Page 82 of Proof Of Life
The buttons on the collar of my crisp white dress shirt are choking me. It’s been almost a year since I’ve had to get dressed up. Longer, actually. Not much call for Dress Blues in the desert.
I feel like a fucking fraud.
Not for wearing the uniform—I fucking earned that right ten times over—but for the reason I’m donning it today. Brandt slides my navy blue jacket over my shoulders and brushes imaginary lint from them, making sure I look spiffy.
“Check out that chest candy, Sergeant,” he murmurs, running his fingertips over the many colorful bars decorating my breast.
I swat his hand away with a laugh.
“Almost as impressive as what you're packing down here.”
He unbuttons my high-waisted blue pants and slides his hand inside my briefs to cup my soft cock.
The warmth from his hand, the friction as he strokes and tugs on it, makes me grow thick in his palm.
“You look perfect, except you’re missing something.”
Looking at my reflection in the mirror above the bathroom sink, I take note of my uniform. It’s all there—bars, pins, stripes, cap. I can’t find anything missing. He pulls a metal ring from his pocket and slides it over my cock and balls. Gasping, I pull my hips back from his grasp, which only serves to make my ass collide with his cock. His hard cock.
“I can’t wear a cock ring under my uniform! I’ll be rock-hard all night.”
“So? At least you won’t be thinking about all the bullshit going on around you.”
He has a valid point, but… “I can’t, Brandt. Save it for later tonight. I’ll wear it for you when we get home.”
“Fine,” he concedes, pocketing the ring. “Then how about this one instead?”
He stuns me a second time as he pulls another ring from his pocket, this one a solid black band. His military ring. I've seen it a dozen times on his finger, usually when we have to get dressed up like today, but Brandt doesn't slide it on his finger, he slides it on mine. Not on my right hand, where military rings are typically worn, but on my left, in place of a wedding band. The Army crest flashes in the fluorescent lights overhead.
“Does this mean we're going steady now?” I ask with a silly grin. It's so high school, but my stomach is fluttering with butterflies. I never pegged myself as a shmoop for this romantic shit, but I can't deny how much I love it.
“Maybe. Maybe it just means that you’re mine. That you belong to me forever.” His warm breath tickles my ear, making my cock even harder.
He straightens my cap and then slides his thick arms around my chest, hugging me to him. In the mirror, our faces are side by side with his chin resting on my shoulder.
“There’s never gonna be a day that I don’t love you, or that I don't want you, Wes. This ring means I’m never going to let you fall.”
Now I'm fighting back tears as I stare at the black titanium band branding my finger. I glance at my ring sitting on my right hand and slide it off, and I turn in his arms and take his hand in mine, sliding my matching black ring onto the fourth finger of his left hand.
“It means I’m always gonna show up for you. For the rest of my life, I will show up for you. Because you’re mine,” I vow.
I smash my lips against his in a claiming kiss that leaves me breathless and hard—no cock ring needed. He slides his fingers around the nape of my neck, teasing the short hairs and gripping them between his knuckles with a light tug, just hard enough to let me know how much he needs me.
Not nearly as much as I need him.
“Does this mean…You’re not asking me to–” I can’t even say it. I wouldn’t put it past him, though. Brandt is a sly, manipulative genius. He has a way of getting what he wants before you even realize you’re giving it to him.
“No. That’s not what it means. I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m telling you how it’s gonna be for the rest of our lives. It’s gonna be me and you, forever. From here on out, on the good days and bad days and all the days in between.”
I don’t really have an answer for him, not that he’s asking me a question. He’s telling me. Stating facts. And I’m totally on board one hundred percent. So, I answer with a kiss, slower, deeper than the last one. The heat he stirs up in my gut has me rethinking the rest of my evening. I’d rather ditch this charade and get back in bed. With him. And the other ring in his pocket.
The alarm on his wristwatch beeps, and he pulls away with a sigh. “You ready to knock this out?”
“Not really. Just promise me this is the last time you ask me to play the hero.”
“I promise,” he swears with a quick kiss to my lips.
My heart is about to spike right out of my chest. I’m certain of it. The rush of adrenaline is making me feel nauseous, and I’m sweating through the armpits of my jacket.