Fifty Shades of Wrong – Chapter 4
I can hardly believe it. Christian and I have just fucked and now my fiancé, Bradly, is right outside the door looking for me.
My stomach is in my throat. My chest is in my bowels. I'm such a coward! How could I do this to a decent man as Bradly? He deserves better, he does.
"Wait here," Christian orders quietly.
I obey, my breathing subsiding as my heart continues to pound through my chest. My body's awash with shame. And my heart's sinking fast.
My subconscious berates my inner goddess.
Christian throws on his jeans—no boxers—and a t-shirt and rushes his fingers through his just-fucked hair. Then he exits the room, his hand on his lips in warning as he slips through the door.
"Bradly," I hear Christian beckon from the hall. His voice quickly dies. He must be in the great room now because I can't hear him anymore.
I wonder what he'll tell Bradly. I wonder what I'll tell Bradly when I see him next…if he'll even see me after this…
I glance outside. The moon is an ominous orb of silver invading all the secrets of the Seattle skyline. With a hung head, I collect my clothes from the floor and dress myself, my subconscious rebuking me. Loser. Coward. Cheater!
She's right. I deserve neither of the men in my life. I pad across the room to the walk-in closet. It's ginormous, the size of my own bedroom in Kate's apartment. It's floor-to-ceiling shelving of clothes and compartments with every manner of shoes—women's shoes. Whose room is this? I look around.
All the clothes are female. I slip a skimpy blouse from a hanger and hold it up to my shoulders. It's my size. Is Katrina my size? She's slightly taller, but she may be built like me. Did Christian just fuck me in Katrina's room?
That's it. I can't do this. Not like this. I'm going to go out there and confess and break our engagement off. Bradly deserves to know. I won't be that girl who sneaks around. My subconscious disagrees. Ha! You're already that girl! She shouts at me.
I turn around to leave and run right into Christian.
He's leaning against the closet doorframe. He's removed his shirt, and his pants hang around his hips—in that way! My knees weaken.
"What have I told you about biting that lip of yours." He sweeps in and grazes his lips across mine, softly, tenderly, like a feather. His tremulous breath sends waves of electric shock to my pounding chest. Then he kisses me, pressing his lips into me, against me, and his tongue inside me, possessing my mouth ardently and claiming me for himself. His hands explore my body and my body responds reflexively. I'm heated all over again, taken prisoner by his passion. Then, abruptly, he withdraws, leaving my me reeling and bereft.
There's a ghost of a smile on his delicious lips. Like he knows what he's just done to me. "He's gone," he says, resting his hands on my arms.
It brings my attention back to the emergency at hand. Bradly!
Christian's eyes size me up, reading me. "Are you…okay?" He shakes his head, assessing my expression. "You're staying here tonight." It's not a question. Sometimes the dom never leaves the man.
I look up at him and shake my head. "Uh… I can't, Christian. Kate will worry. Bradly will worry—I have to go to him, tell him what I've done." I need to break it off with Bradly, I think to myself. It's not fair to him—to go on knowing how I still feel for this man standing in front of me.
Apparently, that's not what Christian was expecting to hear. His eyes nearly bug out of his head. "What you've done? Ana, you've done nothing. Don't waste any guilt on him. He's no gentleman, I promise you that."
This isn't the first time he's slandered Bradly's name in this way. "Why do you keep saying that?"
"Listen, Ana. You were just following orders, like a good sub. Bradly—he's…We've known each other for a long time. We were rivals for a long time…until he approached me on a joint venture. I've had to get to know him from both sides. He's into things you would never go for…"
I'm shaking my head as he speaks. He's told me all this before, and I always thought it was his jealousy and control talking. Now…it feels different. "No. It's no excuse for my behavior. And I'm not your sub anymore."
Christian's entire countenance shifts. His eyes darken and his body stiffens. He steps back. "Ana. You've gone far enough with this. It's time you come back. You know you belong to me. I've told you I don't like to share. Bradly, on the other hand…" He trails off, as though unsure if he should tell me something.
But that's not what I'm focused on. Christian's always been Mr. Bossy-Pants, but telling me I've gone far enough, that I belong to him—it's just down right audacity!
"No, Christian. I'm going." And I walk around him, and across the room.
"I'm not going to share anymore," he shouts after me. "You're making me want to bend you over my knee right now."
I stop and, still facing the door, open my mouth to speak. Then I close it, my inner goddess all riled up. How can his voice be so…velvety in the middle of an argument? I don't dare turn around. I continue out the door, not brave enough to look back. I don't know how long I can remain strong.
I storm down the hall into the great room, where Taylor is waiting like a butler.
I pause. The room looks silent as a picture in front of the Seattle backdrop. The floor-to-ceiling window shades are drawn to a breathtaking, panoramic view of the Seattle night skyline. Half the room is dimly lit; the other half, where the piano sits, is dark.
"Shall I bring your car around, Miss?" Taylor offers, his voice reminding me of my task at hand.
"No, thank you, Taylor. I'll grab a cab." I'm not taking the car Christian keeps trying to give back to me.
"Thought I'd find you here." The voice is female and nearly knocks me off balance.
I spin around to find a curvy silhouette emerging from the piano bench and walking into the dim glow. All I can think of is Mrs. Robinson, Christian's former Dom. But I realize quickly that I'm wrong.
I look over at Taylor, who looks just as shocked as I feel. Apparently, he didn't know there was anyone else in the room either.
Slowly, the light reveals my observer. Emerging first is her sleek and silky, blonde hair, then her bright blue eyes outlined in black, and cherry-red lips that look like they're designed for pleasuring. Then comes her tight, crimson dress outlining the curves of a Barbie. If her curves aren't enough, her gait certainly is. It's slow and drawling and coquettish. An invitation to fuck. I look over at Taylor, who has disappeared.
"Oh, hi Katrina," I squeak. I clear my throat. Why is she so intimidating all of a sudden?
"Anastasia Steele." She simpers salaciously, running a finger along my shoulder as she circles me, a lioness playing with her food. "Have you lost your way out? The party ended hours ago."
"I—erm, I—" I stammer, but no coherent words find my lips. I hold my chin up. "I'm just leaving."
Then Katrina leans in against my ear, so close I can feel her lips brush my skin. I shudder. "If you stay, I can make it worth your while…show you how to really pleasure Christian Grey. I know what he likes… It is what you want, isn't it? What his ultimate gratification would be…"
I doubt she knows what Christian Grey truly wants, especially if she hasn't been introduced to the red room of pain. But I don't get to voice my doubt because I'm interrupted halfway through my thought.
"Katrina!" Christian says, barreling into the room, Taylor in silent tow. He's still shirtless and barefoot, evidently unconcerned of the implications.
Suddenly, Katrina's not so confident. Her tall shoulders slump and her posture falters. "Yes, Sir," she mutters. "I was just—"
"In the room," he orders, cutting her off. "I'll deal with you in a minute."
And she obeys, skulking off down the hall, her hips a little less swagger.
I almost feel sorry for her. Christian Grey has that effect. He's different now, I notice. Colder. Less caring. And I'm reminded of where I'm going. I don't say anything to Christian, quite sure I won't stand a chance against his gray eyes. I storm out to the elevator, where I'm forced to wait several, agonizing seconds for the doors to open.
Christian's watching me. I can feel his eyes on me from behind. I don't dare turn around.
The doors open and I slip inside and press the lobby button.
"Anastasia," he says, as the doors begin to close. His eyes, still dark, dance like he's just won a prize.
"Christian," I answer, just as the elevator doors come together.
The exchange reminds me of another time, long ago, when we first met.
The elevator plummets and so does my heart. All I can think of is Katrina in the room that he ordered her to. Which room? The red room? No, he told me he hasn't taken her there. The white room—the one that used to be mine? Or the room in which he just fucked me?
I push out the image of him with the gorgeous, full-figured blonde. Or, I try to. But it keeps boomeranging back to the forefront of my mind.
I find myself oddly…turned on by the thought. No, it can't be right. I'm just upset, that's all. I shake it off.
Finally, outside in the cool summer night, I find a quiet crevice of the building, slide my back down the wall, and sob. I don't know how long I'm there. Or who sees me. I don't care. I keep my head down, not wanting to face anyone. Until a pair of black Louboutins block my view of the gum-stained sidewalk.
I follow the frame up to see a very concerned Bradly Russel towering over me, his crisp, cool blue eyes gripping me in that way…
"Now, what can possibly have you upset enough to sit on the sidewalk in such a dress?"
I open my mouth to answer, but the words get stuck in my throat.
Bradly proffers a hand. Hesitantly, I accept, and I'm lifted to my feet. He wraps an arm around me and leads me to his limousine, which is waiting a few feet away, his driver holding the door open.
The ride to my apartment is quiet, but for Bradly accepting a call, agreeing to meet someone in an hour. Briefly, I wonder what business could drag him out so late on a Saturday night. It reminds me of Christian, when he had to leave me in Georgia to return for an emergency. I look at Bradly. I hope everything's okay.
"We'll talk tomorrow when you're feeling better," Bradly says as he walks me to my door. He's right. I can't talk right now. "I want you to get some rest and don't let Kate interrogate you."
I nod, relieved that he's not pressuring me for answers tonight. I need to be alone. I need answers of my own.
He presses a gentle kiss on my forehead and waits until I close the door.
Thank God Kate's not home yet. Her new job keeps her working late, even on Saturdays. I clamber into the apartment to my bedroom, leaving a trail of lights in my wake. I plop backward onto my bed, my mind racing over all the ways in which to break the news to Bradly. None of which succeed in distracting me from the thought of Christian and Katrina together right now.
As I lie here and regret ever ending it with Christian in the first place, all I can think of is Christian slowly unzipping Katrina's red dress. My plummets to my stomach. Why should I be jealous? We're not even supposed to be together. Then, her words return to me. I can make it worth your while…show you how to really pleasure Christian Grey. Just what was she getting at?
A familiar ding reaches my ears.
The laptop Christian gave me three years ago (and won't let me return) is opened on my nightstand. I sit up in my bed and pull it to my lap. Then I open the email:
From: Christian Grey
To: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Punishment
Ana,
Don't think I don't know who took you home. You walked away from me. You disobeyed me. I'm coming over to bend you over my knee.
Wait up for me.
Christian
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Thanks again for reading. Let me know what you think, and of any mistakes I made so I can improve the story for you. Or, let me know which way you want the story to go. What kind of BDSM do you want Christian and Ana to do? Your opinion is most important. If you like it, please fav, review, and share.
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