Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

longer we stand in silence.
Pushing the robe from my shoulders, he keeps his eyes trained on mine as
he proceeds, like he’s afraid that looking away might shatter the ethereal
moment ebbing between us.
Slipping his fingers beneath the hem of my dress, the same red number
I’ve had on since yesterday, he starts a slow ascent up my thighs, pausing for
a breath when he reaches my hips.
His throat bobs at the same time cool air brushes my lace panties, goose
bumps popping up on my thighs. Skimming a thumb over the scar on the
inside of the left one, he frowns when I wince, biting the tip of my tongue as
pain radiates from the site.
My heart thumps erratically, knocking against my ribs like a caged
monster desperate to be set free. Self-consciousness rears its ugly head,
making me wonder if he can hear it, too; how embarrassing it’d be for my
husband to know how he affects me.
Kal continues pulling my dress up, exposing my stomach and pausing
once again when he gets to my breasts. There’s a dangerous heat in his gaze
that has my insides melting, molding, burning for his touch on my skin.
He shifts, moving up farther still, thumbs grazing my nipples, making
them pucker as a blush crawls over my chest. In one swift motion, he rips the
clothing over my head, tossing it to the floor, then takes a step back, nodding
at the shower.
“Do you need help?” he asks, tearing his eyes from mine, leaving me
charred.
Licking my lips, I shake my head and turn away, stepping beneath the hot
spray, letting it wash the grime and dirt off me. I take the bar of soap from
one of the built-in shelves and lather myself up, scrubbing any evidence of
the last twenty-four hours from where it lurks beneath my skin.
Facing the wall as I run my hands over my body, checking for extra
damage, I hear the door creak open. See Kal reach past me for the bottle of
pomegranate shampoo I brought from home, watch him pour generously into
his palm and then wring his hands together.
Seconds later, I feel them embed in my wet hair, working the shampoo
into my scalp, massaging and kneading. As I find a cut on the inside of my
thigh, my knees buckle and my hand slips from between my legs, brushing
my lace-covered clit as I try to catch my balance.
Tension coils in my belly as the sudden touch mingles with the