Page 30 of Give Me What You Will

Frankie suddenly dropped to his knees, slipping out of the hold, and with the grace and skill of a dancer rather than a fighter, rolled onto his back and kicked Sam in the stomach. Oxygen evaporated from his lungs, and Frankie, face pinched in rage, slammed his leg into his thigh, unsteadying him. Frankie kicked again, this time he twisted his hips off the ground for extra leverage, and tossed Sam onto his side like a ragdoll, leg pinning him. Sam let out a painful curse and fell hard, but quickly rolled away, refusing to get pinned. He’d fought with Frankie countless times and knew how he operated in a fight. He liked to smother his opponents because of his size and strength. It was an easy submission and win.

Sam would rather die than let Frankie win.

Because Frankie always won.

And he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Frankie grabbed his hips, forcing him back down. Sam had to get off the ground and fast. He got to his knees and attempted to leap up, but Frankie pushed him back down and engulfed him, his hard, burly chest pressing down onto his back, knees straddling the back of his legs, his thick bicep shoved against his throat. Sam’s back arched and he tried to break free from the hold, but Frankie was like a vine wrapped around him, impossible to escape.

“Fuck you,” Frankie hissed over him. “Can’t fight fair either, Sammy?”

“You referring to your knee or your cock?” he bit back, hands grabbing at the arm caging his throat.

Sweat began forming at his brow, his pulse skittering in his neck, and Sam suddenly realized what position they were in. He was on all fours, with Frankie right on top of him, his sex pressing into his ass, straddling him. Frankie’s heaving chest pressed against him; their closeness was intimate and so deliciously dangerous.

Moving on pure instinct, Sam arched again, provocatively rubbing his ass against Frankie’s thin swim trunks.

“Stop,” Frankie barked, arm tightening against his throat.

“Make me.”

Frankie lifted him upward, no longer on all fours, but still on their knees and still in a compromised, sexual position. He reached for Frankie’s neck, keeping him close, grinding his ass even harder against him.

Frankie's breath was scattered and erratic against the side of his neck. “Stop.”

“Let me go then.”

“This isn’t fuckin’ fighting.”

“So, stop fighting it,” Sam whispered, feeling the pressure of Frankie’s dick come to life against him. “Stop fighting it…”

Frankie trembled, his dick hardening against the curve of his butt.

His stomach tightened with arousal, followed quickly by victory. He felt like he had just won. Because he had. Frankie’s hard-on was undeniable proof that whatever was happening between them—he was excited by it.

Sam let out a low, deep moan, rutting boldly against him now, uncaring of how desperate and needy he was being. Frankie's arm relaxed against him, his breathing uneven behind him, and his free hand slid to Sam’s hip, fingers digging into his waist, and his hips… moved. It was slight. Like the flutter of butterfly wings, but Sam felt it and whimpered.

He fucking whimpered.

He never whimpered before in his damned life. Yet here he was, on his knees, begging for any little crumb Frankie would feed him.

Frankie cursed and impossibly… jerked into him again. His cock rubbed against his ass, and it wasn’t a challenge this time. It was active fucking participation.

Thank God.

Sam didn’t want him to stop, and was equally terrified of saying anything that would make Frankie realize what he was doing. So, he stayed just like they were, his hand reaching behind him, clasping the back of his neck as Frankie humped into him, moving in slow, agonizingly sweet motions. Frankie’s arm was still positioned at his throat, and Sam slowly moved him down onto his chest. Frankie let him guide the touch and, desperate for sensation, friction, anything to take the pressure off his dick, he debated for a brief moment about placing Frankie’s hand over his cock.

But would that be too much?

No. Fuck no!

Frankie was rutting into him, and Sam couldn’t stop, either.

He took Frankie’s hand from his chest, sliding it down the flat planes of his stomach, and to the bulge between his legs, wrapping Frankie’s fingers around his throbbing dick over his jeans.

Frankie gasped, panting hard now as he voluntarily squeezed. Sam groaned in relief and pure fucking elation. The sound must have done something to Frankie, as he roughly palmed his cock, stroking and growling against the back of his neck, and Sam, unable to stand the friction from both ends, dropped down onto his hands. Frankie fell with him, grinding into his ass with a savage need Sam could have never anticipated.

Fingers shaking, he reached for the metal button of his jeans and unclasped it. He needed Frankie’s touch on his bare skin, was almost wild for it.