Page 6 of The Year of Us: March

“My bed creaks.”

“I’ll apologize to your neighbors,” he said.

“As long as you don’t judge me over it,” I conceded.

“I’m very much going to judge you over it,” he said, gesturing toward the parking lot with his chin. “I can’t wait to see the real you.”

Any response to his statement felt too loaded for the parking lot of a sushi restaurant, so I kept the possibilities all to myself and fished in my pocket for my keys. If he wanted to know me by my apartment, he could also know me by my ten year-old car, which I unlocked on the way across the lot. Cory opened the passenger door before I could get it for him, and he was already buckled by the time I walked around to the driver’s side.

I turned the car on and Cory stretched out his legs, laughing a little to himself when my phone connected to the radio and started to blare some late-nineties punk bank he’d probably never heard of. My hand flew out and I twisted the knob to lower the volume, then backed out of the parking spot and headed toward home.

The prime curb space in front where Morgan was parked earlier was of course taken, and I ended up having to circle the block three times before I found a space. For his part, Cory didn’t seem at all bothered by the distance or the walk. He hummedbeside me, hands shoved into his pockets as he looked around at the trees and the trash and the buildings.

“This is me,” I said when we reached the converted building where I’d lived for the past four years. There was an elevator I never used on account of it being ancient and terrifying, so I led Cory to the stairs. “It’s just up two flights.”

“I live in New York,” he reminded me.

“I bet your building has a doorman.”

“Of course it does, but you can't judge me over family money," he said. "I open plenty of my own doors, and I've made a name for myself from my own merit."

I made a curious sound at his comment as I shoved my key into the deadbolt.

“I open this one,” I said.

“Rightly so.”

I disengaged the deadbolt, twisted the knob, and let Cory into my apartment, hoping he didn’t hate whatever he found of me there.

CHAPTER 5

Cory

The first thingI noticed were the parquet floors. And after that, nothing that wasn’t Reese himself. The room smelled of him. I didn’t wait for him to give me the grand tour. The minute we were inside and the door was shut, I slung an arm around his waist and pulled him close. I moved around him like a predator circling prey until we were face to face.

Reese’s eyes were shut. Dark lashes fanned against his cheeks and I fought the urge to rise up and kiss him there. Later.

“Limits?” I rasped the now familiar word that signaled the start of our song and dance.

Reese huffed, seeming amused, but like a good boy, he complied. “They haven’t changed.”

I smoothed my hands down his chest and got lost in a daydream of all the things I wanted to do to him. Things I had to earn the right to. The trust to. Reese trusted me a little, not enough. And I didn’t think he trusted himself yet.

My hands slid down his sides and around his back. I cupped a handful of ass in each palm and squeezed with my fingers. Reese moaned and rocked closer, his hands coming to rest loosely on my hips.

“Can I spank you, Reese? Is that off-limits?” I looked up at him as I asked, watching every facial twitch for a clue as to what was going on inside his head. “I’ve been dreaming about your ass all month.”

A quiet laugh pushed past his lips. He looked down at me and arched an eyebrow. “Looking for retribution?”

“Never.” As I spoke, I ghosted my mouth against his. If we kissed, he’d taste like sake, whiskey, and trembling anticipation.

“There are a million other things I can do to you.” I kissed the corner of his mouth. “With you.” The line of his jaw. “For you.” His throat, where his pulse fluttered under the skin like a manic butterfly.

I felt the depth of the breath Reese took and what it cost him to let it out so he could acquiesce. “Okay.”

“There’s my good boy,” I crooned softly, dragging an open-mouthed kiss along his throat. I steered us toward the bed, which took all of a handful of steps. He hadn’t been kidding about the size of his apartment. But I loved it. A large bay window took up one wall. A plant hung from the ceiling, a giant monstrosity that climbed along the walls. Reese’s bed was pushed against one wall and opposite it sat a dresser with a TV perched on top. A mid-century chair with a wooden frame and upholstery half-hidden in a stack of laundry was shoved in the corner.

Reese reached for his belt, but I batted his hands away.