"Katniss," he says, his eyes dark. "I'm starved."

Her mouth parts as he wheels forward and lightly palms her smooth thigh. He looks up at her as if to ask permission, and she nods. He slides his hands down to cup the back of her legs and tugs, a thrill running down her spine at his touch.

"Scoot to the edge of the counter," he says, kissing her stocking-covered kneecap. She quickly obeys, her legs splayed out.

"Now," Peeta says, his voice thick. "Lean back on your elbows."

She does as he asks despite the awkwardness of it, but the heated way he looks at her erases the uncomfortable feeling of being perched at what she feels is such an unattractive angle. "Lift your hips a little," he says, his lips now on her thigh.

Down go her black lace panties. She watches as they disappear into his pants pocket, her eyes flitting from his hand to the blond head settling between her legs. His cheek brushes her inner thigh, the slightest hint of stubble caressing her sensitive skin. She pants lightly, her fingers rubbing nervously on the cool marble of the counter.

It's when she feels his warm breath on her center that she freezes.

"Wait, wait," she pushes his head back a moment, stalling for time. "Full disclosure."

He raises an eyebrow at her and leans his chin against her thigh, his cheeks flushed with desire. Had she done that to him? Did he want to lick her out that badly? The idea seemed unfathomable, that this attractive, wildly successful and experienced man would be getting off to her pleasure.

"Um, um," Katniss starts, embarrassed. "If you're going to do that, you need to know..." She starts and stops again, distracted by his little pants of breath against her thigh. "I'm clean," she finally blurts out. "We have to be at the agency, but I mean, we didn't talk about that even though you said you are familiar with this and I just didn't know..."

"I was aware, but good to know," Peeta interrupts softly, pressing a kiss to the crease of her leg, dangerously close territory to the most intimate part of her- the part he is at eye level with right now, and somewhere no one else had ever looked at with such an appraising and admiring stare. Or, her eyes zero in on the the tip of his tongue peeking out between his perfect teeth, used a particular organ.

He hooks his arms behind her thighs and suddenly he is there, parting her folds with thick, nimble fingers.

She releases a shaky breath as he gives a slow, languid lick to her center. She clutches at the smooth marble as he laps at her, tortuously slow but thorough, the tip of his tongue rigid as he circles around her clit but never quite making contact with the already throbbing button.

Katniss whimpers as he nips at the nub, and when he hums against her center a moment later, one of her hands move from the counter and clutches at the back of his head. She moans as he starts to eat her out with frantic but deliberate strokes of his tongue, short but intense licks inter-mixed with a hard suck on her clit sends shockwave after shockwave straight to her core. She bears her weight down on her elbows and knows she'll be bruised from the unforgiving marble, but she doesn't care—doesn't care about anything as long as he keeps doing that, oh my god.

Katniss looks down and meets his eyes as he stares up at her beneath his eyelashes, his cheeks hollow as sucks on her clit, and she just can't stand it anymore. "Peeta, please," she pants, writhing against the cool, slick marble, "oh, oh, oh."

He hooks her legs over one of his shoulders and works two fingers inside of her, the come-hither motions working in tandem, with the whirlwind of his tongue against her most sensitive of flesh, and she comes so hard, so fast, that she almost slides right off the counter.

"Oh my god!" Katniss shrieks, tugging at his hair as he continues to lap at her pussy. She's past the point of sensitivity and shooting into painful territory, but he continues mercilessly, intent to drive her to the brink of insanity with pleasure.

He hums in satisfaction against her heated her flesh, and she shatters and melts onto his tongue again when he uses the his teeth on the swollen kernel that makes her scream, literally scream her enjoyment into the kitchen ceiling.

He finally pulls back to grin up at her, his lips glistening with victory.

"Oh my fuck," she pants out, her head falling back as she collapses bonelessly- a stupid move, because the edge of the black walnut cabinet behind her cushions the blow with a loud, unforgiving crack.

"Ow," she says with a wince, clutching at her head and blinking up at him. If her head didn't hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, she would be more appreciative of the fact that Peeta is suddenly standing in front of her, a strangely broad and looming presence, overwhelming in its newness.

"You're standing," she says dumbly.

"Prosthetic leg," Peeta reminds her, a look of concern on his face as he runs his hands over head carefully.

"I'm going to undo your braid, alright?" he informs more than asks her, his fingers already gently pulling off the hair tie that binds the strands together, his nimble fingers working the braid apart. He cards his fingers through her hair a moment, his eyes slightly glazed as he gently rakes his way through the thick black strands.

She glances down with slightly watery eyes, and can't help but notice the large tented bulge in his tailored slacks.

"Oh, um," she says, reaching forward and trailing her hand across his hard-on. "I should have taken care of you first."

"Katniss, you practically just gave yourself a concussion— well, I guess I'm slightly to blame," he adds with a disbelieving quirk of his lips, shaking his head and eying her like she is crazy when she reaches for him again, "but just hold still and let me take care of you for a moment."

"I'm fine," she waves him off and hastily tugs her dress down, appalled that she had been sprawled out so obscenely. She moves to jump down from the counter, sliding between Peeta and the granite. She meant for it to be a seductive motion, but he steps back slightly to accommodate her and to her utter horror, trips slightly on his obviously unstable prosthetic leg before tumbling backward to land flat on his ass.

He stares up at her, and she loses it. She loses her shit completely— tears-streaming, full-body laughter.

"Oh, thanks," he says, sitting up on his elbows.

"I, just-" Katniss gasps out the words, bending slightly at the waist. "Oh, God. You just looked so funny. It was this slow collapse, like you tried so hard to fight it." She chokes on the last word, a fresh wave of laughter peeling out into the kitchen.

"Can you help me up at least?" Peeta grumbles, his lips twitching despite the grumpy words.

"Oh, um, of course," she finally says, hastily reaching down with both hands to drag him up. The force of her movement combined with gravity sends her stockinged feet forward and her body backwards, and she slips forward and down, her legs landing in a 'v' around his body. He stares at her as she dissolves again.

"I can't deal with this," she says with difficulty, her palm slapping against the cold tile beneath her palm. "We are total idiots." She sits up and crawls forward slightly before collapsing on her side and rolling on her back, little noises of mirth still squeaking from her throat.

"Your concern is astounding," Peeta replies with a shake of his head, but he's laughing with her now. He lies back and settles next to her with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," she says, her chuckles quieting down to a few random bursts. She turns her head slightly to look at him. "You mad that I laughed at you?"

He smiles and shrugs one shoulder, the fine material of his shirt sliding easily across the floor. "I just had more fun with you in an hour than I've had in years," he says, looking skyward with his admission.

"Wow. Your life is sad," she cracks, surprising herself with her own joke. She shakes her head and stares up at the ornately pressed tin ceiling tiles. Pretty, she thinks, her eyes tracing the flowered loops and swirls etched into the squares. "I'm not exactly known in my circle as the fun one," she says, counting the tiles.

"Really?" he asks in surprise. She can feel him looking at her. "You're fun to me."

"Ha," she replies. "Even my sister would die if she heard you say that. If you knew how sweet of a person Prim is, you'd understand why that's so funny. She's forever trying to get me to do new things, or to 'lighten up.' She was shocked when I allowed her to paint the living room blue."

"You really love your sister," he says, the change of subject abrupt. "Your voice changes completely when you talk about her."

"Doesn't everyone love their siblings?"

"I suppose. Yes. But if you ask my older brothers about me, they wouldn't sound like that. Especially my oldest one."

"Like what?" she laughs lightly, startled at the sudden personal turn the conversation was taking. She loses track of the tiles above her. "I said she'd be stunned if you told her how I'm the life of the party. How exactly does that translate into a sibling of the year award?"

"You're not good at taking compliments, are you?"

"No," she says. "I'm not good at that or being the fun one. Take note."

"I don't know." His tone makes her turn her head again, and this time he's staring at her, their noses barely grazing. "You're doing okay to me."

They look at each other a long moment before she clears her throat and sits up in a swift movement.

"It's hard to believe that just a few minutes ago you gave me the best orgasms of my life," she says, trying to turn the tide back to why she is there. She fights back a blush as she almost trips over the word "orgasms." He just ate me out and I can't even pull off being flirty.

He sits up too, scooting to sit next to her, their backs pressed against the side of the island. "Really?" he asks in surprise. "I was the best?"

"Yeah, but you really don't have much comp-" She stops, a nervous laugh passing her lips. "Your competition has been lacking," she finishes lamely, suddenly anxious at his unreadable expression.

"Am I out of bounds if I ask you how many?" Peeta asks, and she looks away. "I understand if you don't want to answer that," he adds, his eyes cautious.

"How many?" Katniss repeats to herself. "Um. Like, how many people I've had actual intercourse with?" She peeks at Peeta just in time to see his eyes widen and mouth drop open. She draws back slightly and looks behind her shoulder reflexively, scowling when she turns back to look at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she demands.

"Intercourse?" Peeta all but sputters, pointing at her. "Did you really just say intercourse?"

"What?" she asks, panicked. "What's wrong with that?" She tugs on her braid. Did I fuck up? What did I say?

"You said intercourse. Who says that? Katniss," he hesitates, looking at her intently before continuing. "Katniss, are you a virgin?"

"What? No!" she exclaims, reaching over and giving him a hard flick to the thigh.

"Ow. Really? Did you just flick me?" he asks, his eyebrows gathering together in disbelief.

"You called me a virgin!"

"You said intercourse. And that I didn't have any competition. Forgive me, but this sounds suspiciously like virgin territory."

"I said much competition, Detective Mellark. I said they were lacking!" she bites out, moving to scoot away from him. "Do you really think I'm a virgin call girl? This isn't some cheesy romantic comedy, and if that's what you're expecting, I'm out of here so fast-" His arm darts out and wraps around her waist, gathering her to him.

"Now, look," he says, his voice soothing. "I don't care if you've slept with none or ninety-one men." A strange look passes his face.

"I haven't slept with ninety-one men," she deadpans, glaring up at him underneath her eyelashes.

"So it's none, then?" He laughs at her irritable look. "Okay, okay," he says, chuckling into the top of her head. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, squeezing her when she remains stiff in his side embrace. "I am. I was just caught off-guard. You're a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, Katniss."

Katniss ignores his last comment. "So, what? You wouldn't want to fuck me anymore if I was a virgin?" she asks, frowning.

The look he sends down at her almost knocks the breath from her lungs. "Oh, I'm fucking you," he assures her in low tones, his voice dropping an octave, smooth like crème brûlée. "But if by some bizarre twist of fate you were that inexperienced, then I would, ah...adjust...said fucking accordingly."

"In other words, you'd take it easy on me."


She levels him with a look. "Don't do me any favors, Mellark."

"Noted," he says, leaning down to place an open-mouthed kiss on her neck. She shivers at the sudden intimacy. "Can I make a request, though?"

"Mmhmm," she all but moans, twisting into his touch.

"Can I not-take-it-easy-on-you in an actual bed?" he mumbles into her skin. "My leg is killing me."

She's instantly contrite, her face etched with concern. "Of course," she says, her hand finding his thigh in an involuntary show of reassurance. His lifts his head and looks at her, and she makes a move to pull her hand back. It's such an intimate gesture, unsolicited, and he grasps her hand before she can retreat completely.

"I'm okay," he says, squeezing her fingers. "Believe me, I think I might be in better shape than you," he adds teasingly, the twinkle in his eye taking the sting out of his words.

"Are you calling me fat?" she asks, trying to distract him from the way he's eyeing her head as if she's going to pass out at any moment.

"The chubbiest," he agrees, his face serious as he trails his other hand down her taut stomach.

"Uh huh." She wrinkles her nose before popping up to stand in front of him. She raises her eyebrows in surprise when he reaches into his pocket and hands over her panties. Trying not to blush, she quickly shimmies into them. It's not like he hasn't seen everything. "Up you go, and try not to topple over this time." She extends a hand, and a moment later he's in front of her.

Her mouth parts slightly as he leans in and captures her mouth with his, his hand sliding up the back of her head and drawing her closer to him as their lips slant together and apart, little nips and gasps exchanged between fluttery kisses. She can taste herself on his lips, and instead of being disgusting, it's a surprisingly heady flavor.

"You're cute," he says as he pulls back, staring into her eyes. Something like confusion and wonder passes his face. "You're just...so goddamn adorable."

Her eyebrows raise as the words pass his lips. "You've got a filthy mouth, sir."

"Really?" he murmurs, grabbing her hips and slowly backing her towards the living room. "I thought you rather liked my mouth." She stops them with the balls of their feet when she notices the wince cross his face with his every halting step.

"Peeta," she starts, biting her lip. "Why don't we get the chair."

"I'm fine," he says, his mouth setting into a line.

"Don't be stubborn," she replies, her hand sliding up his back to cup his shoulder blades. She squeezes lightly before lightly stroking his back.

"It's not that far to the room."

"Far enough." She meets his eyes calmly. "I'm assuming you haven't been using that wheelchair all night for fun."

His hands tighten around her hips. "Katniss, I said-"

"Please," she says, lying her head on his shoulder.

He breathes out sharply, almost a huff, and she realizes that she has been treating Peeta like a normal person, just a man, or a guy, when in fact he's a thirty-year-old millionaire who is used to getting what he wants. She flinches, because she's really so bad at this. He's her client, and she was taught that clients get what they want, no questions asked. And here she is, arguing about his disability, and forcing him to-

"Fine," Peeta says, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

She blinks in surprise, her eyelashes batting against his shirt. "Yeah?" she says quietly, looking up at him.

He nods slightly, and she backtracks into the kitchen to grasp the sleek chair and push it toward him. When she rolls the wheelchair next to him, he places a hand over hers, the one grasping the arm of the chair. He murmurs a thank you and sits down, and though he tries to hide it, she sees a flash of relief cross his handsome face. Suddenly she's thankful that she pushed the issue. She smiles to herself as she steps behind him, one hand reaching to wheel him towards the room when he reaches back to touch her hand again.

"I've got it, thank you," he says, not unkindly. She flushes, embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry," she blurts out, her head in her hands as he wheels around to look up at her.

"You're fine," he says, laughing a little. "Make it up to me in the bedroom," he adds, his voice teasing but his eyes dark and steady.

Katniss lifts her head slowly and meets his heated stare, stunned at how quickly the atmosphere can change between them. Playful and teasing one moment, serious and deep the next, and then suddenly he's looking at her like he can't wait to fuck the life out of her. So this is what chemistry is, she thinks.

She licks her lips and nods, and reaching out to brush his blond waves back from his forehead. His eyes track the movement and flutter shut when she makes contact with the skin.

She pulls away and walks past him, pulling her dress over her head as she steps into the living room and down the hallway, letting the material fall to the floor as she approaches the large gilt-edged double doors at the end of the strip of marbled floor that she prays actually leads to the master bedroom. She turns her head to throw a glance at him over shoulder, gratified to see his slightly slackened jaw and burning eyes that he rakes over her lingerie-clad form. He pushes his way down the hall and she opens the doors, pushing them apart dramatically, satisfied when they swing out wide enough for what she perceived is the width for the wheelchair to make it through. Her eyes immediately seek out the obscenely large bed, big enough for an orgy, let alone herself and Peeta.

She turns around, opening her mouth to make a joke, and squeaks when she finds Peeta already up and limping in front of her, his arms wrapping around her and running up her smooth back before she can get push out words from her lips.

He attacks her neck with his lips, heated open-mouthed kisses marking a trail down the column of her slim neck, his fingers expertly flicking open her black strapless bra, leaving her in only the scrap of black lace panties, a garter belt and silk hose.

She moans in surprise when his lips close around one of her rapidly stiffening nipples, sucking and flicking the taut bud as he roughly cups her ass.

"Oooh," she murmurs, her eyes popping open as he bites down sharply, her mouth forming a shocked ring as she finds herself suddenly flat out on her back, her leg bent and her toes barely touching the hard wood floor. At some point during their make-out session, Peeta had backed her up completely flush to the bed and she hadn't even noticed, the exquisite torture to her breast so distracting that he could have danced her straight off the Brooklyn Bridge and she wouldn't even have registered the fall.

"Am I too heavy?" he asks, his voice rough with desire as he straddles her, his forearms resting on either side of her face as he thrusts against her in a lazy but insistent rhythm. "You're so small."

Her legs contort and stretch, the tops of her toes lightly scraping the floor when he reaches down between their bodies to trace an outline around her clit, the lace of her panties catching on the hood. The friction, scratchy and delicious, causes a sudden and immediate shock to her senses.

"N-no," she stutters out, her back arching when he rubs his finger against her in earnest, his mouth latching onto her breast again. "Oh, god," she whimpers, bucking up against him and earning a wet chuckle against her nipple.

"You're so responsive," he says lowly after releasing her nipple with a soft pop.

He nuzzles the valley between her breasts and nips lightly at her collarbone before surging forward to kiss her, his tongue lapping at the seam of lips until she dazedly parts them. He flicks and sucks on her tongue, and her eyes roll back in her head when he pushes aside her panties and slips two thick fingers down her increasingly wet slit and into her pussy. "Is this okay?" he asks, looking up at her beneath his impossibly long eyelashes.

She stares down at him, her chin tucked down and her eyes glazed. She feels the cool hardness of what must be the synthetic material of his prosthesis bearing down slightly against her left thigh. "Yes," she chokes out. "Wait- no."

He makes a confused face and pulls back, and she arches her back as his fingers slide out of her. "No?"

"No." She scoots up and pushes him onto his back. "This is about you," Katniss says breathlessly, straddling him.

He's silent as she carefully unbuttons his shirt, his toned stomach hollowing as she places a kiss on his belly button. He shrugs out of it and hisses lightly when her mouth closes around his nipple. She worries her teeth around it, enjoying how his hips buck into hers. She can feel his erection, rock hard between her legs, even through the thick, expensive material of his pants. She pulls back and smiles, sitting upright.

"Am I too heavy?" she asks innocently, repeating his words from earlier. But what she's really asking, Am I hurting you? She's acutely aware of his prosthesis, and unsure if she's putting too much pressure on it or making him uncomfortable.

"No," he laughs, the noise slightly strained.

She runs her nails down his chest, his stomach and then stops to play with his belt, slowly unbuckling it, never breaking eye contact as she slides it free from the loops. Her fingers deftly unzip his dress slacks, and she tugs on his hips to get him to lift upward so she can slide them down his hips. "Katniss, wait."

She stops and looks at him, cocking her head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just-" He coughs and sits up, running a hand through his hair. "You're just about to actually see my-" He stops and gestures toward his leg. "Well. It can be jarring for some," he says plainly.


"I don't need you to prepare me, Peeta," she says, her voice gentle as she carefully but insistently returns to the removal of his pants. He sighs a little and lifts his hips, allowing her to pull down his slacks. It takes a moment to work them off, and she's extra aware of the synthetic material of his prosthetic leg as she moves the material. She knows it's not going to catch and pull it off or anything like that, but still.

She hesitates before presuming to slip his dress socks off his feet. She's down there anyway, and there's always something hilarious about the idea of doing it while someone is wearing socks. She pauses for a moment, her eyes taking in one very masculine foot, the other obviously expensive but still very false.

She follows her line of sight up the mechanism which ends at his kneecap, held in place with a gel liner that folds snugly up his toned thigh. She meets his eyes, finds him watching her face intently.

"Can I…?" She reaches hesitantly for the liner. "Won't it be more comfortable off?"

"Yes," he admits. "But I don't mind keeping it on."

That's all she needs to hear. She unrolls the liner carefully, sliding it down and leaning over to place it on the floor next to the bed. She sits back up on her knees and looks up at him, one hand trailing high on his good leg, squeezing his thigh perilously close to his groin. "How do I- you know-"

"There's a pin you press toward the bottom," he says, groaning slightly when her fingers trail over his briefs, his cock at half-mast beneath the pricey material.

It's surprisingly easy to remove the prosthetic once she locates the unlocking mechanism, and she places it on the floor with a nod of acquiescence from Peeta. "You don't have to be so careful with it," he says dryly, pulling her by the hand so that she crawls up his body and settles against his chest. She feels weirdly comfortable draped across him, her cheek resting on his bare skin, her legs sprawled so that her knees frog out on either side of his hips. "It's reached its end. I'm having another one made right now. It's all quite a hassle, to be honest. I've been considering going the more permanent route, where it actually attaches to bone."

He looks down at her face. "Too much?" he asks. "Damn, that was a decidedly unsexy statement to make."

"No, it's just...really?" she asks in surprise, lifting her head and resting her chin against his sternum. "More permanent?"

"Yes," Peeta replies, his fingers drifting lazily over her back as if to tell her that he isn't in a hurry. They dance up her spine, and she revels in the touch. "Why so surprised?"

"I don't know. I mean, it seems so final. Doesn't it feel good to just let it all, um, hang loose once for awhile?"

He laughs. "I don't know. I guess I'm not really all that used to it, even though it's been almost a decade."

"You weren't born without a leg?" she asks with interest.

"No, ah. I was in a car accident when I was twenty-one." He squints a little, his hand coming up to pet at her hair. "Drunk driving accident," he amends.

"I hate those," she scowls.

"My friend was driving," he says, his voice tinged with contrition. "I was the passenger."


"Yes, my deepest regret. We were spoiled little assholes when we were younger and I'm reminded of it every day. Luckily no one was hurt but me."

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Me too. I was very active. Very much into sports," he says. "I still am, just in a different way. Everything is different now."

"I guess the money helps," Katniss says, and then worries it's a little too flippant of a comment. She just wants to keep it light, because she can almost see him slipping into a dark place.

"I suppose. In ways," he allows, his eyes distant. "You'd be surprised, though, with what money doesn't buy."

"Well. It buys you things like fancy new legs," she says lightly, and she considers it a personal victory when he laughs, his eyes snapping back into focus. "I'd be walking around with a mop handle for a limb if it was me."

"Katniss," he chuckles out her name, shaking his head. She's pleased to see him more cheerful, and is amazed at the fact that he actually finds her to be funny.

"Also, money bought you me," she says, her voice turning low and seductive. She pushes up onto her hands, placing a slow kiss to his lips before crawling backwards down his body, and she hopes she doesn't look stupid while doing it. From the way his eyes darken and his half-mast is growing steadily harder, she thinks she's succeeding. "So there's that."

"Maybe this would have happened anyway," he counters. "Somehow."

"Maybe," she says absently, tugging on his briefs. "Lift up."

"Bossy," he says, lifting his hips obediently.

It's only when she's sliding his briefs down his good leg that she really allows herself to look at what remains of his right. Honestly, it's not that big of a deal, she thinks. The worst of it is that his thigh tapers off into puckered skin, which looks raw and almost a little inflamed, most likely from bearing down on his worn out prosthesis. She frowns and struggles with guilty feelings, thinking of how he had stood up so hastily after her bout of clumsiness. How he had fallen.

"Gruesome, isn't it?" he says ruefully.

"What?" Katniss snaps to attention to see that he's watching her face. She touches her lips and the frown that hangs there, realization dawning. "Oh, no. I was actually feeling like shit that I made you hurt," she says, touching his leg lightly.

To prove her point, she leans down and kisses the ruined skin above where his knee had formerly been located, very gently. She lifts her eyes and meets his, noting with satisfaction that his chest is moving rapidly, his eyes blue with anticipation. They are soft with something else as well, but she has never been very good at reading people.

She moves north, her lips kissing and nipping their way up his thigh until she reaches his erection. It's impressive, maybe even a little intimidating now that her lips have done the trick and his cock is reaching tall and proud to bob against his taut stomach.

He watches her as she licks the palm of her hand and grasps his erection, giving him an experimental stroke and watching with fascination as he grows harder beneath her palm. "Is this okay?" she asks, one hand rubbing his inner thigh lightly.

Peeta laughs raggedly, his hips bucking into her fist. "It's definitely okay," he assures her.

"Can I suck it?" she asks lowly, bowing her head and flicking the tip with her tongue, her eyes finding his. He groans as she fits her mouth around the head of his dick and suckles tentatively, her hand stroking the base.

"Yes," he says in a strangled voice. "Yes, please."

She hesitates only a moment before dipping her head to engulf him fully, bobbing up and down and running her tongue on the underside of his cock. Her eyes water slightly as she takes him in too deep, and she sputters slightly as she pulls back to release him from her mouth.

Fuck. Fuck. It seemed so easy.

She lowers her head and tries again, growing increasingly flustered as she gags. Her tongue feels awkward in her mouth, and her spit is thick in her mouth and jesus she's drooling on a millionaire's penis. She hears a sharp hiss, an intake of pain as she realizes she's used her teeth.

"Hey," Peeta says, his voice a little strained as he touches her shoulder lightly. "Katniss, just- stop a second."

She pulls back and releases him again with a pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her face is burning, and she thinks she might even be sweating with embarrassment. She can't even look him in the eye as she sits back and rests on her ankles. She covers her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm-Katniss. Look at me," he commands in what she imagines is his "board room" voice. She feels the bed shift as he pulls her hands away from her face. "Have you ever done that before?"

She opens her mouth and closes it.

"Please be honest with me," he asks, still holding one of her hands. "Full disclosure, remember?"

She bites her lip. "No," she replies, defeated. "But I thought it would be really easy. God, I'm so stupid."

"Stop. You're not stupid," Peeta says firmly. "I am surprised, though. I thought you said…" He stops, clearly searching for the right words to say.

"I'm not a virgin," she says, filling in the blanks. She pulls her hand away from his hand and runs it through her dark hair in agitation, oblivious to the way his eyes follow the motion longingly. "I wasn't lying about that, but...I'm not- I'm not as experienced as the other girls."

"Define 'not as experienced'."

She meets his eyes. "I'm not very experienced at all," she finally admits. "That's why I'm not platinum. I'm just an Events Escort."

"What's that, exactly?"

"I thought you were very familiar with my agency."

"I said 'familiar,' but touché," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "All right. I've only used the agency once."

Her mouth drops. "But you said-"

"I guess that makes us both liars."

"I guess so," she says, looking away. She doesn't know what to think after this revelation.

"It's not that I care about your lack of experience. I meant it when I said that earlier," he says. "But I also feel like I'm taking advantage of you and your...situation," he says evenly, his blue eyes serious.

"How? How is it any different now than before?"

"Because this isn't really your job. You weren't at all expecting to have sex with someone tonight. The only reason you said yes to me in that elevator is because you felt like you had to."

She nods slowly, not refuting his words, though a part of her recalls what ran through her mind briefly before she stepped out of the elevator to meet her client: Maybe in another life. "So what does this mean for...us?" The word is clumsy on her tongue. Us. So intimate. To imply there is a "we."

She swallows as he regards her for a moment. She rubs her hands on the tops of her thighs and waits.

"Is this something you actually want to do?" he asks finally.

She frowns at him. "I'm practically naked on your bed. Your dick was in my mouth. Your tongue was inside of me. We're halfway there, Peeta."

"Yes, but I don't want-"

"Yes. It is something I want to do," she interrupts, her voice firm. "I do really need the money," she adds honestly. "That hasn't changed. You- you weren't wrong about that. I really think I'm going to be fired tomorrow. But it's not like sleeping with you will be a burden."

He gives her a skeptical look, and she curses her inability to say the right thing at the right time. Not a burden. That's the best she could do?

"I can just loan you the money," he says. And it's so genuine— so generous that it's like a blow to her stomach. It's like they're friends, or really lovers, and she's not a bought-and-paid for call girl that he picked up in an elevator.

She stares at him, crossing her arms over her naked chest. "What?"

"Really, it's nothing," he insists. "You can pay me back as you're able to."

She thinks about all the zeros he had written on the napkin earlier, and how it's nothing to him, and it makes her sick. She has nothing, people like him have everything, and she's just a number he can hand out without any thought at all.

No. She's going to earn her money. A deal is a deal.

"No way," she says, her pride hissing and popping inside of her like a rebellious little fire. "You don't know me, or owe me anything. You don't get to pity me because I gave you a bad blowjob."

"I don't pity you," he protests, his eyes widening at her sudden ire.

"It sure seems like it."

"I already owe you something for tonight, anyway," he reasons. She finds his stoicism infuriating. Nude and completely vulnerable, but completely in control of his emotions. "Like you said, we were halfway there."

"But you didn't get off. That's the point of this whole night."

He shakes his head. "Not for me. If I just wanted to come, I'd jack myself off right now."

"Then what are we even doing? Why are we even still talking about this?" she cries, finally cracking. "Just fuck me and get it over with."

"That's not how I work at all." He runs a hand down his face. "What would you do exactly if I said I didn't want to do this anymore? You'd really just leave and refuse to take what I offer you?"

"Then I'd say you're an asshole, because you said my experience doesn't matter," she says. "Then I'll just find someone else."

His nose flares at this, patrician and outraged, the only sign that he's affected by her words. "You do realize that I don't know you well enough for that sort of emotional blackmail to work."

"Exactly," she says, her voice flat. "You don't know me, I don't know you, so why would you think you owe me anything or loan me money? Why do you even care at all?"

"I don't know, Katniss." His blue eyes flash and a frown mars his lips. She feels a tinge of satisfaction as she realizes that she's finally getting to him. "I guess I just don't meet very many people who intrigue me. Make me laugh. Treat me like I'm normal."

She meets his eyes and finds she can't look away. What is this guy's hold on her? They haven't even known each other 24 hours.

"Maybe I just wanted us to take a shot at being...friends. Outside of this scenario," he's saying, and the spell is broken.

Friends. She doesn't need friends. Friends let you down. Friends steal money from your wallet. Borrow your car. Wreck the car. Drive you to exhaustion with impossible expectations.

She steels herself and pulls her anger back on like an old familiar coat that's long been better suited for the trash but you can't seem to bear to be apart from it anyway. "Well you shouldn't, because this is just business," she says, defensive and flat-voiced. "We're not friends."

She watches as his face falls and cools. He rubs his chin, and looks away for a moment. When he turns his gaze back to her, it's with hardened eyes.

"Just business?"

She nods.

"That's really what you want?"

"Yes," she says. Stubborn, prideful, hateful. "That's what I want."

He laughs, but it's a little more humorless than what she's heard from him before. "Okay, Katniss. Tell me. Have you ever been with a client before? Sexually?"

"I've given a hand job," she says, laying it all on the table. She neglects to mention how it was the most awkward experience of her life, and how she had begged Effie to give her the Events Escort job.

"That's it?"

She chews on the inside of cheek and skirts her eyes away from his "I had sex with my high school boyfriend."

"Often?" he prods her, his voice oddly detached. Like a business man. A very attractive, naked one. She's suddenly acutely aware of the absurdity of her life.

"Twice," she says stiffly.

"That makes sense," he murmurs, almost to himself. His gaze suddenly narrows in on her face, landing on her eyes intently. "Well, Katniss. This is just a business deal, like you said."

"That was mean of me," she admits, lowering her eyes. "I'm sorry. I was just-"

"-like you said," he continues, his eyes glittering. "And in business, we offer training to new hires."

She cocks her head at him warily. "Training?"

He nods. "Yes," he says, his voice deep with sudden authority. "I'm going to train you how to suck my cock."

It should be offensive, his tone, his words, everything— but instead, she feels a thread of pure wanton lust strum through her. She feels purposeful, and more self-assured. "And when you've sucked me off to my satisfaction, I'm going to fuck you like it's my job," he adds calmly.

"Okay," she says, her voice wavering. But it's not out of fear.

It's something like desire.

"Look at me." She meets his gaze again. "Do you agree?"

"Yes," she says, swallowing.

"Alright," he allows, his eyes raking over her form. "Coat your tongue in saliva. I want it wet, like your pussy." She almost chokes on her tongue, her face burning at her words. But he's right. She's wet, even wetter now because of his dirty mouth. "If you were mine, and we were better prepared, I would use coconut oil," he says conversationally, watching her mouth work. "But we'll start this way."

"You started out really well," he says, reaching down and stroking his erection steadily. "You don't have to use your hands right now. Just lick the head, like before." She bows her head, her hair falling into a dark curtain around her face as she does as he says, swirling the head with her tongue, his precum tangy but not off-putting like she would have thought.

"Yes," he groans, and she lifts her heads to see him looking at her with hooded desire. "Lick the underside of my cock." She does, slowly, then faster, working her way back up to suckle on the tip again. His fisted hand taps her chin as he strokes his shaft out of sync with her tongue. "That's good," he praises her in a slightly softer voice than before, his other hand running through her hair as she alternates between light licks, mere brushes of tongue, and harder ones, as if he's an ice cream cone.

"Now tuck your lips over your teeth," he says, his voice rough with effort. "When you take my dick in your mouth, let it slide against the roof of your mouth. Only go as far as comfortable, and jerk me off with your hand." He releases himself and pulls her hand to cover his, guiding her hand in a rhythm as she clumsily but methodically bobs her mouth over his cock.

"Fuck, fuck," he swears, and she looks up at him from beneath her lashes. She's pleased to see his face is flushed, one of his hands fisting the bed covers while the other one that was helping her stroke his erection falls away. "Damn, that's good." His eyes are heavily lidded as he regards her, his mouth parted slightly. Every groan that escapes his lips causes a streak of pride to rush through her. Soon enough the embarrassment and the worry she had felt when she had misspoken with him about their "business" arrangement falls away when his back arches from the bed when she takes the initiative to roll his balls teasingly with her free hand.

"Alright," he gasps, pushing her shoulder gently to let her know to stop. "That's enough."

She releases him, her eyebrows narrowing in confusion.

"It's not you," he says, panting slightly. "I don't want to come yet. I'm not nineteen anymore." He sees her blank face and elaborates, "It takes a little while longer to recover, and I'm impatient."

"Oh," she says, wiping her mouth. She can feel her own arousal leaking down her leg, and she feels both self-conscious and unbearably turned on all at once. She shifts a little on her knees, watching as he fumbles with the bedside table. He must be looking for a condom, she realizes. God. She was just going to have unprotected sex with a stranger. Turned on by blow jobs and completely irresponsible...who the hell is she.

"Take off your panties, but leave the stockings," he says, his voice thick as he rolls on the condom. She does as he asks, sitting back and sliding them down her legs as he watches her with lidded eyes. "Now come here." She crawls forward and straddles him awkwardly when he gestures toward his lap. "I want you to ride me."

She blinks at him and nods, realizing this is probably the most comfortable position for him right now, but she's also incredibly worried. "Okay," she says, biting her lip. She decides for honesty. "But I don't know how," she adds reluctantly.

"I've got you," he says, one hand on her hip and the other reaching for his cock. He lines it up at her entrance and pushes down on her hip, indicating she should drop down. Her nose flares as she feels the head nudge between her lower lips. "Look at me." His voice is rougher than it ever has been, and when she meets his eyes, she can see desire and control warring there. "Do you want me, Katniss?"

"Yes," she sighs, rocking her hips, and they both groan as he slides through the wetness between her legs.

She bucks in surprise when he swipes a finger through her folds. "I thought so," he says. "You're positively dripping for me. Are you ready? Or do you want me to lick your pussy again?"

She shudders at his words, her flat abdomen tense and quivering as she holds herself above him. "N- no, I want you inside me," she stutters.

Satisfaction flickers in his gaze, his lips lifting in triumph. "Then fuck me," he commands, his eyes are trained on hers as she lowers herself down, and they both groan when he passes through wet, grasping heat.

"Oooo," she groans, her mouth dropping in shock at how full she feels. It's a little uncomfortable and she feels pinched, but in a surprisingly good way considering how long it's been for her.

"You're so tight," he grunts, his hand sliding up her torso to cup her breast, his thumb circling her nipple.

"Thank you," she replies with difficulty, distracted by the cock steadily being impaled between her legs.

They both freeze, staring at each other. "Oh god," he chokes out with a little laugh, his hand dropping from her breast. He runs it across his face in disbelief. "You just thanked me."

"What else am I supposed to say?" she cries, flattening downward in sudden frustration. Her breath whooshes out of her in surprise when she realizes she just buried him inside her to the hilt.

"Easy there," he says soothingly, his hand rubbing her hip. "That was too fast."

"I'm fine," she says with dignity, her hands splayed out on his abdomen for balance. "Don't lose your steam now, hardass."

"I can't help it," he sighs in resignation, leaning back and staring at her. He squeezes her side. "You're adorable without even meaning to be. Funny. And you're beautiful. I don't want to be rough or callous with you."

No. No. No. Too personal.

"What if I want that?" she asks, experimentally rocking back and forth. His eyes shut in pleasure before opening again.

"You do?" he asks, his pupils fat.

"Yeah," she pants, lifting up and down, clumsy but deliberate in her motions. "I want it so bad. I want you to fuck me like it's your job," she throws his earlier words back at him.

The world tilts as she finds herself flat on her back, and she blinks up at him as he hovers over her, still firmly encased inside of slick walls.

Her hands slide up to grasp his shoulders as he gives a sudden sharp thrust, and her head drops backward with a soft thud onto the silken pillow behind. "Is this- I mean, can you do it like this?" Katniss asks. Please say yes.

"You tell me," he murmurs, and then he's moving inside her, and if he's favoring his good leg more than the other, she doesn't notice because he's sliding into her perfectly, fitting like a puzzle piece that hits her just right. She gasps when his lips close around her nipple, sucking and flicking the taut bud as he slows down his tempo to deliberately even thrusts.

It's maddening.

Her hands slide from his shoulders to wrap around his back. She arches into him, desperate for friction, for contact, for something.

"You feel so good," he praises her, releasing her breast with a wet pop. His hands fist the sheets on either side of her head, and she shivers he leans down and whispers into her ear. "Do you like how I'm fucking you?"

"Ye-es," she moans, breaking off into a squeak when he bites down on the shell of her ear. "Please, I-" She stops and shakes her head a little, turning her head to look at him.

"What?" he asks with deceptive softness, her hands dropping to her sides uselessly as he sits back on his haunches and slips out of her completely. "Use your words, Katniss."

"No," she moans, her legs still wrapped around him but slung low on his hips. "Come back."

"Where?" he leads her.

"Inside me," she bites her lip. "I'm so empty without your hard cock, Peeta." She writhes and begs, completely shameless as unfamiliar words spill from her mouth.

He nods, a glint in his eye as he thrusts into her again, and she screams as he fucks her in earnest, a hard punishing rhythm that has her arching and bowing off the bed. Time stops, and all she feels is him as he takes her to new heights of pleasure. She reaches for him but he's too far to grasp onto. He shakes his head and grits his teeth, grabbing one of her outstretched hands and placing it where they are joined. "Touch yourself," he urges her. "Touch yourself while I'm inside you."

She whines as he grinds against her, her finger frantically obeying him as she circles her clit.

"You gonna come?" he pants. "Tell me when you're close."

"I'm close," she cries. "Oh god, I'm so close Peeta."

He rotates his hips and pushes at an angle, and she shrieks, her hand falling away as she starts to come violently. She opens her mouth to tell him but she loses all words as his own hand takes up the rhythm that she lost, her abdomen jerking spastically as an orgasm wracks her body. He rubs at her clit furiously, riding out her waves of pleasure that are still coursing through her veins.

"Fuckkk," he groans. "I'm, oh...oh fuck, I'm coming." He stills, his big hands squeezing her hips as empties into the condom, still pushed deep within her. He makes a few lazy thrusts, grunting as he continues to spurt out his release.

He collapses on top of her, and the warm weight of him feels good as the sweat rapidly dries on her skin in the cool, climate controlled room. One of his legs is entangled between her own while the nub of his other thigh rests on hers. She wraps an arm around him and draws him closer, panting into his neck and she runs a soothing hand across his damp back.

"Did I do good?" he asks, his voice muffled into her shoulder.

She laughs a little. "Like it was your job," she reassures him, echoing his words again.

He draws back and rolls over to his side. She feels a strange loss as he slips out of her, and is a little disturbed as how comforting it is when his hand still rests on her naked hip. "You're teasing me," he says, a tired smile of surprise on his lips as he stares at her.

"Maybe a little," she agrees. "Can't I mix business with a little pleasure?"

"That didn't sound like business to me." His tone is unreadable as he reaches up and brushes a dark strand of hair from her cheek, his hand resting there for a moment.

"Maybe…" she trails off, looking at him beneath her lashes. She doesn't know if it's the afterglow of great sex, or the way he's looking back at her, but she feels disarmed. Willing. Stupidly hopeful.

"Yes?" he coaxes her.

She opens her mouth, but whatever she was about to say is cut off as a mellow but insistent tone rings out into the room.

"What's that?" she asks instead, sitting up in confusion. A look of intense frustration passes his face as the tone stops and starts repeatedly.

"The doorbell. Someone is here," he says, his nostrils flaring.

"Like...room service?" she asks doubtfully, wincing when the tone echoes in a more frantic pace throughout the room, as if someone is rapidly pressing a button over and over again.

"No," Peeta says, sitting up and removing the condom quickly, tying it off and leaning over to drop it into the waste bin beside the bed. "Katniss, I need to apologize in advance."

"Why?" she asks, eyes wide as she watches him briskly reattach his prosthetic limb and slide into his briefs. He sighs and stands, handing her the panties that she had discarded earlier.

"Because you're about to meet my brother."

Huge thank you to my beta nonemoreblack.

Bless all of you readers for hanging in there and being so supportive after all this time. You are truly the best.

Thank you beyonceofpanem and amelia day for pre-reading, and also Baronesskika for the kick in the pants during her FYF challenge.

I'm peetaspenis on tumblr, come hang out.