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.

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

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

it, cool and smooth, over the line of my

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

breasts to a nipple, stiffening now in a combination of cool air

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

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

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

Oh, God…

let me come. I’ve been waiting

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

murmurs. “Close your eyes. Spread your arms. Hold

reaching out to grip

brush against me, the woollen fibres of his sweater tickling, the fabric

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 wet heat, and the soft gnawing of his teeth as he mouths over my shoulders, biting

I semi-turn, wanting to return the kiss, but his grip on my shoulders tightens. “You

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

to the top of my spine; the soft bite of his

ribs. His palms caress me, but his thumbs dig in, the nails short and blunt,

“Ryan… Please…”

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

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

knew you were

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 a rhythm to match his as my

… My Master…

… fucks me hard.

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

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

Come

into orgasm, screaming out my rhapsody as repeatedly and again, Ryan sheathes

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

length, our heartbeats banging a joint crescendo, each through to

earlobe with his teeth. “I call that

*****

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 thaw and puddle onto the

Ryan inhales. “Are we snowed

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

Christmas tree ornaments. Mitch flips through a glossy magazine, admires the photo of a red dress, then rips out the page, folding the paper with practised ease into a

has 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