Page 77 of Serving Bunt

I could only nod, breath caught in my throat. He wrapped his hand around both our lengths, pressing them tightly together.

“Oh, fuck,” I choked.

The friction was almost overwhelming. He gave us one slow stroke, then again, faster this time, twisting his wrist at the heads so the spit and precum mixed and slicked the way.

“I want to feel you come on me,” he murmured against my mouth, kissing me quick. “I want you to lose it all over me, tesoro. Mark me up.”

Make me yours.

He didn’t have to say it.

I rocked forward instinctively, chasing the delicious friction. Our cocks slid together in his fist, every drag sending sparks shooting up my spine. It was a little awkward at first, finding the right rhythm, figuring out where the hell to put my hands. I finally settled them on his shoulders, digging my fingers into the firm muscles there and using him for leverage as I thrust into his grip.

The old bed creaked beneath us with every movement. One of these days, I was going to get him into a real bed, something big enough for both of us to really stretch out. Not this tiny thing that felt like it belonged in my granny’s guest room.

That didn’t matter. Not right now.

I concentrated on the tight grip of his palm and the way his breath hitched every time our cockheads pressed together. On the sweat beading along my spine, trickling down my back.

Sex had never felt like this. Not for me, at least.

With Diaz, it was like every slide of his hand, every shared breath, was rewriting what I thought I knew about myself. And he hadn’t even gotten inside me yet.

I leaned in and pressed my mouth to his neck, tasting the salt of his skin mixed with the faint cedar of his body wash. When I sucked lightly at his pulse point, hard enough to leave a mark, he groaned deep in his chest.

“Fuck. Matty—” His words broke off into a moan as I did it again, scraping my teeth gently over the spot.

“Look at us, Peter,” I breathed, pressing my forehead to his. I couldn’t look away from where his hand worked us. Our cocks flushed dark, sliding together in his fist. The sight was filthy and beautiful at the same time. “Look at what you do to me.”

Diaz’s grip tightened, stroking us faster. His thumb swiped over the heads on every upstroke, spreading the leaking precum and making everything even wetter. My balls drew up tight, pressure building fast and relentless low in my gut.

“I’m close.” He gasped, hips stuttering.

“You gonna be a good boy and come for me?”

“God yes.”

“Don’t hold back, baby,” I growled, barely recognizing my own voice. I rocked my hips down harder, fucking into his fist. “Make a mess of me.”

That was all it took.

Diaz came with a low, guttural sound that vibrated through his whole body. His cock pulsed hard in his hand, thick ropes of cum spilling across both our stomachs in hot, messy stripes. The sight of him falling apart pushed me right over the edge after him.

I buried my face in his neck and came hard with a choked groan. My hips jerked helplessly as pleasure crashed through me in long, shuddering waves.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I whispered against his damp skin.

He let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Yeah. That . . . about sums it up.”

We stayed locked together like that for who knew how long, foreheads pressed closed, just breathing each other in. Diaz’s hand kept moving in slow, lazy strokes between us, drawing out every last shiver.

Eventually, he pressed a soft kiss to my temple and murmured, “C’mere.”

He guided me down beside him on the bed. I collapsed half on top of him, one leg thrown over his thigh, my face tucked into the warm curve of his neck. Before I could even settle, Mo let out a dramatic huff from the mountain of pillows we had set up for her beside the bed. She stood up only to settle back down again, this time with her back to us.

“We really gotta stop fucking in front of my dog.”

At this rate, I was going to have to shell out the big bucks to send her to one of those animal therapists.