Page 113 of Give Me What You Will

He also ordered two dozen donuts from Sam’s favorite donut shop and had them stashed in the back room for later. He couldn’t help himself, he liked spoiling Sam.

And they did that a lot today.

They spent the day in bed, as planned. Sam made love to him again, which had been tender and affectionate, taking his time with him, as though savoring him. Sam then napped. Frankie was going to have to have another firm talking-to with him about self-care. He understood to some extent that being an emergency department doctor was demanding work, but damn, this man seemed permanently sleep-deprived.

Once I move to LA, he’s fuckin’ sleepin’, even if I have to put his ass in a fuckin’ coma to do it.

The thought still made him pause and smile. He was moving to be with his man. His baby. His fuckin’ Superman. And not a goddamned thing in the world was going to stop that, because they loved each other. It was real and strong and theirs. Everything they had said to each other in bed today had come from the woven fibers of their souls and made perfect sense. Everything had led them to this. To each other.

He believed that now.

He saw the truth of being Sam’s friend first, then his lover, and now—his fuckin’ soulmate. It had led to this awakening and it was so good it hurt. And damn, it scared him a bit, too, because he didn’t know it could be like this. It was a comfortable kind of love. The one that gets easier over time, not harder. The kind they had had all along but never realized.

He did now.

And moving to LA, the bracelets, the lovemaking—was just the start.

Because he knew deep down that he was going to marry his Superman.

He was going to put a ring on that finger so the whole world could know that he was his.

Forever.

Jesus, I’m such a fuckin’ cheeseball.

Frankie grinned to himself, thinking of this afternoon when Sam had finally gotten up from his nap, looking deliciously relaxed and strutting into his kitchen, all puffy chest and pecs he wanted to sink his teeth into. And Sam, the feral fuck, surprised the hell out of him by bending him over the kitchen counter, shoving his boxers down, and eating his asshole right fuckin’ there. It was dirty and hot, and damn, just thinkin’ about it turned him on.

Sam had called him a cum slut earlier, and that was absolutely true. And to his delight, his boyfriend was a bit ass obsessed.

Boyfriend.

He couldn’t stop smiling every time he thought the word—and now there was the other word that Sam had branded into his brain.

When Sam had finished tormenting him, he had slid between Frankie’s legs, positioned himself against him and the kitchen counter, and sucked his cock dry. It hadn’t taken long for him to climax down his greedy throat, and Sam, the fuckin’ minx, had let a little cum dribble out of his mouth, licking it up with a burning intensity in his eyes. And then he had surprised the fuck out of him.

“I wanna see your ass in silk,” Sam had hushed, grabbing his cock and stroking himself right there on the floor, his swollen tip leaking all over his fist. “Would you do that, baby? Be a good boy and wear sexy lingerie for me?”

Frankie had gaped, eyes locked with his and still panting from the brutal blow job. He had watched as Sam orgasmed, moaning and cumming beautifully all over himself.

Lingerie.

Fuuuuck.

His brain had exploded, and he hadn’t recovered all damned evening. And Sam knew it. Causally flicking his gaze to him and smirking darkly, he let his silver bracelet flash on his thick wrist while he sipped his beer.

He wanted to march over there, take his cute, dimpled chin in his hand, and kiss the fuck out of him. Sam seemed to be baiting him to do it. And fuck, he wanted to. His heart was pounding in his chest at the thought of getting to do just that. To kiss him whenever, wherever he wanted. To claim him, fuck him, taste him, touch him.

His boyfriend.

He sighed and topped off his beer, about to join him at the booth when he felt his phone ring in his back pocket. Frowning, he wondered who would be calling him when everyone he loved was here.

It was his father’s retirement home.

Shit.

“Mr. Casavani?” a young female voice said when he answered.

“Yeah,” he replied.