Page 21 of The Perfect Ingredient
“Let’s see what your boy can really do, then.”
I guide Jean inside and the sack of flour hits the ground with a softthud, landing forgotten in the corner where the morning light spills through the window. Jean lets it go without a second thought.
I step in close and untie my apron, letting it fall to the floor. Then I reach for the first button of his shirt.
His breathing hitches.
“May I?” I ask, brushing my fingers against the buttons.
He nods.
I undo each one slowly, watching his skin appear inch by inch—golden and dusted with freckles, the slope of his chest smooth and trembling slightly with every breath.
And God, hesmellsedible. Sweetened cream left in the sun.
Hessou stays to the side, leaning back against the marble-topped counter, arms folded loosely, watching us intently.
I push Jean’s shirt off his shoulders and let it fall. My hands go to his skin at once, tracing the line of his clavicle, skating down his sides, smoothing over the hard plane of his stomach. Everywhere I touch, he flinches with the startled sensitivity of a man who’s never been touched by another man before. It’s endearing.
“Is this alright?”
He nods again. “Yes. Just nervous.”
“That’s fine,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his jaw. “You should be. We’re not like the girls you might’ve had.”
“I haven’t,” he says quickly, eyes down.
That makes me freeze. I look up at him.
“Not at all?”
He shakes his head, cheeks redder now.
“Never did. I’ve… I’ve never…”
“Then we’ll be careful,” I say quickly, trying to save him from the shame. “And you’ll tell me if something feels wrong.”
“It’salreadywrong, but I like it anyway,” he blurts, then covers his face with both hands like he wishes he could disappear.
Hessou chuckles.
“Ilikehim,” he purrs, stepping forward at last. “Even if he’s not mine.”
“He can beours,” I say, pulling down Jean’s pants. They fall with a heavy drag of fabric, and his cock springs free, massive and flushed, wet at the tip. The rag he mentioned earlier falls to the floor with a wetplop. “He’s got plenty to share.”
Hessou lets out a low whistle.
“Mon Dieu,Louis. No wonder you liked it so much in your mouth.”
Jean’s trying hard not to look at either of us, but his cock betrays him completely, twitching and drooling pre-cum in long, sticky strings that catch the light.
I crouch in front of him, breathing in deep. The smell iscleanin a filthy way, like something that should be preserved under glass.
“I want to taste you again,” I murmur, looking up at him. “Will you let me?”
Jean bites his lip.
“I want to,” he says. “Please. I—can’t stop thinking about it.”
