Reviews from Chapter 4:

daytonalay: I've always believed that Elliot is way smarter than people give him credit for. How else would he run Grey Construction? The same goes for Christian. This man knows what he's got when it comes to one Anastasia Steele. Dinner with the Grey family is sure to be fun. But first, some lemon. Thank you for the well wishes! I'm happy to report I'm feeling much better!

Diane2229: Not sure where the confusion lies, but Ana and Christian we're technically together for only one week before he married Leila. That was June of 2008. It is now May of 2011 making it nearly 3 years since they began their affair. Hope that clears things up! Thank you for the well wishes!

zeeulove: While I won't spoil the entire reason why no one interfered before he married Leila I will say this: Before his marriage to Leila, Christian lived his life just as he did before Ana in the original books. :)

Brennanite025: Elliot has a heart made of gold :) Thank you for the well wishes!

Karen Kuliszewski2: thank you very much! Ana certainly is not feeling that relationship and soon we'll get to see even more of the reasons why! Divorce? The ever-so-monogamous Christian Grey? Hmm . . . Not quite sure yet!

And one more just because I can . . . and I love that everyone hates Leila without even really seeing her!

Luvdisney2007: Previous chapter? Leila was in Seattle. But was she at Escala? I'm not sure. This time? Not at Escala. But exactly where? Only time will tell. She is part of the Sub Club after all . . . Trouble, trouble, trouble . . .

Song: Island by SVRCINA

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

The building we pull up to is tall and immaculate. I also note that it's not too far from GEH and that it's also not too far away from Escala. In other words, it's in just the right place.

After parking in the garage in one of the spaces labeled "Penthouse," we head towards a set of elevators and Christian presses the button for the lobby, taking us up.

As we exit the elevator I spot a tall, blonde, and immaculate woman at the desk, dressed in a royal-blue dress with cap sleeves. I'm reminded of the multiple blondes in Christian's office, as well as the botox-Barbie that is Mrs. Robinson.

"Mr. Grey." She greets before she shakes Christian's outstretched hand.

"Miss Kelley," Christian says, "Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice," Christian says.

"Thank you for making it worth my while, Mr. Grey. I'm sure you're going to love the penthouse of BluSteel and all of the services we offer. This must be your wife?" she asks, smiling at me.

"Actually," he says swiftly, "This is my sister-in-law, Miss Steele." She smiles, her eyes cool and assessing as Christian continues on. "Miss Steele will be welcoming some of GEH's clients in and out as they visit. It won't happen too often, but I wanted her to know a familiar face. It's likely you won't see much of them when they are here because their time will be spent at GEH, but we'll both stop in periodically."

We then shake hands, and on pure instinct, I know she's one of those women who doesn't tolerate fools. More than likely, Miss Kelley has put two and two together and knows exactly what Mr. Grey is up to with me at his side.

"Miss. Kelley, it's so nice to finally meet you, " I grin, giving her my best interview-worthy smile.

"You as well, Miss Steele. Mr. Grey is a wonderful employer, as is his brother. This building is immaculate and I'm sure you'll enjoy treating GEH's employees to our amenities." I like her immediately as she gives Christian a pointed stare, and after an awkward beat, he takes his cue.

"Yes, well, we will be upstairs," he mutters, "Miss Steele has yet to see the penthouse. Have a good evening Miss Kelley."

Then he escorts me back over to the elevator where when we enter, he enters a code into a keypad.

At my curious gaze he wraps one arm firmly around my waist, holding me against his body as if he's afraid I'll disappear.

"It's 061408 if you're wondering," he murmurs with a small smile.

"The day we-"

"Yes, Anastasia. The day I claimed you as mine."

A shiver runs down my spine as we arrive at the penthouse and the doors open into a large immaculate hallway.

"Well, Miss Steele. What do you say I give you a tour of our new hideout?"

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

After a thorough and lengthy tour of the entire penthouse, Christian leads me into the art gallery that is Christians—no, our—living room.

"What do you think?" Christian asks as he picks up a white remote from the coffee table and turns on soft music.

"Fine, thank you. I believe Ethan will especially love it when I call him to catch up."

Christian's mouth drops open in shock, and I cannot keep a straight face any longer and grin at him as I purposely widen my eyes.

"Gotcha!"

He narrows his ash gray eyes, and I immediately stop laughing at my joke. As he stands before me, glowering, I realize he looks rather forbidding. Oh, shit. All the blood drains from my face as I imagine him putting me across his knee again and I feel my eyes widen even further in worry.

"Gotcha!" he says, and smirks. He grabs me around my waist and pulls me up against him so we're chest to chest. Interesting. It appears that when it's on his terms, it's okay to touch. You are incorrigible, Miss Steele," he murmurs, staring down into my eyes as he weaves his fingers into my hair, holding me firmly in my rightful place before him. He kisses me, practically devouring me on the spot, and I cling on to his biceps for support.

"As much as I'd like to take you here and now, you need to eat and so do I." At my lustful gaze he smirks and shakes his head. "And I do mean for food, Little One. I don't want you passing out on me later," he murmurs against my lips.

"Is that all you want me for—my body?" I whisper, my voice sounding beyond aroused at the mere thought.

"That and your smart mouth," he breathes.

He kisses me once again, passionately coaxing my lips apart before he abruptly releases me, taking my hand and leading me to the kitchen. I'm baffled by his attitude today and every day really, but today . . . One minute we're joking and the next . . . He's just a walking God and I have to somehow recover my equilibrium and eat something like the mere mortal I am.

"What' music is playing?"

"'Villa Lobos,' an aria from Bachianas Brasileiras. Good, isn't it?"

"Yes," I murmur in total agreement.

The breakfast bar is laid for two, just as it was during our tour. Something Christian mentioned setting up for today.

The man who has it all has hired a special housekeeper so that he doesn't worry Mrs. Jones.

Christian takes a salad bowl from the fridge as I sit at the bar.

"Chicken caesar salad okay with you?"

Christian Grey knows me well.

"Yes, fine, thank you."

I watch as he moves gracefully through his—our—kitchen. He's so at ease with his body on one level, but then he doesn't like to be touched . . . so perhaps deep down he isn't as at ease as he first appears. Perhaps it's all a facade. No man is an island, I muse—except perhaps Christian Grey.

But then, I realize he is not the island. I'm the island. The man standing before me—fetching a bottle of wine—is the ocean.

I cannot have him the way that I crave. He simply surrounds me, engulfing me in his dominance. It's as if the closer we become, the closer I am to drowning in his presence. It's like waves crashing upon the shore in a brewing storm. Sooner or later, it's going to reach land—and when it does, it's going to drag me under.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, pulling me from my reverie and causing me to flush in embarrassment.

"I was just watching the way you move."

He raises an eyebrow, amused but seemingly unfooled.

"And?" he says dryly.

I flush some more.

"You're very graceful."

"Why, thank you, Miss Steele," he murmurs. He sits down beside me, holding a bottle of wine. "Chablis?"

"Please."

"Help yourself to salad," he says, his voice soft. "Now, care to tell me what you were thinking about so deeply?"

I stare intently at my plate as I fill it, contemplating on telling him the truth when he catches my chin and turns my face towards his.

"The truth, Anastasia. I want us to be honest with one another."

The word vomit spills unwillingly from my lips.

"I was thinking at first that you're like an island. Not letting anyone in too close. But then, " I pause and lick my lips, gauging his reaction. "Then I realized that in our situation, I'm the island. You're the ocean, pulling me in. You have the ability to completely destroy me. When this ends . . . I'll be the one damaged. Like in a tsunami."

"Ever the English Literature student," he says softly. "Oh, Ana," he murmurs. "I'll never walk away. So long as you stay." As if he's completely extinguished my fears he changes the subject by letting go of my chin. "Now, remind me—what method do you use?"

I am momentarily thrown by his question, and I shake my head, "What?"

"Birth Control."

"Well, I've currently got an IUD. I switched over not long after I was placed on the Mini pill."

He frowns.

"Did you not remember to take it regularly, at the right time, every day?"

"I was worried I would forget. I knew neither of us wanted me pregnant, so I decided on a two year IUD. I need to go have it replaced. I'll make an appointment somewhere and have it taken care of."

He waves his hand in an off-handed matter.

"I'll set you up with Dr. Greene. Problem solved."

"Isn't that Leila's doctor?" I ask, arching my brow.

"She's the best there is and I won't have you see anything less," he says simply.

"Do you not trust me?" I ask quietly.

"She's the best. Besides, with how busy you'll be interviewing, I don't want you to forget something so important."

"I'm sure you'll remind me," I murmur dryly.

He glances at me with amused condescension.

"I'll put an alarm on my calendar." He smirks. "Eat."

The Chicken Caesar salad is delicious. To my surprise, I'm famished, and for the first time since I've been with him, I finish my meal before he does. Along with the wine that is crisp, clean, and fruity.

"Eager as ever, Miss Steele?" he smiles down at my empty plate.

I look at him from beneath my lashes, the look I've perfected because it's just what he likes. Innocent, demure, Anastasia Rose Steele.

"Yes," I whisper.

His breath hitches. And as he stares down at me, the atmosphere between us slowly shifts, evolving into something catastrophic. His look goes from a dark storm to smoldering ash. Suddenly, he stands, quickly closing the distance between us before he tugs me off the barstool and into his awaiting arms.

"Do you want to do this?" he breathes, looking down at me intently.

"I haven't signed anything," I quip.

"I know—but I'm breaking all the rules these days."

"Are you going to hit me?"

"In that sense? No. Never. I'm going to spank you and perhaps use a flogger or some other instrument upon you, but it's not to hurt you. I only want to give your skin that delicate pink blush I love so much. I don't want to punish you right now. If you'd caught me after I heard about your adventure with José, well, that would have been a different story. Right now, I want you screaming out my name as I make you come around my cock over and over again."

Can I handle this? I can't hide the horror on my face but deep down, my stomach is a flutter with a million butterflies. The thing this man does to me just by talking is embarrassing.

"Don't let anyone try to convince you otherwise, baby. One of the reasons people like me do this is because we either like to give or receive pain. I'm a Dominant. Your Dominant. So, it's very simple. However, after the other night I've come to accept the fact that you, yourself don't like pain. So, I spent a great deal of time yesterday thinking about our predicament."

He pulls me against him, and his erection presses into my lower stomach. Some part—a small part—a big part—of me knows that I should run for the hills, but I can't. It's more than the moth being drawn to the flame. Instead, I'm drawn to him on some deep, elemental level that I can't even begin to understand. His soul calls to mine like kryptonite.

"Did you reach any conclusions?" I whisper, my voice hoarse with untamed need.

"No, but right now, I just want to tie you up so I can fuck you senseless. I want you wrapped around my cock like you were in that coat closet the night of my wedding, Little One. I need you, Anastasia. I need you just as you need me. Are you ready for that?"

"Yes," I breathe as every inch of my body tightens in anticipation . . . the Christian Grey effect. It's a feeling I hope never ends.

"Good. Come." He takes my hand and, leaving all the dirty dishes on the breakfast bar, we head towards what is now our Playroom.

My heart starts pounding, thundering as my blood heats. This is it. I'm really going to do this. I'm stepping into our Playroom as his Submissive. My head is spinning like a world-class ballerina, pirouette after pirouette across the dance floor. He opens the door to our playroom, standing back for me to walk through, and I am once more in an exact replica of the Red Room of Pain.

An exact replica, so that everything would be the same for the both us.

He had briefly mentioned Leila, worried that if he found himself back in the room with her, he would forget where something was if we changed anything at all. I had only agreed because really, that's all I could do.

It's the same. The smell of leather, citrus-scented polish, and the dark wood, a full-on sensual experience. My blood is heated—adrenaline mixed with lust and longing. It's a heady and potent cocktail to indulge in around my Dominant.

My Dominant . . . Christian's stance has changed completely, subtly altered, harder and crueler than I'm used to. He gazes down at me and his eyes are molten—heated, lustful . . . hypnotic. Mine.

"When you're in here, you are completely mine," he breathes, each word slow and measured. "To do with as I see fit. Do you understand?"

His gaze is so intense that I practically melt beneath it. I nod, my mouth dry, my heart feeling as if it will combust as he keeps his eyes on mine.

"Take your shoes off," he orders softly.

I swallow, and rather clumsily,—the complete opposite of the poise I take pride in—I take them off. He bends and picks them up with grace and deposits them beside the door with a small smile.

"Good. I do not want you to hesitate when I ask you to do something. Now, I'm going to peel you out of this dress. Something I've wanted to do for quite some time, Little One.

Three years, and you still attempt to hide from me. I want you to be comfortable with your body, Anastasia. You have a beautiful body, and I like to look at it. It is a joy to behold. In fact, I could gaze at you all day. Any man would be so lucky. Fortunately you belong to me. So from now on, I want you unembarrassed and unashamed of your nudity. Do you understand?"

"I—I—"

With two fingers he grips my chin, placing a swift but gentle kiss upon my lips.

"You have a beautiful body, Anastasia. You deserve to be admired and sculpted. But I'm a very selfish man and you are mine and mine alone. Now, I will tell you one more time. Whether you are before me or alone, I want you unembarrassed and unashamed of your nudity. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" He leans over me, glaring.

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you mean that?" he snarls.

"Yes, Sir," I say breathlessly, feeling his words in the depths of my soul.

"Good. Now, lift your arms up over your head," he croons.

I do as instructed, and he reaches down and grabs the hem of the plum dress he so adores. Slowly, he pulls my dress up over my pale thighs, the slight curve of my hips, my flat abdomen, my breasts, my shoulders, and up over my head. He stands back to examine me and absentmindedly folds my dress, not taking his eyes off of me for one moment until he places it on the large chest beside the door. Reaching up, he pulls at my chin, his touch searing me like a hot iron.

"You're biting your lip," he breathes. "You know what that does to me, Little One," he adds darkly. "Turn around."

I turn immediately, with no hesitation on my part. He unclasps my bra and then, taking both straps, he slowly pulls it down my arms. As he slides my bra off he brushes my skin with the tips of his nails, eliciting shivers down my spine and waking every nerve in my body. His body heat radiates off his skin, warming every inch of my skin as he stands behind me.

With ease, he pulls my hair so that it's all hanging down my back, tickling my already over-sensitized and heated skin.

With experienced fingers he grasps a handful of my hair at the nape of my neck, and angles my head to one side. Then he runs his nose down my exposed neck, tickling my skin as he inhales all the way, then back up to my ear, where he gently nips at my earlobe. At the delicate touch, my muscles clench, he's hardly touched me, but I want every inch of him as he belongs to me and I to him.

"You smell as divine as ever, Anastasia," he whispers as he places a soft kiss beneath my ear, his heated breath sending a shiver down my spine.

I moan from the delicious sensation but just as quickly he scolds me.

"Quiet," he breathes. "Don't make a sound."

Pulling my hair behind me, as he often does, he starts braiding it in one large braid, his fingers fast and deft as he works. He ties it with an unseen hair tie when he's finished and gives it a quick tug so I'm forced back against him. Skin to skin.

"I like your hair braided in here," he whispers.

Here I had thought he always liked my hair braided.

He quickly releases my hair and I feel him take a step back.

"Turn around," he orders.

I do as I'm told, my breathing shallow, fear and longing creating an intoxicating mix.

"When I tell you to come in here, this is how you will dress. Just in your panties and nothing else. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" He glowers at me.

"Yes, Sir."

A trace of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth.

"Good girl." His eyes burn into mine. "When I tell you to come in here, I expect you to kneel over there." He points to a spot on the ground right beside the door. "Do it now."

I blink, processing his words, then turn and rather clumsily kneel as directed, before remembering a previous order to sit back on my heels. Out of habit, I sit back.

"Good girl, Anastasia. Now, like always, place your hands and forearms flat on your thighs. Good. Now part your knees. Wider. Wider. Perfect. Look down at the floor."

He walks over to me, and I can see his feet and shins in my field of vision. When did he take off his shoes? He reaches down and grasps my braid again, then pulls my head back so I am looking up at him. It's only just not painful and I relish in the exquisite feeling of being his.

"Will you remember this position from now on, Anastasia?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Stay here, don't move."

Then, just like that, he's gone.

I'm on my knees, waiting and waiting for him to return. Briefly, I wonder where he's gone off to. Time shifts. I have no idea just how long he leaves me like this. At first it seems to be a few minutes, maybe five or ten? Then it seems to become never ending . . . fifteen, twenty . . . My breathing becomes shallow as the anticipation begins to devour me from the inside out.

And suddenly he's back—and all at once I'm calm and possibly more excited than I've ever been before. Opening my eyes, I can see his feet as I kneel. He's changed his jeans into a pair I've never seen before. These are older, ripped, soft, and over-washed. Holy shit. Why does a pair of jeans have to make him look so hot? It's simply not fair that a man so delectable can simply breathe and become even better looking.He shifts and shuts the door before he hangs something on the back.

"Good girl, Anastasia. You look absolutely stunning like that. Well done. Stand up."

I stand, keeping my face down.

"You may look at me."

I peek up at him, and he's staring at me intently, assessing my every move, but his molten eyes soften as they meet mine. I take note that he's taken off his shirt. Something he only does when he's going to restrain my hands. Then I notice that the top button of his jeans is undone, showing that underneath the jeans he's completely bare of clothing.

"I'm going to chain you now, Anastasia. Give me your right hand."

I give him my hand and he turns it palm up, and before I know it, he swats the center with a riding crop I hadn't noticed in his right hand. It happens so quickly that the surprise hardly registers. Even more astonishing—it doesn't hurt. The only after effect is just a slight ringing sting. Like the bite of a bee.

"How does that feel?" he asks.

I blink at him, confused and furrow my brow.

"Answer me."

"Okay." I frown.

"Don't frown."

I blink and try to look impassive.

"Did that hurt?"

"No," I blush.

"This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I murmur, feeling uncertain at his reassurance.

"I mean it," he says.

My breathing is shallow, and as if knowing exactly what I'm thinking he lifts his right hand and he shows me the crop. Brown plaited leather. My eyes jerk up to meet his, and they're alight with intense fire and a trace of amusement to go along with his devil-may-care grin.

"We aim to please, Miss Steele," he murmurs. "Come, Little One." He takes my elbow and moves me so I'm standing beneath the grid. He reaches up and takes down some shackles with black leather cuffs.

"As we've discussed, this grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid."

I glance up to see that it's much like a subway map.

"We're going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we'll end up on the wall over there." He points with the riding crop to where the large wooden X is on the wall.

"Put your hands above your head."

I oblige immediately, feeling for a moment like I'm just a casual observer of events as they unfold around me. Every moment in this room—in his presence—is beyond fascinating, beyond erotic. It's the scariest and most enthralling thing I've ever done next to giving myself to the man before me. I gave myself to him like a gift and like I did then, I'm entrusting myself to a beautiful man who, by his own admission, is fifty shades of fucked up. I suppress the brief thrill of fear, knowing in my heart Christian would never purposely harm me. If anything, he does everything in his power to make sure I never hurt a hair on my head.

He stands as close as possible as he fastens the cuffs so I'm staring straight at his chest. Today, he smells of body wash and Christian, an inebriating mix, that drags me back into the moment. I very much want to run my nose along his chest like in bed the other morning. If only I could lean forward . . . it would be worth the spanking, I think.

He steps back and gazes at me, his expression hooded and carnal as I am helpless, my hands tied above my head and useless. But just by looking at his lovely face, reading his need and longing for me, for my body, I can feel the dampness pool between my legs. Slowly, he walks around me.

"You look mighty fine trussed up like this, Miss Steele. And your smart mouth quiet for now. I quite like that."

Standing in front of me again, he hooks his fingers into the lace of my panties and, peels them down my legs, stripping them from me slowly, agonizingly so, so that he ends up kneeling in front of me. Not taking his steel gray eyes off of mine, he scrunches my lace panties up in his hand, holds them up to his nose, and inhales deeply. Holy fuck. It doesn't matter how many times he does it, it has the same effect each time. He grins wickedly at me and tucks them into the pocket of his jeans.

Uncoiling himself from the floor, rising with ease, he points the end of the riding crop at my navel, leisurely circling it against the soft snow-white skin—tantalizingly teasing me. At the soft touch of the leather, I quiver and gasp. So he walks around me again, trailing the crop around the middle of my unmarked body. On his second circuit, he suddenly flicks the crop, and it hits me underneath my behind . . . right up against my wet sex. I cry out in surprise as all my nerve endings stand to attention and I pull against the leather restraints. The sting of the crop runs through me, and it's the sweetest, strangest, hedonistic feeling.

I am his.

"Quiet," he whispers as he walks around me again, the crop slightly higher around the middle of my body. This time when he flicks it against me in the same place, I'm anticipating the bite. My body convulses at the sweet, sting and the only sound I make is that of a small gasp of pleasure.

As he makes his way around me, he flicks it again, this time hitting my hardened nipple, and I throw my head back as my nerve endings sing. He hits the other . . . a brief, swift, sweet chastisement. My nipples harden further and elongate from the sweet assault, and I moan loudly, pulling on my leather cuffs with renewed interest.

"Does that feel good?" he breathes.

"Yes."

He hits me again across my bottom and this time around, the crop stings with intent.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Sir," I whimper.

He comes to a stop in front of me, but I can no longer see him. I keep my eyes are closed as I try to absorb the myriad of sensations coursing through every nerve in my wanting body. Ever so slowly, he rains small, biting licks of the crop down my belly, heading south. I know where this is leading, and I try to psyche myself up for it—but when he hits my clitoris, I can't help but cry out loudly.

"Oh . . . please!" I groan and all but beg.

"Quiet," he orders, and he hits me again on my behind.

Even after all of our time together, I did not expect it to be like this . . . I am utterly and completely lost. Lost as the island in a sea of sensation and Christian. And suddenly, he's dragging the crop against my sex, over my smoothed mound, down through my folds.

"See how wet you are for this, Anastasia? Open your eyes and your mouth."

I do as I'm told, completely seduced by his voice. He pushes the tip of the crop into my mouth, just like my dream. Holy fuck

"See how good you taste. See why I love your sweet little cunt so much. Suck. Suck hard, baby."

My mouth closes around the crop as my eyes lock with his. I can taste the rich leather and the saltiness of my arousal and as I hum with pleasure, his eyes are blazing. Christian Grey is in his element.

I am his.

He pulls the tip from my mouth and stands forward so he can grab me before kissing me hard, his tongue invading my mouth. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls my body against his. His chest crushes mine, and I itch to touch him, but I can't, because my hands hang uselessly above me. Right where he wants them. Right where they belong.

"Oh, Anastasia, you taste mighty fine," he breathes. "Shall I make you come?"

"Please," I beg.

The crop bites just one of my cheeks.

"Please, what?"

"Please, Sir," I whimper.

He smiles at me, triumphant with pleasure and pure domination. He knows that he can control every move my body makes.

"With this?" He holds the crop up so I can see it.

"Yes, Sir."

"Are you sure?" He looks sternly at me.

"Yes, please, Sir," I beg him desperately.

Grinning like a fool he says, "Close your eyes."

I shut the red room out, him out . . . the crop out. He starts small, biting licks of the soft leather crop against my abdomen once more. Moving down, he leaves soft small licks against my swollen bud, once, twice, three times, again and again, until finally, I arrive at the tipping point—I can take no more—and I come, gloriously, loudly, sagging weakly against his hard body.

His strong arms curl around me as my legs turn to jelly from his ministrations. I dissolve into a puddle in his embrace, my head against his chest, and I'm mewling and whimpering as the aftershocks of my orgasm consume me—mind, body, and soul. He lifts me, and then suddenly we're moving, my arms still tethered above my head.

I am his.

As soon as I can feel the cool wood of the polished cross at my back, he's sliding down the zipper on his jeans. He puts me down against the cross briefly while he dutifully slides on a condom, and then his hands wrap around my thighs as he lifts me against his body once again.

"Lift your legs, baby, wrap them around me," He orders gruffly.

I feel weak, but I do as he asks as he wraps my legs around his hips and positions himself beneath me. With one thrust, he's inside me, and I cry out again, listening to his muffled moan at my ear and all of his dirty, shameful words. My arms are resting on his shoulders as he thrusts into me and it's deeper than ever before. He thrusts again and again, his face at my neck, his harsh breathing at my throat as he mutters the words that set me off. But I can't think, I can't even hear as I feel my body tense again as I come upon the brink . . . not again . . . I don't think my body can withstand another.

My body betrays me and suddenly I have no choice. With an inevitability that's all too familiar, I let go and come again, and it's sweet and agonizingly intense. As I lose all sense of self, Christian follows, shouting his release through clenched teeth and holding me hard and close as he does, leaving marks upon my skin.

Then, he pulls out of me swiftly and sets me down against the cross, his body supporting mine. Unbuckling the cuffs with swift efficiency, he frees my hands, and we both sink to the floor.

Pulling me into his lap, he cradles me, and I lean my head against his chest. If I had the strength, I'd beg to touch him, but in the moment, I don't. As I shift in his lap, I belatedly realize he's still wearing his jeans.

"Well done, baby," he murmurs. "Did that hurt?"

"No," I breathe. I can barely keep my eyes open. Why am I so tired? It's normal for Christian and I to spend hours upon hours in bed when given the chance. Why am I already spent?

"Did you expect it to?" he whispers as he holds me close, his fingers pushing some escaped tendrils of hair off my face.

"Yes."

"You see, most of your fear is in your head, Anastasia." He pauses. "Would you do it again?"

I think for a moment as fatigue clouds my brain . . . Again? Now?

"Yes." My voice is a soft hum.

He hugs me tightly.

"Good. So would I," he murmurs, then leans down and softly kisses the top of my head.

I am his.

"And I haven't finished with you yet."

Not finished with me yet. Holy fuck. There's no way I can do anymore.I am utterly spent and fighting an overwhelming desire to fall asleep right where I am. I'm leaning against his chest, my eyes are closed, and he's wrapped around me—arms and legs cocooned—and I feel . . . safe—for the first time since I was a young teenager—and oh so comfortable. Will he let me sleep, perchance to dream in his arms? Just for a moment?My mouth quirks up at the silly thought, and turning my face into Christian's chest, I inhale his unique scent and nuzzle him, but immediately he tenses . . . oh shit. Hesitantly, I open my eyes and glance up at him to find that he's staring down at me with a look of mirth.

"Don't," he breathes in warning.

I flush and look back at his chest in longing. I very much want to kiss him and for the hundredth time, I take notice of the random and faint small, round scars dotted around his chest. Chicken pox? Measles? Elena fucking Lincoln? I think absently.

"Kneel by the door," he orders as he sits back, putting his hands on his knees, effectively releasing me from his embrace. No longer warm and welcoming, the temperature of his voice has dropped several degrees. Pure Dominant Christian is back in the room.

I stumble clumsily up into a standing position and scoot over to the door and kneel as instructed. His sudden mood swing has me shaking and on top of the exhaustion, I'm monumentally confused. In such a short amount of time, I found gratification in this room. However, I never could have prepared myself for just how exhausting it all would be. My limbs feel heavy, but I am deliciously sated in ways I would have previously thought impossible.

Christian is moving about in the periphery of my vision and as I wait, my eyes begin to droop.

"Boring you, am I, Miss Steele?"

I jump awake at the sound of his dry tone and find Christian standing in front of me, his arms crossed, as he glares down at me. Oh, shit. I've been caught napping—this is not going to be good. His eyes soften as I gaze up at him.

"Stand up," he orders.

I climb wearily to my feet as he continues to stare at me, then his mouth quirks up.

"You're shattered, aren't you?"

I nod shyly, flushing under his intense scrutiny.

"Stamina, Miss Steele." He narrows his eyes at me. "I haven't had my fill of you yet. Hold out your hands in front as if you're praying."

I blink at him. Praying for you to go easy on me. I withhold my sass and do as I'm told. He takes a cable tie and fastens it around my wrists, tightening the plastic. Holy hell. My eyes fly to his.

"Look familiar?" he asks, unable to conceal his smile.

The plastic cable ties. Restocking at Clayton's all that time ago . . . Specifically, two weeks before I made my move during his Bachelor party. He had made a surprise visit to Clayton's and he had purchased a few items that at the time, had no meaning to me at all. It all becomes clear. I stare up at him as adrenaline courses through my body. Okay—this has got my attention—I'm awake now.

"I have scissors here." He holds them up for me to see. "I can cut you out of this in a moment."

I try to pull my wrists apart, testing my bonds, and as I do, the plastic bites into my flesh. It's sore, but if I relax my wrists they're fine—the tie is not cutting into my skin.

"Come." He takes my hands and leads me over to the four-poster bed. I notice now that it has dark red sheets on it and a shackle at each corner, unlike the bed in the Red Room of Pain at Escala. He's made a slight change just for me.

He leans down and whispers in my ear, "I want more, Little One—much, much more." My heart starts pounding again at the sound of his words. "But I'll make this quick. You're tired. Hold on to the post," he says.

I frown in disappointment, wishing we were going to lay on the now soft looking bed as I find I can part my hands as I grasp the ornately carved wooden post.

"Lower," he orders. "Good. Don't let go. If you do, I'll spank your delectable Little ass. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good girl."

He stands behind me and grasps my hips, and then quickly lifts me backward so I'm bending forward as I hold the post.

"Don't let go, Anastasia," he warns. "I'm going to fuck you hard from behind. Hold the post to support your weight. Understand?"

"Yes," I quip.

He smacks me across my behind with his hand and I relish the sharp sting.

"Yes, Sir," I add cheekily.

"Part your legs." He puts his leg between mine, and holding my hips, he pushes my right leg to the side. "That's better. After this, I'll let you sleep."

Sleep? I'm practically salivating. I'm definitely not thinking of sleep now. In fact, it's the furthest thing from my mind.

He reaches up and gently strokes my back.

"You have such beautiful, delicate skin, Anastasia," he breathes as he bends down and kisses me along my spine, gentle featherlight kisses. At the same time, his hands move around to my front, palming my breasts, and as he does, he traps my nipples between his fingers and tugs on them gently.

I stifle my moan as I feel my whole body respond, coming alive for him once more as I arch my back in pleasure under his ministrations.

He gently bites and sucks at the skin around my hipbones as he tugs at my hardened nipples, causing my hands to involuntarily tighten on the exquisitely carved post. Suddenly, his hands disappear from my skin, and I hear the familiar tear of foil, as he kicks off his jeans.

"You have such a captivating, sexy little ass, Anastasia Steele. What I'd like to do to it." His hands smooth and hold each of my cheeks, then his fingers glide down, and he slips two fingers inside of me.

"Such a wet, tight little pussy. You never disappoint, Miss Steele," he whispers, and I hear the wonder in his voice. "Hold tight . . . this is going to be quick, baby."

He grabs my hips and positions himself, as I brace myself against the post. Then he reaches over me and grabs my braid near the end and winds it around his wrist to the nape of my neck, holding my head in place. Very slowly he eases into me, pulling my hair at the same time . . . and he leaves me feeling so full. He eases out of me slowly, and his other hand grabs my hip, holding tight, before he again slams into me, jolting me forward and into the bed.

"Hold on, Anastasia!" he shouts through clenched teeth.

I grip the post harder and push back against him as he continues his merciless onslaught, again and again, his fingers digging into the skin of my hip, bruising the delicate skin. My arms ache, my legs feel like jello, my scalp is tingling from the way he's tugging my hair . . . and it's all leading to a delicious pull deep inside me. For the first time ever, I fear my orgasm because I know that if I come . . . I'll collapse.

Christian continues to move roughly against me, in me, his breathing harsh.

"Your tight little cunt feels so damn good," he moans as he thrusts. My body tenses up and suddenly, Christian stills, slamming into me as deep as he can go.

I am his.

"Come on, Ana, give it to me," he groans, and my name on his lips sends me spiraling over the edge as my body is overcome by the sensation of my sweet, sweet release, and then I'm completely and utterly mindless.

I. Am. His.

When sense returns, I'm lying on him. Somehow he's lowered us to the floor, and I'm lying on top of him, my back to his front, and I'm staring at the ceiling, all postcoital, glowing and utterly and completely shattered. Oh . . . the carabiners,I think absently—I'd forgotten about those. I wonder if her could plan a whole weekend away of put them to use? Christian nuzzles my ear.

"Hold up your hands," he says softly.

My arms feel like they're made of lead, but I hold them up as his wish is my command. He wields the scissors and passes one blade under the plastic.

"I declare this Ana open," he breathes and cuts the plastic.

I giggle and rub my wrists as they're freed and I feel his grin against my skin as he takes over the job.

"That is such a lovely sound," he says wistfully. He sits up suddenly, taking me with him so that I'm once more sitting in his lap. "That's my fault," he says and shifts me so that he can rub my shoulders and arms. Gently he begins to massage some of the life back into my limbs.

Huh?

I glance up at him behind me, trying to understand what he means.

"That you don't giggle more often."

"I'm not a great giggler," I mumble sleepily.

"Oh, but when it happens, Miss Steele, 'tis a wonder and joy to behold."

"Very flowery, Mr. Grey," I mutter, trying to keep my eyes open.

His eyes soften to a foggy gray, and he smiles.

"I'd say you're thoroughly fucked and in need of sleep."

"That wasn't flowery at all," I grumble playfully.

He grins and gently lifts me off him and stands, gloriously naked. I wish momentarily that I were more awake to really appreciate him. Picking up his jeans, he slides them back on, commando.

"Don't want to frighten the new security," he mutters.

Hmm . . . I wonder if they know what a kinky bastard he is

He leans down to help me to my feet and leads me to the door, on the back of which hangs a gray waffle robe. He patiently dresses me as if I'm a small child as I don't have the strength to lift my arms. When I'm covered and respectable, he leans down and kisses me gently, his mouth quirks up in a smile.

"Bed," he says.

Oh . . . no . . .

At my alarmed expression, he chuckles deeply.

"For sleep," he adds reassuringly. "Although, I am pleased that your mind is as dirty as mine," he hums.

Suddenly, he scoops me up and carries me curled against his chest to the room down the corridor where earlier today he had shown me what is technically our bedroom. No sub room for Anastasia Rose Steele. No office couch, either.My head drops against his chest. I am exhausted and I can't seem to remember ever being this tired. Pulling back the duvet, he lays me down and, even more surprisingly, climbs in beside me and holds me close.

"Sleep now, gorgeous girl," he whispers, and he kisses my hair.

And before I can make a scathing comment, I'm sound asleep.

A Note from the Author:

Hello Lovelies,

Thank you all for the kind messages and reviews of praise and well wishes. I'm not 100% but I'm feeling much better!

Feel free to friend me on Facebook under Sara Reed or join the 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

Recommended FanFiction: Falling Undercover by Steele.Hearts33

This one is a must read before it's pulled for publishing!

xoxo,

Sara Jo