She laughs. “No, Ana. Can I fix you a drink or
　　something? You look beat.”
　　“I’d love a glass of wine.”
　　“White?”
　　“Yes, please.”
　　I perch on one of the bar stools, and she hands me a
　　glass of chilled wine. I don’t know what it is, but it’s
　　delicious and slides down easily, soothing my shattered
　　nerves. What was I thinking about earlier today? How
　　alive I have felt since I met Christian. How exciting my life
　　has become. Jeez, could I just have a few boring days?
　　What if I’d never met Christian? I’d be holed up in my
　　apartment, talking it through with Ethan, completely
　　freaked by my encounter with Jack, knowing I would have
　　to face the sleazeball again on Friday. As it is, there’s
　　every chance I’ll never set eyes on him again. But who will
　　I work for now? I frown. I hadn’t thought of that. Shit, do
　　I even have a job?
　　“Evening, Gail,” Christian says as he comes back into
　　the great room, dragging me from my thoughts. Heading
　　straight to the fridge, he pours himself a glass of wine.
　　“Good evening, Mr. Grey. Dinner in ten, sir?”
　　“Sounds good.”
　　Christian raises his glass.
　　“To ex-military men who train their daughters well,” he
　　says and his eyes soften.
　　“Cheers,” I mutter, raising my glass.
　　“What’s wrong?” Christian asks.
　　“I don’t know if I still have a job.”
　　He cocks his head to the side. “Do you still want one?”
　　“Of course.”
　　“Then you still have one.”
　　Simple. See? He is master of my universe. I roll my
　　eyes at him and he smiles.
　　eyes at him and he smiles.
　　Mrs. Jones makes a mean chicken potpie. She has left us
　　to enjoy the fruits of her labors, and I feel much better now
　　I’ve had something to eat. We are sitting at the breakfast
　　bar, and despite my best cajoling, Christian won’t tell me
　　what Barney has found on Jack’s computer. I drop the
　　subject, and decide to tackle instead the thorny issue of
　　José’s impending visit.
　　“José called,” I say nonchalantly.
　　“Oh?” Christian turns to face me.
　　“He wants to deliver your photos on Friday.”
　　“A personal delivery. How accommodating of him,”
　　Christian mutters.
　　“He wants to go out. For a drink. With me.”
　　“I see.”
　　“And Kate and Elliot should be back,” I add quickly.
　　Christian puts his fork down, frowning at me.
　　“What exactly are you asking?”
　　“What exactly are you asking?”
　　I bristle. “I’m not asking anything. I’m informing you of
　　my plans for Friday. Look, I want to see José, and he
　　wants to stay over. Either he stays here or he can stay at
　　my place, but if he does I should be there, too.”
　　Christian’s eyes widen. He looks dumbfounded.
　　“He made a pass at you.”
　　“Christian, that was weeks ago. He was drunk, I was
　　drunk, you saved the day—it won’t happen again. He’s no
　　Jack, for heaven’s sake.”
　　“Ethan’s there. He can keep him company.”
　　“He wants to see me, not Ethan.”
　　Christian scowls at me.
　　“He’s just a friend.” My voice is emphatic.
　　“I don’t like it.”
　　So what? Jeez, he’s irritating sometimes. I take a deep
　　breath. “He’s my friend, Christian. I haven’t seen him since
　　his show. And that was too brief. I know you don’t have
　　any friends, apart from that god-awful woman, but I don’t
　　moan about you seeing her,” I snap. Christian blinks,
　　moan about you seeing her,” I snap. Christian blinks,
　　shocked. “I want to see him. I’ve been a poor friend to
　　him.” My subconscious is alarmed. Are you stamping
　　your little foot? Steady now!
　　Gray eyes blaze at me. “Is that what you think?” he
　　breathes.
　　“Think about what?”
　　“Elena. You’d rather I didn’t see her?”
　　Holy cow. “Exactly. I’d rather you didn’t see her.”
　　“Why didn’t you say?”
　　“Because it’s not my place to say. You think she’s
　　your only friend.” I shrug in exasperation. He really
　　doesn’t get it. How did this turn into a conversation about
　　her? I don’t even want to think about her. I try to steer us
　　back to José. “Just as it’s not your place to say if I can or
　　can’t see José. Don’t you see that?”
　　Christian gazes at me, perplexed, I think. Oh, what is
　　he thinking?
　　“He can stay here, I suppose,” he mutters. “I can keep
　　an eye on him.” He sounds petulant.
　　Hallelujah!
　　“Thank you! You know, if I am going to live here,
　　too . . .” I trail off. Christian nods. He knows what I’m
　　trying to say. “It’s not like you haven’t got the space.” I
　　smirk.
　　His lips quirk up slowly. “Are you smirking at me, Miss
　　Steele?”
　　“Most definitely, Mr. Grey.” I get up just in case his
　　palms start twitching, clear our plates, and then load them
　　into the dishwasher.
　　“Gail will do that.”
　　“I’ve done it now.” I stand up and gaze at him. He’s
　　watching me intently.
　　“I have to work for a while,” he says apologetically.
　　“Cool. I’ll find something to do.”
　　“Come here,” he orders, but his voice is soft and
　　seductive, his eyes heated. I don’t hesitate to walk into his
　　arms, clasping him around his neck as he perches on his
　　bar stool. He wraps his arms around me, crushes me to
　　him, and just holds me.
　　him, and just holds me.
　　“Are you okay?” he whispers into my hair.
　　“Okay?”
　　“After what happened with that fucker? After what
　　happened yesterday?” he adds, his voice quiet and
　　earnest.
　　I gaze into dark, serious, gray eyes. Am I okay?
　　“Yes,” I whisper.
　　His arms tighten around me, and I feel safe, cherished,
　　and loved all at once. It’s blissful. Closing my eyes, I enjoy
　　the feel of being in his arms. I love this man. I love his
　　intoxicating scent, his strength, his mercurial ways—my
　　Fifty.
　　“Let’s not fight,” he murmurs. He kisses my hair and
　　inhales deeply. “You smell heavenly as usual, Ana.”
　　“So do you,” I whisper and kiss his neck.
　　All too soon he releases me. “I should only be a couple
　　of hours.”
　　I wander listlessly through the apartment. Christian is still
　　working. I have showered and dressed in some sweats
　　and a T-shirt of my own, and I’m bored. I don’t want to
　　read. If I sit still, I’ll recall Jack and his fingers on me.
　　I check out my old bedroom, the subs’ room. José can
　　sleep here—he’ll like the view. It’s about eight fifteen, and
　　the sun is beginning to sink into the west. The lights of the
　　city twinkle below me. It’s glorious. Yes, José will like it
　　here. I wonder idly where Christian will hang José’s
　　pictures of me. I’d rather he didn’t. I am not keen on
　　looking at myself.
　　Back down the hallway I find myself outside the
　　playroom, and without thinking, I try the door handle.
　　Christian normally keeps it locked, but to my surprise, the
　　door opens. How strange. Feeling like a child playing
　　hooky and straying into the forbidden forest, I walk in. It’s
　　dark. I flick the switch and the lights under the cornice light
　　up with a soft glow. It’s as I remember it. A womb-like
　　room.
　　Memories of the last time I was in here flash through
　　my mind. The belt . . . I wince at the recollection. Now it
　　hangs innocently, lined up with others, on the rack beside
　　the door. Tentatively I run my fingers over the belts, the
　　floggers, the paddles, and the whips. Sheesh. This is what
　　I need to square with Dr. Flynn. Can someone in this
　　lifestyle just stop? It seems so improbable. Wandering
　　over to the bed, I sit on soft red satin sheets, gazing
　　around at all the apparatus.
　　Beside me is the bench, above that the assortment of
　　canes. So many! Surely one is enough? Well, the less
　　said about that the better. And the large table. We never
　　tried that, whatever he does on it. My eyes fall on the
　　chesterfield, and I move over to sit on it. It’s just a couch,
　　nothing extraordinary about it—nothing to fasten anything
　　to, not that I can see. Glancing behind me, I spy the
　　museum chest. My curiosity is piqued. What does he keep
　　in there?
　　As I pull open the top drawer I realize my blood is
　　pounding through my veins. Why am I so nervous? This
　　pounding through my veins. Why am I so nervous? This
　　feels so illicit, as if I’m trespassing, which of course I am.
　　But if he wants to marry me, well . . .
　　Holy fuck, what’s all this? An array of instruments and
　　bizarre implements—I don’t have a clue what they are, or
　　what they’re for—are carefully laid out in the display
　　drawer. I pick one up. It’s bullet-shaped with a sort of
　　handle. Hmm . . . what the hell do you do with that?
　　My mind boggles, though I think I have an idea. Jeez,
　　there are four different sizes! My scalp prickles and I
　　glance up.
　　Christian is standing in the doorway, staring at me, his
　　face unreadable. How long has he been there? I feel like
　　I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
　　“Hi.” I smile nervously at him, and I know my eyes are
　　wide and that I’m deathly pale.
　　“What are you doing?” he says softly, but there’s an
　　undercurrent in his tone.
　　Oh shit. Is he mad? I flush. “Er . . . I was bored and
　　curious,” I mutter, embarrassed to be found out. He said
　　curious,” I mutter, embarrassed to be found out. He said
　　he’d be two hours.
　　“That’s a very dangerous combination.” He runs his
　　long index finger across his lower lip in quiet
　　contemplation, not taking his eyes off me. I swallow and
　　my mouth is dry.
　　Slowly, he enters the room and closes the door quietly
　　behind him, his eyes liquid gray fire. Oh my. He leans
　　casually over the chest of drawers, but I think his stance is
　　deceptive. My inner goddess doesn’t know whether it’s
　　fight or flight time.
　　“So, what exactly are you curious about, Miss Steele?
　　Perhaps I could enlighten you.”
　　“The door was open . . . I—” I gaze at Christian as I
　　hold my breath and blink, uncertain as ever of his reaction
　　or what I should say. His eyes are dark. I think he’s
　　amused, but it’s difficult to tell. He places his elbows on
　　the museum chest and rests his chin on his clasped hands.
　　“I was in here earlier today wondering what to do with
　　it all. I must have forgotten to lock it.” He scowls
　　momentarily as if leaving the door unlocked is a terrible
　　lapse in judgment. I frown—it’s not like him to be
　　forgetful.
　　“Oh?”
　　“But now here you are, curious as ever.” His voice is
　　soft, puzzled.
　　“You’re not mad?” I whisper, using my remaining
　　breath.
　　He cocks his head to one side, and his lips twitch in
　　amusement.
　　“Why would I be mad?”
　　“I feel like I’m trespassing . . . and you’re always mad
　　at me.” My voice is quiet, though I’m relieved. Christian’s
　　brow creases once more.
　　“Yes, you’re trespassing, but I’m not mad. I hope that
　　one day you’ll live with me here, and all this”—he gestures
　　vaguely round the room with one hand—“will be yours,
　　too.”
　　My playroom . . . eh? I gape at him—that’s a lot to
　　take in.
　　take in.
　　“That’s why I was in here today. Trying to decide what
　　to do.” He taps his lips with his index finger. “Am I angry
　　with you all the time? I wasn’t this morning.”
　　Oh, that’s true. I smile at the memory of Christian
　　when we woke, and it distracts me from the thought of
　　what will become of the playroom. He was such fun Fifty
　　this morning.
　　“You were playful. I like playful Christian.”
　　“Do you now?” He arches an eyebrow, and his
　　beautiful mouth curves up in a smile, a shy smile. Wow!
　　“What’s this?” I hold up the silver bullet thing.
　　“Always hungry for information, Miss Steele. That’s a
　　butt plug,” he says gently.
　　“Oh . . .”
　　“Bought for you.”
　　What? “For me?”
　　He nods slowly, his face now serious and wary.
　　I frown. “You buy new, er . . . toys . . . for each
　　submissive?”
　　submissive?”
　　“Some things. Yes.”

　　“Butt plugs?”
　　“Yes.”
　　Okay . . . I swallow. Butt plug. It’s solid metal—surely
　　that’s uncomfortable? I remember our discussion about
　　sex toys and hard limits after I graduated. I think at the
　　time I said I would try. Now, actually seeing one, I don’t
　　know if it’s something I want to do. I examine it once
　　more and place it back in the drawer.
　　“And this?” I take out a long, black rubbery object,
　　made of gradually diminishing spherical bubbles joined
　　together, the first one large and the last much smaller. Eight
　　bubbles in total.
　　“Anal beads,” says Christian, watching me carefully.
　　Oh! I examine them with fascinated horror. All of
　　these, inside me . . . there! I had no idea.
　　“They have quite an effect if you pull them out midorgasm,”
　　he adds matter-of-factly.
　　“This is for me?” I whisper.
　　“For you.” He nods slowly.
　　“This is the butt drawer?”
　　He smirks. “If you like.”
　　I close it quickly, flushing like a stoplight.
　　“Don’t you like the butt drawer?” he asks innocently,
　　amused. I gaze at him and shrug, trying to brazen out my
　　shock.
　　“It’s not top of my Christmas card list,” I mutter
　　nonchalantly. Tentatively, I open the second drawer. He
　　grins.
　　“Next drawer down holds a selection of vibrators.”
　　I shut the drawer quickly.
　　“And the next?” I whisper, ashen once more, but this
　　time with embarrassment.
　　“That’s more interesting.”
　　Oh! Hesitantly I pull the drawer open, not taking my
　　eyes off his beautiful but rather smug face. Inside there are
　　an assortment of metal items and some clothespins.
　　Clothespins! I pick up a large metal clip-like device.
　　“Genital clamp,” Christian says. He stands up and
　　“Genital clamp,” Christian says. He stands up and
　　moves casually around so that he’s beside me. I put it
　　back immediately and choose something more delicate—
　　two small clips on a chain.
　　“Some of these are for pain, but most are for
　　pleasure,” he murmurs.
　　“What’s this?”
　　“Nipple clamps—that’s for both.”
　　“Both? Nipples?”
　　Christian smirks at me. “Well, there are two clamps,
　　baby. Yes, both nipples, but that’s not what I meant.
　　These are for both pleasure and pain.”
　　Oh. He takes it from me.
　　“Hold out your little finger.”
　　I do as he asks, and he clamps one clip to the tip of my
　　finger. It’s not too harsh.
　　“The sensation is very intense, but it’s when taking
　　them off that they are at their most painful
　　and pleasurable.” I remove the clip. Hmm, that might be
　　nice. I squirm at the thought.
　　nice. I squirm at the thought.
　　“I like the look of these,” I murmur and Christian
　　smiles.
　　“Do you now, Miss Steele? I think I can tell.”
　　I nod shyly, biting my lip. He reaches up and tugs on
　　my chin so I release my bottom lip.
　　“You know what that does to me,” he murmurs.
　　I put the clips back in the drawer, and Christian leans
　　forward and pulls out two more.
　　“These are adjustable.” He holds them up for me to
　　inspect.
　　“Adjustable?”
　　“You can wear them very tight . . . or not. Depending
　　on your mood.”
　　How does he make that sound so erotic? I swallow,
　　and to divert his attention, pull out a device that looks like
　　a spiky pastry cutter.
　　“This?” I frown. No baking in the playroom, surely.
　　“That’s a Wartenberg pinwheel.”
　　“For?”
　　He reaches over and takes it from me. “Give me your
　　hand. Palm up.”
　　I offer him my left hand and he takes it gently, skating
　　his thumb over my knuckles. A shiver runs through me. His
　　skin against mine, it never fails to thrill me. He runs the
　　wheel over my palm.
　　“Ah!” The prongs bite into my skin—there’s more than
　　just pain. In fact, it tickles slightly.
　　“Imagine that over your breasts,” Christian murmurs
　　lasciviously.
　　Oh! I flush and snatch my hand back. My breathing
　　and heart rate increase. Holy cow.
　　“There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain,
　　Anastasia,” he says softly as he leans down and puts the
　　device back in the drawer.
　　“Clothespins?” I whisper.
　　“You can do a great deal with a clothespins.” His gray
　　eyes burn.
　　I lean against the drawer so it closes.
　　“Is that all?” Christian looks amused.
　　“Is that all?” Christian looks amused.
　　“No . . .” I pull open the fourth drawer to be
　　confounded by a mass of leather and straps. I tug at one of
　　the straps . . . it appears to be attached to a ball.
　　“Ball gag. To keep you quiet,” says Christian, amused
　　once more.
　　“Soft limit,” I mutter.
　　“I remember,” he says. “But you can still breathe. Your
　　teeth clamp over the ball.” Taking it from me, he replicates
　　a mouth clamping down on the ball with his fingers.
　　“Have you worn one of these?” I ask.
　　He stills and gazes down at me. “Yes.”
　　“To mask your screams?”
　　He closes his eyes, and I think it’s in exasperation.
　　“No, that’s not what they’re about.”
　　Oh?
　　“It’s about control, Anastasia. How helpless would
　　you be if you were tied up and couldn’t speak? How
　　trusting would you have to be, knowing I had that much
　　power over you? That I had to read your body and your
　　power over you? That I had to read your body and your
　　reaction, rather than hear your words? It makes you more
　　dependent, puts me in ultimate control.”
　　I swallow.
　　“You sound like you miss it.”
　　“It’s what I know,” he murmurs, gazing down at me.
　　His gray eyes are wide and serious, and the atmosphere
　　between us has changed as if he’s in the confessional.
　　“You have power over me. You know you do,” I
　　whisper.
　　“Do I? You make me feel . . . helpless.”
　　“No!” Oh Fifty . . . “Why?”
　　“Because you’re the only person I know who could
　　really hurt me.” He reaches up and tucks my hair behind
　　my ear.
　　“Oh, Christian . . . that works both ways. If you didn’t
　　want me—” I shudder, glancing down at my twisting
　　fingers. Therein lays my other dark reservation about us. If
　　he wasn’t so . . . broken, would he want me? I shake my
　　head. I must try not to think like that.
　　“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I love you,” I
　　murmur, reaching up to run my fingers through his sideburn
　　and gently stroke his cheek. He leans his face into my
　　touch, drops the gag back in the drawer, and reaches for
　　me, his hands around my waist. He pulls me against him.
　　“Have we finished show and tell?” he asks, his voice
　　soft and seductive. His hand moves up my back to the
　　nape of my neck.
　　“Why? What did you want to do?”
　　He bends and kisses me gently, and I melt against him,
　　grasping his arms.
　　“Ana, you were nearly attacked today.” His voice is
　　soft but ice-cold and wary.
　　“So?” I ask, enjoying the feel of his hand at my back
　　and his proximity. He pulls his head back and scowls
　　down at me.
　　“What do you mean, ‘so?’ ” he rebukes.
　　I gaze up into his lovely, grumpy face, and I’m dazzled.
　　“Christian, I’m fine.”
　　He wraps me in his arms, holding me close. “When I
　　He wraps me in his arms, holding me close. “When I
　　think what might have happened,” he breathes, burying his
　　face in my hair.
　　“When will you learn that I’m stronger than I look?” I
　　whisper reassuringly into his neck, inhaling his delicious
　　scent. There is nothing better on the planet than being in
　　Christian’s arms.
　　“I know you’re strong,” Christian muses quietly. He
　　kisses my hair, then to my great disappointment, releases
　　me. Oh?
　　Bending down I fish another item out of the open
　　drawer. Several cuffs attached to a bar. I hold it up.
　　“That,” says Christian, his eyes darkening, “is a
　　spreader bar with ankle and wrist restraints.”
　　“How does it work?” I ask, genuinely intrigued. My
　　inner goddess pops her head out of her bunker.
　　“You want me to show you?” he breathes in surprise,
　　closing his eyes briefly.
　　I blink at him. When he opens his eyes, they are
　　blazing.
　　blazing.
　　Oh my. “Yes, I want a demonstration. I like being tied
　　up,” I whisper as my inner goddess pole vaults from the
　　bunker onto her chaise longue.
　　“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs. He looks pained all of a
　　sudden.
　　“What?”
　　“Not here.”
　　“What do you mean?”
　　“I want you in my bed, not in here. Come.” He grabs
　　the bar and my hand, then leads me promptly out of the
　　room.
　　Why are we leaving? I glance behind me as we exit.
　　“Why not in there?”
　　Christian stops on the stairs and gazes up at me, his
　　expression grave.
　　“Ana, you may be ready to go back in there, but I’m
　　not. Last time we were in there, you left me. I keep telling
　　you—when will you understand?” He frowns, releasing me
　　so that he can gesticulate with his free hand.
　　“My whole attitude has changed as a result. My whole
　　outlook on life has radically shifted. I’ve told you this.
　　What I haven’t told you is—” He stops and runs his hand
　　through his hair, searching for the correct words. “I’m like
　　a recovering alcoholic, okay? That’s the only comparison I
　　can draw. The compulsion has gone, but I don’t want to
　　put temptation in my way. I don’t want to hurt you.”
　　He looks so remorseful, and in that moment, a sharp
　　nagging pain lances through me. What have I done to this
　　man? Have I improved his life? He was happy before he
　　met me, wasn’t he?
　　“I can’t bear to hurt you because I love you,” he adds,
　　gazing up at me, his expression one of absolute sincerity
　　like a small boy telling a very simple truth.
　　He’s completely guileless, and he takes my breath
　　away. I adore him more than anything or anyone. I do love
　　this man unconditionally.
　　I launch myself at him so hard that he has to drop what
　　he’s carrying to catch me as I push him up against the wall.
　　Grabbing his face between my hands, I pull his lips to
　　Grabbing his face between my hands, I pull his lips to
　　mine. I can taste his surprise as I push my tongue into his
　　mouth. I am standing on the step above him—we’re at the
　　same level, and I feel euphorically empowered. Kissing
　　him passionately, my fingers twisting into his hair, I want to
　　touch him, everywhere, but restrain myself, knowing his
　　fear. Regardless, my desire unfurls, hot and heavy,
　　blossoming deep inside me. He groans and grabs my
　　shoulders, pushing me away.
　　“Do you want me to fuck you on the stairs?” he
　　mutters, his breathing ragged. “Because right now, I will.”
　　“Yes,” I murmur and I’m sure my dark gaze matches
　　his.
　　He glares at me, his eyes hooded and heavy. “No. I
　　want you in my bed.” He scoops me up suddenly over his
　　shoulder, making me squeal, loudly, and smacks me hard
　　on my behind, so that I squeal again. As he heads down
　　the stairs, he stoops to pick up the fallen spreader bar.
　　Mrs. Jones is coming out of the utility room when we
　　pass through the hall. She smiles at us, and I give her an
　　pass through the hall. She smiles at us, and I give her an
　　apologetic upside-down wave. I don’t think Christian
　　notices her.
　　In the bedroom, he sets me down on my feet and
　　drops the spreader on to the bed.
　　“I don’t think you’ll hurt me,” I breathe.
　　“I don’t think I’ll hurt you, either,” he says. He takes
　　my head in his hands and kisses me, long and hard, igniting
　　my already heated blood.
　　“I want you so much,” he whispers against my mouth,
　　panting. “Are you sure about this—after today?’
　　“Yes. I want you, too. I want to undress you.” I can’t
　　wait to get my hands on him—my fingers are itching to
　　touch him.
　　His eyes widen and for a moment, he hesitates,
　　perhaps to consider my request.
　　“Okay,” he says cautiously.
　　I reach for the second button on his shirt and hear him
　　catch his breath.
　　“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to,” I whisper.
　　“No,” he responds quickly. “Do. It’s fine. I’m good,”

　　he mutters.
　　I gently undo the button and my fingers glide down his
　　shirt to the next. His eyes are large and luminous, his lips
　　parted as his breathing shallows. He is so beautiful, even in
　　his fear . . . because of his fear. I undo the third button and
　　notice his soft hair poking through the large V of the shirt.
　　“I want to kiss you there,” I murmur.
　　He inhales sharply. “Kiss me?”
　　“Yes,” I murmur.
　　His gasps as I undo the next button and very slowly
　　lean forward, making my intention clear. He’s holding his
　　breath, but stands stock-still as I plant a gentle kiss among
　　the soft, exposed curls. I undo the final button and lift my
　　face to him. He’s gazing at me, and there’s a look of
　　satisfaction, calm, and . . . wonder on his face.
　　“It’s getting easier, isn’t it?” I whisper.
　　He nods as I slowly push his shirt off his shoulders and
　　let it fall to the floor.
　　“What have you done to me, Ana?” he murmurs.
　　“What have you done to me, Ana?” he murmurs.
　　“Whatever it is, don’t stop.” And he gathers me in his
　　arms, fisting both his hands in my hair and pulling my head
　　right back so that he can have easy access to my throat.
　　He runs his lips up to my jaw, nipping softly. I groan.
　　Oh, I want this man. My fingers fumble at his waistband,
　　undoing the button and pulling down the zipper.
　　“Oh, baby,” he breathes as he kisses me behind my
　　ear. I feel his erection, firm and hard, straining against me.
　　I want him—in my mouth. I step back abruptly and drop
　　to my knees.
　　“Whoa?” he gasps.
　　I tug his pants and boxers sharply, and he springs free.
　　Before he can stop me, I take him into my mouth, sucking
　　hard, enjoying his shocked astonishment as his mouth
　　drops open. He gazes down at me, watching my every
　　move, eyes so dark and filled with carnal bliss. Oh my. I
　　sheath my teeth and suck harder. He closes his eyes and
　　surrenders to this blissful carnal pleasure is so arousing. I
　　know what I do to him, and it’s hedonistic, liberating, and
　　know what I do to him, and it’s hedonistic, liberating, and
　　sexy as hell. The feeling is heady, I’m not just powerful—
　　I’m omniscient.
　　“Fuck,” he hisses and gently cradles my head, flexing
　　his hips so he moves deeper inside my mouth. Oh yes, I
　　want this and I swirl my tongue around him, pulling
　　hard . . . over and over.
　　“Ana.” He tries to step back.
　　Oh no you don’t, Grey. I want you . I grab his hips
　　firmly, doubling my efforts, and I can tell he’s close.
　　“Please,” he pants. “I’m gonna come, Ana,” he groans.
　　Good. My inner goddess’s head is thrown back in
　　ecstasy, and he comes, loudly and wetly, into my mouth.
　　He opens his bright gray eyes, gazing down at me, and
　　I smile up at him, licking my lips. He grins back at me, a
　　wicked, salacious grin.
　　“Oh, so this is the game we’re playing, Miss Steele?”
　　He bends, hooks his hands under my arms, and pulls me
　　to my feet. Suddenly his mouth is on mine. He groans.
　　“I can taste myself. You taste better,” he murmurs
　　against my lips. He tugs my T-shirt off and throws it
　　carelessly onto the floor, then picks me up and tosses me
　　onto the bed. Grabbing the end of my sweats, he tugs
　　abruptly so that they come off in one swift move. I’m
　　naked underneath, sprawled across his bed. Waiting.
　　Wanting. His eyes drink me in, and slowly he removes his
　　remaining clothes, not taking his eyes off me.
　　“You are one beautiful woman, Anastasia,” he
　　murmurs appreciatively.
　　Hmm . . . I tilt my head coquettishly to one side and
　　beam at him.
　　“You are one beautiful man, Christian, and you taste
　　mighty fine.”
　　He gives me a wicked grin and reaches for the
　　spreader bar. Grabbing my left ankle, he quickly cuffs it,
　　strapping the buckle tightly, but not too tight. He tests how
　　much room I have by sliding his little finger between the
　　cuff and my ankle. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine; he
　　doesn’t need to see what he’s doing. Hmm . . . he’s done
　　this before.
　　this before.
　　“We’ll have to see how you taste. If I recall, you’re a
　　rare, exquisite delicacy, Miss Steele.”
　　Oh.
　　Grasping my other ankle, he quickly and efficiently
　　cuffs that one as well, so that my feet are about two feet
　　apart.
　　“The good thing about this spreader is, it expands,” he
　　murmurs. He clicks something on the bar, then pushes, so
　　my legs spread further. Whoa, three feet apart. My mouth
　　drops open, and I take a deep breath. Fuck, this is hot.
　　I’m on fire, restless and needy.
　　Christian licks his lower lip.
　　“Oh, we’re going to have some fun with this, Ana.”
　　Reaching down he grasps the bar and twists it so I flip on
　　to my front. It takes me by surprise.
　　“See what I can do to you?” he says darkly and twists
　　it again abruptly, so I am once more on my back, gaping
　　up at him, breathless.
　　“These other cuffs are for your wrists. I’ll think about
　　“These other cuffs are for your wrists. I’ll think about
　　that. Depends if you behave or not.”
　　“When do I not behave?”
　　“I can think of a few infractions,” he says softly,
　　running his fingers up the soles of my feet. It tickles, but the
　　bar holds me in place, though I try to writhe away from his
　　fingers.
　　“Your Blackberry, for one.”
　　I gasp. “What are you going to do?”
　　“Oh, I never disclose my plans.” He smirks, his eyes
　　alight with pure devilment.
　　Holy cow. He’s so mind-bogglingly sexy, it takes my
　　breath away.
　　He crawls up the bed so that he’s kneeling between
　　my legs, gloriously naked, and I’m helpless.
　　“Hmm. You are so exposed, Miss Steele.” He runs the
　　fingers of both his hands up the inside of each of my legs,
　　slowly, surely, making small circular patterns. Never
　　breaking eye contact with me.
　　“It’s all about anticipation, Ana. What will I do to
　　you?” His softly spoken words penetrate right to the
　　deepest, darkest, part of me. I wriggle on the bed and
　　moan. His fingers continue their slow assault up my legs,
　　past the backs of my knees. Instinctively, I want to close
　　my legs but I can’t.
　　“Remember, if you don’t like something, just tell me to
　　stop,” he murmurs. Bending over, he kisses my belly, soft,
　　sucky kisses while his hands continue their slow tortuous
　　journey north up my inner thighs, touching and teasing.
　　“Oh please, Christian,” I plead.
　　“Oh, Miss Steele. I’ve discovered you can be
　　merciless in your amorous assaults upon me. I think I
　　should return the favor.”
　　My fingers clutch the duvet as I surrender myself to
　　him, his mouth gently heading south, his fingers north, to
　　the vulnerable and exposed apex of my thighs. I groan as
　　he eases his fingers inside me and buck my pelvis up to
　　meet them. Christian moans in response.
　　“You never cease to amaze me, Ana. You’re so wet,”
　　he murmurs against the line where my pubic hair joins my
　　he murmurs against the line where my pubic hair joins my
　　belly. My body bows as his mouth finds me.
　　Oh my.
　　He begins a slow and sensual assault, his tongue
　　swirling around and around while his fingers move inside
　　me. Because I can’t close my legs, or move, it’s intense,
　　really intense. My back arches as I try to absorb the
　　sensations.
　　“Oh, Christian,” I cry.
　　“I know, baby,” he whispers, and to ease up on me, he
　　blows softly on the most sensitive part of my body.
　　“Arrgh! Please!” I beg.
　　“Say my name,” he commands.
　　“Christian,” I call, hardly recognizing my own voice—
　　it’s so high-pitched and needy.
　　“Again,” he breathes.
　　“Christian, Christian, Christian Grey,” I call out loudly.
　　“You are mine.” His voice is soft and deadly and with
　　one last flick of his tongue, I fall—spectacularly—
　　embracing my orgasm, and because my legs are so far
　　embracing my orgasm, and because my legs are so far
　　apart, it goes on and on and I am lost.
　　Vaguely, I’m aware that Christian has flipped me on to
　　my front.
　　“We’re going to try this, baby. If you don’t like it, or
　　it’s too uncomfortable, tell me, and we’ll stop.”
　　What? I am too lost in the afterglow to form any
　　sentient or coherent thoughts. I am sitting on Christian’s
　　lap. How did that happen?
　　“Lean down, baby,” he murmurs at my ear. “Head and
　　chest on the bed.”
　　In a daze I do as I’m told. He pulls both my hands
　　backward and cuffs them to the bar, next to my ankles.
　　Oh . . . My knees are drawn up, my ass in the air, utterly
　　vulnerable, completely his.
　　“Ana, you look so beautiful.” His voice is full of
　　wonder, and I hear the rip of foil. He runs his fingers from
　　the base of my spine down toward my sex and pauses a
　　beat over my ass.
　　“When you’re ready, I want this, too.” His finger is
　　hovering over me. I gasp loudly as I feel myself tense
　　under his gentle probing. “Not today, sweet Ana, but one
　　day . . . I want you every way. I want to possess every
　　inch of you. You’re mine.”
　　I think about the butt plug, and everything tightens
　　deep inside me. His words make me groan, and his fingers
　　move down and around to more familiar territory.
　　Moments later, he’s slamming into me. “Aagh! Gently,”
　　I cry, and he stills.
　　“You okay?”
　　“Gently . . . let me get used to this.”
　　He eases slowly out of me then eases gently back,
　　filling me, stretching me, twice, thrice, and I am helpless.
　　“Yes, good, I’ve got it now,” I murmur, relishing the
　　feeling.
　　He groans, and picks up his rhythm. Moving,
　　moving . . . relentless . . . onward, inward, filling me . . .
　　and it’s exquisite. There’s joy in my helplessness, joy in my
　　surrender to him, and to know that he can lose himself in
　　me the way he wants to. I can do this. He takes me to
　　me the way he wants to. I can do this. He takes me to
　　these dark places, places I didn’t know existed, and
　　together we fill them with blinding light. Oh yes . . . blazing,
　　blinding light.
　　And I let go, glorying in what he does to me, finding
　　my sweet, sweet release, as I come again, loudly,
　　screaming his name. And he stills, pouring his heart and
　　soul into me.
　　“Ana, baby,” he cries and collapses beside me.
　　His fingers deftly undo the straps, and he rubs my ankles
　　then my wrists. When he’s finished and I’m finally free, he
　　pulls me into his arms and I drift, exhausted.
　　When I surface again, I am curled beside him and he’s
　　gazing at me. I have no idea what the time is.
　　“I could watch you sleep forever, Ana,” he murmurs
　　and he kisses my forehead.
　　I smile and shift languorously beside him.
　　“I never want to let you go,” he says softly and wraps
　　“I never want to let you go,” he says softly and wraps
　　his arms around me.
　　Hmm. “I never want to go. Never let me go,” I mutter
　　sleepily, my eyelids refusing to open.
　　“I need you,” he whispers, but his voice is a distant,
　　ethereal part of my dreams. He needs me . . . needs
　　me . . . and as I finally slip into the darkness, my last
　　thoughts are of a small boy with gray eyes and dirty,
　　messy, copper-colored hair smiling shyly at me.
　　Hmm.
　　Christian is nuzzling my neck as I slowly wake.
　　“Morning, baby,” he whispers and nips at my earlobe.
　　My eyes flutter open and close again quickly. Bright early
　　morning light floods the room, and his hand is softly
　　caressing my breast, gently teasing me. Moving down he
　　grasps my hip as he lies behind me, holding me close.
　　I stretch out beside him, relishing his touch, and feel his
　　erection against my behind. Oh my. A Christian Grey
　　wake-up call.
　　“You’re pleased to see me,” I mumble sleepily,
　　squirming suggestively against him. I feel his grin against my
　　jaw.
　　“I’m very pleased to see you,” he says as he skates his
　　hand over my stomach and down to cup my sex and
　　explore with his fingers. “There are definite advantages to
　　waking up beside you, Miss Steele,” he teases and gently
　　pulls me round so that I’m lying on my back.
　　“Sleep well?” he asks as his fingers continue their
　　“Sleep well?” he asks as his fingers continue their
　　sensual torture. He’s smiling down at me—his dazzling, all-
　　American-drop-dead-male-model-perfect-teeth smile. He

　　takes my breath away.
　　My hips begin to sway to the rhythm of the dance his
　　fingers have begun. He kisses me chastely on the lips and
　　then moves down my neck, nipping slowly, kissing, and
　　sucking as he goes. I moan. He’s gentle and his touch is
　　light and heavenly. His intrepid fingers move down, and
　　slowly he eases one inside me, hissing quietly in awe.
　　“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs reverentially against my throat.
　　“You’re always ready.” He moves his finger in time with
　　his kisses as his lips journey leisurely across my clavicle
　　and then down to my breast. He torments first one, then
　　the other nipple with teeth and lips, but oh-so-gently, and
　　they tighten and lengthen in sweet response.
　　I groan.
　　“Hmm,” he growls softly and raises his head to give me
　　a blazing gray-eyed look. “I want you now.” He reaches
　　over to the bedside table. He shifts on top of me, taking
　　his weight on his elbows, and rubs his nose along mine
　　while easing my legs apart with his. He kneels up and rips
　　open the foil packet.
　　“I can’t wait until Saturday,” he says, his eyes glowing
　　with salacious delight.
　　“Your party?” I pant.
　　“No. I can stop using these fuckers.”
　　“Aptly named.” I giggle.
　　He smirks at me as he rolls on the condom. “Are you
　　giggling, Miss Steele?”
　　giggling, Miss Steele?”
　　“No.” I try and fail to straighten my face.
　　“Now is not the time for giggling.” He shakes his head
　　in admonishment and his voice is low, stern, but his
　　expression—holy cow—is glacial and volcanic at once.
　　My breath catches in my throat. “I thought you liked it
　　when I giggle,” I whisper hoarsely, gazing into the dark
　　depths of his stormy eyes.
　　“Not now. There’s a time and a place for giggling. This
　　is neither. I need to stop you, and I think I know how,” he
　　says ominously, and his body covers mine.
　　“What would you like for breakfast, Ana?”
　　“I’ll just have some granola. Thank you, Mrs. Jones.”
　　I flush as I take my place at the breakfast bar beside
　　Christian. The last time I set eyes on the very prim and
　　proper Mrs. Jones, I was being unceremoniously dragged
　　into the bedroom over Christian’s shoulder.
　　“You look lovely,” Christian says softly. I’m wearing
　　my gray pencil skirt and gray silk blouse again.
　　“So do you.” I smile shyly at him. He’s wearing a pale
　　blue shirt and jeans, and he looks cool and fresh and
　　perfect, as always.
　　“We should buy you some more skirts,” he says
　　matter-of-factly. “In fact—I’d love to take you shopping.”
　　Hmm—shopping. I hate shopping. But with Christian,
　　maybe it won’t be so bad. I decide on distraction as the
　　best form of defense.
　　“I wonder what will happen at work today?”
　　“I wonder what will happen at work today?”
　　“They’ll have to replace the sleazeball.” Christian
　　frowns, scowling as if he’s just stepped in something
　　extraordinarily unpleasant.
　　“I hope they take on a woman as my new boss.”
　　“Why?”
　　“Well, you’re less likely to object to me going away
　　with her,” I tease him.
　　His lips twitch and he starts on his omelet.
　　“What’s so funny?” I ask.
　　“You are. Eat your granola, all of it, if that’s all you’re
　　having.”
　　Bossy as ever. I purse my lips at him, but dig in.
　　“So, the key goes here.” Christian points out the ignition
　　beneath the gearshift.
　　“Strange place,” I mutter. But I’m delighted with every
　　little detail, practically bouncing like a small child in the
　　comfortable leather seat. Christian has finally let me drive
　　my car.
　　He regards me coolly, though his eyes are alight with
　　humor. “You’re quite excited about this, aren’t you?” he
　　murmurs, amused.
　　I nod, grinning like a fool. “Just smell that new car
　　smell. This is even better than the Submissive Special . . .
　　um, the A3,” I add quickly, blushing.
　　Christian’s mouth twists. “Submissive Special, eh? You
　　have such a way with words, Miss Steele.” He leans back
　　with a faux look of disapproval, but he can’t fool me. I
　　with a faux look of disapproval, but he can’t fool me. I
　　know he’s enjoying himself.
　　“Well, let’s go.” He waves his long-fingered hand
　　toward the entrance of the garage.
　　I clap my hands, start the car, and the engine purrs to
　　life. Putting the gearshift into drive, I ease my foot off the
　　brake and the Saab moves smoothly forward. Taylor
　　starts up the Audi behind us and once the garage barrier
　　lifts, follows us out of Escala onto the street.
　　“Can we have the radio on?” I ask as we wait at the
　　first stop sign.
　　“I want you to concentrate,” he says sharply.
　　“Christian, please, I can drive with music on.” I roll my
　　eyes. He scowls for a moment and then reaches for the
　　radio.
　　“You can play your iPod and mp3 discs as well as
　　CDs on this,” he murmurs.
　　The too-loud dulcet tones of The Police suddenly fill
　　the car. Christian turns the music down. Hmm . . . “King
　　of Pain.”
　　“Your anthem,” I tease him, then instantly regret it
　　when his mouth tightens in a thin line. Oh no. “I have this
　　album, somewhere.” I continue hastily to distract him.
　　Hmm . . . somewhere in the apartment I have spent very
　　little time in.
　　I wonder how Ethan is. I should try to call him today. I
　　won’t have much to do at work.
　　Anxiety blooms in my stomach. What will happen
　　when I get to the office? Will everyone know about Jack?
　　Will everyone know of Christian’s involvement? Will I still
　　have a job? Sheesh, if I have no job, what will I do?
　　Marry the gazillionaire, Ana! My subconscious has
　　her snarky face on. I ignore her—rapacious bitch.
　　“Hey, Miss Smart Mouth. Come back.” Christian
　　drags me into the here and now as I pull up at the next
　　stoplight.
　　“You’re very distracted. Concentrate, Ana,” he scolds.
　　“Accidents happen when you don’t concentrate.”
　　Oh, for heaven’s sake—and suddenly I’m catapulted
　　back in time to when Ray was teaching me to drive. I
　　don’t need another father. A husband maybe, a kinky
　　husband. Hmm.
　　“I’m just thinking about work.”
　　“Baby, you’ll be fine. Trust me.” Christian smiles.
　　“Please don’t interfere—I want to do this on my own.
　　Christian, please. It’s important to me,” I say as gently as I
　　can. I don’t want to argue. His mouth sets once more into
　　a hard stubborn line, and I think he’s going to berate me
　　again.
　　Oh no.
　　“Let’s not argue, Christian. We’ve had such a
　　wonderful morning. And last night was—” Words fail me,
　　last night was—“Heaven.”
　　He says nothing. I glance over at him and his eyes are
　　closed.
　　“Yes. Heaven,” he says softly. “I meant what I said.”
　　“What?”
　　“I don’t want to let you go.”
　　“I don’t want to go.”
　　He smiles and it’s this new, shy smile that dissolves
　　everything in its path. Boy, it’s powerful.
　　“Good,” he says simply, and he visibly relaxes.
　　I drive into the parking lot half a block from SIP.
　　“I’ll walk you to work. Taylor will take me from
　　there,” Christian offers. I clamber out of the car, restricted
　　by my pencil skirt while Christian climbs out gracefully, at
　　ease with his body or giving the impression of someone at
　　ease with his body. Hmm . . . someone who can’t bear to
　　be touched can’t be that at ease. I frown at my errant
　　thought.
　　“Don’t forget we’re seeing Flynn at seven this
　　evening,” he says as he holds his hand out to me. I press
　　the remote door lock and take his hand.
　　“I won’t forget. I’ll compile a list of questions for him.”
　　“Questions? About me?”
　　I nod.
　　“I can answer any questions you have about me.”
　　Christian looks affronted.
　　I smile at him. “Yes, but I want the unbiased,
　　expensive charlatan’s opinion.”
　　He frowns and suddenly pulls me into his embrace,
　　holding both my hands tightly behind my back.
　　“Is this a good idea?” he says, his voice low and
　　husky. I lean back to see the anxiety looming large and
　　wide in his eyes. It tears at my soul.
　　“If you don’t want me to, I won’t.” I stare at him,
　　blinking, wanting to caress the concern out of his face. I
　　tug on one of my hands and he frees it. I touch his cheek
　　tenderly—it’s smooth from shaving this morning.
　　“What are you worried about?” I ask, my voice soft
　　and soothing.
　　“That you’ll go.”
　　“Christian, how many times do I have to tell you—I’m
　　not going anywhere. You’ve already told me the worst.
　　I’m not leaving you.”
　　“Then why haven’t you answered me?”
　　“Answered you?” I murmur disingenuously.
　　“You know what I’m talking about, Ana.”
　　I sigh. “I want to know that I’m enough for you,
　　Christian. That’s all.”
　　“And you won’t take my word for it?” he says
　　exasperated, releasing me.
　　“Christian, this has all been so quick. And by your own
　　admission, you’re fifty shades of fucked-up. I can’t give
　　you what you need,” I mutter. “It’s just not for me. But
　　that makes me feel inadequate, especially seeing you with
　　Leila. Who’s to say that one day you won’t meet someone
　　who likes doing what you do? And who’s to say you
　　won’t, you know . . . fall for her? Someone much better
　　suited to your needs.” The thought of Christian with
　　anyone else sickens me. I stare down at my knotted
　　fingers.
　　“I knew several women who like doing what I like to
　　do. None of them appealed to me the way you do. I’ve
　　never had an emotional connection with any of them. It’s
　　only ever been you, Ana.”
　　only ever been you, Ana.”
　　“Because you never gave them a chance. You’ve spent
　　too long locked up in your fortress, Christian. Look, let’s
　　discuss this later. I have to go to work. Maybe Dr. Flynn
　　can offer us his insight.” This is all far too heavy a
　　discussion for a parking lot at eight fifty in the morning, and
　　Christian, for once, seems to agree. He nods but his eyes
　　are wary.
　　“Come,” he orders, holding out his hand.
　　When I reach my desk, I find a note asking me to go
　　straight to Elizabeth’s office. My heart leaps into my
　　mouth. Oh, this is it. I’m going to get fired.
　　“Anastasia.” Elizabeth smiles kindly, waving me into a
　　chair before her desk. I sit and gaze at her expectantly,
　　hoping that she can’t hear my thumping heart. She
　　smoothes her thick black hair and regards with me with
　　somber, clear blue eyes.
　　“I have some rather sad news.”
　　Sad! Oh no.
　　“I’ve called you in to inform you that Jack has left the
　　company rather suddenly.”
　　I flush. This isn’t sad for me. Should I tell her that I
　　know?
　　“His rather hasty departure has left a vacancy, and
　　we’d like you to fill it for now, until we find a
　　replacement.”
　　What? I feel the blood rush from my head. Me?
　　“But, I’ve only been here for a week or so.”
　　“But, I’ve only been here for a week or so.”
　　“Yes, Anastasia, I understand but Jack was always a
　　champion of your abilities. He had high hopes for you.”
　　I stop breathing. He had high hopes of getting me on
　　my back, sure.
　　“Here’s a detailed job description. Have a good look
　　through it, and we can discuss it later today.”
　　“But—”
　　“Please, I know this is sudden, but you’ve already
　　made contact with Jack’s key authors. Your chapter notes
　　haven’t gone unnoticed by the other commissioning
　　editors. You have a shrewd mind, Anastasia. We all think
　　you can do it.”
　　“Okay.” This is unreal.
　　“Look, think about it. In the meantime, you can take
　　Jack’s office.”
　　She stands, effectively dismissing me, and holds out her
　　hand. I shake it in a complete daze.
　　“I’m glad he’s gone,” she whispers and a haunted look
　　crosses her face. Holy shit. What did he do to her?
　　Back at my desk, I grab my Blackberry and call
　　Christian.