Merrick (Ink and Ember #2)

1. Merrick

Merrick

There were worse things than finding out your younger brother was sleeping with one of your coworkers.

Like finding out your brother got a job at the BDSM club you frequented on your days off, for example, which was the exact situation Merrick Shannon had just found himself in.

It was a wonder they hadn’t already crossed paths, but Merrick had called in a favor from his friend Rafe, which meant a free leg tattoo in exchange for a copy of the bartending schedule at Rapture every time it hit the board.

Merrick had also put in a good word for his brother when the owner of Rapture texted him to see if Merrick Shannon was related to a Bryce Shannon who had just applied.

Their last name wasn’t uncommon, but it wasn’t popular either.

He’d vouched for his brother on the grounds nobody mention it… or his attendance at the club.

Bryce would have been able to get the job on his own, Merrick knew.

He’d been dreading the start date from the second the text message arrived.

Thankfully, they only had Bryce working a few days a week, which didn’t isolate Merrick from the club completely.

Unfortunately, Bryce was very good at his job and those nights were the ones Merrick most often wanted to be out.

Wednesday was not a great day to go out, considering he had to be at work by noon on Thursday, but his options were limited.

He could either make it work or find somewhere else to go, and to the best of his knowledge, there was nowhere else to go.

He’d made sure his brother would not be working before making plans to go to Rapture, though that never ruled out the possibility of Bryce showing up on his night off.

That was a calculated risk Merrick had to take, though.

Rapture was a safe place for the kind of things he liked, and he didn’t feel comfortable pursuing some of his more questionable special interests outside of the space.

Merrick had the routine down to a science.

He posted the message on his lunch break advertising the offer, the time, and the place.

Then he spent the rest of the day on edge and desperate for it to be midnight.

He let work distract him, losing himself in the easy flow of the human body and the lines of his artwork, then he cleaned his station and went home.

Merrick always took a shower before going to Rapture.

He always shaved, always ignored the insistent edge of arousal that sparked to life once the doors to Ink and Ember were closed behind him.

He never worried about what to wear because he wouldn’t be in clothes for long anyway.

That night, he opted for a pair of black track pants and a black undershirt.

He shoved some supplies into his backpack and headed to Rapture.

By the time he arrived, his hands were often shaking, as they were now, with anticipation.

He always said hello to his friends behind the bar—that night it was Rafe and Callum—but never got a drink for himself.

He didn’t want to risk having alcohol interfere with his plans.

Merrick climbed the stairs to the private loft that overhung the dance floor and slipped into one of the open playrooms. He closed the door behind him, using the last few minutes of privacy to get himself ready before opening the door and waiting for people to come in.

Merrick wondered sometimes if he’d been drawn to tattooing because of the routine of it.

Of course, every tattoo was different, but the process was the same and he found comfort in the repetition.

A consultation, a drawing, a rework, an agreement, a stencil, and then the loud hum of a tattoo machine drowned everything out.

In the end, it was a wash of color and shadow, a dull throb in the back of his head when he turned the tattoo machine off and set it down on his station, when he snapped off his gloves and flung them into the trash.

It was pleasure. It was thanks. It was gratitude.

He’d done something good.

Merrick swallowed hard, stripping out of his clothes and folding them neatly on a chair in the corner of the playroom.

He imagined the seat was meant for something like a cuck scene, which…

he wasn’t against, just not in that moment.

His cock ached and leaked, knowing what was coming when he sat down on the foot of the bed.

Merrick arranged two strips of condoms to his left, a fresh bottle of lube.

When everything was right, he opened the door to the playroom and taped his little makeshift sign to the door jamb.

At first, the sign had been humiliating.

He was so desperate for a specific kind of play, he’d had to advertise for it, but after the second time using it, Merrick realized the humiliation only made the whole thing hotter.

That had been almost a year ago, and he smoothed his hand down the sign to make sure it hung straight before returning to his spot at the foot of the bed.

He adjusted the alignment of the strips of condoms so they sat straight on the black bedding, then fitted a bright red ball gag into his mouth.

His limits were listed on the sign, or rather, instructions.

There were plenty of things Merrick enjoyed sexually, but in this instance there was only one specific thing he was after.

He closed his eyes and waited, spit running down his chin to his chest before the first person appeared in the doorway.

Merrick glanced at the man, recognizing him as someone he’d played with before.

Alistair Sharp was a solid man, quiet, his waif of a boyfriend always hot on his heels.

Sharp was dressed as he often was, black cargo pants and a plain black shirt.

Behind him, Matty, a little more flamboyant with short black shorts and a neon cropped T-shirt.

His hair had gotten long, blond from the sun and hanging over his eyebrows unless he shoved it away from his face.

“Are we your first?” Matty asked, pushing Sharp into the room.

Merrick nodded.

“Lucky us.” Matty was small, but he was firm in all the right places, his aggressive nature toward Sharp something Merrick often enjoyed being on the periphery of. Maybe he was a little jealous of their relationship.

Maybe he was a lot jealous.

“Can he suck you?” Matty asked. “To take the edge off.”

Merrick exhaled and nodded, leaving the bed in favor of the black leather couch.

He sat down and tore open a condom, rolling it down his shaft.

There were plenty of people who thought condoms for oral sex were over the top, but Merrick couldn’t afford to be careless.

The play he liked could be dangerous, and it was important he took care of himself and his partners—even if he oftentimes didn’t know their names.

With the condom on his cock and his hands braced on the edge of the couch, Merrick watched as Matty guided Sharp onto his hands and knees.

His cock throbbed as Matty yanked Sharp’s pants down to his thighs.

Merrick passed Matty the lube and closed his eyes.

The cap snicked open, Sharp groaned, and then a hot mouth sealed around the head of his dick.

“You can grab his hair,” Matty said, curling his fingers around Sharp’s waist and slamming their bodies together.

Sharp opened his mouth wide around Merrick’s cock to avoid clamping down with his teeth, and Merrick gently petted his hand on the top of Sharp’s head before tangling his fingers into the other man’s hair and finding a steady hold.

Sharp groaned, looking up at Merrick with lust in his eyes as Matty set a punishing pace behind him. Merrick guided Sharp’s mouth up and down the length of his shaft, shivering when Sharp’s spit pooled on the warm skin of his sac.

He fucking hated condoms.

He wanted to feel Sharp’s mouth on him, the ridges of the roof of his mouth with no obstruction, the hot pressure of his throat.

Merrick’s brain raced. This was good, great even, but not enough.

He sank his teeth into the rubber of the gag, lifting his hips to push his shaft deeper into Sharp’s mouth.

Sharp gagged, his muscles spasming, and Matty shoved Sharp’s head into Merrick’s lap, forcing his boyfriend to swallow the whole length of Merrick’s shaft.

Matty thrust into him one more time before going still, and Merrick held Sharp’s head in place, cock in the back of his throat, while Matty came.

There was no concern for Sharp’s pleasure.

There never had been.

Matty pulled out and slapped his boyfriend on the ass, then tugged both of their pants up. He helped Sharp to his feet, then watched as Sharp took the condom off Merrick’s dick with shaking fingers.

“I’m sorry he couldn’t make you come,” Matty apologized. “But I know you like it better that way sometimes.”

Merrick’s cheeks burned and he nodded.

He watched the two men leave, his own arousal so violent inside of him it felt like a living and breathing organism by itself.

He had always been like this, for as long as he could remember.

From puberty on, nothing had ever been enough for him.

Unlike his brother, he was very good at hiding it, though.

Their parents had put unattainable expectations on both of them, and for years before Bryce was born, Merrick had taken the brunt of that focus.

He’d excelled at everything because he had no other choice.

Failures were not well received in the Shannon household.

Merrick had learned that from a very young age.

His worth had long been contingent on his accomplishments, on the things he was able to provide for others.

He knew much of his personality had become what it was as a result of his upbringing.

His incessant need to talk had grown from a desperation to keep the conversation going.

If there was a lull, it was an opportunity for someone—his parents generally—to be critical of a failure or shortcoming.

Even out of the house, the talking had become part of his personality, and he couldn’t turn it off.

The only time Merrick wasn’t talking was when he was at Rapture—or elsewhere—with a gag or something more exciting in his mouth.

He found out, by accident, he didn’t hate going quiet during sex.

He didn’t even hate it if partners sometimes said mean or critical things while they were being intimate.

There was a sort of control he found by allowing it, by asking for it, that he never had growing up.

After a careless run his senior year when Merrick had almost ended up in the hospital after being passed around by the boys’ baseball team, he’d walked himself back from his teenage promiscuity and refocused on other aspects of his life.

He’d thrown himself headfirst into art and never looked back.

He hated moving away and leaving Bryce at home with their parents, but there was not a future for him in a small town like St. Jack’s Bay.

He hoped Bryce would move one day, and he’d actively encouraged it.

He just hadn’t thought bringing Bryce to LA meant having to lose the only outlet he had outside of art.

He needed someone else to show up, because even though Merrick wasn’t talking, his brain wouldn’t stop. The thoughts were getting loud in his ears, and he didn’t want his erection to flag before he’d even had a chance to get a taste of what he wanted the most.

A pleased hum from the doorway drew his attention, and Merrick glanced in that direction.

He must look a mess, cheeks still flushed from the blow job, spit pouring from the corners of his mouth.

His cock was an angry shade of red, skin pulled tight for how hard he’d gotten.

His jaw ached, but he would ice it at the end of the night and fall asleep knowing he’d done a good job.

“Free use top,” the stranger said, tapping his fingers against Merrick’s sign.

The man stepped into the room, and Merrick gave him a quick once-over. He had on black leather pants and a black leather harness, slim muscles and long fingers, a smooth face and black hair. He looked young, closer to Bryce’s age than Merrick’s, but he couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter.

“I assume that’s you?” the man asked.

Merrick nodded, and his hips lifted off the couch on their own accord.

The man narrowed his eyes, not in a judgmental way, but more like he was assessing the scene. It was a look Merrick knew well, something he did by default in every room he walked into.

Merrick held up a condom, and the man arched a brow at him before walking to the bed and sitting down.

He was not dressed for a quick fuck, and Merrick watched, rapt, as those long fingers slowly undid the laces of his boots.

The man set the boots together neatly, then stripped out of his leather pants in much the same manner.

He crawled onto the bed, all fours with his ass in the air, the base of a black rubber plug visible between the pale globes of his ass.

“Well,” the man said over his shoulder, lowering his chest to the bed, “let’s see what you can do.”