Chapter 38
David's Bridal had more than just bridal gowns. It had bridesmaids' dresses, too, which made it the perfect spot to shop. Octavia arranged a time for all the girls to visit and informed them that she hadn't made any decisions yet, so any color or style was still a possibility. The most important thing, of course, was finding her a dress, but Clarke didn't see the harm in prioritizing the bridesmaids' dresses, too. She'd never actually been a bridesmaid before, but she'd heard horror stories about frilly pink dresses and bright blue gowns with matching blue feathered hats. Surely (hopefully) Octavia had better taste than that. She wore a lot of dark colors, so Clarke was hoping to talk her and the other girls into a dark blue or dark purple. Both of those colors would surely be flattering enough on all four of them.
From the moment they started browsing, they let their concerns be known.
"I look horrible in halters," Emori stated.
"Spaghetti straps do nothing for me," Harper added.
"I can't wear anything not cinched at the waste," Maya said.
"If I wear a strapless dress, my boobs will fall out," Clarke blurted, shrugging. It wasn't an exaggeration, either. There was one particularly horrifying memory from her National Honor Society induction ceremony her junior year of high school that still brought tears to her eyes.
"Okay, congrats, you've reduced yourselves to wearing a burlap sack at my wedding," Octavia informed them.
"Sorry to be picky," Emori apologized on their behalf. "But none of our guys have even thought about popping the question. We wanna look good so they, you know, realize they can't live without us."
"Actually, I just don't want my boobs to fall out," Clarke mumbled. Talk about taking attention away from the bride . . .
"We'll find something for you guys," Octavia said, looking around the huge store where an endless array of dresses were on display. "And then we'll find something for me." She patted her rounded stomach and dramatically bemoaned, "Somehow."
"We'll find you something," Clarke said confidently. Octavia wasn't even that big, at least not big all over. She had the whole perfect round little basketball of a belly going on, which was so unfair. Probably the only other place she'd gained weight was her boobs, and she didn't seem too disappointed about that.
They tried on countless gowns, each gravitating towards their own distinct taste. Clarke liked anything blue, particularly styles with a lot of support up top. Harper didn't mind the color, as long as the dress had some sort of slit up the side to show off some leg. Maya was the most conservative of them all and seemed to favor girly colors like red and pink, and Emori was the one who wanted to push the envelope and wear midriff dresses or something with lace or sheer or cutouts on the sides.
It took a while, but eventually Octavia found a dress that she thought would look good on all of them. It was plum-colored, long and flowy with a slit like Harper wanted and a high-waisted cinch like Maya wanted. The bodice was lacy, which Emori liked, and had sleeves that went to the shoulders, so Clarke wouldn't worry about popping out of it. It was flattering on all of them, comfortable, and something that wouldn't steal the attention away from whatever Octavia was wearing. Plus, it was affordable, which the girls were relieved about.
Finding a dress for Octavia proved to be a much harder challenge, however. There were some maternity dresses to choose from, sure, but not exactly a wide variety. Everything was either too obnoxiously tight or too loose and flowy for her taste. "I look like a hippie!" she complained as she twirled around in front of the mirror. "This so isn't me." The next dress she tried on proved to be all wrong, too, and not one of them could even pretend to like it. It was long-sleeved and looked like an Elizabethan nightgown. Octavia described it as, "Freakin' pioneer woman!" before stomping back into her changing room and growling, "I hate this!"
They each tried their best to locate a suitable dress for her, and Clarke finally decided to branch out of the maternity section and just look at the plus-size dresses instead. Octavia was a small girl, even with the baby bump. So she found a simple white halter dress that she thought might fit, checked the price to make sure it wasn't too expensive for Octavia to afford, and brought it to her friend to try on. The poor girl was sitting in her changing room in a pool of dresses that simply "would not work," as she proclaimed. She looked close to tears.
"Here," Clarke said, handing her the halter gown.
"Thanks," Octavia said forlornly. "What do you bet this one looks like crap, too?"
"Just try it on," Clarke suggested, giving her an encouraging smile as she walked out of the room.
She'd only taken a few steps when Octavia called her name questioningly. "Clarke?"
She turned back around.
Octavia made a face, inquiring, "Why are you walking funny?"
Because I just had anal sex last night, Clarke thought, well aware that she'd sort of been . . . waddling all day. There was a definitely soreness going on, not that she was complaining. She'd loved being with Bellamy in a new way.
"I'm not walking funny," she said as innocently as she could manage.
"Yes, you are," Octavia insisted. "What, did you and my brother . . ." She trailed off as Clarke cringed. "Oh, ew, gross," she said, shuddering and sticking her tongue out in in disgust. "Blagh." She swung the door shut, and Clarke sighed, relieved that she wouldn't have to give any details.
"You are walking funny," Emori noted, shuffling past with two white dresses slung over her arm. "Did you take it up the butt or something?"
Before Clarke could deny it—hey, that was her and Bellamy's business, and nobody else needed to know—Octavia yelled, "I can hear you!" from inside her dressing room.
Clarke shrugged exaggeratedly.
"You totally did," Emori mumbled, heading towards a room of her own.
"Where are you going?" Clarke asked her.
"Duh, I'm trying on wedding dresses," Emori replied. "I used to never think I'd get married, but . . ." She blushed, shrugging. "Well, you know."
"Oh, I know exactly what you mean," Harper said, coming their way with a dress of her own. It definitely looked to be for her and not for Octavia. "I'm gonna try some on, too."
Maya was the next to follow, and she had three dresses. "Yeah, it'll be fun," she said, handing one to Clarke. "Here, this one's for you."
"Oh, no," Clarke said, shaking her head, reluctant to indulge in the same girly fantasies they were. "I—I don't . . ."
"Just try it," Emori said, slipping into the room adjacent to Octavia's. "It'll look good."
"This is so fun!" Harper squealed, squeezing in with Emori. "You're gonna have to zip me up," she warned.
Clarke glanced around helplessly, standing there with a wedding dress in her hand that she never would have picked out for herself. She had her purple bridesmaid dress on order. All they had to do was make a few alterations to the bust-line of the sample size, and she was good to go. There was no need to try anything else on. At all.
"Maya, I can't," she said, trying to hand the dress back.
"Come on, Clarke," Maya urged. "It's just for fun." She skipped off to the empty dressing room across from the other two and smiled as she shut the door.
Clarke sighed frustratedly, looking down at the white dress Maya had picked out for her. On top, it had a similar look to the bridesmaid dress, except instead of lace, the bodice was covered with some kind of sheer material. And the bottom was big and poofy. Like obnoxiously so.
Even though she felt like she shouldn't have, Clarke stepped into a dressing room of her own and reluctantly put the dress on. There was so much fabric that she practically got lost in it, but she finally found her way out the top. It fit . . . well. Really well, actually. It was the kind of dress that wouldn't even need altering. She could move in it, she could breathe, but it still matched the curves of her figure. It wasn't so long that she would step on it, and the train wasn't so drawn out that someone else would, either.
The other girls came out of their rooms, beginning to chatter, mostly about Octavia's dress, which she unenthusiastically declared as, "the one that's gonna have to do." But it was only a matter of time until they started babbling about each other's dresses, too. Clarke heard Harper say that Murphy would drool if he saw Emori in that dress, and Emori said that Monty would cry if he saw Harper in hers. Octavia said Maya looked adorable and that Jasper would think so, too, if he wasn't stoned and could actually see straight.
Then they started to whine for her to come out. "Clarke! Come on, come show us."
She smoothed her hands up and down her sides, then fluffed out the bottom a bit. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she kind of felt like . . .
. . . well, like a princess.
This was a bad idea, she thought, hesitatingly stepping out of the dressing room. The minute she did, all the girls gasped, their mouths dropping open. "Oh my god!" Harper exclaimed.
"What?" Clarke asked. Did she look . . . bad?
"You look so pretty!" Maya squealed.
"Damn," Emori said. "That dress is, like, tailor-made for you."
"No," she denied, shaking her head. She cast a quick glance at Octavia, who was just smiling. "Maybe you should try this one," she suggested. "It's so big on the bottom, it'd disguise . . . everything."
"Nah, I think I've tried on enough wedding dresses for one lifetime," Octavia said. "Besides, that's . . ." She trailed off, eyes glazing over for a moment as though she were thinking about something.
"You should seriously get that," Emori suggested. "Snatch it up before someone else does."
"Oh, right," Clarke said sarcastically. "Can you imagine Bellamy's horror if I dragged home a wedding dress? I don't even want him to see me in this."
"Too late," Octavia said, and Clarke heard a camera click.
"O!" she yelped, shielding her face when she glanced over and saw her friend poised with a camera. When she remembered that Bellamy was the only one who could get away with calling her that, she amended, "Octavia!" but kept the same exasperation in her voice. "Don't sent that to him."
Octavia shrugged unapologetically. "I just did."
"What?" she shrieked. Oh, this was just great. How the hell was she going to explain this to him?
"Relax," Octavia said. "Just tell him it was an April Fool's joke or something."
Clarke's stomach clenched; she had to get out of that dress. "I'm gonna change," she announced, waddling back into the dressing room as fast as her poofy gown and sore legs would allow her to.
That night, she sat with Bellamy on the couch, trying to be cool and play it off as an April Fool's joke like Octavia had suggested. Bellamy seemed content to believe that, so it was fine. No big deal. But he did tease her about it mercilessly.
"Seriously, Clarke, I know you caught the bouquet at Lexa's wedding, but this is a little much."
"I know, it's just . . . everyone was trying dresses on, and they made me try one on, too, and-"
"Oh, they made you, huh?" he cut in.
"Yes!" she insisted, then rolled her eyes. "Okay, no, not really, but . . . coerced. That's the word I'm looking for. They coerced me."
He took a look at the picture on his phone and squinted as though he were trying to see something straight. "Is that one dress or two?"
"One. It's very big," she explained.
"Well, I know you like big things." He grinned at her, then set his phone down on the arm of the couch and gently pushed her onto her back, lying down on top of her.
"Bellamy!" she squealed, giggling as his fingers tickled her sides lightly. He silenced all those giggles with a kiss, though, and she felt her heart flutter in her chest. As it often did with him.
She definitely would have kept kissing him had Murphy not strolled out of his bedroom and grumbled, "God, breaking beds wasn't enough; you have to break the couch, too?"
Clarke tore her mouth away from Bellamy's and told him, "We're not breaking anything."
"Yet," Bellamy mumbled, his mouth fixating its delightfully sinister attention on her neck now.
"Well, take it easy. I like that couch," Murphy said, pulling open the refrigerator. He looked around inside of it for an obscenely long amount of time, and Clarke kind of thought Bellamy might stop being so frisky, or at least tone it down. But his hands were sliding up under her shirt, and she couldn't help but loop hers around his neck to tangle in his hair. They wouldn't really have sex down here, not with Murphy being home, so they were probably going to have to take it upstairs soon before they got too obnoxious.
She had her eyes closed and was totally enjoying the feeling of Bellamy's hot, wet mouth on her skin when she heard the refrigerator door shut. Murphy came into the living room with a beer in hand, and even Bellamy had to stop as his friend pulled up his beanbag chair right next to the couch and sat down. "Carry on," he said, popping open the tab.
"What the hell do you want?" Bellamy grumbled, lifting his head to glare at him. "We're busy."
"Oh, you're gettin' busy," Murphy said, taking a swig of his beer. "Please, don't stop on my account."
Bellamy groaned, sitting up, and Clarke pushed herself up, too. "Murphy," she said sternly. "You are not watching us have sex."
"Wouldn't be the first time—forget I said that," Murphy said quickly. "I was just gonna ask you guys somethin'."
Bellamy both looked and sounded impatient when he spat, "What?"
Murphy took another drink, then looked to Clarke and asked, "Are you movin' in here?"
She froze for a second, taken aback by the question. But she managed an answer quickly enough. "No," she said, having flashbacks to when Raven had asked her about this. Why did these people just assume it was inevitable? She and Bellamy weren't even . . . they weren't . . .
"Why do you even care?" Bellamy asked back.
"Well, because Miller and Jackson are probably gonna get their own place this summer," Murphy explained, "so I was thinkin' we'd need another roommate. Someone who'd actually pay rent, 'cause, you know, I don't do that."
Bellamy grunted. "I noticed."
"So I was thinking of asking Emori to move in with us, but if Clarke's already gonna be here, that might be a little too much feminine energy."
Clarke chuckled. "Your girlfriend's not exactly a girly-girl."
"Oh, yeah, then what's this I hear about wedding dresses today?" Murphy challenged.
Clarke bit her lip and looked away.
"You can ask Emori to move in if you want," Bellamy told him. "You're right, we will need someone else paying rent if Miller moves out."
"But if Clarke moves in-" Murphy started again.
"I'm not," she cut him off abruptly. That was . . . pretty clear.
"Are you sure?" Murphy pressed.
She shot Bellamy a glance, because . . . well, she needed his help on this. If it was just up to her, then no, she wasn't sure. If it was just up to her, she'd pack up everything in her apartment and bring it on over as soon as she could, because she liked it so much better over here anyway.
"She's not moving in," Bellamy told him calmly, evenly.
"Oh. Okay." Murphy thought about that for a moment, then made a face and asked, "Why the hell not?"
"Because I—I have my own apartment," Clarke stuttered in response.
"We hang out over there sometimes," Bellamy added.
"Sometimes," she agreed. Like once or twice a month, but whatever.
"Yeah, but . . ." Murphy gave Bellamy a look. "She practically lives here. And if you don't believe me . . ." He set his beer down and got up, heading back into the kitchen. "Exhibit A," he said, pulling open the freezer and taking out a box of frozen food delight Clarke was very familiar with. "Hot Pockets. Pretty sure we never had Hot Pockets here until the girl who couldn't cook started stayin' over all the time."
"Hey!" Clarke yelped, only halfway taking offense at that.
"Exhibit B . . ." Murphy came back into the living room, reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out a tiny black thong Clarke recognized as one of his own and twirled it around his index finger. "I found this on the back of my t-shirt this morning. Must've gotten stuck there in the laundry."
"Give me that," Bellamy said, seizing it back from him. Rather than giving it to Clarke, though, he tried to pocket it himself.
"Bellamy, that's mine," she said, trying to get it back from him, but he held his arm out, keeping it out of her reach. She practically climbed on him, trying to get it. "What're you gonna do with it, huh?"
"Start a collection," he proposed.
Murphy smirked. "Nice."
"Give it!" She finally managed to take it away from him and stuffed it in the back pocket of her jeans.
"Anyway, Exhibit C," Murphy continued on. "I'm pretty sure you already have a key."
"Of course she has a key," Bellamy muttered. "Look, Murphy, Clarke's not moving in. So if you wanna ask Emori to move in with us, then that's fine. Go for it." He got up and strode into the kitchen, probably to cook something for dinner. Not Hot Pockets.
It all sounded so . . . definitive. Like the decision was made and would not change. Clarke wondered if he'd even thought about it, even considered it just once the way she had.
"Don't worry," Murphy said, sounding almost . . . sympathetic. "He'll change his mind."
Clarke first looked up at him, then glanced into the kitchen and watched as Bellamy meandered around. For Murphy of all people to say that, she must have looked really sad. Or at the very least, disappointed.
She hadn't meant to look that way.
...
Since plenty of her coworkers had volunteered to fill in for her when she'd gone on her road trip, Clarke felt obligated to return the favor and fill in for one of the girls who got sick that week. It meant she'd basically be working a double shift at the museum, a full morning and a full afternoon, but on a day with no class, she figured she'd might as well. Her friends would be busy with class and work today, and Bellamy had a full slate of jobs around the neighborhood that he'd said would probably take him until 7:00 at night to get done. So Clarke figured she'd might as well stay busy, too. Maybe tonight, she could get Bellamy to take her out to eat or something.
She trudged inside the museum, still tired, yawning, and dropped her purse behind the front desk. Just as she was about to sit down and get comfortable, Dante poked his head out from his office and called, "Clarke?"
She whipped her head around.
"Do you have a minute?" He motioned for her to come join him in there.
Oh, no, she thought, slowly standing up. This wasn't good. Her boss never called her into his office to talk. Maybe she wasn't the star employee, but she was a decent one. For two years now, she'd worked there without any major incidents or complaints. Hopefully he wasn't about to fire her, but her mind automatically went to that fear.
She closed the door once she set foot in his office, just in case that was the direction this conversation was going to go. Nervously, she took a seat in the chair across from his desk, feeling like a kid in the principal's office. Not that she'd ever been in the principal's office. Just that one time for tardies in junior high, but that had kind of just been a slap on the wrist.
"Is everything okay?" she asked hesitantly.
"Oh, yes, I just wanted to talk," Dante began. "Graduation's coming up soon. I'm sure you're excited about that."
"Oh, um . . . yeah, I guess," she replied, though she hadn't really given it much thought. Until it happened, she'd still feel like she had another year of college ahead of her. Once she donned that cap and gown and got the diploma she'd worked towards for four years, that was when it would seem real.
"It's a very big achievement, graduating college," Dante went on.
"Well . . . thank you." She wasn't really sure what else to say.
"You're welcome," he said. "I remember my college graduation, years and years ago. Everything was so different back then . . ."
Clarke sat there with a smile on her face and tried to listen while her boss droned on and on about his own graduation. He was a nice enough old man, but he was . . . well, old. Sometimes he started in on his stories and forgot to stop.
It wasn't until he asked, "Do you have any plans for the future?" that she stopped spacing out and truly became attentive again.
"Plans?" she echoed, stalling for time as she struggled to come up with something that might sound the slightest bit impressive. "Well, nothing's really set in stone yet."
"I saw your exhibit at the Trikru gallery," Dante noted. "Very impressive."
"Thank you."
"Do you hope to continue with your own artwork?"
"Well, I—I mean, I hope to," she said, but the logical part of her knew that it would be very hard to make a living as an artist. "But I always kind of thought I'd open up a studio of my own. Sell some of my work, and other people's, too."
Dante nodded thoughtfully. "I might have a job opportunity for you then."
"Really? Here?" She'd been under the impression that he didn't make it a habit of hiring graduates. It was an on campus museum after all, so the college pushed him to hire students.
"Not here, exactly," Dante clarified. "My granddaughter recently graduated last year with a double major in art and business management. She'd like to open a gallery, but she wants a business partner. The person she had in mind bowed out of the deal, so she asked me if I might know of anyone who would be interested." He smiled at her encouragingly. "Would you be interested, Clarke?"
Her eyebrows shot upward on her face. "Uh . . . yeah," she replied, even though the business side of running a business wasn't something she wasn't as experienced with. "I mean, I don't know if she'd wanna take a chance on someone straight out of college, but . . ."
"You have to start somewhere," Dante said. "My wife and I were straight out of college when we opened up our first gallery. We could barely scrape two pennies together, but we made it work."
Clarke laughed lightly. "Well, you made the most of it." From what she understood, Dante and his family were pretty well-off. Not unlike her and her family, but he was more of a self-made man rather than someone who had inherited his wealth.
"Now I can't guarantee anything," he said, "but if you'd like, I can put you in touch with my granddaughter. The two of you could talk, meet up, decide if this is something you'd want to pursue together."
"Yes," Clarke said, excitement bubbling up inside her as the very beginning of a plan for her future took shape. "Yes, thank you, that'd be . . . that'd be great." Getting into business with a partner was probably the perfect route for her to go. She could learn from the person who had majored in business management. And since they were both young, it wouldn't feel like she was working for someone; she'd be working with someone. She could still create her artwork, and she could provide a place for other artists to break into the business, too, just like Lincoln had provided for her. If she and this girl got along, then maybe it would be the ideal fit.
"Great, great," Dante said, scribbling down some information on a small piece of notepad paper for her. "She'll be happy to hear from you. She has a great location picked out, and she's ready to get going."
"So am I," Clarke said. Even though she'd enjoyed working here and had enjoyed college (for the most part), it was time for something new. Time to be an adult. Like for real.
"Here you go," Dante said, handing her his granddaughter's contact information.
Clarke took one look at it, and what jumped out at her was . . . the address. It definitely wasn't local. In fact, it was . . .
"Philadelphia?"
Dante nodded. "If you're looking to start a business, a big city is the ideal place."
She tried to smile, but inside . . . she was nervous. Philadelphia, she thought solemnly, not even sure how far away that was from here. The fact that she'd only been there once in her life probably meant it wasn't exactly close, and she was too young to remember it. All she knew about the place was that they had the cracked Liberty Bell and that there might or might not be a real statue of Rocky Balboa there.
Philadelphia. The excitement she'd felt mere seconds earlier vanished, replaced now with . . . well, something that felt very much like dread.
It was on her mind all day, weighing down heavily on the rest of her thoughts. Work was busy, luckily, with not only one but two elementary school tour groups, so the hours passed quickly. But once work was over and it was time to go home, Clarke felt . . . she wasn't sure how she felt, but whatever it was wasn't a particularly good feeling. She stuck Cecilia Wallace's contact information in her purse, determined to put it out of her mind and enjoy the evening.
She changed out of her uncomfortable work clothes in the car and then drove straight to Bellamy's, hoping he'd been able to finish up his work for the day and get home earlier than expected. His truck was parked out front, so that was a good sign.
When she walked in the front door, a loud "SURPRISE!" greeted her, nearly knocking her off her feet. All her friends were there, hiding behind the counter or the couch. But they jumped up when she came in, smiles on their faces, arms in the air. Murphy had on a stupid party hat and had a noisemaker, and someone—probably Bellamy—had taken the time to hang a happy birthday banner up in the kitchen. There was a cake on the counter with her name on it and twenty-two candles.
"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "You guys . . ." She was touched that they'd remembered. Nobody had said anything all day, not even Bellamy, and even though she hadn't for one second suspected he'd forgotten, she'd never imagined that he would get everyone together for a party. Raven and Roan were there, Niylah and Luna, and even Wells and his girlfriend, Sasha, along with the usual Saturday night crew, of course. The house was packed.
"Did we really surprise you?" Harper asked, skipping forward to place a tiara on Clarke's head.
"Yes." Clarke adjusted the tiara, wondering at first what it was for until she realized, "Oh, right, the princess."
"Damn right," Bellamy said, smiling at her as he came forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday, babe."
"Thanks." She wrapped an arm around his waist, snuggling into his side. "Did you do all this?"
"Everybody helped," he said modestly.
Murphy blew his noisemaker obnoxiously and bragged, "I made the cake."
"We all brought presents," Emori added, showing off quite the display of gifts next to her boyfriend's leg lamp on the kitchen table.
"And we all brought food," Monty added.
"But the whole party was Bellamy's idea," Octavia said, smiling at her big brother with approval.
All of her friends started to come forward to hug her as Miller started up the music, and Raven and Niylah made sure to tease, "Did you seriously think we wouldn't even text you on your birthday?"
"Well . . ." Clarke shrugged. She hadn't been intending to make a big deal out of it. Honestly, she'd figured she would ask Bellamy to take her out to eat or take her to go see a movie or something. Or to just . . . take her. Repeatedly. In various positions upstairs. And she was still going to ask for that last one. Just later.
The party wasn't really that much different than a regular Saturday night at the Blake-Murphy-Miller household, but it didn't need to be. Every Saturday night was awesome. They went outside and jumped around on the trampoline for a while, but Clarke jumped so hard, her tiara flew right off her head. Like a sexy superhero, Bellamy dove off the trampoline and retrieved it for her, promptly placing it back on top of her head before giving her a big kiss.
They ate and they drank, and while Miller and Lincoln had a very mismatched arm-wrestling contest, Clarke got to talk to Wells and Sasha, whom she'd only met a few times before. Sasha was the daughter of the governor of Delaware, and Wells and she planned to move to Dover after graduation.
Well. At least they had their plan for the future in place.
Clarke was having so much fun, though, that she was able to push the Philadelphia anxiety out of her mind for the most part that night. She had enough drinks that the girls were able to convince her to dance, and at one point, someone started a game of truth or dare that resulted in Jasper taking all his clothes off and streaking down the street. Clarke mainly stuck to truths, and her eyes got really wide when Emori asked, "So did you finally find out what a rim job is?" But when Octavia shrieked, "No, don't answer! I don't wanna know this!" Clarke just shrugged and said, "Look, I can't answer when the pregnant woman tells me not to." And she just left it at that.
By far the most interesting dare, to her, was the one that Bellamy took. (Of course Bellamy took a dare. He said it was basically just a game of dares for him.) Jackson dared him to do a striptease for Clarke, right there in front of everyone, and for a split second, he looked like he might not do it. He cast a curious glance at Clarke, and she just shrugged, not exactly opposed to the idea. As long as her clothes stayed on, she was fine if his came off.
"He's not gonna do it," Miller said tauntingly. "He's gonna wimp out."
Bellamy Blake was never one to back down from a challenge, though, and when Clarke saw that look of determination in his eyes, she knew he was going to go through with it. "Octavia, leave the room," he told his sister.
She rolled her eyes, already dragging her feet towards the bathroom. "It's fine, I have to go throw up anyway," she grumbled. Lincoln followed her, probably to hold her hair back for her.
The girls pulled out a chair for Clarke in the middle of the living room and told her to sit down, and Bellamy requested that Miller find a good song. Seconds later, the iconic beats of "Pony" came over the speakers, and all the girls laughed and hollered with delight.
"What the fuck is this, Magic Mike?" Bellamy spat.
"Woo!" Clarke exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly. Yeah, she was definitely into this. This was going to be a present all in its own right.
Bellamy shook his head, seemingly embarrassed, at least just a little bit, before he said, "Fuck it," and just went for it, moving from side to side in front of her with way more rhythm than she'd ever have. He snaked his torso from side to side and did these little pelvic thrusts that drove her wild, and apparently she wasn't the only one. Harper was already fanning herself, and Jackson was practically drooling. Raven yelled, "Go get it, Bellagio!" which just made him laugh and shake his head. Clearly, even though he'd been the one to ask for a dare, he couldn't believe he was doing this.
When he swung both legs over her lap and straddled her, that's when everyone roared with applause, and Clarke nearly collapsed into a fit of laughter. But as funny as it was for Bellamy to be giving her a legit lap dance right now, it was also hot as hell. The way he rolled his hips on top of her lap was totally mimicking the way he looked when he fucked her real good, and it was quite the turn-on to feel like she was trapped beneath him, couldn't get away even if she wanted to.
She didn't want to.
"Take it off!" one of the girls—probably Raven—hollered.
Bellamy shook his head again but didn't stop moving his hips suggestively for one second. He reached down with crossed arms, took the bottom of his t-shirt in both hands, and pulled it over his head in one swift motion. Of course, there was a thunder of cheers for that, and Clarke was pretty sure she heard Niylah say, "This is the best thing I've ever seen, and I'm not even straight."
"The things I do for you, Princess," Bellamy muttered, grinning at her as he whirled his shirt around in the air like a lasso. He ended up throwing it, and Clarke didn't see who caught it, because she was pretty distracted by his abs at this point.
When it came time for him to take his pants off, he reached down to unbutton his jeans, and Clarke's eyes widened, because . . . was he really going to go that far in front of his friends? He ended up shaking his index finger in a semi-scolding way instead, got off her lap, and said to everyone, "Hope you enjoyed the show."
They all clapped and cheered for him, and Octavia came out of the bathroom a few seconds later, barely peeking through the fingers that covered her eyes. "Is it over?" she asked fearfully.
"Yeah, it's over," Bellamy said. "Give me my shirt, Miller." When Miller wouldn't give it back, that of course escalated into a wrestling match, and the girls loved that, too. "Hell yes!" Raven shouted.
"Somebody get some oil," Emori suggested.
Unfortunately, the wrestling match was over before Clarke could full appreciate the sight of shirtless Bellamy rolling around with another man. Bellamy got his shirt back and put it on, which naturally elicited a groan of disappointment from everyone except the straight guys.
There was no specific set time for opening presents. Clarke opened a few at a time before the need to eat and drink—mostly drink—became everyone's priority again. Most of the gifts were art-related—she got so many colored pencil sets, she couldn't even keep them straight—but she appreciated that everyone was nice enough to get her something when they were all on a much stricter budget than she was. Niylah's gift was one of the highlights, as she knew Clarke well and knew that she would enjoy the blue and white floral sundress she'd picked out for her. It was super cute and flowy, and Clarke had to duck upstairs to put it on. When she came back down, Niylah exclaimed, "See? I knew you'd look so good in that."
Bellamy leaned over to Murphy and mumbled, "She'd look good out of it, too."
She did a little twirl, very aware of how short the dress was, unembarrassed that she might have just given everyone a little too much of a peek at what was underneath. Whatever. Most of them had walked in on her and Bellamy at least halfway naked by now, so there wasn't much to hide.
Raven's gift was also a nice one, so perhaps it wasn't surprising that she'd gotten two of her best gifts from the girls who had been her friends the longest. Raven gave her a scrapbook of all of their college memories. Lots of pictures, plus some other fun stuff, like their unused concert tickets for Justin Timberlake. They'd both come down with the flu that weekend and hadn't been able to go, but they'd watched the whole thing online later and told everyone they were there. Plus, there was a pact they'd written together and signed shortly after the Finn fiasco, where they both vowed to never date anyone again in college. That hadn't lasted long since Raven had found Wick pretty early on and Clarke had found Lexa about a year later.
"Raven, I had no idea you were so good at arts and crafts," Clarke said complimentarily as she skimmed through the book.
"Oh, I'm not," Raven said, "but this one here . . ." She motioned to her boyfriend.
Roan shrugged. "It's a gift."
"Oh." It was weird to picture Roan sitting down and helping Raven with a scrapbook, but . . . well, Roan was a weird guy, so it made sense that he had weird talents.
"Open mine next," he said, handing Clarke a medium-sized red sack.
"I swear, if this is that dick-sculpting kit . . ." Clarke pushed the tissue paper around inside and saw that, indeed, that was what it was. She showed it to Bellamy, and he just said, "Thanks, Roan. We would've never gotten that for ourselves."
Clarke was already making plans to give that to Murphy and Emori. It seemed like something they'd be into.
Bellamy's gift was exactly what she'd asked him for: a new coffee maker. For a non-morning person like herself, coffee was vital if there was to be any possibility of her functioning like an actual human being. The coffee maker in her apartment was decent enough, but the one they had over here was kind of crappy, and she was the only one who used it, so getting a new one hadn't been a priority. She thanked him profusely and made a mental note to get it set up that night so that she'd have some much-needed caffeine to look forward to in the morning.
As the party wore on well into the evening, Octavia and Lincoln had to leave. She just got too tired to stay up late anymore. Wells and Sasha left, too, claiming they both had exams in the morning, but Clarke saw that twinkle in their eyes. They looked like they wanted to go have sex. But they would never be as blunt about that as most of the other people at the party would be.
Clarke wanted to have sex with Bellamy, too, but he was busy talking to the guys. Judging by the emphatic hand gestures they were all making, they were probably talking about sex, so she took the opportunity to pull Raven and Niylah aside and do the same. She told them that she and Bellamy had tried . . . she couldn't even say it at first, but Raven and Niylah knew. Raven hugged her, and Niylah actually congratulated her.
"Why?" Clarke asked. Was anal sex really a congratulatory thing?
"Well, you stepped outside your comfort zone, tried something new with someone you really care about," Niylah exclaimed. "I don't care how taboo people make it seem. I think that's beautiful."
"Yeah," Raven agreed. "Good for you, Clarke. Was it . . ." She lowered her voice and asked, "I mean, did he make it . . . good?"
Clarke gave her a look. It was Bellamy. Of course he'd made it good.
"Figured as much," Raven said after interpreting the nonverbal reply as a yes.
Once the sex talk started, it was hard for Clarke to get her mind out of the gutter. Between the conversations she and her friends were having, Bellamy's strip tease earlier, and the steaming hot looks he kept sending her from the kitchen, she couldn't quench the desire building up inside. No matter how inconspicuously she tried to rub her legs together, the friction was never enough to provide any sort of relief, and no matter how many glasses of water she drank, she never could get her skin to stop feeling so hot. She needed him. She wanted him. Alone.
Even though it was already 1:00 a.m., no one else seemed ready to leave. Bellamy must have been feeling the same lustful tug that she was, though, because he set his drink down on the counter and motioned upstairs with his head, smirking suggestively. She grinned back, giving her friends a polite, "Excuse me," before she headed up. It must have been completely obvious when he snuck up after her a few seconds later, but they were both past the point of caring.
They crashed together into the bedroom, kissing and groping wildly as they shoved the door shut. He slammed her against it, pinning his body against hers, grinding his groin against hers to let her feel his semi-hard cock through his jeans. It felt good, and she wanted it, so she pressed her hips forward into his, and before she knew it, they were going back and forth, grinding against each other wantonly as their hands clamored to rid each other of their clothes.
Her dress was off before she even knew what was happening, and her bra came next. She lifted his shirt over his head, revealing that amazing bare chest that had entertained her so during the strip tease. She grazed her fingernails against his skin, scratching lightly as she reached down to fiddle with his jeans.
"You wanna get fucked on your birthday, huh?" he said teasingly, letting her reach down into his pants and handle him.
"Of course." She wanted this way more than she'd wanted that coffee maker, and that was really saying something.
"I got you," he said, placing his hands on her waist so he could spin her around. She plastered her chest against the door and instinctively stuck her butt out as he hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled them down. He stopped and placed a kiss on each cheek and on the backs of her thighs as he lowered her panties to the ground almost torturously slowly. She stepped out of them and spread her legs, fully prepared to get nailed right there. She heard him shuck off his jeans, but rather than standing up and plunging into her, he got down on his knees, angled his head in between her legs, and started to lick and lap at her cunt, which was already wet for him.
"Oh . . ." she groaned, accidentally knocking her head against the door. That felt so damn good, so she spread her legs open some more, hoping to give him the easiest access possible.
His nose nuzzled her folds as his tongue flicked and teased her clit, and his breath was so hot against her sensitive flesh that it felt like a furnace. She loved that he was obviously loving the taste of her, and she experimented a bit with circling her pussy against his face, the way she sometimes did when they were doing a sixty-nine. He held his tongue out and let her roll and rub against it, finding that friction she'd so desperately been craving downstairs. God, his mouth was heavenly, and the things he did with it were unreal.
He gave her pussy lips one big, sucking kiss before standing up, much to her disappointment. "I'm just workin' you up," he told her as he plunged two fingers into her depths. She gasped sharply and had to press her hands hard against the door to stay upright as he finger-fucked her almost urgently. She wasn't used to him going so fast like this, not unless they were somewhere like a dressing room or the side of a highway; but right now, fast was exactly what she needed.
"Oh my god, Bellamy," she whimpered, getting off on this so much. When he pushed a third finger inside of her, she jolted forward, and he had to grab hold of her hips with his free hand to keep her still.
Any minute, she kept expecting him to push his underwear down and get inside her. When she glanced back over her shoulder, she saw that his cock was now straining hard, and it had to be painful to be confined by any clothes. She tried to reach back and touch him, offer him some sort of pleasure just like he was giving her, but she was so worked up that she lost her balance without both hands braced against the door.
"Cum on my fingers," he leaned forward to whisper dirtily in her ear. That was all it took. She squeezed her eyes shut and, seconds later, did just that. She felt like she was dangerously close to squirting, which was something she knew Bellamy was dying to get her to do again, but she didn't think she had any control over when it happened. For now, he seemed content with her just drenching his fingers, and when he withdrew them, plenty of her juices seeped out, further coating her pussy and her inner thighs.
"That was fucking hot," he said, and she finally heard the waistband of his briefs snap as he lowered them past his cock. She looked around and found him touching himself with the same hand that had just gotten her off. Tantalizingly, he smeared a mixture of her cum and his pre-cum around his cock, getting it all ready for her, and her knees nearly buckled as she watched him.
"Come here," he said, picking her up like she weighed nothing. He set her down on the bed and stood back to take his underwear all the way off. "Me on top or you?" he asked as he stepped out of them.
There was no way she had enough control over her body right now to ride him, and she loved it when his whole body encompassed hers anyway. So she said, "You," and scooted back on the bed.
He crawled on top of her, lips seeking out hers for some messy, sloppy kisses she couldn't get enough of, an instinctively, she spread her legs so he could settle in between. The head of his cock nudged against her still sensitive pussy, but he didn't push it in. Instead, he dropped his head and suckled at her breasts for a moment, using that to get her worked up again. Bellamy most certainly knew how to give her multiple orgasms, and he knew it worked best when he gave her just a minute or two in between to let sensitivity die down.
"You ready?" he asked, lifting his head.
She nodded dazedly, trying to raise her hips up off the mattress to swallow his cock. But he sat back instead, manhandled her onto her side, and lifted her right leg up to rest against his shoulder. Then he moved forward on his knees, holding his cock in one hand, and guided it inside her smoothly.
"Uh . . ." she murmured, loving how this felt even fuller than three of his fingers had. Having Bellamy inside her had become as necessary to her as oxygen. She couldn't live without it.
Holding onto her leg, he rocked into her with smooth, long strokes, very similar to the movements he'd been making during the striptease earlier. His eyes darkened with desire, and he kept his face trained on hers, only looking away every once in a while to watch himself sliding in and out of her.
She wasn't used to this position, but she liked it. It stretched her wide open for him, and since she couldn't move very well, she felt like she was completely under his control. Even when she was on top, Bellamy usually managed to be the more dominant one in bed, but on nights like this, he took things to a whole different level. He was completely ravaging her with pleasure and attention, and she was loving every second of it.
He must have sensed she was going to cum again, because even though he kept the pace of his thrusts the same, he reached down with one hand to rub her clit with hard circles. It really didn't take much stimulation to get her to fall over the edge again. Right now, her whole body felt wired, like one big erogenous zone just for him, and he had it memorized.
Instead of picking up the pace of his thrusts and pounding into her to find his own release, his hips stilled while she rode hers out, and he stayed inside her after it was done. He massaged her thigh and her calf with his hands, pressing a tender kiss to her ankle, and then rolled his hips forward again.
"Oh," she moaned breathily, not sure if she could even handle another one. But clearly that was what he had in mind.
"Can you give me one more?" he asked hopefully.
Honestly, she wasn't sure. She'd rarely had three orgasms in a row before, but she knew it was possible. Bellamy had gotten her to have three before. Her legs and arms already felt shaky and weak, but the prospect of adding to the immense pleasure she was already feeling was too much to turn down. She nodded her response, thinking that all these orgasms might be the end of her. What a way to die, though.
He set her leg back down and remained inside her as he carefully lay down, supporting his weight with an arm on either side of her head. He stroked her hair and kissed her softly, and little moves like that reminded her just how much he adoredher. Literally. Whenever she was with him, the way he touched her and kissed her made her feel adored.
She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but she was sure it wouldn't take long to get her off for the third time that night when he started thrusting into her again. It was more of an insistent grind this time, since his body was already pressed so tightly to hers. She loved it, loved the feel of him on top of her, of the beads of sweat on his chest and stomach mixing with her own. After everything they'd done together and everything they'd tried, her favorite position with Bellamy was still just this: him on top of her, making her feel adored, fucking into her like nothing else in the whole world even mattered, because nothing else did.
"I'm gonna fuckin' cum inside you," he murmured hotly against her lips, and something about the way he said that, or maybe even just the thought of it, made her whole body quiver. She clenched around him, hoping she'd be able to feel it when he did. She had a smaller orgasm this time, but an orgasm nonetheless, and she felt dizzy with delight as he spent himself inside her a few seconds later. She felt a pulsating warmth spread through her body, and the knowledge that it was him made her head spin. In a good way.
The downside to so many orgasms, unfortunately, was that she was so sensitive, she had to push against his chest and shoulders to tell him to pull out of her not long after he'd cum. He got the message and did just that, lying down beside her, immediately scooping her up in his arms. "Come here, Princess," he said, bringing her close. She curled against him, still shaking and shuddering with that euphoric feeling he'd just given her. She couldn't explain it, but cumming so many times like that made her feel sort of vulnerable, so it was nice to be able to just snuggle up with him and feel his arms around her, feel his hands in her hair and on her back. This time, he wasn't touching her to arouse her; he was touching her to comfort her, to calm her down.
It took a while for her abdominal muscles to stop fluttering and for her breathing to return to normal, but once they did, she felt utterly sated. If their friends were expecting them to come back downstairs at all tonight, then they were going to be sorely disappointed, because she wasn't moving out of this bed. She couldn't, even if she'd tried.
She wasn't about to try.
"You okay?" Bellamy asked her after a few minutes of silent cuddle time.
"Yeah," she replied, smiling woozily. "That was incredible."
"You're incredible." He kissed her forehead softly, then put his hand under her chin to lift her face towards his, too. He kissed her lips, nuzzled his nose against hers affectionately, and revealed, "I got one more present for you."
"What?" Hadn't he already given her enough? Between the party itself, the spontaneous strip tease, her beloved coffee maker, and this little escapade, she wasn't expecting anything more.
"Just one more thing," he said, reaching over to his nightstand drawer. He took out a small jewelry box, bigger than something like a ring but smaller than a necklace, and handed it to her. "Happy birthday," he said, smiling.
"Bellamy . . ." If this was indeed jewelry, then it was probably way too expensive. He spent way too much money on her.
"Open it," he urged, lying on his side so he could watch her eagerly.
Even though she felt like she was getting spoiled, she couldn't deny that she loved it. Bellamy Blake knew how to treat a woman right, in more ways than one, and even though she didn't need another gift, she was eager to see what he'd gotten her.
When she opened the box, she really wasn't prepared for what she saw. It was a gold bracelet with the words Love always, Dad on it. And the crazy thing was . . . that was her father's handwriting.
"Oh my god," she whispered in astonishment, clasping one hand over her eyes, then her mouth, as she struggled not to cry. It didn't work, though. The tears started to fall almost immediately. It had been six year since her dad had died, and in those six years, she'd learned to dwell on it less. She could think back to all her memories with him and smile and feel happy that she'd at least gotten sixteen years with him. But seeing something like this . . . she hadn't expected it.
"Sorry," Bellamy apologized. "I didn't mean to make you cry."
"No, good tears," she assured him, sniffling, smiling sadly as she took the bracelet out of the box. It was beautiful, and she couldn't get over how it was . . . it was an exact replica of his handwriting. Every letter on that bracelet was exactly the way he would have written it. "How did you get this?" she asked.
"Well, when you got me that bear that has Gina's voice, it inspired me," he explained. "So I got online and found this company that does personalized bracelets like this. Your mom sent me a copy of some letter he wrote for you when you were younger, and I sent in the signature part so they could put it on a bracelet."
She blinked back tears, nodding as she remembered what letter he was talking about. She had it framed in her bedroom, and she'd never get rid of it. "Um, he wrote me that when I was starting seventh grade," she informed him. "I was so nervous to be in junior high, so he put a letter in my trapper keeper—'cause, you know, trapper keepers were, like, all the rage back then."
Bellamy chuckled.
"And when I opened it up for my first class, there it was, and it just made me feel so much better." She wiped at her eyes, pushing the good tears away, and took a moment to appreciate just how compassionate of a gift this was. This wasn't just some pretty bracelet he'd picked up in the store. This was something with so much meaning and sentimental value attached that she could barely even fathom it. And her mom had helped him out, which made it even nicer. In a way, this was a gift from both of them. And a gift from her dad.
No one had ever gotten her something this nice before.
"I love it," she told him, blinking back fresh tears. "Thank you."
He smiled at her sweetly, then suggested, "Put it on. Here." He carefully took it from her, and she held out her wrist. Getting it unhooked and then hooked again wasn't easy for his big fingers, but he managed it, and the bracelet fit perfectly.
Love always, Dad, she read, smiling happily. Now, whenever she wore this, she could think of him. Of both of them.
It was perfect.
She leaned over and kissed Bellamy gratefully. He hadn't had the privilege of knowing or even meeting her dad, and sadly, he never would. But there wasn't a doubt in her mind that her father really would have liked him.