Page 48 of Proof Of Life

Brandt’s kiss is giving me life.

It doesn’t feel awkward to be kissing a man. At least, not this man. It just feels right. As good and safe and nurturing as his hugs. As thrilling and all-consuming as his touch. My head is spinning like I’m high. My stomach is riding a wave of lust, and I want to come, but that would mean I’d have to let go of his lips, which I’m not willing to do.

Ever.

He’s gasping for breath, panting like he’s just run a marathon. I’ve partnered with him on 5K PT runs in training, and he never even sounded winded, but my kiss has stolen his breath. He’s tearing my hair apart, tugging at it, making a rat’s nest of it, and then his hands are on my back, scratching up my skin, tracing the vertebrae in my spine, digging into my ribs as he hangs on for dear life.

Nothing has ever felt this good. No orgasm, no drug, no kill, or victory or promotion or medal. Nothing.

Shit, I might even come, just from the friction of his shaft rubbing against mine as we kiss. How fucking prepubescent.

Apparently, he’s just as close because he reaches between us to grasp my cock and pull it free from my pants, and then he does the same to his, fisting them together in his rough grip. Brandt strokes our shafts furiously without ever breaking the kiss. All too soon I’m coming over his knuckles, soaking his stomach and mine, and he joins me with a shout that I capture and swallow with my mouth.

I come down from my high slowly, my head still spinning, my heart thundering, and even my tinnitus is kicking up, or is that just the sound of my blood rushing through my veins? Even after all that, I’m scared to look into his eyes. It’s all still so new, this sexual exploration between us, and I’m always afraid I’m going to see regret when I look at his face afterward.

But when I do look, there’s not a trace of regret. Brandt looks blissed out. His hair is a wreck, the short ends sticking out in every direction. His lips are red and swollen and glossy. He’s smiling like a doofus and my heart soars, along with my ego. I did that. I put that goofy smile on his face. My kiss did that. And my dick.

“Fuck, where did you learn to kiss like that?”

“Donna McPherson,” he teases, recalling the girl we competed over years ago, when we were first stationed at Bragg.

I crack up with laughter, knowing he’s fucking with me. “I hope someday I get to thank her.”

His expression becomes serious. “That was some kiss.” His gaze traces my lips, probably as kiss-swollen as his. “Possibly the best kiss of my life.”

“Possibly?”

“Maybe if you’d brushed your teeth today, it would have ranked above Donna.”

Silent laughter shakes my chest and shoulders, and I grin. He is such a sarcastic fucker. And so damn manipulative. He got me out of bed with an argument about a tank, and now he’s getting me to participate in life, brushing and showering, by taunting me with past hookups.

God only knows what he’s going to do to make me eat.

He used to complain that I hovered like a CH-47 Chinook, fussing over him, trailing after him through every room in the house, offering to wipe his ass, prepare his food, and help him dress.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

I wander into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and he nudges me aside to grab his toothbrush. Earlier, I walked down to the mailbox, and when I returned to the house, he was sitting on the front porch, waiting for me. He’s hovering or trailing, or fussing. But you’ll never hear me complain. I want him close. As close as he can get.

“My mother wants us to come for a visit.”

“Us?” He spits and rinses, then dries his hands on the towel. “What’s this us? She wants you to come visit.”

“No, she said us.”

“What the fuck for?”

“Because we’ve been gone for seven months? And we’ve been home for weeks and she hasn’t seen us.”

“Well, you should definitely go.”

Time to play the sympathy card. “You would make me go alone?”

“Ain’t no fucking way I’m going to visit your mother.”

“West, don’t be like that.”

“Be like what? It’s gonna be awkward as fuck, and I don’t wanna sit through it. Is she gonna cry over my fucking leg?”

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