“What’s that?” His lips are touching mine now, his breathing heavy. His free arm snakes around my lower back, scooping me further towards him.
“They couldn’t separate us, no matter how hard they tried. We’re here together now, after everything.” My own words propel me forward as I finally give in, pressing my lips firmly to his. He hesitates for a second as if unprepared for this unexpected turn in events, but then envelopes me in his arms, plastering my body up against his and attacking my mouth feverishly.
Kissing him is familiar, but this time is undeniably different. This is not for anyone’s eyes but ours and there is no taking it slow. He has been waiting too long for this, and I know now that I have been too. My tongue duels with his as I struggle to kiss him even more deeply, wrapping my arms around his neck for leverage. He attempts to clutch my body tighter and tighter, not satisfied with the closeness of our already entwined bodies even though I can already feel every movement of his upper body muscles against mine.
It’s not enough. We are both panting, but frustrated. We have fought too much, hurt too deeply to be comforted by a few kisses.
My hand drops to grab his upper thigh but instead finds his growing erection straining against the fabric of his pants. At first, I instinctually pull away, embarrassed, but after a moment’s consideration and renewed confidence, return my hand, giving him a tight tug. He grunts at the contact, pressing a long, hungry kiss to my mouth, before murmuring, “I can’t do this.”
I break away to look at him, my chest heaving. “Can’t do what?”
He exhales deeply, shaking his head. “I came up here to hold you so you could go to sleep, not this. I can still do that, just give me a second.”
“Peeta Mellark.” I playfully kick his foot that still dangles off the side of the bed. “Stop being such a gentleman for once.”
His head falls back in laughter. It’s been so long since I’ve heard him laugh... so long since I’ve seen any emotion on his face other than misery. It takes a moment before I realize I am laughing too, the giddiness of the heightened energy in the room almost contagious. Is this what it feels like to be happy? Is it possible to build a life again from the ashes of our past suffering, to still experience moments of pure, isolated joy despite all we have been through?
I reach for him again, lacing my fingers through his, hoping my body language is adequate enough to substitute for the words I still lack.
“What has gotten into you, Katniss?” His eyes are wide but dancing with amusement.
“Me? You’re the one who wants to tuck me in and whisper ‘sweet dreams’ with a raging hard-on,” I retort.
He laughs again, but when he speaks, his demeanor has changed and his voice has regained all of its previous composure. “You know I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
My body tenses, and the atmosphere in the room shifts back to one of weighted anticipation.
Before he can speak again, before either of us has time to change our minds, I release his hand, extend one arm in the air while gripping the collar of my shirt in the other, and remove my cotton night-shirt in one swift motion.
The morning sun is beginning to filter in through my windows, and a beam of light falls across my left breast. He hasn’t said a word nor moved, his gaze frozen on my now bare skin.
“Do you mind closing the curtains?” I ask, snapping him out of his stupor.
He swallows hard. “Yeah, of course.” He stumbles to the window, drawing the curtains together and returning the room to its comforting darkness. I’m not really sure what has come over me, and I draw my knees slightly to my chest. He has never seen me like this before. No one has besides my family, my stylists from the Capitol, and the many doctors I encountered in the hospital.
