The Deeper He Hurts (18 page)

Sawyer squeezed his eyes closed, but Asher was right there. With him. Holding him.

“No.”

The word whispered down his ear and wove its way through the darkness to spark a fragile nugget of hope.

“No.”

Sawyer dug his teeth into his lip, the pain swelling behind his clamped hold.

“No.”

The warm touch of lips over his heart, firm and lingering, sunk so deeply it shattered the pain until all that remained was the hurt. The lost kid and lonely man. The empty stretch of isolation that beckoned and repelled.

His breath escaped in a swell of relief and rejection, the rough cough an attempt to keep it in. But his arm tightened around Asher, his hand digging into his hair to hold him there. Close.

“If you'd been with them then you wouldn't be here.” Asher lifted his head, his eyes filled with that thing he'd denied himself but was afraid to define. “And I want you here.”

Here. With Asher.

How? Why?

His heart broke open, the hurt rushing free from beneath the pain that'd locked it tight. Could he trust it? Believe when he'd stopped believing?

Asher caught his mouth in a kiss that wiped away everything but him. The hot sweep of his tongue, the gentle dip and swipe obliterated the doubts and let him be.

No past or future. No doubts or hesitation or fears.

The kiss chased away the dark and let the color in. A bright, bursting light of wishes and acceptance. Of dreams that could be.

He didn't question any of it. Not this moment, or Asher, or tomorrow. Not when he had this right now. Asher in his arms, his lips telling him everything without a word.

Desire rose on a slow crest of gentle nudges and exploring touches. A brush of tongues, swipe of fingers, tease of skin that sunk so deeply he forgot the hurt. Asher guided him everywhere, his tenderness both foreign and known. The light tickle down his side, a ghost of a breath near his ear.

He gave himself over and never once questioned. No safeword was needed when he embraced the fear.

Asher eased them to their sides until he was spooned behind Sawyer, skin sliding over skin in a dance so natural he didn't doubt its rightness. In this he followed, his hips rocking in rhythm with Asher's easy roll.

Touches peppered with kisses, down his neck, over his shoulder. Swipes down his abdomen, around his scars. His brand stretched and pulled as his erection grew, the burn swirling with the pleasure. He rode them both until they blended into something new and good. Right.

There was nothing to hide behind, and he didn't try to hold back. His moans fed the air as Asher stripped his emotions down to nothing.

He clutched at Asher's hip, urged him closer while pushing back. “I need you,” he whispered the truth to the pillow and forgot to care. Not when Asher grumbled his agreement, his dick nudging at Sawyer's hole.

He panted his desperation, knee hitched up to open himself more. A swipe of lube, the tear of a condom wrapper, then Asher was pressing in, the stretch and sting so welcomed tears clawed up his throat.

Asher didn't stop, didn't pull up or slow down until his hips were snug to Sawyer's ass. The first tear slipped out to be soaked up by the pillow. Asher surrounded him, filled him, and held him closer than anyone ever had.

This was fear and pain, love and hope rolled into one.

“I love you.”

Asher's promise ghosted over his ear, tingled down his neck, and embraced his heart. Every glide and thrust reinforced the truth and ignited something so deeply buried he'd thought his capacity for it was dead.

He scrambled to hold on, to ground himself to the only thing that'd keep him from shattering. He clutched at Asher's thigh, dug into the solid strength as he stretched his neck, searching for that last connection. Then Asher's mouth was on his, the kiss sloppy and fumbling with the urgency pounding in his groin and hammering through his chest.

“Sawyer.”

A demand or a plea? He couldn't decipher the tone and didn't try. He was lost now in everything that was Asher. The musky scent of sex and him. The hard plunges so intense he couldn't breathe. Every touch that pulled him closer.

“Asher.”

His sadist. His friend. His love.

His orgasm built from his groin but burst from his heart. It slammed through every fiber, tore from his chest in a long cry, and pierced through the hurt to wipe out the pain. He shuddered, come pumping from his dick, muscles contracting until there was nothing left except Asher.

Morning broke with the annoying caw of a damn bird that'd taken a perch too close to where Sawyer was sleeping.

“What the fuck?” he mumbled, rolling to his side, only to flip back with a hiss. He cringed through the initial blaze, breath held until the burn on his dick faded to a throbbing sting that matched the beat of his heart.

Holy fuck
. He blinked his eyes open, the dim light of dawn pasting the room in shallow shades of blue and gray. Asher's bedroom. He jerked his head around, Asher's dark head and amused expression greeting him.

“Morning.”

Sawyer groaned, rubbed his eyes, the gritty residue of last night's purging scraping over his eyeballs. That quickly, the evening flooded back in a gut-twisting wash of exposure.

Asher had broken through the last of his walls, smashed them down and held him up when he'd crumbled with them. Now everything was oversensitized, raw and exposed with nowhere left to hide.

His pulse jumped, heat flashing up his chest to clench his throat. He couldn't do this. Wasn't ready. Had no idea how to handle a “morning after.” Especially after what they'd shared.

How much he'd revealed.

He rolled from the bed, careful of his branded dick. and shuffled to the bathroom. Nature called, and that was the best excuse to get the space he needed before the walls closed in on him. His long, slow breaths slowed his heart but did little for his racing thoughts. He couldn't get attached.

Couldn't stick around.

Couldn't love Asher—even though he already did.

A cramp constricted around his heart, rammed through his lungs and sucked the air from him. He gasped, hunching forward as he scrambled to breathe. The room spun, darkness encroaching around the bright pops of white and yellow lights.

No. No. No.

The knock on the door jarred him up. “Sawyer?”

Shit
. He scrubbed his face. Swallowed.

“Can I come in?”

He worked to find his voice, but it wasn't happening.
Fuck
. This was crazy. Last night didn't have to mean anything—not if he didn't let it.
He'll only see what I show him
.

He cleared his throat. “Give me a second.” Pissing with a gauze bandage wrapped around his dick wasn't a sharing moment.

Business done, he washed his hands before easing the wrap off. The petroleum jelly Asher had applied kept it from sticking, the blisters a pale yellow against the ruby skin of his penis.

Asher.

The sadistic fucker had branded his name onto Sawyer. On his
fucking dick
. A part of him loved it. Loved everything about the depravity and the possession behind it.

But he couldn't let Asher know.

He had one last weekend at White Salmon and then he was gone from here. Free to head home and…what? Hide some more?

“I'm coming in.” Asher's warning arrived a second before the door swung open. His frown was layered beneath concern as he eyed Sawyer. His gaze zoomed in on Sawyer's flaccid dick, the appendage blazing the depth of their relationship better than words. “Is it okay?”

It. His dick. Not him. He could talk about his dick.

“Yeah.” He grinned, his cheeks stretching to make it believable. “It's going to hurt like a bitch today.” He'd probably resort to wearing his shorty wet suit to keep it protected.

Asher crouched down, the groove deepening between his brows. He tilted his head back and forth, lifted Sawyer's dick to check the underside. “We should put some aloe gel on it before we rewrap it.”

They were really discussing his dick. Which was so much better than the other things they should be dissecting. And those “things” were probably next on the list.

“Shit.” Sawyer stepped away, stretching to see the bedside clock. “What time is it? I need to head out to make it to White Salmon on time.”

Asher stood, his nakedness a thing of beauty Sawyer couldn't afford to appreciate. Not right now. He nudged around him and strode into the bedroom. His bag was sitting on Asher's dresser, and he dug through it, not caring what he grabbed to wear.

Shove it back. Don't think about last night. Don't show how exposed you are
.

“Let me—”

“I can take care of it,” Sawyer cut Asher off. “I've handled burns before.” He froze. Asher did too. The fucking chirp and twitter of the bird perched too close to the open window danced through the tension on a sour note of discomfort.

Asher cleared his throat, and Sawyer strode back to the bathroom, clothes in hand. He tried to ignore the hurt that slashed across Asher's face, remained firm when his guilt urged him to relent.

I love you.

He wasn't prepared for love. The pressure alone threatened to drag him under. The responsibility of it—terrifying.

This wasn't Asher's fault, though. None of it was. His fears were his own, just like his faults. He'd make it up to him—later. Call. Text. Something.

Right now, he needed the space and a safe place to hide.

He hadn't been homesick his entire time here. But right now, it was the only place he thought of. The one place where he could seclude himself in safety.

Where he'd be alone. Only now he knew how good it could be with someone else. No, not just someone. Asher.

Too bad he wasn't strong enough to have him. Not now. Probably not ever.

Ash leaned on his truck and squinted against the sun. Heat sizzled over the pavement, the late August heat wave baking into everything—including him. He swiped at the sweat on his forehead and stared up the street, hope ebbing away to doubt the longer he stood there waiting.

He'd waffled through so many different emotions over the three days since Sawyer had walked out of his place, he was amazed to feel anything. Sawyer had blazed into his life on a challenge and a cheesy line. Now he was about to leave with nothing more than a goodbye.

Ash glanced back at the house, heart twisting. Everything he valued was in there. Or it had been. Family, connection, home—the foundation of his life. He'd treasured those things so deeply he'd hidden some of the most important things about himself to keep them.

And now…

Sawyer's SUV came down the street, sunlight glaring off the windshield as he pulled up to the curb.

Ash released a long breath, uncertainty chasing his fears until he shut them down. He'd spent days thinking about this. Hours and hours analyzing options, weighing the rationality of each of them. In the end none of it had mattered, because this wasn't about data or numbers and nothing about it was logical.

“Hey,” Sawyer called when he opened his door. His grin was in place, dimple declaring his ease. “Have you been waiting long?” He shielded his eyes and studied the tree-lined neighborhood. “Why are we here?”

So I can be a better man
.

He sucked in his fill of Sawyer, his rolling stride and cocky assuredness soundly in place. They'd been in place Friday morning, too, smart remarks and distance carrying him out of Ash's home and back to White Salmon. Their night of emotional revelations had been dismissed, along with the significance of his first overnight stay, and Ash had let him go.

He swallowed, shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for what he couldn't have. “Thanks for coming.”

Sawyer cocked his head, frowning. “What's up?”

A hundred questions charged up to clog his throat. This casual display was all he'd gotten since Sawyer had opened himself up. The chasm was growing, the distance already there even though he stood only five feet away.

“How's the brand?” He'd emailed care instructions and received a short thanks.

His frown lifted, hesitation filtering into his eyes. He wet his lips, and Ash dared to hope. Then his lip cocked up, the smirk sinking the last of Ash's dreams.

“Did you have to write your whole name?” He winked. “ ‘Ash' would've been fine.”

His heart hardened before it broke any further. “You call me ‘Asher.' ” The cold leaked into his voice, and he almost bailed. The hurt dug beneath his walls and laughed at his ideals. Was this worth it? Was he?

Sawyer looked away, chin lifting as he stared down the street. A car passed on the road, time shifting by when Ash wanted it to stop, to go back to the other night when he'd held Sawyer tight and poured his love into him. Could he have changed the outcome then? Taken a different path that didn't have Sawyer sprinting from everything Ash offered?

From what Sawyer wanted but was afraid to have?

“I have to go home.” Sawyer was dropping the act—finally. The tightness around his words said something, though Asher couldn't define it. “This was only a summer gig.”

“I know.” They'd both known the entire summer. “It doesn't have to be final, though. There are planes and phones and—”

“Stop,” Sawyer snapped. He squeezed his eyes closed, pain flashing on his face before he covered his mouth and wiped it away. A gentle defeat remained behind when he shook his head. “I can't. Okay?” He opened his eyes to stare at Ash, so much communicated without words—like always.

And Ash listened. Heard the pain and fear, the longing and doubts. The years of habits he understood. His own roots were cemented into this very driveway and were slowly suffocating him. He was dying inside, and he'd had no understanding of that until Sawyer had shown him what it was like to fully live.

“Will you help me with something?” He marveled at the level tone of his voice and the steady sweep of his hand when he motioned to the house. “Then you can hit the road.” Sawyer's obligation to Kick had ended with his last run down the White Salmon River that morning. And by the looks of it, his SUV was packed and ready to go.

He could've left for home without coming back to Portland, but he hadn't. Ash was listening to that too—but was he interpreting it correctly?

Sawyer's study of him dragged on. A line of sweat slithered down Ash's back, doubts creeping in to shake his resolve.
What am I doing?

“With what?” Sawyer shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. Suspicion wrinkled his brow, tinged his voice. “I need to hit the road soon.”

He would go no matter what Ash did or said. Exposing Sawyer to his parents, and hoping against everything that their love for their son was larger than their faith, was crazy. He didn't need to open himself up that way.

And if Ash ran now, he might never make it back to this point.

“Asher.”

His mother's voice sped through the air to nail him in the heart. He spun around, breath held to see her standing in the open doorway of their little Craftsman. Her scowl yanked him back to his childhood, the reprimand in her tone familiar and comforting for the love it carried. Was it unconditional, though?

“What are you doing out here?” She shielded her eyes against the sun, her apron stretching over her front. “Who's that with you?”

Panic seized his voice for a moment before he pushed through it. “Hey, Mom.” He motioned back to Sawyer, a glance catching the fear before Sawyer locked it behind a stony glare. “This is Sawyer, my—”

“Sorry, ma'am,” Sawyer called over him. He flashed a charming smile, voice filled with warmth and manners. “I didn't mean to keep him. I was just leaving.”

Ash froze at the coldness that'd settled into Sawyer's eyes. He opened his mouth to say more, but the words he'd longed to say would not come out. He'd lost the courage that'd brought him to this point.

“You're welcome to come inside,” his mother offered. “It's hot out here.”

“Thank you.” Sawyer's smile was strained now, but it was doubtful his mother would be able to tell. “But I have to get going.” He looked directly at Ash when he spoke next, voice lowered. “I'm not worth it.”

He was striding to his car before Ash processed the words. Then he was running to catch up, his mother forgotten in his desperation to reach him. He caught the car door before Sawyer could slam it shut, breath gusting out around the fear and love confusing everything.

“You are,” he insisted. “Don't you get that? You are more than worth it.”

Sawyer's head was shaking before he finished. “No.” Sadness underlined the firmness. “That,” he said, pointing at the house, “is precious. I'm…I can't…No.” His hard, impenetrable glare fell back into place. “Don't give that up for me.” His voice cracked.

“I'm not,” Ash insisted. He gripped the edge of the door so tightly his fingers ached. “I'm being myself. Showing them who I am and trusting in their love. Can't you do the same for me?”

There it was, laid out and covering everything he longed for. What he wanted to believe, even if he'd doubted it before.

Sawyer stared straight ahead, hands holding the steering wheel in a vice grip that turned his knuckles white. “I can't give you what you want.”

“But you already have.” Sawyer either couldn't see that or refused to believe it. “You trust me with your pain and I've never abused that. How is this different?”

The slow turn of his head was calculated, warnings flying at Ash before he spoke. “One.” He pointed at the house. “This right here is a dick move. It's a huge presumption you didn't even discuss with me. Second, tell me how branding your name onto my dick wasn't overstepping your bounds?”

Ash cringed, the digs striking hard. “You could've said no.”

“You're right. I could've. I am. You said you'd listen, so hear me now. Stop.”

The word destroyed the last of his hope and smacked him back a step.
Stop
. Nothing else could've gotten him to retreat so quickly. It dug a knife into his chest and brought a clean end to the scene.

Only this wasn't a scene.

He swallowed, let his hand fall away from the door. A coldness swept in to center him as he analyzed his actions. He'd been willing to take a leap, only Sawyer wasn't there with him. His risk wouldn't get him a reward. Not this time. It'd get him nothing but more pain.

“All right.” He took another step back, logic sinking in to overrule the emotions that'd dared to break free. “Stay safe, Sawyer.”

He walked away, pride moving him forward. There was no point in fighting when Sawyer didn't want his help. Didn't need him. He should've seen this coming—had seen it. But he'd chosen to ignore the signs.

Sawyer's car door slammed, his engine roaring to life before he pulled away from the curb. He tracked it all without turning around. There was no point.

His mother was still waiting at the door, her face impossible to read. He should say something, but what?
That was my lover. I'm sorry. I love you.
Nothing fit. He'd come here today determined to be himself and believe in his family, and now he had no idea what to trust or who he was.

Son. Brother. Friend. Geek. Gay. Sadist. Lover.

Did any of them mean more than the other?

He got in his truck and drove away. He couldn't look at his mother, his guilt at leaving without a word eating away at him before he hit the corner. But he couldn't be here.

And he couldn't be with Sawyer, either.

Which left him back where he'd been before Sawyer had stepped in and changed everything. A man hiding behind an image and bound by constraints he feared he'd never break free of.