Bloodlines

Bird In A Cage

"I think what you need is to go to bed. And wash your dirty mouth out while you're at it," he adds, pointing to the stairs.

I scoff and cross my arms over my chest defiantly.

"Who do you think you are, my father?" I growl at him.

"I think we've established that I most certainly am not," he replies in a sarcastic tone.

"Then stop ordering me around like you are!" I snap back.

Clarke straightens his back, appearing to grow a good couple of inches and managing to look even more menacing than before.

"I am still responsible for protecting your life, Octavia. Apart from your father I am the leader of this gang, which you are now a part of," he pauses to reference to my fresh tattoo. "You will follow orders like the rest. Now go to bed before I take you myself," he orders pointing down the hall, "Oh and Octavia. If I have to take you myself I'll take you over my knee and spank you. Don't fucking test me."

For a moment I hold eye contact, losing myself in those pools of melting dark chocolate. I'm unsure wether to feel scared or turned on by his threat. Sure he's fuming, that's clear to see but he's still undeniably and annoyingly attractive. He is still the man who fucked me into the bedsheets the previous night. And the thought of him actually punishing me like that causes my thighs to tense together involuntarily.

As my mind wanders back to that blissful memory, an overwhelming heat rushes through my body, rising to my cheeks. I spin on my heel hiding my beet red face.

I storm over to the stairs, refusing to stop until I reach the top. Once I'm positive he can't see me, I let out a huge sigh, trying to release the pent up anger and frustration from my body. I'm pretty sure giving Clarke a punch in the face would work considerably better but I know that's not possible.
Not if I intend to keep my all but limited freedom.

And my tongue.

Clarke's empty bed is much too big for one person alone. My body rewards me with a distinct ache between my legs as I imagine him naked under the covers. I curse the response, strolling to the bathroom to brush my teeth before tucking myself under the quilt. Before sleeping back home I would surf the internet, completely pointlessly I might add for hours until I finally dropped off, usually still clutching my phone. The phone the guys had given me for obvious reasons has no internet access. It's as good as a brick for all the use it has. It even has the old style snake game on it, that's how ancient it is.

As time goes passes, I consider texting Clarke downstairs but I'm sure he's already aware how much of an arsehole he is so I decide against it. Instead I place it down on the side table. Unable to curb my curiosity, I decide to have a peek in the small drawer beneath. A roll of masking tape and metal handcuffs stare back at me. I slam the drawer shut in shock.

Laying my head on the pillow I try to forget what I just found. I definitely don't fall asleep dreaming of Clarke using them on me in bed.

When I pad downstairs the next morning there's a ruckus coming from the kitchen. Logan's distinct and rather evil laugh fills my ears, drawing me to see what all the commotion is. I'm rather shocked when I spot Clarke sat at the main table, gripping a bottle of whisky and taking the occasional long swig. Flanked by Logan and Ezio standing either side of him, they both appear to be enjoying his clear demise.

"Don't you think it's a little early to be drinking?" I question taking a seat at the table and glancing at the clock above the microwave. I'm careful to sit far enough away that if Clarke decides to snap I can make a hasty escape.

Clarke raises his eyes to meet my gaze, their usual spark is absent. He says nothing, returning his attention to the bottle. I notice with interest the hand clutching the glass is shaking.