Hi, I had an idea come to me, this will be different but hopefully still true to the characters E.L James created. Ana is a stripper working hard to afford college, while Christian is his usual, CEO possessive self. I would love to know if its something you'd like to read more of. This is inspired by the movie Pretty Woman, pretty much. Hope you enjoy the first chapter. I own nothing of the characters, they remain the authors respectfully, I just adore them.

Wanting you

Ana

"Honestly? Yes," he breathes sincerely, his voice low. "Yes, I want to fuck you. Frankly, I've never wanted someone so much in my entire life until... I saw you for that first night, dancing in the club. So yes."

Oh, wow. Beneath all that chivalry and well-groomed handsomeness, Richy has a potty mouth.

I'm not sure why but I wasn't expecting it. Usually, I find men swearing and using vulgar words to be an instant turn off. Lord knows I hear enough swearing as it is at the club.

Only, there's something about Richy swearing, in that sultry, masculine voice of his, that doesn't make it a turn off. I wonder if he's sworn in front of his mother before or if he's a good boy. I wonder if she's even had to wash his mouth out with soap when he was younger for it. The thought brings a smile to my face.

"I wasn't aware that I said something so amusing?" Richy points out, his brows furrowing at me from where I stand, still in front of him, amazed that a guy like him is in my bedroom. He runs both hands over my sheets next to him, stroking the linen. Again, I'm happy I thought of making my bed before heading into work for my shift this afternoon.

"I just find it funny, hearing a Rich Boy like you swear," I admit, my voice breathless with a restrained giggle. "You have quite the potty mouth. Do you swear in front of your mother?" I'm teasing, of course.

He ignores the 'mother' comment while turning his head slightly to the side, but I think I see a ghost of a smile there. "Well, it's true, what I said. I do want to fuck you."

Again, his boldness, his candidness, it takes my breath away. Fuck has never sounded so good coming from a man's mouth before.

"I'm not going to apologize for saying that. I'm used to being blunt and saying what I want, in most things."

"And I wasn't expecting you to apologize," I murmur, hating how my voice sounds. God, you'd think I'd never heard someone speak rather dirty before when, of course, I have. Being in the industry where I work in, you notice a certain aura of sexual tension in the room from the dancers and the customers. But that's work, never real life. I can't say I've been in a situation like this before, not in my normal day to day life, at the very least. "Okay, so... hypothetically, just say we were to fuck."

"Yes?"

"What would happen?"

"Well..."

Richy inhales in deeply, his expression thoughtful as his eyes roam down my body again slowly, from my face, right down to the very tips of my sneakers. There's something salacious and needy in his gaze, and as he returns his eyes back to my face after giving me a once over, I notice he licks his lips, moistening them with his tongue. Just like with the way he drank, the way he ate at Harry's diner, I am captivated by that sexy mouth of his and that tongue.

"First, I would peel you out of your clothes, taking my time... undressing you."

"Uh-huh," I prompt, very softly, biting on my bottom lip with my teeth. "And then?" I'm enjoying this. It's like an exciting game. And so far, I definitely like what I'm hearing.

"Then, you would be left standing before me in just your panties and your bra..." His deep gray eyes are scorching hot and arresting, only on mine.

"Then what would you do to me?"

"Then..." he murmurs, his voice going deeper, more strained. He stops briefly, clearing his throat roughly. "Then I would tie you up."

Oh, now this has turned into an unexpectedly different route. He'd tie me up? "You'd tie me up?" I repeat, arching my brows. "With what? What would you tie me up with and... where?"

"With... this." He's surprisingly creative. With deliberate slowness, he lifts his hands, unloosening his tie from around his neck. Then slipping his forefinger through the knot, he yanks it loose. He pulls it away and down from his collar, clenching the long material up between his hands. "I'd tie your hands up. To the bed post." He leans over to tap a hand against the solid plank of wood on either side of my bed. "I'd kneel down until I'm on my knees. And then, with you restrained at the hands around the bed post, I'd slowly remove your panties." I'm unable to do anything else but stare at him at his soft, low words, captivated. "Then..." he begins, telling me he's not quite done yet, his eyes slowly slinking down my body again. They pause and stop around my waist, between my thighs. "I'd lean in, and I'd taste your pussy."

I can feel my body going warm at his words, my cheeks especially. Damn, he's good.

"And I'd keep tasting you until you were close to coming, but then I'd...stop, just before you did." His breathing matches mine, going quicker, shallower. He's turned on at the thought of what he'd do if I'd allow him to fuck me and, admittedly, I'm in the same boat as well. "Right at the perfect, precise moment, I'd stop, feeling you writhing around me and moaning, desperate for a release."

Wow. I did not know Richy had it in him. His words are seductive, like this is foreplay, without even touching. Just words and his voice alone.

"That's a bit cruel, isn't it?" I manage, my voice too shaky and winded. "To leave me hanging?"

"Oh, I'd show mercy... in the end." The corners of Richy's lips curl upward into a faint smile as he meets my gaze again. There's a distant, dreamy look in his eyes, as if he's lost in the fantasy, in the moment. "I'd show mercy by pushing you back onto the bed, putting myself inside you. And then I'd fuck you. Hard."

And there's that filthy word again. Fuck.

"You sound as if you have a very, um... specific idea of what you'd like to do to me in mind?" I point out, aware that my thighs and knees are shaking. I hope he can't notice.

"I do. I'm very... particular."

"So what if I'm saying yes?" I ask, the words coming out before I even know what I'm attempting to say. "To you, um, fucking me, I mean?"

I'm surprised I'm actually even considering it. Well, I suppose in some ways I'm really not. I've never met a man like Richy before; one who immediately takes my fancy. I don't even know him, aside from noticing the man liking to observe me as I perform on the stage at the club every night, and yet... I want him to do all those things to my body that he described he would if we did, in fact, fuck tonight.

It's hard for me to meet the right man, considering my circumstances.

I haven't really tried dating all that much, but I've heard from some of the other girl's they've experienced hardships with dating and seeing men due to their profession.

I don't see it as me being picky, but being around horny men at a club most hours, men who drunkenly talk about wanting to see your pussy or tits, it's a welcome change when you meet someone like Mr Richy.

Someone like Richy who treats you like a normal person in a club and not a piece of meat. And, evidently, someone who is handsome and chivalrous, and obviously well-off.

Kate told me how she met this man who she thought liked her for her intelligence and mind, when really, he'd just wanted a piece of her. He hadn't truly wanted a long lasting relationship with her. It was just all about the sex and her body.

I also get the sense that men feel somewhat intimidated by what I do. Or just by their mistaken assumptions, they assume your similar to a prostitute and that you suck men off for a living when really, all you do is dance, and the misconception turns them off.

I've heard from another girl's experience in the club that the last man she was seeing, he became erratic and jealous and demanded she quit her job because he couldn't handle the thought of other men seeing her body. This is all that I've heard from the other girls that I'm close to and their experiences with dating with being a stripper. I suppose that is somewhat why I've been reluctant to form a relationship with a man myself; All their stories and wise words.

But tonight, I want to be a little daring. I like him, and I'm attracted to him- the first man I feel I've really been attracted to ever since working at the club.

I want to let loose and for once, know what it's like to be with a man sexually. And tonight, that target is Mr Richy. He's the man that I want, that I find myself completely willing to take a risk and give myself over to.

"Yes," I answer softly after what feels like years, my eyes on nothing else but his from where he sits, on my bed, playing with his business tie that he removed from around his collar.

He eyes me very seriously for a moment, like he's trying to decide whether I'm being honest or not. "Yes?"

"Yes." I nod for further clarification, licking my lips. "Yes, I want to. Tonight. With you." And it's probably going to be the bravest thing I've ever done with someone.

To make it more real, I guess, I grab the bottom of my jumper, lifting up and off me. Releasing my arms from the sleeves, I toss it down on my bedroom floor. Then I kick off each trainer, keeping my eyes on him, excitement coursing through my veins, need. I've never been more sure and I know I won't regret this. With my shin, I slide my shoes to the wall, shoving them out of the way. Then as I go to unbutton my jeans, Richy suddenly jumps into action, getting to his feet.

"Take nothing else off," he says, in that voice that sounds like an order.

Obeying him, I stand still, watching, every thing he does making me feel even more achy with desire. He dumps his tie on the bed, then takes off his jacket, draping it over one of my bed posts. The white shirt he is wearing is tight, clinging to his body. Even with just the way he moves, I can tell he takes good care of himself. His bicep muscles and his abdominals strain beneath the fabric.

His eyes are intent on me and he doesn't take them off for me for a single second. Not even when he bends down to untie one shoelace and remove his right shoe, then alternating on his other knee, he does the other. His eyes drink me in, assessing me. Even while I move to close my curtains up securely, he's still watching me. Standing to his full six feet height, he shoves his own polished shoes to the side, and it's then that I become aware that he's panting.

We say nothing as I hold his gaze when he steps closer until he's standing directly in front of me. Then he reaches down, grabbing the bottom of my shirt. He starts to lift it up and I bring up my arms, helping him out so he can get it off easier. He tosses my shirt down at our feet, then he kneels at my feet on his knees.

It feels strange, not being the one taking off my clothes, but I let him. It's what he described that he wanted to do to me, after all. I'm all too happy to go along with it.

He unbuttons my jeans, then yanks down the zipper, peeling them down past my thighs. While he does it, sliding my jeans down, he touches me, his hands gliding down my legs as well along with the movement, feeling my skin.

If this were work, and I were doing a routine for him, Richy wouldn't be allowed to touch me at all. But this isn't work. This is all me, and him. I want him touching me.

Looking down at him, he raises his head, meeting my eyes. His lips are parted, his tongue between his teeth. I lift each foot as he carefully drags my jeans away. Then he removes each of my socks, but Richy lets his fingers trace from my toes, to my very heel. It makes me ticklish and I try not to laugh.

"Dry," he murmurs, and his eyes leave mine as he lifts one of my feet up again by my ankle. Like before, I have to press my lips together to refrain from giggling out loud when Richy traces both thumbs on each hand down my foot, starting from my ankles, to my inner foot, then to the back of my toes.

He holds my foot in his hand and treats it with his fingertips in what seems to me an extremely gentle, caressing way. Does Richy have a surprise foot fetish also?

But I realize his reason for it when, as he reaches the end of my foot to my ankle again, he applies the lightest bit of pressure with his thumbs, massaging. My ankles have been killing me for a long time now. Even although I've been working for almost a full month, they still haven't gotten used to being in high heels all the time.

"That's what happens when you wear stilettos and are on your feet most days when you aren't used to it yet," I mutter, arching my back uncontrollably. A hiss leaves my mouth as he presses down a bit firmer with his thumbs. It feels really good, really comforting on my feet. "God, that feels great," I gush out when he switches foot, starting to do it with my other one, applying pressure. "My feet get so sore."

Putting my foot down, I don't know what happens next or what he's going to do. Until he starts again, running both hands slowly up along my left leg, up my calf and to my knees.

"Bruises," Richy mutters, and when I drop my head down to see what he's doing, I feel my heart race.

Leaning in, he plants an open mouthed, gentle kiss to just below my knee, where I know one of the bruises are. I get bruises a lot, and easily.

"It sort of comes with the territory of trying to dance provocatively when you know fair well that you are extremely clumsy, " I mutter by way of explanation, my voice too high, too unsteady.

His hands glide up further past my thigh, his fingers flexing gently. He moves his mouth away, only to kiss another bruise on the side of my thigh. This bruise, I know is the worst. I noticed it a couple of days ago, and it was swollen and a deep purple. I feel myself quiver at the knees as he parts his mouth, enough that I can feel Richy breathing moist, warm breathes against the grotesque bruise.

Then, startling me, he brings out his tongue, swirling it around that bruise, an odd yet weirdly erotic sensation. His tongue is slippery, yet hot, oddly comforting on that bruise.

"Mm," I hear myself moaning out loud, quivering again.

At the back of my mind, I realize this isn't quite what Richy had said it would be, as far as what he would do if we were fucking goes. Not once did he describe doing this; Tenderly massaging my sore heels and also, kissing my bruises.

It almost feels like what two people would do if they were making love. Being gentle and tender, kissing away all those rough spots, those sores.

He does the same with my other leg. He switches legs, running both hands up along the curve of my calf, my thighs. His mouth is on me as he pants roughly, kissing, licking and probing with his soothingly slippery tongue on tender mottled bruises from numerous clumsy incidents, like slipping over in my heels, knocking myself against poles. Reaching down with both hands as Richy moves on his knees to the side of me, I clutch his hair, feeling how thick it is, how soft in my hands.

Throughout all my heavy breathing and moans as he kisses along my legs, I realize he's still wearing his clothes. Releasing his hair, I manage to reach down lower, grasping his shirt collar between my fingers, yanking tight.

Richy leans back to glance up at me, his chin resting near my bare hipbone. "Aren't you going to take off your clothes too?" I mutter in confusion, my voice hoarse.

Recognition glimmers in his deep gray eyes, and he gets to his feet, then stands. His eyes still on me, he unbuttons his trousers and the zipper, and pulls them down, stepping out of them. Then Richy's hands go to the front of his shirt, and he seems to take his time, undoing the buttons one by one. As he gets to the forth one, his shirt opens up, his chest bared to me. I see a few strange marks there; What looks like little round scars, but he doesn't say anything about them.

I wait for him to mention something about it so I don't have to try ask him about them myself, only he doesn't. He shrugs out of his shirt, throwing it at his feet. Just as I assumed with how the shirt clung tightly to him, he's very muscular and toned. Very sexy. He could even be a stripper if he wanted to- of the male kind. Those little marks on his chest aren't distracting at all.

Glancing away from me, Richy reaches for something on the bed. I realize what that is immediately. His tie. His little fantasy of tying me up to the bed at the wrists.

"Hold out your hands," he murmurs, and as he meets my gaze again, I notice a shift in his expression. He looks serious, and his words... it was definitely an order. He's good at making orders.

"Okay." I hold out both hands in front of me and then he makes a loop with his tie around my wrists. He fastens them together, until it's reasonably tight, but not too tight. And then, grabbing me by the hips, he pushes me backwards, guiding me towards my bed. My breathing starts to grow even heavier in surprise.

As I fall back against my lumpy mattress, he climbs on top of me, each knee near mine as he yanks and pulls my wrists up. He's in his element, and I realize that instantly as I watch Richy with wide-eyes as he remains above me, the way he effortlessly secures my wrists to the head board with his tie.

"You're good at this," I murmur, impressed when I try to get free.

"You'd hope so," he murmurs, and even I can tell he's excited. He's turned on by this, Richy is. He's enjoying being on top of me while I'm powerless, unable to move with my arms. "Not too tight?" he asks, staring down at me. His eyes go brighter, wider, as I attempt to struggle and get my wrists free. It's impossible to, he's done a great job securing my hands.

"It's good," I whisper, quickly exhausted by all my arm pulling. "Your really good at tying up hands and securing them to things."

I swallow nervously when he reaches behind me, unclasping my bra. I've never bared my body to someone before; I mean, I've never really been properly nude at work. I either just wear bras or pasties, little slip things to cover my nipples. I've never shown myself to a man before. As Richy throws my bra behind his shoulder, I force myself to look at nothing else but his face as his eyes roam down, inspecting my chest that's bared to him.

I've never been more thankful for my profession as I am right now. Being an exotic dancer, where it's focused on much on my body's appearance, it makes me feel more confident right now about bearing myself to a man for the aim of sexual pleasure; the first time I ever have.

He licks his lips as he closes his eyes for a moment at the sight of my breasts. Just when I'm assuming Richy has gone all shy at the sight of them, he reopens his eyes to slowly gaze down at me. "Your beautiful," he mutters. "Your thighs, your feet, all of you. Especially... your breasts."

"Thanks. Usually I never go topless." The embarrassing words leave my mouth without my control. "At least not yet anyway." I bite my lip, breathing heavily as he leans down. Suddenly he's pressing a chaste kiss to both of my nipples, and I feel them harden beneath his lips, my body trembling. "When are you..." I feel like I cannot even speak properly, I'm struggling. "When are you going to fuck me, Richy?"

I don't even have the time to feel mortified over my impatient words when he reaches down, gliding the trembling fingers of one hand slowly down between us. His knuckles brush against my bare belly, and then my stomach jolts and tenses, when he digs his fingers in beneath the fabric of my panties. Without even warning me, Richy's fingers slide into the folds of my pussy, and I know he can feel how warm I am, how moist. I can see the evidence of his discovery written plainly all over his face when Richy closes his eyes again, pleasure coming across his face as his mouth parts.

"Fuck, you're sopping wet," he murmurs, and he pumps in and out of me, starting a continuing rhythm.

My pussy starts throbbing as I buck against him involuntarily, following the movement of his fingers. I have never felt something so good in my entire life, and I cry out, arching my head back. I've pleasured myself a few times, of course, but nothing can compare to this, to a man doing it with his own fingers.

I can only muster up a soft, hopeless whine as Richy brutally removes his hand out from my panties, stopping his delicious ministrations. My pussy is still throbbing, the fabric of my panties feeling moist and warm. When I stare up at him in disappointment, Richy looks pleased with himself. That look of smug satisfaction doesn't leave when he starts moving down my body, careful not to squish me with his knees. As he glides down the mattress, he hooks his fingers onto the sides of my panties, and he wrenches them down along with him as he goes.

I shut my eyes, my heart hammering in my ears thunderously as no doubt my pussy is exposed to him, the first time I've let a man see even that. He goes between my knees with his legs, parting mine, pushing my legs wider apart. My cry of surprise is even louder when, without warning me yet again of what he's doing, Richy's suddenly between there with his head.

"Holy shit," I moan when I feel his mouth go on me. For some reason, it completely startles me, but it shouldn't have been unexpected. My knees begin to shake and want to clench closed at their own volition; He stops it by clasping onto each ankle with his hands tightly, keeping them apart so he can freely taste me and pleasure me with his mouth and tongue.

Or maybe he did warn me? It's all so hard to think...

"I'd kneel down until I'm on my knees. And then, with you restrained at the hands around the bed post, I'd slowly remove your panties."

He's remaining pretty true to his words, I realize, bucking against him as his mouth finds my clit. He sucks and licks it, doing things with his mouth that are so amazing I can't even put it into words. And then, just like with his fingers, he stops brutally, out of nowhere. The pleasure of his mouth stops, and I'm left crying out again, my wrists chafing against the fine silk of his tie as I thrash in unfair outrage. I'm shaking, traumatized by him not following through, my pussy sore and desperately throbbing for a release.

"I'd lean in, and I'd taste your pussy. And I'd keep tasting you until you were close to coming, but then I'd...stop, just before you did..."

I stare up at him, exhausted, drained with unfulfilled pleasure as he lifts his head to meet my gaze. His lips are glistening, wet with my arousal. And the way Richy looks... the wicked way he's left me hanging. He licks his lips, getting me off his mouth, and holy crap.

"Wow, your full of surprises, aren't you?" I mutter, my voice squeaky and barely audible. "Just like you said... with your... your hypothetical fucking. You came through." I wonder if he can tell how puffed out I am, how difficult it is to even manage to speak.

"I always like to follow through and act on what I want," Richy says, sounding just a breathless himself.

I cry out again, blinking at him in confusion as Richy suddenly gets off the bed. I struggle to see him as he moves around the bed, my bound arms in the way. Is he leaving? Is he going to leave me here like this, dying for a release while tied to my headboard?

I hear the sound of something ripping, and my heart stops in relief. Richy's still in the room, he's just... doing something. Ripping something?

I catch him out of the corner of my eye again as the mattress moves. Richy gets back on the bed so he's straddling me carefully, and then his face is back near mine as he supports himself upright with his hands near each side of my head.

We're both panting, equally as loud as each other.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he explains, warning me. And then I feel him, his head at my entrance. One hand weaves into my hair that's on the pillow, and he bends down, his nose going near it, breathing the strands in as suddenly, he pushes into me.

I groan out at the intrusive yet good feeling, and then Richy draws out and does it again... and again.

After getting accustomed to the sensation. I start moving, bucking, pushing back and forth, following his movements. I hear him grunting above me, panting. And then he draws out again, leaving me, just as I was starting to feel that pleasure settle in.

I turn my chin, meeting his gaze in confusion as he peers down at me, his fingers still in my hair. "Why'd you-" I murmur in frustration, and he laughs breathlessly, shortly, at my words.

"I told you," he mutters in a strained, shaky voice. "I intend to draw this out for as long as humanly possible until you scream my name."

"Richy," I moan in relief, when he thrusts inside me again.

"No," he whispers as he rests his forehead against mine, breathing on me raggedly. This time, he doesn't stop. I move against him again furiously, bucking, meeting him thrust to thrust. I've never felt something so intense, so good before.

"Richy," I breathe again, my voice a strangled cry. I manage to twist my arms around a fraction, my elbows touching his ears as the sensation builds and grows. "Richy. Richy. Richy." I begin to chant it beneath my breath, and as I peer up at him, he stares back, his forehead crumpled as he goes faster, harder, with each thrust.

When it finally happens and we both reach that delicious peak, then rapid decline, I say his name again, although I don't know if he'd consider it screaming or not. Afterwards, he remains inside me for a few minutes while we recoup.

I think he wants to kiss me. Well, he'll lean down a few times, like he's about to mash his mouth into mine, but then I notice Richy will move, resting his warm cheek against mine instead as he breathes loudly.

When he finally pulls out, I wince at the movement. He falls on his back beside me, breathing. Then he reaches over to unfasten my wrists from the tie, and I let them fall to my side, breathing loudly myself. My thoughts are non-existent, my body flushed, sweaty. When I glance over at Richy on the bed beside me, he looks just as contently exhausted as I do.

"Wow, that was..." I still can't even properly talk. I feel like I've gone into a coma.

"Christian," he mumbles beside me, and when I turn my head to look at him, his expression is strange. He appears almost frustrated. Disappointed, even.

"Huh?"

"My name isn't Richy." Leaning up, he rests on his side with his elbow supporting his weight. He peers down at me, his hair damp with sweat. There's a look in his deep gray eyes as he scrutinizes my face. Is that hurt I see there in his eyes? "It's Christian. My name is Christian."

Christian. He's not Mr Richy. His name is Christian. It takes me too long to realize we don't even know each other's names.

"Ana," I whisper back, giving him my own. "My name is Ana."

"Ana," he repeats, and he laughs breathlessly again. "Ana. I knew your name had to be something beautiful like you are. Ana." My name sounds good in his voice, and him, calling both me and it beautiful, it makes my face radiate heat. "Ana," he says one last time.

"Christian," I whisper back, trying to get familiar with putting that name to his face myself, and then, for the first time since tonight, he reaches down and kisses me, his hand coming up to firmly clasp my chin and keep my head still.

When I wake with a jolt, it's still dark. Something's woken me up, an abrupt banging noise. Voices shout; A man and a woman, both crying and arguing. "You bitch," the man shouts. "I know you were there!"

I glance beside me to check and see if he's still there hopefully, noticing Richy- Christian's- shadow beside me as he leans against the headboard of my bed, awake. His feet are angled and resting between mine beneath the sheets, keeping mine warm. He's still here. He stayed, just like he actually asked if he could. I feel in a relieved, sleepy happiness. Until I become more aware of the noises and that banging sound again, and just what it means.

"Oh no," I murmur, when the voices start screaming.

"What's going on?" He must have been awake for a while now, probably because of the sounds. He isn't used to them like I am, obviously. It happens a lot; Practically ever since I moved in here.

"This neighborhood isn't exactly the greatest," I admit hesitantly. He already expressed his disgust at how my apartment is, what with the minimal furniture and things. I hope it won't make him even more disgusted now. "The neighbors next door, the man and woman, they're always fighting. They shout and cry a lot. The first night I moved in here, the police were even called to help resolve their domestic fight."

"How can you even possibly sleep through all that racket?" he asks.

"You get used to it after a while."

"Jesus." I can't see his face in the dark, but I can hear the shock and dismay in his voice clearly, "You really need a new place to live."

"Maybe," I murmur softly in agreement. And then I rest my head back down into my pillow, dozing off again.

Thank you for your reviews and the followings and favorites alerts, it means a lot. Nervous about this chapter but at least they finally know their real names. Seeing as Ana works in a place where its very sexualized, I hope you don't mind if she's not overly coy, etc. It wouldn't have fit, but I'll see what you think. Please be kind as I've never written anything like this before and I bet you can tell, I feel its horribly written.