by Lynda Aicher
He clamped down on the meaty juncture of Sawyer’s neck, wrapped an arm around him, and slammed his palm down Sawyer’s ass. Smack. The sting flashed over his palm. Sawyer flinched, grunted. Ash held tight and hit him again. Twenty hard slaps, ten to each cheek, before he paused.
The air stilled, punctuated by Sawyer’s hard breaths and his own pounding heart. Sawyer shuddered, every wiggle slithering into Ash to fire him more. This was so damn close to…
He swallowed, swiped his tongue over the dents of his teeth marks, the salty-sweet taste deeper now. He started a slow rub over every inch of Sawyer’s ass, honing in on the welts, pressing the length of each one. A high whine filtered out from behind Sawyer’s tight lips before he’d reached the end of the third welt.
Ash nuzzled Sawyer’s nape, his attention split between the tight nipples tickling the palm of one hand and the fiery welts teasing the other. Pain and pleasure. Two beasts he normally didn’t mix, but damn he loved how Sawyer responded to both.
His quick inhalations, the tensing and release of muscles, the varied sounds that communicated better than words.
He slid his fingers down Sawyer’s ass crease, circled his hole. Loose and pliant now, Sawyer offered no resistance, his moan pure enjoyment. The muscle gave with minimal resistance, fingers sliding into his heat. Sawyer cocked his hips back, a sigh gusting out.
Sweat slicked between them, Ash’s erection demanding beneath his compression shorts. They were the only thing stopping him from screwing Sawyer blind at the moment. He would, eventually. But not yet.
He started a slow in and out with two fingers, the sensitive ring of muscles clenching and releasing until all resistance gave way, sweat the only thing easing his path. Sawyer squirmed and Ash tightened his hold.
“You’re gorgeous like this,” he murmured, every sense absorbing what Sawyer was freely giving. “So much emotion behind that wall of yours.” He licked the shell of Sawyer’s ear, bit the lobe. “Longing to break free.” In and out, consistently paced in a torment all its own. “Pain.” He twisted a nipple, tugged until Sawyer puffed out a harsh grunt. Released. “Pleasure.” He slid his hand down to stroke Sawyer’s hard dick, slow glides that matched his fingers. Not enough to come, just slowly arousing.
Sawyer turned his head, mouth parted, eyes heavy. His beard stubble scratched Ash’s cheek, hot breaths delivering his low grunts. Ash dove into the offering, taking his mouth in a sloppy kiss that tipped Sawyer’s head back and stole Ash’s breath. He plundered Sawyer, took everything he could find, sought more. And Sawyer delivered. He thrust back with his tongue, pushed with his lips. Gave while taking.
So like Sawyer.
Their connection sunk deep and solid. So balanced and mutual he was blinded by its power.
He spun away without warning, sucked in needed air, and grabbed the wooden paddle from the nearby cart. The solid strike boomed against Sawyer’s ass, his cry blasting through the room. Ash hit him again, over and over, fast but erratic enough to keep Sawyer guessing.
He could deliver pleasure and pain. He could give that to Sawyer without judgment—either way. Rewarding, beautiful, stunning in the exposed purity of emotions.
This. Just this.
He wanted it all—and he’d give it too.
—
Wet heat encircled Sawyer’s dick, sucked and danced deep in his groin. The erotic foreplay clashed against the searing agony that radiated over his backside. His head spun, world shifting before his knees gave out. His arms yanked, the sockets protesting until he forced his legs to hold his weight.
He was a mass of contrasting sensations, twisted until everything merged in a crazy mess of want, need, and desire. His back was on fire, his ass a glorious mass of throbbing, stinging pain. But pleasure gripped his balls and bled through his chest until nothing made sense. Nothing mattered.
Except Asher.
He’d come back for this. For Asher.
He was at Sawyer’s feet, mouth wrapped around his erection, fingers working his hole in that steady insane pace that had him riding the edge of his orgasm but would never send him over.
He had no clue how long they’d been playing. No clue on what Asher planned. And he didn’t care.
This sweet, heady rush of sensation was perfect.
Only this time there was more than pain. More than the buzz of adrenaline and hum of endorphins. More than the crushing darkness.
Asher was giving him more.
Yes, he had no choice but to take it—unless he safeworded. But none of this registered as forced. Hell, he wanted all of it. Even the good stuff.
Especially the good stuff.
And he’d never wanted that. Never longed for more of this goodness that now wove through him and smoothed out the pain.
Asher gave a long, slow suck up the length of Sawyer’s shaft, flicked the underside, grazed the cap with his teeth. Sawyer hissed at the sting, stunned at how it enhanced and sharpened the tiny transgression blazing into his groin. He was so oversensitized, every nerve ending processing at maximum.
Cool air sucked at the sweat on his back, kissed the dampness on his nape as Asher stood. His hole clenched around the emptiness, the loss of Asher’s fingers yet another anomaly that snuck through the raging mound of throbbing pain.
His touch was gentle, his hold tender on Sawyer’s cheeks, eyes dark circles of promise.
“Such strength.” His whispered words ghosted over Sawyer’s lips, the reverence a shock and yet another distinction.
His kiss was light, a brush of lips, flick of tongue, trace of lust. A temptation that ushered in dreams Sawyer’d long thought dead. Of belonging. Loving. Being more than the pain.
A whimper filtered into the air, the rumble in his throat the only trigger that logged it as coming from him.
“I’m going to…” Asher kissed him again, deeper, tongue reaching in to tangle with his. His mumbled ending breathed past Sawyer’s ear, teasing him with the remnants of something like “…love you.”
He cocked a smile, amused by his own delusions. His own longings, confused in the muddle of his heart and mind. He swam in the swirling glow of warmth and contentment. Of being safe when the situation was dangerous.
Asher wouldn’t harm him. Hurt him—damn how he’d managed that. But harm him? No.
He trusted that. Him.
Believed it.
Asher was at his back, his touch everywhere. Over his chest, down his abs, around his sides. He was surrounded by him—again. So close and not close enough. This time.
Here.
With Asher.
He rolled his head, eyes falling closed. The better to feel.
The nudge of Asher’s dick. The long press into him. The gentle glide that filled him as he’d never been filled before. The care when brutality—the norm—was expected.
“You deserve this.” He tried to process Asher’s words through the haze of pain and bliss. “And so much more.”
He shook his head, rejection automatic. His throat was raw, dry to the point of aching, but he managed to rasp out a “No.”
“Yes.” A hard, jarring thrust punctuated Asher’s insistence. “Yes! You do.”
Fuck. No. Yes. He wanted it. Fuck how he wanted it. But deserved it? Did anyone deserve it or was it earned?
Kisses, light yet firm, trailed up his arm, Asher’s easy plunges delivering a tenderness that had no place in a playroom. No playroom he’d ever been in. Yet they were tearing him apart far worse than the most brutal reaming. Each descent a gouge to his battered heart and shattered soul.
Asher stroked him off, his grip a solid touch meant only to excite. Every touch to his ass or back brought a roar of increased agony, yet the sweetness of the pressure, of Asher’s gentle care, overrode everything else.
“Never—” Asher grunted behind a decisive jab that pitched Sawyer forward, arms protesting. “Never give this away.”
He always had. It hadn’t mattered to him. A fuck was a fuck. His “payment” for the
pain.
But this was different.
This wasn’t a fuck.
He’d never had this. Had never had to worry about giving away this. Until Asher.
“It’s just sex,” he mumbled to himself. More to deny what was growing in his heart.
Asher froze, breaths heaving near Sawyer’s ear. “Is it?”
Bound to Asher in the most intimate, physical way, wrapped in his arms, trapped by his persistent kindness and deviant ruthlessness, Sawyer couldn’t answer. Not without lying.
He’d never had more than sex, yet with Asher he wasn’t sure if they’d ever had just sex.
“You’re so much more than that to me,” Asher whispered, his truth intertwining with Sawyer’s own. “You are so much more.”
Wants, wishes, longing, and shattered beliefs surged up to claw at his chest. Dig at his denial and rip him to pieces one incredible thrust at a time. He was at Asher’s mercy, strung up and swamped by sensation and emotions.
Asher had all of him right then. Even the bits he’d hidden from himself were spread out at his feet, displayed for analysis and rejection.
Did Asher see it? Know how thoroughly he’d stripped Sawyer? How deeply he’d struck?
His strokes increased, passion cresting in a rapid rise of ecstasy so smooth it blindsided him. He groaned, arching into the rush, shoving back for a deeper hit. A last nudge that’d send him over.
Asher shifted, his next plunge grazing Sawyer’s gland. Stars bloomed, pre-come dripped from his dick, release a breath away.
“Come, Sawyer.” The grit in Asher’s voice another trigger. “Now. Fuck. Now.”
He let go, shoved everything outward from his core. His roar echoed in his head, his heart raged against his ribs, his mind blank to everything but the incredible nothingness of release.
He dove into it with a recklessness he’d never allowed himself. Not in this manner. Never with anyone else.
Only with Asher.
The only guy who’d ever given pain or pleasure to Sawyer instead of just taking it. And that was…everything.
Chapter 18
“Are things still good between you and Sawyer?” Rig glanced across the cab of the truck, brow raised in question at Ash.
“Yes.” He kept his answer deliberately short. A long explanation would only encourage more questions.
“Yeah?” The ring of surprise hit a little too hard. “You still playing together? I haven’t seen either of you at Dane’s.”
So much for dropping the subject. Ash stared out the window at the passing landscape and highway ahead of them. The wall of trees hemmed in by the rocky cliff on his side was countered by the span of the Columbia River on the other side. It cut through the gorge in a wide murky divide between Washington and Oregon.
“Yes.” He hoped his clipped tone would end the discussion. The month had flown by in a series of long days broken up by time spent with Sawyer. His schedule dictated when they saw each other and with vacation season at high volume, the timing was hit-or-miss. But they’d managed to meet up a few times a week. Add in the random texts and occasional phone calls and he was in the longest relationship he’d had since his divorce. Hell, his first one, really.
“Yes what?” Rig dug in, his sergeant voice dropping into place. The lower tone underlined with a demand might work in the Marines, but he was one of the odd ducks in the partnership who didn’t fall into the rank-and-file bullshit.
“Yes, it’s none of your business,” he snapped, then sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, winced at the ache that spread to encompass his forehead. The mounting tension that’d collected there was only growing bigger the closer they got to White Salmon.
Rig stayed quiet, the next few miles passing beneath the muted sounds of the radio. Ash dug pain meds from his bag and swallowed two pills dry. He was used to keeping secrets. Hell, his family’s view of his life was one big illusion. But he’d never had to keep anything from the guys at Kick. Why did he feel the need now?
Oh yeah, Sawyer was an employee and he was the asshole who’d laid down the no-play-with-employees policy years ago. Sawyer wasn’t a naïve college student, though, or likely to cause problems for the company.
Two consenting adults engaging in mutually satisfying play was fine.
And a relationship? What about that?
“Yes we’re still playing together,” Ash finally said. “We’ve been using my playroom.” Which was normal for him. The dinners, conversation, and evenings spent in his bed were the anomalies.
Rig rocked his head in a contemplative nod. “Is there a reason you’re so touchy about it?”
“Besides the fact that I’m breaking the very rule I established for the company?”
“Besides that.” He scratched behind his ear, stretched his neck. His nonchalance sucked the last of Ash’s reluctance out of him. Rig was his closest friend since Chris’s death, and the only guy he trusted with this level of personal information.
He calculated the pros and cons of saying more. He wasn’t used to dealing with anything that couldn’t be quantified into a box. Numbers were simple and logical, and Sawyer was far from that.
“I don’t know what I’m doing with him,” he finally admitted, the truth leaving a sour residue on his tongue. “I mean past the play part. We just…connect. I know it’s not logical. I know he’s leaving at the end of August.”
“Yet”—Rig nudged when he didn’t go on—“you’re getting attached.”
Ash sighed, a long release of frustration and admission. “Yes.”
“And that’s bad because?”
“He won’t commit.” He grimaced at how pathetic that sounded. “Fuck. Neither should I.”
“Why?” Rig frowned. “Because of your family?” His scowl deepened. “How long are you going to live your life for them? If the accident has taught us anything, it’s that life’s too short to live it behind a lie.”
“Fuck you, Rig.” The venom flew from him so quickly he had no chance of reeling it back. “That was low and uncalled for.” Chris had been dead only four months and the loss was still too fresh. But the point was valid.
Rig’s quiet chuckle dug into every exposed spot on Ash. He clenched his jaw and held in the rest of his anger.
“You didn’t show Grady any mercy when he needed a good kick in the ass with Micah.” Rig shrugged. “I figured you’d appreciate the same.”
The irony slapped Ash in the face. and he barked out a harsh laugh. “Dick.” He could dish the logic and hard truths but apparently couldn’t take them.
“I’ve got one.” Rig cupped his junk and winked.
Ass—whom he appreciated with everything he had. Ash closed his eyes, options looping through his mind. What was he really worried about? Getting hurt himself, or Sawyer being hurt?
Their scenes had gotten increasingly intense, with Sawyer giving over his power behind a blanket no-limits-except-the-obvious policy. That recklessness thrilled his sadist, and scared the shit out of the man.
“Have you ever played with a guy who had no limits?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“Everyone has limits. Or they fucking should have them.”
“I know.” The motion of the car lulled him despite the almost constant churn of his mind. “But have you encountered a guy who says he doesn’t?”
The pause lengthened, but he didn’t look at Rig, just waited for him to respond. “No. I haven’t. Even the few guys I’ve had relationships with had limits.”
Ash nodded, a sad confirmation settling over his chest. Only someone who was so deeply damaged he didn’t care about himself or his life went into a scene without setting down limits. Especially with a sadist.
“If it was me,” Rig said, “I’d try to find out what’s behind the behavior. Letting him go means he’ll find someone else who might not have your ethics.”
“What if my question was hypothetical?”
“What if it’s not?”
Ash flipped him off, eyes s
till closed against whatever was showing on Rig’s face. He wasn’t looking for empathy or sympathy. Hell, he didn’t know what he was looking for. Advice, but what kind? Was it even his place to try and figure Sawyer out? To help or at least show him how dangerous his actions were?
Sawyer was an adult. A responsible, logical adult who could manage his own life without Ash digging it apart.
“Just go with it,” Rig said, jerking him out of his thoughts. He glanced around to realize they were halfway over the Hood River Bridge, which crossed to the city of White Salmon.
He frowned at Rig. “What?”
“Go with this thing with Sawyer. Enjoy the time and be realistic about the end. Who knows what’ll happen.” He shrugged. “Predicting the future is impossible. Take it from a guy who’s watched too many men leave on a routine mission and never come back.”
“You.” Ash paused, head shaking. “Are a morbid fuck.”
“Reality sucks.”
“And then you die,” Ash finished with a wry laugh. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
Rig punched his arm, the hit solid enough to linger. “I’ve got your six.”
Ash nodded, the certainty of the statement sinking in to loosen the tension balled around his heart. The guys at Kick were the family unit he trusted more than his own. The one that’d accepted every facet of him without a blink. He shouldn’t fit in with the group of rugged, battered Marines, but he did.
And who had Sawyer’s six? The man was a loner searching for someone to catch him, even if he didn’t know it. His cries for help were silent and quickly covered, but Ash heard them. He wanted to be there for him. Longed to ease the pain eating away at him from the inside.
And he would be there, if Sawyer would only let him.
—
Vans full of sun-drenched tourists flowed into the White Salmon outpost. Exhaustion screamed from their slumped shoulders and slow movements, but smiles lit their faces and talk bubbled around the excitement of the day.
Ash helped with cataloging the returned gear and pointed people toward the tablets mounted on the wall where they could view and purchase their trip pictures.