Reviews from Chapter 2:

daytonalay: Christian has always said that Ana would make a great part of his team when it comes to negotiating. Unfortunately Elena Lincoln has done untold damage on our beloved Christian. And we may delve deeper into their history this time around. Ana may be crazy for Christian but she's one smart cookie. As of right now, her gains are outweighing her sacrifices. Thank you for the review!

zeeulove: I think Christian May have a few tricks up his sleeve. After all, he is the master of his universe. Whether Leila has a forgiving bone in her body is yet to be seen . . .

Brennanite025: thank you!! All will be revealed in time! ;)

Karen447: thank you so much!! :)

Luvdisney2007: Seattle is so vast and there's always the possibility of his office. Hmm . . . that's a tough question. I feel as if Ana might already be 50/50 on that one. After all, it was her choice. As for dating . . . Who said she hasn't or won't? ;)

P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S

Ever so slowly the real world invaded my senses. My body feels like jello. Almost as if I'm floating, my limbs soft and languid. In truth, I'm utterly spent in his warm embrace. I'm lying on top of him, my head on his chest, and he smells divine: freshly laundered linen and some expensive body wash (that I'm proud to proclaim I had chosen for him as a present), and the most seductive scent in the universe . . . Christian Grey.

I don't want to move from this spot or his embrace. Instead, I want to breathe in this elixir for eternity. I nuzzle him, wishing I didn't have the barrier of his T-shirt against me. And as my head comes down from the clouds, I return to the rest of my body, stretching my legs out and wiggling my toes before I stretch my hand out on his firm chest.

As if he's been set on fire, his hand swoops up and grabs mine, but unlike what I witnessed earlier with Leila, he softens the blow by pulling my hand to his mouth and sweetly kissing my knuckles. Then rolls over so he's gazing down at me.

"Don't," he murmurs, before kissing me lightly.

"I don't understand. Why can't you just tell me why you don't like to be touched?" I whisper, staring up into soft gray eyes.

"I've told you once before and I won't tell you again. I'm fifty shades of fucked up, Anastasia."

His rash honesty is completely disarming and for a moment I think about what he said earlier when he mentioned his early childhood, but all I can do is blink up at him. My look of uncertainty seems to break down his titanium wall by a fraction because he sighs and runs his thumb over my knuckles before kissing my palm ever so gently.

"I had a very tough introduction to life. I don't want to burden you with the details, Little One. Just don't."

He brushes his nose against mine, and then he pulls out of me and sits up, leaving me a gasping puddle of need on top of the sheets.

"I think that was a pleasant refresher course and it seems we covered all the basics. How was that?"

He looks thoroughly pleased with himself and sounds very matter-of-fact at the same time, like he's just marked off another item on his CEO/Dominant checklist.

I huff in annoyance. Was he like this with Leila? No, he couldn't have been. She was a seasoned Submissive when he contracted her. There was no need for a she-doesn't-know-thing checklist.

As he grins, I sit in the middle of my bed, reeling over his "tough introduction to life" comment. He's just so damn frustrating sometimes. He feeds me bits of information and leaves me desperate to know more. But he won't tell me. He never does. I wonder if he's the same way with Leila.I cock my head to one side, like he does, and make an enormous effort to smile at him.

"If you imagine, that for one minute I think you ceded control to me, then you haven't taken into account my GPA." I smile shyly at him, widen my eyes and flutter my lashes. "But thank you for the illusion."

"Miss Steele, you are not just a pretty face. Every orgasm you've ever had, and believe me I've counted them all - belongs to me," he boasts, playfully.

I flush and blink at the same time, remembering my recent dream featuring a toy he had recently promised me.

"Do you have something to tell me?" his voice is suddenly stern.

I frown as I murmur, "I had a dream this morning."

"Oh?" He glares at me.

Shit. Double shit. Triple shit.

"I came in my sleep." I throw my arm over my eyes. When he says nothing I peek up at him from under my arm, and he looks amused.

"In your sleep?"

"Woke me up."

"I'm sure it did. What were you dreaming about?"

"You," I breathe.

"What was I doing?" He hums and moves up onto his knees.

I throw my arm over my eyes again, fully embarrassed. Like a small child with the innocence, he seems to cherish I briefly entertain the thought that if I can't see him, then he can't see me.

"Anastasia, what was I doing? I won't ask you again."

"You had a riding crop."

He moves my arm as he climbs over me.

"Really?"

"Yes," I mutter, my face turning a nice shade of crimson, a sharp contrast to the delicate pink Christian claims to adore so much.

"There's hope for you yet, Little One, " he murmurs. "I do love a good riding crop and it is a toy we discussed the last time we were together at my office. I may even have a new one in my array of toys that arrived yesterday."

"Brown plaited leather?"

He laughs. "No, but I'm sure I could get one."

Leaning down, he gives me a brief kiss, then stands and grabs his boxers. He was supposed to stay.I glance quickly at the time—it's only nine forty.

I scoot out of bed, too, and grab my sweatpants and a cami top, then sit back on the bed, cross-legged, watching him. I don't want him to go. What can I do?

"You're still on birth control, correct?" He interrupts my thoughts.

What the fuck, Grey?

"I hate wearing these things," he grumbles. He holds up the condom, then puts it on the floor and slips on his jeans. "Well?" he prompts when I don't reply, and he looks at me expectantly as if he's waiting for my opinion on the weather. Or worse, his marriage. Shit.

"Well, yes. We agreed to be extra careful. Isn't that what you wanted? So I wouldn't 'screw you over' as you put it ever-so-delicately in the beginning." I stare down at my hands.

"Yes, it was. But seeing as you've stayed on birth control and you're signing a contract, I don't really see the need for them. It's you and me."

"And Leila," I interject sourly.

He is so domineering and such a two-timer, I snort.

"Anastasia," he says sternly, "You're overthinking everything. Do you know why I fed you the wine tonight and didn't yell at you about overindulging? It's because a drop of wine in you and you start talking like a fish. I need you to communicate honestly with me. You're sassy as hell half the time and then the other half of the time you clam up and I have no idea what you're thinking."

"And you think you're always honest with me?"

"I endeavor to be." He looks down at me warily. "This will only work if we're honest with each other."

"Then don't shut me out. Besides, I thought you were staying and here you are getting dressed. I'd like you to stay and use this." I hold up the second condom with a smirk.

He smiles and his eyes glow with humor.

"Anastasia, I have crossed so many lines here tonight. I'll have the revised contract ready for you when you get back to Seattle, and then we can really start to play."

"Play?" Holy shit. My heart leaps into my mouth.

"I'd like to do a proper scene with you. But I won't until you've signed, so I know you're ready. We need to take this seriously, baby. I can't just keep lightly playing with you. I didn't sign up for plain vanilla and neither did you."

"So technically you're saying I could stretch this out if I don't sign?" I grin flirtatiously.

He seems to assess me as he gazes at me, his lips twitching into a smile. "Well, I suppose you could, but I may crack under the strain."

"Crack? How?" I ask, watching as his t-shirt tightens as his biceps flex and he crosses his arms.

He nods slowly, and then he grins like the Cheshire cat. "Could get really ugly."

His grin is infectious and I can't help but grin up at him.

"Ugly, how?"

"Oh, you know, explosions, car chases, kidnapping, incarceration."

"You'd kidnap me?"

"Oh yes." He grins.

"Hold me against my will?" I breathe.

"Oh yes." He nods. "And then we're talking TPE 24/7."

"What," I breathe, my heart is pounding . . . if Leila wasn't back at Escala I would beg him.

"Total Power Exchange—around the clock." His eyes are shining, and his excitement is palpable even from where I sit. Holy shit I want him.If it wasn't for Leila I could have that and more. Just thinking about her waiting in his bed makes my blood boil and suddenly my mood is soured. "So you would have no choice," he says sardonically.

"Clearly." I can't keep the sarcasm out of my voice as my eyes roll.

"Oh, Anastasia Steele, did you just roll your eyes at me?"

Shit. Will he stay for this?

"No," I squeak as my clit throbs with need between my thighs.

"I think you did, you naughty girl. What did I say I'd do to you if you rolled your eyes at me again?"

Shit. He's really doing it. Fuck yes.

"Come here," he says softly.

I blanch and sit staring at him, completely immobile as my nerves set in.

"I haven't signed," I whisper.

"I told you what I'd do. I'm a man of my word, Anastasia. I'm going to spank you, and then I'm going to fuck your little cunt within an inch of your life. Very quick and very hard just how you like your little pussy fucked. Looks like we'll need that condom after all."

His voice is so soft, menacing, and it's scorching hot. My insides practically melt with needy, liquid, desire as I feel myself become slick with need yet again. He gazes at me, waiting, eyes blazing.

Tentatively, I uncurl my legs. Should I run? I could. But I won't.

In this moment, our relationship hangs in the balance, right here, right now. Do I let him do this just as he has a million times before or do I say no, and then that's it? Because I know it will be over if I say no.

This is different compared to the before. Before we were playing with distance and time. Now we're risking it all to continue an affair that never should have started to begin with.

The slickness between my thighs gives me my answer, but my subconscious is as paralyzed as I am.

"I'm waiting," he says. "I'm not a patient man."

As blood pounds through my veins, I slowly crawl over to him until I am beside him. Right where I belong.

"Good girl," he murmurs. "Now stand up."

Hesitantly, my legs feeling like jelly, I clamber to my feet. He holds his hand out, and I place the condom in his palm. Suddenly he grabs me, tugging me across his lap. With one smooth movement, he angles his body so my torso is resting on the bed beside him. He throws his right leg over both of mine and plants his left forearm on the small of my back, holding me down so I can't move.

"Put your hands up on either side of your head," he orders. I obey immediately before he asks, "Why am I doing this, Anastasia?"

"Because I rolled my eyes at you," I murmur.

"Do you think that's polite?"

"No."

"Will you do it again?"

"No."

"I will spank you each time you do it, do you understand?"

Very slowly, he pulls down my sweatpants. He's making such a meal of my embarrassment that I squirm in his lap. My heart is in my mouth and I can barely breathe because of the anticipation.

He places his hand on my naked behind, softly fondling me, stroking around and around with his flat palm. Then his hand is no longer there . . . and he hits me—harder than ever before. My eyes spring open in response to the brief flash of pain, and I try to rise, but his hand moves between my shoulder blades, keeping me down. And just like that, the pain is gone.

He caresses me again, right where he's hit me, and his breathing's changed—it's louder, harsher than before. He hits me again and again, quickly in succession. Holy fuck. I make no sound, my face screwed up against the flashes of pain. This isn't like before. Before was all about pleasure. This is the opposite. He's punishing me. And as much as it doesn't hurt physically, it hurts inside.

My heart races at the realization and I try to wriggle away from the blows—spurred on by my adrenaline spiking and coursing through my body.

"Keep still," he growls, "or I'll spank you more than I planned on."

He's rubbing me now, and the blow follows. A rhythmic pattern emerges: caress, fondle, hard slap. I have to concentrate to handle the feelings crashing through my body.

I concentrate on clearing my mind as I endeavor to absorb every sensation. Just as always, he doesn't hit me in the same place twice in succession, instead he's spreading the pain across my skin.

"Ah!" I cry out on the tenth slap—and I'm suddenly aware that I've been mentally counting each blow.

"I'm just getting warmed up, baby girl."

He hits me again, then he strokes me softly. The combination of the hard stinging blow and his gentle caress is so mind-numbing. But as he hits me again I realize that it's getting harder to take. My jaw hurts, it's clenched so tight and my heart is in my throat. He strokes me gently and then the twelfth blow comes and I cry out in desperation.

"No one to hear you, baby, just me," he says huskily.

And he hits me again and again. From somewhere deep inside, I want to beg him to stop. But I don't.

Part of me doesn't want to give him the satisfaction and the other part of me wants to please him deeply, knowing this is what he craves. What he can get from Leila if I say no.

He continues the unrelenting rhythm causing me to cry out six more times. Eighteen slaps in total. My body is on a high from his merciless assault but my heart and mind are both nearly torn in two.

"Enough," he breathes hoarsely. "Well done, Anastasia. Now I'm going to fuck you."

He caresses my behind gently, and it burns as he strokes me around and around and down towards my slick pussy. Suddenly, he inserts two fingers inside my soaked core, taking me completely by surprise. I gasp at the new feeling, breaking through the numbness around my brain.

"Feel this. See how much your body likes this, Anastasia. You're soaking just for me." There's a deep underlining of awe in his voice as he speaks and continues to move his fingers in and out of my aching core in quick succession.

I groan as I feel my body coil and then his fingers are gone . . . and I'm left wanting, needing.

"Next time, I will get you to count-"

"Eighteen," I breathe.

"What?" he asks seemingly shocked by my answer. "Oh, little girl how you please me. Now, where's that condom?"

He reaches beside him for the condom and gently lifts me off his lap, maneuvering me so I'm lying face down on the bed. I hear the sound of his zipper and the familiar rip of the foil before he pulls my sweatpants completely off and then guides me into a kneeling position, gently caressing my now very sore behind.

"I'm going to take you now, Anastasia. You can come," he murmurs.

He says it as if my body has a choice after experiencing his merciless touch.

And then, he's inside me, quickly filling me, causing me to gasp loudly. He moves, pounding into me, a fast, intense pace against my sore and surely red behind. The feeling is beyond anything I've ever experienced with him. It's exquisite, raw,—debasing like I asked for—and mind-blowing.

My senses are just a mere memory. Instead I feel disconnected, solely concentrating on what he's doing to me. How he's making me feel that familiar pull deep in my belly, tightening, quickening, teetering over the edge of insanity.

I try to prolong it, craving his voice to send me into a tailspin, but it never comes. Then all at once, my traitorous body explodes in an intense, mind-shattering orgasm.

"Oh fuck, Ana!" he cries out loudly for the first time since he entered me as he finds his release, holding me in place as he pours himself into me. Then, he collapses, panting hard beside me, before pulling me on top of him and burying his face in my hair, as he holds me close.

"Oh, baby," he breathes. "I'm so pleased that you're part of my world."

But am I, really?

We lie there, panting, waiting for our breathing to slow and our hearts to turn to normal.

He gently strokes my hair as I lay on top of his chest. Only this time, I don't have the strength to lift my hand and feel him beneath my fingers. Christian nuzzles my hair again, inhaling deeply.

"Well done, baby," he whispers, quiet joy in his voice. His words curl around me like a soft, fluffy towel from the confines of his mega-office-bathroom on the top floor of GEH, and I'm so pleased that he's happy. That I, little-old-Anastasia-Steele have made him this happy.

He picks at the strap on my camisole.

"Is this what you always sleep in?" he asks gently.

"Yes," I breathe sleepily.

"You should be in silks and satins, you beautiful girl. I'll take you shopping."

"I like my sweats," I murmur, trying and failing to sound irritated.

He kisses my head again and hums.

"We'll see, I much rather have you in my own clothing," he says.

We lie for a few more minutes, hours, who really knows, and I begin to doze.

Leaning down, he kisses my forehead gently. "Are you okay?" His voice is so soft.

I think about his question in depth. My backside is sore. Well, glowing now, and amazingly I feel, apart from exhausted, radiant. The realization is humbling and completely unexpected. I don't understand it at all.

And perhaps I never will.

"I'm okay," I whisper. I don't want to say more than that for fear of an inquisition.

He rises with ease and smooths my unruly hair down.

"I'll be right back."

He scoops up the other condom and heads out of my bedroom.

Rising stiffly I put my sweatpants back on. As I sit down they chafe a little against my sore behind. I feel . . . sated.

Quite honestly, I feel confused by my reaction.

I remember him saying—the same night we first got together—that I would feel so much better after a good hiding. After all this time, I still don't understand how can that be so. I really don't get it. But at the same time, I strangely do. I can't say that I've ever truly enjoyed the experience. In fact, I would still go a long way to avoid it.

I've never outright refused because before it wasn't about punishment and quite frankly, it pleases me to please Christian.

Even now I feel safe, but odd, as I sit bathed in the afterglow, feeling sated. But also feeling flustered, I put my head in my hands with a sigh.

Christian reenters the room but I can't look him in the eye. I stare down at my hands instead, picking at my cuticles.

"I found the baby oil. I'll massage it into your behind."

"No. I'll be fine."

"Anastasia," he warns, and I want to roll my eyes but quickly stop myself. Instead, I stand to face the bed.

Sitting beside me, he gently pulls my sweatpants down again. Christian squirts baby oil into his hand and then massages my behind with careful tenderness—from makeup remover to soothing balm for a spanked ass—who would have thought it was such a versatile liquid?

"I like my hands on you," he murmurs, and I have to agree. "There," he says when he's finished, and he pulls my pants up again.

I glance over at my clock. Ten thirty.

"I'm leaving now."

"I'll see you out." I can't bear the thought of looking at him in the moment, so instead I keep my head down.

Taking my hand, he leads me to the front door. Fortunately, Kate is still not home. She must still be having after dinner drinks with her parents and Ethan. I'm really glad she's not been around to hear my chastisement. Especially if she has Elliot in tow.

"Don't you have to call Taylor?" I ask, avoiding eye contact, instead I again stare down at my nails.

"Taylor's been here since nine. Look at me," he breathes.

I struggle to meet his eyes, but when I do, he's gazing down at me with wonder.

"You promised you would stay."

"We're starting a contract, Anastasia," he breathes, "We need to set boundaries."

"Because there aren't enough of those already," I quip.

"Ana-" he says warningly.

"She's still at the hotel, isn't she?"

"Leila is at home. I could call her to prove it to you, but then she'd want to initiate a call I really don't want to endure," he says sternly, then his expression changes, "I wouldn't lie to you, Anastasia. Trust. This is about trust," he says softly.

"I know," I murmur, shyly.

"You didn't cry," he murmurs, then grabs me suddenly and kisses me fervently. "You never cry," he whispers against my lips, and it's both in awe and frustration.

Does he want to see me cry? I fear if I started crying in front of him I may never stop. Not with how I feel about him and not with how I feel about Leila.

I watch him walk down the path and climb into the big black Audi waiting at the curb. He doesn't look back.

Not once.

He never does.

I close the door and stand helplessly in the living room of an apartment that I shall only spend another two nights in. A place I have lived happily for almost four years . . . yet today, for the first time ever, I feel lonely and uncomfortable here, unhappy with my own company.

Of course, if I'm being honest, I'm never truly comfortable with myself. I've been playing a part since Leila entered my life and Carla began to control every aspect of it.

For over two years, nearly three as I think back on it, I have evolved into a different person. Have I strayed so far from who I am?I know that lurking, not very far under my rather numb exterior, is a well of tears. What am I doing?

In the beginning, I was enthralled with the mere idea of Christian. When Leila divulged their shared lifestyle to me, to say I was shocked would be a lie. In truth, I had discovered their shared secret long before. Even before I heard Christian arguing with Mrs. Robinson.

Elena Lincoln was a snake in luxe clothing.

The irony was, Christian and I were far more similar than either of us could have ever imagined. When I confronted him about Elena, he had been angry. Perhaps if I had told him about husband number three things would be different. He might have spoken up. Instead, he fell into their trap.

Several weeks before it all started, I insisted to Christian that he wasn't in love with Leila. That she couldn't give him what he really wanted because her plan was to string him along. Of course, he didn't believe a word I said. Chalking it up to me being jealous of Leila, just as Leila and our mother had told him.

So rather than convincing him, I had instead become what he most desired. I had studied his world and had conjured a plan. I had slipped away from Leila's bachelorette party and made a surprise entrance into Christian's bachelor party.

Then, I had brought him home and kneeled at his feet. Gifting him my submission.

I knew he was just as attracted to me as I was to him, given the times I had caught him staring at me from across the room or from across the dinner table. So, I knew when he brushed against me as we danced that I could have my cake and eat it too, as long as I obeyed him.

Of course, back then it had been a game. A way of making sure Leila never truly had exactly what she wanted. Now . . . now, it was more. I had fallen down the rabbit hole and there was no turning back.

Shaking my head, I realize I've been too enamored in my own thoughts to even lock the door, much less to move from the spot I seem to be rooted in.

Moving towards the kitchen I open a bottle of wine and pour it into a washed teacup.

I swallow a mouthful and wince at the taste. It's nothing like the Bollinger and with Kate's upbringing, I'm surprised she doesn't know her wine better.

I drink a few teacups full of wine before deciding to check my email before heading to bed.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: You

Date: May 26 2011 23:14

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

You are quite simply exquisite. The most beautiful, intelligent, witty, and brave woman I have ever met. Take some Advil—this is not a request. And don't drive your Beetle again. I will know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

Oh, please.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Flattery

Date: May 26 2011 23:20

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

Flattery will get you nowhere, but since you've been everywhere the point is moot.

Red wine is always more preferable to Advil.

Ana

P.S.: I've decided that Caning is most definitely a HARD limit for me.

I hit "send."

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Frustrating Women Who Can't Take Compliments

Date: May 26 2011 23:26

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I am not flattering you. You should go to bed.

I accept your addition to the hard limits.

Don't drink too much.

Taylor will dispose of your car and get a good price for it, too.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Taylor—Is He the Right Man for the Job?

Date: May 26 2011 23:40

To: Christian Grey

Dear Sir,

I am intrigued that you are happy to risk letting your right-hand man drive my car but not some woman you fuck occasionally. A side piece if you will. How can I be sure that Taylor is the man to get me the best deal for said car? I have, in the past, probably before I met you, been known to drive a hard bargain.

Ana

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Careful!

Date: May 26 2011 23:44

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I am assuming it is the RED WINE talking, and that you've had a very long day.

Though I am tempted to drive back over there to ensure that you don't sit down for a week, rather than an evening.

Taylor is ex-army and capable of driving anything from a motorcycle to a Sherman tank. Your car does not present a hazard to him.

Now please do not refer to yourself as "some woman I fuck occasionally" or as "a side piece" because, quite frankly, it makes me MAD, and you really wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Careful Yourself

Date: May 26 2011 23:57

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

I'm not sure I like you anyway, especially at the moment.

Miss Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Careful Yourself

Date: May 27 2011 00:03

To: Anastasia Steele

Why don't you like me?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Careful Yourself

Date: May 27 2011 00:09

To: Christian Grey

Because you never stay with me.

There, that's given him something to think about, I pout. I shut the laptop down with a flourish I don't really feel and crawl into my bed.

I switch off my sidelight and stare up at the ceiling. It's been one long day, one emotional rollercoaster moment after another.

It was heartwarming to spend some time with Ray. He looked well, and oddly, he seems close to Christian. Even Carla's attitude couldn't ruin that apparent moment in my eyes.

Hearing Christian speak about being hungry. What the hell is that all about? Why, after all this time, do I not know?

Then Leila's attitude about Christian not fulfilling his promise to spend time with her. God, what did I do?I only made things harder for him. Have I been that much of a selfish wench?The answer was a resounding yes.

God, and the car. I haven't even told Kate about the new car. I can't even bare to think about what Kate will say, let alone what Elliot, Leila, and his parents will think. Mia will think its marvelous until she realizes he hasn't gifted her a car in nearly two years. What was Christian thinking?

And then this evening, we went over the rules and stipulations. I let him spank me as a punishment. Then, he just left.

Very slowly, my tears, halted by the wine and the arrival of Christian's emails, begin to slide down the side of my face and into my ears. I have fallen for someone who's so emotionally shut down and irrevocably unavailable, I will only get hurt—deep down I know this—someone who, by his own admission is completely fucked up.

Why is he so fucked up?

It must be awful to be as affected as he is, and the thought that as a toddler he suffered some unbearable cruelty makes me cry harder. Perhaps, if he was more normal he wouldn't want me.

Perhaps if he knew what a destructive monster I truly am, he wouldn't want me.

The thought makes me gasp for breath, and in my heart of hearts, I know this is the truth. If Christian knew half of what I had done to become his, even to protect him, he would never look at me the same way again.

I am an awful human being. I am a monster.

I turn into my pillow and the flood gates open . . . and for the first time in years, I am sobbing into my pillow uncontrollably.

I am momentarily distracted from my dark thoughts by the distinct sound of a door slamming shut.

I sit up in alarm and two seconds later Christian bursts into my bedroom and unceremoniously switches on the overhead light, making me squint.

"Jesus, Ana," he mutters. He flicks the switch off again and is at my side in a moment.

"What are you doing here?" I gasp between sobs. I'm such a mess that I can't even stop crying. Just like I predicted when he was leaving.

He switches on the lamp, making me squint again and I see that he's left my door cracked open.

Christian gazes down at me, his expression grave, his face ashen. He's wearing his pinstriped jacket, and from his inside pocket he pulls out a handkerchief and hands it to me. I think I still have his other one somewhere.

"What's going on?" he asks quietly.

"Why are you here?" I ask, ignoring his question. My tears have miraculously ceased, but I'm left with dry heaves racking my body.

"Part of my role is to look after your needs-"

"You're doing a marvelous job," I say cutting him off.

"Ana," his tone is reprimanding. "You said you wanted me to stay, so here I am. And yet I find you like this." He blinks at me, truly bewildered. "I'm sure I'm responsible, but I have no idea why. Is it because I spanked you?"

I pull myself up to sit and face him, wincing from my sore behind.

"Did you take some Advil?"

I shake my head. He narrows his eyes, stands and leaves the room. Then he's back a few moments later with pills and a teacup of water.

"Take these," he orders gently as he sits on my bed beside me.

I do as I'm told under his intense graphite gaze.

"Talk to me," he whispers. "You told me you were okay. I'd never have left you if I thought you were like this."

I stare down at my hands. What can I say that I haven't said already? I want more. I want him to stay because he wants to stay with me, not because I'm a blubbering mess, and I don't want him to leave because of Leila. Is that really so unreasonable?

"I take it that when you said you were okay, you weren't."

I flush at his correct conclusion and murmur, "I thought I was fine."

"Anastasia, you can't tell me what you think I want to hear. That's not very honest," he admonishes me. "How can I trust anything you've said to me?"

I peek up at him, and he's frowning, a bleak look in his eye. He runs both hands through his unruly hair.

"How did you feel while I was spanking you?"

"Confused, I guess."

"Alright, and after?"

"I didn't like it. I'd rather you didn't do it again as a punishment."

"You weren't meant to like it."

"Why do you like it?" I stare up at him.

My question surprises him.

"You really want to know?"

"Oh, trust me, I'm fascinated." And I can't quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice this time around.

He narrows his eyes again.

"Careful," he warns.

I blanch. "Are you going to hit me again?"

"No, I am not going to spank you. Not tonight. Although I should. You put yourself in danger by leaving the damn door unlocked Anastasia! Any creep could have snuck in here and . . . they could have hurt you. I mean reallyhurt you."

His gray eyes are huge and full of fear as he speaks, and all I can do is twist my fingers together.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

"Oh, Ana," he breathes.

"So," I prompt, wondering about my earlier question.

"I like the control it gives me, Anastasia. I want you to behave in a particular way, and if you don't, I shall punish you, and you will learn to behave the way I desire. I enjoy punishing you. I've wanted to spank you since you asked me if I was gay the day I refused to acknowledge your nosy friend."

I flush at the memory. I wanted to spank myself after that question. If it hadn't been for Katherine Kavanagh and the drinks she kept handing off to me at our first dinner at the Grey's . . . she was responsible for all this. If she had asked her gay question, I never would have followed him into the hall and heard his meant-to-be-private conversation with Elena fucking Lincoln.

"So you don't like the way I am."

He stares at me, bewildered again. "I think you're lovely the way you are."

"So why are you trying to change me?"

"I don't want to change you. I'd like you to be courteous and to follow the set of rules I've given you and to not defy me. It's that simple," he says.

"But you want to punish me?"

"Yes, I do."

"That's what I don't understand."

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair again.

"It's the way I'm made, Anastasia. I need to control you. I need you to behave in a certain way, and if you don't—I love to watch your beautiful alabaster skin pink and warm up under my hands. It turns me on."

I already knew that.

"So it's not the pain you're putting me through?"

He swallows.

"A bit, to see if you can take it, but that's not the whole reason. It's the fact that you are mine to do with as I see fit—ultimate control over someone else. And it turns me on. Big time, Anastasia. Add on your wit and sass, you are perfect, Little One," he breathes and I melt at the use of his nickname for me. "Look, I'm not explaining myself very well . . . I've never had to before. I've never really thought about this in any great depth. I've always been with like-minded people. Until things became serious with Leila." He shrugs apologetically. "And you still haven't answered my question in full—how did you feel afterward? I know you said you didn't like it but how did you really feel in the moment? "

"Confused. I already said I was confused. I'm still confused."

"You were sexually aroused by it, Anastasia." He closes his eyes briefly, and when he reopens them and gazes at me, they are blazing like the ashes of a fire.

His expression pulls at my core, buried in the depths, woken and tamed by him but, even now, insatiable.

"It wasn't the punishment that turned me on, Christian. It wasn't even my own submission. It was you. Just you," I breathe.

"Don't look at me like that," he murmurs. I frown as he says, "I don't have any condoms, Anastasia, and you know, you're upset. Contrary to what some may believe, I'm not a priapic monster. So, you felt and still feel confused?"

I squirm under his intense gaze.

"You have no problem being honest with me in print. Your emails always tell me exactly how you feel. Why can't you do that in conversation? Do I intimidate you that much?"

I pick at an imaginary spot on my mother's blue-and-cream quilt. From before number three.

"You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus flying too close to the sun," I whisper. "It's like when I'm with you I'm on a spinning teacup. I just spin and spin and spin, over and over and over again. There's nowhere else to go."

He gasps and shakes his head. "Well, I think you've got that the wrong way around," he whispers.

"What?"

"Oh, Anastasia, you've bewitched me. Isn't it obvious?"

"W-What?" I ask, staring at him with my mouth hanging open.

"You've still not answered my question to satisfaction. For an English Literature graduate, I'm somewhat disappointed. Write me an email, please. As of right now, I'd really like to sleep. Can I stay, Little One?"

"Do you want to stay?" I can't hide the hope in my voice as I practically melt into a puddle of goo.

"You wanted me here."

"You haven't answered my question," I murmur playfully.

"I'll write you an email," he mutters petulantly.

Standing, he empties his jeans pockets of his keys, wallet, money, and his beloved BlackBerry. Men carry a lot of crap in their pockets. Then, he strips off his watch, shoes, socks, and jeans and places his jacket over my wicker chair. He walks around to the other side of the bed and slides in.

"Lie down," he orders.

I slip slowly under the covers, wincing as I stare at him. He's staying. He leans up on one elbow, staring down at me.

"If you are going to cry, cry in front of me. I need to know that you're okay."

"Do you want me to cry?"

"Not particularly. I just want to know how you're feeling. I don't want you slipping through my fingers," he murmurs. "Switch the light off. It's late, and we both have to work tomorrow."

He's here . . . and as bossy as ever, but I can't complain simply because, he's in my bed. I don't quite understand why . . . maybe I should cry my eyes out more often in front of him. It's surely therapeutic.I switch off the bedside lamp.

"Lie on your side, facing away from me," he murmurs in the darkness.

I roll my eyes in the full knowledge that he cannot see me, but I do as I'm told. Gingerly, he moves over and puts his arms around me and pulls me to his chest.

"Sleep, Little One," he whispers, and I feel his nose in my hair as he inhales deeply.

Holy Jesus. Christian Grey is sleeping with me.

I close my eyes and feel a smile tug at the corner of my lips and within the comfort and solace of his arms, I drift into a peaceful sleep.

A Note from the Author:

Hello Lovelies,

Just a few quick things.

One, feel free to add me on Facebook under Sara Reed and make sure to join the Facebook Group: Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more. Just copy the link into a url bar and remove the spaces: h t t p : / / m . f a c e b o o k . c o m / g r o u p s / 2 1 5 8 4 7 9 2 7 4 4 3 2 3 2 4

Two, I've come down with a cold and am trying my best to rest before focusing on more updates this week. However, a friends grandpa passed away this week and I will be spending time with her this Wednesday and Thursday. So, if you don't see an update Wednesday evening, there should be one up by Friday.

Last but not least, I promised to start recommending a FSoG FanFiction read every chapter and this time around it's . . . Fifty Shades Meander by Mobabe which can also be found on her blog. Just copy the link into a url bar and remove the spaces: h t t p : / / f i f t y s h a d e s o f g r e y a n d m o r e . w o r d p r e s s . c o m / f i f t y - s h a d e s - m e a n d e r /

This was the first Fifty Shades Of Grey fanfiction that I read after reading the trilogy the first time. I googled the trilogy and whether there was more to be found and thankfully Fifty Shades Meander introduced me to the wonderful world of Fifty Shades FanFiction!

xoxo,

Sara Jo