He shivered. I saw it ripple through him, visible even under the thick coat. There was no noise. Nothing but the city lightsoutside and the prickle of want between us. I let my hand linger on his wrist, thumb moving slowly, back and forth. He leaned into it after a second, like he’d never had anyone do this before. Maybe he hadn’t.
The dessert came. He blinked at the plate, then at me. For a minute, he just stared. Like maybe the bread pudding was a test.
I almost laughed. “Go ahead.” My voice was softer than I’d meant it. “You’ve earned it.”
He smiled, slow and shy, and dug right in. The first bite made his eyes flutter shut. He actually moaned, low, desperate, like he hadn’t had sugar in a year. Maybe he hadn’t.
“Good?” I leaned back, watching him.
He nodded, cheeks pink. “So good, sir.”
I liked hearing that. I liked him like this—my coat around his shoulders, the flush in his cheeks, the way every tiny movement said he needed me to keep making decisions. To just take over and let him float. I sipped my own wine, barely tasting it. I couldn’t stop looking at his hands. The way he used the spoon. Slow, careful, like he was savoring every bite because he didn’t know when he’d get more.
Jesus. It was like he’d been starved for everything, not just food.
He finished the dessert, then set the spoon down with a little clink. I caught his wrist before he could pull his hands into his lap and gave it a squeeze.
“Well done,” I told him. “You were perfect.” The words hit him hard. He went soft all over, like he wanted to melt right into the booth.
“I… Thank you, sir.” His voice was barely there, but the hope in it nearly undid me. “This was really nice.”
I kept my hand on his wrist. “You did exactly what you were told. That’s what I want.”
He shuddered, just a little. I could see how close he was to giving in completely. I liked that. I liked the way it made my pulse pick up.
We sat there a while, just breathing. The city moved outside, people rushing past, and in here it was just…quiet.
Eventually, I paid the bill, ignoring the way he tried to look at the number. I didn’t let him argue. He followed me out, keeping that half-step behind, letting me steer, until I tucked him closer to me. I liked that more than I should have.
It was colder now. The wind cut sideways, bit at his ears. He clutched the coat tighter, hunching down inside it, and I slowed my pace a little so he could keep up.
“I want you to come home with me,” I said, voice low.
He hesitated. That was answer enough. He didn’t want to go back to the empty house. Didn’t want the cold and the dark.
I steered him toward the car. He didn’t argue. The relief was so obvious it almost made me ache for him. In the car, he curled into the seat, eyes wide and hopeful. I didn’t talk. I didn’t need to. Sometimes a sub needed silence more than anything.
At the condo, I got him upstairs and inside, hand steady on his shoulder. He dropped the duffel bag by the door, then stood there, awkward, like he didn’t know where to go. I caught his shoulder, gentle. “Kitchen. You need water.” He followed, of course he did, eyes wide. Like he was waiting to be told what to do next.
God, I loved that.
I filled a glass and handed it over. He drank slowly, careful, like he was afraid of spilling. I watched him. Didn’t bother hiding it. “Sit,” I said, and he did, right on the barstool, clutching the glass so tight I thought it might shatter.
He didn’t speak. Just watched every move I made. I got myself a drink and leaned against the island, close enough to crowd himif I wanted. He stared at the counter, then up at me, then down again. I let it hang.
I took a long sip of my own water, never taking my eyes off him. “I meant what I said earlier. You’re not broken. You’re not a joke.”
He swallowed hard, throat working. His hands shook. “It just…feels like I’m still not enough. I lost my job. I lost Jason. The house is falling apart. All I could get was mall elf, and then Santa, and it’s just…”
He trailed off, shoulders hunching. I wanted to reach over and pull him in. Wrap those doubts up and toss them out the window.
Instead, I said, “You don’t have to be anything but what you are. If you want more, you say so. If you want less, you say so. But you’re not a child. You get to choose.”
He nodded. Blinked twice. “Thank you, sir.”
The “sir” was softer. A hope, not a habit.
I moved around the counter, slowly, letting him see every step. He didn’t shy away. Not even when I set a hand on the back of his neck and squeezed, firm but gentle. His eyes closed. He leaned into it, just a fraction, but I felt it all the way through him.
