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.

Ryan watches in silence as I hook fingers into

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,

and smooth, over the line of my chin and neck. My skin prickles and my pulse

of my collar bone, he runs the glass over my chest,

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

setting the glass down, leans in, wrapping his lips around the nipple. My breath jolts at the hot-flesh-chill-wine on my skin.

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

“Already wet for me, Kirstie. But then, I think you have been wet for much of the day. That’s very good. I like that. It makes

Oh, God…

let me come. I’ve been

my loins. He touches

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

your eyes. Spread your arms. Hold

out

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

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

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

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

moves down from the nape of my neck to the top of my spine; the soft bite of his

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,

“Ryan… Please…”

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

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

I knew you were

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

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

straining me against the

fluid trail down my thighs. And

Come for me,

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

heartbeats banging a joint crescendo, each through

with his teeth. “I call

*****

Christmas Eve

with firewood. Stacking it by the hearth, he swipes off flakes of snow,

inhales. “Are

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,

tree ornaments. Mitch flips through a glossy magazine, admires

seems 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