The Deeper He Hurts (8 page)

There was so much depth to Sawyer, things no one could see and most wouldn't look for, but he did. He saw it all right here on his otherwise flawless skin, hidden from all but those who'd understand, and even most of those wouldn't truly get it. They wouldn't hunt beneath the surface to understand and know what drove—or chased—him.

He reeled in his greed, tamped down his curiosity, and came back to the moment. He ran a single finger down Sawyer's flaccid shaft, lifted it to check the underside. It appeared a bit raw, definitely sensitive, but there was no sign of chemical burns.

“Does it still hurt?” Everyone's pain tolerances were different. He'd played with some guys who'd barely flinched at this form of chemical play while breaking into tears under a good paddling.

Sawyer stared at Ash, silent questions whizzing by before he lowered his gaze to study the area in discussion. There was no embarrassment displayed, yet another sign of his experience. Most guys lost any discomfort with nudity if they played in this lifestyle for long.

“Some.” He took a step back, shifting and moving his hips. “I'll know I have a dick and asshole for a while.” He shot a half smile at Ash, the closeness of the previous moment shoved aside. “And that's not a complaint.”

“It better not be.” He let the change happen, flowing with the easy banter that kept them both from showing too much. This was meant to be nothing more than an enjoyable event, or as Sawyer had said, a mutual exchange of kinks that worked together.

Ash hitched his clothes into place, standing to zip and buckle. A come stain darkened the front of his shirt and splotches of white cream marred the front of his pants. He wiped those off, but marks remained.

“I need a change of clothes,” he mumbled to himself.

Sawyer chuckled. “You wouldn't have that problem if you'd gotten naked sooner.”

He flicked a brow up. “Or if I'd just said ‘No' and sent you packing.”

“But you didn't.” Sawyer glanced over his shoulder to the general area of the office. “And no one heard me, either.”

“Not that we know of—yet.”

Sawyer took a step around the desk. “Should I go check?” His cheekiness was refreshing in its own way, even if it was another defense mechanism. Butt naked and cute as hell, he stood with an expected lift of his brows.

“Sure,” Ash said, motioning to the door. “Go right ahead. But my mouth is sealed on why your nuts look like two ripe cherries snuggling behind a raw dick.”

Sawyer flipped him off. “Fucker.” He motioned to his clothes. “Feel like handing those to me yet?”

Ash would have made him bend over and get them himself—if he'd been a Dom. He grabbed Sawyer's T-shirt and flung it at him; his shorts and briefs were next. He didn't care if Sawyer caught them, but he snagged each item with a grin, the last one earning Ash a wink.

Who was the fucker now? Ash shook his head and leaned against his desk to watch him dress. Sawyer hitched his briefs on, taking care as he settled himself into them with only one small wince. A wicked thrill prickled over Ash's nape when Sawyer studied his cargo shorts like they were going to bite.

Yup, he'd be remembering Ash for quite a while. Apparently, his skin was nicely sensitive to the cream.

He shut down his computer and packed up his remaining work into his briefcase. “I'll drive you to my place,” he said as he turned back to Sawyer. “It's not far, but it's somewhat tricky to find.”

Sawyer frowned. “I'm not going to your place.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “But you're not walking out of here without me at your side. So where do you want to go? I'd assumed you'd be more comfortable in my home, where you can air out and eventually shower.” He shot him a devious grin. “I'm cool with a coffee shop or restaurant, though. I'll blame the come stains on you, if asked.”

Sawyer's two steps back were the first sign of a retreat he'd displayed. “What the hell are you talking about? I don't fucking need an escort or a daddy telling me what to do.” His frown deepened. “I told you that shit is a big fucking no for me.”

“Aftercare.” He kept his tone calm but firm. “It's my rule, which I let slide a bit the last time because of where we were. I won't now, not until I'm sure you're clear of any true damage. Which means I need to check for chemical burns over the next few hours.”

Sawyer was shaking his head before he'd finished. “I don't need anyone checking me over. I've lived on my own for the last decade. I know how to care for my wounds.”

“No.” Ash refused to let this go. “Think of it as a free meal and an excellent shower. My master bath has four shower heads. I know that beats the hell out of the locker room showers out at White Salmon.”

He slung his briefcase strap over his shoulder and walked around him to the office door, uncaring whether Sawyer liked his rules or not. He flicked the lock, but didn't open the door. “Our other option is to sit around here and answer questions on why my office reeks of menthol, why you're walking funny, and why I have come stains on my clothes.”

“Or I go my way and you go yours,” Sawyer countered.

He inclined his head, consenting to that option. “If you pick that, then we're done playing for good. Aftercare isn't a joke for me, and I won't play with guys who don't take it seriously or let me do my job.”

“Your job?”

His sigh carried his frustration. He didn't want to argue about this—or lose the chance of playing with Sawyer again. Not when he enjoyed the man as much as the scenes with him.

“I'm a sadist. I like to inflict pain on others.” He straightened his glasses, his tone level despite the unaccustomed nerves that balled in his stomach. “It's taken me a long time to be comfortable admitting that. But despite that need, I have no wish to permanently hurt or cripple anyone. I won't risk some death-wish pain slut with no limits not taking care of himself.” He narrowed his eyes and let his meaning sink in.

Sawyer's glare would've intimidated a lot of men, probably had. He braced his hands on his hips, lip curling. “I don't have a death wish.”

Ash let his raised brow speak his doubt. “Anyone who plays the field with no limits in this lifestyle is either an idiot, out to prove something, or doesn't value their own life enough to care.” Sawyer didn't fit snugly into any of those classifications, but it was only a matter of time before he got into major trouble or seriously hurt if he didn't change his ways.

“Fine,” Sawyer grumbled after a long moment. He threw up his hands in exaggerated consent. “Are you grilling me steak?”

Really? He held his smile back. “If you make the salad.”

Sawyer strolled forward, a slight hitch in his step the only sign of their last hour together. He nudged Ash aside and opened the office door. “I'll drive myself.”

He slammed a hand on the door to stop him. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don't trust you to follow me.” He sent a knowing smile at the pinch of guilt that appeared before Sawyer looked away.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Can I at least grab a bag from my car?”

“Of course.” Ash grinned, letting the door open wide. “I'll walk with you.”

“Are you serious?” Sawyer mumbled something under his breath and stalked through the outer office, no hitch in his step at all.

Ash's laugh rolled out in a soft note of victory. A bit of happiness was in there, too, but he didn't get hung up on it. There was nothing wrong with having fun as long as no one got hurt—more than they wanted to.

Sawyer leaned on the wall next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the distant view of the valley and Mount St. Helens framed between towering trees. He could see for miles here, and that was about the only similarity to his home in Utah. Everything else was like night and day.

Kind of like him and Asher.

Rain was predicted, and based on the darkness of the gathering clouds, he agreed with the weatherman. There was something fascinating about watching a storm roll in. He couldn't see as much here, only the sliver of distance through the break in the trees, but it still fascinated him.

Back home he could watch it build and approach miles before it actually reached him, feel the change in air pressure and drop in temperature. He could go out on Ash's large deck, but that'd require him to move, and for some unfathomable reason he was content here. Inside and with Asher.

He heard him approach, his footsteps mostly silent on the hardwoods. That awareness thing kicked in again as he sensed his nearness, knew when Asher was behind him without turning around.

“Lucky you're not camping,” Asher said as he stopped next to him, shoulders touching. Three thousand square feet of living space and he crowded into his. Again.

And Sawyer wasn't drawing away.

He pulled his focus from the view outside to study the one inside. Studious, educated, intelligent—they all fit. Even his glasses were sexy, or was it just him?

“I'd be fine.” He'd slept in the back of his SUV many times during a good downpour. “This is more of a baby storm compared to the ones that roll across Utah.”

“I imagine,” Asher agreed. “We don't get a lot of thunderstorms here. Mostly just rain and wind.”

“Have you ever experienced a good thunderstorm? One you can hear and see coming for miles before it's over you? Where the thunder shakes the ground and rattles your eardrums?”

“No.”

Sawyer smiled at the clipped tone. “You really should someday. There's nothing quite like it.”

“Says the man who gets off on crashing down rivers meant for viewing, not riding.”

He couldn't argue that one, so he went back to watching the tumbling clouds in their race across the sky. Darkness eased in on the fading shades of the storm, muted but not evening. The sun was still shining somewhere over the band of gray clouds, only it wasn't strong enough to penetrate through them. A quiet eeriness always seemed to settle over the land in this moment, the wait not a question of
if
but
when
will the storm hit.

“How are your nuts?”

His laugh burst from him in a rush of air. Good thing he hadn't had a mouthful of beer. He made a show of checking them out, squeezing and shifting them around while he ignored Asher.

“Fine,” he said, serious. This whole aftercare mandate was a bit of bullshit he wanted to stay irritated at, yet couldn't. Not when he'd had no one who'd wanted to take care of him in years. “Tender, but otherwise okay.” Four hours, an excellent steak, a shower later, and the memory of the burn was stronger than any mark or pain that lingered. “I should probably get going.” He didn't move, though.

“Where are you staying tonight?”

“Micah's letting me camp at his place.”

“Inside or out?”

How Asher knew to ask that was a mystery to him. Did the man have superhuman powers in that brain of his? “I prefer the outdoors.” They'd talked about everything and nothing over dinner. Kick, Asher's role in it, rafting, Kick's other offerings, and Sawyer's winter job as a home energy consultant. By unspoken agreement, they'd stayed on neutral topics and far away from the personal ones.

“Why?”

“It's safer.” The honest response was out before he thought to change it. He tensed, then let it go. What did it matter? Asher already knew more about him and his demons than people who'd known him since he was a kid. And this was temporary, a blip of escape and a chance at saving his sanity before he returned home.

Asher studied him, the intensity simmering over Sawyer's side when he refused to acknowledge him. “How so?”

Bands of rain marched up the valley in the distance, the hazy forms traveling in a line of fulfilled promised. The downpour would be swift and harsh, soaking the unsuspecting within seconds.

That's all it took, really. Seconds to change a life—or take one.

“You can't get trapped if you're already outside.” He closed his eyes, rubbed the back of his head, the honesty both a relief and a whole new terror.

“But you can get stuck outside when it's safer in.”

The Catch-22 hit so close to the truth he almost laughed. Almost. But any emotion would crack the already fragile shell that kept him safe. The one Asher kept chipping away at and Sawyer kept letting him.

Asher shifted behind him, wrapped his arms around Sawyer's waist in a loose hold. His heart hitched, cramped, then eased. How was this okay? Why now? With him? A soothing stroke over his abdomen, a gentle nuzzle by his ear. Comfort given—and accepted, when he'd never allowed it before.

“I thought you liked pain,” Sawyer mumbled in an attempt to deflect. He didn't have it in him to pull away, but he could still throw barbs.

“What do you think I'm holding?”

The whispered question fluttered down his neck and burned into his already aching heart.
My pain.
Warmth spread in a jumble of angry defiance and longing he couldn't acknowledge. Couldn't resist.

“Are you trying to make it worse, Asher?” He wouldn't give in. “Poking at the pain to watch it shatter? What kind of sick fuck are you?” Yet he reveled in it too. In the comfort and containment. That someone else was there with him, in it and offering to share it.

A kiss landed near his temple. “No.” Another by his cheek. “I'm not poking. Just observing.” One near his ear. “Feeling.”

The trembling started deep in his gut, internal and deadly in what it threatened to break loose. “What—” He swallowed to dislodge the boulder in his throat. “What are you doing?” He'd gone stiff against the security. Against the battle raging in his chest.

“I don't know.” Honesty tripped over the breathy admission. Heat ghosted by Sawyer's ear, down the sensitive canal. “I don't—” His arms contracted, loosened. “Know.”

Of all the things Asher could've said, that was an answer he understood. One he couldn't fight, because he was just as lost. Probably more.

He couldn't admit that, though. Not aloud.

“What's going to trap you inside?” Asher asked.

Fire
. The word hovered on his tongue, flames dancing in his memory. Raging, wild, consuming. His blood ran cold, stomach twisting. Anxiety scrambled up his spine to constrict around his throat. It bore down on his windpipe, darkened his vision. And there was a kiss on his neck, his shoulder, the gentle rub of a hand over his chest, above his heart.

Asher's question was curiosity, a quest to understand. No one from his past talked about what happened. Everyone who knew steered clear of the topic, even Mick. He'd never let anyone new get close enough to know to ask.

Until now.

And he still couldn't answer. Couldn't dig into that pain without exposing all of himself, and he wasn't sure he'd survive that.

But he was here with Asher when he could've stayed away. He didn't really want to though, and that scared the hell out of him. More than the question or the answer.

He turned in Asher's arms, intention urging him forward until Asher's back hit the wall. Electricity prickled over Sawyer's skin, the storm closing in. Asher stared back at him, eyes dark but clear. Questions shone in them, along with something simpler. Baser.

Desire. Want.

A primal need older than time and basic to life itself.

Asher slowly removed his glasses. A quick glance had him tossing them onto a nearby chair. He wet his lips, hand smoothing over Sawyer's nape to tangle in the ends of his hair. “We're playing with fire.”

A shiver spread down Sawyer's spine and he twisted his head into Asher's touch. The saying was common, but the words were so damn appropriate. Did he somehow know? Was he still pushing to find the source of his pain? Did it matter?

“Yeah.” Sawyer leaned in until their hips pressed together. “We are,” he mumbled. Fire was beautiful and deadly. Fierce and soothing. And completely unpredictable. “I don't care.” Not now. Here.

Asher cupped his face, so close every word brushed over his lips. “You should.” He captured his mouth, tongue entering to sweep away his thoughts. Objections were nonexistent when all Sawyer wanted was to fall into this man and never surface.

Rain pelted the siding in a line of power as the storm broke over the house, a thunderous downpour that blocked out the world. It drove him more and Sawyer dove into the kiss with a wild abandon he'd never before allowed himself, or even felt.

He didn't usually kiss, didn't get close, yet he couldn't get close enough now.

He took over the kiss, capturing Asher's face so he could find every last secret, every taste, every bit of heat and claim it as his. Sweetness teased his tongue, teeth scraped the edges as Asher gave back everything. Sawyer took and accepted, each lick countered by another retreat in an equal match of strength and dominance.

But there was no real control. No logic or reasoning.

Asher moaned, hips thrusting forward to rock against him, hard cocks riding each other through too many layers of clothing. Passion raced through his groin, desire chasing it until he was lost in it. Asher. All of it.

Shirts were removed, pants undone on instinct more than deliberate intent. His pulse hammered to the beat of the rain, the intensity pouring into him as it battered the house. He didn't question what he was doing or what would happen after. The end was his only goal. Of sinking into Asher, feeling him clench, groan, and come.

Another moan ripped over the pelting rain as it gusted against the glass, splattering the surface with the force of the wind. He rode the fury and poured his into Asher.

“Fuck.” He gasped for air, lips trailing down Asher's jaw until he dove into his neck. Spice and musk assaulted him, the woodsy scent of Asher's soap and aftershave triggering another layer of lust. He tunneled his hand beneath Asher's briefs, sought and found his dick. Hot, hard, and already damp with pre-come. Each stroke caressed his palm, the thick vein on the underside teasing over his calluses.

“You're so damn hot.” Asher bit his ear, down the line of his neck. “I can't get enough of you.” He dug his hand into Sawyer's shorts and grasped Sawyer's rock-hard dick.

Sawyer flung his head back, mouth gaping. He was on fire, heat pouring through every cell until he swore he was going to burst into flames. Every stroke of Asher's hand was a heady combination of residual pain and blazing pleasure. So different from the earlier hand job. More intense in the pure spontaneity of this encounter.

“God,” he moaned, breath hitching when Ash swiped his nail over the slit on top. Just an edge of pain that amped up the heat growing in his groin. He pressed his forehead to Asher's, breaths crashing in the minimal space between them. He stopped his stroking, Asher following until only their chests moved. “I want to fuck you.” He rolled his head, nose brushing Asher's. “So damn hard.”

“Yes.”

The airy response breezed over his lips and wrapped around his chest until he could barely breathe.

“Upstairs,” Asher urged. “Supplies.”

That was miles away when he wasn't certain if he'd make it a step. “Too far.” He traced his lips over Asher's, breaths mingling but going no deeper. This was a break in the urgency, a moment to savor before the storm broke again.

“You're not doing me raw or bare.” Asher nudged his mouth, tongue snaking out to trail over his lower lip. He released Sawyer's dick and ran his hand under his shirt to tweak his nipple. The shot of pleasure spread over his chest in a dash of tingles.

He moaned into the sensation, scrambling for other options. “Olive oil?”

“Condom.”

“None down here?”

Asher swiveled his head just enough to communicate the negative. “Too many nieces and nephews who find anything that isn't locked up.”

Sawyer didn't want to think about family. Didn't want to think at all when he could lose himself in this. It was different from the pain. Freer but more restricting, and he wasn't going to think about that either.

He traced his tongue over Asher's lips, sensing the outline, remembering the curves, wanting the taste of him even more. Getting lost in Asher was so much better than the pain, and so damn dangerous.

“Upstairs then.” Everything else would be waiting for him when he was done—when this was done. But for now he had Asher to enjoy.