Work was sobusy it passed in a blur, and on any other Saturday, I’d have gone home, planted my backside on the couch, and not moved until I dragged myself to bed. But this wasn’t any other Saturday.
This was date number two with Merrick.
I hadn’t slept much the night before. Given that I’d had to recount every detail for Kell, and given that my heart rate was well above normal and I was horny beyond belief, sleep hadn’t come easy.
I had to take care of the very pressing issue inside my boxers because there was no way in hell it was going to go away on its own. And it wasn’t just my dick that wanted release. It was my entire body. Merrick had set me on fire from my scalp to my toes.
And the way he kissed . . .
Holy shit, I wanted more of that.
I wanted to drown myself in it.
And tonight, all things going to plan, I intended to do just that.
“I still can’t believe you both wanted it but both declined,” Kell said. “That’s some pretty crazy self-control.” She was ironing her dress in the lounge room.
“Yeah, well,” I answered from my bedroom. “Self-control be damned tonight.”
“Do you reckon you’ll be coming back here tonight?”
I pulled on a shirt and walked out as I buttoned it up. “Why? Do you have similar plans?”
“If tonight goes well.” She grinned at me and held up her dress. She was going out tonight with all the girls, and that included Selena, the woman Kell had had her eye on for some time. “Does this dress say eloquent with a dash of desperate?”
It was black, short, cinched in at all the right places, and low cut, and when she paired it with her leopard-print heels and red lipstick, she looked amazing. “More eloquent than desperate, but perfect. If Selena doesn’t want you, she’s blind. And possibly stupid.”
Kell beamed at me. “Aww, thank you.” Then she noticed my shirt. “Is that new?”
“I bought it today. You like?”
It had pale blue undertones with watercolour cherry blossoms. Still floral and still in keeping with my Hawaiian-esque shirt theme, but more subdued. “I love.”
I half-turned and shot her a sultry look over my shoulder. “Does my outfit say to hell with eloquent, just give me a really good dicking?”
She laughed. “Perfectly.”
“Good. Because that’s the look I’m going for.”
“Will you even make it through dinner?”
“I don’t know. But I won’t be disappointed if we don’t.”
She gave me the Katniss salute. “May the odds be ever in your favour.”
I laughed and flattened down my jeans. “Seriously though, do I look okay?” Now I’d finally had time to stop and think, the nerves were kicking in.
“You look amazing. Stop overthinking it, Leo. He totally likes you.”
“God, I hope so.”
Kell disappeared into her room and came out ten seconds later wearing the dress. “Did he tell you where he’s taking you?”
“Nope. Not exactly. He just suggested a noodle bar not far from his place.”
“What time is he picking you up?”
“Seven thirty.” I checked my phone and let out a nervous breath. “Seven twenty-three.”
She put her long hair up in an effortless ponytail, taming her blonde curls. “You’ve got everything taken care of: PrEP, lube, condoms?”
I nodded. Kell and I discussed all these things. “Yep. And you know you can call me at any time if you need, and I’ll come get you, whatever the time. Stay together, be safe.”
“Yes, Mum,” she said affectionately.
“Have fun.”
“I’d say the same to you, but it’s a given.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Go forth, my sweet child. Go get that dicking.”
I laughed as I walked out, and I was still smiling when I got into Merrick’s car. He’d pulled into the street as I got to the footpath, so I climbed straight in. “Hey,” I said, trying not to notice how particularly gorgeous he looked tonight. He wore a navy button-down shirt and faded jeans, his short hair was glossy black, his smile, and his smell . . .
Jesus. I was ready to forego dinner and just get straight to the dicking.
“Hey,” he replied huskily. He looked at me like he might want to devour me. “You look so good.”
Yep. Straight to the dicking. Please, and right now, thanks.
He let out a laugh as though he was nervous. “I told myself to try and play it cool. That didn’t last very long.”
“God, same.”
He laughed again, but then his gaze darted to the rear-vision mirror. “Oh shit.” There was a car behind us so he kept driving, and that was a good distraction. “How was work?”
“So busy. Actually, it was crazy-busy, but that was possibly a good thing because I was too busy to overthink everything and have a nervous breakdown before you picked me up. How about you?”
He grinned at me. “About the same.”
The electricity between us was insane. I was surprised there weren’t actual physical sparks. My heart was doing some squeezy-hammering thing; I couldn’t seem to breathe properly, my skin was warm all over, and all I wanted to do was laugh. “Ooooh boy,” I said, trying to catch my breath, grinning like an idiot. “So where are we going for dinner?”
“It’s an Asian-fusion noodle bar,” he answered. “They have everything. You hungry?”
“I am, actually. I didn’t really get a lunch break.”
“Well, the food at this place is amazing.” He looked down at my shirt again before meeting my eyes. “I really like that shirt.”
I almost said where I would like to see it end up but decided against it. “Uh, thanks.”
He shot me an odd look. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” I was still grinning, and I figured what the hell. “I was just thinking . . . if you really like my shirt, I’ll be only too happy to leave it on your bedroom floor tonight.”
He burst out laughing, surprised but amused. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, sorry. Corny pickup lines are terrible.”
“Not completely terrible. I liked where that one was going.”
He pulled the car into a parking spot and I realised then where we were. We were at his studio, or more significantly, at his house. “Oh. Was the offer of my shirt on your bedroom floor better than dinner? Because seriously, I won’t mind.”
He laughed again and got out of the car. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.” He nodded up the street. “But the restaurant is within walking distance.”
We got out of the car, and I kind of felt bad that he had come to pick me up only to drive straight back to his house. “I could have driven to your place,” I said.
He put his hands to his heart. “But it’s a date. My dad always said I had to date properly. Pick them up, drop them home. Be a gentleman, that kind of thing.”
“Pretty sure your dad was just looking after your virtue. By picking your date up and then dropping them home, you’d be minimising the time spent at your place.”
Merrick laughed. “Maybe.”
I looked at the studio, at the darkened windows, at the privacy. And my empty stomach was forgotten, because inside that ceramics studio—or rather, in the loft above it—was privacy for kissing, touching, tasting . . .
I pointed my thumb towards the front door with the closed sign. “If you’d like to take me upstairs right now, I could help you find that virtue . . .”
Merrick barked at a laugh and grabbed my hand. “Dinner first. Conversations and questions. Then we can worry about virtues.”
As we walked up the street, Merrick kept a hold of my hand. I threaded our fingers properly, and the adrenaline and the nerves, the anticipation, and the sexual tension manifested as a shit-eating grin.
The restaurant was only a block away, but there wasn’t just one place to eat. There were heaps on both sides of the street. I could see lots of people, smiling and eating, seated at tables inside each one. “Man, I wish Kell and I had a dozen different restaurants a block away.”
“Perks of living in a semi-commercial zoned part of the city,” Merrick said as he held the door open for me. “Means I don’t have to cook very often.”
It was busy inside, but thankfully Merrick had made a reservation. We were shown to our table by a woman who knew Merrick by name, and we each ordered a Coke. “You do come here often.”
He nodded. “The japchae is to die for. And the shoyu ramen is better than my grandmother’s, but if anyone else asks, I’ll deny I ever said that.”
I chuckled and sipped my drink. As much as I had wanted Merrick to take me upstairs at his studio, I was really glad he had opted for dinner first. He was right; there would be time for that later. Getting to know each other and being certain that this thing between us was right was too important to ignore.
“So,” I began, “you wanted conversations and questions . . . What did you want to ask?”
“Everything,” he replied simply. “I want to know everything.”
God, that could be dangerous. “Such as?”
“Favourite colour?”
I snorted, because that was not what I expect him to ask. “Um, it depends. Are we talking about Skittles? Or having to choose one colour to wear for the rest of your life? Because they have vastly different selection criteria.”
My answer clearly surprised him. He almost choked on his drink. “Okay, sorry. I should have been more specific. Favourite colour Skittle?”
“The purple ones, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Yours?”
“Orange.”
“Least favourite?”
“Yellow.”
“No one eats the yellow Skittles.”
He grinned. “Favourite colour M&M’s?”
“The normal ones or the peanut ones?”
“Both. Either.”
“I prefer the peanut ones, not gonna lie. Blue ones are my favourite. Yours?”
“I like the normal M&M’s better, and I eat the brown ones first. The red ones die last, and all other colours are indiscriminately picked off at random.”
“Ooh, organised chaos. I like that.”
Merrick laughed again. “And if you had to choose a colour to wear every day for the rest of your life?”
“Probably blue. It’s more adaptable for more situations. I love splashes of pink, but wearing it head to toe every day of forever would be a bit overwhelming.”
“Agreed. Very Umbridge.”
Now it was me who laughed. “God, I didn’t even think of that. She was so evil.”
The waitress came back and took our order, but because we hadn’t even looked at the menu, Merrick ordered for the both of us. I figured it’d be interesting to see what he chose, what he thought I’d like.
“Okay, my turn to ask a question. Dating history. And go . . .”
He made a face. “Wow, okay. You just jump right in.”
“Well, we have discussed Skittles and M&M’s, so there’s nowhere left to go, really.”
He chuckled again. “This is true. But honestly, there’s not much to tell. My work and the business have been one hundred per cent of my time for the last four years. Well, five years if you count the planning. Which sounds really sad, and it’s not, really. It wasn’t really a choice. I was just . . . busy. Seven days a week, night and day. I mean, there were a few guys over the years . . . but nothing serious and nothing more than once.” He cleared his throat. “That sounds bad, sorry. But before that, I had a long-term boyfriend. We were together for four years but we weren’t what we wanted. It was my split with him, ultimately, that gave me the push to open the studio. You know, that whole ‘what do I really want to do with my life’ moment type of thing.” He sighed and gave me half a smile. “Like I said. Pretty boring. What about you?”
“My dating history? There’s not much to tell. I’ve had two serious boyfriends in my life. The first straight out of high school, the second when I was twenty-three. Both lasted about two years, no tragic ending, we’d just run our course. And for the last few years, I either hang out with Kell or with Clyde. I also have split days off and I work weekends, which makes it hard to spend time with someone. Know what I mean?”
“Absolutely. I know exactly what you mean. You need to find someone who also works weekends who might be able to score coinciding days off.”
I blushed. “I’m working on that, actually.”
“Oh, lucky him.”
“Lucky me.”
His smile twisted thoughtfully, his dark eyes met mine, and I knew whatever he was about to say would be intense. “A hypothetical question. If you were to, say, come over to my place tonight and found that I only have bunk beds, would you prefer the top or the bottom?”
Oooh boy. His question made me feel warm all over, my belly tightened, my heart squeezed. Top or bottom? Did he really have to ask? I mean, it wasn’t polite to assume anything, but he gave off top-vibes. Maybe my outfit didn’t say ‘please dick me’ as much as I thought. My nerves escaped me in a laugh. “One hundred per cent the bottom bunk. Never was a fan of being on the top bunk, so yeah, the bottom bunk. Very, very thoroughly.”
Merrick squirmed in his seat and cleared his throat. “I’m very, very thoroughly glad you said that.” He pulled at his collar. “Is it hot in here?”
“A little.” I took a breath and tried to calm my heart rate before it tapped out on me. “So, uh . . . Hypothetically, do you have bunk beds?”
He shook his head with a laugh. “No.”
“I’m also thoroughly glad to hear that.”
“There’s a lot of thoroughlies.”
“I’m hoping there’s more later on.” I sipped my drink and watched as he tried to school his expression.
“Jesus.” His cheeks were flushed pink, his eyes were onyx, and his tongue peeked out to wet the corner of his mouth. Then he glanced around the room. “Christ, where is our food?”
And right on cue, the waitress appeared with two plates. One was a noodle dish that I couldn’t remember the name of, and the other was steamed dumplings and different dipping sauces. It all smelt delicious.
I picked up my chopsticks and decided that we should try a conversation that didn’t flounder into the waters of sexual innuendo. “So, a non-hypothetical question,” I began as I selected a dumpling. “Why ceramics? What is it about working with clay that you love?”
He finished dishing out some noodles from the share plate into his smaller bowl. He seemed to consider his answer. “I love how it can be shaped into practical, usable things. I love how it can become something else. The art of clay has been around for thousands of years, from almost every different ancient culture in some way, and I love that it connects us.”
I stared at him. “Wow.”
He blushed again and let out a nervous laugh. “I love how it feels,” he continued. “It’s familiar and comforting, and it relaxes me. Sitting at my wheel, throwing clay, it’s a simple joy for me. And the firing process always excites me. You just never really know what you’re going to get. I can use different textures and add different firing elements like wood or foil, copper or leaves, and it’s always something different.” He gave me a bright smile. “And it involves all the elements. Water, earth, air, and fire. There’s something about that that speaks to me.”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying. Not what he said, exactly, but how he said it. The unapologetic passion he had. “I’m jealous,” I admitted, then realised how that sounded. “Not of the clay. Well, maybe a little. But that you have something you’re so passionate about.”
“You don’t?”
“Not really. Not like that.”
“Perhaps you haven’t found it yet.”
“I hope so. I mean, I’d like to.”
He took another mouthful and chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. “What did you want to be when you were younger?”
“Rapunzel.”
He laughed. “And how’s that working out for you?”
I ruffled my hair. “Could never stand to grow my hair long, which was kind of critical to the role.”
He smiled around a mouthful of dumpling. “Kind of, yeah. Albeit discriminatory for the follicly challenged.”
“That’s very true. And waiting for my Prince Charming was a bust.”
“Not to mention unrealistic.”
“Grossly unrealistic. Not all princesses need rescuing.”
Merrick grinned. “And not all princes are the heroes.”
“And they certainly don’t all ride in on their trusty steeds from their faraway castles,” I added. “Sometimes they drive a Ford Focus and own a ceramics store.”
Now he laughed. “Are you knocking my car?”
“Not at all. In fact, if Disney were to adapt their princess classics to the twenty-first century, the trusty white steed would definitely now be a blue Ford Focus.”
“And their princesses could be boys with short hair if they so wished.”
“Hell yes.”
Merrick stared at me for a long few seconds. There was nothing but kindness and subtle amusement in his eyes. We ate in silence for a bit, until I threw my serviette over my plate in defeat. Merrick took in one more mouthful, then did the same. “How was your food?”
We’d eaten most of what had been put between us. “Perfect. Have you had enough?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
Which meant it was time to leave . . . which meant it was time to go back to Merrick’s place . . .
Nerves fluttered low in my belly. We halved the bill and went outside into the cool Brisbane night. There was a gentle breeze, and laughter rang from one of the restaurants, and the street had a pleasant hipster vibe, though it darkened somewhat toward Merrick’s place. “It must be pretty cool living so central. You can just walk everywhere.”
“The restaurants and coffee shops are kind of new. They began to sprout up after I bought my studio, which is great for business.” Merrick slipped his hand into mine, lacing our fingers. “Is this okay?” he asked. “Some people don’t care much for it.”
I gave his fingers a squeeze. “It’s more than okay with me.” And it was. It had been years since I’d held hands with someone, and it gave me a thrill to do it now. “I like it.”
“Me too,” he replied.
His studio came into view, and my nerves ratcheted up a notch or three. All that talk, the anticipation, was about to become reality. When we stopped at the front door to the studio, Merrick grabbed the keys from his pocket, took one look at my face, and stopped. “You okay?”
“Nervous.”
“You are?” He didn’t seem to believe me. “You were all talk before. Like you wanted this. We certainly don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I blurted out. “Just nervous about it, that’s all. In a good way. You know, anticipation. And all the talk before was easy. Now I have expectations to worry about.”
He smiled. “Yours or mine?”
“Your expectations of me.”
“Do you overthink things often?”
“All the time.”
Merrick unlocked the door and stepped inside. He punched in a security code, then held the door open for me. The small café area was familiar, even in the dark. Once the doors were locked again, Merrick took my hand and led me to the long work table in the studio where we’d sat making our pinch pots.
When my arse was against the table, I sat on it and he stood between my legs. “Before we go upstairs, I want you to know we don’t have to do anything. We can just talk or just kiss. There’s no pressure to do anything else. We don’t even have to go upstairs if you don’t want. I can drive you home any time.”
“I want to.”
“But?”
“There’s no but. I just overthink things, and it’s been a while for me, so I was just a little nervous.”
Merrick’s lips twisted and he sighed. “Can I suggest something?”
“Sure.”
“How about we wait?”
“Wait for what?”
He made a face. “Before we have sex.”
“Um, okay.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Don’t think you need to do this on my behalf. I know we both said we’d like to wait, like a third date or whatever, but, well, now I don’t know . . .”
“Leo, I just don’t want to rush this.” He swallowed hard. “Is that weird?”
“Not at all,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable doing.”
“I’m fine with doing . . . other things. Other sexual things, but just not . . . penetrative sex. I just prefer to know the guy first, and I don’t want to rush this.”
“What kind of sexual things?”
Merrick chuckled. “Well, I’m fond of orgasms.”
I snorted, because that was not what I had expected him to say. “What a coincidence. So am I!”
He chuckled again, but his eyes were warm. “I’m comfortable with doing naked things. But I’ve done the one-nighters, Leo. And I don’t want that with you.”
“Oh.”
He rubbed his thumb over my cheek. “I want more than just one night.”
“Me too.”
“For me,” he explained, “being inside someone is personal and profound. I want that connection. I know a lot of guys don’t agree with that. It
