I should have seen it coming.

Every Thursday, I teach paint night at a chichi gastropub. It's good money for very little work, and it's fun. The ladies who take the class are usually more interested in drinking their wine and chatting than in actually painting, so I don't have to do much other than demonstrate and wander the easels, making approving noises.

Cashmere Solomon is in the group again tonight. She's a little older, and a little handsy, one of those people who can't seem to have a conversation without clutching at the other person.

I'm packing up my equipment, half listening to her prattle about some technique she saw on YouTube that she thinks I should teach next when I notice my girlfriend, Katniss standing just inside the doorway. Watching.

With fire in her eyes.

The drive back to my apartment is silent, tense. But once we're inside I turn to Katniss. "You're upset," I say, flatly. It's not a question; she was pissed off the last time she picked me up from paint night too.

"Of course I'm upset, that woman was all-fucking-over you - again, Peeta!" She throws her hands in the air, scowling. And I only barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. This is the same damned argument we had last week.

"It's not like I was touching her back, okay? I didn't do anything wrong here. This is your issue, Katniss. Not mine."

"So if the tables were turned you wouldn't have a problem with it?" she challenges.

"No. Because I trust you, Katniss."

"This isn't about fucking trust," she yells. "If I sat there passively while some guy ran his hands over my body you wouldn't mind?"

"Finnick does it all of the time, I never get upset."

"That's not the same thing at all, we've known Finnick since we were five."

"And he's a good looking man, and I never freak out or get jealous when he picks you up and spins you around." She huffs, and I know I've won.

"Fine," she says, her grey eyes glittering dangerously. She grabs her bag from beside my couch and heads for the door. My heart sinks.

"Where are you going?" It comes out more whiny than I intend. I hate it when she runs away after an argument.

"I'm going home, Peeta. It's almost ten and I have to work in the morning." Katniss has plenty of clothing here. She sleeps here more often than at her own apartment, in fact. But her body language screams anger, so I don't plead with her to stay, in spite of the disappointment that floods my gut. She does let me approach her, at least. Lets me kiss her goodbye.

"Are you still going to come out with the gang tomorrow?" I murmur into her hair. A group of us are meeting at the bar, to celebrate Finn's birthday.

She sighs. "Yes, I promised I would."

I regret the argument even before the door closes behind her.

I'll see you at Midnight. A single text message, the only contact we've had all day. Instead of coming over, or letting me pick her up, she'll instead meet me at the bar Finnick's chosen, Midnight.

I admit, I'm surprised when I get to the bar and find her there already. I wasn't sure she'd show. My heart lifts at the sight of her. She's wearing a dress tonight, short and clingy, it makes her legs look like they go on forever. Katniss is gorgeous, effortlessly so, though I'm not sure she realizes the effect she has. She's standing by the bar, and when she sees me, she smiles. And I relax a little.

The night flies by. We have several tables packed with Finnick's friends and coworkers, conversation and laughter flows along with the drinks. I'm leaning back in my chair, watching Katniss with Finnick's wife, Annie, on the dance floor. They laugh and spin. It's nice to see Katniss having a good time, carefree. She can be so serious, so intense.

I make my way to the bar to order another beer for myself, and club soda for Katniss, who brought her car. But when I return to our table and resume watching the dancers, I realize that Annie isn't there anymore.

Katniss is dancing with a new partner.

He's tall and dark, good-looking I guess, in a tries-too-hard way. Practically screams douchebag, with the way he's staring at Katniss.

Leering at my girlfriend.

Her back is to me, but I can see his smile, see the way he looks at her with lust in his eyes as she swivels and sways so seductively. See the way his hand sneaks out to wrap around her elbow. To draw her nearer. So close that one of his legs is between hers, creeping closer to her core.

He spins Katniss, then his hands are running over her hips, guiding her to gyrate with him. The movement erotic, almost pornographic. She meets my eyes across the room, her expression completely impassive. But she raises her hands, palms out. And I can read her thoughts. It's not like I'm touching him back…

I can't take my eyes off them, can barely blink. My cock swells and twitches even as anger floods my veins. The fucker runs his hands down her thighs, toying with the edge of her too-short skirt before wrapping an arm around her midriff, pulling her tightly against him. His eyes close, and I'm certain he's rutting his cock against the small of her back.

But her eyes never leave mine.

"Who's that with your girlfriend?" one of Finnick's friends taunts, and I snap. I'm out of my chair fast enough to make it tip backwards, have stormed across the room and grabbed Katniss by the wrist before I can even consider the scene I'm making. A few hoots and hollers from the other patrons follow me, but I don't fucking care. The only thing I care about is her pulse under my fingertips, and the path that opens like magic in front of me, guiding me out the back of the club.

We're barely through the door before I'm pushing her against the brick wall. Her eyes are onyx and unfathomable in the weak light of a single streetlamp. For a few moments we only stare at each other, chests heaving. Then she smirks. "I didn't do anything wrong here," she mocks, parroting my own words back to me. And I can't take it any more. Fury pounds through me as I use my body to pin her to the wall and kiss her.

Hard.

It's a punishing kiss. I thrust my tongue between her lips, not waiting for an invitation but taking what I want, what I've wanted since the first fucking moment I saw her with him. My knuckles drag across the brick where I'm holding her head, but the burst of pain only makes me kiss her harder, biting and bruising, controlling. Taking. My lungs are burning, my lips aching, when finally I pull back. She's panting and dishevelled, and so damned hot. Her dress rides up where my thigh is wedged between her legs, revealing inch after glorious inch of toned, tanned thigh to my greedy eyes. She rocks against me, moaning softly, her head lolling to the side just enough to expose that sweet spot where her shoulder meets her neck. I latch onto it, biting hard, knowing I'll leave a mark and not giving a damn. I want to mark her. I want everyone to know she's mine. She keens, the wailing loud in the muffled hum of the alleyway. And all I can think of is making her scream my name, right here, right now.

I pull back so fast she gasps, but I'm frenzied, my blood is on fire. I drop to a crouch in front of her, lifting her skirt, tearing at her tiny black panties like a feral thing. Like a mutt. The fabric ruins pool around her ankle as I toss her leg over my shoulder. Her hands tangle in my hair and she whimpers.

I don't tease her, don't press tickling kisses along her thighs, don't part her folds gently with my tongue, don't blow cool air across her glistening slit just to feel her tremble. I bury my face in her pussy, rough and impatient. My nose bumps against her clit as I devour her, licking and sucking, thrusting my tongue inside her. My fingers are gripping her ass cheeks hard enough to bruise, holding her firm as her leg quivers. A litany of curse words fall from her perfect peach lips. For a moment, for a fraction of a moment, one small, sane part of me realises that I have my girlfriend naked from the waist down mere feet from a door that a hundred people saw me tow her through not five minutes ago, and she's getting loud. But the part of me driven mad with rage and lust is way too fucking turned on by the idea of someone seeing us, seeing Katniss wailing and mewling with my face between her legs, to stop now.

I want them to know she's mine.

I wrap my lips around her little pearl, swollen with desire, and suck hard. Above me, she chants my name over and over, a benediction as I kneel at her altar. She squirms, seeking respite from my lingual onslaught but I grip her ass more tightly, my fingertips drifting between her cheeks. She comes with a shout and a sharp tug of my hair.

I lick her through her orgasm, much more tenderly, and when I feel her muscles slacken, when her fists release my hair, I lay my head against her hip and stroke her thigh with gentle fingers. She struggles to catch her breath, harsh gasps split the quiet of the alley.

Finally, I stand. Her head is tipped back against the wall, eyes hooded with lust, but wary. I press my forehead against hers. "You're mine," I growl.

"And you're mine." She reaches between us, stroking my aching cock over my jeans. "Mine," she repeats, squeezing firmly.

Our mouths drift together; she laps her arousal from my lips and I groan. She's so impossibly sexy. And remarkably dexterous too; one-handed, she has my belt undone and jeans unzipped with a speed that makes me smile through our kiss. But the smile falters as her cool hand grips me, and I sense she's in no mood to be gentle either. She only strokes me a couple of times before she's pushing impatiently at my jeans. "I need you inside me," she whines. "Right now."

I shuffle my jeans down a little, she shoves them down further until they pool at my knees, then grabs my ass hard. At this rate, I'm going to come before I'm even inside her. But she's the aggressor now, hooking her leg over my hip to draw me near, guiding me into her slick heat.

She's so hot, so wet, and in this position so damned tight that my balls are already tingling. I try to go slowly, to make it last. But she's having none of that. "Fuck me hard," she grunts, biting my earlobe. I pick up my pace, her body lifts and shudders with each thrust. But I know I can't hold on much longer. I wedge my hand between us, stroking her swollen clit far too roughly for how sensitive I know she is now. I swallow her surprised cry and my own moans, kissing her hungrily, needily. She clutches me tightly as we both fall over the edge.

Together.

All of the anger that hijacked my sense so completely rushes away, leaving me drained and ashamed, half-naked and holding the woman I love tightly while we gasp and shudder in a filthy alley. "I'm sorry," I whisper. I know she understands.

She pushes sweat-soaked hair off my forehead. "I love you," she replies, and after a moment follows with, "And I do trust you."

"I know," I sigh. "And I trust you too, Love. I - I get it now, I really do." She shushes me with a kiss. But I need to get the rest out. "It felt awful, seeing that guy touch you." She nuzzles my neck, threatening to disrupt my thoughts again. But I push forward. "And If Cashmere takes my class again I'll tell her how uncomfortable it makes me when she hangs all over me. I should have done that from the beginning."

Katniss smiles; a soft, pleased smile, but says nothing. There's nothing else to say. I shouldn't have dismissed her concerns, and especially without really understanding them. We cling to each other until I realize that my bare ass is freezing and my nuts are attempting to crawl into my stomach. She must be even colder. Reluctantly, we break apart.

Her panties are ruined. She kicks what's left of them partway down the alley before fixing her dress. I can't help but smirk as I pull my jeans back up. Neither of us are really fit to go back into the club, and I doubt that Finnick will care if we don't return. "Want to come back to my place?" I ask, a little shyly. When she nods, my heart soars. Hand in hand, we make our way out to the street. And I know we're going to be okay.