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Toeing off her shoes, Clarke closed the door, dumped her bag and unbuttoned her pants.
“Ughh,” she groaned, shimmying them off, “that’s better!”
Glancing at her jeans on the ground, Clarke shrugged and stepped by. Her neat-freak housemate was away for the weekend and all she wanted was to make a cup of tea, retrieve her secret stash of cashews and read on the couch with the cat.
For two days she was free from the façade of self-control she had to display in front of her (unfairly) hot housemate.
Clarke heard Nala’s bell tingle and sauntered towards the sound.
“Hey you,” she called, unclasping her bra and slipping the straps through her sweater sleeves until her breasts were finally liberated, “ready to curl up on the couch?”
Clarke turned into the lounge and stopped, stunned, wearing nothing but her sweater, underwear and socks, her lacy bra swinging from her fingertips.
Stretched on the couch with Nala on his lap, sat Bellamy, eyes opening wide as he noticed the (half naked) figure standing before him.
“Clarke?” he said, popping his earplugs out without taking his be-speckled eyes off her (since when did he wear glasses?).
“Those are my cashews!” Clarke cried, lunging for the nut jar. “Why are you even here?” she squeaked, suddenly realising that she’d leant across him, brushing her braless boobs against his chest and flashing way too much flesh in the process.
“I do live here,” he said, smirking. “You might want to remember that, next time you ditch your digs at the door and strut in here trying to seduce me.”
Clarke’s jaw dropped. “I thought you were away,” she protested. “And this is me being free of my inhibitions, so don’t flatter yourself Blake.”
He chuckled.
“Well, if you’re more comfortable without your clothes…”