Tastes of Honey: Spicy Book Extract (Sapphic & Polyamorous!)

The following spicy book extract is taken from a novella called Tastes of Honey. It's a spicy sapphic book with polyamory and k1nk! This extract does contain what may be considered spoilers as to one of the pivotal plot points in the book but I trust you to make your own decisions about whether to read on or not.

You can read Tastes of Honey in full here.

Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve

Amara

Kissing Wren is like tasting the dessert all over again. I find the zing of the passionfruit, the earthy creaminess of the coconut and the syrupy sweetness of the honey. And I dive in for more of it, my tongue searching their mouth, my lips nibbling at their bottom lip, and as I do, I realise I’m tasting something else. Something much sweeter and tastier than all of these flavours. I’m tasting Wren’s hunger again. It's been so long, I’d almost forgotten how intoxicating a flavour it was, but now I’m being reminded, and I devour Wren’s mouth, searching for more of it.

But then my tongue slows and my lips still. Because a hand is stroking up my bare arm. It’s so slow and so light a touch, I wonder if I’m imagining it, but then those featherlight fingertips coast over my shoulder and glide up to my neck. The hand pivots and it grips me around my throat with enough firmness to alter my breathing.

I moan into Wren’s mouth, and they respond with their own little “hmm” and I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Wren make that noise before.

“Keep kissing.” Katja’s voice comes from close by.

I open my eyes the slightest amount and I see her other hand is on Wren’s neck too.

We fall back to kissing hungrily, incessantly, a little clumsily, and Katja’s hand leaves my neck. It travels down the front of my body, only the tips of two of her fingers making contact with my left nipple which I know is already hard and desperate for much more attention than that. For a moment, I think – and hope, so viscerally hope – that Katja’s hand is going to cruise straight down the middle of my body and cup my pussy through my dress. I suspect it would make a mess of the silk if she did that because I am so wet that my underwear is already very, very damp.

But Katja doesn’t do that. In fact, she takes her hand off my body completely. That makes me pull off Wren, but they seem just as confused and bereft as I am.

“Did we do something wrong?” they ask.

Katja shakes her head while smiling. “No, of course not.”

“Then why did you stop touching us?” Wren asks and that makes Katja’s smile evaporate.

“Did I say you could ask questions?” She frowns at Wren.

No, Chef. Say no, Chef, I silently urge Wren.

“No,” Wren admits and I close my eyes.

“No, what?”

“No, Chef,” Wren says.

“I have half a mind to kiss your wife in front of you for that little deviation.”

I swallow and bring my hand to my swollen lips as if to ready them.

Wren turns to me. “Do you want to kiss her?”

I nod, eagerly.

“Then do it,” Wren says with a stoic look on their face.

“Wren, you don’t seem to understand who calls the shots now,” Katja reminds Wren.

“But you want to, don’t you?” Wren leans towards Katja and I wonder if they’re trying to use their height to their advantage. Part of me grows curious that maybe Wren is changing their mind about submitting. Maybe those minutes on their knees, the ‘Yes, Chefs’ and the orders are too much for them. And isn’t that the whole goal of this? To see if they really want this.

I expect Katja to order Wren to their knees, to silence them in another way, but she doesn’t. Instead, she keeps her gaze steadily on Wren, seemingly unperturbed by Wren’s squaring of their shoulders. “In another lifetime,” she says and for some completely unknown reason, it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

Wren narrows their eyes. “Why not this lifetime?”

“Because some things are not meant to be,” Katja says on a deep exhale. And I was wrong, because that is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

“But they could be. Just for one night?” Wren retorts and I am torn between loving and hating how much they are pushing Katja. It feels so wrong, and so right.

“A moment ago, you didn’t want me fucking your wife. What makes you think when I kiss someone I don’t feel just as much for them as if I was fucking them.”

I sigh, audibly, but neither Wren nor Katja turn to me.

“A moment ago, I didn’t know how much it would turn me on to know your hands were on Amara, to know that your touch was making her little nipples hard, that you were making her cunt wet.”

“Fuck, Wren,” I gasp.

“Have you shared your wife before?” Katja asks suddenly.

“Yes,” Wren says confidently. “A long time ago. But I’ve never seen her as horny as she is now for anyone but me. She wants you, and I want to hear the noises she makes when you kiss her, when you touch her, when you fuck her.”

I wait for Katja’s touch, for her closeness and her lips on mine. But they don’t come. Instead, she steps closer to Wren and grips their chin in what looks like a harsh pinch, her red nails digging into Wren’s skin.

“I’ll ask you again,” she says slowly. “Do you want me to fuck your wife?”

Wren’s eyes are pinned on Katja as they reply without hesitation, “Yes, Chef.”

And that’s when I’m grabbed. That’s when I’m held. That’s when I’m practically swallowed by Katja’s unrelenting, seeking mouth.

She slams her lips on mine. She forces her tongue inside my mouth. She sucks on my bottom lip again and again and again. And I taste her hunger too. It isn’t as sweet or familiar as Wren’s; it’s more savoury, more raw, and not at all what I would imagine Katja to taste like, but it’s delicious. Like a new food you were once afraid to try but as soon as you do, you have a new insatiable appetite for it.

Just as I’m adjusting to the power of Katja’s kiss, her mouth forcing my head back even though she is a few inches shorter than me, she moves me. I’m pushed until my shoulders and backside hit the fridge door. Katja swallows the little squeal I make as her tongue plunders my mouth.

And the whole time, I haven’t forgotten about Wren. I’m still thinking of them as Katja’s hands slide up my body and grip my ribcage on either side. I’m wondering if it turns them on when Katja nudges one of her legs between mine and although she is too short for me to ride the top of her thigh like I want to, she gives me her hip which I instinctively grind down on. I wonder who Wren is more desperate to kiss now – Katja or me? I wonder if Wren is wet, if Wren is breathless, if Wren wants to touch themself.

I feel bereft a beat later when Katja pulls back off my mouth, but at the same time, she puts her hands on my shoulders and pins me in place.

“Your wife is a good kisser,” she tells Wren, but her eyes stay on me.

“Yes, she is,” Wren agrees and they step closer so I can see them behind Katja.

“Such beautiful lips,” Katja says, her gaze on my mouth.

I feel moved by her words, by her praise, but it doesn’t overwhelm me. I’m still thinking about Wren, about what they’re possibly thinking, what they’re feeling. It would seem Katja’s wondering the same thing.

“Still okay, Wren?” she says, turning only slightly towards them.

“Still okay, Chef,” Wren answers.

“And you?” Katja’s eyes are back on me.

“Yes, Chef, I’m… I’m fine,” I say, my eyes flashing to Wren.

“What is it?” Katja picks up on it immediately and her grip on my shoulders tightens.

“I want to watch you two,” I admit. “I want to watch you kiss Wren.”

“Would you now?” Her eyes narrow on me.

“Yes, Chef.”

“If I drop my hands, will you stand there and watch us? Not move at all?”

“Yes, Chef.”

“You can’t touch us. I haven’t given you permission to do that yet.”

Yet. I cling to that word like my life depends on it.

“Okay, Chef.”

“Good girl,” she praises me, and in the seconds that follow she studies me. “That doesn’t do anything for you, does it?”

“What do you mean, Chef?”

“Good girl. Praise.”

“I don’t—”

I’m cut off as her face inches closer. “How about my little slut? Or my pretty little whore? Do they work better for you?”

I feel more desire coil itself into a knot in my core. I nod.

“She likes to be degraded,” Wren adds. “She loves being told just how dirty she is.”

I close my eyes and lick my lips.

“Does she now? What a needy, filthy slut. How about Hure? That’s German for whore. Does that work for you, meine Hure?”

I open my eyes again and nod, profusely. Trying my best to stay in place, which isn’t difficult with Katja’s hands still on me, I rub my legs together.

“Don’t move, meine liebe, kleine Hure,” Katja says without even looking down at my squirming legs. I freeze.

The next few moments happen very slowly and dreamily, like a movie filmed with a bokeh effect, and the sound is all out of sync, reaching my ears a second or two after it’s created. Katja’s hands come off me. She gives me her back and steps closer to Wren. She looks them up and down. She pinches their chin again and she says something so quietly I don’t catch it. Maybe it will bother me later what was said, but in this moment I don’t care. I want them to have secret words. I want them to have this moment together. I just want to witness it.

Katja uses her grip to bring Wren’s face down to hers and Wren stoops willingly. Unlike our kiss, there is no slamming together of mouths, no pawing at each other’s arms and bodies, there are no hungry noises. There is the slow slide of lips meeting. There are two elegant, elongated necks. There is the gradual joining of two chests, two stomachs, the front of two pairs of firm thighs.

I watch without blinking. My breathing is slow and yet still rough and ragged. My nipples have never felt tighter, hotter.

Finally, Wren grunts into Katja’s mouth and it’s like I’m finally fully aware of their desire. Of their interest in Katja. Of their undeniable fascination with a woman they told our most personal secrets to. And it should pierce my heart. It should make me want to rip this woman off my spouse. It should make me want to burn down this kitchen that she cooked in.

But I don’t want to do any of that. I want to be part of it. I want to share Wren’s lust. I want to watch it, hear it, cherish it.

Because I feel it also. I want Katja desperately too.

I want her just as much as I want Wren in this moment, and I want Wren in that all-consuming forever kind of way, like a fire that never burns out, and that’s a terrifying, sobering fact. Because Katja is not here to stay. Katja has her own life. Katja doesn’t want to involve herself with a couple who she knows are on the brink of breaking up. And Wren and I have enough on our plate to even consider adding a third to our relationship again.

“That’s not fair,” Katja says as she pulls her mouth back but presses her forehead to the tip of Wren’s nose.

“What?” Wren asks, breathless.

“You’re just as good a kisser as your wife. And you taste just as sweet.”

Wren blushes and I like it, how coy and shy they suddenly are. I start to think how happy it would make me to see that more often. If that would be one of the rewards of me maybe learning how to dominate then it would be worth the struggle that would come with it.

“Chef,” I say.

Katja turns her head my way. “Yes.”

“I have a question.”

“Yes?” Katja steps to the side so she’s more evenly between Wren and me.

“Could you teach me? Could you teach me how to dominate? How to make Wren submit to me?”