AN: Hello. I'm rude. Okie dokie.

E.L. James owns all.

Listening to "Howlin' For You" by the Black Keys


Chapter 4

APOV

I burst out of the monolithic front doors of GEH and start gasping for breath. I fill my lungs with the fresh air – cleaned from the rain currently pouring down on the overhang I'm standing under. I don't even register the rain at first, my mind is too muddled with Mr. I'm-A-Fucking-Sexy-Pompous-Jerkface and our interview, if you could even call that an interview. It felt more like a mix between a hunting and mating ritual. I'm not sure which one I'm more confused by at the moment, or which one worries me more…

What honestly concerns me the most is how said Jerkface made me feel, not emotionally but physically. I've had plenty of men flirt with me over the years and I know the dance that accompanies it. I'm not new to the moves or the performance as a whole, but this was something else entirely. I felt physically turned on. I've never had that feeling before, because I sure as hell would've remembered it.

What bothers me is that everything this guy is, at least on the surface, is a complete annoyance to me. His wealth is excessive and screams "NOTICE ME! BE IMPRESSED!" His controlling vibe was palpable throughout the office building – everything and everyone was cold and efficient. His smug attitude makes me want to stick a bag over his head just so I don't have to look at that knowing look he gets when he thinks he has all the answers.

Though if you put a bag over his head, you wouldn't be able to see that gorgeous face of his…

I hush my subconscious and go over our conversation again in my head, paying attention to more than just the words – the body language, how he moved to sit closer to me, how his fists clenched after I hit my leg on his table…

The table.

After I hit my leg on his table, he went all quiet. I just said that I have a high pain tolerance, but it seemed to spark something in him that neither he nor I were ready for. After his awkward silence, he changed his game up. Looking back, it was obvious he formed a plan in his mind and went about executing it immediately. He got this look on his face when he came to sit by me – predatory, yet alluring at the same time. He knew what he was doing. I suspect he's done this numerous time before: seducing a young journalist fresh out of college (or almost out in my case), all doe eyed and innocent with great big brilliant dreams of the future. He probably expected me to just fall at his feet the moment he decided to turn our interview into something more primal. The great Christian Grey is flirting with me? Little ol' me? Oh golly I better jump at the opportunity!

No thank you. I value myself far too much to be that person. And I'm far from innocent in any regard. I remember even Kate being shocked with how casual I was about sex. I mean, I don't really sleep around or anything, but I don't view sex as this important thing that is supposed to bring two people closer together in every way. It doesn't confirm love or a solidifying of the relationship for me because I don't feel anything. Literally. The pleasure center of the brain is too closely associated with the pain center so I've not really had any pleasurable experiences physically since the CIPA prevents my brain from registering them.

I've been in relationships before, and once I was 17, sex became a normal part of those relationships. I really didn't have the heart to tell the guys that I was faking every orgasm, and they never suspected a thing because, well because they're young men – they don't really notice much honestly. I figured out when to make the appropriate noises and when to squeeze my muscles to simulate my orgasm but that was all it was: a technical sequence of muscle contractions followed by "oh baby" and then it was done. They never even questioned why I always told them to use lube. I just told them they'd like it more because it felt even better but it was actually because my body never secreted anything to help ease the friction – and penis burn is apparently a very real thing, just ask the first guy I had sex with. Poor Chad Wesley and his poor penis. I mean, he got better but I learned pretty quick that lube was necessary to sustaining any semblance of a functioning sex life within my relationships.

But why date in the first place? I mean, it's not like I felt sexually attracted to any of these guys. I just wanted to be normal – to feel normal, emotionally at least. I didn't tell people growing up about my condition because kids are idiots and I'm sure I would've been the lab rat of every school I went to if anyone knew. Though I guess that stupidity isn't reserved solely for kids, Stephen Morton sure had plenty of stupidity as an adult…

The rain lets up long enough for me to race to Kate's car. I get in and start the long drive back to Portland. I crank up the volume on the radio to drown out my thoughts and relax into the leather seat as I speed along the highway, though I feel like I'm forgetting something…


CPOV

What the fuck just happened? This girl – this fantastic, amazing, mesmerizing girl has just flown out my office like her life depended on it. And it wasn't from intimidation or fear, it was almost out of confusion. Right before she made some bullshit excuse for getting back home, her expression changed to complete bewilderment. As if she had just discovered something life changing.

I'd like to give her some life changing experiences. If she'd let me.

Shut up! I'm already looking like an idiot – standing here staring at the elevator she escaped in just a few moments ago, mouth agape. I do not need to add an erection into the equation. Not with that ridiculous excuse for an assistant, Olivia, nearby. She'd probably think it was for her. Just the thought of that woman immediately drops my libido by a thousand notches.

I walk into my office and close the doors with a little more force than necessary but, quite honestly, I'm pissed off at the situation. Who the fuck is this girl? How can she just affect me like that? She wasn't even fucking trying! I've had plenty of women try their most seductive techniques on me and it is of no use but this girl - this brilliant sensual creature just bites her fucking lip and says she has a high pain tolerance and I'm reconsidering all of my rules just to throw her on my desk and fuck her into next week. Just the thought of fucking sweet Anastasia Steele until she screams my name has me hard as a fucking rock again. I feel like a god damn pubescent boy in gym class. Except I was never that boy, never paid much attention to the girls in gym class – fucking meant touching, at least I thought, and the mere thought of anyone touching me made me want to scream, rip my hair out, and throw up all at the same time. Girls in school were never an option for me.

Elena changed all that, thank god. Now I control what happens so I don't have to worry about getting touched, or feeling that debilitating pain ever again. While I'm not a fan of her as a person, I have to admit that she did save me in a sense when I was young. I'm sure I would've gone down a very similar path without her help – Harvard, GEH etc. but I wouldn't have been as successful I think. I'd most likely be even more difficult to work with than I am now, because the control I feel in my playroom allows me to be more level headed outside of it. I'd probably be a celibate virgin if Elena hadn't seduced me all those years ago. I've grown past our friendship, however, though she doesn't seem to have gotten the memo yet.

I'm brought out of my thoughts when something on my office couch catches my eye. It's a jacket – her jacket. She took it off before we started the interview and she must have forgotten it.

Can you blame her for forgetting it? She ran out of here like a bat out of hell.

I pick it up and examine it, hoping to gain an insight into who this girl is. As I check the pockets for anything to help further my newfound stalker quest, I'm overcome by her scent. She must wear this jacket all the time; it's bathed in her own personal perfume – apples and fresh laundry and her.

She smells like happiness.

I bet everything about her evokes happiness – her smile, her laugh, her taste. I want to drown in this scent – drown in this woman.

I know what I should do at this very moment: give the jacket to Andrea and tell her to send it to Miss Steele. Go back to my life. Beat the shit out of Bastille at tomorrow's workout. Find a new sub. Forget about the girl.

But I don't want to forget about her.

I want to slam into her against every wall in Escala until my name escapes her lips like a prayer to the heavens.

I want to hold her to me as she comes harder than she ever has before.

I want to bite that lip she nearly drew blood from earlier today.

I want to watch her as she realizes she never knew pleasure until she experienced it with me.


AN: ok, there's that. Sorry about never updating. I have excuses but who really gives a shit about my reasoning right? Right.

xoxo,

VVS