A/N: I can't believe we're actually here. I started my first story a month ago and still cannot believe that I'm here—finishing this.

I don't mind reading BDSM, but I just realized when writing this chapter that I don't enjoy writing it. I should probably put a disclaimer somewhere…haha. I don't have a problem with it at all, and I do understand how people can find the pleasure, but it's just a very long process to write—describing everything is just very tasking, especially considering that I'm doing a rewrite, which those particular scenes anyone could be found in the first book if you so wish to really read it. The most that I am interested in writhing the Fifty Shades Realm is the plot, and I know some of you may actually enjoy reading those particular scenes, but I kind of find them a little boring…haha… The only thing I want to rewrite is the punishments—there is a lot of darkness I want to explore and write, not for the pleasure and not because I want to glorify abusing people or women (ABSOLUTELY NOT), but just to describe Ana's thoughts and her overall feelings of the entire thing. We'll have to see what happens in the future though!~

Also, I wanted to start something new called "Song[s] of the Chapter." You all don't have to do it, but a lot of the music I listen to really set the mood and tone for my writing—you know, to channel how I would feel in the situation when I put myself in Ana's shoes. It's how I am able to know what I want to express; music is powerful! If you want, give my music a listen as you read! The lyrics, the composition, and the melodies of the music I listen to while writing embody what this final chapter expresses.

Songs of the Chapter:

Ruby Blue | Sleeping at Last

Breathe Again | Sara Bareilles

Thank you so much for the support, and welcome to the final chapter of Fifty Shades Forgotten.~


Most of the young surgeon's final day in San Francisco was reuniting with her former boss—Dr. Mary Hawn—at her university. Pleased and proud at the same time, her old boss opened her arms lovingly to congratulate Anastasia on her progress and success, questioning how well she was doing and her medical discovery. Other fellow attendings came in and joined in the conversation, excited to meet with the young surgeon. It ended on good note as she had a final dinner with her boss, in which Dr. Hawn paid for in honor of Dr. Steele's Catherine Fox nomination. Before catching her flight, she did one last thing and grabbed a souvenir of a plane model that resembled the Blanik L-23, smiling at its similar resemblance.

The other residents and Andrew Deluca were huddled in a group, walking with the brunette to their gate back to Seattle.

"Did you check your score?" Dr. Deluca asked quietly, making sure not to let the other residents hear because some of them failed.

Anastasia kept a poker face to hide her achievement, "Did you pass?"

"I did." His eyes were wide and worried for the young surgeon, asking carefully and murmuring more quietly, "Did you?..."

Looking around to make sure nobody else heard or saw, the brunette smiled shyly, "You are looking at the world's youngest, board-certified cardiothoracic surgeon."

Andrew opened his mouth and gave her his biggest bear hug, "Oh, thank god. You had me worried for a second." At arm's length, he pulled back and rubbed her arms gently, "I knew you could do it!"

"I knew we could do it, Andrew!" She corrected with a giggle. "I told you we would be the four out of five people to pass the boards."

He shook his head, heading towards the gate, "I should've known better than to doubt a Catherine Fox—"

"Stop," the brunette interrupted with a hand in Dr. Deluca's face. "You have got to stop with that," she laughed, rolling her luggage into first class.

Rolling his eyes with a grin, he surrendered with a sigh, "Fine, fine. I was just going to mention—I'm going to go have dinner with Meredith once we land, so this might be the last we see each other until Monday."

"Oh, right." The young surgeon turned around and suddenly felt inclined to hug her fellow companion—and she did so, quickly, as she muttered in their hug, "Thanks for having my back and helping me study, Andrew."

"Thanks for having mine. Congratulations to us and our careers, Ana," Dr. Deluca smiled proudly, letting her go. He waved as she rolled herself into the entrance of the plane, heading to her seat.

Curling up in the cushiony, leather seats of first-class luxury, Anastasia pulled her phone out and quickly inputted the plane's Wi-Fi connection onto her phone. Staring at her phone in desperation, the brunette tried figuring out what to say to her dominant. She was filled with so many emotions over the past few days they had been together, with and without him. She had more, and she convinced Christian of wanting more as well, but more was just the first step into capturing his heart. She wanted his love, and she wanted Christian Grey to love her.

It was easy being his, but on the some basic level, Anastasia wanted to be loved by him, the acknowledgement of being cherished the way she felt for him—a deep-seated compulsion of passion and love, and she wanted that reciprocation or simply to know if those feelings existed in him.

Towards the beginning of their ordeal, from unofficial dominant and submissive to a "more" relationship, the BDSM attraction was a distraction to what she truly wanted, the truest issue of her feelings. Although she enjoyed pleasing him and didn't mind the more "exotic" approaches to their sexual adventures, his acts were meaningless without his love. Yes, he was wealthy, beautiful, and (sometimes) kind; but she couldn't continue pursuing their relationship without knowing if it would work out, for her at least.

She had many doubts that he was unable to love her, but he had proven himself many times into making her think otherwise. The thing she thought was, Could he ever love me? Could he admit it? First, did he love me? The only time he had felt true love was with that evil witch, and it was in a way he thought was "acceptable."

Christian's words echoed and haunted her, It's very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you're not perfect.

His self-deprecation and self-loathing was saddening, and she wanted to wrap him up in her arms, cocooning him in her love. Why was he so dark? The brunette felt as though they were almost there, where things would be easier without suffering or feeling the threat from the fears of losing one another. And what did I say in my sleep? She was wondering if she admitted or spilled any secrets, things she wasn't supposed to say yet. Did I say it in my sleep? That would be a comedic, tragic way of revealing my feelings.

She sighed at her phone and began typing.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Homeward Bound

Date: May 18, 2018 17:12

To: Christian Grey

Dearest Mr. Grey,

I am once again placed in first class, for which I thank you, again. I am counting the minutes until I see you this evening and perhaps torturing the truth out of you about my nocturnal, subconscious thoughts.

Your Ana x

Dr. Anastasia R. Steele

Cardiothoracic Surgeon, Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Homeward Bound

Date: May 18, 2018 17:17

To: Anastasia Steele

Anastasia,

I look forward to seeing you.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Anastasia stared at his response, biting her lip and frowning. She read it in his voice many times and in different tones, trying to figure out his mood. It was worse trying to figure out his emotions when she couldn't even see him.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Your Situation?

Date: May 18, 2018 17:19

To: Christian Grey

There is Wi-Fi on the plane, sir. So, you needn't be short with me if that is what you're worried about.

Are you okay, Christian?

Dr. Anastasia R. Steele

Cardiothoracic Surgeon, Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital

From: Christian Grey

Subject: The situation could be better

Date: May 18, 2018 17:12

To: Anastasia Steele

It's amazing how technology advances before us more quickly than we can.

I miss you and your smart mouth, Miss Steele.

I want you safely home. And I really want you to kiss me among letting me do other things.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: I wish it went better

Date: May 18, 2018 17:12

To: Christian Grey

I miss you too, Mr. Grey.

I'd kiss you if I could. I'll be home soon. Wait for me.

Ana x

Dr. Anastasia R. Steele

Cardiothoracic Surgeon, Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital

Anastasia was glad that things between them were fine, but clearly there was something upsetting him, and she wished that she made the impulsive decision to fly out earlier and see him as a surprise like he had.

Hold on, Christian. Wait for me, her thoughts urged as she buckled her seatbelt and closed her eyes.

Two hours and thirty minutes later, Anastasia emerged from the Sea-Tac arrivals terminals, finding Taylor waiting with a board of her name that read Miss A. Steele.

The brunette made a face and grinned, saluting him as her eyes locked onto his. He smiled gently, repeating the same gesture.

"It's nice to see you, Taylor."

"Miss Steele," the tall man greeted formally, but she could see the lightness in his eyes. He looked his usual, composed self—smartly, dressed charcoal suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie.

Referring to the board with a pointed finger, the doctor said, "This wasn't completely necessary, Taylor. You don't need a board, not with both of us knowing what we look." She giggled and smiled gently, "And I do wish you'd call me, Ana."

"Ana, can I take your bags, please?"

She shook her head and began walking out with him, "It's alright. I'll manage, but thank you."

His lips tightened perceptibly, and she glanced and corrected herself quickly, "Not unless you would be more comfortable taking them?"

Taylor nodded, grabbing her luggage, "Thank you." Gesturing with his head, he instructed, "This way, ma'am."

They walked in silence to the airport parking lot, heading to the black Audi SUV. He held the door open for her before she could reach and open it herself. She clambered inside the vehicle, adjusting her dress. It was the same black dress from yesterday, but Christian's unexpected plans derailed their date. She had been given many looks the entire day, as people stared down the deep v-line of the dress's cleavage. She slumped in her seat, thinking sadly, Maybe it was a bad idea to wear this. This dress is a bit revealing. She only wanted to make him happy, and the dress made her feel good about herself—just not the attention that came with it, unless it was Christian's.

The journey to Escala was slow, caught up in the rush hour traffic. Taylor kept his eyes on the road ahead, neither talking nor making any eye contact. Unable to bear the silence any longer, the brunette asked, "How is Christian doing, Taylor?"

"Mr. Grey is preoccupied, Miss Steele."

Miss Steele, again? I guess formalities will be something I have to get used to. "Preoccupied, you say?"

"Yes, ma'am." Anastasia frowned at Taylor, and he glanced at her in the rear-view mirror, eyes meeting. The look in his eyes showed that the information was classified and confidential.

One final question, and you don't have to answer anymore. "Is he okay?"

"I believe so, ma'am."

The surgeon nodded her head, relieved to hear. Weaving her hair with her fingers, she asked, "Are you more comfortable calling me Miss Steele, Taylor?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The curtains of their conversation ended, but the silence was suffocating and unbearable. Unsure if it was because their relationship was too casual for Christian's liking, the young doctor believed that he may have been embarrassed for getting too comfortable, making it seem as if he were disloyal to his boss.

I can't take this. "Taylor, do you mind playing some music?"

"Not at all, ma'am. What would you like to hear?"

Anastasia smiled at her little inside joke, "Enlighten me, sir."

The surgeon could see a smile play on Taylor's lips as their eyes locked in the mirror again. "Yes, ma'am," he said softly, pushing a few buttons on the steering wheel before the gentle strains of Pachelbel's canon filled the space between them.

About a half an hour later, Taylor dropped her outside the entrance to Escala. With the car still on, he left his side and quickly rushed over to the surgeon's door as she unbuckled her seatbelt. He explained, "I'll drop you off here and bring your luggage up to you, Miss Steele." The expression on his face was soft and warm—avuncular, even.

Uncle Taylor, her thoughts warmly rang from the idea. He'd make a good dad, really.

Stepping her heels onto the pavement, Anastasia smiled up at him, "Thank you for meeting with me and picking me up, Taylor."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Steele," he responded back with a smile as she headed into the building.

Entering the complex, the brunette was met by a nodding and waving doorman. Her heart was beating as she approached and entered the elevator doors; she was minutes away from meeting him, and her heart was already beating nervously out of her chest. Her hand was placed at her breasts, and she began massaging her heart from the skin above her chest, feeling her hand warmly heat from her skin. The butterflies in her stomach had been unleashed while the numbers on the elevator increased by one until it reached thirty.

Riding up to the thirtieth floor, she was anxious—unsure of what Christian's mood and how he would react. I'm sure he's been stressed with work. He surely handles it in a very intimidating way.

The double doors of the elevator rang open and the light of his place illuminated the dim lighting of the platform she was in. She gasped quietly, staring inside. Come on. Move. She nodded to her thoughts, brushing her dress flatly with her hands and combing the waves of her dark locks with her fingers. She began walking into his apartment, examining the surroundings around her. Everything was still normal and consistent, as if time never moved or made a difference since she had last been there.

In the great room was Christian on his phone, talking quietly and lowly as he stared out of the panoramic window at the early evening Seattle skyline. From his tense posture, he looked agitated and even when he was upset, he was still the same beautiful man from yesterday—dressed in a gray suit with the jacket undone and a hand running through his hair. You're so beautiful, she thought with a swooning heart, drinking the sights of him in as she stood and waited patiently.

"No trace…" Christian said, while the final, echoing click of her heels grabbed his attention. "Okay…" He paused in the middle of his sentence, eyeing the girl's petite body up and down from her figure in her revealing, black dress. When his eyes reached hers, his demeanor changed—the tension in his body and the earlier expression on his face dissipated, becoming relaxed and relieved alongside with another powerful look. It was a look of sensual carnality, gray eyes blazing into her soul and making her body warm from his gaze.

"Keep me informed," he snapped, ending his phone call abruptly and tossing his phone on the couch. She stood paralyzed as he began striding purposefully toward her. The wolf was jumping towards his lamb, closing the distance between them as his gray eyes became more intense with each passing step.

His jacket was shrugged off, and then his tie was undone, slipping them on the ground in a fluid motion while he was en route to her. The dominant pulled her into his tight embrace and wrapped his arms around her warmly. He gripped all of her hair into his fist, bunching it into a ponytail and pulling it down as he tilted her head, more easily accessible and submissive for him to kiss. He claimed her lips like his life depended on it, pouring his passion and fervor down her mouth. There was desperation and primal quality to his act of sensuality; his body showed his need for her, which was alarming and arousing at the time.

Anastasia gasped, holding onto his face as she washed his mood and darkness away. With all the time she had spent with him, she had never felt so coveted and desired by him until now. She kissed him with equal intensity, letting the butterflies roam free in her body as her fingers twisted into his hair. With tongues entwined and wrapped around each other, the ardor fire within their bodies erupted. The taste from his mouth was just as addicting as the scent she inhaled from him. His mouth dragged away from hers, staring down into her warm, gold eyes. It was a look and emotion she had never recognized from him before.

"I'm home," she whispered sweetly against his lips. "Thank you for waiting."

"I'm glad you're back," Christian murmured, his arms slowly traveled up and down her body, as if examining the reality that she were there with him.

"What's wrong, Christian?" The brunette breathed, caressing his face.

"Shower with me—now." His statement was vague of any emotion other than pure want, and she couldn't figure out and decide if it was a request or a command.

She agreed silently with a nod, his warm hand grabbing onto hers, leading her out of the big living room, through his bedroom, and to his bathroom in a blink of an eye. Once there, he released her and turned on the running water of his spacious shower.

Turning slowly, he gazed at her with hooded eyes. "God, look at you…" Christian muttered. "This dress," he pointed out in a low voice, running his hands down her body slowly and hotly, "the heels you're in—you're a walking present just asking me to open you up, Miss Steele."

The dominant stepped out of his shoes and reached down to take his socks off, never breaking eye contact with her. She was rendered speechless by his overwhelming gaze and intimidating presence—the hungry look in his gray eyes. The brunette mirrored his actions, stepping out of her heels but was suddenly stopped as he reached for her and backed her body against the wall. She grunted as her petite body flung against the wall with his pressing body, lips immediately captured again by his. She felt the cool, tiled walls on her back, and he pushed himself further into her so her back would flatten against the chill of the ceramic wall. She was winded and lightheaded by the sudden force, but the vertigo feeling was kicking in by her increasing lustful need for him. Her arms tentatively reached up for his upper arms, squeezing them and evoking a groan from his kissing lips.

"I want you, now. Here. Fast. And hard," he breathed, panting quickly against her lips between each word. His hands were on her thighs and began pushing her dress up her body. "Are you still bleeding?"

"No," she flushed from him, leaning her head back against the wall and staring into his gray, hungry eyes.

"Good." His thumbs were then hooked over her black cotton panties, and she was immediately naked under her dress as he held her hips up, bent to his knees, and swiftly pulled her panties off her body.

Christian pushed her body back flatly against the wall, forcing her legs apart and letting her thighs sit on his shoulders. He began kissing the inside of her thighs, inching in closer as he pressed and massaged his thumbs into her. She groaned loudly, feeling his tongue whip and slash at her eager lips, circling the clitoris afterwards. Her stomach quivered and her body shook involuntarily to the feeling. Her fingers slid through his tousled hair and she gripped it hard as she moaned. His tongue was merciless—relenting, strong, and insistent on lavishing her sex. His tongue swirled around and around, continuously circling her lips without end, an exquisite intense feeling that almost hurt from the aggressive pleasure.

Once her body began to quicken from all the pleasure, he released her. She gasped as the cold replaced the hot feeling. No! Her breathing had become ragged from enduring his jaw-dropping pleasure, and she gazed down at him with hungry anticipation. He slipped back up and grabbed her face with both hands, holding her firmly and kissing her hard, tongue thrusted between her lips so she could taste her arousal.

"Please, Christian…" The brunette whispered against his lips as her hair fell onto his face.

Unzipping his fly from her seducing words, he freed his erection, grabbing the back of her thighs and lifting her. He commanded in a strained urgent voice, "Wrap your legs around me, baby."

Anastasia tightened and closed her legs around him as she followed his order, letting her arms wrap around his neck. And then, all at once, she was filled quickly and sharply. She opened her mouth, holding her breath from the thing she need the most. Christian gasped while the fingers dug into the soft cheeks from her behind. He thrusted into her, pushing in and out slowly at first and creating a steady, even tempo that caused her body to jerk up from his penetration. Within seconds, his control was relinquished and he sped faster and faster—jerking his hips into her deeply as she bounced onto his lap. Her eyes fluttered back while her head leaned against the door, letting him invade and consume her with a godly sensation. She was opening up again and falling apart—the rise of her body, the heat from pressed on her and in her, the muskiness and spice of his scent—it was all too much, and she began exploding around him. The brunette yelled out as she fell into the intensity of her orgasm, letting it consume her body and mind. He grunted and let out a deep growl from within his throat, burying his head into her neck as he filled her inside. He claimed her while the ropes of his semen filled her lips to the brim, groaning loudly and incoherently as he found his release.

Both of their breathing was all over the place and erratic, as if they forgot how to breathe as they were lost in the moment of their glow and euphoria. Christian moved himself in closer to her face, kissing her tenderly and sweetly. He was still deep within her, unmoving as he held her tightly in his arms while breathing warmly against her lips. Her vision was blurry but once her gold focus onto his gorgeous features, he slipped out of her, holding her in place to balance gently on the floor. The bathroom was now cloudy with the shower's steam, moist and hot.

"What an invitingly warm welcome, Mr. Grey." Anastasia commented with a shy smile, "One could say that you were really pleased to see me."

His lips quirked, "Yes, Miss Steele, I think my pleasure is pretty self-evident." He began undoing the first few buttons of his shirt before removing the cufflinks and tugging it over his head. He then removed his suit pants and boxer briefs, kicking them to the side. She watched him in admiration, smiling and yearning to be in his warm arms and naked body. He smiled gently at her and pulled her dress at the sides, letting it pool at her feet as it fell.

"How was your flight?" Christian asked softly, appearing to be more relaxed and calm.

Still breathless, she murmured, "As good as the first time—thank you for first class, again. I hate to admit it, but it sure is a nice way to travel." She rubbed her lips together, combing her sex-hair with her fingers. Speaking nervously, she stated, "I have some news."

"Oh?" He looked up as he pulled the dress from under her feet and discarded it in a pile with his clothes.

The surgeon bit her lip as she smiled, "I passed my certification exam."

Gray eyes beamed at her and he smiled, reaching around and hugging her warmly, "Congratulations, Ana." He leaned down and rewarded her news with a long, slow kiss, blissfully and contently listening to the running water. He breathed gently, pulling at her biting lip with his thumb, "I knew how much this meant to you, and I always knew you had it in you. You never disappoint."

"Thank you, Mr. Grey." Anastasia blushed, treading carefully and nervously to the next topic, "I also got offered a job."

His face went blank. "You have a job," he responded back, a tone suggesting that it was silly having to mention it.

"That's true, I do," she nodded, "but I got offered a cardiothoracic fellowship at the Mayo Clinic—there are surgeons there that want to mentor me and show me the ropes and techniques of their own surgical methods. I was so lucky that my examiner was an attending there, otherwise I wouldn't have been offered this rare opportunity."

Christian went silent, asking simply while unclipping her bra, "The one in Minnesota?..."

"Yes," the surgeon answered quietly and glumly, understanding his expression.

They both stepped into the shower, and she made a little noise from the scalding water. She jumped from the temperature, stepping back into Christian's arms as he held her tightly. "It's just a little hot water," he murmured into her hair as he nuzzled his face into her head. He guided them into the warmth of the water, and her body embraced the heat of the running shower. It's not so bad.

"You intoxicate me, Miss Steele, and you calm me—such a heady combination," he spoke, kissing at her shoulder and squeezing her buttocks. The surgeon breathed out gently, enjoying his touch, his affection, and the steaming shower after a rigorous activity with her man. He said finally in a low voice, "I don't know what I'd do without you if you left me."

He explained, "You just arrived in Seattle not even a month ago…" His smile was nonexistent since she mentioned the second part of her news, and he replaced his expression with a frown, "And we finally getting things settled in the right place after fine-tuning all the kinks…no pun intended…" The dominant's voice drifted, and he wasn't joking or happy anymore. Seconds after their post-coital glow, he went from relaxed to tense again.

With a wounded and hurt face, he continued, "Anastasia, I wouldn't dream of interfering in your career, not unless you asked me to, of course…" He was struggling on his words, but went on as he found the right ones, "But I have so many questions, and I don't know which ones to ask. When are you leaving?"

Anastasia's her heart broke as she stared at him—the dominant in front of her looked broken, like the four-year-old boy who had lost a mother as the water cascaded onto their faces and bodies. Reaching for both of his hands, she tried to reassure him, "I'm not leaving yet. It was just an offer."

"But you are leaving," he stated, "and you are going to take that offer, aren't you?" He knew how to cut past all the games and see what he was going to lose.

"I might…yes," She sighed, barely giving a nod. "I'd still have to hear the other offers though, remember that."

"What would happen to us?" Christian asked with a voice in almost a whisper. His hand cupped her face, cradling it in his palms.

I don't know. And then, a audacious idea flashed in her head. Anastasia held onto his hands more tightly and proposed her crazy idea, "What if you came with me?"

His mouth opened and gray eyes widened, "Really?"

"Come with me, Christian," the surgeon nodded her head to his disbelieved question. "I know how I feel for you, and I know that I want you. These past few days have only showed and proved that you have been on my mind consistently, and I just can't see myself being without you. So, if I do decide to go to Minnesota, or to Boston, or anywhere for that matter—would you want to come with me?"

Christian's warmth radiated through his body and expressed smile. He answered softly, "If you'll have me."

She nodded excitedly, grinning, "I'll have you—all of you."

"Oh, Ana," he breathed hotly, holding her face and kissing her deeply as the hot water continued washing over their hugging bodies. He murmured in her ear huskily, "Hands on the wall, Anastasia. I'm going to take you again."

Yes please, Mr. Grey.

"More wine?" Christian asked, gray eyes glowing.

Anastasia swallowed her last forkful of lobster capellini. God, this is good. Smiling coyly, she answered briefly, "More, please."

He smirked at the word, pouring a glass for himself and for her.

"How's the 'situation' that brought you back to Seattle?" The brunette asked tentatively with the glass in her hand. The Sancerre was crisp and delicious and went well with the seafood pasta.

Frowning, he muttered bitterly, "Out of hand. But nothing for you to worry about, Anastasia—I have plans for you this evening."

The gray-eyed man was trying to change the subject, luckily for him it worked due to the young surgeon's never-ending curious mind. "Oh?" She asked with a shy smile.

"Yes." He stood and grabbed their plates, placing them in the sink, "I want you ready and waiting in my playroom in fifteen minutes. You can get ready in your room. Incidentally, the walk-in closet is now full of clothing for you." Turning back around, he narrowed his eyes, daring her to say something, "I don't want any arguments about them."

While the surgeon silently accepted them, he strolled into his study. Lucky for me that they're only staying here, sir. She shook her head and rolled her eyes, already assuming what her closet would look like. She sighed and scowled her way up the stairs and into her room, wondering why her closet full of clothes couldn't coexist with his in his bedroom.

Maybe it's for the best. People needed their personal space, and Anastasia wanted to give him that if he wished for it. Also, it would give her a chance to think and be alone if she needed to be as well. Opening the door to her room, she strode towards her closet and opened it. To her shocking surprise, there was a fortune of new clothes in the wardrobe. Firstly, there were more clothes in her closet than she had in her lifetime currently; and secondly, a few outfits probably all costed more her current, entire wardrobe back in her apartment. There wasn't much time for her to react or think, she threw her bathrobe on the bed and slipped into burgundy panties to match the color of the Red Room.

Anastasia's heart was in her mouth, and she wondered why he hadn't had enough of her. Are men all like that? No, maybe it's just him. The brunette didn't have anyone else to compare to, and she didn't want to. The way Christian looked at her—longing and desperate— was enough to make her excited. The way he held her in the shower, his fear of being left alone without her, and the thought of knowing he would be lost without her made her body eager for him—his love, in spite of its twisted darkness.

The young doctor found herself in her submissive position—wearing only her red panties, thighs spread apart for him to see, and arms above her thighs. She wondered how she got in the playroom as her consciousness reawakened, taking in the scent of leather and citrus cleaning products.

The door to the Red Room opened and Christian breezed right in, ignoring her completely. Eyes casted down immediately as he flew in, Anastasia stared at her hands, breathing quickly in the rhythm of her nervous-beating heart. Her body surge with needy anticipation, excited and ready for him. Daring to take a peek, she saw that he was wearing those ripped jeans, a top button casually undone—it was enough to make her want to crawl over and swallow him whole.

Christian was removing items out of his chest of drawers, placing them on top of the chest as she listened carefully. Curiosity burned within her, but she resisted the overwhelming temptation in taking a glance. Within minutes, his feet were in her sights as he stood in front of her. "You look lovely," he breathed.

Keeping her head down, the brunette felt her braid slip past her shoulders, aware that he was gawking at her naked body. She felt the heat and blood slowly to her face. His warm hand pulled at her chin, forcing her face to meet his gaze. "You are one beautiful woman, Anastasia Steele, and you are all mine," he murmured.

"Stand up," he commanded—a voice full of ardor, carnal promise.

Shakily, she listened and stood before him, taking a glance at his at his muscular abdomen—she wanted to place kisses all over his chest and stomach. "Look at me," he breathed another command, and she stared into his gray eyes—his dominating aura glowed around him; it was dark, hard, and arousing to watch. An almost cruel smile played across his lips as he spoke, "We don't have a signed contract, Anastasia, but we've spoken about our limits now. And I want to reiterate the safe words, okay?"

"What are they?" Christian asked authoritatively, testing her in his seductively husky voice.

Anastasia blinked once at him, lost in a sea of gray. Would I need to use them?

His face hardened, but he repeated his question slowly and deliberately, "What are the safe words, Ana?"

"Yellow," the brunette mumbled, scraping her teeth against the inside of her lip.

"And?" He prompted while a hard line setting across his lips.

"Red," she breathed finally.

"Remember those."

Looking down, the surgeon smiled to herself at the irony. His voice interrupted her musing thoughts, "Is something amusing to you, Miss Steele?"

Gold eyes flashed back up into his storming gray; she lifted a brow, which made his eyes flash a cold stare, "Don't start with your smart mouth in here, Miss Steele. Or I will fuck it with you on your knees. Do you understand?"

Her eyes blinked rapidly, stunned by the tone in his threatening voice; however—although he glared at her—there was a soft light in his eyes, amused from her earlier gentle smile.

"Well?"

"Yes, sir." She mumbled hastily.

"Good girl," Christian said, pausing and staring at her. "My intention is not that you should safeword because you are in pain, but what I intend to do to you will be intense. Very intense, and you have to guide me. Do you understand?"

No because I've never done this before, Mr. Grey, she smartly thought.

Minutes later, her body was bound and restrained to the bed, cuffed with leather by her arms and ankles while her eyes were blindfolded and her ears were blocked with ear buds. It was a test and challenge of simply feeling and taking in all the sensations. The young doctor had come a long way, and she was ready.

The classical music began to play, and so did the dominant.

As the surgeon's consciousness returned from enduring the dark pleasures of Christian's kinky acts, he pulled out of her body. The music had quieted down and was gone. She felt the weight of the bed shift and move as he stretched beside her before undoing each cuff. She groaned quietly once all her restraints were freed, rubbing her wrists together. The ear buds were then removed and so was the eye mask, gently pulling away from her face and staring into his intense gray eyes.

"Hi," he murmured, caressing her face gently.

The brunette took in a deep breath before breathing her response, "Hi, yourself."

Christian's sculptured lips quirked into a smile as he leaned down and kissed her softly. "Well done, you," he whispered. "Turn over."

"Why?" She asked softly, humming against his kissing lips.

His eyes softened, answering, "I'm just going to rub your shoulders."

Anastasia smiled and obliged to his offer, turning her body over and taking out the hairband in her hair. It took a lot of energy out of her to simply rotate her body because she had exhausted herself from taking in all of the dominant's flogging pleasure. It was the most intense orgasm she ever had, and it made her feel as though she was a new person. As he sat beside her, he began massaging her shoulders.

She groaned loudly from his strong fingers, and he leaned down to kiss her head in response—taking care of his girl. "What was that music?" She mumbled against the bed.

"It's called Spem In Alium, or the Forty Part Motet, by Thomas Tallis."

"It was overwhelming—intense as you said before."

"I've always wanted to fuck to it."

Moaning loudly again from the pressure of his magic hands, she commented, "Not another first, Mr. Grey?"

"Indeed, Miss Steele," he said, hearing his smile. "It seems as though you and I are giving each other many firsts since we've met." His voice was filled with intrigued as he said his statement as a matter-of-fact.

"A have a list of firsts from you, Mr. Grey—tonight being another one," the brunette sighed.

He leaned down to kiss her head and the back of her ear, murmuring possessively against her lobe, "Glad to hear it. Let's keep it that way."

"Yes, sir," she smiled. Her eye flashed open in remembrance and she asked quickly, "By the way, what did I say to you in my sleep?"

His massaging hands paused their delightful service for a moment as he was deep in thought, "You said many things, Anastasia. You talked about cages and strawberries… that you wanted more… and that you missed me."

Oh, I did? Strawberries and cages?...

"Huh, that's it?" The relief and surprise in her voice couldn't be hidden. Ending his massage, she rolled back on her back, staring back up at the beautiful man beside her.

Christian shifted against her, lying beside her with his head propped up on his elbow. He frowned, "Well, what did you think you'd said?"

The surgeon blinked at him, responding too quickly, "Nothing."

"No," he narrowed his eyes, "something."

"That… I thought you were terrible, conceited, and hopeless in bed," she responded, deciding to go with a joking, white lie.

The brows on his face furrowed and deepened in suspicion and speculation, "Well, naturally I am all those things, but now you've got me really intrigued. What are you hiding from me, Miss Steele?"

The brunette made a face of mock confusion, playing innocent, "I'm not hiding anything. Look at me—I'm quite exposed." She referenced her body with the gesture of her hand.

"There goes your smart mouth, again." His eyes were light and dancing with humor. He shook his head, "Anastasia, you're a hopeless liar."

"For some reason, I had this idea that I would be giggling after sex. This isn't cutting it for me, Mr. Grey," she changed the subject, lifting her brow.

Amused by her comment, his lips curled into a small smile, stating, "I can't tell jokes."

"Something you can't do? You don't say?" The brunette grinned.

Christian grinned back, an expression and feeling of pride surging through him as he spoke, "Nope, hopeless joke teller."

His face and humor made her laugh gently, "And yet you still manage to amuse me in every way. If it makes you feel any better, I'm a pretty hopeless at it as well."

"That is such a lovely sound," he murmured to himself, leaning forward and kissing her gently. "But you're hiding something, Anastasia, and I may have to torture it out of you," he growled, hands running up her body as he kissed her more deeply, claiming her lips into his again.

The young doctor felt like she was falling in her sleep, which caused her to jolt awake. She gasped, bolting upright as she was disoriented from the sudden shake. Her thoughts diagnosed herself quickly in her head, You're fine, it's just a hypnic jerk—it happens to lots of people. She placed a hand over her heart, rubbing her chest in circles to slow down its heart rate.

White comforting herself, Anastasia took in her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was alone in Christian's bed. Where is he? She rubbed her eyes and found the alarm clock beside her—5:00 a.m. in the morning. Although early, she was well-rested, and she couldn't fall back asleep. Climbing out of bed, the brunette went searching for her man, grabbing a bathrobe to cover her naked body.

Christian was playing on his piano as she reached the door, the faint notes of his pressing keys floating into her ear. She made a face, furrowing her brows as she followed the music. Leading her in the great room was the dominant in his musical bubble of light, hair glistening copper as he was mesmerized in the notes he played. There was a halo on him as the darkness shrouded around him.

Anastasia loved watching him play—he was talented and beautiful. Who wouldn't want to watch a shirtless, handsome man play music? She approached him quietly and curiously, cautious and careful not to disturb him. When his face was in sight, she saw that his eyes were closed, but it was the expression on his face that concerned her. He looked lost and alone, sad possibly—almost similar to the night of her first punishment. Maybe he just looks that way because of the music, she reassured herself. The melody of his piece was filled with intense sorrow.

Sensing movement in the background, the piano man glanced up at the brunette, frowning before his gaze returned back to his hands. Continuing to play he scolded quietly from his seat, "You should be asleep." He was deep in his thoughts as the notes continued being played from his fingertips.

Retorting back, she replied softly, "You should be, too."

"Scolding me, Miss Steele?" He asked, glancing up again with a trace of a smile across his lips.

She smiled shyly, "I guess I am, Mr. Grey."

"Well, I can't sleep," he stated, frowning as a flash of irritation or anger spread across his face.

Is it because of the 'situation?' What's wrong, Christian?

"Can I sit with you?" The young surgeon asked; but before he could answer anything, she sat bravely beside him, ignoring his expression. Gently, she rested her head on his bare shoulder, watching his agile fingers run and caress the keys of his piano. He paused for a moment from her gesture before resuming his sad, musical piece until the end.

They sat in silence for a minute, absorbing the sadness of his piece. "What was that?" She asked softly.

"Chopin. Opus 28, number 4. In E minor, if you're interested," he responded quietly.

"I'm always interested in what you do, Christian," Anastasia said sweetly and honestly.

Christian turned to her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into the side his body. Her head rested inside his neck as his lips pressed against her hair, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't, silly. Don't worry," the brunette smiled from underneath his chin, feeling his jaw flex into a smile. She raised her head, looking into his soft and intensely gray eyes before gesturing with a gaze to the piano, "May I?"

His eyes widened with curiosity, and the disbelief in his voice was evident as he asked his question, "You play? I thought you said you didn't."

She nodded her head in agreement, "I don't. I only know one song."

"The childhood friend?" His voice was low as he asked.

The girl beside him smiled warmly and answered simply, "Penn."


"God! I don't want to do this anymore! It's too hard and my hands are tired!" A thirteen-year-old Penn exclaimed in frustration and yelled, pressing random notes on the piano and as his hand slammed all over the keys.

Jumping and looking up from her book, Anastasia blinked and frowned, "What's wrong?"

"Annie, I don't wanna do this anymore. I want to quit, but Pammy won't let me," he sighed in frustration as his jaw tensed in anger.

The eleven-year-old girl closed her book and furrowed her brows as she walked over and sat beside him, "But why? What makes it hard?"

Penn shoved his finger at the music sheet to emphasize his point, "The transition here is so stupid and hard. The whole piece hurts my head and my hands, and I'm sick of listening to me suck. And I just don't want to play the piano anymore, I just want to go outside and play."

"But you spent so many years playing the piano," the little girl frowned, "it would be sad to see you quit after years of practicing."

"I don't care," the curly-haired boy swiped the sheets off the stand, letting them fly to the ground.

Anastasia chewed on her lip, uncomfortable and unsure of what to say or do. She shrugged, leaning to the side to be in his view, "How about you take a break a little and teach me instead?"

He scowled and made a face, "What? Annie, I can't; it's too hard for you."

"Teach me," she insisted, shaking her head and trying to cheer him up. "Please?"

He sat silently, staring at his friend beside him with an upset look on his face.

The eleven-year-old smiled and shook his arm repeatedly, "Come on, Penn. Teach me."

"Okay, okay," Penn rolled his eyes and grinned. He sighed and smiled back at the piano, demonstration his position. "Put your hands here and here," he said with a chuckle.


Christian took his hands off the key, gesturing her to play. His eyes were wide with curiosity, marveling at her pale, delicate hands and fingers.

Let's see if I remember, she thought nervously.

Anastasia's fingers smoothed gently against the white keys, stroking them with her fingertips and began playing. Her fingers started to play, and she smiled as the nostalgic memory of the song clicked in her head. It was light and free—the melody was softer and happier, unlike Choplin.

She imagined Penn's hands over hers, guiding her to play the right notes. It was surprising that she could still remember how it went as her fingers began working slowly across the piano and back. When the song had ended, she grinned down, dedicating her performance to her musically talented curly-haired friend.

The gray-eyed man gawked in surprise, mesmerized by the beauty of her smile as she played. His arms reached around her body warmly, lifting her chin to kiss her lips, "I've never had anyone play for me the way you did." He breathed against her lips, "What was that?"

Her breathing shuddered, closing her eyes as her memory scanned the piano sheets on Penn's piano. She answered, "I think it's called…Improvisation number…15, by Francis Poulenc—that's all I can remember." She shrugged.

"It was beautiful, especially coming from you," he whispered on her lips, holding her face and kissing her more deeply. "Certainly a sight to see. You beguile me and always surprise me, I don't know how you do it."

Letting out a quiet chuckle, the brunette responded, "I can say the same to you, but I owe my musical knowledge all to my very good teacher."

He huffed through his nose, "Let me be your teacher."

"Yeah? Teach me then, Mr. Grey," the surgeon smiled against his lips.

Christian breathed sharply from his mouth, kissing her more deeply as his hands held her face, fingers running through her hair. She hummed gently pulling herself in closer and sighing contently into his mouth and lips.

She pulled her lips away from his eager mouth, smiling as her hands stroked his cheek and then his chin. She asked curiously, "Why do you only play sad music?" Her body leaned back, one arm tucked under her side as the other propped her chin up.

With a wary, blank expression, the dominant shrugged casually to the question.

"You were only six when you started to play?" Anastasia continued.

He nodded, his wary look intensifying. After a few more moments, he voluntarily confided some more information, "I threw myself into learning the piano to please my mother."

She nodded, understanding, "This was part of trying to fit in with your 'perfect' family?"

"Yes, so to speak," he answered evasively, dismissing the conversation. He narrowed his eyes, "Why are you awake? Don't you need to recover from yesterday's exertions?"

The brunette shrugged, replying softly, "I'm not tired, and also, I am able to work off little sleep. I feel a-okay and full of energy to start my day, Mr. Grey." Yikes. I didn't mean for that to rhyme.

"Such colorful phrasing, Miss Steele," Christian commented with a smirk. He tightened his arms around her, rubbing his nose against hers as he leaned back in, "And we'll just have to see about that; I can think of a few things that we can do together." He grinned, gray eyes bright.

Tilting her head to the side and resisting his hot gaze, she suggested quietly, "Like talking?"

"No," he answered, scooping her onto his lap. "I prefer another thing I have in mind."

Anastasia laughed gently, steadying her body by holding onto his upper, muscular arms, "You'd always rather have sex than talk."

"True," he hummed gently, nuzzling his face into her hair, inhaling her sweet scent, "especially with you." A trail of his kisses traveled from below her ear to her throat, a guttural, low moan in his voice. "Maybe right here, on this piano," he whispered seductively with his suggestion.

The surgeon's entire body tightened at the thought, shivering from his hot, breathy kisses on her neck. "I want to get something straight," she whispered as her pulse began accelerating with a heart starting to beat out of its chest.

Christian paused at her comment within seconds, thinking and containing his urges before resuming his erotic assault. "Always so eager for information, Miss Steele; what needs straightening out?" He breathed against the base of her neck, continuing his feather-like kisses.

She closed her eyes and sighed, letting her feelings fall into his actions. "Us," she whispered.

"Hmm, what about us?" His kisses continued running along her shoulder, but he ended there to await her response.

"The contract."

The dominant lifted his head and gazed down with knitting brows and a look of curiosity, an expression of amusement. He sighed, stroking his fingertips along the side of her cheek, "Well, I think the contract is moot, wouldn't you agree?"

Gold eyes brightened to his word, smiling gently, "Moot?"

"Moot," he smiled back.

The brunette lifted her brow and stared quizzically at him, "But you were so adamant and keen on me signing."

"Well, that was before…" His face went blank, but continued with a shrug, "More." He continued, as his face hardened slightly. "Anyways, the rules aren't moot; they still stand."

"Right," she said quietly, nodding to his answer.

"Besides," he added, "we've been in the playroom twice now, and you haven't run screaming for the hills."

The young doctor made a face, "Do you expect me to?"

"Nothing you do is expected, Anastasia," he answered dryly.

"So, let me be clear," she said, running a hand through her dark locks, "you want me to follow the rules aspect of the contract all the time but not the rest of the contract?"

"Except in the playroom," Christian clarified. "I want you to follow the spirit of the contract in the playroom, and yes, I want you to follow the rules—all the time. Then, I know you'll be safe, and I'll be able to have you anytime I wish."

She shook her head, challenging him, "And what if I happen to break one of your rules?"

"Then, I'll punish you."

Wait. What? "But, won't you need my permission?"

"Yes, I will," the dominant answered simply.

"And if I object to it? If I say no?"

His gray eyes gazed at her for a moment with a confused expression, "If you say no, you say no." He nodded, "I'll have to find a way to persuade you to."

The surgeon sighed quietly in deep contemplation, getting off his lap and heading over to the kitchen. She took a moment to look away from him, not wanting to be near him or in his arms—his close proximity was distracting and she needed space away from him, just for a bit. When her golden eyes turned back, he frowned as she stared down. It was apparent that he had followed her, looking puzzled and guarded again as he sat on the stool of the breakfast bar.

"So the punishment aspect remains," she stated, testing the words in her mouth.

"Yes, but only if you break the rules," he explained, trying to sound reassuring.

I need to go over the rules.

Anastasia's mind was cleared and the contract was pulled out of its file from her memories. She heard him rise from his seat due to her reaction, moving in closer, and resisting the need to touch her; but she listened to him sit back down instead, adjusting himself in his seat. She gazed through each page and referred back to the rules, going down the list of rules under obedience: sleep, food, clothes, exercise, personal hygiene/beauty, personal safety, and personal qualities.

She remembered and rad the last statement of the contract in her head, repeating its words, 'Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by The Dominant.'

Anastasia finally opened her eyes and blinked, "So the obedience thing still stands?"

"Oh, yes." Christian grinned.

The brunette shook her head, unamused; and before she was able to stop herself, she rolled her eyes at him.

He quietly gasped, listening to the inhale from his lips. "Did you just roll your eyes at me, Anastasia?" He breathed gently.

Oh, how fucking convenient, Steele.

"Possibly. I guess it just depends on your reaction," she responded meekly and quietly.

"It's the same as always. You know that," he said, shaking his head slightly while his eyes began filling lightly with excitement.

She swallowed carefully to his response as blood ran through her veins and her heartbeat and pulse quickened. He's going to punish me? "So…" She was stalling the inevitable.

"Yes?" He asked, licking his lower lip seductively.

Speaking slowly, she replied, "You want to spank me now."

"Yes. And I will." He spoke with determination, adamant of the events in his head that were to follow.

"Oh really, Mr. Grey?" Anastasia challenged him, grinning at him coyly.

"Are you going to stop me, Miss Steele?" He narrowed his gleaming eyes, smiling darkly at her.

She tilted her head to the side, letting her lock fall on her shoulder. "You're going to have to catch me first."

The dominant widened his eyes and grinned widely, slowly getting to his feet, "Oh, really, Miss Steele?" The breakfast bar fortunately divided the wolf from his lamb, convenient for his prey to make a successful escape. He breathed, as he was light on his feet as he glided slowly to his left, "And you're biting your lip…"

Immediately as the wolf moved towards the lamb, she moved instinctively away from his step. "You wouldn't," Anastasia teased. "After all, you roll your eyes, Mr. Grey." The brunette tried reasoning with him, but it didn't work as he continued moving toward his left, causing her to do the same.

"Yes," he said lowly, "but you've just raised the bar on the excitement stakes with this game." His intense, gray eyes blazed, and wild anticipation emanated from his presence.

"I'm quite fast, you know," she commented nonchalantly.

"So. Am. I." Christian said, speaking each syllable with a second-pause in between. He stalked his girl, asking in a continued low voice, "Are you going to come quietly?"

The doctor smiled shyly, rubbing her forefinger to the tip of her nose, "Do I ever?"

"Miss Steele, what do you mean?" He smirked, "It'll be worse for you if I have to come and get you."

"Oh, will it?" Anastasia responded lightly, testing and tantalizing him with her words, "Catch me if you can, Mr. Grey. Be warned—I have no intention of letting you get me so easily."

"Anastasia," he scolded mildly, "you may hurt yourself, which will put you in direct contravention of rule number seven."

"I have been in danger since I met you, Christian, rules or no rules," she shrugged with a humorous light in her hazel eyes.

"Yes, you have," he said, pausing in thought with brows furrowing slightly.

Suddenly, Christian lunged for his girl, making her jump and laugh mischievously, chasing her as she ran to the dining room table. Her giggles haunted his mind, encouraging him to catch her with more determination and intent. Her heart was pounded and the adrenaline within her body had spiked. It was the literal thrill of the chase. The brunette felt like a child, free and playful. She watched him carefully as he paced deliberately towards her, inching away from him.

"You certainly know how to distract a man, Anastasia." His eyes went darker as she gazed at him.

"We aim to please, Christian," she smiled and giggled. "What do I distract you from, sir?"

"Life. The universe." He waved one of his hands vaguely in the air. So, things that you can talk to Elena about? Her thoughts hissed.

"I'll admit, watching you—you seemed pretty preoccupied while playing," she noted.

Christian stopped, folding his arms with an amused expression, "We can do this all day, baby, but I will get you, and it will just be worse for you when I do."

"If you do, you mean," the surgeon corrected, subtly biting down her smile. She was overcome by a surge of confidence, but she reminded herself not to be too zealous of her successes. Regardless, she was alert and ready for his next chase.

"Anyone would think you didn't want me to catch you," he commented.

"I don't. Isn't that the point?" The surgeon blinked at him, smiling in confusion. She continued, "The way I feel about punishments is the way you feel about me touching you—the only difference is I let you do it the first time."

Christian's playful side was gone and his entire demeanor and expression changed in a nanosecond from the final statement of her reason. He stood there staring at her as if she had slapped him across the face. Ashen, he whispered in a shaking voice, "That's how you feel?"

The four words mutely uttered from his lips opened him like a book—he was transparent, and she was able to see the damage and pain stricken in his eyes and his body, which told her much more about him and the way he felt. Whatever trauma the dominant had been through, it was eventually beginning to show.

She frowned, anxiously staring at him and replying with complete honesty, "It hurts and frightens me, Christian—you know that." She paused, taking a second to explain carefully, "It reminds me of the man who hurt me when I was put into his foster care."

Gray eyes bulged out while his mouth opened, closing them a second after, "Oh." Christian looked empty and lost, as if the world was getting darker around him. The brunette was done running and playing her game, taking a deep breath and coming to his front. She gazed into his apprehensive eyes, filled with horror. "You hate it that much?" He breathed lowly.

Oh, god. It's much more complicated. It was a gray area for Anastasia because pain and pleasure—the combination or separation of the two—was no longer black and white, and he showed that to her. She reassured him, "It was hard getting around at first, but no, I don't hate it. You showed me that, which was shocking but I got around to it because you were right. At this point, I neither like nor hate it, rather than plainly loathing it altogether."

"But last night…" The gray-eyed man was struggling with his words. "In the playroom—you…" He trailed off, blinking rapidly and trying to make sense of everything."

"I do it for you, Christian, because you apparently need it, but I don't," she shook her head, rubbing his arms gently and warmly. "You didn't hurt me last night unlike the first night of your punishment to me. Last night was a different context, and I can rationalize that internally as well as trust you. In that sense, I wanted that—I consented to that because I wanted to. However, when it comes to you wanting to punish me, I worry about you hurting me."

His gray eyes blazed like a dark storm, and as time went on, the look in his eyes expanded and slipped away before answering softly, "I want to hurt you, but not beyond anything that you couldn't take. Not as a person with evil intentions."

You want to hurt me?... The surgeon shook her head with an uncomprehensive expression, "But why?"

Christian ran his hand through his hair in exasperation before shrugging, "I just need it." He paused, gazing at her with anguish. He closed his eyes and shook his head, whispering, "I can't tell you."

She frowned, "Can't or won't?" We were just getting somewhere. Please, don't shut me out.

"Won't." The man was back in his closed shell, back down the dark hole he came from.

"So you know why, but you won't tell me?"

He stared at her warily, "Yes, because if I do, you will run screaming from this room, and you'll never want to return."

"How can you know that, Christian?" She asked immediately with a face full of concern. "How can you think that when you haven't taken that chance? You don't know how I'll react."

"I can't risk that, Anastasia." He shook his head, determined in his decision of not telling.

"You want me to stay," the brunette responded, understanding his fears.

"More than you know. I want to be with you." His voice was urgent and pleading. "I couldn't bear to lose you." Christian gazed down at her, and suddenly, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply and passionately.

It took her completely by surprise, throwing her off as she sensed the overwhelming emotions of panic and desperate need in his kiss. "Don't leave me," he begged. "Please. You said you wouldn't leave me, and you begged me not to leave you. That's what you said in your sleep," he murmured against her lips.

I did? The beginning of that day was much more happy and simple—soaring with Christian Grey.

Her heart clenched from the worry and pain within his voice, answering reassuringly, "I don't want to go." She rubbed his arms soothingly, hoping he would relax. She was at the bottom of the trench, in his darkness again—this time, she could see the obvious loss and fear within his eyes. His gray eyes were wide, bleak, and tortured. She wanted to pull him out, bring him out and into her light, and she believed she knew how at that point.

Anastasia's breathing shook, rubbing his cheek, "Why don't you show me, Christian?"

Unable to comprehend, he emphasized his question as he shook his head, "Show you?"

"Show me how it can hurt," she said quietly with a shaking hand rubbing his cheek.

"What?"

"Punish me, Christian," she reiterated. "I want to know how badly it can get."

Christian took a step back from her, utterly confused and puzzled. "You would try?"

Taking a step forward, she replied, "Yes. I told you that I would."

He blinked, "Ana, you are so confusing."

The brunette's shoulders slumped, "I know, but I'm only trying to understand this—understand you. I'm trying to work this out. And you and I will know, once and for all, if I can do what you want. If I can handle this, then maybe you could handle—" She stopped immediately, not wanting to frighten him. The dominant's eyes widened as he completed her sentence. For a second, he looked torn, but then he nodded to her suggestion, as if weighing the alternatives of letting her touch him.

Finalizing his decision, he abruptly and firmly grabbed her arm, turning and leading her up the stairs to the playroom. "I will show you how bad it can be, and then you can make you own mind up," he said, pausing by the entrance of the door. "Are you ready?"

All the blood in Anastasia's face was gone, and she nodded quickly and nervously to his suggestion. He opened the door, and still grasping her arm, grabbed what a belt from the rack beside the door. He leaned her over the red leather bench in the far corner of the room.

"Bend over the bench," Christian murmured softly.

Listening to his order, Anastasia bent over, soon feeling his hand run up from behind, lifting her bathrobe. She didn't know what to say or what to feel; she felt numb.

"We're here because you said yes, Anastasia, and you ran from me. I am going to hit you six times, and you will count with me," he said gently, rubbing her behind. His warm hand caressed both cheeks warmly, down to the tops of her thighs.

He continued in a whisper, "I am doing this so that you remember not to run away from me, and as exciting as it is, I never want you to run from me."

A glimmer of light and hope filled her heart—it was a side of Christian she loved and a side she wanted to herself completely, wanting to wrap her arms tightly around him and take him away from his world. It only made her realize that she never wanted to run, and she was hoping to herself that she wouldn't—instead running to him.

"You rolled your eyes at me. You know how I feel about that." The softness and emotions within his voice were void and gone, replaced by nervous, edgy fear. He crawled back down into his dark hole and was ready to let the darkness consume her, changing the entire atmosphere between them.

She could only feel and hear the heart beat thumping from her chest, expecting and bracing herself for the blow to strike. The strike of the belt snapped across her backside, and the bite of the belt was everything she feared. Anastasia cried out in response, taking a gasp of air as she jerked forward.

"Count, Anastasia!" He commanded.

"One!" She shouted at him, as if it were a swear word.

He hit her again, and the pain sprang and echoed along the line of the belt. "Two!" She screamed. She was forgetting to breathe as her jaw opened widely, quivering from the pain.

Unlike Christian's ragged breathing, Anastasia's was gone and nonexistent. Her body shook and her arms struggled to push herself up from the pain. Before she was ready for the next hit, the belt burned into her flesh again.

Jolting forward, she yelled, "Four!" Involuntary tears fell down her face from the strike; she didn't want to cry but it was as if she were no longer in control of her body. He struck the belt again at her skin.

"Five," she choked, hunched over with hands falling toward the bed instead of the bench. I can't do this anymore. It hurts too much to bear. Christian was no longer in the room; instead, it was the man from her childhood that burned her. He was smiling and laughing wickedly with pleasure. Her back was blazing with fiery pain.

With the final strike of the belt, she whispered, "Six." She was lifeless and limp on the bed. Christian immediately pulled her into his arms, an embrace of breathless compassion, but she couldn't see anyone but the foster father that burned her.

"No, please…let go of me…" The brunette's breathing shuddered between words and gasps as she panicked and sobbed. She was struggling in his tight arms, and for once, she didn't want to be anywhere near him.

"I said, let go!" She yelled again, pushing him with a force and strength that she hadn't realize she had, throwing him off her body and back against the bed. His gray eyes were wide and shocked, staring at the stream of tears consistently falling down her face with an expression of resembling fear. He'd never seen her cry before until that night.

Anastasia wasn't in any control of her body—she had no control over repressing her flickering memories, no control of her emotions, and no control over her breathing. She was suffocating, touching her neck and chest for reassurance as she tried regaining consciousness. She sobbed as her voice shook with her head, "I-I can't be here…" Her eyes were full of fear looking around the room for an escape, forgetting where the exit was and searching for the door.

Where's the fucking door? Her vision was blurred, and she couldn't see anything as her eyes continuously clouded with her tears.

Her gaze returned to gray eyes, eyes that gazed warily at her. The surgeon's lips trembled and frowned as she stared at him, "Th-This is how you want me? Y-You want me like this?... Beaten?... Broken?"

"Ana," he pleaded, shocked by her expression. He couldn't get past the pain and fear within her.

"I've been trying to understand you, but all you've been doing was throwing me into submission," she glared with a flared nose. The brunette covered up her robe, feeling exposed and violated, "You were trying to screw me into submission, a-and I let you because the sex was so good." She rubbed her eyes, ashamed and embarrassed with herself. Her eyes found the door, and relief filled her senses. She turned back to him, wiping her nose with the bathrobe as she began crying with feelings of sorrow and anger, "I tried, Christian. I did…but I just can't."

The surgeon bolted out the door and slammed it shut; covering her mouth as she sobbed into her hand with a head leaned back against the door. The tears just won't stop. The pain hasn't stopped. Why won't this feeling go away? Why can't it all go away? She wanted to escape, to run, but she didn't know where. Her eyes scanned for her room—the submissive's room—and she hurried to the door, closing it immediately.

It was still dark in the morning, but dawn was approaching as she stared out the window. She carefully climbed into bed, tentatively conscious enough not to sit on her painful backside. The darkness was filling her, filling her senses and she couldn't get away from it. She pulled a pillow close to her chest and sobbed into it, shaking as she cried. She was alone again like that night before, and there was nobody that she could go to—not her dead parents, not Penn, and not Christian.

The inevitable was coming, and Anastasia was going to lose the only man she ever, truly loved—her first love. She knew she had to go because she wasn't good enough for him, and vice versa for him—the end was near. She was numb. She was empty. She was gone.

The door to the submissive's bedroom opened, inflicting a reaction for her to cower in her sheets and hugging the pillow closer, muffling her sniffling sobs. Christian placed some items on the table beside her and carefully climbed into bed, letting the weight shift from under her. She wanted to inch and get away from him, but her body was paralyzed—frozen in a state of emptiness.

"Hush," he breathed gently. "Don't fight me, Ana, please," he whispered, slowly pulling her into his arms, burying his nose in her hair, and kissing her neck.

The brunette couldn't stop herself, covering her mouth again as a silent wave of sobbing overcame her. "Don't hate me," he breathed softly against her skin, his voice achingly sad. He continued kissing her skin softly and tenderly, but her attention and presence remained stiff and wary.

They lied together, her in his arms as she gradually relaxed and stopped crying. Dawn came and went, and as the morning light became brighter, they continued lying in their state quietly.

"I brought you some Advil and some arnica cream," he said after a long while.

It's time, her logic and heart told her.

Very slowly, Anastasia turned her body to his opposite direction, looking into gray, guarded eyes that hardly blinked. He was still so beautiful, and she couldn't help but caress his face and touch stubble on him with her fingertips, despite what had happened. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, savoring the feel of her hands on him.

The surgeon sniffed quietly, whispering to him, "I'm sorry for what I said."

Christian opened his eyes, looking at her in disbelief and confusion before his eyes softened with relief, "You didn't tell me anything I didn't know—that wasn't true. I am sorry I hurt you."

She shrugged, "I did ask for it."

It was silent again for another few minutes as both of them dwelled on the recent events of her punishment. While Anastasia was thinking deeply of what to say, she began with a shaking voice, "I've been going something over and over in my head since I've met you, and it just finally occurred to me that I can't be everything that you want me to be."

His eyes widened, and he blinked as his fearful expression returned in his eyes. He insisted, "You are everything I want you to be."

She smiled weakly, wiping her face again, "No, Christian, I'm not. And you know it."

He closed his eyes again as if pained by the truth of her words, and when opening them, she could see the myriad of emotions fill his face. His expression was bleak, and he agreed, "You're right. I should let you go. I'm not good for you."

It was her heart's turn to take a mental beating with his belt, and she could feel him closing off from her. Every memory and every emotion back then didn't matter anymore, and it was starting to fade as the darkness separated them. Tears swam in her eyes again, and the fears of losing him struck her body. She whispered and shook her head, "That's the twisted part of this situation—I don't… want to go."

"I don't want you to go either," he whispered, his voice raw and lost with her. He reached up and gently stroked her cheek, wiping away at the falling tears with his thumb. "I've come alive since I met you." His thumb brushed against the contours of her lower lip.

Distressed, she rubbed her eyes, willing them to stop crying as she shook. Was this heartbreak? The emptiness was overbearing, and it made her want to just go to sleep—forget that it ever happened and erase what had existed between them. "Me, too," she whimpered in her tears. With nothing much to lose beside the man she deeply cared for, her bravery confessed, "I've fallen in love with you, Christian."

Christian's eyes widened and constricted with pure, undiluted fear—the revelation of her confession caught him off guard, like he was stabbed with a knife of emotions into his cold heart. "No," he breathed, horrified by her truth. "You can't love me, Ana—no… that's wrong."

What am I doing? Anastasia turned her face to the ceiling and began quietly crying with her hand covering her mouth. Why is it so damn hard to breath? The brunette felt as though she was readying herself to jump to the brink of her death. In order for her to be free from her strong feelings for him, she had to leave him, and it was the only way. She knew she couldn't survive being in his dark hole any longer—it was truly impossible for her.

The surgeon's emotions were finally ceasing, and the emptiness was replacing and erasing her overwhelming feelings. She sat up slowly and breathed deeply, fresh air filling her lungs. He watched her, sitting up with her; and in the periphery of her vision, she could see the continuing fear within his eyes. With a husky, tear-croaked voice, she began, "I knew since the beginning how this would end." She smiled weakly with pity, acknowledging the irony and the truth of her fate, "But for some reason I felt so compelled to… to believe and see that we would be okay… when in reality, our relationship was just… circling the drain."

He opened his mouth, tightly bounding his arms around her. Inhaling her scent as his face pressed into her hair. This hurts. Part of the dominant's fear for being touched somehow transferred onto her, and the pain of feeling his warm, loving arms seared into her skin that reawakened the emotions she tried repressing from him.

The brunette's breathing fluctuated again, softly hyperventilating from her parted lips. She shut her eyes, trying to calm herself and then reopening them with a change of heart and emotion. "It's just an illusion though," she stated with a voice of an empty heart and a shattered soul, "but I can see clearly now." She blinked slowly, exhaustion taking over. She said quietly, peeling herself away from his arms and carefully rolling off the bed, "I… I need to go." Her voice was drained of any light and the color in her emotions darkened.

"No, don't go. Please." Christian's voice was panicked, climbing out of bed and following her.

Anastasia grabbed her luggage, but before leaving him in the room by himself, she answered flatly with a finalized decision, "I'm going to get dressed. I'd like some privacy."

She treaded down the stairs carefully; realizing that every step she took—in which distanced her away from the man she loved—was both painful and liberating, or maybe painfully liberating. It was like ripping of an excruciating bandage—although it scarred and stung, she was free, regaining her independence and freedom.

Deciding on a shower, she quickly and methodically washed her body of the recent events that happened—a Silkwood shower cleansing of dark emotions and thoughts. The steam of the water was invigorating, and the catharsis of being rinsed of her past with him was just as freeing. Flashes of their memories infected her mind as she soaped her body with his body wash—his scent brought back haunting memories of their laughter and emails as well as his playful, loving character and his beautiful smile.

After drying her body, she opened her suitcase and dressed herself with the first item in her luggage—the same black dress from when she came back from her flight, slipping on her black heels afterwards. It was the best thing to wear in her suitcase that didn't chafe her, unlike her other clothing. Before closing the suitcase, she found the Blanik L-23 modeling kit in the corner of her eye. She picked up his gift and attached a scribbled note onto the box before leaving it on his bedside, "This reminded me of a happy time. Thank you for everything, Mr. Grey. –Ana"

The surgeon faced herself in the mirror as she combed her hair with her fingers. Who are you? Her eyes had been swollen from her burning tears, and she was pale from the lack of light within her—unrecognizable and lost. She shook her head of her self-deprecating thoughts and dialed for Taylor.

"Miss Steele?" His voice was curious and concerned.

"Taylor," she presented a happy tone of voice as he picked up, "I'd like to go home now. Would you please pick me up from the garage?"

He was silent, unsure to grant her request. She continued, consoling his concerns, "Don't worry. Christian will understand."

Taylor cleared his throat, "Yes, Miss Steele. I'll be ready for you with the car in a few minutes."

"Thank you."

The surgeon slipped her phone in her bag, and instead of rolling her luggage out, she picked it up carefully and exited his bedroom. The dominant can be heard from across the room, pacing back and forth in anger as he was speaking loudly on the phone.

"He said what!" He shouted. "Well, he could have told us the fucking truth. What's his number? I need to call him…"

The perfect escape. He's busy. I can't face him, or else I don't what will happen.

She approached the elevator after hitting the call button and entered through the elevator calmly. The sound of the elevator alerted the dominant and his footsteps could be heard, immediately heading towards the platform in a state of shock.

"Ana?!" His voice was a combination of longing and pain. He threw his phone on the floor and rushed over to the closing double doors. A reflection of her inner emotions was shown through his face—a man in agonizing pain, one she wished she could comfort and hold.

Tears fell down her face as he came to her blurred vision, but she had no control over her reaction. She wasn't filled with sorrow—or any other emotion for that matter—but somehow the streams down her face couldn't be stopped. Anastasia nodded at him once with a pained-smile, "Christian." I love you. The doors closed as she said good bye, whisking her down to the basement of the garage.

Taylor was down by the garage once the doors opened, blinking at the girl as he closed his phone. "Miss Steele—Mr. Grey would—"

She shook her head, interrupting him simply and emptily, "Please, take me home, sir." Her eyes avoided his gaze, and he opened the door for her as she approached the car.

Regret, embarrassment, and shame overwhelmed the brunette once Taylor started the drive back home. She forced herself not to feel, closing her eyes to focus on her breathing as she leaned her head against the window. I left him, her words echoed in her mind. Stop. Crying. What the fuck, Steele. Her hands hurriedly went for her cheeks, brushing them out of her face. Stopping at traffic, the driver turned around and handed her a linen handkerchief.

Taylor said nothing and didn't dare look in her direction as she blinked at his offer. Taking it with a small, weak smile she muttered, "Thank you."

After he dropped her off, the surgeon asked him to follow and escort her up to the apartment, and he did with no questions asked. When she opened the door she grabbed the keys to the red Audi on the table and handed it to the quiet man behind her.

She explained, "Taylor, would you do me a favor and send his car back to him for me as quickly as you could?"

He stared down nervously at her hand, taking them off her hands and nodding once. Before he left, he turned and flashed a face of compassionate concern towards the girl. "Miss Steele," he said with a understanding, comforting smile.

"Thank you, Taylor," she smiled at him, keeping up with her façade and closing the door.

Anastasia was alone in her apartment again—nobody to run to and nobody to speak with. She wanted to lock herself from the world and prison herself from the outside existence. She examined her surroundings, blinking around her place as if it were foreign. A moment passed and she began laughing hysterically. She continued with her fit of unpredicted joy as she headed into the bedroom, covering her mouth as her giggles turned into sobs. She gasped for air, slowly lying on her cold, stiff bed, curling up and hugging the sheets.

Like Christian, she was in her personal black hole, surrendering her body to her grief—letting the darkness consume her as her tears drowned her in bed.

End of Part One


This was quite a long chapter, but I do hope I made you all as proud as I am with myself!~

My writing isn't the best, but I'm just happy that I finished it! And I hope you all are too!

I still can't believe that I even made it this far, but I was always so excited to get every chapter out to you readers and to those that supported my work. Don't you all worry, though! Part Two is in the works and you should expect the second rewrite of Fifty Shades Darker by next week, if you're interested!

The story isn't over yet, it's only beginning!~

Let me know what you all think because a time jump will be happening in my second story! Expect Fifty Shades Forgiven to come out soon, latest Monday!

As I say it all to you—as Anastasia has said to Christian—"Wait for me." :)