Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

to him, and I feel that familiar pressure building inside me, taking precedence
over the soreness.
I circle two fingers over my clit, working furiously as ecstasy courses
through me, and he chuckles, pushing past my lips and repeating the same
air-robbing motion.
A wave of something that looks twisted, stuck between pain and pleasure,
washes over his face, and as he removes my mouth again, he sighs.
“I’m going to come, little one. Mark you, like you asked. And you’re
going to wear it out of here, like a good little slut wife.” He brushes over my
swollen mouth with his thumb, and I rub myself faster, trying to get to where
he is. “Okay?”
I nod, sticking my tongue out in acceptance.
Sliding back in, his crown pokes my throat, coasting in and out for
several strokes, as if gearing up for a finale. My clit swells to the point where
it feels like it might burst, sparks flying where my fingers work, and then he
pushes to the hilt, keeping me in place.
All other thought dissipates as I focus on relaxing into his hold, absorbing
the salty musk of his arousal, and the way his abdomen ripples with his
impending climax. My fingers fly, rubbing and kneading, my chest getting
light as it becomes more and more difficult to breathe.
I feel it, my consciousness floating past my fingertips, just out of reach,
and with it, my release.
“I want to hear it,” he says, tapping my nose. “When you come with my
cock in your throat, I want to fucking hear it.”
It begins before he’s even done speaking, erupting like a volcano as the
corners of my eyes darken. My clit throbs beneath the pressure of my fingers,
and as Kal pulls away just enough to thrust back in, I cry out as shock and
elation mix in my gut, powering through every nerve in my body.
“That’s it.” Kal groans, the sound soft and primal, and I swear I feel him
swell in my mouth, ropes of hot semen rushing out as he comes.
He withdraws from me while the stream continues spurting, dragging his
slit over my lips and then pointing down at my breasts, coating them in his
seed.
Collapsing against the door, he gulps in a lungful of air, brushing sweat
from where it percolates on his forehead. “Jesus. I think one day you might
kill me.”
Catching my breath on the ground, I take a minute to collect myself.