Clarke was a firm believer that the first time anyone did anything, it didn’t count. Her first runway show, she'd broken a heel and nearly tripped on her face. She thought her career would have been over, before it had ever started, but the designer said he didn't even notice. Nor did her manager.

Her next show, when she was flawless, she received criticism on her walk. Her hair. Her weight, too, of course. What was the deal? When the same thing happened for her first photo-shoot, her first commercial, even first date with Cody, she started to realize that truly no one cared about first times. Maybe Judy Blume, but that was it. All that mattered was consistency. And what people saw.

So when Clarke woke up the next morning after being with Natalie, her legs stiff from sex and her body flushed with the memory of it, she was sure that it couldn't have been real. Even as Natalie lay naked in her bed, her breasts still the same shade of alabaster and rose that Clarke remembered from the night before, it didn't count.

Not until she did it a second time.

Clarke debated checking her phone. Getting some breakfast -- especially finishing her food that she said she wanted to complete -- but all those factors fell out the window. She turned to Natalie in her bed and placed a firm kiss on her mouth. The first time she cooked anything, she'd also learned it didn't count. Not until she tasted it. Only then did the dish become real, and she truly learned how to make it work.

Natalie tasted like margaritas. Lime and still a faint edge of smoke from the fire ritual. The memory sent chills up Clarke's spine. She got wet almost instantly, though that really didn't take long at all. She pressed another, this time more demanding kiss, against Natalie's mouth.

She rolled over in bed. She lifted an arm, stretched, but still did not wake up. Her breasts were above the comforter. When Clarke lifted the blanket entirely, she took in all of Natalie's body. She put a hand against the flat of her stomach, and then kissed her hard this time around. When she finally gave a response, and mumbled good morning, Clarke breathed a sigh of relief.

"You sleep okay?" Natalie asked. She turned on her side, embracing Clarke's hand in her own. She brought it to her mouth and kissed it. Affection. Wonder. "I can't believe we did that."

"Me either." Clarke chewed on her lip. "It was okay, right?"

"More than okay." Natalie's eyes cast across Clarke's breasts. She’d been so busy eying Natalie that she'd forgotten she was just as visible. She pushed some of the blankets aside so they were now both exposed. They looked at one another for a long time, tracing their gaze from the clavicles to the thighs and the navels and then the pubis, always hovering where the heat was collected the most.

"I need to ..." Natalie said, before Clarke cut her off with a kiss. She needed it too. They would take turns, back and forth together, and that way she knew it'd be real.

Clarke tangled their legs together as they continue to make out. When she sucked from Natalie’s lips down to her neck, their legs separated. Clarke had ample room now to continue to follow the arrow of desire that pulsated through both of their cores. It wasn't long before she was in the middle of Natalie’s legs, breathing heavily against her thigh and wet sex. She curled her hair behind her ears. She'd touched her the night before, but that memory now seemed too far. And sucking, tasting ... it was there, it was wonderful, but she was still so new.

"It's easy," Natalie said suddenly. "Just touch me. Taste me. You can't do much wrong."