Craving Flight Read Online Free PDF Page B

Couldn’t. Why am I pretending that’s not true?
    “Do you like to be spanked, little bird?”
    Now it’s my turn to be surprised. His tone isn’t cruel or mocking. It’s sweetly enticing, like honey dripping from apples. Or perhaps something not quite as sweet. Darker, earthier, more lingering than honey. Molasses.
    Breathing around the wings beating at my heart, I moisten my lips between my teeth.
    “Yes.”
    “With just a hand or more than that?”
    Thinking of what damage his substantial palms and strong fingers might do, I breathe, “A hand to start.”
    He nods. “To start.”
    “Yes.”
    “But perhaps something more than that?”
    “Perhaps.”
    Turns out I don’t actually need to be hurt to get turned on. All I need to do is talk about it with his dark eyes laser-focused on me. Between my legs, there’s a growing heat and sensitivity. If he slipped a hand between us, he’d find me wet. But instead of reaching down to the apex of my thighs, he slides his hand toward the back of my neck, fingers twining in my hair and closing. It makes my lips part.
    “And besides being hurt, are there other things?”
    “Other things?” I try to look innocent, but the tightening at my scalp and the shake of his head tell me he’s not buying it.
    “Don’t tease me. Tell me the truth. What else?”
    The beat of wings about my lungs grows more intense and I struggle to breathe. “Restraint. I like to be restrained.”
    “My little bird likes to be kept in a cage?”
    “That’s not how it feels.” It’s difficult to explain, but even though I’m being controlled, even when—maybe especially when—I can’t move an inch, it makes me feel like I can fly away. Like the strings that keep me tethered to the ground have been cut and I can finally launch myself into the sky where I belong.
    “It’s not, is it?” His fingers knead the nape of my neck as he studies me. “It makes you feel free.”
    Perhaps my brain has been too crowded with anxiety or sensual thoughts, but this is the first time it occurs to me that Elan is neither shocked nor appalled by my requests and seems—dare I hope?— conversant in these matters? But before I can ask, he presses on.
    “And how do you like to be set free? Rope? Leather? Chains?”
    I get the urge to rub my wrists because I can practically feel the fetters as he talks. But that would be rude and besides, I wouldn’t be able to reach my hands around his broad back to touch. “Anything that won’t leave a mark the next morning?”
    I curse myself for the desperate hope in my voice. I’d had to don long sleeves for days when Brooks left evidence of our play after I’d asked him not to. I should’ve known better about the handcuffs, but I let him. I didn’t want to tell him no after he’d actually agreed to try. Not smart.
    “Anywhere? Or just where your clothes won’t cover?”
    “Just where my clothes won’t cover.”
    “Fair. There’s plenty of you left to work with.” If the eyes are the windows to the soul, I can see him turning this over and over behind his dark irises. Which brings me back to my thought.
    “Have you done…this before?”
    If the lighting weren’t low and his beard didn’t cover so much of his face, I might say he blushes. “I don’t particularly want to discuss it but the short answer is yes.”
    “How did you know about it? And it’s kosher?” I hadn’t wanted to ask in fear that I’d be told it’s not allowed. Besides, my face probably would’ve caught on fire if I’d asked my kallah teacher or Rabbi Horowitz.
    Elan smiles, a small laugh vibrating his chest against mine, the thick mat of hair scraping against my soft and sensitive skin. The rough contact makes my nipples harden against him and I wonder if he notices. “I had an excellent and very thorough chossen teacher and Rabbi Horowitz happens to be quite…liberal in these matters. He’s adamant about pleasing wives. Why do you think Bina’s so cheerful all the