"You have interviews?" Dad asks Ana.
"Yes, for internships at two publishers, tomorrow."
When was she going to tell me this? I'm here with her for two minutes and I'm finding out details of her life that I should know!
"I wish you the best of luck," Carrick says to her with a kind smile.
"Dinner is ready," Grace calls from across the hall.
I let the others exit the room but grab Ana's elbow before she can follow.
"When were you going to tell me you were leaving?" My temper is rapidly unraveling.
"I'm not leaving. I'm going to see my mother. And I was only thinking about it." Ana dismisses me, as if I'm a child.
"What about our arrangement?"
"We don't have an arrangement yet."
But....
I lead us through the living room door and into the hallway. "This conversation is not over," I warn as we enter the dining room.
Mom has gone all out--best china, best crystal--for Ana's and Kavanagh's benefit. I hold out a chair for Ana; she sits down and I take a seat beside her. Mia beams at both of us from across the table. "Where did you meet Ana?" Mia asks.
"She interviewed me for the WSU student newspaper."
"Which Kate edits," Ana interjects.
"I want to be a journalist," Kate tells Mia.
My father offers Ana some wine while Mia and Kate discuss journalism. Kavanagh has an internship at the Seattle Times, no doubt set up for her by her father.
From the corner of my eye I notice that Ana's studying me.
"What?" I ask.
"Please don't be mad at me," she says, so low that only I can hear.
"I'm not mad at you," I lie.
Her eyes narrow, and it's obvious she doesn't believe me.
"Yes, I am mad at you," I confess. And now I feel like I'm overreacting. I close my eyes.
Get a grip, Grey.
"Palm-twitchingly mad?" she whispers.
"What are you two whispering about?" Kavanagh interrupts.
Good God! Is she always like this? So intrusive? How the hell does Elliot put up with her? I glower at her, and she has the sense to back off.
"Just about my trip to Georgia," Ana says, with sweetness and charm.
Kate smirks. "How was Jose when you went to the bar with him on Friday?" she asks, with a brash look in my direction.
What. The. Fuck. Is. This?
Ana tenses beside me.
"He was fine," she says quietly.
"Palm-twitchingly mad," I whisper to her. "Especially now."
So she went to a bar with the guy who was trying to ram his tongue down her throat the last time I saw him. And she'd already agreed to be mine. Sneaking off to a bar with another man? And without my permission...
She deserves to be punished.
Around me, dinner is being served.
I've agreed not to go too hard on her...maybe I should use a flogger. Or maybe I should administer a straightforward spanking, harder than the last one. Here, tonight.
Yes. That has possibilities.
Ana's looking down at her fingers. Kate, Elliot, and Mia are in a conversation about French cooking, and Dad returns to the table. Where's he been?
"Call for you, darling. It's the hospital," he says to Grace.
"Please start, everyone," Mom says, passing a plate of food to Ana.
Smells good.
Ana licks her lips and the action resonates in my groin. She must be starving. Good. That's something.
Mom has surpassed herself: chorizo, scallops, peppers. Nice. And I realize that I, too, am hungry. That can't be helping my mood. But I brighten watching Ana eat.
Grace returns, looking worried. "Everything okay?" Dad asks, and we all look up at her.
"Another measles case." Grace sighs heavily.
"Oh no," Dad says.
"Yes, a child. The fourth case this month. If only people would get their kids vaccinated." Grace shakes her head. "I'm so glad our children never went through that. They never caught anything worse than chicken pox, thank goodness. Poor Elliot." We all look at Elliot, who stops eating, mid-chew, mouth stuffed full, bovine. He's uncomfortable being the center of attention.
Kavanagh gives Grace a questioning look.
"Christian and Mia were lucky," Grace explains. "They got it so mildly, only a spot to share between them."
Oh, give it a rest, Mom.
"So, did you catch the Mariners game, Dad?" Elliot's clearly keen to move the conversation on, as am I.
"I can't believe they beat the Yankees," Carrick says.
"Did you watch the game, hotshot?" Elliot asks me.
"No. But I read the sports column."
"The M's are going places. Nine games won out of the last eleven, gives me hope." Dad sounds excited.
"They're certainly having a better season than 2010," I add.
"Gutierrez in center field was awesome. That catch! Wow." Elliot throws up his arms. Kavanagh fawns over him like a lovesick fool.
"How are you settling into your new apartment, dear?" Grace asks Ana.
"We've only been there one night, and I still have to unpack, but I love that it's so central--and a short walk to Pike Place, and near the water."
"Oh, so you're close to Christian, then," Grace remarks.
Mom's helper starts to clear the table. I still can't remember her name. She's Swiss, or Austrian or something, and she doesn't stop simpering and batting eyelashes at me.
"Have you been to Paris, Ana?" Mia asks.
"No, but I'd love to go."
"We honeymooned in Paris," Mom says. She and Dad exchange a look across the table, which frankly I'd prefer not to see. They obviously had a good time.
"It's a beautiful city, in spite of the Parisians. Christian, you should take Ana to Paris!" Mia exclaims.
"I think Anastasia would prefer London," I respond to my sister's ridiculous suggestion. Placing my hand on Ana's knee, I explore her thigh at a leisurely pace, her dress riding up as my fingers follow. I want to touch her; stroke her where her panties should be. As my cock rouses in anticipation I suppress a groan and shuffle in my seat.
She jerks away from me as if to cross her legs, and I close my hand around her thigh.
Don't you dare!
Ana takes a sip of wine, not taking her eyes off my mother's housekeeper, who is serving our entrees.
"So what was wrong with the Parisians? Didn't they take to your winsome ways?" Elliot teases Mia.
"Ugh, no, they didn't. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant."
Ana chokes on her wine.
"Anastasia, are you okay?" I ask, and release her thigh.
She nods, her cheeks red, and I pat her back and gently caress her neck. Domineering tyrant? Am I? The thought amuses me. Mia shoots me a look of approval at my public display of affection.
Mom has cooked her signature dish, Beef Wellington, a recipe she picked up in London. I have to say it ranks close to yesterday's buttermilk fried chicken. In spite of her choking episode, Ana tucks into her meal and it's so good to see her eat. She's probably hungry after our energetic afternoon. I take a sip of my wine as I contemplate other ways to make her hungry.
Mia and Kavanagh are discussing the relative merits of St. Bart's vs. Barbados, where the Kavanagh family will be staying.
"Remember Elliot and the jellyfish?" Mia's eyes shine with mirth as she looks from Elliot to me.
I chuckle. "Screaming like a girl? Yeah."
"Hey, that could have been a Portuguese man-of-war! I hate jellyfish. They ruin everything." Elliot is emphatic. Mia and Kate burst into giggles, nodding in agreement.
Ana is eating heartily and listening to the banter. Everyone else has calmed down, and my family is being less weird. Why am I so tense? This happens every day all across the country, families gathering to enjoy good food and each other's company. Am I tense because I have Ana here? Am I worried they won't like her, or that she won
't like them? Or is it because she's fucking off to Georgia tomorrow, and I knew nothing about that?
It's confusing.
Mia takes center stage as usual. Her tales of French life and French cooking are entertaining. "Oh, Mom, les patisseries sont tout simplement fabuleuses. La tarte aux pommes de M. Floubert est incroyable," she says.
"Mia, cherie, tu parles francais," I interrupt her. "Nous parlons anglais ici. Eh bien, a l'exception bien sur d'Elliot. Il parle idiote, couramment."
Mia throws her head back with a bellowing laugh, and it's impossible not to join her.
But by the end of dinner the tension is really wearing me down. I want to be alone with my girl. I've only so much tolerance for inane chatter, even if it's with my family, and I've reached my limit. I peer down at Ana, then reach over and tug her chin. "Don't bite your lip. I want to do that."
I also have to establish a few ground rules. We need to discuss her impromptu trip to Georgia and going out for drinks with men who are infatuated with her. I put my hand on Ana's knee again; I need to touch her. Besides, she should accept my touch, whenever I want to touch her. I gauge her reaction as my fingers travel up her thigh toward her panty-free zone, teasing her skin. Her breath catches and she squeezes her thighs together, blocking my fingers, stopping me.
That's it.
I have to excuse us from the dinner table. "Shall I give you a tour of the grounds?" I ask Ana, and I don't give her a chance to answer. Her eyes are luminous and serious as she places her hand in mine.
"Excuse me," she says to Carrick, and I lead her out of the dining room.
In the kitchen Mia and Mom are clearing up. "I'm going to show Anastasia the backyard," I announce to my mother, pretending to be cheerful.
Outside, my mood plunges south as my anger surfaces.
Panties. The photographer. Georgia.
We cross the terrace and climb the steps to the lawn. Ana pauses for a moment to admire the view.
Yeah, yeah. Seattle. Lights. Moon. Water.
I continue across the vast lawn toward my parents' boathouse.
"Stop, please," Ana pleads.
I do, and glare at her.
"My heels. I need to take my shoes off."
"Don't bother," I growl, and lift her quickly over my shoulder. She squeals in surprise.
Hell. I smack her ass, hard. "Keep your voice down!" I snap, and stride across the lawn.
"Where are we going?" she wails as she bounces on my shoulder.
"Boathouse."
"Why?"
"I need to be alone with you."
"What for?"
"Because I'm going to spank and then fuck you."
"Why?" she whines.
"You know why," I snap.
"I thought you were an in-the-moment guy?"
"Anastasia, I'm in the moment, trust me."
Throwing open the boathouse door, I step inside and switch on the light. As the fluorescents ping to life I head upstairs to the snug. There I flip another switch, and halogens illuminate the room.
I slide Ana down my body, glorying in the feel of her, and I set her on her feet. Her hair is dark and untamed, her eyes shining in the glow of the lights, and I know she's not wearing her panties. I want her. Now.
"Please don't hit me," she whispers.
I don't understand. I stare down at her blankly.
"I don't want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don't."
But...I gape at her, paralyzed. That's why we're here. She lifts her hand, and for a moment I don't know what she's going to do. The darkness stirs and twists around my throat, threatening to choke me if she touches me. But she places her fingers on my cheek and gently skims them down to my chin. The darkness melts into oblivion and I close my eyes, feeling her gentle fingertips on me. With her other hand she ruffles my hair, running her fingers through it.
"Ah," I moan, and I don't know if it's from fear or longing. I'm breathless, standing on a precipice. When I open my eyes, she steps forward so her body is flush against mine. She fists both hands in my hair and tugs gently, raising her lips to mine. And I'm watching her do this, like a bystander, not present in my body. I'm a spectator. Our lips touch and I close my eyes as she forces her tongue into my mouth. And it's the sound of my groan that breaks the spell she's cast.
Ana.
I wrap my arms around her, kissing her back, releasing two hours of anxiety and tension into our kiss, my tongue possessing her, reconnecting with her. My hands grip her hair and I savor her taste, her tongue, her frame against mine as my body ignites like gasoline.
Fuck.
When I pull away we're both dragging air into our lungs, her hands clutching my arms. I'm confused. I wanted to spank her. But she's said no. Like she did at the dinner table. "What are you doing to me?" I ask.
"Kissing you."
"You said no."
"What?" She's bewildered, or maybe she's forgotten what happened.
"At the dinner table, with your legs."
"But we were at your parents' dining table."
"No one's ever said no to me before. And it's so--hot." And different. I slide my hand around her backside and jolt her against me, trying to regain control.
"You're mad and turned on because I said no?" Her voice is throaty.
"I'm mad because you never mentioned Georgia to me. I'm mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk, and who left you when you were ill with an almost complete stranger. What kind of friend does that? And I'm mad and aroused because you closed your legs on me."
And you're not wearing panties.
My fingers inch her dress up her legs. "I want you, and I want you now. And if you're not going to let me spank you--which you deserve--I'm going to fuck you on the couch, this minute, quickly--for my pleasure, not yours."
Holding her against me, I see that she's panting as I slip my hand through her pubic hair and slide my middle finger inside her. I hear a low, sexy hum of appreciation in her throat. She's so ready.
"This is mine. All mine. Do you understand?" I slip my finger in and out of her, holding her, as her lips part with shock and desire.
"Yes, yours," she whispers.
Yes. Mine. And I won't let you forget it, Ana.
I push her down onto the couch, unzip my fly, and lie down on top of her, pinning her beneath me. "Hands on your head," I growl through clenched teeth. I kneel up and spread my knees, forcing her legs wider. From the inside pocket of my jacket I take out a condom, then discard my jacket on the floor. With my eyes on hers I open the packet and roll it down my eager dick. Ana places her hands on her head, watching me, her eyes glinting with need. As I crawl over her she's squirming beneath me, her hips rising to tease and greet me.
"We don't have long. This will be quick, and it's for me, not you. Do you understand? Don't come, or I will spank you," I order, focusing on her dazed wide eyes, and with a swift, hard move I bury myself inside her. She calls out in a welcome and familiar cry of pleasure. I hold her down so she can't move, and I start to fuck her, consuming her. But greedily she tilts her pelvis, meeting me thrust for thrust, spurring me on.
Oh, Ana. Yes, baby.
She gives it back to me, matching my fervent pace, over and over.
Oh, the feel of her.
And I'm lost. In her. In this. In her scent. And I don't know if it's because I'm mad or tense or...
Yessss. I come quickly, losing all reason as I explode inside her. I still. Filling her. Owning her. Reminding her that she's mine.
Fuck.
That was...
I pull out of her and kneel up.
"Don't touch yourself." My voice is hoarse and breathless. "I want you frustrated. That's what you do to me by not talking to me, by denying me what's mine."
She nods, sprawled out beneath me, her dress bunched up around her waist so I can see she's wide and wet and wanting, and looking every bit the goddess that she is. I stand up, remove the wretched condom and knot it
, then dress, picking up my jacket from the floor.
I take a deep breath. I'm calmer now. Much calmer.
Fuck, that was good.
"We'd better get back to the house."
She sits up, staring at me with dark, inscrutable eyes.
Lord, she's lovely.
"Here. You may put these on." From my jacket pocket I fish out her lacy panties and pass them to her. I think she's trying not to laugh.
Yeah, yeah. Game, set, and match to you, Miss Steele.
"Christian!" Mia yells from the floor below.
Shit.
"Just in time. Christ, she can be really irritating." But that's my little sister. Alarmed, I glance at Ana as she slips on her underwear. She scowls at me as she stands to straighten her dress and fixes her hair with her fingers.
"Up here, Mia," I call. "Well, Miss Steele, I feel better for that--but I still want to spank you."
"I don't believe I deserve it, Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack." She is crisp and formal.
"Unprovoked? You kissed me."
"It was attack as the best form of defense."
"Defense against what?"
"You and your twitchy palm." She's trying to suppress a smile.
Mia's high heels rattle up the stairs.
"But it was tolerable?" I ask.
Ana smirks. "Barely."
"Oh, there you are!" Mia exclaims, beaming at the two of us. Two minutes earlier and this could have been really awkward.
"I was showing Anastasia around." I hold out my hand to Ana and she takes it. I want to kiss her knuckles, but I settle for a soft squeeze.
"Kate and Elliot are about to leave. Can you believe those two? They can't keep their hands off each other." Mia wrinkles her nose in distaste. "What have you been doing in here?"
"Showing Anastasia my rowing trophies." With my free hand I wave toward the faux-precious-metal statuettes from my sculling days at Harvard arranged on shelves at the end of the room. "Let's go say good-bye to Kate and Elliot."
Mia turns to go and I let Ana precede me, but before we get to the stairs I smack her behind.
She smothers her yelp.
"I will do it again, Anastasia, and soon," I whisper in her ear, and folding her into my arms, I kiss her hair.
We walk hand in hand across the lawn back to the house while Mia gabbles beside us. It's a beautiful evening; it's been a beautiful day. I'm glad Ana's met my family.
Why haven't I done this before?
Because I've never wanted to.
I squeeze Ana's hand, and she gives me a shy look and an oh-so-sweet smile. In my other hand I hold her shoes, and at the stone steps I bend down to fasten each of her sandals in turn.