Page 92 of The Menagerie

Rowan nearly spits out his drink. Having Addison clock him is one thing, but someone so close to Mal? Someone who knows him, who’sfriendswith him? Yeah, that shit’s a little too close to home for comfort.

“I likefuckinghim,” Rowan clarifies, purposefully not taking another sip of his drink to avoid looking like he’s hiding behind it.

“Course you do. Everyone likes fucking him.”

“So… what? The fact that I keep showing up for some great ass means I have a crush on the guy?”

Jeremiah holds his hands up in mock surrender. “No need to get defensive about it.”

“I’m not.”

Like he wasn’t defensive about it with Addison all week. Jesus Christ, he really is in deep.

“Reading people’s seventy-five percent of my job, honey,” Jeremiah tells him, like he’s explaining something obvious to a child rather than something supposedly secret to a grown man. “Got it written all over those big green eyes of yours.”

This time Rowandoeshide behind his drink. Hides whatever the fuck his eyes are doing that make it extremely obvious to everyone around him that he’s got athingfor Mal. Malcolm. Whatever.

As the minutes tick by, Rowan grows anxious.

That sudden drop in his stomach he’d felt last night when Mal texted him now settles in slowly, not a roller-coaster plummet but a gradually rising tide. Something he only really notices the longer he waits, the longer he watches other club members dance and flirt and pair (or triple) off toward the back rooms. As the thumping bass fades out into a different thumping bass.

When Mal finally arrives, he’s almost twenty minutes late and is the most dressed down Rowan’s ever seen him. He still looks good, still looks hot, but now he looks comfortable. Fucking…domestic, almost. In a long-sleeve gray Henley and some form-fitting black joggers. Usual boots nowhere to be found, instead replaced with navy-and-white Saucony sneakers.

It’s kind of unfair how he can pull off both the dressed-up and laid-back looks effortlessly.

“Hey,” Rowan greets. “Thought you might’a been ditching me.”

“Sorry, hit some traffic. C’mon.”

His tone is off. Tight, maybe. Definitely a far cry from the cockiness Rowan’s used to from him.

“Everything okay?”

“All good.”

Rowan knows immediately that it’s a lie, and as Mal turns to lead them back to the private rooms, he grabs his forearm to tug him back to face him.

“Mal, you sure you’re up for this?”

The blue and white lights flash across his eyes, highlighting sharp cheekbones and plush lips. A furrow in his brow that Rowan wants to smooth over with his thumb.

“Yeah,” he says, features relaxing as he heaves a sigh. “Had a rough couple’a days. Just wanna forget about shit for a while.”

Rowan searches his face. What he’s looking for, he can’t say, but he doesn’t see anything immediately concerning. And he can’t exactly blurt out,Do you have a sister who was abused by her boyfriend?Because he may be dense at times, but he’s gotsomesense of timing.

“Okay,” he says instead, once again letting Mal lead the way to the Gold Room.

AS HE’Sdone each time the past few weeks, Mal tosses his bag onto the bed and quickly pulls out their chosen supplies for the night: a black, padded blindfold, cuffs, and the clear masturbator he’d mentioned. It’s only a few inches long, with an opening on either end and smooth ridges lining the inside. Rowan picks it up and turns it over in his hands. The opening is small, sure to be tight around Mal’s cock.

Mal pulls out a vibrator too—a smooth black silicone one that’s roughly egg-shaped, with two buttons on the bottom for controlling the speed. Rowan knows that Mal doesn’t like vibrators in his ass, but that he likes them everywhere externally. And Rowan absolutely plans on using that fact to his full advantage.

The cuffs are the same as they’ve used a few times now, but rather than a clasp that connects them together, Mal brought a matching set of thigh cuffs as well.Thatgets Rowan’s heart rate going for the first time tonight, worry over Mal’s well-being momentarily pushed out of the limelight.

“Want your thighs cuffed?” Rowan asks, though it seems obvious.

“Yeah,” Mal replies, taking the cuffs from Rowan and turning them to show the D-ring on either cuff, each with a longer clasp already attached. “Makes it so I can’t use my hands. Changes it up a bit.”

“Gonna have to get creative with positions, I assume.”

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