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 portion 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.
He gripped the edge of the counter, mind racing with his heart. He was in too deep and had no idea how to get out.
“Asher?” Sawyer called, concern layered in his voice. “Did you get lost?”
How long had he been in here? He swallowed. “No.” Did that sound like he was okay? He splashed a handful of cold water on his face, dried it, and slid his glasses back on. He was fine. He had to be. Sawyer would be gone so fast if he had any clue of Ash’s doubts or how deeply his desire ran to have more from him. Everything with him.
He folded the hand towel and placed it back on the rail. A deep breath. Another.
The scene he’d planned stretched far into edge play. He’d designed it to pick at the triggers he’d observed in Sawyer. But it also contained a statement. Actually screamed his intent, if Sawyer chose to see it.
The risk of so many things going wrong only heightened the draw.
He focused on that. On what Sawyer would give. On the torment he’d endure and the wonder of watching it play out. His pulse slowed as he sunk into the proper headspace. He could let his sadist free with Sawyer and not worry about judgment.
Unless he was judging himself. On that front he failed miserably. More so with each day that he hid behind his own secrets.