I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury.

I have not written anything quite like this before.

Francis Faye Fugleman Finds Her Voice

But Soon It Will Become . . .


She's kissing him, she's been kissing him, what feels like forever.

In a good way, she's lost track of time, melting into him, into kissing him, into kissing him sitting on him like this-

And he's kissing her back, his mouth, his tongue, are amazing and welcome.

Doing that thing, that changing thing.

That changing thing his mouth does when he's really, really into it.

Turned on.

Ready.

And that knowledge makes her feel what she's feeling all the more.

She's on fire, she can feel him as she's sitting on him-

Oh my marinara, I need this man, I need him-

And she wishes he would touch her, she's touching him, well, not exactly touching him, more like allowing gravity to settle her a little more obviously against the fabric of his pants and yes, there's a well, there's more than just pants there, and maybe she shifting here and there the slightest bit, oh gosh-

And some unintelligible sound is emitting at random intervals from her throat, a romance writer would say a breathless, needy moan, but somebody like Frannie probably sounds weird but she can't really find it in her desire to stop and her arms around encircling his neck, fingers brushing the fabric of the couch behind his head-

And she's -

"Touch me, Dom."

-had enough of his arms valiantly staying anchored on the top of the couch-

"I want you to."

And she feels the muscles in his shoulders bunch as he raises his hands and-

She feels his fingers in her hair and now they're moving slow to her shoulders and then down her arms and down her sides, all the way down to her waist-

Where they stay, on the outside of her hips and-

"Don't stop. More. Touch me more."

And she murmuring into his mouth, that mouth, his mouth, she wants more of-

And his hands glide around her hips to her bottom, whatever skinny bottom she's got-

Grasp it, knead it, lightly, enough to make her gasp with pleasure into his mouth-

And at same time in the absolutely lightheaded timeless time she's here with Dom right here on this couch-

Oh my gosh, it's so warm in here, he's so warm right here-

And she eventually speaks again.

"Touch me everywhere."

And she can't believe she's saying these things as she tilts her head back and he begins exploring the sensitive flesh of her neck, throat, with his mouth, his tongue-

And his hands are fully upon her tiny little bumps, the only things she's got but they're there and his hands, his palms, his fingers, and-

And she is on fire and Dom's doing these things and she feels like something building up inside her that's going to be better than anything else, even anything she's secretly dared to do to herself or experienced in her dreams-

"Dom, touch me . . ."

And she really can't be saying these things.

"Touch me down there . . ."

But she can hear him in her ear replying.

"I can't. Not well with the way we're sitting."

And she ignores this for a moment, fully awash with the sensations already overwhelming her-

Then she stops, pulls back-

Realizes she's panting.

Face to face with Dom.

His hair is mussed and his color is high.

Now that he isn't kissing her, his mouth is a closed line she wants to open again and his direct Dom gaze is almost more than she can bear, threatening to send her over the edge.

"Not well with the way we're sitting."

Okay.

And she carefully, somewhat reluctantly, eases herself off him.

Stands up.

And looks down at him.

"Not well with the way we're sitting."

Okay.

And she reaches out, pulls him up.

She is not strong, he moves easily, he wanted to stand up.

And she takes him by the hand and he lets her do that too.

And she leads him into . . .

Okay okay okay.

. . . her bedroom.


She's got a double bed, it's bigger than she needs when it's just her and her thoughts.

The room is clean and hers.

But she's changed the sheets from pinky flowery to just a soft muted pink that maybe is a little bit more mature and womanly, who really knows, and the caricature of them is on the wall, should she have taken it down, is it too desperate and needy-

She leads him to the bed and . . .

I'm going to make you naked, Dominic Hargan.

I'm going to be brave enough to make you naked for me.

. . . she stands him in front of it.

Facing her.

Hands at his sides.

Shoes still on his feet.

"Have you thought about protection, Fran?"

His voice is low, a little husky.

It's an honest question and he's not exactly mansplaining although she definitely needs someone to explain things to her from time to time.

But she's actually got this one-

". . . covered. Since we got back from Europe. Just in case. But thanks for looking out for me."

His surprise is an amusement to her and she smiles, all small teeth and secret delighted nerves.

And then she forces herself to ask her question.

Surely one of the most rude ones an interested girl could ask an interested boy.

"Do you have anything . . . catching?'

And it occurs to her to apologize profusely for such an inappropriate comment-

-but he's shaking his head -

'No."

And she's dying to strip his clothes off and she's dying that she would be so bold-

"Okay. Well then . . ."

And she's shrugging, that little Fran shrug she knows isn't sexy, how could it be, but Dom's grinning at her like he likes her as she . . .

". . . that takes care of that."

. . . is and . . .

"Yep."

. . . then she has to work up the courage to . . .

I want this.

. . . do what she wants to do.

I can do this.

To him.


Thanks for reading!