by E. L. James
"Okay, let's do it. Keep me abreast of progress." I conclude my conversation with Ros. She's been working miracles and it looks like our food shipment to Darfur is happening.
"Ready to go?" I ask Ana. She nods. I grab my jacket and car keys and follow her out the door. She peeks at me through long lashes as we walk toward the elevator, and her lips curl into a shy smile. My lips twitch in response.
What the hell is she doing to me?
The elevator arrives, and I allow her to step in first. I press the first-floor button and the doors close. In the confines of the elevator, I'm completely aware of her. A trace of her sweet fragrance invades my senses...Her breathing alters, hitching a little, and she peeks up at me with a bright come-hither look.
Shit.
She bites her lip.
She's doing this on purpose. And for a split second I'm lost in her sensual, mesmerizing stare. She doesn't back down.
I'm hard.
Instantly.
I want her.
Here.
Now.
In the elevator.
"Oh, fuck the paperwork." The words come from nowhere and on instinct I grab her and push her against the wall. Clasping both her hands, I pin them above her head so she can't touch me, and once she's secure, I twist my other hand in her hair while my lips seek and find hers.
She moans into my mouth, the call of a siren, and finally I can sample her: mint and tea and an orchard of mellow fruitfulness. She tastes every bit as good as she looks. Reminding me of a time of plenty. Good Lord. I'm yearning for her. I grasp her chin, deepening the kiss, and her tongue tentatively touches mine...exploring. Considering. Feeling. Kissing me back.
Oh, God in heaven.
"You. Are. So. Sweet," I murmur against her lips, completely intoxicated, punch-drunk with her scent and taste.
The elevator stops and the doors begin to open.
Get a fucking grip, Grey.
I push myself off her and stand beyond her reach.
She's breathing hard.
As am I.
When was the last time I lost control?
Three men in business suits give us knowing looks as they join us.
And I stare at the poster that's above the buttons in the elevator advertising a sensual weekend at The Heathman. I glance at Ana and exhale.
She grins.
And my lips twitch once more.
What the fuck has she done to me?
The elevator stops at the second floor and the guys get out, leaving me alone with Miss Steele.
"You've brushed your teeth," I observe with wry amusement.
"I used your toothbrush," she says, eyes shining.
Of course she has...and for some reason, I find this pleasing, too pleasing. I stifle my smile. "Oh, Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?" I take her hand as the elevator doors open on the ground floor, and I mutter under my breath, "What is it about elevators?" She gives me a knowing look as we stroll across the polished marble of the lobby.
The car is waiting in one of the bays in front of the hotel; the valet is pacing impatiently. I give him an obscene tip and open the passenger door for Ana, who is quiet and introspective.
But she hasn't run.
Even though I jumped her in the elevator.
I should say something about what happened in there--but what?
Sorry?
How was that for you?
What the hell are you doing to me?
I start the car and decide that the less said, the better. The soothing sound of Delibes's "Flower Duet" fills the car and I begin to relax.
"What are we listening to?" Ana inquires, as I turn onto Southwest Jefferson Street. I tell her and ask her if she likes it.
"Christian, it's wonderful."
To hear my name on her lips is a strange delight. She's said it about half a dozen times now, and each time it's different. Today, it's with wonder--at the music. It's great that she likes this piece: it's one of my favorites. I find myself beaming; she's obviously excused me for the elevator outburst.
"Can I hear that again?"
"Of course." I tap the touch screen to replay the music.
"You like classical music?" she asks, as we cross the Fremont Bridge, and we fall into an easy conversation about my taste in music. While we're talking I get a call on the hands-free.
"Grey," I answer.
"Mr. Grey, it's Welch here. I have the information you require." Oh yes, details about the photographer.
"Good. E-mail it to me. Anything to add?"
"No, sir."
I press the button and the music is back. We both listen, now lost in the raw sound of the Kings of Leon. But it doesn't last long--our listening pleasure is disturbed once more by the hands-free.
What the hell?
"Grey," I snap.
"The NDA has been e-mailed to you, Mr. Grey."
"Good. That's all, Andrea."
"Good day, sir."
I sneak a look at Ana, to see if she's picked up on that conversation, but she's studying the Portland scenery. I suspect she's being polite. It's difficult to keep my eyes on the road. I want to stare at her. For all her maladroitness, she has a beautiful neckline, one that I'd like to kiss from the bottom of her ear right down to her shoulder.
Hell. I shuffle in my seat. I hope she agrees to sign the NDA and to take what I have to offer.
When we join I-5 I get another call.
It's Elliot.
"Hi, Christian, d'you get laid?"
Oh...smooth, dude, smooth.
"Hello, Elliot--I'm on speakerphone, and I'm not alone in the car."
"Who's with you?"
"Anastasia Steele."
"Hi, Ana!"
"Hello, Elliot," she says, animated.
"Heard a lot about you," Elliot says.
Shit. What has he heard?
"Don't believe a word Kate says," she responds good-naturedly.
Elliot laughs.
"I'm dropping Anastasia off now. Shall I pick you up?" I interject.
There's no doubt Elliot will want to make a quick getaway.
"Sure."
"See you shortly." I hang up.
"Why do you insist on calling me Anastasia?" she asks.
"Because it's your name."
"I prefer Ana."
"Do you, now?"
"Ana" is too everyday and ordinary for her. And too familiar. Those three letters have the power to wound...
And in that moment I know that her rejection, when it comes, will be hard to take. It's happened before, but I've never felt this...invested. I don't even know this girl, but I want to know her, all of her. Maybe it's because I've never chased a woman.
Grey, get control of yourself and follow the rules, otherwise this will all go to shit.
"Anastasia," I say, ignoring her disapproving look. "What happened in the elevator--it won't happen again--well, not unless it's premeditated."
That keeps her quiet as I park outside her apartment. Before she can answer me I climb out of the car, walk around and open her door.
As she steps onto the sidewalk, she gives me a fleeting glance. "I liked what happened in the elevator," she says.
You did? Her confession halts me in my tracks. I'm pleasantly surprised again by little Miss Steele. As she walks up the steps to the front door, I have to scramble to keep up with her.
Elliot and Kate look up when we enter. They're sitting at a dining table in a sparsely furnished room, befitting a couple of students. There are a few packing boxes beside a bookshelf. Elliot looks relaxed and not in a hurry to leave, which surprises me.
Kavanagh jumps up and gives me a critical once-over as she hugs Ana.
What did she think I was going to do to the girl?
I know what I'd like to do to her...
As Kavanagh holds her at arm's length I'm reassured; maybe she does care for Ana, too.
"Good morning, Christian," she says, her tone cool and condescending.
&n
bsp; "Miss Kavanagh." And what I want to say is something sarcastic about how she's finally showing some interest in her friend, but I hold my tongue.
"Christian, her name is Kate," Elliot says with mild irritation.
"Kate," I mutter, to be polite. Elliot hugs Ana, holding her for a moment too long.
"Hi, Ana," he says, all fucking smiles.
"Hi, Elliot." She beams.
Okay, this is becoming unbearable. "Elliot, we'd better go." And take your hands off her.
"Sure," he says, releasing Ana, but grabbing Kavanagh and making an unseemly show of kissing her.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
Ana's uncomfortable watching them. I don't blame her. But when she turns to me it's with a speculative look through narrowed eyes.
What is she thinking?
"Laters, baby," Elliot mutters, slobbering over Kavanagh.
Dude, show some dignity, for heaven's sake.
Ana's reproachful eyes are on me, and for a moment I don't know if it's because of Elliot and Kate's lascivious display or--
Hell! This is what she wants. To be courted and wooed.
I don't do romance, sweetheart.
A lock of her hair has broken free, and without thinking, I tuck it behind her ear. She leans her face into my fingers, the tender gesture surprising me. My thumb strays to her soft bottom lip, which I'd like to kiss again. But I can't. Not until I have her consent.
"Laters, baby," I whisper, and her face softens with a smile. "I'll pick you up at eight." Reluctantly, I turn away and open the front door, Elliot behind me.
"Man, I need some sleep," Elliot says, as soon as we're in the car. "That woman is voracious."
"Really..." My voice drips with sarcasm. The last thing I want is a blow-by-blow account of his assignation.
"How about you, hotshot? Did she pop your cherry?"
I give him a sideways "fuck off" glare.
Elliot laughs. "Man, you are one uptight son of a bitch." He pulls his Sounders cap over his face and nestles down in his seat for a nap.
I turn up the volume of the music.
Sleep through that, Lelliot!
Yeah. I envy my brother: his ease with women, his ability to sleep...and the fact that he's not the son of a bitch.
JOSE LUIS RODRIGUEZ'S BACKGROUND check reveals a ticket for possession of marijuana. There is nothing in his police records for sexual harassment. Maybe last night would have been a first if I hadn't intervened. And the little prick smokes weed? I hope he doesn't smoke around Ana--and I hope she doesn't smoke, period.
Opening Andrea's e-mail, I send the NDA to the printer in my study at home in Escala. Ana will need to sign it before I show her my playroom. And in a moment of weakness, or hubris, or perhaps unprecedented optimism--I don't know which--I fill in her name and address on my standard Dom/sub contract and send that to print, too.
There's a knock at the door.
"Hey, hotshot. Let's go hiking," Elliot says through the door.
Ah...the child has woken from his nap.
THE SCENT OF PINE, fresh damp earth, and late spring is a balm to my senses. The smell reminds me of those heady days of my childhood, running through a forest with Elliot and my sister Mia under the watchful eyes of our adoptive parents. The quiet, the space, the freedom...the scrunch of dry pine needles underfoot.
Here in the great outdoors I could forget.
Here was a refuge from my nightmares.
Elliot chatters away, needing only the occasional grunt from me to keep talking. As we make our way along the pebbled shore of the Willamette my mind strays to Anastasia. For the first time in a long time, I have a sweet sense of anticipation. I'm excited.
Will she say yes to my proposal?
I picture her sleeping beside me, soft and small...and my cock twitches with expectation. I could have woken her and fucked her then--what a novelty that would have been.
I'll fuck her in time.
I'll fuck her bound and with her smart mouth gagged.
CLAYTON'S IS QUIET. The last customer left five minutes ago. And I'm waiting--again--drumming my fingers on my thighs. Patience is not my forte. Even the long hike with Elliot today has not dampened my restlessness. He's having dinner with Kate this evening at The Heathman. Two dates on consecutive nights is not his usual style.
Suddenly the fluorescent lights inside the store flicker off, the front door opens, and Ana steps out into a mild Portland evening. My heart begins to hammer. This is it: either the beginning of a new relationship or the beginning of the end. She waves good-bye to a young man who's followed her out. It's not the same man I met the last time I was here--it's someone new. He watches her walk toward the car, his eyes on her ass. Taylor distracts me by making a move to climb out of the car, but I stop him. This is my call. When I'm out of the car holding the door open for her, the new guy is locking up the store and no longer ogling Miss Steele.
Her lips curve into a shy smile as she approaches, her hair in a jaunty ponytail swinging in the evening breeze.
"Good evening, Miss Steele."
"Mr. Grey," she says. She's dressed in black jeans...Jeans again. She greets Taylor as she climbs into the backseat of the car.
Once I'm beside her I clasp her hand, while Taylor pulls out onto the empty road and heads to the Portland helipad. "How was work?" I ask, enjoying the feel of her hand in mine.
"Very long," she says, her voice husky.
"Yes, it's been a long day for me, too."
It's been hell waiting for the last couple of hours!
"What did you do?" she asks.
"I went hiking with Elliot." Her hand is warm and soft. She glances down at our joined fingers and I brush her knuckles with my thumb over and over. Her breath catches and her eyes meet mine. In them I see her longing and desire...and her sense of anticipation. I just hope she accepts my proposition.
Mercifully, the drive to the helipad is short. When we're out of the car I take her hand again. She looks a little perplexed.
Ah. She's wondering where the helicopter might be.
"Ready?" I ask. She nods, and I lead her into the building toward the elevator. She gives me a quick knowing look.
She's remembering the kiss from this morning, but then...so am I.
"It's only three floors," I mutter.
As we stand inside I make a mental note to fuck her in an elevator one day. That's if she agrees to my deal.
On the roof Charlie Tango, newly arrived from Boeing Field, is prepped and ready to fly, though there's no sign of Stephan, who's brought her down here. But Joe, who runs the helipad in Portland, is in the small office. He salutes when I see him. He's older than my grandpa, and what he doesn't know about flying is not worth knowing; he flew Sikorskys in Korea for casualty evacuation, and boy, does he have some hair-raising stories.
"Here's your flight plan, Mr. Grey," Joe says, his gravelly voice betraying his age. "All external checks are done. She's ready and waiting, sir. You're good to go."
"Thank you, Joe."
A quick glance at Ana tells me that she's excited...and so am I. This is a first.
"Let's go." With her hand in mine once more, I lead Ana over the helipad to Charlie Tango. The safest Eurocopter in her class and a delight to fly. She's my pride and joy. I hold the door open for Ana; she scrambles inside and I climb in behind her.
"Over there," I order, pointing to the front passenger seat. "Sit. Don't touch anything." I'm amazed when she does as she's told.
Once in her seat, she examines the array of instruments with a mixture of awe and enthusiasm. Crouching down beside her, I strap her into the seat harness, trying not to imagine her naked as I do it. I take a little longer than is necessary because this might be my last chance to be this close to her, my last chance to inhale her sweet, evocative scent. Once she knows about my predilections she may flee...on the other hand, she may embrace the lifestyle. The possibilities this conjures in my mind are almost overwhelming. She's watching me intently, she's so cl
ose...so lovely. I tighten the last strap. She's not going anywhere. Not for an hour at least.
Suppressing my excitement, I whisper, "You're secure. No escaping." She inhales sharply. "Breathe, Anastasia," I add, and caress her cheek. Holding her chin, I lean down and kiss her quickly. "I like this harness," I mutter. I want to tell her I have others, in leather, in which I'd like to see her trussed and suspended from the ceiling. But I behave, sit down, and buckle up.
"Put your cans on." I point to the headset in front of Ana. "I'm just going through all the preflight checks." All instruments look good. I press the throttle to 1500 rpm, transponder to standby, and position beacon on. Everything is set and ready to go.
"Do you know what you're doing?" she asks with wonder. I inform her that I've been a fully qualified pilot for four years. Her smile is infectious.
"You're safe with me," I reassure her, and add, "Well, while we're flying." I give her a wink, she beams, and I'm dazzled.
"Are you ready?" I ask--and I can't quite believe how excited I am to have her here beside me.
She nods.
I talk to the tower--they're awake--and increase the throttle to 2000 rpm. Once they've given us clearance I do my final checks. Oil temperature is at 104. Good. I increase the manifold pressure to 14, the engine to 2500 rpm, and pull back on the throttle. And like the elegant bird she is...Charlie Tango rises into the air.
Anastasia gasps as the ground disappears below us, but she holds her tongue, entranced by the waning lights of Portland. Soon we are shrouded in darkness; the only light emanates from the instruments before us. Ana's face is illuminated by the red and green glow as she stares into the night.
"Eerie, isn't it?"
Though I don't find it so. To me this is a comfort. Nothing can harm me here.
I'm safe and hidden in the dark.
"How do you know you're going the right way?" Ana asks.
"Here." I point to the panel. I don't want to bore her talking about instrument flight rules, but the fact is it's all the equipment in front of me that guides us to our destination: the attitude indicator, the altimeter, the VSI, and of course the GPS. I tell her about Charlie Tango, and how she's equipped for night flight.
Ana looks at me, amazed.
"There's a helipad on top of the building I live in. That's where we're heading."
I look back at the panel, checking all the data. This is what I love: the control, my safety and well-being reliant on my mastery of the technology in front of me. "When you fly at night, you fly blind. You have to trust the instrumentation," I tell her.
