13. Merrick
Merrick
There was no other way for Merrick to describe how Wilder made him feel except…
high. Merrick had been riding a high since the second Wilder walked into the playroom at Rapture, and he worried the impending and inevitable comedown would ruin him, not just for other men, but for everything.
His cock ached from use, his thighs were bruised from the spanking, and his balls were empty.
He didn’t think life could get any better, but then right before lunch, Wilder said to him, “Did you bring your art with you?”
Merrick blinked a few times, registering the question. “I have my sketchbook because I always have it.”
His backpack was somewhere in the house, but he wasn’t sure where it had landed. “But not my paint.”
“You live close, right?”
He nodded.
“Go get it,” Wilder said simply. “I would go for you, but I have no idea what things are called or what you need yet, and I don’t want to mess it up.”
“Do…do you want to come with me? Would you?”
Wilder eyed him, expression mostly unreadable in a way that made Merrick terribly horny.
“I’ll touch all of your things,” Wilder warned.
“I don’t mind.”
“Neither do I.”
They stared at each other another beat, Merrick waiting for Wilder to tell him what to do. The instructions were not a constant thing from him, but when they came, Merrick did enjoy obeying.
“Go get dressed,” Wilder finally said. “Bring me clothes too.”
“What do you want to wear?”
Wilder glanced down, both of them in nothing more than their underwear.
“Your choice,” he said.
Merrick climbed off the couch to his feet, hip cracking as he straightened his legs, and he headed for the bedroom.
He was far too young for his joints to be so stiff, but tattooing was a physically demanding job.
He spent hours hunched over other people’s bodies and his knees and back were the first parts of him to pay that price.
Standing in the middle of Wilder’s bedroom, Merrick braced his hands on his hips and swayed side to side, trying to draw out some of the tension he always carried.
It seemed useless, so he got dressed and then grabbed a pair of shorts and a T-shirt out of the dresser for Wilder.
Merrick turned the lights off on his way out, hesitating when he caught sight of the unmade bed in his periphery.
The sheets were wrecked from the night before, and the mess stood out in the otherwise simple cleanliness of Wilder’s house.
Merrick took Wilder his clothes and asked, “Can I change the sheets before we go?”
Wilder’s eyes went wide, but he was quick to school his face. “Can you?”
“May I?” Wilder corrected without much thought.
“Sheets are in the hall closet.”
Merrick made an affirmative sound, which earned him a raised eyebrow.
“What?” he asked.
“Just wondering if you wanted to try a different response to that.”
Merrick bit the tip of his tongue, mind racing before the correct answer clicked into place in the middle of his mouth. “Thank you, Sir,” he said quietly.
Wilder was the one who made a pleased sound then, jerking his chin toward the hallway in dismissal.
Merrick went back to the bedroom, stopping in the hallway to get a clean set of sheets.
He ignored the way his cock thickened when he called Wilder Sir and grabbed a set of navy sheets off the shelf.
They were soft and smelled like laundry soap, and he set them down on the dresser so he could strip the others off the mattress.
He’d gotten three corners of the fitted sheet yanked up when Wilder appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the door jamb, dressed, with his arms folded in front of his chest.
“Did I do something wrong?” Merrick asked nervously, tugging at the last corner. The sheet gave way and he balled it up, tossing it onto the floor with the pillows and the top sheet.
“No.”
The short answer had Merrick uncertain, but he took Wilder at his word and began the tedious process of making a king-sized bed without help.
He could have asked for assistance, but he didn’t want it.
Even as he struggled with getting the deep fitted sheet into place around the corners of Wilder’s mattress, it was something he wanted to do by himself.
Wilder’s scrutiny from the doorway only made Merrick hornier than he already was, and by the time the pillowcases were changed and the pillows themselves were fluffed, Merrick was hard as a rock.
“Why did I like that?” he asked, turning to face Wilder, his erection obvious.
Wilder let his stare move slowly from Merrick’s face down to his zipper, nostrils flaring.
“I can’t answer that for you,” he said. “Maybe you can think about the answer while you’re painting this afternoon.”
“Won’t that be boring for you? If I’m just painting?” Merrick scrunched his nose. “It’s sort of a process to get set up and once I get into it, I really don’t like to stop. I kinda get into this zone or…my brother calls it a flow state, but I just lose myself in it and I don’t want to ignore you.”
He snapped his mouth closed.
Merrick had spent his whole life talking, and he had no idea why he was only self-conscious about it in front of the one person who had never complained about it.
“What if I want to be ignored?” Wilder asked. “What if I like you lost?”
Merrick bit his lips together.
“You were so lost last night, over my lap with your cock leaking and your bruises darkening. I liked you like that very much, Merrick. Why wouldn’t I like you this way too?” he finished.
“I…I don’t know.”
“You can put the sheets into the hamper,” Wilder said. “I’ll drive.”
And with that, he turned and left Merrick alone in the middle of his bedroom, fresh sheets filling the air with the scent of cotton and lilacs.
Merrick pressed his palm against the base of his erection, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax.
When he counted to ten and his body showed no signs of compliance, he cursed under his breath and stomped back into the living room.
Wilder was ready with keys in his hand, his stare fixed on the hallway as soon as Merrick emerged.
“What’s wrong?” Wilder asked.
Merrick closed the space between them, stopping short of grabbing Wilder’s hand and shoving it between his legs.
“Tell me not to be hard,” he said.
Wilder chuckled, a breathy laugh. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it hurts. It’s distracting.”
“I think you should learn to live with it,” Wilder countered, reaching down and touching Merrick softer than he wanted. “I like you hard. It’s easier for when I want to use you.”
Merrick’s shoulders sagged and all the air left him in a rush.
“Put your hands together behind your head,” Wilder told him. “Lace your fingers together.”
Merrick did, and Wilder touched him a little more forcefully.
“Did you get hard from changing the sheets?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Did you get hard earlier today when you were making me breakfast?”
“Yes, Sir.”
His cheeks burned as if he should be embarrassed.
“Are you going to be hard when you’re painting?” Wilder asked.
“Probably.” He swallowed hard. “Sir.”
“Why would I want you any other way?”
Merrick shook his head, unsure of the answer.
“I always want you to be hard when you’re here.”
Wilder stroked him over his pants and Merrick’s legs shook. He tightened his fingers against each other, still braced together on the back of his head. “Yes, Sir.”
“If it ever becomes truly unbearable, you tell me. Okay? Just like how you would tell me to stop during sex if we ever went too far. If it’s ever really too much for you, I want to know.
But I also want you to be certain you can’t take it.
” Wilder leaned in and pressed a delicate kiss against the corner of his mouth. “And I think you can take plenty.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Wilder gave him one last squeeze, then stepped away leaving Merrick utterly bereft. Merrick’s body swayed forward, chasing after Wilder and finding nothing besides air.
“Arms down,” Wilder said. “Let’s go.”
Merrick followed Wilder to his car, a Lexus parked inside a narrow garage that didn’t even have room for Merrick to open the passenger door. He stood on the curb waiting for Wilder to back out, then sank down into the cool, black leather seat.
Wilder tapped a few buttons on the screen in his car.
“Put in your address,” he said, and Merrick did.
The short route that had already become familiar to him popped up, and Wilder hummed, nodding as he put the car into drive.
“You do live close,” he said.
“It’s convenient.”
“Tell me what you were like as kid,” Wilder said out of nowhere, throwing a sidelong glance at Merrick. “I don’t want you to stop talking until we get to your place.”
The protest died in the back of his throat, and instead of arguing about the request—the order—Merrick did what he was told.
He started about St. Jack’s Bay, how it was a small coastal town on the east coast that nobody would ever know about if they didn’t live next to it.
He told Wilder about growing up with parents who never paid attention.
Merrick knew his need for conversation stemmed from being ignored as a child.
If he talked enough, his parents would have to pay attention to him and, eventually, they did.
And not long after that, Bryce was born and he had to talk even more to find his footing with them again.
Art had been a blessing, even if he didn’t realize it.
He took to it naturally and at a very young age, winning awards at the fair by the time he was in middle school.
He’d made the decision to move to California on a whim because he was desperate for the noise of a city.
He’d landed in LA and made a little life for himself in a cheap apartment on the edge of Silverlake.
He’d been tattooing for years, landing a job at Ink and Ember a handful of months before.
Maybe a year, Merrick wasn’t sure. He’d never been good with anniversaries or important dates.
He told Wilder about Bryce and how he’d moved to California and immediately fallen into bed with another tattooer at the shop, Holden.
Merrick was more upset they’d kept their relationship secret from him than anything else, he said.
“Have you told your brother about me?” Wilder interrupted.
Merrick reared back. “Why would I?”
Wilder gestured vaguely, like the conversation was a tangible thing in the space between them. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve spent my time lately trying to avoid him, honestly. He got a job at Rapture, and I—”
“Certainly don’t want to run into your brother the way you ran into me,” Wilder supplied.
The nav announced their arrival at Merrick’s apartment building, and he gratefully closed his mouth and nodded his agreement with Wilder’s statement. “Exactly.”
Wilder found a parking spot around the corner and reversed into it, turning after he parked and beckoning Merrick closer.
Merrick leaned in without complaint, angling his head to the side when Wilder made it clear he was coming in for a kiss.
Kissing Wilder made submission easy. The other man commanded entry and ownership of Merrick’s mouth like it was his birthright, and Merrick was more than happy to sign himself over.
Wilder slid a hand around the back of Merrick’s neck and kept their mouths sealed together, only ending the kiss when Merrick let out a breathy and high-pitched whimper.
“Are you still hard for me?” Wilder whispered into his mouth.
“Very.”
“Perfect. Now show me where you live.”