Page 88 of Serving Bunt

Diaz was quiet for a long moment, thumb resting on one of the printed pages.

“They, uh, also turned me on. I definitely jerked off to them.” I quickly added, “More than once or twice.”

That had him spinning in his seat. When he finally looked at me, the heat in his eyes was so intense, it stole the breath from my lungs.

It wasn’t just lust.

It was hunger. Possession.

Like he wanted to devour every inch of me.

Eat up, Diaz.

“Fuck, Matty.” He groaned. “You’re telling me that all this time, you’ve been fucking yourself while reading my words, imagining my mouth on you, my cock in your ass?”

I met his gaze head-on. “Well, sometimes it was my cock in your ass, but yeah—”

He surged forward.

In one fluid motion, Diaz crawled onto my lap, bracketing my thighs with his and settling his full weight on me. He took my lips in a quick, punishing kiss. Though, if that was his idea of punishment, I was ready to commit every sin he wanted.

I groaned into his mouth at the feeling of him, solid and hard against my stomach. He kissed like he was starving for me, greedy and rough in the best way. His teeth nipped at my bottom lip, and I tangled my fingers in his shirt to pull him closer, chasing the taste of lemon batter and pure want on his tongue.

“Tell me you thought about me when you read them,” he rasped against my lips. His hands slid under my tank top, palms hot against my skin as he rocked his hips once, twice. “Tell me you got hard thinking about me bending you over in the dugout, in the locker room. Tell me it was my name on your lips when you came.”

I dug my fingers into his thighs, holding him to me. “Every damn time.”

Diaz made a low, satisfied sound and kissed me again. My hands slipped around his back to grip his ass, grinding him against me in a way that made my head spin.

I was about ten seconds away from throwing him down on the bed and reenacting my favorite story with him when the kitchen timer went off downstairs.

We both froze.

Diaz pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breathing hard. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

“Saved by the cake,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Sacrifice Bundt.”

I let out a frustrated groan, dropping my head back. “Fuck me.”

“We’ll get there.”

He chuckled and pressed one last lingering kiss to my lips before climbing off my lap. He stood and offered me his hand, pulling me up with him.

“Don’t worry, tesoro,” he said, thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “We’ve got all night.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat through me. I nodded, still a little dazed, and let him tug me toward the door.

All night.

Yeah, that was a good start.

After we demolished nearly half the lemon Bundt cake straight from the pan like heathens, we ended up sprawled on the living room sectional, watching Moonstruck. Apparently, Diaz had watched the first part of it earlier at his place, and even though he had seen it a million times, he “couldn’t bear to give up on Cher that way.”

His words, not mine.

I didn’t mind. I was blissfully drifting in and out of consciousness while he played with my hair.

As it turned out, sugar comas were the ultimate cockblock.