Chapter 11: Mrs. Mellark, the Baker's Wife

My eyes are still heavy with the film of sleep when I hear the alarm clock go off. It quiets almost immediately, and I feel the rustle of the sheets as my husband rises from the bed we share. I listen to him pad into the adjacent bathroom, hear the shower running, then the patter of more silent feet as he returns. I keep my eyes lidded, feigning rest even as my limbs feel lethargic and I definitely couldn't get out of bed right now if I tried. Not even to hunt.

Thankfully, I married a man who is so patient and understanding.

In the close to a year we've been husband and wife, Peeta and I have only fallen more deeply in love. We work well together as partners as well as lovers, and together, we have made the Bakery – a staple in this district – our own. It was a little jarring, like a fairytale dream, being a Merchant's spouse. But Peeta has built us a good home and business, and provides for us well.

I keep perfectly still as I feel a pair of lips ghost over mine, feather-light. I shiver as I feel those same lips hover above my earlobe as they whisper:

"I love you."

Humming, I roll over and try to go back to sleep, though when I hear the door to our loft close behind him, I allow my good-morning-kissed lips to upturn into a soft smile.

I manage to fall back, and I awaken feeling refreshed. I hurriedly shower and dress, slipping a frock and blouse over my body before skipping down the steep staircase leading down into the Bakery. In the narrow rear corridor, I wave a greeting to Peeta before exiting via the back loading dock – that most wonderful of places where my future husband and I stole many a kiss – and step out into the bright sunshine.

It's Sunday, so almost all of the Merchant businesses will be closed. Peeta sometimes likes to wake up early on his day of rest anyway, to get ahead preparing the mounds of dough and yeast for the coming week. Other weekend mornings, he and I are lazy, lounging together in bed and making love. I'm proud of my husband for working so hard, being so dedicated, and on this particular morning, I have some errands to run anyhow.

Despite marrying into a prominent Merchant family and moving into Town, I still keep in touch with most of my former Seam neighbors. Most of them have never begrudged me for my choice of husband, and many were present on my wedding day. I manage to purchase some spices from one artisan in the Hob, using more coin than I ever thought I'd see in my life. Peeta and I are middle-class compared to some other Town families – we paid almost as much in taxes to the Justice Building this year as we made selling bread – but we are solid financially.

"Morning, girlie. How's that handsome baker man treating you?" Sae croaks when I stop by her stall for a bowl of soup and to chat.

I blush in spite of myself. "Like a queen."

The old woman smiles toothily. "It's grand being married, ain't it?"

"Yes, it certainly is," I sigh blissfully. Even a few years ago, I never ever thought I would utter those words, and certainly not as someone's wife. Spying a pile of stems on her counter, I point to them. "Where'd you get those?"

My heart does a pitter-patter when Sae lifts a bundle of the stalks up: dandelions. Dandelions were in my wedding bouquet the day I got married. "Found them in the Meadow. Thought I'd put them into a nice stew."

I wring my hands alone the folds of my Merchant frock. "Would… would you mind if I took a few stems off your hands?" I bite my lip hesitantly.

Sae smiles sadly, knowingly, at me. "Off to the little one's resting place, are ya?"

I nod. I try to visit Prim's (and Rye, my late brother-in-law's) graves at least once a week. Most visits I try to bring flowers, when I can find buds in full bloom. Sae grins and passes me a bundle.

"Thanks. Uh… what do I owe….?"

"Nothing, girl child. Just a kiss on Primmy's headstone."

I smile, my eyes stinging with tears. "Thank you."

Placing the stalks in my basket with my other groceries, I plod down the dirt path deeper into the Seam and then up the hill to the Village where my family and I lived for just a year. As I stride past the gates, I see no sign of Haymitch. Probably inside his house, drunk as a skunk.

In the back of the Village green is a plot of land known as the Graveyard of the Tributes. When I was a resident here, I never had cause to go back there, read all the names – 152 in all. At the far end, I see the fresh tombstones of the poor Seam girl and boy who were killed in the 77th Hunger Games, concluded just a few weeks ago. To the left of that are two plots for the children killed in the 76th, the summer Peeta and I got engaged then wed in less than two months. Theirs are in the shadow of two obelisks, marking the place of honor for two of our fallen tributes. No, not tributes – Victors.

There is a similar obelisk of marble clear on the other side of the cemetery, marked but unfilled for our first Victor, Lucy Gray Baird. The skirts of my frock fanning out around me, I kneel before the obelisks representing my sister and brother-in-law. Tenderly, I lay flowers against both markers.

"Hey, Little Duck," I whisper. I remember coming here the morning after my Toasting and perfect wedding night, gushing to her about how deliriously happy I was, to be married to a man who loves me. "The Bakery is going really well. Peeta is so level-headed with the business." I sit and remain still for a moment, trying to imagine that I can hear her voice on the soft breeze. "He's been so patient," I breathe, whisper. "No discussion of having a baby." I sigh. "I know how much it hurts him when he sees other children playing. Delly's daughter Amara, our niece…. She's growing so fast…. But I'm happy, Little Duck. Happier beyond words. I really am. But I would only be fully happy if… you were still here." I wipe a tear from my eye. I then turn sadly to the headstone of my brother-in-law. "Morning, you silly ass. Peeta's mentioned sometimes how quiet the Bakery is without you around." Lowering my voice, I add in a whisper. "Delly and the baby miss you. A lot. I do my best to look after them." Rising, I steal out of the Village and head back down the dusty road into Town.

Reaching the bustling Square, I decide on an impulse to pop back around the service door of the Justice Building and see if Madge is home. I've tried my best to keep in touch with my one girlfriend from school since I married. I haven't been by the Mayor's quarters for tea in at least a couple weeks anyhow.

But when I round the corner of the majestic government building that also houses the First Family, I pull up short and duck back into the shadows, shocked into stillness by what I see.

Madge Undersee and Gale Hawthorne, wrapped in each other's arms and passionately kissing, a basket of strawberries lying spilled and forgotten between them.

I shrink against the stone edifice of the Justice Building, trying to remain hidden. Ever since Peeta and I Toasted the bread, I've seen my old hunting partner maybe once in a blue moon. Most of the time, I get signs out in the woods that he has been along my same trails, but we've yet to cross paths. Our hunts together ceased long ago, though Gale was at my wedding, and gave my union to Peeta his blessing.

Given that reminder, I would do well to grant Gale the same courtesy and not pry. I have no idea when this clearly illicit affair with the Mayor's daughter began, but far be it from me to judge who the heart loves and for whom the body lusts. I've certainly learned a thing or two about love since Peeta came into my life. And there is no denying Madge is a strikingly beautiful woman. Still, I find it bitterly ironic, almost to the point of laughter, that Gale – a Seam man who harbors distaste for many Merchants (hopefully less so since I became one by marriage myself) – would be fucking the richest lady in the district, by far. A woman whose wealth only Haymitch Abernathy, our sole surviving Victor, can claim.

I steal back across the Square and into the rear alley leading to the Bakery's back loading dock.

"Peeta? Dandelion, I'm home!" I call out. No answer. The first time I used the pet name for my husband, I was a blushing, stuttering mess while explaining myself and what it means to me. What Peeta means to me. But the man I love had kissed my lips right off and told me he adored it.

I float up to the loft and search our bedroom. Not here. Then back downstairs to comb through the kitchens, and all the way into the basement where we keep flour, yeast, lard and other ingredients ready for shunting. I purse my lips into a stumped frown. He probably went out to get some ingredients. Going behind the counter, back in the corner by the ovens, I spy some left-behind signs of his presence: vegetables on a cutting board, next to a molded and sprinkled mound of dough. I smile. My husband has been experimenting with mixing in nutritional veggies and fruits into his concoctions. Setting my basket on the tabletop, I reach in and procure the bottles of spices: cinnamon and nutmeg and thyme. Perhaps Peeta will see them as providing extra flavor. Plucking an apron off the rack, I shuck it over my head and begin to chop the vegetables. I avoid the clearly complete mound of dough like the plague. I remember how Peeta tried to teach me how to handle dough, in our first months of marriage. Let's just say it was a disaster. Though a potent blush heats my cheeks as I recall one sleepy Sunday soon after our wedding. The lesson in dough soon turned into a food fight with flour as ammunition, culminating in a wrestling match that quickly morphed into a frantic round of sex on the countertop. I smile dopily, dreamily. …. That was a lovely day…. despite the fact that I couldn't wash the flour out of my hair for a week.

After about a half an hour, I hear the rear loading dock door slam, followed by the familiar sound of my husband's heavy tread. I smile happily to myself, never tiring of my amusement. My sweet love will never make it as a hunter. I took him out to the woods one day about a week after our Toasting and called it our honeymoon, figuring I could teach him how to bring down game. The lesson went about as well as him teaching me how to bake. I smirk. Come to think of it, that hot mess also devolved into a pleasant bout of lovemaking, inside Daddy's old cabin where no one, not even the birds, could hear us scream in pleasure.

The back flap rustles, heralding Peeta's emergence into the kitchen, and I turn my head towards him. "Hey," I say, but my face immediately falls at his hard expression. His eyes are cloudy, the skin pinches between his eyebrows, as he stalks toward me purposely. "What's wrong—"

The question sticks in my throat when his body pins mine against the counter, and he wraps his hands around my wrists, flexing them slightly to force me to drop the knife I am holding. He then flattens my hands to the counter and presses the full length of his body against my back. Shocked, I face forward; my eyes are trained on the small kitchen window, where I can see out across our backyard at the leafless, scrawny trees and soggy grass. His breath is hot on the back of my neck as he breathes heavily, making the tiny hairs on my skin stand up, but I'm not scared. I can feel the beginnings of his erection through his pants against the lower curve of my back.

"Peeta..." I try again, but my voice lacks any conviction. My body is pliable and yielding. He really doesn't even need to hold my hands down, but I give him this, sensing there's something he needs to work through, and coaching the wrestling squad after school hours won't do it.

"Spread your legs," he demands, already nudging my thighs apart with his knee. I comply, sliding my bare feet out across the hardwood floor. Peeta releases my wrists then, snaking them down to my waist where he unfastens my pants and pushes them down my hips. I brace myself against the counter as I step out of them with the aid of his eager hands, and then I resume my stance once he's kicked the offending garment out of the way. He grips my waist with his hands, my own flat against the counter still, and he presses his mouth to my ear. "You're gonna stand here while I taste you," he breathes.

My breath hitches in my chest, and I begin to tremble in anticipation of his tongue between my thighs. "Okay," I agree shakily, my hips already arching back against his erection, but he pushes me against the counter and drops to his knees behind me. My eyes close when his hands slide down my backside, his fingers disappearing under the edges of my underwear as he cups my ass cheeks firmly. When they dip between my thighs to tease my lower lips, I shudder; his fingers pass back and forth over my folds to ready me. I can feel the wetness starting to leak out of me in response, my clit fluttering with pleasure, and I exhale loudly, his name a soft sigh on my lips.

That is all the encouragement Peeta needs. I feel him stretch the crotch of my panties to the side, and then his tongue is gliding through my folds to lick up my arousal. "Shit," I hiss, squeezing my eyes shut as he dips his tongue inside me. The coarse whiskers of his thick beard tickle my lips with the movements of his mouth, and he cups my pelvis with his right hand, his thumb parting the apex of my folds to stroke my clit. "Mmmmhmmmmm….." I release a moan, which he echoes, the vibration resounding through my core, and I moan louder. His thumb begins rubbing tight circles on my clit, syncing with the flicks of his tongue through my lips. He stops to open his mouth over me wider, his tongue darting inside me to taste me better. I fist my hands around the edge of the counter to steady myself, hunching forward. My legs are trembling now from the exertion of holding myself up, from the delicious electric current his tongue sends through my body.

"Peeta," I whimper, panting hard. He moves his mouth toward the front of my mound to swipe his tongue over my clit, and I cry out, prompting him to furiously lap at the swollen bud in varied patterns until he is pleased with the response. My hips begin rocking against his face, my legs mostly useless as I use my arms to hold myself above him. "Peeta, I'm gonna come," I beg, as if it is a plea, and his tongue resumes tracing my folds while his thumb resumes its attack on my clit. The pleasure mounts mercilessly and swiftly at the command of his tongue and fingers, and I only manage a choked sob of relief when my orgasm hits. My clit throbs with each wave of ecstasy, and Peeta drinks up my arousal as it seeps out of me.

By that point, he is providing most of the support for my boneless body, and when he moves out from between my legs, I let my body slump down. He wraps his hands around my waist and lowers me to the ground, propping me up in his lap as he sits down with me. I hold onto his thighs as I catch my breath, willing my limbs to stop shaking, and he just buries his face against my neck. His erection is still hard against my ass, but he makes no move to undress himself or fuck me, and once my vision has stopped swimming and I've regained control of my motor functions, I twist in his arms to look at him.

"What… what was that for?" I ask breathlessly.

He smiles slightly, but his eyes are still cloudy. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" he replies wryly, loosening his hold of me to lean back on one of his hands.

I scowl at him, but it's playful. "Yes, and I'd always tell them there are no horses in Twelve." Peeta chuckles lightly, then he huffs, blowing air through his lips to imitate a nickering sound, and I roll my eyes. My jaw sets in determination, however, and I regard him sternly. "Peeta, seriously. What's wrong?"

His expression shifts, his mouth drooping slightly, and he just shakes his head, averting his gaze to stare at the floor. He falls silent, and I reach up to caress the beard that shrouds his jaw, finally eliciting a sigh from him. He just shakes his head again. "Nothing new. Just the usual shit."

His mother. Of course. He must have run into her on his way home. As far as I know, Peeta hasn't seen either of us parents since the day we gave our vows. I wonder what was said, fearing for him, but my husband doesn't offer anything up and I don't pry.

My face falls, guilt blooming in my stomach as I stare at his forlorn face. Helpless, I offer the only thing I can think of at this point: Dropping my hand between his legs, I rub his erection through his pants suggestively. "Do you want me to do something for you?" I ask coyly. The corner of his mouth quirks before it tips into a crooked smirk, but he just gives me another resolute headshake.

"No, it's fine. You're in the middle of making our next batch." With that, he pushes off the floor to stand up, gentlemanly helping me to me feet as well. I don't budge, however, searching his face, but he only gives me an unconvincing smile. "Don't worry – I'll help."

Falling into an assembly line, we make a good team. Peeta is thrilled to see all the spices I acquired, even if some of them aren't as ripe by Merchant standards. He eagerly begins mashing some of them into his latest batch of dough. After a few moments, I catch him staring at me, and I smile, giggling.

"What?"

"I've never seen you wear that frock before…" he murmurs, his face loving and his eyes tinged with lust all over again.

I flush, tucking a strand of my braid behind my ear. "You like it? It was my mother's."

Peeta dips his head and kisses me quickly. I hold it, humming happily. "I adore it. You should wear dresses more often. Though I'll always maintain I like you best in blue. Your old Reaping dress…"

"… will never be thrown away, don't worry, dearest," I finish, smiling knowingly.

"Speaking of your mother, have you talked to her today?" he asks conversationally, scooting behind me to pluck some lemon glaze off a high shelf.

I bite my lip. With how little Peeta sees of his parents, I don't know how comfortable I feel talking to him about my own mother. Mother and I are better than we've ever been. She's recovered enough from her youngest's death to start practicing Healing again, and I stop by my childhood home in the Seam as often as I can to visit with her. When the Bakery's closed, Peeta will tag along. He has a very comfortable rapport with his mother-in-law.

I can't say the same about my mother-in-law, which is probably fortunate, though for my sweetheart's sake, it makes me sad even so.

"No," I finally manage. "I should probably pay a call this evening or tomorrow at the latest. I know she feels isolated, living all alone."

Peeta drifts into me, and I lean against him with a pleasured sigh, allowing him to run his fingers through my hair. He presses a kiss to my crown.

"If you want, I could swing by. We have deliveries out that way anyhow. Or I could post a letter by courier."

I giggle at the latter joke. No Seam households that I know of own a landline phone connection, and only a few Merchant businesses do, the Bakery being one of them. We pay our phone bill directly to the government, though it is a godsend when my husband is taking orders from our wealthy neighbors or arranging for new shipments of supplies by train from the Capitol. But if you want contact with anyone in the Seam, you either have to visit in person or write.

Still laughing, I mash Peeta's face in my hands and push my lips against his in a deep, grateful kiss. "You're wonderful," I murmur along the seam of his mouth.

"How about we arrange to go to your mom's place for dinner sometime this week?"

I grin, kissing him tenderly again. "Inspired idea," I whisper, my voice hoarse.

I gasp when Peeta quickly cuts me off, taking the opportunity of my prattling to plunge his tongue past my parted lips and nearly down into my throat. Purring curiously at his passion, I lean into the kiss and deepen it, winding my arms about his strong shoulders. When Peeta feels up my bum through my skirts, I playfully swat his hand away and move it firmly back up to my waist, only for him grip my arse cheek again and give it a firm slap. SMACK! My squeak of surprise quickly turns into a horny moan, and my tongue squirms to dance with his.

When we finally come up for air, I'm half-leaning against the counter, Peeta's other hand cupping my boob and his face buried in my hair.

"P-Peeta…..?" I gasp, whining.

"Hmmm?" He presses a kiss to the hollow of my throat. "What, Katty girl?"

"…. I don't want to bake anymore today."

"MMMMMM! Hmmmmmmm! Huhhhh….. Uhhhhhh….. That's it… Harder... Harder... HARDER! Fuck me HARDER!"

Giggling, Peeta and I struggle to be quiet in our own bedroom. With how he likes to sleep with the windows open, we have to make extra effort to not mortify the neighbors with how passionate and loud we can get having sex. The bedsprings of our marriage bed, the one we've shared for more than a year as man and wife, creak and we try not to rock too much as we make love.

"Hmmm…. Peeta…. Fuck!" I let out a curse as he slams into me.

Brow slick with sweat, Peeta's blue orbs are black with lust. "Touch yourself!" he demands.

Grey eyes bulging wide, I slowly lower my hand to my wetness, dipping first one, then two fingers into the petals of my sex around Peeta's length, and I fondle myself. Peeta begins to jerk into me again.

"Mmmmhmmmm…. Yes, that's it…. play with that pussy!"

I arch my back, choking on my own breath. "Oh, Peeta, please!" I mewl.

"Ride me, you little vixen!" Peeta commands sharply, and then he abruptly flips us both so that I'm now on top. Bracing my hands along his toned chest, I bounce up and down on him frantically, moaning piteously while Peeta laves my perky breasts with attention; my boobs jiggle in his face.

Then, my husband is suddenly pushing me away from him before I've even cum. I let out an offended sound as he springs out of bed.

"On all fours, love."

I slowly do as he says, crawling onto the mattress on my hands and knees. I can feel my husband positioning himself behind me, and my heart starts to race. We've never tried anal. I've never taken it in the ass in my life. To his credit, Peeta is gentle as his throbbing cock slowly pushes in past the ring of muscle.

"Ohhhhhhhh…" I stretch, arch like a cat, only for Peeta to pull out and then slam back in again, viciously this time. His one hand grips for my mussed braid and he tugs, yanking my head back so that I cry out. My hips unconsciously lift so that I push my buttocks up. Peeta picks up his pace, thrusting his balls against my ass cheeks so that they slap together with the most delicious squelching sound. I start to weep from the pleasure of him fucking me, as we play the beast with two backs. By now, we're practically shouting at each other as we rut against one another like two dogs in heat.

"Who do you belong to?" Peeta growls.

"You…. Only you…. Snow's Roses, Peeta, have mercy; I love you, please…. OHHHHH!"

"Are you my Seam slut?!"

"YES!" I wail as he slams into me again, not minding how viciously dirty his mouth has become. I've known my lover to be dominant in bed, and it excites me.

"Then SAY it!"

Gripping the metal headboard so that my knuckles turn white, I set my teeth and growl out, "I'm your fucking Seam slut!"

Peeta howls and jerks into me harder, and when I clench around him and milk him, I let out a hoarse scream.

"AHHHHHH!"

I cum so hard, I see stars.

Later, when we're slick with sweat and spent and lying wrapped in each other's arms, enjoying the afterglow, Peeta places a chaste kiss on my lips.

"I have a surprise for you."

"Oh, so shagging me so thoroughly wasn't it?" I quirk a playful eyebrow, riposting wittily.

My lips remain upturned into a smile as Peeta kisses them again. "Delly's going to bring the baby by this evening. Amara's been asking for us."

I smile when I think of Delly and Rye's little girl, our niece. "Hmm.. I suppose a quiet evening playing with our niece will do us some good."

"Yeah. But I should warn you: I can get overly-enthused playing horsey."

The veiled innuendo of this statement, considering what position we were just in, causes me to slap his naked chest, then chuck a pillow at his head for good measure.

"You really are awful," I chide, smirking and my face bright red.