Chapter 10

Clarke started to stir awake early that morning when the sun peeked through the gap in her curtains, hitting her eyes. Usually it took multiple alarms to wake her up this early, but not today. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew something was different. She wasn't in her bed, for starters; she was on the couch. And she wasn't alone like she had been for the past seven mornings.

When she opened her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of Bellamy next to her, curled up on his side, still asleep. His head was on her shoulder, one of his legs draped over both of hers, and a thin blue blanket covered them both.

He looked so peaceful, so different than the guy who had opened up to her about everything last night.

Last night, she thought, smiling softly. Last night had been . . . something. Really something. Not something romantic, surely, because there was nothing romantic about the trauma he'd endured and recounted for her. And even the sex had been more intimate than anything else. But whatever it had been, whatever had transpired . . . it made her feel so close to him right now.

As much as she didn't want to disturb him, she had to move. Her back hurt from sleeping on the couch all night, and her arms and legs felt stiff. She tried to stretch out a bit, and that woke him up, too.

"Hey," he said, slowly lifting his head.

"Hey." God, he looked so cute with his tousled hair and sleepy eyes. She could only hope she didn't look like nightmare. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Probably should've slept in the bed, though."

"Yeah, really." Her couch was barely big enough just for her, let alone the two of them.

He yawned, reaching over to put his hand on her hip. "Thanks for lettin' me stay," he said, rubbing lightly.

"Of course." How many nights had she spent at his place? This was the least she could do. Besides, it wasn't like she'd wanted him to leave.

"Thanks for . . . everything, Clarke," he mumbled, looking down at the small sliver of space between them. "Just . . . thanks."

He didn't have to elaborate for her to know what he meant by that. He was thanking her for being there with him last night, for listening.

Her phone rang shrilly before she could tell him that last night was the least she could do after bringing all of this back to him again in the first place. She groaned, because it was her mother's ringtone.

"You want that?" he asked reaching down onto the floor to fumble in her purse.

"I guess." With the way she and her mom had left things yesterday, it was probably best that they talk.

He found her phone and handed it over to her, and she braced herself for what might not be a pleasant conversation. "Yes?" she answered.

"Hi, Clarke," her mother said. "I wasn't sure you'd answer."

"Well, I did." She shot Bellamy an annoyed look, and he just smiled.

"I was hoping we could talk," her mother said. "Yesterday was just so . . . unpleasant at the end there. I hate to leave things like that."

Clarke did, too, honestly. As aggravated as yesterday had made her feel towards her mother, she didn't want to fight with her. Anything could happen at any point, like it had with Bellamy's girlfriend. Life was too short to waste it being angry.

Her mom started to apologize for upsetting her, and Clarke tried to pay attention to what she was saying, but Bellamy made it difficult to do that when he tossed the blanket aside and slithered down on the couch. She watched him confusedly until it became blatantly clear what he wanted to do: He put his hands on her knees and tried to spread her legs.

"Bellamy, no," she scolded incredulously, covering the phone. She couldn't do that while she was talking to her mother.

He just nodded as if to say, Yes.

"Don't you think so, Clarke?" her mother was saying.

"What?" She hadn't been paying attention. Did she think what?

"That my intentions were in the right place," her mother said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Powerless to stop it—hell, she hadn't cum last night, so she wanted to get pleasure as much as he clearly wanted to give it to her—Clarke allowed Bellamy to open up her legs and then watched in disbelief as he lowered his mouth to her cunt. "Oh!" she couldn't help but gasp the moment she felt his tongue in between her folds.

"Oh?" her mother echoed.

"Oh . . . yes," she said, halfway to her mother, halfway to Bellamy. "Yes, I know you didn't mean to upset me," she said, struggling to put together a coherent sentence as he kissed, licked, and suckled on her.

"I really didn't," her mother insisted. "And I feel awful. I know I can be pushy sometimes."

She pushed herself down onto his face, delighting in the friction.

"Clarke?"

"Yeah?" That was her name. At least she could still respond to her name.

"Are you listening?"

"Uh-huh." Bellamy's breathing was loud down there, his breath hot on her sensitive flesh. He moaned and moaned and made Mwah sounds as he made out with her lower lips, and when he cast a glance up at her, she gave him a warning look. Because if he got too much louder, her mother was going to hear him.

"I feel like you're not really listening," her mother said dejectedly.

"No, I am," she insisted, squirming slightly, circling her hips against his face. "I just, uh . . ." She fought to hold back a moan as his tongue zig-zagged all the way up to her clit. "I'm kinda . . . busy," she offered.

"Well, I just wanted to clear the air," her mother said. "And I promise I'll let up on the matchmaking."

That's good, Clarke thought, because right now, her only match had his head between her legs.

"But please don't get mad at me if I ask you about your personal life every once in a while," her mother pleaded. "I'm not trying to be nosy. I just like knowing what you're up to."

Clarke laughed a bit, because if her mother knew what she was up to right now . . .

Her mom just kept on going, and Clarke tuned her out completely as Bellamy's tongue flicked rapidly at her clit, very determined to get her off. It was so hot to watch him work, to see his eyes close in concentration, only to open moments later and shoot up to her face, gauging her reaction.

"Anyway," her mother said. "I should probably let you go now."

"Yeah, probably," Clarke agreed quaveringly. Her impending orgasm had her feeling like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, and Bellamy was most certainly about to push her over.

"Oh, but Marcus wanted me to tell you . . ."

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut, not caring what Marcus wanted to tell her. She had to press the phone into the back cushion of the couch when she felt her thighs start to quiver. Every muscle in her body tightened, and it sort of felt like a volcanic eruption . . . down there. She clenched up, arched her hips against his mouth, and tried not to make any sounds as she came. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't focus on anything except the wave of pleasure coursing through her. And what a wave it was. It left her feeling mindless, boneless, completely satiated afterward. She just lay there, unable to move, still feeling some pulsating aftershocks down in her core, where Bellamy's tongue was lazily lapping up her juices.

Oh god, she thought, finally remembering that there was a phone in her hand. She brought it back up to her ear just in time to hear her mom saying, "Well, alright, I can tell that I'm boring you, so I'll just talk to you later, okay?"

Words, Clarke thought, head still spinning. Say something. "Okay," she managed to get out before she ended the call, dropping her phone onto the floor. "God, Bellamy," she gasped.

Smirking proudly, he crawled back up her body, lying between her legs, propping himself up with an arm on either side of her head. "You like that?" he asked gruffly.

"Yes, but . . . that was bad."

"Oh, it felt pretty good to me."

Unable to keep from smiling, she rolled her eyes in amusement. Who was she kidding? It'd felt pretty damn good to her, too. Bellamy was an oral sex aficionado. He did things and got reactions out of her that she couldn't even explain. Like right now, her toes were tingling. What even was that?

"I have to shower," she said, hating the thought of getting up and getting ready.

"Alone?" he asked.

"Probably." She would have loved to get in there with him, but if they did that, then they'd end up having sex again, and she'd lose track of time and fail to get clean. "I have to go work," she told him, already wondering if there was any way she could convince Dante to let her leave early.

"That sucks," he said. "If you have to, though . . ." He sat back on his knees and grabbed her hand, pulling her up along with him. He took a moment to steal a few more kisses, though, which was incredibly arousing since she could still taste herself on his lips. It took everything she had to get off that couch and head into the bathroom.

He lay on her bed and turned on the TV while she showered. She went about her morning routine with him there, just lounging, hanging out, and it felt so natural. At one point, he even offered to braid her hair for her. (Apparently, he'd learned how to do that with Octavia.) She didn't take him up on that, only because she didn't have enough time, but she did hop onto his lap so she could give him one big goodbye kiss before leaving for the day.

"Feel free to hang as long as you want," she told him. "You can snoop through anything."

"Nah, I think I'll head home," he said. "I got some work to do today, too."

"Okay." She patted his stomach and tried to get up, but he put he grabbed her hip, holding her in place.

"Come over tonight, though," he murmured against her lips before giving her one more peck.

She smiled, looking forward to that. Because the only thing more enjoyable than a night with Bellamy at her place was a night together at his.

...

Since she knew she was spending a lot of time with Bellamy these days, Clarke started using her lunch breaks for girl time with Raven and Niylah. It was becoming a nice daily tradition—or almost daily—one that always ended up in the three of them talking about sex. It was inevitable, it seemed, especially once Clarke and Bellamy got past their slump and started hooking up again. If they were all having sex, they could all rejoice in the glory of it together.

Niylah had found a girlfriend . . . sort of. The official terminology was 'maybe starting something.' Her name was Luna, and she was real modern-day hippie, by the sound of it. When Clarke saw the pictures, she understood the attraction, because Luna had a mane of curly brown hair and prominent eyebrows that made her look very modelesque. Niylah raved about how amazing it was to sixty-nine with her, which Clarke had to admit was something she and Bellamy had not done yet. But it seemed to be heading in that direction.

Raven and Roan still weren't coming up for air, and it seemed that the Ice Nation sex store owner was getting her to try some kinky things. Raven was a little tight-lipped about what it all was, but she assured the girls she was enjoying it, and that was really all that mattered. She also bragged that Roan was amazingly well-endowed and proposed that she and Clarke do an inconspicuous dick measuring contest to see whether he or Bellamy was bigger.

"Roan's, like . . ." Raven tried to use her forearm to give them some accurate measurement, but when that didn't work, she just reached across the table and flopped her hand against Clarke's cheek. Then she dragged it across her mouth and back again like it was a big, limp snake.

"What are you doing?" Clarke asked, accustomed to her friend's weirdness.

"This is my impersonation of it," Raven said, flapping her arm against the side of Clarke's face before dragging it up over Clarke's eyes. "It's everywhere."

Ultimately, however, even though sometimes they talked about Luna and sometimes they talked about Roan, both of Clarke's friends seemed content to let most of the conversations focus on her sex life with Bellamy. Niylah had only met him a handful of times, and Raven still insisted on calling him Bellagio, but they both liked him and were interested in his and Clarke's relationship. Niylah, for one, was completely serious when she requested a front-row seat the next time he ate Clarke out. She said that, based on Clarke's descriptions and Bellamy's own explanation of his technique, he was a "Grade-A oral master." Clarke definitely wasn't about to dispute that, but she wasn't about to let Niylah be a spectator while Bellamy went down on her, either.

Raven, in contrast, was more interested in the full-on sex. It seemed to fascinate her that Clarke's favorite position with Bellamy was simply having him on top. Due to her lackluster experiences with Wick, Raven was reluctant to try missionary with Roan, fearing that she might be disappointed by the experience.

"Just try it," Clarke urged her. "Worst case scenario, it sucks, and then you have him ask Bellamy for advice."

"This guy . . ." Niylah shook her head in amazement. "God, Clarke, you should have him write a how-to manual or something. Seriously."

Clarke tossed her head back and laughed.

She told Bellamy about Niylah's suggestion when she was over at his house for her first Saturday night shenanigans since they'd patched things up. He got a kick out of the idea, chuckling, "A how-to manual, huh?"

"Well, yeah, you're really good." She leaned against the counter and stole pieces of mozzarella cheese off the top of the pizza he was preparing. "I could send it to Finn for Christmas or something."

"I thought you said he had a daughter."

"He does, but that doesn't mean he has sex skills."

Bellamy shook his head as he arranged pepperoni slices on top of the cheese. "Why'd you stay with that guy for two years if it was so bad?"

"It wasn't bad," she clarified. "It was just . . . high school. Clumsy, awkward high school."

"I wasn't clumsy and awkward in high school," he boasted. "Well, just the first time."

"Just the first time?"

"And the second. And the third and the fourth and the twentieth," he confessed. "But after that, I got really good."

"With Roma?" she asked.

"Yeah." He smiled a bit, not a sad smile this time. Just . . . reminiscent. These past few days, he hadn't really talked about her a whole lot, but if her name ever did come up in conversation, he didn't shy away from it, either.

Since Bellamy was taking on the role of chef that night and Clarke had absolutely nothing to contribute in the kitchen, she left him there and rejoined the others in the living room. Nobody was really saying it, but everyone sort of knew tonight's get-together was sort of a welcome back party for her. Miller let her pick the music, then complained when she requested something he didn't like; Jasper offered her some of his best pot, which she politely declined; the girls all wanted to play with her hair, and even Murphy was nice enough to give up his beanbag and let her lounge there for a few minutes. Once he told her time was up, though, she had to go back to the couch.

Octavia and Lincoln showed up right when Bellamy was pulling the pizza out of the oven. Octavia took one whiff and exclaimed, "Did you use Mom's sauce recipe?"

"Of course," he replied, winking at her.

Cooking. Yet another thing Bellamy Blake was randomly good at. Clarke had no cooking abilities, nor did she have any desire to learn, so she was perfectly content to just sit back and watch him work. Because he looked good tossing that salad, and he looked good sprinkling parmesan cheese all over those breadsticks, and he looked good slicing that pizza.

She was thirsty for him.

By the time he was done, it looked like Olive Garden up in that kitchen, smelled like it, too. All his friends piled over each other to be the first one at the pizza, and since Murphy took three pieces, they ran out. Bellamy seemed to have anticipated this, though, as he already had a second pizza in the oven.

Clarke hung towards the back of what could very loosely be defined as a line, but she didn't need to. Bellamy already had a plate ready to go for her, even though he didn't have one for himself.

"This looks good," she said, inhaling the Italian aroma as she headed back over to the couch.

He sat down beside her while his friends ransacked the kitchen, and she felt sort of bad being the one eating when he'd done all the cooking. She tried to give him one of her breadsticks, but he just said, "I'll get one later," and put his arm around her.

"Where'd you learn how to cook?" she asked, blowing on her pizza slice to cool it off. "Your mom?"

"Yeah, kind of," he replied. "She worked nights at this factory, though, while I was growin' up, so I had to make dinner for O a lot."

"Oh." That made sense, she supposed, with what she knew about Bellamy's childhood. He didn't speak about it with resentment or anything like that, but it seemed pretty clear to her that he'd had to be a lot more than just a regular big brother. He'd been the man of the house at a very young age, so given that fact, maybe it wasn't surprising that he was so skilled at so many things.

"Is it good?" he asked as he watched her eat.

Her mouth was full, so all she could do was nod and say, "Mmm-hmm."

"The salad probably sucks. I don't eat salad a whole lot."

"No, it's all good," she assured him. The fact that Bellamy had gone to all the trouble of making an entire meal for everyone, though, was probably his way of contributing to the welcome back celebration. He didn't say that that was what it was, but she kind of suspected.

Most of their friends ate themselves to the point of being sick—Harper, all toned with her six-pack, even complained about having a food baby in her flat stomach. But Clarke, what with her thirst for Bellamy being at the forefront of her brain, limited her consumption. She was intent on having a great deal of sex with him tonight, and she didn't want any stomachache derailing that plan. Bellamy didn't eat much, either, mostly because, by the time he finally got around to fixing himself up a plate, there was barely anything left.

Since everyone was weighed down with food and no one felt like dancing or wrestling or doing all the other crazy things they usually did, they ended up just turning on the TV. Finding something everyone could agree on watching was nearly impossible, especially with Murphy in charge of the remote; so while their friends bickered and argued with each other and just generally attacked Murphy for his poor viewing choices, Clarke and Bellamy made out on the couch. Nothing major, obviously, because Octavia was there. But eventually, Bellamy's tongue got a little too rambunctious, leading Octavia to yell, "Ew, could you guys stop? Ugh!"

Nothing 'ugh' about it, Clarke thought, reluctantly tearing her mouth away from Bellamy's. Kissing technique. That was another chapter for his hypothetical how-to manual.

Even though Murphy lobbied hard for softcore porn, he was outvoted on account of there being two gay men and a sibling pair in the room. Miller eventually just wrestled the remote out of his hands and turned on Family Guy, which, it seemed, was something everyone could enjoy. Most of them lay on the floor, but Miller and Jackson curled up in the recliner, both of them looking like they could fall asleep early after a long day of work. Jasper wandered over to the kitchen table at some point, possibly mistaking it for a bed as he climbed up on top of it and lay down on his side. The snoring started almost instantly, and Maya even brought a blanket over to her boyfriend and covered him up.

Clarke didn't have anything against Family Guy, but it hadn't been her first choice. Truth was, no matter what TV show they'd settled on, it wouldn't have held her interest. The only thing she could think about was the man beside her, whose jeans seemed to have gotten a little tighter around the crotch once they'd started making out. She waited until the commercials, when chatter rose up among all the others, to attempt to casually broach a subject she'd put off addressing for days.

"Hey, so the other night at my place," she said, "when we . . . you know."

"Had sex?" he filled in.

"Yeah." She didn't know why she was embarrassed to say it when she was having so much of it. "Well, I didn't really give it much thought at the time, but . . ." She lowered her voice, glad to find that everyone was absorbed in a joke Monty was telling and wouldn't overhear her. "You didn't wear a condom," she informed him.

"Oh." His eyebrows darted up in surprise. "Yeah, I didn't think about it, either. Hmm." He thought about it for a moment now and shrugged helplessly. "Sorry."

"No, that's okay," she said. "I mean, I'm on the pill, obviously. I just wondered . . . is that a thing we're doing now?"

"Is it something you wanna do?" he asked back.

"Well, not like regularly or anything." Maybe an exception could be made for his birthday or New Year's or something like that. "I mean, we probably shouldn't."

"Right," he agreed. "No, I get it."

"Is that okay?"

"It's fine," he said. "Damn, no wonder it felt so good, though."

She whacked his shoulder playfully, and the commercial break ended, allowing the episode to resume. Their friends quieted down a bit, just lightly buzzing amongst themselves while, for the most part, they watched the show, laughed at the jokes, and tried to figure out who in their group was the Meg.

"It felt good to me, too," Clarke whispered to Bellamy. "I mean, not just because it was condom-less. Because it was very . . ." Try as she might, she still couldn't find the right word to describe what that night had been like for her.

"Brief," he supplied. "Not my longest performance."

"Well . . ." Fine, that much was true.

"You didn't even cum that night, did you?"

"No. But it was still good."

"Shh!" Murphy shushed them loudly. "I can't appreciate crude humor if you two are constantly yakking."

"Shut up, Murphy," Bellamy growled. And, as usual, that seemed to do the trick. "It was nice," Bellamy agreed, keeping his voice low and quiet as he grazed his hands up and down Clarke's bare thigh. Despite how chilly it was getting outside, she'd worn a skirt tonight, just to give him easy access, because . . . well, she wanted him to have easy access. That was the thirst at play again.

"I hope you don't think it's gonna be like that every time, though," he went on.

She tilted her head to the side curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, like tonight, when all these people leave?" He locked eyes with her, staring at her seductively. "I fully intend to throw you over my shoulder, carry you up those stairs, toss you down on the bed, and fuck you like you've never been fucked before."

Holy mother of god, she thought, feeling her insides clench with anticipation. "Oh my god."

"You like that, huh?"

"Yeah." Bellamy could be the sweetest guy in the world sometimes, but when he decided it was time to throw down, he could turn it on like no one else she'd ever known before. "We might have to try some of that dirty talk stuff a little more," she said.

"Ah, it's overrated," he declared dismissively. "Besides, that's more of the whole 'bad girl' thing."

"I can be bad." She tried to make a sassy, pouty face, but it just kind of morphed back into a smile.

"No, you're good," he said, chuckling lightly. Leaning over, he murmured, "You're such a good girl, remember?" and kissed her cheek.

That simple kiss combined with those simple words . . . it did something to her. Maybe it was a praise kink, as Raven had called it, or maybe it was just the way he said it. Whatever it was, it made the juncture between her legs feel a little slicker. "God, Bellamy," she said.

"What?"

It wasn't surprising that she was getting turned on by that, but sitting in a room full of other people perhaps wasn't the best place for it. "Just hearing you say that," she replied, smiling sheepishly, "makes me wet."

"Really?" He quickly scanned the room, apparently convinced that no one was watching them, because he subtly slipped his left hand underneath her skirt and touched her panties. "Wow." He gave her a few good strokes, then removed his hand.

And now I'm just getting wetter, Clarke thought, mesmerized by his daring hands, by the way he'd literally just felt her up with no one noticing.

"Well, in that case . . ." He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "You're such a sexy girl."

Oh god, this was just getting out of control. She felt herself getting so wet, there was surely about to be evidence of it on that couch if she didn't get some kind of . . . thirst-quencher. "Bellamy," she said, rubbing her legs together wantonly, "I can't wait."

He stared at her with a look of wonder and intrigue in his eyes. "No?"

"No." Normally she had more self-restraint than this, but her hormones were just out of control. Maybe subconsciously she was trying to make up for the seven day drought without him, because all she could think about was getting him naked and getting him inside her. But the night was still young, and these people would likely be over here for a while, possibly watching one episode of this stupid show right after another . . .

"Let's go," Bellamy decided, shooting to his feet. He pulled Clarke up, too, and they scurried up the stairs, completely obvious about what they were going to go do.

"There they go," Miller narrated, unsurprised.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Murphy muttered.

Even though he didn't follow through on his plan to carry her up those stairs, Bellamy did seem fully intent on following through with his promise to make it a wild time. He managed to get her completely undressed before they even reached his bedroom, and once inside, he kicked the door shut loudly. He made good on his idea about throwing her down on the bed, and his problematic headboard lurched forward when he did so.

"Take your shirt off," she told him when she noticed his fingers getting right to work on his pants.

He grabbed his t-shirt at the hem and pulled it over his head swiftly. Yeah, that was one good masculine chest right there. She loved Bellamy's build. He had defined muscles but wasn't bulky like a bodybuilder. No, he was a lot leaner than that. And his skin . . . seriously, how had his parents' genetics combined to create that skin tone? Plus, the freckles. Even though most of them were on his face, they were still kind of everywhere.

Everywhere.

"Come here," he said, grabbing hold of her ankles, pulling her over to the side of the bed. He pressed her knees up towards her chest, getting her positioned exactly how he wanted her: on her back, legs spread at the perfect height for him to stand next to that bed and drive into her.

"Condom," she reminded him as he pushed his jeans and underwear down past his knees.

"I know." He grabbed one off his nightstand—god, just how horny were they that they had a box of condoms just sitting out there in full view?—and quickly sheathed himself, bending his knees so he could press the tip of his cock against her entrance. Then, holding onto her calves with both hands, he slammed inside roughly, making her whole body jolt.

"Oh!" she cried out, having to instantly stretch to accommodate his girth. There was no foreplay, no easing her into it this time, no going slow. Nope. He'd told her he was going to fuck her, and that was exactly what he was already doing.

"Shit," he swore as he began moving his hips into her.

"Oh god." Thankfully, her natural lubrication made it easy for him to establish his rhythm and give her long, hard thrusts right away.

He moaned—and she could count on one hand the number of times she'd heard Bellamy Blake legitimately moan—as he pounded her. It was a loud moan, too, the kind that echoed off the walls of that bedroom in time with the squeaking of his mattress. "Fuck," he swore, penetrating deep enough and hard enough that the skin of his thighs slapped against the back of hers.

Clarke was faintly aware that, downstairs, Octavia was shrieking, "That's disgusting, Bellamy! I can hear everything you're doing!" but that was nowhere near enough to make her consider stopping.

"That's too bad," Bellamy decided, likewise undeterred. He leaned forward a bit, pressing his hands down hard on the back of her knees, and kept pushing her legs further backward, opening her up to him even more. Clarke wasn't especially flexible, so it wasn't the most comfortable position. But even though there was some slight discomfort, the knowledge that it was Bellamy who was the one stretching her like this was enough to make her relish it.

"Oh . . ." she purred as he continued to fuck her. It felt like he was going really deep this time, maybe due to the position or just due to the power of his thrusts. He kept leaning forward, hovering so far over her that her legs had nowhere else to go but up over his shoulders. God, she was gonna be sore tomorrow.

"Fuck, Clarke," he grunted, grabbing hold of her hips to yank her back towards the edge of the bed.

"Ah!" she yelled, wincing in some pain when she felt something she hadn't ever felt before. It just felt like there no room for him left to go, and she could literally feel his balls slapping against her ass. "Ow, Bellamy," she whimpered.

"What?" He immediately stopped and moved his hips back a bit, alleviating some of that 'full' feeling. "You okay?"

She took a second to breathe and try to relax her muscles again. "Yeah."

"Did I hurt you?"

She knew how concerned Bellamy would be about that, probably to the point where he'd stop altogether, and she didn't want that to happen. "I'm fine," she reassured him, moving her legs off his shoulders strictly for comfort reasons. "Keep going."

"You sure?" he asked.

"Uh-huh." She tried unsuccessfully to roll her hips against him, but he was very much the dominant one in this position, so it was kind of up to him to start moving again.

He thrust forward again, not all the way this time, and his pace had slowed significantly.

"Bellamy, fuck me," she urged, feeling like she could get off pretty quickly if he just kept pounding her. Maybe not quite as deep as he'd just been, but . . . going pretty deep was still fine. She liked feeling him inside her. It was a rush.

Bellamy was pretty much in a haze, even though he had broken out of it long enough to check on her. He soon did resume the pace of his thrusts, really doing her, and even brought his thumb down to massage her clit while he did so. The sensations started to overwhelm Clarke, and there was no doubt she'd be cumming in no time. "Oh god, Bellamy . . ."

"Clarke, my headboard," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"It's gonna fall over." He was still fucking her, but his eyes were fixated up on the top of his bed now.

She didn't care if it fell over. She just wanted to get off on this. "Don't stop," she begged.

"Clarke-"

"Please." If he just kept touching her, she'd get there in no time.

"Shit, Clarke." All of a sudden he lifted her up off the bed, right as the headboard came crashing down. The wood made a horrible splintering sound, and half of it landed on the pillows, just above where her head had been. The whole bedframe kind of a shifted, and the mattress sank down slightly on Bellamy's side.

Somehow, though, thankfully, miraculously, he was still inside her. The only difference was that now he was holding her up. "Ah, this works," he decided, locking his arms tightly around her to hold her in place while he fucked up into her.

Later that night, with the bed out of commission, they lay on the floor, a big comforter he'd dug out of the back of his closet underneath them. He'd stripped the sheets off his bed, and she'd grabbed the pillows, so now, the floor was pretty much converted into a bed. It wasn't quite as comfortable, but it would do. Hell, Clarke would've slept out on the street as long as Bellamy had been with her. After sex, she just liked being with him, being close to him, keeping some kind of physical contact.

"So what was that called," she asked, using her finger to trace invisible drawings on his bare back, "where I felt really . . . filled up?"

"Bottoming out," he replied, his head pillowed on both arms.

"I think Raven likes that." She remembered hearing the terminology before but never actually experiencing the sensation herself. "Do you like it?" she questioned him.

"Well, yeah," he confessed. "I basically got to put my entire dick inside you, so yeah, I thought it felt great."

The thought of him being that deep inside her was both head-spinning and exhilarating. She'd gone from being able to handle about half of Bellamy's cock during their first time together to this? Crazy. "It only hurt a little," she assured him, tracing light hearts on his back.

"That's 'cause I fucked it up," he said. "I did it wrong."

"What?" She'd never heard Bellamy speak about his bedroom performance with anything but the utmost pride and confidence before.

"Yeah, you're supposed to go slow," he said. "I wasn't even tryin' to . . . but, you know, I was caught up in it, so it just happened."

She sensed that he was feeling a little bad about the whole thing. He'd been quieter tonight than he normally was, not quite so flirty and definitely not so willing to do it all again. "It's fine," she reassured him. "We can try it again sometime."

"No, we don't have to."

"I want to." She liked the thought of being able to take all of Bellamy. It wasn't easy, that was for sure, but it was worth it to at least try.

"Well, we'll see," he said. "What're you drawing on my back, by the way?"

What was she drawing now? She kept switching it up. "Property of Clarke Griffin," she teased.

"Oh, really?"

"No, I'm drawing a cat."

He wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

"I'm seriously drawing a cat," she said.

"Why?"

"I don't know." She'd pretended to draw lots of things. If he'd allowed her to use that Sharpie in his drawer, his back and shoulder blades would have been a mural by now.

"You're weird," he remarked.

"I thought I was sexy."

"Weirdly sexy." He smiled drowsily, looking like he could fall asleep any minute now. Clarke was actually feeling a bit tired herself, but she also felt kind of . . . sore. The more she lay there, the more everything was starting to hurt, and she kept having to move around to try to get comfortable.

She rolled over onto her back, first trying to stretch out, then brought her knees upward when that didn't make her feel any better.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"I just can't really get comfy," she said, trying to arch her back. "I have cramps."

"Oh, is it that time?" Being a guy, he started to lean away, as if period cramps were contagious or something.

"No, I just kinda hurt," she said. "My stomach hurts. My back hurts. I have cramps."

He frowned worriedly.

"We've had a lot of sex, Bellamy," she pointed out. "I think it's all just catching up to me."

"No," he said, rolling over onto his back, sighing heavily. "This is my fault, too. This happens sometimes after . . . that happens."

He sounded sure, so maybe he'd had some prior experience with this. "So . . . I have cramps because you bottomed out?" she said.

"Pretty much." He cringed. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay." It was definitely a reasonable explanation, what with him possibly hitting some things inside he hadn't hit before. Ultimately, on a pain scale of one to ten, though, this was a very minor four, more annoying than it was actually painful. "It's not that bad."

He, however, seemed to think it was that bad, because he got right up, grumbling, "Can't even get in the bed right now" frustratedly. He surveyed the headboard, shaking his head in defeat, and sat down on the mattress, testing it out. It sank even more under his weight, so maybe it wasn't just the headboard that had given out. Maybe there was something underneath, too, that needed to be repaired.

"I'm just breakin' everything tonight," he lamented. "Maybe I can fix it."

"No, Bellamy." She frowned. "Can't you just lay with me?" As sweet as it was that he wanted to fix his bed so she could get comfortable in it, the most comfortable thing of all was just to have his arms around her. As long as she had that, she'd start to feel better.

"Okay, give me a minute," he said. "Wait here."

She was a little surprised that he just headed out of the bedroom without a stitch of clothing on, but she figured he had some sort of plan in mind. She heard him doing something out there. Moving something, perhaps? It was hard to say.

When he came back into the room a few minutes later, he said, "Alright, come here," and knelt down next to her, scooping her up into his arms. "I got you," he said, wrapping the both of them up in that big white comforter. He managed to stand up and carry her out to . . . a bed. A bed that was usually just a ratty old green couch.

"I didn't know this was a fold-out couch," she remarked randomly.

"Actually, it's Miller's fold-out couch," he said, first sitting down with her, then lying down. He kept them both wrapped up in that comforter, their bare chests mating, but she had a feeling she'd be even more comfortable if he spooned up to her from behind, so she turned over onto her opposite side.

"Mmm, this feels better," she murmured.

"Yeah? That's good." He seemed to want to make sure the comforter was pulled up all the way over her shoulders and that his arms were wrapped securely around her waist, holding her close. "Maybe we can break this one, too," he joked.

She laughed a little, but not too much because . . . yeah, things were still a little sore. A few minutes of this, though, and she'd probably feel a million times better.

"Can I ask you something?" he announced suddenly.

"Sure." She realized what he was doing before he even started doing it. He was going to get her talking about something else to get her mind off of how tense her abdominal muscles felt.

"How'd you ever get into art?" he inquired. "Because you'd say you're a logical person, right? You're a thinker; you have plans. You use your head, have a sense of control in your life."

"Right." Well, that certainly showed that he knew her. Because even though her plans weren't always set in stone, they did exist. And even though she'd tried not to overthink things and use her head too much these past few weeks, she still found herself doing so from time to time.

"Well, aren't artists supposed to be the opposite of that? Like really free-spirited?"

If she could have, she would have shrugged. "Sometimes."

"And when we're together . . . I'm not sayin' we've got 50 Shades of Blake goin' on or anything . . ."

She couldn't help but laugh at that.

". . . but you don't seem to mind relinquishing some of the control to me."

"Well, you're more experienced," she pointed out. "Plus, truth be told, Bellamy . . ." She found his forearms beneath the comforter, tracing her fingertips across his skin in more lazy patterns and designs. "I got into art at a young age because it was the one thing I could do where I could shut my brain off and not think and not overanalyze. I could just do it and try it and see how it turned out."

"Hmm." He nuzzled his face against the back of her neck. "Sounds familiar."

"Exactly, right? That's kind of how I feel with you. Because when I'm with you, I don't feel worried about all the things I can't control. I don't feel like I have to have everything figured out. I just feel . . ." Her eyes fluttered closed, so heavy, so tired, and she struggled to find the right word. "Happy," she finally decided on. Because even though it was a generic word, it was also important. And accurate. "I'm happy, Bellamy."

She was way too tired to elaborate, too tired to do anything other than lie there in his arms and slowly fall asleep. But as she was drifting off, she did feel him press a kiss to the top of her head and whisper, "I'm happy, too."