Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

back, folding them in her lap. “Jesus, I knew coming back was a bad idea.
Look, I’m not—”
“No, no. I heard you, loud and clear. I won’t mention moving again.”
When I look back over at her, I watch her push her nose higher in the air
and pointedly look away.
“Elena,” I say, my patience wearing very thin. The SUV rolls to a final
stop, parking on the street in front of the Riccis’ home, the red brick dull
from years of sunlight exposure. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Really? The great Kallum... something Anderson, speaking without
thinking? I thought you didn’t do that.”
I squint, smothering a laugh as she fumes, wishing it didn’t make me
want to fuck her all the more. “Something?”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “I don’t know your middle name. Because,
really, I still feel like I know nothing about you. And yet, you want me to stay
with you on your tiny little island and never ask questions, like some kind of
slave.”
You are the only one who knows anything about me.
“Asher,” I say quickly, clenching and unclenching my jaw. Undoing my
seat belt, I slide across to her, grabbing the buckle on hers before she has a
chance to unlatch it. Trapping her between myself and the door, I lean in,
running my hand up her thigh, admiring the sleek feel of her unmarked skin
beneath my callouses. “My middle name is Asher.”
“Kallum Asher Anderson,” she breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly,
like she isn’t able to consume as much oxygen as she’s putting out. She drops
her gaze to my mouth, making my dick lengthen slightly.
“My name sounds like a prayer coming from these pretty pink lips,” I
murmur, razing my hand along her side, bringing my thumb up and pushing
into her mouth. “One I certainly wouldn’t mind answering.”
The tip of her tongue swirls over the pad of my thumb, eyes blazing with
liquid fire. Arousal stirs in my chest, spreading like ivy outward, and I’m
powerless against the soft moan that falls from me.
“I can’t stay mad at you when you look at me like that,” she says,
speaking around my thumb, a furious blush creeping up her neck. “It isn’t
fair.”
“When I look at you like what?” I muse, the hand on her thigh traveling
until it reaches the soft silken heat at its apex, my knuckles ghosting against
her clit. No panties, even in fucking Boston.