Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  I swallowed thickly and sucked in an unsteady breath. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me what I needed.”

  He beamed at me. “You’re welcome. How are you feeling?”

  I paused to think about it for a time. He wasn’t talking about my ass. There was no doubt my ass was still an agony of fire. Sitting on it was killing me, but I refused to move. I focused, instead, on my emotions. I felt… empty, clear, light. I didn’t realize how knotted and heavy my insides had been for the last week. But that was gone. I was still sorry for hurting Master, but I realized too I could accept his forgiveness and let go of it.

  “Forgiven.”

  His smile, if it was possible, widened. “I’m so glad, baby. So glad.”

  He leaned in and I met his kiss happily, feeling that forgiveness in it. We were interrupted when the dungeon burst out in noise.

  “Ten!”

  Master grinned. “Well, look at that.”

  “Nine! Eight!” We counted along with them, and when we got to one, kissed again, this one so long and thorough, I forgot the pain in my ass for a moment.

  “Are you ready to go home?”

  I didn’t mistake his meaning. I still worried, but I wasn’t going to argue. “Yes, Master.”

  “Then let’s go. I have one more surprise for you.”

  Chapter 23

  Mal

  IT JUST about killed me to see him crying as much as he was. The look on his face when I gave him the collar was more than I ever could have asked for. Then when he dropped to his knees, I thought I was going to float away with happiness. I knew I was being sappy, and I didn’t give a single damn.

  But when I had to punish him…. God, I wanted to do just about anything but hurt him. I had to repeat, over and over like a chant in my head, He needs this. Because I understood he did.

  I didn’t just take his word for it. I’d talked at length to Cam and Sammy, then Nash and even Mike—who Kyle had finally convinced about our relationship—before I figured out what kind of punishment to give him. I listened to both submissives to make sure I got it. I would have asked more, but I didn’t have that much time.

  I also needed to trust Kyle.

  Each swat hurt me almost as much as it hurt him. Each one reminded me of my own shortcomings and the ways I’d failed him. He insisted I hadn’t, but I knew better.

  I’d been just as guilty of holding things back. While I’d had a good excuse for that, it was just that: an excuse. I should have made it clear I wanted him to live with me and that I would be there when he was ready. I should have made sure he understood how much I wanted him.

  I deserved the week of misery I got. I deserved to have to give Kyle a punishment like that, even though it hurt me. As would the swats I gave him for the next six days. They would be as much of a reminder to me of what I needed to do and remember as they would be for him.

  We didn’t hang out after the countdown. I helped him dress in the sweats I’d brought, just in case he didn’t want the chaps. He’d worn jeans to the dungeon and wasn’t going to be up to wearing them. I couldn’t wait to get home and put some lotion on that ass.

  As soon as he was dressed, we said our good-byes and headed to the car. Kyle’s eyes widened at the pillow I’d left on the passenger seat. “Th-Thank you, Master.”

  “I didn’t assume anything,” I said to make sure he knew it. “I just wanted to be ready if you said yes.”

  He smiled up at me and leaned in to kiss me. I took it, returned it, but kept it from getting too involved. We had one more thing to settle yet before I’d feel like I could breathe easier.

  I helped him settle into the car—sitting half on his hip—then hurried to my own side. We drove home in relative silence, only sharing a word or two. We were both nervous. Kyle, I was sure, despite his words after the spanking, that I was still mad or upset. I was nervous because I almost desperately wanted him to understand and accept the last thing.

  I was most definitely not the kind of guy who felt like he needed to protect his partner. I had no allusions to any sort of machismo, nor did I have any latent caveman tendencies. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to help and protect the thing that had become most important to me in the world either.

  I wanted to take care of Kyle. I wanted to help him, make things easier on him, if I could.

  We pulled into the driveway and I helped Kyle out of the car. I resisted the ridiculous urge to scoop him into my arms and carry him into the house. Instead, I made sure he could walk well enough and focused on unlocking the door.

  I flipped the light switch. I had a set of little hooks by the door I hung my keys on, then picked up the set next to it. I turned to Kyle and pointed to my office door. “There are a few parts to what I have for you.”

  He scrunched his forehead in puzzlement, which was so damned adorable. I couldn’t stop the chuckle. He scowled. “What’s so funny?”

  That only made me laugh. “You’re adorable like that. Come on.” I opened the door to the office and turned to watch Kyle’s reaction.

  I’d been a busy beaver over the weekend since Kyle’s call. Around playing our game, I’d done quite a bit of shopping, among other things, the first of which Kyle was now looking at.

  “You… you….” He blinked at the empty desk I’d put in next to mine for his computer. I’d taken out the shelf I’d had there for some of my chess sets, which sat out in the living room now.

  “You have the three monitors too, right?” I asked and he nodded. “I thought so. This should hold them. I’ve got the router on the corner of the desk there, so whether it’s wired or wireless, you’ll be set.”

  “Mas—Mal—I—”

  “You don’t have to say anything yet. I’ve got more. Come on.” I waited for him to step out of the office, then turned off the light and shut the door. I headed for the stairs and was glad to see him right behind me. This part made me a bit more nervous, though I didn’t know why. I shook the thought off and stepped into what I’d long since started thinking of as our bedroom. I walked over to the dresser and pulled out the top drawer on the left. “All three drawers are empty.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I held my hand up and moved over to the closet door. I pushed it open, hit the light, and stepped aside for Kyle to pass. With a glance at me, he went in, then turned back in shock.

  Half the closet was empty. I’d done some shuffling, gone through clothes I didn’t wear anymore, and put some I wanted but didn’t wear now into another closet. There was plenty of room on the shelf above the bars, and even empty shoe cubbies for his things. I’d seen his closet. He did used to be rich, so he had quite a bit. I figured we could build a cedar closet somewhere or something if we needed to.

  “Mal,” he whispered, blinking at me.

  “One more thing, baby. Well, two. But… come on.” I turned around and crossed the room to the bathroom door. I pushed it open and waited for him to catch up. I really only used the one sink, and as such, I only had one shelf—above that sink. I’d added another and emptied the little cabinet next to it of my extra toiletries. Then I pointed to the empty space on the shelf in the shower that hadn’t been there before.

  “You…. Mal, you did all this for me?” He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.

  I figured he didn’t. “Move in with me, Kyle. Be my partner. I want Kyle to be Mal’s partner as well as Master’s beautiful boy.” I held out my right hand, with the copy of the house key I’d had made lying on my palm.

  He swallowed so hard I saw his Adam’s apple move. The look in his eyes—the hope, the want—took my breath away. He took a deep breath, his gaze locked to mine, and he reached out to pick up the key. “Yes.”

  I yanked him into my arms. “Oh thank God,” I whispered before kissing him so hard we nearly broke teeth. His arms slid around me and he poured himself into the kiss, showing me what this meant to him.

  When we broke apart, I studied his still stunned but very happy face for a long moment.
“Welcome home, Kyle, my beautiful boy.”

  He beamed at me. “Thank you, Master. And thank you, Mal. It’s good to be home.”

  GRACE R. DUNCAN grew up with a wild imagination. She told stories from an early age—many of which got her into trouble. Eventually, she learned to channel that imagination into less troublesome areas, including fan fiction, which is what has led her to writing male/male erotica.

  A gypsy in her own right, Grace has lived all over the United States. She has currently set up camp in East Texas with her husband and children—both the human and furry kind.

  As one of those rare creatures who loves research, Grace can get lost for hours on the Internet, reading up on any number of strange and different topics. She can also be found writing fan fiction, reading fantasy, crime, suspense, romance, and other erotica, or even dabbling in art.

  Website: www.grace-duncan.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/GraceRDuncan2

  Twitter: @gracerduncan

  E-mail: duncan.grace.r@gmail.com

  Acknowledgments

  MANY THANKS to Karen Witzke and Eli Easton for their invaluable feedback on this story. And gratitude to my husband and daughters for letting me drag them around gold-rush-era cemeteries in the name of research.

  Chapter One

  IT BEGAN with a dead man.

  No, that’s not right. It began before that for Jimmy Dorsett, who was very much alive and alone in a wide, empty desert, listening to his Ford clatter and groan and wondering how much farther it would take him. He would rather have listened to the radio, but it was already busted when he bought the car. So was the AC, which was why he was driving at night. One of the reasons, anyway.

  He knew if he slowed down, the car might last a few more miles, but he kept his foot heavy on the pedal. He told himself it was because he’d been guzzling coffee to stay awake and now he had to piss. But the fact was, he always drove fast even when he had nowhere to be.

  He could have pulled over and watered a Joshua tree but decided to hold it awhile longer. He needed more coffee too, and the gas gauge hovered not far above the red E.

  He saw the lights from miles away, and as he drew closer, he realized he was nearing a tiny town. Not much of a place. A few houses, small and close to the highway, but somebody lived in them, and those somebodies had more than he did. A couple of buildings contained businesses of some kind, but Jimmy couldn’t tell in the darkness whether they were closed for the night or closed forever. Two enormous gas stations sat across from one another, each with a convenience store and plenty of room for semis to pull in and turn around. The bright lighting was cold and hard and did nothing to warm the desert night.

  Jimmy turned into the station on his right.

  He went inside to use the can before he did anything else. The clerk was a big guy with a scruffy beard, and he eyed Jimmy carefully. Jimmy imagined the guy’s hands rested close to a gun, just in case.

  The bathroom was dirty, but he’d seen worse. Much worse. At least the sink worked, so he washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face. There was no mirror, which was just as well.

  When he was done, he picked up a bag of chips and a king-size Snickers bar and filled their largest paper cup with coffee. He took his purchases to the counter. “And thirty bucks of regular,” he said. Gas prices had gone down lately, allowing him to get a lot farther than he used to, but still his little stash of bills was pitifully thin.

  The cashier rang him up, took the money, and handed him change and a receipt. Didn’t say anything, not even Thanks or Have a nice night. So Jimmy smiled at him and said, “Thank you. Hope you have a good day.”

  The man didn’t respond.

  Jimmy gassed up the Ford, listening to the fuel line hum, thinking about nothing much. He could do that—shut off his mind and wait for whatever came next.

  Then he was back in his car with the motor running and bad coffee burning his tongue. He had a decision to make. The town was at a crossroads, so assuming he didn’t want to retrace his journey, he could travel in any one of three directions. He drove to the edge of the parking lot and idled for a moment. North, west, east. None of them looked any more or less promising than the others. The pavement all looked the same.

  And then he noticed the old man.

  He stood near the gas station across the street, his back against a thick metal light pole, a backpack lying at his feet. He was bearded, grizzled, and wore a stocking cap pulled low on his head and a jean jacket faded almost to white. The jacket wasn’t heavy enough for a desert night, and the man shivered. He wasn’t looking at Jimmy’s car or the two semis idling nearby. He looked like a man who’d given up on waiting a long time ago.

  Jimmy had been that man more than once over the years. No bed, no money, no hope. Hell, once the Ford finally croaked and he ran though the last few dollars in his wallet, Jimmy would be that man again.

  But at the moment he had a car that ran, and he had a little food and a little cash. So he drove across the empty highway and stopped in front of the old man. He opened his door slightly—the window was stuck—and asked, “Need a ride?”

  The guy didn’t even pause to assess him. He just picked up his pack, which looked heavy, and threw it in the backseat before sitting in the front. He and Jimmy closed their doors.

  “Where you heading?” Jimmy asked.

  “Rattlesnake.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Never heard of it.”

  “’S up north, on Highway 49. Gold rush country.” He had a voice like a truck driving through deep gravel, bumpy and broken. “You headin’ that way?”

  “Sure. If the car makes it that far.”

  Looked like Jimmy had a destination after all.

  THE MAN’S name was Tom, and he reeked of cigarettes, booze, and the type of old dirt that’s been building up a long time. Of course, Jimmy had been sleeping in the Ford lately, and he probably didn’t smell his best either. They put up with each other’s stink without complaint.

  Tom could have been any age from fifty to eighty. His eyes were watery and his hands shook. He coughed often, a thick sound, and he turned down Jimmy’s offer of chips and candy. “Ain’t hungry.”

  “When did you eat last?”

  “Dunno. But I ain’t hungry.”

  Well, you couldn’t force a man to eat. But Jimmy saved some of the Snickers bar, just in case.

  Maybe Tom would have slept. But the road was long and empty, and Jimmy hadn’t had a conversation with anyone in ages. “Were you waiting for a ride for a long time?” he asked.

  Tom grunted. “Since sunset. Trucker took me there all the way from Flagstaff, but he was turnin’ down to Santa Clarita. Nobody stopped for me since then.” For the first time, he took a good look at Jimmy. “Why’d you stop?”

  “You looked cold.”

  “Where you goin’? I know it ain’t Rattlesnake.”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Didn’t have anywhere specific in mind.”

  “You runnin’ from something?”

  “Nope. Just… driving. How about you? What’s in Rattlesnake?”

  Tom paused a long time before answering. “Used to live there. Long time ago. Thought maybe—” He stopped to hack up half a lung, and when the coughing ended, he didn’t finish his thought. He turned his head away from Jimmy to stare out his window at nothing while Jimmy stared straight ahead at not much more than nothing.

  The silence grew too loud. “Have you ever been to Minden, Nebraska?” Jimmy didn’t wait to see if Tom would answer. “It’s in the middle of nowhere, except it’s not too far off I-80. I stayed awhile there, a few years back. There’s a tourist attraction—Harold Warp’s Pioneer Village. It’s sort of a collection of collections. Like everyone in Nebraska emptied out their attics, garages, and barns and dumped the contents there in Minden.” He’d spent a summer working the snack bar there, flipping burgers and dumping fries into hot grease. It had paid just enough for him to rent a room from an old couple who lived nearby. Had
n’t been a bad gig.

  “Never been,” Tom said.

  “Well, it’s worth a visit if you’re in the neighborhood.” He remembered the oppressive heat of a Nebraska summer, the way the plains seemed as endless as the sky, and the fireflies that danced in the evenings.

  He shifted slightly in his seat. The springs were shot. “They have all these cars. Starting from horse-and-buggy days, actually. Then they have a steam car, some Fords even older than this piece of crap… all the way through the years. But it’s not the biggest collection of cars I’ve seen. I worked for a few weeks once on a farm in Missouri, helping build new fences. My boss there, he had a couple of huge barns completely full of cars. Hundreds of ’em. He was addicted to car auctions, I guess. None of them ran. They were dusty, full of spiders and bugs and mice. But he kept on buying more.”

  His passenger didn’t reply. Didn’t even cough. Jimmy swallowed some of his coffee, which had cooled to bitter sludge. “One time I was riding a Greyhound bus to…. Shit. Don’t remember where to. I remember it was raining, though, and you couldn’t see through the windows ’cause they were all fogged up. There was a lady sitting a couple rows up from me. She wasn’t hardly more than a girl, really. She was on the bus already when I boarded, and she looked real scared when I walked by, like maybe I was gonna hurt her or something.” Jimmy got that look often. He wasn’t huge, but he was big enough when he carried some weight, and he figured there was a toughness to his face. Mostly he didn’t mind if people were a little scared of him—it meant they were less likely to try to fuck with him. But sometimes it made him sad and lonely, and that day on the bus had been one of those times.