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time?”
    I break into a nervous giggle. Surely talking about the rabbi’s sex life is some kind of no-no.
    “Enough talking for now, though. I think you might be ready for me and if not, I have some ideas.”
    He rolls to the side and I immediately miss the weight of him spreading my thighs. I start to close them but he grasps above my knee and tsks. “Stay open for me.”
    A whimper escapes my throat. What am I, some kind of animal? When he slides his palm along the inside of my thigh, I don’t care. If he wants me to be an animal, an animal I’ll be. He stops just short of where I’m throbbing for him, barely brushing the nest of curls, and then coasts his hand over my stomach and ribcage up to my breast.
    “Hands above your head.”
    Oh. I obey, resting them on the pillow. His gaze travels over me, stopping at certain points along the way, all the lush, forbidden places.
    “Do you trust me to tie you?”
    The truth is that it was far more frightening to confess that I want to be tied than the actual prospect of being tied is. “Yes.”
    I expect him to stand, perhaps rummage under the bed, but he doesn’t. Instead he squeezes the breast he’s been palming. Softly at first and then increasingly hard until his fingers are digging into the sensitive flesh and I make a noise.
    It’s funny, the things you know only about the people you’ve been intimate with. The sounds they make, how their faces look as they come. More small pieces of myself that I’ll surrender to him. Take them, please. Just promise to handle them with care.
    He continues to work at me, not heeding the sound and I’m glad. It’s beginning to hurt but in a way I like. In a way that, strangely, feels good. Then he grasps my nipple and pinches, the pressure sending a sizzle of pleasure straight between my legs where I’m exposed. The pressure is deliciously hard and he doesn’t let up. Just holds the sensitive peak between his fingers. The steady even pressure is a turn on as he stares at his hold on me. “Someday I’ll use clamps on you. Leave my hands free. But first I want to train you to my touch.”
    Another ungainly squeak is forced through my throat because the idea is shockingly but undeniably arousing. Again he ignores it and then squeezes harder. Hard enough to make me squeal, hard enough that my back arches. Only when his free hand grips my wrists and forces them down do I realize my hands came off the bed. “Stay still. You’re mine to do with as I please and I want you to keep your hands above your head. And don’t close your legs. Open for me. Always open for me.”
    His scolding makes me shamefully hot for him. Whenever Brooks deigned to do this, I always felt like he was pretending. Like it was a foolish game he didn’t really want to play. With Elan, it feels real and the authenticity fans the flames of my desire. It’s better than I’d imagined.
    He toys with me for a while, leisurely in his actions like he has all the time in the world to make me squirm underneath him. And I suppose he does. Where else am I going to go?
    He switches to the other breast and continues to torture and tease me until I’m tossing my head on the pillow. I only realize I’m sweating when he stops his torment and wipes away some strands of hair that have become matted to my face.
    “Aren’t you a fun little plaything?” His gently mocking words make me even hotter for him and doubly so when he demands, “Answer me.”
    “Yes.”
    “Yes, what?”
    My breath has gone short and if he didn’t have my hands pinned above my head I’d pinch myself. Is he—
    “Yes, sir?”
    “I think a stronger word is called for. Out there, we live as man and wife, as equals. In here, though…this is a different matter. We’ll have our own little contract that says you’ve signed yourself over to me and my wishes. You’re going to call me master.”
    The bird inside me that usually flutters around, beating at my ribs and crowding my heart,