FRIDAY, JUNE 10, 2011
She loves me.
It’s taken a three-hour car ride for me not to flinch at this thought. But then again, she doesn’t really know me. She doesn’t know what I’m capable of, or why I do what I do. No one can love a monster, no matter how compassionate they are.
I put the thought out of my mind because I don’t want to dwell on the negative.
Flynn would be proud.
Quickly, I type a response to her e-mail.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: iPad
Date: June 10 2011 00:03
To: Anastasia Steele
I’m glad you like it. I bought one for myself.
Now, if I were there, I would kiss away your tears.
But I’m not—so go to sleep.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I want her well rested for tomorrow. I stretch, feeling a contentment that’s entirely unfamiliar, and wander into my bedroom. Looking forward to collapsing into bed, I put my phone on the nightstand and notice there’s another e-mail from her.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Mr. Grumpy
Date: June 10 2011 00:07
To: Christian Grey
You sound your usual bossy and possibly tense, possibly grumpy self, Mr. Grey.
I know something that could ease that. But then, you’re not here—you wouldn’t let me stay, and you expect me to beg…
Dream on, Sir.
Ana xx
P.S.: I also note that you included the Stalker’s Anthem, “Every Breath You Take.” I do enjoy your sense of humor, but does Dr. Flynn know?
And there it is. The Anastasia Steele wit. I have missed it. I sit down on the edge of the bed and compose my reply.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Zen-Like Calm
Date: June 10 2011 00:10
To: Anastasia Steele
My Dearest Miss Steele
Spanking occurs in vanilla relationships, too, you know. Usually consensually and in a sexual context…but I am more than happy to make an exception.
You’ll be relieved to know that Dr. Flynn also enjoys my sense of humor.
Now, please go to sleep, as you won’t get much tomorrow.
Incidentally—you will beg, trust me. And I look forward to it.
Christian Grey
Tense CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I watch my phone, waiting for her reply. I know that she won’t let this go. And, sure enough, her response appears.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Good Night, Sweet Dreams
Date: June 10 2011 00:12
To: Christian Grey
Well, since you ask so nicely, and I like your delicious threat, I shall curl up with the iPad that you have so kindly given me and fall asleep browsing in the British Library, listening to the music that says it for you.
A xxx
She likes my threat? Lord, she’s confusing. Then I remember her squirming in the car while we talked of spanking.
Oh, baby, it’s not a threat. It’s a promise.
I get up and wander into my closet to take off my jacket while I think of something to say.
She wants a softer approach; surely I can think of something.
And then it comes to me.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: One more request
Date: June 10 2011 00:15
To: Anastasia Steele
Dream of me.
x
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Yes. Dream of me. I want to be the only one in her head. Not that photographer. Not her boss. Just me. I change quickly into PJ bottoms and brush my teeth.
As I slip into bed, I check my phone once more, but there’s nothing from Miss Steele. She must be asleep. When I close my eyes it occurs to me that I’ve not thought about Leila all evening. Anastasia has been so diverting, beautiful, funny…
THE RADIO ALARM WAKES me for the first time since she left me. I’ve slept a soundless and dreamless sleep and I awake refreshed. My first thought is of Ana. How is she this morning? Has she changed her mind?
No. Stay positive.
Okay.
I wonder what her morning routine is?
Better.
And I get to see her this evening. I bound out of bed and into my sweats. My run will take me on my usual route to check on her building. But this time, I won’t linger. I’m a stalker no more.
MY FEET POUND THE pavement. The sun is peeping through the buildings as I make my way to Ana’s street. It’s still quiet, but I have the Foo Fighters turned up loud and proud as I run. I wonder if I should be listening to something that’s more in sync with my mood. Maybe “Feeling Good.” Nina Simone’s version.
Too sappy, Grey. Keep running.
I dash past Ana’s building, and I don’t have to stop. I’ll see her later today. All of her. Feeling particularly pleased with myself, I wonder if perhaps we’ll end up here tonight.
Whatever we do, it will be up to Ana. We’re doing this her way.
I run up Wall Street, back home to begin my day.
“GOOD MORNING, GAIL.” Even to my own ears I sound unusually hearty. Gail stops in her tracks in front of the stove and stares at me as if I’ve grown three heads. “I’ll have scrambled eggs and toast this morning,” I add, and wink at her as I head toward my study. Her chin drops, but she says nothing.
Ah, speechless Mrs. Jones. This is novel.
In my study, I check e-mails on my computer and there’s nothing that can’t wait until I get into the office. My thoughts stray to Ana and I wonder if she’s had breakfast.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: So Help Me…
Date: June 10 2011 08:05
To: Anastasia Steele
I do hope you’ve had breakfast.
I missed you last night.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
In the car, on the way to the office, I get a response.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Old books…
Date: June 10 2011 08:33
To: Christian Grey
I am eating a banana as I type. I have not had breakfast for several days, so it is a step forward. I love the British Library app—I started rereading Robinson Crusoe…and, of course, I love you.
Now leave me alone—I am trying to work.
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
Robinson Crusoe? A man alone, stranded on a deserted island. Is she trying to tell me something?
And she loves me.
Loves. Me. And I’m surprised that those words are getting easier to hear…but not that easy.
So I shift my focus to what irritates me most about her e-mail.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Is that all you’ve eaten?
Date: June 10 2011 08:36
To: Anastasia Steele
You can do better than that. You’re going to need your energy for begging.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Taylor pulls up at the curb in front of Grey House.
“Sir, I’ll take the Audi to Miss Steele’s this morning.”
“Great. Until later, Taylor. Thank you.”
“Good day, sir.”
In the elevator at Grey House, I read her response.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Pest
Date: June 10 2011 08:39
To: Christian Grey
Mr. Grey—I am trying to work for a living—and it’s you who will be begging.
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
Ha! I don’t think so.
“Good morning, Andrea.” I give her a friendly nod as I stride past her desk.
“Um,” she stalls, but recovers quickly, because she’s ever the adept PA. “Good morning, Mr. Grey. Coffee?”
“Please. Black.” I close my office door, and when seated at my desk respond to Ana.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Bring It On!
Date: June 10 2011 08:42
To: Anastasia Steele
Why, Miss Steele, I love a challenge…
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I LOVE THAT SHE’S so feisty over e-mail. Life is never boring with Ana. I lean back in my chair with my hands behind my head, trying to understand my effervescent mood. When have I ever felt this cheerful? It’s frightening. She has the power to give me hope, and the power to make me despair. I know which I prefer. There’s a blank space on my office wall; perhaps one of her portraits should fill the void. Before I can brood on this further, there’s a knock on the door. Andrea enters, carrying my coffee.
“Mr. Grey, may I have a word?”
“Of course.”
She perches on the chair opposite me, looking nervous. “Do you remember I’m not here this afternoon and I’m not in on Monday?”
I stare at her, completely blank. What the hell? I don’t remember this. I hate it when she’s not here.
“I thought I should remind you,” she adds.
“Do you have someone covering for you?”
“Yes. HR is sending someone from another department. Her name is Montana Brooks.”
“Okay.”
“It’s only a day and a half, sir.”
I laugh. “Do I look that worried?”
Andrea gives me a rare smile. “Yes, Mr. Grey, you do.”
“Well, whatever you’re up to, I hope it’s fun.”
She stands. “Thank you, sir.”
“Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”
“You have golf tomorrow with Mr. Bastille.”
“Cancel it.” I’d rather have fun with Ana.
“Will do. You also have the masquerade ball at your parents’ place for Coping Together,” Andrea reminds me.
“Oh. Damn.”
“It’s been in the schedule for months.”
“Yes. I know. Leave that.”
I wonder if Ana will come as my date?
“Okay, sir.”
“Did you find someone to replace Senator Blandino’s daughter?”
“Yes, sir. Her name is Sarah Hunter. She starts on Tuesday when I’m back.”
“Good.”
“You have a nine o’clock with Miss Bailey.”
“Thanks, Andrea. Get me Welch on the line.”
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
ROS IS CONCLUDING HER report on the Darfur airdrop. “Everything has gone as scheduled and early reports from the NGOs on the ground are that it’s come at the right time and to the right place,” Ros says. “Frankly, it’s been a huge success. We’re going to help so many people.”
“Great. Perhaps we should do it every year where it’s needed.”
“It’s expensive, Christian.”
“I know. But it’s the right thing to do. And it’s only money.”
She gives me a slightly exasperated look.
“Are we done?” I ask.
“For now, yes.”
“Good.”
She continues to regard me with curiosity.
What?
“I’m glad you’re back with us,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” She gets up and gathers her papers. “You’ve been absent, Christian.” Her eyes narrow.
“I was here.”
“No, you weren’t. But I’m glad you’re back and focused, and you seem happier.” She gives me a broad smile and heads for the door.
Is it that obvious?
“I saw the photo in the paper this morning.”
“Photo?”
“Yes. You and a young woman at a photo exhibition.”
“Oh, yes.” I can’t hide my smile.
Ros nods. “I’ll see you later this afternoon for the meeting with Marco.”
“Sure.”
She leaves, and I’m left wondering how the rest of my staff will react to me today.
BARNEY, MY TECH WIZARD and senior engineer, has produced three prototypes of the solar tablet. It’s a product I hope we’ll sell at a premium globally, and also underwrite philanthropically in the developing world. Democratizing technology is one of my passions—making it cheap, functional, and available in the poorest nations to help bring these countries out of poverty.
Later that morning we’re gathered in the lab discussing the prototypes that are scattered over the workbench. Fred, the VP of our telecom division, is making a pitch to incorporate the solar cells into the rear casing of each device.
“Why can’t we incorporate them into the entire casing of the tablet, even into the screen?” I ask.
Seven heads turn my way in unison.
“Not the screen, but a cover…maybe?” says Fred.
“Expense?” Barney pipes up at the same time.
“This is blue sky, people. Don’t concern yourselves with the economics,” I answer. “We’ll sell it as a premium brand here and practically give it away in the third world. That’s the point.”
The room erupts in creativity and two hours later we have three ideas about how to cover the device in solar cells.
“…Of course we’ll make it WiMAX-enabled for the home market,” Fred states.
“And incorporate the capability for satellite Internet access for Africa and India,” Barney adds. “Provided we can get access.” He looks quizzically toward me.
“That’s a little down the line. I’m hoping we can piggyback on the EU GPS system Galileo.” I know this will take a while to negotiate, but we have time. “Marco’s team is looking into it.”
“Tomorrow’s technology today,” Barney states proudly.
“Excellent.” I nod in approval. I turn to my VP of procurement. “Vanessa, where are we with the conflict mineral issue? How are you dealing with it?”
LATER, WE’RE SITTING AROUND the table in my boardroom and Marco is running through the modified business plan for SIP and their contract stipulations following the signing of our revised heads of agreement yesterday.
“They want to embargo the acquisition news for a month,” he says. “Something about not freaking out their authors.”
“Really? Will their authors care?” I ask.
“This is a creative industry,” Ros says gently.
“Whatever.” And I want to roll my eyes.
“You and I have a call scheduled with Jeremy Roach, the owner, at four thirty today.”
“Good. We can hash out remaining details then.” My mind drifts to Anastasia. How is her day going? Has she rolled her eyes at anyone today? What are her work colleagues like? Her boss? I’ve asked Welch to investigate Jack Hyde; just reading Hyde’s employee file, I know there’s something odd about his career trajectory. He started in New York, and now he’s here. Something doesn’t add up. I need to know more about him, especially if Ana is working for him.
I’m also waiting for an update on Leila. Welch has nothing new to report on her whereabouts. It’s like she’s disappeared completely. I can only hope that wherever she is, she’s in a better place.
“Their e-mail monitoring is almost as stringent as ours,” Ros says, interrupting my reverie.
“So?” I ask. “Any company worth its equity has a rigorous e-mail policy.”
“It surprises me for such a small operation. All e-mails are checked by the HR function.”
I shrug. “I don’t have an issue with that.” Though I should warn Ana. “Let’s go through their liabilities.”
ONCE WE’VE DEALT WITH SIP, we move to the next item on the agenda. “We’re going to make a tentative inquiry about the shipyard in Taiwan,” Marco says.
“I don’t see what we’ve got to lose,” Ros agrees.
“My shirt and the goodwill of our workforce?”
“Christian, we don’t have to do it,” Ros says with a sigh.
“It makes financial sense. You know it. I know it. Let’s see how far we can run with this.”
My phone flashes, announcing an e-mail from Ana.
At last!
I’ve been so busy I haven’t managed to contact her since this morning, but she’s been hovering at the edge of my consciousness all day, like a guardian angel. My guardian angel. Ever present but not intrusive.
Mine.
Grey, get a grip.
As Ros lists next steps for the Taiwan project, I read Ana’s e-mail.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Bored…
Date: June 10 2011 16:05
To: Christian Grey
Twiddling my thumbs.
How are you?
What are you doing?
Anastasia Steele
Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
Twiddling her thumbs? The thought makes me smile as I recall her fumbling with the tape recorder when she came to interview me.
Are you gay, Mr. Grey?
Ah, sweet, innocent Ana.
No. Not gay.
I love that she’s thinking about me and has taken time out of her day to make contact. It’s…distracting. An unfamiliar warmth seeps into my bones. It makes me uneasy. Really uneasy. Ignoring it, I quickly type a response.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your thumbs
Date: June 10 2011 16:15
To: Anastasia Steele
You should have come to work for me.
You wouldn’t be twiddling your thumbs.
I am sure I could put them to better use.
In fact, I can think of a number of options…
Fuck. Not now, Grey.
My eyes meet Ros’s, and I sense her disapproval.
“Urgent response required,” I tell her. She shares a look with Marco.
I am doing the usual humdrum mergers and acquisitions.
It’s all very dry.
Your e-mails at SIP are monitored.
Christian Grey
Distracted CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I can’t wait to see her this evening, and she’s yet to e-mail where we’ll meet. It’s frustrating. But we’ve agreed to try our relationship her way, so I put my phone down and turn my attention back to my meeting.
Patience, Grey. Patience.
We’ve moved on to discuss the mayor of Seattle’s visit to Grey House next week, an appointment I set up when I met him earlier this month.
“Is Sam on this?” Ros asks.
“Like a rash,” I respond. Sam never misses a PR opportunity.
“Okay. If you’re ready I’ll get Jeremy Roach on the line from SIP to go through those final details.”
“Let’s do it.”
BACK IN MY OUTER office, Andrea’s replacement is applying yet more lipstick to her scarlet mouth. I don’t like it. And the color reminds me of Elena. One of the things I love about Ana is that she doesn’t cake herself in lipstick, or any other makeup for that matter. Hiding my disgust, and ignoring the new girl, I head into my office. I can’t even remember her name.
Fred’s revised proposal for Kavanagh Media is open on my desktop, but I’m preoccupied and finding it hard to concentrate. Time is moving on and I’ve not heard from Anastasia; as ever, I’m waiting for Miss Steele. I check my e-mail once more.
Nothing.
I check my phone for texts.
Nothing.
What’s keeping her? I hope it’s not her boss.
There’s a knock on my door.
What now?
“Come in.”
Andrea’s replacement pokes her head around the door and, ping, there’s an e-mail, but it’s not from Ana.
“What?” I bark, trying to remember the woman’s name.
She’s unfazed. “I’m just about to leave, Mr. Grey. Mr. Taylor left this for you.” She holds up an envelope.
“Just leave it on the console there.”
“Do you need me for anything else?”
“No. Go. Thanks.” I give her a thin smile.
“Have a good weekend then, sir,” she offers, simpering.
Oh, I fully intend to.
I dismiss her, but she doesn’t leave. She pauses for a moment, and I realize she’s expecting something from me.
What?
“I’ll see you Monday,” she says with an annoying, nervous giggle.
“Yes. Monday. Shut the door behind you.”
Looking a little crestfallen, she does as she’s told.
What was that about?
I pick up the envelope from the console. It’s the key to Ana’s Audi, and written in Taylor’s tidy hand are the words: Parked in allocated parking space at rear of apartment building.
Back at my desk, I turn my attention to my e-mails, and finally there’s one from Ana. I grin like the Cheshire Cat.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: You’ll Fit Right In
Date: June 10 2011 17:36
To: Christian Grey
We are going to a bar called Fifty’s.
The rich seam of humor that I could mine from this is endless.
I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Grey.
A. x
Is this a reference to fifty shades?
Weird. Is she making fun of me?
Okay. Let’s have some fun with this.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Hazards
Date: June 10 2011 17:38
To: Anastasia Steele
Mining is a very, very dangerous occupation.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Let’s see what she makes of that.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Hazards?
Date: June 10 2011 17:40
To: Christian Grey
And your point is?
So obtuse, Anastasia? That’s not like you. But I don’t want to fight.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Merely…
Date: June 10 2011 17:42
To: Anastasia Steele
Making an observation, Miss Steele.
I’ll see you shortly.
Sooners rather than laters, baby.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Now that she’s been in contact, I relax and concentrate on the Kavanagh proposal. It’s good. I send it back to Fred and tell him to send it on to Kavanagh. Idly I speculate whether Kavanagh Media might be ripe for a takeover. It’s a thought. I wonder what Ros and Marco would say. I shelve the idea for now and head down to the lobby, texting Taylor to let him know where I’m meeting Ana.
50’S IS A SPORTS bar. It’s vaguely familiar, and I realize I’ve been here before with Elliot. But then Elliot is a jock, a real guy’s guy, who’s the life and soul of any party. This is his type of place, a shrine to team sports. I was too hotheaded to play on a team at any of my schools. I preferred more solitary pursuits like sculling and full-contact sports like kickboxing, where I could kick the shit out of someone…or have the shit kicked out of me.
Inside, it’s crowded with young office workers starting their weekends with a quick drink or five, and it takes me only two seconds to spot her by the bar.
Ana.
And he’s there. Hyde. Crowding her.
Asshole.
Her shoulders are tense. She’s obviously uncomfortable.
Fuck him.
With great effort I keep my walk casual, trying to maintain my cool. When I’m by her side, I drape my arm over her shoulder and pull her toward me, freeing her from his unwanted advances.
I kiss her, just behind her ear. “Hello, baby,” I whisper into her hair. She melts against me as the asshole stands taller, appraising me. I want to rip the “fuck you” expression off his rugged, smug face, but I deliberately ignore him to focus on my girl.
Hey, baby. Is this guy bothering you?
She beams at me. Eyes shining, lips moist, her hair cascading over her shoulders. She’s wearing the blue blouse that Taylor bought her, and it complements her eyes and skin. Leaning in, I kiss her. Her cheeks color, but she turns to the asshole who’s taken the hint and stepped back a little.
“Jack, this is Christian. Christian, Jack,” she says, waving between us.
“I’m the boyfriend,” I state, so there’s no confusion, and hold out my hand to Hyde.
See. I can play nice.
“I’m the boss,” he responds as we shake. His grip is tight, so I tighten mine.
Keep your hands off my girl.
“Ana did mention an ex-boyfriend,” he says, with a patronizing drawl.
“Well, no longer ex.” I give him a slight fuck-off smile. “Come on, baby, time to go.”
“Please, stay and join us for a drink,” Hyde says, emphasizing the word “us.”
“We have plans. Another time, perhaps.”
Like. Never.
I don’t trust him, and I want Ana far away from him. “Come,” I say when I take her hand.
“See you Monday,” she says as she tightens her fingers around mine. She’s addressing Hyde and an attractive woman, who must be one of her colleagues. At least Ana wasn’t on her own with him. The woman gives Ana a warm smile while Hyde scowls at us both. I sense his eyes boring into my back as we leave. But I don’t give a fuck.
Outside, Taylor is waiting in the Q7. I open the rear door for Ana.
“Why did that feel like a pissing contest?” she asks as she gets in.
Perceptive as ever, Miss Steele.
“Because it was,” I confirm, and close her door.
When I’m in the car, I reach for her hand because I want to touch her, and raise it to my lips. “Hi,” I whisper. She looks so good. The dark circles beneath her eyes have disappeared. She’s slept. She’s eaten. Her healthy glow has returned. From her bright smile, I’d say she’s brimming with happiness, and it washes over me.
“Hi,” she says, all breathy and suggestive. Damn, I want to jump her now—though I’m sure Taylor wouldn’t appreciate it if I did. I glance at him and his eyes dart to mine in the rearview mirror. He’s waiting for instruction.
Well, we’re doing this Ana’s way.
“What would you like to do this evening?” I ask.
“I thought you said we had plans.”
“Oh, I know what I’d like to do, Anastasia. I’m asking you what you want to do.”
Her smile widens into a salacious grin that speaks directly to my cock.
Hot damn.
“I see. So…begging it is, then. Do you want to beg at my place or yours?” I tease.
Her face shines with humor. “I think you’re being very presumptuous, Mr. Grey. But by way of a change, we could go to my apartment.” She bites down on her plump lower lip and peers at me through her dark lashes.
Fuck.
“Taylor, Miss Steele’s, please.” And hurry!
“Sir,” Taylor acknowledges, and he heads off into the traffic.
“So how has your day been?” I ask, and brush my thumb across her knuckles. Her breath hitches.
“Good. Yours?”
“Good, thank you.” Yes. Really good. I’ve done more work today than I’ve done all week. I kiss her hand, because I have her to thank for that. “You look lovely.”
“As do you.”
Oh, baby, it’s just a pretty face.
Speaking of pretty faces—“Your boss, Jack Hyde, is he good at his job?”
She frowns and the v I like to kiss forms above her nose. “Why? This isn’t about your pissing contest?”
“That man wants into your panties, Anastasia,” I warn her, trying to sound as neutral as possible. She looks shocked. Jesus, she’s so innocent. It was obvious to me and anyone who was paying attention at the bar.
“Well, he can want all he likes,” she says, her tone prim. “Why are we even having this conversation? You know I have no interest in him whatsoever. He’s just my boss.”
“That’s the point. He wants what’s mine. I need to know if he’s good at his job.” Because if not, I’ll fire his sorry ass.
She shrugs but looks down at her lap.
What? Has he tried something already?
She tells me she thinks he’s good at what he does, but she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.
“Well, he’d better leave you alone, or he’ll find himself on his ass on the sidewalk.”
“Oh, Christian, what are you talking about? He hasn’t done anything wrong”
Why is she frowning? Does he make her uncomfortable? Talk to me, Ana. Please. “He makes one move, you tell me. It’s called gross moral turpitude—or sexual harassment.”
“It was just a drink after work.”
“I mean it. One move and he’s out.”
“You don’t have that kind of power,” she scoffs, amused. But her smile fades and she regards me with skepticism. “Do you, Christian?”
I do, actually. I smile at her.
“You’re buying the company?” she whispers, and she looks appalled.
“Not exactly.” This is not the reaction I was expecting, nor is the conversation going the way I thought it would.
“You’ve bought it. SIP. Already.” Her face pales.
Christ! She’s pissed.
“Possibly,” I answer, cautiously.
“You have or you haven’t?” she demands.
Showtime, Grey. Tell her.
“Have.”
“Why?” Her voice is shrill.
“Because I can, Anastasia. I need you safe.”
“But you said you wouldn’t interfere in my career!”
“And I won’t.”
She snatches her hand back. “Christian!”
Shit. “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes. Of course I’m mad at you,” she yells. “I mean, what kind of responsible business executive makes decisions based on who he is currently fucking?” She glances nervously at Taylor, then glares at me, her expression full of recrimination.
And I want to admonish her for her foul mouth and for overreacting. I start to tell her so, then decide that it might not be a good idea. Her lips are set in the mulish Steele pout that I know so well…I have missed that, too.
She folds her arms in disgust.
Fuck.
She’s really mad.
I glare back at her, wanting nothing more than to drag her across my knee—but, sadly, that’s not an option.
Hell, I was only doing what I thought was best.
Taylor parks outside her apartment, and before he’s stopped, it seems, she’s out of the car.
Shit! “I think you’d better wait here,” I say to Taylor, and I scramble after her. My evening may be about to take a radically different course than the one I’d planned. I may have blown it already.
When I reach her at the lobby door, she’s rummaging around in her purse for keys; I stand behind her, helpless.
What to do?
“Anastasia,” I entreat her, as I try to remain calm. She lets out an exaggerated sigh and turns to face me, her mouth pressed in a hard line.
Following up what she said in the car, I try for humor. “First, I haven’t fucked you for a while—a long while, it feels—and second, I wanted to get into publishing. Of the four companies in Seattle, SIP is the most profitable.” I keep talking about the company but what I really want to say is…Please don’t fight with me.
“So you’re my boss now?” she snaps.
“Technically, I’m your boss’s boss’s boss.”
“And technically, it’s gross moral turpitude—the fact that I am fucking my boss’s boss’s boss.”
“At the moment, you’re arguing with him.” My voice is beginning to rise.
“That’s because he’s such an ass.”
Ass. Ass!
She’s calling me names! The only people who do that are Mia and Elliot.
“An ass?” Yes. Maybe I am. And suddenly I want to laugh. Anastasia called me an ass—Elliot would approve.
“Yes.” She’s trying to stay mad at me, but her mouth is lifting at the corners.
“An ass?” I repeat, and I cannot help my smile.
“Don’t make me laugh when I’m mad at you!” she shouts, trying and failing to stay serious. I give her my best one-thousand-watt smile and she unleashes an uninhibited, spontaneous laugh that makes me feel ten feet tall.
Success!
“Just because I have a stupid damn grin on my face doesn’t mean I am not mad as hell at you,” she claims between giggles. Leaning forward, I nuzzle her hair and inhale deeply. Her scent and her proximity stir my libido. I want her.
“As ever, Miss Steele, you are unexpected.” I gaze down, treasuring her flushed face and shining eyes. She’s beautiful. “So are you going to invite me in, or am I to be sent packing for exercising my democratic right as an American citizen, entrepreneur, and consumer to purchase whatever I damn well please?”
“Have you spoken to Dr. Flynn about this?”
I laugh. Not yet. It will be a mindfuck when I do.
“Are you going to let me in or not, Anastasia?”
For a moment she looks undecided, making my heartbeat spike. But she bites her lip, then smiles and opens the door for me. I wave Taylor off and follow Ana upstairs, enjoying the fantastic view of her ass. The gentle sway of her hips as she climbs each step is beyond seductive—more so, I think, because she has no idea she’s so alluring. Her innate sensuality stems from her innocence: her willingness to experiment, and her ability to trust.
Damn. I hope I still have her trust. After all, I drove her away. I will have to work hard to rebuild it. I don’t want to lose her again.
Her apartment is neat and tidy, as I would expect, but it has an unused, uninhabited vibe about it. It reminds me of the gallery: it’s all old brick and wood. The concrete kitchen island is a stark and novel design statement. I like it.
“Nice place,” I remark with approval.
“Kate’s parents bought it for her.”
Eamon Kavanagh has indulged his daughter. It’s a stylish place—he’s chosen well. I hope Katherine appreciates it. I turn and stare at Ana as she stands by the island. I wonder how she feels living with such a well-off friend. I’m sure she pays her way…but it must be tough to play second fiddle to Katherine Kavanagh. Maybe she likes it, or maybe she finds it a struggle. She certainly doesn’t squander her money on clothes. But I’ve remedied that; I have a closetful for her at Escala. I wonder what she’ll think about that? She’ll likely give me a hard time.
Don’t think about that now, Grey.
Ana’s studying me, her eyes dark. She licks her bottom lip, and my body lights up like a firework.
“Er…would you like a drink?” she asks.
“No thank you, Anastasia.” I want you.
She clasps her hands together, seemingly at a loss and looking a little apprehensive. Do I still make her nervous? This woman can bring me to my knees, and she’s the one who’s nervous?
“What would you like to do, Anastasia?” I ask, and move closer to her, my eyes not leaving hers. “I know what I want to do.”
And we can do it here, or in your bedroom, or your bathroom, I don’t care—I just want you. Now.
Her lips part as her breath hitches and her breathing quickens.
Oh, that sound is beguiling.
You want me, too, baby.
I know it.
I feel it.
She backs up against the kitchen island with nowhere else to go.
“I’m still mad at you,” she asserts, but her voice is tremulous and soft. She doesn’t sound mad at all. Wanton, maybe. But not mad.
“I know,” I agree, and give her a wolfish grin. Her eyes widen.
Oh, baby.
“Would you like something to eat?” she whispers.
I nod slowly. “Yes. You.”
Standing over her, staring into eyes that are dark with desire, I feel the heat from her body. It’s searing me. I want to be wrapped in it. Bathed in it. I want to make her scream and moan and call out my name. I want to reclaim her and wipe the memory of our breakup from her mind.
I want to make her mine. Again.
But first things first.
“Have you eaten today?” I need to know.
“I had a sandwich at lunch.”
That will do. “You need to eat,” I chide her.
“I’m really not hungry right now…for food.”
“What are you hungry for, Miss Steele?” I lower my face so that our lips are almost touching.
“I think you know, Mr. Grey.”
She’s not wrong. I stifle my groan and it takes all my self-control not to grab her and toss her onto the concrete counter. But I was serious when I said she’d have to beg. She has to tell me what she wants. She has to vocalize her feelings, her needs, and desires. I want to learn what makes her happy. I lean down as if to kiss her, fooling her, and whisper in her ear instead.
“Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?”
She inhales sharply. “Yes.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. I told you I’m not going to touch you until you beg me and tell me what to do.”
“Please,” she pleads.
Oh no, baby. I’m not going to make this easy on you. “Please what?”
“Touch me.”
“Where, baby?”
She reaches for me.
No.
The darkness erupts inside me and grips my throat with its claws. Instinctively, I step back, my heart pounding as fear courses through my body.
Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me.
Fuck.
“No. No,” I mutter.
This is why I have rules.
“What?” She’s confused.
“No.” I shake my head. She knows this. I told her yesterday. I have to make her understand she can’t touch me.
“Not at all?” She steps toward me and I don’t know what she intends. The darkness stabs at my insides, so I take another step back and hold up my hands to ward her off.
With a smile, I beseech her, “Look. Ana…” But I can’t find the right words.
Please. Don’t touch me. I can’t handle it.
Damn, it’s frustrating.
“Sometimes you don’t mind,” she protests. “Perhaps I should find a marker pen, and we could map out the no-go areas.”
Well, that’s an approach that I’ve not considered before. “That’s not a bad idea. Where’s your bedroom?” I need to move her on from this subject.
She nods to the left.
“Have you been taking your pill?”
Her face falls. “No.”
What!
After all the trouble we went to to get her on the fucking pill! I can’t believe she just stopped taking it.
“I see.”
This is a disaster. What the hell am I going to do with her? Damn it. I need condoms. “Come, let’s have something to eat,” I say, thinking that we can go out and I can replenish my supply.
“I thought we were going to bed. I want to go to bed with you.” She sounds sullen.
“I know, baby.”
But with us it’s two steps forward and one step back.
This evening is not going as planned. Maybe it was too much to hope. How can she be with a fucked-up asshole who can’t bear to be touched? And how can I be with someone who forgets to take their damned pill? I hate condoms.
Christ. Maybe we are incompatible.
Enough of the negative thinking, Grey. Enough!
She looks crestfallen, and part of me is suddenly absurdly pleased that she does. At least she wants me. I bound forward and grab her wrists, pinning her hands behind her and pulling her into my arms. Her slender body against the length of mine feels good. But she’s slim. Too slim. “You need to eat and so do I.” And you’ve completely thrown me by trying to touch me. I need to recover my composure, baby. “Besides…anticipation is the key to seduction, and right now I’m really into delayed gratification.” Especially with no contraception.
She looks a little skeptical.
Yes, I know. I just made that up.
“I’m seduced and I want my gratification now. I’ll beg. Please,” she whimpers.
She is Eve herself: temptation incarnate. I tighten my hold and there’s definitely less of her. It’s disconcerting, more so because I know I’m to blame. “Eat. You’re too slender.” I kiss her forehead and release her, wondering where we can dine.
“I’m still mad that you bought SIP, and now I’m mad at you because you’re making me wait.” She purses her lips.
“You are one angry little madam, aren’t you?” I state, knowing she won’t understand the compliment. “You’ll feel better after a good meal.”
“I know what I’ll feel better after.”
“Anastasia Steele, I’m shocked.” I feign outrage and hold my palm against my heart.
“Stop teasing me. You don’t fight fair.” All of a sudden her stance changes. “I could cook something,” she says, “except we’ll have to go shopping.”
“Shopping?”
“For groceries.”
“You have no food here?” For heaven’s sake—no wonder she hasn’t eaten! “Let’s go shopping, then.” I stride to the door of her apartment and open it wide, gesturing for her to exit. This could work in my favor. I just need to find a pharmacy or a convenience store.
“Okay, okay,” she says, and scurries out the door.
As we walk down the street hand in hand, I wonder at how, in her presence, I can run through an entire spectrum of emotion: from angry, to carnal, to fearful, to playful. Before Ana, I was calm and stable, but boy, was my life monotonous. That changed the moment she fell into my office. Being with her is like being inside a storm, my feelings colliding and crashing together, then surging and ebbing away. I hardly know which way is up. Ana’s never dull. I just hope what’s left of my heart can cope.
We walk two blocks to Ernie’s Supermarket. It’s small, and packed with too many people; mostly singles, I think, judging from the contents of their shopping baskets. And here am I, single no more.
I like that idea.
I follow in Ana’s wake, holding a wire basket and enjoying the view of her ass, all tight and taut in her jeans. I especially like it when she leans over the vegetable counter and picks up some onions. The fabric stretches across her behind and her blouse rides up, revealing a sliver of pale, flawless skin.
Oh, what I’d like to do to that ass.
Ana is looking at me, perplexed and asking me questions about when I was last in a supermarket? I have no idea. She wants to cook stir-fry because it’s quick. Quick, huh? I smirk and follow her through the store, enjoying how adept she is at choosing her ingredients: a squeeze of a tomato here, the sniff of a pepper there. As we walk to the checkout she asks me about my staff and how long they’ve been with me. Why does she want to know? “Taylor, four years, I think. Mrs. Jones, about the same.”
I ask her a question of my own. “Why didn’t you have any food in the apartment?”
Her expression clouds. “You know why.”
“It was you who left me,” I remind her. If you’d stayed we might have worked things out and avoided all the misery.
“I know,” she says, sounding contrite.
I stand in line beside her. There’s a woman in front of us, trying to wrangle two small children, one of whom is whining incessantly.
Jesus. How do people do this?
We could have gone out to eat. There are enough restaurants around here. “Do you have anything to drink?” I ask, because after this real-life experience, I’m going to need alcohol.
“Beer, I think.”
“I’ll get some wine.”
I put as much distance as I can between me and the screaming boy, but after a brief look around the store I realize there’s no alcohol or condoms for sale here.
Damn it.
“There’s a good liquor store next door,” Anastasia says, when I return to the line which doesn’t seem to have moved and is still dominated by the wailing child.
“I’ll see what they have.”
Relieved to be out of the hellhole that is Ernie’s, I notice a small convenience store beside Liquor Locker. Inside, I find the only two remaining packs of condoms.
Thank heavens. Two packs of two.
Four fucks if I’m lucky.
I can’t help my grin. That should be enough even for the insatiable Miss Steele.
I grab them both and pay the old guy behind the counter and leave. I’m lucky in the liquor store, too. It has an excellent selection of wine and I find an above-average pinot grigio in the fridge.
Anastasia is staggering out of the grocery store when I return.
“Here, let me carry that.” I take both grocery bags and we walk back to her apartment.
She tells me a little about what she’s been doing during the week. She’s obviously enjoying her new job. She doesn’t mention my takeover of SIP, and I’m grateful. And for my part I don’t mention her asshole of a boss.
“You look very domestic,” she says with ill-concealed amusement when we’re back in her kitchen.
She’s laughing at me. Again. “No one has ever accused me of that before.” I place the bags on the kitchen island and she sets to work unloading them. I grab the wine. The grocery store was enough reality for today. Now, where would she keep a corkscrew?
“This place is still so new. I think the opener is in that drawer there.” She points using her chin. I smile at her multitasking and locate the corkscrew. I’m pleased that she hasn’t been drowning her sorrows during my absence. I’ve seen what happens when she gets drunk.
When I turn to look at her, she’s blushing.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask as I shrug out of my jacket and toss it on the couch. I make my way back to the waiting bottle of wine.
“How little I know you.”
“You know me better than anyone.” She can certainly read me like no one else. It’s unsettling. I open the bottle, mimicking the cheesy flourish of the waiter in Portland.
“I don’t think that’s true,” she responds, as she continues to unpack the bags.
“It is, Anastasia. I’m a very, very private person.” It comes with the territory, doing what I do. What I did.
I pour two glasses and hand one to her.
“Cheers.” I raise my glass.
“Cheers.” She takes a sip and then starts busying herself in the kitchen. She’s in her element. I remember her telling me how she used to cook for her dad.
“Can I help you with that?” I ask.
She gives me a sideways I’ve-got-this look. “No, it’s fine. Sit.”
“I’d like to help.”
She can’t hide her surprise. “You can chop the vegetables.” It sounds like she’s making a huge concession. Perhaps she’s right to be wary. I know nothing about cooking. My mother, Mrs. Jones, and my submissives—some with more success than others—have all fulfilled that role.
“I don’t cook,” I tell her while examining the razor-sharp knife she hands me.
“I imagine you don’t need to.” She places a chopping board and some red peppers in front me.
What the hell am I supposed to do with these? They are such a weird shape.
“You’ve never chopped a vegetable?” Anastasia asks in disbelief.
“No.”
She looks smug all of a sudden.
“Are you smirking at me?”
“It appears this is something that I can do and you can’t. Let’s face it, Christian, I think this is a first. Here—I’ll show you.”
She brushes past me, her arm touching mine, and my body springs to life.
Christ.
I step out of her way.
“Like this.” She demonstrates, slicing into the red pepper and removing all the seeds and shit from the inside with one smooth twirl of her knife.
“Looks simple enough.”
“You shouldn’t have any trouble with it.” Her tone is teasing but ironic. Does she think I’m not capable of chopping a vegetable? With careful precision, I start to slice.
Damn, these seeds get everywhere. It’s more difficult than I thought. Ana made it look easy. She pushes past me, her thigh brushing against my leg as she collects the ingredients. It’s deliberate, I’m sure, but I try to ignore the effect she’s having on my libido, and I continue to slice with care. This blade is evil. She moves past me again, this time skimming her hip against me, then again, another touch, and all below my waist. My cock approves, big-time. “I know what you’re doing, Anastasia.”
“I think it’s called cooking,” she says with disingenuous sincerity.
Oh. Playful Anastasia. Is she finally realizing the power she has over me?
Grabbing another knife, she joins me at the chopping board, peeling and slicing garlic, shallots, and French beans. She takes every opportunity to bump into me. She’s not subtle.
“You’re quite good at this,” I concede, as I start on my second pepper.
“Chopping?” She bats her eyelashes. “Years of practice,” she states, and brushes up against me with her behind.
That’s it. Enough.
She takes the vegetables and places them beside the gently smoking wok.
“If you do that again, Anastasia, I’m going to take you on the kitchen floor.”
“You’ll have to beg me first,” she counters.
“Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe.”
Oh, Miss Steele. Bring it on.
I put down the knife and meander over to where she’s standing, keeping her pinned with my gaze. Her lips part as I lean past her, an inch away, but I don’t touch her. With a twist, I switch off the gas for the wok. “I think we’ll eat later.” Because right now I’m going to fuck your brains out. “Put the chicken in the fridge.”
Swallowing hard, she picks up the bowl of diced chicken, rather clumsily places a plate over the top, and puts the whole thing in the fridge. I step up behind her silently so that when she turns I’m right in front of her.
“So, you’re going to beg?” she whispers.
“No, Anastasia.” I shake my head. “No begging.” I look down at her, lust and need thickening my blood.
Fuck, I want to be buried in her.
I watch as her pupils dilate and her cheeks flush with desire. She wants me. I want her. She bites her lip and I can bear it no more. Grabbing her hips, I pull her against my growing erection. Her hands are in my hair and she’s pulling me down to her mouth. I push her against the fridge and kiss her hard.
She tastes so good, so sweet.
She moans into my mouth and it’s like a wake-up call that makes me harder still. I move my hand into her hair, pulling her head back so I can angle my tongue deeper into her mouth. Her tongue wrestles with mine.
Fuck—it’s erotic, raw, intense. I pull back.
“What do you want, Anastasia?”
“You.”
“Where?”
“Bed.”
Needing no further prompting, I scoop her into my arms and carry her into her bedroom. I want her naked and yearning beneath me. Putting her gently on the floor, I switch on her bedside light and draw her curtains. As I glance through the window to the street below, I realize this is indeed the room I stared at during my silent vigils, from my stalker’s hideout.
She was here, alone, curled up in her bed.
When I turn, she’s watching me. Wide-eyed. Waiting. Wanting.
“Now what?” I ask.
She flushes.
And I stay absolutely still.
“Make love to me,” she says after a beat.
“How? You have got to tell me, baby.”
She licks her lips, a nervous gesture, and lust surges through me.
Shit—focus, Grey.
“Undress me,” she says.
Yes! Hooking my index finger into the top of her blouse, careful not to touch her soft skin, I tug gently, forcing her to step toward me. “Good girl.”
Her breasts rise and fall as her breathing accelerates. Her dark eyes are full of carnal promise, like mine. Deftly I start to unbutton her blouse. She puts her hands on my arms—to steady herself, I think—and glances at me.
Yeah, that’s fine, baby. Don’t touch my chest.
I undo the last button, slip the blouse off her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Making a conscious effort not to touch her beautiful breasts, I reach down to the waistband of her jeans. I undo the top button and pull down the zipper.
I resist the urge to throw her onto the bed. This is going to be a waiting game. She needs to talk to me. “Tell me what you want, Anastasia.”
“Kiss me from here to here.” She trails her finger from the base of her ear down her throat.
My pleasure, Miss Steele.
Smoothing her hair out of the way, I gather her soft tresses in my hand and pull her head gently to the side, exposing her slender neck. Leaning in, I nuzzle her ear and she squirms as I trail soft kisses following the path of her finger and back again. She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat.
It’s arousing.
Boy, I want to lose myself in her. Rediscover her.
“My jeans…and panties,” she rasps, breathy and flustered, and I grin against her throat. She’s getting the idea.
Talk to me, Ana.
I kiss her throat one final time and kneel down in front of her, taking her by surprise. I push my thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and her panties and slowly pull them down. Sitting back on my knees, I admire her long legs and delectable ass as she steps out of her shoes and pants. Her eyes meet mine, and I await my command.
“What now, Anastasia?”
“Kiss me,” she answers, her voice barely audible.
“Where?”
“You know where.”
I stifle my smile. She really can’t say the word.
“Where?” I coax.
She blushes once more, but with a determined yet mortified expression, she points to the top of her thighs.
“Oh, with pleasure,” I chuckle, enjoying her embarrassment. Slowly I let my fingers travel up her legs until my hands are at her hips, then I tug her forward, onto my mouth.
Fuck. I smell her arousal.
I’m already uncomfortable in my jeans, but suddenly they’re several sizes too small. I push my tongue through her pubic hair, wondering if I’ll ever persuade her to get rid of this, but I find my goal and begin tasting her.
Lord, she’s sweet. So fucking sweet.
She groans and fists her fingers in my hair and I don’t stop. Swirling my tongue, around and around, teasing and testing her.
“Christian, please,” she begs.
I stop.
“Please what, Anastasia?”
“Make love to me.”
“I am,” I answer, and blow gently on her clitoris.
“No. I want you inside me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please.”
No. I’m having too much fun. I continue the slow, lascivious torture of my exquisite, precious girl.
“Christian—please!” she moans. I release her and stand, my mouth wet from her arousal, and stare down at her through hooded eyes.
“Well?” I ask.
“Well what?” she pants.
“I’m still dressed.”
She seems at a loss, not understanding, and I hold my arms out in surrender.
Take me—I’m yours.
She reaches for my shirt.
Shit. No. I step back.
I forget myself.
“Oh no,” I protest. I mean my jeans, baby. She blinks as she realizes what I’m asking and suddenly drops to her knees.
Whoa! Ana. What are you doing?
Rather awkwardly—her usual fingers and thumbs—she undoes my waistband and fly and tugs my jeans down.
Ah! My cock has some room.
I step out of my pants and remove my socks while she stays kneeling in her submissive position on the floor. What is she trying to do to me? Once I’ve dropped my pants, she reaches up and grabs my erection and squeezes me tightly like I’ve shown her.
Fuck.
She pushes her hand back. Ah! Almost too far. Almost painfully. I groan and tense and close my eyes; the sight of her on her knees and the feel of her hand around me is nearly too much. Suddenly, her warm, wet mouth is around me. She sucks hard. “Ah. Ana. Whoa, gently.” As I cup her head she pushes me deeper into her mouth, sheathing her teeth with her lips, pressing down on me.
“Fuck,” I whisper in veneration, and I flex my hips so I’m deeper in her mouth. That feels so good. She does it over and over, and it’s beyond arousing. She swirls her tongue around the end, repeatedly, teasing me. She’s all tit for tat today. I groan, reveling in the feel of her adept mouth and tongue.
Christ. She’s too good at this. She takes me deep into her mouth once more.
“Ana, that’s enough. No more,” I insist through clenched teeth. She’s unraveling my control. I do not want to come now; I want to be inside her when I explode, but she ignores me and does it again and again.
Fucking tease.
“Ana, you’ve made your point. I do not want to come in your mouth.” I grunt. And still she disobeys me.
Enough, woman.
Grasping her shoulders, I drag her to her feet, lift her quickly, and toss her onto her bed. I reach for my jeans and fish out a condom from the back pocket and dispense with my shirt, dragging it over my head and leaving it beside my jeans. She’s lying sprawled and wanton on the bed.
“Take your bra off.” She sits up and hurriedly does as she’s told, for once.
“Lie down. I want to look at you.”
She lies back on her sheets, eyes on me. Her hair is tousled and free, a luscious chestnut halo spilled across the pillow. Her body is flushed a delicate pink with arousal. Her nipples are hard, calling to me; her long legs are parted.
She’s stunning.
I rip the foil packet open and roll on the rubber. She watches my every move, still panting. Waiting for me.
“You’re a fine sight, Anastasia Steele.”
And you’re mine. Again.
Crawling up the bed, I kiss her ankles, the insides of her knees, her thighs, her hip, her soft belly; my tongue swirls around her navel and she rewards me with a loud moan. I lick the underside of one breast, then the other. And take her nipple in my mouth, teasing it, elongating it as it hardens between my lips. I tug hard, and she writhes brazenly beneath me, calling out.
Patience, baby.
Releasing that nipple, I lavish my attention on its twin.
“Christian, please.”
“Please what?” I murmur between her breasts, enjoying her need.
“I want you inside me.”
“Do you, now?”
“Please.” She’s all breathy and desperate, just how I like her. I push her legs apart with my knees. Oh, I want you, too, baby. I hover over her, poised and ready. I want to savor this moment, this moment when I reclaim her beautiful body, reclaim my beautiful girl. Her dark, smoky eyes meet mine and slowly, slowly, I sink into her.
Fuck. She feels so good. So tight. So right.
She tilts her pelvis up to meet me, throws her head back, her chin in the air, and her mouth is open in soundless adulation. She grasps my upper arms and groans without restraint. What a wonderful sound it is. I place my hands around her head to hold her in place, ease out of her, then slide into her again. Her fingers find my hair, tugging and twisting, and I move slowly, feeling her tight, wet warmth around me as I relish every single fucking inch of her.
Her eyes are dark, her mouth slack, as she pants beneath me. She looks gorgeous.
“Faster, Christian, faster. Please,” she pleads.
Your wish is my command, baby.
My mouth finds hers, claiming that, too, and I start to move, really move, pushing and pushing. She’s so damned beautiful. I have missed this. Missed everything about her. She feels like home. She is home. She’s everything. And I lose myself, burying myself in her over and over again.
She starts building around me, reaching her peak.
Oh, baby, yes. Her legs tense. She’s close. So am I.
“Come on, baby. Give it to me,” I whisper through my gritted teeth. She cries out as she detonates around me, clenching and drawing me deep inside her, and I come, pouring my life and soul into her.
“Ana! Oh, fuck—Ana!”
I collapse on her, pressing her into the mattress, and bury my face in her neck, inhaling her delicious, intoxicating Ana perfume.
She’s mine once more.
Mine.
No one will take her away from me, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her.
Once I’ve caught my breath I lean up and take her hands in mine as her eyes flutter open. They are the bluest of blue, clear and sated. She gives me a shy smile and I trail the tip of my nose down the length of hers, trying to find the words to express my gratitude. In lieu of any suitable words, I offer her a swift kiss as I reluctantly ease out of her. “I’ve missed this.”
“Me, too,” she says.
I grip her chin and kiss her once more.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me a second chance.
“Don’t leave me again,” I whisper. Ever. And I’m in the confessional, disclosing a dark secret: my need for her.
“Okay,” she answers with a tender smile that flips my heart into overdrive. With one simple word she stitches my torn soul together. I’m elated.
My fate is in your hands, Ana. It’s been in your hands since I met you.
“Thank you for the iPad,” she adds, interrupting my fanciful thoughts. It’s the first gift I’ve given her that she’s accepted with grace.
“You’re most welcome, Anastasia.”
“What’s your favorite song on there?”
“Now, that would be telling,” I tease her. I think it might be the Coldplay, because it’s the most apt.
My stomach growls. I’m starving, and it’s not a condition I tolerate well. “Come cook me some food, wench. I’m famished.” I sit up and pull her onto my lap.
“Wench?” she repeats, giggling.
“Wench. Food. Now. Please,” I order, like the caveman I am, while nuzzling her hair.
“Since you ask so nicely, sire, I’ll get right on it.”
She wriggles in my lap as she gets up.
Ow!
When she climbs off the bed she shifts her pillow. Beneath it is a rather sad, much deflated helicopter balloon. I pick it up and look at her, wondering where it’s from.
“That’s my balloon,” she stresses.
Oh yes, Andrea sent a balloon with flowers when Ana and Katherine moved into this apartment. What is it doing here? “In your bed?”
“Yes. It’s been keeping me company.”
“Lucky Charlie Tango.”
She returns my smile as she wraps a robe around her beautiful body.
“My balloon,” she warns, before she sashays out of the bedroom.
Proprietary, Miss Steele!
Once she’s left I remove the condom, knot it, and toss it in the trash basket at Ana’s bedside. I fall back onto the pillows, examining the balloon. She kept it and slept with it. Every time I stood outside her apartment pining for her, she was curled up in this bed and pining for me, holding this.
She loves me.
I’m suddenly awash with mixed, bewildered emotions and panic rising in my throat.
How can this be?
Because she doesn’t know you, Grey.
Shit.
Don’t dwell on the negative. Flynn’s words fog my brain. Focus on the positive.
Well, she’s mine once more. I just have to keep her. Hopefully we’ll have the whole weekend together to get to know each other again.
Hell. I have the Coping Together Ball tomorrow.
I could skip it—but then my mother would never forgive me.
I wonder if Ana will accompany me?
She’ll need a mask if she agrees.
On the floor, I find my phone and text Taylor. I know he’s seeing his daughter in the morning, but I hope he can source a mask.
I’m going to need a mask for
Anastasia for tomorrow’s event.
Do you think you can source something?