Chapter 10. Anticipation

It's Saturday night, gone 10:00. Linc departed for his golfing club hours ago, eager for a night of carousing with cronies, smoking stogies, drinking and gambling. I don't expect him home until the early hours. I'm reclined on the loveseat in my suite, the lights are off, and my feet are comfortably propped on an ottoman. The TV shows the final scenes of the film I planned for tonight.

Christian leans against me, shirtless and silent as the story's conclusion plays out. I run my fingers through his thick auburn hair, breathing him as I absently lay kisses along his hairline. Our time together is whittling away. Separation is coming.

Damn, he smells amazing, and it's not the shower he took here in my bathroom upon arriving earlier tonight. He simply emits an allure that sends my senses awhirl and impulses hungry.

I've learned to respect Christian's no-touch areas, but that doesn't mean I can't exploit the rest. His shoulders, neck, and amazingly his armpits are all green-light areas. It amuses me that he loves to be caressed and stroked. His skin is silky smooth, and I love how comfortable he's become with my fingers gliding over his bare arms, abdomen, low back and thighs. You have to know where to go with him, and now with trust added, he gives himself over completely.

Sprawled against me, he's warm and bare, and I look curiously at his chest's shiny white burn scars. I know he's not about to overcome the aversion of their anticipated touch, and that's okay. I can respect his few boundaries, especially when there's so much more available for my hands, mouth, hair… whatever part of me I wish. Someday he may even tell me all about them.

Movie night in my bedroom has been anticipated all week. Today, Christian finished with Chic Salvage's data input and at closing time he shut the blue computer down, then assisted Tony with relocating a few heavy items around the warehouse; a substantial Spanish tiled concrete wall fountain being one of them. Then Elliot arrived to pick him up.

Tony departed shortly thereafter to take his California cupcake GF out for a night of club hopping, which didn't disturb me at all since I got everything I wanted out of Anthony Sharpe last night in my office/bedroom. Tony avoided sitting today, and when he did, it was done gingerly. Tony can thank young Christian, not just me, for my enhanced zeal with a leather crop last night. And Tony did thank me; the image of my gorgeous Welshman playmate on his knees, his wrists bound and tear-streaked face suffused with spent passion.

Alone now in the Chic Salvage warehouse, I wander the silent, narrow aisles and await the hours ahead. It isn't long before my phone rings with the expected call. Christian's voice sends butterflies fluttering in my chest, and I'm reminded of standing outside Evgeny's door at the MGM Grand Hotel, raising my hand to knock.

"Carrick and Grace are going out," Christian informs me. I can hear road noise in the background.

"Where are you? I hear traffic."

"In the parking lot of Vine Street Market. Elliott's picking up supplies for a party tonight in Capitol Hill. Some guy at school, his parents are in Barbados. It's going to be a blowout apparently."

The trust Christian places in me is astounding. He tells me all the secrets that would have his mother in apoplectic fits. Parties, fake IDs, who brings the liquor and pot, the girls Elliott screws. It's become like our own private world of information sharing, and I wouldn't think to judge Christian or anyone else involved. I would never turn motherly and condemn behavior. How could I? What with the history I could document in detail.

Hell, those days are behind me, but I remember the fun and miss it tremendously.

Maybe that's the best thing about having no kids; there's no incentive for me to lie like most parents do. Yes I had indescriminate sex. Yes I smoked pot. Yes I got rip-roaring drunk. Yes I ran from the cops. Yes yes yes to all of it and more.

Christian continues, "An attorney friend of Carrick's invited them to the Seattle symphony at Benaroya Hall and then a late supper. They won't be home until well after midnight."

My excitement is only enhanced, somehow, by the police siren whining close over the phone and then away. I picture him in a parking lot talking to me on his Nokia.

"How nice for them," I purr, exhilarated by the possibilities presented for an evening alone with Christian.

"And Mia's going to a sleepover, so it looks like I'm on my own."

I laugh. "What, no elderly Mrs. Davis called in to babysit you?"

He sneers. "Fuck no! Before Grace and Carrick take off for the symphony, I'm going on an extended run and won't be home to discuss any restrictions for tonight. Cross country practice never rests, you know El, and if I want to be on the team at my new school in Lyon, I'd better keep up. Who knows where my run tonight might take me?"

His theatrically blameless tone makes me smile. He's quite adept at manipulating his socially active parents.

Thrills spread through my chest, right down to my fingertips.

"For your run this evening, Christian, you could tell Grace you'll be north of Medina Park, along Evergreen Point Road. Get started soon and you'll have plenty of daylight remaining. She knows the road is quiet, winding past big stately mansions. It happens to go right past my house."

He's damn familiar with the road on which I live, I know.

I can hear his smile. "Okay. See you tonight. There's a request I want to discuss with you."

"Oh? The answer is yes."

Christian laughs too. "And that, El, is why you're my best friend. Bye."

The line goes dead.

So once returned home and after showering, I lay on my bed with my phone beside me and wait. The house is quiet. I feel the same anticipation now as I did years ago, as a teen back in Tacoma, knowing and feeling that the extraordinary was coming for me. My coach, Evgeny, was nearby. He would have me tonight. My draw to him was extra-sensory, the connection between he and I as magical as it was powerful. I lay on my bed now, drifting in and out of a nap and remembering.

Evgeny's Russian intensity had been physically palpable, and I could feel it escalate as he perfected my form and posture during rehearsals in the dance studio. Using firm eye contact, he would poise my arms and body, then whisper that he was pogloshchen zhelaniyem (consumed with desire.) Once my teenage dance partner departed for home, Evgeny would take my hand and lead me to his bedroom below the studio. Along the way my knees would weaken, knowing the next hours would be epic.

And I haven't known that feeling since. Not until Christian Grey.

Darkness now descends outside my bedroom window as I wait for Christian to appear. That feeling, that sense he is nearing is a heady aura of power and intelligence and insane sexuality. Dreams ebb close and away. The aura has found me out. It is stalking me and is upon me.

My eyes are closed in the soft lamplight on the bedside table. I realize I'm squirming in anticipation. In a black camisole and jeans shorts, I'm warm. Nipples are peaked and thighs are curiously a-tingle.

"Are you ready for me?" his delicious voice speaks.

I smile and open my eyes. Trust Christian to let himself into the house and find his way upstairs to my suite. He's standing at the foot of my bed, removing his t-shirt, a look of amused appreciation over his assessing gray eyes. He tosses his sweaty shirt to the floor and then climbs onto the bed and over me, his muscular legs straddling my thighs. Even when sweaty from running he smells divine.

"Thanks for inviting me," he grumbles low, eyes coasting down over the length of my body.

My hands are already on his muscular thighs, moving north into the legs of his running shorts. "Thank you for accepting."

He hovers over me, brushing his lovely lips over mine. "What shall we do tonight, Mrs. Lincoln?"

I grin as my fingers trace over the hardness his ass and legs, telling myself to be good. To wait until he's reached my minimum age restriction. It's truly a struggle.

"It's movie night, darling," I reply.

He knows my rule, and grins. "Okay. But let me shower first."

He strips off the remainder of his clothes under my full view and heads for the shower. I move closer across the room and watch him from the loveseat. He knows I love to watch him, the voyeur that I am.

An hour later we're on my loveseat watching a classic romance and one of my personal favorites. There are some who are offended by Last Tango in Paris although I can't imagine why. Romance isn't my thing, but a passionate connection… that's something to which I can relate. Even if (especially if) it involves butter.

And so Christian is shirtless. He's wearing an old pair of my cutoff cotton sweat pants and is leaning on me with his back to my chest. His auburn hair is damp, and I enjoy touselling his unruly waves and massaging his scalp. With his eyes fixed on the story, he purrs softly. Touch is what I've missed more than anything, and will continue to miss once Christian flies away to France.

There's going to be a time, soon, when I'll lay here on my sofa, thinking of Christian, far away at school in Europe, and willing myself not to cry. That devastated feeling of my man having discarded us will approach me again. It's something I don't wish to repeat. My mind is never far from Evgeny, being that the last time I heard his voice or looked upon him was eighteen years ago. As I touch Christian and watch a film I've seen several times, my mind wanders…

In the first weeks after my Master abandoned the U.S. for Russia, I made excuses for him. "He's just settling back in; he'll write or call." Months went by, but nothing. My birthday came and went. Of course he knew my date of birth, having completed competition rosters enough times on my behalf. Christmas, Valentine's Day… no phone call, no card, nothing. High school graduation… nothing. I asked Agnessa and Maxim if he ever wrote. Agnessa gave me her disappointed sour expression and called me zhalkiy ('pathetic' in Russian), reporting with a dismissive wave, "No, glupyy ('stupid'). Evgeny gone."

Yeah. Apparently so.

Even now, with beautiful Christian in my arms, I cannot stop thinking of the man who forever poisoned me with need for him. For power and pain. I still haven't stopped hoping he would come back for me. With no money to go looking for him in his own country, the idea continues to be mere fantasy. The first time I did have money for such an undertaking, ironically, was after I married Linc.

Don't think I haven't considered it, taking the old man's money and going on a search for my deserting Master. I've devised a hundred stories for Linc, about having to visit my ailing babushka (grandmother) in the old country, amongst other tall tales, but never have I had the nerve to expand the lie and buy a plane ticket. It's too late now. I'm thirty-something, not seventeen any longer. Master won't want me.

Christian is the first real hope of healing I've known.

Playing with Christian's hair, I realize his incredible appeal for me. He's what I was, years ago when I was a fifteen-year-old competitive dancer; young, fresh, capable of being moulded into the perfect plaything, and a willing one at that. Christian is not yet an adult man, but when he is, I doubt he will have the same appeal for me. He will be a threat, one who can abandon and hurt me. A platonic friendship will need to resume once Christian has reached full adulthood.

In addition to the financial security, I married Linc to provide a shield from having my heart broken ever again. So far, a frozen heart is better than a tortured one. But right now, Christian is the perfect candidate for me and what I need. He will remain perfect for, oh, maybe another five or six years. Then I'll let him loose to practice his learned skills. And I'll love to hear the stories of his subs and their scenes, the voyeur in me loving every detail. Christain and I will always have our ties that bind. Pun intended.

Permanent separation won't happen with Christian and I for that very reason. Where-ever life takes us, whomever he meets, whatever promises he makes to her, I know…know with my full heart and soul…that Christian will always long for his Elena inside the private silence of himself. With each private episode, I will ingrain myself further into him. It's my intention to cast that certainty into rock solid permanence before the inevitable future even tries to interfere.

And it will try. Of that I have no doubt. Some girlie will try. But I got here first…and he will be poisoned by me like I am by my Master.

The word 'Master' is the same in Russian, incidentally.

The movie finishes, and the sense of loss washes over me, just as it does every time I see Brando where he lays mortally wounded on that balcony.

"You leave next week," I say, my thoughts summarized rhetorically.

"Yeah. Grace has a family vacation to Cabo planned before I leave for France. We leave a week from today."

I smile ruefully. "So. You're hereby giving one week notice."

He looks at me. "Yes. But I hope you'll have me back. I like working for you."

"I like you working for me too. You're welcome anytime, my darling. You've been an amazing help. Thank you for all you've done."

"It was easy for me, getting the business computerized," he smiles. "I've learned a lot and got to spend time with you."

I lean down and take Christian's earlobe between my lips and murmur, "I'm gonna miss you, baby. Thanks for being here tonight. And for being my special friend."

He turns over to sit facing me. He pauses thoughtfully before saying, "I've got a job for you, El."

My interest is piqued, particularly with his sultry tone.

"Oh yes? What can I do for you?"

Facing me, he brings warm hands slowly and assuredly to my shoulders and collar bones, stroking lightly. His fingers are under the thin straps of my camisole, bringing them apart and over my shoulders. The silky camisole slides over my breasts and down to my waist. The straps keep my arms to my sides.

Christian loves my breasts, and I cannot deny him, particularly when separation is looming so near. He plays, capturing and gently twisting, keeping eye contact always. Somehow he just knows the way. This is not something I've had to teach him.

He says, "I love how your heartbeat quickens when I do this, El."

My consciousness is slipping away under the perfection of his hands. I lean back and let him explore.

"You're good, Christian, so good… for one so young," I breathe. "So, what is it you want from me?"

He continues, looking me over, slowly licking his perfect lips, then watching his hands work.

"I want you to get with Grace and have a project completed. When I return from France at the Christmas break, the boathouse needs to be renovated and ready."

In my blossoming sexual dreamstate I recall the Grey's boathouse. It's a cottage-like clapboard structure located maybe one hundred yards from the main house, at the end of a winding brick paver path, over the elevated patio and down across a meadow to the edge of the water. My daytime recollection presented a lonely, empty little white structure set on the edge of the Puget Sound.

The last time I saw the small, two-story white wood-framed boathouse, it wasn't much more than the name implied. The first story consisted of a 'garage' enclosing a sparkling new speedboat bobbing on the water inside the tiny sheltered inlet. The remainder of the first floor housed various boating equipment, ropes, life vests, a canoe and oars, a granite-countered kitchen and sink, and a small full bath with shower. A wooden stairway led to the second story, which to my knowledge, has always been used for holiday decoration storage.

Christian's fingers work expertly, rolling and kneading slowly, sensuously, handling me beautifully. My heavy lids lift to find his beautiful face raised, lips parted to hint at perfect teeth, his breathing deep. His gray eyes are on my mouth and then drifting down to his hands. I would do anything he asked, he's so good. And so dear.

His voice is hypnotic.

"We need our own place, El. Not that room upstairs at the warehouse, where you take him. It's not private enough. And when I picture it in my mind, that Welsh fucker is there with you. I know you had him there last night."

Tony. He's still jealous of Tony. "Christian, please…"

He pinches and twists little harder, igniting my fire higher. All I can do is release a speechless gasp.

"Tell me. Confess it, El. Last night, you had him up there. It's your Friday night tradition, isn't it?"

I couldn't speak. Christian's spell and what he could do to me….

"Give it, El. You are to tell me."

I gasped incoherently before confessing, "Yes. I did have him there." And I go into detail, feeling that as much as it inflames Christian's jealousy, more so, he thrives on it.

"Tony, he's a stallion," I tell him. "He was in supreme form last night…."

Christian's beautiful face is a mask of arousal.

What I hold back is that there is no heart between Tony and I. That's because my heart is with Christian. My fantasies, my obsession. The truth is too much to confess to anyone. I've learned the hard way about giving too much of myself to a man whose nature lusts control and power.

"Right, El, it was Tony last night. Can you imagine what that does to me? Picturing you with him? What you do together in that room?" Christian is gently gasping as he too confesses. "I come fucking buckets thinking about it. Imagining you with him."

He's almost hurting me, but not quite. I love what he's doing, intensely.

"But when I return from school, El, it's going to be me. And we need our own place. Somewhere I can meet you easily and privately."

Christian comes in closer, never stopping his expert young hands, his mouth and hot breath now on my neck. Oh my god…

"When I return at the Christmas break," he murmurs, "the boathouse will be finished and ready. New Year's Eve will be an incredible event at my house, ringing in the year 2000." He keeps working my body and I'm anywhere but down here on Earth. "You're going to do with me what you do with your Welsh fucktoy. And don't let me think for a second you're holding back when you're with me."

Oh, I won't…

His kisses ascend up my neck to my ear as he continues his sensual assault on my breasts. My hands, I realize, are on his hips and fully aware of his straining arousal.

His mouth and tongue trail along my jaw toward my mouth, and I feel I'm going to explode under his incandescent intensity.

"Yes, baby," I tell him. "It will be beautiful. Private, fresh and luxurious."

He kisses my lips expertly, tantalizingly, then praises me. "Good, El. So good. The boathouse is what I want."

"I can't wait to get started. And to have you there, Christian."
He has what he wants, and brings me gradually down from my sexual stratosphere. I don't want to acknowledge that he's adept at manipulating me too.

A while later we're laying on my bed, wrapped in one another, the lamplight low. He reminds me not to let him fall asleep. It's gone midnight, and our time is running short. We're silent, enjoying one another's warmth. He needs to take off running back home before his parents return from the post symphony late-supper, and I have maybe an hour before Linc's car weaves drunkenly up the drive, hopefully not running over the lighted lanterns flanking the pavement - again.

I'm brainstorming about the boathouse. This is just what I need. A diversion, a project, to get me through until I see Christian again. It can be a guesthouse too, a very charming one for visitors who want romance and privacy. Oh the possibilities!

"I need someone to do the building and renovations," I think aloud.

"Use Elliott. Grace and Carrick are making him do something by way of a carrer. Elliott would be content spending his time being a layabout, but they forced him to choose a career. He needs apprenticeship hours for this tradeschool program Carrick found for him. Get a professional builder to oversee the boathouse project. Talk to Carrick, settle on a general contractor, and make a deal that he takes on Elliott as his apprentice."

"What if Elliott doesn't want to work with the general contractor? What if he's bullshitting your parents about doing that as a career?"

"Elliott owes you a favor for keeping me here when I was puking bourbon that night, doesn't he?" Christian nods. "Yeah, this settles it, El. Everybody's happy. Both my parents get a project done, and they arrange apprenticeship hours for Elliott. He gains experience, we get the boathouse done, we get our own place, private and away from the road and the house."

"You know Elliott is going to want to use it every chance he can get too."

"That's fine when I'm away at school. Don't worry; I'll see to it that he's away at New Year's eve, maybe at our house in Aspen for a ski trip. He'll be glad to have the chalet all to himself, with Grace and Carrick occupied throwing a huge bash here," he laughs. "Elliott will have a fucking orgy at the ski chalet in Colorado."

I see his vision and how this is a win-win all around. "You're amazing, Christian. And a little diabolical."

"I know," he smiles.

"Put a phone in the boathouse," he adds. "Rule number one: no one comes down there without calling first. Especially Mia."

"Okay. I'll get on it tomorrow."

"Good," he says and glaces at my bedside clock. It's 12:30am. "I gotta go."

He changes back into his running clothes. I would drive him home, but if my Lexus is gone from the garage when Linc returns, there will be an avalanche of questions and I just don't want to deal with him tonight. He's a complete prick after a night of drinking.

I take Christian down to the kitchen and we linger at the back door, not exactly hugging and kissing, but communing in our own way. I kiss his hands and stroke his okay-to-touch areas. He sweeps a thumb across my lower lip and gives me a deep, gray gaze.

"Go. Run home," I tell him. "And be careful. Text me when you get there."

"Okay. Thank you for tonight. I liked the film. That French chick is hot."

I laugh in agreement. "I'm glad you watched it with me. And Christian, I'm missing you already."

"I'll come to work this week. My mother, you know, she will have my days scheduled with pre-departure plans. You'll see me a few times, but probably not any more than that."

The tears are trying to come up, but with years of practice I push them down again. At least he's saying goodbye. It's more than the last time I fell in love and was abandoned.

He leans in and kisses my lips. It's the sweetest kiss I've had in ages.

We hear the automatic garage door opening. Shit.

"Go." My hands release him reluctantly.

Christian dashes off in graceful running strides across the paved pool deck, and my sight loses him in the darkness.

True to his prediction, my time with Christian in the coming week is very limited. Grace has him scheduled every day. There's dinner downtown with his maternal grandparents and a visit to his ailing paternal grandmother's assisted living facility, consultation with both his parents' and the defendant's legal teams, and also telephone interviews with his French headmaster, teachers and coaches. A dental appointment. Vaccination updates. Clothes shopping…

By the close of the week my eyes are glazing over with his strictly scheduled activities.

In the meantime, Christian gives an iMac and Quickbooks data tutorial to me, to Tony, and to the Chinese graduate intern who's been seldom seen since our teen employee arrived to admirably perform the task of sorting us out with computer updating.

Friday afternoon, Grace arrives after close of office hours to whisk her son away for completion of final chores before they depart for their family holiday in Cabo.

"Elena, you are the most wonderful friend," Grace gushes as she hugs me. "Christian has adored working at Chic Salvage and so looks forward to assiting you and your charming partner," she adds with a lingering look at the posterior of Anthony who is just now up a ladder adjusting a display of antique wall sconces.

I hug her warmly back and reply, "He's been a tremendous help, Grace. Your son is welcome to return to us anytime."

Grace Trevelyan-Grey beams at the praise of her son, meanwhile jingling her car keys in haste to continue with their myriad of tasks. We all begin congregating near the door.

Grace says, "Christian suggested a delightful renovation project at our place. He immediately thought of your impeccable and unique sense of style to ensure a charming result. You've seen our boathouse, haven't you, Elena."

"Only briefly."

"Well, my son here is certain you can turn it into a cozy and romantic guesthouse suite, increasing the value of the property overall."

"He recommended me? How lovely of him," I benignly smile, noting Christian's crafty grin.

"Yes! Once our family has returned from Cabo and seen Christian off to France, you must come to the house for lunch. We will have a tour and discuss the details with Carrick."

I glance sideways to see Christian's self-satisfied smirk.

"Grace, I am eager to hear your ideas and to offer my assistance in any way I can provide it."

It's hug-hug, kiss-kiss as it's apparent that Christian will soon be gone.

"Darling," Grace gently warns her son, "time runs short. There's much to do this evening before we leave."

"Yes, Mom." His gray eyes glance at me continually, his thoughts obviously in the romantic boathouse suite upon the next time we'll see one another: New Year's Eve.

Tony comes down off the ladder to shake Christian's hand warmly and slap his arm. "Clever lad! Ta for all your help, mate."

"You're welcome, Mr. Sharpe."

"You mind yourself amongst them frogs, boyo. 'Specially the birds. Come back to us safe."

"Yes, sir," Christian nods and leans close to Tony adding something we ladies aren't meant to share.

Then Christian comes to me, his back to his mother.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Lincoln," he says, his smoldering gray eyes full of meaning.

"Goodbye, Christian. I'll be thinking of you and looking forward to having you back."

"Not to worry," he says softly during an embrace, "you'll have me." He takes my hand in a slow, lingering shake. I'll cry later, I chide myself. Not now.

His mother meanwhile is unexpectedly lost in conversation with the delectable Anthony.

"What did you say to Tony?" I whisper to Christian, my eyes narrowed.

"I only said, 'Take care of her for me.' Maybe he thinks I meant the warehouse. I didn't."

He takes me in his arms for a second brief embrace, also unnoticed by his dazzled mother.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Lincoln. And thank you."

"Good bye, Christian. Keep in touch."

And I watch until he and his mother are through the front doors of the warehouse and gone.

True to all plans, the boathouse is renovated to gorgeous perfection. Upstairs is a charmingly romantic small bedroom and adjoining sitting room, furnished in warm tones of off-white and decorated with whimsical antique accents selected from Chic Salvage. A rustic cast iron wood stove adds intimate warmth to the insulated cottage. Skylights and casement windows admit the mellow seaside breeze coming off the Puget Sound. The full bath also is recipient to an overhaul, tiled beautifully by a local craftsman friend of Tony's.

Both Grace and Carrick are elated with the result, and being that my strict timeline afforded completion by the first week in December, all curious friends and relatives have already enjoyed a viewing by the time New Year's Eve is upon us. Christian has been at home since Christmas Eve, monopolized by his family (understandably) as they take a short skiing trip and then a day of snowmobiling together. He and I exchange texts often and eagerly.

Finally, New Year's Eve is upon us. The Grey's have arranged a formal affair inside the main house. Both inside and out, the Grey's mansion is richly decorated as only Grace can imagine. The exterior is beautifully illuminated in holiday lighting, lending visual warmth to the crisp December air. A light flurry of snow whirls beyond the lofty windows.

As guests mingle and enjoy their evening, all partake liberally of the champagne flutes circulated about he room by the attractive, uniformed staff. The formal band plays and guests dance. Christian and I share a cursory greeting before he's drawn away to talk with eager guests of his first months at school in Lyon, France.

From afar I gaze at how beautiful a man he's becoming, dressed well in dinner jacket and tie, having grown in height considerably as well as filled out through chest and shoulders. More manly than boyish now, his manners and interactions with guest speak of confidence and charming ease.

He very apparently hasn't forgotten what we are to one another. His grey eyes flick to me at every oppotunity. Although there are many appreciative gazes from female guests of all ages, it's me his eyes linger upon. It's me he wishes to stand near. Several times he breaks away from conversation and draws me into his arms to dance, breathing a sigh of relief that he's finally fully at ease. Meanwhile I'm anxious for what the night will bring. His voice is deeper than the last time I heard it.

Finally, as the hour before midnight wastes and Linc wanders away into heavy, drunken conversation with a semi-rival business aquaintance, Christian's hand gently comes to my shoulder from behind. The five piece band continues to play. Throngs of dancing guests have been consuming champagne or their chosen spirit for hours. No one is entirely coherent; except for Christian and I. I've avoided consuming alcohol all evening, wishing for my senses to be completely intact for what I anticipate. Separately, Christian and I know where is evening will lead.

"El, soon perhaps you'll join me for a stroll," he asks.

"Whenever you say," I smile. "I've missed you."

He takes me in his arms to dance and I so want to kiss him. Right here. Right now.

He says, "I have a surprise planned. They'll be here any minute. Wait."

"What surprise? What's it for?"

"It's for us. A diversion."

I look at him curiously but remain in his arms, swaying beautifully to the music.

"Here they are," says Christian.

I look around to see unknown gentlemen entering through the front doors. They greet a number of guests jovially, apparently known to many, and remove their overcoats with the help of two devoted assistants. Four of the men have instrument cases. The new group makes their way through the crowd to join the band.

Within a few minutes, the band now has a horn section and a handsome singer. I watch, entranced, as they strike up a perfect rendition of Sinatra's "Come Fly With Me", and the uncannily talented singer would have me swear Ol' Blue Eyes himself has joined the Grey's party. Everyone is transfixed, then dancing like, well, like it's 1999. Because it is.

Christian takes my hand and leads me through the dancing and drinking bodies, along corridors, and away from the captivated partygoers.
"Where is your coat?" he asks.

"Upstairs in a bedroom. Buried under other coats," I reply.

Christian leads me along another corridor and opens a closet door, pulling out a men's woolen coat. "It's one of Elliott's," he tells me, "better than nothing."

In winter coats, Christian leads me out the back of the house and away across the brick paver patio, along pathways and over the grassy hills towards twinkling lights on the water and the boathouse.

"It will be warm inside," he says. "I dashed out of the party a while ago and got a fire started in the wood stove."

"Christian, you are so smart it scares me sometimes."

He smiles and holds my hand tightly in his. Our breath is frozen vapor as we walk along the paver paths.

"Tell me, Christian. Did you hire that Sinatra singing impersonator and horn section just to divert everyone's attention so we could make our getaway?"

"Yes," he grins. "I made the suggestion to Carrick. He loves Sinatra. It's a gift to Grace."

"And its a gift to me," I say as we arrive to the boathouse.

He opens the door for me and I enter.

"Then it's a selfish gift that I gave you, El." He leans down and kisses me, wrapping his arms around me.

"I have something for you. For when you return this summer." I give him my gift of two tickets to see Metallica this June. I know they're a favorite of his.

"You're amazing, El. Thank you."

He's pulling the hem of my blouse from my skirt.

I lock the door.

"Let's go upstairs," I tell him.

He takes my hand and leads me up to the loft.

There, I hold nothing back. Nor does he. All of the passionate energy held at bay these many months is given full reign. Before the stroke of midnight, his body and soul are mine, and as the new millenium arrives, his virginity is cast into the recesses of the forgotten. Tonight I enjoy Christian for the first of many times to come.

The End

Special thanks to:

The Fifty Shades of Grey series (all four books but particularly Grey) by E.L. James

The car guys and computer geeks in my life who lended their knowledge and opinions.

My family, for once again sharing me with an intrusive writing compulsion.

And of course, to all of you who enjoyed Elena L. Being bad can be oh so good… JLN