AN: Well, I am new here, and I only wrote this because it was just something that I felt like very well could have happened while reading book one. In fact, I was curious to see how it would play out. So, thus, I created this.

It takes place in the middle of Chapter 20 of Fifty Shades of Grey. I took a section from the book, cut some things out and reworked it in order to fit along with what I had in mind. Hope that is okay…well, it's fan fiction, right? Next chapter will be all of my own. This one is just a set up.

This will only be a two shot…unless I feel it needs to be longer…but…two-shot for now. And I don't know if I plan on keeping it up forever. But I really just wanted to write it to see what would happen. The more I kept writing, the more I realized how abusive Grey actually is. He is really a domineering person. And so…I don't condone everything, but again, I wanted to study it to see how this scenario would play out. It is also consensual on Ana's part. We can call it a character study, per say. I personally, don't agree with anything I'm writing…but I guess that leads to a whole other discussion I don't feel like getting into.

But, you know, maybe you will enjoy it? Who even knows.

Well, I don't own anything. But I am, though, curious to see what you all think...

Boathouse Bonds
Part 1

Christian bursts through the wooden door of the boathouse and pauses to flick on some lights. Fluorescents ping and buzz in sequence as harsh white light floods the large wooden building. From my upside-down view, I can see an impressive motor launch in the dock floating gently on the dark water, but I only get a brief look before he's carrying me up some wooden stairs to the room above.

He pauses at the doorway and touches another switch – halogens this time, they are softer, on a dimmer – and we're in an attic room with sloping ceilings and beams cascading across. It's decorated with a nautical New England theme: navy blues and creams with a dash of red. The furnishings are sparse, just a couple of couches and a desk are all I can see.

Christian sets me to my feet on the wooden floor. I don't have time to examine my surroundings – my eyes can't leave him.

His breathing is harsh but then again, he's just carried me across the lawn and up a flight of stairs. He reaches around and closes the door behind us. We stand in front of each other now, both staring at each other as if our gazes are locked permanently.

I could spontaneously combust from his look alone. His intense gaze bores into me, staring straight at me. I gulp, hoping he can't hear.

"Please don't hit me," I whisper, pleading.

His brow furrows, eyes widening, but he continues staring at me.

"I don't want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don't." My voice is coming out hoarse and I'm trying my best to sound confident.

His mouth drops open slightly in surprise, and beyond brave, I tentatively reach up and run my fingers down his cheek, along the edge of his sideburn, to the stubble on his chin. It's a satiable mixture of soft and prickly. I watch his eyes close. I know he's enjoying my sensual touch and for a moment, I think he's mine. I know I have him. My lips touch his in a soft and tantalizing kiss.

His soft moan is barely audible, and when he opens his eyes, his look is – wary, like he doesn't understand what I'm doing.

"What are you doing to me, Ana?" he whispers confused.

"Kissing you."

"You said no."

"What?" No to what?

"At the dinner table, with your legs."

Oh…that's what this is all about.

"But we were at your parents' dining table." I stare up at him, completely bewildered.

"No one's ever said no to me before. And it's so – hot." He takes in a deep breath before continuing, as if trying to keep his emotions in check. But his eyes widen slightly, filled with wonder and lust. It's a heady mix and I can't help but swallow instinctively. His hand moves down to my behind as he pulls me sharply against him. I can feel his erection and my pulse begins to race.

"You're mad and turned on because I said no?" I say, astonished. Astonished partly because that can happen to him and partly because I had the nerve to question him.

"I'm mad because you never mentioned Georgia to me. I'm mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk and who left you when you were ill with an almost complete stranger. What kind of friend does that? And I'm mad and aroused because you closed your legs on me." His eyes shift a shade darker and now I know what's coming, but I don't know how. My insides clench as his stare intensifies, eyes glittering dangerously. Slowly, he's inching up the hem of my dress.

"I want you," he continues, "and I want you now. And if you're not going to let me spank you – which you deserve – I'm going to fuck you on the couch this minute, quickly, for my pleasure, not yours."

My dress is now barely covering my naked behind. He moves suddenly so that his hand is cupping my sex, and one of his fingers sinks leisurely into me. His other arm holds me firmly in place around my waist. I quell my moan but my mouth parts slightly.

Suddenly, his hands push me back and down, so I'm sprawled out on the length of the couch, his hands never leaving from inside me. I can barely make sense of anything with my own arousal building. I don't know how he does it, but somehow he does and I am always in complete awe of him. Soon, my dress is bunched up around my midsection and I am completely open to him from the waist down. "This is mine," he whispers aggressively and I finally moan in appreciation of his fingers. "All mine. Do you understand?" He eases his finger in and out as he gazes down at me, gauging my reaction, his eyes burning.

"Yes, yours," I choke out. My eyes are fluttering, and I'm trying hard to not give into the pleasure of him. My desire is pooling, hot and heavy, as it surges through my bloodstream, affecting every inch of me…my nerve endings, my breathing… My heart is pounding, trying to leave my chest, and the blood continues to thrum in my ears.

Abruptly, he moves, doing several things at once. Withdrawing his fingers, leaving me wanting, unzipping his fly, and settling above me.

"Hands on your head," he commands gruffly as he kneels up, forcing my legs wider, and reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. He takes out a familiar silver packet, gazing down at me with moonless eyes, before shrugging off his jacket so it falls to the floor.

I place my hands on my head, and I know it's so I won't touch him. But it doesn't make a difference to me at this point, I'm so turned on.

I feel my hips moving already up to meet him - wanting him inside me - rough and hard. I can barely see through my own flickering eyes, but I don't miss him roll the condom down over his impressive length.

"We don't have long. This will be quick, and it's for me, not you. Do you understand? Don't come, or I will spank you," he says through clenched teeth.

Holy crap…how do I stop?

My mind is whirlwind, going on overload. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, I don't know how to control myself as he wishes. But I groan loudly, gutturally, ignoring the thoughts and reveling in the fullness of him inside me. He puts his hands over mine on top of my head, his elbows hold my arms out and down, and his legs immobilize me.

It feels like I am trapped. He's everywhere, overwhelming me, almost suffocating. But it's a heavenly feeling too. This is my power, this is what I do to him, and it's a hedonistic, triumphant feeling. He moves quickly and furiously inside me. His breath becomes ragged and he groans loudly in my ear. I can hear nothing besides him and I don't seem to mind.

My body responds anyway, melting around him. But no, I mustn't come. I can't. Still, I'm meeting him thrust for thrust, a perfect counterpoint. Abruptly, and all too soon, he rams into me and stills as he finds his release, air hissing from between his clenched teeth.

He relaxes momentarily, so I feel his entire weight on me. I'm not ready to let him go, my body craving relief, but he's so heavy, and in that moment, I can't hold him to me. He withdraws, much to my displeasure, leaving me aching and hungry for more.

He glowers down at me. "Don't touch yourself. I want you frustrated. That's what you do to me by not talking to me, by denying me what's mine."

Christian is off of me in an instant and a rush of cool air hits my lower half. Quickly, I close my legs, trying hard to abate the ache in my groin. But it's difficult, I'm aching and needing of him. I want that heavenly feeling to come for me, I want to be taken prisoner by it, lost to its control just for a breath.

He does up his pants zipper, running his hand through his hair as he reaches down to collect his jacket. I can see him take a walk over to the desk by the window. He slams his hands on it, leaning down and staring out into the blackness of night. There is something weighing on him, but I'm too preoccupied to even ask. He's paying no attention to me as I continually try shifting on the couch and rubbing my thighs together in a vain attempt to lessen this ache.

This frustration is killing me. This, in itself, is the worse form of torture imaginable. I just need a release, just for a moment. It won't take long, I can feel myself still dripping and still wanting of it. I know I'm not supposed to. I know he will be mad if he catches me. But that's only if he catches me.

If I could just...

My eyes dart swiftly to Christian, making sure he's not watching. Carefully, I let my fingers trail over my opening and I jerk back at even the slightest touch. My heart rate is increasing and I know I need to stay silent. But I can do this, right? I can have my release without him knowing, right? My fingers will work fine too, right?

I can do this.

I begin by circling my index finger around my folds and running them up and down. I bit my lip to keep from moaning. But I can't even take teasing myself much longer so I easily slide in my middle finger. It's not the same, but it will have to do. My fingers are much too skinny and I'm not nearly getting the reaction from myself that I want.

I slide my finger in and out, increasing my silent tempo. I clench my teeth, suppressing a moan and look over at Christian again. He is still standing with his back to me, looking like he is lost in thought. I remember him saying we didn't have much time, but suddenly, I don't even seem to care.

I can feel myself building, this is what I want, this is what I need. But I'm not quite there yet, so I insert my ring finger as well. To my surprise, it fits in snugly, with room to spare.

This is better...

Now with the increased sensation, I speed up my tempo, not hitting in deep enough, but as far as my fingers can stretch. My whole hand is wet, sliding delectably in and out. My hips jerk up suddenly and my ankle is quivering. I feel my walls clench around my fingers and I can't help but wonder if this is what it feels like for Christian. Is this what he feels?

I shut my eyes tightly, letting complete darkness engulf me and letting myself fall away. I can't help the whimpers that come even as hard as I try to keep from making a sound. My staccato breaths pierce the tranquility of the room. But I am lost in my own paradise. I can't make my hands keep working and so I ride out the feeling until it gently drops me back to earth.

My eyes snap open as I feel a rough hand encircle my wrist, digging nails into my flesh, and yank my own fingers from inside of me.

Oh crap...