A Dom and His Writer

by Xenia Melzer

  “It is. Which is kind of sad. But that’s another topic.” Meredith rose and offered Richard her hand. “I’m going to file the report, and then the Child Welfare Program is out of your hair. I wish you and your family all the best.”

  Richard smiled at her and shook her hand. “Thank you, Ms. Denton. Contrary to what we said before, it really was a pleasure to meet you.”

  She laughed. “You’re just relieved. I’ll find the door myself. Have a nice life.”

  When she was gone, Aaron whistled low. “She was one of a kind.”

  “Yes. Good for us.” Richard kissed Dean once more. “Come on, boy. Tell the others the good news and invite them over. Spontaneous dinner here at eight. I’ll call Mamma’s.”

  Dean laughed and cried and did as he was told.

  LATER THAT night, after their friends had celebrated with them, Richard took Dean to the playroom and out onto the roof. He guided him to the deep lounge Peyton had set up there, and they both sat down. Richard still held Dean’s hand, pressing soft kisses at his knuckles now and then.

  “What a day.” Dean leaned back and stared into the night sky. “I’m so glad and so exhausted.” He paused for a moment. “We could have lost her.”

  On those last words, his voice started shaking, the full impact of what had happened only now registering.

  Richard pulled Dean close. “But we haven’t. She’s here, in this house, in her room, sleeping soundly. Emily is safe, Dean.”

  A deep sigh was the answer. Richard stroked Dean’s back until his boy had calmed down. It was time to address the other thing Richard had been thinking about. “There is something I’d like to discuss with you, boy.”

  Dean looked at him imploringly and nodded. There was a tiny hint of apprehension in his eyes that made Richard talk a little faster.

  “It’s something I’ve been thinking about since we got back together, and all that trouble with your parents and the Child Welfare Program has only strengthened my resolve.”

  Richard slid from the lounge and went down on one knee in front of Dean. “I want us to be a real family, boy. That’s why I’m asking you, Dean Connelly, do you want to marry me?”

  Dean just stared at Richard, his beautiful eyes blown wide, tears shining in them. Richard reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out the engagement ring he had stashed there earlier.

  He reached for Dean’s left hand, ring between his thumb and index finger, and looked imploringly at his lover and boy. Dean made a choking sound, wiped at the tears with his free hand, and then managed to get the words out.

  “Yes. Yes. I love you so much, and, yes, I do want to marry you.”

  With a satisfied smile, Richard slipped the ring, a simple silver band with their names engraved on it, over Dean’s finger. Dean stared at it in wonder before he reached out for his Dom and kissed him hungrily. He was still crying, but that only added an interesting salty taste to their kisses.

  Richard rose and sat back in the lounge with Dean cuddled between his legs. They sat there for another hour, gazing at the stars, basking in their love and happiness, and both insanely glad that they had found a home in the other.

  Epilogue

  “TODAY IS the big day, big sis.” Dean was standing in front of Tricia’s urn at its place on the shelf in the living room. He had made it a habit to talk to her as if they were on the phone, filling in the parts where she would have said something.

  “I know. I wouldn’t have thought so, either. But he’s a good man. He’s making me happy. And he’s the perfect dad for Emily.”

  “Talking to Tricia, boy?” Richard stepped behind Dean and embraced him, leaning his chin on Dean’s shoulder. When Dean had started his “discussions” with the urn, Richard had been worried. After a week, he had gotten used to it and was now at the point where he started talking to her as well. It was strangely soothing to talk to somebody who wouldn’t answer.

  “Yes. I wanted her to know how happy I am.”

  “Oh, I think she knows that. And I’m sure she’s happy for you.”

  “Master—”

  “Dean! There you are!” Aaron came barging through the door, glaring at his son. “Richard, you shouldn’t be here and you know it! Get out.”

  Richard let go of Dean and hurried to get outside. Aaron had been flattered when Dean had asked him to walk him down the aisle, and the ex-general had made it his mission to organize a perfect wedding. For this herculean task, he had enlisted the help of Leeland and Peyton, who both proved to be even more relentless nags than Aaron. Thanks to their combined efforts, the wedding was going to be fantastic.

  The yard was set up with a wooden dance floor, four huge round tables where the guests were seated, and a pavilion where the staff from Mamma’s had been busy since the early morning hours with setting up a feast. Leeland had even organized a chocolate fountain, which they had to protect from Emily. She was sixteen months now, unbelievably fast on her little feet, and with a head full of the craziest ideas. That Thor and Donar were two perfect partners in crime didn’t help matters. Currently, it was Julio’s task to run after the trio and keep them out of everybody’s way. Wilma and Fred were watching the action from high up a tree, unsure whether they should join the fun or keep a safe distance.

  The wedding ceremony would be held under the biggest and oldest oak tree in the garden, whose branches were like a canopy. Everything was planned and perfect and beautiful. Dean gulped and reached for his collar to soothe his nerves.

  Aaron patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, son. Wedding jitters are normal.” He looked at his watch. “Time to go. Your groom is waiting.”

  Aaron reached for Dean’s hand and put it on his arm. Dean hesitated. “Aaron?”

  “Yes, son?”

  Dean smiled. “I like it when you call me that. Son. It feels right.” He inhaled deeply. “I wanted to thank you. This is big for me. For Richard. You walking me to him means a lot to both of us. So, thank you.”

  Aaron embraced Dean and held him tight. “It’s my pleasure, son. This means a lot to me too. There’s nothing more important than family. Never forget that.”

  Dean glanced at Tricia’s urn and knew Aaron was right. Family was the most important thing in the world. And it didn’t matter if it was family by blood or by choice. Through Richard, he had not only found the bliss of a stable relationship, but also the joy of being a father and the happiness of having a group of close friends, all of whom were here today to celebrate his union with Richard.

  Dean walked out into the yard on Aaron’s arm, knowing he couldn’t have come up with a better ending than reality had done for him.

  Exclusive Excerpt

  A Dom and His Artist

  A Club Whisper Novel

  By Xenia Melzer

  Sometimes the perfect man can be found in the most unexpected place….

  Martin Carmichael owns a security firm and is part owner of Club Whisper. He’s a Dom in search of the right guy, and when his car breaks down on a lonely stretch of road, he thinks he might have found him.

  Artist Collin Malloy is talented, easygoing, but somewhat insecure. Still, he has a big heart and is quick to offer help when he sees Martin in need. To thank him, Martin invites Collin to dinner, where the attraction between them becomes harder to resist.

  But what will become of their budding relationship when Martin reveals that he likes his men bound, submissive, and in pain? Is it something Collin can accept… and possibly enjoy exploring? Even if he can, Collin has a secret of his own—a secret he doesn’t even realize he’s keeping.

  Coming Soon to

  www.dreamspinnerpress.com

  Chapter 1

  “FUCKING SON of a bitch!” Martin Carmichael flipped off yet another car that simply drove by, ignoring his desperate attempts to flag somebody down. He had gotten a sense of dread when his car started making funny noises on this street in the middle of nowhere, and he knew he was in deep shit when all the lights on the conso
le lit up like a Christmas tree before winking out like dying stars. The engine of his brand-new, very expensive Cadillac Escalade had made a sad, hiccupping sound and then the car rolled to a halt. To add insult to injury, whatever had caused the space-age electronics essentially driving the car to quit working had also fried his cell, which had been plugged into the car’s Wi-Fi system. Damn modern gadgets and their tendency to blow up in your face.

  Martin had faced some dire situations in his life before, but he would have never thought getting stranded on a lonely street in the outskirts of Miami would actually be one of them. As an ex-military, the owner of a security firm that operated nationwide and on occasion even internationally, and as a Dom, Martin made a living of being intimidating. It was part of his very being, and given that he was six foot five, with the heavy build of a tank and the kind of muscle you only get when you actually work your body, he had intimidation mastered perfectly. Unfortunately, when you were stranded at the side of a road and needed the help of strangers, it didn’t work in your favor when people were afraid of you. In the last two hours since his car had broken down, only about thirty other cars had come this way, and their drivers all ignored him, some of them even accelerating once they got a look at him.

  Martin cursed again. He was even wearing a suit, for fuck’s sake! Though, to be honest, said suit, although custom-made and perfectly tailored, gave him the air of a sophisticated mobster. Something he needed when dealing with the kind of customer he had just come from, but nothing that helped him getting assistance. If he couldn’t stop a car in the next thirty minutes, he would have to start walking back home. The idea alone made him shudder in his very expensive designer shoes that were made for many things, but definitely not a long walk in the dust.

  In the distance he heard the rumbling of a car and looked up just in time to see what had to be the oldest pickup truck in the States, signaling and then pulling up next to his car. The first thing Martin noticed about the truck, besides its age, was the paintings. The thing was covered in them. Snakes, lizards, geckos, salamanders. Some of them so lifelike it seemed as if they would crawl away any moment; others looked more like the paintings one expected to find on the walls of a cave. They all were done in brilliant colors, and Martin had to admit the truck looked stunning.

  Now the driver’s door opened, and Martin’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what he had expected; he only knew it wasn’t this. The man jumping down from the truck was five foot four and on the skinny side, but with lightly defined muscles under a shabby, dirty white muscle shirt. He had long black hair falling around his angular face in heavy waves. Part of it was held by a leather strap, but the man either didn’t care about the wayward strands caressing his high cheekbones or had given up on taming them.

  Martin liked twinks. No, he adored them. But he usually preferred them with a lot more makeup, perfectly groomed—he always thought some men were simply made for eyeliner—and with fashionable clothes. If they were kind of scatterbrained and needed somebody to rely on, somebody to dominate them, then he was the Dom they’d been looking for.

  This man was not groomed. He didn’t wear makeup, and even if his clothes had once been fashionable, they were just dirty now. He wore sneakers with holes in them, the skin on his hands looked rough, as if he didn’t know what hand lotion was for, and there was dirt under his nails. Except for his height, the man ticked none of Martin’s boxes, and yet he couldn’t take his eyes off him. There was something about him, about the way he looked at Martin, without the fear and wariness people normally showed when they met him for the first time lurking in his deep green eyes. Martin was intrigued.

  Now the man opened his gorgeous mouth. “Hi, I’m Collin. Do you need help?”

  His voice was a bit deeper than Martin expected, but it sounded nice. He smiled. “Hi, Collin. I’m Martin, and yes, I need help. My car broke down and my cell is dead. Could you lend me yours so I can make a call and get somebody to pick me up?”

  The beautiful face fell. Martin was wondering what he had done wrong when Collin started talking again. “I’m really sorry. I don’t have a cell. You know, they’re kind of expensive, and then you have to get a contract and you have to pay for that as well, and then people can always reach you, which can be a bit inconvenient, and they always come in boring colors, and there’s so much you can do with them when all I want is to make a call, and I really don’t understand those message thingies, and Jude said I would just lose it anyway, which is probably right because I often misplace things and then I can’t remember where they’re hiding and a phone is good at hiding, all small and slim and not making a peep when you forget to feed it, which I would, because I’m not used to having one and my place is kind of messy, what with all the things lying around, and I wouldn’t want Dog to find it, because he would surely chew on it and then it would be dead, just like the hare he caught last week, and boy, was that messy and he wasn’t sorry at all, even though there was blood everywhere and I had to clean up and the tiny bits of fur wouldn’t come out of the cracks on the floor.” He paused and then brightened. “But I did get a pretty decent skull out of it, so I guess it’s kind of okay, although I’m not telling Dog, because then maybe he’d think he has to get me more hares and one is definitely enough, and did I mention that cleaning up was messy? Like, totally?”

  Martin stared openmouthed at Collin. He had never heard anybody talk so fast and so much gibberish on one—no, two—breaths. It had to be a talent. Martin also started to suspect Collin was not necessarily playing with a full deck of cards, although he came across as charming rather than raving mad. At least to Martin, who had seen all kinds of crazy during his time in the military and now with his clients. He found that, very often, the line between batshit crazy and eccentric was defined by the number of digits in one’s bank account. Collin surely didn’t look like he had much to offer in that respect, and Martin wondered briefly if he even had an account. Still, he was sweet, with an openness most people lost once they left childhood behind. And he was the only person who had stopped and offered help.

  “Well, that’s too bad.”

  Collin seemed to be deep in thought for a moment. Then his eyes lit up and a smile appeared on his face. “How about I give you a ride into town? If you tell me where you want to go, I can drive. I have enough gas and everything and I’m a good driver. I swear!”

  Collin’s eagerness made Martin smile as well. Such unblemished openness was refreshing.

  “That would be very nice of you.”

  Collin smiled, and the sun seemed to rise in his eyes. “Okey-dokey. Hop on in!” He turned around and went back to the driver’s seat. Martin reached into his own car to retrieve the fried cell and then approached Collin’s truck. He didn’t think the data on his phone could be saved, but he had to make sure. Some of the addresses in there were worth quite a lot. When he tried to open the passenger’s side door, it wouldn’t budge. Martin tried again, and this time Collin leaned over and did something at the inside of the door, making a strange, clanking sound. Suddenly the door opened, and Martin got in. Collin was chewing his lip. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, suddenly no longer agitated. “The car is kind of old.”

  Martin felt the urge to punish Collin for the lip chewing and, at the same time, the insane need to reassure him. Both feelings were so strong it surprised him. He couldn’t remember when he had last experienced such deep emotions—and with a complete stranger, to boot. Only Collin didn’t feel like a stranger. More like—home. And that was really weird, because Martin wasn’t into romantic shit like soul mates and love at first sight. Love was optional as soon as a contract was drawn up and signed. First came the rules, then everything else—if ever.

  “There’s water in the back. I’m afraid it’s not cold anymore, but… well… if you’re thirsty…” Collin trailed off, uncertainty tinging every syllable.

  Martin cursed himself for letting his thoughts wander when he had to focus. Listening to Collin’s
insecure half sentences made him wonder what had triggered the sudden change and if it was his fault.

  “Thank you, Collin. That is very kind of you. And I know how cars can act up on you. I mean, at least yours is still going. Mine is completely dead.”

  Martin watched Collin very closely and saw the young man’s shoulders relax. He had to bite his tongue not to praise him. That probably wouldn’t go over so well. Instead, he turned and searched for the water bottle in the small back space. When he looked into the bed of the truck, he saw old branches, stones, a piece of metal pipe, and the skull of a middle-sized animal, all in one messy heap. With the bottle in hand, he turned back to watch out the front window. After opening the cap and downing the lukewarm water in a few eager gulps, he dared to make a comment. “Interesting collection you got there.” Martin indicated with his thumb.

  Collin’s cheeks reddened, whether from embarrassment or joy, Martin couldn’t tell. He definitely seemed to be regaining his spirit, though, which was a plus as far as Martin was concerned. “It’s for my new project. I collected them today.”

  “Project?”

  The red deepened. Joy, Martin decided. Joy about his interest in something Collin did. If Martin had to bet, he would say that didn’t happen to Collin very often. Which was a shame. “I’m an artist. Or try to be one. I’m not very successful or famous or anything, but I earn enough to make a living, and this is my new project. I was looking for dreams.”

  Martin could feel a mixture of insecurity and eagerness wafting from Collin. He was obviously deeply engaged with the subject, but at the same time unsure about Martin’s reaction to it. Martin felt himself flinching. Nobody should ever feel uncomfortable speaking about their passions. Especially not dark-haired young men with the greenest, most beautiful eyes Martin had ever seen and a smile that made him forget his own name.