Page 66 of Serving Bunt

Diaz

And your fingers toying with my asshole.

Buzz.

Diaz

And your freckles.

“My freckles?”

The question burst out of me before I could stop myself.

He answered with a grin that was downright feral.

“Yeah, your freckles,” he murmured, setting his phone down on the blanket between us. “There’s this little cluster on your left shoulder that drives me crazy. And another right above your groin—”

“Stop,” I grunted, but I didn’t mean it. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

Diaz’s knee pressed against mine “You have no idea how fucking cute you look when you blush like that.”

He speared another bite of his taco with his fork and held it out toward me, his eyes locked on mine.

“Open.”

I hesitated for half a second, then leaned forward and took the bite right off his fork. The smoky pork and sweet pineapple hit me all at once, but it was the way his gaze stayed glued on my lips that made my pulse race.

“Damn, that’s really good,” I told him.

I wasn’t usually a big fan of pineapple on savory things—sorry, not sorry, Hawaiian pizza freaks—but that was one hell of a taco. I swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close we were.

“I don’t usually let people feed me off their fork. You must be rubbing off on me.

“I like rubbing off on you,” he said, his voice an octave lower than before.

I nearly choked. “That’s not what— You know what I mean.”

Diaz just laughed softly, eyes sparkling with mischief. He speared another bite and offered it to me, this time letting his fingers brush mine as I took it. The contact was brief, but it sent a rush of heat straight down my spine.

Diaz’s voice dropped even lower. “You gonna let me drag my tongue across those freckles later tonight, tesoro?”

Great. Now I’m hard.

I swallowed the bite, trying to keep my expression neutral for anyone who might glance our way.

“Is that, uh, what you want?”

His eyes narrowed. “I want . . .”

He paused, letting the words hang between us just long enough for my pulse to spike. Then his expression shifted into something more playful, the feral edge softening into that trademark Diaz smirk.

“. . . another one of those Berry Me in Chocolate waffles.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden curveball. Relief and disappointment crashed into each other in my chest all at once. Mostly relief, though. We were in public, surrounded by our friends, his grandmother, and half the production crew.

Getting caught with a hard-on and a flushed face wasn’t exactly on tonight’s to-do list.

“I’ll get it,” I said quickly, already pushing up from the blanket. “I need to stretch my legs anyway.”