Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

evidently known for quick, traceless hits, and I made sure to make myself
indispensable to him. Even back then, I knew one day my time with the
Riccis would come to an end, I just hadn’t realized how soon it would be.
As with Elena, Jonas plays a huge part in the success of my plans, though
I wasn’t expecting him to show up at my home unannounced. His presence
now notches unease against my spine, curling over each vertebrae like a boa
constrictor, squeezing until my vision blanches.
Leaning against the bedroom door, I stuff my hands in my pockets,
forcing a casual stance. “You looking to find out?”
He chuckles. “Seems like an odd way to treat your wife, is all. Are you
trying to make her hate you?”
Yes. Her hatred would be so much easier to deal with than the liquid heat
blazing in her gaze every time she fucking looks at me. It’d probably also
help if I wasn’t so keen to shove her against a wall every chance I seem to
get.
“She’ll be fine.”
“Windows still painted shut in there?” he asks.
I shrug, pushing off the door and starting down the left staircase to my
office at the back right corner of the house. We pass Marcelline dusting the
top of the refrigerator in the kitchen, and she averts her gaze immediately,
probably still traumatized by the things I made her an accomplice to
yesterday.
Jonas follows, hot on my heels, and still his presence unsettles me. “Did
you come here to talk about the logistics of my house, or because you have
something to give me?”
“Bloody greedy, aren’t we?” He shakes his head, moving past me to the
bar behind my desk, pulling out two tumblers and ingredients for a cocktail.
I settle in behind my desk, pulling up the house’s security feed and
finding the one set up in the master bedroom instantly. As I click into her
camera, a wave of déjà vu washes over me, reminding me of the last time I
saw her like this from behind the same screen.
How she’d been sporting a few new bruises, ones I knew her fiancé had
caused, and how I lost my fucking mind and showed up to demand she tell
me what happened.
How we fucked instead.
My dick jerks to life inside my slacks, and I rub a palm over my zipper,
watching now as she perches on the edge of the king-size bed and runs a hand