Page 24 of The Perfect Ingredient
I lean in beside Hessou, looking down at what’s left in the porcelain bowl.
The cream is nearly gone, and Jean is filled with it—not just inside, where Hessou’s fingers are buried to the knuckle, but smeared all over him, glistening down his thighs, dripping from his swollen, stretched rim each time Hessou’s fingers withdraw.
It’s beautiful.
I step in close behind Hessou, sliding my arms around his waist. My cock presses against the curve of his ass.
“Not so fast,” I murmur. “Watch.”
My hand closes over his wrist, slowing his rhythm. He’s pushing too directly, his instincts focused only on preparation for fucking. I guide his fingers to circle instead, dragging in lazy spirals around Jean’s loosened rim, teasing the nerves. Jean’s hips twitch at the lighter touch.
“There. Let him ache for it.”
Hessou breathes out through his nose, half a laugh, half a sigh.
He’s not used to being the student.
But he lets me lead. Lets me guide his hand like we’re piping meringue into delicate shells, pressing the cream deeper with controlled pressure. I dip my fingers into the porcelain again, coating them, then hold them up to his lips.
He opens his mouth to receive my offer.
My fingers push into his tongue, and I watch his cheeks hollow to taste what he’s just fed Jean.
“Good?”
He hums around my fingers, licking between them, and I feel his cock throb against my hand as I palm him gently with the other hand.
Then I kiss the curve of his neck, dragging my lips just under his jaw before whispering into his skin.
“Finish filling him,mon apprenti.”
He laughs and Iknowhe’s rolling his eyes, but he still dips back in for more, this time mimicking my pace—spreading first, coaxing the tender rim open, using the pads of his fingers to work the thick cream deep inside.
Jean moans from the counter, hand still clutching the pastry bag tight to his cock and balls, chest rising and falling fast. He’s shaking, but he hasn’t asked us to stop. If anything, his back arches more with each careful press.
I reach around Hessou, sliding two fingers beside his into Jean, feeling the stretch for myself. The inside is so impossibly warm and messy it makes me dizzy. We work him together, wrist to wrist, cream squelching between our fingers. My breath hitches, and I drop a kiss to Hessou’s shoulder, murmuring like a lover and a chef at once.
“Slow. Don’t waste the corners.”
He grins, half-lidded, aroused and obedient. And when he gets it right—a perfect curl of fingers pressing the last of the cream deep inside—I hum my approval against his skin and lick the sweat from his jaw.
“It seems you can be hired.”
“I’m an expensive worker.”
“Worth it,” I murmur, leaning to kiss the curve of his smile.
In front of us, Jean’s hand trembles where it grips the edge of the counter.
He’s trying to behave, to hold still for us, but it’s obvious his body won’t cooperate. His hips twitch. His thighs clench. His cock, still cradled in the pastry bag, jerks visibly with every wet push of our fingers inside him.
Hessou hums, delighted.
“We’re going to dry him before we even fuck him.”
I smile, licking a spot of cream from my knuckle.
“Then we should stop teasing and make use of him properly.”
