Chapter 39

"Marry you?" I croak out. I'm sure my face reflects my horrified disbelief because I see his expression morph from anxious to all-out panic. Where is my calm, collected dark-haired beauty—the one who oozes easy charm? In his place is a wild-eyed man with messy hair and clenched jaw.

"You wanted a commitment, Ana. What better commitment is there?"

He says it like a plea, both palms up, and I'm worried because I'm definitely without a doubt declining his proposal. I'm too young to get married… even to a rich-as-fuck, beautiful, kinky, brilliant and charming man as he. Not to mention I'm not quite equipped to take on his crazy at the moment.

I can hear the stress riding at the edge of his voice and I'm feeling it too, so I stand up, scanning the room for a chair I can flop down in but there's only one pair of priceless antique Louis IV chairs flanking an entry hall table… due to the fact that we're currently in an entry hall. I tug his arm, trying to get him to stand. "Can we go somewhere and sit down? Maybe also have a glass of wine or ten?"

He pins me with his penetrating gaze, his eyes like molten silver. "I just asked you to marry me, Ana. Can we please just focus on your answer and get wine later?"

Taking his hand, I kiss his fingers and look up into those mercurial eyes that can change color with his mood and circumstance. "Christian," I start, and then close my eyes and inhale deeply. "I would never accept that proposal. First of all, you offered it under duress, afraid I was going to leave."

"You were, weren't you?" He rises gracefully to his feet but moves no farther.

Frustrated, I huff out my breath. "Yes, but it wasn't a ploy to wring a proposal out of you. I just want you to acknowledge me publicly as your girlfriend, not marry me, for God's sake. I'm just turning twenty-four—I'm too young to marry."

Both of his hands grip hanks of his hair, as he begins to pace. "I know you're young, Ana. I know. It might have been impulsive on my part... however, my proposal stands." He stops pacing, and, as he eyes me warily, asks, "What's the second reason?"

"Second?"

"You said first of all. What comes next?"

"Oh yeah. It wasn't the most romantic proposal… to understate it by a mile. It was agitated and impulsive."

He walks over to me, drops back down to one knee and takes my hands. "Look, Ana, I realize I've been slow to admit it but I love you… very much." His eyes fill with tears and I feel shaky. He really means it. "Please, Ana, I'm on my fucking knee."

"You love me? But how do you know?" I ask him the same question he asked me when I admitted to him that I was in love with him.

Such a long weighted sigh is expelled from his chest—just that breath says so much about what he's feeling. "I know, Ana, because I want to be with you all the time; I miss you whenever you're out of my sight; I worry about you whenever you're out of my sight. I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world; you make me laugh and feel young and light. You've quickly become the most important person in my life to me." He smiles shyly. "That's how I know, Ana."

Continuing, he grips my hands harder and I know this confession doesn't come easy for him. "It must have been obvious how I felt about you to everyone all along—everyone but us. I don't want to lose you, not now, not ever."

"Christian, I don't want to lose you either but you have to admit that every time things start to go a little smoothly for us, something comes along to wreck it. It's happened, like, four or five times already in less than two years."

"It won't happen again, Ana. I'll give you the most beautiful, lavish, fairy-tale wedding and take you on a magical honeymoon. And when we return we'll buy a house together. Then you'll feel secure in my feelings for you, and I'll feel secure that you won't leave me. We'll be happy, baby, I promise. Deliriously happy."

"Christian, before we discuss this matter any further, I need more intel about this whole Cassidy thing. I want to see the surveillance tape."

My request triggers the whole arched brow-wide eyes-open mouth expression. I can see the whites of his eyes. "What? Why?"

I shake my head. "Because the little I did see upset me and what's on the rest of that tape… well, my imagination is taking me to very ugly places, Christian. I need to see it."

"No, Ana. I don't feel comfortable showing it to you."

"Tell me why, Christian. Is there something on it you don't want me to see?"

"Yes, all of it. It will upset you, baby. Needlessly. I got rid of her and I think she'll stay away. She did for all these years. It was my generosity towards her that opened the door. I guess my gesture was misguided even though I did it anonymously." He shrugs. "Hindsight is twenty-twenty, of course. At the time I guess I was trying to take stock of my life, right a few wrongs."

"Do you feel you did her wrong?"

"I do."

"Why?"

He gets a stony expression on his face and says nothing in response, spurring me to insist. "Show it to me now."

"Ana, I… I may have said something I don't want you to hear. I said it to placate Cassidy but as soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them."

I nod but I feel my face pinch up. I can't help it. "I'll take that under consideration… but I'm watching it. If we're to be together, we cannot have secrets from each other."

He nods miserably. "Promise me that no matter what, you won't leave."

My eyes shoot up to the ceiling, frustrated. How can I promise him that? Yet he's so insecure about me that I feel I have to give him some guarantee. Forcing my gaze back to his face I see such severe anxiety and even fear in his beautiful face that has come to be so dear to me that I capitulate. "Yes, I promise that no matter what I won't leave, Christian. Now let's go."

...

I feel sick after watching their interaction. Sick to my stomach. The kind of sick you feel when you watch a graphically violent movie. She fucking kissed his shoes. Granted I saw the look on his face when she did that—he looked as ill as I feel right now. The whole video makes me want to puke but it also raises a lot of questions in my mind. Why was Cassidy carrying weapons, for one thing? What kind of person does that? And why was Christian protective of her? He should have pressed charges against her for stalking.

"All right," I say when the video feed finishes, "I have questions that require answers. First of all, why do you feel you did her wrong?"

He taps his fingers against the desk in a rapid staccato, whether in irritation, agitation, or contemplation I can't tell. A minute later he begins speaking. "Cassidy was not the poster child for mental health. Far from it. She'd been abused as a child, raped as a teenager. Her attraction to BDSM felt to her like her taking some of her power back, believe it or not, by willingly giving it to another rather than having it seized from her by force."

I'm glued to his story, though simultaneously appalled. I say nothing so as to encourage him to continue. This is more information than I've ever gotten out of him before.

"I did my best to get her to counseling. I also encouraged her to study jiu jitsu, selecting it because the discipline doesn't advocate violence but teaches how to fight when attacked. The moves are designed not to incapacitate but to kill. When I met her she'd always have a knife strapped to her leg. Eventually she included a small revolver and an ice pick in her arsenal. I figured learning how to fight would help her feel safe enough to lose the weapons."

"And? What happened?"

"She'd attained her brown belt by the time we parted ways. I encouraged her to continue on to her black belt, first degree and beyond, but it takes time, dedication and a lot of hard work. I doubt she ever pursued it once we separated."

"She was armed when she came to see you. Why?" My voice is barely more than a whisper as I consider the potential consequences we might have faced.

"I'm not sure, but Taylor disarmed her before bringing her into the apartment. You heard the tape."

"Yes. Do you think she meant you harm? Or me?"

"No, Ana, I don't. I think she wanted to try to re-establish some kind of relationship with me. That's it. I told her no—unequivocally—and she left. I truly believe it was blown out of proportion by all of us."

I grimace when I think of the way she behaved. "She kissed your shoes, for God's sake."

"Yes," he agrees, a scowl on his face, "I was not happy about that. It merely added to my guilt about her."

"Why? Christian, did you make her kiss your shoes at any time since you've known her?"

"Of course not," he insists, his eyes sparking with indignation.

"Okay. So what you said to her about me was a lie then?"

He stubbornly keeps his eyes glued to the floor. "You know it was. I told you how I feel about you."

I let quiet settle over us for a few minutes while I think. When I look up he's watching me, his eyes searching my expression for any clue. "All right. I think we can get past this."

The look of intense relief on his face convinces me I'm doing the right thing. I don't want to hurt him—I love him. But I do have to explain to him how much he hurt me. "The thing is, Christian, if it happens again, if you say or do something that makes me doubt your feelings for me again then all bets are off."

His hand swings to mine, and, clutching it tightly, he brings it to his lips and brushes them softly over my knuckles. "It won't, I swear to all that's holy. I will not give you any reason to doubt how much I love you. Cross my heart."

"Then I guess I'm staying for now," I say, the huge relief that it's all settled making me feel impish.

"You had better stay forever, not just for now. In fact," he says kissing my hand over and over, "I want you to move in as soon as possible. Part of me is tempted to lock you up in the apartment right now so you can't escape from me ever." His lips curl in a devious grin. "Now there's a thought I could live with. What I could do to you if you were my prisoner, Ana. All manner of things, I'd hazard to say."

Everything in my lower region contracts to a painful pitch at his words and accompanying leer. The man can turn me on instantly with a carnal look or comment and all common sense abandons me. Now I have sex on the brain.

And so, of course, does he. He raises a brow in query and I nod. Eyes gleaming with devilment, he rises to his feet, extends his hand, and issues a command. "Come."

Do I ever say no to him? I take his hand and allow him to lead me upstairs to the master suite. When we get inside and the door is closed I peek at him from the corner of my eye. "I don't want you to make love to me."

Disappointment clouds his eyes; he stops moving, and just watches me uncertainly.

As I step closer to him, I grip his shirt to yank him to me. Enunciating every word slowly and clearly I tell him what's on my mind. "I want you to fuck me. Rough."

His eyes widen and he tilts his head. "Rough? How rough?"

Shrugging my shoulders I say, "Your call."

"Carte blanche?"

I nod and smile.

He closes his eyes briefly then holds out his hand. "In that case... come with me."

We walk back downstairs, this time to the dungeon. When we get to the room he doesn't make me kneel in the corner. Instead he takes me to the center of the large space. "Strip," he orders as he stands back to watch. He has one arm across his chest, the other resting on it with his finger tapping his lips as if he's thinking. Though he looks the picture of calm, I can see the heat raging in his eyes—the same heat that's burning in my belly. I begin to disrobe but he interrupts, "Just unbutton your shirt and leave it on."

I do as he says and my shirt gapes open but the long sleeves prevent me from removing my bra.

"Unfasten your skirt and let it drop to the floor."

Once again I comply, allowing the skirt to slide down my legs where it pools around my ankles. He takes one step toward me, reaching out with his long arm. His index finger slides into one cup of my bra and drags it down. My breast spills out and he smiles and does the same thing to the other cup. Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my black satin panties and slips them down slowly. I'm standing there now, my shirt flapping wide, my naked breasts pushed out and held up by the bra, no panties but thigh-high stockings and high heels.

"Look at my dirty girl," he says, lust roughening his voice. "Step out of the skirt, please."

I lift my feet out of the little black skirt and glance at him for further instructions. Taking his time, he looks me over. When he stares at me like this, he makes me feel like a goddess with the way his eyes just seem to drink me in. Spending extra time ogling my breasts and legs before he walks around me for a rear view and returns, his face reflects his satisfaction with my body... and it makes me feel powerful in my femininity. After what seems an eternity and he has me quaking with lust for him, he just breaks into a wicked grin and crooks his finger at me then turns, expecting me to follow him. Leading me to the padded bench, he stops. "Bend over the bench and spread your legs.

When he says that a rush of heat sweeps through me and I get very wet. I'm so ready for him but I don't think it's coming soon. It's all about foreplay and anticipation with him.

As I wait, I hear him moving around. A drawer opens, there's some rummaging, and then it slams closed. Music comes on, the faint strains slowly growing in volume. It's a Chopin etude that he frequently plays on the piano; it involves a high degree of difficulty he told me, because it's played mostly on the black keys. I hear his footsteps and then I don't, leading me to conclude that he removed his shoes. What else did he take off?

I feel his body heat behind me and then he kicks my legs farther open. His hands grasp my waist and lift me higher up the bench and he pulls up velvet straps from underneath it and wraps them gently around my wrists, tying me to the bench. His hot mouth nuzzles my neck and ear, sending icy tingles racing up my spine. "If I get too rough use your safeword or simply tell me to stop, and I will stop, Ana. All right?"

"Yes," I answer and can hear the tremulous quality of my voice.

His hands reach under me and begin to roll and twist my nipples, trapped in place by my bra. He tugs on them and my orgasm beckons. Then one finger travels from the nape of my neck in a straight line down over my shirt to the cleft of my butt and he touches my anus. I jerk away and he says. "We're going to have some fun with this…" and his finger continues to travel to the front, "… and this, too."

Well, he can't fuck me in both places. All too soon I feel the cold trickle of lube between my butt cheeks and then something even colder and solid. A plug. I'm a little scared and want to wriggle away from it but he's pinning me in place. As soon as he presses it against the muscles, I do cringe away, afraid it will hurt.

"I've been wanting to do this with you for a long time, Ana," he says in a seductive voice. "This is not the rough part; the plug is small. Relax and stay still, baby."

He moves the plug away and uses his finger to spread the lubrication, in and out with his finger several times, and then I feel the plug there again. I'm pretty sure I don't like it but I use all of my resources to stay still while he pushes it into me. Once it's in it's not too unpleasant. He leans over me again, his lips once more at my ear.

"Rough, you say? Rough it is. Your wish is my command, baby."

And I feel his rock-hard erection at me a moment before he thrusts his hips fast and slams into me, sheathing his entire length to the hilt. "Ahh," I scream. His hand reaches around to tease my clit. Between the plug creating strange sensations and making everything tighter, his huge cock filling me entirely, his talented fingers playing with me and just the rough sex I asked for—I'm on the edge of orgasm with that first push. He gives me a moment for my body to adjust to the onslaught and then he shoves in again, and again, creating a perfect and almost violent rhythm. I come on the third thrust and he fucks me through it.

"Good girl," he says, panting lightly. "Can I get another one?"

"No," I cry out, already exhausted.

He laughs wickedly. "Oh, I think you could manage another, Ana." He takes it up yet another notch but this time I feel the plug turning and twisting, pushing and pulling. With his other hand, he reaches around and his fingers pinch my clit.

"Ah." The guttural quality of my scream makes me almost scare myself.

"Shhhhhhh, trust me, baby. It's going to be good," he whispers, keeping up the pressure and when he finally lets go of the plug, he slaps my ass hard and at the same time releases my clit.

It's as if there's an explosion inside my body. Everything surges together in one giant, violent, intense conflagration and I'm spinning in the flames. I scream and could vaguely hear him chuckle and then he slams into me three times in rapid succession and he moans loudly.

"Ana. Fuck. You just might be the death of me, baby."

And his weight comes crashing down upon me, pushing all the breath out of my body in one big whoosh.

...

"Minx, I need you to hook me up with a Dom or two."

"Whaaaat? You already are hooked up with the best Dom ever to stomp the earth. What are you nuts?"

I chuckle for I could just see her face right about now. Minx has the best Oh no you didn't expression of us all; even Kate, the queen of the shocked expression has now been unseated by Minx. "No, I don't mean hook up like that. I mean I want to talk to a couple of Doms… you know, in the journalistic sense."

"Explain, Ana. You want to interview them?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. God, I sound just like Christian these days. Anyway... I'm trying to figure out what makes Mr. Grey tick. He insists he is the way he is, you know, commitment-shy and anti-social, because of his early childhood—but doesn't include the whole dominant thing in that—he says that's just tied to his, like, innate sexuality. I, however, think it's related and I just want to get a feel for how other Doms are."

"You're barking up the wrong tree, Ana. I told you about myself. A person could not have a more functional, trouble-free childhood than I had. My friends all had divorced parents and would look at me like a science experiment. I used to find myself apologizing—"I'm sorry my parents are still together and still love each other. It's not my fault."

"I know, and you started having those fantasies when you were a little kid."

"It's true, Ana. I didn't understand them because I didn't even know what sex was… but I had them nonetheless."

"Yeah, I read this novel about reincarnation once. Complements—that was the title. It claimed that babies are born with memory residue of their previous lives. Maybe you were, like, a dominatrix or something in your last life?"

"I'm sure that's it, babycakes. Anyway, I happen to know a few good Doms who will likely chat with you. Let me try to set something up. Do you want to talk to one at a time or all together?"

"Hmm. I think probably one at a time would be more effective. Maybe I could meet them at a coffee shop… and, like, schedule one for one time and the other for an hour later? Does that sound doable?"

"Yeah. Okay. Are you relatively free tomorrow?"

"I rejoin the life of the working slug tomorrow but I'll be done early, by two-ish. See what you can do. Oh, and Minx?"

"Si?"

"Thanks. Not just for this but for everything. You're such a solid friend that I feel like I've known you my entire life."

"Same here, gro. I got your back, Ana. Never fear."

"Gro?"

Practically hearing her grin, I listen as Minx says, "I made it up. Girl bro. Gro. Don't steal it."

"Trust me on that. Okay, so call me when you have them Doms."

"Will do."

It takes Minx all of three hours to set me up. I am meeting Cash, a 34-year-old Dom, at five o'clock at the Starbucks near Irina's and then at 6:15, Zachary, a 42-year-old bloke will show up hopefully. Tomorrow Stefano, a 29-year-old new Dom, will meet me. I might have to cancel on that one 'cause Minx told me he is to-die-for gorgeous and I have an inkling that someone I know would not be pleased. After thanking Minx profusely, I begin to draw up a list of questions I'd like to ask.

1. What made you become a Dom? 2. How old were you when it happened? 3. Would you say it was an innate thing or something caused by your environment growing up? 4. How do you act outside of sexual situations? 5. Are you currently dominant?

...

My phone buzzes just as I'm leaving Macy's after buying a pair of sandals to go with my new sundress. Ugh, I'm focused on my upcoming Dom interviews and don't feel like talking to anyone right now. For a moment I feel like ignoring it but then I think it might be one of the Doms bailing on me so I check the caller: Christian.

"Hi," I answer as sprightly as I can.

No hello or any pleasantry. Just launches right into conversation. "What are you up to?"

"Shopping. I need a few more things and then I'll grab a coffee at Starbucks and head home afterward. What time will you be home?"

"Well, I thought I'd leave early and meet up with you."

Shit. "How early?"

"Now early. May I meet you at the coffee house?"

"Um, why didn't you tell me you were going to leave work early? I would've made sure I'd be free."

"Because I didn't know that the French entrepreneur with whom I was supposed to have a meeting would cancel on me at the last minute. His PA was whining through her nose something about a missed flight or so I'm supposed to believe. I cleared my damn schedule for him."

"Give me a minute, Christian. I'll call you right back."

"Why? What's going on?"

Sheesh, he's always so suspicious. "Nothing. Call you back in a minute," I say and hurriedly disconnect. Great, now I have to reschedule my Doms… oh that sounds just so wrong. I quickly call the first one.

Four minutes later it's all done—I'm meeting all three of them, one after the other, on Saturday morning—I can knock all three out in as many hours. The men were so pleasant and strangely eager to allow me to interview them. Of course, I told them I was writing a freelance article but who says I can't once I'm armed with the information? I quickly call Christian back and tell him to meet me at Starbucks.

...

"Listen, baby, I have a fun surprise for you."

"You do? What is it?"

He shakes his head, smiling. "I thought we'd been over this before. It's not a surprise if I tell you, is it? I will say that we have to go to bed early tonight for our flight leaves very early in the a.m."

"Flight? Christian, I have to work tomorrow."

"Actually you don't, Ana. I've arranged with your boss for you to have two days off. Everything's taken care of, baby."

I groan, "I am so going to get fired. I'm never there."

"It's not your fault your boss went out on sabbatical, now is it? He should've waited until he got back to hire you. Now, let's go out for dinner. Go put on something short and sexy, baby. We'll have a nice meal. Come home early. Go to bed." He waggles his eyebrows up and down like a comic villain and I have to giggle.

"All right. A short dress? Can't I just wear my jeans?"

"Not unless you want to slum it for dinner."

"Slumming is a bit drastic. There's a cute little café around the corner where jeans are perfectly appropriate and they make a mean Asian salad.

He frowns, shaking his head. "Our security will be too obvious at that kind of place, Ana."

I sling my arm around his and reach up to kiss his cheek. "No security tonight, Christian. It's just gonna be me and you and a couple of salads. Now, I'll go put on that short dress for you but we're going slumming anyway."

...

At five-thirty the next morning I'm awoken by a grizzled face nuzzling me. "Rise and shine, baby. We have to get going."

I rub my eyes and look at the alarm clock. "Five-thirty? Really?"

He grins. "We need to shower and be at the airfield by 6:45."

"Fine," I say, throwing back the covers, "I'll rise but I will most certainly not shine. Not at this ungodly hour."

He gets this devilish glint in his eyes. "Oh, I think I can make you shine. Let's get in the shower, baby."

And just like that I wake up.

We get to his Gulfstream at 6:40, with five minutes to spare. Taylor has driven us there so we don't have to leave any of the cars. Christian jumps out of the car without waiting for Taylor to open his door. We haven't even had our coffee yet, but he's almost jumping out of his skin from excitement. I can't imagine what he has planned but his enthusiasm is contagious and I'm beginning to brim with anticipation.

Flying in a private plane is an experience like no other. As soon as we board, we are served coffee and fresh juice by a very put-together attendant named Janelle. I like Janelle because she is both efficient and friendly, a combination oddly enough not often companion traits. Once the jet has taken off, Janelle brings out breakfast, an eggwhite and kale omelet that sounds unappealing but is fantastically delicious. Thin dry toast also looks less than enticing but is really good. The meal is topped off with a big bowl of fresh fruit salad and she brings out champagne to add to the freshly squeezed orange juice. It all makes me feel very pampered.

"Are you still tired, baby?" Christian asks me as we finish breakfast.

"A little. Are you?"

Shaking his head, he says, "No, I don't need as much sleep as you, Ana, and I have some work to attend to. Why don't you go have a nap?"

I look around the cabin. "Where? Do the chairs recline?" I am referring to the roomy white leather chairs in which we're currently seated.

"Well, yes, they do. But just beyond the bathroom is a small bedroom." He gestures with his chin. "You can have a better nap in there. Just make sure you belt yourself in once you're comfortable. I don't expect us to encounter any turbulence but I prefer to err on the side of safety."

"Okay, I think I will. If I can't sleep maybe I'll do some reading." I unbuckle myself, rise, and give him a kiss. He still hasn't told me where we're going. Just before I exit the cabin I turn to him. He's already removing his laptop from his briefcase. "Christian?"

He looks up.

"How long is the flight?"

Glancing at his watch he says, "In total about seven and a half hours. You have plenty of time, baby. Get comfortable."

...

"Ziplining?" My tone of voice is indisputably incredulous.

He beams, brimming with excitement and so boyishly appealing today that I'd probably do anything he asked.

"Best way to see Costa Rica, baby. See that ridgeline over there?" he asks, pointing to a mountain that looks miles away. "That's where we'll be landing."

"Say what?" My heart begins to pound in my chest, looking down at the gorge between. "So we'll be ziplining over all of that?"

Putting on his sunglasses he reassures me. "It's not as far as it looks. Two thousand feet max."

"Uh, that's far. But it does look like fun," I admit, glancing at the group of people ahead of us. A guide comes over to explain about safety and what we'll be seeing on our zipline tour and then we get hooked up, with me first and Christian right behind me on a parallel line.

"Oh my God!" I scream as we start to move and quickly pick up speed. Soon we're above the tree canopy, looking down at the amazing scenery. "This is so much fun!"

"We go over the Molinete River soon, Ana," Christian shouts to me.

Christian has taken us to a private nature preserve and there are several different zipline tours. We're on the longest one, which takes about three hours. Though the adrenaline pumps hard and fierce for the first few minutes of the ride, once you acclimate, your pulse slows a little and you can spend more of your attention on the magnificent scenery below. Costa Rica is a gorgeous, lush paradise and seeing it from above the treeline is awe-inspiring.

"Tomorrow we're going kayaking, baby," Christian yells happily. He's in his element and I've never seen him so animated before. I've also never taken an adventure vacay before—it's exhilarating. Still, I hope we have time to sit around the pool or beach and drink cocktails and read or people-watch.

...

When evening arrives, Christian has an elaborate meal delivered to our sumptuous suite. The warren of rooms has two bedrooms, a beautifully appointed living room with hardwood floors, and the wall facing the ocean just opens up completely to a large patio with a private swimming pool and a spectacular view of the ocean. We're a little tired and sunburned—despite copious amounts of sunscreen—from our active day and we're ready to relax. Here in this lovely five-star hotel in Costa Rica, enjoying a delicious five-star meal in our suite, the exercise of the day and the lack of stress works like a narcotic drug. Lounging on the patio by the pool, I feel as if I'm floating. Christian puts on some soft Brazilian music and the evening is perfect. If only life could be like this all the time, no work, no responsibilities, no psycho ex-girlfriends or long-lost husbands. Just a man, a room, a pool, and a bottle—all of them gorgeous. Yeah, I could live with that.