CHAPTER 3 : THE SHARK TANK

The first thing I notice is the smell; the unmistakable scent of brine and sea creatures undercut with a rich, iron scent which I would never find out was the blood Christian would use to frenzy his sharks. The room was surrounded on all sides by glass. A soft blue light filtered in through the massive tank, reminiscent of moonlight on water. The room is dominated by a bare mattress in the center of the room. Considering I was expecting a shark themed bed I was pleasantly surprised.

"Do you like it?" Christian asked me, expectantly. "You can look at sharks here."

"Well, uh," I stammered. "Yes? Can we get back to the boning?"

"Boning?" Christian regarded me intently, his intent expression completely unreadable. He paused to stare into the murky depths of the tank where dark shapes could be barely seen drifting by. After three minutes he resumes his intent regard of me.

"Sharks don't have bones, they possess skeletons made of cartilage-"

"Christian. Shush. You can recite shark facts when your bone," I say, gesturing at his crotch, "is all up in this mess." I forcefully hump the air to indicate which mess, as I also notice a mess of chum hanging out in a bucket in the corner.

He turns away from me, a conflicted look on his impassive, unreadable face.

"It's just," Christian starts, "I… I-"

"What is it?" I ask, approaching him. "You can talk to me." I reach out and gently place my hand on his arm. He flinches away at the slight contact.

"What is it?" I ask, approaching him again. "Why don't you like to be touched?", I whisper, staring up into soft, shark colored eyes.

"Because I'm fifty shades of fucked up, Anastasia."

"What?"

"I'm real fucked up. Like fifty different ways."

"Oh, Christian," I sigh. "Everyone is."

"Everyone?"

"Yes, Christian. Everyone. A good deal more than you, as well."

"Wait, more fucked up than me?"

"Well yeah, I'd say most people are around 100 or 200 shades - your whole being a billionaire takes the edge off of things."

Christian sat down on the mattress and looked up at me, bewildered.

"How does everyone deal with it then? You know, without the solace of sharks?" he asked, gesturing at the sharks.

"You know, booze, drugs, smut. Casual sex."

"Casual… Ah. I understand."

Christian gives me a sly grin as he finally catches on. He rises from the mattress and stalks over to me. He pulls me close to him and I just breath him in as my heart thunders in my chest. My heart thunders so hard my boobs jiggle a little. Locking eyes with me he crouches slightly and grasps the hem of my dress. He teases it slowly up my body. The cool air of the shark tank room tingles against my skin, an almost exquisite torture. He pulls my dress completely off and stands back to examine me and absentmindedly folds my dress, not taking his eyes off me. He places it on the large chest beside the door, which I had just noticed was also in the room. Reaching up, he pulls at my chin, his touch searing me.

"Fuck!" I recoil. "Shit! What the hell, dude!" I clasp my hands to my chin, trying to gauge the extent of the burn.

"Let me apologize," Christian says, pulling off a pair of skintight gloves.

"Sharkskin gloves," he explains. "They can be quite painful if you are not used to their touch."

"As long as you continue to pull off your clothes," I wink, "I'll forgive you."

He does. He pulls me down to the mattress and we bang. We bang HARD. That was the night I discovered my inner goddess was just part of a whole inner pantheon - all of who Christian prayed to - long and hard. And long. And hard. Forget the fucking sharks - this is so worth it.

I lay in bed next to Christian, not quite touching him. I've been trying to say something for a while now but every time I open my mouth I'm hit with an echo of our lovemaking and quiver. I'm not sure how much time has gone by when Christian finally breaks the burgeoning silence.

"Did you know sharks have an organ that allows them to sense electric currents in the water?"

"Yes," I manage to reply. "They teach that in grade school."