Before you read, I just wanted to give a huge THANK YOU to all of my reviewers! You guys are amazing! I promise I'll keep writing this story! However, I'm writing as I go, so it will probably be a couple weeks between each chapter. Sorry!
This chapter is a bit heavier and a bit longer than the last. I hope you still like it! Also, this is my first attempt at writing an "adult" scene, so don't flame me too much!
It's been cloudy for days now, but there's been no rain.
I stay up most nights, sitting by the window in the dark, waiting to see if Peeta's light will flick on in the wee hours of the morning. It comes on more often than not, though he wakes up screaming very rarely these nights. He comes to the window every time he's jolted awake by a nightmare. It's the only time we see each other anymore.
I've lost count of the days that have passed since Peeta confronted me. Two weeks? Perhaps three?
He's stopped showing up for mealtimes. Greasy Sae is worried enough that she begins wrapping up leftovers to bring to him.
"Would you like to do the honors?" she suggests, holding up this morning's leftover eggs and bacon.
I shake my head. "It's probably best that I don't go over there."
"But you should go somewhere, dear," she says in the gentlest of tones, as if trying not to upset me. "I haven't seen you out and about much. Perhaps a nice walk?"
Greasy Sae hasn't seen me out and about much because I haven't been out and about. With my new boycott on Peeta and, even more fiercely, Haymitch, the number of people worth seeing in this district is seriously dwindling.
I haven't been hunting. My late nights cause me to sleep in much longer than intended the next morning. Usually, I wake up to the sounds of Greasy Sae tinkering about in the kitchen. I could trek into the woods now, but it just doesn't feel right without the fresh morning start.
Instead, I race up to my room and position myself low next to the window just after Sae leaves. I watch her move across Victor's Village towards Peeta's residence.
I watch as she knocks. The door swings open and he's there for only a brief moment, smiling politely and exchanging pleasantries as he takes the food.
"You've lost it," I mumble to myself as I crouch by the windowsill, watching his door shut. Knowing this, I still don't move until long after Peeta and Greasy Sae are out of sight.
It scares me a bit when the door opens again. He's leaving the house without eating, nothing but a rolled up sheet of paper in his hand.
Where could Peeta possibly have to go? Surely he goes out- he can't just sit around the house baking bread all day- but I haven't noticed him leaving or returning to his home during the past weeks. Whatever the reason, his swift movements toward the road that leads to town tell me this is something important.
Curiosity overcomes me.
As soon as I manage to change out of my pajamas and slip on my old leather boots, I'm clicking the door shut behind me as quietly as possible.
Haymitch's snores are so extreme that I can hear them as I exit my residence several houses away.
I haven't staked out and followed anyone like this before, not even during the Games. I've followed animals through the woods, but I also intended to kill them when the opportunity presented itself. This is something different.
The road between Victor's Village and the square is hopelessly barren. After a short stretch spent skirting around houses, I'm forced to walk behind Peeta as stealthily as possible and hope he doesn't feel the need to look behind him.
Thankfully, he is walking at a decent clip with no sudden glances back. As we near town, I'm able to better mask myself behind some freshly blossoming bushes and small storage sheds unevenly lining the road.
Peeta is in the middle of the square soon enough, looking every which way for something that neither of us can see.
"Doing all right?" A voice calls out in the distance. I trace it back to a recovery worker standing by the foundation of what will be the new mayor's house.
He's walking toward me. I groan at the realization that I've been discovered only moments after entering the area surrounding the square.
But then his trajectory changes slightly and he's not walking over to me, but to Peeta.
"Sorry I didn't make it down here earlier," Peeta calls out apologetically. The man waves off the apology without a word.
Peeta holds up the carefully rolled paper in his hand. "It's just a rough sketch," he says. "I really don't know how to make blueprints, but I've mapped everything out."
The pair begin walking to one end of the square. Peeta is rapidly discussing the possibility of making some changes, but the conversation is lost on me until they come to a dead stop in front of the bakery.
The partially obliterated remains of Romulus Thread's gallows still lay next to the entranceway.
Peeta describes the placements of the ovens, the height and length of the serving counter, the approximate measurements of the storage room, and all the other details that only he would remember.
"And on the other levels?" The man working alongside him asks.
"Living quarters," Peeta shrugs. "There's really no need for them."
I find myself wondering how long ago the bodies of Peeta's only relatives were extracted from the rubble that's been cleared away since the firebombing. Were all four of them scattered among the debris when I visited the bakery after The Quarter Quell?
Maybe I could have done something for them. I could have found them and given them a proper burial or at least a ritualistic sign of respect as I had Rue. Something to keep them out of that mass grave.
Unless Peeta made alternate arrangements after his return? Surely, the recovery workers let him know that they'd found his family. To this day, he's never spoken about their deaths in my presence.
I'm staring at the charred mass that was once Peeta's home and livelihood, trying to remember the original design of the archway, the number of cakes that fit into the display window. I'm struggling to remember if the small but charming dining area was painted blue or green when I hear him.
"Katniss?" My head snaps in Peeta's direction. His eyes bore into mine. "What are you doing here?"
I become completely disoriented by my surroundings.
Lost in my thoughts, I apparently started walking. Now I stand in the middle of the square, roughly twenty feet behind Peeta.
"Were you following me?" Peeta accuses as I gather my composure.
Yes. I was.
"No!" I say. "I wasn't!"
I race through my head to find a decent excuse. But thinking quickly on my feet is not my strongpoint, it's Peeta's. I look to him. I look to the recovery worker and recall his name: Bristel, another former coal miner. The pause may be too long to convince anyone, but it finally hits me.
"I'm looking for Thom!" I tell them as confidently as I can muster.
"From behind a building?"
Damn! Had he noticed me behind him the whole time? Or had he only seen me walk out just a moment ago?
Bristel is visibly struggling to hold back his amusement as he witnesses this awkward encounter.
"I was hiding," I improvise. "I thought I saw..." Mentally, I create a list of people I'd usually be displeased to see around District Twelve. I quickly realize that most of them are now dead. "Haymitch."
Peeta doesn't argue anymore, but every ounce of his body language tells me that he remains skeptical.
"We should bring this to Thom, anyway," Bristel holds up the rough map of the bakery, breaking off the staring game Peeta and I are playing. "We'll help you find him."
We cluster together in a tense trio, Bristel leading us over to the mayor's house. It takes a few questions and a lot more yelling through the area before Bristel finds Thom in the chaos.
"What's up?" Thom asks. Though the temperature isn't particularly warm this time of year, he's sweating profusely. I can't imagine how difficult it will be for the workers once summer is in full swing.
"I need you to sign off on a few changes for the new bakery before I start the paperwork," Bristel tells him.
"And Katniss needs to speak with you," Peeta adds.
The desperate moment when I realize I have nothing to speak to Thom about is upon me, but it's too late. He's already turned to me, nodding his head and giving me permission to speak.
"I want to build something," I say slowly, but I'm not quite sure where I'm going with this. "Well, not build it personally. I'm not much of a builder. More of a destroyer, really, if you think about it." A nervous laugh escapes my lips.
All three men are shooting me looks that question my sanity.
"I want to finance something to be built, eventually. Jut thought I should bring it up to you." I try to look around the square without turning my head too much, surveying the scene for whatever may need to be built.
"And what would you like to see built?" says Thom, who is still baffled by my tangent.
I look behind him at the only building that's partially redone. The mayor's house. Madge's house. I'd thought up the idea in passing, only for a brief moment in the past, but I never thought I'd say it aloud.
"A memorial. For the Undersees."
I felt it would be too brash to mention. After all, their blood was on my hands.
"For Madge, really," I correct.
I find myself looking to Peeta once again. "But the more I think about it, maybe it should just be for everyone we lost. All of us."
Peeta's eyes are locked on mine and I desperately wish I could unravel his thoughts. Thom clears his throat. I barely register the sound.
"Let me know what you have in mind," Thom suggests a bit more loudly than needed. When I look at him again, he's gesturing toward Peeta and I. "Maybe you can work on a sketch?"
Peeta nods silently, but he's not looking in my direction anymore.
I take the opportunity to escape, mumbling through awkward goodbyes to Thom and Bristel. I'm finally in the clear, but then he calls out to me.
"Wait up!" Peeta is shaking hands with Bristel and Thom, working out a good time to meet and look over official blueprints. Then he's next to me as I make my way back to Victor's Village.
"You know, it's funny," Peeta licks his lips. "When I walked by Haymitch's house, I could hear him snoring. And I mean really, obnoxiously snoring. You couldn't have been far behind. You must have heard it."
His tone is light, but the meaning behind it is not. "Funny how you thought you saw him after that."
Peeta is testing me, but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. I shrug nonchalantly, looking up ahead as if I'm eager to get home. He doesn't press the issue any further.
"I like your idea," says Peeta, his voice cracking a bit in the uncomfortable silence. "The memorial."
"Thanks."
There's a conversation that should be starting. A conversation I know I should initiate, but the words aren't forming in my mind. I can't think of a single thing I have to say to Peeta. The realization is terrifying.
By the time we enter Victor's Village, I'm stuck in a panic that I'm trying to hide from him. Back and forth, we alternate concerned glances at one another. Our eyes occasionally connect, but immediately tear apart before the moment becomes too intimate.
We're walking down the middle of the street just a couple hundred feet from our respective homes when I crack.
"Just come to dinner tonight." I try to demand it, but when I speak the words, it sounds like pleading. "Just come back."
"Do you want me there?" His questioning seems sincere, but it's not what I want to hear.
"Obviously," I bite back a bit harder than I mean to, "or I wouldn't have asked."
Peeta huffs. When I look up at him, he's smirking. "I can cook now, you know. Not like Sae, but I'm not bad."
"Then you can cook for us," I offer, some coolness returning to my voice.
The smirk leaves his face, conflict taking its place. He's breaking toward the right, toward his house. I'm still waiting for his answer in the middle of the street.
"I'll think about it."
I think I hear him sigh under his breath as he climbs up the front steps leading to his door, but he says no more. He doesn't look back.
It takes a moment before I turn around and go home. Buttercup slips out the door as I walk in, mewing in thanks.
I don't feel hopeful, but I'm not quite as hopeless.
The nightmares have been bad, but the flashbacks have been even worse.
Greasy Sae's granddaughter is sitting by the fire playing with an old doll and Bam! Prim is there in her medics uniform, looking in my direction as the fire envelopes her.
I muster up just enough sanity to hold back the screams. I turn away from Greasy Sae's granddaughter just as the image of Prim's flesh melting from her bones overtakes me.
I'm outside in a matter of seconds. Sae calls after me in concern, but she won't follow me. She never does in this situation.
Dry heaves wrack my body as I grip the rail to the steps, waiting for the wave of nausea and terror to pass. I've never gotten sick on the grass just below the rail, but the feeling is so real, so intense that this is the only ritual that calms my senses.
Just when I think I'm relaxed, a hand grips my shoulder, jump-starting my heart again. I snatch the hand up with my own, pull it forward and spin around to face my attacker.
But it's not an attacker. It's Peeta, looking utterly befuddled by the iron grip I've got on his wrist.
"Are you okay?"
"No," I immediately respond. "Well, yes, technically. I was just having a moment."
"A moment?"
I want to tell him. My demons are my own, but sharing them with him feels justified. Whether Peeta knows it or not, he's been sharing his demons with me almost every night.
"Prim," is all is manage to say at first. Slowly, I build upon the thought. "Sae's granddaughter was in front of the fire and I saw Prim there."
The explanation isn't much, but as Peeta's face softens, I can see it's enough. He doesn't offer any words of comfort or gather me up in his arms. He just watches me carefully, as if I may crumble to the ground at any moment. I can't decide if it makes me feel protected or angry. Perhaps both.
Eventually, Peeta's arm reaches out to the door and pushes it open.
"C'mon," he says gently.
When we enter the living room, he gestures toward the couch. I sit there alone for a few moments while he says hello to Greasy Sae and her granddaughter. He returns with a cool glass of water.
We sit on opposite ends of the couch in silence- me with my body scrunched together and the glass squeezed between both hands, Peeta hunching over his spread-out legs with his head in his hands- until Greasy Sae calls us over to eat.
Peeta practically sprints from his seat and before I've even entered the kitchen, he's got most of the fire out.
The other two are confused and angry in the smoky haze that follows, but I give a little smile in Peeta's direction.
Just when I think we've made some progress, the situation grows somber. Bar Greasy Sae's infrequent coughs as the last of the smoke filters through the windows, we are all mute at the dinner table. I want to share something. I want to share anything. But speaking up to everyone at this table feels more like a group therapy session than pleasant dinner conversation, so I hold back.
Peeta's gathering up dishes and cleaning them before I've even finished with my portion. When I take my last bite, he's right next to me with his hand outstretched.
"May I?"
"Yeah," I breathe out. "Sure."
He reaches right past me to my plate and turns away once again. Greasy Sae is so pleased to have her helper back that she doesn't seem to notice the tension.
I know what comes next before it even happens. Peeta is drying to his hands off next to the sink, thanking Greasy Sae for the great meal. He promises to bring apple bread, her favorite, for his next visit. Then he's saying his goodbyes, barely managing a glance in my direction before returning to his solitude.
After he's gone, I'm suddenly enraged. I want nothing more than for Greasy Sae and her granddaughter to leave. I do my best to hide my sudden hatred for their presence. It helps that I'm normally anti-social nowadays.
When they've finally left, I close every window in my house. The clouds have become exceptionally dark in the distance. It only takes me another minute to rekindle the fire, as it hasn't had much time to cool.
The fire is dangerously hot against my skin as I sit just in front of it. I'm staring into it, but it's not Prim I see this time. It's Peeta.
Peeta is on fire. His veins are burning and bursting open as trackerjacker venom convinces his body that he is about to die and nobody, especially not Katniss Everdeen, cares enough to save him. The fire rips through his limbs in the form of a constant morphling drip, designed to keep him subdued. Designed to keep him from defending himself against a girl he believes is out to kill him.
Finally, he is aflame in the Capitol square. And I know exactly how he feels, because I felt the same thing that night. I imagine that feeling spreading to every point of the body that it had missed on me: his face, his fingertips, his only decent leg.
Then I imagine him waking up alone. He waits for someone to comfort and reassure him, but the only visitors are a steady flow of doctors and nurses. When he finally sees the others again, they're voting to kill even more children and calling it justice. They're assassinating political leaders. Just as he regains his mind, they lose theirs.
He's shipped back to District Twelve. To a dead family, an empty house, nobody willing to look out for him, and a community of people who never publicly knew he'd once lost his grip on sanity. They expect him to be charming, extraordinary Peeta Mellark everyday. When he smiles at them, it's like torture.
His scars burn on. The resolution that Prim found in death, Peeta will never have.
The wave of anxiety hits me. I run outside into the rain. This time, I actually do vomit.
The thunder wakes me.
There was a steady rain bouncing off the house when I first stretched out on the sofa, but I don't remember feeling tired, let alone falling asleep.
I climb the stairs in a fog, but pause to inspect the scene outside my bedroom window before bed. The rain has transformed into a hideous, beastly storm that could only happen during the change in seasons.
Raindrops smash into the pavement and ricochet back up. Thunder rumbles louder than usual, shaking the house a bit. It's quickly followed by lightening so bright I'm momentarily blinded.
I watch in awe for a moment, then the dreary thought seeps into my brain. I haven't seen weather like this since...
Lightening strikes a tree in the forest. The cracking sound ripples through Victor's Village.
That's when his light turns on.
There's no pacing tonight. No slow, deliberate movements. Just a straight shot to the window.
Peeta's staring toward my house again. For the thousandth time in only a few weeks, I'm questioning whether or not he can make out my outline in the window, especially when the lightening illuminates our surroundings.
In another unusual twist, he's gone from the window just as quickly as he came. Typically, Peeta just stands there for minutes on end, but tonight he's turning away and then out of sight.
I only get about fifteen seconds to desperately wonder where he's gone before I see his front door swing open.
He's trekking through the rain and wind with solid determination. And he's coming toward me.
Fight or flight?
Do I confront Peeta and continue our twisted half-efforts to have a normal companionship? Or do I get into bed, tuck the covers up over my head and pretend this never happened?
I run down the stairs and open the door before he's even had a chance to knock.
He's through the doorway in an instant. It's like he knew I'd be waiting.
I survey his body quickly as I shut the door behind him. He's in the t-shirt and shorts he wore to bed. No shoes. No jacket. Dripping wet from only a few moments in the vicious storm, he's starting to shiver. Worst of all, he's looking at me expectantly, like a wounded animal looking to be put out of its misery. Will I care for him or abandon him? He's waiting for the answer.
"You're all wet," is the only response I manage.
Peeta's lips form a thin, straight line. Drops of water fall from his hair as he nods his head, but he doesn't speak. I think he's waiting for me still.
When the words don't come to mind, I resolve to make it up to Peeta through my actions.
I take Peeta's hand in mine, running my thumb across it as I say "I'll be right back." Then I'm racing up the stairs, ripping open bathroom cabinets and bedroom closets to find a soft towel and the thickest, wooliest blanket in the house.
Upon my descent, I come at Peeta full-force with the towel. He lets out a low laugh as I toss it over his head and begin scrubbing it back and forth to soak up the water on his hair and face. My relief is instantaneous.
"I've got it," he offers, but I refuse. I remove the towel from his face and wipe off each arm, Peeta repositioning his limbs as necessary. Then I move to his neck, his back, his chest over his t-shirt.
He stops me there, electing to dry off his legs himself. I wonder for a moment if he doesn't want me examining his artificial limb, but I don't dwell on it for too long.
I'm wrapping the blanket around his arms and shoulders before he stands up again.
"C'mon," I motion further into the house.
The fire is out, but the open downstairs area is still fairly warm. I sit Peeta down in the same spot on the sofa that he sat in earlier today, but this time I sit down only inches away from him. I tuck my knees up to my chest and let him get comfortable before the words come out.
"Do you ever think we'll be able to tolerate a storm again?" I ask.
"No," he admits. It's not what I want to hear, but I know it's the truth. "It's the lightening that gets me."
"Like the tree in the arena?"
He nods. He face tenses, relaxes, and tenses again. Peeta's mouth sits half-opened for a few seconds until the words spill out. "Did you know what you were doing when you shot the barrier?"
"I didn't," I say. Now it's my turn to smirk a bit. "I really, truly didn't. I only knew Beetee had been trying to do it, but the pieces didn't really come together until the arrow hit."
"I thought so," Peeta's voice is steady and strong. "That's why I told them you weren't responsible in the Capitol. If you planned it, you would have told me."
"Of course," I reassure him.
Peeta flutters the blanket out over me so we are both entrapped in its warmth.
"That wasn't the only storm we've ever been through, you know," I say. "There's been dozens of others."
Peeta snorts. "But there's only a couple we'll remember ages from now. The clock. The cave. It's like whenever lightening strikes, I'm about to die."
I know the feeling. I can tell that Peeta is more terrified by the storm than I am, but I was there too. I saw all of the things he saw in the arenas, but I can still see all of the beauty in between the terror that he's not seeing right now.
"But there were some good moments in there too," I admit. "Being it that cave with you was the safest I ever felt in the arena. It was almost normalcy."
It's not a stunning admission for most, but Peeta recognizes how hard it was for me to voice that last thought. I am finally sharing with him, feeling open and willing to speak to the boy who'd once been my reason for survival.
"I wanted to stay in that cave forever," the words come from Peeta much more easily, "though preferably without anyone trying to kill us." He looks lighthearted at first, but the look in his eyes turns to something more intense.
"I really thought you loved me when we were in the cave," he stares into my eyes as he speaks. Anxiety creeps up slowly. I'm not sure if I'm ready for this moment. "I thought you wanted to be with me."
"I did, in some ways," I try to soften the blow. My head shifts down to my knees, but Peeta's hand carefully lifts my chin, reconnecting my eyes with his.
"Not in the way I wanted. I wanted you to be mine."
The intensity in Peeta's eyes is both awe-inspiring and terrifying in the weak light. The idea hits me suddenly. Saying the words would be foolish. Reckless, even. They have the potential to ruin everything for good, but it couldn't be much worse than the past few weeks. The risk doesn't matter anymore.
"Show me," I demand.
Peeta's lips are crashing down on me as soon as the words leave my mouth. His arms are around me, pulling me close. I feel the aching hunger that I felt once in the cave, again in the clock arena, and again in the Capitol.
I'm forcing my lips against his, one hand against the nape of his neck, raking through his hair. It isn't enough. Our tongues mingle together as I pull him forward. The blanket falls as we reposition, but soon we're spread out across the couch, Peeta hovering over me.
For the first time in ages, Peeta seems strong and able as he traces his hand from my forehead, down my neck and arm to grip my waist. The simple action makes me buck up against him.
"Katniss," he sighs. In this moment, I become certain that I need to be close to Peeta more than I've needed anything in my life.
My hands move to his back, scratching my way down to the hem of his shirt. He emits a low growl when I slip my fingers underneath and begin pulling it up.
"You're all wet," I repeat for the second time tonight.
Peeta pops up on to his knees, yanking the t-shirt over his head and spiking it to the floor. Then he's on top of me again, repositioning himself so I can feel the bulge in his pants against my most sensitive area. The sound I make is between a gasp and a cry.
"I bet you are too," he snickers.
There's a sense of urgency as his hand slips up my shirt and squeezes my breast. My fingernails claw into his skin and I arch myself up into his erection. Our movements are fast and sloppy, but it's exactly what I want. I want him. No confessions, no promises. Just him.
My shirt is off along with my bra before I have time to think about it. Peeta is laying hard, deliberate kisses down my neck as his hands explore my chest and abdomen. His hand moves to the line of my pajama pants, tugging at the fabric.
"Please," I encourage him, lifting my hips to grant him better access. The rest of my clothing is stripped off in an instant.
I feel a bit self-conscious as his eyes feast upon the sight of my bare body, but I let Peeta have his moment. I take the opportunity kiss every inch of his bare upper body I can reach. When I get impatient, I wrap my legs around him and coax him toward me.
Without warning, Peeta plunges a finger into me. I scream out in surprise. I lift my head up and pull Peeta's down until we meet in a kiss. His finger begins pumping in and out and I thrust up to meet it.
My throat releases excited little squeaks and he groans in repsonse. The motions make me delirious with want. I need him to know just how much I enjoy it.
"Don't stop, Peeta," I beg him as I shift slightly. I reach down between us, slipping my hand under his soaked shorts until I've got a hold on his penis. I move slowly, a bit unsure about what I'm doing.
"Fuck," Peeta cries out.
He loses control for only a second, his head bowing as his body adjusts to the sensation. Then he's plunging a second finger into me, moving them even faster, begging me to move my hand faster as well.
The sensation building inside of me is something I've experienced, but never at the level of intensity. It's something I only experience with Peeta. I begin whimpering as the two of us move erratically, trying to keep control.
It's not enough.
"More," I squeal. I look at Peeta and I can tell he doesn't know how to react. "Please, more."
In mere seconds, I tug at his shorts until they are around his knees. I reach up and pull him as close to me as I can. I take his hand by the wrist and stop his delicious movements, then move my own hand back to his erection.
"I want all of you."
He moves his tip to my entrance, slowly teasing me by pressing it ever so slightly into the wetness that pools there. I moan wildly in need, nodding my head, silently asking him to make me his.
Peeta doesn't think twice before completely sheathing himself inside of me. At first, I'm overtaken by the extreme discomfort. My face contorts and Peeta yelps, realizing what he's done. He goes to pull away, but I clutch him tight and hold him inside of me.
"I need this," I beg him. "Don't leave me. I need you."
He kisses me roughly in an attempt to make up for his actions. Subconsciously, he begins to squirm. Instead of feeling pain, the pleasure that had nearly taken over my body earlier returns. I lift and lower my hips against him.
He gives me a devilish look, then thrusts once, twice, three times. He's trying to be careful. I want to throw his caution to the wind.
I scratch my fingernails along his chest and put my mouth close to his ear. "Take me, Peeta. Like you mean it."
Suddenly, Peeta is in a frenzy. He's slamming into me in earnest, the sound of skin against skin filling the night air. He's gripping the couch as if he was holding on for dear life, sweat accumulating all over both our bodies.
"Faster," I plead, though I don't really think he could go any faster or harder than he does now. He responds by grabbing at my chest once again, rolling and pinching my nipples in between his fingertips.
The feeling inside me is the sweetest of all tortures. I can feel at building up, but I need the ache to subside. All the while, he's watching me intently, offering me all he's got to give. It doesn't take long before I'm losing control.
"Oh!" I cry out when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. Then I'm whispering to him. "Make me come, Peeta. Please make me come."
I'm confused when he reaches a hand down between us. Then I feel it. Peeta's thumb is pressing against my nub, moving in small circles. My pleasure is doubled in an instant.
"I think..."
My breath hitches in my chest. I can feel every muscle in my body tightening. My bottom half is raised up off the couch as I hit my peak. It's as if the world is ending and beginning all at once.
I never knew I could feel like this. I've never felt so alive.
As the aftershocks wrack my body, I turn my attention back to Peeta. I kiss and clutch every inch of him possible, praising him.
His hips begin jerking wildly. He stutters out an odd noise and his mouth falls open. His arms go limp, putting his full weight on top of me as his orgasm crashes over him.
He lays his forehead on top of mine. All I can feel is skin and sweat and pure bliss.
"Thank you," he says once he catches his breath. "Thank you for letting me show you."
