Chapter Fourteen - I'll Drink To That
Christian's POV
Waking up the next morning to find my wife missing was not how I wanted to start my day at all. The empty spot beside me was cold, indicating that she hadn't been in bed with me for a while. If it wasn't for her crumpled pillows and the half-empty glass of orange juice on the night stand I would have thought she hadn't been to sleep at all. Which is ridiculous considering we'd both gone to bed together what…five hours ago? Fuck. Now, I'm used to getting hardly any sleep at all but even I'm exhausted. Christ knows how Ana is feeling.
Throwing the sheet off, I drag myself up and storm out of the bedroom, not giving a shit about the fact that I'm ass naked. All I care is about is finding my wife. I swear to fuck, if she's left this suite without me…
I'm already fearing the worse and I don't even know anything for sure yet. She could just be in the shower. Except, I don't hear water running when I pass the bathroom. I don't hear anything, the silence is fucking deafening.
"Ana?" I call out, trying my damned hardest to keep my voice calm when in reality, I feel anything but. "Ana?!"
Anxiety pools in my gut. Where in the fucking fuck is she? I check the balcony twice, feeling the need to scan underneath the sun beds just to be sure. Idiot. After dashing back into the bedroom to throw on a pair of boxers, I punch my thumb against the screen of my phone for Taylor's speed dial, my breathing already ragged and out of synch.
"She should be with you any moment now, sir."
"Where the fuck did she go? Why didn't you call me?"
"Mrs. Grey asked me not to. She seemed to be rather upset."
"She tell you why?"
"No, sir. I didn't feel at liberty to ask, either."
Sometimes, just sometimes; I fucking hate it when Taylor talks to me like this. He's my employee, my most honest and trust-worthy employee at that but he's also my friend. My wife knocks on his door at six in the fucking morning and he doesn't bother to even ask why? Damn it all to fucking hell, I want him to berate me. I actually want him to call me a dickhead and tell me how disgusting I am for treating Ana the way I did. I just want…I need someone to hurt me like I hurt her.
As soon as I disconnect the call with pursed lips and a pounding heart, I hear the familiar ping of a key-card slotting into the door. She's fucking beautiful as always, even at this god-awful hour. Her face is completely void of make-up and her hair is in a messy braid, draped over one shoulder. I should be pissed that she's been with Taylor this whole time wearing nothing but a barely there tank top and a pair of skin-tight yoga shorts but I refrain from saying anything. She crept out of our suite without telling me after all. Clearly she's still upset with me.
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"Because I didn't want to." Her tone isn't sarcastic or cold, but that doesn't mean my blood doesn't run cold any less. "I wanted space."
"Why?"
"Why what, Christian."
"Why did you want space? We cleared the air last night, didn't we?"
"No. You thought we cleared the air last night. There's a difference."
I watch her cross the length of the room, kicking off her flip-flops as she goes. She looks tired. Drained even and I feel like a shit, a complete and utter fucking shit. Did she even sleep when we went to bed? I spooned her from behind and buried my nose in her hair like I always do, my hand had even wandered to her breast ready for it's usual tweak and squeeze but she'd blocked my advances by pressing her forearm against her chest, preventing me from touching any higher than her stomach.
I could have course just slid my hand into her panties and fucked her with my fingers instead but that wouldn't have been well received either. When I'd asked her to stay naked she shook her head and shot me a timid smile, a smile that basically screamed 'fuck you'. She didn't want to re-connect that way whereas I had been desperate to sink balls deep inside her. I don't know what changed, but she couldn't shuffle to the edge of the bed anymore if she tried. My touch seemed to repulse her.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Were you just pretending to get over it? That's a pretty cruel fucking move, Ana."
"See, that's exactly what I mean." She spins around and throws her arms out, letting them flail in the air for several seconds before dropping them to her side with a slap. "You've just expected me to move on and forget that yesterday ever happened, Christian. Can't you see how backward that is?"
"How the fuck is it backward? I was an ass and I apologised. I don't see what more I can fucking do, Anastasia."
"You could try talking to me like a normal person instead of rolling on top of me like a damn horn dog every single time we argue. What was that?"
I can't figure out if she's referring to our frantic fuck or what happened once we'd gone to bed. If it's the latter, then I don't see how she can be pissed off. She's my wife. I'm her husband. My cock couldn't give two shits if we're fighting, if it comes into contact with her soft, warm flesh then it'll get fucking hard regardless. "You left our suite alone because I tried to grind my hard on against your ass? Do you realise how fucking immature that is?"
"I told you I didn't want to have sex, Christian, and you blatantly ignored me. It doesn't fix everything, you know. It doesn't matter how much you want it to, it can't fix it."
I need coffee and a shower. Preferably in that order but something tells me I'll get fucking neither anytime soon. She's out for blood, much like I was yesterday and in some sick way, I realise that this ismy punishment. It's both frustrating and gratifying. "I never said it did, Ana. Why are you making such a big deal out of this?"
"I want you to see that you can't just mould me into what you need me to be. An apology doesn't always make it right, and I can't change that. I'm a fucking person with feelings, Christian. Not just some blow up doll you can fuck whenever you feel like it."
"What's with all the sex bullshit? You've never complained before so what's changed?"
She doesn't respond verbally, but the way she folds her arms across her chest and rolls her eyes pisses me off. If I could bang my head against a fucking wall, I would in a heartbeat. Anything to shut off this incessant throb at the back of my temples. Usually, I'd leave her to cool off and bury myself in work. I'd either lock myself away in the study at Escala or hide out at Grey House for nothing more than a reprieve. Not that I can do this here. In fucking Greece. Wonderful.
"I left this morning because I didn't want an argument, Christian. I still don't so can we just drop it, please?"
"You're a fucking mind trip, woman." Pulling the tie free from her hair, she runs her hand through the crimped locks with a blank expression, almost like I'm invisible. She may not want a fight but the way she's acting, it sure doesn't seem that fucking way. Doesn't she realise that this sort of behaviour drives me insane? Literally insane. I want to push her away and kiss the shit out of her all at the same time. "Where did you even go?"
"For a walk."
"Where?"
"Just around," She sighs heavily, shrugging her shoulders like we're discussing the damn weather. "I knew you'd freak out if I went alone so I called Jason. He didn't seem to mind."
"I pay him not to mind, Anastasia. If you asked him to wipe your fucking ass he'd do it."
"You're a real dick, do you know that?"
When she called me that last night her tone was full of malice, but now it's nothing more than a soft chide. Gentle banter, even. I smile despite myself, even though I know we're beyond okay. For some reason she woke up pissed at me, probably even more pissed than she was last night but she's here. She's with me. That must count for something.
"Do you want breakfast?"
"Coffee would be nice."
"I'll order some up," I grumble. "Take a shower."
"You're telling me what to do now?"
I turn to face her with a scowl, catching the smirk at the corner of her lips before she stalks towards the bathroom; her hips swaying with an extra ounce of sass. She's so fucking hot, even when she pisses me off the way she does. Maybe that's half the problem, I can't seem to control my dick and for some reason she's chastising me for it. It's mind-boggling.
Opening the door to a breathless blonde, panting like a dog as she wheels coffee, yogurt and cold meat into the suite grates on me. I'm sure if I gave her half an inch she'd be on her knees and humping my leg with her panties around her ankles. I don't even offer so much as a smile, all she gets is a curt nod and a flick of the wrist. She's oozing disappointment when she leaves with flushed cheeks and a bowed head.
Checking they've added sugar the way my wife likes it, I grimace as the sweet tang hits my taste-buds before setting the cup on the nightstand ready for her. I've actually never understood why she does that. Instead of drinking her coffee in the kitchen over breakfast like a normal person, she insists on parading around the bedroom with a towel wrapped around her torso and a mug glued to her hand the entire time; only putting the thing down to apply her make-up and blow dry her hair. It's pretty fucking adorable.
"What?" She asks once she catches my grin, raising the cup to her lips and perching her sweet ass on the edge of the bed. Her skin is still damp, droplets of water dripping from the ends of her hair onto her bare thigh. "You're staring at me."
"I'm watching you, there's a difference."
"May I ask why?"
"You can. Doesn't mean I'll tell you, though." She huffs when my lips graze her forehead, pushing back the urge to nuzzle my hair into the wet locks stuck to her neck. "You still want to go out today?"
"Of course. We can't stay holed up in here all day."
I bite my tongue and swallow a smart ass remark about doing exactly that only naked and sweaty but I don't. Poking the tiger and all that. I personally couldn't give a fuck about leaving the suite, I'd be quite happy hiding away with my wife until we've finished thrashing this fucking argument out. Or at least until she can look at me for longer than ten seconds.
"I'm thinking about having a therapy session with Ray." Ana's voice jolts me back to the moment, and it takes me a good minute or two for her words to register with my brain. "Do you think it's a bad idea?"
"No, not at all." I'm just surprised you're opening up to me about it. "What's brought this on?"
"The wedding," She sighs. "His speech to be more specific. I didn't…well, I just didn't expect that. He was a little too rough on himself for my liking."
"I agree."
She's right. Ray's speech was hard to listen to. I don't know what Anastasia was expecting, but I sure as fuck wasn't prepared to hear what he had to say. I thought he'd sing his daughter's praises, threaten with me an air-rifle and raise a glass to the happy couple, but it was so…tough. I thought he was moments away from a meltdown, like someone had opened up the bottle of emotions he's spent the last ten years holding in and he didn't know how to control himself.
Don't get me wrong, the words he'd used to describe my wife were fucking beautiful. He couldn't love her anymore if he tried and I know there wasn't a dry eye in the house, I just wish he'd pre-warned me about the whole Morton thing. I definitely wasn't ready for the way Ana's fingers tightened around mine, or the way she'd seized up once he started to speak.
"He's not over what happened, Christian. I was stupid to ever think that he was."
"You're not stupid, baby. You just have a lot of faith in your father, there's nothing wrong with that." She stands with a huff and unhooks her towel, the rich material dropping to the floor in a puddle of soft Egyptian cotton. Fuck. Don't get hard, Grey. Do not get fucking hard. "How soon were you thinking?"
"As soon as we get home. I'll need to ask him first, I don't expect for him to just agree without me discussing my reasons beforehand." She tilts her head and bends to rub that coconut scented lotion my cock loves so much into the muscles of her calf. "Hell, I don't even know what my reasons are."
"Did you ever have sessions together when you were younger?"
"Once." She murmurs. "But it was straight after everything had happened and my head wasn't really in it. It caused more harm than good."
"That's understandable." I still remember those early therapy sessions with Dr. West, the painful memories will forever be ingrained at the back of my fucking mind. I don't think Ana even knows of the history I share with her shrink but I'm not about to tell her, I don't want her to worry about her confidentiality especially after all the progress she's made over the last four months. West is Ana's therapist, not mine. "I'm sure he'll be on board, baby. Your happiness is all that matters to Ray." And to me.
"That's just it, though. I don't want my happiness to be all the matters. What about his happiness? Doesn't that count?"
"Baby," I stretch my hand out with the intentions of stroking her cheek, but I don't know if we're quite 'there' yet so I drop it before my fingers can make contact. I don't even think she's noticed. "Your dad isn't unhappy."
"Isn't he?" She completely bypasses her tits thank god. I don't think I'd be able to handle her creaming her nipples while we're trying to have a serious conversation. There are just some things a man can't take - his wife groping herself being one of them. "Why hasn't he found someone? Christian, he's been divorced for over ten years and I've never known him to date. Don't you think that's a little strange?"
"Maybe he didn't want to rock the boat."
"Rock the boat, how?"
"Baby, you were a traumatised fifteen year old. I doubt getting laid was at the top of his priorities." Ana grimaces with a scrunched up nose as she steps into her panties. Lack of panties is more like it. It's nothing more than a piece of dental floss. "Imagine how you would have felt if he'd introduced you to a woman he was fucking?"
"Do you have to put it so bluntly."
"It doesn't matter how I put it, Ana, it's true. The last thing you needed was another fucked up step-parent."
"Christian, I wasn't afraid of women. If Ray had found someone I would have been nothing but happy for him, he deserves someone amazing to love him. He's had nothing but shit ever since Carla fucked him over." She tosses the smaller towel onto the bed with a huff after scrubbing the ends of hair dry. "And then Jen pissed off into the unknown. They had always been close, you know? I think that affected him more than he let on."
Fucking awkward. How do I tell my wife that her father had feelings for her aunt? He probably still does which only adds to the awkwardness. Ana's clearly never picked up on anything, and if I'm being honest, I'd like to keep it that way. At least until we get home. That's a conversation I'd really like to save for another time, preferably when Ray's around.
"Well, she's back now. I'm sure they're back home and reconnecting as we speak." Or fucking each other senseless. "Just focus on what's important, baby. Ray's love life isn't your concern."
She throws me a sideways glare but I choose to ignore it. I completely understand why she wants to go for this joint therapy session, it's something they should've done ten years ago. As for how many times the man's gotten laid since leaving that manipulative shrew? That's just plain fucking weird. Who wants to know the details of their parents sex lives? I sure as fuck don't.
"What did you decide on?"
"Huh?" She's staring into space, the reflection in her small compact mirror the most fascinating thing in the world to her. "What did you say?"
"Baby, you're fucking out of it." Her face presses into my palm. I want to drag her into my arms and hold her there, I want to squeeze her soft flesh and promise her that everything will be okay. I don't know what's eating her; whether it's our fucked up argument or because her past is niggling away at the back of her mind. One thing's for sure, if I'm the reason behind her internal meltdown I'll never forgive myself. "Is there anything else you want to talk about?"
"Like what?"
Bite that fucking bullet, Grey. "Does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday?"
Her eyelashes flicker momentarily, she's taking me in; she's thinking about her answer. I don't fucking like it. If I'm not to blame, she would have put me out of my misery instantly. I probably would have even received a reassuring kiss. Instead I get this, fucking nothing.
She's quiet as she dresses, blocking me out entirely the second she flicks the blow dryer on. Her breakfast is nothing more than two bites of fried omelette and a mouthful of yogurt and I'm positive her lack of appetite is once again my fault but I refrain from calling her up on it. Her hand is limp in mine when we leave the suite and she's completely despondent during the ride to Mandraki Harbour. I'm fucking anxious as hell. She doesn't even acknowledge Sawyer when he mentions his facetime session with Fran late last night, her face remains stoic when usually she lights up like a fucking Christmas Tree whenever her friends' are dragged into conversation.
The tension between us is unbearable. I'm two seconds away from hauling her ass back into the car when she shrugs me away while we're walking but that would only fuel her antagonism; something I'm unwilling to do. She's shielding her face with oversized sunglasses, either to hide the resentment in her eyes or to disguise the tears threatening to fall. I know my wife. She's on the verge of breaking down.
"Yesterday had nothing to do with it." She confesses, her voice no louder than a whisper. The gentle breeze sifts through her hair and creates a wispy veil framing her face. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still so angry with how you treated me but my issues with Ray are completely separate, Christian. Joint therapy has been at the back of my mind for a while now."
"Baby, I love you. But you're confusing the fuck out of me, right now. Why are you ignoring me like this?"
"It's not intentional." A sigh passes her lips as she twists the cap off of her bottled water. "I don't want to feel this way and I certainly don't want to make you feel like shit. That's not what I'm doing."
"Then what are you doing? I really thought we'd sorted everything last night, Ana. I gave you her necklace back. I opened up to you despite how fucking sick it made me feel."
"I know, I know." Like an elastic band has snapped inside her, she takes a cautious step forward and lifts her hand to my face, her fingers grazing my jaw line. I flinch instinctively but she doesn't seem to notice. Either that or she's purposely brushing over it. "I'm sorry. You have no idea how much that meant to me."
"You left the suite this morning." It's more of a statement than a question. A statement that has left me bitter. "Why the fuck would you do that?"
"I told you, I needed space."
"But you haven't told me why. I don't believe that sex bull shit either so don't spin me it."
Blue eyes seek mine, tiny sapphire specs glinting in the morning sun. I can't figure this woman out for the life of me. For a split second, the thought that she could be pregnant savagely takes hold and causes the hair at the back of my neck to stand on end. Before long though, I'm forced to confront the harsh reality. There's no way she could be pregnant, she's been grumbling about her period for the past two days. Her breasts are sore and cramps have already set in, it's literally just a matter of time before I'm dealing with a bitchy, hormonal wife. Hormonal. That would definitely explain the nature of her continuous mood swings.
"I wish I knew," She mumbles, her fingers still stroking the stubble dusting my cheek. When I'm pissed off, I don't shave. "I just know that I needed it. I really wasn't gone for long, Christian, and Taylor was with me the whole time."
"The fact that you turned to a member of staff before turning to me doesn't make me happy, Anastasia. It actually really fucks me off."
"I didn't turn to him. I don't think I even said more than two words at a time, that's why I asked him to go with me. He just lets me be."
"And I don't?" Dropping her hand, she takes a step back and pushes her hair out of her face.
"Honestly? No, you don't. You stifle me and throw a thousand and one questions at me until all I want to do is punch you in the face."
I can't help it. A shit-eating grin breaks through and I'm powerless to stop it. That's just what she does to me, even when I really don't want her to she totally disarms me and throws me for a loop. It's frustrating and arousing as hell. "Do you want to punch me in the face right now?"
"I do when you look at me like that. Stop looking at me like that!"
"Like what?" Her responding grin isn't as wide as mine but it's there none the less. She's smiling. I'm smiling. All is fucking right in the world again. "How am I looking at you?"
"You know how." She folds her arms and straightens her stance, flicking her sandal-clad foot across the ground like a small child, but that smirk is still there and it's as devious as ever. "You're an ass."
"I think we've already established that more than once."
"Good. I'm glad."
"You," Curling my hand around her wrist, I pull her against me rough and fast. My free hand drifts lower, dangerously close to her ass but I settle on gripping her hip instead. "Are a maddening, maddening woman, Anastasia Grey."
"I wonder why," She murmurs dryly.
"That smart mouth is about to land you in real trouble, baby."
"Do I look scared?"
And that right there is what makes me lose all self control. Without further warning, I bend my knees and crash our mouths together. A small gasp escapes her lips but that only spurs me on further, her shock and hesitation turns me on to the point of no return. My cock is hard within seconds and the feel of her dainty hands gripping the collar of my shirt does nothing to calm the big guy down.
I could fuck her right here and right now if she'd let me. She pushes her body into mine and her tongue moves like a serpent, it's like she can't get enough of me. Not that I would ever want her to. We're as ravenous as each other.
"Christian, stop," Fear settles in the pit of my stomach when she pushes back, breaking our connection with a fierce wrench. But one look at my breathless wife, all smeared gloss and bruised lips, the fear dissipates just as quickly as it came. "People are watching."
"Like I give a fuck?"
"I know you don't, but I do. We look like nymphs."
"Are you disputing that we aren't?"
Ana rubs her lips together, her fingernail swiping at the corner of her mouth. Her cheeks are flushed and her breathing is still ragged but other than that, she's fucking calm and collected; something I'm not. Last night, we shared a frenetic, anger-fuelled fuck but it's done nothing to satisfy me. I need to make love to her. I need to feel her walls contracting around my cock as she spills over the brink of sanity. I need to palm her heavy breast and roll an aching nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I just need her.
She's determined to leave me hanging though. Her steel resolve is unrelenting and despite my fingers snaking across the curve of her ass as we walk, she's reserved and unaffected. Either her attraction to me is waning thick and fast, which I know is fucking out of the question considering how hard I made her come last night, or she's purposely withholding sex as a punishment. A tactic that is so goddamn brilliant, I struggle to disguise my raging hard-on from fellow tourists and locals.
Game on, Mrs. Grey. Game fucking on.
Anastasia's POV
Lunch was a quiet affair. In fact, the whole day has been a quiet affair up to now. After spending the entire morning at the Harbour, we trawled through the streets of Rhodes Town in the hopes of finding somewhere secluded and quaint to eat. Although we'd made up again for what felt like the hundredth time since landing in Greece not even seven days ago, there's still that frustrating as hell barrier between us, preventing us from making extreme contact with each other. All we've done since that kiss is hold hands like two teenage lovers. It's dissatisfying. The isolated restaurant with no more than three customers only added to the tension bubbling between us.
Holy fuck, that kiss. Like striking a match, my entire body ignited as all my hair stood on end. The feel of his lips against mine had been electrifying, which sounds absurd when I think about how often I kiss this man on a daily basis, but somehow - it felt different. It was different.
His hand remained glued to my thigh on the drive back to the hotel. He flinched slightly when I made the bold move to lace our fingers together but other than a small jerk of the chin, he made no effort to react, simply opting to stare out of the window like the tortured soul he sometimes can be. Taylor left us in the lobby with a stiff nod, this morning's events clearly long forgotten. I don't even know what I was thinking. One minute I was cocooned in my husband's arms, his breath hitting the back of my neck and the next thing I knew, Taylor and I were walking side by side in relative silence. It was an equal measure of comforting and awkward.
"What do you want to do for dinner tonight?"
His voice was like honey, a husky mix of sex and control and all I wanted right there in that moment, watching him leant against the doorway in just his boxers, was to fuck him something raw. Which by the way, was totally hypocritical and slutty of me after the horrific lecture I threw at him this morning. Sex doesn't fix everything.
So instead of pulling on his hair and licking his neck, I shrugged my shoulders and told him I didn't want to do anything. I could feel his eyes on me as I secured the knot of my bikini around my back and when I left him standing in the bedroom my skin felt like it was on fire - all because of the scorching heat emitting from his smouldering gray orbs.
He wants me. I want him. We're both acting like stubborn assholes and I actually don't have the faintest idea why. Maybe it's because you acted like an insane bitch this morning when all he wanted was to put things right? I push back the incessant niggling at the corner of my mind and pinch my nose, sinking under water and letting my body go lax. It's refreshing. It's peace. It's what I need.
When I resurface, I lock eyes with my husband. My gorgeous, hot as fuck husband. He's crouched down with a towel in his hand, dressed in nothing but a pair of swim shorts. I don't know where he's been but his hair is wet and his skin is covered in a thin sheen of oil. He looks like one of those fucking swim campaign models. My clit throbs and my nipples harden just from looking at him.
"Feel better now?"
"Huh?" I ask, all breathless and panting. It's pathetic really.
"After your swim."
"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Fucking hell, I'm nothing more than a mumbling moron. I'm a grown woman - a grown married woman and I can't control my arousal. He hasn't even touched me yet. Pathetic.
"Come here."
Before I can even protest, Christian reaches for my arms and drags me out of the pool, draping a freshly laundered towel around my shoulders. What the?… "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," He whispers with a smile. "You've been avoiding me."
"No, I haven't." I actually have, but I'm not about to admit that to him without defending my actions first. "Where have you been?"
"Oh no you don't. We're not doing that again."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Stop it, Ana." His tone morphs from tender and sweet to cold and stiff. It's unnerving. "Come inside."
"Where are we going?"
"Nowhere." Once inside the confines of our suite, Christian tugs at the towel and tosses it to the side. For an electrifying minute, I think that he's going to fuck me. His stare is intense and his lips part, molten irises scanning my damp skin from head to toe. But he doesn't. He doesn't even touch me. "You didn't want to go out, remember? We're staying in tonight."
"I thought that you want-" One lone finger presses against my lips and it takes all my willpower to stop myself from kissing it.
"Dry off and get dressed. I'll fix you a drink."
My head is a fucking shed. I don't know what kind of game he's playing here, but it's working. I'm officially spent and exhausted, I couldn't argue with the man if I tried. Is that what he wants? Is he trying to talk me into submission? He's barely touched me and granted, I've been rejecting his advances ever since last night but I don't know what more can be said here? I was pissed, he was pissed. I'm trying to get over this and although I'm having a tough old time, all I want to is curl into a ball on his lap and sleep until the early hours of tomorrow morning.
I follow the rules. I get dressed. I don't know what he wants me to wear but after no more than a quick rummage through the top drawer of my dresser, I settle on a simple pair of cotton shorts and a stark white camisole with spaghetti straps. It's still stifling hot and I'm in no mood to dress up. This will do just fine.
I find him in the living area, sitting on one of the couches with his head in his hands. He's still shirtless and I can't decide if it's a good thing or a bad thing. Either way, it's distracting as hell. He doesn't look at me but he must sense my presence because the second I scoot towards him, he lifts his head and scrubs his face with one of his large hands. Those hands. God those hands.
"What's this?" I gesture towards the table with a flick of the wrist, taking in the two empty crystal cut tumblers beside a bottle of unopened patron. "Drowning your sorrows or something?"
"No. We both are." My brow furrows in confusion. He wants to get drunk? That's his big plan for the evening? "The guys drank this shit by the gallon at my Bachelor party," He shakes his head with a chuckle. "I personally found it fucking vile."
"Then why are you staring at it like you want to devour it?"
"Because it's strong and right now, I need strong." Christian wordlessly cracks off the cap and pours out way too much liquor. Is he trying to knock out a horse? More to the point? Am I that horse? He eyes the glass, his gaze flickering between me and the patron almost dubiously. "Before we do this, is there…Ana, I can't let you drink this if there's a small chance that you could be-"
"I'm not pregnant." I cut him off before he can finish. Disappointment clouds his expression instantly and I take to twisting my fingers in my lap awkwardly. "I got my period this afternoon."
"You never said,"
"We weren't exactly talking."
Disappointment changes into something else entirely. Regret, perhaps? All I know is, the second my husband slides the glass across the table I take a healthy, welcome sip. The fiery liquid burns like a bitch but I drink it anyway. "Tonight, we're going to sit here and talk, and we're going to drink while we're doing it."
"Talk about what?" I ask like a fool. We have so much to talk about, starting with what the hell even started this whole shit storm in the first place.
"Nothing. Everything."
"That sounds ominous."
"Ana," Christian leans forward and braces his forearms against his knees. "We're husband and wife, married. We're equal partners now, can you honestly say that you know everything about me?"
"Of course I don't," I frown again. "I think yesterday established that."
"Exactly my point. We don't know everything about each other, and I plan to rectify that."
"How?" A mischievous smile curls at the corner of his lips before taking another sip of his drink. I note that that hasn't chugged the thing back like I did; well, almost did. The bastard is no doubt pacing himself in the hopes that I crash before him.
"When have we ever just done this?"
"What? The talking or the getting wasted?"
"Both."
I roll my tongue inside my mouth for several seconds. When have we done this together? The first night we met there was alcohol, lots of it at that but that didn't count. There were other people there, it wasn't just us. "Have I ever seen you drunk?" I ask him quietly.
"Depends on what you class as drunk?" That's a no then. "You were pretty trashed that night you went out with the girls." Oh yes. The night in which Fran and Sawyer hooked up for the first time. I gave Christian a blow job when I got home. It was pretty damn amazing if I do say so myself. "Not that I'm complaining."
"Is alcohol such a good idea right now? We could both say things we don't mean."
"On the contrary, I'm sure we'd say things we definitely do mean. That's what you're afraid of."
"I'm not afraid." Maybe just a tad. "I just don't want this argument to escalate, Christian. I want to resolve it."
"So let's resolve it." He tells me, so cock-sure and arrogant as he flops back into the couch. Fuck, he looks so sexy. His hair is still damp and his taut skin looks so smooth and tanned. A few more of these bad boys and I'll be on my knees and crawling towards him, kissing his feet and licking that soft spot below his ear. "You start."
"What do you want me to tell you exactly?"
"Oh no," He flicks his finger in the air with a wink. "It's about what you want to ask me."
"Like a game?"
"If that's what you want to refer to it as then yeah, it's a game."
"So how does it work? We take a shot after every question?"
"Whatever you want, babe."
He looks so young and carefree, all sprawled out and shirtless; circling his tumbler and swirling the clear liquid around the bottom of the glass. Nothing like the hot headed mess I've been living with for the past twenty-four hours.
My girlish side gradually starts to shine through. Here he is, offering himself to me on a platter; complete open book and here I am, all stiff upper lip and clenched fingers; gripping my drink like it's about to vanish into thin air.
He wants to play? Let's play.
"You are so fucking full of shit."
"Why is that so hard to believe?" Christian snorts, smacking a hand over his cheek and scratching the faint stubble peppering his jaw-line. "You curse like a sailor when you're drunk, by the way."
"I'm not even drunk. And stop changing the subject!"
We're both on the floor, cross-legged and facing each other from opposite ends of the coffee table. I don't know how long we've been 'playing' for but the room is starting to spin and I'm beginning to tire of the sound of my own voice. Or is that Christian's voice? My hair is a wild mess, tumbling over my shoulders and down my back and somewhere along the way, I've decided to ditch my husband's oversized hoodie, leaving me in just my tank-top and shorts - sans bra.
Who the hell needs a bra in Greece, anyway? Who needs a hoodie in Greece?
"Have you painted me as some sort of ugly kid or something?"
"You're forgetting that I've seen Grace's photo-album, baby. Twice ."
"You'll pay for that, Mrs. Grey." Christian clumsily tips the patron and tops up his glass. I hold a hand over mine and thankfully he gets the hint, leaving my tumbler well alone. "She wanted me."
"Bullshit." If he thinks I'll believe this tripe then he's got another thing coming. Now, all joking aside, I have rifled through Grace's photos and although it pains me to admit it - my husband was a beautiful piece of flesh, even when he hit puberty. But there's no way in hell his forty-six year old piano teacher tried to seduce him when he was eighteen. Not only is it sick, it's such a ridiculous concoction of events it's almost laughable. "You told me you hated piano lessons."
"I did."
"So you're telling me that the Christian Grey still took piano lessons at eighteen years old? An age where he could do what the hell he wanted without getting grounded?"
"Have you met my mother?"
"I've met you!" I shriek. "And anyone who's met you knows that you don't do anything you don't want to do."
"What can I say?" He shrugs his shoulder with an arrogant smirk. "I had a thing for bifocals and cashmere sweaters."
"I'll bear that in mind."
This is just what we needed. At first I was reluctant, the thought of firing out personal questions when we were already on the brink of ripping each other to shreds irked me somewhat. Where I consider myself quite easy-going and carefree, Christian isn't. That being said, he's laughed at every single one of my stories, begging me for more. I don't think I've ever seen him so jubilant and relaxed.
"If it makes you feel better, she had cat breath and her pumpkin pie tasted like shit. I wasn't attracted to her in the slightest."
"I should hope not," I growl under my breath, the visual of my adolescent husband and his ancient piano teacher together makes my stomach roil. "If you tell me she was your first time I'll cut you in half."
"Of course she wasn't!" He throws his head back with a loud laugh, his chest shuddering through the sheer-fucking- hilarity of my question. "Baby, I wouldn't have touched her even with Elliot's dick."
"Who was then?"
"What?"
"Your first time. Who was it?
His laughter subsides and his face drops in an instant. "I've already told you that story."
"No you haven't."
"I did. I told you mine when you told me yours."
Now I know that isn't true. I vividly remember that moment like it was fucking yesterday. Christian and I on a river boat, drifting along the Seine in Paris. I told him all about Luc and how I'd reluctantly given him my 'virtue', the disgust on his face will forever be ingrained on my memory but that was all his own fault. He asked. "Do you think I was born yesterday."
"Why do you even want to know? It's fucking shit."
"So was mine. A horrific and humiliating car-crash but I still told you. Total Carte Blanch, remember."
Christian shakes his head and rubs a thumb over his brow bone, almost like he's psyching himself up. Fuck, do I even want to hear this? He isn't laughing anymore. Why isn't he laughing anymore?
"I was fifteen," Oh, shit he's doing it. "She was this blow-up blonde in my calculus class-"
"She? Does this she have a name?"
"Verity? Violet…Vera, I don't fucking know."
"You don't even remember her name? Christian, that's disgusting."
"Do you want to hear this or not?"
No. "Yes,"
"She thought she was God's gift to fucking men, if that was even a thing, I don't know. Anyway, it was her dickhead dad's New Year's Eve party. We'd all gone together and we ended up getting wasted."
I stare at him for what feels like an age, my eyes the size of saucers as my husband takes a tentative sip of his tequila; puffing his cheeks out and tapping his bent foot against the floor. Was that the end of that story? "And?"
"And, what?"
"That's all I'm getting?"
"What more do you want? A blow-by-blow." I scowl at his oh so intended pun. Dickhead. "I don't want to tell you anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because it's embarrassing." I'm gaping with a slack-jaw. Is he blushing? I don't think I've ever seen this man blush in all the time I've known him. "I…we…it didn't last long."
"Excuse me?"
"We were upstairs in her bedroom and…" Christ, he's really struggling with this. Not that I want to hear about the love of my life fucking another woman but he has me beyond intrigued. He looks so uncomfortable. "It didn't last any longer than sixty seconds."
"Who finished first?"
"You need to ask?" Oh. My. God. I lose it. I fucking lose it. Christian Grey, renowned playboy and master of the universe used to be a flop in bed? Who the hell knew! "That's it, laugh it up."
I can't even answer him. It's impossible to stop. He's shaking his head and through my blurry vision, I can see him rolling his eyes but I don't care. "Can you blame me?" I shriek through the tears cascading down my cheeks. "You're like…insane at sex. How did that even happen?"
"I was a fifteen year old horn dog getting laid for the first time, Ana. I wish I could say it's because she was hot," He rubs a hand through his hair almost vigorously. "Let me tell you that was not the case."
"I thought you said she was 'God's gift'?"
"Not to me," He scoffs derisively. "Trashy blond hair and push up bras really weren't my thing."
"Past tense?" I chirp. "So they're your thing now."
"You know they're not." I bow my head with a smirk, lifting the tumbler to my lips and taking a long sniff. It smells vile. If I really thought about it, I'd never drink this shit again. We haven't even got a lemon wedge to take the edge off. "Insane at sex, huh? That's a new one."
"Shut up," I mumble under my breath but I'm smiling despite myself.
"No, do tell me more."
"So you're good in bed? Big deal."
"Good in bed?" Cocking one perfect brow, Christian pushes the coffee table to the side with very little effort, removing the barrier between us. "I don't like that one half as much."
"Tough shit." My breathing hitches as he slides towards me on his hands and knees. Only this man could make crawling look so goddamn sexy, it's ridiculous. "I owe you an apology."
"You do?" His lips tenderly latch onto my neck, barely touching. My skin feels like it's on fire. "For what?"
"I've been a total bitch. This morning…" I can't even finish because his mouth is so distracting. His breath ghosts the flesh of my collarbone and before I know it, my unrestricted nipples are erect and wanting. "I shouldn't have left you like that and for that I'm sorry."
"I deserved it,"
"No you didn't." I tell him, craning my neck to give his lips better access. "Yesterday, yeah, maybe you did, but you opened up to me last night and I threw it in your face."
"So you're apologising?"
"I am."
Christian pulls back and drags a thumb down the side of my face. His eyes are hazy, the effects of the patron well and truly kicking in. He'll regret this little idea in the morning. That I can be sure of. "Thank you."
"Can we get back to enjoying our honeymoon now?"
"Baby," He shakes his head. "I never wanted it to go that for."
"Me neither." I mumble. "Despite my actions this morning."
We sit together on the floor side by side, fingers entwined and knees touching. Christian's free hand squeezes my flesh almost absentmindedly, his thumb and forefinger grazing my sternum before drifting towards my left breast.
"You know," He starts. "I thought about holding off on sex completely. I wanted to make you desperate."
"Why?
"You made such a big issue out of it this morning, about how I use sex as a coping mechanism. I guess I just wanted to prove you wrong."
My cheeks flush in both regret and embarrassment. This morning I wanted a reaction, I had been goading for an argument just to piss him off and it looks like it worked. I'm always a bitch before I get my period but this month has been something chronic, I've literally felt the urge to throw something at his head all from him looking at me for a second too long. Speaking of…
"Well, it looks like we'll have a little longer to wait." Christian frowns, a deep 'V' marring his perfect brows. He looks like I've just told him Santa Claus doesn't exist. "We're not fucking until I'm period free."
"Since when has that stopped us before?" He's right, it hasn't. I guess it's never bothered me before. With Christian, nothing grosses me out or turns me off. Except peeing. That is one big no go.
"Just give me a day or two. Please?"
Anyone would think I've pulled out a chastity belt he looks that forlorn. If he tugs at his hair anymore he'll be bald before he hits thirty. "Twelve hours."
"That's hardly a compromise, is it."
"Twelve hours, baby. Take it or leave it." His grin is triumphant as I reluctantly nod my head, his eyes flickering to the seventeen-thousand dollar watch clasped around his wrist. Is he timing me? Jesus fuck. "Come on."
"What?" I ask, watching on as he pushes up off the floor, his unruly hair flopping over his forehead.
"I might need to wait twelve hours to fuck you, but there's nothing stopping me from getting a blow job."
Unbelievable. Egotistical, self-absorbed…
Who the hell am I kidding? My mouth's already watering at the thought of his cock hitting the back of my throat. I've been thinking about it ever since he dragged me out of the pool.
"I'd say I'll return the favour," He spins on the spot with a devilish smirk kissing his lips, palming his erection and jerking his hips so that I can feel every single delectable inch. "But you've already pissed on that bonfire, baby."
He's the biggest asshole I've ever met in my entire life, but despite that, I'm grinning like a fucking love sick fool as I drag my throbbing sex into the bedroom. Twelve hours my ass.