Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as told by Christian: 0 (28 page)

“I told you what I’d do. I’m a man of my word. I’m going to spank you, and then I’m going to fuck you very quick and very hard. Looks like we’ll need that condom after all.”

Will she? Won’t she? This is it. Proof of whether she can do this or not. I watch her, impassive, waiting for her to decide. If she says no, it means she’s paying lip service to the idea of being my submissive.

And that will be it.

Make the right choice, Ana.

Her expression is grave, her eyes wide, and I think she’s weighing up her decision.

“I’m waiting,” I murmur. “I’m not a patient man.”

Taking a deep breath, she unfurls her legs and crawls toward me, and I hide my relief.

“Good girl. Now stand up.”

She does as she’s told, and I offer her my hand. She lays the condom on my palm, and I grasp her hand and abruptly pull her over my left knee, so that her head, shoulders, and chest are resting on the bed. I drape my right leg over her legs, holding her in place. I’ve wanted to do this since she asked me if I was gay. “Put your hands up on either side of your head,” I order and she complies immediately. “Why am I doing this, Anastasia?”

“Because I rolled my eyes at you,” she says in a hoarse whisper.

“Do you think that’s polite?”

“No.”

“Will you do it again?”

“No.”

“I will spank you each time you do it, do you understand?”

I’m going to savor this moment. It’s another first.

With great care—relishing the deed—I tug down her sweatpants. Her beautiful behind is naked and ready for me. As I place my hand on her backside, she tenses every muscle in her body…waiting. Her skin is soft to the touch and I sweep my palm across both cheeks, fondling each. She has a fine, fine ass. And I’m going to make it pink…like the champagne.

Lifting my palm, I smack her, hard, just above the junction of her thighs.

She gasps and tries to rise, but I hold her down with my other hand at the small of her back, and I soothe the area I’ve just hit with a slow, gentle caress.

She stays still.

Panting.

Anticipating.

Yes. I’m going to do that again.

I smack her once, twice, three times.

She grimaces at the pain, her eyes screwed shut. But she doesn’t ask me to stop even though she’s squirming beneath me.

“Keep still, or I’ll spank you for longer,” I warn.

I rub her sweet flesh and start again, taking turns: left cheek, right cheek, middle.

She cries out. But she doesn’t move her arms, and she still doesn’t ask me to stop.

“I’m just getting warmed up.” My voice is husky. I smack her again, and trace the pink handprint I’ve left on her skin. Her ass is pinking up nicely. It looks glorious.

I smack her once more.

And she cries out again.

“No one to hear you, baby, just me.”

I spank her over and over—the same pattern, left cheek, right cheek, middle—and she yelps each time. When I reach eighteen I stop. I’m breathless, my palm is stinging, and my cock is rigid.

“Enough,” I rasp, trying to catch my breath. “Well done, Anastasia. Now I’m going to fuck you.”

I stroke her pink behind gently, round and round, moving down. She’s wet.

And my body gets harder.

I insert two fingers into her vagina.

“Feel this. See how much your body likes this. You’re soaking, just for me.” I slide my fingers in and out, and she groans, her body curling around them with each push and her breathing accelerating.

I withdraw them.

I want her. Now.

“Next time, I will get you to count. Now, where’s that condom?” Grabbing it from beside her head, I ease her gently off my lap and onto the bed, facedown. Unzipping my fly, I don’t bother to remove my jeans, and I make short work of the foil packet, rolling the condom on quickly and efficiently. I lift her hips until she’s kneeling and her ass in all its rosy glory is poised in the air as I stand behind her.

“I’m going to take you now. You can come,” I growl, caressing her behind and grabbing my cock. With one swift thrust I’m inside her.

She moans as I move. In. Out. In. Out. I pound into her, watching my cock disappear beneath her pink backside.

Her mouth is open wide and she grunts and groans with each thrust, her cries getting higher and higher.

Come on, Ana.

She clenches around me and cries out as she comes, hard.

“Oh, Ana!” I follow her over the edge as I climax into her and lose all time and perspective.

I collapse at her side, pull her on top of me, and, wrapping my
arms around her, I whisper into her hair, “Oh, baby, welcome to my world.”

Her weight anchors me, and she makes no attempt to touch my chest. Her eyes are closed and her breathing is returning to normal. I stroke her hair. It’s soft, a rich mahogany, shining in the glow of her bedside light. She smells of Ana and apples and sex. It’s heady. “Well done, baby.”

She’s not in tears. She did as she was asked. She’s faced every challenge I’ve thrown at her; she really is quite remarkable. I finger the thin strap of her cheap cotton camisole. “Is this what you sleep in?”

“Yes.” She sounds drowsy.

“You should be in silks and satins, you beautiful girl. I’ll take you shopping.”

“I like my sweats,” she argues.

Of course she does.

I kiss her hair. “We’ll see.”

Closing my eyes, I relax in our quiet moment, a strange contentment warming me, filling me up inside.

This feels right
. Too right.

“I have to go,” I murmur, and kiss her forehead. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she says, sounding a little subdued.

Gently I roll out from underneath her and get up. “Where’s your bathroom?” I ask, taking off the used condom and zipping up my jeans.

“Down the hall to the left.”

In the bathroom I discard the condoms in a trash bin and spy a bottle of baby oil on the shelf.

That’s what I need.

She’s dressed when I return, evading my gaze.
Why so shy suddenly?

“I found some baby oil. Let me rub it into your behind.”

“No. I’ll be fine,” she says, examining her fingers, still avoiding eye contact.

“Anastasia,” I warn her.

Please just do as you’re told.

I sit down behind her and tug down her sweatpants. Squirting some baby oil on my hand, I rub it tenderly into her sore ass.

She puts her hands on her hips in an obstinate stance, but stays silent.

“I like my hands on you,” I admit out loud to myself. “There.” I pull her sweatpants up. “I’m leaving now.”

“I’ll see you out,” she says quietly, standing aside. I take her hand and reluctantly let go when we reach the front door. Part of me doesn’t want to leave.

“Don’t you have to call Taylor?” she asks, her eyes fixed on the zipper of my leather jacket.

“Taylor’s been here since nine. Look at me.”

Large blue eyes peek up at me through long, dark lashes.

“You didn’t cry.” My voice is low.

And you let me spank you. You’re amazing.

I grab her and kiss her, pouring my gratitude into the kiss and holding her close. “Sunday,” I whisper, fevered, against her lips. I release her abruptly before I’m tempted to ask her if I can stay, and I head out to where Taylor is waiting in the SUV. Once I’m in the car I look back, but she’s gone. She’s probably tired…like me.

Pleasantly tired.

That has to have been the most pleasurable “soft limits” conversation I’ve ever had.

Damn, that woman is unexpected.
Closing my eyes, I see her riding me, her head tipped back in ecstasy. Ana does not do things halfheartedly. She commits. And to think she had sex for the first time only a week ago.

With me. And no one else.

I grin as I stare out the car window, but all I see is my ghostly face reflected in the glass. So I close my eyes and allow myself to daydream.

Training her will be fun.

TAYLOR WAKES ME FROM
my doze. “We’re here, Mr. Grey.”

“Thank you,” I mumble. “I have a meeting in the morning.”

“At the hotel?”

“Yes. Videoconference. I won’t need to be driven anywhere. But I’d like to leave before lunch.”

“What time would you like me to pack?”

“Ten thirty.”

“Very good, sir. The BlackBerry you asked for will be delivered to Miss Steele tomorrow.”

“Good. That reminds me. Can you collect her old Beetle tomorrow and dispose of it? I don’t want her driving it.”

“Of course. I have a friend who restores vintage cars. He might be interested. I’ll deal with it. Will there be anything else?”

“No thank you. Good night.”

“Good night.”

I leave Taylor to park the SUV and make my way up to my suite.

Opening a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge, I sit down at the desk and switch on my laptop.

No urgent e-mails.

But my real purpose is to say good night to Ana.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
You

Date:
May 26 2011 23:14

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

You are quite simply exquisite. The most beautiful, intelligent, witty, and brave woman I have ever met. Take some Advil—this is not a request. And don’t drive your Beetle again. I will know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

She’ll probably be asleep, but I keep my laptop open just in case and check e-mail. A few minutes later her response arrives.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Flattery

Date:
May 26 2011 23:20

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

Flattery will get you nowhere, but since you’ve been
everywhere,
the point is moot.

I will need to drive my Beetle to a garage so I can sell it—so will not graciously accept any of your nonsense over that. Red wine is always more preferable to Advil.

Ana

P.S.: Caning is a HARD limit for me.

Her opening line makes me laugh out loud.
Oh, baby, I have not been everywhere I want to go with you.
Red wine on top of champagne? Not a clever mix, and caning is off the list. I wonder what else she’ll object to as I compose my reply.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Frustrating Women Who Can’t Take Compliments

Date:
May 26 2011 23:26

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I am not flattering you. You should go to bed.

I accept your addition to the hard limits.

Don’t drink too much.

Taylor will dispose of your car and get a good price for it, too.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I hope she’s in bed now.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Taylor—Is He the Right Man for the Job?

Date:
May 26 2011 23:40

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Sir,

I am intrigued that you are happy to risk letting your right-hand man drive my car but not some woman you fuck occasionally. How can I be sure that Taylor is the man to get me the best deal for said car? I have, in the past, probably before I met you, been known to drive a hard bargain.

Ana

What the hell? Some woman I fuck occasionally?

I have to take a deep breath. Her response irks me…no, infuriates me. How
dare
she talk about herself like that? As my submissive she’ll be so much more than that. I’ll be devoted to her. Does she not realize this?

And she has driven a hard bargain with me.
Good God!
Look at all the concessions I’ve made with regard to the contract.

I count to ten, and to calm down, I visualize myself aboard
The Grace,
my catamaran, sailing on the Sound.

Flynn would be proud.

I respond.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Careful!

Date:
May 26 2011 23:44

To:
Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele,

I am assuming it is the RED WINE talking, and that you’ve had a very long day.

Though I am tempted to drive back over there to ensure that you don’t sit down for a week, rather than an evening.

Taylor is ex-army and capable of driving anything from a motorcycle to a Sherman tank. Your car does not present a hazard to him.

Now please do not refer to yourself as “some woman I fuck occasionally” because, quite frankly, it makes me MAD, and you really wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I exhale slowly, steadying my heart rate. Who else on earth has the ability to get under my skin like this?

She doesn’t write back immediately. Perhaps she’s intimidated by my response. I pick up my book, but soon find that I’ve read the same paragraph three times while awaiting her reply. I look up for the umpteenth time.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Careful Yourself

Date:
May 26 2011 23:57

To:
Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey,

I’m not sure I like you anyway, especially at the moment.

Miss Steele

I stare at her reply, and all my anger withers and dies, to be replaced by a surge of anxiety.

Shit.

Is she saying that’s it?

FRIDAY, MAY 27, 2011

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Careful Yourself

Date:
May 27 2011 00:03

To:
Anastasia Steele

Why don’t you like me?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I get up and open another bottle of sparkling water.

And wait.

From:
Anastasia Steele

Subject:
Careful Yourself

Date:
May 27 2011 00:09

To:
Christian Grey

Because you never stay with me.

Six words.

Six little words that make my scalp tingle.

I told her that I didn’t sleep with anyone.

But today was a big day.

She graduated from college.

She said yes.

We went through all those soft limits that she knew nothing about. We fucked. I spanked her. We fucked again.

Shit.

And before I can stop myself, I grab the garage ticket for my car, pick up a jacket, and I’m out the door.

THE ROADS ARE EMPTY
and I’m at her place twenty-three minutes later.

I knock quietly, and Kavanagh opens the door.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” she shouts, her eyes blazing with anger.

Whoa. Not the reception I was expecting.

“I’ve come to see Ana.”

“Well, you can’t!” Kavanagh stands with arms folded and legs braced in the doorway, like a gargoyle.

I try reasoning with her. “But I need to see her. She sent me an e-mail.”
Get out of my way!

“What the fuck have you done to her now?”

“That’s what I need to find out.” I grit my teeth.

“Ever since she met you she cries all the time.”

“What?” I can’t deal with her shit anymore, and I barge past her.

“You can’t come in here!” Kavanagh follows me, shrieking like a harpy, as I storm through the apartment to Ana’s bedroom.

I open Ana’s door and switch on the main light. She’s huddled in her bed, wrapped in her comforter. Her eyes are red and puffy, and squinting in the overhead light. Her nose is swollen and blotchy.

I’ve seen women in this state many times, especially after I’ve punished them. But I’m surprised by the unease that grips my gut.

“Jesus, Ana.” I flick the main light off so she doesn’t have to squint and I sit on the bed beside her.

“What are you doing here?” She’s sniffling. I turn on her bedside light.

“Do you want me to throw this asshole out?” Kate barks from the doorway.

Fuck you, Kavanagh.
Raising an eyebrow, I pretend to ignore her.

Ana shakes her head, but her watery eyes are on me.

“Just holler if you need me,” Kate says to Ana, as if she were a child. “Grey,” she snaps, so I’m obliged to look at her. “You’re on my shit list, and I’m watching you.” She sounds shrill, her eyes glinting with fury, but I don’t give a fuck.

Fortunately she leaves, pulling the door to, but not shutting it. I check in my inside pocket, and once again Mrs. Jones has exceeded all expectations; I fish out the handkerchief and give it to Ana. “What’s going on?”

“Why are you here?” Her voice is shaky.

I don’t know.

You said you didn’t like me.

“Part of my role is to look after your needs. You said you wanted me to stay, so here I am.”
Nice save, Grey.
“And yet I find you like this.”
You weren’t like this when I left.
“I’m sure I’m responsible, but I have no idea why. Is it because I hit you?”

She struggles to sit up and flinches when she does.

“Did you take some Advil?” As instructed?

She shakes her head.

When will you do as you’re told?

I go to find Kavanagh, who’s on the sofa, seething.

“Ana has a headache. Do you have any Advil?”

She raises her eyebrows, surprised, I think, by my concern for her friend. Glowering, she gets up and stomps into the kitchen. After some rustling through boxes she hands me a couple of tablets and a teacup of water.

Back in the bedroom I offer them to Ana and sit on the bed. “Take these.”

She does, her eyes clouded with apprehension.

“Talk to me. You told me you were okay. I’d never have left you if I thought you were like this.” Distracted, she toys with a loose
thread on her quilt. “I take it that when you said you were okay, you weren’t.”

“I thought I was fine,” she admits.

“Anastasia, you can’t tell me what you think I want to hear. That’s not very honest. How can I trust anything you’ve said to me?” This will never work if she’s not honest with me.

The thought is depressing.

Talk to me, Ana.

“How did you feel while I was hitting you, and after?”

“I didn’t like it. I’d rather you didn’t do it again.”

“You weren’t meant to like it.”

“Why do you like it?” she asks, and her voice is stronger.

Shit.
I can’t tell her why.

“You really want to know?”

“Oh, trust me, I’m fascinated.” Now she’s being sarcastic.

“Careful,” I warn her.

She pales at my expression. “Are you going to hit me again?”

“No, not tonight.”
I think you’ve had enough.

“So.” She still wants an answer.

“I like the control it gives me, Anastasia. I want you to behave in a particular way, and if you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn to behave the way I desire. I enjoy punishing you. I’ve wanted to spank you since you asked me if I was gay.”

And I don’t want you rolling your eyes at me, or being sarcastic.

“So you don’t like the way I am.” Her voice is small.

“I think you’re lovely the way you are.”

“So why are you trying to change me?”

“I don’t want to change you.”
God forbid. You’re enchanting.
“I’d like you to be courteous and to follow the set of rules I’ve given you and not defy me. Simple.”
I want you safe.

“But you want to punish me?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That’s what I don’t understand.”

I sigh. “It’s the way I’m made. I need to control you. I need you to behave in a certain way, and if you don’t—” My mind drifts.
I find it arousing, Ana. You did, too. Can’t you accept that?
Bending you over my knee…feeling your ass beneath my palm.
“I love to watch your beautiful alabaster skin pink and warm up under my hands. It turns me on.” Just thinking about it stirs my body.

“So it’s not the pain you’re putting me through?”

Hell.

“A bit, to see if you can take it.” Actually, it’s a lot, but I don’t want to go there right now. If I tell her, she’ll throw me out. “But that’s not the whole reason. It’s the fact that you are mine to do with as I see fit—ultimate control over someone else. And it turns me on. Big-time.”

I must lend her a book or two on being a submissive.

“Look, I’m not explaining myself very well. I’ve never had to before. I’ve not really thought about this in any great depth. I’ve always been with like-minded people.” I pause to check she’s still with me. “And you haven’t answered my question—how did you feel afterward?”

She blinks. “Confused.”

“You were sexually aroused by it, Anastasia.”

You have an inner freak, Ana. I know it.

Closing my eyes, I recall her wet and wanting around my fingers after I spanked her. When I open them, she’s staring at me, pupils dilated, her lips parted…her tongue moistening her top lip. She wants it, too.

Shit. Not again, Grey. Not when she’s like this.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn, my voice gruff.

Her eyebrows rise in surprise.

You know what I mean, Ana.
“I don’t have any condoms, and you know, you’re upset. Contrary to what your roommate believes, I’m not a priapic monster. So, you felt confused?”

She remains mute.

Jesus.

“You have no problem being honest with me in print. Your e-mails always tell me exactly how you feel. Why can’t you do that in conversation? Do I intimidate you that much?”

Her fingers fiddle with the quilt.

“You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus, flying too close to the sun.” Her voice is quiet, but brimming with emotion.

Her confession floors me like a swift kick to the head.

“Well, I think you’ve got that the wrong way round,” I whisper.

“What?”

“Oh, Anastasia, you’ve bewitched me. Isn’t it obvious?”

That’s why I’m here.

She’s not convinced.

Ana. Believe me.
“You’ve still not answered my question. Write me an e-mail, please. But right now, I’d really like to sleep. Can I stay?”

“Do you want to stay?”

“You wanted me here.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” she persists.

Impossible woman.
I just drove like a maniac to get here after your fucking message. There’s your answer.

I grumble that I’ll respond by e-mail. I’m not talking about this. This conversation is over.

Before I can change my mind and head back to The Heathman, I stand, empty my pockets, remove my shoes and socks, and strip off my pants. Slinging my jacket over her chair, I climb into her bed.

“Lie down,” I growl.

She complies, and I lean up on my elbow, looking at her. “If you are going to cry, cry in front of me. I need to know.”

“Do you want me to cry?”

“Not particularly. I just want to know how you’re feeling. I don’t want you slipping through my fingers. Switch the light off. It’s late, and we both have to work tomorrow.”

She does.

“Lie on your side, facing away from me.”

I don’t want you to touch me.

The bed dips as she moves, and I wrap my arm around her and gently pull her against me.

“Sleep, baby,” I murmur, and breathe in the scent of her hair.

Damn, she smells good.

Lelliot is running through the grass.

He’s laughing. Loud.

I am running after him. My face is smiling.

I am going to catch him.

There are small trees around us.

Baby trees covered in apples.

Mommy lets me pick the apples.

Mommy lets me eat the apples.

I put the apples in my pockets. Every pocket.

I hide them in my sweater.

Apples taste good.

Apples smell good.

Mommy makes apple pie.

Apple pie and ice cream.

They make my tummy smile.

I hide the apples in my shoes. I hide them under my pillow.

There is a man. Grandpa Trev-Trev-yan.

His name is hard. Hard to say in my head.

He has another name. Thee-o-door.

Theodore is a funny name.

The baby trees are his trees.

At his house. Where he lives.

He is Mommy’s daddy.

He has a loud laugh. And big shoulders.

And happy eyes.

He runs to catch Lelliot and me.

You can’t catch me.

Lelliot runs. He laughs.

I run. I catch him.

And we fall down in the grass.

He is laughing.

The apples sparkle in the sun.

And they taste so good.

Yummy.

And they smell so good.

So, so good.

The apples fall.

They fall on me.

I twist and they hit my back. Stinging me.

Ow.

But the scent is still there, sweet and crisp.

Ana.

When I open my eyes I’m wrapped around her, our limbs entwined. She’s regarding me with a tender smile. Her face is no longer blotchy and puffy; she looks radiant. My cock agrees, and stiffens in greeting.

“Good morning.” I’m disoriented. “Jesus, even in my sleep I’m drawn to you.” Stretching out, I disentangle myself from her and scan my surroundings. Of course, we’re in her bedroom. Her eyes glow with eager curiosity as my cock presses against her. “Hmm, this has possibilities, but I think we should wait until Sunday.” I nuzzle her just below her ear and lean up on my elbow.

She looks flushed. Warm.

“You’re very hot,” she scolds.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” I grin and flex my hips, teasing her with my favorite body part. She tries a disapproving look but fails miserably—she’s highly amused. Leaning down, I kiss her.

“Sleep well?” I ask.

She nods.

“So did I.”

I’m surprised. I did sleep really well. I tell her so. No nightmares. Only dreams…

“What’s the time?” I ask.

“It’s seven thirty.”

“Seven thirty? Shit!” I leap out of bed and start dragging on my jeans. She watches me dress, trying to suppress her laughter.

“You are such a bad influence on me,” I complain. “I have a meeting. I have to go—I have to be in Portland at eight. Are you smirking at me?”

“Yes,” she admits.

“I’m late. I don’t do late. Another first, Miss Steele.” I tug on my jacket, reach down and take her head in both my hands. “Sunday,” I whisper, and kiss her. I grab my watch, wallet, and money from her bedside table, pick up my shoes, and head for the door. “Taylor will come and sort your Beetle. I was serious. Don’t drive it. I’ll see you at my place on Sunday. I’ll e-mail you a time.”

Leaving her a little dazed, I rush out of the apartment and to my car.

I put on my shoes while I’m driving. Once they’re on I open up the throttle and weave in and out of the traffic heading to Portland. I’ll have to meet Eamon Kavanagh’s associates in my jeans. Thankfully this meeting is via WebEx.

I burst into my room at The Heathman and switch on my laptop: 8:02.
Shit.
I haven’t shaved, but I smooth my hair and straighten my jacket, and hope they don’t notice I’m only wearing a T-shirt underneath.

Who gives a fuck, anyway?

I open WebEx and Andrea is online, waiting for me. “Good morning, Mr. Grey. Mr. Kavanagh is delayed, but they’re ready for you in New York and here in Seattle.”