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.

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 at my neck; his gift to me, the

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

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

collar bone, he runs the glass over my chest, then replacing it with a fingernail, descends through the

a tight, sharp path over my breasts to

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 hiss at

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

me, Kirstie. But then, I think you have been wet for much of the

Oh, God…

let me come. I’ve been waiting for

but the fingers of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from

knees threaten to buckle, and a hot trickle makes its

“Close your eyes. Spread

out to grip the

his body heat on my skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush against me, the

shoulders, his breath washes over me, laving me in his heat. I quiver

grip on my

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

the nape of my neck to the top of

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

“Ryan… Please…”

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

up. In the same movement, boots shove between my ankles, forcing my feet apart.

knew

the flesh. I was ready for him hours ago and now, as he fills

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

my hair, pulling back my head, straining me against

a scalding fluid trail down my thighs. And now, the throbbing comes,

Come for me,

into orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody

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

our heartbeats banging a joint crescendo, each

my earlobe with his teeth. “I call that a

*****

Christmas Eve

up in a thick roll-neck sweater and a scarf, loaded with firewood. Stacking it by the hearth, he swipes off flakes of snow, which promptly thaw and puddle onto the tiles. “I reckon that’s a good two

me, Ryan inhales. “Are

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 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 enough in the house to

happily making Christmas tree ornaments. Mitch flips through a glossy magazine, admires the photo of a

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