Second to last chapter, people! I just couldn't wait any longer to publish it! Enjoy!
My father has gone all out, because honestly, he doesn't know any other way. I get that from him. Growing up, I was constantly creating elaborate spectacles for the girls I was trying to woo. And usually, I love having things in common with my Dad. But look where that trait got me.
Katniss and I walk up the stairs at the back of the bakery to the apartment above it—the one I grew up in—and are greeted with Dad's special: seared scallions with mango chutney.
"You guys are right on time," my father calls as Katniss and I slip off our shoes at the front door. "The beignets just finished and the wine is done decanting. Come, come!"
The two of us make our way across the small living room and into the dining room. To the left is the hallway that leads to the bathroom and the bedrooms. And to the right is the kitchen, where my father emerges once again with three bowls full of his famous strawberry, spinach and feta salad.
My father sits on one side of the small square table and has arranged for Katniss and me to sit on the other. The table is set with Dad's special evening china—the one thing of my mother's he kept. She was obsessed with china when we were young, having a different set for every day of the week, each magnificently decorated and delicate; plus multiple sets she had for special occasions. This set, the one my father kept, was the set used for Christmas dinner. It was the one day in the year that my mother actually succeeded at pretending she liked me, and the one day that she wouldn't lay a finger on me. I think my father kept it to convince himself that he didn't marry a total monster; that every once in a while she wasn't an insufferable bitch who hit a child to ease her own problems.
"I hope you guys like everything!" my father says, cheerful.
"I'm sure we will," Katniss replies, to my surprise, with little hesitation and a lot of excitement.
Even though we ate not three hours ago, I'm starved. I dig into the scallops whole-heartedly and I watch Katniss do the same. They are simply perfection; perfectly cooked and the chutney adds a welcomed sweet slap to the dish.
"This is incredible, Mr. Mellark," Katniss moans as she finishes her second helping. I groan in agreement—I'm on my third.
"I'm glad you are enjoying it, and please, it's Will," my father answers, his eyes crinkling in the corner as he smiles at her.
Katniss takes a sip of her wine, my father having poured her a very small glass, knowing that she is still underage; then she leans back into her chair, officially full and content. Or at least I think that's why. I'm still trying to understand this enigma of a woman.
"So how did the trip go?" my father asks, taking a sip from his own wine glass.
Katniss nods her head. "It went really well. We got to our destination and did couple fun things along the way as well."
"And the Jeep ran okay?"
Both of us freeze for a moment. All I can think about is the way Katniss felt wrapped around me, calling my name, finishing inside her as we made love in the back of the broken-down Jeep. And I can't tell for sure, but from the way her cheeks flair pink, she's thinking something similar.
I clear my throat, hoping my father doesn't catch on to anything. "Uh, we had some trouble two days ago; broke down an hour or so out of St. Louis. But it wasn't a problem to get it fixed," I tell him, finishing the rest of my wine in one large gulp.
My father doesn't comment on the weirdness, he just continues asking Katniss questions about the trip, to which she replies in a polite voice, her attention on him—and no one else. Not even a glance in my direction. But I like watching the two of them interact. Katniss seems so comfortable with him. And I don't want my brain to make the connection but it does anyway: none of my ex-girlfriends were like this with my father.
The night carries on until it's almost ten o'clock and the beignets are devoured. When my father begins to yawn, I decide to call it a night. He has to wake up early in the morning—it's time for us to go.
I stand up from the table and my father does the same, then pulls me into his arms. I missed my Dad so much when I was gone, which I'm only now realizing. This man is my hero and my best friend. I breathe in his familiar scent and rub up and down his back a couple times before I pull away.
My Dad pulls Katniss into his arms as soon as we separate—and whispers something into her ear that I can't hear.
"So, Katniss," he says after he's released her from his grasp, "please tell me you aren't driving home tonight. I know it's only an hour, but it's almost dark."
I look out the window and see that he's right: the sun is setting in the horizon, casting oranges and pinks across the sky.
I don't want her to leave. Not yet.
I cut Katniss off before she can say a word, unable to hear her say that she's leaving me. "Of course not, Dad. She's staying at my place tonight."
Katniss turns her head in my direction and I meet her eyes as reach for her, sliding my hand until it rests comfortably in the center of her back. She smiles at me, her half smile, the side of her mouth turning up on the left side; and I smile back at her, warmth filling my core.
But that warmth doesn't last long. Katniss and I get back into the Jeep and drive the mile and a half to my place, a small brown building with three other apartments. I've lived here since my sophomore year of college. Finnick invited me to live with him back then, but I didn't want to take part in the parade of floozies he constantly has going in and out of his place. So I found this apartment instead.
We park in my designated spot in front and hop out of the vehicle. I grab both mine and Katniss's bags from the backseat and head towards the front stairs, up to the second floor. My apartment is on the left, number 3. I pull my keys back out of my pocket and unlock the door.
My apartment is just how I left it. The small stack of cooking magazines on the wooden coffee table, the blankets piled on the right couch cushion, my DVDs collecting dust in the corner.
"Uh, this is my place," I say, suddenly uncomfortable, waving at the white walls and navy carpet. The kitchen is tucked into the corner, a bar separating it from the living room. To the right is the hallway that leads to the bathroom and the bedroom. I walk down it, Katniss in my shadow.
I enter my bedroom—the bed in the center, my closet in the corner, bookshelves lining every wall—and release a shaky breath. I don't want to make her uncomfortable. It was different when we were in hotels and the tent and before had sex—but this is my apartment. I don't make to make her feel like I expect sex. So I say something that pains me.
"I'll sleep on the couch and you can sleep in my bed," I tell her as I set my bag on the floor next to my nightstand. Shit. I'm officially home. Why does that hurt my heart so much?
I walk over to my closet and grab a clean pair of boxers from the top drawer of my dresser. I take a deep breath before I turn around to face this beautiful, confusing woman again.
"No," Katniss says, as soon as I'm facing her again. It's her controlled tone, the I've-made-up-my-mind-and-no-one-can-change-it voice.
"Katniss…" I start, but I trail off. I don't really want to turn her down. I want to cuddle with her one last time before she leaves my life forever and I'm back to feeling empty and broken inside.
"Please, Peeta." Her voice is pleading. "Stay with me?"
"Always," I respond immediately, truthfully, no hesitation in my voice or my heart.
And then she's pulling me onto the bed and into the moonlight, her hands running up and down my back. I hold her effortlessly stunning face in my hands and press my forward to hers, my body humming and heart exploding out of my chest. And then she's kissing me, her body and lips molding to mine; I kiss her back with everything that I am, sighing into her mouth. Kissing Katniss is pure heroin and my veins feel like they are about to burst. I don't care, for once, if loving Katniss is going to kill me in the end. It's what I have to do. Right now. I need to be with her again and again until the sun comes up and she has disappeared into the horizon.
Clothes begin to fall away. First my shirt—Katniss wrenching from my body as if it's offensive to her—and then hers. We press our chests together, breathing as one, loving as one, becoming as one. Then it's her jeans, sliding down her muscled, tan, gorgeous legs and onto the carpet at the bottom of the bed. I kiss back up her body, listening to her gasps and sighs of pleasure and contentment, never wanting this moment to end. My jeans are next; Katniss tears them down my legs and casts them over her shoulder before crawling back over me and collapsing on my chest. My arms instantaneously wrap around her small frame as if it's an automatic reaction. I unclip her bra and pull it down her arms, finally skin on skin.
Then my boxers are peeled off and stuffed down into the sheets, lost in passion and carelessness. Katniss's head falls into my lap and her lips wrap around my cock for the first time—and I see stars. Her mouth is warm and wet and pure heaven as she enthusiastically takes me into it over and over again until I'm clutching at the sheets with one hand and my fingers of the other are weaving into her hair, pulling at the roots.
"Oh, Katniss," I moan, unable to help myself.
She pulls away from me then. But before I can miss her, she shucks off her panties and tosses them aside. Again, I'm struck my how fucking sexy every inch of her is; I can see her glistening in the moonlight, wet and ready. She crawls back on top of me and positions herself over my eager erection.
I grab her hips, stilling her for a moment, and reach into my nightstand. As soon as my hand wraps around the square piece of foil, I pull it back out. Katniss grabs the condom from me and tears it open with her teeth. She removes the condom from the wrapper and so fucking sexily, she rolls the latex down my rigid cock; I groan loudly.
As soon as the wrapper is thrown to the floor, slowly, I guide myself into her. We groan in unison, relishing in the connection. It's perfection. I know I've used that word a million times to describe Katniss, but no other word seems to make sense. Everything about her is exactly that: perfection. But she's not just perfect. No. She's perfect for me. And that's what makes being with her thousand times more intense and incredible. We are meant to be. I think I've always known that, deep down, but I've never wanted to admit it to myself.
"Peeta," Katniss growls, her hands falling down onto my chest, her nails digging into my pecs. I moan again, and bounce her up with my hips, making her take every inch of me with each thrust. "Do you like this?" she asks, a mischievous grin on her face.
I'm momentarily confused by her tone, but then it dawns on me: she remembered. The first day in the car together, we played twenty questions and I told her that this was my favorite position. That I can watch exactly how a woman feels and how she likes it. She remembered.
"Fuck, Katniss, you know I do," I gasp, my body quickening. She opens her legs a little wider, sinking down on me even further and harder. "You look so fucking sexy, taking me inside you."
Katniss groans at my words, pulses around me, and picks up the pace. Faster and faster we go, building quickly to what is guaranteed to be an explosion.
But before we get too close to a climax, Katniss drops onto my chest, ceasing her movements, and nuzzles her face into my neck.
"I want you on top, Peeta," she whispers. "Just hold me close."
She doesn't have to tell me twice. I roll us over and slide my arms around her toned back. I plant kisses all over her face, breathing her in. Katniss moves her lips back to mine and I slowly begin to thrust inside her again. Katniss clings to me, her legs wrapped around my back—feet linked and pressed against my ass—and her nails digging into my shoulder blades.
I go slow, letting my heart and head guide me. My hands glide over inch of her I can reach, worshiping her with my hands. I don't ever want this to end. I want to be here, connected to Katniss like this, forever.
But all things must come to an end. Katniss continues to ripple and tighten around me, until, with a thrust that rocks against her swollen clit, she comes—shouting my name into the night. And I can't help but come at the sound of this incredible woman getting off. I pant her name into her ear and with one last thrust, fill up in the condom, wishing that I was filling her up instead.
I do the next few things in a dreamlike state: first, I dispose of the condom in the trashcan in the corner of the room. Second, I get us both a glass of water from the kitchen. And third, I crawl back into bed and kiss her, hoping to God this actually real life.
Katniss lies on her side, facing me, and I do the same. I place one hand under my pillow and drape one hand over her side, onto her strong back. It's quiet only for a moment, before Katniss breaks it.
"'Don't what,' Peeta?"
Her musical voice pulls me out of my contented haze and I focus on her eyes. She's looking at me, her stormy eyes open and curious.
"Huh?" I begin to draw lazy circles on her back with my fingers.
"The second day of our trip," she starts cautiously, "you were talking about how your ex-girlfriend cheated on you and you said you wanted to get away for awhile. And then you said 'I don't'—but then you stopped. I want to know. Don't what?"
I still my movements entirely. I can't believe she even remembers that. I almost revealed something greatly personal in a moment of sadness and openness. I never for one minute ever thought she would think to ask me that again someday. But I remember, too. I remember exactly what I started to say before I stopped myself.
"I don't…" I trail off. I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves. "I don't want to hurt anymore."
Katniss leans forward and presses her forehead to mine, still keeping our eyes locked. She looks so hopeful and sad at the same time.
"Me neither."
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