Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who lets me know what they think, feel, hope and wish. The interactive manner of the comments section is so much fun! I have had multiple PMs requesting to know if Christian and Ana will get a HEA = yes, but in the 3rd part of the story. Will there be cheating = heck no. Why is Ana so ditzy and hard to understand = have you read the FS trilogy? Why isn't Christian just telling Ana he loves her and acting as if he no longer thinks of her as his Sub = because he still involuntarily thinks of and treats any woman he's with as a Sub unfortunately including Ana. What's with the cat and Taylor = I don't want to give that one away, sorry. So read, enjoy, get a laugh or a groan or a moan! Hard Pouncing

(special thanks once more to DeepMemories from which I have cabbaged)

We actually had a conversation. On the way home in the lime green van, Christian having snuggled me onto his lap with the seatbelt surrounding us. We talk about our evening: my friends, his family, the standup comics, the food. Poor Christian has no idea the names of what all he tasted, and I know he didn't like most of it, but he lies and says it was all wonderful.

For some reason, and I understand it, I go completely soft and gooey with the realization that I could tell he was lying. In the darkness of the second row of this van's leather seats, only light from the city businesses and streets reflecting on his face, I, Ana Steele, can tell from his expression and voice that Christian Grey has lied.

So I kiss him. My fingers twine in his rich red locks and I snack hesitantly on his lips, then tip my head onto his shoulder and let him take control. It's a part of him, being the leader, the aggressor. And for now I can allow it. Who am I kidding? I want it.

Several dozen tired looking men and women with cameras and handheld microphones are waiting when we arrive at the Fairmont Olympic hotel. Luke Sawyer gives me a covert glare, warning me silently to stay quiet as he opens the door for us to get out of the van. Christian swishes me into his side and splays a hard hand over my hip, also a silent warning. And I think of Morgan bringing Barney to my desk, how I tensed up when I realized I didn't know if it was permissible to talk with him.

Never, never, never will I place myself behind a glass wall. I am not a fish.

"Mr. Grey, are you having an affair with Ana Steele?"

"Does it matter to you that she's an employee?"

"Mr. Grey, did you purchase Grey Publishing to gain Ana's attention?"

"Is it true Ana makes twice as much money as other employees at GP?"

"What has he bought you so far, Ana?"

"Smile! Over here!"

"Ana, who is your favorite band?"

"Miss Steele, is Mr. Grey giving you an allowance?"

"Where will you be spending Grey's money?"

Really, they can be incredibly rude. And I have no desire to engage them. But there's a point to be made, both to myself and to Christian. So I dig in my heels, which causes Christian to simply lift me off my feet and keep moving with those long legged strides toward the safety of the front doors of the Fairmont.

"Where were you tonight?"

That one I can do. With Christian threatening me to "Shut the fuck up, Anastasia" in my ear … I respond.

"We went to a great comedy club. The Underground? Terrific loaded potato skins and the second comedian was the best." And I smile.

Christian gets me in through the doors, starts swearing like a sailor whose boat is going down. But it's quiet, not screaming at the top of his lungs like a little boy who's been told he can't play with his toys. He lifts me with an ease of the same child with a toy over his broad shoulder and he takes the staircase to the left up at a rapid clip. With my hair falling around the back of his knees, I scramble to make sure it doesn't tangle him up or we'd both go back down. Taylor's face looks amused when I get a handful of my hair out of my eyes and Sawyer is not even trying to hide his smirk.

I just love being the amusement for Christian's people. We get into an elevator and I let my hair drop again. Under cover of the limp mass I curl my fingers into Christian's excellent ass, give him a friendly squeeze. That earns me a sharp slap, which makes me squirm and my fingernails graze down to his thighs. I get another whack and things might have gone further if the sound of a stern cough from Taylor hadn't stopped us both.

We get into the suite and Sawyer and Taylor smartly disappear toward their section. Which is just as well as Christian swings me down, right onto a couch, and crushes me under his weight. Then his mouth is crushing mine and things get hazy fast.

His mouth is initially harsh, furious, but I've learned how to counter that. I am pliable, accepting, allowing him to take that Dom role and submitting. And as I do so I feather my fingertips into his hair, twining, pulling … something I now know his other Submissives were never allowed to do. They couldn't touch him like I can, they weren't allowed.

Time passes and the biting fury, the punishment of my lips begins to end. "Christian." He's relaxed some now, lips nibbling mine as if to apologize for the soreness and swelling he's caused. "You did so good, darling."

That gets him. He lifts his head and locks eyes with mine. "What?"

I smile, nuzzle my nose along his, stealing his action. It's nice. I see why Eskimos kissed this way. "You did so good. You didn't yell and scream at me, or anyone else." My lips tingle a little as I speak, but I place it on the pleasant side of the scoreboard.

"I didn't," he admits with a trace of surprise, this time dipping his head to place a gentle kiss on my lips.

"I think you deserve a reward." My eyes crinkle as both his eyebrows shoot up and those gray eyes go hard.

"Miss Steele, I won't be tutored in what you believe are appropriate behaviors," my Fifty Shades warns, going Dom again. The arms around me tighten.

I huff out a sigh. "Jeez, Christian. Just get off me and let me give you a blow job. OK?" Not the most romantic suggestion he's ever heard, but I'm guessing he'll agree. What man doesn't want one?

And that is how I end up naked on the new carpeting on my knees in front of Christian Grey, equally naked and sitting leaned back on a fancy wing-back chair. If his moans are any indication, score one for a girl who can read and do internet searches!

I move my lips to the helmet of Christian's impressive dick, having smeared my lips with watermelon flavored "Wet and Willing" cream I dug out of my purse. The smooth, hard surface of him (and this ain't no six inch banana like we practiced rolling a condom on in eleventh grade health class) has some give as I roam my lips over him kissing, licking, teasing ever so gently with my teeth. I explore the hole in the center with my tongue, the meatus – hey, I've been doing my homework. 4.0 GPA, remember? Named or not Christian is obviously enjoying the stimulation. I look up at his face as I delicately suck the head into my mouth, nursing in little sucks, letting the hungry noises float into the suite. His eyes are slitted, watching me, the fingers of one hand curled into his own hair, gripping hard. His breathing is starting to harshen and he's watching my mouth work him.

I so want an A for this. I might even keep one of the pair of those gorgeous Balenciaga wedge sandals as a reward for myself ... Christian and his next Sub won't miss one pair, right?

I slowly take the hard, sensitive head entirely in my mouth, then use my tongue to stimulate the frenulum. I'm between his legs facing him, able to go deep and steady as I use my tongue on the underside of Christian's penis, popping the head in and out of my mouth. Taking my time, I pull the head out and flick my tongue rapidly. The internet said some men really get off on this sensation – Christian appears to be one of them.

My reward comes when he says my name. "Oh God, Anastasia. Yes! Just like that." The hand that had been clenching the arm of the chair winds into my hair, guiding me deeper.

This time he groans out his pleasure as my tongue guides him along the roof of my mouth and touching the back of my throat. I count to ten, sucking on him, increasing the pressure, then ease back. I'm not good enough to breathe through my nose and do this at the same time. But someday I will be. In the meantime I breathe around him, then take him deep into my mouth again, running my tongue along the veins on the bottom of that hot heavy cock.

But my lips are really getting sore now, so I pull away and grab for my purse and the bottle of watermelon creamy lube. Christian opens his eyes, protesting that I've halted – "Don't stop, baby. I'll give you anything you want, just don't stop, Anastasia." But he's reassured from his worry as he sees the tube in my hands, closes his eyes and rests that head of wild thick red hair back against the chair.

I drip the lube slowly along his head and shaft, and then use my fingertips to cover his penis. It takes a long slow time as I discover him. But just as I start to hesitate, feelings of … I don't know … shame? Embarrassment? The inability to act like Christian's Submissive down on my knees and performing like a lapdog? Some part of being raised in an environment that says sex should only be performed in a dark bedroom with the female on the bottom, a part of me that says I'm giving something away for free to a man who won't, can't, appreciate it … my Inner Goddess sits up and I actually feel her shove me aside.

And it is such a relief.

As if from a distance I huddle safe inside all my doubts and insecurities, the ones that have developed since Christian Grey first presented me with a contract that gave him all the power – no matter how he presented it to me – that said I had to give him everything. Safely I let my Inner Goddess enjoy this experience, revel in it, call it her own. It's my Inner Goddess who is hungry for Christian, for the taste of his salty juices, who is willing to swallow him and his offerings.

She enjoys the feel of his slick rod in her hands and mouth. She simulates intercourse, bobbing up and down on his shaft. Fingers now silky smooth with flavored lubricant stroke him eagerly. Proving she was at the head of her class, my IG sticks out her tongue and says "Ahhh." Christian's fingers lace through my – her - hair and he cries out. Next she leaves her tongue out of her mouth, running it back and forth around his frenulum as she strokes him firmly, using both hands to ring his impressive girth firmly, as if he's a double handful of frozen yogurt I want out of its tube. Then it's back to sucking him in and holding while she rubs him with her tongue, tightening her lips and using suction until she feels dizzy, then ejecting him slowly and pumping him with both hands again while our bodies greedily drink in air.

My nostrils are filled with the scent of him. Christian Grey. It's a scent I want to memorize so I close my eyes. When I'm old and in a nursing home somewhere I want to take this memory out and look on it with pride – that I, well my Inner Goddess, Ana Steele, made a billionaire sadist playboy blow his juice into my ravenous mouth and down my throat. Just me. And I'll remember how he smells, the dusky scent of sweat and body wash and cum, the heat of his skin, the feel of him huge and hard and unbending.

Then it happens. Christian's hands in my hair clench so hard I feel the pain down to my shoulders and he screams out "God! Oh God! Suck my cock, you bitch!" and he explodes into my mouth, hips jerking and making me take more than before of him. I start to gag, needing air, but Christian doesn't care, or can't. He lets it all go, responding with groans and swearing as I lick him clean.

"Anastasia. Oh, Anastasia," he slurs out after a while as I gently unwind my hair from his fingers that have gone lax and limp around my shoulders. I get free, press a few kisses onto each of his muscled thighs, and then crawl backwards before standing.

My back hurts, my jaw feels slightly unhinged, and my knees are protesting, but it's my mouth that's gotten the damage. I look at myself as I use mouthwash, floss, then brush my teeth carefully. Both sides of my mouth are torn and slightly bleeding from being stretched. Since I have the cream for my sore eye, I pat some onto my mouth. You know, no one ever talks about the challenges of sex. It's just all wonderful and adventurous in the movies, on the written page, and on the videos I pulled up to teach me how to do what I just did. Easy peezy.

Well, it's not, I think sarcastically as I take a warm wet wash cloth out to where Christian is knocked out in the chair, lightly snoring, a hunk of one hundred percent beautiful strong male. I decide against disturbing him and go back into the bedroom, making sure the alarm clock is set for six a.m. Aches and pains happen a lot from sex. And I don't just mean emotional.

Thinking about it, I could write this stuff down. A book. Definitely adult rated. But a book talking about sex from a realistic viewpoint. The facts of sore mouths from blow jobs, bruised inner thighs from just bottom of the barrel sex. And with thoughts swirling, I fall asleep. Sometime later I wake slightly as Christian pulls me into his body. Content, I rub my head into its place under his chin and return to sleep.