Sunday, June 12 2011 - midday
.
"Mr. Grey! What can I get you this afternoon?" Dante, behind the bar, greets me as I lead Ana into SP's Place, on the marina. I figured we'd eat lunch here before sailing, because it's where I always eat lunch before sailing. They serve good food here, a lot of fresh seafood, and the service is always spectacular.
"Dante, good afternoon," I tell him, smiling easily, as we slide onto two bar stools. "This lovely lady is Anastasia Steele," I introduce him.
"Welcome to SP's Place," he tells her, smiling at her in what I hope is merely a friendly way. "What would you like to drink, Anastasia?"
She glances over at me, expecting me to interject right away, I think, and I remember, for the second time today, that she may want a say in the matter. The concept of allowing her to take the reigns is unfamiliar, still. Hopefully I get used to it as time goes on, because she seems to enjoy my letting her.
"Please, call me Ana," she says, "and I'll have whatever Christian's drinking."
Her response is, as ever, surprising.
"I'm going to have a beer," I tell her, realizing that I don't know whether she likes beer or not, "This is the only bar in Seattle where you can get Adnams Explorer."
"A beer?" she says, almost as if it's a foreign concept, but she sounds interested enough.
"Yes." I smile at her. "Two Explorers, please, Dante."
He nods and gets them for us.
"They do a delicious seafood chowder here," I tell Ana. It feels strange, almost as if I'm asking permission to order for her, though that's not what I'm doing, is it? And why does it make me feel so... Small? I shake off the feelings and focus on the task at hand.
"Chowder and beer sound great," she acquiesces, smiling brilliantly at me.
I'm momentarily blinded by that gilded smile, her beauty.
"Two chowders?" Dante's voice comes through.
"Please." I turn and grin at him once more. I think Dante and I could be friends, in an alternate universe.
As we settle into our meal, we talk, in a way we really haven't before, a deeper, more intimate way. It seems, when I let down my guard to her in the shower this morning, it helped let down my walls in many other ways as well.
Having her know I love her... Makes me feel free. Knowing that she loves me back is... Holy righteousness.
Ana loves me, and I love her...
.
When we're finished, I take her down, along the marina, heading toward The Grace at a leisurely pace, hand in hand.
It's a strange combination of excitement and thrill inside of me. I can't wait to get her on the sailboat, but at the same time, I'm in no rush at all. To just have her here, at my side, walking down the marina, is all I need for the moment.
It is a beautiful day, much nicer than what I could have hoped for, and the sun is bright in the sky, warming the back of my head and neck.
We head along the docks, the boats growing the further down we go, and finally I see her, rigged where she should be. I lead Ana onto the dock, and stop in front of my boat.
"I thought we'd go sailing this afternoon. This is my boat," I announce.
Her eyes widen a fraction, her hand still in mine, as her eyes sweep over the entirety of the catamaran.
"Wow," she breathes finally.
"Built by my company," I share, and I'm aware of the pride in my voice. "She's been designed from the ground up by the very best naval architects in the world and constructed here in Seattle at my yard. She has hybrid electric drives, asymmetric dagger boards a square-topped mainsail-"
"Okay," she interrupts, "you've lost me, Christian."
I grin, realizing that I may have gotten a little over-excited and carried away. "She's a great boat," I summarize.
"She looks mighty fine, Mr. Grey."
"That she does, Miss Steele."
"What's her name?"
I pull her a couple steps sideways, so she can see it scripted across the hull.
"You named her after your mom?" she says, shock apparent in her words.
"Yes." I cock my head to the side, gazing at her. She sounds surprised, yes, but confused also. "Why do you find that strange?"
She shrugs her shoulders.
"I adore my mom, Anastasia. Why wouldn't I name a boat after her?"
Her cheeks go pink. "No, it's not that... It's just..." She trails off, and my curiosity peaks, as well as my annoyance, for some odd reason. I feel very possessive of my mother all of a sudden.
"Anastasia, Grace Trevelyan-Grey saved my life. I owe her everything." And it still isn't enough... I brush the negative thought away. I don't want my shitty self-esteem issues ruining today's fun.
She only stares at me, and I wish I could read what I see in her eyes, but they give nothing away.
"Do you want to come aboard?"
"Yes, please." She grins.
Over the moon at her excitement to be involved, I grasp her hand and lead her up the gangway and on board.
McConnell, as tall and blond as ever, emerges from inside.
"Mac!"
"Mr. Grey! Welcome back," he greets me, and we shake hands.
"Anastasia, this is Liam McConnell. Liam, my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele." It's not the first time I've said it, but it still sends a rush through me when I do.
"How do you do?" she asks him, and they shake hands.
"Call me Mac. Welcome aboard, Miss Steele."
"Ana, please," she insists, flushing.
"How's she shaping up, Mac?" I ask now.
"She's ready to rock and roll, sir."
"Let's get under way, then."
.
I take Ana on a quick tour, showing her in the inside of the cabin-the L-shaped cream leather sofa, the panoramic view of the ocean through the window above it. The kitchen area off to the left, done in pale wood.
"This is the main saloon. Galley beside," I explain to her as she gazes around the room.
I grasp her hand in mine and take her through to the main cabin.
"Bathrooms on either side."
I open the door in front of us and lead her into the bedroom. Suddenly, the king-sized bed looks very welcoming... And not just to sleep in.
"This is the master cabin. You're the first girl in here, apart from family. They don't count," I say, gazing down at her, aware that my lustful feelings must be showing in my eyes, because suddenly her irises darken, her pupils dilate... Oh, baby, if we had time... But don't we? Don't we have all day?
Her cheeks flush, as if she's aware of my darkened thoughts.
I can't resist taking her in my arms, pulling her to me, pushing my hands through her hair, and kissing her, deeply. By the time I pull back, we both need to catch our breath.
Yes, I will definitely make time.
"Might have to christen this bed," I murmur against her lips, warm and soft. "But not right now. Come, Mac will be casting off."
I take her hand once more, and we head back through the saloon.
"Office in there," I point to the door, "and at the front here, two more cabins."
"So how many can sleep aboard?" she asks.
"It's a six-berth cat. I've only ever had the family on board, though. I like to sail alone. But not when you're here. I need to keep an eye on you," I halfheartedly joke. I do immensely enjoy spending my time with her, all of it if I could. I also do need to keep an eye on her. Don't want her falling into the ocean... Can she even swim?
I reach into a nearby chest and produce a bright red lifejacket.
"Here." I pull it over her head, tightening the straps, buckling her in, nice and tight... And as I do so, I feel a smile playing on my lips. Why do I get so much enjoyment from strapping her into things? A lifejacket? Hardly kinky, Grey.
As if able to read my thoughts she says, "You love strapping me in, don't you?"
"In any form," I agree, my smile intensifying. Exaltation is steadily expanding inside my chest. Oh, how I love sharing the things I love with the girl I love more.
"You are a pervert," she states.
"I know." I lift my eyebrows and can't fight the grin that threatens to split my face in two.
"My pervert."
"Yes, yours," I vow.
I grab the sides of her secured lifejacket and kiss her again, hard but quick. "Always," I add.
.
We head back on deck to find Mac dealing with the ropes.
"Is this where you learned all your rope tricks?" Ana asks me, her voice far too naive-on purpose.
"Clove hitches have come in handy," I indulge. "Miss Steele, you sound curious. I like you curious. I'd be more than happy to demonstrate what I can do with a rope." I smirk at her, and am horrified, my mood immediately plummeting, when she gives me a stricken look.
Shit! I was only joking! I've fucked up now.
"Gotcha!" she blurts, grinning.
The horror shifts immediately to anger, tinged by humor I try to ignore, and I feel my eyes narrow.
"I may have to deal with you later, but right now, I've got to drive my boat."
I sit down at the controls, flicking on the ignition. The engines roar to life, a deep, throaty sound, and the sensation of the hull vibrating underneath me immediately soothes me. I take a deep nose full of the salty ocean air. Ah...
Mac jumps down to the deck below, unfastening some rope there.
I pick up the receiver, radioing the coast guard once Mac calls that we're set to go.
Steadily, I ease the cat out of her berth, and into the marina. I can hear the waves lapping at the bowl below.
As we pull away, Ana waves back to some of the small children watching on the dock, along with a larger group of people. The sight makes me think back to this morning's discussion after the doctor, and my heart lurches-and not in a good way.
I reach for her, pulling her between my legs, pointing out some of the basic dials on the control panel, giving her a basic rundown.
"Grab the wheel," I suggest, though it comes out more like a command. Old habits die hard.
"Aye, aye, Captain!" she giggles, gripping the wheels in her small hands.
I drape mine over hers, steering us out of the marina. Within a matter of moments, we are out on the glorious open sea of Pudget Sound. The marina wall behind us, we are left to the elements, and the wind is stronger out here, the sea choppier beneath us.
We curve left, toward the Olympic Peninsula. The wind is behind us now, and another thrill runs through me.
"Sail time," I report. "Here-you take her. Keep her on this course."
She gives me a horrified, lost look, and I grin at her.
"Baby, it's really easy," I assure her, "Hold the wheel and keep your eye on the horizon over the bow. You'll do great; you always do. When the sails go up, you'll feel the drag. Just hold her steady. I'll signal like this"-I drag a finger across my throat-"and you can cut the engines. This button here," I tell her, pointing. "Understand?"
"Yes." She nods spasmodically, the anxiety clearly written on her face, her eyes wild blue.
I kiss her, then head up to the front with Mac, undoing sails, releasing ropes, operating the winches and pulleys. Oh... This is the life. I am reminded, again, that I really don't do this often enough. When I'm out here on the water, there isn't a single problem in my life. It's just me and the ocean air and clear blue water, and my thoughts-which, as time progresses, are becoming more and more positive.
I can't help but attribute that to the woman who is driving my boat right now.
Mac and I hoist the mainsail now, and as the wind takes hold of it, the boat lurches forward. The drag.
We position the head sail as well, and I watch with wonderful fascination-as I do every-time-as it flurries up the mast, to join the mainsail.
"Hold her steady, baby, and cut the engines!" I yell to Ana, giving her the signal.
She nods, staring at me for a heart-throbbing moment. Then she switches off the ignition, and we soar across the water, flying, and my heart is too.
.
As I make my way back up to the wheel, I note that Ana's cheeks are flushed, her eyes excited as she takes in the speed, our surroundings.
I'm abruptly overwhelmed by the beauty of her, once more. But here, now, it's different. She looks absolutely carefree, wondrous, and the joy on her face reminds me of the portraits the photographer has captured of her.
Oh, my Ana... How I've waited to see this in you.
It took awhile, but I can feel it now. We're settling into our own little groove, and as I've let my walls down, she seems to be letting some of hers down too, becoming more comfortable in my presence.
It saddens me to think that she ever wasn't, but I suppose it was true. My old lifestyle wasn't for her, and apprehension fills me once more as the thought of it fills my mind.
Being a Dominant was a love of mine, the thing I held with nearly the highest esteem in my life-other than my company-and leaving it behind is like... An addiction. I adore it so much, but it came to inflict too much damage on the life of the woman I love, and in turn, on mine.
I don't know if I can regard it the same way I did, ever again.
I push the thoughts away and approach her now, still standing at the wheel. I put my hands over hers, pressing my chest to her back, inhaling the scent of her, and the ocean, and I'm at home.
"What do you think?" I call to her over the noise.
"Christian! This is fantastic!" she cries.
I grin. "You wait until the spinney's up," I encourage her. I gesture toward Mac with my chin, who is undoing the spinnaker.
"Interesting color," she calls as the deep, rich red sail unfurls.
I give her an evil grin and a wink.
As the spinney catches the breeze, finding her head, we pick up speed.
"Asymmetrical sail," I explain, "For speed."
"It's amazing." I watch her face again, for a moment. She is grinning widely, the exhilaration clear on her face, little pieces of hair skipping over her cheeks and forehead. "How fast are we going?"
"She's doing fifteen knots," I tell her.
"I have no idea what that means."
"It's about seventeen miles an hour."
"Is that all?" she shouts, "It feels much faster."
The fact that I can see how much she's enjoying this makes me want to jump for joy, or shout out. I can hardly contain my excitement. It's larger than I've ever felt it before. I feel so at peace with her here with me. I didn't know I could ever feel this way, and I never want to let her go.
I squeeze her hands over the wheel. "You look lovely, Anastasia. It's good to see some color in your cheeks... And not from blushing. You look like you do in Jose's photos."
She turns in the small space my arms allow and kisses me.
"You know how to show a girl a good time, Mr. Grey."
"We aim to please, Miss Steele."
I move her hair out of my way, kissing the back of her neck.
"I like seeing you happy," I murmur against the warmth of her skin, and I tighten my arms around her, as we skim across the water.
.
An hour later, we anchor on a small, secluded cove off Bainbridge Island. I send Mac ashore in the inflatable dinghy-making up some lame excuse I don't even hear.
As soon as he's off the ship, I nearly drag Ana down to my cabin.
I am on a mission, and we can make this fast. But not too fast. I want to bask in it. This will be the first time I've ever made love to a woman on my boat, and I want it to be Ana, and only Ana, forever.
I remove the lifejacket and toss it aside, staring down at her, trying to communicate how much I want her, need her, through my eyes.
I lift a hand to her face, running my fingers down her cheek, her chin and the column of her throat, reveling in the silkiness of her skin, the perfection of her bone structure. My hand moves lower, down her sternum, to the first button of her blue blouse.
"I want to see you," I whisper, undoing the button one handed.
I kiss her softly on her parted lips. She is panting already.
I take a small step backwards.
"Strip for me."
Instead of seeing shyness in her eyes, she seems to welcome the opportunity full-heartedly. Keeping her gaze on mine, she releases each button from it's hold.
Oh, God, I want her so much. The desire, heady and sweet, sweeps through me, taking hold of my entire being. In this moment, it's just me and her.
Finishing with the buttons on her shirt, she pushes it over her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. She stands before me in her jeans and a new, white lacy bra, the fabric cupping her breasts perfectly, pushing them up slightly.
My fucking lord, she's perfect. In every single way. My eyes sweep over her exposed torso, taking in the flawless swell of her breasts, the flat plane of her belly, which subtly flows, expands into the curve of her hips, which disappears under the belt line of her pants.
She reaches for the button on her jeans.
"Stop," I order her. "Sit."
She lowers herself onto the edge of the bed, and I drop to my knees in front of her, undoing the laces of her sneakers, pulling them off, and then her socks.
I take her left foot in my hands, kissing the pad of her big toe, then grazing my teeth against it.
She moans sharply, just as I thought she would-I got such a good reaction the last time-and I stand, holding my hand out.
She grasps it and I pull her to standing.
"Continue."
She releases the zipper of her jeans, hooking her thumbs into the waistband. She wiggles her hips suggestively as she eases them down, and I can't help the small smile of entertainment that makes its way onto my face. Her playfulness is liberating.
Pants off, she stands before me in the matching thong to her bra, and the sight of her nearly knocks me to my knees. She is too perfect. I have not done anything in my life to deserve a woman like Anastasia. I am overwhelmed, time and time again, by just how lucky a son-of-a-bitch I am.
She reaches for the hook on her bra, unclasping it, and then slipping the straps off her arms, the cups falling away, revealing those amazing breasts to me. Her nipples are hard already, pert and pink.
She drops the bra on the top, and steps out of the panties too.
And there she stands, completely bare and unashamed, before me.
If I could think of something to say, I wouldn't be able to get it out. So I just say nothing, staring at her in complete awe. I am so in love with her. The depth of the feeling surprises me.
I think I've been fighting it, feeling it but suppressing it, for a long while now. But having admitted it this morning, it's spawned a whole new level of sensation inside me, and to allow myself to feel it now is amazingly terrifying, but sweet and gentle and warm, too. My being aches with the strength of it, too much for one man to hold.
I remove my sweater and t-shirt, then my shoes and socks. I reach for the button of my jeans, but she steps forward, reaching for it.
"Let me," she breathes.
Oh, so now she's taking control. I'm surprised by now much I like it. I smile at her. "Be my guest."
She slips her fingers inside the waistband of my jeans, surprising me with her bravery, and tugs so that I'm forced to take a step closer to her. A gasp escapes me, surprised at her sudden bravado. Her eyes are blue fire as she undoes the button, and pauses to trace my hard-on through the denim.
Even through the material, I can feel her warmth, and I push my hips into her palm, reveling in her perfect touch.
"You're getting so bold, Ana, so brave," I whisper, reaching up to grip her face, bending to kiss her passionately. She's blooming, and the witnessing of it is brilliant.
I feel her hands on my hips. "So are you," she murmurs against my mouth, her thumbs rubbing tantalizing, seductive circles against my skin.
I smile. "Getting there."
She undoes the zipper of my jeans, finally, and her fingers creep, down to my erection, and she takes me in her hand, tightly.
I groan as she holds me, enchanted by the spell her touch washes over me, and I kiss her again, needing to feel that connection.
She strokes me, holding me tightly, in that perfect, perfect way. I honestly couldn't do it better myself.
I wrap my arms around her, one hand flat on her lower back, easing her closer to me. My other hand is braided through her hair, holding her face to mine.
"Oh, I want you so much, baby."
Unable to wait any longer, I step back and remove my jeans and boxers in one fluid motion.
As I stand there, in front of her, her expression changes as she stares at my body, softening, deepening, growing dark.
"What's wrong, Ana?" I reach up to stroke her cheek with my knuckles.
"Nothing," she dismisses, "Love me, now."
Of course.
I sweep her into my arms, melding my mouth to hers, hands in her hair once more. Our tongues sweep, entangle, as I walk her backward to the bed, and lower her down onto it. I stretch out on my side next to her.
I duck my head, brushing my nose along her jawline, inhaling her luxurious scent.
"Do you have any idea how exquisite your scent is, Ana? It's irresistible." I drag my nose down her throat, taking in another breath of her, and across her breasts, kissing her in adoration as I go. "You are so beautiful." I take one of her nipples between my lips, sucking gently.
She moans, her back bowing, and the sound is music to my ears.
"Let me hear you, baby," I encourage her.
I put a hand on her, trailing it down the curve of her waist, basking in the softness of her skin against my hand, exploring the areas I've explored so much of, but will never tire of. Over her hips, her behind, down her leg to her knee, kissing her breasts the whole time.
I hook a hand behind her knee, and pull it suddenly, to hitch it over my hips. She gasps at the suddenness of it, and I grin against her right nipple.
I roll, bringing her with me so that she's straddling me, and I hand her a foil packet.
She shifts down my body slightly, taking me in her hands. Suddenly, she swoops down, taking me in her mouth, and my eyes nearly roll back in my head at the sensation.
Oh fuck. Warm and wet and tight...
She swirls her tongue around me, spiking the sensation, and unconsciously, I flex my hips, pushing myself deeper into her mouth.
She sits up, gazing at me, and I'm struggling to breathe properly.
She tears open the condom and unrolls it over my dick, hard and throbbing. Oh, I need to be inside her...
I offer my hands to her. She takes one, positioning herself with the other, and then oh-so-slowly, reverently, she lowers herself onto me.
I groan, squeezing my eyes shut as she surrounds me. Nothing, nobody, will ever mean as much to me as Ana does. Never.
I grip her hips, moving her up, then down, pushing into her at the same time. Oh, yes. It's deeper this way.
"Oh, baby." I sit up, and it changes the angle, pushing me deeper. She must feel it too, because she gasps at the sensation, and I feel her hands on my upper arms. I clasp her head in my hands, gazing into those eyes so blue, so clear, so open and vulnerable. She is willing to share every part of herself with me, and I'm learning, that it's not so scary to let her into most parts of my life as well.
"Oh, Ana. What you make me feel." I kiss her again, pouring every ounce of my love, myself into it, and she kisses me back.
"Oh, I love you," she murmurs.
I groan, not expecting the flurry of emotion that fills me at the sound of her words. It's almost... Painful.
I roll, pinioning her beneath me. She wraps her legs around my waist.
I stare down at her, wondering if I will ever be able to say those words back to her. She stares into my eyes, so full of trust and adoration, and reaches up to touch my face.
Slowly, I start to move, closing my eyes, moaning softly.
I drape myself over her, getting as humanly close to her as I can, kissing her as I thrust in slow, even movements, using the gentle sway of the boat to guide me.
I kiss every part of her I can, her mouth, her chin, her jaw, her ear, our mingling breaths accelerating as I pick up the pace, the pressure, the sensations, building, building, to an undefinable, blissful degree.
Underneath me, she begins to quiver, her breaths harsher.
"That's right, baby... Give it up for me... Please... Ana."
She cries out my name as she falls apart, and I groan, as her undoing is mine.
.
It is early evening. The sky is still bright, not quite sunset, but the water is dark, as, my hands on hers, we steer ourselves into the marina. Winking lights on the other boats welcome us, reflecting in the water.
A crowd gathers, not uncommon, as I turn the boat around and reverse into the same berth we left vacant hours ago. Mac jumps onto the dock, tying us securely to a bollard.
"Back again," I murmur, and my mood darkens ever-so-slightly. Back to real life, back to the drama that is Leila.
"Thank you. That was a perfect afternoon," she says lowly, shyly.
I grin at her. "I thought so, too. Perhaps we can enroll you in sailing school, so we can go out for a few days, just the two of us," I suggest.
"I'd love that," she agrees, "We can christen the bedroom again and again."
I plant a kiss under her ear. "Hmm... I look forward to it, Anastasia... Come, the apartment is clean. We can go back." While Ana was still in the cabin, after we made love, Taylor called and reported they had discovered a breech in the fire escape, and that must have been how Leila had gained access to the apartment.
"What about our things at the hotel?" she asks.
"Taylor has collected them already," I explain. "Earlier today, after he did a sweep of The Grace with his team." While we were out, buying the car, and eating lunch.
"Does that poor man ever sleep?" Ana asks.
"He sleeps. He's just doing his job, Anastasia, which he's very good at. Jason is a real find."
"Jason?"
"Jason Taylor," I elaborate.
Caught up in some thought, she smiles softly.
"You're fond of Taylor," I observe.
"I suppose I am." she says, and I frown, not liking her response. "I'm not attracted to him, if that's why you're frowning. Stop."
I'm not convinced.
"I think Taylor looks after you very well," she says, "That's why I like him. He seems kind, reliable, and loyal. He has an avuncular appeal to me."
"Avuncular?" I repeat.
"Yes."
"Okay, avuncular," I say, testing the word in my mouth.
She laughs, unexpectedly. "Oh, Christian, grow up, for heaven's sake," she snaps.
My mouth automatically pops open, appalled at her sudden outburst, but then I frown, considering her statement.
"I'm trying," I finally tell her.
"That you are. Very," she says, her voice soft, but then rolls her eyes at me.
"What memories you evoke when you roll your eyes at me, Anastasia," I tell her, grinning.
She smirks. "Well, if you behave yourself, maybe we can relive some of those memories."
Humor curves my lips. "Behave myself? Really, Miss Steele-what makes you think I want to relive them?"
"Probably the way your eyes lit up like Christmas when I said that."
"You know me so well already."
"I'd like to know you better."
I smile at her reverently. "And I you, Anastasia."
.
We decide to have dinner before heading back. We stop at a small Italian bistro close to SP's. It's an unexpectedly modern place, done in black-and-white's mostly.
We are seated in a booth, trying to decide what to eat, sipping on Frascati.
I gaze at Ana across the table, in the dim lighting. Her hair is slightly messy, whether it's from being windblown or after our rendezvous in the cabin, I don't know. But it has slightly more volume. Her eyes are still bright from our adventures this afternoon, her cheeks flushed. She appears to have gotten some sun, as well.
She glances up, catching me staring.
"What?"
"You look lovely, Anastasia. The outdoors agrees with you," I tell her.
Her cheeks turn pinker. "I feel rather wind-burned to tell the truth," she admits, "But I had a lovely afternoon. A perfect afternoon. Thank you."
I smile easily at her. I had a perfect afternoon, too. "My pleasure."
"Can I ask you something?" she says.
The usual apprehension that would rise when she asks a question like that, doesn't this time. "Anything, Anastasia. You know that." I tilt my head to the side.
"You don't seem to have many friends," she observes, "Why is that?"
I shrug, frowning. "I told you, I don't really have time. I have business associates-though that's very different from friendship, I suppose. I have my family and that's it. Apart from Elena."
Surprisingly, she ignores my mention of Elena. "No male friends your own age that you can go out with and let off steam?"
"You know how I like to let off steam, Anastasia. And I've been working, building up the business. That's all I do-except sail and fly occasionally." What else is there to do?
"Not even in college?" she pushes.
"Not really."
"Just Elena, then?"
I nod carefully.
"Must be lonely," she says.
I feel my lips curl up in a small smile. She honestly has no idea. I had never felt the need for friendship, and it's not something I particularly need, now. But then, I hadn't realized what I wanted in a woman-that I even wanted a woman, period-until I met her. I decide to change the subject. "What would you like to eat?"
"I'm going for the risotto," she states.
"Good choice." I wave the waiter over.
We place our orders, and when the waiter has walked away, I note that Anastasia looks... Uncomfortable. She shifts in her seat, hands in her lap.
"Anastasia, what's wrong?" I ask her, "Tell me."
She looks up, her apprehensive eyes meeting mine.
"Tell me," I say, my curiosity peaking. I hate when she doesn't tell me things. I realize that it's not just concern anymore, but anger... Or is it fear?
She takes in a noticeable breath. "I'm just worried that this isn't enough for you," she admits, "You know, to let off steam."
Yes, it's definitely anger now. "Have I given you any indication that this isn't enough?"
"No."
"Then why do you think that?" I demand.
"I know what you're like. What you... Um... Need." She stammers over her words.
I close my eyes, rubbing my forehead, trying to reign in some of the anger.
"What do I have to do?" I ask, forcing my voice to sound composed, though now it sounds too soft, almost ominous, I think. Like the calm before the storm. I can't explode on her.
"No, you misunderstand-you have been amazing," she assures me, "and I know it's just been a few days, but I hope I'm not forcing you to be someone you're not."
"I'm still me, Anastasia"-no matter how much I wished I wasn't-"in all my fifty shades of fucked-up-ness. Yes, I have to fight the urge to be controlling... But that's my nature, how I've dealt with life. Yes, I expect you to behave a certain way, and when you don't it's both challenging and refreshing. We still do what I like to do. You let me spank you after your outrageous bid yesterday." I find myself smiling at the memory. "I enjoy punishing you. I don't think the urge will ever go... But I'm trying, and it's not as hard as I thought it would be."
I wasn't expecting myself to go off on such a tangent, but there it is.
I watch Ana squirm and flush in her seat. "I didn't mind that," she whispers, smiling coyly, referring to the spanking in my childhood bedroom, I think.
"I know." I try not to, but my lips curl into a smile anyway. "Neither did I. But let me tell you, Anastasia, this is all new to me and these last few days have been the best in my life. I don't want to change anything."
"They've been the best in my life, too, without exception."
Her words expand something in my chest, and in response, my grin widens.
"So, you don't want to take me into your playroom?" she asks.
I feel the blood drain from my face, and I swallow hard. "No, I don't."
"Why not?" she breathes.
"The last time we were in there you left me." My voice is quiet, understated, "I will shy away from anything that could make you leave me again. I was devastated when you left. I explained that. I never want to feel like that again. I've told you how I feel about you."
"But it hardly seems fair," she argues, "It can't be very relaxing for you-to be constantly concerned about how I feel. You've made all these changes for me, and I... I think I should reciprocate in some day. I don't know-maybe... Try... Some role-playing games." She's stuttering again, her face crimson.
"Ana, you do reciprocate, more than you know. Please, please don't feel like this," I beg her. "Baby, it's only been one weekend. Give us some time. I thought a great deal about us last week when you left. We need time. You need to trust me, and I you. Maybe in time we can indulge, but I like how you are now. I like seeing you this happy, this relaxed and carefree, knowing that I had something to do with it. I have never-" Abruptly, I cut myself off, running a hand through my hair. "We have to walk before we can run." I smirk, remembering how Flynn uses those same words so often.
"What's so funny?"
"Flynn," I explain. "He says that all the time. I never thought I'd be quoting him."
"A Flynnism."
I laugh. "Exactly."
The waiter returns now, our starters and bruschetta in hand, and the interruption relaxes me. We settle into easier conversation as we make our way through our appetizers and meals.