I'd never given much thought as to how I would live without him – though I'd had reasons to in the past few days.
What is it about him? I have to wonder to myself as to why this man could be so beautiful, intoxicating even. He was so beautiful and rich and sexy, yet he wanted…me.
My heart jumps a leap at the thought of his name. Where was he? I walk around the apartment, not even thinking about the coffee I'm holding. I'm thirsty…but not for ten pound Earl Grey tea from Tesco—wait, sorry, I meant Walmart. I'm thirsty for something else. I feel like someone. Like him. Like Christopher Grey-Gray. Like. Sex. Like sex with Christopher Grey-Gray.
I stare at the mug intensely, my dull eyes penetrating it, but not in the same way Christopher's gray eyes would blaze. It's the one he gave me for our one-week anniversary, alongside the villa in Versailles and the first edition of the Bible. I let out a half-hearted giggle and sigh. I want to fuck him…hard.
I let out a breathy sigh and he notices it. I turn around to see him staring there, watching me with a sexy grin, his gray eyes blistering… Oh my.
"Why aren't you in bed yet?" he murmurs, gray eyes scorching as he speaks with his honey-velvet voice.
My Inner Goddess does an excited tap dance as the words come from his mouth. My Subconscious faints. My Unconscious peeks out from behind her leather plated diamond sofa. She's too nervous to speak.
"I am," I murmur back.
"Good," he murmurs, grinning a wicked grin, and turns around.
I blush magenta and I start to follow him, and he chuckles mysteriously yet inexplicably indecipherable; the sound echoing all the way down there. I walk out of the kitchenette which has three gray fridges, a green toaster and an Armani-plated leather table and follow him down the narrow hallway and watch the gray walls, with the pictures of flamenco dancers, and the plush gray carpet tickles at my feet. I want him. Oh my.
The bedroom only has a bed in it—an ultra-modern expensive one that only billionaires can buy. The wood is nice and clean with only seventy pairs of cuffs on the headboard, thirty three chokers, and the sheets are gray. Everything is gray except the wallpaper, the color matching my blush. I want him inside me.
My Inner Goddess looks around the room for me, since I so want to see him. I'm practically doing the samba…or at least my unconscious is as she takes a break and I tap my feet, and hum out Tiptoe Through the Tulips.
"Anna," he murmurs…touching me suddenly…from behind.
I turn around, and smile at him. "Mr Grey-Gray," I murmur.
And then he fucks me…hard. I'm not very good at descriptions, but what I do recall is that he pulls out his gray foil packet, and his gray eyes never leave mine—oh my, his fifty shades of sexy face, it shows absolutely no emotion as his mouth pouts into an 'O'. He won't let me look at him, even when he hits me on the behind seven times, and I peek out from beneath my lashes at him and literally roll my eyes. He's so bossy! He makes me count every time. So…hot! Holy cow, Christopher is hot. Or is it holy crow? I never know these things.
"One," I murmur.
"Two," I whisper softly.
"Three," I mutter.
"Four," I groan.
"Five," I murmur loudly.
"Six," I notate.
"Seven," I infer.
He tells me to look at him, which I haven't had the chance to do until this moment so I stare into those blazing gray eyes. I can't tell what he's thinking—even though his perfect Adonis lips are curved into a straight wide thin line and his gray eyes are still blazing like they are Icarus flying too close to the sun. He touches me on the shoulder and I feel it down there…my body twisting with a carnal, incarnate longing. He moves his perfect godlike arm across to Rosie's necklace…so tantalizingly slowly…it's so…erotic. His gray eyes never leave mine.
He smiles at me in a friendly way as he saunters forward to ask me…yet again…if I'm hungry. He's contractually obliged to do this once a chapter.
That ought to count for something.