THE SHIBARI class is held in a large open room on the first floor that would look like a dance studio if it weren’t for the thick metal beams crisscrossing the ceiling and dozens of hooks and hardpoints attached to the walls. Rowan wonders what the hell else this room is used for, or if the club really does have an entire room dedicated to group rope bondage.

Already the room is filled with couples scattered around, talking quietly but animatedly. The diversity among them is surprising—not because Boston is particularly homogenous, but because places like this usually are. Though the group that Mal picked at the gangbang had been very diverse as well. Seeing how the instructor works with couples of all different shapes and sizes should make for an interesting class.

As they walk in and find an empty table near the front, Rowan can see that a few people eye Mal with surprise and Rowan with what looks like jealousy. It’s so easy to forget that Mal—Malcolm—is basically a celebrity here. A pulse of pride shoots through him, and he turns away from the gawking faces, even though a small part of him wants to stick his tongue out and chant nahhh nah-nah boo boo!

“You’ve done this before, right?” he asks Mal instead.

“Shibari? Yeah. Haven’t done any tying in a long time, though.”

“More of a rope bunny?”

Mal gives him a flat stare, but the corners of his lips quirk up as he says, “Fuck off with that term, Firecrotch.” After a beat, he shoots back, “You ever done it?”

“Nope. Read a whole bunch about it a little while ago, though. And knot-tying was something we were drilled on in Boy Scouts, so I know my way around the basics.”

“Fuckin’ Boy Scout,” Mal quips.

Rowan snorts, but takes the nickname as a compliment.

He doesn’t really know what to expect tonight. They’ll clearly be doing some kind of rig, but the extent of it is still a mystery to him. He’d done research a couple weeks ago when Mal first mentioned the class, so he’s at least somewhat familiar with the terminology and basic ties. Though like with anything, doing is always much different from reading.

So he’s mentally prepared for pretty much whatever. He’s not, however, expecting Camilla to walk in wearing pastel workout leggings and a sports-bra, tank-top combo with her long blond hair tied up in a high ponytail.

“Welcome!” she trills, taking her place at the front of the room where two large rectangular tables sit filled with dozens of coils of rope. She captures the attention of everyone in the room immediately, a hush falling over the patrons faster than with any schoolteacher Rowan’s ever had.

An attractive man with a medium build, light complexion, and brown hair tied into a topknot emerges from the crowd of couples and joins her at the front.