Chapter 9:

Clarke and Bellamy gripped hands tightly as they walked in through the double doors of a church they'd never attended in their lives. Their minds were two different places…or a thousand different places—none of which were this church or this wedding.

Her mind was drifting towards the events of the night before.

His mind was on the fact that his father wanted him to break up with Clarke.

Her mind was distracted by the way his touch sent chills up her spine this morning.

His mind contemplated taking her up on the offer to move in.

Either way, they were blocking out the stares of those who were unaware of the relationship they shared. The younger individuals accompanied by their parents knew about Bellamy and Clarke. The older people that spent more time in the less expensive dining establishments and recreational areas knew about Bellamy and Clarke. It was the important people who claimed to know everything that had no clue about Bellamy and Clarke (mostly because Marcus demanded a discreet relationship.)

"I love you." Bellamy said, snapping Clarke out of her thoughts as they drifted around the lobby area. She smiled before her face fell. "What's wrong, princess?"

"I don't exist in this world, Bellamy." She said. Most would find her melodramatic but he understood each word. Apart from those interested in their relationship…no one looked at the daughter-of-the-bride. No one congratulated her. No one shook her hand. No one smiled and asked how she liked Samuel.

She didn't exist in their eyes.

"But you own mine." Bellamy told her, his hand breaking from her grip to rub her lower back reassuringly. "These people are irrelevant. They don't define who you are. Their opinions don't matter."

She sighed heavily, "You're right…I forget sometimes that I'm not who I used to be."

"And for good reason." He said, "Where do you want to sit?"

"We shall sit in the front row." Clarke said, "I want her to see me before she pushes me out of her life. I want her to look me in the eye and see me."

He nodded, "Understood." His hand guided her to the front row of the church where they took their seats. Her small body pressed against the end of the pew for support, her other side leaning on Bellamy. She had to sit up straight—she had to be strong throughout this. "You okay?"

"I don't know."

"At least you're honest." He said, "I'm honored to be your date, Clarke. I know this isn't easy for you…I know you were avoiding this with your mom and I want you to know that it means a lot."

Her hand touched his cheek, "This isn't hard for me, Bellamy. I thought it would be…but knowing you have my back in a situation like this makes it easier." He smiled at her words. "Plus, I can finally tell all these cougar bitches that they can back off."

"We're in a church." He scolded her jokingly, "Using that kind of language…"

"Well I guess you'll just have to punish me later."

"Oh, darling…I plan on it." He winked.

Clarke was still lacking attention—attention to her porcelain skin underneath the royal blue chiffon dress tight against her. They should be paying attention to her stormy blue eyes…the way Bellamy was soaking in her everything. He didn't know what was wrong with him but once he got a taste of Clarke he just wanted more and more and more…god, and more. Because she was hot. Not just in the physical sense because it wasn't just how she looked—it was that mouth, those words that she said to get under his skin—literally, because if she kept going she'd always end up under his skin.

For instance, if "I think we have a shoe-in for scandalous, slutty wedding sex" doesn't accurately explain his situation—nothing could. He looked over at her with a pained, seductive expression. He was not having sex with her in a church. "What?"

"Princess I cannot have sex with you in a church."

"Baby, are you blushing?" She giggled, a hand easing towards his thigh. He pushed it off and looked at her with a devilish grin. "Okay…I understand." The turn of her lips made him swallow the hard lump in his throat. She leaned closer to him, "But your ass is mine at the reception."

He laughed, maybe a little too hard at her statement because he wasn't going to display his true emotion—lust. A red hot lust that could make The Virgin Mary blush…even if she heard a million confessions a day. Bellamy's mind was…well, equivalent to a fifteen year old boy's mind right now with the twang of an intelligent man's words. His hands ached to push up the knee-length chiffon material until it could be tucked underneath her bra—his hands craved to get lost in her curves, exploring her figure and memorizing the way he could bring her pleasure. "Why did we sit in the front row again?" He complained in a breathy groan, straightening from a slouched position. Clarke reached over and grabbed his hand but it was weird…she was tickling his hand? Her fingers playing with his, running her fingertips between the spaces of his fingers. She then brought their hands to his knee, hers turning over under his. As she started to move up his leg, his hand followed. He momentarily closed his eyes before the music started.

She cleared her throat, affected by her own temptress moves. She crossed her legs over her thighs rather than her ankles. "I saw a coat closet." She whispered, "We could skip this whole thing…she wouldn't notice I was gone."

He put space between them—more because he needed it. "You're exhilarating…" He muttered, looking behind him. "I want to have you right now."

"Right now?" She looked as if she were going to stand up but he put his hand on her legs. "Here?" She looked around—it was her turn to blush.

"I don't always get what I want." His voice was low.

"But you can."