Page 29 of The Perfect Ingredient
Hessou’s rhythm changes. It becomes somethingdeeper, somehow. More brutal. There’s a new sound now, thicker and wetter, and Jean cries out. His leg buckle, and I catch him by the shoulders, holding him upright while Hessou fucks him through the tremors.
“Please, please… I c-can’t…fuck, please…”
I reach under the bag and cup his balls, which aren’t as heavy as before, rolling them slowly in my palm.
His whole body contracts.
Jean comes with a strangled sob, his body curling into mine. It’s more than before, impossibly more. Hescreamsas it pours out of him, jerking with each spasm.
“There,” I murmur, thrilled. “That’s it. All of it.”
Behind him, Hessou groans.
He’s still buried inside Jean, watching me collect every drop. His hands hold Jean open, spreading him just slightly, letting the mess drip, drip, drip.
Jean twitches, cock probablysohypersensitive, his face buried in my shoulder.
I untie the plastic bag and check its contents. It’sso much.I know he came multiple times, but is it even possible? I poke inside, letting my fingers feel the consistency and the warmth, licking them clean one after the other, sighing at the flavor.
Jean moans again, softer now, looking dazed and aching, but not protesting when I gently milk the last spurts out with my fingers. I think hewantsto be emptied.
Hessou finally pulls out, his cock ridiculously hard.
“Fuck,” he mutters, stroking himself. “He feels amazing.”
“I know.”
Jean slumps over the counter, and I cradle his head, kissing his forehead as he murmurs something lost to exhaustion.
“You were perfect,” I say.
Hessou comes up beside me, hand still lazily stroking himself.
We stand shoulder to shoulder, bare skin sticky and flushed, sweat drying over muscle. Jean is half-asleep against the counter now, hair damp, cheeks burning, body open and limp, still twitching faintly when touched.
Hessou’s hand finds mine. His cock is heavy and full, same as mine, both of us pulsing with the need that’s been building through all of it. The bowl waits on the counter—warm, glazed with Jean’s first offering.
Hessou leans in, nose brushing my cheek.
“Together?”
I nod.
We press together, hips aligned, our hands wrapping around both cocks—his darker shaft beside my own, both slick and hot. Hessou kisses me, mouth open and tasting of berries and pure want, the slick sound of our hands moving together filling the kitchen. It’s filthy, shameless, and something only we would see asart.
I whimper into his mouth as I come, pulsing into the bowl, painting over the mess Jean left behind. Hessou follows instantly, groaning into my neck, his cock twitching beside mine as he adds his own.
When we’re finished, we keep holding each other. Breathing. Kissing lazily, mouths damp.
Hessou chuckles low against my jaw.
“God, I missed this filthy mind of yours.”
“I missed yours too.”
I dip my fingers in the bowl, swirling it all together—thick, warm and sinfully glistening. I bring them to my lips and suck, eyes fluttering shut.
The taste hits the back of my throat like a revelation.
