Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as told by Christian: 0 (44 page)

“You up for this?” I ask.

“You’re flying?”

“Yes.”

Her face glows with excitement. “Yes, please!” I love how fearless and enthusiastic she is with any new experience. Leaning over, I kiss her quickly. “Another first, Miss Steele.”

Outside it’s cool but not cold, and the sky is lighter now, pearl and bright at the horizon. I walk around the car and open Ana’s door. With her hand in mine we make our way to the front of the hangar.

Taylor is waiting there with a young bearded man in shorts and sandals.

“Mr. Grey, this is your tow pilot, Mr. Mark Benson,” says Taylor. I release Ana so I can shake hands with Benson, who has a wild glint in his eye.

“You’ve got a great morning for it, Mr. Grey,” Benson says. “The wind is at ten knots from the northeast, which means the convergence along the shore should keep you up for a wee while.”

Benson is British, with a firm handshake.

“Sounds great,” I answer, and watch Ana as she shares a private joke with Taylor. “Anastasia. Come.”

“See you later,” she says to Taylor.

Ignoring her familiarity with my staff, I introduce her to Benson.

“Mr. Benson, this is my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she says, and Benson gives her a bright smile as they shake hands.

“Likewise,” he says. “If you’d like to follow me.”

“Lead the way.” I take Ana’s hand as we fall into step beside Benson.

“I have a Blaník L23 set up and ready. She’s old school. But she handles well.”

“Great. I learned to fly in a Blaník. An L13,” I tell Benson.

“Can’t go wrong with a Blaník. I’m a big fan.” He gives me a thumbs-up. “Though I prefer the L23 for the aerobatics.”

I nod in agreement.

“You’re hooked up to my Piper Pawnee,” he continues. “I’ll take her up to three thousand feet, then set you guys free. That should give you some flying time.”

“I hope so. The cloud cover looks promising.”

“It’s a bit early in the day for much lift. But you never know. Dave, my mate, will spot the wing. He’s in the jakes.”

“Okay.” I think “jakes” means restroom. “You’ve been flying long?”

“Since my days in the RAF. But I’ve been flying these tail-draggers for five years now. We’re on CTAF 122.3, so you know.”

“Got it.”

The L23 looks to be in fine shape, and I make a note of her FAA registration: November. Papa. Three. Alpha.

“First we need to strap on your parachute.” Benson reaches into the cockpit and pulls out a parachute for Ana.

“I’ll do that,” I offer, taking the bundle from Benson before he has a chance to put it or his hands on Ana.

“I’ll fetch some ballast,” Benson says with a cheery smile, and he heads toward the plane.

“You like strapping me into things,” Ana says with a raised brow.

“Miss Steele, you have no idea. Here, step into the straps.” I hold open the leg fastenings for her. Leaning over, she puts her hand on my shoulder. I stiffen instinctively, expecting the darkness
to wake and choke me, but it doesn’t. It’s weird. I don’t know how I’m going to react where her touch is concerned. She lets go once the loops are around her thighs, and I hoist the shoulder straps up over her arms and fasten the parachute.

Boy, she looks good in a harness.

Briefly, I wonder how she’d look spread-eagled and hanging from the karabiners in the playroom, her mouth and her sex at my disposal. But alas, she’s set suspension as a hard limit. “There, you’ll do,” I mutter, trying to banish the image from my mind. “Do you have your hair tie from yesterday?”

“You want me to put my hair up?” she asks.

“Yes.”

She does as she’s told. For a change.

“In you go.” I steady her with my hand and she starts to climb into the back.

“No, front. The pilot sits in the back.”

“But you won’t be able to see.”

“I’ll see plenty.” I’ll see her enjoying herself, I hope.

She climbs in and I bend over into the cockpit to fasten her into her seat, locking the harness and tightening the straps. “Hmm, twice in one morning. I am a lucky man,” I whisper, and kiss her. She beams up at me, her anticipation palpable.

“This won’t take long—twenty, thirty minutes at most. Thermals aren’t great this time of the morning, but it’s so breathtaking up there at this hour. I hope you’re not nervous.”

“Excited,” she says, still grinning.

“Good.” I stroke her cheek with my index finger, then put on my own parachute and climb into the pilot seat.

Benson comes back carrying ballast for Ana, and he checks her straps.

“Yep, that’s secure. First time?” he asks her.

“Yes.”

“You’ll love it.”

“Thanks, Mr. Benson,” Ana says.

“Call me Mark,” he replies,
fucking twinkling
at her. I narrow my eyes at him. “Okay?” he asks me.

“Yep. Let’s go,” I say, impatient to be airborne and to get him away from my girl. Benson nods, shuts the canopy, and ambles over to the Piper. Off to the right I notice Dave, Benson’s mate, has appeared, propping up the wingtip. Quickly I test the equipment: pedals (I hear the rudder move behind me); control stick—side to side (a quick glance at the wings and I can see the ailerons moving); and control stick—front to back (I hear the elevator respond).

Right. We’re ready.

Benson climbs into the Piper and almost immediately the single propeller starts up, loud and throaty in the morning quiet. A few moments later his plane is rolling forward, taking up the slack of the towrope, and we’re off. I balance the ailerons and the rudder as the Piper picks up speed, then I ease back on the control stick, and we sail into the air before Benson does.

“Here we go, baby,” I shout to Ana as we gain height.

“Brunswick Traffic, Delta Victor, heading two-seven-zero.” It’s Benson on the radio. I ignore him as we climb higher and higher. The L23 handles well, and I watch Ana; her head whips from side to side as she tries to take in the view. I wish I could see her smile.

We head west, the newborn sun behind us, and I note when we cross I-95. I love the serenity up here, away from everything and everyone, just me and the glider looking for lift…and to think I’ve never shared this experience with anyone before. The light is beautiful, lambent, all I had hoped it would be…for Ana and for me.

When I check the altimeter we’re nearing three thousand feet and coasting at 105 knots. Benson’s voice crackles over the radio, informing me that we’re at three thousand feet and we can release.

“Affirmative. Release,” I radio back, and pull the release knob. The Piper disappears and I roll us into a slow dip, until we’re heading southwest and riding the wind. Ana laughs out loud. Encouraged by her reaction, I continue to spiral, hoping we might find some convergence lift near the coastline or thermals beneath pale pink clouds—the shallow cumulus might mean lift, even this early.

Suddenly filled with a heady combination of mischief and joy, I shout at Ana, “Hold on tight!” And I take us into a full roll. She
squeals, her hands shooting up and bracing against the canopy. When I right us once more she’s laughing. It is the most gratifying response a man could want, and it makes me laugh, too.

“I’m glad I didn’t have breakfast!” she shouts.

“Yes, in hindsight it’s good you didn’t, because I’m going to do that again.”

This time she holds on to the harness and stares directly down at the ground as she’s suspended over it. She giggles, the noise mixing with the whistle of the wind.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I shout.

“Yes.”

I know we haven’t got long, as there’s not much lift out here—but I don’t care. Ana is enjoying herself…and so am I.

“See the joystick in front of you? Grab hold.”

She tries to turn her head, but she’s buckled in too tight.

“Go on, Anastasia. Grab it,” I urge her.

My joystick moves in my hands, and I know she’s holding hers.

“Hold tight. Keep it steady. See the middle dial in front? Keep the needle dead center.”

We continue to fly in a straight line, the yaw string staying perpendicular to the canopy.

“Good girl.”

My Ana.
Never backs down from a challenge. And for some bizarre reason I feel immensely proud of her.

“I am amazed you let me take control,” she shouts.

“You’d be amazed what I’d let you do, Miss Steele. Back to me now.”

In command of the joystick once more, I turn us in the direction of the airfield as we begin to lose altitude. I think I can land us there. I call over the radio to inform Benson and whoever might be listening that we’re going to land, and then I execute another circle to bring us closer to the ground.

“Hang on, baby. This can get bumpy.”

I dip again and bring the L23 into line with the runway as we descend toward the grass. We land with a bump, and I manage to
keep both wings up until we reach a teeth-jarring stop near the end of the runway. I unclip the canopy, open it, release my harness, and clamber out.

I stretch my limbs, undo my parachute, and smile down at the rosy-cheeked Miss Steele. “How was that?” I ask, reaching down to unbuckle her from the seat and the parachute.

“That was extraordinary. Thank you,” she says, her eyes sparkling with joy.

“Was it more?” I pray she can’t hear the hope in my voice.

“Much more.” She beams, and I feel ten feet tall.

“Come.” I hold out my hand and help her out of the cockpit. As she jumps down I fold her into my arms, pulling her against me. Filled with adrenaline, my body responds immediately to her softness. In a nanosecond my hands are in her hair, and I’m tipping her head back so I can kiss her. My hand skims down to the base of her spine, pressing her against my growing erection, and my mouth takes hers in a long, lingering, possessive kiss.

I want her.

Here.

Now.

On the grass.

She responds in kind, her fingers twisting in my hair, tugging, begging for more, as she opens up for me like a morning glory.

I break away for air and rationality.

Not in a field!

Benson and Taylor are nearby.

Her eyes are luminous, pleading for more.

Don’t look at me like that, Ana.

“Breakfast,” I whisper, before I do something I’ll regret. Turning, I clasp her hand and walk back toward the car.

“What about the glider?” she asks as she tries to keep up with me.

“Someone will take care of that.” It’s what I pay Taylor to do. “We’ll eat now. Come.”

She bounces along beside me, brimming with happiness; I
don’t know if I’ve ever seen her so buoyant. Her mood is infectious and I don’t remember if I’ve ever felt this upbeat, either. I can’t help my big, fat grin as I hold open the car door for her.

With Kings of Leon belting from the sound system I ease the Mustang out of the airfield toward I-95.

As we cruise along the freeway, Ana’s BlackBerry starts beeping.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Alarm for my pill,” she mutters.

“Good, well done. I hate condoms.”

From the sideways look I give her, I think she’s rolling her eyes, but I’m not sure.

“I like that you introduced me to Mark as your girlfriend,” she says, changing the subject.

“Isn’t that what you are?”

“Am I? I thought you wanted a submissive.”

“So did I, Anastasia, and I do. But I’ve told you, I want more, too.”

“I’m very happy that you want more,” she says.

“We aim to please, Miss Steele,” I tease as I pull into the International House of Pancakes—my father’s guilty pleasure.

“IHOP?” she says in disbelief.

The Mustang rumbles to a stop. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I would never have pictured you here.”

“My dad used to bring us to one of these whenever my mom went away to a medical conference.” We shuffle into a booth, facing each other. “It was our secret.” I pick up a menu, watching Ana as she tucks her hair behind her ears and examines what IHOP has to offer for breakfast. She licks her lips in anticipation. And I’m forced to suppress my physical reaction. “I know what I want,” I whisper, and wonder how she would feel visiting the restroom with me. Her eyes meet mine, and her pupils expand.

“I want what you want,” she murmurs. As ever, Miss Steele does not back away from a challenge.

“Here?”
Are you sure, Ana?
Her eyes dart around the quiet restaurant, then come to rest on me, darkening and full of carnal
promise. “Don’t bite your lip,” I warn. Much as I’d like to, I’m not going to fuck her in the restroom at IHOP. She deserves better than that, and frankly, so do I. “Not here, not now. If I can’t have you here, don’t tempt me.”

We’re interrupted.

“Hi, my name’s Leandra. What can I get for you…er…folks…er…today, this mornin’?”

Oh, God.
I ignore the redheaded server.

“Anastasia?” I prompt her.

“I told you, I want what you want.”

Hell.
She might as well be addressing my groin.

“Shall I give you folks another minute to decide?” the waitress asks.

“No. We know what we want.” I cannot tear my gaze from Ana’s. “We’ll have two portions of the original buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup and bacon on the side, two glasses of orange juice, one black coffee with skim milk, and one English Breakfast tea, if you have it.”

Ana smiles.

“Thank you, sir. Will that be all?” the waitress exclaims, all breathy and embarrassed. Tearing my attention away from Ana, I dismiss the waitress with a look and she scurries away.

“You know, it’s really not fair,” Ana says, her voice quiet as her finger traces a figure eight on the table.

“What’s not fair?”

“How you disarm people. Women. Me.”

“Do I disarm you?” I’m stunned.

“All the time.”

“It’s just looks, Anastasia.”

“No, Christian, it’s much more than that.”

She has this the wrong way around, and once again I tell her how disarming I find her.

Her brow furrows. “Is that why you’ve changed your mind?”

“Changed my mind?”

“Yes—about…er…us?”