Chapter 23

TOVA

Letting the perfect spiral curl fall away from the steel of my curling wand, I set the device down and gently coax the wave into place.

"Wow," comes Jeromy's voice across the expanse of the bathroom behind me. My eyes travel to space behind me in the mirror to find him leaning lazily against the door jam. I smile at his reflection and grab a can of hairspray. "Yeah, you think so?" I ask spritzing the curl.

He squints at my reflection, "It's very: "I'm not trying- I'm just this beautiful," he smirks.

I spin around to face him, an eyebrow raised. He doesn't sound very sincere. "You're one to talk. Didn't you spend like two hours getting all gussed up for your last date?"

He snorts. "Yeah, and you see how well that turned out!"

I turn back to the mirror and study myself. I've pulled my long hair up into a high ponytail, adding a few waves. My make-up is light and summery with the perfect nude lipstick on my lips. My sundress, dotted in faded sunflowers, is casual with a lived-in kind of look about it. My only jewelry is a delicate rose gold heart pendant that Jeromy gave me on my last birthday. I've put a ridiculous amount thought to each piece I've chosen, and now this? "What?" I ask, eyeing my friend.

Jeromy saunters up behind me and putting his hands on my shoulders. "Who are you trying to be?" he asks gently.

I look into his eyes via the mirror and sigh. "I'm trying to look like a girl who's not hanging every single one of her hopes on one date," I admit.

He chuckles and kisses my shoulder. "But this isn't you," he says into my ear. Reaching up, he grabs my hair tie and pulls it free. Running his finger through my hair, he loosens it so it falls around my face and down my back. Then reaching into my makeup case he pulls out my favorite eyeshadow pallet. He hands it to me. "Show off those green beauties," He says.

I take the makeup in hand and stare at him. "Jeromy, he's a not like the men here. He's a district boy," I attempt to argue.

He smiles, "But you're a girl who dreams only of glamour and fashion, be who you are," he says. "Now get to work, I'll be right back," he demands giving my hip a squeeze. He disappears out of the door and I'm left staring at myself.

I shrug and snap open the lid. Grabbing a brush, I dip it into my favorite golden-green shade of shadow and get to work. A few minutes later Jeromy reappears with a dress in one hand a pair of strappy heels in the other. He eyes my work in the mirror. Tossing the dress onto a nearby chair, he places a hand on my arm and turns me to face him. "Much better," he smiles apparently pleased with my more glammed-up eye make-up look. "Now, get changed," he says handing me the heels. He's about to turn for the door when he pauses. He glances down at the pendant hanging around my neck on its delicate chain. He picks it up between his thumb and forefinger and studies it. I bring my hand up and cover his, "This stays," I state clearly. His eyes lock with mine. "I need to take a piece of you with me to keep me calm," I admit.

His face splits in a brilliant smile. I reach up and place a kiss to his cheek. "I love you Jer," I tell him.

"And you're my girl, you know that," He says running a thumb over my cheek.

I feel tears threatening the back of my eyes and I clear my throat. "You better get out of here before I make a mess of my makeup," I warn.

He laughs and turns for the door. "Don't dilly dally, it's almost time."

The sound of the door latching causes my heart to speed up on my chest. I have a date with Peeta. I've dreamt of this but figured it would never happen. Buts then he kissed me. An honest to goodness kiss…actually a number of them. I feel my face flush at the memory. He's an excellent kisser. The thought of his lips against mine sends a shiver down my spine and I close my eyes. Butterflies fill my stomach. I'm nervous. I'm not some young fangirl who thinks this is the start of a lifelong love story; I'm a realist. I know Peeta's heart still has to be won. This date is just a door. One single door that he's opened. I can see that he's still trying to decide if he wants to step through it. Tears prick again. Oh, how I want him to choose to walk through it. I sniff and fan at my eyes trying to dry up the tears.

"Tick tock girly," I hear through the door.

I let out a breath, and pull myself together. "Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it," I toss back as I slip out my dress and grab the other. Jeromy's picked out another sundress. It's white, with a large purple watercolor flower print on it. I slip it on. It's feminine but not girly, with ruffles crisscrossing the bust. "And it's short," I mumble tugging on the much higher hemline. Grabbing the heels, I leave the bathroom. I march into the sitting room and find Jeromy lounging, a book in hand. He looks up and whistles. I roll my eyes. "Thanks, but don't you think this is a bit much?" I ask waving a hand at the expanse of my bare legs.

He laughs. "Ummm, I'm going with no," he drawls.

My hand goes to my hip and my head tilts.

"Trust me, this is it. Guys are visual, he'll love it," he winks.

I glance down at the dress and my legs. They do look good. "But, isn't a bit much for a day date?" I ask, still feeling insecure.

This earns me an eye roll. "This is about the boy, not the dress," he lectures. "On any given Sunday you'd wear that out to brunch with your friends," he points out.

I bite my lip and flop down next to him. He's of course right. "Fine," I yield. I reach down and pull on the strappy heeled sandals he picked out. The weight of his hand settles on my back.

"Try to relax," he says softly.

Shoving the last strap though its loop, I sit back. "I'm trying," I grumble.

"I know, but you're getting in your own way," he says.

I nod and take a few deep breaths, letting out the last one slowly.

"Better?" he asks, a smile in his eyes.

I shrug and stand up. "Only one way to find out," I respond grabbing my purse. I head for the door. "I'm going to wait outside, maybe the fresh air will help," I say pulling open the door.

"Hey Tov," Jeromy, calls. I turn to look at him. "You just need to be yourself. That's who he's interested in," he says.

I smile back at my friend. What would I do without him?

Laying back on my elbow with my face turned skyward, I soak in the warmth of early morning sun. My respite out here on the stoop has helped me to center my thoughts and calm my nerves. I love living in a city, but a small piece of me misses the rural life I grew up in. We spent all day outside in the summer. Granted we were working dawn to dusk hanging dyed fabrics out to dry, but I do sometimes miss the smell of morning with its dew is still wet on the grass and the flowers just waking up and reaching for the sun. I take in a deep breath and search for the scents I'm longing for, but they aren't there. The sunshine will have to do. When I hear the sound of footsteps approaching, I open my eyes and spot my date. I watch him for a moment as his eyes scan up my legs to my face. Thanks Jer, I think, a smile pulling at my face. Peeta's eyes link with mine but flick down momentarily to my legs for a second look before truly focusing on me.

"Good Morning," he says, his teeth flashing through his smile.

I pull myself up from the stoop and stand on the bottom step. The height it gives me puts me nearly eye to eye with him. "Good morning," I return. Without thinking my eyes drop to his lips, but I catch myself and blush. Kiss me, I think, remembering the day before. Thankfully he doesn't require any prompting, he leans in and gently presses his lips to mine. I want to sigh but hold it back.

"How did you sleep?" he asks.

I bite my lip. "Not great," I tell him. His eyebrows arch in concern. I place a hand on his cheek, "Just too excited about today is all," I confess. This makes his eyes sparkle.

"So, what's the plan?" he asks taking my hand.

My palm quickly warms in his larger one. I take you upstairs and find out all of your measurements. I think, but actually manage to say, "The bookstore, right?"

"We walking or taking a car?" he asks, clearly unaware of my internal battle.

"It's just a few blocks away," I tell him, shaking off the naughty images my brain keeps serving up.

He glances around and I remember the media that was parked out front of my building yesterday. "It's in a residential neighborhood, I doubt the press would look there," I explain. "But whatever you're comfortable with is fine by me."

"My walk here was reporter-free," he says showing me a map. I take a look. Whoever designed this path knows the Capitol well.

"The blocks between here and there are pretty much the same as those you took to get here," I confirm.

He nods and tucks my hand in his elbow. "Let's walk then."

We head off down the block, the sun at our backs, leaves rustling in the breeze overhead.

"So how long did it take you to get here?" I ask, handing him back the map.

"Little over an hour."

"Wow, I don't think I've walked that far in months," I exclaim.

"You ride everywhere?" he asks, a little surprised.

I shrug. "I tend to oversleep, so yes," I admit. He chuckles. "But since I don't have a car, I take the public transport," I explain.

"Did it take you a while to get used to it?" he asks? "I mean I assume you didn't have much in the way of transportation back home," he explains.

"At first, yeah, I guess. But at the time I was just so excited to be here it seemed like more of novelty. It strange I quickly you adapt though," I say, my voice going a little hollow.
He nods but doesn't press me on the subject, especially after our recent talk about the circumstance surrounding my arrival here. "Well, I can't seem to adapt, I keep opening my own car doors. I think my driver might punch me if I don't stop," he chuckles.

I laugh along. "I don't think many people would be willing to take you on. You are after all victor, and that isn't someone most people want to tangle with," I point out, but then regret the choice of words.

He doesn't seem to mind because he just shrugs, "I guess that is a valid point."

Silence falls between us for a moment.

"So, how is your fall collection coming along," he asks as we cross the street.

I lift my surprised face to his. "You know what that is and that I have one?" I ask astonished.

He laughs full out. "No, not really, but Effie said it has to do with the clothing you design," he says sheepishly.

I toss my head back and laugh. "Wow, doing your research Mr. Mellark, I'm impressed!"

The remainder of our walk is spent discussing the Fall Fashion shows and my current collection. For Peeta's part, he asks surprisingly insightful questions and truly seems inserted in hearing about this very important part of my life.

The door chimes as we enter the garden level bookstore. From the street, most people would miss this jewel of a store. Tucked away on the bottom level of an apartment building, the only signage that a store exists a small neon sign of an open book in the front window.

Through a curtain at the back of the room, Cyrus appears. His aged face splits into a huge grin when he spots me. "TOVA," he exclaims, rushing to me for a bone-crushing hug. I squeeze the bear of man tightly I return and place a quick peck to his weathered cheek. Taking a step back I give the man a once over. Dress simply in jeans and a button-up flannel shirt he's the picture of a working man from my home district. "How's Bella," I ask after his daughter who is also one of my dear friends in school in Eight.

"She's wonderful, got engaged last month," he exclaims.

"Oh, that's wonderful! Make sure to tell her that I'll be watching the mail for my invite," I tease.

He grins, "Oh, I'm sure she has a whole list of duty's for you and Jeromy both."

I turn to Peeta and take his hand. "Cyrus, I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine," I smile. Cyrus turns to Peeta and stares at him for a long moment. From the look on his face, I can tell he's trying to puzzle out why he recognizes him. Cyrus was furiously anti-games. I can't actually remember a single year in which he didn't spend at least a few days in the stocks for refusing to watch. I'm sure the only reason he even recognizes Peeta is because of all the propaganda that inundated the districts during the war.

"Cyrus, please meet Peeta Mellark. Peeta, Cyrus Milton. A friend from back home," I say in way of an introduction.

At the mention of Peeta's name his face lights with recognition. He immediately takes Peeta's hand in a solid handshake. "Thank you for your service to your country young man," he states in greeting.
Peeta returns his shake as his eyes sweep the bookshelves and cases around the perimeter of the room. "Thanks," he says distractedly.

Cyrus snorts, "Nothin' like this in the districts, am I right?" he asks knowingly. Peeta shakes his head. "So, know what tickles this young ladies fancy," he says pointing at the back of the room to the table covered in books and media chips, "But what you looking for?" he asks.

Peeta's eyes return from the journey around the room and back to the bearded man in front of him. "I was hoping to read more about an old president, Abraham Lincoln?" he asks.
Cyrus smiles, "Well there are a few different genres to choose from regarding him, let me show you," he says, placing a hand on Peeta's back and guiding him towards the entrance. As they weave their way through the store, Peeta looks back at me with a look of apology. I just chuckle and wave him on.

I head over to the small table in the corner under the sign "Recently Added." I spend a couple of minutes pursuing the options before selecting a book with an interesting cover and settle into an overstuffed armchair. I flip the cover open and lift the book to my nose. I love the smell of old books. I flip to the first chapter and make a valiant attempt to start reading, but my eyes can't seem to focus on the words. In their defense why would they want to look at little black letters when they could be looking at Peeta Mellark. I sigh to myself as I take him in. Tall and lean but still muscular, he's the definition of manly. And handsome doesn't seem to be the right word to describe his face. With his fine Grecian nose, welcoming smile and clear blue eyes, I have no doubt that he could land a job as a clothing model here in the Capitol. Not that he would ever consider such a thing, he's too down to earth and genuine for that business, but he defiantly has to looks for it. I watch as he and Cyrus pick through books and media chips, Peeta's pile of items growing as they talk. Before long, the two of them move over to another shelf where Cyrus plucks a very old looking hardcover book off the shelf and hands to him. Peeta gingerly opens the cover and begins flipping through it, stopping briefly to study something on the pages. I smile to myself. He seems to love these old books as much as I do. Then as if he can feel my eyes on him, he looks up and catches me staring. He smiles and winks. I flush and bite my bottom lip, embarrassed I've been caught ogling him. To cover, I stand and put the book in my hands back on the table and begin picking through the offering once again.

I somehow manage to focus on the task at hand and I'm soon engrossed in piles. After much inner debate, I finally select a book called Little Woman and movie by the same title. When a hand grazes down my back, I startle. Looking up, I find a crystal blue set of eyes looking back at me.

"Finding anything good?" he asks.

I nod and show him the book, the whole time feeling very distracted by how closely he's standing next to me.

"And that?" he asks, nodding at the media chip in my other hand. I shake my head and come out of my trance. "Uh, a movie by the same title," I tell him. "I like to read the book and watch the movie. I like to see how the adaptation is done. And the clothing is always interesting," I smile. I take a tiny step closer to him and ask, "Did you find what you were looking for?" He stares at me a moment, seeming to ponder the question. "I don't know…." He mummers under his breath, but then seems to catch himself. "I mean yes, I just don't know how I'm going to get it all back to my hotel," he laughs tossing his head towards the counter where a large stack of books and chips are piled.

"I'm sure we can arrange something," I chuckle. We head over to register and I ask Cyrus about delivery options. He agrees to have them delivered to where Peeta's staying as long as tomorrow is okay because his delivery guy is out for the day. Peeta agrees and Cyrus disappears behind the curtain to get a box for Peeta's books. While we wait, I look at the offerings in my hands. The truth is I can't afford both right now. The city doesn't pay me for my stylist work till next week and rent is due before that, so I need to decide which I want to take home today. As I debate the pro's and con's of each item, Cyrus returns and begins packing Peeta's box.

"Hey, I think I'll take that one with me today," Peeta says, pulling me from my internal conflict. It's the old book I saw him studying earlier. Now up close I can see it's a book called, Native Plants of West Virginia.

"What's a West Virginia?" I ask curiously.

Peeta carefully takes the book from Cyrus. "Apparently it was the name District 12 went by when Panem was called the United States," he says, smiling down at the tome.

"Oh, I think I read about that. There were a bunch of different districts then, they called them states," I recall.

Peeta nods, "I thought Katniss might like this. She still does a lot of forging and we started a garden this summer; this book talks a lot about edible plants and how to grow them," he says running is fingers over the cover.

My eyes follow fingers as he delicately touches the cover as if it's a holy text. I feel a ping of jealousy prick at my stomach. I push it away. They're good friends. It's nice of him to think of her, I tell myself. Cyrus has finished packing up the rest of the books and is adding up the total. I look back down at the items in my hands and decided on the book. "Hey Cyrus, I think I'm going with just the book. Do you want me to put the chip back or are you going to yell at me again for doing your job?" I tease. Cyrus gives me a look of disapproval for even suggesting restocking my own item and holds out his hand. I give him my best smile and hand it to him. Peeta watches the encounter, a look on his face I can't quite put my finger on it.

"Put that on my tab too," Peeta says, as he plucks the book from my hand. "And this," he says handing it over as well. "We'll take those to go too," he instructs. Cyrus nods and continues ringing.

My mouth drops open. "Peeta, you don't need to do that," I say, reaching for the book and chip.

Peeta grabs my hand and places a quick kiss to the back of it. "I want to," he says giving me a winning smile.

My face heats and I worry my bottom lip with my teeth. "Thank you," I say, then lean and place a peck on his cheek.

He squeezes my hand. "My pleasure," he smiles.

Cyrus clears his throat, interrupting the moment. Peeta's eyes fly to the man as he shuffles on his feet.

"Thank you, Cyrus," he says holding out his hand. My old friend grabs it and gives it a solid shake. "Very nice to serve you. I'll call you if the items you asked about come in," he says. Then before letting go, pulls Peeta in a bit, "And be good this one, okay," he whispers conspiratorially.

Peeta's face reddens a bit but he smiles and the two us bid our farewells and head out the door.

Our trip back to my apartment is spent discussing what snacks to make for our viewing of my new movie. We finally decided on popcorn and some chocolates I have stashed away for this very kind of thing.

When we finally barge through the front door, I expect to find Jeromy lounging on the couch, edger to not only see how things are going but to partake in whatever treasure I brought home with me. I toss my purse on to a table by the door and start pulling my shoes off as Peeta follows me in.

"I'll get the popcorn started," I say, padding off toward the kitchen. "Jer?" I call out, as I dig under the sink for my "popcorn" pot.

Peeta trails after me into the kitchen. "Looks like he left a note," he says handing me a folded piece a paper with my name scribbled across it in my best friends messy scrawl. I flip it open:
"Dad called, I'm needed at the office. See you tonight. Jer"

I stare at the paper reading concise words twice. I know this is a lie. Jeromy's dad is a stickler for details and is full of demands from his son, but he also NEVER gives up his day off, which happens to be today. I bite back a smile. Thanks Jer I think as I watch Peeta checking out my popcorn pot. I slide the note into a drawer and reach for the canister of popcorn kernels and a bottle of vegetable oil on the counter in front of me. I join Peeta at the stove. I hand him the popcorn as I cover the bottom of the pan with oil and click on the flame.

"Doesn't the Capitol have some fancy way to cook popcorn," he smirks.

"Yep, but it tastes terrible," I groan.

We stand for a moment, listening to the oil as it begins to crackle in the pan behind me. My heart is racing. "So…uahhh," I stammer, reaching for the fridge door, "Please tell me you like butter on your popcorn," I say, busying myself with pulling out a stick.

He shrugs, "No clue," he says.

My hand freezes as it reaches for a bowl in which I can melt a few tablespoons of the stuff. "You have to be kidding me?" I say in awe.

He shakes his head. "Nope. Butter was strictly for the baked good when I was growing up. We salted it though," he adds.

"You never had it when you were…um…" I stumble, realizing I'm kind walked into a minefield by bringing up his time here as a tribute and victor.

He snorts. "It's okay," he says rubbing my arm. "My past is my past, there is no way we can avoid the topic completely."

I bite lip, as I always do when I'm nervous. "Okay," I say grabbing the bowl I was after.

"And to answer your question, no, I didn't get any buttery popcorn when I was here. Believe it or not, Snow didn't make a single batch, despite all the movies he showed me while I was his special guest," he says sarcastically.

I burst out laughing. "How inconsiderate of him!"

He lifts the lid of the pot and deposits the kernels. "Right? I know," he laughs.

I take the now melted bowl of butter out of the microwave and set it down. "Can you reach that bowl," I ask, pointing out a large teal bowl on a shelf above the stove. I reach for it and I work on shaking the pot. When the first kernel pings off the lid we both grin. Before long the popcorn is popped and I'm dumping it into the bowl and dowsing it with butter and salt.

I unceremoniously hand him the bowl of popcorn. "Um, this may be odd, our only TV and video player is hooked up in my room," I tell him nodding at towards my door.

"You don't say," he says wiggling his eyebrows at me. The gesture is silly and I know meant to put me at ease, so I laugh. "That's fine," he adds, sounding more serious.
"I'll get the movie. Go get comfy," I say, shoving him in the direction of my room. He does as directed and disappears down the hall. I nearly run to the living room to grab the movie from my purse than on my way to join him, I stop only briefly so I can snatch a bottle of wine and two glasses from our liquor cabinet.

I bounce into the room and find him arranging himself on the end of the bed. I suddenly realize what a truly foolish idea this is. I swallow the lump in my throat and make a packet with myself, You will keep your hands to yourself…unless he isn't keeping his to himself of course, I think smirking. Shuffling over to the TV and player I flip them on. Sticking the media chip in, I pad over to the bed. I hand Peeta a glass and sit down next to him. He trades me the popcorn bowl for the wine bottle and starts working to uncork it as the opening credits begin to play.

The cork dispatched he holds the bottle up to me, "Cup," he says. I hold my glass out and he fills it up halfway then fills his own. I watch as he takes a long drink. Is he nervous? I wonder. I look down at my own cup and realize my hand is shaking. At lease you're not alone. I think, taking an equally long swig.

Our eyes go to the TV and we watch in silence. Despite my preoccupation with my movie companion, I can't help but be taken in by the clothing. Voluminous dresses, shawls, and quaint hats. All foreign to me, all captivating. "Wow," I mumble blindly grabbing for popcorn, the bowl still in my lap.

"Why would someone wear something like that?" he wonders aloud.

"Because it's fabulous," I breathe, my eyes locked on the screen.

I feel his hand dip into the popcorn bowl and soon hear muffled crunching. "But wouldn't all that cloth get wet after being drug around in the snow?" he asks around his bite.

I shrug. "I've worn some impractical things in my time. A girls gotta look good," I offer.

He snorts and grabs another handful of popcorn. "I was told there would be chocolate," he says playfully.

I pull my eyes from the screen, "You're right!" I exclaim and jump up. I go over to my dresser and pull open the top drawer to retrieve the golden box. Hoping up on the bed, I hand it to him.
He squints at me. "Why was this in a drawer in your room?" he laughs as he lifts the lid of the box.

I mindlessly sip on my wine. "Jeromy told me to hide it from him. Something about fat content and a diet. I'd listen closely, I just know I get to keep chocolates," I explain, smiling.

"I have to say that a bureau drawer isn't a very secure hiding place," he points out, draining what's left in his wine glass.

I snag a chocolate. "Actually, it is. You see that is my lingerie drawer and Jeromy is squeamish about being around ladies' underthings," I laugh. "Won't even move my laundry basket if he can see them in there!"

Peeta's eyes spark at the explanation. He stares at me a moment and can see him working a kernel out of his teeth with his tongue. Seemingly finished, he leans in close to me, "Just so you know, he's definitely gay," he says through a sexy smile.

My heart speeds up, and the world around us seems to disappear. It's just him and I. It's only when the chocolate between my fingers snaps and caramel starts oozing out onto my fingers that things come back onto focus. I look down at the mess, "Oops," I mutter and quickly toss the candy into my mouth.

Peeta watches me closely for a second, before leaning in. Inches from my lips he asks, "Now it's not nice to eat chocolates in front of someone unless you have enough to share," he says, his voice raspy.
I stare into his blue eyes and blindly reach to take a candy from the box. I move back a fraction and offer it to him. He smiles and takes it from my fingers but places it back in the box. "I had another option in mind," he says pulling me forward and covering my mouth with his. He kisses me deeply, his tongue sweeping over my lips and then sliding in alongside my own. Our kiss mixes with the chocolate and caramel I've just eaten and the whole experience sends my head spinning. I sigh and lean into the kiss as my caramel covered fingertips slip easily into his hair. I feel him move closer to me, then his hand sliding across my hip to my lower back. With his palm flat, he pulls me even closer to him. I happily oblige. Slowly, he slides his hand on my back up into my hair and tangles his fingers in my curls. The sensation of his fingertips against my neck causes me to shiver. He chuckles deep in his chest then slides his mouth across my jaw and to my earlobe. I tilt my head to the right, giving him full access. His gentle nibbles drive me insane. I release my hold on his hair and slide my fingers down to traces patterns onto his jaw and neck. I feel him tense as my hand continues it's journey to his chest. Now on the expanse of his strong chest, I send my fingers to off to find hard muscles of his well-defined pecs through his t-shirt. When his lips move to my neck, I have to bite my lip to contain my appreciation. His mixture of soft kisses with the tiniest of nibbles set my nerve endings ablaze. I exploration of him, is just beginning, so I let my hand slip further down his chest, just grazing his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. He suddenly stops, pulling away from the admiration he had been giving my neck. He doesn't move far, just enough that I can see his face. His pupils are large, and his eyes are shining with want, but his head is shaking no.

"Tova," he breathes out softly. "I…I want to be sure we're on the same page," he says, sounding nervous. "I don't want more than this…not right now…I mean…ummm…. you're beautiful and sweet but…I'm not…" he stammers, clearly lost for the right words.

My heart thuds a little in disappointment but then I remember the door. The one door he's opened. I have to let him walk through it on his own. I smile up at him. "Of course, Peeta, that's totally fine," I say laying a hand along his jaw. He looks relieved and seems to relax a bit. "I mean, any girl kissing you is lucky enough," I wink. He rolls his eyes and I give his stomach a poke, and he looks at me. "I mean it, you're one hell of a kisser," I croon. This complement earns me a shy smile and the return of his lips to mine. This time it's my turn to explore his neck. I slowly kiss my way across his jaw, the rasp of his stubble against my tongue. I work my way down until I hit my target. With tiny kisses, I trace the plains of his neck. Even here he has muscles. They are firm and smooth. I let my tongue taste one, and I feel him quiver. Bullseye Using the tip of my tongue I create patterns across his skin. I fell a hand that had been resting at my waist, find its way down to graze the skin of my right thigh. At first, the touch is hesitant, but when I sigh in pleasure at the contact, he is emboldened. Soon he is caressing the skin gently with his fingertips. I set back to work on his neck. My nips slowly becoming bolder and soon I take my first true bite, gentle but wanting.

He groans and a sound escapes from his lips, it sounds like the first letter of a word.

Tonight, when I lie awake in this very bed, I will spend hours debate with myself if the sound was that of a T or a K, my heart fearing the later.