Page 41 of Serving Bunt

Some good she had done.

I’d woken to the weight of Diaz’s arm draped across my waist like it was the most natural thing in the world, and his hard cock pressed against my ass, threatening to break free of those ridiculous silk boxers.

Should’ve known he’d be the big spoon. Peter Diaz gave major big-spoon energy.

Thankfully, Mr. BSE slept like the dead. He hadn’t even stirred when I’d carefully extracted myself to go for my morning run. It wasn’t until I returned with a cup of coffee in one hand and one of Lolly’s cinnamon rolls, fresh out of the oven, in the other that his eyes had finally fluttered open.

“That smells delicious,” he’d croaked, already reaching for the plate with a sleepy grin. “But what will you eat?”

Needless to say, I’d broken the warm roll in half . . . and given him the bigger chunk.

“Bakers, you have three hours to create your festive pavlova wreaths. It’s dough or die.”

Kill me.

Even Penelope cringed at that one.

“Ready, set . . . sleigh the bake.”

The six of us jumped into motion. With what the judges were asking us to accomplish, we didn’t have a moment to waste.

“Okay, mi pana.” Diaz clapped his hands together. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I know this might surprise you,” he said, already reaching for the eggs. “But I don’t have a clue what the fuck I’m doing. Or what the fuck meringue even is.”

“Peter,” Penelope shouted over the noise. “The producers have kindly asked if there’s any way you can tone down the fucks?”

“Does that count for Spanish, too?” he fired back even though she’d already moved on. They both knew it was a lost cause.

Diaz leaned his hip against the counter, watching me now instead of the chaos. “Point is, I think you should take the lead with this one.”

“You sure?”

He shrugged like it was nothing. Like it didn’t cost him a single thought. “I’ve got your back.”

Four simple words.

I’ve got your back.

And coming from him, after yesterday’s disaster and last night’s two a.m. therapy session, that hit differently.

Yesterday, he’d been all charm and jokes. Today, he was stepping back and letting me lead without trying to smooth things over with whatever shitty baking pun he’d come up with.

And that meant more than any trophy.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Alright,” I said, a little surer of myself now. “Then listen up, Petey boy.”

He flashed a quick and easy grin.

“Yes, sir.”

The words slid down my spine like warm honey.

For a split second, a vision of Diaz on his knees, looking up at me with dark eyes, voice rough as he whispered, “Yes, sir,” while working my cock with his tongue, flashed through my brain. It was so vivid, I had to grip the edge of the counter.

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to stay steady. “You can wash the berries.”