Thanks for all of the nice reviews and shit guys – you're all great!
(And even if you hate this story, thank you for reading nevertheless)
"You have everything," I tell him. "You can have everything – but not my name."
"Why not?" He breathes. "Why can't I know?"
My boy with the bread. My saviour. The boy that gave me hope in the bleak months after my father's death. The boy who went into the Hunger Games with my sister; the sister I didn't volunteer for. I remember on his Victory Tour, he said mentioned her; his district partner. I'm not sure why he did that, and despite the fact that I owe him my life, I can't give him my name. I can't tell him who I am.
We're tangled in bed sheets, and I feel the warmth of his body against mine. "You know you can't," I mumble. "For security purposes; I'm an escort, not your girlfriend."
"I know," He says, almost defensively. "Don't you think I know that? If you were my girlfriend, you'd trust me."
"And that's why I'm not," I say.
He looks annoyed, and then he rolls over to look at the clock. "I've got work," He says. "See if you can change your mind whilst I'm gone,"
"Don't count on it," I say, and he glares at me, and leaves.
I cover my face with my hands. Why am I talking to him like this? Why isn't he retaliating? Despite what he said about the girlfriend thing, it almost feels like I am. Is that a feeling based on years of seeing him across the playground, or the feeling of having him fuck me? I don't know.
One of the main rules of being an escort is do not get attached, because it always ends, because the job is to have sex, and leave. I remember Peeta telling me at our first meeting that he hadn't found a wife yet, but he was still looking; is that what he sees in me?
He's changed since our first meeting, and it was only a week ago. Asking about my past was a bad idea; answering the questions was an even worse idea. He has an idea about who I am, what I've been through, and why I'm here. I hardly know anything about him apart from he fucks girls that I've probably passed at the firm and that he is rich. Oh, and that he saved my life, but that doesn't really help me here.
How has he not recognized me? Is it because of the years of being an escort have changed me into somebody that is such a slut that he can't even see me? The girl he risked a beating for?
Day two; not a good day for me so far. The sex was good, but now I just feel horrible. If I tell him who I am, what will happen? Will he be happy that the poor girl from the Seam is here, or will he be disgusted that I never told him? I can't risk it.
When he comes home, I expect to argue with him, and I open my mouth in the hallway to shout, but then he grabs hold of me and kisses me roughly, his hands groping my body as he slams me against the wall. His lips are fast and aggressive against mine. His hands twist in my hair, his breath hot in my mouth, and I know that the Peeta from last week is back.
He practically throws me onto the floor and in a second he is slamming into me. My back arches and I throw my head back. His hands are gripping onto my thighs; taking advantage of me, like he should. My hands grip onto his messed up blonde hair as he slams into me over and over until he orgasms and collapses onto me. He doesn't even pull out.
For a while, we are gasping on his wooden floor, and then he says, "I have a pool upstairs,"
"This has an upstairs?" I pant.
He rises; he hadn't even taken off his shirt. He yanks it off now, takes hold of my hand, and pulls me up the spiral stairs which are hidden away in his study – another room I didn't know his enormous apartment has – and there is a pool, at the back of the second floor, small, but by the large windows which look over the Capitol.
He grabs hold of me, kisses me roughly again, and his hands roam over my breasts, and then he releases me. I climb into the pool; the water is warm and reaches my chest. Peeta lifts me up so I my legs are around his waist, and then we kiss, our lips wet from the water and our bodies warm from the pool.
His hands grab onto my hips as he presses me into the window, and he pushes me down onto him; we both moan, and then he silences me with his lips. He thrusts into me over and over; my nails rake down his back, wanting him closer, but when he presses against me with such force I think the glass will shatter, it isn't enough.
His lips, as he smashes into me, clamp down on the side of my neck; I know he is going to leave a love bite there. I feel my body shudder, and then I orgasm, and I slide down the glass. I feel numb, satisfied, and Peeta grabs hold of my face, kisses me, and then releases me.
"Want some wine?" Peeta asks, and I nod. He climbs out of the pool and goes over to a wine cooler. I walk along the pool floor, and feel for the high-raised tiles at the edge of pool. I sit down on it and the water laps up at my thighs.
He sits down next to me, yanks out the cork from the wine bottle, and drinks it from the bottle. I watch the cars moving and the people walking in the distance and the stars. He hands me the bottle and I take a swig.
"Guess what," Peeta says. I hand him the bottle back. "That view isn't real,"
"Seriously?" I say. He grins. "Pretty convincing," I tell him.
"They have this room in the training centre – when I was in the Hunger Games, I mean," Peeta says. "And it has a remote where you can change the view out of the window. I took that idea and here we are."
"You can change it to anything?" I ask.
He gets up, handing me the bottle, and he goes over to a pad on the wall. It has a sort of scrollbar on it, and he scrolls down; the scenery changes quickly, flipping through hundreds, and a few stick in my mind; a desert, the beach, a forest, some mountains. He stops at one which is the ocean and has stars coating the sky. He settles next to me again, and I take another gulp from the bottle.
"Amazing," I tell him, giving him the bottle back. "I love it,"
There is a moment of silence as we both watch the ocean roll in, and then out, licking the sand. "Tell me your name," He murmurs.
"You have everything," I tell him. "But you can't have my name."
