Chapter 15

He gives me the bedroom. I tell him I don't mind taking the sofa.

"No, Ana. You take the bedroom. I'll sleep out here."

"Are you sure? I—"

"I insist," he interrupts, extending a finger to brush it down my cheek, whisper soft. "Go, get some sleep. You're exhausted."

I am—so much so that I can't even argue with him, despite that activity becoming my new and favorite pastime. I vigorously rub my eyes with my fists, trying to last a few more minutes. "What time do you have to leave in the morning?"

"I have a company jet at my disposal so there's no hard and fast departure but I do have an important meeting day after tomorrow. It's a long flight and time difference. I should get going by no later than noon, which will get me home at a reasonable hour."

"Okay, so we'll get up by eight. That will give us an hour to talk and you'll still have a few hours to eat and get ready to leave. Sound okay?"

I'm waiting for a response but don't get one so I take a quick peek at him. I swear, from one moment to the next, there's an immediate and dramatic change in his whole demeanor: apparently, schedules aren't on his mind. Those light eyes are stormy with sexual heat and I feel things seize up deep in my belly in direct response. He wants to—and I want to—but I'm not going to do it.

"I'll consider that a yes. Goodnight, Christian."

With that I turn around and head into the bedroom, not even allowing him a peck on the cheek. I'm just too scared to get that close to him. Even his scent is intoxicating and a danger to my virtue—if I have any left, that is, after the last occasion I spent time with Mr. Grey.

Two hours later, I'm still staring into the dark void of the bedroom ceiling, a million thoughts ping-ponging around in my head. I try a yoga relaxation technique, which always works wonders, but not this night. Frustrated, I get up to get some water but I have to walk past the sitting room to get to the refrigerator.

Tiptoeing across the plush carpeting, I make my way to the small kitchen. When I turn the corner, that's when I notice his silhouette in the dim light cast by a lowlight lamp in the foyer. He's sleeping on the couch but it's not long enough for his height and the lower part of his legs hangs off the end.

Is he asleep? I'm not sure but he can't possibly be comfortable, poor thing. I'd fit much better on the sofa. Shaking my head at his pigheadedness, I continue on my task, snatching a bottle of spring water, and then return. "Christian," I whisper, "are you awake?" I gently shake his shoulder with my free hand.

"I am now," a deep voice emerges from the dark. He reaches for the lamp next to the sofa and turns it on. "Why are you?"

"Couldn't sleep. I thought I'd get some water. Listen, you need to get into the bed. You're too tall for the sofa."

"I'll manage, Ana. I'd rather you be comfortable, baby."

"Who said I won't be?"

I'm rewarded with a sheepish grin. "Honestly, this couch is too soft for sleeping."

"I'm not going to sleep on the couch, Christian. We can share the bed—as friends," I add quickly. "I mean, we've shared a bed before. Come on."

I don't have to ask twice. Throwing the blanket off his long legs, he happily gets up, following me into the bedroom. I slip in first, with my bottle of water in hand, and he slides in next to me. Lying side by side, exchanging nothing more than body heat, we're both unconscious in less than ten minutes.

….

For an expensive hotel, you'd think they could spring for some light-filtering shades but, no. The brilliant Mediterranean sun shining directly into my face wrests me away from my dream of speeding dangerously fast on the Grand Canal in Venice on a vaporetto filled with garishly dressed tourists, the well-dressed polizia hot in pursuit. Maybe it was a nightmare. Opening my eyes into what feels like an overexposed photograph hurts. It takes me about ten seconds to remember where I am—and who I am—and when I do, I quickly check the bed for Christian. The other side of the mattress is empty but when I extend my hand there, it's still slightly warm. Maybe he's in the bathroom?

Yawning loudly, I flop back into the pillows, enjoying the plush delights of the high-end bedding and wonder how our discussion will go. During the night, once we were fast asleep, he must have crept closer to spoon me, for when I was briefly wakened by a loud noise coming from the floor above us, I found myself cocooned in Christian Grey. I happily stayed there, too, warm and comfortable and for reasons I don't care to examine, feeling completely safe and content. Happy.

He saunters in a minute later, wearing a stark white tee-shirt, paired with blue flannel drawstring pants, and holding two cups of coffee. "Morning," he says sleepily. He has bed-head, his luxurious dark locks all askew and his pretty eyes are still partially closed. "Sleep well?"

I nod, smiling up at him. "Actually, yes. Really well. Thank you. How about you?"

The smile he gives me is disarming. "I slept just fine once I was in the bed with you. Thanks for that, by the way."

I shrug. "Your bed. Mmm," I hum, taking a sip, "is this a latte?"

"Cappuccino, actually. Is that alright?"

"Mmmhmm. Italy is spoiling me."

Chuckling, he perches on the side of the bed and we sip our coffee quietly for a few companionable minutes, enjoying the stillness of the morning and the first jolt of caffeine.

"What time is it anyway?"

"Just past seven. I wanted to let you sleep later but since you were awake and the coffee arrived, I brought it in."

"I'm glad you did. I don't want to hold up your travel plans today."

He just shakes his head, saying nothing. But I see something darkening his eyes and my best guess is confusion.

Sitting up straight, I try to bolster my courage with my spine. "Okay, then. I'm here. You're here. Declare yourself."

"Declare myself? What do you mean?"

The look on his face reflects more confusion at my words. I roll my eyes and try to corral my irritation. "Christian, I know I'm kinda new at all of this…" I wave my free arm around the room, "this relationship stuff but here's a recap… you know, to jog your memory. I met you at a party; you rescued me at that party. You offered to do me a favor and I accepted… and then, favor granted, you brushed me off, if memory serves." I tap my finger on my upper lip as if trying to gather my memories when I'm pretty sure he knows they're seared into my brain.

"Once I went out with Kent, you contacted me again, angry at my not following your dictates to a tee and I explained about my contractual obligations."

I pause. "With me so far?"

Narrowing his eyes, he nods.

"Okay. You learn as per my contract, I have one more assignment to fulfill and you decide to hire me to satisfy it. All good… except you take me to your parents' house. I'm already tired of this story so I'll cut to the chase: you've told me goodbye twice now in the brief time we've known each other. After the second… and presumably final goodbye, I jet off to Milan with Kent and you show up here.

"I just don't get it—really, Christian. I had offered to go way outside of my comfort zone in order to keep you in my life and you turned me down flat. What do you want from me?" What had begun as lighthearted banter quickly morphs into an accusatory voice, as the painful rejection he'd inflicted upon my poor, overworked heart quickly reclaims me.

I watch him finish his coffee in one gulp; I can see the muscles in his throat moving up and down, and for whatever reason, it turns me on. God, he is just all man and the way I react to him is annoyingly predictable but I can't seem to help myself. I try to focus on what he's about to say instead of all the sex pheromones or whatever it is he's floating my in my direction.

"Ana," he begins and then closes his mouth. "I don't know how to say what I need to without sounding like a complete jackass. Perhaps the problem is that I am one." He looks up at me, his conflict obvious even to me. "What can I say? You walked by me and I was changed in some perceptible way. It was the single most bizarre thing that's ever happened to me. To misquote Caesar, I came, I saw, I wanted. Not necessarily in that order." He offers me an impish grin.

"No," I say, "you left out the conquered part—but you achieved that. You conquered me and then tossed me aside. I understand the first time you walked away… I had spoken out of turn and said something unkind about your… lifestyle. And we had done nothing more than share a cup of coffee. But this last time…"

He reaches for me. "I know." Squeezing my hand, his eyes are trained on the bed, refusing to look up at me. "Ana, I'm damaged goods. It's why I find the power exchanges so profitable… for me personally. I don't have to worry about hurting anyone's feelings—and I still get laid," he grins wickedly. "Win-win."

"Not feelings, no," I say grouchily and snatch back my hand, thinking about all of his implements of pain that my imagination has conjured up. "I don't know if I'm prying too much but I'll ask anyway: why are you damaged? I've met your family and everyone seems happy and affectionate and well adjusted. Yet..."

"Grace is not my biological mother, Ana. Before my father married Grace, he was married to my wretched excuse for a mother. She was the one…" He stops, averting his eyes from mine, looking into his empty coffee cup.

"Want some of mine," I hold out my still full cup.

Smiling slightly, he shakes his head. "Italian coffee is strong. If I have more, I'll be jumping out of my skin." He again reaches his hand over to mine, caressing me lightly with a finger. "Would you let me make love to you?"

His question comes out of the blue. I just look at him like he's crazy, which he is, of course, but he holds his own, brazenly staring me down. I finally look away. "I can't believe you just asked me that. We're having a discussion here, Christian, nothing more."

Disappointment reflects back at me. He's like a little kid who just got turned down for candy, for God's sake. I want to know more about his difficult childhood. But the trickle of information he's feeding me only leads to more questions: what did she do to him? Where is she now? Does he maintain any kind of relationship with her?

"I want more; give me more. Are you saying your early childhood is the reason why you ditched me? And you still haven't begun to answer to my satisfaction why you're here in Milan."

"I told you: I saw you and I was changed."

"You saw me?"

He nods "… and I had to have you… but I knew all along it was a mistake, that I would corrupt you. I didn't want to do that."

"What do you mean, you saw me… do you mean at the restaurant?"

Guiltily, he nods.

"… and you recognized me from seeing me once, for a second no less, weeks before?"

"I did. How could I forget such an angelic face? As I said, if I hadn't been with a date that evening, I surely would have come over and introduced myself. For what it's worth, that kind of instant attraction has never happened to me before. Never, Ana. Then at the party," he shakes his head and shrugs his broad shoulders, "it seemed like destiny."

I stand up, my growing frustration fueling the need to move. "But Christian, you walked away from me… twice. I just don't understand your behavior."

Anguish etches his face. "Neither do I, Ana. That's part of the problem."

I sigh because we're going around in circles. "Can you at least explain why my being with Kent upsets you?"

Anguish shifts quickly to stubborn belligerence. His face reflects his emotions like a mood ring. "How many ways can I tell you I'm jealous?"

I stamp my foot. "Jealous of a gay man who happens to be in a long-term, committed relationship?"

"I don't like knowing you're with him… being photographed with him…as his date. Laughing with him, whatever. It makes me feel insecure."

The man is infuriatingly unyielding. I growl in frustration. "Insecure about what? For God's sake, we're not in a relationship and never really were. The only thing between us is sex, Christian, that's it. When I offered you more, you turned me down. So what's this all about really… why can't you let me be?"

From troubled waters to a calm sea, I can almost see him marshaling his resources, collecting himself. "I don't exactly know," he answers in a clipped tone, standing now, too, his height dwarfing me. "But I have a proposition for you."

I raise a brow, suspicious of his proposition. "And that would be…?"

He takes my hand again. "Let's try again." He kisses my fingers, one at a time. "We'll start slowly and then when we get to know each other better later on, maybe I can take you into my room of wicked delights to rob you of your virtue…if you have any left by then," he arches his brows like a cartoon villain and I laugh in spite of myself.

His proposition makes me happy. My feelings for him are potent; I might even be in love with him. Being away from him these past weeks was so incredibly difficult. When I first saw his face the other night, I felt as if caffeinated butterflies invaded my body and my heartbeat took off like a bat out of hell.

"Okay, Christian, I'm willing to try but what about Kent?"

"I know you like him, Ana, but I'd really prefer you stop these assignations. Especially if we begin to be seen in public together."

I like Kent, damn it. Though I do see Christian's point. He's an important man who is frequently photographed. If I'm seen with both men, tongues will wag about it, especially since Kent keeps his sexuality under wraps. "I think I can agree but before I go all in, I'd like to speak with Kent first. Okay?"

His lips tighten. "So our future relationship hinges on whether or not Kent is willing to give you up as his beard?"

The blood rushes to my face. "I didn't say that. I just want to talk to him. If I do give up going out publicly with Kent, I will not give him up as a friend, Christian. That's not even on the table."

"Fine!" he thunders, his eyes blazing. From placid one moment to frustrated to angry, the man is ridiculously mercurial. He pulls me by the arm up against his body and his mouth crashes onto mine, our teeth clashing.

Placing my hands on his shoulders, I push him away. "Stop it," I spit out the words, rapid-fire, "you have no right to be angry."

"I'm not angry," he snarls, "I'm just desperate to fuck you."

I gasp. He really shocked me. He takes advantage of my open mouth to kiss me again, his tongue pushing into my mouth, twirling with my tongue and that's really all it takes for my legs to nearly give out. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. His hands slide down my back, over my backside, and landing on my thighs lift me up off the ground to grind into me. I can readily feel just how much he wants me and it translates into me, making me wet. Very.

Now what? Do I sleep with him so soon or hold my own? If I let him keep kissing me, it's a done deal. I again push him away. "It's too soon, Christian. Don't you think? We've just now decided to try again."

"I can't think of a better way to seal the deal," he answers, his eyes glowing with heat now. His hands run up from my rear up my back again and deftly slide up front, grabbing my breasts, pinching my nips. I throw my head back and moan as sensations overwhelm me. He puts his satiny lips to my throat and kisses up and down, finally settling his mouth on my shoulder and biting. The sharp pain mixes with the pleasure of his hands, merging into more heat and I know I'm going to give in to him—he's just too good at this. Moving my hand to his crotch, I check out the package he has for me and I'm not disappointed, not in the least.

Since we're in the bedroom we don't have far to travel. He turns, his arm sliding down to behind my knees and sweeps me up, gently placing me on the bed. Looking around the room, he spies one of his ties hanging on the valet and grabs for it.

"Since you're in training for the dungeon, it's never too early to get started." He grins devilishly and wraps the tie around first one wrist and then the other, tying a knot and looping it over the top of the headboard. "There you go, all ready to be ravished. Do you have any idea how sexy you look right now, Ana?"

Sexy? I'm dressed in a long tee shirt, one of his actually, and nothing else. Right now said tee shirt is riding up somewhere around my hips and my panties are just about soaked. My hair is probably a holy mess and since I just woke up, I have no makeup on. So, sexy? I seriously doubt it.

"Oh, yes, sexy as all get-out," he says, obviously seeing my skepticism. He looks around the room and spots his iPhone. "Can I take a photo of you like that?"

"If you promise it won't make it on the Internet."

"I promise but I might use it as my wallpaper." He aims the lens and snaps a shot, bringing it over and holding it in front of my face to show me. "See? The very definition of sexy.

"Your shirt is riding up over your hips and your panties are skimpy enough to show some pretty things. Your nips are standing at attention and you're tied to the bed, helpless and at the mercy of the viewer. Do you know how many hard-ons this picture could produce? But don't worry," he says, one knee gliding up the bed as he begins to crawl nearer to me, "I won't let anyone else see it. Anyone looking at this photo would receive an automatic death sentence. It's mine." He tosses the phone on the table, as he rolls the tee shirt up first over my belly, my breasts and then my head, leaving it wrapped around my tethered arms.

"You're mine." He trails kisses from my lips down in a straight line, between my breasts, past my belly button and below, not stopping until his hot mouth settles over the one part that appreciates it most. I turn my head into my arm to muffle the scream that I can't hold back as his talented tongue gets to work on me. Relentless and unerring no matter how violently I buck, he brings me to orgasm in seconds and then as soon as he gets the condom on, he lifts my legs into the crooks of his elbows and pushes into me, his eyes burning with lust as we become one. The fit is exquisite, causing us both to moan aloud and as he begins to pound into me, he whispers my name, and starts telling me things he should have said right from the start. I'm all ears.