CPOV
Four am, Wednesday. Today is the day I'm either set free or the day I am forced to come to terms with a past that will forever be chained to me. This has become so much more than screwing over Elena Lincoln. This has become the final step in truly removing myself from that part of my past.
I can't sleep no matter how many times I fluff my pillow or pull Ana against me. It only took two songs on the piano before she grew heavy next to me and eventually on me where she rested her head. Her protests died off before we made it to the bedroom where I laid her on the bed, climbing in myself in the vain hope that I'd be asleep before one. That was three hours ago.
I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders now that she knows that I saw her mother but the hurt she so obviously felt is like a yoke around my neck. Knowing I was partly to blame for that hurt, that is a feeling I never want to experience again. I knew when I planned my stopover in Georgia that I should talk to her about it first. I knew when I made plans to have Carla picked up outside of the jail and I knew when I put her up in that hotel that I should be discussing all of it with Ana but I didn't.
I noticed the way Taylor's brows raised slightly when I gave him my agenda but I ignored it and when Flynn asked me how I was doing with being up front and open with Ana, I purposefully avoided tell him about my detour. I'm not entirely sure why I didn't say anything to her. On some level I knew she'd say no or at the very least want to come with me and I felt, as her future husband, that it was my job to handle this. I don't want her to have to deal with the ugly things in life. That's my job now and despite her anger I still maintain that what I did was the right thing. Would it have been better had I told her my intentions and just not allowed her to come?
Either way I'd have to answer to her and that's the part I have a difficult time with. I have spent the better part of my life not being accountable to anyone. I have kept my family at bay, I have maintained relationships with women in very defined contexts and I have avoided friendships with anyone other than Elliot. Even in business I've kept myself autonomous from others influence and emotions. I have no vice president, I have no board of directors, I have no share holders. It's always been just me.
And while I understand, in the logical sense of marriage, that I have to be accountable to Ana, it's still difficult to put into practice. How can I maintain absolute control when I have to answer to someone? How can I effectively be a husband, the head of a household if my choices are not made on my own?
Next to me she turns, half-awake herself despite being so tired only a few hours earlier. When she came at me and demanded that I give her what she wanted in the form of rough sex I was completely thrown off. It was hot, no doubt about that but the aftermath of it has left me reeling. Is that the way she feels inside? Rough, harsh, violent?
Silently she rises and leans over to kiss me, surprised when she finds me awake.
"Why aren't you sleeping?"
"Why aren't you sleeping?" She smiles and climbs on top of me, intertwining our fingers together.
"I need to go into the office and tie up a few things before we leave. Losing Halen's business has definitely taken a huge load off but there are a few things I need to set up for Matt and I wanted to grab a few documents to work on while we're flying." She grins and squeezes my fingers. "I'm so looking forward to the jet. I don't think I could ever fly commercial again."
"You won't ever have to."
"Or wash sheets."
"Don't need to do that either."
"Or scrub toilets."
"Never again." Her hands rise in a mock, 'Hallelujah'. "You don't have to do laundry either you know." At this she rolls her eyes and swings her leg over, sliding to the edge of the bed towards the bathroom.
"I will never let Gail do my laundry." And with that she shakes that fine ass right into the bathroom, closes the door and yells at me to go to sleep.
Which, of course, I can't. So instead I text Sawyer to make sure he knows he's taking Ana to the office at this ungodly hour and then text Taylor to let him know I want to run at six. There is nothing that needs to be done, the bags are packed, by the front door are two carryon bags filled with books, electronics and a change of clothes and on the breakfast bar Gail has left oversized muffins and clusters of grapes for us to eat before we leave. I lifted exactly zero fingers to get all of this done.
I've already read the headlines and checked in on the Asian markets by the time Ana appears, dressed casually but still stunningly beautiful. "Mmm, did you have one of these?"
"Two already. Gail makes a mean muffin." She giggles and grabs her car keys, tossing them to Sawyer when he appears. He looks a bit ragged but nods just the same and waits patiently in the elevator. I shoot Ana a knowing wink. We both know where he was last night and while I'm not about to become a woman and start gossiping about other peoples sex lives I do find it amusing that a tiny thing like Heather can have him so whipped. But then I glance at Ana as she reaches up for a to go coffee cup, the hem of her black dress riding up to the middle of her thighs and I have to concede that even I've fallen victim to the power of the pussy.
She chatters on about a book she's going to read on the plane while she pours her coffee and then grabs a few more muffins, handing Sawyer two with a wink before kissing me goodbye. Before the doors close she hops out and rushes back to me.
"Where are we waiting?"
"I'm sorry?"
"For Wendy? Where are we waiting?" My stomach drops.
"You want to wait with me?" Her hands drop to her side before she shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
"Of course, Christian. You're my king and I'm your queen. We do things together." I grin. "You're the ying to my yang, the Sonny to my Cher, the downward to my dog."
"What?"
"Yoga reference," she dismisses me with a wave. "The Mickey to my Minnie, the i to my phone, the"
"Ana. I think you need sleep. At the very least you need rest." She shakes her head slowly and kisses me softly.
"Nope, I just need you. Sawyer will know where to bring me?" I nod, blinking away an emotion that I'm not able to verbalize. Back in the elevator he shakes his head and reaches for the button on the wall.
"What you need is a coffee," he says sardonically. The sound of her laugh is the last thing I hear.
There's not a whole lot to do at five in the morning except work so work is what I focus on. My Asian managers are surprised to hear from me but are thankfully prepared to answer any question I fire off at them. It's been awhile since I've done this, caught them off guard for no other reason than to remind them that I'm here and still in charge. I like the balance of power, can't deny that.
At six Taylor and I head out into the fog that is so much a part of Seattle mornings. I've run in the snow, wind, rain, and sun but it's mornings like this, when the rest of the city is hidden that I prefer. There have been far too many times when we've had to alter our course or abandon it altogether because some schmuck identified me and decided to follow me or tried to take my picture. I'll need a running trail put in at the house.
Sawyer texts Taylor to tell him that he's going to Starbucks for Ana and will subsequently have to leave her alone in her office. The building itself is secured, her office and any entrance to it even more so but I'm temporarily panicked until 15 minutes later he texts that he's back and all is well. I should have two people on her.
"Taylor, we should have two CPO's on Ms. Steele at all times." He says nothing, just keeps running. I know he thinks it's ridiculous but he'll do it anyway if he wants to keep his job. My job is to keep her safe; husband is a role I take very seriously.
Back at home I head for the bedroom leaving instructions for Taylor to give me the latest whereabouts of Carla Adams. I'm still unsettled at how we left things last night but at this point, the only thing I can do is supply Ana with information should she want it.
Showered, shaved and dressed I pace in my office like a caged lion. It's eight in the morning but I allow myself a tumbler of bourbon anyway. Four hours. I haven't been this anxious in a long time. Frankly, it sucks. In the rare moments I can focus I return an email or a phone call, always gruff with my words, always sharp with my tone.
"Sir."
"Yes, Taylor?"
"Ms. Adams has applied for a studio apartment at SunBelt Apartments outside of Atlanta. There was also a back ground check run on her from a medical office, it appears that she's looking to get a job as a medical technician."
"Anything else?"
"Welch has been in touch with Ms. Shote this morning and has confirmed all previous plans. We're a go for noon as scheduled."
My world, in the last few months has been completely rebuilt from the ground up. I have been completely rebuilt. There's just this last little piece that needs to be dealt with and then I can truly, finally, honestly put the past behind me.
At ten Ana comes home unannounced and scowls when she notices the empty glass on my desk. "Baby," she says gently, framing my face with her soft hands, "it's going to be ok." And because she says it, I believe it. "Do you need to get work done?"
"There's some shit I should accomplish before we go. I've got a last minute call at eleven that Andrea scheduled with a potential architect for the house I'd like you to sit in on."
"OK, I'm going to get a book to read, I'll be right back." When she returns she drags one of the chairs that sits in front of my desk around to the back where my own chair is and sits in it, curling up with a smile. A moment later Gail walks in with two mugs of tea, placing them on the corner of the desk.
There she sits, a silent comfort that allows me to focus and prepare, plowing through business that needs to get done, phone calls that need to be made and decisions that need to be executed. How I made it this far in life without her I'll never know.
Ana's face falls when the architect discusses his plans to level the current house so that we can build a new one in it's place. Her head shakes back and forth until he stops speaking.
"Marco, can I call you Marco?" I want to tell her that as Mrs. Christian Grey, she can call anyone anything she wants but I bite my tongue, she'll figure that out soon enough.
"Of course."
"OK, thank you. Marco, I don't want the house torn down so long as the foundation and the structure of it are safe. It's just been a bit neglected and lonely but with the right person in charge we should be able to keep the majority of it as is."
"We can do that of course, it is sometimes more difficult to make changes in an existing structure than it is to start fresh but it can be done."
"Great, let's approach this project with that in mind then. Keep the structure as a whole since it's pretty great to start with." She gives me a shy smile and hangs up with him, settling herself back in to sip her tea.
"Is your insistence to keep the house as is a veiled reference to me by any chance, Ms. Steele?" Her blush and smirk give her away.
"Why ever would you think that, Mr. Grey? As a whole the house is beautiful both inside and out. It's just been left alone for too long and needs some TLC so that it can reach it's full potential." Her lips purse in mock confusion. "I don't see the correlation."
At 11:30 Taylor enters, the temperature of the room dropping as cold reality dumps her ice bucket on our heads. Time's up. Showtime. Ana quickly seeks out Gail to give her a hug goodbye and wish her well on the wedding while I toss back one last sip of bourbon.
In the SUV the mood is tense and silent. Ana holds my hand and rests her head on my shoulder, her soft weight a small comfort to me. Being vulnerable like this isn't something I'm used to and certainly not something I'm comfortable with but I need her. If she sees me at my worst, it can't be helped right now. At noon Taylor receives word that Wendy has entered Escalva. This is actually happening.
"We've got people in place?"
"One in the hair salon, one back in nails and one in the spa." Taylor plugs his phone into the car speaker. In the background there are random noises, a hairdryer, water running, footsteps. As if to answer an unasked question he looks in the rearview mirror at Ana, "The undercovers are wearing wires. Not Ms. Shote though." The one person who should be wearing a wire but can't on the off chance she'll need to strip down.
"Sir, she has been led into the back by Target Two." Ana looks at me and mouths, 'Target Two?'
"Pamela Wincher, her second in command." For the next fifteen minutes the car idles quietly in the parking lot of the coffee shop we've come to adopt as our ground zero. At some point Prescott brought us all cups of coffee but nobody has touched theirs. Next to me Ana's eyes are closed, a look of peace blanketing her soft features.
"You ok?" I venture quietly.
"Yes. I'm praying," she offers. And even though at this point I'm not sure where I stand on the whole God thing, I join her. I figure, it can't hurt anything at this point. And while I'm at it, I may as well throw in a request to have her want a baby.
A woman's voice breaks the silence, "Taylor Eagle Two has approached the front desk." And a minute later, "Eagle Two is being shown to the back office." And I know that now, at this very moment is when my hopes hang in the balance and in the hands of one tiny woman who has no real incentive to help me. The money she'll be paid today is earmarked for an anti-human trafficking organization based in the Ukraine per her request. Such selflessness astounds me.
"Eagle Two?"
"The fake FBI agent."
Her small warm hand squeezes mine gently but outside of that, nobody in the car moves or speaks. The method may be questionable but right now, I'm grateful for the lessons I've learned about control. Inside I scoff, how ironic. The very reason I can maintain a sense of calm and order now is because of the woman I am currently doing my best to violate.
The numbers on the dashboard clock change much slower than normal. 12:19, 12:20, 12:26, 12:34, 12:35… "Sir, Eagle One has lifted, exit is imminent."
"Does she have anything on her person?"
"Just the bag she came in with sir but she has given the all clear sign." Taylor turns and nods once. I'll believe it when I see it. "Taylor Eagle Two has lifted, exit is imminent." His job completed, David will be paid $20k in cash and will fade into the background until we need him for something else.
"Is she enroute?"
"Yes, Sir, I expect her in less than two minutes." Ana puts her hand on my leg to stop it from jumping up and down. I'm about to claw my own skin off. A red Saab convertible pulls into the spot next to us and out pops Wendy, all 5'1" of her. She's dressed in a frilly white sundress but nothing could be further from the reality of the brutal exacting woman underneath. I have no doubt she could, and would, kill a man with her bare hands. Probably has too.
Without a word she pushes the bag in through the front passenger window of the Audi and then strolls into Lighthouse Roasters as if she didn't have a care in the world. Before the front door closes, we're on our way to Sea-Tac. It's Ana who reaches over the front seat and pulls the black leather purse over the divider to place in my lap. I'm afraid of what I'll find, and if I'm honest, afraid of what she'll find as well.
I do not want her reading about my exploits with other women and I most certainly do not want her to see them on film, still or video. There is noticeable space between us now, the middle seat empty. Across from me she sits quietly, staring out at the passing scenery with her fingers pressed against her mouth.
My actions, though completed long before she came along, have caused this. A few months ago she had no idea what BDSM even was and now she's sitting in the backseat of a car with a man she's pledged her life to with a bag of his sexual history next to her.
"Please don't worry about me right now. I know you are and you don't need to. I'm happy for you, nervous at what you'll find…afraid of what you won't find." She turns to me and cups my face tenderly. "Whatever is in that bag changes nothing between us. Me and you? We're good." She slides back to her side of the car to give me some privacy and smiles. "Go ahead, I'm fine."
So with a deep breath that I hold in my lungs until they burn, I look.
Three folders, all leather bound, one hard drive, a flash drive, six mini DVD video disks and an envelope of printed pictures all in 5X7. I start there. Every picture is of a naked woman standing against a white wall. Some of the women I recognize as ex-submissives of mine but most are women I don't know. Towards the back are photos of men in the same naked pose. No kids and nothing about me. I throw the envelope to the floor.
The first folder is a dossier on a well-known Dom in the lifestyle named Vincent. I'd seen him in action a few times at the clubs and once at a private party at Elena's. His folder gets thrown onto the floor as well. Useless. The second folder is mine. Ana hasn't turned her face from the window and I'm glad she hasn't because the first thing I see when I open the leather is an 8x10 picture of me taken when I was about 21. I have on a pair of jeans, top button undone as it always is and in my hand is a leather crop.
It takes me a minute to remember the details but they come back slowly. We were at her house and I had recently terminated her as my submissive so in her stead, she had brought me a girl to hone my skills on. In hindsight it was clear that she was still doing her best to control me and like an idiot, I let her. She may not have been my Domme anymore and she may not have been my sub but she was still in control of my sex life. How I didn't see that is beyond me.
The girl, a woman my age whose name was Corrine is not in the photo but I know she's just off camera, tied up and bent over the whipping bench. Elena had filmed this particular session under the ruse that I could use it as a training tool. It was one of the first times I was in Dom mode with someone other than her so when she offered to sit in and instruct, I foolishly allowed it.
The next page is a resume of sorts. My name, birthday, address, occupation and net worth. Unbelievable. And wrong. This has me at nine billion. I'm worth eleven now. In bullet points are the financial incentives of signing with me; a monthly allowance, a personal trainer, a car, a residence if we reach three months.
The next page are my rules, the page after that my hard and soft limits. There is an entire page dedicated to my particular talents; stamina, strength, the ability to fuck for hours. She lists the whip and the bison flogger as my tools of choice and then goes on to explain that as my sub 'you can expect to be almost always tied and restrained in some way as touch is non-reciprocal'.
I'm incredulous when I turn to find photos of my apartment, from the elevator to my bedroom. The only room she didn't include was my bathroom and the laundry room. Even the gym downstairs is there. There was no part of my privacy that she honored, not one thing in my life she felt was off limits. And why would she? In her mind, I was hers to promote and use just as she had been doing since I was 15. The violation that I feel pales in comparison to my embarrassment at having been played so thoroughly.
Predictably there are photos of my playroom, those more numerous and detailed than the rest. The shots focus on the larger pieces of furniture and some of the more unusual toys that I own. Most are gone now, either because they weren't interesting to me or because with Ana in my life I had no use for them. The last page in the folder is a list of references, the first name listed; Elena Lincoln. After hers are the names of two more ex-submissives, both of whom were given permission to be used as a reference for future subs.
The final dossier is shockingly hers. It's done in the same format right down to photos of her dungeon as she calls it. She wisely doesn't use me as a reference but I recognize the three names she has there as ex-submissives of hers.
The rest of the bags contents will have to wait. There is absolutely no possibility of me playing a video in which I may be an active participant in with my fiancée a foot away. When I shove everything in the bag she finally turns towards me.
"Is everything there?"
"The dossier is. I haven't uploaded the hard drive or seen the videos yet but I'll do that as soon as we get in the air." She blinks, trying very hard to keep her face void of emotions but I know they're there simmering at the surface. "There's nothing of me as a kid yet."
"Oh," she says, crumpling into the seat. I feel the same way.
On the plane she snuggles up to me, buckling herself in but somehow still able to drape the upper half of her body over mine. Ros greets us tightly, probably unhappy with the delay in departure but nobody from her team would dare say anything to me about it. Instead they greet us cheerily, that fucker David Mendinton smiling extra big at Ana when she greets him. Andrea rattles of the mornings messages that need attention and then takes her seat to respond accordingly after I've barked my orders. GEH is the last thing on my mind right now.
While we taxi onto the runway I call Welch hoping to get a play by play as to what went on with Ray's guy David but Welch hasn't heard from him and doesn't expect to for a full 24 hours. Yet another person who operates under their own set of rules.
Regina makes the announcement that we've reached a cruising altitude safe for us to move about and I rise immediately as does Taylor. Ana watches me and takes my outstretched hand, pulling me down to kiss each knuckle, the inside of my elbow and finally the space above my heart.
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"Ana, I love you but that is the last thing I want." She breathes out in relief and rests her head back.
"Oh thank god. But if you change your mind I'll be right here."
"Sir, the computer's been set up for media use. I'll stand outside the door unless you would prefer for me to stay with you."
"Outside is fine, thank you, Taylor. Have you spoken to Wendy?"
"No, Sir but Welch has. He's sent an email brief over the secure account but there wasn't much information. The initial meeting went as planned and when Ms. Lincoln was called out to the front, Ms. Shote was able to empty the safe out in less than four minutes," he grins, "her personal best apparently. She left the cash and any photos of Elena she found and was escorted out by Pamela Wincher about ten minutes later with the promise of a rescheduled appointment by weeks end. She requested again that we hand over anything related to kids to the authorities immediately. She was assured that we would."
Fuck. I didn't even think about what I might see on these devices. I'm not sure I could handle it if there are children to be honest. He must sense my unease because he relaxes his stance and takes a deep breath.
"I'll be outside, Sir."
"Taylor," I call before he shuts the door, "make sure Ms. Steele stays in the front of the plane please."
The hard drive is first and password protected. Another thing I wasn't prepared for but I'm not about to let it stop me. Before I call Barney I try a few different phrases before typing in my own name. And that's what works. Unbelievable.
The drive is well organized. Each folder holds different information on each Dom who has hired her. There are 12 in total, all of them familiar to me. I'm not the least bit interested in their lives, what they like sexually or what their experiences have been so after ensuring that I'm in no way linked, I move on to the submissives.
This takes much more time as there are over 60 men and women. I skip over the men, I've never had a male sub, I never would have shown interest in one so I can safely assume there wouldn't be information on me in any of their bios. The females however, are a different story.
Each of my 14 are listed and those I check first. She's got their picture, copies of the contracts they've signed with each Dom, including me, their medical records, her personal notes on their interviews and a detailed listing of who she referred them to, how it worked out and what that particular sub needed to work on.
I'm surprised to see four other women that I scened with at the clubs on her roster. None of them were contracted for more than a night or in two cases, a weekend but she must have been impressed enough to offer them her services because they were all signed on after our encounters.
I've gone through the folder labeled 'pictures', the one labeled 'toys' and the one labeled 'extreme' but still haven't found anything on me yet. There is one folder unopened, titled 'Mine'. I know without opening it that this is the file on me. That she titled it 'Mine' makes me sick.
Inside there are subsection folders organized by date and then by sub. The first icon is dated the first year we were together when I was 15. It reads just like a diary would, each session tabbed by date and then subtagged by experience; gagging, spanking, caning, denial, cock cage etc, etc. There is no way in hell I'm going to read the entries themselves especially now that I know the manipulative damage she did while acting these memories out but I scroll to the bottom blown away at how many times I fell under her spell.
I skim over page after page, the sick feeling growing heavier when finally we reach the point in which she begins to sub for me. The first line of our first encounter reads, "I'm losing him."
Compared to the hundreds of pages of the six years I was her sub, the entries in which I was her Dom are minimal. I agreed to her training simply because she was the best and I had a few things I wanted retribution for. It's clear from the words I catch here and there that she was unhappy with the arrangement but willing to do it for no other reason than to be with me.
The next folder is entitled, 'Training' and are third party descriptions of scenes I did as a Dom in which she was present for as a mentor. I thought she had been doing me a favor by procuring women at the club and then allowing me to use her dungeon but in reality, it was just her keeping control. What a fool I was.
Each submissive has been assigned their own folder, the length of time I maintained the contract directly in line with the length of the diary entries. I had always treated my subs well both physically and financially. I was kind and engaging so long as the topic at hand wasn't personal or probing. But outside of feeling an obligation to take care of these women as their Dom and ensure their well-being, I hadn't given their emotions much thought. Were they resentful of me? Afraid of me? Did they view our interactions the way I did, as a mutually beneficial contract void of emotions or did I damage them with my inability to connect?
While none of their final assessments are mean spirited there are a few things that are consistent. Great Dom, fair, generous, amazing sexual ability, extremely well versed in the lifestyle, aware and respectful of limits and boundaries but cold, isolated, distant, and emotionally unavailable.
All true.
The last line on each of their assessments is a brief description as to why the contract was terminated. The reasons range from incompatible to expressed a desire to marry someone else but what's written more often than not is, 'Emotions of affection and/or love expressed by sub to Dom.'
Next goes the flash drive but it's nothing more than the journal with the pictures of my submissives scanned in and I realize that this is most likely a copy of what Elena had given to Ana. There are two videos on the drive as well and even though I know Taylor is outside the door, I open it to make sure nobody is near.
"Ms. Steele?"
"Looking at floral arrangements with Andrea in the lounge area."
With the volume almost on mute I hit play and cover my mouth when I appear on screen in Elena's dungeon. I'm naked with a whip in my hand and at my feet, on her knees is that woman Corrine. The tail of the whip is wrapped around her wrists which I've pulled tightly behind her as she fellates me. The still picture used in my dossier comes from this video and while I vaguely remember there being a camera, I'm clearly not concerned of it's existence.
Hand still covering my mouth I forward the video until the scene changes to one taken on the same day but now the woman is hanging by her arms as I use the whip on her back. She's very obviously enjoying the experience as she balances on her tippy toes but I can't help but wonder what she was thinking of me at that moment. Again I forward, finding two more scenes filmed over the course of the day of me fucking her, both from behind, both with her blindfolded, both with her bound. I never took the chance that someone would touch me so binding was a non-negotiable.
It's taken me less than three minutes to scan the 48 minute segment and even though I feel disgusted and logically know this was done years ago, I can't help but feel as if I'm betraying Ana somehow. I have no interest whatsoever in seeing myself with other women but I do need to at least ensure that Elena, in her sick depravity didn't splice in me as a kid or worse, some other kid.
Before I click on the next video I scroll through my phone at the pictures of the encouragements Ana left for me when we first began dating. There is so much she'll never know about me, so many things I did that I'll never share with her so that I can keep that darkness from her. I wonder, if she knew it all, if she knew about the harder shit, the kink that even I was uncomfortable with, would she still tell me that, 'I was worth it', or that 'I am gentle'? Would she still agree to be my wife?
The next video is in Elena's dungeon again but this time I'm a bit younger, closer to 20 if memory serves me correctly. There are three women, Elena included, all blonde and dressed in leather. The two women whose names I was never given were Domme's in training and had been brought there for me to pleasure. I know what happens, I was there and remember it as being humiliating and terrifying. To have that many people involved meant that I had less control over my own body and almost no control over where I was being touched. Despite drawing hard lines before we started, there was always the fear that someone would ignore my limits.
Fast forwarding to the end to ensure that there are no other video's I rip out the flash and sit motionless in the chair. It had been a Christmas present to me but not one I had wanted. I had refused to come home from Harvard for Thanksgiving, instead opting to stay in my apartment alone. Elena had been furious and this was my punishment. I had never been a fan of multiple partners at once and Elena knew this yet chose it with regularity when she was upset with me. This particular night had been a turning point for me.
When the scene was finished, instead of the euphoria that accompanied pleasing her, I had felt used. Degraded, disrespected, humiliated. I left her house bruised from the top of my ass to my ankles, each minute away from her only feeding the rage I had begun to suppress towards her. I left for my parent's house in Montana the next morning and flew back to Boston directly from Bozeman after the New Year even though she had demanded that I return to her first. It was then that I made less and less of an effort to see her and it was then that I began to really develop what it was I wanted to do for a living.
She knew, because Elena knew me better than anyone for a long time, that she had gone too far that night. So when I came home in April for Mia's birthday and asked her if I could borrow $100k to start my business she was eager to help. And why wouldn't she have been? It was just an extension of her control over me, one I felt beholden to until very recently even though she had been reimbursed ten fold.
The drive goes back into the bag and one by one I put in the mini-DVD's, holding my breath each time, afraid at what I'll find. The first two are of what appears to be coaching scenes. In them she orders a Dom and a sub around, clearly in the role of teacher. The third are the two scenes of mine that were copied onto the flash drive and the last three are also of her coaching.
As relieved as I am to have these two videos of me, I'm disappointed that the three videos of me as a teen aren't here. Does she have another hiding place? Did she destroy them because the noose was tightening around her neck? Did she lose them? Give them to someone else?
I load them in again one by one and then go through the hard drive one more time but I didn't miss anything; they just aren't here. I'm exuberant to have in my hands the evidence that could have been leaked out to the press but I'm completely deflated knowing that those three god damned videos are still out there.
When Regina announces that Nanette will be taking dinner orders I glance at the clock, completely shocked that it's almost five o'clock. I've been in here for almost four hours. Outside the door Taylor is still standing though he looks weary. I don't know why it surprises me that he hasn't left his post, Taylor is nothing if not supremely professional and competent.
"I'm sorry, I should have told you to sit."
"Not a problem, Sir. Are we good?" I take a minute and really look at the man standing in front of me. He's not asking because it's his job, he's not asking because he will report it back to Welch, he's asking because he actually gives a shit.
"There are a few videos of me as a minor that are unaccounted for but the rest of it's there. Double what Ms. Shote asked for for that charity in the Ukraine and have Andrea send her the entire fall line from Louboutin. Rachel said she's a sucker for his shoes and those are a lot harder to donate." He begins to walk toward the front of the jet but I stop him. "Jason. Thank you. I know this isn't what you signed up for but I appreciate you doing it."
He nods and turns without a word.
At the end of the aisle Ana stands, eyes wide, hands twisting in front of her. Stunning. Absolutely perfect in every way. To immerse myself for four hours in the vileness that is Elena Lincoln only to come out to the goodness that is Anastasia humbles me. What I ever did to deserve her is beyond me but there she stands, concern etched on her face for me because despite the crap I've piled on her, despite the baggage and the drama I come with, she still loves me.
APOV
He strides to me, each step encouraging that smile to get a bit bigger until he stands inches away from me. There are people all around us so I don't ask even though I'm dying inside to know what he found. He takes my hand and pulls me towards him but turns back to his office, pulling me behind him. On the desk is his computer but no bag, no disks, no pictures. I must look panicked.
"They're locked in the desk." He lifts a key from his breast pocket and shuts the door, sitting on the polished cherry wood top and settling me between his legs. "Everything except the three videos of me underage is there. All of it, the dossier, the journal, the media."
"So…it's over. You got what you wanted." He remains rigid, his arms tight around me, his jaw tense.
"I did. Outside of those three videos of course."
"And…the videos…"
"I made sure there was nothing illegal and fast forwarded pretty much everything including anything I was in." I cringe against his chest, hopeful that he didn't notice my gut reaction. I've learned to work through my insecurities and jealousies but I still don't want to think about him with other women.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything, I want you to be as free from this as I am."
"Did you get turned on at all? Watching those…acts? Did any of it make you miss it?" His hands cup my face and draw my eyes upwards to his.
"No. Not even a little bit. I don't miss it because I still have that," he looks around as if searching for the right word, "kink with you when we're both in the mood for it." I blush and duck my face down in a vain attempt to hide it. He just chuckles and stands, still stiff, still tense but at least he's smiling. "But mainly I don't miss it or want it or need it because I have you and what we have is enough."
"How are you? How do you feel?" At this he runs his hands over his scalp and pulls, finally clasping his hands behind his neck.
"The truth? I have no fucking idea how I feel. I need you to understand, I'm not ashamed of BDSM or the lifestyle. There are some really great people in it and as a whole, it meets a need in both Dom and sub but my approach to it was lacking. Reading some of the things about me, knowing how detached I was at times, it bothers me because it's yet another reminder of how much she manipulated and ruined." He paces back and forth in the tiny office, both hands still behind his neck.
"I need to find those three other video's. Knowing the general public will never have proof of my...previous proclivities is an amazing feeling. Euphoric, so freeing it seems almost as if I'm in a dream. But knowing there are video's that show me being molested, it bothers the fuck out of me!"
"We'll find them, Christian. If it takes years we'll find them."
"Did you find flowers that you like?" What? Flowers?
"Um...I..."
"I don't want to talk about any of this heavy shit anymore. I just...I can't. Not for a few hours at least."
"OK, but if you change your mind, I always want to hear what you have to say."
"I know, baby. Flowers?"
And because he must really be desperate for a topic change if he's asking about flowers I indulge him. "I know it sounds crazy but I was thinking for the rehearsal dinner we could use onion blossoms. We can get them in any color we like and despite being the flower of an onion, they're beautiful. And for the wedding, I want a bouquet with calla lilies, stephanotis, peonies, roses and tulips all in white."
"Sounds beautiful."
"Yeah? You like it because I have to tell the florist, whom I haven't even hired yet, what I want so the order can get put in on time."
"Ana, how many times do I have to tell you? These people will bend over backwards for you. If you ordered this the day of the wedding you'd get it, perfect and with a smile." I am never going to be comfortable demanding something simply because of my last name though. "Now, I'm starving. What are the choices for dinner?"
"Veal piccata or cacciatore."
"Very Italian." He opens the door and looks down at me sardonically, "I'm going to take a guess and say you don't eat veal."
"Uh, hellstotheno." He laughs.
"I still haven't seen that English degree you know."
Ros joins us for dinner and has me in stitches recounting the early days of she and Gwen dating. Gwen, after learning more about her, reminds me a lot of Wendy. Both demure looking, both extremely pretty in a delicate sort of way and both bad ass bitches as Ros refers to her. For the better part of two years Gwen has spearheaded the campaign in Washington for a law that would allow gay couples to marry.
I'm not at all surprised to learn that Christian has not only donated money to her cause but has spoken on her behalf to both Senators while conducting other business. Ros, it seems, is content to remain in the current civil union they've been in for years but admits she'll be the first in line at the courthouse. When she raises a finger and points at Christian he shakes his head with an eye roll, already knowing what comes next.
"I want to get married for one reason and one reason only. This guy here is going to be my maid of honor and because he loves me so much, because he can't live without me, because next to you I'm his favorite girl in the entire world, he's going to wear a pink dress and carry a bouquet of carnations."
The entire plane laughs then, her loud raspy voice at a volume that keeps no secrets. Christian chuckles and rises, taking my hand in his.
"I would never, ever carry carnations," he throws at her much to everyone's delight. She whoops and smacks her hand on the table while the rest of the crew laughs along with her at his unexpected humor. In the bedroom he rounds on me, carefully pushing me against the door with an easy smile.
"You made a joke, baby!"
"And people laughed." His joy is obvious. Sometimes, despite the four thousand dollar suits and the huge bank account, I can see him as a little boy still searching for approval. "I'm beat and I'm sure you are too, let's go to bed."
"Won't that mess us up for Rome?"
"Right now, I don't care. I need a mental vacation for a few hours." One shoe and then two are kicked to the corner while he does the math. "Actually, sleeping now will put us right on schedule."
"And you're sure the desk is locked?" His paranoia is rubbing off on me obviously.
"I'm sure. The desk and the door are locked and if anything is missing, it's one of nine people so I'm not too worried about it while we're on the jet." My god he looks good when he pulls off a t-shirt! It's the way he curves in slightly when one arm reaches behind him. His belt and jeans are next and join the shirt, carefully folded and placed on the chair.
When he's in just his boxers he comes to me, slides the jean jacked from my shoulders and lifts the simple black jersey dress over my head, laying it across the chair before unsnapping my bra.
"I need to just feel you. We don't even have to do anything; I just want to touch you." What? Is he not trying to have sex right now? Has this ever happened? Is it because of the videos? His employees a few feet away? Should I be worried? "When we get to the Rome we'll burn everything. Feel like having a bar-b-que?"
"Oh! Speaking of bar-b-que's, since we're not having a rehearsal dinner Ray and I thought it would be nice to have a family dinner instead. Just the Grey's and Steele's, no friends or cousins or anything. I know the house isn't livable but Elliot said the water and all the utilities work so I thought we could have it there. Kate's itching to decorate for a dinner party and Ray's awesome on the grill."
"Is that what you want?" He laughs, turning me and swatting my butt to hurry me along to the bed.
"It's what he wants. You know what he said to me on the phone yesterday?" I know he's listening because he raises his brows but his eyes are on my bare chest as is one finger, trailing circles around one nipple. Nope, don't need to worry about his libido. "Well I've been begging him to move to Seattle for over a year now and he said that he'd seriously consider it now that I'm putting down roots. And he said that he'd definitely get a small place once we started having kids! How great is that? I've always wanted him to live near me!"
He smiles big and lies next to me. "When we have kids? Then we should do that right away so he can get settled." Geez, he really is fixated on this baby issue.
"We can practice all the time but there will be no baby making for a little bit." His hand grips my breast, shaking it gently.
"I can't wait to see how big these get when you're knocked up. I know I said we didn't have to have sex and we don't if you don't want to but I really want to suck on these right now." He doesn't wait for me to answer but rolls me to my back and latches on with a contented sigh.
From one breast to the other he moves, sucking, nipping, biting and licking until I'm writhing and panting beneath him. His lips break the seal over my left nipple and rise to mine to kiss me, an edge of desperation evident in the way his hands are gripping the back of my neck and my hip.
"I'm not that man anymore," he whispers in a rush of emotion, the heat of his breath no match for the warmth that radiates through my body at his words.
"No, you're not." One leg rises and kicks his boxers off but he makes no move to go any further. I feel his emotions as if they were my own in this moment. Raw need born out of self doubt pours from him and while I've felt his self loathing on more than one occasion, this time it's different. Where he would previously accept himself as innately bad, now he's looking for the confirmation that he's not.
"Tell me I didn't damage them. The women." Oh god, this is so not what I was expecting to be talking about.
"Christian they were grown women who made a choice to enjoy sex in an unconventional way." With difficulty I pull my panties down and fling them across the room by one toe. It takes a bit of maneuvering but I manage to position him where he needs to be and even when I lift my hips up to take him he remains immobile. Instead he holds my face and kisses me as if I were made of glass, pulling back to stare at me with a face painted with confusion, love, pain and reverence all at once.
"I love you, Ana," he says with a sincerity that kills me. Tenderly he pushes in, holding himself there for a few seconds before pulling back out just as lovingly.
"I know, and I love you." Another push, this time further than the last, his head dropping to the slope of my neck. On instinct I hold him, dragging the tips of my fingers over his back as he thrusts in again and again, each time as sweet as the last. I'm sweating under the weight and heat of him but say nothing, too caught up in his turmoil to care about something as trivial as that.
"You are a good man, a compassionate man who is loved and loves." His fingers tighten in my hair, the sound he makes much like a whimper. "You are kind and gentle and funny and caring," I grunt as his speed picks up with each word.
"More," he begs, my heart breaking in a new and beautiful way. In this moment, with me on a bed 30 thousand feet in the air Christian Grey is shedding his skin and asking for help in a way he never has before.
"You are thoughtful and sweet and honest and worthy of good things. You keep me safe and make me feel loved and cherished and important." Around him my legs hook behind his lower back and feel the powerful muscles of his back flex with his efforts. When he moans low and long I hold his face in my hands and stare at him, gray eyes blazing at mine with raw sincerity.
"You are so good to me, so worth the wait," I stop when he swells and lets go inside of me, his lips uttering a single word.
"You," he cries right before his eyes roll to the back of his head and he collapses on top of me. When his fingers trail down to our union so that he can take care of me I stop him, bringing his hand to my mouth where I kiss each finger tip before kissing his cheek.
"Sleep." And for once he doesn't argue.
While he sleeps I dress in the pajamas Gail put in my carry on bag and then sit on the edge of the bed. He's out cold, thanks in part to his grueling workout with Claude and a sleepless night but mainly because the stress of today's raid has been a heavy load for him to carry and now it's over. This is the adrenaline crash.
Carefully I push his unruly hair from his forehead and just stare at him. What does it feel like I wonder? To have the weight of the world on your shoulders? To carry 40 thousand people's livelihoods? To have hundreds of people line up for days at a time to be fed by your generosity? To know that every move you make has consequences? Every decision you make effects thousands? To be hated and revered in the fickle worlds of high finance and public opinion? To believe for years that your life was a burden to others?
Unimaginable would be my guess. Not many humans could function, let alone thrive under that kind of pressure. How he juggles it all and still manages to find time for his family, for me, for causes that are important to him is remarkable. He is remarkable. The change in this man over the course of the last few months is nothing short of astounding. The change in me, while less obvious, is just as profound though.
I've gone from self-conscious to self-assured, naïve to worldly, innocent to temptress, girl to woman. I thought it would be a struggle to be with someone as hot and desired as Christian Grey and in some ways, my insecurities were magnified by the press or by my own mind but his consistency and his obvious sincerity has me brimming with confidence.
Maybe it's that new found confidence that has allowed me to cut things off with my mom, maybe it's knowing that there is a person out there who really loves me besides my dad, maybe it's just a maturity thing but either way, taking back control from Carla has allowed me to stand tall on my own for the first time.
I guess the same is true for Christian and Elena. She's not his mother, holds no blood bond over him but the damage of sexual abuse runs deep. Inside my chest pride mixes with love while I watch him sleep, his breaths deep and long. This king of his own universe has finally found rest.
There is a familiar hand squeezing my shoulder and a familiar voice calling to me, "Time to wake up, baby. We need to go over our presentation to smooth the edges and we need you present."
"How long did I sleep?"
"About six hours. We land in two so we need to get this going, Ros is waking everyone else right now." He jumps up and smooths down his hair which is no more than a futile waste of time. It'll be out of control in less than a minute but he looks cute trying.
"How long did you sleep?"
"I just woke up, Nanette has espressos and croissants ready." He reaches for the door, "Did you want an omelet or anything more filling?"
"Oatmeal would be good. With cinnamon and raisins if she has it. Maybe some almonds too." He looks pleased, leaving with a wink to let me get dressed. OK so maybe I am getting a bit more used to this life.
Two full hours later we've gone over as much as we possibly can to prepare. There are always unknown variables when it comes to meetings like this but overall, the GEH team, myself included, is well prepared. I've even been able to teach them a few basic Mandarin phrases as a sign of respect.
In the middle of our impromptu prep I find myself looking at dresses that Grace has emailed me for her to wear, each more beautiful than the last. Her excitement is contagious and when I email her back with my choice and ask if she and Carrick would like to join us for the tasting on Wednesday her response is an instant 'Yes!'
Regina announces that there is a back-up on the runway and that our landing will be delayed by about 20 minutes. Christian hates anything and everything that isn't under his control or isn't part of his time table so when he starts to yell about that being unacceptable it's Ros who throws me a look that says, "You need to deal with this."
"Christian," he turns and gives me a 'what do you want' look. "What do you have planned for my birthday? Jacqueline said it was going to be amazing and I know you told Elliot and Kate and even Devin hinted at it. I'm the only one who doesn't know!" And shit I did not meant to say that since right now, that's a bit of a touchy subject between us but it does the trick anyway.
With an exaggerated sigh he sits and pinches is nose.
"I don't know what to tell you. I thought about what you said," he waves his hand towards me and looks around to ensure that no one's listening, "about being kept from things and you're right. I can absolutely see how that could cause trust issues for you down the road and Ana, I can't put into words how much I don't want that to happen between us. When I said we should keep our love easy, I meant it. I don't want you second guessing anything."
"I'm just not entirely sure how to handle this though. Daily briefings like I do with my staff? A nightly report of my activities? I'll do whatever it takes I just have no way of knowing what that is because frankly, so many things happen in one day that it seems overwhelming to loop you in on it all."
And because he's him and can't help himself, he pulls at his hair until I sit in his lap and draw his hands down to my waist. Words he hears, tears he sees but it's when I'm physically touching him that he seems to understand.
"I don't need you to prove anything to me, I just want to be a part of the decisions that affect our lives. Let me ask you something, when you were making plans to see my mom, did you stop and think that maybe you should tell me?"
"A hundred times."
"And what made you feel that way?" At this he rests his head back and closes his eyes to think.
"I felt guilty. Even though it was the right thing to do," his brows raise but I don't react, "it still felt like I was doing something wrong. There was the potential to hurt you, which I did. It's new to me." I cock my head to the side in question. "Guilt. I've never felt it outside of my relationship with Elena."
"OK, so when you were planning our honeymoon or my birthday, did you think you should tell me about those things?" He grins wolfishly.
"No. I was just excited to take you away and excited to plan something for you."
"Then that's how you know what to tell me. If you feel even a twinge of guilt or if you have even a second of thinking, 'maybe I should tell Ana', then it's something I would like to be included on. But my birthday," I kiss the tip of his nose and slide off into the seat to buckle up, "you can surprise me with that!"
"So no daily briefings?"
"No," I giggle, "just go with your gut. So what are you going to do with the stuff in the bag?" He answers without any hesitation.
"Burn it."
"You were serious about that? How? Where?"
"The room we're staying in has a working fireplace, Taylor's already called ahead to have it lit when we get there. First thing I do, I'm sorry, we do, is burn it all."
"But isn't some of it plastic?"
"Ana it could be made of oxidized plutonium and I'd still light that shit on fire. But yes, the hard drive is encased in plastic but I can get out the guts of it. The flash drive I'm going to let you destroy since you did such a good job of it before."
At this we both laugh and accept the glasses of ice water Nanette is distributing along with hot towels and wedges of lemon. When I squeeze mine into my glass he laughs and bites his, puckering his face up like a kid.
"It's to wake you up, not squeeze into your water. Citrus, bitter, vitamin C."
"Is this a rich people thing? Because we didn't do that in Montesano, we just woke up."
He laughs again and holds the wedge to my lips. "Guess so, bite down."
Customs for private jet passengers is nothing like customs for the regular traveler. Instead of lines, bored agents and the routine questions, there are two energetic and apologetic men who enter the plane while we're still seated and comfortable. They collect our passports, ask a few benign questions and then exit. Three minutes for the nine of us. This is another perk I could get used to.
Christian and I are met on the tarmac by a black Mercedes with tinted windows. Taylor immediately opens the doors and escorts us in, dropping the bag at Christian's feet before climbing in the passenger seat.
"Mr. Grey, welcome to Rome. Ms. Steele, a pleasure." The driver is curt but polite, wasting no time once the doors are closed.
"Ramon," Christian acknowledges.
Behind us are two black Mercedes vans with the rest of our party in them. Christian is eager to get to the hotel and since we only have three hours until our first meeting, I am as well. I need to get ready in both body and mind. I've worked my butt off on this project, knowing that the men I'd be dealing face to face with would treat me with hostility because I'm a woman. Normally I'd just write off such misogynists as a waste of my time and energy but these men are the only thing standing in the way of GEH's 30% growth in the Eastern Hemisphere and two years of preparations. Ros has told me, no less than 100 times, that this project will create nine thousand good paying jobs, two thousand of them in the State of Washington alone.
Anxiety or not, when we pull up in front of the Cavalieri Waldorf Astoria, I'm blown away. Both mine and Christian's doors open at the same time as we're escorted immediately to the elevator banks. Of course we don't need to check in or waste time on such petty things like luggage and room keys.
The two men flanking our back both stand with their hands clasped behind them, sunglasses on, stances wide. I half expect to see Will Smith pop up to shoot an alien this is so insane to me. Without a word we all enter the elevator and with the push of a button and the input of a code we're whisked to the penthouse. Once inside the four men that will make up our security team here in Rome line up and one by one shake Christian's hand. He's worked with all of them before, I can tell by the way he says their names but I can also tell there's no relationship like there is with Taylor or Sawyer.
Taylor hands Christian the bag and nods once at the men who turn and walk out. "The fire's been lit in the pool room, Sir. The requested items are there as well."
"Where's Sawyer?" Taylor pauses on his way out but Christian waves him along, answering me himself.
"In the adjoining suite setting up the surveillance and prepping the security team."
"Surveillance?"
"The hotel has a camera on the elevator and outside this door as well as the edges of the balcony but I always prefer my team to monitor things themselves." He shrugs out of his suit jacket, walks to the middle of the room where a bottle of champagne and a tray of fruit has been laid out and pops a grape in his mouth. To him, this place is standard. He's always surrounded by wealth like this but for me, I'm afraid to walk for fear that I might have mud on the bottom of my shoes. I have never, in my life, been surrounded by such opulence.
"You ok?"
"Uh, yes. I…where's our stuff?"
"I'm assuming in the bedroom. I know Gail sent a list of foods for the kitchen so your favorites are in there already. Did you need something?"
He chuckles when I stare wide eyed and shake my head instead of answering. "What do you think?"
"It's a lot to take in. It's huge…and very…gold. There's a lot of gold."
"Yes, I imagine Devin would be in heaven here," he teases, walking slowly to me and taking my hand in his. "Do you not like it? We could go to a different room or a different hotel altogether if you prefer."
"You'd do that? Just move everything to a different hotel if I wanted to?"
"Ana," his hands wrap around my waist and tighten, pulling me against him as he nuzzles my neck and jaw line, "There's nothing I wouldn't do to make you happy." And there's not, I know this as well as I know my own name.
"How did I get so lucky?"
He scoffs and lets me go, pulling me by the hand towards a door to the far right corner of the room. Whatever is in there isn't what he's looking for because he closes the door and pulls me to the other side and opens that door. The scent of pool water and fire are my first clue as to what I'll find but when he walks in and moves to the side I'm rendered speechless. Almost.
"There's a pool. In our hotel room. There's a pool in our hotel room. With a fireplace. There's a pool in our hotel room with a fireplace." He laughs and rolls his eyes, grabbing my hand again to drag me to the fireplace, a marble behemoth that is roaring even though it's close to 90 degrees outside. In front of it is a square stone, a hammer and a small tool kit.
"I would love to have seen the look on the concierge's face when Taylor requested this set up." He laughs again, shaking his head and reaching into the bag for the flash drive and hard drive.
"You're good for the soul, Anastasia. Here, do me the honors would you?"
"You're sure there's nothing the police can use on any of this?"
"Positive." He hands me one of two pairs of clear goggles and smiles, "Now hammer away."
He stands a few feet away and watches with amusement as I set up the drive and practice swinging the hammer a few times. When the metal of the hammer hits the metal of the drive for the first time there are literal sparks. His face has become impassive but his eyes are laser focused. Over and over I hit the small piece of silver metal until it's flattened and twisted. On the floor surrounding the stone are small pieces of whatever was inside, destroyed and utterly demolished.
When I sit back on my heels he walks over, lays down the hard drive and goes to work on it. While I gather the shards that have scattered on the marble floor he unscrews the external hard drive's casing, carefully placing the computer chip in the center of the stone, raising and lowering the hammer so quickly I blink, caught off guard by not only the quickness of his movements but by the brutal force behind his swing.
When he's satisfied he hands me the shattered metal fragments and places the DVD's down, holding out the hammer to me.
"You do it," I whisper, far too aware of the heavy sadness that has filled this cavernous room. In so many ways, this is goodbye for him and while it's one he wants, there's no way to deny the damage her molestation of him has left behind. These small lifeless items hold that damage and represent it, a fact not lost on either of us.
The disks just crack in half and then in quarters, eights, sixteenths and so forth. The shiny metal is somehow beautiful on the stone but it's when they're thrown into the fire and begin to melt that they're the most radiant.
"Throw in the drives."
"Don't you want to do it?" He shakes his head and looks at me with what I can only describe as pleading.
"You're the reason I'm even here. Finish it for me." I gasp and suck back a sob but kneel in front of the hearth and toss the offending material inside. Behind me I hear a tear, then another and then one more. I don't ask what's on the papers but he places them all face down as if to spare me the details. While the metals smolder, the papers turn to ash in an instant.
Photos follow, two and three at a time, all face down, all gone within seconds. And then there is nothing left. No pictures, no papers, no electronic devices, nothing. It's just me and him and the melted shackles of his past that have been reduced to nothing but ash and smoke.