by E. L. James
“Yes.”
She does as she’s told. For a change.
“In you go.” I steady her with my hand and she starts to climb into the back.
“No, front. The pilot sits in the back.”
“But you won’t be able to see.”
“I’ll see plenty.” I’ll see her enjoying herself, I hope.
She climbs in and I bend over into the cockpit to fasten her into her seat, locking the harness and tightening the straps. “Hmm, twice in one morning. I am a lucky man,” I whisper, and kiss her. She beams up at me, her anticipation palpable.
“This won’t take long—twenty, thirty minutes at most. Thermals aren’t great this time of the morning, but it’s so breathtaking up there at this hour. I hope you’re not nervous.”
“Excited,” she says, still grinning.
“Good.” I stroke her cheek with my index finger, then put on my own parachute and climb into the pilot seat.
Benson comes back carrying ballast for Ana, and he checks her straps.
“Yep, that’s secure. First time?” he asks her.
“Yes.”
“You’ll love it.”
“Thanks, Mr. Benson,” Ana says.
“Call me Mark,” he replies, fucking twinkling at her. I narrow my eyes at him. “Okay?” he asks me.
“Yep. Let’s go,” I say, impatient to be airborne and to get him away from my girl. Benson nods, shuts the canopy, and ambles over to the Piper. Off to the right I notice Dave, Benson’s mate, has appeared, propping up the wingtip. Quickly I test the equipment: pedals (I hear the rudder move behind me); control stick—side to side (a quick glance at the wings and I can see the ailerons moving); and control stick—front to back (I hear the elevator respond).
Right. We’re ready.
Benson climbs into the Piper and almost immediately the single propeller starts up, loud and throaty in the morning quiet. A few moments later his plane is rolling forward, taking up the slack of the towrope, and we’re off. I balance the ailerons and the rudder as the Piper picks up speed, then I ease back on the control stick, and we sail into the air before Benson does.
“Here we go, baby,” I shout to Ana as we gain height.
“Brunswick Traffic, Delta Victor, heading two-seven-zero.” It’s Benson on the radio. I ignore him as we climb higher and higher. The L23 handles well, and I watch Ana; her head whips from side to side as she tries to take in the view. I wish I could see her smile.
We head west, the newborn sun behind us, and I note when we cross I-95. I love the serenity up here, away from everything and everyone, just me and the glider looking for lift…and to think I’ve never shared this experience with anyone before. The light is beautiful, lambent, all I had hoped it would be…for Ana and for me.
When I check the altimeter we’re nearing three thousand feet and coasting at 105 knots. Benson’s voice crackles over the radio, informing me that we’re at three thousand feet and we can release.
“Affirmative. Release,” I radio back, and pull the release knob. The Piper disappears and I roll us into a slow dip, until we’re heading southwest and riding the wind. Ana laughs out loud. Encouraged by her reaction, I continue to spiral, hoping we might find some convergence lift near the coastline or thermals beneath pale pink clouds—the shallow cumulus might mean lift, even this early.
Suddenly filled with a heady combination of mischief and joy, I shout at Ana, “Hold on tight!” And I take us into a full roll. She squeals, her hands shooting up and bracing against the canopy. When I right us once more she’s laughing. It is the most gratifying response a man could want, and it makes me laugh, too.
“I’m glad I didn’t have breakfast!” she shouts.
“Yes, in hindsight it’s good you didn’t, because I’m going to do that again.”
This time she holds on to the harness and stares directly down at the ground as she’s suspended over it. She giggles, the noise mixing with the whistle of the wind.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I shout.
“Yes.”
I know we haven’t got long, as there’s not much lift out here—but I don’t care. Ana is enjoying herself…and so am I.
“See the joystick in front of you? Grab hold.”
She tries to turn her head, but she’s buckled in too tight.
“Go on, Anastasia. Grab it,” I urge her.
My joystick moves in my hands, and I know she’s holding hers.
“Hold tight. Keep it steady. See the middle dial in front? Keep the needle dead center.”
We continue to fly in a straight line, the yaw string staying perpendicular to the canopy.
“Good girl.”
My Ana. Never backs down from a challenge. And for some bizarre reason I feel immensely proud of her.
“I am amazed you let me take control,” she shouts.
“You’d be amazed what I’d let you do, Miss Steele. Back to me now.”
In command of the joystick once more, I turn us in the direction of the airfield as we begin to lose altitude. I think I can land us there. I call over the radio to inform Benson and whoever might be listening that we’re going to land, and then I execute another circle to bring us closer to the ground.
“Hang on, baby. This can get bumpy.”
I dip again and bring the L23 into line with the runway as we descend toward the grass. We land with a bump, and I manage to keep both wings up until we reach a teeth-jarring stop near the end of the runway. I unclip the canopy, open it, release my harness, and clamber out.
I stretch my limbs, undo my parachute, and smile down at the rosy-cheeked Miss Steele. “How was that?” I ask, reaching down to unbuckle her from the seat and the parachute.
“That was extraordinary. Thank you,” she says, her eyes sparkling with joy.
“Was it more?” I pray she can’t hear the hope in my voice.
“Much more.” She beams, and I feel ten feet tall.
“Come.” I hold out my hand and help her out of the cockpit. As she jumps down I fold her into my arms, pulling her against me. Filled with adrenaline, my body responds immediately to her softness. In a nanosecond my hands are in her hair, and I’m tipping her head back so I can kiss her. My hand skims down to the base of her spine, pressing her against my growing erection, and my mouth takes hers in a long, lingering, possessive kiss.
I want her.
Here.
Now.
On the grass.
She responds in kind, her fingers twisting in my hair, tugging, begging for more, as she opens up for me like a morning glory.
I break away for air and rationality.
Not in a field!
Benson and Taylor are nearby.
Her eyes are luminous, pleading for more.
Don’t look at me like that, Ana.
“Breakfast,” I whisper, before I do something I’ll regret. Turning, I clasp her hand and walk back toward the car.
“What about the glider?” she asks as she tries to keep up with me.
“Someone will take care of that.” It’s what I pay Taylor to do. “We’ll eat now. Come.”
She bounces along beside me, brimming with happiness; I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her so buoyant. Her mood is infectious and I don’t remember if I’ve ever felt this upbeat, either. I can’t help my big, fat grin as I hold open the car door for her.
With Kings of Leon belting from the sound system I ease the Mustang out of the airfield toward I-95.
As we cruise along the freeway, Ana’s BlackBerry starts beeping.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Alarm for my pill,” she mutters.
“Good, well done. I hate condoms.”
From the sideways look I give her, I think she’s rolling her eyes, but I’m not sure.
“I lik
e that you introduced me to Mark as your girlfriend,” she says, changing the subject.
“Isn’t that what you are?”
“Am I? I thought you wanted a submissive.”
“So did I, Anastasia, and I do. But I’ve told you, I want more, too.”
“I’m very happy that you want more,” she says.
“We aim to please, Miss Steele,” I tease as I pull into the International House of Pancakes—my father’s guilty pleasure.
“IHOP?” she says in disbelief.
The Mustang rumbles to a stop. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I would never have pictured you here.”
“My dad used to bring us to one of these whenever my mom went away to a medical conference.” We shuffle into a booth, facing each other. “It was our secret.” I pick up a menu, watching Ana as she tucks her hair behind her ears and examines what IHOP has to offer for breakfast. She licks her lips in anticipation. And I’m forced to suppress my physical reaction. “I know what I want,” I whisper, and wonder how she would feel visiting the restroom with me. Her eyes meet mine, and her pupils expand.
“I want what you want,” she murmurs. As ever, Miss Steele does not back away from a challenge.
“Here?” Are you sure, Ana? Her eyes dart around the quiet restaurant, then come to rest on me, darkening and full of carnal promise. “Don’t bite your lip,” I warn. Much as I’d like to, I’m not going to fuck her in the restroom at IHOP. She deserves better than that, and frankly, so do I. “Not here, not now. If I can’t have you here, don’t tempt me.”
We’re interrupted.
“Hi, my name’s Leandra. What can I get for you…er…folks…er…today, this mornin’?”
Oh, God. I ignore the redheaded server.
“Anastasia?” I prompt her.
“I told you, I want what you want.”
Hell. She might as well be addressing my groin.
“Shall I give you folks another minute to decide?” the waitress asks.
“No. We know what we want.” I cannot tear my gaze from Ana’s. “We’ll have two portions of the original buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup and bacon on the side, two glasses of orange juice, one black coffee with skim milk, and one English Breakfast tea, if you have it.”
Ana smiles.
“Thank you, sir. Will that be all?” the waitress exclaims, all breathy and embarrassed. Tearing my attention away from Ana, I dismiss the waitress with a look and she scurries away.
“You know, it’s really not fair,” Ana says, her voice quiet as her finger traces a figure eight on the table.
“What’s not fair?”
“How you disarm people. Women. Me.”
“Do I disarm you?” I’m stunned.
“All the time.”
“It’s just looks, Anastasia.”
“No, Christian, it’s much more than that.”
She has this the wrong way around, and once again I tell her how disarming I find her.
Her brow furrows. “Is that why you’ve changed your mind?”
“Changed my mind?”
“Yes—about…er…us?”
Have I changed my mind? I think I’ve just relaxed my boundaries a little, that’s all. “I don’t think I’ve changed my mind per se. We just need to redefine our parameters, redraw our battle lines, if you will. We can make this work, I’m sure. I want you submissive in my playroom. I will punish you if you digress from the rules. Other than that…well, I think it’s all up for discussion. Those are my requirements, Miss Steele. What say you to that?”
“So I get to sleep with you? In your bed?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
“I agree, then. Besides, I sleep very well when you’re in my bed. I had no idea.”
“I was frightened you’d leave me if I didn’t agree to all of it,” she says, her face a little pale.
“I’m not going anywhere, Anastasia. Besides—” How can she think that? I need to reassure her. “We’re following your advice, your definition: compromise. You e-mailed it to me. And so far, it’s working for me.”
“I love that you want more.”
“I know.” My tone is warm.
“How do you know?”
“Trust me. I just do.” You told me in your sleep.
The waitress returns with our breakfast and I watch Ana devour it. “More” seems to be working for her.
“This is delicious,” she says.
“I like that you’re hungry.”
“Must have been all the exercise last night and the thrill this morning.”
“It was a thrill, wasn’t it?”
“It was mighty fine, Mr. Grey,” she says as she pops the final piece of pancake into her mouth. “Can I treat you?” she adds.
“Treat me how?”
“Pay for this meal.”
I snort. “I don’t think so.”
“Please. I want to.”
“Are you trying to completely emasculate me?” I raise an eyebrow in warning.
“This is probably the only place that I’ll be able to afford to pay.”
“Anastasia, I appreciate the thought. I do. But no.”
She purses her lips with irritation when I ask the redhead for the check. “Don’t scowl,” I warn, and check the time: it’s 8:30. I have a meeting at 11:15 with the Savannah Brownfield Redevelopment Authority, so unfortunately we have to get back to the city. I contemplate canceling the meeting, because I’d like to spend the day with Ana, but no, that’s too much. I’m running after this girl when I should be concentrating on my business.
Priorities, Grey.
With her hand in mine, we head to the car looking like any other couple. She’s swamped in my sweatshirt, looking casual, relaxed, beautiful—and yes, she’s with me. Three guys strolling into IHOP check her out; she’s oblivious even when I put my arm around her to stake my claim. She really has no idea how lovely she is. I open her car door and she gives me a sunny smile.
I could get used to this.
I program her mother’s address into the GPS and we set off north on I-95, listening to the Foo Fighters. Ana’s feet tap to the beat. This is the sort of music she likes—all-American rock. The traffic on the freeway is heavier now, with commuters heading into the city. But I don’t care: I like being here with her, spending time. Holding her hand, touching her knee, watching her smile. She tells me about previous visits to Savannah; she’s not keen on the heat, either, but her eyes light up when she talks about her mother. It’ll be interesting to see her interacting with her mother and stepfather this evening.
I pull up outside her mother’s home with some regret. I wish we could play hooky all day; the last twelve hours have been…nice.
More than nice, Grey. Sublime.
“Do you want to come in?” she asks.
“I need to work, Anastasia, but I’ll be back this evening. What time?”
She suggests seven, then looks from her hands to me, her eyes bright and joyful. “Thank you…for the more.”
“My pleasure, Anastasia.” I lean over and kiss her, inhaling her sweet, sweet scent.
“I’ll see you later.”
“Try to stop me,” I whisper.
She climbs out of the car, still in my sweatshirt, and waves good-bye. I head back to the hotel, feeling a little emptier now that she’s not with me.
IN MY ROOM, I call Taylor.
“Mr. Grey.”
“Yeah…thanks for organizing this morning.”
“You’re most welcome, sir.” He sounds surprised.
“I’ll be ready to leave at ten forty-five for the meeting.”
“I’ll have the Suburban waiting outside.”
“Thanks.”
I change out of my jeans and into my
suit but leave my favorite tie beside my laptop as I order up coffee from room service.
I work through my e-mails, drink coffee, and consider calling Ros; however, it’s too early for her. I read through all the paperwork that Bill has sent: Savannah does make a good case for siting the plant here. I check my inbox, and there’s a new message from Ana.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Soaring as Opposed to Sore-ing
Date: June 2 2011 10:20 EST
To: Christian Grey
Sometimes, you really know how to show a girl a good time.
Thank you
Ana x
The title makes me laugh and the kiss makes me feel ten feet tall. I type up my response.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Soaring vs Sore-ing
Date: June 2 2011 10:24 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
I’ll take either of those over your snoring. I had a good time, too.
But I always do when I’m with you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Her answer is almost immediate.
* * *
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: SNORING
Date: June 2 2011 10:26 EST
To: Christian Grey
I DO NOT SNORE. And if I do, it’s very ungallant of you to point it out.
You are no gentleman, Mr. Grey! And you are in the Deep South, too!
Ana
I chuckle.
* * *
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Somniloquy
Date: June 2 2011 10:28 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
I have never claimed to be a gentleman, Anastasia, and I think I have demonstrated that point to you on numerous occasions. I am not intimidated by your SHOUTY capitals. But I will confess to a small white lie: no—you don’t snore, but you do talk. And it’s fascinating.
What happened to my kiss?
Christian Grey
Cad & CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
This will drive her crazy.
