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.

best of my long legs, and now damp and fragrant with my own 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 calves to leave myself naked save the velvet choker at my neck; his

where he sits on the end of the bed. He sips his wine again, then offers

and smooth, over the line of my chin and neck. My

glass over my chest, then replacing it with a fingernail, descends through the

strays further, tracing a tight, sharp path over my breasts to a nipple, stiffening now in a combination

down, leans in, wrapping his lips around the nipple. My breath jolts at the hot-flesh-chill-wine on

drawing out my flesh. His free hand glides

pleasure rumbles from his chest. “Already wet for me, Kirstie. But then, I think you have been wet for much of the day. That’s very good. I

Oh, God…

me come. I’ve been waiting for

breast, but the fingers of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from

a hot

the bed,” he murmurs. “Close your eyes. Spread your arms. Hold

turn, reaching out to grip

clothes brush against me, the woollen fibres of his sweater tickling, the fabric of his jeans scratching

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 gnawing of his teeth as

to return the kiss, but his grip on my shoulders tightens. “You may not move. I have not

enough for pain, and I jolt. “I can smell your arousal.

the nape of my neck to the top of my spine; the

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 pain cascading down to ravish my

“Ryan… Please…”

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

my ass up. In the same movement, boots shove between my ankles, forcing my feet apart. At the rasping of a zipper, my cunt goes into melt-down and I cry out as he plunges into me,

I knew you were

of the flesh. I was ready for him hours ago and now, as he fills my body with his, I

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

into my hair, pulling back my head, straining me against the other hand planted

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

may Come for

into orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as repeatedly and again, Ryan sheathes himself

through climax, only just aware that Ryan has dropped

a joint crescendo, each through to

earlobe with his teeth. “I call that a good start to

*****

Christmas Eve

the hearth, he swipes off flakes of snow, which promptly thaw and puddle onto the tiles. “I reckon that’s a good two feet

Ryan inhales. “Are

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,

flips through a glossy magazine, admires the photo of a red dress, then rips out the page, folding the paper with practised ease into a

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 watching