A/N: So I've got a winner for my Twitter giveaway! I was crossing my fingers it would be an FF reader and not just a general person who followed me on Twitter during the three days of the contest. And yes, the winner is one of us.

And so the winner is… Judith R. Please get in touch with me, Judith, on FB under Lulu Astor so I can arrange to send you your gift card and the e-book of your choice. Thanks to all who participated by following me on Twitter during the proscribed time and before or since. Every little bit helps.

I would also like to say that every time I update RE my book sales spike a bit so I know my FF readers are buying them. Since I don't know which ones specifically are doing so, I say thank you in general in my author's note because I really do appreciate your support of my work. So there's that.

A special shout-out to my reader friend for jumping to my defense when a troll attacked. Thanks, S! Love you!

For everyone else, I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't forget to check out the story from Christian's POV, entitled AND I LOVE HER, now an open thread on FSoG FF. I know many of you are busy these days reading it straight from the horse's mouth. :)

Chapter 43

At seven a.m. Monday we wake up to a glorious morning, the kind that makes you elated to be alive. The sky is a vibrant blue, with big puffy white clouds, the air is clean and crisp, and the humans don't want to go to work—at least this human doesn't. I want to play hooky with my dark-haired beauty.

He slings his arm around my hips when I whisper my idea in his ear. "I can't today, Ana. I have an important client meeting in the morning and after lunch I'm scheduled to make an appearance at the semi-annual of one of our partner firms. I really can't miss it." He runs his warm lips from my shoulder up to my ear and then nips my earlobe. A river of tingly chills follows in the wake of his tender kisses. "Why don't you meet me for lunch today? Come by the office and we'll go out together."

"Can't I just meet you at the restaurant?"

A wicked light shines in his gray eyes. "There's something on my bucket list that I've yet to tick off." To my questioning glance, he says, "My glass desk, your naked body bent over it?"

Oh yeah. That. "I don't like coming to your office, Christian. They treat me like a redheaded stepchild."

His eyes widen, filled first with surprise, then amusement. "A redheaded stepchild? Who does? And how is a redheaded stepchild treated?"

"Your staff… and a redheaded stepchild is treated poorly," I grumble. "They're mean to me, those perfect-looking people."

His fingers run through my hair, gripping my head in both hands as he kisses me slowly, over and over, his lips petal-soft. "First of all," he says, his colorless eyes holding me captive with their clarity, "you're more perfect looking than anyone there, bar none. Second, if anyone dares to be mean to you, or is anything less than respectful, that person will be swiftly shown the door."

Playfully he dabs the tip of my nose with his index finger. "Today at one o'clock, you will come to the lobby and text me when you arrive and I will personally come down to escort you up to my office. All right?"

Mollified, I nod. It'll be fun to see the looks on their faces when the big man himself comes to greet me.

How ever did I get so lucky?

After I watch him get dressed for the day, pillow propping up my head to gawk at that beautiful physique, I pop into the shower to get ready for work. As I'm leaving the apartment my phone chimes. It's Kent.

"Hey Kent. Back from London?"

"I'm flying back to the States tomorrow. Ana, I'm in a pinch. I need an escort for a VIP function on Wednesday night and I dropped the ball on it. Is there any way you can do it? I know that man of yours is as jealous as a REAL HOUSEWIFE but I'm in a pinch."

I giggle at his comment. "I'll make it happen, Kent. Christian will just have to get over himself."

"I don't want to cause you any problems…"

"No, I'll speak with him when he's in a good mood."

"Hmm, and what will you have to do to put him in that good mood?"

"Nothing that will hurt… well, actually, I hope not anyway." I laugh, thinking of my date with Christian one month from now.

"Okay, well let me know as soon as possible. It would be fantastic if you could help but if you can't, it's no problem between us, Ana. I want you to know that."

"I know, Kent, but there's no good reason why I can't help out a good friend. And as friends go, you're the good-est. I'll see you on Wednesday."

"Okay, bye, love."

I hope I sounded confident with Kent because I'm really not feeling it. Christian is going to totally freak when I tell him about it but if I time it right, I can at least mitigate the fallout.

...

At 12:45 I leave my office to meet Christian. Walking the few blocks to his office building I start to worry again about my date with Kent and how he's going to react. Maybe if I tick off that bucket list item of his, I can tell him immediately after? Any way I look at it, I know I'm in for it.

But I couldn't say no to Kent. He's the best person ever, and he's been nothing but sweet, kind, respectful, generous, dependable—the list goes on and on. He needs this favor and I don't want to let him down.

I'm so distracted by my problem that I almost walk by the Grey building. Sheesh, it looks bigger and more intimidating than I remembered. I walk through the grand entrance and there are those Stepford people again. I whip out my phone and send a text to Christian.

Downstairs in lobby now. Get here fast.

I'm staring at the screen, feeling scrutinizing eyes on me. God, why do they have to be like this? Less than a minute later, I get a response:

On my way right now. Sit tight.

Don't I always? I fire back.

Yes. I love it when you're tight.

So I hear. Just get down here.

Down where specifically?

I'm putting my phone away so I can return the stares I'm getting.

They're probably staring because you're so incredibly gorgeous.

A woman and a gay man? I think not.

Why not? Everyone appreciates rare beauty.

Some more than others. Are you on the elevator yet?

Yes, I am. Just walked in. It'll whisk me to you in no time at all.

I smile and put my phone back into my bag and look toward the elevators that lead to his floor. I know those fuckers are looking at me but I scrupulously ignore them, purposely standing far enough away from their desk so they'd have to yell to speak with me.

Finally they can stand it no longer and one of them, the woman, calls out to me. "Miss? May I help you?"

I angle my head toward the voice, feeling incredible power at knowing I can have her fired in sixty seconds. I would never do that, of course, but the knowledge is soothing to my easily bruised ego. "No, thank you. I'm waiting for my boyfriend."

"Would you like me to call him? I assume he works here?"

Brilliant assumption. "No, thank you. I've already texted him." I give her my warmest smile and she returns it while maintaining her adversarial stance. The man standing to her left just watches me with a blank look on his face. Obviously they don't remember me from last time and that's a mistake when you're dealing with the top boss's friends. I can't wait to see their whole demeanor change when they see who my boyfriend is.

And on the tail of that thought, the elevator doors swish open and there he is, my dark-haired beauty. The only problem is that he's being detained by three people who'd had him captive in the elevator. I see him trying to be polite but wanting to get to me, because his eyes keep migrating over to where I'm standing by the entrance. I allow myself a quick peek at the two on the security desk. They see the big boss, an older man, probably in his early forties, a young but heavyset man with thick glasses, and a thirtyish woman. Then their eyes volley to me, wondering which man is mine. I ponder whom they're betting on.

Finally he extricates himself from the other three. He walks in a straight line so they can't tell right away if he's coming to them or to me. The three people with him in the elevator turn to make a beeline for the front door, walking diagonally in front of me. Some other people enter the building but walk right in, holding their ID badges up in the air. The visual ping pong continues as they try to watch both Christian and me. As he approaches the desk, their faces reflect their change in composure but he veers away at the last moment and comes directly to me with a big boyish grin on his face, as if he's enjoying every moment of this little drama. I know I am.

"Hi. How's your day been?" he asks as he kisses me lightly on the lips and then swings an arm around me as he guides me to the security desk. His head angled, he looks at me, waiting for my answer.

"Good," I manage to say, breathless from his beauty. "It's been a good day. And yours?"

"Can't complain." He beams at me, and then winks as we reach the desk. Turning his head to look directly at the two of them, he loses his smile, becoming all business in a nanosecond. "Since both of you are generally assigned to the security desk I would like to introduce you to the most VIP of all VIPs you are likely to encounter. This is Anastasia Steele. Ensure that you recognize her whenever she enters the building and treat her accordingly. Any questions?"

Both of them say, "No, sir," simultaneously and then flash me a shaky smile. I smile back, trying to be sincere about it.

Christian nods soberly at them and then steers me back to the elevator bank. A playful smile dancing on his lips, he asks, "How'd I do? Did I frighten them into submission?"

"Yes," I chuckle, "you did. Frightening into submission is what you do best. Terrified might be more like it." I take a deep breath as the elevator arrives and we get in. Now comes the next group of Stepford blondes at the reception desk on the executive floor. At least he's next to me for that one.

The door opens way too fast and my heart is matching its pace. We move out in lockstep.

There are two women behind the reception desk: one standing over the younger one who's seated, and they're studying a computer screen. They look up as one when we begin to walk toward Christian's office. The one standing eyes her boss, and says, "Mr. Grey?" The actual question remains unspoken but obvious. Then she looks at me, smiles coolly, and says, "Hello, Ms. Steele. How are you today?"

So she remembers me. I have to say she's more professional than the others. "Hello."

"Sir, do you or Ms. Steele need anything?

"Not exactly, Andrea. I just want to ensure that when Ms. Steele visits me here at the office she is treated as VIP and that all staff recognize her."

"Of course, sir. Heather?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey. Ms. Steele," the younger one pipes in. She looks very nervous in Christian's presence, her body practically vibrating with tension.

I nod to her and while she's civil toward me, one might even say polite, she's not at all friendly. Might she have her own designs on the boss? I place my hand on his shoulder in a proprietary fashion and whisper in his ear, "Let's go see that desk of yours."

He maintains an impassive face but I see his agreement register in his eyes; nodding to the two women, he says "Hold my calls, Heather, unless it's something you feel requires my immediate attention—and first check with Andrea before you disturb me."

"Yes, sir."

He gestures for me to walk ahead of him, pulling open the massive door. The office is cool and empty… and even larger than I remember it. "Why do you need such a large office?" My neural filter isn't working so every thought I have is coming right out of my mouth.

"Why not?" he counters. "I like large spaces. Besides, sometimes Claude and I train right in here, if I'm too busy to go to his studio. I have a restroom with shower en suite. And here's the desk."

I look around. "How can we be sure that no one will come in?"

"I'll lock the door. Watch." He walks around the desk and removes something from a small box. It looks sort of like an iPod but it's longer and flatter. He points it at the door and we hear a click. "Locked." He smiles his happy-Christian megawatt smile.

"Well, then…" I say, peeking at my watch, "I may not have time for lunch afterward but..."

Eyes heated, he mouths silently, "You know you want to," and crooks his finger for me to come to him. Which I do. Pronto.

When I'm less than a foot away he loosens my form-fitting shirt from my tailored skirt and runs his warm hands up my back, then undoes enough buttons to expose my bra. He licks and nips my nipples through the material—which is infuriating because the connection is obstructed, making my breasts ache with want, achieving his purpose of arousing me.

He runs his hands up my thighs. "God, you have on those thigh-high silk stockings—one of the best sex accessories ever."

Yes, I wore them intentionally for I know he loves them. Almost as sexy as garter belt-held stockings, but without the fuss.

He slides his hands higher, snagging my panties and yanking them down. Straightening, he whispers an order, his lips at the shell of my ear, "Bend over the desk and pull your skirt up near your hips. Hands flat on the desk."

I do as he says and about to lay my head down, I see he's cleaned off his desk to prepare for our tryst. The last time I was here it was papered with documents, laptops, phones, etc.

"Down, Ana," he says sternly and I obey, my heart doing a tap dance in my chest. Not for the first or even the hundredth time, I wonder how long my heart can continue to keep up with Grey. He overtaxes it massively.

He stands behind me, massaging my legs, hips, and backside until I'm squirming in need. Then I feel his hand reach up and it's in my hair but I can't quite figure out what he's doing. Wrapping it around his wrist as he sometimes does? Braiding it? But after a few moments, his hand is no longer in my hair and I attempt to shift my head but find it held in place. His hands, however, are back on my tush. "What'd you do?"

"Long hair is excellent for this purpose, don't you think?" he whispers. "A ready restraint. Your hair is tied to the handle on the locked drawer. You're my captive now, Ana; just think of all the things I can do to you."

Heat rushes through me in a fast torrent, liquid and molten, at his words. His fingers are on my neck to feel my pulse so he knows the effect they have on me. It's hard to keep any secrets from him at all and a light bulb of realization goes off in my head that I may have to change my sneaky ways. Thankfully, Kate hasn't corrupted me too badly in the few years we've been close.

He leans over me, the fabric of his pants scratching against the bared skin on my bottom and upper thighs. He covers my body with his as his hands slide underneath, his fingers scraping against my nipples; I can feel his intense body heat right through the material and his warm breath at my ear as he whispers, "I've been thinking about burying myself in your tight, hot, wet pussy all day now. Picturing you bent over my desk, your pert little ass sticking up, waiting for me to spear you. It was massively difficult to pay attention to my business. I blame you, of course, and I think I should spank you for distracting me."

I gasp in outrage but truth to tell, his threat is sort of delicious and I won't stop him. He seems to be waiting for me to protest and when it doesn't come he lifts off me, pushes my legs open wide, and his hand begins to massage my rear end. As I start to sink into the comfort, he lifts his hand and whap! It startles me at first though he didn't hit me hard. The initial sting melts into seductive heat and just as I realize that, another one comes. Whap, whap, whap. The swats are moving around my ass and a few are low enough to hit my vagina, which only makes the ache for him to fill it sharper. And then more massage. Then another three swats in rapid succession, each one coming harder than the last, and then instead of a fourth swat, he rams his swollen hard-on right into me and I swallow my scream as best as I can but a lot escapes anyway.

"Christian! I don't want your staff to hear us but if you do things like that it's inevitable," I angrily spit out in a whispered rush. "For God's sake."

Voice steady as a rock, he croons, "Ana, control yourself no matter what I do. Absorb the sensations rather than venting them by yelling or moving." He thrusts his hips again, going deeper each time and establishes a rhythm, moving me along at a fast clip to my orgasm. I'm almost there—it's like trying to scratch an itch through clothing—and I'm reaching for it. He must sense my frustration at chasing an orgasm that won't let me catch it so he pulls my legs open even wider and lifts my hips off the desk.

That does the trick and the climax hurdles at me with the force of a speeding freight train gone amok. My whole body contracts and I can feel myself gripping his erection, squeezing it so tightly. His labored breathing tells me how hard he's fighting it and he pulls out, leaving just the tip in to keep it at bay. While he waits to calm, he kisses my extended neck, licking and nipping it. This is my most responsive erogenous zone and the fact that I can't move or squirm away is supreme torture. I have to moan.

"You're killing me, Christian."

"Ah, but what a death, baby. I want you to come again before I do. That way you can be nice and sore as you finish your day and think of nothing else but where I've been and what I've done.

"It's not as if I don't already do that," I mutter. I don't think I can drum up another one for him. I don't have the energy. He chuckles but his fingers are tormenting my nipples and his tongue is sliding up and down my neck as he pushes himself back into me. Trying to manage all of these concurrent sensations is nearly impossible but then he sinks his teeth into the muscle between my neck and shoulder while his fingers find my clit and pinch it hard.

I slam into my second orgasm with no preparation and the scream that issues from my throat is unmistakable. The bastard! How am I ever going to walk out of this office?

As soon as he hears it, he jerks hard inside me. "Fuck, Ana," he groans and collapses on top of me, kissing my temple. We lie like this for a solid minute before I feel his fingers fumbling in my hair and he releases me. He straightens and then pulls me up, spins me around, and soundly kisses me, his teeth nipping at my lips and tongue.

I'm exhausted.

"How am I supposed to leave now?" I ask him as I attempt to restore order to my hair and clothing. "All of them out there know what we were doing in here." My eyes dart to the art deco clock he has on the wall. "I have to be back at work in ten minutes."

He's wearing that just-fucked, shit-eating grin. All he does is re-tuck his shirt and zip up and he looks like a million dollars. Not even a hair out of place. While I look a total fright: my hair isn't too bad because it was cruelly used to restrain me, but my lips are swollen, my face has a crease from the lone piece of paper that was on his desk, and my clothes are a rumpled mess. I use my hands to try to iron out the wrinkles in my skirt and pull my shirt into the waist tight so the rumples can't be seen too badly.

"Put on some lipstick and we'll sail right out of here together, baby. If any people heard, they'll just be jealous they weren't the ones having fun. Besides," he comes closer to kiss me lightly on the nose, "these walls are pretty thick in this building—it's been retrofitted for earthquakes. Chances are no one heard a thing. I promise."

Slightly pacified and having absolutely no choice, I stride into the restroom to touch up my makeup. Wiping away a smear of eyeliner and reapplying my lipgloss, I look decent enough to make the trek down. At least I'll have Grey by my side to deflect attention. He's like the sun on a solar eclipse day: dangerous for your health but irresistible to look at.

I stare straight ahead, looking neither to my left or right so I don't see anyone's face as we leave. Next to me I feel Christian nod to somebody but even my irrepressible nosiness is not enough to get me to glance at who it is. Eyes on the prize, the prize in this case being the elevator that will whisk me away from this untenable situation. When we finally get into the elevator car that must have been on the floor already, I wait for the doors to shut and then close my eyes in gratitude but I hear him chuckle next to me.

"What," I demand, "is so funny?"

"You are. Do you think if you shut your eyes, the monster won't take you down?"

He's as happy as a clam and I can't stop myself from grinning. "Yes, I always believed that as a child."

As we're bantering I remember what I have to tell him about Kent. Is now the best time? I think it is. I close my eyes and blurt it out or the pressure will give me a migraine. "Christian, I need to go somewhere with Kent on Wednesday night. It's an emergency."

Nothing. I get nothing but silence. I cautiously open one eye to peek at him, squinting the other to keep it closed. His good humor has vanished like the friend who owes you money, on payday. He's regarding me with incredulity, as if he can't believe his ears.

"Excuse me? I'm sure I misunderstood you just now. Repeat," he orders.

Heaving a sigh, I know I'm in for an argument. "Christian, he's in a pinch. He forgot about this important function and he has no one to take. It's imp—"

Interrupting, he barks, "Let him take his own damn lover. The world knows he's gay; he's not fooling anyone."

"Apparently he thinks he is, and I'm his friend, Christian. I need to do this for him."

"Ana, do you realize how inappropriate it would be for you to be seen on his arm? The media has photographed you and I together countless times by now. If you're seen out with another man, what will that say? I'm not an accountant, for God's sake. I have a very high profile." He tightens his lips, signaling the discussion is over. "No. It's out of the question."

I stomp my foot but we reach the lobby and the doors slide open, revealing a small crowd of people waiting to go up, all of whom go gaga when they see who's inside. Oh, for God's sake, this adulation gets old really quickly. I step out through the center and walk briskly toward the door, knowing he'll be waylaid by this crowd of sycophants and won't be able to extricate himself easily so I can make my getaway. I don't want to hear any more of his jealous posturing.

Just as I reach the end of the block he catches up with me. "Ana! We're not done yet."

I pivot around, feeling the anger sparking in my eyes. "Yes, we are, Christian. I told Kent I'd do him a favor and I'm going to. I will make sure any photograph taken of us lists me as his friend, not his companion."

"How about if it lists you as my fiancée? That might ease my mind a tiny bit."

Sincerity is etched into every pore on his face so much that it chokes me up. He truly wants me to accept his proposal and marry him. I close my eyes, wondering if I'm making a huge mistake by saying yes to him, rushing my decision just for the sake of placating him to help out a good friend. I go to him and take his hand. "Christian, please let me think on this a little longer. It's a very big decision. As for this thing with Kent—if I tell him this is the last time I can be his escort, will that be a sufficient compromise?"

Regarding me skeptically, he points out the obvious. "You're not exactly giving me a choice, Ana. If I say no, will you turn him down?"

"Possibly, but I'll resent you for it. That's not exactly a great way to start an engagement, is it?"

That perks him up. "What are you saying? Are you saying yes then?"

"I'm saying I need more time but I'll compromise with going out with Kent. I'll make this the last time, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Regardless of whether or not we get engaged."

He jerks his head in assent but he's mad—it's easy to see. Giving me a quick peck on the cheek and a "see you later," he crosses the street. I turn back to continue on to the station, my heart now heavy with worry.

...

Much ado about nothing: what perfect words to encapsulate that kind of situation. It turns out that Kent cannot get back to the U.S. in time for the function so I don't have to accompany him and everyone is happy. I've been staying with Christian every night and I'm beginning to think we are pretty compatible. Walking farther down this road where there's a marriage at the end of it, I need to have more direction. I want to know about his mother and about Irina but since the mother issue is a lot more potentially explosive, I'll instead mine the vein of Irina.

"So she lived with her husband a few estates away from yours?"

Nodding warily, he says, "That's right. Until they split and sold it."

"When was that? I mean to ask, how old were you?"

"Sixteen, almost seventeen, I believe."

"So that's when you stumbled on the BDSM party?"

"That's right."

So defensive, he is. I have to be careful. "When you convinced her you wanted to go down this path, what did she do?"

"She became my Domme."

"You submitted to her?"

He presses his lips together, his eyes flat. "I suppose this conversation was inevitable. Yes, I submitted to her, Ana. She knew I was dominant but she insisted I learn how to be submissive in order to be a better Dom. I've come to suspect that she just wanted to toy with me."

Hmm. Now the big question. "Was it sexual in nature?"

His head swings around to look at me directly. "Well, that is largely the point. But not initially. She took her time with me."

"How long did you sub for her?"

"Ana, are you sure you can bear to hear the answer to these questions. It's apparent that you're becoming tense, Ana."

I look down at my hands—they're in tight fists. I'm holding myself so stiffly as well that when I loosen my shoulders, I realize how tense I'd been. Nothing gets by this man. "It's not so much that I want to, Christian, it's that I need to."

"All right. I was Irina's submissive for four years."

Four years? I wasn't expecting that answer. I clear my throat to stall long enough to steady my voice. "That's a long time."

"Yes, well for most of that time I was away at college. We saw each other only when I was home for a holiday or the few times she was able to come visit me back East."

"Were you faithful to her?"

"Completely. She'd tan my hide if I ever stepped out with another girl. That was largely the reason I avoided Nastassja at school—and all other females. If Irina caught me with them, she'd punish me. Severely."

"Wow. So then she taught you to be dominant?"

"I'm dominant by nature so she didn't have to teach me exactly. I went to the club and watched various Doms with their subs. Sometimes a few would let me practice on their submissives. Irina would occasionally let me use her as a sub."

"Somehow I can't see that. Did you love her?"

His hand reaches over to my face and caresses my cheek softly. "I thought I did… for a long time. When she took another submissive, I was crushed. Then I found Cassidy for myself."

"Was her new submissive male?"

"Yes. Irina is hetero. Though she does like to whip women." He smiles as if it's a fond memory. I'm sickened at the thought of Irina, with all of her makeup and clothing whipping a poor girl.

"Do your parents know about Irina? I mean, you mentioned she was one of your neighbors?"

"They know her, yes. They don't know about her or my relationship with her."

"How did she manage it?"

"Discretion. Irina is nothing if not discreet. For a while she thought her ex-husband would out her but he didn't, despite being a vindictive bastard."

"Why didn't he? Do you know?"

He shrugs. "Probably because if he cut off Irina's access to income she'd have come after him for support. In a similar manner, she protected him when he beat her half to death and the police wanted to press charges against the man, regardless of the fact that Irina herself refused. She convinced them not to, that she'd obstruct it if they proceeded and they acquiesced, knowing the struggle would be a steep uphill one. She told them exposure would destroy his reputation and therefore his business and it would impinge on her future income. They had little choice."

"Mmm, that's awful… but I guess when you swim with sharks…"

He hikes a brow. "Indeed."

All right. I don't like knowing that Irina, who's about fifteen years older than Christian was his lover, and when he was a teenager, no less. An underage teenager, at that. I can't bear that she'd whip him if he were interested in a girl his age. She must have put a serious crimp in his collegiate social life, the bitch. No wonder he's such a loner. College is where many people make lifelong friends and she kept him from normal social and romantic interactions? What the hell is her problem? The joke is that the poor man considers her a dear friend and mentor. Twisted pedophile is more like it.

Weirdly enough, I generally like the woman. Or did until now. She can be very kind and even generous. My instinct all along was to like her but I'm so disgusted by her exploitation of Christian as a young boy that I'm not sure I can ever look at her again. How could a grown woman in her… she'd have been in her thirties… have sex with a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy? Even if he'd been of an age of legal consent, it would still be morally bankrupt. She's nearly old enough to be his mother.

And there she'd be—greeting and smiling at his parents while neither had a clue about how she was abusing their teenage son. God.

Well, at least that conversation is done and I know the truth. I'd suspected they'd had a sexual relationship but have been afraid to ask all along. Now that monster has been confronted and hopefully dealt with. Or will be once I digest it all.

Next up is his birth mother; he's going to have to talk about her sooner or later—I need to know all of his secrets and why he's lived this closed-off, emotionally shut-down life until now.

And why me to change it? That perhaps is the biggest unanswerable question of all.