So sorry for the delay! I just did a big update on my other Fifty story, which is Grey Hearts and Flowers. I don't ever want to give you guys rushed work, so that the reason for the wait. This is a pretty long one. Hope you enjoy this! I appreciate all your comments and favs! I have gotten such sweet and thoughtful comments from you guys. Just know I read every one and it means so much that you have all been so supportive. And your interest in this story and my other stories means the world to me! And yes, much more to come. xox

The Audi is gone when we return. Make that Ana's vandalized Audi, there are a dozen others surrounding it. In it's place sits one of the sportiest, prettiest, jazziest little top-down, safety-up models on the market—Ana's hot off the lot Saab. I hadn't thought about it before, but that spot is the one that every one of my submissives parked in on Friday nights and left empty on Sundays just before evening. I chose it because it was easily accessible, far enough removed from my own and would subtly remind each girl, every time she came or went, that she was only a guest here. It's also a stark reminder of the hole in my life I tried desperately to fill—and empty again—with fifteen other cars that were all the same. The irony isn't lost on me that it's now been filled with a spunky, sparkly, totally out of my comfort zone, but surprisingly more pleasurable sight than I could ever imagine— something entirely different.

"Your car has arrived, Miss Steele," I say as I open the passenger side door and offer her a hand to help her out. My eyes dart to every shadowed corner or threat for unwelcome entrance. Sawyer is patrolling down here, but at a moment's notice I will be ready to protect Ana from Leila, if need be. And I wouldn't hesitate to throw myself in front of her to take a bullet through the heart myself.

"It's so pretty," Ana squeals and giggles as she circles it, letting her fingers trail along the back end as she heads for the front, causing me to want to do the same to her. "I thought they said it was coming from California next week."

"I make things happen fast," I say, almost snapping my fingers demonstratively, but wisely stopping myself before the evidence of my bafoonery is made more public than it already has been. I bet that fucker at the dealership nearly shit a brick when he found out I was me, and then put the word out to get me one on the triple. He'll be rewarded for that. He may be a four left hoofed jackass, but his work today gave me her smile now.

"You're not fast with everything," she raises a brow. "That's one of the things I love about you." Love about me? My knees feel wobbly, a symptom of my newfound illness—swooner's disease.

"Well, some things should be done fast," I say. "And some definitely need time to be done properly." The way I just said properly, I would even fuck me on the car hood right now.

While I'm considering how to make new car hood action happen fast and discreetly, Ana dashes over to me and throws her arms around my neck. I marvel that I don't even flinch at this. My heart beats fast and I gasp from the breath I lost just looking at her smiling at me, but I don't panic. Being surprised by touch isn't always a bad thing. In fact, it can be damn good. She's teaching me that.

"Thank you, Mr. Grey." She kisses me softly, her lips lingering on mine until they gently pull away, and all of it leaving a warm feeling in the center of my chest that spreads and fills long held and deeply cratered wounds. Who knew that warmth could cool hellfire.

"For what, the car?" I ask. She nearly killed me the two times before. Third time's the charm? Gasp–maybe she just doesn't like Audis.

"Yes, but so much more than that," she brushes my cheek with her fingertips. "This weekend has been... Everything..." She then touches my lips and gazes deep into my eyes, seemingly unafraid of what they hold. "Thank you for existing, Mr. Grey."

I inhale sharply. I'm floored. I have been nothing but a burden for everyone in my life. My family are saints and they love me out of duty. My birth mother at best hated me, or probably more likely than not wished me dead. But, Ana has no duty to me or obligation, and yet she still says this. She thanks me for nothing more than simply living. And for a man who's spent a lifetime wishing he was never born, it hits me hard that for once I'm thankful that I was.

"Come, let's go inside." I kiss her forehead, then take hold of her hand. We're going home.

"Sawyer," I say as he greets us at the elevator. I've told him to patrol around the garage and he's standing here? I highly doubt Leila would try to sneak in by buzzing herself up to my foyer. Why isn't he by the trash shoots or the fire escapes? Hell, looking up the side of the building from the street would probably be a better way to spot her spider-womaning up.

"Hi, Sawyer," Ana says with a cute wave that catches me, and I think him, off guard. Why's she being so cute with him?

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele," he nods, and knowing the progeny in his balls are at risk if he gives any "cuteness" back to her, he wisely remains looking like an asshole.

"Any word on Leila?" I ask.

"No, sir."

"Maybe you should walk around a little and see if you've missed anything." I wave him away and usher Ana into the elevator.

"You're not to go out of here alone, understand?" I say as I punch in the code that gets us moving skyward. I'm expecting an argument that I'm already ten steps ahead of in my mind, but then she does the most surprising thing—she laughs.

"What's so funny?" I ask. Even when I'm prepared for her, I'm thoroughly unprepared.

"You are." She continues to giggle. It's adorable, but confusing as fuck. First, she's excited about the car; now she's jovial at being told what to do. Next she'll want to take my black Amex and go on a shopping spree at Gucci. If only! Maybe it was that ill stored wine. Maybe I should buy a few more bottles.

"Don't pout," she says, and manually uses her fingers to turn my frown upside down. I didn't even know I was pouting. It just felt like my regular face.

"Why shouldn't I pout, Miss Steele?"

"Because it has the same effect on me that it does on you when I do this." She bites down firmly on that juicy bottom lip.

Fuck.

"Really?" I ask and remove it from her teeth with the pad of my thumb. "Well, I'm not sure if it's a blessing or a curse that pouting and lip biting are our two favorite pastimes."

"I think it's two sides of the same coin, Mr. Grey," she says with a smirk and then winks.

Damn.

"You using my words against me has consequences, Miss Steele." I grin.

"I do hope so." She looks at me for moment, then leans up, fists her hands through my hair and starts kissing me. Her fingers twist and pull my locks, her chest heaves toward me, and we ignite. In no time I've slammed her back into the wall, and we're all lips and tongues and my hand halfway up her shirt and onto her breast.

Ding.

Damn!

The elevator doors open and I reluctantly pull my face from hers, but our bodies stay connected—as does my hand on her breast—for a good moment or seventy-four longer.

"Whoa," I say, all breathy and wanting.

"Whoa," she responds the same.

"What you do to me, Ana." I trace her bottom lip with my thumb as I try to find air.

"You do the same to me," she says, but I know that's impossible. I worship a goddess, she doesn't know the devil.

"Come," I say as I pull away from her and take her hand, leading her into the foyer. The Madonnas are all watching from their place on the wall as we go. And though for years I've always thought they were sad or judgmental or pitying, today I feel as if they're smiling. I suppose my outlook on things reflects how I see them. Or, maybe Ana being here has turned the virgin frowns upside down, too. She was formerly one of them, after all.

Something is moving in the shadows as we enter the apartment. Just around the corner, beneath the steps that lead to the great room. I hear a bump and slight clank. It's like an escaping cat burglar just tripped into something, or an inebriated person is trying to fix a drink in the dark.

"Stay back," I say to Ana, and shield her with my body as I grab an ancient Chinese vase I picked up at a Christie's auction from a nearby table for protection. I peek around the corner, ready to strike with my nearly 1.2 million dollar weapon, when I see Taylor standing there, next to the bar cart. What the fuck is he doing lingering back there in the dark with the crystal decanters?

"I wanted to give you two privacy on your return, sir," he says. Oh, he saw us kissing and ran to hide. That was a good reaction. I like that he fears me on some level. I loosen my grip on Ana's hand. At least there's no intruder and Taylor's not a secret raging alcoholic.

"Thank you, Taylor," I say. Though Taylor walking in on me and a woman doing sexual activities isn't unusual, this is Ana. I don't want him seeing any of her pleasure. Ever. Her O face is mine alone.

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele," he nods to us both.

I'm feeling good. We're home. We're safe. And then, like last night before we left for the hotel, everything starts happening in slow, torturous motion. There's another little wave from her to him, and a smile, followed by the single foulest thing I've ever heard...

"I was Mrs. Taylor last night," she says and smiles again. More smiles! For him! What is this a fucking happy face parade? And worse, the fucker blushes back. I didn't even know Taylor had blood in his cheeks!

"That has a nice ring to it," he says, and though he says it with little emotion or meaningful inflection, he still says it. What the fuck is he saying? Whatever it is, it's nearly enough for me to let go of her hand and put it in his face. But, then I remember I need him to do that to others for me, so I try Flynn's tactic of counting down from thirty before blast-off.

"I thought so, too," she giggles. Giggles!

I only make it to thirteen. I can't stand it anymore. This rocket is going to launch.

"I was Mr. Taylor last night," I say abruptly, and they both stop smiling and look at me like I'm a duck who doesn't know where the water is. "If you two are quite finished, I'd like to be briefed," I snap and glare at Taylor. "But first, I'd like a word with my girlfriend in the room where we'll be sleeping together tonight. A lot."

I lead her quickly into my bedroom and stand in front of her for a moment, staring, not knowing quite what to say or what action I should take. Something like that would require a whipping before, an elaborate scene where proper punishment for such a brazen act of treason would be paid for in lashes. There would be hell to pay, but today...

"Don't flirt with the staff, Anastasia," I say, though it comes across less "laying down the law" and more like a child not wanting to share his favorite toy.

She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again, and repeats.

"If you keep doing that, flies are going to set up house in your tonsils," I say. Oh how I'd like to find my way with my tongue or other throat seeking appendage to those tonsils.

"I wasn't flirting with Taylor, I was being friendly," she says, scrunching her nose. If that's her idea of being friendly, then she's definitely the fuck never seeing the photographer again! I may have to have him removed to another state!

"Don't be friendly or flirt with the staff, then. I don't like it."

"You have no reason to be jealous, Christian." She grabs for my hand and strokes my index finger, which is pretty fucking hot. "You own me body and soul."

But, she's wrong. I don't own anything about her. We have nothing in writing. She lives and thinks by her own free will—mostly. Except when mentally unstable outsiders get involved. We have feelings and words and promises, but aren't those what clouds and sandcastles are made of? It's odd for me, being a man who's built an empire and whatever life I have on signatures, to believe that that could be enough. Like Elena reminded me yesterday, young girls change their minds. And my real fear is that while she is my whole world, one day she'll just be a wind that blew through it.

I close my eyes and shake my head. I need to clear my mind of this.

"I won't be long," I say, as I pull my hand away from hers. "Make yourself at home." I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and leave her there.

My steps weigh heavy as I make my way to the office. Is she mad at me? Should I be mad at her? Should I go back and say I'm sorry for overreacting? But, she flirted with him! I'm so confused. Maybe I should order some back issues of Cosmopolitan for further research.

"Taylor, give me details," I say, as I slam the door to my office for us to confer. I'm still giving him the iceberg tip of a cold shoulder, but he thrives on hostility, so that actually enlivens him.

"The emergency stairwell looks to be the place she got in," he says, edgy and then looks a bit apprehensive. This is old news, what's he hiding? "She left a note, sir."

"A note? For me?" I ask and he nods. "Where?"

"It was left in the office, on your desk, along with this." He hands me a newspaper clipping of Ana and I at her graduation haphazardly glued to a piece of crimson construction paper that rivals the color of my playroom walls. The article is also underlined in red in key places—every time Anastasia is written, every time the word couple makes an appearance, or my name, and finally the last sentence from the smart ass journalist of the piece: Sorry Ladies, it looks like the elusive billionaire Christian Grey is taken. I can already hear the sound of heart's breaking everywhere.

"Where's the note?" I ask, my hand shaking as he gives it to me and I read: Master is dark. But, Master was smiling. She has no rules. But, she needs to be taught his lessons. She needs to know from someone who's been there. Someone with her long brown hair. But, why does Master sleep with the one who looks like me now in the place I was caned for trying to go?

"Holy shit," I say.

"We've also been made aware that she's been in contact with Susannah." My heart nearly falls. Another one.

"What do you mean contact? Is Susannah helping her?" Susannah was my last submissive. She was cute and mischievous, and much more of a pain seeker than even I was comfortable with. I could have my way with her, yes, but there was a price. She became attached to me, like I was some sort of father figure, as her own left her at seven. So, the day she asked me if she could move in full-time is the day I had Taylor pack her bags.

"We have no confirmation, Mr. Grey, but Leila was seen leaving her place two days ago on building surveillance."

"Are you telling me another one has gone crazy?" This has to be some kind of record!

"We have no reason to believe that—"

"Well, get in contact with Susannah!"

"We tried, but she apparently has a new man in her life, sir. And she's been away. New man in her life? Just say it—new Dom and she's at his place. Good. Keep her the fuck away. My new motto is—not my monkeys, not my circus. Unfortunately every nut job monkey I ever knew is trying to banana stab their way back into my big top.

"So, how the hell did you get surveillance on Susannah's place?" I ask.

"We expanded the investigation to include all your old...friends, Mr. Grey."

"We weren't friends, we never talked."

"Yes, sir." he nods. "Make that arrangements."

"That's better."

"Nothing came up on any of the others. Though, you might want to know that Mrs. Stone is due any day now with a son."

"Who the hell is Mrs. Stone?" I count back nine months and nearly choke on a sharp inhale of my own spit. Is he saying?—wait. No, I was newly with Susannah then. And I never fucked married women. Well, not once I reached drinking age. "Who the fuck is Mrs. Stone?"

"Dawn McKay, sir," he says. "She's married now and lives in Eugene."

"Dawn is having a baby?" I ask, flabbergasted, and he nods. Wow. I wonder if she'll do natural childbirth, she had such narrow birthing hips. She'll always be two things to me. First, that girl who I had to train my mind when saying her name to think of something other than early light and dish washing liquid. And second, that first girl I suspended and tied too tight that Taylor had to help me cut down. Talk about your bough breaking nightmares. You've never gone through something with a man until you're buck naked and fully erect in your dungeon cutting loose your naked submissive from the ceiling together. It was all downhill with Dawn after that. "Well, that's news. Send her a fruit basket and an array of diaper products or something."

"Very well, Mr. Grey."

"So, you think Leila's stalking Susannah, too?" I ask. "That doesn't make any sense. She has nothing to do with me now."

"Consensus is she may be trying to use her for information, since Susannah was your last—"

I hold up a hand. "No, Taylor—the last."

"Yes, Mr. Grey." He wiggles his lips a bit, and though most people would say it's an itch or a tick, I know it's a smile.

"What does Welch say about all this? Get him on the line!"

Taylor moves to my desk and dials, putting it on speakerphone. Six fucking rings! What kind of jackass service provider doesn't have it go to voicemail by now?

"Grey," Welch answers—on the seventh ring! He sounds like he's been asleep with a cigarette hanging off his lip for hours.

"Do you have someone watching Susannah Rosseau's place?" I never said her name all together like that before. It sounds so French. And so red light district.

"We're monitoring surveillance footage, but so far nothing else," he says. "I deduce she went to visit her friend, she wasn't there, so she left." I want to deduce my foot right up his ass.

"Since when they are friends?"

"They've been spotted with each other a few times in the past, we've learned. Nothing unusual. Lunch and shit. They saw Mama Mia when it came to town."

"What the fuck is that about?"

"A girl in Greece singing Abba with her Mom and some guys who could be her father."

"Not the fucking show! Their friendship!"

"I don't know. Two young women. Common denominator," he grunts a laugh. "Trust me, we're on it." The laugh made him cough and I think I just heard him hacking up a loogie. Disgusting. "Look, I don't believe this Miss Rosseau is bat shit, but Leila Williams is. And considering this dame leaped tall buildings in a single bound and back again last night, I'd suggest that you and Miss Steele keep security tight tomorrow."

"Of course, I'll have her stay home from work until this is all settled." I look to Taylor. "I have a morning meeting, but bring me home at lunch." Ana and I can fuck all afternoon, have dinner and a well aged cognac, then fuck again, maybe a bubble bath before a good night fuck and cuddle.

"Yes, Mr. Grey," Taylor says.

"How close are we to finding her?" I ask Welch.

"Closer than yesterday," he says.

"You mean when she was currently in my residence and you couldn't find her?"

"Hey, even I can't be expected to expect a girl to climb up a thirty story building."

"Well, expect the unexpected, or expect to be out of a job!" I hang up.

"Taylor," I say. "I want you to do something for me."

"Yes, sir?"

"Remove Miss Steele's new car from its space and transfer it to the one directly next to mine."

"The permanent space, sir?"

"Yes," I say.

"Right away, Mr. Grey." He grabs the keys that are on my desk and hightails it out the door.

I have to get back to Ana. She's been left to her own devices for far too long.

When I enter my bedroom, I don't see her and I panic. My throat ceases up and I lose my breath as my whole world is kicked off its axis. Just before I alert security, I hear rustling and turn to see the light is on in the closet.

She's here, thank God, looking through her clothes that are next to my clothes now. Taylor's done a good job mixing everything in. She's got a side and I've got a side, yet a few things are happily intermingled. I quite like that my ties are facing her dresses, and my shoes have a view of hers. And that her satin negligees are hanging next to the full length mirror, so I can brush them with my fingers before I start the day.

"Oh, they moved," I say, gauging her reaction, which she hasn't given me yet. She's just fingering the buttons of a white silk blouse.

Yes," she says, then looks up at me and her expression changes from something I can't read to concern. "What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"You're pale and you look so worried. Did you find something troubling out?" she asks. If only she knew the trouble I've seen.

"Taylor thinks Leila was getting in through the emergency stairwell. It's protected now, so I don't want you to worry. You are safe." But, that note just won't leave my mind. She has no rules. But, she needs to be taught his lessons...

"Is there something else?" she asks.

"I just wish we could find her. She's evading all of our attempts. She needs help." And to my surprise, Ana steps forward and wraps her arms around me, embracing me with such care.

"What's this for?" I ask.

"Sometimes you just need a hug."

"You know, I'm beginning to realize you're right," I say, wrapping my arms around the small of her back and for a few quiet moments, in the cocoon of our now married wardrobes, we hold each other.

"What will you do once you find her?" she asks, looking up at me as I keep her encircled in my arms.

"Dr. Flynn has a place."

"What about her husband?"

"He's washed his hands of her," I say. "She has family in Connecticut, but I think she's very alone out there."

"That's sad."

"Well, believe me, I'm not crying for her. After what she could've done..." What she still could do... I can't handle those thoughts. I don't want to talk about Leila anymore. I pull away quickly and inspect the closet further. Anything other than looking into Ana's eyes and knowing that because of me, Leila could bring her harm.

"I hope you are okay with all your stuff being here," I say, touching the strap of a new Hermès handbag I imagine her taking to society lunches and boring business soirées. Maybe one day someone will ask her where she got it and she'll say my husband gave it to me. And then we'll return home from a long day and disrobe and be together... A shared closet really is the intimate mingling of two lives. It's what I want with her. I take a deep breath and before I realize the enormity of what I'm saying, the words flow out, "I want you to share my room with me."

"Yes," she says, and I turn to face her. She agreed. She really agreed. She didn't even hesitate. She gave me yes the same way she thanked me for being alive.

"I want you sleeping with me, Ana," I say as I take hold of her face with both hands and get lost in her eyes. "I don't have nightmares when you're with me, baby."

"You have nightmares?"

"Yes." I close my eyes, shaking my head to free myself from the images, as if that small action would have the power to erase memories seared into my mind and onto my flesh. And again, without a word, Ana wraps her arms around me. Her hold on me is firmer, as if to make sure that I know she won't let me go. I can tell she's trying to stick to the boundaries, but she's slid up a little further than I'm usually comfortable with. Usually. But, not right now.

"Will you tell me about them?" she asks.

"I don't want all that in your head."

"But, maybe if you tell me, you'll get it out of your head. Not all at once, but slowly over time, maybe you can let go of it piece by piece as you give them to me."

"I'm not giving you my pain, Ana."

"I don't mind feeling more of it, if it makes you feel less."

"But, I do, Ana." I sigh. This beautiful girl. "So, what were you doing in here? Picking out a negligee perhaps?" I smile and kiss her head, effectively changing the subject.

"I prefer one of your t-shirts tonight, Mr. Grey."

"I prefer you naked, so we can ditch the negligee and the t-shirt tonight." I raise a brow and she laughs.

"No, I was actually getting my clothes ready for tomorrow," she says as she lazily pulls away, keeping hold of one of my hands just at the fingertips. I smile, luxuriating in the warmth of her gentle touch, but then it registers in my love soaked brain what she's just said.

"Work!" I say, though I may as well have just listed the crimes of America's Ten Most Wanted.

"Yes, work," she says, and her hand slips from mine to fiddle with some dress slacks.

"No work," I say. "Leila is out there. I don't want you going anywhere tomorrow, especially work."

"That's ridiculous, Christian. I have to go to work." She waltzes right past me and out of the closet, and I have no choice but to follow her.

"No, you don't," I say, nearly crashing into her when she stops abruptly at the dresser to dig for something in her purse.

"I have a new job, which I enjoy, of course I have to work."

"No you don't."

She pulls out a lip balm and puckers to apply, sliding the slick jelly over her pout, then smacking her lips together and smearing the edges with her finger, until she's satisfied with her wet cherry vanilla mouth. Hell, that's hot.

"Do you think I'm just going sit here all day twiddling my thumbs while you're off being Master of the Universe?" she asks. We're back to this.

"Frankly, yes."

She rolls her eyes and throws the lip balm back into her bag. Why is she still using that cheap sack that's one step away from a backpack? There's a Hermès Birkin bag in the closet!

"I need to go to work," she says, moving back into the closet and pulling out a pair of high heels.

"No you don't."

"I've only been there a week! Jack says he needs me for a lot of important things."

"I'm sure! That's even more of a reason not to go." That fucker. I haven't even begun to deal with him!

She puts the heels back and pulls out another pair, which she looks seemingly more satisfied with. They look exactly the fucking same! But, then I notice all her vacant shoe cubbies. She only has the five shoes I've bought her and her ratty old Converse sneakers. Damn it, the woman needs more shoes!

"I have to go," she says, laying out a skirt and blouse next to the shoes, and then observing them all together.

"No, you don't."

"Yes. I. Do."

"It's not safe."

She turns and looks up at me, pursing those newly slicked lips and squinting her eyes. I fear what's about to happen.

"Are you going to work?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Well, won't you be unsafe?"

"Anastasia, I'm not concerned with my own safety as much as I am yours."

"Well, I am."

"Well, you don't have to worry, I'll have security all around."

"That's not enough for me."

"Ana, I have a multi billion dollar company to run. I can't take off."

She gasps and steps back. Shit. Speaking of which, I think I just stepped in a pile of it.

"So your job is more important than mine just because it's more important than mine?" she huffs.

"What? No. I mean..." Dig yourself out, Grey. "Ana, the difference is I have to work for a living."

She exhales exasperated. "Christian, I have to work for a living, too."

"No, you don't have to work for a living!" I say and she stares, dumbfounded, at me. I just told her I want to support her for the rest of her life, didn't I? Too much too soon? No, it's progress! I've been tongue-tied all weekend, it's about time I blurt some things out. Besides, it's true. And she already agreed to cohabitate with me to some degree. Sure, we're only truly living together in my closet, but it's a big start.

"I have to pay my student loans," she says. "Interest accumulates." Fuck, I better take care of those.

"Ana—"

"I'll be fine," she says, darting out of the closet and to her computer bag on the bed.

"How do you know you be fine?" I ask, pacing back and forth at this madness, as she stuffs her Mac and some papers inside the bag. Why does she want to fetch coffee and take notes for Jack Hyde so badly when people will do it for her right here?

"May I remind you last night, while I was here, Leila was standing right there at the foot of your bed—"

"Our bed," I say.

"What?"

"You share it with me now. It's ours."

"Alright... our bed." She eyes me, quizzically. "The point is, she could've hurt me then, but she didn't."

"I don't want you to go!"

"It's not your decision to make. If I have to drive my car out of here tomorrow—"

"You don't have the keys."

"Are you holding me hostage?"

"I'm considering it."

"Christian!"

We stare at each other, neither of us backing down. She puts her hands on her hips and taps her toe, all the while her eyes are drilled into mine. She's so hot all worked up at like this, but I can't enjoy it because I'm pissed as hell and can't do a damn thing about it.

"Fine," I say, after so much time passes with us staring and nothing getting accomplished. "Sawyer goes with you tomorrow. All day. That's the only way I agree."

"Christian, you're being irrational."

"Irrational?" I ask. "Either he goes with you or alert the presses, we have a hostage situation on our hands."

"Fine." She groans, but not in the way I like her groaning. "If it makes you happy—"

"It does!"

"—Sawyer can go with me."

"Thank you!" I realize I'm thanking her for approving my command. Oh how times have changed. "Now, would you like a tour?"

"A tour? Of what?"

"This place."

"What haven't I seen?"

"The TV room, the gym, the wine cellar..."

"You're not going to lock me in the wine cellar are you?"

"Anastasia, really. Do you think so little of me?" She squints her eyes, suspicious. "If I was going to lock you up, I have a dungeon for that." I wink.

She frowns at me. Fuck, bad joke.

"I'm kidding," I say. "You're free to move about the apartment."

"Just not the city."

"Exactly, but I want you to know where everything is here."

"Okay," she says, taking the hand I've held out for her, and I squeeze it.

"I didn't mean to frighten you before," I say as I lead her from the bedroom.

"You didn't. I was just getting ready to run."

"Run?" I stop and gasp.

"I'm kidding," she laughs and shakes that beautiful, disobedient head of hers.

"Mrs. Jones and Taylor have their own wing?" she asks as we pass by the area. I point to it, but there's no way in hell I'm giving her a tour of that. He's likely to be in his silk pajama bottoms, bare chested, admiring his muscles while he cleans his guns. It's Sunday night after all.

"Wow, this is a very advanced system," Ana says, eyeing the command center upstairs. "Leila got past all of this?" She points to the television screens monitoring every situation inside and out of the apartment.

"I don't know how. I guess she knew the ins and outs of this place too well."

"Oh," Ana says and dips her head.

"That's why I want you to know this place better," I say, tilting her chin up with my free hand. "She never had access to all this. She must've observed where the cameras were placed and where the entrances and exits are. She knew far more than I thought she did, though."

"That's frightening," she says.

"I won't let anything happen to you." I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it, before continuing the tour.

"I didn't know you watched a lot of TV," she says as we walk into the entertainment Room. The full-sized movie screen is down and freshly popped popcorn spills over in bowls. Even new pillows and throws meant for film watching cuddle time have been tossed around. I have to laugh to myself. Taylor and Gail have been playing Cupid again. And after all I've done under this roof with women, they're sneakily encouraging a hard night of cuddling.

"I don't watch TV. Other than news and the markets," I say.

"Movies?" She points to the screen. That thing is impressive, if I do say so myself.

"No. Why would I?"

"Why would you watch movies?"

"Exactly. If I want drama, I'll look in the mirror, if I want to laugh I'll look at Elliot, and if I want an historical piece I'll look at Elena." Even Ana had to laugh at that one.

"Did you watch them in here with your subs?" she asks motioning to the sofa with the cuddling equipment.

"No, never. I rarely come in here."

"You said that about the library, too." She looks up at me. "You know you have amazing rooms you've never bothered to live in, Mr. Grey."

"I think you may be onto something, Miss Steele," I say and she smiles.

"Is this where the X-box is?" she asks.

"Actually, yes. Elliot plays that shit, though. That was pretty funny when you thought this room was my playroom that first night." I laugh.

"I'm glad you find me amusing, Mr. Grey."

"That you are, Miss Steele. When you're not exasperating."

"I'm exasperating?" she asks and I nod, but light heartedly. We are just teasing, right? Sometimes our talk goes from funny ha-ha, to funny peculiar, to funny my balls didn't see that kick coming in record time. "I'm only exasperating when you're unreasonable."

"Me? Unreasonable?" I feign offense.

"Yes. It could be your middle name."

"I don't have a middle name."

"Well, then that one will suit you."

"I'll file a name change application."

"Wait, I thought Trevelyan was your middle name."

"Last name. Trevelyan-Grey."

"You have a hyphenated last name?" she asks. Why does she look so damn delighted?

"Yeah. So?"

"Nothing. It's just, that's so modern and open minded."

"Well, I'm modern and open minded," I say and she bursts into a fit of giggles. "What?"

"I don't know why, but you're very cute right now," she says.

"I am?" I ask and she nods. "Thank you, I think."

"Do all three of you kids have a hyphenated name?" she asks.

"Yes."

"And none of you use it?"

"It's too fucking long. Modern thinking lost out to good old fashioned practicality the first day of school. Now, it's just for documentation purposes."

"So, the evidence of your modernization is still listed on your passport."

"Yes," I say and she giggles again and I can't help but smile along. She makes me forget things, and that's perhaps her greatest gift to me.

"Don't you get any cute ideas about passing down any Steele-Grey hyphen mergers," I say. "It'll only be Grey for our—" I stop myself before the letter k, followed by an equally perplexing and troubling ids, spills from my mouth.

"What do you mean?" She stops laughing. "Our what?"

"I don't know." And funny ha-ha turned peculiar turned I need to get the fuck out of here before I completely hand her my balls. "I'm a hopeless joke teller."

"I think you're getting better."

"Maybe." I take her hand again. "Come."

"And of course you've been in here," I say as we enter the library. But, to my surprise Anastasia doesn't run to the books, but rather runs her hands on the baize of the billiard table.

"Should we play?" she asks.

"Okay," I say, warily watching her interest in the table. "Have you played before?"

"A time of two." She fights a smirk by chewing on her lip. What's this?

"You're a terrible liar. Either you have or you haven't."

"Frightened of a little competition?" she asks, turning back to me, her ass pressed into the table wood. I wish it was pressed against mine.

"Frightened of a little girl? No," I tease.

"A wager, perhaps?" she asks, looking up at me all lashes and lips.

"You're confident, Miss Steele," I say, moving to her, my fingers brushing on top of hers as her hand rests on the edge of the pool table, next to that ass. "What would you like to wager?"

"If I win," she says and looks me straight in the eyes, with raw fire behind her gaze. "You have to take me back to your playroom."

I swallow. More like gulp. Did she just say? What the hell? How am I supposed to answer that? Although there is a part of my that's igniting from her words, namely my cock, there is a bigger part—yes, even bigger than my cock—that remembers her tear stained face that last day, my empty bed, and those six days of darkness.

No, we're never going back.

"And if I win?" I ask, my spine straightening with resolve for victory.

"It's your choice," she says. My choice... A multitude of ideas run through my mind.

"Then let's play." I move to the closet where I keep the game equipment. "Do you have a preference?" She scrunches her nose, confused. "Pool, English snooker, or carom billiards?" Good she's looking at me like I'm speaking Mandarin. I can win this.

"Pool. I don't know the others," she says.

"Very well." I pull out the leather case of balls and set them up quickly on baize, and then we chalk our cues. I watch her. All this rubbing of the tip she's doing is causing me to have to adjust my own.

"Would you like to break?" I ask, sizing her up. She's bluffing about playing. Ana doesn't strike me as the type of girl who would've frequented pool halls. Unless Kate took her there. I clench my fists just imagining her hanging around sweaty beer drunk men with big sticks, knocking their balls.

"Okay," she says as she blows the excess dust off her tip, then leans over the table with her ass swishing in the air and strikes the balls with such force they all scatter in the explosion, and one slips into a pocket.

"I choose stripes," she says, looking up at me through her lashes and then slides up off the table to upright again.

Hell.

"Be my guest," I smile.

What happens next feels like an out of body experience. I bear witness to Anastasia leaning and stretching over the baize, shifting and wiggling and hitting ball after ball into the pockets. She does know how to play, and she knows how to play well. On all levels.

She's about to hit another one, and I'm sure I'm going to be forced to take her back there to play before I even get the chance right here to play, but she narrowly misses. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"You know I could watch you do this all night," I say, and then move closer to her, leaning over to stroke her denim clad ass. She looks back at me, a blush set in her cheeks. God, she's hot...

And hopefully distracted. I can't let her win this. If I must use my sex appeal to fuck with her game, then so be it.

Slowly, I pull my sweater over my head, flexing my muscles as best I can, allowing my t-shirt beneath to lift and expose my abs as I toss the cable knit onto a chair. She's watching me and I think she likes what she sees. Good.

I take my cue, lean over the table and notice that she hasn't taken her eyes off my ass. This pleases me immensely, but it quite literally backfires. As I go to take my shot, all I can think of is her eyes on my ass and I miss my fucking shot!

"An elementary mistake, Mr. Grey?" She teases as I peel myself away from the table. What a mind fuck!

"I am but a mere mortal," I say. "Your turn I believe." I wave at the table.

"You aren't trying to lose, are you?"

"Oh no, for what I have in mind for the prize, I want to win. Trust me." I shrug. "But, then again, I always want to win."

She now removes her sweater and circles the table. What is this—strip pool? Her blouse is low cut, showing cleavage I want to run my tongue down. Those buttons are just itching for my teeth to pull on them, popping them off one by one, then ripping the lace of her bra until her nipples are in my mouth. She looks over, watching me watch her, and bites her lip. She's not playing fair.

"I know what you're doing," I say.

"I'm just deciding where to put my ball," she says, then after more lip biting theatrics and a few ass thrusts, she slams an orange stripe into her desired position. I can't help but think of hitting one in a desired position of my own.

She then stands, ass directly in front of me, and lines up her next shot. She wiggles and swooshes that tight derrière against my groin. Fuck. I inhale sharply, and the act of me doing this causes her to stop, take a breath of her own and reset, but when she shoots this time, she misses.

I do have an effect of her...

"That's a shame," I say. "So close, yet so damn far." I place my hand on her ass and rub it, torturously knowing how close yet so far beneath her denim the flesh of that bottom is. "Are you waving this around purposely and taunting me?" I give her smack, even through the fabric it's so good.

"Yes," she answers. Wow. Surprisingly truthful.

"Be careful what you wish for, baby." I bend over and nail the red into the bottom right side pocket.

"You look hot like that," she says, eyeing my ass in the air. This flusters me, which causes me to miss.

Damn.

"Red room here I come," she says and for a moment I think I've been transported to an alternate universe. I'm actually actively competing against this? Maybe I wasn't thinking that, maybe it was my dick. Hard to tell.

She hits a green stripe and then an orange into their pockets and I'm floored. She really does know this game. And it's not from sitting on the sidelines, observing. She's well practiced. Who taught her all this? I'm hoping it was Ray, but I'm fearing it was one of the three Ana lusting amigos—Paul, Ethan or the fucking photographer. Maybe I should have Taylor secretly dispose of their balls and pool sticks.

"Name your pocket," I say with dark carnal intent. I bring a finger to my lips and slide it across the bottom one. She watching... Good.

"Top left," she says, and then distractedly hits it, the ball spinning out across the table. I love that I'm getting to her like this.

"Your turn," she says, and I nod and bend myself over the baize, eyeing my pocket, but noticing my Ana watching my ass again. But, this time it doesn't frazzle me; I use it for power.

I stand and chalk my cue, blowing the extra dust away, purposely in the same way I blow on her clit during oral sex that drives her fucking mad. I look over and I know she's thinking it, too.

"If I win," I say, my eyes firing into hers. "I'm going to spank, then fuck you over this billiard table. Hard."

She audibly gasps, but the blush across her cheeks and the heave of her chest tells me adrenaline is pumping through her body.

This is going to be fun.

"Top right," I say, and with panther like grace I fold myself over and take my shot.

And I don't miss.