Love in Dark Places
@mega-aulover gets a the credit for this title and some ideas that made there way here. Thank you @chele20035 for being my bata last minute!
This is rated E for smut.
Something about you makes me feel like a dangerous woman.
This should feel wrong but it feels so right. His hot kisses have become more intense and more delicious. His lips make a trail down my neck, leaving a fire in their wake. He bites and sucks my pulse point and I lose my breath. I trail my hands up and down his broad chiseled chest and mural of beautiful body art, tattooed in his skin to camouflage the painful childhood scar his mother left. I shove him down to the bed and make a point to kiss every single scar. We don’t talk about it, but we know they’re there, and where they came from.
He moans and draws a need deep within me for more. He finds the clasp from my bra and frees me. His talented fingers trace my spine. I sigh in his touch.
We don’t talk about how we once knew each other years ago. We pretend we were strangers, attracted to one another, who met and flirted at a bar thousands of miles from where we grew up.
As his luscious lips trail down my chest I can’t help but hum in anticipation. My heart is pounding wildly, and I’m nearly breathless as I watch this perfect man slowly unravel me. Fulfilling all my teenage fantasies.
He lifts his gaze to meet mine, deep blue eyes meet silvery gray and I could almost pretend that he’s thinking the same thing, that he’s fantasized about this. He bites that sexy lower lip and can’t help but gawk at his near perfection.
I’ve never wanted anyone like I wanted Peeta, but he was off limits, which only fueled my growing and frustrating desire for him. Some of these feelings I chalked up to physical attraction and teenage hormones. The dangerous desire of forbidden love. Yet, I could never ever shake this innate connected feeling with this guy. Clearly, nothing in this room has anything to do with hormones, the chemistry and heat has been mind blowing.
How many times had I tried to pretend I didn’t get lost in these very deep blue pools of his eyes that speak depths of wonder, beauty, and pain?
How distracted I would get with those impossibly long eyelashes! They should get tangled up, but somehow never did.
How I would daydream about his plump lips wrapped around my bottom lip, wondering what he would taste like. My heart seems to do a double take in disbelief.
I reach up to capture his lips again just to confirm this is real and not a daydream I’ve imaged since high school. My lips are greedy as I pull and nip and suck his. Our tongues meet and dance, stroking and exploring. Like kindling, building the heat and fanning the fire inside me.
His hands crawl up my ribs and brush the sides of my breasts teasingly a few times. I twitch a little in anticipation. When his hands finally cup my breasts I make a low noise I didn’t know I was capable of. I try to remember to breathe as his lips travel down my neck again. I feel a smile from his face on my collarbone.
He’s remembering the time I tried to land that jump and fell off Madge Undersee’s bike, breaking my collarbone. The first real instances we got close without his step-sister around. He felt responsible because it was definitely his fault. You don’t dare Katniss Everdeen to do something, even if I was only an 11 year old and he was 13, I refused to back out of the challenge. He knew it too, and he used that slick tongue of his to convince me. That slick tongue is traveling down my shoulder.
I’m brought back to the present as he bite my shoulder, while his fingers brush and squeeze my nipples. I moan and wiggle my hips, shifting my thighs, attempt to find any kind of friction.
I was entirely awkward about anything remotely romantic or sexual for the longest time as an early teen. While other girls were fantasizing about prince charming I was prancing around with Gale in the woods, probably full of mud. My mother assured me that I was just a late bloomer. I had even wondered if I had any sexual preferences at all because I wasn’t attracted to anyone in that way.
Until one day, wrestling champ and golden boy Peeta Mellark and I were seated on the porch of the house his mom and the major call home drinking lemonade. Nothing out of the ordinary, but usually we have his step-sister Madge as an optimistic buffer.
I can’t even remember what lead to such a dark turn in our conversation but we accidentally started to talk about painful memories of our past. Instead of the conversation being awkward, it was amazingly cathartic. It felt like releasing the pressure of a painful festering injury.
Everyone saw this picture perfect boy, when the truly painful things he continued to struggle with had a way of digging in and eating away inside. He hid it all with a kind smile and quick humor.
There was a moment where we stood gaping at each other. Suddenly I saw him in entirely new light, but what truly scared me was, I saw something I identified with. I recognized his soul being just like mine, battered and bruised, but resilient and courageous.
That Emily Brontë quote runs through my mind once again, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
I tried, but I’ll never forget how my heart leapt out of my chest upon the recognition, the awakening within me. I was captivated by this man.
I started having dreams about him, innocent at first, just he and I against the world in various settings, hand in hand. I started to find myself more attracted to Peeta Mellark with each time I saw him. The dreams took on a more physical and eventually explicit nature.
My attention is drawn back as Peeta’s searing lips reach my nipples and I arch into him. His hands run down my back and start to play with the waist of my jeans. My fingers sink into his wavy blond hair. I love it longer and unruly like this.
It may have been my imagination, but it seemed from that day, the way I saw Peeta changed, he started to go through his own metamorphosis. He dropped out of wrestling, “One championship title was enough,” he said. He spent more time concentrated on artwork, dropped the debate team, in favor of drama club.
He was also able to stand up for what he wanted, despite what his mother pressured on him. Insead of his neatly styled Ivy League haircut he grew it a little longer on the top. His preppy attire shifted to reflect a more creative and darker Peeta. It fit him better and people took notice.
In my naive mind, I used to think that I was the catalyst for Peeta taking his life back and,not being a piece in his mom’s calculating chess game. I let go of that idea a long time ago.
My hands grip his back slip down the plains of his muscular back, I trail my hands around and down his abs, follow the happy trail and ever so quietly lessen his belt and lower his zipper ever so slightly. I have admired his infamous backside and appreciated how nicely he fills out a pair of jeans. I dip my hands past the band of his boxer briefs and cup each cheek while he lavishes the other breast with strokes of his tongue. I’m writhing under his ministrations.
He still has the same familiar scent of herbs and a specific peeta sent that brings to mind memories of happier times. Of innocence, but also the thrill of desire for him that courses through me. The familiarity alone is starting to drive me wild. I smooth my hands around his hips and down each let as I start to ease his pants down.
He’s momentarily startled, as I hear a sharp intake of breath. I wriggle and use my feet to push the pants down further. I tangle my legs with his and a line our hit centers and move my hips in slow figure eights. The guttural deep moan I’m rewarded with shoots spark to my very core.
Peeta looks up at me with an intense look I only recognize because I might be giving him the same one. I don’t understand how this can be the most intensely hot encounter to date and yet this connection feels like coming home all at once.
Peeta was so hot in high school, it was no secret. He dated the most gorgeous girls to walk those halls. His artistic endeavors didn’t put a damper on his popularity, he was still crowned homecoming king. His artwork was displayed all over the school. He seemed more mysterious Peeta and that much more alluring. The more artist dark Peeta challenged text book popularity, his depth and commitment to being true to himself started tidal wave of change in people all around him. Cliques didn’t matter, race and sexual orientation seemed to fade as a division. Peeta boldly accepted everyone and cause others to question their prejudice.
It meant a lot to me that he still chose to walk with me, a lowly sophomore and his little (step)sister’s sullen and surly friend to choir on his way to the drama department his entire senior year. I always tried to keep my heart from pounding out of my chest, but once he started our conversation I was always put at ease. I kept thinking he would get side tracked by a friend more worthy of his attention, but he was unwavering.
Still unwavering, and so much sexier in present day, Peeta is hovering over me. His eyes, hazy with lust make my stomach flip, I tremble under his touch. His hand smooths over my hip, and get the strong urge to kiss him again.
Oh lordy, I might actually be addicted to his lips. I grab his head and pull it down to mind. Our lips smash together not as aggressively this time. Our tongues meet and dart and chase. His hand now cups the front of my pelvis and I moan into his mouth. Instinctively I reach for his length, I don’t know what I was expecting but it’s impressive, I gasp.
“Oooh Katniss!” I hear his low voice groan my name in my ear.
This is the first time either of us has acknowledged that we know each other beyond tonight. I think it’s been 6 years since either of us has set foot in our shitty hometown, and just about the same that we’ve seen one other. I wonder what this means for the evening, for our little game?
I run my hand up and down his manhood a few times teasingly. His ragged breath against my throat is doing things to me. His fingers wonder and tease until he rubbing me with more pressure and more purpose. I release him as he scoots his body further down to kiss my stomach and dip his tongue in my belly button, his kisses trail lower. I pant in anticipation as he continues to stroke with just the right amount of pressure on my core.
I think of all the times I admonished myself for these dirty thoughts. The pep talks I had in my head about how he was off limits, and how dangerous it was to fantasize about such things with Peeta of all people, most wanted man of Panem High. After Madge’s falling out with her former friend and brother’s ex, we made a pact, brothers and step-brothers are off limits, until further discussion.
There were a few times when we had Show Choir performances at the All School Assembly. I could have sworn I saw Peeta’s eyes locked with mine as I sang, in some sort of trance. Like he knew I was singing for him. Like he was aware that he gave me courage to do so, with every day that he existed. With every fiber of his being. I had to brushed it off the thoughts. Just my imagination playing tricks on me.
But the look he was giving me earlier, eyes boring into my very soul, recognizing it's… no, don’t go there, just enjoy this.
My underwear is flung across the room and he pins my legs down and draws them further apart as if a man on a mission. I blush at the vulnerable feelings I have, drape my arm over my eyes and sigh. His hands travel up my thighs and I desperately try not to growl.
I’m a girl on fire, a raging inferno is building inside me, only be quenched by a man that doesn’t know he possesses my heart. This tattooed tortured artist with mesmerizing eyes, and the kindest heart despite this cruel world.
His strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I had been waiting years for him. Elicits in me things I didn’t know were possible. I’m dazed and lost in wave after wave of pleasure. I’m flying and its glorious. Fantasy and daydreams be damn. As the euphoric energy sends my head buzzing I am awakened some how. I feel like a new woman. I feel dangerous. Aggressive. Desired.
I shove Peeta down and straddle him with a wicked grin. His eyes meet mine. Predator and prey. I roll my hips and a deep moan reverberates through him. I bite my lip in attempt to hold in the smile and satisfaction I feel from his primal reaction. I gave him that reaction.
He sits up reaching for his wallet on the nights stand to retrieve a condom, I keep my body flush to his and trail kisses along his jawline. I hear the foil packet crinkle. The anticipation does weird flowery things to my heart. I should feel lucid with lust, instead I’m giddy, like I’m about to get away with tasting forbidden fruit I’ve wanted for eons.
He takes the lead, he wraps me in his strong arms and whispers the most poetic filthy things about my body. I growl and murmer my appreciation as his hands travel and explore.
I gasp as he teases my cavern with the tip. He lifts my left leg and drapes my ankle above his shoulder.
“Please Peeta, I need you. Ruin me.” I repeat some of his desires he whispered in my ear.
We share a moan as he slides deep inside me. My slick walls welcome him and the safety and confidence I feel in him, in this moment of vulnerability are not lost on me. I open my eyes search his face. Awe and wonder, probably read in my face as well. His blue eyes seem to dance with emotions. I’m so swept up in this moment I don’t try to understand it. I just grip it for dear life with my very being.
Somehow, I don’t have words, but it feels as if being reunited, being pieces together. To recognize my own heart entwined with someone else’s in an other worldly sense.
We move as one colliding and giratung, a slow and sensual dance. We are one and I am whole.
I can’t look away, I’m locked in place with his gaze and I feel like I’m soaring high above this world. “Ooooh, Katnisss you feel incredible.” Peeta groans as his low baritone vibrates into my chest where his face is buried between my breasts.
I never pretended to understand love, but the depths of affection I’m pouring out as waves of pleasure wash over me forces me to recognize that this might be similar.
I should be scared. I should hide and escape the intensity, but I’m not strong enough. I can’t escape how deeply he’s rooted himself in me. Someone who became a very part of my being a long time ago.
The tension in the air and friction our bodies create hurl us forward, we dive and dip, faster and harder. He murmurs filthy things in my ear as he pulls me on top of him. His expression euphoric, jaw dropped, eyes nearly rolling back in his head and filled with emotion. I ride him until we’re tumbling into oblivion. I collapse on top of him as he mutters broken obscenities into my neck, sputters and grunts that indicate his release. I continue to squeeze and milk him deep within me until I know he’s finally sated. I catch my breath and let out a light chuckle, relief and happiness revealed. Peeta wipes away the tears that escaped my eyes mid-orgasm.
I sigh. My hands lazily roam over his shoulders and the plains and dips of his chest. He holds my gaze and flashes a shy crooked smile, wraps me in his warm embrace and pulls me tight. He smooths a lock of hair out of my eyesight and studies my eyes and face for ages. I wish I could read his expression, or the look he’s giving me but I can’t place it. I also haven’t seen him in a very long time.
There’s so much I want to say to him but words elude me.
You’re the one I’m on fire for.
You left a mark on my heart and memory forever.
I don’t believe in soulmates but this is making me rethink everything I thought I knew.
Don’t ever let you me go.
Peeta holds tighter to me as if I am something precious he could lose. My heart melts, I’m putty in his hands.
The fear of parting ways grows heavy on my heart. I don’t know how to fight it, but if we don’t talk it may strangle me from the inside.
“Where do–” we speak at the same time then laugh nervously.
“Where do you call home Katniss? I know you’re here on a business trip like I am.”
