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.

because I know he likes them. Ryan watches in silence as I hook fingers

a finger, beckoning me. Already, my heart beats faster. Moving closer, 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

takes the goblet back from me, then looking up, trails it, cool and smooth, over the line

over my chest, then replacing it with a fingernail, descends through the

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

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

my flesh. His

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 easier for me to decide if

Oh, God…

Master… Please let me come. I’ve been

my breast, but the fingers of his other hand still curl into my loins. He touches the pearl which dangles from the choker. “This… says that I get to decide when

to buckle, and a hot trickle makes its way

“Close your eyes. Spread your arms. Hold

reaching out to

body heat on my skin, my naked spine. His clothes brush against me, the woollen fibres of his sweater tickling, the fabric of his jeans

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

his grip on my

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

to the top of my spine;

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

“Ryan… Please…”

the shoulders, pressing me forward and down. Losing my grip on the bedposts,

forcing my feet apart. At the rasping of a zipper, my cunt goes into melt-down and I cry out as he

knew

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 planted

scalding fluid trail down my thighs.

may Come for me,

rhapsody as repeatedly and again, Ryan sheathes himself deep inside

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

a joint crescendo, each through to the

earlobe with his teeth. “I call that a good start to

*****

Christmas Eve

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 feet of snow that dropped

me, Ryan inhales.

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

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

appeared overnight. No-one 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 glass in one hand, not