The rating has changed to M for all the obvious reasons ;) Enjoy.

Automatically, her hands fly over to his tattooed wrist. They tighten around it, desperately trying to find a way of pushing him back before he cuts off her air supply. Tris swallows while she can, then her eyes widen at the figure looming above her.

Eric's eyes are hard, focused directly on hers- which are like giant black sauce pans. He leans forward, not even flinching when one of her hands shoves at his muscular chest. He looks like he is about to say something when Tris cuts him off with a whimper. He narrows his eyes, as if waiting for her to calm down. Calm down? He is strangling her!

When all else fails, she decides to use her legs. His body presses down immediately, prying her thighs open until her legs are on either side of him, "Behave, now."

Tris whimpers again, going back to gripping his wrist. It is as if her throat is squeezing shut. She gasps for air. Or is it all in her head? Is he just trying to hold her down? Because his fingers do not squeeze her at all. After a few seconds, she realizes that she can breathe at a normal pace. No need to gasp. It's okay. Eric won't hurt her.

She pants heavily, taking advantage of all the air she would have lost if Eric was an actual murderer.

He might not be after a kill. He might have frightened her. Yet, his behavior does not change, "Having that attitude will not get you anywhere. Do you hear me, Stiff?"

She nods quickly, running her tongue along her dry lips. His eyes follow it. And he licks his own. She was not trying to be suggestive. Panting with your mouth wide open can leave one's lips feeling like snake skin.

"You will not behave like that around me, do you understand?" She nods again, too distracted to pay attention to his words. It will come back and bite her in the backside later, she knows it, "Good girl."

Eric presses his lips against hers, closing his eyes in the process. She half expected it. The warmth he emits is almost unbearable. She can even feel him there... radiating heat into the thin boxer shorts he gave her to wear last night. A weird rush of excitement swims down to her core, heating up every inch of of her lower regions. She could have concealed her moan of pleasure if Eric wouldn't have started to grind against her. He feels so close. There is only a couple of layers separating them from skin contact. Even the thought makes her shudder.

Cold air reaches Tris' neck and that is when she knows. His hand is gone. She is free. She is free to go. Push him off. Run out of his apartment. While he is so preoccupied smooching her face off, she could do it. And she almost does. Her pleasure stops her.

She starts to kiss him back, not aware of anything but the knowledge of this kiss being better than last night's. She moves her head in rhythm with his, creating a perfect smack with their lips. A low growl at the back of Eric's throat makes her open her eyes. She suddenly pulls back, her heart pounding in her chest.

"What?" he asks, almost succeeding at sounding annoyed.

Tris presses the back of her head into the pillow, making a big gap between them. This feels too good. That's what.

Eric leans back, eyebrows furrowed, tongue pushed against his cheek. He leans until he is sat up. Then grabs her thighs and hoists them up to his hips. The way he grips her there makes his fingers slide up her boxer shorts. She gasps at the contact.

"Are you curious?" his voice sounds prominent.

All she can do is nod. It's not a lie. She really is curious. But unsure how much of this she can handle.

His blue eyes light up like a little child's. Instinctively, her finger goes up to her face so that she can bite on it. It is as if somehow her hand can cover her features, averting his attention. Obviously, it doesn't work. Now he stares at her more intently. Being suggestive without realizing- that would be Tris' super power.

Suddenly, his hands leave her thighs, fingertips lingering on her skin. And there she is- sprawled out on his bed, legs bent, hair scattered around her head like a halo. He leans back. Tris thinks for a moment that he might have got second thoughts. That he doesn't want to do this- whatever it might be. But then Eric starts unbuckling his belt. Slowly. Like they have all eternity and beyond. She glances up at him, holding her breath when she realizes that he has been staring again.

Her mouth must be hanging open when his belt leaves the hoops in his pants because his lips curl into a smirk. He is clearly enjoying this.

Tris rests her hands on her stomach, lacing her fingers together awkwardly. He is still between her legs. And still staring down at her. She doesn't know what to do. And offers him a shy smile.

He gives her a confused look, "Do you know how much that mouth of yours can handle?"

"Are you talking about cursing?"

A smirk slithers across his face, "No, Tris. Something else."

He grabs both ends of his belt and presses them together to make a giant leather loop. Then, he shoves her bent legs down onto the mattress, edging closer to her face and straddling her tiny waist. Evidently, he tries to keep his weight off her, but her breaths still come in short and quiet gasps. She looks up at him, watching as he tosses the belt near her head. What is he doing?

Her hands fly up to his thighs, keeping his hips at a distance from her face. But he just edges closer and closer and closer. Until she can smell the pungent center of his manliness.

He unzips his fly without further hesitation, as if it will not make her freak out. What on earth is he doing?

"Eric," she whispers, her mouth going dry. His hand dips into his pants and in a couple of seconds he retrieves his semi-hard cock. Her heart stops. Her eyes widen. But the look on his face is everything but anxiety.

She watches as he gives himself a couple of strokes, a crease appearing between his eyebrows, "Open your mouth."

She is too stunned to do anything. The tip of his manhood glistens in this light, foreskin engulfing it and then bringing it back as he strokes himself. It seems that his manhood grows bigger with each passing second. Soon, it looks too big to fit into his pants.

"Do as I say," he orders, his breath hitching in his throat. She does. Curious, right?

Eric's hand grips the back of her head, pushing her forward. She holds her breath at first, not knowing what to do or what may come. And after squeezing her eyes shut, she feels his warm length nudging into the back of her throat.

His soft groans fill the room, making her relax. She must be doing it right if that is the reaction she gets from him. Her body heats up, sweating in creases under her clothes. The heat radiating from his thighs crushes her, sending her into a frenzy. Something came over her long before she started kissing him. It could have been the Dauntless. It could have been her willpower to be brave.

Soon, her hand joins in. She uses it to stroke the base of his cock as the taste of him in her mouth becomes way too familiar. They develop a slow rhythm. His hips thrust towards her face, and instead of pulling away, she accepts it willingly.

The tip of her tongue flicks across his tip whenever the chance appears. After building her confidence with each passing groan she manages to evict from him, her hesitation lessens. She sucks him as he throws his head back, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. A raucous moan breaks from him and it takes her a few seconds to realize that he is saying something, "Enough."

She slips him out of her mouth, curious to know what will happen next. Her not-so-innocent eyes gaze up at him, watching as he grits his teeth and pants heavily.

In less than a second, his expression changes from breathless to dominant. His icy stare causes a shiver to run down her spine. When will that look ever stop doing that to her? Eric pulls away from her and she takes a deep breath, thankful for all the air he has given back to her.

Tris licks her lips as his taste in her mouth becomes stale. He watches her, of course. He always watches.

Suddenly, his hand creeps up to the belt he previously dropped and picks it up. He makes a loop again and takes a deep breath, almost glaring down at her. She starts counting the seconds. One… two… three…

"Give me your hands," he breathes.

She blinks at him.

"Give me your hands," he repeats, pressing harder. She complies immediately, extending her arms and pressing her wrists together, palms up. The belt wraps around her wrists so tightly that she has to bite her lip to conceal her squeal. Eric's piercing twitches on his eyebrow.

He pushes her arms over her head and ties them to the headboard, tugging one end of the belt to secure it. She gasps, hands going a pale shade of blue as pins start prodding below her skin, "No running away now."

But she wouldn't run anyway… would she?

As his hands trail down to her boxer shorts, he takes advantage of any little bump and curve that may be in the way. He kneads her breasts and then squeezes her hips and then finally yanks at the material. Tris has to mentally thank herself for keeping her panties on last night instead of going commando in the boxers he told her to wear. Eric does not look too pleased though. He huffs but then recovers and runs his hands over her black underwear.

There is a raging burn in her lower region. She tries to rub her legs together but it is rather hard to do with Eric between her legs. Instead, she whimpers quietly, trying to give him a hint on what she needs.

He seems to get it because he smirks. But he chooses to do nothing about it. He peels his pants down, giving himself a couple of slow strokes. She watches intently, her face heating up. This is happening. This is actually happening.

"Patience," he growls quietly, preoccupied with his own pleasure. She raises her hips, meeting his huge hand as he presses her back down into the mattress. A tingling sensation starts up along with the burning in her core. How tight is this belt, really? She yanks it backward and forward, furrowing her eyebrows as it hardly loosens. She yanks harder. Nothing. Nothing but compression on her skin.

He is enjoying this too much.

Finally, his hand leaves his erect member and joins his other one on Tris' hips. She moans when he traces his fingers down the wet patch on her panties. Her hips twitch forward again, under the influence of something other than her. Realizing that she can't control her movements, she decides to close her eyes and try and force herself to calm down.

"I said: patience," he growls in the dark, "I don't like to repeat myself, initiate." The light streams in when she opens her eyes. She is almost blinded by it. Eric's features are smudged by the yellow halo breaking through the window behind him.

Everyone is probably at breakfast. Having bacon on toast... And really strong coffee... But here she is, frolicking with one of the leaders. Oh, God, what if somebody finds out?

A gaspy moan erupts from Tris' mouth when Eric's fingers press harder against her folds. It isn't even skin on skin contact. But that does not matter. She still feels the urgency of his fingers and her wet slits. She imagines the electric volt sparking between them. She definitely feels it.

"I can feel how wet you are," he slurs above her, "I'm not even doing anything yet." Yet. She loves that word. Especially right at this moment. Something will definitely happen. She is not afraid anymore.

"Then do something," she bites her lip, not embarrassed by her words. He grins down at her, clearly pleased by how blunt all this made her.

"Do what?" he quirks an eyebrow, pretending to be clueless. She nearly rolls her eyes, but at the last minute remembers where 'that kind of attitude' will get her.

She gasps again as his fingers trail down her tingling folds through the fabric covering them, "You knoooow," her voice is a whine.

Her legs rub against his, desperately trying to get some friction. But she is nowhere near gliding against anything. Eric clears his throat. It sounds authorative like it usually does, although something is off. His breathing, perhaps? "Do that again and I will tie your legs up too."

Tris groans in frustration, and to him it probably sounds like a moan of pleasure, "Eric, please."

"What?" He leans in suddenly, until she can feel his hot breath on her chin, "What do you want? Say it and I'll do it." His lips press against hers for two short seconds. And the electric shock is back. She twitches.

"Touch me," she whispers, feeling his lips graze her nose.

In a split second, cold air brushes across her pubic bone, down to her folds. The sweat collected there washes over from warm to freezing. She shivers and kicks her panties off her lean legs. Eric doesn't touch her though. She has to blink twice to clear her cloudy vision. He is still above her, taking in every inch of her skin. But somehow for him, it is not enough. His eyes dance across her black shirt before landing on hers. His look is too intense. She glances away at least three times.

When she half expects him to take her shirt off-... well, he does. But in a very unorthodox way. His hands grip the sleeves and as if tearing a piece of paper in half, he tears the shirt. She flinches as her heart finds its crazy pace again. His eyes take all of her in. She starts feeling a little self conscious. If only her hands weren't tied up so bloody hard.

The bruises, the scratches, the open wounds, more ribs sticking out than muscles... he sees it all. First with his eyes and then with his hands. Tris flinches again when he grips her left breast. He strikes a dark look at her. What? Now she can't have low self esteem? She will get into trouble for that as well?

"I've seen worse," he murmurs. She stares at him in shock. But he doesn't notice. His mouth is already glued to her skin.

Before she can change her mind, she breathes the word, "Asshole," so quietly, she barely hears herself. He does. Of course, he does. Perfect.

His eyebrows raise along with his now black eyes. This time she can't help but hold his gaze. It is as if her life depends on it, "What did you just say?" His voice is calm. Too calm.

Could she lie? Be a coward for the sake of not getting a beating? Or worse? No, that is not an option. This is Dauntless. She shakes her head anyway, unable to stammer a single word. It is not a lie. She just shook her head. The thing she really regrets out of this whole scenario is that he has stopped touching her.

"Too bad for you," he groans quietly, sitting up to pull his shirt over his head. Her mouth hangs open. He is probably more Dauntless that everybody in the faction combined. Her eyes trail down to the perfect 'V' above his manhood. The black hairs making their way to his toned six pack increase rapidly until they create a flawless patch on his chest. The geometric tattoos on his wrists build their way up to his shoulders, spilling contents of the Erudite symbol along with Dauntless out towards his chest. But they never quite reach it, "I was going to untie you," he slips two of his fingers past her folds, making her cry out. She was caught off guard, "And touch you, like you wanted," he groans quietly, sliding his glistening fingers out of her, "But what did I say about watching your attitude?"

"Eric, please-"

"Please?" He raises his eyebrows again, creating four curvy lines on his forehead, "I suppose I should fuck some sense into you."

He towers over her, extending his arm so that he can reach the nightstand. She hears him pushing a few blunt objects around in the drawer before coming across a wrapper and pulling it out. He darts her a dangerous look before ripping the square package with his teeth and spitting out the waste. She grinds her wrists together, still desperate for an escape. There is no point, is there? Only Eric can untie her.

She watches as he wraps his penis in a transparent condom, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. She swallows her nerves, knowing that what is about to happen cannot be undone. There is no escape. Not from his belt, not from this situation. Unless she screams for help, or demands him to stop. Deep down, she doesn't want to stop.

Everything flashes before her eyes. Eric is on top of her now, chests pressing together. He stares down at her, as if confused about something. And then he does it. He kisses her. Softly, lovingly... an Abnegation kiss. She tastes his warm lips, closing her eyes slowly. She wonders for a moment if he is savoring this moment as well.

A sharp pain pries her eyes open. She breaks away from the kiss, unable to conceal her cry. Eric frowns, but continues to move. Not eagerly. Slowly. He rocks his hips and each time goes deeper by a millimeter. It is too much to take in, even if he is trying to lessen the impact. One thing is for certain: he had forgiven her already.

His hands slide up and down the sides of her body, landing under her armpits when she widens her eyes at him. He looks back, pressing his forehead against her own, "You're so tight."

"Please," she whispers, unable to tell what she is begging for anymore. She throws her head back against the pillow, allowing him to stretch her beyond what she thought was possible. Once the tears in her eyes dry up, his pace is relentless. She imagines him having two bold words inked on his chest: No Mercy. That tattoo would suit him. Especially in this context.

"Gah," he grunts, wrapping his arms around her trembling body. All the air she had, leaves her lungs, causing her to cough one or two times. The burning in her area has subsided, but replaced with a more urgent sensation. He plunges in and out of her, rubbing that mystery sensation away. Her hands start to itch. She squeezes her fingers into fists, an animal firing up inside her. She moans loudly, starting to breathe that word again.

"Please! Eric, please," she takes a deep breath, losing it as he slams into her again, "Untie me, please!"

To her surprise, he reaches over her head and yanks at the leather belt holding her hands hostage. It loosens and falls around her head like a dead snake. The metal bit wacks her on the forehead, but she barely feels it. Her hands dart straight for his hair, tugging at the longer locks and smoothing down the buzzed hair behind his ears. His face scrunches up before pressing against her chest, kissing over every bit of skin available to him. His pace never falters.

At one point, she drags her nails down his back. At one point, she shamelessly screams his name, aware of how wild she must sound to him but not really caring either. She has come to the conclusion that what makes her confident does not necessarily have to be a game that she can win, or the amount of people she can beat up faster. Her smirk widens then, as she traces her fingers down Eric's rising and falling chest.

Dauntless do not teach you how to be confident. Something else does. You just have to find it first.

You guys have no idea how long this chapter took me to write. But it is finished. Finally, finished. I hope you enjoyed this story, and the surprise lemon that came with it.

I will write more stories after my University business is out of the way. I'll be back soon. Sooner than you think :)