by Lynda Aicher
Ash didn’t look over. Didn’t even open his eyes. But his pulse leaped, muscles tensing. Somehow he managed to quell his instinct to yank his hand away. Ruining this new link with Sawyer by letting his closet-case fears out would wreck more than the moment.
His family rarely dropped in on him unannounced. And even if someone did, so what? He was an adult. Successful. Independent.
“Sorry.” Sawyer slid his hand away, the loss stark.
“No.” Ash snagged his hand back. “It’s okay.”
It was more than okay. He tightened his hold, Sawyer returning the silent communication. How crazy was it that holding hands on his front lawn was just as intimate, and more nerve-racking, than anything he’d ever done in a dungeon? Or was “pathetic” the better word?
Sawyer drew his hand away after a moment and folded his arms under his head, a contented sigh drifting out. This was nice. Peaceful. Ash was both invigorated and drained, his mind almost restful.
Coming out to his family was a hurdle he hadn’t tackled, but was coming closer to doing every day. He’d always told himself he would—if he was in a relationship that meant something to him. Did Sawyer qualify? Should it matter?
He should come out for himself, not anyone else.
“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” he asked, unsure if he’d get a straight answer or more avoidance. He turned his head to study Sawyer, squinting through the brightness to catch his wince.
The silence lengthened, broken up by a chirping bird and a dog barking in the distance. A breeze rustled the leaves and cooled his flesh. Perspiration beaded on Sawyer’s temple, dampened his hair. The urge to wipe it away surged up in Asher, along with the rush to retract his question. But he blocked them both.
Sawyer wet his lips. “No.” He swallowed. “Not since high school.”
So, no. Getting an answer to why was a long shot, so he went for something easier. “But you’re out. Right?”
“I guess.” He shrugged. “I’ve never thought too much about it. I just am.”
A novelty Ash had never had the luxury of. “That’s…” Cool? Amazing? Strong? All of the above? And how did he state that without highlighting his own weakness?
“It’s not anything, Asher. Don’t make it a big deal.” Sawyer used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his face. “I have no one to be out to, so it never came into play for me.”
No one to be out to. Ouch. He knew that—or had deduced that based on his snooping. But the extent of Sawyer’s solitude hadn’t really hit home until just now.
“So you have no family?” He’d eased into the question, fully expecting Sawyer to dodge or bolt. No relatives at all? No one to hassle or annoy him? To love him?
Sawyer sat up, and Ash was right behind him, ready to stop him from running, but he just wrapped his arms around his knees and stared into the distance. Ash released a long breath and reclined on his side, head propped on his hand. Space he could give.
“My family died when I was a teenager.”
His clipped words were just loud enough to reach Ash. He curled his fingers into the grass to keep from wrapping Sawyer up and holding him tight—fuck where they were. But the “Don’t touch me” vibes were radiating from his stiff back and clenched jaw.
“I’m sorry.” He hesitated, laid a hand on his arm anyway. He had to offer some comfort. His own heart was breaking. He couldn’t imagine the toll Sawyer’s had taken.
Sawyer looked back at him, a halo of sunlight dancing on the blond ends of his hair. “Just another thing that is.”
But it had affected him. Changed him and his life. How could it not have?
Sawyer stretched his arms over his head, twisted until his back cracked. There was a forced smirk in place when he stretched out and faced Ash on the grass. Asher tensed, uncertain of what was coming.
Sawyer’s smile slowly fell away, a lingering sadness remaining. He lowered his gaze, clenched his hand, which was only inches away from Ash’s.
Leap or stay safe? Take a risk or live in regret?
Ash wrapped his hand around Sawyer’s fist, worked his fingers apart until he could lace his between them. Sawyer’s breath hitched, released before he looked up, golden eyes wary. He studied him, expression unreadable, and Ash searched right back. How had he found the one guy who didn’t want to be found?
“This is a big thing for you.” Sawyer lifted their linked hands. “Even here, in front of your house.”
“Yes.” He couldn’t lie. “More so here.”
“Not at the club? Or work?”
“No. I have nothing to hide there. Or lose.”
Sawyer smiled, a touch of his dimple showing. “It’s interesting how much we balance our actions based on that.”
Ash had no response. His entire life had been balanced on exactly that. And Sawyer had already lost so much. What did he have left to lose?
“Heavy topic,” Ash finally mumbled.
“Should we go fuck instead?” Sawyer waggled his brows, his childish antics yanking a laugh from Ash. He shoved him with their joined hands.
“I’ll never turn down a good fucking from you.” Never from him.
“So, uh. Yeah.” His smile faded, a frown pulling low. “I was surprised by that.”
“What?” Now Ash was frowning. “That I bottom sexually? You knew I wasn’t a Dom.”
“I know.” He shrugged, glanced down. “But the stigma’s still there.” He looked up. “Or is it the image? The strong sadist is always a top, no matter the situation.”
“What about the pain-slut bottom?” Ash countered. “Always the receiver, right?” He grinned at Sawyer’s eye roll.
“Shut up.” Sawyer flopped to his back, yanked his hand free to drag his fingers through his hair. “I just think it’s cool. All right? That I didn’t have to fight you on expected roles and rules. You never assumed anything based on my pain needs.”
“I can say the same about you.” Ash didn’t know if his heart could get any fuller. They fit on so many levels, way more than he’d expected. Bottoming in bed with Sawyer was one of the few times he could really let go and just be. No worries or directing or need to control a damn thing.
Sawyer launched to his feet, hand extended to Ash. “You could.” He hauled Ash up, grin widening. “But I’m much better at demonstrating than talking.” He swatted Ash on the ass and jogged toward the house. “There’s a really nice shower waiting to be used,” he called back. “With room for two.”
Ash’s laughter burst free, happiness carrying him after his lover. Sawyer was so much more than a casual play partner, and so worth whatever he had to risk to keep him in his life.
Chapter 21
Ash paced the breadth of his foyer, the soft tap of his shoes a consistent beat to his swirling thoughts. Sawyer’s contract with Kick ended on Sunday, just three days from now. And then what? They’d barely navigated the present without complicating it with the future.
Would this be their last night together? Pain pierced his heart, his wince holding until the ache eased. He’d gone with the flow, let things develop, and now he hoped like hell he didn’t regret letting his heart get so deeply involved.
Two sharp knocks blasted through the foyer, jerking his attention to the front door. Sawyer was here. Ash blew out a breath, straightened his spine. If this was their last night, at least Sawyer wouldn’t be forgetting him anytime soon.
His sadist chuckled, a sinister glee battling with the hurting man. A dichotomy Sawyer would appreciate if Ash were able to share it with him.
“Hey,” he said, stepping back to let Sawyer into his home. “How’s it going?” He trailed his hand down Sawyer’s arm, fingers lingering when he really wanted to lean in for a kiss.
“Good.” Sawyer set his bag down, dimple showing when he faced him. “Looking forward to tonight.”
To the scene? The sex? Him in general?
“Me too.” He stepped up and stole the kiss he wanted, diving deep to deliver his message and satisfy his craving.
Mint and chocolate flooded his mouth and he savored the heat, the warmth flowing into his chest before sinking to his groin. His breath was quick, heart squeezing when he stepped away. “I’ve got plans for you tonight.”
“Good ones?” Sawyer’s tongue snaked over his bottom lip and Ash almost dove back in to chase it.
Almost. He wasn’t that needy. “Of course.”
He led the way to the stairs, descending without looking back. August had flown by in a jumble of increased pain play, quiet meals, and the most intense sex he’d ever had. Which all added up to a series of amazing evenings—until Sawyer crawled out of bed before falling asleep. Wanting more wouldn’t get him anywhere, but it didn’t stop him from longing for it.
And Sawyer was leaving soon.
Could he let him go, when Sawyer satisfied every part of him? He could take pain like few he’d met, but even more than that was the way he processed and reacted to the pain, sometimes contained behind a clenched growl, other times released with a bellowing roar. Every time they played, Ash learned something new and wanted more.
His vulnerability behind the indifferent front. His craving for touch even though he resisted it. The little shudders when Ash ripped away another barrier. The long moans of release that countered the sharp cries. Curses that stood in for his compliments. Kisses that spoke what his voice couldn’t say.
How in the hell would he let that go?
The playroom was ready. The equipment he needed for tonight’s scene was laid out on a rolling cart, sterilizing and first aid supplies on the lower shelf. He moved across the room, strides controlled, pulse not so much.
He rechecked the strap connections, gave each a hard tug to ensure they were securely attached to the board bolted to the wall. Anticipation thrummed over his skin, sunk in to tease him with visuals of what was to come.
“Limits?” He still asked every time they played, hoping to hear a definitive response. The more he got involved, the more Sawyer’s refusal to define his limits angered—and scared—him.
Sawyer was already stripping when he faced him, shirt tossed on a chair, boots tucked underneath. “Same as before,” he answered. “You know this. Why do you keep asking?”
“I’d think you’d want me to ask.” He would if he was at all concerned about his own safety.
Sawyer discarded his shorts and briefs and strolled forward with a confident swagger. Ash sucked in the view. Hours spent in the sun had darkened the exposed areas to a warm honey brown which highlighted the lighter shade defined by his swim trunks, his scars standing out on the pale skin. Not model tanned, but real-life tanned and all the more appealing for it.
He stopped inches from Ash, smirk dancing in his golden eyes. “I would—if I didn’t trust you.” He winked and turned to the wall mount, statement discarded despite its magnitude. “It’s the wand tonight.” His nod was crisp and accepting. “Nice.” The violet wand was among the supplies laid out on the prep cart, the handheld plastic base with its electrical cord easily distinguishable by anyone used to playing with sensation and pain.
Ash’s jaw ached with everything he held in. Words and emotions and questions he didn’t ask. His knowledge of Sawyer’s past ate at him the more Sawyer held back the details. The hurt battled his guilt until he cursed his insatiable thirst to fix what wasn’t his to repair.
He adjusted his glasses, took a slow breath, and shoved his hurt away to focus on the scene. He could get lost in the pain, forget about what he couldn’t have and enjoy what he could.
“Back to the board.” His voice was steady when he spoke, a calm settling in to replace his annoyance. “Red and yellow.”
“Got it.”
He received another wink that went with Sawyer’s swagger to the wall. His added layer of cockiness only drove Ash more. A defense mechanism? Arrogance or indifference? He’d come to learn it was actually a combination of all three.
He began strapping Sawyer down. Chest and hips, then arms and wrists spread away from his sides. Upper and lower thighs, below the knees, his ankles last. He stood when he was done, then checked each band for security and tightness.
Sawyer’s chest rose and fell in a steady pace, eyes darkened with the hunger Ash now associated with his anticipation. He trailed a finger down Sawyer’s jaw, the stubble teasing while scratching. “I’ll leave the forehead strap off for now.”
“It’s your show.”
“Not really,” he countered. “I only run it. You control it.” Simple logic anyone experienced in the community knew.
Sawyer lowered his brow, that customary smirk of his falling away. “Not if I give it to you.”
He couldn’t deny the thrill that shot from his heart to his groin at those words. Then his head kicked in and he scowled. “You’re willing to do that?”
A sadness fell into Sawyer’s expression before a soft laugh puffed out that held more cynicism than amusement. “I already have.” The mumbled admission was validated by the stark vulnerability in his eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed, swallow audible in the silence. “Don’t make me regret it.”
Regrets. He had a ton of those, and only one had to do with Sawyer.
He cupped Sawyer’s nape, crushed him into the wall until they touched from chest to toes. But his kiss was soft, a gentle acceptance and a promise in one. He caught the slight tremble in Sawyer’s lips, the tremor that chased down his length.
“This terrifies you,” he whispered over his mouth, breath mingling. He stared into Sawyer’s eyes, the amber swirls revealing more than Sawyer ever admitted. Maybe could admit.
His fear had nothing to do with the coming pain, and they both knew it. He’d more than proven his tolerance and love of the physical torture. Hell, he craved it to the point of self-infliction.
But why? What motivated him? What was behind the pain? He could assume certain things based on his damn snooping and the little Sawyer revealed, but was that all?
He kissed him again, holding a breath, two, calm sliding through him to steady his pulse and center his mind. He’d take care of this for Sawyer. Give him the pain he needed and maybe help him along the way. At the very least, he’d be here when Sawyer was ready to trust him with the hurt that was slowly tearing him apart. But the chances of that happening grew smaller the closer Sawyer came to leaving.
Ash launched into the preparations without another word. His stool was already adjusted so he sat at eye level to Sawyer’s dick, the member still flaccid. His smile sunk deep, appreciation filling his sadistic need. They played for the mutual gratification of the pain itself. Sex—if it happened—would come later. After.
And that was more powerful than any fuck he’d ever taken during a scene—before Sawyer.
He didn’t look up when he grabbed the electric razor off the cart and clicked it on. The vibration rushed down his arm and filled the air with warning. His intent was clear, and he didn’t ask for permission, didn’t expect a refusal.
The hum deepened with each stroke he made through Sawyer’s pubic hair. He kept his movements slow and precise, the clipper guard gliding over Sawyer’s skin.
“Fucker.” The mumble reached him over the buzz of the shaver, but it wasn’t a protest. Sawyer didn’t flinch through any of it. Then again, the shaving in itself had nothing to do with pain. Some might classify it as a mind game or power play, but it was just prep for Ash.
“Ever had your balls shaved?” he asked, tone conversational as he pulled the skin tight on his sac, razor rounding over the vulnerable orb.
“Not in a long time,” he grumbled, voice tight. “It itches like a bitch when it grows back.”
“I’d think you’d like that.”
“That’s just irritating, not painful.”
He conceded the point and proceeded to lather shaving gel over the area. He turned the grooming razor over and got back to work. The razor blades slid over his skin in smooth swipes. He was careful about nicks and cuts, which some might have thought odd, given his sadistic nature. But this po
rtion wasn’t about inflicting physical pain.
He wiped down the area when he was done, following with a towel until everything was completely dry. He sat back to admire his work, the newly exposed skin pink and fresh.
“I’ve never really been into the clean-shaven look,” he said, tilting his head to analyze it from a different angle. He ran a finger around Sawyer’s shaft, under it, and down to his balls. The smoothness was fascinating in its bareness. Somehow wrong, yet alluring.
“But that was fun.” He looked up, smile growing. “Should I finish with a splash of after-shave?”
Sawyer’s lip curled, eyelids dropping in a half-dare, half-retaliation glare. “Your show, Asher. Do whatever you want.”
Fucking hell. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”
“I haven’t found that point yet.”
Would he ever? “Maybe you simply haven’t found the reason to stop.”
He shook his head, dimple showing again. “You can keep trying, though.”
Until when? Sawyer went back to Utah? Ash got too close and he bolted for good? The pain went too deep and he couldn’t handle the emotional toll?
Anger flashed in to dig at his calm. It clamped around his chest and burned in his stomach before he could shut it down. This wasn’t how he played. He didn’t let bottoms provoke him.
And he’d never been this invested in someone to be provoked.
He shoved away, his stool rolling back before he stopped it. He grabbed the bowl of water and focused on wiping up the spilled liquid, keenly aware of the man strapped to the wall beside him. The stubborn, irritating, annoying guy who gave so much and so little.
He dumped the water in the bathroom and stole a moment to regroup himself. He’d planned this scene all week, researched, tested, practiced, and thought through every contingency until he was confident in what he was about to do.
But somewhere in all of his practical thinking, his emotions had gotten in the way. He wanted Sawyer to react more strongly, to protest—or better—to refuse him instead of taking whatever he gave. There was no logic in that except his gnawing need to know there was some level of self-preservation within Sawyer.
