When the contract came back to him on Monday at two he excused himself from the boring as fuck business meeting he'd been unfortunate enough to be a part of and shut the door to his office.

Along with the NDA she'd initialed their agreed upon limits along with the addition of her willingness to revisit them, without pressure, in three months time. When he saw her signature on the contract, the script feminine and so very Anastasia he smiled like an idiot catching himself only when he found himself tracing the blue ink with his finger.

"Welch, do you have the information I asked about yet?" he barked into the phone in his usual brisk way.

"I do, Sir, I'll be over in two minutes." Fuck it, the meeting could wait. He wanted to have that report in hand too much to care about the trade routes of leather goods between here and Tunisia.

Welch walked in without knocking, handing the one sheet background check to him. He already knew her birthday, where she lived, and where she worked. Her father had died the day after she had been born and she'd been adopted by Raymond Steele, her mothers second and...interestingly enough, fourth husband. Carla Adams-Steele seemed a bit bizarre on paper, divorcing Raymond to marry a man by the name of Stephen Morton only to divorce him to remarry Raymond Steele.

Her parents lived in Montesano in the house Anastasia had grown up in where Ray ran a construction company and Carla sold real estate. Ana's bank account was a bit impressive considering she lived on her own and had paid for college herself. It wasn't much but $14k in savings for a 22 year old wasn't something to sneeze at these days. Even he knew that.

But it was what wasn't on this that he was most interested in. Who had hurt her? When? What had been done about it? Her name didn't appear as a plaintiff on any database Welch could access and as far as his security team could tell, there had been no news articles about her ever written. His attempts at gaining access to her medical records had met a stone cold dead end, the information before her 16th birthday completely wiped out.

"No prior relationships other than the one in high school?" he questioned, reading the words Paul Clayton, boyfriend for eleven months, over and over. That was the asshole that had taken her virginity and one of the men he knew had been pleasured by her body. He hated the man. Loathed him.

"Ms. Monroe was able to confirm that her first long term...arrangement had been with Marcus Jamieson but she was unwilling, or unable, to comment on Ms. Steele's other long term arrangement. Mr. Jamieson had procured Ms. Steele's membership at Imperium during their time together." Whatever. He'd thankfully never met the man, a small favor now that he was fucking his former submissive.

"And the two short term ones?" Welch flipped the screen on his tablet, finding the two names before speaking them aloud.

"Jason Kendrick and Shane Morgan."

Fuck them. Fuck all four of them. He knew Marcus Jamieson wasn't a threat since the man now lived in Atlanta and had no business on the West Coast anymore. Christian would make sure he never did again. But the other two were unknowns, obviously small time players in the lifestyle and in the business world.

"What information did you find on Kendrick and Morgan?" He reached for a mint, their names leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

"Mr. Kendrick resides in a small town in Maine and was married four months ago. His time with Ms. Steele was approximately three years ago and lasted for about five weeks while he was in Seattle to close on a contract with Boeing. Mr. Morgan lives in Raleigh and spent six weeks here about two years ago. From what we could gather neither has been in contact with Ms. Steele since they returned to the East Coast."

Christian tapped his pen on the edge of his desk. That left the two single scenes she had done and the long term Dom that she had been with last. It was he who bothered him the most though. The two morons who had let Anastasia go after one night were too stupid to care too much about. He'd still find out who they were and ensure that they were never near her again of course but it was the one who had her last who had become an obsession for him.

"No lead on her last relationship?" His head of security have him a curt shake of the head. "So this is it then?" With a disgusted toss he threw the paper on his desk, disappointed at the lack of information there.

"That's it, Sir." Without a word he dismissed the man thirty years his senior without so much as a thank you and sat back down to read over everything once again. He read the name of the man who had her first again and did a quick search only to find that he was part owner of a hardware store in the town Anastasia grew up in. There was only two pictures of Paul Clayton but they did nothing but serve to piss him off. The asshole was good looking, a fact that irritated him to no end.

He stared at those pictures, imagining her laughing up at the blond asshole, holding his hand, touching him the way he himself couldn't be touched. Clayton's Hardware. He scoffed. So she'd lost her virginity to a small town boy. So what? I run the fucking world.

But damn did it bother the shit out of him. This...this...boy had had Anastasia first. Had been with her in a way Christian Grey could never allow. She'd liked this guy enough to stay with him for almost a year. She'd chosen to be in a relationship with him, not a formal arrangement like theirs was.

Dragging his hands over his face he sighed and leaned back with his eyes closed. She'd gotten under his skin, of that there was no doubt. The question was whether or not he wanted to keep her there because something told him that scratching at this itch over and over was only going to fuck up his perfectly balanced world.

She was grateful to not have told Kate anything once she read over the NDA he'd included in the package. It wasn't the first she'd signed, Dominick was wealthy and powerful as well and hadn't taken any chances when he'd signed her on and Marcus had been just as careful. He was the one who had taught her to channel her fears and her confusion into something controllable. He had been the one who had walked her through the intricacies of a Dom/sub relationship and had imparted the surety that contracts and safeguards were important for both parties.

Along with Christian's contract was an updated list of limits and a new Blackberry, preprogrammed with all of his contact information down to the number at his parents home and the mooring number of his ship. Most surprising was the black American Express credit card he'd somehow acquired since last night with her name stamped on the front along with a hand written note in a neat but masculine script.

Ms. Steele,
Enclosed you will find a phone with full access to me day or night along with a credit card which I'm sure you are already refusing to use. Please do. Part of our agreement is that I shall take care of you in any way that I can and ensuring that you are well fed, well groomed and well entertained is part of that.

My trainer, a gentleman by the name of Claude Bastille will be contacting you later today to begin your personal training sessions as will a gentleman by the name of Franco who will coordinate your salon visits on a bi-weekly schedule.

I thoroughly enjoyed our time together this weekend and look forward to Friday. Should you need to speak to me before then, you are welcome to reach out.

Warm Regards,
Christian Grey

Warm regards? That's how I sign my notes to my students. She caught herself frowning and sat back, shoulders tense. This is akin to a business transaction for him and is how you should approach it as well. No emotions, just like in the past.

Sex. Control. Submission. Stay where comfortable.

So she signed the documents, heart firmly planted in her chest, and shoved them back in the envelope sealing it before handing it back to the young man waiting in the hall.

By Friday morning he was so keyed up he was afraid of stroking out but somehow he'd managed to make it through the day with only three temper tantrums and one 'go fuck yourself' to an international lawyer who'd pissed him off. His attention to the minutes as they ticked by only added to his tension and frustration. Never had he been this wound up over a sub. Not even close. Whatever this was, he needed to figure it out and get over it fast.

So when the elevator dinged and Taylor announced Anastasia's arrival he dismissed the man for the night, mentioned wanting to take his normal run at seven instead of six and strolled into the great room where she waited.

Damn, she was even prettier than he'd remembered and he'd thought of her hourly for the last five days.

"Mr. Grey, Sir." She smiled at him, his heart seizing at the gentle nature of it. His feet made to move to her and he did, chastising himself with each step. Get a fucking grip, Grey!

"Ms. Steele, lovely to see you again. I expect you in the playroom in 10 minutes. Be in position," was all he said before kissing her cheek chastely and moving past her to the kitchen where Gail was finishing dinner. It took incredible will power to not turn around but he managed to exit the room, her scent following him until he stood next to his house manager at the stove.

"Mr. Grey, did you want me to plate this up for you and Ms. Steele?" Mrs. Taylor turned to him, a pot holder in one hand, wooden spoon in the other waiting for his instruction. He hesitated for a few seconds as he tried to get his bearings while beating down the unease settling in his conscious.

He'd never done that before; had a sub go upstairs before dinner on a Friday. It seemed so uncivilized but he was dying to touch her again and he wouldn't unless they were in scene. If his folly on the stairs last Sunday had proven one thing, it was that she affected him in a way that he wasn't comfortable with.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Taylor. I can handle all of this when we're ready to sit down. Enjoy your weekend, I'll see you Sunday night after I return from my parents to go over the weeks schedule."

His jeans were already on the bed where he'd thrown them earlier in anticipation of her arrival so he dressed quickly and checked his watch, pacing in front of the wall of windows that took up the left side of his bedroom.

Three minutes. Three minutes and he could touch her again.

His greeting had startled her, thrown her off for a few seconds but she recovered quickly and made her way to her room. Truth be told she was disappointed. He'd been so warm and engaging last weekend but today he'd been cold and all business. Was last Sunday just a façade so that she'd sign the contract? Was this the Dom she was really getting?

On the bed was the overnight bag she'd brought with her, Taylors efficiency shining brightly. She stripped to her white lace thongs, covered herself in the silk robe hanging from her door and entered the red room alone for the first time. A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of their time in here just a few days ago.

He'd been gentle with her, she knew that and she'd appreciated it at the time but she wasn't so naïve as to think that that was the norm for him. No, she'd learned enough about The Christian Grey to know that his tendencies, while pleasurable, sometimes danced on the line of sadism.

Would she ever see that side of him? Or would he revert back to the engaging Dom from last weekend? Perhaps a mix somewhere in between. He gave her no time to dwell on it because exactly three minutes later he walked in the room and turned on the music, another classical piece she didn't recognize.

She could only see his feet but Oh God his feet were sexy as hell.

"Come to me, Anastasia," he demanded softly, his voice was surer than she remembered. The sound of it did things to her; wound through her and held tight to her insides, burrowing deep so that she craved the sound of it.

She did as she was told, the knots in her stomach twisting with anticipation and nerves as she made her way in front of the sofa, her eyes downcast, hands at her sides. "You look lovely," he mused as he took her in.

Lovely barely covered it. She looked afuckingmazing. Long thick braid, skin so smooth it looked like glass, breasts that were literal perfection. And god damn the flare of her hips as they swelled out from her tiny waist. Yeah, lovely was nothing when it came to describing the woman in front of him in only a scrap of sheer lace.

"I like your panties," he whispered in her ear, one finger sliding over the seam of her sex. Over her head he slipped on a black silk eye mask before turning her so that her calves were against the leather of the sofa. "Now sit and take them off slowly while you lean back. Leave your legs in the air but spread them wide. I want to see what's mine."

Oh god. A quiver ran through her belly and settled between her legs. She would do anything he wanted so long as he told her to do it in that voice.

She did as he asked, her movements slightly awkward with the blindfold on.

When she was naked he knelt in front of her and looked at her. Just…looked. She heard the click of a camera, instantly regretting not adding photos to her hard limits. Gently he ran one finger down her cleft before sliding it inside of her, another click followed by the thud of the camera being set down on the floor.

"Those are for me alone, Anastasia. I don't share, not even in print." She felt marginally better.

He wanted to taste her in the worst way but instead he ran his nose down the inside of her thigh and inhaled her scent, the perfect mix of sex and woman and Ana. The promise of pleasure and satisfaction. Of sin and salvation. With an awe he hadn't experienced since he was a teenager he ran his fingers over the smooth skin of her pussy lips, watching with delight when she jolted under his touch.

Her hands, unsecured clenched by her sides. God he was totally off of his game with her.

Rectifying it he stood and pulled down a chain from the grid, placing her hands in the leather cuffs so that she was tethered to the ceiling. On each ankle he did the same, securing her legs wide and high, leaving her completely exposed and vulnerable. This was how he needed her, just like this. Aware of his authority, needing his touch, completely at his command.

He'd tasted her only briefly before, the tang of her sex staying with him all week in his dreams. His mouth had watered at the thought of his tongue bathing between her lips, his cock dancing in his pants at the most inopportune moments as he thought of it. And now, she was here. Wet for him, wanting him, waiting for him. If there was a God...

When his mouth made contact with her sex she moaned above him, the sound of it music to his ears. He laved her with his tongue, stroked her with his fingers and sucked her with his lips but it was when he held the back of her knees in his hands and spread her wider that had her spasming against his face.

Oh hell yea she tastes good. Sweet and salty and woman. God damn he'd do that every day if he could. He wanted to take her from behind, slam into her so he could watch her ass ripple with each thrust but then she shifted herself as her orgasm waned and her tits bounced and well that is what he wanted to see so he reared up on his knees, brought her to the edge of couch and slammed in without so much as a warning. She cried out at the unexpected intrusion and gripped the leather cuffs above her.

"Oh fuck yes," he grunted, finally finding the relief his hand had been incapable of all week. "I thought about this all week, couldn't wait to fuck you again, feel this perfect pussy around my cock." Shit she was going to cum again if he kept that rhythm up.

But he didn't. He undid her ankles, lifted her, spun around and sat down on the couch so that she was straddling him. With a yank the chain became tighter, her arms lifting above her head again pushing her breasts forward.

"Ride me. Bounce those perfect tits in my face and ride me." Yup, I'm going to cum again, she thought.

Rarely, if ever did he let a sub do this. It left too much room for error, too many ways for hands to slip, too many ways he could be touched but he wanted this with her. Wanted to watch her want him the way he wanted her. She felt good, tight and slick, hot and soft and damn if she didn't look good grinding against him but it wasn't enough. With one finger he flung the blindfold off and then settled back down letting both arms stretch out to his sides. She blinked in the muted light, the blues of her eyes finding his immediately. Yes, he thought, that's what I want.

"Look at me," he growled, his hands in fists on either side of the couch. "Faster." She sped up, her legs burning without the aid of her arms. "Yes, Anastasia, just like that." His face got a bit redder with his efforts to hold off his orgasm, the muscles in his neck straining to the point of pain. He could hold out a bit longer, maybe a minute…maybe...no, actually, he couldn't.

With each slide down he puffed out a bit more air until finally she saw his eyes roll back and his mouth open on a silent gasp, the sight so beautiful that it pushed her just enough that she joined him there. He jerked beneath her, his warmth bathing her insides as she convulsed around him, tiny whimpers making their way from the back of her throat. In the seconds that followed she thought she heard a 'God damn' but between the pounding of her heart and the rattle of the chains as she hung there she couldn't be sure.

Together they took deep breaths until he lifted her, stood up and untied her, slapping her butt playfully while she rubbed her wrists.

His mind was spinning. So good, we're so good together. I needed that. Badly.

"Hungry?" His eyes glinted at her with mirth.

"Not anymore," she joked. He laughed and walked her to the bathroom to retrieve a wet washcloth. This is part of his routine, she thought. The caring side to his demands. He handed it to her with a smile.

"I'll be in the kitchen, come down when you're ready."

Dressed in a casual blue jersey dress she watched him eat, loving the way he used the fresh baked bread to soak up the red sauce. Loving how his Adams apple moved when he swallowed the Malbec he'd opened specifically for her but most of all loving how animated he was as he told her about a new project he was working on outside of Mexico City.

"If this goes through, GEH will be able to save about 40k jobs and add at least three thousand more in Mexico City directly."

"And the 40k? Are they all in Mexico?" He shook his head, mopping up the last bit of sauce on his plate like a kid. Ana found it endearing. Adorable.

"Scattered throughout six regions here in the US." He twirled the pasta on her plate gracefully and fed it to her without a second thought, rattling off the merits of the tax shelters his second in command had put up and how if they played their cards right, this acquisision could bring close to 80k jobs over the next ten years worldwide.

Not once did he mention the money he'd make or the esteem this would bring him or his company. Not one time did he mention the delicate dance of international business acumen he must posses in order to bring this to fruition. He spoke of the little people, the jobs this would create, the money it would generate for local economies and small businesses.

"You want to save the world," she said matter of factly between bites of linguini. He stopped and stared at her, relishing in the little dot of sauce she didn't know about on her chin. Reaching out to wipe it away he thought about it. In a way, yes, he did want to save the world. Strange that she'd seen that since he'd never really put conscious thought to it.

"I enjoy what I do but at the end of the day, there needs to be a driving force to justify the hours and energy I put in. So I guess if I know I can take a thousand people off the unemployment line, I can somehow get past the fact that I've just put in a 70 hour work week for six straight weeks." She smiled at him. He truly had no idea how selfless that made him. He smiled back, the gesture so sincere, so sweet that she felt the fluttering of it in her belly.

With a shrug and a bit of reservation he told her a little about the situation he had been born into. A drug addicted mother, severe poverty, no family. He'd told the same story to the few interviews he'd granted over the years so the revelation wasn't new to her but to hear it from his lips was more than she was prepared for. She hurt for him, her mind flashing back to the small circles she'd noticed on his chest Sunday when he'd stood above her on the bed. I wonder…

"…I can't help but think that if there had been jobs and therefore more options that my birth mother would have had a shot at a normal life." He poured more wine, mindlessly reaching for her knee when he leaned forward. "Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade my life and the family I was given for anything but what opportunities are there for a 19 year old single mother?"

"You speak about her as if she were a victim."

For a moment he thought about it, weighing the validity of that statement against his own conclusions before settling back in his chair. "She was a crack whore. Ultimately she paid the price for her actions," he points to himself, "as did I. But yes, she was a victim of circumstance. Her own." And with that Christian Grey ended the conversation the best way he knew how.

"I'd like to go upstairs again before we call it a night but since this is your first weekend here I feel it only fair to let you know that tomorrow we will be in there for hours." He leaned in, "And outside of meeting you, it's been a shitty three months. I have a lot of energy to work out." She knew what that meant, her insides quivering for whatever it was he wanted to dish out.

"I'm your vessel," she said meekly, her lashes lowering just as the strap of that blue dress slide down an inch.

"Dessert first," he said with a smile, ignoring the swelling of his cock. "You're going to need your strength, Ms. Steele."

She rose and cleared the table while he watched, appreciating the way her body moved, the lines of muscle and delicate bones working in harmony to paint him a beautiful picture he was fully enjoying. When her task was completed he stood and took out a tub of vanilla ice cream and the homemade chocolate sauce he made Gail keep on hand at all times.

"Vanilla," he said, scooping her a generous portion into a bowl she was sure cost more than her outfit.

"One of my favorites!" He was happy to have pleased her and even more happy when she closed her eyes and moaned over the spoon of chocolate he'd handed to her. "Oh my goodness." He was going to spread that over her body one of these days, lay her out on the table, lick it off nice and slow…

"Speaking of vanilla," he started, the name Paul Clayton coming to mind, "have all of your sexual experiences been BDSM related or have you had vanilla sex as well?"

The question startled her a bit. Hasn't everyone had vanilla sex? It's not like you start off in this lifestyle.

"Of course I have." His face fell for a quick second, her stomach with it. Hadn't he? His brows raised while he waited for her to elaborate while mentally she debated whether or not to say anymore. Clearly she'd struck a nerve.

"Please continue." It was not a pleasant request. Now the question was how much to tell.

"I've had quite a few experiences with normal sex I guess you could call it. The first boy I ever slept with wasn't in the lifestyle. I didn't even know about BDSM back then."

"And he was the only one?" He did not like the fact that she'd been with other men. The thought troubled him but to know she had done something with a man that he himself had never experienced, it plain pissed him off. Inside he seethed.

"The Dom I had, the last long term one, there were a handful of times sex had no BDSM element to it." Her face was bright red but he'd asked and she wasn't ashamed. Dominick had been good to her and if he had wanted kinkless sex every now and then, she was happy to give that to him. To her it had been another way to satisfy her Dom.

"How many is a handful? And what was the context?" Was he serious? How the hell was she supposed to remember that? She bit back the snarky retort and looked straight into those beautiful gray eyes.

"Eight or nine. And I'd rather not discuss specifics since I'm bound to an NDA with him as well."

"So you can't tell me his name?" He'd find out either way, of that he was sure. He hated the man already. Loathed him.

"No." What the fuck? Just...no? It was all he could do not to spit out the names of the other men she'd fucked out of spite just to prove that her secrets weren't safe so long as he wanted to know.

"He's from Seattle? Or Vancouver where you went to school?"

"He's from Washington, I'll leave it at that." One nod, so much meaning. He was pissed at her refusal to give him information. "I wouldn't share anything about you with anyone else either, Sir."

At that he came back to himself, the anger retreating a bit. Casually he scooped up another spoonful and brought it to his lips, asking the one question she knew he would ask eventually.

"Why did it end between you?" It was standard to go over such questions as this. She'd been a bit upset with herself that she hadn't gotten any referrals from him but her head had been so far in the clouds that she'd skipped over the safety measures entirely.

"He fell in love." Simple. To the point. Christian's heart flipped over.

Love?

"With you?"

"Yes." He hated that man for all he was worth which probably wasn't much. Fuck him. He'd find him, flaunt Ana in his face and watch as he crumbled. He had her last and he'd loved her. Offered her the one thing he himself could never give her. Fuck him.

"So you ended it?"

"Yes." One word answers. He wanted more but she was holding her cards close. "Has that ever happened to you? Has a submissive ever fallen in love with you before?" He scoffed. This conversation was all kinds of inappropriate but he was enjoying the casual feel of the evening too much to filter himself. Perhaps if he gave her information, she'd give him what it was he wanted.

"Yes. I can think of six off the top of my head that had to be let go because of it and I'm pretty sure there was another who never outright said it but her behavior told me otherwise." She was floored. That was half of his submissives!

"But you've never…fallen for one of them?" He looked disgusted at the thought.

"No. I don't do the boyfriend girlfriend thing and I certainly don't do love. The minute I sense emotions like that are part of the equation the contract is reviewed. If she admits to feelings or worse, declares them, the contract is terminated immediately. I don't do messy and love, feelings, emotional ties? That's as messy as it gets."

He was right of course and she'd known that going in but the finality of his words, the way he spoke about feelings as if they were annoying and cursed hurt her for some reason. In his own way he had spelled out exactly where his own emotional lines were and then told her not to cross them. Message received.

"How did he handle it when you left?"

"Not well," she said truthfully. "He had what's akin to a grown up temper tantrum and then did everything he could to win me back but it was useless. I had zero interest in a relationship with him outside of what we had had for over a year. I enjoyed our time together but when it was over, it was over."

Enjoyed. He didn't like the sound of that either. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I care? Of course she enjoyed it, why else would she do it again?

"And does he still? Try to contact you and win you back as you put it?" She blushed at what she perceived as teasing.

He wasn't teasing. Not even a little.

"Occassionally. I haven't heard from him in a few weeks but yes, he's still interested." She caught the flare of anger just in time to lay her hand over his in an effort to calm him. "I have no interest in speaking with him or reconnecting, Sir."

But he wasn't about to take the chance and give her the opportunity to even think about that man again. No, he'd bring her pleasure and security like she'd never known. Somehow, he'd eradicate the memory of all of them from her mind starting right now.

"You are never to speak to him so long as you are a submissive of mine." The words were spoken firmly but menacingly.

"Of course not, Sir. I would never disrespect you like that, Sir." Again her lashes lowered in a physical show of submission.

"Time's up, Ms. Steele and I feel the need to bend you over that bench." He grabbed the bowls, walked them to the sink and then motioned for her to get upstairs. He followed closely behind her until she stood next to the leather covered bench he'd directed her to.

With coarse rope and leather cuffs he tied her there, her belly flat against the cool leather while he secured both wrists and ankles. His flogging was for pleasure, the silken tips of the instrument in direct contrast with the harsh rope wrapped around her extremities. When he entered her from behind this time it was gentle though he didn't need to be. She smiled, touched that he'd remembered her pain from their last session. She felt cared for, safe, secure.

He fucked her in that position for a long time, his strokes sometimes shallow, sometimes deep but always accompanied by his fingernails scratching along the length of her back. It was both soothing and erotic, the buildup of pleasure so great that she came with tears in her eyes when he finally allowed it.

At the last moment he pulled loose of her body and emptied himself with a grunt on the perfect skin of her ass, rubbing his semen into her skin before laying a nice smack on each cheek that would leave a perfect handprint for the next few hours.

Mine, he thought as her skin turned pink. When he was through with her, she'd only ever remember his name.

By Sunday she was sore in both the sexual way and the physical way. When he said he'd put her through her paces all day Saturday, he hadn't been kidding. Never, in the five years she'd been having sex had she met a man who could one, get it up as often and as quickly and two, use it so well.

Saturday morning he'd gone for his run as scheduled and had come home to a Greek omelet and hash browns. Pleasantly surprised at her ability in the kitchen he rewarded her with a rare kiss on the lips before retreating to his office to work for a few hours.

While she read on the couch he worked in his study, going to the kitchen to get himself a drink or a piece of fruit so that he could peek in on her. At one he'd had enough of work, couldn't concentrate on it anyway, and had ordered her to the playroom again. At six he called for takeout and at ten he'd carried her limp and sated body to her bed, sponged her down while she was half asleep and then had worked until eleven when even he couldn't keep his eyes open.

Sunday she made pancakes and bacon, dancing around in nothing but a robe and panties with slippers since it was starting to get cold out. He'd come out of his bedroom when he heard her moving around only to find her with her ear buds in, her hips keeping a silent beat. He stood still, waiting to hear her sing a line or two but she never did, just hummed and mouthed words until she caught him watching. And when that blush stole over her face he'd tied her hands behind her back with the sash of that robe and then he draped her over one of the bar stools so that he could feast on the sweetness between her thighs while the pancakes burned.

It would be a pity to let her leave a bit earlier than normal today but he'd promised his family he'd go on the boat with them for his mothers birthday and as much as he was used to disappointing them, he wasn't so much of a dick that he'd skip out on Grace Grey's birthday dinner.

Just as well, he thought when she sat at the breakfast bar with a wince. He'd made her sore much to his delight and as much as he enjoyed her mouth, it was the way she completely submitted to him when he was inside of her that he enjoyed the most.

After breakfast he'd carried her to her room to run her a bath using the oils Gail had furnished the room with. He hadn't intended to fuck her again but when she got in and smiled up at him as he ran the cloth over her breasts he let his dick do the directing. He'd let her ride him again in the bathtub while he held her arms behind her back, another first for him but he didn't tell her that. He'd bathed all of his subs, even Elena. But never had he gotten in with them let alone fuck them like that. The thought hadn't even occurred to him but when he saw her, brunette hair damp on her back, suds covering the swell of her chest, face flushed by the heat he had to have her. Had to. Plain and simple.

They'd lazed around the apartment after a particularly intense session with a flogger he'd dubbed, 'The Mop' due to its number of tendrils and the way it fell heavily against the skin. Somewhere in between her sucking him off in front of the mirror and getting flogged on the cross she noticed that the larger canes had been removed. The whip was left on the wall, something she'd yet to experience pleasurably in her years of participation and the smaller canes were still there but the ones she'd cringed at when he fingered them yesterday morning were gone.

At first she'd considered adding the whip to her hard limits but during the week when she had gone back to Imperium to speak with Mistress Monroe, with Mr. Grey's blessing of course, she'd learned that the whip was his specialty. The whip had always terrified her, the two times it had been used on her causing intense pain that left her shaking and fearful. But she trusted him and she trusted Mistress Monroe so she said nothing, opting to watch as he ran his hand over the leather in a bid to unnerve her. It had worked. As much as she trusted his skill, Anastasia had no desire to actually put it to the test.

They left together in time for him to catch his parent's boat and for her to run a few errands, exiting the elevator and parting without a kiss. He felt the loss of that moment as much as she had but this was the nature of their arrangement. Kissing goodbye was akin to a relationship and despite the definition of what that was, theirs was an arrangement, not a relationship.

When she fell into her own bed Sunday night she had to admit that he was the best Dom she'd ever had. Nobody could make her cum more than three times in a day but Christian? God she'd lost count yesterday. And today, when he took her in the bath her orgasm had been painful it had been so intense.

His mother's birthday dinner had been nice. He was, for the moment, void of all tension and for the most part sated but he still thought of Anastasia. Wondered if she'd gone to the grocery store like she said she was going to. Wondered what she'd had for dinner, if she'd eaten alone or with someone. Wondered if she was thinking of him the way he was of her.

That night he had the dream again. Anastasia on the bed, crimson sheets beneath her, hair wild around her. He'd taken her like that twice this weekend but her hair had been braided and her hands had been bound. And that was what woke him up in a blind panic.

Because in his dream, Anastasia Steele was touching him.

And he was enjoying it.