Page 26 of The Menagerie

Rowan waits a beat, eyeing him again to make sure he actuallyisokay after such an intense session. But the other man doesn’t give him any indication that he needs or wants anything else from him.

That’s that, then.

The swell of disappointment in Rowan’s chest at Malcolm’s silent brush-off stings more than he cares to admit. He’d hoped that he’d done enough to get his attention—made an impression worthy of a second go and maybe more after that.

But he lets it go. Maybe Malcolm really is as hard to please as everyone said he was. And maybe the orgasms Rowan had fucked out of him were plain old Tuesday night lazy jerk-off orgasms rather than the mind-blowing experiences he’d thought they might have been.

Defeated, he gets his own bottle of water and washcloth, wipes off his junk quickly before tossing the cloth into the hamper and finding his pile of clothes. He pulls on his briefs, then downs half of his water, surprised at how thirsty he is after a couple of hours of on-and-off exertion.

He’s pulling on his button-up shirt over his tank top when he hears Malcolm’s voice from across the room.

“Ay, Shirley Temple.”

Rowan’s head snaps up as Malcolm calls out to the twinky blond guy who fucked him fourth, maybe fifth. Utterly forgettable. Nothing impressive by any account.

“Me?” the guy asks. Timid. Weak.

“Yeah, you. C’mere. You lookin’ for a sub?”

The blood in Rowan’s veins boils. Malcolm would eat that man alive and not get a damn thing out of it.

“Uh, I mean….” The guy’s gaze flicks to Rowan—barely ten feet away, watching the exchange like a hawk—like evenheknows that he shouldn’t be the one Malcolm is talking to right now.

And Rowan wants to respect his decision. He does, honestly. Wants to be the bigger person and not be a possessive fuckingcreep, especially over a literal stranger, especially when he’d already resigned himself to this being a one-night stand bang, but there’s no way in hell that kid rocked Malcolm’s world enough for a repeat.

The words tumble out of Rowan’s mouth before he can think better of it. “No fuckin’ way.”

Both men snap their attention to him, Malcolm looking curious, maybe a little smug even, and the other man wide-eyed and jumpy. Scared.

Rowan stalks up to Malcolm, using every inch of his height advantage and gazing down at him. The smirk on Malcolm’s lips widens.

“’Scuse me?”

“No fucking way did that kid impress you more than me.”

“That so? What makes you say that?”

“The fact that you refused to blow anyone while my spit was in your mouth. The fact that you came super fuckin’ hard on my dick.Twice. The fact that you knowmyname and you’re still callin’himShirley Temple.”

“Maybe I’m lookin’ for someone a little less rough.”

Rowan stares at him.

I like it rough, so don’t hold back.

He searches his eyes and finds nothing readable in the steely gold, somehow so different from a few minutes ago when they’d locked eyes on the bed. He takes a steadying deep breath.

“If that’s actually true, then fine, I’ll leave. But I highly fuckin’ doubt it.”

Malcolm’s eyes flash. “Good.”

Rowan’s eyebrows knit together, but he can still feel the heat in his own eyes. “Good?”

“Wanted to see if you’d fight for me. Fuck off, Shirley Temple.”

The man turns and all but runs out of the room.

“A fuckin’ test?”

---