15. Chapter 15
After their shower, they managed to squeeze into the tub, and to Sam’s agonizing delight, he was wrapped in Frankie’s arms the entire time. His heavy muscular arms engulfed him, his chest pressed against his back as they spooned for what felt like an hour in his tub.
He never anticipated that his one and only weekend in paradise with Frankie would feel this—relaxed.
And as he floated in Frankie’s arms, his thighs caging him, the warm water lapping at his nipples, he felt his best friend reach between his legs and lazily stroke his cock.
Sam, utterly limp from the orgasms earlier and now languishing in the bath, relaxed further into Frankie’s broad chest and let him touch him.
This seemed to please Frankie incredibly, as he roughly kissed his shoulder, sucking on the skin and biting as though he couldn’t get enough of this—of them—and Sam ached, loving the pain and the pleasure.
Frankie hummed encouragingly, before eventually pleading for him to cum, to fuck his fist and find his nirvana.
For the third time that day, Sam did.
He shattered into a million pieces, all at once and with a brilliance that stunned him.
Frankie was there, praising him and affectionately touching his body, not demanding to be taken care of, which he clearly needed, with his dick digging into Sam’s back.
When he turned to touch him, Frankie batted his hand away, drained the water, and toweled him off.
Every time Sam attempted to do something for himself, Frankie was there, doing it for him.
Without a word, Frankie took Sam into the bedroom, and he collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.
He waited to feel the weight of Frankie join him on the bed, but before he did, he was asleep.
The weeks of overtime, double shifts, and uncertainty of his friendship with Frankie had drained him more than he had realized.
He woke to an empty bed and to the dimming sunlight streaming through his bedroom curtains.
Surprised, Sam shoved on a pair of sweatpants and was about to shove on his T-shirt from earlier when he caught sight of himself in the mirror above his bedside table.
He froze, seeing the red bruising hickeys along his shoulder and neck.
Pleasure zapped like a hot poker in his belly and he bit his lower lip, already feeling himself get excited as he turned, pulling down his sweatpants and nearly laughing at the bruised finger marks Frankie had left on his cheeks from aggressively and ruthlessly eating his ass.
Flushed, he wondered where else he was marked when he heard the telling sounds of a UFC fight playing on his TV in the living room.
He pulled on his shirt, walked down the hallway, and was greeted by the smell of fresh pizza.
His stomach rumbled on cue.
Frankie was sitting on his couch, a beer in hand and a picture in the other. Papi’s box was open on the coffee table. Photo albums and letters were stacked beside it.
Sam glanced at the photo in Frankie’s hand and smiled.
It was the picture that Papi had framed on his bedside—the one he had coveted until the very end. It was Papi and Jack Russo, their arms around each other in the jungle, beaming with happiness despite being at war. So young and alive.
Frankie glanced up, his handsome face softening at the sight of him. He set his beer down and, without realizing what he was about to do, felt Frankie’s strong arm hook around his hips and drag him down onto the couch with him. He kissed him.
Sam released a sigh, fingers wrapping around Frankie’s shoulders, hanging on while his best friend hungrily took his time with his lips. He tasted of beer and male—of him.
He whimpered, already hardening, which Frankie felt and deepened the kiss.
“I like you in these sweatpants, Dr. Samuels. Easy access,” Frankie drawled against his lips, cupping a palm full of his rigid cock. “Damn, I bet your ass looks great in scrubs.”
“You’ve seen me in scrubs,” Sam teased, biting Frankie’s lower lip, which elicited the sexiest growl.
“Yeah, but I never really saw you, now did I?” he breathed, rubbing him up and down over the fabric of his thin sweatpants.
He shivered.
“You think you’ll cum for me like this?” Frankie husked.
“You’ll kill me if you do.”
“I’ve become fuckin’ addicted to watchin’ you cum. And you taste even better.”
Sam, deciding to tease him, tilted his head back, his eyes surveying him darkly. Frankie stilled, jaw clenching at the clear shift in his demeanor.
“You let me sleep, made me breakfast, let me feed you my cock, and now you’ve gotten us dinner. My good boy, takin’ care of me all day, and I have a feeling—all night, too.”
Frankie trembled, his breathing becoming erratic as he licked his lips at the tenting bulge of Sam’s cock between them.
“But good boys… listen,” Sam drawled hoarsely, dragging his cock out and baring the naked, hard flesh. “You can watch, but you can’t touch.”
Frankie’s fingers fisted painfully into Sam’s thighs. “Fuck you.”
This made him smile as he stroked his shaft from root to stem, fingering his slit, their eyes locked. And Frankie didn’t make a move to touch his dick—already obeying.
Heart racing at his compliance, he began to pant in excitement, the orgasm already building at his balls.
“For being such a good boy…” he gasped out in a moan, riding his hand and loving how fucking primal Frankie was watching him, like a beast on the brink of snapping—of lunging forward, sitting on pins and needles, waiting for their owner’s release of them.
Frankie was his.
All his for the taking, to do whatever he fucking wanted, and damn, did that set a fire through his bloodstream and straight to his cock.
Leaking and moaning in front of him, Frankie let out a pained groan. “Fuck, baby—fuck, take off your shirt…” he hesitated before quickly adding, “Please.”
“What do you want to see?”
“Your fuckin’ titties—you cummin’ all over yourself like you did in the bar.”
He moaned, releasing himself long enough to pull off his shirt, and felt Frankie’s hands slither upward, cupping his balls.
Unable to stop his body from reacting, he bucked forward and saw Frankie begin to greedily descend on his dick.
Sam stopped him, fingers digging into his thick black hair and dragging him away, keeping him suspended a mere breath away from his leaking cock as he pumped himself.
Frankie let out a grunting whine, eyes black as night and pure fucking sin.
The orgasm slammed into his spine and ricocheted through his blood. His tip pulsated as he threw his head back, angling his spurting tip away from Frankie’s lips and climaxing on his stomach.
Frankie’s lips were wet and parted. The stark look of overt arousal was there and begging.
“Your reward,” Sam said in panted breaths as he glanced down at the cum on his stomach and released him.
Frankie was on him like a ravishing beast, hands on his waist, pinning him to the couch as he licked and sucked, tonguing up the cum and groaning.
He felt his teeth scrape and his bruising kisses leave a trail down his abdomen as he grunted and clawed, more animal than man, and fuck… Sam couldn’t look away.
No one had ever wanted him this badly.
No one had ever wanted to possess him.
To lick his cum off his body like it was the tastiest treat they had ever had.
No one had ever made his heart quicken the way Frankie did.
No one would ever outmatch Frankie Casavani.
No one.
“Your turn,” Sam grated out, and Frankie peeled off of him, huffing demandingly as he reached between his legs and pulled out his massive, beautiful dick.
He had already leaked through his sweatpants, the wet spot evident of his arousal at everything Sam had just done. He sat up and pushed Frankie back down onto the couch, straddling him. Frankie immediately began shivering, his jerking motions an indicator that he was seconds away from climaxing.
“So fucking good,” Sam drawled, nuzzling the underside of Frankie’s cock with his nose and chin. “Good boys cum when told…”
Frankie tensed, chest heaving.
“Cum for me.”
And he did. Frankie’s back arched off the couch, and he sprayed messily all over his stomach and chest, unloading streams of jetting cum.
He hummed, watching the energy drain out of Frankie as he swallowed, staring up at him as though waiting for… approval.
Something tightened around his heart as he smiled warmly down at his best friend. “You did so well, baby.” He saw the relief in Frankie’s face, followed by something else—something he didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. It was time to show him how well he did.
Sam bent over his furry stomach and licked the cum off his stomach.
Frankie shuddered beneath him.
“Sam…” he whispered, his fingers raking through his hair. “Sam… Sam…”
He chanted his name like a prayer—a mantra of pure longing and awe.
He took his time touching him, licking and tonguing, kissing lazily and gently everywhere, never wanting this to end.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Frankie rasped. “So beautiful. My Superman.”
He hummed, emotion welling in his throat, and after a few more minutes, he sat up, thoroughly shaken by the intimacy and tenderness so evident in Frankie’s expression.
Frankie sat up, following his retreat, cradling his jaw and kissing him. “You’ve created a monster.”
He smirked weakly, unable to resist kissing him back. “I have. I’ll have these bruises for weeks thanks to you.”
“Good.”
They stared at one another, emotion passing between them, and feeling so damn vulnerable. He hoped to hell that Frankie couldn’t read the love written all over his face.
Frankie instead heard the loud growl of his stomach and arched his eyebrows. “You need to eat. I ordered our favorite. Should still be hot.”