Read Bound and Determined Online
Authors: Jane Davitt,Alexa Snow
then kicked at Sterling's ankle. “Spread your legs wider.”
That
was what proved
to be too much; the pressure and unnatural position, arms stretched tight,
made his shoulder joint scream.
Sterling took half a step back, colliding with Kirk's groin—he hadn't
realized the other man was so close, but that had definitely been Kirk's dick
against his ass cheek—in his attempt to lessen the strain.
“Eager for it, aren't you?” Kirk sounded smug.
“This isn't going to work for me,” Sterling said firmly. “It's not that I don't
want to—I have an old—” Before he could finish what he'd been about to say, to
explain that they'd need to find another position, the promised gag was being
forced between his teeth. That was when he remembered they'd never even
talked
about a safe word, not that he'd have been able to speak it with a gag in
his mouth.
Kirk grabbed onto Sterling's ass with both hands and squeezed it,
spreading his cheeks and letting his thumbs brush over Sterling's wet, slick
hole. “You just keep your mouth shut and listen. I'm going to give you the best
fucking of your life—you're going to
love
it. Didn't I tell you to spread your legs
wider?” He kicked Sterling's ankle again, and Sterling's foot slid eight inches to
the right. Panicked as the shriek of agony in his shoulder flared white-hot,
Sterling tugged hard with his left arm, trying to find his balance.
It didn't work, and he felt a sickening pop as his right shoulder, never
really recovered from the long-ago injury, was wrenched from its socket.
Sterling screamed, choking on the gag. He couldn't move because he was
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hanging from his wrist, and his fucking
arm
was fucking
dislocated
, and most
of his conscious thought fled in the face of the pain.
He was dimly aware of Kirk's annoyed voice and Alex's alarmed one, and
then someone was lifting him, holding onto him with both arms around his
chest, taking his weight. That just made the pain shriek in new but equally
agonizing ways, and he screamed again, his throat and lungs torn by it.
“Get the gag out,” Alex said, and Sterling
would
have, but his hands were
tied. How was he supposed to—
The gag was removed. Sterling knew he had to relay what was going on.
Talking around the pain seemed impossible, but he managed a tight,
“Dislocated,” from between clenched teeth, and Alex swore and told Kirk to
undo the restraints.
“I didn't do anything!” Kirk said, fumbling at the straps, his movements
seeming unbearably clumsy and slow. Sterling fought to breathe through the
agony, but screaming helped more than oxygen, and he just couldn't stop
doing it, sucking in enough air to fuel the next one. “Look, make him stop
that,” Kirk snapped. “Someone might hear him.” He glanced at Sterling. “God,
be quiet
.”
“Kirk!” Alex sounded upset, worried, but he wasn't panicking, and there
was an edge to his voice. “Shut the fuck up, okay? Just get him untied.” Alex,
one arm around Sterling, reached up to undo the restraint on his side, freeing
Sterling's injured arm at last. His wrist slipped, and Alex caught it, lowering it
slowly. It didn't help much with the pain. Sterling's arm jutted out awkwardly,
stiffly, his forearm twisted, freakish.
“Got it,” Kirk said with an air of triumph as he finally managed to undo
the other strap. “There.”
Sterling, supported by Alex, stumbled back a step or two. The room was
spinning around him, but he clung to consciousness. No way was he going to
pass out in this room, though throwing up all over Kirk had its appeal. He
cradled his arm as best he could, panting heavily. Had it hurt this much
before?
Kirk folded his arms and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Okay, this is what
we need to do. First, we get our stories straight—”
“First, we get Sterling to the emergency room,” Alex said as he led Sterling
to a chair by the wall. It had straps hanging off it, but Sterling didn't care. He
sat down, his skin clammy, waves of heat and cold chasing over him. “Jesus,
Kirk, how much of an asshole are you? He's hurting here and all you can think
about is yourself.” As he spoke, Alex gathered up Sterling's clothes and his own
and took them over to Sterling.
“Just…the pants,” Sterling grated out. He was trying to support his bad
arm as best he could, but he couldn't find a position for it that hurt less than
the others. Okay, they'd go to the hospital. The doctors would give him
something for the pain, so it wouldn't hurt so much. While he repeated this to
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himself, Alex got dressed and then helped him into his jeans—no underwear,
that was fine, right then Sterling didn't care—and then his sneakers, no socks.
Alex looked conflicted, like he wanted to help Sterling stand up but didn't
know where to touch him to do it. Sterling appreciated not being touched; he
got to his feet on his own, shaky and gritting his teeth, and Alex tugged his
jeans up over his hips and fastened them.
“You can't mention my name,” Kirk was saying, like anyone was listening.
He was fully dressed again now, but his boots were off, and the sight of his feet
in bright red socks sticking out from under leather pants looked absurd. “I'll
lose my job, I'll—”
“I won't,” Sterling said. God, it was December, and he was going to go
outside without a shirt, and that was actually preferable to the alternative
because it meant he wouldn't have to put one on. “As far as I'm concerned, you
don't even exist.” It felt good to say it—was the only thing that felt good just
then.
Going up the stairs felt like a week's journey, and then getting into the
car, lowering himself onto the seat and swinging his legs in, hurt so much that
he almost passed out. The only reason he didn't let himself was because he
knew he'd come to again in this same pain, and he was pretty sure that would
suck even more.
“It's gonna be okay,” Alex said. “Jesus. Do you want me to roll down the
window?”
In case you have to puke
was the rest of that sentence, left unspoken, and
Sterling said, “Yes,” because it was his car, since it had been blocking Alex's in,
and he didn't want to puke in his own car.
The wind was icy as they drove to the hospital, freezing the sickly sweat
that Sterling seemed to be covered with. He closed his eyes and tried his best to
let the pain take him deeper, the way it had when things were good, but it
didn't seem to work and he wasn't sure why.
“I am so fucking sorry,” Alex said after a while.
Talking was an effort he didn't want to make, but Sterling gave a grunt
that he hoped translated to “not your fault” even though a small part of him
did
want to blame Alex for hooking up with a jerk. Which wasn't fair at all.
“He's not usually like that,” Alex went on, hunched over the wheel as if
that would make the car go faster. “Well, I mean, yeah, he is, but it's okay, you
know? I get off on it and so does he, and it all just sort of works for us, but
you… I think you made him nervous.”
That was so ridiculous that it distracted Sterling from the pain for a brief
moment. “What?”
Alex gave him an apologetic look and then swore as a light turned red,
forcing him to brake. “God, we're never going to get there… Kirk's been around
awhile, but not
that
long, and he's sort of on the fringes, you know? Not that
well-known. He hates that. And you're Owen's and he
is
well-known, and he
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knows everyone and everyone looks up to him. Getting to play with you was
like a fucking dream come true, like borrowing someone's fucking Ferrari, but
he was panicking in case he didn't measure up.”
“He didn't,” Sterling said.
“I know.” Alex was quiet for the rest of the drive until a muttered, “Thank
God,” as they drove into the parking lot outside the ER. “Hang out; I'll get
someone with a wheelchair.”
The thought of that was too unsettling. Sterling said, “No. I can walk.”
“Yeah, but should you?” Alex asked but came around and opened the
passenger door, then stood there as Sterling, with much whimpering, eased
himself out. “You must be freezing.”
He wasn't, actually, but he could feel himself breaking out in a fresh
round of cold sweat. He clutched his forearm more tightly; it was impossible to
walk without jarring his shoulder, and his head was spinning. “Gonna pass
out,” he managed; the edges of his vision were going black with sparkles.
It was kind of pretty, he thought as hands bent him at the waist and he
sat down onto something that felt, to his ass, like a swing. He was moving. Was
he at the park? Was it a nice enough day to be at the park? And why the fuck
did his arm hurt so much?
Bright lights drove away the darkness, and Sterling dropped his head to
his chest, shutting his eyes tightly. “Okay, get him on the gurney,” someone
said, and he screamed as his shoulder became the only part of his body he
could feel. “Okay, okay. Try to relax.”
That was the stupidest thing Sterling had ever heard in his life. Relax?
Hell, he was still screaming, and someone was touching him. He swatted at
them—that
hurt
, he didn't want anyone touching him, he just wanted Owen.
Someone tried to hold him down by his good shoulder to keep him from
moving, and he shouted again and jerked away, flaring the pain into red fire.
“Don't touch me,” he gasped. “Don't.” Letting someone other than Owen touch
him was what had gotten him into this mess. Another hand at his wrist and he
shouted it a second time. “Don't touch me! Only Owen. Where's Owen?”
Sterling let his head drop back, feeling hot tears streaking down his
temples into his hair. Where was Owen?
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Chapter Sixteen
Owen sighed and almost viciously scratched out three entire paragraphs
from the article he'd been working on. Even if he hadn't been in a filthy mood,
he'd have been just as hard on himself as an author—it often took him dozens
of drafts to complete anything to his satisfaction.
He tossed the pages aside and leaned back in his chair, his back aching
from sitting for too long. Time to stop before he gave in to the overwhelming
impulse to crumple the entire article up and throw it into the trash.
He stood, and for want of anything better to do, picked up a cup half full
of cold coffee and carried it to the kitchen. Taking his time, he washed it, dried
it and put it away, concentrating hard on the task. It still only used up a
minute or two of an evening that was dragging by.
Sterling hadn't called. Owen had no intention of letting the silence
between them continue for much longer, but he'd expected Sterling, impatient,
annoying, exasperating boy that he was, to have made the first move the way
he always did. He'd been braced for another midnight call, a stormy-eyed
Sterling pushing his way in, demanding, persuasive, infinitely appealing. He'd
dozed on the couch until finally, around two, he'd gone to bed, leaving the
porch light on, a tacit welcome.
Nine thirty. Oh, the hell with it. He was going to call Sterling. Another
night apart wouldn't do either of them any good.
The phone rang as he was walking toward it, a synchronicity that made
him smile, certain that it was Sterling. The idea of them both reaching breaking
point at the same time was curiously comforting.
He picked up the phone, still smiling. “Hello?”
“Owen? It's Alex. Sterling's friend Alex? Look, I know there's probably a
better way to do this, but I don't know what it is, so I'll just—Sterling's at the
emergency room with a dislocated shoulder, and he's freaked out and
screaming and he won't let the doctors touch him, and he's asking for you. I
know you guys had a fight or whatever—”
“Alex, take a breath,” Owen said, going immediately to get his boots and
coat, the phone tucked under his ear. “What happened?”
“He was losing it, and he asked if he could have a night with Kirk. But
Kirk didn't hurt him, I swear. All he did was strap him up and then Sterling's
arm just—I don't know why it happened.”
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“I do,” Owen said grimly. “And when I get my hands on Kirk—” No, he'd