Fifty Shades of Grey CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 21

There is light everywhere. Bright, warm, piercing light, and I endeavor to keep it at bay for a few more precious minutes. I want to hide, just a few more minutes. But the glare is too strong, and I finally succumb to wakefulness. A glorious Seattle morning greets me – sunshine pouring through the full-height windows and flooding the room with too-bright light. Why didn’t we close the blinds last night? I am in Christian Grey’s vast bed minus one Christian Grey.
I lie back for a moment staring through the windows at the lofty vista of Seattle’s skyline. Life in the clouds sure feels unreal. A fantasy – a castle in the air, adrift from the ground, safe from the realities of life – far away from neglect, hunger, and crack-whore mothers. I shudder to think what he went through as a small child, and I understand why he lives here, isolated, surrounded by beautiful, precious works of art – so far removed from where he started… mission statement indeed. I frown because it still doesn’t explain why I can’t touch him.
Ironically, I feel the same up here in his lofty tower. I’m adrift from reality. I’m in this fantasy apartment, having fantasy sex with my fantasy boyfriend. When the grim reality is he wants a special arrangement, though he’s said he’ll try more. What does that actually mean? This is what I need to clarify between us to see if we are still at opposite ends on the see-saw or if we are inching closer together.
I clamber out of bed feeling stiff, and for want of a better expression, well-used. Yes, that would be all the sex then. My subconscious purses her lips in disapproval. I roll my eyes at her, grateful that a certain twitchy-palmed control freak is not in the room, and resolve to ask him about the personal trainer. That’s if I sign. My inner goddess glares at me in desperation. Of course you’ll sign. I ignore them both, and after a quick trip to the bathroom, I go in search of Christian.
He’s not in the art gallery, but an elegant middle-aged woman is cleaning in the kitchen area. The sight of her stops me in my tracks. She has short blonde hair and clear blue eyes; she wears a plain white tailored shirt and a navy blue pencil skirt. She smiles broadly when she sees me.
“Good morning, Miss Steele. Would you like some breakfast?” Her tone is warm but business like, and I am stunned. Who is this attractive blonde in Christian’s kitchen? I’m only wearing Christian’s t-shirt. I feel self-conscious and embarrassed by my lack of clothing.
“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” My voice is quiet, unable to hide the anxiety in my voice.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry – I’m Mrs. Jones, Mr. Grey’s housekeeper.”
Oh.
“How do you do?” I manage.
“Would you like some breakfast, ma’am?”
Ma’am!
“Just some tea would be lovely, thank you. Do you know where Mr. Grey is?”
“In his study.”
“Thank you.”
I scuttle off toward the study, mortified. Why does Christian only have attractive blondes working for him? And a nasty thought comes involuntarily into my mind – Are they all ex-subs? I refuse to entertain that hideous idea. I poke my head shyly round the door. He’s on the phone, facing the window, in black pants and a white shirt. His hair is still wet from the shower, and I’m completely distracted from my negative thoughts.
“Unless that company’s P&L improves, I’m not interested, Ros. We’re not carrying dead weight… I don’t need any more lame excuses… Have Marco call me, it’s shit or bust time... Yes, tell Barney that the prototype looks good, though I’m not sure about the interface… No, it’s just missing something… I want to meet him this afternoon to discuss… In fact, him and his team, we can brainstorm…. Okay. Transfer me back to Andrea… ” He waits, staring out of the window, master of his universe, staring down at the little people below from this castle in the sky. “Andrea… ”
Glancing up, he notices me at the door. A slow, sexy smile spreads across his beautiful face, and I’m rendered speechless as my insides melt. He is without a doubt the most beautiful man on the planet, too beautiful for the little people below, too beautiful for me. No my inner goddess scowls at me, not too beautiful for me. He is sort of mine, for now. The idea sends a thrill through my blood and dispels my irrational self-doubt.
He continues his conversation, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Clear my schedule this morning, but get Bill to call me. I’ll be in at two. I need to talk to Marco this afternoon, that will need at least half an hour… Schedule Barney and his
team in after Marco or maybe tomorrow, and find time for me to see Claude everyday this week… Tell him to wait… Oh… No, I don’t want publicity for Darfur… Tell Sam to deal with it… No…. Which event?... That’s next Saturday?… Hold on.”
“When will you be back from Georgia?” he asks.
“Friday.”
He resumes his phone conversation.
“I’ll need an extra ticket because I have a date… Yes Andrea, that’s what I said, a date, Miss Anastasia Steele will accompany me… That’s all.” He hangs up. “Good morning, Miss Steele.”
“Mr. Grey,” I smile shyly.
He walks around his desk with his usual grace and stands in front of me. He smells so good; clean and freshly laundered, so Christian. He gently strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers.
“I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful. Did you sleep well?”
“I am very well-rested, thank you. I just came to say hi before I had a shower.”
I gaze up at him, drinking him in. He leans down and gently kisses me, and I can’t help myself. I throw my arms around his neck and my fingers twist in his still damp hair. Pushing my body flush against his, I kiss him back. I want him. My attack takes him by surprise, but after a beat, he responds, a low groan in his throat. His hands slip into my hair and down my back to cup my naked behind, his tongue exploring my mouth. He pulls back, his eyes hooded.
“Well, sleep seems to agree with you,” he murmurs. “I suggest you go and have your shower, or I shall lay you across my desk, now.”
“I choose the desk,” I whisper recklessly as desire sweeps like adrenaline through my system, waking everything in its path.
He stares bewildered down at me for a millisecond.
“You’ve really got a taste for this, haven’t you, Miss Steele. You’re becoming insatiable,” he murmurs.
“I’ve only got a taste for you,” I whisper.
His eyes widen and darken while his hands knead my naked backside.
“Damn right, only me,” he growls, and suddenly with one fluid movement, he clears all the plans and papers off his desk so that they scatter on the floor, sweeps me up in his arms, and lays me down across the short end of his desk so that my head is almost off the edge.
“You want it, you got it, baby,” he mutters, producing a foil packet from his pants pocket while he unzips his pants. Oh Mr. Boy Scout. He rolls the condom over his erection and gazes down at me. “I sure hope you’re ready,” he breathes, a salacious smile across his face. And in a moment, he’s filling me, holding my wrists tightly by my side, and thrusting into me deeply.
I groan… oh yes.
“Christ, Ana. You’re so ready,” he whispers in veneration.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I hold him the only way I can as he stays standing, staring down at me, gray eyes glowing, passionate and possessive. He starts to move, really move. This is not making love, this is fucking – and I love it. I groan. It’s so raw, so carnal, making me so wanton. I revel in his possession, his lust slaking mine. He moves
with ease, luxuriating in me, enjoying me, his lips slightly parted as his breathing increases. He twists his hips from side to side, and the feeling is exquisite.
Oh my. I close my eyes, feeling the build up – that delicious, slow, step climbing build. Pushing me higher, higher to the castle in the air. Oh yes… his stroke increasing fractionally. I moan loudly. I am all sensation… all him, enjoying every thrust, every push that fills me. And he picks up the pace, thrusting faster… harder… and my whole body is moving to his rhythm, and I can feel my legs stiffening, and my insides quivering and quickening.
“Come on, baby, give it up for me,” he cajoles through gritted teeth – and the fervent need in his voice – the strain – sends me over the edge.
I cry out a wordless, passionate plea as I touch the sun and burn, falling around him, falling down, back to a breathless, bright summit on Earth. He slams into me and stops abruptly as he reaches his climax, pulling at my wrists, and sinking gracefully and wordlessly onto me.
Wow... that was unexpected. I slowly materialize back on Earth.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” he breathes as he nuzzles my neck. “You completely beguile me, Ana. You weave some powerful magic.”
He releases my wrists, and I run my fingers through his hair, coming down from my high. I tighten my legs around him.
“I’m the one beguiled,” I whisper.
He looks up, gazing at me, his expression is disconcerted, alarmed even. Placing his hands on either side of my face, he holds my head in place.
“You. Are. Mine,” he says, each word a staccato. “Do you understand?”
He’s so earnest, so impassioned – a zealot. The force of his plea is so unexpected and disarming. I wonder why he’s feeling like this.
“Yes, yours,” I whisper, derailed by his fervor.
“Are you sure you have to go to Georgia?”
I nod slowly. And in that brief moment, I can see his expression change and the shutters coming down. Abruptly he withdraws, making me wince.
“Are you sore?” he asks, leaning over me.
“A little,” I confess.
“I like you sore.” His eyes smolder. “Reminds you where I’ve been, and only me.”
He grabs my chin and kisses me roughly, then stands and holds his hand out to help me up. I glance down at the foil packet beside me.
“Always prepared,” I murmur.
He looks at me confused as he redoes his fly. I hold up the empty packet.
“A man can hope, Anastasia, dream even, and sometimes his dreams come true.”
He sounds so odd, his eyes burning. I just don’t understand. My post coital glow is fading fast. What is his problem?
“So, on your desk, that’s been a dream?” I ask dryly, trying humor to lighten the atmosphere between us.
He smiles an enigmatic smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and I know immediately this is not the first time he’s had sex on his desk. The thought is unwelcome. I squirm uncomfortably as my post coital glow evaporates.
“I’d better go and have a shower.” I stand and make to move past him.
He frowns and runs a hand through his hair.
“I’ve got a couple more calls to make. I’ll join you for breakfast once you’re out of the shower. I think Mrs. Jones has laundered your clothes from yesterday. They’re in the closet.”
What? When the hell did she do that? Jeez, could she hear us? I flush.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
“You’re most welcome,” he replies automatically, but there’s an edge to his voice.
I’m not saying thank you for fucking me. Although, it was very...
“What?” he asks, and I realize I’m frowning.
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.
“What do you mean?”
“Well… you’re being more weird than usual.”
“You find me weird?” He tries to stifle a smile.
I blush.
“Sometimes.”
He regards me for a moment, his eyes speculative.
“As ever, I’m surprised by you, Miss Steele.”
“Surprised how?”
“Let’s just say that was an unexpected treat.”
“We aim to please, Mr. Grey.” I cock my head to one side like he often does to me and give his words back to him.
“And please me you do,” he says, but he looks uneasy. “I thought you were going to have a shower.”
Oh, he’s dismissing me.
“Yes… um, I’ll see you in a moment.” I scurry out of his office completely dumbfounded.
He seemed confused. Why? I have to say as physical experiences go, that was very satisfying. But emotionally – well, I’m rattled by his reaction, and that was about as emotionally enriching as cotton candy is nutritious.
Mrs. Jones is still in the kitchen.
“Would you like your tea now, Miss Steele?”
“I’ll have a shower first, thank you,” I mutter and take my blazing face quickly out of the room.
In the shower, I try to figure out what’s up with Christian. He is the most complicated person I know, and I cannot understand his ever-changing moods. He seemed fine when I went into his study. We had sex… and then he wasn’t. No, I don’t get it. I look to my subconscious. She’s whistling with her hands behind her back and looking anywhere but at me. She hasn’t got a clue, and my inner goddess is still basking in a remnant of post-coital glow. No – we’re all clueless.
I towel-dry my hair, comb it through with Christian’s one and only hair implement, and put my hair up in bun. Kate’s plum dress hangs laundered and ironed in the closet along with my clean bra and panties. Mrs. Jones is a marvel. Slipping on Kate’s shoes, I straighten my dress, take a deep breath, and head back out to the great room.
Christian is still nowhere to be seen, and Mrs. Jones is checking the contents of the pantry.
“Tea now, Miss Steele?” she asks.
“Please.” I smile at her. I feel slightly more confident now that I’m dressed.
“Would you like something to eat?”
“No, thank you.”
“Of course you’ll have something to eat,” Christian snaps, glowering. “She likes pancakes, bacon, and eggs, Mrs. Jones.”
“Yes, Mr. Grey. What would you like, sir?”
“Omelet, please, and some fruit.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me, his expression unfathomable. “Sit,” he orders, pointing to one of the bar stools.
I oblige, and he sits beside me while Mrs. Jones busies herself with breakfast. Gosh, it’s unnerving having someone else listen to our conversation.
“Have you bought your air ticket?”
“No, I’ll buy it when I get home – over the Internet.”
He leans on his elbow, rubbing his chin.
“Do you have the money?”
Oh no.
“Yes,” I say with mock patience as if I’m talking to a small child.
He raises a censorious eyebrow at me. Crap.
“Yes, I do, thank you,” I amend rapidly.
“I have a jet. It’s not scheduled to be used for three days, it’s at your disposal.”
I gape at him. Of course he has a jet, and I have to resist my body’s natural inclination to roll my eyes at him. I want to laugh. But I don’t, as I can’t read his mood.
“We’ve already made serious misuse of your company’s aviation fleet. I wouldn’t want to do it again.”
“It’s my company, it’s my jet.” He sounds almost wounded. Oh, boys and their toys!
“Thank you for the offer. But I’d be happier taking a scheduled flight.”
He looks like he wants to argue further but decides against it.
“As you wish,” he sighs. “Do you have much preparation to do for your interview?”
“No.”
“Good. You’re still not going to tell me which publishing houses?”
“No.”
His lips curl up in a reluctant smile.
“I am a man of means, Miss Steele.”
“I am fully aware of that, Mr. Grey. Are you going to track my phone?” I ask innocently.
“Actually, I’ll be quite busy this afternoon, so I’ll have to get someone else to do it.” He smirks.
Is he joking?
“If you can spare someone to do that, you’re obviously overstaffed.”
“I’ll send an email to the head of human resources and have her look into our head count.” His lips twitch to hide his smile.
Oh thank the Lord, he’s recovered his sense of humor.
Mrs. Jones serves us breakfast and we eat quietly for a few moments. After clearing the pans, tactfully, she heads out of the living area. I peek up at him.
“What it is, Anastasia?”
“You know, you never did tell me why you don’t like to be touched.”
He blanches, and his reaction makes me feel guilty for asking.
“I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anybody.” His voice is quiet as he gazes at me impassively.
And it’s clear to me that he’s never confided in anyone. Doesn’t he have any close friends? Perhaps he told Mrs. Robinson? I want to ask him, but I can’t – I can’t pry that invasively. I shake my head at the realization. He really is an island.
“Will you think about our arrangement while you’re away?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Will you miss me?”
I gaze at him, surprised by his question.
“Yes,” I answer honestly.
How could he mean so much to me in such a short time? He’s got right under my skin… literally. He smiles and his eyes light up.
“I’ll miss you too. More than you know,” he breathes.
My heart warms at his words. He really is trying, hard. He gently strokes my cheek, bends down, and kisses me softly.
It is late afternoon, and I sit nervous and fidgeting in the lobby waiting for Mr. J. Hyde of Seattle Independent Publishing. This is my second interview today, and the one I’m most anxious about. My first interview went well, but it was for a larger conglomerate with offices based throughout the US, and I would be one of many editorial assistants there. I can imagine being swallowed up and spat out pretty quickly in such a corporate machine. SIP is where I want to be. It’s small and unconventional, championing local authors, and has an interesting and quirky roster of clients.
My surroundings are sparse, but I think it’s a design statement rather than frugality. I am seated on one of two dark green chesterfield couches made of leather – not unlike the couch that Christian has in his playroom. I stroke the leather appreciatively and wonder idly what Christian does on that couch. My mind wanders as I think of the possibilities… no – I must not go there now. I flush at my wayward and inappropriate thoughts. The receptionist is a young African-American woman with large silver earrings and long straightened hair. She has a bohemian look about her, the sort of woman I could be friendly with. The thought is comforting. Every few moments, she glances at up me, away from her computer and smiles reassuringly. I tentatively return her smile.
My flight is booked; my mother is in seventh heaven that I am visiting; I am packed, and Kate has agreed to drive me to the airport. Christian has ordered me to take my BlackBerry and the Mac. I roll my eyes at the memory of his overbearing bossiness, but I realize now that’s just the way he is. He likes control over everything, including me. Yet he’s so unpredictably and disarmingly agreeable too. He can be tender, good-humored, even sweet. And when he is, it’s so left field and unexpected. He insisted on accompanying me all the way down to my car in the garage. Jeez, I’m only going for a few days, he’s acting like I’m going for weeks. He keeps me on the back foot permanently.
“Ana Steele?” A woman with long, black, pre-Raphaelite hair standing by the reception desk distracts me from my introspection. She has the same bohemian, floaty look as the receptionist. She could be in her late thirties, maybe in her forties. It’s so difficult to tell with older women.
“Yes,” I reply, standing awkwardly.
She gives me a polite smile, her cool hazel eyes assessing me. I am wearing one of Kate’s dresses, a black pinafore over a white blouse, and my black pumps. Very interview, I think. My hair is restrained in a ponytail, and for once the tendrils are behaving themselves… she holds her hand out to me.
“Hello, Ana, my name’s Elizabeth Morgan. I’m head of Human Resources here at SIP.”
“How do you do?” I shake her hand. She looks very casual to be the head of HR.
“Please follow me.”
We go through the double doors behind the reception area, into a large brightly decorated open plan office, and from there, head into a small meeting room. The walls are pale green, lined with pictures of book covers. At the head of the Maplewood conference table sits a young man with red hair tied in a ponytail. Small, silver, hooped earrings glint in both his ears. He wears a pale blue shirt, no tie, and grey flannel trousers. As I approach him, he stands and gazes at me with fathomless dark blue eyes.
“Ana Steele, I’m Jack Hyde, the commissioning editor here at SIP, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
We shake hands, and his dark expression is unreadable, though friendly enough, I think.
“Have you traveled far?” he asks pleasantly.
“No, I’ve recently moved to the Pike Street Market area.”
“Oh, not far at all then. Please, take a seat.”
I sit, and Elizabeth takes a seat beside him.
“So why would you like to intern for us at SIP, Ana?” he asks.
He says my name softly and cocks his head to one side, like someone I know – it’s unnerving. Doing my best to ignore the irrational wariness he inspires, I launch into my carefully prepared speech, conscious that a rosy flush is spreading across my cheeks. I look at both of them, remembering The Katherine Kavanagh Successful Interviewing Technique lecture – maintain eye contact, Ana! Boy, that woman can be bossy too, sometimes. Jack and Elizabeth both listen attentively.
“You have a very impressive GPA. What extra-curricular activities did you indulge in at WSU?”
Indulge? I blink at him. What an odd choice of word. I launch into details of my librarianship at the campus central library, and my one experience of interviewing an obscenely rich despot for the student magazine. I gloss over the part that I didn’t actually write the article. I mention the two literary societies that I belonged to and conclude with working at Clayton’s and all the useless knowledge I now possess about hardware and DIY. They both laugh, which is the response I’d hoped for. Slowly, I relax and begin to enjoy myself.
Jack Hyde asks sharp, intelligent questions, but I’m not thrown – I keep up, and when we discuss my reading preferences and my favorite books, I think I hold my own. Jack, on the other hand, appears to only favor American literature written after 1950. Nothing else. No classics - not even Henry James or Upton Sinclair or F Scott Fitzgerald. Elizabeth says nothing, just nods occasionally and takes notes. Jack, though argumentative, is charming in his way, and my initial wariness dissipates the longer we talk.
“And where do you see yourself in five years’ time?” he asks.
With Christian Grey, the thought comes involuntarily into my head. My errant mind makes me frown.
“Copy editing perhaps? Maybe a literary agent, I’m not sure. I am open to opportunities.”
He grins.
“Very good, Ana. I don’t have any further questions. Do you?” he directs his question at me.
“When would you like someone to start?” I ask.
“As soon as possible,” Elizabeth pipes up. “When could you start?”
“I’m available from next week.”
“That’s good to know,” Jack says.
“If that’s all anyone has to say,” Elizabeth glances at the two of us, “I think that concludes the interview.” She smiles kindly.
“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ana,” Jack says softly as he takes my hand. He squeezes it gently, so that I blink up at him as I say goodbye.
I feel unsettled as I make my way to my car, though I’m not sure why. I think the interview went well, but it’s so hard to say. Interviews seem such artificial situations, everyone on their best behavior trying desperately to hide behind a professional façade. Did my face fit? I shall have to wait and see.
I climb into my Audi A3 and head back to the apartment, though I take me time. I’m on the red-eye with a stopover in Atlanta, but my flight doesn’t leave until 10:25 this evening, so I have plenty of time.
Kate is unpacking boxes in the kitchen when I return.
“How did they go?” she asks, excited. Only Kate can look gorgeous in an oversized shirt, tattered jeans, and a dark blue bandana.
“Good, thanks, Kate. Not sure this outfit was cool enough for the second interview.”
“Oh?”
“Boho chic might have done it.”
Kate raises an eyebrow.
“You and boho chic.” She cocks her head to one side - Gah! Why is everyone reminding me of my favorite Fifty Shades? “Actually, Ana, you’re one of the few people who could really pull that look off.”
I grin.
“I really liked the second place. I think I could fit in there. The guy who interviewed me was unnerving though,” I trail off – shit I’m talking to foghorn Kavanagh here. Shut up Ana!
“Oh?” The Katherine Kavanagh radar for an interesting tidbit of information swoops into action – a tidbit that will only resurface at some inopportune and embarrassing moment, which reminds me.
“Incidentally – will you please stop winding Christian up? Your comment about José at dinner yesterday was out of line. He’s a jealous guy. It doesn’t do any good, you know.”
“Look, if he wasn’t Elliot’s brother I’d have said a lot worse. He’s a real control freak. I don’t know how you stand it. I was trying to make him jealous – give him a little help with his commitment issues.” She holds her hands up defensively. “But – if you don’t want me to interfere, I won’t,” she says hastily at my scowl.
“Good. Life with Christian is complicated enough, trust me.”
Jeez, I sound like him.
“Ana,” she pauses staring at me. “You’re okay, aren’t you? You’re not running to your mother’s to escape?”
I flush.
“No Kate. It was you who said I needed a break.”
She closes the distance between us and takes my hands – a most un-Kate thing to do. Oh no… tears threaten.
“You’re just, I don’t know… different. I hope you’re okay, and whatever issues you’re having with Mr. Moneybags, you can talk to me. And I will try not to wind him up, though frankly it’s like shooting fish in a barrel with him. Look, Ana, if something’s wrong, you will tell me, I won’t judge. I’ll try to understand.”
I blink back tears.
“Oh, Kate.” I hug her. “I think I’ve really fallen for him.”
“Ana, anyone can see that. And he’s fallen for you. He’s mad about you. Won’t take his eyes off you.”
I laugh uncertainly.
“Do you think so?”
“Hasn’t he told you?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Have you told him?”
“Not in so many words.” I shrug apologetically.
“Ana! Someone has to make the first move, otherwise you’ll never get anywhere.”
What… tell him how I feel?
“I’m just afraid I’ll frighten him away.”
“And how do you know he’s not feeling the same?”
“Christian, afraid? I can’t imagine him being frightened of anything.” But as I say the words, I imagine him as a small child. Maybe fear was all he knew then. Sorrow grips and squeezes my heart at the thought.
Kate gazes at me with pursed lips and narrowed eyes, rather like my subconscious – all she needs is the half-moon specs.
“You two need to sit down and talk to each other.”
“We haven’t been doing much talking lately.” I flush. Other stuff. Non-verbal communication and that’s okay. Well, much more than okay.
She grins.
“That’ll be the sexing! If that’s going well, then that’s half the battle Ana. I’ll grab some Chinese take-out. Are you ready to go?”
“I will be – we don’t have to leave for a couple of hours or so.”
“No – I’ll see you in twenty.” She grabs her jacket and leaves, forgetting to close the door. I shut it behind her and head off to my bedroom mulling over her words.
Is Christian afraid of his feelings for me? Does he even have feelings for me? He seems very keen, says I’m his – but that’s just part of his I-must-own-and-have-everything-now – control-freak dominant self, surely. I realize that while I’m away, I will have to run through all our conversations again and see if I can pick out telltale signs.
I’ll miss you too… more than you know...
You’ve completely beguiled me…
I shake my head. I don’t want to think about it now. I am charging the BlackBerry, so I haven’t had it with me all afternoon. I approach it with caution, and I’m disappointed that there are no messages. I switch on the mean machine, and there are no messages there either. Same email address Ana – my subconscious rolls her eyes at me, and for the first time, I understand why Christian wants to spank me when I do that.
Okay. Well, I’ll write him an email.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Interviews
Date: May 30 2011 18:49
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir
My interviews went well today.
Thought you might be interested.
How was your day?
Ana
I sit and glare at the screen. Christian’s responses are usually instantaneous. I wait… and wait, and finally I hear the welcome ping from my inbox.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: My day
Date: May 30 2011 19:03
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele
Everything you do interests me, you are the most fascinating woman I know.
I’m glad your interviews went well.
My morning was beyond all expectations.
My afternoon was very dull in comparison.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Fine Morning
Date: May 30 2011 19:05
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir
The morning was exemplary for me too, in spite of you weirding out on me after the impeccable desk sex. Don’t think I didn’t notice.
Thank you for breakfast. Or thank Mrs. Jones.
I’d like to ask you questions about her – without you weirding out on me again.
Ana
My finger hovers over the send button, and I am reassured that I’ll be on the other side of the continent this time tomorrow.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Publishing and You?
Date: May 30 2011 19:10
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia
‘Weirding’ is not a verb and should not be used by anyone who wants to go into publishing. Impeccable? Compared to what, pray tell? And what do you need to ask about Mrs. Jones? I’m intrigued.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: You and Mrs. Jones
Date: May 30 2011 19:17
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir
Language evolves and moves on. It is an organic thing. It is not stuck in an ivory tower, hung with expensive works of art and overlooking most of Seattle with a helipad stuck on its roof.
Impeccable – compared to the other times we have… what’s your word… oh yes… fucked. Actually the fucking has been pretty impeccable, period, in my humble opinion – but then as you know I have very limited experience.
Is Mrs. Jones an ex-sub of yours?
Ana
My finger hovers once more over the send button, and I press it.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Language. Watch Your Mouth!
Date: May 30 2011 19:22
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia
Mrs. Jones is a valued employee. I have never had any relationship with her beyond our professional one. I do not employ anyone I’ve had any sexual relations with. I am shocked that you would think so. The only person I would make an exception to this rule is you – because you are a bright young woman with remarkable negotiating skills. Though, if you continue to use such language, I may have to reconsider taking you on here. I am glad you have limited experience. Your experience will continue to be limited – just to me. I shall take impeccable as a compliment – though with you, I’m never sure if that’s what you mean, or if your sense of irony is getting the better of you – as usual.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. From His Ivory Tower
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Not for all the Tea in China
Date: May 30 2011 19:27
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
I think I have already expressed my reservations about working for your company. My views on this have not changed, are not changing, and will not change, ever. I must leave you now as Kate has returned with food. My sense of irony and I, bid you goodnight.
I will contact you once I’m in Georgia.
Ana
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Even Twinings English Breakfast Tea?
Date: May 30 2011 19:29
To: Anastasia Steele
Goodnight Anastasia.
I hope you and your sense of irony have a safe flight.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Kate and I pull up outside the drop-off area at Sea-Tac Airport terminal. Leaning across, she hugs me.
“Enjoy Barbados, Kate. Have a wonderful holiday.”
“I’ll see you when I get back. Don’t let old moneybags grind you down.”
“I won’t.”
We hug again – and then I’m on my own. I head over to check-in and stand in line, waiting with my carry-on luggage. I haven’t bothered with a suitcase, just a smart rucksack that Ray gave me for my last birthday.
“Ticket please?” The bored young man behind the desk holds up his hand without looking at me.
Mirroring his boredom, I hand over my ticket and my driver’s license as ID. I am hoping for a window seat if at all possible.
“Okay, Miss Steele. You’ve been upgraded to first class.”
“What?”
“Ma’am, if you’d like to go through to the first class lounge and await your flight there.” He seems to have woken up and is beaming at me like I’m the Christmas Fairy and the Easter Bunny rolled into one.
“Surely there’s some mistake.”
“No, no.” He checks his computer screen again. “Anastasia Steele – upgrade.” He simpers at me.
Ugh. I narrow my eyes. He hands me my boarding pass, and I head towards the first class lounge muttering under my breath. Damn Christian Grey, interfering control freak – he just can’t leave well enough alone.

Fifty Shades of Grey CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 20

Christian bursts through the wooden door of the boathouse and pauses to flick on some lights. Fluorescents ping and buzz in sequence as harsh white light floods the large wooden building. From my upside-down view, I can see an impressive motor launch in the dock floating gently on the dark water, but I only get a brief look before he’s carrying me up some wooden stairs to the room above.
He pauses at the doorway and touches another switch – halogens this time, they are softer, on a dimmer – and we’re in an attic room with sloping ceilings. It’s decorated with a nautical New England theme: navy blues and creams with a dash of red. The furnishings are sparse, just a couple of couches are all I can see.
Christian sets me on my feet on the wooden floor. I don’t have time to examine my surroundings – my eyes can’t leave him. I am mesmerized… watching him like one would watch a rare and dangerous predator, waiting for him to strike. His breathing is harsh but then he’s just carried me across the lawn and up a flight of stairs. Gray eyes blaze with anger, need, and pure unadulterated lust.
Holy shit. I could spontaneously combust from his look alone.
“Please don’t hit me,” I whisper, pleading.
His brow furrows, his eyes widening. He blinks twice.
“I don’t want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don’t.”
His mouth drops open slightly in surprise, and beyond brave, I tentatively reach up and run my fingers down his cheek, along the edge of his sideburn, to the stubble on his chin. It’s a curious mixture of soft and prickly. Slowly closing his eyes, he leans his face into my touch, and his breath hitches in his throat. Reaching up with my other hand, I run my fingers into his hair. I love his hair. His soft moan is barely audible, and when he opens his eyes, his look is – wary, like he doesn’t understand what I’m doing.
Stepping forward so I am flush against him, I pull gently on his hair, bringing his mouth down to mine, and I kiss him, forcing my tongue between his lips and into his mouth. He groans, and his arms embrace me, pulling me to him. His hands find their way into my hair, and he kisses me back, hard and possessive. His tongue and my tongue twist and turn together, consuming each other. He tastes divine.
He pulls back suddenly, our collective breathing ragged and mingling. My hands drop to his arms and he glares down at me.
“What are you doing to me?” he whispers confused.
“Kissing you.”
“You said no.”
“What?” No to what?
“At the dinner table, with your legs.”
Oh… that’s what this is all about.
“But we were at your parents’ dining table.” I stare up at him, completely bewildered.
“No one’s ever said no to me before. And it’s so – hot.”
His eyes widen slightly, filled with wonder and lust. It’s a heady mix. I swallow instinctively. His hand moves down to my behind. He pulls me sharply against him, and I can feel his erection.
Oh my…
“You’re mad and turned on because I said no?” I breathe, astonished.
“I’m mad because you never mentioned Georgia to me. I’m mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk and who left you when you were ill with an almost complete stranger. What kind of friend does that? And I’m mad and aroused because you closed your legs on me.” His eyes glitter dangerously, and he’s slowly inching up the hem of my dress.
“I want you, and I want you now. And if you’re not going to let me spank you – which you deserve – I’m going to fuck you on the couch this minute, quickly, for my pleasure, not yours.”
My dress is now barely covering my naked behind. He moves suddenly so that his hand is cupping my sex, and one of his fingers sinks slowly into me. His other arm holds me firmly in place around my waist. I suppress my moan.
“This is mine,” he whispers aggressively. “All mine. Do you understand?” He eases his finger in and out as he gazes down at me, gauging my reaction, his eyes burning.
“Yes, yours,” I breathe as my desire, hot and heavy, surges through my bloodstream, affecting… everything. My nerve endings, my breathing, my heart is pounding, trying to leave my chest, the blood thrumming in my ears.
Abruptly, he moves, doing several things at once. Withdrawing his fingers, leaving me wanting, unzipping his fly, and pushing me down onto the couch so he’s lying on top of me.
“Hands on your head,” he commands through gritted teeth as he kneels up, forcing my legs wider, and reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. He takes out a foil packet, gazing down at me, his expression dark, before shrugging off his jacket so it falls to the floor. He rolls the condom down over his impressive length.
I place my hands on my head, and I know it’s so I won’t touch him. I’m so turned on. I feel my hips moving already up to meet him – wanting him inside me, like this – rough and hard. Oh… the anticipation.
“We don’t have long. This will be quick, and it’s for me, not you. Do you understand? Don’t come, or I will spank you,” he says through clenched teeth.
Holy crap… how do I stop?
With one swift thrust, he’s fully inside me. I groan loudly, gutturally, and revel in the fullness of his possession. He puts his hands on mine on top of my head, his elbows hold my arms out and down, and his legs pinion me. I am trapped. He’s everywhere, overwhelming me, almost suffocating. But it’s heavenly too, this is my power, this is what I do to him, and it’s a hedonistic, triumphant feeling. He moves quickly and furiously inside me, his breathing harsh at my ear, and my body responds, melting around him. I mustn’t come. No. But I’m meeting him thrust for thrust, a perfect counterpoint. Abruptly, and all too soon, he rams into me and stills as he finds his release, air hissing through his teeth. He relaxes momentarily, so I feel his entire, delicious weight on me. I’m not ready to let him go, my body craving relief, but he’s so heavy, and in that moment, I can’t push against him. All of a sudden, he withdraws, leaving me aching and hungry for more. He glares down at me.
“Don’t touch yourself. I want you frustrated. That’s what you do to me by not talking to me, by denying me what’s mine.” His eyes blaze anew, angry again.
I nod, panting. He stands and removes the condom, knotting it at the end, and puts it in his pants pocket. I gaze at him, my breathing still erratic, and involuntarily I squeeze my thighs together, trying to find some relief. Christian does up his fly and runs his hand through his hair as he reaches down to collect his jacket. He turns back to gaze down at me, his expression softer.
“We’d better get back to the house.”
I sit up, a little unsteadily, dazed.
“Here. You may put these on.”
From his inside pocket, he produces my panties. I don’t grin as I take them from him, but inside I know – I’ve taken a punishment fuck but gained a small victory over the panties. My inner goddess nods in agreement, a satisfied grin over her face – You didn’t have to ask for them.
“CHRISTIAN!” Mia shouts from the floor below.
He turns and raises his eyebrows at me.
“Just in time. Christ, she can be really irritating.”
I scowl back at him, hastily restore my panties to their rightful place, and stand with as much dignity as I can muster in my just-fucked state. Quickly, I attempt to smooth my just-fucked hair.
“Up here, Mia,” he calls down. “Well, Miss Steele, I feel better for that – but I still want to spank you,” he says softly.
“I don’t believe I deserve it Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack.”
“Unprovoked? You kissed me.” He tries his best to look wounded.
I purse my lips.
“It was attack as the best form of defense.”
“Defense against what?”
“You and your twitchy palm.”
He cocks his head to one side and smiles at me as Mia comes clattering up the stairs.
“But it was tolerable?” he asks softly.
I flush.
“Barely,” I whisper, but I can’t help my smirk.
“Oh, there you are.” She beams at us.
“I was showing Anastasia around.” Christian holds his hand out to me, his gray eyes intense.
I put my hand into his, and he gives it a soft squeeze.
“Kate and Elliot are about to leave. Can you believe those two? They can’t keep their hands off each other.” Mia feigns disgust and looks from Christian to me. “What have you been doing in here?”
Jeez, she’s forward. I blush scarlet.
“Showing Anastasia my rowing trophies,” Christian says without missing a beat, completely poker-faced. “Let’s go say goodbye to Kate and Elliot.”
Rowing trophies? He pulls me gently in front of him, and as Mia turns to go, he swats my behind. I gasp in surprise.
“I will do it again, Anastasia, and soon,” he threatens quietly close to my ear, then he pulls me into an embrace, my back to his front, and kisses my hair.
Back in the house, Kate and Elliot are making their farewells to Grace and Mr. Grey. Kate hugs me hard.
“I need to speak to you about antagonizing Christian,” I hiss quietly in her ear as she embraces me.
“He needs antagonizing, then you can see what he’s really like. Be careful, Ana – he’s so controlling,” she whispers. “See you later.”
I KNOW WHAT HE’S REALLY LIKE – YOU DON’T! – I scream at her in my head. I’m fully aware that her actions come from a good place, but sometimes she just oversteps the mark, and right now so far that she’s into the neighboring state. I scowl at her, and she pokes her tongue out at me, making me smile unwillingly. Playful Kate is novel, must be Elliot’s influence. We wave them off at the doorway, and Christian turns to me.
“We should go too – you have interviews tomorrow.”
Mia embraces me warmly as we say our goodbyes.
“We never thought he’d find anyone!” she gushes.
I flush, and Christian rolls his eyes again. I purse my lips. Why can he do that when I can’t? I want to roll my eyes back at him, but I do not dare, not after his threat in the boathouse.
“Take care of yourself, Ana, dear,” Grace says kindly.
Christian, embarrassed or frustrated by the lavish attention I’m receiving from the remaining Greys, grabs my hand and pulls me to his side.
“Let’s not frighten her away or spoil her with too much affection,” he grumbles.
“Christian, stop teasing.” Grace scolds him indulgently, her eyes glowing with love and affection for him.
Somehow, I don’t think he’s teasing. I surreptitiously watch their interaction. It’s obvious Grace adores him with a mother’s unconditional love. He bends and kisses her stiffly.
“Mom,” he says, and there’s an undercurrent in his voice – reverence maybe?
“Mr. Grey – goodbye and thank you.” I hold out my hand to him, and he hugs me too!
“Please, call me Carrick. I do hope we see you again, very soon, Ana.”
Our farewells said, Christian leads me to the car where Taylor is waiting. Has he been waiting here the whole time? Taylor opens my door, and I slide into the back of the Audi.
I feel some of the tension leaving my shoulders. Jeez, what a day. I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. After a brief conversation with Taylor, Christian clambers into the car beside me. He turns to face me.
“Well, it seems my family likes you, too,” he murmurs.
Too? The depressing thought about how I came to be invited pops unbidden and very unwelcome into my head. Taylor starts the car and heads away from the circle of light in the driveway to the darkness of the road. I gaze at Christian, and he’s staring at me.
“What?” he asks, his voice quiet.
I flounder momentarily. No – I’ll tell him. He’s always complaining that I don’t talk to him.
“I think that you felt trapped into bringing me to meet your parents.” My voice is soft and hesitant. “If Elliot hadn’t asked Kate, you’d never have asked me.” I can’t see his face in the dark, but he tilts his head, gaping at me.
“Anastasia, I’m delighted that you’ve met my parents. Why are you so filled with self-doubt? It never ceases to amaze me. You’re such a strong, self-contained young woman, but you have such negative thoughts about yourself. If I hadn’t wanted you to meet them, you wouldn’t be here. Is that how you were feeling the whole time you were there?”
Oh! He wanted me there – and it’s a revelation. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable answering me as he would if he were hiding the truth. He seems genuinely pleased that I’m here… a warm glow spreads slowly through my veins. He shakes his head and reaches for my hand. I glance nervously at Taylor.
“Don’t worry about Taylor. Talk to me.”
I shrug.
“Yes. I thought that. And another thing, I only mentioned Georgia because Kate was talking about Barbados – I haven’t made up my mind.”
“Do you want to go and see your mother?”
“Yes.”
He looks oddly at me, like he’s having some internal struggle.
“Can I come with you?” he asks eventually.
What!?
“Erm… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I was hoping for a break from all this… intensity to try and think things through.”
He stares at me.
“I’m too intense?”
I burst out laughing.
“That’s putting it mildly!”
In the light of the passing street lamps, I see his lips quirk up.
“Are you laughing at me, Miss Steele?”
“I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Grey,” I reply with mock seriousness.
“I think you dare, and I think you do laugh at me, frequently.”
“You are quite funny.”
“Funny?”
“Oh yes.”
“Funny peculiar or funny ha ha?”
“Oh… a lot of one and some of the other.”
“Which way round?”
“I’ll leave you to figure that out.”
“I’m not sure if I can figure anything out around you, Anastasia,” he says sardonically, and then continues quietly, “What do you need to think about in Georgia?”
“Us,” I whisper.
He stares at me, impassive.
“You said you’d try,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
“Are you having second thoughts?”
“Possibly.”
He shifts as if uncomfortable.
“Why?”
Holy crap. How did this suddenly become such an intense and meaningful conversation? It’s been sprung on me, like an exam that I’m not prepared for. What do I say? Because I think I love you, and you just see me as a toy. Because I can’t touch you, because I’m too frightened to show you any affection in case you flinch or tell me off or worse – beat me? What can I say?
I stare momentarily out of the window. The car is heading back across the bridge. We are both shrouded in darkness, masking our thoughts and feelings, but we don’t need the night for that.
“Why, Anastasia?” Christian presses me for an answer.
I shrug, trapped. I don’t want to lose him. In spite of all his demands, his need to control, his scary vices. I have never felt as alive as I do now. It’s a thrill to be sitting here beside him. He’s so unpredictable, sexy, smart, and funny. But his moods… oh – and he wants to hurt me. He says he’ll think about my reservations, but it still scares me. I close my eyes. What can I say? Deep down I would just like more, more affection, more playful Christian, more… love.
He squeezes my hand.
“Talk to me, Anastasia. I don’t want to lose you. This last week… ” He trails off.
We’re coming near to the end of the bridge, and the road is once more bathed in the neon light of the street lamps so his face is intermittently in the light and the dark. And it’s such a fitting metaphor. This man, whom I once thought of as a romantic hero – a brave shining white knight, or the dark knight as he said. He’s not a hero, he’s a man with serious, deep emotional flaws, and he’s dragging me into the dark. Can I not guide him into the light?
“I still want more,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “I’ll try.”
I blink up at him, and he relinquishes my hand and pulls at my chin, releasing my trapped lip.
“For you, Anastasia, I will try.” He’s radiating sincerity.
And that’s my cue. I unbuckle my seatbelt, reach across, and clamber into his lap, taking him completely by surprise. Wrapping my arms around his head, I kiss him, long and hard, and in a nanosecond, he’s responding.
“Stay with me, tonight,” he breathes. “If you go away, I won’t see you all week. Please.”
“Yes,” I acquiesce. “And I’ll try too. I’ll sign your contract.” And it’s a spur of the moment decision.
He gazes down at me.
“Sign after Georgia. Think about it. Think about it hard, baby.”
“I will.” And we sit in silence for a mile or two.
“You really should wear your seatbelt,” Christian whispers disapprovingly into my hair, but he makes no move to shift me from his lap.
I nuzzle up against him, eyes closed, my nose at his throat, drinking in his sexy Christian-and-spiced-musky-body-wash fragrance, my head on his shoulder. I let my mind drift, and I allow myself to fantasize that he loves me. Oh, and it’s so real, tangible almost, and a small part of my nasty harpy self-conscious acts completely out of character and dares to hope. I’m careful not to touch his chest but just snuggle in his arms as he holds me tightly.
All too soon, I’m torn from my impossible daydream.
“We’re home,” Christian murmurs, and it’s such a tantalizing sentence, full of so much potential.
Home, with Christian. Except his apartment is an art gallery, not a home.
Taylor opens the door for us, and I thank him shyly, aware that he’s been within earshot of our conversation, but his kind smile is reassuring and gives nothing away. Once out of the car, Christian assesses me critically. Oh no… what have I done now?
“Why don’t you have a jacket?” he frowns as he shrugs out of his and drapes it over my shoulders.
Relief washes through me.
“It’s in my new car,” I reply sleepily, yawning.
He smirks at me.
“Tired, Miss Steele?”
“Yes, Mr. Grey.” I feel bashful under his teasing scrutiny. Nevertheless I feel an explanation is in order, “I’ve been prevailed upon in ways I never thought possible today.”
“Well, if you’re really unlucky, I may prevail upon you some more,” he promises as he takes my hand and leads me into the building. Holy Shit… Again?!
I gaze up at him in the elevator. I have assumed he’d like me to sleep with him, and then I remember that he doesn’t sleep with anyone, although he has with me a few times. I frown, and abruptly his gaze darkens. He reaches up and grasps my chin, freeing my lip from teeth.
“One day I will fuck you in this elevator, Anastasia, but right now you’re tired – so I think we should stick to a bed.”
Bending down, he clamps his teeth around my lower lip and pulls gently. I melt against him, and my breathing stops as my insides unfurl with longing. I reciprocate, fastening my teeth over his top lip, teasing him, and he groans. When the elevator doors open, he grabs my hand and tugs me into the foyer, through the double doors, and into the hallway.
“Do you need a drink or anything?”
“No.”
“Good. Let’s go to bed.”
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“You’re going to settle for plain old vanilla?”
He cocks his head to one side.
“Nothing plain or old about vanilla – it’s a very intriguing flavor,” he breathes.
“Since when?”
“Since last Saturday. Why? Were you hoping for something more exotic?”
My inner goddess pops her head above the parapet.
“Oh no. I’ve had enough exotic for one day.” My inner goddess pouts at me, failing miserably to hide her disappointment.
“Sure? We cater for all tastes here – at least thirty-one flavors.” He grins at me lasciviously.
“I’ve noticed,” I reply dryly.
He shakes his head.
“Come on, Miss Steele, you have a big day tomorrow. Sooner you’re in bed, sooner you’ll be fucked, and sooner you can sleep.”
“Mr. Grey, you are a born romantic.”
“Miss Steele, you have a smart mouth. I may have to subdue it some way. Come.” He leads me down the hallway into his bedroom and kicks the door closed.
“Hands in the air,” he commands.
I oblige, and in one breathtakingly swift move, he removes my dress like a magician, grasping it at the hem and pulling it smoothly and fleetly over my head.
“Ta Da!” he says playfully.
I giggle and applaud politely. He bows gracefully grinning. How can I resist him when he’s like this? He places my dress on the lone chair beside his chest of drawers.
“And for your next trick?” I prompt, teasing.
“Oh my dear, Miss Steele. Get into my bed,” he growls. “And I’ll show you.”
“Do you think that for once I should play hard to get?” I ask coquettishly.
His eyes widen with surprise, and I see a glimmer of excitement.
“Well… the door’s closed. Not sure how you’re going to avoid me,” he says sardonically. “I think it’s a done deal.”
“But I’m a good negotiator.”
“So am I.” He stares down at me, but as he does, his expression changes, confusion washes over him, and the atmosphere in the room shifts abruptly, tensing. “Don’t you want to fuck?” he asks.
“No,” I breathe.
“Oh.” He frowns.
Okay, here goes… deep breath.
“I want you to make love to me.”
He stills and stares at me blankly. His expression darkens. Oh shit, this doesn’t look good. Give him a minute! My subconscious snaps.
“Ana, I… ” He runs his hands through his hair. Two hands. Jeez, he’s really bewildered.
“I thought we did?” he says eventually.
“I want to touch you.”
He takes an involuntary step back from me, his expression for a moment fearful, and then he reins it in.
“Please,” I whisper.
He recovers himself.
“Oh, no Miss Steele, you’ve had enough concessions from me this evening. And I’m saying no.”
“No?”
“No.”
Oh… I can’t argue with that… can I?
“Look, you’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed,” he says, watching me carefully.
“So touching is a hard limit for you?”
“Yes. This is old news.”
“Please tell me why.”
“Oh, Anastasia, please. Just drop it for now,” he mutters exasperated.
“It’s important to me.”
Again he runs both hands through his hair, and he utters an oath beneath his breath. Turning on his heel, he heads for the chest of drawers, pulls out a t-shirt, and throws it at me. I catch it, bemused.
“Put that on and get into bed,” he snaps, irritated.
I frown but decide to humor him. Turning my back, I quickly remove my bra, pulling the t-shirt on as hastily as I can to cover my nakedness. I leave my panties on, I haven’t worn them for most of the evening.
“I need the bathroom.” My voice is a whisper.
He frowns, bemused.
“Now you’re asking permission?”
“Err… no.”
“Anastasia, you know where the bathroom is. Today, at this point in our strange arrangement, you don’t need my permission to use it.” He cannot hide his irritation. He shrugs out of his shirt, and I scoot into the bathroom.
I stare at myself in the over-large mirror, shocked that I still look the same. After all that I’ve done today, it’s still the same ordinary girl gaping back at me. What did you expect – that you’d grow horns and a little pointy tail? My subconscious snaps at me. And what the hell are you doing? Touching is his hard limit. Too soon, you idiot, he needs to walk before he can run. My subconscious is furious, medusa-like in her anger, hair flying, her hands clenched around her face like Edvard Munch’s Scream. I ignore her, but she won’t climb back into her box. You are making him mad – think about all that’s he’s said, all he’s conceded. I scowl at my reflection. I need to be able to show him affection – then perhaps he can reciprocate.
I shake my head resigned and grasp Christian’s toothbrush. My subconscious is right of course. I’m rushing him. He’s not ready and neither am I. We are balanced on the delicate see-saw, that is our strange arrangement – at different ends, vacillating, and it tips and sways between us. We both need to edge closer to the middle. I just hope neither of us falls off in our attempt to do so. This is all so quick. Maybe I need some distance. Georgia seems more appealing than ever. As I begin brushing my teeth, he knocks.
“Come in,” I splutter through a mouthful of toothpaste.
Christian stands in the doorway, his PJs hanging off his hips – in that way that makes every little cell in my body stand up and take notice. He’s bare-chested, and I drink him in like I’m crazed with thirst and he’s clear cool mountain spring water. He gazes at me impassively, then smirks and comes to stand beside me. Our eyes lock in the mirror, gray to blue. I finish with his toothbrush, rinse it off, and hand it to him, my look never leaving his. Wordlessly, he takes the toothbrush from me and puts it in his mouth. I smirk back at him, and his eyes are suddenly dancing with humor.
“Do feel free to borrow my toothbrush.” His tone is gently mocking.
“Thank you, Sir,” I smile sweetly, and I leave, heading back to bed.
A few minutes later he joins me.
“You know this is not how I saw tonight panning out,” he mutters petulantly.
“Imagine if I said to you that you couldn’t touch me.”
He clambers onto the bed and sits cross-legged.
“Anastasia, I’ve told you. Fifty shades. I had a rough start in life – you don’t want that shit in your head. Why would you?”
“Because I want to know you better.”
“You know me well enough.”
“How can you say that?” I struggle up onto my knees, facing him.
He rolls his eyes at me, frustrated.
“You’re rolling your eyes. Last time I did that, I ended up over your knee.”
“Oh, I’d like to put you there again.”
Inspiration hits me.
“Tell me and you can.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re bargaining with me?” His voice resonates with astonished disbelief.
I nod. Yes… this is the way.
“Negotiating.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Anastasia.”
“Okay. Tell me, and I’ll roll my eyes at you.”
He laughs, and I get a rare glimpse of carefree Christian. I’ve not seen him for a while. He sobers.
“Always so keen and eager for information.” His gray eyes blaze with speculation. After a moment, he gracefully climbs off the bed. “Don’t go away,” he says and exits the room.
Trepidation lances through me, and I hug myself. What’s he doing? Does he have some evil plan? Crap. Suppose he returns with a cane, or some weird kinky implement? Holy shit, what will I do then? When he does return, he’s holding something small in his hands. I can’t see what it is, and I’m burning with curiosity.
“When’s your first interview tomorrow?” he asks softly.
“Two.”
A slow wicked grin spreads across his face.
“Good.” And before my eyes, he subtly changes. He’s harder, intractable... hot. This is Dominant Christian.
“Get off the bed. Stand over here.” He points to beside the bed, and I scramble up and off in double-quick time. He stares intently down at me, his eyes glittering with promise. “Trust me?” he asks softly.
I nod. He holds out his hand, and in his palm are two round, shiny, silver balls, linked with a thick black thread.
“These are new,” he says emphatically.
I look questioningly up at him.
“I am going to put these inside you, and then I’m going to spank you, not for punishment, but for your pleasure and mine.” He pauses, gauging my wide-eyed reaction.
Inside me! I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils.
“Then we’ll fuck, and if you’re still awake, I’ll impart some information about my formative years. Agreed?”
He’s asking my permission! Breathlessly, I nod. I’m incapable of speech.
“Good girl. Open your mouth.”
Mouth?
“Wider.”
Very gently, he puts the balls in my mouth.
“They need lubrication. Suck,” he orders, his voice soft.
The balls are cold, smooth, surprisingly heavy, and metallic tasting. My dry mouth pools with saliva as my tongue explores the unfamiliar objects. Christian’s gray gaze does not leave mine. Holy hell, this is turning me on. I squirm slightly.
“Keep still, Anastasia,” he warns.
“Stop.” He tugs them from my mouth. Moving toward the bed, he throws the duvet aside and sits down on the edge.
“Come here.”
I stand in front of him.
“Now turn round, bend down, and grasp your ankles.”
I blink at him, and his expression darkens.
“Don’t hesitate,” he admonishes me softly, an undercurrent in his voice, and he pops the balls in his mouth.
Fuck, this is sexier than the toothbrush. I follow his orders immediately. Jeez, can I touch my ankles? I find I can, with ease. The t-shirt slides up my back, exposing my behind. Thank heavens I have retained my panties, but I suspect I won’t for long.
He places his hand reverently on my backside and very softly caresses it with his whole hand. With my eyes open, I can see his legs through mine, nothing else. I close my eyes tightly as he gently moves my panties to the side and slowly runs his finger up and down my sex. My body braces itself in a heady mix of wild anticipation and arousal. He slides one finger inside me, and he circles it deliciously slowly. Oh, it feels good. I moan.
His breathing halts, and I hear him gasp as he repeats the motion. He withdraws his finger and very slowly inserts the objects, one slow, delicious ball at a time. Oh my. They’re body temperature, warmed by our collective mouths. It’s a curious feeling. Once they’re inside me, I can’t really feel them – but then again I know they’re there.
He straightens my panties and leans forward, and his lips softly kiss my behind.
“Stand up,” he orders, and shakily I get to my feet.
Oh! Now I can feel them… sort of. He grasps my hips to steady me while I re-establish my equilibrium.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice stern.
“Yes.” My answer is feather soft.
“Turn round.” I turn and face him.
The balls pull downward and involuntarily I clench around them. The feeling startles me but not in a bad way.
“How does that feel?” he asks.
“Strange.”
“Strange good or strange bad?”
“Strange good,” I confess, blushing.
“Good.” There’s a trace of humor lurking in his eyes.
“I want a glass of water. Go and fetch one for me please.”
Oh.
“And when you come back, I shall put you across my knee. Think about that, Anastasia.”
Water? He wants water – now – why?
As I leave the bedroom, it becomes abundantly clear why he wants me to walk around – as I do, the balls weigh down inside me, massaging me internally. It’s such a weird feeling and not entirely unpleasant. In fact, my breathing accelerates as I stretch up for a glass from the kitchen cabinet, and I gasp. Oh my… I may have to keep these. They make me needy, needy for sex.
He’s watching me carefully when I return.
“Thank you,” he says as he takes the glass from me.
Slowly, he takes a sip then places the glass on his bedside table. There’s a foil packet, ready and waiting, like me. And I know he’s doing this to build the anticipation. My heart has picked up a beat. He turns his bright gray gaze to mine.
“Come. Stand beside me. Like last time.”
I sidle up to him, my blood thrumming through my body, and this time… I’m excited. Aroused.
“Ask me,” he says softly.
I frown. Ask him what?
“Ask me,” his voice is slightly harder.
What? How was your water? What does he want?
“Ask me, Anastasia. I won’t say it again.” And there’s such a threat implicit in his words, and it dawns on me. He wants me to ask him to spank me.
Holy shit. He’s looking at me expectantly, his eyes growing colder. Shit.
“Spank me, please… Sir,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes momentarily, savoring my words. Reaching up, he grasps my left hand and he tugs me over his knees. I fall instantly, and he steadies me as I land in his lap. My heart is in my mouth as his hand gently strokes my behind. I’m angled across his lap again so that my torso rests on the bed beside him. This time he doesn’t throw his leg over mine, but smoothes my hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. Once he’s done, he clasps my hair at the nape to hold me in place. He tugs gently and my head shifts back.
“I want to see your face while I spank you, Anastasia,” he murmurs, all the while softly rubbing my backside.
His hand moves down between the cheeks of my behind, and he pushes against my sex, and the full feeling is… I moan. Oh, the sensation is exquisite.
“This is for pleasure, Anastasia, mine and yours,” he whispers softly.
He lifts his hand and brings it down in a resounding slap against the junction of my thighs, my behind, and my sex. The balls are forced forward inside me, and I’m lost in a quagmire of sensation. The stinging across my behind, the fullness of the balls inside me, and the fact that he’s holding me down. I screw my face up as my faculties attempt to absorb all these foreign feelings. I note somewhere in my brain that he’s not smacked me as hard as last time. He caresses my backside again, trailing his palm across my skin and over my underwear.
Why’s he not removed my panties? Then his palm disappears, and he brings it down again. I groan as the sensation spreads. He starts a pattern: left to right and then down. The down ones are the best. Everything moving forward, inside me… and in between each smack he caresses me, kneads me – so I am massaged inside and out. It’s such a stimulating, erotic feeling, and for some reason, because this is on my terms, I don’t mind the pain. It’s not painful as such – well it is, but not unbearable. It’s somehow manageable, and yes pleasurable… even. I groan. Yes, I can do this.
He pauses as he slowly peels my panties down my legs. I writhe on his legs, not because I want to escape the blows, but I want… more, release, something. His touch against my sensitized skin is all sensuous tingle. It’s overwhelming, and he starts again. A few soft slaps then building up, left to right and down. Oh, the downs, I groan.
“Good girl, Anastasia,” he groans, and his breathing is ragged.
He spanks me twice more, and then he pulls at the small threads attached to the balls and jerks them out of me suddenly. I almost climax – the feeling is out of this world. Moving swiftly, he gently turns me over. I hear rather see the rip of the foil packet, and then he’s lying beside me. He seizes my hands, hoists them over my head, and eases himself onto me, into me, sliding slowly, filling me where the silver globes have been. I groan loudly.
“Oh, baby,” he whispers as he moves back, forward, a slow sensual tempo, savoring me, feeling me.
It is the most gentle he has ever been, and it takes no time at all for me to fall over the edge, spiraling into a delicious, violent, exhausting, orgasm. As I clench around him, it ignites his release, and he slides into me, stilling, gasping out my name in desperate wonder.
“Ana!”
He’s silent and panting on top of me, his hands still entwined in mine above my head. Finally, he leans back and stares down at me.
“I enjoyed that,” he whispers, and then kisses me sweetly.
He doesn’t linger for more sweet kisses, but rises, covers me with the duvet, and disappears into the bathroom. On his return he’s carrying a bottle of white lotion. He sits beside me on the bed.
“Roll over,” he orders, and begrudgingly I move on to my front.
Honestly, all this fuss. I feel very sleepy.
“Your ass is a glorious color,” he says approvingly, and he tenderly massages the cooling lotion into my pink behind.
“Spill the beans, Grey,” I yawn.
“Miss Steele, you know how to ruin a moment.”
“We had a deal.”
“How do you feel?”
“Short changed.”
He sighs, slides in beside me, and pulls me into his arms. Careful not to touch my stinging behind, we are spooning again. He kisses me very softly beside my ear.
“The woman who brought me into this world was a crack-whore, Anastasia. Go to sleep.”
Holy fuck… what does that mean?
“Was?”
“She’s dead.”
“How long?”
He sighs.
“She died when I was four. I don’t really remember her. Carrick has given me some details. I only remember certain things. Please go to sleep.”
“Goodnight, Christian.”
“Goodnight, Ana.”
And I slip into a dazed and exhausted sleep, dreaming of a four-year-old, gray-eyed boy in a dark, scary, miserable place.