Page 19 of The Perfect Ingredient
He’s made a habit of it.
He shows up just after sunrise, with an entitled tilt of his head, gives me a kiss that tastes of smoke, and then I make him come. It’s become routine—his donation, as he calls it—for my experiments. A spoon or two at best. Not nearly enough to build a new base.
“Still thin,” I mutter, swirling the tiny pool of his cum. “You’re useless.”
“Mm,” Hessou purrs. “Then stop begging me to come.”
“I don’tbeg—”
“You whine. With those pretty hands in my pants and your tongue on my cock. It’s a very convincing performance, then.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s not wrong. I open my mouth to tell him exactly where he can put his observations, when a sound snaps my head toward the back door.
It swings open.
It’s subtle—someone knocks on it once and it just opens with the sound of old hinges. Then silence, as if the person on the other side is suddenly unsure they’re supposed to be here at all.
And then I see him.
Jean.
And he’s hard.
He’s wearing the same worn shirt as last time, sleeves rolled just past the elbow, the fabric pulling slightly across his chest. A heavy flour sack is slung over his shoulder, and he’s standing just inside the doorway like someone might throw him back out.
His cheeks flush before I can even greet him.
“Bonjour,”I say, softly.
He swallows like he forgot how. “I—uh—Benoît’s sick again. He asked if I could—just today, I swear I didn’t—”
Hessou slides off the counter.
“Oh.So this is theboy.”
Jean’s eyes snap to him.
He looks between us—me, standing sticky and sugar-dusted in an apron, and Hessou, lean and perfectly composed. Jean looks ready to dissolve into the floor.
I smile, biting back a laugh.
“Jean, this is Hessou. Hessou, this is—”
“Your favorite ingredient, I hear,” Hessou finishes, stepping a little closer. “You didn’t say he wasthispretty.”
Jean blinks, a flush is spreading all the way down his neck.
“He’s shy,” I explain, tilting my head, my gaze locked on the thick outline of Jean’s cock. “But wonderfully generous.”
Hessou hums and walks a slow circle around him, a full, appraising loop.
“Does he taste as good as you said?” Hessou asks.
“Better.”
Jean makes a soft sound—a perfect, mortified, utterlyarousedlittle noise.
Hessou steps in behind him, and inhales softly.
