To Have and To Own



July 2005


Mia said it first.

Said it as a warning.

Do you think I listened? Do you think I cared?

Shit, no!

Dominic Toretto owned me the second his eyes checked out my ride, and I am *not* talking about my car.

He owned me heart and soul, not to mention ass and dick. It was a given. Fate. Karma. All that shit and so much more.

Moist, searing heat sets my skin on fire, and I slump against the door, panting for air, my heart beating like a wild animal caged and frantic to get out. Needy, high-pitched sounds fill the air, and I sure as hell can’t figure out who’s making them, me or Dom. But then, who cares?

Every thought stumbling around in my skull is focused on the rush, the speed, the exquisite agony that comes from having your sanity devoured by a mouth that is so fucking hot, I’m sure I’ll find scorch marks on my flesh when and if I find the energy to look.

Did I mention Dom owned my dick?

Damn, I love it when he gives head. My man has never been one to do anything half ass-backward. He strives for perfection, especially in matters that drive me completely around the bend. Sometimes, all it takes is for him to flick that talented tongue of his across the head of my dick, and I’m a goner.

Like now.

“Fuck! I’m com--- Oh fuck!”

The flare of release surges up my spine, obliterating every thought, demolishing all control, and Jesus Christ, it’s the best goddamn feeling in the world.


My man has spent countless hours perfecting the method of reducing a solid mass to a puddle of sweat and semen. He does it with a passion that deserves worldwide recognition, and I’d be more than happy to heap mountains of praise upon him if there was a single brain cell still functioning somewhere inside my head.

“Oh shit.”

Knees suddenly give way and it’s ‘hello, floor.’

As I’m slipping down, Dom’s licking up. His tongue never leaves my body, gliding along my dick, over my pubes, into my navel, across my chest until he reaches my lips, and suddenly I can’t breathe and really don’t give a damn that I might die of asphyxiation.

What a way to go, sucking on the best tongue in L.A.

“I own you, O’Conner.”

Tell me something I *don’t* know, Toretto.

My downward journey is halted when my ass is grabbed, and the whimper that pushes past the lips that are, at the moment, glued to Dom’s right tit is greeted with *the smile.*

Dom’s smile is lethal, guaranteed to make a priest rethink his vocation. I, myself, would donate every nickel I own to charity if I could eat it right off his face.

Wonder who I should make the check out to?

“Come on, Dom. Please.”

*The smile* grows wide, and I groan in frustration, helpless to prevent my ass from shoving back against the fingers that are fine tuning its muscles.

“You bastard. I hate you.”

“Yeah, right. Tell me another one, O’Conner.”

My ass is the most sensitive place on my body, and Dom damn well knows it. Shit, I wouldn’t put it past him to go the extra mile in making sure his hands are as rough as rough can be 24/7/365. He knows the abrasive touch of his palms on my lily-white cheeks jump starts my engine in a major way, and he never misses an opportunity to take advantage of the fact.

“Dom, please!”

Hands as rough as decades old asphalt kneed my ass. The keening sounds their caress drag from my convulsing throat only serve to inspire Dom to sinful acts of wickedness, and that is *so* not a bad thing in my book.

Callused thumbs drag their way down my crack and trace the underside of my cheeks before sliding slowly over my hips. Their meanderings end at the base of my spine, pressing in hard and reminding me of another spot that will, without a doubt, give way to their rough probing in the near future.

Unless, of course, the future is too damn long to wait.

It seems my man and my ass are of one mind. Why waste time when now will do just fine?

“Dom, you’re killing me here. Shove your thumb in, already.”

*The smile* is extremely pleased with my forced admission, or at least that’s what I assume. Only got to see the damn grin for a sec. The mouth that owns *the smile* has taken it on a lazy tour of my jaw and ear, and probably won’t return it until some time later today.

I can’t help but let loose a pathetic sigh of regret when my ass is abandoned, but I should have known it wouldn’t be for long. Should have remembered how good my man is at multi-tasking.


Fingers wet with semen fill my ass and my mouth, and for just a moment the sound barrier is in jeopardy of being shattered again. At the last second a deep-throated growl reminds me of where I am, and my yell shifts gears, slipping into a helpless groan as I suck hungrily on the fingers crowding my mouth.

Words so fierce and so fucking devastating are carried on a breath that almost sets the hair curling over my ear on fire.

“I *own* you, Brian O’Conner.”

This time I answer out loud, but only after I finish feasting on the taste of my most recent surrender.

“Dammit, Dom. Don’t you think I know that by now?”

“Show me,” *the smile,* which has definitely turned immoral, demands.

Note to self: Increase donation to charity.

My shirt, which is more off than on, floats to the floor, and I present my right bicep to Dom. He attacks the name branding my upper arm with his teeth. The pain is pure pleasure, and every inch of my skin screams for more.

“Show me,” Dom repeats.

The strip of highway winding around my left bicep rates the same furious attention, and I swear a star goes nova behind my shuttered eyelids.


As soon as the sharp bite of teeth test the flesh just above my left hip, I look down to see if Dom’s finally succeeded in removing the cap from the bottle of Corona engraved there.

My control disintegrates again when those same teeth graze my thigh.

“Holy Mother Mary of Jesus. Bite me, Dom. Bite me again.”

The unrelenting torment continues as the sweltering mouth that obediently bruised my flesh shifts suddenly and swallows my nuts. Those babies are tugged, rolled, tongued, totally saturated with spit but smoldering and more than ready to burst into flames if the slightest pressure is applied. I’m reduced to begging for anything, everything, for the entire enchilada, and do so with an enthusiasm that leaves no doubt to what I need.

“Yeah, that’s it. Suck me. Fuck me. Own me, Dom. Please.”

The rumble that reverberates through the chest preventing my legs from buckling tells me Dom is more than willing to grant my every desire. “You got it, Bri.”

Heartbeat slamming one-ninety to nothing in anticipation of the fucking I’m about to receive, I nearly jump out of my skin when a fist bangs on the door I’m propped against.

“Come on, guys. Time’s a wasting.”

Talk about getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Or maybe that should be with your thumb in the proverbial ass?

Shit. And I was so looking forward to having my ass reamed by the monster tool banging against my shin.

Shit and double shit.

Dom slowly straightens, his fierce gaze pinning me in place.

It goes without saying that I cannot move, not to breathe, not to blink. My entire focus is fixated on two things, the swollen, semen-stained lips hovering just below my own, and the tender, sympathetic hand consoling the unhappy camper between my legs.

Dom’s not the only one in this family who can multi-task in the mental department.

“Are you sure about this?” Dom asks with that gravely, just-sucked-dick voice of his. “Is it really what you want this time?"

Today we celebrate our fourth anniversary, and as I have done these past three years, I demand that Dom brand me with a mark of ownership. I belong to him one hundred percent, pink slip and all.

Always have, always will. And I want the whole fucking world to know it.

Dominic Toretto owns Brian O’Conner.

Grabbing Dom’s head, I consume his mouth, his moan, his love.

“Dammit, Bri! Give a guy some warning, will ya?”

*The smile* now resides on my lips, and after a quick return of clothes to their proper place, I drag Dom out of the dressing room and into the shop.

“Do it, dude. Pierce me.”





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