Chapter 8: The Shape of You

THE REST of the weekend and into Monday passes by in a blur. Rowan feels like he’s on cloud nine, not quite believing how much Mal had opened up to him on Saturday. There are still plenty of questions rattling around in his head, but he feels a sense of peace that he hasn’t since they started their arrangement. A sense that they’re actually something to each other—enough of something to share a portion of their pasts.

With that peace, though, comes a profound sense of want. What started as a fleeting thought at the diner a few days ago has blossomed into a full-blown rom-com style longing.

He selfishly thinks of all the things he wants to say to Mal. Once a week isn’t enough. I wanna see you more. Talk to you more. What if I upgraded my membership? You’re worth the money. Or what if we saw each other outside the club? Would that be so bad? I promise I won’t cross any lines.

Even as he thinks it, though, he knows that he couldn’t keep that promise if he were ever really tested. It makes him sweat, thinking about how Mal might react to all of it.

ON TUESDAY, Rowan is stuck washing the rig with Addison. It’s hot as hell outside, and Rowan has shucked off his uniform shirt in favor of the plain white tank top he wears underneath. Even so, with the physical exertion of soaping and scrubbing the outside of the ambulance alongside the harsh sun beating down on him, he’s sweating profusely.

Addison is faring better, somehow managing to get away with only a thin sheen on her forehead, though her wild, curly brown hair is suffering from the humidity.

They’ve only had one call today, to help an old woman who was suffering heat exhaustion during an ill-advised walk in the park. The rest of the Back Bay, it seems, had the good thought to stay home in the air conditioning. Rowan has to wipe the sweat from his brow repeatedly, wishing that he, too, could be home in the cool air.

“This sucks,” Addison remarks for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“Yeah,” Rowan replies, spraying his hands with water from the hose and cooling off the back of his neck. “Gotta keep the boss lady happy, though.”

Addison snorts and scrubs the soapy sponge around the back doors.

Rowan finds himself getting lost in the motions, the monotonous physical labor letting him slip into a daydream of ink and lace. The memories of Mal whining his name as Rowan fucks him or spanks him or gags him flood through him, making his head spin and his cock give an inappropriate throb in his slacks. He recalls every one of their sessions these past couple months, marveling at how good they’ve gotten at taking each other apart. How well they fit.