The Deeper He Hurts Read Online Free PDF Page A

Sawyer there.
    He turned to watch the scene, keenly aware of the guy beside him. Of the dangers and the building anticipation. Of the dance with a partner he couldn’t let himself want, yet had traveled a thousand miles to meet.
    Which only enticed him more.

Chapter 4
    The submissive cringed, face tightening into a clench of pain that vibrated through his tense muscles. His spread legs were strapped into the stirrups on the medical table, arms bound to his sides. His shaved genitals were a deep red, almost purple, and matched the shade of his erect dick. His bound state ensured he wouldn’t come until the Dom allowed it and had sensitized the genitals. The Dom alternated between stroking the dick and attaching weighted clips to the scrotum and crown of the penis.
    Cock and ball torture. Common, varied, and open to endless possibilities if the top had any imagination at all.
    This one didn’t.
    The scene appeared to be following the script of a popular Internet video. The Dom had sworn his sub could handle anything Ash dished out. He’d insisted his sub needed more pain.
    Ash snorted. It didn’t matter if it was true or not, the couple wasn’t getting anything from him. He had nothing to prove, and pushing the limits on some random guy had lost its appeal.
    He’d been ready to leave, certain after ten short minutes that the sub wouldn’t work for him and that training the Dom on torture techniques would be equally unappealing.
    Now Sawyer stood next to him, and any thought of leaving had vanished.
    “What do you like, Sawyer?” Ash asked without turning his head. The guy wouldn’t be standing unfazed in the dungeon if this was new to him.
    “Pain.”
    That one simple word struck close to his heart. He inhaled, breath rushing through his nostrils. His pulse thumped too hard, too fast. The sub released a moaned whimper that teased his inner need. That quickly, an image of Sawyer spread-eagled, sweating, and covered in welts from his cane erased the one before him. His sweet calls of suffering would build Ash higher—or would Sawyer grunt through the agony? Did he fight or flow with the pain?
    “What kind of pain?” His question came out lower than he’d intended, and probably revealed more too.
    Sawyer shifted, the material of his shorts rasping on the cement wall. How Ash heard it over the general noise of the dungeon was a mystery. But it taunted him with more ideas, of stripping the damn things off and turning that hard ass a blistering red.
    “A lot.”
    The gravel in his voice rumbled over Ash. Would it be there when he begged for mercy—or more? “Limits?”
    Another shift. Each move brought Sawyer closer without being obvious. Casual, if it weren’t for the tension that slithered up Ash’s nape to tingle over his scalp. A whip cracked, precise and sharp. A grunt. A whine. A slap. Desire coiled deep within his chest, dark and slow and lined with barbs.
    “None.”
    Ash whipped his head around, scowl slamming down. Anger burst out in a protective rush. “Don’t say that,” he admonished, jaw tight. “Ever. There are always limits.”
Unless you have a death wish.
    Sawyer didn’t flinch or respond for several long moments. A flatness fell over his expression, a blankness that hid everything behind a wall of indifference. Gone was the dimple, along with any hint of levity. His eyes narrowed, chin lifting. The subtle defiance almost begged to be challenged, yet refused to be broken.
    How much would it take to shatter that reserve?
    “I know my limits,” Sawyer stated with the same cold flatness. “I know that few can reach them. I know when to stop and I know what I need.” He shoved away from the wall, gaze scanning the dungeon before it landed back on him. “What do you know…Asher?”
    That fucker
. The darkness within him morphed to red and tainted his calm. He turned to Sawyer, hands fisted at his sides, breaths slowing to long pulls as he stared into those damn golden brown eyes.
    Sawyer