“You seemed to know what you were doin’. You respected my boundaries and had the foresight to know you’d need to stop if I called you ‘Red.’ You helped me come down at the end, which doesn’t usually happen in group scenes unless I ask someone ahead of time. And you could gauge what I wanted in one session in a room full’a people—that’s pretty fuckin’ rare. All that tells me you’re experienced enough. The rest is just logistics.”

Despite the sexual nature of his words, the sincerity in Malcolm’s voice and eyes sends a tingling warmth through Rowan’s core, and he can’t help the smile that forms on his lips.

“Okay. Then yeah, let’s do this, Malcolm.”

The other man winces. “Mal.”

“What?”

“That’s my name, Red. Hate it when people call me Malcolm. Pretentious as fuck.”

“But why—”

“You think people’re gonna line up around the block to fuck a guy named Mal?”

Rowan shrugs. “If they knew how tight your ass was, then yeah, probably.”

Malcolm—Mal—smirks. “Yeah. You’re gonna work out fine.”

Chapter 3: Wants and Needs

MAL.

The name rattles around in Rowan’s brain like a pinball in an arcade machine.

Mal, Mal, Mal.

It suits him. Much more than Malcolm, at least from the little he knows about the man. Now that he thinks about it outside the haze of horny desperation, Malcolm sounds so formal, like the kind of person Rowan had been picturing before he met him.

Before he fucked him.

Malcolm sounds like the kind of guy who would kick someone off his yacht if they dared to wear flip-flops rather than those expensive boat shoes that Rowan knows nothing about.

Like the kind of guy who’d only want sex at 9:00 p.m. every other Wednesday night for exactly twelve minutes.

Or maybe like the guy the mob would send after you to break your fingers if you refused to pay off your debts.

But Mal.

Mal sounds like the kind of guy that vibes with everything Rowan’s learned about him in the short time he’s known him.

Like the kind of guy who likes shitty beer, probably because he grew up drinking it like Rowan did and never bothered to switch to anything better.

Like the kind of guy who says ain’t and fuckin’ and bitchface.

Like the kind of guy who can get fucked by ten guys and still want more.

Yeah.

Rowan thinks Mal is a much better fit. He likes how the name feels in his mouth, how it rolls off his tongue, though he hasn’t actually said it out loud yet. He’s about to test it out properly when Mal himself snaps his fingers in front of Rowan’s face.

“Yo, you space out on me, man?”

Fuck. Yeah, he definitely did.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you were hungry. I know a place.”