Dreamspinner Press Year Eight Greatest Hits

by Brandon Witt

  Another burst of rapid machine-gun fire reminded me of why I was there in the first place. I grabbed the cupcake box and migrated toward the noise.

  “Case!” I called over what seemed to be World War Z going on in the den. “Case!”

  “Got ’em! Yessss!”

  I peered inside the den to see a Zombie Apocalypse going down on the sixty-five-inch plasma. My nephew was sitting on the edge of a V Rocker chair, working the controls furiously.

  “Case, you’re going to go deaf and blind from this game.”

  “Worth it, Uncle Mac. Totally worth it.”

  I grinned and set the cupcakes on the coffee table. “I brought your cupcakes. I only had one. Swear.”

  “Thanks.” He paused the game briefly, and the option screen popped up. “You wanna play?”

  “No way,” I scoffed. “This game is stupid. For kids.”

  He grinned. “I’ll let you have the shotgun this time.”

  I eyeballed him. “You know, in this political climate it’s not exactly PC to use any manner of oversized weaponry to blow someone’s head off.”

  “They’re not people, Uncle Mac.” He rolled his eyes as if adults were just too stupid to live. “They’re zombies.”

  Well, I guess that did make a world of difference. After a pause, I snagged the second controller and the pump-action shotgun on-screen.

  “I’ll play for a minute or two,” I said as he pressed the Play button. “But this game is really stupid. Christ!” I unloaded my twelve gauge in a creepy zombie’s face as he darted out from under an abandoned car. “Eat that, freak.”

  I hadn’t realized how much time had gone by before I felt my brother’s presence in the doorway. I couldn’t turn from the abandoned town in front of me, but I could hear enough irritated sucking of his teeth to know it was him.

  “Where’s J?” I asked worriedly. Not worried enough to miss throwing a pipe bomb into a mass of angry zombies, but worried still.

  “Had to make a call. I was showing off my toys. Especially Bumblebee.”

  I groaned. “You didn’t.” Of course he did. Jordan wasn’t the first person my brother had roped into a tour of his garage, and he wouldn’t be the last.

  Robert shrugged. “He seemed interested. He’s a really cool guy, you know.”

  I happened to agree, and not just because he apparently knew how to feign interest really, really well.

  “You want in?” I offered. “We could use some support in the next level. We’re going through the sewer, and we could really use someone who knows how to use a damn sniper rifle.”

  Case and I glared at one another.

  “Someone tried to breach the cabin too early,” Case said. “I told you not to scare the witch.”

  “You had your flashlight on, and it spooked her,” I squawked. “I said ‘lights off,’ did I not?”

  He propped a hand on his nonexistent hip. “Well maybe if you didn’t use the pipe bombs the moment you get them, we could have blown her up.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You know, this zombie apocalypse has really changed you.”

  Robert snickered. “You two sound positively ridiculous. No, I’m not going to join you.”

  We shrugged, and Case pressed Play again.

  Robert continued, determined to have his parental say. “I’m going to finish making dinner so we can eat on time. You know, like adults? Besides, this game is stupid.”

  Despite his protests, he stood in silence, watching us creep down a shadowed hill. A zombie howl sounded nearby, and I used my scope to scan the area.

  “You see the hunter?” I asked Case.

  “Not yet.” He snapped his flashlight on and panned around screen. “I hear him, though.”

  “He’s over there,” Robert pointed.

  “Over where?”

  “In that corner,” he instructed me and then clicked his teeth when I darted into the empty corner. “No, not that one. Sheesh.” He grabbed a controller and plugged in. Then wasted that zombie ass with a rifle butt to the skull.

  “Nice one.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  A wave of zombies came scattering down the hill, sending the hairs on the back of my neck on end. Damn, these games looked ridiculously real nowadays. No matter. I knew how to shoot zombies, pixilated or in liquid plasma deliciousness.

  “Jordan!” I yelled. “Get in here. We need someone to man the tanks!”

  He stuck his head in the doorway with his cell up to his ear, one hand clasped over the bottom speaker. “I’m on the phone in here—”

  “For God’s sakes, we’re dying, man!” I hammed it up enough to make him grin and shake his head.

  “I gotta go. No, I gotta go. I’ll call you later, Rache.”

  Rache. As in Rachel? As Robert tossed him a controller and signed in a fourth player, I gritted my teeth so hard I feared a fine powder would tumble out when I finally opened my mouth.

  “I’m in,” Jordan said, and his character appeared on screen next to mine.

  I let off a round into his shoulder that had his character scowling at me. Blue eyes slid to mine, and I shrugged. “Sorry. Friendly fire.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and I smiled. “After you.”

  THE ROAD home was quiet, and we were comfortably silent. I loved this time of night, when the roads were empty and all the lights smiled green smiles as we sailed on through. Jordan’s hand absently massaged my neck as I drove, the other hand drumming on his thigh.

  We’d wound up staying for over four hours. We’d managed to wipe out the entire zombie force and the majority of Robert’s special spaghetti as well. He’d sent us home with the rest in a Tupperware container, which made me beam at him and say, “Thanks, Mrs. Cleaver.” He’d tried to take it back and almost paid with a thumb.

  Jordan’s voice in the silence made me start. “Your family is nice.”

  I smiled. “They’re all right.”

  “You’re going to love mine.” He yawned widely, keeping those magical fingers moving on my neck, tangling in the shaggy ends of my hair. “They’re going to be here this Thanksgiving.”

  We came to a lone red light that hadn’t got the memo—we own the night—and I slowed to a stop. As his clever fingers paused, I realized I hadn’t said anything to his comment and met questing eyes.

  “You like turkey?” he asked with the gravity you would ask “Do you need medical assistance?” and I smiled a little.

  “Mmhmm.”

  My smile faded. Would I meet them? Would we even be together then? Hell, were we together now? His call from Rachel had jump-started my reality solenoids. I pressed my lips together, refusing to let the questions tumble out that neither one of us could plausibly have an answer to.

  “What are you thinking?”

  I started, then rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Just tired, I guess.”

  I was tired. Tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. I looked at him apologetically, pasting a slight smile on my mouth. It felt twisted, and I knew from the concern in his eyes I didn’t succeed very well.

  “I was just wondering why we’re the only people on the road and we’re stopped at a red light. Kind of ridiculous if you ask me.”

  His eyes were pensive as he took my chin in his hand. “No, you weren’t.”

  I blinked rapidly. No, I wasn’t, but he wasn’t supposed to know me this well yet. I wasn’t supposed to miss him like this, before he was even gone. “Kiss me.”

  He leaned over the console, his mouth landing on mine tentatively, soft as butterflies’ wings.

  “Again,” I whispered when he was through.

  “Light’s green,” he said, smiling a little.

  “Again,” I demanded.

  He wasn’t gentle this time. His lips, tongue, and teeth were demanding, demanding something I didn’t even know if I could give. He pinned my head against the headrest, working my mouth over with his, our kisses getting sloppier and more desperate. We pulled away when it was either die or breath
e and sat for a moment. My breathing rang harsh in my ears as I tried to refocus my attention on driving.

  “Fuck me,” I demanded, my body taking over my mind. That didn’t help.

  “Drive,” he said hoarsely.

  I did.

  Chapter 22

  I HAD suspected coming home after work on Monday afternoon would be different, but I hadn’t been prepared for how empty the apartment would feel. Even when Trev had moved out, leaving me a neatly printed note on the one nightstand he left, it hadn’t felt this empty. That had been more of a relief, and this was just… silence.

  I shook off the doldrums (or tried to). It wasn’t anything bigger than a few dates. We’d had a weekend. A weekend to have sex, and that was it—a sex-a-thon, and now it was over. You weren’t supposed to wonder what your fellow sex-a-thon partner was doing for dinner or if he was going to watch the game tonight. Or if he was missing you as much as you were missing him.

  I scowled. We shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. See, that was the problem. Then I wouldn’t know that he hated all of my television shows and delighted in making fun of my favorite characters. Which I pretended to hate but secretly found amusing. I wouldn’t know that he was good with my nephew and polite to nosy old bakers who served their cupcakes with a side of intrusive questioning. I wouldn’t know how he smiled at me indulgently when I tried on his glasses and how he let me make it worth his while to blow off work on Sunday night. Man, I had it bad.

  I toed off my shoes and skated to the kitchen in my socks. I forced myself to go about my usual after-work routine, opening mail and taking out the trash and fixing dinner and all those other little things that signal that the workday is truly over. I had just settled down in front of the TV with dinner when my phone rang.

  I answered without looking, continuing to scroll down my DVR list. “Yeah.”

  “Hey. You busy?”

  Just hearing his voice had a goofy smile spreading across my face, and I bit my lip to keep my face in check. “Hey. No, what’s up?”

  “What’s up is I haven’t seen you in like ten and a half hours. I’m going through withdrawal here.”

  I let the grin free, and suddenly the nagging feeling that had been bothering me was gone. There were no games, no need to play aloof. “I thought I was the only one. Has ten and a half hours ever seemed so long?”

  “Not in recent memory, no. So. Are you busy or what?”

  “Not really. Watching a bunch of overly tanned, overly blond social misfits scream and claw at each other and then call each other friends.” I flicked off the TV and tossed the remote on the couch. “What do you have in mind?”

  Say sex. Please say fucking me into the mattress.

  “Dinner,” he said, clearly unaware of my inner slut. “I’m fixing something right now. Are you hungry?”

  I looked down at my chicken potpie with apple crumble that had looked so appetizing just moments before. A home-cooked meal was sounding better and better.

  “Starving.”

  Sorry, Marie Callender. I trotted my dinner tray right back to the kitchen and began wrapping it in foil.

  “What are you making?”

  “Something buttery and garlicky, and that’s all you need to know.”

  “My siren song,” I sighed dramatically. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

  “I’m using salt too,” he teased.

  My arteries gave a little shiver. “Make that twenty.”

  I WOKE slowly, lingering in my foggy subconscious much longer than I usually did. I was comfortable and replete but somewhere I’d never been before. I stretched, reveling in the delicious soreness in my muscles, especially the tender region of my backside, before finally opening my eyes. My breath hitched on a swift intake of air. Well, then.

  You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.

  I silently agreed with my inner voice—Dorothy would have shat herself for a view like this. I wasn’t in my own bedroom; that was for sure. I had many things, but a complete glass wall that gave me a panoramic ocean view was not one of them. The ocean stretched before me like a painting in motion—midnight blue punctuated by dark shapes of rock, where the waves crashed and settled with white foam. The scene stretched as far as I could see, far into the distance, where the blackness of the sky melded into the dark rush of the ocean.

  In a moment, it all came tumbling back. Jordan’s delicious chicken fricassee, eating on the deck, with the stars twinkling above and the ocean rushing up to meet us. Then someone had mentioned something about dessert (him), and someone had gotten suggestive and slutty (I won’t mention names), and we’d wound up tumbling into bed, tearing off clothes like they were made of paper. I couldn’t deny, just the memory was sending interesting messages to my cock, which twitched and let me know it was awake already.

  I shifted to my other side, only to see him propped up against a pillow, laptop on his lap, staring at the screen intently. The incandescent light was bright on his face, and while I watched, he adjusted his glasses with a quick finger to the center of the frame.

  “You’re looking sexy, professor.”

  He looked startled for a moment, the look of someone awakened from deep concentration, and gave me a half smile. “You sleep well?”

  “As well as I could. Someone used my ass like a speedway.”

  He blushed, which made me laugh and made him hit my shoulder. “You loved it.”

  “Every minute of it,” I said sincerely, catching him off guard.

  His smile faded as he turned to put his computer on the nightstand. When he turned back, he leaned down to cup my chin. “You up for a round two?”

  I pushed the covers down to my ankles, revealing my nakedness and already throbbing cock. “And a three and a four.”

  His eyes went dark, and then his hands were on me, running down my sides and caressing my thighs. He rolled onto me, catching his weight on his elbows, and for a moment we just looked at each other, enjoying the charged energy, my cock trapped between us, jerking against his belly. His mouth descended slowly, and I didn’t close my eyes until the very last second, not until his mouth landed on mine and we began to devour each other. I had always thought kissing was a waste of time, just a prelude to the main event. I would never think that again.

  A half whimper escaped my throat as I locked my hands in his hair. I thought maybe I could kiss Jordan forever, that maybe if the world was ending and fire was raining down all around us, I would reach up for just one more kiss like this.

  But his kisses did other things to me and my insides, and all too soon, I had to move or die. I ground against him, my hands drifting down to cup and grip the perfectly muscled globes of his behind. “I need,” I managed against his ear.

  Instead of sliding inside me like I wanted, he took my hands in a powerful grip and pinned them above my head. “Leave them there,” he growled, and I felt my cock jump in response. Turns out, I really like growly, bossy Jordan.

  “But I’m ready now,” I whined.

  “You’re always in such a goddamned rush,” he said, his mouth quirking in amusement. He kissed my mouth, then my chin, then down the sloped column of my neck, one precise kiss after another. “This time, I want to go slow.”

  “That’s a great idea for next time,” I wheedled, moving my hands just the slightest bit and then stilling as he glared.

  “Move them, and I will spank you.”

  I groaned and snapped my hips against his a little, causing my cock to buck between us. That was so not the right thing to say if he wanted me to stop. The idea of lying on his lap, having him “discipline” me with his hand, smacking my ass until it was flushed and pink, flashed in my head. Then spearing my pink ass with that thick cock and pounding me… the mental imagery made me a little crazy.

  His eyes went wide and then dark with understanding. And need. Raw need. “Hands still,” he ground out and then went back to work on my neck.

  He played with my nipples, pulling and rubbing the sensitive bro
wn nubs until I growled.

  “There’s slow, and then there’s torture,” I informed him, a half second before he took a nipple between his teeth. I hissed as he nipped the bud and then sucked on it strongly.

  When I looked up, his eyes sparkled with amusement. “Trust me, I know the difference.”

  It was clear from his teasing licking and sucking that he did indeed. By the time he moved down to my quivering stomach, I was just about a puddle of goo. He nosed the throbbing column of my cock aside, scraping his teeth against my bellybutton, just enough to make me jump and let my cock slap back in place. A drop of creamy liquid pearled on the engorged, purplish head, and his nostrils flared. I knew he could smell my arousal. I certainly could. He dipped the tip of his tongue in the liquid and swirled it around, tasting delicately. My stomach clenched the clench of a thousand crunches, anticipating that moment when he would finally take me in his warmth, and I could fuck that pretty mouth. But he kept journeying instead, down past my cock to my trembling, splayed-open thighs.

  I looked at him, flabbergasted. And he winked. The bastard winked as he massaged my thighs and then the tense muscles of my calves.

  “Argh,” I grumbled. “Sadistic bastard.”

  He pretended not to hear. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” I managed loudly, flinching when he nipped my calf with his teeth.

  His magic fingers danced across my skin, sending me hurtling through stages of relaxing and tensing, as if my body couldn’t decide which one it wanted to do. As his hands stroked the soft skin underneath my thighs, my body decided on tension, and every muscle felt bowstring tight as I waited.

  He gently took my balls in his hand, and I melted into the mattress with a groan. Twisted the sheets in my hands. Fast was good, but this… this was something else entirely. Now that he had primed my body, wreaked havoc on my senses, every touch was like fire. Every touch threatened to set me off. When his tongue swept over my sensitive entrance, I skyrocketed.

  “Jordan!”