The Deeper He Hurts (16 page)

Ash paced the breadth of his foyer, the soft tap of his shoes a consistent beat to his swirling thoughts. Sawyer's contract with Kick ended on Sunday, just three days from now. And then what? They'd barely navigated the present without complicating it with the future.

Would this be their last night together? Pain pierced his heart, his wince holding until the ache eased. He'd gone with the flow, let things develop, and now he hoped like hell he didn't regret letting his heart get so deeply involved.

Two sharp knocks blasted through the foyer, jerking his attention to the front door. Sawyer was here. Ash blew out a breath, straightened his spine. If this was their last night, at least Sawyer wouldn't be forgetting him anytime soon.

His sadist chuckled, a sinister glee battling with the hurting man. A dichotomy Sawyer would appreciate if Ash were able to share it with him.

“Hey,” he said, stepping back to let Sawyer into his home. “How's it going?” He trailed his hand down Sawyer's arm, fingers lingering when he really wanted to lean in for a kiss.

“Good.” Sawyer set his bag down, dimple showing when he faced him. “Looking forward to tonight.”

To the scene? The sex? Him in general?

“Me too.” He stepped up and stole the kiss he wanted, diving deep to deliver his message and satisfy his craving. Mint and chocolate flooded his mouth and he savored the heat, the warmth flowing into his chest before sinking to his groin. His breath was quick, heart squeezing when he stepped away. “I've got plans for you tonight.”

“Good ones?” Sawyer's tongue snaked over his bottom lip and Ash almost dove back in to chase it.

Almost. He wasn't that needy. “Of course.”

He led the way to the stairs, descending without looking back. August had flown by in a jumble of increased pain play, quiet meals, and the most intense sex he'd ever had. Which all added up to a series of amazing evenings—until Sawyer crawled out of bed before falling asleep. Wanting more wouldn't get him anywhere, but it didn't stop him from longing for it.

And Sawyer was leaving soon.

Could he let him go, when Sawyer satisfied every part of him? He could take pain like few he'd met, but even more than that was the way he processed and reacted to the pain, sometimes contained behind a clenched growl, other times released with a bellowing roar. Every time they played, Ash learned something new and wanted more.

His vulnerability behind the indifferent front. His craving for touch even though he resisted it. The little shudders when Ash ripped away another barrier. The long moans of release that countered the sharp cries. Curses that stood in for his compliments. Kisses that spoke what his voice couldn't say.

How in the hell would he let that go?

The playroom was ready. The equipment he needed for tonight's scene was laid out on a rolling cart, sterilizing and first aid supplies on the lower shelf. He moved across the room, strides controlled, pulse not so much.

He rechecked the strap connections, gave each a hard tug to ensure they were securely attached to the board bolted to the wall. Anticipation thrummed over his skin, sunk in to tease him with visuals of what was to come.

“Limits?” He still asked every time they played, hoping to hear a definitive response. The more he got involved, the more Sawyer's refusal to define his limits angered—and scared—him.

Sawyer was already stripping when he faced him, shirt tossed on a chair, boots tucked underneath. “Same as before,” he answered. “You know this. Why do you keep asking?”

“I'd think you'd want me to ask.” He would if he was at all concerned about his own safety.

Sawyer discarded his shorts and briefs and strolled forward with a confident swagger. Ash sucked in the view. Hours spent in the sun had darkened the exposed areas to a warm honey brown which highlighted the lighter shade defined by his swim trunks, his scars standing out on the pale skin. Not model tanned, but real-life tanned and all the more appealing for it.

He stopped inches from Ash, smirk dancing in his golden eyes. “I would—if I didn't trust you.” He winked and turned to the wall mount, statement discarded despite its magnitude. “It's the wand tonight.” His nod was crisp and accepting. “Nice.” The violet wand was among the supplies laid out on the prep cart, the handheld plastic base with its electrical cord easily distinguishable by anyone used to playing with sensation and pain.

Ash's jaw ached with everything he held in. Words and emotions and questions he didn't ask. His knowledge of Sawyer's past ate at him the more Sawyer held back the details. The hurt battled his guilt until he cursed his insatiable thirst to fix what wasn't his to repair.

He adjusted his glasses, took a slow breath, and shoved his hurt away to focus on the scene. He could get lost in the pain, forget about what he couldn't have and enjoy what he could.

“Back to the board.” His voice was steady when he spoke, a calm settling in to replace his annoyance. “Red and yellow.”

“Got it.”

He received another wink that went with Sawyer's swagger to the wall. His added layer of cockiness only drove Ash more. A defense mechanism? Arrogance or indifference? He'd come to learn it was actually a combination of all three.

He began strapping Sawyer down. Chest and hips, then arms and wrists spread away from his sides. Upper and lower thighs, below the knees, his ankles last. He stood when he was done, then checked each band for security and tightness.

Sawyer's chest rose and fell in a steady pace, eyes darkened with the hunger Ash now associated with his anticipation. He trailed a finger down Sawyer's jaw, the stubble teasing while scratching. “I'll leave the forehead strap off for now.”

“It's your show.”

“Not really,” he countered. “I only run it. You control it.” Simple logic anyone experienced in the community knew.

Sawyer lowered his brow, that customary smirk of his falling away. “Not if I give it to you.”

He couldn't deny the thrill that shot from his heart to his groin at those words. Then his head kicked in and he scowled. “You're willing to do that?”

A sadness fell into Sawyer's expression before a soft laugh puffed out that held more cynicism than amusement. “I already have.” The mumbled admission was validated by the stark vulnerability in his eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed, swallow audible in the silence. “Don't make me regret it.”

Regrets. He had a ton of those, and only one had to do with Sawyer.

He cupped Sawyer's nape, crushed him into the wall until they touched from chest to toes. But his kiss was soft, a gentle acceptance and a promise in one. He caught the slight tremble in Sawyer's lips, the tremor that chased down his length.

“This terrifies you,” he whispered over his mouth, breath mingling. He stared into Sawyer's eyes, the amber swirls revealing more than Sawyer ever admitted. Maybe could admit.

His fear had nothing to do with the coming pain, and they both knew it. He'd more than proven his tolerance and love of the physical torture. Hell, he craved it to the point of self-infliction.

But why? What motivated him? What was behind the pain? He could assume certain things based on his damn snooping and the little Sawyer revealed, but was that all?

He kissed him again, holding a breath, two, calm sliding through him to steady his pulse and center his mind. He'd take care of this for Sawyer. Give him the pain he needed and maybe help him along the way. At the very least, he'd be here when Sawyer was ready to trust him with the hurt that was slowly tearing him apart. But the chances of that happening grew smaller the closer Sawyer came to leaving.

Ash launched into the preparations without another word. His stool was already adjusted so he sat at eye level to Sawyer's dick, the member still flaccid. His smile sunk deep, appreciation filling his sadistic need. They played for the mutual gratification of the pain itself. Sex—if it happened—would come later. After.

And that was more powerful than any fuck he'd ever taken during a scene—before Sawyer.

He didn't look up when he grabbed the electric razor off the cart and clicked it on. The vibration rushed down his arm and filled the air with warning. His intent was clear, and he didn't ask for permission, didn't expect a refusal.

The hum deepened with each stroke he made through Sawyer's pubic hair. He kept his movements slow and precise, the clipper guard gliding over Sawyer's skin.

“Fucker.” The mumble reached him over the buzz of the shaver, but it wasn't a protest. Sawyer didn't flinch through any of it. Then again, the shaving in itself had nothing to do with pain. Some might classify it as a mind game or power play, but it was just prep for Ash.

“Ever had your balls shaved?” he asked, tone conversational as he pulled the skin tight on his sac, razor rounding over the vulnerable orb.

“Not in a long time,” he grumbled, voice tight. “It itches like a bitch when it grows back.”

“I'd think you'd like that.”

“That's just irritating, not painful.”

He conceded the point and proceeded to lather shaving gel over the area. He turned the grooming razor over and got back to work. The razor blades slid over his skin in smooth swipes. He was careful about nicks and cuts, which some might have thought odd, given his sadistic nature. But this portion wasn't about inflicting physical pain.

He wiped down the area when he was done, following with a towel until everything was completely dry. He sat back to admire his work, the newly exposed skin pink and fresh.

“I've never really been into the clean-shaven look,” he said, tilting his head to analyze it from a different angle. He ran a finger around Sawyer's shaft, under it, and down to his balls. The smoothness was fascinating in its bareness. Somehow wrong, yet alluring.

“But that was fun.” He looked up, smile growing. “Should I finish with a splash of after-shave?”

Sawyer's lip curled, eyelids dropping in a half-dare, half-retaliation glare. “Your show, Asher. Do whatever you want.”

Fucking hell.
“You don't know when to stop, do you?”

“I haven't found that point yet.”

Would he ever? “Maybe you simply haven't found the reason to stop.”

He shook his head, dimple showing again. “You can keep trying, though.”

Until when? Sawyer went back to Utah? Ash got too close and he bolted for good? The pain went too deep and he couldn't handle the emotional toll?

Anger flashed in to dig at his calm. It clamped around his chest and burned in his stomach before he could shut it down. This wasn't how he played. He didn't let bottoms provoke him.

And he'd never been this invested in someone to be provoked.

He shoved away, his stool rolling back before he stopped it. He grabbed the bowl of water and focused on wiping up the spilled liquid, keenly aware of the man strapped to the wall beside him. The stubborn, irritating, annoying guy who gave so much and so little.

He dumped the water in the bathroom and stole a moment to regroup himself. He'd planned this scene all week, researched, tested, practiced, and thought through every contingency until he was confident in what he was about to do.

But somewhere in all of his practical thinking, his emotions had gotten in the way. He wanted Sawyer to react more strongly, to protest—or better—to refuse him instead of taking whatever he gave. There was no logic in that except his gnawing need to know there was some level of self-preservation within Sawyer.

He gripped the edge of the counter, mind racing with his heart. He was in too deep and had no idea how to get out.

“Asher?” Sawyer called, concern layered in his voice. “Did you get lost?”

How long had he been in here? He swallowed. “No.” Did that sound like he was okay? He splashed a handful of cold water on his face, dried it, and slid his glasses back on. He was fine. He had to be. Sawyer would be gone so fast if he had any clue of Ash's doubts or how deeply his desire ran to have more from him. Everything
with
him.

He folded the hand towel and placed it back on the rail. A deep breath. Another.

The scene he'd planned stretched far into edge play. He'd designed it to pick at the triggers he'd observed in Sawyer. But it also contained a statement. Actually screamed his intent, if Sawyer chose to see it.

The risk of so many things going wrong only heightened the draw.

He focused on that. On what Sawyer would give. On the torment he'd endure and the wonder of watching it play out. His pulse slowed as he sunk into the proper headspace. He could let his sadist free with Sawyer and not worry about judgment.

Unless he was judging himself. On that front he failed miserably. More so with each day that he hid behind his own secrets.

Sawyer studied Asher as he strode from the bathroom, expression flat. What had Sawyer missed? Or more likely, what was he deliberately not acknowledging to himself?

Asher ran his hand over Sawyer's chest when he was close enough, fingers plucking at his nipple. All emotion had been wiped from his expression, in a bland imitation of the Doms who tried too hard to be dominant.

Ash continued to pluck at his nipples, both hands joining in the dual stimulation that prickled over his chest and spread south to his dick. Sawyer tried to figure out his game, eyes narrowing. Nipple play? Clamps and electrical stimulation? The entire ball-shaving event had been executed with a clinical precision. Definitely not foreplay or even a mind fuck with the sharp edge of the razor on his nuts.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” The words came out deadly serious. Asher stared at him, intent hard in his eyes, expression equally stony. The distance was disarming in itself. Asher didn't play that way. He'd always been right there, too close, absorbing everything while taking more.

“Okay.” He stated his understanding, even though Asher had hammered it in every time they'd played.

The grip on his dick made him inhale, but the touch was gentle, the strokes nice. He groaned, responding to the stimulation with a speed that came from wanting more of it. Pleasure shot through his groin and filled him with the longing that only Asher evoked.

His erection hardened under Asher's knowing touch. He found every sensitive spot, paced his glides and held his grip in that way guaranteed to get Sawyer off, using all the tricks he'd learned over the last weeks of their fucking each other blind.

When had the lines crossed so badly, smoothly?

Asher closed his eyes, hand stilling. Sawyer tried to sway into the touch, but the binds wouldn't give. Not even an inch. The hip and thigh straps dug into his skin when he pressed forward, so he let his head fall until his temple rested against Asher's. He breathed in his spicy scent, absorbed the closeness while he was safely contained, limited in what he could get.

He floated in the gentle haze of lust and pleasure that slid in between the cracks around his heart. He couldn't want this, yet he did.

Asher's breath hitched, hand convulsing before he stepped away. The emptiness swept in to slap at Sawyer.

The coldness had returned, wedged between them like a block of ice when he was on fire. He clenched his teeth as Asher cinched a ring around the base of his dick and balls, his nuts clamped tightly beneath his erection. The pressure throbbed near the leather strap, his hard dick straining before him.

Cock torture, then. With the wand.

Anticipation danced with the adrenaline flooding his system. The imagined pain lured him into that heady state of expectancy and resistance. He shouldn't want this—any of it. But knowing he could, that he'd get to feel before he went numb was his draw. He could conquer the physical pain. Destroy it and revel in it, before reality slipped back in.

Asher's movements were precise, no taunting or implied threats layered into his preparation. He bound the violet wand probe to Sawyer's leg with an Ace bandage, the body attachment snug against his skin. He was going to be the conduit for the electricity produced by the wand, the voltage charging through him to ignite wherever Asher touched him, shocking him from the inside. The intensity and thus the pain would depend on the width of the metal object Asher held. The smaller the tip, the more concentrated and forceful the jolt would be.

His groan rippled through his chest, want lacing in.

Asher didn't respond to him, and his distance dug away at Sawyer. What was his deal? Why the shift? What was his angle?

He spun through the possibilities while simultaneously berating himself for wondering at all. There was no point in chasing thoughts, when he usually sank into the quiet before the pain hit.

He forced his breaths to slow, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the board. He counted his heartbeats. The roll of Asher's stool and subsequent adjustment of the seat clicked into his brain.

Then the violet wand was turned on, the low hum filling the air and sensitizing his skin from memory alone. He wet his lips, swallowed, and remembered to breathe when the humming intensified as Asher increased the voltage level to what sounded like its highest setting.

His muscles were tensed against the expected zap. He could open his eyes, watch what Asher intended, but the not knowing was part of the fun. The state of his cock pretty much clued him in to where the focus would be. It was the how and the with what that enticed his craving.

The first shock nailed him near the base of his shaft. He flinched, straining at the bands as his muscles contracted against the zap of electricity that shot through his balls. It was gone a moment later, and he sagged in the bindings. The first hit was always the hardest for him, no matter what or where it was.

“Stop works tonight.” Asher restated yet again. Another warning on the level of pain to come.

Asher didn't wait for a response. The sharp shock sliced over Sawyer's skin, the low popping of sparks igniting the air. The static electricity–type bite was magnified by the consistent prolonged hit. Amplified by the concentrated focal point.

Shit. Shit. Shit.
A thin line sliced over his dick and wedged deep into this groin. He clenched his teeth, hands fisting, but didn't fight the contact. The pinpoint intensity, reinforced by the actual contact of the tool, was like an ice pick digging a line in his skin. Or a knife.

Then it was gone. His breath gushed out in a harsh rasp, his muscles going slack. Pain flooded his senses, and he pried his eyes open to stare down at the thin red line burned into his dick by the tiny tip of the dental pick in Asher's hand. He was stunned to realize the mark was only a half-inch long, when it felt like his dick had been severed off.

The scent hit him with his next inhalation. Bile rose up his throat so fast it almost spewed out before he choked it back. The smell of scorched flesh stuck in his nose and clawed into his mind. It wasn't new to him, and he should've expected it. But he hadn't, and the impact was worse than the physical pain.

Memories screamed back. Fire, flames, heat, smoke—they danced before him until they merged with his own skin, sizzling under the hot knife he'd pressed into his own thigh as he'd watched it with a detached fascination, the agony blazing into his soul.

No!

He breathed through the panic, eyes glued to the metal tool held inches above his dick. The leather cock ring kept his erection in place when it wanted nothing more than to shrink up and hide.

Asher met his gaze, expression blank. He waited a beat, then returned his attention to his task. He lowered the tool, the sharp point making another pass down the line that was already there. The agony dug deeper this time, ripping into his groin to sever everything in its path. His grunt ripped free, muscles so tense they ached. Sparks hissed and danced in his ears with every small touch of the pick, the electrical discharge cracking in the air.

His stomach rolled with the sick swim of nausea, the pain so intense and sinking so deeply he battled to hold it in. It helped to watch, though, to see the blisters forming beneath the tool as the current burned his skin. His strange fascination was another bizarre part of his kink. His enjoyment factor hiked up a level whenever he got to see the pain being inflicted on him. At the same time, his brain detached from it while somehow absorbing it.

His world zeroed down to the raging pain that spread to encompass his entire body and the man inflicting each hit, one tiny touch at a time. He was coated in sweat by the time he processed that the letter A was being branded into his skin. On his dick.

He blinked, breaths heaving during a pause. A. The letter penetrated his haze to connect it with Asher. He swallowed, hunted for saliva.

“A,” he rasped, barely hearing himself over the buzzing of the wand.

Asher sat up, searched him from head to toe before standing. “Yes?” He was so close, but he couldn't touch Sawyer without shocking him. Not unless he turned the wand off.

“A,” he said again. “Asher.”

“Yes.”

The single-word statement confirmed what he was trying to process. Asher was branding his name onto Sawyer's dick.

Asher's eyes narrowed, that calculating wrinkle appearing between his brows. Sawyer became captivated. What was he thinking? It was easier to wonder about that than to acknowledge the demons circling closer.

“Are you okay?”

He almost laughed at that. He would've if he had it in him. The endorphins were sucking at his reasoning. The happy juice took his pain from him when he wanted to wallow in it. Die in it like his family had.

Voicing any of that would stop the pain, though. Asher would run so fast from him—and he should—if he knew how close Sawyer was to losing himself in the pain forever.

But then, maybe he already did.

“Yes,” he said, breathing into the fire consuming him from the inside. “Don't stop.” Until he was nothing but cinder and ash. Until the anguish buried his guilt and smothered what was left of his will.

Then maybe he'd finally be free.