According to Mrs. Jones, Christian was already working in his home office by the time I came down for breakfast. Although I'd slept alright, I was still tired this morning.
Probably all those sexy dreams you had about Christian Grey, my subconscious snarked at me. Running my fingers across my lips, I remembered the searing kisses Christian and I had shared the night before, then the feverish dreams I'd had which took those kisses much, much further.
"Do you have plans for the day?" Mrs. Jones asked as I finished a heaped serve of scrambled eggs with wilted greens.
"Not really," I replied. "Christian said he'd probably work until lunch."
"He said the same to me. If you're at a loose end, perhaps you'd like to do some baking? I'll be preparing a few freezer meals for Mr. Grey and the security staff this morning, but I won't need the steam oven."
I'd never used a steam oven before. I had undertaken all of my baking in Ray's ancient electric cooker at the house in Montesano. I worried if I'd be able to use such high-end equipment and explained as much to Gail.
"Nonsense. It's easy to use. I'd be happy to show you."
Two hours later, Gail and I had cooked up a storm. We'd worked side by side cutting up vegetables for a beef stew and a soup she was making before starting in on my baking. After a quick run through the features of the steam oven, I concluded it wasn't too different from any other oven, and I was interested in seeing if it made a difference to the finished products.
Knowing chocolate was Christian's favorite, I'd made a triple chocolate ganache cake, a tray of miniature individual self-saucing chocolate puddings and, with Gail's help, I'd even attempted a chocolate soufflé. I'm not sure if it was the oven or Gail's expert assistance, but everything turned out perfectly.
As we cooked, I grilled Mrs. Jones about Christian's family, explaining to her I would join him for brunch at his parents' house tomorrow. Gail's descriptions of the Greys did a lot to put my mind at ease. Betraying no confidences, she assured me the Greys were lovely, and said I would win Elliot over with a slice of my chocolate ganache cake. Accordingly, I had it frosted and hidden in a container in the back of the refrigerator, ready to take to brunch tomorrow.
"Is that chocolate I can smell?" Christian said, stepping out of his study and into the great room. Gail had taken him a coffee and a biscuit around eleven, but I had yet to see him today. Thanks to our kisses the night before, I didn't know what to expect. Giving me one of his dazzling smiles, Christian walked across to the kitchen, stopping on the opposite side of the counter. "Good morning, Anastasia. Did you sleep well?"
"I did, thank you. And you?"
"I had pleasant dreams," he smirked. "Very pleasant dreams indeed."
Christian's intense stare suggested the nature of these, causing me to blush involuntarily. At least it seemed we agreed…
"I'm glad, Mr. Grey," I teased when I could finally meet his eyes again. "Now if you'll go wash up, Mrs. Jones and I are almost ready to serve lunch."
"You've been cooking?" he asked, with boyish excitement.
"No. I just wear an apron because I think it makes me look sexy."
Christian smiled, turning and walking back toward his bedroom. He was almost in the hallway leading to his room when he turned back, saying something softly enough that only I could hear it. "It does."
I'd been right to think Christian would thrash me at Monopoly. Before we were even halfway through the game I was losing, so I conceded defeat rather than prolong the inevitable. Lunch—Italian sandwiches followed by my chocolate soufflé—had been a success, and now we were spending the rest of the afternoon together.
"Another game of Monopoly?" Christian mocked, causing me to glare at him.
"I think not. What about another game of Scrabble?" I teased back.
"No thanks. Last night was enough for me."
Our eyes met, and Christian moved closer to me on the sofa. The scene of the crime, so to speak, I was willing for round two if he was.
"You're so beautiful," he said with a sigh, reaching toward me and snaking an arm around my waist. "Is this ok? Do you want this?"
"Yes," I whispered, closing the distance between us. "I want this… I want this with you."
Like the night before, our kisses started out soft and delicate. Exploring one another was effortless and came naturally. My first proper kiss since high school—although this was so much more than that—it was easy to lose myself in Christian's thrall. Before I knew it, chaste closed mouth kisses had morphed into tongue stroking tongue, me moving to straddle Christian's thighs. His bulge pressing against my core, it was impossible to ignore his arousal—and I didn't want to.
As a virgin, I had no experience, however, instinct seemed to take over, and whatever I was doing with my hips as I ground against him, Christian didn't object. We didn't take it any further than making out, and as the sun set over the Seattle skyline, we eventually pulled apart.
"That was… wow!" I said, my fingers stroking the stubble on Christian's jaw.
"It was," he agreed, discreetly adjusting himself before standing up and walking to pour himself a scotch. "Anastasia? There's something I need to tell you."
Is how no good conversation ever starts.
"It's nothing bad," Christian continued, correctly interpreting my silence. "Just if there's going to be any more of that, you need to know this first."
My mind was running through theories at a frantic pace. Did he have a wife? A girlfriend? Was he bi? Or maybe he had an STI? Christian turned to look out at the Seattle skyline, his back to me on the sofa as he spoke.
"I've told you I was adopted when I was four. What I didn't tell you is that my birth mother was a drug addict and a prostitute. I don't remember a lot from that time of my life, but what I remember is horrific, and I often have nightmares about it. My experiences as a young child continued to affect me after the adoption. I didn't speak until I was nearly six. In fact, it was Mia joining the family that made me talk."
He gulped down the rest of his scotch, still not looking at me.
"Another side effect from before the adoption is haphephobia, or the fear of being touched. As a child, I'd learned to associate touch with pain, and this fear continued after they adopted me. I can tolerate people touching my head, shoulders, and arms, but anyone touching my torso or back can send me into a panic."
"But I've touched your torso and your back. I didn't realize it was an issue for you."
"Yes. You're the first person to do so. Usually, even the thought of someone touching me is enough to make me lash out, yet somehow your touch doesn't scare me. I enjoy you touching me. There is a reason I don't like my chest or back being touched," he said, putting the empty crystal tumbler back on the gleaming chrome bar cart. Pulling his shirt out of his pants, he lifted it over his head and discarded it on the table. As he moved towards me, his chest gloriously naked, at first, I was too busy checking out his well-defined abs to notice the marks higher on his chest. Six round shiny patches, each slightly pinker than the skin surrounding them.
"Cigarette burns. There are five on my back, too."
"Who did that to you?" I gasped, horrified at the thought of any child having to endure such pain.
"My birth mother's pimp. Maybe some of her Johns, too."
"And she didn't stop them?" I blurted out angrily. All I could imagine was a young Christian, terrified as the person meant to protect him let someone use him as an ashtray. An appalling thought, it was no wonder it scared him for another person to touch him!
"She was too high to know what was going on a lot of the time. I think I looked after her more than she looked after me. It was a long time ago—but I wanted you to know."
"Do you want me to avoid touching you on your back or chest?"
"No. In fact, if you're willing, I wanted to try you touching me skin to skin. It will be a first for me, so I wanted you to understand why I might find it difficult… I don't think I'll lash out—but I need you to understand why if I step back or push your hands away."
"You don't have to do this. I don't need this." If being touched was so difficult for him, I was happy to forgo it.
"I do. You've touched me through my shirt, and I enjoyed it. I want to know if I can tolerate skin to skin touch. I've never had a lover touch me, but I want that with you. If we're to take this any further, I need to know I will not freak out if your hands stray to my chest or back. Just please, take it slow… This is very new to me."
I stared at the man standing in front of me. Despite the scars on his chest, he was physical perfection. Yet it was his eyes that captivated me. Soulful gray orbs, I'd never witnessed such pain, fear, and hope mixed together shining from their depths.
"How do you want to do this?" I asked, nervous at the trust he was placing in me.
"Can you come here? Slowly? I thought if I take your hands in mine and place them on my shoulders and then you can move them onto my chest?" He took a deep, cleansing breath. "I am certain I won't hurt you, but if I push your hands aside, please step back quickly."
Nodding, I stood up, moving toward Christian. His admission stunned me. After only four days' acquaintance, I knew there was something between us. Potentially something strong. If touch was something he needed to explore, I would try it with him.
"Your top is off. I think I should take mine off, too." I wasn't trying to be sexy, it was more that I wanted to make myself equal with him. To give Christian access to my skin as he bared his for me.
"I'd like that," Christian cooed, sounding more certain of himself. Now standing in front of him, I slipped off my shirt, standing in a sheer, lacey bra in front of the half-clad God. "If all goes well, can I touch you, too?"
"I think that would be alright," I said, a giggle escaping my lips.
I smiled as I cautiously gave Christian my hands, allowing him to cup them within his own. We stood just holding hands for a few moments, then he guided my hands to his shoulders. I stepped closer, leaning up to give him a soft kiss, trailing my fingers upward to tickle the wispy hairs at the back of his neck. Looking into Christian's eyes, I waited for a nod before slowly trailing my hands on either side of his neck then down to his upper chest. Letting my hands rest there, a second nod had me continuing their downward path.
"Is this ok?"
"It feels good," Christian replied, his voice husky but sounding awed. "Try my back."
Rather than turn his back to me, Christian stepped closer, pulling me into an embrace. Lowering his lips to mine, we kissed as my hands glided around his waist and then up to the middle of his back, pulling him against me. The taut plains of his back were a delight to touch. Firm and smooth, his skin skated over hard-earned muscles. Our lips joined, Christian groaned loudly, pulling me even tighter against him and deepening our kiss. My hands were freely exploring his back and his mine. Our kisses intensifying, I was touching him anywhere I could reach. I was only just aware Christian had slipped a hand between us, his fingers caressing one of my nipples through the filmy fabric of my bra. He pinched the puckered nub lightly, eliciting a needy moan and a shot of pleasure to my aching core.
Pulling back to breathe, I leaned my head forward, gently kissing the smattering of chest hair between his magnificent pecs.
"I'd say operation touch was a success," Christian said, taking one of my hands from where it was resting on his shoulder and kissing the palm.
"I agree," I replied, bringing that hand up to stroke the side of his face.
"What are you doing to me, Anastasia?" he whispered, rubbing his face against my hand.
"I don't know, but you're doing it to me, too."
When I woke Sunday morning, it was to clear blue skies as far as the eye could see. Looking out over the morning Seattle skyline, I couldn't stop a wide smile forming on my face. After our touch experiment last night, Christian and I returned to the sofa, me sitting on his lap as we talked, and I continued caressing his bare back and chest. It was almost midnight by the time he walked me to the door of my room, giving me a sweet kiss before wishing me a good night. It was strange to see him walking down the long hallway to his own room, but neither of us was ready to take things any further quite yet.
Climbing out of bed to use the bathroom and shower, I took my time, experimenting with a body exfoliating crème I'd discovered in the basket of bath products Gail had prepared for me. With a delicate peony and rose scent, the scrub on, wash off lotion did marvels for my skin. I felt positively glowing by the time I toweled off, standing naked in the middle of the walk-in closet considering my outfit for the day.
I didn't know how Christian would introduce me to his family, or what Mia had already told them about me. If what was happening between Christian and I was going to continue, and I sincerely hoped it would, I was keen to make a good impression. The clothes Taylor brought from the studio looked cheap and shabby compared to the new clothing Christian had bought for me. However, I didn't want to show up wearing a designer outfit he'd obviously paid for. After careful consideration, I selected a casual knee-length skirt and teamed it with a plum-colored fine knit tank. Both understated, neither was obviously designer, although I am sure both were. Finishing the look with a casual pair of wedged espadrilles, a matching handbag, and a thin plum headband, I applied a lightly tinted lip-gloss, mascara, and left my hair out in loose, natural waves. I'd never been to brunch with a billionaire's family, but I hoped what I was wearing would be appropriate.
In the great room, Christian was sitting at the breakfast bar, talking with Gail. Standing when he saw me approach, he wrapped his arm around my waist, kissing me gently on the lips.
"Good morning, Anastasia. I trust you slept well?"
"Very well," I confirmed, blushing when I saw Gail's eyebrows shoot up at Christian's affectionate greeting.
"We've got half an hour before we need to leave for my parents'. Would you like a cup of tea before we leave?"
"That would be wonderful, thank you," I said, sitting at my usual stool beside Christian. Moments later Gail placed my teacup and a pot of boiling water in front of me, returning with a cup of coffee for Christian. Then, without mentioning our intertwined fingers resting on the counter, she wished us a good day and left the kitchen.
"I think we've shocked Mrs. Jones," Christian teased, lifting and kissing my hand before releasing it to drink his coffee.
"If she's shocked, what's everyone else going to say?" I didn't want to spell it out—either Christian wanted to tell people something was going on between us or he didn't. Although if he did, people would undoubtedly assume I was an opportunist or a gold digger, and that unnerved me.
Taking in my worried expression, Christian considered his words carefully.
"We don't have to say anything yet. For now, we can tell people we're friends. But I refuse to censor our activities when we're at home. I like what's happening between us, Anastasia. Let's see where it could lead." Christian stood beside my stool, leaning so his lips met mine. Commanding and powerful, he took charge, his lips and tongue tasting like coffee. Not a flavor I typically enjoyed; on him it was sexy. "Can you live with that?"
"I can live with that," I replied, stroking his chest through the linen shirt he'd chosen for the day.
We were kissing again when Taylor arrived in the great room, ready to escort us to brunch. Announcing himself by clearing his throat, I was blushing furiously. He didn't seem surprised to see Christian and me in an intimate embrace, so perhaps Mrs. Jones had told him about our earlier kiss and hand-holding.
"Mr. Grey, Ms. Steele. Are you ready to go to Bellevue?"
"I am. Just let me get the cake I made yesterday." I moved into the kitchen, bending to retrieve the boxed cake from the rear of the fridge. I couldn't swear to it, but when I straightened, Christian appeared to have been checking out my ass.
"You made a cake?" Christian asked, a guilty expression on his face. Yep. Busted!
"Chocolate ganache," I confirmed, pleased by his grin. "I thought we could take it with us?"
"Mother will love that," he said, stepping inside the glass-walled humidity and temperature-controlled wine room off the dining room and opening one of several wine fridges, and plucking out three bottles of wine. "Change of plans, Taylor. I'll drive Ms. Steele to my parents' house in the R8. I might have a drink or two, so you can follow in the SUV and drive us home later. I'll leave the R8 with Dad for a few days. He's been dying to try it out."
"As you wish," Taylor said with a nod. The three of us stepped into the elevator, and it whisked us downstairs to the basement garage. Passing car after car parked in spots marked 'PH' I asked Christian if they were all his.
"Yes. Well, two of them are for security, and Mrs. Jones drives the Audi A4. I just got this one a few weeks ago. With the weather so nice today, it's a good chance to take it out." Standing beside a glittery gunmetal gray convertible sports car, Christian could have literally stepped off a catwalk or be part of a modeling shoot. This man was so out of my league. He popped the trunk, and I put the cake in the rear before he opened the passenger side door, holding his hand out so it supported me as I lowered myself into the vehicle. I'd never been in a sports car before, and it surprised me how close to the ground it sat. Coming around to the driver's door, Christian wasted no time gunning the engine and lowering the top. Reaching across me, he opened the glove box, pulling out two caps and pairs of aviators, passing one of each to me. The sunglasses were a little large but would do the job, and I adjusted the cap to fit.
"Are you ready to give Taylor a scare?" Christian asked, pulling up to the rolling door to the underground garage, the deep sound of the powerful engine reverberating on all the hard surfaces resulting in a powerful throb I could feel.
"Scare Taylor how?" I asked. Christian didn't reply with anything bar a grin. Moving up the driveway to street level, we were stationary for just a moment before he floored it and we were racing out into Seattle's Sunday traffic, Taylor no doubt trying to keep up with us!