Thursday, June 2 2011 – 4:30 am
.
My Blackberry buzzes, rousing me from the most soundless, peaceful sleep I've had in three days.
I turn off the alarm, glancing at the clock. It's twenty after five in the morning. I lay in bed next to Anastasia, who sleeps blissfully next to me. She's so warm, her bare skin against mine, and I never want to get up.
Alas, I force myself from bed. I brush my teeth and dress in sweats and a t-shirt.
This morning, we're going gliding, and I am so thrilled to be showing Anastasia what it's all about.
I head down to the hotel gym, to get a quick workout on the treadmill in. It's five to five when I get back upstairs. I shower and dress for the gliding endeavor.
I go back into the bedroom, where Anastasia is still sleeping. In the half hour I've been gone, she's shifted her weight across the mattress, stretching across the space where I've been sleeping. I can't help but grin at the sight of her figure, tangled in the white sheet, dim in the darkness of the room.
I pull a pair of my boxers from my bag, toss it on top of her clothes, which sit on the chair by the bed, and lean over to murmur in her ear.
"Anastasia."
She moans in response, turning her ear away from me. In the process, she accidentally offers me her other ear.
"Come on, baby," I urge her, "Wake up."
I nuzzle her ear with my nose. "Wake up, baby."
"Oh… no," she groans, and I pull back to see that her eyes have flickered open.
"Time to get up, baby," I tell her, "I'm going to switch on the sidelight."
"No," she moans.
"I want to chase the dawn with you." I lean over her, leaving soft kisses over her eyelids, her nose, her mouth. Her eyes have closed again, but now they're open once more. "Good morning, beautiful."
She groans again, and I grin. "You are not a morning person."
She squints up at me.
"I thought you wanted sex," she tells me, her voice is still groggy and thick with sleep.
"Anastasia, I always want sex with you. It's heartwarming to know that you feel the same," I tell her, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
Eventually, her eyes widen, adjusting to the invasion of light.
"Of course I do, just not when it's so late," she says.
"It's not late, it's early. Come on—up you go," I urge. "We're going out. I'll take a rain check on the sex."
"I was having such a nice dream," she complains.
"Dream about what?" I inquire.
"You," she says, and blushes.
Hmm… "What was I doing this time?"
"Trying to feed me strawberries," she answers.
Humor quirks my lips up. "Dr. Flynn could have a field day with that. Up—get dressed. Don't bother to shower, we can do that later."
I give her space, and she sits up. As she does, the sheet falls away, revealing her body. In the subdued light of the sidelight, she looks edible. I feel my body responding, but I force my reactions down.
Later, I promise myself.
"What time is it?" she inquires.
"Five thirty in the morning."
"Feels like three a.m.," she says.
"We don't have much time. I let you sleep as long as possible. Come," I urge her. Now that she's awake, the excitement is unfurling into a more potent, visceral feeling inside me. Something like birds beat their wings against the walls of my stomach. I am so excited.
Anastasia smiles at me. "What are we doing?"
"It's a surprise. I told you."
Her smile widens into a grin. "Okay," she says easily, climbing off the mattress. She walks naked over to the chair by the bed, where her clothes lie—along with a pair of my underwear. She slides them up over her hips, and I grin at her. She looks sexy in my underwear.
"I'll give you some room now that you're up," I say, and leave the bedroom, heading into the living area to check my e-mails and update myself on the stocks. My usual morning routine.
In the other room, I hear the shower start up, and I roll my eyes. I told her not to shower. She'd better be quick.
Before I can head back and stop her, there is a knock on the door.
"Room service," a timid voice calls through quietly.
I allow the boy in. He leaves our food, I give him a tip, and by the time I sit down to start eating, the shower has turned off. Good.
A couple minutes later, Anastasia appears in the doorway, dressed and clean-looking. Her hair is still damp, as always.
"Eat," I offer upon seeing her.
She just stares at me.
"Anastasia," I snap, and she blinks, seeming to come back to the present. I'm excited, but I'm also abruptly anxious. I don't want to be late, and I want her to approve. The best way of finding out whether she's going to like this or not, is just getting around to doing it already.
Shit, why am I so nervous, all of a sudden?
"I'll have some tea," she bargains, "Can I take a croissant for later?"
I stare at her, and she gives me a candy-sweet smile.
"Don't rain on my parade, Anastasia," I warn her.
"I will eat later when my stomach's woken up," she promises, "About seven thirty a.m…. Okay?"
"Okay," I relent.
She appraises me for a moment, and then says, "I want to roll my eyes at you."
"By all means do, and you will make my day."
Her eyes turn up to the ceiling, not quite rolling, but close. I feel my own eyes narrow in response.
"Well, a spanking would wake me up, I suppose," she says quietly, almost musing to herself.
I can't help it—my mouth falls open in absolute shock.
"On the other hand, I don't want you to be all hot and bothered; the climate here is warm enough," she continues, shockingly cavalier.
I very purposefully shut my mouth, try very hard to appear peeved, but I know I'm failing. I'm trying not to laugh. My Anastasia, and that smart mouth of hers.
"You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele. Drink your tea."
She sits across from me obediently.
I finish my breakfast and she drinks her weak tea.
Once we're finished, we head out of the hotel room. In the doorway, I toss a sweatshirt at Anastasia, noting that all she wears is that green tank top.
"You'll need this," I tell her.
She just looks at me, confused.
"Trust me," I say, leaning over and kissing her briefly. I take her hand, and we step out of the room. I lock the door behind us, and we head down in the elevator.
Out front, the valet hands me the keys to an Audi A3 Cabriolet. She's beautiful.
Anastasia arches one of her softly feathered brows at me, and I smirk at her.
"You know, sometimes it's great being me."
.
As we zip down the streets of Savannah, Anastasia scrolls through my iPod playlist. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, noting that pucker between her brows as she concentrates.
She decides on a song, and I am surprised when the too-loud techno, club beat bursts through the speakers. Immediately, I'm reaching for the volume knob. It's too early to play this kind of music so loudly.
"'Toxic', eh?" I ask her, recognizing Britney Spears's song at once, grinning at her.
"I don't know what you mean," she says, faking virtue almost to a tee. I don't believe any of it.
I nudge the volume down a couple more notches.
"I didn't put that song on my iPod," I tell her inconspicuously, not really sure why I feel the need to say it, but there it is. I push the pedal down as we merge onto the nearly empty freeway.
Anastasia doesn't say anything, and the song plays on between us. Finally, it ends, and switches to a Damien Rice song.
When I glance over, she's staring out her window, clearly troubled.
"It was Leila," I relent, unable to handle how distraught she looks.
"Leila?" she asks.
"An ex, who put the song on my iPod," I explain.
She tries to hide her stunned expression, but I catch it, even out of my periphery, as I try to focus on the road.
"One of the fifteen?"
"Yes."
"What happened to her?" she inquires.
"We finished," I say simply, thinking back to that day. I shudder internally at the memory. She was so upset, so many tears. I feel awful now, but at the time I felt… Nothing.
"Why?"
"She wanted more," I say.
"And you didn't?"
I shake my head back and forth. "I've never wanted more, until I met you," I tell her honestly, simply.
I hear her draw in a quick breath, a gasp.
"What happened to the other fourteen?" she asks.
"You want a list?" I tease, "Divorced, beheaded, died?"
"You're not Henry VIII."
"Okay," I relent, "In no particularly order, I've only had long-term relationships with four women, apart from Elena."
"Elena?" she questions.
"Mrs. Robinson to you." I smirk. It makes her sound so old. I chuckle internally, thinking of her reaction.
"What happened to the four?" Anastasia pushes.
"So inquisitive, so eager for information, Miss Steele," I chide her, but I'm in a good mood, so I'm mostly joking.
"Oh, Mr. When Is Your Period Due?" she retorts.
"Anastasia—a man needs to know these things," I defend myself.
"Does he?"
"I do."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to get you pregnant."
"Neither do I!" she cries, "Well, not for a few years yet."
I'm unexpectedly startled by her question, freezing, and then blinking at the onslaught of panic. It leaves a metallic tinge in my mouth. I force composure quickly, having no idea how she'll take the fact that I would never willingly bring a child into the world. I'll do anything I can to stop it.
"So the other four, what happened?" she asks, continuing on as if she hasn't just witnessed my reaction.
"One met someone else. The other three wanted… more." I use Anastasia's word for it. "I wasn't in the market for more then."
"And the others?"
I glance at her, shaking my head fleetingly. "Just didn't work out."
A moment of quiet falls, and Anastasia is gazing out her window again, in the side mirror. In the rear view, I can see the sun rising. The dawn is chasing us.
"Where are we headed?" she inquires.
"An airfield," I surrender.
"We're not going back to Seattle, are we?" she says, clearly startled.
I can't help but laugh at her sudden terror. "No, Anastasia, we're going to indulge in my second favorite pastime."
"Second?" she asks, her lips turning down at the corners in confusion.
"Yep. I told you my favorite this morning."
She gazes at me, still frowning.
"Indulging in you, Miss Steele. That's got to be top of my list. Any way I can get you."
.
I park and turn off the engine.
"You up for this?" I ask her. She's still processing my revelation.
"You're flying?" she asks.
"Yes."
"Yes, please!" she cries, excited now, with abandon.
I grin at her enthrallment. It unbridles the excitement inside of me and I lean across the console to kiss her.
"Another first, Miss Steele." I pop open my door and climb out of the car, onto the dusty gravel. I round the hood and pull her door open, admiring the view. Not only the gorgeous pearly pink sheen of the sky, but the sight of Anastasia, standing in its radiant glow.
I take her hand in mine and lead her around the building, to the tarmac. Waiting there, as promised, is Taylor.
I watch Anastasia grin at him, and he casts her a polite smile.
"Mr. Grey, this is your tow pilot, Mr. Mark Benson," Taylor introduces us. I take his outstretched hand and we shake firmly.
"How's the wind today?" I ask.
"Pretty ideal, Mr. Grey. Coming from the South East, at about 30 miles per hour. It should be a good flight."
"Perfect. Allow me to introduce you." I turn to Anastasia, who is standing with Taylor. "Anastasia, come," I summon, holding out my hand. She walks quickly to my side.
"Mr. Benson, this is my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele."
"Pleased to meet you," she tells Benson as they shake hands.
He grins at her. "Likewise."
Benson leads us across the tarmac, out onto the runway. As we walk closer to the waiting airplane, the excitement mounts. I'm about to take Anastasia gliding!
"We'll be in a Blanik L-23," Benson informs me as we walk, "which is much better than the L-13, although this is open to debate. I'll be flying the Piper Pawnee. I've been flying tail draggers for about five years now. I can assure you, you and your girlfriend will be in good hands, Mr. Grey."
"Great. That's wonderful to hear, Mr. Benson."
We arrive at the plane, and Benson pops open the glass top for us.
"First we need to strap on your parachute," he says.
"I'll do that," I interject, taking the harness from Benson.
"I'll fetch some ballast," he says easily, and heads over to the plane.
"You like strapping me into things." I don't miss the sarcasm in Anastasia's tone.
"Miss Steele, you have no idea," I murmur. "Here," I say, holding them open, "step into the straps."
She does, and her arm falls on my shoulder. Immediately, I tense, my muscles locking. I don't know if I could move even if I wanted to.
Chill, Christian. It's just for balance.
Once her feet are situated, I pull the parachute up, and she slips her arms through the shoulder straps. I fasten and tighten everything easily.
"There, you'll do. Do you have your hair tie from yesterday?"
She nods her head. "You want me to put my hair up?"
"Yes." I examine it. It's mostly dried now.
She pulls it up, away from her face, and fastens it with the hair tie.
"In you go," I coach, and she climbs up, making to sit in the back seat.
"No, front," I correct her, "The pilot sits in the back."
"But won't you be able to see?" she asks, as if my information is in jeopardy.
"I'll see plenty," I assure her, grinning.
Without another word, she sinks down into the front seat. I lean over her, buckling her in.
"Hmm, twice in one morning, I am a lucky man." I kiss her quickly. "This won't take long—twenty, thirty minutes at most. Thermals aren't great this time of morning, but it's so breathtaking up there at this hour. I hope you're not nervous."
"Excited," she says, cheerful.
"Good," I say, beaming at her. I caress her face quickly, unable to help myself, and then I strap myself in behind her.
Benson comes over and tugs on Anastasia's straps, making sure she's secure. I bite back my possessive rage at the sight of him so close to her.
"Yep, that's secure," he confirms. "First time?" he asks her.
"Yes," she answers.
"You'll love it," he assures her.
"Thanks, Mr. Benson."
"Call me Mark." He turns to me now. "Okay?"
"Yep. Let's go," I tell him.
Benson shuts the cockpit lid, and heads over to the plane, climbing in.
The Piper's propeller starts to spin, and Mark beings to taxi down the runway.
My heart is pounding in my chest. I am unbelievably excited, and I wish I could see Anastasia's face right now.
The cable tightens between us, and as it reaches its limit, we bolt forward suddenly.
Mark is talking to the tower, and we're picking up speed now. We bump along the runway, and then suddenly, we're flying.
My stomach drops in that familiar way as we take off, the ground dropping away from underneath us.
"Here we go, baby!" I call out excitedly as we rise into the air.
The Piper's engine hums distantly, the wind roaring past us. I note that Anastasia is gripping her seat with both hands; she's holding on so hard that her knuckles are white and I grin at the sight.
The Piper banks to the west, heading inland, over empty fields of purple and green and lovely hues of gold, over dense bushels of dark green forest. Over sparsely spaced homes, and then houses clustered closer together as we fly closer to the Interstate. We cross over the highway.
Above us, the sky gleams, the most gorgeous thing in the world, aside from Anastasia.
Mr. Benson takes us higher, and I open my jaw wider to clear my ears as they pop in response to the altitude gain. I watch as the ground grows smaller and smaller beneath us. We must be getting close now.
The radio crackles.
"We're at three thousand feet," Benson informs us.
"Release," I say into the radio.
Something like helium fills the entire cavity of my body as our line is severed, and then we're floating over Georgia, just us two.
I take hold of the joy stick, and the glider panels and turns to the right as the wing catches the wind and dips. We are spinning toward the sun, around and around, and I am on fire. I am alive with pure sensation, and Anastasia is in it with me.
"Hold on tight!" I scream. I turn the stick, and we slope again, but this time I don't right the plane. We turn head over heels, upside down.
Anastasia screams, a loud, girlish sound, her arms flinging out, hands pressed against the glass of the cockpit, instinctively.
I am howling with laughter, most of it just pure adrenaline. She's loving it! I am so thrilled that she's loving it.
I turn us back over.
"I'm glad I didn't have breakfast!" she calls to me.
"Yes, in hindsight, it's good you didn't, because I'm going to do that again."
I turn us belly up once more, and she giggles loudly. The sound is like music to my ears, and I'm beaming from ear to ear.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" I shout her way.
"Yes," she agrees.
We swoop through the air, a sudden peace falling over me, in the midst of all the chaos and adrenaline.
"See the joystick in front of you?" I shout her way. "Grab hold."
She hesitates.
"Go on, Anastasia," I urge, "Grab it."
When she takes hold, I feel the resistance on my end, and I let go.
"Hold tight… keep it steady," I coach, "See the middle dial in front? Keep the needle dead center."
She does amazingly well, the needle barely veering.
"Good girl," I congratulate her.
"I am amazed you let me take control," she yells.
Me, too.
"You'd be amazed what I'd let you do, Miss Steele," I shout to her, "Back to me now."
I take hold of the joystick once more, and send us spiraling toward the ground.
"BMA, this is BG N Papa Three Alpha, entering left downwind runway seven to the grass, BMA."
The tower sends their consent.
I take us in a wide circle, slowing us slightly as we get closer and closer to the ground. The airport, the landing strips, the fields, the Interstate, they're all growing clearer, bigger, again.
"Hang on, baby," I warn her, "This can get bumpy."
We circle once more, and then we're on the ground, sailing across a field. My landing is quite smooth, though still bumpy. I keep my jaw clenched as we sail along the ground, still flying over the grass, gradually slow, and then finally come to a halt.
As the plane's equilibrium is redistributed, it wavers slightly, and then pitches to the right, coming to a stand still.
I open my jaw again to clear my ears, unbuckle myself, pop open the cockpit lid, and climb out. I stretch my limbs indulgently, reveling in the after effect of the flight. The high, fuzzy feeling which wraps around me like a quilt.
"How was that?" I ask her, bending over the release her from her restraints.
"That was extraordinary," she barely breathes, "Thank you."
"Was it more?" I inquire, and I'm surprised by my own question. All along, I suppose this was what I was hoping for. Showing her this side of me is more, right?
"Much more," she whispers, her eyes wide and taken, the blue in her irises sparking with excited electricity.
My heart soars at her acknowledgment.
"Come." I hold out my hand and she takes it. I help her out of the cockpit, down on to the grass beside me.
As soon as she's on her feet, I pull her to me tightly. I knot my hand in her hair, pulling her head back so that I have access to her lips, and I kiss her with all that I have.
I am so turned on right now—I can feel my body responding, but this was all I hoped it would be and more. I am on cloud nine right now, on top of the world.
Anastasia responds immediately, her fingers weaving themselves into my own hair.
Finally, I force myself to pull back, gazing down at her. Her skin looks marvelous in the early morning light. Dewy and golden.
"Breakfast," I whisper.
I turn, keeping her hand, and we head back toward the car.
"What about the glider?" Anastasia inquires as I pull her away from it.
"Someone will take care of that," I say. "We'll eat now. Come."
.
"I like that you introduced me to Mark as your girlfriend," Anastasia says when we are just around the corner from IHOP.
"Isn't that what you are?" I ask her, lifting an eyebrow. Honestly, submissive has never suited her, and I'm not sure it ever will.
"Am I?" she asks, "I thought you wanted a submissive."
"So did I, Anastasia, and I do. But I've told you, I want more, too." I feel very vulnerable, saying the words, but they're true, all of them. I'm taken by the intensity of the truth emanating in my words.
"I'm very happy that you want more," she's whispering again.
"We aim to please, Miss Steele," I goad as I pull into the pancake house's parking lot.
"IHOP," she observes, surprised, grinning at me.
"A guilty pleasure of mine," I indulge her, and switch off the ignition.
.
"I would never have pictured you here," Anastasia says as we slip into the booth the hostess has directed us to.
"My dad used to bring us to one of these whenever my mom went away to a medical conference. It was our secret." I smile at her, and then pick up a menu, sweeping my hand absentmindedly through my hair as I read through the selections.
"I know what I want," I murmur, aware my voice sounds very low, as I admire the way she reads over her menu, chewing on that lip.
She peeks up at me, and almost immediately, her face changes, her lips parting.
"I want what you want," she breathes.
I gasp. "Here?"
Very slowly, almost on purpose it seems, she bites down on her lip again.
"Don't bite your lip. Not here, not now. If I can't have you here, don't tempt me."
"Hi," the waitress says as she approaches, making me jump, "I'm Leandra. What can I get for you… er… folks… er, today, this mornin'…?"
I ignore the way the waitress flushes, taking me in, and stare across at Anastasia.
"Anastasia?"
She swallows. "I told you, I want what you want."
Oh shit. Now this is a game. And it's turning me on a hell of a lot more than I thought it would. Underneath the table, my cock stirs in my pants.
The waitress glances back and forth between us.
"Shall I give you folks another minute to decide?" she asks.
"No. We know what we want," I tell her. "We'll have two portions of the original buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup and bacon on the side, two glasses of orange juice, one black coffee with skim milk, and one English breakfast tea, if you have it." I say all of this without even looking at the waitress. My eyes are glued to Anastasia.
"Thank you, sir. Will that be all?" she asks.
At the same time, each of our gazes turns to the waitress. To my surprise, she's bright red. Without another word, she turns and heads back toward the kitchen.
"You know, it's really not fair," Anastasia says.
"What's not fair?" I inquire. I'm lost.
"How you disarm people. Women. Me."
"Do I disarm you?"
She snorts humorlessly. "All the time."
"It's just looks, Anastasia," I brush her off.
"No, Christian," she contradicts me, "It's much more than that."
I feel my eyebrows knit together. "You disarm me totally, Miss Steele. Your innocence. It cuts through all the crap."
"Is that why you've changed your mind?" she inquires.
"Changed my mind?" I'm confused again.
"Yes—about… er… us?"
Deep in thought, I brush my fingers over my chin, while I assemble my thoughts.
Finally, "I don't think I've changed my mind per se. We just need to redefine our parameters, redraw our battle lines, if you will. We can make this work, I'm sure. I want you submissive in my playroom. I will punish you if you digress from the rules. Other than that… well, I think it's all up for discussion. Those are my requirements, Miss Steele. What say you to that?"
"So I get to sleep with you? In your bed?" she asks.
"Is that what you want?"
"Yes."
"I agree then. Besides, I sleep very well when you're in my bed. I had no idea." I still can't get over it. She's like my own personal dream catcher, chasing away all my nightmares.
"I was frightened you'd leave me if I didn't agree to all of it," she admits in a low voice.
"I'm not going anywhere, Anastasia," I vow. "Besides… we're following your advice, your definition: compromise. You e-mailed it to me. And so far, it's working for me." Very surprisingly.
"I love that you want more," she says, and she's shy again.
"I know," I tell her.
"How do you know?"
"Trust me, I just do." I smirk at her.
Our waitress returns then, with our food and drinks. She sets everything down in front of us, and then she's gone.
I watch with insane pleasure as Anastasia devours nearly everything in sight.
"Can I treat you?" she asks me when we're done.
"Treat me how?" I inquire, confused.
"Pay for this meal."
I snort. "I don't think so."
"Please," she begs, "I want to."
My lips turn down in disapproval. "Are you trying to completely emasculate me?"
"This is probably the only place that I'll be able to afford to pay," she reasons.
"Anastasia, I appreciate the thought. I do. But no."
Her lips purse. She's clearly displeased.
"Don't scowl," I warn her.
The waitress returns, as if on cue. I pay, and we leave.
.
"Do you want to come in?" Anastasia asks when I pull up in front of her mother's house. It's very quaint, small, but in desperate need of a paint job.
"I need to work, Anastasia, but I'll be back this evening. What time?"
"Thank you… for the more," she says, and I can hear that she sounds glum. But I really do need to get some work done.
"My pleasure, Anastasia." I kiss her indulgently.
"I'll see you later," she says.
"Try to stop me."
She climbs out, and I pull away from the curb.
I drive all the way back to the hotel in silence, lost in my thoughts about this morning.
More… I seem to be figuring it out, and I couldn't be happier.