Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your wonderful reviews! I usually try to respond to each and everyone personally, but the sun is shining and there's a chilled bottle of wine with my name on it waiting for me, so I figured you'd rather have an update today and my responses to reviews tomorrow than the other way around.

For all eyes to see – Chapter 4

Haunted by my usual night terrors, filled with images of the crack whore's dead, cold body and her pimp's dark, evil eyes, I wake up with a pounding heart.

It was only a dream. I'm safe now.

I take a deep breath and turn my head to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. 06.24. Must be some kind of a record, I usually wake up at the crack of dawn, unable to go back to sleep. Terrified of it, actually; of giving those images another chance to sneak back into my dreams. They always find me.

I throw the sheets aside, walk into the bathroom and step into the shower. I need to feel the water wash over my skin, to make sure I'm thoroughly awake and have left the nightmares behind me.

I lean my head back and let the water splash over my face. I'm in control. I'm safe.

The water actually does help. It makes the nightmares feel less real when the cold-sweat caused by them is chased away by the water and the soap.

I stand in there for about ten minutes; until I finally feel I'm rid of the last remains of the nightmare and am ready to start my day.

Friday. Three more days until Monday.

I fucking hate waiting.

I take a look at my wrist watch as I drive into the parking lot in front of Sunshine Café. I have an early meeting and I really should be heading straight to work to prepare for it – but I just can't start my day without seeing Anastasia's glorious smile.

I've made a habit out of seeing it before I dive into the world of mergers and acquisitions. I need it. I need it every bit as much as I need to breathe.

And I hate that I need it. What I do need is to fuck her; to pound into her until the need to see her smile disappears. To work my flogger on her until the want to hear her giggle dissolves.

I really want that. Badly.

I step into the café and immediately, my eyes scan the place until I find her. She's working the counter today – I can't believe my luck as I only have time to purchase a coffee to go this morning. She hasn't noticed me yet and I sit down at the counter, trying not to make a sound to disturb her as she goes through a bunch of receipts over at the register.

She hums quietly to herself and I strain my ears trying to make out the melody, but it's too low and only small pieces of it reach my ears. I could watch her like this all day. She's wearing her hair down today, held back from her face with the help of a few hairclips. She amazes me by looking even more beautiful each time I see her. I have to have her.

"Good morning Anastasia" I greet and she flinches at the sound of my voice, her cheeks blushing as she realizes I've been watching her.

Yes Anastasia, I love to watch you work. Just think of the work you could do to my eager cock. I would love to watch that.

"Oh" She puts the receipts down and nervously runs her hands over her apron. "Good morning Mr. Grey" She moves closer, the blush still visible on her cheeks. God, she's adorable.

"I'm sorry...I was…" She gestures towards the register. "I didn't hear you" She attempts a smile. "What can I get you?"

You. Naked and spread out before my eyes. Please Anastasia, I need that…

I clear my throat, driving my wayward thoughts away. "A coffee to go, thank you" I answer instead. I can't wait until Monday. I fucking hate waiting.

"Oh, okay" Did I see disappointment in her eyes? I think I did. I have to repress the smile that desperately wants to make its way onto my lips.

Yes, my sweet Anastasia, I'm disappointed to. I would love to sit here all day and watch you. Instead I have to settle for the images in my mind. They're not good enough.

"Here you go" She places my order in front of me and I award her a smile that refreshes the blush on her cheeks as she shyly turns her head down, away from my gaze. Oh, Anastasia. My cock twitches in my pants. You were born to be a submissive. My submissive.

I can't help myself. I lean over the counter, as close to her ear as I can reach and let out a brush of warm air against it. "I can't fucking wait until Monday" I whisper towards her ear, my voice raspy from want.

I draw back, pleased to see her staring at me with eyes wide open. I reach for her hand and gently kiss her knuckles. "Have a good day Anastasia" I say with a hint of a smile before I leave the money for the coffee and a generous tip on the counter and head for the door.

As I exit the café, I have to repress the urge to turn around and see if she's still watching me. I hope she does.

I'm certifiably insane, but I don't care. If insanity feels like this, I'd choose it over sanity any day of the week.

Sleep seems to be so far away, so unattainable. For the last hour and a half, I've been tossing and turning on my bed. The two whiskeys I poured myself before laying down to sleep didn't help the least bit.

I can't seem to relax. Pictures of Anastasia up on that stage with hordes of men drooling over her are flashing before my eyes each time I attempt to close them.

Four times tonight I've stepped into the elevator, determined to drive to the club, throw Miss Steele over my shoulder and bring her back here – away from all the staring eyes.

Four is also the number of times I've stepped out of the elevator, telling myself that it doesn't matter what she does tonight or who is watching her do it. She's a one night stand – or at least she will be, come Monday – and I don't invest that much time and effort into a girl I plan on fucking, flogging and forgetting.

But I can't help but wonder if she's on stage right now, what she's wearing and who's watching her.

I can't take this. I need to fuck her so my life can return to what it used to be.

I need to regain control. In order to do that –I need to control her. Just for one night. I need to take back control over my thoughts.

Somewhere in between vain attempts of not thinking about which fantasies 'Rose' is implementing in the minds of the men at the club right now and fantasies of my own filled with breathy "yes, sir"-'s, flushed cheeks in more than one place on her body and blue eyes clouded with need, lust and desire, I manage to fall into a restless sleep.

I find myself surrounded by a cloud of white fog. I blink a few times, trying to make out my surroundings and that's when the fog slowly disperses and I see her. Anastasia. She's up on a stage, wearing nothing but a tiny, green thong.

She looks like an ethereal being; a beautiful fairy, moving her body slowly, suggestively among the remains of the white fog. I realize I'm standing in a corner of the club, watching her, unable to tear my eyes away from the beautiful being on the stage before me.

But she doesn't see me. No, her eyes are trained on a man, sitting in an armchair right below the stage, watching her with a cigarette in his hand. "Good girl" He says as she turns around and bends over to show off her behind to him and the voice chills my blood.

No. It can't be.

I stand paralyzed, watching as Anastasia turns back around and cups her breasts in her hand, pinching her nipples and bowing her head back in delight. The man in the armchair grunts. "Come here" He demands and she snaps her head back up.

Graciously, she climbs down from the stage and moves towards the man, smiling and biting her delicious lower lip. I want to scream. I want to stop her. I want to scoop her up in my arms and run in the opposite direction. But I do none of those things.

Instead, I take a step closer to them. My beautiful angel is now standing between his spread legs, touching herself for him, pleasing him, neither of them noticing my presence. The man takes another drag of his cigarette and then puts it out. I can't see where he puts it out, but I know the sound all too well and I shudder as the memory of a pain I'd rather forget rips through my body.

With both his hands now free, he reaches towards her and grabs her butt cheeks, kneading them and drawing her closer to him. He buries his face in the valley between her breasts and I hear Anastasia moan, it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard and I feel tears burning behind my eyelids.

The man's mouth is on her breasts, kissing them, biting down a little too hard on her nipples and she moans again before he leans back in his chair with a smug smile on his lips. "Do your work, baby" He tells her and Anastasia leans forward, opening the buttons of his dirt-stained once-was-white shirt and kisses her way down his chest as she slowly sinks to her knees in front of him.

The man turns his head towards me, and for the first time he acknowledges my presence in the room. There's an evil grin on his lips and he places a firm hand on Anastasia's head as she starts working on opening his belt.

"This is what she's good for" He tells me. "She's a dirty little slut…" He hisses as Anastasia has freed his cock from his pants and sinks her lips onto it. "That's right, baby" He tells her, pressing her head further down his length. "Just like that"

I don't want to watch any more, but I can't divert my eyes. The man, who I now know for sure is the crack-whore's pimp, follows my gaze down to Anastasia's head and his grin widens. "Your little girl is good, you know" He informs me. "You didn't really think stripping was all she did, did you?" He laughs. "This is where the real money is, boy"

"This is where the real money is, boy" His word echoes through my head as I try launch forward to…to what? To separate them. To punch his gut out. To save her. To prove him wrong. To protect her.

But I can't. I'm stuck. There's something holding me back. I twist and turn, trying to free myself from the material holding me back.

The pimp's laugh echoes through the room, louder and louder. "You didn't really think stripping was all she did, did you?"

"No. No. No. No." My voice raise with each 'no', but I'm trapped. The more I fight to get rid of the silky material holding me back, the more entangled in it I get.

"No. No. No. NO!" I open my eyes, still fighting to free myself. Where are they? I can't see them anymore.

It takes more than a couple of seconds before I realize I'm in my bed, in my empty bed-room, my body drenched in sweat and the sheets tangled around it. It was a dream.

I concentrate on my breathing, trying to calm it down the way Flynn has instructed me to do. It was a dream, I repeat to myself as a mantra. Only a dream. He's dead. The crack-whore's pimp has been dead for years. It was only a dream.

I free myself from the sheets, it's easier now that I've calmed down and am awake and aware of what it is I'm fighting against. I sit on the edge of the bed and bury my head in my hands. Only a dream, I repeat again. Only a dream.

But what if it wasn't? I feel my pulse rising again and I'm starting to lose control over my breathing. The crack-whore's pimp might be dead – but there's other men just like him out there. He isn't the only one.

No. My sweet, innocent little Anastasia. She wouldn't do that. "She doesn't do private dances" The waitress' words feel like a life-line thrown towards a drowning man. Yes. She doesn't do private dances. That's good. That has to mean something. My breathing is starting to slow down again.

I get up and head for the shower. I need to wash the memory of that horrible dream off me.

Saturday goes by in a haze as I try to busy myself with work. Two days until Monday. Two more nights of Anastasia taking her clothes off up on that stage and me tossing and turning in my bed thinking about just that.

The dream I had about her has left a bitter after-taste in my mouth that even the shower couldn't rid me off completely. The taste has gotten more and more distinct the closer the night came.

Now she's probably right up on that stage and I feel that bitter taste vividly with every breath I take.

"Your girl is good, you know"

I clench my teeth, focusing on the contract in front of me.

"This is what she's good for"

My fingers turn to white as my grip on the papers in my hand hardens.

"This is where the real money is, boy"

Without me being able to stop it, my mind drifts to Miss Steele's savings account. It held a quite impressive sum. Is that where the money came from?

No. I toss the papers to the floor. No. I shake my head, hoping the words from my nightmare will fall right out. They don't.

"You didn't think stripping was all she did, did you?"

That does it. I push my chair back and stand up, calling Taylor as I head towards the elevator.

Sitting in my car, I stare at the headrest in front of me. I can't believe I'm here. I don't know how long I've been sitting like this, staring, but obviously it's long enough to make Taylor shift uncomfortably in the driver's seat as he throws worried glances at me through the review-mirror.

Taylor doesn't do uncomfortable. He doesn't do worry. It must have been a while.

"Are you okay, sir?" I meet his eyes in the mirror as I look up from my paralyzed state.

"I'm fine" I snap back, probably sounding harsher than I intended to.

What am I doing here?

But where else could I be?

The more times I paced around the apartment, trying to find something – anything – to occupy my thoughts with, the less assuring my objections against the reality of the nightmare felt.

I needed to see it for myself. I needed to see Anastasia on stage in that little bubble of hers she was in when I first saw her. I needed to see that my nightmare wasn't real.

I take a deep breath to steady myself. I must be crazy. I must be fucking out of my mind. I wonder what Flynn would have to say about this? I haven't told him about Anastasia. I'm positive he'd have me committed in an instant if he knew.

Knew what? That I want to fuck her? That I want to possess her body. To make her mine. Mine only.

Yeah, it's probably that last part that would have him send for the nice men in the white shirts. I can't make her mine. It's too late. She has already willingly given her body to the fantasies of every man that has ever seen her up on that stage. And maybe she's given more than just fantasies…

Fuck!

I pinch my eyes shut for a few seconds. What's happening to me? I don't recognize myself. I don't obsess over women. They're interchangeable. As long as she have the right physical appearance, a desire to please me in every way possible and a willingness to accept her punishment when failing to do so – it doesn't matter who she is.

Only…this time it matters. It matters more than anything. I want – no I need – Miss Anastasia Rose Steele in my playroom, allowing me, and only me, free access to her delicious body, begging me to touch her. I hate that it matters.

I take another deep breath. "Stay close by" I deliver the order to Taylor with a surprisingly steady voice. He nods and affirms he will do that and I step out of the car, trying not to think too much as I make my way towards the entrance to Midnight Madness.