Thank you for everything—all the reviews, comments, favs!

Someone asked me what my thoughts were when writing Christian's zany situations and antics. My mantra is always this: think of the thing you could never see Christian doing and absolutely see Christian doing all at once.

And for all those who ask, yes I plan to do Freed.

Thank you for your patience! Enjoy! xox

#######

I'm eating butter mints out of the gut of a ceramic origami swan. The chalky pastel assortment grandmothers always have on a far table, setting on an umber-edged doily. You go in with the hope of a long minty suck, but instead the little pillowy fuckers completely dissolve the second they hit your tastebuds. They're the blue balls of fresh breath. I hate these disgusting things, but today, sitting in Flynn's waiting room with Ana, I just can't stop popping them.

"Christian, don't be nervous," Ana says, steadying the knee I hadn't realized I was shaking with her hand.

"I'm not." I pop another. Pink this time. Why do I keep expecting different colors to yield different flavor results? Maybe that's why Flynn puts them out here. They're the ingestible representation of insanity.

Between the heat emanating from beneath the wool of my sweater and the bullshit chill coming from the mints in my mouth, I feel like my body is the battleground for civil war—North and South Pole.

"You've nearly eaten the entire dish." She motions toward the rainbow dust now on the bottom of the swan belly. Flynn would have you believe he got this dish straight from an epic journey to Asia. I can see through the dust—Cost Plus.

"I'm just... hungry," I say. I put the lid on the back of the bird, giving it wings again, and then push it away.

"Please don't leave me if Flynn tells you I'm a psychopath," I blurt.

"I won't. Because, I already know that." She giggles. She thinks I'm kidding. She hasn't seen my file.

We've been waiting out here in the dead lobby—well, mostly dead, save for half-dead Eunice, his receptionist—for an extraordinarily long amount of time. Seven minutes and thirty-four seconds to be exact. I've set a timer.

He's doing this on purpose. To test me. But, I'm not falling for the tricks in his "are you really ready to be a husband" obstacle course. He's expecting me to burst in there and demand my way. To prove that I have no calm or good temper. That I'm not ready to compromise or coexist with any human being other than Taylor, who barely is one. But, I'll show Flynn. I'm going to have so many fucking manners they'll put a mister in front of the word and hand me an advice column.

"I think she likes you," Ana whispers and giggles, nodding to old Eunice who has her face pressed to the frosted dividing glass. Oh wait, maybe that frosting is her lipstick.

"No, she just thinks I'm Bill Gates," I whisper back and Ana laughs.

Finally, the door flings open and out pops Flynn's head, like Whack-a-Mole. "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting." Yeah right. Oh how I wish I had that old Chuck E. Cheese club for a good smackdown.

"No trouble," I say with my best blue packet sweetener smile as I help Ana up from her seat. "We're so happy spending time with each other, we couldn't care less when or if we'd see you."

Ana shoots me a look. "Uh, what he means is, it's no trouble." The look's still shooting.

"Don't worry," Flynn says, tilting his head back in a haughty chuckle. "I know what he means. I always know."

What's that supposed to mean?

"John, you remember Anastasia from the ball," I say, facilitating the re-introduction.

"Of course. The lovely lady in silver." He extends his hand and she takes it. I monitor finger touching and lingering. It's awfully touching and lingering, but from the way he keeps cutting his eyes back to me, I know he's doing this on purpose, too. The old temper test. I clench my jaw and turn to Ana, trying to ignore his obnoxious baiting.

"Anastasia, you may not recognize John with his face out," I say, though it's more of a spit.

"Oh, sure I do. Wonderful dancer." She smiles and I don't fucking care if I'm biting his little worm on the hook, this hand holding has gone on far long enough. I manually take her fingers from his paw and intertwine them with mine.

"Well then, shall we go inside?" Flynn asks, motioning toward his office door. I think he had a blow dry on his hair today. It's high and fanned back, and extra crispy. He's wearing a painted on robin's egg blue button-up with flared cuffs. Why are his sleeves so tight and metrosexual?

"It's a lovely office," Ana says, looking around the place.

"Thank you, I like it," Flynn says. "I travel extensively, so there are artifacts from all over."

"Yes, we saw the swan in your waiting room," I say and roll my eyes.

I lead Ana past the frayed-arm leather sofa—of which 90% of those frays I'm responsible for— and to the indeterminable animal print love seat. That Buddha is watching from the mantle. Fucker is still laughing at me. I flip him off in my mind. And then I realize I'm having an imaginary argument with a gold plated religious figurine in the office of my psychiatrist.

Maybe I really am insane.

"I don't think we can both fit," Ana says as we try to adjust our assets on the cushion.

"It's good, just sit a pinch to the right, baby," I say, and shit, my ass is pinched all the way to the right. And so are my testicles. We twist, we turn, and she ends up halfway on top of me on more than one attempt, but somehow we end up sitting side-by-side, like sardines in a roll back tin can.

Flynn's watching all this intently.

"We're fine now," I say. "The love seat is fantastic."

"That's not a love seat," he says, in his calm, collected, 'I have so much of my shit together I don't smell it anymore' voice.

"Oh really, then what do you call a thing with a back, two arms and a cushion?" I ask.

"A chair."

"A chair?"

"A chair."

"But, it fits two asses!" I say.

"Well, at least one," he says with an excessively pleased with himself belly laugh. He looks like the Buddha. Fuckers, both of them!

"Perhaps Anastasia would be more comfortable with some space," Flynn says.

"Yes, I think I could speak more freely if I could... breathe," she says.

"Of course, baby. I love it when you breathe freely. You know that."

I lift and then shimmy to let her up, catching a few breaths of my own, then immediately follow her to the sofa. Though I usually hug to the arm at the edge that supplies the leather for my nerves to pick at, tonight I pull her in tight to me in the middle. I want to be close to her, so I don't care that I'm falling into the space between the cushions. Metaphorically, I've been doing some degree of that my whole life.

"Now then," Flynn says as he readies a notepad and pen. "Shall we begin?"

We both nod with mixed degrees of trepidation.

Fuck, my file is on his desk. Why does he always prop it there? To loom over me as a reminder of how far gone I really am? It's so thick and stuffed, it looks like it belongs to the family Manson.

I shoot a look over to see if Ana has noticed, but I don't think she has. She's playing with her fingers like she does when she's nervous. I lean over, take her hand and kiss the back of it.

"I'm the one that was eating the mints, remember," I whisper into her ear and she giggles, relaxing a bit and curling in closer to me. "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too," she says and I kiss her forehead.

Flynn's watching this like he's witnessing the evolution of monkey to man.

"What?" I ask him.

"Did the weather change?" he asks.

"The weather?" What the hell?

"I couldn't help but notice you're wearing a new sweater," he says. "A style I'd never imagine you in, Christian." He lifts a bush of a brow. "I mean, especially not in the swell of summer weather." Swell of summer weather? Can't he just say it's hot?

"Well, you know, when you're responsibly spending time at home with the one you love in your shared residence, instead of racing around town looking for cheap thrills that don't mean anything in life, you get a bit drafty," I say.

Ana and Flynn are staring at me like a new lamb is sprouting out of my sweater wool. I pull at the collar and feel a gush. No wonder it's called a sweater. Can you sweat so much that you actually flood down into your underwear?

"That's right," Flynn says, crossing a leg, getting comfortable with my discomfort. "Christian mentioned you two are cohabitating now. Congratulations. How do you feel about that Anastasia?"

"Good. Except..." Ana twists and shifts, dipping her head.

I immediately tense. Yes, you can sweat so much you flood down into your underwear.

"What is it, Anastasia?" he asks, pen prepped. "What has you concerned?"

"Well..." she says as I hold my breath. "I wish he'd let me pay half the rent."

I exhale. Is she serious?

"There's no rent," I say, and if there was it would be thrice her life savings. "Ana, it's already bought. What's mine is yours now."

"But, that's not fair. You've worked so hard to have what you have. I've just stepped into your life. I should at least participate."

"Trust me, you participate with me all the time."

"Christian!" She gapes at me, darting her eyes to Flynn with flushed cheeks.

"Not that kind of participation..." I say to her, but then I look to Flynn. "Although, that's stellar. No issues. Write that down."

Well, he writes something down, anyway.

I turn back to Ana and stroke her knuckles with my thumb. "It's not yours or mine, it's our life now. And yes, I've worked hard, but that means I should be able to spend the fruits of my labor how I please. And spending my fruits on you is what pleases me."

"I just don't want to feel as if I'm freeloading."

"That's the last thing you're doing. I want you there. And I don't want you paying me back for that privilege." I tuck her hair behind her ear. "You do far more for me by waking up with me every morning than any bullshit therapy I've ever had." I look to Flynn. "No offense. I mean, kinda."

"Definitely none taken," he says and he's grinning as he scribbles more notes. Maybe he's just drawing stick figure pictures, who knows.

"Do you think it's fair?" she asks Flynn.

"If Christian doesn't have a problem with it, then I don't see it being unfair to him. That shouldn't be the concern. The concern should be how uncomfortable it makes you feel and how we can lessen that burden."

Burden? Who's uncomfortable living for free in a multi-million dollar penthouse with servants and a closet full of brand new designer clothes? My Ana. And something about that fact does make me smile.

"What about utilities or something?" she asks. "I could pay the electric bill."

"No! No way! Do you want to emasculate me completely?"

"Why do you consider that emasculation, Christian?" Flynn asks, leaning back in his chair and stroking his chin. He does that so much it's starting to form a point.

"It's not because she's a woman," I say. "I just don't feel comfortable with anyone... you know..."

"Funding your electricity?" he asks.

"Exactly," I say. "I'm quite prideful when it comes to my lights."

"Christian, please," Ana says. "I want to feel like the place is mine, too. Like we're in it together."

Like the place is hers... In it together...

"Wait, you're saying you'd feel like the place is yours if you paid a utility bill?" I ask and she nods.

"Yes, that is if you wanted me to feel it is..."

"Oh Ana, I do! Do you?"

"I do," she says and I reach over and brush the pad of my thumb over her lips. God, I love those two beautiful words on her breath.

"Fine," I say, struggling a bit, but conceding for the 'I do.' "You can pay the water bill." It's cheaper and less emasculating than electrical currents powering up my devices, and plus there's something sexy about her supplying bath time.

"Okay, the water." She grins.

"And maybe a Netflix subscription." I've heard about this Netflix and chill rumor. I want to check it out.

"Okay, deal." She gives me a quick kiss. I can't stop smiling as I stare into her happy-with-me eyes. For years, all I wanted was a woman who wanted to please me. And now, all I want is to please her.

Flynn is taking vigorous notes as he watches our interaction. Take that, buddy. Compromise.

"Anastasia," Flynn says as I knot up her hand in mine. "Christian asked to bring you to one of our sessions... We may talk about some more personal things going forward. I hope you know everything is strictly confidential."

"Oh I know." She holds up her free hand. "I signed an NDA."

"Really?" Flynn gives me the old side eye. He still manages to do this while facing me straight on.

"A nondisclosure agreement." He taps his pen to his chin as he watches me. "You start all your relationships with women with an NDA?"

He knows this. What the fuck is he playing at? Is this a trick question?

"The contractual ones, yes," I say hesitantly as I squeeze Ana's hand, holding onto her for dear life.

"You've had other sorts of relationships with women?" What the hell is he doing? I'm about to let him have it, but then his lips start to twitch up into a smile and I can see he's teasing me.

"No, never." I say and then look to Ana. "Until now."

Ana gently places her free hand on the side of my chest and smiles up at me. I don't flinch. I just close my eyes for a moment and bask in what it feels like to be a man touched by a woman.

When I open them again, Flynn's staring at Ana's fingertips that are now lightly playing with the button edges of my sweater.

On another note, I never knew how fucking turned on I could get by the idea of her playing with my matrimony wool.

"Well then..." He clears his throat. "I suppose we don't have to worry about confidentiality."

"No, not at all," I say. "Be as non-confidential as possible. I have no secrets from her."

"Good," he says. "Now then, I would advise you to have a discussion about that NDA you signed, Anastasia. Since it appears neither of you want a contractual relationship anymore."

"Different kind of contract, hopefully." I stroke her bare wedding ring finger and glance over. She smiles sweetly up at me, but she's still not giving anything away in regards to an answer for me.

"Marriage?" Flynn asks, the question weighted.

"Yes," I say, playing with Ana's fingers.

He watches me, then looks back to her.

"Anastasia—" Flynn says.

"Ana," she interrupts.

"Anastasia," I correct.

"Ana," he says and gives me a fuck off look—well, he's British, so it's more polite. "I'm afraid I know more about you than you realize..."

What the fuck kind of creepy statement is that? I can feel Ana tense next to me.

"Christian has been quite forthcoming in our sessions," he continues.

"Oh," she says. She glances over, with a bit of a frown. Oh great, now she thinks I'm talking about her to my psychiatrist.

Wait, didn't she know that?

I'm so confused.

"An NDA," Flynn says. "That must've shocked you." Why does he sound like he's hosting one of those news programs that solve a mystery in an hour and the husband always ends up in an orange jumpsuit at the end?

"Oh, the shock of that was minor compared to recent revelations," she says.

Damn, here we go. Floodgates. Open.

I continue to stroke her knuckles.

"I'm sure," Flynn says, then turns back to me. "What do you want to talk about, Christian?"

"Me?" Is he crazy?

"You called the session. This is your slot. How would you like this session to proceed?"

"As we've established, I've proposed marriage and Ana has some things she wants to ask." I give him a pointed look. "So, you can ask her."

"Her session?" he asks.

"Hers," I say. "Completely hers."

A small smile, like one of a grasshopper after an exceptional leap, forms on his face and he turns to her.

"Ana," he says. "Where would you like to begin?"

"Well, I... I'm not sure," she says, her voice soft and hesitant. She looks between Flynn and me. In assurance, I squeeze her hand.

"Would you feel more comfortable talking if Christian wasn't in the room?" Flynn asks.

What?!

My eyes shoot up to his, but he doesn't react, he keeps focus on Ana.

"Yes, maybe..." Ana squeaks.

I'm being kicked out after a few minutes?! I had a whole speech prepared. Bullet points. An argument of defense. How can I make sure he says the right things if I'm not in the room to beat his face in if he doesn't?

No, no way! He can't kick me out now.

"Flynn—" I say in protest.

"I think it's up to Ana," he says.

"Ana, I'm going to stay—" I say, but she looks up at me with her blue eyes, nervous and somewhat pleading with me to go. I could very well sit here, insist on it. Put on my best CEO bravado and force my way. But it's been well established, I'm not a good boss around Ana. "I'm going to stay outside."

She smiles at me, and after a final squeeze of her fingers, I get up and open the door to leave.

"But, I'll be close outside!" I say, shooting a look to Flynn just before walking out.

"All the way, Christian," Flynn calls out, noticing I've purposely left the door open a crack to listen. I comply. But, there is no good humor in my exit.

I sit in my seat in front of the door again and stare at it. It's been many years since I've faced a closed door. And something about it reminds me of sitting in that closet at four and waiting for him to either leave or turn the knob.

"I wouldn't spend a damn penny on an iPhone if I had ten," a high-pitched voice sounds from behind me, rather fired up about it.

I turn to look. It's Eunice from behind the glass. Yep, she definitely thinks I'm Bill Gates.

I can't sit anymore, so I start to pace. I've learned in life that sometimes walking is all you can do.

I can only imagine what they're talking about—and my imagination has never been my friend. I told him to speak freely, that confidentiality was of no concern. But, that's because I thought, if he got out of line, I'd still be in the room to harpoon him with my glares. I have no secrets from her, but there are far too many stories. Shit, he could tell her specifics about the submissives, about Elena, what a worthless piece of shit I really am...

He could tell her to say no.

I rushedly pull out my phone and call Taylor.

"Yes, sir?" he answers. Third ring. Lazy bastard. But, I'll let it go.

"How fast can you wire tap an office?"

"It depends, sir. How soon do you need it?"

"Five minutes. Or less."

The Swedish horse clock above tells me I have twenty-three minutes of session left. That's eighteen minutes of good material. He didn't go to Sweden. He probably got that thing from IKEA.

"I'd have to ask Welch," Taylor says. "What location, sir?"

"Flynn's office."

"He's a doctor. I think that would be highly illegal, Mr. Grey."

"Good. It'll make it exciting for you."

My other line rings. It's Olga, the realtor. I tell Taylor to hold and I switch over. Actually, I didn't tell him anything, I just switched and he fucking knows to wait.

"Meringue or raisin?" Olga asks.

What the hell?

"Excuse me?"

"What cookies do you want me to bake?"

"Not meringue or raisin." I shake my head. "No kid ever ran in the door from school following the scent of meringue or raisin." Does meringue even have a scent? Isn't it just burnt egg whites and sugar?

"Will there be children present today?"

"No. But, I want Miss Steele to walk in and immediately feel at home. Like it's Christmas or an easy Sunday. To picture that, many decades from now, littler family members might be running through that front door for her cookies. That this house has just been waiting there for her to find. And nothing worth finding smells like raisins or meringue."

"I'm sorry, I'm confused. I've never sold a home to someone who's already bought it before."

"Snickerdoodles, Ms. Kelly. Nothing says family like cinnamon and sugar and doodles snickering."

I switch back to Taylor.

"Welch says he can feed a microphone through a ceiling tile specific to that building, but he'll need a generous twenty minutes and roof access," Taylor says. He got all that info while I was talking cookies with Olga? I'll forgive him for three rings.

I'm pondering the possibility, when I hear Ana laugh. But, it's not her normal laugh through the door. It sounds farther away, other worldly. Like it's louder and slower than usual, and possibly underwater.

I look around and realize the amplified version of my fair love's mirth is coming from the open bathroom.

I can then hear some garbled version of high brow nonsense and immediately recognize it's Flynn. He too is laughing.

What the fuck are they laughing about?

"Forget it, Taylor. I'll call you back."

I hang up and walk toward the sound vibrations. I discover they're coming off the large exposed pipes in the bathroom. Flynn's having work done on them, evidenced by tools strewn about, random patchwork and water caught by a bucket on the floor beneath. Of course Flynn chose a warehouse renovated into an office building to house his practice, so this shit—literally–happens. He thinks it makes him hipster and cutting edge. Why the hell would exposed piping making you cutting edge? Why do things that used to look poor now make you look like you've made it?

But, at least the plumbing betrays their privacy today.

"I'm just going to use the little boys room here," I say to Eunice.

"That toilet has PMS," she calls out, I assume referencing all the repairs.

"I'll flush down an aspirin and a heating pad," I mutter.

I close the door and put my ear to the pipes. Everything is garbled and echoes. It's like sonar. Most of it is impossible to understand, but every now and again I can catch a word. A phrase. She just told Flynn something about demons and Flynn responded with something about demons.

Oh God, they're concurring I'm straight from hell.

"His what?" she asks, so high pitched and horrified it vibrates the pipe my ear is pressed against and nearly blasts out my drum. His reply is garbled, until he lands on two words I can clearly identify—sexual and sadism.

"Oh my God!" I say aloud. My heart is racing. My sweater drips.

"You have to jiggle it," Eunice says from outside the door.

"What?"

"The handle. For number two. It sticks."

"The handle sticks?"

"No, number two."

"Thank you, Eunice! Please give me privacy."

"Yes, Mr. Gates."

"...recovering alcoholic..." are the next words I hear Flynn say. "the worst... " after that. Ana says something to which he replies a version of, "as good as it gets..."

Oh my God. Flynn has me pegged as a satanic sexual sadist alcoholic. How could he say that? I only drink nice wine.

Fucking Charlatan!

I've had enough of this private session. I don't care about passing his husband tests, I need to make sure there's still a chance she'll be my wife!

I burst out of the bathroom and back into the office.

"Christian," Flynn says, perplexed.

"I think your time is up," I say through gritted teeth. I don't think he gets that that was a thinly veiled death threat.

"Nearly, yes. Please join us."

I don't take my eyes off of him as I sit back down next to Ana. I place my hand on her knee. She's mine, Flynn. You won't take her away from me.

I turn to Ana and she gives me a smile. She looks a little flustered, but she doesn't seem to completely hate me—yet.

"So, what is our verdict?" I ask. My knee bobbing up and down like a Halloween apple.

"Wonderful session with you both today. I think we should do this again soon." He stands and invites us to do the same.

Of course. More sessions! That's all this man knows to do—put me in his appointment book and rape my bank account.

"Did he answer your questions?" I ask Ana.

"Yes, I believe he did," she says, but doesn't look me in the eye. This makes me nervous.

While Ana gathers her things, I casually take Flynn aside.

"Well?" I ask in whisper. "Aren't you going to expand on your statement?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You were supposed to give us the no or go."

"Christian, Ana and I had a lovely, informative conversation. And I can tell you that, after witnessing you in here today, my opinion on you and your future has changed immeasurably."

Oh my God. How did I fuck it up that bad?

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He laughs. "I'll speak to you later. Enjoy the evening with the girl who now pays your water bill."

Ana rejoins me and takes my hand.

"Thank you, John," she says.

"The pleasure was all mine, Ana." He then looks over to me and smiles. "It was definitely all mine."

#######

"How was it?" I ask, jingling the key ring in my hand as I escort her back to the car.

"It was...good." She looks as if she's chewing and tasting that word—good. And she's not sure if she wants seconds.

"Good?"

"Good. Mr. Grey, I am under strict doctor's orders to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You'll see." She winks and I can see she's enjoying the private joke she seems to be sharing with my shrink.

"Get in the car," I say, a bit more biting than I intended, as I open the passenger side door. But, I can't help it. I don't like what I don't know.

Her phone buzzes. She pulls it out of her bag and looks down at the caller ID. Instead of getting inside the car, she moves up the sidewalk to take the call.

Who the fuck is calling her that she can't speak right in front of me in the car?

"Hi Jose," she says.

Of course! The photographer.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you back," she continues. Well, that's good. She's not returning his calls. "Is this about tomorrow?"

Tomorrow? Oh, that's right. We're having a slumber party with that idiot. Damn.

"Oh yeah, well, I'm not at the apartment anymore," she says to him. "I'm actually staying full-time with Christian now."

Yes! Take that, Rodriguez! Though, I wish she wouldn't walk on eggshells with him. Fuck his feelings. I wish she'd shout it from the rooftops and not care what anyone thinks. Especially a man-lizard who wants to suck her face off.

"Yes, it's serious," she says, then moves toward the back end of the car. I hope she's talking about our relationship and not my mental health diagnosis.

"He invited you to stay with us," she says. Invited him? There's a stretch. She steps one foot into the gutter and then kicks at some dirt. A metaphor for this conversation.

"Sure. You could pick me up from work..." Her eyes cut my way. I grit my teeth and stone my gaze, but my best stone is barely a pebble with her these days.

"Six o'clock," she says. "I'll text you the address...Great, see you then."

She hangs up and puts her phone back into her bag as she walks towards me.

"Rodriguez," I say through clenched teeth.

"He's very excited about coming over."

"I'm sure he is." Ana will be in pajamas somewhere under the same roof, possibly while he's eating his fruit loops or jacking off upstairs in his room, maybe even simultaneously. I better have Taylor get her ugly flannel footy ones.

I just thought of something. How am I going to have sex with Ana knowing Jose's on top of me?

"He wants to pick me up from work. Maybe get a drink..." She looks at me like she's expecting an explosion. "Kate and Elliot will be back, remember. Would you join us?"

Fuck! Of all days to go to Portland. I would cancel this trip in heartbeat, but it's too important. Ros would kill me if I made her go it alone.

"You don't think he'll try anything?" I ask, wincing in remembrance of that drunken attempted rape of her mouth.

"No!" She looks like she's about to roll her eyes, but she refrains. "I told him. He knows there's no chance. Ever."

"Good."

I'll be home by seven, so I guess I can stomach an hour of Ana with the photographer, my brother and Kavanagh at a public bar. I'll send security, of course. Lots of security.

"Ok." I sigh. "You have fun with your friends. I'll join you later in the evening."

She stares at me a moment. I thought she'd be celebrating.

"What?" I ask.

"I was expecting a fight."

"See, I can be reasonable."

"I'm noticing that." She smiles and gives me a swoon-worthy kiss on the cheek.

"Well, are you getting in?" I ask, still holding the door open for her.

"I can drive."

"Uh... I'd rather you didn't." Memories of this morning flash through my head.

"Why not?"

"I don't like to be driven."

"You let Taylor drive you everywhere."

"I trust Taylor's driving implicitly."

"Oh really?" She raises a brow.

"I mean...he's a professional. He's been to war and driven tanks around bodies and explosives."

"You know I've been driving since I was fifteen."

"He's been driving around bodies and explosives since then, too. And fifteen for him was much longer ago."

She folds her arms and taps her foot.

"Is this my car?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Alright then." She holds her palm open for the keys.

"But you don't know where we're going." Just what I need, her lost or stopped by a cop with a speeding ticket, and we miss out on cookies and sunset.

"You can tell me."

"Ana, I won't allow this."

She raises a brow and stretches her palm wider.

#######

"Take a left," I say, directing her onto the I-5 from my seat on the passenger side. "Hell, gently!" I grab onto the dashboard. Though I'm clinging on for my life, I am impressed by what the Swedes have done with wood grain.

"A little dramatic don't you think?" She rolls those beautiful, challenging eyes.

"Yes, that turn was!"

"You drove with me this morning, why are you still scared?"

"Because I drove with you this morning!"

She turns on the radio, purposely louder than I'd decree safe. Van Morrison blasts. I've never hated that brown eyed girl so much.

"I said no music!"

"I believe you did, Mr. Grey." She turns it up.

"What are you doing?"

"Driving my car. The way I drive my car."

She's awfully moody all of a sudden. I watch her for a moment. Something's eating her and unfortunately it's not me.

"What did Flynn say?"

"I told you. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."

What the fuck does that even mean? Why does she keep saying that?

"Ana, slow down!" I see life flash before my eyes. Not my actual life, the cereal brand on a billboard. But, it was close!

"Fine!" she says and turns on her right blinker.

"What are you doing?" I ask as she races against a Mini Cooper to change lanes.

"Letting you drive."

"What? No! Why?"

"So I can look at you."

What the hell?

"No—no! You wanted to drive. I'll look at you."

She turns and scowls at me.

"How about you look at the road!" I say.

She starts to switch lanes again. This time slowing and veering behind a pickup truck.

"What are you doing?" I ask as we run out of drivable lanes.

"Pulling over."

"You can't pull over on the I-5!"

She pulls over on the I-5!

"You can't park here!" I say as she parks here.

Maybe I should tell her she can't behave and she'll do that.

She turns off the car in a huff, gets out and then slams the door.

"Ana!" I immediately get out and follow her. "Didn't you hear me? You can't park here!"

"Don't you think I know that?"

"No!" I run a hand through my hair. "Then, why are you doing it?"

"It's either listen to you bark out orders about my driving or this."

"Bark out orders?"

"That's all you do. Like this morning? You don't trust my driving. You trust Taylor. You must think I'm stupid or something."

"No, of course not! That's not it!"

I can hardly concentrate with traffic whizzing by.

"Then what is it?"

"It's because you're a daredevil!"

"Because I listen to music?"

"Don't you see, Ana? It isn't just the music or the speeding—"

"I wasn't speeding!"

"Don't make me have Taylor acquire radar," I say. She shakes her head, but then snorts a laugh. "Everything you do scares me. I've been a man who has built a life on not fearing anything. And you! You terrify me. Every step you take away from me... Every damn thing you do nearly kills me."

A car clips by me so quickly it proves my point.

"Then why do you want me at all?"

"Because that's—you are what makes me feel alive. And you only risk dying by being alive."

We look at each other for a long moment, the cars speeding by. The world flies fast and away while it stops for the two of us.

"You know you're going to get a ticket, don't you?" I ask.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I've discovered quite recently that I'm a girl who takes a risk if it feels right."

A big rig whizzes by and I instinctively grab her, pulling her to me as I nearly have an aneurysm. She's smiling up at me.

"What?" I ask.

"You." She laughs.

"You know you are one frustrating female. Fine, I'll drive." I grab the keys she has folded up in her palm.

She takes the edges of my sweater and pulls me closer to her. "No, you are one frustrating male."

I look down at her, the wind from the traffic kicking up her hair.

"Maybe we're meant for each other," I say.

"Maybe so." She smiles and then leans up to kiss me.

I return to the driver's seat and as I pull away, I find myself humming Van Morrison. Maybe that brown eyed girl isn't so bad. But, I like a blue eyed one better.

Ana's watching me with surprise and I realize I've sung a few lines. I've never sung for another living soul... except my birth mother. And the last time I did that she was already dead.

"You know, if you'd have gotten a ticket, the car is registered in your name," I say. That's a bigger first than she'll ever realize.

"Well, good thing I got promoted. I can afford it." She smirks.

I laugh as I pick up speed. The sun is dipping and I need to get Ana to her sunset.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

"It's a surprise." I grin. "Seriously, what did Flynn say?"

"He talked about PSFB or something—"

"SFBT," I say as I roll my eyes. "The latest therapy option."

"You've tried others?"

"Baby, I've been subjected to them all. You name it, I've been the scientific experiment."

"None of them worked?"

I shake my head. "Just you." I take her hand and bring her fingers to my lips.

"He said not to dwell on the past," she says. "Focus on the future—on where you want to be."

Okay, he knows where I want to be is married to her, so maybe this is good. But, I don't want his damn ten year plan.

"What else?" I ask.

"He talked about your fear of being touched, but he called it something else. About your nightmares and your self-abhorrence."

"He really built me up, huh?" I snicker, but I'm definitely going to cancel that check.

"Eyes on the road, Grey!" she says and I smile, shaking my head.

"You were taking forever in there..." I say, fishing for more.

"He says you aren't a sadist."

"Really?"

"He says that term hasn't been recognized in psychiatry since the nineties."

"Simpler times, huh?"

"He was pretty adamant."

"Flynn and I have differing opinions when it comes that."

"So you trust your own diagnosis over your doctor's?"

"Well..."

"If I had a cough, I wouldn't diagnosis myself with lung cancer."

"Did he pay you to say that?"

"He says you always think the worst of yourself. I know that's true. He also says sexual sadism is a lifestyle choice, not a psychiatric condition, maybe that's what you're thinking."

"One trip to the good doctor and you're an expert."

"If you don't want to know what he said, don't ask me." She watches me a moment. "I don't think you've been listening to him."

"Oh?"

"You told me that you've all but been diagnosed as a monster. But, he doesn't see you as the lost cause you say you are."

"That's because I pay him. Money encourages hope."

She frowns. "He called me your lover."

"Well, that's... accurate, wouldn't you say?" I wink. Although that word on Flynn's lips is disturbing. Where is she going with this?

"Did you think of your subs as lovers?"

"No, never. They were sexual arrangements."

"I was so close to being one," she says softly as she looks out the window. "What if I had signed—"

"Ana..." I hold to her hand again. "No matter what you or I thought back then, it was never possible. We were both changed day one."

"I know," she says and smiles.

"You are my only lover. And I want more..."

"More," she says, but she's still not giving anything away.

I exit the highway and drive the map through the residential area, finally turning when we reach 9th Avenue.

There are some children playing at the park. I watch them as we sit stopped at the light. They're running around a jungle gym, and climbing up on a model plane. There are a bunch of moms and a few dads looking on. Squeals and giggles. I marvel that this, if Ana likes the house, will be my view every evening when I come home from work. And I wonder if my sweater would someday look good in that park.

"Where on earth are we going?" she asks when the light changes and I continue to head away from anything either of us has ever known.

I don't answer her. I continue to drive. The twisting tree-lined paths frame this night perfectly.

Finally, we reach a tall iron gate. It's open, expecting us.

"Surprise," I say to her as I pass through, and soon her eyes are wide and fixed on the front door at the edge of the cobblestone.

And I really get the feeling that we are home.