The only thought that overshadows everything they’ve done is everything they haven’t. Rowan desperately wants to feel Mal’s lips on his own. For real this time. He wants to wrap his hands around Mal’s throat—more than merely a gentle graze of fingertips as he’s done countless times—and watch his eyes roll back. He wants to hear him scream until he’s hoarse and feel him whimper his name against the crook of his neck. He wants to leave bruises on his hips and bite marks on his chest and fingerprints on his thighs. See his skin blossom with pinks and reds and purples that will linger for days and weeks to come. So anyone else Mal fucks will see that he’s been with someone who knows how to take him apart better than they ever could.

He wants so goddamn much, and he knows he’s being unrealistic. But the thoughts flow through him like a tsunami—the more he tries not to think about it, the more the waters recede until inevitably, they rear up and come crashing down onto him in one giant, unyielding wave.

It’s been happening all too often the past couple of months, and Rowan’s constantly on the verge of drowning in the torrent that is Mal Savaryn.

The hazy waves of heat simmering on the pavement make him think he’s hallucinating when the object of his daydream appears on the horizon like a mirage. But rather than fade into nothing, Mal’s form gets sharper and more defined the closer he gets. Rowan sputters, utterly flabbergasted, and it isn’t until he hears Addison’s disgruntled shriek of “Hey!” that he realizes he’s sprayed her right in the face with the hose.

Mal’s stride is purposeful, and it draws Rowan’s gaze away from his coworker.

“Holy shit, is that the guy?” Addison asks, suddenly and excitedly whispering in Rowan’s ear.

“Jesus,” Rowan gasps, taking half a step away as he feels a spray of water droplets hit his bare shoulder as Addison wipes off her face. He doesn’t know if it’s the way he’s frozen in place or the way he’s gawking that tells Addison who it is, having never given her any physical description of Mal. Maybe she’s that good at her job and can sense his heart hammering in his chest.

“The guy I’m fucking, yeah.”

“Damn. Congrats, Rowan…. I don’t know which one of you is hotter.”

Rowan does.

Addison’s ogling is wildly apparent, even though Rowan isn’t looking at her. “What’s he doing here?” she asks.

“No clue,” Rowan says, finally dropping the hose and wiping his wet hands on his pants.

With a still-wildly fluttering heart, Rowan realizes this is the first time he’s seen Mal in the daylight. And fuck, his eyes are impossibly gold. Honey and caramel and all sorts of other things coming to mind. He remembers seeing them for the first time at the gangbang—finding the color so vibrant even in the dimness of the club. But in the sunlight, they shine. He’s dressed mostly the same as he always is—tight black jeans and a maroon shirt that has Rowan staring as much as Addison has been, though this is far from the first time he’s seen him.