For all eyes to see – Chapter 8


I look inside the oven where the chicken-something that Gail prepared earlier is kept on warm. It looks really good, but I haven't got the slightest idea what it is. Gail told me before she left, but I was busy thinking about the possible different outcomes of tonight's dinner.

At that particular moment, when Gail told me what she had cooked for dinner, I think I was musing over the idea of Anastasia throwing herself in my arms at the sight of the playroom and confessing that she can't really come properly unless she's restrained in some way.

Of course, less happy – and probably more realistic – thoughts have crossed my mind as well during the course of the day; Anastasia turning at the doorstep to the playroom and running for the hills or Anastasia's face tainted with disgust and horror as she realizes what I want to do with her. But those thoughts aren't as pleasant as the non-realistic one's and who knows – after tonight they might be all I have.

There's an entire farm of fucking butterflies in my stomach and I hate it. What is it about this girl that affects me like this? I can't remember a single day in my life where I've ever been this nervous before. Not even the first time I stepped into Elena's playroom or my very first day as CEO of my own company. I don't do nervous. I do cool and controlled, collected.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pick it up and answer it with a growl to hide the shaky nervousness I'm sure will display at any attempt to sound normal. "Grey."

"Miss Steele is in the elevator on her way up." Taylor informs me and the butterflies in my stomach go beyond crazy.

"Thank you." I close my phone as I walk towards the hallway and fix my eyes on the elevator doors.


Despite both our efforts to maintain light and breezy dinner conversation, the tension in the room is palpable and Anastasia seems to be far more interested in her wine than her food; the latter which she mostly pushes around the plate.

"You're not eating." I scold, feeling a frown form on my forehead.

"It's just…" She inhales and then lets out a deep breath. "I'm nervous."

"Me too," I smile as the confession leaves my lips. What the fuck? It's one thing to be nervous – I've reluctantly reconciled with that, but to confess it? Why don't I just hand her a whip and let her have every last shred of control, because that's where this is heading. Fuck!

I put my fork down and rub my face with my hands before I make the decision. There's no point in delaying this any longer. "I'll be right back." I inform her as I stand up and head towards my office.

When I come back, carrying the NDA with me, Anastasia is twirling the wine glass in her hand and biting down on her lip. Oh, that lip! Patience, I tell myself. Soon enough it will be my turn to bite down on that lip.

I take a deep breath and hand her the NDA as I sit back down on my chair. "This is a non-disclosure agreement." I explain. "My lawyer insists I do this in order to protect my privacy."

She takes the paper with a small frown forming on her forehead. "What does this agreement entail?"

I force my voice not to display my impatience. "You can't tell anyone about what I'm about to show you or the things we might end up doing."

She looks down at the paper again and I watch her as she reads through it. Every second feels like an hour before she finally looks up. "Okay." She nods. "Do you have a pen?"

My heart starts beating wildly in my chest as I hand her the pen I brought with me from my office. She signs the NDA and hands both that and the pen back to me.

With an uneasy feeling I look at the food left on her plate, but as the anxiety and anticipation made it hard even for me to empty my plate, I'll leave it for now. We can always heat it up again later. That is if she doesn't sprint for the elevator the second I show her my playroom.

I stand up from my chair and reach my hand out towards her to help her get to her feet. "Come." My voice sounds husky, but I can't help it. I'm just glad I'm able to form words at all with all the butterflies coming to life again in my stomach.

Anastasia takes my hand and that strange current that seems to flow through my body every time we touch catches me off guard. Her wide eyes and slightly parted lips, through which a gasp just passed, tell me she felt it too.

I inhale a deep breath as Anastasia gathers her crutches before I start leading her in the direction of my playroom. Why do I feel like I'm headed toward death row? We climb the short set of stairs with some struggle on her part and when I see the door to playroom, the impending doom hangs over me like a dark cloud. Dead man walking.

I stop outside the door and turn to Ana. This is it. The point of no return, she rests against her crutches and eyes me curiously.

My hands are sweating and I don't know what to do with them, so I put them in my pockets. "Just remember Anastasia…" I start, surprised that the anxiety doesn't show itself in my voice. "…that you can walk out of here whenever you want. Just say the word and I will have Taylor drive you back home."

She nods.

Okay. Here we go. I unlock the door, open it and gesture for her to step inside.

Anastasia carefully limps inside, her gaze fixed on her feet as she manages the crutches across the threshold and into the room. When she finally looks up, she freezes and I hear her gasp loudly.

I bite back the explanations and excuses that are weighing on the tip of my tongue. I need to give her time to take it all in. At least she's not running, which I'm guessing would be rather hard in her current condition.

Without saying anything, she starts moving again, slowly making her way around the playroom and taking it all in. Her expression shows nothing of what she might think and I make an effort to copy that stance. I can't let her know how badly I want this.

Her teeth sink into her lip as she stops again in the middle of the room and looks around. She still says nothing. Her eyes linger a moment on the St. Andrew's cross and I can't help but picture her strapped to it wearing nothing but maybe a pair of those teasingly small panties she wears on stage.

"Are you…," Her words get stuck in her throat and she clears it before she turns around to face me and tries again. "Are you dominant or submissive?"

I can't speak. My heart is literally jumping in joy. She knows about the lifestyle! She's not running for the hills or screaming in horror – she's interested enough to ask questions and she knows what kind of playroom this is. I dare to take a step closer.

"I'm a Dominant." I say and she nods.

"Makes sense," She replies with a small tug at the corner of her lips that, with some good will, could be interpreted as a smile. I have a lot of good will at the moment.

"So you're familiar with this kind of lifestyle?" The question is rather redundant, seeing as she's kind of already told me that with her question, but I'm hoping my question will lead her to reveal more.

"Not really." My heart sinks and she shrugs as she looks around the room again. "One of the girls at the club is a submissive and she likes to talk about it to anyone who's willing to listen – or anyone that just happens to be close by for that matter." She looks around the room again. "I've always wondered what a playroom looked like."

Oh, Anastasia. I close my eyes for a moment; the sight of her in my playroom is too distracting. I would love to show you all the things I can do to you in here.

I can't stop myself from voicing the question. "Does it live up to your expectations?"

She faces me again. "I guess so, although I'm not sure I understand what it's all for. The bed I can understand, but the rest…" She drifts off as her eyes wander over the room again.

I smile and dare to take another step closer. "I would love to show you if you'd let me." The smile that appears on her face at my offer goes right to my crotch and I feel my cock twitching.

I have to force the next words out of my mouth. "But first there are a couple of things we need to discuss and I find it really hard to concentrate with you in here." Her eyes widen, but she only nods in response.

"Let's go to my office." I say, moving towards the door, holding it open as she skips through it.

We walk in silence all the way to my office and I pull a chair out for her to sit in before I sit down behind my desk.

"So, what has your friend told you about a Dominant/Submissive relationship?" I ask once we're finally settled and I've got her attention.

"Well…" She blushes and looks down at her lap. "…I know it's about control and submission."

I nod. "What else?"

Her blush deepens. "Pleasure and pain," She whispers. "Restraints and such."

I nod again. "I would want you as my submissive, Anastasia." I tell her and her eyes dart up from her lap.

"What?"

"With your injury, I doubt you'll be able to work either of your jobs for the healing period of approximately two weeks. For that period, I would like you to be my submissive."

She's still staring at me, without saying a word.

"Please say something, Anastasia," I plead and watch her teeth sink into her lip. "I told you what that lip-biting does to me." I growl and she releases her lip, leaving her mouth slightly open.

"How would that work?" She finally asks, after an eternity of silence.

"I usually draw up a contract with my submissives." I inform her. "Stating what goes and what does not and the rules I would like you to follow."

Her eyes widen again. "Have you had many submissives?" She cringes when the question leaves her mind and I suspect she regrets asking it.

"A couple," There's no need to develop that further.

"How many?" Apparently, there is. I sigh.

"Fifteen."

"Oh." Her eyes dart back to her lap and silence ensues yet again.

"I would like you to take a look at the contract, to give you an idea of what I'll be expecting of you as my submissive." And to get things rolling so I can get you in my playroom. The wait seems even more unbearable now that I know she's not running for the hills.

"Okay," She nods and takes the papers I had prepared before she came over. It's my standard contract, with a few additions to the availability clause due to the short term the contract spans. In additions to the usual weekends, she will come to Escala on Tuesday afternoons and Thursday mornings, as I have both relatively free for the upcoming two weeks.

I wait impatiently in silence as she reads through the contract. Just like earlier in the playroom her face doesn't give anything away, only an occasional twitch of an eyebrow, which I'm not sure whether it's a good or a bad sign.

When she finally looks up from the papers, there's a hint of sadness in her eyes and something else I can't quite place…disappointment?

She clears her throat before she speaks and the words that come out of her mouth feels like punches to my stomach. "Thank you Mr. Grey, I'm flattered, but I'm not into those kinds of things."

No. I can't accept that. She seemed so interested only a few minutes ago. "What exactly is it that bothers you, Anastasia?"

She inhales and closes her eye for a few seconds as to gather her strength. When she opens them again, she looks straight at me. "Let me just get this straight; I'm a stripper, not a hooker."

Her statement takes me aback. I sure hope so. "That's not what this about," Even I can distinctly hear the shock in my voice.

"Really?" She turns her eyes back to the contract.

"She is now the property of the Dominant." She quotes from the contract while looking up and raising an eyebrow in my direction. "The Submissive shall submit to any sexual activity demanded by the Dominant." She flips a page in an agitated manner before she continues quoting the contract. "The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for the Submissive." She runs her finger along the sentences of the appendix containing the rules. "All costs will be met by the Dominant."

I sigh. "You don't understand…"

She holds her hand up to interrupt me. "I'm sure there's more in here, if I just give it time." She says as she folds the papers. "But I don't think that's necessary." She struggles herself up from the chair and retrieves her crutches and I feel panic rising in the pit of my stomach and spreading throughout my body.

"If you want a sex toy to be at your beck and call in exchange for expensive clothes and spa-treatments, I'm sure there are plenty of girls out there that will throw themselves at the opportunity," She takes a deep breath. "I can see myself out." And with that, she turns around surprisingly gracefully, despite her injury, and makes her way towards the door.

Stunned, I stare at the door through which she disappeared. What just happened? No one has ever refused me before. Where did it go wrong? She didn't seem to be too bothered by the playroom or the items in it.

No. I shake my head to myself. She has misunderstood it all. I don't want her to be my sex toy or my hooker – I want her to be my submissive. There's a huge different.

She seemed so curious and interested until the contract came up. I push my chair out and stand up and before I know it, I'm rushing towards the elevator; consumed by the one thought that I can't let her leave. I can't let her walk out of here without at least a promise to reconsider the contract.

I reach the elevator just as the doors are about to close, and without thinking I slide into the elevator and am met by her wonderful blue eyes, wide-open and staring at me as if I'm a wild animal about to attack.

The elevator starts moving and without taking my eyes off her, I reach out to push the emergency stop button. "We're not done talking," I say with a surprisingly strong voice as the elevator slows down and comes to a stop between my floor and the floor below.