Page 33 of Give Me What You Will

Oh my god, this is happening.

The onslaught of the sudden, desperate arousal clawing at his insides forced his hips upward to greet those sweet, perfectly plump wet lips.

Frankie’s eyes snapped to his, and he lifted just out of reach of Sam’s throbbing cock and spat.

“Fuck you,” Sam heard himself remark, knowing Frankie was giving what he asked for—but not what he wanted.

Frankie smirked in response before shoving his knee roughly between his legs, adding friction and pressure to his balls, making him whimper again.

Fuck, I have to stop doing that.

He stroked the spit over his cock and began to tremble with such intense desire that he thought he would burst from the inside out.

Frankie watched him fuck his fist, and it was heady and surreal. This felt different than what they had started before. Frankie hadn’t been looking at him. But he was now, and there was something about how he was watching him, looking at him—seeing him—the way he always could, through all the bullshit, all the pain—Frankie saw him. This look was weighted with heat and need and… so fucking sexy he couldn’t stand it.

Sam swallowed hard, racing to the edge of orgasm and feeling the precipice in his grasp.

“Tell me, Sammy…” he drawled. “When was the last time you fucked yourself… thinking about… me?”

Oh shit.

He gasped, closing his eyes, steeling himself from responding.

“Tell me, and I’ll give you what you want,” Frankie rasped.

Sam’s eyes sprang open, “Yesterday. In the shower. I knew I would need to—ah fuck… I would need a release before I saw you.”

“Jesus, Sammy,” he murmured and licked his fucking lips at him. For a split second, he thought that Frankie wasn’t going to do it. That he was just fucking with him.

Frankie moved closer to his cock once again, and he stilled. His lips parted, his tongue darted out, and… he dipped low, licking the precum off of Sam’s leaking tip like it was whipped-fucking-cream.

The sound that ripped through his chest was animalistic and foreign to his own ears.

Frankie did it again. A simple swipe of his tongue. That’s it. That’s all it took.

Sam shook, arms and body trembling, on the verge of total annihilation.

He was about to cum, but he didn’t want to say anything this time. He didn’t want to ruin this moment. His heart wouldn’t take another rejection from Frankie. Not when he was so close…

Frankie licked again, this time flattening his tongue over the tip. It was so fucking hot that his balls clenched ruthlessly, his stomach tightened like a fist, and the orgasm he hadn’t been chasing for long was on top of him, demanding release.

“Frank!” He shouted his name, unable to stop the climax hurtling through him, and Frankie pulled back.

He spewed messily all over his shaft and stomach, releasing wave after wave of hot, creamy ribbons of his seed. It went on for what felt like forever, making him shiver and curse. Panting, Sam finally collapsed back onto the floor, eyes locked with Frankie’s as he stared down at the ruined mess that he was.

“I didn’t do much,” Frankie seemed to marvel over him. “You came hard, Sammy.”

He briefly wondered whether he should be embarrassed or not.

Not. This was a dream—a fantasy come to life.

Frankie abruptly sat back on his heels, the outline of his cock straining against the thin material of his swimsuit shorts.

Sam let out that primal sound again from the back of his throat at the telling sight. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. But I want… fuck… I have to see you cum, Frank.”

Something snapped in Frankie then, and he lunged forward, hand collaring Sam’s throat. His fingers squeezed, and Sam stared right back, undaunted and unafraid. Frankie’s jaw clenched once more, and before Sam realized what was happening, he shoved his hand down his swim shorts, and without pulling himself out, began to pump his dick, gaze flickering up and down Sam’s body and the mess he had made for him.

“Let me see you. Please.” Sam cringed, knowing he was begging. But he couldn’t help it. If this was all he’d ever experience with Frankie—a circle jerk in the backroom of his father’s bar, then so be it.