A/N: Thank you for your patience! It's a very busy time of the year, isn't it.

I just want to make it known that Christian's POVs are more observational than action, and Ana's POV's will be more action than observation. I say this because things are about to ramp up and get crazy after this point, now that we know our pair a little better. So keep your eyes out! Enjoy :)

Christian

Electric.

It might be the most succinct descriptor for what it feels like to dominate another person.

To be entrusted with their safety and wellbeing.

Their pleasure.

Their pain.

Somewhere in there, it coincides, melds, with my sadist needs. My utter rapture of their pain, and translating it into my own pleasure. Orchestrating that transition.

I've never struggled with this knowledge. With knowing that a person suffering at my hands, willingly, makes me incorrigibly aroused. It's a desire born from intransigent ego, can only be quenched by their voluntary subjugation.

Grey doesn't dictate this need; he only amplifies it.

"Follow."

I guide Ana to my bedroom, finding the small box in my nightstand delivered to me this morning. I sit on the edge of the bed, crooking my finger, and Ana crawls between my knees.

"Up. Hold out your hands."

She does, and I pass the box over, smiling at her confusion.

"I didn't get you anything," she intones dryly. "Sir."

"We're sharing this gift, pet. Open it."

Something not quite classed as hesitation rolls over her before she can dampen it, but she pulls on the gaudy red bow, unclasps the metal concealing my present. She looks at it for a long moment before meeting my eyes again.

"Thank you," she says, and she is unmistakably not thankful for this.

"Give it here. Turn around and take your shirt off."

I take my time, just touching her, caressing her skin. A streak of gooseflesh erupts across her shoulder blades, the only reaction to my touch. I shift her hair aside and lean in, encircling her lovely neck with the white leather collar I've gotten for her. Fastening the catch and letting my fingers linger.

"Does it fit?" I ask, reeling in my huskiness. "Is it too tight?"

"No, sir. It fits well."

"Yes. It does."

I raise up, circling her, coming around her front. I'm hard, of course I am, with this quixotic woman beneath me. Collaring her is not something new in my household, any household. Every sub that chooses to stay receives a collar until they don't. Until their time is up.

How I've collared her, however, is novel.

Anyone else, all of this would have gone differently. I would ask their name. They would tell me. I would follow their limits. They would cower to me. I would have fucked them by now. They would receive the collar. The procedure has been the same with each new client coming in, formulaic. A working system.

I haven't fucked Ana—novel.

Preserve me, I want to more than I want my next breath.

This white collar I've given her as well, novel.

My request was a pain in the ass to the staff, surely, but they produced it with skeptical looks. Original intent of the color system was long ago abandoned, and they were buried away in the warehouse. We stopped using white collars years ago on the island.

All the better, because this woman herself is an abnormality. An anomaly. We are doing this my way now, up to and including employing unorthodox collars to unorthodox submissives that won't receive their collars the way any other has. And I will make no room for rebellion or questioning if it doesn't come in the form of a blue eyed brunette named Anastasia Steele, the only one in the world with every right to question me.

White collars signaled an unbroken client. A virgin.

No on in the world can convince me that the salacious mystery that is Anastasia Steele comes even close to the word "virgin", but the choice of collar has a singular significance.

Having her here is disturbingly similar to when I woke up 8 years ago on the beach, a troubling fact that doesn't escape me. To know who you are but not; to question it. To own someone, but not.

That is Ana.

While she is here, I have to start over. Revisit, rebuild. She is unbroken to me, even if only for now.

There's a fire in her eyes, a dance of indignation and something else I can't quite label. The corner of my mouth quirks up at her expression.

"Speak freely, pet."

She shifts her feet, tilts her head. Her lips are thin as she asks, "I'm your property now, sir?"

For a black moment her question is terrifying, marked. As if the sum of her time with me, my sins against her, have lead to the sentencing now. Any hint of amusement I held simpers out, and my words are grave with every bit of sincerity I feel.

"Anastasia… You've been my property from the moment I first saw you."

…

"Are you familiar with stoplights, pet?"

"I've some inkling of them, yes. Am I being gifted one of those as well?"

"No."

"What a relief. I don't think I have any more room in my closet."

She smirks at my wry head shake, settling into the confines of cuffs binding her wrists behind her back. She'll remain on the floor, I've decided. At my heel. Beneath me and always at my side. On her knees and bare beyond the leather collar around her neck.

Unconsciously I stroke the leather, grounding myself and reveling in the undeserved possession I feel over Ana. I've transcended these stirrings she baits out of me now, the notions of what I feel for her less and less alien the longer I look down at her. The more I recognize how right it feels to have her there, in particular.

She belongs here. With me.

I've accepted this like I've accepted air into my lungs. Earth solid beneath my feet. It's an undeniable truth and pointless to resist. And she herself does not struggle at my heel, doesn't show any hesitance or trepidation. She would barely seem unwilling, if not for the unshakable pride I sense within her. She accepts that I will humble her this way, and cedes to my desire with only a scrape of resentment in the form of heavy sarcasm and knavish ribbing.

No part of me wants to erase this smart mouth of hers. She's quick and clever and it's easy to understand why I'm so drawn to her when she speaks openly.

"So you understand the color system?"

"Red means stop."

"And green means go." I won't take her fun away from her. Besides the one instance, Ana has no idea the levels I'm ready to descend with her. I don't doubt that she can handle it. Not one bit. Which is why I want to make sure we've set up all the safety parameters ahead of time. "Yellow?"

"Slow for check in," she answers promptly.

"Yes. And blue?"

Her cheek raises slightly with the whisper of a smile. "Don't stop."

"That's right, pet. Don't stop."

Compared to any other woman, any other sub, Anastasia is downright spoiled. Contextually, regardless of how easily composed she is, she is bratty. Prideful. Any submissive of mine would have had this beaten out of them at the first sign, but Ana has retained this pride. Stoked it even, as if her punishment was simply time out. I'm not a fool to repeat the same actions and expect different results. Her tolerance is without question.

I plan to break her every other way.

"Sir, will you tell me what you meant earlier? When you said you were going to break me?"

Again, mind reader.

Her safe-out is in place and she understands the gist of my intent for her today; I'm ready.

She's ready.

I crouch down in front of her, bundling her hair up into my hands and laying it down her back. My hand flashes out, slapping her across her right cheek. It is more of a shock than a violence and has its intended affect. Her eyes are wide as she turns back to me, shoulders stiff.

"Try again," I instruct softly.

She stares at me a moment, the cogs in her brain starting to turn. She licks her lips before she opens her mouth to answer. "Will you tell me… please?" she ventures in a low voice.

Hm. Her eyes flick down to my mouth as she watches me, waits for confirmation, notes the growing smirk I can't suppress.

She knows she's wrong. I can tell the very instance she recognizes it.

Her left cheek gets the slap this time, more force, slighter contact for more shock. She doesn't turn back immediately this time. She licks across her full lips again, slowly, and her shoulders relax with a sigh. When she meets my eyes, hers are slightly darker, as if she's veiled the luminescence, the natural brightness in them. Her cheeks are a beautiful flush, the print of my hand blooming across the smooth skin.

"Again, pet."

She gets it right this time. Understands the game we're going to be playing for a while.

"How are you going to break me, Christian?" she asks, and I smile at her. I place a chaste kiss to her forehead as I stand to my full height above her, watching her from between my legs.

"Just like this," I murmur, stroking the top of her head.

Anastasia is a prideful brat. She knows very well that she is beautiful and easily able to captivate me. She uses this charm against me often, and if she thinks I haven't noticed, she is mistaken and will soon find that out. It is a vanity perhaps even she isn't aware of, not consciously. But she knows that she holds a certain sway, a certain influence over me. I don't want to extinguish this influence. I relish it, this foreign pull she holds; but I have a responsibility to her, to myself; and if I want to appease Grace and Carrick, I need to address it swiftly. With a tolerance as high as hers coupled with such subtle defiance, I realize exactly what Ana needs.

The best way to break pride?

Cruel debasement.

Humiliation.

"I've told you more than once that you are to call me Christian, pet. You will call me sir only when we are around others. And you will show gratitude for this reminder. Kiss my foot."

Genuine rage ignites her already reddened cheeks. Flares in her ever darkening eyes. Moments like these, the blackness inside of me wells deep and fervently, yawning and reaching for whatever it is about Anastasia that tempts me so.

But, unfathomably, she blinks and it seems like all trace of the previous ferocity has been wiped. Hands still bound behind her back, she folds herself forward and presses her lips to the top of my foot, and her expression is chillingly blank when she looks up to me again.

"Thank you, Christian," she says, no inflection in her voice, no hint of a single emotion.

I swallow past the lust that threatens to choke me in her subtle challenge. The hunger that has my blood surging as coarsely as my adrenaline. "You are welcome. Come with me."

I don't clarify for Ana to follow on her knees, but, smart girl, she does so without my needing to.

She watches me silently as I rifle through the cabinets in the bathroom, setting my next task on the sink, out of her view. When I've got everything, I bid her to stand and lift her by the waist onto the sink. I let my gaze linger on her plentiful curves sat like this. She has perfect posture and her breaths are shallow and even. Her nipples are a beautiful dusky pink as they tighten under my observation. The soft breadth of her hips in this position is a distraction but eventually I land on the nest of curls at her apex.

"Spread your legs."

She doesn't hesitate at the quiet directive. She opens them wide, none at all shy, and my heart leaps at this intimate peek of her. I stare at her, at the gorgeous cleft between her legs, readjusting so my erection doesn't bend into itself. When our eyes reconnect I see my lust reflected in her gaze.

Turning away from the trance she threatens me with I grab the little box on the sink and tear it from its confines. When I turn back to present the items, Ana is not amused.

"Do you know what this is?" I ask, barely withholding a chuckling.

Her dark eyes look to my hands and back to me again. "I have an idea, Christian."

"Answer me then. What is this?"

Her throat works on an irritated swallow. "Wax strips, Christian."

"Yes, pet… Wax strips." Her lips purse before she takes the edge of her lower lip between her teeth. I'm beginning to gleam the nonverbal cues. "You may speak freely."

"Will you be doing this, Christian, or will I?"

"I will, of course."

She hates this. She probably hates me, and I shouldn't be so delighted by this. In truth, I have more than a few things to do outside of the villa. Ana only received one of the presents I've prepared for her. Based on her reaction to the first… I really shouldn't be as delighted as I am. It's becoming unseemly.

"Do I still have permission to speak freely?"

I pause from rubbing the strips between my hands to look at her.

"Yes."

"Is there a particular reason you chose the strips over the melting wax, Christian?"

I smile to myself as I apply the strip to her left labium. "Yes, pet. Yes, there is."

She stiffens with the first rip, her breasts jutting forward as her spine straightens. I imagine if she were allowed the freedom she would kick me square in the face, and the timing is wrong to do so but I find myself laughing at the thought, and by the exhale of breath that rushes out of her, she is seething.

Embarrassed and debased.

Just the way I want her.

I get the next strip warmed between my palms, applying it to the right of her as I had the left. Another rip, and this time she expects the pain. But that doesn't eliminate the sting of humiliation that must be running through her.

Admittedly, I like the curls on her. I stroke the remainder of the downy patch lightly before getting another strip ready. They are as womanly as the woman they conceal, but this act isn't for my benefit. I have a point to prove this week, to Grace, to Carrick.

Myself, even.

I have no intention of letting her go early, not home and not to the other dominants on the island. She's every bit of mine as my namesake is. I plan to make that abundantly clear to anyone and everyone so there are no misgivings. I loathe gathering with the other residents. It is a harsh reminder that socializing isn't for me, and would not surprise me if it never has been. Necessary evil, however, as they need to see Ana. Need to see and understand what's mine.

The insinuations made by Carrick and Grace the night before... speaking of taking Ana away from me as if I weren't standing beside them. The interaction made me view them in another light. I saw all of our previous conversations as equal, perhaps familial, but it was nothing short of a business transaction in the back room yesterday, and they weren't hearing a word of my actual worries.

Fuck them, then.

I don't know them well enough individually or care enough about their side of things if they don't concern themselves with mine. 8 years or no, Ana eclipses them in my mind. I'm grateful, but too many questions are surfacing as of late, and I don't plan on changing my household any further to their benefit. I barely heed their ridiculous system of updating the submissive rosters in the first place. They know I'm good at what I do, so they don't bother me for it. Simply accept my testimonial after I've finished my time with my live-ins.

So Ana being their first question mark is offensive to say the least.

I may have given them a reason to doubt me, confiding in them my internal debacle. I know now that was a mistake, because I realize they only care about the bureaucratic benchmarks they hold the island to. I can only hope what I have planned for tomorrow derails whatever damage I've done, mends the potential rift I've created if it means they will leave me to torture myself with Ana in peace. It feels ridiculous that I have to put on this charade (regardless how much I will personally enjoy it), but if it must be done...

Fuck them.

I'm not necessarily being gentle with Ana, because I know that's not what she's looking for. Much to her chagrin, I'm thorough in her waxing, living in my thoughts but enjoying every sharp rip wringing in the silent air, and the torture is delicious as I tell her to lean back on her elbows and lift her knees for me to reach the hidden pucker of her bottom. There, I am just a bit more delicate, nd nearly ravenous from my obscene view of her.

In the end, she is glaring and puffy and flushed— a vision if I've ever seen one.

I've established protocol. I've waxed her down. I can leave now. Step out of the villa. Head down to the town and finish setting up Ana's surprises. I can definitely leave…

I wet the cloth with warm water and wash the area down for her, and if possible her skin seems to swell further. The second I drop the cloth I pull her up by the band of her collar and smother her in a commanding kiss. Her lips yield on contact. She melts beneath me, submitting to my mouth against hers, and I'm not sure if I'm hearing her heart beat or mine.

I scoot her forward by the hips, imposing myself between her long, toned legs. My tongue licks across her lips, slides across her own tongue as she presses against me.

I so badly want to put my tongue in other places of Ana's responsive body, but the plans… I've got plans…

And Ana is still very much a brat who should not yet be rewarded.

I draw away from her with her lip between my teeth, nipping the wet flesh before I release her entirely.

What does this puzzling woman give to me that I can't get from anyone else? Why do I see her, smell her, no matter the distance I force between us? What is it in the way that she looks at me that is so different from anyone else?

She blinks at me lazily when I'm a decent space away, hopping down from the counter when I order her to as I attempt to recollect myself. I guide her to her bedroom, mentally chastising myself in the walk there. Convincing myself to unbind her now and let her go about her day while I handle my business. Tell her that I'll be back later and that I want her to have the day to herself.

Instead…

"Center of the room, pet."

Damn her. Damn me.

Damn it.

She steps past me, regarding me with a curious glance.

No fear.

She has never feared me.

I order her to stop with her back to me.

I approach her slowly, my lust for her near overwhelming now. Her hands still bound behind her, her every line is accentuated by this position, by the light gliding off and over her. My fingertips trail the dip of her spine all the way down, tracing the shapely curve of her bottom and wrapping around, and I grip her hips, enfolding her into me and burying my nose in her hair.

She smells like packed snow on a black night, and the scent drives me mad because I haven't seen snow in at least 8 years. I bathe her in luxurious soaps and rub her down with scented oils and beyond all of that, the smell of her refuses to be washed out.

Similarly, I know regardless how much I whip her, hit her, and now humiliate her… she will not bend to me. Not fully, collar or no collar. I wonder if I will ever fully get the privilege.

Or if I even want that.

I slide my hands up her smooth stomach, up and over her breasts and chest, and I encircle her leather-bound throat. Naturally, instinctively, she stiffens. It lasts but the barest moment before she eases back into the cool control she's mastered.

I marvel at her, at the trust she's placed in me, my chest rising heavy and falling shallow with anticipation. She knows what's coming and she hasn't stopped me. Doesn't seem like she wants to. I skim the skin at her windpipe, a gentle caress before applying pressure, just the pointer and middle finger, watching Ana's profile carefully.

"Check in," I command softly.

"Green, Christian," she replies.

Her eyes droop with the contact. If possible she relaxes ever further beneath me. I allow myself the intrinsic reaction of shifting closer to Ana, curving around her, shielding her from the rest of the world and letting it fall away from us as she submits to me. The desire I feel for her, the humming roast of energy teeming within me, I don't let it distract me. To take me away from such an intense and erotic moment with this woman and her absolute trust in me.

"You're so beautiful," I whisper against the shell of her ear, and the words were only intended as thoughts but they belong to her now.

It's increasingly impossible to ignore how unnerved she renders me. The discomfort in how comfortable I am with Anastasia. Has it really only been two weeks? Two weeks with her is all it has taken to wrap me around her finger. I'm helpless to her, defenseless and pregnable to her indifferent charm and the thought rattles me in a way I've never experienced before.

She's not going anywhere. I know that. She isn't the type to quit and has far too much fight to let even my erratic behavior chase her off.

Knowing this doesn't displace the irrational fear of losing her. I don't know nearly enough about her, haven't heard my name traipse past her lips enough. I have more time than I rightfully deserve with her before she is required to go home, but knowing she will leave means it's not near enough time to satisfy me. Again, just as it reared its head in the pub, I feel it…

Hot, blind possession.

It strikes wildly. Indiscriminately. Flaying at my chest and lungs and stealing my breath as I breathe in Ana, as she breathes through my grip.

I don't dare let my thoughts connect with my body, with hers. No matter the amount of panic swelling and surging around my heart, Anastasia is always priority. Always above. Anything I do to her, everything I do to her, she will always be safe. I skim my nose along her cheek, press a chaste kiss to her temple as my fingers flex, apply more pressure to her neck, giving her a time to adjust before graduating to a gentle squeeze.

A moan so sensual it has my jaw clenching pours out of her. She's slipping now, falling into that dark, beautiful bliss that would bring her into mindless sensation. I guide her there, wrapping my fingers fully, firmly, around her and compressing. Her breaths whistle out of her nostrils, caressing my knuckles. Those deeply blue eyes mast as the glossy blacks of her pupils swell in dilation. Her pulse both leaping and lulled. I've never been more aroused, more intrigued.

"Color, Ana," I demand, my eyes riveted to her stunning profile, cataloguing her every shudder and shake.

She answers immediately, quietly, "Blue," and my own breath is shaky as I kiss along her cheek, her jaw, tightening my grip degree by cautious degree.

Ana's moan is a deep, primal noise that sets my blood ablaze. I know what she's feeling, how far into the play she's fallen. Her heartbeat vibrates through my very bones, drums a rhythm to my own pulse racing straight to my cock as I hover over her as completely as the laws of matter allow.

"I'm right here, pet," I assure her. She's been teetering this edge for a long while, and my prior reservations be damned, I want her to come. I slip my fingers over her breast for one rough squeeze before dropping to the rigid bud of her clitoris, etching tight, fast circles into her. With every syllable my fingers tighten around her just that much more. "I'll always be right here for you. You are amazing. So fucking beautiful. Give into me, pet. Now."

She shivers in my grasp then, and I hiss a quiet moan as her eyes roll back with her silent orgasm. It is unquestionably the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life, and my longing for her rises to a sharp slope.

I groan into her hair, "Fuck," easing my hand around her throat as she pants and gasps through the climax. To give into me so totally, so responsively that it brought her to orgasm… I have to release her, in fear of what her high tolerance and my unflagging lust can drive me to.

I pull her immobile, misted body close as I close my mouth over hers, conquering her with my kiss. Laying every possible wordless claim on her that I can muster. Branding her with my tongue as I stroke along hers and through her sweet mouth.

Carrick's blunt remarks still wring in my mind, rattle me in a way that pulls muscles within me I've never been sure of.

When her scheduled time with me is up this feeling will pass.

I'll think of her fondly as I train my new set of submissives and won't think twice about it afterward.

Slip right back into the composure I've crafted after all these years, the control I need.

Maybe, if I bullshit myself enough, I can make all of these things feel tangible.

I'm not giving her up.

I take her jaw, touching her so gently it could be my imagination. And I kiss her. Fiercely. Bruising. Horrified at my revelation, terrified of her and what she forces me to face.

And then I soften my mouth on her, a tender tugging at her lips because I want her, forever. I want to preserve her. Absorb her into myself and hold her to where she can never escape me. Can't be taken from me.

I pull away to watch her, struck by the warmth of her gaze on me. Ana rests her weight on me, and I wrestle the keys to her cuffs out of my pocket and release her. She raises her fingertips to my face, the skin just curving my cheek, and on a sigh she breathes, "Red."

I release her instantly after making sure she can stand on her own, backing away and putting the room's area between us. As careful as I could have been with Ana, there is no perfectly safe way to engage in breath play. Any number of physiological responses can occur while tampering with a windpipe.

Ana looks relatively unscathed, but I know I'm dealing with a master masquerader.

She's had more than a moment to herself before I approach again, and when she doesn't deny my touch I'm lifting her into my arms and laying her down on her bed, swiping her hair away from her face.

"Thank you, sir."

I smile at her, despite the worry pounding in my chest. Not worrying she's alright—worrying about the intense tumult of feelings washing through me. When I sit beside her she turns over to me, the brightness of her eyes returned though hooded.

"Was that okay for you, Anastasia?" I ask as I lean over her.

"It was. And then some."

"Then you enjoy being choked?"

She pauses. "I trust you," and she's observant so she might see how soundly her words have made my heart stop. "I don't like suffocation."

"I recall. Its your hard limit."

"Dulls the senses," she grins weakly. "But I trust you so… choking is fine."

I eclipse her fully now, kissing her chastely. Reverently. "I won't betray your trust," I vow solemnly against her lips. I wouldn't dare—not with the depth of my need for her.

"Would you like to lie with me?" she asks quietly.

She would never know how much I was looking to do just that, and I find myself smiling again as I relax on my side, mirroring her, ignoring the good common sense that dictates I should quit while I'm ahead. I don't think I've ever felt more naked with a woman, more intimate, despite being fully clothed. My flesh understands her flesh and my soul wants her soul.

"You call me many different names," she muses aloud, and the statement is quiet, not quite a question; almost accusatory.

"I do. Are you looking for insight?"

"At all times."

"I call you 'pet' when you're being playful. Or when we're in play. It gives me possession of you."

A warmth drips through me saying the words to her, admitting them, cluing her in on my obsession. "'Mouse' is when you are quiet or asking questions. Your eyes are wide and almost innocent but very sharp, like you're seeing an entire room with one look."

Something close to amusement flashes across her expression, but it doesn't stay long enough to point out. I finish my last point with, "And…well, you're Anastasia when I'm connecting with you on a… normal wavelength."

She responds in a long, soft hum, not seeming to need any clarity on my explanations, and the room falls into a blissful silence. In the distance, I can hear the waves licking the sands on the beach, the faraway cries of gulls playing. I need to leave if I have even a prayer of setting up Ana's surprise in time but she makes it impossible when she's being so utterly human and feminine and inviting.

"How old are you, sir?" she asks suddenly.

"Not a clue." I shrug the shoulder not planted beneath me. She's being a defiant little creature again with the 'sir', but she's used the safe-out. I wouldn't dream of pressing the issue after something as monumental as choking her. "I'd rather not think too much on it, to be honest. Why? Is my age showing?"

She rolls her eyes, the hint of a smirk on her serene face, then her eyes are boring into mine. "No. I don't see an ounce of gray on you."

My lip twitches. "Are you being punny, Anastasia?"

The weight of her gaze doesn't lessen. "A bit," she says softly. "So how do you celebrate your birthday?"

"I don't. I don't know when my birthday is," I reply, chuckling as she groans in mock horror. "Am I missing something special?"

"I would have pegged you as a man that got most of his sick kicks out on his birthday."

"Well, there will be no pegging where I'm involved. On my nonexistent birthday or any day otherwise."

Her grin is slow, sly and seductive. "Well. Maybe tomorrow will be your birthday."

My eyebrow arches. She can't possibly have a clue of what I have planned but she's so intuitive, how can I really be so sure? "Yeah? I don't keep track of the date anymore so…"

"Let's go down to the pub and find out," she offers casually.

"Hm…" I raise up, crawling over Ana and rolling her onto her back, balancing on my forearms above her. "I will be going down. You will be staying. But I will find out the date and get back to you. Deal?"

She watches me with those bright, hooded eyes as I run the tip of my finger over her collar, across her collar bone. The imprints of my grip on her lovely skin are beginning to blossom, darken, and I know she feels every hard inch of me against her bare leg. "Deal. You're hiding something, sir."

Unwittingly, I cough out a laugh, stunned and none at all taken aback by her astuteness. "Pet, I'm going to have to start punishing you for ruining my surprises."

"I don't think I'm ruining anything, sir. I don't know what you're hiding; I just know something is being hidden." The curve of her mouth resembles the Cheshire cat, her teeth clean and pretty as they gleam at me. It is the most dangerous smile I've ever seen.

"Keep knowing too much and it'll come back to bite you. 'It' being me."

"I'm not threatened by a good time."

I shake my head at her, pitifully smitten as I lower to capture her in an unhurried kiss. I have to drag myself away or I'll lose the motivation to leave this bed.

But then…

When I take even a quarter-second to remember exactly what I'm leaving for, my purpose is renewed. Heat courses through me, scalp to toes. I shift myself off of the bed and away from my temptress, flagrantly taking all of her in with the needed distance.

"It's a good thing tomorrow is my 1st birthday then, pet. I can't wait for the rest of my gifts."

"Glad to be your first," she says, turning onto her side with a wink in my direction. "Sir, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Anastasia."

"Do you mind if I go for a run around the beach while you're gone?"

Shit. I don't mind; moreso I worry. She's grown and perfectly capable but above any other that I have had in my care, I don't want anything to happen to her. No, it is unlikely that she will drown while I am away… Or break her ankle. Or get lost in the forestry. Or be dragged off by mole-people.

"I suppose," I answer hesitantly, begrudgingly. It's unfair to keep her locked away like this. She was clearly used to being active. The thought of making her unhappy in anyway is unacceptable, and narrowly trumps the irrational need to preserve her from unlikely downfalls. I add a concession, for my own peace of mind. "You've got an hour out there before I go looking for you."

"That's more than I'll need. Thank you, Christian."

I give her a tight smile, ignoring the weighty pang in my chest at her casual use of my name in gratitude. Not sir—Christian.

"Can I ask you something else?" she inquires as I turn for the door. I pause as I lean in the doorway. Her face is suddenly cool again, almost somber.

"Of course," I repeat. "What is it?"

She watches me with wide, cautious eyes. Speaking slowly. "Christian... Where do the women that you dominate go when their time is up?"

"Home, of course."

Her sharp eyebrow crooks. "They go home? You're sure about that?"

"Of course, pet. Where else would they go?"

She doesn't answer me. Just continues to lock me into her stare. Her head is just slightly tilted, her hair falling over her shoulder as she studies me. "Where else would they go?" she echoes after a while, and my mouth suddenly feels barren.

My head is shaking, words unable to come out legibly. She's implying something, I know that, but I can't wrap my head around it and can't make her question make sense. Frustration hits me, stubborn and insistent. I swallow, but I don't ask her to elaborate. I need to get down to the pub with all of this time already thrown out the window.

"You've got one hour out there, pet," I call out behind me. "Or else I'm coming for you."

Ana's words, her eyes, haunt me as soon as I leave her vicinity.

A/N: I wonder what the surprise is...

Until next time!