Merrick
It was a huge gamble, leaving her out there on her own.
Chances were she wouldn’t be there in a few minutes, and they’d have to do this all over again next week, the week after, so on and so forth. That was okay—he hadn’t lied when he told her he was proud of her for getting to this point, because she’d done it of her own volition.
Touching his finger to his lips before Fordham could speak, Merrick crossed over to the chair beside him and sat, listening intently for a clue as to what his little owl would do. His brain was logically inclined; she was afraid, she had triggers, and she didn’t have anyone nudging her to do what she really didn’t want to do.
His heart hoped she’d trust him enough to take the next baby step by herself.
Slouched comfortably in his chair, one boot propped on his opposite knee and his phone in his hand, Fordham raised a dark eyebrow and whispered, “Was that a smart move?”
“It was the only move,” Merrick whispered back.
Two minutes passed, five. Seven, then ten.
Hope was beginning to dwindle when he saw movement in the doorway, just a flash of rich, dark brown hair and pale skin, followed by a pair of haunted eyes peeking into the room. Her expression was terrified horror, a unique blend of fear he hated seeing in her eyes.
Come on, little owl. Be brave. Be my brave girl and come to me .
Merrick tamped down the urge to lean forward; any movement on his or Fordham’s part now would send her running. He schooled his breathing into shallow, even intakes, prepared to tear after her if she lost her shit and took off.
He doubted very much that the community doctor had something of this caliber at his disposal—the equipment, from the state of the art gynecological table to the specialist workstations, trolleys, stool, cost more than he wanted to know. Throw in the added attention to details like the ultrasound and colposcope, and Serenity’s medplay room was probably the most high-tech facility—for fantasy or reality—in the entire state.
When Evander went the whole hog, he included the entire family.
A sneakered foot slid tentatively over the threshold. The rest of her followed slowly, as though she was anticipating being grabbed and hauled inside. Keeping her back to the wall, she averted her eyes so she stared at the floor. “Merk?”
“It’s adorable when she calls you that,” Ford murmured.
He agreed with a quiet grunt. That word would forever be his link to the memory of her finding her voice again, of her emerging from the safety of her silence.
To the memory of her choosing him as her the one .
“Here, darlin’.” His voice startled her, proving how on edge she was in here. “Doing so well, Tamsyn. So well,” he repeated, adding pride to the dominance in his tone so the two words almost became a purr. “Gonna ask you to come to me now. Cross the room, one step at a time, and take my hand.”
A strong shiver of revulsion ripped through her; she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as her stomach heaved. She was quivering, cowering against the wall as though it might save her. “I-I don’t like it in here.”
“I know, little owl. Don’t think I don’t understand how much this is costing you. It’s gonna get harder for a while, but we’ll get through it together. There’s ten feet between us; think you can make it?”
Her weak hand fisted. The sling cradled her arm from elbow to wrist, offering a fraction of the protection she’d gotten from the cast. She lifted her gaze to his, and the faint sheen of tears damn near unmanned him. “Merk.”
He held out his hand. “Ten feet, Tamsyn. Ten baby steps.”
Her eyes darted to Fordham, barely registering his existence, then flicked over to the contraption gleaming under the miniature spotlights in the center of the room. The perfectly harmless gyno chair was, to her, the biggest threat in the room despite the two Masters keeping her company.
“Ignore it, darlin’. We’ll deal with that later. Right now, I want your eyes on me and your hand in mine.”
Tamsyn sucked on her lower lip, pressing her trembling thighs together as her feet shuffled nervously. He hated seeing her pale and anxious, knowing he was essentially the cause—the roots of the problem stemmed from her father and his ridiculous cult, but Merrick was the one pushing her to expose and detach them.
With a sharp cry of distress, she turned her face away from the chair and hurried toward him with her hand clamped over her mouth. Sickness was a sure sign she was reaching her limit; he didn’t want to reach that point, even if physical purging helped with the mental toxins.
Her body collided with his, her arm dropping to wrap around his waist as her face burrowed against his chest. Her breathing was erratic, her muscles so tense it felt like one wrong touch would shatter her.
“Good girl. So brave,” he crooned, folding his arms around her. “Very, very proud of you, little owl.”
“Want to go home now.”
“If that’s what you want, Tamsyn.” So much for pushing her limits .
Fordham raised his eyebrows, glancing up from his phone. “Huh. Thought you had more balls than this, sweetheart. Guess I was wrong.”
What the hell was he doing? Merrick scowled fiercely at his friend, only to receive a subtle headshake in return. Apparently he wasn’t the only one asking for trust here tonight; Fordham was asking for his.
Slowly, Tamsyn turned her head until her cheek was against Merrick’s chest, her face in Fordham’s direction. “W-What?”
Sighing heavily, the other Dom made a dramatic show of finishing whatever he was doing on his phone, then shoving the device back into his pocket before answering her. He took his time lowering his boot to the floor, still slouched as though he didn’t give a shit what happened in his presence, then gestured with one hand. “Well, seems to me, the girl who ran away from a sex-trafficking cult in the middle of winter with nothing but the clothes on her back was the stronger version of you. Who you are now…”
Merrick’s scowl deepened when Fordham jerked his chin in his direction.
“He’s made you soft, dependent. Not deliberately, but because he’s in love with you and doesn’t want to send you spiraling into a pit of terror by crossing your limits. Me, I’d have you naked in that chair, strapped down until you learned how to deal with the fear.” Fordham shrugged nonchalantly. “But then, that’s just me, I guess. And you, sweetheart… maybe your courage has run dry for the night.”
Cursing silently, Merrick felt her go rigid in his arms as Ford’s words sank in. “Enough, Fordham. I’m pleased with her progress, even if you’re not.” He made damn sure his tone indicated he didn’t give a fuck about Ford’s opinion. “Tamsyn wants to go home, I’m taking her home.”
To his surprise, his little owl bristled and set her hand on his chest, stepping back. “No.”
He stayed where he was as Tamsyn challenged Ford, one hand on her hip. Her chin angled in defiance, matching her attitude. Evidently, being called a coward reinvigorated her inner spark.
“Just because Merrick loves me doesn’t mean he won’t make me cry if he has to,” she said heatedly. “He does what’s best for me even if it doesn’t make him happy. I ran away from the community to save my life, but running didn’t save me—Merrick did.”
Ford opened his mouth; Tamsyn shut him down.
“He hasn’t made me soft, I just wasn’t strong in the beginning.” She fumbled with the sling, removing it carefully before tossing it at him. “I hate this place. Maybe it’s an irrational fear but it’s mine, and Merrick understands that.” Her next words were lost in the fabric of her hoodie and thermal shirt as she pulled them awkwardly over her head. “You don’t get to tell me that my Master is doing things wrong, because you don’t know .”
Well, fuck. Blindsided by the possessive use of my Master , Merrick stared at her as she angrily toed off her sneakers and yanked down her pants. When had the balance shifted so much that she felt comfortable staking her claim as his submissive?
Not that he was complaining.
BDSM was a huge part of his life, professional and personal. It was a choice he’d made, yes, but in some respects, it was a calling. One he’d still be answering when he was old and… well, he’d already got the gray checked off, so that just left old.
Tamsyn was a wrench in that plan.
Honestly, he’d given thought to how he could adjust his life to suit her if the lifestyle didn’t appeal to her. Alternate careers, an early retirement using the savings he’d amassed through dabbling with the stock market and placing the occasional bet on a major sports event, leaving Colorado entirely and starting somewhere fresh.
Given a choice between being a Master and being hers, she would always win.
A heavy weight lifted off his shoulders when he realized she’d chosen him—all of him, too.
Fordham raked his eyes up and down her body when she stood in front of him in just her bra and panties. The smug gleam in his gaze told Merrick his friend was close to achieving whatever the hell he’d been aiming for when he riled Tamsyn up. “Oh, I think I know more than you think, sweetheart. I like how quick you jump to defend him. Still ready to go home?”
She was magnificent, really.
Vibrating with indignation, breath choppy with anger, and her hands fisted by her sides, she looked ready to go to war—until Fordham’s question deflated her faster than a slashed tire. All the beautiful color in her face and upper body receded as she remembered where she was and her state of undress.
“I…” She sent a helpless glance at Merrick. “Home now, please?”
Perhaps Fordham had a point; she had a lot more to give if and when her buttons were pressed correctly. She was strong, resilient, but she wouldn’t fight. Not for herself, anyway. When it came to protecting herself, she ran—and Merrick was guilty of aiding and abetting that behavior because of her circumstances.
“Soon, darlin’. Gotta admit, Fordham’s right on one level—I haven’t made you soft as such, but by letting certain subjects slide and allowing you to avoid them, I haven’t been as effective in helping you combat your fears as I should’ve been.” He jerked his chin toward the gyno chair. “That’s gonna end tonight, little owl. We’re gonna do this scene and you’re gonna be stronger for it when we’re done.”
“But… I… no .” She took a step back, then lasered Ford with slitted tawny eyes. “ You .”
Amused, he just grinned at her. “Always happy to help, sweetheart. Thank me later.”
“ Thank you? I should… I should…” Another step in retreat.
Spiraling pit of terror, Merrick thought. Clamping a hand on her nape before she decided to make a break for it, he growled, “Enough, Tamsyn. Breathe, relax, calm down. Ford is gonna be quiet now, and you’re gonna do what I ask without overthinking it. You trusted me to walk in here of your own volition, darlin’,” he pointed out when she sputtered an objection. “You’ll trust me for what comes next.”
The objection died into a whimper.
“There, that’s better.” Sliding his hand down her back, he flicked open the catch of her bra without looking at it. “I love how beautiful you are in just your underwear, little owl, but it’s time to take it all off. You’ve got a minute to strip and perch this perfect little bottom on that chair.”
There went the last vestiges of color from her face. “Master Merrick. Sir, I—”
When he folded his arms over his chest in a blatant sign he wasn’t backing down from his order, Tamsyn’s shoulders slumped. There weren’t any tears, not yet, but by the way her face was starting to crumple, they might not be far away.
Hooking a finger between the cups of her bra, she miserably pulled it down her arms and let it fall to the floor with a sad plop. Her panties slithered over her hips a moment later, pooling around her bare feet. Sneaking an unhappy peek at Fordham, she lifted an arm to cover her breasts, a hand down to her mound, until Merrick cleared his throat with a small shake of his head to emphasize she wasn’t permitted to cover herself.
That made her lip quiver before she hung her head.
Firm, Merrick reminded himself. He had to be fair and firm, strong and supportive. “Good girl. Don’t overthink the second part.” He lifted her chin with a knuckle. “Go sit down, Tamsyn. Thirty seconds.”
She wanted to obey, that much was clear. The conflict in her eyes when they met his for a brief second was astounding—would she listen to her self-preservation instincts or dig deep enough to find a rich river of trust for her Dom running beneath the fear?
He counted down from thirty, from twenty, then ten.
By zero, Tamsyn was still frozen to the floor and shaking from the knees up.
When he raised his hand to touch her cheek, she flinched and whimpered, angling her face to avoid a perceived blow. Ever so gently, he laid his palm along her jaw. “All right, little owl. It’s okay. I’m not gonna punish you for being afraid. Take my hand and close your eyes; let me lead you.”
She didn’t seem any more enamored with that than she was with moving of her own free will. Body and mind equated medical equipment with trauma, whether she consciously remembered it or not, and her body was refusing point-blank to cooperate.
Woodenly, she grasped his hand and shut her eyes, hiding the wetness on her lashes.
“We’re gonna try something different, Tamsyn.” Guiding her forward, Merrick kept his voice low and soothing. It was a short distance, flat and uncomplicated, but he knew how disoriented she would be even for those few feet. Once she was beside the chair, he stopped her. “From this point, you’ll address me as Master or Sir. Get into the habit of using them.”
She sighed. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl. Now kneel.” He snapped his fingers when she balked and tried to open her eyes. “No, Tamsyn. Stop overthinking. Down on your knees, now.”
The less sympathetic tone got her attention. Clumsily, she lowered herself to the floor, keeping her thighs together in a prim fashion. That wouldn’t do at all.
“Sit on your heels; spread your thighs. Wider, little owl,” he commanded when she parted them an inch. “I want to be able to see your beautiful pussy drool. Better, much better,” he praised as she hesitantly offered him the best view in the club. “Back straight. Hands on your thighs, palms up. Perfect, well done.”
She all but melted at the approval in his voice.
When he walked a slow circle around her, he saw her head tilting, trying to follow his path. Tsking softly, he set his hand on her hair, stroking the silky locks once before he urged her to drop her chin. “Submission isn’t just about giving control over to me, darlin’, or how fast and far I can drive you to your limits. Sometimes, when I ask you to do something scary like this, you need to find the right mindset. A frame of mind where your natural desire to please and your trust in me is stronger than your fear. Understand?”
“What if I can’t?” she whispered.
“I know you can.” He crouched in front of her, using his knuckle to wipe away a stray tear escaping from her lashes. “When we reach this point of overwhelming panic, this is what you’re going to do, Tamsyn. Kneel just like this, focus on your breathing, switch off the outside world, and give in to the quiet. I’ll know when you’re ready and, eventually, you will too.”
“Now?” Her brow furrowed when he smacked the side of her thigh lightly. “I mean, now, Master Merrick?”
“Yes, little owl. Now. Breathe to the count of four,” he told her as he rose. “In, hold, out. Just breathe, relax, and find that frame of mind.”
It was ridiculous how adorable she was when she gave her all—the frown from her mild reprimand eased into one of concentration; he could see her running his instructions through her mind over and over, her lips silently moving as she counted to beats of four.
Stepping away quietly, Merrick began double-checking the restraints on the chair despite the fact he knew Fordham would’ve checked it all before Tamsyn was anywhere near the building. Instead of the Velcro straps, he’d opted for the more traditional style; the leather straps were butter-soft and gave him plenty of leeway to play. The holes were large, making it easy for him to slide the buckle pin through one-handed without fighting with the damn thing.
The chair itself was a work of art, top of the line. The arm rests and leg supports folded in, turning it into an examination table if required. The backrest had a full range of motion from horizontal to vertical, with capabilities for both the Trendelenburg and reverse Trendelenburg positions.
It was electronic, adjustable by remote control, and was purportedly one of the most ergonomic models on the market—not that Merrick was volunteering to test that theory.
The one in this room was a pretty violet color; the one in the other room was a more intimidating black; Evander claimed that color made all the difference to nervous subs, especially in areas where tensions ran high, and had chosen the chairs based on his research.
Careful not to hum as he was prone to do when setting up a scene, Merrick adjusted the chair until it resembled a table with the leg supports together and the arms only an inch or two outstretched. He raised the backrest to a comfortable sixty-degree angle to start.
Like a kid with a toy, he was desperate to play with the many options available. The damn contraption was similar to a robot, and he had to marvel at the leaps and bounds in technology.
For now, he left the attachable spotlight in its case.
Satisfied, he let his gaze roam over Tamsyn. Still stiff as a board, her spine ramrod straight, she jerked when his boots thudded on the floor. Yeah, she wasn’t doing a good job of tuning out the world and finding her inner peace.
Hmm, he could help with that.
He liked to think he was an observant Dom. Sure, he made mistakes and missed things on occasion, like any mortal male, but over the last few weeks he’d been particularly attentive to what caught Tamsyn’s attention, good and bad.
She was captivated by music; more than once he’d caught her watching the music channels on TV, and her moods were heavily influenced by what she listened to, he’d discovered. Country, pop, and trance remixes made her happy; classical mostly depressed her; rap made her jittery, as though the rapid speed of the words was too much for her to process.
Crossing over to the cupboards, he bent and opened the one in the far corner, turning on the audio system. Taking out his phone, he linked them via Bluetooth, then selected the music app he’d been using to create mood playlists for her.
Drew Jacobs’ version of Whiskey Lullaby thrummed through the speakers a little too loud; Merrick lowered the volume until the words were just audible. She’d have to stop concentrating on her anxiety to focus on the music, and hopefully give herself a chance to relax.
When Merrick turned, Fordham was studying his phone again, a smirk twisting his mouth as their gazes connected briefly. A moment later, he was buried back in his phone again, passing time until the scene started and his duties as monitor required his full attention.
The next twenty minutes were spent inspecting the toys and implements laid out on the rolling trolley next to the chair. Most, he wouldn’t use, but he liked to be prepared. Once Tamsyn was in position, he wanted everything at hand.
When Merrick finally returned to her, he was relieved to see she’d discovered that calm, quiet peace of surrender. Her hands were limp on her thighs, her fingers curling toward her palms. The rigidity of her spine was gone, replaced with the slightest curve and relaxed shoulders. Even the tilt of her head was natural, her chin on her chest as though she’d fallen asleep.
It was time.
“That’s my good, good girl,” he murmured, bending down to scoop her up. It didn’t escape his notice how she stiffened as he sat her on the cool padding; he made no attempt to restrain her. “Doesn’t that feel better?”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
“Remind me of your safewords, darlin’.”
“Red, yellow, green, Master Merrick.” She lifted her hand and snapped her fingers.
“Perfect. You won’t need the snap today. Spin around and lay down, Tamsyn.”
Inner submission couldn’t negate her anxiety completely. He watched her fingers link together, her strong hand protecting the weak as her knuckles turned white, before she sucked in a shaky breath and swung her legs up.
Eyes still closed, she shuddered in revulsion, then jolted when he set his hand on her back to guide her. He felt her flinch as warm skin met the padding and gave her a reassuring squeeze on the nape as she settled uncomfortably into position.
“Just like that,” he whispered. “Take a minute, little owl. This is a big step.”
Evidently, her voice was gone again. She opened her eyes slowly, the tawny brown soft with submission and misery. Swallowing hard enough for her throat to click, she simply stared at him with those eyes so trustfully, he felt like an utter bastard.
“Are you cold, darlin’?”
All he got was a little headshake.
Starting slow, he let his hands glide over her upper chest, around the balls of her shoulders, down her arms. Soothing away the subtle tremors in her muscles, he adjusted her right arm on the rest, draping the first strap over her bicep and loosely buckling it on the first hole.
He swore she stopped breathing.
“Remember where you are, Tamsyn. It’s just me; I won’t hurt you.” Trailing his fingers down her forearm, he strapped her wrist. “You don’t have to be afraid of restraints. Don’t think of them as a weapon being used against you; use them as a connection to me.”
Yes, she definitely wasn’t breathing. Her face wore the strained look of a woman whose body was realizing something was wrong.
Merrick ran his knuckles over her sternum, between her breasts. Up and down, light as a feather. “Control the fear, little owl. Look at me and take a breath. Bet it feels like there’s a boulder lodged on your chest, right? Suffocating you, crushing you. Push it off. Take a slow, deep breath and push it off your chest.”
When she finally managed to obey, her inhale was neither slow nor deep, but a savage wheeze of desperation. Her free hand flailed in the air; he captured it in both of his, rubbing her cold fingers gently.
“Good girl. This is gonna happen a lot,” he predicted, lifting her knuckles to his lips before laying her arm down on the rest. Again, he buckled her bicep in first, but the second leather strap fastened over her forearm, above the healing break. “The straps are loose, Tamsyn. Probably doesn’t feel like it to you, but take a look.”
Eyes bewildered, she dropped her gaze to her arm, shuddering at the sight of the dark brown leather bisecting her pale skin. Even when he demonstrated how slack they were by sliding three fingers beneath them, she still wore an expression that told him she was expecting to be brutalized at any moment.
Yet she didn’t fight, didn’t yank at the restraints or thrash.
Was that trust in him or simply another consequence of her conditioning?
Merrick cupped her breast, teasing her flat nipple with sweeping drags of his thumb over the disinterested bud. “Bravery deserves a reward, little owl. Every time you overcome the fear, I’m gonna make you feel good. Make it to the end and you’ll lose your breath for a whole different reason.”
Her nipple beaded under his thumb; he bent and replaced callused skin with the warmth of his mouth, sucking until the tiniest moan accompanied the tentative rise of her hips. Because he was a man of equal opportunities, particularly when it came to breasts, he was just as attentive to the other one.
When he quietly fastened the next strap across her ribcage, the whole debacle started again.