squirm as my fear collid in i * nenl ol I mki iwn He smacks me
once more, lower, so he hits my sex. I groan. It feels ... so good.
"'Keep still," he says. "And don't let go."
"Ah."
"This is lube." He spreads some more on me. 1 try not to wriggle beneath
him, but my heart is pounding, my pulse haywire, as desire and anxiety pump
through me.
! groan. And 1 loci something cook mctallicalK cook run down my spine.
"I have a small present for you here." C hrislian whispers.
An image from our show-and-tell springs to mind. Holy cow. A butt plug.
"Ready?" he whispers.
Ready? Am I ready for this?
"Yes," I mutter quietly, my mouth dry. He runs another finger down past my
ss and perineum and slips it inside me. Fuck, it's his thumb. He cups my sex and
is fingers gently caress my clitoris. I moan ... it feels . . . good. And gently,
hi le his lingers n I llu il irk th magic, he pi In ll Id plug slowly into
"Ah!" I groan loudU al the iinl'amiliai sensation, my muscles protesting al the
intrusion. He circles his thumb inside me and pushes the plug harder, and it slips
in easily, and I don't know if it's because I'm so turned on or if he's distracted me
with his expert fingers, but my body seems to accept it. It's heavy . . . and
"Oh, baby."
And I can feel it . . . where his thumb swirls inside me . . . and the plug
presses against ... oh, ah ... He slowly twists the plug, eliciting a long drawn-out
"Christian," I mumble, his name a garbled mantra, as I adjust to the
"Good girl." he murmurs. I le tun-, his free hand down m> side until it reaches
my hip. Slowly he withdraws his thumb, and I hear the telltale sound of his zipper
opening. Grasping my other hip, he pulls me back and parts my legs further, his
foot pushing against mine. "Don't let go of the table, Ana," he warns.
"No," I gasp.
"Something rough? Tell me if I'm too rough. Understand?"
"Yes," I whisper, and he slams into me and pulls me onto him at the same
time, jolting the plug forward, deeper . . .
He stills, his breathing harsher and m panting matches las. 1 try to assimilate
all the sensations: the delicious fullness, the tantalizing feeling that I am doing
something forbidden, the erotic pleasure that spirals outward from deep within
me. I le pulls gently on the plug.
Oh jeez ... I moan, and I hear his sharp intake of breath — a gasp of pure,
unadulterated pleasure. It heats my blood. Have I ever felt so wanton . . . so —
""Again'.'" he whispers.
"Yes."
" Stay lint." he orders. He eases out of me and rams into mc again.
Oh . . . I wanted this. "Yes," I hiss.
And he picks up lite pace, his breathing more labored, matching my own as
he thrashes into mc.
"Oh. Ana.'" he gasps, lie moves one of his hands from my hips and twists the
plu i un In in lowly, pulling it out i el in The feeling is
indescribable, and I think I'm going to pass out on the table. He never misses a
beat as he takes inc. agam and again, mining strong and hard inside mc, my in-
sides lightening! and qiiiering.
"Oh fuck," 1 moan. This is going to rip mc apart.
"Yes, baby," he hisses.
"Please," I beg him and I don't know what for — to stop, to never stop, to
in is! the plug again. M> inside-, are lightening around him and ihe plug.
"That's right," he breathes, and he slaps me hard on my right buttock, and I
come — again and again, falling, falling, spinning, pulsing around and
around — and Christian gently pulls the plug out.
"Fuck!" I scream and Christian grab- my hips and climaxes loudly, holding
mc still.
The woman is still s i ing. Christian al pi n i icat in here. Strange.
against his chest. We're on the floor of the playroom by the table.
"Welcome back I ling the blin fold off me. I blink as my eyes
adjust to the muted light. Tipping my chin back, he plants a soft kiss on my lips,
his eyes focused on and anxiously searching mine. I reach up to caress his face.
"Well, did 1 fulfill the brief.'" he asks, amused.
"You wanted rough," he says gently.
He raises his eyebrows and grins back at me. "I'm very glad to hear it Mrs.
caresses my face, his long fingers stroking my cheek.
He reaches down and kisses me tender!;., his lips soft and warm and giving
against mine. "You never disappoint." He leans back to gaze down at me. "How
do you feel?" His voice is soft with concern.
"Good," I murmur, feeling a flush creep across my face. "Thoroughly well
fucked." I smile shyly.
"Why. Mrs. Grey, you luue a dirty, dirty mouth." C hrislian feigns an ol'fen-
ded expression, but I can hear his amusement.
"Thai's because I'm married to a dirty, dirty boy, Mr. Grey."
He grins a ridiculously slnpid grin and it's infections. "I'm glad you're mar-
ried to him." He gently takes hold of my braid, lifts it to his lips, and kisses lire
end with reverence, his eyes glowing with love. Oh my . . . did I ever have a
chance of resisting this man?
1 reach for his loll hand and plan: a kiss on his wedding ring, a plain platinum
band matching my own. "Mine," I whisper.
"Yours," he responds, lie curl , Ins arms around me rani presses his nose into
my hair. "Shall I run you a bath?"
"Hmm. Only if you join me in it."
"Okay." he says. He sets me onto my feet and stands up beside me. He's still
"Will you wear your . . . er . . . other jeans?"
He frowns down at mc. "Other jeans?"
"The ones you used to wear in here."
rho cm he murmurs b inl d rplcxcd si ri i
"You look very hot in them."
"Do I?"
"Yeah ... I mean, really hoi."
He smiles, shyly. "Well for you, Mrs. Grey, maybe I will." He bends to kiss
mc then grabs the sn d I on the I e thai i i in I utt plug, the tube of
lubricant, the blindfold, and my panties.
"Who cleans these toys?" I ask as 1 follow him over to the chest.
He frowns at me, as if not understanding the question. "Me. Mrs. Jones."
"What?"
He nods, amused and embarrassed, I think. He switches off the music.
"Well— um . . ."
"Your subs used to do it?" 1 finish his sentence. He gives me an apologetic
"Here." He hands me his shirt and I put it on, wrapping it around myself. His
scent still clings lo the linen, and m> chagrin aboul bull plug washing is forgotten.
He leaves the items on die chest, faking m> hand, he unlocks the playroom door
ihen leads mc out and dow nslairs. I follow him meekly.
The anxiety, the bad mood, the ihrill. fear, and cxcilcnicnl of die car chase
have all gone. I'm relaxed — finally sated and calm. As we enter our bathroom, I
yawn loudly and stretch ... at ease with myself for a change.
"What is it?"' Christian asks as he turns on the faucet.
I shake my head.
"Tell me," he asks softly. He spills jasmine bath oil into the running water,
lilling die room with its sweet, sensual scent.
I flush. "I just feel better."
He smiles. "Yes, you've been in a strange mood today, Mrs. Grey ." Standing,
he pulls me into his arms. "I know you're worrying about these recent events. I'm
sorry you're caught up in them. I don't know if it's a vendetta, an ex-cmploycc, or
a business rival. If anything were to happen to you because of me — " His voice
drops to a pained whisper. I curl my arms around him.
"What if something happens to you. < hristian?" I voice my fear.
He gazes down at me. "We'll figure this out. Now let's get you out of this
"Shouldn't you talk to Sawyer?"
"lie can wail." 1 1 i i! 1 i i i nd I 1 I i udden | nig lit) o Sa
ycr. What's he done to upset Christian?
I ill es Iron loc li iemeduri ur honeymoon, but
I decide not to tease him about them.
"I wonder if Ryan has caught up with the Dodge?"
"We'll see, after this bath. Get in." He holds his hand out for me. I climb into
"Ow." My ass is lender, and the hot v ater makes me v. ince.
"hasy. baby ." C hristian warns, bill as he says it. the uncomfortable sensation
melts away.
Christian strips and climbs in behind me. pulling me against his chest. I nestle
between his legs, ami we lie idle and content in the hot water. I run my fingers
down his legs, and gathering my braid in one hand, he 1 iris il gently belw ecu his
"We need to go over the plans for the new house. Later this evening?"
"Sure." That woman is coming back again. My subconscious gazes up from
volume 3 of Tht Complete I < >/ nil I'm with m
subcon cious I sigli i i I i I i hill in i hieithtaking.
" I must get my things ready for work," I whisper.
He stills. "You know you don't have to go back to work," he murmurs.
Oh no . . . not this again. "Christian, we've been through this. Please don't re-
surrect that argument."
He tugs my braid so my face tilts up and back. "Just saying . . ." He plants a
sol'l kiss .in my lips.
I pull on sweat p ml I ! ihcs tiom the play-
room. As I make my way across ihe hallw ay. I hear Christian's raised voice from
his study. I freeze.
"Where the fuck were you?"
Oh shi/. He's shouting at Sawyer. Cringing. ! dash upstairs 10 the playroom 1
really don't want to hear what he has to say to him — I still find shouty Christian
i n i I t h 1 back.
I gather up my clothes ami C hristian's shoes, then notice the small porcelain
bowl with the butt plug still on top of the museum chest. Well . . . I suppose I
should clean it I add il i ] i in i i downstairs I glance
i i! i 'inii t i lli 1. Thank heavens.
Taylor will be back tomorrow evening, and Christian is generally calmer
when he's around. Taylor is spending some quality lime today and tomorrow with
his daughter. 1 wonder idly if I'll ever get to meet her.
"Mrs. Grey — I didn't see you there." Oh, I'm Mrs, Grey ;;orv.'"Hcllo, Mrs.
"W elcome home and congratulations." She smiles.
"Mr-. Grey. 1 wouldn'l I'eel comfortable doing that."
Oh! Why must everything change just because I have a ring on my finger?
"Would you hi I i I 1 i 1 1 I in il
me expectantly.
"L in . . ."' Tins is not a question ! h;i e c er anticipated being asked.
She smiles. "When i first wotked for Mr. Grey, every Sunday evening 1
would ran through the menus Cor die upcoming week with him and list anything
he might need from the grocery store."
"Shall I take those for you?"
She holds out her hands for my clothes.
"'Oil . . . urn. Actually 1 liacn'l finished with these." And they arc hilling the
bowl with the butt plug in! I turn crimson. It's a wonder I can look Mrs. Jones in
the eye. She knows what we do — she cleans the room. Jeez, it's just weird having
"When you're ready, Mrs. Grey. I'd be more than happy to ran through
things with you."
"Thank you s i u i| I si ci who stalks out of
Christian's sludy and briskly crosses the great room, ile gives us holli a brief nod.
not looking cither of us in the eye, and slinks into Taylor's study. I'm grateful for
his intervention as I don't wish to discuss menus or butt plugs with Mrs. Jones
right now. Offering her a brief smile, I scurry back to the bedroom. Will I ever get
used to having domestic staff at my beck and call? I shake my head . . . one day,
maybe.
ous enough, and surprisingly clean. I don't want to dwell on that, and I wash it
quickly wu!i soap and water. Will t licit be enough? Til ltac to ash Mr. Scxpetl it
u should be sterilized or something. I shuddci at the thought.
I like that Christian has turned the library over to me. It now houses an attractive
white wooden desk I can work at. 1 take out my laptop and check my notes on the
li c manuscripts I read on honeymoon.
Yep, I have everything I need. Part of me dreads going back to work, but I
can never tell Christian that. He'd seize on the opportunity to make me quit. I re-
member Roach's apoplec . reaction w hen I loli I'm I- it- gelling married and lo
whom, and how. shortly afterward, my position was confirmed. I realize now il
was because I was marrying the boss. The thought is unwelcome. I am no longer
acting commissioning editor — I am Anastasia Steele, Commissioning Editor.
1 haven't yet plucked up the courage to tell Christian that I am not going to
change my name at work. I think my reasons are solid. I need some distance from
him. hut i know there will be a light when he finally realizes that. Perhaps 1
should discuss this with him tonight.
Sitting back in my chair, I start my final chore of the day. I glance at the di-
i I i it 1 i i i i i i i siting Christian still
hasn't emerged from his study, so 1 ha e lime. Taking the memory card out of the
Nikon camera, 1 load it into the laptop to transfer the photographs. As the pictures
upload, 1 reflect on the day. Is Ryan back? Or is he still on his way to Portland?
Has he caught up v t I i i I man? 1 1 il lian I nd liom him? I want
some answers. I don't care thai lie's bus_ : i want to know w hat's going on, and I
suddenly feel a tad resentful that lie's keeping me in die dark. I rise, intending to
our honeymoon pop up onscreen.
Holy crap!
Picture after picture of me. Asleep, so many of me asleep, my hair over my
haven't sucked my thumb for years! So many photos. I had no idea he'd taken
these. There arc r le i i t h i I leaning over the rail
this? I smile at the photos of me curled up beneath him and laughing — my hair
of him and me on the bed in the master cabin that he took at arm's length. I am
cuddled on his chesi nd he i t niera. >out c love.
His other hand cups my head, and I am smiling like a love-struck fool, but I can-
not take my eyes off Christian. Oh, my beautiful man, his ruffled just-fucked hair,
his gray eyes glowing, his lips parted and smiling. M beautiful man who cannot
bear to be tickled, who could not bear to be touched just a short while ago, yet
now he tolerates my touch. I must ask him if he likes it, or whether he lets me
1 frown gazing ( n at his in oil in lined b my feelings foi
hint. Someone out there w ants lo harm hull first Charlie Tango, then the fire at
GEH, and that damned car chase. ! gasp, pulling m hand U> my mouth as an in-
voluntary sob escapes. Abandoning my computer, I leap up to find him — not to
confront him now — just to check that he's safe.
Not bothering to knock. 1 barge into las study. < hi islian is sitting at his desk
and talking on the phone. He looks up in surprised annoyance, but the irritation on
his face disappears when he sees it's me.
"So you can't enhance it further?" he says, continuing his phone conversa-
tion, though he doesn't take his eyes oil me. ithoul hesitation, I walk around his
desk, and he turns in his chair to face me, frowning. I can tell he's thinking rluu
does she want? Who I i mo his lap. hi 11 s sh t up in surprise. I put
my arms around his i Idle ii 1. < rly. h puts his arm around
"Um . . . yes, Barney. Could you hold one moment?" He cups the phone
against his shoulder.
"Ana, what's wrong?"
I shake my head. Tipping my chin up, he gazes into my eyes. I pull my head
free from his hold, tuck it beneath his chin, and curl up smaller on his lap.
Bemused, he wraps hi c 1111 ii 1 1 t 111 e 1 kisses the top of my
"Okay, Barney, what were you saying?" He continues, wedging the phone
between his ear and his shoulder, and taps a key on his laptop. A grainy black ami
white CCTV image appears on the screen. A man with dark hair wearing pale
coveralls comes on the screen. Christian presses another key. and the man walks
toward the camcn lull 11 s closer to the cam-
era. Christian freezes the frame, lie's standing ii; a bright v. hile room with what
looks like a long line 1 1 si id ibinel ol .1 khis must be GEH's server
"Okay Barney, one more time."
The creen sprii II I 1 1 I of the man in the
CCTV footage and suddenly wc zoom in. I sit up, fascinated.
"Is Barney doing this?" I ask quietly.
"Yes," Christian answers. "Can you sharpen the picture at all?" he says to
The picture blurs, then rel'oeuses moderately sharper of the man conscious!)
gazing down and avoiding the CCTV camera. As 1 stare at him, a chill of
recognition sweeps up my spine. There is something familiar in the line of his
jaw. He has scruffy short black hair that looks odd and unkempt . . . and in the
newly sharpened picture, I see an earring, a small hoop.
Holy crap! I know who it is.
"Christian," I whisper. "That's Jack Hyde."
Chapter Seven
"You think?" Christian asks, surprised.
"It's the line of his jaw." I point at the screen. "And the earrings and the
shape of his shoulders. He's the right build, too. He must be wearing a w ig or
he's cut and dyed his hair."
""Barney, arc you getting this?" Christian puts the phone down on his desk
and switches to hands-free. "You seem to have studied your ex-boss in some de-
tail, Mrs. Grey," he murmur*, .minding none loo pleased. I scowl at him, but I'm
saved by Barney.
"Yes, sir. I heard Mrs. Grey. I'm running face recognition software on all the
digitized CCTV footage right now. See where else this asshole — I'm sorry
ma'am this man has been w ithin the organization."
1 _1 niee in.i( I t' i iii ill pletrve He's study-
ing the CCTV picture closely.
"Why would he do this?" I ask Christian.
He shrugs. "Revenge, perhaps. I don't know. You can't fathom why some
people behave the way they do. I'm just angry that you ever worked so closely
with him." Christian's month presses into a hard, thin line and he encircles my
"We have the con I it ird nis loo sh Barney adds.
"Yes, I remember. Do you have an address for Mr. Hyde?" Christian savs
^Yes, sir, I do."
"Alert Welch."
"Sure will. I'm also going to scan the city CCTV and sec if I can track his
"Sir."
Christian nods and gives me a smug smile.
Christian's face burdens and lie shakes bis head. "Nothing much," he says,
tight-lipped, bis smile forgotten.
"Was it about you, or me?"
"Me." He sighs.
"What sort of things? About your lifestyle?"
Christian shakes his head and puis his index linger against my lips to silence
me. I scowl at him. But he narrows his eyes, and it's a clear warning that I should
hold my tongue.
"It's a 2006 Camaro. I'll send the license details to Welch, too," Barney says
excitedly from the phone.
"Good. Let me know where else that tucker has been in my building. And
check this image against the one from his SIP personnel file." Christian gazes at
me skeptically. "1 want to be sure we have a match."
"Already done, sir, and Mrs. Grey is correct. This is Jack Hyde."
! gnu Sec'.' 1 can be useful. C hrislian rubs, his hand down my back.
"Well done. Mrs. drey." lie smiles and his earlier rancor forgollen. To Bar-
ney he says, "Let me know w hen you" e tracked all his mm entente at HQ. Also
check out any other GEH property he may have had access to, and let the security
teams know so they can make another sweep oi'all those buildings."
"Sir."
"Thanks, Barney." Christian hangs up.
"Well, Mrs. Grey, it seems that you are not only decorative, but useful, too."
Christian's eyes light up with wicked amusement. I know he's teasing.
"Very he says qui I I tss on my lips.
"You're much more decorative than I am, Mr. Grey."
He grins and kisses me more forcefully, winding my braid around his wrist
""Hungry?" he asks.
"No."
"I am."
"What for?"
"We!! food actually. Mrs. Grey "
"I'll make you something." 1 giggle.
"Of me offering you food?"
"You giggl . I lei s ty hair then I stand.
"So what would you like to eat, Sir?" 1 ask sweetly.
He narrows his eyes. "Are you being cute, Mrs. Grey?"
"Always, Mr. Grey . . . Sir."
He smiles a spltinxlike smile. "I can still ptil you over my knee."' he murmurs
seductively.
"1 know." I grin. Placing my hands on the arms of his office chair, I lean
down and kiss him. "That's one of the things I love about you. But stow your
in itching palm — you're hungry."
lie smiles his shy smile and my heart clenches. "Oh, Mrs. Grey, what am I
going to do with you?"
"You're going to answer nn question. What would you like to eat'.'"
"Something light. Surprise me," he says, mirroring m words from the play-
"1*11 see what I can do." I sashay out of his study and into the kitchen. My
heart sinks when 1 see Mrs. Jones is there.
"Hello, Mrs. Jones."
"Mrs. Grey. Are you ready for something to eat'.'"
"Um . . ."
She is stirring something in a pot on the stove that smells delicious.
"I was going to make subs for Mr. Grey and me."
She pauses for a heartbeat. "Sure," she says. "Mr. Grey likes French
bread — there is some in the freezer cut to sub length. I'd be happy to make it for
you, ma'am."
"I understand. I'll give you some room."
"This is a bolognaise sauce, it can be eaten anytime. I'll freeze it." She smiles
warmly and turns the heat right down.
"Um— so what does Christian like in a, um . . . sub?" I frown, struck by what
I've just said. Does Mrs. Jones understand the inference?
it's on French bread, he'll eat it." We grin at each other.
"Okay, thank you." I skip to the freezer and find the French bread cut to size
in Ziplock bags. 1 place two of them on a plate, pop litem into the microw ave, and
Mrs. Jones has disappeared. I frown as 1 return to the fridge to search for in-
gredients. I suppose it will be up to me to set the parameters by which Mrs. Jones
and I will work together. I life the idea of cooking tor Christian on the weekends.
Mrs. Jones is more than welcome to do it during the week — the last thing I'll want
to do when I come home from work is cook. Hmm ... a bit like Christian's
routine with Ids submissives. I shake my head. 1 mustn't overdrink this. I find
some ham in the fridge, and in the erispet a perfectly ripe avocado.
As I am adding a touch of salt and lemon to the mashed avocado. Christian
emerges from his study with the plans for the new house in his hands. He puts
them on the brcakfasi bar. saunters toward inc. and wraps his amis around inc.
kissing my neck.
"Barefoot and in the kitchen," he murmurs.
"Shouldn't that be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?" I smirk.
He stills, his whole body tensing against me. "Not yet," he declares, appre-
hension clear in his voice.
"No! Not yet!"
He relaxes. "On that we can agree, Mrs. Grey."
"You do want kids though, don't you?"
"Sure, yes. Eventually. But I'm not ready to share you yet." He kisses my
neck again.
Oh . . . share?
"What are you making? Looks good." He kisses me behind my ear, and I
know it's to distract me. A delicious tingle travels down my spine.
"Subs." I smirk. rcco ering my sense ol humor,
lie smiles against im neck am! nips im earlobe. "M knorile."
1 poke him with my elbow.
"Mrs. Grey, you wound me." He clutches his side as if in pain.
""Wimp." 1 mutter disapprovingly.
"Wimp?" he utters in disbelief. I le slaps im behind, making me yelp. "Hurry
up with my food, wench. And later I'll show you how wimpy I can be." He slaps
me ploy full once more and goes to the fridge.
"Would you like a glass of wine?" he asks.
"Please."
Christian spreads Gia's plans oul ocr live breakfast bar. She really has some spec-
tacular ideas.
"I love her proposal to make the entire dow nstairs hack wall glass, but . . ."
"But?" Christian prompts.
I sigh, "i don't want to lake ail the character oul of the house."
"Character?"
"Yes. What Gia is proposing is quite radical, but . . . well ... I fell in love
with the house as it is . . . warts and all."
Christian's brow furrows as if this is anathema to him.
"I kind of like it the way it is," I whisper. Is this going to make him mad?
He regards me steadily. "I want this house to be the way you want. Yhale cr
you want. It's yours."
"I want you to like it, too. To be happy in it, too."
"I'll be happy wherever you are. It's that simple, Ana." His gaze holds mine.
He is utterly, utterly sincere. I blink at him as my heart expands. Holy cow, he
really does love me.
"Well" — I swallow, fighting the small knot of emotion that catches in my
throat — "I like the glass wall. Maybe wo could ask her lo incorporate il into the
house a little more sympathetically."
C hristian grin:.. "Sure. Whatever you w ant What about the plans for upstairs
ami the basement?"
"I'm cool with those."
"Good."
Okay ... I steel myself to ask the million-dollar question. "Do you want to
put in a playroom?" I feel the oh-so-familiar flush creep up my face as I ask.
"Do you?" he replies, surprised and amused at once.
1 shrug. "Um... if you want."
After all. this will be a family home."
I'm surprised by the stab of disappointment I feel. I guess he's right ... al-
though when arc we going to have a family? It could be years.
"Besides, we can improvise." He smirks.
"I like improvising," I whisper.
He grins. "There's something 1 wan; to discuss.' Christian points to the mas-
ter bedroom, and we start a detailed discussion on bathrooms and separate w alk-in
When we finish, it's nine thirty in the evening.
"Are you going back to work?" I ask as Christian rolls up the plans.
"Not if you don't ant rac to." He smiles. "What would you like to do?"
"We could watch TV." I don't want to read, and I don't want to go to bed . . .
yet.
"Okay," Christ t agi llingl i i I I him into the TV i i
We have sat here three. ma he [bur limes total, and ( hrislian usually reads a
book. ! Ic not interested in telex a, ion at all. I curl up beside him on the couch,
tucking my legs beneath me and resting my head against his shoulder. He
switches on the flat-screen television with the remote and flicks mindlcssK
through the channels.
"Any specific drivel you want to see?"
"You don't like TV much, do you'.'" I matte! sardonically.
II h I n it isle i ii le Bu I'll h sol hing with you."
"I thought we could make out."
He whips his face to mine. Make out?" lie gazes at me as if I've grown two
heads. He stops the endless flicking. Icaing the TV on an over lit Spanish soap
"Wc could go to bed and make out."
TV?" I ask, shy and teasing at the same time.
He shrugs ind sit I hi h k Pi s th n c gain he flick through
another few channels before settling on tin old episode of The X-l-ilcs.
"Christian?"
"I've never done that," he says quietly.
"Never?"
"No."
"Not even with Mrs. Robinson?"
He snorts. "Baby, 1 did a lot of things with Mrs. Robinson. Making out was
not one of them." He smirks til me and then narrow s his e es with amused curios-
ity. "Have you?"
I flush. "Of course." Well kind of . . .
"What! Who with?"
Oh no. I do not want to have this discussion.
"Tell me." he persists.
J gaze down ai my knolled fingers- lie gcmlv co ers my hands wiih one of
his- When I glance up a I him. he's smiling ai me.
"I want to know. So 1 can heal w hoevcr it was to a pulp."
I giggle. "Well, the first time . . ."
"The first time! There's more than one fucker?" He grow Is.
1 giggle again. "" h_ so surprised. Mr. < ire}
He frowns bne 11 an i ha I hrough h hail in looks at me as if seeing
me in a completely different light. He shrugs. "I just am. I mean — given your lack
of experience."
I flush. "I've certainly made up for that since I met you."
"You have." He grins. "Tell me. I want to know."
1 gaze into patient gray eyes, trying to gauge his mood. Is this going to make
him mad, or does he genuinely want to know? I don't want him sulking . . . he's
impossible when he's sulking.
"You really want me to tell you?"
I Ic nods slow 1> once, and his lips Iw itch w iiii an amused, arrogant smile.
" I was briefly in Vegas with Mom and Husband Number Three. I was in
III III! li Hi I ! 1 I 1 1 II | I l m ph Slcs
"How old were you?"
"Fifteen."
"I don't know."
"What base did he get to?"
"Christian!" 1 scold and suddenly lie grabs my knees, then my ankles, and
tips me up so I fall back on to the couch. He slides smoothly on top of me, trap-
ping me beneath him, one leg between mine. It's so sudden that I cry out in sur-
prise. He grabs my hands and raises them above my head.
"So, this Bradley — did he get to first base?" he murmurs, running his nose
down the length of mine. He plants soft kisses at the corner of my mouth.
"Yes," I murmur igainsl 1 In lie r cl es one 1'hi hands so that he can
clasp my chin and hold me still while his tongue invades my mouth, and I sur-
render to his ardent kissing.
"Like lliis?" Christian brealhes w hen he comes up for air.
"No . . . nothing like that," I manage as all the blood in my body heads south.
Releasing my chin, he runs his hand down over my body and back up to my
"Did he do this? Touch you like this?" His thumb skims over my nipple,
through my cami olc I pcaledlv . and it hardens undei his expert touch.
"No." I writhe beneath him.
"Did he get to second base?" he murmurs in my ear. His hand moves down
across my ribs, past my waist to my hip. He takes my earlobe between his teeth
and gently tugs.
"No," I breathe.
Mulder blurts from the television something about the FBI's most unwanted.
C hrislian pauses, leans up. and presses mute on the remote, lie gazes down at
"What about Joe Schmo numbei two'.' Did he make it past second base?"
His eyes arc smoldering hot . . angn ' Turned on? It's difficult to say which.
He shifts to my side and slides his hand beneath my sweatpants.
x i his] trapped in hi 1 1 1 i * 1 1 1 t i i til is dl
"Good." His hand cups my sex. "No underwear, Mrs. Grey. I approve." He
kisses me again as his lingers weave more magic. Ins thumb skimming over my
tin it tint lizin i I | 1 me with exquisite
"We're supposed to be making out." I groan.
Christian stills. "I thought we were?"
"No sex, huh?" He withdraws his hand from my sweatpants. "Here." He
traces my lips with Ins index linger, and 1 last..: nix slick saltiness. He pushes his
finger into my mouth mirrorii - hat In .asdoinga nomenl earlier. Then shifts
so he's between m_ 1 ind ion push it inc. He thrusts, once,
tw ice. and again. 1 gasp as the material of my sweatpants rubs in just the right
way. He pushes once more, grinding into me.
"This what you want '" lie murmurs and moves his hips rhvthmically. rocking
against me.
"Yes." I moan.
His hand moves back to concentrate on my nipple once more and his teeth
scrape along my jaw. "Do you know how hot you are, Ana?" His voice is hoarse
as he rocks harder against me. I open my mouth to articulate a response and fail
miserabU. groaning loudh . 1 Ie captures m mouth once more, lugging al my bot-
tom lip with his teeth before plunging his tongue into nn mouth again. He re-
leases my other wrist and m> hands lrael greedily up his shoulders and into his
hair as he kisses me. When I pull on his hair, he groans and raises his eyes to
"Ah . . ."
"Do you like me touching you?" I whisper.
His brow furrows briefly as if he doesn't understand the question. He stops
grinding against me. "Of course I do. 1 love you touching me, Ana. I'm like a
starving man at a banquet when it comes to your touch." His voice hums with pas-
Holy cow . . .
He kneels between my legs and drags me up to haul off my top. I'm naked
beneath. Grabbing the hem of his shin he anks it oer his head and tosses it on
the floor, then pulls nie onto his kneeling lap. his arms clasped just above my
behind.
"Touch me," he breathes.
Oh mi . . . Tentatively I reach up and brush the tips of m lingers through the
watches me intently as nn lingers float delicately o or his skin, first to one nipple
and then the other. They pucker beneath my caress. Leaning forward, I plant soft
kisses on his chest, and my hands move to his shoulders, feeling the hard, sculp-
tured lines of sinew and muscle. Jeez . . . he's in good shape.
"I want you," he murmurs and it's a green light to my libido. My fingers
move into his hair, pull I ' i i k so I i h u I it 1 I
and high in my belly. He groans and pushes me back onto the couch. He sits up
and rips off my sweatpants, undoing his fly at the same time.
"Home run," he whispers, and sw il'tly he fills me.
"Ah ..." I groan and he stills, grabbing my face between his hands.
"I love you, Mrs. Grey," he murmurs and very slowly, very gently, he makes
lo c to m 1,1 nc a| • I us. calling li i>. nai i< i ng m
around him, never wanting to let him go.
I lay sprawled on his chest. We're on the floor of the TV room.
"You know nnl i i I !] i I II s trace the line of
his pectoral muscles.
He laughs. "Next time, Mrs. Grey." He kisses the top of my head.
I look up to stare at the television screen where the end credits for The X-
Files play. Christian reaches for the remote and sn itches the sound back on.
"You liked that show?" I ask.
"When I was a kid."
Oh . . . Christian as a kid . . . kickboxing and X Files and no touching.
"You're so young." Christian smiles fondly. "I like making out with you,
Mrs. Grey."
"Likewise, Mr. Grey." I kiss his chest, and we lie silently watching as The X-
"It's been a hens culs three weeks. Car chases and fires and psycho cx-bosses
notwithstanding. Like being in our own private bubble," I mutter dreamily.
"Hmm," Christian hums deep in his throat. "I'm not sure I'm ready to share
you with the rest of the world yet."
"Back to reality tomorroNN ." I murmur, trying to keep the melancholy from
Christian sighs and runs tit-, other hand through his hair. "'Security will be
"I know. I'll be good. I promise." Which reminds me ... I shift, propping
myself up on my elbows to see him better. "Why were you shouting at SaN yer'.'"
He stiffens immediately. Oh shit.
"Because we were followed."
"That wasn't Sawyer's fault."
He gazes at me levelly. "They should never have let you get so far in front.
They know that."
I blush guiltily and resume m position, resting on his chest It was my fault.
I wanted to get away from them.
"That wasn't—"
"Enough!" Christian is suddenl; curl. "This is not up for discussion, Anastas-
ia. It's a fact, and the;, won't lei it happen again."
Aiuisi(isia 1 am Anaslasia when I am in trouble just like at home with my
mother.
"Okay," I mutter, placating him. I don't want to fight. "Did Ryan catch up
with the woman in the Dodge?"
"Oh?" I look up again.
"Saw yer saw someone w iih iheir hair tied hack, but it w as a brief look. I le as-
sumed it was a woman. Now, given that you've identified that fucker, may be it
wats him. He wore his hair like lhal." The disgust in Christian's oiee is palpable.
I don't know what h eol'ihi lews. ( s mi i i h s hand down my na-
I lit he murium I
"I know ." I w hisper. "1 feel the same about you." 1 shiver a! die thought.
"Come. You're gelling cold." he says, silling up. "kefs go to bed. We can
cover third base there." He smiles a lascivious smile, as mercurial as ever, pas-
sionate, angry, anxious, sexy — my Fifty Shades. I lake hi-, hand and he pulls me
to my feet, and without a stitch on. 1 follow him through the great room to the
The following morning, Christian squeezes my hand as we pull up outside SIP.
He looks very much the powerful executive in his dark navy suit and matching tic,
and I smile. He's noi been this smart since the ballet in Monaco.
"You know you don't have to do this?" Christian murmurs. I am tempted to
roll my eyes at him.
"I know," I whisper, not wanting Sawyer and Ryan to overhear me from the
front of the Audi. He frowns and I smile.
"But I want to," I continue. "You know this." 1 lean up and kiss him. His
frown doesn't disappear. "What's wrong?"He glances uncertainly at Ryan as
Saw ycr climbs out of the car. "I'll miss having you to myself."
1 reach up to caress his face. "Me, too." I kiss him. "It was a wonderful hon-
eymoon. Thank you."
"Go to work, Mrs. Grey."
"You, too, Mr. Grey."
Sawyer opens the door. I squeeze Christian's hand once more before I climb
out onto the sidew alk. As ! head into the building. I tzi e him a little wave. Sawyer
holds open the door and follows me in.
""I Ii. Ana." Claire smile:, from behind the reception desk.
"Claire, hello." I smile back.
"You look wonderful. Good honeymoon?"
"The best, thank you. How's it been here?"
"Old man Roach is the same, but securiu has beet) stepped up and our server
Sure she will. I give Claire a friendly smile and head to my office.
that sometimes I find her a little intimidating. But she's sweet to me, in spite of
the fact that she's a couple of years older. She has my laite w ailing the only col-
fee I let her get for me.
"Hi, Hannah," I say warmly.
"Ana, how was your honeymoon?"
■'Fantastic. Here for you." I pop the small bottle of perfume I bought for her
"Oh, thank you!" she says enthusiastically. "Your urgent correspondence is
on your desk, and Roach would like to see you at ten. That's all 1 have to report
Just before ten there's a timid tap on my door.
"Come in."
Elizabeth looks around the door. "Hi, Ana. I just wanted to say welcome
"Hey. I have to say, reading through all this correspondence, I wish I was
back in the South of France."
Elizabeth laughs, but her laughter is off, forced, and I cock my head to one
side and gaze al her like Christian does to me
"Glad you're back safely," she says. "I'll see you in a few minutes at the
meeting with Roach."
"Okay," I murmur, and she shuts the door behind her. I frown at the closed
door. What was thai «/><«//'.' ! shrug it oil". M e-mail pings it's a message from
Christian.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Errant Wives
Date: August 22, 2011 09:56
To: Anastasia Steele
Wife
I sent the e-mail below and it bounced,
md it 1 use you h r't lau d your na n
Something you want to tell me?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Attachment:
From: Christian Grey
FW Subject: Bubble
Date: August 22, 2011 09:32
To: Anastasia Grey
Shit. I hit reply immediately.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Don't Burst the Bubble
Date: August 22, 2011 09:58
To: Christian Grey
Husband
I am all for a baseball metaphor with you, Mr. Grey.
I want to keep my name here.
I'll explain this evening.
I am going in to a meeting now.
Miss our bubble, too . . .
PS: Thought I had to use my BlackBerry?
This is going to be such a fight. I can feel it. Sighing, I gather up my p
or the meeting.
The meeting lasts for two hours. All the commissioning editors are there, plus
Roach and Elizabeth. Wc discuss personnel, strategy, marketing, security, and
year-end. As the meeting progresses, I grow more and more uncomfortable.
There's a subtle change in how my colleagues are treating me — a distance and
deference thai wasn't ihere before ! lef! for my honeymoon. And from Courlney.
who heads up the nun 1 n n li i th i Ji In i hi MaybcI'mjust
being paranoid but it goes some way to explaining Elizabeth's odd greeting this
morning.
My mind drifts back to the yacht, then to the playroom, then to the R8 speed-
ing away from the tmslci Dod i 1-5. Pei < , < lirisli 11 ^ i gin perhaps I
can't do this anymore. The thought is depressing — this is all I've ever wanted to
do. If I can't do this, what will I do? As I walk back to my office, I try to dismiss
these dark thoughts.
When I sit down at my desk, I quickly check my e-mails. Nothing from
Christian. I check my BlackBerry . . . Still nothing. Good. At least there's been no
adverse reaction to my e-mail. Perhaps we'll discuss this tonight as per my re-
quest. I find that hard i lit i i I n the n
keting plan I was given at the meeting.
As is our ritual on a Monday, Hannah comes into my office with a plate for my
packed lunch courtcs of Mrs. Jones, ami we sit and eat out lunches together, dis-
cussing what we want to achieve during the week. She brings me up to date with
the office gossip, too, which — considering I've been away for three weeks — is
pretty thin on the ground. As we're chatting, there's a knock on the door.
i 1 1 loor. and i i him is Christ I'm momentarily
litcly at Hannah.
scrambles to her leel and holds out her hand.
fetch you a coffee?"
"Please," he says warmly. With a quick puzzled glance at me, she scuttles out
of the office past Roach, who stands as dumbstruck as me on the threshold of my
"If you'll excuse me, Roach, I'd like a word with Ms. Steele." Christian
hisses the 5 sibilantly . . . sarcastically.
This is why he 's here . . . Oh shit.
"Of course, h i i i." R i mm i dooi to my office as
he departs. I recover my power of speech.
"Mr. Grey, how nice to see you." I smile, far too sweetly.
"Ms. Steele, may I sit down?"
"It's your company." 1 wave at the chair Hannah vacated.
"Yes, it is." He smiles wolfishly at me, the smile not reaching his eyes. His
tone is clipped. He's bristling v> ill) tension I can feel it all around me. Fuck. My
heart sinks.
"Your office is en small." he sax s as he sits down facing my desk.
lie regards me neutrally, but I know he's mad. I take a deep breath. This is
not going to be fun.
" So hat can I do for you, Christian?"
"I'm just looking over my assets."
"All of them. Some of them need rebranding."
"I think you know." His voice is menacingly quiet.
"Please — don't tell me you ha e interrupted your day after three weeks away
to come over lieu null Iwilhm mill name." / //» nol a freaking assci!
He shifts and crosses his legs. "Not exactly fight. No."
"Looked like you were gossiping with your assistant to me."
Innen'l answered my question."
There's a knock on the door. "Come in!" I shout, too loudly.
Hannah opens the door and brings in a small tray. Milk jug, sugar bowl, cof-
fee in a French press — she's gone all out. She places the tray on my desk.
"Thank you, Hannah," I mutter, embarrassed that I have just shouted so
loudly.
"Do you need iny thing el Ir. Ci 1 II ess. I want to rol
my eyes at her.
"No, thank you. That's all." He smiles his dazzling, panty-dropping smile at
her. She Hushes and exits simpering. Christian turns his attention back lo me.
"Now, Ms. Steele, where were we?"
"You were rudely interrupting my work day to right with me about my
Christian blinks once — surprised, I think, by the vehemence in my voice.
Deftly, he picks at an in isible piei c of lint on hi- knee w ill! long skilled lingers.
It's distracting. He's doing it on purpose. I narrow my eyes at him.