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.

to make the best of my long legs, and now damp 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

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

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

of my collar bone, he runs the glass over my

further, tracing a tight, sharp path over my breasts to a

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

out my flesh. His free hand glides south, fingertips sliding through the dark hair at the

been wet for much of the day. That’s very good. I like that. It makes it easier for

Oh, God…

Master… Please let me come. I’ve been waiting

my loins. He touches the pearl which

threaten to buckle, and a hot trickle makes its way down inside my

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

reaching out

heat on my skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush against

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

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

nips at me, the bite on my neck sharp enough for pain, and I jolt. “I can smell your arousal. I

the top of my spine; the soft bite of his teeth,

to my ribs. His palms caress me, but his thumbs dig in,

“Ryan… Please…”

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

same movement, boots shove between my ankles, forcing my feet apart. At the rasping of a zipper, my cunt goes into melt-down

knew you were

pistons in. No opening me. No gradual waking of the flesh. I 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

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

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

wells and flows, making a scalding fluid trail down my thighs. And now, the throbbing comes,

may Come for

orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as

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

crescendo, each through

nips my earlobe with his teeth. “I call that a

*****

Christmas Eve

scarf, loaded with firewood. Stacking it by the hearth, he swipes off flakes of snow, which promptly thaw and puddle onto the tiles. “I

inhales. “Are we snowed

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 along in a while. And in any case, when James stocked up

each other at 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 the paper with practised ease

discuss where he might have been, so I hold my tongue. He sits at