Page 25 of Merrick

“Unless we have plans to leave as soon as you get here, you always take your shoes off when you come in. First thing.”

“Yes, Sir,” Merrick whispered, righting himself and wiping his hands on the front of his shirt.

He was dressed almost identical to the way he’d been the last time Wilder saw him. Tight jeans and a T-shirt, this one with a faded band logo on the front that Wilder couldn’t read. The threadbare material pulled tight across Merrick’s muscular chest, and Wilder’s fingers itched to get him out of it.

“I didn’t mean for you to call me Sir all of the time,” he said next, hating the words as they left his mouth because he did really love the way it sounded on Merrick’s tongue.

“Should I not? I don’t know all the rules.”

Wilder thought about his answer before he gave it because he needed to be sure of what mattered to him in this relationship with Merrick. He’d never really wanted a 24/7 thing, but as he ran through a mental checklist of an easy way to explain to Merrick when Sir would be appropriate, he found there wasn’t a single instance where he would have told Merrick not to use it. The realization tilted his understanding of a 24/7 relationship on its axis, and Wilder bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from frowning about it.

“You can call me Sir whenever it feels right for you,” Wilder finally said. “If there is a specific time when I want you to use it, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

Merrick nodded.

“So.” He guided Merrick to the couch and they both sat down, Wilder returning to his wine. “How was work? What did you tattoo today?”

As expected, Merrick launched into descriptive and full detail, offering information about every appointment he worked on. He pulled out his phone and showed Wilder pictures of the finished pieces, zooming in to talk about specific details andtechniques he’d used to achieve the desired outcomes. Merrick’s passion for art was awe-inspiring, and Wilder listened, nodding along until Merrick reached that natural point in his monologue when he realized he’d been talking too long.

“That’s enough about my day,” Merrick mumbled. “How was yours?”

“It’s enough about your day when I say it’s enough about your day.”

They locked eyes, and Merrick’s jaw dropped. Wilder had the distinct impression no one had ever told Merrick tokeeptalking before. He waited while Merrick struggled to remember his place, to find his footing. His next line of speaking dove into his relationship with his coworker, Holden.

Holden, Wilder learned, was dating Merrick’s little brother Bryce who had just moved to town a few months prior. Merrick thought Holden was good for his brother and had no real complaints about the man, other than the fact he clung to the tenets of old-school tattooing in a way Merrick himself didn’t.

“There’s room for everyone’s preferences, right?” Wilder asked.

“Riggs certainly thinks so. He’s let Holden tattoo him but not me.”

“Do you want to tattoo him?”

“It’s my job,” Merrick said.

“But do you want to tattoo your boss?” he pressed.

“I want my boss to want me to tattoo him,” Merrick answered.

Wilder nodded an agreement. That was fair and that was the way of many things in life. Everyone was constantly chasing after that approval from the people around them. Much in the way Merrick wanted Wilder’s approval by the correct use of the honorific Sir. And much in the way Wilder wanted Merrick’s approval about the direction he hoped to take their intimacy.

Eventually, Merrick talked himself into silence again, shoulders sinking an inch like he really had reached the end of everything he wanted to say. At that point, Merrick again asked about Wilder’s day and, that time, Wilder answered. He answered every question Merrick asked until again Merrick reached the end of what he wanted to say. The energy around Merrick was different than it had been, more unrestrained in a way Wilder couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was almost as if giving someone the space to be themself put them at ease and helped them to relax. How on edge Merrick must always be, constantly worrying about how much he had to say.

“Are you hungry?” Wilder asked.

He’d long ago finished his wine.

“I’m not.”

“When did you eat?”

“I had a sandwich on my way over,” Merrick told him. “While I drove.”

Wilder didn’t know if Merrick had remembered how their last conversation about his eating habits had gone, and so he’d made a conscious decision to eat before coming over or if he’d just been hungry and did it on his own, but either way, Wilder liked it. He smiled at Merrick, nodding his approval before asking, “Have you been spanked before?”

Merrick swallowed hard and shook his head.

“Would you like to be?” Wilder asked next.