TAYLOR

Any particular color?

No. I’ll leave that to you.

ANA CAN COOK. The stir-fry is delicious. I’m calmer now that I’ve had something to eat and I can’t remember being this casual or relaxed with her. We’re both sitting on the floor, listening to music from my iPod, as we eat and sip chilled pinot grigio. What’s more, it’s gratifying to see her devour her food. She’s as hungry as I am.

“This is good.” I’m appreciating every forkful.

She glows in response to my compliment and tucks a stray strand of unruly hair behind her ear. “I usually do all the cooking. Kate isn’t a great cook.” She’s cross-legged beside me, her legs on display. Her rather worn robe is a fetching shade of cream. When she leans forward it hangs open and I glimpse the soft swell of her breast.

Grey, behave.

“Did your mother teach you?” I ask.

“Not really.” She laughs. “By the time I was interested in learning how to, my mom was living with Husband Number Three in Mansfield, Texas. And Ray, well, he would’ve lived on toast and takeout if it weren’t for me.”

“Why didn’t you stay in Texas with your mom?”

“Her husband, Steve, and I—” She stops, and her face clouds with what I assume is an unpleasant memory. I regret asking her and want to change the subject, but she continues. “We didn’t get along. And I missed Ray. Her marriage to Steve didn’t last long. She came to her senses, I think. She never talks about him,” she adds quietly.

“So you stayed in Washington with your stepfather.”

“I lived very briefly in Texas. Then went back to Ray.”

“Sounds like you looked after him.”

“I suppose,” she says.

“You’re used to taking care of people.”

It should be the other way around.

She turns to study my face. “What is it?” she asks, concerned.

“I want to take care of you.” In every way. It’s a simple statement, but it says everything for me. She’s taken aback.

“I’ve noticed,” she says wryly. “You just go about it in a strange way.”

“It’s the only way I know how.” I’m feeling my way in this relationship. It’s new to me. I don’t know the rules. And right now, all I want is to take care of Ana and give her the world.

“I’m still mad at you for buying SIP.”

“I know, but you being mad, baby, wouldn’t stop me.”

“What am I going to say to my work colleagues, to Jack?” She sounds exasperated. But an image of Hyde at the bar, leaning over her, leering, crowding her, springs to mind.

“That fucker better watch himself,” I grumble.

“Christian. He’s my boss.”

Not if I have anything to do with it.

She’s scowling at me and I don’t want her mad. We’re having such a chill time. What do you do to chill out? she asked me during the interview. Well, Ana, this is what I do, eat chicken stir-fry with you while we’re sitting on the floor. She’s still fretting, dwelling on her work situation, no doubt, and what she should tell them about GEH acquiring SIP.

I offer a simple solution. “Don’t tell them.”

“Don’t tell them what?”

“That I own it. The heads of agreement was signed yesterday. The news is embargoed for four weeks while the management at SIP makes some changes.”

“Oh.” She looks alarmed. “Will I be out of a job?”

“I sincerely doubt it.” Not if you want to stay.

Her eyes narrow. “If I leave and find another job, will you buy that company, too?”

“You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?” Jesus, I’m about to spend a small fortune on acquiring this firm and she’s talking about leaving!

“Possibly. I’m not sure you’ve given me a great deal of choice.”

“Yes, I will buy that company, too.”

This could get expensive.

“Don’t you think you’re being a tad overprotective?” There’s a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Maybe…

She’s right.

“Yes. I am fully aware of how this looks,” I concede.

“Paging Dr. Flynn,” she says, rolling her eyes. And I want to reprimand her for that, but she stands and holds her hand out for my empty bowl. “Would you like dessert?” she says with an insincere smile.

“Now you’re talking!” I grin, ignoring her attitude.

You can be dessert, baby.

“Not me,” she says quickly, as if she can read my mind. “We have ice cream. Vanilla,” she adds, and smiles as if she’s privy to some inside joke.

Oh, Ana. This just gets better and better.

“Really? I think we could do something with that.” This is going to be fun. I rise to my feet in anticipation of what’s to come and who’s to come.

Her.

Me.

Both of us.

“Can I stay?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“The night.”

“I assumed that you would.”

“Good. Where’s the ice cream?”

“In the oven.” Her smirk is back.

Oh, Anastasia Steele, my palm is twitching.

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Miss Steele. I could still take you across my knee.”

She arches a brow. “Do you have those silver ball things?”

I want to laugh. This is good news. It means she’s amenable to the occasional spanking. But that’s for another time. I pat down my shirt and jeans pockets as if in search for some kegel balls. “Funnily enough, I don’t carry a spare set around with me. Not much call for them in the office.”

She gasps with faux outrage. “I’m very glad to hear it, Mr. Grey, and I thought you said that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit.”

“Well, Anastasia, my new motto is ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’ ”

Her mouth drops open. And she’s dumbfounded.

Yes!

Why is it so much fun to spar with her?

I head toward the fridge, grinning like the fool that I am, open the freezer door, and pull out a pint of vanilla ice cream. “This will do just fine.” I hold up the container. “Ben. And. Jerry’s. And. Ana.” From the cutlery drawer, I grab a spoon.

When I look up, Ana has a greedy look and I don’t know if it’s for me or the ice cream. I hope it’s for a combination of both.

It’s playtime, baby.

“I hope you’re warm. I’m going to cool you down with this. Come.” I hold out my hand, and I’m thrilled when she takes it. She wants to play, too.

The light from her bedside lamp is insipid and her room’s a little dark. She might have preferred this ambiance at one time, but judging by her behavior earlier this evening, she seems less shy and more comfortable with her nudity. I place the ice cream on her bedside table and drag the duvet and pillows off the bed and onto the floor. “You have a change of sheets, don’t you?”

She nods, watching me from the threshold of her room. Charlie Tango lies crumpled on the bed. “Don’t mess with my balloon,” she warns when I pick it up. I let it go and watch as it floats to the duvet on the floor.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby, but I do want to mess with you and these sheets.” We’re going to get sticky and so is her bedding.

Now to the important question: Will she or won’t she? “I want to tie you up,” I whisper. In the silence that stretches between us I hear her soft gasp.

Oh, that sound.

“Okay,” she says.

“Just your hands. To the bed. I need you still.”

“Okay,” she repeats.

I stalk toward her, our eyes locked. “We’ll use this.” I grab the sash from her robe, tug gently, and her robe opens, revealing a naked Ana; a further tug and the sash is free. With a gentle push at the shoulders, her robe falls to the floor. She doesn’t take her eyes off mine and she doesn’t make any attempt to cover herself.

Well done, Ana.

My knuckles graze her cheek; her face is smooth like satin beneath my touch. I give her a quick peck on the lips. “Lie on the bed, faceup.”

Showtime, baby.

I sense Ana’s anticipation as she does what she’s told, lying down on the bed for me. Standing over her, I take a moment to admire her.

My girl.

My stunning girl. Long legs, narrow waist, perfect tits. Her flawless skin is radiant in the dusky light and her eyes glint darkly with carnal longing as she waits.

I’m a lucky guy.

My body stiffens in agreement.

“I could look at you all day, Anastasia.”

The mattress dips as I crawl onto it and straddle her. “Arms above your head,” I demand. She complies immediately, and, using the sash, I fasten her wrists together, then to the metal spindles of her headboard.

There.

What a mighty fine sight she is…

I give her a quick and grateful peck on the lips and climb off the bed. Once I’m standing, I pull off my shirt and jeans and place a condom on the bedside table.

Now. What to do?

At the end of the bed once more, I grab her ankles and pull her down the mattress so that her arms are fully extended. The less she can move, the more intense the sensations will be.

“That’s better,” I mutter to myself.

Grabbing the ice cream and spoon, I straddle her again. She bites her lip as I lift the lid and try to scoop out a spoonful. “Hmm, it’s still quite hard.” I contemplate smearing some of this on me and inserting myself into her mouth. But as I taste how cold it is, I fear it might have a negative, shriveling effect on my body.

That would be inconvenient.

“Delicious.” I lick my lips for effect as it melts in my mouth. “Amazing how good plain old vanilla can taste.” I watch her and she grins at me, her expression luminous. “Want some?”

She nods—a little uncertain, I think.

I take another spoonful, and offer her the contents so that she opens her mouth. I change my mind and pop it into my mouth. It’s like taking candy from a baby. “This is too good to share,” I declare, teasing her.

“Hey,” she starts.

“Why, Miss Steele, do you like your vanilla?”

“Yes,” she exclaims, and surprises me by trying to buck me off, but my weight is no match for her.

I laugh. “Getting feisty, are we? I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She stills. “Ice cream,” she whines, pouting in frustration.

“Well, as you’ve pleased me so much today, Miss Steele.” I scoop some more onto the spoon and present it to her. She regards me with amused uncertainty, but she parts her lips and I acquiesce, tipping the vanilla into her mouth. My erection hardens as I imagine her lips around me.

All in good time, Grey.

Gently, I ease the spoon from her mouth and scoop up more ice cream. She takes the second spoonful greedily. It’s a little runnier, as it’s beginning to melt from the warmth of my hand around the tub. Slowly, I feed her another spoonful.

“Hmm, well, this is one way to ensure you eat. Force-feed you. I could get used to this.”

She clamps her mouth shut when I offer her more and there’s a defiant gleam in her eye as she shakes her head. She’s had enough. I tip the spoon and oh-so-slowly the melted ice cream drips onto her throat and as I move the spoon the drips fall on her sternum. Her mouth opens.

Oh yes, baby.

Bending down, I lick her clean with my tongue.

“Mmm. Tastes even better off you, Miss Steele.”

She tries to flex her arms, pulling against her robe tie, but it holds, keeping her in place. The next spoonful I dribble artfully over her breasts and nipples, watching with fascination as each nipple hardens under the cold assault. With the back of the spoon I spread the vanilla over each pebbled peak and she squirms beneath me.

“Cold?” I ask, and, not waiting for an answer, I gorge myself, licking and lapping wherever there are rivulets of ice cream, sucking at her breasts, elongating her nipples further. She closes her eyes and groans.

“Want some?” I take a large mouthful, swallowing some, then kissing her, thrusting my tongue and ice cream into her waiting mouth.

Ben. And. Jerry’s. And. Ana.

Exquisite.

I sit up and scoot back so I’m straddling her thighs and dribble melted ice cream off the spoon from the bottom of her sternum and down the center of her abdomen. I leave a large dollop of vanilla in her navel. Her eyes spring open in heated surprise.

“Now, you’ve done this before,” I warn. “You’re going to have to stay still, or there will be ice cream all over the bed.” I pop a large spoonful of vanilla into my mouth and return to her breasts, sucking each of her nipples in turn with my cool lips and tongue. I crawl down her body, following the melted ice cream, lapping it up. She writhes beneath me, her hips pulsing in a familiar rhythm.

Oh, baby, if you kept still you’d feel so much more.

I devour what’s left of the ice cream in her navel using my tongue.

She’s sticky. But not everywhere.

Yet.

I kneel between her thighs and trail another spoonful of ice cream down her belly and into her pubic hair, to my ultimate goal. I dribble the remaining vanilla onto her swollen clitoris. She cries out and tenses her legs.

“Hush now.” Leaning down, I slowly lick and suck her clean.

“Oh. Please. Christian.”

“I know, baby, I know,” I whisper against her sensitive skin but continue my lascivious invasion. Her legs tense again. She’s close.

Abandoning the tub of vanilla so that it falls to the floor, I ease one finger inside her, then another, enjoying how wet, warm, and welcoming her body feels, and concentrate on her sweet, sweet spot, caressing her, feeling her, knowing that she’s nearly there. Her climax imminent.

“Just here,” I murmur, as my fingers slowly pump in and out of her.

She lets out a strangled cry as her body convulses around my fingers.

Yes.

I withdraw my hand and reach over for the foil packet. And even though I hate these things, it takes only a second to put on. I hover over her while she’s still in the throes of her orgasm and thrust into her. “Oh yes!” I moan.

She’s heaven.

My heaven.

But she’s sticky. All over. My skin is sticking to hers and it’s disconcerting. I withdraw and flip her onto her elbows and knees. “This way,” I mutter, and reach forward to undo the sash, freeing her hands. When she’s free I pull her up so she’s sitting astride me: her back to my front. I palm her breasts and tug on her nipples as she groans and tilts her head back so that it’s resting on my shoulder. I nuzzle her neck and begin flexing my hips, driving deeper inside her. She smells of apples and vanilla and Ana.

My favorite fragrance.

“Do you know how much you mean to me?” I whisper into her ear as her head is thrown back in ecstasy.

“No,” she breathes.

I gently wrap my fingers around her jaw and throat, stilling her.

“Yes, you do. I’m not going to let you go.”

Never.

I love you.

“You are mine, Anastasia.”

“Yes, yours.”

“I take care of what’s mine,” I whisper, and my teeth graze her earlobe.

She cries out.

“That’s right, baby, I want to hear you.”

I want to take care of you.

I curl my arm around her waist, holding her against me while I grasp her hip with my other hand. And I continue to thrust inside her. She rises and falls with me, crying out, moaning, groaning. Sweat beads on my back, on my forehead, and on my chest, so we’re slipping and sliding against each other as she rides me. She fists her hands and stops moving, her legs braced around me, her eyes closed as she lets out a silent cry.

“Come on, baby,” I growl through clenched teeth, and she comes, screaming a garbled version of my name. I let go, coming inside her and losing all sense of self.

We sink onto the bed and I wrap her in my arms as we lie in a sticky, sugary, panting mess together. I take a deep breath as her hair brushes against my lips.

Will it always be this way?

Mind-blowing.

I close my eyes and enjoy this lucid, quiet moment of peace.

After a while she stirs. “What I feel for you frightens me,” she says, a little hoarse.

“Me, too, baby.” More than you know.

“What if you leave me?”

What? Why would I leave her? I’ve been lost without her. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t think I could ever have my fill of you, Anastasia.”

She turns in my arms and studies me, her eyes dark and intense, and I have no idea what she’s thinking. She leans up and kisses me, a soft, tender kiss.

What the hell is she thinking?

I tuck a wisp of hair behind her ear. I have to make her believe I’m here for the long haul, for as long as she’ll have me. “I’ve never felt the way I felt when you left, Anastasia. I would move heaven and earth to avoid feeling like that again.”

The nightmares. The guilt. The despair sucking me into the abyss, drowning me.

Shit. Pull yourself together, Grey.

No. I never want to feel like that again.

She kisses me once more, a gentle, beseeching kiss, comforting me.

Don’t think about it, Grey. Think about something else.

I remember my parents’ summer ball. “Will you come with me to my father’s summer party tomorrow? It’s an annual charity thing. I said I’d go.” I hold my breath.

This is a date.

A real date.

“Of course I’ll come.” Ana’s face lights up but then falls.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me,” I insist.

“I have nothing to wear.”

Yes. You do. “Don’t be mad, but I still have all those clothes for you at home. I’m sure there are a couple of dresses in there.”

“Do you, now?” She purses her lips.

“I couldn’t get rid of them.”

“Why?”

You know why, Ana. I caress her hair, willing her to understand. I wanted you back and I kept them for you.

She shakes her head, resigned. “You are, as ever, challenging, Mr. Grey.”

I laugh because it’s true and also because it’s something I might say to her. Her expression lightens. “I’m gooey. I need a shower.”

“We both do.”

“Sadly, there’s no room for two. You go and I’ll change this bedding.”

HER BATHROOM IS THE size of my shower, and this has to be the smallest shower cubicle I’ve ever been in; I’m practically face to face with the showerhead. However, I discover the source of her fragrant hair. Green apple shampoo. As the water trickles over me, I open the lid and, closing my eyes, take a long sniff.

Ana.

I may have to add this to Mrs. Jones’s shopping list. When I open my eyes, Ana is staring at me, hands on hips. To my disappointment, she’s wearing her robe.

“This shower is small,” I complain.

“I told you. Were you smelling my shampoo?”

“Maybe.” I grin.

She laughs and hands me a towel that is designed with the spines of classic books. Ana is ever the bibliophile. I wrap it around my waist and give her a swift kiss. “Don’t be long. That’s not a request.”

Lying in her bed, waiting for her return, I look around her room. It doesn’t feel lived in. Three walls are stark exposed brick, the fourth smooth concrete, but there’s nothing on them. Ana’s not had time to make this place home. She’s been too miserable to unpack. And that’s my fault.

I close my eyes.

I want her happy.

Happy Ana.

I smile.