Part II 19

“Thirty-four pounds? Not bad. Ana’s father though, he holds the record. A forty-three pounder.” “You’re kidding! He never said.” “Happy birthday, by the way.” “Thanks. So, where do you like to fish?” I zone out. This I do not need to know. But at the same time I’m relieved. See, Christian? José’s not so bad. By the time José makes to lea一ve, both of them are much more relaxed with each other. Christian quickly changes into T-shirt and jeans and barefoot he accompanies José and me to the foyer. “Thanks for letting me crash here,” José says to Christian as they shake hands. “Anytime,” Christian smiles. José hugs me quickly. “Stay safe, Ana.” “Sure. Great to see you. Next time we’ll ha一ve a proper evening out.” “I’ll hold you to that.” He wa一ves at us from inside the elevator, and then he’s gone. “See, he’s not so bad.” “He still wants into your panties, Ana. But can’t say I blame him.” “Christian, that’s not true!” “You ha一ve no idea, do you?” He smirks down at me. “He wants you. Big time. ” I frown. “Christian, he’s just a friend, a good friend.” And I’m suddenly aware that I sound like Christian when he’s talking about Mrs. Robinson. The thought is unsettling. Christian holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “I don’t want to fight,” he says softly. Oh! We’re not fighting . . . are we? “Me neither.” “You didn’t tell him we were getting married.” “No. I figured I ought to tell Mom and Ray first.” Shit. It’s the first time I’ve thought about this since I said yes. Jeez—what are my parents going to say? Jeez—what are my parents going to say? Christian nods. “Yes, you’re right. And I . . . um, I should ask your father.” I laugh. “Oh, Christian—this isn’t the eighteenth century.” Holy shit. What will Ray say? The thought of that conversation fills me with horror. “It’s traditional.” Christian shrugs. “Let’s talk about that later. I want to give you your other present.” My aim is to distract him. The thought of my present is burning a hole in my consciousness. I need to give it to him and see how he reacts. He gives me his shy smile, and my heart skips a beat. For as long as I live, I’ll never tire of looking at that smile. “You’re biting your lip,” he says and pulls on my chin. A thrill runs through my body as his fingers touch me. Without a word, and while I still ha一ve a modicum of courage, I take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom. I drop his hand, lea一ving him standing by the bed, and from under my side of the bed, I take out the two and from under my side of the bed, I take out the two remaining gift boxes. “Two?” he says, surprised. I take a deep breath. “I bought this before the, um . . . incident yesterday. I’m not sure about it now.” I quickly hand him one of the parcels before I can change my mind. He gazes at me, puzzled, sensing my uncertainty. “Sure you want me to open it?” I nod, anxious. Christian tears off the packaging and gazes in surprise at the box. “Charlie Tango,” I whisper. He grins. The box contains a small wooden helicopter with a large, solar-powered rotor blade. He opens it up. “Solar powered,” he murmurs. “Wow.” And before I know it he’s sitting on the bed assembling it. It snaps together quickly, and Christian holds it up in the palm of his hand. A blue wooden helicopter. He looks up at me and gives me his glorious, all-American-boy smile, then heads to the window so that the little helicopter is bathed in sunlight and the rotor starts to spin. “Look at that,” he breathes, examining it closely. “What we can already do with this technology.” He holds it at eye level, watching the blades spin. He’s fascinated and fascinating to watch as he loses himself in thought, staring at the little helicopter. What is he thinking? “You like it?” “Ana, I love it. Thank you.” He grabs me and kisses me swiftly, then turns back to watch the rotor spin. “I’ll add it to the glider in my office,” he says distractedly, watching the blade spin. He moves his hand out of the sunlight, and the blade slows down and comes to a stop. I can’t help my face-splitting grin, and I want to hug myself. He loves it. Of course, he’s all about alternative technologies. I’d forgotten that in my haste to buy it. Placing it on the chest of drawers, he turns to face me. “It’ll keep me company while we salvage Charlie Tango.” “Is it salvageable?” “I don’t know. I hope so. I’ll miss her, otherwise.” “I don’t know. I hope so. I’ll miss her, otherwise.” Her? I am shocked at myself for the small pang of jealousy I feel for an inanimate object. My subconscious snorts with derisory laughter. I ignore her. “What’s in the other box?” he asks, his eyes wide with almost childish excitement. Holy fuck. “I’m not sure if this present is for you or me.” “Really?” he asks, and I know I ha一ve piqued his interest. Nervously I hand him the second box. He shakes it gently and we both hear a hea一vy rattle. He glances up at me. “Why are you so nervous?” he asks, bemused. I shrug, embarrassed and excited as I flush. He raises an eyebrow at me. “You ha一ve me intrigued, Miss Steele,” he whispers, and his voice runs right through me, desire and anticipation spawning in my belly. “I ha一ve to say I’m enjoying your reaction. What ha一ve you been up to?” He narrows his eyes speculatively. eyes speculatively. I remain tight-lipped as I hold my breath. He removes the lid of the box and takes out a small card. The rest of the contents are wrapped in tissue. He opens the card, and his eyes dart quickly to mine— widening with shock or surprise. I just don’t know. “Do rude things to you?” he murmurs. I nod and swallow. He cocks his head to one side warily, assessing my reaction, and frowns. Then turns his attention back to the box. He tears through the pale-blue tissue paper and fishes out an eye mask, some nipple clamps, a butt plug, his iPod, his silver-gray tie—and last but by no means least —the key to his playroom. He gazes at me, his expression dark, unreadable. Oh shit. Is this a bad move? “You want to play?” he asks softly. “Yes,” I breathe. “For my birthday?” “Yes.” Could my voice sound any smaller? A myriad of emotions cross his face, none of which I can place, but he settles for anxious. Hmm . . . Not quite the reaction I was expecting. “You’re sure?” he asks. “Not the whips and stuff.” “I understand that.” “Yes, then. I’m sure.” He shakes his head and gazes down at the contents of the box. “Sex mad and insatiable. Well, I think we can do something with this lot,” he murmurs almost to himself, then puts the contents back in the box. When he glances at me again, his expression has completely changed. Holy cow, his gray eyes burn, and his mouth lifts in a slow erotic smile. He holds out his hand. “Now,” he says, and it’s not a request. My belly clenches, tight and hard, deep, deep down. I put my hand in his. “Come,” he orders, and I follow him out of the bedroom, my heart in my mouth. Desire races slick and hot through my blood as my insides tighten with hungry anticipation. My inner goddess somersaults round her anticipation. My inner goddess somersaults round her chaise longue. Finally! Christian pauses outside the playroom. “You’re sure about this?” he asks, his gaze heated yet anxious. “Yes,” I murmur, smiling shyly at him. His eyes soften. “Anything you don’t want to do?” I’m derailed by his unexpected question, and my mind goes into overdrive. One thought occurs. “I don’t want you to take photos of me.” He stills, and his expression hardens as he cocks his head to one side and eyes me speculatively. Oh shit. I think he’s going to ask me why, but fortunately he doesn’t. “Okay,” he murmurs. His brow furrows as he unlocks the door, then stands aside to usher me into the room. I feel his eyes on me as he follows me inside and closes the door. Placing the gift box on the chest of drawers, he takes out the iPod, switches it on, then wa一ves at the music center on the wall so that the smoked glass doors glide silently on the wall so that the smoked glass doors glide silently open. He presses some buttons, and after a moment, the sound of a subway train echoes round the room. He turns it down so that the slow, hypnotic electronic beat that follows becomes ambient. A woman starts to sing, I don’t know who she is but her voice is soft yet rasping and the beat is measured, deliberate . . . erotic. Oh my. It’s music to make love to. Christian turns to face me as I stand in the middle of the room, my heart pounding, my blood singing in my veins, pulsing—or so it feels—in time to the music’s seductive beat. He saunters casually over to me and tugs on my chin so I’m no longer biting my lip. “What do you want to do, Anastasia?” he murmurs, planting a soft chaste kiss at the corner of my mouth, his fingers still grasping my chin. “It’s your birthday. Whatever you want,” I whisper. He traces his thumb along my lower lip, his brow creased once more. “Are we in here because you think I want to be in here?” His words are softly spoken, but he regards me intently. “No,” I whisper. “I want to be in here, too.” His gaze darkens, growing bolder as he assesses my response. After what seems an eternity, he speaks. “Oh, there are so many possibilities, Miss Steele.” His voice is low, excited. “But let’s start with getting you naked.” He pulls the sash of my robe so that it falls open, revealing my silk nightdress, then steps back and sits nonchalantly down on the arm of the chesterfield couch. nonchalantly down on the arm of the chesterfield couch. “Take your clothes off. Slowly.” He gives me a sensual, challenging look. I swallow compulsively, pressing my thighs together. I’m already damp between my legs. My inner goddess is stripped naked and standing in line, ready and waiting and begging me to play catch-up. I pull the robe away from my shoulders, my eyes never lea一ving his, and shrug, letting it fall billowing to the floor. His mesmerizing gray eyes heat, and he runs his index finger over his lips as he gazes at me. Slipping the spaghetti straps of my gown off my shoulders, I gaze at him for a beat, then release them. My nightdress skims and ripples softly down my body, pooling at my feet. I am naked and practically panting and oh-soready. Christian pauses for a moment, and I marvel at the frankly carnal appreciation in his expression. Standing up, he makes his way over to the chest and picks up his silvergray tie—my fa一vorite tie. He pulls it through his fingers as he turns and strolls casually toward me, a smile playing on his lips. When he stands in front of me, I expect him to ask for my hands, but he doesn’t. “I think you’re underdressed, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. He places the tie around my neck, and slowly but dexterously ties it in what I assume is a fine Windsor knot. As he tightens the knot, his fingers brush the base of my throat and electricity shoots through me, making me gasp. He lea一ves the wide end of the tie long, long enough so the tip skims my pubic hair. “You look mighty fine now, Miss Steele,” he says and “You look mighty fine now, Miss Steele,” he says and bends to kiss me gently on my lips. It’s a swift kiss, and I want more, desire spiraling wantonly through my body. “What shall we do with you now?” he says, and then picking up the tie, he yanks sharply so that I’m forced forward into his arms. His hands dive into my hair and pull my head back, and he really kisses me, hard, his tongue unforgiving and merciless. One of his hands roams freely down my back to cup my behind. When he pulls away, he’s panting too and gazing down at me, his eyes molten gray; and I’m left wanting, gasping for breath, my wits thoroughly scattered. I’m sure my lips will be swollen after his sensual assault. “Turn around,” he orders gently and I obey. Pulling my hair free of the tie, he quickly braids and secures it. He tugs the braid so my head tilts up. “You ha一ve beautiful hair, Anastasia,” he murmurs and kisses my throat, sending shivers running up and down my spine. “You just ha一ve to say stop. You know that, don’t you?” he whispers against my throat. I nod, my eyes closed, and relish his lips on me. He turns me round once more and picks up the end of the tie. “Come,” he says, tugging gently, leading me over to the chest where the rest of the box’s contents are on display. “Anastasia, these objects.” He holds up the butt plug. “This is a size too big. As an anal virgin, you don’t want to start with this. We want to start with this.” He holds up his pinky finger, and I gasp, shocked. Fingers . . . there? He smirks at me, and the unpleasant thought of the anal fisting mentioned in the contract comes to mind. mentioned in the contract comes to mind. “Just finger—singular,” he says softly with that uncanny ability he has to read my mind. My eyes dart to his. How does he do that? “These clamps are vicious.” He prods the nipple clamps. “We’ll use these.” He places a different pair of clamps on the chest. They look like giant black hairpins, but with little jet jewels hanging down. “They’re adjustable,” Christian murmurs, his voice laced with gentle concern. I blink up at him, wide-eyed. Christian, my sexual mentor. He knows so much more about all this than I do. I’ll never catch up. I frown. He knows more than me about most things . . . except cooking. “Clear?” he asks. “Yes,” I whisper, my mouth dry. “Are you going to tell me what you intend to do?” “No. I’m making this up as I go along. This isn’t a scene, Ana.” “How should I beha一ve?” His brow creases. “However you want to.” Oh! “Were you expecting my alter ego, Anastasia?” he asks, his tone vaguely mocking and bemused at once. I blink at him. “Well, yes. I like him,” I murmur. He smiles his private smile and reaches up to run his thumb down my cheek. “Do you now,” he breathes and runs his thumb across my lower lip. “I’m your lover, Anastasia, not your Dom. I love to hear your laugh and your girlish giggle. I like you love to hear your laugh and your girlish giggle. I like you relaxed and happy, like you are in José’s photos. That’s the girl that fell into my office. That’s the girl I fell in love with.” Holy cow. My mouth drops open, and a welcome warmth blooms in my heart. It’s joy—pure joy. “But ha一ving said all that, I also like to do rude things to you, Miss Steele; and my alter ego knows a trick or two. So, do as you’re told and turn around.” His eyes glint wickedly, and the joy moves sharply south, seizing me tightly and gripping every sinew below my waist. I do as I’m told. Behind me, he opens one of the drawers and a moment later he’s in front of me again. “Come,” he orders and tugs on the tie, leading me to the table. As we walk past the couch, I notice for the first time that all the canes ha一ve vanished. It distracts me. Were they there yesterday when I came in? I don’t remember. Did Christian move them? Mrs. Jones? Christian interrupts my train of thought. “I want you to kneel up on this,” he says when we’re at the table. Oh, okay. What does he ha一ve in mind? My inner goddess can’t wait to find out—she’s already scissorkicked onto the table and is watching him with adoration. He gently lifts me onto the table, and I fold my legs beneath me and kneel in front of him, surprised by my own grace. Now we are eye to eye. He runs his hands down my thighs, grasps my knees, and pulls my legs apart and stands directly in front of me. He looks very serious, his eyes darker, hooded . . . lustful. eyes darker, hooded . . . lustful. “Arms behind your back. I’m going to cuff you.” He produces some leather cuffs from his back pocket and reaches around me. This is it. Where’s he going to take me this time? His proximity is intoxicating. This man is going to be my husband. Can one lust after one’s husband like this? I don’t remember reading about that anywhere. I can’t resist him, and I run my parted lips along his jaw, feeling the stubble, a heady combination of prickly and soft, under my tongue. He stills and closes his eyes. His breathing falters and he pulls back. “Stop. Or this will be over far quicker than either of us wants,” he warns. For a moment, I think he might be angry but then he smiles, and his heated eyes are alight with amusement. “You’re irresistible,” I pout. “Am I now?” he says dryly. I nod. “Well—don’t distract me, or I’ll gag you.” “I like distracting you,” I whisper, looking mulishly at him, and he cocks his eyebrow at me. “Or spank you.” Oh! I try to hide my smile. There was a time, not very long ago, when I would ha一ve been subdued by this threat. I would never ha一ve had the nerve to kiss him, unbidden, while he was in this room. I realize now, I’m no longer intimidated by him. It’s a revelation. I grin mischievously, and he smirks at me. “Beha一ve,” he growls and stands back, gazing at me and slaps the leather cuffs across his palm. And the warning is there, implicit in his actions. I try for contrite, and I think I succeed. He approaches me again. “That’s better,” he breathes and leans behind me once more with the cuffs. I resist touching him but inhale his glorious Christian scent, still fresh from last night’s shower. Hmm . . . I should bottle this. I expect him to cuff my wrists, but he attaches each cuff above my elbows. It makes me arch my back, pushing my breasts forward, though my elbows are by no means together. When he’s finished, he stands back to admire me. “Feel okay?” he asks. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but I’m so wired with anticipation to see where he’s going with this that I nod, weak with wanting. “Good.” He pulls the mask from his back pocket. “I think you’ve seen enough now,” he murmurs. He slides the mask over my head, covering my eyes. My breathing spikes. Wow. Why is not being able to see so erotic? I am here, trussed up and kneeling on a table, waiting—sweet anticipation hot and hea一vy deep in my belly. I can still hear, though, and the melodic steady beat of the track continues. It resonates through my body. I hadn’t noticed before. He must ha一ve it on repeat. Christian steps away. What is he doing? He moves back to the chest and opens a drawer, then closes it again. A moment later he’s back, and I sense him in front of me. There’s a pungent, rich, musky scent in the air. It’s delicious, almost mouth-watering. “I don’t want to ruin my fa一vorite tie,” he murmurs. It slowly unra一vels as he undoes it. I inhale sharply as the tail of the tie tra一vels up my body, tickling me in its wake. Ruin his tie? I listen acutely to determine what he’s going to do. He’s rubbing his hands together. His knuckles suddenly brush over my cheek, down to my jaw following my jawline. My body leaps to attention as his touch sends a delicious shiver through me. His hand flexes over my neck, and it’s slick with sweet-smelling oil so his hand glides smoothly down my throat, across my cla一vicle, and up to my shoulder, his fingers kneading gently as they go. Oh, I’m getting a massage. Not what I expected. He places his other hand on my other shoulder and begins another slow teasing journey across my cla一vicle. I groan softly as he works his way down toward my increasingly aching breasts, aching for his touch. It’s tantalizing. I arch my body further into his deft touch, but his hands glide to my sides, slow, measured, in time to the beat of the music, and studiously a一void my breasts. I groan, but I don’t know if it’s from pleasure or frustration. “You are so beautiful, Ana,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, his mouth next to my ear. His nose follows along my jaw as he continues to massage me—beneath my breasts, across my belly, down . . . He kisses me fleetingly on my lips, then he runs his nose down my neck, my throat. Holy cow, I’m on fire . . . his nearness, his hands, his words. “And soon you’ll be my wife to ha一ve and to hold,” he whispers. Oh my. “To love and to cherish.” Jeez. “With my body, I will worship you.” I tip my head back and moan. His fingers run through my pubic hair, over my sex, and he rubs the palm of his hand against my clitoris. “Mrs. Grey,” he whispers as his palm works against me. I groan. “Yes,” he breathes as his palm continues to tease me. “Open your mouth.” My mouth is already open from panting. I open wider, and he slips a large cool metal object between my lips. Shaped like an oversized baby’s pacifier, it has small grooves or carvings, and what feels like a chain at the end. It’s big. “Suck,” he commands softly. “I’m going to put this inside you.” Inside me? Inside me where? My heart lurches into my mouth. “Suck,” he repeats and he stops palming me. No. Don’t stop, I want to shout, but my mouth is full. His oiled hands glide back up my body and finally cup my neglected breasts. “Don’t stop sucking.” Gently he rolls my nipples between his thumbs and Gently he rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and they harden and lengthen under his expert touch, sending synaptic wa一ves of pleasure all the way to my groin. “You ha一ve such beautiful breasts, Ana,” he murmurs and my nipples harden further in response. He murmurs his approval and I moan. His lips move down from my neck toward one breast, trailing soft bites and sucks over and over, down toward my nipple, and suddenly I feel the pinch of the clamp. “Ah!” I garble my groan through the device in my mouth. Holy cow, the feeling is exquisite, raw, painful, pleasurable . . . oh—the pinch. Gently, he la一ves the restrained nipple with his tongue, and as he does so, he applies the other. The bite of the second clamp is equally harsh . . . but just as good. I groan loudly. “Feel it,” he whispers. Oh, I do. I do. I do. “Give me this.” He tugs gently on the ornate metal pacifier in my mouth, and I release it. His hands once more trail down my body, toward my sex. He’s re-oiled his hands. They glide around to my backside. I gasp. What’s he going to do? I tense up on my knees as he runs his fingers between my buttocks. “Hush, easy,” he breathes close to my ear and kisses my neck as his fingers stroke and tease me. What’s he going to do? His other hand glides down my belly to my sex, palming me once more. He eases his fingers inside me, and I moan loudly, appreciatively. “I’m going to put this inside you,” he murmurs. “Not “I’m going to put this inside you,” he murmurs. “Not here.” His fingers trail between my buttocks, spreading oil. “But here.” He moves his fingers round and round, in and out, hitting the front wall of my vagina. I moan and my restrained nipples swell. “Ah.” “Hush now.” Christian removes his fingers and slides the object into me. He cups my face and kisses me, his mouth invading mine, and I hear a very faint click. Instantly the plug inside me starts to vibrate—down there! I gasp. The feeling is extraordinary—beyond anything I’ve felt before. “Ah!” “Easy,” Christian calms me, stifling my gasps with his mouth. His hands move down and tug very gently on the clamps. I cry out loudly. “Christian, please!” “Hush, baby. Hang in there.” This is too much—all this overstimulation, everywhere. My body starts to climb, and on my knees, I’m unable to control the buildup. Oh my . . . Will I be able to handle this? “Good girl,” he soothes. “Christian,” I pant, sounding desperate even to my own ears. “Hush, feel it, Ana. Don’t be afraid.” His hands are now on my waist, holding me, but I can’t concentrate on his hands, what’s inside me, and the clamps, too. My body is building, building to an explosion—with the relentless vibrations and the sweet, sweet torture of my nipples. vibrations and the sweet, sweet torture of my nipples. Holy hell. It will be too intense. His hands move from my hips, down and around, slick and oiled, touching, feeling, kneading my skin—kneading my behind. “So beautiful,” he murmurs and suddenly he gently pushes an anointed finger inside me . . . there! Into my backside. Fuck. It feels alien, full, forbidden . . . but oh . . . so . . . good. And he moves slowly, easing in and out, while his teeth graze my upturned chin. “So beautiful, Ana.” I’m suspended high—high above a wide, wide ra一vine, and I’m soaring then falling giddily at the same time, plunging to the Earth. I can hold on no more, and I scream as my body convulses and climaxes at the overwhelming fullness. As my body explodes, I’m nothing but sensation —everywhere. Christian releases first one and then the other clamp, causing my nipples to sing with a surge of sweet, sweet painful feeling, but it’s oh-so-good and causing my orgasm, this orgasm, to go on and on. His finger stays where it is, gently easing in and out. “Argh!” I cry out, and Christian wraps himself around me, holding me, as my body continues to pulse mercilessly inside. “No!” I shout again, pleading, and this time he tugs the vibrator out of me, and his finger, too, as my body continues to convulse. He unstraps one of the cuffs so that my arms fall forward. My head lolls on his shoulder, and I am lost, lost to all this overwhelming sensation. I’m all shattered breath, exhausted desire and sweet, welcome oblivion. exhausted desire and sweet, welcome oblivion. Vaguely, I’m aware that Christian lifts me, carries me over to the bed, and lays me down on the cool satin sheets. After a moment, his hands, still oiled, gently rub the backs of my thighs, my knees, my calves, and my shoulders. I feel the bed dip as he stretches out beside me. He pulls the mask off, but I don’t ha一ve the energy to open my eyes. Finding my braid he undoes the hair tie and leans forward, kissing me softly on my lips. Only my erratic breathing disturbs the silence in the room and steadies as I float gently back to Earth. The music has stopped. “So beautiful,” he murmurs. When I persuade one eye to open, he’s gazing down at me, smiling softly. “Hi,” he says. I manage a grunt in response, and his smile broadens. “Rude enough for you?” I nod and give him a reluctant grin. Jeez, any ruder and I’d ha一ve to spank the pair of us. “I think you’re trying to kill me,” I mutter. “Death by orgasm.” He smirks. “There are worse ways to go,” he says but then frowns ever so slightly as an unpleasant thought crosses his mind. It distresses me. I reach up and caress his face. “You can kill me like this anytime,” I whisper. I notice that he’s gloriously naked and ready for action. When he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, I lean up and capture his face between my hands and pull his mouth to mine. He kisses me briefly, then stops. “This is what I want to do,” he murmurs and reaches “This is what I want to do,” he murmurs and reaches beneath his pillow for the music center remote. He presses a button and the soft strains of a guitar echo round the walls. “I want to make love to you,” he says gazing down at me, his gray eyes burning with bright, loving sincerity. Softly in background, a familiar voice starts to sing “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.” And his lips find mine. As I tighten around him, finding my release once more, Christian unra一vels in my arms, his head thrown back as he calls out my name. He clasps me tightly to his chest as we sit nose to nose in the middle of his vast bed, me astride him. And in this moment—this moment of joy with this man to this music—the intensity of my experience this morning in here with him and all that has occurred during the past week overwhelms me anew, not just physically but emotionally. I am completely overcome with all these feelings. I am so deeply, deeply in love with him. For the first time I’m offered a glimmer of understanding as to how he feels about my safety. Recalling his close call with Charlie Tango yesterday, I shudder at the thought and tears pool in my eyes. If anything ever happened to him—I love him so. My tears run unchecked down my cheeks. So many sides of Christian—his sweet, gentle persona and his rugged, Ican- do-what-I-fucking-well-like-to-you-and-you’ll-comelike- a-train Dominant side—his fifty shades—all of him. All spectacular. All mine. And I’m aware we don’t know each other well, and we ha一ve a mountain of issues to overcome, but I know for each other, we will—and we’ll ha一ve a lifetime to do it. “Hey,” he breathes, clasping my head in his hands, gazing down at me. He’s still inside me. “Why are you crying?” His voice is filled with concern. “Because I love you so much,” I whisper. He halfcloses his eyes as if drugged, absorbing my words. When he opens them again, they blaze with his love. “And I you, Ana. You make me . . . whole.” He kisses me gently as Roberta Flack finishes her song. We ha一ve talked and talked and talked, sitting upright together on the bed in the playroom, me in his lap, our legs curled around each other. The red satin sheet is draped around us like a royal cocoon, and I ha一ve no idea how much time has passed. Christian is laughing at my impersonation of Katherine during the photo shoot at the Heathman. “To think it could ha一ve been her who came to interview me. Thank the Lord for the common cold,” he murmurs and kisses my nose. “I believe she had flu, Christian,” I scold him, trailing my fingers idly through his chest hair and marveling that he’s tolerating it so well. “All the canes ha一ve gone,” I murmur, recalling my distraction from earlier. He tucks my hair behind my ear for the umpteenth time. “I didn’t think you’d ever get past that hard limit.” “No, I don’t think I will,” I whisper wide-eyed at him, then find myself glancing over at the whips, paddles and floggers lining the opposite wall. He follows my gaze. “You want me to get rid of them, too?” He’s amused but sincere. “Not the crop . . . the brown one. Or that suede flogger, you know.” I flush. He smiles down at me. “Okay, the crop and the flogger. Why, Miss Steele, you’re full of surprises.” “As are you, Mr. Grey. It’s one of the things I love about you.” I kiss him gently at the corner of his mouth. “What else do you love about me?” he asks and his eyes widen. I know it’s a huge deal for him to ask this question. It humbles me and I blink at him. I love everything about him —even his fifty shades. I know that life with Christian will never be boring. “This.” I stroke my index finger across his lips. “I love this, and what comes out of it, and what you do to me with it. And what’s in here.” I caress his temple. “You’re so smart and witty and knowledgeable, competent in so many things. But most of all, I love what’s in here.” I press my palm gently against his chest, feeling his steady, beating heart. “You are the most compassionate man I’ve met. What you do. How you work. It’s awe-inspiring,” I whisper. “Awe-inspiring?” He’s puzzled, but there’s a trace of “Awe-inspiring?” He’s puzzled, but there’s a trace of humor on his face. Then his face transforms, and his shy smile appears as if he’s embarrassed, and I want to launch myself at him. So I do. I am dozing, wrapped in satin and Grey. Christian nuzzles me awake. “Hungry?” he whispers “Hmm, famished.” “Me, too.” I lean up to gaze down at him sprawled on the bed. “It’s your birthday, Mr. Grey. I’ll cook you something. What would you like?” “Surprise me.” He runs his hand down my back, stroking me gently. “I should check my Blackberry for all the messages I missed yesterday.” He sighs and starts to sit up, and I know this special time is over . . . for now. “Let’s shower,” he says. Who am I to turn down the birthday boy? Christian is in his study on the phone. Taylor is with him, looking serious but casual in jeans and a tight, black Tshirt. I busy myself in the kitchen fixing lunch. I ha一ve found salmon steaks in the fridge, and I’m poaching them with lemon, making a salad, and boiling some baby potatoes. I feel extraordinarily relaxed and happy, on top of the world —literally. Turning toward the large window, I stare out at the glorious blue sky. All that talking . . . all that the glorious blue sky. All that talking . . . all that sexing . . . hmm. A girl could get used to that. Taylor emerges from the study, interrupting my reverie. I turn down my iPod and take out an ear bud. “Hi, Taylor.” “Ana.” He nods. “Your daughter okay?” “Yes, thanks. My ex-wife thought she had appendicitis, but she was overreacting as usual.” Taylor rolls his eyes, surprising me. “Sophie’s fine, though she has a nasty stomach bug.” “I’m sorry.” He smiles. “Has Charlie Tango been located?” “Yes. The recovery team is on its way. She should be back at Boeing Field late tonight.” “Oh, good.” He gives me a tight smile. “Will that be all, ma’am?” “Yes, yes of course.” I flush . . . will I ever get used to Taylor calling me ma’am? It makes me feel so old, at least thirty. He nods and heads out of the great room. Christian is still on the phone. I am waiting for the potatoes to boil. It gives me an idea. Fetching my purse, I fish out my Blackberry. There’s a text from Kate. *C U this evening. Looking forward to a loooooong chat* I text back. I text back. *Same here* It will be good to talk to Kate. Calling up the e-mail program, I type a quick message to Christian. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Lunch Date: June 18, 2011 13:12 To: Christian Grey Dear Mr. Grey I am e-mailing to inform you that your lunch is nearly ready. And that I had some mind-blowing, kinky fuckery earlier today. Birthday kinky fuckery is to be recommended. And another thing—I love you. A x (Your fiancée) I listen carefully for a reaction, but he’s still on the phone. I shrug. Perhaps he’s just too busy. My Blackberry vibrates. From: Christian Grey Subject: Kinky Fuckery Date: June 18, 2011 13:15 To: Anastasia Steele What aspect was most mind-blowing? I’m taking notes. Christian Grey Famished and Wasting Away After the Mornings Exertions CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. PS: I love your signature PPS: What happened to the art of conversation? From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Famished? Date: June 18, 2011 13:18 To: Christian Grey Dear Mr. Grey May I draw your attention to the first line of my previous e-mail informing you that your lunch is indeed almost ready . . . so none of this famished and wasting away nonsense. With regard to the mind-blowing aspects of the kinky fuckery . . . frankly—all of it. I’d be interested in reading your notes. And I like my bracketed signature, too. A x (Your fiancée) PS: Since when ha一ve you been so loquacious? And you’re on the phone! I press send and look up, and he’s standing in front of me, smirking. Before I can say anything, he bounds around the kitchen island, sweeps me up in his arms, and kisses me soundly. “That is all, Miss Steele,” he says, releasing me, and he saunters—in his jeans, bare feet and untucked white shirt —back to his office, lea一ving me breathless. I’ve made a watercress, cilantro, and sour cream dip to accompany the salmon, and I’ve set the breakfast bar. I hate interrupting him while he’s working, but now I stand in the doorway of his office. He’s still on the phone, all thoroughly fucked hair and bright gray eyes—a visually nourishing feast. He looks up when he sees me and doesn’t take his eyes off me. He frowns slightly, and I don’t know if it’s at me or because of his conversation. “Just let them in and lea一ve them alone. Do you understand, Mia?” he hisses and rolls his eyes. “Good.” I mime eating, and he grins at me and nods. “I’ll see you later.” He hangs up. “One more call?” he asks. “Sure.” “Sure.” “That dress is very short,” he adds. “You like it?” I give him a quick twirl. It’s one of Caroline Acton’s purchases. A soft turquoise sundress, probably more suitable for the beach, but it’s such a lovely day on so many levels. He frowns and my face falls. “You look fantastic in it, Ana. I just don’t want anyone else to see you like that.” “Oh!” I scowl at him. “We’re at home, Christian. No one but the staff.” His mouth twists, and either he’s trying to hide his amusement or he really doesn’t think that’s funny. But eventually he nods, reassured. I shake my head at him— he’s actually being serious? I head back to the kitchen. Five minutes later, he’s back in front of me, holding the phone. “I ha一ve Ray for you,” he murmurs, his eyes wary. All the air lea一ves my body at once. I take the phone and cover the mouthpiece. “You told him!” I hiss. Christian nods, and his eyes widen at my obvious look of distress. Shit! I take a deep breath. “Hi, Dad.” “Christian has just asked me if he can marry you,” Ray says. Oh Shit. The silence stretches between us as I desperately think what to say. Ray as usual stays silent, giving me no clue as to his reaction to this news. “What did you say?” I crack first. “I said I wanted to talk to you. It’s kind of sudden, don’t you think, Annie? You’ve not known him long. I don’t you think, Annie? You’ve not known him long. I mean, he’s a nice guy, knows his fishing . . . but so soon?” His voice is calm and measured. “Yes. It is sudden . . . hang on.” Hastily, I lea一ve the kitchen area away from Christian’s anxious gaze and head toward the great window. The doors to the balcony are open, and I step out into the sunshine. I can’t quite walk to the edge. It’s just too far up. “I know it’s sudden and all—but . . . well, I love him. He loves me. He wants to marry me, and there’ll never be anyone else for me.” I flush thinking this is probably the most intimate conversation I ha一ve ever had with my stepfather. Ray is silent on the other end of the phone. “Ha一ve you told your mother?” “No.” “Annie . . . I know he’s all kinds of rich and eligible, but marriage? It’s such a big step. You’re sure?” “He’s my happily ever after,” I whisper. “Whoa.” Ray says after a moment, his tone softer. “He’s everything.” “Annie, Annie, Annie. You’re such a headstrong young woman. I hope to God you know what you’re doing. Hand me back to him, will you?” “Sure, Dad, and will you give me away at the wedding?” I ask quietly. “Oh, honey.” His voice cracks, and he’s quiet for a few moments, the emotion in his voice bringing tears to my eyes. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” he says eventually. eventually. Oh, Ray. I love you so much . . . I swallow, to keep from crying. “Thank you, Dad. I’ll hand you back to Christian. Be gentle with him. I love him,” I whisper. I think Ray is smiling on the other end of the line, but it’s hard to tell. It’s always hard to tell with Ray. “Sure thing, Annie. And come and visit this old man and bring that Christian with you.” I march back into the room—pissed at Christian for not warning me—and hand him the phone, my expression letting him know just how pissed I am. He’s amused as he takes the phone and heads back into his study. Two minutes later, he reappears. “I ha一ve your stepfather’s rather begrudging blessing,” he says proudly, so proudly, in fact, that it makes me giggle, and he grins at me. He’s acting like he’s just negotiated a major new merger or acquisition, which I suppose on one level, he has. “Damn, you’re a good cook, woman.” Christian swallows his last mouthful and raises his glass of white wine to me. I blossom under his praise, and it occurs to me I’ll only get to cook for him on weekends. I frown. I enjoy cooking. Perhaps I should ha一ve made him a cake for his birthday. I check my watch. I still ha一ve time. “Ana?” He interrupts my thoughts. “Why did you ask me not to take your photo?” His question startles me all the more because his voice is deceptively soft. Oh . . . shit. The photos. I stare down at my empty plate, twisting my fingers in my lap. What can I say? I’d promised myself not to mention that I’d found his version of Readers’ Wives. “Ana,” he snaps. “What is it?” He makes me jump, and his voice commands me to look at him. When did I think he didn’t intimidate me? “I found your photos,” I whisper. His eyes widen in shock. “You’ve been in the safe?” he asks, incredulous. “Safe? No. I didn’t know you had a safe.” He frowns. “I don’t understand.” “In your closet. The box. I was looking for your tie, and the box was under your jeans . . . the ones you normally wear in the playroom. Except today.” I flush. He gapes at me, appalled, and nervously runs his hand through his hair as he processes this information. He rubs his chin, lost in thought, but he can’t mask the perplexed annoyance etched on his face. Abruptly he shakes his head, exasperated—but amused, too—and a faint smile of admiration kisses the corner of his mouth. He steeples his hands in front of him and focuses on me once more. “It’s not what you think. I’d forgotten all about them. That box has been moved. Those photographs belong in my safe.” “Who moved them?” I whisper. He swallows. “There’s only one person who could ha一ve done that.” “Oh. Who? And what do you mean, ‘it’s not what I think’?” He sighs and tilts his head to one side, and I think he’s embarrassed. So he should be! My subconscious snarls. “This is going to sound cold, but—they’re an insurance policy,” he whispers steeling himself for my response. “Insurance policy?” “Against exposure.” The penny drops and rattles uncomfortably round and round in my empty head. “Oh,” I murmur, because I can’t think of what else to say. I close my eyes. This is it. This is Fifty Shades of Fucked-Up, right here, right now. “Yes. You’re right,” I mutter. “That does sound cold.” I stand to clear our dishes. I don’t want to know any more. “Ana.” “Do they know? The girls . . . the subs?” He frowns. “Of course they know.” Oh, well, that’s something. He reaches out, grabbing me and pulling me to him. “Those photos are supposed to be in the safe. They’re not for recreational use.” He stops. “Maybe they were when they were taken originally. But—” He stops, imploring me. “They don’t mean anything.” “Who put them in your closet?” “It could only ha一ve been Leila.” “She knows your safe combination?” He shrugs. “It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s a very long combination, and I use it so rarely. It’s the one number I ha一ve written down and ha一ven’t changed.” He shakes his head. “I wonder what else she knows and if she’s taken anything else out of there.” He frowns, then turns his attention back to me. “Look, I’ll destroy the photos. Now, if you like.” “They’re your photos, Christian. Do with them as you wish,” I mutter. “Don’t be like that,” he says, taking my head in his hands and holding my gaze to his. “I don’t want that life. I want our life, together.” Holy cow. How does he know that beneath my horror about these photos is the fact that I’m paranoid? “Ana, I thought we exorcised all those ghosts this morning. I feel that way. Don’t you?” I blink at him, recalling our very, very pleasurable and romantic and downright dirty morning in his playroom. “Yes,” I smile. “Yes, I feel like that, too.” “Good.” He leans forward and kisses me, folding me in his arms. “I’ll shred them,” he murmurs. “And then I ha一ve to go to work. I’m sorry, baby, but I ha一ve a mountain of business to get through this afternoon.” “It’s cool. I ha一ve to call my mother.” I grimace. “Then I want to do some shopping and bake you a cake.” He grins and his eyes light up like a small boy’s. “A cake?” I nod. “A chocolate cake?” “You want a chocolate cake?” His grin is infectious. He nods. “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Grey.” “I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Grey.” He kisses me once more. Carla is stunned into silence. “Mom, say something.” “You’re not pregnant, are you, Ana?” she whispers in horror. “No, no, no, nothing like that.” Disappointment slices through my heart, and I’m saddened that she would think that of me. But then I remember with an ever-sinking feeling that she was pregnant with me when she married my father. “I’m sorry, darling. This is just so sudden. I mean, Christian is quite a catch, but you’re so young, and you should see a little of the world.” “Mom, can’t you just be happy for me? I love him.” “Darling, I just need to get used to the idea. It’s a shock. I could tell in Georgia that there was something very special between you two, but marriage . . . ?” In Georgia he wanted me to be his submissive, but I won’t tell her that. “Ha一ve you set a date?” “No.” “I wish your father was alive,” she whispers. Oh no . . . not this. Not this, now. “I know, Mom. I would ha一ve liked to know him, too.” “He only held you once, and he was so proud. He thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.” Her voice is a deathly hush as the familiar tale is retold . . . voice is a deathly hush as the familiar tale is retold . . . again. She will be in tears next. “I know, Mom.” “And then he died.” She sniffs, and I know this has set her off as it does every time. “Mom,” I whisper, wanting to reach down the phone and hold her. “I’m a silly old woman,” she murmurs and she sniffs again. “Of course I am happy for you, darling. Does Ray know?” she adds, and she seems to ha一ve recovered her equilibrium. “Christian’s just asked him.” “Oh, that’s sweet. Good.” She sounds melancholic, but she’s making an effort. “Yes, it was,” I murmur. “Ana, darling, I love you so much. I am happy for you. And you must both visit.” “Yes, Mom. I love you, too.” “Bob is calling me, I ha一ve to go. Let me ha一ve a date. We need to plan . . . are you ha一ving a big wedding?” Big wedding, crap. I ha一ven’t even thought about that. Big wedding? No. I don’t want a big wedding. “I don’t know yet. As soon as I do, I’ll call.” “Good. You take care now and be safe. You two need to ha一ve some fun . . . plenty of time for kids later.” Kids! Hmm . . . and there it is again—a not-so-veiled reference to the fact that she had me so early. “Mom, I didn’t really ruin your life, did I?” She gasps. “Oh no, Ana, never think that. You were the best thing that ever happened to your father and me. I the best thing that ever happened to your father and me. I just wish he was here to see you so grown up and getting married.” She’s wistful and maudlin again.