Ahh! Grey comes out tomorrow! I am so, so excited.
At the same time, we're nearly at the end of this fic, and as excited as I am to finish it, I'm also a bit sad. This journey has been amazing.
I know for sure I'll be taking a break to focus a bit more on my other fic, but don't give up hope!
If you're just following this fic, be sure to follow my pen name, so that you can keep an eye out for the next book from Christian's perspective, when I get around to it. Because I'm pretty sure I will; it's just a matter of time.
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Tuesday, May 31 2011 7:45 pm
I climb into the Spyder in the parking garage, run a hand through my hair and twist the key in the ignition. The engine purrs to life, and I feel its vibrations reverberate in my chest cavity. Oh, how I've missed driving this baby…
I head off down the street, toward our usual meeting place—the mile high club. Their champagne is superb, though I'll be limiting myself, seeing as I'm driving.
When I reach the restaurant, the hostess sees me to a table.
"Will it just be yourself dining with us this evening, Mr. Grey?" she asks.
"No, I'm waiting for one more," I inform her.
"Can I get you something to drink while you wait?"
I order a bottle of champagne, knowing we probably won't drink it all, but I can buy the whole bottle, so I'll buy the whole bottle.
It doesn't take long before Elena arrives, dressed impeccably in a deep red dress, her hair pulled away from her face with a hair comb. She approaches me, kissing me on both my cheeks. I rise to greet her, and once she's sitting, take my seat across from her. The waiter approaches and pours her a glass of champagne.
We watch each other without speaking for a moment before the waiter steps away.
Elena's eyes soften as she appraises me. "You look different, Christian," she observes.
"Do I?" I muse.
Her eyes narrow just slightly, in concentration. "This submissive is making you different," she guesses.
I sigh, leaning back in my chair. "Very."
Elena mimics my position, her hands knotted loosely in her lap. "Tell me about her."
I shake my head, overwhelmed by the many directions I could go. "There's so much I could say," I tell her, and I intercept the surprise registering in her eyes. I don't talk about my submissives in too much depth with her, usually, simply because there's never much to talk about. "As you know, her name is Anastasia, and…" I shake my head, pausing, trying to organize my myriad of thoughts into a cohesive sentence. "She's magnificent, Elena. She's heart-stoppingly beautiful, but she's bright and witty and intelligent, at the same time. She keeps me on my toes, she challenges me, something I never thought I'd like, but it's new and refreshing."
Elena appraises me, but doesn't say anything. One of her hands rests alongside her face. For a moment I wonder if I see apprehension flash across her face, but if I have, it's gone too soon, so I can't be sure.
"She's gone to Georgia to be with her mother, to put some space between us. She says she can't think clearly when she's with me, and to be honest, my thoughts are a bit incoherent around her, as well. But it's killing me that she's gone; I can't figure out my emotions. I… I miss her. And I've never missed anyone in my life. Aside from my family."
"If you miss her, you should go and see her," Elena suggests, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "You have an air jet at your disposal, Christian," she says when she sees the hesitation on my face, "It wouldn't be difficult to find yourself there."
"It's not that," I tell her, shaking my head slowly back and forth, "I asked if I could accompany her. She asked me not to."
"Since when has that stopped the Christian I know?" she challenges, sounding a little miffed.
Slowly, I smirk at her. Silence falls between us as our food arrives. The waiter asks if he can get us anything else, and I allow Elena to answer, because I've pulled out my Blackberry and am making a call.
Taylor answers on the second ring. "Mr. Grey," he greets me. "What can I do for you?"
"Arrange for the jet, please. I'm flying to Georgia tonight."
.
I land in Savannah at just past two in the morning. I am very exhausted, and my Blackberry has died during the flight.
My ears pop as we descend. Beside me, Taylor grunts as he wakes, the pressure in his ears rousing him. I slept for most of the way, but for the past hour I haven't been able to sleep, despite the fatigue which plagues me. The thoughts in my brain have been going round and round like a whirlwind. For most of the flight I've been consumed by the thought of seeing her again. I want to meet her mother, whom she seems so fond of. I want to see what she loves so much about this place.
But as the jet's wheels touch the tarmac, sudden anxiety blossoms in my gut like a pariah. What if she's angry with me that I've come to see her? What if she doesn't want to see me? What if she sends me away? If I've come all this way to see her and she rejects me, I'll be crushed.
We exit the plane and I climb languidly into the car Taylor has arranged to have waiting. I've booked a room at the nicest hotel in town already. The drive over is not very long, and as soon as I'm in room 612, I dress down and drop in to bed, too tired to even plug in my phone.
.
June 1st 2011 – late morning
When I wake, it's dark—thank to the heavy panels covering the windows, but I know it can't be the middle of the night still. I'm much too rested for that.
I roll over from where I've been sprawled in the sheets—I haven't even dreamed, I slept so deeply—and glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It's half after eleven o' clock, and I'm so startled by the time that I bolt upright in bed.
Shit. I've slept too long.
And my phone is dead.
I cross the room to where I've left my back and scrounge inside for my phone charger. As soon as it's plugged in and it has enough powers, all my missed calls, emails and texts begin coming through.
I set my laptop up on the room's desk and head into the bathroom. I take a leak and then climb into the shower. The water is hot, and the stream beats into my back, the perfect amount of pressure. It massages away the trace amounts of lethargy left over from my late flight, and my sleep in. I scrub the hotel's shampoo through my hair and soap my body off. Once I'm clean, I climb out and wrap a fluffy white towel around my waist, heading back into the main room.
My screen is open to my inbox. Anastasia's is one of the first emails I see, but for now, she'll have to wait. I've missed almost half a day of business, and I need to do some catching up before I can even think about going to see her.
As I scroll through the varying messages, I order room service. I'm absolutely starving, my stomach growling something fierce.
I type a few replies to people who need immediate answers. I've been absent for a long enough period of time that I've missed a few important things. Being the CEO of a mega-company is a very dedicated job. Tasks are not easily delegated.
My food arrives, and I drink my coffee and eat my omelet and fruit before I get back to work. I schedule a few video conferences for the day and explain my sudden absence to more than a few associates. Then I dive in to the rest of the emails and missed calls, knowing that I have my day cut out for me. Sometimes, business comes first, but tomorrow, I'll go and see Anastasia, at the address I've received from Welch—the reason I came to Georgia in the first place.
.
It's much later in the day, and things finally seem to be slowing down. Or maybe I'm just catching up. After I finish the dinner I've ordered from room service, I decide to head down to the bar for a drink—I deserve one after the day I've had.
I send Taylor a quick text to let him know where I'm going, in case he comes looking for me, and lock the door behind me. As I head down the hall, I finally open up Anastasia's email—which she sent to me the night before. I feel slightly guilty that I'm only responding now, but she must be busy anyway, with her mother. She can't be waiting on my reply, can she?
…
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Suitable Dinner Companions
Date: May 31 2011 23:58 EST
To: Christian Grey
.
I hope you and your friend had a very pleasant dinner.
Ana
P.S. Was it Mrs. Robinson?
…
Sighing, I type out my reply. I can't say I'm not slightly annoyed by this side of Anastasia.
…
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Dinner Companions
Date: June 1 2011 21:40 EST
To: Anastasia Steele
.
Yes, I had dinner with Mrs. Robinson. She is just an old friend, Anastasia.
Looking forward to seeing you again. I miss you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
…
I jam the elevator call button with my thumb and step back to wait for it. A few feet away, a couple stands too close, the man whispering in the woman's ear. She blushes bright scarlet, and immediately, I'm aching for Ana. Maybe I'll call her and let her know I'm in town after I get my drink.
I'd really like to see her. My missing her has become a visceral, physical feeling. Rather than an abundance of too much emotion, however, it's an empty, yearning feeling. I'm desperate to fill it.
My phone pings as the elevator doors open. I step in after the couple. They hit the lobby button, and I step into the corner to give them as much privacy as possible. I wonder what they'd get up to in this elevator if I weren't here… The thought brings me back to my first kiss with Anastasia, in the elevator at the Heathman. Was that really only a few weeks ago?
We descend to the first floor, and the couple allows me exit first.
…
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: OLD Dinner Companions
Date: June 1 2011 21:42 EST
To: Christian Grey
.
She's not just an old friend.
Has she found another adolescent boy to sink her teeth into?
Did you get too old for her?
Is that the reason your relationship finished?
…
I feel the back of my neck color with heat, in response to her brash email. What the fuck is her issue with Elena?
Irritation—which has seemed to lie dormant for awhile now—rises into my chest, constricting it.
As I enter the bar, I find it's a tad busy. Appropriate, for the time of day, I suppose. So, it doesn't surprise me.
What does surprise me, however, is when I look over the heads of the people, from the entrance of the bar, and I find a very familiar face.
On the table between her and her mother, sits three collective empty Cosmopolitan glasses. I wonder which are Anastasia's.
The anger simmers, rising closer to a boil. She's breaking more rules, and the thought makes me even more infuriated.
…
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful…
Date: June 1 2011 21:45 EST
.
This is not something I wish to discuss via e-mail.
How many Cosmopolitans are you going to drink?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
…
I press 'send' and stand watching her, waiting for her to receive the email. I can only see her profile as she reads over the email, and then her face whips up, turning and scanning the bar, for my face I presume.
I'm unexpectedly amused by the fact that I've surprised her so much, and carefully, I slip my way between the patrons of the bar, making my way toward Anastasia and her mother, where they sit across the room.
She's still searching, and I watch her mother's lips move, asking her a question. Anastasia responds, and she must have alerted her mother, because now she's looking for me, too. I wonder if she even knows what I look like. Maybe Anastasia showed her pictures?
My eyes are glued to Ana, so I watch the moment she finds me register on her face, in those clear blue eyes. Oh, I've missed those eyes. She's wearing a pretty green top. It looks lovely against her sun kissed skin, and it makes her eyes look bluer than they actually are.
I reach their table.
"Hi," she greets me, and her tone piques. Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she takes me in. Does she realize I'm watching her rake my chest with her gaze?
"Hi," I respond, and because I'm so happy to see her—happier than I thought I would be—I swoop in and plant a soft kiss on her cheek. I'd like to pull her out of her seat and kiss her more passionately than that, but her mother is sitting right here, and I haven't even met her yet.
"Christian," she says as I pull back, "this is my mother, Carla."
I turn towards Carla Adams, who looks very much like her daughter, plus a few laugh lines, and minus some of the wave in Anastasia's hair. She must get that from Ray.
"Mrs. Adams," I greet her, "I am delighted to meet you." I give her a polite smile. I don't miss her dropped jaw and have to bite back my amused grin. So Anastasia isn't the only woman in her family who thinks I'm attractive. Alas, I'm attracted to her daughter, and not Mrs. Adams. This relationship will have to stay on platonic terms—something I'm entirely okay with. Mrs. Adams is old enough to be my mother—a young mother, and a flicker of thought strays toward the crackwhore. I shove it down quickly as I shake Mrs. Adam's hand.
"Christian," she responds, a tad breathless.
I can't hide my knowing grin now, though I try in vain.
"What are you doing here?" Anastasia demands of me, something in her tone uneven, upset, and immediately my grin evaporates. Shit. Does she not want me here? Was I correct to be anxious about this?
"I came to see you, of course," I tell her, trying not to let the terror show on my face. I've mastered this mask of mine, and I know it's on my face now. I'd rather Anastasia see nothing at all, honestly. "I'm staying in this hotel." Please don't send me away, I've missed you more than you've known.
"You're staying here?" she asks, her tone piquing to that high-pitched level again.
"Well, yesterday you said you wished I was here," I remind her. Was that rhetorical, or did she actually mean it? I'll feel like a fucking idiot if she didn't mean it. "We aim to please, Miss Steele."
An anxious moment passes like an electrical current between us.
"Won't you join us for a drink?" Carla interjects now, and motions for the waiter. He is here in an instant, and immediately my guard goes up. Keen on my girl, guy?
I give my order—Hendricks with cucumber, or Bombay Sapphire with lime. It's not a complicated order, but the waiter blinks at me. He'd better get it right. I won't be impressed if he doesn't.
"And two more Cosmos, please," Ana butts in. I force myself not to glare at her—I think she's had enough, judged by the blush in her cheeks and the heat in her eyes—but her mother's here, and I'm putting on the boyfriend act. I can't go Dom on her right now, not here.
"Please, pull up a chair, Christian," Carla suggests.
"Thank you, Mrs. Adams," I tell her, gripping the top of a nearby chair. I pull it around and lower myself into it, next to Ana. I catch a whiff of her, and nearly have to close my eyes at the influx of it. Oh my, she smells good. I've missed her sweet, sultry scent. I want to lean in, press my nose to her neck, and inhale it more potently, but it wouldn't be prudent in the middle of a bar, in front of her mother whom I've just met.
"So you just happen to be staying in the hotel where we're drinking?" Anastasia asks now, her tone brokenly hard—I can tell she's trying to reign it in—and I remember she's mad. So maybe I shouldn't be thinking so hard about my face in her neck, or between her breasts, or her thighs. Oh… I force myself to focus. She's angry with me, and I should be remembering that I'm irritated with her as well; for her sassy emails, but more so for her excessive drinking. I have half a mind to send her drink back when it comes, but I won't.
"Or you just happen to be drinking in the hotel where I'm staying," I correct her. "I just finished dinner, came in here, and saw you. I was distracted, thinking about your most recent e-mail, and I glance up and there you are. Quite a coincidence, eh?"
"My mother and I were shopping this morning and on the beach this afternoon. We decided on a few cocktails this evening," she explains in a low murmur.
"Did you buy that top?" I ask her. "The color suits you. And you've caught some sun. You look lovely."
Her cheeks pink, and the sight makes me smile. I've missed that blush.
"Well, I was going to pay you a visit tomorrow. But here you are," I say. Before I can help myself, I reach for her hand, capturing it in mine. I squeeze it gently, reveling in the feel of her skin against my skin again. I sweep my thumb across her knuckles affectionately. As I do so, I feel that familiar buzz in my veins. The abruptness of the lust fuzzes my brain, and through the slight incoherency, I watch her reaction. I hear her breath hitch, and she smiles bashfully at me.
I smile back at her, knowing the effect I'm having on her. Does she know the way she's affecting me? The way I'd like to see her skin underneath that tank top, past the point where her tan stops—for only my eyes? To hold her as close as humanly possible, to have her cradle me between her thighs… Oh, I want her.
"I thought I'd surprise you," I tell her, thinking of the way I'd planned to just show up on her mother's doorstep tomorrow, "But as ever, Anastasia, you surprise me by being here." I don't miss the double meaning in my words.
Anastasia glances away from my face, across the table at her mother. Her brows knit as she scowls at her. I don't take my eyes off Anastasia's face.
"I don't want to interrupt the time you have with your mother," I say, suddenly feeling as if I'm interrupting something. "I'll have a quick drink, and then retire. I have work to do."
"Christian, it's lovely to meet you finally," Carla says, "Ana has spoken very fondly of you."
I turn to smile at her. "Really?" I ask her, raising an eyebrow at Anastasia. I'm amused, but I'm also very flattered. Most of all, I'm relieved. To be spoken of at all, let alone fondly, is nice to hear, after she's travelled across the continent to get away from me.
Anastasia's cheeks color again, of course.
The waiter is back.
"Hendricks, sir," he announces, setting the drink in front of me with a not-so-subtle embellishment.
"Thank you."
Anastasia brings her drink to her lips and drinks.
"How long are you in Georgia, Christian?" Carla inquires now.
"Until Friday, Mrs. Adams," I tell her, deciding it just this moment. I hadn't given much thought to how long I'd be here. I suppose the entire time Anastasia's here, unless she asks me otherwise.
"Will you have dinner with us tomorrow evening?" she asks, then adds, "And please, call me Carla."
"I'd be delighted to, Carla," I tell her.
"Excellent. If you two will excuse me, I need to visit the restroom." She stands and strides away, and I turn my attention to Anastasia, who is staring after her mother desperately. What, does she not want to be left alone with me?
"So, you're mad at me for having dinner with an old friend." I lift her knuckles to my lips, kissing each one selectively. I want to get this over with, because I'd really like to take her up to my hotel room and fuck her, if she'll allow it.
"Yes," she assents softly.
"Our sexual relationship was over long ago, Anastasia," I assure her in a whisper, "I don't want anyone but you. Haven't you worked that out yet?"
Her eyelashes flutter as she blinks. "I think of her as a child molester, Christian," she admits.
I feel the blood drain from my face. What the fuck?A child molester? I could never think of Elena in that way. She's one of my closest friends, and in all senses of the word, she saved my life. Yes, I was young, but Anastasia is taking this completely out of context.
"That's very judgmental. It wasn't like that," I breathe. I hear the shock in my voice. Almost unconsciously, I let go of her hand.
"Oh, how was it then?" she challenges, made bold by the alcohol coursing through her system.
I frown at her, disconcerted. I have no idea how to explain it, in a way that she will understand. I've never had to explain what went on between Elena and I to anyone. I've never felt the need to. I never saw anything wrong with it.
Anastasia brazenly continues on: "She took advantage of a vulnerable fifteen-year-old boy. If you had been a fifteen-year-old girl and Mrs. Robinson was a Mr. Robinson, tempting you into a BDSM lifestyle, that would have been okay? If it was Mia, say?"
I gasp, and can't hide my glare. "Ana, it wasn't like that." I have to fight not to snap at her.
She scowls right back at me.
"Okay," I amend, "It didn't feel that to me. She was a force for good. What I needed."
"I don't understand," Anastasia admits, her expression befuddled.
"Anastasia, your mother will be back shortly. I'm not comfortable talking about this now. Later, maybe." I make the promise through clenched teeth. I really would like to never talk of this again. "If you don't want me here, I have a plane on standby at Hilton Head. I can go."
"No—don't go," she begs, "Please. I'm thrilled you're here." Thrilled? Relief and elation floods my bloodstream. "I'm just trying to make you understand. I'm angry that as soon as I left, you had dinner with her. Think about how you are when I get anywhere near Jose. Jose is a good friend. I have never had a sexual relationship with him. Whereas you and her…" Her words fade, that faint pucker appearing between her eyebrows.
Awareness hits me all at once. "You're jealous?" Abruptly, I'm amused. Anastasia, jealous of Elena. Well, well.
"Yes, and angry about what she did to you," she replies.
"Anastasia, she helped me," I tell her emphatically. How else am I going to get this across to her? "That's all I'll say about that. And as for your jealousy, put yourself in my shoes. I haven't had to justify my actions to anyone in the last seven years. Not one person. I do as I wish, Anastasia. I like my autonomy. I didn't go and see Mrs. Robinson to upset you. I went because every now and then we have dinner. She's a friend and a business partner." She seems surprised by that fact, the astonishment changing her expression. "Yes, we're business partners. The sex is over between us. It has been for years."
"Why did your relationship end?" she asks.
I feel my lips form a grim line. "Her husband found out." I try to tame the nearly unmanageable anger that opens up in my belly at that memory. Piece of shit-scum asshole…
"Can we talk about this some other time—somewhere more private?" I beg.
"I don't think you'll ever convince me that she's not some kind of pedophile," Anastasia admits.
"I don't think of her that way," I push, her words offering no help to the growing rage inside me, "I never have. Now that's enough!"
"Did you love her?" she asks, her voice softer now, maybe in response to my angry words.
"How are you two getting on?" Carla interrupts, having returned.
Anastasia and I both lean back—I hadn't been aware we'd been inclined toward each other, and I watch as she pastes the fakest smile I've ever seen, across her face.
"Fine, Mom."
I sip my drink, appraising Anastasia as I think through her question. Did I love Elena? I thought I had, in the beginning. I remember the beating I got for telling her that. I was grateful to her for how she stepped into my life, changed the course of it, really. And I had mistaken that for love. I know better now.
"Well, ladies, I shall leave you to your evening," I decide, ignoring Anastasia's forlorn expression. "Please, put these drinks on my tab, room number 612. I'll call you in the morning, Anastasia. Until tomorrow, Carla."
"Oh, it's so nice to hear someone use your full name," Carla enthuses.
"Beautiful name for a beautiful girl," I say, shaking her hand once more.
Anastasia rises with me, gazing at me expectantly, and I know she wants me to answer her question. I kiss her cheek once more.
"Laters, baby," I whisper, and then I turn my back and head through the crowd.
I head back up to my room, alone in the elevator this time. As I enter, my Blackberry begins to ring, and I answer it hastily.
It's Harper, and he has bad news.
As he runs through the details of the mistake, I hear a knock on my door. I cross the room to open it and find Anastasia standing there, as Harper rattles in my ear. I'm shocked to find her there, blinking a couple times, and then usher her in, pulling the door wide.
"All the redundancy packages concluded?" I ask him as she slips past me.
"Yes, Sir," he replies.
"And the cost?"
"1.2, sir. Million."
I whistle through my teeth. "Sheesh… that was one expensive mistake. And Lucas?"
He explains the state of the colleague member in question, and as he expounds, I watch Anastasia take in the room. I go over to the mini bar, pulling open the door. I gesture toward it, offering her a drink the only way I can right now.
I walk into the bedroom, acknowledging what Harper is saying, but only half-listening now. The details he's talking about aren't really important at this point. I cross the bedroom carpet and go into the bathroom. I turn the taps, beginning to fill the tub. I light a few candles around the perimeter and head back into the front room, where I see Anastasia has helped herself to an orange juice. I approve of the sight of the bottle in her hands. She's had enough alcohol for one evening—for half a week, even. In my books, at least.
"Have Andrea send me the schematics," I tell Harper, "Barney said he cracked the problem."
"Yes, Sir. Will we see you in the office tomorrow?"
I laugh. "No, Friday."
"Doing business in Savannah, Sir?"
"There's a plot of land here that I'm interested in," I explain, which isn't all together untrue. It wasn't, however, the main reason I came. But it has been on my mind the past few weeks.
"Would you like me to have Bill contact you, Sir?" Bill is our real estate associate.
"Yeah, get Bill to call."
"This evening yet, Sir?"
"No, tomorrow. I want to see what Georgia will offer if we move in."
I watch Anastasia fiddle with the orange juice in her hands. I hand her a glass and point to the ice bucket.
I finish the conversation quickly, hang up, and now I can finally focus my attention on Anastasia.
"You didn't answer my question," she tells me softly.
"No. I didn't," I agree. Why is she here? Simply to get an answer to her question?
"No, you didn't answer my question, or no, you didn't love her?"
I cross my arms over my chest and lean back against the wall. I smile at her, deciding not to answer. I kind of like teasing her like this.
"What are you doing here, Anastasia?"
"I've just told you," she answers.
I take in a breath. "No. I didn't love her," I answer and frown at her. Really, this was the only reason—her pure motive for coming all the way up to my hotel room? Just to figure out if I loved Elena or not?
She visibly relaxes.
"You're quite the green-eyed-goddess, Anastasia," I observe. "Who would have thought?"
"Are you making fun of me, Mr. Grey?" she inquires, sassy. One of her eyebrows lifts, and I wonder if she's aware of it.
"I wouldn't dare," I vow, shaking my head slowly back and forth. I hope the entertainment doesn't show through.
"Oh, I think you would," she contradicts, "and I think you do—often."
I smirk at her, unable to bite it back. She's feeding back the words I've said to her. What a smart mouth. I watch her teeth clamp down on her lower lip, and abruptly, lust stirs in my belly. Fuck.
"Please stop biting your lip. You're in my room, I haven't set eyes on you for nearly three days, and I've flown a long way to see you."
My Blackberry vibrates in my pocket, and I switch it off without checking the Caller ID.
Do it again, I beg her silently, Do it again.
I move toward her, watching her face carefully.
"I want you, Anastasia," I tell her honestly, "Now. And you want me. That's why you're here."
"I really did want to know," she breathes.
"Well, now that you do, are you coming or going?"
I'm standing in front of her now, and I watch the blush rise in her cheeks.
"Coming."
"Oh, I hope so," I murmur wickedly. "You were so mad at me," I whisper.
"Yes."
"I don't remember anyone but my family ever being mad at me. I like it," I tell her. I reach up and run my fingers down her cheek, over that beautiful blush. My heart is pounding out of my ribcage. I need to have her.
I crane my neck, running the tip of my nose along her slightly darkened shoulder, up her neck, to the base of her ear, inhaling her scent the entire way, just as I desired to do in the bar downstairs. I weave my fingers into her dark hair, warm, and it smells like sunshine.
"We should talk," she whispers breathlessly.
"Later," I compromise.
"There's so much I want to say," she urges.
"Me, too," I assure her. I kiss her under her ear, in that soft spot where her pulse thuds, her pounding blood warming her skin. I ease her chin up, her head back. I run my teeth softly over her chin, and leave soft, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. Oh, I've missed this…
"I want you."
A breathy moan escapes her lips, and I feel her hands on my arms.
"Are you bleeding?" I ask her, continuing to leave kisses up the other side of her throat. According to my calculations, she should be. I've been counting down the days, honestly. I can't wait to ditch the damn condoms—I want to feel her, all of her, every ridge, every dip, every inch of her body against every inch of my own.
"Yes," she whispers, and I can feel the warmth of her hard blush against the side of my face, my temple.
"Do you have cramps?"
"No."
I pull back and gaze into her eyes. She's embarrassed. She has no reason to be. It's just a little bit of blood, easily cleaned off.
"Did you take your pill?"
"Yes," she answers.
"Let's go have a bath," I suggest.
I sweep my hand down her arm, take her hand, and lead her into the bedroom. I guide her past the bed, and into the bathroom. The sunken bathtub is slowly filling with water.
"Do you have a hair tie?" I ask, turning to her.
She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls one out.
"Put your hair up," I instruct her.
She does, pulling it up into a messy ponytail. A few strands of hair hang loose, sticking to her neck and face, pasted there by the steam rising from the bath.
I turn off the faucet and lead her to the first part of the bathroom—which is separated into two rooms—and to the sink. There is a wall to wall, ceiling to floor mirror behind the sinks.
"Take your sandals off."
She does.
"Lift up your arms," I whisper. As she does, I pull her tank top over her head, realizing she's not wearing a bra. My eyes glued to hers, I undo the top button of her jeans, and the zipper.
"I'm going to have you in the bathroom, Anastasia," I tell her. I lean in to kiss her neck again. It's slightly slick with moisture, the cooling steam from the tub. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and push them over her hips, down her legs—taking her panties along with them.
"Step out of your jeans," I coach her. Anastasia holds on to the edge of the sink for balance, and steps out of her pants.
My face is level with that amazing backside of hers, and I can't help but kiss and nip at it. She gasps loudly at my actions, and I rise behind her. I drink in the sight of her standing naked in front of me, in the mirror.
I bring my hand around, flattening it over her stomach, my fingers and palm nearly covering the entirety of it.
"Feel how soft your skin is," I murmur, taking her hands in mine and moving them in soft, slow circles over her own skin. Then I sweep them up, cupping her breasts in her own hands. "Feel how full your breasts are." Gently, I run my thumbs over her nipples, over and over. They pucker immediately, elongating in response to my touch. Yes, baby, feel me.
She moans softly, and I watch her face in the mirror, the pleasure on her face as she arches her back. Her breasts push into our hands. I pinch her nipples softly between our thumbs, pulling so that they stand even more erect. She groans, her eyes slipping shut.
"That's right, baby," I urge her.
I slide her hands down the sides of her body, over the curve of her waist and the slight widening of her hips, and then over to her bushel of pubic hair. I slip my leg between hers, urging them apart slightly.
I stroke her hands over her sex, one after the other.
Fuck, this is hot. I am so hard, straining against my jeans.
"Look at you glow, Anastasia," I breathe, and kiss up her shoulder, leaving gentle nips along the way. I release her hands, and take a step back, drinking her in.
"Carry on," I tell her.
She grinds her hands into her sex. I watch for a minute, and then I pull my shirt over my head, and remove my jeans.
"You'd rather I do this?" I ask her, gazing intently into her eyes, which are dark with lust, but desperate—for me, I realize.
"Oh, yes… please," she whispers.
I ease my arms around her once more, pulling her soft, warm body against my own—significantly less clothed now. I take her hands again, resuming the stroking over her sex, across her clit, which is already swollen.
She sighs in pleasure, and I bite the nape of her neck, drinking her in. Her hips push into our hands, and I stop, sensing she's getting closer.
I turn her to face me, manacling her hands in one of mine, behind her back.
With the other, I pull her ponytail, securing her head. I pull her flush to my chest, and I kiss her, pouring every ounce of passion I can into her.
My breathing grows faster quickly, uneven and harsh, matching hers.
"When did you start your period, Anastasia?" I ask her.
"Er… yesterday," she answers.
"Good." I let go of her and turn her around. She'll be well lubricated, and the chance of anything… happening, is at an all time low. "Hold on to the sink." She lifts her hands to grip the edge of it, and I grab her hips, dragging them back incrementally, to bend her over.
I reach between her legs, where the string from her tampon dangles, and I ease it out gently. I toss it in the nearby toilet, barely glancing at it. I barely have time to focus on it, because I'm turning back to her now, and thrusting inside of her.
Oh… So good. We are completely together, no barriers, nothing separating us. I can feel every single inch of her against me.
Soon enough, she's pushing her hips back onto me, thrust for thrust, and I move faster. I slip my hand around, finding her clit again, rubbing it, and almost instantly, I can feel her muscles begin to spasm.
"That's right, baby," I almost groan, grinding into her, aiming for that sweet spot inside of her, and it works.
Her muscles clench around me like a vise, and she moans and calls out, as she rides out her orgasm.
I finish soon after, finding my own release, pressing my chest to her back, calling out her name as I come.
"Oh, baby, will I ever get enough of you?" I breathe, spent, completely and absolutely blissful.
I lower the both of us to the floor, my arms around her, holding her close. She leans her head against my chest, and slowly my heart quits pounding, slinking into an easier rhythm. I would like to hold her like this forever. I don't want to move. And so I don't, for now.