Bound and Determined (9 page)

Sterling tensed up again. “Now ask me something that you really want to know,

please, because evasions fall into the category of things that both bore and

annoy me.”

Sterling's instincts insisted that he tell Owen off, make it clear that he

didn't care whether Owen was bored or annoyed or both.

But it would have been a lie, and he didn't want to lie to Owen, so instead

he forged ahead and asked his question even though he wasn't sure what kind

of response he might receive. “Will you hurt me?”

“Is that a request or something you're worried about?” Owen asked, a

frown appearing that was at least a familiar expression. “Nothing will happen to

you that you haven't agreed to beforehand, and during a scene you can make it

all stop with a single word. You should already know that.” His eyes narrowed.

“Do you think that I won't do this unless you agree to everything I say, no

matter how extreme? Sterling, it just doesn't work like that.” Owen sighed. “I'd

be insulted if you weren't so damn naïve.” He leaned forward, his hands loosely

clasped on his knees. “Pain is incredibly useful as a shortcut and, yes, under

certain circumstances it's an effective punishment. If you think that because

getting spanked arouses you, I can't use it to punish you, you'll soon discover

how wrong you are. If you think that I'll leave you bleeding and scarred—”

Owen's face twisted in a grimace. “No. That goes well beyond my limits, and

they're not likely to move much after all this time.”

The air left Sterling's lungs in a rush. “Oh. Good. I mean—I wasn't trying

to insult you.”

He sounded more eager than he could remember hearing himself, so

fucking earnest and
young
, which was exactly the thing Owen didn't like about

him and therefore something he needed to stop himself from expressing.

“There's a lot of stuff online,” he explained, since Owen seemed willing to

listen and probably wouldn't hesitate to tell him to shut up if that changed.

“It's hard to know how much of it's an expression of reality, and how much was

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written by somebody trying to sound cool. Or whatever. I just want to make

sure I know what I'm getting myself into.” He sighed and looked down at his

hands, wishing they were sitting next to each other and that Owen would touch

him again. “And I can't promise I won't be uncooperative as hell sometimes.

This is all new.”

“I know it is,” Owen said matter-of-factly. “And that's why we're talking,

and why you're still fully dressed and sitting over there instead of naked and

kneeling where I can touch you.”

“
God
.” The word slipped out before Sterling could stop it, set free in the

powerful surge of desire that swept through him. He didn't try to stop the next

words. “I want that. So much. Could—please. Do you think—could we…?” He

couldn't ask, too afraid that the answer was going to be no.

“You have no idea how different you look now,” Owen said, and Sterling

didn't think that he was imagining the connection he could feel between them,

with his own desire mirrored in Owen's eyes. “Open, needy, everything right

there for me to see. You're naked now, Sterling. You wanted to know what I

saw in you? This. Just this.”

Sterling stood on legs that trembled and took an uncertain step toward

Owen. “Please.” He said it very softly, part of him ashamed of the person he

was letting himself be in that moment, in the person he was hoping to become.

God, this was so fucked up.

Still, he took another step closer before sinking down to the floor at

Owen's feet; it wasn't kneeling as much as it was collapsing, his legs no longer

able to support him. He didn't touch Owen, unsure whether that would be

acceptable, but gave him such a look of anxious devotion that it might as well

have been a physical caress. “Please. I need—this. You.” He was shaking, his

heart beating so fast it felt like the flutter of a hummingbird's wings.

“I can see that,” Owen said, and his voice was rock-steady now, which was

just what Sterling needed. Someone who knew what to do, someone who

understood how he felt, because even if they were on opposite sides, somehow

they balanced each other. “Stand up, please.”

Owen saying please was so different from Sterling's stammered, pleading

use of the word; it was coolly courteous and totally unnecessary, because

Owen wasn't asking, he was telling. Every time he said it, Sterling felt a flicker

of heat race over him. “I'm going to undress you,” Owen continued when

Sterling had gotten to his feet with an effort of will that took everything he had.

“Then I'll allow you to kneel for me and show you exactly how I want you to do

it—and you're going to remember and do it perfectly the next time you're told to

take that position.” Owen stood, so close that Sterling could feel the whisper of

air from each word he said brush his face. “Aren't you, Sterling?”

“Yes.” His vocal cords were so tight that it was hard to give his reply

enough force to be heard, but Sterling was sure that Owen had heard him. He

made himself repeat it, though, just to be on the safe side, and it was only as

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35

he said it that he realized he was breathing way too fast, on the verge of

hyperventilating. “Yes, Owen.”

Sterling took a deep breath and let it out slowly—he didn't think he was

imagining Owen's look of approval. He hoped he wasn't.

“Relax,” Owen advised. “I know this is overwhelming, but the only way

that you can disappoint me is by not trying, and that's not going to happen. I

won't permit it. So you can relax and enjoy this.” He cupped Sterling's face

again and ran his thumb slowly across Sterling's lips. Sterling couldn't stop the

helpless push his mouth made, chasing the drag of that thumb and trying to

keep it touching him for as long as possible. “You're getting what you asked for

here, and there's been a little too much of that, I think, so we need something

that you have to wait for, something you'll go home wanting so much that it's

all you'll be able to think about.” He began to unbutton the shirt that Sterling

had chosen to wear because it hadn't seemed right to show up in a T-shirt

somehow, his fingers deft and unhurried as they worked the buttons through

the small, tight slits in the fabric. “Any suggestions?”

His whole body was trembling, and he couldn't keep his eyes from darting

back and forth between Owen's face and Owen's hands, so close. “Touch me,”

Sterling said. “I mean, that's what—that's what I want you to do. I want you to

touch me. Run your hands over my skin.”

Incredibly aroused as he was, his brain couldn't help but provide brilliant,

Technicolor pictures of what it would be like. Stretched out on a bed, naked,

with Owen sitting next to him. One hand would slide up along his bare thigh

toward his dick… Sterling moaned, his cock giving a heavy throb inside his

jeans, as Owen slipped another button free.

“Hmm, yes, I suppose that would do,” Owen said with something a little

rueful in the words. He stepped back. “You'd better finish undressing yourself,

then, and look at me as you do it, please. I want to see your face as well as the

rest of you.”

God, he
hurt
with wanting, but he could do this. Owen had told him to do

it, so he would. The thought that something could be that simple, that

uncomplicated, was enough to get Sterling's hands fumbling at the front of his

shirt, even though his fingertips were numb.

Somehow, he managed to undo the last two buttons, then remembered

that he was supposed to be looking at Owen. Where had he been looking? He

wasn't sure, but Owen wasn't reprimanding him and didn't look angry, so it

must be okay.

Sterling slid the shirt down off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor,

eyes locked on Owen's. Owen was watching him as he undressed. Owen was

watching him, and he'd never been so turned on in his life.

With still-trembling hands, Sterling undid his jeans, slid down the zipper.

His cock was a constant, determined ache, and he could feel the wet spot that

marked the soft cotton of his boxer briefs. He licked his lips and pushed down

his jeans and briefs in one—Owen hadn't specified that any of this had to be

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slow, and Sterling was breathing quickly enough that he wasn't sure bending

twice would be a good idea, not with the way his lips were tingling. He was

definitely hyperventilating.

He got his pants below his knees, then kicked them off, and his socks,

and straightened, never taking his gaze off Owen's incredible gray eyes.

Weirdly, he wasn't even slightly tempted to put on attitude—just spread his

hands to his sides a little bit and stood there.

Here I am. Look at me.

For a moment, there was something unguarded in Owen's expression, like

he was tempted to forget all the carefully constructed rules and instructions

he'd built around them and just reach out and take what Sterling was offering.

Sterling caught his breath, but the moment—a panicked moment, he realized,

because the support of those commands was about all that was keeping him

standing upright—passed, and Owen just nodded at him. He did that a lot, as

if he expected Sterling to add the words to go with the nod. In this case, they'd

probably be flattering; Sterling knew he looked good naked, and now Owen did

too.

In a silence that felt heavy, thick, muting the distant sound of passing

traffic to a hum but magnifying the small sounds inside the room, Sterling

waited as Owen looked him over, an unhurried appraisal lingering not on the

obvious places, like his dick, straining upward, begging like the rest of him, but

his mouth, his hands…

It didn't get easier to bear that scrutiny when Owen walked behind him.

Actually, what that did was send him back into fantasy. He could almost

feel Owen's hands on him, smoothing down along his spine to his ass. God,

Owen was going to want to fuck him, wasn't he? That was something he'd

never considered—stupid, stupid, maybe he really
was
stupid, maybe that was

why he insisted he was smart so often, to convince himself that it was true

when it obviously wasn't. Because
of course
a man used to dominating his

partners would expect to fuck his newest toy. How could Sterling not have

realized it until now?

The thought made his whole body tense up in a way that Owen couldn't

possibly miss.

“You might not have a safe word arranged with me yet, but until we take

care of that, just stay 'stop' if you need a break,” Owen said, and God, the

words were spoken almost into his ear because even if Owen wasn't touching

him, he was standing so close now. “Do you?”

Sterling shuddered and shook his head. “No. No.” But he'd gone from

turned on to almost nauseated in a split second. He couldn't do this, not if it

meant having Owen fuck him, even if that was weeks, months down the line.

God, he was so
stupid
. “I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “Stop. I just—I can't.” He

turned so that Owen wasn't behind him and bent to scoop up his clothes,

holding them in front of him like protection. “I'm sorry.”

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37

Owen shook his head, his face tight with exasperation that sent a chill

over Sterling, making throwing up seem like a very real possibility. He hated

seeing that expression on Owen's face, directed at him, but when Owen spoke,

some of his misery abated as he realized just who Owen was annoyed with.

“Don't be. I'm the one who fucked up here, not you, and I'm the one who's

sorry. I let you rush me, and that's unforgivable, but it's so easy to forget—

never mind.” He gestured at the clothes Sterling held. “Get dressed and sit

down. I'm going to get you a glass of water.”

“No,” Sterling said. “Please.” He didn't know what was happening exactly,

and he didn't know how to make it better, but he did know that he didn't

actually want this to stop, he just wanted to know there'd be a point at which it

would
stop. He was trembling like his mother did whenever she saw a spider,

phobic, terrified, and he didn't want Owen to leave him there alone.

It wasn't Owen he was afraid of.

“I don't want to stop.” He'd broken out in a cold sweat. “I—please. I want

to, I do.”

“You
did
,” Owen corrected him, “but something changed, and I need to