Page 89 of Give Me What You Will

To lick his cum off his body like it was the tastiest treat they had ever had.

No one had ever made his heart quicken the way Frankie did.

No one would ever outmatch Frankie Casavani.

No one.

“Your turn,” Sam grated out, and Frankie peeled off of him, huffing demandingly as he reached between his legs and pulled out his massive, beautiful dick.

He had already leaked through his sweatpants, the wet spot evident of his arousal at everything Sam had just done. He sat up and pushed Frankie back down onto the couch, straddling him. Frankie immediately began shivering, his jerking motions an indicator that he was seconds away from climaxing.

“So fucking good,” Sam drawled, nuzzling the underside of Frankie’s cock with his nose and chin. “Good boys cum when told…”

Frankie tensed, chest heaving.

“Cum for me.”

And he did. Frankie’s back arched off the couch, and he sprayed messily all over his stomach and chest, unloading streams of jetting cum.

He hummed, watching the energy drain out of Frankie as he swallowed, staring up at him as though waiting for… approval.

Something tightened around his heart as he smiled warmly down at his best friend. “You did so well, baby.” He saw the relief in Frankie’s face, followed by something else—something he didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. It was time to show him how well he did.

Sam bent over his furry stomach and licked the cum off his stomach.

Frankie shuddered beneath him.

“Sam…” he whispered, his fingers raking through his hair. “Sam… Sam…”

He chanted his name like a prayer—a mantra of pure longing and awe.

He took his time touching him, licking and tonguing, kissing lazily and gently everywhere, never wanting this to end.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Frankie rasped. “So beautiful. My Superman.”

He hummed, emotion welling in his throat, and after a few more minutes, he sat up, thoroughly shaken by the intimacy and tenderness so evident in Frankie’s expression.

Frankie sat up, following his retreat, cradling his jaw and kissing him. “You’ve created a monster.”

He smirked weakly, unable to resist kissing him back. “I have. I’ll have these bruises for weeks thanks to you.”

“Good.”

They stared at one another, emotion passing between them, and feeling so damn vulnerable. He hoped to hell that Frankie couldn’t read the love written all over his face.

Frankie instead heard the loud growl of his stomach and arched his eyebrows. “You need to eat. I ordered our favorite. Should still be hot.”

Together they ate their pizza, using the side of the coffee table in Sam’s living room not taken up by Papi’s stuff, and watched the UFC fight. After they were sated, Frankie took their plates back into the kitchen and came back with two more cold beers from the fridge, taking a seat beside Sam, his legs brushing against his as he handed him the drink. He then draped his heavy arm over his shoulder and pulled him close, watching the fight.

“How much sleep do you usually get?” Frankie asked unexpectedly.

He hesitated, then shrugged, “Not much recently.”

“I can tell,” he retorted with a hint of irritation in his tone.

“What?” Sam asked, curious by this reaction.

“You gotta take care of yourself, Sam.” His arm tightened around him. “You gotta sleep. I swear every time I see ya the bags under your eyes are darker.”