Page 100 of Give Me What You Will

Oh God.

Sam quickly averted his gaze, burying his face in his hands, mewling like a baby full of grief and fear.

And Frankie was there. Wrapping him in his strong, unyielding arms, drawing him into his chest and cradling him close, his hands on his back. His words were soothing, but not enough.

It would never be enough.

Their friendship would always have limitations. He had denied his heart because he knew this was impossible. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from loving him. And he couldn’t keep living like this. He couldn’t keep torturing himself with a love that would never happen. That would never give back the way he needed—the way he wanted.

Sam pulled back just enough to reach for him, too—for the first time. His fingers grasped the jawline of his best friend's face, who didn’t draw away but stayed. He looked at him, heart lodged in his throat, peering straight into those warm brown eyes and knowing exactly what would happen if he did what he always wanted to do. What he had denied for so, so long.

Frankie saw his hesitation and touched the hand on his jaw, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. “What can I do?”

Kiss me.

Sam sucked in a breath, “I’m sorry.”

He kissed him hard, possessively, and in every way he had needed to for the last fifteen years. The kiss was an eruption of passion and fire, burning him from the inside out as he claimed for a brief few seconds what he wanted.

Frankie pulled back, eyes frantically searching his, wide with confusion.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” Sam rushed out and yanked him once more into him, kissing him. And Frankie didn’t stop him—didn’t resist. He was paralyzed from shock, he thought, and yet, Sam didn’t care. He had just ruined their friendship with this kiss. So, he was going to make it last—make it count. He slanted his mouth over his and tongued his lips, wanting to push his way inside, to taste the mouth that tormented his dreams. He tasted of whiskey and something else, something… sweet. Sam hadn’t expected that. Sweet and good.

He tasted so fucking good.

He groaned, wrapping his arms around him and taking in his scent, feeling his body against his and—

More. He wanted more. The denial of his feelings had been swept away in the rush of raging, churning water, and he wanted it all. And that was too much.

No.

Stop.

Sam, in that instant, released him. He wouldn’t take anyone without consent, and he certainly wouldn’t do that to the man he loved.

Grief once more overwhelmed him as an angry cry tore through his lungs like shredded glass. This was it. He had just lost everything in one moment. One stupid fucking moment. Unable to look at Frankie—at the damage he had just inflicted—he got to his feet, practically running to the door, shame washing over him.

“Sammy!”

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t look back.

Papi was dead.

And now, so was he. Nothing mattered. He wanted to vanish. And yet, he did. He had vanished for one blissful moment inside Frankie’s kiss.

Tears raced down his cheeks, his lips still tingling, and he wondered if he could make a kiss last a lifetime.

Shaking, Sam collapsed on the edge of his bed and cried.

He missed his grandpa.

He missed the life he had.

He missed Frankie.

They had been texting all week. He wanted to hear his voice, see his face… touch him. He had one more week until he was back in Boston. One more long, grueling week without the man he was desperately in love with. And he was terrified of the very real day when Frankie would be finished with him.

He hit the FaceTime button, and the phone rang. On the fifth ring, Frankie answered. The room was dark, and his voice was a grumble. “Sam?”