A/N: There was a review that prompted me to have to mention something before any of you continue reading. Please, remember that my story is a combination of two worlds colliding. Although the storyline and plots are heavily based off the Fifty Shades realm, the T.V. show Grey's Anatomy is also included into this story.
Characters such as Richard Webber, Miranda Bailey, Catherine Fox, Andrew Deluca, and Jackson Avery are just some of the many fictional characters within the show that help me configure the storyline of Anastasia's medical journey.
That being said—Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital is NOT ownedby Christian Grey or any of the Trevelyan-Greys…yet.
Also, Meredith Grey is NOT related to the Trevelyan-Greys either, as well as Ellis Grey—these two characters are strictly from Grey's Anatomy and have no correlation to the Fifty Shades realm or its characters.
I'm so sorry; I know it can get really confusing if you don't know the show. If you want more information about any of G.A's minor characters, please research them online! It's a fascinating show haha.
DISCLAIMER: Once again, I do not own any of the FSoG or GA characters—ONLY Penn Hadley so far. Thank you!~
The next day … Wednesday, May 16, 2018
It was unlikely for the gray-eyed man to not contact the young surgeon for the rest of her first day of exams.
Christian was unresponsive after his email to Anastasia about his "friendly" dinner with whomever he was meeting. How is it possible for a person to be so preoccupied and not let them know how they're doing? Suddenly, it became the brunette's understanding that she had been doing the same actions since she met him, constantly (and sometimes advertently at first) out of contact for hours. The thought made her frown as she waited outside for her final session of her examination.
"We're ready for you, Dr. Steele," the woman from yesterday's session's called out as she opened the door.
The young surgeon walked into the same hotel room as yesterday, with a patiently awaiting Dr. Thomas cross-legged on his seat—a nod and a polite smile to follow after.
She couldn't shake her thoughts of her dominant as she sat in front of the old examiner, It's almost been twenty-four hours, and I still haven't heard from you. I know that I can be utterly unresponsive at times, but it was never for that long. Where are you?...
Half of her mind wasn't there as she followed through with her third and final session of her certification exam. It was overwhelming and nerve-wrecking to be smitten for the man in her head—just as it was foreign, new, and embarrassing. Not once did the brunette need a man to make her happy and she doubted herself with mocking thoughts, believing she was bringing shame to feminism and everything she had worked hard for with taking many steps back.
The examinee didn't want her thoughts to dwell into its dark place, trying to avoid the assumptions of Christian having sexual encounters with Mrs. Robinson or any other woman for that matter.
Her heart yelled in her thoughts with a familiar irrational jealousy, It's been two days and he's already going off and meeting other women?
Okay. Shut up, Ana, her logic admonished her sudden resentment. You've been through this similar situation before, and also around the same amount of time while he was away in Vancouver. And he's not cheating on you. Calm down.
"Dr. Steele!" Dr. Thomas exclaimed, trying to bring her attention back to the now and snapping her out of her thoughts. His face showed expectancy with widened eyes, waiting for her answer.
Shit. Clear your mind, Steele.
"I-I would do a biopsy," Anastasia flushed and answered, remembering her scenario.
Already prepared for her answer, the old man shot back quickly, testing the limits of her attention and knowledge, "Pathology shows LCIS. What's your best mastectomy approach?"
"I'd make a periareolar incision to—" She paused as her thoughts immediately interrupted her answer, STOP!
The examiner leaned in with anticipation, narrowing his eyes as his examinee suddenly waited, "Yes?"
The memory of Jackson's advice entered her mind again, her test-taking guardian angel, They'll try to throw you off, but don't let them; just listen carefully.
Backtracking and reworking her impulsive decision, Anastasia took a deep breath and changed her answer, verbalizing her thought process to fill the silence and stall for time, "LCIS is…lobular carcinoma in situ…a condition where abnormal cells form in the lobules of the breast, which is an indicator of increased risk for developing breast cancer."
"I know what that is, Dr. Steele," he commented dryly.
The spark within the promising surgeon lit again, and the thunder and lightning of her intelligence struck the ground as she finalized her decision, "You asked me what the best mastectomy approach was, Dr. Thomas, but I believe that is a trick question. In LCIS, you wouldn't do a mastectomy, yet—you'd observe and repeat her mammograms."
He nodded approvingly with lifting eyebrows, "Excellent choice; however, stay with me, doctor. We are almost finished."
"Yes, sir," the brunette breathed, sitting up straight and folding her hands together in her lap. She emptied her mind as her attention was brought back to Dr. Thomas.
The old man smiled, reading off his paper, "A thirty-year-old female comes in with third-degree burns. You checked her airway and started fluid resuscitation with D-5 NS fluid—"
"Actually, if I may," Anastasia interrupted shyly while raising her hand. He looked up as she continued, "I would use LR for fluid resuscitation, not NS. Saline has too much chloride and that could cause acidosis in my patient, sir."
"Very well," Dr. Thomas grinned at her, nodding his head as he mentally applauded her astuteness in the details of his words, "So, you've started your patient in a liter of LR…"
The young surgeon bit her lip and smiled as she listened to her scenario, gazing down at her folded hands. She had this exam in the bag.
…
"This one is on the house," the bartender said with a half-smile, handing her another glass of tequila. She was wearing a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, buttons low enough to show her lingerie and cleavage—probably for tips because the brunette also admired them. Her name tag revealed her name—Jessica, a hot bartender with men ogling their eyes at her
Anastasia's golden eyes lifted and stared at the tatted woman with blueish-black ombré hair. She thanked her bartender for her generous act in a quiet murmur and weak smile. The brunette reached over for her beverage, watching the drink move in circles as she swirled it around in her glass.
It was nine in the evening, and Christian still hasn't responded to her. For the rest of her day, after finishing her examination, she ordered room service and stayed in her room. It wasn't until she was bored out of her mind did she finally decide to go down to the hotel's bar, not wanting to be alone. She met with Andrew in the bar with a couple other residents, but they went to go grab food as she headed in there. He offered to stay, but she insisted he go off with the others.
The blue-haired bartender pressed her palms into her table, analyzing the brunette's mood and asking, "Boy troubles, babe?"
"Am I that obvious?" She responded grimly and frowned—not at the thought of Christian but at how transparent she had been behaving in the evening.
Jessica sighed, "Oh, honey. When you've worked a job like mine for three years, you learn to read people pretty well. Plus, a girl like you doesn't seem the type to drink alone unless you are given a reason to drink."
Anastasia blew threw her lips loudly, taking sips at her drink.
"Wanna do some shots?" The bartender shook her eyebrows, grinning and winking.
The young doctor giggled, "It's okay. This'll do."
"Okay," Jessica replied in a singsong tone. "Let me know if you change your mind, hun." She walked away.
With frequent sips at her drink, minutes began to pass and before Anastasia knew it, the glorious light from her phone revealed a long awaited email notification from Christian Grey. She jumped, hands fumbling to her phone and expecting a good explanation.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Dinner Companions
Date: May 16, 2018 21:40
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I'm sorry for making you wait so long for a reply, I had some things to plan for and take care of.
Yes, I had dinner with Mrs. Robinson. She is just an old friend, Anastasia.
Looking forward to seeing you again. I miss you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
That's it? She thought. Her eyes glared and twitched at her phone. That is your explanation? It has almost been thirty-five hours since I last heard from you and you give me the most suspiciously vague response I've ever read. And to make things worse—of course, you had dinner with her.
The surgeon's knee shook, and she looked up from her phone, tapping her finger rapidly against the wooden table. Her fingers began typing furiously, letting her emotions run with her thoughts.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: OLD Dinner Companions
Date: May 16, 2018 21:42
To: Christian Grey
She's not just an old friend, Mr. Grey.
Has she found another adolescent boy to sink her teeth into?
Did you get too old for her? Was that the reason your relationship finished?
Dr. Anastasia R. Steele
Cardiothoracic Surgeon, Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital
She tossed her phone on the bar table, letting it shake as took a swig at her drink. The burning sensation went down her throat, but the fueling anger within her subsided the smoothness of her strong drink.
Jessica can be heard in her high heels, rushing over to the twenty-two-year old. Anastasia muttered mulishly, "I've never had them before, but you might have to get those shots ready for me, Jessica."
"Alright!" She grinned and cheered. "Don't worry—I won't go too crazy on you, girl. Just enough to forget."
The surgeon scoffed an angry smirk as she watched the bartender stumble for the shot glasses and liquor. She glanced quickly at her phone and opened up another email, finishing her glass with a mouthful of tequila. The warm, fuzzy feeling in her head and stomach was starting to kick in.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful…
Date: May 16, 2018 21:45
To: Anastasia Steele
This is not something I wish to discuss via email.
How many drinks are you planning on having tonight?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Anastasia choked on her drink, widening her eyes at her device. He's here.
Her head turned left and then right, nervously running a hand through her hair as she slowly felt and brushed it between her fingers. Hazel eyes quickly scanned every head in the bar of the hotel until she spotted his domineering presence. Moving smoothly and carefully through a crowd of people, she found the wolf making his way towards her direction. His hair shined against the intimate lighting of the bar, burnished copper and red tousled locks glinting the fixtures.
The brunette was slower than usual; the alcohol diminished her vision as well as slowing down her thinking. Squinting, she saw that his eyes were gray and shining with an intense emotion she couldn't pick up clearly. His mouth was set in a grim line, jaw tense and clenched, but she couldn't resist staring at his lips. Regardless of him being there, she was still upset at him.
Dressed in a white linen shirt and jeans, Christian finally stopped beside Anastasia, never breaking eye-contact as he gazed warily into her eyes. He smelled as nostalgically divine as she remembered—fresh clothes, body wash, and Christian.
The surgeon cleared her throat, but her voice still croaked, "H-Hi." She couldn't hide her surprise. He was here with her and that was what she wanted, right?
"Hi," Christian replied softly. He leaned down and pressed his lips against her cheek for a soft kiss—an affection action she wasn't expecting—before taking a seat beside his girl. His lips made her skin melt, and she enjoyed the small second of his action.
Imitating the sounds of the heaven's opening, Jessica came back with three shot glasses, limes, and a salt shaker. She smiled with joy as she began setting up the drinks, "Here they are! Okay, so what you're gonna wanna do first is put some salt on the back of your hand and then lick it. Then, quickly down the shot—no sips, just down it all in one gulp. And then take the lime—Oh." The bartender stopped in her tracks once she noticed the gray-eyed man beside the brunette, blinking at him. She gawked at him, examining his handsome features.
He lifted his brow questioningly, turning to Anastasia. She avoided his prejudice gaze and turned the other direction with slight shame, picturing his nose flaring as he inhaled deeply through his nostrils. Her knee continued shaking as she clenched her folding hands together, cowering from his judgmental and intimidating stare.
"You're drinking these?" He asked lowly, but her reaction positively answered his question as she pushed the shots away. She was never thirsty for them to begin with.
His head whipped to Jessica, and he began to order a drink to dismiss her, "I'll have a gin and tonic. Hendricks if you have it or Bombay Sap-phire. Cucumber with Hendricks, lime with Bombay."
"Right away," the bartender whistled out slowly, walking out and preparing the drink.
Anastasia turned to him and asked, "What are you doing here?" The tone in her question was tenser than it should've been which caused the smile on his face to disappear, replacing it with a guarded expression. She couldn't contain her anger, forcing the sound of her emotions to reveal her thoughts as she daydreamed the dominant's dinner date with his former mistress. Deep down, she was overjoyed to see him, but she wondered if what she feeling was jealousy—seething, unreasonable jealousy.
Is this what he felt any time I was with Jackson? When I didn't respond to him? The brunette finally understood his feelings the night of her celebration but was too overwhelmed by thoughts of Mrs. Robinson to let it thoroughly process.
"I came to see you, of course," Christian gazed down at her impassively. "I'm staying in this hotel."
"You're staying here?" The surgeon's voice was too high-pitched, even for her. She adjusted her voice and turned away from his gaze, speaking dryly and sardonically, "What a coincidence, so am I." She needed a moment to examine the situation she was in while analyzing her mood and thoughts.
"Yesterday you said you wished I was here," he said softly, watching the brunette turn back to him as his honesty provoked her to do so. "We aim to please, Miss Steele." His voice got quieter and lower, not a trace of humor that would make her think otherwise or doubt him.
Making light of the conversation and changing the tone in her voice—hoping to avoid the conversation of the email she had sent earlier—Anastasia asked, "You just so happen to be staying in the same hotel that I am staying in?"
"Quite the surprise, isn't it?" Christian replied, almost sneakily sarcastic.
Unlikely, Mr. Grey. How did you find me? I'll never know. She scoffed, "That's one way to put it."
He explained, "Believe it or not, I just finished dinner in my room after landing here. I came down to have a drink and saw you. I was distracted, thinking about your most recent email, and then I glanced up—there you were." The dominant cocked his head to one side, a hidden smile buried underneath his mask. The amusement and lightness in his voice helped her relax a little.
The surgeon began recounting her day, "I didn't have anything to do after I finished my exams. I spent most of my day locked up in my room before deciding to get a drink." She confessed shortly after, "I was worried about you."
Christian whispered an apology, reaching over and taking her hand, "I figured you were tired and didn't want to be bothered. I was going to pay you a visit tomorrow—but here you are. I couldn't resist." He squeezed it gently and tantalizingly ran his thumb across her knuckles to and fro. She felt the electrical currents of their energies pull to his body, jolting her skin awake from the pressure of his thumb. Her body pulsed, and she felt the blood in her body stream and run all over, heating everything in its past. Two days without seeing him, a day with no contact—it was a toxic combination of lust waiting to erupt.
Uncomfortable with the sexual tension, she was unsure of what to do. She reciprocated his warming action by holding his hand gently while her other arm leaned against the bar table, massaging her scalp as her fingers ran through only the roots of her hair over and over. She wanted him, and she was unashamed for feeling that way, in spite of the public environment. She imagined herself jumping him, claiming him to be hers. She blinked at him as the rate of her breathing changed, watching his beautiful, sculptured lips play into a sexy smile.
He said lowly, "I came to California thinking I would surprise you. But as ever, Anastasia, you surprise me by being here this moment. By the way, you look beautiful as you always do."
She flushed to the surprise attack of his flattery, changing the subject, "How long are you staying in California?"
"I told you—I came to see you, baby. I'm leaving with you on Friday."
Oh, please stop…or I will jump you.
Jessica comes back with Christian's drink, slicing the tension in half and making the young surgeon snap out of her state. "Hendricks, for the man," the bartender said, sliding it over to Christian. She took the untouched shot glasses and placed them away.
The tatted woman downed a shot glass in one gulp before flipping her blue hair back and crossing her arms. She jerked her head as she pointed with her chin, "You the boyfriend?"
Christian paused for a second at the question and then resumed to take a sip, bringing the glass up to his lips, "That would be me."
"She couldn't stop talking about you," Jessica smirked.
Anastasia's head jerked to the lying bartender, eyes in horror as she made a face, I did not! What are you doing? Stop it!
He raised an eyebrow, "Really?" An amused expression was on his face as gray eyes turned back to his girl.
"Really," the bartender lied again. Hiding her raised thumb from Christian, she winked subtly at Anastasia before turning away.
When Jessica left, the brunette's gazed towards gray, burning eyes. His head tilted—mesmerized by the disarming color and innocent look in her eyes—as he leaned in closer, a wary expression upon his face as he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle gently, "So, you're mad at me for having dinner with an old friend."
How would the young doctor approach her issues when he kept making her want him? It was a seesaw of anger and arousal—one second it was about the evil wench of a mistress and the next he was making her want him.
"Yes," she murmured simply, the heated blood continuing to course through her veins.
"Our sexual relationship was over long ago, Anastasia," Christian whispered. "I don't want anyone but you. Haven't you worked that out?"
Hazel eyes blinked at him, and she kept with her honesty even if it would bite her back. Taking quick glances from side to side, Anastasia admitted, "I don't like her, Christian. I think of her as a child molester."
He blanched from her words, "That's very judgmental." He immediately released her hands and whispered, "It wasn't like that."
Excuse me? I'm judgmental? Compared to what that woman did to you?
Lifting her eyebrows by his comment, the surgeon asked, "Oh? It's not? What was it like then?"
A frown fell on his beautiful face, still bewildered and deep in the process of thinking.
"Explain it to me, Christian." Anastasia pressed and continued, "Because the way I see it, she took advantage of a fifteen-year old boy."
Christian gasped and scowled at her, "Ana, it wasn't like that."
"That's not an explanation," the brunette glared. Proposing her own hypothetical scenario (because Lord knows how many of those she had encountered and dealt with these past two days), she began, "If you were a fifteen-year-old girl and your Mrs. Robinson was a mister, seducing you into a BDSM lifestyle, would that have been okay? If it was Mia, say?"
Christian surrendered quietly in exasperation, "Okay, it didn't feel like that to me. She was a force for good—what I needed."
A force of good? Anastasia wanted to vomit. What type of "good" exactly? It led back to BDSM relationships. The surgeon was thinking about how anyone could gain any pleasure from hitting teenage boys in puberty that were sexually frustrated and developing. What good was that? It certainly was not as "good" as saving lives, or creating a greener world with clean energy for impoverished countries. What "good" did Mrs. Robinson do for Christian that helped him out? Her jealousy spawned from that idea—unable to provide or do the kind of "good" the man claimed he needed.
Mimicking his face of bewilderment, it was her turn to be shocked, "I just don't understand."
"I'm not comfortable talking about this now, later maybe." He turned away from her, taking a drink from his glass. "If you don't want me here, I have a plane on standby. I can go."
"No!" Anastasia exclaimed, clutching onto his arm. She covered her mouth, closing her eyes with shame from her sudden outburst. She recovered herself and opened her eyes, murmuring quietly, "No, don't go. Please." She sighed, scolding and hitting herself mentally for pushing him like that. He had just traveled all this way without her knowing and he was already being bombarded by her startlingly unexpected hostility and uninvited-ness. She needed to center herself; he was here, and that was what she wanted all along.
She let go of grasping his arm, taking his hand into hers and a deep breath as she continued, "I'm just…trying to make you understand the situation. I am upset that as soon as I left, you had dinner with her." Aware of the double-standard she was going to use as a point, she said, "Think about how you are when I get anywhere near Jackson—like the night I went for drinks with him to celebrate my nomination. But however, unlike Mrs. Robinson, he is a kind friend to me, and I've never had any sexual relationship with him. Whereas you and her…" Her voice trailed off, unwilling to verbally state the altercations between him and his mistress in their previous years. She urged him to understand what she was trying to say with the look in her eyes.
"You're jealous?" Christian stared, dumbfounded as his eyes softened and warmed.
God, when you put it that way I want to claw at my skin. I want nothing to do with her and how she affects me.
Begrudgingly, she replied, "Yes…but most importantly, angry about what she did to you."
"Anastasia," he began, hoping a more clarified reiteration of his explanation would suffice and end their torment, "she helped me. That's all I'll say about that. And as for your jealousy, put yourself in my shoes."
I would never—not with the likes of her, her thoughts interrupted.
"I haven't had to justify my actions to anyone in the last seven years—not one person. I do as I wish, Anastasia, and I like my autonomy. I didn't go and see Mrs. Robinson to upset you. I went because every now and then we have dinner together. She's a friend and business partner," he explained.
Good god. You work with her, too?! Her mental thoughts rubbed its temples.
The mental anguish was revealed on her face, and Christian went on further to reassure her as he somehow telepathically answered her question, "Yes, we're business partners. The sex is over between us, and it has been for years now."
The inquisition of his relationship with Mrs. Robinson began, and she was determined to find out why her claws were marked so deep into the man she cared about. "Why did your relationship end?"
His mouth narrowed suspiciously, eyes gleaming with the same reflecting expression, "Her husband found out."
Suddenly, he growled, "Can we talk about this some other time—somewhere more private?"
"I don't think you will ever persuade me out of believing that she is not some kind of pedophile," Anastasia muttered, unconvinced by the newer information.
"Now, that's enough!" The dominant snapped. "I don't think of her that way. I never have." His anger didn't have an effect on the surgeon, and she kept persisting.
Of course you don't.
"Do you love her?" Her question blurted out from her mouth.
Interrupting the question the surgeon desperately wanted to find out, Jessica butted in and ended the conversation with her explanation, "Cosmopolitan for the pretty lady!"
Christian rolled his eyes, pulling his glass to his lips and finishing the drink in his glass.
Anastasia jumped and shook her head, emphasizing her explanation to him as she simultaneous explained herself to the woman, "I didn't order this…"
"Yeah, I know," the bartender smiled. She gestured towards a specific direction with her head, "Guy in the green shirt did."
The dominant whipped his head around and glared at the man Jessica was referring to while the brunette tucked her hair behind her ear, taking a quick glance at the man—who waved flirtatiously—and then back at the foreign drink.
Sighing harshly through his flaring nostrils, Christian slammed the glass down and muttered, "I'll leave you to your evening." He tipped the bartender generously with a fifty-dollar bill and declared, "Please, put all her drinks of this evening, as well as mine, on my tab—room number 612." He stepped out of the bar stool, "I'll call you tomorrow, Anastasia."
But. Anastasia couldn't find the right words to form a complete sentence without her chaotic mind running with its wild thoughts. Everything happened so quickly.
"Laters, baby," Christian whispered against her ear after quickly leaning in to place a chaste, soft kiss on her cheek. And then, he was gone, leaving the surgeon alone with a drink she never had before.
Jessica brought the fifty-dollar bill to the light, checking it for its authenticity before stuffing it in her bra. "I like your boyfriend," she commented with a mischievous smile. "He isn't so bad on the eyes either."
"Me too," the brunette sighed. "And you're right, he isn't."
…
The gray-eyed man opened the door completely surprised while on the phone as he stared at Anastasia. He opened the door more widely, beckoning the surgeon to come inside. She entered his executive master suite, staring at the fancy furniture and décor. Christian indicated with the gesture of his other hand to his mini bar, but she declined his offer with a raising hand—she didn't want anything but information.
Leaving the surgeon to herself as he left the study, Anastasia sat on his bed when entering through the bedroom, testing the firmness of the mattress. She crawled onto the bed and lay down, resting her eyes. She suddenly began to hear water running. Assuming that he was going to shower, she let herself sleep for a minute, closing her eyes and relaxing her body.
Throughout his phone call, he sounded distressed. Listening to the sound of his authoritative voice, his voice ended back in the room, and the brunette couldn't help but feel as if she was being watched. She opened her eyes and found him at the door, no longer on the phone.
"My question wasn't answered," Anastasia explained her reason for being in his room. She rolled on her side and sat up.
Christian watched her dark locks fall onto her body, swallowing as he stared at his beauty. He said quietly with gray, cautious, and wide eyes, "No. I guess it wasn't."
His arms folded, leaning against the wall with a small, playful smile on his face, "What are you doing here, Anastasia?"
"I thought I just gave you a reason to make you think why I'm here," she said innocently with a slight frown, resisting his arousing charm.
The dominant took a deep breath, "No. I didn't love her." He grimaced, a look of puzzlement and amusement expressed on his face.
Unaware that she was holding her breath, the young doctor found it easier to breathe once he answered her question. If Christian had said otherwise, she wasn't sure what she would do with herself. Her shoulders also sagged to his answer and she stood up, satisfied by his reply. She felt as though he was still upset with her, so she made the decision to give him the space he needed and began to make her exit.
"That's it?" He opened his mouth as he strode towards her, pulling at her arm once he reached it. He let go once she halted in her position.
You want me to stay? Anastasia blinked, "I just thought you were mad at me." Stop being dense; he flew here for you.
"No," Christian opposed. Bemused, he smiled gently, "You are quite the green-eyed goddess, Anastasia. Who would have thought?" The teasing realization pleased him.
The surgeon crossed her arms. Unable to hide her smile, she asked, "Are you making fun of me, Mr. Grey?"
"I wouldn't dare." He shook his head solemnly, but the wicked gleam in his eye suggested otherwise.
Pressing her tongue against the corner of her mouth, the brunette countered, "Oh I think you would and I think you do—often." He smirked to her comment, understanding the reversed roles of their familiar conversation.
She shrugged, "Besides—it takes one to know one."
Gray eyes darkened, and the tone of his voice changed to a soft, sensual demand, "Please, stop biting your lip. You're in my room, I haven't set eyes on you for nearly three days, and I've flown a long way to see you."
"Oh, you've gone longer," the smart-mouthed girl decided to play with her wits as a tactic against his disarming and arousing presence. "What about your time Vancouver?" Her voice became a whisper, aware of how the situation was soon to play out.
"That time is neither here nor there."
His phone buzzed, distracting them both and from the situation, but he placed his focus back on her as he switched the device off without glancing to see who it was. The wolf took one last step towards his lamb, a predatory look in his eyes as his body flushed against hers.
"I want you, Anastasia. Now," Christian spoke lowly, "and you want me. That's why you're here."
Tilting her head up at him as he gazed down, Anastasia whispered defensively, "No…I really did want to know."
"Well, now that you know, are you coming or going, Ana?" He was irresistible, and she couldn't help herself from resisting.
Staring anxiously into gray, intimidating, and intense eyes, she murmured, "Coming."
"Oh, I hope so," he smirked at his dirty, double-entendre joke. "You were so mad at me," he breathed with an amused voice.
"Not anymore," the brunette responded with a shaking head.
"I don't remember anyone but my family ever being mad at me," he commented, "I like it."
The tips of his fingers rand down her cheek, and the closeness of his proximity invaded her senses with his alluring aroma. Initially, the brunette wanted to continue speaking with him and prying for more information, but the chains of her desire were starting to break from their shackles as he began picking at its locks. Blood ran down the course of her entire body as her desire unfurled from their restraints. Christian bent down and ran his nose from her shoulder and up along the base of her ear, inhaling her scent. His fingers slipped through her dark locks and she struggled not to moan out, "We should talk, Christian…"
"Later," he muttered, entranced by his own actions as they pleased his senses. He placed a soft kiss under her earlobe as the grip of his fingers tightened around her hair. Pulling her head back, he exposed the length of her throat, admiring its smoothness and suppleness as his lips pressed her skin.
Kisses trickled from the base of her throat to her chin, baring his teeth against her chin and breathing, "I want you."
She shuddered and shivered out a moan, reaching for his arms gently. It was a slow, painful torture how he hadn't kissed her yet, but once he did, her body bloomed for him. He continued kissing her lips repeatedly, increasing his passion and fervor through his deeply possessive and claiming lips. She gasped into his mouth, pulling back and mentioning as she remembered, "Christian, I'm on my period."
He paused, pulling back and staring into her eyes earnestly and unashamed, "Are you in pain? Do you have cramps?"
The question threw her off guard, and the surgeon fluttered her eyes in confusion, "N-No."
"And you're still on birth control?" Christian asked, rubbing her shoulders gently.
"Yeah," Anastasia murmured shyly, "the IUD is still there."
"Let's take a bath together," he declared, taking her hand and pulling her into the bathroom.
There were two rooms that split the bathroom—heading into one side, the brunette gazed at the white limestone and colors of aquamarine. Her eyes immediately spotted the bathtub when she found it from entering through the second room—a sunken big enough for two extra people. Stone steps led to the enormous bath and she saw water slowly streaming into it. Steam vapored gently above the foam, and peeking through the bubbles was a stone seat all the way around. Candles were scattered around the bathroom as it created the intimate lighting for them.
Was he doing this all on the phone? The surgeon marveled at the luxuriousness of the bathroom, pondering the last time she took a bath by herself other than with the man holding her hand.
"Do you have a hair tie?" He suddenly asked.
Without having to order her to do it, the brunette flipped her hair back gently, pulling the sides of her hair into one pony with both hands. Clamping the thick pony with one hand, she fished and pulled out an elastic band encasing her hair into its restraints. Leaning over to view the depth of the waters, the steam wafted against her face and she could feel the inviting warmth against her skin. He leaned over her and turned the running faucet off before grabbing her hand and pulling her back into the other side room of the bathroom.
He stood behind her as they both faced two sinks and a wall-sized mirror, staring back at one another in their reflections. "Arms up," he breathed in her ear. Doing as she was told, he pulled her long-sleeve over her head and unclipped her lacy apparel to reveal her bare skin. Not breaking eye contact off her gold eyes, he said, "I'm going to have you in the bathroom, Anastasia."
The brunette's breathing hitched, listening to her name off come off his lips. Leaning down, he kissed her neck, and reacting to his passionate act, she extended her neck to the side for him. He hooked his thumbs into her tight-hugging jeans and slid them down her legs, letting her panties sink simultaneously with her pants. Cool to the touch as she grasped on the edge of the sink, she stepped out of her jeans, kicking them to the side.
She was naked before her eyes, staring at her eager self in the mirror as Christian kneeled behind. He kissed and gently bit at her cheek causing her to jolt and gasp in her wake. He stood and continued staring at her hazel eyes in the mirror, marveling her reactions. It was hard for the surgeon to keep still, not only from his actions but also the uncomfortable feeling of staring at herself in the mirror—a natural inclination to cover her body up. His hand splayed across the flatness of her belly, the span of his hand nearly reaching both sides of her hips.
"Look at you. You are so beautiful," he marveled in a soothing voice. "See how you feel," he ushered, grabbing onto both her hands with his and interlocking his fingers in between as the two felt her skin together. She never noticed how different touching her skin would feel with his hands against hers. It was intimate and compassionate, the spreading warmth of their hands sending shivers down her spin.
He placed their hands onto her belly, "Feel how soft your skin is." Pushing her hands up her chest, he made her palms move upward to her breasts before cupping them with her fingers. His voice was soft and low, seductive and spellbound, "Feel how full your breasts are." He gently rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, running them over with the tips and fondling them, which evoked a moan between her parting lips. He squeezed at her nipples between her controlled thumbs, pulling gently so they elongate before her eyes in amazement. She stared at her golden eyes flash with wanton desire, writhing and moaning in front of her while she took quick glances at a the dark-eyed, hungry man behind.
His touch, his calm, soft commands, and the exchanging expression between one another made her weak. Her breathing shook as he played with her body, and she could feel herself open up in front of him. She groaned and closed her eyes, reveling in the pleasure.
"That's right, baby," Christian murmured, guiding his hands down to the sides of her body, past her waist to her hips, and brushing across the bare skin of her pelvis. He slid his leg in between, lifting her up gently and spreading her legs apart as her stance widened. She gasped and bounced up against his propped knee, and his hands ran over her sex. He massaged at her the slits of her wet lips—one hand at a time—setting up a body-mesmerizing and erotic rhythm that made her body roll in the same movement. He was controlling everything she felt, the strings of her body possessed by her puppeteer.
His smile pressed into her shoulder as he kissed and bit her blade, whispering against her skin, "Look at you go, Anastasia." She groaned from all the sensations, but frowned as soon as the feeling went away. He let go of his puppet and released her strings, leaving her desperate and confused.
"Carry on," he order, standing back and watching.
The feelings she tried to provoke felt just as foreign as her hands. It wasn't the same like the boathouse—she wasn't seducing him this time, and she didn't want to. It didn't feel the same, and a sense of lost overfilled her. She shook her head at him as he pulled his shirt over his head before slipping off his jeans.
He closed the distance between their bodies, and the brunette could feel his comforting warmth against her once more. Gray eyes burned into her gaze in the mirror as he asked, "You'd rather I do this?"
"Only you," her head nodded to his question. She breathed gently and urged him, "Touch me…please, Christian…"
His nose flared and his breathing rate increased from her answer, pleased by her begging, her answer, and the name off her lips. Christian quickly wrapped his arms around her in a tight, melting embrace. His hands reached back down and sensually caressed her sex, running his fingers over her clitoris. His chest hair brushed against her back, while the arousal of his erection pushed up behind, as he bit down and kissed the nape of her neck repeatedly. Gold eyes rolled back, falling into the combination of all the sensations—neck, groin, and back as heat spread all around.
The pleasure stopped as he abruptly spun her around, circling her wrists with one hand and imprisoning them behind her while the other hand yanked at her pony. Heated bodies flushed against one another, he kissed her wildly, ravaging her mouth as he held her in place. It was a mess of passion, consuming and lustful.
His breathing was ragged like hers when he pulled away. He ordered quietly. "Hold onto the sink." He pulled at her hips again, inclining her body to bend down.
Her hair down to the side, the young doctor panted and asked, "Christian, what're you—"
She gasped suddenly as he sunk to his knees and reached between the brunette's legs, pulling the tampon out and tossing it into the nearby wastebasket by the toilet. Unable to react quickly enough, the swift thrust of his cock filled her pulsating walls. She squealed and clenched onto the sick as her body abruptly jerked forward, feeling her body fill deeply of his hard shaft. His skin was bare against her desperately wet lips.
Christian moved slowly at first, testing and pushing through her tightening slits. They lubricated his hard-on with her juices, encouraging him to slip in and out of her as her body cocooned his cock. She grunted and pushed her body back onto him, feeling her cheeks bounce against his lap. His hands held her waist in a strong grip while his fingers dug deep into her sides. Sweet agony filled from her waist below as his punishing rhythm increased, pushing more and more deeply into her with each hard thrust into her. His hand reached around and found her clitoris, massaging it again with his fingers.
Anastasia let out a grunt and a guttural moan, "Christian!" She was close, the feeling rose almost to the top of her mountain.
"That's right, baby." His voice was raspy by tranced pleasure. He grinded deeply into her, maneuvering her hips closer to him as he angled himself in a different position. Hitting the right spot, it pushed the brunette's body off her cliff and she began spiraling into her orgasm.
As she came loudly, her arms shook as she gripped the sink with all her might, falling deeply into wet, messy bliss. His filling followed right after as he clasped her tightly, his front pressed against her back as he climaxed and called out her name.
"Oh, Ana!" His breathing shook with her, ragged, panting, and out of breath just as she was. Breathing between breaths, he whispered, "Oh, baby. Will I ever get enough of you?"
They sank slowly to the cold bathroom floor, with his arms tightly bound around the young surgeon's petite body. The comfort of his arms imprisoned her, and she lay her head onto his chest, listening to their breaths slow down and calm in synchronization. Resisting the urge to bury her face into his chest, Anastasia inhaled the intoxicatingly, sweet scent of her dominant. Quiet and dwelling in post-coital euphoria, their bodies glowed from the erotic aftershocks their bodies went through.
Pondering the actions of lovemaking with Christian, Anastasia wondered if sex with Christian was always that intense—awakening, all-consuming, overwhelming, and everything else in between. She was in a blissful daze, thinking if their erotically beguiling and bewildering altercations would ever be enough for either of them. She was floating in a sea of thoughts, lost in him—lost to him.
"I'm bleeding," Anastasia murmured and quietly moaning afterwards with closed lips.
"It doesn't bother me," he breathed against her head, kissing it gently.
"I noticed," she dryly stated.
Christian tensed before nuzzling his nose into her hair. "Does it bother you?" He asked softly.
Blood? Anastasia chuckled once, leaning back and looking up into his clouded, gray eyes, "I'm a doctor, Mr. Grey. Blood doesn't bother me at all, nor does mine."
He smirked, kissing her head one final time, "Good. Let's have a bath then."
The water from the bath was a treat after an intense match of consuming bodies—soothing and consuming in another relaxingly warm level. The brunette inhaled the fragrance of the bath water, oils and soaps mixed in and marinating her body. Christian's beautifully naked body stood in front of her with blood smeared lightly on him from her menstruation. The smears were washed away as he slid in the bath, joining her. She smiled as he accompanied her, but it faded soon after when she stared at the burnt scars on his chest.
The burn marks were there the day he stripped off his shirt when she examined him during his accident. It was information she wanted to know of why and how. She blinked away and stared down into the water as a lance pierced through her heart. Who did that to him? Mrs. Robinson? His birth mother? It can't be Grace, there was no way. Was it also from cigarettes like me?
Christian's face was alert and wide-eyed with alarm, a hand holding hers. "What is it?"
"Your scars," she gestured with her chin. What happened to you, Christian?
He frowned while his face darkened; his mouth pressing into a thin, hard line. His expression closed down in a split second—warm, at ease, and inviting to defensive, maybe even anger. He let go of her hand and scolded with a cold voice, "Don't look at me like that."
Anastasia flushed and was chastened, staring down at her fingers. Her relenting quest for information didn't stop her mouth from blurted out her question. "She didn't do that to you, did she?" She whispered impulsively, unable to stop herself.
His silence filled the void noise of the bathroom, all that could be heard were single droplets of water occasionally falling into their tub from the faucet. Forced to stare into him, he coldly glared at her, "She? Mrs. Robinson? She's not an animal, Anastasia. Of course, she didn't. I don't understand why you feel you have to demonize her."
She's a demon, that's why. Why out of all the things she could teach you did it have to be pain? Why would you console pain with more pain? It doesn't make sense.
The surgeon hugged her knees in closer to her chest while the bubbles followed her. She replied, "I just wonder what you would be like if you hadn't met her. If she hadn't introduced you to your…particular tastes—your lifestyle."
Christian sighed, jaw-clenched with tension with frosty cold eyes. The dominant felt insulted by her comment, as if he wasn't good enough for her suddenly. Maybe it was true, but the realization fueled his anger. He stared impassively at her, an expression just as unreadable as the thoughts she couldn't read from his face. He said nothing, and the silence continued stretching; it feel as though the physical distance between them in the tub was increasing.
The girl in front of him wasn't planning on stopping. She would stare him down until she could read something from his face or until he would speak up. She wasn't going to surrender, and the staring contest commenced. A minute only passed but to Anastasia, it felt like hours and she was thrashing around in her mind. An idea suddenly popped in her head—a very bad one. If she wanted him to be honest, she was going to have to share a piece of herself to him.
Compare your scars, her thoughts whispered.
"Can I share something with you, Christian?" It was too late to turn back now.
His gray eyes perked up, giving her the answer she needed. Carefully lifting her arm, she uncovered the one scare under her right arm, showing her cigarette mark. He wasn't sure what he was looking at but leaned in and froze in place as his gaze followed her pointed finger. As he slightly paled from its sight, she submerged her arm back into the water, looking away.
Keeping a long story short, the girl kept it simple, "I was nine. It was just me and my foster dad." His eyes glazed with horror and concern before shifting to glaring anger again. She shrugged lightly and ended her story in a final sentence before giving him a chance to speak, "He was an angry drunk."
Flashes of her childhood flickered in her head. Images of a squirming girl pinned down by a hairy man, grinding and stubbing the end of his cigarette into her fresh, pale skin. She screamed as he burned and scared her flesh, keeping the memory alive on her body forever. Her vision blurred as her tears involuntarily welled in her eyes. She wasn't sad—in fact, she wasn't sure what made her body emotional. It was just a reaction she couldn't control at this point. Before giving them a chance to fall, she blinked away her wet eyes just as she did with her childhood at the same time.
And like that, time resumed just as the sharing moment faded—as if it never happened. Her mask was placed back on, holding her façade together while she smiled gently at Christian—expectant and awaiting his turn to share as her expression insinuated him to go on.
He blinked at her, mortified and confused. "I've never seen that before on your body until you showed it to me," he muttered quietly.
"Funny," Anastasia forced a chuckle, hoping to turn the morbidly sad mood around. She smartly continued, "Considering all the times you've stripped me and seen me naked. Now, go on, it's your turn."
Christian shook his head, sighing before smirking, "I would have probably gone the way of my birth mother, had it not been for Mrs. Robinson."
Crack addict? Whore? Dead? Which one? All three?
"She loved me in a way I found…acceptable," he added with a shrug.
"Acceptable?"
"Yes." His gray eyes stared intently at her. "She distracted me from the destructive path I found myself following. It's very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you're not perfect."
Anastasia opened her mouth to refute his answer but couldn't find the courage to do so. His self-hate was hard for the brunette to digest. His face was still impassive, an expression unreadably unfathomable. He was no longer going to share any more information, and it was frustrating. Sharing so little about her life, it was actually fair.
Feeling as though she had been kicked in the stomach, she dared herself to ask, "Does she still love you?"
"I don't think so, not like that," he frowned; the idea of his ex-mistress's love was not something he thought about, and it showed on his face. "I keep telling you it was a long time ago. It's in the past. I couldn't change it even if I wanted to, which I don't. She saved me from myself."
He sighed in exasperation, running his wet hand through his hair, "I've never discussed this with anyone." He paused, "Except my therapist. And the only reason I'm speaking about this now—to you—is because I want you to trust me."
"I do trust you," the surgeon insisted and frowned. "However, I do want to know you better, and anytime I try to talk to you, you distract me. There's a lot I want to know about you."
"Oh for pity's sake, Anastasia!" Christian exclaimed, "What do you want to know? What do I have to do?" His eyes blazed, and though he wasn't raising his voice, he was trying to rein his temper.
"Help me try to…" Love you. She looked away and gazed down at her hands; letting her hands ripple gently against the water, "…understand you. I'm just trying to understand who you are, Christian. You're a puzzle, and I've never met anyone like yourself."
Anastasia couldn't bear the distance between them any longer, slowly making her way to his side. She made sure not to touch him, looking up at his wary eyes. Anxiety was shown in his entire body, from his expression to the way he suddenly tensed ash she closed the proximity from their bodies. She sighed gently, "I'm glad you're telling me what I want to know, and I'm sorry. There is no malice or ulterior motive in me seeking this information, so please don't be angry with me."
"I'm not—" He paused, adjusting the tone in his voice and starting again, "I'm not angry with you, Anastasia. I'm just not used to this kind of talk—this probing. I only have this with Dr. Flynn and with—" He stopped and frowned.
Of. Course. This just gets better and better. We're back at full circle. What the hell does she have that I don't? "Mrs. Robinson," the surgeon finished his sentence, trying to rein in her own temper, "you talk to her about all this?"
"Yes, I do."
She gestured him to continue talking with her hand. He shifted in the bath so that he would be facing her, causing the water to lap over the sides of the tub and onto the floor. He placed an arm around her shoulder, resting his back against the ledge of the bath.
"Persistent aren't you?" Christian murmured with a trace of irritation in his voice. "Life, the universe, business—Anastasia, Mrs. R and I go way back. We can discuss anything."
I'm sure you guys can. Hold on—Anything? Including… "Me?" she whispered.
Gray eyes watched her carefully, "Yes."
She sighed out, "Why?" The young resident was aware that she overextended her prying and constant inquiries, but she couldn't help herself.
"I've never met anyone like you, Anastasia," he confessed.
Anastasia rubbed her eyes, "What does that mean? Is it anyone who just didn't automatically sign your contract without any questions?"
He shook his head, "I need advice."
"From Mistress Pedophilia?" She snapped, letting her temper accidentally slip from her lips.
"Anastasia—enough," Christian snapped back sternly with narrowing eyes. She knew she kept poking a stick at the wolf and was going to be ravaged by him again. "Or I'll put you across my knee. I have no sexual or romantic interest in her whatsoever. She's a dear, valued friend and a business partner. That's all. We have a past—a shared history, which was monumentally beneficial for me, though it fucked up her marriage; but that side of our relationship is over."
How was it possible that the two of them got away with something that scandalous? "And your parents never found out," she repeated in disbelief.
"No," he growled, "I've told you this."
She cursed at her curious tongue, knowing that prying for any more would make her cheeks pink within moments.
"Are you done?" The dominant snapped again.
"Asking questions? Never." She responded dryly. He rolled his eyes, flared his nose, and clenched his jaw, but before he could say anything, she continued, "But I'll stop."
He took a deep breathing but visibly relaxed back into the tub, "You are so challenging, Anastasia." His eyes then glared coldly and speculatively at her, "You haven't responded to my email."
Will you always be angry with me? You never run out of steam. The spotlight was back on the surgeon—he was referring to the "more" email. Her fingernails bit into her thigh as she clawed at them for an answer. She haven't given more much of a thought because of his unresponsiveness and the final session of her examination. The surgeon shook her head, Maybe that's why he doesn't like being asked questions—being challenged.
"I was going to respond, but now you're here with me," she responded.
"You'd rather I wasn't?" He breathed, the anxiety in his voice could be heard but his expression was unfathomable.
"I didn't say that," the brunette protested, "I'm very pleased that you're here."
Christian shed a genuine, relieved smile that melted the surgeon's heart, "Good. I'm pleased to be here, too—in spite of your interrogation." Whoops. "So, while it's acceptable to grill me, you think you can claim some kind of diplomatic immunity just because I've flown all the way to see you? I'm not buying it, Miss Steele. I want to know how you feel."
His doubting reply made her frown. It was her fault, and she knew it. "No…" She murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leaned in for an embrace. Surprised at first, he reacted quickly and opened up his arms to her, hugging her gently. "I'm sorry for that, but I really meant it. Thank you for coming all this way just for me." Her arms closed around him tightly as his arms did the same around her waist.
Anastasia leaned back, seeing gray, shining eyes reflect up at her, "It's my pleasure, Miss Steele." He leaned forward and kissed her gently.
Responding automatically, the brunette straddled his lap, leaning down and holding his face as she kissed him deeply. The water was still warm, just as the bathroom was still steamy.
He suddenly stopped, pulling back and leaning against the ledge of the bath. He gazed up and narrowed his eyes, "No. I think I want some more answers first before we do any more."
More. It was a word that had many deep-rooted meanings. She swallowed, nervous of his interrogation. The brunette's body leaned back against his arms which still circled around her as he folding his hands together, pressing his both palms against her back. She sighed in resignation, "What more would you like to hear?"
His head cocked to the side as he furrowed his brows in question, "Well—how do you feel about our would-be arrangement, for starters?"
Tired of beating around the push and hiding behind her true feelings as she normally would—typically to avoid the spotlight and what she wanted—she honestly confessed, "My schedule is something that I can't negotiate—with complex hours and fluctuating shifts, I don't think I can meet you every weekend. Nonetheless, I'm willing to meet you with you on any free days throughout the week, even if it coincides with the second weak." She was compromising for him, just as she said she would "try."
Christian's gray eyes radiated while he exclaimed his question, "You're willing?"
"No."
"Oh." He pouted.
God, you're so cute. Don't do that.
Distracted, Anastasia cleared her throat and explained, "I don't think I can do what we've discusessed for an extended period of time. I like being with you. A lot. But whether it's three months, six months, or a year—I can't be something that I am not. Even for you, as much as I want or like to—I just can't." She frowned and looked away. It sounded like the end.
He tipped her chin up and smirked. "No, I don't think you could, either." There was an amused look in his eyes that disturbed the surgeon as she made a face.
"Are you laughing me?" she asked as a part of her actually felt offended and challenged.
He leaned back up and kissed her softly and briefly, humming to the kiss. "You're not a great dismissive," he breathed, holding her chin. She stared into his gray eyes—they were playful and dancing with humor.
Anastasia opened her mouth, bewildered by his correct judgment but then closed her mouth and burst into laughter. He joined with her, and the moment in the room began to lighten up. She grinned, content as it felt as though the heavy weights of the room were lifted off their shoulders. She leaned in and held his face in her hands, murmuring, "Maybe I don't have a good teacher."
Christian snorted, shaking their bodies as his chest jerked, "Maybe. Perhaps I should be stricter with you." He cocked his head to one side and presented a sneaky, shrewd smile.
Swallowing from his comment, she ignored his joke. It was intriguing to the surgeon how punishments were a turn-on for the dominant. She still couldn't fathom why.
He stared at her, gauging her reaction, "Was it that bad when I spanked you the first time?"
The young doctor stared back at him, blinking and pondering at the same time. The memory of her first punishment, during that moment, triggered a repressed memory of her foster dad. She remembered how scared she felt—that night, she felt alone. It was a good thing I called Penn… Internally struggling with her confusing experiences, it wasn't bad—physically speaking, that is. The pain wasn't as bad as she thought, and she had done more "exotic" things with her dominant after. The brunette couldn't deny that she was aroused every time she was with him.
"No, it wasn't as bad," she repeated him in a whisper.
"It's more of the idea of it?" He prompted in suggestion.
"I suppose," Anastasia shrugged. "Feeling pleasure to something when you aren't supposed to."
"I remember feeling the same—it takes a while to get your head around it," he stated.
You were conditioned and trained like a dog when you were fifteen. I don't think so.
"You can always safe-word, Anastasia," Christian added. "Don't forget that. And, as long as you follow the rules, which fulfill a deep need in me for control and to keep you safe, then perhaps we can find a way forward."
She still didn't understand. "Why do you feel the need to control me?"
"Because it satisfies a need in me that wasn't met in my formative years," he replied honestly.
The surgeon's mind lit up, "So, like a form of therapy?"
His mouth twisted in though before he answered, "I've not thought of it like that, but yes, I suppose it is."
Maybe there are other forms of therapy I could introduce, the young doctor thought optimistically but knew it wasn't a good idea. Another realization bothered her, and she had to get it out. "Here's the thing, though—as complicated as my feelings may be for our entire arrangement, it isn't nearly as confusing as what you've been telling me. One moment you say 'don't defy me,' the next you say you like to be challenged. That's a very fine line to tread successfully."
Christian gazed at her for a moment and then frowned. "I can see that," he admitted, "but you seem to be doing fine so far."
"But at what personal cost? Give a girl a break and have some mercy on me, Mr. Grey. I'm tied up in knots," she sighed and scowled.
"I like you tied up in knots," he smirked mischievously.
"Ugh," she groaned, splashing him with a wave of her hand, "that's not what I meant!"
Arching a brow, he leaned forward and sat up. Her body shifted as he moved away from the ledge of the bath, causing her to lower and shrink from his towering body. "Did you just splash me?" He asked, gazing down with a wicked gleam in his eye. His entire persona changed, and he was no longer playful and friendly—it was his dominant self, back and ready than ever.
"No?..." Anastasia attempted to lie but ultimately and utterly failed.
"Oh, Miss Steele." Christian grabbed at her wrists and twisted their bodies, pushing her against the ledge. The rapid movement sloshed water all over the floor. "I think we've done enough talking for now," he muttered, claiming her lips into his right after.
…
The two of them lay staring at one another—gray eyes to gold and pressed foreheads against each other to where they felt his and her breath. His fingers stroked at her arm soothingly, as Anastasia admired the beautiful features of his face and lay, radiating and glowing from the pleasure only he could deliver.
The brunette's dark locks effortlessly framed the delicate features of her face, long and flowing against the white pillows and over her shoulder. She pulled the bed sheet up closer to her body, snuggling under it.
"Do you want to sleep?" Christian asked, his voice soothing enough to put her to rest. The bed was so white and contrasted against the head of his hair vividly with the white pillowcase behind. His gray eyes were smoldering and expressive, showing concern. His affection made her swoon, and reach up to hold his face. He placed his hand on top of hers and kept it there, preventing her from moving anywhere else.
"No, not yet." She wasn't tired, which was unlikely, and she wanted to continue talking with him—something normal.
He asked with glimmering curiosity, "What do you want to do?"
"Talk," Anastasia smiled simply.
He warmly smiled back, "About?"
"You, silly." She stroked his cheek, beaming at him.
"What about me?" He shook his head, scrunching his nose playfully.
The brunette fluttered her eyes and batted her lashes at him, giggling, "Everything."
"Like?" Christian chuckled at the sound of her laugh, leaning in closer as he held her face in his palm.
Chewing on her lip, the young resident asked, "What is your favorite film?"
He grinned, his thumb reaching over and pulling at her bottom lip, "Today, it's 'The Piano.'"
Typical. "Of course," Anastasia replicated his infectious grin back, "silly me. Such a sad, enticing score, which I'm sure you can play. So many accomplishments, Mr. Grey."
The gray-eyed man hummed pleasantly, rubbing his nose against hers, "And the greatest one is you, Miss Steele."
She flushed and smiled, "So does that make me number seventeen?"
"Seventeen?" The dominant repeated and frowned, unable to comprehend.
"The number of women you've slept with," the doctor clarified.
His lips quirked from her explanation and his eyes shined with skepticism, "Not exactly."
"But you said fifteen?"
"In reference to the number of women that I have brought up in my playroom—that's what I originally thought when you had asked. You didn't ask about my sexual history with all the women I've been with," he explained.
"Well, now I'm asking," Anastasia responded dryly.
Christian shook his head, still grinning, "I can't give you a number. I didn't put notches in the bedpost or anything."
The brunette paused a second or two in between each number, hoping to get an answer from his reaction, "Tens. Hundreds? Thousands?" Her eyes and the volume in her voice got louder as he didn't answer her.
"Tens. We're in the tens, for pity's sake," he sighed, trying to repress his grin.
"Oh…" She gazed at him, "All vanilla?"
"You are my only vanilla conquest," he answered smugly, showing his pearly whites.
She opened her mouth, "They were all submissives?"
"Yes."
Anastasia let out a noise of frustration, scolding him mildly with her betraying cheeks smiling with him, "Stop grinning at me."
"I can't help it," he murmured softly. "You're a funny woman."
"Funny peculiar or funny ha ha?" Her brow lifted, unamused.
"I'll let you figure it out." His words mirrored hers from before as he smirked.
"You're impossible and stubborn," the surgeon sighed with a shaking head.
Christian grinned again, leaning in closer and kissing the tip of her nose. He said gently, "This will shock you, Anastasia. Are you ready?"
"At this point in our relationship, when am I not ready to be shocked by you?" The doctor asked sardonically, wishing she could roll her eyes.
He growled lowly, pulling at her lip with his teeth. Breathing against her lip, he said quietly, "All submissive in training, when I was training. There are places in and around Seattle that once can…go and practice—learn to do what I do."
"I see," Anastasia blinked.
"Yep, I've paid for sex, Anastasia."
The brunette feigned a face of disgust with a quirking lip, and she muttered haughtily, "That's not something to be proud of, but you're right. It did shock me just a bit." She hummed gently, smiling as she stared into his beautiful face again, "I'm not sure I can shock you as much as you do with me."
"Well, you wore my underwear our first weekend after I dropped you off at your apartment," he corrected.
"That shocked you?" The brunette knitted her brows and snickered, "I have it in my closet if you want it back."
"Keep it." Christian's voice was pleased by the thought as he smiled and leaned in for another kiss. He added, "You also didn't wear your panties to meet my parents."
"Did that shock you?" Anastasia grinned proudly at the memory.
"It did." He caressed her face, kissing her slowly.
She hummed to his kiss, saying gently between light kisses, "Mmm…it seems as though I can only shock you in the underwear department."
"Not true," the dominant objected, breaking the kiss. "You told me you were a virgin, and that was the biggest shock I've ever had," he mentioned.
"Oh yeah!" the doctor exclaimed and laughed. "The look on your face was a Kodak moment I'll never forget."
He continued grinning as she laughed, stroking her cheek and continuing, "You let me work you over with a riding crop."
She opened her mouth and then closed it, "Did that shock you, too?"
"Yep."
She winked and responded flirtatiously through her giggles, "Well, I may let you do it again."
"Oh, I do hope so, Miss Steele. How about this weekend?" Christian challenged her, kissing her hungrily as his hands ran through the locks of her hair.
Moaning into his mouth, she kissed him back, placing her hands on top of his. Their bodies rolled and he broke the kiss as he was on top, marveling down into her warm eyes. The surgeon agreed shyly, "Okay."
"Okay?" His fingers rubbed at the silky, dark strands between his fingers.
Fully content and warm in his arms, she nodded and joked, "Yes. I'll go to the Red Room of Pain, again."
His hands traveled from the strands of her hair to her cheek, stroking at its bone gently. He smiled to himself and mentioned one last thing that surprised him. "You say my name."
The surgeon's head tilted to one side in confusion, resting on his palm. He explained, hypnotized by the actions of caressing her cheek, "The fact that I like hearing you say it shocks me."
"Oh, Christian," Anastasia sighed contently, flushing as she shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"
He grinned, and his eyes suddenly glowed with excitement, "I want to do something with you tomorrow."
"What do you want to do?" Her suspicions were alert, but she relaxed by his boyish behavior. She combed her hair back with her fingers, a face of intrigue casted upon her face with knitting brows.
"A surprise. For you." His voice was kind and affection.
Reaching up to hold his face, Anastasia shook her head to emphasize her statement, "You don't have to do anything for me, Christian."
"Oh, but I want to, Ana," he smiled against her hand, clasping it into his fingers and kissing every knuckle, sending shivers down her spine.
She yawned and hummed at his romantic gesture, rubbing his soft lips with her thumb.
Christian kissed at her thumb, softly asking with a sarcastic tone, "Am I boring you, Miss Steele?"
Her eyes were blurred and wet from her yawn, glistening against the light as they fluttered slowly, "Never."
"Sleep," he commanded gently, leaning down and kissing her gently again.
Anastasia breathed against his lips, murmuring softly and adding to his sentence, "With me."
"I fully intend to," he murmured back affectionately against her lips, "My beautiful, sweet girl." He stole one last kiss from the brunette and switched off the lights.
The young surgeon was pulled deep into the bottom of the Christian's dark crevasse, and while she was currently being held in his warming arms—surrounded by complete darkness—she was in utter bliss. Although in the trench of his dark abyss as he led her down his somber path, she felt sated, closing her eyes and embracing his darkness. She never felt happier than before now—in the dark and in his arms—and it was because he was with her again.
Their love is such a roller coaster, but in the end—there's always something special there. I just wanted desperately wanted to finish this chapter and get this it out for you guys. I hope you all enjoyed it, and let me know your thoughts.~