Okay, all you lascivious readers, here's some meat to go with your potatoes.

I'm just going to be uploading this one chapter tonight. And, thanks to the impending blizzard, I'll be updating tomorrow in the middle of the day. I hope everyone's okay with that, because I don't have internet in my apartment (another big problem for me) and won't be venturing out after dinner. Hell, my dinner plans might have to be cancelled for all I know. They changed the forecast today from 5-8" of snow to 10-15" and I've seen at least one weather model that projects as much as 30". JEEZ.

Anyway, thank you all for reading, following, favoriting, reviewing! As of right now there's been over 4500 views! I'm flabbergast by the response.

WARNING: This story is rated M for a reason. Not recommended for the faint of heart (although if you're reading a
Fifty Shades fanfic on the internet, you've likely got a pretty strong constitution).

Chapter 31

I'm all trussed up and waiting. The blindfold is smooth and cool against my face. I don't know how long he's going to make me wait. The zip tie binding my hands together in front of me around the bedpost reminds me of Christian's first visit to the hardware store. I feel immensely turned on. The wetness in my panties is evidence of that.

I hear bare footsteps and arch my back slightly. The air eddies around my naked breasts deliciously, hardening my nipples. Not knowing what he's doing around me makes me feel so naughty and horny.

Suddenly, I feel a sharp slap on my ass. I turn my head to face him with a big smile.

And then he slaps my face. Hard. My head bounces against the bedpost.

This isn't right. I feel my heart race. I'm not aroused anymore. I'm just scared.

"Red," I cough. I feel the blindfold dampen from my sudden tears. "Red, red."

He grabs the back of my head with one hand and presses it against the post. It's rough against my face and when I try to shift out of his grip, I scrape my face against its uneven, hard surface. With his other hand, he struggles with my panties.

"Stop squirming, slut."

Oh, Jesus, It's not Christian.

"Ana, wake up!" Christian grasps my face with both hands. He slaps his hand firmly against one cheek to bring me out of my nightmare.

My eyes shoot open. "Don't touch me!" I yell and push myself off him, flailing.

It takes a few moments for me to realize I was dreaming. The hurt in Christian's face is monumental and I feel a profound sense of remorse flood over me.

My breathing is still uneven and labored. My heart is beating a mile a minute and I can't find my voice to tell him I didn't mean it.

"You were screaming in your sleep, Anastasia." His voice is barely more than a whisper.

Finally, I regain my composure. "I'm sorry, Christian. I... It was a horrible dream." That's all the explanation I can give right now.

I crawl back over to Christian finally, who looks to have been almost as terrified by the dream as I feel, and he coils his arms around me.

"Only sweet and lovely dreams from now on, Mrs. Grey," he murmurs in my ear. "We're going on a trip."

I notice we're not in Seattle anymore. We're at a gas station off the interstate, though I don't know where. Taylor's pumping gas and I can see through the tinted window that it's nighttime. I must have been asleep for a while.

"Where's everybody else? Where are we going, Mr. Grey?" I ask, stifling my yawn.

He kisses my neck. "They're all staying at my parents' house. The police have set up a 24-hour detail. But, you said you've never been to New York, so..."

I smile widely as I drift calmly back to sleep, feeling safe once more.

When I wake, the car is parked. I smile up at my husband, intently looking out the window. I follow his gaze.

"What are we doing in San Francisco?" I ask. "I thought we were going to New York."

He squeezes me and says, "We are, but I didn't want to risk flying out of Sea-Tac. The jet is meeting us at SFO." He plants a quick kiss on my forehead. "Hungry?"

I'm starving. I look at my watch: it's 7am! I've been sleeping forever and haven't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. Even then, our lunch had been unceremoniously cut short. I nod my head.

"Taylor's buying us some fresh clothes right now. We can head to the hotel to shower and order some room service. How does that sound?"

I smile and plop a kiss on his chin.

"Sounds great."

Taylor climbs back into the car and takes us to the Mandarin Oriental.

We check in and are led up to our suite. The view is unbelievable. There's a huge balcony that wraps around the building with lounge chairs artfully arranged to enjoy the entire skyline.

Christian dutifully wraps my cast in a plastic garbage bag and we take a hot shower together. Even though I know we have another two and a half weeks until we can have sex, it doesn't keep me from enjoying his hands over my skin as he suds me up. He stands behind me and tells me to keep absolutely still as he cups both my breasts, running his hands over my ribcage and down my stomach to my hips. It's taking everything I've got not to arch my back, knowing it will only hurt. His touch is so sure and satisfying that I find myself panting. Both hands run around to caress my ass and I groan.

I feel his progress halt and he goes to remove his hands entirely. I cover his hands with mine and squeeze. There's a dull ache from my hip where my fracture was, but I ignore it completely. I need this.

"Ana," he chastises me but I turn around so our bodies are flush against each other. His erection presses against my good hip. He reaches up and pulls at my chin to release my lower lip from my teeth.

"We can't," he says. But there's no power behind his words.

"Uh huh." I run my hands through his wet, curly hair and pull his head down to mine, kissing him. Our tongues touch sensually and he presses me against him, squeezing both ass cheeks, lifting me off the ground and against the wall of the shower. I close my eyes and throw my head back as he runs his mouth down my neck, mad with impatience.

"Oh, God," I say. I can feel myself poised on a precipice. The last month and a half has been agonizing. Every touch, every look, every moment with my husband has been foreplay for this moment. It's so erotic that I'm set to burst already. "I've missed this."

He slows himself and looks into my eyes. He lowers me slowly so I'm standing, his hands still cupping my rear. All I can hear is our labored breathing and the water as it cascades over us. I silently urge him not to stop. Every fiber of my being is ready for this and I don't care what anyone says — nothing can heal me more than this release, to be one with my loving, adoring, fifty shades of fucked up husband.

"I'm not going to fuck you," he says, serious.

And like that, my heart breaks. "No." It nearly brings tears to my eyes. This is cruel.

His eyes darken. Not breaking eye contact with me, he slowly slides his hands up my ass, around my hips, and down to my thighs. I catch my breath. Only his hands are touching me, inching their way up the inside of my thighs. His touch is so light. The water streams from his fingers, warm and seductive.

"I'm not going to fuck you." I have no idea how, but this completely unsexy sentence, which seemed so cruel just seconds ago, now turns me on. It's somewhere between a proposition and a threat.

His finger tips trace the curves of my sex, teasing and intimidating. "Please," I say. I lean forward to try to kiss him, but he pulls back. I move my hands to touch him and he uses his left to pin them above my head.

"Please what?" he asks softly.

"Please, sir." This is so tender.

Holding me in place with his stare, he eases his fingers inside of me and I let out a guttural moan. This closeness has been missing from my life too long. I want this feeling to last forever. None of my aches and pains register anymore. All I am is his touch and his eyes. I lose myself in this.

His pace is so comfortable and unhurried, it's staggering, his fingers moving in a rhythm with our breath. He's simply enjoying my pleasure and there's absolutely no rush in that. He's basking in the slowness of it, absorbing my experience. I feel him drawing me ever closer to the edge. I want to look away, to hide this secret, undignified part of me, but I'm utterly transfixed. His power over me is undeniable.

"Please, sir." I feel my cheeks redden.

He pulls my arms just ever so slightly higher above my head and my body stretches exquisitely in response.

"Please, Christian," I plead.

His breath hitches. "Let go," he mouths and he rubs the pad of his thumb squarely into my core.

My body reacts instantly, rocketing through my orgasm. I keep my eyes open, staring back into his as I come for what feels like minutes. He never ceases his ministrations and I feel myself pushed over the edge again, crying out, never stopping to rest. Our eye contact makes all of it more intimate, more intense. I've never felt closer to him than in this moment, knowing he sees everything about me. I can't hide anything from him like this. My body is completely honest with him.

And then, as I'm easing back down to earth, I start to feel the pain.

My body is still pulsing around his fingers when I feel the first pang in my hip. He pulls his hand away and licks his fingers, never looking away. Now I feel pain shoot down my leg to my toes. He releases my hands and I feel as though I've been stabbed between my ribs. I close my eyes and take a steadying breath. It's all in my head, I intone. This will pass.

But it doesn't. Each lingering spasm of pleasure wracks my body, finding a new injury to awaken. I take another breath through my nose and breathe it out between my teeth. Aw, hell, my aching ass! It feels like I've been hit by a truck.

When I double over in pain, Christian turns off the water and swears loudly.

He picks me up, carrying me dripping and naked to the bed. He digs through my purse to find my pain pills, grabs a bottle of water from the wet bar, and comes back to me.

"Sit up, take this." I do as I'm told and look up at him. I do not feel as awful as I did when I woke up in the hospital — not by a long shot — but this is not the post-orgasmic afterglow I generally enjoy, either.

"I shouldn't have done that," he says. "I'm sorry."

He's holding me in his arms, a shamed and worried look on his face. I laugh softly at him. "I'm not. Thank you. I needed that more than you know." He smooths my hair away from my face and gently kisses my lips.

"It was fun," he admits. "You are so incredibly hot when you come for me."