Chapter 35
I wake up to an extraordinarily handsome man holding a big bowl of coffee under my nose. "Mmm," I hum, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "For me?"
He tilts his head. "No, I was just letting you smell the aroma. Yes, for you. I know you like coffee first thing… as I do too. Just one more thing we have in common."
"Oui," I answer, holding my hands out for the large cup. I take a small sip and it's sublime. "Mmm, a latte?"
"Yes, is that okay?"
"More than okay. You're spoiling me with—" I stop because as the words are leaving my lips I recall what he did to me last night. "Actually, I take that back."
He laughs as he adjusts himself on the bed beside me. "I was wondering when you'd remember. I thought I'd have a little more time with appreciative Ana before last night came creeping back to turn you against me."
"Yes, well I remember all… and I do believe you mentioned a surprise a few days back?"
"Actually," he sips his coffee and places it back on the bedside table, "I have two."
"So? Bring 'em on."
"I'm afraid you'll have to get up for both of them." He reaches toward me to brush a stray lock from my face.
"Oh. Well let's drink our coffee first, in that case."
We slowly sip our lattes and talk about having brunch with his brother and Kate. I mention I need to stop by my apartment to change clothes and he says that won't be necessary.
"What do you mean it won't be necessary?"
"That's one of the surprises. Come," he says, standing up and holding out his hand. I take it and let him pull me off the bed. He leads me to a closet off the dressing room that's attached to his master suite. The doors are wood-framed frosted glass so I cannot see into it. "Go on. Open it."
I eye him, unsure, but curiosity gets the best of me and I open the door. Inside is a huge closet—a room really—and it's filled with clothing, all organized with the precision of an obsessive-compulsive drill sergeant. It appears it's all female attire, I think, as my eyes scan the rows of shoes, everything from designer stilettos to running shoes, ballet flats to Dansko clogs. Essentially, it's a shoe store and they all look brand spanking new.
The closet is outfitted with a California Closet-like system, with drawers and upper shelves holding sweaters, and rods holding shirts, dresses, and trousers. I reach out and open a drawer to reveal its contents of jeans of every hue of blue and density of fabric. The next drawer down is filled with cute, summery shorts. Below that is a drawer full of t-shirts and similar light or cropped tops. On the other side is lingerie, I soon learn, and beautiful lingerie at that: Agent Provocateur, Victoria's Secret, and what looks like handmade silks. I pick up one and it slips slinkily through my fingers. Lower still is a drawer filled with swimsuits and cover-ups.
As I peruse the garments I'm floored by the sheer quantity involved but even more so by the quality. The wardrobe is amazing and must have cost a fortune, with every hot designer represented and a few dresses that my eye picks out as couture. Spending time with Kent has made me somewhat expert when it comes to spotting designer clothing, particularly dresses and gowns.
"These are for you, Ana."
"What's for me?"
"The clothes."
"Which ones?"
He rolls his eyes, clearly exasperated. "You're not usually this dense. All of it, Ana. It's all yours."
"You bought me an entire wardrobe? Or did you have these lying around from a previous relationship?" I hold up my finger and wag it at him. "`Be careful because your answer could mean the difference between life and death for you."
He laughs. "I bought you an entire wardrobe, yes, so that when you want to stay, getting dressed… or undressed, as the case may be… is not a problem. And… for the hundredth time, I didn't have previous relationships, not like ours anyway."
"But," I blurt out, my hands reaching out to again touch the various fabrics, "I can't accept such a gift, Christian. It's too much."
"Sweet, you're my girl." He pulls me into his arms. "Nothing is too much for you."
My heart lurches in my chest, hearing him describe me that way. Every moment spent with him convinces me more and more that he really does love me but is afraid to come out and say it. The time he asked me how I knew I was in love with him was just so tender and genuine, it made me love him even more.
Choked up with emotion, I turn my head and focus on the clothes so he doesn't see my tears. When I feel I have control of myself once again, I say, "Who selected all of these clothes? I'm sure you're capable of it yourself, having excellent taste, but you certainly don't have time… and I doubt the inclination... to shop for women's clothes."
"To be honest, though I thoroughly appreciate women's clothes, I'm not so great at shopping for them. Consequently, I hired a personal shopper, gave her your measurements, and… voilà. Here it all is." His arm makes a sweeping gesture.
"You mean there's something you're not great at? So far I've found you do everything exceptionally well, from wine selection to flying, sailing, your unfailing business acumen, not to mention being a sexpert… oh, and I almost forgot—very adept at sexually frustrating someone to the brink of committing murder. So thank God you don't shop for women's clothes so well." I grin. "Anyway, please tell your personal shopper she did a wonderful job. These clothes are spectacular."
"Tell her yourself. She's yet another of Mia's endless chorus line of friends." At seeing the look of horror that no doubt flashes across my face, he holds up his hands defensively and quickly adds, "I've never done anything with Kelly. I promise."
He had better not. Hands on hips, I bark out, "So… what's my other surprise then?"
He holds out his hand. "Follow me, my lady."
Somewhat reluctantly because of the unholy light in his eyes, I follow him down the hall and into another bedroom. Once I walk in behind him, he closes and locks the door. My eyes circuit the room: there's a queen-sized sleigh bed on one side along with an integrated closet, and on the other side is nothing but an odd chaise-type chair surrounded by a tall, freestanding tri-fold mirror. I look at him questioningly.
He's smiling broadly as he approaches me and without asking, he starts to remove my clothes. All I have on is a pair of skimpy panties, a lace-up bustier, and a little silk kimono. Three ties pulled and I'm naked.
"What's the surprise?" I ask again, trepidation in my voice.
He points to the chair. "That is a Tantra chair. It's designed solely for sexual pleasure and it was just delivered two days ago for us to enjoy. It is ideal for Kama Sutra positions."
My eyes widen at that explanation. Yes, this qualifies very definitely as a surprise. But what he does next is even better. He takes me by the shoulders and pushes me down onto the lounging chair, arranging me so that I'm lying on the bottom half, legs wide open. And then he drops to his knees and inserts himself right between them so his face is exactly level with my…
"I promised you a superior orgasm last night, didn't I? I am now going to deliver on that promise. There are a few conditions however: first, I want you to keep your body exactly as I've positioned you. If you move so much as a finger, I will know and I will punish you for it. Are we clear?"
Words flee me so I bob my head in assent. I can feel his warm breath on my most intimate parts and it starts my legs quivering, while everything within me sort of shifts down and contracts. It's painful but in a good kind of way. God, I want him so much and my physical reaction to him happens so fast, as if he just pushes a button. My button.
"Also," he continues in a stern voice, "you are not allowed to come until I give you my permission. If you do climax without my approval… well, that's a crash-and-burn offense. I guarantee you will not like the consequences. Is that also clear?"
I just catch myself before I give him an eye roll but he's so damn condescending when he's goes all dominant. No, I don't understand simple instructions, is what I want to say. Instead, cowardly me just nods, trying valiantly to keep my face impassive. If I get nothing else from my relationship with Christian, I'll walk away with an ability to play poker well, controlling my facial expressions becoming an acquired talent.
With one finger he touches me and I close my eyes, feeling myriad sensations bombard me: one, it feels so good to be touched by him; two, it's embarrassing how wet I am and getting more so by the moment; three, his face is so close to my giney and he's just looking at me down there, as if it's holding all his interest. It's both sensual and humiliating but it dials up the heat level—surely his purpose.
"Ana," he says in a soft yet somehow menacing voice, "unless new clothes get you wet, I'm thinking you like being dominated—or at least your body does. What do you think?"
I squeeze my eyes shut because the answer to his question is very apparent: I know it and he knows it. But he's enough of a cad to force me to say it.
"Answer me, Ana."
"I think new clothes do get me wet, as they do every woman, duh. But fine. I will admit that my body likes your dominance."
"Yes, it does. Keep that in mind when your brain tells you that you shouldn't enjoy it. This time let matter reign over mind."
With those words he stops talking and uses his mouth in a much more rewarding pursuit. As soon as I feel his hot, wet tongue circling my clit, I move very close to coming. Using all of my mental faculties, I push it back. I cannot come until he says so. Or else… what? I wonder what that terrible consequence is. Thinking about scary things keeps the orgasm at bay until he pinches my nipple so hard it brings me right back into the moment.
"Stay here with me. I could tell your mind is wandering, Ana. Shall I give you a couple of ways to remember?"
I resolutely shake my head, my mouth too dry to assist me. I can feel beads of perspiration begin to form on my forehead.
"I'm sorry but I think I disagree. I think I should." He gets up and goes over to the bedside stand and removes something from the drawer, slipping it into his pocket. Coming back, he kneels on one knee, and whispers, "Close your eyes for a moment."
I comply and I feel his mouth on my breast and then he sucks hard. I squeal and jerk back and then realize I've moved. More than a finger, too. Shit. I open my eyes to find him looking up, grinning like a loon.
"You moved, Ana. Tsk, tsk. You know what that means. Right now, however, I need to finish what I started.
And with that he removes something from his pocket and I feel a tight pinch on my nipple. Looking down I see he clamped it. "Ow, get it off."
"No. It will remind you to keep your mind focused on the here and now."
And he does the exact same thing with the other one. "There. Now for your punishment for moving." He squints his eyes. "Tell you what. I'll let you choose: a paddle spanking or an anal plug. Which of the two would you prefer?"
"Spanking," I croak out as my heart begins to throttle up. Why do I find this shit so damn exciting? It drives me crazy trying to figure it out. He gets up to get the paddle, I suppose, as I mull this over, and when he comes back he flicks the clamps, one and then the other causing me to whimper.
"Stay with me, pretty girl. You went off somewhere again."
"I'm trying," I growl out with all the malice I can summon.
"Yes, you are. Very. But I'm willing to overlook it because you're so damn cute." He plants a kiss on the tip of my nose. "Now stand up."
He pulls me to my feet and walks me around to the high part of the chair, which is just at my hip level. Was this chair made custom to our dimensions? Probably, knowing how meticulous Christian is about everything.
"Bend over, please."
"It's going to hurt my breasts if I lean on it," I whine a little. But he so deserves it.
"If you promise not to interfere with the spanking, I will leave your hands loose so you may lean on your forearms. The minute you try to deflect the paddle you lose that option. Agreed?"
Pouting, I nod. I thought this was supposed to be a fun surprise? I guess he never said fun, only surprise.
"Actually, I have a better idea," he says. He puts leather cuffs on my wrists and clips them together in front of me. "Now lean on your forearms."
I bend over and lean on them, my breasts just grazing the chair. My legs are trembling and he hasn't even struck me yet.
"All right, I want you to count after each stroke. If you make a mistake, we start again from one."
What a dick. I wait for the pain, tensing up though I know that will only make it hurt more—but I can't help it. Instead of the paddle though, I feel his hands, first gently massaging my skin and then rubbing more vigorously. While my mind is still computing that, he silently lifts the paddle and strikes with the first blow. "Owwww!"
"Ana…"
"One," I yell, wanting to spit at him except he's behind me. And then he slams the paddle again on the other side. I scream again.
"Ana, don't make me remind you again."
"Two," I manage to say and then give in, just slumping over and trying not to fight it.
"That's the way," he says before striking a third time. This time I just grunt—a delicate girlish grunt, of course.
He does ten strokes and my bottom is very sore by the time he's done and I really and truly want to smite him with that paddle, preferably squarely on the testicles. The bastard.
He leaves me in the bent position and comes around, sits on the chair, and lifts me up, his hands under my arms, to slide me down on him until his face is right there between my legs… and proceeds to lick me until…
"Christian!" I scream, uncaring as to who can hear me. I've never felt ecstasy like this before. It's almost unbearable, forcing me to try to wriggle away from the intensity, but despite my begging and writhing, he stays on point and powerfully delivers on that promise of the most spectacular orgasm. When it finally passes I feel so limply exhausted that I doubt I could move. His strong arms pull me farther down his body, until I'm right over his now-engorged cock and slides me right down on it as I'm facing away from him. Hmm, I'm beginning to see all the possibilities of this versatile chair.
"Reverse cowgirl," he says as he heaves his hips up rhythmically. I like the way it feels but I want to see my beautiful man, look into his eyes, watch them roll up into his head when he comes. At various points in time, opening my eyes and seeing Christian, whether it's watching him stroll into a restaurant, his eyes searching the room for me, or making love, intensely staring into one another's eyes as our bodies pleasure each other, or even when his are filled with stubborn jealousy over some non-issue—all those times I feel a potent surge of pride that this gorgeous man is mine and a heated rush of love for him and his faith in me.
I struggle to turn around. "Eh, eh," he chides me.
"I want to look at you," I gasp out.
My words must touch him for surprisingly he gives in, lifting me clear of his cock and I turn around and climb back into the saddle. Then I lean down onto his delectable chest and smile. I think I'm confusing him with my swings of emotion but it's easy to see the affection in his expression. "Okay, hang on, Ana. You're going for a ride."
With those words he gives me a ride, not so much wild as controlled. He's so big that no matter what position we use, it feels awesome but this chair is incredible. I can't hold back anymore and I hit the wall, coming so hard that I'm drenched in sweat. I grab his face with my tethered wrists and kiss him violently and though I promised I wouldn't say it again, I do. "I fucking love you," I half say, half cry. And I kiss him again.
He looks at me helplessly and I feel sorry I put him once again in this corner so I change tacks. Still holding his face I whisper loudly, "Does it feel good, baby? Do I feel good?"
"So good, Ana."
"Are you gonna come? I want to watch your eyes—keep them open."
He nods and I think my words drive him to his climax. His eyes start to roll up and I pinch him. His eyes quickly swivel back to mine. Hmm, he's quite a good sub. The moan that works its way out of his luscious raises goose bumps on my skin from head to toe. Ahh. When it's done he clutches me tightly against him, saying with his body what he's unable to tell me with words. It's enough for now.
We lie there for ten minutes without moving before he slaps my butt and I shriek in pain. "Oops, sorry. Forgot," he says, amusement shining in his light eyes. I stick out my tongue at him.
"Did I make up for last night?" he asks, real concern shining in his eyes.
I sniff. "I suppose so... except you were really mean. And my backside hurts."
"Aw, I'm sorry, baby. It's all part of the dynamic... but, Ana, you like it. Will you ever be able to truly accept that?"
"I don't know but for now I'll forgive you because I loved my surprises and you seem to think of me a lot and I love that. Plus, you did give me an excellent you-know-what."
He laughs, pulls me into his arms again and rolls with me to the edge of the bed. "Come on. We have enough time to shower and dress before we have to leave to meet Elliot and Kate."
...
The two blondes are already seated at the café, sipping coffee and laughing over something. Christian and I hurry over. "Sorry we're late. It was Ana's fault."
"What? It was not. It was totally Christian's fault," I assure them.
Elliot leans back in his chair and gives us a long look. "Well, which is it? Seems we have conflicting accounts," he says, grinning. Kate just shakes her head.
"You two. What were you up to that made you late for brunch, one has to wonder?"
I huff out my breath, vibrating my lips noisily. "Uh, sleeping? That's generally what people do on Saturday morning."
"Ana," Kate says, rolling her eyes, "that's what you do every morning. I just assumed when you're with Mr. Grey there you might think up new and better things to do."
"Maybe Christian just doesn't inspire her?" Elliot adds, his smile stretching from ear to ear.
Maintaining an impassive face, Christian pulls out my chair and then seats himself, acting for all the world as if no one is speaking.
"Nothing to say, Christian?" Elliot says.
"Do you hear something, Ana?"
I giggle. These brothers are like watching a comedy duo.
My eyes migrate to the other blonde sitting across the table. "Did you two order already?"
"No, but here comes our waiter. We can at least get coffee."
"Mmm, coffee."
"Hello, my name is Tito. Would you like to order drinks?
Christian speaks up. "I think coffee all around?" he says, glancing at each of us and getting a nod. "We'll also have a carafe of mimosas for the table… and maybe a bottle of Pellegrino, as well."
"Very good, sir. I'll come back with your drinks and take your brunch orders."
Tito is quick and about five minutes later serves us the beverages. At that point we order our meals. I take Elliot's recommendation and order the huevos rancheros.
"Christian," Elliot says sipping a glass of fresh orange juice mixed liberally with prosecco, "may I speak with you in private for a moment?"
Looking up, Christian's brows knit together. "Er… yeah, sure." The two men rise to their feet and walk away.
"Wonder what that's all about?" Kate murmurs and then perks up. "Hey, catch me up on what's going on with you, GF."
"I will but I just need to run to the ladies for a sec. Hold that thought."
I get up quickly because I think I might have gotten my period early and I need to check. I duck into the ladies' room and do a quick look. Relieved that it was a false alarm, I slip back out and as soon as I'm through the door, I hear Elliot's voice.
"…tried to reach you but you didn't return my calls, Christian."
"Did she say anything else or just ask for me?"
"She said to tell you that Cassidy called and that you'd know who she was, that she'd been trying to contact you at work but never got put through… she said it was important."
"Yesterday you say?"
"Yesterday I took the call when I was there to borrow Mom's convertible. But Mom told me she'd called several times earlier in the week and left messages with Frankie. Of course, you know Frankie, as dizzy as they come. Reliable receptionist she's not. She told Mom she was elbows deep in flour, baking brioche when the phone rang and it never went to voicemail for some reason. Anyway… thought you should know."
At that point I make my escape but I can't help but be troubled by that information that I shouldn't even know. Wasn't Cassidy the name of the woman he said was his first submissive? He also said she was his girlfriend. My heartbeat escalates at the thought of her coming back into his life. Why now, just when things are going well for us?
I reach the table about twenty seconds before they do and Christian looks at me questioningly.
"Ladies' room." I pause. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, baby. I was just saying to Elliot that we should go for a sail today, since the weather is so ideal—winds are perfect for the catamaran."
Kate claps her hands together. "That sounds like a marvelous idea. Let's do it."
My mood lifts slightly at Kate's enthusiasm and the sparkle in her eyes. Elliot must like it too for he gives her a big, wet, slurpy kiss right here in full view of everyone in the café. Christian makes a disgusted sound.
"Hey ass-wipe, you may not have a reputation to uphold but I do. Could you keep your PDAs a bit more on the dry side?"
"Teach me how, Christian. How do you act like your ass is starched all the time? You do it so well."
"I'd like to teach you but…" He shrugs. "Lost cause, Elliot. If you're not civilized by now, I suspect you'll never be. But here's your first lesson anyway: sucking tongues—or anything else, for that matter—in public places is a no-no… unless done so well that no one notices. Although I know that finesse is not a word in your vocabulary."
I scrabble around for a smile but I'm not feeling it, not really, because I'm worried about Cassidy. I can't even ask him about it directly because I was eavesdropping. I could ask him what Elliot told him but he's not obligated to share it with me. I do suspect that there's a lot about Christian's life that he doesn't reveal… and it pecks at me. I'm an open book with him—there's virtually nothing about me or my life that I haven't told him. He, however, has not reciprocated.
...
Gently rhythmic sloshes of water lapping against the hull of The Saving Grace are lulling me to sleep. The day is truly glorious, the sky the deepest azure I've yet seen in a Seattle sky, the air warm but comfortably so. Puget Sound is serene and there's a mellow breeze. We got on the water just before noon and sailed for a couple of hours before docking for a pub visit to indulge in a few frosty pints of ale. Downing them like lemonade, I got a little drunk so when we got back on deck I spread out one of Christian's blankets that he keeps on board and decided it was an excellent time for a nap. Kate joins me and Christian and his brother are sitting up front, navigating and talking, while jazz notes from his iPod tinkle in the background. The word idyllic comes to mind, the only little pea under my comfy mattress is a woman named Cassidy.