Page 22

She grabs a small remote from the table, and with the press of a button, a projector on the ceiling that Rowan hadn’t noticed lights up and displays a large PowerPoint type collage of people tied in all sorts of positions.

“Don’t worry, this won’t be a lecture,” Camilla assures with a laugh. “This’ll mostly be for showing different types of rigs and knots rather than have you all crowded around up here.”

She launches into a brief but informative history of shibari, and Rowan admits he’s only half listening. This is all stuff he’s read from various sources already, so he lets himself zone out a bit and finds his gaze drawn to Mal’s profile.

The sharp peak of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the pink of his lips—lips that Rowan has felt against his own, if only for a feverish, fleeting moment.

God, he’s such a fucking pussy. Jay would drag him to hell and back if he found out Rowan was mooning this hard over a guy he’s only known a couple of months, fucked half a dozen times, and accidentally got kissed by once.

A shift in Camilla’s voice snaps him out of his self-deprecation.

“Like with any kind of kink play,” she says seriously, “the mantra safe, sane, and consensual is paramount in shibari. It’s incredibly easy to tie a rope too tight or in the wrong way and cut off blood circulation or even cause nerve damage. The comfort and safety of the person being tied should come before all else.”

She walks to one end of the table, pointing out a box and a stack of pamphlets next to the coils of rope.

“This is a basic guide to some of the knots we’ll be using tonight, as well as a few different types of ties for nearly every body part,” she says, holding up one of the pamphlets. Next she moves to the box and picks up a familiar tool. “There’s also a pair of medical shears for each duo. With any kind of rope bondage, they should be accessible at all times in case you need to get your partner out of their binds quickly. Don’t assume that you’ll be able to untie something quickly enough. It doesn’t matter if you’re using gold-and-diamond studded silk rope—no rope is worth your partner’s safety.”

Rowan has never had to respond to an incident involving ropes in his time as a paramedic, but he has had to use shears on more than one occasion to quickly defibrillate a patient or access an injury hidden behind clothing. While Mal may be experienced with this, there’s always a chance Rowan will fuck something up and have to cut him free. He hopes that doesn’t turn out to be true.

Camilla picks up two differently colored bundles of rope.

“We have two types of rope available tonight: six-millimeter hemp or one-centimeter cotton,” she says, holding each up in turn. “Cotton is generally preferable for beginners because of the softness and flexibility. However, hemp is what most experienced riggers use because of its lack of flexibility. It makes your rigs much more secure, but it can be a turnoff for some people because of the texture. Hemp generally softens with contact with the body’s natural oils, so the longer you use a rope, the nicer it will feel. But then again, some people like the bite of the harsher rope… so it’s up to you and your partner what you’ll use tonight.”

At Camilla’s prompting, the couples approach the front and pick out bundles of rope and shears, a quiet but eager buzz in the air. There’s a flutter in Rowan’s chest as Mal stands up.

“What do you wanna use?” Rowan asks.

“Hemp if you’re cool with it. Not really a fan of cotton.”

“Sure. Any color preference?”

“Nah, pick whatever,” Mal replies, wandering off toward the other end of the table.

Rowan takes in the full rainbow of color choices laid out on the table. A quick scan of the room shows that about half the people chose black rope, while others chose bright primary colors. He tries to picture what Mal will look like in each color, and finds that every single one of them would look fucking amazing, even the browns and beiges that look like they’re meant to match skin tones.

He settles on a bright red, the color reminding him of the rope he’d seen in the cabinet during their first scene together. He grabs two coils as Camilla’s voice floats softly past his ears.

“Just like old times, huh, Malcolm?”

It makes him snap his head toward her and Mal, and he catches a smile form on Mal’s face, followed by a huff of a laugh.

It throws him completely for a loop. Old times? What does that mean, coming from Camilla and in this context? He knows Mal has never worked at the Menagerie, so it can’t mean that he taught a class or anything like that. So really… that only leaves one possible option, and it makes his head spin.

Coils in hand, Rowan returns to their table, mind racing. He watches the two of them laugh together, the rest of their conversation too quiet to hear. Something that feels a hell of a lot like jealousy twists itself in Rowan’s chest, making his fingers clench around the rope until his knuckles turn white.

When Mal returns a minute later, Rowan doesn’t hide his gawking.

“What?” Mal asks, eyeing him with his eyebrows knitted together.

“Did you…,” Rowan starts, trailing off as he thinks better of prying. It’s none of his business, and Mal’s made it pretty clear that personal information is squarely off limits.

“ What ?”

Fuck it.

“Did you used to scene with Camilla?”

Mal takes a deep breath and sighs it out through his nose, almost like he’d been expecting the question but hoped it wouldn’t come. But he surprises Rowan when he answers.

“Yeah. When I first joined.”

“Was she your Dom?”

“No, I was hers.”

Rowan knows his eyebrows shoot up, but he can’t help it. Mal’s definitely a scrappy fucker even as a sub, and Rowan doesn’t doubt he would make a good Dom if he wanted to, but he’s never expressed any interest in switching their roles. Or in women , for that matter.

“I thought you said you weren’t bi, though? Or a switch?”

Mal rubs absently at his eyebrow, slicking down the already pristine hairs.

“I’m not.”

“So were you still figuring shit out back then?”

Mal gazes toward Camilla, where she stands helping a couple pick out which type of rope to use. “Was scared shitless when I first came here. And I didn’t wanna… I dunno, admit what I liked. Camilla helped me figure that out after only a couple months together.”

“Oh….”

“Think she clocked me right away, though,” Mal admits.

“Why’s that?”

“Our dynamic was pretty standard, but after a couple sessions she started… pushing back more. Bein’ more aggressive and demanding. Kind of a bitch, honestly, but still within our boundaries.”

Rowan has a hard time imagining the bubbly woman as being anything but perfectly pleasant, but as he’s learned with Mal, people can surprise you, especially when it comes to kinks. After all, her twin, Clover, is much more serious, so it isn’t actually all that hard to imagine when he thinks about it for more than a second.

Mal lets out another one of those huffy laughs, staring down at the table absently like he’s remembering. “One day she suggested we switch, and the rest kinda speaks for itself. Took me longer to admit I wasn’t actually into chicks.”

Rowan doesn’t know what to do with that information, but he glances at the blond, the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth sweetened only by the secondhand gratitude he feels toward her.

“Everyone ready?” Camilla asks aloud, now that all the couples have returned to their stations.

There are murmurs of yes and yeah , and Camilla dives in to a thorough yet quick overview of the many types of knots used in shibari—single- and double-column tie, granny knot, reef knot, X-friction, half hitch, square loop…. It seems like an endless list for different situations, a few of which they’d be trying out tonight. But Rowan greedily drinks in the information, committing the names of every tie to memory to practice later on his own.

“A quick note before we begin tying,” Camilla says. “Even though it isn’t always sexual, shibari is an incredibly intimate act and a profound display of trust, even in the simplest binds, so it’s natural to get worked up while practicing. But please keep it in your pants for the duration of the class. If you feel you need to leave, you’re welcome to.”

Once again, Rowan finds his concentration shifting to Mal. If it weren’t for the fact that he wants to learn this shit, he’d be tempted to drag him upstairs right now.

“We’ll start with the single-column tie, which is one of the most useful, in my humble opinion.”

Next to him, Mal laughs like it’s an old inside joke of theirs—a low snort of a sound in the back of his throat—and it makes Rowan’s insides twist more than the rope in his hands.

“Start by folding your practice rope in half,” she says, quickly folding the short rope and finding the center of the strands, adjusting the tails to the same length. “This is your baseline for the majority of ties for its security, aesthetic, and safety.”

Rory holds one arm out, and Camilla wraps the rope twice around his wrist. “The loop—which is called the bight, as I mentioned earlier—should be facing one direction, while the tail faces the opposite. Cross the bight over your strands, then make a loop with the tail, keeping the bight on top of everything.”

She slips two slim fingers under the strands and tugs slightly. “There should always be at least one finger of space between the rope and your partner’s skin, but two is preferable in many cases. Unless you have big hands,” she says with a wink.

Rowan’s eyes flick to Mal, who merely waggles his eyebrows at him.

Got big hands, man.

He’s not going to survive this fucking class, and it’s barely begun.

Camilla continues her explanation, blissfully unaware of Rowan’s heart palpitating. “Pull the bight under all the strands and through the loop. You always want to pull your rope through openings rather than pushing it. If you push, the rope could uncoil or your strands could shift. Finally, hold the bight in place and pull the tail until the knot is tight.”

Seems easy enough , Rowan thinks. He’s fairly sure he’s done this in Boy Scouts, even if the terms used were a little different. There’s a shuffling around the room and the light patter of rope ends trailing over the floor as the couples follow Camilla’s display. A helpful diagram is posted on the screen behind her, showing stills of each of the steps.

Without prompting, Mal holds one wrist out in front of Rowan. For some reason, the gesture—so easy and done seemingly without a second thought—has Rowan’s pulse quickening. This is all about trust. Mal trusts Rowan to not hurt him, to let him learn and probably fumble through some shit, all to make their scenes more fulfilling.

It’s… a lot to take in. Especially with how fragile their relationship had seemed less than a week ago.

Mal’s skin is warm as Rowan wraps the rope around his arm, covering the skull and crossbones tattoo. Rowan’s hands work on their own, and in a few seconds, there’s a pretty damn perfect knot sitting snugly around Mal’s wrist. He turns Mal’s hand over, his thumb grazing Mal’s knuckles and making the U and G of his THUG LIFE tattoo disappear for a breath as he sweeps across them. The gasp he nearly lets out at the electricity that zaps through him is suppressed only by the weight of Mal’s eyes on him. He distracts himself and checks the tightness, able to fit a single finger underneath.

“That okay?” he asks to be sure.

“Yeah. Figured you’d catch on fast, Boy Scout.”

“Questions on that?” Camilla asks aloud. “Great. Go ahead and practice that a few more times until you’re comfortable with it.”

Rowan tugs the bight, and the knot easily unravels as intended. His second tie is both faster and neater than the first. Mal tugs his arm while Rowan holds on to the tail, the rope pulling taut in Rowan’s hands and halting Mal’s movements.

“You must really hate this if you’re already tryin’ to get away from me,” Rowan jokes.

“Couldn’t get away from you if I tried.”

The statement hits like a shot of cocaine straight to Rowan’s brain. For a second, he debates his reply. Cocky? Sincere? Flippant? What the hell does he say to that?

“Don’t blame yourself. I’m irresistible.”

A hum in the back of Mal’s throat is the only response he gives before he tugs on the bight himself and frees his arm, then hands the rope back to Rowan. His skin is already starting to redden with the indentations of the rope, and a surge of longing to see more of them rushes through Rowan.

They practice a few more knots that Camilla says they’ll need to be familiar with later on—bowlines, X-frictions, square frictions, and half hitches. For some of them, Mal holds the rope taut in between his hands while Rowan makes his ties in the air, the only way to simulate the actual positioning of the rope without incorporating it into a rig. A thrill tingles down his back at how naturally it comes to him and how Mal’s spent the first forty minutes not really getting anything out of it other than watching Rowan practice with a soft smile on his face and the occasional pointer correcting Rowan’s technique.

When Camilla comes around to survey all the couples and their progress, she stops by their table with a proud-looking smile.

“Guess I don’t need to help you two, huh?”

Rowan finishes off a double column tie as she says it, pulling the rope taut. “Think we’re pretty good. Malcolm’s a good teacher,” Rowan tells her, Mal’s full name never losing the feeling of strangeness on his tongue.

“Don’t be stealing my thunder, mister!” Camilla jokes, pointing a finger accusingly at Mal.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Cam. Much prefer being on this end’a things, anyway.”

“I can see why,” she says, eyeing Rowan’s hands as he undoes the knot.

Her ability to make Rowan both want to preen and shrivel is also something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.

“You wanna do any more?” Mal asks Rowan as Camilla continues her walk around the room.

“Nah, I think I’m good. I’m sure some of these are gonna be different in an actual rig.”

“Yeah. Free tying is good to get the basics down, but when you’ve got someone underneath it, everything changes.” For a beat, Mal meets his eyes before his gaze shifts to the coils of rope still on the table. “Ah, fuck.”

“What?”

“Forgot to bring my rope for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Next week’s fine. Probably wouldn’t want to do any tying for a bit anyway till I can practice more.”

Mal nods and pulls out his phone, probably to set a reminder for himself.

Back at the front, Camilla clicks over to a new slide showing a chest harness on a female model in four varying patterns. “We’ll be doing a chest harness today,” she says. “It may seem a little advanced, but it comes together fairly easily and incorporates the ties you’ve just practiced. I’ll give some modifications along the way for anyone not as flexible or comfortable with the position.”

Rowan’s mouth waters at the thought of getting Mal into the harness.

Camilla turns Rory around, guiding his arms into position. “The person being tied should fold their arms behind their back and hold their forearms, with the wrists turned inward. This will avoid the major nerves and veins in the wrist. If you’re not quite there yet, you can simply clasp your hands together.”

Next to him, Rowan sees Mal effortlessly clasp his forearms, wrists already turned inward. He’s so transfixed by the sharp cut of his shoulder blades and the swell of his triceps that he misses the first step of the harness entirely.

“Cold feet, Campbell?” Mal asks, turning back with a grin that nearly knocks Rowan on his ass.

“You know I run hot, Savaryn,” he replies, not nearly as slick in his mind as the words suggest.

But it earns him another dazzling grin and a tch before Mal’s once again turning his back to him. Trusting.

Rowan draws the folded rope over Mal’s arms, the deep red color a pleasing pop against his skin, and coils it around twice more, forming six neat strands. A quick bowline knot tightens the strands around his arms and leaves the bight exposed to allow for quick release if necessary.

“Draw the tail over the left deltoid, just below the shoulder,” Camilla instructs. “Be careful to avoid the dip in the arm between the deltoid and the bicep—there are several nerves below that we want to avoid. Now draw the rope around the chest, above the breastbone.”

The rope curves around Mal’s bare arm and cinches the fabric of his black tank top above his pecs. Rowan’s drawn in by the wrinkles in the fabric, but wishes they could do this with him shirtless. Someday, he reminds himself.

With the rope wrapping around Mal’s other shoulder, Camilla announces, “Have your partner periodically squeeze your fingers to ensure they haven’t lost sensation or strength in their arms.”

Dutifully, Rowan slips two of his fingers into Mal’s relaxed hand, feeling him squeeze tightly and hoping that Mal can’t feel the hammering of his pulse in his fingertips.

“Good?”

“Mmm.”

Step by step, Rowan draws the rope across Mal’s body exactly where and how Camilla instructs. But the pattern emerges in Rowan’s head even before Camilla’s words reach his ears. Over, under, pull, tighten, tie. He has to take a second to flip over the pamphlet to double-check how to do the first X-friction, but Mal’s talking before Rowan even gets to the correct page.

“Pull the tail through the center line.”

Rowan drops the pamphlet in favor of listening to Mal.

“Under?”

“Yeah. Pull it up to my right shoulder… farther… good. Now pull it under all the strands and down toward my right elbow.”

“The center line’s not straight,” Rowan notes.

Mal rolls his shoulders slightly, creating a tiny bit of slack for Rowan to tug the knot closer to the center.

“Thanks. Now up to the left shoulder, right?”

“Yep, then—”

“Down to the left. I remember that part.”

“’S a lotta steps, but it makes sense when you do it a few times. Make sure you put tension on the tail before you wrap it around the center line… that’s good.”

It’s endlessly impressive that Mal knows exactly what Rowan’s doing by the feel of the rope surrounding him alone. And while Rowan knows how to finish the knot without any further help from Mal, he lets him talk him the rest of the way through.

As he pulls the tail of the rope through the strands across Mal’s back, it’s impossible to avoid his knuckles brushing down the dip in his spine, the spot Rowan knows is ultrasensitive. Even with the fabric of his shirt in between, Mal shudders gently.

“Feel good?” Rowan teases, already knowing the answer by the dip of Mal’s head.

The breathiness of his snappy reply betrays him. “Fuck off.”

“Could always head upstairs, catch the next class.”

Another trail down his spine, this time more deliberate.

“Gonna have to if you keep doin’ that….”

“Oh yeah?” Rowan draws the rope back across Mal’s front, the bulge in his sweats pulling Rowan’s gaze.

“Such a fuckin’ tease, Red.”

If it weren’t for the fact that they’d probably get kicked out regardless of Mal’s friendship with Camilla, and for the fact that this is outside their normal scenes—the nickname a stark reminder of that—Rowan would be tempted to see how worked up he could get Mal before the rig is even finished. Instead he glances up to the front, finding that Camilla already has both of Rory’s underarms secured with two lines of rope.

As if sensing his internal panic, Mal guides him through the steps to catch up. Rowan can’t help but wonder if Mal has done this exact rig before or if he’s that familiar with this type of rig. The harness starts to take shape, and it sends a rush straight to Rowan’s groin. He knows by the smirk Mal gives him that he’s noticed the effect the whole process is having on him. If Mal weren’t in the same boat, he might be embarrassed.

Rowan can feel the heat of Mal’s body and the goose bumps that pop up under each piece of exposed skin he touches. If only he could run his fingertips over Mal’s skin and read him like braille, discern every thought and feeling from just his body’s subconscious reactions.

Or maybe he doesn’t even need it. Mal’s chin dips down nearly to his chest, a stillness settling over him as his eyes start to glaze over in the way Rowan’s come to know means Mal is approaching that blissed-out state that all Doms strive for. He won’t get there, not by a long shot, but it makes Rowan preen like a peacock nonetheless.

“For the front,” Camilla says, “the pattern is up to you and your partner. I’ll show the plain version first, with no rope between the breasts, then a second version that is more ornate. For the more advanced version, we’ll be adding a fifteen-foot rope extension.”

“Which one do you wanna do?” Rowan asks.

“Up to you,” Mal replies, snapping out of the daze he’d started to fall into with several quick blinks.

“Hm….” Rowan experimentally places the tail of the rope between Mal’s pecs, immediately liking the sight even with his shirt in the way. “Kinda want to show off your tits more.”

“ Pft . Figured you were more of an ass man, Paul Hollywood.”

He laughs at the callback to their texts earlier in the week, even as he says in complete sincerity, “I’m an everything man when it comes to you.”

His fingers are still on the rope held loosely against Mal’s chest. For a second, their eyes meet, and instead of the scoff or dismissal Rowan expects, Mal’s lips pull back into a pleased smile.

After attaching another fifteen-foot rope with a box tie, he weaves the strands between Mal’s pecs and starts interlacing them to form a braided pattern.

“What do you get out of this?” Rowan asks in a low voice.

For a second, Mal doesn’t answer. But when Rowan looks up to make sure he heard him, Mal’s eyes are lidded but still manage to bore a hole straight into Rowan’s own. It reminds him of the first time they locked eyes at the gangbang all those weeks ago. Intense. Electric.

“Feels secure,” Mal says. After a few seconds, he tacks on, “Safe.”

“Kind of like a baby being swaddled?”

“If I could smack you for that right now, I would, Firecrotch. But fuckin’… yeah , I guess. Don’t gotta worry about anything.”

Rowan bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at Mal’s outburst. “That’s pretty much what you said about being a sub. They kinda go hand in hand, huh?”

“Mmm.” There’s a short pause before he asks, “You likin’ this so far?”

“Yeah,” Rowan responds immediately. “I like being able to focus on something. Working with my hands, I guess. Keeps my mind from wandering to bad shit.”

Something about the vulnerable situation they’re in—despite being surrounded by dozens of strangers—makes it easy for Rowan to half confess some of his demons.

He’s not expecting to have to elaborate, but Mal doesn’t take the same opportunity to make a playful jab at his answer, instead following up with “What kinda shit?”

Like whether I’m gonna snap and wind up in the psych ward again. Or not be able to get out of bed for a week straight again. Or risk my patients’ lives again. Or stress out my family again. Or….

“Work stuff. Family stuff. And I uh….” He takes a deep breath, finding it easier to speak as he pulls each section of rope taut around Mal’s body. “I have some shit I deal with that takes a lot of energy sometimes. Makes me need to stop or slow down and think things through rather than letting my thoughts run wild.”

“Shibari’s good for that. Kink in general.”

“Yeah,” Rowan agrees.

Though realistically, he feels like his mind’s been nothing but a flurry of activity the past month and a half. But maybe that’s not kink. Maybe that’s just Mal.

Camilla walks around to survey the class’s progress, but she’s little more than a blur in Rowan’s periphery, his concentration solely on Mal as he checks his lines. A small adjustment here, a tiny nudge there, and from where he’s standing, everything looks perfect.

With the rig fully done, Rowan takes a step back to admire his work. It’s breathtaking, seeing Mal like that. All trussed up and perfectly still. Every time he’s had Mal bound in some way, he’s always been struggling against cuffs or Rowan’s hands, making a show of it. But now it’s as if he’s settled into the ties, completely content to simply be . The deluge of thoughts cascading through Rowan’s mind at all the ways he can get Mal into a full-body rig sends a real shiver down his spine.

“Beautiful….” Camilla’s voice floats into his ears, snapping his attention away from Mal. “You’re a natural.”