Sunday, May 29th

"We're home," I tell her. I feel her lashes flutter against my jaw as she blinks.

Taylor lets us out of the car, and as I step onto the sidewalk after Anastasia, I feel the nip in the air. In conjunction with that realization, I see that Anastasia isn't wearing a jacket.

"Why don't you have a jacket?" I demand, frowning disapprovingly as I shrug my own off my shoulders and wrap it around her. It's too big for her, but I like the way she looks in my jacket.

"It's in my new car," she explains, and yawns hugely.

I smirk at her, pleased that she seems to have accepted the car as hers. It brings a warm, fuzzy feeling to my chest. I'm also amused at her sleepiness. She's had quite the day. But I'm still not done with her.

"Tired, Miss Steele?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey. I've been prevailed upon in ways I never thought possible today."

"Well, if you're really unlucky, I may prevail upon you some more," I tell her as I fold her hand in mine, leading her into the apartment building. I need to get her upstairs, and in my bed.

I call the elevator, and it dings immediately. We step inside.

As we ascend to my apartment, I find Anastasia gazing at me, her eyes dark with lust, her cheeks flushed incrementally. She frowns, and bites down on her lip.

Fuck. In the position I'm in right now, I'd like to fuck her against the elevator wall. But not tonight. She wouldn't have the strength.

I take her chin in my fingers and tug. "One day I will fuck you in this elevator, Anastasia," I promise her, "But right now you're tired—so I think we should stick to a bed." I swoop in to take that luscious bottom lip between my teeth, tugging on it gently. Oh, it's so soft, and plump, and delicious. I want her so badly. I need her.

She responds to my advances immediately, groaning softly and clamps her own teeth around my top lip. The feeling sparks sensation in my groin, and instantly I'm hard, as she teases me back. I groan at the feeling. The elevator doors slide open, and I grab her hand, pulling her into the foyer of my apartment.

We're in the hallway when the gentleman in me surfaces. "Do you need a drink or anything?" I ask her reluctantly.

"No," she replies, and relief floods me. Straight to the fucking then.

"Good. Let's go to bed."

She raises her eyebrows at me, clearly surprised. "You're going to settle for plain old vanilla?"

I cock my head to the side, processing her words. Settle? I don't think I'm settling for anything. "Nothing plain or old about vanilla—it's a very intriguing flavor."

"Since when?" she asks me.

"Since last Saturday," I explain. "Why? Were you hoping for something more exotic?" Honestly, I'm not sure she's up for it.

"Oh no," she assures me, "I've had enough exotic for one day."

"Sure? We cater for all tastes here—at least thirty-one flavors," I joke, grinning at her.

"I've noticed."

I shake my head back and forth. "Come on, Miss Steele, you have a big day tomorrow. Sooner you're in bed, sooner you'll be fucked, and sooner you can sleep."

"Mr. Grey, you are a born romantic," she snaps sarcastically.

"Miss Steele, you have a smart mouth. I may have to subdue it some way. Come," I tell her, leading her through the living area, down the hallway, into my bedroom. I kick the door shut behind me.

"Hands in the air," I tell her.

Immediately, she sticks her hands up, and in one swift move—impressing even myself—I remove her dress. "Ta-da!" I crow, feeling playful.

She giggles, applauding my actions, playing along.

I bow at the waist, unable to hide my grin. This is just too much fun. I abandon her dress on the chair by the dresser.

"And for your next trick?" she teases.

"Oh, my dear Miss Steele. Get into my bed, and I'll show you," I growl at her.

"Do you think that for once I should play hard to get?" she inquires, still teasing.

Hard to get? I feel my eyebrows lift in surprise. I'm surprised, and yet insanely turned on. No one's played hard to get before, and if it's anything like the way she said 'no' at the dinner table this evening, I might just enjoy it.

"Well… the door's closed. Not sure how you're going to avoid me. I think it's a done deal."

"But I'm a good negotiator," she says.

"So am I." I stare down at her, overwhelmed with lust, and then suddenly, something occurs to me. Does she not want to? "Don't you want to fuck?"

"No," she whispers.

"Oh," I say, and I frown. Huh. I can't deny the wave of disappointment that crashes inside me. I was hoping I'd get to have her once more tonight—

"I want you to make love to me."

Her words are quiet, but I hear them clearly. I freeze, staring at her. For a second I'm shocked, numb, and then I'm angry with her for requesting such a thing. Now I'm feeling a little lost. Disoriented, even. "Ana, I…" I start, running both hands through my hair. What am I going to say? I don't have a clue. I don't make love—I wouldn't even know where to start. I think back to her first time, and I guess I was pretty successful then. "I thought we did?"

"I want to touch you," she says, completely serious, bold.

No!

Involuntarily, my feet propel me backward a step, filled with panic. No. Anastasia makes me feel safe—but I can't ever let her touch me. Most of all, I can't let her see my fear.

"Please," she breathes.

"Oh no, Miss Steele, you've had enough concessions from me this evening. And I'm saying no." I try to make my words sound playful, to soften the blow.

"No?" she asks.

"No," I confirm. "Look, you're tired, I'm tired. Let's just go to bed," I suggest.

She's still processing my answer. "So touching is a hard limit for you?" she asks me.

"Yes," I answer, slightly peeved, "This is old news."

"Please tell me why," she begs me.

Suddenly, I'm frustrated. "Oh, Anastasia, please. Just drop it for now."

"It's important to me," she beseeches.

Exasperated, I run both my hands through my hair. "Fuck," I mutter softly. This woman is impossible. Why on earth does she want to see so deeply inside me? There's nothing there, just ugly, disgusting truths to share. Ugly, disgusting truths I have no interest in bringing into the light.

I turn and take a t-shirt from my chest of drawers. I toss it at her, and reflexively, she catches it. Her brows are knit together, confused. "Put that on and get into bed."

She turns away from me, removing her bar and pulls the t-shirt over her head. Turning back to me, she looks a little sheepish. "I need the bathroom," she whispers.

I frown at her. "Now you're asking permission?"

"Er… no," she says.

"Anastasia, you know where the bathroom is. Today, at this point in our strange arrangement, you don't need my permission to use it," I snap at her, unable to hide my irascibility.

As she heads into my bathroom, I take my shirt off, and then my pants. I exchange them for a pair of pajama pants, and then cross my bedroom to knock on the door.

"Come in," she calls, her mouth full of something.

I enter, finding her at the sink, brushing her teeth. Upon further inspection, I realize that she is using my toothbrush. Some of the tension leaves my muscles, amused at the finding. I step up to the sink next to her as she rinses the toothbrush off and hands it to me. I take it from her and put it in my mouth. Her lips lift in a smirk of her own, and the realization that she is amused as well releases more tension.

"Do feel free to borrow my toothbrush."

"Thank you, Sir," she says, and smiles at me, candy-sweet. She turns on her heel and heads back into my bedroom.

I finish brushing my teeth, shaking my head at the way things are turning out. I imagined coming home and fucking her, not having serious discussions about why I don't like to be touched. As I go back into my bedroom, I find myself feeling irritated again.

"You know this is not how I saw tonight panning out," I tell her.

"Imagine if I said to you that you couldn't touch me," she says from where she's sitting in my bed.

I climb onto the mattress and sit with my legs folded, facing her. "Anastasia, I've told you. Fifty shades. I had a rough start in life—you don't want that shit in your head. Why would you?"

"Because I want to know you better," she urges blue eyes wide with sincerity.

"You know me well enough," I insist. I really don't want to tell her these things. Anastasia is as innocent as someone gets. She doesn't need to be tainted by my past.

"How can you say that?" she asks, rising up on her knees.

I roll my eyes at her, exasperated. She is so insistent, and so stubborn.

"You're rolling your eyes," she tells me, "Last time I did that, I ended up over your knee."

"Oh, I'd like to put you there again," I confess.

"Tell me and you can."

"What?" What?

"You heard me." Her face is impassive, serious as a heart attack.

"You're bargaining with me?" I ask her in disbelief.

She nods at me. "Negotiating."

"It doesn't work that way, Anastasia," I insist. This is so fucked up. This is not the way this arrangement is supposed to work.

"Okay, tell me, and I'll roll my eyes at you."

I can't help it—I laugh at her. After a moment, my mood evens out, sober once more. "Always so keen and eager for information," I observe of her. I pause, and then climb off the bed. "Don't go away," I tell her, and leave her sitting in my bed.

I can't deny it—I'm turned on by her asking me to spank her. I jog up the stairs to the playroom, unlocking the door. On the chest is the new set of Ben Wa balls I recently purchased, especially for this occasion, though not exactly in the way it seems to be panning out.

I return to where Anastasia waits in my bedroom quickly, impatiently.

"When's your first interview tomorrow?" I ask her.

"Two."

Late enough in the day for her to recuperate in plenty of time, then. A slow, easy grin makes its way across my face and I am filled with anticipation.

"Good. Get off the bed. Stand over here," I command her, pointing to the spot beside the bed. She obeys quickly, eagerly. "Trust me?"

She nods silently.

I hold out my hand to show her what I'm holding. "These are new," I explain, watching her face for her reaction. She gazes at the balls impassively. Her expression morphs, and now she's curious. Fuck, that expression is hot.

"I am going to put these inside you, and then I'm going to spank you, not for punishment, but for your pleasure and mine." My eyes are still glued to her face, and her eyes go wide as she gasps in astonishment. "Then we'll fuck," I continue, "and if you're still awake" which I'm not counting on "I'll impart some information about my formative years. Agreed?"

She nods again.

"Good girl. Open your mouth."

She parts her lips just slightly.

"Wider." Once her mouth is open wide enough, I slip the balls in carefully. "They need lubrication. Suck," I tell her, my voice quiet with the strength of lust, which thrums every nerve ending in my body. With this woman, I am insatiable. I want her body, every inch of it, every hour of the day.

I keep my eyes locked on hers, watching her tongue brush against her cheeks every so often, as she wets the balls. She squirms, and I can tell this is turning her on, as well. I'm already hard, straining against the material of my pajama pants.

"Keep still, Anastasia," I mutter. "Stop." I take the string connecting the balls and pull them from her mouth. I walk over to the bed, throw the duvet out of my way, and perch on the edge of the mattress.

"Come here."

She takes the few steps required, and stands in front of me, watching me carefully. "Now turn around, bend down, and grab your ankles." She blinks at me, hesitating, and irritation flickers in my chest. "Don't hesitate," I chide her, and place the balls in my own mouth, lubricating them further.

She turns, bending at the waist, hands grasping ankles. My t-shirt slips halfway up her back as she bends, revealing her ass and a tantalizing view of her lower back, that creamy, porcelain skin all at my mercy. Oh, I can't wait to spank her again. I've been wanting to all evening, and the fact that she asked me not to earlier, makes me want to do it even more.

I lift a hand almost involuntarily, caressing her backside through her panties. Her ass is absolutely delectable, and one day, I'd like to claim it. But not tonight. I tug her panties aside, revealing her sex, and I bite back my moan of arousal. She is so hot. So mine. Teasingly, I run a single finger up and down her sex, then slip it inside her, twisting it slowly, round and round.

She moans, a heady, sexy sound. I catch my breath at the sound of it, and at the fact that she grows even wetter as she does moan. I circle my finger another time, unable to bite back the gasp at the realization of her arousal. I remove my finger from inside her, and very deliberately, introduce the balls, one at a time. Once they're inside, I pull her underwear back in place and kiss her behind reverently. I really love her ass.

"Stand up."

She straightens, and wobbles a little. My hands clamp down on her hips, to steady her.

"You okay?" I ask her.

"Yes," she almost sighs.

"Turn around." She turns, and my eyes find her face. Her blue eyes are wide, curious, and almost wondrous. "How does that feel?" I'm curious to know.

"Strange," she answers.

"Strange good or strange bad?"

"Strange good," she tells me, and of course, her cheeks color with blush.

"Good." I wrack my brain for an excuse to have her walk around. Once she's moving around with them inside her, she'll really start to feel them. "I want a glass of water. Go and fetch one for me please. And when you come back, I shall put you across my knee. Think about that, Anastasia."

She looks befuddled, but turns and leaves my bedroom, as I've told her to. I fetch a condom and place it on the bedside table, then wait for her to return, and when she does, I find myself searching her face expectantly. She's a tad bit more flushed than before she left the room, but other than that, I can't make anything of her expression.

"Thank you," I say as she passes me the glass. I take a sip, not thirsty at all. I turn to place the glass on the bedside table, next to the condom. I'm taking my sweet time, knowing that my languid pace will tease her. In fact, it's mocking me too.

I turn my gaze back on her. "Come. Stand beside me. Like last time."

She slinks up next to me, and the memory of the first time I spanked her floods my mind—how she was aroused by it, the delicious shade of pink her ass turned.

"Ask me," I murmur, the lust building steadily, filling first my belly, then my chest.

She frowns, obviously not catching on.

"Ask me," I repeat, aware my tone is turning slightly harsh. She doesn't say anything still, and now I'm getting annoyed. "Ask me, Anastasia. I won't say it again."

Realization lights up in her eyes, as I examine her face. "Spank me, please… Sir," she breathes.

Her words light a fire inside of me, and I close my eyes for a moment, drinking them in. I grip her left hand in mine, and pull so that she falls over my lap. As she topples, I lay a hand out on her back, stabilizing her. I bring my hand to her behind, stroking that supple, smooth skin for a moment. Fucking lord, she's perfect.

I stroke her hair out of her eyes and hook it behind her ear, so that I can see her face, her reaction. Once it's out of the way, I gather it into a ponytail at the base of her neck, and clench it in my fist, holding her head in place. I pull softly, exposing more of her face, so that it's easier to see.

"I want to see your face while I spank you, Anastasia," I tell her. My other hand strokes her ass, the entirety of it, over and over, the whole time. I trail my hand down and push against her arousal.

Her eyes cloud as she moans at the sensation.

"This is for pleasure, Anastasia, mine and yours," I remind her, in a whisper. Then I bring my hand up, and down, smacking her firmly—for pleasure, not as a punishment spank—at the place where her thighs meet her behind, and her behind joins her sex.

Her face twists, hey eyes squeezing shut, as she absorbs all the sensations I've evoked in her. It turns me on, seeing her reaction.

I run my hand over her backside again, watching her skin turn pink under the seam of her panties. Desperately, I want to remove them, but I know their barrier will lessen the sting of my blows. I hit her again, the smack reverberating around the room, filling my ears. The sound pleases me. I am in absolute control of this woman. She is mine, all fucking mine.

She groans in response, and we fall into a steady rhythm—left cheek, right cheek, the junction where everything meets. She moans loudest when I hit her there.

Finally, when her ass is a delectable shade of pink, I peel her panties off, and more of that sensitized, red skin is exposed to me. So beautiful.

She writhes on my lap, brushing against my very sensitive erection. I have to clench my jaw to bite back my groan. I spank her a few times more, getting close to my breaking point. I'm going to need to fuck her soon.

She groans as I slap her at the junction of her sex and thighs.

"Good girl, Anastasia," I breathe hoarsely, aware that I sound breathless. I spank her one more time, and then once more. I can't take it anymore. I pinch the black thread of the balls in my fingers and pull them swiftly from inside her.

She gasps loudly at the sensation, and I flip her onto her back. I snatch the condom off the bed and rip it open, pulling it out and sliding it on. I stretch out beside her and capture her hands in mine, pulling them above her head to restrain her, and I move over her, inside of her.

Oh, yes. Oh fucking yes. She is so tight and wet and warm. She moans loudly as I slide into her.

"Oh, baby," I breathe as I begin to thrust in and out of her, savoring the slow, unhurried tempo, the feeling, the sensation over me, under me, all around me, inside me. She is the most beautiful woman I've ever been with, and not only in the physical sense. There is so much more to her than meets the eye. She's intelligent, perceptive, a little sarcastic, kind, self-assured.

Moments later, Ana comes, and as her muscles clamp down around me, it triggers my own orgasm. Violent white noise fills my insides, and I'm blind with bliss, with ecstasy.

"Ana," I gasp, overwhelmed. As the orgasm fades, I feel myself begin to, as well. Abruptly, I am exhausted, and I relax my weight over her, panting to catch my breath again.

Once I've gained some composure, I lean back so that I can see her face. It fills my vision. "I enjoyed that," I tell her, and I kiss her lips softly.

I push the rest of my body weight up and off of her, to my feet. I cover her with the duvet and cross my bedroom, into the bathroom. I remove the condom, tossing it in the wastebasket. I collect a bottle of lotion from my medicine cabinet, and carry it back into the bedroom. I want to rub some into her behind before she falls asleep. I lower myself, to sit on the mattress beside her.

"Roll over," I order softly. She turns onto her front, eyes hooded. It won't be long before she's asleep and abrupt, intense relief floods my insides, and the space between them.

My gaze falls to her behind. "Your ass is a glorious color," I tell her appreciatively, and I squirt some lotion into my palm. I rub it into her behind gently.

"Spill the beans, Grey," she says, and yawns.

I freeze up. Shit. She hasn't forgotten. "Miss Steele, you know how to ruin a moment."

"We had a deal," she reminds me.

"How do you feel?" I ask her, hoping to distract her.

"Shortchanged," she admits.

I sigh, and slip underneath the covers next to her. She's warm under the duvet, and I pull her to me, careful of her ass, which I'm sure is burning. I plant a kiss behind her ear, deciding on the short story version. It will do.

"The woman who brought me into this world" I will never call her my mother. She doesn't deserve that title "was a crack whore, Anastasia. Go to sleep."

She's silent for a second as she processes my words. Then, "Was?"

"She's dead," I explain.

"How long?"

I exhale long and slow, growing frustrated. I was hoping that would be enough. Obviously not. "She died when I was four. I don't really remember her." But I remember her pimp, and I brace myself against the onslaught of horrific memories that barrage my mind, when I even think of him. "Carrick has given me some details. I only remember certain things. Please go to sleep." I am resigned to the fact that I will have nightmares tonight.

"Good night, Christian," she says, and I'm taken aback by her quick compliance.

"Good night, Ana," I mutter.

Silence, the type of silence that only happens once a conversation is done and over with for the day, falls.

I am terrified to fall asleep.