Chapter 8 Grams #2
“I’d like to feed you from my fingers on a train through the Alps,” he murmurs on my skin. “Make you open your mouth like a good boy while the mountains rush past the window.”
Jean lets out a soft breath, and I feel him smile against my chest.
“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 he begs you to stop?” Jean asks, grinning now, lips against my chest.
“No, you’ll be 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 absolute beasts.”
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 me up and 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 knead delicately, 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.
The bedroom door is already ajar.
Inside: the bed.
It’s a monstrous thing, a ridiculous indulgence from Hessou—wide enough for four, stacked with pillows and blankets made of the softest fabric money could buy. The windows are open, letting a sunbeam warm the sheets.
The mattress dips under our weight—Jean, with his bulk that makes the wood frame groan, then Hessou, liquid and slow like a cat. I land on my back in the middle of it all, spread out like an offering, my robe bunched at my waist, chest rising too fast.
Jean crawls over me on all fours, hair falling in damp curls around his face.
His hands find my thighs, palms wide and warm, and he eases them apart as he lowers his body between them.
His mouth presses to the dip beneath my navel, then higher, leaving kisses that grow wetter and messier, until his tongue is dragging up my ribs.
I lift my hips to meet him, my chest arching as his mouth catches my nipple, lips sealing around it with unexpected force. His hand cups the other, rough thumb circling until I gasp and dig my fingers into his shoulders.
Hessou shifts closer, kneeling beside my head, one knee sinking into the mattress near my ear as he leans down.
I tilt my chin back, and he’s there, mouth already open, catching my bottom lip between his teeth.
He kisses like he wants to taste the breath from my lungs, and I let him.
His tongue slips past my lips as his hand trails down the length of my throat, collarbone, then in between where Jean is sucking bruises into my chest.
Jean groans when he feels Hessou’s hand skim his shoulder. He lifts his head and they kiss, just above my face, their mouths working while I lie breathless beneath them. Hessou holds Jean’s jaw, guides him deeper, and Jean makes a low, needy sound.
They break apart with a soft gasp.
Jean grins, a little dazed, and Hessou wipes a strand of spit from Jean’s chin with his thumb, then sucks it into his own mouth.
I groan.
Jean moves lower again, pressing kisses across my belly, kneeling now, his hands sliding beneath my thighs to settle them fully over his shoulders.
His tongue flicks out to taste the crease of my hip, then he mouths down the inside of my thigh, sucking skin into his mouth, marking me for sure.
My breath stutters, and I reach down to thread my fingers through his hair, tugging, trying to bring his attention to where I’m pulsing.
Hessou shifts beside me, one hand sliding under my neck, lifting it gently so he can press kisses beneath my jaw. His other hand moves between us, fingers brushing down the center of my chest.
Jean’s mouth is so close to where I want it, sucking slow, open-mouthed kisses into the crease between leg and groin, dragging the flat of his tongue and making me pull his hair tighter.
Hessou kisses me again, while Jean rocks gently against the mattress, still devouring every inch of skin he can reach, but not where I want. Hessou’s fingers slip through the hairs crowning my cock and, finally, his palm closes around me.
My back arches.
I cry out into Hessou’s mouth.
I feel like I’m being consumed by heat. A delicious kind of chaos that’s too much and not enough.
Everything becomes a tangle of hands and mouths, of shifting weight and skin as they move together—around me, with me, through me. Jean mouths wetly at my hip as Hessou kisses my temple. Hessou strokes me as Jean bites gently at the top of my thigh.
Jean drags his shirt off over his head, muscles flexing, skin flushed and shining.
Hessou sheds the rest of his silk with a shrug, baring himself in one lazy movement.
Both of them are beautiful in different ways—Jean like a statue come to life, massive and solid and golden; Hessou like a god carved from dark marble, all clean lines and glinting, wicked eyes.
And I—ruined in the middle of them—want nothing more than to be undone further.
Jean adjusts, his shoulders bracing under my thighs as he lowers his head between them.
His mouth is feverish now, greedy, working its way down the inside of my leg with open kisses and bites that leave wet, flushed marks.
His hands tighten just behind my knees, holding me open like I’m something he’s about to eat whole.
Hessou stays close to my ribs, one hand wrapped gently around me, his thumb dragging through the slick at the tip.
The rhythm is maddening, teasing, with the kind of patience that only exists in cruel men who know they’ll get what they want eventually.
His other hand is on my chest, fingertips circling a nipple, then pinching, lightly, then harder.
“Fuck…” I whisper, hips jerking into Hessou’s fist. “You’ll kill me like this.”
“Then we’ll bury you sweet,” Hessou murmurs, brushing his lips over my cheek. “Sugar in your veins, kisses on your lips.”
Jean hums against the crease of my thigh, then licks up slowly, his mouth dragging over skin that’s already too sensitive, breath hot and damp. One of his thumbs strokes the bone just above my knee as he finally closes his mouth over the head of my cock.
I cry out, head tossing back into the pillows.
He sucks slowly, dragging me deeper until I’m buried to the hilt in the wet heat.
His tongue drags along the underside before the tip flicks against the sensitive ridge just beneath my head.
Every involuntary jerk of my hips earns another sound from him, his lips sealed tight as he hollowed his cheeks.
Hessou leans down and kisses my mouth again, swallowing the noises I’m making.
“You look made for this,” he murmurs against my lips. “Body begging.”
I try to answer, but Jean swallows around me, and the words turn to broken moans.
Hessou moves to behind Jean, his hands landing on Jean’s waist.
I watch through half-lidded eyes as he leans in and kisses the space between Jean’s shoulder blades. His mouth follows the line of Jean’s spine, then climbs again, kissing the side of his neck, one arm wrapping around his torso, dragging his nails over his chest.
Jean groans, his mouth faltering around me for a moment, and the vibration punches a new moan out of my lungs.
“Fuck, just like that—” I gasp, pressing my head back into the pillow. “God, don’t stop—”