Page 83 of Give Me What You Will

Sam clasped Frankie by the neck, drawing him back down and sucking his lower lip into his mouth. “Is that right?”

He shuddered, cock thickening. “That’s right. Two weeks… you’re mine.”

Sam sighed, retreating, and searched his face. “You want—more?”

“Of course, I do.”

Sam pinched the brim of his nose with his fingers, exasperated. “Frankie…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you think this is—I dunno—a bit…” Sam released a long breath. “Last night was fun, more than that. It was so fucking incredible. I didn’t want it to end. But we—we’re not best friends anymore. We can’t be. If I come back to Boston, what am I to you?”

“You’re mine, is what you are.”

Sam’s eyes closed, pain washing over his face. “This is what you do, Frankie. You possess, and then you leave.”

“What do you want?” he asked softly.

“I want everything, Frankie. I want you. I want… more.”

Frankie’s heart swooped, emotion clogging his throat, and he stepped back, nearly stumbling over his feet. “I dunno how to do that.”

“Neither do I.”

Their eyes held, waiting.

“I’ll come home for my birthday,” Sam said, getting to his feet. “We’ll do this again and just see where it takes us, yeah?”

He released a breath and nodded.

Sam cautiously stepped forward. Still stunned by his words, Frankie felt rooted to the spot. More than sex? Of course, he wanted more—and in a way, so did Frankie. He wanted their friendship and sex. He wanted this, he thought, a sudden realization dawning. He wanted slow mornings, cooking breakfast for each other, falling asleep in each other’s arms, making love.

Heart skipping, he licked his lips, fingers nervously twitching. Wasn’t this going fast? They had just fucked for the first time last night, but had spent months wanting each other. They had years of knowing each other.

He felt Sam’s fingers brush over his hand.

“You do that when you’re nervous,” Sam murmured, pulling his fingers to his lips, kissing them.

He sucked in a breath.

“Just give me what you will, Frankie. It doesn’t matter. I’ll make it enough.”

Emotion continued to grip him. “What if I can’t give you anything—what if…?”

“This ends?”

“No,” he gritted his teeth. “No.”

“We don’t have to talk about this—”

“What if I hurt you?” he cut in, and Sam’s chin lifted.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Fuck, Sam,” the lump in his throat burned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then you should’ve thought about that before you made love to me last night…”