Chapter 1
It's not the first time Clarke is going to that sort of event. It's been a while now, her relationship with Lexa is starting to feel like the real deal. Well, if Clarke's really being honest, she'll say that it felt like the real deal from the beginning. But now is not the time for honesty, because she's walking through the doors of this Charity Gala thingy, at the arms of the sexiest woman alive, Lexa Woods, resident badass CEO, richer than rich, purest heart that existed. She feels good. She feels incredible.
True it isn't really her scene. Her scene is more of messy workshop, dry paint of the floor, this tangy smell of fresh oil and old wooden panels. Her scene is wearing jeans shorts that could be compared to underwear, loose shirts, backward snapbacks. But, boy, does it feel right to dress up, and feeling like this. Alive, sexy, beautiful and desired.
True, a lot of people desire her dressed like this. She doesn't care much for them, though, for this is nothing comparable to the looks of pure devotion she sees in Lexa's eyes. She dressed up extra tonight because Lexa's being honoured, yet again. Something to do with her being the youngest female CEO of her generation. So she chose a strapless dress, falling mid-thighs, dark blue. To match her eyes. She's delighted because she picked-up Lexa's outfit to match her own. A nice, fitted three piece tuxedo, deep black. It's Armani, and the collar of the jacket is leathery.
The bow-tie and the pocket square are the details that match the dress. Black shoes, black belt. Clarke loves it. She slightly feels like they own the place and it has her buzzing as soon as she enters the classy, dimly lit room. She can't even remember the name of the building.
Lexa on the other hand, feels right in her element. She lives for those kind of moments, and now, she gets to show the whole world this amazing woman that deemed her worthy of her love. How lucky was she? She thinks she must have done some good in another life to have this kind of karma. It fills her with pride and makes her heart swell that Clarke would follow her to parties like this. God, she loves this girl like a mad woman.
At first, it's all pleasantries and introductions. Everyone shows off, brags about their latest conquest or project, and soon, it's time to join the tables. They're round, organized. Untainted, white tablecloths cover them up, and they go all the way to the floor. That makes Lexa smirks. Oh, bless those events.
"Why are you smiling babe?" Clarke asks, wanting in her girlfriend's head.
"Hm? I'm not smiling." They both sit next to each other and Lexa pushes her chair a little bit to the right because she's not nearly close enough to Clarke.
"Hum, yes you got that smirk" She replies seriously. "The one you have when your mind gets dirty."
A laugh, "I must have it all the time around you then, hard not let your mind wander especially when you dress like this."
"So you like the dress then?" Clarke asks, tone lowering.
"Yes. It's too bad though." At the blonde's frown she adds, "Only makes want to tear it off of you."
Cheeks heat up, redden, and dinner is served pretty quickly, providing a much needed distraction. While they eat, the brunette keeps casting sideways glances at the other girl's cleavage, making it known what she thinks of it. She touches occasionally her hands with the tips of her fingers. Sometimes she leans in and whisper simple things. "You're beautiful" she'll say against the shell of her ear. "I want you" She'll say low and breathy. "This fish is delicious, but I'd rather have you in my mouth." She says finally like she wasn't talking about her mouth on Clarke Griffin.
However, when dinner is finished, and boring old men start giving off speeches that are supposed to lead to Lexa's, the CEO dips her hand underneath the table. Clarke is already losing her mind, but as far as dinner went she managed to keep an ounce of control. Now, now is another story entirely. Because Lexa's knucles are gently brushing against the outside of her thigh, already riding up the painter's dress. Trailing so very lightly, they change path and knuckles transform gradually into tips of fingers. Outside becomes inside.
Clarke's legs open instantly. And it's like the control has totally escaped her body. She grips her napkin, the edge of the table, of her chair. The light touches are like liquid heat, living a trail of tingles in their wake. Tingles that go straight to the girl's core. She's vaguely aware of people applauding. Fingers trail up higher, go back down to graze her knee, and again, trace a new path. The pattern is recurring. A little more daring each time. A little more close to where she wants it.
"Lexa, Jesus." A whine, quiet, pleading. Lexa's reeling already. So high on power. Finally, she brushes a feather touch between Clarke's legs. And the sigh that exists only for her to hear is delicious. "Please."
Hips buck, legs open wider, and Clarke sits at the very edge of her chair. She's soaked already, and if a few light touches get her worked up like this, she won't need much. Totally manageable. A quick, dangerous release, in a room full of people. Finally, finally, she feels Lexa's fingers touch her firmly but the pleasure lasts only a second, before she hears "Sorry, babe" in a tone that's clearly not sorry, and the CEO is out of her sit and making her way to the stage.
Stuck in her seat, Clarke can do nothing but watch, her mouth hanging open, despising the look she gets from her girlfriend, smug and proud. She downs her glass of Dom Pérignon, and urges the waiter to get her three more. She feels hot, bothered. On fire. Infuriated. She doens't even listen to Lexa's speech. Doesn't applause. She's torn between storming off home to finish (or rather start) herself, or walking to the stage and downright ask Lexa to take her on the spot.
She does neither. And when Lexa sits back down next to her, she gather her things and goes to the cocktail room, sitting at the bar and orders something stronger. Dry martini. That seems more like it. She's still throbbing, and can think of nothing else than the brunette's fingers inside of her. She won't go begging though. Not this time. She sees her coming in the cocktail room, sleeves rolled up, still classy as fuck. Infuriating. Sexy. So so fucking sexy. No, Clarke thinks, she won't get her way this time.
That's how Lexa starts to get a taste of her own medicine. Catching the blonde from the corner of her eyes, leaning a bit too much while talking to the waitress. Laughing a little too hard at something the woman says, head thrown back and all. Just like she used to do when they started dating. She never stopped though. But seeing her do it with someone else? Lexa starts to feel a weird feeling low in her stomach. She doesn't like it one bit. She feels possessive. Gripping her whisky fiercely, she's overwhelmed with the need to claim the blonde girl.
She doesn't even excuse herself from the conversation, jaw set, one hand in her pocket, dark gaze, confident steps lead her to the still laughing blonde at the bar. She sets her glass on the counter, and faces Clarke, pressed close, mouth to her ear. "Are you having fun?" She asks. It's not angry, not threatening. It's tempting. It's low, and sensual. Really what it means is "Do you really think you don't need me?".
"Someone has to finish what you started." Clarke is playing with fire. She knows it. She loves it.
"And you think she's going to fuck you better than me?" Lips graze the shell of an ear. Both girls shudder. Shivers of excitement are exchanged.
"At least she's willing to do it, which is more than I can say about you." That fucking voice, husky, pushing Lexa's buttons in all the right ways. She's gone. She's gone for good, this is the turning point.
"Get up." It sounds like the sexiest order, and Clarke clench at the words. She wants to comply, to give in, but if she pushes just a bit more, she knows that she's just going to get it like she wants. She clenches again at the thought.
"No." Jesus, she's taking risks. She is pushing it. For a moment, she's scared that it's too much. Lexa's body tenses. She doesn't move but she feels her hand on her thigh, firm, authoritative, demanding. It feels like fire.
"I said, get up. Now." The tone of her voice drips with want, with rage, but it doesn't scare her. Quite the contrary. It sets her on fire, she closes her eyes, swallow. She gets up slowly. Carefully, because at this point she doesn't trust her legs. They're wobbly, her knees are weak, she's consumed with want. There is nothing more in her body than pure, unadultared want.
She won't even pretend and ask where to go. She just walks in the direction of the bathroom, Lexa directly behind her, a hand still in her pocket, the other at the small of her back. It feels like a giant statement of property.
Once they're in the bathroom, Lexa takes the time to lock the door behind her. It's not like it's going to be a problem, there are at least two other bathrooms in the area. When she turns back Clarke is leaning on the opposite wall. Head tilted back slightly, mouth barely opened, heavy breathing. What a sight to be greeted with. One of her leg is propped back on the wall. She looks like a picture of sin.
Lexa can barely keep it together, but forces herself to walk slowly to her girlfriend. She touches lightly the bent knee, forcing it back down. She leans in, but before pressing a kiss on the other girl's lips, she grips her hips firmly and turns her around. Pushes her agaisnt the wall, pressing her hips into her ass, forcing her legs opened with one of her own. Clarke lets out a gasp of shock and surprise. Oh, what has she done.
Hands grips hers, pulling them behind her back, firmly held in place while a strong thigh starts to press into her. "Fuck" she groans, she is lost already. She can't help but grind on it. She needs something concrete.
"You wanted to get fucked? Here's your chance, babygirl. Fuck yourself."
One of Lexa's hand grips the blonde hips, guiding it, the other runs all over the rest of her body. Thigh, side, breast, neck. Too much happens all at once, but it's still too little. She doesn't feel like herself anymore. She grinds relentlessly, the friction oh so glorious. But she needs more. She needs so much more.
"Lexa, please. Please." She could cry. She grips the edges of the brunette's suit jacket because she has to hold onto something.
"What is it babygirl? Tell me." Suave voice drips into her ear, tongue licking just underneath it, teeth nipping at the flesh.
"I need more. Please."
"What do you need?" But Clarke's words are gone, there's only moans and pleas, when both Lexa's hands grips her hips, her ass, and grounds the blonde harder on her muscled, strong thigh. So the brunette continues. "Do you want my fingers inside of you? Do you need me to fuck you so thouroughly that you don't even remember that waitress' name? Did you even know it in the first place?"
Fingernails presses in the flesh of her ass, her dress is being lifted, revealing black lace, forcing a "Fuck" out of the CEO's mouth. "You did dressed up for me, huh, babygirl? So why is it that you were seeking another's attention?" Jesus, lord, heaven, can people make love with their voice? If so Clarke is twice as fucked. "Do you not want me to make you scream my name? Or did you want me to make you mine?" The grinding is out of control, sloppy, yet controled by strong hands. "Do you deny, Clarke?"
The blonde shakes her head desperately. Oh the punishment is delicious. Oh, she has wished for it, but she didn't hope for that much, and it was glorious. The constant denial of her needs, fullfilled with all the delicious authoritative things Lexa was saying. Torn between not being touched enough and too much at the same time. Oh what a feeling. What a time to be alive.
"You do, I know you do. Fuck, you're so desperate for me, it's beautiful. Come on, baby, fuck yourself hard and good against me. Be a good girl."
It's the last fucking straw and Clarke's coming undone, clenching around nothing, pulsing and throbbing in all the right ways. Forehead pressed against the cold tiles of the wall, a strangled cry stuck in her throat. The blonde's legs give out and strong arms slips around her waist, turning her around and pulling her from the ground.
"You're so fucking sexy. You're so fucking magnificent."
Lexa can only appreciate the state her girlfriend is in, and the feeling of weak legs wrapping around her. She lives for those legs. She doesn't waste any time slipping her fingers inside, reveling in the heat, the warmth, the way Clarke's soaked. The moan that rewards her gesture is nearly enough to make her come on the spot. Nothing turns her on more than seeing the painter letting go, being pleasured, and only two people are allowed to pleasure her. Clarke and herself. Because, let's face it, having Clarke tease her with photos and videos of her touching herself will forever be her weakness.
"Fuck, Lexa, you feel so good."
"You too, love, you too." Lexa answers, thrusting gently, Clarke's arms around her neck, looking deeply inside her eyes. Soon enough, she picks up the pace, because they're still in the bathroom of the gala, and people must be looking for them. She bites the side of the blonde's neck, sucking it gently, soothing it with her tongue before whispering relentlessly "I love you" into her ear.
It's not long before Clarke comes again, fingers pulling the brunette's hair, moaning softly in her ear. After a few moments of calm and quiet, unsteady feet touch the ground again and they kiss passionately, before the blonde grabs Lexa's hand, still between her legs, she immediately puts her fingers in her mouth and suck, hard. Licking them clean.
"Take me home now."
And Lexa, in her lust clouded mind can only comply. They don't bother saying goodbye.
In the back of their spacious car, after Clarke has rolled the window up, she kneels before Lexa, thanks her in her own way. When they arrive home, they don't wait to get to the bed. They don't stop until morning comes.
Yes, Clarke thinks when she falls asleep, she's used to these kind of events. There's a reason she loves going this much.