Page 47 of Give Me What You Will

“Do you always cum that hard, Frankie? Or was that just for me last night?” Sammy asked tauntingly, nipping his lower lip.

Frankie grunted, but it became a moan as Sammy claimed him again, once more kissing him, this time sucking on his tongue and making him imagine something else he wanted his best friend to suck on.

Oh fuck.

For the first time, he felt himself sway forward against him, wanting to return the kiss.

The edge was here. Glaring at him. Demanding an answer: Jump or run.

“Do you know how many women I’ve watched over the years rub themselves all over you like a cat in heat after you’ve fucked them? With their bites and bruises?” Sammy breathed against his lips.

His hand on his chest moved up to his pec, gripping it like Frankie would a plump tit, and he was surprised at how much he liked it. Sammy’s fingers moved over the nipple beneath his shirt, raking his nail over it until it hardened into a peak. The air, trapped in his chest, had nowhere to go but through another fucking gasp, which made him immediately clench his jaw.

“I’d watch how you’d take care of them,” Sammy murmured hoarsely. “How you’d fawn and fondle them like they were precious things. And I knew the moment the bedroom door closed, you would fuck them into oblivion.”

Frankie trembled, letting his best friend touch him, talk to him like this, because fuck, it was intoxicating. Sammy knew him from the inside out, but they had never talked about the women he’d been with. Apparently, that didn’t matter. Sammy saw everything anyway because he was looking at him—watching him—this whole time.

Wanting him.

The edge whispered across his body, and something within him answered. The part of him that looked for Sammy, too—the part of him that needed his eyes on him—his praise—his presence—all the time. The draught he had been in without Sammy for nearly a year was over. He was offering him everything Frankie wanted, and the water was raging into a crushing, wild tide that scared him.

“But I know you,” Sammy whispered, tracing his wet lips against his, beckoning him, teasing him. “I know you would never cross the line and hurt anyone on purpose, because you’re a good man. Possibly the best man that I know.”

Frankie sucked in a breath.

“Which means those bruises and bites were consensual…”

Sammy’s hand slid down his belly, over the hard contours of his stomach muscles, and to the hemline of his jeans. “The way you held me down last night with all that strength, all that fight, I never once thought you’d hurt me. Even when you accidentally did.”

Regret flooded him, and Frankie reached for Sammy’s face. His voice was gruff as he looked at the small cut over his eyebrow. “That should have never fuckin’ happened.”

“I know,” Sammy murmured. “I know…”

His fingers toyed with the metal button of Frankie’s jeans, fingers grazing lightly over the heavy cock resting beneath. “Fuck, Frank…” he grasped the tented bulge. “Handsome, charming, so damned sweet, and the biggest fuckin’ dick I’ve ever seen. I think I hate you a little.”

Frankie impossibly smiled, growling, his cock leaping to life under his best friend's touch.

“And fuck if I don’t want this big fucking thing in my mouth right fuckin’ now.”

Sweet Jesus.

He let out a weak sigh, unable to stop the moan this time. Sammy’s eyes sprang to his at his reaction. A nervous flutter seized his belly and he swallowed, afraid of saying anything that would ruin this moment.

Sammy understood and simply nodded before drawing Frankie back by the neck, forcing his back to arch just enough to give freer access to his jeans, making slow work of unclasping him. The zipper's slide sounded thunderous in the tight confines of the car.

“Tell me to stop,” Sammy whispered. “Tell me if you don’t want this.”

Frankie tensed, feeling for the first time Sammy’s large, rough hand wrap around the base of his naked cock, working its way out of his jeans.

Sammy let out a gasp when his dick was finally free, watching his cock harden and lengthen for him. For his best fucking friend.

“Fuck… Frank… look at you,” Sammy moaned, thumbing the tip of his sex and licking his lips in heated anticipation.

Emotion slammed into him as he felt his cock leak in Sammy’s hand. No one had ever talked to him like this—no one had ever made him feel this fucking good. And it scared the shit out of him that Sammy was the one doing this to him.

He grabbed his hand, stilling his touch. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”

Sammy’s fingers tightened over the base of his shaft and squeezed, pulling upward, and Frankie jerked, bucking instantly in his hand. He slammed his hand into the steering wheel, fisting it hard, hearing the leather crack as Sammy—the son of a bitch—pumped him again, slow and agonizingly good, from root to stem, knowing exactly how to touch him.