Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

my head to the crook of her neck, baring my teeth against her skin.
She leans into my bite but doesn’t close her eyes. “Violet said you don’t
ever talk about her.”
“I don’t.” Elena tenses in my lap, her spine going rigid, and I sigh, pulling
away and letting my hand fall. “The man who helped create me, if you want
to call him that, had just brought home his firstborn son when he had an affair
with my mom. He was married and had nothing to do with me. I thought
when Violet was older, maybe it’d be easier to connect with the rest of the
family, if I connected with her first. But she doesn’t want me around.”
Not that it’s stopped me from trying.
“Oh, Kal—”
Something in her tone prickles my already red-hot nerves, and I exhale
sharply, reaching up to collar her throat in my hands. Her breath catches,
getting stuck beneath my palm, and my cock stirs behind my jeans at the
heady sensation of having someone’s pulse at my mercy.
“No pity, little one. Don’t give me that.” She shifts, rubbing over my
throbbing cock, and even through the layers of clothing, I can feel how hot
she is. “You want to give me something, you want to make me feel better,
you give me that sweet little pussy.”
Elena’s gaze turns glassy, but I can’t tell if it’s sadness or desire pooling
there. She blinks the sheen away, tilting her chin down to stare at me through
hooded lashes.
“Okay,” she says, turning around so she’s straddling me, grinding into my
growing erection. “Whatever you need, Kallum. Take it from me.”
Later, after I’ve pumped her full, she lies on her back atop my desk,
fiddling with the torn strap of her pajama top and staring up at the ceiling.
“What are you thinking?” I ask, drawing my fingers through her sensitive
flesh, smearing my cum over her skin. I’m grateful she’s on birth control
now, so I can mark her like this every chance I get.
I’m standing above her, my dick hanging, drained, between my thighs,
neither of us particularly eager to move from the quiet of the room.
She looks at me, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I was just thinking
about Ariana and Stella. How lucky I am that I grew up close to my siblings.”
Even though I’m sure she doesn’t mean it that way, her comment slices
right through the stitches barely holding me together, severing the sutures and
cracking my pain wide open all over again.
“You miss them,” I note, letting my hand fall to my side.