Chapter 56
Noah
Days blurred into a rhythm I didn’t want to break.
Every evening was the same, and somehow that sameness was addictive. I’d ride the bike Aiden gave me across town, park it in the same spot outside his garage, and let myself in with the key.
By now, I knew exactly what to do the moment I arrived: strip down, fold my clothes neatly, and kneel at the edge of the living room rug–eyes lowered, hands resting loosely on my thighs. I’d wait like that until I heard him coming down the hall, then I would lace my fingers behind my back and pretty much stick my tongue out like a good puppy expecting a treat.
Some nights, it was a hand in my hair. Other nights, just a low, approving Good boy,” but either one landed the same–a jolt of satisfaction straight to my chest.
After that, I’d wait for him to sit, then pick the night’s music. That part took more thought than I expected. “Just study this book,” he’d said…. “A chapter a day,” he’d said… Easy enough, I thought–right… I’d never worked this hard just to pick a damn playlist.
Once the music was set, I’d make his drink to his standard of perfection. Then came dinner. Sometimes I just set the table while he cooked, but more often I was learning his favorite recipes as we cooked together–like the one I was still trying to master, a pan–seared salmon with garlic- lemon butter that had to be plated exactly the way he liked. He didn’t need to tell me when it was right; I could see it in the subtle smile he gave before taking the first bite.
After dinner came whatever he needed–laundry, sweeping the kitchen, reorganizing the bookshelves by genre and height. Or, on some nights, reading to him. He liked history, the kind of books I never would’ve picked up on my own, but that I actually enjoyed a lot more than I
admitted.
But the part 1 liked best came on weekends.
Bath nights.
It was part of his evening routine now, and somehow I’d become responsible for it. First I’d light the candles–three along the window, two on the shelf by the tub. Then I’d pour the salts into steaming water, swirl them until the scent filled the room, set the music low. Only at the very end would I add a glass of red wine to the tray.
He’d walk in as I was checking the water, already undressing, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Perfect,” he’d murmur, stepping in.
Oh yeah, perfect…. So dumn perfect. I looked down at him–his strong pecs amazing abs, and those mouthwatering fucking hip bones–and I just wanted to reach over and lick his skin… or whatever he let me lick for that matter.
“Jesus, Noah… At some point, between dirty thoughts and stares, I started to wonder if I was ever straight to start with because, by God, I’d never felt anything like this before. Not for a man, not for the hottest girl
Aiden would usually lie on his back next, body spread open, hands behind his head, and wait for me to wash him. And as ridiculous and
ooked forward to the damn privilege every day humiliating as it might sound, the idea of a grown man bathing another,
I would kneel by him, reverent, my heart racing and my cock twitching against the bathtub, as I gazed at his body, caressing it almost in a
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Chapter 56
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trance… Slow, careful, with the sponge gliding over broad shoulders, down his arms, across the ridges of his chest and stomach. I’d work in slow circles along his back, over the curve of his hip, and down the length of his thigh. Every inch of him was perfect–hard muscle and smooth skin, the kind of body you didn’t just look at, you wanted to worship.
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