by Lynda Aicher
“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.
Chapter 11
Ash led Sawyer into his bedroom, each step loaded with expectation. The room was a wash of dim light and soft grays, the storm still battering the roof with its power. Energy snapped through the air, buzzed over his skin, vibrated through him.
He went to the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran the length of his bedroom suite. The rain distorted the view, sheets of gusting wet sweeping over and into the trees. The violent display of nature seemed appropriate and only fed the moment.
Sawyer was right behind him, his heat wrapping around him to leave him scorched but wanting more. Almost desperate to be touched, held—taken, when everyone assumed he only took.
“This is a switch,” Sawyer murmured, nipping Ash’s earlobe to make his point.
Ash winced, not from the sting but the closeness. Of being crowded when he was usually the one doing the invading. It was different and odd and…good. Sawyer slipped his hands around Ash’s waist, caressing his front as he leaned into him. Skin and warmth and so much more than he’d ever given.
Ever trusted enough to give, and that included with his ex-wife.
“How does it feel?” Sawyer asked, teeth scraping down his neck. Ash tipped his head and gave him room. “To be the one getting pushed?”
“You’re not pushing.” He angled his chin higher, reached back to yank Sawyer closer. “You’re giving.”
“Fucker,” he chuckled against Ash’s shoulder, the vibration carrying to his nipple. He snaked a hand into Ash’s briefs, his grip hard. Ash mumbled a curse, the rush of pleasure sinking through his groin. “I’m going to give you so damn much you’ll think of me for days.” He ground his erection into Ash’s crease, his hole clenching at each roll and hitch.
“I’m counting on it.” He wouldn’t need the physical reminder, though. He’d been thinking of Sawyer every day since they’d met.
Sawyer shoved his jeans and briefs down, the material catching on his thighs. “Get naked,” he said, stepping back. “Which drawer?” He motioned to the nightstands.
“On the left.” The farthest from the door and least likely to be invaded by anyone but Asher himself.
He’d showered before dinner to get rid of the lingering stench of menthol, and damn was he happy about that. He kicked the last of his clothes to the side and took a step toward the bed.
“No,” Sawyer said, coming to him. “Stay there.”
He’d discarded his shorts, and his dick jutted hard and red from his groin. A hand to Ash’s chest maneuvered him back until he ran into the cool pane of glass. He arched away, hissing, but Sawyer was right there, wedging a leg between his and taking his mouth in another powerful kiss.
Ash dove into the crazed plundering, both pushing back and falling into the wild. His dick ached with want, heart pounded with fever, and he jumped into the recklessness with clear intent. This was simply sex for sex. The joy of feeling while giving and receiving pleasure.
Of being fucked and loving every second of it.
He ground into Sawyer, scrambled to get closer, hold tighter, and still breathe. Once again Sawyer’s strength enthralled him, the near lack of control a layer of danger that taunted and enticed.
Sawyer broke away, chest heaving. “Fuck.” He dove at Ash’s neck, mouth working over his throat, hands roaming up his sides, over his ass, seemingly everywhere at once. “You’re driving me insane.”
Ash groaned his agreement. The admission could’ve been limited to the crazy fire burning from his groin to his brain, but it was more than that for him. He wanted to figure Sawyer out, help him, and know him as no other did.
And this was only a part of it. The raw intimacy. The pure pleasure for the sake of that alone.
Sawyer bit down on Ash’s nipple, the stab of shock racing over his chest and straight to his dick. He bowed into the pleasure, soaking it in to mitigate the ache. He drove his fingers into Sawyer’s hair, knotting around the strands to exert his own control. He yanked Sawyer up, took his mouth with the power coursing through him.
Rain beat at the window, pounded on the roof, and embraced them in its cocoon. Nothing could get them here. Nothing else mattered.
He warred for access into Sawyer’s mouth, the tang of beer and want urging him to hunt further. His control was gone, his analysis obliterated beneath the base need. Of being filled and letting go.
Sawyer jerked away and whipped him around, the surprise giving Sawyer the advantage. Ash got his hands up, palms smacking into the window. Sawyer was on his back in the next instant, his heat countering the iciness of the glass. Then there was nothing but the hard line of Sawyer’s erection riding his crease.
“Yes,” he whispered, the sound lost to the roar in his ears. The storm raging within him beat out nature’s. He pushed his hips back, forehead dropping to the glass for more leverage. “Fuck me already.” Fill me up and demand that I know who you are. Like he had a chance of forgetting.
“Who’s impatient now?”
“I am, you fucker.” He ground back, wincing as his ass clenched, need leaking out the tip of his dick. His balls were full and aching, skin stretched tight until every touch reverberated to his core.
“You.” Sawyer stroked his hole, slick teasing his entry. “Want this.” He shoved a finger in, the penetration singing through his nerves. A wiggle, thrust, withdrawal. “So.” Another deep thrust. “Damn badly.” Out. Two fingers in, stretching the ache.
He ground his forehead into the glass, breath fogging the pane with each gust. “Yes,” he freely admitted. “Call me a slut and you’re dead,” he managed to add.
Sawyer’s chuckle tickled his nape. “There’s only room for one slut, and I already own that title.”
Sawyer was gone then, cool air swooping in to chill the sweat on Ash’s back. His legs shook, fingers curling into the glass. His hole flexed, seeking the fullness that was now gone.
He sensed Sawyer behind him, his presence wrapping around him like a thousand pinpricks. He forced his breaths to slow, anticipation thrumming over his skin. He jerked at the palm on his back, shuddered as it stroked up his spine, down.
Sawyer forced his feet farther apart, dick teasing his entrance. A puff of breath on his shoulder. A whisper of teeth. “I can’t go slow,” he warned, nudging in.
The head breached the tight outer ring of muscle, the stretch buzzing through his balls to clench his abdomen, sweet promise lined with pain that would fade. He scrambled for a hold on the glass, palms slipping before he braced himself and pushed back. The slow descent of Sawyer’s cock filled him as nothing else ever had.
He shook his head, wonder overriding everything else. Full, stunned, wanting more. He arched his neck, back bowed in an attempt to take more when there was nothing left. Sawyer ground into his ass, pubic hair tickling his cheeks, hands clenching his hips.
“Now,” he groaned, eyes squeezed tight. “Fuck me. Hard.”
Sawyer’s growl overpowered the rain, rattled over him and unleashed the passion that’d been barely contained. His first few slides quickly accelerated into hard slams, each one jerking him forward.
Yes. Ash’s cry of agreement was lost in his scramble for air. For a handhold and the presence of mind to shove back, to meet Sawyer at every thrust,
every hard plunge that jarred him forward. The glass squeaked beneath his fingers, rain clawing at him as darkness crept closer.
Sawyer shifted, his angle changing until each thrust grazed over that spot within him, sparks bursting free to light him up from the inside. Pleasure built to a punishing ball of need and crazed desire. His dick swung with every impact, pressure throbbing from his balls to encompass his entire groin.
“Damn,” he breathed, arms burning from his press on the window. Any give would have his face driving into the hard glass, his legs folding before they finished. “I need…” To feel. Have. Come.
Sawyer had him, though, a hand gripping his dick before he could finish his sentence. The firm hold and timed strokes flew past his final resistance. He came with a guttural roar choked off by the continued pounding in his ass.
He was on overload, synapses frying and misfiring the longer his release raged on. Sawyer didn’t let up or relent, his pace as furious as the storm outside. Ash wanted to protest, beg for mercy, but words wouldn’t flow.
He collapsed onto the glass, the coolness a relief that aided his crash. Behind him Sawyer staggered, his hold tightening on Ash’s hips. Then he was shaking, grinding into Ash with a strangled cry.
Silence hit with a rush of gasping breaths and his pounding heart. Sawyer sagged against him, each rushed exhale heating his spine. Fucking…He couldn’t think past the need to breathe and stay standing.
Sawyer slid his palms up Ash’s sides, over his chest, down, back, the nonstop connection soothing and confirming in the unconscious link it was.
Barriers had been crossed, maybe obliterated, and Ash had no clue how to proceed. He had no plan for what came next. No data to base his actions on. But he didn’t want to go back. Didn’t want to let go.
Was there a chance Sawyer would let him hold on?
Chapter 12
What just happened? The question circled through Sawyer’s mind in a nonstop loop he couldn’t answer. He could brush it off as a simple fuck, but that’d be a lie, and he was so damn tired of hiding.
Asher shifted on the mattress, close but not touching. They’d managed to stumble to the bed, both of them falling onto it in boneless masses of fatigue. Sawyer’s thighs and calves burned and his dick throbbed, chafed when it was already raw from the sports cream.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good—if ever.
He floated in the aftermath, limbs buzzing and numb at once. Every ache was a testament to how alive he was. His pulse slowed with each passing minute, time ticking away with the lightening rhythm of the rain and Asher’s slowing breaths.
Now what?
Asher grunted, yanked on the duvet until Sawyer assisted his efforts to cover them. The air-conditioning that’d felt good earlier was quickly whisking in to chill him. He shivered.
“I can turn the fire on,” Asher said, reaching for the remote on the nightstand.
“No,” he stated too quickly. Asher shot him a quizzical look over his shoulder and Sawyer rushed to cover his hasty response. “The blankets are enough.” His heart raced, explanations scrambling to validate his actions as he looked away.
Asher frowned, but rolled to face him, gaze burrowing into the side of Sawyer’s head. The brunt of the storm had passed, a fading light left behind as evening approached. A hundred options rambled through Sawyer’s thoughts, from escape to denial to anger, each one discarded before it took hold. There was no running from the moment.
From Asher.
If anything, he kept running to him. Or was it away from Utah and the haunting silence that’d driven him here?
With a sigh of defeat, he turned to his side, face a few feet from Asher’s. They eyed each other through the gray light, words and questions flying without a sound. Asher’s eyes were a stormy shade of passion and hesitancy. What did his own show?
“This is new to me,” he admitted to break the ice.
“Sex?” Asher’s lips lifted in a sarcastic half smile.
“In some ways, yes.” He let the truth flow out, his walls down in the quiet lull of the aftermath. “And this.” He motioned to the bed.
Asher studied him. “Me too.”
The quiet confession should’ve eased some of the panic threatening to break free, but it didn’t. It’d leveled the field only to raise the stakes.
“I didn’t see you coming,” Asher said. “And I don’t know what to do with you.”
He chuckled, his cheeky defenses bursting out. “Whipping and fucking me would be just fine.”
Asher puffed out a derisive snort. “If it was that simple we wouldn’t be here now.”
No. They wouldn’t. Which is why he’d never been in this position before.
“How old are you?” he asked as a distraction.
“Thirty-five.”
Sawyer arched a brow. “Trust fund kid?” he joked, only half kidding. This house was pretty damn luxurious for a guy still reaching for forty. And his own unwanted wealth was a result of his parents’ deaths, proving there was more than one way to acquire money.
“Hardly.” Asher scratched his temple, dragged his hand through his hair. “App development mostly. I got in on the ground level when smartphones were starting to boom and game apps were in their infancy. I cranked out a bunch of those, then transitioned into developing generic source code others could buy and build on, shortening their development time.”
“Wait.” He braced his head on his hand, fascinated. “You got rich developing stupid game apps for smartphones and tablets?”
“Not all of them were stupid.” Asher shrugged, smiling. “But yeah. Essentially.”
“Who knew?”
“The smart kids, obviously.”
He shoved his shoulder, chuckling. “Ass.”
“So I’ve been told.” There was something about his grin that didn’t reach his eyes.
“By who?”
Asher looked down, inhaled. He spread his fingers over the sheet, his skin a warm gold against the stark white. “My ex-wife for one.” Sawyer’s brows winged up, but he stayed silent. “My little brother. Cousins. More than a few subs who wanted a Dom more than a sadist. The Kick guys.” He shrugged. “I’m not the most social person.”
“And I am? Shit.” Sawyer cracked another smile, only slightly disarmed at how much he did that around Asher. “We make quite the pair, you and I.” He nudged Asher with his foot, running his sole over the springy hairs on Asher’s calf.
Asher’s eyes grew wider, and only then did Sawyer realize how his comment had sounded. He opened his mouth to cover his blunder, but Asher beat him.
“We do.” He winked, shifting the serious to lighthearted. “Even if you are a dick.”
“Ass.” Sawyer pointed at Asher, then to himself. “Dick.” He shot a cheeky grin. “Perfect.” And when had that word ever come out of his mouth when it wasn’t associated with pain?
Asher groaned, wiped his hand over his face before he shoved Sawyer’s arm. “Where in the hell do you get those corny lines?”
“Must be all the hours I spend by myself.” Sawyer stilled, the air seeming to flee the room. His gaze skipped over Asher’s face, avoiding his eyes in search of anything safer. He was exposing too much too easily and had no idea why. All of this was too comfortable—normal—and that was dangerous.
Doubts scrambled to coalesce until he shoved them back and faced Asher’s questioning patience. “I’m a bit of a loner,” he said, another piece of him exposed. “If you haven’t picked up on that before now.”
“I hadn’t. Not really.”
He plucked at the duvet before shifting to bunch the pillow under his head. “You come from a big family then?” Any topic was better than the one they were on. “Two brothers and a sister?” Yeah, he’d been listening at dinner.
The silence lengthened, water tapping on the roof, a wind gust rushing over the house. Asher pressed his lips together, reached out to trail a finger down Sawyer’s jaw. “And a shitload of cousins.�
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Sawyer swallowed, chest knotting around the longing clamoring to get out. “Are you close?”
“Too much, sometimes.” Asher let his finger fall away, a burn mark scored into Sawyer’s skin. “My parents are second-generation Italian Americans. Our family restaurant has been a part of Southeast Portland since my maternal grandparents opened the doors forty years ago.”
Longing crept into his throat to scrape over the tender lining before he choked it back down. “That’s…nice.” Amazing. Special. Something to be cherished.
“It is.” His smile was weak, though. “And not. I grew up with the expectation I’d become a priest.”
The disbelief burst from Sawyer in a rush of laughter before he could contain it. “What the fuck? You’re serious?”
“Very.” Asher leaned in, his kiss dirty and blatantly erotic as he held Sawyer’s nape and took what he wanted. The bite to his bottom lip throbbed when Asher pulled away, brow arched. “You can see how bad that would’ve been.”
Sawyer rubbed his mouth, fingers dabbing at his lip. “You. A priest?” He snorted. “I would’ve loved receiving penance from you, but I doubt many others would’ve.”
“My parents are devout Catholics.” He raised a brow, shrugging. “I have two uncles who are priests. They didn’t know any different.”
“And didn’t know you, apparently.” Sawyer had no idea if his own parents had known he was gay before they’d died, but he did know they never would’ve forced him into a life he didn’t want. “So where does the ex-wife fit in?”
Asher rolled to his back, hands clasping over his chest, his sigh long and deep. “She saved me from the seminary.” He cringed, wet his lips. “We were friends since the sandbox, raised in the same neighborhood. High school sweethearts, which our parents both encouraged and warned us against.” Another deep sigh gusted into the quiet. “The marriage was real. We did love each other. But abstaining from sex before marriage meant we didn’t discover how incompatible we were in bed until after the ‘I do’s’ were done.”
“People still do that? Abstain from sex until marriage?” No way.