Page 70 of Serving Bunt

Diaz moaned, pushing back onto every thrust.

Across the room, Matty was sprawled in a wide leather chair, head thrown back, strawberry-blond curls mussed with sweat. His fingers were tangled in Pink’s hair, guiding his mouth up and down his cock.

Diaz’s gaze locked on them, cock leaking steadily onto the bench as Roman railed him.

“Fuck, look at your boy,” Roman taunted, slamming in deep. “Getting his dick sucked while I wreck your hole. You like being watched, don’t you? Like being the team’s dirty little secret.”

Diaz whimpered, nodding frantically. Roman fucked him harder, hips snapping, until he buried himself deep with a guttural groan and came, flooding Diaz’s ass with hot pulses.

“Take it,” he growled, grinding in deep. “Take every drop like the cumslut you are.”

When Roman finally pulled out, cum was already leaking down Diaz’s thighs in messy streaks. Pink rose from between Matty’s legs, cock hard and flushed, and crossed the room without a word. He took Roman’s place, rubbing the head of his cock through the slick mess Roman had left behind.

“Damn, you’re sloppy,” Pink muttered, voice thick with lust. “Roman really filled you up. Such a used little hole.”

He pushed inside in one slick thrust, groaning at the wet heat. Diaz cried out, oversensitive and full. He moaned loudly as Pink slammed into him again, hitting his prostate dead-on. The sight of Matty, flushed, hard, watching him get railed by their pitcher pushed him right to the edge.

Pink leaned over his back, nipping at his shoulder. “That’s it. Take it. Let everyone see what a desperate little slut you are for Roasters cock.”

Diaz came with a broken cry, cock pulsing untouched as he spilled across the bench. Pink followed soon after, burying himself deep and adding his own load with a low groan.

When he finally pulled out, Diaz was a trembling mess.

Matty stood then, his eyes blazing with heat and possession.

“My turn,” he said softly.

Diaz smiled.

“Yes, please.”

Diaz

“Welcome to the Great Yuletide Showdown, the grand finale in this episode of Sleigh the Bake.”

Penelope stood in the center of the barn, her plaid dress catching the overhead lights like a goddamn Christmas ornament. Fuck, if somebody told me the woman slept hanging from a tree in Rockefeller Center, I would’ve believed them.

“Today’s challenge is simple in concept but monumental in execution,” she announced, voice bright enough to power a small city. “The judges are looking for a centerpiece dessert that represents your home for the holidays. That could be a cake, pie, trifle—whatever speaks to your heart and heritage. And whatever you can complete in four hours.”

Four hours.

Four hours until I never had to bake anything ever again. If I never saw another piping bag in my life, it would be too soon. After today, the only thing I planned on folding was clean laundry.

But first, we had to make it through this bake.

“Remember,” Jin Kato said, elegant as always in a crisp black shirt. “This bake is about storytelling through flavor and texture. Make it personal, not just pretty.”

Mandy Bickham nodded. “Balance is key. Don’t be afraid to layer flavors, so long as they complement each other.”

“Technique still matters,” Keira Von Hustenberg added with a hint of a smile. “This is your final chance to show off everything you’ve learned.”

I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like her eyes skimmed over Matty and me for a beat longer than the others. There was something almost approving in her gaze. “Trust each other,” she said. “That’s what turns a good bake into something unforgettable.”

Penelope clapped her hands. “You heard the judges. Four hours, bakers, and that time starts now!”

All six of us immediately jumped into action. I couldn’t speak for our competitors, but Matty and I didn’t have a minute to waste. We had a lot of ground to make up for today.

Last night, somewhere between orgasms two, three, and six, we had put together our game plan. I had spent nearly an hour listening as he’d told me about his grandmother’s Alabama Lane Cake, my head on his chest, fingers tracing lazy circles over the freckles I had spent the past few hours lapping up like helado de coco.