Author's Note-Sorry for the delay in posting my PiPs. I totally forgot. Life gets in the way sometimes.
Thanks to iLoVeRynMar, streetlightlove, and Pookieh for reading and advising, and to misshoneywell for her tireless efforts surrounding PiP. Not gonna lie, this one was fun to write. Thanks to sohypothetically for the title and the endless cake puns.
My nose twitches. I groan and idly swat at whatever invisible insect dares to interrupt my nap. But when a second breeze tickles my nostrils, nearly drawing forth a sneeze, I crack open one eye.
"Jo, what the—?"
My roommate smirks down at me, waving a sheet of paper in front of my face. "Wake up, sleeping beauty." She lets go of the paper, and it drifts down like a parachute to land on my neck.
I arch my back, working out the kinks from dozing in an awkward position on the narrow couch. I struggle to haul my lethargic body up, but my limbs feel like sandbags are weighing them down. Groggily I pick up the paper, and once my eyes make sense of the crude drawing there I scowl and shake my head.
"No. No way. I'm not—"
"This is your contribution, Brainless. You said, and I quote, 'Give me something easy to do.' What could be easier than walking into a bakery and ordering a fucking cake?"
"This isn't a cake, Johanna!" I wave the paper, gesturing to the design. "This is pornography."
Johanna grins lasciviously. "And it's going to be delicious pornography."
I slump back against the couch and glare down at the page again. Johanna's incredibly lifelike, detailed sketch of a male torso dominates the paper, and the size of the cock she'd drawn definitely earns a slight twinge between my legs. How does a guy even walk with something that like flopping around in his pants? Do they even come that large? Has she seen one that big?
My eyes lower to the name of the bakery and address scrawled across the bottom of the page. I wrinkle my nose. I've never heard of the place, and I've lived in this town my entire life.
"Mellark's?" I ask Johanna, raising a brow at her dubiously.
"It's new, only opened a couple of months ago. A few of the girls at work say their stuff is to die for. Apparently they've already got quite the reputation for all kinds of elaborate cakes."
"Elaborate, or offensive and inappropriate?"
"You had your chance to do something else," Johanna crows. "This is all that's left other than picking up the booze, and I'm doing that on top of all my other shit."
I heave a sigh. Whenever I get married things are going to be far simpler. I'm not sure I'd even want one shower, let alone three.
Our friend Annie is getting married in a few weeks. Last year, after the elation of her engagement had simmered down and wedding planning had kicked into full force, she had gotten caught in the middle of a shower war between her mother and her future mother-in-law. Though things were ultimately settled amicably, it had been decided that the best thing would be for both sides to host their own showers. Members of the bridal party—Johanna, the other attendants, and me—were guilted into being at both affairs.
Johanna had been pissed when Mrs. Cresta and Mrs. Odair each requested a traditional shower, strongly hinting that anything pertaining to the honeymoon be kept out of the festivities. Jo had complained for days about how the bridesmaids are supposed to be able to embarrass the bride to be with all sorts of lurid nighties and massage oils and sex toys. I listened, but didn't dare tell Jo that I saw where Annie and Finnick's moms were coming from. I wouldn't want to hold up crotchless panties or a see-through negligee in front of my fiancé's mom or grandmothers.
Of course, I'd have to have a fiancé to be truly embarrassed by the thought. I don't even have a boyfriend at the moment, and I've definitely not been remotely close to the point of thinking of any of the losers I've dated as marriage material.
So Johanna had taken it upon herself to plan a third celebration—a small, intimate, girls-only lingerie shower, which was to be held the following Friday night at our apartment. It's been rather amusing to watch my normally calm, take-no-bullshit roommate in full-fledged hostess mode. But I suspect most of Jo's enthusiasm has come from the glee she's getting out of ordering sexually explicit favors and anatomically enhanced decorations.
Which include the penis cake that is apparently my responsibility.
Johanna kicks my shin lightly and jars my attention back to her. "Bakery closes at 5. They recommend ordering at least five days in advance. Might want to go over there now."
I narrow my eyes. "It's Thursday, Jo. The shower is still over a week away. I'll go after work tomorrow." I set the paper on the coffee table and roll back on my side, facing away from Johanna. "Now if you leave me the fuck alone for an hour and let me sleep, the Thai is my treat tonight."
That shuts her up.
Going to the bakery is the last thing I feel like doing on a Friday afternoon. What I really want to do is go home, throw on my pajamas, and find something mindless to watch on the Netflix. But as per usual I'm expected at happy hour at Sae's with Johanna, Annie, and Madge.
I might as well suck it up and get the cake thing over with. How long can it take to order it anyway? I can probably be in and out of there in five minutes and only miss the first round of margaritas. I send a group text to Madge, Johanna, and Annie and tell them to wait twenty minutes and order me a margarita on the rocks, extra salt on the rim, and as I reach the orange-and-white striped awning of the bakery I shove my phone in my bag.
I gaze at the store front, appraising the ornate lettering on the wide plate-glass window. The name has a nice ring to it: Mellark's. It's simple. It doesn't use one of those stupid, cutesy bakery puns like that pretentious cupcake shop in the mall, or the overpriced place near my apartment. I don't do cutesy.
It's nearly impossible not to moan in delight at the fragrant aroma that envelops me when I push open the door. The air is pregnant with the heady scent of yeast from baking bread and the comingling notes of cinnamon, sugar, and vanilla. It's warm inside, but not unbearably so, and soft jazz music pipes from speakers overhead.
The bakery is quaint—that's the first word that comes to mind. It's not trying too hard to be trendy, and the décor is homey and inviting. The palettes of pastel oranges and yellows and pinks remind me of the sunset. Some framed art prints adorn one wall, and above the counter loom three massive chalkboards that bear the menu and prices in varying hues of chalk.
When I lower my eyes to the counter, my breath catches in my throat. The hottest guy I've ever seen stares at me with a wide smile on his face, showing two rows of perfectly straight white teeth. At the short distance between us, I can see the piercing blue of his eyes. Most of his body is hidden behind the counter, but his shoulders are broad and level, giving way to his biceps, which look sturdy and strong under the short sleeves of his gray t-shirt. Mellark's is emblazoned on the tee in bold orange script.
He looks like an Abercrombie and Fitch model. Or some kind of an athlete—a football player? A soccer player? What he does not look like is a baker.
"Can I help you?" he asks. His voice is warm and rich, like honey, and it's so alluring that I can't even remember why I'm here in the first place.
Shit, why I am here?
Think of something. Say something. For God's sake at least move a little closer to the counter.
Silencing my inner voice, I manage to slowly stroll towards where he stands, breaking our eye contact to glance into the display case. My legs may have cooperated, but my tongue is like jelly in my mouth.
"Is there something you're looking for?" he prompts. The sun's late afternoon rays filtering in through the windows highlight his golden hair, and I'm drawn to the bow of his mouth as he keeps smiling at me. It's disarming, and the completely uninvited thought of how good a kisser he must be with those lush lips is finally what makes me think to the folded sheet of paper in my pocket. Right. The penis cake.
"Oh, ah, yeah…no…just browsing," I lie, trying to keep the cadence of my voice steady as I examine the rows of pastries and muffins and treats. I need to pick something and forget about the real reason why I came in here, because there is no way in hell I'm showing this Greek God Jo's crude dick drawing and casually ordering a cake shaped like a cock from him. No way. No way. I'll just come back tomorrow morning.
"Well, did you want sweet or savory?" He walks to his left, gesturing at another case filled with breads and rolls. "These cheese buns just came out of the oven about twenty minutes ago. They're kind of—"
"I'll take two," I say hastily.
He grins at me and extracts two fat rolls from the plate, using a small square of wax paper to drop them into a white box. "Careful. I was going to say that I've been told they are kind of addicting. And then you'll just find yourself back here." Those eyes are locked on me and sparkle like sapphires. "Anything else?"
"N-no, that'll be all."
He nods and closes the lid of the box, expertly winding a long spool of orange twine around it. I can't help but watch the sinews flex and contract in his muscled arms as he works with the twine and cuts it off, fastening it into a neat double knot.
"That'll be $6.36," he says, sliding the box across the counter to me.
Mutely, I rummage in my bag for a ten-dollar bill. I practically slap it on the counter, but when he gives me my change, his fingers brush my palm as he deposits the coins into my hand. His touch is a lit fuse, sending a hiss of current up my arm, melting into my belly. I jerk my hand back. The muscles of his mouth twitch slightly, and a perplexed expression flits across his face, but it dissipates almost immediately.
"Thanks," I say, looping a finger under the twine and spinning on my heel to leave.
"Enjoy the buns," he calls, and I'm so glad he can't see the heated flush claiming my cheeks as I scamper out into the fresh spring air. I can't even begin to reconcile why my mind dives right into the gutter with those words.
Once safely in my car, I lean back against the seat. My heart hammers against my ribs, and my hands are suddenly clammy. What the fuck is wrong with me? He barely touched me and my body feels like I've stuck a fork in a socket.
I cut the twine with a key, grab one of the cheese buns, and take an enormous bite. Oh. My. God. An almost inhuman moan escapes my lips as I let the flavors mingle on my tongue before I chew and swallow. It's fucking amazing. I polish the first one off and shamelessly scarf down the second one as I drive.
The blond guy is still on my mind when I slide into the booth at Sae's and take a huge gulp of the margarita that is waiting for me. I listen to Annie ramble on about seating charts and keeping feuding relatives apart at the reception, and ignore Johanna's digs about why I'm not eating more of the quesadilla they ordered. I think of the cheese buns sitting in my stomach, and I find my attention wandering to eyes the color of the ocean on a clear day. Images of that grey t-shirt stretched tight over a toned chest taunt me, and before my overactive imagination can fantasize about what's beneath that shirt, I shake myself out of my daydream, order another margarita, and struggle to focus on my friends.
It's not as easy as I hope, and my panties are effectively soaked by the time we leave the bar two hours later.
"You order the cake?" Jo asks me as soon as Annie waves and pulls out of Sae's lot.
"It was crowded," I fib, clicking my key fob. "Keep your thong on, Mason. It'll get done."
The next morning I sleep in a little then go for a run. After I shower, I weave my damp hair into a braid and throw on some cropped yoga pants and an old Panem University track t-shirt, I grab that stupid crumpled sketch from the pocket of my jeans, where it had remained, forgotten, when I fled the bakery. I make the drive to Mellark's with the X-rated penis drawing glaring at me from the passenger seat.
I find a spot across the street from Mellark's that doesn't require parallel parking, which is always a plus, and I snatch the cake sketch and stride into the bakery. The same enticing aromas waft around me as I enter, and I inhale deeply, letting the sweet scents flood my senses. Instinctively my eyes slip shut. When I open them, my heart vaults into my throat.
Fuck. The same hot guy stands behind the counter, talking to a blonde girl who's pointing to various pastries and nodding her approval as he uses tongs to pluck them from the case. There's a decent-sized line, and as I mentally debate myself as to whether I should stay or go, the guy's chin lifts and those blue eyes land on me. His lips curve into a smile.
Then a petite, slightly chubby blonde girl wearing the same Mellark's t-shirt and an orange baseball cap sidles up to him, calling out to the next customer in line. I square my shoulders, flooded with relief. Now I won't have to order the dirty cake from the hot guy. Taking a place in line, I scan the case in front of me and ignore the sharp hunger pangs in my stomach when I see the plate full of cheese buns.
The line dwindles and the blonde girl flashes her fluorescent smile at me.
"Can I help you?" she chirps.
As I step forward, the blue eyes pin me again.
"Couldn't resist the cheese buns? I told you that you'd be back," he interjects.
Before I can lose myself in his eyes, I ignore him and quickly glance back to the girl. "I need a cake."
"Oh!" she enthuses, her ponytail swishing under the cap. "You'll want to talk to Peeta." She jerks her thumb to the hot guy. "He's the cake expert, so he'll take care of you."
Shit.
My stomach starts fluttering like a thousand butterflies have metamorphosed in there. The hot guy—Peeta—gives me an even wider smile and motions for me to follow him down to the far end of the counter away from the other customers. His blue eyes seem even bluer today, and his jaw is shaded with the growth of at least a day's worth of stubble. God it should be illegal to be so sexy.
"So you need a cake?"
"I, uh, yeah. I heard that…um…you…this bakery…specializes in…" My cheeks flame and the words stick in my throat.
"Cakes?" he prompts. "Yeah, I do cakes." The butterflies migrate south, and my vacated stomach twists in a knot as he glances at the paper clenched in my fist. "You already have something in mind. Can I see?"
My brain and my arm seem to have some kind of miscommunication, because I stand there mutely until he leans forward and extends his hand. I'm careful not to brush my fingers against his skin when I do pass it to him.
His eyes round when he unfolds the paper, a bemused expression crossing his handsome face. "This isn't bad," he says, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Your, uh, shading on the—"
"Oh, I didn't draw that," I blurt. "My roommate did. I can't draw a stick figure."
"Bachelorette thing or sex toy party?"
"Wh-what?"
He laughs and sets the paper down, pulling out a ledger from a little niche below the counter. "You don't have to be embarrassed. I get orders for these kinds of cakes all the time. I'm getting quite the reputation."
"Oh, ah, well, it's neither. It's, um, a lingerie shower."
He cocks a blond brow at me. "That sounds incredibly sexy. How does that work?"
My heart suddenly doesn't remember how to beat properly, because his voice sounds so sexy saying the word 'sexy.'
"It's a shower…and um, you gift the bride with lingerie and stuff. Like, for the honeymoon." God I sound like a fucking teenager stumbling over my words.
"Someone getting married?" I notice his eyes lower to my hands.
"Yeah, um, a friend of mine. I'm a bridesmaid."
"I feel sorry for your friend." He tears off a sheet from the ledger and starts to scribble on it with a pencil.
"Why? Not a fan of marriage?"
He laughs. "Oh, no I look forward to it someday. I meant because she shouldn't have chosen such a beautiful bridesmaid if she doesn't want to get shown up on her wedding day." He winks at me, and so help me God, I actually think I feel myself getting wet. Numbly I offer him a weak smile.
"I just need some information from you to begin processing the order. Name?"
I'm still trying to absorb the fact that he's flirting with me, and I blink a few times to try to shake out of my stupor. "My name? Or the bride's name, or…"
"Your name is good."
"Katniss. Everdeen," I add. "K-A-T…"
"Like the plant. I got it." His hand moves over the page. "Two 'e's in Everdeen?"
"Ah, yeah."
He prompts me for a few more bits of information: address, phone number I can be reached at, date of pickup. My eyes are drawn to his hands as he writes on the paper. They look so big, so strong, and I imagine those hands plunging into a lump of dough, punching it to life. Then his movements become gentler—coaxing, kneading, folding the soft mound onto itself again and again.
Another ribbon of desire winds its way down my belly to the juncture of my thighs. Great. Now I'm getting horny thinking about bread dough.
Not bread dough, stupid, a nagging little voice says. The baker's hands.
"So let's talk about your cake, then," he says, leaning on the counter, studying Jo's sketch again. "You want a full torso, or is it there for effect?"
I gape at him, cause I honestly have no fucking clue what he means.
He seems to understand my confusion and another soft laugh leaps off his lips, twisting and spiraling in the space between us. "I can just do the cock if you prefer," he explains.
Jesus, what do you say to that? "I guess whatever you usually do," I supply, jamming my hands down my thighs, realizing too late that my yoga pants have no pockets. I desperately need something to do with my hands.
"I aim to please with my cakes. What the customer wants, she gets."
He's trying to undo me. He has to know how impossibly sexy he is; he probably has girls swooning and batting their eyelashes at him all the time. So in spite the dull ache in my abdomen that I refuse to acknowledge, I'm hell bent on keeping my cool in front of…
Don't say his name. It makes it real if you say his name.
…Peeta.
I straighten a little. "Whatever you usually do will be fine," I repeat emphatically.
He scribbles something on the paper and doesn't look up when he says, "Everything is made to order here. I don't keep a sample book or anything, and I don't use molds. If the sketch is good enough for you I'll work with it." He scrubs at the back of his neck, and I swear a faint flush creeps up his neck. "This is quite a, um, generous drawing. How many people are you expecting at this shower?"
"It's small. She's already had two large showers. This will just be her closest friends. Maybe twelve, not including me and my roommate and the guest of honor."
"So fifteen?" He drags his hand down his neck and chuckles. "Then you don't really need a huge cake."
I know he says cake. My ears hear him say cake. But my traitorous clit has other ideas, because it pulses against the damp scrap of fabric that's currently passing as my underwear. No, I do need a huge cock. Your cock.
Fucking hell, Katniss. Control yourself.
"I guess not." I think my voice quivers. Jesus I hope it didn't quiver.
"Is the size important?" he asks. I try to clench my jaw and not let it unhinge at his question. He must notice something in the subtle tic of my mouth because his eyes crinkle and he laughs. "The drawing, Katniss. The cake will need to be proportioned to serve fifteen, so is the size of the actual penis important to you?"
As soon as he says the word 'penis,' I'm a goner. Because all I can think about is what would it take to see his penis. I'm suddenly so turned on that I'm starting to fidget, unconsciously bouncing on the balls of my feet. I have never, ever had this kind of reaction in the presence of a guy before. The effect he's having on me is unfamiliar, and scary as hell, and I need to get the fuck out of here before I say or do something stupid.
"You're the expert," I respond.
His lips purse and twitch, as if he's fighting to keep a smile off of them. And I realize I've implied that he's an expert in penises, not cakes. So much for not saying something stupid.
"Anything you do will be great. I trust you," I add hastily.
"Well, I'll do my best to honor that trust." He leans forward on the counter again, his shoulders curving towards me, the muscles in his upper arms tensing as he braces his weight on his palms. "So now let's talk flavors. What kind of a girl are you?"
There's something about the tone of his voice that sends an avalanche of heat cascading down my spine and causes my nipples to harden.
"The cake's not just for me," I remind him. "The bride-to-be likes red velvet."
His jaw flexes as he laughs easily. It's mesmerizing. The jaw, not the laugh, but I like that too.
"I make it a point not to use red velvet for any of my erotic cakes. I can imagine it might be pretty traumatic cutting into one of them…"
"Ah, yeah," I cringe. I don't do blood. So I get his point. Real or not real, no Red Velvet for Annie.
He gazes at me thoughtfully, as if he's trying to read my mind, which I hope he's not, cause I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want to know I'm thinking about conquering that cliff of his jaw with my tongue.
"I'm thinking that you ladies are going to be sitting around, drinking champagne or doing shots, looking at sexy teddies and underwear all night…you need a cake that's an equally sensual experience. Bourbon buttermilk cake, with a salted caramel ganache and bourbon buttercream frosting."
I can't voice my approval because my mouth floods with drool. My saturated tongue pushes the saliva back so I can swallow, and I practically moan my reply. "That sounds amazing."
"Glad you approve. Any writing on the cake?"
I shake my head. Knowing Johanna, she has something entirely inappropriate and lascivious planned for displaying it.
He slides the paper across to me. "I just need your signature there, and a 20% deposit on the cake. You pay the balance when you pick it up on Friday."
I take the pen from him, and our eyes meet. It feels like his fingers linger on mine, and I don't think it's my imagination that his index finger actually swirls over the knuckle of my middle finger before he pulls his hand back. My entire body breaks out in goose bumps, and I swear I'm going to need another fucking shower already. Hastily, I scribble my name across the bottom of the cake contract.
"Can I just pay for it in full today?" I ask, pulling my credit card out of the little wristlet that holds my license and phone.
"Yes, of course, if you want."
Our fingers brush again when I pass him my credit card, and this time I think I'm the one who lets them remain a little longer than necessary, my thumb grazing his wrist accidentally on purpose.
"Anything else before I ring you up? Cheese bun?" he asks.
"You seem really confident that I liked them that much," I volley.
Huh. I haven't heard that voice come out of my mouth before. Breathy. About a half-octave higher than its usual cadence. My tongue rolling the 'l's.
"So you didn't like them?" He places a hand over his heart, his lower lip jutting out in a pout, and while the wounded look on his face is playful it's not a look that I want to see again.
"Four. I'll take four."
The smile returns, and he wanders off to box them up. I crane my neck discreetly to try to get a glimpse of his ass in the tight jeans he wears, but I am thoroughly disappointed when the counter blocks my view.
He places the box on the counter before sliding my credit card and receipt towards me. As I lean down to examine the invoice, I smell cinnamon and dill, and I feel his eyes studying me. My lower abdomen twinges as I sign the slip.
The cake is more expensive than I anticipated, but if what Peeta said is true and everything is custom-made I guess that makes sense. And Annie is only getting married once. But what I don't see…
"You forgot—"
He cuts me off. "The buns are on me."
I'm tongue-tied again and I can only mutter a 'thank you.' I know it's my overly stimulated, horny-as-fuck state that even allows him to get away with gifting me the cheese buns. I've never been one for handouts.
"I'll see you Friday then, Katniss." He nudges the box forward.
"Friday," I echo. He gives me one last smile and walks back to the main counter. He says something to the blonde girl and then disappears into the rear of the bakery. She watches me carefully as I pick up the box and retreat towards the door.
When I slump into the driver's seat, it's like déjà vu. My hands are sweaty on the steering wheel, and I can't keep my mind off Peeta. What would it be like to have those hands kneading my breasts instead of bread dough, or his fingers squeezing my ass instead of a pastry bag?
Fuck me. It's going to be a long six days.
Peeta was right: Those cheese buns are insanely addictive.
But they're not what I crave most at Mellark's.
I find myself standing outside the bakery at an obscenely early hour, so early the streetlights are still glowing faintly and the sun is only a thread on the horizon. The door isn't even unlocked yet, and when Peeta appears through the spotless glass, he raises an eyebrow at me. He starts to flip over the 'Open' sign then thinks better of it before reaching for the doorknob.
"I told you that you wouldn't be able to resist," he murmurs thickly. But the lusty edge decorating his words tell me that he's not talking about the cheese buns. He wraps an arm around my waist, dragging me inside.
His eyes aren't the intense shade of blue that I'm growing accustomed to; they're wide, primal, like two smoldering lumps of coal trained on me. My blood sizzles in anticipation and my thighs flood with damp heat just from the way he sizes me up, licking his lips hungrily.
"Tell me you're not here for this," he growls, curling his fingers around my wrist and sliding my palm over the hard bulge in his pants. I moan in response, as he lowers his head to my chest and runs his tongue over my nipple through the lace-trimmed camisole.
Wait, why am I only wearing my underwear…?
I open one eye and groan in frustration. My tongue sticks to the pillow, and a huge pool of drool stains the sheet. Fuck. That's the fifth one since Saturday. And it's only Tuesday.
I can't seem to stop fantasizing about Peeta Mellark. Asleep. Awake. He's on my mind 24-7. He's got me strung so tight that even the alarming frequency with which I'm getting myself off only leaves me aching for more.
I roll over on my side, but I can feel how wet I am when I tuck my legs up closer to my chest. Almost immediately I throw myself onto my back and don't even bother getting my vibrator from the nightstand. Closing my eyes, I slip one hand inside my panties, going straight for my clit. With my other hand I roughly shove my camisole up, exposing my tits, palming one as I start to touch myself…
I'm back in the bakery, and it's just Peeta and me. The lights are off, and the hazy fingers of dawn bathe the back room in a dim glow. He's standing behind me, his thighs straddling mine, his chin hovering above my shoulder.
"Like this?" I whisper, as my fingers move through the sticky glob of dough, probing the lump, pumping it with my knuckles.
"Just like that," he coaches, his breath hot on my ear. "But you need more flour."
His hand covers mine, guiding it into the pillowy mound of white dust. His lips are inches from my neck, and his nose grazes my jaw.
"Almost ready," he murmurs, and I gasp when his other hand slips underneath my camisole, creeping up the plane of my stomach to settle over my breast. His hand mimics the motions of mine, except he's kneading my breast far more reverently than I am the dough. His pelvis bumps against me, pinning my hips to the counter, his erection grinding into my ass. I can feel the hot, hard length of him through the thin material of my panties.
"Peeta," I whimper. His fingers pluck at my nipple, spears of heat shooting down to my pussy.
A moan escapes my lips, and I turn and bury my face in my pillow, two fingers circling through the wetness accumulated between my legs. I feel the heated coil starting to spool low in my belly. I don't care that my deprived mind has conjured up this unlikely scenario where Peeta Mellark is stark naked in his prep kitchen, primed to fuck me from behind. That's why it's a fantasy, right?
My own fingers pinch my nipple as imaginary Peeta continues to toy with my breast. The dough forgotten, his hand leaves mine and caresses my ass, his teeth nicking my ear lobe before he sucks on that spot just under the start of my jawbone that drives me wild.
Then I feel the cool air hit my fevered skin as he tugs my panties down my legs. I start to thrash more on the bed as I picture him rubbing his cock through my slick folds. The finger I slip inside myself is unsatisfying, so I add another, but I know they're a poor substitute for whatever Peeta's cock could do to me. I bite my lip and arch my back, bowing my legs as I continue to fuck myself, wishing it were Peeta inside me. The coil snaps and I brace my heels against the mattress, allowing the bliss of my orgasm to crash through me, until I collapse, boneless on the rumpled bed sheet. I lay there dazed for several minutes until the shrill beep of my alarm jolts me upward. Exhaling shakily, I turn it off and reluctantly roll out of bed.
I've just stepped out of the shower when I hear my phone ping. Securing the towel around my chest, with my wet hair dripping a trail behind me, I pad into my bedroom and glance at the screen. I nearly drop my towel when I see the unfamiliar number and the not-so-unfamiliar name.
Apr. 19, 7:46 a.m.
[(215) 589-9211]
Katniss? Its Peeta. From Mellark's.
After I fix my towel, I perch on the edge of my bed and tap out a reply—but not before I add him to my contacts.
Apr. 19, 7:48 a.m.
[Katniss]
Hi Peeta from Mellark's.
I stare at the screen and try to think of something clever to add. I'm not fast enough though.
Apr. 19, 7:50 a.m.
[Peeta M.]
I hope its not too early but that's why I texted instead of calling. I forgot to ask you about nuts.
My phone slips from my hand and tumbles end over end, landing on the carpet with a soft thump. Shit. Real mature. I know there's no way in hell that he's texting me about his nuts, but given the fact that I was just rubbing one out while imagining him fucking me into oblivion, I can't help it if my first thought is of his balls—and what they might feel like in the palm of my hand. Or in my mouth.
Apr. 19, 7:50 a.m.
[Katniss]
What about them?
I put down my phone to vigorously scrub the towel over my still sopping hair, watching the screen for his answer.
Apr. 19, 7:51 a.m.
[Peeta M.]
Allergies. I do prefer to use chopped walnuts for one particular area of the cake. But if you know of allergies amongst your guests I can find a substitute.
Apr. 19, 7:51 a.m.
[Peeta M.]
I'm sorry I didn't ask when you were in here. I usually do a whole thing about allergens. I guess I was a little distracted. ;)
I gape at that second message. Distracted? The winking face emoticon? My heart stutters and I can't even begin to process this. It definitely feels like flirting, but the last thing I want to do is jump to some conclusion that he's implying he was distracted by me when he could have been worrying about whatever he had in the oven in the back, or whatever plans he had later that night.
Besides, I don't really have an answer for him. I don't know some of Annie's sorority sisters that well, and I can only speak for Jo and Madge (who's allergic to shellfish).
Apr. 19, 7:53 a.m.
[Katniss]
What if I don't know about allergies? Can I let you know?
Apr. 19, 7:54 a.m.
[Peeta M.]
Sure. But it's all your fault that I forgot to ask in the first place.
Apr. 19, 7:55 a.m.
[Katniss]
I'll try to be less distracting next time.
I take a deep breath and hit the 'send' button; flirting is not a strength of mine, but I think my reply is innocent enough that the ball is in his court.
Apr. 19, 7:56 a.m.
[Peeta M.]
Funny I was going to ask if you wouldn't mind distracting me for a drink after work today. I close at 6 on weekdays. How's 6:30?
The stutter in my chest swells to a full-fledged thumping. My fingers tremble slightly.
Apr. 19, 7:57 a.m.
[Katniss]
6:30 is good. Name the place.
I swear I can still feel his lips on my cheek when I jiggle the key in the door at eleven-thirty that night. My fingers are probing the skin along my cheekbone, a dumb grin playing upon my lips when I walk into our apartment—right into the accusatory eyes and knowing smirk of my roommate. I lower my hand and toss my keys on the counter.
"Where have you been?" Jo sings.
The inflection in her voice hints that she suspects just where I've been, and her eyes lower to the deep plunge of my blouse and my pencil skirt and heels.
"I, uh, met someone for drinks, and that turned into dinner, and then another drink," I say, going for the refrigerator door.
"Someone?"
I uncap the bottle of water and take a long sip, the cool liquid quenching my thirst, but doing nothing for my fevered body. After another sip, I turn and face Johanna.
"A guy."
She rolls her eyes at me. "No shit a guy. Who?"
I kick off my heels across the floor, flexing my toes a couple of times. "Just someone I met recently." I bend down to retrieve my heels and start for the living room.
Johanna pursues me. "Back the fuck up, Everdeen. Details. Now."
Just then my phone goes off inside my purse. I raise an eyebrow at Jo and fish through the contents until I find it buried near the bottom. When I see his message on the screen, I know the silly grin on my face gives me away entirely.
And I'm too slow for Johanna's quick reflexes. The phone is in her hand before I can even smack her and voice my protest.
"Peet-ahhhhhhhh," she enunciates, giving me one of her patented shit-eating grins, "had an incr-eeeeeeedible time with you tonight."
I snatch the phone back. "I'll give you details when there are details to give. We had drinks. We talked. It was nice." I fight to keep the flush off my cheeks when I think about how nice is far too bland a word to describe the last couple of hours that I spent with Peeta Mellark. I've never felt such a pull towards someone before. By the time we left the bar and he walked me to my car, I was like a powder keg, waiting for him to make his move. All it would have taken was one touch, and I know I would have given myself to him completely.
To my chagrin he had been a complete gentleman, merely grazing his lips across my cheek, hovering just inches from my face to murmur that he hoped I'd distract him again soon, and to drive safely.
"You're blushing," Johanna scoffs. "There's more to this guy than nice, and you know it."
"Good night, Jo," I call over my shoulder, slamming my door and slumping against it. A fluttering sensation crests through my stomach.
Apr. 19, 11:43 p.m.
[Katniss]
I had an incredible time too.
Apr. 19, 11:43 p.m.
[Peeta]
Glad you got home safely.
Apr. 19, 11:43 p.m.
[Peeta]
But if can I confess…I was sorry to see the night end.
My skin prickles with heat and I unbutton my blouse and shrug it off my shoulders. I hook a toe under it and launch it toward my hamper, mentally composing an appropriately flirty response. After our evening—and in spite of the chaste kiss —I think he wants me as much as I want him.
I unzip my skirt and let it pool around my ankles, leaving me clad in just my bra and panties. A slow grin creeps onto my lips, as I know what to say to him.
Apr. 19, 11:43 p.m.
[Katniss]
That's all your fault. Weren't you the one who said he had to be up at 5 am?
Apr. 19, 11:44 p.m.
[Peeta]
Touche. That's the life of a baker though.
Apr. 19, 11:44 p.m.
[Katniss]
Yes, but you're still awake right now…
Apr. 19, 11:45 p.m.
[Peeta]
Maybe that's because I can't stop thinking about you.
Fuck. Me.
I release a long, tremulous breath as the fluttering in my stomach drops lower and I feel myself getting wet. Setting my phone down on my dresser for a second, I make quick work of the clasp of my bra and slide the straps down my arms. Reflexively I arch my back as the cool air hits my heated skin and puckers my nipples into stiff buds.
Apr. 19, 11:46 p.m.
[Katniss]
That makes two of us.
Apr. 19, 11:46 p.m.
[Peeta]
You can't stop thinking about you either? Hmm. I do like a confident woman. ;)
A blush blooms on my cheeks and I cross to flop down on my bed, running a hand down my stomach, trailing one finger along the lace edge of my panties.
And then my phone jumps in my hand a split second before the trill of the obnoxious xylophone ring tone cuts into the silence. His name appears on the screen, and I suck in a breath to steady myself as I answer.
"Hi," I murmur. "Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I am. But I wanted to hear your voice before I go to sleep," he replies, and his husky tone has me on edge. "Are you in bed, too?"
"I'm on my bed. Does that count?"
He laughs softly. "It depends what you're wearing."
I glance down at my bare breasts and my tiny low-rise panties and hesitate. Can I go there? Do I dare go there? What is it about Peeta Mellark that has me even thinking about going there already?
Right. Those impossibly blue eyes. And that chiseled-from-marble jaw. And those arms. And chest. And that's only what I have seen. And I'm desperate to see more.
"How about what I'm not wearing?" I say, my cadence far bolder than my nerves.
I can hear him whistle through his teeth. "Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have only kissed you on the cheek."
"It's okay," I say breathily. "I do like a gentleman. As long as he knows when it's okay not to be a gentle man."
"Oh really?" I can hear the hitch in his breathing, and I bite my lip, propping the phone up on my ear to free both my hands.
"Really."
"Well, what would you say if I told you I was hardly a gentleman when I thought about you in the shower this morning?"
I moan quietly, covering one breast with my palm. "I'd say I wonder if you were doing whatever it is you were doing in the shower at the same time I was doing it in my bed thinking of you."
"Jesus, Katniss," he groans. "As if I didn't already regret letting you go home tonight…" he pauses, and I can hear a tiny puff of air through the phone. His voice drops an octave. "Are you touching yourself right now?"
I dip my hand inside my panties, curling my palm over my pubic bone. "I might be."
"Stop," he growls, so fiercely that my fingers jolt against my clit before I can pull my hand away. "The next time anyone touches you it's going to be me."
"Okay," I whisper, little frissons of desire shooting down my spine, pooling between my legs again.
"I'd better try to get some sleep. Sweet dreams, Katniss. I'll see you Friday."
"Friday. Night, Peeta," I murmurs back, disconnecting the call. I roll onto my stomach and bury my face in the pillow, emitting a long groan as my tautly strung body begs me for a release. But with Peeta's erotic request ringing in my ears, I deny myself it. Already I'm finding I'll do anything he asks—and it thrills me far more than it scares me.
I leave work at four on Friday and head straight to Mellark's to pick up the cake. Annie's shower starts at seven, but guests will start arriving by six since it's a surprise. It's an easy ruse: I'll just be MIA from our usual happy hour, and Johanna and Madge will suggest just grabbing take-out after a round or two of drinks to join me back at the apartment.
I park in what's becoming my usual spot and cross the street, frowning when I notice the sign in the bakery's front window has been flipped to 'Closed.' I reach for the doorknob and twist, but it doesn't budge. My eyes narrow and my brows dip as I pull out my phone, checking the time. 4:12. Peeta said he's open until six on weekdays. It is Friday. Did I screw this up somehow?
Hesitantly I rap on the glass and peer into the bakery. The lights are off, but the late afternoon sun illuminates the space well enough, and I can see the chairs are up on the tables and the floor shines with that waxy just cleaned glow.
I try not to panic, cause Johanna will choke me within an inch of my life if I fuck up the one job I had. I knock louder this time, hard enough to hurt my knuckles a little, and I shuffle from side to side, nervous energy flowing through me.
Then I see him crossing the bakery and coming to stand before the door. His mouth lifts on the left in a lopsided smile, and it resonates in my belly and curls my toes.
"I've been waiting for you." He opens the door and holds it for me to step inside.
"I'm sorry," I apologize. "Did I miss something? Was I supposed—?"
The intense pressure of his lips on mine cuts me off. Stunned at first, I melt into the kiss, my eyelids falling shut as I wind my arms around to clutch his shoulders, feeling the corded muscles soft but firm beneath my fingers. One of his hands tangles in my hair, tilting my neck to attack my lips from a new angle. If it weren't for his other hand on the small of my back my legs would definitely dissolve like melted butter, and I'd be nothing but a puddle on the ground once his tongue enters the equation. He swipes the circumference of my lips slowly and deliberately, sucking on the bottom swell gently, enough to coax me to open wider. When I oblige, his tongue slips inside and teases mine.
Fuck, he's a good kisser.
"That's what I should have done the other night," he pants when our mouths finally break apart and we both gasp for air.
"I never would have left if you did that the other night," I confess. His thumb skirts the contours of my jaw and my body erupts in goose bumps.
"Your cake is ready." His lips replace his thumb, moving over the skin. "But it's going to have to wait." His hot breath tickles my ear, and that, coupled with the anticipation for where I think this is going, sends another shiver ratcheting through me.
His mouth seals over mine again, and my hands splay across his back, clinging to him as he hoists me a few inches off the floor and starts walking us backwards. He tastes like sugar, and as he sucks on my tongue insistently we stumble through the swinging door that leads to the rear of the bakery.
"You," he begins, trapping me between his strong body and the wall, "have no idea the effect you have on me, do you?"
I whimper and buck against the hard bulge that I felt swelling as we walked. "I might have some idea."
He takes both my wrists and wrenches them above my head, holding them in place with one hand while his other hand fumbles with the top button of my silk blouse. His nose nudges my cheek, guiding our lips back together, our tongues twining sinuously. I've never been kissed so thoroughly, so ravenously, but holy shit can I get used to this.
Methodically he works each button through its hole, parting my shirt once the last disk is freed. He tips my chin up and kisses down my neck, his tongue flicking out to circle the hollow of my throat, and then he pulls back and studies me. His nostrils flare and his blue eyes darken as they rake over my chest. Every nerve in my body hums for his touch.
"God you're exquisite," he mumbles, returning his lips to my skin, brushing them back and forth along the swells of my breasts. He lets my hands drop, and immediately I fist them through his hair, wanting to draw him closer to me.
"Oh, god…" I tense as his lips find one hardened nipple through the lace of my bra. The heat of his mouth seeps through the fabric, and my pelvis writhes against his, desperately seeking some friction to relieve the delicious ache mounting there. But he steps back and I can't utter a protest before he cradles my jaw, his fingertips moving over my cheeks. The way he's looking at me…no one has ever looked at me this way.
"Katniss…"
The raw need in his voice steals my breath, but I know what he's asking of me with just that one utterance of my name. I nod and swallow, and he presses his hands under my ass to coax me to climb his waist with my legs. Once I've coiled myself around him, ankles hooked inside his knees, his hands holding me tightly, he kisses me again and awkwardly moves towards a door.
"My…apartment…upstairs…" he explains between kisses. "Yes?"
"Fuck yes," I return breathlessly, my heart hammering a rapid tattoo against my ribs.
"How long do you have?" he asks, reaching around me to grope for the doorknob.
My lips pout against his. "Probably…not…long. I—oh!"
The door gives and I nearly fall backwards, but Peeta's strong arms catch me, and he gently lowers me down, my back suspended above the stairs. I inhale deeply and my chest inflates. He grins at me, descends on my lips for a fierce kiss, enough to steal the breath I just took, and he pivots me around.
"Hurry," he urges, nudging me to mount the stairs.
My legs tremble with excitement, and I reach for the railing to aid my balance, but my knees buckle when I take a step and feel Peeta's hands slide up the backs of my thighs to caress my ass. I can't suppress a loud moan when the heel of his palm molds to my pussy.
"On second thought…" He pushes my skirt up around my waist and tugs my panties down. "I might have to take you right here."
An almost animalistic noise fills the stairwell, and it takes a second to register that it's me, but I can't help myself when his fingers trace my folds and two of them slip inside me.
"I told you I was going to be the next one to touch you," he rasps, his other hand snaking around my waist to squeeze one of my breasts. I cry out again, bracing my hands on the stair level with my head. His fingers pump in and out of me a couple of times, and I can hear his breaths quicken and low grunts leap from his throat.
"Peeta," I whine, when I feel his fingers slide out of me. I wiggle my ass impatiently, and he chuckles, a deep, throaty laugh that makes me wonder if anything this man does isn't inherently sexy.
"Give me a second."
He's unbuttoning his jeans, so I take the opportunity to shrug my blouse the rest of the way off and toss it to the side, where it lands in a crumpled heap. Then I turn and perch on the edge of a step so I can watch him ease the denim down his legs. He steps out of them, and before he throws them over his shoulder he pulls a condom from the back pocket.
"Hold this."
I take the foil packet from him and lick my lips as my eyes wander over the distinct outline of his cock in the tight cotton of his black boxer briefs.
Our gazes lock and he never breaks eye contact as he carefully peels the underwear down and frees his erection. He grips the hem of his t-shirt and swiftly rids himself of that, too, laying it over my discarded blouse.
I only wish the lighting was better in the shadowy stairwell, because I can't fully appreciate the perfection that is Peeta's body, but holy fuck, there is no missing the rigid length of his cock, hard and thick and just begging for me to wrap my lips around it. Instinctively my arm lifts and I reach for it, but Peeta shakes his head. He rips open the condom and rolls it over his erection then he lunges down and hauls me up, crushing his mouth to mine.
"Not now. I'll never last if you put your hands or mouth on me." He twists me back around, planting my palms on the stair again. The head of his cock rubs along my folds, as he coats it in my arousal. I feel his lips brush the nape of my neck tenderly when he moves my hair out of the way.
"Peeta, please!" I'm fast spiraling into petulant toddler territory, my voice taking on that whiny edge to it, because I want him so fucking bad, but he doesn't seem to notice—or perhaps he just doesn't give a shit. His tongue drags down my spine, and suddenly he's buried inside me.
"Katniss…fuck…" he hisses. "Fuck, you feel…god damn…you're so wet…" He hooks his fingers around my hip and holds me in place with his other hand firmly locked across my torso, palm covering one breast. "You okay?"
"Yea-yeah," I choke out, squeezing my eyes shut as he begins to move. My body continues to adjust to the size of him, stretching a little more with each thrust of his hips. I crane my neck, angling my mouth to seek out his lips, and he swallows my little mewls of pleasure, as the sound of his balls smacking my thighs is the only discernible sound for several moments.
He breaks the kiss and lays his head gently on my back, his fingers wedging inside the cup of my bra to pluck at my nipple.
"I'm…fuck…this isn't going to..."
"S'ok," I pant, grimacing as another deep thrust reaches a place inside me that I didn't know existed.
"You…feel…too fucking good." His hand leaves my breast and finds my throbbing clit, rubbing it furiously. The noises that he's making tell me he's struggling to hold back; the faster his fingers stimulate my clit, the tighter he winds me up.
He comes with a shout of my name a moment later, his cock pulsing inside me. His fingers don't stop, though, and finally the tension inside me snaps, and I scream, arching my back into the sturdy wall of Peeta's chest, as my orgasm rips through me. My clit throbs against his hand, and he cradles me to him while my body convulses and I dissolve into a weightless mess.
Peeta twists me around in his arms, threading his hand through my damp hair, claiming my mouth for a slow, languid kiss that has me hungering for him again by the time he releases me. He gives me a smile that's as shy as it is sexy, and I can't help myself from kissing him once more.
"I guess I do have to give you what you came here for," he teases as he removes the condom.
"You just did," I lob back, pursing my lips at him, and he laughs, reaching down to grab my blouse and panties for me.
He offers to let me clean up in his apartment, but I decline, since I'll have to change for Annie's shower anyway. So once we're dressed we head back down to the bakery's kitchen, and he produces the cake, arching a brow at me when I gape at his handiwork.
"Holy shit! Good lord, Peeta, how the hell do you do this?" I shake my head at the incredibly realistic, anatomically accurate cake. If it's possible for baked goods to be art, well, fuck—Peeta Mellark is some kind of an erotic cake god. This had to have taken him hours.
"So it meets your approval?"
I nod, my eyes scanning it again. A laugh bubbles up in me when I study the cake in more detail, and I come to the balls. "Now I see why you were asking about nuts."
"Oh my god, Johanna!" Annie cries as she holds up the leather bustier, and her cheeks flush crimson as everyone hoots and hollers. Johanna raises her glass in mock salute and drains the rest of her champagne cocktail, catching my eye. She gives me a knowing smirk and elbows me.
"Play your cards right with that mystery man of yours and I could be gifting you with whips and chains too."
I nearly choke on my champagne. "You did not give Annie that stuff, Jo…did you?"
"You'll have to ask Annie what else is in that bag," she crows. "She's down to the last two gifts. I think it's time to set out the cake." Her eyes gleam deviously. "Because if you think she's blushing now…"
"You take a little too much pleasure in other people's discomfort, you know that?" I scoff as I excuse myself to go retrieve Peeta's cake from the kitchen.
Annie displays her final gift, a lacy little turquoise teddy that she declares Finnick will love, because it's his favorite color, and she thanks us and rises out of her chair to start circulating the room and issuing more thanks and hugs.
Johanna makes a big production out of showing off the cake, and everyone has to gawk and take fucking pictures with their phones, and honestly, after the tenth or twentieth penis pun, I'm getting antsy to beat it into my room to text Peeta.
"Does this box say Mellark's?" Madge asks, examining the logo on the sticker that had sealed the lid shut until I slit it open.
"Uh, yeah, why?"
Madge looks thoughtful. "Oh, nothing…I mean…I went to college with a guy named Mellark." Her face gets all dreamy. "God he was fucking hot."
Jo snorts. "Hotter than that tall drink of water you've been fucking for the last two years?"
Madge glares at her. "I didn't know Gale then, dumbass. Besides, I can still appreciate other men. But, yeah, I mean, every girl in my dorm wanted Peeta."
At the mention of his name, my heart decides that it's bipolar, both skipping a beat in its excitement and seeming to stop as I see the recognition glint in Johanna's hazel eyes.
"Peetahhhhhh," Jo says, dragging out the name again. She shakes her head at me. "Fuck, Everdeen, you've got a thing for the baker who makes X-rated goodies!"
"Jo, shut up. This is not the time or place for you to give me shit about my love life. This is Annie's night."
But I've seen that look in Jo's eyes before, and I'm fucked. She's going to be relentless about this. And it starts when she cuts the cake.
"Who wants cock?" she calls gleefully, brandishing the serving knife.
"I'm terrified to watch her slice into that thing," Madge hisses to me through clenched teeth. I snicker, and we watch Johanna begin to cut the cake and dole out pieces.
"Head? I've got head here!"
I sigh. "She's having way too much fun with this."
She approaches Madge and me, holding out two plates, and when I reach for mine, she snatches it back and clucks her tongue. "Now, Brainless, you know that this is only cake, right? If you want the baker's cock in your mouth—"
"Johanna! Fuck, enough!" I grab the cake and try to keep my expression neutral as my body tingles at the memory of Peeta's impressive dick driving into me.
She's right about one thing, though. I do want Peeta's cock in my mouth. This afternoon was easily the best sex I've ever had, but our little escapade in his stairwell stoked a hunger in me, and I'm suddenly ravenous for him again.
When the shower wraps up, Madge (who's always been a lightweight) decides she's going to crash on our couch, so I offer to take Annie home. She protests a little, but she's tipsy enough that there is no fucking way I'm letting her drive.
My friend's safety comes first, but I do have an ulterior motive.
After depositing a giggling Annie with Finnick at their apartment, I drive straight to Peeta's, a nervous current coursing through my veins. I'm careful to stay under the speed limit and stop fully at every sign, because I'll never live it down if I'm pulled over in the state I'm in. And I had one glass of champagne, so it's not a breathalyzer I'm worried about.
Fortunately, I arrive at Mellark's without incidence, and I turn off the engine and gaze at the darkened bakery. The windows directly above it are unlit, too, and I realize that I have no idea how he gets up to his apartment. Is it only the door that we stumbled through this afternoon? Or does he have another entry?
One way to find out.
"Hey," he murmurs when he answers my call. "How was the shower?"
"Inspiring. Are you in bed?"
"Getting ready, yeah."
I slam my car door, click the key fob once, and stride across the street. "Come downstairs." I do my best to sound seductive.
The shock in his voice is palpable. "What?"
"Come downstairs," I repeat, tucking my elbows into my waist to huddle for a little warmth against the chilly spring night.
"Like…downstairs…?"
"By the bakery door."
I can hear rustling on his end, and within a minute the lights flick on, and he appears wearing nothing but his black boxer briefs. As he approaches the door, it gives me the perfect chance to ogle the cut lines of his pelvis, and the sculpted ridges of his abdominal muscles. I can also see his cock lying against his thigh through the fabric. My stomach twists.
He looks me up and down once he opens the door, a predatory smile claiming his mouth. Tossing my hair, I sashay past him, trailing one finger down his biceps. He catches me by the wrist and lures me into his arms, seizing my waist and slanting his mouth over mine.
"This is a nice surprise," he mumbles, ghosting kisses along my neck. His fingers tug at the sash cinched around my waist. "What do we have here?"
I run my palms down the firm planes of his chest and stomach, cupping him through his underwear. He moans against my collarbone and sucks on it lightly. "If we go upstairs, I can show you," I purr.
I'm unprepared for him to scoop me up, my knees draped over his right arm while his left holds me firmly under my thighs. Instinctively I vine my arms around his neck, and we gaze at each other. He moves purposefully back towards the rear of the bakery, and I'm a little taken aback at how easily he does so with me in his arms. When we reach the stairs, I issue a quiet protest, but he laughs it off.
"I lug sacks of flour and sugar that weigh more than you," he murmurs, and we ascend the steps at a disturbingly fast pace for him still holding me.
He kicks the door shut behind us and sets me down, and he takes in my trench coat and my heels. The lusty glaze to his blue eyes suggests that he knows what I'm up to, but he leans back and rests on the top of his couch, licking his lips.
"So you said the shower was inspiring?" he asks thickly, scratching at his jaw, never taking his eyes off mine.
"Well…" My fingers converge on the knot in the belt. "You can be the judge of that." The knot comes undone, and I begin to work at the row of buttons down the front of the coat. Peeta watches me intently, his pupils fat, his chest rising and falling, and when the last button pops free and I roll my shoulders to shrug the coat from my shoulders, his jaw clenches and a wolfish smile lifts his lips.
I start to walk towards him, but he holds up a palm to stop me. "Let me just look at you. Please."
It's the only lingerie I technically own, bought on a whim one day when I had a gift card and then immediately shoved to the back of my drawer, since I had no one in particular to wear it for. The lacy black cups of the bra hug and lift my breasts to an unnatural height, and beneath them, a flimsy sheer flyaway teddy bares my navel and reveals an impossibly tiny thong.
He crooks a finger at me, and obediently, I saunter towards him, empowered by the way he's looking at me like I'm something he's going to devour. He rubs his thumb over the delicate little bow at the center of my panties, and I can see he's gotten completely hard, his briefs barely able to contain the evidence of his arousal.
"You…" he buries his face in the valley between my breasts and nuzzles my skin tenderly, the faint scruff of his stubble tickling me and sending my senses into overdrive, "…are so…fucking…sexy." He raises his head and frames my cheeks with his palms to kiss me slowly and sensually. "And as much as I loved fucking you this afternoon, I'm going to really love taking my time with you now."
He laces our fingers together and leads me down a narrow hallway to his bedroom. A small lamp near his bed emits a faint glow, and he doesn't turn on any other lights. He takes a seat at the edge of the bed and runs his hands up my legs, lingering on the backs of my thighs. His head tilts so he can press kisses all over my stomach, and his tongue traces the circumference of my belly button, making me break out in chills.
"Gorgeous," he mumbles, his thumbs hooking inside my panties to drag them down. Then his hands skate up my sides, coming to rest over my breasts. I arc into his touch, and his palms graze the lacy fabric, his hot breath fanning over my ribs.
"As incredible as you look in this, I want you naked. I need to see you…all of you."
My body floods with more heat, and I nod numbly. I reach around to work at the clasps on the back of the bra, but he stills my fingers and turns me around. Slowly he releases each hook and eye on the bra, and once my back is exposed, he trails a finger up my spine while he eases the negligee down my arms. I shimmy my torso to let it fall away, and twist back to face him, a little apprehensive at being completely naked before him. Which is fucking ridiculous, given how passionate and raw our sex was earlier today. But this has a totally different feel to it.
I forget all my anxieties when I meet Peeta's eyes, and his hands cover my breasts, kneading them tenderly at first, and then with firmer pressure. My eyes flutter closed. His fingers probe my skin, inching closer to my nipples, but then he retreats, cupping me underneath each breast. He continues fondling and squeezing and teasing, and I squirm.
"Your tits are fucking perfect," he whispers, and I lift my eyelids just a crack to see his tongue flick out over one aching peak. My eyes roll back, and I rock my body closer to him, my hands fumbling for leverage. I find his shoulders and steady myself as his tongue licks and his teeth nip and his fingers pinch and he has me writhing and panting, just from what he does to my nipples.
"C'mere." His hands curl on my hips, and he spins me around, easing me onto the bed. He climbs over me, and I scoot up, my heart thundering when he lays an arm across my stomach and stops my movement.
I'm paralyzed and can only gape at him when he raises one of my legs and removes my heel, letting it clatter to the hardwood floor, and his mouth maps a searing trail up and down my calf and past my knee. Then he pins it down, only to repeat the process with my other leg. I'm a quivering, trembling mess by the time his lips brush dangerously close to my soaking wet pussy. How is he able to have this effect on me when he's not even—?
Oh fuck.
The heat of his tongue parts me, and I brace my feet against the bed, my knees steepling, and he uses one arm to urge me to tuck them to my chest. My fists claw for the comforter, gathering bunches of the soft material as I bow off the bed and drive my pelvis further against his mouth. He laughs quietly, but it vibrates like a hum on my clit, and a strangled gasp chokes my throat.
He laps at me enthusiastically, and I keen when he goes back to flicking his tongue back and forth over the aching nub, and I feel the waves of bliss cresting in my belly. It feels so fucking unreal that in spite of my gritted teeth, I can't fight it. My body shudders, tiny tremors shooting out from every angle, as my clit pulses against the assault of his mouth.
"God…Peeta!" I cry his name, and it sounds so much better when I drag out that last breathless syllable. He doesn't stop suckling me, and the pressure between my legs is so intense that I squeeze my eyes shut and I swear I see those clichéd stars that you read about in trashy romance novels.
And then I come again. I fall to pieces, shattering until Peeta finally relents and removes his mouth from my pussy. As I lie there trying to recover my breath, my vision blurry, I see him hop off the end of the bed and shed his underwear. He disappears for a moment before reappearing with a condom in one hand.
"But—" I start to voice my protest, wanting to pleasure him the way he just did me, but he silences me with a finger on my lips.
"As much as I'd love your mouth on me," he begins, as if he can read my mind, "I really just want to fuck you."
I swallow. "If that's what you want."
He nods and tears open the packet. "That's what I want."
I raise myself on my elbows and reach out for him. "Can I at least…?" I motion towards the condom.
He comes to stand before me, that glorious erect cock jutting out, and I can't resist flicking my tongue out to lick the slit where he's already leaking. I peer up at him and keep my eyes fixed on his when I grip him by the base and unroll the condom down his shaft.
His knees straddle my thighs, and he peppers my breasts and neck and cheeks with kisses. He brushes some hair out of my eyes and smiles down at me as he grinds into me, his cock grazing against my sensitive clit, and I capture his mouth. While our tongues tangle and tease and retreat, I run my hands down his back, while he reaches between us to guide himself inside me. He enters me, pressing in just a couple of inches, before withdrawing. The next thrust he slides in a little further, and the one after that, and the one after that. He fucks me slowly like this for a while, his hips moving in lazy revolutions, while I grope for his headboard, my palms flattening against it to drive his cock deeper in me. His lips cover mine, and we kiss hungrily again. He starts to fuck me harder, and I move my hands to his waist, my fingers digging into his hips.
I feel that tightening in my belly for the third time in the last hour, and I can tell he's starting to near his climax when the steady motion of his pelvis becomes erratic and he wrenches his mouth away.
"Fuck, Katniss," he grunts. "I can't…"
I nip at his jaw. "Then don't."
He issues a powerful thrust, and I clench my muscles around his cock deliberately. More curses tumble off his tongue, and he explodes. I continue to buck my pelvis into him as he rides out his orgasm.
Suddenly I feel his fingers probe between where we're joined, and a few quick swipes of his thumb over my clit push me over the edge. He collapses to the side of me, his head resting on my sweat-slicked breasts. We lie together for a while, and I stroke his damp hair. Then he kisses my temple and I feel his warmth leave the bed, and that's the last thing I remember before my exhausted body succumbs to sleep.
I have a vague memory of Peeta's alarm going off in the murky darkness of dawn, and I think I feel his lips on my shoulder blade when I shift onto my stomach, sensing his absence. He murmurs something in my ear, but I'm still in that fuzzy place between sleep and consciousness, and I slip under again.
The sun slants through the blinds in his room when I awaken fully some time later. My skin breaks out in goose bumps and I shiver, when I notice the window to the left of his bed opened a crack. Peeta is nowhere to be found, and when I stagger into his bathroom to pee, I find a note taped to the mirror: You looked so peaceful I couldn't disturb you. I'll be downstairs. And there's a heart and the letter 'P.'
The slight soreness between my legs causes a twinge of excitement to flurry through me as I remember how thoroughly Peeta fucked me last night. And then I recall how I arrived at his apartment, and I frown when I realize that I have no choice but to go home wearing my trench coat. I locate my panties and pull them on, and I forgo the teddy ensemble. Rummaging through one of Peeta's drawers, I find a soft grey Mellark's tee, and I tug it down over my bare breasts.
"I could get used to the sight of you wearing my clothes."
I jump and spin around, and Peeta aims a cocky smile in my direction from where he leans against the doorjamb. He wears a white apron over his bakery attire, and there's a smudge of white on his left cheek.
"I hope you don't mind…" I gesture towards the shirt, and he shakes his head, walking towards me. He sneaks his hands beneath the shirt to cup my ass, and he kisses me sweetly, slipping his tongue past my teeth at the last second.
"I brought you up some breakfast," he murmurs, his nose nudging my chin gently. "But I have to get back down there. Tell me I can see you tonight."
"You can see me tonight," I tease, rubbing my thumb over the flour dust on his cheek. "And tomorrow night, and the night after that…"
Six weeks later…
"I think you've ruined me," I murmur, as Peeta's hand caresses my hip through the thin fabric of my dress. He chuckles softly and tugs me closer to him.
"Why is that?"
"Cause as beautiful as that cake looks there's no way it's as good as anything you make."
"The bakers at Icing on the Cake do a fine job," he says diplomatically, his hand splaying a little further back, and his fingers come dangerously close to my ass. "And this cake is lovely."
"Well it's no giant penis," Johanna cackles, and we both turn to see her smirking at us. I hadn't even realized she was there. "But I'll agree with Brainless on one thing, Blondie. Your cakes, and everything else at that bakery of yours, are fucking amazing. I'll keep allowing you to fuck my roommate if you keep those cheese buns coming."
"Johanna!" I hiss, looking around at the crowd gathered at the edge of the dance floor, all eyes on the four-tiered wedding cake that awaits Finnick and Annie. "God do you ever stop?"
"Thanks for the stamp of approval, Johanna," Peeta says.
"And if you want to whip up some cupcakes that look like tits for the lesbian bridal shower I'm going to in a few weeks…"
I shake my head at my roommate, and Peeta laughs and nuzzles my neck. When Finnick and Annie finally approach the table where their wedding cake waits to be cut, Peeta presses a kiss just below my ear and whispers, "What would you say if I told you I can already picture our wedding cake? Too soon?"
My stomach swoops. "Not too soon. It's not like we're eloping tomorrow, right?"
"Nah, not tomorrow. Maybe next Tuesday."
It's my turn to laugh, and I lean my head on his shoulder as we watch Finnick and Annie feed each other cake. What Peeta and I have may be new, and we may not be at the point of shoving wedding cake into each other's mouths yet, but I have no doubts that there will be a lingerie shower with some kind of erotic cake in my future.
But I'll have to let Johanna to get creative with that when the time comes.