Bound and Determined (24 page)

more of that attitude.” He walked over to Sterling and gave his ass a tap that

wouldn't have popped a soap bubble, but which still made a shiver run

through Sterling. “Break's over.”

“Right,” Sterling said and smiled before taking the chair downstairs.

While he was gone, Owen finished collecting the figurines and put the box

on the floor in his bedroom where neither of them would be likely to trip over it.

Sterling made a few more trips to the porch and then paused to drink some

more water before opening a small cupboard and discovering some photo

albums Owen had tucked into it.

“Hey, what are these?” Sterling picked one up and opened it carefully. “I

think this is you.”

“Probably,” Owen agreed. He moved over to join Sterling, looking past his

shoulder at the old photos from his childhood. They were in color, which had

faded over the years, blunting some of the bright hues that had decorated the

clothing of the mideighties.

“Nice shirt.” Snickering, Sterling pointed at it—the stripes
were
a bit

much, but Owen had only been about ten at the time.

“I was always a trendsetter,” Owen said with a haughty sniff that broke

into a grin when Sterling hooted with laughter. “Give me a break,” he said. “I'm

sure your mother has some embarrassing photos you wouldn't want me to

see.” He nuzzled Sterling's neck, kissing it without passion but a good deal of

affection, his arms going around Sterling's body in a hug. “How would you like

to go to the club tonight? We haven't been there for a while, and I don't think

that I can haul one more box down those stairs.”

He'd been wary about taking Sterling to the club, but apart from a few

raised eyebrows at the idea of him taking on someone so inexperienced, most

people had accepted Sterling without comment. The guarded, careful attitude

toward a newcomer had soon melted into a warmer acceptance; Sterling was

clearly heart and soul into what he was doing, and it didn't hurt that he was

Owen's sub and friends with Alex, who was fairly popular himself.

Sterling, after a few hours at the club watching the interplay between

Doms and their subs, and sometimes a scene played out in public, was a

handful, though, wound up, edgy, aroused, his emotions all over the place.

That could be channeled into something more productive for them both, but

Owen didn't always want to deal with him in that mood when his own arousal

and frustration were fraying his temper.

“Okay, that sounds fun.” Sterling set the album down and turned a little

in Owen's embrace, slipping an arm around Owen's waist and brushing his lips

against the edge of Owen's ear.

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Owen's body responded hopefully to Sterling's attention, cock stirring. It

wanted so badly to be bare and rubbing against Sterling's equally naked skin,

to slide its way into Sterling's body; waiting until Sterling's birthday was

becoming more and more difficult.

“I promise, no matter how hot I get, I won't ask you to fuck me,” Sterling

said solemnly, then sucked a spot just under Owen's ear.

The very fact that Sterling had brought the subject up made Owen feel

wary of what the night would bring in the way of nagging from a turned-on,

hyper sub whom he indulged far too much. “Good,” he said as neutrally as

possible. “Because the next time you do, I plan to introduce you to my favorite

ball gag.”

Okay, maybe that hadn't been quite as calm a reaction as he'd planned.

“Promises, promises,” Sterling said archly and pressed a kiss to Owen's

jaw. “What do you want me to wear?”

That brought back memories of Michael, who'd insisted on Owen choosing

every item he wore, every day. Part of Owen had gotten off on exercising that

much control, but there had been days when it had felt like being a parent, not

a Dom. Sterling suited him better, a realization that brought only the tiniest

twinges of guilt; Michael was too good a friend for Owen to truly mourn the loss

of him as a lover.

“A light coat of oil and you can choose where to put the peacock feather.”

Sterling laughed, a startled, full-out laugh that made him look young and

carefree. It was similar to the way he looked after a particularly intense session

during which he'd been allowed to come. “Maybe we should skip the peacock

feather, and everyone can just see me in my naked glory.” He stepped back and

pivoted, arms outspread.

“Oh, no,” Owen said. “That's just for me to see and appreciate. And I do.”

He let his gaze travel over Sterling and didn't have to fake the quick, hot rush

of lust he felt. “God, you make me want to—” He broke off, biting back the

words that would betray just how much he wanted exactly what Sterling was

begging for. He wanted to spank Sterling's ass scarlet and then fuck him, his

hands on the hot, hurting skin, wanted to push Sterling to his knees and

watch that mouth part obediently for his cock. He wanted to tie Sterling down

and ride him, drawing out their climaxes to the point where Sterling would be

sobbing for release, desperate, needy, perfect. “Go home, shower, and change,

then meet me back here. As for what to wear… You know what works at the

club, and you know what works for me.”

Sterling grinned and said two of Owen's favorite words in the English

language. “Yes, Owen.”

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101

Chapter Nine

It took Sterling more than an hour to get back to Owen's house—he hadn't

been told to hurry, so he hadn't, and he knew Owen wanted to see him looking

good when he returned, so he'd chosen his outfit carefully. His newest pair of

jeans, so tight that sitting down was uncomfortable. Black leather dress shoes,

the kind that slipped on and off easily. A black shirt made of a silky, satiny

fabric—but was some kind of synthetic, he was sure—with the top two buttons

left undone.

Owen opened the door as Sterling came up the steps and favored him with

a smile. “There you are.”

“I'm not late, am I?” A slight thrill of anxiety shot through Sterling even

though Owen hadn't specified when he should return and there certainly

hadn't been any dawdling on his part even if he hadn't rushed.

“No, but I was starting to wonder if something had delayed you.” Owen

came out onto the porch, still littered with furniture from their earlier task, and

shut and locked the front door. One hand settled at the base of Sterling's skull

and squeezed it possessively, making Sterling shiver. “Get in the car.”

“Yes, Owen.”

Owen gave him a speculative look. “You know, I was going to change that

to 'Yes, Sir' when you'd gotten a little more experience, but I'm not sure I will. I

like the way you say my name too much.”

“I like it too,” Sterling assured him. He was used to it now, though Alex

had seemed surprised about it when Sterling had mentioned it.

It didn't take long to get to the club—maybe twenty minutes. Owen didn't

seem inclined to talk, so Sterling kept quiet. He wanted to have a good time,

and his best chance of that was if Owen was in a good mood, and his best

chance of
that
was if things went Owen's way. And Sterling had learned to like

Owen's way because it got him all kinds of delicious things: spankings,

orgasms, and best of all, Owen's approval.

The parking lot behind the club was well lit but still kind of creepy; the

club itself was tucked behind a row of other buildings and looked, basically,

like a factory from the outside. Sterling remembered his first night and how

he'd been convinced he and Alex had the wrong address.

Now, even after only a dozen or so visits, it felt like somewhere he

belonged, and he got a kick out of going in there walking next to Owen, who

had this reputation for being difficult to please and picky as hell. Sterling didn't

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entirely agree with that, but if it got him some credit for being the sub who'd

put a smile on Owen's face, he'd go along with it.

The first familiar face he saw when they walked in was Alex, who was

carrying a drink to the guy who had to be his new Dom, eyes downcast.

Sterling watched Alex kneel, hand the glass to a tall, burly man with a neatly

trimmed moustache, and then settle into a waiting position, still on his knees.

“Sterling,” Owen said, his voice edged with reproof. “Don't stare, and pay

attention to me, please.”

That had been a difficult lesson to learn; the need to remember every

moment of the time in the club just who and what he was. Owen might be

telling him not to stare, but plenty of other people were looking to see if Owen's

sub slipped up, showed him up. Everything he did and said reflected on Owen,

and Sterling wanted to be perfect, for Owen and for himself. He hated being

second-best, or worse, failing altogether. That was one lesson learned from his

father that he didn't want to push aside and ignore.

Keeping his eyes down, Sterling followed Owen to the bar, where Owen

ordered himself a drink. Owen took his drink with a word of thanks to the

bartender, Saul, handed his glass to Sterling, and led the way to an empty

table not too far away. Sterling couldn't help looking around a little bit as he

shadowed Owen, but he managed to block out everyone else as Owen sat down

and he knelt beside him.

The first time he'd knelt at Owen's feet at the club, he'd been incredibly

self-conscious. Would people stare at him? What would they think? But he'd

learned that the floor was kept scrupulously clean, that most people either had

better sense than to stare or the right to, and that the only thing anyone was

thinking when they looked at him was how good he looked. Owen had assured

him of this, whispering it in his ear when they'd gone back to his house.

“Everyone was admiring you,” he'd murmured. “Seeing how pretty you are.

Wishing you belonged to them.”

He remembered that now, moisture beading on the outside of Owen's

glass at eye level.

It wasn't long before someone joined Owen at the table, a woman called

Elise, someone Sterling knew by name only. Her cheekbones were high slashes

in a thin face, her hair bleached white, a dramatic look she carried off with

poise. Owen kissed her on both cheeks, and they started to chat, their voices

low enough and the background music loud enough that Sterling couldn't

really follow the conversation. He didn't tune out exactly; Owen might want

him for something, and he had to be ready, but he found himself in an

increasingly familiar Zen-like state. Kneeling, his body automatically fitting

itself into the correct position, did that to him now, just as the touch of Owen's

hand grounded him.

He got that touch a little later, Owen's fingers stroking the side of his face,

encouraging him to raise his chin and meet Owen's gray eyes.

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103

“He's beautiful,” Elise commented, her accent foreign—French, maybe?

Sterling wasn't sure. He'd never been abroad. His father had stated often and

loudly that the States were good enough for him when it came to vacations.

“Not at all your usual type, though.”

“He is,” Owen replied, pinching Sterling's cheek. “And as for my

type…well, I've been told by someone whose opinion I value that he's exactly

what I like.”

“And who was that?” she demanded.

Sterling risked a swift glance at her and decided that she wasn't really

angry, though she was pretending to frown. There was a definite twinkle in her

eyes.

“Michael.”

“Ah! Yes, he would know, that one.” Elise nodded sagely, and Sterling felt

his mouth push out in a pout.

He'd been teased with just enough information about Michael to make him

jealous as hell. He knew that Michael had been Owen's most serious and only

long-term sub, that they'd parted on mutual agreement, and that Michael had

moved to New Zealand or Australia, maybe—somewhere insanely far away,

which was about the only reassuring thing about Michael's existence as far as

Sterling was concerned.

“Still, you've tended toward the easier ones,” Elise said. “This one doesn't

look easy at all. New, isn't he?”

“Yes,” Owen said. “A virgin, actually.”

It was hard not to feel affronted at Owen sharing such personal

information, because Sterling wasn't technically a virgin in any sense of the

word, not really. Still, he kept his eyes down and listened to the conversation