Page 31 of Proof Of Life

“Are we gonna talk about what we’re gonna do for money?”

“I don’t fucking know, West. Can’t we talk about something else right now?”

“We can talk about the fact that your dick is hard.” He settles his ass back-and-forth over my cock to make his point.

“Fuck, West, really?” He chuckles and lays the blunt on the rim of the tub. “Get off me.”

“No, I’m comfortable. Rub my shoulders.” He blows out a long stream of smoke he was holding in his lungs. “Is it hard for me?”

I can hear the laughter in his voice. He’s laughing at me. “Come on, get off me for real.” I slide my hands to his hips, to urge him to move, but he locks his leg around mine again.

“I’m not moving. Rub my shoulders.” One hand remains on his hip, while my left hand returns to his shoulder. “Mmm, feels good. Keep going.”

I dig my fingers deeper into his bare hip as I fight my baser instincts. Am I really trying to convince myself not to hump my best friend? This is fucking nuts.

West slides his hands down his stomach and moans again as he rolls his hips. I watch as the toned muscles in his abs ripple beneath the inked canvas of his skin. He doesn’t stop his descent, and I can’t look away as he skates his hand down his shaft to cup his balls. When he rolls his hips again, he breaches the water, and I can see the outline of his hard dick through the thin, wet cotton of his briefs. He tugs them down his hips and continues to rub his length, and I can feel myself growing harder.

“Oh, come on. Are we really doing this here? The shower is one thing, but I don’t want jizz in the hot tub.” It doesn’t surprise me that he ignores me and continues, really getting into the moment, the mood, and I have to wonder where he is in his head. Is he here with me, or is he imagining someone else?

“Touch me,” he hisses, as his fist moves up and down.

I press my fingers harder into his neck. “I am touching you.”

“No, touch me,” West insists.

I slide my hand from his shoulder down to his pec and skim my fingers over his tight nipple. He purrs like a kitten. My gut swirls with adrenaline.

“More. Touch me more.”

This is fucking nuts. I want to, but I know better. West is lonely and desperate for human contact and validation, but I’m the wrong man for the job. Partly because I’m a man, and partly because I’m his best friend and nothing more. This can only end badly.

Against my better judgment, I creep my hand from his hip, ever so slowly, toward his hand, the one that covers his cock. My lips brush over his wet hair and I breathe in the scent of his shampoo—citrus and sandalwood.

“Wes, what ar–”

“Shhh. It’s okay.”

My heart beats painfully hard, loud enough that he has to hear it, and I feel like this is the ballsiest thing I’ve ever done—and the stupidest. “It’s not like you can’t do this yourself.”

He rubs his head back-and-forth across my mouth. “I know I can. I just want to feel someone else’s hands.” I close my fingers around his shaft. His skin is warm, even underwater, and the breath I’ve been holding in rushes from my lips.

Someone else’s hands. Jesus Christ, I could be anybody. Anybody but me. Anybody but his best friend. But does it stop me? Fuck no, it doesn’t stop me for a second. I've never admitted to myself I wanted this, wanted to touch him like this, but now that I am, I’m not going to deny that it was always there, in the back of my head. His dick kicks in my hand. I definitely want this.

My lips move to his ear, and I try once more. “Wes.”

“Don’t stop, Reaper. I need this.”

He wraps his hand around mine, keeping me in place so I don’t pull away, and guides my hand up and down his shaft.

I need this, too.

With my left hand, I tweak his nipple, still in awe of my daring, and continue to stroke him with my right. West bucks into my fist to urge me to go faster, to squeeze him harder.

We’re really doing this.

“I’ve got you. Just relax. Close your eyes.” With my last ounce of nerve, I nip the shell of his ear with my lips and he shivers and reaches for his balls.

The background music accompanies the sounds of his pleasure and I want to slow my strokes, I want to draw this out as long as I can, ‘cause fuck knows when or if I’ll ever get to do this again, but more than that, I just want to make him feel good.

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