Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

bumps sprouting along my skin. “Don’t most people think jealousy is bad?”
“Less evolved folks than me, perhaps. Or more, depending on how you
look at it.” I gasp as he brushes the tip of a finger over my core, the sweep
brief and featherlight, as if he’s just testing the waters. “But what it tells me,
with us, is that you’re as fucking crazy as I am.”
I blink, my heart actually stalling out inside my chest. “What?”
“The thought of you even looking at someone else fills me with an
indescribable ache,” he says, punctuating the last word by thrusting a finger
into my sex, making room where there previously was none. “An ache I have
no right to feel, no right to indulge, but God, I can’t help it sometimes.
Anyone glances in your direction, and I’m tempted to rip their fucking heart
out. I like knowing you feel it too.”
He curls against me, stroking slowly, maddeningly, and my head falls
back onto my shoulders, my neck practically snapping in half with the sudden
weight.
Chest rising and falling in time with the motion of his finger, he watches
me with parted lips and hooded lids, like he’s growing aroused with each
stuttered breath expelling from my lungs.
“Do you get it, little one?” he says, plunging two more fingers inside me,
spreading them so I’m stretching around him, desperate to be filled. “No one
awakens that sensation in me, so how could I ever find myself drawn to
another’s bed? You make me feel...”
My soft gasp distracts him, my orgasm pooling at the base of my spine,
coiling so tight it makes my body bow inward. The squelching sounds
coming from where he pushes in and out of me reverberate off the office
walls, so loud I wonder if they won’t absorb through the plaster and reach the
ears of the customers outside.
Somehow, without ever removing his fingers from inside of me, Kal lifts
and backs me up so we’re plastered against the door, snaking his free hand
down the length of my body; he yanks the neckline of my dress beneath my
breasts, thrumming one pebbled nipple, before dropping to his knees.
“Jesus, do you hear that? How wet my voice and fingers make you? Do
you feel how badly your sweet little pussy tries to suck me up?”
Really, I’m having a hard time concentrating on the words coming out of
his mouth, much less the obnoxious way my body opens for him.
Shoving my dress to my waist, he glances up at me, the dark look in his
eyes cinching the muscles in my chest. “Do not let that fall,” he says, taking