Chapter 3: Married Life as a Miner's Wife

"Hmmm….. Mmm… Huhhh….. Uhhhh….."

My toes curl, my feet scrabbling for purchase on the mattress, as Peeta and I make love in our bed, in the early hours before dawn. We often wake each other in the night to have sex, and I have been taking charge in the bedroom more and more lately.

After all, my libido is driving me crazy. I need and crave the feel of Peeta inside me, and Mother says that an active sex life is healthy, for the baby.

I moan as I feel Peeta's large hands cup the swell of my belly, drumming along the taut skin, before he presses a reverent kiss to my stomach, directly over my navel. I chuckle out a throaty laugh.

"P-Peeta…." and I arch my back fully off the mattress, pushing my hips against his. I spread my legs wide, begging for him.

My husband slowly eases into me, and fucks me slow and tender. Before long, I grow impatient, and slamming him onto his back, I quickly swing my long and creamy legs over his hips as I move to straddle him. I smirk down at my husband, who is gazing at me with awe as I sit astride him, enthroned upon his bulging member.

"You are an evil, evil woman, Katty girl," he hisses with lust.

Smirking, I lean over him to whisper in his ear: "I'm a Seam slut who intends to sleep with her husband. Now be a good little boy and fuck me!"

Hands pressed lightly into his chest, I begin to bounce up and down on him, my bare breasts – devoid of my nightdress now hanging halfway down my chest and the hem bunched up around my hips – glistening with sweat in the gray of dawn. I moan incessantly as Peeta takes me, my cries escaping in metronomic perfect time with the creak of the bedsprings.

"Ugghhh… Hmmmm….. Urrrrr… Peeta….. Peeta….." A particularly vicious slam, and I let out a curse. "Fuck!"

I ride him faster, my yips and squeaks growing louder and louder.

"Ooooooh… Ahhhh….. Ohhhhh….. Ohhhhhhhhhh…." Then I feel my cunt clinch and I squeal. "Peeta!"

I collapse prostrate atop my husband, utterly spent. We pass the next few minutes holding each other, letting our heart rates slow, letting the breeze from the open window (Peeta prefers to sleep with the panes and sash open) cool our sweat-streaked bodies. Finally, I roll off of him, and reluctantly let my husband pad into the shower. I freshen with a bird bath at the sink, my hands wandering to cup the swollen, naturally distended curve of my pregnant stomach.

Peeta and I had never discussed children since we married. This little one is a happy surprise. When I first felt her stirring inside me, I felt a terror as old as life itself. Once again, I had gone back on my word and let myself become careless. I've always been afraid to be a mother: babies meant more mouths to feed. Babies are something to love only to then become something to lose. Lose to the dreaded Reaping of the Hunger Games, where little ones go to die. Peeta had kissed me, kissed away my tears, and told me we would be OK. That I had always been like a mother to Prim, and she had turned out splendidly.

I had never thought of it that way before, and seeing the shining light in my husband's immaculate blue eyes as he took in my changing body had convinced me to keep this baby, and see this pregnancy through, come what may. For I love Peeta, dearly, totally and utterly, and I can deny my love nothing. Not even a child by me. Our child, that we created together.

Dressing quickly in my blue Reaping frock, I pad downstairs to the little kitchenette and set about cooking breakfast, fixing Peeta's lunch. Every once in a while, I glance at the clock, biting my lip.

He shouldn't be doing this. He wouldn't be risking his life if he hadn't agreed to marry me.

Peeta's mother disowned him when we married. The morning after our wedding night, where we had spent hours upon hours making love, Peeta had left our bed to hike across the district to lug all his stuff dumped on the bakery's front porch. A note had accompanied his things telling him to enjoy poverty with his little Seam whore. I had been shocked and hurt and angry for him, even if I had half-anticipated it. Peeta had taken it much more stoically than I had imagined, telling me that as the youngest of three sons, his odds of inheriting the Bakery from his father outright would have been minimal even if he and I hadn't Toasted the bread. Merchant businesses are traditionally passed down to the eldest boy, the first in line, unless of course he happens to marry into another Merchant family's business, whereupon the inheritance would simply transfer over to the next oldest son. I know Peeta's oldest brother is married to the Town undertaker, but the middle brother – Rye, I believe his name is – remains single, as far as we know. My husband only sees his father and brothers sporadically; he hasn't seen or spoken to his mother at all since the day of our wedding.

I quiver in unexpected delight as I feel Peeta's arms encircle me from behind. His lips press a kiss into my neck. "Hmmmm…"

"I love this dress on you," he breathes huskily. "It makes you look so domestic and sexy…."

I twitter out a laugh and spin about in his arms, draping my arms languidly about his neck, my pregnant belly nestled between us. Playing with the nape of his neck, I sigh. "I wish you didn't have to go…."

"Katty…."

"A baker as talented as you deserves to be baking bread, not mining for ore!" I shift in his embrace to finish fixing his lunch.

"I don't care what I do, so long as I get to be with you – both of you…." His strong palms cup the curve in my stomach, and I smile weakly. Even as my eyes threaten tears. This is why I didn't want to get married when I was a little girl. The thought of losing Peeta to a collapse like my mother lost my father leaves a gaping hole in my chest. Just the imagining of it can leave me short of breath.

I finish packing my husband's lunch, and then take the cooked eggs off the skillet. We eat breakfast together in intimate companionship, Peeta encouraging me to go hunting while I still can, before the baby comes.

As I watch, Peeta shrugs on his coat and I step into him to straighten his lapel.

"See you tonight…" Peeta stoops to kiss my lips once chastely, very gently.

"OK." He turns away. "Wait!" Spinning him back around, I reach up and wind my arms about his neck, mashing my lips to his in another kiss, deeper and passionate. When we finally break apart, I smile sheepishly.

"That's for me not thinking fast." I had been a little groggy when Peeta's lips woke me up this morning to make love.

Peeta looks in awe of me. "Please never think fast again."

"I'll try my hardest!" I laugh. "…. I love you."

"I love you too." We kiss again, a light peck, and I watch from our ramshackle front porch as Peeta strides off along the dusty street towards the mines.

It is after dark, our supper of rabbit stew boiling and nearly ready to be put on the table, when I finally hear heavy work boots ascending the porch steps. At the knock, I smooth down my blue skirts and cross to the door, lifting the latch.

My husband has been working in the shafts for a couple of months now, but even so, I will never not be shocked at the sight of him when he returns home from work. Taking in the haggard figure, blackened with soot, I draw back, both hands going to my mouth to stifle the gasp.

"Katty…. It's me." Peeta, in blackface, steps close and comfortingly takes my hand.

Shaking in relief that he has come home to me, alive to mine another day, I let my fingers rummage across the planes of his chest, play with the nape of his neck; his golden curls are now gray from the soot, like he has aged forty years in mere hours. Only when my irises shift to gaze into his eyes…. eyes as blue as a summer sky… do I allow myself to breathe.

"It is you!" And we embrace, holding each other close before I tilt my head and happily allow my husband to kiss me. And just for that moment, I have no more doubts. I may fear for him, I may feel sad for him that he had to give his family up to be with me, but I will never regret marrying him. After all, Peeta says we will be OK – we'll have each other. There is only Peeta, my husband, the man I married, the man I love, and my swollen belly cocooning our unborn little one nestled between us.