Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

Silence.
“Marcelline?” I call out, turning my head to look over my shoulder, as if
that might give me some sort of insight as to her whereabouts.
“Um,” Elena squeaks, shoving my shoulders. “Can you not say another
woman’s name while your finger is inside me?”
I look down at her, cocking an eyebrow. “Jealous?”
Her eyes narrow. “Not at all. Oh, Mateo, that feels so fucking good.
Don’t—”
Slipping my index finger from her pussy with lightning speed, I tug her
head back and stuff it inside her mouth, interrupting her. “I can’t kill him
twice, Elena. Sure that’s a road you wanna go down?”
The knocking starts again, growing in volume, and she hollows out her
cheeks, swirling her tongue over my digit. My cock leaks a bead of precum
as the memory of her slurping at my length resurfaces; she smiles around the
intrusion, finally releasing me with a pop when she’s finished.
“I know you like to keep a clean workspace,” she says. “Tools and
everything.”
My mouth parts to say something, but the knocking doesn’t cease, the
dull pounding grating on my nerves like nails raked over a chalkboard.
Flexing my fingers in her hair as that familiar irritation takes root in my
gut, growing like a weed to the cognitive part of my brain, I inhale sharply
and let her go at the same time.
She blinks, her left breast still hanging out of her shirt, rubbed red and
raw from my lips and scruff. “You’re not going to answer that, are you?”
“I don’t get a lot of visitors. I kind of think I have to, no?”
“Right, but… we were in the middle of something. Can’t you visit with
them some other time?”
Normally, I’d say fuck it and ignore the knocking, but add in the betrayal
from her parents, and my elimination of a low-ranking Ricci soldata—but
soldata, nonetheless—and I’m inclined to believe anyone visiting my house
is here with ill intent.
No one but Jonas and Marcelline know this place belongs to me. Even the
phone I had set up for Elena pings her location at the north end of the island,
some special feature the guys at Ivers International equipped it with.
Reaching out, I pinch her chin, forcing her to stare up at me. “Go upstairs,
strip yourself bare, and climb into bed. Wait for me there, and I’ll make this
visit short.”