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 bed. He sips his wine again,

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

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

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

sips 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

teeth, plucking and tugging, drawing out my flesh. His free hand glides south, fingertips

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

Oh, God…

let me come. I’ve been waiting for

see.” Rising, he releases my breast, but the fingers of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker.

knees threaten to buckle, and a hot trickle makes its

he murmurs. “Close your

out to

heat on my skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush against me, the woollen fibres

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

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

at me, the bite on my neck sharp enough for pain, and I jolt. “I

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

over my breasts and down to my ribs. His palms caress me, but his thumbs dig in, the nails short and blunt, pressing at my skin,

“Ryan… Please…”

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

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 plunges into me,

knew you

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

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

my head, straining me against the other hand

down my thighs.

may Come for

ricochet into orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as repeatedly and again, Ryan sheathes himself deep inside

that Ryan has dropped down on top of me, arms clutched

crescendo, each through to the other, we

earlobe with his teeth. “I

*****

Christmas Eve

he swipes off flakes of snow, which promptly thaw and puddle onto the tiles. “I

Ryan inhales.

probably, yes...” Michael nudges with the toe 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 along in

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 photo of a red dress, then rips out the page,

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