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

with, I slide the panties down and over

James is

wipe it down on

move. But

is astonishingly difficult to chew turkey

*****

her seat. Richard murmurs something quiet to her, and she nods, grimacing.

Charlotte pipes up. “Bladder?”

“Um,

you if you like. Give you a hand. I know

as Richard stands, sliding her chair out as she heaves herself upright. But Charlotte is struggling herself to get

working spirals between

Black dress, not red…

Hmmm…

the three women exit, Ryan taps me on the shoulder. “Kirstie, why

an austere expression

wondered that too…” James

it is an ideal opportunity to

at his lip.

the door open. A tide of dogs flows into the room, tails wagging, noses raised towards table level, or in Emma’s case, above

table, waving

Richard and Larry exchange inspired glances, snatching off their own hats. Michael wipes his down with a bit of turkey skin, then clicking fingers

they are late for the Apocalypse. Meg, in her best rendition of the role of Famine, sits at Richard’s feet, raising limpid brown eyes to him, then as she is presented with turkey-flavoured tissue, descends on it like a wolf ravening from the winter