by E. L. James
“Yes, your issues.” He fishes into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. My e-mail.
“Clause 2. Agreed. This is for the benefit of us both. I shall redraft.”
I blink at him. Holy shit… we are going to go through each of these points one at a time. I just don’t feel so brave face to face. He looks so earnest. I steel myself with another sip of my wine. Christian continues.
“My sexual health. Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months for all the health risks you mention. All my recent tests are clear. I have never taken drugs. In fact, I’m vehemently anti-drugs. I have a strict no-tolerance policy with regards to drugs for all my employees, and I insist on random drug testing.”
Wow… control freakery gone mad. I blink at him shocked.
“I have never had any blood transfusions. Does that answer your question?”
I nod, impassive.
“Your next point I mentioned earlier. You can walk away any time, Anastasia. I won’t stop you. If you go, however – that’s it. Just so you know.”
“Okay,” I answer softly. If I go, that’s it. The thought is surprisingly painful.
The waiter arrives with our first course. How can I possibly eat? Holy Moses – he’s ordered oysters on a bed of ice.
“I hope you like oysters,” Christian’s voice is soft.
“I’ve never had one.” Ever.
“Really? Well.” He reaches for one. “All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that.” He gazes at me, and I know what he’s referring to. I blush scarlet. He grins at me, squirts some lemon juice onto his oyster, and then tips it into his mouth.
“Hmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea,” he grins at me. “Go on,” he encourages.
“So, I don’t chew it?”
“No, Anastasia, you don’t.” His eyes are alight with humor. He looks so young like this.
I bite my lip and his expression changes instantly. He looks sternly at me. I reach across and pick up my first ever oyster. Okay… here goes nothing. I squirt some lemon juice on it and tip it up. It slips down my throat, all seawater, salt, the sharp tang of citrus, and fleshiness… ooh. I lick my lips, and he’s watching me intently, his eyes hooded.
“Well?”
“I’ll have another,” I say dryly.
“Good girl,” he says proudly.
“Did you choose these deliberately? Aren’t they known for their aphrodisiac qualities?”
“No, they are the first item on the menu. I don’t need an aphrodisiac near you. I think you know that, and I think you react the same way near me,” he says simply. “So where were we?” He glances at my e-mail as I reach for another oyster.
He reacts the same way. I affect him… wow.
“Obey me in all things. Yes, I want you to do that. I need you to do that. Think of it as role-play, Anastasia.”
“But I’m worried you’ll hurt me.”
“Hurt you how?”
“Physically.” And emotionally.
“Do you really think I would do that? Go beyond any limit you can’t take?”
“You’ve said you’ve hurt someone before.”
“Yes, I have. It was a long time ago.”
“How did you hurt them?”
“I suspended them from my playroom ceiling. In fact, that’s one of your questions. Suspension – that’s what the carabiners are for in the playroom. Rope play. One of the ropes was tied too tightly.”
I hold my hand up, begging him to stop.
“I don’t need to know any more. So you won’t suspend me then?”
“Not if you really don’t want to. You can make that a hard limit.”
“Okay.”
“So obeying, do you think you can manage that?”
He stares at me, his gray eyes intense. The seconds tick by.
“I could try,” I whisper.
“Good.” He smiles. “Now term. One month instead of three is no time at all, especially if you want a weekend away from me each month. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay away from you for that length of time. I can barely manage it now,” he pauses.
He can’t stay away from me? What?
“How about, one day over one weekend per month you get to yourself – but I get a midweek night that week?”
“Okay.”
“And please, let’s try it for three months. If it’s not for you then, you can walk away anytime.”
“Three months?” I’m feeling railroaded. I take another large sip of wine and treat myself to another oyster. I could learn to like these.
“The ownership thing, that’s just terminology and goes back to the principle of obeying. It’s to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I’m coming from. And I want you to know that as soon as you cross my threshold as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that and willingly. That’s why you have to trust me. I will fuck you, any time, any way I want – anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me. But I know you’ve not done this before. Initially, we’ll take it slowly, and I will help you. We’ll build up to various scenarios. I want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn your trust, and I will. The “or otherwise” – again it’s to help you get into the mindset; it means anything goes.”
He’s so passionate, mesmerizing. This is obviously his obsession, the way he is… I can’t take my eyes off him. He really, really wants this. He stops talking and gazes at me.
“Still with me?” he whispers, his voice rich, warm and seductive. He takes a sip of his wine, his penetrating stare holding mine.
The waiter comes to the door, and Christian subtly nods permitting the waiter to clear our table.
“Would you like some more wine?”
“I have to drive.”
“Some water then?”
I nod.
“Still or sparkling?”
“Sparkling, please.”
The waiter leaves.
“You’re very quiet,” Christian whispers.
“You’re very verbose.”
He smiles.
“Discipline. There’s a very fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don’t believe me now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing that you can’t handle. Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Ana?”
Ana!
“Yes, I do.” I respond spontaneously, not thinking… because it’s true – I do trust him.
“Well then,” he looks relieved. “The rest of this stuff is just details.”
“Important details.”
“Okay, let’s talk through those.”
My head is swimming with all his words. I should have brought Kate’s mini-disc player so I can listen back to this. There is so much information, so much to process. The waiter re-emerges with our entrees: black cod, asparagus, and crushed potatoes with a hollandaise sauce. I have never felt less like food.
“I hope you like fish,” Christian says mildly.
I make a stab at my food and take a long drink of my sparkling water. I vehemently wish it was wine.
“The rules. Let’s talk about them. The food is a deal breaker?”
“Yes.”
“Can I modify to say that you will eat at least three meals a day?”
“No.” I am so not backing down on this. No one is going to dictate to me what I eat. How I fuck, yes, but eat… no, no way.
He purses his lips.
“I need to know that you’re not hungry.”
I frown. Why?
“You’ll have to trust me.”
He gazes at me for a moment, and he relaxes.
“Touché, Miss Steele,” he says quietly. “I concede the food and the sleep.”
“Why can’t I look at you?”
“That’s a Do
m/sub thing. You’ll get used to it.”
Will I?
“Why can’t I touch you?”
“Because you can’t.”
His mouth sets in a mulish line.
“Is it because of Mrs. Robinson?”
He looks quizzically at me.
“Why would you think that?” And immediately he understands. “You think she traumatized me?”
I nod.
“No, Anastasia. She’s not the reason. Besides, Mrs. Robinson wouldn’t take any of that shit from me.”
Oh… but I have to. I pout.
“So nothing to do with her.”
“No. And I don’t want you touching yourself, either.”
What? Ah yes, the no masturbation clause.
“Out of curiosity… why?”
“Because I want all your pleasure,” his voice is husky, but determined.
Oh… I have no answer for that. On one level it’s up there with, ‘I want to bite that lip’; on another, it’s so selfish. I frown and take a bite of cod, trying to assess mentally what concessions I’ve gained. The food, the sleep, I can look him in the eye. He’s going to take it slow, and we haven’t discussed soft limits. But I’m not sure I can face that over food.
“I’ve given you a great deal to think about, haven’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go through the soft limits now, too?”
“Not over dinner.”
He smiles.
“Squeamish?”
“Something like that.”
“You’ve not eaten very much.”
“I’ve had enough.”
“Three oysters, four bites of cod, and one asparagus stalk, no potatoes, no nuts, no olives, and you’ve not eaten all day. You said I could trust you.”
Jeez. He’s kept an inventory.
“Christian, please, it’s not every day I sit through conversations like this.”
“I need you fit and healthy, Anastasia.”
“I know.”
“And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress.”
I swallow. Peel me out of Kate’s dress. I feel the pull deep in my belly. Muscles that I’m now more acquainted with clench at his words. But I can’t have this. His most potent weapon, used against me again. He’s so good at sex – even I’ve figured this out.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I murmur quietly. “We haven’t had dessert.”
“You want dessert?” he snorts.
“Yes.”
“You could be dessert,” he murmurs suggestively.
“I’m not sure I’m sweet enough.”
“Anastasia, you’re deliciously sweet. I know.”
“Christian. You use sex as a weapon. It really isn’t fair,” I whisper, staring down at my hands, and then looking directly at him. He raises his eyebrows, surprised, and I see he’s considering my words. He strokes his chin thoughtfully.
“You’re right. I do. In life you use what you know, Anastasia. Doesn’t change how much I want you. Here. Now.”
How can he seduce me solely with his voice? I’m panting already – my heated blood rushing through my veins, my nerves tingling.
“I’d like to try something,” he breathes.
I frown. He’s just given me a shit load of ideas to process and now this.
“If you were my sub, you wouldn’t have to think about this. It would be easy.” His voice is soft, seductive. “All those decisions – all the wearying thought processes behind them. The – ‘is this the right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now?’ You wouldn’t have to worry about any of that detail. That’s what I’d do as your Dom. And right now, I know you want me, Anastasia.”
My frown deepens. How can he tell?
“I can tell because… ”
Holy shit, he’s answering my unspoken question. Is he psychic as well?
“… Your body gives you away. You’re pressing your thighs together, you’re flushed, and your breathing has changed.”
OK, this is too much.
“How do you know about my thighs?” My voice is low, disbelieving. They’re under the table, for heaven’s sake.
“I felt the tablecloth move, and it’s a calculated guess based on years of experience. I’m right, aren’t I?”
I flush and stare down at my hands. That’s what I’m hindered by in this game of seduction. He’s the only one who knows and understands the rules. I’m just too naïve and inexperienced. My only sphere of reference is Kate, and she doesn’t take any shit from men. My other references are all fictional: Elizabeth Bennet would be outraged, Jane Eyre too frightened, and Tess would succumb, just as I have.
“I haven’t finished my cod.”
“You’d prefer cold cod to me?”
My head jerks up to glare at him, and his gray eyes burn molten silver with compelling need.
“I thought you liked me clearing my plate.”
“Right now, Miss Steele, I couldn’t give a fuck about your food.”
“Christian. You just don’t fight fair.”
“I know. I never have.”
My inner goddess frowns at me. You can do this, she coaxes – play this sex god at his own game. Can I? Okay. What to do? My inexperience is an albatross around my neck. Picking up a spear of asparagus, I gaze at him and bite my lip. Then very slowly put the tip of my cold asparagus in my mouth and suck it.
Christian’s eyes widen infinitesimally, but I notice.
“Anastasia. What are you doing?”
I bite off the tip.
“Eating my asparagus.”
Christian shifts in his seat.
“I think you’re toying with me, Miss Steele.”
I feign innocence.
“I’m just finishing my food, Mr. Grey.”
The waiter chooses this moment to knock and, unbidden, enter. He glances briefly at Christian, who frowns at him but then nods, so the waiter clears our plates. The waiter’s arrival has broken the spell. And I grasp this precious moment of clarity. I have to go. Our meeting will only end one way if I stay, and I need some boundaries after such an intense conversation. As much as my body craves his touch, my mind is rebelling. I need some distance to think about all he’s said. I still haven’t made a decision, and his sexual allure and prowess doesn’t make it any easier.
“Would you like some dessert?” Christian asks, ever the gentleman, but his eyes still blaze.
“No, thank you. I think I should go.” I stare down at my hands.
“Go?” He can’t hide his surprise.
The waiter leaves hastily.
“Yes.” It’s the right decision. If I stay here, in this room with him, he will fuck me. I stand, purposefully. “We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow.”
Christian stands automatically, revealing years of ingrained civility.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“Please… I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve given me so much to consider… and I need some distance.”
“I could make you stay,” he threatens.
“Yes, you could easily, but I don’t want you to.”
He runs his hand through his hair, regarding me carefully.
“You know, when you fell into my office to interview me, you were all ‘yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’. I thought you were a natural born submissive. But quite frankly, Anastasia, I’m not sure you have a submissive bone in your delectable body.” He moves slowly toward me as his speaks, his voice tense.
“You may be right,” I breathe.
“I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do,” he murmurs, staring down at me. He reaches up and caresses my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “I don’t know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am.”
“I know.”
He leans down to kiss me, but pauses before his lips touch mine, his eyes searching mine, wanting, asking permission. I raise my lips to his, and he kisses me and bec
ause I don’t know if I’ll ever kiss him again, I let go – my hands moving of their own accord and twisting into his hair, pulling him to me, my mouth opening, my tongue stroking his. His hand grasps the nape of my neck as he deepens the kiss, responding to my ardor. His other hand slides down my back and flattens at the base of my spine as he pushes me against his body.
“I can’t persuade you to stay?” he breathes between kisses.
“No.”
“Spend the night with me.”
“And not touch you? No.”
He groans.
“You impossible girl.” He pulls back, gazing down at me. “Why do I think you’re telling me goodbye?”
“Because I’m leaving now.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“Christian, I have to think about this. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you want.”
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine, giving us both the opportunity to slow our breathing. After a moment, he kisses my forehead, inhales deeply, his nose in my hair, and then he releases me, stepping back.
“As you wish, Miss Steele,” he says, his face impassive. “I’ll escort you to the lobby.” He holds out his hand. Leaning down, I grab my purse and place my hand in his. Holy crap, this could be it. I follow him meekly down the grand stairs and into the lobby, my scalp prickling, my blood pumping. This could be the last goodbye if I decide to say no. My heart contracts painfully in my chest. What a turnaround. What a difference a moment of clarity can make to a girl.
“Do you have your valet ticket?”
I fish into my clutch purse and hand him the ticket, which he gives to the doorman. I peek up at him as we stand waiting.
“Thank you for dinner,” I murmur.
“It’s a pleasure as always, Miss Steele,” he says politely, though he looks deep in thought, completely distracted.
As I peer up at him, I commit his beautiful profile to memory. The idea that I might not see him again haunts me, unwelcome and too painful to contemplate. He turns suddenly, staring down at me, his expression intense.
“You’re moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” He sounds hesitant.
“We’ll see. Maybe,” I breathe. Momentarily, he looks relieved, and then he frowns.
