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.

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 symbol

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

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

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

tight, sharp path over my breasts to a nipple, stiffening now in a

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

rumbles from his chest. “Already wet for me, Kirstie. But then, I think you have been wet for much of

Oh, God…

Please let me come. I’ve been waiting

rumbles again. “We’ll see.” Rising, he releases my breast, but the fingers of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker. “This… says

to buckle, and a hot trickle makes

your

turn, reaching out to

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

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

his grip on my

me, the bite on my neck sharp enough for pain, and I jolt. “I can smell your arousal. I know you are growing ready for

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

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

“Ryan… Please…”

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

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

knew you were

was ready for him hours ago and now, as he fills my body with his, I yelp and cry and howl in a rhythm to match his as

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

straining me against the other hand

scalding fluid trail down

Come

out my rhapsody as

pulse and jerk and quiver my way through climax, only just aware that Ryan has dropped

banging a joint crescendo, each through to

his teeth. “I call that

*****

Christmas Eve

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

Ryan inhales.

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

flips through a glossy magazine, admires the photo of a red dress, then rips out the

inclined to mention Klempner’s arrival or discuss where he might have been, so I hold my tongue. He sits at the back of