She doesn't believe in it either but it's a nice notion nonetheless. Too bad it's never turned out to be true. Kids are supposed to grow up with both their parents; that hadn't happened for either of them. Teenaged girls are supposed to spend those years in school learning, hanging out with friends, dating boys. Not fighting almost every night, killing children both older and younger than her, selling herself to whoever - man or woman - showed interest. Forever and ideals don't exist. Too bad. It could be kind of nice.
It shouldn't have to be this way either. At eighteen years old, her comfort zone should be in dating. Specifically, it should be in dating boys her own age. But it isn't. Sex with a thirty-something year old isn't new to her. That's her comfort zone, isn't it? Treating sex like a transaction, getting it over with, taking as little pleasure in it for herself as possible so she doesn't feel any more revolted with who she had become than she does most days. But always faking that pleasure as not to disappoint. No, maybe that's not a comfort zone. A numb zone? Does that count?
To Katniss, it doesn't matter if he had heard about the Games any sooner or any later than he had. She had already given up on any kind of rescue after a couple of months in. The kingpins involved were smart, and wealthy, enough to make sure no one would miss the children they hired to fight (and die) in their arena. No one was going to come, at least not to rescue them. It was a well kept secret, in part because so many of its patrons were those that would never be suspected. That Daredevil had ended matters at all was as much of a miracle as Katniss would allow herself to believe in.
That's where he's wrong. She will say the wrong thing. It's already happened once tonight, when Katniss mistook Matt's affections towards her. There's never been much discussion with sex, not of that sort anyway. No, she's never been with the right kind of men. But that, she assumes, is what happens when you're a sixteen year old killer, no, victor who has just come to realize how much she could make by selling her virginity. And why should she have stopped there? Doing that had just solidified everything that had been drilled into her: she's an object, worthless in everything except for what she's good at - fucking and fighting. The damage had been done. What point had there been in changing until Matt?
And change is hard. Even now, feeling good about what she's doing to him, feeling that pleasure is as overwhelming as it is alluring, as terrifying as it is wanted. Slowing down just isn't an option because slowing down means she has to think. She has to stop and realize what she's doing. Realize how much she wants Matt to do all the dirty things that she once despised. That choosing to be intimate with a man can be enjoying. And how she loves him even more tonight than ever before.
Even if he does keep breaking their kiss to talk. She nearly scowls at him out of habit before remembering that scowls are not allowed when engaging in sex. Not unless it's asked for by her customer. Somehow, though Matt can never see her scowls, he's always been good at knowing anyway. She doesn't want to anger him. Not right now. She just wants him to be happy. Happy with her. And for the most part, he seems happy. Except when he talks. Begs her to slow down.
"I could use my mouth instead." The suggestion comes out before she even thinks too much about it. It's what she'd probably be doing if he were anyone else by now. Someone not insisting that she slow down. Hadn't she already told him that she's enjoying herself? What more does he want from her? Besides, clearly he's enjoying it. There's a raggedness in his words that she knows stems from the way she's stroking him. He wants this. Her. "I'm very good," she continues between slow, lingering kisses, giving him at least that while still making an effort to back up her claim, "with my mouth."
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It shouldn't have to be this way either. At eighteen years old, her comfort zone should be in dating. Specifically, it should be in dating boys her own age. But it isn't. Sex with a thirty-something year old isn't new to her. That's her comfort zone, isn't it? Treating sex like a transaction, getting it over with, taking as little pleasure in it for herself as possible so she doesn't feel any more revolted with who she had become than she does most days. But always faking that pleasure as not to disappoint. No, maybe that's not a comfort zone. A numb zone? Does that count?
To Katniss, it doesn't matter if he had heard about the Games any sooner or any later than he had. She had already given up on any kind of rescue after a couple of months in. The kingpins involved were smart, and wealthy, enough to make sure no one would miss the children they hired to fight (and die) in their arena. No one was going to come, at least not to rescue them. It was a well kept secret, in part because so many of its patrons were those that would never be suspected. That Daredevil had ended matters at all was as much of a miracle as Katniss would allow herself to believe in.
That's where he's wrong. She will say the wrong thing. It's already happened once tonight, when Katniss mistook Matt's affections towards her. There's never been much discussion with sex, not of that sort anyway. No, she's never been with the right kind of men. But that, she assumes, is what happens when you're a sixteen year old killer, no, victor who has just come to realize how much she could make by selling her virginity. And why should she have stopped there? Doing that had just solidified everything that had been drilled into her: she's an object, worthless in everything except for what she's good at - fucking and fighting. The damage had been done. What point had there been in changing until Matt?
And change is hard. Even now, feeling good about what she's doing to him, feeling that pleasure is as overwhelming as it is alluring, as terrifying as it is wanted. Slowing down just isn't an option because slowing down means she has to think. She has to stop and realize what she's doing. Realize how much she wants Matt to do all the dirty things that she once despised. That choosing to be intimate with a man can be enjoying. And how she loves him even more tonight than ever before.
Even if he does keep breaking their kiss to talk. She nearly scowls at him out of habit before remembering that scowls are not allowed when engaging in sex. Not unless it's asked for by her customer. Somehow, though Matt can never see her scowls, he's always been good at knowing anyway. She doesn't want to anger him. Not right now. She just wants him to be happy. Happy with her. And for the most part, he seems happy. Except when he talks. Begs her to slow down.
"I could use my mouth instead." The suggestion comes out before she even thinks too much about it. It's what she'd probably be doing if he were anyone else by now. Someone not insisting that she slow down. Hadn't she already told him that she's enjoying herself? What more does he want from her? Besides, clearly he's enjoying it. There's a raggedness in his words that she knows stems from the way she's stroking him. He wants this. Her. "I'm very good," she continues between slow, lingering kisses, giving him at least that while still making an effort to back up her claim, "with my mouth."