The Deeper He Hurts (4 page)

“Trip go well?” he asked, going for cordial. “War said everything went smoothly. He even had a few compliments for you, which he's usually stingy on handing out.”

Sawyer shrugged that off. “It was good. The canyon's cool and the rapids keep it interesting.” He glanced around. “The whole area's different from what I'm used to.” His focus went upward again.

Ash followed Sawyer's line of sight and found nothing interesting, just trees and sky. “Is that good or bad?”

“Just different.”

“Too much green for you?” He couldn't say anything about the wet, since it hadn't rained in the two days Sawyer had been in Oregon.

Sawyer shook his head, his gaze dropping to stare into the trees that surrounded their property. “No line of sight.” He nodded toward the woods. “I'm used to seeing for miles, not feet. Or at least clear to the next butte.”

“And that kind of vast openness is foreign to me.” Ash studied the area, trying to understand what Sawyer was getting at. “I'm a born and raised Oregonian, home of the tree huggers and granola crunchers.”

That got a chuckle out of Sawyer. “I don't know. Moab will give you a good run on the granola crunching.”

“I bet.” He smiled. “I'm sure most of these guys would feel at home there.” He nodded toward the rest of the group. Cargo shorts, flannels, sandals, and various headwear from beanies to baseball hats were the general attire. He definitely stood out as the overdressed one—and he'd tried to dress down today.

“Yeah, they would.”

The conversation lagged as the general camaraderie of the group flowed around them. A lot of their seasonal staff were college students in their early twenties. A few were year-round guides who'd transition to another outfitter when the season here was done. Grady had been one of those before he'd decided to invest in Kick and plant himself in Oregon.

“So what else do you do?” Asher asked. “Besides guiding rafts through crazy-as-shit rapids?”

Sawyer frowned. “Why do you think I do something else?”

“I run the background checks on all employees.” He raised a brow and let that sink in.

The frown deepened. “If you know what I do, why are you asking?”

“I thought it'd be nicer.”

Sawyer barked out a laugh, grin wide before he hid it behind his hand. “I thought you were a sadist.” Fortunately. he said that under his breath, even though no one was close enough to hear them.

“I can be nice.” His tone came out harder than intended and pretty much countered his statement. “In fact, I'm generally a pretty nice guy.” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing, voice dropping. “I enjoy inflicting pain, but that doesn't make me an automatic dick. I'm not into humiliation or degradation, and I sure as hell don't get off on treating people like shit.”

Sawyer glared right back at him, the moment dragging out. He sniffed, lips pressing flat, tension winding them closer even though neither of them moved.

The hair on Ash's nape stood on end, a certainty settling within him. If they were alone instead of standing in the open with an avid audience, Ash wouldn't hesitate to charge in. Fuck his employee policy or any other policy he had about play partners. The chemistry between them was too real and strong to walk away from.

“So you're just a dick to me then?” Sawyer finally asked, the dig made with a twitch of his lips.

It was impossible not to see the amusement that shifted over the heat. Sawyer hadn't retreated or backed down. Instead he'd tossed out a jest Ash could take or ignore.

“Only when you deserve it,” he countered, stepping back under the guise of taking a drink of his water. He cocked a smile when he lowered the bottle, chest easing. “Come on.” He motioned to the food. “I'm hungry, and the burgers are up.”

“What if I'm a vegetarian?”

He gave a dramatic wince. “I'm sure veggie burgers are on there too. We're in granola land, after all.”

Sawyer's deep laugh tumbled over Ash once again, each ripple digging under his skin a bit more. “Then I'll fit right in.”

Ash paused, brow lifting. “So you're really a vegetarian?” His mother had a whole spiel he could repeat by heart on why meat was good for the body.

Sawyer raised his brow right back, the golden flecks dancing in his eyes before he dropped the act. “No.” He punched Ash in the arm, the gesture more friendly than hurtful. “Let's eat. Some of us worked our asses off today.”

“And some of us worked our brains,” Ash countered.

Sawyer glanced back over his shoulder, heat dropping into his slow perusal. “You obviously work your ass at some point.” He winked. “Let me know if you ever want help with that workout.”

He walked away as Ash stood there and watched his long strides and a confidence that should've been annoying. His chuckle bubbled up from his chest, a slow acceptance of what he'd tried to deny. Good or bad, wrong or right, he liked Sawyer—a lot. And not as an employee, or even a friend.

He wanted to get to know him better—outside of work. The itch to have Sawyer beneath him, moaning in pain or pleasure, was growing stronger every time they talked. How long would he have to wait? Because it was only a matter of time now. That much he was certain of.

The fire snapped and popped, sparks shooting over the flames. Sawyer tensed, swallowed, and forced his muscles to relax when the sparks faded into the darkness. His spot on top of a picnic table on the outside of the circle gave him both a height and sight advantage. He could see everyone and the entire fire without being too close. Included but not, exactly how he liked it.

Dinner had naturally progressed to an evening around the large fire pit. It was the true camper's favorite form of entertainment, even though the Kick Wi-Fi was accessible. Some people were tapping away on their phones, but most were talking or just enjoying the atmosphere. The White Salmon team was friendly and, like many he'd worked with over the years, mostly laid-back, casual, and unconcerned with pretense or stature. With the tourists gone, they were relaxed and comfortable with each other. He'd fit right in—if he tried. And he would as much as he needed to.

What he had to work on was wanting to.

The smack of the building door in the distance set him on edge for no real reason. Grady and War had been huddled in there with Asher since dinner ended. It didn't mean anything and wasn't his worry, yet he still zeroed in on their movements. The low mumble of their conversation reached him over the chatter around the fire, their voices indiscernible.

Awareness prickled over his back, but his eyes stayed glued to the fire. A guy threw another log on it, the flames jumping, sparks flashing with his inelegant application. Sawyer tensed again, hand lowering to the table edge. A water bucket was tucked beneath the table, a safety measure he'd provided without anyone's knowledge.

The smoke shifted, circling around to waft over him. He held his breath, eyes watering with his refusal to look away.

“Dude,” a guy chastised, arm waving in front of his face. “Why'd you do that?”

“Like I can control where the smoke goes.”

“You are hereby banned from fire duty,” a girl stated, coughing as she hopped up from her chair to escape the smoke.

The fire offender spread his hands wide. “It's not my fault.”

Sawyer braced himself, heart clenching around the burst of fear when the guy wobbled on his perch by the fire. A small collection of beer bottles were piled by his chair, another declaration of his inebriated state.

“You're wasted,” a guy said as he stood and yanked the drunk away from the fire by the back of his shirt and shoved him into his chair. “Sit there and stay away from the fire.”

“What the fuck?” the fire guy protested, starting to rise.

“Nathan,” War boomed as he walked up to the circle. “I'd better see your bright and smiling face at seven
A.M.
tomorrow—without a hangover.” He nailed the dude with a steely glare until the guy settled back in the chair and gave him a nod in return.

Sweat beaded Sawyer's forehead, his throat raw from the smoke and the stark fear that raced up from his past. He squeezed his eyes closed, hand scrubbing over the back of his head. He tried to center himself, but flashes of a bigger blaze, darker smoke, and the distinct roar of hungry flames shot through his mind to shatter the peace he sought.

No!

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he jerked off the table in the next second. Heart pounding, blood rushing, he spun around, ready to attack.

“Hey,” Asher said, hands raised in a soothing gesture. “Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”

What the fuck?
He glanced around, his brain catching up with the present. The fire was behind him, the heat stroking over his back in another taunt he couldn't shake. But it was just a campfire. Contained in a brick-lined pit. There was no danger.

Grady stood next to Asher, brows raised high on his forehead. He made a pointed glance down at Sawyer's clenched fists.

Fuck
. “Sorry,” he managed to mumble, forcibly relaxing his fingers. “You, uh…” He scrubbed a hand over his face, whiskers scratching his palm. “Startled me.”

War came up next to him in an almost stealthlike move, but he made sure Sawyer saw him. “No worries.” His voice was lowered, but it held an element of understanding. “We get it. That fucker”—he flicked his chin at Asher—“should know better than to sneak up on any of us.”

“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 goosebumps 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.