“This would be edible,” I say with a frown, “if you came all over it.”
He chokes on his coffee, then laughs, eyes glinting wickedly.
“I can make that happen.”
My gaze flicks immediately to the staff. One of them nearly drops a bowl.
“You need to give them the day off or they’re going tocombustwhen they see what I have in mind.”
Without missing a beat, Hessou turns to the room.
“Everyone out. Full discretion.”
They’re gone within seconds.
And now, the house is ours.
I approach him and skim the breakfast layout, my hand going straight to the cut-crystal honey jar. The dipper chimes softly against the glass.
Hessou raises a brow.
“You’re not going to behave, are you?”
“No,” I murmur, turning to him with the jar in one hand and a small porcelain dish in the other. “But you would have beendreadfullybored if I did.”
His smile curves lazily, and he shifts in the chair to give me room, legs spread, silk parting.
I sink to my knees between them.
His cock is already thickening, familiar with my breath and my hunger by now. I take the honey dipper and swirl it slowly, then bring it high above him and begin to pour. A long amber thread drips, landing on the head of his cock, pools in the slit, then drips down his shaft, slow andindecent.
It sticks to the skin in glossy trails.
I use my index finger to nudge the honeyed slit, then forcing the thick sweetness up under his foreskin, filling it. I feel him pulse, feel the skin stretch tight and sticky around my finger. I twist it slightly, a vulgar corkscrew motion, before pulling back to watch the honey and a gleam of his own pre-cum weep out. Then, and only then, do I seal my mouth over him to suck the sweetness clean.
“Mon Dieu, Louis—”
From the base to the head, my tongue follows the trail I painted, curling under, teasing the slit, tracing the line of honey now clinging to his balls. He groans, his hips twitching up as I press a kiss there, then lap again, my lips already tacky and wet.
The sweetness amplifies everything—the salt of his skin, the heat, the solid weight of him on my tongue. I take him deeper, my nose buried in the thick thatch of hair that still smells like last night. I hum around him, needy, messy, the honey smearing on my chin, his cock twitching on my tongue.
I pull back to lick at the head, then I reach for the honey again, my fingers trembling just slightly as I dip the spoon and let the golden thread fall. It drips over him, pooling thick along the base and down his balls, running down the crease of his thigh. I smear it with my palm, working the gloss into his skin until every vein and dip shines.
Sticky. Sweet. Utterly obscene.
I lean down and slurp messily at the trail, groaning against his skin, my face already tacky, my lips glossed with sugar and pre-cum. He groans above me, hips twitching, and I can’t stop.
Then I take him back into my mouth, my lips stretched and shining, a low moan vibrating around his shaft. Every inch I manage to take makes me throb. I want to gag on him,wantthe burn, the rawness, the feeling of being used and full.
His hand tangles in my hair.
“You’resofilthy,” he groans.
I smile around him.
I can’t answer.
But I suck harder.
