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He has you pressed tightly against the glass of the shower and with each thrust, your breasts only smush harder against it. Do the beads that collect in between them come from the hot, pounding spray behind you? Or are they your own sweat, forming from the intense heat he always generates within you?

"You're going to say it for me now, aren't you?" you hear him say.

You nod. It's way too intense to speak right now. The way his cock is deep inside you, hitting that place you need it to, over and over again. Missing it sometimes, though – which only serves to make you moan with pleasure when he finds it again. Like he just did. Oh God.

"I can tell you're close …"

That generates a nod and a whimper from you. Yes, yes you are. He grabs a fist full of your hair and arches you back, straining your breasts against the glass even more. The way he's arching you . . . OMG, it shifts the position of his cock inside of you. He hits that spot even harder. You almost come right there.

His lips are now at your ear, he's pulled you so far back. . . those lips that you know are somehow a bright yet dark magenta right now, flooded with blood from the heat, from the intensity. Like his cock.

"When you come you're going to say my name," he says lowly, threateningly.

His accent sounds very menacing in that moment, like someone you wouldn't dare fuck around with, let alone disobey, and it makes you start to quiver.

He feels it. He knows.

"Now," he demands.

"Dom –" you manage to breathe. But you can't say anymore, the rest of his name is stuck in your throat, you can only mouth it silently.

"Say it. All of it." He commands, and grips your hair tighter. "Or else . . ."

"Agharhrh. . . " nothing but a garbled mess comes out of your mouth. You can't function right now, you're about to come really hard.

And then . . .

"Ugh! What are you doing?" you exclaim.

He has completely withdrawn, leaving you panting against the glass, wanting, yearning. You feel a gaping emptiness throbbing right where his cock had been. You almost cry.

"Come here," he says and you turn around to look at him, hot water dripping over his chest as he stands like a sex god beneath the shower head touching his own cock teasingly. Elegant fingers stroke up and down the length of his shaft as you watch mesmerized. With a wicked smile, he says, "Time to pay penance for your disobedience."

Even though your orgasm has just been denied, you like paying penance and find yourself smiling widely. "May I kneel?"

"You may," he says indulgently and you kneel before him. He strokes your hair gently as he looks down at you with a loving smile. He whispers, "That's a good girl."

You love pleasing him. Love hearing him call you a good girl. And you love that he removes his hand as you begin because he knows how much you dislike being guided. He is unbearably sweet.

You begin by swirling your tongue over the tip of his head and he instantly moans. He is so expressive it excites you, sucking his cock excites you because you can tell how much it pleases him. He does not hold back. He never holds back - on anything.

Sometime later, when you press his cock onto his belly and duck your head even further down to gain access to his sweet, sweet balls, he does what he always does. He stiffens a little. Whether by some protective instinct or because he's bracing himself for unbearable pleasure, you've never quite figured out. But what you do know as you flick your tongue over his smooth balls is that J is his favorite letter of the alphabet and that he often doesn't make it much further.

And this time?

The second you finish tracing that final curve of the J underneath his ball sack he has whipped you up and out of the shower and practically thrown you on the bed.

"That's it!" He exclaims as he moves you into position. "You're gonna get what you deserve."

"And what's that?" you ask.


You stroke his wet hair, so different without all the gel in it, and your hand slips right through it. You stare into the depth of his blue eyes. His eager blue eyes, so in love with you that you never have to doubt him for a second. He is yours. Forever. Your hand trails down his cheek, but you notice his face isn't as freshly shaven as his balls. Hmm . . . was that what had taken him so long tonight? You try to suppress a chuckle. Your man and his quirks.

"What?" he asks.

"Just wondering what you have in store for me. . . " you deflect.

"Pleasure," he says again cryptically and captures each of your hands in his and presses them into the bed over your head firmly. "And silence. No talking."

You nod and he slowly penetrates you. A smile spreads across his face just as slowly as his cock does. A very wide smile. You try not to make a sound.

He begins a slow rhythm within you and keeps your eyes locked in his. It's slow but effective. Within minutes, fresh beads of sweat have erupted on your skin. You spot him eyeing your heaving breasts . . . knowing, just knowing . . .

And there he goes . . . His lips making a little pucker right before they dip down and make contact with your nipple. As he parts his lips to take a little nibble you take in a sharp breath. Oh God, if he starts biting you this will quickly become unbearable. He hears your breath and mutters a little 'shhh' right against the nipple he had been planning to bite - then his teeth come down on it.

'Shhh' my ass. You can't keep quiet and let out a little moan.

"Shhh," he breathes again against your other nipple before biting it. And you moan again.

He stops and places a finger on your mouth. "I said, be quiet."

Yet he inexplicably picks up the pace inside you. He's such a tease. How can he expect you to hold back when he's pushing you forward?

"I can't," you moan.

"You will," he says firmly and his face starts to look angry. But you know he's not angry, he's just thrusting angrily, intensifying everything. He has to concentrate to fuck you this hard and when he does his face contorts. And his eyes . . . Oh God. He looks down at you so fiercely. You are his prey, lying helplessly beneath him.

It makes you shudder.

"Not yet," he tells you and you nod. You will try not to orgasm just yet. You will do your very best to obey him.

But then he starts to moan, and grunt, and groan and soon his glorious chest is drenched in sweat too. You want to touch it, but he still has your hands captured. Your man never holds back, never. And it is glorious.

He drops his head to yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek, and you are suddenly forehead to forehead. He is alternatively panting and grunting as his fingers curl tightly around yours. You breathe his air and just can't keep quiet any longer. You moan deeply.

"Wait," he whispers and slows his pace inside you. He keeps his forehead on yours, maintaining intimacy, while slowly, indulgently bobbing his cock all the way into you and all the way out of you. All the way out! Oh the microseconds it takes for him to penetrate you again are pure agony.

He releases one of your hands and touches your face. Draws back to look you in the eyes. Penetrates you one last time . . . and kisses you.

Your wetness starts to flood his cock.

"No," he says firmly and withdraws. "Not yet."

This time you do start to cry in frustration. Another thwarted orgasm.

"Wait for it," he says gently and strokes your face again. "It will be worth it. On my command, okay?"

You nod and he starts fucking you so hard you don't know how you're able to hold back. He's gripping your shoulder, pressing you down. You're grasping at his chest, his stomach, anything you can reach. You start moaning deeply and can feel your entire torso flush with heat. You know those splotches that form on your neck must be rising. The ones he loves to cause so much. He breaks into a wide grin. Yep, they're there.

"Almost ready?"

"Fuck, I was ready ages ago!" you exclaim.

"Good, then you know what to do." He pauses. Pause everything. He is absolutely still inside of you. "Upon my command."

You nod. Hopefully you can get his whole name out this time. You want him to continue on - his cock lying inside of you unmoving is pure agony - so you stroke the top of his hip with your hand lightly, look helplessly up into his eyes, and whimper, "Please."

"Okay, but only because you're being a really good girl."

You nod back at his radiant smile.

And he does not disappoint. He places his cheek on yours and whispers with hot breath tickling your ear, "I want you to come for me, baby . . ."

His cock begins to thrust deep into your engorged flesh, finding that special spot even easier in this position. He finds it and ravages it - he knows your body so well. He reaches down to touch you on the outside, too. You practically scream as the top of his finger makes contact and just . . . presses.

Within seconds you're ready to finish.

"Say it," you hear him whisper. Your eyes are squeezed shut and you start to say it, "Dom-"

But you get lost in your own pleasure until he pulls you out of it, makes you look at him.

"Say it," he snarls, his face just inches from yours. He looks . . . scary.

And that does it. You lose it.

"Dominick! Dominick!" you scream at the top of your lungs. You gush around him, so wet you are in your release. "Dominick, oh FUCKING Dominick!"

He cradles your head firmly as you ride it out. And he stays with you, stays inside you, making sure to maximize your pleasure. He is so good to you.

You awaken through a haze of sleep the next morning and see Sonny's lanky body tangled up in the sheets beside you, making a mess of the bed like he always does. You smile, thinking of the passion of the night before as he draws in the cutest little sleepy breaths while hugging his pillow tightly.

He had come home from work yesterday, little drops of water dotting his navy raincoat. His hair had been a mess. . .

"Oh no, looks like the rain got your hair, Sonny!" you say sympathetically knowing how much pride he takes in his hair. You want to come over and mess with it, fix it. But that never goes over well. You leave it alone.

"Wasn't the rain, it was April Fool's Day."


"Yeah, I thought I was just watching some kid whose parents were being interrogated, right?"


"And this kid proceeds to put Play-Doh in my hair, found some ooze or something for it, too. I kept trying to get the kid to stop, but he was real good getting me into a vulnerable position you know." He looks down and shakes his head, just thinking about it. "Every time I would turn around, BAM! Crap in my hair!"

"I'm shocked. You're usually pretty good with kids."

"I know, right? But this kid . . . he just knew how to set me up. Don't know how he did it."

"I don't see any Play-Doh in your hair now . . ."

"I washed it out, did what I could with it at the precinct, but I didn't have any gel on me to fix it afterwards. So now this." He waves his hands at his hair.

"You poor thing," you chuckle, thinking his hair looks hot no matter what he does with it.

"Oh, but that wasn't the worst of it," he continues.


"Yeah, the worst was that the whole thing was a set-up. The rest of the squad was watching through the one-way mirror."

"No!" you say with shock.

"Yeah. Turns out that kid was some friend of a friend at Noah's daycare. Liv picked him out just for me 'cause he was such a prankster. One that was great at fooling adults."

You just laugh. "April Fool's Day, huh?"

"Yeah, April Fool's Day," he grumbles. "They even took video."

God he's been in there forever, you think as you sit at the dinner table. He had wanted to take a shower to get the rest of the goop out of his hair, and style it back up right, so he had popped into the bathroom after the two of you put dinner together – one that didn't need to be served hot.

Finally, you hear him come down the hallway. He's fully dressed, every strand of hair back in place. Even still has his coat on. What the fuck is up with that?

"You going somewhere?"

"No," he answers casually and takes a seat.

"Okay . . ." you say as he looks down and smiles to himself.

After you finish dinner you find out pretty quickly why he is still fully dressed – Dominick wants to play.

First, he asks you for help taking off his coat, knowing how much you love that thing. You prefer to put him in it, but taking it off will do. You reach up and straighten the collar of his raincoat, pat it down where lapels would be on another coat, as if you've just finished putting it on, but then you tuck your fingers in between his neck and the collar and remove it from his shoulders as you walk around him, helping him out of the sleeves. You hang it up, catching the tiniest scent of him as you do. It makes you smile as you return to the dinner table. You love handling his coat. And he fucking knows it.

Second, his badge is still on. He knows that drives you crazy. And when he rolls up his sleeves he makes sure to brush it casually, accidentally. . . SEVEN times.

Third, after rolling up his sleeves, he puts his palms on the dinner table and leans into them, looming over you with bulging forearms and the badge on his belt right in your face.

"Are you going to arrest me, officer?" you say and gulp just looking up at him, this fine specimen of a man you are lucky enough to call your own.

"I might," he says with that nasally voice of his, the one with the sweet song of Staten Island running through it. "Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether or not you're a good girl." A shiver runs down your spine. You love being his good girl.

"I'm a good girl," you say in the meekest voice you can find.

"Are you?" he asks, and holds out a hand, helping you up.

Before you know it, he has you pressed against the dining room wall, his badge poking into you, something else too . . .

"I need you to prove it," he growls. And then he's kissing you fiercely, his hand wasting no time finding the top of your skirt as you rip at his shirt. Frantically, clothes come off and make the descent to the floor. One piece at a time.

Eventually, his naked cock is pressed against you. Not inside you, but against you. It's driving you crazy. You want him so bad.

"Please," you beg.

"No," he says. "You don't get to play with my little cannoli until you can prove you're my good girl."

"I AM your good girl. I swear."

His hands move slowly, his slender fingers trace lovingly along your belly, and find their way down . . .

"Prove it." He touches you. There. Presses gently. You squeak. "Submit to me."

"I will."

"All the way," he says with a stern face as one finger slowly finds its way inside of you.

"Oh my God," you whisper. His finger is long. It always astounds you just how long. He easily finds your favorite spot and you gasp, eyes wide as he strokes his finger over it in a tantalizing rhythm. But unfortunately, it's only enough to tease the fuck out of you. You want more.

"Please," you beg.

"No," he says. "I determine the pace."

You nod and he continues to make you hornier and hornier with no real release or build-up to one in sight as he slips in a second finger and begins to drop gentle kisses on your neck.

"Oh God," you groan in frustration at one point and practically stamp your foot.

He pulls his head off of your neck in order to look at you and says, "What was that?"

"I want more," you say with a pout.

"You said you'd submit."

"I'm trying. But you make me so fucking horny sometimes, Dominick."

"I will make it worth the wait, I promise." He brushes your cheek, blue eyes crinkling in a smile. "Submit to me."

The fingers inside of you start moving faster.

"Yield," he says gently, his breath hot on your face.

"Oh –" you had been starting to say 'Okay' but an orgasm is building within you now, stopping your voice.

He feels it and says firmly, "Stop. You're not allowed to come."

You grip him tightly and try not to. Fucking tease moves his fingers in a way that he knows makes you come almost every time.

"Don't disobey me."

You fight against the orgasm. Fight so hard. He looks at you carefully and sees you gritting your teeth.

"That's a good girl," he says, stroking your hair. "Good girl."

And he eases off. Somehow you make it into the shower . . .

The cutest little noises come from the other side of the bed. Sleepy breaths combined with slurp-gurgles. For someone who is so nasally while talking, it is ironic that all his sleepy noises are basically generated through his mouth. You see drool on his pillow, too. Damn, he's adorable.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you say and nudge him.

"What? Oh!" he says as his head comes up from the pillow, matted hair and all. And then he turns it away from you with a sleepy, "Oh, yeah."

The hair sprouting up around the cowlick on the back of his head is so outrageous, it practically has you in stitches, but you contain yourself. His head flops back down onto the pillow and within seconds you hear sleepy breath again. You rub his back until he fully awakens. He turns back to you, rubbing at his eyes. "Morning."

"Mornin' Sonnshine."

"I love it when you call me that." Sonny leans over to kiss you.

"You have a good night?"

"My little cannoli sure did. Damn, you gave it quite a workout." He gives you a lopsided smile.

"You're so high school, Sonny," you tease.

"Nah, not really. I just knew what you needed last night."

"And what was that?"

"A little Dominick," he says impishly.

You smile and touch his cheek, kiss his forehead, and say softly, "Yeah, I guess I did. That was nice."

"Mmmm . . ." He nuzzles you and you cuddle for a bit.

"So, what's on the docket for today, love?" Sonny asks you as he prepares to get out of bed and start the day.

"Well . . . How about you handle the laundry and I'll go take care of that stuff at the store."

"Sounds good to me," he says and rolls all the way out of bed. "Want anything in particular for breakfast?"

"Surprise me," you say indulgently.

He leaves the room and you grab onto his pillow and hug it to your chest. It smells just like he does while he's sleeping. It's good to cuddle with. You think back to last night and how the power balance has shifted back to normal this morning and it feels good. Good that you can do this with him, relinquish control, take it back. It's nice.

He returns the bedroom with oatmeal for the two of you. You notice that he had taken the time to form a little heart out of a strawberry and has placed it in your bowl on top of a mound of now-melting brown sugar. He kisses you softly as he presents it to you.

God, you can't believe how much you love this man, be he domineering, in-control Dominick or just sweet old Sonny.