Chapter 4
Christian's POV
Now this is why I have Taylor on Team Grey and Flynn on speed dial. Anastasia just texted me wanting to know if I'm a safe sexual partner. The fury I feel is so profound that I've busted up my office furniture – not the first time. Plexiglas is the only kind of window I have in the entire top floor of the GEH building. Still, it is satisfying to see my desk chair bouncing off the floor to ceiling window. This last desk I purchased is too son of a bitch heavy to throw, so I enjoy kicking the shit out of it until it's in splintered pieces. Still … I'm careful not to destroy any of the pictures I have of Anastasia and my family. Some things are sacred.
How, how could she ask me this now? If she's smart enough to know what an STD is, then she should be smart enough to know that I wouldn't have chanced being with her if I had one. Sure as hell not when we started looking at the Sub contract. All the facts out on the table to see, baby. The only reason I didn't make her get tested was because I found out she was a virgin. And not the kind of virgin that still could have had something ugly running over her skin or inside her body. No, Anastasia was the real deal. So I let it go.
Who am I fooling? I would have fucked her if she had the Black Plague. Would fuck her right now until my penis shrivels up and falls off if she had some pernicious infection.
But this isn't about Anastasia. It's about me. She knows I've been with other women, and more particularly she's obviously worried about what kind of diseases we might have transmitted to one another. What's got me by the throat is that she even had to ask me. I would protect her, Anastasia, this woman who has entered my life and destroyed it with one deep velvet blue glance from under those long lashes, one curve of those full pouty lips, the sound of my name in her charming voice. I would protect Anastasia from everything, including me if I was sick or defective. All right, I am sick and defective. But not physically. Not sexually like she is asking about.
Taylor waits for me to settle a little, and then asks me what the problem is. He is obviously relieved when I tell him. Here's a tremendously huge difference in our roles. Normally he would just maintain silence, eyeing me from a distance to see if I needed medical assistance, then just hold up his piece of wall like a good bodyguard should do. But now he asks and I answer and then I seek input. So now I need details and insight.
"Sir, she hasn't cancelled going with you for the weekend. That was my initial thought. And obviously, given that it's Friday at 2 o'clock, she's just now thought of this. Which means that since you got her to agree on Monday she hasn't focused on your, ah, experience until just now. That's even better. And lastly, you had your last health check two months ago and I know good fucking well you've only been with Miss Steele since then. So email or text her the results and get down on your knees thanking God that you don't need to ask her for the same thing." He crosses his arms over his impressive muscled chest – I have to pay more than my own suit costs for the hand-sewn jackets Taylor wears so his weapons are exquisitely hidden and allows him freedom of movement to use them – and I know he's done speaking.
He's right. I know he is. But just to help me get rid of the remainder of the rage I felt that Anastasia would think I would subject her to anything less than my body at 100%, I call Flynn. His comment is that I'm lucky I don't have any sexually transmitted problems. He also reminds me to use condoms this weekend. Is he my fucking father? Besides, it's none of his business that I feel the only way to capture and domesticate the wild youthful being that is my Anastasia is to impregnate her. It would probably fall under one of those laws of psychiatrists about health and well-being risks, and he'd be forced through fucking goddamn ethics to tell her. As it is when I shared my urges to just take Anastasia to Dubai and lock her up so no one else can get to her, keep her for myself, he just about freaked. The man knows the difference between thoughts, plans, ideas and actions … that's why he's worried.
And he should be. If this weekend doesn't go well Anastasia may well try to end things with me and I'll have to take some kind of action. Christ, Grey, just breathe. Take a deep breath. Another. Now count. One. Two. Three … better. Everything is going to be perfect. I find the health check and text it to Anastasia.
Problem solved. Time to go get Anastasia soon anyway. Who knew that it was considered proper to go and pick her up myself? Well, with security driving typically because it frees me up to do work. But all these years I've always had someone pick up or take my Subs wherever they wanted or needed to go, even my parents, siblings, Elena … hell, business appointments. But Taylor tells me that it shows I can't wait to see Anastasia that I want to spend my time with her, even in regards to something as mundane as a car trip across town.
Again, under the knowledge that Taylor won't lead me wrong but because I put my trust in Elena and she had Anastasia running screaming from me, I called my Mom and double checked. Then I have to apologize – there's something I haven't sincerely said to my Mom in ten years – because I haven't been in the same vehicle with her since … when she and Dad took me to college? Shit, that's a long time. But I've sent cars for her over the years for one thing and another.
The left over negative emotions finally leave me and Andrea comes in with a tablet showing exclusive South African hand-carved office furnishings. I choose a new desk and chair; tell her to order the rest to replace what I've decimated with my outburst.
I hope that Anastasia is satisfied with the text. I have every intention of very gently, very tenderly, very thoroughly making love to her this weekend. Preferably as soon as we arrive. I even Googled it. No mistakes, no misunderstandings, no flaws. And no Dom. Just a man and a woman. OK, a very experienced man and a very innocent young woman. A sexually frustrated and deprived man who plans to satisfy himself repeatedly inside of the tight, very wet, extraordinarily well-fitting pussy of the most gorgeous woman on the planet. In every position she'll let me. I want to experiment with leg positioning, see how deep she can take me. Google said I'm not supposed to leave marks on her, even those that will disappear the next day, but I don't think that includes biting. I want to leave my mark on the inside of her thighs. One on each side. While I gradually introduce her to my finger gently stroking inside her virgin asshole. That should be allowed, shouldn't it?
Shit, fuck, damn! Now I gotta call Flynn and ask.