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 nightI 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 *****-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 meanThis 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.
"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 himAnd 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 Pamp;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 inter-face... 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 t
I am manicured, massaged, and I've had two glasses of champagne. The First Class lounge has many redeeming features. With each sip of Moet, I feel slightly more inclined to forgive Christian and his intervention. I open up my MacBook, hoping to test the theory that it works anywhere on the planet.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Over-Extravagant Gestures
Date: May 30 2011 21:53
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
What really alarms me is how you knew which flight I was on.
Your stalking knows no bounds. Let's hope that Dr. Flynn is back from vacation.
I have had a manicure, a back massage, and two glasses of champagne - a very nice start to my vacation.
Thank you.
Ana
From: Christian Grey
Subject: You're Most Welcome
Date: May 30 2011 21:59
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele
Dr. Flynn is back, and I have an appointment this week.
Who was massaging your back?
Christian Grey
CEO with friends in the right places, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Aha! Pay back time. Our flight has been called so I shall email him from the plane. It will be safer. I almost hug myself with mischievous glee.
There is so much room in first class. Champagne cocktail in hand, I settle myself into the sumptuous leather window seat as the cabin slowly fills. I call Ray to tell him where I am
- a mercifully brief call, as it's so late for him.
"Love you, Dad," I murmur.
"You too, Annie. Say hi to your mom. Goodnight."
"Goodnight." I hang up.
Ray is in good form. I stare at my Mac and with the same childish glee building.
Opening my laptop, I log into the email program.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Strong Able Hands
Date: May 30 2011 22:22
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir
A very pleasant young man massaged my back. Yes. Very pleasant indeed. I wouldn't have encountered Jean-Paul in the ordinary departure lounge - so thank you again for that treat. I'm not sure if I'll be allowed to email once we take off, and I need my beauty sleep since I've not been sleeping so well recently.
Pleasant dreams Mr. Grey... thinking of you.
Ana
Oh, he's going to flip out - and I shall be airborne and out of reach. Serves him right.
If I'd been in the ordinary departure lounge then Jean-Paul wouldn't have gotten his hands on me. He was a very nice young man, in a blonde, perma-tanned way - honestly, who has a tan in SeattleIt's just so wrong. I think he was gay - but I'll just keep that detail to myself. I stare at my email. Kate is right. It is like shooting fish in a barrel with him. My subconscious stares at me with an ugly twist to her mouth - do you really want to wind him up What he's done is sweet, you know! He cares about you and wants you to travel in
style. Yes, but he could have asked me or told me. Not made me look like a complete klutz at check-in. I press send and wait, feeling like a very naughty girl.
"Miss Steele, you'll need to stow your laptop for take-off," the over-made-up flight attendant says politely. She makes me jump. My guilty conscience is at work.
"Oh, sorry."
Crap. Now I'll have to wait to know if he's replied. She hands me a soft blanket and pillow, showing her perfect teeth. I drape the blanket over my knees. It's nice to feel mol-lycoddled sometimes.
The cabin has filled up, except for the seat beside me which is still unoccupied. Oh no... a disturbing thought crosses my mind. Perhaps the seat is Christian's. Oh shit...
no... he wouldn't do that. Would heI told him I didn't want him to come with me. I glance anxiously at my watch and then the disembodied voice from the flight deck announces,
"Cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check."
What does that meanAre they closing the doorsMy scalp prickles as I sit in palpitating anticipation. The seat next to me is the only unoccupied one in the sixteen-seat cabin. The plane jolts as it pulls away from its stand, and I breathe a sigh of relief but feel a faint tingle of disappointment too... no Christian for four days. I take a sneak peek at my BlackBerry.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Enjoy it While You Can
Date: May 30 2011 22:25
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele
I know what you're trying to do - and trust me - you've succeeded. Next time you'll be in the cargo hold, bound and gagged in a crate. Believe me when I say that attending to you in that state will give me so much more pleasure than merely upgrading your ticket.
I look forward to your return.
Christian Grey
Palm-Twitching CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Holy crap. That's the problem with Christian's humor - I can be never be sure if he's joking or if he's seriously angry. I suspect on this occasion he's seriously angry. Surreptitiously, so the flight attendant can't see, I type a reply under the blanket.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Joking?
Date: May 30 2011 22:30
To: Christian Grey
You see - I have no idea if you're joking - and if you're not - then I think I'll stay in Georgia. Crates are a hard limit for me. Sorry I made you mad. Tell me you forgive me.
A
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Joking
Date: May 30 2011 22:31
To: Anastasia Steele
How can you be emailingAre you risking the life of everyone on board, including yourself, by using your BlackBerryI think that contravenes one of the rules.
Christian Grey
Two Palms Twitching CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Two palms! I put my BlackBerry away, sit back while the plane taxis to the runway, and pull out my tattered copy of Tess - some light reading for the journey. Once we're airborne, I tip my seat back, and soon I'm drifting off to sleep.
The flight attendant wakes me as we start our descent into Atlanta. Local time is 5:45
a.m., but I've only had four hours sleep or so... I feel groggy, but grateful for the glass of orange juice she hands me. I glance nervously at my BlackBerry. There are no further emails from Christian. Well, it's nearly three in the morning in Seattle, and he probably wants to discourage me from screwing up the avionics system, or whatever prevents planes from flying if mobile phones are switched on.
The wait in Atlanta is only an hour. And again I'm luxuriating in the confines of the first class lounge. I am tempted to curl up and go to sleep on one of the plush, inviting couches that sink softly under my weight. But it will just not be long enough. To keep myself awake, I start a long steam of consciousness to Christian on my laptop.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Do you like to scare me?
Date: May 31 2011 06:52 EST
To: Christian Grey
You know how much I dislike you spending money on me. Yes, you're very rich, but still it makes me uncomfortable, like you're paying me for sex. However, I like traveling first class, it's so much more civilized than coach. So thank you. I mean it - and I did enjoy the massage from Jean Paul. He was very gay. I omitted that bit in my email to you to wind you up, because I was annoyed with you, and I'm sorry about that.
But as usual you overreact. You can't write things like that to me - bound and gagged in a crate - (Were you serious or was it a joke?) That scares me... you scare me... I am completely caught up in your spell, considering a lifestyle with you that I didn't even know existed until last Saturday week, and then you write something like that and I want to run screaming into the hills. I won't, of course, because I'd miss you. Really miss you. I want us to work, but I am terrified of the depth of feeling I have for you and the dark path you're leading me down. What you are offering is erotic and sexy, and I'm curious, but I'm also scared you'll hurt me - physically and emotionally. After three months you could say goodbye, and where will that leave me if you doBut then I suppose that risk is there in any relationship. This just isn't the sort of relationship I ever envisaged having, especially as my first. It's a huge leap of faith for me.
You were right when you said I didn't have a submissive bone in my body... and I agree with you now. Having said that, I want to be with you, and if that's what I have to do, I would like to try, but I think I'll suck at it and end up black and blue - and I don't relish that idea at all.
I am so happy that you have said that you will try more. I just need to think about what
'more' means to me, and that's one of the reasons why I wanted some distance. You dazzle me so much I find it very difficult to think clearly when we're together.
They are calling my flight. I have to go.
More later
Your Ana
I press send and make my way sleepily to the departure gate to board a different plane.
This one has only six seats in first class, and once we are in the air, I curl up under my soft blanket and fall asleep.
All too soon, I'm woken by the flight attendant offering me more orange juice as we begin our approach to Savannah International. I sip slowly, beyond fatigued, and I allow myself to feel a modicum of excitement. I'm going to see my mother for the first time in six months. Sneaking another covert look at my BlackBerry, I remember vaguely that I sent a long rambling email to Christian - but there's nothing in response. It's five in the morning in Seattle - hopefully he's still asleep and not up playing mournful laments on his piano.
The beauty of carry-on rucksacks is that one can breeze out of the airport and not wait endlessly for baggage at the carousels. The beauty of traveling first class is that they let you off the plane first.
My mom is waiting with Bob, and it is so good to see them. I don't know if it's because of exhaustion, the long journey, or the whole Christian situation, but as soon as I'm in my mother's arms, I burst into tears.
"Oh Ana, honey. You must be so tired." She glances anxiously at Bob.
"No Mom, it's just - I'm so pleased to see you." I hug her tightly.
She feels so good and welcoming and home. Reluctantly, I relinquish her, and Bob gives me an awkward one-armed hug. He seems unsteady on his feet, and I remember that he's hurt his leg.
"Welcome back, Ana. Why you cryin'?" he asks.
"Aw, Bob, I'm just pleased to see you too." I stare up into his handsome square-jawed face, and his twinkling blue eyes that gaze at me fondly. I like this husband, Mom. You can keep him. He takes my backpack.
"Jeez, Ana, what have you got in here?"
That will be the Mac, and they both put their arms around me as we head for the parking lot.
I always forget how unbearably hot it is in Savannah. Leaving the cool air-conditioned confines of the arrival terminal, we step into the Georgia heat like we're wearing it. Whoa!
It saps everything. I have to struggle out of Mom and Bob's embrace so I can remove my hoodie. I am so glad I packed shorts. I miss the dry heat of Vegas sometimes, where I lived with Mom and Bob when I was seventeen, but this wet heat, even
I glance nervously around the bar but cannot see him.
"Ana, what is itYou look like you've seen a ghost."
"It's Christian, he's here."
"WhatReally?" She glances around the bar too.
I have neglected to mention Christian's stalker tendencies to my mom.
I see him. My heart leaps, beginning a juddering thumping beat as he makes his way toward us. He's really here - for me. My inner goddess leaps up cheering from her chaise longue. Moving smoothly through the crowd, his hair glints burnished copper and red under the recessed halogens. His bright gray eyes are shining with - angerTensionHis mouth is set in a grim line, jaw tense. Oh holy shit... no. I am so mad at him right now, and here he is. How can I be angry with him in front of my mother?
He arrives at our table, gazing at me warily. He's dressed in customary white linen shirt and jeans.
"Hi," I squeak, unable to hide my shock and awe at seeing him here in the flesh.
"Hi," he replies, and leaning down, he kisses my cheek, taking me by surprise.
"Christian, this is my mother, Carla." My ingrained manners take over.
He turns to greet my mom.
"Mrs. Adams, I am delighted to meet you."
How does he know her name He gives her the heart-stopping, Christian Grey patented, full-blown-no-prisoners-taken smile. She doesn't have a hope. My mother's lower jaw practically hits the table. Jeez, get a grip Mom. She takes his proffered hand and they shake. My mother hasn't replied. Oh, complete dumbfounded speechlessness is genetic
- I had no idea.
"Christian," she manages finally, breathlessly.
He smiles knowingly at her, his gray eyes twinkling. I narrow my eyes at them both.
"What are you doing here?" My question sounds more brittle than I mean, and his smile disappears, his expression now guarded. I am thrilled to see him, but completely thrown off balance, my anger about Mrs. Robinson simmering through my veins. I don't know if I want to shout at him or throw myself into his arms - but I don't think he'd like either - and I want to know how long he has been watching us. I'm also a little anxious about the email I just sent him.
"I came to see you, of course." He gazes down at me impassively. Oh, what is he thinking"I'm staying in this hotel."
"You're staying here?" I sound like a sophomore on amphetamines, too high-pitched even for my own ears.
"Well, yesterday you said you wished I was here." He pauses trying to gauge my reaction. "We aim to please, Miss Steele." His voice is quiet with no trace of humor.
Crap - Is he mad Maybe the Mrs. Robinson commentsOr the fact that I am on my third, soon to be fourth CosmoMy mother is glancing anxiously at the two of us.
"Won't you join us for a drink, Christian?" She waves to the waiter who is at her side in a nanosecond.
"I'll have a gin and tonic," Christian says. "Hendricks if you have it or Bombay Sap-phire. Cucumber with the Hendricks, lime with the Bombay."
Holy hell... only Christian could make a meal out of ordering a drink.
"And two more Cosmos please," I add, looking anxiously at Christian. I am drinking with my mother - no way can he be angry about that.
"Please pull up a chair, Christian."
"Thank you, Mrs. Adams."
Christian pulls a nearby chair over and sits gracefully down beside me.
"So you just happen to be staying in the hotel where we're drinking?" I ask, trying hard to keep my tone light.
"Or, you just happen to be drinking in the hotel where I'm staying," Christian replies.
"I just finished dinner, came in here, and saw you. I was distracted thinking about your most recent email, and I glance up and there you are. Quite a coincidence, eh?" He cocks his head to one side, and I see a trace of a smile. Thank heavens - we may be able to save the evening after all.
"My mother and I were shopping this morning and on the beach this afternoon. We decided on a few cocktails this evening," I mutter, feeling that I owe him some sort of explanation.
"Did you buy that top?" He nods at my brand new green silk camisole, "The color suits you. And you've caught some sun. You look lovely."
I flush, speechless at his compliment.
"Well, I was going to pay you a visit tomorrow. But here you are."
He reaches over, takes my hand, and squeezes it gently, running his thumb across my knuckles to and fro... and I feel the familiar pull. The electric charge zapping beneath my skin under the gentle pressure from his thumb, firing into my blood stream and pulsing around my body, heating everything in its path. It's been over two days since I saw him.
Oh my... I want him. My breath hitches. I blink at him, smiling shyly, and see a smile play on his beautiful, sculptured lips.
"I thought I'd surprise you. But as ever, Anastasia, you surprise me by being here."
I glance quickly at Mom who is staring at Christian... yes staring! Stop it Mom. As if he's some exotic creature, never seen before. I mean, I know I've never had a boyfriend, and Christian only qualifies as such for ease of reference - but is it so unbelievable that I could attract a manThis manYes, frankly - look at him - my subconscious snaps. Oh, shut up! Who invited you to the partyI scowl at my mom - but she doesn't seem to notice.
"I don't want to interrupt the time you have with your mother. I'll have a quick drink and then retire. I have work to do," he states earnestly.
"Christian, it's lovely to meet you finally," Mom interjects, finally finding her voice.
"Ana has spoken very fondly of you."
He smiles at her.
"Really?" He raises an eyebrow at me, an amused expression on his face, and I flush again.
The waiter arrives with our drinks.
"Hendricks, sir," he says with a triumphant flourish.
"Thank you," Christian murmurs in acknowledgement.
I sip my latest Cosmo nervously.
"How long are you in Georgia, Christian?" Mom asks.
"Until Friday, Mrs. Adams."
"Will you have dinner with us tomorrow eveningAnd please, call me Carla."
"I'd be delighted to, Carla."
"Excellent. If you two will excuse me, I need to visit the powder room."
Mom... you've just been. I look at her desperately as she stands and walks off, leaving us alone together.
"So, you're mad at me for having dinner with an old friend." Christian turns his burning, wary gaze to me, lifting my hand to his lips and kissing each knuckle gently.
Jeez, he wants to do this now?
"Yes," I murmur as my heated blood courses through me.
"Our sexual relationship was over long ago, Anastasia," he whispers. "I don't want anyone but you. Haven't you worked that out yet?"
I blink at him.
"I think of her as a child molester, Christian." I hold my breath waiting for his reaction.
Christian blanches.
"That's very judgmental. It wasn't like that," he whispers, shocked. He releases my hand. Judgmental?
"Oh, how was it then?" I ask. The Cosmos are making me brave.
He frowns at me, bewildered. I continue.
"She took advantage of a vulnerable fifteen-year-old boy. If you had been a fifteen-year-old girl and Mrs. Robinson was a Mr. Robinson, tempting you into a BDSM lifestyle, that would have been okayIf it was Mia, say?"
He gasps and scowls at me.
"Ana, it wasn't like that."
I glare at him.
"Okay, it didn't feel like that to me," he continues quietly. "She was a force for good.
What I needed."
"I don't understand." It's my turn to look bewildered.
"Anastasia, your mother will be back shortly. I'm not comfortable talking about this now. Later maybe. If you don't want me here, I have a plane on stand-by at Hilton Head.
I can go."
He's angry with me... no.
"No - don't go. Please. I'm thrilled you're here. I'm just trying to make you understand. I'm angry that as soon as I left, you had dinner with her. Think about how you are when I get anywhere near Jose. Jose is a good friend. I have never had a sexual relationship with him. Whereas you and her," I trail off, unwilling to take that thought further.
"You're jealous?" He stares at me, dumbfounded, and his eyes soften slightly, warming."Yes, and angry about what she did to you."
"Anastasia, she helped me, that's all I'll say about that. And as for your jealousy, put yourself in my shoes. I haven't had to justify my actions to anyone in the last seven years.
Not one person. I do as I wish, Anastasia. I like my autonomy. I didn't go and see Mrs.
Robinson to upset you. I went because every now and then we have dinner. She's a friend and a business partner."
Business partnerHoly crap. This is news.
He gazes at me, assessing my expression.
"Yes, we're business partners. The sex is over between us. It has been for years."
"Why did your relationship finish?"
His mouth narrows, and his eyes gleam.
"Her husband found out."
Holy shit!
"Can we talk about this some other time - somewhere more private?" he growls.
"I don't think you'll ever convince me that she's not some kind of paedophile."
"I don't think of her that way. I never have. Now that's enough!" he snaps.
"Did you love her?"
"How are you two getting on?" My mother has returned, unseen by either of us.
I plaster a fake smile on my face as both Christian and I lean back hastily... guiltily.
She gazes at me.
"Fine, Mom."
Christian sips his drink, watching me closely, his expression guarded. What is he thinkingDid he love herI think if he did, I will lose it, big time.
"Well ladies, I shall leave you to your evening."
No... no... he can't leave me hanging like this.
"Please put these drinks on my tab, room number 612. I'll call on you in the morning, Anastasia. Until tomorrow, Carla."
"Oh, it's so nice to hear someone use your full name."
"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," Christian murmurs, shaking her outstretched hands, and she actually simpers .
Oh Mom, - et tu Brute I stand, gazing up at him, imploring him to answer my question, and he kisses my cheek, chastely.
"Laters, baby," he whispers in my ear. Then he's gone.
Damned control-freak-bastard. My anger returns in full force. I slump into my chair and turn to face my mother.
"Well strike me down with a feather, Ana. He's a catch. I don't know what's going on between you two though. I think you need to talk to each other. Phew - the UST in here, it's unbearable." She fans herself theatrically.
Christian stands in a steel-barred cage. Wearing his soft, ripped jeans, his chest and feet are mouthwateringly naked, and he's staring at me. His private-joke smile etched on his beautiful face and his eyes a molten gray. In his hands he holds a bowl of strawberries.
He ambles with athletic grace to the front of the cage, gazing intently at me. Holding up a plump ripe strawberry, he extends his hand through the bars.
"Eat," he says, his tongue caressing the front of his palate as he enunciates the 't'.
I try and move toward him, but I'm tethered, held back by some unseen force around my wrist, holding me . Let me go.
"Come, eat," he says, smiling his delicious crooked smile.
I pull and pull... let me go! I want to scream and shout, but no sound emerges. I am mute. He stretches a little further, and the strawberry is at my lips.
"Eat, Anastasia." His mouth forms my name, lingering sensually on each syllable.
I open my mouth and bite, the cage disappears, and my hands are free. I reach up to touch him, graze my fingers through his chest hair.
"Anastasia."
No. I moan.
"Come on, baby."
No. I want to touch you.
"Wake up."
No. Please. My eyes flicker unwillingly open for a split second. I'm in bed and someone is nuzzling my ear.
"Wake up, baby," he whispers, and the effect of his sweet voice spreads like warm melted caramel through my veins.
It's Christian. Jeez, it's still dark, and the images of him from my dream persists, disconcerting and tantalizing in my head.
"Oh... no," I groan. I want back at his chest, back to my dream. Why is he waking me?
It's the middle of the night, or so it feels . Holy shit. Does he want sex - now?
"Time to get up, baby. I'm going to switch on the sidelight." His voice is quiet.
"No," I groan.
"I want to chase the dawn with you," he says, kissing my face, my eyelids, the tip of my nose, my mouth, and I open my eyes. The sidelight is on. "Good morning, beautiful,"
he murmurs.
I groan, and he smiles.
"You are not a morning person," he murmurs.
Through the haze of light, I squint and see Christian leaning over me, smiling. Amused.
Amused at me. Dressed! In black.
"I thought you wanted sex," I grumble.
"Anastasia, I always want sex with you. It's heartwarming to know that you feel the same," he says dryly.
I gaze at him as my eyes adjust to the light, but he still looks amused... thank heavens.
"Of course I do, just not when it's so late."
"It's not late, it's early. Come on - up you go. We're going out. I'll take a rain check on the sex."
"I was having such a nice dream," I whine.
"Dream about what?" he asks patiently.
"You." I blush.
"What was I doing this time?"
"Trying to feed me strawberries."
His lips twitch with a trace of a smile.
"Dr. Flynn could have a field day with that. Up - get dressed. Don't bother to shower, we can do that later."
We!
I sit up, and the sheet pools at my waist, revealing my body. He stands to give me room, his eyes dark.
"What time is it?"
"5:30 in the morning."
"Feels like 3:00 a.m."
"We don't have much time. I let you sleep as long as possible. Come."
"Can't I have a shower?"
He sighs.
"If you have a shower, I'll want one with you, and you and I know what will happen then - the day will just go. Come."
He's excited. Like a small boy, he's iridescent with anticipation and excitement. It makes me smile.
"What are we doing?'
"It's a surprise. I told you."
I can't help but grin up at him.
"Okay." I clamber off the bed and search for my clothes. Of course they are neatly folded on the chair beside my bed. He's laid out a pair of his jersey boxer briefs too, Ralph Lauren, no less. I slip them on, and he grins at me. Hmm, another piece of Christian Grey's underwear - a trophy to add to my collection - along with the car, the BlackBerry, the Mac, his black jacket, and a set of old valuable first editions. I shake my head at his lar-gesse, and I frown as a scene from Tess crosses my mind: the strawberry scene. It evokes my dream. To hell with Dr. Flynn - Freud would have a field day - and then he'd probably expire trying to deal with Fifty Shades.
"I'll give you some room now that you're up." Christian exits toward the living area, and I wander into the bathroom. I have needs to attend to, and I want a quick wash. Seven minutes later, I am in the living area, scrubbed, brushed and dressed in jeans, my camisole, and Christian Grey's underwear. Christian glances up from the small dining table where he's eating breakfast. Breakfast! Jeez, at this time.
"Eat," he says.
Holy Moses... my dream. I gape at him, thinking about his tongue on his palate. Hmm, his expert tongue.
"Anastasia," he says sternly, pulling me out of my reverie.
It really is too early for me. How to handle this?
"I'll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?"
He eyes me suspiciously, and I smile very sweetly.
"Don't rain on my parade, Anastasia," he warns softly.
"I will eat later when my stomach's woken up. About 7:30 a.m.... okay?"
"Okay." He peers down at me.
Honestly. I have to concentrate hard on not making a face at him.
"I want to roll my eyes at you."
"By all means, do, and you will make my day," he says sternly.
I gaze up at the ceiling.
"Well a spanking would wake me up, I suppose." I purse my lips in quiet contempla-tion.
Christian's mouth drops open.
"On the other hand, I don't want you to be all hot and bothered, the climate here is warm enough." I shrug nonchalantly.
Christian closes his mouth and tries very hard to look displeased, but fails hopelessly.
I can see the humor lurking in the back of his eyes.
"You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele. Drink your tea."
I notice the Twinings label, and inside, my heart sings. See, he does care, my subconscious mouths at me. I sit and face him, drinking in his beauty. Will I ever get enough of this man?
As we leave the room, Christian throws a sweatshirt at me.
"You'll need this."
I look at him, puzzled.
"Trust me." He grins, leans over and kisses me quickly on the lips, then grabs my hand and we head out.
Outside, in the relative cool of the half-light of pre-dawn, the valet hands Christian a set of keys to a flash sports car with a soft top. I raise an eyebrow at Christian, who smirks back at me.
"You know, sometimes it's great being me," he says with a conspiratorial but smug grin that I simply can't help emulating. He's so lovable when he's playful and carefree. He opens my car door with an exaggerated bow, and in I climb. He is in such a good mood.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see." He grins as he slips the car into drive, and we head out on Savannah Parkway. He programs the GPS and presses a switch on the steering wheel and a classical orchestral piece fills the car.
"What's this?" I ask as the sweet, sweet sound of a hundred violin strings assails us.
"It's from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi."
Oh, my... it's lovely.
"La TraviataI've headr of that. I can't think where. What does it mean?"
Christian glances at me and smirks.
"Well, literally, the woman led astray. It's based on Alexander Dumas's book, La Dame aux Camelias."
"Ah. I've read it."
"I thought you might."
"The doomed courtesan." I squirm uncomfortably in the plush leather seat. Is he trying to tell me something"Hmm, it's a depressing story," I mutter.
"Too depressingDo you want to choose some musicThis is on my iPod." Christian has that secret smile again.
I can't see his iPod anywhere. He taps the screen on the console between us, and behold - there is a play list.
"You choose." His lips twitch up into a smile, and I know it's a challenge.
Christian Grey's iPod, this should be interesting. I scroll through the touch screen, and find the perfect song. I press play. I wouldn't have figured him for a Britney fan. The club-mix, techno beat assaults us both, and Christian turns the volume down. Maybe it's too early for this: Britney's at her most sultry.
"Toxic, eh?" Christian grins.
"I don't know what you mean." I feign innocence.
He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My inner goddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music down.
Victory!
"I didn't put that song on my iPod," he says casually, and puts his foot down so that I am thrown back into my seat as the car accelerates along the freeway.
What He knows what he's doing, the bastard. Who did And I have to listen to Britney going on and on. Who... who?
The song ends and the iPod shuffles to Damien Rice being mournful. WhoWho I stare out of the window, my stomach churning. Who?
"It was Leila," he answers my unspoken thoughts. How does he do that?
"Leila?"
"An ex, who put the song on my iPod."
Damien warbles away in the background as I sit stunned. An ex... ex-submissiveAn ex - "One of the fifteen?" I ask.
"Yes."
"What happened to her?"
"We finished."
"Why?"
Oh jeez. It's too early for this kind of conversation. But he looks relaxed, happy even, and what's more, talkative.
"She wanted more." His voice is low, introspective even, and he leaves the sentence hanging between us, ending it with that powerful little word again.
"And you didn't?" I ask before I can employ my brain to mouth filter. Shit, do I want to know?
He shakes his head.
"I've never wanted more, until I met you."
I gasp, reeling. Oh my. Isn't this what I wantHe wants more. He wants it, too! My inner goddess has back flipped off the podium and is doing cartwheels around the stadium.
It's not just me.
"What happened to the other fourteen?" I ask.
Jeez he's talking - take advantage.
"You want a listDivorced, beheaded, died?"
"You're not Henry VIII."
"Okay. In no particular order, I've only had long term relationships with four women, apart from Elena."
"Elena?"
"Mrs. Robinson to you." He half smiles his secret private joke smile.
Elena! Holy Fuck. The evil one has a name and its all-foreign sounding. A vision of a glorious, pale-skinned vamp with raven hair and ruby-red lips comes to mind, and I know that she's beautiful. I must not dwell. I must not dwell.
"What happened to the four?" I ask to distract myself.
"Follow your heart, darling, and please, please - try not to over-think things. Relax and enjoy yourself. You are so young, sweetheart. You have so much of life to experience yet, just let it happen. You deserve the best of everything." Her heartfelt words are comforting whispered in my ear. She kisses my hair.
"Oh, Mom." Hot, unwelcome tears prick my eyes as I cling to her.
"Darling, you know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince."
I give her a lopsided, bittersweet smile.
"I think I've kissed a prince, Mom. I hope he doesn't turn into a frog."
She gives me her most endearing-motherly-absolute-unconditional-love smile, and I marvel at the love I feel for this woman as we hug again.
"Ana - they're calling your flight," Bob's voice is anxious.
"Will you visit, Mom?"
"Of course darling - soon. Love you."
"Me too."
Her eyes are red with unshed tears as she releases me. I hate leaving her. I hug Bob, and turning, head to the gate - I do not have time for the first class lounge today. I will myself not to glance back. But I do... and Bob is holding my mom, and tears are streaming
down her face. I can no longer hold mine back. I put my head down and proceed to the gate, keeping my eyes on the shiny, white floor, blurred through my watery tears.
Once on board, in the luxury of first class, I curl up in my seat and try to compose myself. It is always painful to wrench myself away from Mom... she is scatty, disorganized, but newly insightful, and she loves me. Unconditional love - what every child deserves from its parents. I frown at my wayward thoughts, and pulling out my BlackBerry, stare at it despondently.
What does Christian know of loveSeems he didn't get the unconditional love he was entitled to during his very early years. My heart twists, and my mother's words waft like a zephyr through my mind: Yes, Ana. Hell - what do you need - a neon sign flashing on his forehead She thinks Christian loves me, but then she's my mother, of course she'd think that. She thinks I deserve the best of everything. I frown. It's true, and in a moment of startling clarity, I see it. It's very simple: I want his love. I need Christian Grey to love me.
This is why I am so reticent about our relationship - because on some basic, fundamental level, I recognize within me a deep-seated compulsion to be loved and cherished.
And because of his fifty shades - I am holding myself back. The BDSM is a distraction from the real issue. The sex is amazing, he's wealthy, he's beautiful, but this is all meaningless without his love, and the real heart-fail is that I don't know if he's capable of love. He doesn't even love himself. I recall his self-loathing, her love being the only form he found - acceptable. Punished - whipped, beaten, whatever their relationship entailed -
he feels undeserving of love. Why does he feel like thatHow can he feel like thatHis words haunt me: 'It's very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you're not perfect.'
I close my eyes, imagining his pain, and I can't begin to comprehend it. I shudder as I remember that I may have divulged too much. What have I confessed to Christian in my sleepWhat secrets have I revealed?
I stare at the BlackBerry in the vague hope that it will give me some answers. Rather unsurprisingly, it is not very forthcoming. As we haven't taken off yet, I decide to email my Fifty Shades.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Homeward Bound
Date: June 3 2011 12:53 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
I am once again ensconced in first class, for which I thank you. I am counting the minutes until I see you this evening, and perhaps torturing the truth out of you about my nocturnal admissions.
Your Ana x
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Homeward Bound
Date: June 3 2011 09:58
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia, I look forward to seeing you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
His response makes me frown. It sounds clipped and formal, not his usual witty, pithy style.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Homeward Bound
Date: June 3 2011 13:01 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dearest Mr. Grey
I hope everything is okay re 'the situation.' The tone of your email is worrying.
Ana x
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Homeward Bound
Date: June 3 2011 10:04
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia
The situation could be better. Have you taken off yetIf so you should not be emailing.
You are putting yourself at risk, in direct contravention of the rule regarding your personal safety. I meant what I said about punishments.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Crap. Okay. Jeez. What is eating himPerhaps 'the situation'Maybe Taylor's gone AWOL, maybe he's dropped a few million on the stock market - whatever the reason.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Over-Reaction
Date: June 3 2011 13:06 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grumpy
The aircraft doors are still open. We are delayed but only by ten minutes. My welfare and that of the passengers around me is vouchsafed. You may stow your twitchy palm
for now.
Miss Steele
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Apologies - Twitchy Palm Stowed
Date: June 3 2011 10:08
To: Anastasia Steele
I miss you and your smart mouth Miss Steele.
I want you safely home.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Apology Accepted
Date: June 3 2011 13:10 EST
To: Christian Grey
They are shutting the doors. You won't hear another peep from me, especially given your deafness.
Laters.
Ana x
I switch off the BlackBerry, unable to shake my anxiety. Something is up with Christian.
Perhaps 'the situation' is out of hand. I sit back, glancing up at the locker where my bags are stowed. I managed this morning, with my mother's help, to buy Christian a small gift to say thank you for first class and for the gliding. I smile at the memory of the soaring -
that was something else. I don't know yet if I'll give my silly gift to him. He might think it's childish - and if he's in a strange mood, maybe not. I am both eager to return and apprehensive of what awaits me at my journey's end. As I mentally flick through all the scenarios that could be 'the situation', I become aware that once again the only empty seat is beside me. I shake my head as the thought crosses my mind that Christian might have purchased the adjacent seat so that I couldn't talk to anyone. I dismiss the idea as ridiculous - no one could be that controlling, that jealous, surely. I close my eyes as the plane taxis towards the runway.
I emerge into the Sea-Tac arrivals terminal eight hours later to find Taylor waiting and holding up a board that reads Miss A Steele. Honestly! But it's good to see him.
"Hello, Taylor."
"Miss Steele," he greets me formally, but I see a hint of smile in his sharp brown eyes.
He looks his usual immaculate self - smart charcoal suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie.
"I do know what you look like Taylor, you don't need a board, and I do wish you'd call me, Ana."
"Ana. Can I take your bags, please?"
"No, I can manage. Thank you."
His lips tighten perceptibly.
"But, if you'd be more comfortable taking them," I stammer.
"Thank you." He grabs my backpack and my newly acquired wheelie case for the clothes my mother has bought me. "This way, ma'am."
I sigh. He's so polite. I remember, though I would like to erase it from my memory, that this man has bought me underwear. In fact - and the thought unsettles me - he's the only man who's ever bought me underwear. Even Ray's never had to endure that hardship.
We walk in silence to the black Audi SUV outside in the airport parking lot, and he holds the door open for me. I clamber in, wondering if wearing such a short skirt for the return to Seattle was a good idea. It was cool and welcome in Georgia. Here I feel exposed. Once Taylor has stowed my bags in the trunk, we set off for Escala.
The journey is slow, caught up in rush hour traffic. Taylor keeps his eyes on the road ahead. Taciturn does not begin to describe him.
I can bear the silence no longer.
"How's Christian, Taylor?"
"Mr. Grey is preoccupied, Miss Steele."
Oh, this must be 'the situation.' I am mining a seam of gold.
"Preoccupied?"
"Yes, ma'am."
I frown at Taylor, and he glances at me in the rear-view mirror, our eyes meet. He's saying no more. Jeez, he can be as tightlipped as the control freak himself.
"Is he okay?"
"I believe so, ma'am."
"Are you more comfortable calling me, Miss Steele?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Oh, okay."
Well, that curtails our conversation, and we continue in silence. I begin to think that Taylor's recent slip, when he told me that Christian had been hell on wheels, was an anom-aly. Perhaps he's embarrassed about it, worried that he's been disloyal. The silence is suffocating.
"Could you put some music on please?"
"Certainly, ma'am. What would you like to hear?"
"Something soothing."
I see a smile play on Taylor's lips as our eyes meet briefly again in the mirror.
"Yes, ma'am."
He pushes a few buttons on the steering wheel, and the gentle strains of Pachelbel's canon fills the space between us. Oh yes... this is what I need.
"Thank you." I sit back as we drive slowly but steadily along the I-5 into Seattle.
Twenty-five minutes, later he drops me outside the impressive fa?ade that is the entrance to Escala.
"In you go, ma'am," he says, holding the door open for me. "I'll bring up your luggage is."H expression is soft, warm, avuncular even.
Jeez... Uncle Taylor, what a thought.
"Thank you for meeting me."
"It's a pleasure, Miss Steele." He smiles, and I head into the building. The doorman nods and waves.
As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, a thousand butterflies stretch their wings and flutter erratically in my stomach. Why am I so nervous And I know it's because I have no idea what kind of mood Christian's going to be in when I arrive. My inner goddess is hopeful for one type of mood, my subconscious, like me, is fraught with nerves.
The elevator doors open, and I'm in the foyer. It is so strange not to be met by Taylor.
Of course, he's parking the car. In the great room, Christian is on his BlackBerry talking quietly as he stares out of the glass doors at the early evening Seattle skyline. He's wearing a gray suit with the jacket undone, and he's running his hand through his hair, he's. H agi-tated, tense even. Oh no - what's wrong Agitated or not, he's still beyond beautiful. How can he look so... arrestingIt's such
I wake with a jolt. I think I've just fallen down some stairs in a dream, and I bolt upright, momentarily disorientated. It is dark, and I'm in Christian's bed alone. Something has woken me, some nagging thought. I glance over at the alarm clock on his bedside. It is 5:00 in the morning, but I feel rested. Why is thatOh - it's the time difference - it would be 8:00 a.m. in Georgia. Holy crap... I need to take my pill. I clamber out of bed, grateful for whatever it is that has woken me. I can hear faint notes from the piano. Christian is playing. This I must see. I love watching him play. Naked, I grab my bathrobe from the chair and wander quietly down the corridor, slipping on my robeand listening to the magical sound of the melodic lament that's coming from the great room.
Shrouded in darkness, Christian sits in a bubble of light as he plays, and his hair glints with burnished copper highlights. He looks naked, though I know he's wearing his PJ
bottoms. He's concentrating, playing beautifully, lost in the melancholy of the music. I hesitate, watching from the shadows, not wanting to interrupt him. I want to hold him.
He looks lost, sad even, and achingly lonely - or maybe it's just the music that's so full of poignant sorrow. He finishes the piece, pauses for a split second, then starts to play it again.
I move cautiously toward him, drawn as the moth to the flame... the idea makes me smile.
He glances up at me and frowns before his gaze returns to his hands Oh crap, is he pissed off that I am disturbing him?
"You should be asleep," he scolds mildly.
I can tell he's pre-occupied with something.
"So should you," I retort not quite as mildly.
He glances up again, his lips twitching with a trace of a smile.
"Are you scolding me, Miss Steele?"
"Yes, Mr. Grey, I am."
"Well, I can't sleep." He frowns once more as a trace of irritation or anger flashes across his face. With meSurely not.
I ignore his facial expression and very bravely sit down beside him on the piano stool, placing my head on his bare shoulder to watch his deft, agile fingers caress the keys. He pauses fractionally, and then continues to the end of the piece.
"What was that?" I ask softly.
"Chopin. Opus 28, number 4. In E minor, if you're interested," he murmurs.
"I'm always interested in what you do."
He turns and softly presses his lips against my hair.
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't. Play the other one."
"Other one?"
"The Bach piece that you played the first night I stayed."
"Oh, the Marcello."
He starts to play slowly and deliberately. I feel the movement of his hands in his shoulder as I lean against him and close my eyes. The sad, soulful notes swirl slowly and mournfully around us, echoing off the walls. It is a hauntingly beautiful piece, sadder even than the Chopin, and I lose myself to the beauty of the lament. To a certain extent, it reflects how I feel. The deep poignant longing I have to know this extraordinary man better, to try and understand his sadness. All too soon, the piece is at an end.
"Why do you only play such sad music?"
I sit upright and gaze up at him as he shrugs in answer to my question, his expression wary."So you were just six when you started to play?" I prompt.
He nods, his wary look intensifying. After a moment he volunteers.
"I threw myself into learning the piano to please my new mother."
"To fit into the perfect family?"
"Yes, so to speak," he says evasively. "Why are you awakeDon't you need to recover from yesterday's exertions?"
"It's 8:00 in the morning for me. And I need to take my pill."
He raises his eyebrows in surprise.
"Well remembered," he murmurs, and I can tell he's impressed. His lips quirk up in a half smile.
"Only you would start a course of time-specific birth control pills in a different time zone. Perhaps you should wait half an hour and then another half hour tomorrow morning.
So s eventually you can take them at a reasonable time."
"Good plan," I breathe. "So what shall we do for half an hour?" I blink innocently at him.
"I can think of a few things," he grins, gray eyes bright. I gaze back impassively as my insides clench and melt under his knowing look.
"On the other hand, we could talk," I suggest quietly.
His brow creases.
"I prefer what I have in mind." He scoops me onto his lap.
"You'd always rather have sex than talk," I laugh, steadying myself by holding on to his upper arms.
"True. Especially with you." He nuzzles my hair and starts a steady trail of kisses from below my ear to my throat. "Maybe on my piano," he whispers.
Oh my. My whole body tightens at the thought. Piano. Wow.
"I want to get something straight," I whisper as my pulse starts to accelerate, and my inner goddess closes her eyes, reveling in the feel of his lips on me.
He pauses momentarily before continuing his sensual assault.
"Always so eager for information, Miss Steele. What needs straightening out?" he breathes against my skin at the base of my neck, continuing his soft gentle kisses.
"Us," I whisper as I close my eyes.
"Hmm. What about us?" He pauses his trail of kisses along my shoulder.
"The contract."
He lifts his head to gaze down at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes, and sighs. He strokes his fingertips down my cheek.
"Well, I think the contract is moot, don't you?" His voice is low and husky, his eyes soft."Moot?"
"Moot." He smiles. I gape at him quizzically.
"But you were so keen."
"Well, that was before. Anyway, the Rules aren't moot, they still stand." His expression hardens slightly.
"BeforeBefore what?"
"Before,"... He pauses, and the wary expression is back, "more." He shrugs.
"Oh."
"Besides, we've been in the playroom twice now, and you haven't run screaming for the hills."
"Do you expect me to?"
"Nothing you do is expected, Anastasia," he says dryly.
"So, let me be clear. You just want me to follow the Rules element of the contract all the time but not the rest of the contract?"
"Except in the playroom. I want you to follow the spirit of the contract in the playroom, and yes, I want you to follow the rules - all the time. Then I know you'll be safe, and I'll be able to have you anytime I wish."
"And if I break one of the rules?"
"Then I'll punish you."
"But won't you need my permission?"
"Yes, I will."
"And if I say no?"
He gazes at me for a moment, with a confused expression.
"If you say no, you'll say no. I'll have to find a way to persuade you."
I pull away from him and stand. I need some distance. He frowns as I stare down at him. He looks puzzled and wary again.
"So the punishment aspect remains."
"Yes, but only if you break the rules."
"I'll need to re-read them," I say, trying to recall the detail.
"I'll fetch them for you." His tone is suddenly businesslike.
Whoa. This has gotten serious so quickly. He rises from the piano and walks lithely to his study. My scalp prickles. Jeez, I need some tea. The future of our so-called relationship is being discussed at 5:45 in the morning when he's pre-occupied with something else
- is this wiseI head into the kitchen which is still shrouded in darkness. Where are the light switchesI find them, flick them on, and pour water into the kettle. My pill! I rum-mage in my purse that I left on the breakfast bar and find them quickly. One swallow, and I'm done. By the time I finish, Christian is back, sitting on one of the bar stools, watching me intently.
"Here you go." He pushes a typed piece of paper toward me, and I notice that he's crossed some things out.
RULES
Obedience:
The Submissive will obey any instructions given by The Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities which are outlined in hard limits (Appendix A). She will do so eagerly and without hesitation.
Sleep:
The Submissive will ensure she achieves a minimum of eight seven hours sleep a night when she is not with The Dominant.
Food:
The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and wellbeing from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit.
Clothes:
While with The Dominant, The Submissive will wear clothing only approved by The Dominant. The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for The Submissive, which The Submissive shall utilize. The Dominant shall accompany The Submissive to purchase clothing on an ad hoc basis.
Exercise:
The Dominant shall provide The Submissive with a personal trainer four three times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed between the personal trainer and The Submissive. The personal trainer will report to The Dominant on The Submissive's progress.
Personal Hygiene/Beauty:
The Submissive will keep herself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of The Dominant's choosing at times to be decided by The Dominant, and undergo whatever treatments The Dominant sees fit.
Personal Safety:
The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs or put herself in any unnecessary danger.
Personal Qualities:
The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than The Dominant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on The Dominant. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of the Dominant.
Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by The Dominant.
"So the obedience thing still stands?"
"Oh, yes." He grins.
I shake my head amused, and before I realize it, I roll my eyes at him.
"Did you just roll your eyes at me, Anastasia?" He breathes.
Oh fuck.
"Possibly, depends what your reaction is."
"Same as always," he says, shaking his head slightly, his eyes alight with excitement.
I swallow instinctively and a frisson of exhilaration runs through me.
"So... " Holy shit. What am I going to do?
"Yes?" He licks his lower lip.
"You want to spank me now."
"Yes. And I will."
"Oh, really, Mr. Grey?" I challenge, grinning back at him. Two can play this game.
