(Fifty Shades #2) Fifty Shades Darker by E.L. James

50 Shades Trilogy Review

Reviewing the Trilogy as an entirety, is not an easy feat. It’s nothing like Harry Potter, where you think each book is perfect and you simply cannot decide on a favorite. Nor is this book like Twilight Saga, where Bella is always having a fight within herself, between being apart of reality, and the vampire/wolf world. Yes, the two (meaning Twilight and 50 Shades) have a lot of similarities. But! They are very different, as they should since this book is aimed at an entirely different age group.

No fifteen year old should be reading this, at all. Even though, I know some parents out there are doing just that. Please, for the benefit of a doubt, at least fall in love first (in a relationship, no just a really big crush, okay), or at least have sex (do not go have sex with a random boy just because this blog said to), just once, before even attempting to read this.

I don’t want girls out there thinking that some hot CEO is going to scoop them up and have their way with them just because that’s how ONE book told them that’s how it is. That is simply not the case. Sex/love (or both) happen with people at many different places for many different reasons. I don’t want teenagers out there thinking that all guys want is hot, kinky, “red room of pain” fuckery. That’s not what all guys want. Each and every guy is different and have different needs, hopes, and dreams. This, is very important to remember.

I felt the need to write that little bit, just in case.

Synopsis

The books tell the life of Anastasia Steele, as she is finishing her college years and graduate soon. She’s forced into interviewing Mr. Grey for her best friend, Kate, who has the flu. She embarrasses herself in front of Mr. Grey by not checking with Kate about his background information and by asking him if he is, in fact, gay. Mr. Grey is intrigued by Ana, to the point of showing up at her work and asking her some personal questions. He hands her his business card for a photo shoot for the school paper. Jose, Ana and Kate go out for drinks. Ana and Jose get wasted and Ana accidentally dials Christian’s number. He shows up as soon as Jose tries to kiss Ana. Christian takes Ana to his hotel suit, where he takes care of her, as in, holding her hair back as she pukes. This starts their BDSM relationship, after he makes love to her, making her lose her virginity to him. That’s only one of their many “firsts”. He buys her a car, new clothes, first edition books, … etc… and in return, all she has to do is be his sex slave. All that doesn’t sit too well with Ana. She is very cautious but curious. She never does sign the paperwork. However, she does participate in the “Red room of pain” where Christian “aims to please”.  Some of it was too much for dear Ana, some of it she liked. In the end, it made her leave him because she didn’t know how to deal with him anymore.

– End of book one-

Book two starts with Ana in depression, and Christian pretty much almost going insane. They get back together, without all the kinky fuckery involved i.e. “vanilla”. They are both in love, obviously. Christian starts to announce her around as his “girlfriend” (started in the first book, another one of their many firsts). She gets a job at a local publishing firm, where she’s an assistant to a complete and utter scumbag. Christian beats him up for making a move on Ana, and fires him, since he bought the company a couple of weeks ago. Christian asks Ana for her hand in marriage, where she is reluctant to say yes, since she knows that he’s “50 shades of fucked up”. One of those shades being his old and first mistress, Elena Robinson. Oh, do they argue about her. Ana views her as a pedophile, taking advantage of Christian when he was just 15 years old. One of the other 50 shades is Lelia, an ex-sub of Mr. Grey’s.  She went completely crazy after her lover died suddenly. She broke into Christian’s house as well as Ana’s. When Ana went to her apartment to check on Ethan(Kate’s brother), Lelia was in the apartment holding a gun. Christian came running to the rescue.  Ana and Christian also started to see his shrink together. She asks him his opinion about Christian. After this conversation, she tells Christian that she will, in fact, marry him on his birthday. Christian was more than excited to share the news with all his birthday guests.  At his party, Mrs. Robinson decided to be a smart mouth to Ana, to the point where Ana throws her alcoholic drink into her face! (That was my favorite part). This book ends with Ana’s old boss, waiting outside the Grey’s house.

-End of book two-

The last book starts with Christian and Ana on their honeymoon on a boat they rented. They’re in the south of France. Having a blast. Their 3 week vacation is almost over and have to return to work. They bought an actual house together which is getting renovated. Ana still has security with her at all times. She goes to have a drink with Kate one night, against Christian’s will. She comes home to broken furniture and one of the security guys knocked out Ana’s old boss. Apparently, he was planning on kidnapping Ana for ransom. After that, Christian surprises Ana with a trip to Aspen, with some friends tagging along. They only stay for a couple of days. Ana finds out she’s pregnant. She decides to tell Christian, who blows it completely out of proportion. He goes talks to Mrs. Robinson and gets drunk. Ana is fearful for her baby’s life. She spends the night in the “red room of pain”.  An anonymous person bails her boss out of jail. Jack (her old boss) calls her on Mia’s phone, telling her to bring 5 million dollars to him within two hours. Ana, does as she’s told, but it’s not an easy task. She’s shocked to see one of her workers there with Jack. He hits her, kicks her, and attempts to beat her up. Ana, being smart, pulls a gun out on him and shoots him. Ana falls to the ground, tired and exhausted for the days events. As soon as she does, Christian and the police shows up. Jack is taken to jail. Ana’s in the hospital for a couple of days. Her baby is fine. She returns home, and then to work a week later. While most of this is going on, Ana’s dad is in the hospital, after being hit by a drunk driver. He’s fine after a week in the hospital. The book ends with Ana pregnant with baby #2. They’re living in the house that was being renovated. The first baby ended up being a boy named Teddy. Baby #2 is a girl. Her name will be Phoebe.

– End of book 3-

Book 3 had more kinky sex scenes than book 2. Even when Ana is pregnant, she had kinky sex.

Overall, it was a good book series. In the sense that it was entertaining and educational (about BDSM). If you’re not into reading romance or erotica, then don’t even bother picking up this book.

This is just my opinion. Honest and true.



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Chapter Twenty-Two

All the color drains from my face as my blood turns to ice and fear lances through my body.

Instinctively I step between her and Christian.

"What is it?" Christian murmurs, his tone wary.

I ignore him. I cannot believe Kate is doing this.

"Kate! This is nothing to do with you." I glare venomously at her, anger replacing my fear. How dare she do this? Not now, not today. Not on Christian's birthday. Surprised by my response, she blinks at me, green eyes wide.

"Ana, what is it?" Christian says again, his tone more menacing.

"Christian, would you just go, please?" I ask him.

"No. Show me." He holds out his hand, and I know he's not to be argued with - his voice is cold and hard. Reluctantly I give him the e-mail.

"What's he done to you?" Kate asks, ignoring Christian. She looks so apprehensive. I flush as a myriad of erotic images flit quickly across my mind.

"That's none of your business, Kate." I can't keep the exasperation out of my voice.

"Where did you get this?" Christian asks, his head cocked to one side, his face expressionless, but his voice... so menacingly soft. Kate flushes.

"That's irrelevant." At his stony glare, she hastily continues. "It was in the pocket of a jacket - which I assume is yours - that I found on the back of Ana's bedroom door." Faced with Christian's burning gray gaze, Kate's steeliness slips a little, but she seems to recover and scowls at him.

She's a beacon of hostility in a slinky, bright red dress. She looks magnificent. But what the hell is she going through my clothes for? It's usually the other way round.

"Have you told anyone?" Christian's voice is like a silk glove.

"No! Of course not," Kate snaps, affronted. Christian nods and appears to relax. He turns and heads toward the fireplace. Wordlessly Kate and I watch as he picks up a lighter from the mantelpiece, sets fire to the e-mail, and releases it, letting it float afire slowly into the grate until it is no more. The silence in the room is oppressive.

"Not even Elliot?" I ask, turning my attention back to Kate.

"No one," Kate says emphatically, and for the first time she looks puzzled and hurt. "I just want to know you're okay, Ana," she whispers.

"I'm fine, Kate. More than fine. Please, Christian and I are good, really good - this is old news. Please ignore it."

"Ignore it?" she says. "How can I ignore that? What's he done to you?" And her green eyes are so full of heartfelt concern.

"He hasn't done anything to me, Kate. Honestly - I'm good."

She blinks at me.

"Really?" she asks.

Christian wraps an arm around me and draws me close, not taking his eyes off Kate.

"Ana has consented to be my wife, Katherine," he says quietly.

"Wife!" Kate squeaks, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"We're getting married. We're going to announce our engagement this evening," he says."Oh!" Kate gapes at me. She's stunned. "I leave you alone for sixteen days, and this happens? It's very sudden. So yesterday, when I said - " She gazes at me, lost. "Where does that e-mail fit into all this?"

"It doesn't, Kate. Forget it - please. I love him and he loves me. Don't do this. Don't ruin his party and our night," I whisper. She blinks and unexpectedly her eyes are shining with tears.

"No. Of course I won't. You're okay?" She wants reassurance.

"I've never been happier," I whisper. She reaches forward and grabs my hand regardless of Christian's arm wrapped around me.

"You really are okay?" she asks hopefully.

"Yes." I grin at her, my joy returning. She's back onside. She smiles at me, my happi-ness reflecting back on her. I step out of Christian's hold, and she hugs me suddenly.

"Oh, Ana - I was so worried when I read this. I didn't know what to think. Will you explain it to me?" she whispers.

"One day, not now."

"Good. I won't tell anyone. I love you so much, Ana, like my own sister. I just thought... I didn't know what to think. I'm sorry. If you're happy, then I'm happy." She looks directly at Christian and repeats her apology. He nods at her, his eyes glacial, and his expression does not change. Oh shit, he's still mad.

"I really am sorry. You're right, it's none of my business," she whispers to me.

There's a knock on the door that startles Kate and I apart. Grace pokes her head around.

"Everything okay, darling?" she asks Christian.

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Grey," Kate says immediately.

"Fine, Mom," Christian says.

"Good." Grace enters. "Then you won't mind if I give my son a birthday hug." She beams at both of us. He hugs her tightly and thaws immediately.

"Happy birthday, darling," she says softly, closing her eyes in his embrace. "I'm so glad you're still with us."

"Mom, I'm fine." Christian smiles down at her. She pulls back, looks at him closely, and grins.

"I'm so happy for you," she says and caresses his face.

He grins at her - his thousand megawatt smile.

She knows! When did he tell her?

"Well, kids, if you've all finished your tete-a-tete, there's a throng of people here to check that you really are in one piece, Christian, and to wish you a happy birthday."

"I'll be right there."

Grace glances anxiously at Kate and me and seems reassured by our smiles. She winks at me as she holds the door open for us. Christian holds out his hand to me and I take it.

"Christian, I really do apologize," Kate says humbly. Humble Kate is something to behold. Christian nods at her, and we follow her out.

In the hallway, I gaze anxiously up at Christian. "Does your mother know about us?"

"Yes."

"Oh." And to think our evening could have been derailed by the tenacious Miss Kavanagh. I shudder at the thought - the ramifications of Christian's lifestyle revealed to all.

Holy cow.

"Well, that was an interesting start to the evening." I smile sweetly at him. He glances down at me - and it's back, his amused look. Thank heavens.

"As ever, Miss Steele, you have a gift for understatement." He raises my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles as we walk into the living room to a sudden, spontaneous, and deafening round of applause.

Crap. How many people are here?

I scan the room quickly: all the Greys, Ethan with Mia, Dr. Flynn and his wife, I assume. There's Mac from the boat, a tall, handsome African American - I remember seeing him in Christian's office the first time I met Christian - Mia's bitchy friend Lily, two women I don't recognize at all, and... Oh no. My heart sinks. That woman... Mrs. Robinson.

Gretchen materializes with a tray of champagne. She's in a low-cut black dress, no pigtails but an updo, flushing and fluttering her eyelashes at Christian. The applause dies down, and Christian squeezes my hand as all eyes turn to him expectantly.

"Thank you, everyone. Looks like I'll need one of these." He grabs two drinks off Gretchen's tray and gives her a brief smile. I think Gretchen's going to expire or swoon.

He hands a glass to me.

Christian raises his glass to the rest of the room, and immediately everyone surges forward. Leading the charge is the evil woman in black. Does she ever wear any other color?

"Christian, I was so worried." Elena gives him a brief hug and kisses both his cheeks.

He doesn't let me go despite the fact I try to free my hand.

"I'm good, Elena," Christian mutters coolly.

"Why didn't you call me?" Her plea is desperate, her eyes searching his.

"I've been busy."

"Didn't you get my messages?"

Christian shifts uncomfortably and pulls me closer, putting his arm around me. His face remains impassive as he regards Elena. She can no longer ignore me, so she nods politely in my direction.

"Ana," she purrs. "You look lovely, dear."

"Elena," I purr back. "Thank you."

I catch Grace's eye. She frowns, watching the three of us.

"Elena, I need to make an announcement," Christian says, eyeing her dispassionately.

Her clear blue eyes cloud. "Of course." She fakes a smile and steps back.

"Everyone," Christian calls. He waits for a moment until the buzz in the room dies down and all eyes are once more on him.

"Thank you for coming today. I have to say I was expecting a quiet family dinner, so this is a pleasant surprise." He stares pointedly at Mia, who grins and gives him a little wave. Christian shakes his head in exasperation and continues.

"Ros and I" - he acknowledges the red-haired woman standing nearby with a small bubbly blonde - "we had a close call yesterday."

Oh, that's the Ros that works with him. She grins and raises her glass to him. He nods back at her.

"So I'm especially glad to be here today to share with all of you my very good news.

This beautiful woman" - he glances down at me - "Miss Anastasia Rose Steele, has consented to be my wife, and I'd like you to be the first to know."

There are general gasps of astonishment, the odd cheer, and then a round of applause!

Jeez - this is really happening. I think I am the color of Kate's dress. Christian grasps my chin, lifts my lips to his, and kisses me quickly.

"You'll soon be mine."

"I am already," I whisper.

"Legally," he mouths at me and gives me a wicked grin.

Lily, who is standing beside Mia, looks crestfallen; Gretchen looks like she's eaten something nasty and bitter. As I glance anxiously around at the assembled crowd, I catch sight of Elena. Her mouth is open. She's stunned - horrified even, and I can't help a small but intense feeling of satisfaction to see her dumbstruck. What the hell is she doing here, anyway?

Carrick and Grace interrupt my uncharitable thoughts, and soon I am being hugged and kissed and passed around by all the Greys.

"Oh, Ana - I am so delighted you're going to be family," Grace gushes. "The change in Christian... He's... happy. I am so thankful to you." I blush, embarrassed by her exuber-ance but secretly delighted, too.

"Where is the ring?" exclaims Mia as she embraces me.

"Um..." A ring! Jeez. I hadn't even thought about a ring. I glance anxiously up at Christian.

"We're going to choose one together." Christian glowers at her.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Grey!" she scolds him, then wraps her arms around him. "I'm so thrilled for you, Christian," she says. She's the only person I know who is not intimidated by the Grey glower. It has me quailing... Well, it certainly used to.

"When will you get married? Have you set a date?" She beams up at Christian.

He shakes his head, his exasperation palpable. "No idea, and no we haven't. Ana and I need to discuss all that," he says irritably.

"I hope you have a big wedding - here," she beams enthusiastically, ignoring his caus-tic tone.

"We'll probably fly to Vegas tomorrow," he growls at her, and he's rewarded with a full-on Mia Grey pouty grimace. Rolling his eyes, he turns to Elliot, who gives him his second bear hug in as many days.

"Way to go, bro." He claps Christian's back.

The response from the room is overwhelming, and it's a few minutes before I find myself back beside Christian with Dr. Flynn. Elena seems to have disappeared, and Gretchen is sullenly refilling champagne glasses.

Beside Dr. Flynn is a striking young woman with long, dark, almost black hair, cleavage, and lovely hazel eyes.

"Christian," says Flynn, holding out his hand. Christian shakes it gladly.

"John. Rhian." He kisses the dark-haired woman on her cheek. She's petite and pretty.

"Glad you're still with us, Christian. My life would be most dull - and penurious -

without you."

Christian smirks.

"John!" Rhian scolds, much to Christian's amusement.

"Rhian, this is Anastasia, my fiancee. Ana, this is John's wife."

"Delighted to meet the woman who has finally captured Christian's heart." Rhian smiles kindly at me.

"Thank you," I mutter, embarrassed again.

"That was one googly you bowled there, Christian," Dr. Flynn shakes his head in amused disbelief. Christian frowns at him.

"John - you and your cricket metaphors." Rhian rolls her eyes. "Congratulations to the pair of you and happy birthday, Christian. What a wonderful birthday present." She smiles broadly at me.

I had no idea Dr. Flynn would be here, or Elena. It's a shock, and I rack my brains to see if I have anything to ask him, but a birthday party hardly seems the appropriate venue for a psychiatric consult.

For a few minutes, we make small talk. Rhian is a stay-at-home mom with two young boys. I deduce that she is the reason Dr. Flynn practices in the US.

"She's good, Christian, responding well to treatment. Another couple of weeks and we can consider an out-patient program." Dr. Flynn's and Christian's voices are low, but I can't help listening in, rather rudely tuning out Rhian.

"So it's all play-dates and diapers at the moment..."

"That must take up your time." I flush, turning my attention back to Rhian, who laughs sweetly. I know Christian and Flynn are discussing Leila.

"Ask her something for me," Christian murmurs.

"So what do you do, Anastasia?"

"Ana, please. I work in publishing."

Christian and Dr. Flynn lower their voices further; it's so frustrating. But they stop when we're joined by the two women I didn't recognize earlier - Ros and the bubbly blonde whom Christian introduces as her partner, Gwen.

Ros is charming, and I soon discover they live almost opposite Escala. She is full of praise for Christian's piloting skills. It was her first time in Charlie Tango, and she says she wouldn't hesitate to go again. She's one of the few women I've met who isn't dazzled by him... well, the reason is obvious.

Gwen is giggly with a wry sense of humor, and Christian seems extraordinarily at ease with both of them. He knows them well. They don't discuss work, but I can tell that Ros is one smart woman who can easily keep up with him. She also has a great, throaty, too-many-cigarettes laugh.

Grace interrupts our leisurely conversation to inform everyone that dinner is being served buffet-style in the Grey kitchen. Slowly the guests make their way toward the back of the house.

Mia collars me in the hallway. In her pale pink, frothy babydoll dress and killer heels, she towers over me like a Christmas tree fairy. She's holding two cocktail glasses.

"Ana," she hisses conspiratorially. I glance up at Christian, who releases me with a best-of-luck-I-find-her-impossible-to-deal-with-too look, and I sneak into the dining room with her.

"Here," she says mischievously. "This is one of my dad's special lemon martinis -

much nicer than champagne." She hands me a glass and watches anxiously while I take a tentative sip.

"Hmm... delicious. But strong." What does she want? Is she trying to get me drunk?

"Ana, I need some advice. And I can't ask Lily - she's so judgmental about everything." Mia rolls her eyes then grins at me. "She is so jealous of you. I think she was hoping one day that she and Christian might get together." Mia bursts out laughing at the absurdity, and I quail inside.

This is something I will have to contend with for a long time - other women wanting my man. I push the unwelcome thought out of my head and distract myself with the matter in hand. I take another sip of my martini.

"I'll try and help. Fire away."

"As you know, Ethan and I met recently, thanks to you." She beams at me.

"Yes." Where the hell is she going with this?

"Ana - he doesn't want to date me." She pouts.

"Oh." I blink at her, stunned, and I think, Maybe he's just not that into you.

"Look, that sounded all wrong. He doesn't want to date because his sister is going out with my brother. You know - he thinks it's all kind of incestuous. But I know he likes me.

What can I do?"

"Oh, I see," I mutter, trying to buy myself some time. What can I say? "Can you agree to be friends and give it some time? I mean you've only just met him."

She cocks her eyebrow and I flush.

"Look, I know I've only really just met Christian but..." I scowl at her not sure what I want to say. "Mia, this is something you and Ethan have to work out together. I would try the friendship route."

Mia grins.

"You've learned that look from Christian."

I flush. "If you want advice, ask Kate. She may have some insight as to how her brother feels."

"You think?" Mia asks.

"Yes." I smile encouragingly.

"Cool. Thanks, Ana." She gives me another hug and scuttles excitedly - and impressively, given her high heels - to the door, no doubt off to bother Kate. I take another sip of my martini, and I'm about to follow her when I am stopped in my tracks.

Elena breezes into the room, her face taut, set in grim, angry determination. She closes the door quietly behind her and scowls at me.

Oh crap.

"Ana," she sneers.

I summon all my self-possession, slightly fuzzy from two glasses of champagne and the lethal cocktail I hold in my hand. I think the blood has drained from my face, but I marshal both my subconscious and my inner goddess in order to appear as calm and as unflappable as I can.

"Elena." My voice is small, but steady - despite my dry mouth. Why does this woman freak me out so much? And what does she want now?

"I would offer you my heartfelt congratulations, but I think that would be inappropriate." Her piercing cold blue eyes stare frostily into mine, filled with loathing.

"I neither need nor want your congratulations, Elena. I'm surprised and disappointed to see you here."

She arches an eyebrow. I think she's impressed.

"I wouldn't have thought of you as a worthy adversary, Anastasia. But you surprise me at every turn."

"I haven't thought of you at all," I lie, coolly. Christian would be proud. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have much better things to do than waste my time with you."

"Not so fast, missy," she hisses, leaning against the door, effectively blocking it. "What on earth do you think you're doing, consenting to marry Christian? If you think for one minute you can make him happy, you're very much mistaken."

"What I'm consenting to do with Christian is none of your concern." I smile with sar-castic sweetness. She ignores me.

"He has needs - needs you cannot possibly begin to satisfy," she gloats.

"What do you know of his needs?" I snarl. My sense of indignation flares brightly, burning inside me as adrenaline surges through my body. How dare this fucking bitch preach to me? "You're nothing but a sick child molester, and if it was up to me, I'd toss you into the seventh circle of hell and walk away smiling. Now get out of my way - or do I have to make you?"

"You're making a big mistake here, lady." She shakes a long, skinny, finely manicured finger at me. "How dare you judge our lifestyle? You know nothing, and you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. And if you think he's going to be happy with a mousy little gold-digger like you..."

That's it! I throw the rest of my lemon martini in her face, drenching her.

"Don't you dare tell me what I'm getting myself into!" I shout at her. "When will you learn? It's none of your goddamned business!"

She gapes at me, horror struck, wiping the sticky drink off her face. I think she's about to lunge at me, but she's suddenly shunted forward as the door opens.

Christian is standing in the doorway. It takes him a nanosecond to assess the situation - me ashen and shaking, her soaked and livid. His lovely face darkens and contorts with anger as he comes to stand between us.

"What the fuck are you doing, Elena?" he says, his voice glacial and laced with menace.She blinks up at him. "She's not right for you, Christian," she whispers.

"What?" he shouts, startling both of us. I can't see his face but his whole body has tensed, and he radiates animosity.

"How the fuck do you know what's right for me?"

"You have needs, Christian," she says her voice softer.

"I've told you before - this is none of your fucking business," he roars. Oh crap - Very Angry Christian has reared his not-so-ugly head. People are going to hear.

"What is this?" He pauses, glaring at her. "Do you think it's you? You? You think you're right for me?" His voice is softer but drips contempt, and suddenly I don't want to be here. I don't want to witness this intimate encounter. I'm intruding. But I'm stuck - my limbs unwilling to move.

Elena swallows and seems to draw herself upright. Her stance changes subtly, becomes more commanding, and she steps toward him.

"I was the best thing that ever happened to you," she hisses arrogantly at him. "Look at you now. One of the richest, most successful, entrepreneurs in the US - controlled, driven - you need nothing. You are master of your universe."

He steps back as if he's been struck and gapes at her in outraged disbelief.

"You loved it, Christian, don't try and kid yourself. You were on the road to self-de-struction, and I saved you from that, saved you from a life behind bars. Believe me, baby, that's where you would have ended up. I taught you everything you know, everything you need."

Christian blanches, staring at her in horror. When he speaks, his voice is low and incredulous.

"You taught me how to fuck, Elena. But it's empty, like you. No wonder Linc left."

Bile rises in my mouth. I should not be here. But I'm frozen to the spot, morbidly fascinated as they eviscerate each other.

"You never once held me," Christian whispers. "You never once said you loved me."

She narrows her eyes. "Love is for fools, Christian."

"Get out of my house." Grace's implacable, furious voice startles us. Three heads swing rapidly to where Grace stands on the threshold of the room. She is glaring at Elena, who pales beneath her St. Tropez tan.

Time seems suspended as we collectively take a deep gasping breath, and Grace stalks deliberately into the room. Her eyes blaze with fury, never once leaving Elena, until she stands before her. Elena's eyes widen in alarm, and Grace slaps her hard across the face, the sound of the impact resounding off the walls of the dining room.

"Take your filthy paws off my son, you whore, and get out of my house - now!" she hisses through gritted teeth.

Elena clutches her reddening cheek and stares in horror for a moment, shocked and blinking at Grace. Then she hurries from the room, not bothering to close the door behind her. Grace turns slowly to face Christian and a tense silence settles like a thick blanket over us as Christian and Grace stare at each other. After a beat, Grace speaks.

"Ana, before I hand him over to you, would you mind giving me a minute or two alone with my son?" Her voice is quiet, husky, but oh-so-strong.

"Of course," I whisper, and exit as quickly as I can, glancing anxiously over my shoulder. But neither of them look at me as I leave. They continue to stare at each other, their unspoken communication blaringly loud.

In the hallway, I am momentarily lost. My heart pounds and my blood races through my veins... I feel panicked and out of my depth. Holy fuck, that was heavy and now Grace knows. Crap. I can't think what she's going to say to Christian, and I know it's wrong, I know, but I lean against the door trying to listen.

"How long, Christian?" Grace's voice is soft. I can barely hear her.

I cannot hear his reply.

"How old were you?" Her voice is more insistent. "Tell me. How old were you when this all started?" Again I can't hear Christian.

"Everything okay, Ana?" Ros interrupts me.

"Yes. Fine. Thank you. I..."

Ros smiles. "I'm just going to fetch my purse. I need a cigarette."

For a brief moment, I contemplate joining her.

"I'm off to the bathroom." I need to gather my wits and my thoughts, to process what I've just witnessed and heard. Upstairs seems the safest place to be on my own. I watch Ros stroll into the drawing room, and I bolt two stairs at a time to the second floor, then up to the third. There's only one place I want to be.

I open the door to Christian's childhood bedroom and shut it behind me, taking a huge gulping breath. Heading for his bed, I flop onto it and stare at the plain white ceiling.

Holy cow. That has to be, without doubt, one of the most excruciating confrontations I've ever had to endure, and now I feel numb. My fiance and his ex-lover - no would-be bride should have to see that. Having said that, part of me is glad she's revealed her true self, and that I was there to bear witness.

My thoughts turn to Grace. Poor Grace, to hear all that. I clutch one of Christian's pillows. She'll have overheard that Christian and Elena had an affair - but not the nature of it. Thank heavens. I groan.

What am I doing? Perhaps the evil witch had a point.

No, I refuse to believe that. She's so cold and cruel. I shake my head. She's wrong. I am right for Christian. I am what he needs. And in a moment of stunning clarity, I don't question how he's lived his life until recently - but why. His reasons for doing what he's done to countless girls - I don't even want to know how many. The how isn't wrong. They were all adults. They were all - how did Flynn put it? - in safe, sane, consensual relationships. It's the why. The why was wrong. The why was from his place of darkness.

I close my eyes and drape my arm over them. But now he's moved on, left it behind, and we are both in the light. I'm dazzled by him and he by me. We can guide each other. A thought occurs to me. Shit! A gnawing, insidious thought and I'm in the one place where I can lay this ghost to rest. I sit up. Yes, I must do this.

Shakily I get to my feet, kick off my shoes, walk over to his desk, and examine the pin board above it. The photos of young Christian are all still there - more poignant than ever as I think of the spectacle I've just witnessed between him and Mrs. Robinson. And there in the corner is the small black and white photo - his mother, the crack whore.

I switch on the desk lamp and focus the light on her picture. I don't even know her name. She looks so much like him but younger and sadder and all I feel, looking at her sor-rowful face, is compassion. I try to see the similarities between her face and mine. I squint at the picture, getting really, really close, and see none. Except maybe our hair, but I think hers is lighter than mine. I don't look like her at all. It's a relief.

My subconscious tuts at me, arms crossed, glaring over her half-moon glasses. Why are you torturing yourself? You've said yes. You've made your bed. I purse my lips at her.

Yes I have, gladly so. I want to lie in that bed with Christian for the rest of my life. My inner goddess, sitting in the lotus position, smiles serenely. Yes. I've made the right decision.

I must find him - Christian will be worried. I have no idea how long I've been in his room; he'll think that I've fled. I roll my eyes as I contemplate his overreaction. I hope that he and Grace have finished. I shudder to think what else she might have said to him.

I meet Christian as he climbs the stairs to the second floor, looking for me. His face is strained and weary - not the carefree Fifty I arrived with. As I stand on the landing, he stops on the top stair so that we are eye to eye.

"Hi," he says cautiously.

"Hi," I answer warily.

"I was worried - "

"I know," I interrupt him. "I'm sorry - I couldn't face the festivities. I just had to get away, you know. To think." Reaching up, I caress his face. He closes his eyes and leans his face into my hand.

"And you thought you'd do that in my room?"

"Yes."

He reaches for my hand and pulls me into an embrace, and I go willingly into his arms, my favorite place in the whole world. He smells of fresh laundry, body wash, and Christian - the most calming and arousing scent on the planet. He inhales with his nose in my hair."I'm sorry you had to endure all that."

"It's not your fault, Christian. Why was she here?" He gazes down at me, and his mouth curls apologetically.

"She's a family friend."

I try not to react. "Not any more. How's your mom?"

"Mom is pretty fucking mad at me right now. I'm really glad you're here, and that we're in the middle of a party. Otherwise I might be breathing my last."

"That bad, huh?"

He nods, his eyes serious, and I sense his bewilderment at her reaction.

"Can you blame her?" My voice is quiet, cajoling.

He hugs me tightly and he seems uncertain, processing his thoughts.

Finally he answers. "No."

Whoa! Breakthrough. "Can we sit?" I ask.

"Sure. Here?"

I nod and we both sit at the top of the stairs.

"So, how do you feel?" I ask, anxiously clutching his hand and gazing at his sad, serious face.

He sighs.

"I feel liberated." He shrugs, then beams - a glorious, carefree Christian smile, and the weariness and strain present moments ago have vanished.

"Really?" I beam back. Wow, I'd crawl over broken glass for that smile.

"Our business relationship is over. Done."

I frown at him. "Will you liquidate the salon business?"

He snorts. "I'm not that vindictive, Anastasia," he admonishes me. "No. I'll gift them to her. I'll talk to my lawyer Monday. I owe her that much."

I arch an eyebrow at him. "No more Mrs. Robinson?" His mouth twists in amusement and he shakes his head.

"Gone."

I grin.

"I'm sorry you lost a friend."

He shrugs then smirks. "Are you?"

"No," I confess, flushing.

"Come." He stands and offers me his hand. "Let's join the party in our honor. I might even get drunk."

"Do you get drunk?" I ask as I take his hand.

"Not since I was a wild teenager." We walk down the stairs.

"Have you eaten?" he asks.

Oh crap.

"No."

"Well you should. From the look and smell of Elena, that was one of my father's lethal cocktails you threw over her." He gazes at me, trying and failing to keep the amusement off his face.

"Christian, I - "

He holds up his hand.

"No arguing, Anastasia. If you're going to drink - and throw alcohol over my exes -

you need to eat. It's rule number one. I believe we've already had that discussion after our first night together."

Oh yes. The Heathman.

Back in the hallway, he pauses to caress my face, his fingers skimming my jaw.

"I lay awake for hours and watched you sleep," he murmurs. "I might have loved you even then."

Oh.

He leans down and kisses me softly, and I melt everywhere, all the tension of the last hour or so seeping languidly from my body.

"Eat," he whispers.

"Okay," I acquiesce because right now I'd probably do anything for him. Taking my hand, he leads me toward the kitchen where the party is in full swing.

"Goodnight, John, Rhian."

"Congratulations again, Ana. You two will be just fine." Dr. Flynn smiles kindly at us, standing arm in arm in the hallway as he and Rhian take their leave.

"Goodnight."

Christian closes the door and shakes his head. He gazes down at me, his eyes suddenly bright with excitement.

What's this?

"Just the family left. I think my mother has had too much to drink." Grace is singing karaoke on some game console in the family room. Kate and Mia are giving her a run for her money.

"Do you blame her?" I smirk at him, trying to keep the atmosphere between us light.

I succeed.

"Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?"

"I am."

"It's been quite a day."

"Christian, recently, every day with you has been quite a day." My voice is sardonic.

He shakes his head. "Fair point well made, Miss Steele. Come - I want to show you something." Taking my hand, he leads me through the house to the kitchen where Carrick, Ethan, and Elliot are talking Mariners, drinking the last of the cocktails, and eating leftovers.

"Off for a stroll?" Elliot teases suggestively as we make our way through the French doors. Christian ignores him. Carrick frowns at Elliot, shaking his head in a silent rebuke.

As we make our way up the steps to the lawn, I take off my shoes. The half-moon shines brightly over the bay. It's brilliant, casting everything in myriad of shades of gray as the lights of Seattle twinkle sweetly in the distance. The lights of the boathouse are on, a soft glowing beacon in the cool cast of the moon.

"Christian, I'd like to go to church tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"I prayed you'd come back alive and you did. It's the least I could do."

"Okay."

We wander hand in hand in a relaxed silence for a few moments. Then something occurs to me.

"Where are you going to put the photos Jose took of me?"

"I thought we might put them in the new house."

"You bought it?"

He stops to stare at me, and his voice full of concern. "Yes. I thought you liked it."

"I do. When did you buy it?"

"Yesterday morning. Now we need to decide what to do with it," he murmurs, relieved.

"Don't knock it down. Please. It's such a lovely house. It just needs some tender loving care."

Christian glances at me and smiles. "Okay. I'll talk to Elliot. He knows a good architect; she did some work on my place is Aspen. He can do the remodeling."

I snort, suddenly remembering the last time we crossed the lawn under the moonlight to the boathouse. Oh, perhaps that's what we're going to do now. I grin.

"What?"

"I remember the last time you took me to the boathouse."

Christian chuckles quietly. "Oh, that was fun. In fact..." He suddenly stops and scoops me over his shoulder, and I squeal, though we don't have far to go.

"You were really angry, if I remember correctly," I gasp.

"Anastasia, I'm always really angry."

"No you're not."

He swats my behind as he stops outside the wooden door. He slides me down his body back to the ground and takes my head in his hands.

"No, not anymore." Leaning down, he kisses me, hard. When he pulls away, I'm breathless and desire is racing round my body.

He gazes down at me, and in the glow of the strip of light coming from inside the boathouse, I can see he's anxious. My anxious man, not a white knight or a dark knight, but a man - a beautiful, not-quite-so-fucked-up man - whom I love. I reach up and caress his face, running my fingers through his sideburns and along his jaw to his chin, then let my index finger touch his lips. He relaxes.

"I've something to show you in here," he murmurs and opens the door.

The harsh light of the fluorescents illuminates the impressive motor launch in the dock, bobbing gently on the dark water. There's a row boat beside it.

"Come." Christian takes my hand and leads me up the wooden stairs. Opening the door at the top, he steps aside to let me in.

My mouth drops to the floor. The attic is unrecognizable. The room is filled with flowers... there are flowers everywhere. Someone has created a magical bower of beautiful wild meadow flowers mixed with glowing fairy lights and miniature lanterns that glow soft and pale round the room.

My face whips round to meet his, and he's gazing at me, his expression unreadable.

He shrugs.

"You wanted hearts and flowers," he murmurs.

I blink at him, not quite believing what I'm seeing.

"You have my heart." And he waves toward the room.

"And here are the flowers," I whisper, completing his sentence. "Christian, it's lovely."

I can't think of what else to say. My heart is in my mouth as tears prick my eyes.

Tugging my hand, he pulls me into the room, and before I know it, he's sinking to one knee in front of me. Holy hell... I did not expect this! I stop breathing.

From his inside jacket pocket he produces a ring and gazes up at me, his eyes bright gray and raw, full of emotion.

"Anastasia Steele. I love you. I want to love, cherish, and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always. Share my life with me. Marry me."

I blink down at him as my tears fall. My Fifty, my man. I love him so, and all I can say as the tidal wave of emotion hits me is, "Yes."

He grins, relieved, and slowly slides the ring on my finger. It's beautiful, an oval diamond in a platinum ring. Jeez - it's big... Big, but oh-so-simple and stunning in its sim-plicity.

"Oh, Christian," I sob, suddenly overwhelmed with joy, and I join him on my knees, my fingers fisting in his hair as I kiss him, kiss him with all my heart and soul. Kiss this beautiful man, who loves me as I love him; and as he wraps his arms around me, his hands moving to my hair, his mouth on mine. I know deep down I will always be his, and he will always be mine. We've come so far together, we have so far to go, but we are made for each other. We are meant to be.

The cigarette end glows brightly in the darkness as he takes a deep pull. He blows the smoke out in a long exhale, finishing with two smoke rings that dissolve in front of him, pale and ghostly in the moonlight. He shifts in his seat, bored, and takes a quick shot of cheap bourbon from a bottle wrapped in shabby brown paper before resting it back between his thighs.

He can't believe he's still on the trail. His mouth twists in a sardonic sneer. The helicopter had been a rash and bold move. One of the most exhilarating things he'd ever done in his life. But to no avail. He rolls his eyes ironically. Who would have thought the son-of-a-bitch could actually fly the fucker?

He snorts.

They have underestimated him. If Grey thought for one minute he'd go whimpering quietly into the dusk, that prick didn't know jack shit.

It had been the same all his life. People constantly underestimating him - just a man who reads books. Fuck that! A man with a photographic memory who reads books. Oh, the things he's learned, the things he knows. He snorts again -  Yeah, about you, Grey. The things I know about you.

Not bad for a kid from the gutter end of Detroit.

Not bad for the kid who won a scholarship to Princeton.

Not bad for the kid who worked his ass off through college and got into publishing.

And now all of that's fucked, fucked because of Grey and his little bitch. He scowls at the house as if it represents everything he despises. But there's nothing doing. The only drama had been the stacked, blond broad in black, teetering down the driveway in tears before she climbed into the white CLK and fucked off.

He chuckles mirthlessly, then winces. Fuck, his ribs. Still sore from the swift kicking Grey's henchman delivered.

He replays the scene in his mind. "You fucking touch Miss Steele again, I'll fucking kill you."

That motherfucker will get it good, too. Yeah - get what's coming to him.

He settles back in his seat. Looks like it's going to be a long night. He'll stay, watch, and wait. He takes another toke of his Marlboro red. His chance will come. His chance will come soon.

End of Part Two...

Chapter Twenty-One

Christian pauses outside the playroom.

"You're sure about this?" he asks, his gaze heated yet anxious.

"Yes," I murmur, smiling shyly at him.

His eyes soften. "Anything you don't want to do?"

I'm derailed by his unexpected question, and my mind goes into overdrive. One thought occurs. "I don't want you to take photos of me."

He stills, and his expression hardens as he cocks his head to one side and eyes me speculatively.

Oh shit. I think he's going to ask me why, but fortunately he doesn't.

"Okay," he murmurs. His brow furrows as he unlocks the door, then stands aside to usher me into the room. I feel his eyes on me as he follows me inside and closes the door.

Placing the gift box on the chest of drawers, he takes out the iPod, switches it on, then waves at the music center on the wall so that the smoked glass doors glide silently open.

He presses some buttons, and after a moment, the sound of a subway train echoes round the room. He turns it down so that the slow, hypnotic electronic beat that follows becomes ambient. A woman starts to sing, I don't know who she is but her voice is soft yet rasping and the beat is measured, deliberate... erotic. Oh my. It's music to make love to.

Christian turns to face me as I stand in the middle of the room, my heart pounding, my blood singing in my veins, pulsing - or so it feels - in time to the music's seductive beat.

He saunters casually over to me and tugs on my chin so I'm no longer biting my lip.

"What do you want to do, Anastasia?" he murmurs, planting a soft chaste kiss at the corner of my mouth, his fingers still grasping my chin.

"It's your birthday. Whatever you want," I whisper. He traces his thumb along my lower lip, his brow creased once more.

"Are we in here because you think I want to be in here?" His words are softly spoken, but he regards me intently.

"No," I whisper. "I want to be in here, too."

His gaze darkens, growing bolder as he assesses my response. After what seems an eternity, he speaks.

"Oh, there are so many possibilities, Miss Steele." His voice is low, excited. "But let's start with getting you naked." He pulls the sash of my robe so that it falls open, revealing my silk nightdress, then steps back and sits nonchalantly down on the arm of the chesterfield couch.

"Take your clothes off. Slowly." He gives me a sensual, challenging look.

I swallow compulsively, pressing my thighs together. I'm already damp between my legs. My inner goddess is stripped naked and standing in line, ready and waiting and begging me to play catch-up. I pull the robe away from my shoulders, my eyes never leaving his, and shrug, letting it fall billowing to the floor. His mesmerizing gray eyes heat, and he runs his index finger over his lips as he gazes at me.

Slipping the spaghetti straps of my gown off my shoulders, I gaze at him for a beat, then release them. My nightdress skims and ripples softly down my body, pooling at my feet. I am naked and practically panting and oh-so-ready.

Christian pauses for a moment, and I marvel at the frankly carnal appreciation in his expression. Standing up, he makes his way over to the chest and picks up his silver-gray tie - my favorite tie. He pulls it through his fingers as he turns and strolls casually toward me, a smile playing on his lips. When he stands in front of me, I expect him to ask for my hands, but he doesn't.

"I think you're underdressed, Miss Steele," he murmurs. He places the tie around my neck, and slowly but dexterously ties it in what I assume is a fine Windsor knot. As he tightens the knot, his fingers brush the base of my throat and electricity shoots through me, making me gasp. He leaves the wide end of the tie long, long enough so the tip skims my pubic hair.

"You look mighty fine now, Miss Steele," he says and bends to kiss me gently on my lips. It's a swift kiss, and I want more, desire spiraling wantonly through my body.

"What shall we do with you now?" he says, and then picking up the tie, he yanks sharply so that I'm forced forward into his arms. His hands dive into my hair and pull my head back, and he really kisses me, hard, his tongue unforgiving and merciless. One of his hands roams freely down my back to cup my behind. When he pulls away, he's panting too and gazing down at me, his eyes molten gray; and I'm left wanting, gasping for breath, my wits thoroughly scattered. I'm sure my lips will be swollen after his sensual assault.

"Turn around," he orders gently and I obey. Pulling my hair free of the tie, he quickly braids and secures it. He tugs the braid so my head tilts up.

"You have beautiful hair, Anastasia," he murmurs and kisses my throat, sending shivers running up and down my spine. "You just have to say stop. You know that, don't you?"

he whispers against my throat.

I nod, my eyes closed, and relish his lips on me. He turns me round once more and picks up the end of the tie.

"Come," he says, tugging gently, leading me over to the chest where the rest of the box's contents are on display.

"Anastasia, these objects." He holds up the butt plug. "This is a size too big. As an anal virgin, you don't want to start with this. We want to start with this." He holds up his pinky finger, and I gasp, shocked. Fingers... there? He smirks at me, and the unpleasant thought of the anal fisting mentioned in the contract comes to mind.

"Just finger - singular," he says softly with that uncanny ability he has to read my mind. My eyes dart to his. How does he do that?

"These clamps are vicious." He prods the nipple clamps. "We'll use these." He places a different pair of clamps on the chest. They look like giant black hairpins, but with little jet jewels hanging down. "They're adjustable," Christian murmurs, his voice laced with gentle concern.

I blink up at him, wide-eyed. Christian, my sexual mentor. He knows so much more about all this than I do. I'll never catch up. I frown. He knows more than me about most things... except cooking.

"Clear?" he asks.

"Yes," I whisper, my mouth dry. "Are you going to tell me what you intend to do?"

"No. I'm making this up as I go along. This isn't a scene, Ana."

"How should I behave?"

His brow creases. "However you want to."

Oh!

"Were you expecting my alter ego, Anastasia?" he asks, his tone vaguely mocking and bemused at once. I blink at him.

"Well, yes. I like him," I murmur. He smiles his private smile and reaches up to run his thumb down my cheek.

"Do you now," he breathes and runs his thumb across my lower lip. "I'm your lover, Anastasia, not your Dom. I love to hear your laugh and your girlish giggle. I like you relaxed and happy, like you are in Jose's photos. That's the girl that fell into my office. That's the girl I fell in love with."

Holy cow. My mouth drops open, and a welcome warmth blooms in my heart. It's joy - pure joy.

"But having said all that, I also like to do rude things to you, Miss Steele; and my alter ego knows a trick or two. So, do as you're told and turn around." His eyes glint wickedly, and the joy moves sharply south, seizing me tightly and gripping every sinew below my waist. I do as I'm told. Behind me, he opens one of the drawers and a moment later he's in front of me again.

"Come," he orders and tugs on the tie, leading me to the table. As we walk past the couch, I notice for the first time that all the canes have vanished. It distracts me. Were they there yesterday when I came in? I don't remember. Did Christian move them? Mrs. Jones?

Christian interrupts my train of thought.

"I want you to kneel up on this," he says when we're at the table.

Oh, okay. What does he have in mind? My inner goddess can't wait to find out - she's already scissor-kicked onto the table and is watching him with adoration.

He gently lifts me onto the table, and I fold my legs beneath me and kneel in front of him, surprised by my own grace. Now we are eye to eye. He runs his hands down my thighs, grasps my knees, and pulls my legs apart and stands directly in front of me. He looks very serious, his eyes darker, hooded... lustful.

"Arms behind your back. I'm going to cuff you."

He produces some leather cuffs from his back pocket and reaches around me. This is it. Where's he going to take me this time?

His proximity is intoxicating. This man is going to be my husband. Can one lust after one's husband like this? I don't remember reading about that anywhere. I can't resist him, and I run my parted lips along his jaw, feeling the stubble, a heady combination of prickly and soft, under my tongue. He stills and closes his eyes. His breathing falters and he pulls back."Stop. Or this will be over far quicker than either of us wants," he warns. For a moment, I think he might be angry but then he smiles, and his heated eyes are alight with amusement.

"You're irresistible," I pout.

"Am I now?" he says dryly.

I nod.

"Well - don't distract me, or I'll gag you."

"I like distracting you," I whisper, looking mulishly at him, and he cocks his eyebrow at me.

"Or spank you."

Oh! I try to hide my smile. There was a time, not very long ago, when I would have been subdued by this threat. I would never have had the nerve to kiss him, unbidden, while he was in this room. I realize now, I'm no longer intimidated by him. It's a revelation. I grin mischievously, and he smirks at me.

"Behave," he growls and stands back, gazing at me and slaps the leather cuffs across his palm. And the warning is there, implicit in his actions. I try for contrite, and I think I succeed. He approaches me again.

"That's better," he breathes and leans behind me once more with the cuffs. I resist touching him but inhale his glorious Christian scent, still fresh from last night's shower.

Hmm... I should bottle this.

I expect him to cuff my wrists, but he attaches each cuff above my elbows. It makes me arch my back, pushing my breasts forward, though my elbows are by no means together.

When he's finished, he stands back to admire me.

"Feel okay?" he asks. It's not the most comfortable of positions, but I'm so wired with anticipation to see where he's going with this that I nod, weak with wanting.

"Good." He pulls the mask from his back pocket.

"I think you've seen enough now," he murmurs. He slides the mask over my head, covering my eyes. My breathing spikes. Wow. Why is not being able to see so erotic? I am here, trussed up and kneeling on a table, waiting - sweet anticipation hot and heavy deep in my belly. I can still hear, though, and the melodic steady beat of the track continues. It resonates through my body. I hadn't noticed before. He must have it on repeat.

Christian steps away. What is he doing? He moves back to the chest and opens a drawer, then closes it again. A moment later he's back, and I sense him in front of me. There's a pungent, rich, musky scent in the air. It's delicious, almost mouth-watering.

"I don't want to ruin my favorite tie," he murmurs. It slowly unravels as he undoes it.

I inhale sharply as the tail of the tie travels up my body, tickling me in its wake. Ruin his tie? I listen acutely to determine what he's going to do. He's rubbing his hands together.

His knuckles suddenly brush over my cheek, down to my jaw following my jawline.

My body leaps to attention as his touch sends a delicious shiver through me. His hand flexes over my neck, and it's slick with sweet-smelling oil so his hand glides smoothly down my throat, across my clavicle, and up to my shoulder, his fingers kneading gently as they go. Oh, I'm getting a massage. Not what I expected.

He places his other hand on my other shoulder and begins another slow teasing journey across my clavicle. I groan softly as he works his way down toward my increasingly aching breasts, aching for his touch. It's tantalizing. I arch my body further into his deft touch, but his hands glide to my sides, slow, measured, in time to the beat of the music, and studiously avoid my breasts. I groan, but I don't know if it's from pleasure or frustration.

"You are so beautiful, Ana," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, his mouth next to my ear. His nose follows along my jaw as he continues to massage me - beneath my breasts, across my belly, down... He kisses me fleetingly on my lips, then he runs his nose down my neck, my throat. Holy cow, I'm on fire... his nearness, his hands, his words.

"And soon you'll be my wife to have and to hold," he whispers.

Oh my.

"To love and to cherish."

Jeez.

"With my body, I will worship you."

I tip my head back and moan. His fingers run through my pubic hair, over my sex, and he rubs the palm of his hand against my clitoris.

"Mrs. Grey," he whispers as his palm works against me.

I groan.

"Yes," he breathes as his palm continues to tease me. "Open your mouth."

My mouth is already open from panting. I open wider, and he slips a large cool metal object between my lips. Shaped like an oversized baby's pacifier, it has small grooves or carvings, and what feels like a chain at the end. It's big.

"Suck," he commands softly. "I'm going to put this inside you."

Inside me? Inside me where? My heart lurches into my mouth.

"Suck," he repeats and he stops palming me.

No. Don't stop, I want to shout, but my mouth is full. His oiled hands glide back up my body and finally cup my neglected breasts.

"Don't stop sucking."

Gently he rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and they harden and lengthen under his expert touch, sending synaptic waves of pleasure all the way to my groin.

"You have such beautiful breasts, Ana," he murmurs and my nipples harden further in response. He murmurs his approval and I moan. His lips move down from my neck toward one breast, trailing soft bites and sucks over and over, down toward my nipple, and suddenly I feel the pinch of the clamp.

"Ah!" I garble my groan through the device in my mouth. Holy cow, the feeling is exquisite, raw, painful, pleasurable... oh - the pinch. Gently, he laves the restrained nipple with his tongue, and as he does so, he applies the other. The bite of the second clamp is equally harsh... but just as good. I groan loudly.

"Feel it," he whispers.

Oh, I do. I do. I do.

"Give me this." He tugs gently on the ornate metal pacifier in my mouth, and I release it. His hands once more trail down my body, toward my sex. He's re-oiled his hands. They glide around to my backside.

I gasp. What's he going to do? I tense up on my knees as he runs his fingers between my buttocks.

"Hush, easy," he breathes close to my ear and kisses my neck as his fingers stroke and tease me.

What's he going to do? His other hand glides down my belly to my sex, palming me once more. He eases his fingers inside me, and I moan loudly, appreciatively.

"I'm going to put this inside you," he murmurs. "Not here." His fingers trail between my buttocks, spreading oil. "But here." He moves his fingers round and round, in and out, hitting the front wall of my vagina. I moan and my restrained nipples swell.

"Ah."

"Hush now." Christian removes his fingers and slides the object into me. He cups my face and kisses me, his mouth invading mine, and I hear a very faint click. Instantly the plug inside me starts to vibrate -  down there! I gasp. The feeling is extraordinary - beyond anything I've felt before.

"Ah!"

"Easy," Christian calms me, stifling my gasps with his mouth. His hands move down and tug very gently on the clamps. I cry out loudly.

"Christian, please!"

"Hush, baby. Hang in there."

This is too much - all this overstimulation, everywhere. My body starts to climb, and on my knees, I'm unable to control the buildup. Oh my... Will I be able to handle this?

"Good girl," he soothes.

"Christian," I pant, sounding desperate even to my own ears.

"Hush, feel it, Ana. Don't be afraid." His hands are now on my waist, holding me, but I can't concentrate on his hands, what's inside me, and the clamps, too. My body is building, building to an explosion - with the relentless vibrations and the sweet, sweet torture of my nipples. Holy hell. It will be too intense. His hands move from my hips, down and around, slick and oiled, touching, feeling, kneading my skin - kneading my behind.

"So beautiful," he murmurs and suddenly he gently pushes an anointed finger inside me... there! Into my backside. Fuck. It feels alien, full, forbidden... but oh... so...

good. And he moves slowly, easing in and out, while his teeth graze my upturned chin.

"So beautiful, Ana."

I'm suspended high - high above a wide, wide ravine, and I'm soaring then falling giddily at the same time, plunging to the Earth. I can hold on no more, and I scream as my body convulses and climaxes at the overwhelming fullness. As my body explodes, I'm nothing but sensation - everywhere. Christian releases first one and then the other clamp, causing my nipples to sing with a surge of sweet, sweet painful feeling, but it's oh-so-good and causing my orgasm, this orgasm, to go on and on. His finger stays where it is, gently easing in and out.

"Argh!" I cry out, and Christian wraps himself around me, holding me, as my body continues to pulse mercilessly inside.

"No! " I shout again, pleading, and this time he tugs the vibrator out of me, and his finger, too, as my body continues to convulse.

He unstraps one of the cuffs so that my arms fall forward. My head lolls on his shoulder, and I am lost, lost to all this overwhelming sensation. I'm all shattered breath, exhausted desire and sweet, welcome oblivion.

Vaguely, I'm aware that Christian lifts me, carries me over to the bed, and lays me down on the cool satin sheets. After a moment, his hands, still oiled, gently rub the backs of my thighs, my knees, my calves, and my shoulders. I feel the bed dip as he stretches out beside me.

He pulls the mask off, but I don't have the energy to open my eyes. Finding my braid he undoes the hair tie and leans forward, kissing me softly on my lips. Only my erratic breathing disturbs the silence in the room and steadies as I float gently back to Earth. The music has stopped.

"So beautiful," he murmurs.

When I persuade one eye to open, he's gazing down at me, smiling softly.

"Hi," he says. I manage a grunt in response, and his smile broadens. "Rude enough for you?"

I nod and give him a reluctant grin. Jeez, any ruder and I'd have to spank the pair of us.

"I think you're trying to kill me," I mutter.

"Death by orgasm." He smirks. "There are worse ways to go," he says but then frowns ever so slightly as an unpleasant thought crosses his mind. It distresses me. I reach up and caress his face.

"You can kill me like this anytime," I whisper. I notice that he's gloriously naked and ready for action. When he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, I lean up and capture his face between my hands and pull his mouth to mine. He kisses me briefly, then stops.

"This is what I want to do," he murmurs and reaches beneath his pillow for the music center remote. He presses a button and the soft strains of a guitar echo round the walls.

"I want to make love to you," he says gazing down at me, his gray eyes burning with bright, loving sincerity. Softly in background, a familiar voice starts to sing "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." And his lips find mine.

As I tighten around him, finding my release once more, Christian unravels in my arms, his head thrown back as he calls out my name. He clasps me tightly to his chest as we sit nose to nose in the middle of his vast bed, me astride him. And in this moment - this moment of joy with this man to this music - the intensity of my experience this morning in here with him and all that has occurred during the past week overwhelms me anew, not just physically but emotionally. I am completely overcome with all these feelings. I am so deeply, deeply in love with him. For the first time I'm offered a glimmer of understanding as to how he feels about my safety.

Recalling his close call with Charlie Tango yesterday, I shudder at the thought and tears pool in my eyes. If anything ever happened to him - I love him so. My tears run unchecked down my cheeks. So many sides of Christian - his sweet, gentle persona and his rugged, Ican-do-what-I-fucking-well-like-to-you-and-you'll-come-like-a-train Dominant side - his fifty shades - all of him. All spectacular. All mine. And I'm aware we don't know each other well, and we have a mountain of issues to overcome, but I know for each other, we will - and we'll have a lifetime to do it.

"Hey," he breathes, clasping my head in his hands, gazing down at me. He's still inside me. "Why are you crying?" His voice is filled with concern.

"Because I love you so much," I whisper. He half-closes his eyes as if drugged, absorbing my words. When he opens them again, they blaze with his love.

"And I you, Ana. You make me... whole." He kisses me gently as Roberta Flack finishes her song.

We have talked and talked and talked, sitting upright together on the bed in the playroom, me in his lap, our legs curled around each other. The red satin sheet is draped around us like a royal cocoon, and I have no idea how much time has passed. Christian is laughing at my impersonation of Katherine during the photo shoot at the Heathman.

"To think it could have been her who came to interview me. Thank the Lord for the common cold," he murmurs and kisses my nose.

"I believe she had flu, Christian," I scold him, trailing my fingers idly through his chest hair and marveling that he's tolerating it so well. "All the canes have gone," I murmur, recalling my distraction from earlier. He tucks my hair behind my ear for the umpteenth time.

"I didn't think you'd ever get past that hard limit."

"No, I don't think I will," I whisper wide-eyed at him, then find myself glancing over at the whips, paddles and floggers lining the opposite wall. He follows my gaze.

"You want me to get rid of them, too?" He's amused but sincere.

"Not the crop... the brown one. Or that suede flogger, you know." I flush.

He smiles down at me.

"Okay, the crop and the flogger. Why, Miss Steele, you're full of surprises."

"As are you, Mr. Grey. It's one of the things I love about you." I kiss him gently at the corner of his mouth.

"What else do you love about me?" he asks and his eyes widen.

I know it's a huge deal for him to ask this question. It humbles me and I blink at him. I love everything about him - even his fifty shades. I know that life with Christian will never be boring.

"This." I stroke my index finger across his lips. "I love this, and what comes out of it, and what you do to me with it. And what's in here." I caress his temple. "You're so smart and witty and knowledgeable, competent in so many things. But most of all, I love what's in here." I press my palm gently against his chest, feeling his steady, beating heart.

"You are the most compassionate man I've met. What you do. How you work. It's awe-inspiring," I whisper.

"Awe-inspiring?" He's puzzled, but there's a trace of humor on his face. Then his face transforms, and his shy smile appears as if he's embarrassed, and I want to launch myself at him. So I do.

I am dozing, wrapped in satin and Grey. Christian nuzzles me awake.

"Hungry?" he whispers

"Hmm, famished."

"Me, too."

I lean up to gaze down at him sprawled on the bed.

"It's your birthday, Mr. Grey. I'll cook you something. What would you like?"

"Surprise me." He runs his hand down my back, stroking me gently. "I should check my Blackberry for all the messages I missed yesterday." He sighs and starts to sit up, and I know this special time is over... for now.

"Let's shower," he says.

Who am I to turn down the birthday boy?

Christian is in his study on the phone. Taylor is with him, looking serious but casual in jeans and a tight, black T-shirt. I busy myself in the kitchen fixing lunch. I have found salmon steaks in the fridge, and I'm poaching them with lemon, making a salad, and boiling some baby potatoes. I feel extraordinarily relaxed and happy, on top of the world - literally.

Turning toward the large window, I stare out at the glorious blue sky. All that talking... all that sexing... hmm. A girl could get used to that.

Taylor emerges from the study, interrupting my reverie. I turn down my iPod and take out an ear bud.

"Hi, Taylor."

"Ana." He nods.

"Your daughter okay?"

"Yes, thanks. My ex-wife thought she had appendicitis, but she was overreacting as usual." Taylor rolls his eyes, surprising me. "Sophie's fine, though she has a nasty stomach bug.""I'm sorry."

He smiles.

"Has Charlie Tango been located?"

"Yes. The recovery team is on its way. She should be back at Boeing Field late tonight."

"Oh, good."

He gives me a tight smile. "Will that be all, ma'am?"

"Yes, yes of course." I flush... will I ever get used to Taylor calling me ma'am? It makes me feel so old, at least thirty.

He nods and heads out of the great room. Christian is still on the phone. I am waiting for the potatoes to boil. It gives me an idea. Fetching my purse, I fish out my Blackberry.

There's a text from Kate.

*C U this evening. Looking forward to a loooooong chat*

I text back.

*Same here*

It will be good to talk to Kate.

Calling up the e-mail program, I type a quick message to Christian.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Lunch

Date: June 18, 2011 13:12

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

I am e-mailing to inform you that your lunch is nearly ready.

And that I had some mind-blowing, kinky fuckery earlier today.

Birthday kinky fuckery is to be recommended.

And another thing - I love you.

A x

(Your fiancee)

I listen carefully for a reaction, but he's still on the phone. I shrug. Perhaps he's just too busy. My Blackberry vibrates.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Kinky Fuckery

Date: June 18, 2011 13:15

To: Anastasia Steele

What aspect was most mind-blowing?

I'm taking notes.

Christian Grey

Famished and Wasting Away After the Mornings Exertions CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

PS: I love your signature

PPS: What happened to the art of conversation?

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Famished?

Date: June 18, 2011 13:18

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

May I draw your attention to the first line of my previous e-mail informing you that your lunch is indeed almost ready... so none of this famished and wasting away nonsense.

With regard to the mind-blowing aspects of the kinky fuckery... frankly - all of it. I'd be interested in reading your notes. And I like my bracketed signature, too.

A x

(Your fiancee)

PS: Since when have you been so loquacious? And you're on the phone!

I press send and look up, and he's standing in front of me, smirking. Before I can say anything, he bounds around the kitchen island, sweeps me up in his arms, and kisses me soundly.

"That is all, Miss Steele," he says, releasing me, and he saunters - in his jeans, bare feet and untucked white shirt - back to his office, leaving me breathless.

I've made a watercress, cilantro, and sour cream dip to accompany the salmon, and I've set the breakfast bar. I hate interrupting him while he's working, but now I stand in the doorway of his office. He's still on the phone, all thoroughly fucked hair and bright gray eyes - a visually nourishing feast. He looks up when he sees me and doesn't take his eyes off me. He frowns slightly, and I don't know if it's at me or because of his conversation.

"Just let them in and leave them alone. Do you understand, Mia?" he hisses and rolls his eyes. "Good."

I mime eating, and he grins at me and nods.

"I'll see you later." He hangs up. "One more call?" he asks.

"Sure."

"That dress is very short," he adds.

"You like it?" I give him a quick twirl. It's one of Caroline Acton's purchases. A soft turquoise sundress, probably more suitable for the beach, but it's such a lovely day on so many levels. He frowns and my face falls.

"You look fantastic in it, Ana. I just don't want anyone else to see you like that."

"Oh!" I scowl at him. "We're at home, Christian. No one but the staff."

His mouth twists, and either he's trying to hide his amusement or he really doesn't think that's funny. But eventually he nods, reassured. I shake my head at him - he's actually being serious? I head back to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, he's back in front of me, holding the phone.

"I have Ray for you," he murmurs, his eyes wary.

All the air leaves my body at once. I take the phone and cover the mouthpiece.

"You told him!" I hiss. Christian nods, and his eyes widen at my obvious look of distress. Shit! I take a deep breath. "Hi, Dad."

"Christian has just asked me if he can marry you," Ray says.

Oh Shit. The silence stretches between us as I desperately think what to say. Ray as usual stays silent, giving me no clue as to his reaction to this news.

"What did you say?" I crack first.

"I said I wanted to talk to you. It's kind of sudden, don't you think, Annie? You've not known him long. I mean, he's a nice guy, knows his fishing... but so soon?" His voice is calm and measured.

"Yes. It is sudden... hang on." Hastily, I leave the kitchen area away from Christian's anxious gaze and head toward the great window. The doors to the balcony are open, and I step out into the sunshine. I can't quite walk to the edge. It's just too far up.

"I know it's sudden and all - but... well, I love him. He loves me. He wants to marry me, and there'll never be anyone else for me." I flush thinking this is probably the most intimate conversation I have ever had with my stepfather.

Ray is silent on the other end of the phone.

"Have you told your mother?"

"No."

"Annie... I know he's all kinds of rich and eligible, but marriage? It's such a big step.

You're sure?"

"He's my happily ever after," I whisper.

"Whoa." Ray says after a moment, his tone softer.

"He's everything."

"Annie, Annie, Annie. You're such a headstrong young woman. I hope to God you know what you're doing. Hand me back to him, will you?"

"Sure, Dad, and will you give me away at the wedding?" I ask quietly.

"Oh, honey." His voice cracks, and he's quiet for a few moments, the emotion in his voice bringing tears to my eyes. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he says eventually.

Oh, Ray. I love you so much... I swallow, to keep from crying. "Thank you, Dad. I'll hand you back to Christian. Be gentle with him. I love him," I whisper.

I think Ray is smiling on the other end of the line, but it's hard to tell. It's always hard to tell with Ray.

"Sure thing, Annie. And come and visit this old man and bring that Christian with you."

I march back into the room - pissed at Christian for not warning me - and hand him the phone, my expression letting him know just how pissed I am. He's amused as he takes the phone and heads back into his study.

Two minutes later, he reappears.

"I have your stepfather's rather begrudging blessing," he says proudly, so proudly, in fact, that it makes me giggle, and he grins at me. He's acting like he's just negotiated a major new merger or acquisition, which I suppose on one level, he has.

"Damn, you're a good cook, woman." Christian swallows his last mouthful and raises his glass of white wine to me. I blossom under his praise, and it occurs to me I'll only get to cook for him on weekends. I frown. I enjoy cooking. Perhaps I should have made him a cake for his birthday. I check my watch. I still have time.

"Ana?" He interrupts my thoughts. "Why did you ask me not to take your photo?" His question startles me all the more because his voice is deceptively soft.

Oh... shit. The photos. I stare down at my empty plate, twisting my fingers in my lap.

What can I say? I'd promised myself not to mention that I'd found his version of Readers'

Wives.

"Ana," he snaps. "What is it?" He makes me jump, and his voice commands me to look at him. When did I think he didn't intimidate me?

"I found your photos," I whisper.

His eyes widen in shock. "You've been in the safe?" he asks, incredulous.

"Safe? No. I didn't know you had a safe."

He frowns. "I don't understand."

"In your closet. The box. I was looking for your tie, and the box was under your jeans... the ones you normally wear in the playroom. Except today." I flush.

He gapes at me, appalled, and nervously runs his hand through his hair as he processes this information. He rubs his chin, lost in thought, but he can't mask the perplexed annoy-ance etched on his face. Abruptly he shakes his head, exasperated - but amused, too - and a faint smile of admiration kisses the corner of his mouth. He steeples his hands in front of him and focuses on me once more.

"It's not what you think. I'd forgotten all about them. That box has been moved. Those photographs belong in my safe."

"Who moved them?" I whisper.

He swallows. "There's only one person who could have done that."

"Oh. Who? And what do you mean, 'it's not what I think'?"

He sighs and tilts his head to one side, and I think he's embarrassed. So he should be!

My subconscious snarls.

"This is going to sound cold, but - they're an insurance policy," he whispers steeling himself for my response.

"Insurance policy?"

"Against exposure."

The penny drops and rattles uncomfortably round and round in my empty head.

"Oh," I murmur, because I can't think of what else to say. I close my eyes. This is it.

This is Fifty Shades of Fucked-Up, right here, right now. "Yes. You're right," I mutter.

"That does sound cold." I stand to clear our dishes. I don't want to know any more.

"Ana."

"Do they know? The girls... the subs?"

He frowns. "Of course they know."

Oh, well, that's something. He reaches out, grabbing me and pulling me to him.

"Those photos are supposed to be in the safe. They're not for recreational use." He stops. "Maybe they were when they were taken originally. But - " He stops, imploring me.

"They don't mean anything."

"Who put them in your closet?"

"It could only have been Leila."

"She knows your safe combination?"

He shrugs. "It wouldn't surprise me. It's a very long combination, and I use it so rarely.

It's the one number I have written down and haven't changed." He shakes his head. "I wonder what else she knows and if she's taken anything else out of there." He frowns, then turns his attention back to me. "Look, I'll destroy the photos. Now, if you like."

"They're your photos, Christian. Do with them as you wish," I mutter.

"Don't be like that," he says, taking my head in his hands and holding my gaze to his.

"I don't want that life. I want our life, together."

Holy cow. How does he know that beneath my horror about these photos is the fact that I'm paranoid?

"Ana, I thought we exorcised all those ghosts this morning. I feel that way. Don't you?"

I blink at him, recalling our very, very pleasurable and romantic and downright dirty morning in his playroom.

"Yes," I smile. "Yes, I feel like that, too."

"Good." He leans forward and kisses me, folding me in his arms. "I'll shred them," he murmurs. "And then I have to go to work. I'm sorry, baby, but I have a mountain of business to get through this afternoon."

"It's cool. I have to call my mother." I grimace. "Then I want to do some shopping and bake you a cake."

He grins and his eyes light up like a small boy's.

"A cake?"

I nod.

"A chocolate cake?"

"You want a chocolate cake?" His grin is infectious.

He nods.

"I'll see what I can do, Mr. Grey."

He kisses me once more.

Carla is stunned into silence.

"Mom, say something."

"You're not pregnant, are you, Ana?" she whispers in horror.

"No, no, no, nothing like that." Disappointment slices through my heart, and I'm sad-dened that she would think that of me. But then I remember with an ever-sinking feeling that she was pregnant with me when she married my father.

"I'm sorry, darling. This is just so sudden. I mean, Christian is quite a catch, but you're so young, and you should see a little of the world."

"Mom, can't you just be happy for me? I love him."

"Darling, I just need to get used to the idea. It's a shock. I could tell in Georgia that there was something very special between you two, but marriage... ?"

In Georgia he wanted me to be his submissive, but I won't tell her that.

"Have you set a date?"

"No."

"I wish your father was alive," she whispers. Oh no... not this. Not this, now.

"I know, Mom. I would have liked to know him, too."

"He only held you once, and he was so proud. He thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world." Her voice is a deathly hush as the familiar tale is retold... again. She will be in tears next.

"I know, Mom."

"And then he died." She sniffs, and I know this has set her off as it does every time.

"Mom," I whisper, wanting to reach down the phone and hold her.

"I'm a silly old woman," she murmurs and she sniffs again. "Of course I am happy for you, darling. Does Ray know?" she adds, and she seems to have recovered her equilibrium.

"Christian's just asked him."

"Oh, that's sweet. Good." She sounds melancholic, but she's making an effort.

"Yes, it was," I murmur.

"Ana, darling, I love you so much. I am happy for you. And you must both visit."

"Yes, Mom. I love you, too."

"Bob is calling me, I have to go. Let me have a date. We need to plan... are you having a big wedding?"

Big wedding, crap. I haven't even thought about that. Big wedding? No. I don't want a big wedding.

"I don't know yet. As soon as I do, I'll call."

"Good. You take care now and be safe. You two need to have some fun... plenty of time for kids later."

Kids! Hmm... and there it is again - a not-so-veiled reference to the fact that she had me so early.

"Mom, I didn't really ruin your life, did I?"

She gasps. "Oh no, Ana, never think that. You were the best thing that ever happened to your father and me. I just wish he was here to see you so grown up and getting married."

She's wistful and maudlin again.

"I wish that, too." I shake my head thinking about my mythical father. "Mom, I'll let you go. I'll call soon."

"Love you, darling."

"Me, too, Mom. Good-bye."

Christian's kitchen is a dream to work in. For a man who knows nothing about cooking, he seems to have everything. I suspect Mrs. Jones loves to cook, too. The only thing I need is some high quality chocolate for the frosting. I leave the two halves of the cake on a cooling rack, grab my purse, and pop my head around Christian's study door. He's concentrating on his computer screen. He looks up and smiles at me.

"I'm just heading to the store to pick up some ingredients."

"Okay." He frowns at me.

"What?"

"You going to put some jeans on or something?"

Oh, come on. "Christian, they're just legs."

He gazes at me, unamused. This is going to be a fight. And it's his birthday. I roll my eyes at him, feeling like an errant teenager.

"What if we were at the beach?" I take a different tack.

"We're not at the beach."

"Would you object if we were at the beach?"

He considers this for a moment. "No," he says simply.

I roll my eyes again and smirk at him. "Well, just imagine we are. Laters." I turn and bolt for the foyer. I make it to the elevator before he catches up with me. As the doors close, I wave at him, grinning sweetly as he watches, helpless - but fortunately amused - with narrowed eyes. He shakes his head in exasperation, then I can see him no more.

Oh, that was exciting. Adrenaline is pounding through my veins, and my heart feels like it wants to exit my chest. But as the elevator descends, so do my spirits. Shit, what have I done?

I have a tiger by the tail. He's going to be mad when I get back. My subconscious is glaring at me over her half-moon glasses, a willow switch in her hand. Shit. I think about what little experience I have with men. I've never lived with a man before - well, except Ray - and for some reason he doesn't count. He's my dad... well, the man I consider my dad.And now I have Christian. He's never really lived with anyone, I think. I'll have to ask him - if he's still talking to me.

But I feel strongly that I should wear what I like. I remember his rules. Yes, this must be hard for him, but he sure as hell paid for this dress. He should have given Neimans a better brief. Nothing too short!

This skirt isn't that short, is it? I check in the large mirror in the lobby. Damn. Yes, it is quite short, but I've made a stand now. And no doubt I'll have to face the consequences. I wonder idly what he'll do, but first I need cash.

I stare at my receipt from the ATM: $51,689.16. That's fifty thousand dollars too much!

Anastasia, you're going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes. And so it begins. I take my paltry fifty dollars and make my way to the store.

I head straight to the kitchen when I arrive back, and I can't help feeling a frisson of alarm.

Christian is still in his study. Jeez, that's most of the afternoon. I decide my best option is to face him and see how much damage I've done. I peek cautiously around his study door.

He's on the phone, staring out the window.

"And the Eurocopter specialist is due Monday afternoon?... Good. Just keep me informed. Tell them that I'll need their initial findings either Monday evening or Tuesday morning." He hangs up and swivels his chair round, but stills when he sees me, his expression impassive.

"Hi," I whisper. He says nothing, and my heart free-falls into my stomach. Gingerly I walk into his study and around his desk to where he's sitting. He still says nothing, his eyes never leaving mine. I stand in front of him, feeling fifty shades of foolish.

"I'm back. Are you mad at me?"

He sighs, reaches out for my hand, and pulls me into his lap, folding his arms around me. He buries his nose in my hair.

"Yes," he says.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." I curl up in his lap inhaling his heavenly Christian smell, feeling safe regardless of the fact that he's mad.

"Me neither. Wear what you like," he murmurs. He runs his hand up my bare leg to my thigh. "Besides, this dress has its advantages." He bends to kiss me, and as our lips touch, passion or lust or a deep-seated need to make amends lances through me and desire flares in my blood. I seize his head in my hands, fisting my fingers in his hair. He groans as his body responds, and he hungrily nips at my lower lip - my throat, my ear, his tongue invading my mouth, and before I'm even aware of it he's unzipping his pants, pulling me astride his lap, and sinking into me. I grasp the back of the chair, my feet just touching the ground...

and we start to move.

"I like your version of sorry," he breathes into my hair.

"And I like yours," I giggle, snuggling against his chest. "Have you finished?"

"Christ, Ana, you want more?"

"No! Your work."

"I'll be done in about half an hour. I heard your message on my voicemail."

"From yesterday."

"You sounded worried."

I hug him tightly.

"I was. It's not like you not to respond."

He kisses my hair.

"Your cake should be ready in half an hour." I smile at him and climb off his lap.

"Looking forward to it. It smelled delicious, evocative even, while it was baking."

I smile shyly down at him, feeling a little self-conscious, and he mirrors my expression. Jeez, are we really so different? Perhaps it's his early memories of baking. Leaning down, I plant a swift kiss on the corner of his mouth and make my way back to the kitchen.

I am all prepared when I hear him come out of his study, and I light the solitary gold candle on his cake. He gives me an ear-splitting grin as he saunters toward me, and I softly sing Happy Birthday to him. Then he leans over and blows it out, closing his eyes.

"I've made my wish," he says as he opens them again, and for some reason his look makes me flush.

"The frosting is still soft. I hope you like it."

"I can't wait to taste it, Anastasia," he murmurs, and he makes that sound so rude. I cut us each a slice, and we dig in with small pastry forks.

"Mmm," he groans in appreciation. "This is why I want to marry you."

And I laugh with relief... he likes it.

"Ready to face my family?" Christian switches the R8 ignition off. We're parked in his parents' driveway.

"Yes. Are you going to tell them?"

"Of course. I'm looking forward to seeing their reactions." He smiles wickedly at me and climbs out of the car.

It is seven thirty, and though it's been a warm day, there's a cool evening breeze blowing off the bay. I pull my wrap around me as I step out of the car. I'm wearing an emerald green cocktail dress I found this morning while I was rummaging through the closet. It has a wide matching belt. Christian takes my hand, and we head to the front door. Carrick opens it wide before he can knock.

"Christian, hello. Happy birthday, son." He takes Christian's proffered hand but pulls him into a brief hug, surprising him.

"Er... thanks, Dad."

"Ana, how lovely to see you again." He hugs me, too, and we follow him into the house.

Before we can set foot in the living room, Kate comes barreling down the hallway toward the two of us. She looks furious.

Oh no!

"You two! I want to talk to you." She snarls in her you-better-not-fucking-mess-with-me voice. I glance nervously at Christian, who shrugs and decides to humor her as we follow her into the dining room, leaving Carrick bemused on the threshold of the living room.

She shuts the door and turns on me.

"What the fuck is this?" she hisses and waves a piece of paper at me. Completely at a loss, I take it from her and scan it quickly. My mouth dries. Holy shit. It's my e-mail response to Christian, discussing the contract.

Chapter Twenty

"You'll marry me?" he whispers, incredulous.

I nod nervously, flushing and anxious and not quite believing his reaction - this man whom I thought I'd lost. How could he not understand how much I love him?

"Say it," he orders softly, his gaze intense and hot.

"Yes, I'll marry you."

He inhales sharply and moves suddenly, grabbing me and swinging me round in a most un-Fiftylike manner. He's laughing, young and carefree, radiating joyful elation. I grab his arms to hold on, feeling his muscles ripple beneath my fingers, and his infectious laughter sweeps me up - dizzy, addled, a girl totally and utterly smitten with her beautiful man. He puts me down and kisses me. Hard. His hands are on either side of my face, his tongue insistent, persuasive... arousing.

"Oh, Ana," he breathes against my lips, and it's an exultation that leaves me reeling.

He loves me, of that I have no doubt, and I savor the taste of this delicious man, this man I thought I might never see again. His joy is evident - his eyes shining, his youthful smile -

and his relief is almost palpable.

"I thought I'd lost you," I murmur, still dazzled and breathless from his kiss.

"Baby, it will take more than a malfunctioning 135 to keep me away from you."

"135?"

"Charlie Tango. She's a Eurocopter 135, the safest in its class." Some unnamed but dark emotion crosses his face briefly, distracting me. What isn't he saying? Before I can ask him, he stills and looks down at me, frowning, and for a moment I think he's going to tell me. I blink up into his speculative gray eyes.

"Wait a minute. You gave this to me before we saw Flynn," he says, holding up the keychain. He looks almost horrified.

Oh dear, where's he going with this? I nod, keeping a straight face.

His mouth drops open.

I shrug apologetically. "I wanted you to know that whatever Flynn said, it wouldn't make a difference to me."

Christian blinks at me in disbelief. "So all yesterday evening, when I was begging you for an answer, I had it already?" He's dismayed. I nod again, trying desperately to gauge his reaction. He gazes at me in stupefied wonder, but then narrows his eyes and his mouth twists with amused irony.

"All that worry," he whispers ominously. I grin at him and shrug once more. "Oh, don't try and get cute with me, Miss Steele. Right now, I want..." He runs his hand through his hair, then shakes his head and changes tack.

"I can't believe you left me hanging." His whisper is laced with disbelief. His expression alters subtly, his eyes gleaming wickedly, his mouth twitching into a carnal smile.

Holy hell. A thrill runs through me. What's he thinking?

"I believe some retribution is in order, Miss Steele," he says softly.

Retribution? Oh shit! I know he's playing - but I take a cautious step back from him anyway.

He grins. "Is that the game?" he whispers. "Because I will catch you." And his eyes burn with a bright playful intensity. "And you're biting your lip," he says threateningly.

All of my insides tighten at once. Oh my. My future husband wants to play. I take another step back, then turn to run - but in vain. Christian grabs me, and in one easy swoop while I squeal with delight, surprise, and shock. He hoists me over his shoulder and heads down the hall.

"Christian!" I hiss, mindful that Jose is upstairs, though whether he could hear us is doubtful. I steady myself by clasping his lower back, then on a brave impulse, I swat his behind. He swats me right back.

"Ow!" I yelp.

"Shower time," he declares triumphantly.

"Put me down!" I try and fail to sound disapproving. My struggle is futile - his arm is firmly clamped over my thighs - and for some reason I cannot stop giggling.

"Fond of these shoes?" he asks amused as he opens the door to his bathroom.

"I prefer them to be touching the floor." I attempt to snarl at him, but it's not very effective as I can't keep the laughter out of my voice.

"Your wish is my command, Miss Steele." Without putting me down, he slips off both of my shoes and lets them clatter to the tile floor. Pausing by the vanity, he empties his pockets - dead Blackberry, keys, wallet, the keychain. I can only imagine what I look like in the mirror from this angle. When he's finished, he marches directly into his overlarge shower.

"Christian!" I scold loudly - his intent is now clear.

He switches the water on at max. Jeez! Arctic water spurts over my backside, and I squeal - then stop, mindful once more that Jose is above us. It's cold and I'm fully clothed.

The chilling water soaks into my dress, my panties, and my bra. I'm drenched and I cannot stop giggling.

"No!" I squeal. "Put me down!" I swat him again, harder this time, and Christian releases me, letting me slide down his now soaked body. His white shirt is stuck to his chest and his suit pants are sodden. I am soaked, too, flushed, giddy and breathless, and he's grinning down at me, looking so... so unbelievably hot.

He sobers, his eyes shining, and cups my face again, drawing my lips to his. His kiss is gentle, cherishing, and totally distracting. I no longer care that I am fully clothed and soaking wet in Christian's shower. It's just the two of us beneath the cascading water. He's back, he's safe, he's mine.

My hands move involuntarily to his shirt as it clings to every line and sinew of his chest, revealing the hair scrunched beneath the white wetness. I yank the shirt hem out of his pants, and he groans against my mouth, but his lips do not leave mine. As I unbutton his shirt, he reaches for my zipper, slowly sliding the clasp down my dress. His lips become more insistent, more provocative, his tongue invading my mouth - and my body explodes with desire. I tug his shirt hard, ripping it open. The buttons fly everywhere, ricocheting off the tiles and disappearing onto the shower floor. As I strip the wet material off his shoulders and down his arms, I press him into the wall, hampering his attempts to undress me. "Cufflinks," he murmurs, holding up his wrists where his shirt hangs sodden and limp.

With scrambling fingers, I release first one and then the other cuff, letting his gold cufflinks fall carelessly to the tiled floor and his shirt follows. His eyes search mine through the cascading water, his gaze burning, carnal, heated like the water. I reach for the waistband of his pants, but he shakes his head and grabs my shoulders, spinning me round so I am facing away from him. He finishes the long journey south with my zipper, smoothes my wet hair away from my neck, and runs his tongue up my neck to my hairline and back again, kissing and sucking as he goes.

I moan and slowly he peels my dress off my shoulders and down past my breasts, kissing my neck beneath my ear. He unclasps my bra and pushes it off my shoulders, freeing my breasts. His hands reach around and cup each one as he murmurs his appreciation in my ear.

"So beautiful," he whispers.

My arms are trapped by my bra and dress, which hang unfastened below my breasts, my arms still in the sleeves but my hands are free. I roll my head, giving Christian better access to my neck and push my breasts into his magical hands. I reach round behind me and welcome his sharp intake of breath as my inquisitive fingers make contact with his erection. He pushes his groin into my welcoming hands. Dammit, why didn't he let me take his pants off?

He tugs on my nipples, and as they harden and stretch under his expert touch, all thoughts of his pants disappear and pleasure spikes sharp and libidinous in my belly. I lean my head back against him and groan.

"Yes," he breathes and turns me once more, capturing my mouth with his. He peels my bra, dress and panties down so they join his shirt in a soggy heap on the shower floor.

I grab the body wash beside us. Christian stills as he realizes what I am about to do.

Staring him straight in the eye, I squirt some of the sweet-smelling gel into my palm and hold my hand up in front of his chest, waiting for an answer to my unspoken question. His eyes widen, then he gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

Gently I place my hand on his sternum and start to rub the soap into his skin. His chest rises as he inhales sharply, but he stands stock-still. After a beat, his hands clasp my hips, but he doesn't push me away. He watches me warily, his look intense more than scared, but his lips are parted as his breathing increases.

"Is this okay?" I whisper.

"Yes." His short, breathy reply is almost a gasp. I am reminded of the many showers we've had together, but the one at the Olympic is a bittersweet memory. Well, now I can touch him. I wash him using gentle circles, cleaning my man, moving to his underarms, over his ribs, down his flat firm belly, toward his happy trail, and the waistband of his pants.

"My turn," he whispers and reaches for the shampoo, shifting us out of range of the stream of water and squirting some on to the top of my head.

I think this is my cue to stop washing him, so I hook my fingers into his waistband. He works the shampoo into my hair, his firm, long fingers massaging my scalp. Groaning in appreciation, I close my eyes and give myself over to the heavenly sensation. After all the stress of the evening, this is just what I need.

He chuckles and I open one eye to find him smiling down at me. "You like?"

"Hmm..."

He grins. "Me, too," he says and leans over to kiss my forehead, his fingers continuing their sweet, firm kneading of my scalp.

"Turn round," he says authoritatively. I do as I'm told, and his fingers slowly work over my head, cleansing, relaxing, loving me as they go. Oh, this is bliss. He reaches for more shampoo and gently washes the long tresses down my back. When he's finished, he pulls me back under the shower.

"Lean your head back," he orders quietly.

I willingly comply, and he carefully rinses out the suds. When he's done, I face him once more and make a beeline for his pants.

"I want to wash all of you,"

I whisper. He smiles that lopsided smile and lifts his hands in a gesture that says "I'm all yours, baby." I grin; it feels like Christmas. I make short work of his zipper, and soon his pants and boxers join the rest of our clothing. I stand and reach for the body wash and the freshwater sponge.

"Looks like you're pleased to see me," I murmur dryly.

"I'm always pleased to see you, Miss Steele." He smirks at me.

I soap the sponge, then retrace my journey over his chest. He's more relaxed - maybe because I'm not actually touching him. I head south with the sponge, across his belly, along the happy trail, through his pubic hair, and over and up his erection.

I peek up at him, and he regards me with hooded eyes and sensual longing. Hmm... I like this look. I drop the sponge and use my hands, grasping him firmly. He closes his eyes, tips his head back, and groans, thrusting his hips into my hands.

Oh yes! It's so arousing. My inner goddess has resurfaced after her evening of rocking and weeping in the corner, and she's wearing harlot-red lipstick.

His burning eyes suddenly lock with mine. He's remembered something.

"It's Saturday," he exclaims, eyes alight with salacious wonder, and he grasps my waist, pulling me to him and kissing me savagely.

Whoa - change of pace!

His hands sweep down my slick, wet body, round to my sex, his fingers exploring, teasing, and his mouth is relentless, leaving me breathless. His other hand is in my wet hair, holding me in place while I bear the full force of his passion unleashed. His fingers move inside me.

"Ahh," I moan into his mouth.

"Yes," he hisses and lifts me, his hands beneath my backside. "Wrap your legs around me, baby." My legs fold around him, and I cling like a limpet to his neck. He braces me against the wall of the shower and pauses, gazing down at me.

"Eyes open," he murmurs. "I want to see you."

I blink up at him, my heart hammering, my blood pulsing hot and heavy through my body, desire, real and rampant surging through me. Then he eases into me oh-so-slowly, filling me, claiming me, skin against skin. I push down against him and groan loudly. Once fully inside me, he pauses once more, his face strained, intense.

"You are mine, Anastasia," he whispers.

"Always."

He smiles victoriously and shifts, making me gasp.

"And now we can let everyone know, because you said yes." His voice is reverential, and he leans down, capturing my mouth with his, and starts to move... slow and sweet. I close my eyes and tilt my head back as my body bows, my will submitting to his, slave to his intoxicating slow rhythm.

His teeth graze my jaw, my chin, and down my neck as he picks up the pace, pushing me onward, upward - away from this earthly plane, the teeming shower, the evening's chilling fright. It's just me and my man moving in unison, moving as one - each completely absorbed in the other - our gasps and grunts mingling. I revel in the exquisite feeling of his possession as my body blooms and flowers around him.

I could have lost him... and I love him... I love him so much, and I'm suddenly overcome by the enormity of my love and the depth of my commitment to him. I will spend the rest of my life loving this man, and with that awe-inspiring thought, I detonate around him - a healing, cathartic orgasm, crying out his name as tears flow down my cheeks.

He reaches his climax and pours himself into me. With his face buried in my neck, he sinks to the floor, holding me tightly, kissing my face, and kissing away my tears as the warm water spills down around us, washing us clean.

"My fingers are pruny," I murmur, postcoital and sated as I lean against his chest. He raises my fingers to his lips and kisses each in turn.

"We should really get out of this shower."

"I'm comfortable here." I'm sitting between his legs and he's holding me close. I don't want to move.

Christian murmurs his assent. But suddenly I'm bone tired, world-weary. So much has happened this last week - enough for a lifetime of drama - and now I'm getting married. A disbelieving giggle escapes my lips.

"Something amusing you, Miss Steele?" he asks fondly.

"It's been a busy week."

He grins. "That it has."

"I thank God you're back in one piece, Mr. Grey," I whisper, sobering at the thought of what might have been. He tenses and I immediately regret reminding him.

"I was scared," he confesses much to my surprise.

"Earlier?"

He nods, his expression serious.

Holy shit. "So you made light of it to reassure your family?"

"Yes. I was too low to land well. But somehow I did."

Crap. My eyes sweep up to his, and he looks grave as the water cascades over us. "How close a call was it?" He gazes down at me.

"Close," he pauses. "For a few awful seconds, I thought I'd never see you again."

I hug him tightly. "I can't imagine my life without you, Christian. I love you so much it frightens me."

"Me, too," he breathes. "My life would be empty without you. I love you so much."

His arms tighten around me and he nuzzles my hair. "I won't ever let you go."

"I don't want to go, ever." I kiss his neck, and he leans down and kisses me gently.

After a moment, he shifts. "Come - let's get you dry and into bed. I'm exhausted and you look beat."

I lean back and arch an eyebrow at his choice of words. He cocks his head to one side and smirks at me.

"You have something to say, Miss Steele?"

I shake my head and clamber unsteadily to my feet.

I am sitting up in bed. Christian insisted on drying my hair - he's quite skilled at it. How that happened is an unpleasant thought, so I dismiss it immediately. It's after two in the morning, and I am ready to sleep. Christian gazes down at me and reexamines the keychain before climbing into bed. He shakes his head, incredulous once more.

"This is so neat. The best birthday present I've ever had." He glances at me, his eyes soft and warm. "Better than my signed Guiseppe DeNatale poster."

"I would have told you earlier, but as it was your birthday... What do you give the man who has everything? I thought I'd give you... me."

He puts the keychain down on the bedside table and snuggles in beside me, pulling me into his arms against his chest so that we're spooning.

"It's perfect. Like you."

I smirk, though he can't see my expression. "I am far from perfect, Christian."

"Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?"

How does he know? "Maybe." I giggle. "Can I ask you something?

"Of course," he nuzzles my neck.

"You didn't call on your trip back from Portland. Was that really because of Jose? You were worried about me being here alone with him?"

Christian says nothing. I turn to face him, and his eyes are wide as I reproach him.

"Do you know how ridiculous that is? How much stress you put your family and me through? We all love you very much."

He blinks a couple of times and then gives me his shy smile. "I had no idea you'd all be so worried."

I purse my lips. "When are you going to get it through your thick skull that you are loved?"

"Thick skull?" His eyebrows widen in surprise.

I nod. "Yes. Thick skull."

"I don't think the bone density of my head is significantly higher than anywhere else in my body."

"I'm serious! Stop trying to make me laugh. I am still a little mad at you, though that's partially eclipsed by the fact that you're home safe and sound when I thought..." My voice fades as I recall those anxious few hours. "Well, you know what I thought."

His eyes soften and he reaches up to caress my face. "I'm sorry. Okay."

"Your poor mom, too. It was very moving, seeing you with her," I whisper.

He smiles shyly. "I've never seen her that way." He blinks at the memory. "Yes, that was really something. She's normally so self-possessed. It was quite a shock."

"See? Everyone loves you." I smile. "Perhaps now you'll start believing it." I lean down and kiss him gently.

"Happy birthday, Christian. I'm glad you're here to share your day with me. And you haven't seen what I've got for you tomorrow um... today." I smirk.

"There's more?" he says, astounded, and his face erupts into a breathtaking grin.

"Oh yes, Mr. Grey, but you'll have to wait until then."

I wake suddenly from a dream or nightmare, and my pulse is thumping. I turn, panicked, and to my relief, Christian is fast asleep beside me. Because I've shifted, he stirs and reaches out in his sleep, draping his arm over me, and rests his head on my shoulder, sigh-ing softly.

The room is flooded with light. It's eight o'clock. Christian never sleeps this late. I lie back and let my racing heart calm. Why the anxiety? Is it the aftermath of last night?

I turn and stare at him. He's here. He's safe. I take a deep steadying breath and gaze at his lovely face. A face that is now so familiar, all its dips and shadows eternally etched on my mind.

He looks much younger when he's asleep, and I grin because today he's a whole year older. I hug myself, thinking about my present. Oooh... what will he do? Perhaps I should start by bringing him breakfast in bed. Besides, Jose may still be here.

I find Jose at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. I can't help but flush when I see him.

He knows I've spent the night with Christian. Why do I suddenly feel so shy? It's not as if I'm naked or anything. I'm wearing my silk floor-length wrap.

"Morning, Jose," I smile, brazening it out.

"Hey, Ana!" His face lights up, genuinely pleased to see me. There's no hint of teasing or salacious contempt in his expression.

"Sleep well?" I ask.

"Sure. Some view from up here."

"Yeah. It's pretty special." Like the owner of this apartment. "Want a real man's breakfast?" I tease.

"Love some."

"It's Christian's birthday today - I'm making him breakfast in bed."

"He awake?"

"No, I think he's fried from yesterday." I quickly glance away from him and head to the fridge so he can't see my blush. Jeez, it's only Jose. When I take the eggs and bacon out of the fridge, Jose is grinning at me.

"You really like him, don't you?"

I purse my lips. "I love him, Jose."

His eyes widen momentarily then he grins. "What's not to love?" he asks gesturing round the great room.

I scowl at him. "Gee, thanks!"

"Hey, Ana, just kidding."

Hmm... will I always have this leveled at me? That I'm marrying Christian for his money?

"Seriously, I'm kidding. You've never been that kind of girl."

"Omelet good for you?" I ask, changing the subject. I don't want to argue.

"Sure."

"And me," Christian says as he saunters into the great room. Holy fuck, he's wearing only pajama bottoms that hang in that totally hot way off his hips -  Jeez!

"Jose." He nods.

"Christian." Jose returns his nod solemnly.

Christian turns to me and smirks as I stare. He's done this on purpose. I narrow my eyes at him, desperately trying to recover my equilibrium, and Christian's expression alters subtly. He knows that I know what he's up to, and he doesn't care.

"I was going to bring you breakfast in bed."

Swaggering over, he wraps his arm around me, tilts my chin up, and plants a loud wet kiss on my lips. Very unFifty!

"Good morning, Anastasia," he says. I want to scowl at him and tell him to behave -

but it's his birthday. I flush. Why is he so territorial?

"Good morning, Christian. Happy birthday." I give him a smile, and he smirks at me.

"I'm looking forward to my other present," he says and that's it. I flush the color of the Red Room of Pain and glance nervously at Jose, who looks like he's swallowed something unpleasant. I turn away and start preparing the food.

"So what are your plans today, Jose?" Christian asks, seemingly casual as he sits down on a barstool.

"I'm heading up to see my dad and Ray, Ana's dad."

Christian frowns.

"They know each other?"

"Yeah, they were in the army together. They lost contact until Ana and I were in college together. It's kinda cute. They're best buds now. We're going on a fishing trip."

"Fishing?" Christian is genuinely interested.

"Yeah - some great catches in these coastal waters. The steelheads can grow way big."

"True. My brother Elliot and I landed a thirty-four pound steelhead once."

They're talking fishing? What is it about fishing? I have never understood it.

"Thirty-four pounds? Not bad. Ana's father though, he holds the record. A forty-three pounder."

"You're kidding! He never said."

"Happy birthday, by the way."

"Thanks. So, where do you like to fish?"

I zone out. This I do not need to know. But at the same time I'm relieved. See, Christian? Jose's not so bad.

By the time Jose makes to leave, both of them are much more relaxed with each other.

Christian quickly changes into T-shirt and jeans and barefoot he accompanies Jose and me to the foyer.

"Thanks for letting me crash here," Jose says to Christian as they shake hands.

"Anytime," Christian smiles.

Jose hugs me quickly. "Stay safe, Ana."

"Sure. Great to see you. Next time we'll have a proper evening out."

"I'll hold you to that." He waves at us from inside the elevator, and then he's gone.

"See, he's not so bad."

"He still wants into your panties, Ana. But can't say I blame him."

"Christian, that's not true!"

"You have no idea, do you?" He smirks down at me. "He wants you. Big time. "

I frown. "Christian, he's just a friend, a good friend." And I'm suddenly aware that I sound like Christian when he's talking about Mrs. Robinson. The thought is unsettling.

Christian holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

"I don't want to fight," he says softly.

Oh! We're not fighting... are we? "Me neither."

"You didn't tell him we were getting married."

"No. I figured I ought to tell Mom and Ray first." Shit. It's the first time I've thought about this since I said yes. Jeez - what are my parents going to say?

Christian nods. "Yes, you're right. And I... um, I should ask your father."

I laugh. "Oh, Christian - this isn't the eighteenth century."

Holy shit. What will Ray say? The thought of that conversation fills me with horror.

"It's traditional." Christian shrugs.

"Let's talk about that later. I want to give you your other present." My aim is to distract him. The thought of my present is burning a hole in my consciousness. I need to give it to him and see how he reacts.

He gives me his shy smile, and my heart skips a beat. For as long as I live, I'll never tire of looking at that smile.

"You're biting your lip," he says and pulls on my chin.

A thrill runs through my body as his fingers touch me. Without a word, and while I still have a modicum of courage, I take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom. I drop his hand, leaving him standing by the bed, and from under my side of the bed, I take out the two remaining gift boxes.

"Two?" he says, surprised.

I take a deep breath. "I bought this before the, um... incident yesterday. I'm not sure about it now." I quickly hand him one of the parcels before I can change my mind. He gazes at me, puzzled, sensing my uncertainty.

"Sure you want me to open it?"

I nod, anxious.

Christian tears off the packaging and gazes in surprise at the box.

"Charlie Tango," I whisper.

He grins. The box contains a small wooden helicopter with a large, solar-powered rotor blade. He opens it up.

"Solar powered," he murmurs. "Wow." And before I know it he's sitting on the bed assembling it. It snaps together quickly, and Christian holds it up in the palm of his hand.

A blue wooden helicopter. He looks up at me and gives me his glorious, all-American-boy smile, then heads to the window so that the little helicopter is bathed in sunlight and the rotor starts to spin.

"Look at that," he breathes, examining it closely. "What we can already do with this technology." He holds it at eye level, watching the blades spin. He's fascinated and fascinating to watch as he loses himself in thought, staring at the little helicopter. What is he thinking?

"You like it?"

"Ana, I love it. Thank you." He grabs me and kisses me swiftly, then turns back to watch the rotor spin. "I'll add it to the glider in my office," he says distractedly, watching the blade spin. He moves his hand out of the sunlight, and the blade slows down and comes to a stop.

I can't help my face-splitting grin, and I want to hug myself. He loves it. Of course, he's all about alternative technologies. I'd forgotten that in my haste to buy it. Placing it on the chest of drawers, he turns to face me.

"It'll keep me company while we salvage Charlie Tango."

"Is it salvageable?"

"I don't know. I hope so. I'll miss her, otherwise."

Her? I am shocked at myself for the small pang of jealousy I feel for an inanimate object. My subconscious snorts with derisory laughter. I ignore her.

"What's in the other box?" he asks, his eyes wide with almost childish excitement.

Holy fuck. "I'm not sure if this present is for you or me."

"Really?" he asks, and I know I have piqued his interest. Nervously I hand him the second box. He shakes it gently and we both hear a heavy rattle. He glances up at me.

"Why are you so nervous?" he asks, bemused. I shrug, embarrassed and excited as I flush. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"You have me intrigued, Miss Steele," he whispers, and his voice runs right through me, desire and anticipation spawning in my belly. "I have to say I'm enjoying your reaction. What have you been up to?" He narrows his eyes speculatively.

I remain tight-lipped as I hold my breath.

He removes the lid of the box and takes out a small card. The rest of the contents are wrapped in tissue. He opens the card, and his eyes dart quickly to mine - widening with shock or surprise. I just don't know.

"Do rude things to you?" he murmurs. I nod and swallow. He cocks his head to one side warily, assessing my reaction, and frowns. Then turns his attention back to the box. He tears through the pale-blue tissue paper and fishes out an eye mask, some nipple clamps, a butt plug, his iPod, his silver-gray tie - and last but by no means least - the key to his playroom.

He gazes at me, his expression dark, unreadable. Oh shit. Is this a bad move?

"You want to play?" he asks softly.

"Yes," I breathe.

"For my birthday?"

"Yes." Could my voice sound any smaller?

A myriad of emotions cross his face, none of which I can place, but he settles for anxious. Hmm... Not quite the reaction I was expecting.

"You're sure?" he asks.

"Not the whips and stuff."

"I understand that."

"Yes, then. I'm sure."

He shakes his head and gazes down at the contents of the box. "Sex mad and insatiable.

Well, I think we can do something with this lot," he murmurs almost to himself, then puts the contents back in the box. When he glances at me again, his expression has completely changed. Holy cow, his gray eyes burn, and his mouth lifts in a slow erotic smile. He holds out his hand.

"Now," he says, and it's not a request. My belly clenches, tight and hard, deep, deep down.

I put my hand in his.

"Come," he orders, and I follow him out of the bedroom, my heart in my mouth. Desire races slick and hot through my blood as my insides tighten with hungry anticipation. My inner goddess somersaults round her chaise longue. Finally!

Chapter Nineteen

I stare at the flames, mesmerized. They dance and weave bright blazing orange with tips of cobalt blue in the fireplace in Christian's apartment. And despite the heat pumping out of the fire and the blanket draped around my shoulders, I'm cold. Bone-chillingly cold.

I'm aware of hushed voices, many hushed voices. But they're in the background, a distant buzz. I don't hear the words. All I can hear, all I can focus on, is the soft hiss of the gas from the fire.

My thoughts turn to the house we saw yesterday and the huge fireplaces - real fireplaces for burning wood. I'd like to make love with Christian in front of a real fire. I'd like to make love with Christian in front of this fire. Yes, that would be fun. No doubt, he'd think of some way to make it memorable like all the times we've made love. I snort wryly to myself, even the times when we were just fucking. Yes, those were pretty memorable, too. Where is he?

The flames shimmy and flicker, holding me captive, keeping me numb. I focus solely on their flaring, scorching beauty. They are bewitching.

Anastasia, you've bewitched me.

He said that the first time he slept with me in my bed. Oh no...

I wrap my arms around myself, and the world falls away from me and reality bleeds into my consciousness. The creeping emptiness inside expands some more. Charlie Tango is missing.

"Ana. Here," Mrs. Jones gently coaxes me, her voice bringing me back into the room, into the now, into the anguish. She hands me a cup of tea. I take the cup and saucer gratefully, the rattle betraying my shaking hands.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice hoarse from unshed tears and the large lump in my throat.

Mia sits across from me on the larger-than-large U-shaped couch, holding hands with Grace. They gaze at me, pain and anxiety etched on their lovely faces. Grace looks older -

a mother worried for her son. I blink dispassionately at them. I can't offer a reassuring smile, a tear even - there's nothing, just blankness and the growing emptiness. I gaze at Elliot, Jose, and Ethan, who stand around the breakfast bar, all serious faces, talking quietly.

Discussing something in soft subdued voices. Behind them, Mrs. Jones busies herself in the kitchen.

Kate is in the TV room, monitoring the local news. I hear the faint squawk from the big plasma TV. I can't bear to see the news item again - cHristian grey missing - his beautiful face on TV.

Idly, it occurs to me that I've never seen so many people in this room, yet they are still dwarfed by its sheer size. Little islands of lost, anxious people in my Fifty's home. What would he think about them being here?

Somewhere, Taylor and Carrick are talking to the authorities who are drip-feeding us information, but it's all meaningless. The fact is - he's missing. He's been missing for eight hours. No sign, no word from him. The search has been called off - this much I do know.

It's just too dark. And we don't know where he is. He could be hurt, hungry, or worse. No!

I offer another silent prayer to God. Please let Christian be okay. Please let Christian be okay. I repeat it over and over in my head - my mantra, my lifeline, something concrete to cling to in my desperation. I refuse to think the worst. No, don't go there. There is hope.

"You're my lifeline."

Christian's words come back to haunt me. Yes, there is always hope. I must not despair.

His words echo through my mind.

"I'm now a firm advocate of instant gratification. Carpe diem, Ana."

Why didn't I seize the day?

"I'm doing this because I've finally met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with."

I close my eyes in silent prayer, rocking gently. Please, let the rest of his life not be this short. Please, please. We haven't had enough time... we need more time. We've done so much in the last few weeks, come so far. It can't end. All our tender moments: the lipstick, when he made love to me for the first time at the Olympic hotel, on his knees in front of me offering himself to me, finally touching him.

"I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please."

Oh, I love him so. I will be nothing without him, nothing but a shadow - all the light eclipsed. No, no, no... my poor Christian.

"This is me, Ana. All of me... and I'm all yours. What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you."

And I you, my Fifty Shades.

I open my eyes and gaze unseeing into the fire once more, memories of our time together flitting through my mind: his boyish joy when we were sailing and gliding; his suave, sophisticated, hot-as-hell look at the masked ball; dancing, oh yes, dancing here in the apartment to Sinatra, whirling round the room; his quiet, anxious hope yesterday at the house - that stunning view.

"I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I want you, body and soul, forever."

Oh, please, let him be okay. He cannot be gone. He is the center of my universe.

An involuntary sob escapes my throat, and I clutch my hand to my mouth. No. I must be strong.

Jose is suddenly at my side, or has he been there a while? I have no idea.

"Do you want to call your mom or dad?" he asks gently.

No! I shake my head and clutch Jose's hand. I cannot speak, I know I will dissolve if I do, but the warmth and gentle squeeze of his hand offers me no solace.

Oh, Mom. My lip trembles at the thought of my mother. Should I call her? No. I couldn't deal with her reaction. Maybe Ray, he wouldn't get emotional - he never gets emotional, not even when the Mariners lose.

Grace rises to join the boys, distracting me. That must be the longest she's sat still. Mia comes to sit beside me too and grabs my other hand.

"He will come back," she says, her voice initially determined but cracking on the last word. Her eyes are wide and red-rimmed, her face pale and pinched from lack of sleep.

I gaze up at Ethan, who is watching Mia and Elliot, who has his arms around Grace. I glance at the clock. It's after eleven, heading toward midnight. Damn time! With each passing hour, the clawing emptiness expands, consuming me, choking me. I know deep down inside I am preparing myself, preparing myself for the worst. I close my eyes and offer up another silent prayer, clasping both Mia and Jose's hands.

Opening them again, I stare into the flames once more. I can see his shy smile - my favorite of all his expressions, a glimpse of the real Christian, my real Christian. He is so many people: control freak, CEO, stalker, sex god, Dom - and at the same time - such a boy with his toys. I smile. His car, his boat, his plane... Charlie Tango... no... no...

my lost boy, truly lost right now. My smile fades and pain lances through me. I remember him in the shower, wiping away the lipstick marks.

"I'm nothing, Anastasia. I'm a husk of a man. I don't have a heart."

The lump in my throat expands. Oh, Christian, you do, you do have a heart, and it's mine. I want to cherish it forever. Even though he's so complex and difficult, I love him. I will always love him. There will never be anyone else. Ever.

I remember sitting in Starbucks weighing up my Christian pros and cons. All those cons, even those photographs I found this morning, melt into insignificance now. There's just him and whether he'll come back. Oh please, Lord, bring him back, please let him be okay. I'll go to church... I'll do anything. Oh, if I get him back, I shall seize the day. His voice echoes around my head once more: "Carpe diem, Ana."

I gaze deeper into the fire, the flames still licking and curling around each other, blazing brightly. Then Grace shrieks, and everything goes into slow motion.

"Christian!"

I turn my head in time to see Grace barreling across the great room from where she had been pacing somewhere behind me, and there in the entrance stands a dismayed Christian.

He's dressed in just his shirtsleeves and suit pants, and he's holding his navy jacket, shoes, and socks. He looks tired, dirty, and utterly beautiful.

Holy fuck... Christian. He's alive. I gaze numbly at him, trying to work out if I'm hallucinating or if he's really here.

His expression is one of utter bewilderment. He deposits his jacket and shoes on the floor in time to catch Grace, who throws her arms around his neck and kisses him hard on the cheek.

"Mom?"

Christian gazes down at her, completely at a loss.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Grace whispers, voicing our collective fear.

"Mom, I'm here." I hear the consternation in his voice.

"I died a thousand deaths today," she whispers, her voice barely audible, echoing my thoughts. She gasps and sobs, no longer able to hold back her tears. Christian frowns, horrified or mortified - I don't know which - then after a beat, envelops her in a huge hug, holding her close.

"Oh, Christian," she chokes, wrapping her arms around him, weeping into his neck -

all self-restraint forgotten - and Christian doesn't balk. He just holds her, rocking to and fro, comforting her. Scalding tears pool in my eyes. Carrick hollers from the hallway.

"He's alive! Shit - you're here!" He appears from Taylor's office, clutching his cell phone, and embraces both of them, his eyes closed in sweet relief.

"Dad?"

Mia squeals something unintelligible from beside me, then she's up, running, joining her parents, hugging all of them, too.

Finally the tears start to cascade down my cheeks. He's here, he's fine. But I cannot move.

Carrick is the first to pull away, wiping his eyes and clapping Christian on the shoulder.

Mia releases them and Grace steps back.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

"Hey, Mom - it's okay," Christian says, consternation still evident on his face.

"Where were you? What happened?" Grace cries and puts her head in her hands.

"Mom," Christian mutters. He draws her into his arms again and kisses the top of her head. "I'm here. I'm good. It's just taken me a hell of a long time to get back from Portland.

What's with the welcoming committee?" He looks up and scans the room until his eyes lock with mine.

He blinks and glances briefly at Jose, who lets go of my hand. Christian's mouth tightens. I drink in the sight of him and relief courses through me, leaving me spent, exhausted, and completely elated. Yet my tears don't stop. Christian turns his attention back to his mother.

"Mom, I'm good. What's wrong?" Christian says reassuringly. She places her hands on either side of his face.

"Christian, you've been missing. Your flight plan - you never made it to Seattle. Why didn't you contact us?"

Christian's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "I didn't think it would take this long."

"Why didn't you call?"

"No power in my cell."

"You didn't stop... call collect?"

"Mom - it's a long story."

"Oh, Christian! Don't you ever do that to me again! Do you understand?" she half shouts at him.

"Yes, Mom." He wipes her tears away with his thumb and hugs her once more. When she composes herself, he releases her to hug Mia, who slaps him hard on the chest.

"You had us so worried!" she blurts out, and she, too, is in tears.

"I'm here now, for heaven's sake," Christian mutters.

As Elliot comes forward, Christian relinquishes Mia to Carrick, who already has one arm around his wife. He curls the other around his daughter. Elliot hugs Christian briefly, much to Christian's surprise, and slaps him hard on the back.

"Great to see you." Elliot says loudly, if a little gruffly, trying to hide his emotion.

As the tears stream down my face, I can see it all. The great room is bathed in it - unconditional love. He has it in spades; he's just never accepted it before, and even now he's at a total loss.

Look, Christian, all these people love you! Perhaps now you'll start believing it.

Kate is standing behind me - she must have left the TV room - and she gently strokes my hair.

"He's really here, Ana," she murmurs comfortingly.

"I'm going to say hi to my girl now," Christian tells his parents. Both nod, smile, and step aside.

He moves toward me, gray eyes bright though weary and still bemused. From somewhere deep inside, I find the strength to stagger to my feet and bolt into his open arms.

"Christian!" I sob.

"Hush," he says and holds me, burying his face in my hair and inhaling deeply. I raise my tear-stained face to his, and he kisses me far too briefly.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hi," I whisper back, the lump in the back of my throat burning.

"Miss me?"

"A bit."

He grins. "I can tell." And with a gentle touch of his hand, he wipes away the tears that refuse to stop running down my cheeks.

"I thought... I thought - " I choke.

"I can see. Hush... I'm here. I'm sorry. Later," he murmurs and kisses me chastely again.

"Are you okay?" I ask, releasing him and touching his chest, his arms, his waist - oh, the feel of this warm, vital, sensual man beneath my fingers - reassures me that he's here, standing in front of me. He's back. He doesn't so much as flinch. He just regards me intently.

"I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, thank God," I clasp him round his waist again, and he hugs me once more. "Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink?"

"Yes."

I step back to fetch him something, but he doesn't let me go. He tucks me under his arm and extends a hand to Jose.

"Mr. Grey," says Jose evenly.

Christian snorts. "Christian, please," he says.

"Christian, welcome back. Glad you're okay... and um - thanks for letting me stay."

"No problem." Christian narrows his eyes, but he's distracted by Mrs. Jones, who is suddenly at his side. It only occurs to me now that she's not her usual smart self. I hadn't noticed it before. Her hair is loose, and she's in soft gray leggings and a large gray sweat-shirt that dwarfs her with WSU Cougars emblazoned on the front. She looks years younger.

"Can I get you something, Mr. Grey?" She wipes her eyes with a tissue.

Christian smiles fondly at her. "A beer, please, Gail - Budvar - and a bite to eat."

"I'll fetch it," I murmur, wanting to do something for my man.

"No. Don't go," he says softly, tightening his arm around me.

The rest of his family close in, and Ethan and Kate join us. He shakes Ethan's hand and gives Kate a quick peck on the cheek. Mrs. Jones returns with a bottle of beer and a glass.

He takes the bottle but shakes his head at the glass. She smiles and returns to the kitchen.

"Surprised you don't want something stronger," mutters Elliot. "So what the fuck happened to you? First I knew was when Dad called me to say the chopper was missing."

"Elliot!" Grace scolds.

"Helicopter," Christian growls, correcting Elliot, who grins, and I suspect this is a family joke.

"Let's sit and I'll tell you." Christian pulls me over to the couch, and everyone sits down, all eyes on Christian. He takes a long draft of his beer. He spies Taylor hovering at the entrance and nods. Taylor nods back.

"Your daughter?"

"She's fine now. False alarm, sir."

"Good." Christian smiles.

Daughter? What happened to Taylor's daughter?

"Glad you're back, sir. Will that be all?"

"We have a helicopter to collect."

Taylor nods. "Now? Or will the morning do?"

"Morning, I think, Taylor."

"Very good, Mr. Grey. Anything else, sir?"

Christian shakes his head and raises his bottle to him. Taylor gives him a rare smile -

rarer than Christian's, I think - and heads out presumably to his office or up to his room.

"Christian, what happened?" Carrick demands.

Christian launches into his story. He was flying with Ros, his number two in Charlie Tango to deal with a funding issue at WSU in Vancouver. I can barely keep up I'm so dazed. I just hold Christian's hand and stare at his manicured fingernails, his long fingers, the creases on his knuckles, his wristwatch - an Omega with three small dials. I gaze up at his beautiful profile as he continues his tale.

"Ros had never seen Mount St. Helens, so on the way back as a celebration, we took a quick detour. I heard the TFR was lifted a while back and I wanted to take a look. Well, it's fortunate that we did. We were flying low, about two hundred feet AGL, when the instrument panel lit up. We had a fire in the tail - I had no choice but to cut all the electronics and land." He shakes his head. "I set her down by Silver Lake, got Ros out, and managed to put the fire out."

"A fire? Both engines?" Carrick is horrified.

"Yep."

"Shit! But I thought."

"I know," Christian interrupts him. "It was sheer luck I was flying so low," he murmurs. I shudder. He releases my hand and puts his arm around me.

"Cold?" he asks me. I shake my head.

"How did you put out the fire?" asks Kate, her Carla Bernstein instincts kicking in.

Jeez, she sounds terse sometimes.

"Extinguisher. We have to carry them - by law." Christian answers levelly.

His words from long ago circle my mind. "I thank divine providence every day that it was you that came to interview me and not Katherine Kavanagh."

"Why didn't you call or use the radio?" Grace asks.

Christian shakes his head. "With the electronics out, we had no radio. And I wasn't going to risk turning them on because of the fire. GPS was still working on the Blackberry, so I was able to navigate to the nearest road. Took us four hours to walk there. Ros was in heels." Christian's mouth presses into a disapproving flat line.

"We had no cell reception. There's no coverage at Gifford. Ros's battery died first.

Mine dried up on the way."

Holy hell. I tense and Christian pulls me into his lap.

"So how did you get back to Seattle?" Grace asks, blinking slightly at the sight of the two of us, no doubt. I flush.

"We hitched and pooled our resources. Between us, Ros and I had six hundred dollars, and we thought we'd have to bribe someone to drive us back, but a truck driver stopped and agreed to bring us home. He refused the money and shared his lunch with us." Christian shakes his head in dismay at the memory. "Took forever. He didn't have a cell - weird, but true. I didn't realize." He stops, gazing at his family.

"That we'd worry?" Grace scoffs. "Oh, Christian!" she scolds him. "We've been going out of our minds!"

"You've made the news, bro."

Christian rolls his eyes. "Yeah. I figured that much when I arrived to this reception and the handful of photographers outside. I'm sorry, Mom - I should have asked the driver to stop so I could phone. But I was anxious to be back." He glances at Jose.

Oh, that's why, because Jose is staying here. I frown at the thought. Jeez - all that worry.

Grace shakes her head. "I'm just glad you're back in one piece, darling."

I start to relax, resting my head against his chest. He smells outdoorsy, slightly sweaty, of body wash, and Christian, the most welcome scent in the world. Tears start to trickle down my face again, tears of gratitude.

"Both engines?" Carrick says again, frowning in disbelief.

"Go figure." Christian shrugs and runs his hand down my back.

"Hey," he whispers. He puts his fingers under my chin and tilts my head back. "Stop with the crying."

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand in a most unladylike way. "Stop with the disappearing." I sniff and his lips quirk up.

"Electrical failure... that's odd, surely?" Carrick says again.

"Yes, crossed my mind, too, Dad. But right now, I'd just like to go to bed and think about all that shit tomorrow."

"So the media know that the Christian Grey has been found safe and well?" Kate says.

"Yes. Andrea and my PR people will deal with the media. Ros called her after we dropped her home."

"Yes, Andrea called me to let me know you were still alive." Carrick grins.

"I must give that woman a raise. Sure is late," says Christian.

"I think that's a hint, ladies and gentlemen, that my dear bro needs his beauty sleep,"

Elliot scoffs suggestively. Christian grimaces at him.

"Cary, my son is safe. You can take me home now."

Cary? Grace looks adoringly at her husband.

"Yes. I think we could use the sleep," Carrick replies smiling down at her.

"Stay," Christian offers.

"No, sweetheart, I want to get home. Now that I know you're safe."

Christian reluctantly eases me onto the couch and stands. Grace hugs him once more, presses her head against his chest and closes her eyes, content. He wraps his arms around her. "I was so worried, darling," she whispers.

"I'm okay, Mom."

She leans back and studies him intently while he holds her. "Yes. I think you are," she says slowly, glances at me, and smiles. I flush.

We follow Carrick and Grace as they make their way to the foyer. Behind me, I'm aware that Mia and Ethan are having a heated whispered conversation, but I can't hear it.

Mia is smiling shyly at Ethan, and he's gaping at her and shaking his head. Suddenly, she folds her arms and turns on her heel. He rubs his forehead with one hand, obviously frustrated.

"Mom, Dad - wait for me," Mia calls sullenly. Perhaps she's as mercurial as her brother. Kate hugs me hard. "I can tell some serious shit's been going down while I've been blissfully ignorant in Barbados. It's kind of obvious you two are nuts about each other. I'm glad he's safe. Not just for him, Ana - for you, too."

"Thank you, Kate," I whisper.

"Yeah. Who knew we'd find love at the same time?" She grins. Wow. She's admitted it.

"With brothers!" I giggle.

"We could end up sisters-in-law," she quips.

I tense, then mentally kick myself as Kate stands back to gaze at me with her what-aren't-you-telling-me-Steele look. I flush. Damn, should I tell her he's asked me?

"Come on, baby," Elliot summons her from the elevator.

"Let's talk tomorrow, Ana. You must be exhausted."

I am reprieved. "Sure. You, too, Kate - you've traveled long distance today."

We hug once more, then she and Elliot follow the Greys into the elevator. Ethan shakes Christian's hand and gives me a quick hug. He looks distracted, but he follows them into the elevator and the doors close.

Jose is hovering in the hallway as we come out of the foyer.

"Look. I'll turn in... leave you guys," he says.

I blush. Jeez, why is this awkward?

"Do you know where to go?" Christian asks.

Jose nods.

"Yeah, the housekeeper - "

"Mrs. Jones," I prompt.

"Yeah, Mrs. Jones, she showed me earlier. Quite a place you have here, Christian."

"Thank you," Christian says politely as he comes to stand beside me, placing his arm around my shoulders. Leaning over, he kisses my hair.

"I'm going to eat whatever Mrs. Jones has put out for me. Goodnight, Jose." Christian wanders back into the great room, leaving Jose and me at the entrance.

Wow! Left alone with Jose.

"Well, goodnight." Jose looks uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"Goodnight, Jose, and thank you for staying."

"Sure, Ana. Any time your rich, hotshot boyfriend goes missing - I'll be there."

"Jose!" I admonish him.

"Only kidding. Don't get mad. I'll be leaving early in the morning - I'll see you sometime, yeah? I've missed you."

"Sure, Jose. Soon I hope. Sorry tonight was so... shitty." I smirk apologetically.

"Yeah." He grins. "Shitty." He hugs me. "Seriously, Ana, I'm glad you're happy, but I'm here if you need me."

I gaze up at him. "Thank you."

He flashes me a sad, bittersweet smile, and then he goes upstairs.

I turn back to the great room. Christian stands beside the couch, watching me with an unreadable expression on his face. We're finally alone and we gaze at each other.

"He's still got it bad, you know," he murmurs.

"And how would you know that, Mr. Grey?"

"I recognize the symptoms, Miss Steele. I believe I have the same affliction."

"I thought I'd never see you again," I whisper. There - the words are out. All my worst fears packaged neatly in one short sentence now exorcised.

"It wasn't as bad as it sounds."

I pick up his suit jacket and shoes from where they lie on the floor and move toward him."I'll take that," he whispers, reaching for his jacket.

Christian gazes down at me as if I'm his reason for living and mirrors my look, I'm sure. He is here, really here. He pulls me into his arms and wraps himself around me.

"Christian," I gasp, and my tears start anew.

"Hush," he soothes, kissing my hair. "You know... in the few seconds of sheer terror before I landed, all my thoughts were of you. You're my talisman, Ana."

"I thought I'd lost you," I breathe. We stand, holding each other, reconnecting and reassuring each other. As I tighten my arms around him, I realize I'm still holding his shoes. I drop them noisily to the floor.

"Come and shower with me," he murmurs.

"Okay." I glance up at him. I don't want to let go. Reaching down he tilts my chin up with his fingers.

"You know even tear-stained, you are beautiful, Ana Steele." He leans down and kisses me gently. "And your lips are so soft." He kisses me again, deepening it.

Oh my... and to think, I could have lost... no... I stop thinking and surrender myself.

"I need to put my jacket down," he murmurs.

"Drop it," I murmur against his lips.

"I can't."

I lean back to gaze up at him, puzzled.

He smirks at me. "This is why." From the inside breast pocket he pulls out the small box I gave him, containing my present. He slings the jacket over the back of the couch and places the box on top.

Seize the day, Ana, my subconscious prods me. Well, it's after midnight, so technically it's his birthday.

"Open it," I whisper, and my heart starts pounding.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he murmurs. "This has been driving me crazy."

I grin impishly at him. Jeez, I feel giddy. He gives me his shy smile, and I melt despite my thumping heart, delighting in his amused yet intrigued expression. With deft long fingers, he unwraps and opens the box. His brow creases as he fishes out a small, rectangular, plastic keychain bearing a picture made up of tiny pixels that flash on and off like an LED

screen. It depicts the Seattle skyline, focusing on the Space Needle, with the word SE-ATTLE written boldly across the landscape, flashing on and off.

He stares at it for a moment and then gazes at me bemused, a frown marring his lovely brow."Turn it over," I whisper, holding my breath.

He does, and his eyes shoot to mine, wide and gray, alive with wonder and joy. His lips part in disbelief.

The word yes flashes on and off on the key ring.

"Happy birthday," I whisper.

Chapter Eighteen

Christian continues to drive past single-story, well-kept, clapboard houses where kids play either clustered around their basketball hoops in their yards or cycling and running around in the street. It all looks affluent and wholesome with the houses nestling among the trees.

Perhaps we're going to visit someone? Who?

A few minutes later, Christian turns sharply left, and we're confronted by two ornate white metal gates set in a six-foot-high, sandstone wall. Christian presses a button on his door handle and the electric window hums quietly down into the doorframe. He punches a number into the keypad and the gates swing open in welcome.

He glances at me, and his expression has changed. He looks uncertain, nervous even.

"What is it?" I ask, and I can't mask the concern in my voice.

"An idea," he says quietly and eases the Saab through the gates.

We head up a tree-lined lane just wide enough for two cars. On one side, the trees ring a densely wooded area, and on the other there's a vast area of grassland where a once-cultivated field has been left fallow. Grasses and wildflowers have reclaimed it, creating a rural idyll - a meadow, where the late evening breeze softly ripples through the grass and the evening sun gilds the wildflowers. It's lovely - utterly tranquil, and suddenly I imagine myself lying in the grass and gazing up at a clear blue summer sky. The thought is tantalizing yet makes me feel homesick for some strange reason. How odd.

The lane curves around and opens into a sweeping driveway in front of an impressive Mediterranean-style house of soft pink sandstone. It's palatial. All the lights are on, each window brightly illuminated in the dusk. There's a smart, black BMW parked in front of the four-car garage, but Christian pulls up outside the grand portico.

Hmm... I wonder who lives here? Why are we visiting?

Christian glances anxiously at me as he switches off the car engine.

"Will you keep an open mind?" he asks.

I frown.

"Christian, I've needed an open mind since the day I met you."

He smiles ironically and nods. "Fair point well made, Miss Steele. Let's go."

The dark wood doors open, and a woman with dark brown hair, a sincere smile, and a sharp lilac suit stands waiting. I'm grateful I changed into my new navy shift dress to impress Dr. Flynn. Okay, I'm not wearing killer heels like her - but still, I'm not in jeans.

"Mr. Grey." She smiles warmly and they shake hands.

"Miss Kelly," he says politely.

She smiles at me and holds out her hand, which I shake. Her isn't-he-dreamily-gorgeous-wish-he-was-mine flush does not go unnoticed.

"Olga Kelly," she announces breezily.

"Ana Steele," I mutter back at her. Who is this woman? She stands aside, welcoming us into the house. It's a shock when I step in. The place is empty - completely empty. We find ourselves in a large entrance hall. The walls are a faded primrose yellow with scuff-marks where pictures must once have hung. All that remains are the old-fashioned crystal light fixtures. The floors are dull hardwood. There are closed doors to either side of us, but Christian gives me no time to assimilate what's happening.

"Come," he says, and taking my hand, he leads me through the archway in front of us into a larger inner vestibule. It's dominated by a curved, sweeping staircase with an intricate iron balustrade but still he doesn't stop. He takes me through to the main living area, which is empty, save for a large faded gold rug - the biggest rug I have ever seen. Oh - and there are four crystal chandeliers.

But Christian's intention is now clear as we head across the room and outside through open French doors to a large stone terrace. Below us there's half a football field of manicured lawn, but beyond that is the view. Wow.

The panoramic, uninterrupted vista is breathtaking - staggering even: twilight over the Sound. Oh my.

In the distance lies Bainbridge Island, and further still on this crystal clear evening, the setting sun sinks slowly, glowing blood and flame orange, beyond Olympic National Park. Vermillion hues bleed into the sky - opals, aquamarines, ceruleans - melding with the darker purples of the scant wispy clouds and the land beyond the Sound. It is nature's best, a visual symphony orchestrated in the sky and reflected in the deep, still waters of the Sound. I am lost to the view - staring, trying to absorb such beauty.

I realize I'm holding my breath in awe, and Christian is still holding my hand. As I reluctantly turn my eyes away from the view, he's gazing anxiously at me.

"You brought me here to admire the view?" I whisper. He nods, his expression serious.

"It's staggering, Christian. Thank you," I murmur, letting my eyes feast on it once more. He releases my hand.

"How would you like to look at it for the rest of your life?" he breathes.

What? I whip my face back to his, startled blue eyes to pensive gray. I think my mouth drops open, and I gape at him blankly.

"I've always wanted to live on the coast. I sail up and down the Sound coveting these houses. This place hasn't been on the market long. I want to buy it, demolish it, and build a new house - for us," he whispers, and his eyes glow, translucent with his hopes and dreams.

Holy cow. Somehow I remain upright. I'm reeling. Live, here! In this beautiful haven!

For the rest of my life...

"It's just an idea," he adds, cautiously.

I glance back to assess the interior of the house. How much is it worth? It must be, what - five, ten million dollars? I have no idea. Holy shit.

"Why do you want to demolish it?" I ask, looking back at him. His face falls slightly.

Oh no.

"I'd like to make a more sustainable home, using the latest ecological techniques. Elliot could build it."

I gaze back at the room again. Miss Olga Kelly is on the far side, hovering by the entrance. She's the realtor, of course. I notice the room is huge and double height, a little like the great room at Escala. There's a balcony above - that must be the landing on the second floor. There's a huge fireplace and a whole line of French doors opening onto the terrace.

It has an old-world charm.

"Can we look around the house?"

He blinks at me. "Sure," he shrugs, puzzled.

Miss Kelly's face lights up like Christmas when we head back in. She's delighted to take us on a tour and gives us the spiel.

The house is enormous: twelve thousand square feet on six acres of land. As well as this main living room, there's the eat-in - no, banquet-in - kitchen with family room attached -  Family!  - a music room, a library, a study and, much to my amazement, an indoor pool and exercise suite with sauna and steam room attached. Downstairs in the basement there's a cinema -  Jeez - and game room. Hmm... what sort of games could we play in here?Miss Kelly points out all sorts of features, but basically the house is beautiful and was obviously at one time a happy family home. It's a little shabby now, but nothing that some TLC couldn't cure.

As we follow Miss Kelly up the magnificent main stairs to the second floor, I can hardly contain my excitement... this house has everything I could ever wish for in a home.

"Couldn't you make the existing house more ecological and self-sustaining?"

Christian blinks at me, nonplussed. "I'd have to ask Elliot. He's the expert in all this."

Miss Kelly leads us into the master suite where full height windows open onto a balcony, and the view is still spectacular. I could sit in bed and gaze out all day, watching the sailing boats and the changing weather.

There are five additional bedrooms on this floor. Jeez - kids. I push the thought hastily to one side. I have too much to process already. Miss Kelly is busily suggesting to Christian how the grounds could accommodate riding stables and a paddock. Horses! Terrifying images of my few riding lessons flash through my mind, but Christian doesn't appear to be listening.

"The paddock would be where the meadow is at the moment?" I ask.

"Yes," Miss Kelly says brightly.

To me the meadow looks like somewhere to lie in the long grass and have picnics, not for some four-legged fiend of Satan to roam.

Back in the main room, Miss Kelly discreetly disappears, and Christian leads me out once more onto the terrace. The sun has set and lights from the towns on the Olympic pen-insula are twinkling on the far side of the Sound.

Christian pulls me into his arms and tips my chin up with his index finger, staring intently down at me.

"Lot to take in?" he asks, his expression unreadable.

I nod.

"I wanted to check you liked it before I bought it."

"The view?"

He nods.

"I love the view, and I like the house that's here."

"You do?"

I smile shyly at him. "Christian, you had me at the meadow."

His lips part as he inhales sharply, then his face transforms with a grin, and his hands are suddenly fisting into my hair and his mouth is on mine.

Back in the car as we head for Seattle, Christian's mood has lifted considerably.

"So you're going to buy it?" I ask.

"Yes."

"You'll put Escala on the market?"

He frowns. "Why would I do that?"

"To pay for..." My voice trails off - of course. I flush.

He smirks at me. "Trust me, I can afford it."

"Do you like being rich?"

"Yes. Show me someone who doesn't," he says darkly.

Okay, get off that subject quickly.

"Anastasia, you're going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes," he says softly.

"Wealth isn't something I've ever aspired to, Christian." I frown.

"I know. I love that about you. But then you've never been hungry," he says simply.

His words are sobering.

"Where are we going?" I ask brightly, changing the subject.

"To celebrate." Christian relaxes.

Oh! "Celebrate what, the house?"

"Have you forgotten already? Your acting editor role."

"Oh yes." I grin. Unbelievably, I had forgotten.

"Where?"

"Up high at my club."

"Your club?"

"Yes. One of them."

The Mile High Club is on the seventy-sixth floor of Columbia Tower, higher even than Christian's apartment. It's very now and has the most head-spinning views over Seattle.

"Cristal, ma'am?" Christian hands me a glass of chilled champagne as I sit perched on a barstool.

"Why thank you, sir. " I stress the last word flirtatiously, batting my eyelashes at him deliberately.

He gazes at me and his face darkens. "Are you flirting with me, Miss Steele?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey, I am. What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm sure I can think of something," he says, his voice low. "Come - our table's ready."

As we approach the table, Christian stops me, his hand on my elbow.

"Go and take your panties off," he whispers.

Oh? A delicious tingle runs down my spine.

"Go," he commands quietly.

Whoa, what? I blink up at him. He's not smiling - he's dead serious. Every muscle below my waistline tightens. I hand him my glass of champagne, turn sharply on my heel, and head for the restroom.

Shit. What's he going to do? Perhaps this club is aptly named.

The restrooms are the height of modern design - all dark wood, black granite, and pools of light from strategically placed halogens. In the privacy of the stall, I smirk as I divest myself of my underwear. Again I'm grateful I changed into the navy blue shift dress.

I thought it appropriate attire to meet the good Dr. Flynn - I hadn't expected the evening to take this unexpected course.

I am excited already. Why does he affect me so? I slightly resent how easily I fall under his spell. I know now that we won't be spending the evening talking through all our issues and recent events... but how can I resist him?

Checking my appearance in the mirror, I am bright-eyed and flushed with excitement.

Issues schmissues.

I take a deep breath and head back out into the club. I mean, it's not as if I haven't gone panty less before. My inner goddess is draped in a pink feather boa and diamonds, strutting her stuff in fuck-me shoes.

Christian stands politely when I return to the table, his expression unreadable. He looks his usual perfect, cool, calm, and collected self. Of course, I now know differently.

"Sit beside me," he says. I slide into the seat and he sits. "I've ordered for you. I hope you don't mind." He hands me my half-finished glass of champagne, regarding me intently and under his scrutiny, my blood heats anew. He rests his hands on his thighs. I tense and part my legs slightly.

The waiter arrives with a dish of oysters on crushed ice. Oysters. The memory of the two of us in the private dining room at the Heathman fills my mind. We were discussing his contract. Oh boy. We've come a long way since then.

"I think you liked oysters last time you tried them." His voice is low, seductive.

"Only time I've tried them." I'm all breathy, my voice exposing me. His lips twitch with a smile.

"Oh, Miss Steele - when will you learn?" he muses.

He takes an oyster from the dish and lifts his other hand from his thigh. I flinch in anticipation, but he reaches for a slice of lemon.

"Learn what?" I ask. Jeez, my pulse is racing. His long, skilled fingers gently squeeze the lemon over the shellfish.

"Eat," he says, holding the shell close to my mouth. I part my lips, and he gently places the shell on my bottom lip. "Tip your head back slowly," he murmurs. I do as he asks and the oyster slips down my throat. He doesn't touch me, only the shell.

Christian helps himself to one, then feeds me another. We continue this tortuous rou-tine until all twelve are gone. His skin never connects with mine. It's driving me crazy.

"Still like oysters?" he asks as I swallow the final one.

I nod, flushed, craving his touch.

"Good."

I squirm in my seat. Why is this so hot?

He puts his hand casually on his own thigh again, and I melt. Now. Please. Touch me.

My inner goddess is on her knees, naked except for her panties - begging. He runs his hand up and down his thigh, lifts it, then places it back where it was.

The waiter tops up our champagne glasses and whisks away our plates. Moments later he's back with our entree, sea bass -  I don't believe it - served with asparagus, sauteed potatoes, and a hollandaise sauce.

"A favorite of yours, Mr. Grey?"

"Most definitely, Miss Steele. Though I believe it was cod at the Heathman." His hand moves up and down his thigh. My breathing spikes, but still he doesn't touch me. It's so frustrating. I try to concentrate on our conversation.

"I seem to remember we were in a private dining room then, discussing contracts."

"Happy days," he says, smirking. "This time I hope to get to fuck you." He moves his hand to pick up his knife.

Gah!

He takes a bite out of his sea bass. He's doing this on purpose.

"Don't count on it," I mutter with a pout and he glances at me, amused. "Speaking of contracts," I add. "The NDA."

"Tear it up," he says simply.

Whoa.

"What? Really?"

"Yes."

"You're sure I'm not going to run to the Seattle Times with an expose?" I tease.

He laughs and it's a wonderful sound. He looks so young.

"No. I trust you. I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Oh. I grin shyly at him. "Ditto," I breathe.

His eyes light up. "I'm very glad you're wearing a dress," he murmurs. And bam - desire courses through my already overheated blood.

"Why haven't you touched me, then?" I hiss.

"Missing my touch?" he asks grinning. He's amused... the bastard.

"Yes," I seethe.

"Eat," he orders.

"You're not going to touch me, are you?"

"No." He shakes his head.

What? I gasp out loud.

"Just imagine how you'll feel when we're home," he whispers. "I can't wait to get you home."

"It will be your fault if I combust here on the seventy-sixth floor," I mutter through gritted teeth.

"Oh, Anastasia. We'd find a way to put the fire out," he says, grinning salaciously at me. Fuming, I dig into my sea bass, and my inner goddess narrows her eyes in quiet, devi-ous contemplation. We can play this game, too. I learned the basics during our meal at the Heathman. I take a bite out of my sea bass. It is melt-in-the-mouth delicious. I close my eyes, savoring the taste. When I open them, I begin my seduction of Christian Grey, very slowly hitching my skirt up, exposing more of my thighs.

Christian pauses momentarily, a forkful of fish suspended midair.

Touch me.

After a beat, he resumes eating. I take another bite of sea bass, ignoring him. Then, putting down my knife, I run my fingers up the inside of my lower thigh, lightly tapping my skin with my fingertips. It's distracting even to me, especially as I am craving his touch.

Christian pauses once more.

"I know what you're doing." His voice is low and husky.

"I know that you know, Mr. Grey," I reply softly. "That's the point." I pick up an asparagus stalk, gaze sideways at him from beneath my lashes, then dip the asparagus into the hollandaise sauce, swirling the tip round and round.

"You're not turning the tables on me, Miss Steele." Smirking he reaches over and takes the spear from me - amazingly and annoyingly managing not to touch me again. No, this isn't right - this is not going according to plan. Gah!

"Open your mouth," he commands.

I am losing this battle of wills. I glance up at him again, and his eyes blaze bright gray.

Parting my lips a fraction I run my tongue across my lower lip. Christian smiles and his eyes darken further.

"Wider," he breathes, his lips parting so that I can see his tongue. I groan inwardly and bite my bottom lip, then do as he asks.

I hear his sharp intake of breath - he's not so immune. Good, I am finally getting to him. My inner goddess fist-pumps the air above her chaise longue.

Keeping my eyes locked on his, I take the spear in my mouth, and suck, gently...

delicately... on the end. The hollandaise sauce is mouthwatering. I bite down, moaning quietly in appreciation.

Christian closes his eyes. Yes! When he opens them again, his pupils have dilated. The effect on me is immediate. I groan and reach out to touch his thigh. To my surprise, he uses his other hand to grab my wrist.

"Oh, no you don't, Miss Steele," he murmurs softly. Raising my hand to his mouth, he gently brushes my knuckles with his lips, and I squirm. Finally! More, please.

"Don't touch," he scolds me quietly, and places my hand back on my knee. It's so frustrating - this brief unsatisfactory contact.

"You don't play fair." I pout.

"I know." He picks up his champagne glass to propose a toast, and I mirror his actions.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Miss Steele." We clink glasses and I blush.

"Yes, kind of unexpected," I mutter. He frowns as if some unpleasant thought has crossed his mind.

"Eat," he orders. "I am not taking you home until you've finished your meal, and then we can really celebrate." His expression is so heated, so raw, so commanding. I am melting.

"I'm not hungry. Not for food."

He shakes his head, thoroughly enjoying himself, but narrows his eyes at me just the same.

"Eat, or I'll put you across my knee, right here, and we'll entertain the other diners."

His words make me squirm. He wouldn't dare! He and his twitchy palm. I press my mouth into a hard line and stare at him. Picking up an asparagus stalk, he dips the head into the hollandaise.

"Eat this," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive.

I willingly comply.

"You really don't eat enough. You've lost weight since I've known you." His tone is gentle.

I don't want to think about my weight; truth is, I like being this slim. I swallow the asparagus.

"I just want to go home and make love," I mutter disconsolately. Christian grins.

"So do I, and we will. Eat up."

Reluctantly, I turn back to my food and start to eat. Honestly, I've taken my panties off and everything. I feel like a child who has been denied candy. He is such a tease, a delicious, hot, naughty tease, and all mine.

He quizzes me about Ethan. As it turns out, Christian does business with Kate and Ethan's father. Hmm... it's small world. I'm relieved he doesn't mention Dr. Flynn or the house as I'm finding it difficult to concentrate on our conversation. I want to go home.

The carnal anticipation is unfurling between us. He's so good at this. Making me wait.

Setting the scene. Between bites, he places his hand on his thigh, so close to mine, but still doesn't touch me just to tease me further.

Bastard! Finally I finish my food, and place my knife and fork on the plate.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and those two words hold so much promise.

I frown at him. "What now?" I ask, desire clawing at my belly. Oh, I want this man.

"Now? We leave. I believe you have certain expectations, Miss Steele. Which I intend to fulfill to the best of my ability."

Whoa!

"The best... of your a... bil... ity?" I stutter. Holy shit.

He grins and stands.

"Don't we have to pay?" I ask, breathless.

He cocks his head to one side. "I am a member here. They'll bill me. Come, Anastasia, after you." He steps aside, and I stand to leave, conscious that I am not wearing my panties.

He gazes at me darkly, like he's undressing me, and I glory in his carnal appraisal. It just makes me feel so sexy - this beautiful man desires me. Will I always get a kick out of this? Deliberately stopping in front of him, I smooth my dress over my hips.

Christian whispers in my ear, "I can't wait to get you home." But he still doesn't touch me. On the way out he murmurs something about the car to the ma?tre d', but I'm not listening, my inner goddess is incandescent with anticipation. Jeez, she could light up Seattle.

Waiting by the elevators, we are joined by two middle-aged couples. When the doors open, Christian takes my elbow and steers me to the back. I glance around, and we're surrounded by dark smoked-glass mirrors. As the other couples enter, one man in a rather unflattering brown suit greets Christian.

"Grey," he nods politely. Christian nods in return but is silent.

The couples stand in front of us, facing the elevator doors. They are obviously friends -

the women chat loudly, excited and animated after their meal. I think they're all a little tipsy.As the doors close, Christian briefly stoops down beside me to tie his shoelace. Odd, his shoelaces aren't undone. Discreetly he places his hand on my ankle, startling me, and as he stands his hand travels swiftly up my leg, skating deliciously over my skin - whoa -

right up. I have to stifle my gasp of surprise as his hand reaches my backside. Christian moves behind me.

Oh my. I gape at the people in front of us, staring at the backs of their heads. They have no idea what we're up to. Wrapping his free arm around my waist, Christian pulls me to him, holding me in place as his fingers explore. Holy fucking shit... in here? The elevator travels smoothly down, stopping at the fifty-third floor to let some more people on, but I am not paying attention. I am focused on every little move his fingers make. Circling around... now moving forward, questing, as we shuffle back.

Again I stifle a groan when his fingers find their goal.

"Always so ready, Miss Steele," he whispers as he slips a long finger inside me. I squirm and gasp. How can he do this with all these people here?

"Keep still and quiet," he warns, murmuring in my ear.

I'm flushed, warm, wanting, trapped in an elevator with seven people, six of them oblivious to what's occurring in the corner. His finger slides in and out of me, again and again. My breathing. Jeez, it's embarrassing. I want to tell him to stop... and continue...

and stop. I sag against him, and he tightens his arm around me, his erection against my hip.

We halt again at the forty-fourth floor. Oh... how long is this torture going to continue? In... out... in... out... Subtly I grind myself against his persistent finger. After all this time of not touching me, he chooses now! Here! And it makes me feel so - wanton.

"Hush," he breathes, seemingly unaffected as yet two more people come aboard. The elevator is getting crowded. Christian moves us both farther back so that we're now pressed into the corner, holding me in place and torturing me further. He nuzzles my hair. I'm sure we look like a young couple in love, canoodling in the corner, if anyone could be bothered to turn round and see what we're doing... And he eases a second finger inside me.

Fuck! I groan, and I'm thankful that the gaggle of people in front of us are still chatting away, totally oblivious.

Oh, Christian, what you do to me. I lean my head against his chest, closing my eyes and surrendering to his unrelenting fingers.

"Don't come," he whispers. "I want that later." He splays his hand out on my belly, pressing down slightly, as he continues his sweet persecution. The feeling is exquisite.

Finally the elevator reaches the first floor. With a loud ping the doors open, and almost instantly the passengers start exiting. Christian slowly slips his fingers out of me and kisses the back of my head. I glance round at him, and he smiles, then nods again at Mr. Badly-fitted-brown-suit who returns his nod of acknowledgment as he shuffles out of the elevator with his wife. I barely notice, concentrating instead on staying upright and trying to manage my panting. Jeez, I feel aching and bereft. Christian releases me, leaving me to stand on my own two feet without leaning on him.

Turning, I gaze up at him. He looks cool and unruffled, his usual composed self.

Hmm... This is so not fair.

"Ready?" he asks. His eyes gleam wickedly as he slips first his index, then his middle finger into his mouth and sucks on them. "Mighty fine, Miss Steele," he whispers. I nearly convulse on the spot.

"I can't believe you just did that," I murmur, and I'm practically coming apart at the seams.

"You'd be surprised what I can do, Miss Steele," he says. Reaching out, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, a slight smile betraying his amusement.

"I want to get you home, but maybe we'll only make it as far as the car." He grins down at me as he takes my hand and leads me out of the elevator.

What! Sex in the car? Can't we just do it here on the cool marble of the lobby floor...

please?

"Come."

"Yes, I want to."

"Miss Steele!" he admonishes me with mock-amused horror.

"I've never had sex in a car," I mumble. Christian halts and places those same fingers under my chin, tipping my head back and glaring down at me.

"I'm very pleased to hear that. I have to say I'd be very surprised, not to say mad, if you had."

I flush, blinking up at him. Of course, I've only had sex with him. I frown at him.

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?" His tone is unexpectedly harsh.

"Christian, it was just an expression."

"The famous expression, 'I've never had sex in a car.' Yes, it just trips off the tongue."

Jeez... what's his problem?

"Christian, I wasn't thinking. For heaven's sake, you've just... um, done that to me in an elevator full of people. My wits are scattered."

He raises his eyebrows. "What did I do to you?" he challenges.

I scowl at him. He wants me to say it.

"You turned me on, big time. Now take me home and fuck me."

His mouth drops open then he laughs, surprised. Now he looks young and carefree. Oh, to hear him laugh. I love it because it's so rare.

"You're a born romantic, Miss Steele." He takes my hand, and we head out of the building to where the valet stands by my Saab.

"So you want sex in a car," Christian murmurs as he switches on the ignition.

"Quite frankly, I would have been happy with the lobby floor."

"Trust me, Ana, so would I. But I don't fancy being arrested at this time of night, and I didn't want to fuck you in a restroom. Well, not today."

What! "You mean there was a possibility?"

"Oh yes."

"Let's go back."

He turns to gaze at me and laughs. His laughter is infectious; soon we're both laughing - wonderful, cathartic, head-held-back laughter. Reaching over, he places his hand on my knee, caressing it gently with long skilled fingers. I stop laughing.

"Patience, Anastasia," he murmurs and pulls into the Seattle traffic.

He parks the Saab in the Escala garage and turns off the engine. Suddenly, in the confines of the car, the atmosphere between us changes. With wanton anticipation, I glance at him, trying to contain my palpitating heart. He's turned toward me, leaning against the door, his elbow propped on the steering wheel.

He pulls his lower lip with his thumb and index finger. His mouth is so distracting.

I want it on me. He's watching me intently, his eyes dark gray. My mouth goes dry. He smiles a slow sexy smile.

"We will fuck in the car at a time and place of my choosing. Right now, I want to take you on every available surface of my apartment."

It's like he's addressing me below the waist... my inner goddess performs four arabesques and a pas de Basque.

"Yes." Jeez, I sound so breathy, desperate.

He leans forward a fraction. I close my eyes, waiting for his kiss, thinking - finally. But nothing happens. After a moment, I open my eyes to find him gazing at me. I can't figure out what he's thinking, but before I can say anything, he distracts me once more.

"If I kiss you now we won't make it into the apartment. Come."

Gah! Could this man be any more frustrating? He climbs out of the car.

Once again, we wait for the elevator, my body thrumming with anticipation. Christian holds my hand, running his thumb rhythmically across my knuckles, each stroke echoing through me. Oh, I want his hands on all of me. He's tortured me long enough.

"So, what happened to instant gratification?" I murmur while we wait.

Christian smirks down at me.

"It's not appropriate in every situation, Anastasia."

"Since when?"

"Since this evening."

"Why are you torturing me so?"

"Tit for tat, Miss Steele."

"How am I torturing you?"

"I think you know."

I gaze up at him and his expression is difficult to read. He wants my answer... that's it.

"I'm into delayed gratification, too," I whisper, smiling shyly.

He tugs my hand unexpectedly, and suddenly I am in his arms. He grabs the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling gently so my head tips back.

"What can I do to make you say yes?" he asks fervently, throwing me off balance once more. I blink at him - at his lovely, serious, desperate expression.

"Give me some time? Please," I murmur. He groans and finally he kisses me, long and hard. Then we're in the elevator, and we're all hands and mouths and tongues and lips and fingers and hair. Desire, thick and strong, lances through my blood, clouding all my reason.

He pushes me against the wall, pinning me with his hips, one hand in my hair, the other at my chin, holding me in place.

"You own me," he whispers. "My fate is in your hands, Ana."

His words are intoxicating, and in my overheated state, I want to rip off his clothes.

I push off his jacket, and as the elevator arrives at the apartment, we tumble out into the foyer.

Christian pins me to the wall by the elevator, his jacket falling to the floor, and his hand travels up my leg, his lips never leaving mine. He hoists up my dress.

"First surface here," he breathes and abruptly he lifts me. "Wrap your legs around me."

I do as I'm told, and he turns and lays me down on the foyer table, so he's standing between my legs. I'm aware that the usual vase of flowers is missing. Huh? Reaching into his jeans pocket, he fishes out a foil packet and hands it to me, undoing his fly.

"Do you know how much you turn me on?"

"What?" I pant. "No... I..."

"Well, you do," he mutters, "all the time." He grabs the foil packet from my hands. Oh, this is so quick, but after all his tantalizing teasing, I want him badly - right now. He gazes down at me as he rolls on the condom, then puts his hands under my thighs, spreading my legs wider.

Positioning himself, he pauses. "Keep your eyes open. I want to see you," he whispers and clasping both my hands with his, he sinks slowly into me.

I try, I really do, but the feeling is so exquisite. What I've been waiting for after all his teasing. Oh, the fullness, this feeling... I groan and arch my back off the table.

"Open!" he growls, tightening his hands on mine and thrusting sharply into me so that I cry out.

I blink my eyes open, and he stares down at me wide-eyed. Slowly he withdraws then sinks into me once more, his mouth slackening and then forming an Ah... , but he says nothing. Seeing his arousal, his reaction to me - I light up inside, my blood scorching through my veins. His gray eyes burn into mine. He picks up the rhythm, and I revel in it, glory in it, watching him, watching me - his passion, his love - as we come apart, together.

I call out as I explode around him, and Christian follows.

"Yes, Ana!" he cries. He collapses on me, releasing my hands and resting his head on my chest. My legs are still wrapped around him, and under the patient, maternal eyes of the Madonna paintings, I cradle his head against me and struggle to catch my breath.

He raises his head to look at me. "I'm not finished with you yet," he murmurs and leaning up, he kisses me.

I lie naked in Christian's bed, sprawled over his chest, panting. Holy cow - does his energy ever wane? Christian trails his fingers up and down my back.

"Satisfied, Miss Steele?"

I murmur my assent. I have no energy left for talking. Raising my head, I turn unfo-cused eyes to him and bask in his warm, fond gaze. Very deliberately, I angle my head down so he knows I am going to kiss his chest.

He tenses momentarily, and I plant a soft kiss in his chest hair, breathing in his unique Christian smell, mixed with sweat and sex. It's heady. He rolls onto his side so I'm lying beside him and gazes down at me.

"Is sex like this for everyone? I'm surprised anyone ever goes out," I murmur, feeling suddenly shy.

He grins. "I can't speak for everyone, but it's pretty damned special with you, Anastasia." He bends and kisses me.

"That's because you're pretty damned special, Mr. Grey," I agree, smiling up at him and caressing his face. He blinks down at me at a loss.

"It's late. Go to sleep," he says. He kisses me, then lies down and pulls me to him so we're spooning in bed.

"You don't like compliments."

"Go to sleep, Anastasia."

Hmm... But he is pretty damned special. Jeez... why doesn't he realize this?

"I loved the house," I murmur.

He says nothing for a moment, but I sense his grin.

"I love you. Go to sleep." He nuzzles my hair, and I drift into sleep, safe in his arms, dreaming of sunsets and French doors and wide staircases... and a small copper-haired boy running through a meadow, laughing and giggling as I chase him.

"Gotta go, baby." Christian kisses me just below my ear.

I open my eyes and it's morning. I turn to face him, but he's up and dressed and fresh and delicious, leaning over me.

"What time is it?" Oh no... I don't want to be late.

"Don't panic. I have a breakfast meeting." He rubs his nose against mine.

"You smell good," I murmur, stretching out beneath him, my limbs pleasurably tight and creaky from all our exploits yesterday. I wrap my arms around his neck.

"Don't go."

He cocks his head to one side and raises his eyebrow. "Miss Steele - are you trying to keep a man from an honest day's work?"

I nod sleepily at him, and he smiles his new shy smile.

"As tempting as you are, I have to go." He kisses me and stands. He's wearing a really sharp dark navy suit, white shirt and navy tie, and he looks every inch the CEO... the hot CEO."Laters, baby," he murmurs and he's off.

Glancing at the clock I note it's already seven - I must have slept through the alarm.

Well, time to get up.

In the shower, inspiration hits me. I've thought of another birthday present for Christian.

It's so difficult to buy something for the man who has everything. I've already given him my main present, and I still have the other item I bought at the tourist shop, but this is one present that will really be for me. I hug myself in anticipation as I switch off the shower. I just have to prepare it.

In the walk-in closet, I put on a dark red fitted dress with a square neckline, cut quite low. Yes, this will do for work.

Now for Christian's present. I start rummaging through his drawers, looking for his ties. In the bottom drawer I find those faded, ripped jeans, the ones he wears in the playroom - the ones he looks so hot in. I stroke them gently, using my whole hand. Oh my, the material is so soft.

Beneath them, I find a large, black, flat cardboard box. It piques my interest immediately. What's in here? I stare at it, feeling like I'm trespassing again. Taking it out, I shake it. It's heavy as if it holds papers or manuscripts. I cannot resist, I open the lid - and quickly shut it again. Holy fuck - photographs from the Red Room. The shock makes me sit back on my heels as I try to wipe the image from my brain. Why did I open the box? Why has he kept them?

I shudder. My subconscious scowls at me - this is before you. Forget them.

She's right. Standing up I notice his ties are hanging at the end of his clothes rail. I find my favorite and exit quickly.

I try to tell myself those photos are BA - Before Ana. My subconscious nods with approval, but it's with a heavier heart that I head into the main room for breakfast. Mrs. Jones smiles at me warmly and then frowns.

"Everything all right, Ana?" she asks kindly.

"Yes," I murmur, distracted. "Do you have a key to the... um, playroom?"

She pauses momentarily, surprised.

"Yes, of course." She unclips a small bunch of keys from her belt. "What would you like for breakfast, dear?" she asks as she hands me the keys.

"Just granola. I won't be long."

I feel more ambivalent about this gift now but only since the discovery of those photographs. Nothing's changed, my subconscious barks at me again, glaring at me over her half-moon winged glasses. That picture was hot, my inner goddess chips in, and mentally I scowl at her. Yes it was - too hot for me.

What else does he have hidden away? Quickly I ferret through the museum chest, take what I need, and lock the playroom door behind me. Wouldn't do for Jose to discover this!

I hand the keys back to Mrs. Jones and sit down to devour my breakfast, feeling odd that Christian is absent. The photograph image dances unwelcome around my mind. I wonder who it was? Leila perhaps?

On my drive in to work, I debate whether or not to tell Christian I found his photographs.

No, screams my subconscious, her Edvard Munch face on. I decide she's probably right.

As I sit down at my desk, my Blackberry buzzes.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Surfaces

Date: June 17, 2011 08:59

To: Anastasia Steele

I calculate that there are at least 30 surfaces to go. I am looking forward to each and every one of them. Then there's the floors, the walls - and let's not forget the balcony.

After that there's my office...

Miss you. x

Christian Grey

Priapic CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

His e-mail makes me smile, and all my earlier reservations evaporate. It's me he wants now, and memories of last night's sexcapades flood my mind... the elevator, the foyer, the bed. Priapic is right. I wonder idly what the female equivalent might be?

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Romance?

Date: June 17, 2011 09:03

To: Christian Grey

Mr. GreyYou have a one-track mind.

I missed you at breakfast

But Mrs. Jones was very accommodating.

Ax

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Intrigued

Date: June 17, 2011 09:07

To: Anastasia Steele

What was Mrs. Jones accommodating about?

What are you up to Miss Steele?

Christian Grey

Curious CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

How does he know?

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Tapping Nose

Date: June 17, 2011 09:10

To: Christian Grey

Wait and see - it's a surprise.

I need to work... let me be.

Love you.

A x

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Frustrated

Date: June 17, 2011 09:12

To: Anastasia Steele

I hate it when you keep things from me.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I stare at the small screen of my Blackberry. The vehemence implicit in his e-mail takes me by surprise. Why does he feel like this? It's not like I'm hiding erotic photographs of my exes.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Indulging you

Date: June 17, 2011 09:14

To: Christian Grey

It's for your birthday.

Another surprise.

Don't be so petulant.

A x

He doesn't reply immediately, and I'm called into a meeting so I can't dwell on it for too long.

When I next glance at my Blackberry, to my horror I realize it's four in the afternoon.

Where has the day gone? Still no message from Christian. I decide to e-mail him again.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Hello

Date: June 17, 2011 16:03

To: Christian Grey

Are you not talking to me?

Don't forget I am going for a drink with Jose, and that he's staying with us tonight.

Please rethink about joining us.

A x

He doesn't reply, and I feel a frisson of unease. I hope he's okay. Calling his mobile, I get his voicemail. The announcement simply says Grey, leave a message in his most clipped tone."Hi... um... it's me. Ana. Are you okay? Call me," I stutter through my message.

I've never had to leave one for him before. I flush as I hang up. Of course he'll know it's you, idiot! My subconscious rolls her eyes at me. I am tempted to ring his PA Andrea but decide that's a step too far. Reluctantly I continue my work.

My phone rings unexpectedly and my heart jumps. Christian! But no - it's Kate, my best friend finally!

"Ana!" she shouts from wherever she is.

"Kate! Are you back? I've missed you."

"Me, too. I have so much to tell you. We're at Sea-Tac - me and my man." She giggles in a most un-Kate-like way.

"Cool. I have so much to tell you, too."

"See you back at the apartment?"

"I'm having drinks with Jose. Join us."

"Jose's in town? Sure! Text me where."

"Okay." I beam. My best friend is home. After all this time!

"You good, Ana?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Still with Christian?"

"Yes."

"Good. Laters!"

Oh, not her as well. Elliot's influence knows no bounds.

"Yeah - laters, baby." I grin and she hangs up.

Wow. Kate is home. How am I going to tell her all that has happened? I should write it down so I don't forget anything.

An hour later my office phone rings -  Christian? No, it's Claire.

"You should see the guy asking for you in reception. How come you know all these hot guys, Ana?"

Jose must be here. I glance at the clock - it's five fifty-five, and a small thrill of excitement pulses through me. I haven't seen him in ages.

"Ana, wow! You look great. So grown up." He grins at me.

Just because I'm wearing a smart dress... jeez!

He hugs me hard. "And tall," he mutters in amazement.

"It's just the shoes, Jose. You don't look so bad yourself."

He's wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black and white check flannel shirt.

"I'll grab my things and we can go."

"Cool. I'll wait here."

I pick up two Rolling Rocks from the crowded bar and head over to the table where Jose is seated.

"You found Christian's place okay?"

"Yeah. I haven't been inside. I just delivered the photos to the service elevator. Some guy named Taylor took them up. Looks like quite a place."

"It is. You should see inside."

"Can't wait. Salud, Ana. Seattle agrees with you."

I flush as we clink bottles. It's Christian that agrees with me. "Salud. Tell me about your show and how it went."

He beams and launches into the story. He sold all but three of his photos, which has taken care of his student loans and left him some cash to spare.

"And I've been commissioned to do some landscapes for the Portland Tourist Authority. Pretty cool, huh?" he finishes proudly.

"Oh Jose - that's wonderful. Not interfering with your studies though?" I frown at him.

"Nah. Now that you guys have gone and three of the guys I used to hang out with, I have more time."

"No hot babe to keep you busy? Last time I saw you, you had half a dozen women hanging on your every word." I arch an eyebrow at him.

"Nah, Ana. None of them are woman enough for me." He's all bravado.

"Oh sure. Jose Rodriguez, lady killer." I giggle.

"Hey - I have my moments, Steele." He looks vaguely hurt, and I am chastened.

"Sure you do." I mollify him.

"So, how's Grey?" he asks, his tone changing, becoming cooler.

"He's good. We're good," I murmur.

"Serious, you say?"

"Yes. Serious."

"He's not too old for you?"

"Oh Jose. You know what my mom says - I was born old."

Jose's mouth twists wryly.

"How is your mom?" And like that, we are out of the danger zone.

"Ana!"

I turn and there's Kate with Ethan. She looks gorgeous: sun-kissed, bleached strawber-ry-blond hair, golden tan, and beaming white smile, and so shapely in her white cami and tight white jeans. All eyes are on Kate. I leap up from my seat to give her a hug. Oh how I've missed this woman!

She pushes me away from her and holds me at arm's length, examining me closely. I flush under her intense gaze.

"You've lost weight. A lot of weight. And you look different. Grown up. What's been going on?" she says, all mother hen, concerned and bossy. "I like your dress. Suits you."

"A lot's happened since you went away. I'll tell you later when we're on our own." I am not ready for the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition just yet. She regards me suspiciously.

"You're okay?" she asks gently.

"Yes," I smile, though I'd be happier knowing where Christian is.

"Cool."

"Hi, Ethan." I grin at him, and he gives me a quick hug.

"Hi, Ana," he whispers in my ear.

Jose frowns at him.

"How was lunch with Mia?" I ask Ethan.

"Interesting," he says cryptically.

Oh?

"Ethan - you know Jose?"

"We've met once," Jose mutters, assessing Ethan as they shake hands.

"Yeah, at Kate's place in Vancouver," Ethan says, smiling pleasantly at Jose. "Right -

who's for a drink?"

I make my way to the restrooms. While there I text Christian our location; perhaps he'll join us. There are no missed calls from him and no e-mails. This is not like him.

"Whassup, Ana?" Jose asks as I come back to the table.

"I can't reach Christian. I hope he's okay."

"He'll be fine. Like another beer?"

"Sure."

Kate leans across. "Ethan says some mad stalker ex-girlfriend was in the apartment with a gun?"

"Well... yeah." I shrug apologetically. Oh jeez - do we have to do this now?

"Ana - what the hell's been going on?" Kate stops abruptly and checks her phone.

"Hi, baby," she says when she answers it. Baby! She frowns and looks at me. "Sure,"

she says and turns to me. "It's Elliot... he wants to talk to you."

"Ana." Elliot's voice is clipped and quiet, and my scalp prickles ominously.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Christian. He's not back from Portland."

"What? What do you mean?"

"His helicopter has gone missing."

"Charlie Tango?" I whisper as all the breath leaves my body. "No!"

Chapter Seventeen

Hmm.

Christian is nuzzling my neck as I slowly wake.

"Morning, baby," he whispers and nips at my earlobe. My eyes flutter open and close again quickly. Bright early morning light floods the room, and his hand is softly caressing my breast, gently teasing me. Moving down he grasps my hip as he lies behind me, holding me close.

I stretch out beside him, relishing his touch, and feel his erection against my behind .

Oh my. A Christian Grey wake-up call.

"You're pleased to see me," I mumble sleepily, squirming suggestively against him. I feel his grin against my jaw.

"I'm very pleased to see you," he says as he skates his hand over my stomach and down to cup my sex and explore with his fingers. "There are definite advantages to waking up beside you, Miss Steele," he teases and gently pulls me round so that I'm lying on my back.

"Sleep well?" he asks as his fingers continue their sensual torture. He's smiling down at me - his dazzling, all-American-drop-dead-male-model-perfect-teeth smile. He takes my breath away.

My hips begin to sway to the rhythm of the dance his fingers have begun. He kisses me chastely on the lips and then moves down my neck, nipping slowly, kissing, and sucking as he goes. I moan. He's gentle and his touch is light and heavenly. His intrepid fingers move down, and slowly he eases one inside me, hissing quietly in awe.

"Oh, Ana," he murmurs reverentially against my throat. "You're always ready." He moves his finger in time with his kisses as his lips journey leisurely across my clavicle and then down to my breast. He torments first one, then the other nipple with teeth and lips, but oh-so-gently, and they tighten and lengthen in sweet response.

I groan.

"Hmm," he growls softly and raises his head to give me a blazing gray-eyed look. "I want you now." He reaches over to the bedside table. He shifts on top of me, taking his weight on his elbows, and rubs his nose along mine while easing my legs apart with his. He kneels up and rips open the foil packet.

"I can't wait until Saturday," he says, his eyes glowing with salacious delight.

"Your party?" I pant.

"No. I can stop using these fuckers."

"Aptly named." I giggle.

He smirks at me as he rolls on the condom. "Are you giggling, Miss Steele?"

"No." I try and fail to straighten my face.

"Now is not the time for giggling." He shakes his head in admonishment and his voice is low, stern, but his expression -  holy cow - is glacial and volcanic at once.

My breath catches in my throat. "I thought you liked it when I giggle," I whisper hoarsely, gazing into the dark depths of his stormy eyes.

"Not now. There's a time and a place for giggling. This is neither. I need to stop you, and I think I know how," he says ominously, and his body covers mine.

"What would you like for breakfast, Ana?"

"I'll just have some granola. Thank you, Mrs. Jones."

I flush as I take my place at the breakfast bar beside Christian. The last time I set eyes on the very prim and proper Mrs. Jones, I was being unceremoniously dragged into the bedroom over Christian's shoulder.

"You look lovely," Christian says softly. I'm wearing my gray pencil skirt and gray silk blouse again.

"So do you." I smile shyly at him. He's wearing a pale blue shirt and jeans, and he looks cool and fresh and perfect, as always.

"We should buy you some more skirts," he says matter-of-factly. "In fact - I'd love to take you shopping."

Hmm - shopping. I hate shopping. But with Christian, maybe it won't be so bad. I decide on distraction as the best form of defense.

"I wonder what will happen at work today?"

"They'll have to replace the sleazeball." Christian frowns, scowling as if he's just stepped in something extraordinarily unpleasant.

"I hope they take on a woman as my new boss."

"Why?"

"Well, you're less likely to object to me going away with her," I tease him.

His lips twitch and he starts on his omelet.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

"You are. Eat your granola, all of it, if that's all you're having."

Bossy as ever. I purse my lips at him, but dig in.

"So, the key goes here." Christian points out the ignition beneath the gearshift.

"Strange place," I mutter. But I'm delighted with every little detail, practically bouncing like a small child in the comfortable leather seat. Christian has finally let me drive my car. He regards me coolly, though his eyes are alight with humor. "You're quite excited about this, aren't you?" he murmurs, amused.

I nod, grinning like a fool. "Just smell that new car smell. This is even better than the Submissive Special... um, the A3," I add quickly, blushing.

Christian's mouth twists. "Submissive Special, eh? You have such a way with words, Miss Steele." He leans back with a faux look of disapproval, but he can't fool me. I know he's enjoying himself.

"Well, let's go." He waves his long-fingered hand toward the entrance of the garage.

I clap my hands, start the car, and the engine purrs to life. Putting the gearshift into drive, I ease my foot off the brake and the Saab moves smoothly forward. Taylor starts up the Audi behind us and once the garage barrier lifts, follows us out of Escala onto the street.

"Can we have the radio on?" I ask as we wait at the first stop sign.

"I want you to concentrate," he says sharply.

"Christian, please, I can drive with music on." I roll my eyes. He scowls for a moment and then reaches for the radio.

"You can play your iPod and mp3 discs as well as CDs on this," he murmurs.

The too-loud dulcet tones of The Police suddenly fill the car. Christian turns the music down. Hmm... "King of Pain."

"Your anthem," I tease him, then instantly regret it when his mouth tightens in a thin line. Oh no. "I have this album, somewhere." I continue hastily to distract him. Hmm...

somewhere in the apartment I have spent very little time in.

I wonder how Ethan is. I should try to call him today. I won't have much to do at work.

Anxiety blooms in my stomach. What will happen when I get to the office? Will everyone know about Jack? Will everyone know of Christian's involvement? Will I still have a job? Sheesh, if I have no job, what will I do?

Marry the gazillionaire, Ana! My subconscious has her snarky face on. I ignore her -

rapacious bitch.

"Hey, Miss Smart Mouth. Come back." Christian drags me into the here and now as I pull up at the next stoplight.

"You're very distracted. Concentrate, Ana," he scolds. "Accidents happen when you don't concentrate."

Oh, for heaven's sake - and suddenly I'm catapulted back in time to when Ray was teaching me to drive. I don't need another father. A husband maybe, a kinky husband.

Hmm.

"I'm just thinking about work."

"Baby, you'll be fine. Trust me." Christian smiles.

"Please don't interfere - I want to do this on my own. Christian, please. It's important to me," I say as gently as I can. I don't want to argue. His mouth sets once more into a hard stubborn line, and I think he's going to berate me again.

Oh no.

"Let's not argue, Christian. We've had such a wonderful morning. And last night was - " Words fail me, last night was - "Heaven."

He says nothing. I glance over at him and his eyes are closed.

"Yes. Heaven," he says softly. "I meant what I said."

"What?"

"I don't want to let you go."

"I don't want to go."

He smiles and it's this new, shy smile that dissolves everything in its path. Boy, it's powerful.

"Good," he says simply, and he visibly relaxes.

I drive into the parking lot half a block from SIP.

"I'll walk you to work. Taylor will take me from there," Christian offers. I clamber out of the car, restricted by my pencil skirt while Christian climbs out gracefully, at ease with his body or giving the impression of someone at ease with his body. Hmm... someone who can't bear to be touched can't be that at ease. I frown at my errant thought.

"Don't forget we're seeing Flynn at seven this evening," he says as he holds his hand out to me. I press the remote door lock and take his hand.

"I won't forget. I'll compile a list of questions for him."

"Questions? About me?"

I nod.

"I can answer any questions you have about me." Christian looks affronted.

I smile at him. "Yes, but I want the unbiased, expensive charlatan's opinion."

He frowns and suddenly pulls me into his embrace, holding both my hands tightly behind my back.

"Is this a good idea?" he says, his voice low and husky. I lean back to see the anxiety looming large and wide in his eyes. It tears at my soul.

"If you don't want me to, I won't." I stare at him, blinking, wanting to caress the concern out of his face. I tug on one of my hands and he frees it. I touch his cheek tenderly -

it's smooth from shaving this morning.

"What are you worried about?" I ask, my voice soft and soothing.

"That you'll go."

"Christian, how many times do I have to tell you - I'm not going anywhere. You've already told me the worst. I'm not leaving you."

"Then why haven't you answered me?"

"Answered you?" I murmur disingenuously.

"You know what I'm talking about, Ana."

I sigh. "I want to know that I'm enough for you, Christian. That's all."

"And you won't take my word for it?" he says exasperated, releasing me.

"Christian, this has all been so quick. And by your own admission, you're fifty shades of fucked-up. I can't give you what you need," I mutter. "It's just not for me. But that makes me feel inadequate, especially seeing you with Leila. Who's to say that one day you won't meet someone who likes doing what you do? And who's to say you won't, you know... fall for her? Someone much better suited to your needs." The thought of Christian with anyone else sickens me. I stare down at my knotted fingers.

"I knew several women who like doing what I like to do. None of them appealed to me the way you do. I've never had an emotional connection with any of them. It's only ever been you, Ana."

"Because you never gave them a chance. You've spent too long locked up in your fortress, Christian. Look, let's discuss this later. I have to go to work. Maybe Dr. Flynn can offer us his insight." This is all far too heavy a discussion for a parking lot at eight fifty in the morning, and Christian, for once, seems to agree. He nods but his eyes are wary.

"Come," he orders, holding out his hand.

When I reach my desk, I find a note asking me to go straight to Elizabeth's office. My heart leaps into my mouth. Oh, this is it. I'm going to get fired.

"Anastasia." Elizabeth smiles kindly, waving me into a chair before her desk. I sit and gaze at her expectantly, hoping that she can't hear my thumping heart. She smoothes her thick black hair and regards with me with somber, clear blue eyes.

"I have some rather sad news."

Sad! Oh no.

"I've called you in to inform you that Jack has left the company rather suddenly."

I flush. This isn't sad for me. Should I tell her that I know?

"His rather hasty departure has left a vacancy, and we'd like you to fill it for now, until we find a replacement."

What? I feel the blood rush from my head. Me?

"But, I've only been here for a week or so."

"Yes, Anastasia, I understand but Jack was always a champion of your abilities. He had high hopes for you."

I stop breathing. He had high hopes of getting me on my back, sure.

"Here's a detailed job description. Have a good look through it, and we can discuss it later today."

"But - "

"Please, I know this is sudden, but you've already made contact with Jack's key authors. Your chapter notes haven't gone unnoticed by the other commissioning editors. You have a shrewd mind, Anastasia. We all think you can do it."

"Okay." This is unreal.

"Look, think about it. In the meantime, you can take Jack's office."

She stands, effectively dismissing me, and holds out her hand. I shake it in a complete daze."I'm glad he's gone," she whispers and a haunted look crosses her face. Holy shit.

What did he do to her?

Back at my desk, I grab my Blackberry and call Christian.

He answers on the second ring. "Anastasia. You okay?" he asks concerned.

"They've just given me Jack's job to mind, temporarily," I blurt out.

"You're kidding," he whispers, shocked.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" My voice is sharper than I mean it to be.

"No - no, not at all. I mean, with all due respect, Anastasia, you've only been there for a week or so - and I don't mean that unkindly."

"I know." I frown. "Apparently Jack really rated me."

"Did he now?" Christian's tone is frosty and then he sighs.

"Well, baby, if they think you can do it, I'm sure you can. Congratulations. Perhaps we should celebrate after we've seen Flynn."

"Hmm. Are you sure you had nothing to do with this?"

He is silent for a moment, and then he says in a low menacing voice. "Do you doubt me? It angers me that you do."

I swallow. Boy, he gets mad so easily. "I'm sorry," I breathe, chastened.

"If you need anything, let me know. I'll be here. And Anastasia?"

"What?"

"Use your Blackberry," he adds tersely.

"Yes, Christian."

He doesn't hang up as I expect him to but takes a deep breath.

"I mean it. If you need me, I'm here." His words are much softer, conciliatory. Oh, he's so mercurial... his mood swings are like a metronome set at presto.

"Okay," I murmur. "I'd better go. I have to move offices."

"If you need me. I mean it," he murmurs.

"I know, thank you, Christian. I love you."

I sense his grin at the other end of the phone. I've won him back.

"I love you, too, baby." Oh, will I ever tire of him saying those words to me?

"I'll talk to you later."

"Laters, baby."

I hang up and glance at Jack's office. My office. Holy cow - Anastasia Steele, Acting Commissioning Editor. Who would have thought? I should ask for more money.

What would Jack think if he knew? I shudder at the thought and wonder idly how he's spent his morning, not in New York as he expected. I stroll into his - my office - sit down at the desk, and start reading the job description.

At twelve thirty, Elizabeth buzzes me.

"Ana, we need you in a meeting at one o'clock in the boardroom. Jerry Roach and Kay Bestie will be there - you know, the company president and vice president? All the commissioning editors will be attending."

Shit!

"Do I need to prepare anything?"

"No, this is just an informal gathering we do once a month. Lunch will be provided."

"I'll be there." I hang up.

Holy shit! I check through the current roster of Jack's authors. Yes, I've pretty much got those nailed. I have the five manuscripts he's championing, plus two more, which should really be considered for publication. I take a deep breath - I cannot believe it's lunchtime already. The day has flown by, and I'm loving it. There has been so much to absorb this morning. A ping from my calendar announces an appointment.

Oh no - Mia! In all the excitement I have forgotten about our lunch. I fish out my Blackberry and try frantically to find her phone number.

My phone buzzes.

"It's him, in reception." Claire's voice is hushed.

"Who?" For a moment, I think it might be Christian.

"The blond god."

"Ethan?"

Oh, what does he want? I immediately feel guilty for not having called him.

Ethan, dressed in a checked blue shirt, white T-shirt, and jeans, beams at me when I appear.

"Wow! You look hot, Steele," he says, nodding appreciatively. He gives me a quick hug."Is everything okay?" I ask.

He frowns. "Everything's fine, Ana. I just wanted to see you. I've not heard from you in a while, and I wanted to check how Mr. Mogul was treating you."

I flush and can't help my smile.

"Okay!" Ethan exclaims, holding up his hands. "I can tell by the secret smile. I don't want to know any more. I came by on the off chance you could do lunch. I'm enrolling at Seattle for psych courses in September. For my master's."

"Oh Ethan. So much has happened. I have a ton to tell you, but right now, I can't. I have a meeting." An idea hits me hard. "And I wonder if you can do me a really, really, really big favor?" I clasp my hands together in supplication.

"Sure," he says, bemused by my pleading.

"I'm supposed to be having lunch with Christian and Elliot's sister - but I can't get hold of her, and this meeting's just been sprung on me. Please will you take her for lunch?

Please?"

"Aw, Ana! I don't want to babysit some brat."

"Please, Ethan." I give him the biggest-bluest-longest-eye-lashed look that I can manage. He rolls his eyes and I know I've got him.

"You'll cook me something?" he mutters.

"Sure, whatever, whenever."

"So where is she?"

"She's due here now." And as if on cue, I hear her voice.

"Ana!" she calls from the front door.

We both turn, and there she is - all curvaceous and tall with her sleek black bob -

wearing a short mint-green minidress and matching high-heeled pumps with straps around her slim ankles. She looks stunning.

"The brat?" he whispers, gaping at her.

"Yes. The brat that needs babysitting," I whisper back. "Hi, Mia." I give her a quick hug as she stares rather blatantly at Ethan.

"Mia - this is Ethan, Kate's brother."

He nods, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Mia blinks several times as she gives him her hand.

"Delighted to meet you," Ethan murmurs smoothly and Mia blinks again - silent for once. She blushes.

Holy cow. I don't think I've ever seen her blush.

"I can't make lunch," I say lamely. "Ethan has agreed to take you, if that's okay? Can we have a rain check?"

"Sure," she says quietly. Mia quiet, this is novel.

"Yeah, I'll take it from here. Laters, Ana," Ethan says, offering Mia his arm. She accepts it with a shy smile.

"Bye, Ana." Mia turns to me and mouths, "Oh. My. God!" giving me an exaggerated wink. Jeez... she likes him! I wave at them as they leave the building. I wonder what Christian's attitude is about his sister dating? The thought makes me uneasy. She's my age, so he can't object, can he?

This is Christian we're dealing with. My snarky subconscious is back, hatchet-mouthed, cardigan and purse in the crook of her arm. I shake off the image. Mia is a grown woman and Christian can be reasonable, can't he? I dismiss the thought and head back to Jack's...

er... my office to prep for the meeting.

It's three thirty when I return. The meeting went well. I have even secured approval to progress the two manuscripts I was championing. It's a heady feeling.

On my desk is an enormous wicker basket crammed with stunning white and pale pink roses. Wow - the fragrance alone is heavenly. I smile as I pick up the card. I know who sent them.

Congratulations, Miss Steele

And all on your own!

No help from your overfriendly, neighborhood, megalomaniac CEO

Love

Christian

I pick up my Blackberry to e-mail him.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Megalomaniac...

Date: June 16, 2011 15:43

To: Christian Grey

. . . is my favorite type of maniac. Thank you for the beautiful flowers. They've arrived in a huge wicker basket that makes me think of picnics and blankets.

x

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Fresh Air

Date: June 16, 2011 15:55

To: Anastasia Steele

Maniac, eh? Dr. Flynn may have something to say about that.

You want to go on a picnic?

We could have fun in the great outdoors, Anastasia...

How is your day going, baby?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh my. I flush reading his response.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Hectic

Date: June 16, 2011 16:00

To: Christian Grey

The day has flown by. I have hardly had a moment to myself to think about anything other than work. I think I can do this! I'll tell you more when I'm home.

Outdoors sounds... interesting.

Love you.

A x

PS: Don't worry about Dr. Flynn.

My phone buzzes. It's Claire from reception, desperate to know who sent the flowers and what happened to Jack. Holed up in the office all day, I have missed the gossip. I tell her quickly that the flowers are from my boyfriend and that I know very little about Jack's departure. My Blackberry buzzes and I have another e-mail from Christian.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: I'll try...

Date: June 16, 2011 16:09

To: Anastasia Steele

. . . not to worry.

Laters, baby. x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

At five thirty, I pack up my desk. I can't believe how quickly the day has gone. I have to get back to Escala and prepare to meet Dr. Flynn. I haven't even had time to think of questions.

Perhaps today we can have an initial meeting, and maybe Christian will let me see him again. I shrug off the thought as I dash out of the office, waving a quick good-bye to Claire.

I've also got Christian's birthday to think about. I know what I'm going to give him.

I'd like him to have it tonight before we meet Flynn, but how? Beside the parking lot is a small store selling touristy trinkets. Inspiration hits me and I duck inside.

Christian is on his Blackberry, standing and staring out the glass wall as I enter the great room half an hour later. Turning, he beams at me and wraps up his call.

"Ros, that's great. Tell Barney and we'll go from there... Good-bye."

He strides over to me as I stand shyly in the entryway. He's changed now into a white T-shirt and jeans, all bad boy and smoldering. Whoa.

"Good evening, Miss Steele," he murmurs and he bends to kiss me. "Congratulations on your promotion." He wraps his arms around me. He smells delicious.

"You've showered."

"I've just had a work-out with Claude."

"Oh."

"Managed to knock him on his ass twice." Christian beams, boyish and pleased with himself. His grin is infectious.

"That doesn't happen often?"

"No. Very satisfying when it does. Hungry?"

I shake my head.

"What?" He frowns at me.

"I'm nervous. About Dr. Flynn."

"Me, too. How was your day?" He releases me, and I him give a brief summary. He listens attentively.

"Oh - there's one more thing I should tell you," I add. "I was supposed to have lunch with Mia."

He raises his eyebrows, surprised. "You never mentioned that."

"I know, I forgot. I couldn't make it because of the meeting, and Ethan took her out to lunch instead."

His face darkens. "I see. Stop biting your lip."

"I'm going to freshen up," I say changing the subject and turning to leave before he can react any further.

Dr. Flynn's office is a short drive from Christian's apartment. Very handy, I muse, for emergency sessions.

"I usually run here from home," Christian says as he parks my Saab. "This is a great car." He smiles at me.

"I think so, too." I smile back at him. "Christian... I - " I gaze anxiously at him.

"What is it, Ana?"

"Here." I pull the small black gift box from my purse. "This is for you for your birthday. I wanted to give it to you now - but only if you promise not to open it until Saturday, okay?"

He blinks at me in surprise and swallows. "Okay," he murmurs cautiously.

Taking a deep breath, I hand it to him, ignoring his bemused expression. He shakes the box, and it produces a very satisfactory rattle. He frowns. I know he's desperate to see what it contains. Then he grins, his eyes alight with youthful, carefree excitement. Oh boy... he looks his age - and so beautiful.

"You can't open it until Saturday," I warn him.

"I get it," he says. "Why are you giving this to me now?" He pops the box into the inside pocket of his blue pinstriped jacket, close to his heart.

How apt, I muse. I smirk at him.

"Because I can, Mr. Grey."

His mouth twists with wry amusement.

"Why, Miss Steele, you stole my line."

We are ushered into Dr. Flynn's palatial office by a brisk and friendly receptionist. She greets Christian warmly, a little too warmly for my taste - jeez, she's old enough to be his mother - and he knows her name.

The room is understated: pale green with two dark green couches facing two leather winged chairs, and it has the atmosphere of a gentlemen's club. Dr. Flynn is seated at a desk at the far end of the room.

As we enter, he stands and walks over to join us in the seating area. He wears black pants and a pale-blue open-necked shirt - no tie. His bright blue eyes seem to miss nothing.

"Christian." He smiles amicably.

"John." Christian shakes John's hand. "You remember Anastasia?"

"How could I forget? Anastasia, welcome."

"Ana, please," I mumble as he shakes my hand firmly. I do love his English accent.

"Ana," he says kindly, ushering us toward the couches.

Christian gestures to one of them for me. I sit, trying to look relaxed, resting my hand on the couch rest, and he sprawls on the other couch beside me so that we're at right angles to each other. A small table with a simple lamp is between us. I note with interest a box of tissues beside the lamp.

This isn't what I expected. I had in my mind's eye a stark white room with a black leather chaise longue; my inner goddess might have felt more at home then.

Looking relaxed and in control, Dr. Flynn takes a seat in one of the winged chairs and picks up a leather notepad. Christian crosses his legs, his ankle resting on his knee, and stretches one arm along the back of the couch. Reaching across with his other hand, he finds my hand on the couch rest and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"Christian has requested that you accompany him to one of our sessions," Dr. Flynn begins gently. "Just so you know, we treat these sessions with absolute confidentiality - "

I raise my eyebrow at Flynn, halting him mid-speech.

"Oh - um... I've signed an NDA," I murmur, embarrassed that he's stopped. Both Flynn and Christian stare at me, and Christian releases my hand.

"A non-disclosure agreement?" Dr. Flynn's brow furrows, and he glances quizzically at Christian.

Christian shrugs.

"You start all your relationships with women with an NDA?" Dr. Flynn asks him.

"The contractual ones, I do."

Dr. Flynn's lip twitches. "You've had other types of relationships with women?" he asks, and he looks amused.

"No," Christian answers after a beat, and he looks amused, too.

"As I thought." Dr. Flynn turns his attention back to me. "Well, I guess we don't have to worry about confidentiality, but may I suggest that the two of you discuss this at some point? As I understand, you're no longer entering into that kind of contractual relationship."

"Different kind of contract, hopefully," says Christian softly, glancing at me. I flush and Dr. Flynn narrows his eyes.

"Ana. You'll have to forgive me, but I probably know a lot more about you than you think. Christian has been very forthcoming."

I glance nervously at Christian. What has he said?

"An NDA?" he continues. "That must have shocked you."

I blink at him. "Oh, I think the shock of that has paled into insignificance, given Christian's most recent revelations," I answer, my voice soft and hesitant. I sound so nervous.

"I'm sure." Dr. Flynn smiles kindly at me. "So, Christian, what would you like to discuss?"

Christian shrugs like a surly teen. "Anastasia wanted to see you. Perhaps you should ask her."

Dr. Flynn's face registers his surprise once more, and he gazes shrewdly at me.

Holy shit. This is mortifying. I gaze down at my fingers.

"Would you be more comfortable if Christian left us for a while?"

My eyes dart to Christian and he's gazing at me expectantly.

"Yes," I whisper.

Christian frowns and opens his mouth but closes it again quickly and stands in one swift graceful movement.

"I'll be in the waiting room," he says, his mouth a flat, grumpy line.

Oh no.

"Thank you, Christian," Dr. Flynn says impassively.

Christian gives me one long, searching look then stalks out of the room - but he doesn't slam the door. Phew. I immediately relax.

"He intimidates you?"

"Yes. But not as much as he used to." I feel disloyal but it's the truth.

"That doesn't surprise me, Ana. What can I help you with?"

I stare down at my knotted fingers. What can I ask?

"Dr. Flynn, I've never been in a relationship before, and Christian is... well, he's Christian. And over the last week or so, a great deal has happened. I haven't had a chance to think things through."

"What do you need to think through?"

I glance up at him, and his head is cocked to one side as he gazes at me with compassion, I think.

"Well... Christian tells me that he's happy to give up... er - " I stumble and pause.

This is so much more difficult to discuss than I'd imagined.

Dr. Flynn sighs. "Ana, in the very limited time that you've known him, you've made more progress with my patient than I have in the last two years. You have had a profound effect on him. You must see that."

"He's had a profound effect on me, too. I just don't know if I'm enough. To fulfill his needs," I whisper.

"Is that what you need from me? Reassurance?"

I nod.

"Needs change," he says simply. "Christian has found himself in a situation where his methods of coping are no longer effective. Very simply, you've forced him to confront some of his demons and rethink."

I blink at him. This echoes what Christian has told me.

"Yes, his demons," I murmur.

"We don't dwell on them - they're in the past. Christian knows what his demons are, as do I - and now I'm sure you do, too. I'm much more concerned with the future and getting Christian to a place where he wants to be."

I frown and he raises an eyebrow.

"The technical term is SFBT - sorry." He smiles. "That stands for Solution-Focused Brief Therapy. Essentially, it's goal oriented. We concentrate on where Christian wants to be and how to get him there. It's a dialectical approach. There's no point in breast-beating about the past - all that's been picked over by every physician, psychologist, and psychia-trist Christian's ever seen. We know why he's the way he is, but it's the future that's important. Where Christian envisages himself, where he wants to be. It took you walking out on him to make him take this form of therapy seriously. He realizes that his goal is a loving relationship with you. It's that simple, and that's what we're working on now. Of course there are obstacles - his haphephobia for one."

Oh jeez... his what? I gasp.

"I'm sorry. I mean his fear of being touched," Dr. Flynn says, shaking his head as if scolding himself. "Which I'm sure you're aware of."

I flush and nod. Oh that!

"He has a morbid self-abhorrence. I'm sure that comes as no surprise to you. And of course there's the parasomnia... um - night terrors, sorry, to the layperson."

I blink at him, trying to absorb all these long words. I know about all of this. But Flynn hasn't mentioned my central concern.

"But he's a sadist. Surely, as such, he has needs which I can't fulfill."

Dr. Flynn actually rolls his eyes, and his mouth presses into a hard line. "That's no longer recognized as a psychiatric term. I don't know how many times I have told him that.

It's not even classified as a paraphilia any more, not since the nineties."

Dr. Flynn has lost me again. I blink at him. He smiles kindly at me.

"This is a pet peeve of mine." He shakes his head. "Christian just thinks the worst of any given situation. It's part of his self-abhorrence. Of course, there's such a thing as sexual sadism, but it's not a disease; it's a lifestyle choice. And if it's practiced in a safe, sane relationship between consenting adults, then it's a nonissue. My understanding is that Christian has conducted all of his BDSM relationships in this manner. You're the first lover who hasn't consented, so he's not willing to do it."

Lover!

"But surely it's not that simple."

"Why not?" Dr. Flynn shrugs good-naturedly.

"Well... the reasons he does it."

"Ana, that's the point. In terms of solution-focused therapy, it is that simple. Christian wants to be with you. In order to do that, he needs to forego the more extreme aspects of that kind of relationship. After all, what you're asking for is not unreasonable... is it?"

I flush. No, it's not unreasonable, is it?

"I don't think so. But I worry that he does."

"Christian recognizes that and has acted accordingly. He's not insane." Dr. Flynn sighs.

"In a nutshell, he's not a sadist, Ana. He's an angry, frightened, brilliant young man, who was dealt a shit hand of cards when he was born. We can all beat our breasts about it, and analyze the who, the how and the why to death - or Christian can move on and decide how he wants to live. He'd found something that worked for him for a few years, more or less, but since he met you, it no longer works. And as a consequence, he's changing his modus operandi. You and I have to respect his choice and support him in it."

I gape at him. "That's my reassurance?"

"As good as it gets, Ana. There are no guarantees in this life." He smiles. "And that is my professional opinion."

I smile, too, weakly. Doctor jokes... jeez.

"But he thinks of himself as a recovering alcoholic."

"Christian will always think the worst of himself. As I said, it's part of his self-abhorrence. It's in his makeup, no matter what. Naturally he's anxious about making this change in his life. He's potentially exposing himself to a whole world of emotional pain, which, incidentally, he had a taste of when you left him. Naturally he's apprehensive." Dr. Flynn pauses. "I don't mean to stress how important a role you have in his Damascene conver-sion - his road to Damascus. But you have. Christian would not be in this place if he had not met you. Personally I don't think that an alcoholic is a very good analogy, but if it works for him for now, then I think we should give him the benefit of the doubt."

Give Christian the benefit of the doubt. I frown at the thought.

"Emotionally, Christian is an adolescent, Ana. He bypassed that phase in his life totally. He's channeled all his energies into succeeding in the business world, and he has beyond all expectations. His emotional world has to play catch-up."

"So how do I help?"

Dr. Flynn laughs. "Just keep doing what you're doing," he grins at me. "Christian is head over heels. It's a delight to see."

I flush, and my inner goddess is hugging herself with glee, but something bothers me.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Of course."

I take a deep breath. "Part of me thinks that if he wasn't this broken he wouldn't...

want me."

Dr. Flynn's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "That's a very negative thing to say about yourself, Ana. And frankly it says more about you than it does about Christian. It's not quite up there with his self-loathing, but I'm surprised by it."

"Well, look at him... and then look at me."

Dr. Flynn frowns. "I have. I see an attractive young man, and I see an attractive young woman. Ana, why don't you think of yourself as attractive?"

Oh no... I don't want this to be about me. I stare down at my fingers. There's a sharp knock on the door that makes me jump. Christian comes back into the room, glaring at both of us. I flush and glance quickly at Flynn, who is smiling benignly at Christian.

"Welcome back, Christian," he says.

"I think time is up, John."

"Nearly, Christian. Join us."

Christian sits down, beside me this time, and places his hand possessively on my knee.

His action does not go unnoticed by Dr. Flynn.

"Did you have any other questions, Ana?" Dr. Flynn asks and his concern is obvious.

Shit... I should not have asked that question. I shake my head.

"Christian?"

"Not today, John."

Flynn nods.

"It may be beneficial if you both come again. I'm sure Ana will have more questions."

Christian nods, reluctantly.

I flush. Shit... he wants to delve. Christian clasps my hand and regards me intently.

"Okay?" he asks softly.

I smile at him, nodding. Yes, we're going for the benefit of the doubt, courtesy of the good doctor from England.

Christian squeezes my hand and turns to Flynn.

"How is she?" he asks softly.

Me?

"She'll get there," he says reassuringly.

"Good. Keep me updated of her progress."

"I will."

Holy fuck. They're talking about Leila.

"Shall we go and celebrate your promotion?" Christian asks me pointedly.

I nod shyly as Christian stands.

We say our quick good-byes to Dr. Flynn, and Christian ushers me out with unseemly haste.

In the street, he turns to me. "How was that?" his voice is anxious.

"It was good."

He regards me suspiciously. I cock my head to one side.

"Mr. Grey, please don't look at me that way. Under doctor's orders I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"What does that mean?"

"You'll see."

His mouth twists and his eyes narrow. "Get in the car," he orders while opening the passenger door of the Saab.

Oh, change of direction. My Blackberry buzzes. I haul it out of my purse.

Shit, Jose!

"Hi!"

"Ana, hi..."

I stare at Fifty, who is eyeing me suspiciously. "Jose," I mouth at him. He stares impassively at me, but his eyes harden. Does he think I don't notice? I turn my attention back to Jose."Sorry I haven't called you. Is it about tomorrow?" I ask Jose, but stare up at Christian.

"Yeah, listen - I spoke with some guy at Grey's place, so I know where I'm delivering the photos, and I should get there between five and six... after that, I'm free."

Oh.

"Well, I'm actually staying with Christian at the moment, and if you want to, he says you can stay at his place."

Christian presses his mouth in a hard line. Hmm - some host he is.

Jose is silent for a moment, absorbing this news. I cringe. I haven't had a chance to talk to him about Christian.

"Okay," he says eventually. "This thing with Grey, it's serious?"

I turn away from the car and pace to the other side of the sidewalk.

"Yes."

"How serious?"

I roll my eyes and pause. Why does Christian have to be listening?

"Serious."

"Is he with you now? That why you're speaking in monosyllables?"

"Yes."

"Okay. So are you allowed out tomorrow?"

"Of course I am." I hope. I automatically cross my fingers.

"So where shall I meet you?"

"You could collect me from work," I offer.

"Okay."

"I'll text you the address."

"What time?"

"Say six?"

"Sure. I'll see you then, Ana. Looking forward to it. I miss you."

I grin. "Cool. I'll see you then." I switch the phone off and turn.

Christian is leaning against the car watching me carefully, his expression impossible to read.

"How's your friend?" he asks coolly.

"He's well. He'll pick me up from work, and I think we'll go for a drink. Would you like to join us?"

Christian hesitates, his gray eyes cool. "You don't think he'll try anything?"

"No!" My tone is exasperated - but I refrain from rolling my eyes.

"Okay," Christian holds his hands up in defeat. "You hang out with your friend, and I'll see you later in the evening."

I was expecting a fight, and his easy acquiescence throws me off balance.

"See? I can be reasonable." He smirks.

My mouth twists. We'll see about that.

"Can I drive?"

Christian blinks at me, surprised by my request.

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Why, exactly?"

"Because I don't like to be driven."

"You managed this morning, and you seem to tolerate Taylor driving you."

"I trust Taylor's driving implicitly."

"And not mine?" I put my hands on my hips. "Honestly - your control freakery knows no bounds. I've been driving since I was fifteen."

He shrugs in response, as if this is of no consequence whatsoever. Oh - he's so exasperating! Benefit of the doubt? Well, screw that.

"Is this my car?" I demand.

He frowns at me. "Of course it's your car."

"Then give me the keys, please. I've driven it twice, and only to and from work. Now you're having all the fun." I am in full-on pout mode. Christian's lips twitch with a repressed smile.

"But you don't know where we're going."

"I'm sure you can enlighten me, Mr. Grey. You've done a great job of it so far."

He gazes at me stunned then smiles, his new shy smile that totally disarms me and takes my breath away.

"Great job, eh?" he murmurs.

I blush. "Mostly, yes."

"Well, in that case." He hands me the keys, walks round to the driver's door, and opens it for me.

"Left here," Christian orders, and we head north toward the I-5. "Hell - gently, Ana." He grabs hold of the dashboard.

Oh, for heaven's sake. I roll my eyes, but don't turn to look at him. Van Morrison croons in the background over the car sound system.

"Slow down!"

"I am slowing down!"

Christian sighs. "What did Flynn say?" I hear his anxiety leaching into his voice.

"I told you. He says I should give you the benefit of the doubt." Damn - maybe I should have let Christian drive. Then I could watch him. In fact... I signal to pull over.

"What are you doing?" he snaps, alarmed.

"Letting you drive."

"Why?"

"So I can look at you."

He laughs. "No, no - you wanted to drive. So, you drive, and I'll look at you."

I scowl at him. "Keep your eyes on the road!" he shouts.

My blood boils. Right! I pull over to the curb just before a stoplight and storm out of the car, slamming the door, and stand on the sidewalk, arms folded, I glare at him. He climbs out of the car.

"What are you doing?" he asks angrily, staring down at me.

"No. What are you doing?"

"You can't park here."

"I know that."

"So why have you?"

"Because I've had it with you barking orders. Either you drive or you shut up about my driving!"

"Anastasia, get back in the car before we get a ticket."

"No."

He blinks at me, at a total loss, then runs his hands through his hair, and his anger becomes bewilderment. He looks so comical all of a sudden, and I can't help but smile at him. He frowns.

"What?" he snaps once more.

"You."

"Oh, Anastasia! You are the most frustrating female on the planet." He throws his hands in the air. "Fine - I'll drive." I grab the edges of his jacket and pull him to me.

"No - you are the most frustrating man on the planet, Mr. Grey."

He gazes down at me, his eyes dark and intense, he snakes his arms around my waist and embraces me, holding me close.

"Maybe we're meant for each other, then," he says softly and inhales deeply, his nose in my hair. I wrap my arms around him and close my eyes. For the first time since this morning, I feel myself relax.

"Oh... Ana, Ana, Ana," he breathes, his lips pressed against my hair. I tighten my arms around him, and we stand, immobile, enjoying a moment of unexpected tranquility, on the street. Releasing me, he opens the passenger door. I climb in and sit quietly, watching him walk around the car.

Restarting the car, Christian pulls out into the traffic, absentmindedly humming along to Van Morrison.

Whoa. I've never heard him sing, not even in the shower, ever. I frown. He has a lovely voice - of course. Hmm... has he heard me sing?

He wouldn't be asking you to marry him if he had! My subconscious has her arms crossed and is wearing Burberry check... jeez. The song finishes and Christian smirks.

"You know, if we had gotten a ticket, the title of this car is in your name."

"Well, good thing I've been promoted - I can afford the fine," I say smugly, staring at his lovely profile. His lips twitch. Another Van Morrison song starts playing as he takes the on-ramp to I-5, heading north.

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise. What else did Flynn say?"

I sigh. "He talked about FFFSTB or something."

"SFBT. The latest therapy option," he mutters.

"You've tried others?"

Christian snorts. "Baby, I've been subjected to them all. Cognitivism, Freud, functionalism, Gestalt, behaviorism... You name it, over the years I've done it," he says and his tone betrays his bitterness. The rancor in his voice is distressing.

"Do you think this latest approach will help?"

"What did Flynn say?"

"He said not to dwell on your past. Focus on the future - on where you want to be."

Christian nods but shrugs at the same time, his expression cautious.

"What else?" he persists.

"He talked about your fear of being touched, although he called it something else. And about your nightmares and your self-abhorrence." I glance at him, and in the evening light, he's pensive, chewing on his thumbnail as he drives. He glances quickly at me.

"Eyes on the road, Mr. Grey," I admonish, my eyebrow cocked at him.

He looks amused, and slightly exasperated. "You were talking forever, Anastasia. What else did he say?"

I swallow. "He doesn't think you're a sadist," I whisper.

"Really?" Christian says quietly and frowns. The atmosphere in the car takes a nose-dive."He says that term's not recognized in psychiatry. Not since the nineties," I mutter, quickly trying to rescue the mood between us.

Christian's face darkens, and he exhales slowly.

"Flynn and I have differing opinions on this," he says quietly.

"He said you always think the worst of yourself. I know that's true," I murmur. "He also mentioned sexual sadism - but he said that was a lifestyle choice, not a psychiatric condition. Maybe that's what you're thinking about."

His gray eyes flash toward me again, and his mouth sets in a grim line.

"So - one talk with the good doctor and you're an expert," he says acidly and turns his eyes front.

Oh dear... I sigh.

"Look - if you don't want to hear what he said, don't ask me," I mutter softly.

I don't want to argue. Anyway he's right - what the hell do I know about all his shit?

Do I even want to know? I can list the salient points - his control freakery, his possessiveness, his jealousy, his overprotectiveness - and I completely understand where he's coming from. I can even understand why he doesn't like to be touched - I've seen the physical scars. I can only imagine the mental ones, and I've only glimpsed his nightmares once. And Dr. Flynn said -

"I want to know what you discussed." Christian interrupts my thoughts as he heads off I-5 on exit 172, heading west toward the slowly sinking sun.

"He called me your lover."

"Did he now?" His tone is conciliatory. "Well, he's nothing if not fastidious about his terms. I think that's an accurate description. Don't you?"

"Did you think of your subs as lovers?"

Christian's brow creases once more, but this time he's thinking. He turns the Saab smoothly north once again. Where are we going?

"No. They were sexual partners," he murmurs, his voice cautious again. "You're my only lover. And I want you to be more."

Oh... there's that magical word again, brimming with possibility. It makes me smile, and inside I hug myself, my inner goddess radiating joy.

"I know," I whisper, trying hard to hide my excitement. "I just need some time, Christian. To get my head around these last few days." He glances at me oddly, perplexed, his head inclined to one side.

After a beat, the stoplight we're stationed at turns green. He nods and turns the music up, and our discussion is over.

Van Morrison is still singing - more optimistically now - about it being a marvelous night for moondancing. I gaze out the windows at the pines and spruce dusted gold by the fading light of the sun, their long shadows stretching across the road. Christian has turned into a more residential street, and we're heading west toward the Sound.

"Where are we going?" I ask again as we turn into a road. I catch a road sign - 9tH ave nW. I am baffled.

"Surprise," he says and smiles mysteriously.

Chapter Sixteen

Jack's eyes flash the darkest blue, and he sneers as he casts a leering look down my body.

Fear chokes me. What is this? What does he want? From somewhere deep inside and despite my dry mouth, I find the resolve and courage to squeeze out some words, my self-defense class keep-them-talking mantra circling my brain like an ethereal sentinel.

"Jack, now might not be a good time for this. Your cab is due in ten minutes, and I need to give you all your documents." My voice is quiet but hoarse, betraying me.

He smiles, and it's a despotic fuck-you smile that finally touches his eyes. They glint in the harsh fluorescent glow of the strip light above us in the drab windowless room. He takes a step toward me, glaring at me, his eyes never leaving mine. His pupils are dilating as I watch - the black eclipsing the blue. Oh no. My fear escalates.

"You know I had to fight with Elizabeth to give you this job..." His voice trails off as he takes another step toward me, and I step back against the dingy wall cupboards. Keep-him-talking, keep-him-talking, keep-him-talking.

"Jack, what exactly is your problem? If you want to air your grievances, then perhaps we should ask HR to get involved. We could do this with Elizabeth in a more formal setting."Where is security? Are they in the building yet?

"We don't need HR to overmanage this situation Ana," he sneers. "When I hired you, I thought you would be a hard worker. I thought you had potential. But now, I don't know.

You've become distracted and sloppy. And I wondered... is it your boyfriend who's leading you astray?" He says boyfriend with chilling contempt.

"I decided to check through your e-mail account to see if I could find any clues. And you know what I found, Ana? What was out of place? The only personal e-mails in your account were to your hot-shot boyfriend." He pauses, assessing my reaction. "And I got to thinking... where are the e-mails from him? There are none. Nada. Nothing. So what's going on, Ana? How come his e-mails to you aren't on our system? Are you some company spy, planted in here by Grey's organization? Is that what this is?"

Holy shit, the e-mails. Oh no. What have I said?

"Jack, what are you talking about?" I try for bewildered, and I'm pretty convincing.

This conversation is not going as I expected, but I don't trust him in the slightest. Some subliminal pheromone that Jack is exuding has me on high alert. This man is angry, volatile, and totally unpredictable. I try to reason with him.

"You just said that you had to persuade Elizabeth to hire me. So how could I be planted as a spy? Make up your mind, Jack."

"But Grey fucked the New York trip, didn't he?"

Oh shit.

"How did he manage that, Ana? What did your rich, Ivy League boyfriend do?"

What little blood remains in my face drains away, and I think I'm going to faint. "I don't know what you're talking about, Jack," I whisper. "Your cab will be here shortly.

Shall I fetch your things?" Oh please, let me go. Stop this.

Jack continues, enjoying my discomfort. "And he thinks I'd make a pass at you?" He smirks and his eyes heat. "Well, I want you to think about something while I'm in New York. I gave you this job, and I expect you to show me some gratitude. In fact, I'm entitled to it. I had to fight to get you. Elizabeth wanted someone better qualified, but I - I saw something in you. So, we need to work out a deal. A deal where you keep me happy. D'you understand what I'm saying, Ana?"

Fuck!

"Look at it as refining your job description, if you like. And if you keep me happy, I won't dig any further into how your boyfriend is pulling strings, milking his contacts, or cashing in some favor from one of his Ivy League frat-boy sycophants."

My mouth drops open. He's blackmailing me. For sex! And what can I say? News of Christian's takeover is embargoed for another three weeks. I can barely believe this. Sex -

with me!

Jack moves closer until he's standing right in front of me, staring down into my eyes.

His cloying sweet cologne invades my nostrils - it's nauseating - and if I'm not mistaken, the bitter stench of alcohol is on his breath. Fuck, he's been drinking... when?

"You are such a tight-assed, cock-blocking, prick tease, you know, Ana," he whispers through clenched teeth.

What? Prick tease... Me?

"Jack, I have no idea what you're talking about," I whisper, as I feel the adrenaline surge through my body. He's closer now. I am waiting to make my move. Ray will be proud. Ray taught me what to do. Ray knows his self-defense. If Jack touches me - if he even breathes too close to me - I will take him down. My breath is shallow. I must not faint, I must not faint.

"Look at you." He gives me a leering look. "You're so turned on, I can tell. You've really led me on. Deep down you want it. I know."

Holy fuck. The man is completely delusional. My fear rises to defcon one, threatening to overwhelm me. "No, Jack. I have never led you on."

"You have, you prick-teasing bitch. I can read the signs." Reaching up, he gently strokes my face with the back of his knuckles, down to my chin. His index finger strokes my throat, and my heart leaps into my mouth as I fight my gag reflex. He reaches the dip at the base of my neck, where the top button of my black shirt is open, and presses his hand against my chest.

"You want me. Admit it, Ana."

Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on his and concentrating on what I have to do - rather than my mushrooming revulsion and dread - I place my hand gently over his in a caress.

He smiles in triumph. I grab his little finger, and twist it back, pulling it sharply down backward to his hip.

"Arrgh!" he cries out in pain and surprise, and as he leans off balance, I bring my knee, swift and hard, up into his groin, and make perfect contact with my goal. I dodge deftly to my left as his knees buckle, and he collapses with a groan onto the kitchen floor, grasping himself between his legs.

"Don't you ever touch me again," I snarl at him. "Your itinerary and the brochures are packaged on my desk. I am going home now. Have a nice trip. And in the future, get your own damn coffee."

"You fucking bitch!" he half screams, half groans at me, but I am already out the door.

I run full pelt to my desk, grab my jacket and my purse, and dash to front reception, ignoring the moans and curses emanating from the bastard still prostrate on the kitchen floor.

I burst out of the building and stop for a moment as the cool air hits my face, take a deep breath, and compose myself. But I haven't eaten all day, and as the very unwelcome surge of adrenaline recedes, my legs give out beneath me and I sink to the ground.

I watch with mild detachment the slow motion movie that plays out in front of me: Christian and Taylor in dark suits and white shirts, leaping out of the waiting car and running toward me. Christian sinks to his knees at my side, and on some unconscious level, all I can think is: He's here. My love is here.

"Ana, Ana! What's wrong?" He scoops me into his lap, running his hands up and down my arms, checking for any signs of injury. Grabbing my head between his hands, he stares with wide, terrified, gray eyes into mine. I sag against him, suddenly overwhelmed with relief and fatigue. Oh, Christian's arms. There is no place I'd rather be.

"Ana." He shakes me gently. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

I shake my head as I realize I need to start communicating.

"Jack," I whisper, and I sense rather than see Christian's swift glance at Taylor, who abruptly disappears into the building.

"Fuck!" Christian enfolds me in his arms. "What did that sleazeball do to you?"

And from somewhere just the right side of crazy, a giggle bubbles in my throat. I recall Jack's utter shock as I grabbed his finger.

"It's what I did to him." I start giggling and I can't stop.

"Ana!" Christian shakes me again, and my giggling fit ceases. "Did he touch you?"

"Only once."

I feel Christian's muscles bunch and tense as rage sweeps through him, and he stands up swiftly, powerfully - rock steady - with me in his arms. He's furious. No!

"Where is that fucker?"

From inside the building we hear muffled shouting. Christian sets me on my feet.

"Can you stand?"

I nod.

"Don't go in. Don't, Christian." Suddenly my fear is back, fear of what Christian will do to Jack.

"Get in the car," he barks at me.

"Christian, no." I grab his arm.

"Get in the goddamned car, Ana." He shakes me off.

"No! Please!" I plead with him. "Stay. Don't leave me on my own." I deploy my ultimate weapon.

Seething, Christian runs his hand through his hair and glares down at me, clearly wracked with indecision. The shouting inside the building escalates, and then stops suddenly.

Oh, no. What has Taylor done?

Christian fishes out his Blackberry.

"Christian, he has my e-mails."

"What?"

"My e-mails to you. He wanted to know where your e-mails to me were. He was trying to blackmail me."

Christian's look is murderous. Oh shit. "Fuck!" he splutters and narrows his eyes at me. He punches a number into his Blackberry.

Oh no. I'm in trouble. Who's he calling?

"Barney. Grey. I need you to access the SIP main server and wipe all Anastasia Steele's e-mails to me. Then access the personal data files of Jack Hyde and check they aren't stored there. If they are, wipe them... Yes, all of them. Now. Let me know when it's done."

He stabs the off button then dials another number.

"Roach. Grey. Hyde - I want him out. Now. This minute. Call security. Get him to clear his desk immediately, or I will liquidate this company first thing in the morning. You already have all the justification you need to give him his pink slip. Do you understand?"

He listens for a moment and hangs up seemingly satisfied.

"Blackberry," he hisses at me through clenched teeth.

"Please don't be mad at me." I blink up at him.

"I am so mad at you right now," he snarls and once more sweeps his hand through his hair. "Get in the car."

"Christian, please - "

"Get in the fucking car, Anastasia, or so help me I'll put you in there myself," he threatens, his eyes blazing with fury.

Oh shit. "Don't do anything stupid, please," I beg.

"STUPID! " he explodes. "I told you to use your fucking Blackberry. Don't talk to me about stupid. Get in the motherfucking car, Anastasia -  NOW! " he snarls and a frisson of fear runs through me. This is Very Angry Christian. I've not seen him this mad before. He's barely holding on to his self-control.

"Okay," I mutter, placating him. "But please, be careful."

Pressing his lips together in a hard line, he points angrily to the car, glaring at me.

Jeez, okay, I get the message.

"Please be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you. It would kill me," I murmur.

He blinks rapidly and stills, lowering his arm while he takes a deep breath.

"I'll be careful," he says, his eyes softening. Oh, thank the Lord. His eyes burn into me as I head to the car, open the front passenger door, and climb in. Once I'm safely in the comfort of the Audi, he disappears into the building, and my heart leaps again into my throat. What's he planning to do?

I sit and wait. And wait. And wait. Five eternal minutes. Jack's cab pulls up in front of the Audi. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Jeez, what are they doing in there, and how is Taylor? The wait is agonizing.

Twenty-five minutes later, Jack emerges from the building, clutching a cardboard stor-age box. Behind him is the security guard. Where was he earlier? And after them, Christian and Taylor. Jack looks sick. He heads straight for the cab, and I'm grateful for the Audi's heavily tinted windows so he cannot see me. The cab drives off - presumably not to Sea-Tac - as Christian and Taylor reach the car.

Opening the driver's door, Christian slides smoothly into the seat, presumably because I am in the front, and Taylor gets in behind me. Neither of them says a word as Christian starts the car and pulls out into the traffic. I risk a quick glance at Fifty. His mouth is set in a firm line, but he seems distracted. The in-car phone rings.

"Grey," Christian snaps.

"Mr. Grey, Barney here."

"Barney, I'm on speaker phone, and there are others in the car," Christian warns.

"Sir, it's all done. But I need to talk to you about what else I found on Mr. Hyde's computer."

"I'll call you when I reach my destination. And thanks, Barney."

"No problem, Mr. Grey."

Barney hangs up. He sounds much younger than I expected.

What else is on Jack's computer?

"Are you talking to me?" I ask quietly.

Christian glances at me, before fixing his eyes back on the road ahead, and I can tell he's still mad.

"No," he mutters sullenly.

Oh, there we go... how childish. I wrap my arms around myself and stare unseeing out the window. Perhaps I should just ask him to drop me off at my apartment, then he can

"not talk" to me from the safety of Escala and save us both the inevitable quarrel. But even as I think it, I know I don't want to leave him to brood, not after yesterday.

Eventually, we pull up in front of his apartment building, and Christian climbs out of the car. Moving with easy grace around to my side, he opens my door.

"Come," he orders as Taylor clambers into the driver's seat. I take his proffered hand and follow him through the grand foyer to the elevator. He doesn't let go of me.

"Christian, why are you so mad at me?" I whisper as we wait.

"You know why," he mutters as we step into the elevator, and he punches in the code to his floor. "God, if something had happened to you, he'd be dead by now." Christian's tone chills me to the bone. The doors close.

"As it is, I'm going to ruin his career so he can't take advantage of young women anymore, miserable excuse for a man that he is." He shakes his head. "Jesus, Ana!" He grabs me suddenly, imprisoning me in the corner of the elevator.

His hands fist in my hair as he pulls my face up to his, and his mouth is on mine, a passionate desperation in his kiss. I don't know why this takes me by surprise, but it does.

I taste his relief, his longing, and his residual anger while his tongue possesses my mouth.

He stops, gazing down at me, resting his weight against me so I can't move. He leaves me breathless, clinging to him for support, staring up into that beautiful face etched with determination and without any trace of humor.

"If anything had happened to you... If he'd harmed you..." I feel the shudder that runs through him. "Blackberry," he commands quietly. "From now on. Understand?"

I nod, swallowing, unable to break eye contact from his grim, mesmerizing look.

He straightens, releasing me as the elevator comes to a stop. "He said you kicked him in the balls." Christian's tone is lighter with a trace of admiration, and I think I'm forgiven.

"Yes," I whisper, still reeling from the intensity of his kiss and his impassioned command.

"Good."

"Ray is ex-army. He taught me well."

"I'm very glad he did," he breathes and adds, arching a brow, "I'll need to remember that." Taking my hand, he leads me out of the elevator and I follow, relieved. I think that's as bad as his mood is going to get.

"I need to call Barney. I won't be long." He disappears into his study, leaving me stranded in the vast living room. Mrs. Jones is adding the finishing touches to our meal. I realize I am famished, but I need something to do.

"Can I help?" I ask.

She laughs. "No, Ana. Can I fix you a drink or something? You look beat."

"I'd love a glass of wine."

"White?"

"Yes, please."

I perch on one of the bar stools, and she hands me a glass of chilled wine. I don't know what it is, but it's delicious and slides down easily, soothing my shattered nerves. What was I thinking about earlier today? How alive I have felt since I met Christian. How exciting my life has become. Jeez, could I just have a few boring days?

What if I'd never met Christian? I'd be holed up in my apartment, talking it through with Ethan, completely freaked by my encounter with Jack, knowing I would have to face the sleazeball again on Friday. As it is, there's every chance I'll never set eyes on him again.

But who will I work for now? I frown. I hadn't thought of that. Shit, do I even have a job?

"Evening, Gail," Christian says as he comes back into the great room, dragging me from my thoughts. Heading straight to the fridge, he pours himself a glass of wine.

"Good evening, Mr. Grey. Dinner in ten, sir?"

"Sounds good."

Christian raises his glass.

"To ex-military men who train their daughters well," he says and his eyes soften.

"Cheers," I mutter, raising my glass.

"What's wrong?" Christian asks.

"I don't know if I still have a job."

He cocks his head to the side. "Do you still want one?"

"Of course."

"Then you still have one."

Simple. See? He is master of my universe. I roll my eyes at him and he smiles.

Mrs. Jones makes a mean chicken potpie. She has left us to enjoy the fruits of her labors, and I feel much better now I've had something to eat. We are sitting at the breakfast bar, and despite my best cajoling, Christian won't tell me what Barney has found on Jack's computer. I drop the subject, and decide to tackle instead the thorny issue of Jose's impend-ing visit.

"Jose called," I say nonchalantly.

"Oh?" Christian turns to face me.

"He wants to deliver your photos on Friday."

"A personal delivery. How accommodating of him," Christian mutters.

"He wants to go out. For a drink. With me."

"I see."

"And Kate and Elliot should be back," I add quickly.

Christian puts his fork down, frowning at me.

"What exactly are you asking?"

I bristle. "I'm not asking anything. I'm informing you of my plans for Friday. Look, I want to see Jose, and he wants to stay over. Either he stays here or he can stay at my place, but if he does I should be there, too."

Christian's eyes widen. He looks dumbfounded.

"He made a pass at you."

"Christian, that was weeks ago. He was drunk, I was drunk, you saved the day - it won't happen again. He's no Jack, for heaven's sake."

"Ethan's there. He can keep him company."

"He wants to see me, not Ethan."

Christian scowls at me.

"He's just a friend." My voice is emphatic.

"I don't like it."

So what? Jeez, he's irritating sometimes. I take a deep breath. "He's my friend, Christian. I haven't seen him since his show. And that was too brief. I know you don't have any friends, apart from that god-awful woman, but I don't moan about you seeing her," I snap.

Christian blinks, shocked. "I want to see him. I've been a poor friend to him." My subconscious is alarmed. Are you stamping your little foot? Steady now!

Gray eyes blaze at me. "Is that what you think?" he breathes.

"Think about what?"

"Elena. You'd rather I didn't see her?"

Holy cow. "Exactly. I'd rather you didn't see her."

"Why didn't you say?"

"Because it's not my place to say. You think she's your only friend." I shrug in exasperation. He really doesn't get it. How did this turn into a conversation about her? I don't even want to think about her. I try to steer us back to Jose. "Just as it's not your place to say if I can or can't see Jose. Don't you see that?"

Christian gazes at me, perplexed, I think. Oh, what is he thinking?

"He can stay here, I suppose," he mutters. "I can keep an eye on him." He sounds petulant.

Hallelujah!

"Thank you! You know, if I am going to live here, too..." I trail off. Christian nods.

He knows what I'm trying to say. "It's not like you haven't got the space." I smirk.

His lips quirk up slowly. "Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?"

"Most definitely, Mr. Grey." I get up just in case his palms start twitching, clear our plates, and then load them into the dishwasher.

"Gail will do that."

"I've done it now." I stand up and gaze at him. He's watching me intently.

"I have to work for a while," he says apologetically.

"Cool. I'll find something to do."

"Come here," he orders, but his voice is soft and seductive, his eyes heated. I don't hesitate to walk into his arms, clasping him around his neck as he perches on his bar stool.

He wraps his arms around me, crushes me to him, and just holds me.

"Are you okay?" he whispers into my hair.

"Okay?"

"After what happened with that fucker? After what happened yesterday?" he adds, his voice quiet and earnest.

I gaze into dark, serious, gray eyes. Am I okay? "Yes," I whisper.

His arms tighten around me, and I feel safe, cherished, and loved all at once. It's blissful. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the feel of being in his arms. I love this man. I love his intoxicating scent, his strength, his mercurial ways - my Fifty.

"Let's not fight," he murmurs. He kisses my hair and inhales deeply. "You smell heavenly as usual, Ana."

"So do you," I whisper and kiss his neck.

All too soon he releases me. "I should only be a couple of hours."

I wander listlessly through the apartment. Christian is still working. I have showered and dressed in some sweats and a T-shirt of my own, and I'm bored. I don't want to read. If I sit still, I'll recall Jack and his fingers on me.

I check out my old bedroom, the subs' room. Jose can sleep here - he'll like the view.

It's about eight fifteen, and the sun is beginning to sink into the west. The lights of the city twinkle below me. It's glorious. Yes, Jose will like it here. I wonder idly where Christian will hang Jose's pictures of me. I'd rather he didn't. I am not keen on looking at myself.

Back down the hallway I find myself outside the playroom, and without thinking, I try the door handle. Christian normally keeps it locked, but to my surprise, the door opens.

How strange. Feeling like a child playing hooky and straying into the forbidden forest, I walk in. It's dark. I flick the switch and the lights under the cornice light up with a soft glow. It's as I remember it. A womb-like room.

Memories of the last time I was in here flash through my mind. The belt... I wince at the recollection. Now it hangs innocently, lined up with others, on the rack beside the door. Tentatively I run my fingers over the belts, the floggers, the paddles, and the whips.

Sheesh. This is what I need to square with Dr. Flynn. Can someone in this lifestyle just stop? It seems so improbable. Wandering over to the bed, I sit on soft red satin sheets, gazing around at all the apparatus.

Beside me is the bench, above that the assortment of canes. So many! Surely one is enough? Well, the less said about that the better. And the large table. We never tried that, whatever he does on it. My eyes fall on the chesterfield, and I move over to sit on it. It's just a couch, nothing extraordinary about it - nothing to fasten anything to, not that I can see. Glancing behind me, I spy the museum chest. My curiosity is piqued. What does he keep in there?

As I pull open the top drawer I realize my blood is pounding through my veins. Why am I so nervous? This feels so illicit, as if I'm trespassing, which of course I am. But if he wants to marry me, well...

Holy fuck, what's all this? An array of instruments and bizarre implements - I don't have a clue what they are, or what they're for - are carefully laid out in the display drawer.

I pick one up. It's bullet-shaped with a sort of handle. Hmm... what the hell do you do with that? My mind boggles, though I think I have an idea. Jeez, there are four different sizes!

My scalp prickles and I glance up.

Christian is standing in the doorway, staring at me, his face unreadable. How long has he been there? I feel like I've been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

"Hi." I smile nervously at him, and I know my eyes are wide and that I'm deathly pale.

"What are you doing?" he says softly, but there's an undercurrent in his tone.

Oh shit. Is he mad? I flush. "Er... I was bored and curious," I mutter, embarrassed to be found out. He said he'd be two hours.

"That's a very dangerous combination." He runs his long index finger across his lower lip in quiet contemplation, not taking his eyes off me. I swallow and my mouth is dry.

Slowly, he enters the room and closes the door quietly behind him, his eyes liquid gray fire. Oh my. He leans casually over the chest of drawers, but I think his stance is deceptive.

My inner goddess doesn't know whether it's fight or flight time.

"So, what exactly are you curious about, Miss Steele? Perhaps I could enlighten you."

"The door was open... I - " I gaze at Christian as I hold my breath and blink, uncertain as ever of his reaction or what I should say. His eyes are dark. I think he's amused, but it's difficult to tell. He places his elbows on the museum chest and rests his chin on his clasped hands.

"I was in here earlier today wondering what to do with it all. I must have forgotten to lock it." He scowls momentarily as if leaving the door unlocked is a terrible lapse in judgment. I frown - it's not like him to be forgetful.

"Oh?"

"But now here you are, curious as ever." His voice is soft, puzzled.

"You're not mad?" I whisper, using my remaining breath.

He cocks his head to one side, and his lips twitch in amusement.

"Why would I be mad?"

"I feel like I'm trespassing... and you're always mad at me." My voice is quiet, though I'm relieved. Christian's brow creases once more.

"Yes, you're trespassing, but I'm not mad. I hope that one day you'll live with me here, and all this" - he gestures vaguely round the room with one hand - "will be yours, too."

My playroom... eh? I gape at him - that's a lot to take in.

"That's why I was in here today. Trying to decide what to do." He taps his lips with his index finger. "Am I angry with you all the time? I wasn't this morning."

Oh, that's true. I smile at the memory of Christian when we woke, and it distracts me from the thought of what will become of the playroom. He was such fun Fifty this morning.

"You were playful. I like playful Christian."

"Do you now?" He arches an eyebrow, and his beautiful mouth curves up in a smile, a shy smile. Wow!

"What's this?" I hold up the silver bullet thing.

"Always hungry for information, Miss Steele. That's a butt plug," he says gently.

"Oh..."

"Bought for you."

What? "For me?"

He nods slowly, his face now serious and wary.

I frown. "You buy new, er... toys... for each submissive?"

"Some things. Yes."

"Butt plugs?"

"Yes."

Okay... I swallow. Butt plug. It's solid metal - surely that's uncomfortable? I remember our discussion about sex toys and hard limits after I graduated. I think at the time I said I would try. Now, actually seeing one, I don't know if it's something I want to do. I examine it once more and place it back in the drawer.

"And this?" I take out a long, black rubbery object, made of gradually diminishing spherical bubbles joined together, the first one large and the last much smaller. Eight bubbles in total.

"Anal beads," says Christian, watching me carefully.

Oh! I examine them with fascinated horror. All of these, inside me... there! I had no idea.

"They have quite an effect if you pull them out mid-orgasm," he adds matter-of-factly.

"This is for me?" I whisper.

"For you." He nods slowly.

"This is the butt drawer?"

He smirks. "If you like."

I close it quickly, flushing like a stoplight.

"Don't you like the butt drawer?" he asks innocently, amused. I gaze at him and shrug, trying to brazen out my shock.

"It's not top of my Christmas card list," I mutter nonchalantly. Tentatively, I open the second drawer. He grins.

"Next drawer down holds a selection of vibrators."

I shut the drawer quickly.

"And the next?" I whisper, ashen once more, but this time with embarrassment.

"That's more interesting."

Oh! Hesitantly I pull the drawer open, not taking my eyes off his beautiful but rather smug face. Inside there are an assortment of metal items and some clothespins. Clothespins! I pick up a large metal clip-like device.

"Genital clamp," Christian says. He stands up and moves casually around so that he's beside me. I put it back immediately and choose something more delicate - two small clips on a chain.

"Some of these are for pain, but most are for pleasure," he murmurs.

"What's this?"

"Nipple clamps - that's for both."

"Both? Nipples?"

Christian smirks at me. "Well, there are two clamps, baby. Yes, both nipples, but that's not what I meant. These are for both pleasure and pain."

Oh. He takes it from me.

"Hold out your little finger."

I do as he asks, and he clamps one clip to the tip of my finger. It's not too harsh.

"The sensation is very intense, but it's when taking them off that they are at their most painful and pleasurable." I remove the clip. Hmm, that might be nice. I squirm at the thought.

"I like the look of these," I murmur and Christian smiles.

"Do you now, Miss Steele? I think I can tell."

I nod shyly, biting my lip. He reaches up and tugs on my chin so I release my bottom lip. "You know what that does to me," he murmurs.

I put the clips back in the drawer, and Christian leans forward and pulls out two more.

"These are adjustable." He holds them up for me to inspect.

"Adjustable?"

"You can wear them very tight... or not. Depending on your mood."

How does he make that sound so erotic? I swallow, and to divert his attention, pull out a device that looks like a spiky pastry cutter.

"This?" I frown. No baking in the playroom, surely.

"That's a Wartenberg pinwheel."

"For?"

He reaches over and takes it from me. "Give me your hand. Palm up."

I offer him my left hand and he takes it gently, skating his thumb over my knuckles. A shiver runs through me. His skin against mine, it never fails to thrill me. He runs the wheel over my palm.

"Ah!" The prongs bite into my skin - there's more than just pain. In fact, it tickles slightly.

"Imagine that over your breasts," Christian murmurs lasciviously.

Oh! I flush and snatch my hand back. My breathing and heart rate increase. Holy cow.

"There's a fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia," he says softly as he leans down and puts the device back in the drawer.

"Clothespins?" I whisper.

"You can do a great deal with a clothespins." His gray eyes burn.

I lean against the drawer so it closes.

"Is that all?" Christian looks amused.

"No..." I pull open the fourth drawer to be confounded by a mass of leather and straps. I tug at one of the straps... it appears to be attached to a ball.

"Ball gag. To keep you quiet," says Christian, amused once more.

"Soft limit," I mutter.

"I remember," he says. "But you can still breathe. Your teeth clamp over the ball." Taking it from me, he replicates a mouth clamping down on the ball with his fingers.

"Have you worn one of these?" I ask.

He stills and gazes down at me. "Yes."

"To mask your screams?"

He closes his eyes, and I think it's in exasperation. "No, that's not what they're about."

Oh?

"It's about control, Anastasia. How helpless would you be if you were tied up and couldn't speak? How trusting would you have to be, knowing I had that much power over you? That I had to read your body and your reaction, rather than hear your words? It makes you more dependent, puts me in ultimate control."

I swallow.

"You sound like you miss it."

"It's what I know," he murmurs, gazing down at me. His gray eyes are wide and serious, and the atmosphere between us has changed as if he's in the confessional.

"You have power over me. You know you do," I whisper.

"Do I? You make me feel... helpless."

"No!" Oh Fifty... "Why?"

"Because you're the only person I know who could really hurt me." He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear.

"Oh, Christian... that works both ways. If you didn't want me - " I shudder, glancing down at my twisting fingers. Therein lays my other dark reservation about us. If he wasn't so... broken, would he want me? I shake my head. I must try not to think like that.

"The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I love you," I murmur, reaching up to run my fingers through his sideburn and gently stroke his cheek. He leans his face into my touch, drops the gag back in the drawer, and reaches for me, his hands around my waist. He pulls me against him.

"Have we finished show and tell?" he asks, his voice soft and seductive. His hand moves up my back to the nape of my neck.

"Why? What did you want to do?"

He bends and kisses me gently, and I melt against him, grasping his arms.

"Ana, you were nearly attacked today." His voice is soft but ice-cold and wary.

"So?" I ask, enjoying the feel of his hand at my back and his proximity. He pulls his head back and scowls down at me.

"What do you mean, 'so?' " he rebukes.

I gaze up into his lovely, grumpy face, and I'm dazzled.

"Christian, I'm fine."

He wraps me in his arms, holding me close. "When I think what might have happened," he breathes, burying his face in my hair.

"When will you learn that I'm stronger than I look?" I whisper reassuringly into his neck, inhaling his delicious scent. There is nothing better on the planet than being in Christian's arms.

"I know you're strong," Christian muses quietly. He kisses my hair, then to my great disappointment, releases me. Oh?

Bending down I fish another item out of the open drawer. Several cuffs attached to a bar. I hold it up.

"That," says Christian, his eyes darkening, "is a spreader bar with ankle and wrist restraints."

"How does it work?" I ask, genuinely intrigued. My inner goddess pops her head out of her bunker.

"You want me to show you?" he breathes in surprise, closing his eyes briefly.

I blink at him. When he opens his eyes, they are blazing.

Oh my. "Yes, I want a demonstration. I like being tied up," I whisper as my inner goddess pole vaults from the bunker onto her chaise longue.

"Oh, Ana," he murmurs. He looks pained all of a sudden.

"What?"

"Not here."

"What do you mean?"

"I want you in my bed, not in here. Come." He grabs the bar and my hand, then leads me promptly out of the room.

Why are we leaving? I glance behind me as we exit. "Why not in there?"

Christian stops on the stairs and gazes up at me, his expression grave.

"Ana, you may be ready to go back in there, but I'm not. Last time we were in there, you left me. I keep telling you - when will you understand?" He frowns, releasing me so that he can gesticulate with his free hand.

"My whole attitude has changed as a result. My whole outlook on life has radically shifted. I've told you this. What I haven't told you is - " He stops and runs his hand through his hair, searching for the correct words. "I'm like a recovering alcoholic, okay? That's the only comparison I can draw. The compulsion has gone, but I don't want to put temptation in my way. I don't want to hurt you."

He looks so remorseful, and in that moment, a sharp nagging pain lances through me.

What have I done to this man? Have I improved his life? He was happy before he met me, wasn't he?

"I can't bear to hurt you because I love you," he adds, gazing up at me, his expression one of absolute sincerity like a small boy telling a very simple truth.

He's completely guileless, and he takes my breath away. I adore him more than anything or anyone. I do love this man unconditionally.

I launch myself at him so hard that he has to drop what he's carrying to catch me as I push him up against the wall. Grabbing his face between my hands, I pull his lips to mine. I can taste his surprise as I push my tongue into his mouth. I am standing on the step above him - we're at the same level, and I feel euphorically empowered. Kissing him passionately, my fingers twisting into his hair, I want to touch him, everywhere, but restrain myself, knowing his fear. Regardless, my desire unfurls, hot and heavy, blossoming deep inside me. He groans and grabs my shoulders, pushing me away.

"Do you want me to fuck you on the stairs?" he mutters, his breathing ragged. "Because right now, I will."

"Yes," I murmur and I'm sure my dark gaze matches his.

He glares at me, his eyes hooded and heavy. "No. I want you in my bed." He scoops me up suddenly over his shoulder, making me squeal, loudly, and smacks me hard on my behind, so that I squeal again. As he heads down the stairs, he stoops to pick up the fallen spreader bar.

Mrs. Jones is coming out of the utility room when we pass through the hall. She smiles at us, and I give her an apologetic upside-down wave. I don't think Christian notices her.

In the bedroom, he sets me down on my feet and drops the spreader on to the bed.

"I don't think you'll hurt me," I breathe.

"I don't think I'll hurt you, either," he says. He takes my head in his hands and kisses me, long and hard, igniting my already heated blood.

"I want you so much," he whispers against my mouth, panting. "Are you sure about this - after today?'

"Yes. I want you, too. I want to undress you." I can't wait to get my hands on him - my fingers are itching to touch him.

His eyes widen and for a moment, he hesitates, perhaps to consider my request.

"Okay," he says cautiously.

I reach for the second button on his shirt and hear him catch his breath.

"I won't touch you if you don't want me to," I whisper.

"No," he responds quickly. "Do. It's fine. I'm good," he mutters.

I gently undo the button and my fingers glide down his shirt to the next. His eyes are large and luminous, his lips parted as his breathing shallows. He is so beautiful, even in his fear... because of his fear. I undo the third button and notice his soft hair poking through the large V of the shirt.

"I want to kiss you there," I murmur.

He inhales sharply. "Kiss me?"

"Yes," I murmur.

His gasps as I undo the next button and very slowly lean forward, making my intention clear. He's holding his breath, but stands stock-still as I plant a gentle kiss among the soft, exposed curls. I undo the final button and lift my face to him. He's gazing at me, and there's a look of satisfaction, calm, and... wonder on his face.

"It's getting easier, isn't it?" I whisper.

He nods as I slowly push his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"What have you done to me, Ana?" he murmurs. "Whatever it is, don't stop." And he gathers me in his arms, fisting both his hands in my hair and pulling my head right back so that he can have easy access to my throat.

He runs his lips up to my jaw, nipping softly. I groan. Oh, I want this man. My fingers fumble at his waistband, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper.

"Oh, baby," he breathes as he kisses me behind my ear. I feel his erection, firm and hard, straining against me. I want him - in my mouth. I step back abruptly and drop to my knees.

"Whoa?" he gasps.

I tug his pants and boxers sharply, and he springs free. Before he can stop me, I take him into my mouth, sucking hard, enjoying his shocked astonishment as his mouth drops open. He gazes down at me, watching my every move, eyes so dark and filled with carnal bliss. Oh my. I sheath my teeth and suck harder. He closes his eyes and surrenders to this blissful carnal pleasure is so arousing. I know what I do to him, and it's hedonistic, liberating, and sexy as hell. The feeling is heady, I'm not just powerful - I'm omniscient.

"Fuck," he hisses and gently cradles my head, flexing his hips so he moves deeper inside my mouth. Oh yes, I want this and I swirl my tongue around him, pulling hard...

over and over.

"Ana." He tries to step back.

Oh no you don't, Grey. I want you. I grab his hips firmly, doubling my efforts, and I can tell he's close.

"Please," he pants. "I'm gonna come, Ana," he groans.

Good. My inner goddess's head is thrown back in ecstasy, and he comes, loudly and wetly, into my mouth.

He opens his bright gray eyes, gazing down at me, and I smile up at him, licking my lips. He grins back at me, a wicked, salacious grin.

"Oh, so this is the game we're playing, Miss Steele?" He bends, hooks his hands under my arms, and pulls me to my feet. Suddenly his mouth is on mine. He groans.

"I can taste myself. You taste better," he murmurs against my lips. He tugs my T-shirt off and throws it carelessly onto the floor, then picks me up and tosses me onto the bed.

Grabbing the end of my sweats, he tugs abruptly so that they come off in one swift move.

I'm naked underneath, sprawled across his bed. Waiting. Wanting. His eyes drink me in, and slowly he removes his remaining clothes, not taking his eyes off me.

"You are one beautiful woman, Anastasia," he murmurs appreciatively.

Hmm... I tilt my head coquettishly to one side and beam at him.

"You are one beautiful man, Christian, and you taste mighty fine."

He gives me a wicked grin and reaches for the spreader bar. Grabbing my left ankle, he quickly cuffs it, strapping the buckle tightly, but not too tight. He tests how much room I have by sliding his little finger between the cuff and my ankle. He doesn't take his eyes off mine; he doesn't need to see what he's doing. Hmm... he's done this before.

"We'll have to see how you taste. If I recall, you're a rare, exquisite delicacy, Miss Steele."

Oh.

Grasping my other ankle, he quickly and efficiently cuffs that one as well, so that my feet are about two feet apart.

"The good thing about this spreader is, it expands," he murmurs. He clicks something on the bar, then pushes, so my legs spread further. Whoa, three feet apart. My mouth drops open, and I take a deep breath. Fuck, this is hot. I'm on fire, restless and needy.

Christian licks his lower lip.

"Oh, we're going to have some fun with this, Ana." Reaching down he grasps the bar and twists it so I flip on to my front. It takes me by surprise.

"See what I can do to you?" he says darkly and twists it again abruptly, so I am once more on my back, gaping up at him, breathless.

"These other cuffs are for your wrists. I'll think about that. Depends if you behave or not.""When do I not behave?"

"I can think of a few infractions," he says softly, running his fingers up the soles of my feet. It tickles, but the bar holds me in place, though I try to writhe away from his fingers.

"Your Blackberry, for one."

I gasp. "What are you going to do?"

"Oh, I never disclose my plans." He smirks, his eyes alight with pure devilment.

Holy cow. He's so mind-bogglingly sexy, it takes my breath away.

He crawls up the bed so that he's kneeling between my legs, gloriously naked, and I'm helpless.

"Hmm. You are so exposed, Miss Steele." He runs the fingers of both his hands up the inside of each of my legs, slowly, surely, making small circular patterns. Never breaking eye contact with me.

"It's all about anticipation, Ana. What will I do to you?" His softly spoken words pen-etrate right to the deepest, darkest, part of me. I wriggle on the bed and moan. His fingers continue their slow assault up my legs, past the backs of my knees. Instinctively, I want to close my legs but I can't.

"Remember, if you don't like something, just tell me to stop," he murmurs. Bending over, he kisses my belly, soft, sucky kisses while his hands continue their slow tortuous journey north up my inner thighs, touching and teasing.

"Oh please, Christian," I plead.

"Oh, Miss Steele. I've discovered you can be merciless in your amorous assaults upon me. I think I should return the favor."

My fingers clutch the duvet as I surrender myself to him, his mouth gently heading south, his fingers north, to the vulnerable and exposed apex of my thighs. I groan as he eases his fingers inside me and buck my pelvis up to meet them. Christian moans in response.

"You never cease to amaze me, Ana. You're so wet," he murmurs against the line where my pubic hair joins my belly. My body bows as his mouth finds me.

Oh my.

He begins a slow and sensual assault, his tongue swirling around and around while his fingers move inside me. Because I can't close my legs, or move, it's intense, really intense.

My back arches as I try to absorb the sensations.

"Oh, Christian," I cry.

"I know, baby," he whispers, and to ease up on me, he blows softly on the most sensitive part of my body.

"Arrgh! Please!" I beg.

"Say my name," he commands.

"Christian," I call, hardly recognizing my own voice - it's so high-pitched and needy.

"Again," he breathes.

"Christian, Christian, Christian Grey," I call out loudly.

"You are mine." His voice is soft and deadly and with one last flick of his tongue, I fall - spectacularly - embracing my orgasm, and because my legs are so far apart, it goes on and on and I am lost.

Vaguely, I'm aware that Christian has flipped me on to my front.

"We're going to try this, baby. If you don't like it, or it's too uncomfortable, tell me, and we'll stop."

What? I am too lost in the afterglow to form any sentient or coherent thoughts. I am sitting on Christian's lap. How did that happen?

"Lean down, baby," he murmurs at my ear. "Head and chest on the bed."

In a daze I do as I'm told. He pulls both my hands backward and cuffs them to the bar, next to my ankles. Oh... My knees are drawn up, my ass in the air, utterly vulnerable, completely his.

"Ana, you look so beautiful." His voice is full of wonder, and I hear the rip of foil. He runs his fingers from the base of my spine down toward my sex and pauses a beat over my ass. "When you're ready, I want this, too." His finger is hovering over me. I gasp loudly as I feel myself tense under his gentle probing. "Not today, sweet Ana, but one day... I want you every way. I want to possess every inch of you. You're mine."

I think about the butt plug, and everything tightens deep inside me. His words make me groan, and his fingers move down and around to more familiar territory.

Moments later, he's slamming into me. "Aagh! Gently," I cry, and he stills.

"You okay?"

"Gently... let me get used to this."

He eases slowly out of me then eases gently back, filling me, stretching me, twice, thrice, and I am helpless.

"Yes, good, I've got it now," I murmur, relishing the feeling.

He groans, and picks up his rhythm. Moving, moving... relentless... onward, inward, filling me... and it's exquisite. There's joy in my helplessness, joy in my surrender to him, and to know that he can lose himself in me the way he wants to. I can do this. He takes me to these dark places, places I didn't know existed, and together we fill them with blinding light. Oh yes... blazing, blinding light.

And I let go, glorying in what he does to me, finding my sweet, sweet release, as I come again, loudly, screaming his name. And he stills, pouring his heart and soul into me.

"Ana, baby," he cries and collapses beside me.

His fingers deftly undo the straps, and he rubs my ankles then my wrists. When he's finished and I'm finally free, he pulls me into his arms and I drift, exhausted.

When I surface again, I am curled beside him and he's gazing at me. I have no idea what the time is.

"I could watch you sleep forever, Ana," he murmurs and he kisses my forehead.

I smile and shift languorously beside him.

"I never want to let you go," he says softly and wraps his arms around me.

Hmm. "I never want to go. Never let me go," I mutter sleepily, my eyelids refusing to open."I need you," he whispers, but his voice is a distant, ethereal part of my dreams. He needs me... needs me... and as I finally slip into the darkness, my last thoughts are of a small boy with gray eyes and dirty, messy, copper-colored hair smiling shyly at me.

Chapter Fifteen

"Hey," Christian's says gently as he pulls me into his arms, "please don't cry, Ana, please,"

he begs. He's on the bathroom floor, and I am in his lap. I put my arms around him and weep into his neck. Cooing softly into my hair, he gently strokes my back, my head.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, and that makes me cry harder and hug him tighter.

We sit like this forever. Eventually, when I'm all cried out, Christian staggers to his feet, holding me, and carries me into his room where he lays me down in the bed. In a few moments, he's beside me and the lights are off. He pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly, and I finally drift off into a dark and troubled sleep.

I awake with a jolt. My head is fuzzy and I'm too warm. Christian is wrapped around me like a vine. He grumbles in his sleep as I slip out of his arms, but he doesn't wake. Sitting up I glance at the alarm clock. It's three in the morning. I need an Advil and a drink. I swing my legs out of bed and make my way to the kitchen in the great room.

In the fridge, I find a carton of orange juice and pour myself a glass. Hmm... it's delicious, and my fuzzy head eases immediately. I hunt through the cupboards looking for some painkillers and eventually come across a plastic box full of meds. I sink two Advil and pour myself another orange juice.

Wandering to the great wall of glass, I look out on a sleeping Seattle. The lights twinkle and wink beneath Christian's castle in the sky, or should I say fortress? I press my forehead against the cool window - it's a relief. I have so much to think about after all the revelations of yesterday. I place my back against the glass and slide down onto the floor. The great room is cavernous in the dark, the only light coming from the three lamps above the kitchen island.

Could I live here, married to Christian? After all that he's done here? All the history this place holds for him?

Marriage. It's almost unbelievable and completely unexpected. But then everything about Christian is unexpected. My lips quirk up with irony. Christian Grey, expect the unexpected - Fifty Shades of Fucked-Up.

My smile fades. I look like his mother. This wounds me, deeply, and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. We all look like his mom.

How the hell do I move on from the disclosure of that little secret? No wonder he didn't want to tell me. But surely he can't remember much of his mother. I wonder once more, if I should talk to Dr. Flynn. Would Christian let me? Perhaps he could fill in the gaps.

I shake my head. I feel world weary, but I'm enjoying the calm serenity of the great room and its beautiful works of art - cold and austere, but in their own way, still beautiful in the shadows and surely worth a fortune. Could I live here? For better, for worse? In sick-ness and in health? I close my eyes, lean my head back against the glass, and take a deep, cleansing breath.

The peaceful tranquility is shattered by a visceral, primeval cry that makes every single hair on my body stand to attention. Christian! Holy fuck - what's happened? I am on my feet, running back to the bedroom before the echoes of that horrible sound have died away, my heart thumping with fear.

I flip one of the light switches, and Christian's bedside light comes to life. He's tossing and turning, writhing in agony. No! He cries out again, and the eerie, devastating sound lances through me anew.

Shit - a nightmare!

"Christian!" I lean over him, grab his shoulders, and shake him awake. He opens his eyes, and they are wild and vacant, scanning quickly round the empty room before coming back to rest on me.

"You left, you left, you must have left," he mumbles - his wide-eyed stare becoming accusatory - and he looks so lost, it wrenches at my heart. Poor Fifty.

"I'm here." I sit down on the bed beside him. "I'm here," I murmur softly in an effort to reassure him. I reach out to place my palm on the side of his face, trying to soothe him.

"You were gone," he whispers rapidly. His eyes are still wild and frightened, but he seems to be calming.

"I went to get a drink. I was thirsty."

He closes his eyes and rubs his face. When he opens them again, he looks so desolate.

"You're here. Oh, thank God." He reaches for me, and grabbing me tightly, he pulls me down on the bed beside him.

"I just went for a drink," I murmur.

Oh, the intensity of his fear... I can feel it. His T-shirt is drenched in sweat, and his heartbeat is pounding as he hugs me close. He's gazing at me as if reassuring himself that I am really here. I gently stroke his hair and then his cheek.

"Christian, please. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," I say soothingly.

"Oh, Ana," he breathes. He grasps my chin to hold me in place, and then his mouth is on mine. Desire sweeps through him, and unbidden my body responds - it's so tied and attuned to him. His lips are at my ear, my throat, then back at my mouth, his teeth gently pulling at my lower lip, his hand traveling up my body from my hip to my breast, dragging my T-shirt up. Caressing me, feeling his way through the dips and shallows of my skin, he elicits the same familiar reaction, his touch sending shivers through me. I moan as his hand cups my breast and his fingers tighten over my nipple.

"I want you," he murmurs.

"I'm here for you. Only you, Christian."

He groans and kisses me once more, passionately, with a fervor and desperation I've not felt from him before. Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, I tug and he helps me pull it off over his head. Kneeling between my legs, he hastily pulls me upright and drags my T-shirt off. His eyes are serious, wanting, full of dark secrets - exposed. He folds his hands around my face and kisses me, and we sink down into the bed once more, his thigh between both of mine so that he's half-lying on top of me. His erection is rigid against my hip through his boxer briefs. He wants me, but his words from earlier choose this moment to come back and haunt me, what he said about his mother. And it's like a bucket of cold water on my libido. Fuck. I can't do this. Not now.

"Christian... Stop. I can't do this," I whisper urgently against his mouth, my hands pushing on his upper arms.

"What? What's wrong?" he murmurs and starts kissing my neck, running the tip of his tongue lightly down my throat. Oh...

"No, please. I can't do this, not now. I need some time, please."

"Oh, Ana, don't overthink this," he whispers as he nips my earlobe.

"Ah!" I gasp, feeling it in my groin, and my body bows, betraying me. This is so confusing.

"I am just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please." He rubs his nose against mine, and his quiet heartfelt plea moves me and I melt.

Touch him. Touch him while we make love. Oh my.

He rears up over me, gazing down, and in the half-light from the dimmed bedside light, I can tell that he's waiting, waiting for my decision, and he's caught in my spell.

I reach up and tentatively place my hand on the soft patch of hair over his sternum. He gasps and scrunches his eyes closed as if in pain, but I don't take my hand away this time.

I move it up to his shoulders, feeling the tremor run through him. He groans, and I pull him down to me and place both my hands on his back, where I've never touched him before, on his shoulder blades, holding him to me. His strangled moan arouses me like nothing else.

He buries his head in my neck, kissing and sucking and biting me, before trailing his nose up my chin and kissing me, his tongue possessing my mouth, his hands moving over my body once more. His lips move down... down... down to my breasts, worshipping as they go, and my hands stay on his shoulders and his back, enjoying the flex and ripple of his finely honed muscles, his skin still damp from his nightmare. His lips close over my nipple, pulling and tugging, so that it rises to greet his glorious skilled mouth.

I groan and run my fingernails across his back. And he gasps, a strangled moan.

"Oh, fuck, Ana," he chokes, and it's half cry, half groan. It tears at my heart, but also deep inside me, tightening all the muscles below my waist. Oh, what I can do to him! My inner goddess is writhing with want and I'm panting now, matching his tortured breaths with my own.

His hand travels south, over my belly, down to my sex - and his fingers are on me, then in me. I groan as he moves his fingers around inside me, in that way, and I push my pelvis up to welcome his touch.

"Ana," he breathes. He suddenly releases me and sits up; he removes his boxer briefs and leans over to the bedside table to grab a foil packet. His eyes are a blazing gray as he passes me the condom. "You want to do this? You can still say no. You can always say no,"

he murmurs.

"Don't give me a chance to think, Christian. I want you, too." I rip the packet open with my teeth as he kneels between my legs, and with trembling fingers I slide it on to him.

"Steady," he says. "You are going to unman me, Ana."

I marvel at what I can do to this man with my touch. He stretches out over me, and for now my doubts are pushed down and locked away in the dark, scary depths at the back of my mind. I'm intoxicated with this man, my man, my Fifty Shades. He shifts suddenly, completely taking me by surprise, so I am on top. Whoa.

"You - take me," he murmurs, his eyes glowing with a feral intensity.

Oh my, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, I sink down on to him. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes as he groans. I grab his hands and start to move, reveling in the fullness of my possession, reveling in his reaction, watching him unravel beneath me. I feel like a goddess. I lean down and kiss his chin, running my teeth along his stubbled jaw. He tastes delicious. He clasps my hips and steadies my rhythm, slow and easy.

"Ana, touch me... please."

Oh. I lean forward and steady myself with my hands on his chest. And he calls out, his cry almost a sob, and he thrusts deep inside me.

"Ahh," I whimper and run my fingernails gently over his chest, through the hair there, and he groans loudly and twists abruptly so I am once more beneath him.

"Enough." He moans. "No more, please." And it's a heartfelt plea.

Reaching up, I clasp his face in my hands, feeling the dampness on his cheeks, and pull him down to my lips so that I can kiss him. I curl my hands around his back.

He groans deep and low in his throat as he moves inside me, pushing me onward and upward, but I can't find my release. My head is too cloudy, cloudy with issues. I am too wrapped up in him.

"Let go, Ana," he urges me.

"No."

"Yes," he snarls. He shifts slightly and gyrates his hips, again and again.

Jeez... argh!

"Come on baby, I need this. Give it to me."

And I explode, my body a slave to his, and wrap myself around him, clinging to him like a vine as he cries out my name, and climaxes with me, then collapses, his full weight pressing me into the mattress.

I cradle Christian in my arms, his head on my chest, as we lie in the afterglow of our lovemaking. I run my fingers through his hair as I listen to his breathing return to normal.

"Don't ever leave me," he whispers, and I roll my eyes in the full knowledge that he can't see me.

"I know you're rolling your eyes at me," he murmurs, and I hear the trace of humor in his voice.

"You know me well," I murmur.

"I'd like to know you better."

"Back at you, Grey. What was your nightmare about?"

"The usual."

"Tell me."

He swallows and tenses before he sighs, a long drawn-out sigh. "I must be about three, and the crack whore's pimp is mad as hell again. He smokes and smokes, one cigarette after another, and he can't find an ashtray." He stops, and I freeze as a creeping chill grips my heart.

"It hurt," he says, "It's the pain I remember. That's what gives me nightmares. That and the fact that she did nothing to stop him."

Oh no. This is unbearable. I tighten my grip around him, my legs and arms holding him to me, and I try not to let my despair choke me. How could anyone treat a child like that?

He raises his head and pins me with his intense gray gaze.

"You're not like her. Don't ever think that. Please."

I blink back at him. It's very reassuring to hear. He puts his head on my chest again, and I think he's finished, but he surprises me by continuing.

"Sometimes in the dreams she's just lying on the floor. And I think she's asleep. But she doesn't move. She never moves. And I'm hungry. Really hungry."

Oh fuck.

"There's a loud noise and he's back, and he hits me so hard, cursing the crack whore.

His first reaction was always to use his fists or his belt."

"Is that why you don't like to be touched?"

He closes his eyes and hugs me tighter. "That's complicated," he murmurs. He nuzzles me between my breasts, inhaling deeply, trying to distract me.

"Tell me," I prompt.

He sighs. "She didn't love me. I didn't love me. The only touch I knew was... harsh.

It stemmed from there. Flynn explains it better than I can."

"Can I see Flynn?"

He raises his head to look at me. "Fifty Shades rubbing off on you?"

"And then some. I like how it's rubbing off at the moment." I wriggle provocatively underneath him and he smiles.

"Yes, Miss Steele, I like that, too." He leans up and kisses me. He gazes at me for a moment.

"You are so precious to me, Ana. I was serious about marrying you. We can get to know each other then. I can look after you. You can look after me. We can have kids if you want.

I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I want you, body and soul, forever. Please think about it."

"I will think about it, Christian. I will," I reassure him, reeling once more. Kids? Jeez.

"I'd really like to talk to Dr. Flynn, though, if you don't mind."

"Anything for you, baby. Anything. When would you like to see him?"

"Sooner rather than later."

"Okay. I'll make the arrangements in the morning." He glances at the clock. "It's late.

We should sleep." He shifts to switch off his bedside light and pulls me against him.

I glance at the alarm clock. Crap, it's three forty-five.

He curls his arms around me, his front to my back, and nuzzles my neck. "I love you, Ana Steele, and I want you by my side, always," he murmurs as he kisses my neck. "Now go to sleep."

I close my eyes.

Reluctantly, I open my heavy eyelids and bright light fills the room. I groan. I feel cloudy, disconnected from my leaden limbs, and Christian is wrapped around me like ivy.

I'm too warm as per usual. Surely it's just five in the morning. The alarm has not gone off yet. I stretch out to free myself from his heat, turning in his arms, and he mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep. I glance at the clock. Eight forty-five.

Shit, I'm going to be late. Fuck. I scramble out of bed and dash to the bathroom. I am showered and out within four minutes.

Christian sits up in bed watching me with ill-concealed amusement coupled with wari-ness as I continue to dry myself while gathering my clothes. Perhaps he's waiting for me to react to yesterday's revelations. Right now, I just don't have time.

I check my clothes - black slacks, black shirt - all a bit Mrs. R, but I don't have a second to change my mind. I hastily don black bra and panties, conscious that he's watching my every move. It's... unnerving. The panties and bra will do.

"You look good," Christian purrs from the bed. "You can call in sick, you know." He gives me his devastating, lopsided, one hundred and fifty percent panty-busting smile. Oh, he's so tempting. My inner goddess pouts provocatively at me.

"No, Christian, I can't. I am not a megalomaniac CEO with a beautiful smile who can come and go as he pleases."

"I like to come as I please." He smirks and cranks his glorious smile up another notch so it's in full Hd imax.

"Christian!" I scold. I throw my towel at him and he laughs.

"Beautiful smile, huh?"

"Yes. You know the effect you have on me." I put on my watch.

"Do I?" he blinks innocently.

"Yes, you do. The same effect you have on all women. Gets really tiresome watching them all swoon."

"Does it?" He cocks his eyebrow at me, more amused.

"Don't play the innocent, Mr. Grey, it really doesn't suit you," I mutter distractedly as I scoop my hair into a ponytail and pull on my black high-heeled shoes. There, that will do.

When I bend to kiss him good-bye, he grabs me and pulls me down onto the bed, leaning over me and smiling from ear to ear. Oh my. He's so beautiful - eyes bright with mischief, floppy just-fucked-again hair, that dazzling smile. Now he's playful.

I'm tired, still reeling from all the disclosures of yesterday, while he's bright as a button and sexy as fuck. Oh, exasperating Fifty.

"What can I do to tempt you to stay?" he says softly, and my heart skips a beat and begins to pound. He is temptation personified.

"You can't," I grumble, struggling to sit back up. "Let me go."

He pouts and I give up. Grinning, I trace my fingers over his sculptured lips - my Fifty Shades. I love him so in all his monumental fuckedupness. I haven't even begun to process yesterday's events and how I feel about them.

I lean up to kiss him, thankful that I have brushed my teeth. He kisses me long and hard and then swiftly sets me on my feet, leaving me dazed, breathless, and slightly wobbly.

"Taylor will take you. Quicker than finding somewhere to park. He's waiting outside the building," Christian says kindly, and he seems relieved. Is he worried about my reaction this morning? Surely last night - er, this morning - proved that I am not going to run.

"Okay. Thank you," I mutter, disappointed that I am upright on my feet, confused by his hesitancy, and vaguely irritated that once again I won't be driving my Saab. But he's right, of course - it will be quicker with Taylor.

"Enjoy your lazy morning, Mr. Grey. I wish I could stay, but the man who owns the company I work for would not approve of his staff ditching just for hot sex." I grab my purse.

"Personally, Miss Steele, I have no doubt that he would approve. In fact he might insist on it."

"Why are you staying in bed? It's not like you."

He folds his hands behind his head and grins at me.

"Because I can, Miss Steele."

I shake my head at him. "Laters, baby." I blow him a kiss, and I am out of the door.

Taylor is waiting for me, and he seems to understand that I am late because he drives like a bat out of hell to get me to work by nine fifteen. I am grateful when he pulls up at the curb - grateful to be alive - his driving was scary. And grateful that I am not hideously late - only fifteen minutes.

"Thank you, Taylor," I mutter, ashen-faced. I remember Christian telling me he drove tanks; maybe he drives for nascar, too.

"Ana." He nods a farewell, and I dash into my office, realizing as I open the door to reception that Taylor seems to have overcome the Miss Steele formality. It makes me smile.

Claire grins at me as I rush through reception and make my way to my desk.

"Ana!" Jack calls me. "Get in here."

Oh shit.

"What time do you call this?" he snaps.

"I'm sorry. I overslept." I flush crimson.

"Don't let it happen again. Fix me some coffee, and then I need you to do some letters.

Jump to it," he shouts, making me flinch.

Why's he so mad? What's his problem? What have I done? I hurry to the kitchen to fix his coffee. Maybe I should have ditched. I could be... well, doing something hot with Christian, or having breakfast with him, or just talking - that would be novel.

Jack barely acknowledges my presence when I venture back into his office to deliver his coffee. He thrusts a sheet of paper at me - it's handwritten in a barely legible scrawl.

"Type this up, have me sign, then copy and mail it to all our authors."

"Yes, Jack."

He doesn't look up as I leave. Boy, is he mad.

It is with some relief that I finally sit down at my desk. I take a sip of tea as I wait for my computer to boot up. I check my e-mails.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Missing you

Date: June 15, 2011 09:05

To: Anastasia Steele

Please use your Blackberry.

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: All Right for Some

Date: June 15, 2011 09:27

To: Christian Grey

My boss is mad.

I blame you for keeping me up late with your... shenanigans.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Shenaniwhatagans?

Date: June 15, 2011 09:32

To: Anastasia Steele

You don't have to work, Anastasia.

You have no idea how appalled I am at my shenanigans.

But I like keeping you up late ;)

Please use your Blackberry.

Oh, and marry me, please.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Living to make

Date: June 15, 2011 09:35

To: Christian Grey

I know your natural inclination is toward nagging, but just stop.

I need to talk to your shrink.

Only then will I give you my answer.

I am not opposed to living in sin.

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: BLACKBERRY

Date: June 15, 2011 09:40

To: Anastasia Steele

Anastasia, if you are going to start discussing Dr. Flynn then USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.

This is not a request.

Christian Grey,

Now Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh shit. Now he's mad at me, too. Well, he can stew for all I care. I take my Blackberry out of my purse and eye it with skepticism. As I do, it starts ringing. Can't he leave me alone?

"Yes," I snap.

"Ana, hi - "

"Jose! How are you?" Oh, it's good to hear his voice.

"I'm fine, Ana. Look, are you still seeing that Grey guy?"

"Er - yes... Why?" Where is he going with this?

"Well, he's bought all your photos, and I thought I could deliver them up to Seattle.

The exhibition closes Thursday, so I could bring them up Friday evening and drop them off, you know. And maybe we could catch a drink or something. Actually, I was hoping for a place to crash, too."

"Jose, that's cool. Yeah, I'm sure we could work something out. Let me talk to Christian and call you back, okay?"

"Cool, I'll wait to hear from you. Bye, Ana."

"Bye." And he's gone.

Holy cow. I haven't seen or heard from Jose since his show. I didn't even ask him how it went or if he sold any more pictures. Some friend I am.

So, I could spend the evening with Jose on Friday. How will Christian like that? I become aware that I am biting my lip till it hurts. Oh, that man has double standards. He can - I shudder at the thought - bathe his batshit ex-lover, but I will probably get a truck-load of grief for wanting to have a drink with Jose. How am I going to handle this?

"Ana!" Jack pulls me abruptly out of my reverie. Is he still mad? "Where's that letter?"

"Er - coming." Shit. What is eating him?

I type up his letter in double-quick time, print it out, and nervously make my way into his office.

"Here you go." I place it on his desk and turn to leave. Jack quickly casts his critical, piercing, eyes over it.

"I don't know what you're doing out there, but I pay you to work," he barks.

"I'm aware of that, Jack," I mutter apologetically. I feel a slow flush creep up my skin.

"This is full of mistakes," he snaps. "Do it again."

Fuck. He's beginning to sound like someone I know, but rudeness from Christian I can tolerate. Jack is beginning to piss me off.

"And get me another coffee while you're at it."

"Sorry," I whisper and scurry out of his office as quickly as I can.

Holy fuck. He's being unbearable. I sit back down at my desk, hastily redo his letter, which had two mistakes in it, and check it thoroughly before printing. Now it's perfect. I fetch him another coffee, letting Claire know with a roll of my eyes that I am in deep doo-doo. Taking a deep breath, I approach his office again.

"Better," he mumbles reluctantly as he signs the letter. "Photocopy it, file the original, and mail out to all authors. Understand?"

"Yes." I am not an idiot. "Jack, is there something wrong?"

He glances up, his blue eyes darkening as his gaze runs up and down my body. My blood chills.

"No." His answer is concise, rude, and dismissive. I stand there like the idiot I professed not to be and then shuffle back out of his office. Perhaps he too suffers from a personality disorder. Sheesh, I'm surrounded by them. I make my way to the photocopier - which of course is suffering from a paper jam - and when I've fixed it, I find it's out of paper. This is not my day.

When I am finally back at my desk, stuffing envelopes, my Blackberry buzzes. I can see through the glass wall that Jack is on the phone. I answer - it's Ethan.

"Hi, Ana. How'd it go last night?"

Last night. A quick montage of images flashes through my mind - Christian kneeling, his revelation, his proposal, macaroni and cheese, my weeping, his nightmare, the sex, touching him...

"Eh... fine," I mutter unconvincingly.

Ethan pauses and decides to collude in my denial. "Cool. Can I collect the keys?"

"Sure."

"I'll be over in about half an hour. Will you have time to grab a coffee?"

"Not today. I was late getting in, and my boss is like an angry bear with a sore head and poison ivy up his ass."

"Sounds nasty."

"Nasty and ugly." I giggle.

Ethan laughs and my mood lifts a little. "Okay. See you in thirty." He hangs up.

I glance up at Jack and he's staring at me. Oh shit. I studiously ignore him and continue to stuff envelopes.

Half an hour later my phone buzzes. It's Claire. "He's here again, in reception. The blond god."

Ethan is a joy to see after all the angst of yesterday and the bad temper my boss is inflicting on me today, but all too soon, he's saying his good-byes.

"Will I see you this evening?"

"I'll probably stay with Christian." I flush.

"You have got it bad," Ethan observes good-naturedly.

I shrug. That's not the half of it, and in that moment I realize, I have it more than bad.

I have it for life. And amazingly, Christian seems to feel the same. Ethan gives me a swift hug."Laters, Ana."

I return to my desk, wrestling with my realization. Oh, what I would do for a day on my own, to just think all this through.

"Where have you been?" Jack is suddenly looming over me.

"I had some business to attend to in reception." He is really getting on my nerves.

"I want my lunch. The usual," he says abruptly and stomps back into his office.

Why didn't I stay home with Christian? My inner goddess crosses her arms and purses her lips; she wants to know the answer to that one, too. Picking up my purse and my Blackberry, I head for the door. I check my messages.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Missing you

Date: June 15, 2011 09:06

To: Anastasia Steele

My bed is too big without you.

Looks like I'll have to go to work after all.

Even megalomaniac CEOs need something to do.

x

Christian Grey

Twiddling His Thumbs CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

And there's another from him, from earlier this morning.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Discretion

Date: June 15, 2011 09:50

To: Anastasia Steele

Is the better part of valor.

Please use discretion... your work e-mails are monitored.

HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THIS?

Yes. Shouty capitals as you say. USE YOUR BLACKBERRY.

Dr. Flynn can see us tomorrow evening.

x

Christian Grey

Still Pissed CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

And an even later one... Oh no.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Crickets

Date: June 15, 2011 12:15

To: Anastasia Steele

I haven't heard from you.

Please tell me you are okay.

You know how I worry.

I will send Taylor to check!

x

Christian Grey,

Over-Anxious CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I roll my eyes, and call him. I don't want him to worry.

"Christian Grey's phone, Andrea Parker speaking."

Oh. I am so disconcerted that it's not Christian who answers that it halts me in the street, and the young man behind me mutters angrily as he swerves to avoid bumping into me. I stand under the green awning of the deli.

"Hello? Can I help you?" Andrea fills the void of awkward silence.

"Sorry... Er... I was hoping to speak to Christian - "

"Mr. Grey is in a meeting at the moment." She bristles with efficiency. "Can I take a message?"

"Can you tell him Ana called?"

"Ana? As in Anastasia Steele?"

"Er... Yes." Her question confuses me.

"Hold one second please, Miss Steele."

I listen attentively as she puts the phone down, but I can't tell what's going on. A few seconds later Christian is on the line. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

I hear the quick release of his held breath. He's relieved.

"Christian, why wouldn't I be okay?" I whisper reassuringly.

"You're normally so quick at responding to my e-mails. After what I told you yesterday, I was worried," he says quietly, and then he's talking to someone in his office.

"No, Andrea. Tell them to wait," he says sternly. Oh, I know that tone of voice.

I can't hear Andrea's response.

"No. I said wait," he snaps.

"Christian, you're obviously busy. I only called to let you know that I'm okay, and I mean that - just very busy today. Jack has been cracking the whip. Er... I mean..." I flush and fall silent.

Christian says nothing for a moment.

"Cracking the whip, eh? Well, there was a time when I would have called him a lucky man." His voice is full of dry humor. "Don't let him get on top of you, baby."

"Christian!" I scold him and I know he's grinning.

"Just watch him, that's all. Look, I'm glad you're okay. What time shall I collect you?"

"I'll e-mail you."

"From your Blackberry," he says sternly.

"Yes, Sir," I snap back.

"Laters, baby."

"Bye..."

He's still hanging on.

"Hang up," I scold, smiling.

He sighs heavily down the phone. "I wish you'd never gone to work this morning."

"Me, too. But I am busy. Hang up."

"You hang up." I hear his smile. Oh, playful Christian. I love playful Christian.

Hmm... I love Christian, period.

"We've been here before."

"You're biting your lip."

Shit, he's right. How does he know?

"You see, you think I don't know you, Anastasia. But I know you better than you think," he murmurs seductively in that way that makes me weak, and wet.

"Christian, I'll talk to you later. Right now, I really wish I hadn't left this morning, too."

"I'll wait for your e-mail, Miss Steele."

"Good day, Mr. Grey."

Hanging up, I lean against the cold, hard glass of the deli store window. Oh my, even on the phone he owns me. Shaking my head to clear it of all thoughts Grey, I head into the deli, depressed by all thoughts Jack.

He is scowling when I get back.

"Is it okay if I take my lunch now?" I ask tentatively. He gazes up at me and his scowl deepens.

"If you must," he snaps. "Forty-five minutes. Make up the time you lost this morning."

"Jack, can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"You seem, kind of out of sorts today. Have I done something to offend you?"

He blinks at me momentarily. "I don't think I'm in the mood to list your misdemeanors right now. I'm busy." He continues to stare at his computer screen, effectively dismissing me. Whoa... What have I done?

I turn and leave his office, and for a moment I think I'm going to cry. Why has he taken such a sudden and intense dislike to me? A very unwelcome idea pops into my head, but I ignore it. I don't need his shit right now - I have enough of my own.

I head out of the building to the nearby Starbucks, order a latte, and sit down in the window. Taking my iPod from my purse, I plug my headphones in. I choose a song haphazardly and press repeat so it will play over and over again. I need music to think by.

My mind drifts. Christian the sadist. Christian the submissive. Christian the untouch-able. Christian's oedipal impulses. Christian bathing Leila. I groan and close my eyes while that last image haunts me.

Can I really marry this man? He's so much to take in. He's complex and difficult, but deep down I know I don't want to leave him despite all his issues. I could never leave him.

I love him. It would be like cutting off my right arm.

Right now, I have never felt so alive, so vital. I've encountered all manner of perplex-ing, profound feelings and new experiences since I met him. It's never a dull moment with Fifty.

Looking back on my life before Christian, it's as if everything was in black and white like Jose's pictures. Now my whole world is in rich, bright, saturated color. I am soaring in a beam of dazzling light, Christian's dazzling light. I am still Icarus, flying too close to his sun. I snort to myself. Flying with Christian - who can resist a man who can fly?

Can I give him up? Do I want to give him up? It's as if he's flipped a switch and lit me up from within. It's been an education knowing him. I have discovered more about myself in the last few weeks than ever before. I've learned about my body, my hard limits, my soft limits, my tolerance, my patience, my compassion, and my capacity for love.

And it strikes me like a thunderbolt - that's what he needs from me, what he's entitled to - unconditional love. He never received it from the crack whore - it's what he needs.

Can I love him unconditionally? Can I accept him for who he is regardless of his revelations last night?

I know he's damaged, but I don't think he's irredeemable. I sigh, recalling Taylor's words. "He's a good man, Miss Steele. "

I've seen the weighty evidence of his goodness - his charity work, his business ethics, his generosity - and yet he doesn't see it in himself. He doesn't feel deserving of any love.

Given his history and his predilections, I have an inkling of his self-loathing - that's why he's never let anyone in. Can I get past this?

He said once that I couldn't begin to understand the depths of his depravity. Well, he's told me now, and given the first few years of his life, it doesn't surprise me. Though it was still a shock to hear it out loud. At least he's told me - and he seems happier now that he has. I know everything.

Does it devalue his love for me? No, I don't think so. He's never felt this way before and neither have I. In truth we've both come so far.

Tears prick and pool in my eyes as I recall his final barriers crumbling last night when he let me touch him. Jeez, it took Leila and all her crazy to get us to there.

Perhaps I should be grateful. The fact that he bathed her is not quite such a bitter taste on my tongue now. I wonder which clothes he gave her. I hope it wasn't the plum dress. I liked that.

So can I love this man with all his issues unconditionally? Because he deserves nothing less. He still needs to learn boundaries and little things like empathy, and to be less controlling. He says he no longer feels the compulsion to hurt me; perhaps Dr. Flynn will be able to cast some light on that.

Fundamentally, that's what concerns me most - that he needs that and has always found like-minded women who need it, too. I frown. Yes, this is the reassurance I need. I want to be all things to this man, his Alpha and his Omega and all things in between because he is to me.

I hope Flynn will have the answers, and maybe then I can say yes. Christian and I can find our own slice of heaven close to the sun.

I gaze out at bustling, lunchtime Seattle. Mrs. Christian Grey - who would have thought? I glance at my watch. Shit! I leap up from my seat and dash to the door - a whole hour of just sitting - where did the time go? Jack is going to go ballistic!

I slink back to my desk. Fortunately, he's not in his office. It looks like I've got away with it. I gaze intently at my computer screen, unseeing, trying to reassemble my thoughts into work mode.

"Where were you?"

I jump. Jack is standing, arms folded, behind me.

"I was in the basement, photocopying," I lie. Jack lips press into a thin, uncompromising line.

"I'm leaving for my plane at six thirty. I need you to stay until then."

"Okay." I smile as sweetly as I can manage.

"I'd like my itinerary for New York printed out and photocopied ten times. And get the brochures packaged up. And get me some coffee!" he snarls and stalks into his office.

I breathe a sigh of relief and stick my tongue out at him as he closes the door. Bastard.

At four o'clock, Claire rings from reception.

"I have Mia Grey for you."

Mia? I hope she doesn't want to hang at the mall.

"Hi, Mia!"

"Ana, hi. How are you?" Her excitement is stifling.

"Good. Busy today. You?"

"I am so bored! I need to find something to do, so I'm arranging a birthday party for Christian."

Christian's birthday? Jeez, I had no idea. "When is it?"

"I knew it. I knew he wouldn't tell you. It's on Saturday. Mom and Dad want everyone over for a meal to celebrate. I'm officially inviting you."

"Oh, that's lovely. Thank you, Mia."

"I've already called Christian and told him, and he gave me your number here."

"Cool." My mind is in a flat spin - what the hell am I going to get Christian for his birthday? What do you buy the man who has everything?

"And maybe next week, we can go out one lunchtime?"

"Sure. How about tomorrow? My boss is away in New York."

"Oh, that would be cool, Ana. What time?"

"Say, twelve forty-five?"

"I'll be there. Bye, Ana."

"Bye." I hang up.

Christian. Birthday. What on earth should I get him?

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Antediluvian

Date: June 15, 2011 16:11

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

When, exactly, were you going to tell me?

What shall I get my old man for his birthday?

Perhaps some new batteries for his hearing aid?

A x

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Prehistoric

Date: June 15, 2011 16:20

To: Anastasia Steele

Don't mock the elderly.

Glad you are alive and kicking.

And that Mia has been in touch.

Batteries are always useful.

I don't like celebrating my birthday.

x

Christian Grey,

Deaf as a Post CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Hmmm.

Date: June 15, 2011 16:24

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

I can imagine you pouting as you wrote that last sentence.

That does things to me.

A xox

Anastasia Steele

Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Rolling Eyes

Date: June 15, 2011 16:29

To: Anastasia Steele

Miss Steele

WILL YOU USE YOUR BLACKBERRY!!!

x

Christian Grey

Twitchy Palmed, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I roll my eyes. Why is he so touchy about e-mails?

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Inspiration

Date: June 15, 2011 16:33

To: Christian Grey

Dear Mr. Grey

Ah... your twitchy palms can't stay still for long, can they?

I wonder what Dr. Flynn would say about that?

But now I know what to give you for your birthday - and I hope it makes me sore...

;)

A x

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Angina

Date: June 15, 2011 16:38

To: Anastasia Steele

Miss Steele

I don't think my heart could stand the strain of another e-mail like that, or my pants for that matter.

Behave.

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Trying

Date: June 15, 2011 16:42

To: Christian Grey

Christian

I am trying to work for my very trying boss.

Please stop bothering me and being trying yourself.

Your last e-mail nearly made me combust.

xPS: Can you collect me at 6:30?

From: Christian Grey

Subject: I'll Be There

Date: June 15, 2011 16:38

To: Anastasia Steele

Nothing would give me greater pleasure.

Actually, I can think of any of number of things that would give me greater pleasure, and they all involve you.

x

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I flush reading his response and shake my head. E-mail banter is all well and good, but we really need to talk. Perhaps once we've seen Flynn. I put my Blackberry down and finish my petty cash reconciliation.

By six fifteen, the office is deserted. I have everything ready for Jack. His cab to the airport is booked, and I just have to hand him his documents. I glance anxiously through the glass, but he's still deep in his telephone call, and I don't want to interrupt him - not in the mood he's in today.

As I wait for him to finish, it occurs to me that I have not eaten today. Oh shit, that's not going to go down well with Fifty. I quickly skip down to the kitchen to see if there are any cookies left.

As I'm opening the communal cookie jar, Jack appears unexpectedly in the kitchen doorway, startling me.

Oh. What's he doing here?

He stares at me. "Well, Ana, I think this might be a good time to discuss your misdemeanors." He steps in, closing the door behind him, and my mouth instantly dries as alarm bells ring loud and piercing in my head.

Oh fuck.

His lips twitch into a grotesque smile, and his eyes gleam a deep, dark cobalt. "At last, I have you on your own," he says, and he slowly licks his lower lip.

What?

"Now... are you going to be a good girl and listen very carefully to what I say?"

Chapter Fourteen

Christian on his knees at my feet, holding me with his steady gray gaze, is the most chilling and sobering sight I have ever seen - more so than Leila and her gun. The vague alcoholic fuzziness I'm suffering from evaporates in an instant and is replaced by a prickling scalp and a creeping sense of doom as the blood drains from my face.

I inhale sharply with shock. No. No, this is wrong, so wrong and so disturbing.

"Christian, please, don't do this. I don't want this."

He continues to regard me passively, not moving, saying nothing.

Oh fuck. My poor Fifty. My heart squeezes and twists. What the hell have I done to him? Tears prick my eyes.

"Why are you doing this? Talk to me," I whisper.

He blinks once.

"What would you like me to say?" he says softly, blandly, and for a moment I'm relieved that he's talking, but not like this - no. No.

Tears begin to ooze down my cheeks, and suddenly it is too much to see him in the same prostrate position as the pathetic creature that was Leila. The image of a powerful man who's really still a little boy, who was horrifically abused and neglected, who feels unworthy of love from his perfect family and his much-less-than perfect girlfriend... my lost boy... it's heartbreaking.

Compassion, loss, and despair all swell in my heart, and I feel a choking sense of desperation. I am going to have to fight to bring him back, to bring back my Fifty.

The thought of me dominating anyone is appalling. The thought of dominating Christian is nauseating. It would make me like her - the woman who did this to him.

I shudder at that thought, fighting the bile in my throat. No way can I do that. No way do I want that.

As my thoughts clear, I can see only one way. Not taking my eyes off his, I sink to my knees in front of him.

The wooden floor is hard against my shins, and I dash my tears away roughly with the back of my hand.

Like this, we are equals. We're on a level. This is the only way I'm going to retrieve him.His eyes widen fractionally as I stare up at him, but beyond that his expression and stance don't change.

"Christian, you don't have to do this," I plead. "I'm not going to run. I've told you and told you and told you, I won't run." All that's happened... it's overwhelming. I just need some time to think... some time to myself. Why do you always assume the worst?" My heart clenches again because I know; it's because he's so doubting, so full of self-loathing.

Elena's words come back to haunt me. "Does she know how negative you are about yourself? About all your issues?"

Oh, Christian. Fear grips my heart once more and I start babbling, "I was going to suggest going back to my apartment this evening. You never give me any time... time to just think things through," I sob, and a ghost of a frown crosses his face. "Just time to think. We barely know each other, and all this baggage that comes with you... I need... I need time to think it through. And now that Leila is... well, whatever she is... she's off the streets and not a threat... I thought... I thought..." My voice trails off and I stare at him. He regards me intently and I think he's listening

"Seeing you with Leila..." I close my eyes as the painful memory of his interaction with his ex-sub gnaws at me anew. "It was such a shock. I had a glimpse into how your life has been... and..." I gaze down at my knotted fingers, tears still trickling down my cheeks. "This is about me not being good enough for you. It was an insight into your life, and I am so scared you'll get bored with me, and then you'll go... and I'll end up like Leila... a shadow. Because I love you, Christian, and if you leave me, it will be like a world without light. I'll be in darkness. I don't want to run. I'm just so frightened you'll leave me..."

I realize as I say these words to him - in the hope that he's listening - what my real problem is. I just don't get why he likes me. I have never understood why he likes me.

"I don't understand why you find me attractive," I murmur. "You're, well, you're you... and I'm..." I shrug and gaze up at him. "I just don't see it. You're beautiful and sexy and successful and good and kind and caring - all those things - and I'm not. And I can't do the things you like to do. I can't give you what you need. How could you be happy with me? How can I possibly hold you?" My voice is a whisper as I express my darkest fears. "I have never understood what you see in me. And seeing you with her, it brought all that home." I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand, gazing at his impassive expression.

Oh, he's so exasperating. Talk to me, damn it!

"Are you going to kneel here all night? Because I'll do it, too," I snap at him.

I think his expression softens - maybe he looks vaguely amused. But it's so hard to tell.

I could reach across and touch him, but this would be a gross abuse of the position he's put me in. I don't want that, but I don't know what he wants, or what he's trying to say to me. I just don't understand.

"Christian, please, please... talk to me," I beseech him, wringing my hands in my lap.

I am uncomfortable on my knees, but I continue to kneel, staring into his serious, beautiful, gray eyes, and I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

"Please," I beg once more.

His intense gaze darkens suddenly and he blinks.

"I was so scared," he whispers.

Oh, thank the Lord! Inside, my subconscious staggers back into her armchair, sagging with relief, and takes a large swig of gin.

He's talking! Gratitude overwhelms me, and I swallow, trying to contain my emotion and the fresh bout of tears that threatens.

His voice is soft and low. "When I saw Ethan arrive outside, I knew someone had let you into your apartment. Both Taylor and I leapt out of the car. We knew and to see her there like that with you - and armed. I think I died a thousand deaths, Ana. Someone threatening you... all my worst fears realized. I was so angry, with her, with you, with Taylor, with myself."

He shakes his head revealing his agony. "I didn't know how volatile she would be. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how she'd react." He stops and frowns. "And then she gave me a clue; she looked so contrite. And I just knew what I had to do." He pauses, gazing at me, trying to gauge my reaction.

"Go on," I whisper.

He swallows. "Seeing her in that state, knowing that I might have something to do with her mental breakdown..." He closes his eyes once more. "She was always so mischievous and lively." He shudders and takes a rasping breath, almost like a sob. This is torture to listen to, but I kneel, attentive, lapping up this insight.

"She might have harmed you. And it would have been my fault." His eyes drift off, filled with uncomprehending horror, and he's silent once more.

"But she didn't," I whisper. "And you weren't responsible for her being in that state, Christian." I blink up at him, encouraging him to continue.

Then it dawns on me afresh that everything he did was to keep me safe, and perhaps Leila, too, because he also cares for her. But how much does he care for her? The question lingers in my head, unwelcome. He says he loves me, but then he was so harsh, throwing me out of my own apartment.

"I just wanted you gone," he murmurs, with his uncanny ability to read my thoughts.

"I wanted you away from the danger, and... You. Just. Wouldn't. Go," he hisses through clenched teeth and shakes his head. His exasperation is palpable.

He gazes at me intently. "Anastasia Steele, you are the most stubborn woman I know."

He closes his eyes and shakes his head once more in disbelief.

Oh, he's back. I breathe a long, cleansing sigh of relief.

He opens his eyes again, and his expression is forlorn - sincere. "You weren't going to run?" he asks.

"No! "

He closes his eyes again and his whole body relaxes. When he opens his eyes, I can see his pain and anguish.

"I thought - " He stops. "This is me, Ana. All of me... and I'm all yours. What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you."

"I love you, too, Christian, and to see you like this is..." I choke and my tears start afresh. "I thought I'd broken you."

"Broken? Me? Oh no, Ana. Just the opposite." He reaches out and takes my hand.

"You're my lifeline," he whispers, and he kisses my knuckles before pressing my palm against his.

With his eyes wide and full of fear, he gently tugs my hand and places it on his chest over his heart - in the forbidden zone. His breathing quickens. His heart is beating a frantic, pounding tattoo beneath my fingers. He doesn't take his eyes off mine; his jaw is tense, his teeth clenched.

I gasp. Oh my Fifty! He's letting me touch him. And it's like all the air in my lungs has vaporized - gone. The blood is pounding in my ears as the rhythm of my heart rises to match his.

He releases my hand, leaving it in place over his heart. I flex my fingers slightly, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He's holding his breath. I can't bear it. I make to move my hand.

"No," he says quickly and places his hand once more over mine, pressing my fingers against him. "Don't."

Emboldened by these two words, I shuffle closer so our knees are touching and tentatively raise my other hand so that he knows exactly what I intend to do. His eyes grow wider but he doesn't stop me.

Gently I start to undo the buttons on his shirt. It's tricky with one hand. I flex my fingers beneath his hand and he lets go, allowing me to use both hands to undo his shirt. My eyes don't leave his as I pull his shirt open, revealing his chest.

He swallows, and his lips part as his breathing increases, and I sense his rising panic, but he doesn't pull away. Is he still in sub mode? I have no idea.

Should I do this? I don't want to hurt him, physically or mentally. The sight of him like this, offering himself to me, has been a wake-up call.

I reach up, and my hand hovers over his chest, and I stare at him... asking his permission. Very subtly he tilts his head to one side, steeling himself in anticipation of my touch, and the tension radiates from him, but this time it's not in anger - it's in fear.

I hesitate. Can I really do this to him?

"Yes," he breathes - again with the weird ability to answer my unspoken questions.

I extend my fingertips into his chest hair and lightly brush them down his sternum. He closes his eyes, and his face creases as if he's experiencing intolerable pain. It's unbearable to witness, so I lift my fingers immediately, but he quickly grabs my hand and replaces it firmly, flat on his bare chest so that the hair tickles my palm.

"No," he says, his voice strained. "I need to."

His eyes are screwed up so tightly. This must be agony. It's truly tormenting to watch.

Carefully I let my fingers stroke across his chest to his heart, marveling at the feel of him, terrified that this is a step too far.

He opens his eyes, and they are gray fire, blazing at me.

Holy cow. His look is blistering, feral, beyond intense, and his breathing is rapid. It stirs my blood. I squirm under his gaze.

He hasn't stopped me, so I run my fingertips across his chest again, and his mouth goes slack. He's panting, and I don't know if it's from fear, or something else.

I've wanted to kiss him there for so long that I lean up on my knees and hold his gaze for a moment, making my intention perfectly clear. Then I bend and gently plant a soft kiss above his heart, feeling his warm, sweet-smelling skin beneath my lips.

His strangled groan moves me so much that I sit back on my heels, fearful of what I'll see on his face. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, but he hasn't moved.

"Again," he whispers, and I lean into his chest once more, this time to kiss one of his scars. He gasps, and I kiss another and another. He groans loudly, and suddenly his arms are around me, and his hand is in my hair, pulling my head up painfully so that my lips meet his insistent mouth. And we're kissing, my fingers knotting into his hair.

"Oh, Ana," he breathes, and he twists and pulls me down on to the floor so that I am underneath him. I bring my hands up to cup his beautiful face, and in that moment, I feel his tears.

He's crying... no. No!

"Christian, please, don't cry. I meant it when I said I'd never leave you. I did. If I gave you any other impression, I'm so sorry... please, please forgive me. I love you. I will always love you."

He looms over me, gazing down into my face, and his expression is so pained.

"What is it?"

His eyes grow larger.

"What is this secret that makes you think I'll run for the hills? That makes you so determined to believe I'll go?" I plead, my voice tremulous. "Tell me, Christian, please... "

He sits up, though this time he crosses his legs and I follow suit, my legs outstretched.

Vaguely I wonder if we can get off the floor? But I don't want to interrupt his train of thought. He's finally going to confide in me.

He gazes down at me, and he looks utterly desolate. Oh shit - it's bad.

"Ana..." He pauses, searching for the words, his expression pained... Oh? Where the hell is this going?

He takes a deep breath and swallows. "I'm a sadist, Ana. I like to whip little brown-haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore - my birth mother. I'm sure you can guess why." He says it in a rush as if he's had the sentence in his head for days and days and is desperate to be rid of it.

My world stops. Oh no.

This is not what I expected. This is bad. Really bad. I gaze at him, trying to understand the implication of what he's just said. It does explain why we all look the same.

My immediate thought is that Leila was right - "Master is dark. "

I recall the first conversation I had with him about his tendencies when we were in the Red Room of Pain.

"You said you weren't a sadist," I whisper, desperately trying to understand... make some excuse for him.

"No, I said I was a Dominant. If I lied to you, it was a lie of omission. I'm sorry." He looks briefly down at his manicured fingernails.

I think he's mortified. Mortified about lying to me? Or about what he is?

"When you asked me that question, I had envisioned a very different relationship between us," he murmurs. I can tell by his gaze that he's terrified.

Then it hits me like a wrecking ball. If he's a sadist, he really needs all that whipping and caning shit. Oh fuck. I put my head in my hands.

"So it's true," I whisper, glancing up at him. "I can't give you what you need." This is it - this really does mean we are incompatible.

The world starts falling away at my feet, collapsing around me as panic grips my throat. This is it. We can't do this.

He frowns. "No, No, No. Ana. No. You can. You do give me what I need." He clenches his fists. "Please believe me," he murmurs, his words an impassioned plea.

"I don't know what to believe, Christian. This is so fucked-up," I whisper, my throat hoarse and aching as it closes in, choking me with unshed tears.

His eyes are wide and luminous when he looks at me again.

"Ana, believe me. After I punished you and you left me, my worldview changed. I wasn't joking when I said I would avoid ever feeling like that again." He gazes at me with pained entreaty. "When you said you loved me, it was a revelation. No one's ever said it to me before, and it was as if I'd laid something to rest - or maybe you'd laid it to rest, I don't know. Dr. Flynn and I are still in deep discussion about it."

Oh. Hope flares briefly in my heart. Perhaps we'll be okay. I want us to be okay. Don't I? "What does that all mean?" I whisper.

"It means I don't need it. Not now."

What? "How do you know? How can you be so sure?"

"I just know. The thought of hurting you... in any real way... it's abhorrent to me."

"I don't understand. What about rulers and spanking and all that kinky fuckery?"

He runs a hand through his hair and almost smiles but instead sighs ruefully. "I'm talking about the heavy shit, Anastasia. You should see what I can do with a cane or a cat."

My mouth drops open, stunned. "I'd rather not."

"I know. If you wanted to do that, then fine... but you don't and I get it. I can't do all that shit with you if you don't want to. I told you once before, you have all the power. And now, since you came back, I don't feel that compulsion, at all."

I gape at him for a moment trying to take this all in. "When we met, that's what you wanted, though?"

"Yes, undoubtedly."

"How can your compulsion just go, Christian? Like I'm some kind of panacea, and you're - for want of a better word - cured? I don't get it."

He sighs once more. "I wouldn't say cured... You don't believe me?"

"I just find it - unbelievable. Which is different."

"If you'd never left me, then I probably wouldn't feel this way. You walking out on me was the best thing you ever did... for us. It made me realize how much I want you, just you, and I mean it when I say I'll take you any way I can have you."

I gaze at him. Can I believe this? My head hurts just trying to think this all through, and deep down I feel... numb.

"You're still here. I thought you would be out of the door by now," he whispers.

"Why? Because I might think you're a sicko for whipping and fucking women who look like your mother? Whatever would give you that impression?" I hiss at him, lashing out.He blanches at my harsh words.

"Well, I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yes," he says, his eyes wide and hurt.

His expression is sobering and I regret my outburst. I frown, feeling a pang of guilt.

Oh, what am I going to do? I gaze at him and he looks contrite, sincere... he looks like my Fifty.

And unbidden I recall the photograph in his childhood bedroom, and in that moment realize why the woman in it looked so familiar. She looked like him. She must have been his biological mother.

His easy dismissal of her comes to mind: No one of consequence... She's responsible for all this... and I look like her... Fuck!

He stares at me, eyes raw, and I know he's waiting for my next move. He seems genuine. He's said he loves me, but I'm really confused.

This is all so fucked-up. He's reassured me about Leila, but now I know with more certainty than ever how she was able to give him his kicks. The thought is wearying and unpalatable. I am so tired of all this.

"Christian, I'm exhausted. Can we discuss this tomorrow? I want to go to bed."

He blinks at me in surprise. "You're not going?"

"Do you want me to go?"

"No! I thought you would leave once you knew."

All the times he's alluded to me leaving once I knew his darkest secrets flash through my mind... and now I know. Shit. Master is dark.

Should I leave? I gaze at him, this crazy man that I love, yes love.

Can I leave him? I left him once before, and it nearly broke me... and him. I love him.

I know that in spite of this revelation.

"Don't leave me," he whispers.

"Oh, for crying out loud -  no! I am not going to go!" I shout and it's cathartic. There, I've said it. I am not leaving.

"Really?" His eyes widen.

"What can I do to make you understand I will not run? What can I say?"

He gazes at me, revealing his fear and anguish again. He swallows. "There is one thing you can do."

"What?" I snap.

"Marry me," he whispers.

What? Did he really just -

For the second time in less than half an hour my world stops.

Holy fuck. I stare at the deeply fucked-up man I love. I can't believe what he's just said.

Marriage? He's proposing marriage? Is he kidding? I can't help it - a small, nervous, disbelieving giggle erupts from deep inside. I bite my lip to stop it from turning into full-scale hysterical laughter and fail miserably. I lie back flat on the floor and surrender myself to the laughter, laughing as I've never laughed before, huge healing cathartic howls of laughter.

And for a moment I am on my own, looking down at this absurd situation, a giggling, overwhelmed girl beside a beautiful fucked-up boy. I drape my arm across my eyes, as my laughter turns to scalding tears. No, no... this is too much.

As the hysteria subsides, Christian gently lifts my arm off my face. I turn and gaze up at him.

He's leaning over me. His mouth is twisted with wry amusement, but his eyes are a burning gray, maybe wounded. Oh no.

He gently wipes away a stray tear with the back of his knuckles. "You find my proposal amusing, Miss Steele?"

Oh, Fifty! Reaching up, I caress his cheek tenderly, enjoying the feel of the stubble beneath my fingers. Lord, I love this man.

"Mr. Grey... Christian. Your sense of timing is without doubt..." I gaze up at him as words fail me.

He smirks at me, but the crinkling around his eyes shows me that he's hurt. It's sobering."You're cutting me to the quick here, Ana. Will you marry me?"

I sit up and lean over him, placing my hands on his knees. I stare into his lovely face.

"Christian, I've met your psycho ex with a gun, been thrown out of my apartment, had you go thermonuclear Fifty on me - "

He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand. He obediently shuts his mouth.

"You've just revealed some, quite frankly, shocking information about yourself, and now you've asked me to marry you."

He moves his head from side to side as if considering the facts. He's amused. Thank heavens.

"Yes, I think that's a fair and accurate summary of the situation," he says dryly.

I shake my head at him. "Whatever happened to delayed gratification?"

"I got over it, and I'm now a firm advocate of instant gratification. Carpe diem, Ana,"

he whispers.

"Look Christian, I've known you for about three minutes, and there's so much more I need to know. I've had too much to drink, I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I want to go to bed.

I need to consider your proposal just as I considered that contract you gave me. And" - I press my lips together to show my displeasure but also to lighten the mood between us -

"that wasn't the most romantic proposal."

He tilts his head to one side and his lips quirk up in a smile. "Fair point well made, as ever, Miss Steele," he breathes, his voice laced with relief. "So that's not a no?"

I sigh. "No, Mr. Grey, it's not a no, but it's not a yes either. You're only doing this because you're scared, and you don't trust me."

"No, I'm doing this because I've finally met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Oh. My heart skips a beat and inside I melt. How is it that in the middle of the most fucked-up situations he can say the most romantic things? My mouth pops open in shock.

"I never thought that would happen to me," he continues, his expression radiating pure undiluted sincerity.

I gape at him, searching for the right words.

"Can I think about it... please? And think about everything else that's happened today? What you've just told me? You asked for patience and faith. Well, back at you, Grey.

I need those now."

His eyes search mine and after a beat, he leans forward and tucks my hair behind my ear. "I can live with that." He kisses me quickly on the lips. "Not very romantic, eh?" He raises his eyebrows, and I give him an admonishing shake of my head. "Hearts and flowers?" he asks softly.

I nod and he gives me a slight smile.

"You're hungry?"

"Yes."

"You didn't eat." His eyes frost and his jaw hardens.

"No, I didn't eat." I sit back on my heels and regard him passively. "Being thrown out of my apartment after witnessing my boyfriend interacting intimately with his ex-submissive considerably suppressed my appetite." I glare at him and fist my hands on my hips.

Christian shakes his head and rises gracefully to his feet . Oh, finally we can get off the floor. He holds his hand out to me.

"Let me fix you something to eat," he says.

"Can't I just go to bed?" I mutter wearily as I place my hand in his.

He pulls me up. I am stiff. He gazes down at me, his expression soft.

"No, you need to eat. Come." Bossy Christian is back, and it's a relief.

He leads me to the kitchen area and ushers me toward a bar stool as he heads to the fridge. I glance at my watch. Jeez, nearly eleven thirty and I have to get up for work in the morning.

"Christian, I'm really not hungry."

He studiously ignores me as he ferrets through the enormous fridge. "Cheese?" he asks."Not at this hour."

"Pretzels?"

"In the fridge? No," I snap.

He turns and grins at me. "You don't like pretzels?"

"Not at eleven thirty. Christian, I'm going to bed. You can rummage around in your refrigerator for the rest of the night if you want. I'm tired, and I've had far too interesting a day. A day I'd like to forget." I slide off the stool and he scowls at me, but right now I don't care. I want to go to bed - I'm exhausted.

"Macaroni and cheese?" He holds up a white bowl lidded with foil. He looks so hopeful and endearing.

"You like macaroni and cheese?" I ask.

He nods enthusiastically, and my heart melts. He looks so young all of a sudden. Who would have thought? Christian Grey likes nursery food.

"You want some?" he asks, sounding hopeful. I can't resist him and I'm hungry.

I nod and give him a weak smile. His answering grin is breathtaking. He takes the foil off the bowl and pops it into the microwave. I perch back on the stool and watch the beauty that is Mr. Christian Grey - the man who wants to marry me - move gracefully and with ease around his kitchen.

"So you know how to use the microwave then?" I tease softly.

"If it's in a packet, I can usually do something with it. It's real food I have a problem with."

I cannot believe this is the same man who was on his knees in front of me not half an hour before. He's his usual mercurial self. He sets out plates, cutlery, and placemats on the breakfast bar.

"It's very late," I mutter.

"Don't go to work tomorrow."

"I have to go to work tomorrow. My boss is leaving for New York."

Christian frowns. "Do you want to go there this weekend?"

"I checked the weather forecast, and it looks like rain," I say, shaking my head.

"Oh, so what do you want to do?"

The microwave's ping announces that our supper is warmed through.

"I just want to get through one day at a time at the moment. All this excitement is...

tiring." I raise an eyebrow at him, which he judiciously ignores.

Christian places the white bowl in between our place settings and takes his seat beside me. He looks deep in thought, distracted. I dish the macaroni onto our plates. It smells divine, and my mouth waters in anticipation. I am famished.

"Sorry about Leila," he murmurs.

"Why are you sorry?" Mmm, the macaroni tastes as good as it smells. My stomach grumbles gratefully.

"It must have been a terrible shock for you, finding her in your apartment. Taylor swept it earlier himself. He's very upset."

"I don't blame Taylor."

"Neither do I. He's been out looking for you."

"Really? Why?"

"I didn't know where you were. You left your purse, your phone. I couldn't even track you. Where did you go?" he asks. His voice is soft, but there's an ominous undercurrent to his words.

"Ethan and I just went to a bar across the street. So I could watch what was happening."

"I see." The atmosphere between us has changed subtly. It's no longer light.

Okay, well... two can play that game. Let's just bring this back to you, Fifty. Trying to sound nonchalant, wanting to assuage my burning curiosity but dreading the answer, I ask,

"So what did you do with Leila in the apartment?"

I glance up at him, and he freezes with his forkful of macaroni suspended in midair.

Oh no, that's not good.

"You really want to know?"

A knot tightens in my gut and my appetite vanishes. "Yes," I whisper. Do you? Do you really? My subconscious has thrown her empty bottle of gin on the floor and is sitting up in her armchair, glaring at me in horror.

Christian's mouth flattens into a line, and he hesitates. "We talked, and I gave her a bath." His voice is hoarse, and he continues quickly when I make no response. "And I dressed her in some of your clothes. I hope you don't mind. But she was filthy."

Holy fuck. He bathed her?

What an inappropriate thing to do. I'm reeling, staring down at my uneaten macaroni.

The sight of it now makes me nauseous.

Try to rationalize this, my subconscious coaches. That cool, intellectual part of my brain knows that he just did that because she was dirty, but it's too hard. My fragile jealous self can't bear it.

Suddenly I want to cry - not succumb to ladylike tears that trickle decorously down my cheeks, but howling at the moon crying. I take a deep breath to suppress the urge, but my throat is arid and uncomfortable from my unshed tears and sobs.

"It was all I could do, Ana," he says softly.

"You still have feelings for her?"

"No!" he says, appalled, and closes his eyes, his expression one of anguish. I turn away, staring once more at my nauseating food. I can't bear to look at him.

"To see her like that - so different, so broken. I care about her, one human being to another." He shrugs as if to shake off an unpleasant memory. Jeez, is he expecting my sympathy?

"Ana, look at me."

I can't. I know that if I do, I will burst into tears. This is just too much to absorb. I'm like an overflowing tank of gasoline - full, beyond capacity. There is no room for any more. I simply cannot cope with any more crap. I will combust and explode, and it will be ugly if I try. Jeez!

Christian caring for his ex-sub in such an intimate fashion - the image flashes through my brain. Bathing her, for fuck's sake - naked. A harsh, painful shudder wracks my body.

"Ana."

"What?"

"Don't. It doesn't mean anything. It was like caring for a child, a broken, shattered child," he mutters.

What the hell would he know about caring for a child? This was a woman he had a very full-on, deviant sexual relationship with.

Oh, this hurts. I take a deep, steadying breath. Or perhaps he's referring to himself.

He's the broken child. That makes more sense... or maybe it makes no sense at all. Oh, this is so fucked-up, and suddenly I'm bone crushingly tired. I need sleep.

"Ana?"

I stand, take my plate to the sink, and scrape the contents into the trash.

"Ana, please."

I whirl around and face him. "Just stop, Christian! Just stop with the 'Ana, please'!" I shout at him, and my tears start to trickle down my face. "I've had enough of all this shit today. I am going to bed. I am tired and emotional. Now let me be."

I turn on my heel and practically run to the bedroom, taking with me the memory of his wide-eyed, shocked stare. Nice to know I can shock him, too. I strip out of my clothes in double-quick time, and after rifling through his chest of drawers, drag on one of his T-shirts and head for the bathroom.

I gaze at myself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the gaunt, pink-eyed, blotchy-cheeked harridan staring back at me, and it's too much. I sink to the floor and surrender to the overwhelming emotion I can no longer contain, sobbing huge chest-wrenching sobs, finally letting my tears flow unrestrained.