Monday and Tuesday pass in a blur of meetings, spreadsheets and expense forms, the end of year rush hitting its peak before it inevitably starts to wind down at the end of the week. Effie tries not to get too stressed; she's done plenty of work behind the scenes to ensure that nobody falls behind, and there have been no major incidents so far. Still, she finds herself taking calming breaths on more than one occasion, despite the fact that the same thing happens every year with no issue. She keeps reminding herself that it'll all be worth it come the Christmas break. A whole week where she doesn't have to think about anything to do with work. It's not that she hates her job; not at all. She likes her job, and she likes her boss, but she'd be a fool not to enjoy a week's vacation.
On Wednesday she leaves the office late. The sky is pitch black and so she hurries to her car, thankful that she'd had the foresight this morning to park it near the light. She's making her way to her door when she sees Haymitch rounding the corner, hands shoved into his coat pockets and collar turned up against the chill. Her mouth starts to turn up into a grin and then she gets herself under control, instead smiling at him softly when he looks up and his eyes meet hers. He looks as if he might be smiling back, but Effie can't be sure in the darkness, and so she carries on walking towards him until they meet near her doorway.
"Bet you're rocking the sexy secretary look under that coat, sweetheart," he says, his mouth turning up into a smirk, and Effie bites back to urge to smirk right back.
"For the last time Haymitch, I'm not a secretary, I'm a PA," she rebukes him, but there's no reproach to her words, not really, and he only smirks wider. "I'm wearing a blouse and a skirt; perfectly acceptable office attire."
"I'm teasing. I saw you putting your coat on outside the car," he laughs, adding, "And I saw your shirt. Nice bow."
"Yes, well. It's a pussybow blouse. The clue is rather in the name, Haymitch."
He barks out a laugh, and Effie's momentarily confused until he says, "A pussy-nice, princess," and she feels the smallest hint of a blush working its way up her neck.
She has the sudden urge to kiss him; to step forward and loop her arms around her neck, to feel his chapped lips brushing against her own. She thinks he must be thinking the same thing, because he steps forward slightly, and she wonders if he's going to kiss her. She decides that if he kisses her, she'll invite him in. She'll let him slip the blouse off her shoulders, and then she'll take off his clothes and taste the secrets that lie beneath.
But he doesn't kiss her. He just looks at her lips for a fraction of a second too long and then drags his eyes back up to meet hers. "I won't keep you. As you said, you've got a busy, busy week," he says teasingly, and Effie tries to ignore the pang of disappointment that she feels in her chest. "See you Friday," he adds, and that feeling of disappointment is quickly replaced by one of anticipation. He gives a mock salute as he leaves, and she watches him walk down the driveway, turning to unlock her door when he starts to make his way down the sidewalk.
When she goes to bed later that night, she falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow, exhausted after the long day she's put in. She doesn't dream, but she wakes up thinking of calloused hands and tartan blankets.
On Thursday, Effie works through her lunch break, carrying out a final and thorough check of the documents that need to be submitted for the audit. The accounts are all in order, with no anomalies to be found. They're just as she knew they would be, and she hands them over to her boss with a smile on her face and an assurance that they'll be just fine. The mood in the office seems to lift as the afternoon progresses, and at six pm Effie finds herself joining a group of her coworkers as they make their way to the nearest bar. The thought of a glass of wine is definitely an appealing one; Effie can't deny that. Still, she tells herself, she'll stop at a couple of glasses. Tomorrow may be a day full of simple tasks now that the audit is over and the Christmas break is approaching, but Effie doesn't relish the idea of carrying out those tasks under the fog of a hangover. She can't imagine how Haymitch does it.
Effie manages to get seats together with Portia and Cinna, and she breathes a soft sigh of relief at the realisation that she can be herself for the next couple of hours. It's not that she doesn't get on with her other coworkers; they're perfectly pleasant people, and she has no problem engaging in small talk with them in the office. But she's never felt completely comfortable around them. There's no glaring reason that she should feel this way; none of them have ever said or done anything remotely untoward to her. She's just always felt like she needs to try just a bit too hard, as if being herself would just result in disappointment for everyone involved.
But Portia and Cinna are different. They both seem to have a way of putting everyone around them immediately at ease, and Effie has never felt obligated to be anybody but herself when she's around either of them. And that's a rarity in itself.
So she tries her best to let go of the tension in her shoulders, making herself as comfortable as possible on the slightly squeaky chair, and she smiles and nods when Portia asks her if she'd like to share a bottle of wine.
Effie's finishing her second glass of wine when Brutus from accounts deposits a half full bottle on their table with the instruction that everyone needs to have a glass of what is apparently the office whisky. Effie has no intention of indulging, but she can't help but laugh when she looks at the bottle. It's been dressed up to look like a Christmas tree, and her thoughts immediately fly to Haymitch, and his apartment that's probably got a stockpile of whisky, but no Christmas tree to be seen.
Her phone is on the table and she's picking it up and finding his messages before she can stop herself. Can I send you a picture? she types and presses send, topping up her glass so that it's half full. There's colour on her cheeks and she feels pleasantly warm, but she'll stop after she finishes this glass.
Her phone buzzes almost immediately in response, and she tries not to let her eagerness show when she opens her text to read what he's written. His, Fuck. Yeah, send it, please has her wrinkling her nose slightly, unsure what exactly it is about her question that has provoked such a response. Still, she snaps a photo of the bottle and sends it to him, taking a sip of her wine as she waits for his reply. There's a few minutes lull while she waits, and she fills the time talking to Portia and Cinna about their respective plans for the holidays. They're picking at a plate of fries, and they'd both asked Effie if she wanted to share when they'd ordered, but she'd declined. The wine is going to her head slightly as a result of her refusal, but she'll be fine if she stops after this glass. It's nearing ten pm anyway, and they're going to be heading off soon.
She grabs her phone when it vibrates against the table, and she frowns slightly when she reads his response. You're killing me, smalls. She reads it again, trying and failing to decipher the meaning behind his words. When the realisation that he'd been expecting an entirely different sort of picture hits, she feels her face erupt in colour, and she bites her lip to try and distract herself from the heat she can feel on her cheeks. She looks up and sees Portia looking at her quizzically, and she clears her throat and takes another sip of her wine, trying to ignore the way that her hand is trembling slightly where it grips the glass.
Maybe you can see that for yourself tomorrow, she types, and she raises her head to see Cinna looking at her knowingly, a smirk on his face. "Just uh...just making some plans with a friend," she says, with a wave of her hand that she knows isn't at all convincing.
"I bet you are," he chuckles, and the flush that blooms on her chest has nothing at all to do with the wine.
Her phone vibrates in her hand, and she tries not to seem too eager as she looks down to read the message. His response of You asking me on a date princess? has her pausing slightly. Cinna and Portia are still watching her with curious eyes, so she's careful not to frown, but she worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she types back, I thought we already agreed to go out tomorrow night?
Effie hits send, and she immediately worries that perhaps she's been too aggressive in her approach. His response comes almost immediately, and she feels herself deflate slightly when she reads, I thought we were just going to eat takeout at your place? Still, she's as cheery as she can be in her response when she sends a message back, telling him that takeout will be fine, and that had she just wanted to check that plans were still in place.
She puts her phone down on the table and picks up her glass, turning her attention back to the conversation at hand. She hasn't heard a word that's been said in the last ten minutes, and she must seem incredibly rude, typing away on her phone and ignoring her companions. Her mother would certainly have something to say about that.
She hears her phone buzz a few minutes later, but she ignores it, choosing instead to listen to Portia talking about the presents she's bought for her nephews. She talks for a while about her Christmas plans, choosing to gloss over any details about her mother or food. Instead she talks about the decorations, and the presents, and how exciting everything will be for her sister's children.
She doesn't check her phone again until Portia has excused herself to go to the bathroom, and Cinna has made his way to the bar. There are two unread text messages. The first one reads, 7:30 ok? Do you like Middle Eastern food? followed by another that asks, Or would you rather have some soul food? I know a lady that makes chicken and waffles out of her kitchen.
Effie thinks of the syrup, and the butter, and the calories, and then she thinks of her mother, and the outfit she's picked out for Christmas day might be flattering, but there's only so much that can be hidden from her mother. She immediately fires off a quick text, telling Haymitch that Middle Eastern food is fine, and that she'll see him tomorrow at seven thirty.
She rides the metro back with Portia, and they share an Uber when they get to the station, both of them having indulged in far too many glasses of wine to drive. When she steps out of the car and makes her way up the drive, her eyes are immediately drawn to the light that's shining in the upstairs window. She briefly wonders whether she should go up and see Haymitch, before immediately discounting the idea. She's got a wax booked for tomorrow lunchtime, and besides; there's something to be said for absence making the heart grow fonder. Or maybe not the heart, in this case.
Friday morning drags, and it seems as though an age has passed when it's finally time for Effie to take her lunch. She rarely gets the chance to take lunch, and when she does it's never for a full hour, so it seems as if she's doing something entirely forbidden as she leaves the office and makes her way to the salon down the street.
As the beautician rips off the first wax strip, Effie winces slightly and thinks that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to put this off until today. She's going to be red and blotchy and completely unsightly, and if she'd just planned her week better and called for the appointment sooner, then she could have avoided this problem altogether.
She's still worrying when she walks through her front door at exactly ten minutes past six, and she drops her bag on the sofa and immediately makes her way to the bathroom, pulling off her jacket as she goes. She'd had every intention of finishing a couple of hours early today, has put in enough late nights lately to be entitled to it, but a hold up with a shipment had had her frantically calling suppliers and sending hastily put together emails. She hadn't felt like she could leave until she'd known for sure that everything had been completely under control, and as a result, she's now got less than an hour and a half to get ready before Haymitch arrives.
Effie's just finished fastening her earrings when she hears a knock at her door. Her bedside clock reads 7:45, and she thinks that this is probably the first time in her life that she's ever been grateful to a date for arriving late. She checks her hair and makeup in the mirror one final time before leaving her bedroom and making her way over to the front door, taking deep breaths as she tries to calm the pounding of her heart in her chest.
She pauses when she reaches the door, and she takes a second to try to order the thoughts that are currently swarming in her head, and then she opens the door. Haymitch is standing there, takeout bag in hand and face slightly reddened from the cold, and she ushers him in before closing the door quickly behind him in an effort to keep the cold air out.
She takes the bag out of his hands with a smile and starts to walk over to the table, but she stops and turns to face him when she hears him chuckle.
"Let's eat on the couch. We always end up there anyway. I'm just saving us a trip, princess," he says with a smirk, and she can feel herself starting to get flustered at the meaning behind his words. She mulls the thought over for a few seconds before nodding somewhat stiffly and walking back over to where he's situated himself on the couch, placing the bag down onto the table in front of him.
Haymitch opens his container and picks up his fork ready to eat, stilling only when she clears her throat and murmurs, "Plates," before making her way to the kitchen. If she has to eat her dinner from her lap, she'll at least eat it off a proper plate.
Effie's not used to eating her dinner on the couch; not when there's a perfectly good dining table just across the room, with proper placemats and matching coasters . But she balances her plate on her knee and picks up her fork, bringing a small mouthful of food to her lips and chewing cautiously. It's surprisingly good, and she turns to face Haymitch, intent on asking him which restaurant it's from. He's hunched over, his arms guarding the sides of his plate, and Effie feels her forehead crease as she regards him curiously.
"So," she asks cheerily, putting her fork down to rest on her plate before continuing, "Where did you go to college?"
"Really, princess?" he snorts in response to her question, before bringing another forkful of food to his lips and humming in appreciation.
"It's an appropriate first date question!" she exclaims. She picks up her fork again, and she's just about to comment on the chicken when his next question stops her in her tracks.
"Is this is a first date then?" he queries, and Effie swallows the lump in her throat and lowers her gaze to the plate in front of her.
"Well-I mean-," she starts, before trailing off, pushing the food around her plate as she deliberately avoids his gaze. She's overstepped again, made him uncomfortable by asking too many questions. Ladies are supposed let their dates to all the talking, not interrogate them and put them on the spot.
She's desperately thinking of something to say, of anything to claw her way out of the hole that she seems to have dug herself into, when his voice breaks through her thoughts. "Didn't go to college. Dropped out to join the army," he says gruffly, and oh, she thinks to herself, that explains the scars.
"Thank you for your service," she says softly, and Haymitch snorts again and mutters something unintelligible in response.
She's not sure how to respond to that; not sure what the correct response is, in a situation like this, and she's still holding her fork awkwardly in her hand as she looks at him. He must notice, because he motions towards her plate and says, "You gonna eat that, or what? Won't taste as good cold," and his lips are turned up into something resembling a smile, and just like that, the mood lifts.
She chuckles lightly as she brings a forkful of food to her mouth, and they lapse into a comfortable silence for a few minutes as they eat. Effie only realises just how slowly she's been eating when Haymitch puts his empty plate down onto the coffee table, and she finishes the mouthful of food she's eating before placing her half full plate down next to his. His brow furrows slightly when he looks at the uneaten food but he doesn't comment, and Effie is thankful.
"So...the army?" she questions hesitantly, unsure of how much he'll want to talk about the subject.
"Where I come from, it's meth or the military, now that the mines are closed. And I wasn't smart enough to make meth," he says with a humourless laugh.
Effie frowns in response to his answer. "But that's not true," she argues as she turns to face him more fully, "I've seen the books in your apartment. You're clearly very well read."
He brushes off her comment with a shake of his head, shifting his body so that they're angled towards one another, their faces suddenly much closer than they had been before. "But then the re-enlistment bonuses dried up after Iraq, and..." he trails off, his gaze darkening slightly before he shakes his head almost imperceptibly and focuses on her face once more. "Besides, I got pretty fucking tired of people telling me what to do. You ever feel like that? Like you're some sort of fucking puppet?"
Effie opens her mouth to speak and then shuts it again almost immediately. She wants to tell him that she knows exactly what that feels like. To have every aspect of your life so tightly controlled by somebody else so that even after you've left, you're unsure whether your decisions are ever truly your own. She wants to tell him that she knows the feeling only too well, but she can't bring herself to say the words. To expose her weakness.
So she does the only thing she can think of; she kisses him.
Effie grips the collar of his shirt and pulls him towards her, rising up onto her knees and crashing their lips together with a ferocity she didn't know she was capable of until this very moment. She pours every single ounce of her pent up need into the kiss, and Haymitch groans against her mouth as his tongue slides against hers. His body molds to hers and he grazes his teeth over her bottom lip and she shivers in response. She feels a hot lick of arousal in her stomach as his fingers grasp her waist, and her nipples tighten at the feel of his chest pressing against hers. The heat of his palm is burning through the fabric of her dress, and when she breaks their kiss breathlessly, she looks at him and sees that his eyes are almost black. He's panting slightly, and she can feel him hardening against her stomach, and her knees are trembling under the effort of holding her body upright.
His hands are smoothing along the fabric of Effie's dress, causing it to ride further up her thighs on every pass of his hands, and she's about to tell him to go ahead and take it off, to take it all off, when his earlier words about this being a team effort come back to her. Her hands are shaking, but she brings them forward to rest at the front of his pants. She loosens his belt buckle and pops open the button of his jeans, dragging the zip down as slowly as she can manage and eliciting a harsh moan from Haymitch. He stands up and shoves his pants to the floor, stepping out of them hastily and then returning to the couch to kneel in front of her again.
She gets his shirt off with little effort, smoothing her hands down his chest until they ghost across the thin fabric covering his cock. Haymitch swallows visibly at her touch, before returning his hands to her waist, his thumbs rubbing over the soft fabric of her dress. She runs her hands back up to his chest, scratching him lightly with her nails on the way back down, and he makes a guttural noise low in his chest and bunches her dress in his hands.
"Take it off," she breathes, and he grunts in approval, fingers eagerly reaching down and grabbing onto the hem, lifting it up and over her head and letting it fall onto the carpet beside them. She doesn't give him a chance to look down at what she's wearing; instead, her fingers grip the nape of his neck so that she can pull him towards her and bring their lips together once more.
His hands trail down her back, over the strap of her bra and down to the base of her spine and lower still, and he groans when his fingers encounter bare skin, the tiny scrap of lace doing little to cover her. He reaches down, hands smoothing over the curve of her ass, and pulls her to him more firmly, his cock fully hard against her belly. She presses back against him more firmly, rotating her hips slightly so that his hardness grinds against her stomach and he groans harshly into her mouth, his hips jerking slightly.
He kisses her for a few moments longer and then he's pulling away, urging her backwards onto the couch, and desire thrums low in her belly as she realises what he's got planned.
She lets herself fall back into the sofa as requested, the pillow cushioning her shoulders and providing her with a perfect view of Haymitch. He looks at her for a moment, his thumb stroking reverently along the dark green lace of her bra, and she can hear her own shallow breathing in her ears, her chest rapidly rising and falling under his gaze, and then he scoots down and presses a kiss to the swell of her breast. His hands come up to cup her breasts, and his thumbs brush over the lace that covers her hardened nipples.
One of his hands trails down her side, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and she feels the soft brush of his fingers against the damp lace that covers her centre at the same time as he shifts his head and sucks her lace covered nipple into his mouth. Her tongue peeks out to dampen her lips and she gasps as he rubs his fingers against her, the lace of her panties catching her clit in a way that has her toes curling and her back arching beneath him. Her legs fall open slightly, just enough so that the next stroke of his fingers lands directly on her clit, causing a muffled whimper of his name to escape her lips.
He scrapes his teeth against her nipple as he releases it from his mouth and her eyes flutter shut. His fingers are moving against her clit, and her bra is sodden and stuck to her sensitive skin, and she's half delirious from the intensity of it all, from the sheer magnitude of the craving she feels for him.
He grips the thin band of lace between his fingers and pulls it down slowly, as if giving her a chance to protest, but she simply raises her hips and watches him with hooded eyes, her mouth dry as he drags her panties down her thighs before depositing them on the floor.
He moves so that his face is hovering over her centre, and he lets his fingers gravitate back to where she's warm, and wet, and sensitive, and when he touches her again, it's skin to skin, no barriers left between her heat and his hands.
She feels feverish with need and oh god, she's aching for him, and she chokes back the sob that threatens to escape her lips when he pinches her clit lightly between his fingers. She can feel her wetness building, slick and slippery, and she's soaking, and if it were anyone else she'd be embarrassed, mortified even, but instead she just bites down on her lip and resists the urge to moan when he pushes her thighs even further apart.
She tries to speak, to tell him that this is what she wants, that this is what she needs, but she can't concentrate, can't will her mouth to form the words; not when he's playing with her clit like that, his fingers swiping through her wetness and down, and oh...and slipping into her now, pumping slowly in and out as he presses a soft kiss and a sharp nip to her inner thigh.
"Please," she gasps, and she feels his grin bloom against her skin and she's about to ask him to stop teasing for God's sake, but the rebuke dies on her trembling lips when he turns his head and his tongue finds her clit. His stubble rasps against her, and she makes a muffled noise of pleasure as thrusts two fingers inside of her heat. His tongue is flicking and fluttering across her clit mercilessly, and she's so wet, and it feels so good, and her hips rise up from the sofa in a bid to increase the friction but he pushes her back down again, his tongue abandoning her clit to swirl teasingly around the edges.
"Simmer down sweetheart. It's too nice a job to rush," he chuckles, and he blows a cool stream of air over her throbbing clit. He slides his fingers steadily in and out, his movements slow and unhurried as he riles her up and brings her closer to that edge.
He parts her folds and licks a firm line up the length of her sex, and his fingers speed up their thrusts, and she feels as though she's drowning in the pleasure of it all. He looks up at her and she remembers how much he had liked it when she'd touched herself; when she'd stopped holding herself back and let go. She cups her breasts in her hands and breathes his name as she rubs her thumbs over her hardened nipples, and he rewards her with a low fuck and a swipe of his tongue directly over her clit. He flicks his tongue against her once, twice, before closing his lips around her and sucking hard.
Her knees tremble slightly as a desperate cry leaves her lips, and she squeezes her nipples between her thumb and forefinger in time with the movement of his mouth. His fingers are pounding into her now, curling slightly to rub against that spot inside of her, and there's a deep ache low in her belly, and she knows it's not going to take much longer. And it doesn't; it only takes a few more seconds of him sucking rhythmically and she's coming, gasping and panting his name and bucking her hips up into his face, and letting one hand fall down to tangle in his hair.
Haymitch waits until she's come down from her high and then he removes his mouth from her clit but keeps his fingers tucked inside, shifting his head slightly so that he can press a kiss to her hipbone. Effie's shaking beneath him, her thighs quivering, and she feels his groan vibrate against her trembling skin when she clenches around his fingers, aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through her body.
He takes his time as he makes his way further up her body, the roughness of his stubble a direct contrast to the soft kisses he's dropping against her stomach. When he reaches her breasts, he wastes no time in sucking her nipple into his mouth, his tongue lapping against the straining bud where it's trapped between his lips. She reaches behind to unhook her bra with shaking fingers, her breasts pushing against Haymitch's face in the process, and his groan vibrates against her skin when she casts the fabric aside.
He shifts his fingers inside her, giving a couple of lazy thrusts in time with the movement of his mouth, and she feels her clit pulse at the dual sensation. She's still on edge after her previous orgasm, and she knows that it won't take much at all to send her falling off that precipice once more. Haymitch's boxer clad cock brushes up against her thigh, and her mind is made up.
His face is hovering over hers, and he's lowering his mouth to kiss her again, his lips an inch away from her own when she starts to speak.
"I want your-I want you to-," she starts, but she doesn't finish, her cheeks heating up under the scrutiny of his gaze.
"You want what? Come on, sweetheart. You can tell me," he prompts, and he sounds reassuring, caring, and Effie is struck again by how much she's underestimated this man.
"I want-I want you to fuck me," she rushes out, the last part of her sentence so quiet that it's almost inaudible even to her own ears, and she hopes he heard her the first time, because she's not sure if she can say it again.
He pulls his fingers from her slowly, and a noise of disapproval leaves her lips before she can stop herself, high pitched and needy, but it soon morphs into a gasp when he moves his fingers up to toy with her clit before letting them sink easily back inside her. He claims her lips in a brutal kiss, swallowing her moan as he fucks her relentlessly with his fingers.
"Like this?" he asks, "With my fingers?" and he's playing dumb, the cocky bastard. He knows what she wants; he just wants to hear her say it.
"N-no. You know what I mean. Stop teasing," she whines, hooking a leg over the back of his thigh in an attempt to pull him closer to her.
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, his hot breath against her lips.
It's a particularly hard thrust of his fingers that does it, that has the words tumbling from her mouth unbidden. "Your-oh God, your cock, Haymitch. Please, I need you to fuck me," she cries out, her nails digging into his shoulders. No one has ever heard her like this before; she doesn't think she's ever heard herself like this before, and a thrill runs through her body, and she feels wanton, debauched and free.
"Yeah?" he asks, his voice low and slightly croaky. He thumb brushes her clit fleetingly, and Effie reaches up and winds her arms around his neck before pulling him down towards her for an eager kiss. She doesn't think she's ever been more sure of anything in her life; she wants to feel him inside her, feel his thickness stretching her walls as he fucks her.
"Yes," she breathes. "There are-there's a condom in my purse," she elaborates, her cheeks flushing slightly at the admission as her hand reaches out and blindly gropes through the contents of her bag before closing around the foil packet that's safely hidden away in the side pocket. She'd placed it there after their meeting on her doorstep, when she'd felt herself on the brink of asking him to come inside and make her his. She'd known then that she wouldn't be able to resist the same temptation twice in one week, and had thought it best to be prepared, just in case she found herself back on his sofa again.
Haymitch makes quick work of his boxers, shifting slightly to kick them off, and then he's back, and his body presses her harder into the sofa, his kisses increasing in urgency, and she groans when he scrapes his teeth against her bottom lip, nipping slightly before releasing it. His fingers falter slightly in their rhythm as he scoots down and takes her nipple into his mouth and sucks. Effie moans before she can stifle it, and he hums in approval against her breast as he works her over with his tongue and teeth and lips.
She arches against him and her next moan is louder, throatier, her foot brushing against the back of his calf as her hips rock up against him. When he shifts his head, Effie takes the opportunity to push him back slightly, her hands resting on his stomach as she takes a second to appreciate the view.
The muscles of his stomach jump slightly when she reaches for his cock, and she hears him suck in a deep breath when she wraps her fingers around him and starts to stroke. "Fuck," he mutters lowly, as her thumb rubs over the beads of moisture that have gathered at the head of his cock, and he thrusts forward slightly into her hand when she gives him a lazy stroke from root to tip.
Haymitch withdraws his fingers, and his hand is shaking slightly as he picks up the condom that's resting on the sofa. He fumbles slightly as he rips the foil packet open, and Effie stretches her arms above her head as she watches him roll the condom on. He casts his eyes over her body, and then he tugs her hips forward so that he's resting against her. He takes his cock in hand and slides it against her clit a few times and then he lines himself up and pushes forward, sinking into her with a muffled groan of her name.
Effie's mouth drops open on a wordless cry as he fills her, and she fights to keep her eyes open when his hands grasp her hips and he withdraws slightly before sliding all the way inside. He leans down and brushes his lips against hers and she opens for him willingly, her tongue meeting his in a deep kiss. She can hear how heavy her breathing is, and her chest is heaving against his, and she winds her legs around his hips and pulls him forward so that he's pressed against her more firmly.
"You feel so good," she whispers when they break the kiss, and he strokes his fingers through her hair softly before resting them firmly on the sofa either side of her head.
"You feel fucking fantastic," he says, his voice strained and tight with pleasure, and she sighs a little in response to his words.
He drops a kiss to her jawline as he gives a shallow thrust, and her fingers flex against his shoulders at the feeling of him moving within her. He keeps his thrusts slow and steady as he plants kisses across her jawline and neck, and then he uses his hands to push himself back slightly, hooking his arms under her knees as he starts to deepen his thrusts.
Effie inhales sharply at the change in angle, pleasure blooming in her belly as he increases his tempo, the firm movement of his hips causing his cock to hit that spot within her on every thrust. "Like that," she gasps, biting down on her lip hard as her eyes squeeze shut on a particularly deep thrust. It's not going to take her long, not at all, and she can feel the familiar fluttering in her stomach as she rapidly approaches the edge.
She shifts her hand between her thighs, and he moans when her fingers brush up against his cock, his rhythm faltering only briefly before he resumes his movements. She'd known that he'd like this, watching her touch herself as he's fucking her, and her hand shakes only slightly as she lets her finger come to rest against her clit.
"That's it, touch yourself," he pants, his eyes riveted to the spot where they're joined. She lets her finger stroke through her wetness, softly at first until she increases the pressure, choking out a sob as she rubs firmly against her swollen clit.
Her belly clenches as she feels the heat spreading across her collarbone and down over her breasts, and her finger is still against her clit, firm and steady, bringing her closer to the edge as his cock drives into her.
He leans forward suddenly, belly pressing against hers as he ups the pace, sharp thrusts of his hips against hers, his cock pounding into her relentlessly as she pinches her clit between her fingers before rubbing it firmly. She just manages to tilt her head up to press her lips against his, and then she's crying out into his mouth as her orgasm washes over her like a wave, pleasure cascading over her and drowning out all of her surroundings.
There's a roaring in her ears, and she's dimly aware of the little noises she's making as they both draw out her climax. His hips are rutting against her now, his hands fisted in her hair as he moves faster against her, and then he's tipping his head back, the cords of his neck taut as he comes with a harsh groan.
He thrusts deeply as he rides out his orgasm, fingers still clutching her hair as she lifts her hips to meet his, before he exhales heavily and lets his weight sink more fully onto her.
Effie touches his shoulders with shaking hands as she lies back fully onto the sofa and tries to catch her breath. She hums softly when Haymitch turns his head and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth before letting his forehead rest on hers, his eyes scrunched shut and his breathing heavy and laboured.
He pulls back slightly, reaches down and grips the condom as he pulls out of her, and she whimpers slightly at the loss. He rises to his feet on shaking legs, and for an awful second, Effie wonders if he's getting up to leave. The confusion must show on her face, because he motions to himself and mutters, "Just, uh-the trash," before wandering in the direction of the kitchen. Effie hears the open and close of the trashcan, and she breathes a sigh of relief when she realises he's just gone to dispose of the condom. She immediately mentally chastises herself. They've had sex once; they're not in a relationship, and he has no obligation to her. Not really. Maybe he will want to leave.
She's half holding her breath as Haymitch makes his way back over to the sofa. She's still flat on her back and completely naked, and she has the urge to cover herself with a blanket, and she feels her shoulders tense as she awaits his next movements. He grunts and nudges her slightly with his knee, and she shifts into her side, hoping that she's interpreted his non verbal communication correctly. It seems that she has, because he makes a noise of what sounds like approval, and his knees click slightly as he sits and then lays himself down next to her, throwing his arm loosely over her waist as he makes himself comfortable.
Their legs bump against each other as he leans forward and meets her lips in a languid kiss, and her hand draws lazy patterns in his chest as she lets herself get lost in the kiss.
"Got a blanket or something?" he asks when they part, "It's gonna get fucking freezing if we stay here like this for much longer."
"Language," she chides gently, but her words lack any real conviction, and she shifts slightly so that she can pull the throw from the back of the sofa and drape it over their rapidly cooling bodies. She thinks about asking him to go to bed with her, but she keeps the thought to herself and she doesn't open her mouth. She's still unsure as to what the situation is, and she doesn't want to scare Haymitch off by coming across too strong; her mother has always warned her against wearing her heart on her sleeve. He doesn't seem like the domestic sort of guy; then again, he hadn't seemed like the type to cuddle, but his arms are wrapped around her, so she supposes there are exceptions to the rule.
So they stay on the couch, and Effie presses herself a little closer to Haymitch, and she barely manages to suppress a smile when the arm he has flung across her waist tightens slightly in response.
She nuzzles her face into his neck and closes her eyes. It's just for a moment, she tells herself. Just so she can concentrate on the feel of his arm around her waist, and the way his fingers are drawing idle patterns on the skin of her lower back. She'll open her eyes any moment now.
Within minutes, she's sound asleep.