His brow crinkles.
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"Good morning, Ana. You look… radiant." His remark flusters me. How inappropriate!
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I switch on the computer to start work, finishing my latte and eating a banana. There's an e-mail from Christian.
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The one good thing about being carless is that on the bus on my way to work, I can plug my headphones into my iPad while it's safely in my purse and listen to all the wonderful tunes Christian has given me. By the time I arrive at the office, I have the most ludicrous grin on my face.
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Jack glances up at me and does a double take.
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I missed you last night.
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"Sure." I smile with relief, and he gives me a broad smile in return.
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Subject: So Help Me…
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====================
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"Can you read these for me and have reports on them by lunchtime, please?" He hands me four manuscripts. At my horrified expression, he adds, "Just first chapters."
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Date: June 10 2011 08:05
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To: Anastasia Steele
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Christian Grey
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I do hope you've had breakfast.
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"I slept well, thank you, Jack. Good morning."
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From: Christian Grey
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To: Christian Grey
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====================
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Subject: Old books…
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Christian Grey
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You can do better than that. You're going to need your energy for begging.
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====================
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Mr. Grey -- I am trying to work for a living -- and it's you that will be begging.
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Anastasia Steele
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====================
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To: Anastasia Steele
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From: Anastasia Steele
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Date: June 10 2011 08:33
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Anastasia Steele
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CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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Subject: Bring It On!
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Date: June 10 2011 08:42
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From: Anastasia Steele
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Subject: Is that all you've eaten?
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Subject: Pest
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From: Christian Grey
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CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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Now leave me alone -- I am trying to work.
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Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
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Date: June 10 2011 08:39
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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.
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To: Christian Grey
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====================
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From: Christian Grey
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Date: June 10 2011 08:36
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Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
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CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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Christian Grey
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====================
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From: Christian Grey
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I sit grinning at the screen like an idiot. But I need to read these chapters for Jack and write reports on all of them. Placing the manuscripts on my desk, I begin.
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What are you doing?
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How are you?
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Date: June 10 2011 16:05
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To: Christian Grey
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Subject: Bored…
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Why, Miss Steele, I love a challenge…
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====================
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Twiddling my thumbs.
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Anastasia Steele
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From: Anastasia Steele
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Assistant to Jack Hyde, Editor, SIP
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The afternoon drags. I decide, in an unguarded moment, to e-mail Christian.
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At lunchtime I head to the deli for a pastrami sandwich and listen to the playlist on my iPad. First up there's Nitin Sawhney, some world music called "Homelands"-- it's good. Mr. Grey has eclectic taste in music. I wander back listening to a classical piece, Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis by Ralph Vaughn Williams. Oh, Fifty has a sense of humor, and I love him for it. Will this stupid grin ever leave my face?
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To: Anastasia Steele
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"Yeah, most of us go… you coming?"
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You should have come to work for me.
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Date: June 10 2011 16:15
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Distracted CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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To: Anastasia Steele
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He looks at me oddly. "No. Some significance for you?"
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"I'd love to. What's the bar called?"
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I am doing the usual humdrum mergers and acquisitions.
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It's all very dry.
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Subject: Your thumbs
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"Fifty's."
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"Drink, Ana? We usually like to go for a quick one at the bar across the street."
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Promptly at five thirty, Jack is at my desk. It is Casual Friday so he's wearing jeans and a black shirt…
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You wouldn't be twiddling your thumbs.
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In fact I can think of a number of options…
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Your e-mails at SIP are monitored.
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"No, sorry. I'll join you over there."
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For some unknown reason, which I don't want to examine too closely, relief floods through me.
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"We?" I ask, hopeful.
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"You're kidding?"
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Christian Grey
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Oh, shit. I had no idea. How the hell does he know? I scowl at the screen and quickly check the e-mails we've sent, deleting them as I do.
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I am sure I could put them to better use.
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Christian Grey
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I look forward to seeing you there, Mr. Grey.
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Date: June 10 2011 17:38
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CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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Subject: You'll Fit Right In
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Date: June 10 2011 17:36
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Subject: Hazards?
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From: Christian Grey
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And your point is?
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I'll see you shortly.
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"A beer, please."
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A. x
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From: Anastasia Steele
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====================
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From: Christian Grey
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Date: June 10 2011 17:40
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Sooners rather than laters, baby.
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Date: June 10 2011 17:42
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I make my way to the powder room and e-mail Christian from the BlackBerry.
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We are going to a bar called Fifty's.
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I check myself in the mirror. What a difference a day can make. I have more color in my cheeks, and my eyes are shining. It's the Christian Grey effect. A little e-mail sparring with him will do that to a girl. I grin at the mirror and straighten my pale blue shirt -- the one Taylor bought me. I am wearing my favorite jeans today, too. Most of the women in the office wear either jeans or floaty skirts. I will need to invest in a floaty skirt or two. Perhaps I'll do that this weekend and bank the check Christian gave me for Wanda, my Beetle.
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"What would you like to drink?"
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====================
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To: Christian Grey
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Subject: Merely…
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Subject: Hazards
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====================
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"Cool."
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The rich seam of humor that I could mine from this is endless.
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Making an observation, Miss Steele.
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Mining is a very, very dangerous occupation.
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To: Anastasia Steele
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To: Anastasia Steele
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From: Anastasia Steele
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====================
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To: Christian Grey
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Christian Grey
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CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
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"Miss Steele?"
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As I head out of the building, I hear my name called.
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"Miss Anastasia Steele?" she repeats, and her features stay static even though she's speaking.
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"Can I help you?" I ask. How does she know my name?
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"Sorry -- you have me at a disadvantage," I say, trying to ignore the warning tingle up my spine. On closer inspection, she looks odd, disheveled, and uncared for. Her clothes are two sizes too big, including her designer trench coat.
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"Yes."
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I turn expectantly, and an ashen young woman approaches me cautiously. She looks like a ghost -- so pale and strangely blank.
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She stops, staring at me from about three feet away on the sidewalk, and I stare back, immobilized. Who is she? What does she want?
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She laughs, a strange, discordant sound that only feeds my anxiety.
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"No… I just wanted to look at you." Her voice is eerily soft. Like me, she has dark hair that starkly contrasts with her fair skin. Her eyes are brown, like bourbon, but flat. There's no life in them at all. Her beautiful face is pale, and etched with sorrow.
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"What do you have that I don't?" she asks sadly.
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My anxiety turns to fear. "I'm sorry -- who are you?"
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"Me? I'm nobody." She lifts her arm to drag her hand through her shoulder length hair, and as she does, the sleeve of her trench coat rides up, revealing a soiled bandage around her wrist.
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"Good day, Miss Steele." Turning, she walks up the street as I stand rooted to the spot. I watch as her slight frame disappears from view, lost among the workers pouring out of their various offices.
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What was that about?
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Holy fuck.
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Confused, I cross the street to the bar, trying to assimilate what has just happened, while my subconscious rears her ugly head and hisses at me -- She has something to do with Christian.
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Fifty's is a cavernous, impersonal bar with baseball pennants and posters hanging on the wall. Jack is at the bar with Elizabeth; Courtney, the other Editor; two guys from Finance; and Claire from Reception. She is wearing her trademark silver hoop earrings.
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"Hi, Ana!" Jack hands me a bottle of Bud.
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"Cheers… thank you," I murmur, still shaken by my encounter with Ghost Girl.
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"Cheers." We clink bottles, and he continues his conversation with Elizabeth. Claire smiles sweetly at me.
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"So, how has your first week been?" she asks.
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"You seem much happier today."
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"Good, thank you. Everyone seems very friendly."
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"It's Friday," I mutter quickly. "So -- do you have any plans this weekend?"
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My patented distraction technique works and I'm saved. Claire turns out to be one of seven kids, and she's going to a big family get-together in Tacoma. She becomes quite animated, and I realize I haven't spoken to any women my own age since Kate left for Barbados.
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During my conversation with Claire, Elizabeth hands me another beer.
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Absently I wonder how Kate is… and Elliot. I must remember to ask Christian if he's heard from him. Oh, and Ethan, Kate's brother, will be back next Tuesday, and he'll be staying in our apartment. I can't imagine Christian is going to be happy about that. My earlier encounter with strange Ghost Girl slips further from my mind.
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"Thanks." I smile at her.
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Claire is very easy to talk to -- she likes to talk -- and before I know it, I am on my third beer, courtesy of one of the guys from Finance.
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"Do you live far?"
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I feel him before I see him. It's as if my whole body is highly attuned to his presence. It relaxes and ignites at the same time -- a weird, internal duality -- and I sense that strange pulsing electricity.
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"Not far from me." Smiling, he moves even closer and leans against the bar, effectively trapping me. "Do you have any plans this weekend?"
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I blush. "Thank you," I mutter, because I don't know what else to say.
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Christian drapes his arm around my shoulder in a seemingly casual display of affection -- but I know differently. He is staking a claim, and on this occasion, it's very welcome. Softly he kisses my hair.
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"The Pike Market district."
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"Ana, think you made the right decision coming here?" Jack's voice is soft, and he's standing a bit too close. But I've noticed that he has a tendency to do this with everyone, even at the office.
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"You're a very bright girl, Ana. You'll go far."
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"I've enjoyed myself this week, thank you, Jack. Yes, I think I made the right decision."
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"Well… um --"
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When Elizabeth and Courtney leave, Jack joins Claire and me. Where is Christian? One of the finance guys engages Claire in conversation.
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Jack shuffles back uncomfortably.
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I feel relieved, safe, and excited with his arm around me. He draws me to his side, and I glance up at him while he stares at Jack, his expression impassive. Turning his attention to me, he gives me a brief crooked smile followed by a swift kiss. He's wearing his navy pinstriped jacket over jeans and an open white shirt. He looks edible.
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"Jack, this is Christian," I mumble apologetically. Why am I apologizing? "Christian, Jack."
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"Hello, baby," he murmurs.
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"I'm the boyfriend," Christian says with a small, cool smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he shakes Jack's hand. I glance up at Jack who is mentally assessing the fine specimen of manhood in front of him.
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Oh, shit. You don't want to play this game with Fifty.
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"I'm the boss," Jack replies arrogantly. "Ana did mention an ex-boyfriend."
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"Well, no-longer-ex," Christian replies calmly. "Come on, baby, time to go."
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I don't think that's a good idea. Why is this so uncomfortable? I glance at Claire, who is, of course staring, openmouthed and with frankly carnal appreciation, at Christian. When will I stop caring about the effect he has on other women?
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"Please, stay and join us for a drink," Jack says smoothly.
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"We have plans," Christian replies with his enigmatic smile.
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Christian slides in beside me, clasps my hand, and gently kisses my knuckles. "Hi," he says softly.
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"Miss Steele," Taylor acknowledges with a genial smile.
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"Hello, Taylor," I say and our eyes meet in the rearview mirror.
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"Because it was," he murmurs and gives me his enigmatic smile then shuts my door.
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My cheeks turn pink, knowing that Taylor can hear us, grateful that he can't see the scorching, panty-combusting look that Christian is giving me. It takes all my self-restraint not to leap on him right here, in the backseat of the car.
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"See you Monday." I smile at Jack, Claire, and the guys from Finance, trying hard to ignore Jack's less-than-pleased expression, and follow Christian out of the door.
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Taylor is at the wheel of the Audi waiting at the curb.
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We do? And a frisson of anticipation runs through my body.
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"Another time, perhaps," he adds. "Come," he says to me as he takes my hand.
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"Why did that feel like a pissing contest?" I ask Christian as he opens the car door for me.
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Whoa! That's a sudden change in direction. I frown. "Why? This isn't about your pissing contest?"
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"What would you like to do this evening?"
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"I thought you said we had plans."
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"Your boss, Jack Hyde, is he good at his job?"
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"Oh, I know what I'd like to do, Anastasia. I'm asking you what you want to do."
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"You look lovely," he says.
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"Taylor, Miss Steele's, please."
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"As do you."
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"Hi," I breathe, my mouth dry.
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His ridiculously broad grin reflects mine, and he kisses my hand again.
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"Sir," Taylor acknowledges and he heads off into the traffic.
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"Good, thank you."
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"Good. Yours?"
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"I see," he says with a wickedly salacious grin. "So… begging it is, then. Do you want to beg at my place or yours?" He tilts his head to one side and smiles his oh-so-sexy smile at me.
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I beam at him.
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Oh, the backseat of the car… hmm.
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"I think you're being very presumptuous, Mr. Grey. But by way of a change, we could go to my apartment." I bite my lip deliberately, and his expression darkens.
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"So how has your day been?" he asks.
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"You're buying the company," I whisper in horror.
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"That's the point. He wants what's mine. I need to know if he's good at his job."
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I go crimson as my mouth drops open, and I glance nervously at Taylor.
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"You don't have that kind of power." Honestly! And before I roll my eyes at him, the realization hits me with the force of a speeding freight truck. "Do you, Christian?"
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"Well, he can want all he likes… why are we even having this conversation? You know I have no interest in him whatsoever. He's just my boss."
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"Oh, Christian, what are you talking about? He hasn't done anything wrong."… Yet. He just stands too close.
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"Well, he'd better leave you alone, or he'll find himself on his ass on the sidewalk."
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"He makes one move, you tell me. It's called gross moral turpitude -- or sexual harassment."
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Christian gives me his enigmatic smile.
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"It was just a drink after work."
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Christian smirks. "That man wants into your panties, Anastasia," he says dryly.
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I shrug. "I think so." Where is he going with this?
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"I mean it. One move and he's out."
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Shit. What a time to have a brain-to-mouth filter malfunction.
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"Yes. Of course I'm mad at you." I seethe. "I mean, what kind of responsible business executive makes decisions based on who he is currently fucking?" I blanch and glance nervously once more at Taylor, who is stoically ignoring us.
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"And I won't."
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What the hell? "Why?" I gasp, appalled. Oh, this just is too much.
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Christian opens his mouth then closes it again and scowls at me. I glare at him. The atmosphere in the car plunges from warm with sweet reunion to frigid with unspoken words and potential recriminations as we glower at each other.
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His smile slips in response to the panic in my voice. "Not exactly," he says.
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"Because I can, Anastasia. I need you safe."
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"Are you mad at me?"
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"But you said you wouldn't interfere in my career!"
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"You've bought it. SIP. Already."
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I snatch my hand out of his. "Christian…" Words fail me.
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"Have."
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Fortunately, our uncomfortable car journey doesn't last long, and Taylor pulls up outside my apartment.
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"You have or you haven't?"
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He blinks at me, warily. "Possibly."
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"At the moment, you're arguing with him." Christian scowls.
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"And, technically, it's gross moral turpitude -- the fact that I am fucking my boss's boss's boss."
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I hear Christian mutter to Taylor, "I think you'd better wait here."
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"Technically, I'm your boss's boss's boss."
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I sigh and turn to face him. I am so mad at him, my anger is palpable -- a dark entity threatening to choke me.
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I stare frigidly at him. His eyes are intense, threatening even, but sexy as hell. I could get lost in their steely depths.
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I scramble out of the car quickly, not waiting for anyone to open the door.
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"Anastasia," he says calmly as if I'm some cornered wild animal.
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I sense him standing close behind me as I struggle to find the front door keys in my purse.
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"So you're my boss now," I snap.
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"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, but it's on the cusp and it's going to stagnate -- it needs to branch out."
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Christian steps back in stunned surprise. Oh, shit. Have I gone too far?
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"Just because I have a stupid damn grin on my face doesn't mean I'm not mad as hell at you," I mutter breathlessly, trying to suppress my high-school-cheerleader giggling. Though I was never cheerleader -- the bitter thought crosses my mind.
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"Yes." I struggle to maintain my look of moral outrage.
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"That's because he's such an ass," I hiss.
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He leans in, and I think he's going to kiss me but he doesn't. He nuzzles my hair and inhales deeply.
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And he smiles, a dazzling, full-toothed, all-American-boy smile, and I can't help it. I am grinning and laughing, too. How could I not be affected by the joy I see in his smile?
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"Don't make me laugh when I am mad at you!" I shout.
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"An ass?" Christian says again. This time his lips twitch with a repressed smile.
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"As ever, Miss Steele, you are unexpected." He leans back gazing at me, his eyes dancing with humor. "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?"
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"An ass?" he murmurs as his expression changes to one of amusement.
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Goddamn it! I am mad at you, do not make me laugh!
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He laughs. "Are you going to let me in or not, Anastasia?"
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I am still mad at him -- his stalking knows no bounds, and it dawns on me that this is how he knew about the e-mail being monitored at SIP. He probably knows more about SIP than I do. The thought is unsavory.
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I try for a grudging look -- biting my lip helps -- but I'm smiling as I open the door. Christian turns and waves to Taylor, and the Audi pulls away.
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What can I do? Why does he have this need to keep me safe? I am a grown-up -- sort of -- for heaven's sake. What can I do to reassure him?
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"Nice place," he says.
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It's odd having christian Grey in the apartment. The place feels too small for him.
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"Have you spoken to Dr. Flynn about this?"
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I gaze at his face as he paces the room like a caged predator, and my anger subsides. Seeing him here in my space when I thought we were over is heartwarming. More than heartwarming, I love him, and my heart swells with a nervous, heady elation. He glances around, assessing his surroundings.
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"Kate's parents bought it for her."
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I back up until I bump against the concrete kitchen island.
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"No thank you, Anastasia." His eyes darken.
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"Have you eaten today?" he murmurs.
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Why am I so nervous?
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"Er… would you like a drink?" I mutter, flushing with nerves.
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He's standing in front of me, not quite touching, staring down into my eyes and bathing me in the heat that's radiating off his body. I'm stiflingly hot, flustered, and my legs are like jelly as dark desire courses through me. I want him.
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"I know." He smiles a lopsided apologetic smile and I melt… Well, maybe not so mad.
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"I'm still mad at you."
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"What would you like to do, Anastasia?" he asks softly as he walks toward me, all feral and hot. "I know what I want to do," he adds in a low voice.
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"Would you like something to eat?" I ask.
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He nods slowly. "Yes. You," he murmurs. Everything south of my waistline clenches. I'm seduced by his voice alone, but that look, that hungry I-want-you-now look -- oh my.
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He nods distractedly, and his bold gray eyes come to rest on mine, staring at me.
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I am lost; he's not playing fair.
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"Please," I whisper.
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"Touch me."
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"I think you know, Mr. Grey."
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He is so tantalizingly close, his scent intoxicating. I reach up, and immediately he steps back.
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"Everywhere."
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He looks at me uncertainly, and I'm emboldened by his hesitation. I step toward him, and he steps back, holding up his hands in defense, but smiling.
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"What are you hungry for, Miss Steele?"
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He leans down, and again I think he's going to kiss me, but he doesn't.
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"Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?" he whispers softly in my ear.
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"Where, baby?"
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"No, no," he chides, his eyes suddenly wide and alarmed.
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"Please what?"
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"Where?"
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"Yes," I breathe.
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He narrows his eyes. "You need to eat."
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"What?" No… come back.
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"I'm really not hungry right now… for food."
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"You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that. I told you I am not going to touch you until you beg me and tell me what to do."
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"No." He shakes his head.
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"Not at all?" I can't keep the longing out of my voice.
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"I had a sandwich at lunch," I whisper. I don't want to talk food.
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Huh, since when?
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"I know, baby." He smiles, and suddenly darting toward me, he grabs my wrists and pulls me into his arms so that his body is pressed against mine.
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"Sometimes you don't mind," I observe plaintively. "Perhaps I should find a marker pen, and we could map out the no-go areas."
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"I'm seduced and I want my gratification now. I'll beg, please." I sound whiny.
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His face falls at my expression.
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"No," I squeak.
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"Have you been taking your pill?"
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Oh shit. My pill.
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"I thought we were going to bed! I want to go to bed with you."
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I nod in the direction. Is he deliberately changing the subject?
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"You need to eat and so do I," he murmurs, burning eyes gazing down at me. "Besides… anticipation is the key to seduction, and right now, I'm really into delayed gratification."
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"I see," he says, and his lips press into a thin line. "Come, let's have something to eat."
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He raises an eyebrow. "That's not a bad idea. Where's your bedroom?"
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"Look, Ana." It's a warning, and he runs his hand through his hair, exasperated.
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"Stop teasing me. You don't fight fair."
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"I'm still mad that you bought SIP, and now I am mad at you because you're making me wait." I pout.
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My inner goddess narrows her eyes and looks thoughtful. We need to work on this.
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"Shopping?"
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He stifles his grin by biting his lower lip. He looks simply adorable… playful Christian toying with my libido. If only my seduction skills were better, I'd know what to do, but not being able to touch him does hamper me.
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He smiles at me tenderly. "Eat. You're too slender." He kisses my forehead and releases me.
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"I could cook something -- except we'll have to go shopping."
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This is a game, part of some evil plan. I scowl at him.
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"I know what I'll feel better after."
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"Anastasia Steele, I'm shocked." His tone is gently mocking.
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As Christian and I gaze at each other -- me hot, bothered and yearning and him, relaxed and amused at my expense -- I realize I have no food in the apartment.
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"You are one angry little madam, aren't you? You'll feel better after a good meal."
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"For groceries."
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"When was the last time you were in a supermarket?"
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"Are you happy with a stir-fry? It's quick."
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"I can't remember."
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"Taylor, four years, I think. Mrs. Jones, about the same. Why didn't you have any food in the apartment?"
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"Stir-fry sounds good." Christian grins, no doubt figuring out my ulterior motive for a speedy meal.
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"Have they worked for you long?"
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If I hadn't left, would he have offered the vanilla alternative? I wonder idly.
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"I think Taylor helps her. I'm not sure."
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"Does Mrs. Jones do all the shopping?"
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I shake my head. Crap, he looks quite angry.
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"Let's go shopping, then," he says sternly as he turns on his heel and heads for the door, opening it wide for me.
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Christian looks out of place, but he follows me dutifully, holding a shopping basket.
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"You know why," I murmur, flushing.
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"You have no food here?" His expression hardens.
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"It was you who left me," he mutters disapprovingly.
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"I know," I reply in a small voice, not wanting that reminder.
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We reach the checkout and silently stand in line.
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I want the memory of him in my bed, but he's playing hard to get. Maybe I should, too. My inner goddess nods frantically in agreement. And as I stand in line, we come up with a plan. Hmm…
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"No one has ever accused me of that before," he says dryly. He places the bags on the kitchen island. As I start to unload them, he takes out a bottle of white wine and searches for a corkscrew.
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"I'll get some wine."
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Oh dear. I'm not sure what sort of wine is available in Ernie's Supermarket. Christian remerges empty-handed, grimacing with a look of disgust.
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"I'll see what they have."
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"Beer… I think."
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Maybe we should just go to his place; then we wouldn't have all this hassle. I watch as he strolls purposefully and with easy grace out of the door. Two women coming in stop and stare. Oh yes, eye my Fifty Shades, I think despondently.
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"Do you have anything to drink?" He pulls me back to the present.
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Christian carries the grocery bags into the apartment. He's carried them as we've walked back to the apartment from the store. He looks odd. Not his usual CEO demeanor at all.
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"There's a good liquor store next door," I say quickly.
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"You look very -- domestic."
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"No, it's fine… sit."
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"Can I help you with that?" he asks.
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He hands me a glass of white wine.
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"I don't think that's true." Mrs. Robinson comes unbidden, and very unwelcome, into my mind.
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His eyes soften. "You know me better than anyone."
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"It is, Anastasia. I'm a very, very private person."
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This feels so… normal. Two people, getting to know each other, having a meal. Yet it's so strange. The fear that I'd always felt in his presence has gone. We've already done so much together, I blush just thinking about it, and yet I hardly know him.
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"Cheers," I respond taking a sip as he puts the bottle in the fridge.
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"This place is still new to me. I think the opener is in that drawer there." I point with my chin.
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"I don't cook," he says, regarding the knife I hand him with suspicion.
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"I'd like to help." His expression is sincere.
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"Cheers," he says.
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"How little I know you."
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"What are you thinking about?" Christian interrupts my reverie as he shrugs out of his pinstripe jacket and places it on the couch.
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"You can chop the vegetables."
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"I imagine you don't need to." I place a chopping board and some red peppers in front of him. He stares down at them in confusion.
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I smirk at him.
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"No."
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"Are you smirking at me?"
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"You've never chopped a vegetable?"
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He gazes at me impassively for a moment then sets about his task as I continue to prepare the diced chicken. He starts to slice, carefully, slowly. Oh my, we'll be here all night.
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"Like this." I slice the red pepper, careful to remove the seeds.
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I brush up against him and he steps back. My inner goddess sits up and takes notice.
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"You shouldn't have any trouble with it," I mutter ironically.
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"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."
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"I know what you're doing, Anastasia," he murmurs darkly, still preparing the first pepper.
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I wash my hands and hunt for the wok, the oil, and the other ingredients I need, repeatedly brushing against him -- my hip, my arm, my back, my hands. Small, seemingly innocent touches. He stills each time I do.
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"Looks simple enough."
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"If you do that again, Anastasia, I am going to take you on the kitchen floor."
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"Chopping?" I bat my eyelashes at him. "Years of practice." I brush against him again, this time with my behind. He stills once more.
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"I think it's called cooking," I say, fluttering my eyelashes. Grabbing another knife, I join him at the chopping board, peeling and slicing garlic, shallots, and French beans, continually bumping against him.
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"You're quite good at this," he mutters as he starts on his second red pepper.
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He puts down his knife and saunters slowly over to me, his eyes burning. Leaning past me, he switches the gas off. The oil in the wok quiets almost immediately.
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Oh wow. It's working. "You'll have to beg me first."
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"I think we'll eat later," he says. "Put the chicken in the fridge."
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"Is that a challenge?"
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This is not a sentence I had ever expected to hear from Christian Grey, and only he can make it sound hot, really hot. I pick up the bowl of diced chicken, rather shakily place a plate on top of it, and stow it in the fridge. When I turn back, he's beside me.
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"Maybe."
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"No, Anastasia." He shakes his head. "No begging." His voice is soft, seductive.
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"So you're going to beg?" I whisper, bravely gazing into his darkening eyes.
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And we stand staring at each other, drinking each other in -- the atmosphere charging between us, almost crackling, neither saying anything, just looking. I bite my lip as desire for this man seizes me with a vengeance, igniting my blood, shallowing my breath, pooling below my waist. I see my reactions reflected in his stance, in his eyes.
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In a beat, he grabs me by my hips and pulls me to him as my hands reach for his hair and his mouth claims me. He pushes me against the fridge, and I hear the vague protesting rattle of bottles and jars from within as his tongue finds mine. I moan into his mouth and one of his hands moves into my hair, pulling my head back as we kiss savagely.
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"You," I gasp.
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"What do you want, Anastasia?" he breathes.
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"Where?"
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"Bed."
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He breaks free, scoops me into his arms, and carries me quickly and seemingly without any strain into my bedroom. Setting me on my feet beside my bed, he leans down and switches on my bedside lamp. He glances quickly around the room and hastily closes the pale cream curtains.
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"Now what?" he says softly.
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Tentatively I put my hands on his arms to steady myself. He doesn't complain. His arms are a safe area. When he's finished with the buttons, he pulls my shirt over my shoulders, and I let go of him to let the shirt fall to the floor. He reaches down to the waistband of my jeans, pops the button, and pulls down the zipper.
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"Tell me what you want, Anastasia." His eyes smolder and his lips part as he takes quick shallow breaths.
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"You have got to tell me, baby."
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"My jeans and panties," I murmur, and he smiles against my throat before he drops to his knees in front of me. Oh, I feel so powerful. Hooking his thumbs into my jeans, he gently pulls them and my panties down my legs. I step out of my flats and my clothes so that I'm left wearing only my bra. He stops and looks up at me expectantly, but he doesn't get up.
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Holy crap. "Undress me." I am panting already.
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"How?"
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Jeez.
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"Good girl," he murmurs, and without taking his blazing eyes off mine, slowly starts to unbutton my shirt.
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"Make love to me."
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He smiles and hooks his index finger into my open shirt, pulling me toward him.
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"Kiss me from here to here," I whisper trailing my finger from the base of my ear, down my throat. He smoothes my hair out of the line of fire and bends, leaving sweet soft kisses along the path my finger took and then back again.
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"Please."
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"You know where."
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"I am," he murmurs, gently blowing against me.
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It's so hot…
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Oh, he's taking no prisoners. Embarrassed, I quickly point at the apex of my thighs, and he grins wickedly. I close my eyes, mortified, but at the same time beyond aroused.
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"Please what, Anastasia?"
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"Christian, please," I beg. I don't want to come standing up. I don't have the strength.
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"Well what?" I pant, staring up at him in frantic need.
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"What now, Anastasia?"
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"No. I want you inside me."
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"Well?" he asks.
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He doesn't stop his sweet, exquisite torture. I moan loudly.
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"Make love to me."
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"Where?"
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"Are you sure?"
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He stands and gazes down at me, and his lips glisten with the evidence of my arousal.
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"Christian… please."
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"Oh, with pleasure," he chuckles. He kisses me and unleashes his tongue, his joy-inspiring expert tongue. I groan and fist my hands into his hair. He doesn't stop, his tongue circling my clitoris, driving me insane, on and on, around and around. Ahhh… it's only been… how long…? Oh…
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"Kiss me," I whisper.
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"Where?"
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I peek up at him through my lashes, and he's gazing at me with… what? Trepidation? Awe? Surprise?
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Oh, and this gives me an idea. My inner goddess cheers loudly to the rafters, and I drop to my knees in front of him. Rather clumsily and with shaking fingers, I undo his waistband and fly, then yank down his jeans and boxers, and he springs free. Wow.
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Undress him? Yes, I can do this. I reach for his shirt and he steps back.
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"I'm still dressed."
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"Oh no," he admonishes. Shit, he means his jeans.
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"Ahh. Ana… whoa, gently."
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He cups my head tenderly, and I push him deeper into my mouth, pressing my lips together as tightly as I can, sheathing my teeth, and sucking hard.
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I gape at him in confusion.
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He steps out of his jeans and pulls off his socks, and I take hold of him in my hand and squeeze tightly, pushing my hand back like he's shown me before. He groans and tenses, and his breath hisses through clenched teeth. Very tentatively, I put him in my mouth and suck -- hard. Mmm, he tastes good.
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"Fuck," he hisses.
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I do it once more, and he bends down, grasps me by my shoulders, hauls me to my feet, and tosses me on the bed. Dragging his shirt over his head, he then reaches down to his discarded jeans, and like a good Boy Scout, produces a foil packet. He's panting, like me.
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Oh, that's a good, inspiring, sexy sound, so I do it again, pulling his length deeper, swirling my tongue around the end. Hmm… I feel like Aphrodite.
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"Ana, that's enough. No more."
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I do it again -- Beg, Grey, beg -- and again.
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"Ana, you've made your point," he grunts through gritted teeth. "I do not want to come in your mouth."
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I lie down, gazing up at him as he slowly rolls the condom on. I want him so badly. He stares down at me and licks his lips.
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"Take your bra off," he orders.
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"Lie down. I want to look at you."
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I sit up and do as I'm told.
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"You are a fine sight, Anastasia Steele." He bends over the bed and slowly crawls up and over me, kissing me as he goes. He kisses each of my breasts and teases my nipples in turn, while I groan and writhe beneath him, and he doesn't stop.
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"Ana! Oh fuck, Ana!" He collapses on top of me, his head buried in my neck.
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His words are my undoing, and I explode, magnificently, mind-numbingly, into a million pieces around him, and he follows, calling out my name.
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"Do you now?"
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"Christian, please."
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"Faster, Christian, faster… please."
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No… Stop. I want you.
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Gazing at me, he pushes my legs apart with his and moves so that he's hovering above me. Without taking his eyes off mine, he sinks into me at a deliciously slow pace.
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"Please."
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"Come on, baby," he gasps. "Give it to me."
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I close my eyes, relishing the fullness, the exquisite feeling of his possession, instinctively tilting my pelvis up to meet him, to join with him, groaning loudly. He eases back and very slowly fills me again. My fingers find their way into his silken unruly hair, and he oh-so-slowly moves in and out again.
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He gazes down at me in triumph and kisses me hard, then really starts to move -- a punishing, relentless… oh fuck -- and I know it will not be long. He sets a pounding rhythm. I start to quicken, my legs tensing beneath him.
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"Please what?" he murmurs between my breasts. "I want you inside me."
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