Clove has Peeta at her mercy

Peeta's eyes snap open, his heart pounding in his chest as he takes in his surroundings. He's tied to a log, his wrists and ankles bound with rough rope that chafes against his skin.

He twists his neck, looking down at his naked body. His clothes are gone, stripped away by the Careers while he was ****. Panic rises in his throat, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Clove steps into view, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she takes in his reaction. She circles him slowly, her eyes roving over his exposed flesh with a predatory hunger.

“Awake at last?” she purrs, her voice low and mocking. “I was beginning to think you'd never wake up.”

Peeta struggles against his bonds, the ropes biting into his skin. He can feel the heat of Clove's gaze, the way her eyes linger on his most intimate parts.

“What do you want from me?” he demands, his voice shaking with fear and anger.

Clove laughs, a harsh, grating sound that sends shivers down his spine. “Oh, I think you know,” she says, her hand trailing down his chest, her nails leaving red lines in their wake. “I’m going to have some fun with you, little lovebird. Before of course we have to dispose of you.”

Peeta's stomach churns, bile rising in his throat at the thought of what the Careers might do to him. He thinks of Katniss, of how she fought so hard to protect him. And he knows that he has to find a way to escape, to get back to her before it's too late.

His breath hitches as he feels Clove's fingernails scraping along his inner thigh, dangerously close to his most sensitive area. His body tenses, every muscle coiled tight with fear and anticipation.

He tries to squirm away from her touch, but the ropes hold him fast, leaving him utterly exposed and ****. He can feel the heat of her breath on his skin, the way her eyes bore into him with a hungry intensity.

“Stop,” he whispers, his voice cracking with desperation. “Please, just stop.”

But Clove ignores him, her hand moving higher, her fingers brushing against his hardening flesh. Peeta gasps, his hips jerking involuntarily at the contact.

“What's the matter, little lovebird?” Clove taunts, her voice dripping with cruel amusement. “Not enjoying the attention?”

She wraps her hand around him, her grip tight and unyielding. Peeta whimpers, his head falling back against the log as he tries to endure the unwanted stimulation.

Clove begins to stroke him, her movements slow and deliberate. Peeta's body betrays him, responding to her touch despite his revulsion. He can feel himself growing harder, his flesh swelling under her ministrations.

“No,” he chokes out, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Please, I don't want this.”

But Clove just laughs, her hand speeding up, her grip tightening. Peeta's world narrows to the sensation of her touch, to the shame and humiliation burning through his veins.

He thinks of Katniss, of the way she looked at him before the arena, her eyes filled with warmth and affection. He clings to that image, using it to anchor himself, to remind himself of who he is and what he's fighting for.

But even as he does, he can feel his resolve crumbling, his body surrendering to the inevitable.