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…

around the table, everyone talking to everyone

to work with, I slide the panties down and over my ankles,

is

it’s fine.” I wipe it down on

But

astonishingly difficult to chew

*****

her, and she nods, grimacing. Then, “Can

Charlotte pipes up. “Bladder?”

“Um, yes,

down her knife and fork. “I’ll come with you if you like. Give you a hand. I know

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

a comfort break myself, but with Ryan’s finger working spirals between my pussy lips, I’m conscious

Black dress, not red…

Hmmm…

me on the shoulder. “Kirstie, why do

austere expression

wondered that too…” James and Richard nod

is an ideal opportunity

lip. “I

clicks 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

the length of the paper. He snaps his fingers under the table, waving the greasy paper. “Hey, Scruffy. Here, Scruffy.” Michael’s rat-faced mongrel streaks across

the dogs follow him in a cloud of hair and outrage, but Ryan, Michael, Richard and Larry exchange inspired glances, snatching off their own hats. Michael wipes his down with a bit of turkey

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