Page 74 of The Menagerie

“Nnggg….”

Rowan sucks hard at the tip, not taking the rest of him in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around and delves into the slit when he feels Mal’s hands card through his hair. He drags himself off Mal’s cock and catches his wrist in a firm grip before he has a chance to pull away.

“Uh-uh,” he chastises.

He shoves his hand away and rises to his full height, Mal straining up at him even before Rowan wrenches his head back to force him to look farther up.

Rowan tuts at him. “And right after you said you deserved my cock, too.”

The glint in Mal’s eyes crackles with charged electricity, sending a tingling trail straight to Rowan’s dick.

“Don’t matter if I deserve it.”

There it is. That cockiness that piqued Rowan’s interest from the start.

But now it pisses him off.

“Wanna bet on that?”

Rowan reaches around, sliding his palm over that perfect ass and shoving two fingers back inside Mal’s hole, tugging upward so Mal has to raise up onto his tiptoes. Nearly eye to eye with him, now.

“Could get you off any number’a ways beside my dick,” Rowan says.

To prove his point, he pumps his fingers in and out, crooking up and brushing against Mal’s prostate on each drag. It’s obvious that Mal’s trying not to let the mask slip. Trying not to show how affected he is by Rowan’s touch when he’s trying to be smug and make a point. It’s even more obvious that he’s failing.

Rowan releases the hand in Mal’s hair, trailing down the side of his face and ghosting over his neck long enough to feel the throb of his pulse point. He doesn’t miss the way Mal’s eyes flutter at the contact.

“Ain’t gonna get what—fuck… what ya want if ya don’t,” Mal tells him, despite the way he arches into Rowan’s touch.

He’s right, of course. The bastard.

“Seem awfully worried ’bout my dick for someone who said he didn’t need it earlier.”

Mal’s hands wander down to Rowan’s crotch, palming him through his damp jeans. “Don’t need it,” he argues, pressing with the heel of his hand. “Want it, though.”

Rowan huffs out a sarcastic laugh and shoves Mal’s hands back down by his sides. “Course you do. Fuckin’ slut.”

He swears he sees Mal preen at the name. Totally unashamed.

He tugs at Mal’s slick rim, adding another finger, which he takes in easily. Perfectly stretched and ready for Rowan’s cock, thanks to the hefty beads.

“Got somethin’ to do first, though,” Rowan says, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on Mal’s ass before grabbing the cuffs from the edge of the bed. “How tight do you want ’em?”

“Third hole,” Mal says, offering Rowan his left wrist.

Rowan inspects the cuffs, runs a thumb over the third hole where the leather is softer and more worn than the rest, evidence that the cuffs have seen some use. Evidence that Mal’s been with other people he’s trusted to bind his hands.

Trust.

That’s what this is all about.

What all the reading and the research he’s done on the subject has told him is vital to any kind of Dom/sub relationship.

And already Mal trusts him enough to put himself in a nearly helpless situation. He doesn’t doubt that the man could still hold his own in a fight even with his arms tied behind his back, but the sentiment stands. There’s a swell ofsomethingin Rowan’s belly that he’ll examine later, when he doesn’t have a naked and hard Mal waiting in front of him.

Probably more carefully than he needs to, Rowan unfurls the first cuff and wraps it around Mal’s slender wrist, looping the strap through the eyelet and fastening it at the third hole. He folds both hands over the cuff, checking the fit, and feels Mal’s fingertips graze slowly, deliberately, across his wrist.

Looking down through his lashes, Rowan sees Mal watching him with half-lidded eyes, the gold of them so fucking bright even in the relative dimness of the windowless room.

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