03

Mistress Lincoln had managed to calm my nerves again within the first minute of us talking on the phone.

She always had that effect on me, and that very same effect had saved me from consuming myself when I was a teenager… My mood swings had been fierce back then, and all the shrinks I'd been taken to as a child were not able to achieve a fraction of what Mistress Lincoln had been able to.

I wouldn't be able to tell you what had made me that angry as a kid because I still don't know, but somehow Mistress Lincoln understood me; she helped me to release that anger through a safe activity — sex.

Just after she had ended the call, the phone rang, and I answered almost immediately, thinking she was calling back to remind me about something I might have forgotten.

Mistress Lincoln was good to me that way.

CHRISTIAN: Mistress?

However, it wasn't her:

DESK CLERK: Christian Grey, room 752, this is Sofia from the desk. There's Roxanne Givens here for you.

My heart punched hard.

I cleared my throat.

CHRISTIAN: Y-yes, send her up. Please.

It took about 30 seconds before I could move from the bedside table. The phone was still in my hand. I wouldn't be able to tell you what I'd been thinking about all those seconds; it's like I'd spaced out.

My heart was hammering again, hammering in my throat; this feeling reminded me of how I felt like after Mistress Lincoln had kissed me and slapped me 6 years ago…

Shit, I was still naked.

But, wasn't I going to be naked anyway? Was it necessary for me to get dressed…? Yes it was, or Roxanne might think of me as just another horny guy… Yeah, I somehow cared about what she thought of me, and that was weird since I didn't care much about such things.

So I rushed into the bathroom across the room to moisturize and fix my hair and clean my mouth with a mint-flavored mouthwash, and then I returned for the clothes on the double couch near the bed.

Mistress Lincoln had chosen these clothes for me, and they were meant to make me feel comfortable and confident.

The black, two-piece suit, with the white shirt, the black tie, and the black, formal shoes did make me feel comfortable and confident… just a bit, but that was enough.

For my 21st birthday, which was months back, my sister Mia had given me two thousand one hundred linen handkerchiefs. They were dark gray with a 'CTG' in light gray near one corner. I always had a hanky with me, everyone knew that; today I had one in the breast pocket of my suit jacket.

Roxanne was now probably on the seventh floor and on her way to my room — room 752. This was real; there was no calling it off now. My back felt as though I were carrying rocks; my nerves were through the roof.

I ran around the room as though I were playing tag with an imaginary friend, and within a minute, I'd stationed myself in the middle of the room, sat in one of the two suede-cushioned, navy chairs near the TV, and sat on the bed.

I decided on standing near the door.

My hands were in my trouser pockets as a way to hide my sweaty palms… They didn't stop sweating. It didn't take long before I realized how stupid I must've seemed. However, it was too late:

A gentle knock came on the door.

Sitting on the bed or in one of the chairs would've made me appear cool, like a guy who knew what he was doing, but the bed and the chairs were too far and there was no time.

The knock came on the door again, but this time it was determined.

I decided to tiptoe a few feet away from the door; I was looking at the black door with my sweaty hands in the trouser pockets… But I still tried to appear cool in my pose.

I was cool.

I cleared my throat, and said, "C-come in," with a raspy voice, which wasn't mine at all.

I guess I wasn't cool, then.

"I don't have a key," said a voice, which was as lovely as a voice of a mother teaching her son an important lesson. "The door only opens from the inside unless you have the keycard, Mr. Grey."

"Oh," I said to myself, rushing back to the door…

Yes, she called me Mr. Grey, didn't she? I liked it for some reason. My comfort and my confidence went up a notch, even when I still felt the heavy load on my back.

I rubbed my hands together and opened the door.

"Wow," I said, quietly; the word practically fell out of my mouth.

Standing outside was that pale, heart-shaped face with relaxing, big powder-blue eyes. There was no obvious makeup on the face, and the blue eyes were honest. Roxanne was just effortlessly gorgeous. Her chestnut hair almost touched her shoulders, and a few locks partially covered her innocent face.

She looked like the girl next door, whose beauty you'd notice only when you were really looking. I was looking, and I liked what I was seeing.

I was into this girl alright.