Bound and Determined (17 page)

to tuck it into his pocket than refuse. He had half a dozen in assorted colors;

Sterling got a cherry red one.

“I'm going to start breakfast,” Owen said before he left the bathroom,

resisting the urge to put his hand on Sterling's ass and watch him shiver. It

was shadowed faintly with tiny bruises, barely noticeable, the redness all but

gone. “I can shower after you leave. Hungry?”

“Starved,” Sterling said apologetically. “Last night was intense. I think I

burned a lot of calories.” Of course, the boy—it was best that Owen continue to

think of him as a boy, really—was probably still growing, and Owen

remembered what it had been like to be hungry at that age, feeling capable of

eating a whole large pizza on his own and not being full.

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He allowed himself a lingering look at Sterling's bare body as Sterling

stood in front of the mirror toweling his hair, since it meant he could look

without Sterling realizing that he was being watched. Sterling had wide

shoulders that would likely fill out some more over the next couple of years and

a long torso that narrowed to a slender waist. Owen remembered what the

sensitive skin over Sterling's lower belly had felt like against his fingers and

palm—so soft, almost silken.

Sterling's cock was flaccid, but Owen's hands still itched to touch it, to

feel it swell in his grip and stroke it to hardness.

Then Sterling moved the towel lower to dry off his chest, and Owen beat a

hasty retreat to the kitchen.

The coffeemaker was on a timer, and the pot was already half full. Owen

rarely had more than toast or cereal in the morning and didn't consider himself

more than a passable cook, but breakfast was easy. He had frozen hash

browns that only took ten minutes in the oven, and as they cooked, he set

bacon and mildly spicy sausages sizzling in a frying pan. Toast, juice, and a

bowl of scrambled eggs made in the microwave rounded off the breakfast, and

Sterling appeared in time to be given the task of setting the table and pouring

out juice and coffee.

Very domestic, very middle America…but Owen didn't, and never would,

fit into that niche, and from what he'd seen, neither would Sterling.

It was only six thirty, and outside the September sunrise was chasing

away the darkness, mist rising from earth that still held summer's warmth,

though the leaves were beginning to turn, their bright green crisped with yellow

and orange. Inside the kitchen, the air was redolent with the aroma of cooking,

sharpening Owen's appetite and making Sterling look longingly at the oven.

“How many classes do you have today?” Sterling asked, looking in a

second drawer until he found the teaspoons, which he'd left out while setting

the table until he realized they'd need them for their coffee. Or he would, at

least—Owen took his black and unsweetened.

“Hmm? Oh…two this morning, an appointment with a student after lunch,

and then a meeting with the rest of my department that will probably drag on

until three. Pretty quiet, really, unlike my Thursdays; some genius in admin

decided it'd be fun to schedule me three consecutive classes in a row.”

Sterling sipped at his juice, standing next to the table. “I'll bet your

students don't complain if you're late.”

“I'm sure they wouldn't,” Owen said dryly, remembering more than one

occasion when Sterling had slouched into his class late with an excuse only

one step away from “the dog ate my homework” level of credibility. The third

time it'd happened, he'd told Sterling to leave and given the class a pop quiz,

telling the students that anyone whose grade fell below seventy-five would have

to write a 10,000-word essay before the next class. The quiz had been so easy

that only two other students besides Sterling had to write the essay—and

whereas theirs had been poorly written and padded out, Sterling's had been a

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pleasure to read, not that Owen had told him that. “But I'm never late. Well—

very rarely.”

He divided the food, arranging it on warmed plates, and carried the plates

over to the table. “Sit down and cut your food into bite-size pieces, but don't

start eating,” he said casually.

Time to play…

Sterling looked startled, his eyes going just a little bit wider than normal,

and his lips parting for a few seconds before he swallowed, nodded, and sat

down. He looked so delicious when he was surprised that it made Owen wish

he could surprise him all the time, slip his cock between willing lips and fuck

himself deep into Sterling's mouth and throat while staring into dark, blown-

wide pupils.

Owen pulled back to the here and now determinedly and took a bite of his

own breakfast while he watched Sterling cut his food into a plateful of

manageable pieces, occasionally glancing up at him as if trying to figure out

what Owen was thinking.

He'd know soon enough.

Sterling set his knife and fork down with a clatter that Owen guessed was

nerves and cleared his throat. “Okay, what now?”

“No,” Owen said and took a sip of juice, tartly sweet. “It's not necessary to

address me when I haven't asked you a question; I can see that you've

completed the task I set you, and it's for me to set the pace, not you. Or do we

have to go running again to reinforce that lesson?”

If Sterling wanted to be trained, Owen was going to cram as much as he

could into the hours they had—but even if they'd met during the summer

vacation, with endless, empty days to fill, he would still have gotten a kick out

of shortening Sterling's leash and bringing his exuberant puppy to heel. He

made a mental note to work a tightly rolled newspaper into a scene and use it

to administer some well-placed smacks if Sterling failed to deliver what was

required of him.

A tingle of pure anticipation raced over him. He'd spent too long going

through the motions with subs whose obedience was automatic, unthinking, a

means to an end. Sterling's rough edges and flashes of rebellion were the

perfect antidote to the boredom he'd been feeling.

“No,” Sterling said, then, as if he thought it was expected of him, added a

grudging, “Sir.” He sat with his wrists on the table, eyes on his plate,

unmoving, waiting for instruction.

Owen ate a few more bites of food casually, enjoying the tension in

Sterling's frame as a minute and then another passed. The room was very quiet

except for the hum of the refrigerator and the small noises from Owen's cutlery

as he picked up bites of food. Finally, thinking that enough time had passed,

he gestured at the floor to his left. “On your knees, please.”

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The slightest pause—not long enough to complain about, really—and

Sterling pushed back his chair and knelt beside Owen's instead. He didn't say

anything, kept his head bowed, but he also didn't cross his wrists behind his

back the way he should have, by now, remembered to.

“Where should your hands be?” Owen inquired mildly. He glanced at the

clock on the wall as Sterling flushed and jerked his hands back with a

complete lack of grace. “I think for you to be in class on time, you'll need to

leave in fifteen minutes. Allowing you a few moments to get your shoes and

coat on and say good-bye properly, that leaves, hmm, let's say ten minutes to

eat. I'm going to take a minute off for your inability to remember a very basic

instruction.”

He turned his attention back to his food, each bite spiced with a keen

awareness of just how very much Sterling was hating this—and him—even

though Owen was certain that the boy was half-hard already. Hating it didn't

mean that it wasn't turning Sterling on at the same time.

After a final sip of coffee, he reached over the table and drew Sterling's

plate to him, studying its contents. Some sausage first, maybe. It should have

cooled enough to be handled comfortably—one, if far from the only, reason he'd

made Sterling wait to eat.

“Open your mouth,” he said casually. God, that sulky pout was familiar.

How had he gotten through a year of teaching Sterling without a single fantasy

of bending him over a desk and fucking the insolence out of him, that strong

body pliant and yielding, sweat-dappled back arched as Sterling begged for

more?

Sterling's gaze flickered up to meet his, defiant, but when he saw that

Owen wasn't angry, the look faded to one of mild confusion. He opened his

mouth and let Owen feed him a bite of sausage, gripping it with his teeth so

that Owen could slide the fork free and then chewing slowly. Very slowly,

actually, even though he had to be hungry and he'd already been told his time

was limited.

Owen always did love a sub with enough of a spark to test him; and he

could see plainly, with Sterling's hands behind his back and not blocking his

view, that Sterling indeed had an erection.

Hiding a smile, Owen fed the boy a bite of scrambled egg, then held a

corner of toast, already grown cold, in front of his mouth. This time Sterling

looked up at him with hopeful eyes, licking his lips before he took a crunching

bite with his prep-school-straight teeth.

“How do you like my cooking?” Owen said, turning the toast so that a

particularly buttery bite was closest to Sterling's mouth, counting on manners

instilled in childhood to prevent Sterling from answering before he'd swallowed

or taking another bite until he'd finished speaking.

As expected, Sterling finished chewing and swallowed before answering. “I

love it,” he said, his voice warm and laced with appreciation. It was clear that

his earlier pique at the situation had faded.

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Owen snorted and let Sterling have another bite of toast. “Diplomatic and

polite, but I don't think the kitchen is where I shine.” He held Sterling's coffee

mug to his lips and allowed him a few swallows before continuing to feed

Sterling bite by bite. “I won't be able to see you for a few days, but that doesn't

mean that your training stops. There's a lot that you can do by yourself.”

“There is?” Sterling sounded surprised at the idea, though not the sort of

surprised that Owen had so admired earlier. Then disappointment set in. “A

few days? Can't you fit in a couple of hours somewhere? I don't want to—”

Owen cleared his throat pointedly, and Sterling stopped talking. “If you

want to continue being seen by me, you won't make a fuss when I'm too busy.

People who ask for more than I'm willing to give end up with nothing.”

This seemed to sink in, and Sterling nodded. “I'm sorry. You said there are

things I can do by myself? What are they? Please.”

“I know that you share a room; do you ever have it to yourself?”

Sterling nodded. “Brian's seeing this town girl with her own place; he

sleeps over there three or four nights a week.”

“Good. I want you to work on getting from standing to kneeling without

looking like a puppet with its strings cut and to practice holding the position

you're in now until it's second nature.”

Sterling moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Yes, Owen.” The

very proper response was slightly spoiled by the self-conscious expression that

accompanied it, but Owen let it go. It would come more naturally very quickly.

“I'm also going to ask you to start experimenting a little and getting past

your issue with being fucked.”

That comment produced a worried look, but Sterling didn't say anything,

just waited and then ate the bite of egg that Owen fed him.

He didn't need to say anything; Owen was an expert at reading body

language and would have been able to see the tension Sterling was

broadcasting even if he hadn't already anticipated the reaction. “I'm going to

give you some lube, and by the next time we're together, I'll expect to be able to

slide a finger into your ass without you tensing up the way you are now.” He

gave Sterling a pointed look, and Sterling deliberately dropped his shoulders

without actually relaxing at all; it was a valiant, if in vain, attempt to fool

Owen. “If you're turned on and not being a drama queen about the whole thing,

it doesn't hurt at all.”

Sterling bit his lower lip hard enough to turn it white around his teeth and

nodded, but it was clear he had serious doubts.

“Tell me what you're thinking,” Owen said.

“That I don't know if I can do it,” Sterling said softly, eyes down.