At the very least, he can anticipate how good it’ll feel to show Mal what a kickass Dom he has become.

The Menagerie looms over him by the time he finally gives Mal an answer.

“Okay. Text me the details.”

He makes a break for his car with little more than a “See ya” and a wave goodbye.

THE SESSION is booked for the Green Room. Rowan remembers enough from his English literature classes before he’d tested out of them that the irony of being in a room associated with envy isn’t lost on him. This will be the first time he’s had to see Mal with someone else since the gangbang all those months ago. And while he knows that Mal has at least slept with other people—the condom incident still fresh in his mind, far away as it is—seeing it is a whole ’nother story.

The normal sashay in his step when he’s walking into the club is all but gone, replaced with a sluggishness that should have him turning tail and heading straight back home. If Camilla notices his drastically different demeanor when she checks him in—which she almost certainly does—she doesn’t mention it. She simply smiles and gives him directions to the correct room.

When he finally gets to the room, Mal’s already there with another man. Standing—fully clothed, thankfully—and talking. The guy’s not what Rowan expected, but he immediately dislikes him. The man is an inch or two taller than Mal, an inch or two shorter than Rowan. He’s dressed in black slacks and a blue button-up with a starched white collar. Black belt. Shiny black shoes. Rolex watch. Dark brown hair that’s starting to hit the salt-and-pepper stage putting him somewhere probably in his forties, maybe late thirties depending on his genetics.

He looks like a fucking accountant, Rowan thinks. Then he remembers that Mal is an accountant and throws that theory out the window. A CEO or something, then.

“Hey!” Mal says when he spots Rowan.

Though, Rowan guesses, he’s Malcolm now.

“Hey,” Rowan says, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Rowan, this is Steven. Steven, Rowan.” Much more formal than when he’d introduced him to Amy at his birthday.

Steven. Probably spells it S-t-e-p-h-e-n like an asshole. Such an ordinary fucking name for an ordinary-looking guy. Definitely not someone who deserves someone extraordinary like Mal. Rowan shakes the guy’s hand and finds it too clammy and delicate for his liking. Like this guy’s never worked with his hands a day in his life, and it doesn’t bode well for his ability to be a good Dom. How he managed to bag Mal is a mystery.

“Nice to finally meet my replacement. I’d wondered how long it would take Malcolm to find someone new.”

His voice is a low purr that makes the hairs on the back of Rowan’s neck stand up.

“Not too long, it seems,” Rowan replies, though in truth he has no idea how long before the gangbang Steven left.