Page 45 of The Perfect Ingredient
“I’d like to get you both drunk on ouzo in a Greek port,” Hessou adds, mouthing the top of my shoulder, “then eat cherries off your skin until you beg me to stop.”
“Until hebegsyou tostop?” Jean asks, grinning now, lips against my chest.
“No,you’llbe begging,” Hessou murmurs, kissing behind my ear. “Begging to see what Louis tastes like after three days of nothing but figs, rosewater and our cum.”
Jean groans, sounding almost embarrassed by how much that hits him. I don’t blame him.
“Figs, rosewater and cum,” I echo, dazed, caught between their mouths, their hands, and their heat. “God.”
I tilt my head back, giving Hessou full advantage, and he drags his tongue along my throat before sinking his teeth into the muscle just above my collarbone.
Jean’s fingers slide higher under my robe now, his teeth teasing my nipples, making me arch into him.
“I could fuck you on a beach in South America,” Hessou continues, his hands pushing open the last bit of my robe around my waist. “With the ocean watching.”
Jean growls and leans in to bite softly at my other shoulder. “I bet our cum would taste even more salty, and you’d drink it all the same,” he says, wicked now, and I laugh, breathless.
“He would find a recipe just for that,” Hessou adds.
“You absolutebeasts.”
Jean slips his hands beneath my thighs again, lifting and settling me nearer the table’s edge before lowering himself to kiss up the inside of my knee. I can’t help the sounds I make—soft, breathy, shamefully eager.
Jean looks up at me from beneath his lashes, his pupils blown wide, and Hessou takes the moment to kiss him—messy, open-mouthed, tongue slipping deep, their breath mingling above me.
Jean leans down again, mouth sliding across my chest, then my neck, murmuring things I can barely hear.
“And what about you?” I ask, eyes fluttering. “Do I get to ruin you both in return?”
They both groan, like I’ve hit some buried nerve.
“I want to fuck you in a hotel elevator,” I whisper, kissing Jean’s ear. “In a train’s bathroom. In a stolen car.”
“In the Louvre,” Hessou adds.
I laugh, but it breaks on a moan as Jean’s mouth finds my nipple,
“Take me to bed,” I breathe.
Hessou places a kiss on Jean’s temple.
“Your turn,mon costaud,” he says, eyes gleaming. “Carry our jewel upstairs.”
Jean laughs bright, breathless, full of heat. “Like a princess?”
“Exactly like that,” I say, dizzy with need. “I demand to be manhandled.”
Jean grins.
He slips an arm behind my knees, another under my back, but instead of the gentle bridal hold I was half-expecting, he flips meupand throws me over his shoulder like I’m just another sack of flour from the kitchen. My stomach hits the solid plane of his back and I gasp, legs dangling, hands scrabbling at his waist.
“Careful! I’m delicate merchandise.”
Hessou chuckles, trailing a hand over the exposed curve of my ass beneath the robe, pressing. “You need to kneaddelicately, right?”
“Perverts,” I mutter. “Glorious, awful perverts.”
Jean starts up the stairs, his grip sure, one hand keeping me steady. I bounce with each step, face hot, limbs tingling. Hessou follows, whistling something lazy and tuneless, fingertips trailing along the banister. Upstairs, the house is dim and warm, full of old wood and the scent of melted wax.
