Page 11 of The Year of Us: March

“Sometimes,” I admitted.

He made a thoughtful noise at that, but didn’t say anything. We lay there together until it was easy for me to breathe again, and Cory let out a long exhale that dusted across my chest.

“Did you break the skin when you bit me?” he asked.

“No, I’d never.”

It was his turn to roll onto his back, to cover his eyes. “Why not?”

“I di—what?”

“That’s not a boundary,” he said softly. “Not a limit.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe next time?”

“Maybe next time.” I repeated, feeling like he’d just smacked me in the face with a dictionary.

“Maybe,” he said, moving into a seated position. He tapped his fingers against my hip. “Onto your front, then?”

“What?”

“Onto your front,” he said again. “I want to see my handiwork.”

I leveraged myself onto my hip, then onto my stomach. I was beyond in shock over the turn of the conversation. He’d never told me I couldn’t draw blood, but it had always felt like an unspoken sort of limit that wasn’t meant to be crossed. But Cory wasn’t like most men, I remembered. He was straight-talking and said the things he meant. He’d said no marks he couldn’t hide with a suit.

The only person creating fake limits between us, it seemed, was me.

CHAPTER 9

Cory

Partof me wished that I’d brought a butt plug with me so I could keep him inside me for longer. But as I sat on his bed, stroking my hand down the curve of his spine and over his still-red ass, I could feel the way he slid out of me. I was tempted to reach back and push his cum back inside me. It felt like such a waste to have it leak out so soon.

Possessive? Me?Never.

“How does it feel?” I asked, squeezing one of the cheeks. The coloring was even across both. He might bruise. He also might not. The selfish part of me hoped he did. The idea of him wearing my marks had my cock trying to twitch to life. Honestly, it wouldn’t take much to get me going again.

Reese exhaled with attitude. “It hurts.”

“In a bad way?” I let my hand slide down the back of his thigh, brushing against the tender skin behind his knee before trailing back up again.

“No,” he answered eventually.

I never rushed him. Given time, Reese was willing to bend. To answer. To be open and honest. I could open the door, but it was always his choice to walk through it.

“Would you let me do it again sometime?” I slung my leg over his and straddled him.

“What are you doing?” Reese tried to push himself up, but I put a hand between his shoulders and gently urged him back down. “Settle.”

Reese exhaled again, with more attitude than before and I ignored it in favor of bringing my hands up to his shoulders and kneading my fingers into the muscles there. I stroked my thumbs up the back of his neck and Reese let out a low moan. It wasn’t perfect; I needed lotion or oil if I was really going to get into it. Another time perhaps.

Reese moaned again and repositioned his arms so he could relax more.

“I could get used to this,” he mumbled, his head turned to the side.