𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 ✔︎ || clove Kentwell

She never misses || XII

The morning light filters through the Capitol's silk-draped windows, casting a warm glow over the room. I blink awake slowly, the weight of the final day of training pressing gently on my mind—but it's softened by the warmth beside me.

Clove lies curled up close, her dark lashes fluttering as her eyes begin to open. When they meet mine, sleep still clinging to the corners, a soft, raspy "Morning" escapes her lips.

I smile, a quiet hum of contentment rumbling in my chest as I reach up to brush a bit of hair from her face. Without a word, she shifts closer, her head moving from the pillow to rest lightly against my chest, fingers tracing idle shapes across my ribs.

Clove stirs beside me, shifting slowly as the golden morning light spills across the sheets. She lifts her head and leans in, pressing a series of soft kisses to my lips—gentle, unhurried.

"I love waking up like this," she murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep.

She shifts closer, draping her leg over my waist and curling into my lap with ease, like she's done this a hundred times. Her fingers graze my cheek as she looks down at me, eyes tender.

"With you," she finishes, punctuating the words with another kiss—longer this time, deeper, as if to say what her words haven't.

Our lips move together slowly, yet passionately. I feel her warm breath on my cheek as she softly enters her tongue, and our tongues begin to playfully intertwine. As I lightly massage my fingers into her hair, she lets out a small moan in response.

The faint glow of morning and the distant hum of Capitol traffic tug at the edge of my awareness, grounding me back to reality. As much as I want to stay tangled in this quiet, stolen moment, I know what the day demands of us.

"Hey, babe," I murmur between kisses, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "We've got training soon."

Clove groans in protest, pulling me closer until our chests are pressed together, her arms wrapping firmly around my waist. "No," she whispers, voice thick with sleep and something more, lips trailing against mine as if she can convince me otherwise with nothing but warmth.

I laugh softly against her mouth, but she takes that as encouragement, deepening the kiss. Her fingers slip into my hair, and I can feel the hesitation behind every movement—like if she kisses me long enough, maybe time will slow, and we won't have to face the blood and blade waiting downstairs.

Her desire to stay here—just the two of us, safe and unjudged—is clear. But the Games don't pause for feelings. And neither does fate.

Still, in this moment, with her holding on like I'm something worth keeping—I let her have just a little more time.

I smile as I feel the rhythm of her movements, my hands moving to cup the sides of her waist to steady her. Each motion creates an intense friction between us, causing her to moan loudly as the pleasure intensifies.

Quickly, flip her over, positioning myself on top of her as I straddle her. Our lips continue to move together in perfect harmony, causing her to moan loudly at the sensation.

Two slow, quiet minutes pass—just the warmth of her in my lap and the steady rhythm of our breathing. Eventually, with reluctant resolve, I start to pull back.

She lets out the softest whine at the loss of contact, her arms tightening around me for just a second more.

"We really have to get to training, baby," I murmur, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips.

Clove pouts instantly, eyes still half-lidded and full of sleepy mischief. "One more," she mumbles against my mouth, like asking is optional.

I can't help the chuckle that escapes as I give in, brushing a slower, lingering kiss against her lips—letting the moment stretch just a bit longer before reality pulls us both back into motion.