Read Craving Flight for Free Online Page B

he’s leaning over me, propping himself up on a hand by my shoulder and finally, finally, he puts a hand between my legs, parting me gently and making an aggressively appreciative noise. “This is what you wanted. This is what you need. Isn’t it?”
    “Yes, master.”
    With my acquiescence, he pushes a finger inside, making it two when there’s no resistance. The rhythmic thrusts feel incredible and make me want more of him, all of him. Make me crave the heavy thickness resting hot on my thigh.
    He doesn’t fuck me for long this way and I’m glad. Instead he drags his fingers from my body and plants his hand on the bed, containing me. Then he’s easing into me, the stretch making me aware of exactly how full I’ll be when he’s completely seated. Breached. Conquered. Possessed. That’s exactly how it feels when he’s in me to the hilt. And it gets better when he starts to move.
    Moving slowly, he rocks his hips that are spreading my thighs even wider than the rope. When he seems confident he’s not going to hurt me, not really, he thrusts harder and the force is delicious.
    I tilt my hips up to meet him, take him deeper inside. He takes it as an invitation and the thrusting changes to outright pounding. It doesn’t take long for me to be close and I realize he hasn’t told me… Am I supposed to ask? But perhaps he can tell, by some quickening of my breath, some change in the pitch of my encouraging moans, I’m nearly there.
    “Fly for me, little bird.”
    His low command trips something inside of me and I plummet down, my body seizing before rising up into an incredible climax. Fly for me , he said. And I am. The flight made more rewarding by his desire for it, his permission. I cry out, saying his name, as I pull at my bonds. He lets me ride out my orgasm, rocking up against him in an uneven rhythm to catch the last of it, scrambling for the aftershocks as if I’ll never come again.
    When I’m limp and replete beneath him, he kisses me: my cheekbone, just above my eyebrow, my lips. I kiss him back, a languid press of my lips, a dreamy sweep of my tongue. But a stirring inside me reminds me I’m the only one who’s satisfied.
    “Do you have anything to say to me?”
    “Thank you, master?”
    “Quick study indeed.”
    His praise—or perhaps it’s my orgasm—makes me glow and I smile at him.
    “Is there anything else you want from me?”
    “I want you to come. I want you to use me, finish inside of me. Let me know I please you.”
    “You do, Tzipporah, you do.” With that confirmation, he’s moving again, fucking me harder and faster than before. I wouldn’t be able to get off from this, but I sure do enjoy it. Especially knowing that he’s taking what he wants from me, not caring for my pleasure because I’ve been sated. With a last hard thrust that makes me yelp because he’s reached someplace so deep inside, he comes, his groan of satisfaction drowning out my desultory protest. The sharp pain is already fading into an ache and the next presses of him inside of me are less forceful.
    If I weren’t tied down, I’d take his head in my hands, thread my fingers through his hair. As it is, I press my face to the side of his neck and listen to his slowing breath. At last he pushes up on his elbows and reaches over my head. The rope around my hands loosens and then unfurls. Still inside me, he rubs one wrist and then the other. When he rolls off, he offers me a cloth and I press it between my restrained legs. He uses a second to clean off and then stretches alongside me.
    I rest my hands on my stomach and notice the rope has pressed into my skin, imprinting a pattern in red.
    “It will fade by tomorrow.” He sounds apologetic and he should do anything but apologize.
    “I wasn’t concerned. I was…admiring them.”
    “You should.” He reaches over and traces line upon line, evidence of his possession. “You mark nicely.”
    Oh. On the extremely rare occasions I’d gotten Brooks to play