Melting | an Everlark smut

Part 4

Maybe that's why the kissing goes farther than it ever has before. Everything else fades away and I pull him off the couch and towards the spare bedroom, staying downstairs where it is still warm. We are still kissing, hands crossing boundaries they never have before, as the backs of my knees bump against the bed.

"Peeta," I breathe. "I want more. What do we... How..."

He searches my face to gauge my meaning and his face turns pink, understanding.

"I can try something. If you're okay with it. I don't really know what I'm doing but it's supposed to be... nice," he says, face flushing deeper.

"Okay," I say, not caring, just wanting to lean into this freedom however long we have it.

"Tell me to stop any time."

He kneels between my legs, and now I blush as he runs his hands up my thighs, pushing my skirt up. I'm pleased to notice that the skin of his hands, so painstakingly smoothed over by the Capitol, has been raised again with scars from the bread oven.

I gasp as his mouth makes contact with my sex. After a few kisses through the flimsy underwear that comes with my silly new clothes, he peels them off, looking at me to make sure he can proceed. When I don't protest, he kisses the inside of my thigh, kissing a path downward until his mouth latches onto me. My hands weave into his hair, tethering me to reality and pulling him closer.

His tongue is lapping at me, then circling my sensitive flesh, and then stroking inside me. His mouth closes around me, suckling. There is no discernible pattern to what he's doing, but it feels so good and I am writhing against him at every touch. His hands are firm, holding my legs apart, but I barely feel them as pleasure consumes me.

The pulsing feeling that has been building since we started kissing by the fire has concentrated into a deep ache inside me. I am burning from the inside out. I gasp and convulse as the orgasm hits, his supposedly untrained tongue still working and prolonging the sensation.

I am panting as he staggers backwards, sitting on his heels, a bit dazed. When I can, I struggle up and sit on the edge of the bed. I grab his face, drawing him back into a kneeling position and into a deep kiss. I taste myself mingled with his own flavor. I am shocked that I am not disgusted by it.

"I want to make you feel as good as that," I say into his mouth.

"Ha!" he laughs shakily. "You're already mostly there."

"Still." I bring our mouths together again. "I want to keep going."

Peeta tries to stand and curses when he wobbles slightly. "I'm going to take this off. No Capitol enhancements."

I nod, understanding, as he sits next to me on the edge. I watch as he takes off his shirt, slips off his slacks, and then breaks the suction that is keeping the prosthetic on. My stomach flips and I am back in the arena, seeing his horrible, infected wound.

But this Peeta is not sick or dying or painfully thin. He is sturdy and vital again, and but for his leg and the dark circles under his eyes he is whole. I glance up and see that he is tense, staring at the delicate sensors inside the prosthetic he's dropped to the floor. I grab his hand.

"I'm nervous," he says with a slight smile, not looking up.

I laugh, then hope I don't sound cruel. I've drained pus from his leg, washed his naked body, and kissed him for the viewing pleasure of a million strangers. His tongue was inside me a minute ago. Now he is nervous?

"Come here."

I scoot backwards up the bed, and he crawls to meet me, placing a hand on my back as we kiss. I can feel his hardness as we press closer together and feel another dart of nerves. Still kissing me, he deftly rotates us and lays back, pulling me so that I am straddling him.