Bent not broken, p.1
Bent Not Broken, page 1
Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
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By Z. Allora
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Copyright
Bent Not Broken
By Z. Allora
Stefano Rossi longs for the mystical—and so far unattainable—peace of reaching subspace. But can he accept that the person who can take him there is a man?
Riku Tao has given up on finding a sub who complements him. He’ll stick with doing demonstrations at the BDSM club the Edge. He certainly doesn’t have time for a closeted Catholic guy with internalized biphobia… and yet he cannot help but want to protect Stefano and give him what he needs. A history of physical and sexual abuse makes it impossible for Stefano to come out of the closet, and Riku certainly isn’t going back in.
Perhaps an arrangement of six months to explore their desires will be enough to satisfy them both.
Or it might break their hearts.
To take hold of his future with the man he’s coming to love, Stefano will need to move beyond the pain of his past, and he won’t be able to do it alone.
To Everyone who has struggled to survive violation
And to those who help us thrive and live
TO MY therapist: Molly, without your assistance I’d never have been able to write this book. I still hate those EMDR buzzers from Hell, but I appreciate your guidance through my nightmares. Took me four years, but we got here. (And now the real work begins.)
To my love: You are my everything. I know we help each other through the ups and downs of life, but you supporting me as I wrestle with demons decades old so I may not only find but begin to use my voice is going above and beyond. Although I appreciate that you think it’s part of your job description.
To my Pretties on Facebook and my Z-bies in my Yaoified Love Group: Your support both publicly and the private messages makes me glad I’ve TMI-ed about this topic.
Thank you for untangling my words and giving me information: Eden Winters, MT, Andrew Marks, Derrick McClain, Danny Bruggeman, Katie Obbink, Kirk Waite, the fabulous Desi, the ever-sweet Andrea, and all of Dreamspinner’s editing staff.
Sending much appreciation and love to Dreamspinner Press and all their staff. Thank you for publishing the stories that need to be told and getting them into the hands of people who need the hope and validation our books hold.
Chapter 1
IN THE shadow of the old Victorian house turned BDSM club, a figure leaned against the back wall. Stefano Rossi slid off his custom motorcycle and tried not to see the other man kneeling in front of the silhouetted figure—his head bobbing.
“I’ve got to go, Mama. I’ll see you next Sunday for church. Love you. Bye.” Stefano ended the call. He adored his mother, but talking to her at a BDSM club, even in the parking lot, was a no-go.
Stefano unzipped his leather jacket and dragged his ass into the Edge, the local BDSM club on the outskirts of New Hope. The club didn’t have a ton of rules or high fees, just a cover charge, which put it within his price range and closer to his comfort level.
“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” sniped the man who worked the door.
Jesus! How could the guy wear only a pink tutu and black combat boots? Wasn’t he cold or embarrassed or—
“Stop wishing upon my nipple rings. You don’t even know my name, so fork over ten dollars, sexy, or hit the road.”
Grimacing at him, Stefano set a ten on the table. God, let this night go quickly.
“It’s Ember, by the way.”
“What?” Stefano hated feeling lost.
“My name. It’s Ember, because all you’ve got to do is blow and I’ll spark into flames.”
What the fuck? Stefano had to escape—the nervous excitement that ripped through him was fueling his confusion.
“And don’t forget to sign the book, honey.” The doorman blocked his entrance and tapped a black-polished nail on the book.
He signed Stefano R.
“Do you want me to hold on to your biker jacket?”
Pushing his hands into the pockets, Stefano tugged his jacket closer around himself. “No, thanks. It’s usually cold in there.”
Ember fanned himself. “I wouldn’t know—I’m always hot.”
Stefano stumbled through the foyer of the old Victorian house. The reasonable cover meant the club was more dump than charm. As he stepped into the main room, his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the few working sconces. The Edge really was a hole, with a ton of scuffs on the black walls and furniture donated by the members—most of which should probably have been put on the curb.
Some mismatched tables were pushed against the wall, creating a space for the folding chairs and couches that all faced the stage.
The Edge was close enough to Jamison, where Stefano lived with his workaholic brother, yet far enough away from Philly that he didn’t worry about any of the boys from the neighborhood crawling this far north.
Long dark hair swirled. Was that…? God, there he was… Riku Tao.
Stefano didn’t know whether Riku was hot or cold… no, he was definitely scorchingly aloof.
Master Riku—the Dominant who did amazing bondage demos. Goddamn, that guy, the demo he did two months ago… though it was probably the woman he tied up who made Stefano feel—
“Excuse me, Sir, would you do the honors?” A sub in a loincloth, which was tucked in a way that exposed his red ass, tried to hand Stefano a paddle as he bent over.
“Um… no, thanks.” Stefano fled to the bar, abandoning the frowning sub in his wake. He wished he could stop worrying about where Master Riku was and what… or who he was doing. Not that it mattered to him.
“Hey, Joe.” He gripped the copper rail running the length of the black lacquer bar and nodded to the bartender. The guy was a laid-back sort who always gave Stefano a bit of calm in this overstimulating and, at times, overwhelming BDSM den.
“Stefano, what are you doing here on men’s night?” Joe made it sound like Stefano had been abducted by aliens.
Stefano tried not to look for… anyone. His gaze landed on the two guys sitting at the bar, a couple of stools away. They wore tangled nipple chains and were making out. The tenderness of their kisses—
A weird disconnectedness swept through Stefano. That slow, crawling need wormed its way to his cock whenever he saw two men—
No.
He turned back and stared at Joe, who was waiting on him. “I’m going to require a drink to get through this evening.”
Joe grinned. “What can I get for you?”
“A beer. Whatever’s on tap.” Stefano adjusted his dick and kept his gaze off the loving couple. Desire and curiosity mixed and mingled, but he tried to ignore the confused feelings. His eyes followed a deep chuckle, leading him back to Master Riku—head thrown back in laughter.
Joe slid a cold glass in front of Stefano. “You don’t usually come in on Sundays.”
At the Edge, Sunday night was men’s night and usually called male Doms and subs out to play, with free rein of the club. Not Stefano’s thing. “Just doing my Mistress’s bidding. I’m hoping she comes later and meets me somewhere.”
“I bet you hope to come too.” Joe chuckled as he wiped the bar top with a loving caress.
“You’ve got that right.” The whole orgasm-denial thing had lost its luster a while ago, so why his current Mistress demanded he not come for three days before he watched this silly denial play put on by some members made no sense. But it wasn’t for him to understand.
Mistress Drama and her adorable sub, Serina, tried to bust his chops whenever they could. Not that he didn’t enjoy the challenge of following her orders, but being here tonight….
He raised his glass to Joe and took a big gulp of beer.
“Enjoy the show.” Joe moved to serve another customer.
Turning on his barstool, Stefano looked around the room. Lots of men milled about, laughing, talking, cruising. A Dom in the corner was getting sucked off by a sub… a really pretty male sub. Master Riku was nowhere to be seen.
Stefano shivered as want wound its way through him, forcing him to turn back and take another swig of his beer. Pushing away the odd wishes slashing through him, he counted the Philadelphia Eagles’ wins and losses from last season.
Yes, there was a reason he stuck to Mistress-dominated nights on Tuesdays. He didn’t deal well with the baffling questions men’s night raised. Not that he had any issue with male Dominants or gay people. They just weren’t his thing. He gulped some more beer.
Hell, he had a hard enough time trying to figure out the Mistresses of the moment willing to take him on. Most wanted more permanence than he’d ever cared to give.
Maybe someday….
However, sitting through a denial play put on by all men did nothing for him. He hadn’t
He chugged the beer and threw a five on the bar. Joe was involved with another customer, so he gave him a wave.
God must be pissed that Stefano was in a club on Sunday night, because his search for an empty chair showed only one seat available. Why did it have to be in the first row and dead center in front of the stage? Though calling it a stage might be an exaggeration. It was little more than a homemade raised-plywood platform where BDSM demos took place.
Meandering over to the front while trying to be invisible proved impossible. He tried not to make eye contact with the men he passed because most gave him come-hither and wanna-go-play looks.
Fuck it. He hurried to the empty seat and asked the guys on either side, “Is this chair taken?”
The one twirling a riding crop gave him the once-over, making him feel more like meat than a person. He tapped the chair with his crop. “It is now. Sit your sweet ass down. I’ve not seen you—”
“’Cause I’m usually here with my Mistress.” Not quite a lie, but hopefully a successful misdirection. He’d gotten skilled at those as a teen in an attempt to avoid trouble.
The man sagged in his seat with a frown and looked genuinely disappointed. “Well, at least allow me to keep the wolves, bears, cubs, otters, and daddies at bay.”
Stefano had heard those terms but had no clue what all the definitions were, so he responded, “Sounds like a zoo in here.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” The expression on the handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair morphed into a grin.
He might be surprised at just how much Stefano knew….
The African American man on his right held out his hand. “Ignore Sir Charles.”
Stefano shook his hand. “Hey, I’m Stefano.”
The man looked a lot like the actor from Barbershop—what was his name? Ah, Michael Ealy. The Michael Ealy look-alike smiled at Stefano. “I’m Devon Williams, but everyone calls me Doc. If you need help—”
Sir Charles’s riding crop hit the floor.
Stefano dropped to his knees and offered the instrument to the Dom with two hands.
Charles arched an eyebrow. “Well done. I guess certain things translate beyond orientation and gender.”
Stefano didn’t quite know what Charles meant, but he shrugged and muttered, “Yeah,” as his ass found his seat again.
Doc leaned toward him and mumbled, “He’s harmless, but beware of his charms. He could talk a monk into sex.”
“Oh, I’m not… you know.” Stefano felt the need to clarify.
Doc nodded. “Whatever you say, man. And, Sir Charles, I think you might want to attend my class on BDSM as an orientation to help you define the point you were trying to make.”
“So, if you’re not a member of the boys’ club, why are you here tonight? Just into orgasm denial?” Charles asked.
“Oh, um, my Mistress sent me.”
“You’re a very good sub for coming. I mean, doing what she said.” Sir Charles’s words and smirk teased something deep within Stefano.
He opened his mouth to give a response, but Doc elbowed him and pointed to the stage.
The man in the loincloth who had asked Stefano to smack him with the paddle took the stage. Even with the loincloth untucked, the material barely covered his hips. The length showed off the man’s long legs, a wide expanse of chest, and a beautiful face.
Stop!
At least there would be no more conversations to trip him up.
The man in the loincloth strutted to the center of the stage.
Everyone cheered or wolf-whistled. Stefano clapped a few times because he didn’t want to be a total dick. But he wasn’t here to see men perform. His Mistress sent him. This wasn’t for enjoyment but fulfilling his task.
“Greetings, and happy Sunday to everyone.” The man squinted into the overly bright spotlight. He blocked the glare with his hand and called out, “Hey, Murray. Can you fix the lights?”
After a couple of seconds, the lights dimmed to less blinding, and the man continued, “Thanks, Mur. Now back to the show. Tonight, the men’s play group is putting on Total Virgin. The writer and actor who would be playing the Master in search of a sub contract is down with the flu.”
A mumur worked its way through the crowd.
The man put his two hands out in front of him. “Not to worry. Dom Harley’s subs, Fred and Maurice, are taking very good care of him.”
Stefano pushed aside the images of how Fred and Maurice might be helping their Master feel better. He was sure none of their methods would have been approved by the medical community. Sucking dick didn’t cure the flu.
Sucking cock would—no!
Mr. Loincloth gestured to one of the men standing in the shadows. “Oh, and a big thank-you to Riku Tao for reluctantly stepping in as the role of Master.”
Sir Charles nudged him. “Wow, we’re in for quite a show. Riku’s so sexy and hot I’d consider bottoming for him. And I don’t say that lightly.”
Stefano bit his lower lip, his attention glued to Riku. In truth, he would have problems refusing the Dominant on the stage anything.
Anything? Where had that come from?
Doc leaned over Stefano and told Sir Charles, “No worries. I’ll make sure I tell him you’d bend over for him.”
“Please spare the Ice King my confession,” Sir Charles sniped back. He shook his head. “The guy never takes on a sub and only does demos.”
Doc sighed and glanced at Stefano. “He’s always been the epitome of control, even as a kid.”
Stefano sat on his hands and rocked. He tried not to imagine Riku in leather; instead he focused directly on him.
The stage light caught Master Riku’s long hair and made the strands shimmer like a raven’s wing. He was tall and had striking features, but the way he moved his long, lean body with the liquid motion of a dancer fascinated Stefano.
And his Dominant control—Stefano swallowed hard—that was another thing.
Chapter 2
WHY DID I agree to do this play?
Riku pulled at his ill-fitting, too-short toga. He was going to kill Devon. There had to be a way to murder his best friend slowly and not get caught. Why had he let Devon convince him to do this idiotic play?
He joined Master Max and sub Daniel on stage. They all wore togas because for no understandable reason the play was set in ancient Rome, and the only other reference to the setting was a bowl of olives sitting on the floor.
Riku didn’t mind participating in demonstrations. He did those to teach newbies and to help this club establish safer habits. But this play was simply salacious hotness catering to orgasm-denial fantasies and didn’t intersect with reality all that much. Not that there was anything wrong with fantasies per se, but without moving beyond the wishes and dreams to a purpose, BDSM would evolve into chaos.
And he had no plan of getting the scripted blowjob onstage, so his fellow actors better stick to their agreement of cutting that nonsense.
He tugged at his sheet again and glared at Devon.
Wait, who was that man in the leather biker jacket sitting with Devon? The guy looked familiar… perhaps a sub? He wore a needy yet skeptical expression that made Riku want to show him what it meant to be a sub.
Riku had the urge to run his hands through the stranger’s dark shoulder-length curls. Too easily, he could imagine those big dark eyes staring up at him and the man’s full red lips doing delicious things. He was pretty and would have looked feminine, but his five-o’clock shadow wouldn’t allow it. The guy might have stepped out of a copy of an Italian GQ with his—
“Greetings. I’m Master Max, the proprietor of this establishment, and we have only the finest subs in Rome.”
A bright spotlight caught him dreaming. “I’m Master Riku.”
“It’s a fine day to contract with a submissive, and mine are trained to meet your every need.” Max was a decent guy, but an actor he was not.
The spotlights had dimmed and regular lighting came on. It looked like the lighting guy gave up.
“Every day is a good day to get a submissive,” someone from the audience called out.
