You’re at home, cleaning your mafia boyfriends wounds, you’re on your knees between his legs, he spreads them wide so you can get to his cut. He winces “don’t be a baby it doesn’t hurt that bad” I say and he chuckles. I spot a bruise on his v-line and reach to wipe it but he groans in pain “that wasn’t supposed to hurt-“ I start “I know. But I’d like you to go lower.” He smirks, lust in his eyes. He pulls you onto his lap, his fingers finding their way to your waist, slightly gripping it.