Broken Rules Read online

  “And your limits?”

  “I don’t have any,” Fox said. He sounded equal parts terrified and defiant.

  Sanyam looked up. “Everyone has limits, Fox. Have you ever subbed before?”

  Fox shook his head silently.

  “I will not fuck you tonight,” Sanyam said, standing in a fluid movement to set the pages on the table. He signed under Fox’s name in his neat, contained handwriting, and straightened.

  Fox looked outraged. “I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t what?” Sanyam said. “You didn’t ask? You have no idea, do you?”

  “About what?”

  Sanyam tilted his head. “You’re desperate for it. You would beg if your pride allowed.” He smiled and moved closer. “Don’t worry.” He spoke so low Fox had to lean in to hear him. “You’ll beg eventually.”

  Fox’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. This close, Sanyam could see that his eyes were olive green, with a ring of gold around the pupils.

  “Before we go any further, what’s your safeword?” Sanyam asked.

  Fox frowned. “I—I don’t need one.”

  “Yes you do,” Sanyam said flatly. “And if you refuse to pick one, you will be shown the door.”

  Fox took a step back, hands opening and closing. “I don’t understand. Why is it so important?”

  “It is your guarantee of safety while under my care,” Sanyam said. “Your safeword ensures that no matter what we’re doing, once used, we will cease all activities with no questions asked and no judgments made.”

  “What if I don’t—want to stop? Does it mean—”

  “It does not mean we can’t start again,” Sanyam said. He took Fox’s chin in his hand and turned his head as Fox’s eyes fluttered shut. “It simply means we stop and renegotiate.” Sanyam ran a thumb across Fox’s lips, pressing lightly until Fox opened his mouth.

  Sanyam pulled away, dropping his hand, and Fox opened his eyes, awareness filling them. His brow knit, and he clenched his fists as frustration flickered across his face.

  “Kneel,” Sanyam said, and turned his back. There was furious silence behind him but Sanyam didn’t look, selecting a length of rope from the wall. Finally, Fox’s knees hit the floor with a thump and Sanyam smiled.

  When he turned, sober, Fox was glaring up at him.

  “So angry,” Sanyam murmured. “So desperate to be dominated.”

  “I don’t, I told you! I’m not a submissive!” Fox snarled.

  “So you said, indeed.” Sanyam stepped behind Fox and pulled his arms behind his back. “And yet… here we are.” He tied Fox’s arms in a figure eight pattern, keeping the loops of rope even and taut, and stepped back. “Safeword. Right now.”

  Fox was breathing hard, spots of color high on his cheeks. “I—I can’t—I don’t know—”

  “Not something you would use in casual conversation.”

  “I—Calypso,” Fox managed.

  “Very good,” Sanyam said. “Mine is Crawford.” He stepped in between Fox’s spread knees and looked down at him. Fox was pulling on the bonds, lip caught between his teeth, but he stilled as Sanyam traced the curve of his jaw. “You are beautiful,” Sanyam said.

  Fox sneered wordlessly.

  “Oh, you already know that, do you?” Sanyam tilted Fox’s head up and wrapped a hand around his throat. “You’re also incredibly spoiled, petulant, and awful. Do you have any redeeming characteristics, besides your looks?”

  “Fuck you,” Fox spat.

  “Perhaps someday,” Sanyam said, unmoved. He bent until their lips were a scant inch apart. He could feel Fox’s breath warm on his face, puffing in sharp, short gusts. Fox’s pupils were blown wide, his lips bitten red, and Sanyam closed the distance and covered Fox’s lips with his own.

  He took his time, licking into Fox’s mouth in slow, gentle sweeps. Fox was utterly still at first, and finally he groaned deep in his chest and surged up to kiss back with a wild desperation.

  Sanyam tightened his grip on Fox’s throat and pushed him down onto his heels without breaking contact with his mouth, holding him there as he kept control of the kiss.

  When he broke away, they were both breathing hard, and Fox looked dazed, swollen lips and the dark hair falling forward over his brow giving him a debauched air.

  He pulled again at the rope, whining in the back of his throat. “I need—”

  Sanyam glanced down. Fox was desperately hard, his erection straining his pants as a damp patch formed.

  “You do, don’t you? But you won’t get it. Not tonight.”

  Fox whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, and Sanyam leaned down to cup his crotch. Fox jerked and pushed against Sanyam’s hand, looking for friction.

  Sanyam rubbed the hardness through the fabric for a minute, eyes steady on Fox’s face, but when Fox’s breathing quickened and his hips lost rhythm, Sanyam pulled away.

  Fox moaned, nearly overbalancing. “You asshole,” he managed.

  “Watch that mouth,” Sanyam warned. “Or we’ll get started on the manners a little earlier than I intended.” He took a step back, tapping his bottom lip in contemplation. “We need to figure out what your hard limits are, first of all.” He sank down on the couch and crossed his legs again.

  “I don’t have any,” Fox snapped.

  “So you’re all right with me pissing in your mouth or attaching electrodes to your testicles?” Sanyam said.

  Fox blinked and fumbled for words, his mouth opening and closing. “I—no.”

  “Then you do have hard limits.” Sanyam danced his fingers along the back of the couch, not looking at Fox’s disheveled form. “Hitting?”

  “Yes,” Fox said instantly.

  Sanyam hummed approval. “Pain in general.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d ask if you like being restrained but it’s fairly obvious you do.” Sanyam glanced at Fox’s crotch, his lips twitching. “Cross-dressing?”

  Fox hesitated, and a variety of emotions flickered over his mobile features. Interest, Sanyam thought, but also a knee-jerk repulsion.

  “Tabled for later, perhaps,” Sanyam suggested. “What about breath play?”

  Fox looked confused. “What’s that?”

  “It can take various forms,” Sanyam said. “But the general idea is that I restrict your breathing in order to heighten your pleasure. It’s incredibly dangerous, but consider—I hold your throat for a few seconds while fucking you so that you can’t draw in air. Or perhaps I pinch your nostrils shut while my cock is buried in your throat—don’t come.”

  Fox had doubled over, his face pressed to his knees as he fought off the orgasm, body heaving.

  “Perhaps we can explore that at a future date,” Sanyam murmured. “With adequate preparation and research on the subject and full consent, of course.”

  Fox lifted his head. His sallow cheeks were flushed, his breathing unsteady, and Sanyam smiled at him.

  “On the one hand, making you come in your pants and then wear them out of the club after has a certain… appeal,” Sanyam mused. “On the other… I think—yes, I think it would be best for you if you were not to come at all until our next session.”

  Fox’s mouth fell open. “You can’t—you can’t do that.”

  “Can’t I?” Sanyam said. He stretched, letting his shirt ride up as he rolled his neck to get the kinks out. “And yet that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Fox, you are not to touch yourself in any pleasurable way until you come to see me again. If you do, I will know, and you will be… punished.”

  Fox looked outraged, his mouth working. “You don’t own me—you can’t tell me what to do!”

  Sanyam surged to his feet and caught Fox’s face in an iron grip, forcing his head back. “I do not own you; that is true. I don’t hold with owning people. But I think you’ll find I can tell you what to do. And when you walk out that door, it will be your choice whether you walk back in or not.”

  He bent and nipped lightly at Fox’s bottom lip. “But
if you do come back, it will be the best orgasm of your life to date. I can promise you that.”

  Fox was utterly still. He seemed to have stopped breathing entirely.

  Sanyam let go and stepped away. He moved around behind Fox and untied his arms quickly. As soon as Fox was free, Sanyam turned to begin tidying the room.

  “Get out,” he said over his shoulder.

  He could hear shuffling as Fox climbed to his feet. There was silence for a moment, but Sanyam didn’t look, putting the rope in a hamper to be cleaned later and sorting through his supplies. Do I have what I need for tomorrow? I’m getting low on lube and condoms. Better ask Ava to restock tonight.

  The door slammed, and Sanyam finally let himself smile. Tomorrow was going to be fun.

  Chapter Five

  STERLING WASN’T entirely sure how he made it out of the club, in retrospect. He came back to full awareness in his car, sitting silently behind the wheel in the dark parking lot.

  He lifted his hands, examining the marks the rope had left on his wrists. His mind wouldn’t let go of the image of Sanyam prowling around him, feet silent on the hard floor, dark, slanted eyes predatory and sharp on Sterling’s kneeling form.

  Sterling took a shuddering breath and started the car. The Lamborghini roared to life, the engine settling into a steady growl that vibrated through his seat as he pulled out and turned for home.

  He parked in the garage of his high-rise and acknowledged the doorman’s greeting with a vague flip of his hand. The elevator rose swift and smooth to the forty-seventh floor, and Sterling stepped off, still dazed, and fumbled for the key to his apartment.

  Inside, he closed the door and leaned against it, running a hand through his hair. His living room was cold and stark in the moonlight that poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Vancouver spread below him in glittering splendor, like jewels strewn on black velvet. The white puzzle Cricket had given him for his most recent birthday gleamed in pearlescent pieces on the coffee table, waiting for him to finish it.

  Sterling kicked his shoes off and dropped his keys in the bowl by the door before padding into the spotless kitchen that gleamed with silver appliances and marble countertops.

  He pulled a Utopias from the refrigerator and leaned a hip against the stove as he took a swig.

  “But if you do come back, it will be the best orgasm of your life to date. I can promise you that.”

  Sterling groaned as his cock stirred.

  “Fox, you are not to touch yourself in any pleasurable way until you come to see me again.”

  Sterling scowled at the sink. “I’m not your slave, asshole,” he said aloud, his voice echoing through the empty apartment. “If I want to jack off, I’m going to jack off.” He pushed the heel of his hand against his erection, biting his lip as sparks skittered through him. It’s not like he’ll actually know, his subconscious pointed out.

  Sterling set the beer on the counter and stumbled for the bedroom, unzipping his pants as he went.

  He sank onto the bed and wrapped a hand around himself. Sanyam was the most beautiful man Sterling had ever seen, with those tilted eyes and black curls. He kissed like a god, strong and commanding and focused, and Sterling couldn’t wait for him to put those big hands all over his body. It took only a few quick pumps of his fist before his toes curled, and his back arched, and he came with a choked noise.

  HE WOKE up the next morning and stared at the ceiling as the memories of the night before rushed over him. Sanyam circling him, looking at him like Sterling was a dessert he couldn’t wait to take a bite out of, and Sterling wishing he would already.

  He rolled out of bed, and things immediately began to go wrong.

  He nicked himself shaving as Sanyam’s words floated through his mind. “This throat of yours is criminal.”

  He stubbed his toe and swore viciously as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

  He dropped his bottle of aftershave, and it shattered on the floor, filling the bathroom with a choking miasma of evergreen and clove. Sterling snarled and escaped into the bedroom to dress. He’d clean it up later, when he wasn’t quite so ready to commit murder.

  He grabbed the first pair of jeans and—expensive, designer—T-shirt that came to hand, and stomped barefoot out of the bedroom to do something about breakfast.

  Astrid was in the kitchen, humming to herself as she cleaned. “Good morning, Mr. Sterling!” she sang as he stalked in.

  Sterling muttered something and poured a glass of orange juice. Turning, he froze at the sight of the child seated at his dining room table, coloring busily.

  “Uh…. Astrid,” he said. “What is he doing here?”

  Astrid dried her hands on her apron, clearly unhappy. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Sterling,” she said in her soft Danish accent. “Dag’s school had burst pipes. It was closed for the day for repairs. I had nowhere else for him to go. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

  Dag looked up, and Sterling suppressed a shudder at the grape jam smears on his mouth. He did a double take when he realized Dag was wearing what was undeniably a pink tulle tutu over his navy-and-white school uniform.

  “Why is he wearing a skirt?” Sterling asked, unable to look away.

  Astrid smiled fondly at her son. “He is in a ballet class. I have told him—only the girls wear the tutus, but nothing would do but that he wear one too.”

  “Is he a boy or a girl, then?” Sterling snapped.

  Astrid tilted her head, confusion on her face. “He is a boy, Mr. Sterling. He just likes to wear the tutu sometimes.”

  “Mama, look!” Dag chirped and brandished a drawing, nearly knocking over his glass of milk.

  Sterling flinched and set his orange juice down. “I’m going out.”

  “But your breakfast is almost ready!” Astrid protested.

  “Give it to Dag,” Sterling said over his shoulder and escaped.

  He grabbed a coat on the way out the door and shoved his arms into the sleeves, muttering as he rode the elevator down and stalked out through the lobby. The doorman, wisely, said nothing as Sterling stormed past.

  Outside, Sterling stopped and considered his options. He wasn’t really hungry, but there was no way he was going back in his apartment while a child was in there.

  It was Sunday, he realized. Cricket would be at Granville Island for the day. Maybe he’d go bother her—that always made him feel better.

  He set out on foot, hunching his shoulders and pushing his hands into his pockets as he walked. It was a lovely autumn day, with a crispness to the air that warned of cold to come.

  If he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t the child in his home that had him so on edge. It wasn’t even Dag wearing a skirt, although that bothered him too for some reason he couldn’t pin down yet.

  No, his irritability stemmed from something deep inside him, something ugly and small, and Sterling was afraid to look at it directly, afraid to even acknowledge it for fear of it growing.

  You’re not worth anything. You never will be. You’re hateful and mean, and no one likes you. No one wants you.

  He stopped at the little coffee shop on the edge of the market and got coffee for himself and Cricket before braving the crowds that already clogged the aisles.

  Sterling slithered through the throng, muttering imprecations under his breath. Why did people have to exist in his general vicinity, anyway? Someone stepped on his foot, and Sterling snarled, making the offender cower backward.

  Finally, he won through and ducked into Cricket’s stall. She looked up, startled.

  “Fox, what are you doing here? It’s not your day to help me.”

  “I needed fresh air,” Sterling said, handing her the coffee. He flopped down in the camp chair and heaved a sigh of relief. “I just wish the fresh air didn’t come with so many people attached to it.”

  Cricket snorted. “We live in Vancouver, dearest big brother. Did you get Dorian coffee too?”

  Sterling lifted his head. �
�Dorian is here?”

  Cricket sighed. “You are the most airheaded idiot. Of course Dorian is here. You’re not supposed to be, remember? And Daddy won’t let me do this without one of you tagging along, which is still stupid—”

  Sterling held up a hand to forestall the rant. “Save it, know it by heart. Shut up and let me get some caffeine into my bloodstream. Where is the Dodo, anyway?”

  “He went to get some breakfast,” Cricket said, smiling at a customer who was admiring a Depression-era bowl. “He’ll be right back.”

  Sterling took a gulp of coffee and settled into the chair. He didn’t have long to wait before Dorian showed up, yet another perfect example of Reynard genes, with his long limbs, still coltish with adolescence, pale skin, and dark hair. His emerald-green eyes narrowed at the sight of Sterling in his chair.

  “The fuck are you doing here?”

  Sterling saluted him lazily with his coffee. “Had nothing better to do; thought I’d come harass my favorite sister and her twin.”

  “I’m your only sister, you ass,” Cricket said. She accepted the customer’s payment and wrapped the bowl for her, handing it over with a smile before shooting Sterling a glare. “You be nice.”

  “I’m always nice!” Sterling protested, stung. “He, on the other hand—” He let his hand gesture in Dorian’s general direction encompass everything he didn’t say.

  “Fuck you,” Dorian snapped and sat down on the trunk where Cricket stored her unsold wares.

  Sterling gave Cricket a pointed look, and she sighed.

  Dorian pulled his phone out and began texting.

  “Did you finally meet a nice girl?” Sterling asked.

  “None of your business,” Dorian said without looking up.

  “Ooh, you did!” Sterling said, straightening. “Let me see, little brother.”

  “Fuck off,” Dorian growled. “Crick, if he’s here, I don’t need to be, do I?”

  “Sterling, how long are you staying?”

  Sterling lifted a shoulder in elegant indecision. “Absolutely no clue. I go where the wind and my whims take me.”