P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
"Hi." I feel unbearably shy when I open the door. Christian is standing on the porch in his dark wash jeans, plain white t-shirt, and leather jacket.
"Hi," he says, and his face lights up with his radiant smile.
I take a moment to admire just how handsome he really is. His copper hair is tousled and the tip of one curl is hanging in the middle of his forehead. As if noticing the way I'm studying him, he runs his free hand through his hair, pushing it back off his face, and I watch as the arm of his jacket tightens around his bicep.
The man belongs in leather.
"May I come in?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me as he enquires.
"Oh! Yes! Come in."
"If I may," he says, amused at my abnormally flustered state. He holds up a bottle of champagne as he walks in. "I thought we'd celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger."
"Interesting choice of words," I comment dryly.
He grins. "Oh, I adore your wit, Anastasia."
"Will teacups do? We've packed all the glasses."
"Teacups? Sounds good to me," he chuckles. The sound rumbles deep within his chest and my insides practically turn to mush at the sound.
I head into the kitchen to retrieve the cups, nervous butterflies flooding my stomach. Having him so close is like having a panther all unpredictable and predatory in my living room with me as the prey.
Why was it, that after so long, this man could still make me as giddy as a school girl? Why couldn't I be the girl in control like I had been the very first time I seduced him?
"Do you want saucers as well?" I ask teasingly.
"Teacups will be fine, Anastasia," Christian calls distractedly from the living room.
When I return, he's staring at the pile of books I have wrapped up for him.
"That's for you," I murmur anxiously as I place the cups on the table.
"Hmm, I figured as much. Very apt quote." His long perfectly manicured index finger absently traces the writing. "I thought I was d'Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement." He gives me a brief wolfish smile. "Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately."
"It's also a plea," I whisper, my voice dry.
"A plea? For me to go easy on you?"
I nod.
"I bought these for you," he says quietly, his gaze impassive. "I'll go easier on you if you accept them."
"Christian, I can't accept them, they're just too much."
"You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me at every turn. I want you to have them, and that's the end of the discussion. It's very simple. You don't have to think about this. As a submissive, you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so."
"You see that's the difference. I wasn't a submissive when you bought them for me," I whisper, "And I'm not your submissive now. I'm your mistress."
His eyes turn wary as he studies me. "No . . . don't call yourself that, Anastasia."
"It's what I am, isn't it? I'm sleeping with my sister's husband. It hasn't happened once or twice, Christian. It's an ongoing affair." I sigh as I take in his expression.
This wasn't a fight I wanted to have. Not when I actually had him to myself.
"So they are mine to do with as I wish?"
He eyes me suspiciously but concedes.
"Yes."
"Do they honestly mean that much to you?"
"Yes." His mouth is set into a hard line as he stares at me impassively.
I flush under his stare and begin to remember the way his mouth felt upon my skin that very first time.
"I'll keep them," I murmur. I don't want to disappoint him, and his words come back to me. I want you to want to please me.
"Don't think, Anastasia. Not about this." His tone is quiet and serious.
The atmosphere between us is now tense. I don't know what to do as I stare down at my fingers. Un-manicured simply because as horrible as I was, I couldn't bring myself to spend on the small luxuries. And I hated taking things from Christian. It made me out to be the whore I really was.
He sets the champagne bottle on the table and stands in front of me. Putting his hand under my chin, he tilts my head up. He gazes down at me, his expression grave.
"I will buy you lots of things, Anastasia. Get used to it. I can afford it. I'm a very wealthy man." He leans down and plants a swift, chaste kiss on my lips. "Please." He releases me.
It made me feel like a prostitute.
"It makes me feel cheap," I murmur.
Christian runs his hand through his hair, exasperated.
"It shouldn't. You're overthinking it, Anastasia. Don't place some vague moral judgment on yourself based on what others might think. Don't waste your energy on something so trivial. Especially when no one actually knows what's going on. It's useless to sit around and worry. Having a few reservations about our relationship is perfectly natural, but it's just us Little One. You know what you're getting into."
I frown, trying to process his words.
"Hey, stop this," he commands softly, cupping my chin again and pulling at it gently so I release my lower lip from my teeth. "There is nothing about you that is cheap, Anastasia. I won't have you thinking that. I simply bought you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that's all. Have some champagne."
His eyes are warm and soft, as I smile tentatively up at him. "That's better," he murmurs. He picks up the champagne, takes off the foil top and cage, twists the bottle rather than the cork, and opens it with a small pop and a practiced flourish that doesn't spill a drop. He half fills the cups.
"It's pink," I murmur, surprised.
"Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999, an excellent vintage," he says with relish.
"In teacups."
He grins, "In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Anastasia."
We clink cups, and he takes a drink, but I can't help thinking this is really about my up and coming move.
"Thank you," I murmur, and take a sip. Of course, it's delicious. "Shall we talk about our schedule this summer?"
He smiles, and I blush.
"Always so eager." Christian takes my hand and leads me to the couch, where he sits and tugs me down beside him.
"Ray seemed to be in a good mood this afternoon."
Oh . . . not our summer plans then.I just want to get this out of the way. Not only is the anxiety gnawing at me, but the guilt is too.
It seems I've grown a conscious.
"Leila seemed to be in a good mood. At least until we went to dinner."
Christian laughs harshly.
"Let's just say she wasn't pleased when I told her I wouldn't be spending time with her tonight."
"Where is she?" I ask curiously.
"She was supposed to stay at the Heathman where I would have returned, but instead, she decided to return to Seattle with her security. As you noticed, she's refusing to speak to me because I had drinks with the chancellor after dinner," he says as he slips his arms around my waist, pulling me up against him.
"Drinks with the chancellor must have been quick then. You could have just gone back with her. Why did you choose to stay?"
"Anastasia," he murmurs softly, "There was never a meeting with the chancellor. I stayed here for you. I thought I would only be able to give you an hour or two, but now it seems I have the whole night."
"Because of what I said at the ceremony?" I take another sip.
The man has a memory for detail.
Christian makes a face.
"Yes. It's not fair that I would have been off with Leila and not here with you."
"You're her husband, it's to be expected, Christian. Besides, I thought you didn't do hearts and flowers. How did you become so knowledgeable about what I might expect?"
"I'm not knowledgeable, Anastasia, I just know what I like." His eyes shine, almost silver, and it makes me flush. "Some more?" he asks, referring to the champagne.
"Please."
Christian rises gracefully and collects the bottle. He fills my cup but neglects to refill his own. I eye him over the rim of my teacup, wondering if he's purposely getting me tipsy.
"This place looks pretty bare. Are you ready for the move?"
"More or less."
"Are you working tomorrow?"
"Yes, my last day at Clayton's."
Finally, after four long years of hard work, I was leaving Clayton's and school behind.
"I'd help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport."
"Your father mentioned that."
"Mia arrives from Paris very early Saturday morning. I'm heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Elliot is giving you two a hand."
"Yes, Kate has been talking about it all week."
Christian frowns. "Yes, Kate and Elliot, who would have thought?" he murmurs, and for some reason, he doesn't look pleased by the prospect. "So what are you doing about work in Seattle once everything is settled?"
When are we going to talk about us? What's his game?
"I have a couple of interviews for intern positions."
"You were going tell me this when?" He arches a brow as he clasps his hands together and leans forward.
"Er . . . I'm telling you now."
He narrows his eyes.
"Where exactly are you looking?"
Knowing Christian the way I do, possibly because of who he is and how easily he can influence those around him, I don't want to tell him my plans.
"A couple of publishing houses," I say evasively.
"Is that really what you want to do, something in publishing? You're positive?"
I nod warily, "Yes, why?"
"I'm just thinking about how brilliant you would be at GEH."
"And work directly under your thumb? No thank you."
He smiles ruefully. "Well?" He looks at me patiently wanting more information.
"Well, what?"
"Don't be obtuse, Anastasia, which publishing houses?" he scolds.
"Just small ones," I murmur.
"Why don't you want me to know?"
"Because I know you, Christian. You want what's best for the people in your life. You have undue influence in the world and I don't want it consuming my future work." He frowns at my comment and I can't help but roll my eyes at him, "Oh, now you're being obtuse."
He laughs. "Obtuse? Me? God, you're challenging. Drink up, let's talk about these limits."
He fishes out another copy of my email and the list. The list I thought we might just glide over now that I'm feeling tipsy.
Does he wander about with these lists in his pockets? I think there's one in his jacket that I have. Shit, I'd better not forget that or Kate will kill me on moving day.I drain my cup.
He glances quickly at me.
"More?"
"Please."
He smiles that oh-so-smug private smile of his then holds the champagne bottle up, and pauses.
"You didn't eat much during dinner."
"Christian!" I scold exasperatedly, "I had a three-course meal with you. Not to mention your entire family."
I roll my eyes at him.
The champagne is already getting to my head, which from the glint in his eyes, is exactly what he set out to do.
Bastard.
He leans forward and holds my chin, staring intently into my eyes.
"Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee."
What? That little threat again? Is that the second time this week or just today?
"Oh," I breathe, and I can see the excitement in his eyes.
"Oh," he responds, mirroring my tone. "So it begins, Anastasia."
My heart slams against my chest, and the butterflies escape from my stomach into my constricting throat.
He fills my cup once again, and I down it quickly, before looking up at him feeling chastened.
"Got your attention now, haven't I?"
I nod in response.
"Answer me."
"You always do," I say softly, "Sir."
Looking extremely pleased by my sudden obedience he smiles, "Good. Now, let's discuss our future. Sexual acts. We've done most of these, one in particular I'm looking forward to though."
APPENDIX 3
Soft Limits
To be discussed and agreed between both parties:
Does the Submissive consent to:
• Masturbation
• Cunnilingus
• Fellatio
• Swallowing Semen
• Vaginal intercourse
• Vaginal fisting
• Anal intercourse
• Anal fisting
"No fisting, you say. Anything else you object to?" he asks softly. I swallow.
"I mean, I know we've um . . . played but well . . ."
"What is it, Anastasia?"
"Well, it's just that anal intercourse doesn't exactly float my boat."
"I'll agree to the fisting, but I'd really like to claim your ass, Anastasia. But we'll wait for that. It's not something we can dive into. Hence why we've never had enough time." He smirks at me. "Your ass still needs training."
"More?" I whisper.
"Oh yes. It can be very pleasurable, trust me. But if we try it and you don't like it, we don't have to do it again." He grins down at me, "Although, I'm positive you'll be begging for more once I've claimed you."
I blink up at him. After two years he still thinks I'll enjoy it?
"How can you really know?"
"Anastasia," he raises his brow expectantly.
"Mrs. Robinson?"
"I really wish you wouldn't call her that."
"I can't help it. She's a monster."
"Ana!" he growls.
"Sorry, go on."
"Swallowing semen, well . . . you get an A in that considering that was established that first night . . ." I flush at the memory, licking my lips in anticipation of tonight. "So," he looks down at me, grinning as he takes me in, "Swallowing semen, okay?"
"Yes, Sir," I nod and drain my cup again.
"More?" he asks.
"More," and suddenly I'm reminded of our heated discussion after my graduation ceremony. Is that what this is? Did he cave in that easily to my wishes?
"Sex toys?" he asks.
"I've liked what we've used over the years," I shrug, glancing down the list.
Does the Submissive consent to the use of:
• Vibrators
• Butt plugs
• Dildos
• Other vaginal/anal toys
"What does other entail if you've already listed butt plugs and vibrators?" I scrunch my nose up in distaste.
"Beads, eggs ... that sort of stuff."
"Eggs?" I'm alarmed.
"Not real eggs." He laughs loudly, shaking his head.
I purse my lips at him, remembering the objects from a brief internet search in the beginning.
"I'm glad you find me funny." I can't keep the hurt out of my voice as I look at him.
He stops laughing almost immediately, frowning. "I apologize. Miss Steele, I'm sorry," he says, trying to look contrite, but his eyes are still dancing with humor. "Any problem with toys?"
"No," I snap.
"Anastasia," he says gently. "I am sorry. Believe me. I don't mean to laugh. I've never had this conversation in so much detail. I forget that even after three years time, you're still just so inexperienced. I'm sorry." His eyes are wide and gray and full of sincerity.
I thaw a little and take another sip of champagne.
"Right—bondage," he says, returning to the list. I examine the list, and I can't help but bounce up and down a little in my spot on the couch.
Does the Submissive consent to:
• Bondage with rope
• Bondage with leather cuffs
• Bondage with handcuffs/shackles/manacles
• Bondage with tape
• Bondage with other
Christian raises his eyebrow. "Well?"
"Fine," I whisper and quickly look back at the list so I don't think about the familiar gray tie hanging from his neck earlier in the evening.
Does the Submissive consent to be restrained with:
• Hands bound in front
• Ankles bound
• Elbows bound
• Hands bound behind back
• Knees bound
• Wrists bound to ankles
• Binding with spreader bar
• Binding to fixed items, furniture, etc.
• Suspension
Does the Submissive consent to being blindfolded?
Does the Submissive consent to being gagged?
"We've talked a little about Suspension. And it's fine if you want to set that up as a hard limit. It takes a great deal of time, and I only have you for short periods of time anyway. Anything else?"
"Don't laugh at me, but what's a spreader bar? You've never mentioned them before."
"I promise not to laugh. I've apologized twice." He glares at me. "Don't make me do it again," he warns. Feeling properly chastised I frown. "A spreader is a bar with cuffs for ankles and/or wrists."
"Oh! That thing we used on New Years?"
"Yes," he grins salaciously. "That night was quite pleasing."
"Okay, that I can agree to. But, well, gagging me . . . It's not something we've done and I'd be worried I wouldn't be able to breathe."
"I'd be worried if you couldn't breathe. I don't want to suffocate you."
"And how will I use safewords if I'm gagged?"
He pauses.
"First of all, I hope you never have to use them. We've come this far without a problem. But if you're gagged, we'll use hand signals," he says simply.
I blink up at him and pout, "I'm nervous about the gagging."
"Okay. I'll take note. It's not much use anyway. I happen to like when you make lots of noise. That's one of the perks of having an office that is soundproof."
I stare up at him and blush, "I happen to like it a lot too."
"Would you like another drink? It's making you brave, and I need to know how you feel about the pain aspect of our arrangement."
Holy shit.He refills my teacup, and I take a sip.
"So, what's your general attitude to receiving pain?" Christian looks expectantly at me. "You're biting your lip," he says darkly.
I stop immediately, but my words fail me as I flush and stare down at my hands.
"Were you physically punished as a child?"
"No."
"So you have no sphere of reference at all?"
"No," I frown.
"It's not as bad as you think. Your imagination is your worst enemy in this," he whispers.
"But up until now, it's been all about pleasure. I don't understand why you're pushing for pain when it's been the complete opposite. Do you have to do it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Goes with the territory, Anastasia. It's what I do . . . it's what I did. I know you're nervous so let's go through methods."
He shows me the list with a glint in his eyes.
• Spanking
• Whipping
• Biting
• Genital clamps
• Hot wax
• Paddling
• Caning
• Nipple clamps
• Ice
• Other types/methods of pain
"Well, you said no to genital clamps a long time ago. That's fine. It's caning that hurts the most." I blanch and feel my heart nearly stop as he says, "We can work up to that."
"Or not do it at all," I whisper.
Something in my voice tips Christian off as he looks over at me curiously before saying, "This is part of the deal, baby, but we'll work up to all of this. Anastasia, I won't push you too far."
"This punishment thing, it worries me the most," I say quietly.
"Anastasia, you've said Ray and Carla never punished you. What is it that has you so hesitant to experience the punishment?"
"Ray and Carla didn't," I say simply.
Christian's eyes soften in understanding, "Number three?" At my silence he sighs, "Well, I'm glad you've told me the truth this time. We'll keep caning off the list for now. And as you get more comfortable with everything else, we'll increase intensity. We'll take it slow."
I bite down on my lip nervously, pulling it between my teeth, gnawing on the sensitive skin.
"I have a solution to the gagging."
He stares at me quizzically and brushes his thumb across his lips.
"I'm listening."
"I don't like the idea of gagging. But there is something similar that I would be interested in trying if you're okay with it."
"And what would that be, Little One?"
"Breath play."
"Ana . . ." He trails off warily.
"I know! I know it's risky and I know that it's on your list of Hard Limits. But I want to find a middle ground."
"I won't participate in breath play."
"Then I want caning on my list of Hard Limits."
"What?!" He blanches.
"Please, Christian."
"No."
"At least give me a reason as to why, then."
I watch as he runs both hands through his copper locks and lets out a deeply aggravated sigh.
"It was used against me when I first began to sub for Elena," he begins as he stares at an empty wall. "It's not something you can just stroll into, Ana. It takes time and a lot of concentration. It's also not something I'm comfortable with due to my early childhood. The nightmares . . ."
"I'm sorry I brought it up. Never mind."
He turns his head and looks at me almost as if he's really seeing me for the first time.
"Breath play is extremely dangerous Ana. It takes practice and time. The risks involved . . . I could never risk hurting you like that. You're far too precious to me, Little One."
"Isn't gagging technically a form of Breath play?"
"Technically speaking, yes. It's on the light end. However, I typically only use ball gags. That's very different than what you're asking of me."
"You haven't even asked me what I'm really asking for."
Looking as if he's quickly losing his patience, he sighs.
"Then what is it you're asking for?"
"Light choking. I'm not asking for you to make me lose consciousness. I just want your hand around my throat. You've kind of done it before and-"
"Excuse me," he cuts me off. "Exactly when have I done that to you?"
"I said kind of," I murmur softly.
"Anastasia," he snaps sternly.
"Okay, okay," I sigh. "The night of your wedding, in the coat closet?"
He closes his eyes and nods.
"Go on," he says hoarsely.
"I was close and you gripped my jaw. You were talking." I lick my dry lips in apprehension and shift in my seat, squeezing my thighs together, "And the more you got into it the further your hand went. It drifted down my throat and you tightened your grip. It was . . ."
Christians hand cups my jaw and he trails his thumb over my bottom lip.
"Breathe, baby," he chides gently. "You're flushed. I can see what it does to you. Is that why you came for me so hard that night?"
"It was a combination of everything, Christian. The taboo, the risk, the sex, you yourself . . ." I pause and take a deep breath. "Your words that night. It hadn't been like that before and when I realized we were without protection I just . . ."
He closes his eyes and practically hums at the mere mention of the risk we took that evening.
"It was good," he agrees as he opens his eyes, the color dark as granite. "I never realized I let my hand drift down your delicate throat."
He trails his hand down from my jaw and gently closes his hand around my neck.
"This?" I shake my head and he presses down, "What about this?" When I shake my head again he presses down more forcefully and a moan escapes my mouth. "Like this? You like that?" He goads.
"Yes, Sir."
He releases my throat and I gasp, feeling the delicious throb between my thighs. The feeling only Christian can elicit from me.
"I'll add it in. But only that far. I won't go further."
"Okay."
"But I'd still like to work towards caning. It's years down the road, baby. But Little One, you have to know I would never push you past your limits. I only want to take you to the heights of pleasure."
"I know," I swallow, and he leans forward and kisses me on my lips.
"There, that wasn't so bad was it Little One?"
I shrug, feeling as if my heart is in mouth again.
"Look, I want to talk about one more thing, then I'm taking you to bed."
"Bed?" I blink rapidly, as my blood pounds through my body, warming places I once didn't know existed until Christian touched me. Or I touched him. I suppose it all depends on how you look at the scenario.
"Come on, Anastasia, talking through all this, I want to fuck you into next week, right now. I know for a fact that it's having at least some effect on you, too." I squirm in response, earning one of his rare charming smiles as the dampness in my panties spreads. "See? Besides, there's something I want to try."
"Something painful?"
"Stop seeing pain everywhere. It's mainly all about pleasure. Have I ever hurt you?"
I flush in embarrassment, "No."
"Well, then," he says pointedly, "Look, earlier today you were talking about wanting more," he halts, uncertain all of a sudden.
Oh, no.
He clasps my hand.
"Outside of the time you're acting as my sub, perhaps we could try a little something more."
"That's awfully difficult considering you're married to my sister, Christian."
"I don't know if it will work. I don't know about separating everything. It may not work. But I'm willing to try. There is an apartment available three floors below mine. I know you agreed to move in with Katherine, but I was thinking that perhaps you could move into my building instead."
My mouth drops open in shock. More? It can't possibly work
"Christian, as much as I would love to live only a few floors away from you, it's too huge of a risk. Not to mention I've made a commitment to Kate. Plus to be so close to you and Leila . . . The idea actually terrifies me, Christian. As much as I want to say yes, I can't."
"Then I have just one condition." He looks warily at my stunned expression.
"What?" I breathe.
"You graciously accept my graduation present to you."
"Oh? And that graduation present wouldn't happen to be a car, would it?" I ask cheekily as dread spawns in my gut.
He's staring down at me, gauging my reaction.
"Come," he murmurs and rises, dragging me up. Taking his jacket off, he drapes it over my shoulders and heads for the door.
Parked outside is a red hatchback car, a two-door compact Audi.
"It's for you. Happy graduation," he murmurs, pulling me into his arms and kissing my hair.
He's bought me a damned car, brand-new by the looks of it. Fuck . . . I've had enough trouble with the books. I stare at it blankly, trying desperately to determine how I feel about this. I am appalled on one level, grateful on another, shocked that he's actually done it, but the overriding emotion is anger. Yes, I'm angry, especially after everything I told him about the books . . . but then he'd already bought this.
Taking my hand, he leads me down the path toward this new acquisition.
"Anastasia, that Beetle of yours is old and frankly dangerous. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you when it's so easy for me to make it right . . ."
His eyes are on me, but at the moment I cannot bring myself to look at him. I stand silently staring at its awesome bright red newness.
"I mentioned it to Ray. He was all for it," he murmurs.
Turning, I glare at him, my mouth open in horror.
"You mentioned this to Ray? How could you?" I can barely spit the words out. "Ray worked for that car!"
"It's a gift, Anastasia. Can't you just say thank you?"
"But you know it's too much and what about Wanda?"
"Not to me, it isn't, not for my peace of mind. As for Wanda, I'll have her taken care of," he says kindly. "Taylor will make sure she's shipped and stored after being cared for properly."
I frown at him, at a loss what to say. He's had money all of his life. Okay, not all of his life—not as a small child—and my worldview shifts. The thought is very sobering, and I soften toward the car, feeling guilty about my childish tantrum. His intentions are good, misguided, but not from a bad place. The man truly has a heart of gold.
"I suppose if I accept your gift I rather just sell Wanda. She won't do any good sitting around. Besides that, I'm going to have to start paying off student loans since Carla is of no help."
He sighs heavily, "Okay. I'll have Taylor find a buyer." He looks warily at me.
"Thank you."
He frowns and I reach up, on the tips of my toes and kiss him on his cheek.
"Thank you for the car, Sir," I say as sweetly as I can manage.
He grabs me suddenly and yanks me up against him, one hand on my back holding me to him and the other fisting my mahogany tresses.
"You are one challenging woman, Ana Steele." Then his lips are on mine as he begins to kiss me passionately, forcing my lips apart with his tongue, taking no prisoners.
My blood heats immediately, and I'm returning his kiss with just as much passion. I want him badly—in spite of the car, the books, the soft limits, the caning, . . . And Leila . . . I want him.
"It's taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car right now, just to show you that you are mine and that if I want to buy you a fucking car, I'll buy you a fucking car," he growls. "Now let's get you inside and naked Little One." He plants a swift rough kiss on my lips before he pulls back to look at me with his storm gray eyes.
He's angry and in return undeniably hot.
He grabs my hand and leads me back into the apartment, slamming and locking the door behind us before he leads me straight into my bedroom where he switches on the sidelight and halts, staring at me.
"Please don't be angry with me," I whisper. His gaze is impassive as he looks down at me, his eyes cold shards of smoky glass. "I'm sorry about the car and the books and the apartment . . ." I trail off. He remains silent and brooding. "You scare me when you're angry," I breathe, staring at him.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them, his expression has softened. He takes a deep breath and swallows.
"Turn around," he whispers. "I want to get you out of that dress."
Another mood swing. Sometimes it's so hard to keep up.
Obediently, I turn, my heart beating erratically, desire instantly replacing any unease, coursing through my blood and settling low in my stomach.
First, he scoops my hair off my back so it hangs down my right side, curling at my breast. Then, he places his index finger at the nape of my neck and achingly slowly drags it down my spine, his fingernail grazing my skin.
"I like this dress," he murmurs. "I like to see your flawless skin."
His finger reaches the back of my halter dress midway down my spine, and then he hooks his finger beneath the top before he pulls me closer so that I step back against him so that he's flush against my body. Leaning down, he inhales my hair.
"You smell so good, Anastasia. So sweet." His nose skims past my ear down my neck, and he trails soft, feather light kisses along my shoulder.
My breathing changes, becoming shallow, rushed, and full of expectation. His fingers at my zipper once again. Achingly slow, he eases it down while his lips move, licking and kissing and sucking their way across to my other shoulder. He is so tantalizingly good at this. My body resonates, and I start to squirm with excitement beneath his touch.
"You. Are. Going. To. Have. To. Learn. To. Keep. Still," he whispers, kissing me around the nape of my neck between each word. He then tugs at the fastening at the halter neck and the dress drops and pools at my feet.
"No bra, Miss Steele. I like that."
His hands reach around and cup my breasts, and my nipples pucker at his touch.
"Lift your arms and put them around my head," he murmurs against my neck.
I obey immediately, and my breasts rise and push into his hands, my nipples hardening further. My fingers weave into his hair, and very gently I tug his soft, copper hair. I roll my head to one side to give him easier access to my neck.
"Mmm . . ." he murmurs into that space behind my ear as he starts to extend my nipples with his long fingers, mirroring my hands in his hair.
I groan as the sensation registers sharp and clear in my groin.
"Shall I make you come this way again?" he whispers. I arch my back to force my breasts into his expert hands, silently asking for more. "You like this, don't you, Miss Steele?"
"Mmm . . ."
"Tell me." He continues the slow, sensuous torture, pulling gently.
"Yes."
"Yes, what."
"Yes . . . Sir."
"Good girl." He pinches my nipples hard, and my body writhes convulsively against his front.
I gasp at the exquisite, acute mixture of pleasure and pain. Feeling him against me, I moan and my hands clench in his hair pulling harder.
"I don't think you're ready to come yet," he whispers, stilling his hands, and he gently bites my earlobe and tugs at it. "Besides, you have displeased me."
I barely register his words through the fog of needy desire as I groan.
"So perhaps I won't let you come after all." He returns the attention of his fingers to my nipples, pulling, twisting, kneading. I grind my behind against his pant covered erection . . . moving side to side.
I feel his grin against my neck as his hands move down to my hips. His fingers hook into my panties at the back, stretching them, and he pushes his thumbs through the material, shredding them and tossing them in front of me so I can see . . . holy shit.His hands move down to my sex, and from behind, he slowly inserts his finger.
"Oh yes. My sweet girl is ready," he breathes as he whirls me around so I'm facing him, his breathing quickened. He puts his finger in his mouth with a wicked grin. "You taste so fine, Miss Steele." He sighs and my insides flip.
Oh, fuck.
"Undress me," he commands quietly, staring down at me, eyes hooded.
All I'm wearing are my shoes—well, Kate's high-heels. I'm taken aback by his words as he's never let me undress him before. Hell, I've never undressed any man before, never mind Christian himself.
"You can do it," he cajoles softly.
I blink rapidly as I wonder where to start. Instinctively I reach for his T-shirt, and he grabs my hands, smiling slyly at me.
"Oh no." He shakes his head, grinning. "Not the T-shirt. You may need to touch me for what I have planned." His eyes are alive with excitement.
A new rule, suggesting I can touch him with clothes on. He takes one of my hands and places it against his erection.
"This is the effect you have on me, Miss Steele."
I gasp before grinning devilishly and flex my fingers around his girth, causing him to grin in response.
"I want to be inside you. Take my jeans off. You're in charge."
Holy fuck. This is a revelation like none before. Mr-CEO-Christian Grey-hot-shot-extraordinaire is letting someone else be in charge?
"What are you going to do with me?" he teases as he takes in my shocked expression.
The possibilities goad my pent up frustration, need, and sheer bravery, and I push him onto the bed. Tossing his head back, he laughs as he falls, and I gaze down at him, feeling victorious. Quickly, I yank off his shoes, and quite clumsily, his socks. He's staring up at me, his eyes luminous with amusement and desire. He looks not only glorious but young and carefree and for tonight . . . mine. I crawl up my bed and sit astride him to undo his jeans, sliding my fingers under the waistband, feeling the hair of his oh-so-happy trail. He closes his eyes and flexes his hips.
"You'll have to learn to keep still," I scold playfully, pursing my lips as I tug at the hair under his waistband.
His breath hitches, and he grins at me deviously.
"Yes, Miss Steele," he murmurs, eyes burning bright. "In my pocket, condom, you dirty little girl," he breathes.
I search in his pocket slowly, watching his face as I feel around. His mouth is open agape in what seems to now be sheer frustration. I fish out both foil packets that I find and lay them on the bed by his hips. My over-eager fingers reach for the button of his waistband and undo it, fumbling a little in my rush of excitement.
"So eager, Miss Steele," he murmurs, his voice laced with humor. I tug down the zipper, and then I'm faced with the problem of removing his pants . . . hmm . . . I shuffle down and pull, but they hardly move, causing me to pout.
"I can't keep still if you're going to bite that lip," he warns, then arches his pelvis up off the bed so I'm able to tug down his pants and his boxers at the same time, effectively freeing him. He kicks his clothes to the floor.
This man, he's all mine. At least he is in this moment.
"Now what are you going to do?" he breathes, all trace of humor gone. I reach up and touch him, watching his expression as I do. His mouth shapes like a letter O as he takes a sharp breath. His skin is so smooth and velvety . . . and hard . . . hmm, a delicious combination. One I have grown to love immensely over the years. I lean forward, my hair falling around me, and place my lips around him, sucking, hard. He closes his eyes and clutches the sheets as his hips jerk beneath me.
"Fuck, Ana, steady," he groans.
I feel powerful in this position, with Christian fucking Grey beneath me. It's such an exhilarating feeling, teasing and testing him with my mouth and tongue. He tenses underneath me as I run my mouth up and down him, pushing him to the back of my throat, my lips tight . . . again and again, as I please.
"Stop, Ana, stop," he growls, "I don't want to come."
I sit up, blinking at him, panting like him, but confused at the sudden change.
"Your innocence and enthusiasm is very disarming," he gasps. "You, on top . . . that's what we need. Here, put this on," he says tossing me the foil packet.
I rip the packet open and then pause. We've used these every time, but once. Once where he practically blew up afterward. We couldn't run the risk of me falling pregnant with what would be his child and his niece or nephew. Despite all the time, he'd always been in charge.
"Pinch the top and then roll it down. You don't want any air in the end of that sucker," he pants.
And very slowly, concentrating as hard as I can, given the circumstances, I do as I'm told.
"Christ, you're killing me here, Anastasia," he groans.
I admire my handiwork and his body once I'm done. Just looking at him, I know he's a fine specimen of a man. I was very lucky to be the one in his bed.
"Now. I want to be buried inside you," he murmurs. I stare down at him, daunted, and he sits up suddenly, so we're nose to nose.
"Like this," he breathes, and he snakes one hand around my hips, lifting me, and with the other, he positions himself beneath me and, very slowly, eases me onto him.
I groan as he stretches me open, filling me, my mouth hanging open in surprise at the sweet, agonizing, over-full feeling. Full of Christian Grey.
"That's right, baby, feel me, all of me," he growls and briefly closes his eyes.
Then he's inside me, sheathed to the hilt, and he holds me in place, for seconds . . . minutes . . . I have no idea because I lose all sense of time as he stares intently into my eyes.
"You've got such a tight, slick little cunt. So fucking deep this way," he murmurs. He flexes and swivels his hips in the same motion, and I groan as the all-too-familiar sensation radiates throughout every inch of my body.
"Why haven't we done this in so long?" I ask desperately, tugging at his hair. His only response is a deeply satisfied chuckle. "Again," I whisper. He grins a lazy grin and obliges as he watches me ride his cock.
Moaning, I throw my head up, my hair tumbling down my back, and very slowly, he sinks down on to the bed.
"You move, Anastasia, up and down, how you want. Take my hands," he breathes, his voice hoarse and low in his throat.
I clasp his hands, holding on for life, nearly hyperventilating at his touch. Gently I push off him and back down. His eyes are burning with wild anticipation and his breathing is ragged, matching mine, as he lifts his pelvis just as I come down, bouncing me back up. We pick up the rhythm . . . up, down, up, down . . . over and over . . . and it feels . . . So. Damn. Fucking. Good. Between my panting breaths, the deep brimming fullness, the vehement sensation pulsing through me and building quickly, all I can do is watch him, our eyes locked. What I see is wonder etched upon his face, wonder at me.
I am fucking him. I am in charge. He's mine, and I am his. The thought pushes me, weighted with concrete, over the edge, and I climax around him . . . shouting incoherently. He grabs my hips, and closes his eyes, tips his head back, clenches his jaw, and he comes quietly. I collapse on to his chest, overwhelmed by what we've just shared, somewhere between fantasy and reality, a place where there are no hard or soft limits.
And best of all, no Leila.
A Note from the Author:
Hello Lovelies,
First, feel free to add me on Facebook under Sara Reed. I'll be getting around to making a group at some point to post teasers, music that inspires, and how I picture our favorite characters.
Second, I've been asked about an update schedule. At this point I'm not entirely sure. I'm slowly but surely editing chapters. It's also a busy time of year for me. I'll try my best to post at least 1 chapter a week. But don't be surprised if there's 2 or 3. As for a day . . . No idea. My schedule is hectic and it could happen at any time.
Third, I'll also start recommending other FSOG fan fictions at the end of each chapter, that I've either read or am in the process of reading. Everyone needs all the support they can get. New or old!! :)
Just one last note before replies.
After this chapter I will be responding to about 5 reviews that you will be able to find at the beginning of each chapter. I honestly wasn't expecting to receive so many. But please note that I'll always try to reply to messages when I can. :)
As always, thank you to E.L James for the contract wouldn't exist as it does without her.
xoxo,
Sara Jo
motherbeatrice:I only promise that Leila is just as bad (if not worse) than the original Leila Williams ;)
daytonalay: Carrick and Grace are the foundation of the Grey family. Carrick is his natural lawyer self and Grace will eventually learn. Fifty will always be a jealous man. He wouldn't be Fifty Shades if he wasn't! As for his intentions . . . we'll see over time. Perhaps there is some love in his heart for the Leila he first met . . .
Luvdisney2007: thank you very much! Happy to see it's a new favorite! Christian is diligent when it comes to birth control, just as he's always been. Well . . . Except that one time after he got married in the original books . . .
Ehundl: thank you!
zeeulove: Carla originally dated Frank who's sister Gracie married Greg. Carla and Greg had an affair resulting in Leila. Once Frank learned the truth, they decided to give Leila up to Gracie and Greg because Gracie couldn't have children of her own. Thus ending the affair between Carla and Greg. Carla and Frank later had Ana, but as the books tell it, he died in an accident the day after her birth. Hope that clears things up :)
Shasha77: thank you very much!
nokuzet: all will eventually come to light :)
Guest: to be fair, Ana sought out Christian. Not the other way around. But Pretty Big Lies is all about deceit and revenge . . . As for a hero . . . Only time will tell.
pepe71: thank you! Carla and Leila really are awful, aren't they? They make the perfect mother and daughter pair. Family always comes first. Hmm . . . I bet Christian has had quite a few eventful "business trips" over the past three years . . .
