Bound and Determined (39 page)

“Doesn't the city do that?” Sterling asked with another yawn as

punctuation.

Owen rolled his eyes. “They do the roads. The driveway and sidewalk will

need to be cleared by us. I usually take care of the digging for Sarah, the lady

next door, too. She's in her late seventies, and it's just too much for her.” He

relented and gave Sterling a kiss on his sleep-softened mouth. “And I have

cookies. Lots of them. Sarah's not too old to bake, and she brought me a

basket of fancy ones on Christmas Eve. She's part of a cookie exchange with

some of her book club friends, and six dozen assorted cookies is too much for

one old lady, or at least that's what she tells me. If you're very good, I might let

you have one or two of them, but touch the chocolate ginger ones and prepare

to face my wrath.”

“Oh, I'm scared.” Sterling smirked and winced again. “Ow. Okay, maybe I

really
am
scared.” He was smiling, though.

“Go take a long, hot shower,” Owen said. “You'll feel better. Then we'll

have breakfast before we brave the wide outdoors.”

“We could buy a snowblower instead,” Sterling suggested as he got up.

“One, they're most likely sold out; two, shoveling is good exercise; and

three, we'd still have to shovel to get the car out to go and buy the blower, and

once we'd done that, we wouldn't need it.”

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“I suppose you think you're smart,” Sterling said and stuck his tongue

out, which made him look much, much younger.

“Think? No. Know? Yes.” Owen got out of bed, pulled on his robe, then

beckoned to Sterling. “Come here.”

Sterling walked back to him, moving cautiously. The day after always hurt

the most, or so Michael had told Owen more than once. Owen turned him and

examined Sterling's ass. The marks that the crop had left, thin, starkly purple

lines of bruising, were surrounded by fainter bruising on skin that felt rough

and warm against Owen's palm. “I'll put some arnica on after your shower, and

you're to let me know if you're in pain.”

Sterling shrugged without replying, and Owen tapped him on the hip, a

chiding slap. “I mean it; if you push yourself too far, I won't be happy. You

showed me last night that you can speak up, but I could tell that you didn't

like doing it. It's not a failure, ever, to ask me to stop; you get that, right?”

The look Sterling gave him was an uncertain one, but the boy was smart

enough to give the right answer even if he wasn't wise enough to believe it.

“Yes.”

Owen sighed. “No, you don't. Sit down.”

Cautiously, Sterling sat.

“Now listen to me. Knowing your limits is one of the most important

things, and the fact that you recognized yours and let me know you needed to

stop shows me that you might actually be mature enough to handle this

relationship.” Owen put a hand on Sterling's thigh just above his knee. “That's

a good thing, Sterling.”

“I know.” Sterling nodded. “I do! I believe you.”

“But?”

Sterling slipped his own hand underneath Owen's, turning it so their

fingers could interlace. “But that doesn't make it any easier. It
feels
like failing,

and that's not a feeling I like.”

“Nobody does,” Owen said bluntly, “but I've never—ever—had a long-term

sub who didn't use a yellow-light word at least once, and to be honest, if you

hadn't used yours soon, I'd have pushed you until you did. You
need
those

words; they're not just window dressing. I can see what you're going through,

and read the signs, but when all's said and done, it's quite literally your ass on

the line.”

Sterling shifted position on the bed as if the reminder of what his ass felt

like had made it hurt more, and Owen squeezed his hand in an automatic

gesture of reassurance.

“There's more to it than the physical aspect too; something that you can

handle easily one day can become overwhelming another time because of the

mood you're in. I'm not even talking about pain here; if you were depressed and

feeling isolated, and I gave you an hour in the corner for mouthing off to me,

that might push you to the point where you couldn't handle being ignored a

Bound and Determined

167

second longer.” Owen wished he could believe that any of what he was saying

was sinking in. “Using them to get out of something boring isn't allowed—and

yes, I'd know if you were, and you would
not
enjoy what happened next—but

using them in need is in no way a failure. Ask around; talk to your friend Alex.

You'll find that I'm right. To keep what we're doing safe, we both have to be

responsible, not just me. This is for pleasure, yes, a game, if you like—but it

has rules and safeguards, and they're there for a reason.”

He sighed and ran his free hand through his tousled hair. “Okay, you

know what, it's just too damned early for a lecture. I need coffee. Go grab your

shower and I'll start a pot.”

While Sterling was in the shower, Owen made his coffee and sat at the

small kitchen table drinking a cup. He could hear the water running upstairs,

so he'd know when Sterling was done and he could take a turn himself.

His plan for the day was to keep Sterling busy and relaxed. After an

intense scene like the one the night before, what Sterling needed most was

some time for reflection, not to mention time to come down off the high that

those levels of endorphins produced.

They'd need a decent breakfast, not just cookies (tempting though that

thought was). He'd gone shopping a couple of days before and stocked up in

preparation for his time off, so there was plenty of food in the house—they

could have soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and maybe order

pizza for dinner if the storm had settled down by then. A glance out of the

window showed Owen that the snow was really accumulating, the world veiled

with its icy white curtain as it fell.

The shower shut off, and from upstairs Sterling called, “I'm done!”

Owen drained his cup and went upstairs, contemplating the thought of

Sterling damp and flushed from a shower because it was considerably more

appealing than thinking about the coming hours of shoveling. He'd take a

shower now to freshen up, but he promised himself a long soak in the tub

later. He'd need it.

Spreading arnica over Sterling's ass made an interesting coda to the

spanking. Stoic during the spanking, Sterling lay on the bed and squirmed,

whined, and whimpered throughout the application of the cream, yelping “ow!”

and complaining about being ticklish until Owen's grin became outright

laughter.

“You're a baby,” Owen informed him. “Cute as a button, but a complete

wimp. It really helps the bruising.”

“That stuff's cold and slimy.” Sterling rolled to his side and pouted, his

lower lip thrust out dramatically. Oh, yes. Cute as hell. “And I
like
the bruises.”

“You spent at least five minutes admiring them in the bathroom mirror,

didn't you?” Owen said resignedly. It wasn't a guess.

“At least,” Sterling agreed, wholly unrepentant. “I wonder if they'll last

until the new semester starts?”

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Jane Davitt & Alexa Snow

“I doubt it. You seem to heal fairly quickly.” Owen screwed the top back

onto the arnica cream and stood up. “Now get dressed and we'll have some

breakfast.”

They ate a leisurely meal of fried eggs and toast, with some cantaloupe on

the side that Sterling complained about.

“It's important to eat a balanced diet,” Owen told him.

“I just don't like melon,” Sterling said, though he ate it. “Not even

watermelon. I don't know why—it has a weird texture, I guess.”

Owen ate the last of his toast, then said, “It's always one complaint or

another with you.”

That made Sterling stop and think. “Really?”

“No, not really.” It had just been something to say.

“No, I mean, do I complain too much? I know that was one of the reasons I

pissed you off when I was in your class. I'll try to stop, if you're serious.”

Sterling was looking at him earnestly.

“Sterling…” It wasn't often that Owen felt at a loss, but he did then. “I'm

not going to say that you didn't annoy me in class, because we both know that

you did, and quite deliberately too, but no, I don't think that you complain too

much. It was a stupid thing to say; I was just joking, that's all. Ignore me.

Seriously. I like you just the way you are.” He gestured at what was left of the

melon. “Eat it; leave it. Your choice. There're some raspberries left over from

the cheesecake in the fridge if you'd prefer them.”

“This is fine,” Sterling said. “Mine was a stupid thing to say too. It's just

melon—it's not like you were asking me to eat lima beans or okra or something

really gross.” He grinned a little bit, seeming to have recovered his good humor.

“For the record, I hate okra.”

“Good to know,” Owen said. “I'm not a big fan of it myself. And I won't

touch cauliflower.”

Sterling left the last slice of cantaloupe untouched on his plate and sat

back in his chair. “What
do
you like? I mean, what are your favorite foods?”

“Chocolate,” Owen said promptly. “And I like spicy foods, if they're not too

hot; I like the taste, not the heat. Duck, the way they do it in France, all juicy

and rare…anything really fresh from the garden, just picked… God, lots of

things.” He smiled. “But mostly chocolate.”

“I'll remember that,” Sterling said, and Owen wondered if something

chocolate might make an appearance as a future gift. Sterling stood and picked

up his dishes, taking them to the sink to be rinsed and gazing out the window

while he was there. “Wow, that snow is really coming down.”

Owen followed him to the sink, carrying his own collection of plate, cup,

and cutlery. Once his hands were free, he stood behind Sterling, his arms

around him in a loose hug, and stared at the whirlwind of flakes. It looked wild

out there, the familiar shapes of bushes and paths all but obliterated. “Still

want to make a snowman?”

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169

“Maybe, if it stops.” It didn't look like there was any chance of that

happening anytime soon. Sterling sighed contentedly. “This is nice.”

“Watching a blizzard from indoors? Because you won't think so once we're

out in it.”

“I just meant being here with you,” Sterling said.

For the second time that morning, Owen felt blindsided. Sterling was so

open about his feelings, his emotions expressed without reserve or

embarrassment. It wasn't that Owen didn't share his opinion on the simple

comfort of being with someone he liked with nothing to do but enjoy his

company while outside the snow blanketed the earth, but he didn't think that

he would have said it so freely.

“You're very romantic, aren't you?” he said lightly. “Should I expect a

dozen roses on Valentine's Day?”

Sterling turned in his loose embrace, which rubbed his sore behind

against the countertop and made him wince briefly. “A dozen dozen, if I could

afford it and I didn't think you'd be, I don't know, offended.” He searched

Owen's eyes. “You know—some guys are anti-flowers. For themselves, I mean.

Are you?”

“I don't think I've ever had anyone give me flowers,” Owen said. An

unaccustomed tenderness made him smile into Sterling's anxious eyes and

answer him seriously. “I think I'd like it if you gave me some, but not that

many. Two roses. One white, one red.” He gave Sterling's ass the lightest of

touches, cupping the curve of it without applying any pressure. “I'll leave it up

to you to work out the symbolism of the colors.”

“Valentine's Day is still a couple of months away, but I think I can

remember that long,” Sterling said. Deliberately he shifted backward, a small

sound of pain escaping him as the pressure on his bruises increased. “And if

you think I might forget, you can give me reminders.”

Tenderness gave way to lust, pure and simple, an arousal so immediate

that Owen couldn't keep it from showing in his expression. Sterling's eyes

darkened, his lips parting. One gesture from him, Owen knew, and Sterling

would be dropping to his knees, waiting to be told what to do, how he could

please Owen, his mouth opening readily to be filled by Owen's fingers, then his

cock. Sterling's capacity to give and submit seemed limitless, and the rush that