Postcard Princess

Ch. 9

Bellamy probably shouldn't have been so comfortable letting a stranger stay in his place, especially with his sister. But, this girl was Indra's family.

Then again, for three years he had been reading those postcards just as much as Indra. As weird as it was, he did know her just a little bit.

The next morning, Bellamy put Octavia's cereal on the counter, making a pot of coffee.

"The guest room is closed?" Octavia questioned, grabbing a bowl and the milk.

"We have a guest," Bellamy told her. "Postcard Princess is here."

"Oh, I heard she was in town after school yesterday. You already got her in your house, probably in your bed? Jesus, brother. I knew you had the hots for her, but still."

"Hush!" Bellamy shushed her, choking on his coffee. "Jesus, O! She didn't have anywhere else to go, that motel in town is disgusting. I couldn't let her stay there."

Octavia just shrugged, finishing her cereal and putting her bowl in the sink. "If you say so. Lincoln's picking me up. Love ya!" And she was out the door.

Bellamy, mug in hand, decided to check o Clarke. He knocked softly, pushing the door open gently.

His heart sped up at the sight in front of him. Clarke was just wearing a small shirt, stretched across her braless breats, her arm over her head. Her leg was thrown over, the curve of her ass on display in her tiny, lace thong.

He tensed as she stretched, her eyes fluttering open. "Hey," he cleared his throat. "Sorry to intrude, just wanted to check on you, offer coffee."

Clarke sat up, stretched again, her nipples pressing against the fabric of her shirt. She stood up, walking over to him and taking his mug.

"Wow, that's good," she sighed. "You don't love sugar enough, though," she chuckled.

"Right," he took the mug back. "Well, sorry for jus barging in," he stepped back.

"It's fine, I needed to be up," she bent over, inches from him. "Would it be okay if I grabbed a shower?"

Bellamy coughed. "Yeah, sure. Down the hall on the left. Use whatever and towels are in the cabinet."

Back in the kitchen, Bellamy adjusted the embarrassing tent in his pants, feeling like a teenager again.

"Bellamy?"

Taking a deep breath, Bellamy walked into the bathroom. Clarke was bent over the tub, twisting the knobs.

"I've turned them, but no water," she said.

"Sorry, sometimes you've got to tug on them and twist," he said, leaving over her to pull on the knobs. Water started running, so he straightened, just as she bent further, her backside pressed firmly against him.

Bellamy bit his lip, holding back a hiss. He stepped back, trying to run but he hit the door frame, his coffee ending up all over him. "Fuck," he gasped.

"Oh, no!" Clarke gasped. "Are you okay?"

Bellamy put the cup on the counter, shaking his arm. "I'm alright."

Clarke tugged the hem of his shirt, so he helped her remove it. "Oh, you're red," she said, her soft hand sliding up and down his chest, sending heat through is body. "It got on your pants, too." Clarke dropped to her knees in front of him, his cóck twitching in his pants.

She untied the string of his pajama pants and pulled them down his thighs. She tugged his boxers down a little, his cóck still covered. "You're a little red down here, too," she noted, slowly rubbing. "Are you hurting?" She asked, looking up at his under her lashes.

"Fuck," he sighed again, pulling her up from her knees. He pushed her back against the wall, a small loan leaving her lips before he smashed his to them, a hair shoved into her hair.