Sorry for the delay. My computer's being a bitch again.

Parisian clothing was somewhat more immodest than that of London, as was the behaviour. Clarke had been here for over a month and she had seen a number of men and women openly kissing in public in rather indecent attitudes; the type of manners one would expect in the back alleyway of a pub or within a brothel. Every time she came across this scandalous behaviour, her first instinct was that of repulsion, then embarrassment, then yearning, her own desires surfacing.

Lexa - for she called her that now – had yet to touch her in any intense intimate way. It seemed as though all of the passion from their last kiss in England had vanished without a trace, as if it had only been summoned by the emotional reunion, and was now lost at sea. Lexa would hold her hand when they were in private, hug her, give her chaste kisses, but nothing more. Except for those rare occasions that Lexa's nightmares awoke Clarke, they did not even share a bed together at the top of the hotel they had for their singular use. As Lexa explained, this was by no means an odd occurrence as she owned the building.

Intellectually, Clarke understood that Lexa had many issues with intimacy. Her traumatic past all but ensured her misgivings. Clarke could reassure Lexa all she wanted, but if Lexa did not truly believe her that their souls (Clarke's in particular) would remain intact should they take that next step together...they would forever remain at odds. For awhile Clarke was happy to simply be in her presence, to spend time with her uninterrupted, to become acquainted with all of her little quirks and foibles, but eventually it wasn't enough, and her body ached for her touch more and more every day.

Her erotic daydreams and dreams in general were far from helping matters. Every morning she would awake, disappointed by the unreality of it all, and lustfully gaze over at Lexa as she slept peacefully, her hair a fright. She would smile and distract herself from certain urges by taking out her sketchbook and drawing her favourite subject. Invariably Lexa would catch her in such a concentrated state and smile sleepily in her direction. Clarke would then put down her pencil, stride over to her side and kiss her forehead or hair or shoulder in greeting.

This particular morning however, Clarke forwent the sketching altogether and instead slipped into Lexa's bed while she was still asleep. She held her from behind and began kissing her neck and jawline. When Lexa finally stirred, she breathed across the sensitive skin of her neck, "Good morning, beautiful."

"Clarke," muttered Lexa somewhat breathlessly, "what on earth are you doing?"

"Saying good morning," she reiterated in what she hoped was a seductive tone. Clarke nipped at her earlobe. "You're irresistible, Lexa."

Lexa stiffened against her, placed a hand to hers, and removed them from around her stomach. She then turned around to face Clarke, looking annoyed. "Please refrain from doing this again. We have separate beds for a reason."

Clarke bristled at the rebuff. "So it is only acceptable for me to hold you when you are the one who is in need? What of my needs, Lexa?"

Lexa flinched and cast her eyes downwards. Clarke reached out and squeezed her hand, hoping to apologize, but Lexa pulled away again, getting out of the bed all together. She disappeared into the water closet. Clarke flopped onto her back and sighed as if all the burdens of the world rested on her shoulders.

They spent the rest of the morning in strained silence and then Clarke dressed in a striped yellow outfit Lexa had bought her early on and stepped into the waiting carriage. The driver, Gustus, a large Serbian fellow with little in the way of conversation, swiftly took her to her destination of the past week, Académie Julian. While she and Lexa had been exploring Paris together, sometime after their three day visit to the Louvre, they came across an old master, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, who had been friendly with Lexa's mother, Valentine. The three of them got to talking, Clarke forever charmed with Lexa's exquisite French accent, and with this discourse, learned that Monsieur Bouguereau was looking for another female student. Since he specialized in the female form itself, and Clarke was acquainted and admired his work, she promptly accepted his offer of tutelage.

Within the first few days, Monsieur Bouguereau removed her from the public arena, and into another room for private study, proclaiming her work to be already much better than his typical student. Since he only spoke broken English and she only spoke broken French, it was somewhat difficult to effectively communicate, but somehow they managed. Every afternoon Clarke would come in and a new female nude would be waiting for her to draw and paint. The experience was a little unnerving for her the first time, especially since they were often alone together for long stretches of time, but now she hardly batted an eye. Today, however, she was a little taken aback. Whereas the previous models had been on the older, heavier side, this one was quite young and fit.

The woman was about her age, brown hair tied up to better see every angle of her. She was slimmer than Clarke herself, and quite attractive. Without much effort, Clarke was reminded of Lexa. Clarke had seen her naked once while getting out of the bath, an event that had mortified Lexa, but aroused Clarke to no end. Apparently she had begun fantasizing of wet skin again, because she was being scolded by Monsieur Bouguereau for not drawing, and she hadn't even been aware of his presence. The female model smirked in her direction, and embarrassed for her lack of focus, Clarke got back to work.

Upon the conclusion of their session, Clarke began packing her supplies away. She was startled by the model approaching her, still entirely nude (even though a white robe had been within reach of her earlier position). Such a thing had never occurred before. Clarke was further startled by the woman speaking to her in perfect English, albeit heavily accented with French.

The woman held out a hand and introduced herself. "My name is Ontari. Yours is Mademoiselle Griffin, yes?"

Clarke cleared her throat and replied, "Yes. How did you know?"

Ontari smirked, lowering her unshaken hand. "Monsieur Bouguereau yelled it a few times while you were...how you say...daydreaming."

Clarke flushed, glancing off to the side, so as not to receive an eyeful at such close range, as if that mattered after sketching her for hours from all angles and various different positions.

Ontari placed a hand on her shoulder, making Clarke's head snap up. "Do not be embarrassed. I was flattered."

They stared at one another for a time and then Clarke stepped away. "Well, I must be going now. Thank you for your time."

"More's the pity," pouted Ontari, stepping in close again. "I was hoping we could become better..." she ran a fingertip along her collarbone, "acquainted." She ran the same fingertip across Clarke's lips and winked. "If you take my meaning."

Clarke gawked at the woman's brazen attempts at seduction, and to her neverending shame, she actually contemplated the offer for a fraction of a second. No matter how frustrated she was where Lexa was concerned, she promised herself to never stoop so low as to have an affair with a stranger. Just because it was Paris and there were mistresses aplenty here, did not mean she would take one for herself.

She mastered herself, standing a little taller. "Once more, thank you for your time, Ontari."

"Are you entirely sure you mean to refuse me?" Ontari whispered, undoing her hair and letting the brown locks cascade down her back and across her shoulders. Despite her best efforts, Clarke's gaze followed this action, only to be met with a glint of amusement (and something else) in Ontari's eyes. "You draw me so well, Mademoiselle. Talented hands like that should be put to good use." Without ceremony, Ontari then took Clarke's hand and placed it against her breast, moaning slightly at the contact. "Feel your artwork, Mademoiselle. Does it not feel good?" she husked right before grabbing her neck and kissing Clarke full on the mouth. The woman immediately attempted to French kiss her but Clarke was not having any more of this lunacy.

Quite irritated and disgusted by the woman's blatantly inappropriate and unwanted attentions, Clarke pushed the woman off of her and slapped her hard across the face. In as commanding a voice as she could muster considering the shock to her senses, she said, "Desist at once! I have no interest in pursuing a relationship of any kind with you, so I suggest you remove the notion from your dimwitted head at once...and put some clothing on while you are at it!"

"Suit yourself," said Ontari with a shrug that seemed somewhat forced on her part, as if she was not quite as disaffected by the refusal as she was attempting to let on. This was further confirmed by her final boast. "It is your loss. Many have told me that I am an exceptional lover."

Clarke rolled her eyes and attempted to vacate the room. Before she did however, Ontari struck quite the blow. "Just ask the countess."

Just before the door, Clarke froze in place and then slowly turned around again. "What did you say?" she asked, breathing a little heavily.

Ontari smirked again, back to her previous level of cockiness. "Yes, Countess Woods and I have a history. Did she not tell you about me yet?" She placed a hand to her chest. "I am hurt."

Clarke clenched a fist momentarily and moved closer to the unperturbed woman. Without confirming or deny her own relationship with the countess, she said, "I cannot even begin to fathom what you are playing at, Ontari, but I assure you that whatever your goal here today was, you did not succeed."

"Did I not?" was the coy response as she twisted a strand of hair between her fingertips, as if she were a flirting schoolgirl. Clarke thought she had never seen a less innocent girl in her life.

"How did you come to be here?" demanded Clarke.

"Some days when customers are scarce, I come to establishments like this, so that I may earn something." She leaned in and whispered, "And by customers I of course mean those with healthy appetites. Alexandria in particular was quite insatiable. But you will of course know all about that, Mademoiselle Griffin."

Clarke felt torn between punching her and crying, so she did neither and instead stormed out of the small studio, just barely remembering to grab her sketchbook and supplies on the way out.

Gustus was a smart fellow and did not inquire as to her bad mood as she rejected his hand and entered the carriage unaided. On the clattering ride to the hotel, Clarke's mind raced over everything Ontari had said, wondering if there was any truth there, wondering why this woman suddenly appeared. Clarke did not want to interrogate Lexa on the matter, but she needed to, for her own sanity. The uncharitable part of her mind wondered if Lexa had been seeing Ontari again, and the shame of their encounters was the real reason behind Lexa's refusal to be intimate with her, and it in fact had nothing to do with past misgivings.

So it was that Clarke more or less attacked Lexa with accusations upon entering the same room as her. Lexa had been standing out on the balcony, admiring the faintly glittering city below. Their dinner was set out in the middle of the large room, many more candles than was necessary in place, hanging above, all around, stretching Lexa's shadow long and menacing.

"Have you ever been with a French woman named Ontari?!" she yelled, marching straight up to her, so as to better see her reaction.

Lexa stared at her warily and in confusion. "Who?"

Furiously, Clarke tore out a page from her sketchbook and held the image in her face. "This woman! This one right here?! Have you ever been with her?!"

Clarke was hoping for more blank recognition but then Lexa's face unmistakably blanched and with a trembling hand, she took the paper, studying it in abject horror.

"Yes," she said in a very small voice. "At least, I think so."

"You don't know?" she half scoffed, torn between being alarmed by Lexa's unsteadiness and incensed by it.

Lexa dropped the torn paper and shakily made her way to the nearest chair and collapsed into it. She put her head in her hands. Lexa sighed deeply, still in that woebegone posture.

"It was over two years ago, Clarke, when Roan and I were last in Paris. As you know, I was struggling day to day, drinking to excess...one morning I found myself in an unfamiliar bed. I was naked. That woman was beside me. I stumbled out of the brothel as soon as I could and never saw her since...until right now. I was half hoping it was just a bad dream..."

Clarke was now chastising herself most adamantly for going about this so poorly. She was supposed to be supportive, helping Lexa move past the trauma's of that dark period in her life, instead she had let Ontari get to her and reopened them with a vengeance. Her anger was redirected where it previously was, at the harlot. She knelt beside Lexa in a gesture of supplication, as if silently begging for forgiveness. "If she took advantage of you-"

Lexa chuckled without humour. She removed her hands, revealing the wetness there. Clarke hated herself for being the cause of her current distress. "Clarke, she is an unscrupulous prostitute. It is unlikely that she would turn down a paying customer...no matter how inebriated...and judging by how empty my purse was after the fact, she robbed me blind too."

Clarke took one of her hands and began pressing kisses to it. "I shall kill her," she vowed, fully meaning it in that moment. "I shall stab her in the heart and make her feel all the pain that she has inflicted upon you. Blood must have blood."

Lexa gave her the tiniest of smiles. She patted Clarke's head. "An intriguing idea, Clarke, but wholly unnecessary. I appreciate the murderous sentiment though. It's very romantic in a Shakespearean kind of way."

Clarke grabbed hold of Lexa's body, head resting just beneath her bosom. "Forgive me, Lexa," she implored. "Please."

"That too is not necessary, Clarke," Lexa said softly, bringing her hands around her head and back to hold her as best she could in this position. She kissed the top of her hair. They stayed in that attitude for some minutes and then, "So, this Ontari woman...she was your subject for the day?"

"Yes," came the muffled reply. Lexa had allowed her to place her face inbetween her breasts, and Clarke was not keen on moving any time soon. "It was only after our session that she approached me."

"I'm afraid I'm having a difficult time understanding you, Clarke," Lexa said with a trace of amusement. "We shall have to part. Perhaps even eat dinner before it becomes unspeakably cold."

With a barely contained grumble, she pulled away from the reassuring warmth of Lexa's bosom and pushed herself to her feet. Then she held out her hand and led Lexa over to the dinner table. The original one had been far to formal for their liking, so Lexa had arranged for a much smaller one to be used instead, allowing the women to hold hands across the table while they ate, should they desire to.

Surprisingly, the soup was not as cold as one would think given the occasional gusts of frigid air emanating from the open balcony. They supped as they discussed the unsettling events of Clarke's altercation with Ontari. After Lexa was so open with her, she could not find it in herself to omit any of the particulars, unbecoming as they may be. Unsurprisingly, Lexa was less than pleased about the part where she had been forced to touch and kiss Ontari. She put down her spoon and glared off into the crackling fireplace, calming herself before she redirected it back to Clarke.

"Perhaps we should revisit that blood for blood mantra," quipped Lexa, albeit in a forced manner.

Clarke laughed nervously, unsure of what to say in this awkward situation. Lexa's expression suddenly softened and she held out a hand, which Clarke promptly took.

"I am exceedingly grieved by this abuse. I'm very sorry that this happened to you, Clarke. How are you faring?" she asked, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles.

"I admit I was rather shaken at the time, but I have since recovered my wits. Still, I doubt few would disagree that she is an abhorrent woman."

Lexa nodded her agreement.

Clarke hesitated before saying, "Do you not find it highly suspect that a woman you once...knew was present at my studio attempting to seduce me?"

"Indeed I do," frowned Lexa, retrieving her hand to fold it in her lap. "And surely it cannot be coincidence that she just happened to know the nature of our relationship."

"Lexa, we have been living together atop a building that you own for three weeks now. Knowing what she knows about you, it would not have been that difficult for her to suss out the nature of our relationship."

Lexa conceded her point with a slight dip of her chin. "I'm beginning to regret not remaining incognito during our stay here," she murmured. Then more normally, "The question is, what does she want? What can she mean by insinuating herself back into my life?"

"Could it be blackmail? Could she be threatening to expose us?"

"I cannot see how she would accomplish this. It would be her word over mine. No one would believe her. And if she had photographic evidence of our past tryst, why wait all these years to blackmail me if she knew how wealthy I was?"

"Besides the fact that if such a photograph should exist, it would implicate herself?" Lexa again conceded her point with a barely registered 'oh'. "Disregarding that, it could simply be that she did not know who you were until quite recently. One cannot blackmail someone if they do not know their identity."

"Yes, I suppose..." Lexa shook her head. "No, something is not quite adding up here. I feel as though we are missing a piece of the puzzle."

Ontari had been very determined to seduce her. Why?

"Is it possible that she could be working with someone? That she is only a puppet doing as her master bids?"

"To what end?" she muttered rubbing her temples.

"Not to be indelicate, Lexa, but you are a wealthy woman in power. Many would love to see you fall. And there was the matter in which you left England. You did leave a man on the eve of his wedding."

Lexa raised an eyebrow at that. "You believe the Duke is behind this? That is very hard for me to fathom. He is far too much of a gentleman."

"Scorned lovers can act in bizarre ways."

"No," said Lexa shaking her head, "he knows nothing of who I really am. I doubt he even believes women can love one another in that way. Besides, very few in England are even aware of your accompanying me here."

"Then perhaps Titus is behind this."

Lexa shook her head again. "I have a man keeping close watch on his whereabouts. As of two days ago he was still in England spouting his nonsense to all those within ear. And if he were here somehow, we surely would have heard of it. He believes himself so holy that he would surely have felt compelled to slaughter all those present in such a den of inequity. The massacre would not have escaped our notice. But more to the point, there is no way he could have known about that particular misstep."

They were both silent for a little while, staring off in contemplation, and then both caught each others widened gazes at once.

"Lexa, did Roan know of your encounter with Ontari?"

"Yes...but it's not him," she defended immediately afterwards.

"I do not wish to believe him capable of such a thing any more than you do...but he is the only one with any knowledge about that particular misstep, and he does have a compelling reason to be grieved with both of us. And he was the one who suggested we come here, going so far as to supply us with the boat tickets."

"It's not him," she reiterated, standing up and pacing around in an agitated manner. "It's not him."

Clarke likewise got up and went to place her hands on her shoulders. "If not him, then who?"

Lexa finally stilled, slumping against her. "I don't know."

That night Lexa awoke her with a particularly loud cry of distress. Clarke pushed her sheets aside and went to stand beside the thrashing girl. This nightmare was far worse than the ones before. Uncertain on how to proceed, she simply shook her shoulder, while evading errant limbs, calling her over and over until she finally opened her eyes.

"Clarke?" she gasped, shooting out a hand to grab hold of her arm. "You were gone..." tears filled her eyes, "and I could not find you." Lexa clutched at her nightgown. "You will not leave me, will you, Clarke? I could not bear it if you did."

Clarke hunched down beside her, holding her face in her hands. "You were having a nightmare, but it's over now." She kissed her forehead. "I'm right here, Lexa. I am not going anywhere. I am never leaving your side." She smiled softly, rubbing her thumbs across her cheeks. "I would marry you if I could."

Lexa looked at her in awe again, in the way she had after their second chess match. "You would?"

Clarke chuckled lightly at her bemused state. "Of course I would. I love you."

Lexa placed their foreheads together. "And I love you too," she said thickly, voice full of emotion, "more than I can ever say."

"There's no need for words, Lexa. You show me how you feel every day."

Lexa closed her eyes. "But not in the way that you desire," she whispered forlornly. Her lip trembled. "That was the reason you left me. I could not please you the way you wished to be pleased."

"Lexa, please look at me." She waited until she had Lexa's undivided attention. "I am not going anywhere. I swear it most adamantly. For better or worse, our souls are entwined. You could not get rid of me if you tried."

She left out the again, knowing herself to be much stronger than she was then. She only wished Lexa could see it too.

Lexa nodded slightly, releasing a shaky breath. Clarke pressed their lips together in a final gesture of comfort and then rose to her feet, intending to reclaim her own bed after the fiasco that morning. However, Lexa grasped her hand before she turned away. "Stay with me," she implored, and Clarke gratefully slipped in beside Lexa, who immediately held her close.

"Were you tempted?" Lexa asked of her, as she stroked her back.

"I love you, and only you," she reiterated, with another soft kiss. "Nothing shall ever change that."

Lexa smiled and snuggled even closer, sighing contentedly. Before long they had both drifted off to sleep, safe in each others arms.

So it was that Clarke was rather startled to find Lexa was gone come morning. Lexa almost always stayed in bed longer than her because she took longer to get to bed. This was yet another reason Lexa had insisted on separate beds, not wanting to disturb her slumber - which was sadly ironic considering the frequency with which she had nightmares and did just that.

"Lexa?" she called, to no effect. To guard against the morning's chill, she slipped on her slippers and donned her robe before searching around the top of the hotel. Besides a couple of members of the wait staff busily making fires, she could find no one up here.

"Have you seen the countess?" she asked one of them, who replied in the negative.

When she inquired downstairs, the concierge told her that yes, Lexa had passed by just as the sun was rising and gotten into a carriage, but no, he did not know to where. Clarke had two options before her. Either get dressed and fruitlessly go looking for her, or go back to bed.

Clarke chose option number two and promptly had yet another erotic dream about Lexa. Having their shared bedroom to herself was a rarity in the mornings, so Clarke decided to take full advantage of the situation and attempt to stave off some of her ever present lust. Clarke did not often pleasure herself, and certainly was no expert at it, but the sensations she was able to produce on her own were pleasant enough. She was in the thick of things when she moaned out Lexa's name and heard a quiet gasp in reply. It was only then that she became aware of her audience.

Lexa stared at her as if in a trance, mouth parted, eyes hooded. Clarke was too far gone for apologies or mortification at being caught in the act. Lexa absentmindedly placed a small parcel on top of the dresser and then swiftly strode over to her side. She pulled a chair close, sat down and then placed her hand over Clarke's wrist, stilling her increasingly frantic movements. Lexa moved Clarke's hand away all together and replaced it with her own. Clarke gasped at the contact. Partly because her hand was cold and partly because it was Lexa's hand. Clarke hardly dared to believe that this was truly happening. If she were dreaming still, she would likely kill the first person she saw upon awakening.

Lexa kept her gaze firmly locked on Clarke's, at least, that seemed to be the case every time she managed to open her eyes as the delicious sensations swirled through her like a coursing river. Without much effort, Clarke was coming undone in Lexa's hands, or rather, fingers. The release was stronger than she was accustomed to, which was surprising since Lexa had barely had the opportunity to touch her. When she had gotten her breathing and body more under control, she looked over to find Lexa just staring at her fingers, still slick with her release. She had that same trance like expression.

"Lexa?" she called gently, brushing her knee, bringing her back to the present.

Lexa tore her gaze away from her fingertips, and Clarke could plainly see the want within her eyes. Without much manoeuvring - indeed, Clarke was not entirely sure how she managed it - Lexa pulled her into her lap, bringing her into a brief, yet passionate kiss. She then proceeded to suckle all of her exposed skin with hot kisses and tongue and teeth, hands caressing and squeezing her sides slowly. Clarke was in heaven but the need to be consumed again was growing stronger and stronger, so she caught her lips during a moment of detachment.

She moaned when Lexa deepened the kiss in the French manner, for perhaps a fraction of a second she was reminded of her disgusting interaction with Ontari, and then the moment thankfully passed. Clarke had never kissed like this before - so unrestrained and free - and it was exciting her to such an extent that she did not even notice at first that Lexa had slid her nightgown from her shoulders. The newly exposed flesh was at once burning as well as goosebump inducing. Reluctantly, she pulled away before Lexa could pay homage to her breasts.

Hazily, Lexa stared at her bosom and then at Clarke in confusion. "Clarke?"

"Before we go any further, I need to know that you are not doing this simply because I wish it, or you feel as if you will lose me if you do not do this."

"Have no fear on that score, Clarke," said Lexa in thrillingly low tones. "That particular demon has been slayed." She squeezed her hips and half smiled. "You saw to that last night."

Her eyes flickered down to her exposed flesh again and the look of pure lust there stoked the fire within her to full blast. "Take me to bed, Lexa," she just managed to get out.

Lexa happily did so, and they remained there for the rest of the morning. For all of her bravado, Clarke nearly succumbed to nerves a number of times during their first lovemaking session, and it was only with Lexa's patient understanding and guidance that Clarke was able to give and receive to the best of her rather limited abilities. She had never felt more invigorated than when Lexa bowed and whimpered to her every touch, clumsy as they had no doubt been, despite Lexa's breathy avowals to the contrary. As Lexa worshipped her body she mumbled a number of things she did not fully understand, not from lack of volume, but rather due to the language she used. Clarke's French had somewhat improved during her stay in Paris and the general immersion to the language, but Lexa was mostly using words she had never heard before. At any rate, the effect was the same and Clarke was utterly captivated by her quiet mutterings of what she assumed were words of love.

Aw they finally got to do the do! You go girls! Thirst monster Clarke has been sated...for now. ;)

I got no clue why I decided to bring Ontari into this thing but it's been done so no take backs!

Yeah, so Clarke doesn't understand French that well cuz I don't either. I seem to have forgotten everything. Or maybe I just never learned it properly in the first place...in any case, there ain't gonna be much/any French while they're in Paris...:p But how sexy would Lexa's French accent be? Like très sexy, bébé!