Page 54 of Serving Bunt

“Anal. Got it.”

I swallowed, heart hammering. “Not tonight.”

“Don’t worry.” He leaned in and pressed a slow, sweet kiss to my mouth, then another to the corner of my lips. “There’s so much else we can do, tesoro. So much I’ve been dying to do to you.”

I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat.

He tugged my belt free one painstaking inch at a time before flattening his palms on my thighs, stroking the inner seams of my jeans.

Up. Down. Up again.

Each pass brought his fingers closer to where I was aching, straining against the zipper.

“Please,” I begged.

“Shh.” He lightly nipped my bottom lip. Then, he followed it up with another gentle kiss. “Let me play.”

His fingers found the button of my jeans. Pop. The sound was sharp. The zipper came next, metal teeth parting one by one, the rasp of it dragging out forever.

“Can I touch you, Matty?”

“God, yes.”

He slipped his hand inside the parted material, laying his palm flat against the boxer briefs stretched tight across my cock. I jerked against his fingers, a choked sound escaping my throat.

“So thick,” he murmured. “I can barely wrap my hand around you.”

Well, I could barely breathe.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my underwear and tugged them down just enough to free me. Cool air hit my aching cock, and I hissed as it slapped against my stomach.

Diaz wrapped his hand around the base, tracing his thumb once along the thick vein underneath. Precum welled up immediately and he spread it over the head with a lazy swirl that made my hips snap forward.

“Look at you.” He stared at me like I was something sacred. “Somebody’s already close,” he teased.

“Can you blame me?”

He gave a firm stroke from root to tip, then another, twisting gently at the head. My hips jerked up into his fist as a broken sound escaped me.

“Still okay?”

“More than okay,” I rasped. “Fuck, Diaz. Don’t stop.”

“It’s Peter.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. “When you’re naked underneath me, tesoro, screaming, begging, it’ll be my first name on your lips. Got it?”

He gave another rough squeeze of my cock.

“Yesss.”

“Yes, who?”

“Peter,” I cried. His name came out half moan, half plea. “Yes, Peter.”

Holy shit, this was good. Different. Rougher than any hand job I had ever received from a woman.

Diaz’s grip was stronger, the rhythm less tentative, like he knew exactly how much pressure I could take and he wasn’t afraid to give it to me. It was so goddamn right that I felt my eyes sting for a second.

“Lift up,” he said.