A/N: Hi all. Sorry for the delay. Please be aware that things take a bit of an adult turn in this chapter, so be advised if you aren't into that sort of thing.
My heart continues to thrum rapidly in my chest and my head still spins as I stumble into the bar. I'm already embarrassingly uncoordinated in heels, and I'm utterly hopeless when they're combined with Peeta's words. I just can't shake the feeling of his soft lips as they ghosted over my cheeks, my eyelids, my ears… Just the memory brings a fresh surge of heat between my thighs and I recall the way his hips pinned me against the cool metal of the rental car. I may need a cold shower.
I can't say I'm surprised that he was able to elicit such a reaction from me—he told me himself that his job depended on it—but I am shocked that I can't forget it, especially since I've spent the last few days concerned about Thom and no one else. In four years, Thom never made me feel the way that Peeta did in four minutes.
"Kat-niss!" Delly's long arms close around me and I inadvertently inhale a mouthful of overly-coiffed, overly-hair-sprayed blonde curls. "Now the party can start, bitches!" she calls to a throng of argyle-clad sorority alumni. "My real sister is finally here." She plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek and whoops loudly.
I appreciate the sentiment, but from the smell of her breath, I think it's safe to assume that the party—or at least Delly's little piece of it—is already underway. I pat her hand gently and accept a shot of tequila from Johanna.
"Thank God you finally showed up," my cousin mutters. "I was seriously about to punch a blonde bitch. Although I can't say I blame you for being late…" She winks. "I'd be tapping that hot boyfriend's ass every damn chance I got."
I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling Johanna that for a mere six-thousand dollars, she too can enjoy the pleasure of Peeta Mellark's presence… And mouth. I raise the shot glass to my lips, but Delly clears her throat behind me and I remember my maid-of-honor duties with a start. My sister and the milling crowd look to me expectantly, waiting for the toast that officially opens the celebration.
I lift the glass and watch the crowd mimic my actions. "To Delly!" They repeat my words and we drink together. Somebody—is it Delly again?—whoops and bounces to the dance floor and I relish the burn of the tequila as it works in my belly.
Spurred on by Johanna (and my promise to myself that tonight I would stop at no less than rip-roaring drunk), I polish off shots two and three and am seriously debating just getting four out of the way too when I notice a mass migration of women from the dance floor to the bar door. The crowd parts for a brief second and I catch sight of a new figure. Now the movement makes sense: Peeta Mellark has just entered the bar. He politely side-steps the grasping hands, enhanced breasts, and flipping hair of the crowd of women as his eyes search for one thing only. They light up when he spots me across the room and I nearly choke.
Somehow he escapes the throng and slides his hand across the small of my back to rest on my hip. I can't tell if the dizziness in my head is tequila or Peeta or some wicked combination of both. Either way, it's exquisite. His lips press against my temple in greeting and I can feel the envious glares of every last woman in the bar land on my back.
"You forgot this," he whispers and places my clutch on the bar top.
"Thanks." I rest my hands protectively on the bag and arch an eyebrow at him. It's clear to me that he finds this entire situation too hilarious for words, but I'll be damned if I let him have a laugh at my expense without knowing exactly what's causing that smug look of his.
He shoves his hands in his pants pockets and shrugs. "I mean, I can't imagine how you'd forget to grab it out of the car," he says, his lips tugged upward in a smirk.
My cheeks flush from both embarrassment and alcohol. "Silly me… I can't imagine where my head was."
Peeta winks and it sets my blood boiling because he's just so damn snarky about the whole situation. I've just sucked in a deep breath to retort when Johanna swoops between us, her Victoria's Secret enhanced cleavage merely inches away from my Rent-a-Boyfriend's face.
I clear my throat. "He was just leaving," I say with a bit more acid than is entirely necessary. I know she won't try anything; Johanna has just always been incredibly fond of the attention that comes with her good looks and open sexuality. Normally it doesn't bother me to see my cousin flirt with my date—I can't count the times she made a sexual joke to Thom in my presence—but tonight my vision flashes red and I want to punch her.
"No!" she trills, the alcohol extending her syllables to the point of stupidity. "Stay and have a drink with us!"
Behind Johanna, but not out of earshot, Delly perks up and her eyes find mine and flash dangerously in warning. I get the message immediately. She doesn't want him here.
"I don't think that's such a great idea…" I murmur, trying to direct Peeta toward the door. "Delly won't like it much and I—"
"Yo, Dell!" Jo yells over the throbbing music. "Can Kat's man-candy stay for a drink?"
For a moment, my sister looks as if she wants nothing more than for Peeta to crawl into a hole and die. She catches herself quickly though, and nods curtly. She even manages a small smile as she mouths "it's fine" to us and continues dancing with her friends. But I notice that she keeps glancing over her shoulder as more and more of her guests rush to inspect the new male in the building.
Johanna almost magically produces a drink for Peeta and instantaneously the mass of women surround and practically devour him. He widens his eyes at me, but I just shrug. If I was jealous of my cousin, I'm downright covetous of these other woman. I know I'm pretty much running this show, at least as far as Peeta's concerned, and all it would take is a snap of my fingers for him to rush through the crowd and be back at my side. He looks uncomfortable surrounded by all the woman he could have in a heartbeat, and a small, sadistic part of me wants to see Peeta Mellark, Yoda of Male Escorts, a little uncomfortable for a few minutes. Plus I need to get my own bearings.
"Christ," Johanna scoffs beside me as Delly joins us at the bar and calls for her next drink. "Can you believe Katniss actually gets to fuck this guy?"
I winkle my nose at her crassness and Delly merely narrows her eyes and plays with the straw in her empty glass.
"I mean, seriously," Johanna continues, clearly unfazed by our silence. "You ought to send God a bottle of wine or a quiche or something."
The bartender returns then with Delly's drink and a fresh bowl of pretzels. I continue watching Peeta. I suppose he resigned himself to the fact that I wasn't coming to save him because now he's trying to hold a conversation with every woman surrounding him. Or maybe he's trying to build up his client base.
Johanna, on the other hand, really doesn't know when to stop. "Look at those buns," she quips, popping a pretzel into her mouth. "Fresh from the bakery."
Delly giggles drunkenly and I decide I've let Peeta suffer long enough, so I push through the crowd to where he stands and wrap my arms around his waist. Learning in close I whisper, "It must feel great getting paid just for being you…"
Without missing a beat—does anything fluster him?—Peeta smiles like he's absolutely thrilled to see me and kisses me firmly in greeting. As we separate, his mouth hovers over the shell of my ear. "Who says I'm being me?"
My stomach drops with the guilt I feel immediately after his words register in my brain and I glance at him long enough to notice something new in his normally bright eyes. For the first time I wonder if maybe there's more to Peeta than I've given him credit for. I open my mouth to apologize, but my sister insinuates herself between us and clears her throat. With a hand on one hip, her eyes widen, daring Peeta to stay any longer.
"Well…" he says with a small sigh, "thank you for granting me a rare glimpse into a timeless female ritual." Whatever new emotion might have been present in his gaze has now dissipated and he tilts his head toward Delly and smiles brightly at her.
Delly tucks a gold curl behind her ear and smiles. Even she, in her staunch disapproval of him, can't help but be swayed by that smile. This show of gratitude is enough to placate my half-sister, but Peeta takes it a step further.
He lifts his glass and glances around at the women who still encircle him. "Here's to the husbands who've won you, the losers who've lost you, and…" Peeta pauses for a moment, turning words over in his head, no doubt searching for the perfect thing to say. Finally, he looks at me. "And to the lucky bastards who have yet to meet you."
There's an undeniable spark between us then. As we lift our glasses to our lips and drain them, our eyes never leave the other's. The crackle of electricity is so real that it's all I can do to swallow my drink. There's so much more meaning behind his words and I know it's meant for me, but I can't pinpoint exactly what he means.
Luckily, Delly saves the day. "And don't forget the cock in the henhouse!" Her voice is lighthearted and her smile is genuine, but the timing is all too clear. This is her night, her event. Normally I would be annoyed at her selfishness, but tonight I'm almost grateful. Peeta's presence fills me with an indescribable awareness of myself, one that I'm not sure I'm ready to explore.
In spite of the crowd's protests, I loop an arm around Peeta's waist and escort him back to the door. Before I realize it, I'm pushing myself onto the tips of my toes and claiming his mouth with a light peck. At this, Johanna whoops triumphantly, so I kiss him again, this time flinging my arms around his neck and nipping at his bottle lip with my teeth. I feel him hesitate for a split second before he returns my actions with verve and sweeps me into a kiss so passionate that my knees actually go weak.
He finally pulls away when I'm breathless and my lips are swollen and it's only the catcalls of Delly's friends that remind me we aren't alone. Peeta looks at me quizzically for a moment, searching my face for an answer to a question I'm unaware of, before he waves a final goodbye to the party and ducks out through the door.
I can't stifle the grin that crosses my face as the other women watch me jealously. I'm thankful when Johanna puts an arm around my shoulders and leads me to the bar.
She sighs dramatically. "I can't believe you found him first! God, I am so depressed!" My boisterous cousin tips back the remainder of the liquid in her glass and smacks her lips. "Will someone," she calls in the general direction of the bartender—a tall, muscular man with copper-colored hair and eyes so green they make emeralds look dull—"buy my hoo-hah a drink?" He winks back at her and I know Johanna has once again gotten her way.
Strangely, as I procure my next shot, I can't stop thinking about Peeta. It will pass, I tell myself. Just keeping drinking and it will pass.
One thing becomes painfully obvious as the night progresses: I definitely should not have kissed Peeta. Or maybe he just shouldn't have looked at me like he cared about me as anything other than a client. Whatever. I'm very drunk so not a whole lot is making any sense whatsoever.
Maybe I'm jealous of Johanna's ability to pick up men wherever she goes. She's been flirting with the bartender—whose name is Finnick, she finally revealed to me via text message, along with her plan to utterly seduce him by the end of the night—for the last two hours. I have to commend her; so far, her plan is working flawlessly. She keeps tapping a cigarette out of the package, pressing it between her lips, and waiting patiently for him to light it. He always obliges, even though Johanna doesn't smoke, and the ashtray next to her elbow is full of still-smoldering cigarettes.
I fiddle with the straw in my drink. With my cousin otherwise occupied and Delly flittering between her friends, I feel very alone. Normally this is when my thoughts stray to Thom—his strong arms, the way his eyelids fluttered closed right before he kissed me, his lips as they worked with mine. Tonight though, I can only focus on Peeta. On a whim, before I can really think it through and stop myself, I take my phone from my clutch and type out a text message to him. Having fun yet?
To be honest, I don't expect a response from him at all. I know how hard Gale and Thom can party when they're together. I'm sure there's a stripper grinding on Peeta's lap right now. I snort. What an ironic image. Almost immediately, my phone buzzes with a response. Definitely. I just got back. Gale was shit-faced and none too excited about the strippers Thom ordered so I took him home. Think I'll finish this beer with your uncle and head to bed.
I smile to myself, both at Gale's anger and Peeta's chivalrousness. Then, another message lights up my screen.
I'll wait up for you.
My thumbs hesitate above the touch screen. On the one hand, it would be nice to have someone available to make sure that I pass out on my side. Delly would never forgive me if I up and died before her wedding. On the other, I don't want Peeta to feel like he needs to take care of me. I'm still chewing my lip, contemplating my response, when my phone buzzes again.
And don't even argue. I have a book to finish so I'd be up anyway.
I blush, but tap out the only reply I can think of. It's lame and ridiculous and I feel stupid the moment I push send. Okay.
"Ooh, Kitty-Kat!" Delly collapses onto the barstool beside me. "Why aren't you having fun at my party?" she pouts.
I pat her arm gently and motion for another drink. I may be pretty wasted already, but I'm nowhere near drunk enough to deal with a smashed Delly. "I am." I'm definitely not, but hopefully she'll be too drunk to realize my lie.
She pooches out her lips and watches me take a long swig of the liquid Finnick has just delivered to me. Then she leans over the bar top and grasps his arm firmly. "Do you think my sister is pretty?" she slurs.
Finnick's eyes widen and he looks like he wants nothing more than to return to Johanna.
"Well, do you?" Delly's never been one to be ignored.
I sigh. "You might as well answer. She won't shut up otherwise."
He's a good sport, so he looks me up and down before jerking his head noncommittally. "Yeah, she's all right."
"Of course she is!" Delly grabs my face between her hands and kisses my forehead firmly. "Because in school she was voted Best Hair and Best Eyes and Most Likely to Age Well…" Her voice trails off and her already glassy eyes glisten with tears. "Oh, Kat." She hugs me tightly. "You're my half-sister, but I whole love you."
Awkwardly, I comfort her. I've never been great with outward displays of emotion. "How about, uh…" I nod at Finnick, who is watching our exchange with a bemused expression. "How about you get my sister a shot for her next hole?"
At this, Delly perks up. "Tequila!" she chirps. "Tequila. This is my eighth, you know."
I nod. Somehow I feel like she missed a few in her count, but it's not my place to say anything.
Beside me, Delly muffles a sob. Somehow, any feelings of animosity I have toward my sister always disappear when she starts crying. "Dell? Are you all right?"
She looks up at me, her round eyes red and swollen. Her bottom lip trembles and a tiny moan escapes her lips. "I don't know if I can do this."
"The eighth hole?" I glance at Finnick as he sets her requested tequila shot in front of her.
"N-no…" She hiccups. "The wedding. I shouldn't be allowed to get married. I shouldn't…" She dissolves into tears.
My concern grows. This wedding is the only thing Delly's talked about since Gale proposed. She and my aunt have left no stone unturned to ensure that she has the wedding of her dreams. "Why would you say that, Delly? If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you."
She shakes her head and a curtain of hair makes her voice almost indistinguishable. "No, I don't deserve any of this. If you knew, Katniss… God, if you just knew, you'd…"
But I guess I'll never know what I'd do, because Delly's tears dissipate as quickly as they arrived, and she slams her shot back just as the opening notes of her favorite dance song throb over the speakers.
"Jo-Jo!" She bounces off the barstool and drags Johanna away from Finnick and onto the dance floor.
I decide not to worry about it. Cold feet are perfectly normal before a big wedding, and Delly's always been a stereotypical weepy drunk. I wish Peeta had been here to witness the exchange. It seems like he's always great at knowing exactly what people mean. I chew on my bottom lip and check my phone for any more messages.
I try not to be disappointed when my screen shows only the date and time.
I've always hated credit cards. Aunt Effie says it's one of the things I learned from my uncle. I've always thought that if I needed something badly enough, I should have the cash to pay for it. I really hate owing people—or companies—anything. Unfortunately, it's really hard to do much of anything without a decent credit score. So, in a moment of weakness—and during a really great sale at my favorite department store—I'd applied for a Visa. I always keep it with me, nestled in the far recesses of my wallet, just in case there are any emergencies for which I need it, but I try really hard not to use it very often. Though as the limo pulls over to the curb on Johanna's street to let her out and I spot the glowing letters that announce the presence of an ATM, I'm eternally grateful for that tiny piece of plastic in my wallet.
I practically fall out of the limo after my cousin and Delly leans out the window, her confusion written all over her face. "Kat!" she calls. "What the hell are you doing? Johanna has a fellow coming up this evening." Johanna flips my sister the bird and Delly dissolves into a mess of hysterical laughter.
"I need some cash!" I whisper drunkenly, which almost guarantees that everyone on the block heard me.
Somewhere between the eleventh and the eighteenth hole—as I had danced and texted back and forth with Peeta and watched Johanna flirt—I had started seriously considering taking this business proposal to the next level. It only made sense, I reasoned. I felt like my aunt was just waiting to see a condom wrapper in my bathroom wastebasket to convince her that I am straight and breathing and meeting my sexual needs somehow.
Not to mention that it's been a hell of a long time since I've had an orgasm brought to me by a man and not Energizer.
So I swipe my credit card over and over again through the machine, each time taking out the maximum withdrawal amount. If I were sober, I'd realize that the interest on the cash advances alone will kill me on my next statement and that one night of sex with anyone can't be worth this much money. But then I remember the way Peeta's hips had felt against mine; how perfectly we fit together against that car, fully clothed and in broad daylight. I can only imagine that he'll be even better naked and between the soft sheets of my bed.
I run my card through one last time, praying that I'm still sober enough to do have figured the math correctly, because there's no way in hell that I can count through all of this.
Johanna swings an arm around my neck and presses a sloppy kiss to my temple. "Top night, Brainless!" she calls as she stumbles down the block to the door of her apartment building. "Top fucking night!"
With the back of my hand, I unsuccessfully stifle a giggle as I shove the money into my small purse and climb back into the limousine. I haven't heard from Peeta in a while, but that's no matter. The element of surprise usually works best in these situations.
The house is dark and silent as I twist my key in the lock and take the stairs carefully. Someone—probably my uncle—has thought to leave the hall light on its dimmest setting so I can see enough not to trip over my own feet. Peeta lies sleeping peacefully on my bed, his glasses slipping down his nose, and the thick book he's been reading open on his lap. He really did try to wait up for me. That little gesture is enough to convince me that the next step of my plan is absolutely necessary. But not here. Not in this room. Not on the floral sheets that my aunt bought for my thirteenth birthday.
I bend down and plant a light kiss on Peeta's cheek. His eyes flutter open sleepily. Have his eyelashes always been this long or is that another side effect of the alcohol?
Once he wakes a bit more, he sits straight up and looks at me, concern etched in the lines of his forehead. "Are you okay?"
I nod. "I'm perfect." Then I extend my hand to him and he pushes himself off the bed. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in close.
"Katniss…" he breathes. The lips I can't stop thinking about are maddeningly close to my own. "Don't you want to get in bed?"
My head is light as I kiss him softly and turn to lead him back down the stairs, out the front door, and onto the deck of my uncle's boat. I stumble going up the stairs—of course I do—but Peeta's hands are right there to steady me, to keep me balanced, and for the first time, I can see evidence in his eyes that he wants this as badly as I do.
He follows me on board and into the hull of the boat, never once questioning what the hell we're doing outside on a cool, sticky Seattle night, or why I'm stepping out of my ridiculous stiletto heels and rolling the pink argyle socks over my ankles. He doesn't protest when I press my body to his and unfasten the buttons of his shirt one at a time until his chest is revealed to me and I can run my hands over the fine blond hairs.
He watches me with lust-filled eyes as I unzip my skirt and step out of it and pull the blue sweater over my head. At one point I see him open his mouth, and I'm terrified that he'll ask me to stop or he'll laugh and tell me that I've completely misread the situation… But instead, his tongue darts between his lips to moisten them, and he runs a hand through his hair as the front of his boxers twitch.
I'm naked before I can register that I've unhooked my bra and tossed it over the lamp and stepped out of my simple cotton panties. It isn't fancy lingerie, hell, it doesn't even match, but as I watch Peeta take in the sight of my bare body, it doesn't matter. He forms fists with his hands and relaxes them slowly and vaguely I wonder if he's trying to restrain himself. I'm silently grateful for the courage in the form of alcohol that still courses through my blood. I've never been a take-charge kind of girl.
"It hardly seems fair that I'm naked and you aren't…" I say breathily as I take a step toward him and situate myself on my knees in front of him. Carefully, slowly, to draw out the experience as much as possible for both of us, I slide my fingers under the waistband of his boxers and tug gently downward.
He moans a little as the fabric moves over his half-hard dick and then slides down his thighs. Peeta shifts ever so slightly and the fabric pools around his feet. "Katniss…" His voice is strained and deeper than normal.
I look up at him with wide eyes as I silence him by taking the tip of his cock into my mouth and suckling gently. He's trying so hard to keep himself in check. His fingernails dig into the flesh of his thighs to keep from gripping my head to move me just the infinitesimal direction that would drive him to the edge. His teeth clamp over his bottom lip as I use my hand to stroke him in time with my oral ministrations.
"Katniss…" he hisses again, and his breathing is sharp and ragged. The problem he has with what I'm doing strikes me suddenly—he hates relinquishing this much control. But then a drop of his juices lands on my tongue and I'm desperate for more. I move my head and hand faster, suck in my cheeks more tightly, and then I gasp when I feel his hand grip the back of my head and tug me away from him.
I'd be lying if I said my feelings weren't hurt. Thom had never complained when I'd bowed before him and worked him to frenzy with my mouth. Then again, Thom has had much fewer women than Peeta… I suppose my pathetic attempt at giving head isn't worth much. Mortified, and trying desperately to keep my tears in check, I crawl away from Peeta and toward the pile of my clothes just a few feet away.
"What are you doing?" he asks me breathlessly.
"I… I thought… Never mind…" I shake my head, wishing for the first time tonight that I'd left my hair down so it would hide my flaming cheeks. The first tear runs down my cheek as Peeta kneels beside me on the floor. Then he's kissing me gently, coaxing me back toward the small bed. I'll do whatever he wants as long as those hands never leave my body.
He settles me gently onto the jersey sheets and lies on top of me. He kisses me again and wipes away the escaped tears with the pad of his thumb. His long, lithe fingers seem to trail fire as they pass over my face, my neck, my shoulders. His mouth finds the hollow of thin skin just behind my earlobe and he sucks gently, just enough to make me squirm beneath him, desperate to feel him, his mouth, his hands all over me.
"Let your hair down," he whispers gruffly.
I oblige and a handful of hairpins later, my thick curls cascade over my shoulders and stick to my already glistening skin. It's humid, I realize vaguely, and it seems so surprising to me that I'm able to focus on anything other than Peeta's fingers as they trace designs in electric waves on my sides.
"Let go," he murmurs against my skin before kissing his way down my stomach and settling his face between my thighs. I stiffen, afraid that he'll see something terribly wrong with me, but he says nothing. He just strokes my thighs gently to coax them open. Then he dips a finger into my core and the sensation is so great that my back arches immediately. One becomes two become three and then his lips clamp down on the most sensitive part of me and I'm grinding against his mouth for all I'm worth. I have to grasp handfuls of bed sheets and bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from crying out.
Raising his head from his sweet torture, Peeta looks up at me. "Let yourself go," he whispers. "Let yourself feel this." With his free hand, he reaches up and laces his fingers through mine.
I nod. I already feel less woozy from the booze of Delly's party, but the euphoria of my drunkenness has been replaced by the ecstasy I know is so close with Peeta. My breath grows shallow and raspy as his fingers move faster and faster. I'm just about to cry out his name when he halts his actions, sits up, and watches me breathe for a moment.
"You're sure about this?" he asks, gesturing between our naked bodies.
Truth be told, I'm not sure of anything at the moment, other than that we're here and together and my legs are still shaking from the pressure of his mouth. So I nod again and reach for him and once again, our bodies fit together perfectly.
Peeta kisses me gently, more gently than he has this entire weekend, as his hand snakes between my legs and guides him right to my opening. He moves into me so slowly that I think I may die if he doesn't completely sheath himself soon. My hips jerk forward of their own accord and he smiles down at me.
"Patience…" he breathes against my mouth and continues to move. "Everything worth having is worth waiting for."
I close my eyes tightly and gasp when he finally fills me completely. When he's convinced that I'm comfortable, he begins to thrust in and out as slowly as he can manage. I know I'm going to go crazy from the sensations rippling throughout me. I need more. I need to feel the fire extend from my belly into my fingertips, the very top of my head, my toes. I need him in a way that I've never needed another person before. Not even Thom… Not even Thom.
Peeta groans and increases his pace. His eyes are clamped tightly shut and his mouth hangs open in a tiny 'O' of pleasure.
It's quick, whether it's from how long it's been since I shared my body with another person or just that Peeta really, really knows what he's doing. Either way, the warmth of pleasure already burns hot in my abdomen, built up by the long minutes of foreplay, and it's quickly spreading into just the areas I need it most. I grip his arms tightly and moan his name as the muscles in my thighs tighten in a vain attempt to draw him even deeper within me.
"Fuck, Katniss…" He's guttural, animalistic as he continues to move.
"Peeta…" I have just enough time to mutter his name once more as everything goes silent and silver and fuzzy around the edges. My eyes close automatically and I feel myself carried away onto waves of the most serene feeling I've ever known. My lungs burn with need of oxygen, but I can't bring myself to draw breath and break the spell that has so completely captured me. I convince myself that oxygen is overrated—all I need in this moment is Peeta. My toes flex, then curl, and my fingernails dig helplessly into Peeta's arms. He fills me twice more before a string of obscenities leave his lips, followed by my name in a breathy sigh, and I feel him release within me.
We lie together for a long time, his fingers ensnared in my loose hair, our legs wrapped together and tangled in the sheets.
I'm drifting in that perfect, liquid state between waking and sleep when Peeta's voice reaches me. "Katniss, this… Was it… Real?"
Exhausted from both the alcohol and the love-making, I can't open my eyes or form more than one word, but I do manage to nod. "Real."
Thanks for reading!
