Page 57 of Merrick

Merrick shook his head and spun back, busying himself with making coffee he’d clearly forgotten about. Wilder needed his morning coffee as much as the next person, so he didn’t argue, waiting instead until the coffee started to percolate.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Merrick clenched his jaw. “Why do you think that?”

“Because making coffee in the morning gives you an erection and here you are, but instead your cock looks like it never wants to see the inside of my asshole ever again.”

Wilder exhaled, lips pursed as he waited for Merrick to be honest with him. He didn’t have all the time in the world on a workday, but he had enough time to wait Merrick out, that was for sure.

“Nothing is wrong,” Merrick lied again, and that was enough.

Wilder went to the dining room table and pulled out a chair. He dragged it into the kitchen and forcefully shoved Merrick down into it. He spread Merrick’s legs, aligning each ankle with a chair leg. He didn’t have rope or cuffs in the kitchen so he grabbed two dishtowels. The knots around Merrick’s ankles were sloppy and loose, but they would do. He grabbed a third towel for good measure, tapping Merrick’s lower lip with his finger until Merrick opened.

He offered no grace or ease when it came to gagging Merrick into silence, stepping back and giving the other man a cursory look before returning to the drawer for one of the bamboo spatulas.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, then you cannot talk at all,” he warned. “Arms down, grab the back legs of the chair.”

The coffee pot beeped, indicating it was full and ready.

“Snap to stop,” he said. Merrick grunted and nodded, and then Wilder brought the spatula down hard on the top of Merrick’s thigh.

Even through the makeshift gag, Merrick was loud. His eyes went wide, nostrils flared in shock, and Wilder hit him again, a little bit higher than before. Merrick, for his part, looked like he dedicated himself to taking the punishment as Wilder intended to dish it out. Determination colored his expression, chair creaking as he shifted his weight against Wilder’s strikes.

Wilder punished Merrick until his arm was tired, flinging the spatula into the sink with a tired breath. Merrick had tears in his eyes that hadn’t quite made it past the shelf of his lower lashes, but his resolve threatened to break when Wilder pulled the dish towel out of his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Wilder asked again.

“Last night was so good,” Merrick said.

“I thought so.”

“Until you ate my ass.”

Wilder couldn’t stop the sound that built in the back of his throat, almost a scoff even though he didn’t want to embarrass Merrick in any way by laughing at his confession. “Explain.”

“It wasn’t the ass eating that was the problem. That felt really good.” A single tear slipped from the corner of Merrick’s eye, but he didn’t wipe it away. He adjusted his grip on the back legs of the chair, not letting go because Wilder hadn’t told him to let go. “I liked it a lot and I didn’t hate when you fingered me either. I thought I really wanted to see what it would be like to bottom, but it freaked me out and I got scared.”

“And you told me you didn’t want to do it and we didn’t do it.” Wilder tilted his head to the side. “Did I still go too far?”

“No, you stopped.”

“What then?”

“What if I never want to bottom?” Another tear escaped, and Wilder bent down and used his tongue to lick it off Merrick’s cheek.

“Then you never bottom.”

“Won’t it get boring?”

“Has it yet?” He pressed his finger into the shadow of a bruise on Merrick’s thigh.

“No.”

“Okay.” Wilder kissed the underside of Merrick’s jaw. “Were you making up problems in your head that aren’t real?”