Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

them fully deserve it.
“It’s nothing,” I say, giving a little shake of my head.
The creases at the corners of his lips deepen the more his frown curves
down, and then he’s stepping into me, reaching up and fisting the back of my
head, tilting my chin up so I’m forced to keep eye contact. “Don’t lie to me,
little one. Don’t shut me out when I’ve not done that to you.”
Not entirely true, I insist silently, although he has given me more than I’d
ever anticipated. Maybe I should learn to be happy with what I’ve got.
“I just didn’t realize I’d be seeing them so soon.”
“Do you not want to? As far as I know, your sisters still live there—”
“No, it’s okay. Really.” I flutter my lashes, eager to move on from the
subject. “I think I was just hoping we’d get some alone time before.”
“We were alone on the flight.”
Rolling my eyes, I glance out my peripheral at the crowd around us; they
mill about, paying us no attention, and we’re facing away from the windows.
“I meant this kind of alone time,” I say, lowering my voice along with my
hand, cupping him through the fabric of his dress pants.
His fingers tighten, pulling at my roots, and he grunts. “Be careful what
you ask for, little one. I’m liable to bend you over the stair cart and fuck you
in front of the whole city.”
The thought sends a delicious tingle racing down my back, warming in
my core. “Then why don’t you?”
Stepping even closer, so my hand is trapped between our pelvises, Kal
grins wickedly. Craning his neck, he presses his lips against the shell of my
ear, making me shiver. “You want them to watch while I fuck you? Show
them how wrong they were about the bad doctor and his little captive? That
you’re not only a willing participant in all of this, but a desperate, needy little
cock whore who begs for my cum every night?”
Do I want that? For people to bear witness when he’s inside me, claiming
me, marking me as his?
“All the men would be so fucking angry with me for getting to be with
you.” His voice breaks, as if he’s losing himself to the fantasy. “And the
women, too, mad that you’ve attained what none of them ever could. And all
they’d be able to do is watch.”
“Fuck,” I breathe, the word slipping out before I can stop it, my pulse
jumping between my thighs. That one syllable is confirmation, though, and
all he apparently needs to know.