Page 45 of The Menagerie

“Can’t go wrong with a ball gag. I like the breathable ones, though,” Mal says, pointing to one gag in the selection of at least ten that has a bright red ball perforated with small holes.

Rowan nods. “What about with clothing?”

The look Mal gives him is somehow appraising and feral all at once. “You got a thing for ties or somethin’?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

Mal quirks his eyebrows at him but doesn’t inquire further, then moves on to the next cabinet, which has every type of crop, whip, cane, paddle, tickler, and flogger that Rowan’s ever seen, and more than a few that he hasn’t.

“Jesus,” Rowan says, ogling the collection. He picks up one paddle, seeing that it’s smooth on one side and metal studded on the other. “You ever use stuff like this?”

“Early on, when I was figurin’ shit out. Told you last time, but I don’t like a ton of pain.”

A thought strikes him then, given the intensity of some of the toys. “I thought the club had a no-blood policy? Some’a this shit would definitely make someone bleed if you used ’em hard enough.”

“Yeah.” Mal taps on a placard inside the cabinet that Rowan hadn’t noticed until now. A review of the rules, it looks like. “Kinda gotta be on the honor system that you won’t do it. Not like Clover comes in and inspects all the subs before they leave.”

Rowan snorts a laugh at the image of the professional, buttoned-up Clover checking for rule-breakers every night. “Makes sense. Kinda gross to use some of the same equipment with that being possible, though.”

Rowan’s far from a germaphobe, but his standards for cleanliness have skyrocketed since leaving his home in the South End, and he’s not keen on going back.

Mal nods in agreement. “Yeah. ’S why I bring a lotta my own stuff. All theirs is treated leather or synthetic shit that’s easy to clean, but I don’t trust some’a the dickbags that go here, even if the club cleans everything themselves regularly.”

That puts Rowan somewhat at ease. He has a small collection of his own toys that he’d be willing to bring as well, though he suspects that everything he has, Mal does as well.

“So when we get to using this stuff,” Rowan starts, “do you usually pick out what you wanna use in the beginning, or pull them out as you go?”

“In the beginning. Makes it easier to keep the scene going rather than stoppin’ to look for specific toys.” He pauses, eyes scanning the various cabinets. “I know where pretty much everything is, but it’s not practical to take me out of it to explain which cabinet a certain toy is in.”

Take me out of it.He’s talking about subspace. Talking specifically aboutRowan getting him into it.

Fuck. It might not happen tonight, it being their first time alone, but the thought of getting Mal so lost in pleasure that he reaches that high? Fucking delicious. It happened once at the gangbang, briefly—a tiny glimpse of that hazy fog of pleasure in Mal’s eyes that Rowan’s been thinking about nonstop since.

Rowan’s cock stirs in his jeans. He’s thankful for the tightness of them, otherwise it’d be embarrassingly obvious.

The next cabinet is filled with neatly coiled ropes in all colors and lengths, as well as various hooks, clips, and bindings. A quick glance to the ceiling shows what looks like an adjustable bar lined with hooks, presumably to tie someone to. It sends another bolt of desire through Rowan, as does the long coil of cherry-red cotton rope that catches his eye among the plainer colors. He’d love to see the color against Mal’s skin, digging in and breaking up the pale expanse of his chest and arms and legs.

“You ever use rope?” Mal asks, as if sensing what the image is doing to Rowan.

“Yeah, but nothing fancy. Just some wrist and ankle restraints.”

“There’s a workshop comin’ up in a few weeks on it.”

That piques Rowan’s interest. “Like shibari?”

“Yeah.” Mal pulls a mass of black rope from the hook that had been badly coiled and expertly untangles and coils it in quick figure-eight motions. He looks almost like he’s offended at whoever used it last having put it away so poorly, and Rowan can’t help but agree. “One of next month’s special events. We can go if you’re interested.”

Rowan’s stomach flutters wildly at the thought of learning a new skill, especially a new skill that would greatly benefit them both.Andat the thought of spending more time with Mal, though he doesn’t know if it would replace his usual session with him or be in addition to it. Either way, he’s a thousand percent in.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Lemme know when it’s coming up and we can figure it out.”

“I’ll text you the details later.”

Rowan watches Mal wrap the end of the rope around itself three times, securing the effortless loops he’d made. He tugs both ends, as if checking his work. Then he looks up at Rowan through his dark lashes, rope pulled taut between his hands, and wets his bottom lip with a quick flash of his tongue.

All at once, there’s a shift in the air, an electric charge lingering between them. It drives Rowan to move, a magnetic pull he couldn’t resist if he wanted to.

Rowan steps forward, plucks the rope from Mal’s fingers, and places it back on its hook, never once breaking eye contact. He’s much more interested in the way Mal’s lips part and his eyes rake him up and down.

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