Hi lovelies. Just thought I'd let you all know I made a very minor mistake regarding one of Christian's meetings on the last chapter. It has been corrected :)

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Monday June 13 2011 - evening

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It's still raining when Taylor picks me up from the office. In hindsight, I'm glad Ana had to stay late. It helped enable me to get some more work done that would have had me busier than I would have liked tomorrow. I still have more to do this evening, but less of it is always nice.

It's also kept me distracted, up until now. We drive through the rain, streaking down the windows like tiny rivers, and I am reminded of our phone conversation this afternoon, and how angry with me she must be. All I want is to keep her safe, and at my side. I love her, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her, but for that happen, something has to change.

Dammit, something always has to change; and it's always me. Of course it's always me. I'm the one who's always doing everything wrong.

We pull up in front of SIP with a couple minutes to spare, and now the anxiety really sets in. I feel the muscles in my shoulders tense and rise up toward my ears when Ana appears in the doorway.

Taylor jumps out and opens the door for her. She slips in, onto the seat next to me, and I appraise her closely. She doesn't look angry, her eyes are the clearest blue, but that doesn't mean she isn't.

"Hi," she greets me, her voice a low, gentle murmur.

"Hi." I sound wary, and for the first time, I realize how tightly my jaw is set. Unable to resist touching her, I reach for her hand, squeezing it firmly. "Are you still mad?"

"I don't know," she says.

I lift her knuckles to my mouth, brushing them against my lips.

"It's been a shitty day."

"Yes, it has," she agrees.

"It's better now that you're here," I tell her, beginning to relax. Being near her, touching her, smelling her calming, soothing, sexy scent, allows some of the pressure to leave. Despite our differences throughout the course of the day, I'm happy to be near her, happy to know she's not quite as mad as I thought she would be. She's letting me touch her, which always, always helps.

We sit in silence for the rest of the ride, and I'm surprised by how quickly we pull up in front of Escala. We duck quickly inside, in a hurry to be out of the rain, both of us without an umbrella.

I press the call button on the elevator and grasp Ana's hand, scanning the front of the building for any sign that something may be out of place.

"I take it you haven't found Leila yet," she murmurs, observing my wary attitude.

"No. Welch is still looking for her."

The elevator dings and the doors gape open. We step inside, and as the doors slip closed, and we are left alone in that small shaft, I feel it... That familiar buildup of electric sensation, and after the day I've had, it's oh-so-welcome. I can't ignore it, and I gaze down at her, lips parted to accommodate my sudden, shallow breathing.

"Do you feel it?"

"Yes," she murmurs.

"Oh, Ana," I groan, giving myself over to the heated, sizzling feelings, desperate to have her, here, now. In the elevator. It's a passionate, desperate need that I don't think I'll ever get used to.

I wrap my arms around her, one hand flying to the base of her neck to tip her head back, so my mouth can find hers. Our lips meld seamlessly, and the silken feel of her lips on mine after this very shitty day is the anesthetic I need.

I'm relieved she's not angry.

I walk her backwards until she's pressed against the wall of the elevator, her fingers threaded through my hair in the most delicious way, tugging just so. It feels amazing.

"I hate arguing with you," I say against her lips. She is the answer right now, the only answer. The power of her presence settles over me, sedating me and firing me up all in the same, jumbled together moment. I'm drunk on it.

We kiss passionately, tongues battling for dominance, and I cannot resist it any longer. I reach for her skirt, pulling it up to expose the softness of her thighs. Blindly I stroke the silky skin, and find, much to my surprise, stockings.

"Sweet Jesus, you're wearing stockings." I'd be embarrassed by the desperate awe my voice betrays, but if we're honest, she knows-at least I hope she does-how much I am in awe of her. She is like a goddess to me, a woman worthy to be worshiped.

"I want to see this."

I pull back just slightly, pulling her skirt higher to expose what I want to see. I reach over and press the 'Stop' button. We coast to an even halt between the twenty-second and twenty-third floors, but I barely notice, because I am enthralled by the sight of her, leaning against the elevator wall, panting, flushed, hair beginning to fall from its pony-tail entrapment. Oh, those legs, those stockings...

She stares across the short way at me, eyes navy blue and lust-filled.

"Take your hair down," my voice says, husky and low.
Her hands lift, freeing the dark, glossy curtains of hair from the hair tie, and it falls around her shoulders, to her breasts. I catch a whiff of freesia as it cascades.

"Undo the top two buttons of your shirt," I breathe.

She does so without asking or hesitating, and reveals to me a teasing, scintillating view of her perfect cleavage.

I swallow, hard. God, I am one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

"Do you have any idea how alluring you look right now?" Irresistible. I can barely keep my hands off of her.

Very slowly, so I know it's on purpose, her teeth close on her bottom lip, and she shakes her head.

Oh, she drives me crazy. I am a wild man, barely contained. I close my eyes to compose myself, and once I feel that I'm mostly in control again, I step toward her, flattening my palms against the elevator wall on either side of her. She tilts her face toward me, and I bend to brush my nose up the length of hers, so that it's the only contact between us.

"I think you do, Miss Steele. I think you like to drive me wild."

"Do I drive you wild?"

"In all things, Anastasia. You are a siren, a goddess." I scoop her leg up, hooking it over my hip, and I know she can feel my hardness against her-the surprise in her eyes betrays her. I trail a series of kisses down the column of her perfect throat, inhaling her heady scent with each breath.

She sighs a moan and loops her arms around my neck.

"I'm going to take you now," I tell her in a whisper, unable to hold back any longer. The stress of the day needs release, and the confines of this elevator seems like the perfect place to do that.

In response, she presses herself against me, harder, eager. I can't bite back my groan of desire as I lose myself in the moment, consumed by the proximity of her in this tiny space, her scent enveloping me like an embrace. Something about it sets my head spinning, and all I can think about in this moment is how much I want her.

I boost her higher, so that we'll be in line, and unzip my fly, releasing myself.

"Hold tight, baby." I pull a condom from my pocket-always be prepared-and hold it up in front of her lush, swollen lips. She bites down on the packet and I pull, ripping it open.

"Good girl," I praise her, and back up slightly so I can slide the latex sheath over my dick. "God, I can't wait for the next six days," I groan. I'm eager to feel all of her again, every inch of that wet, tight flesh against mine. "I do hope you're not overly fond of these panties." And I tear through the delicate, lacy fabric. Partly because I'm so goddamn impatient to be inside of her, partially because I want to see her reaction.

She's breathing heavily, her exposed chest heaving, her blue eyes limpid pools of desire. Her lips are slightly parted to accommodate her quickened breath, as are mine I can imagine. Her hair falls around her like a curtain, sexy and thick and mysterious. I stare straight into her eyes as I fill her, watching her feel me enter her. I feel her body give way around me, clamping tight and the feeling is indescribable.

I pull almost all the way out and the push oh-so-slowly all the way back in, possessing her, owning her, in this very moment.

She groans softly, sacrificing herself wholly to me.

"You are mine, Anastasia," I say softly against the rich, smooth skin of her throat.

"Yes," she vows, "Yours. When will you accept that?"

I groan, something about her words sending my mind into a frenzy. I can't comprehend them, and I don't know if I'll ever really accept that she's given herself to me completely. She hasn't. There's further we could go.

I surrender myself to the building tension, the sensations, the mounting pressure in my perineum and balls, suddenly desperate for release. I pick up the pace, pounding into her for all I'm worth, pinioning her between me and the wall behind her.

Oh, I'm losing myself in her, and I wouldn't have it any other way...

I'm close, so close.

"Oh, baby," I pant, my teeth grazing her jaw almost unconsciously-barely aware of my actions anymore. The bliss is taking over, surely and swiftly.

She comes, her walls pulsing around me, the wetness flooding, and I follow after, spilling every facet of myself into her.

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Later, I fetch a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, and Ana and I sit at the breakfast bar to eat the delicious smelling coq au vin Gail has prepared for us.

I tell her a bit about my day, how the solar-paneled cell phone project is going well. To be honest, the development of this mobile phone is the most exciting project I've had in awhile. It makes me feel good, hopeful about bringing change to the places in the world that need it. I think it will make a real difference. It's new and innovative, and hasn't been done before.

"How many properties do you have?" Ana asks me when I've finished my spiel. She's about halfway through her meal, though I'm close to finished. Our tryst in the elevator left me famished.

I smirk at her. "I own properties in New York, Aspen and Escala. That's it."

"Oh," she says, obviously surprised.

We finish our meal and Ana takes our plates to the sink, and suddenly, dread sinks a lead weight in my stomach. Now we'll have to talk.

"Leave that," I tell her, regarding the dishes, "Gail will do it."

She turns, her eyes finding mine, finding me watching her.

"Well, now that you are more docile, Miss Steele, shall we talk about today?" I suggest, trying to keep the subject light.

"I think you're the one who's more docile," she corrects me, "I think I'm doing a good job in taming you."

I can't help but be amused by her choice of words. "Taming me?"

She nods, serious, and I realize that her idea of tame may not be quite the same as mine. Suddenly, I see it from her perspective.

I feel myself frown as I realize that "tame" in Anastasia's world doesn't necessarily mean docile and quiet and obedient and bound, as in my former world. Perhaps she's referring to my anger, my hostility towards the world, the way I'm leaving that behind. I reflect back on this weekend for a moment, coming to the realization that yes, I suppose I was very "tame", according to her.

"Yes," I finally say, "Maybe you are, Anastasia."

"You were right about Jack," she admits, her voice low, serious, as she leans toward me across the island.

Panic, rage and fear flame up inside me. "Has he tried anything?" I ask, trying in vain to keep my voice calm. It sounds frigid, the opposite of composed. I swear to fucking God, if he so much as lays a finger on her...

She shakes her head quickly. "No, and he won't, Christian. I told him today that I'm your girlfriend, and he backed right off."

"You're sure? I could fire the fucker."

She exhales a sigh. "You really have to let me fight my own battles," she insists, "You can't constantly second-guess me and try to protect me. It's stifling, Christian. I'll never flourish with your incessant interference. I need some freedom. I wouldn't dream of meddling in your affairs."

I blink at her, coming up blank. I can't understand most of what she's said. "I only want you safe, Anastasia," I say, the only thing I can say, "If anything happened to you, I-" I stop, unable to finish. The thought is too painful.

"I know," she murmurs reassuringly, "and I understand why you feel so driven to protect me. And part of me loves it. I know that if I need you, you'll be there, as I am for you. But if we are to have any hope of a future together, you have to trust me and trust my judgment. Yes, I'll get it wrong sometimes-I'll make mistakes, but I have to learn."

I do trust her, and her judgment! It's the dangers she finds herself in that I don't trust; the people on the other side of the equation that I don't trust. And mistakes! Mistakes, at this moment in time, could cost her her innocence, or her life!

She walks over to me, where I'm sitting on the bar stool, and stands between my legs, wrapping my arms around her and then placing her hands on my upper arms.

"You can't interfere in my job," she says, "It's wrong. I don't need you charging in like a white knight to save the day. I know you want to control everything, and I understand why, but you can't. It's an impossible goal.. You have to learn to let go. And if you can do that-give me that-I'll move in with you." She's stroking my face, her fingers heavenly against my cheek.

I gasp, surprised by her words. "You'd do that?"

"Yes."

"But you don't know me," I hear myself arguing, suddenly overcome, choked, by panic and anxiety. She needs to know me if we're going to build a future together... She won't possible stay after she knows...

"I know you well enough, Christian," she insists obliviously, "Nothing you tell me about yourself will frighten me away." Yeah right. You just wait. "But if you could just ease up on me," she begs.

"I'm trying, Anastasia." Dammit, am I trying. I let her go to work today, didn't I? I didn't leave work and haul her ass home when she went out alone after promising me she wouldn't, did I? "I couldn't just stand by and let you go to New York with that... Sleazeball. He has an alarming reputation. None of his assistants have lasted more than three months, and they're never retained by the company. I don't want that for you, baby." I know she loves the field she's in more than anything, and SIP is a great place for her right now. I exhale long and slow. "I don't want anything to happen to you. You being hurt... The thought fills me with dread. I can't promise not to interfere, not if I think you'll come to harm." I pray she understands that, can accept that. I take a deep breath and brace myself for the words I'm about to say. "I love you, Anastasia"-why does that open up a huge, empty hole inside of me?-"I will do everything in my power to protect you. I cannot imagine my life without you."

She freezes in front of me, surprised, and then suddenly her eyes seem to melt into mine.

"I love you too, Christian." She leans in to kiss me softly, but it deepens quickly.

Across the room, unseen, Taylor clears his throat.

Reluctantly, I pull away from the kiss. He wouldn't interrupt if it weren't important. I stand up, keeping my arm around Ana's waist.

"Yes?" My voice sounds sharp, directed at Taylor.

"Mrs. Lincoln is on her way up, sir," he reports.

"What?"

He only shrugs, clearly apologetic.

I sigh heavily, shaking my head, exasperated at this woman's tenacity. I already called her off this afternoon. I was harsh with her, probably harsher than needed, but I was in a crappy mood. I told her not to go near Ana, she had no interest, and now she's coming here? Is it because she knows she'll be here, so she'll be able to talk to her?

I turn to Ana now. "Well, this should be interesting," I say with a resigned smile.

It's clear Anastasia is not happy about our visitor, but what can I do about it now? She's nearly here.

"Did you talk to her today?" she asks after a stony moment of silence.

"Yes," I tell her. I told her I would.

"What did you say?" she asks.

"I said that you didn't want to see her, and that I understood your reasons why. I also told her that I didn't appreciate her going behind my back."

"What did she say?"

"She brushed it off in a way that only Elena can do." I suppress my amused smirk. I know it wouldn't sit well with Anastasia. I will always be impressed-amused, at the least-by the kind of woman Elena Lincoln is.

"Why do you think she's here?" she inquires now.

"I have no idea," I answer honestly, shrugging.

Taylor is back. "Mrs. Lincoln," he announces.

Elena, dressed all in black, as per usual, steps into the great room.

I pull Anastasia close by my side, mostly to ensure her that I'm here. "Elena," I greet her, confused by her unexpected visit. She usually calls first, and I notice now that she looks slightly out of sorts, frazzled.

She stands frozen in place, staring at Anastasia with outright shock, and I realize that maybe she didn't expect her to be here, which confuses me even more.

"I'm sorry," she finally apologizes. "I didn't realize you had company, Christian. It's Monday," she says in way of justification. I'm rooted to the spot by the shock that hits when I realize that maybe Elena and I aren't as close as I thought. She clearly still believes me to involved in the lifestyle I am surely trying to leave behind.

"Girlfriend," I explain, casting her a cool smile. I have to admit, I'm slightly offended by her obliviousness. I thought she was more invested than that, understood me more than that. Believed in me more than that. Because that's what it comes down to, right? Suddenly, for the first time, I feel some hostility toward this woman.

She is supposed to be one of my closest friends, my only friend in fact. Elena is the one I confide in. She knows about my situation-the fact that I consider Ana my girlfriend now, and that I'm done with the Dom lifestyle. That's not something you just mention in casual conversation. That's a big deal, and obviously, Elena didn't take it as such. Which makes me wonder if she takes me seriously or not.

But now, unexpectedly, she grins hugely at me, which makes me wonder if any of my former thoughts even hold any grip to them at all.

"Of course," she says, "Hello, Anastasia. I didn't know you'd be here. I know you don't want to talk to me. I accept that," she says directly to her.

"Do you?" Ana says, taking Elena and I-at least; maybe even herself-by surprise.

Clearly displeased with Ana's assertiveness, a small frown grazes Elena's face as she steps further into the room. "Yes, I get the message," she assures her, "I'm not here to see you. Like I said, Christian rarely has company during the week." She pauses for a moment, suddenly appearing anxious. "I have a problem, and I need to talk to Christian about it," she admits.

My curiosity peaks. "Oh? Do you want a drink?"

"Yes, please." She sounds grateful for the offer.

I leave Ana's side and go into the kitchen to retrieve a wine glass. I pour wine for the three of us as Elena sits first at one of the bar stools, and then, surprising me, so does Anastasia. They leave a vacant seat between them, and I take it.

"What's up?" I ask Elena.

She glances anxiously at Anastasia, and I reach for Ana's hand. She can stay if she likes. I have no issue with that.

"Anastasia's with me now," I tell Elena firmly, confidently. I tighten my hold on her hand.

I think something sinks in for her, because her face softens, and she looks suddenly very pleased.

She composes herself and takes a breath, shifting and looking really very uncomfortable. I've never seen her like this, and I don't know if it's because Anastasia is present, or if it's for another reason. She drops her nervous gaze to her hands, spinning a large silver ring around and around her middle finger.

Finally, she lifts her gaze to mine.

"I'm being blackmailed," she states.

Well, shit. That I wasn't expecting.

This is bad, really bad, and I feel myself stiffen in response to her words. My worst nightmare, come true in my closest friend's life.

"How?" I hear myself blurt, horrified for her.

She reaches into her purse and produces a note, handing it over to me.

"Put it down, lay it out," I instruct, gesturing to the clean counter top with my chin.

"You don't want to touch it?" she asks, confused.

"No. Fingerprints."

"Christian, you know I can't go to the police with this." Her voice is dubious. She lays the note out and I lean forward to read it.

It's pretty specific about details regarding her lifestyle, mentioning a few names, listing personal information they have of theirs, and of course, the threat of exposing her to her many employees, investors, family and friends. They are requesting five thousand dollars, which almost makes me want to laugh.

"They're only asking for five thousand dollars. Any idea who it might be? Someone in the community?"

"No."

"Linc?"

"What-after all this time? I don't think so," she says, disgruntled.

"Does Isaac know?" I question, referring to her current sub, whom she hasn't mentioned much of, but talks about in passing, sometimes.

"I haven't told him," she reports.

"I think he needs to know," I tell her.

She shakes her head in denial.

Suddenly, I feel Ana attempting to tug her hand from mine. I turn to her.

"What?"

"I'm tired," she explains, as uncomfortable as Elena. "I think I'll go to bed."

It's still early, and I search her eyes, wondering if she's lying. Clearly, she doesn't like Elena being here, and I wonder if this is somehow going to get passed off on me. If she'll be angry with me later. I stare into her eyes, trying to make out what she's thinking, but I can't tell. I pray she won't be angry, that she accepts this for what it is-a friend coming to a friend during a hard time-and that there won't be a fight about it later.

"Okay. I won't be long," I finally tell her.

I let her hand go, and she can't stand up faster. She and Elena stare at each other for a moment, impassive.

"Good night, Anastasia," Elena tells her, giving her a small, polite smile.

"Good night," Ana returns, and her voice sounds cold and distant, which makes me unhappy. Can't she just be nice? Is that too much to ask? She turns to leave and I return my attention to Elena.

"I don't think there's a great deal I can do, Elena," I tell her apologetically, "If it's a question of money... I could ask Welch to investigate."

"No, Christian, I just wanted to share," she assures me. She pauses for a moment, taking a sip of her wine. "You look very happy."

"I am." Without question.

"You deserve to be."

Something inside me locks up, hearing her say that. "I wish that were true."

"Christian," she admonishes, reaching for my hand. Before she gets there, I slide it off the counter top and knot my fists together in my lap, out of her reach. "Does she know how negative you are about yourself? About all your issues."

"She knows me better than anyone." My voice sounds tight, strained. But still not well enough, another voice points out.

"Ouch! That hurts." She appears wounded.

"It's the truth, Elena," I tell her, "I don't have to play games with her. And I mean it, leave her alone." My voice turns hard, stern toward the end.

It's clear she's displeased with that. She's never liked me telling her what to do, and honestly, I can't blame her. But she still needs to be respectful of the woman I love.

"What is her problem?" she sneers.

"You... What we were. What we did. She doesn't understand."

"Make her understand," she insists.

I can feel my temper rising, my tolerance decreasing. "It's in the past, Elena, and why would I want to taint her with our fucked-up relationship? She's good and sweet and innocent, and by some miracle she loves me."

"It's no miracle, Christian," she assures me, "Have a little faith in yourself. You really are quite a catch. I've told you often enough. And she seems lovely, too," she admits, "Strong. Someone to stand up to you."

I can't help but smile. "She's very strong," I confirm quietly, "Strong enough to show me that I can be someone different. I don't need... That."

"Don't you miss it?"

"What?" I ask her warily.

"Your playroom."

I feel a visceral reaction to her words.

"That really is none of your fucking business," I snap at her.

She blinks, taken off guard by my outburst. "I'm sorry." But she doesn't sound sorry.

"I think you'd better go," I tell her, "And please, call before you come again."

I'm on my feet now, and she reaches for my shoulder, her eyes sincere. "Christian, I am sorry," she promises, "Since when are you so sensitive?"

I step back so that her hand falls away. "Elena, we have a business relationship that has profited us both immensely. Let's keep it that way. What was between us is part of the past. Anastasia is my future, and I won't jeopardize it in any way, so cut the fucking crap."

She looks crestfallen, beginning to gather her things. Her eyes are turned away as she murmurs, "I see." She looks hurt, and suddenly I feel bad, the anger dissipating.

What's happening to us, to our friendship?

"Look, I'm sorry for your trouble. Perhaps you should ride it out and call their bluff," I advise.

"I don't want to lose you, Christian." Her tone is ashamed, concerned, and filled with too much meaning that I can't begin to decipher.

"I'm not yours to lose, Elena," I bark at her.

"That's not what I meant," she argues.

"What did you mean?"

"Look," she says, raising a hand, palm forward as she slings her purse over her shoulder, still seated, "I don't want to argue with you. Your friendship means a lot to me. I'll back off from Anastasia. But I'm here if you need me. I always will be."

I don't know what to think anymore, and suddenly, I think back to something Anastasia said.

"Anastasia thinks that you saw me last Saturday. You called, that's all. Why did you tell her otherwise?" I demand. If she's as well-meaning and sincere as she says she is, why is she being so manipulative?

Elena's eyes darken slightly, broodingly. "I wanted her to know how upset you were when she left. I don't want her to hurt you."

"She knows. I've told her. Stop interfering. Honestly, you're like a mother hen." I know even before I've said the words, that it may do little to stop her. Elena is very set in her ways, just as I am, and she's going to interfere if she sees reason to. Suddenly, it dawns on me, that this is the way things are with Anastasia and me at the moment. She's feeling stifled and fed up with my insistence on being involved with everything, and I'm feeling the same way about Elena.

It makes me think, really think.

Elena laughs, but there's a strange, melancholy undertone to it. "I know. I'm sorry," she apologizes for what seems like the millionth time. "You know I care about you. I never thought you'd end up falling in love, Christian. It's very gratifying to see. But I couldn't bear it if she hurt you."

"I'll take my chances. Now, are you sure you don't want Welch to sniff around?"

She exhales heavily. "I suppose it wouldn't do any harm," she consents.

"Okay. I'll call him in the morning." I add it to my mental to-do list.

"Thank you, Christian. And I am sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll go. Next time I'll call." She stands now.

"Good."

I walk her to the foyer, and see her into the elevator.

I go to find Anastasia, who is sitting on my bed.

"She's gone," I tell her, anxiety opening up in my stomach again. I never know with Anastasia. She can be such an open book at times, and then so closed off at others. This is one of those other times, and in light of the day we've had, I'd really like not to fight anymore.

She stares at me for a moment. "Will you tell me all about her?" she inquires, a question I was not expecting in the least. She's always been so adverse to knowing anything about Elena. "I am trying to understand why you think she helped you." She pauses. "I loathe her, Christian. I think she did you untold damage. You have no friends. Did she keep them away from you?"

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, exasperated by the turn her questions have taken-probing about things I really hate to talk about. And why the hell is she suddenly so interested in Elena?

"Why the fuck do you want to know about her? We had a very long-standing affair, she beat the shit out of me often, and I fucked her in all sorts of ways you can't even imagine, end of story."

I know my answer is short, but so many things have come up with Elena this evening, and I don't feel like defending her, shedding a good light on her, nothing of the sort. I don't want to talk about it.

She blinks at me. "Why are you so angry?" she asks.

"Because all of that shit is over!" I explode. I sigh and shake my head again.

Her gaze falls to her fingers, which are knotted in her lap. She looks hurt, wary, scared even, and my unreasonable anger fades. I go to sit by her.

"What do you want to know?" I ask, trying to be tolerable, feeling horrible that I've scared her.

"You don't have to tell me," she mumbles, "I don't mean to intrude."

"Anastasia, it's not that," I insist, "I don't like talking about this shit. I've lived in a bubble for years with nothing affecting me and not having to justify myself to anyone. She's always been there as a confidante. And now my past and my future are colliding in a way I never thought possible." It's terrifying, and I stare at her openly, wondering what my expression betrays.

She looks up at me.

"I never thought I had a future with anyone, Anastasia," I continue, "You give me hope and have me thinking about all sorts of possibilities." I stop myself, drifting off... Moving in together, buying a house... marriage...

"I was listening," she whispers, and her gaze falls to her hands again.

"What? To our conversation?" I'm surprised that she would eavesdrop.

"Yes," she admits.

"Well?"

"She cares for you," she points out.

"Yes, she does," I agree, "And I for her in my own way, but it doesn't come close to how I feel about you. If that's what this is about."

"I'm not jealous." She sounds offended. "You don't love her," she mumbles after a moment.

I sigh again, trying to lift some inexplicable load off my chest that just won't go. "A long time ago, I thought I loved her," I admit through a locked jaw. That is hard to admit. I was stupid and young and didn't know what I was thinking, what I was feeling.

"When we were in Georgia... You said you didn't love her," she says.

"That's right."

She frowns, confused.

"I loved you then, Anastasia," I explain in a whisper, even though I didn't know it then, but it's obvious now, "You're the only person I'd fly three thousand miles to see."

The corners of her mouth turn down even more, and that v-shaped pucker appears between her eyebrows.

"The feelings I have for you are very different from any I ever had for Elena."

"When did you know?" she asks, and I know she is referring to my love for her.

I shrug. "Ironically, it was Elena who pointed it out to me. She encouraged me to go to Georgia."

She only gazes at me, silent. She seems lost in thought for a moment, shaking her head at some notion.

Finally, she speaks. "So you desired her? When you were younger."

"Yes." She seems surprised by this, so I explain: "She taught me a great deal. She taught me to believe in myself."

"But she also beat the shit out of you," she points out.

I smile at the irony. Wasn't that the way. "Yes, she did."

"And you liked that?"

"At the time I did."

"So much that you wanted to do it to others?"

Fuck. This is getting deeper than I thought it would. But some unconscious part of myself pushes on to answer, despite the fear of what her reaction will be: "Yes."

"Did she help you with that?"

"Yes," I admit.

"Did she sub for you?"

"Yes."

Surprise registers on her face once again. "Do you expect me to like her?" she asks bitterly.

"No," I say, relieved that we seem to be back on safer ground, "Though it would make my life a hell of a lot easier. I do understand your reticence." Or at least I believe myself to.

"Reticence!" she repeats, appalled, "Jeez, Christian-if that were your son, how would you feel?"

I blink at her, not understanding the question. My lips turn down. "I didn't have to stay with her. It was my choice too, Anastasia," I murmur, hoping this somewhat answers her question. I'm doing the best I can here.

She blinks, and seems to drop it, moving on to another topic. "Who's Linc?"

I wasn't aware she was paying such close attention to our conversation.

"Her ex-husband."

"Lincoln Timber?" she clarifies.

"The very same," I confirm, smirking.

"And Isaac?"

"Her current submissive."

Horror drains her eyes, and her cheeks appear to pale. I'm shocked that she would have such a reaction, and then I realize it must be because she thinks he's underage.

"He's in his mid-twenties, Anastasia. You know-a consenting adult."

"Your age."

"Look, Anastasia," I move on, ignoring that, "as I said to her, she's part of my past. You are my future. Don't let her come between us, please. And quite frankly, I'm really bored of this subject. I'm going to do some work." I stand and gaze down at her for a moment. "Let it go. Please."

She gazes back at me, her chin jutting stubbornly.

"Oh, I almost forgot," I say, remembering the call I got late this afternoon. "Your car arrived a day early. It's in the garage. Taylor has the key."

She looks excited. "Can I drive it tomorrow?"

My answer is immediate. "No."

"Why not?" she whines.

"You know why not. And that reminds me. If you are going to leave your office, let me know. Sawyer was there, watching you. It seems I can't trust you to look after yourself at all."

"Seems I can't trust you either," is her rebuttal, "You could have told me Sawyer was watching me."

"Do you want to fight about that, too?" I bark. My patience is a thin, short, live wire today.

"I wasn't aware we were fighting. I thought we were communicating," she mutters testily.

I force myself to close my eyes and count backwards from five. I need to stay composed. My anger is the ruling emotion right now, but I do not want to let it control what I do or say in this moment. Rational Christian does not want to fight anymore tonight. Rational Christian is sick of fighting.

"I have to go work." And I leave the room, before I get myself into something I'll regret.