6. Reese
CHAPTER 6
Reese
Cory returned sometime later, and the sight of him sitting down on the edge of the bed with a wooden serving tray in his hands was almost too much for me to handle. The man had brewed me a pot of tea and carried it to me on a platter like a servant, complete with a porcelain bowl of sugar.
“You don’t need to pull out all the stops,” I told him, tongue still thick in my mouth. “I’m already a sure thing.”
Cory shot me a scathing look, setting the tray down on the bed beside my ribcage. I scooted up against the headboard so I was upright, the sheet tangled around my calves. There was no point trying to cover myself where he was concerned. He already saw all the way through me.
“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.”
I snorted, taking another drink. “You clocked me, didn’t you?”
He knocked his arm into mine with a sly grin.
“I’ve never had anything like it, but I’ve never had anything that wasn’t in a bag.”
Horror washed across his features, and he turned to me, gorgeous blue eyes imploring. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I work nights, Cory,” I reminded him. “I am a coffee drinker.”
“Mud.” He pretended to spit over the edge of the bed.
“We’ll agree to disagree,” I said. “But this is delicious.”
“I’ll brew you another one tomorrow with breakfast,” he said. “For comparison.”
“Do I get breakfast in bed?” I teased, reaching over him to set my now empty cup on the tray. He let his fingers dance across my back, and it took all my strength to not keep myself spread across his lap like a cat.
“You get breakfast wherever you want.” He kissed my shoulder as I unwound myself from his lap, sitting up straight again. “And as for The Black Door, what do you want to know?”
The Black Door. That was it.
“You’ve been to Rapture,” I said. “How are they different?”
“In every way. One hundred percent less blasphemy, for starters.”
“Better whiskey?” I asked.
“Obviously.” Cory finished his tea and set his hand on the top of my thigh. “I think at their core, they’re the same. Room to mingle, room to fuck. There are private and public spaces, just like at yours. But we also have an outdoor patio, which is nice in the fall.”
“What about in the spring?”
“It’s tolerable,” he murmured with another small smile.
“Well,” I said, rolling my shoulders and stretching my arms above my head. The tea had worked…the tea and the fucking had worked. I felt better than I had in years. “I can’t wait for you to take me there.”