Saturday, May 21, 2011

We walk down the hall toward the elevators, not talking. I'm distracted by the thought of tonight. How will I breech it all? How will she take it? Lord, I hope I get to fuck her tonight.

I press the call button, and we have to wait for it. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her glance up at me, and I sneak a glance at her. She smiles shyly at me, and I can't repress my own grin.

The bell chimes as the elevator reaches us, and we step inside. We're alone in the elevator and as the doors slide shut, all the emotions, all the sensation, all the hormones I've been trying to repress swell up inside me.

My head is filled with the sight of her in my bed, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, those legs, that rumpled mess of hair…

I turn my head slightly toward her. Is she as overwhelmed right now as I am?

Her teeth close down on her bottom lip.

Fuck. Me.

"Oh, fuck the paperwork," I snarl. I lurch toward her, pinning her against the wall of the elevator with my hips. I capture both of her hands in one and jerk them above her head. There's no way of knowing how she'll react to my advances, but if she's going to touch me, I don't want to chance it. With my other hand, I grip her ponytail and yank so that her face tilts up to mine.

And then I crush my mouth to hers, feeling the softness, the fullness of her lips against mine.

She moans, and instantly, I'm rock hard at the sound.

I take the opportunity to shove my tongue into her open mouth, dominating her immediately. She seems hesitant at first, her tongue stroking mine in soft, gentle strokes, but then she's kissing me back just as vigorously.

Holy fuck, she's hot.

She tastes of maple syrup and sweet mint—did she brush her teeth? She tastes amazing.

"You are so sweet," I groan against her mouth.

Suddenly, the elevator slows to a stop, the doors slide open, and I push away from her. Three businessmen enter, smirking at the both of us.

I fight to tame the chaotic drumbeat in my chest. My lungs ache for air, and as Ana glances up at me, panting for breath, clearly very frazzled—her face is the most beautiful shade of pink—I ease a breath slowly through my lips.

Breathe…

On the next floor, the businessmen exit, and we are alone again.

"You've brushed your teeth," I say once we're moving again.

"I used your toothbrush," she admits, gazing up at me through those long lashes.

I can't help but find amusement in her admission. That's… Well, that's kind of hot. "Oh, Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?" So many possibilities…

We arrive on the first floor, and I take her hand as we exit into the lobby. "What is it about elevators?" I muse to myself as we head toward the doors.

.

I hold the door open for Ana, and let her into the Audi.

As I round the hood to the driver's seat, I send a quick text to Andrea, requesting she email me a copy of the NDA. The cat may be out of the bag now. I don't want to risk her telling anything to anyone. I've already given too much information away, and now I've kissed her. You never know with girls, and no immediate red flags go up in my head about Ana. I don't think she'd talk to anyone, but then there's Kate, and you can just never be too safe.

Nothing more, Grey. Not until she signs the NDA, I scold myself.

I buckle in and start the engine, aware that Ana is watching me. I back out of the parking space and switch on the music.

Immediately we're surrounded by the sweet, happy sound of Lakme's 'The Flower Duet'.

We drive in silence for a couple moments.

"What are we listening to?" Ana finally asks. To my delight, she seems to be entranced by the song.

"It's 'The Flower Duet' by Delibes, from the opera Lakme," I tell her. "Do you like it?"

"Christian, it's wonderful," she enthuses, and I smile. There aren't too many people these days who share an interest in such wonderful music.

"It is, isn't it?" I grin at the commonality, glancing at her swiftly.

The song comes to an end and she asks to hear it again.

"Of course," I tell her, and press the repeat button.

"You like classical music?" she asks me.

"My taste is eclectic, Anastasia," I confess, "Everything from Thomas Talis to the Kings of Leon. It depends on my mood. You?" I'm curious to know her tastes in music. She obviously is a fan of classical, but I wonder about other aspects of her taste.

Her taste… I think back to our tryst in the elevator. Fucking hell, she's delicious.

I've never encountered a woman I could just not resist before. I'm so used to being in control of every aspect of my life, including my body. It's disconcerting to feel this way, to feel so out of control with this woman. Part of me likes it. I feel… liberated.

"Me, too," she says, bringing me back, "Though I don't know who Thomas Talis is."

I glance at her again. She doesn't know who Thomas Talis is?! Where has she been?

"I'll play it for you sometime," I promise her, "He's a sixteenth-century British composer. Tudor, church, choral music." I grin at her, the irony is not lost on me. If only she knew my lifestyle, then she would find it funny, too. "Sounds very esoteric, I know, but it's also magical."

I press the shuffle button, and Kings of Leon's 'Sex on Fire' starts to play. Hmm… How appropriate.

I'm just getting lost in the thought of how 'on fire' Miss Ana Steele may be in my playroom when my phone starts to ring, interrupting the chorus.

"Grey," I snap in greeting.

"Mr. Grey, it's Welch here. I have the information you require."

That must be the photographer's police check. I called Welch for it last night. If there's any possibility this boy may be a danger to Miss Steele, there is no way I'm not taking steps to prevent it. She's as good as mine, now, after our conversation at breakfast this morning, and the promise of tonight.

"Good. Email it to me," I say to Welch, "Anything to add?"

"No, sir."

I hang up, and the song flares back into the chorus.

Ohh yeah, your sex is on fire! I sing in my head. Singing. In my head. How strange.

I receive another call, slightly annoyed at the interruption, but then, this is the life of a CEO.

I press the 'answer' button.

"Grey."

"The NDA has been emailed to you, Mr. Grey." It's Andrea.

"Good. That's all, Andrea."

"Good day, sir."

I jab the 'end' button. The song plays barely two beats when I receive another call. Okay, so it's a little more busy than usual this morning.

"Grey," I answer.

"Hi, Christian, d'you get laid?"

I roll my eyes. What an animal my brother can be. But, then, I suppose I could be too, more-so. "Hello, Elliot. I'm on speaker phone, and I'm not alone in the car," I sigh. I doubt this information will make much of a difference in what he chooses to indulge me in.

"Who's with you?" he inquires.

I roll my eyes again, knowing how far he'll take this. You give Elliot an inch, he takes a mile. "Anastasia Steele."

"Hi, Ana!" he calls to her.

"Hello, Elliot," she answers.

"Heard a lot about you." His tone sounds low, husky, and I frown. Fuck Elliot. Why would he get to know more about Ana than I do? He's not the one fucking her.

Neither are you, my subconscious snaps at me.

"Don't believe a word Kate says," Ana begs him.

Elliot laughs.

"I'm dropping Anastasia off now," I say, interrupting their little conversation. "Shall I pick you up?"

"Sure."

"See you shortly." I hang up, and the music is back on.

Soft lips are open, them knuckles are pale…

"Why do you insist on calling me Anastasia?" she asks me after a moment.

"Because it's your name," I say matter-of-factly. Isn't it?

"I prefer Ana."

Oh. This is news to me. "Do you now?" But I like her full name better. The way it rolls around in my mouth, on my tongue… "Anastasia," I muse aloud. "What happened in the elevator—it won't happen again. Well, not unless it's premeditated." And I would enjoy planning something like that in advance again…

I pull up outside her duplex, drifting up alongside the curb. Her neighborhood is quaint and quiet. Safe enough. The duplexes are newer, not completely modern, but they're not going to fall apart anytime soon either.

I pop open my door and climb out, going around to open hers. I watch her flush at something, and I desperately wish I knew what she was thinking about.

She surprises me by telling me as she climbs out onto the curb beside me: "I liked what happened in the elevator."

I gasp. So she can be tenacious, too. What a smart, smart mouth Miss Steele has. Her words spark in my groin. I'm not used to a woman who is so free with her speech.

I follow Ana up the path to the door. She unlocks it and steps inside.

Kate and Elliot are sitting at their dining table—second hand, I know. It's got a few scratches here and there.

I follow Ana into the living room.

"Hi, Ana," Kate says, leaping up to hug her. I watch her hold her at arms length for a moment, examining her. She frowns, and then turns it on me, as if I am to blame. Possibly, I am.

"Good morning, Christian." I note the undertone of acridity in her tone.

"Miss Kavanagh," I return.

"Christian, her name is Kate," Elliot interjects.

"Kate," I correct myself and nod at her, and then I turn to glare at Elliot, who envelopes Ana in a bear hug.

Get your fucking paws off my girl.

"Hi, Ana," he greets her.

"Hi, Elliot." She smiles at him and, fucking hell, she bites her lip!

Jealously flares in my chest. Is she coming on to him? Does she want him instead of me? Fuck Elliot and his boyish, charming ways.

"Elliot, we'd better go," I tell my brother. Just get him out of here.

"Sure," he says easily. He turns back to Kate and sweeps her up into a totally over-the-top, passionate kiss.

I stare at Ana, curious about her reaction. She looks embarrassed, and I smirk.

When the two are finished and break apart, Elliot grins at her. "Laters, baby," he tells her; and my god, tenacious, sure-of-herself Kate nearly swoons. I have to give him credit, he has a way with the ladies. I roll my eyes and gaze down at Anastasia.

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly dreading leaving her, though I know I'll see her again tonight. This is possibly the last time she'll see me as a normal person. But then, she doesn't know the real me. Tonight she will.

I run my thumb over her lower lip, wishing I could kiss her again. No. Not until the NDA has been signed and dated.

"Laters, baby," I murmur to her, and she laughs, blessing me with that wondrous, clear sound. "I'll pick you up at eight."

I turn and head out the front door, Elliot following behind me.

We make our way back to the Audi, and we're not even in the fucking car yet when he asks me if I fucked her.

For the first time, the term sounds… strange.

"No," I say, "I didn't fuck her."

Elliot stares at me, mouth open. "Why the fucking hell not? She's a piece!"

I suppress the urge to growl at my brother. Who the fuck is he to call my girl a piece? She's mine, all mine.

"We kissed. That was all. She was drunk out of her mind. I'm not into that."

Elliot shrugs, seemingly satisfied with my answer, and I pull away from the curb.

.

I spend a large chunk of the afternoon hiking with Elliot. The fresh air and exertion feel good. It pumps the blood through my body, an outlet for the sudden strong emotions Miss Steele brings out in me.

We're on the Aspen Trailhead, and though the brochure said it usually takes an entire day to reach the Rocking Chair Dam, we're nearly there. For a Saturday, the trail is surprisingly dead, but then, it's not very warm. And tourists like the sunshine.

"I don't know, man, she's different," Elliot says, in response to my inquiry on his night with Miss Kavanagh. "Super hot sex, but it's more than that. There's… I don't know… More."

More… I roll the word around in my head, mulling over the concept of it. I don't do more. I've never done more. But then, I've done more with Ana than I've ever done with anyone else. I've kissed her without an NDA in place, for fuck's sake. She's slept in my bed—with me! Christian Grey just doesn't do that kind of thing, and I find myself shaking my head at the insanity of it all.

I need to see Flynn. Or talk to Elena. Maybe she'll have some insight into all of this. I wonder if she's ever felt this way with any of her submissives.

The whole point of being a Dominant is to be in total control.

And Anastasia Steele makes me feel so out of control.

I want her. I want this woman more than I've ever wanted any other woman, more than any of the fifteen, more than I wanted Elena when I'd thought, naively, that I'd loved her, so many years ago. I wince, remembering the beating she'd given me for that one.

"Christian?" Elliot asks, breaking me from my daydreams, glancing over his shoulder as he pushes a branch out of the way. "Are you hearing what I'm saying?"

"Sorry, I wasn't listening," I mutter, distracted as I grip the branch he's holding aside for me. It's always been so easy for Elliot. He falls in and out of love at the drop of a hat. By this time, he's usually onto the next girl.

Miss Kavanagh is different, he tells me. Truthfully, I don't see much difference in her, comparing her to the past girls. Tall, blond, blue-eyed. But then, in that sense, neither is Ana, to me.

Appearances are one thing. What lies deeper than that is a completely other matter.

I know from experience.

.

Anastasia emerges from Clayton's a couple minutes late. She looks pleased when she sees me, and a little shy, as I climb from the back of the SUV to let her in.

I smile warmly at her. She looks… radiant, even after working an eight hour shift.

"Good evening, Miss Steele."

"Mr. Grey," she returns, nodding politely at me, and slips into the Audi.

I climb in after her as she greets Taylor and clasp her hand, squeezing it gently. This is it. This is the night that will make or break this contract, this concept. This is the night I will show her who I really am, this is the night I will possibly get to fuck the divine Miss Anastasia Steele. My entire body—but let's be honest, mostly my cock—tingles at the prospect.

"How was work?" I ask her, to distract myself.

"Very long," she says to me, and if I'm not mistaken, her voice sounds… Wanting.

"Yes, it's been a long day for me, too," I admit. I haven't stopped thinking about her all day.

"What did you do?"

"I went hiking with Elliot," I tell her, stroking the back of her hand with my thumb. I just can't get over how amazingly soft her skin is. I have to look away, out the window, to avoid her seeing how large the lust must loom in my eyes.

I can't wait until we get home…

.

Anastasia is enthralled with the helicopter, and it overjoys me to see her reacting this way. This is another first—flying a woman in my helicopter, and I wonder why I've never done it before.

But then, I'm glad she's the first.

She stares amazed, over the lights of Portland as we takeoff, and then into the darkness, she still seems taken, though a little nervous.

"Eerie, isn't it?" I say to her. I can hear her breathing through the cans, too quickly.

"How do you know you're going the right way?" she asks, clearly knowing nothing about helicopters, or piloting, period.

I am more than glad to show her. It's exciting to share my hobbies with her. "Here." I point to the compass, which tells me where I'm going. "This is an EC135 Eurocopter. One of the safest in its class. It's equipped for night flight." I grin at her. It makes it even better that she seems to like what I do. First the music, now the helicopter. Maybe we have more in common than I thought. "There's a helipad on top of the building I live in," I continue, "There's where we're heading. When you fly at night, you fly blind. You have to trust the instrumentation."

"How long will the flight be?" she inquires.

Too long, I want to say. "Less than hour," I tell her instead, "The wind is in our favor."

Deep inside, something is beginning to churn. Anxiety, nervousness. Everything is riding on this night. Everything. I keep telling myself that if she doesn't accept, it won't be a big deal and that I'll just move on to the next prospect. Continuous excuses keep making their way into my mind, for the way I'm so enthralled with Miss Steele. Things like, I've gone too long without a submissive, without fucking.

I tell myself that if this doesn't work out, I'll go about my usual route, and find another woman.

But something in my gut always interrupts me. I remind myself of this past week, and how I've been finding it impossible to stay away from her, to lay rest to this whole thing—which is what I should be doing.

She's not going to be into this.

The likes of Paul Clayton are better suited for her, not me, not this fuck up.

But what if she is…? And that is what keeps me coming back for more. If she is, well, we could have a lot of fun.

I glance over at her now, and she seems distracted. Her face is flushed a delectable shade of pink, and she's squirming under the harness I've strapped her into, though she can barely move. She swallows hard.

"You okay, Anastasia?"

"Yes," she answers shortly.

I grin, knowing she's thinking of what I have in store for her. Oh, there are so many possibilities… What shall I do to you, Miss Steele?

Once she's signed the paperwork, of course.

I concentrate on the task at hand. I exchange the usual with the tower, coming in on Seattle.

I point toward the small pin-prick of light the city bears. "Look, over there," I say to Anastasia, "That's Seattle."

"Do you always impress women this way? 'Come and fly in my helicopter'?" she asks me now, and the imitation she's bore would make me laugh, except that her question is very sobering.

"I've never brought a girl up here, Anastasia. It's another first for me. Are you impressed?"

"I'm awed, Christian."

Awed! A strange sort of pride wells up in me. She's awed with the helicopter. I am overjoyed that she is into this. I've been able to surmise by her reactions thus far, but it's an entirely different thing to hear her say it.

"Awed?"

She nods. "You're just so… competent."

"Why, thank you, Miss Steele." I am so beyond pleased.

The lights of Seattle loom larger and larger. So does my anxiety, though I try in vain to suppress it.

"Sea-Tac tower to Charlie Tango. Flight plan to Escala in place. Please proceed. And stand by. Over."

"This is Charlie Tango, understood, Sea-Tac. Standing by, over and out."

"You obviously enjoy this," I hear Anastasia say lowly.

"What?" I glance at her.

"Flying."

"It requires control and concentration," I tell her honestly, "How could I not love it? Though my favorite is soaring."

"Soaring?"

"Yes. Gliding, to the layperson. Gliders and helicopters—I fly them both."

Oh. Gliding with Ana. What a prospect. The idea makes me grin.

.

Slowly, the roar of the blades quiet.

All I can hear is Ana's panting through the headset. We sit in absolute silence for a moment.

This is it.

I am surprised by how overwhelmed I feel. Please say yes, Anastasia, please say yes. I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't say yes.

I pull off my headphones, and then reach over to pull hers off.

"We're here."

The anxiety grips my entire body now, every muscle, every sinew. I want to fuck her so badly. But she needs to know first. She needs to be… Enlightened, as she put it.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You know that, don't you?" I ask her as I unbuckle first myself, and then her.

"I'd never do anything I didn't want to do, Christian," she tells me, and she sounds utterly sure of herself. Good.

I look at her for a long moment. She looks amazing, her eyes bright and almost wild. She wears a soft, mint colored shirt under a black jacket—different from the one she wore the other night. The black jeans she's wearing huge her slight curves and accentuate that amazing ass of hers.

I want her. Now.

I climb from the helicopter, and then turn back to help Anastasia exit.

The wind hits us once we're outside.

"Come," I shout above the racket, winding an arm around her, securing her to my side, and I guide her to the elevator. I tap the code into the keypad, and the doors open, welcoming and warm and quiet.

I tap the entrance code in, and we descend to the penthouse.

As the doors gape open, and we step into the foyer, I watch her take it all in.

I keep my home decorated much the way I decorate my office—simple, contemporary.

Mrs. Jones has replaced the flowers on the foyer table. They are fresh, their pleasant scent fills the air.

I guide Anastasia through the double doors, and into the main room.

I can't take my eyes off her face as she takes it all in. Her eyes go wide at the room. What is it? The windows—it is a spectacular view—, the decorating?

Across from the u-shaped couch, a fire burns in the fireplace. It casts a low-key, intimate setting, and I am glad I've instructed Mrs. Jones to light it.

Her eyes flit over the place—the kitchen with its dark wood countertops and white cabinets, the eating bar, the dining table, my piano in the corner… Watching her process it all is like seeing my apartment through new eyes.

"Can I take your jacket?" I ask her softly.

She shakes her head.

I take in a breath. I need a drink.

"Would you like a drink?" I offer. She seems a little shocked by my question, blinking up at me. Dazed, maybe, from the flight. "I'm going to have a glass of white wine. Would you like to join me?"

"Yes, please," she murmurs.

I take off my jacket and deposit it on the back of one of the bar stools. As I move into the kitchen, pulling down two wine glasses—checking for water spots—Ana moves over to the glass wall, overlooking the lights of Seattle. I find it hard to take my eyes off of her as I pull a bottle of Pouilly Fume from the refrigerator, perfectly chilled.

She walks back toward me as I remove the cork from the wine bottle. I glance up at her.

"Pouilly Fume okay with you?"

"I know nothing about wine, Christian. I'm sure it will be fine," she tells me, and her voice quakes a little. She must be as nervous as I am. What does she think I have in store? Surely, it's not this.

"Here." I hand her the first glass.

I watch her take a sip.

"You're very quiet," I say, watching her eyes flit about the place again. She seems very overwhelmed. "And you're not even blushing. In fact, I think this is the palest I've ever seen you, Anastasia. Are you hungry?"

She shakes her head, and irritation flicks in my chest, like a small flame. A flame that never leaves. I find myself angry a lot of the time.

"It's a very big place you have here," she says quietly, gripping her wine glass in both hands.

"Big?"

"Big," she confirms.

"It's big," I relent. I suppose, compared to her apartment. Has she ever been in a place like this before?

"Do you play?" she asks, gesturing toward the piano in the corner.

"Yes." I can't take my eyes off of her.

"Well?"

"Yes."

"Of course you do," she muses, "Is there anything you can't do well?"

"Yes… a few things." More than a few, in fact. She'd be surprised by just how inadequate I am. I take a sip of the wine, light and crisp, watching her as she turns and gazes around the living area again.

"Do you want to sit?" I ask her. I will tell her now. There's no sense in dragging this out if nothing is going to happen.

She nods, and I can't resist taking her hand, to lead her over to the couch.

She sits, and as she continues to gaze around, she smiles, humor lighting in her eyes at some thought.

Oh, how I'd love to know what she was thinking…

"What's so amusing?" I demand, taking the seat beside her. I turn toward her, resting my elbow on the back of the couch, propping my head on my hand. Goddamn, she's gorgeous. The soft light of the fireplace flickers; her creamy alabaster complexion glows in it.

"Why did you give me Tess of the d'Ubervilles specifically?" she asks.

I stare at her for a moment, surprised by the question. "Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy," I answer.

"Is that the only reason?" she pushes.

I feel my mouth form a hard line. "It seemed appropriate," I tell her, "I could hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel Clare or debase you completely, like Alec d'Uberville." Oh, let me debase you, Miss Steele…

"If there are only two choices, I'll take the debasement," she breathes, eyes fixed firmly on me. And I can't tell if it's intentional or not, but her teeth close very surely down on her bottom lip.

I can't help but gasp. What that lip biting does to me. "Anastasia, stop biting your lip, please. It's very distracting. You don't know what you're saying."

"That's why I'm here."

I frown. I suppose it is.

"Yes," I agree. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

I rise, heading toward my office to print off the paperwork.