Hypersexuality (der. nymphomania, satiryasis) - extremely frequent or suddenly increased sexual urges or sexual activity
"This is the best movie ever," Prim gushes in my ear and I agree with her.
But then, I might've agreed to just about anything at this point. I'm still floating on some kind of giddy tonic fueled by orgasms. Earlier this afternoon, my phone alarm went off with enough time for a shower and some lunch before I had to flop onto the couch to watch the movie with Prim. I smile around my leftover stew as I take another bite. Lunch was postponed until during the movie due to smoking hot firefighter neighbor still in my bed. Not my fault. He was wearing next to nothing. And he kissed me first.
My toes curl as Prim laughs at yet another one of Elle's snappy put-downs directed towards Warner. I really need to stop thinking about Peeta and focus on my time with my sister, but it isn't easy when he left here rosy and disheveled and smiling, same as I was, telling me that I was more than welcome to knock on his door after I'd finished my sisterly bonding time. I make a mental note to take half of the condoms with me before honing back in on the trial sequences. These are my favorite parts of this movie.
I laugh with Prim and we yell at the screen to vent our anger at Professor Callahan, and even though we do this every week, I feel so much more lighthearted than usual when the credits roll. We talk for a few more minutes, catching up on the week's news. She wants to know all about the Series, and although I do tell her some of the funnier anecdotes involving the calendar firefighters, I don't talk about Peeta. Whatever this is sparking to life between us, I'm not ready to invite others in to examine it yet. It belongs to us for now, and it's no one's business but our own. Maybe after we go on our first date I'll feel more comfortable talking about it with my sister, but for now, I'd rather not pick it to pieces or shove it under a microscope.
The final thing we talk about is our Thanksgiving plans.
"Oh my gosh! That's a great idea!" Prim shouts when I mention maybe having Thanksgiving at my place instead of back home. "I'd love to spend a few days with you in the city! Can we go shopping on Black Friday? Have you talked to Mom?"
"Not yet," I admit, but Prim's enthusiasm for the idea is contagious. When we hang up, I decide to get it over with and finally call my mother. She's stiff and uncommunicative at first until I launch into an invitation. For a second, I think I hear her crying on the other end, but then she adamantly accepts. I'll have to deal with my low simmering disdain with her before she gets here, but for now, it's enough that she's at least trying. Still don't trust her, though.
After, I curl up on my bed and hug my knees to my chest, wishing someone could hold me and tell me that everything will be okay. My father used to do that, guiding my sight towards things in this world that were good or beautiful to keep the dark thoughts at bay. As I roll over, a faint scent reaches me and winds through my senses. I smile at remembrances of starlit kisses and strong arms, gentle words that encouraged me to reach out to my mother, and suddenly it's not some random wish for human comfort, but a specific desire for a specific set of arms that I already know can give me what I need.
Although I look like a bum in my t-shirt and sweatpants, I slide my feet into slippers, pluck a few condoms from the strip in my nightstand, and grab the bottle of wine from the fridge before knocking on Peeta's door. He smiles when he opens it and I relax with the certainty that this is exactly what I need. I hold up the bottle and the shining foil packets for him to see.
"Com'ere," he laughs and pulls me inside, we're both still smiling as our lips meet.
As we lay panting in his bed much later, my body molten and heavy with my recent release, Peeta kisses me while we both come down off our highs. I can taste myself still lingering on his lips and a last shudder ripples through me. For some reason, Peeta seems to enjoy going down on me. A lot. This was the third time today, and I am still stunned at the delight he seems to take in the intimate act. And this time, he didn't stop after one orgasm, but true to his earlier words, kept going until I was arched painfully on his bed and screaming incoherently, unable to stop the string of orgasms as they shook my entire being. By the time he slid his cock inside me, all I could do was hold onto his shoulders while he thrust at a frantic pace and finished with a loud shout. As he lifts his head, to end our kiss, I can't stop the smile that spills across my face.
"So about that date," he says, and I giggle. Actually giggle. I'm not sure that I've ever giggled about anything, so I blame my juvenile behavior on all the sex. After all, we're laying in his bed naked, his scalp and shoulders red with nail marks, my panties hanging precariously on the edge of his dresser where they landed after he flung them across the room. The thought just makes the giggles worse.
Giggling. Like one of my students caught with a naughty calendar. But that thought sobers me.
"I don't know, Peeta. I don't really like the idea of going somewhere we might run into one of my students. I'd never hear the end of it." Already, Rue suspects. I haven't forgotten her comments after the fire alarm a few weeks ago, and the events at the Series just yesterday will only serve to fuel her suspicions. I hate my personal life being on display, especially with my students.
"We can always go outside the city. Maybe hiking. A picnic on Panem Lake. Something like that."
Biting my lip, I nod. He couldn't know that the mining town I grew up in sits on the opposite shore of the lake. That the lake itself teems with memories of my Dad, who took me there to camp, to fish, even to hunt a little. Or my mother who would lounge on the shores of the lake with a book before she let herself turn into a shell.
"Okay," I say anyways. Peeta must hear something in my tone because he shifts, laying on his side with his head propped on his palm to look down at me as I try to disappear into his pillows.
"Somehow that's not the reaction I was expecting. Is there something else you'd prefer for our first date? I want it to be something you'll enjoy." His brow is furrowed and he looks so uncertain, it makes my stomach clench with something unpleasant. He's suggested a date I'd usually leap at the chance to go on. It's actually sweet of him to come up with one based on my interests. Another reminder that I am terrible at this. He reaches out and gently brushes back a strand of my hair off my forehead.
"Just tired," I tell him, not wanting to ruin the bliss still humming quietly in my veins or the comfort I felt with him sleeping beside me last night. Peeta smiles softly and kisses my forehead where he'd just caressed, clearly accepting my evasion at face value.
"Okay. We can decide later," he says before offering his shower to me. I'm expecting him to join me, so when he leaves me alone after getting the water started for me, mumbling that he's just going to get dinner started for us, I sit heavily on the toilet to think through if I did something to upset him. The room begins to fill with steam, though, and I quickly shower. When I'm done, he leaves me in charge of the dinner while he takes a turn. I shrug the odd behavior off, though, because once we're seated at his table and he's laughing at one of my more exciting hunting stories from when my Dad was alive, it doesn't seem to matter that we didn't share a shower.
After we've cleaned up the kitchen, I sit on the counter while he rolls out dough for a breakfast bread. I like watching his hands as he works, molding and shaping the dough, bits of the stuff and flour covering his hands and wrists. Peeta's voice takes on this low cadence that mimics the movements of his hands, as if his entire being is involved in the shaping of this one loaf of bread. He rarely even looks at me while he speaks, his story about his older brothers and the mischief they'd get into punctuated with comments about what he's doing with the bread. I like it, hearing the explanations for this craft of his as well as the stories about his brothers. But again, it makes me wonder where they are now.
With the dough set out to rise and the sun long since sunk below the horizon, we curl up in his bed without discussion. At first, we shift awkwardly, getting used to elbows and knees that usually aren't there. The sounds of the city drift in through the cracked window. Peeta adds another blanket on top of me, whispering that he doesn't want me to get chilled, but between the heavy material and his body heat turning the space beneath the sheets into an inferno, I toss the blanket aside. Then I grow cold and with a huff, have to burrow into his side. Peeta chuckles at me, but wraps the sheets more tightly around me along with his arms. Closing my eyes, I release a content sigh, eventually drifting into the deep sleep of satisfaction.
My alarm goes off first in the morning, and although Peeta gets up with me and we eat breakfast together, he's working nights again this week. When I leave to get dressed and ready for the day in my own apartment, he crawls back into his bed. I feel refreshed, and it must show to my students, because a few of them comment about how cheerful I am. That's not a word that's usually associated with me, especially not on a Monday.
Thankfully, the other teachers and most of the students associate my good mood with the results of the baseball games this weekend and the promise of new lab equipment. Rue is the only one who whispers to her classmates and smiles at me like the cat who ate the canary. All the more reason for me to not be seen dating Peeta in public.
The good mood doesn't last, though. All talk about dates and any chance at a repeat of what happened in either of our bedrooms and on my couch is basically halted for the week. With the school play approaching fast, I stay at work later and later. By the time I get home, Peeta's already left for his shift at the firestation. We manage a few minutes together in the mornings. A quick conversation over breakfast before I have to hurry into work. Maybe a kiss or two, but that's about it.
During the nights, I'll roll over, reaching out for a warmth that isn't there, snarling and covering my head with my pillow when I realize that I want him there. Two nights. That's all it took for him to work his way under my covers and make himself irreplaceable. I try cuddling with an extra pillow, but it can't hold me and the heat that it does retain is only a reflection of my own.
By Friday, I'm back to my usual stern mein with my students, or maybe even more so. They grumble and shuffle their feet as I try to talk them through their lab before sending them on their way to get it done. When Florence spills the vial of bacteria they're supposed to be growing, I purse my lips and count to ten. She looks close to tears and I have to take a deep breath before helping her clean up the mess.
"I'm so sorry, Ms Everdeen. It was an accident."
"It's fine," I say, but I can tell my words do nothing to soothe her.
Even Rue avoids my gaze the rest of the class and as they leave, I catch more than one disgruntled complaint about the amount of homework I've assigned over the weekend. Once they've left, I bury my face in my hands and groan loudly.
"Are you alright?" Annie asks me from my doorway. I lift my head and try to smile at her. "Wow. You're not alright. Do you want to go grab a drink and talk about it?"
"No, thank you, Annie." I decline because the last thing I want to do right now is to be social.
"Okay, see you on Monday then," she waves at me and then disappears down the hallway, giving me the distinct impression that she doesn't much feel like socializing either.
I drive myself home on autopilot and toss some leftovers in the microwave to heat them up for dinner, but I end up picking at them and listening to the silence in my apartment while staring at the empty chair across my table. And I admit it to myself. Solitude is not what I want right now.
What I want is to sit on my couch with Peeta's arms wrapped around me while I complain into his shoulder about my awful week and my awful day. I want him to kiss away my scowl and then fill the night air with our moans and strained whispers. But can I even want all of that yet?
I don't care. I'm done with the tossing and turning. Even if he's crawling into bed in the hours right after dawn, I want him here with me when I wake tomorrow morning. I try calling him, but he did warn me that cell reception inside the fire station is sometimes unreliable. I could leave a message, but instead I toss my unfinished meal back in the fridge, pull on my most comfortable shoes, and walk the four blocks to the District Twelve fire station. No better way to deliver a message than in person.
Two of the massive garage doors are open, a gleaming truck parked in one while the other is empty. I can't find a front door, so I cautiously step inside the empty, open garage. Someone is playing rock music, the sound thin as it comes from deep inside somewhere. A handful of lockers line the walls, boots lined up in front of open doors revealing flame retardant coats and helmets, pants pooled around the boots, ready to be donned at a moment's notice. A laugh echoes down a wide hallway that leads further into the station. As I stand there, debating what to do, a hulking man lumbers out into the garage. His reddish beard and features are somewhat familiar and he smiles before signing to me.
Can I help you?
My shoulders relax as I remember. This is Mr. September.
I'm looking for Peeta.
I use the sign Peeta taught me for his name - pointer finger out with middle finger and thumb curved down in the letter p before rolling my hand over the air - instead of spelling it out, cringing in the split second after as I realize that Mr. September might not know the sign. He grins widely at me, though, and starts signing at such a fast pace, I can't keep up. Clearly, he recognized Peeta's name, but now I can't catch enough to understand him. He pauses and shakes his head, then starts over at a much slower place, clearly seeing my distress.
He's out answering a call. They just reported that they're on their way back. Should be here any minute. Come inside.
I follow Mr. September down the short wide hallway into a huge room that catches me off guard. It's basically a kitchen-great room combination, one wall dominated with a massive flat screen. A couple of firefighters sit on the couch in front of it, fingers and trash talk flying as they maneuver through one of the Call of Duty landscapes. I have no idea which specific game it is, just know enough from my students' chatter to be able to identify it.
"Take that, fuckstick!" I blink at Ms. August as she jumps up on the couch in triumph and her opponent flings his controller aside, face distorted in disgust. His character on the screen flops to the ground, dead.
"Your creative nicknames boggle the imagination," he says, glaring up at her as she sticks her tongue out at him and holds her hand out, wiggling her fingers expectantly.
"Pay up, Junior," she says and the firefighter sighs but pulls out a set of keys before dropping them in her hands.
"I fucking hate that nickname the most, though," he grumbles.
"Suck it up, bitches!" she shouts, brandishing the keys as she dances over to a locked cabinet.
"You lost to Mason?" Another firefighter enters and I have to take a step back. Even though I've seen him several times before, Mr. July's stunning visage shocks me once again. Ms. August cackles as the AC/DC song that's been playing stops abruptly. The losing firefighter doesn't even try to protest, instead pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his copper hair and crossing his arms defiantly as Ms. August cranks up the volume and P!nk's Just Like a Pill blares through the speakers throughout the building.
"What the fuck? Who gave Mason the keys to the stereo?!" A disembodied voice shouts from somewhere else in the station.
"Do you see what you did?" Mr. July asks the losing firefighter. "Come on, little bro. We're gonna have to listen to this shit for a week now."
"Then you play her next time." He tilts his head back to glare at Mr. July and I nearly choke on my own saliva. There's an obvious age difference, but there's no denying that these two are blood related. I now recognize him from the series as Mr. November. Peeta did mention that July and November were brothers. A quick count tells me that at least five of the calendar firefighters work at this particular station. May-July-August-September-November.
"Suck it, Odair," August crows again as she saunters past July, grabbing her own crotch in a vulgar gesture that makes him roll his eyes. Beside me, September's shoulders shake in silent laughter.
"I already lost to her twice," July argues with his brother. He opens his mouth to say something else, but September waves a hand, catching July's attention. His eyes widen as he spots me standing next to the silent Mr. September.
"Well, well, Pollux," July oozes towards us, speaking and signing at the same time. "What have you got there?"
She's here for Peeta.
Pollux smiles and steps aside as August turns down the volume on the stereo and November stands, flipping back his hood to examine me. I feel like a rabbit caught in a den of wolves with the way they're looking at me. I search my brain for the names Peeta gave me for his co-workers. Unable to come up with the names, I fixate on July's shirt, which reads: Keep Calm and Let Me Save Your Kitty underneath a generic firefighter crest. I snort and he grins.
"See something you like?" he asks, his voice low and seductive. As he gets uncomfortably close to my face, he licks his lips. Ugh. I suppose it works on the rabid calendar fans, but to me it's just cloying and annoying. I cross my arms over my chest and look around the room.
"No, not really," I say, making my voice dull with boredom. August laughs boisterously and July lifts an eyebrow in surprise, but his smirk turns into something more like a genuine smile. He really is stunningly handsome, but having seen him flirt shamelessly with every breathing human being within his reach, I can honestly say I'm not interested in anything he has to offer.
"I've seen you before," he murmurs and sweeps his gaze over me. "Have we flirted before this?"
"Guess it's hard to forget a face you lose to." August laughs again at my words as July's eyes widen out - Finnick, I remember now. And November's his younger brother, Daniel. The one that gave a cheerleader a bloody nose while trying to ask her out.
"I like this one," August says as she drapes an arm around me roughly. "Can we keep her?"
"She's not a pet, Johanna," Finnick says in an oddly warning tone, but he doesn't seem to be put out by my rejections, and I am saved from further scrutiny by the deep rumble of an engine returning to the garage bay. They disperse and I hang back, watching as they help their brethren return their gear to a ready position, check the truck, trade banter.
"So, how'd it go?" Finnick asks a firefighter I don't recognize.
"Another damn fake kitchen fire."
"Another one?" Johanna asks in disgust.
"Yep, same as all the others this week," June says as he walks around the truck. I remember him from the series as well. He's bulky with dark red hair and a trimmed beard, an earring in his left ear, Pollux's brother or maybe even his twin, I think. A pang hits me as I realize what this must do to Peeta, working so closely with at least two pairs of biologic brothers. I crane my neck to see if maybe one of the other firefighters doffing his gear has blonde hair, hoping maybe I'm wrong and his brothers are firefighters, too. But none of them resemble Peeta at all.
That's the fourth one this week, Pollux signs to his brother. Johanna shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
"Whose number did they want this time?" she sneers.
"Thresh or Gloss," Peeta answers as he hops down from the truck and Johanna snorts. He's already removed his protective gear and checks the air tanks in compartments along the side of the truck.
"But they didn't seem too disappointed to see us instead, did they Peeta?" June asks with a wide grin. What the hell does that mean?
"This is fucking ridiculous. Maybe we should put up a sign. STOP SETTING YOUR KITCHENS ON FIRE!" Johanna complains.
"Or maybe we should stop being so sexy," Finnick says. Rags and someone's jacket get thrown at him as their voices and guffaws overlap and I suddenly feel as though I'm intruding on something special. A family bantering as they talk about their day at work.
I'm wondering if there's another way out of the station so I can slip out unnoticed. Peeta might not even want me here. It's not like he invited me to stop by. But as I'm backing slowly down the hallway, Johanna's eyes fall on me again.
"Oh, by the way, you've got a visitor, Peeta," she hikes her thumb in my direction and crosses her arms over her chest as eight pairs of eyes swing towards me. Peeta's smile lights the world as he excuses himself, but the others pause what they're doing to focus on me. One of them whistles and another makes a crack about him slacking on work, needing to keep his pants on just in case. Once more, I feel like a rabbit caught in a wolf den.
"Hey," he whispers as he cups a hand on my elbow and leads me deeper into the station.
"Show her how you handle your hose, Peeta!"
"Please ignore them," Peeta implores, his face turning adorably pink.
"They seem...lively," I say cautiously.
"That's a diplomatic description. I'd call them nosy as hell," he says, but he turns his head to grin at me, and somehow, I imagine that he's fully capable of dishing it right back to them.
"I can leave if I'm causing a problem," I say. Peeta maneuvers us past the great room and up a short set of stairs into a long hallway lined with about a dozen doors.
"No, it's fine. I'd be surprised if they didn't act this way," Peeta says, pausing in front of one of the doors. He faces me, his hands rub over my arms and the touch is so soothing that I forget all the teasing that no doubts awaits me at his expense. This is why I wanted to see him. The steadiness that he brings to everything. I've been missing that all week. Missing him. The thought startles me and to distract myself, I look around at where we are. I wrinkle my brow in confusion.
"What's this place?"
"We're here for a long time on our shifts, so this is where we go if we need privacy or sleep." He opens the door we're next to and I poke my head in. It's a tiny bedroom, sparsely furnished, not much more than a closet, really. There's a black backpack exactly like the one he always carries tossed on top of the narrow bed.
"I just wanted to get away from them for a minute." He tilts his head back towards the others and I smile tightly. Can't say that I blame him. "I'm really glad to see you, though, Katniss."
His hands slide down to mine and he laces our fingers together. A door opens a little ways up the hall and another firefighter I don't recognize walks by with headphones in her ears. She nods to Peeta before she continues. He holds his breath and closes his eyes and I'm wondering why when she shouts back over her shoulder.
"Don't forget to wash the sheets later, Mellark." Peeta releases a strained laugh and shakes his head.
"Can I just apologize now for every one of my asshole co-workers?" he says, but I shrug because truthfully, her comment has reminded me of the reason I came here.
"I'll survive. You forget I work with adolescents five days a week as well," I say and nod towards the tiny room that's still open. "Is this one yours?"
"For today," he says. When I step inside, Peeta follows. I flatten my hand on the panel, shutting the door and giving us a modicum of privacy. The room seems so much smaller with him in it and the words I wanted to speak get lost in my throat. "What brings you here? Not that I'm complaining."
I can't stand to wake up another morning without you.
"Long week," I say instead because we haven't even been on a first date yet, but the pull I feel towards him is undeniable.
"Yeah, same here," he says. My curiosity gets the better of me then, and I'm still working up the nerve to tell him what I want anyways.
"What did they mean, about the kitchen fires?"
"Oh, well," he scrubs his hand over the back of his neck and looks a little sheepish. "We've had an unusually high number of calls on kitchen fires this week and um, well none of them have turned out to be anything serious."
"Just girls trying to catch a hot calendar firefighter?" I ask testily, crossing my arms as Peeta steps closer, his embarrassment visibly dissolving the angrier I get. I can feel my cheeks heating and my pulse drumming, a strange desire to throw something, but there's nothing to throw in this bare bones dormitory.
"That's what Finnick and a few of the others suspect," Peeta murmurs. Rage flashes deep inside me at that stupid calendar and every human being who's seen Peeta's picture in it and thought of what it might be like to have those arms around them or holding him over them. I'd like to hunt every last one of them down and perform a lobotomy on their brains.
"Any of them looking for Mr. May?" There's venom in my voice but it only seems to amuse him.
"Now how would you know which month I was?" He's smiling again and I want to wipe the smug look right off his face. I scramble for an answer that won't give away my dirty secret still hiding in my closet. My anger slows down my thinking and I'm blushing in an aggravating tell, and then I remember the jerseys they wore at the Series. The pageantry and the announcements.
"You had it on the back of your baseball shirt and Caesar announced it," I taunt. He seems unfazed by this, though, tilting his head so our lips are almost touching and holy smokes do I want him to kiss me again. I don't care that he's at work and there's close to a dozen people somewhere on the other side of that thin door and they all assume we came in here to make out or fuck or whatever.
"What about you, Katniss? Would you want Mr. May putting out your kitchen fire? Or someone else?"
"You already did that once," I remind him. His lips twitch in a stifled laugh, brushing against mine, and fuck it all and fuck his co-workers too. I want him. Now.
I wrap my arms around his neck and practically sigh with relief as he finally kisses me. I think I've been starving for this, the feel of his lips on mine, his broad hands splayed across my back, holding me to him. For the shuddering breaths he takes through his nose as impossible warmth courses through me. The slide of his tongue, asking for me to let him in. I do so, stuttering through a moan as his hips thrust into me and he paints the contours of my mouth. I find myself with my back flat on one of the bare walls, his hands cupping my jaw, thumbs gently tugging to keep my mouth open to him.
My knees shake as I remember what that tongue and those lips have done to me, and my request, my reason for being here, flutters away as a new need consumes me.
"Peeta?" I whisper as he shifts to kiss my neck. I run my hands down his chest and try to focus. He's not making it easy and it takes a few tries before I get my question out. "What are - oh god, Peeta - what are the odds of there being a - a - fuck stop kissing me for a second! A fire in the next five minutes?"
Slowly, he lifts his head to look at me and I take the chance his respite provides to unbuckle his belt.
"The other team will take it if there is. But I don't exactly have anything with me here at work, Katniss."
I flush at his words, realizing that neither do I since I hadn't planned on jumping him like this when I left my home. We really need to just have a condom on us at all times from now on, but I'll deal with that later. I nod as I unbutton his pants and draw his zipper down. I am determined that if I can't have everything I want right now, at the very least, I want to make him fall apart the way he does to me. I palm him over his shorts and his face contorts with some attempt at control even as he bucks into my touch.
"Let me," I whisper, unable to finish the thought, but I slowly lower myself to crouch close to the ground, leaving his hands hovering in the air. He'll get the idea. "Take off your shirt?"
He does as I ask and I caress over the flat planes of his navel. The muscles there contract under my touch, revealing themselves through his tautened skin. I bite my lip and glance up at him as I tug down his pants and plain grey briefs just enough to free his half-hard cock. I falter for a second, suddenly worried I won't be able to get all of him in my mouth, but I can do this. It can't be too hard, right? Locking my gaze with his, I lick my lips and then tuck my face beneath him, swiping my tongue up his sack and breathing out in relief when he curses reverently and flattens his hands on the wall for support.
"Fuck, Katniss."
I bite his hip, the way he's done to me countless times, and he gasps as I trace the fresh pink marks with my tongue. Surrendering himself to me, he tilts his head back, and even though I'm the one on my knees, I feel a surge of power. He's almost fully erect now, so I grab the base of him, and looking up to gauge his reaction, lick over his slit, tasting the bead of pre-cum that glistens in the harsh fluorescent lighting. His cock jumps in my grip and he contains a moan.
And I want him to feel the way he's made me feel, worshipped and desired, kissed and licked to the brink and then over it into euphoria. So I swirl my tongue around his head, focus right under the ridge after I watch his abs clench in response to a quick suck there. He lowers his chin again, opening his eyes to watch me with heated blue pools hazed over with intensity as I open my mouth wide and swallow as much of him as I can. Peeta doesn't look away as I suck him, keeping my fist tight on him so I know how far I can go before I'll start to gag.
As I start to bob faster, I wobble on my feet, my fist twisting on him. But he thrusts himself into my mouth and grunts in response to the rough touch. I try it again, moving my hand in a twisting pump over him as I continue to suck. The strangled sounds he keeps in his chest emboldens me. I grip his thigh with my other hand to keep my balance as I bob faster over him, and his hips keep moving in time with my mouth. Eventually, I lean back fully against the wall, unable to maintain the pace he seems to need.
"Fuck, ooooh fuck," he whispers, his voice a higher pitch than normal. "You can - fuck, Katniss - you can stop. I can stop."
Unwilling to quit, I pull him with me, humming around him and gripping his thigh tight enough so that he knows. I want him to cum in my mouth. I want to taste his release as he's tasted mine. I want to make Peeta's cock and every last part of him mine and for him to know it too, every time he answers some call for a skank setting her kitchen on fire and hoping for Mr. May to answer. The only fires of desire he'll be handling from now on are mine.
The burning jealousy spurs me on, and as he takes over, thrusting himself into my mouth, I hear the scrape of his nails on the wall, feel the pulse of his vein under my tongue. His face twists in agony as he gets close. He tries to pull back from me but I move my hands and grip his ass, opening my throat and lowering myself a little to elongate my neck, yanking him towards me until I'm caught between him and the wall, until my lips are flush with his body. His knees give out and thud into the wall on either side of me. He quietly groans my name, his semen coating my throat as I swallow each spurt. It's hot and salty and not that appetizing, but the sounds he's making and the look on his face make it worth it.
Curious, I flick my tongue out over his sack and his legs shudder, his hips rotating as a last spurt shoots down my throat. And holy fuck am I wet for him. These panties are ruined, and I don't even care. He's beautiful when he comes, even more so knowing that I did this to him.
Breathing heavily, eyes still locked on mine, he pushes himself off the wall. I let my tongue and teeth drag along his length as he goes and he curses once more before his cock bounces free of my mouth. Leaving one hand on the wall, he grasps his pants to keep them from falling and I wipe the mess from my lips. Peeta staggers back a step before helping me to my feet.
"Your turn," he croaks, and I shake my head, smiling deviously as he tucks himself back in his pants. I pull the spare key to my apartment from my pocket and hold it up for him to see. "What's that?"
"Tomorrow is Saturday. Come sleep in with me after you get off work. And then we can pack a lunch and take that hike."
His gaze darts between me and the key, his hand reaching carefully towards it, as though he's afraid I'll snatch it away. I don't, and he pockets it with a wide smile before crushing me to his chest and kissing the breath out of me. I tangle my hands in his hair and hold on as the world spins around us. I briefly wonder if he can taste himself on me and for some reason, I hope that he can and that it turns him on as much as tasting myself on his lips does me.
Static crackles and a voice announces over a loudspeaker system that dinner is being prepared in the kitchen and anyone with cooking duties tonight needs to get their ass down there now. Peeta sighs against my lips and rests his forehead on mine.
"That would be me. Stay for dinner?" he whispers.
"Are they going to make fun of us?" I ask, hating how scared I sound.
"Without mercy," he admits. "I'll understand if you don't stay."
I feel like a coward, but really, I just met most of them for the first time tonight and I'm not sure I can handle their merciless teasing and scrutiny just yet. Peeta walks me out, pressing one last kiss just below my earlobe and whispering that he'll see me in bed. I don't feel the autumn chill as I walk back home. I'm warmed through and relaxed, which makes my quiet evening reading my book and eating my leftovers go that much faster. Even my sleep is restful.
I dream of the woods and cool leaves floating over me as I bask in the sunshine. They tickle and tease, somehow sensual. Even as I dream, I can feel the urgency of arousal, and as awareness returns, I realize they're not leaves at all but Peeta's rapidly warming lips on my neck. Now this is a wake up call I can appreciate, I think briefly as he lifts his body off mine to remove his shirt and I murmur that it's about time he got here. It's still dark out, so I can't see him well, but I know his voice in the darkness.
"I've been thinking about sucking your pussy all night, Katniss," he whispers as he moves to kneel close to my head, swallowing my soft morning sounds with his mouth as his hand skims over my breasts, down into my panties. My hips lift into his touch, knees falling open for him as his fingers trace my lips and his tongue samples the moans I make. Languid pleasure awakens to his touch. To the echo of his returned moans as I grow wet around his fingers.
When I can hear how turned on I am, he lifts his head. I protest as his fingers leave me, but they do so only so he can shove my panties off my body and for him to reposition himself between my legs. Moonlight catches on his hair, making it gleam and I toy with a few of the locks as he kisses my inner thighs.
"I can't get over the way you sucked my cock last night," he whispers into the delicate skin, his hot breath and hotter words making me shudder. "Only thing better than your mouth on me is your pussy. I kept getting hard after you left. Every time I thought about it. Watching your eyes as you fucking blew my world. Then thinking about the way you squeeze me when you come on my cock. God, Katniss. I want to rail you into the bed right now."
"Peeta, please," I whine, unsure if I'm asking him to shut up and eat or shut up and fuck me.
"Not yet, Katniss. First I'm gonna drink your pussy till you fucking scream my name. I meant it when I said that it's your turn now."
All thoughts are erased as he tugs my hips off the bed and my clit into his mouth. The lingering chill on his skin and the heat underneath it drives me insane with the contrast, but within seconds, it no longer matters. Everything is hot as his tongue devours me. Denied release last night, my body responds to him faster than a backdraft.
My back bows off the bed as my mouth opens, frozen on a silent scream of pleasure. My hands ache as I cling to the sheets beneath me. The rise is too fast and it skips out of reach. But Peeta doesn't relent, rolling us so that I'm straddling his face. I sink down into his mouth and roll my hips, his hands guiding me as he sucks and flicks and I grip his hair because I need to come so bad my clit hurts.
He watches every twitch of my expression, one hand sneaking beneath me, fingers curling inside me and making me scream as I fly apart, throwing my head back and yanking on his hair, pulling his face deeper into me in the hope that his nearness will keep me from disintegrating.
"Peeta," I moan, his name the only thing I can manage as he gently lays me on the bed and rolls over me. My legs writhe as I fight back impending aftershocks, but his fingers, still slick with my release don't let me, gently pumping me as I cry out with each subsequent shock he wrings from my core.
When I'm finally limp, one arm thrown over my eyes, Peeta removes his fingers and kisses my hip before sucking me off his digits. The sounds alone are arousing, but he surprises me. Rather than continuing, he shucks his pants and then pulls the sheets up over us. I'm down to a t-shirt only, but as he tucks us into the blankets and his radiated warmth, I almost instantly fall back into sleep. And if he weren't still there - with my covers pulled up to his nose and one hand tucked between my legs - the next time I wake, I might've thought it was all a dream. But I know now that I'm not letting us go that long without sleeping together again.
