2. Chapter 2 #4
He fisted his fingers into his palm, nails biting at his skin, demanding his cock not to react. But his dick wasn’t listening.
This was his best fuckin’ friend. And it had been eight months since Sammy had spoken to him—looked at him—kissed him…
Frankie had never been kissed like that, and he knew he’d never be kissed like that again, unless it was Sammy.
Christ, I can’t be thinkin’ that.
“I don’t just want to sling a beer back with you, Frankie,” Sammy growled into his lips, grinding his hand over him. “I want you inside me…” he breathed, working his hand over him, his erection coming to life with a sudden vengeance at his confession. “Or to be inside you…”
Sweet fuck.
Frankie’s hands shot out, grabbing his shoulders, but he didn’t push him away. He was frozen in disbelief that this was happening again. That his Sammy, his best friend after so long, was doing this and saying these things to him.
“I want you to fuck me—hard. I wanna hear the sounds you make when you cum inside me…” Sammy rasped.
Frankie couldn’t move, and yet he knew that was wrong. He just couldn’t seem to stop it.
Sammy finally stilled, eyes searching his, glancing down as though he, too, was stunned by Frankie’s arousal straining between them.
They both stared, panting, unsure of what to do. One thing was for certain: Frankie had never been so hard in his entire life, and it scared him—no, it terrified him.
“Now you know why I left…” Sammy whispered, hand sliding away from his cock and moving upward, grasping his waist and traveling to his chest, looking achingly lost. “Why are you letting me touch you like this?”
Frankie opened his mouth and then closed it, feeling just as lost. He had nothing to hang onto except for his best friend. He was nothing without him. And somehow, Sammy was keeping him anchored, even though he was the one creating the chaos they were in.
Sammy’s brilliant green eyes sparkled, and unexpectedly, he dipped his head and kissed him again.
It was a slow, dangerous kind of kiss. The one where a man knew he had all the time in the world, where he could take what he wanted, whenever he wanted it.
The storm raged inside Frankie’s soul, unable to understand his body’s reaction—why his heart was beating like he had just sprinted a mile, and the damned-near crippling urge to kiss back.
He wanted to kiss back.
He wanted to open his mouth and give Sammy whatever he wanted.
Oh fuck.
No.
Frankie jerked his head back, slamming it into the brick wall. Pain erupted, followed quickly by slightly blurred vision, and he cursed. Sammy was right there, with a warm, comforting hand at the back of his head.
“Shit,” Sammy muttered. “You ok?”
He cursed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m fine.”
“You didn’t reopen the wound, so that’s good,” Sammy said quietly, his body still caging his to the wall, tender and so fuckin’ concerned.
Frankie’s cock leaked.
It fucking leaked! The sensation of precum tipping his dick sent electrical shivers through every fiber of his body.
He jerked again, fear slamming into him, followed by anger.
He abruptly shoved Sammy off him, forcing distance between them.
Sammy stumbled back, hands up in a defensive manner and looking the same way he had the last time in Papi’s bedroom: bags under his eyes and a crushing sadness twisting at the lines of his face as his jaw clenched firmly, holding it all back.
Frankie was too emotional last time to see it.
This time, he saw everything.
This was all just a fucking game.
Sammy was trying to push him away. He wanted to scare him or piss him off. Enough to make him run for the hills with his tail tucked between his legs like a bitch.
But it wasn’t going to work. Frankie wouldn’t be so easily scared off. It didn’t matter to him that his cock had gotten hard. That he could still feel Sammy’s heated lips on his like a damned engine burn.
Frankie pushed off the wall and jabbed a hard finger into his best friend’s chest. “You left because Papi died. You left because you had nothing left there but me. And then you went and fucked it up, because that’s what you do.
” He needed him to understand—needed him to realize what he did.
“You fucked up the only good thing in your life because you think you’re not allowed to be happy, or some stupid bullshit. ”
Sammy swallowed, gaze lowering.
“You’re doin’ it again,” Frankie murmured. “You think a couple of kisses are gonna make me run, huh?”
Sammy’s eyes flew back to his, and he realized that was exactly what this idiot thought.
He shook his head, exasperated. “Do you think in the history of male friendship that this situation hasn’t come up before, but they decided to forget about it and still be friends?”
Sammy raked a hand through his curls on top of his head. “I tried that already, Frankie.”
“Oh, so I’m back to Frankie now?”
Sammy’s eyes darkened, and his heart oddly kicked against the bones of his chest. “Yeah, you are.”
His heart fluttered like a bird, shot through the chest with a bullet of disappointment. But why the fuck would he be disappointed in Sammy calling him Frankie again?
“Yeah, I am,” Frankie muttered, a restless energy coursing through him. “Well, I ain’t ok with you making a unanimous decision to drop our friendship without the fuckin’ decency to talk to me. So, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna go home because it’s pretty clear you don’t want me here.”
Sammy inched his head to the side, jaw clenching.
“And I’m gonna be there,” Frankie admitted, “waitin’ for you to finally get over your shit and keep being friends, because I ain’t lettin’ you fuck this up.”
“I already fucked it up, Frankie.”
“No. You haven’t. Not yet.”
He briefly wondered what it would take for Sammy to do just that.
Sammy sighed. “Why can’t you just let me go?”
Frankie stiffened. “Is that really what you want?”
His green eyes flickered to his face, and it felt like he’d been hit in the stomach. The pain and the hopelessness reflected there was something he’d never seen before.
“You’re serious,” Frankie murmured in sudden realization. A piercing sadness daggered his insides. “You’re fuckin’ serious…” he stepped back, eyes blurring with—tears?
Jesus.
He sucked in a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face, fighting down the well of emotions. He wouldn’t cry here. Not now. Not in some fuckin’ alleyway, with his heart beating out of his goddamned chest.
“Frankie, I’m sorry,” Sammy breathed, grief lining his face.
“You’re sorry? That’s all I get? 15 years, and you’re sorry. Fuck you.”
The moonlight sparkled the tears forming in Sammy’s eyes, and that broke him—ripped him open like a wound. Frankie abruptly strode forward, capturing his best friend one last time, taking in his scent, his hot breath on his face, the warmth of his body so close to his.
“Fuck you,” he whispered, tears falling. “Why are you doin’ this?”
Sammy grabbed his hands and pushed them away, stepping back, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “'Cause I can’t keep living a lie.”
“What lie?” Frankie demanded. “What lie?”
“I want you, Frankie. I. Want. You. I can’t be around you anymore, knowing you will never want me back.
I can’t do it anymore. Papi’s death made me realize that I can’t live my life holding on to the past—holdin’ on to you.
I gotta live my life. So let me go. Don’t come back here.
Don’t text me. Don’t call me. Just don’t.
It hurts too much to see you—to keep wanting you. ”
This was really over.
Frankie blinked hard, refusing to show how much he hurt.
“Let me drive you back to the hotel,” Sammy whispered, voice hoarse and low. “Let me…” his words trailed off. “Fuck, I feel like the biggest piece of shit right now. I didn’t want it to get to this.”
“Well, it did,” he croaked out.
Sammy stepped forward, concern in his gaze. He seemed to want to say more, but wouldn’t. Frankie gritted his teeth, shoving down his bleeding heart and storming out of the alleyway, refusing to look back.