Page 13 of The Perfect Ingredient
I pull off, cum clinging to the corner of my mouth.
“You made me this way.”
And he smiles.
3 Grams
The morning drips slow and honeyed through the tall windows, pale gold filtering past heavy velvet curtains. The sheets are a tangled wreck beneath us, sticky, fragrant and warm with the scent of skin and oil and everything we did last night. Hessou lies behind me, one arm under my head, the other draped lazily across my waist, fingers stroking my hip in lazy, distracted circles. I can feel the weight of his cock soft against the small of my back, the trail of his breath against my shoulder. We’ve been here for hours, limbs overlapping, whispering stories into each other’s necks.
He told me about his brand—how the perfume house has taken on a life of its own, how Berlin smells like vetiver and ambition. His latest scent apparently sold out in three weeks. I believe it. Everything about Hessou is addictive.
I told him about Jean first.
I couldn’t help it—the words tumbling out somewhere between a kiss and a sigh.
I told him about this tall, quiet farm boy who delivered flour, who smelled like wheat fields and fresh sweat, whose skin hadthe warm glow of late summer. I told him I’d never tasted anything like him.
Then I told him about the bakery, how I found it half-dead and choked in cobwebs in that sleepy village. How it felt like unearthing something ancient, all stone and soot and wood beams blackened by time. And how I’ve been pouring every franc and every drop of myself into resurrecting it. How I spend my nights in the kitchen chasing impossible flavors.
He’s quiet for a moment, his palm warm on my stomach, lips close to my ear.
“Tell me more about this boy of yours,” he says softly.
I grin, tipping my head back so I can catch his eye.
“You’d like him.”
“Would I?”
“He smells like sunshine,” I say, half-laughing, tracing lazy lines along his thigh. “Golden skin, warm to the touch. And God, you should’veseenit! He came so much I swear I thought he might faint.”
Hessou laughs, indulgent, and shifts behind me, pulling me closer.
“That much?”
“Mmhmm.” I press a kiss to his jaw, then keep talking into the skin there, lips brushing as I speak. “It went everywhere. On me, on the counter, on half the pastries I’d just finished. And I swear, Hessou,” I pause, remembering it, the taste still ghosting on my tongue, “it wasdivine. Better than half the things I’ve ever made.”
“I found someone like that once,” he murmurs, fingers skating up my side now. “Years ago. I only saw him twice. Came like a fountain. But he tasted like… milk gone off. You would’ve gagged.”
I grimace. “Please. Don’t ruin the fantasy.”
He grins and kisses my neck.
I twist a little in his arms to look at him fully, putting one of my legs between his, our cocks touching.
“Only two people ever tasted good enough that I stopped thinking about technique mid-suck.”
“Mm?” He quirks a brow, amused. “And I’m one of them, I hope?”
“You andJean,” I say shamelessly.
That earns a small huff of a laugh from him.
“Are you trying to make me jealous?”
I smile, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“I’m saying this as someone with arefined palate, thank you very much. This isn’t about jealousy.”
