoes, grabbed her clutch off the floor, and grumbled, "Glad you enjoyed your blowjob," on her way out the door.
He didn't come after her. Apparently that was the kind of thing that happened in romance movies, not in real life.
On the drive home, she alternated between feeling pissed off and sad as hell. By the time she walked inside her apartment, it was all just sadness. She'd even started crying, which made her feel pathetic, but . . . what was she supposed to do? He'd basically just insinuated that he was using her for sex. And it wasn't like that for her. Yeah, she liked having sex with him, but in addition to that . . . she liked him. She liked Bellamy Blake as a man, as a person, and knowing that he didn't care to see anything else or anything deeper in her . . . it hurt.
She must have brushed her teeth, like, five times, all in an attempt to get the taste of him out of her mouth. Then she changed into her ugliest plaid flannel pajama pants and an FCCLA t-shirt from her senior year of high school. Once she'd scrubbed all her makeup off and looked as dumpy as she now felt, she figured she'd crawl into bed and maybe just stay there tomorrow. Screw class. She could miss one fucking day.
She lay down in her bed, checking her phone, and saw a text from Raven asking if she was feeling okay. What was she supposed to say to that? The headache lie had been just that, a lie. But saying that she was fine was a lie, too . . . one that would put Raven at ease and allow her to continue enjoying her night at Mount Weather, though.
I'm fine, she texted back, debating whether or not she'd tell her tomorrow about all things Bellamy-related. The great sex, his magnetic personality, the dick move he'd just pulled right after she'd so willingly sucked his dick . . .
Right after she'd shut her eyes and forced all leftover tears back down where they belonged, her phone actually rang, and she dreaded answering it. The only person who called her all that often rather than texting her was her mom, and she was in no mood to talk to her mom right now.
When she peeked at the caller ID, though, it wasn't her mom calling. It was . . . Bellamy?
What the hell? she wondered, confused. This all felt like déjà vu, though, like Finn. Finn used to be a jerk to her all the time, and what had he done to get back on her good side? He'd called and apologized. And she'd forgiven him every single time.
Part of her wanted to just not answer, but dammit . . . that was exactly what she did. "What, Bellamy?" she bit out shrilly.
"Hey, I'm outside your apartment right now," he said, that low, gravelly voice of his sounding even lower over the phone.
She sat up straight, surprised. "What?" Finn would have never done that.
"Yeah, can you buzz me in?"
She frowned, trying to make sense of his motives and her feelings all at once. Whatever his reason for being there, inviting him up to her place seemed . . . too risky. He'd say something or do something that would make her turn into silly putty, and then they'd probably just end up in bed together. And that wasn't gonna fix anything.
"I'll come down," she said, abruptly ending the call.
She didn't bother to change out of her hideous pajamas or even put on any lipstick. She convinced herself it didn't matter, because whatever conversation they were about to have would be the last conversation. She wasn't willing to be his little fuck doll, wasn't about to let him use her like that. Finn had used both her and Raven for that very purpose, and she wasn't subjecting herself to that kind of unhealthy relationship again.
"Hey," Bellamy said when she came out.
She wrapped her arms around herself, not cracking a smile, not saying a word.
"Miller told me this is where you live, so . . ." He looked around at the front of her apartment complex, which was undeniably lavish. "It's nice."
She saw a flicker of insecurity in his eyes as he took in the fake palm trees, meticulously cared for shrubbery, the marble statues, the freaking fountain. Yeah, Polaris was a nice apartment complex, paid for almost entirely by her mother and stepdad. It was a far cry from his neighborhood, and she wondered if, in that moment, he felt ashamed of living where he did.
She hoped he didn't, because his neighborhood might not have been nice, but his house was. There was no shame in that.
"What're you doing here, Bellamy?" she snarled impatiently, trying to remember that she was mad at him.
"I just wanted to talk," he replied. "I didn't like the way we ended things."
"Well, things can't really end if they never begin," she pointed out dejectedly, walking down a rosebush lined sidewalk towards the fountain. He followed her wordlessly, and she swore she could feel the heat of his gaze on the back of her neck.
They sat down on the edge of the fountain, and he took a penny out of his pocket and tossed it over his shoulder into the water. "I'm sorry I upset you," he apologized.
She didn't dare look at him as she denied, "I'm not upset."
"No, clearly you are," he said. "You're mad at me. And you have every right to be. I should've been more upfront with you right from the start."
Just stay standoffish, she coached herself. If she didn't engage in conversation, maybe he'd get fed up and leave.
No matter what she told herself she should do, though, she ended up doing something different. "I thought you liked me," she said quietly.
"I do," he insisted. "I do like you."
She grunted, because that just felt meaningless. "You like having sex with me."
"Well, yeah," he admitted. "And you like having sex with me. There's nothing wrong with that. But I like you, too, Clarke. I like getting to know you."
She shook her head, because again . . . meaningless. "You don't know me, though."
He opened his mouth to protest, but she wouldn't let him get a word in.
"And knowing how to get me off isn't the same thing as actually knowing me, so don't even say it."
He smirked, chuckling lightly. "Look, you know me, though. You knew exactly what I was gonna say."
She held back a smile, refusing to laugh at that, refusing to be amused, refusing to look at that smoldering face of his; because even though she was sitting down, that face could still make her knees go weak. It was a real problem like that. "We don't know each other, Bellamy," she said, accepting the truth of that. So she'd met a few of his friends and seen his bedroom and heard a couple things about his sister. That was all just skimming the surface.
"Well, we're just getting started," he reasoned. "There's no reason why we can't get to know each other better."
She frowned, unable to keep from shooting him a confused look upon hearing that. Something wasn't making sense to her, wasn't adding up. Half an hour ago, he'd basically kicked her out of his apartment. Now he was suggesting they spend more time together? "What?" she said.
"Clarke." He moved in closer, close enough that his knee could touch her leg. "I like you. But I don't wanna mislead you; I don't wanna give you the wrong idea."
Her frown intensified.
"I'm not . . . looking for a relationship," he explained, speaking slowly as if he were choosing his words carefully. "At least not the romantic kind."
Well, that was disappointing, she figured, but not exactly shocking at this point.
"If you want somebody to call your boyfriend, somebody who says 'I love you,' somebody to celebrate an anniversary with, I'm not that guy," he straight-up informed her. "It's just not in the cards for me."
She wanted to ask him why he would think that, but . . . there probably wasn't some huge reason. Lots of guys his age were determined to play the field their entire lives. "So you wanna keep having sex with me," she concluded.
"Of course."
"But you don't wanna date me."
He cringed a bit, as if he felt bad for saying that out loud. "I don't wanna date anyone."
"So you really do just wanna use me for sex then?"
"No. No, I don't wanna use you at all," he denied vehemently. "I could never just use you for sex, Clarke. You're . . ." He reached up and stroked her cheek, which seemed to be one of his patented flirt maneuvers. "You're too sweet."
She turned away from his touch, trying not to be affected by him, by this. By any of this.
"Listen, I know I don't know you very well," he acknowledged, "but I think you can be a friend to me. And . . ." He paused, one again struggling uncharacteristically to find his words. "I would like that."
Everything he was saying rolled around in her mind, and she tried to make sense of it, to piece it together in a way she could understand. "So you wanna be friends," she recapped.
"Yep."
"But you also wanna have sex."
"Mmm-hmm."
"So . . ." That was only bringing her to one conclusion. "Friends with benefits, basically?"
"Yeah." His whole face lit up with excitement at the prospect of it.
"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, leaning forward, dragging her hands through her hair. She laughed a little, rocking back. "Bellamy! Are you serious?"
"I'm dead serious."
"Friends with benefits? Half the romantic comedies ever made are about friends with benefits. And it never works."
"Yeah, because the movies shove these crappy love stories down your throat," he argued, sounding like he'd given this some thought. "But that's not how it has to be in real life. Do you really think it's impossible for two mature, consenting adults to have sex with no strings attached? Because I don't. I think it's simple. If we both know what we're gettin' into and we know what the outcome's gonna be, then it's fine."
"And what's the outcome gonna be?" she pressed. If this was the beginning, then what was the ending?
"Well, that's the beauty of it," he said. "Because no matter what, we stay friends. There's no pain, no heartbreak. Nobody gets dumped or cheats or anything like that. You're friends who fuck and have fun. And that's it. You care about each other and trust each other, but you don't expect anything more from each other. You don't have all the added pressures of a relationship. You just have this really deep, really true friendship, and when you take the time to build that up, that lasts a hell of a lot longer than romance does. That can withstand anything."
The more he talked . . . the more it really started to make sense to her. As confused as she'd been at first, she found herself starting to become . . . very persuaded as she listened to him. And she wasn't sure whether that was just because of his natural charisma—the guy must have aced speech class—or if there was actual merit to this whole idea. But maybe it was a combination of the two?
"So I take it you've done this before?" she guessed.
He shrugged. "A couple times."
"Must not have worked, though."
"No, it did," he said. "But both times, these girls ended up meeting someone else, and I was fine with it. The sex stopped then, but they're still my friends. We still get along, we could still hang out. And they're happy, so I'm happy for them."
Happy for them? she thought, thinking about Finn and Lexa. Especially Lexa. How many times had she looked at those engagement photos and made a conscious effort to feel happy? It should have just come naturally, and she felt guilty knowing that it didn't. But here Bellamy was, sounding completely sincere when he said he was happy they'd moved on from him. Maybe he really did have something figured out that she didn't.
"So if we were to do this," he went on, "and you went out and found someone, you wouldn't have to worry about me. And vice versa. Although, like I said, that's not gonna happen for me."
"What makes you say that?"
"I just know it won't," he said. "I don't want it to. But it'll probably happen for you, someday. So if you wanna pass some time with me until that day, if you wanna—if you wanna have some more fun, whether that's sex or something else, 'cause we don't have to have sex all the time . . ." His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "If you wanna get to know me more and have me in your life as a friend, then . . . I'm willing to do that because . . . I mean, who wouldn't be willing to do that with you?"
"Oh, you're good," she said. "You're very good."
"I'm not tryin' to lay it on thick or anything. I'm serious."
"Oh, I know you are." Her mind was just spinning right now, trying to imagine it, trying not to fantasize about it, debating whether it was a great as he made it sound. "But Bellamy, I don't wanna just be . . . one of your girls."
"One of them?" He made a confused face. "I don't have any others, Clarke. I'm not gonna go out and recruit more. If we're doing this, then we're doing this, you and me. I don't have any reason to go out and sleep with other women."
"So . . . so it's like exclusive friends with benefits then?" she stammered.
"Yeah, exactly."
"How is that any different than dating?"
"Because we just know we're not dating, and we know it's not leading up to that, and if it ends in an instant, then it's all good. It's just all good, Clarke."
God, she thought, he makes it sound so simple. But then again . . . maybe it was. Maybe for people like him who just did what they wanted to without questioning it, without constantly over-analyzing the situation and finding problems where problems didn't exist, maybe it was a really simple thing after all.
"I'll be honest, that first night we hooked up," he went on, moving closer, so close that he nearly had his arm around her, "I thought it was just gonna be that one time. But then there was the second time, and then tonight, and now . . ." He trailed off and shrugged. "I don't know. It's up to you. Ball's in your court . . ." He grinned flirtatiously. "So to speak."
"Oh my god." She couldn't help but smile, because the innuendo about his balls was obvious with that one.
"It's whatever the hell you want, Clarke," he told her, jaw clenching as he looked away from her. "You know where I stand."
She did. He'd made that perfectly clear, and for that, she was actually grateful he'd come over. She knew now that his assholery back at his house didn't actually mean he was an asshole. He just hadn't communicated his intentions as well as he should have. And she hadn't been open-minded enough to consider that . . . that maybe she didn't need someone in her life with a 'boyfriend' or 'girlfriend' title to get that fulfilling relationship she longed to have. She'd had exactly one boyfriend and one girlfriend in her entire life, and neither relationship had ended in anything long-term for her. She wasn't still friends with either Finn or Lexa, she wasn't as happy for them as she should have been, and she wasn't able to stop being envious of them. Except when she was with Bellamy. Because when she was with him, even if he didn't intend to make it a romantic thing . . . that was when she felt like she had something, too, something special that was all her own. Maybe not a brand new baby, maybe not an engagement ring on her finger, but something. Something she didn't want to let go of. Not yet.
"Okay," she heard herself say quietly.
"Okay?" he echoed. "Okay, what?"
"Okay, let's do it." There. She'd said it. No backing out, no second-guessing now. The decision had been made.
Even though he'd been the one to champion the whole idea, he looked shocked that she'd agreed to it so quickly. "You sure?" he asked.
"Yeah." If she got someone who could make her smile and make her laugh and also give her ridiculously intense orgasms, it was like the best of both worlds. No way could she turn him down.
"You're positive?"
"Yes."
"Because if you don't think you can handle it . . ."
"Oh, you'd be surprised what I can handle," she told him, shocking herself with how Raven-esque she'd managed to sound there.
"Damn, Clarke," he said, reaching down to readjust the crotch of his pants.
"Still think I'm sweet?"
"Oh, yeah, you're sweet," he said. But then he bent down and pressed a hot kiss to the side of her neck. "And sexy," he added, warm breath tickling her ear.
Yeah, really sexy, she thought sarcastically, not sure how he could say that with a straight face while she was wearing these hideous pajamas. Oh, well, though. He wouldn't say it if he didn't think it.
"I'm gonna make you feel so sexy, Clarke," he murmured as his fingers intertwined with hers, "you have no idea."
She inhaled shakily, so aroused by the thought. This guy had already made her so wanted, so desired. If this was just the tip of the iceberg, as he made it sound, then she couldn't wait to see what else he had in store for her.
"Well, you'd better," she said. "I'm no expert, but I think that's what friends with benefits are for."
He laughed lightly, leaning in to kiss her then, a surprisingly tender, even short kiss. "I'll let you get some sleep," he breathed out against her lips.
Sleep? What even was what? She had no desire to do that right now. "Okay," she said, a bit disappointed that he wouldn't . . . come sleep with her.
They got up, holding hands as they walked back down the sidewalk to the main entrance of her building. "So I'll probably see you tomorrow then," he said, letting go of her hand as he started to back away.
"Yeah. Sure." Tomorrow was . . . tomorrow. She'd just have to try out her new vibrator tonight.
"Alright," he said. "See you then."
"Yeah, see you." She stood there and watched him go, wondering if it'd be too forward to run up to him and just pounce on him and drag him inside. Because the thought of him alone in his bed, probably jacking off to thoughts of her, and her alone in her bed, definitely working herself into a frenzy over thoughts of him . . . it just seemed ridiculous.
He'd only taken a few steps when, slowly, he turned back around and met eyes with her. His chest was heaving with heavy breaths, ones that matched her own, and she could see the lust in those brown eyes of his, knowing it was probably mirrored in her own.
He marched back towards her and literally swept her up in his arms, kissing her hungrily, ferociously, staggering backward with her towards the door. She flung her left hand out, fumbling to punch in the security code, and when the doors clicked open, they stumbled inside together, a frenetic mass of arms and legs and mouths that wouldn't come up for air.
