Page 82 of Give Me What You Will

He smirked, busily popping a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. “It sure did. Coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks. I feel like I should be doing something,” he grumbled.

“Sit.”

“Yeah, all right.”

Frankie poured Sam’s coffee, adding a bit of creamer and nothing else before sliding the mug over to him, noticing how slow Sam was walking to the barstool. He couldn’t contain his smile, biting his lower lip as a primal, possessive emotion filled his chest.

Sam frowned, “Don’t.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“Just don’t.”

Frankie raised his hands in defense, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. “Sore, Sammy?”

Sam gritted his teeth, slowly sitting down on the barstool and glaring. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

He stayed to make sure Sam was okay as he sipped his coffee, their eyes pinned to one another. He looked peevish and cute, pretending to be irritated with him. Because he knew damn well that he wasn’t. He chuckled, returning to the stove and turning the bacon.

“Sleep okay?” he asked, shooting a smirk over his shoulder at him.

Sam was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Handsome as always, even in his black sweatpants and plain white T-shirt. The telltale bags beneath his eyes were from a rather sleepless night.

“The best I’ve had in years,” Sam taunted back, sipping his coffee.

Something about that simple confession made his heart skip excitedly in his chest. Especially considering it was his first time with him. He drew a pint glass from the cupboard and went to the fridge, pouring Sam a glass of water and sliding that to him before returning to the stove. “Years, huh?”

Sam eyed the water, then him, before taking a sip.

“Yeah, me too,” Frankie admitted. “Somethin’ about that tight ass of yours… Jesus, it was like fuckin’ a clenched fist.”

Sam coughed slightly, and he glanced over to see him wiping water from his chin.

Damn. I need to kiss him. Lookin’ all flustered and sore because of me.

He flicked off the stove, removed the finished bacon from the hot burner, and set the eggs aside. He strode over to him, turning Sam on the barstool and forcing him to face him as he stood between his legs.

Sam looked up at him, already softening under his gaze, sighing and opening for him.

His armor was completely gone. The man sitting before him now was the Sam from last night. Emotion squeezed his throat as he grazed his fingers over Sam’s whiskered cheek. “My flight leaves tomorrow morning…”

Disappointment flashed across Sam’s handsome face, and he thumbed his lips, addicted to touching him.

“I’m gonna feed you. Then I’m gonna fuck you as much as I possibly can before I leave. Or however much that tight ass of yours can take.”

Sam’s lips curled into a delicious smile, and he glowed like the fuckin’ sun. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe next time.”

Sam’s eyes dilated, and his lips parted in a whoosh of breath. Frankie nearly blushed at his reaction. It was just a flirting tease, but the idea of letting Sam fill him, ride him, take him… He shivered.

Damn, what is he doing to me?

Frankie leaned down and kissed him, wanting to taste all the sunshine and happiness he had helped to create for his Superman.

“And then,” he pulled back from their kiss, “You’re gonna book a flight and come home for your birthday.”