A flash of lightning tears its way across the rain-swept night sky and I pause my woodcutting. It's a delicate craft, no doubt; and the sound of thunder makes me flinch. Satisfied that the lightning gods have delivered a rumble of thunder rather than the terrifying boom frequenting my dreams; I resume my work on a sculpture of my mother. Delicate and beautiful, like the woman I never was and never could be. My scalpel moves towards detailing the many wrinkles crisscrossing her brow – each one representing a moment of watching her daughter's near-death on live television.
This needs a finer blade, I think. Just as I reach across my desk for a pencil, another flash of lightning crosses the sky. I catch a glimpse of a shadow in the reflection of my window pane and instantly regret rearranging my desk to face away from the door.
There's someone behind me.
Victor's Village houses have doors that creak, stairs that squeak, and the hollowness of my home makes ghastly whispers from people walking in it. But the din of rain and the intruder's effortless precision at staying quiet has led him to my room unchecked and unnoticed. I am alone now, the adrenaline begins to run through my veins as his name reaches my lips.
"Cato," I whisper, making each syllable slow and deliberate, as they could very well be my last in his deadly presence.
"Age been keeping up with you? I half-expected you to kill me before I even stepped in," he sneers.
I can smell him now. His scent, mixed with the smell of rain – intoxicating, dangerous, magnetic. Somehow all at once.
"How did you get here?" I whisper, "aren't you supposed to be in…"
"…Prison? You didn't expect them to keep me locked up that long did you?"
My lips quiver in fear. Someone who breaks out of prison and goes straight to a certain place either has a particularly vindictive vendetta to fulfil, or is madly in love. I compose myself, knowing well that animals are capable of smelling fear.
"You should go back. You only have a half-year sentence," I say, trying to keep the fear from my voice.
"And how would you expect me to spend another day apart from you?" He asks. My heart melts. No he didn't. He didn't break out just to see me. It's impossible.
Wait.
"How many people did you kill to get here?" I ask.
"Three," he doesn't even hesitate on his answer, as though he was hoping I'd ask.
My lips curl into a smile. He killed three people just to see me again. Somewhere out there in the rain, are three bodies which will never make it back to their loved ones. He did all that knowing he was going to get caught eventually. It wasn't the first time he killed for me, but there were no laws inside the Arena. The thrill of being desired rises up within me.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right now," I declare. It'd be easy too, I'd just say he was deranged and tried to rape me.
"Because you can't bring yourself to," he says, again, hoping that I'd ask.
He spots the letter-opener on my desk a split-second before I do, and that's all the time it takes for him to close the five paces between the door and me. I stand up and grasp the ivory handle of its blade. He slams his hand down on my wrist, pinning it onto the table. In my other hand grasps a pencil, helplessly pinned down as well. He is close now, so close I can feel his rain-soaked breath against my neck. I wince in a mixture of fear and lust as his lips reach my ears and the first whispers begin.
"Clove. If I had to die for this moment right now, it'd be a death more worthy than dying in the Games," he whispers, running his lips down my ears and along the nape of my neck.
My knees crumble under the passion that he's stirred up within me, and I push myself up against the desk to keep my balance; unwilling to reveal exactly how much of an effect he is having on me. The feeling of being trapped sends me into a panic, and I slam my head back into his face. He staggers backwards and I turn to shove him far away from me. In the second it takes for him to regain his reflexes after the head-butt, I've sent the letter-opener flying at his cheek. Deliberate, precise and swift – it makes enough of a scratch on his face to draw blood. The blade sticks into the wall with a loud crack, bringing him to the realization that he had just been knifed. He touches a fingertip to his cheek and tastes his blood with a smirk, as though he's saying, "Is that all you've got?"
I rear up my right hand and slap him across his other cheek. It wasn't really a slap; rather, more of an open-handed blow that I had leant my entire body weight into. I had meant for it to hurt, I wanted it to hurt. Because I knew he wouldn't have it any other way. He loved the pain and how much it made him feel alive.
It turned him on
Every molecule of air gets wrenched out of my lungs as he bunches up the collar of my shirt and picks me up as if I was a rag doll; slamming me hard into the wall. I gasp wildly for air, attempting to keep a defiant look in my eyes as his stare burns into my soul. Oh, those eyes; all rage and desire swimming in pools of electric blue. Eyes that had the ability to send me fleeing away or flying into his arms. He's definitely going to hit me now, I think. My feet flail around his ankles as he holds me up against the wall. I can see his other hand balling up into a fist and I close my eyes, bracing for the impact.
Something collides with my face, but it isn't a punch. It's his lips-possessive, strong and demanding. I yield all of myself to him as he presses into me with a fury I've always lusted after. He pulls away from me and I gasp from breathlessness. Whether it's because of his chokehold or the fact that his lips have taken my breath away, I don't know. All I care about is how much I want to feel those lips on mine again.
"You kiss like a pussy," I sputter, sending flecks of saliva onto his face.
The wood gives way with a sickening crunch as my body gets slammed onto the floor. As soon as the stars that cross my vision pass, I begin inching away from him. He leaps after me and I raise my legs quick enough to pull him into a guard just like we learnt at Career academy. I close the guard by wrapping my ankles around his hips and yanking him closer; this way he can't strike me.
"Still haven't forgotten catch wrestling have you?" he teases, his breath warm and inviting against my face.
Oh please. Just shut up and kiss me already
He digs an elbow into my thigh and a burst of agony races up my leg. It takes all of my focus not to show the pain on my face; instead, I stare him down defiantly, pretending not to feel a thing. A smile spreads across his face, and I slap him hard again, this time on his cut cheek. I can feel a bulge growing between his legs, and my defiant look melts into a grin.
"Clove, you have no idea how much you're turning me on," he cheekily adds, right before I reach out and yank him down by his rain-soaked shirt towards my lips for another kiss. This time we ravage each other's mouths, tongues probing and encircling each other in a dance of desire. He tries to break away from me but I pull him back to my lips for another kiss. My mind melts, until all that is left is my body screaming out for more. Unfortunately, my instinct for combat has melted away too, and my legs begin to relax, loosening their grip on his hips
He senses me slackening and makes me pay for my mistake; grabbing hold of my knee and flipping me over onto my chest. I try to stand but he grabs hold of my hair and slams my face down onto the floor. The feeling of his knees on either side of my hips confirms that I'm now helplessly trapped beneath him. I try crawling away, right before he grabs both of my hands and pins them down above my head. My eyes widen as I hear the sound of a zipper being undone; not mine, that's for sure – my pants don't come with zippers at the back.
My teeth sink into his wrist but he doesn't even flinch, as though he was hoping I'd bite him. His other hand ventures under my body – unbuckling my pants and running up my waist. Soon he reaches my breasts and I let out a muffled scream against his hand as he gropes me roughly. It brings me pleasure, no doubt – but he's not going to let me feel it so easily. I feel his fingertips rubbing my nipples to stiff peaks and I bite him even harder with all the strength that my jaws can muster. The taste of blood begins to pool around my jaw as he pinches down hard, and he yanks his hand from my mouth. I didn't even know, until he pulls off my pants and underwear with his now-freed hands – just how wet I've become.
"Are you ready?" he sneers. Somehow I don't think he meant it as a question.
"Fuck you!" I spit his blood against the floor. Of course I am; I had been ready the whole time.
"Fuck me? FUCK YOU!" he shouts, before thrusting his entire length into me.
I scream so hard from the gut-wrenching pain of him going into me that thoughts of passing out race through my mind. Thankfully, I don't – I want to savor every second of this, whether it be pain or pleasure he's pushing into me. My screams have no effect on him, he doesn't even wait for me to recover from the first burst of pain before he pulls himself out and thrusts into me again. My hands scratch away helplessly at the wooden flooring while I think of something to distract myself from the excruciating pain of being torn apart.
Him.
I reach a hand out behind my head and fasten it firmly upon his shirt, yanking him to my side.
"You could at least kiss me while you fuck me," I scowl.
He smiles, and our lips find one another as the pain gives way to pleasure. My yelps of pain transition into moans of pleasure. He senses this, and thrusts harder and faster, not wanting me to enjoy this. But I am enjoying this – so very much indeed. A familiar feeling pools around my legs and hips as he pounds away at me. An orgasm? I think. That's impossible. I've only ever felt it with the slow gentle ministrations of my fingers, never from something as violent as this. Just as I'm still getting over the puzzlement at my predicament, it brims over and envelopes me – intense, burning and potent, unlike any I've ever experienced before. I reach for his hands and grasp them firmly, needing to hold on to something while I'm washed away in a tidal wave of pleasure and ecstasy. It's breath-taking – and as I recover from the bliss of coming I find tears spilling from my eyes and mixing with the blood on his hands.
The euphoric dosage of dopamine from my orgasm has washed away every trace of pain from our tryst, save for the blood that's stained the floor. Soon he reaches his climax as well, teeth digging into my neck with rapid gasps of breathing as he comes hard within me. I pull away from him the moment I know he's done, and slump against the wall. We're in a mess, with our pants around our knees while cuts and bruises line our bodies – and on the floor a mixture of blood, tears and cum lie. Suddenly, I'm filled with rage at what he's done, and I raise my hand to slap him one more time.
"Don't," he mutters, catching my hand mid-air before it has a chance to connect with his face.
My lips open in protest as he effortlessly picks me up and cradles me in his arms, but my body is far too wrecked to do anything about it. He lifts me over to my bed where he lays me down gently against my pillow. Our lips connect again. But this time he's gentle, filled with a softness that I find unfamiliar and alien. After he kisses me a second time, it becomes inviting and comforting, and I long for him to do it again. My clothes start slipping off one by one, each one leaving my body beneath a trail of kisses; until at last I'm stark naked against the sheets, my skin bare and begging to be touched. He complies, kissing me on the lips and gently working his way down along my neck, lingering by the curves of my breasts, and slithering their way down along the lines of my waist, before at long last they reach my lower body.
"Cato!" I gasp, "What're you doing?"
"Shut up," he murmurs against the skin of my thighs.
He parts my legs and takes his time to kiss his way along my hip bones and onto my pubic area, still slick from sweat and arousal. My lips quiver against his, swollen from arousal and anticipation. I would have thought that the brutal fucking from earlier would have left me numb and unfeeling down there; but it hasn't. On the contrary, I've never felt so raw and sensitive in my life, and this fact is evident from the reaction that escapes my lips as he touches his tongue to me. I scream out in pure, unadulterated pleasure as he kisses me with the gentlest of kisses, clutching the sheets and crossing my legs around his neck. I want more of this, I think. So soft and gentle and…and….
So unlike him
My fists bunch up around tufts of his hair as his tongue finds its way to my clitoris. I cross my legs around him and pull his head tighter against me, as though I'm afraid that this is a dream and he'll be taken away any moment. My hips rise as he flicks his tongue against me, and he gently presses me down again. Soon this happens over and over again, and my body trembles from another impending climax. I buck my hips against his lips as the sensation floods through my body. It's softer this time – almost comforting, and I find myself moaning and gasping in pleasure rather than screaming.
The waves of orgasm subside from my hips and I open my eyes to find him looking down at me with an almost unfamiliar look of sympathy and love. Against the better part of my instinct, I begin to cry. Not from pleasure, but from the knowledge that all this is temporary and he's won't be around to hold me for much longer. I don't want him to see me like this, so I turn away and he slips into bed behind me.
"I guess I'm going to wake up to an empty bed again huh?" I whisper against the sheets.
"No," he replies, wrapping his arms around my waist.
"Cato, you broke out of prison and killed three people. It's a miracle you're still here."
"You didn't really believe all that did you?" He mutters against my ears.
I spin around and grab him by the shirt, too excited to believe what I'm hearing.
"WHAT?! Why did you lie to me?" I gasp, voice starting to break in a mix of anger and relief.
"Because I knew it would turn you on," he replies nonchalantly.
My fist collides with his face. At this distance, it shouldn't even hurt for Cato, who has a cheekbone set in stone.
"Ouch," he winces from the pain and rubs his palm against it.
"They're still going to be looking for you."
"Well, I didn't really say that I broke out of prison. You just made it up in your head when you saw me."
I grab his shirt again, looking into his eyes for signs that he could be lying. But there aren't any; just those familiar pools of blue that speak of how much he wants me.
"But how did you get out so soon?"
"Good behavior," he quips.
I let out a loud chuckle.
"Now you're lying. There's no way that's possible."
"It's not impossible," He replies, pulling me close to him, "you just have no idea how much I want to be with you forever."