I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury.

I do not know why I'm on such a tangent lately except it's fun.

Ruining Pepperoni

Pepperoni Playtime

"Dom . .. can I . . ."

She subconsciously lifts a hand that was down at her side.

Wiggles the fingers a little.

Completely unable to finish that particular sentence.

Dom's face is stunned again, jaw dropping open, all his bravado and gusto and smooth talk seeming to have fled him.

And he closes his mouth then, and she gets that thin line, those intense eyes.

That Dom Look.

And he nods, gaze rapt upon her.

And she . . .

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay it's Dom.

It's okay.

. . . moves forward again.

Her lips reach his first, she kisses him, tastes his lips, feels him kiss her back.

Then her fingers, her hand.

She's very careful, tentative, even.

But she doesn't want to hurt him and . . .

"Fran . . ."

. . . she's never touched one before.

So she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.

Truth be told, she may or may not admit this to him later but . . .

"Fran . . ."

. . . it really does feel a little bit like an uncut pepperoni.

The general shape anyway.

It feels better than pepperoni though.

Warmer. Silkier.

Thicker.

Heavier.

Skin-like.

Well, it is skin, real living skin.

Skin that stretches and moves.

And is very, very . . .

"Fran . . ."

. . . hard.

She's not even doing anything much, just sort of holding it and maybe moving her hand, her fingers, a little bit to feel it and discover it a little more completely.

But Dom's stopped kissing her, maybe he's forgotten to, maybe he can't anymore, she doesn't know.

All she knows is that he's breathing deep, forehead pressed to hers, eyes closed.

And that perfect jawline clenched tight.

"Fran . . ."

Except when he murmurs her name.

Low, just almost strained.

Barely a surresh.

Just her name.

Until . . .

"Fran, you have to stop."

. . . he forms a complete sentence.

And the low key intensity in his voice, knowing she's causing it, that and his face, that handsome, strong face, and the clenched jaw is all happening because of her-

"Why?"

-is causing her lower belly and her most private of parts to become very aware and alert of their existence and make her very aware and alert of their existence in her existence.

"Because if you don't, I'm going to make a mess."

A mess, why would you make a mess?

"Am I making you sick? Am I doing something wrong?"

He doesn't open his eyes, forehead still pressed to hers.

He ghosts a smile from the corner of his mouth.

"No. You're doing everything right."

And her glands dump everything they've got into her system at once and she flares on the inside and-

I don't want to stop.

I want to make him do this, right here, right now.

I want him to lose control because of me.

I want to see him do it and know it was because of me.

"Is it still whatever I want, Dom?"

He swallows, that throat, that delicious white necklaced throat that makes her hungry for something other than pizza-

"Yes."

"Okay. Come on."

And she lets him go, just on the off-chance she trips over her own feet and falls on her face, she won't hurt his pepperoni that she's so interested in right now-

And she guides him to the bathroom, closes the door, over to the dry shower . . .

"Here. Get in."

His mouth is a straight, thin line and his eyes are open again, trained on her, as he steps in and she steps in with him.

Him totally naked and her totally clothed.

"Is this okay?"

He nods, just a little.

"Yes."

And she smiles, satisfied she can do what she wants again.

And moves forward, a little more confident this time.

She's touched it once, knows what it feels like now, knows that it's okay, Dom said, and-

Takes him in one hand.

"Fran . . ."

And finds the hollow of his throat with her mouth.

And works her way . . .

"Dominic . . ."

. . . all over.

With both.

It doesn't take long.

She feels him swallowing, breathing through his nose, chest heaving, Adam's Apple bobbing in the throat she is kissing, licking, luxuriating in.

She feels his, well, his his change in her hand.

It gets harder, if that were possible, bigger.

Not 'steel bar' big, she supposes, that really was just her inexperienced self but . . .

She wonders what would happen if she gave it just a little squeeze while she kept moving her hand like that and-

"Fran . . . Fran . . ."

And his arms are suddenly going out to the sides, hands pressing against the shower walls, bracing himself, she realizes-

And it's moving in her hand, spasming or something-

And her hand is wet, her wrist, not soaking but definitely wet and sticky and and it may be a good idea to change and wash her shirt but who cares, that's what laundry's for, isn't it and-

Dom's groaning and-

I did that.

I made him do that.

Me.

Frannie.

Timid little mousy Frannie me.

I made him lose control.

And she . . .

Wow.

. . . feels very fascinated with the whole thing.

And very pleased with herself as well.

"Are you okay?"

She's saying this with a secret smile and a hidden agenda.

One, she wants to know he's actually okay.

Two, she wants him to say no because if he's able to shake it off that easy, well, that won't be quite as pleasing to her as if she sent him completely over the edge.

"Yeah. Yeah. Just, uh, just give me a minute."

And she . . . is . . .

"Okay."

. . . thrilled.

Thanks for reading!