Ch. 4
My alarm clock went off. I went to reach for it, but something was holding my arm down. The beeping was really hurting my hungover brain, so I opened narrowed eyes. I focused and flicked the switch to turn off the damn thing with my telekinesis.
I looked down to see what was stopping my arm, and that was when I learned that Christian was a snuggly sleeper. He was wrapped around me like a koala, his head hidden in my hair as his arms and legs were wrapped around and intertwined with my own.
It was unbearably cute, but I had piss like a racehorse. "Christian? Please wake up," I said at a reasonable volume.
He groaned and squeezed me tighter. "Don't wanna," he said sleepily.
If I was determined, I could just use my superstrength to force my way out of his grip. But that would lead to more than a few awkward questions. "Well, you got to. Unless you want to keep sleeping in a bed soaked in my urine."
"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Steele," he sighed, but he let me free.
I went to the bathroom for a full minute and regarded myself in the mirror. It wasn't pretty. I splashed some cold water in my face, used some more to rehydrate and swallow some Advil I kept in here, and walked nude back into my bedroom. I was dressed in sweats and a tank top before I turned to regard Christian. He'd actually managed to fall back to sleep.
Hmm, how to solve this problem? I went with what Ray did to me as a kid and tickled his bare feet. Involuntary laughter burst out of him and his eyes flew open. "Cut that out!" he huffed.
"You're up, aren't you? You can use the bathroom now," I told him.
"Good idea," he said, his body's urges reaching him once his brain waves were fully out of theta. He went past me into the bathroom. I admired the view from behind I didn't get last night, and noted the scars on his back as well. He came out of the bedroom and seemed surprised to see daylight streaming through the window. "What time is it?"
"7:30 or thereabouts," I replied, remembering when I usually set my alarm.
"I never sleep this late," he said in shock.
"Not even the weekends or holidays?" I checked.
"I've suffered from chronic night terrors since I was little. I'm lucky to get 4 hours of iffy-quality sleep a night. But whenever I'm with you or listening to your music… wow," he mused, running his hand through his thick auburn hair, throwing it into artful disarray.
"I guess something about me makes you feel safe," I mused.
"It's the Anastasia factor," he nodded, grinning at me like I was the most precious treasure on the planet.
"So… we both did something we never did before last night. What's your take on them?" I asked, nervous even though I had the conceit that we'd be married someday because of my vision of our wedding.
"That we'll be doing both again, repeatedly, and as often as possible," he said with a smile.
"I concur. Now, you'll have to do the walk of shame in last night's suit into the kitchen and out the building. Kate's going to be intolerable," I groaned.
He got dressed in the suit he'd worn to bowling last night, and I braced myself before opening my door to the main area of the apartment.
Kate may hate to cook, but she could make a mean cup of coffee. She looked up from the coffee maker and her greeting died on her lips when she saw Christian in my wake. I preempted her with "You will keep silent until I've had at least one cup or I won't cook for you for a month." It was no idle threat.
She nodded, but she still had a shit-eating grin.
Given I never had to worry about burning my tongue, I drank my coffee straight from the pot and black. I finished my mug, sent Christian a look to convey my apologies for my sister figure, and nodded to Kate. "Go ahead."
"I thought you broke up with Jose because you weren't ready to have sex after the third date," she said teasingly, implying many hours of energetic, hormonal acts with a single wiggle of her eyebrows.
"That was Jose. This is Christian. And before your mind goes too far in the gutter, I'm still a virgin. But now I know what men taste like… or at least what Christian tastes like," I amended at the end.
"I thought Mia was kidding when she told me girls tell each other everything," Christian said under his breath.
I poured a cup of coffee with room for milk and asked Christian "How do you want this?"
"Just like that is fine," he said and I passed him the mug.
"I hope Taylor didn't camp out in the parking lot waiting for you," I said.
"So do I, in point of fact," Christian said, pulling out his smartphone. "Ah, he texted me he was heading back to the hotel around midnight. He can be here in 15 minutes."
"So, Christian, how would you rate sweet, innocent Ana's first go at fellatio? On a scale from 'Shoulda jacked off instead' to 'Better than anal'?" Kate asked with a straight face. Why do I put up with her again?
"I see what you mean, Anastasia, she and Elliot would be perfect together," Christian groaned. "And a gentleman does not discuss such details with a lady."
"Prude," she accused. I almost fell down laughing and refused to answer when Kate asked what was so damn funny.
I made scrambled eggs and avocado toast with a banana for the 3 of us, my go-to hangover breakfast. I handed Christian his plate and didn't take a bite of my own until I saw him take his. When he moaned in delight, I grinned, pleased, and proceeded to eat.
Christian's phone chimed, probably Taylor letting him know he had arrived. I escorted him to the door. "I'll get back to you on that home-cooked dinner," I promised.
"After tasting a breakfast that took 10 minutes to make, I can't wait to see what you can manage when you have days to prepare," he chuckled. "Is there anything you're NOT good at?"
"Mime," I said with a straight face.
He burst out laughing. He reached up to cup my face, heedless of Kate watching the whole thing, and gave me a kiss that lasted a good 5 seconds. He pulled back. "Au revoir, Anastasia." The literal translation was 'until we meet again'.
"Au revoir, Christian," I said back.
He walked out and I closed and locked the door behind him. I turned around and saw Kate with a less teasing, more sisterly smile. "What?"
"You're grinning from ear to ear. You cared whether he liked what you cooked for him. And you're not the type to care about his looks or his money. You're really falling for him, aren't you?" she asked knowingly.
"How should I know? I've never fallen in love before," I pointed out to her.
"Well, there's a reason they call it 'falling'. It's like jumping off a cliff and not knowing how deep the water at the bottom will be. But what a ride on the way down," she chuckled, thinking of her own relationships. She favored casual sex and hookups, but I knew she'd had at least 2 serious boyfriends since she hit puberty.
"Yeah, well, I'll worry about that later. Right now I need to get ready for the first of 3 finals I've got today," I shrugged, reminding myself I had a life outside Christian, one I was determined to keep instead of just vanishing into his gravitational pull.
Between my finals, I texted Christian and we agreed we'd have a private dinner on Friday night. Kate would be out celebrating finals ending at a bar, so we'd have plenty of time to just eat and talk. I went grocery shopping that night at the local butcher to get two bone-in ribeyes. I made my best marinade and set them to soak for 3 days. I'd work out the menu and what to buy over the next 3 days.
Wednesday I only had 1 final, so I had a lot of free time. I decided to surprise Christian and drove to the parking lot of the Heathman. I walked in and took the elevator to the top floor. I found the penthouse and knocked on the door. I heard Taylor come up to look through the peephole and then he opened the door for me. "Miss Steele, how may I help you?" asked the West Point graduate.
"Is Christian available?" I asked.
"He's on a call at the moment, but he has standing orders to let you have access to him whenever you desire," Taylor said in his usual businesslike way. On the inside, he thought 'Good thing she's not a plant, because she's got him wrapped around her fingers already.'
I looked around the penthouse after Taylor let me in. It was spacious, had great views of Broadway and Salmon, and probably cost more for one night than I had in my checking account before I got my signing bonus to GEH.
I followed Christian's thoughts to the bedroom and opened it quietly. Christian was seated at a desk, typing at a laptop while discussing something with one of his team through speakerphone. He noticed me out of the corner of his eye and broke out in a beaming smile. "Pardon me, August, I'll have to call you back. My girlfriend's here." He hung up and came up to give me a kiss. "Hey. This is a nice surprise."
"So I'm your girlfriend, now?" I asked, the cockles of my heart warming knowing he'd assigned that covetous title to me.
"We're in a relationship I have no intention of ending anytime soon, and I've cum inside you. Not the end I really want to, but still. You're more than a friend, that's for sure. Why, does that bother you?" he asked, suddenly worried he'd crossed some line he hadn't been aware of.
"Only if I'm not allowed to call you my boyfriend," I replied.
"I'm happy to be your boyfriend," he grinned.
"Wow, I should update my Facebook status or something," I chuckled. "Or would that violate the NDA?"
"I don't have a Facebook account, but I'll make one just so the world can know that we belong to each other," he said matter-of-factly.
How could I not kiss him after saying that, I mean really?
I walked Christian through how to make a Facebook account. I had him add me as his first friend and I pulled out my phone to accept it. We both changed our relationship status to 'In a relationship' and named each other as the other person. Christian insisted on making the status public, instead of just friends. That meant anyone who searched 'Christian Grey' on Facebook and clicked on the right profile would see he was dating me. He spent 20 minutes sending friend requests to all his family members, his team at GEH, and even Taylor and Gail Jones at my prompting. Elena Lincoln didn't make the list. Then he focused on fleshing out his profile with quotes, his location history, and liking the pages of all the bands, celebrities, and topics he was interested in. After 2 hours, he was still going strong. "This is weirdly addicting," he commented.
"Literally, actually. They've done studies, for some reason getting status updates and scrolling through your news feed activates the same circuit as other behavioral addictions like gambling and compulsive eating," I told him. "Now I'm worried I shouldn't have helped you do this."
"I can regulate myself when I drink. I can handle a website designed to suck you in and keep you there," Christian rolled his eyes.
"I'm serious, Christian. There's a genetic component to this. Do you know anything about your birth parents' medical history?" I asked. I knew I was going out on a shaky limb, but I wanted him to open up to me about his life before the Greys.
Christian tensed, but he sighed and told me. "I have no idea who my birth father is, and short of running a paternity test on every man in Detroit, Michigan I'm unlikely to find out who he is. My birth mother was Ella Liath. She had me as a teenager, and from what the private investigators found out my grandparents tossed her out on the street for getting knocked up. I don't know if she found crack cocaine or became a prostitute first, but my earliest memories are of her having me sit on the couch while she took johns in the bedroom so she could afford food and her 'medicine'. She overdosed when I was 4, I don't know if it was an accident or on purpose."
I nodded, everything I'd learned from reading his mind with active telepathy at our first date confirmed. "I'm very sorry that happened to you. Do you have any positive memories of her, or is she just a part of your past you wish you'd forget?"
"She made me chocolate cake once," Christian recalled. "She gave me my blankie. She let me play with her hair. So I guess she loved me, in a way. But she still chose the drug over me. And she did nothing to stop her pimp from putting cigarettes out on my chest and back."
"That's why you have those scars, and the haphephobia," I stated more than asked.
"I went along with what Elena offered because there were clearly defined rules. If I stipulated in the contract that she wouldn't touch my chest or back, she didn't. That's also what I had with all the subs I had after her," Christian admitted.
"Instead of just starting to date a girl, telling her that touching you is off-limits in those areas, and trusting she'd respect your boundaries," I filled in.
"I trust you, Anastasia," Christian said simply, and it meant the world to me.
His iPhone began to ring. The name 'Elena' appeared on the screen.
"You haven't blocked her number?" I asked.
"Hadn't gotten around to it yet," he said, tense as piano wire.
"You can let it go to voicemail. You don't have to see her until she's in handcuffs, and not for fun," I said, trying for levity.
"If I don't take this, she'll bug me all day. If I block her, she just might track me down and show up at the door. Might as well just get this ugliness out of the way," Christian sighed. "Please stay," he added.
"I'm not going anywhere," I promised, taking his hand and squeezing.
Christian hit 'accept call' and then 'speakerphone'. "What is it, Elena?" Christian asked dully.
"Who the fuck is Anastasia Steele and why did you go public with her on Facebook?! Have you gone completely crazy, Christian?! All it takes is one of her ex-Doms recognizing her and you're ruined! The fuck are you thinking?" demanded a rather shrill voice.
"It's really none of your business, Elena. But just for the record, Anastasia isn't my Submissive. She's my girlfriend. I'm giving vanilla a try," Christian said, his voice so flat it was 2-dimensional.
Elena had the nerve to burst into gales of laughter. "Very funny, Christian darling."
"I'm not your darling. And I'm not kidding. We'll have our 4th date on Friday night," Christian said. I could practically see the rage roiling beneath his calm exterior the longer he talked to the woman he now recognized as his abuser.
"Christian, that's ridiculous! You have needs, needs this little girl will never be able to fulfill. And if you wanted a break from the usual, you didn't try too hard. She's exactly your type. Does she know you get off on punishing girls who remind you of your mother?" Elena said, her every word dripping poison.
Christian flinched. He looked at me, his eyes desperate. I pressed a finger to his lips. "She does now. You're on speaker, by the way," I spoke up.
There was dead silence and for a second I dared to hope Elena would hang up in mortification. Instead she said "Miss Steele, I presume."
"Mrs. Lincoln. Shame your husband didn't beat you to death when he caught you with Christian. Would have made all our lives a lot easier," I said conversationally.
"Watch your tongue, little girl. You have no idea what I'm capable of," hissed the 53 year old pedophile bitch.
"Back at you, old bat," I said. I didn't like to use my powers any more than necessary or I could get away with under the radar. But I'd Darth Vader choke this bitch's neck in broad daylight before a national tv audience if it meant I could prevent her from hurting my boyfriend any more than she already had.
"Elena, my relationship with Anastasia has nothing to do with you. Kindly don't call me in regards to her ever again. Was there anything else you wanted to talk to me about, because if not feel free to hang up," Christian spoke up, sounding almost bored. I applauded his acting skills.
"Call me when you get bored pretending you're not who you are and come to your senses, Christian. I'll have a proper woman all ready for you." Elena hung up.
"Ana," Christian started to say before I pressed a finger to his lips again.
"We all have our coping mechanisms. Some are healthier than others. You'll work it out with Flynn, no matter how long it takes. But know this, Christian. If you ever hit me out of anger, if you ever deliberately cause me true pain, you'll never see or hear from me ever again," I told him, looking him straight in the eye. "Am I understood?"
"Perfectly," he nodded.
"And that's all we're going to say about that," I nodded. "Now, this was just supposed to be a quick check-in. You haven't worked since I got here. I'll leave now. Friday night at 6:30, bring the wine. Good luck at that meeting with the authorities tomorrow."
Christian gave me the sweetest kiss we'd shared yet. "I don't deserve you," he said. "But I'll happily spend all my energy on being the boyfriend you deserve."
I gave him another kiss, resisted the urge to make it more, and left the hotel room so he could get back to the whole 'master of the universe' thing.
I'd made a Google alert for Christian, so I learned over the next 24 hours that our Facebook announcement had tongues wagging throughout the land. Everything from the Inquirer to the New York Times felt the need to comment on a reclusive billionaire publicly declaring some college student as his girlfriend. I knew not everyone had Welch, but my general history was probably about to be splashed all over the internet as the various reporters began to dig into my background.
Ah, well, guess I'd have to get over my baggage at being a celebrity. It seemed being Christian's girlfriend came with a lot of strings. But he was worth it, so I'd adapt, I guess.
He called me at 7:00 Thursday night and I stopped finalizing the menu for tomorrow night to take it. "Christian, is something wrong?" I asked.
"You need Samantha Prescott now, not June 6th," he said, his tone brooking no protest.
"You noticed all the web traffic on me since the Facebook thing," I said with confidence.
"I'm not used to social media, I didn't realize just how public 'public' would mean. My PR head almost quit in protest that I didn't consult her before doing it, that's how bad it is," Christian admitted.
"Knowing you, Prescott is already in Portland awaiting your word to go on the clock protecting me," I sighed. "Fine, she can start tonight. Have her knock on my door so she can brief me on all I need to know to make her job easier."
"I'm sorry if I made your life difficult," he said sincerely.
"I made an app that automatically screens any calls from unknown numbers. My voicemail box is full already, I'll just delete them all. If people start asking me for autographs and interviews on the street, that's when I'll start freaking out," I informed him.
"Prescott will be at your door in the next 20 minutes," Christian told me. "I'm sorry that being with a guy like me has some baggage," he said, sounding almost worried I'd dump him over this.
"Well, I got some baggage myself. We'll help each other carry it all," I told him. "So, how was the Chief of Police and DA meeting?"
"I told them everything," he said forthrightly. "They were appalled on my behalf, which I take as a good sign. They got started right away. The DA signed a search warrant for Elena's house, and they're going to bring in Isaac and all her ex-subs I know the names of for questioning. They'll keep me updated," Christian replied.
"She's doomed, Christian. There's no way she's getting out of this. And on the off chance she does, you can always just arrange for her to disappear. I'll be your alibi," I told him in all seriousness. I was against the death penalty, but I also thought that once you crossed certain lines that you lost your right to basic human rights. Underage rape was one of those lines.
"I pray I won't need one. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow night," he said, his voice lightening.
"Bring your appetite, I might have gone overboard and planned 4 courses," I chuckled.
"Can I know what they are? I can bring a different wine for each. Feel free to keep what's leftover," he offered.
Well, I wanted this to be a restaurant-quality meal, so I decided there was no harm in spoiling it. "Don't think I'm immodest, but I named a salad after myself. The Steele salad dressing is a coriander-lime vinaigrette. Second is clam chowder, I want to see if I can beat out the Capital Grille. Main course is ribeyes with asparagus spears and mac n' cheese. Dessert will be flourless chocolate cake. I'd have gone for souffle but I've never done those before and I didn't want to risk my first try on the boyfriend I'm hoping to enslave with my cooking skills," I listed off.
"I'm drooling right now," he assured me. "Okay, I'll stop by the wine store before I come over."
We chatted until there was a polite knock on my door. "And Prescott's here. Night, Christian. I'm looking forward to our 4th date," I promised.
"Goodnight, Anastasia," he said back before hanging up.
Prescott, and she insisted I call her Prescott instead of Samantha or Sam, gave me a half-hour briefing on what having a CPO entailed. She was always to enter a room before I did to check for any threats. Her car was a brown Saturn and I was to get used to seeing it in my rearview mirror. She'd be walking at my shoulder to be on hand if a stalker or random predator targeted me and she could be close. I also acknowledged that she'd be visually intimidating to any potential attacker. She was taller than Christian and I was pretty sure she could do jumping one-arm pushups. I was to alert her to any meetings with strangers so she could have Welch run a background check ahead of time.
When all that was done, I nodded and invited her to dinner with me and Kate. She protested that she had a couple Powerbars in her car and I put my foot down. "You're paid to take a bullet for me if necessary, at least let me keep you well fed."
20 minutes later, me, Prescott, and Kate were having some pasta. Kate was trying and failing to engage Prescott in girl talk. "Ana, help me out here. Your bodyguard is giving me the cold shoulder and I just want us to be friends," Kate whined.
"I'm here to keep Miss Steele safe, not make friends," Prescott said, mopping up some sauce with the garlic bread I'd made.
"No reason you can't do both," I pointed out. "Why the Marines? As opposed to the other 4 branches of the military or just getting a civilian job with the DoD?"
"I became a Marine for the hardship, to be hammered on the anvil of life. I told myself I could pass any test a woman could pass," Prescott said, her mind going back over her years of training and then Afghanistan.
"So why'd you get out?" I asked.
"Couldn't watch any more friends die, honestly," she sighed. "I got an honorable discharge and a friend hooked me up with an interview with Security at GEH. You're actually my first assignment."
"We should go to the range together, no reason we both can't keep in practice at the same time," I reasoned.
"You possess a firearm?" Prescott asked in surprise.
Kate groaned. "Try 5. She's like that weird survivalist uncle who lives in a cabin blaming shit on the government.
"Taurus 942 that can fit in an ankle holster. Desert Eagle .44 Magnum for your standard handgun needs. Mossberg Shockwave for a shotgun. An AP4 LR-308 is my assault rifle of choice. And I have a Ruger No. 1 for when I want to get something at a distance," I listed off. "I have a concealed carry permit for the Taurus and the Desert Eagle, before you ask. I'm surprised Christian didn't comment on that when it came up in my background check, from what I've picked up he's pretty anti-gun, allowing his security to be armed notwithstanding."
"That's an impressive arsenal," Prescott said. "Expensive, too. May I ask why you're so well-armed?"
"My dad's an Army vet who wanted his little girl to have options, I've been firing guns since I was 12," I shrugged. "We also have a yearly hunting trip over the summer, and we're not afraid to go for big game. And yes, we both have licenses. I downed a black bear with a headshot once, their meat was interesting to work with."
"You could have warned me that those steaks weren't beef before I already tried them," Kate griped.
"They were delicious, weren't they?" I pressed.
"Well, yeah, but now I'll have to walk this Earth knowing I know what Yogi tastes like," Kate said morosely.
"Also, let's be honest, I'm 5'2 and 120 lb. soaking wet. It makes me feel safe," I finished for Prescott.
"Duly noted," she nodded. She finished off her pasta, thanked me for the meal, then went to stakeout the apartment building in her car.
After my last final the next day, I took a brief moment to reflect that I'd done it, I'd survived undergrad. This was a major milestone for normal people, and even for me it felt nice. I went shopping to get all the ingredients I needed, I'd wanted them to be as fresh as possible. Then I cooked from 3:00 all the way to 6:15 before rushing to get gussied up so I didn't look like I'd been slaving over a hot stove the whole afternoon.
I'd just pulled my long hair back into a tail when there was a knock at the door. Kate, all dressed for a night on the town, went to answer it while I applied an emergency layer of deodorant in the bathroom. I came out and grinned when I saw Elliot in the living room shaking hands with Kate. "Elliot! This is a nice surprise!"
"I remembered you said that Kate was going drinking tonight, and I figured I'd check to see if my brother was interested in meeting your best friend and keeping her busy for a few hours," Christian said, eyeing me up and down with nothing but approval.
"Good idea, as per usual, Christian," I complimented. Based on the thoughts I was reading from both of them, I'd want to be wearing my earplugs before I went to bed.
Kate and Elliot made their goodbyes and went out the door. I noticed Christian was carrying two double wine carrier bags in his arm. "You get the wine ready, I'll go plate the famous Steele salad," I grinned leading him to the kitchen.
Christian pulled out the first bottle, which I noted was Bollinger Grand Annee Rose. He popped the cork into a napkin and poured us two glasses while I laid the salads at our places at the table. I'd replaced the tablecloth with the one we reserved for holidays, and the good plates and cutlery. So sue me, I was hoping to impress my boyfriend.
Christian sat down. I noted that for once he wasn't in a suit, instead an untucked button-up, slacks and loafers. I liked him in more casual clothes, it made him seem more approachable. He held out his glass. "To the start of something new," he toasted.
I echoed him and clinked my glass with his. I took a sip, admiring the quality of the wine with my super sense of taste. I couldn't put my finger on it, but this wasn't like other champagne I'd had. I glanced at the bottle and almost dropped my glass in shock. "Christian, is this bottle from 1911?" I asked.
"Yes," he nodded.
"No way you got this in Portland," I protested.
"I had it messengered from my personal wine cellar in Seattle," he admitted. "I wanted to start this on a high note, plus it really will pair with this salad. The other 3 were bought today, I swear."
I shrugged and took another sip of the oldest wine I'd ever tasted. It had certainly aged well over the last century. Then I set the glass down and took the first bite of my eponymous salad.
"This is really good, and salad's usually my least favorite part of a meal," Christian complimented. "What's in it, exactly?"
"Frisee, endive, shaved warm brussel sprouts, orange slices, and a bit of bacon just for that bit of savory protein. I make the dressing myself," I listed.
"I actually might eat all of this," he grinned, spearing another forkful of the salad.
I drank more champagne to hide my blush. "So, what's new with you?"
Christian shrugged. "A deal I've been working on for six months closed today. Doubled my presence in the Middle East. But let's not talk about work until you're on the team, okay?"
"Sure thing," I agreed and focused on my own portion.
Once we both finished the salads, I took the plates to the sink to wash later and ladled generous portions of the simmering clam chowder into two bowls. I garnished them both with homemade oyster crackers and carried them back to the table. Christian had put the Bollinger in the fridge to stay cool and had grabbed us two fresh glasses. I noted that this bottle was some Chilean Chardonnay.
Christian took one bite and moaned. "Holy fuck, forget translating, I should hire you to replace Gail. This is twice as good as the Capital Grille!"
"Flattery, however sincere, will get you nowhere, Christian," I said lightly as I got my own spoonful.
"What's the chunky bits, they don't taste like potato?" Christian asked.
"Cauliflower florets, healthier and lower calorie alternative. Do you mind?" I asked nervously.
"Baby, this is the best clam chowder I've ever had!" he assured me.
I felt all warm and tingly. "What's your stance on pet names? You just called me baby, what can I call you?"
His face closed off. "'Dear' belongs to Grace, and 'darling' was what Elena called me. Steer clear of those and you can call me 'Pumpkin mush' for all I care."
"Duly noted. I'll get back to you," I said, going for a sip of the rich chardonnay.
When Christian had finished scraping his bowl for the last drop of the chowder, I grabbed the two entree plates from where they'd been staying warm in the oven. I set them down while Christian poured us glasses of a Syrah. "The main event. Be brutal, I can take it," I assured him.
He cut into his steak and blinked. "This is falling apart. How long did you spend tenderizing it?"
"You don't want to know," I chuckled. I'd spent a full half hour pounding them with the hammer, I wanted them to be soft as butter even after spending that long in the marinade.
He went cross-eyed when he got a bite of the ribeye in his mouth. "Wow," was all he said. He tried an asparagus spear next, in a garlic butter and olive oil sauce, and gave me an emphatic nod. Then he got some of the baked mac n' cheese on his fork and transported it to his mouth. He froze.
"Christian?" I asked in concern, even his thoughts had gone blank.
"Mac n' cheese is my favorite food. I will give you a $1 million bonus if you make this for my birthday next month," he said in no uncertain terms.
"I'll do it for free," I chuckled.
"So, relaxed now that finals are over?" Christian asked a few bites later.
"It's nice to have it all behind me. Now I just need the diplomas next Thursday. Kate and I move on Saturday. I have a planned week-long trip with my Dad, sort of our last real bonding thing before I'm an official adult, and the Monday after that I start at GEH," I answered.
"What are you and Ray doing?" he asked.
"Hunting trip in Grant county," I said casually.
He blinked. "Bow hunting?" he asked hopefully.
"Don't be obtuse, I know Prescott let you know about all my guns," I chuckled. "So, are they going to mysteriously vanish from my possession when I'm out on a date with you one night?"
"It's your constitutional right to own them, and it's really none of my business. But for the record, I'm never going to be comfortable with you being in the same house as a gun," Christian sighed.
"It's not like I'm some idiot who keeps them loaded with the safety off, Christian. I probably have more experience with firearms than some of your Security staff. And on the off chance we get to the point we talk about moving in together, they're coming with me, that's non-negotiable," I told him as I cut my asparagus spears into segments.
"Do you know the statistics of accidental deaths due to a gun in the home?" Christian fired back.
"Less than 1000 a year in the USA, you're more likely to die from accidental poisoning or falling down the stairs," I fired back. "And before you say anything about the yearly school shooting, know that I fully support a full background check and a disqualification based on a mental health diagnosis for purchasing a gun. But for the safe, sane, and trained, which I consider myself part of, there's no reason a person can't have more guns than the average John Woo flick if they want to."
He frowned. "Let's just agree to disagree on that front."
I tilted my head. "You know, most fear is born from lack of understanding. Have you ever even held a gun?"
"No, and where are you going with this?" Christian asked warily.
"Tomorrow, I'm taking you to a shooting range and giving you a lesson," I told him.
"Absolutely not!" he protested.
"One shot. Fire off one round at the target, and I'll drop it forever. And if you don't, I'll tell Elliot how you were too chicken," I argued.
"That is low," he accused, filling his mouth with more mac n' cheese. He chewed angrily and sighed. "One shot," he conceded.
I beamed at him and took a sip of wine.
We finished off our plates and I took them to the sink. I cut two generous slices of the flourless chocolate cake I'd added a dusting of powdered sugar to while Christian filled the last pair of wine glasses with a Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa. Christian took one bite and laid down his fork. "It's official. This is the best meal of my life."
"Haven't you eaten in some of the best restaurants in the world?" I blushed.
"What's your point?" he asked with a grin.
I took my own bite and agreed it was some of my best work. "Well, when Mia cooks dinner for your family at some point, at least pretend that she impressed you. I'd hate to have ruined you for her cooking, especially when she went all the way to France to get better at it. When's she coming back, anyway?"
"Her flight arrives next Friday. She's moving back into the Mansion, and I'm not sure she'll ever leave. She's the textbook trust fund baby, I'm not sure if cookery is her passion or just the latest distraction," Christian shrugged. "Oh, before I forget, you have a standing invitation from Mother for every Sunday dinner going forward. I'm pretty sure she'd still want you there even if we break up. She's very taken with you."
"I gave her her son back, she'll be eternally grateful," I chuckled. "Be honest, if Kate had been the one to show up last Monday, you'd have gone on blissfully ignorant in Lincoln's clutches and never have attended a family dinner unless Grace got on her knees and begged."
"Fair point well made, Miss Steele," he grinned and took another bite. "Speaking of Sunday dinners, do you want to go this weekend? We can take Charlie Tango again, or drive if you'd prefer the scenic route."
"If what I saw going on between Kate and Elliot earlier is any indication, there might be 6 of us at the table," I chuckled. "Yes, for the record. And be forewarned, I'm pretty sure Kate fully plans to try and throw her big brother Ethan and Mia together."
"How old is he?" Christian asked, and his 'big brother' mode was utterly adorable.
"26, which if the two of them get together will be the smallest age gap of the six of us, you have to acknowledge," I pointed out.
"What's he do?" Christian asked.
"He's been groomed since birth to be his dad's successor. He got his MBA 3 years ago, summa cum laude by the way, but insisted he start from the bottom at Kavanagh Media. Last I checked, he's still a grunt in marketing," I informed my boyfriend. "I also know he hasn't touched a penny of his parents' money since he graduated. He models on the side for petty cash."
"A model?" he asked like I'd said 'porn star'.
"Yes, a professional pretty person, meant to wear a brand's clothing so that anyone who sees them wearing them feels self-conscious. He's got good genes, and he plays baseball for fun. I think if his dad wouldn't have disowned him for it, he'd have tried to go pro or at least minor league. He was a fourth batter in undergrad," I offered more information on my unofficial adopted brother.
"Well… I guess Mia's old enough to decide who she dates. But if Welch finds the tiniest red flag on his background check…" Christian growled.
"You'll forbid her from seeing him? Don't you know anything about women? That'll just make him the bad boy and he'll be even more desirable," I giggled.
Christian took a long sip of wine and dropped it. "So, this ill-advised shooting lesson tomorrow, family dinner on Sunday. Graduation is next Thursday. You move to Seattle next Saturday. You'll go on your hunting trip with Ray. And on the 6th, we start working together."
"Hopefully the fact we started dating before I was technically in your employment will stop people from thinking I'm just your sexretary or something," I chuckled, not really caring what the ignorant masses thought about my character. I just wasn't looking forward to total strangers walking up to me with strong opinions on me without ever having said two words to me.
"Anyone who spends 5 minutes getting to know you and your many talents will know I hired you because you were the best for the job," Christian reassured me.
"But who's going to bother spending 5 minutes before deciding I'm some gold-digging bitch who slept her way to the 99.99th percentile?" I shrugged. "Face it, Christian, when someone from your world gets with someone from my world, people assume the worst. Just look at Prince William and Kate Middleton."
"You learn not to care," he promised. "And if anyone impugns your honor in my presence, I'll ruin them. And I might have assault charges pressed after I knock out a couple of their teeth."
"Just have Taylor do it for you," I chuckled, and changed the topic.
We lingered over dessert, and ended up finishing off the bottle of wine. Combined with the glasses I'd had with the earlier courses, I was definitely feeling a buzz. I had a moment of inspiration. "I don't want to chance overhearing Kate and Elliot going at it tonight. How about we both go to the Heathman for a nightcap and this time I'll be the one who sleeps over?"
"An excellent idea," Christian praised.
He escorted me to the parking lot and tucked me into the SUV. Taylor drove us to the hotel, Prescott faithfully tailing us. "Do you want the bar at the restaurant or just order room service to the penthouse?" Christian checked.
"Let's go to your room. And maybe send Taylor or Prescott to get a bottle of booze. I find myself wanting to play 'Never have I ever' with you," I replied.
We went up to the penthouse. Taylor did his errand with the usual quick efficiency, and soon Christian and I were both pouring still-cold vodka into two glasses. "Ladies first," Christian offered, getting comfortable on the couch in the main area of the penthouse.
"Never have I ever… left the continental US," I said. I knew I had an unfair advantage since I had read every thought Christian ever had, and I wasn't afraid to take advantage of it. I was curious to see my boyfriend properly sloshed.
Christian downed his shot like a man. "Really? Kate never invited you on one of her family vacations?" he asked.
"Invited, yes, but I was never comfortable with the Kavanaghs shelling out the airfare and the extra food costs for me, and I could never afford to cover everything myself. So I refused. Your turn," I prompted.
"Never have I ever solved one of the most important problems in pure mathematics," Christian said with a teasing grin.
"Oh, so it's like that, is it?" I said with narrowed eyes before downing my shot. "Fine. Never have I ever been in handcuffs."
"What have I done?" he moaned theatrically before downing his shot. "Okay. Never have I ever gone to a gynecologist… for myself," he added at the last second.
"Elaborate, please," I said after doing my obligatory shot of vodka.
"I have a personal gynecologist on retainer to prescribe birth control to all my subs," Christian admitted.
"While on the subject, how do you want us to handle that once we reach that stage?" I asked.
"If there were a male pill, I'd take it," Christian said plainly. "Since there isn't, I usually just have my current partner hash things out with the doctor. I hate condoms, though, so I definitely prefer if you go on the pill or the shot for my own peace of mind."
"What's your stance on abortion, if one of your little swimmers manages to go for the gold?" I asked.
Christian frowned. "If you'd asked me that 2 weeks ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about having you 'take care of the problem'. Now… well, it's not really up to me, is it? If you get pregnant, it's really your decision."
"I'm pro-choice, because I firmly believe that there's fates worse than death, and being born to a mother and/or father who doesn't want you there is one of them. But personally, I don't think I have it in me to just take some medicine and snuff out a whole future like that. Depending on how far into our relationship we were, I'd carry to term and give him, her, or possibly them up for adoption. Or… well, we'd just have to put on our grownup pants and brace ourselves for parenthood," I said, thinking of my vision that indicated I'd be in my third trimester on the day of our wedding. "And we're moving on. Never have I ever had over $1 million in the bank."
Christian was looking at me with an intense look. I was shocked to hear him actually imagining me with a baby in my arms and not being completely terrified of the idea. Then he shook his head, scolded himself for getting ahead of himself, and did his shot.
We did shots until the bottle was halfway gone. Given my size and weight, I was frankly loose as a goose by the time Christian decided to cut us off. At least he was definitely on the wrong side of legally driving himself.
"Let's dance!" I said out of the blue. I pulled out my phone and maxed out the volume. I pulled up a playlist and Frank Sinatra's 'Witchcraft' began to play. I offered my hand to Christian. He took it, stood, and pulled me close to him, just shy of brushing his chest. We waltzed around the room, stumbling more than once and laughing it off. 'Ain't Love a Kick In The Head' played after the first song. It was halfway through Adam Levine's cover of 'The Way You Look Tonight' when Christian pulled me into a kiss.
Don't ask me how, but somehow I ended up under Christian on his bed, making out like teenagers. Our hands were clasped together. Sure, partly it was to stop me from accidentally touching him on his torso and causing a bad reaction, but it also felt nice and romantic so who cared about the ulterior motive? I distinctly felt a hot, thick bulge against my groin and got so wet I worried for a second I'd peed my pants.
"Don't touch my back," Christian growled against my lips before letting my left hand go. I kept it against the bed and felt Christian's palm go to my left breast. He didn't squeeze me like a seal horn, as I half expected, just seemed to marvel at and savor the weight of the fleshy orb in his hand. Then he trailed it down my stomach to my thigh and the hem of the dress I was wearing. My breath hitched as I felt his hand slip back up, this time under the cloth.
"Christian…" I said, hesitant. No one else had ever touched me there besides a doctor.
"Do you trust me?" he asked, pulling back to look me in the eye.
My half-formed fears and apprehensions vanished like mist in the dawn. "Yes," I breathed, meaning it with all my heart and soul.
He moved his hand up until he was cupping my mound through my panties. Slowly, giving me every chance to stop him, he pulled my underwear down to my knees. His hand moved back and I moaned at feeling his strong, warm, calloused fingers begin to trace my lower lips.
"So wet, Anastasia. Is that all for me?" he asked, like he couldn't believe his luck.
I growled something in Italian that Ray would have grounded me for if he'd heard it in English.
"I'll take that as 'yes, Christian,'" the bastard (literally) chuckled. His index finger trailed up and down my slit before finding my entrance. I knew what was coming and tried not to tense. He slid the finger into my pussy up to the first knuckle. "Fuck, you're tight," he groaned.
Christian tried to push deeper, and that's when he ran into my hymen. "Huh. Never felt one of these before," he mused, giving my maidenhead a gentle poke.
"First time for everything," I moaned.
He made shallow thrusts with his first finger before I felt him withdraw. Warned by his thoughts, I still groaned in surprise at the sensation of two fingers stretching me out. While hardly having sausage fingers, Christian's digits were significantly thicker than my own dainty ones.
"Christ. When I finally do pluck you, you might just squeeze my cock off," he growled.
"Worth it?" I panted.
"Oh, without a doubt," he grinned. He played with me for a good 10 minutes before adding a third finger. Finally, I couldn't take any more. I shuddered and gasped as my first orgasm that wasn't self-administered hit me.
Either Christian was just that good or I really was wasted, because the next thing I remember is waking up the next morning with cotton mouth and my bladder about to burst. I was also alone. I went to the bathroom and did my business. I didn't notice I was naked until I was looking at myself in the mirror. I took the provided comb and endured a painful few minutes of fixing my hair from its post-bender disarray. I threw on a robe hanging on a hook and went searching for Christian.
He was playing on his phone in the main area. He was in a T-shirt and jeans, and looked like any other handsome 27 year old American. He looked up at me and got that smile that made me feel special. "Morning, sleepyhead. It's past 11:00."
I checked that Taylor or Prescott weren't in the room and admitted "I blacked out after you made me cum. Did we do anything else last night?"
"We got properly naked and you blew me again. I think you were trying to talk dirty, but I had absolutely no idea what language you were using, it didn't sound like it had a Latin base," Christian reported.
"How'd I do?" I asked, curious.
"Worse than when you're sober, which is still some of the best I've ever had," he assured me. "We went to bed, and I woke up about 2 hours ago."
"I need coffee, headache medication, and food. Not necessarily in that order," I moaned.
He went to the kitchen area and brought back a plate of pastries, two Advil, and a large cup of steaming black joe.
"You are the BEST boyfriend ever," I grinned before downing the pills with a sip of coffee.
"I try," he grinned.
"Where's Taylor and Prescott?" I asked after polishing off a cherry Danish.
"Your Accord is ready. Taylor went to drop Prescott off at the dealership to drive it back here. After that, I told him to go shopping for you. They should both be back by noon," Christian told me.
"Of course you already know my sizes," I chuckled.
"Just read the labels of what you were wearing last night. They're getting dry-cleaned, by the way," he told me.
"Even the underwear?" I blushed.
"No, that pair I'm keeping as a souvenir," Christian informed me without a drop of shame.
"Gotcha," I chuckled, more than happy to let him keep them if it made him happy.
We talked about nothing and everything until there was a knock on the door before Taylor let himself in with the key card. He was carrying a shopping bag from Altar, which even I had heard of and I shopped mainly at Old Navy. "Mr. Grey, Ms. Steele," he acknowledged with a nod.
"Tell me it's not a dress, I'll look ridiculous at the shooting range," I asked, getting up to take the bag.
"Pants, blouse, socks, flats. What's this about the shooting range?" Taylor asked in alarm.
"Oh, Christian didn't tell you? I convinced him to let me give him a shooting lesson today. Since I don't want to go back to my apartment and chance seeing Elliot's bare ass as he plows Kate over the arm of the couch, we'll just borrow yours and Prescott's guns. We can get ammo there. Sig Sauer P365, that's standard issue for GEH Security, right?" I checked.
Taylor nodded, trying and failing to picture a little thing like me holding a gun.
I got dressed in the bedroom, everything fitting perfectly and reasonably fitting with my personal style. Taylor had good taste. I came out and nodded to Christian. "Well, no time like the present. I usually go to The Place To Shoot here in Portland."
"I only promised to fire one round, remember?" Christian reminded me. He fully intended to keep to just one shot and never so much as touch a gun ever again.
"Yes, but you never know, you might change your mind once you experience it for yourself," I grinned. "Come on, let's go!"
Taylor took us down to the parking lot and the SUV. He pulled up the route on his phone and we drove to the shooting range. We parked and entered. I signed the 3 of us in, rented a lane and noise-canceling headphones for an hour, bought 3 clips' worth of 9mm ammo, and a couple target sheets. Christian, though he didn't really want to be here, volunteered his credit card for all the costs.
"Brace yourself," I warned Christian before opening the door to the range proper. The scent of cordite and the roar of gunshots, loud even through the headphones, hit me. I led Christian and Taylor to our allotted lane, clearly the one in charge despite being the smallest and a woman. We'd drawn some eyes in the waiting room.
I set up our lane, sorting the ammo and target sheets. I used a complimentary marker to write "Ana" on mine and hung it up. I set it to go the maximum distance. I turned to Taylor. "Jason, if you would?" I said, projecting my voice to be heard over the noise and through the headphones.
With reluctance, Taylor drew his handgun from his shoulder holster and handed it to me. I ejected the mag and counted the bullets inside. 10 rounds, good to know. I slid it back in with practiced movements and turned to my target. Deciding to impress, I went for bullet art. I fired 4 rounds with both hands holding the gun, 3 with my right alone, and the last 3 with my left. I ejected the mag, laid the P365 on the counter of our lane, and hit the button to bring the target back to us. I won't deny I felt smug as I saw Christian and Taylor drop their jaws when they saw I'd given my target two eye holes and made a smile with the other 8 bullets.
"Convinced I know what I'm doing?" I asked my boyfriend.
"I admit I might have been worried for nothing," he said, looking from the target to me with admiration.
"Now, for your lesson." I took down my sheet and put up the other marked "Christian". Knowing he was a rank amateur, I set it to go a short 10 meters away. Then I guided Christian to take his spot in front of the counter. "First off, NEVER point the barrel in any direction but downrange. Doesn't matter if it's loaded or not, it's just a good habit. Second, this particular model doesn't have an external safety, so if the mag's in then don't put your finger anywhere near the trigger unless you actually want to shoot something. With me so far?"
"Keeping up," Christian nodded.
"Good. Now, your stance. You want your feet to be shoulder width apart, your lead foot slightly forward so you can brace for the recoil." I took the Sig and coached him how to properly hold it without putting his finger into the trigger guard. I pointed out each part of the gun and its function. After a good 10 minutes, I moved on.
"Ammo isn't one size fits all, you need rounds that match the size the mag was designed for. These are 9mm, a good mid-size round and standard for most police guns these days." I showed him how to load the bullets into the mag and had him slide the magazine into the pistol. He visibly tensed when he realized he was now holding a loaded gun.
"Get into your stance," I coached. "Are you right-eyed or left-eyed?"
"What's the difference?" He asked in confusion.
"Line the sights up and close each eye. Whichever eye they look straightest and the target clearest," I told him.
He did as I bid. "Right eye is better," he told me.
"Good. Now, the actual shot. The bullet will only go in a straight line. But the gun itself will move when you pull the trigger. Until you get used to the recoil and anticipate how it will jump in your grip, you'll be lucky to hit the broadside of a barn. I'll be impressed if you even hit the target your first try. As for how you do it, 3 tips. Squeeze the trigger with your whole hand, don't just pull with your index finger. Take a deep breath, let half out, and hold it before you do, that'll steady your grip. And finally, try not to tense up or God forbid drop the gun after you fire. It's okay to be scared, you're holding a deadly weapon, but the last thing we need is an accident. Got all that?"
He nodded.
"Then time to pop your cherry! Whenever you're ready," I grinned, taking a step back.
Christian mentally reviewed the whole lesson and lined up the sights at center mass for his target sheet. Bracing himself, he did everything I told him to and fired his first shot.
It could have gone worse, I'll admit. He REALLY had underestimated the recoil. The gun jerked back and almost hit him in the face before he stopped it. I glanced at the target and saw a bullet hole in the upper-right corner of the paper, nowhere near hitting the outline of a human in black in the center.
"How do you feel?" I asked, coming up next to him. "And put the gun down like I showed you."
He laid the Sig on its side with the barrel facing downrange. He looked at the sheet, the closest distance out of all the lanes. "I missed," he said, feeling oddly disappointed even though he hadn't been that eager to do this in the first place.
"Remember your first piano lesson? It's stupid to think you'll be perfect on the first try. Practice makes perfect… though I actually hate that phrase. I prefer 'practice makes permanent'. You'll get better or worse depending on the habits you pick up going forward. Now, that's all you promised to do. Want me to take over? We might as well use all this ammo," I offered.
Christian frowned and thought about it. "... I've got 9 rounds left, right? I'll use up the mag, say I gave this a proper try."
I nodded, pleased I will admit, and moved back to give him room.
Christian made the next 9 shots with deliberation, mentally refining his technique with each one as he got more familiar with firing a gun. His accuracy got better, but his precision was shit. The last 4 bullets ended up hitting the human-shaped target at 4 different spots. He actually managed to get what would have been the lung on his next to last shot, but I was pretty sure that was luck. He ejected the mag and laid it down alongside the gun.
"What's the verdict? Never going to do this again?" I asked, coming up next to him.
"... You were right, most of my apprehension was from ignorance and misunderstanding. And it's a useful life skill to have. I'll have a weekly lesson with Taylor going forward. You'll probably always be better, but I want to be able to help defend you and myself if we're in trouble and our security isn't available," he told me.
I grinned. "Thanks for trying this for me, Christian. Hey, maybe one day you can join me and Ray on our hunting trips!"
"That might be fun," he said hesitantly. He was iffy enough on shooting at paper targets, actually killing an animal freaked him out. But he was willing to keep an open mind, and it meant alone time with me and my Dad, so he was onboard.
I took down Christian's target sheet, dated it, and folded it to let him keep it as a keepsake of his first lesson if he wanted to. I put mine back up and had it go to the end of the range. I worked through the rest of the ammo, making sure to leave 10 rounds left over so Taylor would still have a full mag in the event of an emergency. We left the range, returned our borrowed headphones, and returned to the car. "Feel like lunch?" I asked lightly, taking Christian's hand.
We went to Olympia Provisions, one of the best rated lunch spots in Portland. Christian and I talked over the meal, and I honestly felt closer to him now after he'd taken a chance on the gun lesson. We returned to the Heathman afterward. "You have 5 different guns, right?" Christian asked as we sat down on the couch.
"I have a snub-nosed .22, or as I call it my 'girl gun'. It's small and can fit in my pocket or an ankle holster, handy to have if some creep tries to rape me on the way home from a bar. Then there's my Desert Eagle, which is bigger and stronger than a 9mm like you fired today. I carry that in my purse when I visit Seattle or any other major urban area, you can't be too careful. I only didn't bring it to Grey House because I didn't know if you had metal detectors and I didn't want to be kicked out. I have a shotgun, which is designed for killing someone in close quarters with one shot. I bring it hunting in case a bear or mountain lion manages to ambush me. I have an assault rifle, which is what most infantry carry in the field. It's the most powerful class of gun until you get into grenade launchers, tank busters, and sniper rifles. I use it the most when I hunt. And a one-shot rifle for long-distance shots, like when I'm in a deer blind and spot a buck with my binoculars," I listed off. "And before you freak out, they're all kept in a gun safe in my closet along with all the ammunition."
"Do you own pepper spray or a taser too?" he asked.
"Guns have more of an intimidation factor, the few times I've had reason to draw my Taurus or the Desert Eagle in public the other guy ran away with his tail between his legs. I do have an expandable baton, though, and Ray taught me how to throw a punch," I listed. "A bit redundant now that I have Prescott, but better to have and not need than need and not have, right?"
"That we can both agree on," Christian nodded. "I can only imagine my family's faces when they learn I'm learning to fire guns," he chuckled.
"Maybe they'll think I'm a bad influence, you got your gun control beliefs from Grace and Carrick, right?" I checked.
"Grace has treated too many GSWs on little kids, if she had her way then guns wouldn't even exist or be restricted to the military. And Carrick thinks the NRA counts as a domestic terrorist organization," Christian nodded. "But it's my life, and you've convinced me it's not as evil and demonic to be good at guns as I used to think."
I leaned in to give him a kiss. "Maybe just keep this to ourselves then. I want them to keep liking me."
"Even if they tell me to stop seeing you, I wouldn't. You're the most important thing in my life now, Anastasia," my future husband swore to me.