Author's note: The symbol described is a variation of the ancient triskele/triskelion. Under quite specific requirements for design, and apparently subject to copyright, it can signify various aspects of the BDSM culture. If you're going to wear it, for whatever reason, make sure you get the right one, or face awkward questions...though I guess anyone into kink won't mind being asked, "Oh, you're a druid?"
If you're still confused, or want to know more, searching "the emblem project" should bring up a site that won't flood your computer with adults-only popups. There are heaps more that will;-)
I've already thanked those of you I can. Time to thank all those who silently support me by clicking on Favorite or Follow, and all my darling Guests...seriously, I have the sweetest readers. Thank you.
Chapter Seven
Saturday, 18th of June, 2033. Ana had gone to sleep as the little spoon—Christian's bicep as her pillow—and wakes up to him stimulating both her nipples with one hand while the other is between her thighs, gently but relentlessly driving her towards her first orgasm for the day, and she gasps, "Explains the dream."
His soft throaty laugh fuelling her desire, he nips that maddeningly sensitive spot behind her ear and rumbles, "Was it as good as this, baby?"
Struggling to form coherent thoughts as she spirals towards ecstasy, Ana manages, "Never."
He chuckles again and says, "Good. Now shut the fuck up and let me claim my gift." Every year she asks him what he'd like for his birthday, and every year his answer is the same; he takes her in his arms and maintains, "Just you, baby; you're all I need." It's both incredibly sweet and damnably frustrating, because she still has to think of a gift, or feel bad. At least he always enthusiastically accepts whatever she buys.
Ana tries to keep still, because she knows how much he likes it when she absorbs all the pleasure he gives her. But it's impossible, and her body convulses through the climax, though she manages to keep from crying out; limiting her reaction to a garbled moan of pleasure.
Christian kisses her shoulder and softly croons, "Happy Birthday to meeee."
Ana giggles and says, "You're nuts."
Christian gently extricates himself from her and rolls onto his back. Hands behind his head and the evidence of how much he still enjoys pleasuring her at rigid attention, he quips, "My nuts? They're all yours, Mrs. Grey."
Languidly reaching out a hand to claim her property, Ana squeezes almost to the point of pain and says "Yes, they are," as she watches her assertiveness change his smug expression to acute desire.
Before the mood is lost, she climbs astride him, both of them sighing their approval of this perfect union. Christian smiles up at her and says, "Best view in the world." How is it that, after all these years, genuine praise from him can still make her blush? His smile widens and he teases, "And it just got better."
Cursing whatever genetics makes her go red so easily, Ana says, "Are you going to fuck me, or not?"
His arms still behind his head, Christian says, "It's my birthday, baby. I think you should fuck me."
So she does; first slowly and then faster and faster, until they're both panting and his hands are clasping her hips as he takes control of the now frantic pace. Already on a sexual high, Ana finishes quickly, soon followed by Christian. Slumping forward onto his chest, struggling for breath, she protests, "Damnit, Grey! I was going to shower and take my time with you."
Gently pushing her hair out of the way, so he can see her face, Christian asks, "Baby, does it seem like I'm disappointed?"
He looks positively blissful. "No, it really doesn't. Happy Birthday, darling."
Christian accepts her kiss, then smacks her ass and demands, "Now, where's my gift?"
Sitting up, Ana manages to curb her smile long enough to tease, "What gift? You told me not to get you anything."
Christian rolls his eyes and asks, "Must we go through this every year?'
Climbing off him, on slightly unsteady legs, Ana says, "Until you give me some idea what to buy; we must. I'll be right back."
After a quick visit to the bathroom, Ana retrieves the wrapped cufflinks from their hiding place and returns to Christian. Handing over the gift, her heart is pounding as she says, "Now, keep an open mind, okay?"
His smile vanishing, Christian says, "Okay, but you're worrying me." She can tell, when he opens it, that he instantly recognizes the triple spiral pattern elegantly portrayed in platinum and onyx; rim and spokes of shiny metal, each lustrous black segment pierced by a small hole. His anxious gaze jumps to hers and he declares, "No."
She expected his reluctance, so merely asks, "Why not?"
"You know why not; this fucking announces that we're into kink. It's no one's fucking business how we fuck."
"But aren't you tired of hiding, darling? And it's practically mainstream nowadays. Plus, anyone who loves us has either been told or worked it out for themselves. The only people we haven't actually discussed it with are the kids, and they already know."
"The fuck they do. You haven't told them?"
She'll never get used to how swiftly his mood can change. As usual countering his rage with serenity, Ana says, "No. But they're not idiots, Christian. I overheard them discussing it one time."
His expression horror-struck, Christian asks, "Discussing what; that their parents have kinky sex? You better be fucking kidding, Ana."
Taking a calming breath, Ana says, "Well, I didn't listen to the entire conversation, but they were lightheartedly theorizing on what we get up to in here, behind a locked, soundproofed door…and none of the guesses I heard was yodeling practice."
"Fuck." The cufflinks fall unheeded onto the bed when Christian leans forward to put his head in his hands as he more fervently utters, "Fuck!"
Becoming a little afraid of how anxious he is—adding yoga to his exercise regimen has kept his blood pressure under control, but he's still at risk for heart disease—Ana dares only to touch his currently brown hair when she says, "Breathe, darling. It's okay. They don't mind…I mean, they mind, but they'd be equally disgusted no matter how we have sex. It doesn't affect how they feel about you. They love and respect you; no one who's seen you with either of them would ever doubt that."
Meeting her gaze, Christian's expression is still somewhat pained when he asks, "Well, when was this?"
Trying to recall, Ana eventually shrugs and says, "Oh, about two years ago, when they were both home for the summer." When his expression relaxes a little, she adds, "See? They've been fine since then, right?"
"Yeah, I guess." Christian gives it some more thought, then offers a wry grin and says, "I'll never be free of that scared little boy, will I?"
She used to wish for that, but no longer. The tortured boy he used to be has become an intrinsic part of who he is; she understands that now. "I hope not; we all love him, too." Picking up the cufflinks and again offering them to him, Ana asks, "You'll wear them tonight?" Her Fifty turning fifty is an occasion that must be celebrated, and she'd eventually gained his permission to arrange a lavish party, on the understanding that only people who truly care about him would be there
Hesitating only a moment, Christian takes the jewelry box from her hands as he says, "I will. Thank you, baby; you continue to inspire courage in me." He's staring at the cufflinks, so doesn't at first notice that she's silently, joyously weeping at his words. When he does look up, he smiles and again discards the gift, this time to frame her face with both hands and kiss the tears from her cheeks. Then tenderly kissing her trembling lips, he rests his forehead against hers and whispers, "Anastasia's happy tears; the best gift of all."
