Hello all! I don't have much of a note, but this is my first Fifty Shades fanfiction. I'd really love some feedback, so please leave a review! If I get about…ten reviews, I'll update faster (it's just how I work!)
The summary should really explain everything there is to know about the story, but I'm more than excited to start writing it. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
"Miss Steele," a voice calls. I'm not aware of the voice that calls my name. In my head, the voice is coming from a woman outside of a Seattle publishing firm. She greets me with a smile and her hand is gestured towards the room where my future employer sits with folded hands on his or her desk. "Miss Steele," the voice sounds again, far more urgent this time than the last. I blink, and consequently, the publishing firm vanishes and I'm met with the angry, taunting face of my teacher, Professor Lincoln. Despite her temper, the boys in class seem to lust after her with a passion. Is her blonde hair really so attractive? I find it completely typical, at least on older women. They all look the same.
"Miss Steele," Professor Lincoln repeats. Her tone softens as she peers at me, her quaffed blonde hair not a strand out of place. She's left the dry erase board and is hovering over my desk while the rest of the class looks on. Kate looks at me with wide eyes.
"Just because you're graduating this year, doesn't give you the right to fall asleep in my lecture. Lift your head up and get your notebook out." She turns from my desk and Kate nudges me with the heel of her boot from behind. I've never fallen asleep in class before; never. The class continues on in monotony. I'm not exactly one for history. Sure, it's nice to learn about culture and the things that made our country so splendid, but I'm much more of an English person. As time runs out, I all but spring out of my seat in attempts to avoid Professor Lincoln's eyes, even leaving behind Kate, who rushes out after me.
"Steele," she says, trying to catch up to me in her sky high heels. I don't see how she is able to walk in them, much less run after me. "Woah, slow down." Kate gasps to catch her breath. Hand against her chest, I stop and spin around to look at her.
"I just had to get out of there." Talk about embarrassing, my inner voice says, rolling her eyes. I tell her to shut up. She's always conspiring against me.
"Yeah, what the hell was that?" We've started walking at a steady pace to our Literature class. Washington State University offers one of the best English programs in the country and it isn't too far away from home either. Kate and I are planning to move to Seattle though once we graduate later this year. "You've never fallen asleep in a class before."
"I don't know," I shrug and shoot a pointed look at her through my wide blue eyes. "Maybe if Professor Lincoln actually taught us and made class interesting rather than enticing the boys, I wouldn't have." A lock of my dark hair gets in my face and I push it away as I try to navigate the hallway.
Kate narrows her own blue eyes at me. They're much dark than mine though. She's always been the prettier one with honey colored blonde hair and a physique that girls in school kill for. And then there's me; five foot two with blue eyes that are wide, but apparently expressive and chestnut colored hair. I don't see anything, but average. Kate always says I need to actually open up my eyes to the mirror in front of me.
"Don't look at me like that," I groan as we head towards the classroom. "You've heard the rumors."
"Anastasia, that doesn't mean they're true." Her tone is taught and severe. "Jeez, if you don't like a person, you really don't like a person."
"No kidding."
Conversation is cut there for a few minutes while Kate scowls at my answer. I can't help but be so moody today. After a late night of cramming which she was well aware of, I'm exhausted. I've barely slept a wink. Kate says I should've gotten into coffee when there was still hope left, but I detest the bitter taste. I do need the caffeine though, at least today.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, running a hand through my curls. A yawn passes my lips and I cover my mouth to be polite. But since when have college kids cared about manners? I highly doubt that people who party every chance they get and sneak vodka into class in water bottles—oh yes, very few still do, would care so much about a large, open mouthed yawn in the hallway. "I'm exhausted and grumpy and just…" I trail off, unable to find another apt description for my temperament.
"It's fine, Ana," Kate says. Her whole demeanor has changed. She squeezes my shoulder with her ringed hand and passes by me into the lecture hall. A sigh leaves me as I shake my head and follow in behind. Taking a gaze around, my eyes land on our professor standing at the front of his desk and my mouth runs dry. This isn't Professor Whitmore. I guess she had her baby.
No, this is a man far taller than me with piercing gray eyes and dark-ish colored hair; almost a chestnut like mine, that's in the perfect mix of messy and quaffed. He doesn't look to be more than at least in his mid to late thirties. Still, I can't seem to find the words or the will power to look away from this handsome man. I don't think handsome is an adjective that would qualify for such a man anyways. Would Greek God do?
Kate catches me gaping at him, as well does Mr. Greek God and tugs on my arm. The smirk on his face as his gray eyes meet mine is ingrained in my memory; his mouth in a tight line and amusement in his eyes. I bite my lip and his eyes cloud, while Kate tugs on my arm. Confusion runs through me as I go to sit at my desk. What the hell was that? Shrugging it off momentarily, I place my hands on my desk and fish out my notebook. This is literature. I'm not about to let myself get flustered by some teacher who'll only be here while the real one is on maternity leave.
"Hello, class." The man stands in front of the class room with his hands on his hips, accentuating just how well his suit pants hang on him. Kate has yet to stop look at me quizzically, but my dual roommate and best friend is always full of questions. It's almost impossible to avoid them. His voice runs out like honey though and my blue eyes shoot up from my desk. Where did he come from? And why is someone like him a teacher?
I'm guessing he's about six feet, maybe even six foot two which means he's a whole foot taller than me. But someone with his looks and his body belongs on a magazine cover. Not in a dowdy, gray college lecture hall with a bunch of kids who are either half asleep or not paying attention. There are always the selective few that I'd like to put myself in grouping with that does listen intently and like to learn. But this man…this nameless professor doesn't look right standing with a piece of chalk in his hand.
Chalk, really? Chalk? I can't remember the last time one of my teacher's has ever picked up a stick and wrote on one of those dusty old boards. Old school.
He doesn't remain nameless though for much longer. "I'm Professor Grey, but please call me Christian. Mrs. Whitmore is on maternity leave until the end of the school year, so I presume we have a lot to learn about each other." So he's one of those Call-Me-By-My-Own-Name teachers who wants to be a friend rather than an authority figure. I've partially recovered from my shock and…attraction towards him, but it looks like the other girls sitting at their desks have just realized Mr. Grey—I mean Christian's appearance. Sophie Hart is sitting with her chin propped up in her hands and a green eye gaze settled on him. Claire Doulgas is batting her long eyelashes slightly while flipping a wave of blonde hair over her should. The list could go on and on.
While Christian teaches for the duration of the hour, the reactions from various girls never seem to change. In fact, I think they're beginning to worsen as the time crawls by. I swear there's drool hanging from the corner of Eliza Mason's mouth. Rolling my eyes, I catch a glimpse at Professor Grey again.
You want to know the funny thing? He's staring at me. I'm not crazy; those gray eyes are boring into mine with an intensity that I can't seem to fathom. Something inside me tightens and a blush settles over my cheeks. It hasn't even been sixty minutes and he holds some sort of power over me. I can't place it, but as his voice drawls on about American Literature, his eyes never leave mine.
The hours up all too soon and once more, I'm rushing to get out of the classroom. Not because of a hotheaded cougar-like teacher who looks about ready to bite my head off due to a minor infraction, but because of a gorgeous man who can't place to be a professor and has been staring at me for an hour, at least, staring at selective times. Except, my heel catches on something and I'm propelled straight into the arms of Christian Grey.
People stop in the doorway, watching the encounter and Kate hovers nearby, ready to come to my aid when needed and Professor Grey lets me go. It feels like an eternity until he sets me on my feet again, but his strong hands still rest on my waist, fingertips pressing into my side. Perhaps he's letting me regain my balance. Electricity courses through the air between us and I bite my lip. Christian's eyes cloud once more and I release it almost immediately. There's a spark in his touch; something I've never felt before in my life.
"Please be careful, Anastasia," he says quietly, eyes smoldering. My insides liquefy at his voice, but I must contain my composure. A simple nod of gratitude will do. A nod and murmur of thanks. Kate's brown eyes are urging me to leave from Christian's touch. It's difficult to comply with her wishes; especially when my name sounds like that while coming from his mouth.
"Thank you, Christian," I say softly and stand up, steadying myself. He seems almost reluctant to let me go, but I don't think standing there in such a compromising position for any longer would do wonders for his job. Before he can open his mouth to say anything more, I rush out of the classroom to meet Kate in the hallway. She's still as wide eyed as before. To be frank, I think it's gotten worse. Things have been so strange today.
"Jesus," she whispers as we walk down the hallway. I can feel glares digging into my back, most likely from the various girls who are lusting after Professor Grey and witnessed our encounter.
"I know," I murmur back to Kate while we head out of the building. My classes are over for the day. I think she has one more in a couple of hours, but all I want to do is go back to our off campus apartment and sleep. My small twin bed has never looked so good right now. I don't even want a glass of wine to ease me into slumber. Once my head hits the pillow, I'll be out for a few hours.
My eyes spring open at around six in the evening. Have I really been asleep that long? Stupid question; yes, I have been. From the lack of sound coming from the main room of our apartment, I can tell Kate's still in her class. My stomach growls, making a deafening noise throughout my small bedroom. The double bed I'm laying on is hardly comfortable anymore; the mattress lumpy. Once we move to Seattle, I'm getting one of those foam memory mattresses. Placing a hand against my back, I get up, trying to ease the slight stiffness of being asleep for so long.
Making dinner seems like a fantastic idea right now. Too bad the fridge is practically empty from all the late night cramming sessions. A trip to the supermarket is way overdue. I slip on my flat shoes and grab my shoulder bag and keys. Even just a few ingredients for tonight's meal will do and I can get the heavy food shopping sometime later in the week when I'm not as famished.
The drive is short, but my beetle, Wanda, needs to be booted up with a bit of gas. I'll do that on my way home. The grocery store is cold and I instantly wrap my sweater around my slight body to keep myself warm. As I stroll the aisles with my basket in hand, I grab various ingredients needed for a stir-fry. A familiar face catches my eye, but I think nothing of it.
Anastasia, my inner goddess hisses. What does she want now? Turn around.
Complying with her wishes, I spin around on my heel. Usually, despite the fact I try my best not to engage with her, my inner goddess always has something up her sleeve or tends to know what's going on before I know myself. And boy is she pretty on point when I turn and meet the steely gray eyes that belong to a certain Christian Grey.
My heart hammers in my chest as a grin spreads across his face. It makes my heart stop hammering and freezes it in a cold vice. The grin spreads even wider, revealing her pearly white teeth set in his fine jaw. I can't help but feel weak inside, but then again, many women in the aisle seem to be melting into a puddle of heat induced mush. Christian's eyes are rested solely on me much like they had been during class and I can't seem to understand why. Is there something in your teeth? Is my shirt cut too low?
Idiot, my inner goddess mumbles. He's checking you out.
And for once, as I read Professor Grey's face, I have to agree. His eyes are roving up my body, resting on each curve for a few minutes and then moving on. I almost feel self conscious under her gaze. The sounds of his feet resonate against the linoleum tiles of the grocery store as he comes nearer to me. I'm rooted in my spot, unable to move. The basket begins to slip from my hand, but somehow, my paralyzed form managed to stay intact. Who is the man and why does he hold such a power over me?
"Hello, Anastasia." Christian's voice drips like honey as he reached behind me to grab a box of seasonings. His arm brushed lightly against my face and I swear I can feel the pads of his fingertips stroking my cheek. Impossible. He's my teacher. Christian flashes me another smile before he leaves the aisle and doesn't take a look back. My insides still feel like mush, but my brain is whirring with various thoughts. People snap back into the action of loading their carts, but I can't help but stand there confused.
Once again, I'm at a loss for words.