Take me.
I am not given even a moment to prepare as Christian takes the furious, sweeping steps that encumber the distance between us. There is the brusque grip of being forced close up against him, and the chilling cool of his palm cupping my neck. I stare up into the eyes of a storm but a second before they descend upon me. The soft, fullness of Christian's mouth meets my own feverishly, demandingly, and everything becomes instinctive.
The familiarity of Christian's kiss, warm and coaxing, would never be lost to me. I weave my fingers into the short curls of his hair, and the sweet aroma of a vodka and cranberry billows over me, colors my palette as his tongue meets mine. I press our fronts so closely together that he towers above me. My body aches and calls for him at a frequency that he knows all too well.
As if we've practiced a million times, my coat and his disappear without a single fumble. His button down has vanished as well, and my eyes are riveted to the perfect planes presented to me. I give a shaky exhale as Christian's nimble fingers start to undo his trousers. My attention is seized only by a low reverb emanating from his chest. I only guess what he sees as I am backed up against the wall.
"This lip," he rumbles, and I realize how it is so tightly fastened between my teeth, almost to the point of swelling. His tongue reaches out to stroke along the length of my bottom lip, then slowly sweeps across the top one before plunging deeply into my mouth once more. The wicked thrust of Christian's hips draws a cry out of me, one he instantly swallows as his hands descend to my waist, my hips, the curve of my bottom. He grips the back of my thighs firmly as he lifts me up to wrap my legs around him, maintaining his steady, assaulting kiss. My sex, although restricted by our layers of clothing, pulses wildly and hot for him. The muscles clench and squeeze at what is not there, at what should be. I can only think of how much I need Christian inside me.
So my disheartenment is like being doused in ice cold water when I look up into Christian's eyes to see nothing short of wariness. It is disorienting, being pulled out of my lust drive to hover somewhere between it and a state of mildly hurt feelings. I do not know what to do with this combination of being addled and confused. My embarrassment is rolling off of me in waves, and I calmly try to pry myself from Christian's hold when he takes hold of my jaw, pressing his thumb firmly to my lips when I protest. The shadows of mortification rise upon me swiftly and mercilessly. I am ashamed to be on the verge of crying.
"Why, Ana?"
I give him a look of venom as the tears begin to roll down my cheeks. "Are you asking me why I'm crying?" I muster scathingly, disbelievingly. I could smack him.
"No. I'm asking why you want this."
"So you figure that the most appropriate timing to ask this is while I'm straddling your half naked body."
"I figure the best time to ask is before we get into something that you are not fully prepared for," he asserts, his expression grave. "Look at me, Ana." I lean my back against the wall when his hands come up to cradle my jaw. He is so devastatingly handsome it makes my heart ache even more. "No tears. You already have me, you blind, stubborn thing. I'm not going anywhere." His thumbs skate along the wet tracks on my cheeks, clearing them with slow strokes. It's almost therapeutic. "What we're doing won't be going anywhere, either, without your explicit permission. There is no rush for this, Ana. We are what you want us to be."
He leans in close to skim his nose across mine, and I lean in just that small amount more so our lips brush. I feel his mouth curve with a grin before he pushes a bit closer, adds more pressure. I sigh as he pulls away. I loved to complain how it was never easy for us, while simultaneously piling more shit on top of what was already there.
Christian tilts his head as he lifts his eyebrows, prompting a response.
"I'm not ready," I moan, and my head falls to the side for his hand to cradle. Unsurprisingly, that seems to be the answer that he had already come to expect. Any other night I would love to prove him wrong.
"That's fine. We have plenty of other things to do." I hear it before I feel it—Christian releases my face, jostles me up with a stir and slaps his hands to my ass, smiling at my shock as he carries me away from the foyer.
"And by other things, I sincerely hope you aren't meaning a repeat of that."
"Come off it; I know you liked it."
I definitely did. "What other things?" I ask.
"We never fully fleshed out exactly what this compromise was meant to be. I would like to do that now, if you don't mind."
"No, I don't mind?" It unintentionally comes out sounding like a question. "But, I thought me learning your life was the compromise."
I was negligent paying any attention to where he led us, and as a result I look around Christian's room a bit stupefied as he deposits me on his bed.
"I don't believe we discussed what my terms were. It would be nice that I am getting an equal amount of reward out of this," he says shaking his head, giving me his back.
Conveying my most outraged look, I ball my fists on my hips. "And I suppose that means that I am not the equal payment to you that you are to me?"
"Oh, please, Steele." He laughs as he sifts through his dressing cabinets. After collecting a few pieces on his arm, he tosses them at me. It's a plain tee and boxers. "Change. Feel free to head back to your room if there's anything you want to bring over, but you'll be sleeping here tonight. I need a shower."
I say, "I could get my own clothes then," as I begin to stand, but Christian sidles up to me in such a blunt, daunting way that I almost fall backwards. He grips my arms firmly, steadying me, and with a much gentler touch his fingers skate their descent on my forearms, over my fingers, down to the curves of my hips. In that silent, mutual electricity that binds us, our bodies arch and gravitate with such ease it feels as if I've not moved at all. But his head is bent towards me, breath fanning across my dewed skin, and he's looking down at me with such intensity my muscles quake.
"I much prefer the way you look in my clothes." Absentmindedly my lip disappears between my teeth at his honeyed purr. In the forefront of my mind is nothing but how gorgeous Christian is, tonight and every other day I've known him; but in the very back of my mind I am restless with the anticipation that he will kiss me again. I have not fully come to the decision that I'm not ready to take what we're doing one step further. I just need that one little push…
"Change," he whispers, pinching my thigh. I must look ever the petulant child as he steps away from me with a wink.
15 minutes later and we have made forts on either side of Christian's enormous bed. I've raided every cabinet, cupboard and closet for as many pillows as I could find and am very pleased with our opposing enclosures. He is sprawled across his side of the bed, laid on his side with his head in his hand, watching me with reticent eyes. His black pajama bottoms are flowy and comfy looking, and he is once again bare-chested; I am both used to it, and not. It didn't matter how many times you witnessed perfection—it took your breath every time.
I am sat cross-legged in his tee and boxers with a pillow between my legs, and, thankfully, bra-less. I could only be more relaxed with a strong glass of wine in my hand. Worn from the day as I am, it is still much too early in the night to call in, sadly. Something tells me that the coming discussion is one I would prefer to skip out on, one the wine would be welcome with.
"What's with the smirk, Grey?"
"You look worried."
"Just wondering when you'll let me to be a big girl again and allow me to drink when I please."
His eyes narrow for a fraction of a second before returning to neutral. He is going out of his way to appear casual. Why?
"If you drank when you pleased, you wouldn't really be all here, now would you? Unfortunately for you, I need all of you here tonight."
At his words I can feel the blood drain from my face, a draft pass over my skin. Nervous no longer covers it.
"There it is," he murmurs, tilting his head forward, holding my gaze. "That look that says you know exactly what happens next."
"Christian," I start, and I have no words to follow. My heart is beating in such a way it feels to go a mile a minute, but so slow I should be concerned. I can hear it behind my ears, feel it beneath my fingertips. What purpose did he have to start something like this?
"Relax, Ana, we've not even acknowledged what's and how's. Remember, this is what you want it to be."
It feels like a panicked, unnecessary reaction but I hiss, "Go to hell, Christian," as I poise to jump up and retreat from the room, but Christian's hand strikes out lightning quick to grab hold of my wrist. Under my breath I am whispering furious yet half-hearted commands for him to release me and to call off his bullshit compromise, all the while, and without much effort, Christian is gingerly pulling me back down to the bed and into his arms, collapsing the forts I took my time building, and settling me in his lap. My back is to his front, and his gloriously strong arms bind across my shoulders as he hugs me to his chest, his lips rustling my hair as he intones promises and reassurances to me. I just sit there and listen to him, taking a moment to breathe, and grasping hold of which section of the hot, cold, hot, cold, hot pattern we are on.
As if he has the direct link to my pulse he loosens his hold on me as my heart calms. The message has not been properly conferred to my brain, but my hands reach up to stop him from moving away completely. I can feel the radiation of his smile warm me without seeing it. My eyes grow heavier with exhaustion by every passing minute.
"Tell me about the Anastasia I don't know," Christian implores softly, combing his fingers through the hair that covers my ears, brushing it up over my crown. The fingers of his other hand are strumming the skin of my neck. "Who are you when you aren't with me?"
Such a defiant part of me wants to snap back at him that I am still me when I drink, but that is a level of naiveté I cannot bring myself to. I do not become a radically different person when I drink, but I strip myself of all of the qualities that give a person their strength, replace it with walls of carbon. I have no reserves, no stigmas. It is a liberating, empowering feeling, knowing that I can turn off a switch in my head whenever I so choose to.
"Who are you, Christian," I mutter absently, still in my own thoughts, "when you step into a room with the woman you are about to dominate?" As his chest expands, I hear his breath hitch. Unruffled, I press on with, "Do you remain the same person that you are right now, the one holding me and kissing me?"
There is a long stretch of silence between us and Christian searches for my answers. In that unspoken way about us, I can sense that he is practicing restraint in the things he wishes to say to me but does not. Instead, he gives me a somewhat frustrated sigh of, "I don't know."
And his response does not surprise me. We are one in the same.
Or rather, we used to be.
I know we're in a confusing place. These guys feel the same. We'll tie our knots soon. Hopefully.
Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave me your thoughts :) Until next time!