Page 78 of Give Me What You Will

He watched the beautiful display of Frankie’s head dip up and down his shaft, taking him in deep and then shallow, stroking with his tongue and hand. His dark black locks fell over his forehead, the muscles of his shoulders and arms propped him up, and his open mouth slowly sank over the hard flesh.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Sam gasped.

Frankie rewarded him by sucking harder, eyes flickering up to him, stripping him of his armor with a simple look. Shivering, he reached for him, needing to touch him, his fingers scraping through that thick black hair. “Ah—fuck… the number of times I’ve fantasized about you… fuck… yes… just like that, baby.”

Frankie groaned and gagged on him, saliva trickling messily and so fucking sexy all over his dick. Sam jerked, balls tightening against his body, the sweeping feeling of the orgasm already there, demanding release.

No, not fucking yet!

He needed to last.

He felt Frankie’s throat convulse and open, deepening him into his throat.

Oh my…!

“Fuck!” He groaned, biting his lower lip, “Good… fucking…” Frankie somehow did it again, taking him so deep that his throat swallowed around him. He jerked, practically leaping up, and shouted, “…boy!”

Frankie stilled, their eyes colliding.

Sam, deciding to be true to himself, raked his fingers through Frankie's hair, inching himself slowly in and out of his gorgeous mouth, which was unmoving but open for him. “You like that, baby?”

Frankie’s eyes dilated to pitch black.

Sam’s heart galloped in his chest, recognizing the stark, almost angry hunger reflected there. “Being so good to me,” he praised slowly, taking his time with Frankie’s mouth. Sliding in and out. Frankie whimpered. “Taking care of me. Doing my dishes, making me cum, sucking my dick, complimenting me… My good… good fuckin’ boy.”

Frankie gasped and abruptly pushed off him, grabbing his own dick, pinching the tip as though to stop himself from…

He sat up, reaching between his legs and squeezing his tight balls. Frankie jerked against him, cursing furiously, face flushed with embarrassment. He had no idea Frankie was so sensitive to praise. And not just any praise—but the praise. He smiled, feeling like he had just won something special. He slowly kissed Frankie’s neck, his body trembling against him as Frankie worked to bring himself back down from the edge of the orgasm he clearly was about to have.

Sam was thrumming with pure delight at discovering this about his best friend and savagely tongued his rapidly beating pulse.

Frankie was straddling him, leaking all over him from his praise.

“You liked that?” he teased, edging his teeth over the skin below his ear. He wanted to mark him. Brusie him. Leave a part of himself, the way Frankie was forever imprinted on him.

“Fuck…” Frankie moaned, his hips humping into him, their bodies tangled.

His kiss became a suck, drawing his tight skin into his mouth. “You like being mine, Frankie?”

The larger man trembled on top of him, breathing hard.

“My good boy…” he whispered again. And to his amazement, Frankie groaned. It was a low, sensual sound that he’d never heard him make before, and fuck, his cock swelled painfully hard. Frankie bucked against him, grabbing him roughly by the shoulder and pinning him down onto the bed, his eyes lit fiercely.

“Fuckin’ stop!”

He purposefully arched upwards, dragging his hard cock against his. “You don’t like it?”

Frankie’s jaw clenched, and he was transported back to the car, where Frankie had resisted him just like this.

“Show me how much you don’t like it,” Sam rasped.

Frankie’s lower lip trembled, his chest heaving.

Every word, every kiss, everything was becoming too much. And if he wasn’t careful, he might say something stupid and confess the words written on his fucking soul. But he couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t survive the rejection—rejection he already knew would eventually come. Because Frankie didn’t belong to him. He belonged to some faceless woman and family, with a fucking white picket fence and his vintage cars parked on the driveway.

Sam began to turn away, onto his stomach, and Frankie stilled, hand on his hip, stopping him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, panting.