by E. L. James
"I know. That's one of the things I love about you. Anastasia, I earn roughly one hundred thousand dollars an hour."
Her lips form the letter o.
And for once she remains silent.
"Twenty-four thousand dollars is nothing. The car, the Tess books, the clothes, they're nothing."
"If you were me, how would you feel about all this...largesse coming your way?" she asks.
This is irrelevant. We're talking about her, not me.
"I don't know." I shrug because it's such a ludicrous question.
She sighs as if she's had to explain a complex equation to a simpleton. "It doesn't feel great. I mean, you're very generous, but it makes me uncomfortable. I have told you this often enough."
"I want to give you the world, Anastasia."
"I just want you, Christian. Not all the add-ons."
"They're part of the deal. Part of what I am." Who I am.
She shakes her head, seeming subdued. "Shall we eat?" she asks, changing the subject.
"Sure."
"I'll cook."
"Good. Otherwise, there's food in the fridge."
"Mrs. Jones is off on the weekends?"
I nod.
"So, you eat cold cuts most weekends?"
"No."
"Oh?"
I take a deep breath, wondering how the piece of information I'm going to give Ana will go down. "My submissives cook, Anastasia." Some well, some not so well.
"Oh, of course." She fakes a smile. "What would Sir like to eat?"
"Whatever Madam can find," I reply, knowing she won't get the reference.
She nods and exits my study, leaving her file. Placing it back in the filing cabinet, I catch sight of Susannah's file. She was a hopeless cook, even worse than me. But she tried...and we had some fun with that.
"You've burned this?"
"Yes. Sorry, Sir."
"Well, what are we going to do with you?"
"Whatever pleases you, Master."
"Did you burn this deliberately?"
Her flush and the twitch of her lips as she masks her smile are answer enough.
Those were pleasurable and simpler times. My previous relationships were dictated by a set of rules that were followed, and if they weren't, there were consequences. I had peace. And I knew what was expected of me. They were intimate relationships, but none of my previous submissives thrilled me as Ana does, even though she's so difficult.
Maybe it's because she's so difficult.
I remember our contract negotiation. She was difficult then.
Yes. Look how that turned out, Grey.
She's had me on my toes since I met her. Is this why I like her so much? How long will I feel this way? Probably as long as she stays. Because deep down I know she'll leave me eventually.
They all do.
Music starts blaring from the living room. "Crazy in Love" by Beyonce. Is Ana sending me a message?
I stand in the corridor that leads to my study and the TV room and watch her cook. She's whisking some eggs, but she stops suddenly, and from what I can see, she's grinning like a fool.
I creep up behind her and slip my arms around her, startling her. "Interesting choice of music," I croon in her ear and plant a kiss behind it. "Your hair smells good." She shimmies out of my arms.
"I'm still mad at you," she says.
"How long are you going to keep this up?" I ask, and rake my hand through my hair in frustration.
"At least until I've eaten." Her tone is haughty but playful.
Good.
Picking up the remote, I switch off the music. "Did you put that on your iPod?" Ana asks.
I shake my head. I don't want to say it was Leila, because she might get mad again.
"Don't you think she was trying to tell you something back then?" she says, guessing correctly that it was Leila.
"Well, with hindsight, probably," I reply. Why didn't I see this coming?
Ana asks why it's still on my iPod, and I offer to remove it.
"What would you like to hear?"
"Surprise me," she says, and it's a challenge.
Very well, Miss Steele. Your wish is my command. I scroll through the iPod, dismissing several tunes. I consider "Please Forgive Me" by David Gray, but that's too obvious and frankly too apologetic.
I know. What did she call it earlier? Sexpertise? Yes.
Use it. Seduce her, Grey.
I've had enough of her crankiness. I find the song I want, hit play. Perfect. The orchestra swells and music fills the room with a cool, sultry intro, and then Nina Simone sings. "I put a spell on you."
Ana whirls around, armed with a whisk, and I catch and hold her gaze as I move toward her.
"You're mine," Nina sings.
You're mine.
"Christian, please," Ana whispers when I reach her.
"Please what?"
"Don't do this."
"Do what?"
"This." She's breathless.
"Are you sure?" I take the whisk out of her hand before she decides to use it as a weapon.
Ana. Ana. Ana.
I'm close enough to smell her. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, the telltale flush of desire stains her cheeks.
And it's there between us.
That familiar pull.
Our intense attraction.
"I want you, Anastasia," I whisper. "I love and I hate, and I love arguing with you. It's very new. I need to know that we're okay. It's the only way I know how."
She closes her eyes. "My feelings for you haven't changed," she says, her voice low and reassuring.
Prove it.
Her eyelashes flutter and her eyes flit to the exposed skin above my shirt and she bites her lip. I suppress my groan as the heat radiating from her body warms us both.
"I'm not going to touch you until you say yes." My voice is thick with my hunger. "But right now, after a really shitty morning, I want to bury myself in you and just forget everything but us."
Her eyes meet mine. "I'm going to touch your face," she says, surprising me.
Okay. I ignore the frisson that runs down my spine. Her hand caresses my cheek and I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of her fingertips teasing my stubble.
Oh, baby.
No need for fear, Grey.
Instinctively, I press my face into her touch, experiencing it, luxuriating in it. I lean down, my lips close to hers, and she raises her face to mine.
"Yes or no, Anastasia?"
"Yes." The word is no more than an audible sigh.
And I lower my mouth to hers, my lips brushing hers, coaxing her. Tasting her. Teasing her until she opens up for me. I embrace her, one hand on her behind pushing her against my arousal and my other hand running up her back, into her soft hair, where I tug gently. She moans as her tongue meets mine.
"Mr. Grey." We're interrupted.
Christ.
I release Ana.
"Taylor," I acknowledge through gritted teeth as he stands on the threshold of the living room, looking suitably embarrassed but resolute.
What. The. Fuck.
We have an understanding that he makes himself scarce when I'm not alone in the apartment. Whatever he has to say must be important. "My study," I indicate, and Taylor walks briskly across the room. "Rain check," I whisper to Ana and follow Taylor out.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir," he says when we're in my office.
"You'd better have a good reason."
"Well, your mother called."
"Please don't tell me that's the reason."
"No, sir. But you should call her back sooner rather than later. It's about this evening."
"Okay. What else?"
"The security team is here, and, knowing how you feel about guns, I thought I should inform you that they're armed."
"What?"
"Mr. Welch and I both think it's a precautionary measure."
"I loathe guns. Let's hope they don't have to use them." I sound pis
sed--and I am--I was making out with Anastasia Steele.
When have I ever been interrupted while making out?
Never.
The thought suddenly amuses me.
I'm living the adolescence I never had.
Taylor relaxes, and I know it's because my mood has changed.
"Did you know Andrea was getting married today?" I ask him, because this has been bugging me since this morning.
"Yes," he answers with a puzzled expression.
"She didn't tell me."
"Probably just an oversight, sir."
Now I know he's patronizing me. I raise an eyebrow.
"The wedding is at The Edgewater," he says quickly.
"Is she staying there?"
"I believe so."
"Can you discreetly inquire if the happy couple has a room there and get them upgraded to the best suite available? And pay for it."
Taylor smiles. "Certainly, sir."
"Who's the lucky guy?"
"That I don't know, Mr. Grey."
I wonder why Andrea has been so mysterious about her wedding. I brush aside the thought as the aroma of something delicious filters into the room and my stomach growls in anticipation.
"I'd better get back to Anastasia."
"Yes, sir."
"Was that all?"
"Yes."
"Great." We both exit my study. "I'll brief them in ten," I say to Taylor when we're back in the living room. Ana is bending over the stove, retrieving a couple of plates.
"We'll be ready," Taylor says, and departs, leaving me alone with Anastasia.
"Lunch?" she offers.
"Please." I sit down at one of the barstools where she's laid our places for lunch.
"Problem?" she inquires, as curious as ever. I have yet to tell her about the additional security.
"No."
She doesn't push me for any answers as she busies herself plating our lunch of Spanish omelet with salad. I'm impressed she's so capable and at ease in my kitchen. She sits beside me as I take a bite and the food melts in my mouth.
Hmm. Delicious.
"This is good. Would you like a glass of wine?"
"No thank you," she replies, and gingerly starts eating her lunch.
At least she's eating.
I forgo the wine, as I know I'll be drinking this evening. Which reminds me that I have to call my mother. I wonder what she wants. She doesn't know I split up with Ana--and now we're back together. I should let her know that Ana is coming to the ball this evening.
Using the remote, I switch on some relaxing music.
"What's this?" Ana asks.
"Canteloube, Songs of the Auvergne. This is called 'Bailero.' "
"It's lovely. What language is it?"
"It's in old French--Occitan, in fact."
"You speak French; do you understand it?"
"Some words, yes. My mother had a mantra: 'musical instrument, foreign language, martial art.' Elliot speaks Spanish; Mia and I speak French. Elliot plays guitar, I play piano, and Mia the cello."
"Wow. And the martial arts?"
"Elliot does judo. Mia put her foot down at age twelve and refused." Ana knows I kickbox.
"I wish my mother had been that organized."
"Dr. Grace is formidable when it comes to the accomplishments of her children."
"She must be very proud of you. I would be," Ana says warmly.
Oh, baby, you couldn't be more wrong. Nothing is that simple. I've been a big disappointment to my folks: school expulsions, dropping out of college, no relationships that they knew of...If Grace only knew the truth about my lifestyle.
If you only knew the truth, Ana.
Don't go there, Grey.
"Have you decided what you'll wear this evening? Or do I need to come and pick something for you?"
"Um, not yet. Did you choose all those clothes?"
"No, Anastasia, I didn't. I gave a list and your size to a personal shopper at Neiman Marcus. They should fit. Just so you know, I have ordered additional security for this evening and the next few days. With Leila unpredictable and unaccounted for somewhere on the streets of Seattle, I think it's a wise precaution. I don't want you going out unaccompanied. Okay?"
She looks a little stunned but agrees, surprising me by acquiescing without argument.
"Good. I'm going to brief them. I shouldn't be long."
"They're here?"
"Yes."
She looks puzzled. But she hasn't objected to the additional security, so while I have the upper hand, I pick up my empty plate and place it in the sink and leave Ana to finish her meal in peace.
The security team is gathered in Taylor's office, seated at his round table. After our introductions I sit down and run through the evening's event.
BRIEFING FINISHED, I RETURN to my study to call my mother.
"Darling, how are you?" she enthuses into the phone.
"I'm well, Grace."
"Are you coming this evening?"
"Of course. And Anastasia is coming, too."
"She is?" She sounds surprised, but she recovers quickly. "That's wonderful, sweetheart. I'll make room at our table." She sounds too exuberant. I can only imagine her delight.
"I'll see you this evening, Mother."
"I look forward to it, Christian. Good-bye."
There's an e-mail from Flynn.
* * *
From: Dr. John Flynn
Subject: Tonight
Date: June 11 2011 14:25
To: Christian Grey
I look forward to meeting Anastasia.
JF
I bet you do, John.
It seems everyone is thrilled I have a date tonight.
Everyone, including me.
ANA IS LYING ACROSS the bed in the submissive's room, staring at her Mac. She's engrossed in reading something on the Web.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
She startles, and for some reason looks guilty. I lie down beside her and see that's she's on a website with a page titled "Multiple Personality Disorder: The Symptoms."
I understand that I have many issues, but fortunately schizophrenia is not one of them. I can't hide my amusement at her amateur psychological sleuthing. "On this site for a reason?"
"Research. Into a difficult personality."
"A difficult personality?"
"My own pet project."
"I'm a pet project now? A sideline. Science experiment, maybe. When I thought I was everything. Miss Steele, you wound me."
"How do you know it's you?"
"Wild guess," I tease.
"It's true that you are the only fucked-up, mercurial control freak that I know intimately."
"I thought I was the only person you know intimately."
"Yes. That, too," she replies, and an embarrassed flush turns her cheeks a fetching pink.
"Have you reached any conclusions yet?"
She turns to scrutinize me, her expression warm. "I think you're in need of intense therapy."
I tuck her hair behind her ear, pleased that she's kept it long and I can still do this. "I think I'm in need of you," I counter. "Here." I give her the lipstick.
"You want me to wear this?"
I laugh. "No, Anastasia, not unless you want to. Not sure it's your color."
Scarlet red is Elena's color. Though I don't tell Ana that. She'll combust. And not in a good way.
I sit up on the bed, cross my legs, and pull my shirt over my head. This is either a brilliant brain wave--or a stupid one. We'll see. "I like your road-map idea."
She looks puzzled.
"The no-go areas," I prompt.
"Oh. I was kidding," she says.
"I'm not."
"You want me to draw on you, with lipstick?" She's bewildered.
"It washes off. Eventually."
She considers my proposition and a smile tugs at her lips. "What about something more permanent, like a Sharpie?"
"I could get a tattoo."
"No to
the tattoo!" She laughs, but her eyes are wide in horror.
"Lipstick, then," I retort. Her laugh is infectious and I beam at her.
She shuts the Mac and I hold out my hands. "Come. Sit on me."
She peels her shoes off and crawls over to me. I lay back, keeping my knees upright. "Lean against my legs."
She sits astride me, excited at this new challenge.
"You seem--enthusiastic for this," I note with irony.
"I'm always eager for information, Mr. Grey, and it means you'll relax, because I'll know where the boundaries lie."
I shake my head. I hope this is a good idea. "Open the lipstick," I instruct.
For once, she does as she's told.
"Give me your hand."
She holds up her free hand.
"The one with the lipstick!"
"Are you rolling your eyes at me?" she chides.
"Yep."
"That's very rude, Mr. Grey. I know some people who get positively violent at eye rolling."
"Do you, now?" My tone is wry.
She places her hand with the lipstick in mine and I sit up suddenly, surprising her, so we're nose to nose.
"Ready?" I whisper, trying to curb my anxiety, but panic starts to spread.
"Yes," she responds, the word as soft as a summer breeze.
Knowing I'm about to overstep my bounds, the darkness is circling like a vulture, waiting to consume me. Taking her hand, I move it to the top of my shoulder and fear squeezes my ribs, expelling the air from my lungs.
"Press down." I struggle to get the words out. She does, and I guide her hand around my arm socket and down the side of my chest. The darkness slides into my throat, threatening to choke me. Ana's amusement is gone, replaced by her solemn and determined concentration. I fix my eyes on hers and read every nuanced thought and emotion in the depths of her irises, each a life buoy, keeping me from drowning, holding the darkness at bay.
She is my salvation.
I stop at the bottom of my rib cage and move her hand across my abdomen, the lipstick spilling its red trail as she paints my body. I'm panting, trying desperately to hide my fear. Each muscle is tense and standing proud as the red slices my flesh. I lean back, supporting myself on flexed, straining arms as I fight my demons and surrender myself to her gentle illustration. She's halfway done when I let go and give her total control. "And up the other side," I whisper.
With the same single-minded focus, Ana draws up my right side. Eyes impossibly large. Anguished. But holding my attention. When she reaches the top of my shoulder, she stops. "There, done," she breathes, her voice husky with repressed emotion. She lifts her hand away from my body, giving me a brief respite.
"No, you're not." I draw a line with my finger around the base of my neck above my clavicle. Ana takes a deep breath and traces the lipstick along the same line. When she finishes, blue eyes meet gray.
"Now my back," I instruct, and shift so that she clambers off me. I turn around, my back to her, and cross my legs. "Follow the line from my chest, all the way around to the other side." My voice is hoarse and alien to me, like I've left my body entirely to watch a beautiful young woman tame a monster.
