Page 93 of Proof Of Life
“Like you. You know all about sucking, don’t you?” McCormick jokes.
The sex jokes are never going to end. I’m pretty sure they have an endless supply to last a lifetime. When Brandt comes back, he’s carrying a tray with a bottle of pain meds and bowls of food. Steam rises from them, and the scent carries to me, something familiar that makes my mouth water from nostalgia.
“Chili Mac!”
“You made chili?” McCormick asks.
“I reheated Chili Mac MREs. It’s West’s favorite.”
Back in the army, whenever I was sick or injured and lying in bed like a big baby, Brandt would take care of me just like this, bringing me Chili Mac and a box of tissues, cuddling in bed with me while he watched Top Gun on replay over and over as I napped on and off. And that’s when I spot it, and I chuckle. I should have known. He’s got a slim plastic case tucked under his arm, and I’ll bet ten bucks it’s Top Gun.
He sets the tray on the dresser and practically climbs over my body. “Who’s ready to take a trip to Pasadena?”
Jax rolls his eyes. “Dude, you missed your calling. You should have joined the Air Force or the Navy instead of the Army.”
The afternoon passes with conversations murmured around the bedroom, voices kept low while Mandy dozes on and off. We finish Top Gun and play two more movies back to back. McCormick pulls out his yarn to work on some project, and Stiles thumbs through the latest issue of Guns and Ammo Magazine, while Jax scrolls through his phone. Despite the fact I’m cramped in a bed holding three too many people, I have no desire to move. Brandt’s warmth cradles me, his soft breath tickling the back of my neck, and despite McCormick’s foot pushing against the small of my back, I'm comfortable, like I’m wrapped in a cocoon of coziness. I feel safe. And judging by the peaceful look on Mandy’s face, so does he.
The cool sheets beneath my ass are a stark contrast to his warm weight on top of me. Brandt’s lips tickle my ear, planting kisses down my neck, across my jaw, as he works his way toward my mouth.
“Do you think he can hear us?”
“Nah,” he breathes over my lips, “he’s got earplugs.” He teases my bottom lip by sucking it between his until it’s plump. “And painkillers. He’s probably out like a light.”
I worried about him all day. Much of my fear was soothed by seeing him rally today, in good spirits for the most part, while the guys visited. Mandy is going to be fine. He's going to heal, and then he’s going to get on with his life. His struggle is far from over. There are many more skin graft surgeries in his future, but he knows he doesn’t have to face them alone, and hopefully that helps.
“Hey,” Brandt says, staring into my eyes as he cups my face. “Right here, right now; that’s where I need your head.”
His kisses bring me back to the present. The stubble on his cheek scrapes my lips, making them tingle, and I close my eyes, losing myself in him—in his scent and heat, in the feel of his rough hands tracing my body, the hard bulge of his erection pressing into mine.
Over the years, he has taken me in his arms and hugged me countless times, but it never felt this good. Like I’ll die if he stops.
His lips close over my nipple, and he sucks it into a stiff peak before flicking it with his tongue. But he doesn’t release it. No, Brandt milks my nipple until it’s almost sore. I've never had them sucked for so long before, and my cock is twitching from the constant pull.
I wonder if I could come like this, just from having my nipples played with.
I slide my knee between his legs and grip his ass, trying to fit my body inside of his, or at least to get as close as I can. “You want me to turn over?”
“No,” he says gruffly, “I want you just like this.”
This feels different. He’s going slow, taking his time with me, bathing my skin in kisses, touching my body in places he usually skips over. He places his hand on my shortened limb as he moves down my body, kissing a wet path down to my navel, where he licks the sensitive hollow until I squirm and push his head away. Even as he lowers his mouth, trailing his nose through my pubes, I’m aware of his hand rubbing over the bundle of scar tissue on the tip of my leg.
Why does it make me so fucking self-conscious? It’s just Brandt. I know he accepts every part of me, even the broken pieces.
Especially the broken pieces.
But there’s no rationalization for things that trigger you. I wish I could learn to not feel tense when he touches me there, like all my self-worth is tied up in my amputated leg. Frustratingly, he glides right over my cock with a wet lick of his tongue and continues down, sucking kisses on my inner thighs. His nose tickles the fine hairs between my legs, but he doesn’t stop there. He sucks hard on the few scars that lead down to the tip of my thigh, and when he gets to the end, he focuses his dark blue gaze on me as his tongue flicks out to lick the raised scar. I can’t really feel it, besides the pressure of his tongue. Most of the time, it just feels like static, like when your leg falls asleep. But the visual, the feeling of intimacy, makes me want to cry.
I've never had this with anyone before, and I don’t think I could have it with anyone besides Brandt.
Because there’s no one I trust more.
With my body.
With my heart.
With my life.
It begins and ends with Brandt.