The Deeper He Hurts (13 page)

“Really?” Asher's low chuckle kept the mood light. “Is it still one of your family's traditions?”

His smile fell in the blink it took for reality to slam back in. He stared at the view, the dull pinks and yellows morphing to bright red and gold flames in his mind. The house fire had lit up the night in a blaze that could be seen for miles. He'd spotted it long before he'd turned down the dusty road that led to their twenty acres tucked within the Spanish Valley area south of Moab.

“Sawyer.” Asher squeezed his hand, his nudge rocking him. “Hey.”

He blinked, his focus returning to the dark eyes and concerned study of Asher.

“Where'd you go?”

“To the past.”

Asher's brows lowered, questions forming. It was easy for Sawyer to tell that now, when Asher's brain clicked through the options and possibilies that went with any situation. His eyes would shift to that calculating intensity, three small wrinkles bunching between his brows. His lips would thin, sometimes only slightly, but enough to compress and lift his jaw.

“Can we leave it at that?” Sawyer asked. He rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, the residual ache that lingered there threatening to bloom into a full headache. At least the panic hadn't stormed in to bring the frantic need to run.

The touch of Asher's lips on his was soft and lingering. Tender, like his touch on Sawyer's jaw. “Sure.”

And there it was again, the patience Sawyer hadn't earned, yet was given anyway. “Thank you.” He slid his hand around to clasp Asher's wrist, emotions tearing his fragile heart to pieces.

“Are you okay?” Asher's question dug into the center of the turmoil that'd been threatening to explode for the last year.

He'd convinced himself he was okay. That his life was better alone—until the loneliness had chipped away at his sanity. His recklessness in his quest to feel had led him deeper into the darkness, when what he sought was the light.

This right here.

Sawyer closed his eyes, his wince pulling his face tight. A month ago, his reflexive response would've been “Yes.” To anyone else he'd still have given that answer. But here, with Asher, it wouldn't come out. Not when he was swimming in a sea of doubts and questions about who he was and what he wanted, after wanting nothing for so long.

“I don't know,” he finally whispered into the silence. “I don't…” He bit down on his tongue when he registered the tremble in his voice. The rumble of his throat's clearing blared his state. Too vulnerable. Too close. He jerked away, but Asher held firm.

“Don't,” he insisted, his tone a firm demand. “Don't run from me.”

Run from him.
Back to what? Weeks of empty existence? To a life revolving in a pattern of false smiles and tenuous connections? Where pain was the only thing he ever let himself feel?

But what was this right now if it wasn't pain? The stab in his chest was broad and pierced so deeply it bled through his existence. Was there any chance of it ever healing?

“Come here,” Asher urged again. He slid down on the mattress, prodding him to follow until they were on their sides, Asher wrapped tightly around him from behind. “Stay as long as you can.”

As you can…
The words looped through Sawyer's mind, understanding dawning slowly. He knew Sawyer wasn't going to stay. And accepted it without anger. And was still here, crowded in too closely like he'd been since the beginning.

Since Sawyer had first needed him.

Needed him?

He squeezed his eyes closed in an effort to forget the thought. A childish attempt at best, and his silent laugh acknowledged that. Asher was all around him, and with each touch he was filling him with something he'd long given up on.

The very thing he'd been searching for when he'd come to Oregon: Hope.

The stiffness faded from his muscles, his breath flowing until he matched the slow rise and fall of Asher's against his back. Could he do this? Become a part of someone's life again?

Maybe. But the bigger question was, could he survive it?

The cane whooshed through the air, hissing its warning before it connected with Sawyer's ass.
Crack
.

“Fuck!”

Ash didn't let him breathe, repeating the strike almost immediately, aiming the hit so it landed just below the previous one.
Crack
. Sawyer jerked forward, his bound wrists and ankles keeping him in place, the ceiling and floor bolts holding.

“Fucker.” The gritted curse matched the tight contraction of muscles from his forearms to his toes.

Ash swung before the sting of the first one could settle in. The singing hiss danced over his senses as he narrowed in on the swatch of white skin below the two red welts.
Crack
.

Sawyer's low moan whispered into him, enticing and slithering deep. Ash struck again, the contact flying up his arm to tingle over his chest. He sucked in a breath, absorbed the bittersweet scent, and landed another hit, a precise line directly below his last. Then another.

A muffled grunt heaved out, the air rushing from Sawyer's lungs in a slow roll that rocked him forward, his movement restricted by his bonds. His head fell, a heaving inhalation allowed. One.

Sawyer's muscles constricted the second the next whooshing began.
Crack
. His quick jerk and slump came without a sound this time. No breath either.
Crack
. Ash landed two more just beneath his shoulder blades.
Crack
.
Crack
. The third and fourth evenly spaced below the most recent two.

Nine total. Quick, sharp, and without warning.

He stepped back, chest heaving from the rapid-fire assault he'd laid onto Sawyer. His arm ached, a residual vibration humming though his muscles from the impacts. Heat flooded his chest, raced over his back to blend with his excitement.

Sawyer was…so much more than he'd expected.

He'd thought about him almost constantly while Sawyer had been at White Salmon. Half expecting him not to return. But he'd come back, for this…and what? Ash was moving forward on a prayer and a hope—that their texts and conversations were leading where he'd given up on ever reaching.

Sawyer was still on his feet, legs trembling, head dropped back, each breath sucked through his nostrils in long pulls. His wrists were bound together over his head, legs held shoulder-width apart with a spreader bar at his ankles, but he was holding his own weight.

One step and Ash was inches behind his gorgeous pain slut, cane discarded. The bitter scent was strong now, the agony leaking out with the sheen of sweat coating Sawyer's back. Awareness sizzled between them, his own bare skin buzzing with the need to touch. Feel.

Connect.

Only with Sawyer.

He laid a hand on Sawyer's ass cheek, each welt buzzing under his palm. Sawyer gasped, ass clenching. Heat blazed into Ash and he savored the intensity without pushing further. The delayed sting of each cane strike would be scorching a path of misery through Sawyer now, intensified by Ash's unrelenting pace and force.

“You are a sick fuck,” Sawyer rasped, muscles relaxing incrementally.

Ash chuckled into Sawyer's ear, amused and intrigued. He'd seen men crumble into a withering mass of tears and pleading after two quick strikes of a cane. Not Sawyer. No, he was subtly pushing back into Ash's palm, instigating without directly asking for more.

The strength in that alone was astounding.

The will to overpower—or absorb—what most would consider extreme torture and revel in it was fascinating. But Sawyer wasn't goading him. No, he was waiting, and that was a big change.

A trust Ash accepted and swore he'd keep.

He smoothed his hand over the contours of Sawyer's rounded ass, the welts rippling under his palm, each line a stripe of power they both fed on. Ash to give it, Sawyer to take it.

Warmth flowed from his chest, pleasure winding its way through every fiber of him. Sawyer groaned, a long slow purr that edged closer to joy than pain. He stretched his neck, head tilting onto his raised arms, the extension an open expanse of skin for Ash to feast on. He could deny him and deprive himself as well, but what was the point?

His mouth watered, pulse accelerating. He skimmed his teeth down the line of skin from nape to shoulder, each dip and bump traced by his tongue. Salt and bitter teased his taste buds, a sweetness lingering to tempt him more.

He clamped down on the meaty juncture of Sawyer's neck, wrapped an arm around him, and slammed his palm down Sawyer's ass.
Smack
. The sting flashed over his palm. Sawyer flinched, grunted. Ash held tight and hit him again. Twenty hard slaps, ten to each cheek, before he paused.

The air stilled, punctuated by Sawyer's hard breaths and his own pounding heart. Sawyer shuddered, every wiggle slithering into Ash to fire him more. This was so damn close to…

He swallowed, swiped his tongue over the dents of his teeth marks, the salty-sweet taste deeper now. He started a slow rub over every inch of Sawyer's ass, honing in on the welts, pressing the length of each one. A high whine filtered out from behind Sawyer's tight lips before he'd reached the end of the third welt.

Ash nuzzled Sawyer's nape, his attention split between the tight nipples tickling the palm of one hand and the fiery welts teasing the other. Pain
and
pleasure. Two beasts he normally didn't mix, but damn he loved how Sawyer responded to both.

His quick inhalations, the tensing and release of muscles, the varied sounds that communicated better than words.

He slid his fingers down Sawyer's ass crease, circled his hole. Loose and pliant now, Sawyer offered no resistance, his moan pure enjoyment. The muscle gave with minimal resistance, fingers sliding into his heat. Sawyer cocked his hips back, a sigh gusting out.

Sweat slicked between them, Ash's erection demanding beneath his compression shorts. They were the only thing stopping him from screwing Sawyer blind at the moment. He would, eventually. But not yet.

He started a slow in and out with two fingers, the sensitive ring of muscles clenching and releasing until all resistance gave way, sweat the only thing easing his path. Sawyer squirmed and Ash tightened his hold.

“You're gorgeous like this,” he murmured, every sense absorbing what Sawyer was freely giving. “So much emotion behind that wall of yours.” He licked the shell of Sawyer's ear, bit the lobe. “Longing to break free.” In and out, consistently paced in a torment all its own. “Pain.” He twisted a nipple, tugged until Sawyer puffed out a harsh grunt. Released. “Pleasure.” He slid his hand down to stroke Sawyer's hard dick, slow glides that matched his fingers. Not enough to come, just slowly arousing.

Sawyer turned his head, mouth parted, eyes heavy. His beard stubble scratched Ash's cheek, hot breaths delivering his low grunts. Ash dove into the offering, taking his mouth in a sloppy kiss that tipped Sawyer's head back and stole Ash's breath. He plundered Sawyer, took everything he could find, sought more. And Sawyer delivered. He thrust back with his tongue, pushed with his lips. Gave while taking.

So like Sawyer.

Their connection sunk deep and solid. So balanced and mutual he was blinded by its power.

He spun away without warning, sucked in needed air, and grabbed the wooden paddle from the nearby cart. The solid strike boomed against Sawyer's ass, his cry blasting through the room. Ash hit him again, over and over, fast but erratic enough to keep Sawyer guessing.

He could deliver pleasure and pain. He could give that to Sawyer without judgment—either way. Rewarding, beautiful, stunning in the exposed purity of emotions.

This. Just this.

He wanted it all—and he'd give it too.

Wet heat encircled Sawyer's dick, sucked and danced deep in his groin. The erotic foreplay clashed against the searing agony that radiated over his backside. His head spun, world shifting before his knees gave out. His arms yanked, the sockets protesting until he forced his legs to hold his weight.

He was a mass of contrasting sensations, twisted until everything merged in a crazy mess of want, need, and desire. His back was on fire, his ass a glorious mass of throbbing, stinging pain. But pleasure gripped his balls and bled through his chest until nothing made sense. Nothing mattered.

Except Asher.

He'd come back for this. For Asher.

He was at Sawyer's feet, mouth wrapped around his erection, fingers working his hole in that steady insane pace that had him riding the edge of his orgasm but would never send him over.

He had no clue how long they'd been playing. No clue on what Asher planned. And he didn't care.

This sweet, heady rush of sensation was perfect.

Only this time there was more than pain. More than the buzz of adrenaline and hum of endorphins. More than the crushing darkness.

Asher was giving him more.

Yes, he had no choice but to take it—unless he safeworded. But none of this registered as forced. Hell, he wanted all of it. Even the good stuff.

Especially the good stuff.

And he'd never wanted that. Never longed for more of this goodness that now wove through him and smoothed out the pain.

Asher gave a long, slow suck up the length of Sawyer's shaft, flicked the underside, grazed the cap with his teeth. Sawyer hissed at the sting, stunned at how it enhanced and sharpened the tiny transgression blazing into his groin. He was so oversensitized, every nerve ending processing at maximum.

Cool air sucked at the sweat on his back, kissed the dampness on his nape as Asher stood. His hole clenched around the emptiness, the loss of Asher's fingers yet another anomaly that snuck through the raging mound of throbbing pain.

His touch was gentle, his hold tender on Sawyer's cheeks, eyes dark circles of promise.

“Such strength.” His whispered words ghosted over Sawyer's lips, the reverence a shock and yet another distinction.

His kiss was light, a brush of lips, flick of tongue, trace of lust. A temptation that ushered in dreams Sawyer'd long thought dead. Of belonging. Loving. Being more than the pain.

A whimper filtered into the air, the rumble in his throat the only trigger that logged it as coming from him.

“I'm going to…” Asher kissed him again, deeper, tongue reaching in to tangle with his. His mumbled ending breathed past Sawyer's ear, teasing him with the remnants of something like “…love you.”

He cocked a smile, amused by his own delusions. His own longings, confused in the muddle of his heart and mind. He swam in the swirling glow of warmth and contentment. Of being safe when the situation was dangerous.

Asher wouldn't harm him. Hurt him—damn how he'd managed that. But harm him? No.

He trusted that. Him.

Believed it.

Asher was at his back, his touch everywhere. Over his chest, down his abs, around his sides. He was surrounded by him—again. So close and not close enough. This time.

Here.

With Asher.

He rolled his head, eyes falling closed. The better to feel.

The nudge of Asher's dick. The long press into him. The gentle glide that filled him as he'd never been filled before. The care when brutality—the norm—was expected.

“You deserve this.” He tried to process Asher's words through the haze of pain and bliss. “And so much more.”

He shook his head, rejection automatic. His throat was raw, dry to the point of aching, but he managed to rasp out a “No.”

“Yes.” A hard, jarring thrust punctuated Asher's insistence. “Yes! You do.”

Fuck. No. Yes.
He wanted it. Fuck how he wanted it. But deserved it? Did anyone deserve it or was it earned?

Kisses, light yet firm, trailed up his arm, Asher's easy plunges delivering a tenderness that had no place in a playroom. No playroom he'd ever been in. Yet they were tearing him apart far worse than the most brutal reaming. Each descent a gouge to his battered heart and shattered soul.

Asher stroked him off, his grip a solid touch meant only to excite. Every touch to his ass or back brought a roar of increased agony, yet the sweetness of the pressure, of Asher's gentle care, overrode everything else.

“Never—” Asher grunted behind a decisive jab that pitched Sawyer forward, arms protesting. “Never give this away.”

He always had. It hadn't mattered to him. A fuck was a fuck. His “payment” for the pain.

But this was different.

This wasn't a fuck.

He'd never had
this
. Had never had to worry about giving away
this
. Until Asher.

“It's just sex,” he mumbled to himself. More to deny what was growing in his heart.

Asher froze, breaths heaving near Sawyer's ear. “Is it?”

Bound to Asher in the most intimate, physical way, wrapped in his arms, trapped by his persistent kindness and deviant ruthlessness, Sawyer couldn't answer. Not without lying.

He'd never had more than sex, yet with Asher he wasn't sure if they'd ever had just sex.

“You're so much more than that to me,” Asher whispered, his truth intertwining with Sawyer's own. “
You
are so much more.”

Wants, wishes, longing, and shattered beliefs surged up to claw at his chest. Dig at his denial and rip him to pieces one incredible thrust at a time. He was at Asher's mercy, strung up and swamped by sensation and emotions.

Asher had all of him right then. Even the bits he'd hidden from himself were spread out at his feet, displayed for analysis and rejection.

Did Asher see it? Know how thoroughly he'd stripped Sawyer? How deeply he'd struck?

His strokes increased, passion cresting in a rapid rise of ecstasy so smooth it blindsided him. He groaned, arching into the rush, shoving back for a deeper hit. A last nudge that'd send him over.

Asher shifted, his next plunge grazing Sawyer's gland. Stars bloomed, pre-come dripped from his dick, release a breath away.