I own nothing to do with 50 Shades obviously. Just a fan doing this for my own entertainment :) Hope you enjoy this chapter and that it isn't boring!

Chapter 14

So he's coming over tonight while Mom's away to stay over at her new boyfriend's house. Eight thirty. I can't even seem to get my head straight when I hang at home with Mom before she leaves. I feel so nervous, yet excited at the same time about what could potentially happen once we are alone.

I realize I want to have sex with him so badly. I want him to be my first, yet I'm scared. I won't know what to do and he will, and I might say or do the wrong thing. Christian might even decide my body isn't good enough for him or something. What if he doesn't like the way I look without clothes on? What if he finds the size of my breasts pitifully lacking?

But, I suppose, there is only one way to figure out the answer to all of my doubts. It will be tonight, once he comes over and we are alone while Mom's away.

When Mom leaves, I stand outside the front door, waving to her. Once her car is out of sight, I head inside, getting started on preparations for tonight. I tear open my backpack, grabbing the unopened box of condoms Kate bought me this morning as a sort-of joke. I don't know whether they are his size or not, whether they are right, but... hopefully they will come in handy tonight.

I go around the house, turning off the lights and leaving on the lamps instead. I think I read somewhere that having minimal light creates an atmospheric experience. It apparently adds sensuality to the experience- or so I've read. With the house looking clean and fairly dark, I head upstairs, searching through my drawers for something pretty and even sexy to wear. But what constitutes in a older guy's eyes as sexy? What can I wear without being too obvious that I want him to have sex with me?

I end up choosing a dress, even although I know its too formal for the occasion. It will probably immediately tip him off of with my intentions of inviting him over, but Kate told me today that sometimes you need to be direct and honest. Men love women to be direct and not keep them guessing, especially older guys like he is.

I carry my dress and the best bra and underwear I own into the bathroom, checking my alarm clock for the time on the way in. Already, its seven thirty. Crap, I better hurry.

I shave my legs and under my armpits, because I know guys like a woman to not be hairy. Then I change into the bra, the dress, and slither into the clean underwear. I stand back, turning on the side, glancing at myself apprehensively in the mirror. The dress is one of my favorites; It's red and one-shouldered. I think I have only ever worn it once. Just looking by my face, it betrays me, showing exactly how I feel on the outside.

I look scared shitless. Sexy or elusive is the very last thing that comes to mind with how I look but it will have to do.

As I get back downstairs, barefooted, I start stressing about how to act. I have no idea what I am going to say to him. Do I just say it outright? I want you to have sex with me. I want you to be my first.

Or do I just not say anything, and just show it in any other way other than by blunt and forward words? Start slowly by making out with him on the couch? Shit, I am stressing way too much.

In order to distract myself, I find the remote, sitting down to watch the TV. I can't help biting my nails. My stomach is in knots and I can't seem to sit still. I'm restless. By the time I hear a knock on the front door, signalling his arrival to the house, I feel like throwing up. But I can't throw up, though. I absolutely can't. Throwing up is not sexy.

I mute the TV, climbing to my feet. I make hasty alterations with my dress, fixing up the one shoulder strap, before I feel satisfied enough to answer the front door and let him see me. Fixing a smile on my face, I pull open the front door, letting him in.

"Come in," I say, hating how weird I sound. "Thanks so much for coming around, by the way. I know it was probably short notice."

"Not at all."

Christian stands for a moment by the welcome mat at the front door, wiping his shoes considerately before stepping in. He looks around, probably nervous that I've tricked him and lied about my mother being around.

"Don't worry. She's not here," I assure him breathlessly. "It's just us."

Suddenly I am paranoid that I am somehow breathing too heavily, like a woman who needs an oxygen tank.

God, he's so unfairly gorgeous, I can't help thinking once I close the door, following him into the living room. I feel those pesky butterflies infect me as I scrutinize what he is wearing. He's wearing tight dark denim jeans and a white button-up business shirt with a men's black blazer thrown over it.

"Can I get you anything?" I ask, remembering my manners. "I can get you a drink if you like? We have some wine left in the fridge?"

He turns, meeting my gaze. I notice his eyes slowly roam down what I am wearing, yet I can't work out his reaction. Is he happy with what he sees? Does he find how I look sexy? What?

"Sure," he says after a moment. "Wine would be great."

"Okay." The smile I put on, I know, is way too big and fake. "Great. I'll go get you a glass of wine then. You just sit and make yourself comfortable."

"How was your day?" he asks on my way to the kitchen.

"Yeah, it was... okay. How was yours?"

"Same old work stuff." He doesn't elaborate.

As I head into the kitchen, I remember the box of condoms Kate got me this morning. Shit, where did I put them again? Trying to be productive, I open the fridge, pulling out the bottle of red wine while searching around the kitchen counter for them. I feel my heart splutter in panic. Crap, I can't find them anywhere in the kitchen. Where did I put them? I hope I haven't left them in the living room where he is. Shit, what if I did and he sees them?

Now isn't the time to panic, though. Everything is going to work out fine. Or so I try to convince myself.

With shaky fingers, I grab a wine glass off the shelf, prying the bottle open. I end up spilling some of the wine on the floor, and I curse under my breath as I frantically grab the sponge to clean it up off the tiles. By the time I carry his glass of wine into the living room, I feel flustered and embarrassed already.

I find Christian on the couch, the TV going softly. He must have turned the mute off.

"Here's your wine, as requested," I croak out, handing it to him carefully.

"Thank you for your speedy service." His eyes are shining with amusement, yet I can't tell if he is actually making fun of me or not. Am I acting like a total idiot?

I sit next to him, focusing on the TV while I see out of the corner of my eye Christian raising the glass to his lips. That panic and fluttering sensation in my chest hits me again as I try to pay attention to what is happening on the TV, rather than the man beside me who I so want to have sex with.

I realize I've ended up sitting too close to him on the couch; Every time he moves to take a sip of his wine, his shoulder ends up brushing against me. It leaves me feeling strangely overheated every time it happens.

When I figure it is safe to without being caught by him, I risk a quick peek at the side of his face. He seems... engrossed in what's on the TV. Pity I can't say the same for me. What they are saying on the show doesn't even register to me. All that I can seem to be aware of is that he is actually here, in my house, sitting close to me.

Suddenly, he turns his head to look at me and I glance away hurriedly, my cheeks flaming. "Do you like this show?" he asks me, and I feel like I'm about to catch on fire as I force myself to meet his eyes again with a smile.

"Um, not really. I don't even watch this show usually."

"So why did you invite me over here?" His brows furrow in confusion as he shifts slightly to look at me, resting his wine glass on his knee.

Fuck, what to say? My mind races. Do I get it over with and just say it? I invited you over here because I want you to make love to me. What? What do I say?

"Because Mom's away for the night," I end up saying, though it isn't what I want to actually say. "I thought it would be... perfect for us to spend some time together."

"Watching the TV?"

Say it now, my mind screams at me. Say what you want now that you've captured his attention.

"No, not just to... watch the TV exactly. Just to, um... take advantage."

His gray eyes remain on me, shining with amusement, as he lifts his glass, pursing his lips over the rim to take a short sip of the red wine in. I can't help watching him swallow in fascination. I'm captivated. God, his lips are so perfect. I want to feel them against my skin. I want to feel his mouth on my skin, everywhere. Lowering the glass, he runs his tongue over his lips, moistening them. It only makes me redden as I find myself fantasizing about his tongue now. I want his tongue on me, most of all...

I can't take it anymore. It's now or never. It is time to be brave and be adult.

Boldly, I make myself maintain eye-contact with him as I reach over, curling my fingers over the stem of the wine glass, yanking it free from his grasp. Sitting up, I place the wine glass on the coffee table. He lets me do it so at least that's something.

The scary part comes next. I turn, angling my body, climbing over him on the couch, sitting astride him with my legs. As I curl my arms around his neck, facing him, I see him inhale in deeply as he sits up slightly, creating more distance between us with his face. My heart sinks as I take in his expression; It isn't very encouraging at all. He looks... uncomfortable.

Still, I ignore it, lifting up a hand to touch the side of his face, feeling the short hairs on his jaw from his stubble. He closes his eyes, inhaling in again. I get the impression that he doesn't want to look at me. He definitely still seems uncomfortable, especially with the way he has angled the upper half of his torso away from me.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" I whisper in confusion, studying his face. I know I am though, and it's a silly question. It crushes me that he won't dare look at me.

But then he slowly reopens his eyes, looking straight at me. His eyes search my face for a second, before he asks in a strangely deeper and strained tone, "What are you doing right now, Ana?"

"I think you know already just what I'm doing, Christian." I grab one of his hands, putting it on my thigh making him hold onto me. "Did you think I really asked you here only so that you could watch the TV with me?"

I decide to make the first move and go in for the kill, even if it will leave me heartbroken afterwards. I lean in, pressing my mouth to his, keeping our lips held on each others. I hear him swallow audibly due to our closeness, his lips parting. He doesn't kiss me back though, which leaves a frisson of frustration to form in my gut. I lean back, glancing at him, sliding my hand down his face, back onto his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he repeats, narrowing his eyes at me. I realize he's angry with me. I'm actually making him angry. But how? Why?

"I... I just..." I falter, glancing down at one of the buttons on his shirt as a stab of pain and rejection crashes over me. "Mom's gone away for the night. I... I just wanted to invite you over because I knew we would be alone together."

"To do what exactly? What do you want?"

I realize he actually doesn't understand. He hasn't worked out what my true intentions are. Apparently I haven't been as obvious with it as I had thought.

"I just... I wanted you to come over while my mother was away."

"Yes, and I think I figured that out. But why?" When I glance up at his face nervously, I see how irritated he looks. "What did you want with me being here? To just 'chill out', as you put it?"

"No, not to chill out exactly. I wanted you to..." I take in a deep breath, avoiding his gaze again. God, why is it so difficult? "I... I wanted you to make love to me, that's all. I... I thought it would be perfect, seeing as we would be alone and Mom wouldn't be here all night to catch us."

"You wanted me to make love to you?"There is something there in his tone, something... different. I almost feel like he is making fun of me, that he is laughing at me. "So that's what you want, Anastasia? For me to make love to you while we are alone in your mother's house?"

There is no way I can avoid him, not when he lifts a hand, clasping my chin between his thumb and fingers, forcing my head up so I have no choice to meet his gaze. My stomach dances in unease.

"Y-Yes, it's what I want."

"You're just only seventeen."

"So what? A lot of people my age have had sex already. Some even younger."

"You're a child."

My hands clench instinctively around his shoulders as I feel them tremble with anger, my jaw stiffening. I'm just a child? No, I'm not. I'm not a child.

"I'm not a child," I choke out in anger. "The age of consent here is sixteen. I'm not a child, and I know what I want! And, besides... you said you were fifteen when you experienced your first time, didn't you?"

He sighs loudly, bringing up a hand to comb his fingers through his hair slowly. "Yes, but that's... different."

"How? Why the double standard then?"

"I suppose it was... similar," Christian says in a low voice, considering. "She was much older than I was. Much, much, much older. And with you, I guess it will be different," he goes on, like he is trying to convince himself. "I really like you and I know you agreed to be my girlfriend. I introduced you to my mother... the first time I've ever introduced her to anyone."

"So why should it matter that we do this now?"

Something foreign snaps and breaks within me. Slackening my hand from his shoulder, I reach down, grabbing one of his much bigger ones. I hold it in my own, guiding it up, making him cup one of my breasts though the fabric of my dress, forcing his palm to squeeze down on it firmly. I hear his breathing speed up, going shallower.

"See?" I mutter stoutly, my eyes stinging with tears as he closes his eyes again tightly. "How can I be a child to you when I have these?"

"I don't make love. It's just... not what I do." He sounds conflicted, torn. I'm not entirely sure what he means by that. But I guess its called everything, isn't it? Making love, sex. Fucking. I know I'm winning in swaying his mind though at least.

"So don't make love to me then," I say urgently, pleadingly. "I don't care how it happens or... or what you want to call it. I just want it with you. I... I want you to be my first, just you."

Christian reopens his eyes slowly, glancing up at me, his jaw tight. A hoarse and hollow chuckle escapes him. "You don't know what you're saying."

I bend down, pressing my mouth to his again. This time, he responds in the way I want him to. With my hand still holding his over my breast through my dress, he starts kissing me back, his lips moving against mine. Slow at first, building up, then it turns urgent and intense, like he feels we are short on time.

Then he slides forward to the edge of the couch, his arm coming around me, keeping me pinned to him. When he stands, my legs clench around him instinctively out of fear of falling, then he starts walking with me in his arms, our kissing turning into something quicker and needy. I realize he is carrying me upstairs to my bedroom, to my bed.

I know we have arrived there when suddenly we fall and my back hits the mattress while Christian is on top of me. He stops kissing me, breathing heavily, moving off the bed to stand in front of me. My breathing is shallow, my heart racing in excitement when he strips out of his blazer, throwing it carelessly at his feet. Then he unbuttons his shirt quickly, shuffling out of it, dropping it to the floor as he undoes his jeans.

I have never seen a man naked before, no less his genitals. So its confronting when Christian kicks off his shoes before stepping out of his jeans, exposed to me everywhere. A man's penis, it's... strange, yet in a good way. He stares at me for a moment, looking deeply down into my eyes, unashamed of his body. He is toned, with muscular thighs and a few strange scars on his chest. When he pants for me to stand, I feel those nerves settling in when he goes behind me, finding the zipper of my dress.

He slides it down, and his hands, eager and impatient, slips the strap off my shoulder. I let the dress fall straight down at my feet, fighting the urge to cover myself from him in just my bra and underwear.

"I don't make love, if that's what you're expecting," he breathes very seriously, reminding me of that again, I guess. "So are you sure this is still exactly what you want?"

I turn my head, forcing myself to look at him from where he stands. His eyes are drinking me in, my skin, the way I look in my underwear and bra. And it's so nice, so nice how he looks. For once, someone is looking at me in a way that I have always felt I have wanted to be looked at. Like I'm someone attractive, someone inspiring desire.

"Yes," I assure him anxiously. "This is exactly what I want."

A/N: I apologize about this chapter. I was tired when I wrote it, then reading back I realized I'd missed vital points in the story that had previously happened. Sorry for my tardiness. Christian does really like Ana and wants to be in a relationship with her, have a future, its just the way he associates making love as, due to his previous background with Elena, etc.

I'm sorry if its crap and confusing! I enjoy reading your perspectives and some feel that he is similar to Elena, Mrs Robinson. I guess that can be said but it won't work out that way. He isn't actually manipulating her or anything, his intentions are as well as they can be :-)