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…

glance around the table, everyone talking

seconds I have to work with, I slide

James is already half-standing

I wipe it down

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

to chew turkey

*****

something quiet to her, and she

Charlotte pipes up. “Bladder?”

blushes. “Um, yes,

come with you if you like. Give you a hand. I

her a grateful smile as Richard stands, sliding her chair out as she heaves herself upright. But Charlotte is struggling herself to get up from her seat and Mitch rises

do with a comfort break myself, but with Ryan’s finger working

Black dress, not red…

Hmmm…

shoulder. “Kirstie, why

an austere

wondered that

do it,” I say, “Because it is

lip. “I had to

down the hall, James cocks his head, listening, then stands and clicks the door open. A tide of dogs flows into the room, tails wagging, noses raised towards table level, or in Emma’s case,

his pirate hat, then snatching up a pig-in-blanket, he smears bacon fat all along 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 floor, snatches at the hat then speeds away with

glances, snatching off their

at Richard’s feet, raising limpid brown eyes to him, then as she is presented with