5. Chapter 5 #5
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.
Frankie shook his head, beating his cock and refusing to look at him.
“Fuckin’ pull your dick out and look at me,” Sam ordered fiercely. Frankie groaned. He fucking groaned. The sound ignited the gasoline in his veins, roaring to life like a wildfire. Sam grabbed the wrist at his throat, “Cum on me.”
Frankie’s tough guy bravado in that instant crumbled to ruins right before his eyes.
He dragged his thick, beautiful cock out from beneath his shorts, and it was everything Sam had ever imagined and more.
His sex was girthy, long, and thick—the perfect dick to ride and be stuffed full with.
So big it may actually hurt if fucked hard enough.
“That’s it,” he husked, feeling the tightening around his throat as Frankie stroked himself over him, his bicep flexing and the tattoos on his forearms rippling. “God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.”
Frankie’s moan was low and tight, as though trying not to make any sounds, hips bucking forward as though humping the air above him.
“I always knew you had a big fuckin’ dick,” Sam admitted. “A man doesn’t walk the way you do unless he’s got something heavy between his legs.”
Frankie let out a hissing breath from his lips, eyes locked with his and trembling against him.
Seeing him like this, so open, so exposed, so vulnerable, unhinged that part of his heart that he wanted to keep closed against Frankie.
Because in this moment, his best friend never looked more beautiful to him.
The roping muscles on his arms, the primal display of his dominance and sensual masculinity, it was all too addicting to look away from.
“Yeah…” he crooned softly, holding Frankie’s hand at his throat. “I know you want to cum on me… please. I need to see it.”
Frankie released the breath straining from his chest, a muffled sound dragged from the back of his throat, and his huge cock spasmed in his fist. Hot cum spurted almost violently from him as long, thick, creamy white bliss streamed all over Sam’s stomach and cock.
It was so fucking stunning that Sam felt the blood rush to his dick again, hardening at the sight of being sprayed in Frankie’s cum.
“Fuck!” Frankie gritted out through clenched teeth, his cock still somehow leaking out the last bit of fluid. “Fuuuuck.”
Sam wondered how long it had been since he had cum. It looked almost painful.
Frankie’s hips slowed as he finished jerking off above him, the last remnants of his cum leaking out of his girthy tip.
“Fuck, Frank,” Sam whispered, “How long has it been?”
He shuddered, “Too long.”
He wanted to ask why when suddenly Frankie’s dark eyes collided with his, holding for what felt like an eternity, and the reality of what they had just done hit them both at the same damn time.
They had crossed the line.
There was no going back.
Thank fuck.
Frankie abruptly released him, staring at the mess they had made. He hadn’t realized how much of a turn on it would be to be coated in their shared bliss. He never thought he’d be into cum play, but here he was, his palms itching to fuck himself again and revel in all this sticky mess.
“I think there’s a bar towel back here somewhere,” Frankie whispered hoarsely and was on his feet, tucking himself away and hurriedly pushing boxes aside before finding a fresh towel in one of the boxes.
Sam was immobilized on the floor, and when Frankie returned, he dropped to his knees and began wiping him down. His giant paw-like hands were gentle and thorough and—fuck. His semi-hard-on was thickening.
He sat up, capturing his wrist. “I can do it.”
Frankie didn’t stop. “Let me clean you, baby.”
They both froze.
“I didn’t…” Frankie stammered, eyes widening.
“It’s okay.” Sam attempted to reassure, but all he heard was ‘baby’ blasting in his head like a fucking emergency room siren.
Frankie jumped to his feet alarmed, dropped the towel, and headed for the door.
Sam stared at him, unsure of what to say, what to do.
Frankie hesitated, his head moving slightly back as though wanting to look at him, but he left instead, closing the door soundly behind him.