Page 28 of The Perfect Ingredient
One of his hands rests on my ass, the other cups the back of my head. I moan into him, still inside Jean, still pulsing.
Then he pulls back and turns to Jean, brushing fingers through the mess of curls clinging to his flushed forehead. Jean’s eyes flutter open and Hessou kisses his cheek. Then finds his mouth.
It’s gentler than how he likes it. Not rough or wild, or meant to dominate. Just a mouth learning another. But Jean whimpers into it, and the kiss deepens.
It’s hot.
My hands tighten on Jean’s hips as heat blooms low in my belly. It rolls through me like a molten wave that burns my skin and makes my cock pulse. Watching them is abeautiful obscenity.
Jean whimpers into the kiss again.
The tiny sound shifts everything, and I canseethe moment any hesitation dissipates from Hessou’s body. Now, he kisses like he always did. No longer testing, butdevouring. And Jean is trying to keep up, lips parted, tongue being sucked into Hessou’s mouth, body trembling under both of us.
God, it’s indecent.
I fuck faster, watching.
I want Hessou to kiss him until he cries, kiss him like he’s fucking him with his mouth, while I stay buried inside the heat of him and lose myself in the way his body shakes.
Jean gasps into Hessou’s mouth, and Hessou fists a hand tighter in his hair, angling his head back, swallowing the sounds whole.
When they part, Hessou’s thumb brushes Jean’s spit-slick lower lip.
“Can I enter you, too?”
Jean nods immediately. “Please.”
I slide out with a final, reluctant thrust, and Hessou moves into the space I’ve left. He strokes himself once, then guides himself in slowly, and I watch, captivated, as Jean’s jaw drops in an overwhelmed cry.
I step to Jean’s front, hands on his flushed cheeks.
“You’re doing so well,” I say, kissing the corner of his lips.
He turns into the kiss, moaning directly into my mouth as Hessou begins to move.
“F-feelsso… it’s so good…hnnnn… ah!” he pants, words breaking.
I hold his face and kiss him again, swallowing every noise.
Behind him, Hessou is murmuring too. Praise. Filthy, elegant things. His hands roam Jean’s hips, his belly, his sides. He’s tasting with his whole body.
Jean is a mess.
There’s no dignity left in him, and that’s something beautiful to see. His face is a slick mess of sweat and spit, his eyes red-rimmed and leaking. Every time Hessou fills him, a loud, broken moan tears from his throat, mixed with little fragments ofyesandpleaseandGod, all tangled together.
I stay with one hand cradling his jaw, the other wrapped gently around his cock where it’s trapped in the pastry bag. It jumps with every thrust Hessou delivers, and Jean sobs out a moan when I give it a squeeze.
“You’re almost there,” I whisper, stroking his cheek with my thumb.
Hessou hums against Jean’s skin, then licks a stripe up his neck and bites down hard enough to wring a scream from Jean’s throat.
“You’re perfect,” Hessou murmurs into his ear. “You will remember this every time you touch yourself. That it tooktwoof us to fuck you open.”
Jean groans and nods against my palm. He tries to speak, but the words die in his throat, his hips pushing back helplessly against Hessou’s cock, trying to keep him deeper.
I kiss him again, letting him moan into my mouth.
“Doing so well,mon amour.”
