Page 4 of Sour Candy (Sour Candy #1)

For a moment, Benji said nothing. He just sat there, staring. His eyelashes were very long. Noah was struck with a sudden urge to see them clumped with tears against his pillow.

Then Benji burst into motion, surging up from his chair so fast that Noah stepped back.

“I’m great,” he croaked. He cleared his throat, and his voice came out slightly less raspy. “Yeah, that’s me. Benjamin. Most people call me Benji.”

Noah nodded. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Benjamin’s fine,” Benji said after a pause. He sounded surprised, like he’d expected himself to say something else.

“Good,” Noah replied, shoving the lust-stricken thoughts out of his head.

There would be time for that later, if the night went well.

And he sorely hoped it would. He’d barely spoken to the guy, and he already wanted him.

Usually, it took him longer than one garbled phone call and an introduction to make him want someone.

But Benji sat down stiffly in his chair, looking up at him with those big dark eyes, and Noah wanted to fuck him until he cried and then put him in a bubble bath afterward.

He shoved those thoughts away as he sat down across the table. It was that sort of shit that made his partners tell him it was cute in theory, but stifling in reality.

“You seem surprised,” he said.

“Nope,” Benji said, too fast. Then he paused.

A self-conscious smile twisted his full lips.

“I mean, yeah, obviously . I was expecting someone… less likely to get a date? You look like you’re fighting them off with a sword , man.

Can you only get off if you dress up as your own grandmother or something? ”

The table was silent. Noah stared at him, chewing his cheek to stop a smile.

“Shit,” Benji blurted. He pulled at a stray black curl with those long artist’s fingers. “Ignore I just said that. Let’s start over. Hi! I’m Benji! Benjamin, I guess. Hi.”

He pulled on his hair like he wanted to hide behind it, and Noah stopped trying to hide his smile. This wasn’t a brat . He was a sweetheart trying to play the part of a brat. Did he think this was what Noah wanted, or was he trying to protect himself? Either way, Noah was entranced.

“No grandmothers,” he said. “You saw my list. But let’s get to know each other before we talk about that.”

“Okay!” Benji looked relieved. Like he expected Noah to drag him off to a bathroom the second he sat down. Noah got the feeling he hadn’t been a sugar baby before. At twenty, it wasn’t surprising.

Katie, the waitress, came over, beaming. “Hi, Noah! We’re always so happy to see you come back. We’ve been wondering where you’ve been! Elijah’s choice again?”

Noah looked toward Benji. “Do you have any allergies?”

Benji shook his head.

“Then we’ll go with whatever Elijah thinks is best. Thank you, Katie.”

She gave them both a grin and sauntered off.

Benji watched her go, twisting his curls around his fingers. He looked less pale under the restaurant lights, his sharp cheekbones covered with a light flush that did something to Noah’s stomach. The moment she was out of earshot, Benji leaned in.

“Okay, seriously,” he whispered. “Who are you? Are you a mafia boss? You have to tell me.”

“I’m Noah Stern,” Noah replied. “I’m CFO for Stern Enterprises.”

Benji snapped his fingers. “That big, ugly building uptown,” he said, and froze. “I mean?—”

But Noah was too busy laughing to hear the rest of it. “Tell me what you really think!”

“I’m sorry,” Benji said, flustered. “I should’ve added a warning in my file. Can’t shut up. Date at your own risk . I’d say I’m not like this all the time, but it’d be a lie.”

Noah finally made himself stop chuckling. Nobody talked to him like that except Tia anymore. And his brother.

“I like it,” he admitted. “When you’re as far up as I am, it’s refreshing to meet someone who speaks their mind around you.”

“Refreshing,” Benji muttered. “Oookay.”

He ducked his head, fiddling with his jacket. It looked too thin for the chill outside. Maybe that was why he was still flushed—he was recovering from the cold.

Noah asked, “What do you do?”

“Community college. Arts degree.”

“And outside of that?”

“Uhhh. Not much time to do much else.” Benji scratched his head, giving a rough laugh. “I work. Or worked, I guess. Customer service shit, kitchen shit. I have a little brother, and he takes up a lot of my time. Little jackass.”

He said it dismissively, but his smile gave him away: he loved his brother.

“How old is he?”

“Twelve. Going on two hundred,” Benji deadpanned. “Smartest guy I know. Always talking about math club or this robot movie franchise. But he doesn’t like the giant robot fights , like a normal kid. No, he likes their realistic commitment to robotics .”

He coughed, leaning back. He’d started leaning forward while he talked, subconsciously relaxing.

Now his walls were coming back up, and Noah wanted to drag them back down.

But before he could keep Benji talking about his brother, maybe his art, something that would get that spark back in those dark eyes, Benji asked, “What about you? Siblings?”

"A brother,” Noah said. “He's the CEO. What do you do at school?”

Benji rolled his eyes. “Too much. Some of it is interesting, but some of it is so useless. I just want to focus on my stupid watercolors!”

“Watercolors. Like Monet?”

Benji laughed. “Sure, I’m a total Monet,” he drawled. He bit his lip, shifting in his seat distractedly. Then he jerked, eyes widening, cheeks flushing even further.

Noah pushed back all the filthy thoughts about making Benji blush to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Great,” Benji said thinly, sitting up perfectly straight. It didn’t suit him. He looked like a sloucher.

Katie arrived back at their table, carrying two plates heaped with pasta. Benji’s eyes lit up, grinning like a kid when she held out a cheese grater and told him to say when to stop.

Noah toyed with his fork, watching Benji’s eyes sparkle at the growing mound of cheese Katie was piling on his pasta. All of that joy from one nice meal. The things Noah could do to this boy.

Benji didn’t speak for a while after that, too busy chowing down on his pasta. He kept sitting up strangely, face still flushed. Noah really hoped he wasn’t on drugs. That could ruin the entire evening. But his pupils didn’t seem any bigger than usual; he was just… jumpy. And warm.

Benji asked, “So why get a sugar baby? Why not just walk into a party and take your pick?”

Noah smiled wryly. “I’ve been told I’m… How did my last girlfriend phrase it? Intense . Clingy, you might say. Give too much, expect too much. Too many gifts. Thought I’d try with someone who actually wants my money and knows what they’re signing up for.”

Benji put down his fork. “I’m sorry. So, you’re—you’re just too amazing?”

“No, I’m pretty sure she said intense .”

But Benji was already laughing. “ Oh no ,” he said in a falsetto. “ Too many gifts! What a jerk! He wants to talk to me all the time! Dude, you sound perfect. Uh, for someone who’s into that sort of thing.”

His smile died. He picked up his fork again, pushing his pasta around. Trying to look disinterested, Noah realized. Trying to pull that aloof act from his profile, the act he kept trying to pull back up before it collapsed yet again. He waited, watching Benji get more and more squirmy.

“Are you?” he asked finally.

“You know I am,” Benji admitted. It sounded nervous. Like he was sharing a secret, instead of something he’d posted about online. But he was smiling again, a small, twitchy thing that he was obviously trying to shove back down and failing miserably. It looked… hopeful .

Noah reached over the table and touched his hand.

Benji’s hand was cold and chapped but soft, and Benji startled under his touch.

Noah stroked a thumb over his hand to soothe him, but it just made Benji shiver.

At first, Noah was worried, but then Benji looked up.

There was no mistaking the want in his face.

“Want to get out of here?” Noah asked quietly.

Benji stared at him, all dark eyes and pink cheeks. He was so pretty . Noah couldn’t wait to see how far down that blush went.

Benji wet his lips. “Can we take the pasta?”

He was still blushing when he climbed into the elevator in Noah’s apartment building.

He’d been squirming even more during the ride home and seemed awed at every new thing Noah showed him, stroking the plush seats, even admiring the architecture in the lobby.

All the while, clutching the takeout containers they’d given him.

Noah had asked them to give him two—not his own portion, a fresh one from the kitchen—and Elijah had been all too happy to agree.

Benji had gotten flustered, even uncomfortable.

But Noah had watched him hug those containers to his chest, occasionally looking down at them like he was excited.

It made Noah want to take him out somewhere for three courses.

Fly him to Rome and give him pizza. Put some meat on that skinny frame, rub moisturizer into his chapped hands, wrap him in thick jackets.

All the things that his past partners said were smothering.

Someone had to want it. And nobody deserved it more than this strange boy who tried so hard to act like a brat and then fumbled the first time he spoke to a nice guy.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Benji asked in a rush. “My friend is worried I’m going to get ax murdered.”

“Sure.” Noah flashed his paparazzi smile, throwing both his thumbs up.

Benji giggled and snapped a photo. “ Not… getting ax murdered… yet. Sent.”

He was still smiling when he stepped out of the elevator. For a while, Noah thought they were out of the woods, no more retreating. Then they stepped into the apartment, and Benji was all nerves again. Knee jiggling, not meeting Noah’s eyes.

“Nice place,” he commented, looking around in an obvious ploy not to look at Noah.

Noah stepped closer. “Is that really what you think?”

“Yes,” Benji said, affronted. He placed the takeout containers on a table near the door and tilted his head, as if looking at the apartment again for the first time. “It’s a little impersonal, I guess. Painting is baller, though.”

Noah looked up at the painting hanging above the doorway. It was a painting of two men on a park bench in the summertime, their legs brushing.

“Yeah?” Noah came up behind him, skimming a hand down Benji’s baggy jacket. “Why?”

“It’s, um… Intimate.” Benji swallowed audibly, gesturing up at it. “Like, they’re not— But the body language, how attuned they are to each other. And the brush strokes. And the colorwork is really…”

He trailed off as Noah kissed his neck. Noah smiled into his skin. Then he opened his mouth, pressing a light bite into his shoulder.

Benji moaned. Then he clammed up, shoulders climbing.

“Sorry,” he said breathlessly.

“For what?”

Benji shook his head. He turned, and his eyes were wide as he stared at Noah’s mouth. He looked nervous. Almost pleading. Noah had seen that look on subs before, when they wanted him to take control.

“Hey.” Noah took his chin in one firm hand. “Stop thinking so hard.”

Benji nodded, dazed. There was still too much going on behind his eyes. Then Noah squeezed, and Benji’s shoulders deflated like Noah had pressed a button. His eyes went half-mast, lips parting. Giving himself over.

“There we go,” Noah murmured.

He kissed him properly, sliding a tongue over those full pink lips. Benji moaned again, and this time he didn’t apologize. He just let Noah kiss him, mouth opening so beautifully under his.

Noah guided him into his bedroom, toeing off his shoes and turning on the lamp before pressing Benji into the mattress.

They hadn’t even gotten any clothes off yet before Benji started getting tense again, his kisses hesitant and awkward.

Noah pushed his wrists into the bed, hoping that the pressure would help him get his mind off of whatever was bothering him.

But that just made him get more rigid, and not in a fun way.

Noah paused, nosing Benji’s cheek. He had a suspicion, and he hoped it wasn’t correct. “Benjamin? What’s your safeword?”

“Uhhh,” Benji said, which was exactly the opposite of what he wanted to hear. “Oregano.”

Noah sighed and pulled back.

“Wait,” Benji said, struggling against his grip. “I can pick a better one!”

Noah squeezed until he stilled. “Benji. Tell me the truth. Are you even a submissive?”

Benji snorted. He averted his eyes, ready to lie, but it didn’t matter. That shyness was answer enough.

Noah let go of his wrists, sitting up. He’d give the guy some money; he wasn’t a jackass. But he was really hoping for someone who wanted what he was offering. For a moment there, he thought Benji might be it.

“Nonono,” Benji said, flying up off the bed. “I am! Hey, I want to be.” He clenched his sharp jaw. Bracing himself. “I’m… I’m not good at it, okay?”

The room went silent. Noah watched the tight line of his shoulders, the bitter twist of that beautiful mouth. I’m not good at it. He looked ashamed .

Rage bloomed in Noah’s chest, hot and jagged. Did some shitty dom tell him he was a bad sub?

“Just let me get my pasta,” Benji said dejectedly. “I can go.”

Noah caught his shirt. Benji’s head snapped up, and the cautious look in his eyes made Noah want to hold him and never let go.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Noah said. He stroked Benji’s stubbled chin, a hot wave of possessiveness rolling through him as Benji’s eyelids fluttered. “Tell me what you want, Benjamin.”

Benji ducked his head. Noah forced it back up, tucking a thumb gently under his chin.

“I…” Benji made an embarrassed noise, low in his throat. “I want… shit. I want to go under. I want… you to be nice about it.”

That last part came out like it physically pained him.

He still looked so guilty. Like he was expecting Noah to laugh in his face or send him packing with his takeout pasta.

Like he was a fool for wanting anything in the first place.

It was written in every aspect of him. This was a man who was used to not getting what he wanted.

What he needed . A lifetime of starving, only to be paralyzed with nerves when a feast was finally within reach.

“We can do that,” Noah said. He stroked Benji’s cheeks, waiting for him to relax, just a little. “Hey. You just need someone to help you get there. Want me to help you, baby?”

Benji hesitated. Noah watched all of it flurry behind those dark eyes: fear, embarrassment, tremendous want.

Then he nodded.

Noah ran a hand through his hair.

“Good boy,” he whispered.