Page 28 of Give Me What You Will

Frankie continued to shock the hell out of him as his hips undulated against him.

It wasn’t out of arousal for Frankie—it was a fucking game. A challenge.

Sam’s cock didn’t care about any of that and responded instantaneously, hardening with a force that nearly made his knees buckle. All he could feel was strong muscles pushing and grinding him into the wall.

Oh, dear-fucking-God.

Frankie’s hands suddenly descended on his immobilized body. His touch was rough and unapologetic. He grabbed and squeezed. Racing his fingers over the pectorals of his chest, squeezing them, working his way up to his neck. Sam tilted his head back, exposing his throat, heat flooding his limbs.

Frankie’s touch was possessive, thorough, and claiming. As if he had every right to do this. His pawlike hand slowly slithered upward and collared his throat. Sam stopped breathing as a bolt of lightning went straight to his cock.

“Jesus,” Sam heard himself gasp and curse at how weak he sounded.

“I’m not stopping you, Sammy.” Frankie taunted, smirking darkly at him. “Go let Blue-Balls fuck you.”

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The arousal strained between his legs and the hard feel of Frankie, whose own cock was beginning to respond to the grinding motion. Sam moaned, eyes locked with his, lips parted, and with no escape. Frankie’s power over him was absolute. And it always had been.

“Tell him you’re stayin’,” Frankie whispered, fingers tightening around his throat but not to constrict airflow, merely to control. Powerless, Sam felt himself nod.

Frankie let out a breath at his response, jaw clenching. “Tell Brendon you’re stayin’ here.”

“I’m gonna stay and…” Sam practically yelled toward the closed door, trying not to sound like a panting mess as Frankie's dick pushed against his, dry humping him against the wall. He felt so good, manhandling him, thrusting into him, their panted breaths the only sound between them. Sam barely suppressed a groan but didn’t want Brendon to hear. “Catch up with…”

Fuck…!

Thrust.

Grind.

Squeeze.

His cock leaked achingly, spasming so hard he didn’t think he could last another minute of this tortured bliss.

“Frankie!” He finally managed out.

“Okay…” Brendon hesitated. “You okay, Sammy?”

No. I’m fucking dying.

Frankie's dark eyes watched him, waiting.

“Yeah!”

“Okay.”

He heard the telling sounds of Brendon walking away, and Frankie let out a low, insidious laugh.

“Well, that was easy.” He abruptly released him, taking a giant step back and looking triumphant.

Sam stared, stunned. The air in his chest released, and yet he couldn’t relax. Every muscle coiled tight as a fist. His cock was a leaking mess in his pants.

“What the fuck?” Sam rasped, hard as a sledgehammer, nearly doubling over to give himself relief from the pressure between his legs.

“Ah, c’mon, Sammy, you didn’t really want Blue-Balls,” Frankie declared knowingly.

He didn’t. But that wasn’t the point. Frankie had intentionally sabotaged his night with Mikey.

“Jesus,” he bit out, cock deflating. “What the hell is wrong with you?”