A/N: Inspired listening to Coldplay (again) and opera. Don't ask.

She rocks her hips to the wild, primal rhytm. She is underneath him, pinned like a butterfly with a needle in its chest, finding it hard to breathe but still weakly fluttering. His hot muscled chest rubs against her breasts, making her moan directly into his ear.

This wasn't sweet lovemaking. This was just raw fucking. Just something that needed to be done to satiate both their hungers. Her nails scratch down his broad back as his teeth leave marks along her neck and collarbone. She wants him to leave marks all over her, to mark her as his territory.

Maybe she'll accidentally reveal these marks to one of the pack members. She can already envision their shocked gaping faces.

Leah does not know what to think about Paul, besides the usual complaints of his volatile and temperamental disposition and that he speaks too loudly. Oh, and his swearing. Having to peruse his thoughts amidst a sea of insulting epithets could get boring very quickly. He is violent, true.

Leah also does not know why she is currently having sex with him either. Maybe she needed a good lay or maybe she was missing the physical contact with another human being. She knows she does not love him. And she is pretty sure he doesn't love her either.

So what is she doing?

Again, she is clueless. But she does secretly hope that next time they all phase, Sam will get a glimpse of what happened between her and Paul.