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.

in silence as I hook fingers into the side laces, sliding them down over thighs and calves to leave

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

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

glass over my chest, then replacing

path over my breasts to a nipple, stiffening now in a combination

the hot-flesh-chill-wine on my skin. As he cups the breast with a palm, suckling gently, the nipple puckers, hardening further

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

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

Oh, God…

me come. I’ve

of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker. “This… says that I get to

knees threaten to buckle, and a hot trickle

“Close your

out to

he’s standing close, his body heat on my skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush against me, the woollen fibres of his sweater tickling, the fabric of his

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. I quiver at the softness of his lips brushing over me, then the

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

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

nape of my neck to the top of my

me, but his thumbs dig in, the nails short and blunt, pressing at my skin,

“Ryan… Please…”

down. Losing my grip on the bedposts, I all but collapse, face-down and gasping,

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

I knew

he pistons in. No opening me. No gradual waking of the flesh. I was ready for him hours ago and now,

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

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

down my thighs. And now, the throbbing

may Come for me,

orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as repeatedly and again, Ryan sheathes

I pulse and jerk and 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 through to the other, we lie, sated

with his teeth. “I call that a

*****

Christmas Eve

swipes off

me, Ryan inhales. “Are we snowed

for him. Scruffy yaps protest. Michael grins, bending down to rub his face then, blowing into his palms, holds them over the fire. “… But

by, Charlotte and Mitch sit next to each other at the table, happily making Christmas tree ornaments. Mitch flips through a glossy magazine, admires 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 the room, a whiskey glass in one hand, not drinking, just