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.

arousal, I chose because I know he likes them. Ryan watches in silence as I hook fingers into the side laces, sliding them down over thighs and

closer, I stand over him where he sits on the end of the bed. He sips his wine again, then offers it to me. Smooth

up, trails it, cool and smooth, over the line of my chin and neck.

collar bone, he runs the glass over my chest, then

tracing a tight, sharp path over my breasts to a nipple,

breath jolts at the hot-flesh-chill-wine on my skin. As he cups the

tugging, drawing out my flesh. His free hand glides south, fingertips sliding through the dark hair at the vee of

I think you have been wet for much of the day. That’s very good. I like that. It makes

Oh, God…

Please let me come. I’ve been

the fingers of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl

a hot trickle makes

he murmurs. “Close your eyes. Spread your

turn, reaching out to grip the

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

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,

kiss, but his grip

and I jolt. “I can smell your

to the top of my

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

“Ryan… Please…”

Without warning, he pushes me, flat-handed, between the shoulders, pressing me forward and down. Losing my grip on the bedposts, I all but collapse, face-down

forcing my feet apart. At the rasping of

knew you

ago and now, as he fills my

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

into my hair, pulling back my head, straining me against the

wells and flows, making a scalding fluid trail down my thighs. And

may Come

orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as repeatedly and again, Ryan

only just aware that Ryan has dropped down on top of me, arms clutched around my body as, grinding his hips against mine,

crescendo, each through to the

nips my earlobe with his teeth. “I call that

*****

Christmas Eve

a thick roll-neck sweater and a scarf, loaded with firewood. Stacking it by the hearth, he swipes off

me, Ryan inhales.

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 be along in a while. And in any case, when James stocked up the kitchen, I think he was planning for the arrival of the Mongol hordes. There’s enough in the house to see us through to the

the table, happily making Christmas tree ornaments. Mitch flips through a glossy magazine, admires the photo of a red dress, then rips

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