APOV

Snoring, as a general rule, is annoying to everyone that can hear you and especially annoying to anyone trying to sleep next to you. But tonight, there's a certain peace I find in the steady noises coming out of Christian's throat. If he's sleeping, he's not thinking and if he's not thinking, he's not hyper focused on what's going on in a hospital room in Seattle Washington.

Grace called me while he was on the phone with Elliot in the hopes of finding out information. I admit it was satisfying to tell her that someone had played Elena at her own game and beat her. If that makes me a bad person, so be it but I'm the one who gets to watch the damage she inflicted in real time. And if Grace seems a bit giddy at the sight of one of Christian's security personnel stationed outside of Elena's hospital door next to a police officer, well then good for her because outside of Christian, has anyone suffered as much as his mother? Has anyone felt the violation as deeply as Grace has?

So we do our best to speak like ladies when all we really want to do is jump up and down and dance. Neither one of us is in the mood for idle chit chat and after assuring her, over and over that I'll call her if Christian needs her we hang up. I'm bursting at the seams with joy as I wait on this sofa for him to finish up his calls but when he comes out, face tight and eyes downcast I know better than to celebrate.

"Nothing new," he'd said absentmindedly to me before sitting down to eat. Dinner had been quiet, tasteless despite the caliber of the chef, and sad. How this woman, from half way across the world, half dead in a hospital bed has any effect on him anymore is infuriating. But she does, that fact is as obvious as the melted gelato he didn't touch.

So I played along for as long as I could and let him work silently beside me while he constantly checked his phone for updates from his security team. I have no idea what I watched because my attention was solely focused on the drowning man beside me but somehow we made it through those first few hours, emotions at an all-time low because of some crazy pedophile a world away.

After three hours of giving him his space and letting him retreat into his own head I did my best to coax him into a conversation about anything but his one word, monosyllabic answers were the only response I got. So I fell back on the only thing I knew would work. Sex.

Except it didn't work. Well, not really at least. He responded with a hard cock and answering thrusts while I rode him on the couch but when his release came; fast, hard and quiet he just slumped back into the pillows with his eyes closed and his hands limp on my hips.

"I'm sorry," he'd whispered, choking back the rest of whatever it was he was going to say in favor of more silence. We stayed like that, me naked against his bare chest, his pants around his ankles for a long time until finally he took in a deep breath and pulled my cheek against his.

"You deserve better than this, better than whatever the hell sex that was." I wanted to tell him to stop feeling guilty, I wanted to tell him to just hold me and let me hold him but he had already retreated back into his head. So when he suggested that we go to bed early I jumped at the chance to give him the mental break and took pleasure in the small things.

The way he somehow always manages to brush his teeth and pee at the same time, the way he always sneaks a swipe of my Diptyque hand lotion when he thinks I'm not looking, the way he pushes our pillows closer together in the middle of the bed before lying down.

His exhaustion was bone deep, I could feel it for him, could feel the weight of it resting on his shoulders. He didn't protest when I rolled him to his stomach. He didn't say a word when I straddled his butt or ran my hands down the muscles of his back. He didn't reach back to feel my legs or make a comment about having sex. He just accepted the ministrations of my hands from the gentle glides over well-defined lats to the firm pressure of my thumbs on the knots I could feel.

Little by little he relaxed and when my hands went numb and my wrists were burning I rolled off, pulled up the sheets and ran my nails through his hair from forehead to nape until the first soft snore puffed out of him. I kept going, afraid that stopping would wake him until my arms felt like lead and my own lids grew heavy.

But laying here, his face turned towards mine, lips slightly parted, lashes resting heavily on his cheeks I can't sleep. His physical form, peaceful in slumber, is still huge. 6' 2" of lean, hard, solid muscle from his neck to his toes. His hands, perfectly manicured are capable of great violence as evidenced by the spar I witnessed between him and Bastille. His mouth, capable of words so cutting and cruel that people are afraid of him. His eyes, so filled with animosity when he wants them to be make even the toughest men look away. Around him are military trained operatives paid to keep him safe.

Yet for all of that protection, for all of that muscle, for all of those firewalls, he still needs the most important kind of protection in the world. No amount of brawn or money can keep his heart and his head from breaking, only the people who love him can do that. I sleep fitfully with that last thought infiltrating every dream I have. Mine to protect, mine to love, mine to surround with solace.

In the morning his mood is lighter, evidenced by the way he wakes up with a stretch and a smile.

"I'm starving," he groans, turning me and pulling me in tight to nip at my neck. "What time did we crash last night?"

"About ten thirty or so. I gave you a massage, do you remember it?" He snorts and presses me flat onto the mattress, placing soft kisses along my spine.

"I was upset, not dead. Of course I remember it." He sits, wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me so that I'm on my knees, face flat on the pillow. "You have the most fuckable hips in history you know that? They call to me, all this smooth satiny skin covering this perfect structure just begging for my hands to grab and pound." His hand lands with a smack to my panty covered butt, eliciting a screech and a roll from me.

"Get back here," he growls, grabbing my ankles in an attempt to wrangle me back to him but I'm already planning breakfast and my trip back to Dona Cidalia's.

"You, Mr. Grey, are naughty. I'm getting pancakes, what do you want?"

"Let's go out since you're so fond of it. I know how you love to people watch."

"Really? Just let me get dressed!" Quick as I can I throw on another cute dress that Carolyn picked out for me and brush my teeth while he just lies on the bed watching. "Aren't you going to get dressed?"

"When you're finished. I'm enjoying those hips swaying around too much to move. Now be a good girl and do a little bend and shake."

Hem and I hurry from the café to the dress store, fast approving the fabric one of her employees drove down from Milan earlier this morning. Overnight she's somehow been able to draw a final sketch complete with colors and embellishments.

"You can do this in twelve days?" I ask skeptically.

"Nine actually. I've got a few different women who will work around the clock on the beading and the lace. I'd like to fly to Seattle the Tuesday before and I'd like to bring my lead seamstress with me."

"That is all fine," Hem interjects, fingering a pretty light blue satin fabric.

"Ana," Dona interrupts, her hands wringing in front of her again, "I need to tell you that I was approached by a number of reporters after you left yesterday and again when I came in this morning. They knew you had commissioned a dress for your wedding and were asking about dates and colors and such. One offered me a large amount of money for a picture."

"And what did you tell them?" Hemwatee bites, the fabric dropping to the table as she rounds on the four women draping and pinning me.

"Nothing of course," Dona answers while her grandmother clucks in the corner, clearly offended at such a question. "I signed the paper your security man handed to me but even if I hadn't, I would not have spoken a word." She waves towards the women in the room, "And neither would my family."

"Your family?" I ask in Italian, the youngest of the women glancing up to give me a smile.

"Yes, my cousins are here now, three more will join me later. My sister will also be with me." Affectionately she glances at her grandmother who waves her off without even looking. "We didn't really have a choice in our career path!" She laughs and then squares herself with Hem.

"None of us will ever speak to the media nor will we sell information." Her chin juts out marginally but the challenge is there and Hem knows it. I've gotten so used to showdowns having been with Christian for the last few months that I just watch, waiting to see how a protective pseudo mother and a prideful Italian woman are going to work this out.

"Then we are good," Hem says slowly before breaking into her signature huge smile. "There are enough shit pieces sniffing around Baby Girl already." I laugh and catch her eye.

"I think you mean 'pieces of shit'." She waves her hand and picks up the fabric again.

"All the same thing."

"Hey baby, how'd it go?"

"I have no idea how they're going to pull it off because when I left there the dress was nothing more than a sheet wrapped and pinned but I've got to trust she knows what she's doing. What have you been up to?"

Drawn back to reality he pinches his nose and rests one hand on his hip. "Normal shit. Incompetence in Tokyo, liars in New Dehli and discourse in London." He looks at his Tag Heuer watch and blows out in frustration. "Just a typical day in the office."

"I'm sorry," I purr, one hand running over his chest up to his neck. Immediately he stills and closes his eyes. He lets me just touch him, my manicured nails lightly scraping the exposed skin at his collar and nape. For someone who hated touch so much, Christian has quickly acclimated to it. Of all the little tricks I've tried over the last few months, it's gentle touch that has the quickest grounding effect on him.

"Do you have to go back into the office?" I take a peek at his watch, frowning at it only being one o'clock. He'll have to work longer, of that I'm sure. He groans and runs his hands over his head quickly as if he were shampooing, clearly agitated.

"I do. It won't always be like this, when we have a family I won't work on vacations or the weekends." His rush to add the last part claws at my heart.

"Christian, yes it will and that's ok. I know what I'm getting myself into. I know you'll do your best to be home for dinner and to keep the office out when it's family time but I also know that expecting that as a constant is unrealistic. Go on in and work some more, I'll bring you a drink and something to eat."

Over ice cold fresh squeezed lemonades and an antipasti tray to die for he makes phone calls, each one meaner and louder than the last. I've brought my own computer in and have made a little work station on the couch. My company isn't nearly as demanding as Christian's but there's still work to be done so while I reply to emails and schedule meetings and calls for when I get back I also watch him eviscerate two separate managers at his headquarters in London.

I have no idea what they're talking about but neither of the two men get the opportunity to speak much anyway. Once they've answered a question Christian launches into a tirade on their gross incompetence, their ball crushing ineptness and their long suffering employees. When he doesn't fire them I'm quite surprised since he seems so angry with them, I fully expect it.

"You're making me soft," he grumbles, shoving a marinated mushroom into his mouth without looking up from his desk. Sawyer enters, hands him a folder and then leaves. Christian tosses it onto the desk without so much as a glance and reaches for a grape leaf.

"I'm making you soft? That was being soft?"

"Yup," he waves his hand in my general direction. "I should have fired those losers but instead I'm giving them another chance because I know they've got a wife and kids at home. Two months ago I'd have canned them without a second thought. Now," he waves his hand again, "now I'm sipping lemonade and asking them to do better."

I laugh. Can't help it. "You are the furthest thing from soft, Christian. Just sitting here listening to you is terrifying. I seriously worry about your blood pressure when you get like this.

"I'm fine. Had a physical in April although I was told to empty my balls more often." He chuckles and reaches for his drink and the phone at the same time. "Lemonade," he scoffs, immediately stopping when a woman answers with a heavy Indian accent. His tirade starts all over again but this time I stand to go, my ears beginning to ring with his colorful language.

"Sheapa hold on," he barks into the phone looking at me to grab my attention, "Be ready to leave at five. And no tears when we say goodbye to the Fredericks, we'll see them in less than two weeks anyway."

"What am I supposed to wear?" I whisper but he's already growling into the phone about a purchase order being unfilled due to 'bullshit regulatory bullshit that some bullshit asshole put in place just to add more bullshit'. I'm tempted to count how many times he can say the word in one conversation but my own cell rings so I shut the door and leave him to it alone.

"Steele."

"What in the hell are you doing up, Missy? It's like, six am over there."

"I know but Logan had to leave early for a trip and you know, we're newlyweds and all so I had to send him off the right way and then I saw that you were online and you're like, impossible to get ahold of when nobody's breathing down my neck over here and I've got news. Big ass, sit your butt down news."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Eliza. Barney. Fucking." I choke on my drink and cough for a good minute while she waits, the occasional, "Mmmhmm, that's what I did too," crossing over the lines.

"How do you know?"

"Well, one, I'm a fucking genius when it comes to who's boffing who but on Friday she comes into the office with her hair looking like a rat's nest in the back. Matt says it's probably because she was running late but come on, we women know better. You run a comb through that shit unless you don't know you have a rat's nest because you don't know that fucking will do that to your hair."

"Miss," I start, biting back a giggle, "she really could have just been running late."

"Um, no. Eliza doesn't do late. So you know me, I went all undercover boss on her and sure as shit, every time she moved she'd wince. Cross her legs together and wince." Pleasureable memories of those first few days when I first had sex come to mind, the pleasure of the pain of being so thouroughly overused leaving me blushing in the living room of the penthouse.

"And then, Devin shows up."

"Well why didn't you just say that in the first place?" Devin can sniff out a devirginization like a cadaver dog at a graveyard.

"Because I wanted you to know about my own super human awesomeness as well. Anyway, he walks in with lunch, sushi of course, and gives her a little wave when he passes her door since she was on the phone. He stops, puts up one finger and back steps until he's facing her door. 'You', he said, all low and menacing, 'are giving me every single detail there is. Size, position, times, sounds, all of it.'"

"Oh no," visions of sexual harassment lawsuits float around in my brain.

"Oh yes. He stood there for a good twenty minutes until she finished her call, she got the Mexico City crime fighter campaign by the way, and then he pounced. Offered her a piece of her own spicy tuna roll for each detail and man she must have been hungry because she told it all. Even Matt pulled up a chair."

"Oh my god, you can't do this, Mis."

"I can, we did and we're family, it's fine."

"It's so not fine. Tell me everything."

"Well they've been necking for a few weeks now. Yes, I said necking because that's what she said. I swear, Devin just about choked and died on a California roll when she said it. Anyway, they've been necking and she said he took her shirt off last week after a particularly rousing date at the Mariners game. Rousing. I swear to god if she weren't so adorable I'd hit her. Rousing, who says that at 21?"

"Christian."

"Yea, well, he's weird too. You know he gave Barney the tickets for the entire season? His company has box seats and then ground seats and he gave Barney the season on the ground for no reason?"

"Maybe he loves the Mariners?"

"He does but still, that's really very sweet don't you think?"

"Christian is sweet," I retort and then grimace when I hear him yell something about 'fucking a wood chipper with someone else's dick'.

"Right. He's just known for his sweetness. Anyway, so after the game they, and I'm quoting, go to second base, and she stops him because she's not on any birth control and he, of course, doesn't have condoms with him. I wanted to slap him. Matt says, 'not even in his wallet?' to which sweet, naïve Eliza asks, 'why would he carry them around?' God I love that girl."

"So they talked. And when I say they talked I mean she said they talked about sex for the rest of the mother humping night. Then Barney excused himself because he didn't trust himself to sleep in the same bed with her and she went to Planned Parenthood the next morning for some pills."

"Aw, this is kind of sweet."

"Isn't it?" She asks, all giddy. "So Thursday he took her out to the Mile High Club because apparently he's allowed to go there for free whenever he wants to and get this, he wore a solid colored tie. No cartoons, no sports teams, no stupid geek jokes that like a hundredth of the population gets. A solid black tie. After dinner he takes her back to his place, which they've never done before, and then goes nuts on her. Like, totally nuts."

"Oh my god, tell me everything." I flop on the couch, lemonade forgotten on the table, and flip onto my stomach like a high schooler. Can't help it, this is awesome.

"She said he literally ripped her shirt off, literally ripped it off. Tore it from collar to hem and then threw it behind him and then yanked her skirt over her head."

"Her skirt over her head?" Christian comes out then and gives me a puzzled look.

"Well it's not like he's experienced, for all he knows that's how you take a skirt off. Let me finish, I have been dying to tell you for three days now. So after she's in her skivvys, again, her word not mine, he throws her on the bed and then strips himself to his boxers. Solid colored if you were wondering."

"Oh god, I so do not want to know about Bareney's underwear." Christian stops mid-way to the balcony and turns on his heel, his brows raising. "Hold on, Miss. Barney and Eliza did it."

"It?" He questions, still unmoving. "As in sex?" I nod, his brows raise even higher and his glass joins mine on the table. "Who's that?"

"Missy."

"Put her on speaker." God I love gossipy Christian.

"Hi Christian," she chirps.

"Hi Missy, please proceed."

"Oh, I will proceed. So, once they're both in their undies," she giggles, "he pulls out a box of magnum sized Trojans, takes one out of the box and says to her, 'I've practiced putting these on'. I mean, how unbelievably sweet is that?"

Christian is laughing on the couch next to me, one hand flat on my behind.

"So he takes his boxers off, puts on the condom and the rest she wouldn't say except to concede that it did hurt, she did like it and they did it four times and once more before work."

"Go Barney," Christian offers, face lit up with a toothy grin.

"Go Barney? More like go Eliza. Devin asked if the magnums were necessary and of course Eliza had no idea what he was referring to so he spelled it out. 'Did he need that size condom?' he says and she looks at him like he's crazy and says, 'Obviously, that's why he bought them.' Oh hell I was crying I was laughing so hard."

"So they're together then?" I look at Christian and smile. I love when he acts his age. I love when he lets his guard down and just enjoys the moment.

"You know, Christian, you have a modicum of influence here. This started because he took her to the Mariners game that you gave him tickets to and then continued at the Mile High Club that you gave him access to."

"Are you saying I had something to do with Barney losing his virginity?" He grins and offers me a high five which I do automatically without thinking even though it's a strange thing to congratulate each other on. After a few more minutes of female dissection Christian tires of the conversation and heads out on the balcony to call Elliot and his mom.

I only catch the end of the conversation when I follow him a bit later but I get the general gist.

"So she's awake and not talking still?...how long?...at this point, mom, you do what you want to do so long as it's quiet…I know…I know…I know...," he laughs and raises one foot to the patio chair, leaning his elbow on his knee when he does it. So casual, so young, so sexy. "Love you too…yes, seven at Florent Caterers…me too…bye."

"You should have said ciao." He turns, tosses his phone on the table and reaches for me. "Ciao, it means goodbye in Italian."

"I know what it means, Ana, I just don't give a fuck. What I do give a fuck about is that last night I got off and you didn't and that was supremely rude of me as your lover and as a man in general. So if you would be so kind as to lay yourself out for me, I've been dreaming of dragging my tongue over that clit of yours until you come so hard you cry." Well hoooooly shit. He just grins triumphantly at my shocked expression and reaches for the top of my bandeau style dress.

"You know," he says, his voice's baritone blending with the lustful husk so that my nipples tighten, "I was not happy that you went out without a bra on today but I have to say that this," his index finger slides between my breasts and pulls the top down, "makes up for it. Now shimmy that pretty dress down so that it's at your feet and let me feast on what's mine."

I'm not much of a shimmier but damn do I try. "Shit those are fucking hot."

"It's just a plain cotton thong." OK, g-string. OK, OK, micro g-string. In black. OK, they're hot.

"There is nothing just, when it comes to you and those panties," he points and then begins to reach for the hem of his t-shirt, "are covering the most beautiful pussy in the world." In a heartbeat he's standing close to me, our bodies slightly off center of each other. Eyes focused on me he cups me over the thin cotton and begins to squeeze in short pulses, each fifth or so ending with a deliberate press against the top of my slit.

"I can feel how wet you are through your panties, Anastasia. Do you want me? Do you want me to lay you out on this table we have breakfast at and spread you wide for my pleasure? Do you want me to lap up all that sweet cream you're making for me?"

"Yes." It comes out strangled, a boost to his already inflated sexual ego but I don't care right now, I just want whatever it is he's got planned for me. In an instant my back hits the cool slate top. The chill is in direct contrast with his mouth, firmly attached to the slick panty covered zone between my thighs. He pulls back just enough to slide one finger alongside the edge of my underwear so that he can pull it to the side and latch back on. If he keeps up with that sucking, biting, flicking thing he does that drives me crazy I'm going to come in about nine seconds.

As luck would have it, or maybe bad fortune depending on how I look at it, he stops, pulls back and looks up at me. "I want to tear these off of you." When I don't protest he bunches up the fabric and yanks forward, the $12 panty no match for the amorous love making of one Christian Grey. "Fucking beautiful," he murmurs, his eyes firmly planted where I can now feel my heartbeat, each beat pushing me closer to an edge I'm now familiar with. "You are so gorgeous, so unbelievably sexy."

Then he does exactly what he said he was going to do. He licks from right below my opening upwards, tongue flat and wide, eyes on me. Over and over and over he laves my sex, each slow drag pushing me further away from reality. Beneath me the slate heats up, above me my nipples ache for stimulation and as if he can read my mind he gives it to me.

Both hands come up from the center so that he has to flatten my legs, parting me even wider and then in a stunning connection of sensation, they pinch my nipples. While he licks, never once picking up his pace he pinches each straining tip between his thumb and middle finger leaving his index finger free to flick.

Exquisite is the only word I can think of to describe the dual sensations. He hasn't shaved yet today, the stubble rubbing over my sensitive mound yet another layer of bliss that begins to swirl together. My legs are trembling along with my belly as the pleasure mounts to a level I can't contain. Still, even though I'm panting and thrashing and yanking on his hair he maintains that slow steady rhythm that is killing me.

"I want to come, Christian," I manage to huff out but his pace remains constant.

"I'm not finished yet, Ana." The loss of his mouth is a terrible one. Cool air blows over my wetness as he studies me further. "God I could taste you and smell you and feel you all day long." Instead of his tongue it's his nose that drags all the way up my slit, inhaling all the way. "Fucking heaven, literal heaven on earth, god damn I love your pussy."

I want to demand that he lick me again but I know better. When he's in this mode, he's in charge and any deviance from that prolongs the release I'm becoming more and more desperate for. Christian's in no rush, evidenced by the way he lazily slides two fingers in and out of me.

"You want to come, baby?" He taunts, those fingers staying deep while his index and pinky slide up and alongside my clit, pulsing and begging to be touched. "Watch me, Ana. Watch me while I make you come." His fingers stay put making me that much more sensitive since my hood is pulled up all the way. It's almost too much. Again, he drags his tongue over me, adding a quick flick to the top each time.

"Christian," I moan, my legs trembling again, my body sheened with sweat, "please," I beg. He doesn't say no but he doesn't change his pace either. When I grab my own breasts he moans against me and reaches his hand down. I watch with wild lust as his shoulder muscle bunches and flexes as he strokes himself.

"Oh god! Oh…fuck…fuck…fuck," I cry out as heat, intense as I've ever felt before settles over my skin from scalp to heel. "Christian!"

"Yeah, baby, say my name again."

"Christian, please let me come, fuck!"

He offers a groan and then begins to pump his fingers just slightly so that the other two fingers slide along either side of my lips and then, oh god then he gently bites down on my clit and sucks.

"FUCK!" I scream and watch myself buck against his face, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he finishes himself off with me still firmly pressed up against his mouth.

So hot. So unbelievably hot. So naughty and intense and did I mention hot?

With a shudder he pulls back, looks at my sex longingly and does a low growl before licking me bottom to top one last time. I'm so sensitive it's painful. Even my breasts are too sensitive to the touch of his tongue on his way up my body to my lips. Under him I jump at each tiny contact, my breaths coming in small pants still unable to catch up with what just happened.

"So good," he murmurs, before he sucks on my lower lip. "I love this lip. Do you know you bite on it when you're about to come? Sexiest thing I've ever laid eyes on." If he's looking for a physical response, he's not going to get one. I simply can't move. "Let's go for a swim."

"A swim?" Oh right, the pool. Or pools rather. "OK, I'll go get my suit on." In an hour when I can move again.

"No suit required, baby," he tosses out casually, reaching for a napkin on the table as he helps me up and then bends to wipe the floor. "Have you ever skinny dipped?"

"Um, no."

"Good. Neither have I."

"You've never gone skinny dipping?" I'm surprised but really, I shouldn't be. Who would he have gone with? It's not like he and Elena were into normal fun activities or anything. And he didn't really have friends in high school. Which makes me sad now that I think about it. Outside of my friends and his brother, who can he call friend?

"Nope. I mean, Elliot and I would jump into the Sound off my parents boat when we were kids to pee and rinse off after the beach but we were little." He walks towards the pool room, purposeful strides showcased by his perfect body. Those indents on the side of his butt have always done something to me and this time is no different because as much as I can't imagine being touched again right now, I can't imagine not being touched even more.

Whether he knows I'm staring or not I don't know but he walks slowly, each flex of his calf, each bulge of his thigh, each twist of his back ratcheting my desire to touch all of those places. When he tosses the napkin in the trash can his entire back breaks out into sinewy muscles, the small movement highlighting the extreme beauty of his sculpted body. At the edge of the pool he dives in, coming up on the opposite end with a shake of his head.

"You coming in or are you just going to stare at me the entire time?" Shit, caught.

CPOV

Not that I mind. I work hard for this body and I'm not going to pretend that I don't like the fact that she enjoys it. If my physique turns her on even a fraction of what hers does to me, then I'm golden. Because her body, all tight and sculpted while still holding on to that feminine softness wrecks me. Other than the fact that it's not wrapped around me 100% of the time, there's not a damn thing I'd change on her.

She walks to the edge and dips in a toe, her breasts jiggling slightly by the tiny movement. Nope, not a thing.

"It's warm," she muses and then slides herself in daintily until the water is just above her navel.

"Of course it is. For $18k a night they're not going to give you cold water." Her eyes grow wide at the mention of the price but if there's one thing I'm determined to get her over, it's her fear of our wealth.

"Did Elliot skinny dip?"

"Countless times with countless girls. That was his move in high school. Even if I had wanted to date in high school, it would have had to have been with a left-over of his. No thank you."

"And you never even had a crush on a girl?"

"I had plenty of crushes but there was no way in hell I was going to act on them. If you liked a girl, you had to talk to her. If you talked to her, you had to be near her. If you were near her, she'd try to touch you. And back when I was in Jr. and Sr. High, we had dances and fuck if I was going to dance with anyone."

"That's so sad to me." She swims to me, her hair in a messy bun atop her head.

"Sad?" I frown and think about it from her perspective. "I guess it could be seen as sad but I was frustrated more than sad. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to go out on dates like Elliot but I never really thought it would be an option. To be honest, I never thought I'd ever have sex." And therein lies my biggest conflict when it comes to Elena.

Ana gets quiet and slides up my body, wrapping her legs around my torso and her arms around my neck. "And that's why you feel indebted to Elena on some level. Because you feel that she showed you how it was possible."

I sigh and kiss her temple while I choose my words carefully. "Yes, in a way I do feel like even though the means was wrong, the end result was helpful." She leans her forehead into the crook of my neck and kisses me there so gently I wonder if I imagine it. "That being said, as an adult, I do think that given enough time and a bit more therapy I could have gotten over that hurdle in a healthier way. I know what she did was stunt my development in so many ways but she also pushed me. It's a mind fuck, I'll give her that."

"You owe her nothing, Christian," she says quietly without looking at me. "I know you feel conflicted about her demise and I know you feel somehow responsible for what her life has become but you are not in any way the problem here. I don't know how long it will take before you come to that conclusion but I know that you will. One day you'll see her for what she is and not what she painted herself to be in your eyes."

"Cognitively I'm aware of that. Emotionally I'm on my way to that. But I'll be honest, I'm pretty pissed at myself that I'm being a little bitch about it. I hate the woman but I do still feel indebted to her on some pitiful level that I can't quite understand." And that is where this line of conversation ends. I'm through dissecting this bull shit.

"Back to more important things though. Is this really another first for both of us?" I ask as I lean her back, take out her hair and float her on top of the water, swaying back and forth so that the water washes over her stomach.

"Mmmhmm," she answers lazily. I swear this girl could fall asleep anywhere at any time.

"You tired, baby?"

"A little. I didn't sleep that well last night. You snored. Loudly." I laugh and pull her up, wet hair dripping down her back, nipples glistening with moisture.

"I'm sorry," I laugh, captivated by her smile as she watches me.

"I didn't mind, I was just happy you were resting. You're so beautiful when you sleep you know that? I mean, you're beautiful when you do anything but when you're all peaceful and relaxed, you're especially gorgeous."

"I know the sentiment. I feel the same about watching you sleep. Do you know I do it every night?"

"You watch me sleep every night?" I nod and move my hands to cup that perfect ass, bringing her parted legs flush against me.

"I do. Sometimes it's because you're out before me, other times it's because I wake up in the middle of the night but most often it's when I wake up and you're still sleeping. Starting my day off watching you lay there, all wrinkled and soft and warm, it makes the entire day better."

"You really do love me," she sighs as if this is news to her. I blink and then pull her closer so that I can feel her heartbeat against my chest.

"You have no idea, Ana. You have no idea the lengths at which I'd go to keep you safe and in my arms." And that's the truth. I would do anything for this woman. If she knew my thoughts, the weight of the love I have for her, the need for her presence that blisters my heart it would overwhelm her. There are times that I fear for my own sanity so great is my desire for her.

"I feel it, the way you love me. I can't describe the feeling but I know it in my heart. And I love you just the same, do you feel it too, Christian? If something happened to me tomorrow would you know that I really and truly and wholly loved you?"

"Yes, I do. But don't ever talk about something happening to you, Ana. I can't handle it." She smiles and runs one hand through my hair, droplets of water landing on her nose.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, you're stuck with me forever, remember? For-ev-er. That is a long time, Grey."

"Not long enough, Steele. Now," I say, giving her my best pout, "as much as I'm enjoying the way your pussy is sliding over my cock right now, I want to be inside it." And without so much as a second for her to protest I lift her up and slide her down. The warmth of the water is no match for the heat that surrounds my shaft.

"God, you feel so good, Christian." Hell yeah, I love it when she's in the mood to be verbal. "Oh god yes, so good." Sweet pants of air chill my skin until she licks my shoulder and then bites down.

"God damn, Ana!" She licks and bites again, sucking the skin of my collarbone. I don't know if she's intentionally giving me a hickey or what but the idea of being marked by her? That would be another hell yeah.

One hand drifts over her lower back, my finger gliding over her crack to rest on the one place I haven't familiarized myself with on her body. "One day," I whisper, "one day I'll claim all of you, Ana. Every single square inch of your body will know me." She tenses and then giggles, stopping abruptly when I apply a bit of pressure.

"Not today though, Grey." I laugh at the look she gives me, a mixture of her 'hellstotheno' and 'what the fuck are you doing' and then move back up the nape of her neck, tangling my fingers in her hair and yanking her head back to kiss that sarcastic mouth of hers.

"Deeper, I want you deeper." At the steps I lean her back so she can grab ahold of the railing and then grip her hips. I can't move too fast since our waists are under the water but I can get deep and grind with each thrust. Beneath her her hair floats like a kelpie, my one unattainable desire to grab it so I flip her and move her to the side of the pool, lifting her one leg out of the pool.

"Yes, fuck me, Christian. Like that, yes, yes, fuck me! God...so good...oh my god so good." I like her dirty talk but if she keeps it up, I'm going to come far sooner than I want to. Shit she looks good like this, all wet, thick brunette hair wrapped around my hand, ass high in the air.

I slow my pace, watching the thickness of my cock slide in and out of the tightness of her pussy, the visual so graphic, so hot that I pull out and smack my dick on her ass just to stop myself from coming.

She goes wild.

"Fuck me! Don't stop, hard…harder…yes…god…god…god…faster…please…oh…Christian!" The only sound is the splashing of the water around my knees and my balls as they slap against her. She's going to come, silence is her tell and with a gasp and a final "Fuck!" she does, bathing my cock with a burst of heat that should be illegal.

I hold off, enjoying the feeling of her walls as they squeeze me and the visual of her writhing in front of me but then she looks back and reaches one arm behind her, pinches my nipple and says in a low growl, "Fuck me. Just like that, fuck that pussy," and that's it. I come...the fuck...undone. Anastasia Steele does naughty way better than I ever thought possible. I come and I come and I come and when I'm finished she squeezes again and I come a bit more until all I can do is fall back into the pool and sit on the step.

"Holy mother fucking shit, Ana." She giggles and covers her mound when she stands.

"So you liked that?"

"Did I…can you not…when the hell…oh fuck I can't even speak. Yes, I liked it. Holy Christ." More giggling as she makes her way to the bathroom to clean up before sitting next to me on the step. She reclines back and I want to look at her, I want to see her naked and wet again but I just can't.

"I wish we didn't have to leave here," she sighs wistfully.

"I'll buy us a place if you want. We can come here as often as we can, maybe I can even set up an office in Rome." She shakes her head and stands, offering me her hand to help me up. After that orgasm, I need it.

"I don't want to buy a place here. I just like having you accessible to me whenever I want. Even if you're working you're just a wall away. I know I can get you at GEH anytime but it's different here."

"That's because I'm barely working. When we get back, I have to warn you that I'll be pretty much at GEH 24/7 to prepare for the three weeks we'll be away and the Friday I'm taking off before the wedding."

In the shower she suds up my hair and then turns to let me do hers, the gesture intimate and comforting. I'm becoming a real bitch when shampooing my fiancée's hair has me ready to sing an Air Supply song. Man the fuck up, Grey.

"I know. Are you going to work on our honeymoon?" A thrill shoots through my entire body at the acknowledgement of our honeymoon. There I go again. I need to spend some time with Elliot or something.

"I don't plan to but I can't be totally unreachable either. Ros can handle most of the shit on our agenda right now and I don't plan to start any takeovers before we leave but in my business, you never know what's going to come up."

She points to my flaccid penis and smiles. "For once that's not coming up even as you soap me."

"Nope, he's pretty much down for the count after that last round. I mean, shit, you all but unmanned me."

"Come, Christian if you are going to bring me and your fiancée to a cooking class you need to participate. Come come, you cannot be ignorant forever to the boiling of water and the tossing of a salad."

When I make no move to join the women at the outdoor table Samuel leans over, wine glass in hand and tsks me. "You are being foolish. What Hem wants, Hem gets. You may as well save yourself the trouble and go now or you will regret it later."

"Later," Jomodo scoffs, shoving a fig in his mouth, "more like forever."

"I have a house keeper and a wife to cook for me. There are no less than 40 takeout places within three miles of my apartment and if that fails, I own a damn restaurant. I got through 29 years without needing to know how, why should I do it now?" Ana looks at me then, flour swiped across her cheek and gives me a sly little smile, no doubt remembering our time in the pool a few hours ago.

"Why?" Jamodo points, "Because she wants you to and you may think you're in charge and you may think you won't be told what to do but we all know that is just not the case." Ana flutters her lashes at me again and damn if these guys aren't right. I may fight tooth and nail for control in my life but with her, I have absolutely zero. And I am completely fine with that.

"I'm doing this for Ana, not because you told me to, Hemwattee." Ana jumps up and down and then helps me into an apron, something I never in a million years thought I'd wear and then kisses me.

"I'm glad you're helping. There is just about nothing sexier than a man in the kitchen." Really? Well in that case…

"Then let me get caught up. So I scoop out three cups of flour and then make a well in the middle to add the egg and water?" The instructor, an old Italian woman who speaks not one word of English keeps speaking while Ana translates. At some point, between the slicing of the garlic and the crushing of the tomatoes Ana begins to laugh, the old woman laughing along with her.

"What?"

"You don't want to know."

"Well now I really want to know. Why is she laughing? Am I doing something wrong?" I look over at Hem whose station looks identical to mine. She's not laughing but she's obviously in on the joke because she's grinning from ear to ear. The old lady says something again and then stops to laugh her old head off, chugging down wine in a mason jar as if it were water.

"Seriously, what the fuck is she laughing at?" Ana stops, rests her knife on the cutting board and laughs at me again.

"You really want to know?"

"Yes!"

"She said she can't wait to see how you handle your sausage." Gross. "And then she said something about how she was going to offer you private sausage handling lessons."

"And you're laughing?" Laughing is an understatement, she's downright howling now. I do not want to laugh and I definitely don't want to look at the instructor but I do both and then smack Ana's ass to get her attention. "Funs over, I'm getting hungry. Tell the crypt keeper over there to keep her eyes to herself when I unveil my sausage."

"Oh baby! You made a joke!"

"You are funny, Christian. You are, you are." Hem jokes with me. How in the hell did I wind up here?

Forty minutes and a bit more ribbing from the instructor later our party of five is sitting down at an outdoor table as the food we prepared is served to us family style. There are white lights strung from one end of the patio to the other and soft Italian music playing in the background. I'm a bit skeptical to try the pasta dish I had been assigned but Ana plates it up for me anyway and then watches as I twirl the fork around.

"To good food, good friends and good wine!" Jamodo toasts, giving me a few more seconds to debate eating something I made. But across from me Ana's face is lit up like a Christmas tree with excitement so I do it and am totally blown away.

"So good. So unbelievably delicious. I made this? You're sure this one's mine?"

Ana nods and takes a bite, her eyes closing as she chews and then swallows. "So good, baby. You are one hell of a chef. Oh my god," she takes another bite, "so good." And surprisingly, it is.

"Can we take the rest home somehow? I want to show Gail." The old lady laughs when Ana translates and then shakes her head no before rattling off something I can't understand.

"She said leftovers are vile. You can buy the ingredients in the US and you can make it there. Then she said to be quiet and eat because you were 'one hot hunk' so long as you're not talking." And I paid for this. I shelled out a few hundred Euro for private cooking lessons at some school in Rome so that I could be ogled by my great grandmother and told to shut up and eat.

But then I take another bite and I just don't give a fuck. This shit is good.

Afterwards we return to the hotel, stuffed to the point of pain but somehow still finding room to order every dessert off of the menu. Samuel cracks open a bottle of Prosecco while Jamodo arranges the balcony to accommodate our party of five. Early tomorrow they'll be leaving to return home while Ana and I take a day trip to Chianti. We'll fly out from there late night and arrive back in the States at midnight.

As much as I've enjoyed this trip I need to get in my office and cross off a few items on my never ending to do list before I stroke out from stress. My mom called earlier, before we left for dinner to inform me that Elena Lincoln had started talking and was able to answer questions.

She refuses to speak about what happened to her in her dungeon and swears she'll never speak of it at all but the investigators aren't too concerned about that anyway. They just want her discharged so that they can get her in jail and start the trial portion of their investigation.

When Sawyer came in to fill me in, just as I was hanging up with my mom, Ana listened carefully but said nothing. I would love to know how she feels about Elena being tortured but I'm not sure I should ask. I don't know how I feel about it. Whoever tied her to that cross did so with no intention of getting her down, the irony of me being the one to save her not lost on me in the least. Had I not informed the cops of her dungeon or how to get in there, she'd have never been found.

The ball gag they used was jammed so forcefully into her mouth that two of her teeth chipped and my mom said the bindings were so tightly wrapped around her hands that it's a wonder she didn't lose any fingers. Most telling, at least in my opinion was the state of the room itself though.

It had been torn apart, tools and implements ripped or shredded, canes broken, whips cut in half. Every item made of plastic was destroyed, the bench had been ripped, the bed had been turned upside down. There were mirrors that had been smashed and a wooden horse that had been stomped to pieces.

Perhaps the strangest thing though was that every vibrator she owned had been turned on full blast and shoved in her shirt so that even when the cops discovered her there were two still vibrating days later. I think of everything, that would have been the worst torture. The constant buzzing and vibrations had to drive her past the brink of sanity over and over. No lasting physical damage other than those two teeth but the fact that she's afraid to even say who it was tells me there was a bit of emotional damage thrown her way too.

When I asked my mom if she had seen her she emphatically said no. She's afraid she'll kill her herself.

Half drunk on the wine from dinner and the Prosecco now, I almost don't notice Sawyer as he stands near the doorway waiting for my attention. When I move to stand he stops me and comes to me. Everyone falls silent waiting but the last thing I want is for Hem, Samuel and Jamodo to know what's going on.

"Sir," he starts, eyeing the party as if to ask permission.

"I'll go," Ana rises and moves to stand next to me, one hand over top of mine. "You're too drunk to move." Sawyer looks at her and then at me.

"You come with me, Ana. We do this together, remember. Just, give me a second here." I didn't think I was drunk until I went to stand and then the full weight of how much I've drank tonight smacks me square in the face.

"Shit," I mutter, my feet numb on the tile. She suppresses a laugh and holds me around the waist. I'm not that drunk though. "Stop, I'm fine," I manage to say while putting one foot in front of the other until we're in the office with the door closed. Only then do I notice the glass still in my hand. May as well drink it.

"Elena Lincoln was discharged and officially arrested on twelve separate charges stemming from tax evasion to identity theft to money laundering. She'll be moved from the hospital to the King County Correctional Facility and held in the infirmary there until a doctor can evaluate her for the general inmate population or until she makes bail."

"So it's happening? Her arrest?" Ana asks, helpless to hide the excitement.

"Happened. It's happened. I've also received word from Detective Cantino that her safety deposit box at the Walla Walla branch is being drilled into this afternoon. We weren't able to place anyone at that location but he assures me that he's got an in and that he'll be meeting up with him later tonight, Seattle time."

We stand in silence, nobody quite knowing what to say or what to do. After a minute I raise my glass and tip it up, "To Elena Lincoln. May she rot in the bowels of hell."