Hi, everyone. So sorry this update took so long. Some complications came up, but please know from here on out, chapters will be updated in a quicker fashion.
As always, I am overwhelmed by the amount of positive feedback this fic is receiving. I am so humbled by it.
I am so excited for Grey to be released on the 18th, but as ecstatic as I am for it, I won't be reading it until I've finished writing this fic. I don't want it to in any way influence how my writing and interpretation goes.
But I WILL be getting my hands on it once I'm finished with this fic! That's for sure!
Hope all is well with you lovely readers!
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Monday, May 30th 2011 – early morning
.
I lay awake for hours, my futile attempts to fall asleep completely failing me.
I retreat to my piano and play well into the early hours of the morning. Daylight is just breaking when I crawl back into bed with Anastasia.
I fall asleep quickly, but wake only two hours later, ready for the day, completely alert. Despite the short amount of time I've been asleep for, I've wound my way around Anastasia's limbs. Blinking sleep from my eyes—I'm in that strange phase of wakefulness where you're so alert it feels like a dream—I detangle myself and get out of bed.
I step into the washroom to brush my teeth. Already, I can feel that my muscles are stiff from the lack of sleep. In my closet I don a pair of sweatpants and a sleeveless grey shirt. I head downstairs for my morning workout, hoping it'll loosen my muscles and give me a bit of energy. I'll need it for the day ahead, seeing as I barely slept last night.
My mind has been going wild since the car ride home last night. I just don't understand why I am so panicked about losing Anastasia. I don't understand why I am tempted to follow her to Georgia. All I know is that I don't want her out of my sight. She's brought a strange sort of calm into my life—and yet, an exhilaration I have never known. Those eyes captured me from the moment she fell into my office, and they haven't released me since.
Once I've reached my limit, I head back upstairs to the apartment and into my bedroom. Anastasia is still sleeping, sprawled across my mattress, lips slightly parted, breathing deeply. Her arms are stretched over my side of the bed, searching for my missing body I presume.
I stare at her for an indulgent moment before I head into the en suite to shower. I allow the hot water to cascade over my back, my head, my face. It feels good to just stand under the stream for awhile. I clean myself off, dress in my closet, and head out into the main area.
Mrs. Jones is in the kitchen, bustling around, as is her usual Monday morning manner.
"Good morning, Mr. Grey. How was your weekend?"
"I had a spectacular weekend," I answer her, completely honest, and intercept her bewildered, but pleased expression.
She recovers quickly, however.
"Breakfast, Mr. Grey?" she asks.
"Not now," I tell her, "I'll wait to eat with Anastasia."
I head down the hall toward my study and dial Andrea for an update. By now, I would be at the office, but I'm kind of feeling a slow morning. I'll take care of some business from home for the next few hours. I want to get in as much time with Anastasia as I can before she needs to leave for her interviews.
I was supposed to meet with Ros this morning, but she's typically very flexible. I have Andrea bring me up to date with a few things, and then have her transfer me over to Ros.
"Ros," she answers crisply.
"Grey here," I tell her.
"Good morning." She pauses. "Are you not in the office yet?"
"Not quite. I'm taking a slow morning."
My answer obviously catches her off guard, because she's quiet for a moment, but finally regains her composure. She jumps into a promotion for a company, who wants to collaborate with us, on some new business ventures.
"Which company?" I inquire, stepping into my office, crossing the floor toward the window.
"Simmons and Jake. They're a distributor."
"How are their stats? Profit and loss?"
"They're a midgrade company, sir. They're… generally on the up curve," she answers.
"Well, what's their annual income?"
Ros rattles off a number I'm not entirely pleased with. I don't like to work with companies beneath a certain margin, and Simmons and Jake don't exactly meet my standards.
"I think they'd really help get us further with the solar cell phone project, Sir," Ros pushes now.
"Unless that company's P&L improves, I'm not interested, Ros," I argue, growing irritated now. Why the hell is she so gung-ho on teaming up with these people? "I'm not carrying deadweight."
"But, Mr. Grey—"
"I don't need any more lame excuses," I snap at her. She needs to drop this shit. Usually, Ros and I work well together, but there comes a time when we disagree. This is one of them.
"Yes, Sir," she mumbles.
"Have Marco call me, it's shit or bust time."
"Yes, Mr. Grey. Shall I tell Barney to go ahead with the cell phone prototype?" she asks, switching gears, directing the topic towards something I'm more interested in, finally.
"Yes, tell Barney that the prototype looks good, though I'm not sure about the interface," I say, thinking back to the picture attachments I received from her yesterday afternoon.
"Would you like Barney to start over on that?"
"No," I tell her, "it's just missing something… I want to meet him this afternoon to discuss."
"I'll arrange that, Sir."
"In fact, him and his team, we can brainstorm."
"Certainly, Mr. Grey."
"Okay. Transfer me back to Andrea." She does, and I wait for my PR to pick up. I'll arrange a meeting with Barney for this afternoon once she picks up.
"Andrea here," she answers finally.
"Andrea," I start, but something catches my attention, out of the corner of my eye. Anastasia is standing in the doorway to my office, in just my t-shirt. What is it about Anastasia in my t-shirt? Those long bare legs… Very distracting.
I barely notice the smile making its way across my face until it threatens to crack my cheeks.
I am the luckiest man on the planet, without a single doubt. She is so marvelous.
"Clear my schedule this morning," I say to Andrea, forcing myself back to the task at hand, "but get Bill to call me. I'll be in at two. I need to talk to Marco this afternoon, that will need at least half an hour."
"Of course Mr. Grey. Anything else?" she asks. I can hear her tapping at her computer on the other end of the line, but my eyes are glued to Anastasia. I'm very much in this room, in this moment. I am hyper aware of the air around at me, and the space that stretches too far between Anastasia and I.
"Schedule Barney and his team in after Marco or maybe tomorrow, and find time for me to see Claude every day this week." I need the extra energy output while Anastasia's gone.
"Done, Sir. Damien would like the go ahead to launch the promotion for Darfur."
"Tell him to wait," I tell her. We're not quite ready for that, and Andrea should know that, seeing as I'm booking another meeting with Barney this very afternoon.
"Okay, and regarding the publicity for the Darfur shipment—"
"Oh."
"—it's been scheduled for Friday."
"No, I don't want publicity for Darfur."
"Sir, it's already been booked…"
"Tell Sam to deal with it," I demand.
"Yes, Sir. No publicity at all?"
"No," I confirm.
"Alright. Will you be attending the event next Saturday, Mr. Grey?"
"Which event?" I inquire.
"The J&J silent auction, sir."
"That's next Saturday?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Hold on."
I pull the phone away from my ear and turn to Anastasia.
"When will you be back from Georgia?" I ask her.
"Friday," she responds.
I pull the phone back to my ear. "I'll need an extra ticket because I have a date."
"A date?" Andrea inquires, incredulous. I can hear the shrill shock in her voice.
"Yes, Andrea, that's what I said, a date." I say, trying to suppress the amusement rising inside me. Though this is all very new to me as well, I'm really enjoying the shock of the people around me. "Miss Anastasia Steele will accompany me."
"Yes, Sir. I'll arrange another ticket. Is that all?"
"That's all," I tell her, and hang up the phone.
Finally, I can turn toward Anastasia and focus all my attention on her.
"Good morning, Miss Steele."
"Mr. Grey," she returns, and smiles sheepishly at me.
I round my desk and go to her. Softly, I stroke my fingers against the incremental pink flush coloring her cheeks.
"I didn't want to wake you, you looked so peaceful. Did you sleep well?" I inquire. Because I sure as hell didn't.
"I am very well rested, thank you," she says, "I just came to say hi before I had a shower."
A shower, I think as she gazes up at me for a very long moment. Hmm… Anastasia, wet and naked, in my shower…
I stoop to kiss her, and though I'm gentle, she responds immediately, throwing her arms around my neck, pressing me closer. I feel her fingers knot themselves in my hair and the sensation is exquisite.
I'm taken aback by her advance, slightly, but it doesn't take long for me to return her ardor. A low groan rises in my throat, and I comb my fingers into that long, dark hair of hers, then skirting down her back. I take her naked behind in my grasp, squeezing firmly. Oh, that ass.
Finally, I force myself to pull back, overwhelmed with lust.
"Well, sleep seems to agree with you. I suggest you go and have your shower, or shall I lay you across my desk now?" Lust, like a lion, purrs in my chest. I cannot get enough of this woman. I am insatiable when it comes to her.
"I choose the desk," she tells me, her voice barely a breath, wild and impassioned.
I'm surprised by her response. She seems just as insatiable as I am, and the thought pleases me immensely. For someone so new, not just to this, but to everything regarding this, she's caught up quickly.
"You've really got a taste for this, haven't you, Miss Steele?" I ask her, "You're becoming insatiable."
"I've only got a taste for you."
Lust knots my insides together, and all the blood in my body rushes south, below my waistline. The sensation consumes me, and I revel in it as I massage my fingers into her naked ass, which I'm still holding. Only for me. Yes, Miss Steele. You. Are. Mine. All mine.
"Damn right, only me."
In one move, I clear the contents of my desk, and I lay her across its surface.
"You want it, you got it, baby," I murmur, pulling a condom from my pocket, undoing my zipper in the same instant. Once the condom is on, I gaze down at her, where she lays underneath me, staring up at me with those wide, searing blue eyes.
"I sure hope you're ready," I whisper to her, and grin. Because I sure as fucking hell am.
I enter her swiftly, deeply, her wrists manacled in my hands, pinned to her sides.
My jaw drops at the marvelous sensation. So deep, so tight, so wet and so warm. Anastasia groans loudly.
"Christ, Ana. You're so ready," I whisper, in absolute awe of this woman. Her body is so perfect, so responsive to me, only me.
She lifts her legs and wraps them around me, and I begin to thrust maddeningly inside her. She groans again, her head tipping back, her lips parting in pleasure, as she squeezes her eyes shut.
Yes, baby, feel it. This is what I do to you.
And what she does to me.
The pleasure builds quickly, a rapid inferno gaining heat inside me. Clenching my muscles tightly, the pressure building swiftly.
If I could do this and only this, for the rest of my days, I would. Being with her is not only an addiction, an obsession of mine, but a carnal need—which becomes more and more potent each day. Three months of this will not be enough for me—six months won't either. I don't think I can focus on a timeline, but all I know is that forever might not even be enough. I need her to want to be my submissive for an unforeseen amount of time, because she does things to me no other woman has ever done. She calms me and soothes me, and yet builds this ravenous exhilaration inside me, all at the same time.
She gives me control, and none, all at the same time. She gives me peace and recklessness, humor and sobriety.
She is everything, all-consuming, overwhelming.
I can feel her getting closer now, her legs tightening around me, her muscles clenching spasmodically around me.
"Come on, baby, give it to me," I beg her, through clenched jaw, because I am so close, and I need her to come before I do.
She comes undone beneath me, shouting her pleasure wordlessly, and as she loses all semblance of control, so do I, stilling as I pour myself into her. The pleasure blinds me for a moment, and all I can sense is her, her, her—around me, inside me. Her scent, her warmth, the feel of her body, the sound of her rapid breathing.
My muscles are jelly. I collapse onto her, breathless, unable to form even a coherent thought, let alone words.
"What the hell are you doing to me?" I whisper pleadingly, because I really want to know. I burrow my nose into her neck, inhaling her scent. "You completely beguile me, Ana. You weave some powerful magic."
I remember that I'm still holding her wrists, and I let them go. Her hands lift, her fingers weaving themselves into my hair, combing softly. I suppress my groan, as lighting bolts of pleasure shiver down my spine. Incrementally, I feel her legs clamp firmer around me.
"I'm the one beguiled," she breathes.
I pull back just slightly, so I can look down at her. She gazes back at me, an unreadable expression on her face. Wide eyed.
No. She can't see me that way. I'm fucked up. I'm no good. She can't see that? After everything I've fucking told her? I'm a disgusting excuse for a man, but I'm so awed and thankful that she's stayed this long, and that she's seemed to accept every part of me, despite what I am.
She is more than I ever could have imagined a woman could be.
Suddenly, fervent passion grips me, possesses me, and I take her face in my hands. She needs to hear these words.
"You. Are. Mine. Do you understand?"
"Yes, yours," she promises, her voice still a breath.
"Are you sure you have to go to Georgia?"
She nods, and abruptly, I'm numb—but not before anger and rage and desperation and fear and anxiety all rip their way through my body. Since Ana came into my life, it's been getting harder to suppress those feelings. I'm still able to block them out, but not before they leave a trail of acid in my veins. I hate feeling those things—especially the desperate fear.
I pull out of her, tucking myself, and the knotted condom, away.
"Are you sore?"
"A little," she says sheepishly.
"I like you sore. Reminds you where I've been, and only me." I take her chin in my hand and plant a hard kiss on her lips, possessive and domineering.
I hope she's sore for a few days—I want her to be physically reminded of me, even when she's away in Georgia.
.
"Would you like something to eat?" I hear Mrs. Jones inquire of Anastasia, just as I'm making my way to the kitchen.
"No, thank you," I hear her respond.
"Of course you'll have something to eat," I interject. I'm aware I sound a tad impatient, but Andrea's getting on my nerves. I've just hung up the phone with her for the second time this morning. She's shoving too many things in my face—I'd like to have some peace and quiet for just one morning. "She likes pancakes, bacon, and eggs, Mrs. Jones."
"Yes, Mr. Grey," she says, "What would you like, sir?"
"Omelet, please, and some fruit," I tell Mrs. Jones, but my eyes are glued to Ana, who stands by the kitchen island in That Dress. Her hair, still slightly damp—I force my eyes not to narrow at the realization—is pulled back into a bun. The way her hair is pulled away from her face causes her features to stand out a little bit more, and I find myself examining them intensely, almost as if trying to commit them to memory. She really can't be leaving me, can she? I fight the raging anxiety boiling in my gut.
"Sit," I command of her, pointing to the barstool she stands nearest to.
She slips into the seat I've gestured to, and I follow suit.
"Have you bought your air ticket?"
"No, I'll buy it when I get home—over the Internet," she explains.
"Do you have the money?" I tease her, but really I know she doesn't. One can hardly make a living off a part-time job at Clayton's—which she's now finished with.
"Yes," she tells me, and something about her tone is condescending.
I raise an eyebrow in warning at her, knowing I need not say anything. She's had enough practice to know what the outcome will be if she continues with that smart mouth of hers.
"Yes, I do, thank you," she's murmuring quickly, correcting herself for her sassy behavior.
"I have a jet," I offer, trying to make it seem like I've just thought of the idea, but a lot of thought has already gone into it. "It's not scheduled to be used for three days; it's at your disposal."
Her jaw literally drops open, her eyes widening as she stares blankly at me. A moment later, she seems to recover herself.
"We've already made serious misuse of your company's aviation fleet. I wouldn't want to do it again," she says.
"It's my company, it's my jet," I find myself defensive. I feel offended by her words. My company's aviation fleet. No. It's my aviation fleet.
"Thank you for the offer," she tells me softly, her eyes wide and so blue and sincere, "But I'd be happier taking a scheduled flight."
I bite back my further argumentations. I know she'll decline my offer to purchase her first class ticket, so I won't ask, I'll just do it. After I've dropped her off back at her apartment.
"As you wish. Do you have much preparation to do for your interview?" I inquire, moving on to the next subject.
"No," she answers.
"Good. You're still not going to tell me which publishing houses?" I'm assuming now, but I still hope she'll tell me. I hate to be left in the dark like this, regarding her career. I'll be able to tell whom she works for once she has a job, seeing as I have Welch at my disposal, but in the meantime, it's driving me up the wall.
"No."
Welch can track cell phones, too, I suddenly realize. I could virtually follow her to her interview. An involuntary smirk lifts my lips, as the idea dawns.
"I'm a man of means, Miss Steele."
"I am fully aware of that, Mr. Grey. Are you going to track my phone?"
"Actually," I tell her honestly, "I'll be quite busy this afternoon, so I'll have to get someone else to do it." She thinks I'm joking, but really I'm not, and my smirk deepens.
A dubious expression knots her brows together momentarily, and then smooth's itself so quickly, it's almost as if it was never there.
"If you can spare someone to do that, you're obviously overstaffed," she says.
"I'll send an e-mail to the head of human resources and have her look into our head count," I joke.
She smiles softly in response, and I find myself staring at her a moment longer. Day in and day out, I am marveled by the simple beauty of her.
Mrs. Jones brings our breakfast to the bar then, and after she's finished tidying up, leaves us to our lonesome.
For awhile, we eat in silence. After a few minutes, I see Anastasia glance up at me, almost bashful, but with a strange curious look on her face. As if she's dying to know something vitally important.
Abruptly, I am overcome with just as much curiosity to know what she's so curious about.
"What is it, Anastasia?"
"You know, you never did tell me why you don't like to be touched," she murmurs.
I feel every muscle inside my body clench, revolt, at her words.
Physically, I feel myself pale, just at the thought of the whole concept. The curiosity I felt earlier lights into a flame of irritation.
"I've told you more than I've ever told anybody," I admit to her, not exactly delving into the answer, but instead avoiding it. Surprisingly, my voice is gentle, as I gaze into her eyes.
She stares at me for a second, a million emotions passing through her eyes, and then she shakes her head slightly.
"Will you think about our arrangement while you're away?" I beg of her, thrown off kilter by the suddenness of the emotions rising up in me in this moment. It's suddenly imperative that she agrees to be mine, that she signs and 'locks herself in', as a means.
"Yes," she acquiesces.
"Will you miss me?" I ignore the way my question makes me feel like a small child.
She stares impassively at me for a long moment.
"Yes," she finally answers.
The single word makes my insides very warm. "I'll miss you, too," I whisper to her, because saying the words louder than that feels wrong, "More than you know."
.
It has been a long afternoon of meetings and business, and I am wiped by the time Taylor picks me up from the office.
Things seem to be moving at a better pace with the solar cell, which I am very excited about. This could mean big things for us.
As I settle into the backseat of the Audi and Taylor pulls away from the curb, an e-mail notification from my Blackberry dings.
…
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Interviews
Date: May 30 2011 18:49
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
My interviews went well today.
Thought you might be interested.
How was your day?
Ana
…
I find myself smiling as I read over her message. I'm suddenly aware that the warm sensation I'm feeling blooming in my chest is fondness. I am fond of Miss Steele, in a way I never have been with any of my other submissives—anyone other than my family, really, but in this new, exciting way, all at the same time.
What is this woman doing to me?
I find myself pondering over the thought for a long moment, and a few minutes pass obviously, as I sit and think.
Suddenly, I'm aware of myself again, and hit 'reply'.
…
From: Christian Grey
Subject: My Day
Date: May 30 2011 19:03
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
Everything you do interests me. You are the most fascinating woman I know.
I'm glad your interviews went well.
My morning was beyond all expectations.
My afternoon was very dull in comparison.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
…
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Fine Morning
Date: May 30 2011 19:05
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
The morning was exemplary for me, too, in spite of you weirding out on me after the impeccable desk sex. Don't think I didn't notice.
Thank you for breakfast. Or thank Mrs. Jones.
I'd like to ask you questions about her—without you weirding out on me again.
Ana
…
This woman really does see right through me. And I thought I'd hidden myself from her so well, afterwards.
What about Mrs. Jones?
…
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Publishing and You?
Date: May 30 2011 19:10
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia,
"Weirding" is not a verb and should not be used by anyone who wants to go into publishing. Impeccable? Compared to what, pray tell? And what do you need to ask about Mrs. Jones? I'm intrigued.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
…
It takes her several minutes to reply, and when the e-mail does come through, I'm immediately worried at the subject title. I read on hastily.
…
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: You and Mrs. Jones
Date: May 30 2011 19:17
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
Language evolves and moves on. It is an organic thing. It is not stuck in an ivory tower, hung with expensive works of art and overlooking most of Seattle with a helipad stuck on its roof.
Impeccable—compared to the other times we have… what's your word… oh yes… fucked. Actually the fucking has been pretty impeccable, period, in my humble opinion—but then, as you know, I have very limited experience.
Is Mrs. Jones an ex-sub of yours?
Ana
…
I am horrified at Anastasia's question, and abruptly very angry with her. How could she think something like that of Mrs. Jones?!
Taylor has pulled up at Escala now, and I head for the elevators.
…
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Language. Watch Your Mouth!
Date: May 30 2011 19:22
To: Anastasia Steele
Anastasia,
Mrs. Jones is a valued employee. I have never had any relationship with her beyond our professional one. I do not employ anyone I've had any sexual relationships with. I am shocked that you would think so. The only person I would make an exception to this rule is you—because you are a bright young woman with remarkable negotiating skills.
Though, if you continue to use such language, I may have to reconsider taking you on here. I am glad you have limited experience. Your experience will continue to be limited—just to me. I shall take impeccable as a compliment—though with you, I'm never sure if that's what you mean or if your sense of irony is getting the better of you—as usual.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc., from His Ivory Tower
…
I am in my apartment when I receive her reply.
…
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Not for All the Tea in China
Date: May 30 2011 19:27
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
I think I have already expressed my reservations about working for your company. My views on this have not changed, are not changing, and will not change, ever. I must leave you now, as Kate has returned with food. My sense of irony and I bid you good night.
I will contact you once I'm in Georgia.
Ana
…
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Even Twinings English Breakfast Tea?
Date: May 30 2011 19:29
To: Anastasia Steele
Good night, Anastasia.
I hope you and your sense of irony have a safe flight.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
…
Despite the fact that I know she'll be safe and well in first class, I turn off my screen and head toward the shower, ignoring the chasm of doom and gloom that begins to open up inside me.