Reviews from Chapter 6:
daytonalay: While Christian may almost seem compliant to Leila's schematic ways, remember this: Christian Grey is the Master of his Universe.
Guest: The outline of FSOG is a fantastic one and for the beginning of this story it's needed to remain true to itself. After this first book is done with, things will change dramatically as Christian and Ana discover more about their relationship and themselves. As for Ana's family, Ray will redeem himself later on. However, that's down the road because as of now, he works better in the background. When it comes to Carla . . . well she doesn't get any better. I've chosen to show just how selfish the woman can be after what we were originally introduced too by EL James.
Luvdisney2007: No Leila POVs in the foreseeable future, but . . . (for those reading these replies) . . . there may or may not be a Christian POV in a couple of chapters. Soon you'll all see . . . Christian's Little One is no side piece. She's the piece ;)
motherbeatrice: This Leila is unfortunately just as selfish as her dear old mother.
zeeulove: Our dear Dom has a few tricks up his sleeves. After all, he is the Master of his Universe . . .
Songs:
Girls Like You by Maroon 5
and
Something's Gotta Give by Camila Cabello
P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
Christian bursts through the over-sized wooden door of the boathouse and stops as Elliot flicks on the light switches. Fluorescents ping and buzz in perfect sequence as harsh white light floods the large wooden building. From my upside-down view, I can see the Grey's boat in the dock floating gently in the dark water, but I only get a brief look before he's carrying me up the wooden stairs to the room above.
He pauses at the doorway and flicks on another switch—halogens, this time, that are much softer on the eyes as if they're on a dimmer—and we're in a room I've never seen with sloped ceilings. The attic has a nautical New England theme: sharp navy blues and light creams with dashes of stark red. What surprises me is the fact that the furnisher is sparse—two couches and a basic coffee table make up the room.
Christian sets me on my feet but I don't even get a chance to examine my surroundings—my eyes are on him. I'm simply mesmerized . . . the man stalks from one side of the room to the other as if he's about to strike. His breathing is harsh as he walks the room like a predacious jaguar, but then of course, he's just carried me across the vast lawn and up the stairs to this very room. As he looks up from the floor I find that his usual storm gray eyes are ablaze with rage and pure unadulterated lust that is directed towards me.
The Dominant is present but my inner submissive is nowhere in sight.
"Please don't hit me," I whisper, pleading with his inner surface dominant. His brow furrows, his eyes widening at my words before he slowly blinks twice. So I take my chance, and plead again, "I don't want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don't."
His mouth falls open in surprise—and feeling beyond brave—I tentatively reach up and run my fingers down his cheek, over the edge of his jaw, and then along the slight stubble on his chin. It's a curious mixture that's equal parts soft and gruff.
Ever so slowly, I watch as Christian closes his eyes and leans his face into my touch. When his breath hitches in his throat, I tentatively reach up with my other hand and run my fingers through his hair. His soft moan of appreciation is barely audible, and when his eyes flash open he's staring at me warily—almost as if he doesn't understand what I'm doing or what he's feeling.
"Well, that's an eye opener. Leila not into the kinky shit?"
Elliot's sudden presence behind me is like a bucket of ice being dumped over my head.
"Elliot," Christian says tensely, "What the fuck do you want?"
"I want to know why throughout the duration of dinner, you're paying more attention to your mistress than to your wife."
"Don't call her that," Christian growls.
Elliot's eyebrows shoot up into the hair that falls across his forehead.
"Ana or Leila?"
"Will you stop?" Christian all but growls. "You said you weren't going to say anything. Now you're acting as if you're ready to pull the rug out from under us at any moment."
"I already told you I wouldn't do that to Ana Banana."
"But you're willing to do it to your own brother?"
Elliot frowns and places his hands on his hips as he studies us together.
"No, I guess I'm just confused. I realized a while ago how closed off Leila was. I mentioned it to Kate too, but she said it was all in my head. She claimed that Leila had talked about how great your sex life was but I have to wonder just how true that is. She's on her sixth glass of wine, so I'm guessing that's not a thing that's going to happen tonight."
I close my eyes at his words and feel my body tense under Christian's firm touch.
"Elliot!" he snaps.
"It's okay," I say gently, opening my eyes and letting out a deep breath of pent up frustration. "She's your wife. I know it happens. I've had to hear about it too."
Staring at me with his molten gray eyes, Christian adamantly shakes his head.
"She's lying."
"Christian, she's your wife. I know you're sleeping with her. I've known the truth from the moment that I crawled into your bed. It was my choice. It's my own fault-"
"No, Anastasia. What I mean to say is, she's lying about us sleeping together," he says softly as he takes hold of one of my hands. "Leila and I had a fight about her birth control shortly after our first anniversary. I haven't slept with Leila in over a year."
"Are you telling us that you didn't sleep with her on your anniversary?" Elliot asks sounding dumbfounded.
Christian looks embarrassed as he runs his hand through his copper hair.
"I sent her to the spa while we were on the island and I stayed holed up in the bungalow, working and emailing Ana the whole duration time. She was drunk for the majority of the trip anyway. It wouldn't have mattered."
"So why did you fight about her birth control then?" Elliot asks bravely.
"That was our first anniversary. She wanted to start a family. I said no. That was the end of the discussion."
"You didn't talk about that before you married her?"
"Leila has always said she didn't want children. Christian wouldn't have thought different," I murmur. So why did she change her mind?"
"I don't know," Christian sighs, "But I'll admit it's made things easier. Not sleeping with her . . . I don't want a family with her."
"But she evidently wasn't that great of a lay, if you're sleeping with Ana," Elliot says pointedly.
Christian clears his throat, "Leila decided the lifestyle we were leading wasn't for her anymore. I'm not sure why and truthfully, I couldn't be bothered enough to even ask. It happened about two and a half months after our wedding. At that point, Ana and I had already been sleeping together for about three months."
"Wait a minute, " Elliot frowns. "You haven't had sex with Leila since before your first anniversary?"
"That would be correct. In fact, after our honeymoon I can count the number of times I've had sex with her on one hand. After our first anniversary, the contact I did have with her—was strictly oral. However, that ended before our second anniversary. Like I said, I haven't slept with Leila in over a year.
Now that's enough questions for tonight. You can interrogate me some other time, Lelliot. Right now, I want ten minutes with Ana and you're going to keep an eye out for Mia, your little girlfriend, and Leila. Got it?"
Stubbornly, Elliot nods and teasingly salutes us before he heads down the stairs and out the door, firmly shutting it behind him.
The moment we're finally alone, I reach up and run my fingers through Christian's hair again. Stepping forward so I am right up against his body, I gently pull on his hair, bringing his mouth down to meet mine. As I kiss him, I tease my tongue along his lips, and his appreciative moan is all I need before slipping my tongue into his awaiting mouth. When his arms embrace me, pulling me to him, he lets his hands find their way into my hair, before he turns the kiss turns hard. Our tongues twist and turn in a possessive duel as we consume one another.
When he suddenly pulls back, our collective breathing is ragged. The moment my hands drop to his arms, he glares down at me.
"What are you doing to me?" he whispers, seemingly confused.
"Kissing you," I frown.
"You said no."
"What?"
"At the dinner table, with your legs."
"But we were at your parents' dining table." I stare up at him, completely bewildered by his thought process. "And not only that, but you were sitting between me and my sister who is—in case you've forgotten, your wife."
"I haven't forgotten. The woman is a daily thorn in my side," he momentarily scowls and then his brow furrows. "No one's ever said no to me like that before and for some reason, it's so—hot."
His eyes—filled with both wonder and lust—widen at the sound of his own words. It's a substantial blend that causes me to swallow instinctively as the air around us crackles with electricity. He uses one hand to the curve of my behind and pulls me up against his hardened front.
I lick my suddenly dry lips and stare at him in astonishment.
"Y-You're mad and turned on because I said no?" I stutter.
"That's not it," he breathes. "I'm mad because you never once mentioned going to Texas. I'm mad because you went out drinking with that fucking piece of scum who tried to seduce you when you were drunk, and who would have left you on the street if I hadn't come along. What kind of friend does that? What kind of man does that? But most of all, I'm mad because I can't touch you when I want to touch you all because of her. My. Stupid. Fucking. Wife!" he snarls.
His eyes glitter dangerously and his hand begins to snake up my thigh, slowing inching up the hem of my dress.
"And I'm mad and beyond aroused because you closed your legs on me," he rasps.
"I want you, and I want you now. So if you're not going to let me spank you—which you deserve—I'm going to fuck you on the couch, right this minute. It's going to be quick and solely for my pleasure, not yours."
My dress is just barely brushing the skin of my naked behind when he moves swiftly, so that his hand is cupping my sex. Then, slowly but skillfully, he sinks one of his fingers into me. He then masterfully uses his other arm—winding it around my waist—to hold me firmly in place, and despite my mouth falling open, I suppress my more-than-satisfied moan.
"This is mine" he whispers aggressively. "All mine. Do you understand, Little One?" He eases his finger in and out of my eager pussy as he gazes down at me, gauging my reaction, his eyes burning like ash amongst the embers of my perennial vision.
"Yes, yours," I breathe as my searing desire surges through my veins. My nerve endings feel as if they're being lit ablaze and my breathing feels erratic . My heart is pounding, almost as if it's trying to escape my chest, the blood beating like a drum in my ears.
Abruptly, he moves, doing several things at once with perfectioned ease. He withdraws his fingers, leaving me a deprived puddle of need as he undoes his pants, all the while he uses his knee to spread my legs apart and to push me down onto the couch before he pins me with his chest so that he's lying on top of me.
"Hands on your head," he commands through gritted teeth as he moves to kneel, forcing my legs further apart as he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. He takes out the foil packet, gazing down at me, his expression as dark as the nighttime sky, before shrugging his jacket off so that it falls to the floor. Then he proceeds to tear the packet open before he rolls the condom down over his impressive length.
I place my hands on my head just as he's asked, and despite knowing it's so that I won't touch him in his no-zone, I'm beyond turned on. The way he makes me feel is simply metaphysical.
I feel my hips moving up to meet his—wanting him, needing him deep inside my aching pussy—rough and hard just the way we crave for it to be. The anticipation is pure agony.
"We don't have long. This will be quick, and it's for me, not for you. Do you understand, Little One? Don't come, or I will have to spank you," he says through clenched teeth.
I nod my understanding, not really understanding at all. The way our bodies become one—it will be nearly impossible to stop.
With one swift thrust, he's buried deep inside me. The full sensation of his possession sends my heart into overdrive as I let out a guttural moan.
With his legs pinning me to the couch he takes his hands and places them on mine, right on top of my head. As he uses his elbows to hold my arms out and to pin them down against the fabric of the couch, I revel in the fact that I am trapped under the one and only delectable Christian Grey.
The man is everywhere all at once, overwhelming my senses with his hot panting breath against the skin of my neck. The only thing that could make the sensation better would be to have his hand wrapped around the base of my throat.
"Christian, " I plead.
He keeps his pace, moving rapidly inside of me almost as if he needs to keep with his furious pace.
"Sir," I rasp.
His molten eyes pierce mine and he lets out a groan before he speaks.
"What is it, Little One?" His voice is thick with lust as it fans my face, and my body responds, melting into his as I make out my final plea.
"Hands, please!"
He practically snarls as he moves one arm and brings his hand down and around the base of my throat, pressing down lightly.
The sensation is just what I crave and the way his eyes dilate and darken to a shadow, show me my request does to him. It's sinfully heaven, because this is what I too, do to him, and it brings me a sense of victory as I come close to falling over the edge.
I musn't come. No. I'm not allowed to come
Yet I continue, meeting him thrust for thrust as his hand persistently closes in, his thumb in the hallow of my throat. It's the perfect counterpoint, but as I feel his cock hit my cervix, I find it increasingly difficult to control the urging need my body is demanding of me.
Instantaneously, he thrusts into me and stills as his cock pulses twice and he finds his release, his warm breath fanning across my sensitized skin as he fills me. Just for a moment, he relaxes against me so that I can feel the entirety of his weight on top of me.
I shift my hips, longing for relief as I'm not ready to let him go. In that moment, I find that I can't bring myself to fight against the pressure of his weight, or—at last—my inner submissive.
He withdraws abruptly and pulls his band from my neck, leaving my body aching for more as he glares down at me.
"You are not to touch yourself. I want you frustrated for my touch. This is to be a reminder of what you do to me by refusing to talk to me, by denying me what is mine. Do you understand?"
I nod, panting at the sound of his gruff voice as he removes the condom, knotting it at the end before he shoves it into the pocket of his pants.
I gaze up at him, feeling dazed as I try to control my erratic breathing. Involuntarily I brush my fingers along the base of my throat and squeeze my thighs together, quietly whimpering as I feel my slick lips push together, bringing a delicious throb to my swollen clit.
The stinging sensation of a slap to my thigh has me quietly sobbing as my attempt to find relief is brought to an end.
"None of that," he orders sternly.
I watch as Christian does up his pants and runs his hands through his unruly hair before he reaches down to collect his jacket. When he turns back to gaze down at me, his expression grows softer.
"You did so well, Little One, " he croons as he runs the tip of his thumb over my stubborn pout. "We'd better get back to the house."
I sit up, a little unsteadily, feeling dazed at the idea facing everybody after what's just occurred.
"Here. You may have these back to put on."
From the inside pocket of his jacket, he produces my pale blue lace panties.
I keep my expression stoic as I take the scrap of fabric from him. Sure, if I was to ask he'd tell me I'm receiving them back because I've taken a punishment fuck, but deep down I know—he's giving them to me because he knows that I need the security they provide. It's my reward for being his Submissive and his Little One despite knowing that we likely won't see one another for at least a week after tonight.
"Christian!" Elliot shouts from the floor below. "Here comes Mia!"
He turns and raises his eyebrows at me. "Just in time. Christ, they can be really irritating."
I smirk back at him as I hastily restore my panties to their rightful place. Then, I stand with as much dignity as I can muster in my just-fucked state before I make a haphazard attempt to smooth my sex hair.
"Up here, Mia," he calls down. "Well, Miss Steele, I feel better after that—but I still want to spank you," he says softly.
"I don't believe I deserve it, Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack."
"Unprovoked? Youkissed me, Little One." He tries his best to look wounded but in truth I only want to giggle at his expression.
I purse my lips. "It was my best form of defense."
"Defense against what? Besides, with your damn baby blues, you had me wrapping my hand around your delicate throat."
"You and your twitchy palm. And don't deny that it turns you on."
He cocks his head to one side and smiles at me as Mia comes clattering up the stairs. "But it was tolerable?" he asks softly.
I flush. "Barely," I whisper, but I can't help my smirk.
"Mmm," he hums and offers me a grin. "And I'll never deny that having my hands on you—in any way I can get you—turns me on immensely."
"Oh, there you are." She beams at us.
"I was showing Anastasia around." Christian holds his hand out to me, his gray eyes intense.
I put my hand into his, and he gives it a soft squeeze.
"Kate is about ready to leave. Could you believe those two throughout dinner? They can't keep their hands off each other." Mia feigns disgust and looks from Christian to me. "What have you been doing in here?"
I blush and look up at my one and only Dom, watching the way his expression remains stoic.
"Showing Anastasia my rowing trophies," Christian says without missing a beat. "Let's go say goodbye to Kate and Elliot."
Rowing trophies? I barely manage to conceal my smirk from Mia, but end up catching his eyes. He pulls me in front of him gently, and as Mia turns to go, he swats my behind making me gasp in astonishment.
With his lips at my ear he takes his chance to quietly let the threat loose.
"I will do it again, Anastasia, and soon."
Then as if nothing has been said, he pulls me into an embrace, my back to his front, and kisses the very top of my hair.
P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
Back at the house, Kate and Elliot are making their farewells to Grace and Carrick, but when I step into the room, Kate hugs me hard.
"I need to speak to you about antagonizing Christian," I hiss quietly in her ear as she embraces me.
"He needs to be antagonized. It gives you the opportunity to see what he's really like. Be careful, Ana—I think I've figured out what you've been up to," she whispers. "See you later."
While I'm fully aware that her actions are coming from good place, sometimes—like now, for instance—she oversteps. It's as if she doesn't understand what boundaries are.
When she pulls away, I scowl at her, and she pokes her tongue out at me, making me smile unwillingly. Playful Kate is a novelty that is only brought on by Elliot's influence. We all wave them off at the doorway until they're out of sight. Then, Christian turns to Leila.
"We should go, too—I promised Anastasia a ride. She has interviews tomorrow."
As we say goodbye, Mia embraces me warmly.
"I never thought you and Christian could get through a dinner without biting one another's heads off," she giggles.
"Why do you say that?"
"When you fight with Leila or your mom, it seems as if it turns into a fight with Christian every single time," she shrugs nonchalantly.
I flush at the accurate accusation and Christian rolls his eyes for the third time tonight, to which I shoot him a quick glare. Why can he do that when I can't?I want to roll my eyes back at him, but after his threat of a spanking, I don't dare.
"Ana darling, take care of yourself," Grace says kindly.
Christian, either embarrassed or frustrated by the lavish attention I'm receiving from the remaining Grey's, grabs my hand and pulls me to his side.
"Let's not frighten her away or spoil her with too much affection," he grumbles.
"Christian, stop teasing the girl," Grace scolds him indulgently, her eyes glowing with love and affection for him. "The two of you argue enough. Leave her be."
Somehow, I don't think he's teasing.
I carefully watch their interaction as he bends to stiffly place a kiss on her cheek. It's quite obvious to me—and anyone else that bothers to pay them any attention—that Grace adores him with what can only be a mother's unconditional love. It's plain as day, but somehow the stubborn man doesn't see it.
"Mom," he says, and there's an undercurrent in his voice—reverence maybe? "We do not argue that much."
"Oh, please," Mia says. "Your arguments are sometimes the highlight of a holiday dinner when the Williams come over."
I grimace at the thought of my mother and Leila sighs as she haughtily raises her chin.
"That's only because Ana acts like a child when it comes to our parents."
"I wouldn't have to if mom treated me half as well as she treats you."
She huffs as she places her well-manicured hands on her hips.
"Perhaps that wouldn't be the case if you hadn't burnt down the pool house and the barn."
"For the last time, you know I wasn't the one responsible for either of those fires!" I snarl angrily and yank my hand from Christian's hold.
"You got high for the first and then you managed to get drunk and hook up with my boyfriend at the time of the second, Ana. It's not that hard of a concept to grasp!"
"That's enough," Christian says sternly, gripping her elbow and giving her a sharp glare. "Stop goading her."
"I'm not goading her. She's the one that started it."
"You called her a child when the only child I see here, is you. Stop treating your sister as if she's less than you."
"Stop defending her at every turn."
"Leila-" he says warningly. But without another word, she pulls her elbow from his grasp and opens the door before storming outside.
"I'm sorry about that," Christian says quietly.
Grace sighs and Mia studies him with a small frown but stays quiet.
"Carrick—goodbye and thank you." I hold out my hand to him, but he pulls me in for a hug, too.
"You're always welcome. I do hope we see you again very soon, Ana. Once you start work, we'll schedule a lunch date to celebrate. I'd like to take my second daughter out," he winks.
Our farewells said, Christian leads me to the car, where Taylor is waiting. Taylor opens my door, and I slide into the back of the Audi, across the seat so that I'm unfortunately sitting next to Leila.
When she ignores me, I feel some of the tension leaving my shoulders. What a day. I am well beyond being both physically and emotionally exhausted.
After a brief conversation with Taylor, Christian clambers into the car next to me. He turns to face us both, but only gazes at Leila.
"I apologized to my family for you," he murmurs.
"It's not as if they care. I could have worn a clown costume and they wouldn't have noticed I was there. It was all about Elliot and Kate. Then Mia and Paris. And of course, Anastasia," she snarls and I feel myself visibly shrink back against the seat.
"What?" he asks, his voice quiet.
I flounder momentarily bewildered by the situation. No—don't argue with one another about me while I'm sitting right in between the two of you!
"I think that I've had enough Grey family dinners to last a fucking lifetime." Her voice is hard and cruel. "If it wasn't for Mia and her damn shopping trip, I never would have bothered to come." I can't quite make out his face in the dark, but Christian tilts his head, gaping at her.
"My family has gone out of their way to make you feel welcome all of these years. Yet at every turn, you manage to turn your nose up at them. Your sister on the other hand—who I will remind you is sitting right beside you—has been gracious and kind. You're the one who wanted to meet them. If you hadn't insisted on it, you wouldn't be here and we wouldn't be married. Is that how you've felt the entire time we've been married? As if my family is a waste of your precious time?"
He's pulled the guilt card on her—and it's a revelation to both see and hear. He doesn't seem uncomfortable guilting her either. He seems almost genuinely pleased that she's so upset. He shakes his head and clenches his fists together in his lap.
"Don't worry about Anastasia now, Leila. You already opened your mouth. Talk."
She shrugs.
"Yes. I think that. And another thing, I only mentioned Kate and Elliot because Elliot can't keep his mouth shut about Kate. You've never acted that way about me."
"I never had to, Leila and I certainly don't intend to do so now."
"Of course not."
He looks oddly at her like he's having some internal struggle.
"What is it that you want?" he asks eventually.
Crossing her arms, she shrugs.
"I would like for us to visit Dr. Flynn, together."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. I think we need to talk about your lack of wanting a family. I'm hoping for a way to work through all of this."
He stares at her.
"No."
She bursts out laughing. "I knew you would say that."
In the light of the passing street lamps, I see his lips quirk up.
"You really are something, you know that?"
"That's why you married me," she replies.
"I married you because I thought we were on the same page."
Even though they're fighting, I can feel the sexual tension between them and suddenly I feel sick.
"Ana?" Leila says carefully—breaking me from my reverie. "I'm sorry for snapping at you."
"No, you're not," I say quietly, "You never are."
"That's not true."
"Yes, it is. All you do is treat me as if I'm beneath you."
"What makes you think that?"
"I'll leave you to figure that out."
"I'm not sure I can."
"From the moment we met, you've acted as if I took something from you. But I didn't. You're the one who has taken from me. You wound our mother around your finger. You isolated me in my own home. You made yourself out to be the victim when you know that's not the truth."
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
Christian stares at us, impassive.
"I said I'd try," she murmurs.
"I know. But that was at Christmas, Leila. I just graduated and you couldn't even be bothered to make the evening about anyone other than yourself. You pouted all the way through dinner that night. And tonight? You did the same exact thing."
She shifts as if uncomfortable.
"I admit I've been cruel to you in the past. But why do seem to resent me far more than I deserve?"
Shit. How did this suddenly become such an intense and meaningful conversation? It's been sprung on me, like an exam that I'm not prepared for.
What do I say?
"Ana? Why do you seem to resent me so much?"
Because I know what kind of person you really are.
Because I think I love your husband, and you just see him as a toy.
Because I can't touch him, because I'm too frightened to show him any affection in case you snap or tell me off or worse—learn of our affair.
It's never-ending.
What can I say?
I stare momentarily out the window on Christian's side of the car. The car is heading back across the bridge. We are shrouded in darkness, masking our thoughts and feelings, but we don't need the night surrounding us for that to happen. It's an everyday occurrence.
"Why, Anastasia?" Leila again presses me for an answer.
I shrug, trapped. I don't want to lose her. In spite of all our problems, her demands, her need to have it all, I have never felt as guilty as I do right now. It's a thrill to be with Christian. He's so unpredictable, attractive, brilliant, and simply funny. But the lies . . . It's simply too complicated—I'm going to be left brokenhearted. He says he'll think about our version of more, but it still scares me. I close my eyes in reverence.
What can I say?
Deep down I would just like . . . more. More Christian—who I would happily take anyway I could get. More affection, more time, more . . . love.
She squeezes my hand.
"Talk to me, Anastasia. I don't want to lose you. You're my sister . . ."
We're coming near to the end of the bridge, and the road is once more bathed in the neon light of the street lamps so her face is intermittently in the light and the dark. And it's such a fitting metaphor. This woman, whom I once thought of as my sister, my friend—or my foe, as she said—she's not perfect. She's a woman with serious, deep emotional flaws, and she's dragging Christian into the dark unknowingly.
From Christian I want more, but from Leila . . .
"I just want some distance," I whisper.
"Oh," she says quietly.
I blink up at her, and she relinquishes my hand, placing both her hands in her lap with a sigh.
"I'll try to be a better sister."
"You've said that before, Leila," I sigh. "I'm tired of empty promises. Let's just agree to keep our distance from one another. I'll even avoid all future Grey family dinners and I promise not to have lunch with Carrick in place of his actual daughter-in-law. Happy?"
And that's Taylor's cue. "Mr. Grey. We've arrived at Miss. Steele's."
It seems to take Christian completely by surprise. Taking my hand, he opens the car door and pointedly ignores Leila as he clears his throat.
"I'll walk Miss Steele in."
We make our way up the stairs and inside the building. Once we reach the apartment door, I wrap my arms around his neck, and I kiss him, long and hard, and in a nanosecond, he's responding.
His body presses into mine, pushing me up against the doorframe with renewed vigor. When he uses his leg to spread my thighs apart I shamelessly grind my core against his thigh. As if he's been doused with water he pulls back and shakes his head as if he's scolding me.
"I wish I could stay with you, tonight," he breathes. "You're such a tempting little nymph and if you go away, I won't see you all week."
"I know," I murmur. And then, it's a spur-of-the-moment decision, "And I'll try, too. I'll sign the contract."
He gazes down at me in wide-eyed astoundment and gathers me in his arms, right up against his chest.
"Sign after Texas, " he murmurs. "Think about it. Think about it hard, baby. This isn't a decision you should make while in a lusting haze."
"I will, but I promise this is what I want. I want to be yours." And at the significance of my words we find ourselves standing in silence for a moment or two, shifting so we're as close together as we can be.
"You really should get inside," Christian whispers disapprovingly into my hair, but he makes no move to shift me from his warm embrace.
I nuzzle up against him, eyes closed as I rest my head on his shoulder and put my nose at his throat, drinking in the spicy- musk fragrance that is simply Christian.
I let my mind drift into a fantasy where Christian loves me. It's so close to tangible, that a small part of me dares to dream that it may, one day, come true. As I burrow in closer, I'm careful not to touch his chest and in reward his arms tighten around my body.
All too soon, I'm torn from my impossible reverie.
"I have to go home, sweet girl," Christian murmurs, and it's such a tantalizing sentence, full of so much despair.
A life, with Christian. Except, our apartment at BluSteel Tower is not home. It is merely a place where we may co-exist for a few hours in a peaceful bubble.
Christian opens the door to my apartment with my keys, and I shyly thank him, aware that he's been within earshot of my hasty conversation with Leila, but his soft gaze is reassuring and gives nothing away. Once in the doorway, Christian assesses me critically as I shiver.
"Why don't you have a jacket?" he frowns as he shrugs out of his and drapes it over my shoulders.
"It's in my new car," I reply sleepily, yawning.
He smirks at me.
"Tired, Miss Steele?"
"Yes, Mr. Grey." The man can make me feel bashful under his teasing scrutiny but I take it in stride. Nevertheless, I feel as if an explanation is in order. "I've been prevailed upon in ways I never thought possible today."
"Well, if you're really unlucky, I may prevail upon you some more," he promises as he takes my hand and kisses my palm.
I gaze up at him in awe and he grins lazily at me.
"Not tonight," he chuckles.
"But soon?" I ask breathlessly.
"Soon as we may, my little nymph," he murmurs with a kiss of a promise to my jaw.
"Why do you call me that?"
"Hmm?" he hums.
"Nymph. You've said it a few times today."
"Because the first time I saw you, you looked like a little pixie. My little nymphet, waiting to be devoured and unbeknownst to me, deflowered." He grins teasingly as he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, "It seemed fitting."
"The first time you saw me?"
"Yes. At the house. I watched you walk up and you looked so young until you met my eyes. You were mine, right at that moment."
"I was yours long before that," I murmur, thinking back to the first time I saw him—when he saw Leila.
"Yes, you may be right," he says with a lazy grin as he hands me my keys.
"Your car is downstairs, locked and safe. Much like you should be once you close this door. Do not forget to lock it behind me, sweet girl, or I'll have security on you so fast you won't be able to blink." I briefly wish he could just send Leila home and stay with me so I'm not alone again in the new apartment. I frown at the thought, and abruptly his gaze darkens. He reaches up and grasps my chin, freeing my lip from teeth.
"One day soon, we will find a way to spend the entire evening together. I very much enjoyed our night in your bed," he says as if he's read my mind.
Bending down, he clamps his teeth around my lower lip and pulls gently. As I melt against him, I feel my insides clench with aching desire as my breathing all but stops. The sensation of his teeth on my lip is so pleasing that it encourages me to reciprocate. I fasten my teeth over his top lip, teasing him, and he groans deep in his throat. When the elevator doors open down the hall, he breaks the kiss before grabbing my hand and tugging me into his arms, away from view.
"Please, let me know how your interviews go tomorrow. I want to hear all about them. Perhaps before your flight leaves?"
"Okay," I whisper.
"What time will you be going?"
"I'm not quite sure yet. I've yet to purchase my ticket."
"Please let me know when you do. I want what's best for you, Anastasia."
"Duly noted," I quip with a raised brow.
Sighing he takes my hand once more, and brings it to his lips, kissing the skin on my knuckles before gently releasing me from his grip.
"Goodnight, Anastasia."
"Goodnight, Christian."
He steps back and I go to close the door.
"Lock the door behind me, Little One."
"Yes, Sir."
I firmly close the door and wait a moment, sensing his presence outside. With a small smirk on my lips, I turn the lock on the deadbolt and giggle when I hear his voice.
"Good girl, baby."
"Goodbye, Sir."
"Laters, baby."
And with those final words, he's gone into the night and into Leila's awaiting arms.
P.R.E.T.T.Y.B.I.G.L.I.E.S
The apartment is empty when I wake, revealing that Kate has not yet made it back from Elliot's.
As I go about my morning, I unpack a few boxes before deciding to brew myself a cup of tea for breakfast.
Sitting in the living room while waiting for the water to boil, I open my laptop and—after finding not one email from Christian yet this morning—I go out on a limb and attempt to Skype him.
After a few moments, the video comes to life and I find Christian on the phone, glancing out the window, in black pants and a white shirt. His hair appears to be damp from the shower, and I imagine he's just finished a workout with Claude before arriving to work.
"Unless that company's PL improves, I'm not interested, Ros. We're not carrying dead weight . . . I don't need any more lame excuses . . . Have Marco call me, it's shit or bust time . . . Yes, tell Barney that the prototype looks good, though I'm not sure about the interface . . . No, it's just missing something . . . I want to meet him this afternoon to discuss it all . . . In fact, set it up with him and his team, we can brainstorm . . . Okay. Transfer me back to Andrea . . ." He waits, staring out the window, master of his universe, looking down at the little people below from this castle in the sky. "Andrea . . ."
Glancing up, he notices me on screen for the first time. A slow, sexy smile spreads across his lovely face, and I'm rendered speechless as my insides melt. He is without a doubt the most beautiful man on the planet, too beautiful for the little people below, and far too beautiful for me. At least for now, he is sort of mine. The idea sends a thrill through my blood and dispels my irrational self-doubt.
He continues his conversation, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Clear my schedule this morning, but get Bill to call me. I'll be in at two. I need to talk to Marco this afternoon, that will need at least half an hour . . . Schedule Barney and his team in after Marco or maybe tomorrow, and find time for me to see Claude every day this week . . . Tell him to wait . . . Oh . . . No, I don't want publicity for Darfur . . . Tell Sam to deal with it . . . No . . . Which event? . . . That's next Saturday? . . . Hold on."
"When will you be back from Texas?" he asks.
"Friday."
He resumes his phone conversation.
"I'll need an extra ticket because I'm bringing Miss Anastasia Steele as my date . . . Yes, Andrea, that's what I said, a date, Miss Anastasia Steele will accompany me as Leila won't be in town . . . That's all." He hangs up. "Good morning, Miss Steele."
"Mr. Grey." I smile shyly.
He sits down at his desk with his usual grace and tilts his head to the side.
"I wanted to call, but I didn't want to wake you, you always look so peaceful when you sleep. Did you sleep well?"
"I'm feeling very well rested, thank you. I just wanted to call and say hi before I had a shower."
I gaze at him, drinking him in like a fine well-aged wine.
"Well, sleep seems to agree with you," he murmurs. "I suggest you go and have your shower, or shall I imagine what we would be doing across my desk if you were here?"
"I choose the desk," I whisper recklessly as a hefty mixture of adrenaline and desire sweeps through my veins, waking everything in its path.
He stares at me, looking bewildered for just a millisecond before he seems to gather himself.
"You're becoming insatiable," he murmurs.
"I've only got a taste for you," I whisper.
His eyes widen and darken while his hand grazes along his jawline, his thumb skirting over his lip as he's in deep thought.
"Damn right, only me," he growls, and suddenly, with one fluid movement, he's leaning back in his chair, unbuckling his pants, and unleashing his thick erection. As he begins fisting his length with a hungry look in his eye he practically growls. "Show me, baby," he instructs, "Show me how wet you are."
With a shiver down my spine, I lean back on the couch and spread my legs, showing him my pantiless core.
"You want it, you got it, baby," he mutters. "Touch yourself, Little One. Take two fingers and run them down your pretty little pussy lips." He lets out a guttural moan as he watches me follow his instructions with attentive ease. "Good girl. Now imagine I'm there with you and slide your fingers deep into your warmth baby girl. That's it, play with yourself for me," he breathes, a salacious smile across his face. And in that moment, it's as if he's filling me, thrusting into me deeply.
I groan . . .Oh, yes.
"Christ, Ana. You're so ready," he whispers in veneration.
Spreading my legs further, I work my fingers in and out and I watch as he stares at me, gray eyes glowing, passionate and possessive as he works his cock to the motion of me fucking myself, all for him. This is not making love, this is pure fucking spurred on my unadulterated lust—and I love it. The emotions swimming around us are so raw and carnal, that as I revel in the heat of his possession, I let out a pathetic whimper. He continues to move with ease, enjoying his view, enjoying me, his lips slightly parted as his breathing becomes labored. He twists his hips from side to side, and I wiggle my hips in time.
I close my eyes, feeling the build up—that delicious, slow, climbing build. Pushing me higher, higher like a wave about to hit shore. His strokes increase fractionally and I moan audibly—lost in a sensation that is all for him. I revel in the touch of every delicious dip of my fingers, every push that fills me. Suddenly he picks up the pace, stroking faster . . . harder . . . and my whole body is moving to his rhythm. Under his sweet command I can feel my legs stiffening, and my insides quivering and quickening as I come close to crashing over the tipping point.
"Come on, baby, give it up for me," he cajoles through gritted teeth, and the fervent need in his voice—the strain—sends me over the edge.
I cry out a wordless, passionate plea as I touch the water and drown, falling around my own fingers, falling down, back to a breathless, bright summit on Earth. He grips his thick length tightly and abruptly stops pumping his cock as he reaches his climax, pulling at the head once before sinking into his chair and wordlessly coming all over his shirt-clad chest.
Wow . . .that was unexpected.
"What the hell are you doing to me?" he breathes. "You completely beguile me, Ana. You're weaving some powerful magic."
He releases his cock and rests his hands on his thighs as I relax the muscles in my legs, keeping my core on display for him.
"I'm the one beguiled," I whisper.
He gazes at me, his expression is disconcerted, alarmed even. Placing his hands on either side his computer screen he shakes his head.
"You. Are. Mine," he says, each word a staccato. "Do you understand?"
He's so earnest, so impassioned. The force of his plea is so unexpected and disarming that I have to wonder why he's feeling like this. "Yes, yours," I whisper, derailed by his fervor.
"Are you sure you have to go to Texas?"
I nod slowly. And in that brief moment, I watch his expression change and the shutters come down back across his eyes.
"Are you sore?" he asks, studying the wetness between my legs.
"A little," I confess.
"I like you sore," His eyes smolder. "Reminds you where I've been and only me."
"Don't you know I'm only yours?"
"A man can hope, Anastasia, dream even, and sometimes his dreams come true."
He sounds so odd, his eyes burning. I just don't understand. My post-coital glow is fading fast, his mood changing quickly enough to give me whiplash. What is his problem?
"So, video call, that's been a dream?" I ask dryly, trying humor to lighten the atmosphere between us.
He smiles an enigmatic smile that doesn't exactly reach his eyes, and I know immediately this is not the first time he's had sex on a call like this. The thought is unwelcome and I squirm uncomfortably as my post-coital glow evaporates.
"I'd better go and have a shower," I say, closing my legs and distorting his view.
He frowns and runs a hand through his hair.
"I've got a couple more calls to make."
"Why aren't you at work yet?"
For a brief moment, I swear I see a flash of guilt in his eyes, but just as soon as it's there, it's gone.
"I overslept after having more than a few drinks last night. I've actually got a bit of a headache, but nothing coffee won't cure. Plus, I have my yearly physical scheduled at noon," he replies, but there's an edge to his voice.
"What?" he asks, and I realize I'm frowning.
"What's wrong?" I ask softly.
"What do you mean?"
"Well . . . you're being more weird than usual."
"You find me weird?" He tries to stifle a smile.
"Sometimes."
He regards me for a moment, his eyes speculative. "As ever, I'm surprised by you, Miss Steele."
"Surprised how?"
"Let's just say that was an unexpected treat."
"We aim to please, Mr. Grey." I cock my head to one side like he often does to me and hand his words back to him.
"And please me you do," he says, but he looks uneasy. "I thought you were going to have a shower."
Is he dismissing me after asking me not to go?
"Yes . . . um, I'll see you later then?"
At his sharp nod, I scurry and end the call, feeling completely dumbfounded.
He seemed confused. Why?I have to say as physical experiences go, that was very satisfying. But emotionally—well, I'm rattled by his reaction, and that was about as emotionally enriching as cotton candy is nutritious.
The tea kettle goes off and as if it's scolding me, I quickly pick it up and set it aside with a scowl. Stubbornly, I head for the shower. If Christian was going to act childish, then I could too.
Fuck breakfast.
Take that, Christian Grey.
A Note from the Author:
Hello Lovelies,
Next update might not be until sometime this weekend. I'll be busy and I plan on doing some light editing to previous chapters. It's for grammar spacial issues in the formatting because I've been writing on my iphone rather than on my laptop.
Remember to add me on Facebook under Sara Reed or to join the Facebook Group Sara Jo Updates for updates, teasers, and more.
Recommended FanFiction: A Private Dance by storietella2
xoxo,
Sara Jo
