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.

own arousal, I chose because I know he likes them. Ryan watches in silence

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

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

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

wine, swishing it around 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

and tugging, drawing out my flesh. His free hand glides south, fingertips sliding

me, Kirstie. But then, I think you have 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

Oh, God…

come. I’ve

curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker. “This… says that

hot trickle makes

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

reaching out to grip the

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

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. I quiver at the softness of his lips brushing over me, then the wet heat, and the soft gnawing

then liquifies. I semi-turn, wanting to return the kiss, but his grip on my

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

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 nails short and blunt, pressing at my skin,

“Ryan… Please…”

between the shoulders, pressing me forward and down. Losing my grip on the bedposts, I all but collapse, face-down

my ankles, forcing my feet apart. At the rasping of a zipper, my

knew

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

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

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

scalding fluid trail down my thighs.

Come for

rhapsody as repeatedly and again,

and writhing, I pulse and jerk and quiver my way through climax, only just aware that Ryan has dropped down on top of me, arms

crescendo, each through

his teeth. “I call that a

*****

Christmas Eve

in, muffled 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

Ryan inhales.

make room for him. Scruffy yaps protest. Michael grins, bending down to rub his face then, blowing into his palms, holds them over the

ornaments. Mitch flips through a glossy magazine, admires the photo of a red dress, then

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 the