Chapter 2
Well, if you ask her, Clarke would surely tell you that she loves every event she has to attend to with Lexa. And that'd probably be true. Even the most boring ones, the kind that is all fake people and awkward venting, the kind that is uptight and boring, the kind where there's too much speeches and not enough booze. However, over the years she had learned to keep those parties interesting in more ways than one. At first, it was sex. A lot of it.
The sex hasn't stopped, mind you. But somewhere down the line, her and Lexa started doing this thing, and at every opportunity, they would bet each other. It started innocent enough, finding ways to entertain themselves during long speeches and neverending banquets. It'd be “I bet you a lap dance that Pike's wife will trip over herself in the next hour.” or “This speech is going to last at least half an hour, and that's if we're lucky.” Followed by “Wanna wager on that?”
It kept things undoubtedly exciting. Well, tonight, things will get undoubtedly more exciting.
See, if there's one thing Clarke likes more than teasing, it's a challenge.
She loves being challenged and challenging. Oh, and challenging she is. Especially with her wife. That's why they work so well together. Clarke understands perfectly everything Lexa is. She's controlling, because she loves being defied. She loves the power, because she also loves being provoked. Clarke knows how to push her buttons, to push back the controlling ways because defiance and being overly confident will turn Lexa on to no end.
That's what pushes her to be particularly bold tonight.
The banquet is endlessly boring. She knows people, sure, it's been five years, she's bound to know her way around. She adaptated. But even Lexa seems to be bored out of her mind talking to a woman with too much make-up on her face and not enough fabric on her dress. She considers getting jealous for a second, then thinks she's not that bored.
Their looks cross. She sees in Lexa's eyes the pleading and desperate Please, help me. She considers for a moment being merciful and generous, and going there to help her. But, come on, she's not that easy, either. She figures she'll tease a little, if only because she knows she'll get teased right back, and she's kind of looking forward to it.
So she smirks lightly, and goes to the bar to refill her dry martini. She sits on a stool and while she sips at her drink, looks around her. A few feet away, she spots two people, young and almost innocent, but their eyes are hungry, set, and she realizes that they're flirting and living the pre-stages of their relationship and she misses the thrill. She misses the beginnings and what-ifs and unabashed flirting.
God, how she wants to feel that again with Lexa, she wants to live it all again.
She wonders if playing this kind of game would be something Lexa would be up to. They've tried things, oh they did. Not all at once, they know not to be greedy, to be cautious with how many kinks and fantasies they'll try to make them last the longest. It's only been five years, after all, they've got a lifetime. What's the point in trying it all once? So they do it slowly, teasing each others on things they'd try and how, always trying to surprise the other.
She wonders, really, if she should ask Lexa for it now. She turns and look at her again from across the room, the look on her face pleading and pleading and desperately in need of saving.
She makes the decision in ten seconds only, gets up and goes to her wife, putting on her best seducing eyes, not that she needs them anyway.
“Could I borrow you for a minute, darling?” She asks, not waiting for the lady to finish her sentence; which is impolite and bold and everything she wants to be tonight.
“Of course. Would you excuse me Mrs. Johnson?” They don't wait for an answer either, their smile friendly, almost genuine.
They make their way to the bathroom, it's not even something to be discussed anymore, there are things that go unsaid. It's natural, instinctive.
When they reach it, Lexa assumes she knows where this is going, of course she does. Among the unspoken rules of work events, sex in the bathroom is the golden one. She doesn't remember a single night where they didn't perpetuated that tradition.
So it's only natural, that when Clarke goes to the sink, facing the mirror, Lexa follows and stands directly behind her, staring at the flawless reflection in the mirror. She takes a minute to admire her wife, to appreciate her luck, take it in, ask God when did he decide that she'd get to meet a woman like that, let alone marry her. She tries again to get her head around the fact that they're bound for life, that they've promised themselves to each others, that five years is just the beginning.
She breathes her in, kisses her neck, listens to the quiet breaths it still ellicits. She shudders.
“Do you remember that night, you opened a gallery, I was showcased,” Clarke says, “We fell in love and got married?”
Lexa laughs, encases Clarke with her arms by gripping the counter on each side of her. “Vividly,”
It's Clarke's turn to laugh, and they stare at each others through the mirror. “God, we were so in love already it was almost too easy. We wanted each other so much, there was no fight, I was yours before you even asked.” When the kissing in her neck resumes, she goes on, “We skipped the whole seducing game almost completely, we could have done so much better,”
“Are you saying my game is weak?” It's low and husky but Clarke sees the smirk in the mirror and feels it on her skin. She tries not to shudder to hard.
“Oh, your game is strong, you landed me after all.”
There's no smirk on Lexa's face, only intensity and desire when she says, “Modesty is by far your best attire, Clarke,” the blonde can only bites her lip at that.
“What if we did it all over again?”
“You want to marry me again?” Lexa asks only halfway joking with a proud but sheepish smile.
“God, yes,” Clarke answers truthfully, because marrying her once didn't feel like it was nearly enough. “But no, I mean the whole, seduction thing, the whole flirting. I want to begin again,”
The blonde knows that Lexa gets it when there's a smirk on her face, clearly amused, somewhat aroused.
“So you want,” she starts, still looking intently across the mirror at her wife's perfect eyes, “to pretend like we don't know each other,”
Clarke is fierce and strong when she answers, “Yes, that is exactly what I want.”
“Tonight, at this party?”
“Yes.”
Lexa trails her mouth on the girl's cheek, eyes fixed still, until she reaches the other girl's ear. “You won't be able to last an hour. You won't resist me.”
“I beg to differ,” Clarke says, voice wavering only slightly, but eyes unrelenting.
The brunette then, takes a deep breath, inhaling her wife's perfume before licking a path behind an ear. She smirks at the subtle gasp. It's almost too faint to hear, too restrained. But she knows her wife better than she knows herself. She mastered the perception of her body language, she learned to look for the signs, for the weaknesses and strengths.
“Well, if you beg then,” smirk still in place, she takes a step back, and starts to make her way to the door, “Let's put that to the test.”
Lexa's at the door when Clarke, running on pure adrenaline, turns slightly, and says, “Care to wager?”
This seems to affect Lexa, because she freezes, hand grabbing the doorknob a little too tighly. “Let's make it interesting,” Clarke adds, “Let's change the rules a little,”
The blonde is on a power rush, she feels like she has the upper hand and for once, she finds that she quite likes it. She suddenly aches to see what it'd be like to see Lexa surrender for her. What a sweet, sweet victory that would be.
“Alright,” Lexa says slowly, turning around to find Clarke almost pressed into her. She's never known the blonde to be that stealthy. She's far too turned on by that knowledge. “What happens if I win?”
“You fuck me in that bathroom,”
“I'm not sure I need a bet to see that happen,” Lexa answers, confident and cocky.
“No bet, no sex,”
It shuts the brunette up, her voice dropping to a low husk when she asks, a few tension-filled moments later,“What if you win?”
“If I win,” Clarke starts, trailing her hands smoothly on the front of Lexa's suit jacket, “I fuck you in that very bathroom,”
There's a breathy silence, brief consideration, before Clarke hears “Game on,” then Lexa slips out of the room, leaving her alone and half triumphant.
She thinks their game just got ten times more interesting.
She looks at her watch, notices the night is still early, and she's grateful that those parties last hours. She wants to enjoy it the best she can. So she makes her way back to the party, slowly, buzzing with anticipation. She orders another drink, occasionally searching the room for Lexa. A few times their eyes meet. There's so much tension between them, Clarke is scared the whole room is able to feel it.
She gets a slight nod, a raise of a glass from across the room, it feels so formal without the brunette's smirk on her lips, familiar and warm, but there's a glint in her eyes, desire.
Clarke wonders how she is possibly going to get through it, her legs already feel like jelly, and they haven't even talked yet. She decides to sit at the bar, attempting to calm herself. Well, of course it seems Lexa has other ideas, doesn't want Clarke to calm down, because as soon as she's seated, the brunette is beside her, whiskey in her hand, the other in the pocket of her dark blue trousers.
“Seems like your glass is empty,” Lexa starts, “Let me get you another one,” She doesn't even look at her when she gestures to the bartender.
“You know it's an open bar, right?” Oh, this time around, she'll get her fun. Clarke thinks this time around she'll play hard to get. Drive the brunette fucking crazy. Only if for the night.
“You looked lonely,” the brunette says, grinning lightly, while a drink is served in front of the blonde.
“So you wanted to keep me company?” Clarke reaches to touch the other girl's arm lightly, and leans in, saying husky and low, “How considerate.” She just has the time to feel a shudder rock through her wife's body before she leans back, grins and continues, “Who said I wanted you to keep me company?”
“Instincts,” Lexa replies, while still looking at her drink, still not sitting.
“Hm.. Seems to me like it was you who were looking for some company,”
The brunette just shrugs, and turns to look at Clarke intently, “Weren't you?”
“So what if I was?”
“Then I guess I'd have to trust my instincts more often,”
The smirks they exchange are subtle and reserved, like two teenagers tip-toeing aroung each others. It was a bright contrast to the heavy tension filling the air, confident and affirmed. There was a short silence before Lexa spoke again.
“What brings a married woman here alone?”
When Clarke frowns at her, Lexa just shrugs and raises her eyebrows, “The ring?” She says, nodding in the direction of the blonde's hand.
“Well, you're wearing one too, so you must have the answer,”
Lexa plays with the wedding band on her finger, the simple golden band with engraved patterns, and said, “Maybe I do,”
“Care to share?”
At that, the brunette advances toward Clarke, stepping into her gently, “Maybe you were right,” Eyes find each other, “Maybe I really am looking for company tonight,” then, she leans into her ear, “Let's hope my wife doesn't find out,”
“Wife?” Clarke asks, a faux air of innocence.
“Is that a problem?”
“I'd say it's rather a solution,” but while she says that, she pushes on Lexa's shoulder to make her step back. She's intent on not giving in, she's already reeling with images of Lexa in a puddle beneath her hands. She challenged Lexa, because Lexa provoked her, and so it was all the more reasons for her to prove that she was capable of showing some restraint. Her mind flies back to their very first date, when she begged Lexa to fuck her right in the corridor of her old apartment. Ah, she thinks nostalgic, the good old days.
At the questioning look she recieves, she shrugs, and look through her lashes at Lexa and says, “Well, I certainly won't make two cheaters out of us,”
Lexa chuckles, grazing her fingers lightly on Clarke's bare thigh, “That sentence would be relevant if I had effectively propositioned you. Which I didn't.”
Clarke is loving this game, this incessant pushing and pulling, flirting while not doing so, when the words contradict the actions. She loves the fight, the “I want you but I won't say it.”
“So you're saying you wouldn't proposition me?” The blonde asks, making a show of crossing her legs, trailing Lexa's hand a little higher on it, turning a little on her stool so she's facing Lexa who went back to lean on the counter. The CEO's fingers are still on Clarke's legs when she asks.
“Do you want to be propositioned?” Everything feels so much like their first date, Clarke is reeling and almost slips and say yes. She feels like it would mean that she caves in, that Lexa was right, that she wouldn't resist her wife. The truth is that Lexa is right, Clarke can't resist her. Her whole body's buzzing, she's throbbing, white heat pooling low in her stomach. She tries to ignore the slick feeling between her legs when she clenches her thighs. She fails, of course she does. Still, she's intent on staying composed.
She turns back on her stool, adjusts her dress down so Lexa's fingers are no longer touching her but she doesn't swat her hand away. Still, she says, “No I guess not,” with a cheeky smirk that's mirrored on Lexa's face.
Lexa must say she didn't expect it to be that.. interesting. She's drawn to Clarke like never before, feeling like the first day when she chased her through an entire gallery, discussing art and poetry.
“Shame,” Is all she replies, taking a sip of her whisky. “Would have been a great way to pass the time. This party is boring.” Before the blonde can respond and claim a premature victory by twisting her words, the extends her hand, “I guess I'll settle for dancing. Will you?”
Clarke is torn, this could lead to dangerous situations. Really dangerous situations, but she craves the contact of her wife. She takes the hand presented to her, promising herself she'll behave. Or maybe she won't, and really, even if she looses this bet, she guesses she still wins. Lexa is going home with her tonight, like every other nights, and that's all she could ever hope for.
As soon as Clarke's hand slips in Lexa's, the brunette tugs her toward the center of the room. They walk slowly, Lexa turning at one point, hand still in Clarke's, which she brings to her mouth to place a delicate kiss there. Clarke wants to melt, to yell at her that it's cheating, using all of their things against her, playing the sensitive card. She doesn't.
“Hand kissing, really?” She raises a perfect brow. Lexa smirks and steps into Clarke, keeping their hands clasped, raising them at their side and bringing her other hands to Clarke's hips. The blonde's free hand lands on her wife's shoulder. Soon, they're swaying gently to the slow music. “Don't tell me you're going to pull some Shakespeare on me, now?” She continues, deciding to beat Lexa at her own game.
What she gets in return is a light chuckle, the feeling of her wife pressing slowly into her, breathing her in. She wants so much to reach out and kiss her neck, press closer, kiss her lips.
“Only for the ones I intend to bring home,” She doesn't see her wife's face, but she feels the smirk against her cheek, she feels the smug look. She hates that she loves it.
“I feel like I should be offended by now,” she answers, gripping the brunette's shoulders to keep herself from crumbling at the tension. “I guess it serves me right to dance with strangers I don't even know the name of.”
“I'm Lexa,” it's husky and whispered in her hear and Clarke thinks she'll collapse from utter desire. “In case you wanted to know.”
Clarke doesn't answer, she just untangles her hand from Lexa's, only to have it gripping her other shoulder. It's a big mistake, she finds, because it allows the brunette to touch her hips with both hands now, pull her closer, breathe in her ear and God, she's good. But tonight, she thinks, tonight, she's better.
“Aren't you going to tell me yours?” Lexa asks, head tilting to try and catch a glimpse of the blonde's scent. She's thriving. She loves this night. She loves it far too much, all this remiscing of their first meeting and date. It makes her feel lighthearted seeing how far they've come. It also reminds her of the desire she had felt for the woman from the start. Something deep and burning, the kind of yearning you never fully sastisfy. She feels it tonight. She craves to touch Clarke, she craves her body, her skin, she craves everything. She wants nothing more than to take her against the bathroom wall, but this game is far too good.
“You didn't ask for it,”
“I'm asking now.”
When she hears the blonde's chuckle, the triumphant edge it has, she knows she's in trouble. There's a hand on her neck, nails grazing the back of it, fingers touching her skin seductively. She braces herself for what is to come, remembering like it was yesterday when it was her that tortured her wife with this. She closes her eyes to try and concentrate, but it only results in images of a naked Clarke behind her eyes, writhing and panting and needing. Wrong move. Then, there are lips against her ear, almost touching the flesh, and a breathy husk, “I'm Clarke Griffin.”
The voice is so low and hoarse, Lexa's knees go weak.
Clarke is smug. She contemplates venting about it. From outside anybody would think Lexa is composed and in control but there is so many tell-tale signs. Clarke knows them. The gentle grip of her hands against her hips, the slightest buck of her own, a breathy gasp, and if Clarke were to lean back and look at the goddess that is her wife, she'd probably see her mouth parted.
Clarke knows she has Lexa, she knows she must continue, be relentless.
“Don't have anything to say anymore, Lexa?” She probes, hiding her grin in the crook of her wife's neck, trailing one of her hands down a musuclar arm, squeezing.
“It's, really.. a great.. Name.”
“Well, thank you,” Clarke says, “If I'm being accurate I should say Griffin-Woods, I took my wife's name after all,” she pauses, and leans back, her gaze sultry and inviting. “Suits me well, don't you think?”
Lexa's eyes are almost completely black when she leans in, her lips only inches away from Clarke's, “Like a glove,” she says, then after a moment, “Your wife is a lucky woman.”
“She is, isn't she?” Clarke says in a strike of confidence, “You'd think she would appreciate it instead of running off to some fancy banquet to seduce strangers at the bar,” she adds a little daring, a little charming.
“Yet, here you are, doing the same.” Lexa says with a smile. The movement of her lips almost causes their lips to brush, they're so close together.
“Are you saying you're seduced Lexa?” Clarke pushes, and Lexa feels herself loose the battle. She wants Clarke too much, her wife is far too enticing, playing her like a fucking violin, saying all the right things at all the right times. She wants to cave in, would it be so bad? Would it be loosing? Oh, sweet surrender indeed, would it be to fall into her lover's arms. Clarke's breath on her lips, the gentle sway of her hips against hers, the gentle nails incessantly scraping her neck, it's all too much, not enough at all.
She gives in.
“Absolutely,” she says finally, leaning in to steal a kiss from the blonde's lips. At the last moment though, Clarke pulls back, not allowing it.
“Easy now, I thought you weren't propositioning me,”
“I am now,” Lexa says, impatient. She wants her wife's lips on her own, she wants to love on her, or be loved on by her, whatever, she wants Clarke.
“Well, now, you've got to put a little more effort into it, I'm not that easy, Lexa,” The blonde smirks devilishly upon seeing the despair in her wife's eyes.
“Want me to kneel before you, huh?”
“That's an idea, really, you could always beg,” Oh, Clarke is loving this game.
“If I kneel before you, you and I both know it won't be for begging,” Lexa says, trying to regain some control, loving the effect it has on Clarke, but she knows the game is already lost anyway. There's no more pretending.
And then Clarke knows. Then Clarke realizes, she has the power to make Lexa crumble with what once and still makes her crumble. She looks straight into her eyes, before leaning into Lexa's ear to whisper “But, mistress, know yourself: down on your knees, and thank heaven, fasting, for a good woman's love.”
All of Lexa's body stiffens, the grip on her hips deepens, a faint moan is heard. After that, there are no other words. Lexa takes Clarke's hand and drags her hurriedly across the room, finding the rarely used bathroom of the building, and locks the door immediately after, wasting no time pressing her wife to the door, pressing her lips to her own. Two long moans echoes through the room, relief and tension mixing deliciously as Lexa languidly strokes her tongue into Clarke's open mouth.
Clarke pushes off the door though, after a moment, collecting herself.
“I did say I wasn't that easy, stranger,” A cocky smirk is playing on her lips. It disappears almost as soon as it was here, because Lexa is fucking kneeling before her, reverent, desperate, true.
“I surrender,” she says, and Clarke is so baffled by the gesture, reminding her of all the times Lexa kneeled to take her, only to have her now do it to give up control. For a minute, she stares wide eyed. It allows Lexa to kiss her thighs, to begin to touch her, and Clarke considers letting her have her way when she hears, “Have me,” and she's gone.
In seconds, Lexa's on her feet pushed against the opposite wall, and they're kissing again, hungry, passioned. Heat is radiating off of them, movements are rushed and Lexa's hands start to roam. Clarke grabs her wrists before she can let them be too convincing.
“Now, now Commander,” Clarke says, pinning the other woman's hands against the wall behing her. She considers tying them, but she's not sure about that, and she doesn't want to break the mood by asking. She'll ask later, for sure, she won't forget, because the thought of it makes her throb.
“Clarke..”
The blonde doesn't respond, and it's her turn to kneel down. The gesture is foreign, well, not that foreign, but it occurs to her that it's the first time she'll get to taste Lexa this way, in this position, and truthfully, she can't wait.
She trails her hands on the front of Lexa's suit pants, she soft italian fabric rubbing deliciously against skin.
“Clarke,” Lexa repeats in a sigh. She doesn't understang what's happening to her, she's out of herself, consumed by desire. She'd never tought it'd be that easy to give up control, that easy to loose herself in the feeling, and nothing has happened yet. Then again, Clarke makes it always so easy. She trusts Lexa so openly, it only feels natural for Lexa to trust her in return. She'd give Clarke whatever she asks for, so she guesses her control and dominance is part of the package.
She realizes, when you have control for so long, in the bedroom anyway, it's that much more powerful when you give it away to someone. That it's that much better. Plus, she figures that Clarke is her equal in every way, and that what she wants, she gets. No matter what their usual dynamic is.
Sometimes, it feels good to let go. Tonight, under Clarke's hands, she wants to let go.
“What is it, love?” Clarke says, untucking Lexa's shirt and kissing her stomach.
Well, Lexa wants to let go, it doesn't mean she's going to be admitting it right away.
“I thought you were supposed to fuck me in that very bathroom. Intend on keeping your end of the bargain, yet?” The brunette challenges, trying to rile Clarke up in the best possible way.
She feels the echoes of the laugh against her lower abdomen, making her head spin. Then she feels a tongue lick a trail up to her navel. It's going to be a good night, she thinks.
“You sure sound eager for someone who just lost,”
Clarke unfasten the belt then, lower the zipper, in slow deliberate movements, before dragging the trousers and underwear down in one go. They pool at Lexa's legs, and Clarke for a second is mesmerized by the evidence of Lexa's arousal coating the lacy material.
When she parts Lexa's thighs slowly, leaving wet kisses on the inside of it, she hears a breathy “Maybe we both won." She smirks.
She still smirks when she answers, “We certainly did,” and she still smirks when she lowers her head between the brunette's legs to kiss her slick center.
She doesn't smirk anymore when wet tongue meets wet heat and a loud moan is echoing through the room. Lexa immediately tries to put a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. She doesn't trust herself to be quiet like she usually is. Something about this is just entrancing.
Clarke is on her feet right away, putting Lexa's hand where it had previously been, against the wall next to her head.
“Oh, love, be loud. Be the loudest. Let everyone know how I fucked the CEO of Woods Inc. into ecstasy,”
Sure enough, another loud moan rips itself from Lexa's mouth, and Clarke is back on her knees, wastes no time whatsoever to dive back in the small paradise between her wife's legs. She grabs at her thigh, at her hips, tries to keep the bucking to a minimum while still allowing it, the thought of Lexa fucking herself in her mouth far too arousing.
“Clarke, fuck, your mouth..” Lexa says, trying to keep some sense of grasp on reality. Talking seems like a good idea. She's used to talking while fucking Clarke, while making love to her. It's what she knows, she should stick to it. She should try and concentrate on that to keep from coming ridiculously fast despite having regular mind-shattering sex. “Jesus, your mouth on me, it's..”
Clarke hums her agreement against her, the vibrations forcing Lexa to arch into the touch of her tongue, gentle on her but relentless. It feels reverent and learning even if it has nothing to learn anymore. As if Clarke wants to learn forever the way Lexa will react with each of her touch. As if Clarke forgets everytime what it's like to have her wife in her mouth, and every time, she wants to discover again.
“It feels so fucking good, Clarke,” the blonde hears again, and she feels like rewarding a little so sucks a little harder, licks a little faster. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she hears in return, “Fucking fantastic, love.”
The incessant string of “Clarke,” and “Please,” and “Fuck,” brings the blonde to finally graze her teeth lightly across the throbbing nerves and Lexa can no longer talk. She tenses, a strangled cry escaping her then silence. She seems frozen in space, but for the violent tremors of pleasure rocking her body. She tries to squeeze her thighs, trap Clarke's head between her legs but Clarke has a death grip on her, she won't let it happen, and the hot white pleasure she feels is only heightened.
Clarke kisses and cleans, gentle and loving until Lexa calms enough. When her breathing returns to normal, Clarke returns to her feet, and kisses her wife hungrily, her hands still on her hips.
“I hope you're enjoying the ride, love,” she says hotly into her mouth, “Because it's far from over.”
Lexa wonders how Clarke manages to turn her around in one swift perfect motion when her trousers are still pooled at her ankles, but she does manage. She fails to realize right away that she's pressed against the wall again, face against it. When she does, she shudders, anticipating what is coming.
Her hands are pinned back against the wall, and Clarke speaks in her ear next, “You keep those delicious hands on the wall. Will you be good for me?” she asks, nipping at Lexa's earlobe, “Will you do as I say?”
Well, if Lexa was eloquent before, she sure won't be now. Every last functioning cell in her brain has shut down and all she can focus on is Clarke's hands on her ass, kneading, clawing, until a hand slips back between her legs. She's glad to know she still has a voice though, judging by the loud, loud moan that passes her lips when Clarke touches her.
There's no foreplay, no light touches, and Clarke sinks her fingers into Lexa immediately, sighing and reveling in the soft feeling of those inner muscles clenching around her. She doesn't thrust hard and fast, not yet anyway. She starts slow and deliberate. Sultry, accentuating each thrust with a roll of her hips.
Lexa's hips bucks. She presses her forehead to the dark tiles of the bathroom wall. Clarke loves to watch her unravel. She can't wait to be the one at Lexa's mercy again, can't wait to play this game again. Can't wait to play for the rest of their life.
“I love the way you feel,” She says into her lover's ear, because, really, talking is all they do. They're such big talkers in bed, however filthy or tender it is. They just love the communication, the words, the voice, the connection. “You take me in so well,” she adds, “So tight for me, so fucking tight,”
She punctuates each words with a slow thrust. Soon enough, Lexa is trying to grab at the wall, looking for something to hold onto when the second orgasm of the night is threatening to happen already.
“You love it, huh, Commander?” Clarke says, increasing the pace of her hand, “You love to be commanded,” she continues, watching Lexa try to nod, failing, clenching her jaw to try not to scream.
“Deep down, you're just begging to be taken,” Clarke says again, and that does it. She helps Lexa ride the waves of pleasure as she comes, watching intently her wife, all open-mouth and eyes tightly shut and she tenses and trembles.
The blonde kisses her tenderly and doesn't expect the brunette to recover so quickly, so she's surprised when Lexa pulls her trousers back abruptly, arranges her clothing, turns back and grab her hands. When she frowns Lexa says, “We're going home.”
“Giving me orders now? I don't think I'm done with you yet,” Clarke answers, to which the brunette answers with a searing kiss, and “You can command me some more while we're there, but please, I need a bed.”
“Will you let me tie you to it?”
There's a long silence and deep stares, and then, “Fuck, let's go home right the fuck now.”
Clarke doesn't take control often, but when she does, she doesn't do it by halves.
Clarke doesn't stop smirking the whole way through the cocktail room where they revieve weird looks that neither care about, and she's still smiling in the car when she has her hand on Lexa's thigh.
Clarke thought that with the years she'd get bored of these parties, she'd grow out of it, tire of it. She thought it'd be a pain in the ass, but it turns out, she just had to find a way to make them interesting. Clarke just can't wait to go another one of those fancy party.