Thanks again for continuing to read this story! You guys are my bitches and it's so nice to get such positive reviews, especially on a fan fiction which is probably a bit frowned upon in some parts of the fandom, though if you go onto rated M, what do you expect?
Please continue to review, it means a lot to hear your feedback! It makes me want to write even more and I hoping to update daily if possible because I have a lot of faith in this story!
(I have the ending all planned out)
Thanks again! You're all great and it's cool to see people who like Everlark as a ship as much as me!
I grab hold of the pole and use my arms to swing my body into a sitting down position. I swing my legs up and around the pole, and I spin around it in almost perfect copying of the five girls dancing next to me.
It was almost too easy for Peeta to get me the job as a stripper at the local Capitol strip club. My experience as an escort got me the job almost immediately. That was a week ago.
After the show is over and I am felt-up by a lot of Capitol men and women on the way out, it is eventually just Peeta and me. I'm expected to lock up. He sits in the front row, his feet on a table, a straw from his drink between his lips. "Good show," He says.
"Thanks," I say, sweeping confetti off the stage into the bucket at the end. "You don't seem to be the only one," I gesture towards the window, where a bunch of Capitol men are leering at me. "Close the curtains, would you?"
He gets up, the straw still between his lips, and he gives a sarcastic wave to the men outside before closing the curtain. He takes the rope which ties them together and wraps it slowly around his hand. "Are we alone?"
"Yeah," I say, and my eyes fall on the rope. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"You look sexy," He tells me. "That's what I'm thinking."
I'm wearing tight leather trousers; knee-high boots; an army jacket ripped open, revealing my breasts and several gold chains. "I'm glad you like it," I breathe.
He walks slowly up to the stage slowly, unravelling the rope from around his palm. "I want to fuck you, right here, right now."
We start to kiss; my fingers release the broom and after a few seconds, he pulls away to pull my hands together with rope. He pulls of his tie and uses it as a gag, knotting it at the back of my head. Using the rope, he ties me to the pole.
"You know," Peeta says slowly as undoes the fly on his trousers. "I remember on our first meeting, when I blindfolded you and fucked you in three different ways. A lot has happened since then, hasn't it?" He allows his trousers to fall.
He circles me and then yanks my trousers down. The thong I am wearing underneath is already practically soaked. He hooks his fingers into the thong and pulls it down my legs. "This is how I like you," He says. "Vulnerable," He pulls his boxer shorts down.
The jacket I am wearing is easy to tear, and he proves this when he rips it off my back. Stood behind me, he teases the lips of my sex with his dick and I moan; when I do so, he spanks my ass. "No talking," He says. "If I wanted you too, I wouldn't have put a gag in your mouth."
He takes hold of my breasts from behind and pushes himself into me. It's deep this way; my knuckles are white against the pole. He slams into me, hard and fast, and I have to close my eyes and clench my jaw to stop myself from screaming myself into an orgasm. His fingers tug hard on my nipples, twisting them, as he slams into me.
He's panting heavily; my body slams into the pole and his hands are hard on my hips as he jerks me back and forth. I can't help but gasp with each jerk, but he doesn't spank me again. Then, he orgasms, and there are several moments of gasping and panting before he pulls out.
He pulls up my thong and trousers, undoes the knot on the gag, and walks around the front of me and undoes the knot of rope holding my hands together. I can barely stand. "You okay?" He asks with his crooked smile and messed up hair.
"Yes," I say breathlessly. "That was intense,"
He gives me his suit jacket – mine is torn now – and pulls up his trousers. He holds out his hand to me. "Come on, let's go home,"
He drives. When we get back, I strip down, and we go to take a bath. I sit on his lap again, our fingers entwined. My head aches; I'm not sure whether it's from the sex or the loud music in the strip club.
"Your skin feels very hot," Peeta says with his hand pressed against my forehead. "I think that you have gotten a fever or something,"
"I feel fine," I lie.
"That came on quick," Peeta says. "Come on," He climbs out of the bath and picks me up. He carries me into the living room and puts me carefully onto the couch. "If I get sick, I'm killing you,"
"I'm not sick," I say.
"Don't you like being sick?"
"I'm not sick," I repeat. "Nobody gets sick that suddenly; it's probably just-" and then I feel like I'm going to throw up, and Peeta must see this because he moves out of the way pretty quickly, and I throw up onto his floor.
"Oh my God," I say. "Jesus, I'm so sorry,"
"Don't worry," He says. "Let's get you a bucket or something, alright?"
And for the rest of the weekend, he moves me from the sofa and his bed, always with me to bring me food or to stroke my hair or to give me some pills – since I refuse to take the Capitol medicine – and to stay with me until I fall asleep.
I'm just dozing off on the Sunday night when I murmur, "Stay with me," because I don't want him to leave in the night. Just before I doze off, I hear him say, "Always,"
