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.

and fragrant with my own arousal, I chose because I know he likes them. Ryan watches in silence as I hook fingers into

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

over the line of

glass over my chest, then replacing

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

around the nipple. My breath jolts at the hot-flesh-chill-wine

drawing out my flesh. His free hand glides south,

you have been wet for much of the day. That’s very good. I like

Oh, God…

me come. I’ve been

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

knees threaten to buckle, and a hot trickle makes its way

bed,” he murmurs. “Close your eyes.

reaching out to grip the

spine. His clothes brush against me, the woollen fibres of his sweater tickling, the fabric of his

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

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

the nape of my neck to the top of my spine;

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

“Ryan… Please…”

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,

the hips, pulling my ass up. In the same movement, boots shove between my ankles, forcing my feet apart. At the rasping of

I knew you were

and now, as he fills

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

hand knots into my hair, pulling back my head, straining me against

scalding fluid trail down my thighs. And now, the

may Come for me,

orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as repeatedly

writhing, 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

each through to the other, we lie, sated

teeth. “I

*****

Christmas Eve

a thick roll-neck sweater and a scarf, loaded with firewood. Stacking it by the hearth, he swipes off flakes of

Ryan inhales. “Are

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

to each other at the table, happily making Christmas tree ornaments. Mitch flips through a glossy magazine,

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 silently watching the two