by E. L. James
Fortunately she leaves, pulling the door to, but not shutting it. I check in my inside pocket, and once again Mrs. Jones has exceeded all expectations; I fish out the handkerchief and give it to Ana. “What’s going on?”
“Why are you here?” Her voice is shaky.
I don’t know.
You said you didn’t like me.
“Part of my role is to look after your needs. You said you wanted me to stay, so here I am.” Nice save, Grey. “And yet I find you like this.” You weren’t like this when I left. “I’m sure I’m responsible, but I have no idea why. Is it because I hit you?”
She struggles to sit up and flinches when she does.
“Did you take some Advil?” As instructed?
She shakes her head.
When will you do as you’re told?
I go to find Kavanagh, who’s on the sofa, seething.
“Ana has a headache. Do you have any Advil?”
She raises her eyebrows, surprised, I think, by my concern for her friend. Glowering, she gets up and stomps into the kitchen. After some rustling through boxes she hands me a couple of tablets and a teacup of water.
Back in the bedroom I offer them to Ana and sit on the bed. “Take these.”
She does, her eyes clouded with apprehension.
“Talk to me. You told me you were okay. I’d never have left you if I thought you were like this.” Distracted, she toys with a loose thread on her quilt. “I take it that when you said you were okay, you weren’t.”
“I thought I was fine,” she admits.
“Anastasia, you can’t tell me what you think I want to hear. That’s not very honest. How can I trust anything you’ve said to me?” This will never work if she’s not honest with me.
The thought is depressing.
Talk to me, Ana.
“How did you feel while I was hitting you, and after?”
“I didn’t like it. I’d rather you didn’t do it again.”
“You weren’t meant to like it.”
“Why do you like it?” she asks, and her voice is stronger.
Shit. I can’t tell her why.
“You really want to know?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m fascinated.” Now she’s being sarcastic.
“Careful,” I warn her.
She pales at my expression. “Are you going to hit me again?”
“No, not tonight.” I think you’ve had enough.
“So.” She still wants an answer.
“I like the control it gives me, Anastasia. I want you to behave in a particular way, and if you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn to behave the way I desire. I enjoy punishing you. I’ve wanted to spank you since you asked me if I was gay.”
And I don’t want you rolling your eyes at me, or being sarcastic.
“So you don’t like the way I am.” Her voice is small.
“I think you’re lovely the way you are.”
“So why are you trying to change me?”
“I don’t want to change you.” God forbid. You’re enchanting. “I’d like you to be courteous and to follow the set of rules I’ve given you and not defy me. Simple.” I want you safe.
“But you want to punish me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“That’s what I don’t understand.”
I sigh. “It’s the way I’m made. I need to control you. I need you to behave in a certain way, and if you don’t—” My mind drifts. I find it arousing, Ana. You did, too. Can’t you accept that? Bending you over my knee…feeling your ass beneath my palm. “I love to watch your beautiful alabaster skin pink and warm up under my hands. It turns me on.” Just thinking about it stirs my body.
“So it’s not the pain you’re putting me through?”
Hell.
“A bit, to see if you can take it.” Actually, it’s a lot, but I don’t want to go there right now. If I tell her, she’ll throw me out. “But that’s not the whole reason. It’s the fact that you are mine to do with as I see fit—ultimate control over someone else. And it turns me on. Big-time.”
I must lend her a book or two on being a submissive.
“Look, I’m not explaining myself very well. I’ve never had to before. I’ve not really thought about this in any great depth. I’ve always been with like-minded people.” I pause to check she’s still with me. “And you haven’t answered my question—how did you feel afterward?”
She blinks. “Confused.”
“You were sexually aroused by it, Anastasia.”
You have an inner freak, Ana. I know it.
Closing my eyes, I recall her wet and wanting around my fingers after I spanked her. When I open them, she’s staring at me, pupils dilated, her lips parted…her tongue moistening her top lip. She wants it, too.
Shit. Not again, Grey. Not when she’s like this.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn, my voice gruff.
Her eyebrows rise in surprise.
You know what I mean, Ana. “I don’t have any condoms, and you know, you’re upset. Contrary to what your roommate believes, I’m not a priapic monster. So, you felt confused?”
She remains mute.
Jesus.
“You have no problem being honest with me in print. Your e-mails always tell me exactly how you feel. Why can’t you do that in conversation? Do I intimidate you that much?”
Her fingers fiddle with the quilt.
“You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus, flying too close to the sun.” Her voice is quiet, but brimming with emotion.
Her confession floors me like a swift kick to the head.
“Well, I think you’ve got that the wrong way round,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Oh, Anastasia, you’ve bewitched me. Isn’t it obvious?”
That’s why I’m here.
She’s not convinced.
Ana. Believe me. “You’ve still not answered my question. Write me an e-mail, please. But right now, I’d really like to sleep. Can I stay?”
“Do you want to stay?”
“You wanted me here.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” she persists.
Impossible woman. I just drove like a maniac to get here after your fucking message. There’s your answer.
I grumble that I’ll respond by e-mail. I’m not talking about this. This conversation is over.
Before I can change my mind and head back to The Heathman, I stand, empty my pockets, remove my shoes and socks, and strip off my pants. Slinging my jacket over her chair, I climb into her bed.
“Lie down,” I growl.
She complies, and I lean up on my elbow, looking at her. “If you are going to cry, cry in front of me. I need to know.”
“Do you want me to cry?”
“Not particularly. I just want to know how you’re feeling. I don’t want you slipping through my fingers. Switch the light off. It’s late, and we both have to work tomorrow.”
She does.
“Lie on your side, facing away from me.”
I don’t want you to touch me.
The bed dips as she moves, and I wrap my arm around her and gently pull her against me.
“Sleep, baby,” I murmur, and breathe in the scent of her hair.
Damn, she smells good.
Lelliot is running through the grass.
He’s laughing. Loud.
I am running after him. My face is smiling.
I am going to catch him.
There are small trees around us.
Baby trees covered in apples.
Mommy lets me pick the apples.
Mommy lets me eat the apples.
I put the apples in my pockets. Every pocket.
I hide them in my sweater.
Apples taste good.
Apples smell good.
Mommy makes apple pie.
Apple pie and ice cream.
They make my tummy smile.
I hide the apples in my shoes. I hide them under my pillow.
There is a man. Grandpa Trev-Trev-yan.
His name is hard. Hard to say in my head.
He has another name. Thee-o-door.
Theodore is a funny name.
The baby trees are his trees.
At his house. Where he lives.
He is Mommy’s daddy.
He has a loud laugh. And big shoulders.
And happy eyes.
He runs to catch Lelliot and me.
You can’t catch me.
Lelliot runs. He laughs.
I run. I catch him.
And we fall down in the grass.
He is laughing.
The apples sparkle in the sun.
And they taste so good.
Yummy.
And they smell so good.
So, so good.
The apples fall.
They fall on me.
I twist and they hit my back. Stinging me.
Ow.
But the scent is still there, sweet and crisp.
Ana.
When I open my eyes I’m wrapped around her, our limbs entwined. She’s regarding me with a tender smile. Her face is no longer blotchy and puffy; she looks radiant. My cock agrees, and stiffens in greeting.
“Good morning.” I’m disoriented. “Jesus, even in my sleep I’m drawn to you.” Stretching out, I disentangle myself from her and scan my surroundings. Of course, we’re in her bedroom. Her eyes glow with eager curiosity as my cock presses against her. “Hmm, this has possibilities, but I think we should wait until Sunday.” I nuzzle her just below her ear and lean up on my elbow.
She looks flushed. Warm.
“You’re very hot,” she scolds.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I grin and flex my hips, teasing her with my favorite body part. She tries a disapproving look but fails miserably—she’s highly amused. Leaning down, I kiss her.
“Sleep well?” I ask.
She nods.
“So did I.”
I’m surprised. I did sleep really well. I tell her so. No nightmares. Only dreams…
“What’s the time?” I ask.
“It’s seven thirty.”
“Seven thirty? Shit!” I leap out of bed and start dragging on my jeans. She watches me dress, trying to suppress her laughter.
“You are such a bad influence on me,” I complain. “I have a meeting. I have to go—I have to be in Portland at eight. Are you smirking at me?”
“Yes,” she admits.
“I’m late. I don’t do late. Another first, Miss Steele.” I tug on my jacket, reach down and take her head in both my hands. “Sunday,” I whisper, and kiss her. I grab my watch, wallet, and money from her bedside table, pick up my shoes, and head for the door. “Taylor will come and sort your Beetle. I was serious. Don’t drive it. I’ll see you at my place on Sunday. I’ll e-mail you a time.”
Leaving her a little dazed, I rush out of the apartment and to my car.
I put on my shoes while I’m driving. Once they’re on I open up the throttle and weave in and out of the traffic heading to Portland. I’ll have to meet Eamon Kavanagh’s associates in my jeans. Thankfully this meeting is via WebEx.
I burst into my room at The Heathman and switch on my laptop: 8:02. Shit. I haven’t shaved, but I smooth my hair and straighten my jacket, and hope they don’t notice I’m only wearing a T-shirt underneath.
Who gives a fuck, anyway?
I open WebEx and Andrea is online, waiting for me. “Good morning, Mr. Grey. Mr. Kavanagh is delayed, but they’re ready for you in New York and here in Seattle.”
“Fred and Barney?” My Flintstones. I smirk at the thought.
“Yes, sir. And Ros, too.”
“Great. Thanks.” I’m breathless. I catch Andrea’s fleeting puzzled look and choose to ignore it. “Can you order me a toasted bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon and a coffee, black. Have it sent to my suite ASAP.”
“Yes, Mr. Grey.” She posts the link to the conference in the window. “Here you go, sir,” she says. I click the link—and I’m in.
“Good morning.” There are two executives seated at a conference table in New York, both gazing expectantly at the camera. Ros, Barney, and Fred are each in separate windows.
To business. Kavanagh says he wants to upgrade his media network to high-speed fiber-optic connections. GEH can do it for them—but are they serious about buying in? It’s a big investment up front, but a great payoff down the line.
While we’re talking an e-mail notification with an arresting title from Ana floats onto the top right corner of my screen. As quietly as I can, I click on it.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Assault and Battery: The After-Effects
Date: May 27 2011 08:05
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
You wanted to know why I felt confused after you—which euphemism should we apply—spanked, punished, beat, assaulted me.
A tad overdramatic, Miss Steele. You could have said no.
Well, during the whole alarming process, I felt demeaned, debased, and abused.
If you felt that way, why didn’t you stop me? You have safe words.
And much to my mortification, you’re right, I was aroused, and that was unexpected.
I know. Good. You’ve finally acknowledged it.
As you are well aware, all things sexual are new to me—I only wish I was more experienced and therefore more prepared. I was shocked to feel aroused.
What really worried me was how I felt afterward. And that’s more difficult to articulate. I was happy that you were happy. I felt relieved that it wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. And when I was lying in your arms, I felt…sated.
As did I, Ana, as did I…
But I feel very uncomfortable, guilty even, feeling that way. It doesn’t sit well with me, and I’m confused as a result. Does that answer your question?
I hope the world of Mergers and Acquisitions is as stimulating as ever…and that you weren’t too late.
Thank you for staying with me.
Ana
Kavanagh joins the conversation, apologizing for his tardiness. While the introductions are made and Fred talks about what GEH can offer, I type out my reply to Ana. I hope to those on the other side of the computer screen it looks like I’m taking notes.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Free Your Mind
Date: May 27 2011 08:24
To: Anastasia Steele
Interesting…if slightly overstated title heading, Miss Steele.
To answer your points:
I’ll go with spanking—as that’s what it was.
So you felt demeaned, debased, abused, and assaulted—how very Tess Durbeyfield of you. I believe it was you who decided on the debasement, if I remember correctly. Do you really feel like this or do you think you ought to feel like this? Two very different things. If that is how you feel, do you think you could just try to embrace these feelings, deal with them, for me? That’s what a submissive would do.
I am grateful for your inexperience. I value it, and I’m only beginning to understand what it means. Simply put…it means that you are mine in every way.
Yes, you were aroused, which in turn was very arousing, there’s nothing wrong with that.
Happy does not even begin to cover how I felt. Ecstatic joy comes close.
Punishment spanking hurts fa
r more than sensual spanking—so that’s about as hard as it gets, unless, of course, you commit some major transgression, in which case I’ll use some implement to punish you with. My hand was very sore. But I like that.
I felt sated, too—more so than you could ever know.
Don’t waste your energy on guilt, feelings of wrongdoing, etc. We are consenting adults and what we do behind closed doors is between ourselves. You need to free your mind and listen to your body.
The world of M&A is not nearly as stimulating as you are, Miss Steele.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Her response is almost immediate.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Consenting Adults!
Date: May 27 2011 08:26
To: Christian Grey
Aren’t you in a meeting?
I’m very glad your hand was sore.
And if I listened to my body, I’d be in Alaska by now.
Ana
P.S.: I will think about embracing these feelings.
Alaska! Really, Miss Steele. I chuckle to myself and look like I’m engaged with the online conversation. There’s a knock on my door, and I apologize for interrupting the conference while I let room service in with my breakfast. Miss Dark, Dark Eyes rewards me with a flirtatious smile as I sign the check.
Returning to the WebEx, I find Fred briefing Kavanagh and his associates on how successful this technology has been for another client company dealing in futures.
“Will the technology help me with the futures market?” Kavanagh asks with a sardonic smile. When I tell him that Barney’s hard at work developing a crystal ball to predict prices, they all have the grace to laugh.
While Fred discusses a theoretical timeline for implementation and tech integration, I e-mail Ana.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: You Didn’t Call the Cops
Date: May 27 2011 08:35
To: Anastasia Steele
Miss Steele,
