CPOV
Sleeping on a couch with the love of my life curled up on me sounded like the best idea I'd had in a long time. But it wasn't because now I can barely move, an old skiing accident making its presence known all along my spine and left shoulder. But I'd take this pain any day if it means I get to hold my very soon to be wife.
"Eight days," I say softly against the top of her head, nudging her awake by poking her with my erection. She swats at my hand under the blanket cupping her breast and then giggles when I poke her again.
"You're so juvenile," she mutters, stretching so that I have easy access to her chest, her t-shirt doing little to hide the soft warmness I'm so fond of. "Stop, Christian."
"MmmMmm," I argue, reaching one hand down to pull at her panties.
"Stop. For real. I know we made up but we need to discuss what happened over the last few days." Do we? Really? Didn't we do that already?
"But you're so warm and soft and half naked." I'm sure I can circumvent this conversation so I nuzzle her ear but she, for the first time ever, doesn't respond.
"I'm also still angry and hurt. Very hurt actually and until we can talk about this, like I've been asking to do for days now, I'm not participating in," she waves two fingers between us, "this."
"Are you for fucking real? You're going to withhold sex because you're angry over something you won on?" She flings the blanket off, stands and pulls her hair up into one of those sexy as sin messy buns.
"Won? This was about winning or losing to you?" Isn't everything? "This was about two things that are very important to me and the way you reacted to something you didn't like. You were cold, mean and withdrawn. You made me feel bad about being honest and for standing for something that was important to me."
She shifts, sitting on her knees between my legs and rests her hands on my legs. "You're my best friend, Christian. I depend on you and love you and need you and when you trample me because you don't agree with me it hurts. Deeply."
"Put your hands down," she says gently, pulling them from my hair. "I don't want to fight, I want to talk." The minute she lets go of my wrists I'm right back to grasping my hair. "And I don't play games. That includes withholding sex and/or using my emotions to manipulate you. I want to talk, to be heard and to also hear what you have to say. You use sex to distract me," Shit, there goes that fail-safe. "And I want to work through this and put it behind us, not get distracted."
"Ana," I puff out, one hand settling on my hip, the other grasping the back of my neck, "I'm not sure you'll like what I have to say and I really, really can't do another night of fighting. It was bad enough not speaking but dealing with a nightmare on top of it, I just can't."
"I understand that. I don't want you to have another bad night. It was terrible to see you like that and if you want to tell me what you were dreaming about, I want to hear it. But we still need to discuss this."
"Can we do it in the shower then? I've got a breakfast meeting in an hour with the Governor and if I back out again, Ros might quit on me." She smiles, damn I've missed her smile, and leads the way to our bedroom. At the foot of the bed she stops, motions for me to help and starts to take off the sheets.
"Even if Gail were here I wouldn't let her do this."
"You know, in my life I'd never changed my sheets. Even at Harvard I had someone come in and clean my apartment and at home we always had a housekeeper. But in the four months we've been together I've changed sheets four times now." I raise my brow, she giggles.
"You should do a better job of keeping them clean then. Maybe wear a condom or something."
"Fuck that noise. For as long as we live I will never wear one of those things."
"Then shut up and take these to the washing machine. Put them in on hot with a capful of detergent." Uh, what? No.
"I don't do laundry, baby." She smirks.
"You do today." Fine. I do today. So while she strips off that t-shirt and takes those sweet curves into the bathroom I bundle up the stupid sheets and walk to the laundry room. I stand like an idiot, staring at the machine in front of me with wide eyes and a racing heart. I run half the world, I can figure this shit out. I fly helicopters and gliders, I sail million dollar yachts and drive one of the fastest street legal cars in the world. I can figure this out.
Except, I can't. I mean, I probably could if I really wanted to but I don't. I'm Christian Fucking Grey, I don't do laundry.
So after shoving the sheets into the machine, tossing in a capful of detergent as instructed and shutting the door, I walk back into the bathroom, pin Ana to the wall and reach around to grab at those perfect breasts she was just soaping up.
"Christian, stop. You have a meeting and we need to talk."
"I don't want to talk, I want to fuck," I say, turning her to rinse the suds from her body before taking both of her hands in one of mine and pinning them above her head. "Like candy," I murmur, my eyes fixed on her pretty pink nipples. "Just a taste, just a little taste." She moans when I suck one into my mouth, her eyes closing when I flick the tight bud with my tongue.
"No," she pants, wiggling against me and twisting her hands to get free. "I want to talk." I suck deeper and allow my fingers to ghost across her belly, the quivering flesh betraying her. "Christian." I tune her out and slide one finger down her slit.
"Let me make you come." But her body tenses, my hand instinctively releasing her wrists. This has never happened to me before. Not one time in fourteen years have I been rejected. I want to rant, rage, beat my hand on the tile walls but I do none of that because if I do that, I may as well toss myself right back into the last few days of misery.
"You're denying me, Anastasia?" The words are like venom, spat out unapologetically. She looks at me, shocked at my outburst and covers her breasts.
"I'm not denying you, I'm trying to have a conversation, a necessary one that you seem intent on avoiding but we need to figure this out, it's important that we do this right from the beginning, Christian."
"Fuck! Can't you just be happy it's over and you got your way? I get the whole name change thing for your business. I get it. You want to honor Ray, you see maintaining Steele Translations name as a way to do that. Business-wise you're established, I get it. The obey thing, whatever, Ana. I want you to say it, you won't and I can't force you. Case closed."
She stands there, mouth agape and eyes brimming with tears again. "I'm just being honest. Talking about it." I shrug insolently and she blinks away the tears, squaring her shoulders and reaching for a towel.
"On the name change issue," she starts, ignoring my mini-tantrum and aggressively drying herself off; breasts shaking, back glistening with beads of moisture, hair dripping all over the floor, "it's more than just sentimental value to me. You buy companies. You take them over and own them and put your name on them. But my company is mine, I started it in my bedroom with less than $400. I used Kinko's for my business cards and paid Jose with dinners to start up a website. I knew nothing about running a company, nothing about business plans or networking or P&L's. But I focused on my goal, ate Ramen noodles for eight months and cut my own hair so that I could start something and be successful at it."
Lotion goes on next, the glides of it over her body making me hard as granite in an instant. If she notices she doesn't say, just keeps on talking and rubbing, talking and rubbing. Talking...and...rubbing. Listening, I'm supposed to be listening.
"I'm proud to be your wife. I'm proud to be a Grey. But your life is overwhelming in every aspect. Case in point, we don't just fly. We fly on your private plane. We drive home in your car with your security team. Let me finish," she protests when I try to interrupt her to remind her that these are all her things as well now. "When we go out, every question I field is about you or our life together. I'm photographed because I'm with you. I'm interesting because I'm with you. People want to be my friend because then they can meet you. Hell my own family suddenly cares about my life because you're in it."
Her voice softens, "I know those things are ours now. I want everyone to know me as your wife in our private life. I want every woman out there to look at my hand and know that you put this here. I want every person that calls me Mrs. Grey to know that there is a Mr. Grey and the he's my husband. But when it comes to my company, it's important to me that I maintain my autonomy from Grey Holdings. I want people to come to me because I have a stellar company with an awesome reputation. Not because the name Grey is attached to it. I want people to know me as more than just your wife in the business world." That cuts, my ensuing gasp enough to stop her for a breath. But as a business man, I absolutely understand where she's coming from.
"Don't you want that too? For me to be me? To not get swallowed whole by the machine that is Christian Grey?"
"Honestly, Anastasia?" I yank on a pair of boxers and take a deep breath, willing myself to maintain calm. "I want everything in your world to begin and end with me. I want everything about you to scream Grey. I want everyone who looks at you or meets you or works with you to know that you're mine." I throw my hands up. "And that's the truth, like it or not, that's the truth."
"My world does begin and end with you! Everyone who meets me knows I'm yours even if they aren't blinded by the huge diamond on my finger. Anyone I work with knows I'm yours, Christian. But this isn't about them, it's about me and what's important to me. I built that company and I'm damn proud of it. Changing the name…it's like taking part of that away."
She is not putting on garters right now. Shit, she is. Gray ones with light gray stockings and tiny gray panties. And…oh fuck me a matching gray lace bra that just pushes those cherry red nipples up as if they were an offering to my mouth.
"Anastasia." She turns and puts her earring in.
"Yes?"
"Where did you get that?" A slow grin spreads across her face, the color of her lips perfectly matching the color of her nipples. Look away, Grey. That right there is your kryptonite.
"You bought it for me."
"I did? I'm sure I didn't. I'd remember that, trust me."
"Carolyn picked it out for me based on what you like." She turns, wiggles her ass and throws a coy smile over her shoulder. "So…you like?"
"I love. Holy shit do I love." She slips on a pair of black heels and then saunters over to where I'm frozen, afraid she'll get dressed if I move at all. My throat is dry and tight but I know exactly what will remedy that. My tongue between her legs.
"I'll tell you what," she drawls, one hand sliding up my bare chest until her fingers lightly play with my ear lobe. "You put your control freak ways on the shelf so we can talk through this, and I'll hand all that control back to you tonight." Fuck. Me. I swallow thickly.
"As in the playroom?" She nods, bats her lashes at me and slides her other hand up to my other ear.
"I prefer to call it the Red Room but we can go with playroom if you prefer. Sir." My mind goes blank other than visual after visual of her, in that lingerie, in that room. Blood rushes south at an alarming rate.
"I'll have Andrea send my regrets to the Governor."
"No, don't do that, Christian. What we don't cover here we'll do at lunch. I have a ten am meeting with a potential client anyway." She turns, walks to a black and white shift dress hanging in her section and pulls it down. "Lunch?" A half a minute goes by. I want that ass. "Do you want to meet for lunch? We haven't done that in a while." Another half a minute. "Christian? Lunch?"
I blink and force my eyes up from those perfect round globes of smooth skin split by a tiny scrap of gray lace hiding all those pretty secrets from me... "Lunch? Oh, yes, we can do lunch. I'll have Andrea call Missy to schedule something."
"Don't bother, I'll pick something up and bring it by at one. Come on, I'll make you something light for breakfast before you go."
By the time I get my dick down enough to zipper up my pants she's toasted me up a bagel with cream cheese and thin slices of strawberries. By now she's mastered the nine thousand dollar brewing system I had installed and pours us each a cup, sitting herself down next to me, poised for more talking. Yeah. Can't wait.
"Ana, I really do understand keeping the name. Both from a business perspective and after hearing about how you view it as a gift from Ray. I was petulant and immature in my handling of the situation and for that I'm sorry."
"And I'm sorry that I shut down on you. I was stunned by how quickly you went from loving to pissed off and when you refused to hear me out, I was just…I just shut down. Same with saying obey." Now this, this I have a harder time with.
"I still want you to say it. I want you to say it and mean it but I concede that you'd be lying and I'd rather have the truth." I grin, take a bite of my bagel and wink. "But I'd still rather you just say it and mean it."
"Let me ask you something." And here we go. Why do women need to continue to talk about something even after the conversation has come to a conclusion? I've heard about this, all this...talking in relationships. Elliot attributes it to at least half of the reason he's never settled down. More fucking and less talking, that's the Grey motto. "When you met me, what did you want from me?"
"To fuck the ever living shit out of you. Repeatedly." She laughs, the joyful sound if it filling up that hole that I've felt for days now.
"But as far as a relationship, what did you want?" I blink, a bit unsure how much the old adage, honesty is the best policy is right now. See? This is why talking too much can be a bad thing.
"Since I had no way to be with you outside of a Dom/sub relationship, I thought maybe you could be my submissive."
"And yet you never, not once pursued that with me. You never asked me to consider it, you never gave me a contract, you never even suggested it. Why not?" I snort.
"Because I knew within five minutes that there was no way in hell you'd ever be my submissive and after one evening with you, I wanted more from you even though I had no idea what that meant."
"Doesn't more indicate that you wanted a give and take relationship on every level?" I nod. "Has there been anything in the last four months that would indicate to you that I was the type of person to hand over life's decisions?" I purse my lips, not answering her. "So why would you expect me to say obey in my wedding vows?"
"Because it's tradition." Lame. I know it too.
"It was tradition. Do you really want that, Christian? Do you really want me to just sit back and do whatever you say? Is that who you want me to be?" She says it sweetly but underneath that loaded question is a fiery woman ready to rip my head off and in all honesty, it turns me on. Damn it's not helping that I know what's under that dress.
"No. I like when you challenge me. I like when you come back at me with well thought out reason. But I do feel that if you would concede to obey me that I could keep you safe."
She stops and thinks for a minute, blowing on her coffee with her eyes fixed on me.
"OK, what if I agree to that? Right here, without the need for vows, what if I promise to trust you and allow you to make any and all security decisions. No justification either. I just go with the flow on whatever you deem appropriate."
"That would make me very happy." She smiles and pops a strawberry slice in her mouth. Strawberries. Nipples. Last night's hasty desperate love making was not enough. Not after being deprived of her body for two days.
"Then I agree to that. What else is there that makes me saying obey so important?" OK, so maybe talking this through isn't the worst thing in the world.
"Your mom. Your future employees. Potential clients. Future friends. Past friends. I want final decision power on who is allowed in your life." At this her jaw drops open and her eyes widen.
"I will gladly discuss any future interactions with my mother and I've already agreed to allow you to do back ground checks on future employees and clients. But I own the company and I will make a decision, with you, as to whom I hire and work with. But friends, Christian?"
"Billionaire," I state, pointing to my chest before pointing at her. "Billionaire. Whether you like it or not you will be bombarded by anyone and everyone looking to be your friend. People you haven't heard from in years will suddenly want to hang out. Strangers will feel like they know you because they read about you in a magazine and they'll think that tiny bit of knowledge gives them access to you. Men will pursue you at every turn and you will be more desirable to them if for no other reason than what a coup it would be to steal away Christian Grey's wife." My heart rate picks up at the thought.
"Nobody is going to steal me away. Nobody. I don't need to promise to obey you to know that. I can understand your reticence on friends and I will vow right now to ask for your input, to heed your opinion and to decide together who is allowed in our lives. As to the men, that's a non-issue. They can pursue all they want just like women will chase after you. It means nothing. I don't expect you to trust them, but you have to trust me." She slides off the stool, stands between my legs and cups my face. "I'm so yours it borders on pathetic."
"There is nothing pathetic about you being mine," I chide, wrapping my arms around her slim waist. Gently she kisses me on each corner of my mouth, the hollow of my throat, the tip of my nose. With each press of her lips the anxiety binding my chest eases.
"I'm obsessed with you. I adore you. Cherish you. Live for you. Nobody can compete with that. Not now, not in five years, not in fifty." She pulls back and stares into my eyes, the intensity enough to flush my entire body with heat. "I vow to give you full run of my security. I vow to seek your assessment on new friends and to take those opinions to heart so that we can come to a decision together. And I vow, on all things holy, that I am yours in body, mind, spirit and soul. Nobody will ever come between us, Christian Trevelyan-Grey."
"Ana," I whisper against her lips before kissing her back. "Promise me that you'll always come to me for whatever it is you need. Promise to trust me. Promise me that it will always be me."
"I promise," she breathes into my mouth and just like that, the anger, the resentment, the uncertainty…it just fades away with the brush of her hands on my chest.
"Sir, I have a Mr. Cantino on the phone for you. Would you like me to put him through?"
Detective Cantino? I grab my phone but there are no missed calls from Welch and Reynolds is still in his office so there can't be any new information. "Put him through, Andrea."
"Grey."
"Mr. Grey, Detective Cantino. I was hoping to catch a few minutes of your time today if possible."
"What's this about?"
"Sir I'd rather meet if we could. We can go over specifics at that point." My heart hammers in my chest at a million different possibilities. Is he going to blackmail me? Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to do that but it would be the first time I'd entertain allowing it.
"Why aren't you calling Welch?" He pauses, the silence so loud it hurts my ears.
"I thought this was best handled privately. I'm not sure what your staff knows and what you would like to keep private."
"My office. Thirty minutes."
"No can do, Sir. I can't have my name on your visitor log or my face on your security cameras."
"My brother has a building a few blocks from here. There's a public garage with only one camera at the entrance. I'll be on the second level, black Audi SUV. Thirty minutes."
Twenty five minutes later I'm parked exactly where I said I'd be. My hands are clammy, my jacket suddenly uncomfortable and itchy. Reynolds had a near conniption when I told him I'd be heading out without him and then refused to tell him where I was going. I'm sure he's tracked the car here but the assumption he'll make is that I'm going to see Ana which is exactly why I chose this building.
Across from me a nondescript silver Honda Accord parks. The man who exits is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a NY Yankees hat low over his brows. In his hands is a large brown envelope and I know, before he even walks towards my car, what's in it. He doesn't look around, just walks across the lot and slides into the passenger seat.
"Mr. Grey," he nods, offering me his hand which I don't take.
"What's this all about?" His hand draws back to rest on the envelope which he hands to me without hesitation.
"There were two safety deposit boxes. One was filled with cash, the other was filled with what would be best described of as souvenirs." He rubs his hands on his pants and looks straight ahead while I try to control my breathing. "I wasn't able to get on the drill team but a buddy of mine was. He was tasked with sorting the evidence and knew what I was looking for." His eyes sweep to mine. "It's all there. Anything he found is in that envelope. Pictures, papers, VHS's and DVD's. There are no copies and no record of them on the evidence log."
I blink twice, caught off guard by my exposure to this man who is really just a stranger and by the fact that he seemingly wants nothing in return. He grins and turns his body towards me.
"You thought I was going to blackmail you."
"It crossed my mind," I answer honestly.
"Not mine. I hate sexual predators. It's my job to get them off the street and to help victims recover." He points at the envelope. "You can choose to prosecute if you want but I'd bet my left nut you want this to remain private. It will as far as I'm concerned."
"What about your co-worker?" He waves me off.
"He's of the same volition that I am. That's your business."
"Were there others?" He nods solemnly and rubs his hands on his jeans again, his gaze flickering out the window before coming back to me.
"There was. Three others. One we've already tracked down in the Walla Walla area. He's 21 now. The other two are more recent and are still being tracked down." He leans back a bit. "One of them is the boy in the photo you found a few months ago. It appears as if he was brought here by Pamela Wincher a little over a year ago." He pauses, breathes deeply and then holds out his hands. "He's her nephew and was visiting for the summer. They stayed at Ms. Lincolns."
"And where is he now?"
"Back in Switzerland. Interpol has already opened a case. We're unsure of the identity of the other boy but we'll work our asses off until we find him too."
"So…her charges…she'll be charged with…" I can't speak, can't even finish a thought. There were three others.
"Yes. Elena Lincoln will probably never taste freedom again. If you want to press charges of your own, I'll need to take that envelope back and file it with the other items found. It would be suspect if you pursued this on your own." He's taking a huge risk by helping me. I'm humbled. "Mr. Grey? Would you consider prosecuting her for the crimes committed against you?" Crimes. Against me.
"No," I respond quickly, a bolt of nasueau sweeping through me at the thought of dragging this out. "I want this over with."
"Then it is. Her place of business has been cleaned out by Wendy, her home was ransacked and her secret stash has been discovered. You want to put this behind you," his head nods to the package, "then you can do that now."
"Where is Wendy?" He smiles, his entire body relaxing into the leather seat.
"Oh, you know Wendy. Can't let a good pedophile go to waste. She's in Switzerland, been there since Wednesday to hunt down the good Pamela Wincher." He winks, "The woman knowingly introduced her nephew to a sexual deviant and placed him in her home. My Wendy's going to have a few things to say about that."
"Was Elena trafficking? Kids? Or adults?"
"Not that we know of. Seems she was an opportunistic predator. Look, not to get all psychoanalytical on you but society tells us as men that what happened to you was hot. It wasn't. It was a sexual crime committed against a child. I haven't seen the shit in that envelope but I know what the nature of it is. I'll never speak of it again, I'll never sell my story or come back to you in ten years looking for cash. But what I will do is tell you that you were victimized and that there are thousands of guys out there like you who are all confused and conflicted and have no way of figuring out why. You're one of the lucky ones."
He reaches for the door pausing when I blurt out, "Why? Why am I lucky?"
"Because you figured it out. You got yourself help, accepted the truth and did what you could to make this right even though it wasn't yours to correct. You found freedom. A lot of those boys won't." He opens the door, places one foot on the ground and turns back in. "Take care, Grey."
When he's halfway across the lot I jump out and catch up, shoving my hand at him. He takes it and looks at me solemnly.
"Send me a list of organizations that help kids like me." From his back pocket he pulls out a folded piece of paper and grins when he hands it to me.
"Thought you might be asking me for something along that line."
"Thank you, Detective. For...everything." He nods once and then gets in his car, driving away without looking back.
APOV
"Ana, Mr. Grey is here." Sawyer stands in the doorway, shifting to the side to make way for Christian who lumbers in and then just stands there. Sawyer turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
"Christian? I was just getting ready to come to your office." He stands perfectly still, his hands clutching a brown envelope which he wordlessly shoves at me. When I take it he plows his hands through his hair and pulls so hard he winces. My mind runs rampant with what could be inside, the fear rising up in waves.
When I go to reach in he croaks out, "Don't!"
"OK. OK, I won't. What's in it?" While he paces I lock the door and try to slow my heart rate down. Finally he stops, sits on the small loveseat in the corner of my office and leans forward to rest his face in his hands.
"Pictures. Video's. Contracts." My stomach plummets.
"From Elena?" He leans back, his hands still covering his face. "Where did they come from?"
"Her bank box. Wendy's boyfriend, that detective we were dealing with confiscated them and gave them to me. That's it, Ana. All of it. The very last bit of my secret is in that package you're holding." I want to drop it like it's on fire but I'm not sure I should. I don't want to make him feel more disgusted than he already is.
"Did you look in it?"
"I sat in the car for ten minutes with it swearing I wouldn't but I just had to see. I had to see for myself what she had of me." He growls, stands and slams his palm against the window before staring out towards his building with one hand on his hip.
"There are the first contracts I ever signed with her. My handwriting looks like a kids." He scoffs and grabs the back of his neck. "She had me sign a contract at fifteen and I did it because I thought I had to. Like she could have ever used that against me, fool that I was."
"Kid. Not fool. The kid that you were, Christian." He ignores me.
"And the pictures, God the pictures. I look like a god damned baby! It's sick!" He exclaims, squatting so that both hands cradle his face again. He stands, whirls around and points at me. "Our kids will always have protection with them, Ana. They will never be alone with strangers. Non-negotiable!"
"Christian," I whimper, my heart breaking for him as his fears play out on his face. "Come here." He turns and walks back to the window, either ignoring me or not hearing me.
"I don't even have hair on my chest in them. But I've got welts, plenty of those! Bruises from my neck to my ankles and…fuck! I should never have looked."
I unlock the door, drag in the shredder and plug it in. "Get rid of them." He turns and blinks, taking in the machine for the first time. "Go ahead, we'll do it together. I won't look at them, you won't look at them, we'll just shred them and then shred them again if you want."
He hesitates but I grab the envelope from the table and shove it at him. "Go ahead, Christian. This is your defining moment. End it. You destroyed the other stuff, now get rid of this. End it!" His eyes flicker to mine, the determination clear.
"Help me," is all he says, reaching in and taking out a handful of glossy 4x6 photos. I don't dare look at them. Instead he places his hand over mine, feeds the pictures into the shredder and locks his eyes with mine. Eleven times we do this until there isn't one photo or contract left. "Now these," he says hoarsely, ripping out the tape from the two mini VHS tapes. When the black ribbons are all over the floor I grab a pair of scissors and cut until it looks like confetti.
"The DVD's." Blindly he reaches in and withdraws them, tossing them onto the floor between us. Five in total. "I thought there were only three videos of me but I guess I was wrong." He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. "Yet another one of her lies that I believed."
If I think about it, if I think about her watching them and getting off on them, I'll be sick. He takes the scissors from me and cuts them in half. When that's done he cuts them again and again and again until they're in a hundred little pieces.
"Well," he stands, wipes his hands and looks down at the mess, "I feel better." He brings my wastebasket to the front of my desk and together we fill it with the ruined pieces of his past. When the floor is clean he reaches in, grabs the piles of shredded paper and shoves that in the waste bin as well before taking out the bag and tying it.
"I'm going to go to my parents and use their fire pit to get rid of this shit. Can I get a rain check on lunch?"
"Yes, of course. Are you alright?" His head cocks to the side and then he rolls his neck. Even holding a garbage bag he looks hot.
"Yeah, I am." It's a decisive yes followed up by a scorching hot kiss that leaves me winded and weak-kneed. "Damn. The things I'm going to do to you tonight." He turns and hits the top of the doorway on the way out, yelling back to me without looking, "Be ready, Ms. Steele!"
And I am. At five he texted me to tell me he'd be home around six and that he'd pick up a pizza for dinner. I was floored by the normalcy of our Friday night especially when he asked what movie I wanted to watch but he went full circle a few minutes later when he texted me specific instructions.
-Still going to hand me back that control?-
Yes, Sir.
-Be ready when I get home. Playroom. In position.-
Yes, Sir.
-Keep on the garter and heels. Lose the dress and the bra.-
Yes, Sir.
I admit, I'm a little bit anxious to enter that room with the tension of the last few days still lingering. He says he understands and I think I've done a good job conveying why it matters that we work this out but I know that in the past, the playroom was used for punishment. Is he going to do any of that tonight? Will I pay for defying him or has he truly let it go?
Dona Cidalia emails me a few pictures of the dress while I wait for him to come home. I truly can't believe how much she's accomplished in such a short amount of time. Christian is flying her, her grandmother and her head seamstress to Seattle on a private plane so that they can continue to work on the detailing while they fly. Devin, Carolyn Acton and I are meeting them at the Fairmont on Wednesday so that we can finalize my shoe choice and then the stylist will come by at eight to show me a few options for my hair.
At six I start to write out my vows, the words flowing like water over a fall. There is so much I want to tell this man, so many things I'm looking forward to and so many things I want to promise him. Every now and then, like right now, I'm hit with just how much my life has changed in four months. I'm getting married. In a week.
Sitting here in a thousand dollar shift dress and $1500 shoes I look around at the massive apartment I now call home. My eyes settle on the piano where our first night as lovers began, the memories of my naivety making me blush. If I ever doubt that he loved me even then, I just need to pull up the image of him poised above me, ready to take me for the first time. I knew it then, just by the way he looked at me that this was forever for both of us.
I take a walk around, stopping in his office to stare at the pictures of me he's hung there. They were taken before I knew him and while I'm still the same girl, I'm also very different in so many ways. In our room I lay out clean sheets and gather my dirty clothes, lugging them to the washing machine only to find that it's not been run.
The detergent's been poured but the sheets from this morning are still in a rumpled heap and while I should be annoyed, it just makes me laugh. Guess he won't just obey me either.
At 6:30 my phone vibrates to alert me of his arrival so I dash to the playroom, strip myself of my dress and bra and get into position. At 6:40 I begin to wonder if he's home or if he just texted too early but then the door clicks open and I see his feet out of the corner of my eye. I'm totally thrown off because he's still in his black dress shoes but it makes no difference, my panties are immediately damp.
For five minutes he doesn't say a thing. He just walks to the dresser and takes things out before making his way to the closet to do the same. I struggle to not look up and speak but I know the rules in here and as much as I want equality in our regular life, in here, I thrive on his dominance.
From the other side of the room he speaks, his voice low, gravelly and dripping with sin.
"Anastasia, come here." Oh my god he looks so good. He's ditched his jacket and has unbuttoned his shirt, tossing his loosened his tie to the side so that his torso is bare. I take in the dark line of hair that leads from his bellybutton to his groin, a perfect divider to that V separating his hips. "On your knees." I comply and inhale when he pushes my face against his groin. "Like what you see?"
"Yes, Sir." Above me he groans.
"Stand, I want to see you." He steps back and watches me move to the center of the room and then reaches for the camera I bought him. He must see my distress because he holds up one hand and says softly, "They'll go in the safe with the others we took but I want to have a picture of you like that. So beautiful and sensual."
Click. Click. "Touch your toes, Anastasia." Click. Click. "Stand. Hold your breasts and lick your lips." Click. Click. He puts down the camera and walks me to the edge of the poster bed, running his hands up and down my sides. Behind me I feel the rustle of his clothes and the hard line of flesh in his pants.
"I'm going to be rough with you tonight, Anastasia." He skims his nose over my shoulder and neck, inhaling deeply. "Not to punish you but because I need it. Is that agreeable to you, Anastasia? Can you give me that in here? Your total," he roughly grabs the skin of my butt and yanks me backwards, "obedience? In this room, will you obey?" His hand slides down and snaps one of the garters, the sting a surprise. "Will you give me that too, Anastasia? Will you vow to obey me in here? Do you trust me with your body? Will you trust me with your pleasure," he snaps the front band of my garter, "and your pain?"
"Yes," I whisper, his teeth baring down on the back of my neck.
"Yes, what?"
"Sir. Yes, Sir."
"Good girl. Now, your safe words are coffee and tea. Coffee to slow me down, tea to stop. Do you understand, Anastasia?"
"Yes, Sir." I feel his lips turn up against my shoulder.
"Good. Then get on the bed, knees on the edge and bend over, cheek against the mattress, arms out to your sides." I do as he says slightly embarrassed to have my butt up in the air like this. He steps back and runs one finger down the crack of my ass to the top of my slit. "These are very pretty baby but they've got to go." His fingers breach the thin fabric and then tear it from my body, the offending gray lace tossed next to me on the bed.
"Much better." From the speakers the sound of Led Zeppelin's 'Whole Lotta Love' begins to circulate through the air while he drags the leather of what I think is a riding crop up and down my back. A shiver of fear courses through me at the tempo and grittiness of the song but I hide it, refusing to show him any hesitation since what he wants, what he needs right now is my total submission. In this room, my submission equals total trust and that, that I have in spades for him.
"Have I ever told you how pretty your pussy is? How perfect it is, how beautiful it is split and impaled on my cock?" Wetness seeps from me, his words, his voice, all if it so sensual and filled with promise. Just as I relax he raises the crop and lands it across the cheeks of my butt with a light smack that erases all doubt of what his agenda is right now.
I won't lie. That small bit of pain, it fuels something in me that is desperate to please him while chasing my own satisfaction. When he lands another light smack all thoughts leave my head, all hesitations, all embarrassment. Gone. I want to tell him to do whatever he wants, I want him to know that I get it, that I enjoy it, that in this room, I want to relinquish all control. Instead I moan into the mattress.
"Crawl to the top of the bed and hold onto the headboard." Once there he wraps my hands loosely in a black silk rope and moves behind me, lifting my hips and driving into me at the same time. I gasp at the suddenness of it, he's still fully dressed and we've only just started but he hammers into me, one hand aggressively grasping my hair and pulling my head back. "I love to fuck you, Anastasia. Love it. I'm going to do it a million times over our lifetime together." He slams. "Fucking," slam, "love," slam, "it."
He pulls out, slaps his dick on my butt and then orders me, "On your back, legs wide, knees bent." While I maneuver myself, still tethered to the headboard, he strips, letting the expensive fabric of his suit wrinkle at his feet. God, naked Christian is definitely my favorite Christian.
On the bed he adjusts my knees so that I'm spread wider and then kneels by my head, pushing my hair to the other side before turning my face towards him. He fists himself and points the head of penis down. "Suck." I do. Greedily. "Keep your legs open and still or I'll tie them that way." His hand rests gently on my neck, "Harder. Fuck me with that sweet mouth of yours."
Above me he drags the crop over my breasts, over my legs and back up until the soft leather rests on my sex, rubbing but barely touching. I feel like I'm going crazy with the desire for him but he doesn't move. I know he's close, I can tell by his grunts and the way he's breathing and just when I think he's going to come he pulls back and grips his base so harshly I look away.
"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue." When I do he gives me a tiny smile, a glimpse into my fiancé and not my Dom and then he hits his dick against my open mouth in unison with small taps of the crop between my legs. "I want total control in here but I can't get it, Anastasia. You excite me too much. You force me to change my plans and I don't like that. Suck."
With each rise of my mouth over him he taps me, the faster I go the faster he goes. When I stop to catch my breath he stops. When I resume, he resumes until I'm moving my neck so fast it burns but my need for him to get me off trumps all pain. "Suck it, Ana! Fucking hell suck it…shit," he grunts and then he jolts above me, breaking our rhythm for a few seconds. "Shit!"
My eyes are watering with his depth but I don't stop because if he stops touching me right now, I will burst out in tears of frustration. Three more less than gentle slaps and I'm completely lost to the sensation rushing through my body from head to toe. Instead of tapping he presses on my clit to draw out the exquisite pleasure and then trembles while he comes, gagging me with the amount he has to give.
Before either of our breathing slows down he lies next to me and reaches up blindly to untie my hands, his breath hot against my ear. "God damn it, Anastasia you turn me on." There's no room for me to be smug about it either because he pulls me to the side of the bed, stands me up and orders me to the cross.
With the flick of his wrist the song changes to a melody I'm unfamiliar with but when the woman starts singing the throaty lyrics my body responds with a flush of heat. He lifts me without a word and straps my hands in and then my feet, reaching to the table to retrieve whatever it is he placed there. Still without making eye contact he dips his head, pushes my breasts together and sucks my nipples until they're burning from the roughness of his tongue.
Gray eyes glazed over with lust, he pulls back and stares at me while in tandem he clips on the diamond clamps he had made for me. My head falls back in bliss but he reaches up, pulls it forward and licks from my chin, up my cheek and to my ear.
"So much pleasure, Anastasia. If you let me, I can bring you so much pleasure." One hand slides up my leg, over my hip and around to my butt, squeezing until I whimper. "No pain, baby." His other hand lands on my ankle but instead of his fingers I feel a cool metal, softly vibrating up my calf, over the back of my knee and then up my torso.
"This," he says quietly, his eyes intent on mine, "is called a bullet." With a wicked gleam he trails it back down all the way to my ankle again and then back up, rubbing it between the folds of my sex, covering it with my juices before gently sliding it inside. The vibrations are enough so that I can feel them but not enough so that I'll come from them alone so I'm not at all surprised when he then runs something else along my other leg.
"Christian," I pant, my head lolling back and forth but he just looks at me and presses the tip of the purple vibrating wand against my lips.
"You're going to come so hard, Anastasia you'll still be shaking tomorrow." Keeping his eyes locked on mine he trails the wand down my side and behind me, down the crack of my butt before resting the vibrating head against the one place I'm not ready for him to breach.
"Christian!" My eyes light up in panic but he kisses me hard, stealing the breath from my lungs. After a beat he slows down and sucks my bottom lip between his, running his tongue over the ridge before pressing his mouth over mine sweetly. Not once does he move the wand but after a few seconds, I don't want him to. Holy mother of all things wrong this feels good.
"Trust me, Ana. In here, just trust me. No fear, no arguments, no analyzing. Just trust me to take care of your body and your heart." He presses the wand harder and grinds his erection against my leg. "Say the word and I'll stop but what I really want is for you to trust me." I nod, he closes his eyes, leans his head back and grinds again. "God what you do to me."
For a few minutes he stands just like that, eye to eye, mouth to mouth and just lets me feel. His free hand rests on my waist but other than the occasional grind of his hips or nip of his mouth he just watches.
"Please," I huff, doing my best to undulate my hips. I need him, not these toys he's chosen to use instead. "I want you," I beg but he steps back and slowly shakes his head.
"In here, we're on my schedule and what I want is to taste all that sweet cream that's running down your thighs." Oh god I'll die if he licks me with these things inside and on me.
I expect him to kneel but he steps back and stares, his arms crossed, hand still holding the wand. "When I suck on your clit I'll have you coming in less than one minute, Ms. Steele. Try not to wake the neighbors with your screams because this is going to be intense." A gush of fluid runs down my leg as my body tenses. Impossibly my nipples tighten in the clamps, their tingling need just driving me closer and closer to a fall I'm not sure I can handle.
"Christian," I plead but he ignores me. "Sir," I try but other than the small smile that plays on the corner of his mouth, he ignores me.
"Ana, just enjoy it. You look beautiful, all flushed with desire. Do you feel that? How beautiful you are to me?" He steps forward and kneels. "Do you know I would do anything for you?" From the floor he looks up at me and licks the inside of my thigh. Oh. My. God. "I would give anything to make you happy." He presses the wand back and licks me five times from bottom to top. "There is nothing that I wouldn't do to keep you safe." Five more licks, this time with a swirl of his tongue when he reaches the top of my slit. "Absolutely," he draws my clit in his mouth, brushes it with his teeth and presses harder with the wand, "nothing," again he lightly bites, "I wouldn't do."
And then he sucks my clit between his lips, flicks it with his tongue and moans, the ensuing vibrations mingling with the artificial ones. And I come. Hard. So hard the bullet dislodges and falls to the ground with a clang but Christian doesn't relent for one second. Instead he sucks deeper, presses harder and shakes his face back and forth until I scream, literally scream his name over and over while my body tries in vain to free itself.
Gasping for breath and unable to move I absorb every sensation even after the crest of my orgasm fades. My body is hyper sensitive to everything right now, even the air circulating through the room feels abrasive. He stands, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and releases the clamps, covering both nipples with his mouth to ease the sting.
"No, no, get off!" It's too much. He looks at me curiously and unstraps my hands and feet, catching me before I stumble. "That was…I don't know…it was…I feel overwhelmed." So overwhelmed that I could cry in fact but I choose to omit that since I know he'll take that as a reflection of my trust in him and this craziness I'm struggling with is purely physical.
"The bullet was on your g-spot. Triple stimulation." He looks down at my breasts and smirks, "Quadruple stimulation actually." When I offer him a weak smile he frowns, lifts me and carries me to the bed, lying me flat and then covering me with his entire body. It feels good to be encapsulated by his body; safe, protective."Too much, baby?"
"I guess. I…fuuuuck, I'm like, out of it right now." He chuckles, kisses my temples sweetly and then pulls back to assess me.
"Are you upset?" He looks so stressed out right now that my heart skips a beat. He's holding one hand of mine against his chest but with my free hand I push back the mop of sweaty hair off of his forehead and lean up to kiss him there.
"No." He does not look convinced. "Christian, I trust you in here. I trust you everywhere but in here, with my body, I especially trust you. I'm fine, boneless but fine." I lift a leg and press it against his erection, "Which is more than I can say for you. What's your plan to deal with that?"
"Pizza."
"What?" He raises up to his knees and lifts me by my hands.
"Food, dinner, nourishment. You need it more than I need this dealt with." I slowly shake my head and reach for him but he takes my hands and brings them to his mouth, kissing my knuckles softly. "No, Ana. In here, I make the decisions. We'll eat, you'll catch me up on the new wedding planner and then we'll watch a movie. I lose you for the entire day tomorrow." My stomach drops.
"I'd forgotten. What time is everyone going to be here?" He slips into his boxers, tucking his hard on into the waistband with a wince and picks up the rest of his clothes, tossing my shredded panties in the air only to catch them a few seconds later.
"Nine. Breakfast first, then golf and then only God knows what Elliot's planned past that. Kate will be here the same time from what I understand." He helps me to slip on the silk robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, protesting with a groan when I take off the heels. "Will you leave the rest on? The garters and the hose?"
"All night?" An excited boyish nod follows me out the door and to the kitchen where I put the pizza in the oven to reheat while Christian grabs a bottle of the Chianti we brought back with us. He lowers the screen and hands me the remote to search through his vast collection of movies only to laugh when I settle on 'Role Models'.
"You're such a dude sometimes," he chides, sitting Indian style on the floor with a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. So normal, so young and carefree. Soooo freaking hot.
"Did you just say dude?"
"I did. All this hanging out with Elliot is rubbing off on me. If I come back tomorrow saying 'laters', just shoot me. And I called you a dude because you pick guy movies." I laugh and dip my pizza in mustard. "And you're gross. I may not eat a ton of pizza but I'm pretty sure your way of eating it is sacreligious."
"Did you used to watch a lot of movies? I mean, you've got thousands in your collection. Did you and your…exes ever do anything like this?" He hits play and settles his back against the couch, shoving in another slice.
"No of course not. I'd watch a movie with Elliot or Mia every now and then but more often than not I'd watch one by myself late at night when I couldn't sleep." The image of him alone and lonely claws at me, my instinct to cuddle closer to him to absorb that loneliness at an all-time high. "The first time I'd ever watched a movie with a girl other than my sister was the day after we fucked for the first time."
"Fucked? How crass!" He rolls his eyes.
"Sorry. Made love. Better?"
"Much." We settle in to watch the movie on the couch resuming the position we slept in last night. After a few minutes he begins to fidget, moving to his left and then his right, adjusting me forward only to pull me back. "Are you alright?" I finally ask.
"My back is killing me," he says frankly and then shoves a pillow beneath him in an attempt to get comfortable.
"Sit on the floor and let me massage you then." He stops, looks at me with what I think is longing and if I'm not mistaken a bit of fear and then inhales deeply.
"OK." I move quickly before he can change his mind and put down a pillow, pointing to it. His abs pop up when he sits forward which is hot enough but then he stands and twists to get himself into position and those muscles that attach his back to his front, holy god do they look good. Dorsi. Yeah, that's it. Dorsi.
"Your body…" he stands motionless, half turned towards me with one half of his mouth turned up waiting.
"You like it?" I reach out and run my fingertips along the division of his spine and then down those delicious dorsi muscles, mindlessly nodding my head.
"A lot. I don't think I'll ever get used to how awesomely perfect it is."
"Awesomely perfect," he repeats, chuckling while he sits. "I'm good with that description." As I run my hands over his shoulders and down to his waist he relaxes, lungfuls of air escaping him with each pass and press. The movie gets forgotten as my hands rub out the tension of the last few days, the familiar cocoon of our intimate moments closing around us to block out all outside stimuli.
"I really am sorry for how I handled everything." He shakes his head and hangs it so that I can work on his neck. "I felt like you were taking a stand on your own, leaving me out of a huge part of your life and I reacted to it like a moron instead of just saying that to you." Without stopping I lean forward and kiss the center of his back.
"I can understand why you were upset when you phrase it that way but you have to know that everything I do is with you in mind. We're going to argue, we're going to disagree. That's part of sharing your life with someone. But we need to do it the right way from the start. I don't want to go two days without speaking ever again." He scoffs and turns to me, getting up on his knees between my legs.
"I can't. It's still something I'm getting used to, this absolute need I have for you." He looks down at his hands where they rest on my thighs and then slides them up, pulling the silk sash on the robe so that it falls open. "I've never needed anyone, especially like this. If something were to happen to you, it would end me. That's a fact, Ana."
"Nothing is going to"
"Let me finish please." His hands glide up my torso, over my bare breasts and up to my shoulders where he slides off the white silk, the whisper of it against my skin unbearably erotic. "The first time I saw you I was enraptured by you. Twenty nine years and I'd never truly connected with anyone until that night in your apartment. I hadn't wanted to, couldn't fathom that being a reality for me and that was just fine. I had a good life, everything I needed or wanted was mine to take and then, out of nowhere comes this tiny spitfire who tells me no and doesn't care at all about my money or my fame or my looks."
"Um, I definitely cared about your looks," I joke, pushing a lock of hair from his brow. He smiles, takes my hand and kisses my fingers affectionately.
"You brought me solace, Ana. Over a glass of cheap wine and a plate of potatoes you gave to me the one thing no amount of therapy or sex or years of searching in vain could give to me." He runs his hands over my back, sweeping over my hips and legs, "Then you gave me your time and your affection," down to my ankles. He leans forward and presses soft kisses to my collar bones.
"And then," his hands cup my breasts just as his eyes lock with mine, "then you gave me your body and your heart. I can't figure it out, why you'd choose me to share those things with but I have them and I will never give them up. You will never know what it means to me to be given those things." His voice catches but he doesn't stop, instead his thumbs begin to roll over my nipples as my breasts grow heavy in his hands.
"I hoard it all. Everything you give to me I take it greedily and unapologetically and I treasure it." It slides into place then, his need to have me say obey. To him, that is the equivalent of trust. Trust that I made the right choice in waiting for him, trust that I made the right choice in choosing him as my husband, trust that I know he'll protect me and love me and care for me for the rest of my life. I wonder if he knows that's why this was so important to him.
He lies on top of me, my body all but disappearing into the plush leather sofa and kisses me with the passion of an apologetic man afraid he's lost the war. I need to remedy this for him and I need to do it now.
"Christian," he looks at me, eyes filled with trepidation and desire, a heady combination if I've ever seen one. "I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world. You were all I ever wanted from the moment I caught you pouting in the hallway of my apartment. I gave you those things because you deserve them and because I trust you with them." He drops his head and exhales, quickly lifting his face to mine. "I will never doubt the decision to join my life with yours. And I may not say the word obey but I will always seek your council and trust in your decisions because I know I'm safe with you. We're a team, baby and you're the captain. I'm ok with that."
I expect him to smile but he doesn't. Instead his eyes grow fierce with need and resolution, his jaw set in a firm line, his hand gripping my shoulder and hip.
"I will always take care of you and our family." My legs open to him and he accepts, pushing inside my body without a sound.
"I know," I counter, lifting my pelvis to meet his. His eyes close with blissful relief while above me his body stills. He adjusts, supporting himself on his elbows so that he can cup my face with both hands.
"I love you," he says. So simple yet so profound in this moment. My body responds by clinging to him both inside and out, his small thrust an answer to my viselike grip around his shaft.
"I love you too," I whisper out before his mouth crushes mine, his tongue matching the smooth rhythm of his body sliding into mine. His movements become faster, his breath blending with mine, his eyes fixated on me, his body slick against my overheated skin.
"Forever, Christian," I whisper against his lips, his rhythm thrown off by a jolt of emotion.
"Ana," he grunts, trying his best to hold off on his climax. "Help me," he says, lifting one of my fingers into his mouth where he sucks it and then brings it between us. When my finger finds my clit I cry out and tighten around him, his jaw so tense that the veins in his neck begin to pulse.
It doesn't take long, it almost never does but when I come he watches me and then lifts my finger, sucks it back into his mouth to savor my taste and spills inside of me with an emotional sigh. I lie there, basking in the afterglow of love making so intense it almost brings me to tears and stroke his back, my fingers running over those muscles I was just admiring.
"Ana," he says softly against my neck when his breathing returns to normal.
"Yes, baby?" I anticipate more sweet words, more of his heart put on display for me to treasure and covet but he grunts and groans, reaching down to lift my leg from his hip.
"My back is killing me." And there goes the romance.
"Drive" by Melissa Ferrick was the second song played in the playroom.