Chapter 4: If We Get Married
The bell tinkles as I march into the Bakery one morning in early spring, nearly three years after my sister's death. I dump my game bag onto the counter, avoiding looking Peeta in the eye and not bothering to pull out the squirrel carcass that partially spills out of the burlap. The Witch eyes it distastefully yet grudgingly for a moment, lifting her eyes to lock with mine. She stares at me blankly, opening her mouth to speak:
"He split a bag of grain last week staring after you."
I smirk involuntarily, in spite of the fact that my stomach clenches in fear at the same time. Fear for her son, whom, Panem help me, I love.
"I wish you'd just put him out of his misery and tell him he has no chance."
The tray of pastries Peeta is carrying clatters to the floor as he hears his mother's voice through the kitchen door, entering the bakery's kitchen a moment later. He and I look at each other, and I glance away.
"Two squirrels," I dump them on the table, graciously refusing to acknowledge the Witch's comments.
Peeta's mother can be mean when she's trying to make a point. Cruel to be kind; she'll insist it's in his best interest. She is blunt and practical and has no time for things like the idea of being in love, especially when it clearly makes her son so distracted he ruins a morning's worth of cheese buns.
Peeta's eyes are fixed on the tray in his hands, his cheeks burning. Mercilessly, his mother continues.
"I've told him you wouldn't look twice at him. If you were interested, you would have said so."
Peeta drops the salvaged pastries again. His mother tuts. I brush past her and kneel to help him pick them up. My hand bumps against his and I dare to squeeze his fingers in sympathy. He looks away quickly, getting up awkwardly, and turning to the sink, his back to us both. I can tell from his body language that he wants to die of shame. I hope it isn't over me.
"He wants to keep his mind on his work, not in his underpants."
A dish slips from Peeta's nervous hands and smashes to pieces.
"Clumsy idiot!" the Witch shouts, whipping around.
It is absurd to see a tiny old woman grab a strong, grown man by the ear and watch his steady eyes turn as frightened as a little boy's.
"Breaking our china? You'll go hungry tonight to pay for that, you clumsy fool!" Mrs. Mellark shakes him roughly, her hand drawing back to whack him.
THUNK
Mrs Mellark gasps, her hand frozen mid-strike as the bread knife sails past an inch from her face and lodges in the wooden drying rack.
I see Peeta look across the room at me, in amazed awe, but I don't acknowledge it. All I can see is red, as I glower at his mother like a lioness.
"Don't touch him," my voice is low and dangerous.
It's completely unnerving for me to see Peeta's mother scared of someone, and I'm sure it must be the same for my love, too. Still, I don't stop glaring at her until Mrs. Mellark leaves the kitchen, muttering "Seam brat…as daft as each other" angrily.
"Next time I won't miss," I call to her retreating back as the door slams.
I catch Peeta's eye. Without warning, we both start laughing uncontrollably. Our bellies shake so deep they hurt. I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard.
I cross in front of Peeta to pull the knife out of the drying rack. The moment I touch it, our laughter starts over again. Wiping away tears and grinning, I turn to my sweetheart with shining eyes.
Peeta's hand twitches out involuntarily to brush my hair out of her eyes. Our laughter fades to catching breath. I lean into him. My hands find his chest.
Suddenly we are kissing, in full view of the bakery window, with all the passion of that recent night in this very building. And in between the soft, frenzied pecks, all the warmth of our laughter is still bubbling in us. My hand finds his.
"Come on," I drag him with purpose to the back door, and I know he would have followed me anyway.
"I don't want her coming back in," I explain huskily as I press him up against the outside brick stove, just kiddy-cornered off the loading dock.
I melt up into his mouth, soft and compliant against him. I taste the bread in the air mixed with Peeta's warmth and my own earthy taste, as Peeta's tongue swishes around my lips and I petal them open willingly, granting him access. My hands grip his broad shoulders and his grab my hips then sweep up my back, clutching at me as though he's afraid he might wake up at any moment. He presses kisses along my jaw, my neck, into my hair, covering every part of me he can reach with love. My eyelids are heavy and droopy at his attentions, my lips slightly parted and waiting until I feel his seal over mine again.
"If we get married, you can't ever tell me what to do."
Peeta freezes, his mouth hung open, mid kiss. My grey eyes sparkle and I rest my forehead against his and play with his buttons. My dearest is still slack-jawed, his expression conveying crystal-clear disbelief. The silent question he asks is loud as a foghorn in my mind. What did you just say?
"And I won't have children. Not as long as there are still Hunger Games. I'll hunt whenever I want. And I can't promise I'll be civil to your mother."
Peeta is trying to do anything but stare at me in wonder. Fails. He's been uncharacteristically silent for way too long, and a little panic creeps into my countenance. I've delivered my terms for this marriage with such sincerity. And Peeta has never intentionally wanted me to feel unsure, ever, so he finds his voice.
"OK," is all that comes. Soft, uncertain, hardly daring to smile.
"OK," I reply, drawing his face down to kiss him impossibly tenderly, like he were even more delicate than Prim.
"Go on then - ask me," I whisper. My eyes meet his evenly so he knows that I am really serious this time. And best of all, not at all afraid.
"Ask you?" I cover his hands on my hips with my own to still their trembling.
"Ask me to marry you. Propose," I dip my head shyly. I can't imagine what he's waiting for.
Peeta cradles my small, strong hands between his own, between our bodies. He kneels.
"Will you marry me, Katniss?"
"Yes," I smile hesitantly down at him, the question in my eyes: if you want me to.
And then he is kissing me and kissing me, and I feel like I'll explode with happiness.
"You really will?" he draws back in wonderment, as though he has to keep checking.
"Yes. I will, Peeta," I roll my eyes, grinning, running my fingers through his hair indulgently.
"You'll be my wife," the disbelief is still there in his voice. I'm smiling and my eyes are bright and more open to him than they've ever been and how could I have gotten so lucky? Peeta obviously cannot believe our good fortune either. No doubt he'll work on changing my mind about children later, and we'll talk about it, but for now I never thought we would make it to even here.
"I'll take care of you," he strokes my cheek.
"I know you will," my eyes are soft, "I'll take care of you too." A slight pause as I bite my lip.
"I'm not like other girls," I frown. "Are you sure you want that?"
"Yes," he answers immediately, kissing my frown away. "I want you more than anything."
"There's something I haven't told you," I look down at my hands.
"What is it?" Apprehension is still in his voice, as though he is terrified I will disappear.
I finger his buttons again and then mumble out in a whisper.
"I love you. More than anyone." Truer words I've never spoken, and I almost cry at the sincerity of it, of the stirrings those three little words cause in my heart.
Peeta puts one of my hands over his hammering heart.
"Me too. Katniss, I love you so much," he breathes, like he's savoring my words. We kiss lightly again. "I've loved you as long as I can remember." Of course I already know that, but he clearly feels good in saying this to me. To watch my eyes widen and soften as I look up at him, exhale against his Adam's apple when I hear it.
My eyes brim with tears. "Thank you," I smile.
"For what?" he fingers my long braid, obviously relishing the thought that once I'm his wife he'll get to touch my braid whenever he likes the look of it (which is no doubt always).
"For loving me so much. For being such a good man."
"I…" but I cut him off with a deep kiss and nothing else matters now, not in this moment and not in the whole of Panem, and there's time to kiss a little more against the cool bricks and then a wedding to plan tomorrow.
Merchant weddings usually involve a lot of guests coming to the home of the groom's or bride's parents for cake. Seam marriages are generally celebrated with only a small shared meal between the two families and maybe a couple of close friends. All that's legally required is a trip to the Justice Building to sign some papers, but no one in District 12 really feels married without a Toasting, when the newly married couple builds a fire together in their new home and toasts a bit of bread. It's an ancient ritual, passed down through the generations, one of the few that remain from before the Dark Days.
Peeta is a Merchant down deep, and a baker at heart, so I don't try to dissuade him of his plans for a grand cake to share with the community. Unlike a Merchant wedding however, he opines that we celebrate in our Meadow.
We set a date for two Sundays hence. Sunday is the only day the mines are closed, and many of our friends and the people that Peeta has gotten close to in the Hob are miners.
Rye and Leven are thrilled for their little brother. Leven volunteers to help with the cake, while Rye offers up his and Delly's own kitchen (he and the shoemaker's daughter had a Toasting days after Prim's Games ended) for the preparation. I feel a pang of sadness when I realize that Peeta won't be able to help bake his – our - wedding cake in his own kitchen. The kitchen he grew up in, but the Mellark brothers leave it unspoken that their parents cannot hear of their youngest's nuptials, at least not from their mouths.
Delly also promises a bouquet of flowers for me, and Mr. Cartwright gifts me a new pair of fine leather slippers to wear with my dress. They're far too fancy for me but I haven't the heart to disappoint Mr. Cartwright, who seems almost as happy for me as he was for his own daughter.
The dress itself is actually an heirloom from my mother – "something borrowed," Greasy Sae calls it, reverently, almost as if the phrase itself is something traditional, has some deeper meaning from another time. Off to one side, Sae's granddaughter coughs out a phrase that sounds suspiciously like, "She means stolen." Apparently, it is custom for Merchant mothers to pass down their wedding dress to their daughters when they Toast the bread. When my grandparents disowned her, Mother apparently carried off the prized garment with her, and wore it when she wed my daddy. The story by now has become something akin to lore in the Seam. Now Mother's wedding dress is being handed down to me. It has probably been worn only a handful of times, through the generations, but Greasy Sae's granddaughter tacks on ribbons and lace, and it looks like something completely new. I keep it hidden in my bedroom, insistent that Peeta not see it until the big day.
I see little of my fiancé in the week leading up to our wedding day. I work five days a week hunting and trading in the Hob. He works six at the Bakery and virtually every spare minute he has, he's at Rye's house, creating a confectionary masterpiece. I wait up for him one evening, three days before we are to be wed. Peeta finds me on the mansion's front porch, bundled against the spring chill in my father's hunting jacket, clutching a flask of hot tea. He seems to sense my mood and drops onto the stoop beside me wordlessly. For a time, we simply sit in silence, passing the flask back and forth. Finally I gather the courage to speak.
"I don't want children," I confess, unable to look Peeta in the eye. "I know you do, and you deserve a whole gaggle of little blond babies to spoil with cookies and shower with love. I can't give you that, not as long as there is the Reaping hanging over them. I'm so sorry, Peeta. I.. I understand if you want to find someone else, someone who can give you everything you deserve." I reach the end of the speech I've been practicing for days and bite my lip hard against the tears that threaten to invade. I love him too much to trap him in a childless marriage.
I'm afraid to look at his face, to see his anger, his disappointment. So I stare at my feet until a large hand gently but firmly tips up my chin. His expression isn't angry, though. He almost looks amused. "Do you really think I didn't know that, Katniss?" He smiles then, and strokes my cheek. "We've been together for almost a year, and I've loved you for most of my life. I know you. And yes, I'd like to have children, but only if it's with you. I want you so much more than I want kids. What we have is enough for me, and you're so much more than I deserve." I move to argue but he stops me with a kiss. "I'm so happy, Katniss. You make me so happy. If children ever came into the picture, it'd be wonderful, but even if it never happens, I'll still be the happiest man in Panem. Because of you. You're all of my dreams come true." It's sappy, and a little silly, but I beam anyway.
Peeta spends the night before our Toasting at Rye's house, at Delly's insistence; apparently there's an old Merchant custom that seeing the bride before the wedding is bad luck. I think it's hogwash, but it does give me an opportunity to meet with Leven early that Sunday morning, before the spring sun has even crested the horizon. He doesn't ask why I want his help baking such a specific loaf of bread and I don't offer any explanation.
"Do you think he'll like it?" my soon-to-be brother-in-law asks me as he stokes the flames out back in Prim's sprawling yard.
"Peeta will understand. That's all that matters."
And when it comes out of the little brick oven with the crusts slightly charred I know it's even more perfect.
Greasy Sae's granddaughter, Lila, fusses all morning; it's the first wedding she's ever been invited to and she seems determined to make everything perfect, hardly giving me a moment to myself. By the time Sae sends her grandchild out to collect wildflowers for my hair, I'm a nervous wreck.
In the few moments of stolen quiet while Lila is gone, Sae calms and soothes me, tentatively sharing the kind of maternal insights that I wish my mother was here to give me. It makes me reflect on how much has changed since Peeta came into my life, and even before.
Lila and Sae braid two small sections of my hair, crowning me with the ropes and leaving the rest of my chestnut locks to cascade freely, knowing how Peeta loves my hair down. They weave wildflowers through the strands; Queen Anne's lace and clover and rue and dandelions. Lots of dandelions.
I even tuck a few of the sunny yellow blooms into the small bouquet of white carnations Delly brings me. I wonder if Peeta knows that I've associated him with dandelions since we were children, since the day after he saved me with the bread, when I saw the first dandelion of spring in the schoolyard.
Each time my nerves threaten to get the best of me, I look at them, tucked into my bouquet, crowning my little sister's golden head, and I'm reminded of the boy with the bread. Peeta is my dandelion in spring, bringing me hope, reminding me that life can be good.
Once I'm in my dress and in front of the mirror, Sae steps back to admire her handiwork. "Now you look beautiful too," she murmurs softly.
"I wish I looked like you," Lila mutters from the loveseat.
I turn and flit back to her, kissing her face. "Oh, no…. I wish I looked like you!"
"Are you really getting married?" Lila's eyes are shining, and she even lets out a romantic sigh. "To Peeta Mellark?"
I smile, flushing. "Well…. yes. I suppose I am. If he'll have me."
Lila giggles. "He'll have you! I've seen the way you look at each other. I know you've been in love forever!"
My head swims. Was I such a fool that even my neighbors could see what I couldn't? That I loved and lusted for this man who is soon to be my husband, long before I even could put it into awareness? I can only smile, standing up so my bridal skirts no longer fan out.
"Well…. then, let's go get me hitched, why don't we?" Looping my arm through hers, I allow Lila and Sae to escort me out of the Village, across the Seam and into Town to the Justice Building. My eyes and my heart pine as we pass by the Bakery, but I soon wince when I can clearly hear shouting:
"I FORBID IT!" That's the Baker's Witch of a wife, Peeta's mother. Has he told her? Has he told her of his intent to marry me? To take me as his bride, his wife? In our stolen moments and kisses alone together lo these many weeks, Peeta has promised that, despite the danger it might bring down upon our heads, he will tell his mother of our intent to wed.
"Don't worry, Katty, I won't ask for her blessing. Only her acceptance. I will stand there with you in the District Clerk's office."
Sae and Lila sequester me in the cloister just off the District Clerk's office. When couples go to marry in District 12, they must sign a marriage license in the presence of the clerk and the district Justice of the Peace so that they may be declared married as husband and wife in the eyes of the law. I have only been inside the Justice Building thrice before - when Daddy died and I, as the eldest child, was awarded the Medal of Valor on his behalf. When I was assigned my shack after being dismissed from the Community Home. And the other time was after Primrose was Reaped. But marriages take place in a different section of the building, so I'm able to push those unhappy memories away.
It is several minutes before the District Clerk comes to fetch us.
"We are ready for you now, Miss Everdeen."
With Sae and Lila escorting me, I enter the tiny office. I promptly lose my breath when I see Peeta, handsome in a pressed dress shirt and slacks. He's wearing a crisp new shirt, pale blue, much like the one he wore for our first date. I think he's even more handsome now than he was that day. The years have been kind to Peeta, sculpting his jaw and broadening his shoulders. He's no longer the shy boy who was so afraid to talk to me; he's a strong, confident man now. And soon he'll be my husband.
When he sees me approaching his face lights up, awestruck. He is gazing at me as though I am radiant as the sun. I can't contain my grin as I run the last few feet to stand before him. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he gasps, stroking my loose locks with a shaky hand.
"You don't look so shabby yourself, Mellark," I try to joke, but my voice sounds breathy and giddy. He laughs.
"Still want to do this?" His question is lighthearted but I can see the genuine worry. I grab his hand and tow him towards the District Clerk's desk in response.
Standing before him, we join hands as the Justice of the Peace blesses us:
"Katniss Magenta Everdeen, do you take this man, Peeta Joseph Mellark, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do," I murmur, still stunned that I could proclaim so openly and without reserve.
"Peeta Joseph Mellark, do you take this woman, Katniss Magenta Everdeen, to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do," Peeta is beaming.
"Will both of you sign here, please?" We approach the desk where the District Clerk is now directing us to sign the marriage license. I take a deep breath as I affix my signature to the document. I stare down at the new name I have taken, my married name: Katniss Everdeen Mellark.
All is silent as the clerk pushes paper after paper across the narrow desk, and with nothing more than a few flourishes of a pen Peeta and I are officially wedded by the laws of Panem and the laws of District 12. Our first married kiss tastes like equal parts joy and relief.
"Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss," the Justice of the Peace says. I smile shyly as Peeta takes me in his arms, and when he kisses me, I melt into it instantly.
"I love you!" I whisper along the seam of his lips, my voice strangely hoarse, and I realize it is because I am crying from happiness. "I love my husband…"
There is one more thing that must be done. The District Clerk now hands us deed papers. "Here is the assignment to your new house in the Seam: 331 Oberlin Road. Blessings on you both."
Sae snatches up the thick envelope that contains the address and keys for the house assigned to us newlyweds; it's customary that the family sneak in before the couple gets there to set things up; as my mother and sister are no longer with us, other loved ones will be standing in my stead to support me.
I laugh as Lila runs up and hugs me around the middle, the little girl chittering to me with excitement, and I kneel before her, my bridal skirts fanning out, to kiss her cheek. Then, arm in arm with my…. with my husband, we leave the Justice Building together, striding back to our new home in the Seam.
The path is lined with people singing the traditional District 12 wedding song. Merchant and Seam, blond and dark heads both raise their voices in celebration. I find myself overwhelmed by the outpouring of affection. I never thought of the district as a place that cared about me until this moment.
There's almost a carnival atmosphere in the Meadow as people file in, having followed the bride and groom, singing and laughing the whole way. Peeta's brothers set up tables and cover them with treats; cookies and squares, a rare treat for so many of the Seam folk in attendance. And then they bring out the cake.
I've never seen such an enormous cake in my life, could never have even dreamed one. And yet, even though it's massive, it's so perfectly simple. Instead of the stacked tiers that are popular with the wealthiest merchants it's a single layer, rectangular, easy to cut and to share.
But it's certainly not plain. Peeta has painstakingly recreated our Meadow in cake form.
On a layer of green frosting he's arranged at least a hundred gum paste wildflowers; clover and buttercups and even dandelions. It simply couldn't be more perfect. I can barely fathom how much work he's put into it. I flit it over to it, both hands to my mouth and my eyes stinging with tears.
"OH! Snow's roses, it's a vision! But.. but how did you...? You didn't! You shouldn't have!" My eyes are sparkling with emotional delight, and I don't think I've ever felt so touched.
Peeta is fixated on me, the entire time, waiting, yearning for my approval. "Do you like it, Sweetheart?" And though I'm not one for public displays, I stretch up on my toes and loop my arm around his neck to kiss him soundly. Cheers and wolf whistles go up, then a smacking sound; I smirk into my husband's lips as I think of Rye getting a little too boisterous, and deepen the kiss, purring.
"Oh….. darling, I love it! I love you!"
There's music and dancing, virtually everyone we know makes an appearance. The Hawthornes comes with Leevy Thompson; Delly and her father; Peeta's brothers and most of his childhood friends. Even Sae and Lila twirl together. The hugs and handshakes are nonstop. Delly nearly runs me down, squealing with joy and we kiss cheeks.
"Oh, Katty! Isn't this amazing?! We're sisters-in-law!" I laugh, concluding that if I ever did have to have another sister, I am glad it is Delly.
Though his smile never once falters, I catch Peeta several times looking towards Town for the two people who don't show up. My heart pangs for the man I love, the man I married.
When the party dies down we slip away to our new home. We swing by my bachelorette house in the Seam, so I can pick up most of my stuff. Rory Hawthorne was gracious enough to let my husband and I loan his cart.
Once everything is loaded, Peeta takes me by my waist and gentlemanly lifts me into the cart. In my blue Reaping dress, I look the very picture of a blushing, newlywed bride.
Once Peeta has lifted little Lila into the cart to say goodbye, she hugs me. "I'm so happy for you, Katty!" I kiss her crown.
With great strength, Peeta pulls the cart clear across the district.
I'm a Merchant now, so we've been assigned a house in Town, but Rye must have pulled some strings in the Justice Building because our new dwelling is on the very edge of Town, right at the path that leads to the Seam. Fitting for a couple whose lives straddle both communities in so many ways.
I am shocked when Peeta and I arrive at our new home to find that Greasy Sae, half the Hob, and even Haymitch Abernathy, our sole surviving Victor, have followed us here from the reception, waiting at our front door. Cheers erupt when they see us, the happy couple, and I bashfully hide my aflame face in Peeta's shirt. I am the picture of a blushing bride, luminescent, radiant, and Peeta's gaze of adoration only further warms me.
I let out a surprised squeal as Peeta suddenly sweeps me off my feet and carries me, bridal-style, across the threshold of our new home.
Town homes, while tiny, are palaces compared to the shacks in the Seam. But I barely notice the larger living room, the separate kitchen, the bathroom with a real bathtub. All I see is the fireplace, a tiny bundle of kindling on the hearth beside a white linen wrapped lump - the bread I baked with Leven that morning. The papers at the Justice Building, the party, the cake, none of those things are as real as the scene before me. The enormity of it leaves me breathless.
Peeta's eyes never leave me, his bride. He's uncharacteristically silent as I light candles. The electricity is off, as usual, and the sun has nearly set. Once the room is aglow I turn to him, holding out my hands. His eyes are like saucers as he takes in the sight of me in my wedding dress, bathed in candlelight. We stand in front of the cold fireplace for many long moments, just staring, admiring. Finally with a shuddering breath I ask, "Ready?"
Peeta's a whiz with fires, expertly laying the kindling and coaxing the flames into a roaring blaze, filling the room with warmth and light.
We kneel before the hearth, hands clasped tightly together, both trembling with nervous anticipation. I'm about to reach for the Toasting bread when Peeta stops me. "I wanted to give you something first," he says softly, releasing one of my hands to reach into the pocket of his shirt. "I know it's not customary in the Seam, but I was hoping…" he trails off, and my breath catches. The firelight bounces off the object in his hand. A ring, a wedding band. I've seen them before; Mrs. Undersee wears one, but it's an extravagance a poor girl from the Seam like me could never have dreamed of wearing myself.
He lifts our joined hands and reverently slides the thin silvery band onto my finger; it's a perfect fit. It's not a plain band, as I first thought, but three slender cords, braided together. Made by Leven's hand, I've no doubt. Peeta must have been saving up for it for months, for far, far longer than our fortnight engagement. He answers the unspoken question in my eyes. "I've been waiting for this day practically my whole life, Katniss. I've always believed we would get here, that no matter what…"
"This would have happened anyway," I finish for him, and his smile is dazzling in response.
Peeta reaches for the bread then, and I hold my breath. Baking this loaf had seemed so fitting, but compared to the gift he's just given me it feels silly now. I watch as his brows furrow; the slightly charred, dense loaf isn't what he was expecting, of course. The Bakery sells tiny loaves of fine white bread for Toastings, and I know that's what he'd asked Brann for.
"I baked it," I whisper, and his eyes snap up, filled with awe. I take one end of the loaf and together, we break it apart. His eyes widen when he sees the fruit and nuts inside. "Do you remember?" I ask, and he nods. "I never even thanked you."
"You never needed to. I never expected anything."
"I know," I rush to reassure him. "You saved my life that day, Peeta. Mine and Prim's and my mother's. But it's more than that. You gave me hope. You… you helped me to see that life could be good again." I shuffle forward awkwardly, until my face is just inches from his. "You're still doing that. Every single day. Your kindness, your steadiness, your love. I never knew I could be this happy."
My confession may be disjointed and rambling but he understands, and the bread lies forgotten in his lap as he cups my face, kissing me with barely restrained passion. "Let's do this," he groans when finally we break apart, "so I can make love to my wife."
There's no protocol to a Toasting, no rules to follow or speeches to recite, though most couples say at least a few words. Kneeling together, forehead to forehead, sharing bites of life-sustaining bread, toasted in our marital home by our own hands, the only words that pass between us are hushed declarations of love and devotion. When every bite has been enjoyed he kisses the crumbs from the corners of my mouth and then carries me into our bedroom.
Once he deposits me on the bed, we lay together holding each other for a while, kissing lazily while my husband spoons me. I smile, smirk. "Good night, Mr. Mellark. I love you."
Peeta grins. "I love you too, Mrs. Mellark. But if you are amenable, I don't think we should go to sleep just yet."
I snuggle in closer. "And just what did you have in mind, my love?"
The answer comes when I feel a pair of lips now dipping a kiss into the curve of my neck.
Peeta sharply rolls me over onto my back, and I stare in shock at how he hovers above me, the moonlight accentuating his silvery eyes that now seem to smolder. Gulping, I feel him press against me, and then I let out a gasp when I feel strong fingers push back the hem of my nightgown, push it up over my hips.
A large, strong set of fingers sink into the folds of my feminine beauty, and I feel dampness gather despite my lack of arousal.
Peeta dips his head down to mine and kisses me fiercely, and I sink into it. With his free hand, he dares to reach out and gallingly cup my right breast; his other hand is still palming my heat, stroking me, grooming me. Readying me for him.
"Mmmmhmmmmm…." I make a pleased noise in the back of my throat, and I yield. Peeta squeezes my right breast again, causing the nipple to harden in the cool, late spring air. Rather sharply, my husband yanks down the bodice of my nightshirt to bare my breasts, and his mouth switches from ravaging mine to sucking on my left nipple, making the bud ache.
And then… I feel a bloated thing push into my vagina and I cry out at the sensation of a man filling me.
Peeta pauses inside me for a moment or two, focused on kissing and fondling my breasts, before he then begins to thrust inside me. The bedsprings creak and strain underneath our undulating bodies, the headboard smacking against the wall of rotting wood, plastered by clay.
"Fuck, fuck…. Urrrr…. Grrrrr…." Peeta grunts with pleasure into the sweaty curve of my neck again. All I can do is grip his back and hold him close to me as he takes me, fucks me. I pass the time of our frantic coupling by staring at the ceiling, counting the ceiling tiles, trying not to make a sound even as moans and noises of bliss are torn from my lips.
I whine as Peeta pounds me into the mattress.
"Ummmmm….. Ugghh….. HUHHHHH! UHHHHH!"
Peeta finishes inside me rather quickly, and rolls off of me. Curling into him, readjusting my nightdress, I try to go to sleep.
But it is only a few hours before passion awakens us both again.
I stir back into consciousness when a soft and calloused hand turns my face back to his as Peeta kisses me deeply. Purring happily, I return the kiss with a boldness that surprises even me, shivering as I feel Peeta's hands now glide up my thighs, pushing the hem of my nightdress up around my hips again, bunching the fabric. With a sigh, I gallingly yank the bodice of my nightdress back down so that my bare breasts glisten in the moonlight. I wiggle my shapely bottom, now also exposed against Peeta's fierce erection and am satisfied when I feel him rut against me with a whimper.
But Peeta isn't done. He continues to furiously rub his length along the perfect globes of her toned buttocks to get harder still. Keening into him, I groan, shuddering with delight as I feel his arms encircle me. One of his large hands dips into the damp wetness at the apex of my thighs, swirling his fingers along my nub. With his free hand, Peeta reaches around and brazenly cups the flesh of her left breast, pinching my purple and pebbling nipple until it is erected to painful tenderness. Mindful that my right breast is being left unattended, Peeta cranes his face over my writhing form and takes her remaining nipple deep into his mouth, suckling on my boob.
"Peet…a….." I squirm happily, almost stunned speechless and wondering where in the world he learned to do that. "What are you…..? OHHHHHHH! Oh, Panem, yes! Fuck me right there! Fuck my arse!"
For at that moment, Peeta takes me fiercely from behind in one, glorious thrust, shoving his now free member in between my ass cheeks. Jerking his hips violently, he begins to slide in and out of my anus, all while fondling my large breasts with his hands and his mouth and fucking my clit with his fingers. I have to clap a hand over my mouth to quiet my moans, which soon morph into yips and squeaks as Peeta continues to fuck me.
"Mmmm… Hmmmm….. Huhhhh…. Uhhhh…. Oh….. Ooooooohhhhh….. Ohhhhhh… OHHHHHH! MMMMMMM!"
With one final, slam, my buttocks trap his member deep inside me as he cums, milking him. Seconds later, the muscles in my pussy contract, tightening around his hand as, with a strangled cry and arching my back against him, pressing my ass into his hips, I cum so hard I see stars.
Rolling onto my back, my grey eyes huge and sparkling in the moonlight, I wordlessly spread my legs for him, opening my thighs wide invitingly.
Peeta doesn't need to be told twice. Scrambling on top of me, he slams his penis deep into my dripping wet folds, nearly pulling all the way out before he thrusts into me again. My hips snap up to meet him every time, so that our bare skin makes a kind of squelching, clapping sound as we unify together. Beneath us, the bedsprings under the mattress creak as we work up a rhythm, learning to please each other together. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from crying out; Oh, Snow, if the neighbors hear…..!
Peeta growls as he continues to thrust into me, and I winding my legs about him to bring him closer, closer still. I am nearly naked except for my nightdress bunched up, almost folded in half around my navel, leaving my breasts free and my sopping cunt exposed to the humid summer air.
Peeta is quivering above me, and I know that he's close. I decide that this dynamic won't do at all. So, assertively, I suddenly shove my hands into his chest, flipping him off of me and slamming him back into the mattress.
From his wide eyes, Peeta fears that I have had enough, but then he nearly chokes as I solemnly, with purpose, swing my long legs over his hips as I move to straddle him. There is a soft rustling of the sheets and then cloth as I untie the straps to my nightdress at my waist, allowing the garment to fall away and pool on the floor. Bracing one hand against the sloped ceiling of this little room, I slowly begin to bounce up and down on Peeta's dick, watching his stunned expression as I enthusiastically make love to him. This time, I don't bother to be quiet as I moan and whimper, feeling Peeta's touch burn where he is gripping my hips as he jerks up into me.
We spend half of the rest of that night, our wedding night, having sex.
"Hurrrr…. Urrrrr… Huhhhhh! Uhhhhhh!"
They play in the Meadow. When I first felt Peeta's and my child stirring inside me, I felt a terror as old as life itself. If I had been less careless in the ways my husband and I have sex, it would have taken me five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But I've always known Peeta's wanted them so badly. How could I do anything else but be the mother of his child? Still, only the joy of holding our baby in my arms was enough to quell my terror, if only a little. The Games still loom, and I know that when this little girl grows, she stands a chance of being Reaped, as her aunt was. Peeta promises me we'll be OK. We have each other. Carrying our son was easier, but not by much.
Kneeling on a picnic blanket, in a patterned sundress, I rock our baby boy in my arms, until I feel him stir as he begins to cry.
"Oh, sssh... ssssh..." I bounce him. "Did you have a nightmare? I have nightmares too. Someday I'll explain it to you. Why they came. Why they won't ever go away... But I'll tell you how I survive it. I make a list in my head, of all the good things I've seen someone do. Every little thing I can remember. It's like a game. I do it over and over. It gets a little tedious after all these years, but... there are much worse Games to play. Oh, yes, there are much worse Games to play."
