Sunday, May 29th

We eat. I can always count on my mother to provide a delicious meal. I note that Ana devours hers, and the site pleases me. Slowly, she may be able to earn her place back in my good books.

We're having dessert, and Elliot is telling us about his latest business venture. He and Kate exchange some sort of gooey, lustful look, but I'm watching Anastasia, and the way she watches them. She seems taken by their exchange.

Suddenly, she glances up at me, and her eyes darken, that blue shifting colors, and I could almost guess what she's thinking about. I'm a little more certain about it when she bites down on her lip.

I reach up and snatch her chin gently, pulling her lip from her teeth's imprisonment. "Don't bite your lip," I murmur, aware I sound a little husky, "I want to do that."

My mother and Mia get up to begin clearing the dishes, and I turn to where my father, Elliot and Miss Kavanagh are still going on about the solar panel thing. A part of me is interested in it, but a bigger part of me is more interested in the fact that dinner is now finished, and everyone will be retiring to the living room, to drink brandy and talk some more.

That leaves the chance open for me to be able to finally fuck Anastasia Steele again. I'm no longer seething. The conversation over the meal has lightened my mood, and though I'd no longer like to punish her into next Wednesday, I'm always for fucking her—again, and again, and again…

I steal my hand over onto her knee, where I've already been teasing her through the course of the meal. Slowly, I brush my fingers up her thigh, reveling in the soft, silken skin there. The rest of her body is like porcelain and silk, but her thighs are marginally softer.

I hear Ana's breath catch, and I'd love to sneak a glance at her face to check if she's blushing—which I bet she is—but I'm pretending to be involved in the conversation at hand.

All at once, she clamps her thighs together to halt my progress, just as I'm beginning to feel the heat radiating from between her legs. I can't hide my smirk, amused by her gesture. Also, I'm turned on, surprisingly. No one has ever said 'no' to me before, and it's kind of hot. In fact, it's really fucking hot. I need to fuck her now.

"Shall I give you a tour of the grounds?" I ask her, raising my voice so that everyone can hear. For some reason, I feel that I need to generate an alibi.

Ana doesn't answer me right away, and for a second I think she's going to say no. Before she can answer, I stand, offering her my hand. She puts her hand in mine, and I help her to her feet.

"Excuse me," she says to my father, who smiles softly at her, and I lead her out of the dining room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. Mia and my mother are loading the dishwasher, and the site brings me back to the old days. This wasn't how it always was, of course. Elliot and I had our fair share of evenings spent in the kitchen, but seeing my sister and mother cleaning up after dinner raises fond feelings.

I will be forever grateful to Grace and Carrick Grey, who took me in, and bestowed upon me, a life I have never deserved, but am nonetheless very blessed to have.

"I'm going to show Anastasia the backyard," I tell my mother as we pass. She waves with a smile, and Mia ducks back into the dining room.

I usher Anastasia through the backdoor first, onto the flagstone patio, lit my recycled, solar panel lights, built into the rock. I guide her past the sitting area and up the steps, onto the great back lawn.

I have so many memories of running across this lawn with Mia and Elliot, passing a football, or just horsing around. For a minute, in the darkness, I can almost see the apparition of it, of us siblings as kids, running through sprinklers in the summer heat, or building snowmen in the winter chill.

I go to cross the lawn, but I feel resistance at my hand, and turn to find Anastasia staring in wonder across the lawn, where the two family boats are moored beside the boathouse. I yank at her hand, suddenly overwhelmed by the grace she has about her. She looks ravishing in that dress, and the lust sideswipes me. I need to get her to the boathouse.

"Stop, please," she begs, stumbling behind me.

I do, turning to gaze at her.

"My heels," she says, "I need to take my shoes off."

There's no time. "Don't bother," I tell her, and I bend, tilting her, at the waist, over my shoulder. I pick her up, and she screams loudly. To quiet her, I swat her hard on the backside.

"Keep your voice down," I snap at her. Some of the anger is seeping back into my consciousness. The fact that she was planning on leaving me for Georgia, tomorrow evening, is maddening. But to add on the fact that she was out with the fucking photographer who forced himself on her just weeks ago is unforgivable.

"Where are we going?" she whispers now as I carry her across the lawn.

"Boathouse."

"Why?" she asks.

"I need to be alone with you."

"What for?"

What for? "Because I'm going to spank you and then fuck you."

"Why?" If I'm not mistaken, I hear her whimper.

"You know why," I spit at her.

"I thought you were an in-the-moment guy?"

"Anastasia, I'm in the moment, trust me." She doesn't answer. My words seem to have done the trick of shutting her up. I carry her across the rest of the lawn easily, silently. We reach the boathouse in no time—I'm motivated—and I push through the doors, flicking on the light switches. I barely register the cruiser floating in the dock before I turn and head up the stairs to the loft.

In the doorway, I pause to flick on another light, and I set Anastasia on her feet.

Breathing hard, from a menagerie of different things—carrying her across the lawn, the harshness of my anger, the depth of my lust, born from that anger—I drink her in.

She appears frazzled, a few strands of hair in her face, the front of her dress slightly wrinkled in the front from where she was tossed over my shoulder. Her blue eyes are bright, but wary as she stares back at me.

Oh, I want to spank her.

"Please don't hit me," she breathes, barely audible.

Her words break me from the trance I hadn't realized I'd been in. The fear I hadn't seen on her face before suddenly becomes apparent. No. She's said 'no'.

"I don't want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don't," she begs me.

I barely feel my lips part in surprise, stunned by this halt, this change in gears. No one has ever asked me not to spank them before, and I'm stunned by her plead. She's asked me not to hit her, and I don't know how to process it.

I'm still trying when she reaches a hand up and strokes the side of my face. I don't stop her. Oh, her hand is so soft, so gentle, so smooth, and something warm and fuzzy wells up in my chest as her fingers trail over my sideburn, down to my chin. I can't stifle my soft moan of pleasure as I lean my face into her caress.

That feels good.

I feel her other hand on the opposite side of my face now, skipping over it quickly, her fingers catching in my hair. That feeling inside me swells, and it's so, so strange and absolutely unfamiliar. I've never felt this way around a woman before. Not only am I allowing her to touch me, but I'm enjoying it. I didn't know it could feel this pleasurable.

I open my eyes and find her watching me, the depth of the blue in her irises so deep, so longing, so open and trusting. Anastasia takes a step forward so that her breasts are pressed to my chest, and pulls my face to hers. She forces her tongue past my lips, into my mouth, completely taking the lead, and I'm allowing her to do it.

I don't know what this woman is doing to me, but she's completely bewitching me. Anastasia Steele has an effect on me like no other. She's completely flipped my life upside down, and I have no idea what to make of it.

I groan and wrap my arms around her, pulling her impossibly closer. On their own accord, my hands wind themselves into her long, dark hair, and I kiss her back, hard, selfishly, single-mindedly. Anastasia is mine. Our tongues battle for dominance. Oh god, she's delicious.

I'm overwhelmed by the sensations—some familiar, some foreign—ripping their way through my veins, filling me, overtaking me. I pull back, needing space, but our faces are only inches apart. As I inhale, I can taste her exhale.

"What are you doing to me?"

"Kissing you," she replies, dubious.

"You said no."

"What?" She's still clueless.

"At the dinner table, with your legs," I explain.

"But we were at your parents' dining table," she says, staring up at me, her eyes wide, cloudy with lust and confusion.

"No one's ever said no to me before. And it's so—hot." I'm amazed at this woman. Awakening things in me I haven't experienced before, bringing things into this arrangement I haven't tried or done. I am in wonder and awe of her, and I want her so badly. I skate my hand down her back, and cup that delectable ass of hers, pulling her hard against me, so that she can feel my erection.

"You're mad and turned on because I said no?" she whispers, and I can see her response to my action on her face.

"I'm mad because you never mentioned Georgia to me. I'm mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk and who left you when you were ill with an almost complete stranger. What kind of friend does that? And I'm mad and aroused because you closed your legs on me," I clarify, and I can't help myself anymore. My fingers grip the hem of her dress, and leisurely, I begin to edge it up.

"I want you," I tell her, "I want you now. And if you're not going to let me spank you—which you deserve—I'm going to fuck you on the couch this minute, quickly, for my pleasure, not yours."

The dress is halfway exposing her ass, and consequently, her sex, and I can't resist myself. I move to cup her—she's warm and damp against my palm—and I slide a finger inside her unhurriedly, and then another. I keep my other arm wrapped around her waist, securing her so that she can't move.

"This is mine," I hiss, "All mine. Do you understand?" I ask her as I fuck her slowly with my finger, eyes on her face. She's lost in the sensation, in the way I'm overtaking her.

"Yes, yours," she whispers wantonly.

Her words snap my control. I need her now. I pull my fingers out of her, unzip my fly, and push her down onto the couch, trapping her underneath me, so that she can't touch me.

"Hands on your head," I command. I kneel up, pushing her thighs apart. I slip my hand into the inside pocket of my jacket, pulling out a condom. I shrug my jacket off my shoulders, quickly overheating at the sight of her underneath me, exposed and vulnerable and mine, all mine.

I rip the condom open, and roll it down over my hardness. She puts her hands on top of her head, gazing up at me, those wide blue eyes piercing me to my very core.

Her hips arch up, eager as always, before I've even positioned myself.

"We don't have long," I inform her, "This will be quick, and it's for me, not you. Do you understand? Don't come, or I will spank you."

I don't wait for her answer—it's a rhetorical question anyway. I line myself up with her entrance, and I enter her swiftly, hard, clenching my jaw at the way I sink easily into that warm, wet flesh of hers.

Anastasia groans loudly in response to my sudden invasion.

Leaning forward, I put my hands on top of hers, where they rest on her head, pinning her arms down with my elbows, my legs immobilizing hers. I am so close to her, every part of my body touching hers, and it's an overwhelming, heady feeling. Her scent fills my senses, the silkiness of her thighs cradling me.

She is all mine, and the thought makes me crazy. I pound into her furiously, needful, desperate for release. Her hips smack right back into mine, in perfect rhythm with my insane beat, and it brings me closer and closer to ecstasy. Steadily I climb, higher and higher, the sensations flooding me, blocking everything else out.

I climax suddenly, almost not expecting it, stilling inside her as I spill into her. Oh. I am suddenly so relaxed, and entirely sated, here, cradled by her in every way possible. I loosen my muscles, settling my entire weight over her for just a moment, regaining my composure, my wits.

Once I'm ready, I pull out, propping myself up on my hands, gazing down at her.

She didn't come, and I am glad for it. I almost expected her to—her body is so responsive, almost wanting it. That way I could spank her. But she's held up her side of the bargain.

"Don't touch yourself," I demand of her, "I want you frustrated. That's what you do to me by not talking to me, by denying me what's mine." The anger rages inside me again, the flame insatiable.

She nods wordlessly, breathless.

I clamber from the couch and remove the condom, tying the end off. I slip it into my pocket, zipping my fly back up at the same time. I run my hand through my hair and reach down for my jacket.

Suddenly, I don't feel so well. There's a dark, heavy feeling blooming in my chest, like a substantial weight. I can't tell if it's shame, guilt, sadness or anger. I've denied many woman an orgasm, but never Anastasia. This being the first time, I didn't know I'd be reacting like this. I feel… bad that she didn't find release the same way I did, but I can't go back on it now.

I turn to look at her, where she's still reclined on the couch.

"We'd better get back to the house."

She pushes herself into a sitting position, appearing a little out of it. She'd better gather her wits by the time we return to the company of my parents.

"Here," I say, pulling her panties from the inside pocket of my jacket, which I stashed there just in case she asked for them, "You may put these on."

She takes them, her expression unreadable, neutral.

"Christian!" I hear Mia call from the first floor, and it makes me jump. Fuck.

I turn to Anastasia, my brows lifted in surprise, but I'm also impressed with myself. "Just in time. Christ, she can be really irritating."

She frowns at me and pulls her panties back on. Once they're in place and her dress is pulled back down, she attempts to smooth her hair. It's a little mussed, but I don't think anyone will suspect anything.

"Up here, Mia," I shout down to my sister, once Anastasia is presentable. "Well, Miss Steele, I feel better for that—but I still want to spank you," I add as an aside.

"I don't believe I deserve it, Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack," she retorts.

My fucking unprovoked attack?! "Unprovoked? You kissed me."

Her lips pull together in a purse. "It was attack as the best form of defense."

"Defense against what?" I ask.

"You and your twitchy palm."

My twitchy palm? I cock my head, grinning at her, amused.

Mia is coming up the stairs now.

"But it was tolerable?" I ask her quietly, desperate for reassurance for some reason. I don't want her completely sufferable.

"Barely," she whispers, and I watch the color flood her cheeks as she smirks.

"Oh, there you are," Mia says now, and she grins at the both of us, completely unaware of what's just happened here.

"I was showing Anastasia around," I tell Mia, holding my hand out to Anastasia, for her to take. She does, slipping her hand into my grasp, and I squeeze it briefly, gently.

"Kate and Elliot are about to leave," Mia says, "Can you believe those two? They can't keep their hands off each other." She sneers in disgust and glances between us. "What have you been doing in here?"

Anastasia turns puce, but I brush her question off easily. "Showing Anastasia my rowing trophies. Let's go say good-bye to Kate and Elliot."

As she turns to head back down the stairs, I guide Anastasia in front of me. I smack her hard on the behind and she gasps.

"I will do it again, Anastasia, and soon," I mutter to her, and then pull her to me, squeezing her tight. I kiss her hair, inhaling her gorgeous scent, and we follow Mia down the stairs.

.

Subsequent to Kate and Elliot bidding my family goodbye, I decide that Anastasia and I should be heading out as well. She has interviews tomorrow and needs her rest. Besides, I'm ready to have her all to myself again.

After our farewells have been made, we head out to where Taylor waits with the Audi. He opens the back door, and I allow Anastasia to slip across the back seat. I slide in after her, and Taylor shuts the door behind us.

"Well, it seems like my family likes you, too," I say as Taylor rounds the vehicle toward the driver's side door.

Anastasia doesn't say anything for a long moment, her lips turning down into a frown—not even as Taylor starts the car and pulls away from the curb. Finally, she turns to look at me, her expression disturbed, yet forlorn.

"What?" Have I fucked up again?

She seems to debate with herself for a moment, but ultimately must decide to voice her true feelings. Good girl. "I think that you felt trapped into bringing me to meet your parents. If Elliot hadn't asked Kate, you'd never have asked me." Her voice is quiet and meek in the dark of the car.

What the fuck? I am absolutely appalled at the direction of her thoughts. Why the hell would she think that?

"Anastasia, I'm delighted that you've met my parents," I tell her, genuine, "Why are you so filled with self-doubt? It never ceases to amaze me. You're such a strong, self-contained young woman, but you have such negative thoughts about yourself. If I hadn't wanted you to meet them, you wouldn't be here. Is that how you were feeling the whole time you were there?" It could have explained her closing her legs on me at dinner. She did seem a tad closed off, in that moment.

I watch her face for a reaction, and she seems pleased with my answer, her frown disappearing, her eyes losing that dark, forlorn look. I reach for her hand, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of her thoughts.

Apprehensively, Anastasia glances toward the front seat, where Taylor stares out the windshield, ignoring our conversation.

"Don't worry about Taylor. Talk to me," I beg her.

Her slim shoulders lift and fall in a shrug. "Yes. I thought that. And another thing, I only mentioned Georgia because Kate was talking about Barbados. I haven't made up my mind."

I think back to her mentioning Georgia at dinner. Despite the rage I felt, I remember noting that she seemed rather genuine, talking about seeing her mom. "Do you want to go and see your mother?"

"Yes," she replies.

Abruptly, I feel very at war with two sides of thought in my mind. One side wants her to be happy, wants her to go and see her mother. The other side is desperate and panicked at the thought of her leaving me.

"Can I come with you?" I ask her, trying to ignore the way the question makes me feel like a child.

Shock sparks in her eyes at my question. I don't think she was expecting it. "Erm… I don't think that's a good idea," she says.

"Why not?" I push.

"I was hoping for a break from all this… intensity to try to think things through," she admits.

I stare at her for a moment, pleased by her honesty, but also amused by her words. She thinks I'm too intense?

"I'm too intense?" I can't help but ask her.

Laughter explodes from her, beautiful laughter. "That's putting it mildly!"

My lips pull up into a smile, though I try to fight it. "Are you laughing at me, Miss Steele?"

"I wouldn't dare, Mr. Grey," she tells me, all pretend earnestness and batting eyelashes, teasing me.

"I think you dare, and I think you do laugh at me, frequently," I tell her. There's a light, giddy feeling blossoming in my chest at our flirty exchange.

"You are quite funny," she says.

"Funny?"

"Oh yes."

"Funny peculiar or funny ha-ha?" I ask.

"Oh, a lot of one and some of the other," she replies.

"Which way more?" I demand, goading her.

"I'll leave you to figure that out," she tells me.

"I'm not sure if I can figure anything out around you, Anastasia." Though my words are sarcastic, suddenly, I'm very serious. Abruptly, my mood sobers, and I lower my voice, empathic, "What do you need to think about in Georgia?"

"Us," she breathes.

I'm confused. She agreed to this, she told me she'd try. Did today's scene change her mind? She seemed to enjoy it too much to need to think things through, though.

"You said you'd try."

"I know," she says, and she sounds almost morose.

Panic fills my belly. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"Possibly."

No. No, no, no. I need her to need this. She can't leave me.

"Why?" I ask, attempting to keep the panic out of my voice, and I think I succeed.

She takes a moment to answer, gazing out the window for a long second.

The longer she's quiet, the quicker my panic builds. "Why, Anastasia?" I push, desperate to know her answer. I can't read anything on her face, though it's hard to even make it out. It's dark as we pass back over the bridge, headed home.

She shrugs, silently. Anastasia gazes out the window for another moment, and then briefly squeezes her eyes shut. There is agony in her expression, as if she is at war with herself, and the expression is familiar.

Ever since I met her, I've been at war with myself. The arrangement we're in is the only way I know, and though I've promised her I'd try for more, it's foreign and unfamiliar and definitely uncomfortable. Is that what this is all about? The 'more' thing? Is that what this will boil down to? Incompatibility, as with many of my previous submissives. The only difference this time is that I don't want her to go. The others I felt indifferent about.

But Anastasia is different.

The thought of her leaving, of having second thoughts, of backing out, sends me into a tailspin. This woman is changing me in so many ways I hadn't realized until tonight. Though I can't put a finger on many of those changes, I know they're happening, and I know they're for the better. I reach for her hand, needing to be in physical contact with her, and I squeeze it gently.

"Talk to me, Anastasia," I beg, "I don't want to lose you. This last week…" The rest of my words choke me. Why the fuck is this so hard, why are these things so hard to confess out loud? The truth is, this last week has been the best week of my life. I've never enjoyed spending time with anyone as much as I love to spend it with Anastasia. I want to spend every day, every moment with her, if it were at all possible.

"I still want more." She speaks—well, whispers.

"I know. I'll try," I promise her, my voice low, almost strained.

Her teeth close down on her bottom lip, and I release her hand so I can tug her lip from her teeth's grasp.

"For you, Anastasia, I will try."

Suddenly, she's unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing into my lap, looping her arms around my neck. She pulls my face to hers, kissing me with everything in her. Initially, I am surprised by her fervor, but in an instant, I'm responding to her kiss, returning it, securing her body against me. I want her, oh I want her.

"Stay with me tonight," I whisper pleadingly, "If you go away, I won't see you all week. Please."

"Yes. And I'll try, too. I'll sign your contract."

Joy and hesitancy battle for dominance inside of me. I am thrilled by her agreement to signing the contract, but I don't want her to agree to it just because she's caught up in the moment, in me.

"Sign after Georgia," I tell her, "Think about it. Think about it hard, baby."

"I will."

We fall into companionable silence for a while, and for a moment I revel in the physical closeness we share. Finally, I say, "You really should wear your seatbelt." I can't bring myself to push her away, however.

She rests her head on my shoulder, nuzzling her nose into my neck, and I tense momentarily, but this is okay, I realize. As long as she's not touching my chest, or back, it's okay. It seems my panic at being touched is restricted to a very finite perimeter.

We stay like this for the rest of the ride, in silence, tangled together. I fear for Anastasia's safety, but I trust Taylor's driving, and I'm too comforted by her closeness to push her back into her seat. The need to have Anastasia against me is almost primal. It crowds out the panic, the doom, and the gloom. It sates me completely.