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.

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

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

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

glass over my chest, then replacing it with a

to a nipple, stiffening

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,

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

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

Oh, God…

let me come.

curl into my loins.

threaten to buckle, and a hot

your eyes. Spread your arms.

reaching out

skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush

over me, laving me in his heat. I quiver

return the kiss, but his grip on my shoulders tightens.

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

the nape of my neck to the top

my arms then moving over my breasts and down to my ribs. His palms caress me, but his thumbs dig

“Ryan… Please…”

forward and down. Losing my grip on the bedposts, I all but collapse,

clutch me at the hips, pulling 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

knew

now, as he fills my body with his, I yelp and cry and howl in a rhythm to match

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

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

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

Come for me,

out my rhapsody as repeatedly and again, Ryan sheathes himself deep inside

quiver my way through climax, only just aware that Ryan has dropped down on top of me, arms clutched around my body as, grinding his hips against mine, he groans and

each

my earlobe with his teeth. “I call that a

*****

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 of snow that

inhales.

of his boot at the heap 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

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

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