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Chapter 5

First he comes strolling into our suite and tells me to strip—ever so nonchalantly, too, as if he asked me the time. He proceeds to escort me into the steam shower. As soon as I begin to soap my body, he steps in to join me—with all his clothes on! The only things he removed were his shoes and socks.

It's what he does next that clues me in that I'm in for a long night of sexual torment—Christian's modus operandi. His expert hands roam all over my body, helping the hot water heat my skin. Then he goes for my breasts. I will be certain to have the most sparkling breasts at the fundraiser, no doubt. When the soap is rinsed off, he does another rinse with his tongue and the sharp erotic pangs travel straight from my nips to my vajayjay.

I can readily see his big, beautiful erection through his soaked trousers. He lets me touch it for a few seconds and then pulls me away. By now I'm so aroused that I feel a compelling need to come… but I try to push it from my mind because I know he won't let me. He towels me off, strips off his wet clothing, and dons a robe quickly before I have even a moment to appreciate his smokin' hot bod.

"Time to get dressed, Ana." His voice is dripping with sensuality. Boy, he really knows how to turn up the heat and he uses that sexuality like a weapon. Leading me into the dressing room, he instructs me to stand in front of the oversized cheval mirror. Naked.

"Let's start with the foundation, shall we?" Removing items from a shopping bag, he returns to me with silky things in his hands. Bending down he holds a pair of tiny thong panties. "Step into these, Ana."

I comply, nearly losing my balance—not good. He looks up and raises his left brow. "How much wine did you have at dinner?"

"One glass, Christian. I'm just knocked a little off center because I was sexually tormented in the shower."

"I see. Time for the corset."

"Corset? You really are a sadist, aren't you?"

Saying nothing but smiling broadly, he wraps the ivory satin corset, the color and fabric matching the thong, around my chest and begins to lace the back, nearly choking off my breathing capability. What monster originally dreamed up a corset anyway? Hope he's wearing one in hell these days. When Christian's done, he cranes his neck around "How's that?"

I nod.

"Now stockings."

But not just stockings, oh, no. He's putting me into a matching garter belt and the most gorgeous chapmpagne-hued silk stockings. I hold his shoulder as he bends down to put them on.

"Ready for the pièce de résistance?" He takes a piece of jewelry out of his pocket. It looks like a long gold chain with a heavy pendant in the center. This one, however, goes around my hips and he reaches around and clasps it at the small of my back, just above my rear end. It looks like a simple piece of jewelry, a necklace for your hips, so to speak—I guess a hiplace. It's not until I begin to walk that I see the method behind the madness: the pendant swings with ever step and is positioned perfectly over my clit. At first, it's barely noticeable to me but I can see how after an hour or two of the continuous bumping, things might get a little antsy.

Dangling from the clasp in back is a small chain, the kind they put on necklaces so one can alter the length to suit.

"Bend over, hands flat on the bed."

I hesitate for a nanosecond and he frowns. He's in full Dom mode right now and it sets my pulse to NASCAR speed. I place my hands on the bedcover, bending low. He tells me what he's doing.

"Just so you know, I'm attaching another chain to the end of the one you have on and that attaches to a string of beads."

I feel lubrication and then the beads slide into my backside, one by one, and somewhat painfully. Once they're in, however, the pain vanishes leaving behind a discomfiting sensation in its wake.

"How are you feeling?"

"Strange but doable. What comes next?"

"We finish dressing you, I get dressed, and we leave for the fundraiser.

Finish dressing me! For a minute there, I'd forgotten about my gown! I'm able to forget the anal beads long enough to get excited about my dress. What did he choose?

Christian disappears into the closet, emerging with a black garment bag in his hands. "Ready?" he asks the question with an adorable smile, dimple and all. Funny but I've never noticed a dimple before on my hunky husband. Maybe it exclusively pops for this particular adorable smile.

He unzips the bag and carefully removes the gown. I gasp and then clap my hands together in delight. Christian knows I'm crazy about anything to do with the 1920s so he's gotten me a gown that borrows from the flappers. It's champagne in color and it's dripping with clear and matching beads. They dangle from the bustline and from the hips and then the bottom hem which hits about mid calf but's lower in the back. It's got a low scoop neckline and it's sleeveless. He drapes it over my head and naturally it fits me perfectly. Underneath the beadwork, the silk sheath hugs my body like a glove.

"I love it, Christian," I exclaim, jumping up to give him a wet, sloppy kiss.

"Oh, I'm not done yet, Ana. I had fun selecting your ensemble." He slips a square box out of his pocket and removes what looks like a gold serpent bangle. However, he puts it on my upper arm.

Standing back to admire his handiwork, he smiles. "Beautiful. Now for the shoes." Back to the closet and he reemerges with a black box. Inside are very high-heeled strappy sandals that match the dress. The straps go up my ankle and highlight my legs and the unusual hem of my gown.

"So," he asks, his finger on his lips in contemplation, "how did I do, my fair lady?"

"Apart from the torture jewelry, you did very, very well. I love all the clothes, Christian. Thank you." I give him a kiss, hardly having to reach up in my stilettos.

"Okay, let me throw on my tux and I'll meet you in the great room."

"Yes, I'll finish my makeup."

The fundraiser is a big social event and there's a red carpet at the entrance, lined with photographers. As we stroll up, my arm tucked into Christian's I try not to focus on that damn pendant swinging against me, but it's nearly impossible. First off, it's getting me very hot and bothered. Second, I'm petrified someone will notice it—the dress is quite formfitting, after all. Flashbulbs are snapping in our faces and I'm trying to do as Christian always tells me—ignore them to the best of my ability and just keep smiling.

Too late I realize Christian's parents will be there tonight. Too late meaning as we're walking into the ballroom and I see his mom toss a little wave at us, grinning delightedly. Oh, no. I'm not ready to do any explaining about those damned tabloids. I cross my fingers that they'll have more important things to discuss.

Mr. Grey winks at me and gives Christian a big grin. "Where's your whip tonight, Christian? Left it home?"

Oh, no, even them? Life can be so unfair. Christian however takes it in stride, laughing as if he finds it all amusing. And I think he does. This is the man who made me sign an NDA, for crying out loud. Why is he being so casual about being outed?

Because no one believes it's true, the little voice inside my head snaps at me. You and Christian are the only ones who know it for a fact, stupid. Get with the program. I smile. "Yes, I insisted he leave the whip home tonight. I'm sure we'll find other ways to amuse ourselves."

The Greys look surprised at first and then laugh along with us as we go find our seats. "Shall we get drinks first?"

"Yes!" I answer too quickly and too emphatically, then instantly blush.

Drinks are served first and they keep the liquor flowing so everyone will be loose with their wallets when the auction begins. Christian decided his auction lot would include a weekend's use of the Gulfstream and its pilot. Even after gulping three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach, I'm still feeling on edge even though I can't walk very effectively.

"Whoa, Ana, you're quite wobbly. Let's lay off the champagne now."

"Yes, I will." I lean over to whisper in his ear, "I need to remove my private jewelry, too."

"Can't you wait a little longer? Once the auction is over, we can go home and I can help."

Shaking my head makes me dizzy so I stop. "No, I don't think so. I think… uh, now. Has to be now. I'm uncomfortable."

He nods and walks me to the restroom. "Will you be able to walk okay?"

"Of course," I snap, even though as soon as he lets my arm go, I stagger. Damn, I must have drunk the champagne too quickly. I walk into the bathroom and enter a stall but when I turn around to close it, he's right behind me.

"Get in, quick. I want to help."

I back in and he locks the door, lifts up my dress and in two seconds, he has the toys out. It barely helps since my body is now so aroused, it doesn't matter that they're gone.

"This was mean," I hiss. "You knew what these would do to me and that I couldn't do anything about it here."

Laughing he shrugs. "It'll be really good when we get home, Ana. Patience. Good things come to those who wait."

I look at him speculatively. I could push him against the door and climb on him right here, right now and scratch the itch. Do I have the nerve? Someone could walk in any moment.

"Okay, I'm going out. I'll wait for you right outside," he says, his eyes shining with mirth and I see him slip the so-called jewelry into his jacket pocket. Oh, he is so dead for making me feel like this and knowing I now have to suffer through the rest of the evening. I will take it out on him.

But when we get home, I don't take it out on him. I'm too uncomfortable. I strip off my clothes as I'm walking to the bedroom, forgetting that Taylor's home tonight. Christian stops me in the nick of time from removing the dress just as Taylor walks into the room to ask if he could lock up for the night and set the alarm system.

That was stupidly close. Finally, we're in the bedroom and I spin around to face him.

"Okay, now fuck me."

"Ana! For shame." his silvery eyes are alight with amusement and he's laughing at me, at my discomfort. The bastard.

I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at him. In his elegant tuxedo that molds to his gorgeous body, his lush hair slightly tousled, his eyes so intensely focused on me—his beauty and presence raise goose bumps all over my body. I know what I want right now but the snag is how to get it sooner rather than later and without explicitly asking for it.

He saves me the trouble by strolling over to me and dropping to his knees directly at my feet. "I'll give you relief right now but there's a condition."

"What?" I whisper. At this moment I'd probably agree to anything.

"First, I want you over my lap to spank and then I'll give you a very nice orgasm. Deal?"

"Yes, fine." I say, hurriedly standing up to switch places with him, and he quickly pulls me over his lap. I'm only wearing my undergarments and my stockings, having pulled off my shoes as soon as we walked through the door and my dress as soon as we got into the bedroom. Christian is still fully dressed.

He pins my legs down with his. "Put your hands behind your neck and lace your fingers together.

I comply, wondering what exactly he gets out of this particular activity. I can sort of see what I get out of it even though I end up sore…but why does he like it? A second later any rational thought is shoved away as his hand comes crashing down on my backside and I yelp.

It stings but I feel myself getting more aroused. It's a totally bizarre cause and effect. His hand rubs my smarting cheek. Then another slams down. My wits are scattering as his hand descends quickly, the slaps coming closer and closer together. When he reaches six, his rhythm grows steady and perfect but he's hitting in different places. I don't know how much more I can take and he never gave me a number. A number provides a goal and makes it easier to last. Still, I decide to hold out as long as I can stand it because I don't like to give him the satisfaction of quitting. My stubbornness has caused me pain on many occasions in my life—why should this be any different?

At twenty I shriek—I'm way too tender now. Finally he stops.

"You've had enough?"

"Yes," I growl, annoyed that he outlasted me. I hope his hand is as pink and swollen as my poor cheeks.

"You did well, Ana." He lifts me and puts me back on the edge of the bed, on my now sore ass, parts my legs, and tells me to watch. I try to, I really do, but it's just more than I could bear. It occurs to me to wonder if other women watch their lovers do this for them? For me it's just too… I don't know, perhaps erotic. It's not only his location, his head between my legs, it's also the look on his face, as if he's enjoying himself so much. I cannot stand to look but I know if I close my eyes, he might stop, since he's checking my face every so often. Even though I've mellowed him dramatically, he's still the dom he always was.

I can't have him stop, at any cost. I try to focus my eyes on his tousled hair but my whole world has come down to his tongue… on that spot. That one spot. The center of my current universe. I can't control anything: he's making me climb high and fast, holding down my legs so I can't move. He hasn't tied me down at all tonight but forbade me from moving and his hands are like iron bands around my knees. I feel the orgasm approaching too fast—I want to savor it but I can't: I have to come. When I hit that point, I let go but it's so intense, perhaps the most intense one I've ever had that I scream—loudly.

Well. maybe it was all worth it.

He jumps up, pulling me higher on the bed. Once he positions me how he wants, on my knees but with my face and arms on the mattress, he strips off his clothes. I'm watching him with one eye and I can't tear my gaze away. My God but he has a body to die for. I can look at him all day. When he's bare, he kneels behind me on the bed. I feel lube trickle down my rear end.

"Do you want to try this tonight, Ana?"

I know what he means. I'm scared but I know he likes it. "Can I change my mind if it becomes too much?"

"There's always a safeword, Ana."

"Do you think I'm ready?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't. Let's give it a shot."

He doesn't allow me time to think more on it or panic. No sooner than he says the words, I feel him there. First his fingers breach it and it hurts just with one finger. How will I take that monster of his? Then he slides in another. With his other hand he pushes fingers into me in front. He starts moving them in counterpoint and my mind scatters, unable to follow the rhythm he's using. I refocus when I feel his huge hard-on pressing on me. "Push against me, Ana. Now."

Ah, it hurts. I want to pull away so badly but I promised to give it a try. It seems to take an eternity but once he's in, the pain becomes tolerable, a low burn, but I can't say I'm enjoying it. That is, until he straps something around my thighs and turns a vibrator right on my clit so that instead of focusing on the burning discomfort, I am now zeroing in on my sensitive part getting a bruising. I yell but with my lips stitched tightly closed so it sounds like the wail of an injured animal.

He doesn't move until he sees me begin to sway as the vibrator finally starts to feel good. That's when he slowly pulls his hips back and drives them forward again. Between the two sensations, I can see how I can get something good out of it. I want to give this gift to him so I grit my teeth and concentrate on the good parts. I just hope he maintains his careful control.

He does. My second orgasm is just beyond the lip of my reach—it won't let me snatch it and I've been chasing it for long minutes, growing increasingly frustrated.

"Now, Ana, come now."

"I can't," I whine, frustrated and desperate.

"Now!" he barks and slaps my sore backside—hard—and that's all it takes to give me another screaming climax. He keeps going, moving in a slow but steady dance—he doesn't allow himself to get rough. Finally I feel him freeze and with two fast jerks, moans to the sky, a wolf staking claim. Everything contracts inside my body upon hearing that sound and I know it was definitely worth everything I gave him to get it.

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