At
Sahara's comment, he paused in his
dinner clean-up and grinned broadly.
Quint
nearly choked. "Now, I agree, Jacque
here makes the bes' gumbo east or west
of the Atchafalaya River. But chère,
I mean to say, if you think dis is
better'n sex, you been wit' the wrong
men."
She
giggled and took another sip of wine.
"What's your secret, Jacque?" She looked
right at him, her eyes all innocent and
curious. He was tempted to sweep the
rest of the dishes off the table and
show her right there.
Later,
Chat.
"My
tongue," he said, coming to a halt
beside her. "The tongue is the secret—"
He
shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But her
little surprised intake of breath
clinched it. He leaned down, inches from
her face and paused until knowledge of
what he was about to do flashed through
her pretty blue eyes. Slowly, he
extended his tongue, and flicked it over
her bottom lip.
Inwardly
he moaned. Dieu, she tasted good.
"—DA tongue is the secret to both cookin'
and makin' love."
Her
succulent lips parted, sudden
apprehension battling with hot desire in
her expression. He wanted more, but it
was too soon.
He
straightened and picked up her empty
plate. He almost lost his own battle
when he realized her robe had gaped
open, giving him a fine view of her
plump breast, her nipple pert and taut.
He made himself walk to the sink instead
of taking her in his mouth and suckling
till she begged for what they both
really wanted.
She
swallowed and looked at her glass,
making an admirable attempt at
pretending what had just happened hadn't
happened at all. But she knew. They all
did. The electricity arcing between the
three of them could power the cabin for
a year. He glanced at Quint. The man was
actually sweating, and he'd bet half his
stock options it wasn't because the
gumbo was too spicy.
"Cajun
Hot?"
Shocked,
Jacque narrowed his eyes at Sahara.
How had she found out?
"Is that what you used for the gumbo? I
thought I recognized the flavor..." Her
words faded as he continued to stare at
her. "Guess not."
He pulled
himself together. Non, she
couldn't know about him. She was just
asking about spices.
"Yeah,
it's Cajun Hot. It's all I ever
use. Got a cupboard full of the stuff.
Every spice and sauce they make."
Hell
..
Now her other breast was visible.
He dumped
the dishes in the sink and grabbed the
espresso pot from the stove. Not that he
needed the caffeine. He just needed
something to occupy his hands.
"Me, too.
Cajun Hot is great. Yep, the man
who came up with those sauces, he's
really got a tongue on him."
The robe
gaped wider.
Quint
grinned. "Mais non, dat Cajun, he
probably burned off his taste buds years
ago."
Jacque
dead-panned his smirking brother. "Bien
amusant." He poured espressos all
around, lingering over Sahara's cup and
the incredible view above it.
Tortueux—pure torture.
His eyes met Quint's over her head and
he nodded imperceptibly. He couldn't
take it a minute longer. He'd been hard
for so long he ached.
Understanding immediately, Quint smiled.
"So, Chat," he said casually, "you got
any dessert for us?"
Jacque put
down the coffee pot and slowly shook his
head. His cock danced in anticipation. "Non.
Rien—not a thing."
"Nothin'?
No pie?"
Again, he
shook his head.
"Or maybe
a li'l bitty piece of peach cobbler?"
He glanced
at Sahara, her breasts tantalizingly
framed by the gap in the robe. Did she
have any idea what she was doing to
them? His mouth watered. "Sorry."
"Now dat's
a damn shame. Me, I could really go for
somethin'. Somethin' hot an' real
sweet."
"Mm-hmm.
Somethin' that would go down nice an'
easy," he agreed. His imagination spun
at the image.
They
looked at each other, letting the
silence lengthen. Sahara glanced
nervously between them. The pink tip of
her tongue poked out and swiped over her
lips. He wanted that tongue on him. All
over him.
"Well,
then," he said quietly, anticipation all
but making him burst. "I guess there's
only one thing to do..."
They both
set their sights on Sahara, hotly,
expectantly. Excitement flooded his
body, headed straight for his cock.
"Looks
like dessert's gonna be you, chère."
