I'm lighting the last candle when the front door closes. If not for the open windows, he would have made it into the house undetected. Silently urging the wick to catch, I smile as the small flame comes to life. Blowing out the match, I drop it into the trash.
"Katniss?" he calls out. I imagine him standing in the foyer, shaking the snow from his hair and coat. The storm is relentless, the biggest flurry we've had in years. It's the only reason he's home so early. Everyone is too weary of the weather to trudge into town. Even the promise of warm sticky buns can't entice them through this storm.
"Up here!" I call back, head inclined towards the open door. I glance down and swear under my breath. Even with the fire kindled in the hearth, the cold air pushes through the cracked windows. The floor chills the soles of my feet. I hobble across the room and lean against the back of a chair to yank my socks off and cast them to the side. The bathrobe requires more fortitude to vacate but discard it I do, dropping it into the seat of the chair. Hustling to the door, I slide into the space between it and the wall to study my reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the door. I've run out of time to do anything else, but I hastily pull the elastics from my hair and yank my fingers through the braids to unweave them.
"Are you hungry? I brought what was left from the bakery." His voice sounds closer. He's coming up the stairs. I'm almost out of time. My discarded clothes litter the floor, but I don't have time to pick them up. Instead, I kick them out of the way as I move back to the center of the room to grab the silk tie I left on the nightstand. I hear his footsteps in the hallway as I move into position by the door.
"Where are you?" he asks as he walks into the room. I'm sandwiched behind the door again, out of sight in the darkness outside of the candles' glow. He doesn't turn around as he ambles in, affording me the opportunity to sneak up behind him and slide the tie over his eyes.
"Right here," I whisper, leaning toward his ear. Probably not my best idea, in retrospect. He startles at the surprise, and I catch his elbow in my stomach. Hard. I try to suppress my involuntarily grunt as I hurry to tie the ends of the tie into a knot behind his head.
"Sorry," he apologizes quickly. His fingers grope behind himself for me. "But what the hell are you doing?"
"It's a surprise." I am useless at sultry talk, so I do my best to keep my voice soft, quiet, and as timid as I can muster.
"What did you break this time?" he asks. He hands dart out in front of him, reaching blindly to investigate for damage.
"Nothing. Will you just-" I force myself to take a deep breath and collect my thoughts. I have a plan for tonight, I remind myself. That means I have to check my attitude at the door. "Come here," I say instead, catching his hand and turning him to face me. His hands still reach blindly to assess his surroundings.
"Please take this off." His voice isn't panicked, but I can tell he doesn't like the idea of being blindfolded. With his free hand, he reaches up to try to pull it off his eyes.
"Wait, wait, wait." I catch his hand and pull it back down to place it on my waist instead.
"If you broke the vase, just tell me. You know it's useless when you glue stuff back together and think I magically won't notice." His eyebrows are hidden beneath the silk, but I smile as I picture them raising. His fingers start to probe the material covering my waist. His palm flattens, fingers splayed across my skin. His Adam's apple bobs as his fingers slip down to my upper thigh. When he speaks next, his tone has dropped an octave. "What are you wearing?"
My smile spreads as I try to hold my composure. "That," I whisper as I lean into him, "is part of the surprise."
"Mmmm." His fingers embark on an expedition across my skin. They travel around my waist, sliding up my back, then back down. "Okay, I'll play," he says. His breath hitches and his jaw tightens when he swallows. "What's the other part?"
I capture his hand and tug it up from where it roams my butt with purpose. I return it to my back and slide it up six inches further than it explored before. His fingers find the clasp with learned dexterity. They maneuver over the fabric surrounding it, a dance on the stage of my back. Then they ease across my shoulder blade and around the side. "Oh stars," he whispers. "Where did you get this?"
I clear my throat, glad he cannot see the blush on my face. "I would rather not say," I confess. Going to Hazelle and asking her to sew it for me was the greatest embarrassment of my life. Even more unbearable had been when she'd told me she'd be happy to do it, but she was going to need more details about what I had in mind for the design.
"Well, I would much rather see," he says. His hand moves again to reach for the tie. I catch it, returning it down to my waist with a motion toward the front of the outfit to keep him occupied.
"Just a second."
A growl of frustration emits from deep within his throat. "Why?" It's almost a whine.
"Because." My throat catches as his hand grazes before sliding back to my waist. His fingers tremor against my bare skin, and I doubt the cold is solely to blame. "I'm building suspense," I confess with a light, nervous laugh. I'll never be as good at this as him, but for tonight I'll try.
"Katniss." His voice is strained as he speaks each word with purpose. "Trust me. Suspense has been sufficiently built." His hands pull me flush against him. My chin bumps into his jaw as he draws me in. I catch the nape of his neck to direct his head and guide his lips to mine. The meaning behind his words evident within seconds, and I start to lose control of my plan as I melt into him.
As one hand works on the clasp, the other grasps for the tie yet again. This time I let him yank it off.
"Oh sweet heavens," he says. His mouth peels away from mine in shock at the sight of my lingerie. His eyes devour me, growing wide with disbelief. The lace material leaves little to the imagination and though he has seen everything a hundred times over, he still takes his time to drink it in.
He pulls me back against him, his fingers working twice as hard to undo the clasp. "Whatever you broke, I don't even care. It is forgiven."
"It's something I did, more than something I damaged," I confess. My fingernails trace his scalp as I pull my fingers through his hair. I tilt my head to the side to kiss his neck, a flutter of chapped lips against cool skin.
"I forgive you." With a victorious snap, the clasp releases.
"I haven't told you what it is yet."
Without an ounce of subtly, his eyes study the way the fabric releases its tension from my body. It slinks off my shoulders as gravity tugs it toward the ground. "Don't care."
"Stop it. I'm trying to be serious for one minute before you get distracted."
"Oh, Love, that ship has long since sailed."
My fingers wrap around a handful of hair and pull his head away to catch his eye. His fingers halt on my shoulders as they pull the spaghetti thin straps off. "Peeta."
"What?" A definite whine this time. He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"I stopped taking my herbs last week." I wait for the words to sink in, for him to realize what I've told him.
"Good for you," he says distractedly. I wonder if he's even listening. His pinkie fingers hook under the straps and continue to pull them forward.
"Peeta, work with me here for a minute."
"Katniss, I'm sure as hell trying, but you make this way more difficult than it needs to be. Mmm," he murmurs as he leans in to place a kiss against my collarbone, "candles are a nice touch."
He does his best to distract me, and it almost works. "Herbs." I stretch the word to two syllables. His hands insist, and I worry the flimsy material will tear on the next attempt. I help to ease the straps off to keep him from ripping it in his haste. "I stopped taking them."
"Mmhmm." He plants his hands firmly on either side of my waist and guides me backward towards the bed. "That's nice," he mumbles against my lips.
I should have known this plan wouldn't work. The news needed to be told before I revealed the outfit. He hasn't heard a single word I've said since the blindfold dropped. "Peeta." My feet trip over themselves as I halt our progress. I catch either side of his face to lift his head to look directly into my eyes. "I'm ready now." It's the hardest thing I've ever said. My voice trembles as I rush over the words, as if I still can't believe I've made this decision.
"Again, I'm trying here, but you aren't exactly making it easy." With a grunt, he drops all pretense. Lifting me off the ground, he carries me the few steps left to the bed and drops me with a bounce onto the mattress, following directly behind.
I give up on trying to tell him. I'll find a better way, later night or tomorrow. The snow will keep the bakery shut for a day or two and afford me time to figure out what to say. He tries to slide me to the head of the bed, but I pull him down where we lay. He's given me space since I returned from District Two and while I've been thankful for it, I'm tired of it by now.
His lips are a chaotic mess. They press against my mouth, my cheek, my ear, my neck. His hands tease as I gasp, arching up into him, pinning his hand between us. I fumble for his shirt, which catches on his chin in my haste to remove it. His pants put up even more of a fight as he's hesitant to pull away far enough to let me reach the zipper.
"Oh." The word is loud against my ear. His body freezes as he hovers over me. I glance down between our bodies to search for caught skin. I hate zippers. His hands fumble as he shifts atop me to hold his weight up on his elbows. "Oh," he says again, his eyes as rigid as his body as he stares down at me.
My hands freeze as they undo the button of his pants. "Yeah," I say, when I realize my words have caught up to him. "Took you long enough." I laugh nervously as I try to gauge his reaction, fully aware of the irony in my words.
"Bit distracted by other things."
I watch the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. "Understood."
"Are you sure?" he asks. His words are uncertain as he thinks I am, but happiness bursts from his eyes.
My hands slide up his chest, his muscles tensing beneath them, to his shoulders. Gripping them for support, I nod. I can't say the words again, not so soon and vulnerably.
"I only want it if you want it," he tells me. It's different than the times he's said it before. We aren't arguing this time. Now we stand on the same side to face a new unknown together.
He gives me this out, but I don't need it. I've made him wait long enough, and for the first time I think I can handle what comes next, when we jump off this cliff together. "Peeta?" It's hardly a whisper.
"Hmm?"
"Shut up and focus," I tell him. My grin slowly returns as I remember the perk of conception. "Babies don't make themselves."