Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Larry slices into something, chews, then says, “This is excellent. What am I eating here?”

James looks across to his plate. “Prune-stuffed pork. Regional speciality where I grew up, usually made for special occasions.” Larry’s brows arch.

Under the table, I become aware of a hand on my thigh. Ryan appears to be listening to the conversation, but ‘below stairs’ he eases between my knees, pushing them apart. Very quietly, he murmurs, “Open up.”

James and Larry are still talking. “Where was that? That you grew up, I mean?”

“Spain.”

“Really? What part?”

“Valencia Province. You know it?”

“Not well. I've visited Valencia city, but I didn't get further afield than that. So, you're Spanish?”

“My mother was Spanish. My father English.”

Ryan eases a finger down and in, tracing a line over my skin that makes my pussy warm and twitch. He speaks without moving his lips. “Wider.”

I’m trying to chew my food, but it’s not easy. Finger and thumb pluck at my panties. “Off.”

“Ryan…” My voice is a hiss.

“Off, I said.”

All eyes are on James and Larry. Nonetheless, I’m happy that, my face made-up, my flush is concealed as I raise myself from my seat just enough for Ryan to hook fingers into my panties and tug down. “Finish the job,” he murmurs. “Take them off and give them to me.”

Christ…

the table, everyone talking to everyone

I slide the

James is already half-standing from

it’s fine.” I wipe

Again, Ryan’s lips don’t move. But his hand does, pushing

difficult to chew turkey while

*****

quiet to her, and she nods,

Charlotte pipes up. “Bladder?”

blushes. “Um, yes,

fork. “I’ll come with you if you like. Give you a hand. I know

herself upright. But Charlotte is struggling herself to get up from her seat and

finger working spirals between my pussy lips, I’m conscious

Black dress, not red…

Hmmm…

me on the shoulder. “Kirstie, why do women go to the

an austere expression on

“Actually, I’ve always wondered that too…” James and Richard

it is an ideal opportunity

lip. “I had

flows into the room, tails wagging, noses raised towards table level, or in Emma’s case,

He snaps his fingers under the table, waving the greasy paper. “Hey, Scruffy. Here, Scruffy.” Michael’s rat-faced mongrel streaks across the floor, snatches at the hat then speeds away with

glances, snatching off

sits at Richard’s feet, raising limpid brown eyes to him, then