by E. L. James
“Quiet,” he whispers as he walks around me again, the crop slightly higher around the middle of my body. This time when he flicks it against me in the same place, I’m anticipat-ing it… oh my. My body convulses at the sweet, stinging bite.
As he makes his way around me, he flicks again, this time hitting my nipple, and I throw my head back as my nerve endings sing. He hits the other… a brief, swift, sweet chastisement. My nipples harden and elongate from the assault, and I moan loudly, pulling on my leather cuffs.
“Does that feel good?” he breathes.
“Yes.”
He hits me again across the buttocks. The crop stings this time.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Sir,” I whimper.
He comes to a stop… but I can no longer see him. My eyes are closed as I try to absorb the myriad of sensations coursing through my body. Very slowly, he rains small, biting licks of the crop down my belly, heading south. I know where this is leading, and I try and psyche myself up for it – but when he hits my clitoris, I cry out loudly.
“Oh… please!” I groan.
“Quiet,” he orders, and he hits me again on my behind.
I did not expect this to be like this… I am lost. Lost in a sea of sensation. And suddenly, he’s dragging the crop against my sex, through my pubic hair, down to the entrance of my vagina.
“See how wet you are for this, Anastasia. Open your eyes and your mouth.”
I do as I’m told, completely seduced. He pushes the tip of the crop into my mouth, like my dream . Holy shit.
“See how you taste. Suck. Suck hard, baby.”
My mouth closes around the crop as my eyes lock on his. I can taste the rich leather and the saltiness of my arousal. His eyes are blazing. He’s in his element.
He pulls the tip from my mouth, and he stands forward and grabs me and kisses me hard, his tongue invading my mouth. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me against him. His chest crushes mine, and I itch to touch, but I can’t, my hands, useless above me.
“Oh, Anastasia, you taste mighty fine,” he breathes. “Shall I make you come?”
“Please,” I beg.
The crop bites my buttock. Ow!
“Please, what?”
“Please, Sir,” I whimper.
He smiles at me, triumphant.
“With this?” He holds the crop up so I can see it.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Are you sure?” He looks sternly at me.
“Yes, please, Sir.”
“Close your eyes.”
I shut the room out, him out… the crop out. He starts small, biting licks of the crop against my belly once more. Moving down, soft small licks against my clitoris, once, twice, three times, again and again, until finally, that’s it – I can take no more – and I come, gloriously, loudly, sagging weakly. His arms curl around me as my legs turn to jelly. I dissolve in his embrace, my head against his chest, and I’m mewling and whimpering as the aftershocks of my orgasm consume me. He lifts me, and suddenly we’re moving, my arms still tethered above my head, and I can feel the cool wood of the polished cross at my back, and he’s popping the buttons on his jeans. He puts me down against the cross briefly while he slides on a condom, and then his hands wrap around my thighs as he lifts me again.
“Lift your legs, baby, wrap them round me.”
I feel so weak, but I do as he asks as he wraps my legs around his hips and positions himself beneath me. With one thrust, he’s inside me, and I cry out again, listening to his muffled moan at my ear. My arms are resting on his shoulders as he thrusts into me. Jeez, it’s deep this way. He thrusts again and again, his face at my neck, his harsh breathing at my throat. I feel the build up again. Jeez no… not again… I don’t think my body will with-stand another earth-shattering moment. But I have no choice… and with an inevitability that’s becoming familiar, I let go and come again, and it’s sweet and agonizing and intense.
I lose all sense of self. Christian follows, shouting his release through clenched teeth and holding me hard and close as he does.
He pulls out of me swiftly and sets me down against the cross, his body supporting mine. Unbuckling the cuffs, he frees my hands, and we both sink to the floor. He pulls me into his lap, cradling me, and I lean my head against his chest. If I had the strength, I’d touch him, but I don’t. Belatedly, I realize he’s still wearing his jeans.
“Well done, baby,” he murmurs. “Did that hurt?”
“No,” I breathe. I can barely keep my eyes open. Why am I so tired?
“Did you expect it to?” he whispers as he holds me close, his fingers pushing some escaped tendrils of hair off my face.
“Yes.”
“You see most of your fear is in your head, Anastasia,” he pauses. “Would you do it again?”
I think for a moment as fatigue clouds my brain … Again?
“Yes.” My voice is so soft.
He hugs me tightly.
“Good. So would I,” he murmurs, then leans down and softly kisses the top of my head.“And I haven’t finished with you yet.”
Not finished with me yet. Holy Moses. There’s no way I can do any more. I am utterly spent and fighting an overwhelming desire to sleep. I’m leaning against his chest, my eyes are closed, and he’s wrapped around me – arms and legs – and I feel… safe, and oh so comfortable. Will he let me sleep, perchance to dream? My mouth quirks up at the silly thought, and turning my face into Christian’s chest, I inhale his unique scent and nuzzle him, but immediately he tenses… oh crap. I open my eyes and glance up at him. He’s staring down at me.
“Don’t,” he breathes in warning.
I flush and look back at his chest in longing. I want to run my tongue through the hair, kiss him, and for the first time, I notice he has a few random and faint small, round scars dotted around his chest. Chicken pox? Measles? I think absently.
“Kneel by the door,” he orders as he sits back, putting his hands on his knees, effectively releasing me. No longer warm, the temperature of his voice has dropped several degrees.
I stumble clumsily up into a standing position and scoot over to the door and kneel as instructed. I’m shaky and very, very tired, monumentally confused. Who would have thought I could have found such gratification in this room. Who could have thought it would be so exhausting? My limbs are deliciously heavy, sated. My inner goddess has a
‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside of her room.
Christian is moving about in the periphery of my vision. My eyes start to droop.
“Boring you, am I, Miss Steele?”
I jump awake, and Christian is standing in front of me, his arms crossed glaring down at me. Oh shit, caught napping – this is not going to be good. His eyes soften as I gaze up at him.
“Stand up,” he orders.
I climb warily to my feet. He stares at me, and his mouths quirks up.
“You’re shattered, aren’t you?”
I nod shyly, flushing.
“Stamina, Miss Steele.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet.
Hold out your hands in front as if you’re praying.”
I blink at him. Praying! Praying for you to go easy on me. I do as I’m told. He takes a cable tie and fastens it around my wrists, tightening the plastic. Holy hell. My eyes fly to his.
“Look familiar,” he asks, unable to conceal his smile.
Jeez… the plastic cable ties. Restocking at Clayton’s! It all becomes clear. I gape up at him as adrenaline spikes though my body anew. Okay – that’s got my attention – I’m awake now.
“I have scissors here.” He holds them up for me to see. “I can cut you out of this in a moment.”
I try to pull my wrists apart, testing my bonds, and as I do, the plastic bites into my flesh – it’s sore, but if I relax my wrists they’re fine – the tie is not cutting into my skin.
“Come.” He takes my hands and leads me over to the four-poster bed. I notice now that it h
as dark red sheets on it and a shackle at each corner.
“I want more – much, much more,” he leans down and whispers in my ear.
And my heartbeat starts pounding again. Oh boy.
“But I’ll make this quick. You’re tired. Hold on to the post,” he says.
I frown. Not on the bed then? I find I can part my hands as I grasp the ornately carved wooden post.
“Lower,” he orders. “Good. Don’t let go. If you do, I’ll spank you. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.”
He stands behind me and grasps my hips, and then quickly lifts me backward so I’m bending forward, holding the post.
“Don’t let go, Anastasia,” he warns. “I’m going to fuck you hard from behind. Hold the post to support your weight. Understand?”
“Yes.”
He smacks me across my behind with his hand. Ow… It stings.
“Yes, Sir,” I mutter quickly.
“Part your legs.” He puts his leg between mine, and holding my hips, he pushes my right leg to the side.
“That’s better. After this, I’ll let you sleep.”
Sleep? I’m panting. I’m not thinking of sleep now. He reaches up and gently strokes my back.
“You have such beautiful skin, Anastasia,” he breathes as he bends down and kisses me along my spine, gentle feather-light kisses. At the same time, his hands move round to my front palming my breasts, and as he does this, he traps my nipples between his fingers and tugs them gently.
I stifle my moan as I feel my whole body respond, coming alive once more for him.
He gently bites and sucks me at my waist, tugging my nipples, and my hands tighten on the exquisitely carved post. His hands drop away, and I hear the now familiar tear of foil, and he kicks off his jeans.
“You have such a captivating, sexy ass, Anastasia Steele. What I’d like to do to it.”
His hands smooth and shape each of my buttocks, then his fingers glide down, and he slips two fingers inside me.
“So wet. You never disappoint, Miss Steele,” he whispers, and I hear the wonder in his voice. “Hold tight… this is going to be quick, baby.”
He grabs my hips and positions himself, and I brace myself for his assault. But he reaches over me and grabs my braid near the end and winds it round his wrist to my nape holding my head in place. Very slowly he eases into me, pulling my hair at the same time… oh the fullness. He eases out of me slowly, and his other hand grabs my hip, holding tight, and then he slams into me, jolting me forward.
“Hold on, Anastasia!” he shouts through clenched teeth.
I grip harder round the post and push back against him as he continues his merciless onslaught, again and again, his fingers digging into my hip. My arms are aching, my legs feel uncertain, my scalp is getting sore from his tugging my hair… and I can feel a gathering deep inside me. Oh no… and for the first time, I fear my orgasm… if I come…
I’ll collapse. Christian continues to move roughly against me, in me, his breathing harsh, moaning, groaning. My body is responding … how? I feel a quickening. But suddenly, Christian stills, slamming really deep.
“Come on, Ana, give it to me,” he groans, and my name on his lips sends me over the edge as I become all body and spiraling sensation and sweet, sweet release, and then completely and utterly mindless.
When sense returns, I’m lying on him. He’s on the floor, and I’m lying on top of him, my back to his front, and I’m staring at the ceiling, all post-coital, glowing, shattered. Oh…
the karabiners, I think absently – I’d forgotten about those. Christian nuzzles my ear.
“Hold up your hands,” he says softly.
My arms feel like they’re made of lead, but I hold them up. He wields the scissors and passes one blade under the plastic.
“I declare this Ana open,” he breathes, and cuts the plastic.
I giggle and rub my wrists as they’re freed. I feel his grin.
“That is such a lovely sound,” he says wistfully. He sits suddenly, taking me with him so that I’m once more sitting in his lap.
“That’s my fault,” he says and shifts me so that he can rub my shoulders and arms.
Gently he massages some life back into my limbs
What?
I glance up at him behind me, trying to understand what he means.
“That you don’t giggle more often.”
“I’m not a great giggler,” I mumble sleepily.
“Oh, but when it happens, Miss Steele, ‘tis a wonder and joy to behold.”
“Very flowery, Mr. Grey,” I mutter, trying to keep my eyes open.
His eyes soften, and he smiles.
“I’d say you’re thoroughly fucked and in need of sleep.”
“That wasn’t flowery at all,” I grumble playfully.
He grins and gently lifts me off him and stands, gloriously naked. I wish momentarily that I were more awake to really appreciate him. Picking up his jeans, he slides them back on, commando.
“Don’t want to frighten Taylor, or Mrs. Jones for that matter,” he mutters.
Hmm… they must know what a kinky bastard he is. The thought preoccupies me.
He stoops to help me to my feet and leads me to the door, on the back of which hangs a grey waffle robe. He patiently dresses me as if I’m a small child. I don’t have the strength to lift my arms. When I’m covered and respectable, he leans down and kisses me gently, his mouth quirks up in a smile.
“Bed,” he says.
Oh… no…
“For sleep,” he adds reassuringly when he sees my expression.
Suddenly, he scoops me up and carries me curled against his chest to the room along the corridor where earlier today Dr. Greene examined me. My head drops against his chest.
I am exhausted. I don’t remember ever being this tired. Pulling back the duvet, he lays me down, and even more surprisingly, climbs in beside me and holds me close.
“Sleep now, gorgeous girl,” he whispers, and he kisses my hair.
And before I can make a facetious comment, I’m asleep.
Soft lips brush across my temple, leaving sweet tender kisses in their wake, and part of me wants to turn and respond, but mostly I want to stay asleep. I moan and burrow into my pillow.
“Anastasia, wake up.” Christian’s voice is soft, cajoling.
“No,” I moan.
“We have to leave in half an hour for dinner at my parents.” He’s amused.
I open my eyes reluctantly. It’s dusk outside. Christian is leaning over, gazing at me intently.
“Come on sleepy-head. Get up.” He stoops down and kisses me again.
“I’ve bought you a drink. I’ll be downstairs. Don’t go back to sleep, or you’ll be in trouble,” he threatens, but his tone is mild. He kisses me briefly and exits, leaving me blinking sleep from my eyes in the cool, stark room.
I’m refreshed but suddenly nervous. Holy cow, I am meeting his folks! He’s just worked me over with a riding crop and tied me up using a cable tie which I sold him, for heaven’s sake – and I’m going to meet his parents. It will be Kate’s first time meeting them too – at least she’ll be there for support. I roll my shoulders. They’re stiff. His demands for a personal trainer don’t seem so outlandish now, in fact, they’re mandatory if I am to have any hope of keeping up with him.
I climb slowly out of bed and note that my dress is hanging outside the wardrobe and my bra is on the chair. Where are my panties? I check beneath the chair. Nothing. Then I remember – he squirreled them away in the pocket of his jeans. I flush at the memory, after he, I can’t even bring myself to think about it, he was so – barbarous. I frown. Why hasn’t he given me back my panties?
I steal into the bathroom, bewildered by my lack of underwear. While drying myself after my enjoyable but far too brief shower, I realize he’s done this on purpose. He wants me to be embarrassed and ask for my panties back, and he’ll either say yes or no. My inner goddess grins
at me. Hell… two can play that particular game. Resolving there and then not to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction, I shall go meet his parents sans culottes. Anastasia Steele! My subconscious chides me, but I don’t want to listen to her – I almost hug myself with glee because I know this will drive him crazy.
Back in the bedroom, I put on my bra, slip into my dress, and climb into my shoes. I remove the braid and hastily brush out my hair, I then glance down at the drink he’s left.
It’s pale pink. What’s this? Cranberry and sparkling water. Hmm… it tastes delicious and quenches my thirst.
Dashing back into the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror: eyes bright, cheeks slightly flushed, slightly smug look because of my panty plan, and I head downstairs. Fifteen minutes. Not bad, Ana.
Christian is standing by the panoramic window, wearing the grey flannel pants that I love, the ones that hang in that unbelievably sexy way off his hips, and of course, a white linen shirt. Doesn’t he have any other colors? Frank Sinatra sings softly over the surround sound speakers.
Christian turns and smiles as I enter. He looks at me expectantly.
“Hi,” I say softly, and my sphinx-like smile meets his.
“Hi,” he says. “How are you feeling?” His eyes are alight with amusement.
“Good, thanks. You?”
“I feel mighty fine, Miss Steele.”
He is so waiting for me to say something.
“Frank. I never figured you for a Sinatra fan.”
He raises his eyebrows at me, his look speculative.
“Eclectic taste, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, and he paces toward me like a panther until he’s standing in front of me, his gaze so intense it takes my breath away.
Frank starts crooning… an old song, one of Ray’s favorites. ‘Witchcraft.’ Christian leisurely traces his fingertips down my cheek, and I feel it all the way down there.
