Anastasia Grey was trying to enjoy her morning, but Christian Grey had other ideas. Sitting in their sprawling Seattle penthouse, Anastasia was flipping through a glossy magazine, sipping her coffee, and basking in a rare moment of peace. That peace, however, was short-lived.
Christian, with his usual smirk and air of infuriating charm, slid onto the couch beside her. He had that look—mischievous, self-satisfied, and far too pleased with himself.
"Good morning, Mrs. Grey," he murmured, leaning closer. His finger traced a slow, deliberate line down her arm. "Singular."
Anastasia rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Not this again."
Christian tilted his head, feigning innocence. "What? I like touching my wife. Is that a crime?"
"It is when you use the word 'singular' every time," she said, swatting his hand away playfully. "I get it—you think you're poetic."
He grinned, undeterred. "It's not just poetry, Anastasia. It's a statement. You're my singular focus, my singular obsession—"
"Christian," she interrupted, setting her coffee cup down with exaggerated care. "If you say 'singular' one more time, I might throw this mug at you."
"Singular," he whispered, his fingers now tracing the back of her neck.
"Christian!" she exclaimed, half-laughing, half-serious. "I mean it. Stop."
But he didn't. Instead, he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. "You're exquisite, Mrs. Grey. Singularly exquisite."
Anastasia groaned, shoving him away. "Enough! Go do something productive. Don't you have a billion-dollar company to run?"
"Today's my day off," he said smugly. "I thought we could spend it together. I've got the perfect plan."
"Does it involve you saying 'singular' fifty more times?" she deadpanned.
"No," he said, grinning. "It involves cars."
Anastasia should've known that Christian's idea of spending quality time together involved attending a high-end car show where every vehicle cost more than a small island. She walked beside him through the exhibition hall, her heels clicking against the polished floor. The place was a spectacle of gleaming metal, bold designs, and enough horsepower to make any enthusiast swoon.
Christian, of course, was in his element. He walked with his signature swagger, nodding at the occasional admirer who recognized him. He stopped in front of a sleek black Aston Martin, his eyes lighting up like a kid in a candy store.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said, running his hand along the hood. Then, as if on autopilot, he turned to Anastasia and traced his finger down her arm again. "Singular."
She swatted his hand away. "Christian, we're in public."
"And?"
"And," she said, lowering her voice, "people are staring."
"Let them stare," he said with a shrug. "I'm just showing my appreciation for the most singularly stunning woman here."
She glared at him. "I will leave you here with your cars."
"No, you won't," he said, smirking. "You can't resist me."
"Watch me."
They moved on to another display, where Christian marveled at a classic Porsche. Anastasia tried to engage, nodding and making polite comments, but Christian's relentless touches—on her arm, her shoulder, her back—were testing her patience.
When he leaned in for the fifth time, his hand brushing her waist, she spun around. "Christian Grey, stop touching me like I'm part of the exhibit!"
A nearby couple glanced their way, clearly amused. Christian, unfazed, raised an eyebrow. "But you are, Mrs. Grey. The star attraction."
"Christian!" she hissed, her cheeks flushing. "I'm serious."
"I can't help it," he said, leaning closer again. "You're irresistible."
"Try harder," she shot back, stepping out of his reach.
The final straw came when they stopped in front of a Lamborghini. Christian stood behind her, his hands settling on her hips. "Do you know what I'm thinking right now?" he murmured.
"That I should've stayed home?" she said.
"No," he said, his voice low. "I'm thinking about how you'd look in the driver's seat. Singularly captivating."
That was it.
Anastasia spun around, her eyes blazing. "If you say 'singular' one more time, Christian, I swear I will drive this Lamborghini straight out of here and leave you in the dust."
He blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then he grinned. "Noted."
They finished the car show without further incident, though Christian couldn't resist sneaking in a few more touches. By the time they got home, Anastasia was exhausted—not from walking, but from dealing with her husband's antics.
As they entered the penthouse, she turned to him, hands on her hips. "Promise me something."
"Anything," he said, pulling her close.
"No more 'singular.' Ever."
He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I promise."
"And no more touching me like I'm a sculpture," she added.
"Deal," he said, though his grin suggested otherwise.
Later that evening, as they relaxed on the couch, Christian reached for her hand. Anastasia raised an eyebrow. "What did I just say?"
He chuckled, holding her hand anyway. "Relax, Mrs. Grey. This isn't about being singular. This is about us."
She sighed, leaning against him despite herself. "You're lucky I love you."
"And you're lucky I'm irresistible," he said, kissing the top of her head.
Anastasia rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. Life with Christian Grey was never boring, even if it sometimes tested her patience. At least he kept things interesting.