Author's note: Thank you, Dennie, and anyone who comments, critiques or compliments. You keep me posting.

Chapter Six

Taylor escorted me and Wendy to the symposium, but didn't linger. Still, I know he'll be nearby. At the first tea break, I find a quiet corner, and text him, 'Not urgent. Please call me when you're free.'

Only seconds later, he calls, asking, "Everything okay?"

"Are you alone?"

"Yes, ma'am. Across the street."

"You can stay put. I just want to discuss Clyde Millar, without raising Christian's blood pressure."

After a moment, he asks, "What would you like to know?"

Worried that I already know the answer, I ask, "What are his chances of being granted bail?"

"Unfortunately, pretty good, though the price tag would be huge. His prior conviction for sexual assault was a long time ago, and in no way relevant to the current charges. Plus...and this isn't a criticism, but the fact that the revolver only discharged because you attacked him, means that particular weapons charge has already been removed. He's not a flight risk. The only real impediment would be proof that he did intend kidnapping you, and we don't have any."

"You believe me though?"

"Yes, ma'am. Looking at all the crimes he's suspected of committing, Flynn is convinced that he was escalating. I am very glad you were raised by a Marine."

That makes me smile. "Me too. This Linc, he can afford even a hefty price tag?"

"Lincoln Timber oversees almost a million acres of land. Mr. Lincoln's net worth hovers around one billion dollars."

That's a yes. "So, Christian is right to worry?"

"About the bail? I'm afraid so, ma'am. But we'll keep you safe, even if Millar gets out."

Taylor can't possibly know that, but I don't want to add to his stress either. "I know. I'm sure that your colleagues have informed you that I always follow protocol."

"Yes, ma'am, thank you. Anything else?"

"Just...please don't leave me out of the loop, okay? I know Christian is really your boss, but_"

"Ma'am, you're my boss too."

"What?"

"Mr. Grey ordered it the day you moved in. Unless we consider it an unacceptable risk, everyone, including Gail, will obey your commands."

Christian keeps on saying "our", but I obviously wasn't hearing him. This would explain why all of his staff have been so accommodating...our staff. I can't wrap my head around such an act of generosity and faith. An ache in my chest from too much love, my voice cracks, as I ask, "Well, why wouldn't he tell me that?"

It sounds like Taylor is trying not to laugh, when he says, "Either he thought you already knew, or he's a little afraid of revealing how much power you currently have."

Remembering one of José's favorite sayings, I joke, "Por qué no los dos?"

Taylor laughs, and says, "Or that. You know he trusts you, right? More than he ever has anyone else."

"So it would seem. And I'm gonna go, before you say something that makes me cry. Thanks, for this. I mean, it's not good news, but I feel better knowing the facts."

"Any time, ma'am."

I hang up, and text Christian, 'My lunch break is 12.30-1.15. Enough time for food and sex?'

A few seconds later, he replies, 'If you get your sweet pussy over here, you can eat lunch while I eat you.'

Confident that I now won't be able to think of anything else, my hands are trembling enough to make typing difficult, when I reply, 'You remain very distracting, Mr. Grey.'

'Likewise, Ms. Steele. I'm in a video conference, and glad it doesn't show anything below the waist. Client might get the wrong idea about me suddenly pitching a tent. Now, fuck off, so I can concentrate.'

I giggle, at the image of him trying to conceal his arousal during a video call, and my smile is so wide it hurts. 'Yes, sir.'

As we're getting dressed, after our lunchtime tryst, I remember to ask Christian, "Why didn't you tell me it's your birthday on Saturday?"

"What the fuck has she done now? I told her no party."

Seems he guessed that Mia told me. "And you expected her to listen?"

I hear him zip up his pants, as he says, "No, I suppose not. What's the damage?"

"Well, she's back at Bellevue, and already bored. Apparently, your parents refused to rent a marquee again, but you'd better be prepared for enough guests to fill the house. And you didn't answer my question."

"My arrival on this planet isn't something I care to celebrate."

It still hurts, that he thinks so little of himself. "Well, I care. Clearly, so does your family."

He seems to understand that it's a plea, because he eventually says, "All right, we'll go. Not much I can do about it if Mia is in charge anyway."

I sit down to put my shoes on, asking, "You really do whatever she wants?"

I see movement before me, and work out that he's kneeling, just before he takes over my task, even as he explains, "To me, she's still that helpless little baby I held in my arms. As we grew up, I sensed that it would come back and bite me in the ass, but I couldn't...she just always loved me, unconditionally. I'm beginning to accept that others in my life feel that way, but baby Mia gazing up at me is the first time I felt it. Somehow, knowing that she expects nothing from me, means I can't refuse her anything."

"You believe now, that your mother loved you?"

"Don't push it, Ana. I'm doing my best."

I can see him well enough to thread my fingers through his hair, and kiss him, before saying, "Yes, you are. And I'd better go, or I'll end up needing your best all over again."

He stands, helping me to my feet, saying, "And I'd better let you, or the Taiwanese deal will fall through, and then Ros will have my hide. I'll be waiting outside the building when you're done. Next time, we'll stay longer, at least do Shakespeare in the Park. It's only a short walk from here."

"I'd like that. But I had a really good time this trip, thank you."

He kisses me, and says, "Truly my pleasure, baby."

Thanks to me falling asleep yet again on the flight back, it seems no time at all before we're saying goodbye to Wendy, at SeaTac airport. Christian has released one of the Audis, to take her home, and she says, "Tomorrow, Ana?"

"Bright and early, boss. Thanks, for inviting me. I learned so much."

I wonder if she's looking at Christian, because I can hear the humor in her voice, when she says, "So did I." Sure enough, she laughs, as Christian quietly growls his displeasure.

I realize in that moment, that I really like her, and ask, "Does company policy forbid hugs outside of work hours?"

I'm enveloped in a warm hug, and she quickly kisses my cheek before releasing me, to say, "I had fun, thanks. And, if you ever need to vent about him, you know where I am, okay?"

That one sounded genuine, and I'm worried what Christian looks like right now, as I say, "Uh, so far, so good. I'll see you in the morning." When she's gone, I have to ask, "Christian?"

"You like her."

"You don't?"

"More than I expected to." Taking my hand, he says, "Come on. Flynn first, and then I have a surprise for you."

Letting him guide me into the car, I get in while protesting, "Christian, we literally just got back from New York."

"And you're rested, so what's the issue? We're not people who have a lot of spare time, Ana."

I'm putting on my seatbelt, as I concede, "No, we're not."

Flynn greets only Ana with a handshake—he never touches me even that much during session—and bids us sit. She still seems nervous, so I hold her hand. Once we're all seated, Flynn asks, "What can I do for you, Ana?"

She looks at me, her brow crinkled in confusion, and says, "Uh, Christian asked me to accompany him."

"You don't have any questions for me?"

Perhaps she misunderstood, when I mentioned this session, so I explain, "It could be about my shades, or my past. Anything, baby. He knows it all."

Ana still looks utterly bewildered, when she answers, "I'll just ask you."

Now I'm confused. "You don't want to know why I'm so fucked up? Flynn knows all the right words."

She finally relaxes, and smiles, saying, "Christian, you're not fucked up. And I don't care where you came from. I care where we're going."

That actually sounds a lot like the current direction of my therapy, but it's hard to believe she doesn't have any questions about my many issues. I look to Flynn, who merely shrugs, and then says, "Perhaps you can give us some privacy, Christian? Ana and I can use this time to get to know each other, instead."

I presume her sudden fearful expression mirrors mine, at this suggestion, but I merely kiss the back of her hand, and leave them to it.

There are still a few minutes of the session left, but I've had enough of his receptionist staring at me out the corner of her eye, and then blushing every time I catch her out. So I knock on the door, and enter. Flynn looks, as usual, self-assured. It's often infuriating. But Ana has the same look, and color, as the receptionist, as if I've caught her out. Not a comfortable feeling. Hoping that my voice won't reveal my unease, I say, "Time's up, Doc."

"Almost. Please, sit." Ana doesn't hesitate to relinquish a hand to mine, and then Flynn continues, "Ana thought of a question after all. Ana?"

I've very curious, when her blush only deepens. I squeeze her hand, and say, "It's all right, baby. Like I said, you can ask anything."

When she can't meet my gaze, and merely shakes her head, Flynn says, "Well, in answer to your question, my professional opinion is that you'll make a wonderful mother."

I can't remember the last time I was this shocked. I stare from Ana to Flynn—who has a quiet smile on his face—and back to Ana, before finding my voice. "You're worried that you'll be a shitty mom?"

I see that already beloved look of defiance—much preferable to her fear—just before she says, "I've never done it before. And my childhood wasn't all picnics and parasols either."

I bark a laugh at the absurdity of it, and then have to grip her hand, as she tries to withdraw from me. I kiss the hand in apology, and say, "I'm sorry, baby, but that's about the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. You are...any child would be incredibly lucky to have you as their mother. I don't understand how you can doubt this."

"Hey, you're not the only one with issues, Grey."

Her beautiful eyes are sparking anger now, and I'm already calculating when I'll next be able to fuck her, when Flynn says, "Well, you two can continue this on your own time. You have my number, Ana, if you think of anything else."

Ana mumbles a thankyou, as I remind Flynn, "Say hello to Rhian for me."

"Will do. And we'll see you on Saturday."

At first confused, I then realize that he's talking about my birthday. If even my therapist's wife is invited, this is not going be a small party. I roll my eyes, and say, "Mia needs a job, or even an absorbing hobby. I'll see you then."

We're underway, with Taylor driving, and Ana still hasn't spoken. "Okay, baby?"

Her jaw stays clenched a little longer, before she accuses, "You laughed."

"I know. I really am sorry for that. It was just shock. There is simply no way you're going to be anything other than a fantastic mother."

It seems that I'm forgiven, because she leans her head on my shoulder and says, "Then right now would be a good time to support your argument."

I kiss her forehead, and say, "For a start, you are the most loving person I've ever met. You're gentle, kind and generous, fiercely protective, and insanely brave. You're also smart, great fun, and have a wonderful sense of humor. By the time they start school, our kid will be able to read, write, cook and kick ass. By the time they're in junior high, they'll rule the world."

I feel her relax, and she says, "You're forgiven."

"You're also the most forgiving person I know."

She giggles, and says, "Okay, don't overdo it." I'm breathing a sigh of relief, when she adds, "Flynn says we need to watch out for autism?"

"One of his theories. He says there's no point testing for it, because it'd be under...he calls it a 'cloud' of symptoms. But he suspects that me being reasonably far along the spectrum is one of the reasons I was so often misdiagnosed as a child." She doesn't seem afraid of the idea, but I need to ask, "You're not worried?"

"No. We'll cope. Do you agree with his theory?"

"Maybe. It would explain why I so often experience sensory overload, though that's reasonably common with a couple of my other shades. It's irrelevant to my therapy though, which is goal oriented. You discuss that?"

"Yeah. How far to the surprise?" She sounds tired.

I shuffle us, until she's reclining against me, and command, "Sleep, baby."

Christian is saying, "Ana? Baby, we're here." Oh, right, the surprise.

The lack of light suggests dusk, and I try to rub the fatigue from my eyes, asking, "Where are we?"

"With your approval, the site of our new home."

I'm well and truly awake now. "What?"

Christian chuckles, and I feel it wash through me, "Did you think I'd want our kid growing up in a kinky bachelor pad? Escala has served me well, but it's not right for a family."

He's done it again, anticipated my needs, and made them reality. Desperately striving for control, I protest, "Darling, for someone who doesn't like to see me cry, you seem to go out of your way to make it happen."

He laughs again, and nudges me, saying, "Let's go, the agent is waiting."

I thread a hand through his hair, pulling his face closer, as I argue, "They can wait a few more seconds."

Christian finally ends the kiss, with a growl, and says, "Come on, I doubt even a realtor who smells blood in the water, will wait long enough for you to properly express your gratitude."

I laugh, and say, "Not the way I'm feeling. So, where are we, on a map?"

As he helps me out of the car, Christian explains, "Across the Sound from Bainbridge Island, only a few minutes from the city. I might even be able to still run to work." At my sudden laughter, he asks, "What?"

"We're engaged, pregnant, and shopping for a home. And I didn't even know that you jog to work."

He's holding my hand, and leading us along a gravel path. "Not every day. And I don't jog. That's for middle-aged bankers with high cholesterol. I run."

I laugh again, ridiculously happy, and remember one of our earliest conversations, "You don't 'jog' and you don't 'make love'. Got it."

He hisses his surprise, and his step falters for a moment, before he whispers, "Behave." And then he announces, "Ms. Kelly, this is my fiancée, Ms. Steele."

Presuming we're close enough, I extend my right hand, saying, "Please, call me Ana."

A warm hand gently closes on mine for a moment, and she says, "I'm Olga. A pleasure to meet you, Ana. And it's good to see you again, Mr. Grey. Just the grounds?"

"Please."

It's now dark enough that I can sort of see what can only be a house, because it's ablaze with light, and obviously massive. Confused, I ask, "We're not going to look at the house itself?"

Christian sounds just as confused, when he explains, "It was built in the 1920s, Ana. Elliot will knock it down, and build something much more ecologically sound."

"Is there something wrong with the building?"

"Not exactly. They built 'em to last back then. It's just dated. Besides, the heating and cooling alone would cost a fortune."

He can't possibly be worried about the expense. Something else is going on with him. "Well, can we at least check it out?"

Olga says, "I have time." She seems to know when to speak, and when to listen. I guess that's part of the job.

A few seconds of me silently pleading is enough that Christian says, "All right, but the exterior first, while the light holds."

"Of course, sir. This way."

Christian holds my hand, so I'm able to walk without fear of falling. Soon, the ground beneath my feet softens. I feel grass brushing against my ankles, and the cloying smell of nectar and wildflowers threatens to overwhelm my senses. "Is this a meadow?"

There are flames in Christian's voice when he replies, "Our meadow." And I know we're both thinking of the tune he wrote for me.

I sway towards the siren song of his desire, and take a shuddering breath, before saying, "Olga?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Sold."

We're barely back in the car, before Ana is kissing me. I pull back enough to remind her, "Seatbelt." She's complying, when I point out the obvious, "Someone is grateful."

Her gaze fixed on me, she slips her arms inside the belt, rather effectively restraining herself, and says, "Yes, I am."

As if it's a choice, with my cock lengthening and pointing towards her, I say, "This isn't the venue I had in mind for a celebration." She just stares at me, her smile serene, and I marvel again that we met only weeks ago, yet she seems to know me better than anyone ever has. I rest one hand on her bare knee, and say, "I probably should be afraid at how well you can read me."

"Same here. Even after realizing that you are what I've been waiting for, I still had no idea that lurking within that mousy little bookworm was a dirty little bitch who's addicted to rough sex."

Her no doubt deliberate use of such coarse language has the desired effect, and she smiles again, at my gasp. It still feels wrong, to let her have so much control, but somehow also very, very right. Her legs part slightly, encouraging my questing fingers. "What do you want, Anastasia?" When her brow crinkles in confusion, I say, "Your game. Your rules."

Delighted surprise increases her beauty for a moment, and she considers, before demanding, "Undo my blouse."

I do as instructed, to discover, "You're wearing a bra!"

She smiles, and reveals, "Thought I'd better get used to them. My boobs are already getting bigger."

I trail one fingertip along her cleavage, saying, "Good thought. And I guess that you'll soon need even more clothes."

When I stop my caress, awaiting instruction, Ana says, "My nipples, gently." I can't tell if it's a conscious act, when her tongue then traces the line of her bottom lip, and I'm past caring. I claim her mouth, even as I dip my fingers below the line of her bra, letting the back of my fingernails caress one nipple. I ease off when she gasps, but she merely giggles, saying, "Cold."

Her laughter will get me into trouble one day. I'd do anything to hear that sound. "Okay if I take it from here?"

She looks blissfully happy, when she merely says, "Yes, sir."

I reach my free hand above her, and pull the seatbelt tight against her body, making her gasp again. And then yank it quickly, so the retractor lock will activate. She's now very snugly restrained, and panting hard enough that her mouth is slightly open. Next, I pull the bra down under her breasts, so her nipples are free, and standing to attention. I've fucked in a car before, but never quite like this. It's incredibly erotic seeing the tight strap bisecting her chest. Besides, even the things I've done in the past seem new, if I share them with Ana. We're entering downtown, and I've never been more grateful for tinted windows. "We don't have long, baby."

She spreads her legs wider, and says, "Then shut up, and feel...me."

With her strapped in like this, there's not enough room to remove her panties, but they don't resist long when I hook a finger in them and shred a hole, permitting me access. With the belt pulling her down into her seat, I can't fit more than one finger inside her, but she's so ready that one should be enough. I palm her breasts, as my thumb swirls over and around her clit, and put my lips by her ear to promise, "One day soon, I'm going to fuck you with my fist."

I was confident that she'd be turned on by the idea, but it's still a surprise when she suddenly pulses through an intense orgasm, biting down on the seatbelt, presumably in an effort to keep quiet. By the time her senses have returned to this world, I've released the lock, and put her breasts back in their lace carriage. Her smile is shy, and her gaze filled with such love, that I immediately want to gift her more pleasure, but Taylor is pulling up outside the club, so I button her blouse, as she says, "I think I'd like that."