Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Ryan takes the wineglass from my fingers, setting it down on the table. There’s that look in his eye. “Time to retire, I think.”

I take a shot at demure… “I think so, yes.” … But as his nostrils flare, realise I have failed miserably.

He presses against my thigh, oh, so lightly… And my already warm pussy purrs. Several hours of waiting and the promise of the kind of incandescent sex Ryan offers, have me teetering on the brink.

Which was of course entirely his intention with the day’s earlier performance.

“We’re going to bed,” announces Ryan. “It’s been a long day for us.”

Voices call around us. Heads nod.

“Of course. Goodnight.”

“See you in the morning.”

“Sleep well.”

I don’t believe I’ll be sleeping for a while yet.

As we exit, Michael, eyes creasing, waves towards the tray of drinks on the sideboard. “Take a bottle up with you and a couple of glasses.”

Ryan chooses a bottle of Rioja. “Very civilised of him,” he murmurs as we make our way up the stairs.

In the bedroom, he closes the door, pushing until the lock clicks. He runs eyes over me. “You may undress, Kirstie.”

Heat rises in my cheeks. Even as I tug the thick sweater off over my head and my skin gooses, my neck and face are warm.

Ryan makes no attempt to remove his own clothes. Instead, he adds a couple of logs to the fire, using bellows and a poker to rouse the flames, then he turns off the ceiling light, leaving us bathed in the firelight.

He pours wine red as a holly berry into the two glasses then, resting a hip on the end of the bed, sips from one of the glasses, watching as I undress. Fire flickers and dances over the slight wave of his hair, raising highlights in amber and gold. His face is calm, almost tranquil, but his chocolate eyes too, reflect the flames which glimmer against the dark centres.

My beautiful Lover. My Dom.

My Master.

What do I feel for him?

Arousal?

Desire?

Lust?

Love?

I shimmy out of my jeans, then kick off thick furry socks. My bra, black satin and lace, I chose because I know Ryan likes the style, which enhances my not-overgenerous breasts.

silence as I hook fingers into the side laces, sliding them down over thighs and calves to leave

stand over him where he sits on the end of the bed. He sips his wine again, then offers it to me. Smooth and dark and heady, it caresses my

back from me, then looking up, trails it, cool and smooth, over the line of my chin and neck. My skin prickles and my

dip of my collar bone, he runs the glass over my chest, then replacing it with a fingernail, descends through the

path over my breasts to

his lips around the nipple. My breath jolts at the hot-flesh-chill-wine on my skin. As he cups the breast with a palm, suckling gently, the nipple puckers,

me with his teeth, plucking and tugging, drawing out my flesh. His free hand glides south, fingertips sliding through the

me, Kirstie. But then, I think you have been wet for much of

Oh, God…

Please let me come. I’ve been waiting

breast, but the fingers of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker. “This… says that I get to decide

hot trickle makes its way down inside my

he murmurs. “Close your eyes. Spread your

turn, reaching out to grip the

on my skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush against

he gathers it in, raising it and exposing my neck. Then with a twist, he pins it up. Laying hands on my shoulders, his breath washes over me, laving me in his heat. I quiver at the softness of his lips brushing over me, then the wet heat, and the soft

kiss, but his grip on

me, the bite on my neck sharp enough for pain, and I jolt. “I

the top of my

hands follow, palming and smoothing over my arms then moving over my breasts and down to my ribs. His palms caress me, but his thumbs dig in, the nails short and blunt, pressing at my skin, sending pinpricks of

“Ryan… Please…”

pushes me, flat-handed, between the shoulders, pressing me forward and down. Losing my grip on the bedposts, I

my feet apart.

knew you

for him hours ago and now, as

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

straining me against the other

wells and flows, making a scalding fluid trail down my thighs. And now, the throbbing comes, the start

Come for me,

rhapsody as

dropped down on top of me, arms clutched around my body as, grinding his hips

length, our heartbeats banging a joint crescendo, each through to the other,

my earlobe with his teeth. “I

*****

Christmas Eve

thick roll-neck sweater and a scarf, loaded with firewood. Stacking it by the hearth, he swipes off flakes of snow, which promptly thaw and puddle onto the tiles. “I reckon that’s a good two feet of snow that dropped

me, Ryan inhales. “Are we snowed

heap of dogs lolling in front of the flames. “Budge up you lot.” Grumbling, they shift to make room for him. Scruffy yaps protest. Michael grins, bending down to rub his face then, blowing into his palms, holds them over the fire. “… But the snowplough will

Mitch flips through a glossy magazine, admires the

seems inclined to mention Klempner’s arrival or discuss where he might have been, so I hold my tongue. He sits at the back of the room, a whiskey glass in one hand, not drinking, just silently