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 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 gift to me, the

crooks a finger, beckoning me. Already, my heart beats faster. Moving 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 and dark and heady, it caresses my tongue and throat as I swallow, then pools warm in my

the goblet back from me, then looking up, trails it, cool and smooth, over the line of my

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

breasts to a nipple, stiffening now in a combination of cool

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

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

been wet for much of the day. That’s very good. I like that. It makes it easier for me to decide if I will let you

Oh, God…

come.

hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker.

threaten to buckle, and a hot

your eyes. Spread your arms. Hold

turn, reaching out

skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush

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 he

grip on my shoulders tightens. “You may not move. I have

for pain, and I jolt. “I can smell your arousal. I know you are growing ready for

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

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

“Ryan… Please…”

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

clutch me at the hips, pulling my ass up. In the same movement, boots shove between my ankles, forcing my feet apart. At

I knew

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

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

knots into my hair, pulling back my head, straining

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

may Come

rhapsody as repeatedly and again, Ryan sheathes himself deep

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

crescendo, each

with his teeth. “I call that

*****

Christmas Eve

up in a 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

me, Ryan inhales.

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

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

might have been, so I hold my tongue. He sits at the back of the room, a whiskey glass in one hand, not drinking,