Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

Downing the rest of my drink, I focus on the burn of the alcohol as it
glides down my throat, dwarfing the sensation before it has time to grow
roots.
The bedroom door slides open as soon as the pilot tells us we’ve reached
Aplana International, and Elena slinks out, wearing black leggings and a thin
white blouse.
Her leggings cover the K carved into the inside of her thigh, and my cock
twitches at the memory of putting it there.
How she preened as the blade drew against her sensitive flesh, back
bowing, pussy cresting around another orgasm. The way her blood tasted as it
dripped down her pale skin, and how I lapped at its coppery essence like a
man dying of thirst.
And I was.
Dying to drink her, to consume the young virgin the way she had me
since the night she asked me to be her first.
I figured that night that it would be the only one we had. I hadn’t realized
at the time that our quarters would eventually be so… intimate.
I’ve already broken my own unspoken rule to take things slow by driving
my fingers into her tight, needy heat, helpless against the way she looked at
me while I ate that fucking apple.
I bit into the soft fruit with more gravitas than necessary, trying to convey
what I’d instead love to do with her pussy.
Feast on it, conquer it, ruin it.
She looked like she would die if I didn’t.
It’d taken all my willpower not to drop my slacks, rip my dick from
behind the zipper, and thrust into her right then, but these things have to be
timed correctly in order to work.
Consummation has to wait.
Marcelline comes over and pops the jet door open, exiting without a
word, probably desperate to get back to her regular duties.
Slumping down in the leather seat across from me, Elena leans her head
back, staring up at the spotless wood paneling on the ceiling. I flip idly
through the Better Homes & Gardens magazine in my lap, waiting for her to
say something.
Pinching her eyes shut, she sighs. “You own a private jet.”
Glancing at the dated, yet lavish interior of the lounge area, I nod. “I do.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “Figures.”