Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

succulent and entirely too pure for her own good.
Then again, a completely pure soul probably wouldn’t have looked at me
the way she did after I killed Vincent. Probably wouldn’t kiss me while I’m
still covered in his blood and intestines.
Perhaps she’s darker than either of us know.
Her breasts press flush against me, nipples searing into my skin, and I
step into the shower, into her, since I’m getting soaked anyway. Forcing her
backward, I move so she’s pinned between the wall and me, reaching down
and gripping her hips until she whimpers beneath my touch.
My breath is hot as it fans across her face, the action almost requiring
conscious effort on my part as I get swept away in the slippery feel of her
mouth warring with mine. She’s frantic, on a mission to take what she wants
from me, and I groan as she nips at my bottom lip, my resolve crumbling
with the slight sting, cock stiffening behind my zipper.
Sliding my hands from her hips, I move around, cupping the firm globes
of her ass cheeks, and shove my pelvis forward, lifting. She hops into the
movement without breaking our kiss, and both of us cry out as she wraps her
legs around my waist, and I slam her back into the tile wall.
“I want you,” she mumbles into my mouth, sighing softly when I bring a
hand up, tracing that little pomegranate etched into her skin, before flicking
my thumb over one pebbled nipple.
The water pours down on us, her head just barely out of the spray, and
she blinks up at me with those golden eyes, flushed with need.
I know she wants me—that’s always been part of the problem.
But right now, with her glorious body on display, breasts heavy as they
rise and fall with each of her stuttered breaths, her pussy pulsing where it
meets my stomach, water stroking down every inch of skin I want to drag my
tongue over—I can’t remember anything except the fact that she’s mine.
Regardless of the situation that led us to this point, or the lack of love or
reality between us, that caveat remains.
“You’re sure?” I can’t help but ask, needing verbal reassurance even after
I examined her earlier.
She nods. “Make me yours.”
Tearing myself from our kiss, I dip my head, pushing her ass up until I
can take a nipple into my mouth; I lash my tongue out in quick, short bursts,
and her entire body shudders.
“Oh, my little Persephone,” I say, slowly drawing circles around the