by E. L. James
“Keep still,” he growls. He cups my sex with his hand, and I still immediately. His thumb brushes over my clitoris, and my breath catches in my throat as pleasure jolts like electricity deep, deep, deep inside me.
“Still,” he whispers. He kisses me once more as his thumb circles gently around me through the sheer fine lace of my designer underwear. Slowly he eases two fingers past my panties and inside me. I groan and flex my hips toward his hand.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Oh. You’re so ready,” he says, sliding his fingers in and out, torturously slowly. “Do car chases turn you on?”
“You turn me on.”
He smiles a wolfish grin and withdraws his fingers suddenly, leaving me wanting. He scoops his arm under my knees and, taking me by surprise, he lifts me and swings me around to face the windshield.
“Place your legs either side of mine,” he orders, putting his legs together in the middle of the footwell. I do as I’m told, placing my feet on the floor on either side of his. He runs his hands down my thighs, then back, pulling up my skirt.
“Hands on my knees, baby. Lean forward. Lift that glorious ass in the air. Mind your head.”
Shit! We really are going to do this, in a public parking lot. I quickly scan the area in front of us and see no one, but feel a thrill coursing through me. I’m in a public lot! This is so hot! Christian shifts beneath me, and I hear the telltale sound of his zipper. Putting one arm around my waist and with his other hand tugging my lacy panties sideways, he impales me in one swift move.
“Ah!” I cry out, grinding down on him, and his breath hisses through his teeth. His arm snakes around me up to my neck and he grasps me under my chin. His hand spreads across my neck, pulling me back and tilting my head to one side so he can kiss my throat. His other hand grips my hip and together we start to move.
I push up with my feet, and he tilts himself into me—in and out. The sensation is … I groan loudly. It’s so deep this way. My left hand curls around the hand brake, my right hand braced against the door. His teeth graze my earlobe and he tugs—it’s almost painful. He bucks again and again into me. I rise and fall, and as we establish a rhythm, he moves his hand around beneath my skirt to the apex of my thighs, and his fingers gently tease my clitoris through the sheer finery of my panties.
“Ah!”
“Be. Quick,” he breathes into my ear through gritted teeth, his hand still curled around my neck beneath my chin. “We need to do this quick, Ana.” And he increases the pressure of his fingers against my sex.
“Ah!” I feel the familiar build of pleasure, bunching deep and thick inside me.
“Come on, baby,” he rasps at my ear. “I want to hear you.”
I moan again, and I am all sensation, my eyes tightly closed. His voice at my ear, his breath on my neck, pleasure radiating out from where his fingers tease my body and where he slams deep inside me, and I am lost. My body takes control, craving release.
“Yes,” Christian hisses in my ear, and I open my eyes briefly, staring wildly at the cloth roof of the R8, and I scrunch them closed again as I come around him.
“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs in wonder, and he wraps his arms around me and rams into me one last time and stills as he climaxes deep inside.
He runs his nose along my jaw and softly kisses my throat, my cheek, my temple as I lie on him, my head lolling against his neck.
“Tension relieved, Mrs. Grey?” Christian closes his teeth around my earlobe again and tugs. My body is drained, totally exhausted, and I mewl. I feel his smile against me.
“Certainly helped with mine,” he adds, shifting me off him. “Lost your voice?”
“Yes,” I murmur.
“Well, aren’t you the wanton creature? I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist.”
I sit up immediately, alarmed. He tenses. “No one’s watching, are they?” I glance anxiously around the car lot.
“Do you think I’d let anyone watch my wife come?” He strokes his hand down my back reassuringly, but the tone of his voice sends shivers down my spine. I turn to gaze at him and grin impishly.
“Car sex!” I exclaim.
He grins back and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Let’s head back. I’ll drive.”
He opens the door to let me climb off his lap and out into the parking lot. When I glance down he’s quickly doing up his fly. He follows me out and then holds the door open for me to climb back in. Strolling quickly around to the driver’s side, he climbs in beside me, retrieves the BlackBerry, and makes a call.
“Where’s Sawyer?” he snaps. “And the Dodge? How come Sawyer’s not with you?”
He listens intently to Ryan, I assume.
“Her?” he gasps. “Stick with her.” Christian hangs up and gazes at me.
Her! The driver of the car? Who could that be—Elena? Leila?
“The driver of the Dodge is female?”
“So it would appear,” he says quietly. His mouth presses into a thin angry line. “Let’s get you home,” he mutters. He starts up the R8 with a roar and reverses smoothly out of the space.
“Where’s the, er … unsub? What does that mean by the way? Sounds very BDSM.”
Christian smiles briefly as he eases the car out of the lot and back onto Stewart Street.
“It stands for Unknown Subject. Ryan is ex-FBI.”
“Ex-FBI?”
“Don’t ask.” Christian shakes his head. It’s obvious he’s deep in contemplation.
“Well, where is this female unsub?”
“On the I-5, heading south.” He glances at me, his eyes grim.
Whoa—from passionate to calm to anxious in the space of a few moments. I reach over and caress his thigh, running my fingers leisurely up the inside seam of his jeans, hoping to improve his mood. He takes his hand off the steering wheel and stops the slow ascent of my hand.
“No,” he says. “We’ve made it this far. You don’t want me to have an accident three blocks from home.” He raises my hand to his lips and plants a cool kiss on my index finger to take the sting out of his rebuke. Cool, calm, authoritative … My Fifty. And for the first time in a while he makes me feel like a wayward child. I withdraw my hand and sit quietly for a moment.
“Female?”
“Apparently so.” He sighs, turns into the underground garage at Escala, and punches the access code into the security keypad. The gate swings open and he drives on, smoothly parking the R8 in its designated space.
“I really like this car,” I murmur.
“Me too. And I like how you handled it—and how you managed not to break it.”
“You can buy me one for my birthday.” I smirk at him.
Christian’s mouth drops open as I climb out of the car.
“A white one, I think,” I add, leaning down and grinning at him.
He smiles. “Anastasia Grey, you never cease to amaze me.”
I shut the door and walk to the end of the car to wait for him. Gracefully he climbs out, watching me with that look … that look that calls to something deep inside me. I know this look well. Once he’s in front of me, he leans down and whispers, “You like the car. I like the car. I’ve fucked you in it … perhaps I should fuck you on it.”
I gasp. And a sleek silver BMW pulls into the garage. Christian glances at it anxiously, then with annoyance and gives me a sly smile.
“But it looks like we have company. Come.” He grabs my hand and heads for the garage elevator. He pushes the “call” button and as we wait, the driver of the BMW joins us. He’s young, casually dressed, with long, layered, dark hair. He looks like he works in the media.
“Hi,” he says, smiling warmly at us.
Christian puts his arm around me and nods politely.
“I’ve just moved in. Apartment sixteen.”
“Hello.” I return his smile. He has kind, soft brown eyes.
The elevator arrives and we all walk in. Christian glances down at me, his expression unreadable.
“You’re Christian Grey,” the young man says.
Christian gives him a tight smile.
“Noah Logan.” He holds out his hand. Reluctantly, Christian takes it. “Which floor?” Noah asks.
“I have to input a code.”
“Oh.”
“Penthouse.”
“Oh.” Noah smiles broadly. “Of course.” He presses the button for the eighth floor and the doors close. “Mrs. Grey, I presume.”
“Yes.” I give him a polite smile and we shake hands. Noah flushes a little as he gazes at me a fraction too long. I mirror his flush and Christian’s arm tightens around me.
“When did you move in?” I ask.
“Last weekend. I love the place.”
There’s an awkward pause before the elevator stops at Noah’s floor.
“Great to meet you both,” he says, sounding relieved, and steps out. The doors close silently behind him. Christian taps in the entry code and the elevator ascends again.
“He seemed nice,” I murmur. “I’ve never met any of the neighbors before.”
Christian scowls. “I prefer it that way.”
“That’s because you’re a hermit. I thought he was pleasant enough.”
“A hermit?”
“Hermit. Stuck in your ivory tower,” I state matter-of-factly. Christian’s lips twitch with amusement.
“Our ivory tower. And I think you have another name to add to the list of your admirers, Mrs. Grey.”
I roll my eyes. “Christian, you think everyone is an admirer.”
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
My pulse quickens. “I sure did,” I whisper, my breath catching in my throat.
He cocks his head to one side, wearing his smoldering, arrogant, amused expression. “What shall we do about that?”
“Something rough.”
He blinks to hide his surprise. “Rough?”
“Please.”
“You want more?”
I nod slowly. The doors to the elevator open and we’re home.
“How rough?” he breathes, his eyes darkening.
I gaze at him, saying nothing. He closes his eyes for a moment, and then grabs my hand and hauls me into the foyer.
When we burst through the double doors, Sawyer is standing in the hallway, looking expectantly at the two of us.
“Sawyer, I’d like to be debriefed in an hour,” Christian says.
“Yes, sir.” Turning, Sawyer heads back into Taylor’s office.
We have an hour!
Christian glances down at me. “Rough?”
I nod.
“Well, Mrs. Grey, you’re in luck. I’m taking requests today.”
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
Do you have anything in mind?” Christian murmurs, pinning me with his bold gaze. I shrug, suddenly breathless and agitated. I don’t know if it’s the chase, the adrenaline, my earlier bad mood—I don’t understand, but I want this, and I want it badly. A puzzled expression flits across Christian’s face. “Kinky fuckery?” he asks, his words a soft caress.
I nod, feeling my face flame. Why am I embarrassed by this? I have done all manner of kinky fuckery with this man. He’s my husband, damn it! Am I embarrassed because I want this and I’m ashamed to admit it? My subconscious glares at me. Stop over-thinking.
“Carte blanche?” He whispers the question, eyeing me speculatively as if he’s trying to read my mind.
Carte blanche? Holy fuck—what will that entail? “Yes,” I murmur nervously, as excitement blooms deep inside me. He smiles a slow, sexy smile.
“Come,” he says and tugs me toward the stairs. His intention is clear. Playroom!
At the top of the stairs, he releases my hand and unlocks the playroom door. The key is on the Yes Seattle keychain that I gave him not so long ago.
“After you, Mrs. Grey,” he says and swings the door open.
The playroom smells reassuringly familiar, of leather and wood and fresh polish. I blush, knowing that Mrs. Jones must have been in here cleaning while we were away on our honeymoon. As we enter, Christian switches on the lights and the dark red walls are illuminated with soft, diffused light. I stand gazing at him, anticipation running thick and heavy through my veins.
What will he do? He locks the door and turns. Inclining his head to one side, he regards me thoughtfully and then shakes his head, amused.
“What do you want, Anastasia?” he asks gently.
“You.” My response is breathy.
He smirks. “You’ve got me. You’ve had me since you fell into my office.”
“Surprise me then, Mr. Grey.”
His mouth twists with repressed humor and carnal promise. “As you wish, Mrs. Grey.” He folds his arms and raises one long index finger to his lips while he appraises me. “I think we’ll start by ridding you of your clothes.” He steps forward. Grasping the front of my short denim jacket, he opens it and pushes it over my shoulders so it falls to the floor. He clasps the hem of my black camisole.
“Lift your arms.”
I obey, and he peels it off over my head. Leaning down, he plants a soft kiss on my lips, his eyes glowing with an alluring mix of lust and love. The camisole joins my jacket on the floor.
“Here,” I whisper, gazing nervously at him as I remove the hair tie from around my wrist and hold it up for him. He stills, and his eyes widen briefly but give nothing away. Finally, he takes the small band.
“Turn around,” he orders.
Relieved, I smile to myself and oblige immediately. Looks like we’ve overcome that little hurdle. He gathers my hair and braids it quickly and efficiently before fastening it with the tie. He tugs the braid, pulling my head back.
“Good thinking, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers in my ear, then nips my earlobe. “Now turn around and take your skirt off. Let it fall to the floor.” He releases me and steps back as I turn to face him. Not taking my eyes off his, I unbutton the waistband of my skirt and ease the zipper down. The full skirt fans out and falls to the floor, pooling at my feet.
“Step out from your skirt,” he orders. As I step toward him, he kneels swiftly down in front of me and grasps my right ankle. Deftly, he unbuckles my sandals one at a time while I lean forward, balancing myself with a hand on the wall under the pegs that used to hold all his whips, crops, and paddles. The flogger and the riding crop are the only implements that remain. I eye them with curiosity. Will he use those?
Having removed my shoes so I’m just in my lacy bra and panties, Christian sits back on his heels, gazing up at me. “You’re a fine sight, Mrs. Grey.” Suddenly he kneels up, grabs my hips, and pulls me forward, burying his nose in the apex of my thighs. “And you smell of you and me and sex,” he says, inhaling sharply. “It’s intoxicating.” He kisses me through my lace panties, while I gasp at his words—my insides liquefying. He’s just so … naughty. Gathering up my clothes and sandals, he stands in one swift, graceful move, like an athlete.
“Go and stand beside the table,” he says calmly, pointing with his chin. Turning, he strides over to the museum chest of wonder.
He glances back and smirks at me. “Face the wall,” he commands. “That way you won’t know what I’m planning. We aim to please, Mrs. Grey, and you wanted a surprise.”
I turn away from him, listening acutely—my ears suddenly sensitive to the slightest sound. He’s good at this—building my expectations, stoking my desire … making me wait. I hear him put my shoes down and, I think, my clothes on the chest, followed by the telltale clatter of his shoes as they drop to the floor, one at a time. Hmm … love barefoot Christian. A moment later, I hear him pull open a drawer.
Toys! Oh, I love, love, love this anticipation. The drawer closes and my breathing spikes. How can the sound of a drawer render me a quivering mess? It makes no sense. The subtle hiss of the sound system coming to life tells me it’s going to be a musical interlude. A lone piano starts, muted and soft, and mournful chords fill the room. It’s not a tune I know.
The piano is joined by an electric guitar. What is this? A man’s voice speaks and I can just make out the words, something about not being frightened of dying.
Christian pads leisurely toward me, his bare feet slapping on the wooden floor. I sense him behind me as a woman starts to sing … wail … sing?
“Rough, you say, Mrs. Grey?” he breathes in my left ear.
“Hmm.”
“You must tell me to stop if it’s too much. If you say stop, I will stop immediately. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I need your promise.”
I inhale sharply. Shit, what is he going to do? “I promise,” I murmur breathlessly, recalling his words from earlier: I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m more than happy to play.
“Good girl.” Leaning down, he plants a kiss on my naked shoulder, then hooks a finger beneath my bra strap and traces a line across my back beneath the strap. I want to moan. How does he make the slightest touch so erotic?
“Take it off,” he whispers in my ear, and hurriedly I oblige and let my bra fall to the floor.
His hands skim down my back, and he hooks both of his thumbs into my panties and slides them down my legs.
“Step,” he orders. Once more I do as I’m told, stepping out of my panties. He plants a kiss on my backside and stands.
“I am going to blindfold you so that everything will be more intense.” He slips an airline eye mask over my eyes, and my world is plunged into darkness. The woman singing moans incoherently … a haunting, heartfelt melody.
“Bend down and lie flat on the table.” His words are softly spoken. “Now.”
Without hesitation, I bend over the side of the table and rest my torso on the highly polished wood, my face flush against the hard surface. It’s cool against my skin and it smells vaguely of beeswax with a citrus tang.
“Stretch your arms up and hold on to the edge.”
Okay … Reaching forward, I clutch the far edge of the table. It’s quite wide, so my arms are fully extended.
“If you let go, I will spank you. Do you understand?”
