Saturday, May 21, 2011
When I wake just after six, I wake peacefully.
In the few short hours of sleep I had, there were no nightmares, no flashbacks, no sweating or calling out in my sleep. Just serene, empty darkness.
I'm not fully awake before I realize I'm not on my side of the bed. I am wrapped around Anastasia Steele like a vine, and this starts me completely awake, my head jerking up off the pillow her breasts have made.
She murmurs unintelligibly in her sleep, and sighs.
Carefully, I extricate myself, heart pounding.
What the hell possessed me in my sleep to do this? I'm pleasantly warm and well-rested despite the night of horror I've had.
I roll onto my back, where it's cold on my side of the mattress.
Waking up next to Anastasia Steele does things to me. It's clear I need to workout, in order to alleviate some of this… tension.
I get out of bed and change into a pair of sweats and a sleeveless t-shirt, careful to keep quiet in order not to wake the beautiful woman snoring—yes, snoring; a soft, almost melodic sound—in my bed.
Once I'm dressed, I go into the main room and pour a glass of orange juice. I gulp one down myself, needing fuel for my workout—but I'm too worked up to eat quite yet. I need to tame the monster quaking inside me before I can eat.
I leave the glass on her nightstand table, and two Advil, and then I sneak from the room as quietly as I can.
I call Taylor as I head toward the elevators.
"Taylor."
"Taylor, I need you to pick up a change of clothes for Miss Steele. Jeans, and a new pair of Converse."
"Certainly, sir. Anything else you need?"
"No."
.
As I set out on my run, dawn is just breaking over Broadway.
There's no need to pace myself—I take off down the street like a bullet. I need to burn this frisson off.
Anastasia Steele has spent the night in my bed, and I've not fucked her. Both of these things appall me.
I spent literally hours watching her sleep last night. Numerous times, I attempted to lay my head down and go to sleep, but it was impossible to tear my eyes from her. It was… different to sleep alongside someone, a woman. The companionship, to hear her breathing next to me in the darkness, to share her warmth beneath the sheets, it was… new.
I don't quite know what to make of the feelings I felt, simply because I've never felt them before. There was a strange sense of familiarity last night. Not as if I'd done this before, but instead that it just felt… Right, in a way.
I shake the thoughts off, waiting for a light to change.
This can't happen again.
This woman, Miss Anastasia Steele, is awakening things in me I've never felt before, things I can't process, feelings that I've too long suppressed, or maybe even never felt at all. I can't make sense of them. I can't tell one from the other.
I run five miles one way, and five miles back. I am shocked when it takes me only an hour and a half to complete the exercise. When I come back upon the entrance to the Heathman, I am relieved, feeling… better.
Just to make sure, I do a few reps of weights in the gym downstairs.
I am soaked in sweat from the intensity of my workout, and I head back up to the suite in hopes of a shower. A thrill runs through me when I remember that Ana is waiting there, in my bed…
Shake it off, Grey.
I stop by Taylor's room. I barely have time to finish my knock before he pulls the door open, handing me a Neiman's shopping bag.
"A change of clothes and a new pair of shoes for Miss Steele, sir."
"Good. Could you call the desk and order one of everything from the breakfast menu for me? An egg white omelet for myself, and Twining's English Breakfast tea, if they have it. It's Miss Steele's favorite. Make a note of it."
"Certainly, Mr. Grey."
I take the bag and stroll back down the hall, flipping my room key between two of my fingers. I hesitate at the door. What if she's awake?
I knock briskly, just in case she is. I don't want to just walk in on her. There's no answer, and so I let myself in.
Upon entering, I find that she is, in fact, awake, sitting up in bed. Her hair is an absolute haystack, but somehow Ana makes it look sexy. Her t-shirt is crumpled, and between the sheet pooled in her lap and her top, I can see a strip of pale, creamy skin. The sight makes my insides hum.
I watch her take a deep breath and close her eyes. Her head must be pounding.
I force myself to speak. "Good morning, Anastasia. How are you feeling?"
"Better than I deserve," she answers. Her eyes follow me as I move to place the shopping bag on a nearby chair.
I can't take my eyes off of her. So many emotions flood my veins at the sight of her. Relief, awe, concern, anger, lust… A whole fuckload of lust. As she watches me, I'm terrified those piercing blue eyes will read my thoughts, that she'll see right through me.
"How did I get here?" she finally asks. She's quiet, ashamed.
I go to her and sit on the edge of the mattress. "After you passed out, I didn't want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you all the way to your apartment. So I brought you here." My answer is partly honest. Mostly I just didn't want to let her out of my sight.
"Did you put me to bed?" she inquires, her voice still soft and small. She knots her fingers in her lap.
"Yes."
"Did I throw up again?" She's nearly inaudible now.
"No."
"Did you undress me?" she's breathing now.
"Yes," I say, waiting for the blush.
Her face floods. There it is.
"We didn't…?" God bless her, she's too ashamed even to look at me.
Humor quirks my lips into a smirk. "Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive." If that doesn't answer her 'gay' question, well… I know some other ways I could show her. Images of her in various positions in my playroom flood my mind. I blink them away.
"I'm so sorry."
And she's apologizing again. I smirk at her.
"It was a very… diverting evening. Not one that I'll forget in awhile," I say, completely honest. I can't help but find humor in the whole situation. This woman is so unexpected. Here I find myself thinking I'm beginning to get to know her, and she goes out and drinks herself silly.
"You didn't have to track me down with whatever James Bond gadgetry you're developing for the highest bidder." And now she's snapping at me.
I can't help but feel a little offended. I damn well saved her from fucking sexual assault!
"First," I start in defense, "the technology to track cell phones is available over the internet. Second, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices. And third," and possibly most importantly, "if I hadn't come to get you, you'd probably be waking up in the photographer's bed, and from what I can remember, you weren't overly enthused about him pressing his suit." By the time I finish, I'm snapping right back at her.
I realize I'm glaring at her. Her eyes lift to mine. I watch as amusement floods her face. She tries to suppress it by biting her lip—fuck me—but giggles instead.
"Which medieval chronicle did you escape from?" she snickers, "You sound like a courtly knight."
I can't help but find amusement in her question. Medieval… She hasn't seen medieval. Just wait until she sees my playroom. I can't help but smirk at the thought. And then, almost as suddenly, my mood falls.
"Anastasia, I don't think so. Dark knight, maybe." I shake my head. Here I am, sitting in front of such an innocent, lovely woman; and then here's me. Fifty shades of fucked-up… Suddenly, a thought occurs. "Did you eat last night?" I demand.
She shakes her head.
Fuck. Anger lifts my pulse rate. I don't know why, but it drives me fucking insane when people don't eat. There are so many people in the world who would kill just to pick through someone's trash, and here she is, willingly starving herself.
"You need to eat. That's why you were so ill. Honestly, it's drinking rule number one." I scrape my fingers through my hair, attempting to reign in my temper.
"Are you going to continue to scold me?" she asks.
"Is that what I'm doing?" If you think this is scolding… you're in for a surprise, Anastasia…
"I think so," she says.
"You're lucky I'm just scolding you."
"What do you mean?" she inquires, clearly confused.
"Well, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday." The words run freely and honestly from me, the transparency fuelled by my anger, "You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk." I squeeze my eyes shut, alarm filling me. That fucking idiot photographer. I open my eyes, her face filling my vision. "I hate to think what could have happened to you."
She frowns at me, that pucker between her eyebrows appearing again. Like I did last night, I wish to smooth it with my fingers, but I doubt that would go over well this morning…
After a moment, her cheeks go pink. "I would have been fine. I was with Kate," she retorts.
"And the photographer?" I bark at her.
"Jose just got out of line," she dismisses. She has the nerve to shrug.
I am absolutely fucking appalled. She was nearly sexually assaulted, and she's just brushing it off!
"Well, the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners." Someone, meaning me.
"You are quite the disciplinarian." Her voice is full of acid.
"Oh, Anastasia, you have no idea." I grin at her, imagining her across my lap. I would so love to spank her right now, especially after the way she's spoken to me this morning. "I'm going to have a shower." A cold one. "Unless you'd like to shower first?" I tilt my head to the side, suddenly amused by this coincidence. I've never had to offer the shower to someone first. I'm used to having anything and everything at my complete and utter liberty.
She seems entranced, and I wonder if it's because she's thinking about me in the shower. The thought makes me grin wider. Her face starts to flush, and I can tell she's holding her breath.
I can't help it—I lean forward and brush my thumb down her cheek, over that beautiful, warm flush in her skin—oh, how I'd love to see that same gorgeous blush on other parts of her body—and across her lower lip. So fucking soft…
"Breathe, Anastasia," I urge. I force myself to stand, knowing that if I let this go on too long, I'll end up kissing her, and then fucking her. And that would not be okay. Not without her permission first. "Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. You must be famished." I turn and head into the bathroom to start the shower.
.
When I emerge, Ana's out of bed. I have to make a conscious effort not to ogle her naked legs.
Christ, so shapely and long, and that ass…
Clearly, she's been on the hunt for something.
"If you're looking for your jeans, I've sent them to the laundry." I assume this is what she's searching for. I force myself to stare at her face, forcing down the lust that rears inside me like a monster. Fuck me. What is it with this woman? Usually, my hormones are more easily tamed. "They were spattered with your vomit."
"Oh," she says, and her face heats.
"I sent Taylor out for another pair and some shoes. They're in the bag on the chair.
She blinks, seemingly taken aback. "Um…" she finally says, "I'll take a shower. Thanks." She plucks the bag off the chair and scurries past me, into the bathroom.
I grin, beyond amused. She's so skittish, so… pink, so… cute. Cute?
I busy myself by dressing, keeping it casual. A white shirt, grey pants.
I release my Blackberry from its charging cable and type a quick text message to Elliot.
.
Please tell Kate that Ana is safe. She's spent the night with me.
I assume you've spent the night with Miss Kavanagh.
.
As I'm slipping my phone into my pocket, there's a knock on the door.
"Room service," someone calls through the door.
I let him in and he rolls a trolley into the room, packed full of breakfast items from the menu.
"Where would you like it, sir?" he asks.
"On the table," I tell him, distracted. I'm scrolling through my emails. There's one from Ros, requesting I call her. I'll make the call after breakfast. I'm starving.
Once the boy leaves the room, I move back through the bedroom and up to the bathroom door. I knock efficiently and call through that breakfast has arrived.
I seem to have startled her. "O-okay!" she stammers.
I go back to the table and pick up the newspaper, skimming through the business section. I'll wait for Ana before I eat.
A couple minutes later, I hear the bathroom door open, and then her rummaging around the bedroom.
"Crap, Kate." The fact that she's spoken informs me she's entered the front room, and I glance up at her. She's wearing the new jeans and Converse, and a pale blue shirt that looks lovely with her complexion. Her is still damp. She looks refreshed.
"She knows you're here and still alive. I texted Elliot," I assure her.
She just stares.
"Sit," I say, gesturing to the chair across from me. Obediently she crosses toward me and sits in exactly the place I've offered. I like when she obeys me. I watch her take in the selection on the table, a little wide-eyed. "I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu." I grin at her, a little embarrassed if I have to be honest. If I'd known what she liked, I would have ordered just that.
I make a mental note to pay attention to what she chooses.
"That's very profligate of you," she says quietly, eyes still on all the food.
"Yes, it is." I am confused by how guilty I feel.
I begin to eat the egg white omelet I've ordered for myself, watching out of the corner of my eye as she selects a plate of pancakes, maple syrup, eggs and bacon. A very classic breakfast choice. For some reason this amuses me, and I find myself needing to hide my grin.
"Tea?" I offer.
"Yes, please."
I slide a teapot filled with hot water and a saucer with the tea bag on top across to her.
"Your hair is very damp," I say, unable to hide my dissatisfaction. She could catch a cold if she goes outside like this.
"I couldn't find the hair dryer," she mumbles.
I feel my mouth press into a hard line as I attempt to reign in my temper. If she just would have looked, she would have seen it in the first drawer she opened.
"Thank you for the clothes," she adds.
My mood thaws a bit. "It's a pleasure, Anastasia," I tell her honestly, "That color suits you."
Her cheeks fill with blood, and her gaze immediately drops to her fingers.
"You know, you really should learn to take a compliment."
"I should give you some money for these clothes," she says.
What the fuck? No, she shouldn't. What, does she think I can't afford it? Her words strike a chord with me, and immediately I feel offended.
"You've already given me the books, which, of course, I can't accept," she rushes on when she sees the way I'm looking at her, "But these clothes… please let me pay you back."
No way in fuck will I let her pay me back.
"Anastasia, trust me, I can afford it," I say dryly.
"That's not the point," she pushes, "Why should you buy these for me?"
I fail to see her turmoil. "Because I can." I think of all the other things I can do for her, if she lets me.
"Just because you can doesn't mean that you should." God, this woman will just not let the point go. The irony in her words amuses me. Just because I can, doesn't mean I should? I suppose she's right, but I enjoy what I do; and I think I'd enjoy what I do more, with her.
Again, images of her—naked, strapped, gagged and moaning my name—fill my head.
"Why did you send me the books, Christian?" She asks quietly, but it's enough to break my fantasy off cold.
Fucking hell, Anastasia. Let it go.
I put my knife and fork down, staring at her.
"Well," I say, "When you were nearly run over by a cyclist—and I was holding you and you were looking up at me—all 'kiss me, kiss me, Christian'—I felt like I owed you an apology and a warning." Fuck, while I'm being so honest, I may as well continue. I rake my hand through my hair and continue: "Anastasia, I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of man…" As much as it pains me to say these words, I push forward. I know this is what she needs to hear. "I don't do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me."
I squeeze my eyes shut. Why does it hurt so much to say this? To imagine her standing and leaving, never to be seen again?
Christ, I hope she doesn't listen to me. And I can't help but turn it all around and say what I'm really feeling. Because the truth is, I want this girl. I want to share my world with her.
"There's something about you, though, and I'm finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you've figured that out already."
"Then don't," she whispers.
I gasp. "You don't know what you're saying." She knows nothing about what I want to do with her. She needs to know.
"Enlighten me, then," she says.
She needs to know. Should I tell her, here, now?
"You're not celibate, then?"
"No, Anastasia, I'm not celibate," I answer, amused.
I watch her face turn red, the flush of blood against her skin, rushing down her throat, flooding her chest, disappearing underneath the collar of her shirt.
I'm going to tell her. I'm going to bring her into my world. I've decided. But we need time, she needs time to process it all. And if I'm honest, I don't want her to leave my side. Right now, I want to pack up, take her home to my apartment, and show her my playroom. Fuck, the paperwork. We need to go over the paperwork first.
"What are your plans for the next few days?" I ask her.
"I'm working today, from midday." Fuck. "What time is it?" She's suddenly panicky.
"It's just after ten," I reassure her, "You've plenty of time. What about tomorrow?" I rest my elbows on the table, my chin on my steepled fingers, gazing at her intently.
"Kate and I are going to start packing," she tells me, "We're moving to Seattle next weekend, and I'm working at Clayton's all this week."
Moving to Seattle? I didn't know that.
"You have a place in Seattle already?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Where?" Anywhere closeby?
"I can't remember the address," she says, "It's in the Pike Market District."
Right around the corner! The thought excites me. "Not far from me," I grin. "So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?"
Shit, why does this feel so much like an interview? I suppose she will, all my hopes realized, become my submissive, so I'll need to ask these questions anyway…
"I've applied for some internships. I'm waiting to hear," she answers.
I haven't had any internship applications come in recently, as far as I know. "Have you applied to my company as I suggested?"
Her cheeks pink. "Um… no."
I can't help but feel a twinge of defensiveness. "And what's wrong with my company?"
"Your company or your company?" Oh, she's making fun of me. She smirks at me, and the expression is so… defiant. It's hot.
"Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?" The idea is amusing, and I can't deny that it turns me on at the same time. How I would love to spank that sweet, tight ass of hers.
She flushes, as if she can read my thoughts, and diverts her gaze, biting down on that full, sexy bottom lip.
I'd like to bite that lip.
She gasps, releasing her lip in an instant, and I realize I've said the words out loud. Shit. But… it looks like she's quite affected by the words, maybe even turned on. I surmise this by the way her breathing spikes, audible across the table, and she squirms in her seat.
I am surprised when she meets my gaze, those powder blue eyes clouding with challenge and lust. "Why don't you?"
"Because," I tell her, and partly reminding myself, because I would love nothing more than to pull her out of her seat and kiss her, hard, "I'm not going to touch you, Anastasia—not until I have your written consent to do so." I smirk at her. Ha, what will she think about that?
It's strangely liberating, being so open with her. Though I know she has no idea what I'm talking about.
"What does that mean?" she asks, voicing my thoughts.
"Exactly what I say." I sigh and shake my head. I feel playful, yet extremely exacerbated at the same time. "I need to show you, Anastasia. What time do you finish work this evening?"
"About eight."
"Well, we could go to Seattle this evening, or next Saturday"—can I wait that long?—"for dinner at my place, and I'll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours."
"Why can't you tell me now?" she asks.
"Because I'm enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you're enlightened, you probably won't want to see me again." A cloud of depression and desperation drop over me as I finish my sentence. Please say yes, Anastasia. Come into my dark world.
"Tonight."
Yes.
I raise an eyebrow. Is she sure? "Like Eve, you're so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge." So innocent, so curious. I imagine she knows the nature of sex. She's too gorgeous to be a virgin, but I'm willing to bet she's never done something like this before.
A thrall of excitement shivers up my spine. I'll be the one to open her eyes to it.
"Are you smirking at me?" Ana asks, too sweetly. Oh, such attitude. I narrow my eyes at her. We'll have to do something about that smart mouth… Or with it. Hmm.
I speed dial Taylor. He answers on the first ring.
"Taylor, I'm going to need Charlie Tango."
"Certainly, sir. From where will you be flying?"
"From Portland, at, say, twenty thirty."
"Yes, sir. Would you like me to travel back once you've landed?"
"No, standby at Escala," I say. If all goes badly, I can get Anastasia home in a flash. The thought deflates me. Please don't say no, please don't say no…
"Until what time, sir?"
"All night."
"All night, sir? Shall I keep her on call?"
"Yes, on call tomorrow morning. I'll pilot from Portland to Seattle."
"Certainly."
"Standby pilot from twenty-two thirty." I confirm, and hang up.
"Do people always do what you ask?" Ana asks me.
"Usually, if they want to keep their jobs."
"And if they don't work for you?" Someone like you, Miss Steele?
"Oh, I can be very persuasive, Anastasia. You should finish your breakfast. And then I'll drop you off at home. I'll pick you up at Clayton's at eight when you finish. We'll fly up to Seattle."
She blinks at me. "Fly?"
"Yes. I have a helicopter."
Her mouth drops open, obviously in shock. "We'll go by helicopter to Seattle?"
"Yes." Clearly, she's not used to this kind of treatment.
"Why?"
I grin. "Because I can. Finish your breakfast."
She stares at her plate and squirms. She's not eating.
My playful mood dissipates. "Eat," I snap, "Anastasia, I have an issue with wasted food. Eat."
"I can't eat all this," she whines, gaping at all the other food on the table.
I roll my eyes. "Eat what's on your plate. If you'd eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be declaring my hand so soon."
She frowns, but begins to eat again.
Good girl.
She smiles at something.
"What's so funny?" I find myself demanding.
She shakes her head, her eyes on her food. She swallows the last bite and peeks up at me.
"Good girl. I'll take you home when you've dried your hair. I don't want you getting ill." Because if she falls ill, I won't be able to fuck her.
She stands and heads back to the bedroom, I'm sure in search of the hairdryer.
She stops halfway there and turns back to me. "Where did you sleep last night?"
Her question catches me off guard. Shit. Was I not supposed to sleep with her? I feel a boyish sense of shame, but I keep my gaze impassive.
"In my bed."
"Oh."
"Yes, it was quite a novelty for me, too." I smile at her. It was… nice.
"Not having… sex." She flushes, saying the word.
"No," I say, shaking my head. And besides, I don't 'have sex'. I fuck. Hard. "Sleeping with someone." I pick up my newspaper and scan another few articles. As a CEO, it's my responsibility to keep up to date with what's going on in the business world.
As Anastasia does her thing in the bedroom, I decide to phone Ros. She wants to talk about the newest software model.
"Ros," she answers on the second ring, her tone efficient and clear. Ros is a notorious smoker, so her voice always has a rough edge. I kind of like it, though I don't condone her awful habit.
"Ros, it's Grey. You wanted to talk to me about something?"
Ana enters the room, and I watch as she ties her hair back with an elastic, crossing to the table to sit.
"Yes. The Taiwanese would like two models of the GH789 system."
I turn my attention back to Ros. "They want two?"
"Yes."
"How much will that cost?"
"The numbers aren't final yet, but we're thinking somewhere around $55,000."
"Okay, and what safety measures do we have in place?"
"One crew on flight, one waiting on the ground. We'll take the usual measures, sir."
"And they'll go via Suez?"
"That's the plan, sir."
"How safe is Ben Sudan?"
"Relatively so, sir," she tells me, confidence in her tone. One of the things I like about Ros is that she isn't nearly as intimidated by me as so many others are.
"And when do they arrive in Darfur?"
"Estimating as early as mid-week next week."
I purse my lips, thinking for a moment. "Okay," I decide, "let's do it. Keep me abreast of the progress."
"Of course."
I hang up, lifting my gaze to Ana again.
"Ready to go?" I say to her.
She nods.