15. Chapter 15 #3
“They were best friends for years,” Frankie replied. “They knew.”
“They had only been friends for a few years…” Sam stopped short, panic itching up his neck and wondering if Frankie suspected his feelings.
He had to know.
Oh God.
Mortified, Sam buried his face in his hands, desperately wanting to disappear. Vanish. Anything but to see the pity reflected in Frankie’s gaze.
“Baby, baby, baby,” Frankie whispered frantically and was on him in that instant, hushing him, touching him, kissing his temple, his hair, his cheeks. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t.
It would never be okay.
Frankie would never—
He felt Frankie’s hands on his body. His touch was too much. His tenderness was too fucking much. Sam leaped from the couch, gasping for breath as though he were drowning. Because he was.
But Frankie was there—again, giving him no space to feel or think.
His firm grip was on his wrist, leading him down the hallway and into the bedroom.
Lost in his emotions, he didn’t hear the lamp flick on or the rustle of clothes until he opened his eyes and saw that Frankie had stripped off his clothes and was lowering Sam onto the bed.
Without a word, Frankie began to kiss him, and that’s when he noticed the wet slickness of his cheeks from the tears that had flooded him.
But Frankie didn’t care—he was soft, gentle, loving.
Kissing him until there was nothing in his mind but him.
Just him.
He pulled his sweatpants down, and Sam kicked them off his ankles, heart hammering and body filled with such need, such demand.
Demand for the only man who would ever matter.
Demand for the love he deserved. Frankie sensed his urgency and hushed him again, hands flowing over the contours of his chest and sides, firmly sliding against his skin, the pressure of his body bearing down on his like a weighted blanket.
Sam fought against his insistence on taking his time and boldly grabbed his jaw, yanking Frankie back down for a searing, passionate kiss.
Frankie hungrily returned the kiss, tongue spearing into his mouth and cock leaking against his stomach.
God, it was so good. And not enough.
“Shhh…” Frankie whispered. “Let me take care of you.”
He whimpered, tears burning behind his eyes and chest tightening.
“Let me…” his fingers slid beneath him, sliding between his cheeks, tracing his entrance, causing him to hip upward, unrestrained and frantic.
“You’re okay,” he murmured roughly, his hot breath fanning his lips, kissing him again. “I’ve got you.”
He reached for the nightstand, lubed his towering, throbbing cock, and sighed, eyes dancing over Sam’s body like he was a painting come to life.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, and all for me,” he whispered. “Aren’t you, baby?”
He moaned, feeling the weight of Frankie’s body over his return, his cock edging against his hole.
He lifted his hips upward and, without waiting, without priming, pushed his dick inside, causing Sam to let out a cry of pleasure and pain.
The sensation of being stretched and penetrated and then—fucked.
Frankie opened him, moving with authority and confidence, claiming him in rapid, hard thrusts.
It went on and on. Thrust, pound, whimper.
Both men were caught in the whirling storm of each other and the intensity of this moment.
He could feel the peeking build of the orgasm rippling through him, and he grabbed hold of Frankie’s shoulders, hanging onto the bliss that was at his door and about to flood him.
“That’s it,” Frankie cooed, clasping a hand over his unattended cock and dragging it roughly up and down, feeling the hard steel of the muscle quiver in his grip. “That’s it… Yes… Oh God…”
Sam tightened his cheeks, seconds away from climaxing.
“You’ve always been mine…” Frankie gasped, slamming home, the bed rocking from his force. “Always.”
Tears slid down his cheeks, and he sobbed as the orgasm tore through him, ripping apart his soul as it went. “Yes! Yes!”
Frankie gasped and climaxed inside him, pulsating for an eternity. Sam feared that this would be their last time, that the words uttered in the throes of the bedroom weren’t real—it was all just mindless passion, oblivious to the sufferings of the heart that longed for it to be real.
Sam collapsed weakly back into the bed, and before he had time to regret his wounded heart, Frankie kissed him, and then descended between his legs, hitching his thighs over his shoulders, dark black eyes holding his.
Destruction. Ruination. Death. That’s what this was.
Frankie, if he were not the man he loved, would be death on swift wings with a deadly tongue that charmed and whispered every perfect thing imaginable, and then tongue him into sweet submission.
Frankie went to work, pushing the hot, fresh cum leaking from him back inside. He began to cry and shake, trembling against his insistent tongue, and loving every torturous second of it.
He had passed the point of no return.
Heaven was a wish, he realized. And Hell would be his mind until he was in the arms of Heaven again.