A/N: A note on my posting schedule for both this story as well as for Finders, Keepers. With the COVID crisis, we are very short staffed at the hospital. I am working a ton of extra shifts to help out. This means that I might take longer to post for both stories. Do not fear! I will keep posting. I just can't give an exact schedule for how often. Hopefully, I will be able to post at least every other week, but I can't promise.
I have been trying to remain diligent with replying to your amazing reviews. Thank you and keep them coming! If I run short on writing time, I may fall behind in my replies. It doesn't mean I love you any less. You are the steam that keeps my train moving forward. Thank you for all of your favorites and follows. I am honored.
For anyone who is worried, I once again promise this story will have a HEA…after our favorite couple navigates through more drama…Woohaha!
As always, the characters belong to E.L. James.
Chapter 16
Anastasia M.F. Fierce
Elliott really is a good guy. After Sterling and Knox retreat back to their Bat Cave, Elliott arrives with details of how the pictures got leaked from my playroom photo shoot with Christian.
Following my photo shoot panic attack, Christian immediately demanded that his guys demo the playroom. In his haste to be by my side, Christian pulled the memory card from José's camera and placed it in his home safe. Taylor found video of Leila breaking into the apartment and going through the safe. That is when she took the original of her NDA, the memory card, and quite a bit of cash. It turns out that while I was snowed in in Chicago and Christian was in Germany, Leila was burglarizing the Penthouse. Taylor thinks that Leila has been able to stay off the radar because she is operating with the cash that she took.
Elliott shares with us that Christian believes that Leila released our playroom pictures in retaliation for his injunction to stop her book from getting published. Basically, if Leila cannot ruin Christian by writing a tell-all, she is trying to do so by releasing our sexed up photos. Some of the pictures are pretty damaging. There are the photos at the end where I am shackled and crying. These shots definitely make it seem like Christian is hurting me.
José and Frederic spend some time trying to convince me that, for the most part, the pictures are tastefully done and that I look smokin' hot in them. Despite their crooning over the photos, I cannot be cajoled. I feel naked and violated. If I am to be honest with myself, I am incredibly angry with Christian right now. It was his idea to take these private pictures. He promised that he would keep them safe. How could he let the photos fall into the hands of his evil ex? For a man obsessed with privacy and security, Grey certainly botched this.
There is one thing that I must do. I call my father, Ray. I need to tell him about the leaked pictures before he hears it from someone else.
"Hey Annie, to what do I owe a phone call from my best girl during the middle of the work day?" Ray's cheerfulness makes me feel terrible.
"Um, Daddy, there is something that I need to tell you. I wanted to call you before you heard it from anyone else."
"You are scaring me Annie girl. That fellow of yours hasn't gotten you in trouble, has he?" Oh, Ray thinks I'm pregnant. I am not sure whether I am about to deliver better or worse news.
"No, Daddy, Christian hasn't gotten me in trouble, at least not in the way that you mean. It's just that, uh, well…"
"Spit it out, Annie. What has that boy done to you?" Uh oh, I hear Drill Sergeant Steele about to go Army on me.
"There have been some pictures of Christian and I leaked to the press. They are, um, private pictures," I stutter out my confession.
"Private pictures? Did you let that boy talk you into making a sex tape like those wanna-be Hollywood brats?" My dad is dropping my full name. He is pissed.
"No, Daddy. We didn't make a sex tape." I hear Ray sigh in relief. "They are just some, ehr, a, boudoir pictures that were meant for just the two of us."
"Well, if they were meant to be private, how did they get released?"
"One of Christian's exes broke into his apartment and stole them. She is pretty nutso."
"God, how could you let this happen? Haven't I taught you better than this? How could you be so stupid, Anastasia Rose?" My father's words sting. His disappointment in me is heartbreaking.
"I am so sorry, Daddy. Please don't be mad at me. I have lawyers. They are working to fix things."
"Annie, what will your work say? Are you going to lose your job over this?" Crap, Crap, Crappity, Crap. I never told my dad about quitting SIP. Hum, maybe now is not the best time to drop that bomb. I'll save that news for another day.
I can hear Ray typing on his computer. He must be looking online for the pictures. Before I can tell him to stop, I hear him gasp. Too late, he must have found the pictures. I hear his labored breathing through the phone. The tension is almost unbearable.
"Annie, these pictures are bad. Really, really bad. You look like a tart. Look, I am going to have to go."
"Please, Daddy, Don't hang up on me," I beg through my tears.
"I've got to go Anastasia." The line goes silent.
José wraps his arms around me and lets me sob. Out of all of my friends, José knows better than anyone how much Ray means to me. Our fathers served together in the Army. José and I are two peas in a pod. He understands how important Ray's approval is for me.
As the afternoon passes, I feel the overwhelming need to close my eyes and escape from this nightmare. Kate knows me better than anyone. She sits on the side of the bed rubbing my back. Tears soak my pillow. The best part about our friendship is that words are not necessary. Her presence is enough to keep me from slipping into my darkest place.
Frederic, José, and Elliott are still at the apartment when the pandemonium of the paps out front alert us to the arrival of the mighty Mr. Grey. Surely, he knows that our date is cancelled on account of my total desolation and despair. Kate and I stay in my room while someone lets Christian in the front door. We hear loud voices from the living room.
"I don't give a fuck what you think. I am here to see Anastasia," Christian growls.
"Really, haven't you done enough Grey?" José barks back. "Everything you touch in Ana's life turns to shit. Is it not enough that she had to quit her job because of you? That she has been completely humiliated in the news? Do you know that her father is so mad at her for taking part in the pictures that he won't even talk to her right now? She hasn't been able to leave her apartment in two weeks because of the paparazzi that are stalking her. Ana is one of the most incredible people that I have ever met. You have broken her, Grey."
"Shut the fuck up, Rodriguez." Christian booms before we hear him march closer.
Christian appears in my doorway. He looks terrible. His hands pull at his hair. Dark circles rim his grey eyes. Gone is Mr. Billionaire CEO. Standing in front of me is a boy who looks just as lost and broken as I feel. He knocks on the door frame.
"Can I come in," he asks with trepidation.
I nod yes. Kate stays sitting beside me. Christian grabs the chair from my desk and brings it up beside the head of my bed. The three of us remain in silence. What could anyone possibly say that would bring peace to this day?
Eventually, Elliott comes to the door and summons Kate. She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and kisses my cheek. She doesn't acknowledge Christian who is still sitting by my head. Elliott nods at his brother before closing the door to my room. Christian is the first one to speak.
"Anastasia, I am so, so, so sorry. This is all my fault. You have become collateral damage in Leila's campaign to destroy me. You don't deserve any of this, baby." His voice falters. Is Mr. Big Shot trying not to cry?
I sit up on my bed. I am sure that I look a hot mess. Not sexy hot mess, more like train wreck, pathetic hot mess. I am so torn. The only thing that could possibly make me feel a bit better is the soothing embrace of the man sitting across from me. I want to send him away, though. I want to protect what little of my candle that continues to burn. My flame runs low and I must protect it from burning out.
I can't send Christian away. He looks so defeated with his forearms resting on his knees, shoulders hunched forward.
"Are you staying over tonight?" I ask.
"Is that what you want?"
"I don't know what I want, Christian."
I grab some pajamas and head to the bathroom. The warm wash cloth feels good as I scrub my tear-swollen face. I go through the steps of my skin care routine feeling disconnected and numb. Before finishing up, I sort through the medicine cabinet. I find some Tylenol PM to help me sleep.
I just want to close my eyes and get a do-over for so many things. I want to erase the New York trip. I want to rewind to before Christian and I had our big fight about Foolish. I want to take back the afternoon we took the pictures in the playroom. I want to go all the way back to Christmas when we were exchanging presents. The pearls in my jewelry box remind me of a happier time.
I return to my bedroom to find Christian unmoved from his chair. My heart shatters into a thousand pieces as I think about all that has happened since Christmas. Neither one of us is the same person that we were when we exchanged our handmade gifts. Too much has happened. In this moment, I cannot see our path forward.
"I left you a new toothbrush by the sink."
Christian nods and heads to the bathroom. I turn off the light and climb back into my bed. We haven't talked. We are still in relationship purgatory. I don't care. Christian is my drug. Tonight, I will relapse.
My door opens. He is back. In the darkness I hear him strip off his clothes. I see the silhouette of his chiseled frame clad only in his boxer briefs. My heartrate increases. His side of the bed dips as he climbs in. His scent wafts towards me daring me to stay away. Christian pulls me into his bare chest. Oh, how I have missed this. His intoxicating warmth and the feel of his body pressed to mine are the salve to my festering wounds.
Why did I choose these long sleeve pajamas? I pull my top off so that I can feel his skin pressed to mine. I nuzzle into his neck trying to crawl into his smell, his touch, his sounds. I run my lips up his neck. Christian moans. He does not move to kiss me. His hands do not explore my back. If I want to get high tonight, I will need to initiate this drug deal.
I roll over on top of Christian, chasing my fix. I wiggle my pajama pants off to reveal nothing but skin to tempt him. He wraps his arms tighter around me but he does not let his hands roam. I am desperate for his touch.
I run my lips along the scruff on his jaw line. He moans again but remains still. I grind into him. Only his Calvins separate us. The fabric of his boxer briefs is too thin to protect him from my lure. I shift so that I hover over Christian. Only my nipples touch him as I rock up and down his chest. His third moan marks the end of Christian's resistance. His hands begin to knead my back. They work their way down to my ass. He pulls me towards him. He returns each grind with an upward thrust.
"Oh, sweet Ana," he murmurs as I straddle his thigh, rubbing my sex against his coarse leg hair. My core searches for friction to release everything that is building up inside me. More than just a physical release, my body searches for a release from all of the pain and heartbreak that has escalated over the past several weeks. I hear myself whimper when I can find no relief to any of the pressures that are rushing to escape from the inside. My sex is throbbing, begging for more.
Cognizant of my hammering need for relief, Christian rolls us so that he is on top. I yank his underwear down and use my feet to push them off. He leans on one elbow. His other hand aligns his shaft with the entrance of my sex. Christian is panting like he just sprinted up hill. He pauses, still holding his body off of mine. Can the Master of the Sex-iverse understand that in this moment my valve must release before all of my frustration and all of my anger detonates?
He enters me in one slow thrust reaching the inner most recesses. I have taken my drug. I await my high.
I whimper as Christian works his cock in and out of me. Over and over, he fills my void. I chase his pulsing cock with thrusts and whimpers. We develop a rhythm that is perfectly synchronized. God, we are so good together.
"Anastasia, I have missed you so much," Christian grunts as he thrusts back into me.
"Yes," I moan from the precipice of my release.
"Baby, you feel so good," he moans with his next thrust.
"Inside you is my home," Christian professes as his movements grow faster and more demanding. We pant in unison as our efforts grow more voracious.
I am back on top of Christian slamming my apex onto him over and over. He grabs onto my waist and sits up. I am bouncing in his lap still chasing something I cannot catch. We groan in synchrony until our groans become yells. We crash into each other over and over. We cannot climb deep enough into each other. My fingernails dig into Christian's back. His hands crush into my hips adding force to his relentless pistons.
Suddenly I am face down on the mattress with my ass in the air. His hands pull my hips into him as he pounds away at my sex. Neither of us able to reach our goal. I grab the slats of the headboard and slam back as hard as he slams forward. His hand is on my clit rubbing and circling and slapping. I lean forward and slam back with every bit of strength I have left. Without warning bright lights detonate all around me. The bed drops away as I begin the free fall into the welcome abyss of my orgasm. I scream incoherent sounds. The release washes over me like waves crashing on the beach. I hear Christian scream my name as he finds his own release. We collapse onto the bed struggling to catch our breath.
I may have released the pressure building in between my legs, but the boiling cauldron of things left unsaid continues to bubble inside me. As my orgasm fades, I roll over to face Christian.
His hand cups my cheek. He kisses me with an intensity that dares me to run from him. He stares into my eyes challenging me to escape the conversation we have avoided.
I think of all of the things that I need to say. I am a coward. I cannot bring myself to start the conversation. I kiss Christian with every fiber of my being, one final act of procrastination.
Scared to say what must be said, I hear myself speaking in the French I have not used since I completed my foreign language requirements. My voice is just a whisper.
"Mon travail, ma vie privée, ma confiance...je les ai tous perdus." (My job, my privacy, my confidence...I have lost them all.)
Christian responds, "Tu m'as toujours moi." (You still have me). Fuck, he speaks French.
"Mais, je me suis perdu." (But I have lost myself.)
"S'il te plaît, mon Anastasia, je ne suis rien sans toi." (Please, my Anastasia, I am nothing without you.) Christian voice cracks as he speaks.
A sob escapes me. We fall asleep clinging to each other, desperate to keep each other afloat as our lives crash around us.
Conversation in English only:
My voice is just a whisper.
"My job, my privacy, my confidence...I have lost them all".
Christian responds, "You still have me."
"But I have lost myself."
"Please, my Anastasia, I am nothing without you." Christian voice cracks as he speaks.
A sob escapes me. We fall asleep clinging to each other, desperate to keep each other afloat as our lives crash around us.
I wake before sunrise. Extracting myself from Christian's embrace, I climb out of my bed. I dress in the bathroom. I quietly pull the packed duffle from under my bed. I kiss Christian's lips being careful not to wake him. I inhale one last whiff of this man, my addiction. With only my duffle and a knapsack, I say good bye to my safe space. Kate will find my keys and the note on the counter.
As planned, Ms. Whistler in 3F opens her door to allow me in to her apartment. I exit out her balcony and down her fire escape to the alley behind our building. I navigate through the maze of dumpsters and rubbish. Exiting two blocks from my building, I spot the waiting Uber. Wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand, I promise myself I have cried my last tear. My ride pulls up to the curb at Sea-Tac. Sweet Ana rests in a shallow grave in the cemetery of innocence lost.
Walking through the sliding doors of the departures terminal, I shed my heart break. Going through the TSA checkpoint, my heart beats with purpose. By the time I make it to my gate, I am cloaked in courage. The drums of the warriors beat in time to my steps down the jetway. I board my plane strong and resilient. I take my seat. I make eye contact with the person sitting to my right. He holds out his hand to me. Our fingers intertwine.
"I wasn't sure if you were really coming."
"I told you I would be here." I reply.
I. Am. Anastasia. Mother. Fucking. Fierce!