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

five seconds I have to work with, I slide the panties down and over my ankles, pressing them

Kirstie?” James is already half-standing from his

it’s fine.” I wipe it down

But his hand does,

is astonishingly difficult to chew turkey while having your pussy

*****

quiet to her, and she nods, grimacing. Then, “Can you

Charlotte pipes up. “Bladder?”

“Um, yes,

fork. “I’ll come with you if you like. Give you a hand. I know what it’s like when you’re that size and you’re trying to

sliding her chair out as she heaves herself upright. But Charlotte is struggling herself to get up from her seat

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

Black dress, not red…

Hmmm…

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

turn an austere

I’ve always wondered that

do it,” I say, “Because it is an ideal opportunity to

at his lip.

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

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

glances, snatching

of Famine, sits at Richard’s feet, raising limpid brown eyes to him, then as she is