When I reach her at the lobby door, she's rummaging around in her purse for keys; I stand behind her, helpless.
What to do?
"Anastasia," I entreat her, as I try to remain calm. She lets out an exaggerated sigh and turns to face me, her mouth pressed in a hard line.
Following up what she said in the car, I try for humor. "First, I haven't fucked you for a while--a long while, it feels--and second, I wanted to get into publishing. Of the four companies in Seattle, SIP is the most profitable." I keep talking about the company but what I really want to say is...Please don't fight with me.
"So you're my boss now?" she snaps.
"Technically, I'm your boss's boss's boss."
"And technically, it's gross moral turpitude--the fact that I am fucking my boss's boss's boss."
"At the moment, you're arguing with him." My voice is beginning to rise.
"That's because he's such an ass."
Ass. Ass!
She's calling me names! The only people who do that are Mia and Elliot.
"An ass?" Yes. Maybe I am. And suddenly I want to laugh. Anastasia called me an ass--Elliot would approve.
"Yes." She's trying to stay mad at me, but her mouth is lifting at the corners.
"An ass?" I repeat, and I cannot help my smile.
"Don't make me laugh when I'm mad at you!" she shouts, trying and failing to stay serious. I give her my best one-thousand-watt smile and she unleashes an uninhibited, spontaneous laugh that makes me feel ten feet tall.
Success!
"Just because I have a stupid damn grin on my face doesn't mean I am not mad as hell at you," she claims between giggles. Leaning forward, I nuzzle her hair and inhale deeply. Her scent and her proximity stir my libido. I want her.
"As ever, Miss Steele, you are unexpected." I gaze down, treasuring her flushed face and shining eyes. She's beautiful. "So are you going to invite me in, or am I to be sent packing for exercising my democratic right as an American citizen, entrepreneur, and consumer to purchase whatever I damn well please?"
"Have you spoken to Dr. Flynn about this?"
I laugh. Not yet. It will be a mindfuck when I do.
"Are you going to let me in or not, Anastasia?"
For a moment she looks undecided, making my heartbeat spike. But she bites her lip, then smiles and opens the door for me. I wave Taylor off and follow Ana upstairs, enjoying the fantastic view of her ass. The gentle sway of her hips as she climbs each step is beyond seductive--more so, I think, because she has no idea she's so alluring. Her innate sensuality stems from her innocence: her willingness to experiment, and her ability to trust.
Damn. I hope I still have her trust. After all, I drove her away. I will have to work hard to rebuild it. I don't want to lose her again.
Her apartment is neat and tidy, as I would expect, but it has an unused, uninhabited vibe about it. It reminds me of the gallery: it's all old brick and wood. The concrete kitchen island is a stark and novel design statement. I like it.
"Nice place," I remark with approval.
"Kate's parents bought it for her."
Eamon Kavanagh has indulged his daughter. It's a stylish place--he's chosen well. I hope Katherine appreciates it. I turn and stare at Ana as she stands by the island. I wonder how she feels living with such a well-off friend. I'm sure she pays her way...but it must be tough to play second fiddle to Katherine Kavanagh. Maybe she likes it, or maybe she finds it a struggle. She certainly doesn't squander her money on clothes. But I've remedied that; I have a closetful for her at Escala. I wonder what she'll think about that? She'll likely give me a hard time.
Don't think about that now, Grey.
Ana's studying me, her eyes dark. She licks her bottom lip, and my body lights up like a firework.
"Er...would you like a drink?" she asks.
"No thank you, Anastasia." I want you.
She clasps her hands together, seemingly at a loss and looking a little apprehensive. Do I still make her nervous? This woman can bring me to my knees, and she's the one who's nervous?
"What would you like to do, Anastasia?" I ask, and move closer to her, my eyes not leaving hers. "I know what I want to do."
And we can do it here, or in your bedroom, or your bathroom, I don't care--I just want you. Now.
Her lips part as her breath hitches and her breathing quickens.
Oh, that sound is beguiling.
You want me, too, baby.
I know it.
I feel it.
She backs up against the kitchen island with nowhere else to go.
"I'm still mad at you," she asserts, but her voice is tremulous and soft. She doesn't sound mad at all. Wanton, maybe. But not mad.
"I know," I agree, and give her a wolfish grin. Her eyes widen.
Oh, baby.
"Would you like something to eat?" she whispers.
I nod slowly. "Yes. You."
Standing over her, staring into eyes that are dark with desire, I feel the heat from her body. It's searing me. I want to be wrapped in it. Bathed in it. I want to make her scream and moan and call out my name. I want to reclaim her and wipe the memory of our breakup from her mind.
I want to make her mine. Again.
But first things first.
"Have you eaten today?" I need to know.
"I had a sandwich at lunch."
That will do. "You need to eat," I chide her.
"I'm really not hungry right now...for food."
"What are you hungry for, Miss Steele?" I lower my face so that our lips are almost touching.
"I think you know, Mr. Grey."
She's not wrong. I stifle my groan and it takes all my self-control not to grab her and toss her onto the concrete counter. But I was serious when I said she'd have to beg. She has to tell me what she wants. She has to vocalize her feelings, her needs, and desires. I want to learn what makes her happy. I lean down as if to kiss her, fooling her, and whisper in her ear instead.
"Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?"
She inhales sharply. "Yes."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
"You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that. I told you I'm not going to touch you until you beg me and tell me what to do."
"Please," she pleads.
Oh no, baby. I'm not going to make this easy on you. "Please what?"
"Touch me."
"Where, baby?"
She reaches for me.
No.
The darkness erupts inside me and grips my throat with its claws. Instinctively, I step back, my heart pounding as fear courses through my body.
Don't touch me. Don't touch me.
Fuck.
"No. No," I mutter.
This is why I have rules.
"What?" She's confused.
"No." I shake my head. She knows this. I told her yesterday. I have to make her understand she can't touch me.
"Not at all?" She steps toward me and I don't know what she intends. The darkness stabs at my insides, so I take another step back and hold up my hands to ward her off.
With a smile, I beseech her, "Look. Ana..." But I can't find the right words.
Please. Don't touch me. I can't handle it.
Damn, it's frustrating.
"Sometimes you don't mind," she protests. "Perhaps I should find a marker pen, and we could map out the no-go areas."
Well, that's an approach that I've not considered before. "That's not a bad idea. Where's your bedroom?" I need to move her on from this subject.
She nods to the left.
"Have you been taking your pill?"
Her face falls. "No."
What!
After all the trouble we went to to get her on the fucking pill! I can't believe she just stopped taking it.
"I see."
This is a disaster. What the hell am I going to do with her? Damn it. I need condoms. "Come, let's have something to eat," I say, thinking that we can go out and I can repleni
sh my supply.
"I thought we were going to bed. I want to go to bed with you." She sounds sullen.
"I know, baby."
But with us it's two steps forward and one step back.
This evening is not going as planned. Maybe it was too much to hope. How can she be with a fucked-up asshole who can't bear to be touched? And how can I be with someone who forgets to take their damned pill? I hate condoms.
Christ. Maybe we are incompatible.
Enough of the negative thinking, Grey. Enough!
She looks crestfallen, and part of me is suddenly absurdly pleased that she does. At least she wants me. I bound forward and grab her wrists, pinning her hands behind her and pulling her into my arms. Her slender body against the length of mine feels good. But she's slim. Too slim. "You need to eat and so do I." And you've completely thrown me by trying to touch me. I need to recover my composure, baby. "Besides...anticipation is the key to seduction, and right now I'm really into delayed gratification." Especially with no contraception.
She looks a little skeptical.
Yes, I know. I just made that up.
"I'm seduced and I want my gratification now. I'll beg. Please," she whimpers.
She is Eve herself: temptation incarnate. I tighten my hold and there's definitely less of her. It's disconcerting, more so because I know I'm to blame. "Eat. You're too slender." I kiss her forehead and release her, wondering where we can dine.
"I'm still mad that you bought SIP, and now I'm mad at you because you're making me wait." She purses her lips.
"You are one angry little madam, aren't you?" I state, knowing she won't understand the compliment. "You'll feel better after a good meal."
"I know what I'll feel better after."
"Anastasia Steele, I'm shocked." I feign outrage and hold my palm against my heart.
"Stop teasing me. You don't fight fair." All of a sudden her stance changes. "I could cook something," she says, "except we'll have to go shopping."
"Shopping?"
"For groceries."
"You have no food here?" For heaven's sake--no wonder she hasn't eaten! "Let's go shopping, then." I stride to the door of her apartment and open it wide, gesturing for her to exit. This could work in my favor. I just need to find a pharmacy or a convenience store.
"Okay, okay," she says, and scurries out the door.
As we walk down the street hand in hand, I wonder at how, in her presence, I can run through an entire spectrum of emotion: from angry, to carnal, to fearful, to playful. Before Ana, I was calm and stable, but boy, was my life monotonous. That changed the moment she fell into my office. Being with her is like being inside a storm, my feelings colliding and crashing together, then surging and ebbing away. I hardly know which way is up. Ana's never dull. I just hope what's left of my heart can cope.
We walk two blocks to Ernie's Supermarket. It's small, and packed with too many people; mostly singles, I think, judging from the contents of their shopping baskets. And here am I, single no more.
I like that idea.
I follow in Ana's wake, holding a wire basket and enjoying the view of her ass, all tight and taut in her jeans. I especially like it when she leans over the vegetable counter and picks up some onions. The fabric stretches across her behind and her blouse rides up, revealing a sliver of pale, flawless skin.
Oh, what I'd like to do to that ass.
Ana is looking at me, perplexed and asking me questions about when I was last in a supermarket? I have no idea. She wants to cook stir-fry because it's quick. Quick, huh? I smirk and follow her through the store, enjoying how adept she is at choosing her ingredients: a squeeze of a tomato here, the sniff of a pepper there. As we walk to the checkout she asks me about my staff and how long they've been with me. Why does she want to know? "Taylor, four years, I think. Mrs. Jones, about the same."
I ask her a question of my own. "Why didn't you have any food in the apartment?"
Her expression clouds. "You know why."
"It was you who left me," I remind her. If you'd stayed we might have worked things out and avoided all the misery.
"I know," she says, sounding contrite.
I stand in line beside her. There's a woman in front of us, trying to wrangle two small children, one of whom is whining incessantly.
Jesus. How do people do this?
We could have gone out to eat. There are enough restaurants around here. "Do you have anything to drink?" I ask, because after this real-life experience, I'm going to need alcohol.
"Beer, I think."
"I'll get some wine."
I put as much distance as I can between me and the screaming boy, but after a brief look around the store I realize there's no alcohol or condoms for sale here.
Damn it.
"There's a good liquor store next door," Anastasia says, when I return to the line which doesn't seem to have moved and is still dominated by the wailing child.
"I'll see what they have."
Relieved to be out of the hellhole that is Ernie's, I notice a small convenience store beside Liquor Locker. Inside, I find the only two remaining packs of condoms.
Thank heavens. Two packs of two.
Four fucks if I'm lucky.
I can't help my grin. That should be enough even for the insatiable Miss Steele.
I grab them both and pay the old guy behind the counter and leave. I'm lucky in the liquor store, too. It has an excellent selection of wine and I find an above-average pinot grigio in the fridge.
Anastasia is staggering out of the grocery store when I return.
"Here, let me carry that." I take both grocery bags and we walk back to her apartment.
She tells me a little about what she's been doing during the week. She's obviously enjoying her new job. She doesn't mention my takeover of SIP, and I'm grateful. And for my part I don't mention her asshole of a boss.
"You look very domestic," she says with ill-concealed amusement when we're back in her kitchen.
She's laughing at me. Again. "No one has ever accused me of that before." I place the bags on the kitchen island and she sets to work unloading them. I grab the wine. The grocery store was enough reality for today. Now, where would she keep a corkscrew?
"This place is still so new. I think the opener is in that drawer there." She points using her chin. I smile at her multitasking and locate the corkscrew. I'm pleased that she hasn't been drowning her sorrows during my absence. I've seen what happens when she gets drunk.
When I turn to look at her, she's blushing.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask as I shrug out of my jacket and toss it on the couch. I make my way back to the waiting bottle of wine.
"How little I know you."
"You know me better than anyone." She can certainly read me like no one else. It's unsettling. I open the bottle, mimicking the cheesy flourish of the waiter in Portland.
"I don't think that's true," she responds, as she continues to unpack the bags.
"It is, Anastasia. I'm a very, very private person." It comes with the territory, doing what I do. What I did.
I pour two glasses and hand one to her.
"Cheers." I raise my glass.
"Cheers." She takes a sip and then starts busying herself in the kitchen. She's in her element. I remember her telling me how she used to cook for her dad.
"Can I help you with that?" I ask.
She gives me a sideways I've-got-this look. "No, it's fine. Sit."
"I'd like to help."
She can't hide her surprise. "You can chop the vegetables." It sounds like she's making a huge concession. Perhaps she's right to be wary. I know nothing about cooking. My mother, Mrs. Jones, and my submissives--some with more success than others--have all fulfilled that role.
"I don't cook," I tell her while examining the razor-sharp knife she hands me.
"I imagine you don't need to." She places a chopping board and some red peppers in front me.
What the hell am I supposed to
do with these? They are such a weird shape.
"You've never chopped a vegetable?" Anastasia asks in disbelief.
"No."
She looks smug all of a sudden.
"Are you smirking at me?"
"It appears this is something that I can do and you can't. Let's face it, Christian, I think this is a first. Here--I'll show you."
She brushes past me, her arm touching mine, and my body springs to life.
Christ.
I step out of her way.
"Like this." She demonstrates, slicing into the red pepper and removing all the seeds and shit from the inside with one smooth twirl of her knife.
"Looks simple enough."
"You shouldn't have any trouble with it." Her tone is teasing but ironic. Does she think I'm not capable of chopping a vegetable? With careful precision, I start to slice.
Damn, these seeds get everywhere. It's more difficult than I thought. Ana made it look easy. She pushes past me, her thigh brushing against my leg as she collects the ingredients. It's deliberate, I'm sure, but I try to ignore the effect she's having on my libido, and I continue to slice with care. This blade is evil. She moves past me again, this time skimming her hip against me, then again, another touch, and all below my waist. My cock approves, big-time. "I know what you're doing, Anastasia."
"I think it's called cooking," she says with disingenuous sincerity.
Oh. Playful Anastasia. Is she finally realizing the power she has over me?
Grabbing another knife, she joins me at the chopping board, peeling and slicing garlic, shallots, and French beans. She takes every opportunity to bump into me. She's not subtle.
"You're quite good at this," I concede, as I start on my second pepper.
"Chopping?" She bats her eyelashes. "Years of practice," she states, and brushes up against me with her behind.
That's it. Enough.
She takes the vegetables and places them beside the gently smoking wok.
"If you do that again, Anastasia, I'm going to take you on the kitchen floor."
"You'll have to beg me first," she counters.
"Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe."
Oh, Miss Steele. Bring it on.
I put down the knife and meander over to where she's standing, keeping her pinned with my gaze. Her lips part as I lean past her, an inch away, but I don't touch her. With a twist, I switch off the gas for the wok. "I think we'll eat later." Because right now I'm going to fuck your brains out. "Put the chicken in the fridge."
Swallowing hard, she picks up the bowl of diced chicken, rather clumsily places a plate over the top, and puts the whole thing in the fridge. I step up behind her silently so that when she turns I'm right in front of her.