Cleave (Cutting Cords Series Book 3)

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “Given your history, it wasn’t unexpected.”

  “My ancient history you mean?”

  “Once a cutter….”

  Sloan rolled his eyes. “Trent and I had a scene last night, not that it’s any of your business, but you know knife play has nothing to do with reality. Is this what you wanted to see?” Sloan asked, tearing his shirt off in a dramatic gesture.

  Max looked at the gashes on Sloan’s shoulder and glanced at me. “How long has this been going on?”

  I could tell by the remorseful tone of his voice he realized his mistake. However, it did nothing to quell my anger. “You don’t deserve an explanation, but I’m giving you one anyway. Sloan and I are in a serious relationship, and we’re both consenting adults. I know what I’m doing, and trust me, Max, he’s not being abused.”

  Max had the decency to look embarrassed. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “You should be, you meddling yenta,” Sloan muttered.

  “Really, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Call my dad and tell him everything’s fine.”

  “That goes without saying. Are you guys ever going to speak to me again?”

  “You still sign our paychecks, so yeah,” Sloan quipped, “we have no choice but to play nice.”

  “You little shit.”

  “Honestly, Max. After what you and I went through, don’t you think I would have screamed the house down if Trent were hurting me?”

  “You are rather vocal.”

  “Seriously, dude. You need to latch on to another cause, like saving the whales or the fucking environment. Just leave my sorry ass off your radar for a change.”

  Max nodded and walked out of the apartment.

  Chapter 21

  “Well, if it isn’t my famous young friend and himself.”

  “Famous?”

  “I googled you.”

  “I’m just a lucky guy.”

  “You don’t know your own worth, lad.”

  “I tell him the same thing every morning,” Trent said.

  “You remember Trent, don’t you, Bryce?” I said, sliding onto one of the barstools. Trent took up the spot beside mine.

  “Aye,” he said, while wiping up the counter in front of us with a damp rag. “What can I be getting you gents?”

  “We’ll have two pints.”

  “Have you recovered from yesterday’s pole-axin’, then?”

  “Barely, so go easy on me, will you?”

  “Would you rather have a cuppa?”

  “Hell, no. Just keep an eye on my intake.”

  Bryce burst into contagious laughter. “I’ll be gentle tonight.”

  The bar was crowded with a nice mix of couples and singles who were probably regulars. Everyone knew Bryce and called him by his first name, comfortable in this neighborly setting akin to the old sitcom Cheers. After taking a sip of the Guinness, served in a frosty mug, I wiped the foam off my lips and asked Bryce to tell us about Anam Cara.

  “It’s nothin’ new.”

  “We’ve never heard the term before.”

  “We Irish believe that when someone shares your innermost feelings and can accept you with all your faults, you’ve found your Anam Cara, your soul friend. The connection is a rare and special gift, but first you have to recognize your own worth.”

  “Can you have more than one Anam Cara?”

  “I don’t know, Sloan. Finding one is hard enough, let alone two.”

  “And the sharing of thoughts and fears is mutual?”

  “Aye….”

  “Is it an instant recognition?”

  “Ah, not everyone is brave enough to recognize it.”

  “Brave?”

  “When you love another, you take a risk. Opening the door to your heart can be a scary thing because you give a stranger permission to get past the barriers you’ve erected.”

  “And it doesn’t always pan out.”

  “That’s why your Anam Cara is so special. You let someone in and hope they like what they see. Once you find the right person, you’ve won the sweepstake of life.”

  “What’s a philosopher doing tending bar?” Trent asked. “Shouldn’t you be sitting in a dark office with a couch and charging us by the hour?”

  “I’m no brainiac, Trent. Everyone knows about the Anam Cara.”

  “Maybe in Ireland.”

  “Not so, mate. There’s many a book written on the subject. One of them is by a bloke called John O’Donohue. You can read up on the whole concept.”

  “We’ll do that.”

  “Are you stayin’ for supper, then?”

  “What do you have?”

  “Here’s a menu,” Bryce said, pushing it across the counter toward us before moving away to tend to another customer.

  “You want to stay?” I never presumed anything with Trent.

  “Sure, why not.”

  After scanning the menu quickly, we both decided on cheeseburgers topped with bacon and a side order of onion rings. The fries came with the meal. We found a small table closer to the fireplace and grabbed it while we could.

  “This is a nice place,” Trent commented.

  “That’s why I ended up spending the afternoon here yesterday. It was like being at home.”

  “It does have good vibes.”

  We practically inhaled our food, enjoying the satisfying meal with hardly any conversation. When we were done and the waiter had cleared the table and placed two fresh glasses of beer in front of us, Trent asked, “Have you ever felt you were born into the wrong family?”

  “I’m sure I would have done much better in Cher’s household.”

  Trent’s laughter was always reassuring. Knowing I tickled his funny bone was a source of pleasure for me and a welcome relief, because Cole and I were never on the same page in the humor department.

  “Seriously, babe. Sometimes I think I’m a changeling.”

  “Why?”

  “I hated everything about farming. I’d lie in bed at night and wonder if I’d been accidentally switched at birth and given to the wrong parents, but when I found out my mom delivered me at home, my theory fizzled out.”

  “Were you so different from them? You must have something in common.”

  “I have my mother’s blue eyes and my father’s physique, but I dreamed of escaping their simple life for as long as I can remember. There was a well-stocked library in town, and I became a familiar figure around the aisles. I’d left Illinois long before I actually boarded the bus. My vehicle was literature.”

  “Were they very disappointed when you told them you didn’t want to be a farmer?”

  “Yes, because they had no other children to take over. I’m sure you got the same reaction from your dad when you told him you didn’t like baseball.”

  “The difference is I would have done it if I were any good. I was desperate for his attention and would have gladly embarked on a career in sports.”

  “Thank Christ or I would have never met you.”

  “Somehow, I have a feeling we would have managed to cross paths regardless.”

  “It took you a while to warm up to me.”

  “You scared me.”

  “Why? I thought I was a perfect gentleman.”

  “Your ability to see right through me was very intimidating.”

  “Believe me, it was purely instinctual. I didn’t lie in bed analyzing your every move. Aside from the physical attraction, I was drawn to you mentally. Everything about us felt right, so I’m glad you overcame the fear and decided to give us a chance.”

  “So am I. Despite the occasional bump in the road, I’ve never been happier.”

  “It’s the soul mate thing Bryce is talking about.”

  “I can only speak for myself, but I’m more honest with you than I ever was with Cole. There were certain things I kept from him because I knew he’d disapprove. If that’s what having a soul mate is about, then yes, you must be my Anam Cara.”

  “And you’re mine, Sloan.
I’ve never experienced this level of contentment, nor have I ever thought to make it legal.”

  “You know you can always take back the offer if you’re having second thoughts. I won’t hold it against you if it was a knee-jerk reaction to my dad’s accusation.”

  “Your father needs to stop treating you like a child, but he had nothing to do with my proposal. I’ve never been coerced into a decision, especially something this significant.”

  “I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. I’m not your typical sub, and you know it.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, babe. It’s the atypical part of you that keeps me interested. You’re a mental and physical challenge.”

  “What happens when I’m no longer a challenge?”

  “We’ll both be dead.”

  I grinned. “Am I really so difficult?”

  “You’re a handful, babe, but I love you, so it’s easier to overlook the rest.”

  “Take me home, Master.”

  Understanding passed between us and we settled the bill and left a huge tip, then walked out the door without saying goodbye to Bryce. He was nowhere in sight, and I didn’t want to waste another second looking for him. I knew we’d be back, anyhow. I had a feeling this bar was going to become a new addition to our lives, and Bryce might even turn into a good friend. He’d certainly proven his worth so far. Trent and I wouldn’t be together tonight if he hadn’t called him yesterday.

  Trent whistled down a cab despite the short distance to his place. It was cold, and neither one of us felt like dealing with snowy sidewalks and frozen faces. Not to mention the more pressing concern in and around the groin area. We held hands in the cab and restrained ourselves until we unlocked the apartment door. Once inside, it was a contest to see who could get naked faster.

  Trent tortured me with butterfly kisses, leaving a trail of goose bumps in his wake. I tried not to think of our separate roles and simply enjoyed Trent, my lover. He was tender tonight, and I relished the change as he whispered loving endearments to shore up his commitment. After slicking us both with the lube he’d tucked under the pillow, he thrust into me bare, discarding the latex along with any residual doubt. It didn’t take long before we were straining toward completion, calling each other’s name, and reaffirming our love.

  I was floating on a post-orgasmic high, cradled in Trent’s arms, and half-asleep when I heard him whisper. “In the interest of full disclosure, and to show my appreciation for your honesty and willingness to commit, do you want to know why I’m so resistant to anal sex?”

  My eyes flew open, and my brain kicked back on. “Is it because I’m too big?”

  “Your size is daunting, but it’s not the reason. I was hurt by an inconsiderate jackass.”

  I turned around so I could look into his eyes. “Were you raped?”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  “Have you ever been fisted, Sloan?”

  “Fuck, no.”

  “It was hell….”

  Chapter 22

  “Tell me,” I said, resting my head on his chest. I figured he’d be more comfortable reliving a painful experience without the added pressure of seeing my facial expressions, which lacked the same filters governing my mouth.

  “There’s a reason I harp on you about the importance of using your safeword.”

  “Is it because you didn’t?”

  “Correct. I was under the misconception that physical endurance made for a better Dom. Part of our training included understanding every tool and sexual kink in the BDSM arsenal.”

  “Didn’t your mentor know what the hell he was doing?”

  “He expected me to safeword if I was in pain, but he forgot who he was dealing with.”

  “GI Joe.”

  “Exactly,” Trent said, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand. “Do you want one?”

  “Yes.”

  He made a big ceremony of lighting the cigarettes, probably because he needed time to gather his thoughts. After being with this man for almost a year, I could tell when he was gearing up for something unpleasant. We smoked leisurely, and I did my best to curb the impatience. Finally, he resumed his story.

  “I had just graduated from West Point with the highest honors. I took pride in my physical prowess. I didn’t want to wimp out on a sexual kink, even though I knew it wasn’t common practice.”

  “I don’t know any gay men who enjoy fisting.”

  “Unfortunately, I didn’t know enough at the time to voice my feelings on the matter. I assumed it was necessary to be well rounded.”

  “How did you get into BDSM in the first place?”

  “My roommate.”

  “At the academy?” I was shocked.

  “Don’t act so surprised. You have no idea what goes on behind those brick walls.”

  “No, I don’t, and I really don’t care. Please continue.”

  “Jack introduced me to the right people.”

  “Were you lovers?”

  “More like fuck buddies. We had the same professional goals and took a risk every time we snuck into each other’s bed. It was convenient to have a roommate who was gay and who understood the repercussions of being caught. Exposure was an ongoing threat. Later on, we found out we had more in common than a need for cock―we both fantasized about whips and chains. Jack was aggressive in his pursuit of the lifestyle and I was a willing student.”

  “Was he the one who fisted you?”

  “No. It was some guy who was supposed to train me.”

  “Straight to the emergency room.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I may be naïve, but I’m not clueless. How badly did he hurt you?”

  “Everyone thinks a man’s ass can withstand just about anything, but no one talks about the risks. After my accident, I was enlightened by my internist. The soft walls of the lower colon can be easily damaged by trauma or a sharp fingernail. We are not as unbreakable as you might think.”

  “I never thought we were.”

  “It never occurred to me that my trainer didn’t know what he was doing. I didn’t speak up or safeword when the pain became too intense. I just gritted my teeth and took it like a goddamn hero. Later on, I found out it was his first time as well.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “I think he freaked when my muscles convulsed around his wrist. Instead of waiting for me to relax, he pulled out abruptly and nicked my colon with one of his nails.”

  “Wasn’t he gloved?”

  “No.”

  “Even I know that’s wrong.”

  “We made a lot of mistakes, but if I had only spoken up when I started to get uncomfortable, he would have stopped before causing any serious damage.”

  “Did you know instantly?”

  Trent shook his head. “After the scene, I suffered through several hours of extreme pain and finally gave in to Jack’s nagging. He drove me to a private clinic and waited around while I was in treatment.”

  “How did you guys manage to stay under the radar?”

  “We were on leave and used fake names. The manager at the club was familiar with several doctors in the lifestyle who were willing to patch me up without asking too many questions. We paid for everything in cash so there was no insurance or paper trail.”

  “Jesus.”

  “It was touch-and-go for a while. I almost died from peritonitis.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Blood poisoning. When the colon was perforated, toxins leaked into my body causing a massive infection.”

  “Didn’t you have symptoms to alert you?”

  “Of course I did, but I ignored the signs. I thought fever and abdominal cramps were part of the deal.”

  “Christ, Trent.”

  “It was an object lesson.”

  “Is the damage permanent?”

  “Physically, I’m fine. I was as good as new within a few months. The mental issues are a work in progress.”
<
br />   “So…it’s like PTSD without guns and ammo.”

  “Yup.”

  “How come you never objected to the rimming? I thought you rather enjoyed it. And what about the few times you let me stick a finger up there to prod that sweet spot of yours?”

  “I know your tongue can only go so far, and a finger is a far cry from having your sensational cock inside of me. As soon as you get close, the anxiety mounts, and I start to lose my erection.”

  “Have you ever sought help?”

  “No… I was sure I could fix the problem on my own. It’s been almost eight years, but I’m still struggling. I’ve even tried using a dildo on myself, but….”

  “You can’t handle it.”

  “No.”

  “Did you enjoy anal sex before the accident?”

  “Not really.”

  “You always topped?”

  “Jack and I would switch off occasionally, but he knew I wasn’t into it.”

  “He obviously lacked certain skills.”

  “I don’t remember any pleasure from our few attempts.”

  “Not once?”

  “No.”

  “What a shame.”

  “Is this a deal breaker, Sloan?”

  “Of course not. It makes you more human, if you want to know the truth. When we first met, I presumed you were a sex god, way out of my league.”

  “And now?”

  “I know you’re not perfect, but I love your damaged ass more than ever.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel deprived.”

  “In the last nine months, I have experienced the most amazing orgasms. There is nothing inadequate about our sex life. I just wish I had the experience to help you heal.”

  “Let’s keep on trying,” Trent said, pulling me closer. “I’d hate to lose you over this.”

  “It’ll take much more to push me out the door.”

  “Thank you. Still, you needed to know the truth before accepting my proposal.”

  “I’m not the kind of person who’s deterred by physical limitations.”

  “You were with a blind man for years.”

  “Let’s put this to rest for now,” I said, reassuring him. “Do you and Jack still keep in contact?”

  “He was killed in Afghanistan.”

  “Oh, shit… I’m sorry I brought it up.”