Chapter 2

Mornings in the Lincoln household are filled with quiet patterings, a couple clinks of glass and the voices of the staff bouncing off tall ceilings and barren corridors. Christian matches each sound with a picture of what might be happening, gazing emptily at the ceiling of his bedroom with arms folded behind his head, trying to forget about screwing his mother's friend last night. When there isn't a sound to play match with he battles over how much he wants Elena to overtake him again, sickened by the deviant need that seems a worse deed than driving his mother's cars into lakes.

He drops languidly to the floor, catching himself in a plank position just above the wood planks, pushing out a hard, blood-warming blow of air. One...two...three. By the fiftieth push-up he begins to perspire, a light glimmer sweeping across his skin, which is accommodating his lengthening body, preparing for his last growth spurt. He feels his joints and muscles begging to be used like this, anything to lessen the tightening that makes him feel anxious and sometimes crippled.

At one hundred he bolts up and rests his hands down on the dresser that has a large mirror facing him, glancing up to see what his workout has done for his bulging biceps and pectorals, now smooth and wet. He knows his body is perfect, all told in the bulk of his squared shoulders that are drawn down a bit by his long, chiseled arms. But then he catches his grey eyes staring back at him. They're cold and mean, so un-approving of what's not reflected immediately in the mirror. Christian slaps at his reflection in the glass and turns to the bed, ripping off the bed sheet and floating it across the room in one sweeping movement to hang over the mirror.

"Fuck it. Another day, I guess."

After a shower he slides on a pair of old soft jeans with a hole in the knee and a long-sleeved flannel shirt he had the maid wash exactly twenty times before he wore it, tearing out the designer label at the back of the neck. Christian isn't worrying over facing Elena—she's easy—its school he hates. Life in general. The assholes he has fight just to get to his locker. He tells himself he can learn more from sitting down at home reading a dictionary than waiting all day on attendance checks, speeches about meaningless fundraisers, and inane teachers wanting students to memorize the names of dead dictators and how many people they murdered. Why not learn something useful like the fucking GNP of third world nations and its current effect on their economy and if it's viable for the future? He throws his bag strap across his body and heads downstairs.

"Master Grey. Orange juice?" Elena has been waiting for thirty minutes to see Christian walk into the kitchen and sit on the same exact stool he sits on every day at the island.

"Sure." For courtesy only he meets her eyes then drops them to his figgiting fingers that remind him that he didn't masterbate this morning. It's the first time in years that he didn't feel compelled to do it in the morning.

"Sure? Did you say 'sure'? I've heard you speak better to my staff! Are you trying to tell me something, Christian? We need to be able to trust one another here. Remember the contract? Talk to me."

Rarely taken off his rails, Christian angers at her control over him, the way she rattles him to a point where he can't control his own body. Her snappiness makes him want to throw her up against the wall and fuck her.

"May I please have some orange juice?" He glances up at her through hooded eyes of impatience, trying to ignore the small pointed bumps pressing through her silk robe that are making him salivate. He scrapes his tongue with his finger nail as punishment.

"What is your problem, Master Grey? I thought I would find you in a blissful state of being for having been served a feast last night? A short and unplanned feast, but a feast nonetheless. How ungrateful of you." Her words are chastising, but her body is at sharp, curving angles; hip thrust out, shoulders rounded and lips wet.

"I apologize."

Elena pours a glass of juice, letting her eyes rove over his face and then to his waves of amber locks she wants to fist together and caress her entire body with. She could make him do it. With some time, he'll want to do it. She walks around the island, places the glass in front of him, then stands there observing, trying vigilantly to reverse her hedonistic thoughts that have Christian bent down before her, naked and ready to kiss the inside of her thigh. She's confident she can overcome it and do better by him.

"Thank you, Ms. Elena."

"Article Two, Section One states very clearly that our relationship must be based on trust. And trust is built through honest communication and living a consistent lifestyle everyday, without fail. Do you trust me, Christian?"

"I did."

"Oh, please." Elena looks around and listens for Ms. Green, remembering she's upstairs cleaning her bedroom at this point. She leans into Christians ear and presses her chest into his shoulder. "You're the one that stuck your fingers into my panties and begged me to take you to my room. I certainly didn't expect you to be seducing me."

Christian whips around to face her. "You're the one rubbing your tits all over me!" he growls.

"You're right." She throws her hands up. "So it's done. It won't happen again. I'm amending the contract to include a dress code and a no touch policy. You don't get to touch me."

"Fine with me." He takes up his juice and slugs it down.

"Fine." There's a great pause as Elena serves Christian his favorite cereal with milk. "We'll leave in ten minutes for school."

"Thank you."

When Elena drives up in front of Christian's private school he flops down into the passenger seat and sighs. He looks to her and notices she's frowning at him.

"Two things, Christian. One, never do anything to a woman that makes her wrinkle her face like I am doing now." She swirls a long red fingernail at her forehead. "Two, never dump yourself down into a seat. You slide in gently like a gentleman. It's horribly unattractive for a man to just drop into a chair. It's uncivilized behavior and I won't have you doing it. You just took a month's worth of life out of the shocks in this car."

"I apologize, Ms. Elena. I'll try and be more courteous to your shocks," he snips.

It's ridiculous how gorgeous and older he looks, but it doesn't make him eighteen, so she averts her eyes.

"If you want someone to respect you, your body and your things, you have to show some respect for others. Now quit being a shit and lets get you home so you can have your piano lesson."

Elena pulls out of the parking lot and sighs just as purposefully, "Listen, I'm having a cocktail party this weekend with clients and business associates at the house. You don't have to be there or anything, nor avoid it, but you're welcome to drink and eat with us if you want." She eyes him warmly. "You know...if you wore something I bought you then you could easily pass for twenty-one and drink whatever you like. I don't care, you know."

"I'll think about it."

"Don't you have any friends, Christian?"

"Honestly, I really don't give a fuck about anybody right now."

"I know that feeling. It gets old, though. You have to have someone you can trust. Even if it's a fucked up, damaged married lady that's got a labido powerful enough to fuel a race car around the track for the next century."

Christian leans back into the supple leather seat and turns to look at Elena. Finally, she's admitting her problem.

"It's my sorry excuse for an apology. You know I don't want to hurt you. The whole reason I took you in is because I saw myself in you; lying in that hospital bed, all fearless, indestructible and screwed up. We're not any different...you and me."

Screwed up is right. This resonates with Christian, taking him inside himself and to the hurtful spot in his chest that reminds him he'll never fit into a world that won't allow him to rage against it the way he wants to. By punching his way through it, making everyone suffer like he did.

"Maybe," he says.

"One day you'll see."

After dinner is served to Elena's guests, and people are getting properly drunk, Christian finds his way into the kitchen, nibbling on leftovers that are lined up on the counter by the caterers. An uncorked bottle of wine sits alone on the marble counter, unclaimed and unserved, so he snatches it up and pours it sloppily and to the rim of a large tumbler he pulled from the steaming dishwashing. He gulps the wine until a cold hand slips down his side.

"Look at you all dressed up," Elena drops her voice and lets it smoke. "You look impressive in a suit. Now I want you to notice how different people will treat you." She flips her hair and he inhales the expensive scent mixing with her spicy body chemistry. "Screw those kids you go to school with. These are the kind of people you want to hang with, people that move millions of dollars around daily, fly to Japan for tea and Australia for a beer and a roll in the sand. All in the same day. Christian—," she slides an olive into her mouth and sucks the remaining juice from her finger and swallowing it whole"—I could have you running your own company and turning million-dollar profits by the time you're legal to drink that," she points to the tumbler of wine he's draining as she speaks. "Interested?"

"Maybe." He can actually feel the excitement of her proposition harden him; numbing the rest of his body.

"That's the second indecisive 'maybe' you've given me today. It's a sign of weakness and that's the last thing you are, Christian. You're strong, powerful and intelligent. And it's my job to get you to utilize those talents. We just need to graduate you from that soul-sucking, waste-of-time high school of yours. There's nothing real world about it. And I know because I went there, too."

Elena gracefully pours wine into a wine glass and hands it to Christian.

"Alright, I'm in. I've got nothing better to do."

"No, you really don't. And if we're going to live in this god-forsaken world, we might as well be in control of it."

They clink glasses and turn their heads to watch an older gentleman stride in confidently, unbuttoning his dinner jacket and sliding his hands into his pant pockets as he stops in front of them.

"So this is where the party migrated to. Just follow the food trail and the most beautiful woman." He leans in and kisses Elena heavily on the cheek, lingering, and even adding a soft pinch to her chin. He uses the same hand to shake with Christian.

"I'm John Nelson."

While Christian extends his hand and opens his mouth Elena interrupts, "John, this is Christian Grey. Mr. Grey and I are going to partner on a new business venture."

"Are you? Part of this new make-up line? Or maybe something a little more interesting?" He moves closer to Elena and she plays it with a slight push of her hip into his pants.

"We might piggy-back on what I'm doing with my salons, but we're going to expand, get into technology."

"Very smart of you two. Let me know if you become interested in POS systems. Elena certainly knows how to find me." John wraps his arm around her waist and tugs on her. His plastic smile and medium grade blue suit catches Christian's attention, making him wonder why Elena even feigns kindness for such a loser.

"Alright, John. Just because Lewis isn't here to entertain you doesn't mean you need to paw at me for it. Let's get back to the party, shall we?" She looks back. "Come along, Christian, I have an angel investor here I'd like you to meet. He specializes in shipping."

And I'd like to ship her right into my bed, but she doesn't do normal beds. Christian tosses back the last bits of wine from the second glass of wine and follows her, watching her still young body slink under the shifting silk dress that massages her backside.

It's hard for him to not keep an eye on Elena, the youngest most beautiful woman working the party of sixty or so people meandering about her house, laughing and trading insider gossip while the hired piano player keeps a soft tune going in the background.

The crowd shifts in pockets, most people moving into couples, singles going for drink runs to the bar when glasses go dry and they can't seem to locate the two waiters that are out taking a smoke break in the backyard. Christian is pulled into different conversations, people curious of the young entrepreneur they believe has just graduated college maybe and he doesn't correct them.

After several hours Christian notices Elena and John Nelson are missing. Without hesitation Christian excuses himself and treks through several hallways, past her empty office, then up the stairs. The idea of the drunk bastards hands on Elena infuriates him and the familiar feeling of anger rises up in him with each step to the second floor. He stops at the landing and hold his breath, listening. After several seconds there's a light pound on the wall, followed by a muffled male voice. The sounds come from the East wing, so he runs quietly on the balls of his feet, halting in front of Elena's bedroom. A place that's seems more private than her thoughts, and completely off limits to him.

"John, just let it rest! I don't care what it is you think you know!" A clear slap is heard and that's all it takes for Christian to throw open the double doors to find Elena pushed up against a large armoire, both forearms clasped by John's hands. He's laughing, swaying a bit on his feet and watching Christian's anger manifest in a solid fist, swinging straight into John's jaw, the momentum throwing him to the floor.

John holds his jaw and looks up at Elena. "Was that what you were looking for, babe?" He smiles and grunts as he gets up and puts a drunk slap to Christian's shoulder. "Just do what she says, man. Her roots run deep." He pushes off Christian like he needs the momentum to walk out the bedroom door, hitting his shoulder on the door on his way out.

"I was handling him just fine," she said roughly.

"What? And you think I'm ungrateful? Whatever, Elena." He turns away and runs a long line with his hand through his hair.

She runs up behind him, her high heels clipping the floor, until she grabs his hand, swinging him back into her. She keeps pushing him backward in long, tango-esque strides until his back finds the wall. The energy between them, the want for one another is making the room close in on them and darken.

"There's nothing sexier than a man defending a woman's honor. You did well, Master Grey. Really, really well."

Avoiding his chest she holds onto his shoulders, their height matched perfectly. Eyes across from eyes, mouth across from mouth, shoulders level. Christian suctions his hands to the wall, resisting her temptingly hot body and luring voice with everything he has. He remembers her request clearly, and even in his monumental need to rebel he has to follow her demands. It's the only thing anchoring him.

"Just how far can your control go, Christian? Hmmm?" She begins to play with him. Her mouth hovering just above his cheek, then tracing his jaw line down past his neck, her finger gently pulling at the edge of his shirt as it slips to his pants. She drops to her knees, outlining the long hard ridge in his pants...all without touching. "Oh, silly me, I forgot. I can touch." She unzips his plants and pulls up on his length, causing his head to slam up against the wall and moan loudly. The sensation shoots up through his body and he feels as though he could completely unravel in her hand.

She's burning for him, but she has to send a message. "Oh, you told me not to touch you like that. Woops!" She gives a little shrug then walks out through the double doors and back down the stairs.