Page 108 of Best Served Cold

I crouched in front of him. “Are you saying that because you don’t want my help, or because you don’t want me to see you without your clothes on?”

“The second one,” he mumbled. “I don’t look like you.”

“I told you there’s nothing wrong with how you look.”

“I’m a freak. I have holes in my face. I dress weird and I’m a giant. My hair sucks. And I’m chubby. You’re hot and I’m…me.” His face crumpled.

“Noah, listen to me.”

He tilted his head but didn’t look at me.

I wasn’t good at talking or reassuring people. I knew what I wanted to say, but it wasn’t coming out.

I wanted to tell him he was gorgeous and all the things he seemed to think were flaws were what made him special. He was literally perfect in my eyes, and there wasn’t a single thing I would change about him.

But could I say that? Not a chance.

“You look fine,” I said, fumbling as the words got jumbled between my brain and my mouth. Fine? That didn’t even scratch the surface of how attractive I found him. “I like the way you look,” I tried. “I get that you might not feel great about yourself because people suck and they say stupid shit, but you’re perfect the way you are.”

A small smile tilted his lips. “Really?”

“Yeah. Now, can I help you get ready for bed?”

He nodded, his eyes shining with trust.

Fuck. I didn’t know what to do with that look. The greedy bastard in me reveled in it, but the realist knew that was drunk him talking. We’d see how he felt when he sobered up.

Getting Noah’s clothes off and his pajamas on was an exercise in both patience, and self-control. He followed my directions and was eager to obey, but he was so clumsy that every time he tried to help, he ended up making a mess or knocking one of us over.

I did my best to not check him out as I helped him get his sleep pants on. I’d never been this close to a nearly naked person unless it was at work, and that was just what we did. None of my coworkers had ever sparked even the slightest interest in me.

This was a completely different experience.

His chest was broad and bulky, his muckles thick but not really defined. He carried some chub on his stomach, and the little pouch of softness was hot as hell. He didn’t have abs or an Adonis belt, but that only made him look better, like he could wrap me up and completely surround me.

Was I into that?

Everything about him turned me on. His thick waist, the obvious divots in his lower back where the swell of his cheeks began. The way the full globes wiggled when he walked.

How he’d tasted and reacted when I’d tongued him.

How good his asscheeks felt in my hand, and how he loved it when I squeezed hard enough to leave marks.

Then there were his legs. His thighs were strong and full and a little jiggly like his ass. The dark dusting of hair was lighter than it was on his calves, most likely from the friction of all his pants turning into leggings, and even though his dick was covered by the baby-blue briefs he had on, I remembered exactly how it looked, felt, tasted.

By the time he was sitting on his bed in his sleep pants and nibbling on a slice of toast, I was rock hard and hating myself for it.

My dick had stayed quiet for twenty-three years. And now, just helping Noah get into his pajamas and feeding him some toast and milk was getting me hard.

Dicks were weird as hell.

“I can’t.” Noah pushed the plate at me. He’d eaten all but one slice.

“You did good.” I set it aside. “How do you feel?”

“Weird.” He made a face. “Don’t wanna sleep but I’m so sleepy.”

“That’s a good sign. How about you lay down?”

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