#gfree

This was all my co-worker, Peeta’s fault. That bastard eats the most amazing, delicious, succulent, carb-filled, mouthwatering juicy meat-ridden lunches.

And I just want him.

IT, I mean I want his lunches.

I went about my work day, sipping my anti-oxidant health infused blah blah blah smoothly that was supposed to give me energy. How about a damn cup of coffee?!

That is IT!

I jump to my feet, and reach for my coat, determined to find a decent cup of coffee. “Maybe I’ll go crazy and get an early lunch?” I thought.

The knock on my office her door interrupts my thoughts. “Come in.” 

There stands Peeta with his sculpted, fit and solid body in all his carnivores ways, hidden under business casual attire. That's a bread boy. I can practically smell the baked goods wafting from him as he approaches me.

“Hey Katniss, oh were you heading out?” He raises his eyebrows noticing my coat in my hands. “There's a new restaurant that opened up nearby. I'm told they have excellent g-free options. They wanted me to review it. What do you say? Should we go check it out together?” He asks kindly and sincerely. Blue eyes sparkling. Smile enchanting.

This hunger is clearly going to my head.

“Sure.” I answered as I grabbed my purse and headed to lunch with Peeta-bread.

Mmm bread.

I subtly leaned over to give his shoulder a little sniff when Peeta wasn't looking.

Oh my gosh he smells delicious!

Cinnamon rolls and fresh baked bread.

This is dangerous.

Once we’re settled in the restaurant, I order their “Big Salad.” They claim it is sensational with roasted carrots, arugula, avocado and a dressing that is “to die for.”

Peeta orders the house steak.

THE STEAK.

As he eats, a little bit of the juices run down his chin. I stifle a groan.

He wipes his chin and gives a hearty chuckle. I couldn't even look away if I tried.

A wave of heat travels through my body.

As he slowly butters his roll, I'm mesmerized. By the roll. The smattering of butter. Ohhh no that's too much butter. His hands keep buttering, slow and sensual. I want his hands on me.

I hadn’t even realize I'm leaning into Peeta until I have his collar bunched in my hands.

The air is electric.

I barely make eye contact before crashing my lips to Peeta's.

He kisses me back with vigor. Aggressive, but reverent. His strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me tighter. Ugh, he's so strong.

We're both breathless and pull away just looking at each other. Slightly shocked. Such intensity.

Then I smirk, and before he can say anything, I steal a bit of his steak.

And it's Soooo goood.

Mouthwatering, mind blowing.

A deep moan escapes.

Peeta's eyes grow wide.

I wink and reach for his bread.

Four months later Peeta and I are seated at his parent’s house for Mellark Thanksgiving dinner.

Peeta is expected to write a piece about his own family traditions, so we take note of every delectable dish.

The juicy honey ham. The soft flaky Turkey. The warm buttery delicate rolls. Turkey and herb stuffing. The garlic mashed potatoes with an indulgent amount of butter. Peeta's mom's traditional twice baked sweet potato dish with “a secret ingredient” that I will find out from her eventually. The tart cranberry sauce.

I won't even tell you about the pies. They were insane.

Peeta and I can't seem to keep our eyes or hands from wandering after we've finished our pies. We say our goodbyes and hurry home to add our own new tradition to the day.