The Deeper He Hurts (5 page)

He had his shirt off a moment after Asher stepped back. He spun around, hands fumbling with the fastenings on his shorts before they dropped to his ankles. His boxer briefs were shoved down with zero thought to where they were or who could stumble upon them. Right now he didn't care about anything but the coming pain.

About the sensation that would remind him of who he was.

That he was still alive.

Ash clenched his jaw against the flash of want that tore through him. The sight of Sawyer splayed and naked exactly as he'd envisioned was almost too much to handle. Arms stretched over his head, stance wide, weight braced on his palms, all without being told. He'd plucked a dream from the sky and here it was, waiting for him.

He cursed the darkness and the cover it provided. The shadowy outlines and gray tones hid too much. The agony and passion. The hurt and want. But he'd make do.

He laid a hand on the center of Sawyer's back, the skin clammy beneath his palm. Smooth, hot. He slid his other hand up, wrapped it around the side of Sawyer's neck. Sawyer lifted his chin, granting access. Ash found his pulse point, the shallow beat clipped but steady.

“Red and yellow.” He didn't bother to explain that they were for stop and pause.

“Not needed.”

“You still have them.” The crazy fuck. Someday he might beat the understanding into him, but that probably wouldn't work either.

Sawyer's back expanded with his inhalation, a shiver racing along his spine before it was shut down. Nice, but nowhere close to what they both wanted.

There was something in the tease right then, though, with not giving Sawyer what he sought. He was strong. Demanding. Certain of what he desired and needed.

And Ash was just as certain.

He eased back, nails digging into Sawyer's skin as he trailed them down his spine. The subsequent bow was slight, Sawyer's shoulder blades contracting. He finished with a hard slap to Sawyer's ass cheek, the smack ringing through the silence and vibrating over his palm.

A grunt, the cheeks clenching. Another smack. And another. Repeated hard and fast in the same spot, eliciting a low growl. His hold on Sawyer's shoulder noted the tensing of muscles, the slight tremble. So incredibly good.

He stepped back, breath coming quickly. This entire scene was unexpected but not. It was certainly sooner than he'd planned, but he was ready. So very ready.

He discarded his jacket, the night air refreshing where it'd been cold earlier. He'd been warm since he'd found Sawyer poised to cut himself. He could've stayed silent, watched the show, and gotten off on that.

This was better for both of them.

The underbrush was full of potential BDSM tools and he quickly snapped off a thin branch. He tested the flex and bend of the stick, then ran his fingers down it to check for sharp points or edges. It hissed through the air when he swung it, satisfaction settling in his chest.

This would do.

He tapped Sawyer's thigh. “Give me your foot.”

His heart hitched when Sawyer hesitated, a smile sliding over his face. Sawyer kicked his foot free of his shorts and bent his knee back to comply. His right foot. Ash's grin widened, appreciation igniting with his anticipation. He'd picked his dominant foot when given the choice.

Sawyer craved the pain as only a true pain slut did.

Ash grabbed his ankle and yanked the strap on his sandal free. The harsh rip of the Velcro purred over his senses. He tossed the sandal by his jacket and stepped back. Sawyer held his pose, and Ash took a moment to appreciate it.

The strong lines, the strength and power contained. Willingness was everything for him. He didn't force his will on anyone, but true desire tripped another switch within him. It was like his inner monster had something to feed on, without guilt.

Yet he still needed the reaction. The response and agony.

He swung the stick down, no warning given again, nailing the ball of the foot. The choked grunt was followed by quick, cutting breaths. He didn't give him time to recover, bringing the switch down over his instep in a sharp whack.

Sawyer pitched forward, knee bending as he absorbed the hit. But his foot was still lifted in offering, so Ash struck it again. That one got a high sweet keen, the anguish threaded in the pitch and hitch.
Yes
.

His heart raced, adrenaline flooding him in a quest for more. Every sound was heightened in the darkness, his senses reaching to find what he couldn't see. He ran a hand over Sawyer's shoulder and absorbed the tension, the trembling, the slickness of perspiration.

He traced down his side to the braced leg, every quiver a sign of Sawyer's struggle. His breath hissed as he sucked in air. “I'm just starting.”

Sawyer's gritty chuckle was lined with challenge. “Good.”

Good
. He snatched Sawyer's ankle and landed three rapid hits, each one precise and accurate—ball, instep, heel. Reflexes jerked Sawyer's leg, but Ash was ready, his hold sure.

“Fuck.”

Sawyer's raw curse carried the pain to Ash. He rested his back to Sawyer's. The trembling vibrated into him, ran around him and sunk deep. He shuddered when Sawyer pitched forward, his strength delicious.

The underside of the foot was often overlooked in its ability to extract large amounts of pain. A quick hit with a switch would race up a leg to engulf the entire body. Then the throbbing would start, along with the burn.

He inhaled, the scent of sweat, need, and agony sweeping over him. The tang was almost sweet, almost bitter. An ambrosia he couldn't define, yet instantly recognized.

And Sawyer was still offering his foot. No complaining. No whimpering protests.

“More.” The grunted request shot into the air in a demand.

“Fuck you.” He wasn't a Dom but he sure as hell didn't take orders.

“If you want.”

The muscles eased behind him, Sawyer's shoulders lowering with his sigh. Ash vaulted up, stumbling before he caught himself.
What the serious fuck?
He shook his head to clear his jumbled thoughts.

He reached around and found Sawyer's limp dick. It hung flaccid between his legs, sexual interest not even in play. He squeezed, the flesh squishing beneath his grip. “This isn't sexual.”

“No shit.”

“Yet you want me to fuck you?”

“You want to fuck me,” Sawyer scoffed.

“Not to hurt you.” Not that way. “I'm not a rapist.”

“Not rape,” he grunted out, pushing his ass back.

Ash shoved away, almost tripping over Sawyer's raised leg. His foot was still lifted, sole displayed and ready for more.
The sick bastard.
His sadist cackled.
It takes one to know one.

He took a deep breath, centered himself, and thought back to their earlier byplay, to the stream of taunts that seemed to flow from Sawyer. He was goading Ash, to get him to react with anger instead of the logic required in his position. Did that shit seriously work on other guys?

Ash crowded back in, the heat simmering off Sawyer to draw him closer. Sawyer stiffened and pulled away almost imperceptibly. He noted it, though, logged it into his growing list of Sawyer facts.

The sweet and bitter scent swirled around him when he pressed his lips over Sawyer's ear, exhaled. Waited. “I'll fuck you when you're ready. I'll fuck you and make it burn—if it'll make you cry.” He ran the edge of the switch up the inside of Sawyer's leg until it nestled against his balls. Sawyer's breaths increased, head tilting to rest against Ash's.
Beautiful.
“But I won't fuck you simply to pleasure myself.”

He brought the switch up in a quick flick of his wrist. The impact was deliberately light, a grazing more than a blow.

The air rushed from Sawyer's chest. He buckled forward, jaw clenched around the heaving inhalations through his nose. The trembling was back, his whole body shaking.

Ash ran his free hand over Sawyer's abdomen, relishing the tight muscles and tense hold. He stopped over Sawyer's heart, the beat racing. He hummed his approval, snagged ahold of Sawyer's earlobe with his teeth.

“More?” he taunted because he could.

He didn't wait for a response. He grabbed ahold of the nipple beneath his palm and twisted. The vicious act was timed with another flick of his wrist. The switch nailed Sawyer's balls, the end flipping out to tag his dick.

Sawyer's cry wasn't loud or full of volume, but somehow it was more satisfying than a blatant scream.

He stepped back abruptly and brought the switch down on Sawyer's ass. The low swoosh and subsequent thud of impact raced over him. It sung to his sadist, sprinted through his blood to tighten in his groin. He kicked Sawyer's foot to the ground and laid five more strikes on the pale ass cheeks, the last one landing on the sensitive crease where his ass met his thighs.

Sawyer's bellow of pain rippled the air before he crumpled forward, palms sliding down the rough bark to encircle the tree. His back heaved, forehead digging into the bark, legs quivering, but he was still on his feet.

Still standing.

It was the hottest thing Ash had seen in a very long time—if ever. The suffering was evident, but the power behind the pain was intoxicating.

His dick was hard and insistent in his pants. The desire to fuck him teetered on the edge of what his sadist wanted and still craved.

Distance was Sawyer's retreat. The safety zone he kept erected around him in defense. The man in him respected that space, but this was a scene and his sadist ruled. No limits outside of degradation and a stick up Sawyer's ass meant everything was in play.

He shoved up behind Sawyer, the front of his pants pressing hard against the fresh marks on Sawyer's ass. Another grunt, but Sawyer pushed back, hips grinding over Ash's erection.
Fucking
…Ash closed his eyes and savored the rush. Sawyer wasn't done. He'd keep going until he couldn't feel anymore and then he'd continue to push.

So damn dangerous.

Ash had seen it in a very few. The men who truly relished and needed the pain for whatever reason. His sadist longed to uncover the why, and now was no different.

“Do you fly?” he asked, nipping a path over Sawyer's shoulder. He ground into Sawyer's ass, his dick rolling over each cheek before settling in the cleft.

“No.”

The grit-filled response came out tight and fed Ash even more. No escaping for Sawyer. He wasn't addicted to the endorphin rush like many masochists. And none of this was sexual.

He rocked his hips, his dick sliding between the snug crease of Sawyer's ass. His lust simmered close to the edge, dancing with his need to inflict pain, to see and experience it through others. The intensity of his sexual desire was unique when he usually kept it contained.

And he would now.

He sunk his teeth into the juncture of Sawyer's shoulder and neck and flicked the switch so it hit the outside of Sawyer's thigh. The muscles tensed beneath his teeth and he reached past Sawyer's dick to find his balls. Everything seemed to vibrate, the air humming with the need for more, for what was coming.

Two thin welts were scored into the underside of Sawyer's sac, each one a ridge of tenderness he played with before he dug his fingernails into the lines and squeezed. He let the switch fly again and bit down harder on Sawyer's neck.

“Fucker.”

The barked curse was muffled behind the low grunts and Ash sighed with pleasure. His chuckle rumbled over Sawyer's nape as he hit him with the switch again. Sawyer's balls pulsed in his palm and he dug his nails in more, careful to not break the skin, but savoring the feel of the testicles compressing within his grip.

Sawyer's left leg trembled uncontrollably now, his weight balanced primarily on that foot. Ash had intentionally focused Sawyer's right side, and the imbalance showed in his struggle.

He released Sawyer's nuts, scraping his nails along the underside lines. He set up a consistent beat of hits on Sawyer's thigh with the switch and grabbed his semihard dick. He timed his strokes to match his strikes, each hit hard enough to sting without overpowering. The build was his intent, the slow morphing from irritating to flaming that would simmer under the skin before going deep.

“How long can you last?” he taunted.

Sawyer gave a harsh snort, his breath catching when Ash dug a nail into his piss slit. “Longer than you,” he finally grunted out. The deep anger-laced grit in his voice slid over Ash in a taunt of its own.

Responding to words obviously meant to incite would give Sawyer what he wanted. So he kept his pace the same, the pressure and hits just shy of pleasure or pain.

“Where's your head?” Ash tossed out the question with an element of demand.

“On my neck.”

He let go of Sawyer's dick and ran a hand over his thigh, hunting and finding the rough and smooth patches of scars he assumed were there. Sawyer flinched, leg twisting away before he stopped himself, freezing. Ash stilled as well, resting the switch against Sawyer's thigh.

The night sounds crept in. The small scramble of some critter, the rustle of the wind in the trees. The world seemed to wait, the tension springing from Sawyer as Ash slowly inspected the abused skin. His fingertips communicated wider patches along with thin lines, some overlapping, others close without touching.

Many were faint, the skin smoothing out with time, only a bump remaining to indicate an injury had been there. A shudder skimmed though Sawyer, the shake trembling into Ash. He dipped lower, reaching until the soft ruffle of leg hair tickled his palm. The scars were either hidden or nonexistent on the lower areas.

He continued to search, outlining a history of pain. The inner thigh had the most damage, but there were marks around his entire upper thigh. Every time he found another, pausing to feel it until he'd identified a possible cause, Sawyer tensed, the tiny compressions more like twitches. He said nothing, but his breaths deepened, the long pulls lifting into Ash's chest.

“Are you done?” Sawyer finally snapped. The clipped notes hid more misery than any of his grunts and cries. This light touch and exploration was torturing him far more than the switch had done, and it flowed into Ash in a languid pooling of yet another kind of pain.

“No.” He prodded an especially large oval-shaped scar. “Burn?”