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He traced patterns down her arm in smooth, wavy wisps. His touch made her feel electrified and caused her toes underneath the covers to curl at the soft sensation, the exposed skin unhidden from the darkness fresh with chilled goosebumps. He stared back at her with a cool haze as they laid on their sides facing one another, only the light from underneath the door guiding them to one another.
It was quiet, their light breaths mixing with the dying sound of Thirteen citizens retreating to quarters of their own.
She inwardly smiled as his hand took hers in his suddenly, intertwining their fingers together. The action felt natural to her, a longing sensation she yearned for ever since he was taken by Snow.
He gazed at her, thinking back to every woman Snow forced him to be with and finding that she could not compare to a single one. She was perfect; she was his. He lifted their hands, sliding his palm against hers and bringing it to rest above his heart. She gave him a questioning look.
"You have my heart, for all eternity," he quoted himself from the day before the arena, when he believed he would never exit that same place without the woman by his side. He thought Haymitch's plan was ridiculous, deep down. He didn't think it would actually happen. . . . Greyson opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her by gently squeezing her hand. "And you have the rest of me as well, and I think, I've waited long enough to talk about . . . what happened in the Capitol."
She immediately shook her head, "no, Finnick, you don't have to if you're not comfortable. I don't want to force you into anyth-"
His lips pressed a chaste kiss to hers, silencing her long enough for him to mumble, "shut up, kitten."
"Okay," she breathed immediately afterward, her eyes fluttering open. She hadn't realized she had shut them.
He let go of her hand and sat up in the small bed to pull his shirt off. Greyson felt her cheeks blaze red as she thought about everything that he could do to her if it weren't for the fact that he was showing her something personal. Focus, she scolded herself as her eyes danced across his scarred and bandaged torso.
She found herself leaning upward against the headboard, watching as he sat next to her, his eyes searching her own for any sort of emotion, perhaps rejection or disgust. Surprising both him and herself, Greyson found herself crawling to him and reaching out to touch the red slashes across the top of his left shoulder that trailed all the way down to where his diaphragm would be.
She stopped when they ended, pulling back her hand as if she was suddenly burned. She kept her head down as she asked, "what was it?"
