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  Claiming Whisper

  J.M. Dabney

  Hostile Whispers Press, LLC

  Copyright © 2021 by J.M. Dabney

  Hostile Whispers Press, LLC

  ISBN: 978-1-947184-46-6

  Cover by: J.M. Dabney at Hostile Whispers Designs

  Edits by: AlternativEdits (Laura McNellis)

  Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  REMEMBER:

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places, is purely coincidental.

  PLEASE BE ADVISED:

  This book contains material that is only suitable for mature readers. It may contain scenes of a sexual nature and/or violence.

  For my readers who make telling my stories worth it.

  Contents

  Claiming Whisper

  1. Whisper

  2. Anderson

  3. Whisper

  4. Anderson

  5. Whisper

  6. Anderson

  7. Whisper

  8. Whisper

  9. Anderson

  10. Whisper

  11. Anderson

  12. Whisper

  13. Anderson

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by J.M. Dabney

  Writing As Siobhan Smile

  Claiming Whisper

  Blurb and Content Warnings

  What happens when you choose to throw fear aside and live unapologetically?

  I did just that and never looked back. Although, I’d thought I was content until my best friend asked for a favor, and it brought me face-to-face with a big, bearded bear of a man. It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was something. I hadn’t realized how overwhelming that feeling was until Anderson Mara wanted me to be his.

  This title contains scenes that readers may find objectionable such as Age Play (Age Regression between consenting adults) and Power Exchange Dynamics.

  This book was previously published in Dirty Daddies Anniversary Anthology 2020. This version only contains about 5k additional words.

  1

  Whisper

  I was supposed to be home in my onesie, with my favorite sippy cup, and coloring while I caught up on my cartoons for the week, but no. My best friend, Bell, dragged me out to help his former step-grandfather move. He knew I didn't do well with strangers—my brain was always on high alert for Stranger Danger. My Little was in full-on pout mode, and he didn’t care, he'd shown up to find me enjoying my weekly Play Day.

  He found it weird, but I didn't care. I was polite enough to refrain from saying anything when he watched serial killer documentaries with an almost hard-on like enthusiasm. I’d quickly decided he’d no longer have a key to my place or the alarm code—Bundy 2.0 would get tasered.

  "Come on. It's a few hours of moving some boxes, work on those muscles of yours."

  I flipped him off, and he chuckled. My muscles were fine. After two years on gender affirming hormones and top surgery, I was finally happy with my body. For thirty years, I'd put on the straight cis-girl act to make everyone happy—to make myself fit after being an outsider growing up. I was thirty-two and didn't give a fuck about that anymore. My trans man and Little judged every bigot openly because I'd lived in the closet too long for other people's comfort.

  "Whisper, come on, it's not that bad. He hasn't lived here in ten years. The only friends he had were in Grandma's circle, and he called me knowing I’d help. And out of all my grandmother's boy toys, he's the one I liked."

  I'd met the woman several times, and every occasion I did, she had a new man on her arm who looked younger than the one before. Granted, she was the type of woman I swore was a shapeshifting swamp witch who never aged but had the personality of a rabid Chupacabra. Through osmosis, she stole the essence from men to top off her murky fountain of youth.

  "I said I would help, but I don't have to like it." Maybe I gave him too much of a hard time, but he’d be there whenever I called no matter what. He'd held me when I went through my wine-induced, blurted confession that I was Transgender. He just kissed the top of my head and told me I still wouldn't be his type because I was too short.

  "And that's all I'll ask. I'll even get you a kid's meal on the way home."

  "Aw, but you're not going to be Daddy."

  "Wouldn't think of it. Besides, you're not my type."

  "Uh-huh, last time I heard that you nearly went out with that curious straight dude just because he was, and I quote, hung like a Clydesdale."

  "Hey, I'm a bit of a size snob, I don't judge you for your Little eccentricities. And I didn't appreciate that donut cushion and get-well bouquet and balloons for my ass the next day. That arrived, if you don't remember, at my office."

  I snorted loudly at his bitchy expression. "And that’s the attitude that makes me wonder why I call you my best friend."

  He was about to snark back at me but clicked on his turn signal instead. "Okay, we're here. Don't be weird."

  "Have you met me?" The long winding driveway was lined with towering trees. I was totally having a flashback to some mutant inbred horror movie. Good thing we were in a populated area, plenty of places to run for help. I dramatically checked my phone to make sure I had reception.

  "Yes, and that's why I'm saying, don't be weird."

  I gave him an offended gasp, and then I stared at a huge, beautiful home with a river stone facade. That was a house I'd have to sell what was left of my soul for. It was like my dream home, except it didn't have a moat and sniper nests to keep people away, but there was potential.

  When he pulled to a stop beside a big black SUV, movers were unloading furniture, and one caught my eye. Big man alert. He had a thick bulky body, with a bonus belly. He looked to be in his forties, but maybe older, I couldn't tell. Tattooed and a full, trimmed beard.

  Be gay, be gay or at least bisexual.

  I got out and closed the door, leaning there watching the behemoth and his sweaty muscles.

  "Will you stop? I should've told you to bring one of your bibs. When are you going to start dating? Sex-deprived Whisper is a scary incarnation."

  Why must he remind me? It was the one thing I hadn't done since I began my transition. Not that I wasn't all for it, but a small but loud minority weren't exactly running to jump into bed with me. Also, there was the Little thing. It had been a part of my pre-transition days as well, but I'd hid it like I had a lot of needs and wants and dreams.

  He hooked his arm through mine and dragged me toward the moving truck. I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and my favorite black boots. Then I thought I wished I’d done more with myself.

  "Anderson," he called out, and to my horror, the sexy mover turned with a huge smile. The guy set the box he was carrying aside and closed the distance between us.

  Oh damn. He had this amazing, lazy swagger and this aura of calmness, yet his presence commanded everyone’s attention.

  "Bell, so glad you could help. I know it was last minute, and you probably had better things to do."

  "Luckily, I had a best friend who was bored—"

  "I wasn't bored."

  He ignored me and continued, "That was bored and couldn't wait to help me assist you to move and unpack."

  "Well, bored or not, I appreciate it. I only have a week to settle in before I need to report for work." He exte
nded his hand to me, and I took it so I wouldn't appear rude and not just because I wanted to know if his hands were rough or smooth. "Anderson Mara."

  "Whisper Groves."

  "Whisper, interesting name."

  "My mother dropped acid after I was born, calling it some naming ceremony and bam, Whisper. Personally, I think she just wanted the acid or DMT, but whatever." I shrugged my shoulders and grinned. I earned a deep chuckle from Anderson and a crooked smile.

  "Whisper." Bell gave me a dirty look. "I told you not to be weird."

  "And I asked had you met me. I believe that people should enjoy the full scope of my uniqueness."

  "No fighting."

  The command in his voice was clear as Bell and I glared each other down, and I turned to him as soon as he said it.

  "Damn, you followed orders. I'll have to ask how he did that."

  I lowered my voice and leaned to the side. "You wouldn't like the answer." As soon as I said it, Bell groaned and pushed me away, and I caught myself before I stumbled into Anderson. "I've been best friends with him for seven years, has he always been so…uptight?"

  "It might just be you, baby boy."

  I jerked my gaze to his face, and he was smirking.

  Oh damn.

  "The moving crew has almost all the furniture inside and in place, boxes are everywhere, but labeled for where they go. If y'all could just help me get them where they belong, I can spend the rest of the week and weekend unpacking them."

  "We can do that. Whisper just moved into a house. He worked me to death."

  "Oh yeah, the three rooms of furniture and the six totes of belongings I owned was so hard to move."

  "Not my fault the Army brat doesn't own anything."

  "I'm going to have to separate you two. Come on, let's get to work, maybe work off some of y'all’s brattiness."

  "I'm not bratty, that's all his department," Bell said.

  I pushed him, and a strong arm came around my waist to separate us.

  "Move." He pointed to the front door, and Bell walked forward. "I'm gonna have to keep my eye on you, baby boy, you're gonna be trouble."

  I wiggled out of his hold. "I have no idea what you're talking about." I shot him a glare and jogged after Bell. A deep gravelly chuckle followed me.

  When I entered, I stopped in the foyer and did a turn, amazed by the spacious house and vaulted ceilings with exposed darkly stained wooden beams. The furniture was large with everything in earth tones and just right for the place.

  "Like it?" Anderson asked. "Let me give you a tour."

  "Love it, way too much for me. I'm still trying to deal with living in a two-bedroom house." I followed him from room to room, everything I saw made it more amazing by the second.

  "From your Army brat days?"

  "Sort of, still trying to get used to owning a house. It's weird putting down roots, you know?"

  "I know what that's like. For the last ten years, I've lived in the same penthouse with rented furniture. I rarely used it because I traveled so much with my job."

  "What is it you do?" We'd gone through most of the house, and he'd told me what rooms were meant for what.

  "I work for an international company as a lawyer. The travel was great at first. And after a while, you realize you're almost fifty, and all you have is your job."

  "I get that. It wasn't until the last few years I've been doing the reflecting thing. The what-ifs and all that, but I think everyone has those moments of existential dread to face sooner or later."

  "True. Don't get me wrong though. It was nice to see the world on someone else's dime."

  I’d felt his full attention on me throughout the tour, and I was curious about what he thought. Yet, I was also more than a bit nervous to be his sole focus. I couldn’t remember a man in my life who seemed as interested as he did.

  "Since Bell volunteered me as muscle, where do you want me to start?"

  "Just find a box, see where it goes, and take it there. If you don't know, just ask. If something is heavy, don't bother with it. Most of those will go to my office, it's all my books."

  "Yes, sir."

  "When we're done, I'll order us dinner as a thank you."

  "Food, I won't complain that." I walked over to the mountains of boxes and got to work.

  Occasionally, I'd catch sight of Anderson and pause for a moment to appreciate the older man. I was seriously in trouble, though. I knew what my genitals were didn't matter to anyone but someone I planned to fuck or be in a relationship with. Yet that wasn't a step I'd taken yet. It was the big unknown and as snarky, and loud as I usually was, that's where I was stuttering to some invisible finish line.

  I loved my body, it was my body, but I also knew that no one needed to love it the way I did. Fuck, I hated being insecure and a bit frightened in this area of my life. Yet, I had to respect the fear because it wasn't safe and secure everywhere for people to be who they were.

  2

  Anderson

  The boy was driving me crazy. Every time I saw him, passed him in the hall, or on the steps, I was helpless to ignore him. He was about five-seven, maybe eight at the most, slim but with a curvy ass. I hadn't dated much since my divorce from Bell's grandmother ten years before. I always used the excuse of my schedule and all the travel when someone asked if I was seeing anyone. The annoying blind dates set up by well-intentioned friends, the few people I'd thought I was interested in, didn't last long.

  One too many canceled dates or delayed plans on my part, frustration turned to resentment, and we'd go our separate ways. Even the casual no-strings-attached-hookups where we'd agreed it wouldn't be serious had ended badly. Gender was never a factor in who I dated, if I was attracted to someone, then I'd see how it went, but I'd struck out completely with my love life.

  I hadn't been married to Venita but a few years. After the honeymoon, I'd quickly learned I'd made a mistake. The beautiful older woman liked to have handsome, successful men on her arm, but we weren't more than an accessory, as expendable as a broken watch. I'd allowed my company to send me on more and more overseas cases just to escape. A month before our second anniversary, I'd served her with divorce papers.

  I'd become close with a few of her family members, and Bell had been a good kid, his parents had sympathized with my decision to get out. Yet Venita still controlled the purse strings, and they wouldn’t outwardly disrespect her in any way. We'd stayed in touch, but it was mostly calls at the holidays. I didn't know about moving back to the area, but when I'd fallen in love with this house, I’d told myself one day it would be mine, and I'd waited years for it to go on the market.

  Part of me took it as a sign it was time to settle down, to find something and someone permanent. I’d bought the house, and now I was looking at a beautiful boy who landed on my doorstep. I'd taken a chance on calling him baby boy to see his reaction, and his shock and dilated pupils said he'd liked it.

  I'd heard stories of Whisper a few times when talking to Bell, but never anything more than Bell saying he was going out with his friend or had spent the holidays with him.

  "I don't think I can move another box," Bell groaned as he fell onto my couch where I was grabbing the last box marked office.

  I knew how he felt. My shoulders and back were starting to protest the physical labor. I worked out at least three times a week because of my office job, but the move had taken its toll. Yet no matter how much I worked out or how well I ate, in the last five years, my belly had rounded into a firm curve, and my once ripped muscles were softer, bulkier. And I was happy not killing myself in the gym seven days a week to stop the inevitable. I was content with being big and healthy, instead of ripped and exhausted with a horrible diet.

  "I think I can handle everything else. There's only about ten boxes that need to make it to other rooms. I told Whisper I'd buy dinner as a thank you."

  "Mention food, and Whisper is all yours."

  "Really?" I asked and grinned as he looked at me.

  "
Yeah, don't think I didn't catch the glances at his ass or that sneaky baby boy. He won't notice the flirting though. You're gonna have to be more direct."

  I snorted and shook my head. "I'll make note of that. I'm not picky about food, so I'll go find him, then you two can pick a place."

  I took the box of books to my office and put them with the rest—the room had floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves in a dark stain. My realtor had urged me to put in a slightly lower bid from the offering price, but I wanted the house and the cost wasn't out of my comfort zone. I'd invested well and made a great salary, and I'd wanted a home—that home.

  I exited my office and made my way back to the steps, I jogged up them, checking the three guest rooms and entered my bedroom. I paused in the doorway, leaning my shoulder against the frame and watched the little man making my bed.

  “I hope you don't mind. I saw the box marked linens and another for pillows and comforters. Everything still smelled like detergent, so I figured it was safe.” He spoke without turning around to look at me.

  "Thanks. My back will be appreciative later."

  "I slept on a bare mattress the first night because I was too tired to deal with making the bed, but I also unpacked everything before I went to sleep. I couldn't deal with the chaos."

  My body liked him leaning over my bed, smoothing the wrinkles from the thick bedspread. "Control freak?"

  He glanced over his shoulder at me before he straightened. "Not in the least, but I deal better with everything in its place." He spoke as he broke down the boxes he'd emptied. "I didn't know where you were setting up your linen closet, so I just put them in the hall closet. There were several shelves."