A/N: Important! I've decided to start a new thread for CG's POV. It's titled AND I LOVE HER. Please join me but know you've already read parts of it here on Ripple Effects. However, although it's essentially the same story, his POV will focus on some different moments than hers. You'll also see a marked dichotomy between his perception of things and hers. Vastly different in some instances. :)

Second, I'm running a giveaway for the next 24 hours (it's been ongoing on FB). Anyone who signs up to follow me on Twitter now until tomorrow night at midnight (Saturday, June 13th, New York time) will be entered into a drawing to win a $20 Amazon gift card and a free e-copy of any one of my titles, winner's choice. FanFiction will not allow links so I need to spell out the words for you. Just put in the dot and slash characters and close the spaces. Please join me on Twitter and we'll have some fun.

twitter dot com slash Lulu Astor

Chapter 41

The trip to Costa Rica was just what we needed to right our course. Christian did make note of the fact I never exactly accepted his proposal of marriage and I rapidly changed the subject, using my tried and true distraction technique that I've perfected on Kate. Being a man of sharp business acumen when it comes to negotiation, he let it ride for a while, knowing if he insisted on a definite answer it would in all likelihood be one he didn't like.

I've thought about it—marrying him—at length, but I'm not ready to decide. I love him… am in love with him and can't imagine myself with any other man, ever. Still, Mr. Grey has issues that need to be addressed before we ever get as far as an altar.

Today I'm meeting the Doms who agreed to speak with me. Last night Christian insisted I stay with him and I caved in but told him I had plans with friends this morning. He frowned but when I shot him a filthy look he backed down, saying he had work he could do while I was out.

I get to Starbucks ten minutes before I'm scheduled to meet with Cash. I order a venti latte and scope out a table by the door that's just been vacated. It has a few crumbs on it but it's the most private table I can snag at the moment, so I brush them off the surface with a napkin and get settled, taking out my notepad containing my jotted questions, and my iPhone. Minx described Cash as tall with short dark hair, a close-cut beard, and a serious attitude. A casual glance around the coffeehouse does not produce anyone meeting that description. Checking the time on my phone I note that I'm six minutes early, so I sip my latte and read through my emails. I'm so absorbed in a text from Kate that I don't notice the man until he's directly in front of me.

"Anastasia?"

I look up. Yes, very tall. Nice looking too but Christian's spectacular looks have sort of ruined me when judging other men—they always come up short, usually literally. "Yes, I'm Ana. Cash, I presume?"

"Yes." He glances at my set-up on the table and says, "I'm going to grab a cup of coffee. I'll be right with you."

"That's fine," I say to his back, watching him stride purposefully toward the bar. He's dressed in a black Oxford shirt, black jeans, and black loafers with no socks. His hair is wet and he wears no jewelry other than a knotted leather bracelet. The man has style but is one of those no-nonsense, rude types, and his short, quick gait is that of a man of action. I might even go so far as to call him scary and could totally see him terrorizing some poor submissive.

When he returns I'm waiting, pen and paper in hand. He is meticulous about everything he does, pulling back his chair, placing his coffee in the center of the table, seating himself, and arranging his messenger bag on the floor between his legs. I watch him with keen interest as he seems intentional about every small movement and action.

Then he shifts his focus to me, his expression stern, and I feel a flutter in my stomach. I could definitely tell he's a Dom by his mean eyes. "Before we start, I have a few questions of my own."

I nod, a lump in my throat. The man looks nothing like Christian but he provokes a similar reaction in me—at least the way Christian makes me feel when we're in the dungeon.

"How do you know Minx?"

"I met her through Irina Bordeaux." My voice emerges weak and high-pitched as nerves get the best of me. It's like raw meat to a feral Dom, I would think.

"Mmhmm," he utters quickly as he settles into his comfortable expectation that he's in charge. "Do you work for Madame Bordeaux?"

"No, I do not."

"In that case, how do you know her?"

He's starting to piss me off. He may be a Dominant, but I'm not submissive, not really, and I don't like the way he's treating me. My voice gets stronger as my ire grows. "I know her because I know her. I'm not sure what Minx told you about why I requested this interview; however, if you feel uncomfortable speaking with me, I completely understand. I do wish you had been upfront about it on the phone, however. I don't seek to waste your time or my own, sir." I purposely add the sir as a nice touch. Go fuck yourself, sir.

He trains narrowed eyes on me and says nothing. Oh, I know this trick. Been there, done that, and only with the best. I stare right back at him and guess who caves first? Round one is mine.

"You're obviously not submissive. What do you want to know and why?"

I ignore the remark and briefly explain. "Okay, well… recently I've found the need to learn more about BDSM in my own life and since I'm a journalist I decided to put any or all research I do for my personal use to educate others. I'm not looking to expose anyone's lifestyle or do anything else along those lines. I just want basic information."

Lying through one's teeth is thirsty work so I take a swig of my latte. The man doesn't know me from Adam so it's not as if he can contradict anything I say. Eyeing me suspiciously, he also sips his coffee, then smacks his lips, as he carefully places the cup back on the napkin, making a production of drinking his freaking coffee. After a tense two minutes, he surprises me by saying, "All right. I'll answer your questions as long as my privacy is protected. Shoot."

I swallow a chuckle, hoping I don't break out in hysterical giggles as has been known to happen in my life. "Thank you." I tap my pen against my lips. "Will you tell me what inspired or compelled you to become a Dominant?"

Leaning back in his chair, he puts one foot up on the empty chair next to him. "It wasn't a choice: it was part of my personality, my sexuality. For me it was an organic thing. As I came into my adulthood, I knew what I needed and I sought it out. And found it."

"How old were you when you found it?"

"Twenty-three—almost twenty-four. It was that late only because it took me that long to find like-minded people."

His eyes are brown with green flecks close to the irises and right now they're drilling into me, making me edgy. Dominant men—and for all I know women too—are downright intimidating. Did Christian scare me like this when we first met?

Who am I kidding? He still does when we're in the dungeon.

I cross my legs and try to shake off the way Cash is making me feel. "When you say it was part of your personality, would you say it was nature or nurture?"

His right hand reaches up to the back of his head and starts rubbing his hair as his eyes migrate to the black industrial ceiling, for the first time looking as if he's actually contemplating his answer. My eyes are drawn to his other hand, noticing how big it is and wondering if he uses it to torment submissives. So focused on my imagining, I almost startle when he begins to speak.

"Nature," he says finally. "As far as I could recall, I've always felt like this. Anyway," he flicks his hand in a gesture of dismissal, "I'm dominant by nature in all things, not only sexual."

"So to be clear, you didn't experience anything, any incident or event that may have propelled you into this lifestyle?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head, "had a very ordinary childhood. It's just who I am."

I jot down some notes. "Do you currently have a submissive?"

He squints his eyes. What? Does he think I'm interviewing for the position? "I do at the moment… for the moment."

"How long do you generally stay with a given submissive?"

"Tsk, it obviously depends on the sub and how compatible we are... but generally I'd say six months to two years."

"You started down this road at twenty-four and you're thirty-four, so you've been at it ten years. Right?"

He nods.

"How many subs have you had in that amount of time?"

"Countless encounters but long-term only four."

I write more notes and then click the pen shut. "Well…" I gather my things to let him know I'm concluding, "I would love to ask more in-depth questions but I fear you might find them too intrusive so I'll leave it at this."

He checks the time on his phone. "I have a few minutes. Go ahead and ask." For the first time he offers me a smile—an anemic one but a smile nonetheless. "If I find them too intrusive, I'll say so."

I nod. "I'm confident you will. Okay, well, how long have you been with your current submissive and is it a total power exchange?"

"I've been with my sub for almost two years and it most definitely is 24/7. I think that's why we're winding down so soon. It's an intense kind of relationship and it burns out fast."

Though it appears my attention is on my notebook, I'm actually planning my escape from Cash, because I don't like him—he makes me nervous. Someone up there must like me for like a gift from the universe, the next Dom, Zachary, shows up early. I see him scanning the room and when our eyes meet, I nod gently then turn to Cash. "Thank you so much for your time. I'm meeting with two other Dominants and my next one has arrived early so I'll liberate you from this probably painful meeting a bit earlier than planned."

"Mmhmm." He stands up, drains his coffee cup, then leans over to speak in my ear. "You're mistaken, Anastasia. I'm the one who delivers the pain." He winks at me. "Will you let me know if and when you publish? I'd like to see the final draft to ensure my privacy is protected. Or..." he says, his mean eyes actually shine, "if you're ever looking for a sound whipping. I'd be happy to oblige."

"Of course I will let you know about publication. Thank you." I rise to shake his hand, completely ignoring his whipping comment. It's warm and strong and I feel unfaithful just to touch skin with him. For the first time I consider that I might have made a mistake meeting with these men. Christian would have a coronary if he knew about it.

I watch as Cash strides out and Zachary soon joins me. Just by looking at him I already like him much better than Cash. He has a friendly smile and there's an effortless elegance about him, the way he's dressed and the sinuous way he moves his body. He's also in black—is that a Dom requirement?—but he's dressed more formally in suit trousers and a black silk shirt under an unstructured black suit jacket. Needless to say, he's quite handsome with medium brown hair, silvering at the temples.

"Anastasia, I presume?"

"Yes, I'm Ana. And you are Zachary?"

"I am. I apologize I'm early but I'm in a bit of a hurry today and can only give you a half hour. I trust that's sufficient?"

"Oh yes, that's fine. I'm actually glad you came early," I start to say but leave it at that. It wouldn't be a good idea to badmouth the Dom who came before him. I do think I can ferret out more information from Zachary than Cash and that's what I'm here for. If Christian won't share his history with me, then I'll do my best to learn what I can. With all my heart I want to keep him—lover, friend, Dom, every facet of his personality is what I desire.

I'm about to more fully explain my reason for the interview when I'm distracted by a flurry of commotion just outside and then the door is flung open and a furious Christian Grey stalks in, his raging eyes scouring the place until they find and lock with mine. Taylor trails right behind him, his face grim.

Shit. On. A. Stick.

In two seconds he's in front of me. In the best of circumstances Christian is generally brusque in terms of manners but when he's pissed off he's overtly rude. Like now. He hardly spares a glance for Zachary before he lights into me.

"Anastasia, I need to speak with you," he says, squeezing out the words through gritted teeth as he grabs my arm with a vise-like grip and jerks me to my feet. "Now," he snarls.

Zachary shoots up, concern on his face. "Anastasia, is this okay or do you need intervention?"

"No, it's fine," I stammer out as Christian's face blooms livid with rage. He quickly scans the room, sees there are no private areas and then turns and pulls me out the door. I'm practically stumbling he's yanking me so fast and hard and I know I'm in serious trouble. Bad Dom idea… but I did it for him.

As soon as we're a few feet away from the coffeehouse he whips around to face me. "What in hell do you think you're doing?" His voice is lowered into a feral growl.

I hold up my only free hand and try to calm him. "It's not what you think, Christian."

"What do I think, Anastasia? Tell me." He's so angry his teeth are clenched and his words are barely intelligible. I've actually never seen him this irate and it's frightening me.

"I'm not stepping out on you, if that's what you think. I'm merely conducting interviews."

"With men?" he shouts, his face incredulous, the whites of his eyes prominent.

"Yes, with men," I whisper, trying to keep everyone on the street from staring at us. "Can you let go of my arm? You're hurting me."

"Ana, I recommend that you explain quickly before I detonate." He says that but his hand loosens somewhat.

"Okay," I start to look at him but it's too much so I drop my gaze to the ground. "I wanted to understand you better so I arranged to interview three Dominants… in, you know, like, an effort to see what makes them tick and maybe figure out what makes you tick. And I have to get back to this guy because he has to leave soon."

"Dominants? Anastasia, are you crazy or just stupid?"

Now I look at him, my rising anger lending me courage. "No, Christian, I'm neither. It's just that you refuse to talk to me, really talk to me, and yet you propose marriage and expect an answer. I have no clue what goes in that inexplicable mind of yours and before I give you an answer as to whether or not I'll marry you, I need to feel comfortable about you and about us. I figured if you won't talk then maybe some other Dominants will."

As I'm spitting out the words rapid-fire, I can suddenly see it from his perspective: it sounds so stupid now when I say it out loud. When it was in my head it seemed a brilliant plan. "Look," I say tiredly, "let me just finish up here—it won't take more than another hour and I'll come straight to your penthouse afterward and we'll talk. Okay?"

I can see the ire and uncertainty in his expressive eyes as he tries to rein in his fury. I'm waiting for him to say something outrageous but I'm not expecting what comes. "If you think I'm leaving you alone to interview men, dominant or anything else, you've got another think coming. Taylor will remain here to make your regrets." He nods at Taylor who is lurking in the background, and his man jerks his head in agreement. Without releasing my arm, he hauls me into the parking lot and to his car, only letting my arm go once he deposits me by the passenger door. He swings it open and orders, "Get in," in a tone of voice that brooks no argument. I've never seen wrath like this from him before.

I slide in, regretting so much and feeling terrible for wasting Zachary's time, as well as Stefano's if he shows up.

Swiftly folding his long frame into the low-slung sports car, he fires up the powerful engine and the stereo booms to life. Fittingly George Thorogood's Bad to the Bone comes screeching out at eardrum-splitting decibels. We roar down the road and when I dare to peek at him from the corner of my eye, he still looks furious. It doesn't bode well for me.

He just drives—fast—without uttering a syllable, eyes glued to the road ahead. Self-preservation dictates that I keep my mouth shut, letting the speed soothe him and after a half hour or so, he appears much calmer. Of course, appearances can be deceiving—a lesson that's been negatively reinforced many times since I met this man.

"What do you want to know?" he asks without even a glance my way when he finally speaks after lowering the volume on the stereo.

My head swivels so fast I almost hurt my neck. What do I want to know? "Everything. I want to know why you consider yourself damaged. I want to know what your biological mother did to you."

"Why?"

"Why? Why what?"

"Why do you want to know? Why is it important?"

"It just is, Christian. I need to know what I'm getting myself into with you. When we met a little over a year ago, you told me you never had a relationship other than a business-like arrangement with submissives. Now you're asking me to marry you. That's a huge change of heart, wouldn't you say?"

"Monumental," he agrees. Silence again settles over the car, the low music and mechanical hum of the engine the only sounds.

I wait, staring at my hands and wondering how I ever came to be in this crazy situation. Am I being unreasonable? Christian has this way of turning things around in my head, spinning things until I don't know up from down.

Finally, finally, as we turn toward the exit ramp of the highway, he says softly, "I don't know how many times and how many different ways I have to tell you that meeting you… no, seeing you was a life-altering event for me. I can't explain it other than to say you have an aura of innocence and kindness surrounding you that's irresistible to me.

"All those things I've told you are true: I've never had a romantic thing going with anyone. I've never taken a girl or woman home to meet my parents. You've changed me, Anastasia, in ways large and small." A bitter little laugh escapes his beautiful mouth. "I would have thought it was obvious by now. To everyone."

No more words are exchanged until we reach his apartment but his eyes and the stiffness of his back speak volumes about his mood. In the building's elevator we stake out our territory, standing in opposite corners until an older couple dash in just as the doors are sliding closed. At that point we are forced together to make room for them, distance from strangers being of a higher priority than distance between pissed-off lovers.

As we enter into the penthouse I finally speak. "Does Taylor know he has to wait for the third man to show? His name is Stefano."

The brow hikes up as he gives me a frosty look and then his hand goes into his pocket, removing his phone and swipes it twice. "Where are you?" he barks into the phone. "Three. Good."

That was the entire conversation, with about fifteen seconds in between his question and comment as he listened to whatever Taylor was saying. Impossible to extract any conclusion, I was forced to ask again. "Well?"

"It's taken care of. Come."