She nods enthusiastically. From the back pocket of my pants I extract the tie so she can see it, then sit astride her and, taking both of her offered wrists, bind her to one of the iron spindles of her bedstead.
She wriggles beneath me, testing her bindings, but the tie holds fast. She's not escaping. "That's better." I smile with relief because I have her where I want her. Now to undress her.
Grabbing her right foot, I start to undo her sneakers.
"No," she grumbles with embarrassment, trying to withdraw her foot, and I know it's because she's been running and she doesn't want me to remove her shoes. Does she think perspiration would put me off?
Sweetheart!
"If you struggle, I'll tie your feet, too. If you make a noise, Anastasia, I will gag you. Keep quiet. Katherine is probably outside listening right now."
She stops. And I know that my instincts are right. She's worried about her feet. When will she understand that none of that stuff bothers me?
Quickly I remove her shoes, socks, and sweatpants. Then shift her so she's stretched out and lying on her sheets, and not that dainty, homemade quilt. We're going to make a mess.
Stop biting that fucking lip.
I brush my finger over her mouth as a carnal warning. She purses her lips in the semblance of a kiss, prompting my smile. She's a beautiful, sensual creature.
Now that she's where I want her, I take my shoes and socks off, undo the top button of my pants, and remove my shirt. She doesn't take her eyes off me.
"I think you've seen too much." I want to keep her guessing, and not knowing what's coming next. It will be a carnal treat. I've not blindfolded her before, so this will count toward her training. That's if she says yes...
Sitting astride her once more, I grab the hem of her T-shirt and roll it up her body. But rather than taking it off, I leave it rolled over her eyes: an effective blindfold.
She looks fantastic, laid out and bound. "Mmm, this just gets better and better. I'm going to get a drink," I whisper, and kiss her. She gasps as I climb off the bed. Outside her room, I leave her door slightly ajar and enter the living room to retrieve the bottle of wine.
Kavanagh looks up from where she's sitting on the sofa, reading, and her eyebrows rise in surprise. Don't tell me you've never seen a shirtless man, Kavanagh, because I won't believe you. "Kate, where would I find glasses, ice, and a corkscrew?" I ask, ignoring her scandalized expression.
"Um. In the kitchen. I'll get them for you. Where's Ana?"
Ah, some concern for her friend. Good.
"She's a little tied up at the moment, but she wants a drink." I grab the bottle of chardonnay.
"Oh, I see," Kavanagh says, and I follow her into the kitchen, where she points to some glasses on the counter. All the glasses are out, I assume to be packed for their move. She hands me a corkscrew and from the fridge she removes a tray of ice and breaks out the ice cubes.
"We still have to pack in here. You know Elliot is helping us move." Her tone is critical.
"Is he?" I sound uninterested as I open the wine. "Just put the ice in the glasses." With my chin I indicate two glasses. "It's a chardonnay. It'll be more drinkable with the ice."
"I figured you for a red-wine kind of guy," she says, when I pour the wine. "Are you going to come and help Ana with the move?" Her eyes flash. She's challenging me.
Shut her down now, Grey.
"No. I can't." My voice is clipped, because she's pissing me off, trying to make me feel guilty. Her lips thin, and I turn around to leave the kitchen, but not before I catch the disapproval in her face.
Fuck off, Kavanagh.
No way am I going to help. Ana and I don't have that kind of relationship. Besides, I can't spare the time.
I return to Ana's room and shut the door behind me, blotting out Kavanagh and her disdain. Immediately I'm appeased by the sight of the enchanting Ana Steele, breathless and waiting, on her bed. Setting the wine down on her bedside table, I take the foil packet out of my pants and place it beside the wine, then drop my pants and underwear on the floor, freeing my erection.
I take a sip of wine--surprisingly, it's not bad--and gaze down at Ana. She hasn't said a word. Her face is turned toward me, her lips parted with anticipation. Taking the glass, I sit astride her once more. "Are you thirsty, Anastasia?"
"Yes," she whispers.
Taking a sip of wine, I lean down and kiss her, pouring the wine into her mouth. She laps it up, and deep in her throat I hear a faint hum of appreciation.
"More?" I ask.
She nods, smiling, and I oblige.
"Let's not go too far; we know your capacity for alcohol is limited, Anastasia," I tease, and her mouth splits in the widest of grins. Leaning down, I let her have another drink from my mouth, and she wriggles beneath me.
"Is this nice?" I ask, as I lay down beside her.
She stills, all seriousness now, but her lips part as she inhales sharply.
I take another swig of wine, this time with two ice cubes. When I kiss her, I push a small shard of ice between her lips, then lay a trail of icy kisses down her sweet-smelling skin from her throat to her navel. There, I place the other shard, and a little wine.
She sucks in a breath.
"Now you have to keep still. If you move, Anastasia, you'll get wine all over the bed." My voice is low, and I kiss her again just above her navel. Her hips shift. "Oh no. If you spill the wine, I will punish you, Miss Steele."
She moans in response and pulls at the tie.
All good things, Ana...
I release each of her breasts from her bra so they're supported by the underwire cups; her breasts are pert and vulnerable, just how I like them. Slowly I tease them both with my lips.
"How nice is this?" I whisper, and blow gently on one nipple. Her mouth slackens in a silent "Ah." Taking another piece of ice in my mouth, I slowly trace down her sternum to her nipple, circling a couple of times with the ice. She moans beneath me. Transferring the ice to my fingers, I continue to torture each nipple with cool lips and the remaining ice cube that's melting in my fingers.
Whining and panting beneath me, she's tensing but managing to stay still. "If you spill the wine, I won't let you come," I warn.
"Oh. Please. Christian. Sir. Please," she begs.
Oh, to hear her use those words.
There's hope.
This is not a "no."
I skim my fingers over her body toward her panties, teasing her soft skin. Suddenly her pelvis flexes, spilling the wine and the now-melted ice from her navel. I move quickly to lap it up, kissing and sucking it off her body.
"Oh dear, Anastasia, you moved. What am I going to do to you?" I slip my fingers into her panties and brush her clitoris as I do.
"Ah!" she whines.
"Oh, baby," I whisper with reverence. She's wet. Very wet.
See. See how nice this is?
I push my index and middle finger inside her and she trembles.
"Ready for me so soon," I murmur, and push my fingers slowly in and out of her, eliciting a long sweet moan. Her pelvis starts lifting to meet my fingers.
Oh, she wants this.
"You are a greedy girl." My voice is still low and she matches the pace I'm setting as I begin to circle her clitoris with my thumb, teasing and tormenting her.
She cries out, her body bucking beneath me. I want to see her expression, and reaching up with my other hand, I slip her T-shirt off her head. She opens her eyes, blinking in the soft light.
"I want to touch you," she says, her voice husky and full of need.
"I know," I breathe against her lips, and kiss her, all the while keeping up the relentless rhythm with my fingers and thumb. She tastes of wine and need and Ana. And she kisses me back with a hunger I've not felt in her before. I cradle the top of her head, keeping her in place, and continue to kiss and finger-fuck her. As her legs stiffen, I drop the pace of my hand.
Oh, no, baby. You're not coming yet.
I do this three mo
re times while kissing her warm, sweet mouth. The fifth time I still my fingers inside her, and I hum soft and slow in her ear, "This is your punishment, so close and yet so far. Is this nice?"
"Please," she whimpers.
God, I love to hear her beg.
"How shall I fuck you, Anastasia?"
My fingers start again and her legs begin to quiver, and I gentle my hand once more.
"Please," she breathes again, the word so low I barely hear her.
"What do you want, Anastasia?"
"You...now," she pleads.
"Shall I fuck you this way, or this way, or this way? There's an endless choice," I murmur. Withdrawing my hand, I snatch the condom from the bedside table and kneel up between her legs. Keeping my eyes on hers, I pull her panties off and discard them on the floor. Her eyes are dark, full of promise and longing. They widen as I slowly put the condom on.
"How nice is this?" I ask, as I wrap my fist around my erection.
"I meant it as a joke," she whimpers.
Joke?
Thank. The. Lord.
All is not lost.
"A joke?" I query, as my fist slides up and down my cock.
"Yes. Please, Christian," she begs.
"Are you laughing now?"
"No." Her voice is barely audible, but the little shake of her head tells me all I need to know.
Watching her needing me...I could explode in my hand just looking at her. Grabbing her, I flip her over, keeping her fine, fine ass in the air. It's too tempting. I slap her cheek, hard, then plunge inside her.
Oh, fuck. She's so ready.
She tightens around me and cries out as she comes.
Fuck. That's too quick.
Holding her hips in place, I fuck her, hard, riding through her orgasm. Gritting my teeth, I grind into her, again and again, as she begins to build once more.
Come on, Ana. Again, I will her, pounding on.
She moans and whimpers beneath me, a sheen of sweat appearing on her back.
Her legs begin to quiver.
She's close.
"Come on, Anastasia, again," I growl, and by some miracle her orgasm spirals through her body and into mine. Thank fuck. Wordlessly I come, pouring myself into her.
Sweet Lord. I collapse on top of her. That was exhausting.
"How nice was that?" I hiss against her ear as I draw air into my lungs.
As she lies flat on the bed, panting, I pull out of her and remove the wretched condom. I get off the bed and quickly get dressed. When I'm done, I reach down and unfasten my tie, freeing her. Turning over, she stretches her hands and fingers and readjusts her bra. Once I cover her with the comforter I lie down beside her, propped up on my elbow.
"That was really nice," she says with a mischievous smile.
"There's that word again." I smirk at her.
"You don't like that word?"
"No. It doesn't do it for me at all."
"Oh--I don't know...it seems to have a very beneficial effect on you."
"I'm a beneficial effect now, am I? Could you wound my ego any further, Miss Steele?"
"I don't think there's anything wrong with your ego." Her frown is fleeting.
"You think?"
Dr. Flynn would have plenty to say about that.
"Why don't you like to be touched?" she asks, her voice sweet and soft.
"I just don't." I kiss her forehead to distract her from this line of questioning. "So, that e-mail was your idea of a joke?"
She gives me a coy look and an apologetic shrug.
"I see. So you are still considering my proposition?"
"Your indecent proposal...yes, I am."
Well, thank fuck for that.
Our deal is still in play. My relief is palpable; I can almost taste it.
"I have issues, though," she adds.
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."
"I was going to e-mail them to you, but you kind of interrupted me."
"Coitus interruptus."
"See? I knew you had a sense of humor somewhere in there." The light in her eyes dances with mirth.
"Only certain things are funny, Anastasia. I thought you were saying no--no discussion at all."
"I don't know yet. I haven't made up my mind. Will you collar me?"
Her question surprises me. "You have been doing your research. I don't know, Anastasia. I've never collared anyone."
"Were you collared?" she asks.
"Yes."
"By Mrs. Robinson?"
"Mrs. Robinson?" I laugh out loud. Anne Bancroft in The Graduate. "I'll tell her you said that; she'll love it."
"You still talk to her regularly?" Her voice is high-pitched with shock and indignation.
"Yes." Why's that such a big deal?
"I see." Now her voice is clipped. She's mad? Why? I don't understand. "So you have someone you can discuss your alternative lifestyle with, but I'm not allowed." Her tone is petulant, but once again she's calling me out on my shit.
"I don't think I've ever thought about it like that. Mrs. Robinson is part of that lifestyle. I told you, she's a good friend now. If you'd like, I can introduce you to one of my former subs. You could talk to her."
"Is this your idea of a joke?" she demands.
"No, Anastasia." I'm surprised by her vehemence and shake my head to reinforce my denial. It's perfectly normal for a submissive to check with exes that their new Dominant knows what he's doing.
"No--I'll do this on my own, thank you very much," she insists, and reaches for her comforter and quilt, pulling them up to her chin.
What? She's upset?
"Anastasia, I...I didn't mean to offend you."
"I'm not offended. I'm appalled."
"Appalled?"
"I don't want to talk to one of your ex-girlfriends, slave, sub, whatever you call them."
Oh.
"Anastasia Steele, are you jealous?" I sound bewildered...because I am. She flushes beet red, and I know I've found the root of her problem. How the hell can she be jealous?
Sweetheart, I had a life before you.
A very active life.
"Are you staying?" she snaps.
What? Of course not. "I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow at The Heathman. Besides, I told you, I don't sleep with girlfriends, slaves, subs, or anyone. Friday and Saturday were exceptions. It won't happen again."
She presses her lips together with her stubborn expression. "Well, I'm tired now," she says.
Fuck.
"Are you kicking me out?"
This is not how this is supposed to go.
"Yes."
What the hell?
Disarmed again, by Miss Steele. "Well, that's another first," I mutter.
Kicked out. I can't believe it.
"So nothing you want to discuss now? About the contract?" I ask, as an excuse to prolong my stay.
"No," she grunts. Her petulance is irritating, and were she truly mine, it would not be tolerated.
"God, I'd like to give you a good hiding. You'd feel a lot better, and so would I," I tell her.
"You can't say things like that. I haven't signed anything yet." Her eyes flash with defiance.
Oh, baby, I can say it. I just can't do it. Not until you let me. "A man can dream, Anastasia. Wednesday?" I still want this. Why, though, I don't know; she's so difficult. I give her a brief kiss.
"Wednesday," she agrees, and I'm relieved once again. "I'll see you out," she adds, her tone softer. "If you give me a minute." She pushes me off the bed and pulls on her T-shirt. "Please pass me my sweatpants," she orders, pointing to them.
Wow. Miss Steele can be a bossy little thing.
"Yes, ma'am," I quip, knowing that she won't get the reference. But she narrows her eyes. She knows I'm making fun of her, but she says nothing as she slips her pants on.
Feeling a little bemused at the prospect of being tossed out onto the street, I follow her through the living room to the front door.
When was the last time
this happened?
Never.
She opens the door, but she's staring down at her hands.
What is going on here?
"You okay?" I ask, and brush her lower lip with my thumb. Perhaps she doesn't want me to go--or perhaps she can't wait for me to leave?
"Yes," she says, her tone soft and subdued. I'm not sure I believe her.
"Wednesday," I remind her. I'll see her then. Bending down, I kiss her, and she closes her eyes. And I don't want to go. Not with her uncertainty on my mind. I hold her head and deepen the kiss and she responds, surrendering her mouth to me.
Oh, baby, don't give up on me. Give it a try.
She grasps my arms, kissing me back, and I don't want to stop. She's intoxicating and the darkness is quiet, calmed by the young woman in front of me. Reluctantly, I pull back and lean my forehead against hers.
She's breathless, like me. "Anastasia, what are you doing to me?"
"I could say the same to you," she whispers.
I know I have to leave. She has me in a tailspin, and I don't know why. I kiss her forehead and walk down the path toward the R8. She stands watching me from the doorway. She hasn't gone in. I smile, pleased that she's still watching as I climb into the car.
When I look back, she's gone.
Shit. What just happened? No wave good-bye?
I start the car and begin the drive back to Portland, analyzing what's taken place between us.
She emailed me.
I went to her.
We fucked.
She threw me out before I was ready to leave.
For the first time--well, maybe not the first time--I feel a little used, for sex. It's a disturbing feeling that reminds me of my time with Elena.
Hell! Miss Steele is topping from the bottom, and she doesn't even know it. And fool that I am, I'm letting her.
I have to turn this around. This soft-sell approach is messing with my head.
But I want her. I need her to sign.
Is it just the chase? Is that what's turning me on? Or is it her?
Fuck, I don't know. But I hope to find out more on Wednesday. And on a positive note, that was one hell of a nice way to spend an evening. I smirk in the rearview mirror and pull into the garage at the hotel.
When I'm back in my room I sit down at my laptop.
Focus on what you want, where you want to be. Isn't that what Flynn is always harassing me about, his solution-based shit?
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: This Evening
Date: May 23 2011 23:16
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele,
I look forward to receiving your notes on the contract.
Until then, sleep well, baby.