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.

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,

I 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

from me, then looking up, trails it, cool and smooth, over the

my chest, then replacing it with a fingernail, descends

further, tracing a tight, sharp path over my breasts to a nipple, stiffening now in a combination of

pauses, 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 palm, suckling gently, the nipple puckers, hardening further and I hiss at electricity jangling

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

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

Oh, God…

me come.

my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker. “This… says that I get to

and a hot trickle makes its

murmurs. “Close your

turn, reaching out to grip

my skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush against me,

breath washes over me, laving me in his heat. I quiver at the softness of his lips brushing over

to return the kiss, but his grip on my

pain, and I jolt. “I can smell your arousal. I know

heat moves down from the nape of my neck to the top of my spine;

over my breasts and down to my ribs. His palms caress me, but his thumbs dig in, the

“Ryan… Please…”

warning, he pushes me, flat-handed, between the shoulders, pressing me forward and down. Losing my grip on the bedposts,

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 melt-down and I cry

I knew

No gradual waking of the flesh. I was ready for him hours ago and now, as he fills my body with

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

back my head, straining me against

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

Come

released, I ricochet into orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as

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

banging a joint crescendo, each through to the other,

my earlobe with his teeth. “I call

*****

Christmas Eve

strides in, muffled 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

Ryan inhales.

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

ornaments. Mitch flips through a glossy magazine,

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