Page 98 of Proof Of Life
“Do you do it outside on the deck under the stars?”
“Yes, you fucking do.”
Closing the distance separating us, I slide up against his solid, warm body, and cup his dick. “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I fucking am.” His wicked grin makes my dick equally as hard. No cock ring needed.
My fingers attack his zipper, going straight for the prize, ‘cause I’m dying to see how mouthwatering he looks wearing it, slick and hard and throbbing.
“Hold up, first this ring, then we’ll get to the other one.”
“Well, hurry the fuck up and promise me forever, because I want to get my hands and my mouth on your swollen dick.”
West chuckles, reaching for my hand. He slides my fourth finger, the one with his ring, between his lips and sucks seductively. The feeling goes straight to my balls.
“If I slip, I know you’ll catch me. If I get lost, I know you’ll find me. And when I succeed, I know you’ll cheer for me. Louder than anyone else. I owe my life to you, Brandt. You asked for proof of it every day until it was no longer at risk. Joke’s on you,” he smirks, “‘cause now you’ve got to spend the rest of it with me. Right by my side.”
And just like that, I forget about sex and all I can feel is my damn heart, swelling to bursting. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” Taking his hand in mine, I kiss his knuckle right above my ring. “My whole world revolves around you, Wes. Like it spins on your axis. I pretend like I’m independent, like I have my own life, my own interests, but it’s all a lie. All I have is you. You’re all I want, all that matters. The rest of it is just background noise. If I get to spend the rest of my life with you, I count myself pretty fucking lucky.”
Lacing our fingers together, his kiss falls on my lips and I’m reminded about his cock ring-covered cock, waiting for my mouth.
His smile is dazzling and the next words out of his mouth cement all the reasons why he’s perfect for me, why he’s the love of my life.
“You can be my wingman anytime.”
Choking on a laugh that’s part sob, I say, “Bullshit. You can be mine.”
Heat envelops my shaft, wet heat and the most intense suction, as his fingers squeeze my balls.
I’m gonna blow, and when I do, it’s gonna flood his entire fucking mouth. My head slams back against the pillow and I groan and palm the back of his head, forcing another inch down his throat. He gags, and the sound makes my stomach clench. My nerves buzz as the pleasure intensifies, and I shout as I shoot my thick load.
He swallows noisily, slurping and sniffling, and drops his head on my shortened limb, pressing a sticky kiss to my scars. “You’ve got a thick cock, and that load was huge,” he grins, sounding satisfied and a bit sleepy.
“Best way to start the day.”
“Speaking of, after breakfast, what do you want to do today?”
“I want to stay buried in your mouth all day. Until my dick is so empty and spent it cries for mercy.”
He’s laughing before I’m even done speaking. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” I tease, then sigh overdramatically. “Fine, I guess today is a good day to go do that thing I mentioned. Someone I have to visit.”
“A Bitch? A Ball Buddy?”
“No, and that’s all I'm gonna tell you. If you aren’t gonna suck my dick again, let’s get showered and dressed.”
He tosses me the keys, and I slide behind the wheel and adjust the seat’s position. I’m still getting the hang of driving. My prosthetic makes it difficult to gauge how much pressure I’m putting on the pedals. It’s a lot of harsh jolting stops and starts. Brandt might have to file a medical claim for whiplash. He even got me a bumper sticker from the Disabled Veterans of America association that reads, ‘Slightly Damaged Human: Keep Your Distance.’ The Bitches got me a handful that better not ever end up on my baby’s butt, like, ‘I’m just in it for the great parking’ and ‘I give great rides.’ That one depicts a guy in a wheelchair with someone on his lap. McCormick used a black sharpie to draw a huge boner poking from the guy’s lap.
I know the exact moment Brandt figures out where we’re going. He slides his hand over mine and presses a kiss to my cheek, then he leans back against the headrest and closes his eyes for the duration of the drive.
The cemetery is well maintained, which eases my conscience because I don’t visit often, so I can’t complain. I approach her grave and plop down on my ass, dusting off the silk flowers that decorate her headstone.
Virginia Grace Wardell
1934-2011
Beloved Wife and Grandmother