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.

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

stand over him where he sits on the end of the bed. He sips

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

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

breasts to a nipple, stiffening now

his mouth, then setting the glass down, leans in, wrapping 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, hardening further and I hiss at

my flesh. His free hand

of 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

Oh, God…

Please let me come.

hand still curl into my loins.

and a hot trickle

murmurs. “Close your eyes.

reaching out to grip the

spine. His clothes brush against me, the woollen fibres of his sweater

into my hair, 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.

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

I jolt. “I can smell your arousal. I know you are

moves down from the nape of my neck to the top of my spine; the soft bite of his

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

“Ryan… Please…”

me forward and down. Losing my grip

my feet

knew you were

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

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

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

scalding fluid trail down my thighs. And now,

Come for

rhapsody as repeatedly and

Ryan has dropped down on top of me, arms clutched around my body as, grinding

joint crescendo, each through to the other, we lie,

my earlobe with his teeth. “I call that a

*****

Christmas Eve

hearth, he swipes off

inhales. “Are we

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 be along in a while. And in any case, when

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

my tongue. He