Free Craving Flight by Tamsen Parker Page B

at the same time, so I choose speech. “Still here. Want more.”
    Of course he laughs at me. I don’t mind. He spreads my legs wide and then his fingers are inside me. I sigh because the penetration feels so good. It makes me want more. But instead of stripping and pressing inside of me, he releases the clamps and holy—
    “Sugar!”
    My modified curse makes him laugh again. This time I open my eyes to see his face, the streak of white teeth surrounded by his beard, the way wrinkles form at the sides of his eyes. “That hurts, does it?”
    “You know it does.”
    My brain must be scrambled indeed, because that is not an appropriate response. Nor does he think so; I get a slap to the side of my breast for my insolence. “Try again.”
    “Yes, master.”
    “Better.”
    And then he’s pulling the clamps from my nipples, licking and suckling away the pain from the rush of blood. It hurts, but it feels good and everything is starting to register as just feeling . I want him to make me feel more.
    “Elan, I want you inside me. Please.”
    He could slap me again, perhaps a pinch. It’s not my place to make demands. Instead, he stands, strips off his clothes and folds them. I watch him, the flex of his muscles as he performs this simple task and I suddenly want to see him at work so very badly. How ruthless and brutal would he seem hacking and tearing at huge pieces of meat? My great bear of a husband, who can be so gentle as he settles himself between my legs and leans over to ease inside of me.
    When he’s sure I can take him easily, the momentary gentleness is over and he ravages me, pounding inside, the motion slamming my abused behind into the bed. With every thrust it hurts anew, the fire set all over again as if he’s striking match after match and using my flesh as tinder.
    I clutch at his back, my fingers digging into him. I need so badly to hold onto something and he’s my only shelter in the storm. Soon I’m whimpering because I need yet another release. I believe he’ll fulfill his responsibility and give it to me, urging me with his words.
    “Yes, little bird. I want to see you fly.”
    I do, my whole body pure sensation as I come apart underneath him. My nails dig into him as he drives his way to his own release, my cries sending him higher until he goes rigid above me and I feel the pulse of his orgasm inside me.
    After our breathing returns to an approximation of normal, he rolls off me, nudging my shoulder so he can lie alongside me. He lifts an arm to look at the side of his ribcage and snorts.
    “Look what you’ve done to me, you little brute.”
    The streaky red marks my nails have left on his skin make me giggle. “It only seems fair after what you’ve done to me, you hulking savage.”
    I roll onto my stomach so he can see the marks he made, knowing they’ll darken into bruises over the next few days. For now the livid red welts will please him. I expect him to stroke them, perhaps pinch or tweak them, but instead I hear the grind of a drawer opening and then he’s rubbing a cream onto the marks.
    “Arnica,” he replies to my startled noise. I settle into his caretaking, relishing the kindness of the act, soaking up affection where I can get it.

Chapter Five
    ‡
    W e’ve been married for almost a month so it shouldn’t have surprised me when I woke up eleven days ago to my period starting. But somehow, it had.
    I’d stood in the bathroom, wondering what exactly I should say. I had to tell him and the idea was mortifying— I barely know this man and I have to tell him it’s that time of the month? Ugh . But not telling him would’ve been so much worse. Then he wouldn’t know to treat me as niddah: no touching, no passing things between us, no seeing those private parts only he’s entitled to.
    So I’d done it when we’d passed in the kitchen, him loading his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher before heading off to the shul for morning services and me putting on the kettle for