A POV

"Hair should be in a bun or a neat ponytail. Under no circumstances should a woman visiting a prison leave her hair down."

I look at the paper detailing the "guidelines" regarding my visits to the prison. Women should wear minimal makeup, and have their hair pulled back. I pull the plug for my curling wand from the wall as I look at myself in the mirror. I've obeyed the minimal makeup guidelines though there's a few more coats of mascara on my lashes and a pinker balm on my lips. But my hair- perhaps one of my best features is cascading over my shoulders and down my back in curls. I run my fingers through them a few times and bend over shaking some of the curls loose before standing up straight and giving myself a once over in the mirror.

This would be the first time I'd be showing a bit more skin, opting for a respectable v-neck sweater. Well, respectable if I was going anywhere else except the prison. The blue sweater I was wearing was almost the exact color as my eyes and I was hoping he would notice. Since he commented on my eyes before. It would be the first time that I was wearing something besides a turtleneck and I'm slightly worried that this is a bad idea. I slide my coat on, zipping it up to my neck as to not give the guards anything to say about the slight cleavage this sweater gives me. I wasn't sure what I was doing. Teasing Christian? Making him want me?

This was ridiculous, I needed to stay focused on the task at hand. Distracting him would only distract me in return. My hands linger on my zipper, prepared to zip it down and change my top, but something stops me.

Maybe he needs a distraction. Something to remind him what's on the outside waiting for him. To hold on. To not give up. Even if he wasn't interested in me, he was interested in women.

I don't give it another thought before I'm out the door.

I've pulled my coat off, before sliding into my seat and pulled my hair from under the knit hat, I had hidden my silky locks under. They came tumbling out in waves and I could smell the coconut all around me.

This might kill him.

The door opens, and my eyes immediately flit up to find him walking through the door. His eyes widen and hesitates slightly in his tracks before he continues the walk towards his chair. The door closes, leaving us alone.

Neither of us say a word.

He lets out a small breath and it reaches me, surrounding me. It smells of mint and perhaps a hint of cigarettes? How in the-

"I've never seen you with your hair down."

I pull my hair over my shoulder dramatically, and I don't miss the slight groan. "Have you- how did you get cigarettes?"

His lips snap shut as if it'll be easier to mask the smell coming out of him. "I-"

"Christian, what part of stay out of trouble do you not understand?" I screech as I stand to my feet. "Why are you making this so hard?!" My hand finds the table harder than I intended and his eyes widen at my outburst. The door flies open and the guard looks back and forth between myself and Christian. When he realizes that I'm the one causing the ruckus, he closes the door again.

"First off, smoking isn't a huge deal. But, I've been a little stressed lately. I thought I'd need it today."

Today? What happened today? "Why?"

"Never mind." He says.

"Not never mind, how did you get it?"

"You know how it is. Someone wants something of mine. I want something of there's. It's an easy fix. I had one smoke. It won't kill me, Anastasia. And I needed something to calm my nerves."

"Nerves over what?"

"You." He says simply.

"Me?"

"Yes, or did you think it doesn't do a number on me every time I see you?" He points at my shoulder, where my hair sits. "And now your hair is down."

I rub my hand through my hair. "Sorry. I can put it up."

"No." He shakes his head. "It's lovely."

I cock my head to the side, trying not to be obvious over how hard I'm swooning. Lovely?

"And you're lips." He adds. "They're so pink today."

I bite my lip instinctively and his eyes darken. The light grey irises turning stormy dark grey right before my eyes. I release it immediately. "Sorry."

He smiles. "I want to touch your hair. I bet it feels like silk."

"I don't think they would like that too much." I whisper.

"Probably not." He chuckles. "You look very nice today." He leans back. "Do you have a date after you leave here or something?" My eyes narrow slightly as I watch his gaze drop to his hands as if he can't look me in the eye.

"No?" I say. "I don't have… many dates." I don't know why I tell him that. Weren't you trying to get him to see you as desirable? Letting him know you're undateable is not the way to get him into your panties.

His eyes dart away from his hands and search my face for any signs of dishonesty. "Is that so? Why is that?"

"This isn't why I'm here."

"It can wait. Tell me."

I shrug. "I just don't see the point on going on a bunch of dates that don't- set my soul on fire."

"And what does that feel like? Having your soul set on fire?"

"Like… magic. A spark you can't explain. It happens when you can see your whole future in someone's eyes."

"It sounds like a fairy tale or a love song or… I don't know. You sound like a romantic."

"I am. But… to an extent. I know that everything isn't rainbows and sunshine. I don't need hearts and flowers."

"What do you need?"

"Something a bit- darker."

"Like?"

"Someone that would do anything for me."

"Like…"

I shake my head. "You wouldn't understand."

"Make me."

"Why? What do you care?" I'm playing with fire, asking him that. I do believe that he wants me. That he could fulfill the darkness I desperately craved. But did he want to? Or was what I'm feeling one- sided?

"How would you like me to answer that?" He asks.

"The truth?"

"You haven't answered any of my questions. Why should I answer any of yours?"

My mind floats back to the questions he asked me last week. "Fair. Then we can move on?"

"I'm still curious about those questions."

My eyes flicker to his but I don't engage. "Have you been staying out of trouble?"

"Yes ma'am." He nods.

"Good."

"Have you?" He asks and I don't miss the way my skin tingles at his question. My clit throbs between my legs thinking about the trouble that Christian Grey and I could get into together.

"What would happen if I said no?"

"Be glad I'm in handcuffs." He smirks.

I suck in a tiny gust of air, but I think he hears it because he smiles. "Rarely do I get into trouble…" I trail off. "Trouble just finds me."

"What kind of trouble?"

I chastise myself for my slip of the tongue. "Never mind."

"Are you ever going to tell me anything I want to know?"

"Are you?" I reply instantly.

"If I answer one of your questions will you answer one of mine?"

I contort my mouth as I contemplate his question. "Okay."

"Ladies first."

"What happened to have you in shackles last week?"

He rubs a hand over his jaw. "I was in the shower, two guys cornered me, caught me off guard."

Don't think of Christian in the shower. Don't think of Christian in the shower. Fuck. I'm thinking about Christian in the shower. And now I have a fantasy for when my hand is between my legs. "While you were… I mean… really?"

"They were more dressed. I rarely close my eyes in the shower. But I was at peace for once. I… closed my eyes. When I opened them, one had kicked me, knocking me down and the two of them were on me."

"But… you handled it?"

"I did."

"Did you get hurt?"

"No, Miss Steele. I was fine."

"What were you thinking about?" He narrows his eyes at me. "You said you were at peace. So you closed your eyes. What were you thinking about?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would."

"Maybe if you answer one of my questions, I'll consider it."

"Okay."

"Tell me what I want to know." I shake my head slowly, not prepared to go into something that personal right now. "Fine, something easier. Did you wear your hair down for me?"

"I don't think that's easier." I chuckle nervously.

"Fine. What's your favorite color?"

I contemplate telling him my actual favorite color but I change my mind enjoying this flirty back and forth we are engaging in. Maybe, he thinks this is all fun and games and I'm not aggressively lusting after him. But for this thirty minutes I'm here, he can forget his real life and flirt with a woman. I'd happily make his life slightly easier. "I've become partial to orange." I whisper and he chuckles knowing the meaning behind my words.

"That's funny, I've always liked blue, but there's a specific blue that I can't stop thinking about."

"You have a fixation with my eyes."

"They're very beautiful. Stunning even."

I tuck a hair behind my ear. "Thank you."

"Can I ask another question?"

"Not about my past."

"Why?" I look at him as if to say why do you think? "Okay, not about your past."

"Shoot."

"If I get out of here-"

"When you get out of here." I correct.

"When I get out of here…" he starts before he stops suddenly. He leans forward and although he knows he's not supposed to touch me his finger drags along my knuckles and it's as if it's a direct line to my clitoris. "I owe you dinner."

Is that what he thought? That he owed me- anything? "That's not a question. And you don't owe me anything, Christian."

"Well… I would like to take you to dinner… Can I?" He looks away and then back at me. "One day."

"One day soon." I correct him. Not because I wanted him to think that he had to but so he could get used to the idea that he was getting out soon. I had to keep him positive.

"As a thank you. For all that you've done for me."

"You don't have to thank me."

"But I do. You… changed my life, Anastasia. You gave me my life back."

I don't know what to say in response to his words. "You don't deserve to be in here." I murmur.

"Why do you think that?"

"You know why."

"What's going on with you, Ana? Please, talk to me. Don't you trust me?"

I resist the urge to nervously bite my lip. "I don't even know you." I tell him and his face falls.

"I see. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries."

Do I tell him the truth? Tell him why I took such an interest in his case? Why I basically demanded that my school's project look into the details? That as I learned more and more about this man and his story I felt myself being pulled in deeper and deeper to the point that I'm bordering on obsession? Do I tell him that all I want is for him to take me against this metal table so hard and fast that I forget my own name?

The words are dying to fall from my lips, but instead I go with, "no, I didn't mean it like that."

"How did you mean it?"

"I'm not… I don't need you to save me."

I can tell that he's gritting his teeth behind his lips. "Do you need saving though?"

"No."

"You don't have to be so hard you know."

"What do you know about it?"

"A little. You're saving me, Anastasia. Let me return the favor."

"Saving someone is what got you into this mess in the first place." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I see the anger in his eyes and for a brief second, I wonder if he's going to leap across this table. What he'll do is another thing entirely. "Christian I didn't-"

"Fuck you." He growls and I feel the tears springing to my eyes.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

"You're right, you shouldn't have." He growls, before closing his eyes and what I assume practicing some breathing exercise prison shrinks give. "Are you going through what she went through? Answer my fucking question Anastasia so help me, or I'll take you the fuck over my knee and spank it out of you and then my parole hearing will be shot to shit." He leans forward. "Fucking answer me."

I'm skittish. I know I am. The second the first "fuck" left his lips, the wetness pooled in my panties and then he said "fuck" again and again and then "spank" and my insides quivered with need. It took everything in me not to test him. But something told me, Christian Grey made good on his promises and putting a grad student over your knee and spanking her was certainly the way to get his parole hearing "shot to shit" as he so eloquently put it. "No." I say simply, my thighs still clamped together so that there's no chance that Christian will get a whiff of the arousal pouring out of me.

"Don't fucking lie to me."

"Stop swearing at me." God, don't stop.

He ignores my comment. "Will it make you feel better if I tell you that I won't kill someone for you? Is that what you're worried about? That I'm going to do what I did over Mia for you? News flash, you're not Mia. I don't know you, I'm certainly not going to kill anyone over you. I was just going to suggest you get some fucking help. I was worried because I care. I like you. But no, Ana. I'm not going to kill for you."

I swallow, his words are like a bitter pill. But it's what I wanted. I didn't want him feeling some sort of attachment to me and wanting to commit any crime over me. But his words stung. "Good."

"Are you safe?"

"It's not…" I trail off. "It was years ago."

"Does he still bother you?"

"No."

"You sure about that?"

"I haven't spoken to him in years."

"How long did it go on?"

"I think it's my turn to ask a question."

"Answer mine first."

I didn't want to think about it. It was in the past. Done and over with. But it wasn't in the past. It was a memory that I couldn't shake. One I couldn't get rid of. I've heard of people compartmentalizing their traumas. Putting them in neat little boxes that they only opened when under extreme duress. Mine were open- all the time. All. the. Time. I couldn't think of a time when the memory of his hands on me weren't a present thought. "Five years."

"How old were you when it started?"

"Christian…"

"Anastasia."

"Twelve."

His eyes close slowly and when they reopen they're almost black and I can see the anger behind his onyx orbs. "How old was he?"

"Sixteen."

"How...who…?"

"The neighbor."

"Asshole. Did he… What did he…"

"Can we not go into the dirty details? Please?"

"Where is he now?"

"Not here in Washington. He's somewhere East. I don't know. Don't care."

"What made him stop?"

I shrug. "I got too old, I guess. He got bored."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

The feeling of his hand wrapped around my throat comes flooding back to me as he spewed threats of what he would do if I ever breathed a word. "He threatened me. He told me no one would believe me. He told me he knew I wanted it. He manipulated me. Take your pick."

"Was he… did he… was he the first person that was ever inside of you?" He asks and despite the fact that I told him I didn't want to get into the dirty details I want to put him out of his apparent misery.

"He didn't rape me." He didn't? "Well he didn't penetrate me."

"Oh?" His eyes widen but then narrow curiously as if he knows that there's more to the story.

"I was so young. He was scared to do something I could- prove on more than just hearsay. There were other sexual things which is traumatizing enough at twelve. But mostly he was…" I look away the tears flooding my eyes. "Physically abusive."

"You can do something about that, Ana."

"No… I mean… I just want him out of my life. And he's gone and not coming back. I don't want him back. I don't want to see him again."

"But what if he comes back?"

I can feel the goosebumps arise on my skin underneath my sweater instantly at the thought. No no no, he can't. He wouldn't. Christian must sense my discomfort because he speaks again. "Hey, I'm sorry, I asked."

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Of course."

"I'm sorry if I offended you earlier."

He nods, and I know he's not trying to get into that again. We sit in silence for a moment. "You."

What about me? "Me?"

"You asked what I was thinking about when I felt at peace."

"In… in the shower?" He was thinking about me in the shower. Holy fuck.

"You bring me peace, Miss Steele."

He might as well have said let me lick you from head to toe with the way my body is on fire from his words. "Well keep your eyes open, Mr. Grey."

He smiles in understanding. "Did you wear your hair down for me?" He asks again and I can't even stop myself before I'm slowly moving my head up and down.

"Are you trying to torture me?" He chuckles.

You and me both, so it seems. "I'm trying to invigorate you."

"Show me what I've been missing since I landed in jail?"

"Had you forgotten?" Doubt it. A man like this who exudes so much sex appeal didn't just forget how it works.

"I'd forgotten what this felt like." I raise an eyebrow in question. "Being attracted to a woman. Flirting with her… and having her flirt back."

"Am I flirting with you?" I smirk, so he knows that I am in fact flirting.

"I think so."

"What specifically were you thinking about in the shower?" My hand inches forward slowly, and my fingertip slowly grazes his hand slightly before I let it drop to the table. His eyes are staring at the spot where my finger met his skin as if he can't believe that I was just touching him in a way that was anything but a professional.

"Nothing specific."

My tongue darts out and wets my lips and I watch his nostrils flare in response. "You sure about that?" My fingertips find my neck and I draw it along the skin down my chest to the space between my cleavage.

"You want to know if I touched my cock?"

I swallow, the word cock falling from his lips making every part of me tingle. "Did you?"

He leans forward and whispers. "I don't jack and tell." A smile lurks behind his eyes.

I wish he would say what his eyes are telling me as I can feel them undressing me. Yes, I touched my cock while I pictured your mouth around it. Your mouth, your pussy, those hands of yours. Anything. Instead he looks at the manilla folder in front of me and motions, "Should we go over that, now?"

Over the next week, we'd done a similar dance over email, although I was much more careful as I knew his internet activity was closely monitored. During our next session, he was tense. More tense than I'd seen him. It wasn't until he shook my hand at the end of our meeting that I felt it pressed into my palm. A… note?

He holds it there and as if my panties weren't already drenched by the feeling of his rugged hand over mine, this man actually had the nerve to wink at me.

He fucking winked.

Cue inferno between my legs.

I tucked the note into my pocket and gripped it for dear life as I made my way through the prison. As soon as I was free from the confined four walls, I was all but running for my car. As soon as I was safe inside, I pulled it from my pocket and begin devouring the words he didn't want anyone reading but me.

To the woman who has me walking around a men's correctional facility with a permanent state of blue balls,

If/when I get out of here- you'll be paying for that. You want to know if I've thought about you while I touch my cock? The answer is yes.

You want to know if I've wondered what your pussy tastes like? Also yes

What your pussy feels like? How your perky breasts would feel under my hands? How your nipples would pebble under my touch? Check, check and check.

I've pictured you riding my cock, me plowing into you while you writhe underneath me, me driving into you from behind giving me a view of your ass.

That delicious ass that I'm dying to sink my teeth into.

I've thought about all of this.

How it would feel when your fingertips claw at my back. Those perfectly manicured nails that you bite when you get nervous.

Speaking of biting- your fucking lip. I want to bite that fucking lip so hard. Bite it and then lick away the sting of my teeth.

I don't know where you came from and frankly I don't care. I don't consider myself a particularly religious man, but I thank God everyday that I read your letter. That I met you. That you- exist. You're perfect, blue eyes.

Perfectly imperfect.

I see the way you look at me. The way you react to me. The way you press your thighs together when you sit across from me. Don't press them together so tight. I want to smell your arousal. I want to taste it in the air.

I apologize if this is coming off crass and impolite. Harsh. Crude. It's just I want to do very impolite things to you. I want to fuck away all of the darkness hiding beneath the surface. I want to be very rough with you. I am very fond of you, but I want to fuck you like I hate you.

So yes blue eyes, I think of you when I touch my cock.

I'm walking through the prison two days later with a slight pep in my step. We are getting closer to his hearing, and we- well I argued that we needed more meetings. I'm walking behind the guard when I stop in my tracks. "I need to use the ladies room, please."

He grunts out something that sounds a lot like women, before leading me down a different hall. I'm in a one stall, my back pressed against the door, as I pull out his note. I don't know why I need to read it, I have it almost memorized at this point by how many times I've read it, but something about reading his words, seeing his handwriting, knowing that he wrote these words for me, has me building towards my orgasm instantly. My hand slithers down my torso and underneath my black high waisted slacks. They find my underwear and go beneath the satin fabric.

By no surprise, I'm wet, my panties already slightly damp with my arousal. I palm myself. running my fingers, as well as the palm of my hand between my folds, collecting the moisture. I do it a few times, trying my best not to get turned on before I have to go do this sexual dance with the man I was trying to get out of prison. The man who could turn me on with just a look.

I wasn't sure if this behavior could get me kicked out of my program or off my project but it wasn't explicitly said that you couldn't have stifling sexual chemistry with a felon. And hey, part of our job was about finding the loopholes, the technicalities.

So there was a bit of conflict of interest on my part, it didn't change the fact that Christian Grey did not deserve to be in prison.

I think I've gathered enough of myself on my hand so I ball it into a fist and stick it deep in my coat pocket to mask the smell from the guard escorting me to the small room where I'd see Christian. I have a note of my own to give him, that I would slide into his hand at the end of our interaction. But for now, the focus was getting my arousal all over him.

He wanted to smell it in the air? I'd give him one better. He was going to smell it on his hand.

"All good." I smile as I exit the bathroom to find the man waiting giving me an expression of pure boredom. "Lead the way."

I enter the room and the guard immediately closes it behind me. God, they're almost making this too easy. If I didn't know these rooms were somewhat monitored, I'd get naked and lay myself out like a buffet on this table. A moan almost escapes my lips at the thought.

"Blue eyes." He taunts. Game on, baby. "Twice in one week? I'm a lucky man."

I clear my throat, taking a few steps forward. "Mr. Grey." I slide my hand out of my coat pocket and hold it for him to take. He does as he always does and I watch as his expression morphs almost instantly. I go to pull my hand back when he squeezes it tighter and pulls me towards him.

"What is-"

"You'll have to see for yourself."

"I would know that smell anywhere." He grits out through his teeth.

I try to pull away again when he holds me even firmer. "Did you touch yourself?"

I giggle and give him a shrug before I finally manage to break free from his hold. He's frozen, still standing as I lower myself to the linoleum chair. "Mr. Grey, would you like to have a seat?" I motion for him to sit but he just stares down at me, his eyes flitting from me to his hand that has evidence of my well-rubbed sex.

He sits, and puts both of his hands in front of his face as if he's just simply rubbing his face, but I can hear it- the deep inhale. And then I see it, his tongue peeking out and running over his palm, and his fingertips.

He drops his head and groans. "Fuck." His eyes shoot up and stare at me. "It smells like you in here."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"You have no idea what you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"You're teasing a starving man with food."

"I intend to feed you."

His eyes widen and I smile at my cheekiness. God, this man makes me so fucking bold. "I will destroy you, Miss Steele." He says so low in his throat I almost miss it.

"Please."

"April 23." He says.

"April 23." I repeat back.

"I am going to ruin you for other men."

I hear the sexiness of his words, and I know he's thinking with the head between his legs and not the one a few feet higher but I can't stop the frown from finding my face when I hear the words played back again.

Wasn't I already ruined for other men? It wasn't as if I'd had a long list of suitors, and the sexual trauma of my past left me with a shitload of baggage. Baggage that men didn't want to help me unload. At least the ones I'd had experience with. The ones that attempted to help, did the opposite. They were too polite in bed. Everything was soft, romantic, sweet. And while that's lovely, sometimes a woman just wants to be fucked raw. Primal. Animalistic. I was so. fucking. SICK of missionary sex. I wanted a man to pull my hair as he fucks me from behind. His hand gripping my ass so hard his fingernail marks are left in my skin. I want to feel him pounding my cervix with every thrust.

I wanted to be fucked- hard.

And if Christian's note was any foreshadowing, he was just the man to do it. I knew I couldn't expect anything more from him than the fuck of my life. It wasn't like I could take him home to meet my parents. Introduce him to my friends. Invite him to my graduation next year.

No I knew what this was. I needed him to fuck me. I was already damaged, I knew that. I wanted him to damage me further and then put me back together. It was like I was torn in half and I wanted him to tear me into fourths and then eighths and then make me whole again with every piece in a different spot. Mind-blowing sex I'd read could do that to you. Turn you inside out and make you a different person on the other side.

I wanted that. I craved that.

I was fucked up. But he understood my fuckedupness. He respected it. But he wasn't going to hold me like I was going to break. He wanted to defile me.

"I'm already ruined." I tell him simply.

His face falls dramatically at those three words.

An hour later, as I prepare to leave, I hold my hand out for him and he smiles, having held his hand in front of his face for the better part of the hour. "Miss Steele, always a pleasure." He grabs my hand and smiles wider when he feels the paper pressed into my palm.

"I'll see you in a week, Mr. Grey."

I don't turn around as I walk towards the door, but I don't miss the sound of a deep inhale coming from behind me.

C POV

She is going to kill me.

I'm walking back to my cell her note that I'd slid into my sock pressing against my ankle in the most taunting way. I never thought that the corner of a neatly folded paper rubbing against my ankle in my sock would feel as if someone was running their teeth along my balls.

Anastasia running her teeth along my balls.

I run my hand over my face, careful not to let the scent linger in my growing facial hair too long but I catch a whiff of her again. Her womanly scent that in one hour has become my favorite smell on the planet.

The scent of her is still present on my tongue but it's fading fast so I slide a finger in my mouth, trying to savor her taste as best as possible.

She's so sweet.

I'm back in my cell, safely behind bars when I pull out her note.

Blue balls- I can't escape the laugh that comes from deep in my chest. She's such a cheeky little thing.

Your note floored me. Truly. I've never been one for erotica, but your words turned me the fuck on. It's been the reason for quite a few nights I've spent at home with my vibrator. One that now has a new name. I'll give you a hint, it's orange.

All of those things you said you'd like to do? I want them. And then some. I understand that I'll be the first woman that you've had contact with in quite some time and that you might be a little… restless. Anxious. Tense. Aggressive. Animalistic. Carnal. Stop me at any time. I want all of that. I want you to take the frustrations of the last two years out on me- on my body. I want you to use me however you want.

I want you so bad that it physically pains me. When I sit across from you once a week, and I can't touch you, kiss you, run my tongue over that sexy little dimple on your left cheek. Run my tongue over every inch of you in search of other dimples.

I want you to chain me to a bed and fuck me until I beg for mercy. Mercy I'll never beg for. Fuck me until I scream, till I cry, till I can't speak.

I'm not afraid of you. I trust you.

Probably more than I should.

I'm hard as a rock as I finish her words. I look at the wall, the fresh tally I'd just put up this morning indicating another day down, stares back at me. We were just shy of a month till my hearing, and it was getting more painful by the day just thinking about how much time I had left. What if I don't get out? What if it's denied and then I'm denied my freedom?

Or worse? Denied Miss Steele's delicious pussy.

The thought smacks me hard in the face. Miss Steele had become my entire incentive for getting out of here. Driving, work, my job had all been knocked from first place. My little blue eyes proudly taking that spot.

I was getting caught up under her spell, and I hadn't even touched her properly… or improperly. I was bordering on obsession and I hadn't even been inside of her yet. Once I was out of here, what exactly did she want? I know she couldn't possibly want more than sex… Did I?

I hadn't felt something this deep for someone in so long- maybe ever. Even with Leila, my ex-fiance, I don't think I've ever felt that someone had burrowed themselves so deep in my soul. I didn't believe I had a heart anymore, as it was shattered in the wake of Mia's trauma. But I did believe I had a soul. And Anastasia Steele was embedded deep in there.

I am fucked.