Page 68 of The Menagerie

It’s a taunt. A good one, because it almost works. Almost gets Rowan to spin him in place and tear his clothes off. Shove him to his knees like he did last time.

But it’s what Mal wants, and Rowan’s not gonna give in that easily.

Because Mal also likes being denied.

“Shame,” Rowan tells him. “Clasp your hands behind your back.”

He loosens his grip to let Mal do as he’s told, but unsurprisingly he doesn’t.

“Make me.”

With a turn of his head, Rowan can see Mal’s smirk in profile. That shit-eating grin he seems to sport whenever he knows he’s being a brat.

And listen. Rowan’s got a much better handle on his temper than he used to, but two taunts in a row reachrightup to the limit. Almost but not quite boiling over. It’s Rowan’s pettiness that does him in, really. In one swift motion, he wrenches Mal’s arms from his sides to behind his back, bending at the elbows so he can grab his own forearms.

“Need me to wipe your fuckin’ ass for you too, Princess?” Rowan growls.

“May—”

“Finish that answer and I walk out that door.” With a final squeeze to Mal’s arms, after Mal finally locks his hands in place, Rowan resumes his previous task.

No faster than before, he drags Mal’s zipper down and pries apart the fabric enough to free the tip of his hard cock under his briefs. He ignores it, though, focusing his attention on the lowest button of Mal’s shirt.

Each tinypopof a button releasing gets Mal squirming in front of him. Impatient.By the time Rowan is on the last button above Mal’s pecs, he hears a low huff of breath.

“You got somewhere to be?”

Mal doesn’t respond, and this time, Rowan presses.

“Tell me, Mal. Am I wasting my time here?”

“Wastingmine.”

Rather than the trickle of annoyance he should probably feel, Rowan feels like laughing, the sound coming out low in his throat.

“Oh yeah? What would you be doin’ if you weren’t here right now?” Rowan asks, sliding the smooth fabric of Mal’s shirt off his shoulders and tugging at his arms until they release.

With a careless flick, he tosses the garment on the floor behind him, then runs his hands lightly over Mal’s sides.Bare,no undershirt or tank beneath it, which feels sluttier than it should.

“Findin’ someone who’d actually fuck me sometime this century,” Mal says, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“Try again.”

Because it’s obvious that Mal would not, in fact, be going out and finding someone else. Rowan knows that much in his fuckin’soul. They’re too good a match for that, and while they’ve firmly established that they’re not exclusive, Rowan’s confident enough in his abilities as a partner to keep him coming back—even if his confidence as a Dom isn’t quite there yet.

“Maybe go find that Jason guy.”

The guy at the bar last week. Beefcake with bedroom eyes. Dick that may or may not be bigger than Rowan’s. “Thought it was Jackson?”

“Same shit.”

Rowan snorts in the back of his throat and runs his palms over the taut planes of Mal’s stomach, delving beneath his open jeans and feeling the heat of him.

“Can’t even remember his name. Sounds like you had a great time with him.”

“Don’t need to know someone’s name to get dicked down.”

“Mmm. But you know mine. Made sure’a that.” With that he curls his hand around the base of Mal’s cock through his briefs in a slow, teasing stroke.

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