Page 9 of The Year of Us: May

“It’s called aftercare, Reese. I’m certain you’ve heard about it.” He held the lid of the teapot down and poured a rich golden-brown brew into one of the small cups. The tea was fragrant, like trees and flowers and air. I’d never smelled anything as layered or potent.

“I’m familiar,” I murmured.

“Sugar?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

He dropped a single cube into the cup and handed it to me. Curling both hands around it, I raised it to my face and took a deep breath of the curling wisps of steam.

“This smells unreal,” I told him, taking a sip and finding out it tasted even better than it smelled.

“It’s a custom blend from a friend,” he said, preparing the second cup for himself, again with one single sugar cube.

“Do you offer this up to all your submissives?” I asked, the tea burning my throat as it wrapped around the words.

Cory arched a brow. “Is that what you are?”

“You know what I meant.”

“I do know,” he said, and I was grateful he let the slip slide. “And no. I rarely bring men home.”

I thought it was interesting Cory didn’t bring partners home. Whether it was men he’d met at that club of his, The Back Door or whatever it was called, or men he dated. Did he even date? I wasn’t under the impression being celibate, save for one man across the country once a month, was a burden on him in any way.

“You’ll have to tell me more about that,” I said, taking another sip of my tea. It went down easier than the last, my muscles relaxing even more than they already were.

He huffed, rolling his eyes in that casual way he had about him that didn’t telegraph annoyance, but humor that anything about him had been called into question in the first place.

“If I want to scene, I do it at the club. They have everything I need there.”

“Or other people’s houses?” I asked.

“The club has everything I need,” he repeated, jaw set.

“That sounds…”

“Impersonal?” he supplied, mouth quirking up at the corner. “Reclusive? Boring? Believe me, I’ve heard it all from my friends who have long since coupled up and resigned themselves to domesticity.”

“Is that what you think it is?”

“There’s trust involved with that sort of thing.”

“Don’t you trust the people you sleep with?” I asked.

“I trust them to be honest with me when I need them to be,” he said simply, raising his teacup toward his mouth. He pressed his bottom lip against it, his teeth barely visible as his lips parted to drink.

This conversation was…interesting.

Cory had always presented himself with nothing less than competence and confidence, and I didn’t want to say this post-flip fuck conversation had called any of that into question, but it was the first time I’d seen any chinks in the dominant armor he always wore, even when he was on his knees. He’d given me an out with my submissive comment, though, so I wasn’t going to push this conversation with him either. Both were in the open between us and I knew that sooner or later we would revisit them…for better or worse.

“Tell me more about this tea,” I said, taking another drink. As the liquid neared room temperature, the flavor profile somehow changed, turning sweet as I swallowed it down. “Tell me more about your club.”

Cory let out a relieved breath, moving the tray to the nightstand before coming to rest against the headboard to my left, our shoulders pressed together, legs stretched toward the window.

“Those are two very different topics,” he said.

“Not so different.”

“The tea, as I said, is from a friend. I honestly don’t even know what’s in it, but there’s no fuzzy caterpillars; I know that much.” He laughed under his breath. “It’s designed for relaxation, anti-inflammation, anxiety reduction.”