Christian had sent flowers to apologize for the few paparazzi that he knew were now hounding her and then had invited her to come over to his office later in the week for lunch. She had declined of course, much to his consternation. The entire thing confused the shit out of him. No woman had ever said no to an invitation from him. If he'd asked one of them to come to his office for lunch, which of course he never had, they'd have shown up eagerly and would have been grateful as fuck for the opportunity to be with him. But not this one, not his newest little sub.

Because Ana knew that if she had any chance of protecting her heart, then she was going to have to continually remind herself that his affection was a fallacy. Nothing more than a good Dominant taking care of his submissive no matter how different this thing between them felt. She had no way of knowing the extent to which he'd closed himself off before her and subsequently the lengths at which he'd gone to be in her company. How was she to know that the concessions he'd granted her were larger than the ones he'd given his own family.

But the way her hands tingled and her heart pounded every time she saw his name on her phone or her email scared her. Love, emotions, that stuff was too messy and painful and knowing what she knew of Christian Grey and his hard line on romantic feelings, she wasn't about to hand him her heart so that he could damage it. She'd learned the hard way a long time ago that when someone had your heart, the very center of your being, then they had all the power. And so far in her life, handing her power over hadn't worked out so well.

Kate had helped to sneak her out the back of the apartment but Ana had seen a few photographers camped out front through the curtains. There were a few more outside of her studio building but she did what Kate said and put her head down when she walked by them, ignoring their questions and locking the door behind her. Why would they care about who she was? She knew they'd dig but she also knew they'd find very little. Her relationships, outside of Paul Clayton weren't public knowledge and her father Ray, coupled with the insiders he knew from his illustrious military career had ensured that nothing about her early life was ever made public.

Determined to live her life without fear she dove into work head first and caught up on her bookkeeping and the minutia that came with being a small business owner. In between students she cleaned the studio and worked on the songs she was writing. Anything to keep her mind from asking the question that kept circulating in her head.

Why would he risk this type of exposure?

Christian left a message to again apologize for the press, claiming that his spur of the moment decision to escort her last night was now causing her undue stress. 'You will need to be prepared and protected' he'd said on is voice mail before telling her his bullet point plan on how to achieve that.

His PR director brought over lunch at one and conferenced Christian in so that together they could come up with a cohesive way to deal with the attention now raining down on them. He was gracious but businesslike on the call, his no nonsense attitude used to it's full advantage as he and Sandra pulled together a list of protocols and procedures. Ana sat quietly and let them hash it out, unsure of why this was all becoming such a big deal. A little voice of doubt tapped at her thoughts, 'You're supposed to be an outlet for this man. A source of peace and pleasure. But now you're causing problems and stress.'

He called that night like he did every night to check in with her but this time instead of the obligatory conversation he steered the topic towards security and how there was a need for her to now be protected. At first she didn't understand what he was talking about but when he mentioned the words, 'bodyguard' and 'protection officer' she just about passed out. I mean, sure, there had been a few interested paparazzi but really, wouldn't they just get bored and move on quickly anyway? And were they really a threat to her safety?

While he spoke brusquely about security parameters and appropriate demeanors, she chewed her bottom lip in thought. Maybe this would be a good time to ask to speak to a former submissive of his, someone who could help her to navigate this better. She'd been foolish not to get references from him at the beginning anyway, her demanding libido causing her to bypass her own rules in order to rush along their first interaction.

"What do I need protection from, Mr. Grey?" She asked when he'd finished his monologue.

For a moment he contemplated not answering. Surely she wasn't questioning his judgment or his orders? But then she sneezed and the daintiness of it made him smile and hold back a laugh. Was everything she did adorable?

"God bless you, Anastasia. I do hope you're not getting sick."

"Oh no, I was just trimming the flowers you sent. I'm allergic to lilies." He made a mental note never to order them again. "They're so beautiful though that I just couldn't resist splitting the arrangement up so that I could have it in the living room and in my bedroom. Thank you, Sir, they're lovely."

He smiled again and leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet onto the desk before linking his fingers behind his head.

"You're welcome, I'm glad that you like them so much." For a few seconds the silence ticked by while he lost himself in the image of her tenderly touching the flowers he'd sent her.

"My protection, Sir?"

Right. The game, Grey. Get in it. "You need shielding from the media for one. Then there are zealous fans who think that getting close to you means getting close to me. You also become a valuable asset to anyone who wants to blackmail me." Her brow knit while she thought about that for a bit. "Are you biting your lip, Ms. Steele?" She giggled, he sat up straight at the sound and pushed at his groin, now coming to life.

"How did you know?"

Because I picture you a thousand times a day and watch you with obsessive regularity when you're with me. Because I know your ticks, your tells, your mannerisms. Because everything you do is fascinating and I've mentally recorded it all.

"Lucky guess," was all he said.

"I was thinking," she said softly, his dick tingling at the breathiness of her voice, "maybe I could talk to one of your ex-submissives? Maybe they can help me with this whole attention from the media thing?" His dick deflated at the thought. "I mean, I'll do what Sandra said too but maybe it would just be easier to talk to someone who's been through this."

"If that's your agenda, then it would be pointless, Anastasia. None of them were ever photographed with me or even seen with me. As far as the media is concerned, they don't exist. If you need help, I have an entire team at GEH that deals with this shit. I'll have Virginia Miller call you in the morning and set up a time for you to come to Grey House to speak with her. She'll ensure you're legally covered and teach you the legal ways in which you can protect yourself. While you're here, we can do lunch." Fuck that he'd already tried to get her there for lunch that week, he wanted to lay her out on this desk.

"Mr. Grey, Sir, Fridays through Sundays." His eyes rolled, a flame of anger searing his gut. Why did she have to be so damn rigid and frustrating with her time?

"Then come on Friday for fucks sake." They were both silent, she trying to protect her heart, he trying to figure his out. "Tell me something, Ms. Steele. Your last Dom, did you see him during the week?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes. He travelled often and therefore we didn't have a set schedule outlined in our contract like you and I do." The flame grew hotter.

"So you went to him whenever he requested it of you?"

"When he wasn't travelling, which he did more often than not, yes. If I was available, I went to him." The flame blew up, the idea that this other man had been granted access to her in a way he had not burning a hole into that carefully constructed control.

"In six weeks we renew our agreement," he said menacingly. "Just weekends isn't working for me. Keep that in mind. Goodnight, Ms. Steele." And with that, the phone went dead.

She couldn't explain to him that her being so accessible to Dominick had been part of the reason she thinks he had fallen in love with her. He began to view her as a girlfriend, someone to grab take out with and watch a movie next to on a Tuesday night. But if she told him that, she'd expose herself because being accessible to Christian may not have been a problem for him, but it sure as hell was for her.

But he had no way of knowing that so instead he did what he always did when he was ready to pitch a fit. He called Bastille, told him to be at the GEH gym in 30 minutes and then furiously jacked off in the bathroom of his office. It pissed him off that no matter what scenario he used as fantasy, it was her face he saw and her body he envisioned when he came.


By Friday the press had backed off just as Kate predicted they would. 'Give them nothing' she'd encouraged and nothing was all they got. Ana had gone out to dinner with friends on Wednesday night and then attended her twice weekly Pilates session on Thursday without so much as acknowledging the cameras existence. Boring. Mundane. Moving on. It wasn't like he was a celebrity. Just an insanely rich, insanely handsome, insanely private man.

She'd met with Virginia Miller but she'd done so at her office so that she could squeeze the attorney's visit in between students. Christian had been pissed off and had seen it as a personal affront even though it really was just about time constraints. So when Ana arrived at Escala that evening it was Gail that greeted her and not Taylor or Christian as was the norm. Swallowing back her disappointment she followed the pretty blond into the kitchen and helped her finish dinner, a small bubble of fear at his missing reception growing in her gut.

As she chopped the dill they'd use as a garnish for the salmon she couldn't help but watch the woman who knew all of Christian's secrets. Over the weeks the two women had developed something of a friendly rapport but Ana hadn't been with her long enough to engage in a real conversation until tonight.

"How long have you worked for Mr. Grey, Mrs. Taylor?"

"Oh, about six years now. Since he moved into this apartment. I think he had someone before me but they didn't work out." She winked and rinsed her hands, uncorking a sancerre that she handed to Ana to taste and approve. There were so many things she wanted to know, so many questions she wanted to ask now that she had Gail to herself.

She sipped, the irrational jealousy flashing through her that Gail had met the other women who had come to learn the carnal pleasures of Christian Grey. She'd not thought of them as individuals before, just as 'the others'. Were they prettier than her? Smarter? More adventurous? At that she scoffed and choked a bit.

Of course they were more adventurous, my hard limits are longer than any sub I've ever met before.

Once preparations were finished the women chatted about the events of the week while Gail cleaned up and Ana sat at the breakfast bar, one heel dangling from her foot to alleviate the soreness brought on by the end of the day. She felt him before she saw him, the hairs on her arms responding to the electric charge that she always felt when he was around but she didn't look over to the entryway. Instead she waited, unsure of what was expected of her right now.

Peace. It's the only word that came to mind when he rounded the corner to see Ana sitting at the breakfast bar. She belonged here more than anyone else did. The entire place felt warmer, more welcoming, less empty when she was there.

"Good evening, Ms. Steele," he greeted her with a kiss to her cheek which she returned, eyes downcast. Shyly she looked up and smiled at him, the blue of her eyes forcing the air in his lungs to burn. So beautiful. Without taking his eyes off of hers he dismissed his house manager gently. "Gail, thank you. I'll see you on Sunday evening."

"Have a good weekend, Mr. Grey, Ms. Steele." When she was gone he exhaled and turned the long haired brunette towards him, stepping between her legs clad in jeans that fit her like a second skin.

"Hi," he breathed on her neck, his hand slipping into her hair to pull her face towards his. It was so…sweet. So intimate. The greeting of one lover to another.

"Hello," she whispered back, suddenly a ball of nerves. This felt an awful lot like romance. His hands pulled her hips towards him so that she could feel his hard on as he kissed her, ending the moment with a nip to her lower lip.

"I had a business emergency. A ship of mine in the Sea of Yemen ran aground a sand bar." What the hell? I'm now apologizing to her for being late?

"It's ok," she offered. He didn't owe her an explanation and while she wouldn't classify that as an apology, he'd at least shown that he valued her time. He stepped back and took her hand, leading her to the set table so that they could eat. It was new, eating before sex on a Friday night but he'd been late and she was starving so she didn't make mention of it.

"So this was quite the week for you and I." He grinned conspiratorially and lifted a forkful of salmon and rice to his mouth. She giggled and nodded. "Your other Doms," he started, unfolding the napkin over his lap and surprising the shit out of her, "Did they ever go out places with you?" She coughed and sipped her wine until she was able to compose herself.

Not this again. Why does he care so much about my other Dominants?

"Yes. Not all of them though. Two were short term, one month or so each so our time was limited." He cared less about them than the one who had loved her. Inside he seethed as he thought of him. He probably still loved her.

"And your long term Dom? You went out with him? What was his name again?" She smirked and poured him more wine.

"NDA, Mr. Grey. Yes, we went out occasionally."

"So he was a nobody then?" The bitter victory in his voice did nothing to quell the immediate anger she felt at his callous remark. She'd love nothing more than to tell him that Dominick Westin had been a multi-millionaire and smart as hell. She'd love to tell the smug man across from her that Dominick was in his early 30's and a good looking man in his own right. The words formed on her tongue to tell him that her previous Dom had done more for the health of underprivileged children than any man she'd ever known and was a hero in her opinion but she did nothing of the sort. Instead she chewed her dinner and sat on her hand so as not to slap him.

"I'd hardly call him a nobody," was all she offered, his ire growing at her ability to keep the man's name a secret.

"I ask because I had someone try to find other pictures of you on the web to ensure that you weren't being linked to BDSM." He sat back, completely unaware of the disgust she felt for him right then. "If he had been important, someone would have taken his picture and you would have been in it at some point if you went out together."

She bit her cheek so that she didn't blurt out that Dominick Westin, Doctor Dominick Westin was the leading pediatric thoracic surgeon in the United States and had saved countless lives. But the press doesn't care about that. There was no mystery to a man who flew around the world preforming lifesaving surgeries on kids who couldn't pay for it. There's no mystery to a man who smiles freely, loves generously and does his best to bring goodness to humanity.

"Your definition of important and mine are different then, Mr. Grey." The words were said quietly but their meaning was clear and vicious.

"Do you think I'm important, Ms. Steele?" he sneered. She'd hurt him, the bile rising as she realized just how dangerous the ground she was standing on was. Carefully she chose her words, deciding that the simplest answer was the only answer.

"Of course." He was pleased but not convinced. What he was, was hurt and hurt made him feel out of control.

"Are you finished eating?" She nodded. Pushing his chair back a few inches he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. "On your knees then. Show me how important I am." With effort she smiled and gracefully went to him, taking his semi-hard dick into her mouth.

He continued to eat while she blew him under the table, the humiliation meant to remind her that he was in charge and therefore, he was the most important. When he came a few minutes later, his head back, plate empty she swallowed the thick fluid and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

In that moment, she hated him. Hated his arrogance, hated his authority, hated that she had agreed to give herself to him. If his intent had been to make her forget her previous Dom, he had failed miserably because right then, all she wanted was to be out of the company of one Christian Grey and within the safe walls of Doctor Westin.


Three hours later he watched her from the bed as she cleaned the rubber cock ring and ben-wah balls. It had taken considerable effort to bring her to climax and even then she had seemed a bit distant. The part of him that felt remorseful by his behavior at dinner was hushed by the Dom in him. She had needed to be reminded that she was with him now and that he was the only one she should think of as important. Had he ever been so spiteful with a previous submissive because she'd had other lovers? No, of course not. He hadn't given a shit, hadn't even thought to care.

She came out of the bathroom then and placed the toys back in their drawer turning to him, eyes downcast, hair still braided and waited for his instruction. His heart felt pained at her distance. She limited their time together so much already, the last thing he wanted was to have her body present but not her mind.

"Ana," he said gently, surprising her by the use of her nickname, "are you tired?"

"Yes, Sir." So tired. Mentally. Emotionally. And after an intense session with Christian, physically.

He stood then, naked as the day he was born and carried her to her room as he often did. Without a word he turned on the water and then leaned back as he observed her wash. His cock hardened again while he watched her shower, the suds erotically sliding down the slope of her breast, the swell of her hips, the length of her thigh. He wanted her again, right here in the submissive bathroom but she had mentally checked out. She had been so happy when he'd arrived home but everything between them shifted the second he had her get on her knees at dinner.

Shame. He felt it as hot as the water that sluiced down her alabaster skin. He'd punished her for having men before him. He'd used his position with her to humiliate and minimize her.

"Ana," he said carefully as he dried her and brushed out her long hair. "You make me happy. I realize that as your Dom I haven't told you that so I wanted you to know that our time together has thus far been pleasing to me."

She gave him a sad smile and pulled her hair into a bun. She could feel his uncertainty, was sure it was because of the way she'd pulled back from him but still he couldn't apologize. His pride made her sick.

She said nothing as she pulled on her yoga pants and long sleeve t-shirt. When he lifted the covers for her to slide between them his brows knit as he debated climbing in with her but then his mind cleared and he tucked the down comforter around her. Had it been guilt that had him wanting to hold her? Or was it the need to reconnect with her, to get back to where he wanted to be with her?

He sat there in the dark of her room and waited until she had drifted off, her tiny frame hidden beneath the layers of down and cotton. Her lashes were so long, fanned against her cheeks and before he could stop himself he'd reached down and touched their shadows.

In her sleep she turned away.


Heart pounding, body tingling with fear she awoke with a start to the sound of his anguished cries. This time she beat Taylor to the door and flung it open, stopping dead at the sight of a grown man thrashing on a bed, muscles tense and glistening with sweat.

"Out!" Taylor yelled at her as he pushed past her. "Christian!" the man yelled from the foot of the bed, "Christian! Christian it's Jason!" At that the movements calmed, the man sat up and looked around, eyes wild and confused until they found hers. He flung the sheets back and flew to the door, his gaze never breaking from hers until the door slammed in her face.

The rejection was absolute.

A few seconds later Taylor came out and gently took her arm steering her towards the kitchen where he stopped and faced her. "He doesn't want you to see him like that; weak and afraid." She nodded numbly but the pain was sharp. "Ana, listen to me." Her face snapped to his at the use of her first name. "Mr. Grey is a troubled man. He is also a good man even though he doesn't see that."

Gail was there handing him a glass of water which he drank while his breathing returned to normal. "Go upstairs, get some rest and make no mention of this in the morning." He turned then, striding to the door that housed their home. It was only then that she noticed that he was in nothing but boxer shorts.

"Ana," Gail said softly, "I know it's hard to see him like that or to feel helpless when this happens but you need to learn to not take it personally. Jason is right, Mr. Grey is a good man and since you've come along, he's never been happier." That made her blink. Really? "I know that seems implausible after what you've just seen but trust me, there is a light in his life I have never been witness to until now."

Silently the two women stood at the counter until that feeling came over her again, an electric current that ran from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. She knew he was in the room, felt him like a blanket around her. Gail patted Ana's hand and then turned and left leaving the two of them alone.

"I'm sorry I went into your bedroom. I wasn't trying to invade your privacy...I was worried and reacted without thinking..." She paused and swallowed the ball of emotion clogging her throat. "Do you want me to leave?" she asked in a small voice, her back still to him. Tears were threatening to spill over. For him, for her, for what was happening between them...she didn't know.

"Leave?" the thought made his stomach drop. "No, I don't want you to leave."

Calm, stay calm, Grey.

"Do you want to go, Ana?" Surely she wouldn't want a Dom who had nightmares like a child. She turned then and went to him, taking in the wrinkled pajama pants, the wild hair, the sweat sheened skin of his chest. How badly did she want to touch him over his heart? Soothe him with her touch? How badly did he want her to? He asked again, the fear of her absence as raw as the fear that inhabited his nightmares. "Do you want to leave?"

"No, I don't." Relief flooded through him, his head bowing slightly at the weight lifted from his shoulders.

"Come, I'll put you back in your bed." He turned towards the stairs but she remained still. "Ana?"

"I...I don't want to go back to bed."

"What do you want to do then?" He asked because he was at a total loss. This was a completely new experience for him. Christian Grey was a man without a paddle still fighting the fog of a dream he couldn't shake off.

She thought for only a second. "I want to watch you play the piano," she answered with confidence. He smiled and kissed her, firm and wholly on the mouth, his hands holding hers at her side on instinct.

She had remembered. Her kindness touched him, stirred something deep in his psyche that threatened to break him but instead fortified him.

She made them tea and sat next to him while he played every contemporary song he knew in the hopes that she would sing but her mouth remained shut. He wanted to hear her sing more in that moment than anything he'd ever wanted before. It was the offering of her soul that he wanted and her soul was in the songs she wrote in her blue notebook she had so carefully kept hidden from him.

"Sing for me," he prodded after awhile.

She hesitated, the heat of a blush creeping up her neck as she sat there looking at him. To sing for him, to open herself to him like that was so intimate. So...loving.

"Are you telling me or asking me?"

He could have demanded it of her, it was after all a weekend but he wanted her to choose to sing for him. He wanted her to offer herself to him, not give to him because she had to. He wanted the Ana that was in the photo's that now hung on his bedroom wall.

"Asking." His hands were still over the keys, his eyes fixed on hers in the dim light of the room. He needed her then. Not wanted, not desired. Needed. He held his breath in the hope that she wouldn't feel his desperation.

"Just a quick one then," she said, the pink of her blush a sight to behold as it swept over her cheeks. With a bit of a shooing motion that had him smiling she moved him over and put her tiny hands over the white keys, her eyes closed as she began a song that would from that day on haunt him and soothe him.

With her eyes closed she played the sweet, gentle melody to 'Baby Mine', her voice strong and pure and soothing. Next to her he sat stunned, the façade of Christian Grey slipping away as he watched her lips move and felt the gentleness of the words wash over him. Inside that space she'd touched just an hour ago something new shifted, took root, and began to grow.

She had sung him a lullaby. Sweet simple words sung to soothe and comfort, to console and protect, to ease and love. A lullaby.

And it had slayed him.

Before she hit the last note he knew that that place he'd so carefully protected, that part of him he'd denied had even existed would forever long for her. Somehow, with her quiet unassuming way and her anything but submissive attitude she had worked her way under his skin and past defenses that nobody had even come close to scaling. Years of boundaries, years of training, years of total control and she had ghosted through it all.

He sat transfixed, blown away, speechless at the riot of feelings she conjured up in him in that short three minute song. In profile she was beautiful, the moonlight casting her in a soft glow that gave her the ethereal look of an angel.

Is that what she is? An angel? My angle? Salvation in the female form?

For a moment they sat in silence, the emotions heavy between them, the only sound that of the whipping wind outside of the windows. He spoke first, his voice cracking until he quietly cleared his throat.

"You sing beautifully. That was beautiful." He pushed a stand of hair behind her ear. "You are beautiful." She smiled up at him and slid back to the side of the bench so that he could resume his playing but instead he stood, offering her his outstretched hand.

"Thank you," she said as she took it. "Believe it or not I hate preforming in front of people."

His brows knit in confusion. "You do? Why?"

"Insecure I guess," she shrugged. "I don't feel I'm good enough."

He snorted. "If that was any indication of what you're capable of, you should be preforming all over the world, Ana. That was truly fantastic."

"It's a phobia of mine. I want to preform one night...at a small venue or something...just to say I did it and get over my fear but I haven't gotten brave enough for that yet." She shrugged. "Maybe one day."

He'd make sure of it. If it was a dream of hers, he'd make it happen.

She yawned and stretched, her youth showcased in the innocence that still painted her face. He stood spellbound and took her in terrified of whatever it was he was feeling, turned on by the sight of her lithe body, protective over the softness that was her heart, appreciative of the gift she'd just given him.

It confused the shit out of him.

"Come, I'll tuck you back in." His voice jarred her, the gentleness he'd just shown suddenly replaced by the authoritative boom of his dominant persona.

Shifting into the role he was most comfortable in he took her hand and walked her back up the stairs and settled her into the bed. "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," he explained when she felt the mattress dip behind her and his arm slide under her neck as he pulled her back flush against his chest.

His body molded to hers with ease, the comfortable and affectionate position in direct contrast to what their arrangement really was but for tonight he'd push that aside. She had seen him at his worst and had walked him through it without saying a single thing about it. He should have been embarrassed to have been so utterly exposed like that to a sub of all people but it wasn't embarrassment that kept him pressed up against her. He didn't know what it was that had him crawling into bed with her and he certainly didn't want to think about it now, not when she relaxed against him, her trust in him absolute.

In moments she was sleeping, the steady beat of her heart under his hand and the gentle exhale of her breath on his arm a comfort to him. She felt good like this; soft and warm, pressed against him in a way he'd never experienced with anyone else.

I should go, he thought. But she was so comfortable and vulnerable and well, she smelled so good and the way she gripped his hand made him feel wanted and needed in a way that he just wasn't ready to part with.

Just a few more minutes...


When he woke to the harsh sun streaming in through the window he was alone, her side of the bed cold and empty. How he had slept until 10am was beyond him but the clock in this room was accurate as was the gnawing hunger he felt at having missed breakfast. Food made him think of dinner, of the way he'd asserted his authority over her. The way he'd continued to eat while she was on her knees, the way the resentment had flashed through her blue eyes when she had finished her task.

He felt…guilty. Sickeningly guilty. Disgusted with himself. Was he really that irrational? That jealous over another man? He groaned, swept his hand over his face with a pang of regret and kicked off the blankets that had covered them both last night. At the door he paused and looked back at the unmade bed, the indentations of their bodies eliciting a small smile from him.

When he came down she was dancing with her ear buds in again, her sweet ass shaking in those yoga pants he'd come to adore. When she saw him she put the iPod on speaker and sang along to some country song he didn't know, her smile infectious while she flipped pancakes and bacon on the griddle.

"Hungry?" she asked, sliding a plate to him where he had been sitting motionless for over five minutes now.

"Starving." For you, for more of last night, for your laugh and your voice...

Over breakfast she chided him on snoring and teased him for grabbing her breasts as she had tried to get out of his grasp this morning. He laughed, sure she was telling the truth and then reached for her so that she finished her breakfast in his lap.

"I do not snore," he said between bites of pumpkin pancakes.

"You most certainly do! Has no one ever told you that?" She giggled and dabbed at a drop of maple syrup that had dripped onto his chin.

"Never slept with anybody before so no."

Ana paused, the implications of just how big a leap that had been for him hitting her hard. "No one? Ever?"

He finished his coffee and fed her a bite of scrambled eggs. "Occasionally I'd have to share a room with my older brother when we were on vacation and once I fell asleep in a biology class my senior year of high school but outside of that, nope. You're the first," he said with a grin, leaning back so that he could gauge her reaction.

"You have an older brother?" He laughed, surprised by the question.

"Yes, Elliot. He's two years older than me. I also have a sister Mia who is a bit younger than you."

"So you're the middle child then?" He nodded and shifted underneath her so that his hand could cup the cheek of her ass. "Are they adopted as well?"

"Yes." He didn't shut down like he sometimes did when personal questions were asked of him but she felt the shift in him nonetheless. They had shared a certain level of intimacy last night but the daylight always brings unrest and disquiet and it seemed that it was the same for this situation. She went on a limb, determined to keep the carefree smile on his face.

"Sir?" He raised his brows at her, her lashes immediately covering the blue of her eyes. "I'm glad you stayed with me last night. Thank you." She wanted so badly to kiss him then. In her entire life Anastasia Steele had never wanted to comfort someone more.

He inhaled slowly. It was happening again. That feeling of spinning out of control, of wanting something he had no right to claim. God, he needed to get himself under control.

"Ms. Steele," he started, his voice taking on that deep timbre that he reserved for domination. "I'd like for you to be ready upstairs in 20 minutes."

Her thighs contracted against his with anticipation.

"Yes, Sir."

She showered and braided her hair, rushing to the room and getting into position with less than a minute to spare before he came in, feet bare, those soft faded jeans barely brushing the ground at his heel. This time he wasted no time getting started.

"On the bed. Face down, body flat, arms above your head."

Around her the strains of 'Killing me Softly' floated through the air, the gentle strumming of the guitar taking the place of the sultry beat of the original. He grinned when he saw her toe keeping the beat, the sign of a true musician. Music moved her, spoke to her, elicited a physical response from her. He wanted to do the same.

He knelt next to her, the fabric of his jeans brushing her rib cage when he leaned over her to run a furred glove over the nape of her neck. With continuous long strokes it glided over her, relaxing the muscles under her sensitive skin. Without warning the sensation changed to that of a million pinpricks as he rolled not one but two Whartenburg wheels over the same places he had just soothed.

She had a love/hate relationship with that wheel. It didn't feel good in its administration but the after effects were well worth the small annoyance of pain. Nothing had ever made her so aware of her own flesh, as if every nerve ending were dancing under the wheels bite. He grinned at her goose bumps and grew hard at the way her skin grew red along the trails he'd made.

When she shifted a bit he switched again, this time to a long peacock feather that he flattened along the length of her back. The delicate feather had her shivering with each swipe, the sharp edges of the wheel now soothed by the softness he lavished her with.

"Your skin is the most beautiful shade of pink, Anastasia."

She smiled at his admiration. She liked to make him happy, needed his approval and his pleasure in her. Her nipples tightened and ached for his attention while her pussy wept for him. She'd had good Doms before, she'd even go so far as to say that her last Dom had been an attentive and amazing lover. But none of them even came close to turning her on the way Christian did. She bit back the sigh of his name and forced herself to relax when he moved away then, coming back only a minute later.

This time the bare skin of his knees brushed against her as she felt the drops of warm oil along her spine. When he touched her, she moaned, the feel of his hands a welcome relief after the denial of them for almost an hour.

"You pleased me last night, Anastasia." He moved to straddle her below her ass so that his hands could massage the muscles there. "Your voice is beautiful." He covered his cock in the oil. "Your presence is soothing." He stroked his hand over his length and knelt low to whisper in her ear. "And I'm glad I stayed with you last night as well." When he took himself in hand again and thrust his length along the crack of her ass she tensed. He paused.

"I would never betray your limits, Ms. Steele. You should know that." He spread her ass and laid his dick between her cheeks before pushing them together so that he was essentially fucking her crack. She was still tense, still nervous. One day, he thought longingly. Despite the pleasure and the pleasing visual, he stopped and fisted himself, one hand pressing down on the small of her back for balance.

"You pleased me," he whispered above her, "You always please me. You should be rewarded." He leaned down and kissed between her shoulder blades. "How would you like me to fuck you, Ms. Steele?"

I get to pick? My choice?

He waited, his hands moving upwards to massage the muscles of her shoulders and arms.

"You, on top facing me, Sir." Maybe this time he'd allow her to touch his face. Maybe, just once while he was facing her he'd allow her arms to remain unrestrained.

"We aim to please, Anastasia. Turn over." She did, her back sticking slightly to the sheets. Bringing her legs up he bit each of her toes, scraping his teeth over the arch of her left foot until she felt her clit throb in response. He was good, so amazingly good at this game of seduction. "Arms up," he instructed her.

To her disappointment he slipped her wrists into the soft cuffs on the headboard and then sat back to reach for the oil. He was generous in its distribution, the globes of her breasts so alluring covered in the slick lubricant that he debated ignoring her request so that he could fuck her tits instead.

Plenty of time for that, Grey, he chided.

Lifting her hips in his hands he sank into her, pausing to allow her to accommodate him.

"Fuck," he hissed. Nothing could ever prepare him for the perfect tight heat that was her pussy. "You feel so fucking good, Anastasia."

When she had relaxed around him he sat back on his haunches and watched with fascination as his cock split her bare pussy open and slid in and out, the throbbing length of him somehow being given admittance into her body.

"So pleased," he said breathlessly, collecting some of the oil on the pad of his thumb before pressing it to her clit. She arched her back and tightened around him, the pleasure of it all so exquisite he felt dizzy. He wanted to taste her, wanted her to flood his mouth so he pulled out, bent over and lifted her up so that he could bury his face between her legs.

"Oh god!" she exclaimed to his immense satisfaction. He growled against her, the vibrations propelling her forward so that when he bit down gently on that bundle of nerves that brought her so much pleasure she lost it. Totally fell into the abyss unaware of how much her legs were shaking or how loudly she was yelling 'Yes!' His hands and fingernails raked over the sensitized skin of her body, the nerve endings firing off so that her orgasm all but killed her.

Before she had a chance to recover he shoved back into her tight slit and pounded his body against hers as hard as he could so that she bowed beneath him. She was crying out, a mixture of agony and of pleasure until his roar topped hers. Beneath her his hands squeezed her ass and held her to him as he came, the sight of his cock twitching prolonging the pleasure that was running through his body. When he was empty he withdrew slowly so that he could watch his cum run out of her, the sight smoothing over the last of his frayed nerves.

Claimed.

Marked.

His.


'Baby Mine' Bette Midler's version