Page 65 of Give Me What You Will

Fuck, he would’ve given his soul to be Frank Casavani’s baby.

Chapter 12

Frankie heard two very distinct sounds—a yard blower and Phantom of the Opera. He smirked, glancing at the side of the house and noting the open gate and freshly edged grass line littering the walkway. Deciding that standing at the door knocking wouldn’t be heard over the noise, he set the box down on the porch, slung his overnight bag over his shoulder, and followed the grass-strewn pathway into the backyard.

Through his dark sunglasses, he caught sight of the person he had flown thousands of miles for.

Sammy’s graying, brown curly hair was an absolute disaster of sweat and grass. His forearms were slick with moisture and sun-kissed from being outside all morning. He wore a faded black T-shirt from an old vintage car shop where Frankie had worked a couple of years back. Whiskers sprouted over his handsome square jawline and dimpled chin, and his hands were dirty from yardwork. Sammy’s ass was squeezed into thin gray running shorts that cupped his toned, tight cheeks. Frankie licked his lips, eyes riveted to Sammy’s body, pulse roaring in his ears like the damned blower.

Fuck, he looked hot.

Watching him, appreciating him, wasn’t anything Frankie had done before.

But after several months of radio silence, missing him like crazy, and then that phone call…

Something had shifted through him like sand over a tomb cracking open. Something hopeful. Maybe even a little dangerous. Because he was here, standing in Sammy’s backyard, hoping to hell he didn’t deny him again.

Sammy finally turned off the blower, setting it down on the grass as he reached over to the hose and leaned over, soaking the back of his neck and hair. Water slid over his sweaty face, and Sammy smiled into the cool rushing water. He fuckin’ smiled. Frankie’s heart skipped at how unguarded and natural it was.

He tossed the hose back into the grass, straightened, and… peeled off his wet shirt.

Blood rushed to his cock so unexpectedly that Frankie nearly stepped back. Sammy’s skin glowed from the hard labor. The tanned skin was tight over the hard contours of his muscles, and for some fuckin’ reason, all Frankie could stare at were his pecs. They were lethal. All firm, rounded muscles with pink nipples that were drawn tight after that cold hose shower. Frankie’s body was reacting as if this were a topless woman standing before him. And fuck…

He shifted again, almost tempted to push down his growing cock stand.

Deciding it was time to announce himself, Frankie leaned over to the outdoor speaker and flipped it off.

Sammy turned, surprised, his eyes widening at the sight of him and immediately wiping a self-conscious hand over his face and through his hair. Thick water droplets escaped his curly hair, tracing down his neck and shoulders. Frankie wanted to follow the water with his tongue.

He wanted to touch him, bad. And his fluttering heart was begging for it. Instead, he smiled, maintaining the distance. “I knocked, but with the blower and… is that Phantom of the Opera?”

Sammy blushed, smiling bashfully, looking adorable.

Fuck.

He bit back the urge to sigh, fingers nervously clasping his overnight bag in his hand.

“Musicals while doing yardwork is... different,” Frankie teased.

“Gay, you mean?” Sammy teased back.

“So gay. I loved the movie, though. Never seen the play.”

“It’s the movie soundtrack.”

“Even better. I always liked that ‘Music of the Night’ song. Fuckin’ sexy, if I do say so myself.”

“I was thinking of playing Moulin Rouge next.” Sammy side-eyed him. “Since when do you know musicals?”

“Well, other than when it sounds like that,” he said, making a show of looking impressed, then shrugged. “And you.”

Frankie shifted again, feeling like he was fuckin’ dancing under Sammy’s scrutinizing gaze. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I was always a bit envious of you and Papi takin’ a trip into the city and seein’ a play. Kinda always wanted to join you guys.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Dad would’ve had a field day with that. Any reason to give me shit. He’d definitely bring it up to his poker buddies, who I had to serve every fuckin’ night. It was my special kind of hell for him to ridicule me in front of his friends.”

Deep lines formed around Sammy’s mouth. “I hate that he did that to you.”