Page 155 of The Menagerie

Rowan’s heart swells.

“Shame, but all right.”

There’s a thick leather armchair in the corner, several feet from the same platform bed that’s been in all the other rooms so far. Rowan takes his cue from Mal’s nod to retreat to the chair, where he’ll have a front-row seat to watch Mal get fucked by someone else.

As Rowan drops down into the chair, the air in the room suddenly shifts.

“Clothes off,” Steven instructs.

There’s a bite to it that tells Rowan the guy knows how to order others around, but the cadence of it makes it seem more like he’s used to ordering around the hired help. But Mal complies, and with a swift nod, he deftly strips out of his black button-up shirt, letting it fall to the floor, followed by his shoes and the rest of his clothes.

Seeing Mal naked predictably spikes Rowan’s pulse, but he’s a far cry from being as hard as he would normally be if he were in Steven’s position. The same goes for Mal, Rowan notices. There’s a pulse of interest between his legs, but he isn’t fully hard yet. Rowan chalks it up to nerves, maybe. But then, Mal hadn’t even batted an eye when he’d gotten on his knees for ten men a few months ago, so this might as well be a regular old Saturday night for him. Or maybe he’s bored already with Steven.

In a practiced set of motions, Steven binds Mal’s wrists behind his back with leather cuffs. Something Rowan’s done more than a dozen times himself by now. His fingers twitch with the phantom sensation of cool metal and soft leather as Steven pushes Mal onto the bed.

Mal is facing Rowan, eyes heavily lidded. Intense. The look alone makes him throb in his jeans. Steven climbs on the bed behind Mal, barely looming over him. He shoves his hips against Mal’s bound hands.

“Get me out,” Steven tells him.

“How d’you expect me to do that?” Mal quips.

Rowan tries to force down his laugh, but it comes out a garbled sound that he tries to cover with a cough.

“Same way you’ve done a hundred times, you little slut.”

The realization of how long they’ve been together—exaggerated or not—hits Rowan like a freight truck, and suddenly he’s not laughing anymore. That’s at least two years if the number is to be believed. Despite his own connection with Mal and their chemistry, Rowan feels himself shrivel a bit. But he shakes it off. Mal wanted him here for a reason. And Rowan owes it to him to at leastpay attentionand enjoy the show, as much as he’d rather be up there himself.

Mal fumbles with Steven’s pants, eventually working him free. Steven shuffles around so his back is facing Rowan and Mal is turned three-quarters of the way to him. Still perfectly in view. From the glimpse he’d gotten, he can tell that Steven’s cock is average. Nothing special in either the girth or length department. How a size queen like Mal got by with it is a mystery. Rowan knows for a fact that it’s notallin how you use it. Sizedoesmatter. Or maybe Malbecamea size queen after Rowan. That thought sends a rejuvenating rush of possessive pride through Rowan that he doesn’t even try to shake off or ignore.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice Steven wrapping his cock and shoving it deep in Mal’s throat. He hadn’t even gotten fully undressed, his already undone slacks now shoved halfway down his thighs.

Rowan can’t lie that the sight of Mal sucking dick gets him going, even if he has to fight off the curl of jealousy in his belly. Mal’s a goddamn natural. Taking Steven deep, jaw slack and breathing raggedly through his nose as Steven fucks his mouth. His mouth was fucking—

“Made to suck cock,” Steven grunts.

For once, Rowan agrees with him.

He spreads his legs wider and palms himself, his growing erection in desperate need of attention. But he won’t take it out yet. As much a tease for himself as for Mal, whose eyes are glued to where Rowan’s hand strokes rhythmically over his bulge. Even with another man’s cock in his mouth, he’s still got all his attention focused on Rowan.

And fuck if that isn’t the hottest shit.

With a sharp hiss, Steven mutters, “Watch the teeth. You’re getting sloppy.”

As if Mal’s head game isn’t top tier, even if—hell,because—he gets filthy and sloppy with it when he really gets into it. Like he’s getting into it now. He adjusts his stance so he can get a better angle, legs spread wide and head dipped low, bobbing freely and with lewd slurping noises that go straight from Rowan’s ears to his dick. Rowan sees that Mal’s hard now, cock hanging heavy between his spread legs.

It’s torture to not jump up and suck his beautiful thick cock down, Steven be damned. He palms himself harder when Mal pulls off with a gasp, a thin trail of spit connecting his lower lip to the tip of Steven’s cock. It’s now that Rowan would pet his face and tell him how good he was.

“You’ve gotten rusty, Malcolm” is what Steven tells him instead.

Last week, Mal sucked him off so well that he nearly saw stars and had to pull off to avoid blowing early. Andthatis rusty? Rowan thinks that Steven either has no idea what good head is, or he’s being an asshole for the sake of being an asshole. Something that Rowan knows doesn’t usually make someone a good Dom.

“Is that how he likes to be sucked? Badly?” Steven asks, tearing the condom off and tucking himself away before chucking the condom in Rowan’s general direction.

Rowan nearly gets up and throws it back at him.

“N—” Mal’s eyebrows knit together for a beat before he answers firmly, “No…, Sir.”

“And you’ve nearly forgotten my title.Tsk, tsk. Let’s get that mouth of yours shut before you make a bigger fool of yourself.”

---