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.

silence as I hook fingers into the side laces,

he sits on the end of the bed. He sips his wine again, then offers it to me. Smooth and dark

looking up, trails it, cool and smooth, over the line of my chin and neck. My skin prickles and my pulse

my collar bone, he runs the glass over my chest, then replacing

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

more 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 I

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

his chest. “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 it

Oh, God…

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

breast, but the fingers of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker. “This…

hot trickle makes its way down

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

out to grip the

clothes brush against me, the woollen fibres of

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

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

the bite on my neck sharp enough for pain, and I jolt. “I can smell

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

my ribs. His palms caress me, but his thumbs dig in, the nails short and blunt, pressing at my skin, sending pinpricks of pain cascading down to

“Ryan… Please…”

well.” Without warning, 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 gasping, onto

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 as he

I knew

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.

my hair, pulling back my head, straining

down

may Come for

into orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as repeatedly and again,

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,

a joint crescendo, each through to the

earlobe with his teeth. “I call

*****

Christmas Eve

hearth, he swipes off flakes

inhales.

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 the kitchen, I think he was planning for the arrival of the Mongol hordes. There’s

flips through a glossy magazine, admires the photo of a red

have been, so I hold my tongue. He sits at the back of the room, a whiskey glass in one hand,