The Deeper He Hurts

by Lynda Aicher

  The scramble for lube and a condom became a race to keep his cool. He fumbled with the lube cap until Asher snatched the bottle from him. Asher managed to get the liquid on his fingers and had them in his hole before Sawyer rolled the condom on.

  He stared at the sight, marveled at the two fingers crammed into the tight space. The muscles were stretched taut, resistance slowly working into acceptance with each dive of Asher’s fingers. There was room for more, though.

  His own finger slid in next to Asher’s, their knuckles bumping as they found a rhythm together. Asher’s hole sucked them in with each plunge, resistance holding them until they pulled back out. He added a second digit, and Asher’s groan tore through the room. Four fingers stretched him wide, opened him up, and got him ready for Sawyer.

  “Damn.” He swallowed, wet his lips. “That’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.” And he’d seen just about everything in the many dungeons he’d visited.

  “You know what would make it better?”

  “My dick in there.”

  “Bingo,” Asher mumbled as he yanked his fingers free, back dipping to lift his ass higher. “Now do it.”

  Being told what to do had never been his thing, but he had no complaints here. He wanted nothing more than to get inside Asher. His dick was poised at his entrance before he’d thought twice about it. The tip nudged past the loosened muscles to sink into the heat on a plunge that took him all the way to the bottom.

  Their mutual groans blended together, his lower notes harmonizing with Asher’s higher ones. Being buried in Asher was better than he remembered. An all-encompassing heat that spread from the inside out.

  His vision narrowed to just Asher, to where they were joined. He eased out, then back in, the visual timed with the feelings overloading his senses. The power grew from his chest to nestle beside the wonder. This strong, controlled man had opened himself up to Sawyer in so many ways.

  Exposed himself without pushing for Sawyer to give more than he could.

  He thrust hard, hips snapping with his loss of restraint, with the need tearing inside of him to be closer. Asher hitched forward, scrambled to brace himself against the headboard. His small sounds encouragement.

  Sawyer gave him everything. He poured himself into the moment, fire blazing in his blood, soaring until he couldn’t imagine ever letting go—or ever wanting to. He pitched forward, forehead grinding between Asher’s shoulder blades, hips working in his quest to get deeper.

  Asher cried out and Sawyer nailed that spot again, ensuring that each stroke teased over the hidden bundle of nerves, driving Asher crazy.

  “I want…“Asher’s voice hitched. “I’m gonna…”

  That’s what he needed. Asher’s release, one that would leave him exhausted and panting for air. He grasped Asher’s dick and jerked it in time with his thrusts. Sweat slicked their skin, heat simmering between them as they strode for the end. He rolled his head, bit the area near Asher’s nape, and fought off the orgasm that sizzled up his spine.

  Asher found his hand braced on the bed, snaked his fingers between Sawyer’s. The touch flew down his arm to ram his heart with everything he’d resisted. The trust and friendship. The connection and tenderness.

  The things that could damage him for good.

  Asher’s howled grunt tumbled through the air, his ass clenching down on Sawyer in rhythmic hitches. His shudders trembled into him, his grip turning fierce around Sawyer’s fingers. The heavy scent of come hit Sawyer’s nose, and he lost it.

  He drove into Asher with everything he had and let go. His orgasm blasted through him to shatter him from the inside out. He gasped, abs contracting, stars blooming before his eyes as he fought to breathe. His hips jerked on their own, burying him in Asher until he didn’t want to leave.

  Every part of him tingled in numbing respite as awareness slowly crept back in. He nuzzled Asher’s neck, laid a kiss on his shoulder. At some point they’d fallen flat onto the bed, Asher stretched out beneath him. The thought of moving had him resisting the inevitable. Right this moment, he believed he could stay there forever.

  Asher mumbled something beneath him, his words lost in the pillow. Sawyer swiveled his head, rejecting whatever he’d said. He wasn’t ready to break this spell that let him feel so damn good.

  Completely happy. No past. No worries. No emptiness that blanked out the world in order to keep him functioning.

  His fingers started to ache where Asher still gripped them, and it wouldn’t be long before he was forced to move. He stretched a series of kisses over Asher’s shoulder and up his neck until he nuzzled the spot behind his ear.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. For giving him this when he’d given up on ever feeling anything but the pain again.

  The cool air swooped in to wrap around his chest and chill him when he moved away. He eased out of Asher, then forced his legs to hold him steady when he stumbled to the bathroom to clean up. He didn’t bother with the light and avoided the mirror. There was no way he wanted to see himself right now, to acknowledge the emotions scrambling to take hold in his too-empty heart. Its battered state didn’t hold much promise of any of them taking root, yet he didn’t seem capable of rejecting them, either.

  Asher had straightened the bedding and scooted over to make room for him when he came back into the room.

  “Do you need a towel or something?” he asked, pausing in the doorway.

  “I had wipes in the drawer.” He pointed to the nightstand.

  “You could’ve told me that before I got up,” he grumbled as he crawled back onto the bed. “I was comfortable where I was.” He reached to slap Asher’s ass, hoping the light tone hid the depth of the truth.

  Asher grabbed his hand before he could pull it away, his smile growing. “I liked you there too.” He raised their joined hands to brush a kiss over Sawyer’s knuckles, his eyes turning serious. “Thank you, too.”

  Heat rushed up Sawyer’s neck to settle in his cheeks, the sensation so foreign he almost vaulted from the bed. But Asher still held his hand and he couldn’t just bolt. Not yet.

  “You, uh”—he swallowed—“heard that?” Damn it.

  Asher’s breathy chuckle ghosted over his fingers. “I did.”

  He turned his face into the pillow, his groan muffled yet audible.

  “Hey.” Asher nudged his temple, but he refused to budge.

  “Can you strike that from your memory?” Sawyer asked, turning just enough to speak. He opened one eye and quickly closed it after seeing Asher’s amused grin.

  “Nope. It’s locked in now.”

  “I could beat it out of you.”

  “That doesn’t work on me.”

  “Fucker.” His mumbled response was loaded with sarcasm. “Why did I have to fuck the sadist?”

  “Because I’m irresistible.”

  Too much so. Asher tugged on his arm until Sawyer relented and scooted closer, giving up his hiding spot in the pillow. “What?”

  “Come here.” Asher shifted, wiggled, and fluffed pillows until they were both braced against the headboard, the view of the darkening sky spread out before them. “This is gorgeous.”

  He is. The corny thought stopped before it floated out of his mouth, though. They were touching from shoulder to thigh, Asher completely in his space again. His fingers trailed absently over Sawyer’s thigh, tiny shivers trailing in their wake.

  Panic roiled in his chest, his heartbeat tipping up until he cut it off. This was nice. Asher was cool. The windows kept the walls from crowding in, and the shots of yellow and pink blazing through the sky were stunning.

  He caught Asher’s hand and clasped it in his. “It is,” he finally agreed.

  A quiet settled over them and Sawyer gradually relaxed into it. His breathing slowed, heart gentling with each lazy pass of Asher’s thumb over the back of his hand.

  For Sawyer, this was yet another layer of their deepening connection. The easy comfort without words. No expectations and no pain to hold h
im grounded. Just Asher, his touch and damn ability to sneak beneath every defense he had.

  “I have windows like this,” Sawyer said, breaking the silence, “in my house. But the view is completely different.”

  “How so?”

  “The view stretches for miles. I get red rock, jagged buttes, straggly shrubs, and trees backed by a sky that stretches forever.”

  Asher turned his head to smile at him. “Sounds nice. And dry.”

  “It is.” He chuckled. “Until it rains. Then everything turns to mud.”

  “We have that problem too. The mud just lasts a lot longer.” Asher squeezed his hand. “I’m assuming the windows help with the claustrophobia?”

  “Yeah. Most of the time.” Except when the memories crash in and he can barely breathe.

  “Have you always had it? The claustrophobia?”

  “No.” Again with the truth, but so few knew enough to even ask him about it, he had no quick responses ready. “I was raised in the outdoors, though,” he dodged, chasing a safer subject that was still far more than he usually revealed. “My parents were late-blooming hippies who got sick of Wall Street and decided to raise their family closer to nature.”

  Asher’s brows winged up, amusement dancing. “Wall Street to the desert? That’s a huge jump.”

  “For most, yeah,” he agreed. “But my parents were determined to give us a different life. They always said Black Monday saved their marriage. That if the stock market hadn’t crashed in 1987, they would’ve become another bad statistic of divorce and broken families.” He’d been too young to remember the move, but he’d heard the story every year when they’d celebrated the date. “I was six years old before I learned October nineteenth wasn’t a national holiday.”

  “Really?” Asher’s low chuckle kept the mood light. “Is it still one of your family’s traditions?”

  His smile fell in the blink it took for reality to slam back in. He stared at the view, the dull pinks and yellows morphing to bright red and gold flames in his mind. The house fire had lit up the night in a blaze that could be seen for miles. He’d spotted it long before he’d turned down the dusty road that led to their twenty acres tucked within the Spanish Valley area south of Moab.

  “Sawyer.” Asher squeezed his hand, his nudge rocking him. “Hey.”

  He blinked, his focus returning to the dark eyes and concerned study of Asher.

  “Where’d you go?”

  “To the past.”

  Asher’s brows lowered, questions forming. It was easy for Sawyer to tell that now, when Asher’s brain clicked through the options and possibilies that went with any situation. His eyes would shift to that calculating intensity, three small wrinkles bunching between his brows. His lips would thin, sometimes only slightly, but enough to compress and lift his jaw.

  “Can we leave it at that?” Sawyer asked. He rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, the residual ache that lingered there threatening to bloom into a full headache. At least the panic hadn’t stormed in to bring the frantic need to run.

  The touch of Asher’s lips on his was soft and lingering. Tender, like his touch on Sawyer’s jaw. “Sure.”

  And there it was again, the patience Sawyer hadn’t earned, yet was given anyway. “Thank you.” He slid his hand around to clasp Asher’s wrist, emotions tearing his fragile heart to pieces.

  “Are you okay?” Asher’s question dug into the center of the turmoil that’d been threatening to explode for the last year.

  He’d convinced himself he was okay. That his life was better alone—until the loneliness had chipped away at his sanity. His recklessness in his quest to feel had led him deeper into the darkness, when what he sought was the light.

  This right here.

  Sawyer closed his eyes, his wince pulling his face tight. A month ago, his reflexive response would’ve been “Yes.” To anyone else he’d still have given that answer. But here, with Asher, it wouldn’t come out. Not when he was swimming in a sea of doubts and questions about who he was and what he wanted, after wanting nothing for so long.

  “I don’t know,” he finally whispered into the silence. “I don’t…” He bit down on his tongue when he registered the tremble in his voice. The rumble of his throat’s clearing blared his state. Too vulnerable. Too close. He jerked away, but Asher held firm.

  “Don’t,” he insisted, his tone a firm demand. “Don’t run from me.”

  Run from him. Back to what? Weeks of empty existence? To a life revolving in a pattern of false smiles and tenuous connections? Where pain was the only thing he ever let himself feel?

  But what was this right now if it wasn’t pain? The stab in his chest was broad and pierced so deeply it bled through his existence. Was there any chance of it ever healing?

  “Come here,” Asher urged again. He slid down on the mattress, prodding him to follow until they were on their sides, Asher wrapped tightly around him from behind. “Stay as long as you can.”

  As you can…The words looped through Sawyer’s mind, understanding dawning slowly. He knew Sawyer wasn’t going to stay. And accepted it without anger. And was still here, crowded in too closely like he’d been since the beginning.

  Since Sawyer had first needed him.

  Needed him?

  He squeezed his eyes closed in an effort to forget the thought. A childish attempt at best, and his silent laugh acknowledged that. Asher was all around him, and with each touch he was filling him with something he’d long given up on.

  The very thing he’d been searching for when he’d come to Oregon: Hope.

  The stiffness faded from his muscles, his breath flowing until he matched the slow rise and fall of Asher’s against his back. Could he do this? Become a part of someone’s life again?

  Maybe. But the bigger question was, could he survive it?

  Chapter 17

  The cane whooshed through the air, hissing its warning before it connected with Sawyer’s ass. Crack.

  “Fuck!”

  Ash didn’t let him breathe, repeating the strike almost immediately, aiming the hit so it landed just below the previous one. Crack. Sawyer jerked forward, his bound wrists and ankles keeping him in place, the ceiling and floor bolts holding.

  “Fucker.” The gritted curse matched the tight contraction of muscles from his forearms to his toes.

  Ash swung before the sting of the first one could settle in. The singing hiss danced over his senses as he narrowed in on the swatch of white skin below the two red welts. Crack.

  Sawyer’s low moan whispered into him, enticing and slithering deep. Ash struck again, the contact flying up his arm to tingle over his chest. He sucked in a breath, absorbed the bittersweet scent, and landed another hit, a precise line directly below his last. Then another.

  A muffled grunt heaved out, the air rushing from Sawyer’s lungs in a slow roll that rocked him forward, his movement restricted by his bonds. His head fell, a heaving inhalation allowed. One.

  Sawyer’s muscles constricted the second the next whooshing began. Crack. His quick jerk and slump came without a sound this time. No breath either. Crack. Ash landed two more just beneath his shoulder blades. Crack. Crack. The third and fourth evenly spaced below the most recent two.

  Nine total. Quick, sharp, and without warning.

  He stepped back, chest heaving from the rapid-fire assault he’d laid onto Sawyer. His arm ached, a residual vibration humming though his muscles from the impacts. Heat flooded his chest, raced over his back to blend with his excitement.

  Sawyer was…so much more than he’d expected.

  He’d thought about him almost constantly while Sawyer had been at White Salmon. Half expecting him not to return. But he’d come back, for this…and what? Ash was moving forward on a prayer and a hope—that their texts and conversations were leading where he’d given up on ever reaching.

  Sawyer was still on his feet, legs trembling, head dropped back, each breath sucked through his nostrils in long pulls. His wrists w
ere bound together over his head, legs held shoulder-width apart with a spreader bar at his ankles, but he was holding his own weight.

  One step and Ash was inches behind his gorgeous pain slut, cane discarded. The bitter scent was strong now, the agony leaking out with the sheen of sweat coating Sawyer’s back. Awareness sizzled between them, his own bare skin buzzing with the need to touch. Feel.

  Connect.

  Only with Sawyer.

  He laid a hand on Sawyer’s ass cheek, each welt buzzing under his palm. Sawyer gasped, ass clenching. Heat blazed into Ash and he savored the intensity without pushing further. The delayed sting of each cane strike would be scorching a path of misery through Sawyer now, intensified by Ash’s unrelenting pace and force.

  “You are a sick fuck,” Sawyer rasped, muscles relaxing incrementally.

  Ash chuckled into Sawyer’s ear, amused and intrigued. He’d seen men crumble into a withering mass of tears and pleading after two quick strikes of a cane. Not Sawyer. No, he was subtly pushing back into Ash’s palm, instigating without directly asking for more.

  The strength in that alone was astounding.

  The will to overpower—or absorb—what most would consider extreme torture and revel in it was fascinating. But Sawyer wasn’t goading him. No, he was waiting, and that was a big change.

  A trust Ash accepted and swore he’d keep.

  He smoothed his hand over the contours of Sawyer’s rounded ass, the welts rippling under his palm, each line a stripe of power they both fed on. Ash to give it, Sawyer to take it.

  Warmth flowed from his chest, pleasure winding its way through every fiber of him. Sawyer groaned, a long slow purr that edged closer to joy than pain. He stretched his neck, head tilting onto his raised arms, the extension an open expanse of skin for Ash to feast on. He could deny him and deprive himself as well, but what was the point?

  His mouth watered, pulse accelerating. He skimmed his teeth down the line of skin from nape to shoulder, each dip and bump traced by his tongue. Salt and bitter teased his taste buds, a sweetness lingering to tempt him more.