two: visit.
She'd only meant to visit for a few minutes.
The heat from the oven was sweltering, the door left open and abandoned, along with a couple of burnt loaves of bread on the floor.
Something crackled and snapped on the fire. The smell of burning wood. The feel of his blonde hair against the inside on her thighs. Her own hair could be on fire and she wouldn't care.
Sitting up a little, she felt the flour on her back, and looked down to observe him working at her with his lips and tongue. His eyes darted up to meet her own, and she groaned and leaned back; it was too much to see. He answered with his own, and pinned her down even tighter against the work surface. Somewhere far off, past the roaring in her ears, she heard the sound of the bakery door being opened, and the sound of footsteps walking towards the counter. And then, twice, the call of a man asking if there was anyone in, muffled through wood of the door.
Peeta lifted his head for a moment; lips glistening looked rumpled and disorientated, waiting to see if they'd go away. His heavily hooded eyes almost dared her to ask him to stop. She held fast, and said nothing, not even blinking until the front door opened again and the ill-timed customer left, along with Peeta's hesitation as he dove back to his task with renewed eagerness. Five years of this and he could still surprise her.
She cried out as his lips closed tightly and pulled, and her fingers found a soft lump of dough to bury into.
When she looked down at him again, skin glistening from the heat, still fully dressed for work, she couldn't help but finish hard, and he traced the clenching waves with his mouth until she was done.