Prompt: Clarke is in a serious relationship with someone (up to you with who, but I'd rather not it be a female as the 'bi girl cheating on her wife/gf with a man' stereotype is a bit of a squick for me as a bi woman), but can't seem to stop fucking Octavia's older brother.

"Bellamy is looking fine tonight," Raven sings, swigging out of her beer bottle. Clarke glances at the man in question, listening intently to Jasper's drunken ramblings. And yeah, Raven is right. Bellamy is looking fine. More than fine. He looks like he's been ripped straight from someone's wet dream, with his stupid messy curls and his dumb lips and his fucking arms. Raven's dream, obviously. Clarke has no such thoughts about him. He's just Octavia's annoying older brother, and plus, she has a boyfriend who is just as hot.

"I guess," Clarke shrugs, turning back to Raven. "He doesn't really do it for me."

"I think I'm going to try and hook up with him tonight," Raven smirks, and Clarke feels a surge of inexplicable annoyance.

"You do that," she says with a roll of her eyes. They're interrupted then by the birthday girl standing on the couch and shouting over everyone.

"Everyone listen!" Octavia yells. "It's time for spin the bottle," she says, lowering her voice slightly now that everyone's listening.

"Spin the bottle? Really, O?" Bellamy says. "Don't you think twenty five is a little old for games like that?"

"It's my birthday, and I say we're playing spin the bottle. I never got to play as a teenager," she reminds him, and he immediately looks guilty, though Clarke knows it's not his fault Octavia never made any friends in high school.

"Spin the bottle sounds fun," Monty says, trying to smooth over the awkwardness, and everyone enthusiastically agrees. Clarke sidles up to Wells as the others make a circle on the floor.

"Do we really want to play?" she whispers dubiously. They are, at the moment, the only two people there who aren't single. Wells shrugs, eyeing the people in the circle.

"Oh, stop being spoil sports," Octavia scolds them, noticing their reluctance. "It's just a game!" Clarke and Wells glance at each other and Wells shrugs again.

"It is just a game," Clarke says.

"I promise I won't get jealous if you won't," he grins.

"Deal," Clarke laughs, and they squeeze themselves into the circle.

The game is fine, mostly. Clarke and Wells both kiss a few different people, some with tongue, some without, and Clarke doesn't get mad that Octavia tries to full on make out with her boyfriend. It's just a game. And then Bellamy spins the bottle. And it lands on Clarke, and suddenly it doesn't feel like just a game to her anymore.

He raises his eyebrows at her from across the circle and she can feel her heart rate pick up, which most certainly did not happen when she kissed Raven or Jasper.

She doesn't want to kiss him. Mostly because she kind of does want to kiss him, and she doesn't know what that says about her. But if she doesn't kiss him, everyone will make a big deal about it and it will probably end up being worse than just kissing him.

So she rolls her eyes like let's get this over with and leans in to the middle of the circle.

She doesn't even close her eyes at first, but then Bellamy does and she feels weird staring at him so she closes hers too. He brushes her lips gently against hers, making her shiver, and for a moment she wonders if that's it, that's all he's going to give her. But then he traces his tongue along the seam of her lips and she can't help but open up for him, meeting his tongue with her own.

Clarke feels a tug low in her stomach, and she has to fight the urge to pull him closer. What's he doing, kissing her like that? Like he wants her to forget she's ever been kissed by anybody else. Like he's planning on doing so much more than just kissing her. He bites at her bottom lip gently and she feels her cunt throb. Fuck, she wants him.

Somebody whistles then, and Clarke remembers herself, pulling away hastily, her face burning. She glances at Wells. Technically she hasn't done anything wrong, but she can't help but feel guilty. Does he know how much she liked kissing Bellamy? How much she wants to do it again?

Wells grins at her without a hint of annoyance or jealously. He leans into her to whisper into her ear while Raven spins the bottle.

"I don't think he knows what hit him," he chuckles and Clarke looks back across the circle at Bellamy. He does look a little dazed and he narrows his eyes at her in confusion when she sees him looking. She doesn't know what he has to be confused about. She's the one suddenly lusting after him when her boyfriend is sitting right next to her.

Raven's spin lands on Bellamy and she couldn't look more delighted.

"Okay, Blake, give me those lips," she grins.

"I actually have to go," he says, standing up unceremoniously.

"What? Why?" Octavia pouts.

"Early start tomorrow," he says. "Have a good night everyone." He gives a small wave before heading out of Octavia's apartment.

"What's up with him?" Jasper wonders. "Is kissing Raven that bad?"

"He's just worried he'll fall in love with me," Raven shrugs.

"He left his phone the fucking dumbass," Octavia says, picking it up from where Bellamy had been sitting. "Who wants to take it to him?"

"That involves getting up," Jasper complains.

"I'll do it," Clarke sighs. She kind of wants to ask him what the fuck that was all about anyway. She grabs the phone from Octavia and takes off after Bellamy, only to find him coming towards her down the hall. She keeps walking, meeting him halfway.

"Forgot my phone," he mutters once he's standing a foot away from her, and Clarke holds it up. He reaches to take it from her but she pulls her hand away. Bellamy cocks his head, waiting for an explanation.

"What was that in there?" she asks him.

"What was what?"

"The kiss."

"I could ask you the same thing," he snorts, stepping forward to reach for his phone again. He's a lot closer now, they're almost chest to chest and Clarke can feel heat radiating off him.

"Did you want to kiss me?" Clarke asks, and Bellamy looks at her in exasperation.

"Yes."

"Before tonight?" she presses. Bellamy huffs.

"Yes, okay? And if you didn't have that boring ass boyfriend I'd do a lot more than kiss you," he says, almost like a threat. He folds his arms, his forearms brushing against her breasts as he does so. Clarke feels that tug again, and a surge of wetness between her legs.

"Is that right?" she murmurs, swaying forward slightly so her breasts can brush against his arms again. Bellamy doesn't miss the action, and it only takes him a split second to press her against the wall and bring his mouth down on hers.

Clarke knows there's a small amount of time in this situation where she can push him away, claim it was all him, that she hasn't done anything wrong. But then she's missed the window, her mouth responding to his, her arms curling around his neck while his phone clatters to the floor.

Clarke is aware, of course, that they're in a hallway not ten metres from the apartment where their friends and her boyfriend are, and could easily step out and catch them in the act. But somehow it seems unimportant when Bellamy's tongue is in her mouth, and his fingers are dancing across her stomach, lower and lower.

"You want me to touch you, Clarke?" Bellamy growls, his fingers now toying with the button on her jeans.

"Yes," Clarke hums without hesitation, and Bellamy undoes her jeans, slipping his hand into her panties. Clarke whines when his fingers make contact with her clit, pulsing with want.

"You're all wet," Bellamy murmurs. "You get this way just from me kissing you?"

"Yeah," Clarke says. "And from thinking about you touching me."

"You're a bad girl, Clarke Griffin," Bellamy smirks. Which, yeah, she knows. Good girls definitely don't let men other than their boyfriends finger them in fully lit hallways. She kind of likes being a bad girl though.

Bellamy slides his fingers along her slit, letting her sticky juices coat them. She writhes against his fingers, desperate to have them inside her.

"I'm gonna make you come so hard, Clarke," Bellamy whispers, before pushing a finger inside her, quickly followed by another.

"Please," she moans. Bellamy kisses her again as he thrusts his fingers, stroking the inside of her pussy. Clarke clutches him as he fingers her, her eyes closed as her climax builds.

"Come on, Princess, come for me," Bellamy says huskily, rubbing his thumb against her clit, and Clarke clenches around his fingers, crying out as she comes, burying her head into his shoulder.

"Fuck," she groans, panting. Bellamy removes his fingers from her cunt and wipes them on the front of her panties.

"Good luck explaining that to your boyfriend," he smirks and Clarke suddenly feels the weight of what she's done crash down on her. She swallows heavily before pushing Bellamy away, guilt pooling in her stomach.

"Shit," she swears, squeezing her eyes shut.

"I'll catch you around, Princess," Bellamy says as he picks his phone up off the floor and leaves. It goes without saying that this was a one time thing.

Clarke does her best to compose herself, making sure her hair is in place and her jeans are done up. No one has to know about this. So she let Bellamy Blake finger her and make her come. It didn't mean anything. No use hurting Wells over some stupid mistake.

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, determined that this lapse in judgement will not ruin her relationship. The ghost of Bellamy's lips on hers isn't going to haunt her. She's not going to think about his fingers while she's in bed with Wells. She nods to herself firmly before heading back to Octavia's apartment. But she can't resist one quick look back over her shoulder at Bellamy walking away.

It does haunt her, of course. She feels like it's branded into her forehead for everyone to see; I cheated on my boyfriend. And yet, no one notices. No one notices the guilt eating away at her, the way she kind of tenses up if anyone mentions Bellamy's name.

But the guilt isn't the worst part. Nor is the fear that Wells will find out, or that someone else will find out and tell him. It's not even how she catches herself thinking about Bellamy's fingers inside her while Wells is touching her.

No, the worst part is how much she wants to do it again. Whenever she thinks about him she gets a sick thrill knowing what he did to her, and a yearning as her cunt throbs, desperate to have him inside her again, his fingers, or better yet, his cock.

So she avoids him. Which isn't as hard as one would think, seeing as she only usually sees him when the whole group hangs out together anyway, which isn't that often. If she can just avoid him for the next few months she'll get over this weird lust and things can go back to normal.

It's a couple of weeks after Octavia's birthday and Octavia is supposed to be accompanying Clarke to a Lana Del Rey concert. Only now she's apparently too sick to come.

"You know I wouldn't back out unless I really had to," Octavia tells Clarke over the phone. "I've been throwing up all afternoon and I feel like shit."

"I know," Clarke sighs. "I'll try and convince Wells to come with me."

"I'm not going to a Lana Del Rey concert!" Wells calls from the kitchen. "I can't stand her whiny voice," he says, walking into the living room.

"Babe," Clarke complains, giving him her best puppy dog eyes.

"He's saying no, isn't he?" Octavia says.

"Right now he is," Clarke says.

"There is nothing on earth that would convince me to go and listen to that woman sing live," Wells screws up his nose. "Isn't there someone else who can go?"

"Monty has a date and Raven's out of town. And I'm not taking Jasper," Clarke says.

"What about Bell?" Octavia suggests.

"What about him?" Clarke says, her stomach lurching at the mention of his name.

"He actually loves Lana Del Rey. And he lives way closer to the venue so you could stay at his place instead of trying to get the train back home after," Octavia says.

"I don't know…" Clarke hedges. She knows with absolute certainty this is a terrible idea.

"It's a concert, you don't even really have to talk to him," Octavia points out, as if that's the problem.

"Yeah, but…" Clarke trails off. But what? She can't think of a good reason not to go with him other than the fact that she wants to fuck him, and if she's left alone with him she doesn't know if she can control herself.

"What?" Wells asks.

"She thinks I should go with Bellamy," Clarke says. "And then stay at his place after." She hopes Wells will say no. Tell her he'd rather listen to Lana Del Rey than have her off with Bellamy. Tell her she's not allowed to go to the concert at all. But of course, Wells is a reasonable and trusting boyfriend and he just kind of looks amused.

"You should go with him," he says. "Maybe you'll find something about him you actually like."

"Uh huh," Clarke swallows.

"So that's a yes?" Octavia asks.

"I guess so," Clarke says.

"Great! I'll tell him you'll meet him at his place," Octavia says before hanging up the phone. Clarke puts her own phone down, her stomach churning with both anxiety and excitement.

Clarke tries to tell herself that it doesn't matter that she's attracted to Bellamy. She's a grown adult who is responsible for her own actions and she's perfectly capable of not acting on impulse. Except for the part where she kind of already did. But that's in the past, and she's not going to let it happen again.

She tells herself the buzzing underneath her skin as she heads to Bellamy's place is just excitement about the concert.

She texts him when she's outside and he comes down to meet her, and she doesn't know how it's possible but he looks even hotter than the last time she saw him. Which, she unfortunately remembers, was in a deserted hallway with his hand down her pants. Her gaze flicks down his body unbidden and when she manages to make eye contact with him again, he's studying her with amusement. She opens her mouth to speak, but somehow she can't think of a single thing to say. She shuts her mouth abruptly and waits for him to say something instead.

"Have you got the tickets?" he asks her.

"Yes," Clarke answers, thankful she's apparently sentient enough to be able to answer.

"Well, let's go," he says and Clarke nods before leading the way.

It's only a short train ride to the arena, ten minutes from Bellamy's instead of the forty it would have been from her own place, but it's still far too long. She spends the entire time trying not to brush arms with him or bump knees while at the same time trying to appear completely normal.

Bellamy doesn't bring up their tryst in the hallway, and in fact seems completely unaffected by her presence, although sometimes she swears he brushes up against her on purpose. But all he talks about is some mundane documentary he watched last night and Clarke can draw no other conclusion than he's not thinking about what she's thinking about. It's not like she expected it to mean anything to him, after all she regards it as one big mistake herself. But it would be nice if he actually remembered that it happened.

They make it to the arena and find their seats, and Clarke tries to ignore the warmth of his guiding hand on her back, made worse by the fact that she's wearing a crop top and his fingers rest directly on her bare skin.

"Here," Bellamy says when they reach their seats, dropping his hand. The loss of contact is simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. You have a boyfriend, Clarke, she reminds herself. You shouldn't want him to touch you.

"Octavia said we have to get a selfie," Bellamy says. "You don't mind right?"

Clarke shakes her head. If she'd been with Octavia they probably would have taken fifty already. Bellamy leans in close and holds his phone up, and fuck, he smells good. He's also totally oblivious to the way he's torturing her.

He takes the picture and sends it to Octavia, and a few seconds later he gets a response.

"She's satisfied," he grins. "She also says to tell you your tits look great in that top." He glances down. "She's right." Clarke's mouth drops open, and she's not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that at that moment the lights go down and the crowd starts screaming, preventing her from coming up with a response.

The people around them stand up and Bellamy does the same, grabbing Clarke's arm and pulling her up with him. It's only the support act and Clarke's never even heard of them, but she pretends to be excited if only so she doesn't have to think about Bellamy's comment and consequently the things she'd like him to do to said tits. She glances at him but he seems to be intent on the support act playing, again completely unaware of his affect on her.

He goes to get them drinks when the support act is done, and the girl sitting next to Clarke taps her on the shoulder.

"Is the guy you're with your boyfriend or is he gay?" the girl asks.

"Um," Clarke frowns. "Why does he have to be either?"

"Come on, he's way too hot to be a single straight guy at a Lana Del Rey concert," the girl snorts. Clarke resists the urge to point out there are more sexualities than straight and gay. "Unless you're saying he is. In which case, do you want to swap seats with him?" Clarke squashes the unwarranted feeling of irritation at the girl and smiles politely.

"He's gay," she says, and the girl shrugs in disappointment before turning back to her friends.

Bellamy returns with the drinks and Clarke swallows as he sits back down next to her. She's totally on edge, unable to relax, his presence a constant reminder of what they did. Of what he can do to her. Of what she wants him to do to her.

She thinks once Lana starts she'll forget, get lost in the music and just enjoy herself. But somehow Lana's sultry voice only makes Clarke more aware of how close she is to Bellamy. And he keeps touching her. Brushing his arm or his hand against hers. Putting his hand on her back where her skin is exposed. Leaning in close so his lips brush her ear when he wants to tell her something.

She squeezes her legs together tightly, feeling the wetness that's pooled there, and there's a pounding between her legs that has nothing to do with the beat of the music. She's so fucking horny and he's doing just enough to keep her there, but she needs so much more. She zones out, thinking about him grabbing her, pulling down her panties and fucking her right here while the people around them watch.

"You okay?" he asks her, his lips against her ear again, startling her from her daydream. She turns to him, her face hot, though he can't possibly know what she's thinking. She nods tightly but he doesn't look convinced. In fact he looks almost… amused.

"What?" she snaps, and he probably doesn't hear her but it's pretty obvious what she said. He leans in again.

"Had enough teasing?" he asks her, his voice deep and dripping with seduction, and holy fuck, he's being doing this on purpose. She gapes at him, feeling like an idiot, because how the hell did she not know? Of course he's doing it on purpose. He smirks at her, and god damn it if his smirk isn't the sexiest thing she's ever seen.

"I have a boyfriend, Bellamy," she hisses at him, as if she hadn't been fantasizing about him fucking her in public only a minute ago.

"He doesn't have to know," Bellamy says, his lips against her ear again, and fuck, he sounds like he wants it almost as much as she does. Clarke groans, wanting to say no, knowing she should, but at the same time she's desperate to press herself up against him, to grind her pussy against his thigh, anything for a little friction.

Bellamy's hand snakes around her waist, his fingers gently stroking her stomach. Clarke can hardly think straight, she's barely aware of Lana singing Cola, and her head feels all fuzzy. Her whole body is tingling from his slight touch, her panties are drenched and her pussy is aching to be touched.

She finds herself drifting towards him, and before she even knows what's happening she's standing in front of him, guiding his hand down the front of her skirt and into her panties. His big hand covers her pussy while his middle finger dips into her slit, teasing her, pressing against her clit then sliding along between her pussy lips. Clarke rolls her head back against his chest, grinding her ass against his crotch, delighted to find him hard and wanting.

She's vaguely aware that anyone could look over and see him fingering her. It's not hard to figure out what they're doing, with one of his hands down the front of her skirt and the other now sliding under her top to fondle her tits. She's too far gone to care now though, all she knows is she desperately needs to come.

"Bellamy," she moans. "Rub my clit," she begs him. "I need to come."

"Yeah?" he pants.

"Please," she whines, rubbing her ass against his crotch harder.

"Fuck, Clarke," he groans, bringing his middle finger to her clit, caressing her gently.

"Harder," she demands. Bellamy obeys, rubbing her clit frantically, and she can feel her orgasm building as Lana reaches the bridge of the song, and it's lucky the music is so loud because she's pretty sure she's making obscene noises. She cries out when she hits her climax, and she probably hits the same notes that Lana does, her pussy clenching and she finds herself wishing she had Bellamy's cock inside her.

"That girl was watching us," Bellamy murmurs in her ear as she comes down from her high, and Clarke glances over to see the girl she'd spoken to earlier staring at them in shock. Clarke can't even bring herself to be embarrassed, and Bellamy looks the girl right in the eye as he extracts his hand from Clarke's panties and puts his finger into his mouth, sucking her juices off. The girl looks away hurriedly, and Clarke wonders if watching them turned her on.

"Tastes better than Pepsi Cola," Bellamy chuckles into Clarke's ear.

He doesn't touch her for the rest of the concert, but she's hyper aware of his presence, and despite her recent orgasm she still isn't satisfied.

Somewhere deep down she supposes she feels guilty. Or at least, she expects she will later. Right now though, she's on top of the world. She can feel electricity racing through her veins and her heart pounds at the thought of what might happen after the concert. The two of them alone in his apartment for the whole night. No one to interrupt them. No one wondering where she is.

The train ride home after the concert feels like an eternity. Bellamy doesn't say much on the way home, and she can barely look him in the eye without blushing, thinking about his fingers inside her, making her come while that girl watched them.

But then they're in his apartment and they're utterly alone and Clarke can't seem to calm her racing heart or the butterflies in her stomach. Chill, Clarke, she tells herself. He's probably not even thinking about fucking you. You're the one who apparently can't keep it in her pants.

"So," Bellamy says, flicking on the light. "You have two options for sleeping arrangements." Clarke nods. See, he just wants to go to sleep. "There's the couch," he gestures to said couch, which looks a little lumpy and on the short side.

"What's the other option?" Clarke asks him nervously. He's not going to suggest his bed, she scolds herself.

"You can sleep in my bed with me," he says. He pauses and Clarke feels that familiar thrum between her legs again. "But you'll be sleeping naked, and you'll stay naked until the minute you leave this apartment." His tone is deep and commanding and it sends a thrill right through her.

Clarke bites her lip. This is the point of no return. This is the part where her better judgement is supposed to kick in, to remind her she has a loving boyfriend and that she's already gone far enough with Bellamy.

But it's just one night. She just needs to get it out of her system. He's already fingered her twice, what difference does it make if he fucks her now? Wells never needs to know.

"Okay," she says, and Bellamy cocks an eyebrow, unsure of which option she's chosen. Clarke enlightens him by pulling her top over her head and discarding it on the floor, shortly followed by her skirt and shoes. Bellamy's eyes never leave her, his gaze dark and lustful. Clarke reaches behind her back slowly and unclips her bra, letting it fall to the floor with her skirt and top. Bellamy swallows heavily, and Clarke brings her hands to her hips, hooking her fingers in the waistband of her panties. She revels in his heated stare, can feel him willing her to take them off, to show him what she's hiding underneath.

She lets him suffer, just a little. After all, he made her suffer. She inches her panties down to her thighs and then lets them drop to her ankles before stepping out of them daintily.

"Where's your bed?" she asks him, her voice smooth and low.

"Holy fuck," Bellamy breathes, and it's almost like he hadn't actually been expecting this to happen. Clarke smirks at him. She almost feels like she has the upper hand for once. But then he stares at her a little too long, his gaze raking over her and she becomes acutely aware that she's standing naked in his living room while he's fully dressed. She licks her lips nervously and Bellamy straightens, his eyes meeting hers.

"Come on," he says, the gruffness of his voice making her clit twinge. She follows him to his room, and the second she shuts the door behind her he presses her up against it, crushing her breasts to his chest as he kisses her.

"Bellamy," she murmurs against his mouth. His tongue slips into her mouth and she forgets whatever else she'd been going to say. He hands twist into his shirt as she tries to pull it off him, needing to feel his skin against hers, and her allows his lips to leave hers just long enough for her to pull it over his head.

Clarke drags her nipples over his bare chest as he kisses her and he groans into her mouth.

"Fuck, Clarke," he huffs, groaning again as she grinds her pussy against his crotch.

"How long have you been hard?" she asks him, her hand sneaking down between them to undo his belt.

"Since you let me finger you at a fucking Lana Del Rey concert," Bellamy growls. And fuck, it's so hot that he's been hard for her for so long.

Clarke manages to get his pants undone and he helps her pull them off, leaving him in his underwear. Clarke's mouth goes dry at the sight of his bulge, her pulse quickens as her eyes trail down his abs, following the line of hair that disappears into his underwear. She's almost holding her breath as she tugs his boxers down, desperate to finally see his cock. She's not disappointed.

It's not like Wells is small, but Bellamy's cock is something else. It's long and thick and glorious and her mouth is practically watering at the sight of it. She sinks to her knees, hardly in control of her own body anymore, and kisses the bulging tip gently.

She doesn't often suck Wells' cock, doesn't particularly like doing it. But at this moment there's nothing she wants more than to have Bellamy's huge cock filling her mouth.

She looks up at him, can see the heat in his eyes as he watches her drag her tongue over the tip of his cock, then along the shaft down to the base to lap at his balls.

"Clarke," he groans, his eyes fluttering shut as she runs her tongue back along his shaft then lets her mouth close over the end of his cock, swirling her tongue around, tasting the salty pre cum. "Fuck, Clarke," he pants. "You're gonna make me come."

"Good," Clarke says before taking him deeper into her mouth, filling her mouth with his cock until he hits the back of her throat, and fuck, there's still so much of him left. She moans around his cock before pulling back slightly, and Bellamy thrusts against her mouth, whether on purpose or by accident she doesn't know. She looks up at him again, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Fuck my mouth," she tells him as best she can with a mouthful of cock. Bellamy groans and jerks into her mouth again, a hand gripping in her hair tightly. He thrusts his hips, fucking into her mouth over and over as he holds her in place by her hair. Clarke sneaks a hand between her own legs, unable to control herself any longer, the throbbing in her cunt too much to bear. She's soaking wet and her thighs are coated with her own juices. She finds her clit and rubs frantically, giving herself the friction she craves and Bellamy grunts and continues to fuck her mouth.

"Fuck Clarke," he groans. "Are you playing with yourself?"

"Mmhmm," she hums, and then she feels Bellamy shudder, his hand gripping her hair harder, and then he's shooting his load down the back of her throat, moaning desperately.

"Fuck," he says, letting her hair go and pulling himself from her mouth. "Fuck. Let me do that," he rumbles, pulling Clarke to her feet and pressing her up against the door again as he drops to his own knees. He pushes her thighs apart and ducks his head to her cunt, licking into her, his tongue gliding along her slit. She's already close from her own ministrations to her clit, and his tongue feels so good inside her, rough and wet as he sucks on her clit, and then she's coming onto his tongue and he laps up her juices greedily.

He gives her no time to recover, getting up from his knees, and spinning her around so her tits are squashed against the door. He presses his dick against her ass and she rolls back against him, and somehow he's already hard again.

"Bellamy," she whines. "I want your cock. Please give me your cock."

"Since you asked so nicely," he says, his lips next to her ear. Clarke spreads her legs wide for him and he slides his cock against her folds, her pussy leaking juices onto him. His cock hits her clit and she moans, writhing against him. Her pussy clenches, desperate for something inside it.

"Bellamy, fuck me, please," Clarke begs. She whimpers as she feels him position himself at her entrance, and holy fuck, he's going to fuck her. And she's going to let him. "Bellamy," she says. "It's just this once, okay?" Because it needs to be just this once. Once he fucks her she'll lose interest in him. It will be like it never happened.

"Whatever you say, Princess," he says. And then he thrusts into her, his huge cock stretching her pussy wide. Clarke whines, and then he thrusts again, and then she's got even more of his cock inside her. She's never had anything so big inside her, her pussy has never felt so full.

"Oh my god," Clarke groans. "It's so big. Oh god."

"You okay?" he asks.

"Uh huh," Clarke answers. "God. Fuck me. Fuck me hard with your big cock," she demands, and Bellamy complies, pulling out slightly and ramming his cock back into her, hitting her g-spot. He fucks her relentlessly, his cock thrusting in and out, driving her closer to orgasm.

"You like that?" he asks roughly.

"Yes," Clarke moans.

"Yeah?" he says. "You beg your boyfriend to fuck you like this?"

"No."

"You're such a naughty girl, Clarke," Bellamy tells her, panting as he continues to fuck her. She's barely even aware of what he's saying, can't think straight, all she knows is she needs him to keep fucking her, needs his cock, needs him to come inside her. She feels something inside her snap then, and her pussy clenches, her whole body writhes against him and she cries out his name as she comes.

"Fuck, fuck," Bellamy groans, and then he's coming too, his come spurting inside her cunt as it clenches around him. He pulls out of her and she feels his come and her own juices drizzle out of her pussy, and fuck, she's just come twice but the thought of that makes her horny all over again.

"Had enough, Princess?" Bellamy asks, and Clarke turns around to see him smirking. Clarke bites her lip, looks at him innocently and then slowly shakes her head. It may as well be more than once. What difference does it make now, if he fucks her the whole night?

"I want to ride you," she tells him and he groans.

"What about your boyfriend?" he reminds her, as if he hasn't just fucked her nearly senseless. "I thought you said just once."

"He doesn't need to know."

When Clarke wakes up the next morning it's much later than she usually sleeps, even on a Sunday. It probably has something to with the fact that she'd been up half the night having the wits fucked out of her. Bellamy isn't in the bed beside her but she thinks she can hear him banging about in the kitchen. Clarke slips out of bed and quickly uses the bathroom before wrapping the sheet around her and making her way to the kitchen, picking up her clothes on the way. Bellamy looks up when he hears her enter, his eyes wandering over her body. He's wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a smug look.

It's not fair that he looks so hot. She's not supposed to be attracted to him still. Last night was supposed to get it out of her system, but here she is, staring at his naked chest, her mouth watering and a telling surge of wetness between her thighs.

"Sleep well?" he asks her. Clarke nods. "Coffee?" he offers and Clarke shakes her head. She clutches the sheet to her chest, hardly able to look at him.

"I should get dressed and go," she says. Bellamy studies her, noticing her withdrawn attitude.

"You okay?" he asks.

"A little sore," she mutters and he chuckles.

"Not what I meant," he says. "Feeling guilty?" Clarke meets his eyes, and he actually looks concerned.

"Yeah," she admits. "Don't you?" Bellamy shrugs.

"Not really," he says. "I don't really care about Wells. And I really enjoyed fucking you," he smirks. Clarke's stomach flips over and she presses her legs together tightly, trying to tell herself she's not turned on right now. "But I guess it's normal to feel guilty about cheating on your boyfriend."

"That's the thing," Clarke swallows. "I should've felt guilty while I was cheating on him. Or when I was thinking about cheating on him. Now I only feel guilty because I didn't feel guilty. And because I really want to do it again."

Bellamy's eyes snap to hers and he regards her with scrutiny.

"You should get dressed," he says, like he knows it's the right thing to say, but it's not what he wants to say. It's not what Clarke wants him to say either. She needs him to fuck her one last time before she goes. A last-ditch effort to get him out of her system.

"Okay," she says, dropping the sheet to the floor to reveal her naked body to him. Bellamy's jaw clenches and he folds his arms. Clarke doesn't move for a few seconds, waiting for him to do something. He narrows his eyes at her and quirks an eyebrow.

"Put your hands on the counter, Clarke," he commands, his voice slow and deep. Clarke bites her lip and does as she's told, placing her hands on the counter and spreading her legs for him, her ass sticking out.

Bellamy stands behind her and her heart beats wildly, she can barely stand the anticipation. She feels his hand on her ass, caressing her gently, then a finger dipping into her folds.

"Just as I thought," he murmurs. "Soaking wet again. What kind of girl gets off on cheating on their boyfriend, hmm?"

"A bad girl," Clarke says.

"That's right," Bellamy agrees. "I kind of like bad girls though."

"Are you going to fuck me or what?"

"Just this once, right?" Bellamy says, teasing.

"Just this once," she agrees, and at that point she really believes it. Bellamy doesn't waste time with foreplay this time, she's already dripping wet and desperate for him anyway, just from thinking about it. He pulls his cock from his underwear and slides it right into her swollen pussy, and she had him multiple times last night but his size is still a shock. He fucks her hard and fast against the counter, and she comes within minutes, him not far behind her, coming inside her pussy.

Clarke picks her clothes up of the floor and Bellamy helps her get dressed, standing much too close as he pulls her skirt over her hips and slips her top over her head while she watches his lips, wishing he would kiss her.

"You don't need these," he says, holding her panties up, smirking as he pulls them out of her reach as she grabs for them.

"Come on," she huffs. "Wells might notice." Bellamy looks amused.

"I highly doubt that," he says, and Clarke resents his insinuation.

"What, you think Wells and I don't have sex?" she retorts. Bellamy rolls his eyes.

"I know you do," he says. "But I also know you're not going to let him anywhere near that pussy until you're sure you no longer have my come inside you." He grins and Clarke flushes. "You should get home to your boyfriend before he misses you," Bellamy says.

"Yes," Clarke agrees, turning to go.

"Try not to think of me when he fucks you," he calls after her, and Clarke burns from embarrassment and desire.

"Fuck," she mutters to herself once she's alone in the hallway outside Bellamy's apartment. She heads towards the train station, and the guilt starts to wash over her as she makes her way home to her boyfriend, her panties missing and another man's come inside her.

Wells doesn't suspect a thing. Why would he? As far as he knows his girlfriend went to a concert with a guy she barely even likes and then slept on his couch. He has no reason not to trust Clarke. She's never given him a reason to before now.

She tells him the concert was good and that she needs a shower. And he smiles and nods, none the wiser to Clarke's infidelity.

And even though Clarke thinks about Bellamy while she gets herself off in the shower, she honestly thinks everything is going to be okay. She feels guilty enough that she doesn't think she'll cheat on him again, but not so guilty that she feels the need to confess. She's confident that she'll be able to forget all about Bellamy and that in a few weeks this whole thing will seem like a distant dream.

She cooks Wells a romantic dinner that night, hoping to ease her guilt just a little.

"This is out of character," Wells teases. "The last time you cooked for me was on our third date and we ended up getting pizza," he reminds her, wrapping his arms around her waist while she stands at the stove. Clarke tenses up, remembering being in Bellamy's kitchen, naked, with him behind her.

"It's only spaghetti," she says. "And don't distract me or I'll burn it!" she scolds. Wells chuckles and presses a kiss to her cheek before letting her go.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it," he says and Clarke breathes a sigh of relief. She needs to get a grip. She can't go around thinking about Bellamy every time her boyfriend tries to touch her.

Except, after dinner Wells leads her to the bedroom, and he lays her down on the bed and she has to force herself to keep her mind on the man she's with. He kisses her softly, and it's nice, like always.

"Let me thank you for dinner," he whispers, dragging him hands down Clarke's waist to lift up her skirt. "I'm gonna make you feel good." He kisses her inner thigh and she closes her eyes, focusing on his touch as he removes her panties. He only does this occasionally, and it's never bad, but neither does it excite her like it should.

She tries to think about Wells as he strokes her, trying to get her wet, but it's not until she thinks of Bellamy between her legs that she feels the surge of wetness.

Wells, she scolds herself. Think of Wells. Your boyfriend. But then she's thinking of him, and he's doing his best to get her off with his tongue, and nothing's happening. Which has happened before, occasionally, so she tries to tell herself it's not because of Bellamy. And then she just gets tired of Wells head between her legs and she kind of just wants to go to sleep. So she fakes it.

Wells scrambles back up beside her looking pleased, and Clarke tries to look blissed out and satisfied. She smiles as he wraps her up in his arms.

"I love you, babe," he says.

"I love you too," Clarke responds, because she does love him. And she tells herself again that she's just tired and that her lack of orgasm tonight has nothing to do with Bellamy. She doesn't quite believe it this time.

Just under a week later Wells still hasn't been able to make her come. He doesn't know that of course, because she just fakes an orgasm when she's had enough of trying to reach a climax that she knows isn't coming. The worst part is she feels like she can't even get herself off while she alone, because she doesn't trust herself not to think of Bellamy.

She tries her hardest not to think about him at all, which of course means she's thinking about him constantly. But it's not a crime to think, right? And if she has a couple of dreams about him where she wakes up hot and flustered, wet and wanting, well she can hardly be blamed for that. She can't control what she dreams.

Wells gets home late from work on Friday night, and Clarke is already feeling annoyed. He messaged her to tell her and it's not like he has any choice over the matter, but it doesn't make Clarke any less irritated by it.

"Hey," he says, when he finally gets in. "Sorry, I know I said I was going to cook but I had to stay and help Murphy fix his mistake. I got Chinese instead, hope that's okay."

"It's fine," Clarke says shortly, and Wells knows her well enough to know that it isn't fine at all. She's trying to hold it in because she's already aware she's being irrational, but it doesn't stop her from being mad anyway.

"Hey, come on," Wells says gently.

"Don't patronise me, Wells," Clarke says, glaring at him. And maybe it's the pent up sexual frustration or maybe it's the constant guilt she's been trying to squash, but she snaps. "This is so typical of you. You don't even bother to ask me what I want." He glances at the bag of Chinese food in his hand and Clarke huffs. "It's not just about Chinese food."

"What's it about then?" Wells says, clearly starting to get defensive.

"It's about you ignoring my needs!" Clarke yells. "It's about you saying things and not following through!"

"I said I was sorry!" Wells huffs. "It was because Murphy—"

"This isn't about Murphy!"

"Well, can you enlighten me as to what this is really about? Maybe you just need to cool down. Because you're acting kind of crazy," he says. Clarke stares at him with narrowed eyes, livid.

"Fine," she snaps. "I'm going for a walk to cool down. Enjoy your Chinese food." And then before she knows what she's even doing she's grabbing her bag and storming out of the apartment, Wells calling after her exasperatedly.

She knows she's not thinking straight. She's mad, for probably no reason, and she just walked out of her apartment at eight o'clock at night with nowhere to go. If she was dressed nicer she could go and chill out at a bar for a few hours, but as it is she's dressed in a paint stained tank top with no bra, jeans with holes in the wrong places and a pair of worn ballet flats.

Her pride won't let her go back inside, and then her feet are carrying her towards the train station and somehow she ends up at Bellamy's apartment building. If she'd had to press the buzzer and stand on the street and wait, she probably would have turned around and gone home. But someone is heading out just as she gets there and she catches the door and heads straight to Bellamy's apartment where she knocks on his door. It's not until he opens it, just a wedge, and gives her a look of surprise and confusion that she realises how stupid she's being.

"Clarke?" Bellamy says, opening the door wider. Clarke opens her mouth, then quickly shuts it again, feeling foolish. Her eyes flick down to his lips for just a second, then further down, because apparently she can't seem to help herself. She hates herself for wanting him so badly.

"I'm sorry," she says finally. "I shouldn't have come, I don't know why I'm here," she shakes her head in embarrassment, turning to go. Bellamy catches her arm. She glances down to where his hand grips her, her skin burning from his touch.

"I know why you're here," he says, and when she manages to meet his eyes she expects him to be smirking, laughing at her. But all she sees is dark heat in his eyes as they drop down to where her tank top has slipped so low it's almost indecent. She swallows.

"You do?" she manages to murmur, despite the fact that her throat seems totally devoid of moisture. The same cannot be said for her panties.

"Your boyfriend can't satisfy you and you can't stop thinking about me," Bellamy says, and he's smirking now. Clarke huffs.

"That's not—"

"So you don't want my cock then?" he says, letting go of her arm. She does want it. She wants it so bad. There's a dull throb between her legs letting her know how much she wants his cock inside her.

"I shouldn't even be here," she whispers. "Wells—"

"Can't give you what you need, Princess," Bellamy says, his voice low. "I can." His words send a jolt straight to her core and she can't help but give in, reaching for him.

"Uh uh," he smirks, stopping her. "Let's make a deal. I'll let you in and fuck you good and hard, but you have to take your top off first."

"What… here?" Clarke says, glancing down the hallway. Bellamy nods. "But someone might see."

"Come on, Clarke, I know you get off on the possibility of being caught," he grins and Clarke does her best not to blush "So how about you take off that flimsy excuse for a top and show me those pretty tits. Does your boyfriend know you're out here with no bra, your nipples practically showing, hm? I bet everyone on the train was staring at those hard little nipples, knowing you weren't wearing a bra. I bet it turned you on to have strangers staring at your tits."

Clarke bites her lip and glances down the hallway again. She hates that he's right. She gets a thrill as she grips the bottom of her tank top and pulls it over her head, then letting it fall to the ground. Bellamy's gaze darkens as he stares at her tits and she puffs her chest out a little for show. Fuck, she wants him to touch them.

"Can I come in now?" she asks.

"Not yet, baby," Bellamy says. "I want to see them bounce a little, come on." Clarke flushes, but she's getting desperate. Her panties are soaked through and her pussy aches to be touched, so she bounces a little for him, her tits jiggling obscenely, and she should feel stupid but instead it just turns her on.

"Please Bellamy," Clarke whines. "Let me in. I don't want someone to see."

"I think you do want someone to see," Bellamy says knowingly. "And we both know the real reason you want to come in is because you're desperate to get fucked. Isn't it?" Clarke nods. "Say it."

"I'm desperate to get fucked," Clarke says obediently, and god, the way he's talking to her has her more desperate than ever. Wells never talks to her like this. He's always treats her so delicately, and he's not really into her talking dirty to him either. She's never had the courage to tell him she wants it hard and dirty.

Bellamy doesn't need to be told. He already knows how bad she wants it, he just gets off on hearing her beg for it, knows it turns her on too.

"I'm gonna need more than that," Bellamy says. "Tell me how much you want it."

"Please Bellamy," Clarke begs. "I need your cock so bad. I need you to fuck me, I want you inside me. Fuck me hard. Please Bellamy, I'm so horny."

"Why?" Bellamy demands.

"Why?"

"Why are you so horny?"

"Because my boyfriend can't make me come," Clarke admits.

"And who can?"

"You," Clarke says, and Bellamy finally drags her inside, slamming the door behind her.

He grabs at her tits roughly as he kisses her, sloppy and hard and Clarke winds her arms around his neck, twisting her fingers into his hair. Bellamy's hands migrate to her ass as he kisses down her neck, then drops his head to her tits, kissing the soft flesh then taking a nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

"Fuck Bellamy," Clarke groans. "I love your mouth on my tits."

"I know you do," Bellamy says smugly, lifting his head. He squeezes her ass and she shrieks joyfully before dissolving into laughter. "Up," he commands, and Clarke obeys, hooking her legs around him as he hoists her onto his hips, his fingers digging into her ass. Bellamy returns his mouth to her breasts, paying attention to the other nipple now, lavishing it with his tongue and Clarke can feel the tug at her clit, as if it's directly connected to her nipple with a piece of fishing line. Bellamy keeps one arm around her, pressing her back against the door while he brings his other hand to her neglected tit, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger while he continues to work his tongue on the other.

"Bellamy," Clarke moans, her head rolling back against the door. "I need you to fuck me."

"Not yet, Princess," he says. "I wanna see if I can make you come just from playing with your tits." Clarke moans again at that.

"It's impossible," she tells him. "I've never done that."

"We'll see," Bellamy grins smugly, twisting her nipple with his fingers, sending a pulse right to her cunt. "I love your tits, Clarke," he tells her, running his tongue over her right nipple. "Such pretty pink nipples," he murmurs. "I loved watching you bounce for me. Did it turn you on?"

"Yes," Clarke says. Bellamy lets his teeth graze over her nipple gently and she whimpers.

"They're so big baby," he continues. "Even when you're wearing a bra I can see them jiggling when you walk and it makes me so hard." He moves his tongue to her other nipple, and Clarke's pussy is throbbing now, needing badly to be touched. She can feel her He licks around her areola then across her pointed nipple. "Can you feel it in your cunt?"

"Mmhmm," Clarke whimpers. She can feel it alright. Every flick of his tongue winds her tighter, bringing her closer to the edge.

"Are you gonna come for me?" Bellamy says.

"Uh huh," Clarke nods, and she's almost there. Bellamy sucks her nipple into his mouth, hard, and then she's coming, tightening her grip in his hair as she shudders against him, a silent cry on her lips. She drops her head to his as she comes down, breathing heavy.

"Oh my god," she murmurs. "I can't believe you just made me come without even taking my pants off."

"Told you," he chuckles. "You just need someone to do it right." He sets her down on the ground and she manages to stand though her legs feel like jelly.

"That's all well and good," she says breathily. "But you promised me you'd fuck me good and hard." Bellamy grins.

"Well, I wouldn't want to break a promise," he says wolfishly. He goes to grab her and kiss her, but she stops him with a hand on his chest. "What?" he asks in confusion.

"Your turn," Clarke says, her eyes flicking down his torso where he's still painfully clothed. Bellamy shakes his head with a smirk before pulling his shirt over his head and casting it aside. Clarke can't help but stare at his chest for a moment, before swallowing and glancing down to his crotch and sizeable bulge.

"Pants," she demands next, though her voice is a little strangled. Bellamy takes his time as he undoes his pants, letting Clarke tingle with the anticipation. He kicks his pants aside with his shirt and stands there in his underwear.

"Now what, Princess?" he asks her, and Clarke manages to drag her eyes away from his crotch long enough to see him smirking at her.

"Now you fuck me until I can't remember my own name," Clarke breathes.

"As long as you still remember mine," Bellamy growls, grabbing her by the belt loops on her jeans and tugging her in to kiss her.

He spins her around so her back is pressed against his chest, his erection pushing against her ass. He kisses her neck as one hand fondles her tits and the other snakes into her jeans and panties, his finger dipping into her wet slit. He grinds his cock against her ass and suddenly there's too much clothing separating them.

"I need these off," Clarke whines, tugging jeans down her legs. She trips in her haste to get them off and falls to the floor.

"You okay?" Bellamy asks, obviously holding back a laugh.

"Just help me get these off," Clarke huffs, and Bellamy drops to his knees in front of her before dragging her jeans down her legs until they're lying on the floor. He then helps her with her panties, soaked with her juices, until she's naked before him, sitting on the floor with her knees spread. Bellamy gazes at her bare cunt, the want evident in his eyes, and god, she needs him now.

"Fuck me," she commands, though maybe it comes out more like a whine.

"You want me to fuck you here on the floor?" he asks gruffly. "That's how much you want it, huh? Can't even make it to the bed?"

"I need it now," Clarke says.

"Fuck," Bellamy groans. He stands up to remove his underwear hastily before kneeling back down between her knees.

"Are you gonna fuck me hard now?"

"I'm gonna fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked," Bellamy growls and Clarke lets out a stifled moan. He leans over her, pushing her down until her back is against the floor. She feels his cock slide against her pussy lips and she spreads her legs wider. Bellamy positions his cock at her entrance then pushes into her, and she groans as his thick cock enters her cunt, spreading her wide.

"Yes," she moans. "Fill me with your cock."

"I'm gonna fill you with more than my cock," Bellamy tells her, thrusting his hips into her. "I'm gonna fill you with my come." Clarke moans her approval. "You like that? You like having my come inside you?" he says as he fucks into her, slow at first but gradually increasing his pace.

"Yes," Clarke gasps.

"Did you like going home to your boyfriend with my come inside you? I bet it dripped out of your pussy on your way home," Bellamy continues, still fucking her.

"It did," Clarke admits. "I got your come all over my skirt and thighs."

"So fucking dirty," Bellamy growls. "I bet you fucking loved it, didn't you?"

"Yes," Clarke pants. "Yes, I loved it. Please, fuck me harder." Bellamy obliges, now unable to speak with the effort he's giving, driving into her so hard and fast she feels like she might break. Clarke loses herself in the bliss, the only thing she's aware of is Bellamy's cock filling her, hitting her g-spot over and over.

"Bellamy," she moans.

"Say it again."

"Bellamy. Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy," she chants in time to his thrusts. "Oh Bell, I'm gonna come." She does a second later, her eyes rolling back in pleasure as he continues to fuck her, chasing his own release. "Come in me," she whines. "Please come inside me, Bell." It's her words that do it and he spills inside her, thrusting one last time with all the energy he has left.

"Fuck," he says, panting. "God Clarke." He pulls out of her, some of his come leaking out of her pussy. "You're not going to tell me that was the last time, are you?" Clarke bites her lip. She doesn't think she can honestly say she won't fuck him again. But she can't say she will, because every time she does this her crime becomes much worse.

"You don't have to say anything," he assures her. "I know there's going to be a next time."