I hate him.

From the golden tipped waves that fall carelessly into his eyes to the inches across his broad shoulders and chest that roll beneath his designer clothes. I hate him all the way down his thick legs that walk in a heavy uneven gait in his ridiculously expensive shoes.

I hate Peeta Mellark.

He is the third son in a long line of bakers and business owners. Panem, our oppressive and sheltered town, was built by his family decades ago.

He wants for nothing.

I, however, am from across town near its line and end; the daughter of a dead miner and a former beauty who gave up on life the day her husband disappeared beneath the earth.

I envy him his comfortable life full of danish and full stomachs. A life that is bright with frosting, and where the warm air is heavy with the comfort of yeast.

He lives with the knowledge that he will never know hunger. He will never know desperation.

His eyes that which are as blue as the sky in high summer will never go dull while the skin beneath them goes hollow. No, they sparkle and crinkle with mischief around the edges. It goes well with his quick sense of humor and his laughter that is as rich as the cakes he helps decorate.

Where I am drawn, wary, and often sullen, he is as bright as the sun.

My eyes are as gray as the soot that leaves the mines and settles beneath the workers' skin. Mine are untrusting and for years have only had to glance across a schoolyard, street, or classroom to meet his.

I hate him because the first time it happened his were full of pity and anxious with fear. I hate him because they had reason to be. I was dying. I was starving. I hate him because he fed me and I had no choice but to let him.

He's been trying to know me ever since and doesn't understand that I hate him because I have to. Because I can never repay what he did and that just pisses me off.

Eleven Years Old

There's no food again. No money either. Prim is crying because she wants milk on her stale cereal but there isn't any. I bribe her with the last apple which appeases her enough that I can now panic in silence.

I haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours, giving all my food to her. She's only five and already too small for her age. I just can't let my baby sister go to sleep hungry.

I drink some water, go through the motions. Splash my face, brush my teeth with baking soda, and plait Prim's hair. I braid my own off my face before starting the long walk to school.

It's getting colder and I can smell rain in the air. Our entire neighborhood on Seam Street looks bleak. Like the storming clouds that block the sun have somehow settled onto yards, into doorways, and over the very people who live here day to day.

I feel light headed as I tuck Prim's shirt into her pants and hug her goodbye. The dim lights of the school hallway flicker and I have to drag my hand along the wall because my eyes want to close.

I'm so tired.

Classes pass but nothing penetrates the heavy fog in my mind. Voices hum and disappear like gnats near my head. Faces appear and my feet move until blessedly the final bell rings.

It's raining. Sheets of it fall and I lean against the doorway as bodies spill out of the building. It's beautiful in its power and violence, washing away the dust of the day and making everything have a soft edge.

The dizziness returns and I sink slowly to the ground. Just for a minute. I want to rest just for a minute.

"Katniss?"

"Katniss, are you awake?"

My eyes blink. So heavy. "Mmmmmm? What?"

When I finally force them open I'm met with so much blue. Two terrified blue eyes, and a blue shirt—he looks like the sky. I love the sky. I used to spend hours with my father watching clouds race across it running from the wind.

Peeta's voice is soft,"Katniss…here take this. Please wake up and take this."

He brushes my braid over my shoulder and takes my hand in his. His feels so warm and what he presses to my palm is soft. I look down and wrapped tightly in plastic is a sandwich. Thick slices of sourdough bread, piled with meats, cheeses, and tomato that is vibrant and filled with juice.

I shake my head. "No. No…I..."

He closes my fingers around it. "Katniss. You need it. Bring some of it to Prim."

He did it. Brought up the one thing that could make me accept. I hate him for it.

I nod and once more his blue eyes search mine, I see sadness there and I decide I hate his pity even more. Letting a sigh escape his impossibly pink lips, he just nods back. He has the face of a cherub. His hair is curling over his ears and his cheeks are round.

I notice when he stands that his pants are too long, the hem is torn and muddy where it drags along the ground with each step her takes.

"See you tomorrow Katniss."

I stare down at the sandwich before I mumble back, "See you tomorrow."

He slowly walks away.

I watch him disappear around the corner before I take my first bite. I cry. Each time my teeth sink into the soft bread and the rich meat and cheese I cry. It is the best thing I have ever tasted and I hate it because I can't do anything. I can't save my sister or make my mother love us enough to try. I thought I could do this. I can't.

With half the sandwich heavy in my belly, I wipe tears from my eyes and make a decision. We shouldn't have to live like this and it's time to do something.

Child services come; Prim cries, and I stand holding onto her when our mother is taken to the hospital. I pack up her favorite doll, our threadbare clothes, and my father's jacket into boxes. I give her the room and take the couch at our uncle Haymitch's house. It's not ideal. He's not perfect. But even though he's snoring off half a bottle of scotch in his bedroom, Prim and I fall asleep with full bellies under warm blankets.

It's only as I'm falling asleep the thought occurs to me that we wouldn't be here if Peeta Mellark hadn't given me that bread. That the moment it touched my lips I finally had the courage to fight differently. For the first time in months we will wake up hopeful, and Peeta Mellark is the reason.

Fourteen

I can feel his eyes on me. The pressure of them as they bore into my back makes my skin itch. Why the hell is he always looking at me?

The teacher clears her throat. "All right everybody let's get settled. Last week I told you that we would be starting our project in the computer lab this week and to buy and bring in the appropriate headphones to get started."

Fuck.

"Without them you won't be able to participate in today's research, which is ten percent of the grade."

Double Fuck.

Around me everyone is rummaging and digging in their bags, one by one pulling out headphones that I just couldn't afford with our budget this month onto their desks.

Haymitch has a little money, but it goes to bills and food, and if I need something extra I use the small funds I get from doing odd end jobs. Babysitting or yard work mostly. I don't ask for anything else because I know we already owe him so much.

The teacher makes her way up each aisle, checking people off one at a time, and I feel bitter tears begin to burn, because I need my grades. Without a perfect GPA, college will never be an option for me.

When she is just two students away, one thick warm arm reaches around me and softly settles an expensive pair of black headphones on my desk. Before I can respond, she's next to me nodding and checking off my name and reprimanding the body behind me.

"Mr. Mellark, where are yours?"

He fidgets and looks at his hands before answering, "I'm sorry, Ms. Trinket I forgot and let my brother borrow them. I can run to his locker if you will give me a pass."

Her fluorescent pink lips purse, making wrinkles fan out from them, like she tastes something sour. "Very well. But you will still lose ten points from your final grade. Meet us in the lab."

His gold hair falls in his eyes as he nods and stands to leave the room. As he does, his eyes meet mine and he smiles shyly.

Mine narrow and I scowl back. I don't need his charity.

His face immediately falls and he crosses through the door. I want to be ashamed. But instead I'm just angry and if I'm honest, jealous. So thick and seething with it because he saved me. Because I can't afford even one pair of headphones and his family can afford apparently countless pairs. How nice for them.

When class ends, I hand them back without a word. As I walk home, I know I should have thanked him. But I'm just too proud, too embarrassed, and for some reason each time I look into his blue eyes I can't seem to breathe right.

Sixteen

"Dammit!"

I compound my words with a dramatic kick of my boot into the tire. Which shit, all that accomplished is now I feel like my toe is broken.

As I hop not so gracefully in a circle, the sky decides to mock me. It curses back with a crash of thunder and flash of lightning. All before just opening up completely and letting rain that feels like ice pour down upon me.

Well this is fucking great.

Holding my jacket above my head I take off across the parking lot and onto a side street with a run, the three and half miles home looming ahead as I continue to curse in my head.

When I'm halfway down the road, a car pulls up next to me. Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me. The window of the dark blue BMW SUV rolls down and a blonde head pops out. Jesus, even his car matches his eyes.

"Do you need a ride?"

"I'm fine."

He keeps driving, letting the car roll slowly along with my jog. "Katniss, come on, I'll drive you home."

I stop and glare at him. He looks like some prince right out of a fucking fairytale. Piercing gaze, perfect wavy hair, and perched in his luxurious carriage. Or I guess in this case a modern miracle of German engineering. Must be nice.

"Peeta. I said I was fine."

His jaw clenches in frustration. The tendon that rolls there and what it does to his cheek makes my stomach pitch. "I'm not leaving you to freeze to death; if you don't get in I am literally going to follow your ass all the way home. And since talking to me and only to me seems to be something you hate above all else, I will be sure to annoy the shit out of you the entire way."

This makes me stop, and it also makes me furious. Rain has soaked my hair so that it clings dark and wet to my neck, and my jeans are stiff and chaffing as I walk. I glare at him. He raises his eyebrows.

With steps that smack into puddles in anger and pride, I round his ridiculous vehicle and hoist myself in.

Oh god it's warm. It has seat warmers. Of course Peeta Mellark would have a car that feels like some kind of soothing oven. I sigh as my thighs begin to warm and for the first time realize my teeth are chattering. I look at Peeta and give him one last scowl. He just smiles. It's a wide smile full of white teeth and a charming dimple in his cheek.

Again I think of fairytales. My life has been anything but, so the irony of me sitting here with him makes me snort as I ignore the warmth his smile brings to my chest.

"Care to share what's so funny?" His voice is deeper. Smoother than it was years ago. Even when I don't answer him and just look out the window it feels like it settles beneath my skin.

We drive, and without directions, end up in front of my house. "How do you know where I live?"

He blushes slightly but shrugs. "I know more about you than you think, Katniss. You just never pay attention."

With my hand on the door, I just stare at him not sure what to even say. What does he even mean we don't know each other at all?

The longer he watches me, the faster my heart beats. Those blue eyes only leave mine briefly to settle on my mouth. It makes pushing the exhales past it extremely difficult, because they feel trapped by the weight of his gaze.

I nervously lick my lips and his eyes go a little hazy and his hands whiten as his grip on the smooth steering wheel tightens.

Finally I push the bitter words past my lips. "Thank you."

He smiles again and it occurs to me that he looks more like a man than a boy, and how incredibly attractive he is. "You're welcome. If your car doesn't get fixed I can give you a ride anytime."

My knuckles grip the handle so hard my nails cut into my palm and once again I feel my face shut down. "I don't need your charity, Peeta."

I slam the door shut and run up the walk. As I ease inside I can still hear the pounding rain on the porch roof, and Peeta Mellark's voice shouting my name. But I refuse to let it penetrate the wall of water falling from the sky, or the wall of pride that I use to protect me.

Nineteen

It's strange looking back and remembering, stranger still to be back in town and running into him at all. I can't seem to shake some universal tie to the boy with the bread no matter how hard I try.

So here we are.

Summer in Panem is as hot as ever. A desert mirage kind of heat with a thick edge of humidity layered on. It makes breathing feel like steam and my flip-flops stick to asphalt that sizzles.

I didn't want to return for break. I wanted to stay at school, where if you knew my name you had no idea of my past. But my scholarship doesn't cover summer boarding and my job at the University recreational center was for school months only.

So here I am, standing on the dock leading into the lake where my father taught me to swim. I smile as I take in the dark green of the treetops that sway in the wind. I can smell the earth. The water shines like glass beneath the blazing sun. Like blue glass that I know feels like silk against my skin. I sigh and close my eyes because for a second I can hear my father's voice carried on the breeze.

"I'd love to know what put that smile on your face."

My smile falls because I know that voice.

When I open my eyes, sure enough Peeta is only a foot away. I have to look up. Just a few inches, but he's taller nonetheless. As usual he's grinning at me.

I would say something back but I'm momentarily distracted. He's grinning but he's also shirtless. I'm overwhelmed by the amount of skin before my eyes. Just miles of it. It's golden, like he's spent a few weeks in the sun layering more than a few mild burns until he's fooled its fairness into a soft tan. Freckles spill across his shoulders and nose, and a few even graze his cheeks below his eyes. Eyes that are darker than the sky above our heads yet sparkle more than the water behind us.

There are also so many muscles. Fuck me, the muscles. His shoulders support long, thick, sinewy arms and as he swings them nervously it makes his chest flex. When he laughs softly, the cords beneath the skin of his abdomen roll and it makes something warm stir between my thighs.

He looks like some sort of boy next door meets Greek Adonis. Is this the body that was beneath all those button-up designer shirts in high school? Honest to god now I know why so many girls and even a few guys wasted hours whispering about him in his wrestling uniform.

"How are you, Katniss?"

Running my hands through my hair, I mumble, "Fine. Good."

He stares as my fingers and the long strands of my hair that the wind blows.

"No braid."

"What?"

Blushing, he gestures to my hand, "Your hair's down. In school it was always braided. It's pretty."

I don't know how to respond really. Who am I kidding, I've never known how to talk to him so I just roll my eyes and make my way to the lifeguard stand.

When he follows me, I turn. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Running his hand behind his head, he gestures to the boat anchored a few yards away. "Yeah. I work here too. Kind of like an unofficial Panem coast guard for the summer. Mostly I drive the boat around to make sure people aren't getting drunk and naked in the coves, and I drop off swimmers, and um the lifeguards to the different docks around the lake. So… I guess I will see you at the end of your shift. You are my last pick up. I'll see you at six to take you back across to where we all park. All right?"

I don't like it. I guess I don't have a choice so I nod.

He smiles. Damn his smile. "See you at six?"

I sigh. "See you at six."

The lake isn't a perfect circle. It is about five miles of a more oblong shape, curving almost into a perfect wide letter g. My side, or cove, of it doesn't see as much swimming action as some of the others, but there is enough to keep my eyes busy and even a little entertained. Watching Mayor Undersee spend three hours trying to get up on skis was pretty hilarious.

The last hour of my shift is dead, the heat of the sun sufficiently cooking and draining the lake goers until they are spent and gone. Stretching out my leg, I realize how dark and dusky my skin has become beneath its rays even wearing sunscreen. Oh well. Even I can admit that the dark smoothness is flattering and makes the red of my swimsuit stand out amongst my limbs.

The soft sounds of the boat reach me before I can actually see it. When I do, my stomach drops and my heart rate picks up. I tell myself it's because I can't stand him. Because he's lived a spoiled privileged existence that I can't even begin to fathom.

It has nothing to do with the way the sun makes his hair look like a flickering flame. Or the fact that he's wearing an open button-up that whips and billows through the moving wind and gives me glimpses of that bare chest I saw only eight hours before. Of course it's blue. Because his fairytale eyes need all the help they can get.

I remind myself this is Peeta .

Rich, spoiled, always trying to ride in on his white horse, with his white smile to save Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark.

I remind myself that I hate him.

Even I know I'm lying.

He gives me a small wave and ties off the boat. "Ready to go?"

Steadying my nerves, I bite my lip and nod. I gather my bag, my keys, and slip my feet into my flip-flops. The smack they make across the wood is somehow satisfying in the tense quiet. Water sloshes against the dock, and splashes up the edges of the slightly rocking boat.

Peeta offers his hand as I lift one foot over.

I ignore it, and my foot promptly slips in the wetness, sending me crashing.

Except I don't. Instead, I'm stopped by a warm bare chest and steady hands.

His voice is soft and warm against the shell of my ear. "Got you."

For just a second my eyes want to close into his words, because they feel so good. All of him feels good, from the firmness in his body to the strength in his hands. He smells like cinnamon and the sun.

Son of a bitch together he smells like a fucking cinnabun. Is he even fucking real?

My voice isn't nearly as steady as I'd hoped when I say, "Thanks. But I'm good now."

His exhale is intimately warm against my cheek and his fingers release my arms as he eases back. His eyes however are dilated and hot. The blue almost burns and makes my stomach quiver as I begin to breathe again.

Bad idea. Breathing is still a bad idea because…he smells like a damn baked good mixed with man. Someone should really bottle and sell that shit because it makes me want to moan out loud.

Taking a couple safe steps away, I settle on the hot leather passenger seat covered in a stiff towel.

I look out at the treeline to keep myself from ogling his ass when he unties us from the dock.

The branches sway slightly, the evening light dappled and eclipsed through the leaves. The heat has settled some and the breeze off the water fills my lungs. It's like a small childhood memory that I can draw into my body. I hold it in until I can't anymore and taste it as it leaves my mouth.

When I open my eyes, he's watching me again. Instead of irritating me, it makes my palms sweat. He's always so focused. It makes me wonder what he sees.

What he's thinking.

What he wants.

"What are you looking at?"

His eyes flit away and his neck grows red. Oh god, I didn't mean to say it out loud.

He shrugs. "You."

My eyes narrow. "I know. But why?"

He laughs and rubs his hand over his face. "Are you serious?"

Skeptically I raise an eyebrow.

He looks at his hands for a moment before meeting my eyes.

His whisper is low and intense. "I've spent years looking at you."

I swallow but can't make myself look away. "Why…why are you always looking at me?"

His blue eyes never leave. He licks his pink lips before answering, "Because. Because when we were little and you sang in music class I couldn't breathe…hell, even the birds went quiet."

I shake my head but he continues, "When we were kids, I thought you were dying, but after that stormy day you walked in so determined and fierce I couldn't keep my eyes off you… your braid, I always thought your braid looked like chocolate and I wondered if it smelled sweet."

Looking out at the setting sun, he laughs, "But when I finally got to sit behind you in class when we were freshmen, I learned you smell wild like the wind. I only had to lean in and it felt like breathing in the forest."

"Peeta…"

"I wanted to kiss you. That day in my car. It was raining and your lips were wet. I wanted to kiss you so much." Letting out a sigh, he grins, "Fuck I sound creepy."

I let a small smile slip as I shake my head. He opens his mouth, but we both turn our heads together when the motor of the boat cuts off.

He tries the key again and nothing. He opens the backup generator and cranks it once, twice, three times and nothing.

"Shit."

Shit is right. We are only halfway back and stranded two miles from our destination in the middle of the lake.

Stranded, and Peeta Mellark wants to kiss me.

Me.

If I hate him so much, why does that make me want to run my hands up my legs, just to feel something brush against my skin?

He settles, defeated, back in his seat, and looks flushed. He messes with his hands it seems, when words fail him. I find it interesting, since words rarely do.

Raising his eyes to me, he says, "I close up at night so no one is going to notice we're missing. We don't get service out here either. Fuck Katniss I'm sorry."

Rolling my eyes, I scoff, "Did you plan this...?" He looks horrified, and I laugh, "Jesus, Peeta, calm down. Prim will notice when I miss dinner and call. I mean we are stuck for the next three or four hours but we'll survive."

He sheepishly grins. I grin back.

Slapping his thighs, he says, "Well I guess this is as a good time as any."

"For what?"

"Katniss, I have been trying to get to know you since we were five. I think being stranded in a fucking boat is as good a time to try as any."

My mouth drops. "Five?"

"One "Valley Song" later and I was a goner…but what I would really like to know is why you hate me so much."

Swallowing, I realize, is not helping my dry throat. I hate him, right? But why?

Running my fingers through my hair, I gather it with my fingers. Dark silky strands are tangled from the wind. I focus on the ends so I don't have to focus on the sadness in his voice.

My whisper almost hurts as it leaves my lips, "I don't think I hate you. I wanted to, but I think…I think I just envied you. You know? I mean, my life has sucked, and then it got worse, and then a little better and then sucked again and you….well, you're just you! Some sort of golden fairytale that made everything seem so easy because everything came so easy…I don't know."

I watch his head bob as he nods, "I get that. I mean I understand. But I've lived no fairytale, Katniss."

Rolling my eyes, I let my bitterness through. "Oh yeah, having everything and working for nothing sucks so hard. God forbid you have to wear expensive clothes, in your ridiculous fucking car, all while everyone worships your sunny personality…poor you."

"Wow…god, no wonder you hate me if that's what you think."

"What? What else am I supposed to think? Can you honestly tell me that your life was different?"

Leaning forward, I watch the sun's fading rays illuminate his hair. His fists clench and open and he worries the skin of his thumb with his white teeth.

"Some of that's true. Money was never a problem…or food…but my mother, she made life, our private life, difficult at home."

I'm not sure what he even means, but having never considered that there was an aspect of his life that wasn't perfection his words make me go still and listen.

He swallows. "You know in fifth grade when I had that black eye? Well, it wasn't tee-ball. I stole a chocolate chip cookie…" He laughs and I'm terrified of what he is about to say. "I really wanted that cookie and got a rolling pin for my trouble."

"What?"

I'm horrified and can feel the hot sting of tears behind my eyes, but he's shaking his head and leans to place his hand to my knee. "Katniss, please don't… my mother…my mother is a miserable person. She just chose me as the outlet for it, I guess. And well, I guess I chose to try and be as far away from her end of the spectrum as possible."

A single tear makes its way down my cheek as I nod. "I'm sorry."

He smiles. A little too brightly he smiles, and I scowl again.

He just laughs. "Katniss Everdeen apologizes. Is anyone filming this?"

I laugh. I laugh hard and his smile grows even wider.

Wrapping my arms around my aching stomach, I shake my head. Finally when we calm down, we talk. He tells me about learning to bake before his head could clear a counter. How his father is a warm man that realized what was happening in his home too late.

I talk about Prim. How much I missed her while at school.

He gets me to talk about that day eight years ago, and I whisper quietly, "I never thanked you. I always knew I should but I was so stubborn and so proud."

Moving off his seat, he settles on the floor of the boat and says softly, "You lived. That's all I ever wanted Katniss. You. There."

I smile. "So does this mean I'm friends with Peeta Mellark?"

Laughing softly, he shakes his head. "Not yet. I need to know the deep stuff."

"The deep stuff? Like…"

He smirks. "What's your favorite color?"

My head falls back as I smile, "Man, you know how to cross a line."

He grins back and before I can answer, he whispers, "Green?"

I can feel my eyes widen as I nod. "How did you know?"

He looks away. I can hear my heart in my ears. I lean forward and crawl across the few feet that separate us. "How did you know that?"

When our faces are only inches away, so close I can feel the warm words leaves his lips, he whispers, "I told you once that I was paying attention."

I look at his eyes.

They are midnight blue with fat pupils and they once again watch my tongue as I lick my lips. "What's yours?"

He doesn't answer just watches my mouth. It's like it's too much, so he raises his hand and I go still. He cradles my jaw in his palm and traces his thumb across my cheek until it rests at the corner of my lips.

His breathing is erratic and I realize mine is as well. Each hot puff of air that leaves my mouth brushes his thumb and his eyes go unfocused.

It's reckless, it's suicide maybe, but I turn my head to the side and take the pad of his thumb between my lips. It tastes like salt and is soft against a brush of my teeth.

Peeta moans low in his chest when I follow my lips with my tongue, sucking his thumb fully into my mouth.

When I release it, he is completely still. I want to panic, but the heat in his eyes makes me stay. He hesitates. Stares at me.

But when once again I drag my wet tongue across my lips, he groans out loud and pulls my mouth open to take it with his.

His breath puffs through his nose onto my cheek, and I can feel the whimpers that leave his mouth. My lips part and his tongue tastes my teeth, and I chase it with mine into my cheeks, taking his bottom lip between my own.

He tastes sweet, and so warm.

It's my turn to moan when his mouth finds my pulse and sucks so hard I know a mark will be left.

He pushes the red lycra of my uniform impatiently out of the way of his mouth and I sigh. His bottom lip catches on my skin as he just breathes there. "Fuck, Katniss. You taste good. I always knew you would taste so fucking good."

His words make me dizzy so I pull his face back to mine as I lay back, settling his weight on top of me. He anchors my thigh along his hip, and each thrust of his tongue is followed by a desperate thrust of his hips.

This should seem crazy. We hardly know each other. Definitely crazy. But I don't want it to stop. I'm hungry for it. Whatever this is has a mind of its own and I can't help but think it would have happened anyway.

Using my feet, I push at his shorts until he is left with them around his ankles and I finally have Peeta hard in nothing but boxer briefs between my legs. It's fucking amazing. I press my chest to his and he gets the point as he takes both straps of my suit in his big hands and pushes them down to my elbows and follows the exposed skin with his mouth.

He kisses across my collarbone and into the shadows of my chest.

I'm whining and can't seem to speak, but he understands, as with a final small push one breast pops free, my nipple puckering in the evening air.

His lips are right there, so close I can feel the wet warmth of his mouth but he just pants against it.

I arch up and he groans into my skin before fucking finally laving it with his tongue and moaning into it as he sucks it between his lips.

We are frantic after that, hips arching, and my hand reaches into his briefs to finally pull him from the tight cotton. He's thick and hot in my hands, but so soft, and his head falls back in such a beautiful way as I stroke him slow and steady between my fingers.

"Oh fuck. Fuck yes. Oh god."

His words as they leave his throat are rich and deep and so delicious it makes my head spin. He thrusts into my hand and leans his head into mine. So each grunt he makes I swallow. Each whine hangs between us as I smile.

And when finally his pants are close and his breath hot, I take his ear between my teeth and whisper, "I want you to come Peeta."

He groans and goes completely tense and still. He comes.

It's wet and sticky against my stomach but the look on his face and the taste of his voice as he falls just might be my favorite thing ever.

When he comes down, he opens his blue eyes and looks into mine. He smiles and I grin back.

Leaning down, he kisses me. My mouth and then my neck.

He mumbles wetly against my jaw. "Look up."

I do into a dusky burnt sky. The clouds shimmer pink and flush a soft orange around their edges as the sun sets slow beyond the horizon.

As he worries my collarbone his hand travels across my waist and tickles my hip before it aching and slow slips between my legs.

He licks my shoulder. Bites my ear and sinks two fingers deep inside me, making my back arch and my lungs gasp.

He smiles against my skin. "It's orange. Right there. The soft sunset. It's my favorite color."

When he takes my breast between his teeth and curls his delicious fingers inside me, I finally have to close my eyes. But when my back arches off the bottom of a boat beneath the early night sky I can't help but think maybe he's right. The sky burning above us and the fire burning between us feels so right.

I just might have a new favorite color.