Bound and Determined (40 page)

knowledge gave Owen was as heady as the reality would be.

But as much as Owen wanted Sterling's mouth on him, wanted Sterling

tied, sobbing, smiling as he was taken slowly, slow enough that Owen would be

lightheaded from holding back, dizzy with the need to fuck Sterling hard and

deep…this wasn't the time. For the sake of discipline, it wouldn't do to have

Sterling get what he wanted just for the asking, no matter how much Owen

wanted it too. He'd make Sterling wait.

Just a little bit longer.

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He needed
something
now, though, and so did Sterling. Owen leaned his

weight on Sterling, his hands on either side of him, and kissed him, his tongue

deep in Sterling's mouth, welcomed, accepted, even as Sterling whimpered and

wriggled, not to escape the pressure on his ass, but to increase it.

“You're such a slut,” Owen whispered into Sterling's ear, using standard

phrases he'd said to other men and women, but never with so much conviction,

so much yearning. “Such a good boy.” He shoved his hand up inside Sterling's

T-shirt, casually, without asking, and thumbed a nipple to hardness. “I could

clamp these. Make you shovel snow with them swollen, burning, aching so

much, but I think I'll save that for later, when I can watch your face, see in

your eyes just how much you're loving it.”

Sterling moaned softly and turned his head, begging for another kiss, his

lips so eager that Owen couldn't possibly have denied him, not when he wanted

it too. He stroked Sterling's tongue with his own, one hand at the back of

Sterling's neck to steady him.

“I could kneel for you,” Sterling murmured, gasping as Owen pinched his

nipple again. “Let me, please?”

When Owen didn't answer right away, Sterling apparently took silence as

consent, moving half a step sideways to give himself room to kneel on the floor

at Owen's feet. Sterling rubbed his cheek against Owen's thigh, then against

his hardening cock, breathed hot air through the fabric of Owen's slacks.

“God, I love it when you're like this,” Owen said and was shocked by how

uneven his voice was, “but you've got to stop—Sterling, we only just had

breakfast, dammit.”

Sterling glanced up, startled, grinning. “We're not supposed to do this

after breakfast? Is that a rule I should remember? Maybe write down

somewhere?”

Owen took hold of a handful of Sterling's silky hair and tugged at it

playfully. “Don't you dare. We can do this 24/7—but not when we have snow to

dig.” He nodded at the window. “Look, it's slowing down. Let's get dressed—I've

got spare boots if you need them—and make a start.”

Maybe the snow would cool his ardor down to the point where he could

look at Sterling without wanting him to the point of compromising his

principles, but he wasn't holding out much hope of that. Snow was only frozen

water, after all, and it couldn't work miracles.

It could, however, exhaust him in his efforts to move it. Forty minutes in,

the back of his shirt was clinging to his back with sweat, and he'd abandoned

his hat, preferring to let snowflakes fall onto his hair and neck than chance

overheating. Sterling, who was working on the heavy barricade of snow and ice

that the plow had left at the end of the driveway, had taken off his jacket and

draped it over the trunk of his snow-coated car. His cheeks and nose were red

with the cold, but he labored on, though Owen noted that he shoveled left-

handed exclusively instead of switching the shovel from side to side the way he

did himself.

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“Whew!” Sterling called to him a minute or so later. “This is almost done—

do you want me to move over to the neighbor's? Which one is it?”

“The little white one,” Owen said, pointing, and watched as Sterling found

the sidewalk and started shoveling in the direction of Sarah's house. Thirsty,

Owen retreated back to the house for some water for them both. The warm air

inside, which had seemed pleasantly comfortable, now felt like soup, thick and

muggy. Owen kicked off his boots and went to turn the thermostat down,

leaving a trail of melting snow behind him. He drank at the tap, long, greedy

swallows, and then put two bottles of water into his coat before heading back

outside.

Sterling had stopped work, not for what Owen imagined was a much-

needed rest, but to talk to Sarah. She had braved the slippery paths and was

smiling up at Sterling, her white hair hidden under a jaunty knitted cap in

purple and green. Owen grinned when he saw that Sterling's shovel had been

propped against a snow bank to free his hands for a large cup of something

steaming gently in the frigid air.

“Owen!” Sarah called when she saw him. “This kind young man is digging

up all my snow and tells me that you told him to do it, so I'm afraid I've given

him the cocoa I intended for you. If you give me a moment, I'll be out in a jiffy

with some for you.”

Owen smothered a smile. Sarah had grown up in England and still

peppered her conversation with phrases that he'd learned to translate. “No

need,” he said, walking up to them. “I just had a long drink of water, and I'm

sloshing.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you too. I suppose you're grateful we didn't get all

this snow yesterday, or your holiday plans at your friends' house would have

been a bit more challenging to get to.” Sarah was wearing one mitten that

matched her hat and holding the other in her bare hand.

“I would have had this one with me to help,” Owen said, gesturing at

Sterling.

Sarah smiled, looking puzzled. “That was a surprise.”

“It was,” Owen agreed. “Sterling's plans changed suddenly, so I was lucky

enough to have the pleasure of his company.”

With a strained smile and a hasty last swallow of cocoa, Sterling handed

the cup back to Sarah and said, “Thank you very much, it was delicious. I

should get back to work.” He turned, picked up his shovel, and went back to

the end of the driveway.

Sarah frowned and leaned in closer. “Did I say something to upset your

young friend?”

“He's just keen to finish the job,” Owen said diplomatically. “Full of

energy.”

“Ah, I remember those days,” Sarah said. She shook her head. “Now, it's

all I can do to keep up with my little hobbies.”

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As her various clubs occupied her five days out of the seven, Owen wasn't

surprised. Sarah had energy to burn, even if she was now too frail for

strenuous physical activities. He stayed chatting with her for a few minutes

longer until, shivering, she retreated back to her house, crowded with

photographs, books, and plants, and ruled over by a despotic cat called, most

appropriately, Satan.

Owen watched her until she'd gone inside and then walked over to

Sterling, who gave him a sidelong glance and continued to shovel.

“Take a break,” Owen said.

“I'm almost done.”

“Consider it an order, if it makes you happier,” Owen said mildly. “Stop

what you're doing and look at me.”

Sterling speared his shovel into the deep pile of snow beside the driveway

and, hands on his hips, glared at Owen defiantly. There was snow caked on the

cuffs of his sweater and sprinkled over his hair, and his ears were red with the

cold. “What?” he snapped.

“You took the words out of my mouth—except I might have phrased it a

little more politely. What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” Sterling brought one hand up to his head and ruffled it through

his hair, doubling the snow falling around him for a short moment. When

Owen continued to look at him, he sighed and let both hands dangle at his

sides. “I just figured she'd ask about what happened, and then there'd have to

be this whole explanation about how my father can't stand to look at me, and I

just didn't want to have to be there for it, okay? People are curious, I get it, but

that doesn't mean I want to participate.”

“There's absolutely no need to go into that much detail with a stranger,”

Owen said. “Not that Sarah would have pried, but if anyone does, just brush

them off. You don't owe anyone an explanation when it involves something that

personal.” Sterling looked so dejected and defiant that Owen wished they were

inside, just the two of them, where he could have hugged him, kissed the smile

back onto lips drooping at the corners. “Yesterday—I didn't tell Gary and Jake

any details, you know. They just filled in the gaps from their own experiences

of parents who don't deserve to be.”

“Yeah, I figured. It was fine. I actually felt pretty comfortable with them.”

Sterling sounded like it had come as a surprise.

“They liked you,” Owen told him, trying to feel out what might coax a smile

out of the boy. “And believe me when I say they don't like everyone, so that

means something.”

“I liked them too. It was kind of cool, hanging out with people who are

so…you know,
out
. I haven't really done that before.”

Owen laughed, the sound not carrying far; the snow was coming down

more heavily again, already covering ground their shovels had scraped clear.

“Oh, they're most definitely out. They're good people. Totally focused on the

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173

theater, just to warn you; when they start work on their next production, don't

be surprised if they try to rope you in. When you told them you'd done some

acting, I saw their eyes light up.”

“That's cool. I'd probably enjoy it more than some of the parties my

roommate has dragged me to, even if one of them
did
sort of lead me to you.”

Sterling
finally
smiled, just a little bit; it was scary how Owen's heart lifted at

the sight of it. “I should finish this,” he added, gesturing at the snow at their

feet.

“I'll help you clear to the edge of Sarah's fence,” Owen said, “but I think

we're fighting a losing battle here.”

“Hey!” Owen turned and saw a man waving at him from the opposite side

of the street, a tall, bulky figure he recognized as a neighbor, though he didn't

know the man's name. He was standing by a snowblower that looked like it'd

seen a lot of winters. “I'm going to fire this baby up, and I can finish off Sarah's

sidewalk. You two look like you could use a break.”

“Say yes,” Sterling muttered under his breath. “Please say yes.”

“Thanks,” Owen called back, only too happy to accept the offer. The

snowblower would leave a neat, wide path in a matter of minutes, and he

wasn't
that
keen on digging. “Appreciate it.”

The man raised his hand in acknowledgement, and a moment later the

noisy clatter of the snowblower made any further conversation impossible.

Owen pointed toward the house and tilted his head in that direction, and

Sterling nodded. Together, they started trudging back toward his house

through snow that had fallen since Sterling had shoveled the same space—

maybe they should have waited until later in the day to start, Owen thought,

though looking up at the sky, he'd swear it was lighter than it had been.

Sterling picked up his jacket and gloves from the back of his car—all of

them coated with snow—on their way past, then shook them off as they were

going up the stairs. “I wonder how long this is supposed to go on,” Sterling

said. “I guess it snowed like this when I was a kid, but then I was happy about

it because it meant school got cancelled. Plus I didn't have to shovel.” He

grinned and held the screen door for Owen.

“Well, neither of us has to be anywhere,” Owen said. “I don't think it'll

keep us housebound for long, though; the Weather Channel seemed to think

that we were getting the edge of the storm.”

They hung their wet clothes in the small utility room where they could

drip onto tiles, not wood, and Owen started a fresh pot of coffee. “What would

you like to do with the rest of the day?” he asked. “If it clears up, we could go

for a walk around Jasper's Pond and maybe eat a late lunch at a pub in town.

The Fiddle and Firkin has a good menu.” He was at a loss; having someone

staying with him was a rare occurrence, and even Sterling wouldn't want to

spend the whole time naked… Well, if he did, Owen wouldn't let him.

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“Whatever.” Sterling shrugged. “If you have work you have to do, that's

fine—I can read a book or something. Don't feel like you have to entertain me.