Page 48 of The Perfect Ingredient
Hessou shifts onto his knees beside me, tips the oil into his palm, and rubs his hands together. He slides one over my lower belly, spreading a warm slickness, and I draw a slow breath in through my nose.
Jean watches, and without needing a word, he slides down on the bed. He plants one knee on the mattress and curls an arm beneath my thighs. With the ease only someone his size has, he lifts my hips and pulls me toward him just enough to fold me a little, in a way that leaves me completely vulnerable.
“Relax for us,” Hessou says, trailing his hand lower behind my balls. “Let us take care of you.”
The first touch is featherlight.
One finger tracing the curve of my hole, circling. I breathe in, then out, hips twitching, and Hessou hums.
“Beautiful.”
Jean presses a kiss to one of my knees while Hessou’s fingertip circles inside with care, patient only in the way someone can be when they know exactly what they’re doing. The oil makes it smooth, his knuckle gliding in easily.
Then the second finger slides in beside the first with ease. More heat, and more stretch. I groan, hips tilting instinctively.
Jean leans closer, his breath brushing my knee as he watches. “Still so tight,” he murmurs, almost like he’s complimenting me.
“He clenches when we don’t touch him for a few hours,” Hessou says with a chuckle. His fingers scissor slowly, gently, the slick sound of it barely louder than his breath. “His body forgets how easily it opens.”
Hessou curls his fingers inward, hits the place he wants, and heat runs through me in one tight line that snaps at the base of my spine.
I gasp, swallowing the noise halfway as my mouth falls open.
“There,” Hessou says, fingers curling again. “You like that?”
“Yes,” I breathe, eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck—yes.”
Jean kisses the inside of my thigh, leans forward and presses a kiss just above the root of my cock, his lips dragging slowly over the skin, and then rests his cheek on my knee, eyes locked on where Hessou works me open.
“He’s so good for us.”
“Like butter melting.”
I moan, thinking for a moment that he’s right, that I’m really melting under their touch.
Jean adjusts beside me, the arm beneath my thighs tightening for a moment as he shifts my weight. He eases my legs onto his forearm long enough to move, rising from my side and kneeling beside Hessou. His hands slide beneath my knees, lifting them high and folding me open.
Hessou glances up at him, then reaches over and takes my left knee from Jean’s hand, guiding it into his own grip without breaking the slow push of his fingers. Jean keeps the right, steady and firm. The two of them bracket me now—one man holding each leg, shoulders touching—leaving my whole body open for whatever they want.
Jean leans forward, his breath hot against the mess they’ve made of me.
I gasp when his lips press just below where he’s holding my thigh, dragging across the skin. His mouth trails downward, teeth grazing my ass, and then lower still.
“Fuck—Jean—”
He groans in response, lips parting around the stretch of skin, tongue lapping at the oil-slick rim, circling Hessou’s fingers as they slide in and out. I cry out, high and breathless, as he sucks gently, like he’s trying to kiss mefrom the inside out.
My thighs shake.
“Greedy boy,” Hessou mutters beside him as Jean’s mouth moves against his knuckles. “Couldn’t wait your turn, hm?”
Hessou pulls out slowly, slick dripping down my ass onto the sheets. He strokes the wetness into my skin.
“You’re ready,” he says. “God, you’re soopen.”
Jean lifts his head, face shiny with spit and oil, and kisses my thigh again.
“Can I?” he asks, breathless. “Please?”
