The Deeper He Hurts Read online

  “I wasn’t sneaking,” Asher defended.

  “It’s fine,” Sawyer insisted, jumping in before it became a bigger deal. “I’m just tired.” He made a quick glance around, skin crawling with the need to flee. “I’m going to call it a night.” He stepped away, strides long.

  “Hey, Sawyer,” War called.

  Now what? He stopped out of courtesy and turned back, stomach clenched against the questions and unwanted inquisition.

  “We meet at seven tomorrow. We’re running fifteen rafts on the full-day trip. Are you good on your own?”

  They’d been debriefed with this information at dinner, but apparently War needed to reassure himself that Sawyer’s freak-out wouldn’t affect his job.

  “Got it.” Sawyer kept his response brief, his voice natural. “I’ll be fine.” He strode away before anything else could be said.

  His T-shirt clung to his back, sticky from sweat. The chilly night air swooped in to cool his skin with each step he took away from the fire. He tried to keep his pace slow, but the urgency to get away pushed at him. His hand was in his pocket, fisted around his knife before he’d taken three strides. The blade edge dug into his palm, the dull side tempting him with relief.

  With focus.

  With something besides the empty ache that threatened to consume him.

  He ducked into the woods, the path faint in the darkness. He’d followed it earlier, though, checked out where it went and how far. It wound around the outer field behind the Kick property, but never got high enough for him to see past the trees.

  A rush of pungent smoke hit him, either remembered or real. It didn’t matter. He’d been trying to ignore it all day, over fourteen hours of wondering how close it was when logic and his companions said it was far away. But he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t get high enough to validate what he’d been told.

  Heat drenched him, panic enclosing. He sucked in long breaths through his nose, pace quickening. He should’ve gone to his car, his tent. Should’ve packed up and driven until he could see again, but he wasn’t thinking logically. He never did when he got like this. Reasoning didn’t help.

  And neither did running wild through the woods.

  He slowed to a stop, chest heaving. Fuck fuck fuck. He squeezed his eyes closed, inching backward until he hit the big tree along the edge of the path. The bark abraded his skin through his damp T-shirt and he pressed harder, grinding it in. It didn’t help. Wasn’t enough. The bite was nothing compared with what he could handle.

  What he needed.

  He slid to the ground, his shirt hitching up as he did. The rough bark scraped over his back, each scratch a spear of feeling. Of relief.

  He had his knife open and his shorts hitched up in a matter of seconds. The darkness hid his secret, but he ran his fingers over the scarred skin, each bump a flash of shame and greed. His inner thighs had taken the brunt of his grief in his teenage years. Confused, alone, buried in guilt and remorse, he’d shut everything out, everyone until he’d felt nothing at all.

  Nothing but the pain.

  His hand shook, the knife wobbling when he was usually so measured.

  Shit.

  He didn’t do this anymore. Not to himself. Not like this. Yet…

  The wonderful healing power of physical pain called to him. It’d saved him so many times. Made him feel and gave him peace when nothing else could.

  The tip of his knife was poised at the tender span of flesh five inches from his groin, the skin pale but bright in the shadowed woods. The cool edge of the blade sung to his craving, its promise so sweet he shuddered.

  “I can help you with that.”

  He jerked up, heart racing. “What the fuck?” His words were pure defensive reaction at being caught. At anyone knowing how broken he was. He bolted up, sandals sliding on the ground before he caught his footing. The panic was back, skittering over his chest to suck the air from his lungs.

  Asher’s expression was mostly obscured by the night, but his form was as relaxed as his voice. “I can help you. If you want.”

  He could help. Now? “I thought you didn’t play with employees.” His snide tone was another by-product of his defenses.

  “I usually don’t.” He took a step closer. The white portions of the Kick logo stood out on his jacket like a beacon against the black.

  Sawyer puffed out a sarcastic laugh and flicked his knife closed. “I’m fine.” His pulse still beat too quickly, but Asher didn’t know that. He didn’t know that each inhalation brought a whiff of the smoke and another reminder. He didn’t know anything.

  Asher moved again and Sawyer stomped down the irrational urge to run. What the hell? He didn’t get intimidated and he sure as fuck wasn’t now. He squared his shoulders, chin lifting.

  “Of course you are,” Asher said without inflection. “So am I. But I can help you. And in the process, you can help me.”

  Seriously? His laughter scraped over his dry throat. His disbelief merged with the crazy rush overriding his system to come out harsh and airy. He hung his head, cringing against the want that surged forward.

  Asher took another step, stopping in front of him. Sawyer didn’t look up, stubbornly refusing to play whatever game Asher was attempting.

  An owl hooted in the distance, and something scrambled in the underbrush, each sound inflamed by his heightened senses. Which had to explain why Asher’s musky scent washed over him and why every nerve ending was starkly aware of how close Asher was.

  Too close.

  “What’s your answer, Sawyer?”

  The words were so attractive, but they provided no hint of Asher’s own desires. This wasn’t a new game for Sawyer. Hell, it wasn’t even a game.

  It was nothing but pure need.

  “I’m not a sub,” he stated, voice as bland as Asher’s. “I don’t go for humiliation and I won’t suck your cock because you order me to.”

  “Is sex off the table?”

  Was it? “I don’t care.” There was no reason to change his usual stance now. Asher was just another sadist. Just a guy who could do things to him he couldn’t do to himself.

  “Other limits?”

  He raised his head, breath catching when he found Asher so close despite having known exactly where he’d stood. Asher’s intensity hit him even though he couldn’t make out his expression. The darkness was both a boon and a hindrance. He could hide in it, but so could Asher.

  “None,” he stated, wanting things to start now that he’d taken the leap.

  “Wrong.” Asher shoved him back. He slammed into the tree, breath jarred from his lungs. He stiffened and Asher was in his face, the hand on his chest keeping him in place. “Is mutilation okay? What about castration? That good for you? You’re fucking alone in the woods with a possible sociopath and you say you have no limits?”

  Asher didn’t shout, but the anger crashed into Sawyer anyway. He ground his teeth and refused to look away. It was his fucking choice. His damn life to risk or not.

  The grip on his nuts was sudden and hard. Fucking…He grunted, swallowing the flash of pain while relishing the relief. More was all he could think.

  “Do you not care about these boys?” Asher squeezed, the orbs compressing until spots danced before Sawyer’s eyes. Yes. More. “Or your life? I could tie you up, whip you to shit, and leave your naked ass out here. Is that okay?”

  His breaths were coming quickly now, the pain flaring from his groin to embrace his chest. He honestly didn’t care what Asher did as long as he didn’t stop. But that wasn’t the answer Asher wanted. Sawyer wanted to deny him, but he wanted the pain more.

  The damn beautiful pain.

  “No,” he finally ground out. “Play hard, but don’t fuck me up.” He gasped for a breath when Asher shifted his grip. “I have to work tomorrow.” At least that piece of sanity had managed to filter through his consciousness. “My boss will be a real prick if I show up too abused to do my job.”

  Asher’s chuckle chased a line of gooseb
umps down his neck. He pressed in, his hold on Sawyer’s nuts finally loosening before he bit down on his earlobe. “As he should be.” The sting was quick, sharp and nothing but a tease. Asher nipped the tender flesh of his neck, his hand shifting to palm Sawyer’s dick. “Last chance on limits.”

  “If you shove a stick up my ass, you’re a dead man.”

  Asher snorted a laugh. “No sticks up the ass. Got it.”

  His breath was hot on Sawyer’s jaw, his proximity too intimate, yet Sawyer wasn’t pushing him away. He could. He could do a lot of things, and none of them would get him what he wanted.

  His knees started to tremble, the adrenaline finally getting the better of him. That combined with the anticipation was doing a hell of a mind fuck on him. So was Asher. He dropped his head back, neck exposed as that understanding sunk in. “Just get the fuck on with it and beat me.”

  “And where’s the fun in that?”

  Asher had ahold of his nipple before Sawyer had registered his hand moving. The twist was fast and brutal, without mercy. He arched off the tree, back bowing, but Asher blocked his movement. The pain was simple, yet it throbbed through his chest in a pounding wave of sweetness.

  “Yes,” he groaned. “Fuck. More.” The expected “Please” wasn’t a part of his game and he didn’t care if Asher didn’t like it. Begging would never be a part of what he needed.

  The pulsing beat of his heart pounded through his chest, in his head, deep in his groin. He sucked it in, relished it, and silently hoped it wouldn’t end. He wasn’t ready yet, not even close to ready.

  Asher released his hold, the sharp agony fading to a dull ache too quickly. “I want your back and ass.” The command vibrated through the darkness, the sweet words coarse with promise.

  He had his shirt off a moment after Asher stepped back. He spun around, hands fumbling with the fastenings on his shorts before they dropped to his ankles. His boxer briefs were shoved down with zero thought to where they were or who could stumble upon them. Right now he didn’t care about anything but the coming pain.

  About the sensation that would remind him of who he was.

  That he was still alive.

  Chapter 7

  Ash clenched his jaw against the flash of want that tore through him. The sight of Sawyer splayed and naked exactly as he’d envisioned was almost too much to handle. Arms stretched over his head, stance wide, weight braced on his palms, all without being told. He’d plucked a dream from the sky and here it was, waiting for him.

  He cursed the darkness and the cover it provided. The shadowy outlines and gray tones hid too much. The agony and passion. The hurt and want. But he’d make do.

  He laid a hand on the center of Sawyer’s back, the skin clammy beneath his palm. Smooth, hot. He slid his other hand up, wrapped it around the side of Sawyer’s neck. Sawyer lifted his chin, granting access. Ash found his pulse point, the shallow beat clipped but steady.

  “Red and yellow.” He didn’t bother to explain that they were for stop and pause.

  “Not needed.”

  “You still have them.” The crazy fuck. Someday he might beat the understanding into him, but that probably wouldn’t work either.

  Sawyer’s back expanded with his inhalation, a shiver racing along his spine before it was shut down. Nice, but nowhere close to what they both wanted.

  There was something in the tease right then, though, with not giving Sawyer what he sought. He was strong. Demanding. Certain of what he desired and needed.

  And Ash was just as certain.

  He eased back, nails digging into Sawyer’s skin as he trailed them down his spine. The subsequent bow was slight, Sawyer’s shoulder blades contracting. He finished with a hard slap to Sawyer’s ass cheek, the smack ringing through the silence and vibrating over his palm.

  A grunt, the cheeks clenching. Another smack. And another. Repeated hard and fast in the same spot, eliciting a low growl. His hold on Sawyer’s shoulder noted the tensing of muscles, the slight tremble. So incredibly good.

  He stepped back, breath coming quickly. This entire scene was unexpected but not. It was certainly sooner than he’d planned, but he was ready. So very ready.

  He discarded his jacket, the night air refreshing where it’d been cold earlier. He’d been warm since he’d found Sawyer poised to cut himself. He could’ve stayed silent, watched the show, and gotten off on that.

  This was better for both of them.

  The underbrush was full of potential BDSM tools and he quickly snapped off a thin branch. He tested the flex and bend of the stick, then ran his fingers down it to check for sharp points or edges. It hissed through the air when he swung it, satisfaction settling in his chest.

  This would do.

  He tapped Sawyer’s thigh. “Give me your foot.”

  His heart hitched when Sawyer hesitated, a smile sliding over his face. Sawyer kicked his foot free of his shorts and bent his knee back to comply. His right foot. Ash’s grin widened, appreciation igniting with his anticipation. He’d picked his dominant foot when given the choice.

  Sawyer craved the pain as only a true pain slut did.

  Ash grabbed his ankle and yanked the strap on his sandal free. The harsh rip of the Velcro purred over his senses. He tossed the sandal by his jacket and stepped back. Sawyer held his pose, and Ash took a moment to appreciate it.

  The strong lines, the strength and power contained. Willingness was everything for him. He didn’t force his will on anyone, but true desire tripped another switch within him. It was like his inner monster had something to feed on, without guilt.

  Yet he still needed the reaction. The response and agony.

  He swung the stick down, no warning given again, nailing the ball of the foot. The choked grunt was followed by quick, cutting breaths. He didn’t give him time to recover, bringing the switch down over his instep in a sharp whack.

  Sawyer pitched forward, knee bending as he absorbed the hit. But his foot was still lifted in offering, so Ash struck it again. That one got a high sweet keen, the anguish threaded in the pitch and hitch. Yes.

  His heart raced, adrenaline flooding him in a quest for more. Every sound was heightened in the darkness, his senses reaching to find what he couldn’t see. He ran a hand over Sawyer’s shoulder and absorbed the tension, the trembling, the slickness of perspiration.

  He traced down his side to the braced leg, every quiver a sign of Sawyer’s struggle. His breath hissed as he sucked in air. “I’m just starting.”

  Sawyer’s gritty chuckle was lined with challenge. “Good.”

  Good. He snatched Sawyer’s ankle and landed three rapid hits, each one precise and accurate—ball, instep, heel. Reflexes jerked Sawyer’s leg, but Ash was ready, his hold sure.

  “Fuck.”

  Sawyer’s raw curse carried the pain to Ash. He rested his back to Sawyer’s. The trembling vibrated into him, ran around him and sunk deep. He shuddered when Sawyer pitched forward, his strength delicious.

  The underside of the foot was often overlooked in its ability to extract large amounts of pain. A quick hit with a switch would race up a leg to engulf the entire body. Then the throbbing would start, along with the burn.

  He inhaled, the scent of sweat, need, and agony sweeping over him. The tang was almost sweet, almost bitter. An ambrosia he couldn’t define, yet instantly recognized.

  And Sawyer was still offering his foot. No complaining. No whimpering protests.

  “More.” The grunted request shot into the air in a demand.

  “Fuck you.” He wasn’t a Dom but he sure as hell didn’t take orders.

  “If you want.”

  The muscles eased behind him, Sawyer’s shoulders lowering with his sigh. Ash vaulted up, stumbling before he caught himself. What the serious fuck? He shook his head to clear his jumbled thoughts.

  He reached around and found Sawyer’s limp dick. It hung flaccid between his legs, sexual interest not even in play. He squeezed, the flesh squishing beneath his grip. �
��This isn’t sexual.”

  “No shit.”

  “Yet you want me to fuck you?”

  “You want to fuck me,” Sawyer scoffed.

  “Not to hurt you.” Not that way. “I’m not a rapist.”

  “Not rape,” he grunted out, pushing his ass back.

  Ash shoved away, almost tripping over Sawyer’s raised leg. His foot was still lifted, sole displayed and ready for more. The sick bastard. His sadist cackled. It takes one to know one.

  He took a deep breath, centered himself, and thought back to their earlier byplay, to the stream of taunts that seemed to flow from Sawyer. He was goading Ash, to get him to react with anger instead of the logic required in his position. Did that shit seriously work on other guys?

  Ash crowded back in, the heat simmering off Sawyer to draw him closer. Sawyer stiffened and pulled away almost imperceptibly. He noted it, though, logged it into his growing list of Sawyer facts.

  The sweet and bitter scent swirled around him when he pressed his lips over Sawyer’s ear, exhaled. Waited. “I’ll fuck you when you’re ready. I’ll fuck you and make it burn—if it’ll make you cry.” He ran the edge of the switch up the inside of Sawyer’s leg until it nestled against his balls. Sawyer’s breaths increased, head tilting to rest against Ash’s. Beautiful. “But I won’t fuck you simply to pleasure myself.”

  He brought the switch up in a quick flick of his wrist. The impact was deliberately light, a grazing more than a blow.

  The air rushed from Sawyer’s chest. He buckled forward, jaw clenched around the heaving inhalations through his nose. The trembling was back, his whole body shaking.

  Ash ran his free hand over Sawyer’s abdomen, relishing the tight muscles and tense hold. He stopped over Sawyer’s heart, the beat racing. He hummed his approval, snagged ahold of Sawyer’s earlobe with his teeth.

  “More?” he taunted because he could.

  He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed ahold of the nipple beneath his palm and twisted. The vicious act was timed with another flick of his wrist. The switch nailed Sawyer’s balls, the end flipping out to tag his dick.