The Deeper He Hurts (11 page)

“All right.” He sat back, questions blooming when he usually had none. “When did you first realize you had those”—he glanced around for random listeners and lowered his voice—“needs? You said you'd realized the gay part while you were married. But the other? The sadist part? How'd that come about?”

Asher sat back as well, contemplation darkening his eyes and tugging his brow low. He tapped his fingers on the table, a soft beat Sawyer couldn't hear.

“There wasn't a single moment of enlightenment,” Asher finally said. “The gay thing took a few years to fully acknowledge and accept. During that time I focused on school, did my best to be the husband I'd promised to be, and used Internet porn to get hard.” He grimaced, took a drink of his water, fingers lingering to play with the condensation on the glass.

His voice was lower when he continued. “The porn shifted from ménage to just guys to gay BDSM over time.” He glanced up from his focus on the glass. “I wasn't raised in an environment where sex was talked about, much less kinky sex.” He chuckled softly before he pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing. His sigh was weighted and long.

Sawyer reached out to offer comfort.
What the fuck?
He retreated just as quickly. He fisted his hand, shock breaking through his confusion. He didn't offer comfort. That emotion hadn't touched him since he'd numbed himself to feeling anything. For anyone.

Asher adjusted his glasses, sniffed. “Praying did nothing—surprise.” His pretend shock pulled a smile from Sawyer, mostly because it was expected. “More years, a divorce, and many mistakes later I finally balanced who I was with what I wanted. I realized that one wasn't distinct from the other, but neither did one define the other.”

“What do you mean?” Sawyer frowned, completely in the conversation but lost.

“I'm gay. I'm a sadist.” Asher paused, his expression giving away nothing. “I'm a son, brother, uncle, entrepreneur, friend. I'm also prickly, anal, controlling, and overly analytical—or I wouldn't have dissected myself so completely.” The sarcasm dripped from his mock smile. He sobered, lips compressing. “Pain has always fascinated me.”

His words trailed off as he stared out the window again, his gaze unfocused. “I was the king tooth-puller as a kid. Everyone came to me if they had a loose tooth, and I loved how they'd squirm and plead as I rigged up a way to yank the tooth out, knowing they wanted me to do it even though they were scared. The aftermath was even more enlightening. Did they cry, smile, run to Mom?” He blinked, looked to Sawyer. “That sense of discovery and analysis led to more.”

“How so?” Sawyer prompted when the pause lengthened. His own path to pain was straightforward, and probably textbook if he dug into the psychology of it. He'd never once stopped to wonder what drove a sadist, despite his years in the scene. He'd never needed to know, yet with Asher, he wanted to understand.

A sad half smile lifted Asher's cheek, then fell away. “I provoked others into doing dangerous things so I could study the outcome.” He chuckled softly, but it was bathed in sadness. “I think every one of my siblings and cousins have at least one story of how I instigated them into doing something crazy that resulted in them getting hurt—fortunately, not seriously. But I can claim responsibility for almost every trip to the ER. My older brother's broken leg, my sister's wrist, a cousin's collarbone, my younger brother's arm burn, and more stitches than I can recount were a result of what I talked them into doing.”

He shook his head, sighed. “The confessional was hell. I wore the paint off my rosary beads reciting my penances, but nothing the priest—or my parents—said could make me stop. Not even my own guilt.” His shrug was wistful, eyes sparking with his brow quirk. “What none of them understood—or me either, at that age—is that it wasn't the instigating that drew me, but my fascination with how people responded to the pain.” He leaned in, tone deepening. “Did they scream or hold it in? Curse me or themselves? Cry or laugh? Were there tears, and how much? Would the strong kid crumble and the weaker one be stoic? If there was blood, who'd freak out and how? Who'd rat me out and who'd refused? It was a gigantic puzzle I could never solve yet couldn't stop trying.”

Passion blazed from Asher, his intensity enthralling. More than a few hours of thought had gone into defining the why of his needs. Sawyer wasn't exactly surprised by that, but he hadn't expected to be so impressed.

Asher sat back, voice leveling out. “Inflicting pain on others and analyzing how they respond is layered so deeply within who I am it's impossible to separate it out. But it doesn't change who I am. It doesn't make me a monster or evil or a sociopath. Just like wanting a guy doesn't make me a pedophile or a sinner.”

“No,” Sawyer murmured, his response flowing from him on a breath of understanding. “It doesn't.” Tingles of empathy prickled over his skin. His heart lurched at the nakedness of Asher's words and the bald acceptance laid out so succinctly.

“And yet,” Asher continued, sadness descending over the soft turn of his lips and uneasy swallow, “my family knows nothing about the two things that've caused the most pain and biggest regrets in my life.”

“You're not out to them?”

“No.” His soft admission barely reached Sawyer. His suffering was etched in each line on his brow, the desolation shining in his eyes before he blinked, glancing away.

Sawyer reached out then, closed his hand around Asher's wrist. The ache to do more, to pull him into an embrace and give him the acceptance he so desperately needed, dug into his heart and closed down his voice. But he got it. He understood everything Asher was saying, even though his life was so different.

Sawyer hid so much from everyone, he doubted anyone really knew him. Not even himself. Asher's level of self-awareness was both humbling and terrifying. What would he find if he looked that deeply at himself? If he let anyone else see beneath the layers to who he really was?

Asher looked to him, questions and doubts shifting through his eyes. He placed his hand over Sawyer's, squeezed. “If you want to run now, I get it.”

He should. Hell, he should've run after the very first night in White Salmon. “Why would I do that?” He wouldn't be running from Asher's baggage, but his own.

Asher laughed, pulling away from Sawyer's touch to stretch his arms back. He rolled his shoulders, his chuckle dry. “Because I think too much and laugh too little.”

“Laughing is overrated.”

“Is it?”

Sawyer sat back, hand clenching before he rubbed the back of his head. “It is when it's only a cover for the pain hiding beneath it.”

“Here you go,” their waiter said as he approached, oblivious grin cutting through the seriousness. “Sorry about the wait.” He set their meals in front of them, smile never faltering. “Can I get you anything else?”

Sawyer shook his head and Asher responded with “We're good.”

The scent of his food churned Sawyer's stomach and did nothing to stimulate his appetite. He nibbled on a fry anyway, steam billowing out of the inside when he set it back down.

Would he ever be that comfortable in his own skin to expose what was beneath it so completely? Could he do it even if he was?

“Hey,” Asher said, nudging his foot beneath the table. “Sorry I dumped so much.”

“I'm not.” The truth had come out again. It happened way too often with Asher, yet he had no desire to change it. “I admire your openness.” He truly did. The thought of laying that much of himself out to anyone had his stomach screw twisting tighter. The trust involved was…terrifying.

“Ha.” He flashed a grin, head shaking. “Now that's something I've never heard before.”

Sawyer shrugged. “There's a first time for everything.”

Asher sobered, eyes searching Sawyer until his pulse started that reckless beat that shortened his breath and froze his soul.

“Yes. There is,” Asher said.

The double meaning snaked through the cracks around his heart, snuck beneath his guards, and whispered at the longing that grew bigger the more he was with Asher.

This—all of this—was a first for him, and he'd lost the ability to reason away his actions, to deny he hungered for more than the pain with Asher. That in itself was guaranteed to get him plenty of pain. Only it wasn't the kind he wanted.

And he wasn't sure he could survive it.

Ash stepped outside onto his back deck, nerves mingling with the quiet that'd settled within him. His dinner confessional had become a rambling flow of information he'd had no intention of divulging. But once he'd started to explain, the door had swung wide to expose all his secrets and shame.

The resulting quiet had surprised him, though. The easing of the constriction around his chest. The absence of the weight that clung to his shoulders. The gentle settling of fears he'd refused to voice aloud.

Chris had known his darkest secrets, but he was gone now. He squeezed his eyes closed at the sudden reminder, his heart pinching. Would he ever stop missing him? He'd only recently deleted Chris's contact information from his phone, a final acceptance that Chris wasn't coming back—ever.

Rig and a few others knew he wasn't out to his family, but since Chris's death there'd been no one to share his sadistic burdens, even if only in silent knowledge and mutual respect for each other's struggles. Now Sawyer knew all of it. Knew it and had still treated him with kindness and understanding.

Damn
. His heart expanded and cracked at once.

Sawyer leaned against the rail, gaze lost in the distance. The view was nice, but Ash doubted he saw any of it right now. His hair hung in shaggy layers around his face, jaw dark with the beard stubble that would rasp beneath his fingers and over his own jaw when they kissed.

The sun skimmed across the tops of the trees, shadows draping the deck with the encroaching night. They colored Sawyer in grays that fit and clashed at once, each hue a reflection of the pain he harbored and the light he kept hidden.

Shit
. He really did have it bad. His laughter rolled in his head as he came up behind the guy he'd fallen too hard and fast for.

“Hey,” he said, hand grazing up Sawyer's back. “See anything interesting?” He offered him one of the beers he held in his other hand.

Sawyer's brow kicked up, eyes going to the alcohol, then back to Ash's.

“I'm not up for much tonight,” Ash admitted. Any desire to dive into someone else's pain, to control and manipulate it to his liking, was gone at the moment. “Sorry.”

Sawyer studied him for a silent moment before he took the beer. He turned back to the view, lifted the bottle to his lips, each swallow marked by the bob of his Adam's apple. He rested the bottle on the deck rail, and Ash smothered a sigh.

He resisted the urge to offer another apology. Even if they'd set the date to play, he'd never go into a scene if his head wasn't fully in it. This thing with Sawyer was getting complicated, yet he'd never been more comfortable with anyone.

“We don't have to play every time we get together,” Sawyer finally said, voice drifting softly into the evening.

“That's good to know.” And a relief. But where did that leave them? Their relationship had been built around the pain. Would there be anything left if that element was removed?

“But I'll warn you. I'm not very good at this.”

“Talking?” Ash nudged him, smile communicating his jest. “Or this in general?”

“Both.”

“You seem to be doing okay so far.”

Sawyer hung his head, a soft “humph” escaping. “I'm good at faking.”

He shifted until his arm rested against Sawyer's, their biceps solidifying their connection. Heat slipped through the material of their shirts, awareness lighting him up just like always around Sawyer. “This isn't fake.”

“No?” Sawyer tipped his head back to sigh at the sky. “Then what is it?”

“I don't know.” He really didn't. “Friendship. Trust. Something that just works.”

“Until it doesn't.” Sawyer's mumbled response was layered with the doubt he never seemed to let go of.

“What if it doesn't stop working?” The sun was down to a sliver over the top edge of Mount St. Helens in the distance, the rays sparking off the snow to highlight the flattened tip. “What if it could be more?”

Nerves wrestled their way into his stomach before he let them go. He'd already exposed so much of himself, there was no point in hiding anything. Sawyer would deal with the information as he would and there was little Ash could do about it.

“I can't be…” Sawyer clenched his jaw, a muscle popping and working near his ear. He gripped his bottle, forearm tensing. “I can't be what you want.”

Seriously?
“What do I want?”

“A commitment. A lover. Someone to fit into your life without wrecking what you already have.”

“Huh.” He took a sip of his beer, simply to wash the annoyance away, or maybe to keep the anger down. A steely strength dropped into his voice, forged by years of presumptions made about what he wanted. “I find it interesting that you know all of this about me when I know so little about you.”

“So you're denying what I said?”

“Fuck if I know.” He thrust up, hand snaking through his hair. “But you jumped a hell of a long way into the future when we're still stumbling over the present.”

Sawyer's chuckle shivered over his neck to flood him with warmth. He tipped his head, dimple popping in that too-alluring way of his. “Are you saying I'm overthinking this?”

“I thought that was
my
job,” he lobbed back, irritation floating away. How in the hell did Sawyer wind him up and bring him back down so quickly?

Sawyer emptied his bottle, a satisfied sigh escaping when he finished. He propped his hip on the railing, bangs falling over his brow. “I tell you what, Asher.”

“Asher.” Not “Ash.” He never used “Ash.”

“What's that?”

“I don't give promises.” He waited for Ash to acknowledge that. “I don't have much to offer and I don't have a clue what I'm doing here with you, but I'll try.”

He'll try
. Ash blew out a laugh, heart lifting with something close to hope. Maybe it was only relief, but either way, he didn't dare analyze it.

He stepped close, beer left on the rail, and skimmed his palms around Sawyer's shoulders, into his hair. The golden flecks took over Sawyer's eyes, the amber shots proclaiming the doubts he was holding back. The fears he wouldn't speak of.

“That's all either of us can do.” His whispered words barely made it out before he closed his mouth over Sawyer's, tongue finding his instantly. He lapped at the heat, the lingering sweetness of beer, the fire that bled into him to ignite so much more than his desire.

They were wedged together, hips rocking, cocks nudging each other in a prelude to what was next. He took it slow, though, drawing out every nibble and swirl of his tongue. He wanted this. The leisurely build that spoke of long nights, and time.

Sawyer gripped his hips, smoothed his hands up his back. His touch seared through Ash's shirt to send waves of warmth and awareness over his skin. His moan leaked around the edge of their lips, longing creeping closer.

He chased Sawyer's mouth when he eased away until he was left with only air and a rasping craving to fall into whatever Sawyer offered. To forget his own needs and wants. His self-preservation instincts could take a flying leap into the hell that waited for him right here.

Sawyer rolled his temple over Ash's, lips ghosting down his jaw to nip at his earlobe. Goosebumps fled down his neck in a race to his puckering nipples. How did a simple breath turn him on so much? He was surrounded by Sawyer, his scent filling his nose, arms encircling his waist, legs threaded with his. And it was still not enough.

“You scare the hell out of me.” The breathy admission floated over his ear and raced to his heart. “I should walk out and never look back.” Bites down his neck, under his chin, each one threatening to tear Ash apart. “But I can't make myself do it, and I have no idea why.”

Ash captured his mouth in another long kiss, blood pounding his ears with every rapid beat of his heart. Sawyer's confession was a leap of faith he grasped and held on to.

He didn't want to break the spell by overthinking whatever was building between them—if anything. It could be nothing more than lust and compatible kinks, like Sawyer had once said. If it was, then he'd go with it until the newness faded. Until then, he'd take everything he was given.

And still ask for more.

Sawyer broke away, hand trailing down his arm to lace their fingers together. The touch spoke of intimacy and of what he couldn't seem to say.

He led Sawyer through the house, up the stairs to his bedroom, hands still clasped, words unsaid. The room was lit in that hazy fading dimness of blue and gray that played with Ash's vision. But he didn't need to see anything except Sawyer.

He set his glasses on the nightstand, the world going fuzzy around the edges. Then Sawyer was there, filling his sight and taking his mouth in a kiss loaded with promises. He couldn't get close enough, touch enough, fill himself enough with everything that was Sawyer.

Give enough of himself back.

He found skin, slid his palms over Sawyer's chest and around his back until his shirt was bunched beneath his armpits. Sawyer yanked the ends of Ash's shirt from his belt, breaths panting over his until he shoved back, glaring down Ash's front.

“Why do you have buttons?” Confusion wrinkled his brow as he fumbled the bottom button through the hole. “What happened to the polo shirts?”

Ash brushed his fingers over the lines on Sawyer's brow, too amused to help. “I felt like wearing this today.”

Sawyer flung his hands up, stepping away. “Then you take care of those.” He jerked his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. “I'll be waiting in bed when you're ready.” His shorts and briefs dropped to the ground a second later, and then he was on the bed. The mattress bounced when he flopped back, legs spread wide, dick firm and thick on his lower abdomen.

Damn, Ash wanted to see that better. He squinted at Sawyer, undressing quickly so he could crawl over the bed to cage Sawyer beneath him.

His lips curled in that dimpled smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Are you going to ravish me now?”

As good as that sounded, it wasn't what he wanted. But he didn't answer. Not verbally, at least.

He dipped, licked a long line up the length of Sawyer's dick before sucking it down.

“Fuck.”

Sawyer jerked up, pelvis hitching, but Ash shoved him down. His girth filled Ash's mouth, the rich warm taste of dick and man swarming his senses. The weight pressed on his tongue, each plunge down stretching his lips until they protested. He didn't care, though. The discomfort was part of the pleasure.

A quick grunt followed by a long groan provided a perfect backdrop to his soft slurps. He slowed, traced his tongue around the capped head, flicked the sensitive spot on the underside. Sawyer's tremble flowed into Ash, each little shake a validation of what he could give. Proof that inflicting pain wasn't his only value. The little murmurs and choked gasps were just as thrilling. Interesting in their uniqueness, just like the cries and screams.

He needled his tongue into the slit on top, the tangy hints of pre-come sliding down his throat. There were so many ways to inflict pain through a man's urethra. He'd executed a large majority of them, but this was for pleasure. To entice and play in a manner that could inflict its own type of torment.

“Damn, Asher,” Sawyer mumbled, his fingers threading into Ash's hair. “That's…”

Ash pulled off, glanced up to catch the molten gaze staring down at him. He didn't need his glasses to see the passion that darkened Sawyer's eyes or the parted lips and heavy eyelids. Just like with the pain, Sawyer didn't resist the sensations. He embraced them all, wholly in the moment.

The wonder of that rare quality sank into Ash with the awe it deserved. He trailed his fingers down, the tips grazing over the scars on Sawyer's thighs. How had it felt when he'd inflicted them? When did he learn the art of breathing with the pain, of processing the signals into something other than excruciating or intolerable?

Where did he store all those feelings? Did they ever burst free? Would anything—anyone—ever reach deep enough to break him out of the pain?

Ash was on his back, breath trapped, eyes wide before he knew what had happened. Sawyer hovered over him, smirk blazing. That dimple got him every time. It hid and revealed so much at once.

“You were taking too long,” Sawyer explained in a smoky tone that crawled through Ash's groin.

“To do what?”

“Anything.”

He descended then, his kiss leaving no room for more questions. Ash didn't care. Didn't care about anything but getting closer. Feeling instead of thinking. Experiencing skin on skin, with all that strength surrounding him. Holding him.

Taking whatever he wanted.

Ash gave himself over to Sawyer. Let go of his thoughts and fell into the pleasure of simply being.