Friday, June 10th 2011
.
"So how has your day been?" I ask her on the drive over.
"Good," she replies. "Yours?"
"Good, thank you."
I'm aware that we're both smiling like idiots, but I can't help it. I'm just so glad to have her back. I kiss her hand again.
"You look lovely," I tell her, because it's true. I'm amazed at the difference a day can make.
"As do you."
"Your boss, Jack Hyde, is he good at his job?" I ask her, because I can't hold back anymore. Frankly, I'm not happy that's she's working in such close quarters with him; especially when he's making advances on her like I saw at the bar a few minutes ago.
She frowns. "Why? This isn't about your pissing contest?"
I can't help but smirk at her. She is oh so naive. "That man wants into your panties, Anastasia."
As expected, she turns bright red. Her jaw drops, and she glances at Taylor, who acts as if he hasn't heard a thing.
"Well, he can want all he likes," she snaps. "Why are we even having this conversation? You know I have no interest in him whatsoever. He's just my boss."
The reason we are having this conversation, my dear Anastasia, is so that I can determine whether he's worth anything to SIP-and in turn, worth keeping there.
"That's the point," I push, "He wants what's mine. I need to know if he's good at his job."
Ana shrugs her shoulders. "I think so," she says, but she doesn't sound too convinced either way.
"Well, he'd better leave you alone, or he'll find himself on his ass on the sidewalk."
"Oh, Christian, what are you talking about?" she nearly whines, "He hasn't done anything wrong."
"He makes one move, you tell me," I order her, "It's called gross moral turpitude-or sexual harassment."
"It was just a drink after work," Ana tries to justify.
"I mean it," I push, "One move and he's out." There is no way I'm letting anything happen to my girl she doesn't want coming. There's no way I'm letting that bastard touch what's mine.
"You don't have that kind of power!" Ana cries. In the next second, understanding lights up in her eyes like New Years Eve. "Do you, Christian?"
I smile at her knowingly.
"You're buying the company," she whispers in assumption, and something in her undertone tells me she's not happy about it.
Automatically, I'm cautious and I feel my smile fade. "Not exactly," I tell her. The deal was, technically, made final Tuesday afternoon.
"You've bought SIP. Already." She still sounds horrified.
"Possibly," I say, blinking warily at her. Damn. How is she going to react to this? I was expecting a much warmer reception to the announcement.
"You have or you haven't?" she demands.
"Have," I admit.
"Why?" she gasps, eyes nearly bugging out of her head.
Indignity rises. "Because I can, Anastasia. I need you safe."
"But you said you wouldn't interfere in my career!" she complains.
"And I won't," I promise. Unless it requires keeping you safe, in which point, the promise is moot. My promise to protect her is stronger than the promise to make her happy. That's what it comes down to.
She pulls her hand out of mine. Shit. Now I'm in trouble.
"Christian..." she stammers, lips flapping without words. I've left her speechless.
"Are you mad at me?" I ask her.
"Yes!" she cries, "Of course I'm mad at you! I mean, what kind of responsible business executive makes decisions based on who he is currently fucking?"
For one fucking thing: I am not irresponsible. And two: I am not just 'currently fucking' Anastasia. I loathe when she says that, and it makes me mad.
I open my mouth to argue, but it falls shut again without words. I only scowl at her in distaste. I really don't want to fight; I want to fuck, and so I bite my tongue. She scowls right back at me.
We stay this way until, a couple minutes later, we arrive at her apartment building.
Before I can get out and open her door for her, she pops it open herself and struggles her way out of the car.
"I think you'd better wait here," I say to Taylor, "If she lets me in, bring the Audi tonight, will you?"
"Yes, Sir."
I follow her to the door, where she's digging through her purse for her keys.
"Anastasia."
She exhales sharply and turns toward me. Now is the time to explain, and suck up, like a typical boyfriend.
"First, I haven't fucked you for a while-a long while, it feels-and second, I wanted to get into publishing." Eventually. "Of the four companies in Seattle, SIP is the most profitable, but it's on the cusp and it's going stagnate-it needs to branch out." These are things I heard in the meeting a few days ago with Ros, when I decided to go ahead and make an offer on it anyway. They would have been imbeciles not to accept.
She doesn't say a word, only glares at me. God, she looks hot when she's mad. The blue in her eyes has hardened into ice.
"So you're my boss now," she finally barks, arms folded over her chest, keys forgotten for now.
"Technically, I'm your boss's boss's boss," I correct her.
"And, technically, it's gross moral turpitude-the fact that I am fucking my boss's boss's boss," she adds.
"At the moment, you're arguing with him."
"That's because he's such an ass," she spits at me.
Abruptly, I'm shocked, and damn right amused.
"An ass?"
"Yes," she snaps, and I can see her anger slipping.
"An ass?" I repeat, dubious. My own lips begin to turn up at the corners, no matter how hard I fight them.
"Don't make me laugh when I am mad at you!" she yells at me.
I can't help it anymore-I grin like a lunatic, laughing. Her composure breaks too, and her giggle choruses like sweet, sweet bells around us. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
"Just because I have a stupid damn grin on my face doesn't mean I'm not mad as hell at you," she gasps through her laughter.
I lean closer, reveling in the moment. I nuzzle her nose with my hair, inhaling the scent of it.
"As ever, Miss Steele, you are unexpected. So are you going to let me in, or am I to be sent packing for exercising my democratic right as an American citizen, entrepreneur, and consumer to purchase whatever I damn well please?" My lips twitch in response to my own ingenious humor.
"Have you spoken to Dr. Flynn about this?" she asks.
I can't help but laugh. "Are you going to let me in or not, Anastasia?"
She stares at me, stone faced, biting her lip to hold down the smile, and turns toward the door, finally pulling out her keys to unlock it.
As she turns the key in the padlock, I turn and wave at Taylor, and he pulls away from the curb.
I follow Anastasia through the lobby and into the elevator. Once we're in her apartment, I look around appreciatively. For such a small space, they've done well with it. But it really is too small. I feel caged in as I pace the living room.
"Nice place," I tell her.
"Kate's parents bought it for her," she reports.
I nod, only half-listening. What I'm really focused on is how I'm going to get her to beg. There's something heady about knowing we'd be the first ones to 'break the apartment in' as sorts.
I turn my eyes on hers, and I know the lust I'm feeling is conveyed in my gaze.
"Er..." she stammers, staring back at me, "Would you like a drink?" Her cheeks pink, nervous.
"No thank you, Anastasia." Just a tall glass of you, please. Now beg. "What would you like to do, Anastasia?" I ask, beginning to stalk toward her. I feel drunk on her, alive and buzzing. My blood is humming through my veins, bubbly like champagne. "I know what I want to do."
As I approach her, she steps backwards until she hits the concrete kitchen island. She rests her hands on the top, as if to steady herself. Her blue eyes are swimming, unfocused, dazzled.
"I'm still mad at you." But her voice holds no conviction, so I know it's not true.
"I know," I say anyway, and give her my best charming smile.
"Would you like something to eat?" she asks.
Slowly, I nod. "Yes. You." Mmm... The taste of divine Miss Anastasia Steele... Oh, I want her. Here. Now. On top of the kitchen island.
I stop in front of her, leaving just enough space between us so we're not touching, and I stare down into those gorgeous eyes of hers. Depthless and open, completely receptive. And chock-full of lust.
"Have you eaten today?" I ask her. The question comes automatically. As much as I'd like to ignore it and get on to the main course of sorts, I need her strong and with stamina.
"I had a sandwich at lunch," she breathes.
Begrudgingly, I narrow my eyes. "You need to eat."
"I'm really not hungry right now... For food," she tells me.
Frankly, neither am I. "What are you hungry for, Miss Steele?" I urge her. C'mon, Ana, I'm making this really easy for you.
"I think you know, Mr. Grey."
I lean down, until our lips are just a mere inch apart. I can feel her breath on my face, and the heat radiating off of her. She's so damn hot.
"Do you want me to kiss you, Anastasia?" I ask her.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
Hmm. Getting there. But not close enough.
"You're going to have to be a bit more specific than that," I murmur, "I told you I am not going to touch you until you beg me and tell me what to do."
"Please," she whispers, and the word makes me smile.
"Please what?"
"Touch me."
"Where, baby?"
In the next moment, she surprises me, throws me off guard, by reaching up with her hands.
Shit!
"No, no," I say, and thank the Lord, my voice sounds even, controlled, as I step back, heart pounding. Fuck. That was too close.
"What?" She looks lost and forlorn.
"No." I shake my head at her, still reeling, still recovering. I let my guard down too far; I'd gotten used to not having to be careful about her touching me. Through the panic and the fear, there's another turmoil of emotions-emotions I'm not quite sure what to make of. Part of me wants her to touch me.
"Not at all?" It pains me to hear the want in her voice.
Not at all... I mull the words over in my head. Well, no. Maybe not at all. In the past we've-she steps toward me, and automatically, I take another step back, hands flying up in front of me, palms forward in defense.
I make sure to keep smiling.
"Look, Ana," I warn her, and then I trail off, not knowing how to explain. What the hell is happening to me?
I turn away from her and rake a hand through my hair, causing it to stand on end. Fuck me and all my goddamn issues.
"Sometimes you don't mind," she implores. "Perhaps I should find a marker pen, and we could map out the no-go areas."
I raise an eyebrow. "That's not a bad idea. Where's your bedroom?"
She juts her chin in its direction.
"Have you been taking your pill?" It suddenly occurs to me to ask her.
Her face blanks, eyes going wide. Honestly, it doesn't surprise me, but it disappoints me all the same. If she'd forgotten to eat, how the hell was she going to remember to take her birth control pills?
"No."
"I see." So the damn condoms are back then. I press my lips together. "Come, let's have something to eat," I suggest.
"I thought we were going to bed!" she complains, "I want to go to bed with you."
"I know, baby," I say, smiling at her. I can't help it. She's so adorable. Suddenly, playful, I scurry toward her, manacling her wrists and pulling her into my arms. We are suddenly flush, chest to chest.
"You need to eat and so do I. Besides... Anticipation is the key to seduction, and right now, I'm really into delayed gratification."
"I'm seduced and I want my gratification now," she protests. "I'll beg, please."
I smile at her. "Eat. You're too slender." I plant a kiss on her forehead and let her go.
She turns baleful, regretful eyes on me. "I'm still mad that you bought SIP, and now I'm mad at you because you're making me wait." She sticks her bottom lip out in a pout.
"You are one angry little madam, aren't you?" I tease. "You'll feel better after a good meal."
"I know what I'll feel better after," she counters.
"Anastasia Steele, I'm shocked," I goad her.
"Stop teasing me," she begs, "You don't fight fair."
I try to muffle my grin by chomping down on my lower lip, like she's done in the past. We gaze at each other for a couple of moments.
"I could cook something," she offers, "except we'll have to go shopping."
I'm confused. "Shopping?"
"For groceries," she clarifies.
"You have no food here?" I say, horror and antagonism putting a damper on my before-playful mood. She's been eating even less than I thought! Fuck!
Anastasia has the decency to look ashamed as she shakes her head.
"Let's go shopping, then."
.
"You look very domestic," Anastasia comments when we've returned from our walk to the supermarket-as she no longer has a car, and Taylor hasn't arrived with the Audi yet.
I set the bags on the counter. "No one has ever accused me of that before."
I watch her unload the bags for a moment, admiring her easy grace around the kitchen, the sway of her hips. Oh, lord, that ass in those jeans...
To distract myself-we need to eat first-I pull out the bottle of white wine I picked up and go looking for a corkscrew.
"This place is still new to me. I think the opener is in that drawer there," she coaches, pointing with her chin, as her hands are full of food. Something I like to see.
I open the drawer she's directed me to and find the corkscrew. I take it out and open the wine. I find two glasses and half-fill them.
Again, I find my gaze straying to her, as she puts food away, that little pucker between her eyebrows. She's lost in thought about something.
I step over to the couch to take my jacket off. It's warm in here.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask her.
She glances over at me. "How little I know you."
Au, contrair, Miss Steele. "You know me better than anyone," I tell her.
"I don't think that's true," she says, and if I'm not mistaken, there's a hint of bitterness in her voice.
"It is, Anastasia. I'm a very, very private person." If only she knew how much I've shared with her, compared to how little I share with everyone else.
I pick up a wine glass and pass it to her.
"Cheers."
"Cheers," she returns, and takes a sip as I slip the bottle into the still-very-empty fridge.
As I turn, shutting the refrigerator door, I watch her busy herself with some of the ingredients atop the island. She looks absolutely effortless, and though I've never cooked a thing in my life, I ask if I can help.
"No, it's fine," she says, "Sit."
"I'd like to help," I push, and I realize, with a frisson of shock, that I actually do. I've always hated cooking, but there's something about watching Ana in the kitchen that makes me want to come alongside her and participate.
"You can chop the vegetables," she offers.
"I don't cook," I warn her, eyeing the knife she holds out to me. Oh, here we go. Watch me chop off a finger.
"I imagine you don't need to." She pulls out a board and places it in front of me. She piles a couple red peppers on it. I stare at the complex vegetables. How do I begin to chop these things?
"You've never chopped a vegetable?" she asks after a moment.
"No."
She leers at me.
"Are you smirking at me?"
"It appears this is something that I can do and you can't," she says, "Let's face it, Christian, I think this is a first. Here, I'll show you."
She steps closer, brushing up against me, her bare arm against mine, exposed by the rolled up sleeves of my shirt.
"Like this," she instructs. I watch her slice the top off the pepper, and pull out a ton of tiny little seeds. Boy, what a nuisance. Most of them come out in one big chunk, though.
"Looks simple enough," I say once she's sliced the remaining part of the pepper into matchsticks.
"You shouldn't have any trouble with it," she mumbles.
I stare at her for a moment, and then turn toward the board, to start on the next pepper. Meticulously, I remove the top as she had, but in the process, I slice the gathering of seeds in half, and they go everywhere. Damn. It takes me a couple minutes to scoop the escaped seeds out and set them aside.
Once that's done, I start to slice them, careful to keep them uniform, but mostly avoiding cutting the tips of my fingers off.
As I start, she slips past, her hip skating against me. I still when it happens, trying to calm the raging hormones inside me.
As she moves about the kitchen, working on the chicken I think, she continues to brush against me with various parts of her body: her hands, her back, her breasts...
"I know what you're doing, Anastasia," I say at last, my voice roughened by lust. I'm trying to focus on this damned pepper, which I'm not even halfway through yet, and she keeps distracting me.
"I think it's called cooking," she says, acting all innocent, batting her eyelashes at me.
Oh, you minx.
She comes to stand beside me with another knife, chopping up garlic, shallots and French beans in quick, efficient succession. Meanwhile, I'm just finishing up the first pepper.
"You're quite good at this," I tell her, pulling the third pepper toward me.
"Chopping?" She flutters her lashes at me. "Years of practice." And just when I'm not expecting it, she brushes her delectable behind against me. I can't help but freeze, my cock twitching.
Simmer down, boy.
"If you do that again, Anastasia, I am going to take you on the kitchen floor," I warn her. I've had about enough. My blood is pumping double time through my veins and I've gone hard and soft again enough times to make me insane.
"You'll have to beg me first," she says, casually.
Oh ho ho. I see. This is a game.
"Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe."
I put down my knife and move over to her, where she stands in front of the stove. I lean toward and past her, shutting off the gas. The oil, which was spitting and hissing in the pan, goes quiet.
"I think we'll eat later. Put the chicken in the fridge."
She regards me for an instant, barely, and then picks up the bowl, placing a plate on top of it. I don't miss that her hands are shaking. Mine are too.
She puts it in the fridge and shuts the door.
"So you're going to beg?" she asks, turning to me, staring straight into my eyes. Only Anastasia can look like a seductress, and totally coy, in the same expression. It's arousing.
"No, Anastasia." I shake my head. "No begging."
Not once have I caved to another woman's actions, except for when I'm with Anastasia. This is what I mean about having no control around her. Things hardly ever go my way, and the strange thing is that I'm okay with it. More than okay. I find myself enjoying it a lot of the time.
It could also have something to do with the fact that she's simply irresistible.
I grip her hips now, dragging her toward me. In an instant, her hands are in my hair and our mouths meld. I shove her up against the fridge, noting the rattle of bottles inside, and then my tongue finds hers. Hers meets mine with fervor, battling for dominance. She moans against my mouth as I pull on her hair, yanking her head back slightly.
"What do you want, Anastasia?" I whisper.
"You."
"Where?"
"Bed."
Part of me was hoping she'd say here, on the floor, or against the fridge, but then, her bedroom is only a few steps away. I break the kiss, stooping to lift her into my arms, and turn, heading for the bedroom.
Beside the bed, I set her down and turn on the lamp. I glance around the room. All the furniture is the same as it was in the last apartment, just in varying positions. I cross to the window and pull the cream curtains shut.
Languidly, I turn to face her.
"Now what?"
.
Oh, I am vicious leaving it at that! Until next time, my lovelies! Thank you so much for your continued devotion through this time. I truly want to sincerely apologize for taking so, inexusably long to update. I'm just thankful so many of you have stuck around and waited so patiently. I honestly only got two reviews over the last couple of months asking me to update soon. I am so grateful for that.
I'm even more grateful for your reviews and favorites and follows! Thank you so much!
I have so much fun writing from Christian's POV!
Until next time, my loves! xoxo