Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You close your book.

You've read this line too many times already and you know why.

You look at your watch. Almost midnight. They could be home any moment now. You decide to go check on the kids. You get up the stairs you've learned to know along the years you've worked here. You're quick but silent. You know this house as well as yours.

Your feet lead you to a pink door. It is dark in the corridor but it definitely is pink and it makes you smile. You open the door, not too much because you know it'll make noise if you push too far. Your head slips in the small opening and you can't help the swell of your heart at the sight. In the way too pink room, Mia is sleeping in her way too pink bed and pajamas. Time has passed but Mia is still the same. She is glitters and laughs and unicorns and you love her.

You close the door carefully because you know the girl's sleep is light. You turn back and on the other side of the corridor you see the black door. It used to be a light shade of blue. You miss it because you love blue and you know why.

You turn the doorknob and are not surprised by the dim light. The boy has changed so much. His father's fault you think. You hate the man. You can't help it. But you love Lyam. He is a gentle kid, caring and patient. He loves his sister and protects her. Your eyes fall on the night light near the boy's bed and you remember the day you offered it to him, to take away his fears, to chase out the monsters haunting his dreams. Your heart sink, knowing that now this night light is not enough.

You love these kids, and you tell yourself they're the reason you always come back. But it's a lie and deep down you know why.

You leave the room, walk down the corridor and the stairs. When you reach the living room you hear the beep of the dish washer and decide to take care of it. You enter the kitchen. You don't turn on the lights because the living room is bright enough for you to see. You know you could do it with your eyes closed anyway. You're methodical. You start with the plates, your hands work easily, even your body knows where everything goes and soon the machine is almost empty.

You're about to put the last glass in its cupboard when you hear it. You hear the heels on the parquet and your heart stop. And you know why.

You don't turn back but you can see her shadow and you know she's leaned on the doorframe. Your hands start to tremble and you shiver. You know why she's here and already you can feel your skin burn. You finally put the glass on its shelf and place your hands flat on the counter. She moves and a second later she's behind you. You smell her sickening perfume and you open your mouth but no words come out. You try again but you know it's vain. You know you've lost your tongue and strength because she does that to you and you hate it. You close your eyes and hope it'll end soon. But the woman don't move, she's waiting and it's maddening because you have other things to do. Or so you try to convince yourself because deep down you know why you're in a hurry.

Finally she touches you and your breath hitch. Her hand is on the back of your thigh. The palm is smooth and hot on your bare skin and you wish you were wearing pants. But again you know why you're not. Her hand slips under your skirt to grab your butt cheek and you know what's coming.

You clench your thighs and try to ignore the flutter in your stomach and your inner walls clench in anticipation. You hate it, hate the way your body reacts to her. You hate the warmth in your chest, the shameful joy in your heart and the eagerness in your bones.

You feel her hand caress your ass, trace the lines of your laced underwear. The touch sends shivers run on your now flushed skin. You take a deep breath because you recognize that ritual. You know what she'll do next and you make her job easier. You have school tomorrow and wish to rest before going, you remind yourself but again it sounds like a lie. You spread your legs wide enough for her hand to work between them. You hear her snort in satisfaction and you hate this. You hate it when you make her happy, when you please her but somehow you still do and you know why.

She runs her hand on your butt for what feels like years before finally slip it in your underwear. You gasp at the feeling of her against your flesh, and your walls clench again. You know what she'll do and your body can't wait and you hate that. She doesn't lose time. She runs a finger in the cleft between your butt cheeks and you repress a moan when she grazes your asshole. But she continues her exploration, sliding her fingers on your wet folds easily before reaching your clit. She presses on it, hard, and you whimper. Your body reacts on its own and your legs spread wider, begging her to continue but you know she won’t. Not today.

Her fingers go back lower and she slides them inside you. You're so wet you barely feel it and before you can find it pleasurable, the digits are out of you again. Your breath quicken and your eyes shut tighter as you know her goal. Again her finger reaches your asshole and you squeeze uncontrollably. You feel her spread your wetness on the sensitive area, drawing small circles around your tight entrance. She repeats the operation a few times and you can't wait. You raise your butt slightly and you hate yourself for wanting it.

“Relax.” she whispers and you can hear the smirk in her voice. Your hands balls into fists and you obey.

She pushes her middle finger inside you. You exhale loudly as you feel your anal muscles tighten around her. She pulls out then in again and you know it's just the beginning.

You remember the first time she stuck her fingers up your ass. You were scared, fought, but she won and impaled you and you screamed. You'll remember it your entire life you think. You'll remember the fear and shame and that you cried on your way home because it was wrong.

But you came back. You always come back. And you know why.

She curls her finger then, fighting against strong muscles and you moan.

“Let me see your butt.” She orders and you do as she says. You bent over the counter, your chest against the cold marble of the piece of furniture. You rest your forehead on the counter and your trembling hands reaches out for your own ass. You grab your but and pull, your own nails digging into your flesh. You know that even in the dim light she can see everything now and you're ashamed. You feel exposed and vulnerable but it only makes you more aroused. You know her eyes are on you, you feel her gaze burn your white skin and you whine pitifully. You want more and you hate that. But you want more, you want her to hurry and fuck your ass.

You hear her chuckle and you bit your lip when she inserts a second finger. You moan as silently as you can. You know by experience that Mr Griffin's sleep is deep so it’s the kids you worry about. But her pace picks up and your mouth gasp for air. You can't help the breathy whimpers and whines. She knows how your body likes it and you try to resist but you can't. Your muscles work on their own, sucking her in, keeping her here, inside you, where you want her.

She pumps in and out harder, forcing short breaths out of your dry throat. She curls and swirls and stretches you expertly and soon you're on the edge. Your hips jerks but you must stay still. You can't move or she'll stop and you want to cum. You feel your inner walls clench and suck on nothing. You feel the throbbing in your clit, the tingle in your belly and the burning at your dripping entrance but you know she won't touch you there, not this time and it frustrates you. You feel empty and lonely and you wish her body was on yours. But she knows that, keeps her distance on purpose and you're losing your mind. You want her to hug you and kiss you and make love to you but you know she won't .

She never does.

Because you're not her husband.

She spreads her fingers inside you, stretch you open and you come. All the muscles in your body clench and you stop breathing because you know that if you don't you'll scream. You see stars on your eyelids and your hands leave your butt to grip the edge of the counter. Then slowly you come down from your high. She waits for you to calm down before taking out her fingers. You stay still for a moment, you wait for your hole to recover, for the gap she opened in you to close. You came from your ass. You came from having a married woman's fingers inside your ass. It's not the first time nd it's probably not the last but you're still ashamed.

“Thank you for tonight Lexa.” the woman whispers and your tired body trembles. You hate her voice when she says that, hate the pride and mischievousness in it, hates your name on her tongue. “Here.” she says throwing a wad of cash on the counter “For this week.”

You pull up your drenched panties and ignore the unsatisfied ache between your legs. You adjust your skirt and take the money.

Your next words, you've said them an infinity of time but they still burn you throat “Thank you Mrs Griffin.”

You're the first to exit the kitchen. She follows you to the door. You turn back on the doorstep. You always turn back, it's stronger than you. You'd like to avoid those two blue eyes but you always turn back to see them stare at you in a way you still don't understand, a mix of frustration, sadness and incredible loneliness.

“See you Wednesday.” Wednesday, to take care of her kids.

You don't want to reciprocate, don't want to tell her you'll be there so you just say “Good night Mrs Griffin.” with a polite nod. Her eyebrow twitch and you know she's angry but you don't care. You just want to go home.

As usual she's leaning in to kiss you. It is quick, chaste, barely a goodbye but your lips burns where the woman's touched your own and you want more but she's already closing the door.

You ache, your heart hammering in your chest, and you tell yourself it's the last time.

But it's not and you know why.

***

You're in her house putting order in the kids' rooms when she calls you.

“Come here.” she orders, her voice low and sensual and an uncomfortable feeling tugs at your guts.

You know how this will end. But you brace yourself and try. You always try when she's not in front of you, when you stand a chance. “I can't. I have work to do.”

“I haven't paid you.”

“You can pay me next week.”

“I'll pay you twice the price if you come.”

You think.You need money you tell yourself. You always need money. Money for food. Money for the garage you're renting. Money for books. Money for college. But most of all you don't want her to be mad at you. Because she's worse when she's mad. Because she scares you when she's mad. Because you don't hate her when she's mad and you know why.

“Where ?”

She answers and you realise you know the place. You sigh and leave the house. You drive to the hotel. When you arrive, you know where the room is and take the elevator. It's always the same high standing hotel, the same room, in which Clarke Griffin and her husband make love.

You walk down the long corridor. You hear music, TV, shouting and you know other people will hear her call your name in a moment. You stop. Room 69. You roll your eyes. You always do because this number is ridiculous. You don't knock. When you open the door she is there, naked on the bed, waiting for you.

She just had sex you think. The hair on her temples and neck is damp and her skin is glistening. The air is heavy, saturated, smells like sweat. The sheets are wet and there's fog on the window. Mr Griffin was there not so long ago you realise and you feel uneasy. You pass after him.

She bites her lip and moans, squirming on the bed, urging you and you hate the fact that you know what to do.

It is rare when you see her naked so you can't help but stare. Your gaze lingers on the pale skin, the womanly curves, the pink nipples, the long blonde hair and the hands motioning for you to approach. She's 15 years your older but she's beautiful. Whatever she does to you, you can't take that from her. She's beautiful and your mouth waters. You hate that your body remembers. You hate it when it thinks on its own. You hate it when she excites you. But she does and you know why.

You put your bag down and take off your shoes and socks. You pull down your pants and unbutton your shirt. You don't want to remember the amount of time you did it to be left in only your underwear in such record time but you do and the number makes your head spin. You join her on the bed. You crawl between her widely spread legs and sit.

She's looking at you, her blue eyes hot and demanding despite the obvious exhaustion in her body. You can feel it. You can feel your body warm up under her gaze and you gulp. You know what she'll ask for and you hate that you can't wait. You hate your eagerness and her satisfied grin.

“Eat me out.” she finally orders and hundreds of tickling shudders make your body shake in anticipation.

You lean down and kiss her lower belly. It's a pull inside you, a desire you can't deny and your lips meets tortured skin. You stick out your tongue. Slowly you trace the visible scar Mia's birth left there. You love the girl. You love her and you can't hate that scar. You always enjoy touching it and you know why.

She knows you like it and let you do as you wish. It is one of the only liberties she lets you take and for once you're grateful. After a moment though you feel a hand tangle in your hair and push you lower. You groan. You don't like to be rushed when you work on her. But you comply and your lips drift lower. You kiss blonde curls and you hear her hum in pleasure.

You kiss your way down slowly. Your lips reaches her clit and you're not surprise to find it out of its hood, already erect. Mrs Griffin was touching herself waiting for you and you hate the way your thighs clench at the idea. But you know why they do.

You wrap your lips around the bundle of nerves and her hips buck. You slip your arms around her to pin her ass on the bed. You hear her growl at your strong grip and you smile in satisfaction. You haven't tasted her in a while but nothing has changed. It is not good nor bad, it is Clarke Griffin and warmth spreads in your chest. You suck hard, flickering your tongue on her clit relentlessly and you can feel her tense. She whines and moans. It sounds nice to your ears and you know why. You know what she likes so you bit down, careful not to hurt her. Her hips jerks and she calls your name. Your heart skips a beat and you moan too. You look at her as you sooth the pain with the tip of your tongue. Her eyes are shut and her jaw hangs open. You know the power she has over you but right now the roles are reversed and you can take revenge.

So you tease her.

You run your tongue on and between her folds, slowly, up and down. You alternate, left and right and you hear her breath quicken. You feel her hand claw at your scalp. It hurts but you don't stop her and you know why.

You flatten your tongue and lick as much as you can at the same time. You lap at her sex like animals lick their wounds. She calls your name again and you can't help the curl at the corner of your lips. Then your eyes widen at the foreign taste. You stop and try to pull back but she maintains you in place. You frown and look at her. She's grinning like a wolf and you understand.

“Do it.” she orders and disgust courses through you.

Your excitement is soon replaced by cold sweats as you hesitate. You stick out your tongue but you don't want to. You don't want to because her husband's cum is there, leaking out and you swallow the lump in your throat. But she won't let go. She tugs painfully at your scalp, pushing your face closer to her heat.

“Lexa...” she warns and you give up.

First it's just your lips. You let them linger there, making up your mind. Then it's the tip of your tongue. You can feel it. Salty, thick, sticky and you choke as a new wave of disgust washes through you. You take a deep breath and try to forget what that forein fluid is. But of course you can't and you cry when your tongue slides inside the woman's entrance and you know why. It is disgusting you think. Sperm doesn't bother you but it's his. It's her husband's and you hate him. You hate him because you know he's never here for Lyam. Or so you tell yourself and you know why that too is a lie.

You decide to make it as quick as possible. You're not enjoying it anymore, your tongue is acting on it's own, robotically, woking inside of the woman. You try to concentrate on the way her walls clench around your muscle, try not to imagine the tall black man taking his wife in this very room, on this very bed not an hour ago. You try but fail and you want to throw up.

You've never hated the woman more. She had never done that before. It is mean, wicked, twisted and you hate it. You're efficient though. Your tongue pumps and curls and swirls and you know in the way your name sounds on her tongue that she's close to orgasm. You add a thumb to the equation, you massage her clit and she comes an instant later.

She screams “Lexa !” and you hate it.

You drag out her orgasm until she stops moving, lying there contented and shivering, a large smile on her face. You think she'll let you go now but her grip in your hair tightens and she pulls you up. You follow her lead, surprised. It never happened before. She brings your face to hers. She looks at you and you've never seen her eyes so blue.

She kisses you. She takes your lower lip between her own and you can't help but kiss her back. You hate that it feels good and instinctive. You hate her tongue gently parting your lips, tracing the edges of your teeth and grazing the roof of your mouth. You hate it when your tongue meet hers and she closes her teeth on it, pulling it out of your mouth. You take a shaky breath. She sucks on your muscle and your mind goes blank. You forget about the man, forget about your tears and you're lost in the touch.

It's rare when she kisses you like that and you can't deny that it feels good. You can't hate it. You try but you can't and you know why.

She breaks the kiss. Her hand leaves your hair and she exhales tiredly, letting herself fall back on the mat.

“The money is on the table. Take it and leave. I want to sleep now.”

You stand. You feel the wetness between your legs. You hadn't noticed how drenched you are. You know your underwear is ruined and that soon your pants will be. You'll just masturbate at home you think and you hate knowing which film will play in your head when you get off.

You dress up and walk to the table. You see the money and there's even more than planned. You take what she had promised you but leave the extra.

You throw a last look to the bed before exiting the room. The woman lies on her back, her arms on her stomach. Her breath is steady and you think she's asleep.

“Thank you Mrs Griffin.” you can't help but say.

As you close the door behind you, your lips curls into a smile and you know why.

***
One afternoon you're about to leave the Griffin's house when she returns home. You curse in your head. She's early and you know it's on purpose.

“Oh Lexa, you're still here ?” You can read her intentions on her face. She is a good actress and she could fake it better than that but she wants you to know. She wants you to imagine to burn in anticipation.

And as usual you do.

The smirk on her lips is large and your heart skips a beat as a familiar warmth spread through your body from your core to your fingertips.

“Do you have a moment ?” She asks and you know you won't go home anytime soon. You want to say no, to refuse but she's standing here before you, her icy blue eyes pinning you there. You say nothing but it's an answer for her and she smiles.

“I need your help Lexa.” She says with a smirk and you gulp because the situation is new and you don't know what to expect “I am coming back for an awful meeting. Raven pissed me off as usual, my boss scolded me for not being nicer to her and sent me home early. I'm very tired and stressed right now.” She walks to the large table in the living room. You follow her and see her take a chair, turn its back to the table. She straddles it, crossing her arms on the chair's back. “Come here.” she says and you have a bad feeling.

You approach, your body warming up with each step you take and you hate it. You stand next to her and she looks at you. Her blue eyes are dark. She bites on the corner of her lower lip and you hate when she does that. You hate what that simple act does to your body, hate the butterflies in your stomach and the growing wetness between your legs.

“Undress.” she orders and you frown and you don't want to but you do and you know why.

You start with your shirt. You love shirts. It's long to get rid of and it let you the time to prepare. But you also hate it because you know she loves it when you're slow. And yet, every time you wear shirts and you know why.

You're about to let the white material fall on the ground when she stops you “No. Keep it on.”

You don't question her and you take off your shoes and socks and pants without ceremony and you wait. She smirks. You shiver and you want to believe it's because you're cold.

“On the table.” she says and your heart forgets to beat for a moment. You know what she'll ask for and you hate that you know your body'll love it. You climb on the wooden table. You sit in front of her and you spread your legs. You hate to know that's what she wants. She rests her chin on her arms.

“Entertain me.” It's not a demand, it's an order and you submit. You run a hand on your stomach slowly and descend between your legs. You stop on your pubis and you think about what she likes to watch and you know what to do.

You'll touch yourself over your panties first. You're wearing lingerie as usual. It's green. You chose it because it matches your eyes and not because you know it's her facourite colour. Unlike her, you shave. Because she asked you to and you know it's to make you feel more naked and vulnerable and you hate it. But you still does and you know why.

You caress yourself with only two fingers to let her see and it's just a tingle at first but then you press harder on your sex and can't help the shaky breath that escapes your mouth. Her eyes are on you and you feel hot. Too hot. You wish you could find it embarrassing but you've past that point long ago and now all is left is arousing anticipation. You run your fingers up and down and the friction, the feeling of the thin material on your wet folds and clit and t feels good but not enough and it's furstrating. But again you know she loves that, loves when your features twists, unsatisfied, when she sees you fight against your needs and you hate to admit that it feels good.

You close your eyes when you feel your arousal wet your fingertips. You're drenched and now your panties cling to your folds and it gets worse. It is the worst kind of teasing and your walls clench and your clit throbs, impatient, but you can't do what you need, not yet. Your rhythm picks up and your hips starts rolling almost imperceptibly and you breath out a moan. You can be loud today. You're alone at home and you know you will be for another few hours. You have time and you're free to scream and you know she chose that moment. Sometimes she does that. Sometimes she likes to see you relax and feel at ease. You hate how well it works. You know she's looking at you, watches your every move but it works and you know why.

Your walls clenches at an hectic rhythm. You're on the edge. You open your eyes and discover that she's looking right at you. A flick of your fingers over your clit is all you need and you're coming, her gazed locked on yours and you can't avert your eyes. Your orgasm is long for some reason and your mind goes blank. You forget your hatred, forget your shame and you love those eyes. Momentarily you love the heat and dark in them and you want it to last but it doesn't and you hate it.

You come back to reality slowly, the fog in your mind dissipating progressively. You're still looking at her but your gaze goes lower and you notice how her nails dig in the skin of her arm. You know she's holding back but you know she's not a patient person and soon she can't help it. She extends her arms and reaches for your hips. You let her carress the flesh of your sides from your waist to your thighs. Your skin burns where she touches you and you hum and you hate how contented you sound even though you know why.

At some point her fingers slips under the hem of your panties. She pulls and you moan and your hips bucks at the feeling of the wet material ripping off your drenched folds. Slowly she makes it slid along your legs and you close them to help her in her task. She brings the wet material to her mouth and kisses it with a hum, closing her eyes. You think it's hot and you hate that.

“Keep going.” she says against the green lace and you tremble from head to toe.

You return to your previous position and you don't want to acknowledge the speed at which your hand goes back between your legs. You're slow. You part your wet folds with two fingers to show her. You know she likes it, that she likes to watch, to see your different shades of red and brown.

A new wave of arousal washes through you when she licks her lips, her eyes focused between your legs. You wonder if she'll be able to hold back. You remember that every time you did something similar she threw herself at you after a few minutes. Your walls clench at the memory and suddenly you want it. You want her to eat you out even if she never did and you're the one who can't wait.

You show off your unhooded clit and she bites her lip. Your breath hitches. You hate how much it excites you when she does that. You can't help it. You flicker your middle finger over your your sentive clit an your hips jerk. It's the touch you wanted, the one you refused to your body minutes ago and you moan. You do it again, and again, relentlessly and your eyes shut. Your mouth gasps for air and all you can hear is your pulse. It feels good and sends electric discharges through your body but it's not enough.

You hate that you want her mouth on you, that you're waiting for her so desperately but you hate even more the fact that she's not doing anything, that she's just rolling her hips discreetly, grinding the chair while staring at your shamelessly exposed sex.

But you can't continue like that. You slide two fingers inside and you still because you don't want to come just yet.

She snorts. She looks at you and slowly she kisses your panties again with widely parted lips and you start moving. You enter yourself slowly then curl your fingers on the way out, teasing that special spot on your front wall. You hate the way your brain works. You hate it when she licks your fluid from the green material and you press your palm against your clit imagining that it's her tongue. You thrust in rhythm with her slow movements and something boils in your veins at the lewd sight. There's a low hum in her chest every time her lips or tongue meet your underwear and you know why your walls clench whenever you hear it.

Soon you're on the edge again, and you hope she will touch you but she doesn't and you keep pumping in and out desperately, begging for release in your head.

And then she says it.

“Come for me Lexa.”

You throw your head back and come in a scream. Your hips jump and you keep moving, dragging out your orgasm for as long as you can. But seconds later you're down your high though and you hate that you know what was missing.

When you look back at her she's standing on the other side of the room, rummaging through her purse. You brace yourself and get off the table. You find it hard to stand, your head spins and your legs are shaking and you feel like a newborn fawn.

You dress up with difficulty and you shiver when your cold underwear meets your over heated crotch. You know why she had you keep your shirt on. The white material is clinging to your skin you notice. It is transluscent, drenched in sweat and you feel uncomfortable but she doesn't care because you looked hot and you know it.

You're finishing buttoning up your shirt when she comes back. She slips money in your back pocket, making it as slow and sensual as possible. Heat and frustrations are back in your body then and you wish she could touch you but she wont and you ache.

“Clean your mess. The kids will be home in no time and I don't want them to eat on this.” she points to the glistening fluid spread on the wooden table and you cheeks burns. You run to the kitchen to retreive a sponge and you hope you can make everything disappear before the return of the kids.

You hear a light, chuckle coming from the living room.

Your heart swells at the sound and you know why.

***

You click your tongue in exasperation at how carefree Mrs Griffin is. You pick up the lingerie from the corridor's ground before a kid can find it and walk to Mrs Griffin's large dressing. You're always the one putting order in the room so you almost faint when you see that all the work you did last week flew out the window. The closets and drawers are all open, overflowing with clothes that are not where they should be. Clean and worn clothes are mixed, shoes are everywhere and there's a bra on a hanger and you face palm. This woman can't keep a place clean and in order. Every week it's the same but you've got to admit that today is unprecedented.

You start picking up clothes with a sigh. You place them all in a corner of the room to take care of the shoes.

And you frown harder.

All shoes have socks in them and you doubt this happened by accident.

Suddenly, the wooden sliding door closes loudly and you jump. When you turn back she's there. She's there in a short blue satin night robe and dark laced stockings. She's there, a mischievous smirk painted on her face. You claw at whatever cloth is in your hands and there's a cold sweat in your lower back.

You feel trapped. There is no window, no other exit, just closets and drawers and socks in high heeled shoes. Your heart starts racing and your breath quicken.You know now that the underwear in the corridor was not a coincidence and that all of this is just the beginning of a new masquerade. She knows disorder annoys you. And she knows your hatred for warm socks in heeled shoes. She knows how to make you mad and you hate how well her tricks work.

Now you're pissed, you're pissed and you know you're frowning angrily because her smirk widens.

“We can't do anything now. Your husband and kids are home Mrs Griffin.” you say dryly and regret it immediately when her smirk drops and she starts walking to you, insurance leaking out of her like the sweat you feel on the nape of your neck.

She stops in front of you her face only inches from yours. “What can't we do Lexa ?” she asks with a wolfish smile and your blood starts boiling.

You hate the feeling of her breath on your face and how low and husky her voice is. You hate her strong perfume and that you can feel her body heat. But most of all you hate that you're not looking for a way out anymore.

“I'm waiting Lexa.” she adds and you gulp and avert your eyes, searching for words.

“We can't have sex.” you finally say and you hate that you said 'we' but you know why you did.

“Oh and who said I wanted to have sex ?” She grins and bites her lip. She runs a hand on your stomach “You, though...” She palms your crotch with strength and you moan in surprise. She snorts and passes by you.

You don't turn back to look at what she's doing. You face the two large boards separating you from the outside, look at the only possible exit. There's nothing between you and your freedom. It's now or never.

But you don't move and you know why.

She comes back but ignores you. She goes straight for the door and you notice the tiny stool she's holding. You raise an eyebrow, this ridiculous item will never be enough to keep the door close. No, to block it you'd need at least a chair or a bar.

But she doesn't put the stool in the guide rail like you thought she would. Instead she leans her back on the screen door and put the stool on the ground in front of her. You look at her curiously, wondering what she has in mind.

“Approach.”

You walk slowly, suspicious. “What does that mean ?” you ask and she smiles, showing some teeth.

You stand before her and she reaches for your hips. You try to ignore the burning on your skin where she touches you and you let her maneuver you. She pulls you closer and with her foot she places the stool between your legs. And she stops.

“I don't understand.” you say and you think you have never said something more ernest in your entire life.

She chuckles. She raises her leg and rests her foot on the stool. Now her thigh is pressed on your crotch and your spine straighten as you decipher what is going on. You think you know what she wants you to do but you're not sure and you just wait, hating the way the corner of her lips slowly curls into a grin.

She leans in. You wish you had the strength to pull back because you hate the way your heartbeat speeds up whenever she's so close to you. Her cheek brushes on yours and her lips grazes your ear.

“Hump.” she whispers and you shudder.

She pulls back and does it. She bites the corner of her lip and your hands slamms on the door behind her. She knows you well, knows your weaknesses and you hate it when she uses them against you. You growl. You haven't forgotten the mess she made in that dressing and you feel your anger come back. You crash your hips on hers and she whimpers. Her smug attitude wavers for a moment and you repress a smile.

You can take advantage of this.

You press your body against hers, pinning her against the wooden board and give another movement of hip. You hear the breath that escapes her throat as your chests hit each other's.

'For the socks in the shoes' you think.

You pull back a little and her eyes are feral and you know she's mad. Warmth starts to spread through your body then and you swear “Fuck.” For some reason you're pissed, angry and horny and you decide to go straight for your goal.

So you do as she asks. You rock your hips. Your jeans are tight and thick but you can still feel it. It's nothing at first, barely a tickle but you lean in to breath her perfume and soon your crotch burns. You roll your lips harder and your hands ball into fists. You know you're wet. You can feel it when you move and your pleasure increases. Your clit rubs on the front of your underwear and you moan.

You're so focused on your own pleasure you don't notice it at first. But then she moves harder against you and you realise. She's rocking her hips on your thigh in rhythm with you and you're amazed. You pull back and look at her. Her eyes are shut and her mouth is open. Her breathing is heavy and you push your body harder into hers. You give her better acces to your leg and she moans in your ear.

Soon you're in sync and you realise it's the first time you both take pleasure at the same time. A soft warmth spreads in your chest and your movements slows down. There are butterflies in your stomach but this time you don't hate it that much.

But then you hear what you identify as the door of the Griffin's room opening and you both still. Your heart freeze in your chest and you know in the way her body tenses that she's like you.

“Peter...” she breathes out silently and you pray. You pray for him to go, do whatever the hell he has to do and just go. You want to finish what you started, you want to orgasm with her and he's in the way and you hate him.

But you hear it. You recognize the squeaking of his deskchair and you curse in your head. He won't go away.

You look at the woman against you. She's stressed and insecure. You can see it, feel it, sense it because you've seen her like that before.

And you hate that.

You want to reassure her but you know you can't. Only her husband can do that. You, you can do only two things.

You can submit and make her love you.

Or you can fight and make her hate you.

You decide and you hate that you'll love what you'll do.

You kiss her. She let you lead for a blissful moment but then she pushes you back.

You insist.

Her hands finds your chest and she pushes. You smirk against her lips. You know you're stronger than her. You grab her wrists and you pin them over her head. She's fighting back but can't be loud, can't move to much or her husband may notice and she doesn't want that.

You take her lip between yours and suck. She lets out a light whine and it's satisfying. You crash your lips back together and you forces your tongue inside her mouth. And she bites.

Of course she bites.

She bites hard and it hurts but you don't care. You let your hand slide along her forearms and arms and you growl when you reach her hips. You slip your fingers under her nightdress and pull it up. You discover that the black lacey underwear you found on the ground of the corridor is what she should wear under that night robe. You groan and push into her as you grab her ass. Finally she releases your tongue and she moans in your mouth before reaching for your shoulders, pushing weakly in a vague attempt to get rid of you but she can't win like that. You keep rocking your hips, rubbing yourself on her, her leg still pressed to your crotch. You know the material of your jeans is hurting the plump flesh of her thigh but you don't care. She deserves it.

You massage her ass and feel her impossibly relax in your arms and it's new. And you feel powerful.

You kiss her jaw, her neck and for a second you hesitate. You want to bite down and mark her skin, claim her as yours. But a voice in your head tells you she's not and that she'll nnever be. She CAN'T be. Because she has a husband and she loves him.

Reluctantly you pull back and your lips return to hers. You pull her hips against yours and grinds them on your thigh. You repeat the motion until her body reacts on its own and she doesn't need your hands to masturbate on your leg anymore. Your hands trail up and you cup her breasts, pinch her nipples. Her hips buck hard against yours and her hands claw at your shirt on your sides. Her breath is uneven and she whines silently when you suck at her lower lip, that lip that makes you crazy when she tugs it between her teeth.

You love her breasts. You feel the stretch marks under your fingertips reminding you of those two kids you love so much. The tender picture vanish quickly though because now you want to thank all the parameters that made her body the way it is and her boobs so big. When you're about to thank Peter you decide you've done enough and your attention returns to the soft flesh under your palms.

You foundle them for a long moment as your mouth is devouring her neck, kissing the fragile skin from her jaw to her collarbone. You feel her shudder under your touch, her burning body pressed flushed into yours.

God you love it and you know why.

Your lips start kissing their way to the soft area under her ear and you lick. She squirms in your arms and breathes loudly in your ear. You conclude that she likes it and you can't resist. You nibble at her lobe, enjoying the way she stiffles her moans with her hand on her mouth.

And you lose.

You bite down. Hard.

She chokes on a moan and find in herself the strength to push you back. You stumble but stay on your feet. When you look back at her she has tears in her eyes, a hand on her ear and red in her cheeks and she slaps your face.

And you just smirk.

She frowns in anger and hits you again. She punches your shoulder, slaps your arm and kicks your legs. She reminds you of Mia when she's being capricious and mad at her brother.

You don't want to but you let her escape.

She exits the room as fast as she can and you hear her husband ask her what she was doing in there.

There is blood in your mouth and you know she'll punish you later. You know she'll make you suffer, she'll hit you and fuck you hard. She'll be violent and reckless but you don't care and you're happy.

And you know why.

That's because you love her. Because you just know what a caring mother and wife she is. Because you know about her terrible cooking skills and beautiful voice when she sings in her shower when she's convinced no one can hear. Because you know about her childish impatience and how hard she works.

Because you know her and how she is, you've heard about her father and what he did to her, you know her past, the darkness in her heart, the one she never shows to anyone but you.

Anyone but you. You ache when you’re with her but you're special and that's all you want.

So you forgive her. You forgive the slaps and kicks and pulls. You forgive the shameful games and harsh words. And you come back. You come back to that home you consider yours and you wish to come back for as long as you can.

Clarke Griffin will never be yours but you're hers. And it hurts. Every time you tell yourself it's the last time but it never is because you know she needs you as much as you need her.

And that's how you work. That’s your dynamics. Sometimes you wish you could go back in time to those years you were just Lexa, the young daughter of he neighbors of course but if someone ever offers you to rewrite your story, you wouldn’t change a thing.

You love the way she smiles when it's not for you. You love the pink in her cheeks when you surprise her with a kiss. You love the almost imperceptible glint of excitement in her eyes when she opens her door after you rang the bell. You love the freckles blooming on her chest in summer. You love the scars on her body, those on her wrists and the one above her crotch. You love her smooth hands and soft lips. You love blue because of her eyes. Her eyes. You've seen them dark and wet and shiny and you feel like you love them more every time they bore into yours.

You love her.

And you know why.