He bites down, tasting her skin and the make up and the sweat just beneath of that thin layer of Capitol perfect. You're such a creep. He knows, and he should feel bad. There should be a layer of guilt swimming in his gut, but all he can think about is the way she feels beneath of him - hard where Annie's soft, fighting where Annie doesn't - and the sounds she makes and the fact that he'll be killing again.

Finnick's hard, throbbing.

His hands move down her body again, and he removes his knee mid-grind, a laugh in the back of his throat because he knows she's not going to like that as much. But his fingers are hooking into her underwear and tugging them off. He doesn't even bother to take a look, his fingers sliding up her slit as he buries his face in her neck as he moans.

She's soaked.