Bound and Determined (49 page)

for permission to fuck up into that circle of palm and fingers.

Only Owen could make getting jerked off such torturous, unbearable

pleasure. Maybe this was punishment for what he'd done, since Owen couldn't

spank him. Maybe this was going to happen over and over until his shoulder

was better, kept in this bed, Owen's bed, hard and aching, with Owen coming

to him and doing this hour after hour, making him sob out Owen's name,

begging for mercy without ever wanting that wish granted.

The thought of it made him even harder, brought another jolt of clear fluid

to the tip of his dick, fluid that Owen spread around with another firm slide of

his thumb. Sterling felt so sensitized that he couldn't bear it, like all the nerve

endings in his body had migrated to his cock and the rest of his body was left

with nothing.

His chest rose and fell in quick, short breaths, his left hand holding onto

the coffee cup in desperation. If he spilled the coffee—well, it wasn't hot enough

to burn him, not really, though it wouldn't feel good. He was more worried

about not getting to come. He wanted to come, wanted it so much, wanted to

see his dick pulsing in Owen's grip, wanted to see Owen's face as it happened.

Owen, who loved him and didn't think he was a huge fuckup. Who didn't think

he was a disappointment, and how that was even possible, Sterling couldn't

begin to guess.

“Please,” he gasped, holding rock-steady, not moving at all. “Please, Owen,

let me come. Can I? Tell me…”

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Owen held his gaze and then nodded. “Show me,” he said as he lifted the

hand that had been lying empty, palm up on his lap to his mouth. He licked

his middle finger, a swift curl of his tongue, and then rubbed it, wet, spit-slick,

through the fluid beading the tip of Sterling's cock, and brought it back up to

his mouth, tasting it with a slow lap of his tongue.

“Oh fuck,” Sterling whispered and came all over himself and Owen, eyes

locked on Owen's mouth. He was totally frozen except for his dick, which shot

what he was pretty sure was a record nine times as his toes curled and his

lungs locked up. He couldn't even make a sound until it was over, and then it

was a moan that escaped him as he shuddered and his shoulder made its

protest to the movement known.

“Let me take that,” Owen said, tugging on the coffee cup, and Sterling let

go gratefully, not caring at all that his back was probably imprinted with the

pattern of Owen's headboard.

“Would—would you tell me again?” Sterling asked. He was still breathing

heavily, but he needed to hear it.

Owen gave him an amused look. “Well, you already came, so I assume

you're talking about the other thing. And yes, I will.” Leaning in close, he

brushed his lips over Sterling's, then said, “I love you.”

It was such a relief that Sterling sighed and closed his eyes. “I don't know

why you would, but—I'm so fucking glad. You have no idea.” The past couple of

days had been so hard.

“I think I do,” Owen said, his voice dry enough to make Sterling open his

eyes again. “I suppose it didn't occur to you that I feel the same way?” He

picked up one of the pillows that had gotten pushed to the bottom of the bed

during the night and tucked it behind Sterling's back. “Better?” Sterling

nodded gratefully. “I don't know what you see in me, beyond the fact that I

know which buttons you like having pressed, but we can bill and coo over each

other when we're less…damp.” Owen took a handful of tissues from the box

beside the bed and gave Sterling's stomach a brisk rub. “I'm going to get you

into the shower; they said that you could take your sling off, so don't worry

about that.”

“A shower sounds good,” Sterling said with total sincerity. He wanted to

symbolically scrub every trace of Kirk off him. “A really long one.”

“I'll share it with you,” Owen said. “You can do some more standing still

while I take care of you.”

Like always, Owen meant what he said—he didn't let Sterling lift a finger

in the shower, just told him to stand there. Owen washed him down, starting

with shampooing his hair and working his way all the way down to Sterling's

ankles, with particular interest in the sounds Sterling made when underarms

and balls were concentrated on. Not that Sterling's cock seemed capable of

stirring right then, which he had to admit was kind of a relief; he wasn't sure if

Owen was going to let him come again anytime soon.

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211

“Can I go get my stuff after breakfast?” Sterling asked as Owen turned him

under the spray. “It won't take long. I just don't want to leave it there.”

“
You
can't,” Owen said. “But we can go together. I wasn't kidding when I

said I didn't intend to let you out of my sight, for a couple of days at least. I

take it you weren't staying with Alex, or he would have brought your things

with your car.”

“No, just a hotel.” There were a lot of things that went along with that that

Sterling didn't say, like that it had been lonely and boring and then eventually

further tainted by his father's visit.

“I see,” was all that Owen said. “Well, luckily Alex did have the sense to

put your coat and shirt in the car; I brought them in earlier.”

Owen was running his hands over Sterling's chest as he spoke, checking

for soap residue, Sterling supposed. It was distracting like it always was when

Owen was touching him, but there was a new element to the way Owen

handled him; more possessive, definitely more loving, as if saying the words

had allowed Owen to demonstrate just how he felt. Each outwardly mundane

action as Owen bathed him felt like a disguised caress.

The water was shut off, leaving them standing in a steamy, ringing silence.

Owen was so close that their bodies touched; arms, chests, their knees

bumping. The kiss was inevitable, and Sterling closed his eyes, welcoming the

slick thrust of Owen's tongue against his.

“You might wish I didn't love you,” Owen murmured. “I'm going to be so

much stricter with you now, so much more demanding.” His hand slipped

between their bodies, and Sterling moaned as Owen cupped and rolled his

balls. “I hope you enjoyed this morning, because that's not going to happen

again for a few days. I like you desperate, begging me to come. For me,

though… Months of denying myself the feel of your mouth on me… I don't see

any reason why that state of affairs should continue, do you?”

Once Sterling figured out what that meant—okay, maybe he
was
a little

slow, but he'd blame it on the meds from the night before—he found himself

genuinely shocked. “You mean—we don't have to wait until my birthday?”

“There doesn't seem much point now, does there? Between us, we've

broken that rule a couple of times already. I think I can trust you not to inform

the college of my breach of ethics.”

“You can,” Sterling said eagerly. “I wouldn't—I'd never do anything to hurt

you.
Never
.”

Owen patted his hip and nodded. “I know. I do trust you. And it's been a

very long time since I've been able to say that to someone I was involved with,

so I hope you appreciate that it actually means something. Now come on—let's

get you dressed and fed, and we'll go over to the hotel and get your things.”

* * * * *

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Walking into the hotel room was more difficult than it should have been,

even with Owen right there beside him. His father seemed to still be there, the

echo of his words, the sneer on his face.

The gifts he'd brought back.

Owen had pointed at the bed and told Sterling to sit on it and not move,

an order Sterling knew he was going to protest eventually, when his shoulder

had healed, but not today, and started to pack up Sterling's scattered

belongings with swift efficiency. When he got to the bag with the presents, he

paused. One present had fallen out, lying on the floor. Owen picked it up and

read the tag, then turned to look at Sterling. “You brought them back with

you? Would you like to mail them to your mother and sister?”

Sterling shook his head slightly, not knowing how to explain.

Owen put the present back in the bag, then looked at Sterling. He'd

missed the shake of Sterling's head, but now saw the expression on his face.

“What is it?”

“My father. He brought them.”

Frowning, Owen straightened up. “You left them at your house and he

brought them here?”

“It's not my house.” Sterling grimaced. “I'm not allowed to talk to them or

go home unless I get his permission first, and I can only ask for that if I'm

willing to give up my 'deviant lifestyle.'” He smiled at Owen, or tried to. “He

doesn't know the half of it, does he?”

“He doesn't know you at all,” Owen said, walking over to him. “He looks at

you and misses everything that any father would be proud of and focuses on

the one thing you can't change—don't
need
to change. Do I have to tell you how

stupid of him that is? How it reflects badly on him, not you?” Owen exhaled

sharply, his expression reflecting his distress. “God, I'm so fucking sorry,

Sterling.” He put his hand lightly on Sterling's injured shoulder, no weight to

the touch. “So this is his fault.”

The temptation to blame his own stupidity on his father was strong, but

Sterling thought it was better not to. “No, it's mine. I knew better. I knew Kirk

wasn't what I wanted, but at the time it seemed like something was better than

nothing, you know?” He was looking into Owen's eyes earnestly. “I'll never

make that mistake again, I promise.” With Owen right there, owning him, it

was the easiest promise in the world to make.

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213

Chapter Eighteen

“Yes, he's fine. He had a second MRI last week, and the doctor thinks that

surgery will be necessary, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it;

Sterling doesn't want to schedule it until the semester is over.” It was late

spring, and Owen was on the phone with Michael, who he'd also called the day

after Sterling's injury. He'd known Michael would calm him down after his

rage-inducing conversation with Kirk—who had, to be fair, been extremely

apologetic and offered to pay Sterling's medical bills. Which wasn't the issue;

Owen would have been more than happy to pay them himself, but Sterling was

still a student and covered under his father's insurance.

Like he'd expected, Michael had done a perfect job of soothing him, and

he'd been able to hang up after twenty minutes and go back to the drowsy

Sterling without clenching his fists and grinding his teeth.

Now, with Sterling upstairs getting ready for their first trip to the club

since he'd been hurt, Owen was comfortably seated on the couch and had

Michael on the other end of the line checking up on them.

“Well, I'm glad he's feeling better,” Michael said, just a suspicion of a

knowing smile in the words, “but what I really want to know is, does he pay

rent, and if so, how?”

Owen rolled his eyes tolerantly. Thousands of miles away, and he still

knew exactly what Michael looked like right now, mischievous and impertinent.

Years ago, he'd have dealt with it by spanking him until all that sass turned

into sizzle, but that wasn't his responsibility anymore. Sterling and

Michael…very different men, but they both knew exactly how to get what they

wanted from him.

“Yes, he does, as it happens.” A nominal one, anyway. “The basement's

self-contained, with a door that locks, and as far as the university is

concerned, he's a tenant, no more. There's been some gossip, but nothing I

can't deal with, and Sterling's very good at brushing off questions he doesn't

want to answer.”

“But he doesn't actually live down there, right?” Michael asked, his

curiosity evident.

“He uses it,” Owen replied. “I wanted him to have a place of his own,

somewhere to entertain his friends. He sleeps with me, of course.”

The basement bedroom had become somewhere they used now and then

for role-playing, with Sterling showing a playful inventiveness that spurred an

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initially reluctant Owen on. Sterling loved assuming another identity for an

hour or two, throwing himself into each role with enthusiasm.

“Well, of course,” Michael said. “And how are things with his family?”