Fifty Shades of Grey, Page 35

  I feel some of the tension leaving my shoulders. Jeez, what a day. I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. After a brief conversation with Taylor, Christian clambers into the car beside me. He turns to face me.

  “Well, it seems my family likes you, too,” he murmurs.

  Too? The depressing thought about how I came to be invited pops unbidden and very unwelcome into my head. Taylor starts the car and heads away from the circle of light in the driveway to the darkness of the road. I gaze at Christian, and he’s staring at me.

  “What?” he asks, his voice quiet.

  I flounder momentarily. No – I’ll tell him. He’s always complaining that I don’t talk to him.

  “I think that you felt trapped into bringing me to meet your parents.” My voice is soft and hesitant. “If Elliot hadn’t asked Kate, you’d never have asked me.” I can’t see his face in the dark, but he tilts his head, gaping at me.

  “Anastasia, I’m delighted that you’ve met my parents. Why are you so filled with self-doubt? It never ceases to amaze me. You’re such a strong, self-contained young woman, but you have such negative thoughts about yourself. If I hadn’t wanted you to meet them, you wouldn’t be here. Is that how you were feeling the whole time you were there?”

  Oh! He wanted me there – and it’s a revelation. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable answering me as he would if he were hiding the truth. He seems genuinely pleased that I’m here… a warm glow spreads slowly through my veins. He shakes his head and reaches for my hand. I glance nervously at Taylor.

  “Don’t worry about Taylor. Talk to me.”

  I shrug.

  “Yes. I thought that. And another thing, I only mentioned Georgia because Kate was talking about Barbados – I haven’t made up my mind.”

  “Do you want to go and see your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  He looks oddly at me, like he’s having some internal struggle.

  “Can I come with you?” he asks eventually.

  What!?

  “Erm… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was hoping for a break from all this… intensity to try and think things through.”

  He stares at me.

  “I’m too intense?”

  I burst out laughing.

  “That’s putting it mildly!”

  In the light of the passing street lamps, I see his lips quirk up.

  “Are you laughing at me, Miss Steele?”

  “I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Grey,” I reply with mock seriousness.

  “I think you dare, and I think you do laugh at me, frequently.”

  “You are quite funny.”

  “Funny?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Funny peculiar or funny ha ha?”

  “Oh… a lot of one and some of the other.”

  “Which way round?”

  “I’ll leave you to figure that out.”

  “I’m not sure if I can figure anything out around you, Anastasia,” he says sardonically, and then continues quietly, “What do you need to think about in Georgia?”

  “Us,” I whisper.

  He stares at me, impassive.

  “You said you’d try,” he murmurs.

  “I know.”

  “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “Possibly.”

  He shifts as if uncomfortable.

  “Why?”

  Holy crap. How did this suddenly become such an intense and meaningful conversation? It’s been sprung on me, like an exam that I’m not prepared for. What do I say? Because I think I love you, and you just see me as a toy. Because I can’t touch you, because I’m too frightened to show you any affection in case you flinch or tell me off or worse –

  beat me? What can I say?

  I stare momentarily out of the window. The car is heading back across the bridge. We are both shrouded in darkness, masking our thoughts and feelings, but we don’t need the night for that.

  “Why, Anastasia?” Christian presses me for an answer.

  I shrug, trapped. I don’t want to lose him. In spite of all his demands, his need to control, his scary vices. I have never felt as alive as I do now. It’s a thrill to be sitting here beside him. He’s so unpredictable, sexy, smart, and funny. But his moods… oh – and he wants to hurt me. He says he’ll think about my reservations, but it still scares me. I close my eyes. What can I say? Deep down I would just like more, more affection, more playful Christian, more… love.

  He squeezes my hand.

  “Talk to me, Anastasia. I don’t want to lose you. This last week… ” He trails off.

  We’re coming near to the end of the bridge, and the road is once more bathed in the neon light of the street lamps so his face is intermittently in the light and the dark. And it’s such a fitting metaphor. This man, whom I once thought of as a romantic hero – a brave shining white knight, or the dark knight as he said. He’s not a hero, he’s a man with serious, deep emotional flaws, and he’s dragging me into the dark. Can I not guide him into the light?

  “I still want more,” I whisper.

  “I know,” he says. “I’ll try.”

  I blink up at him, and he relinquishes my hand and pulls at my chin, releasing my trapped lip.

  “For you, Anastasia, I will try.” He’s radiating sincerity.

  And that’s my cue. I unbuckle my seatbelt, reach across, and clamber into his lap, taking him completely by surprise. Wrapping my arms around his head, I kiss him, long and hard, and in a nanosecond, he’s responding.

  “Stay with me, tonight,” he breathes. “If you go away, I won’t see you all week.

  Please.”

  “Yes,” I acquiesce. “And I’ll try too. I’ll sign your contract.” And it’s a spur of the moment decision.

  He gazes down at me.

  “Sign after Georgia. Think about it. Think about it hard, baby.”

  “I will.” And we sit in silence for a mile or two.

  “You really should wear your seatbelt,” Christian whispers disapprovingly into my hair, but he makes no move to shift me from his lap.

  I nuzzle up against him, eyes closed, my nose at his throat, drinking in his sexy Christian-and-spiced-musky-body-wash fragrance, my head on his shoulder. I let my mind drift, and I allow myself to fantasize that he loves me. Oh, and it’s so real, tangible almost, and a small part of my nasty harpy self-conscious acts completely out of character and dares to hope. I’m careful not to touch his chest but just snuggle in his arms as he holds me tightly.

  All too soon, I’m torn from my impossible daydream.

  “We’re home,” Christian murmurs, and it’s such a tantalizing sentence, full of so much potential .

  Home, with Christian. Except his apartment is an art gallery, not a home.

  Taylor opens the door for us, and I thank him shyly, aware that he’s been within earshot of our conversation, but his kind smile is reassuring and gives nothing away. Once out of the car, Christian assesses me critically . Oh no… what have I done now?

  “Why don’t you have a jacket?” he frowns as he shrugs out of his and drapes it over my shoulders.

  Relief washes through me.

  “It’s in my new car,” I reply sleepily, yawning.

  He smirks at me.

  “Tired, Miss Steele?”

  “Yes, Mr. Grey.” I feel bashful under his teasing scrutiny. Nevertheless I feel an explanation is in order, “I’ve been prevailed upon in ways I never thought possible today.”

  “Well, if you’re really unlucky, I may prevail upon you some more,” he promises as he takes my hand and leads me into the building. Holy Shit… Again?!

  I gaze up at him in the elevator. I have assumed he’d like me to sleep with him, and then I remember that he doesn’t sleep with anyone, although he has with me a few times.

  I frown, and abruptly his gaze darkens. He reaches up and grasps my chin, freeing my lip from teeth.

  “One day I will fuck yo
u in this elevator, Anastasia, but right now you’re tired – so I think we should stick to a bed.”

  Bending down, he clamps his teeth around my lower lip and pulls gently. I melt against him, and my breathing stops as my insides unfurl with longing. I reciprocate, fastening my teeth over his top lip, teasing him, and he groans. When the elevator doors open, he grabs my hand and tugs me into the foyer, through the double doors, and into the hallway.

  “Do you need a drink or anything?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Let’s go to bed.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “You’re going to settle for plain old vanilla?”

  He cocks his head to one side.

  “Nothing plain or old about vanilla – it’s a very intriguing flavor,” he breathes.

  “Since when?”

  “Since last Saturday. Why? Were you hoping for something more exotic?”

  My inner goddess pops her head above the parapet.

  “Oh no. I’ve had enough exotic for one day.” My inner goddess pouts at me, failing miserably to hide her disappointment.

  “Sure? We cater for all tastes here – at least thirty-one flavors.” He grins at me lascivi-ously.

  “I’ve noticed,” I reply dryly.

  He shakes his head.

  “Come on, Miss Steele, you have a big day tomorrow. Sooner you’re in bed, sooner you’ll be fucked, and sooner you can sleep.”

  “Mr. Grey, you are a born romantic.”

  “Miss Steele, you have a smart mouth. I may have to subdue it some way. Come.” He leads me down the hallway into his bedroom and kicks the door closed.

  “Hands in the air,” he commands.

  I oblige, and in one breathtakingly swift move, he removes my dress like a magician, grasping it at the hem and pulling it smoothly and fleetly over my head.

  “Ta Da!” he says playfully.

  I giggle and applaud politely. He bows gracefully grinning. How can I resist him when he’s like this? He places my dress on the lone chair beside his chest of drawers.

  “And for your next trick?” I prompt, teasing.

  “Oh my dear, Miss Steele. Get into my bed,” he growls. “And I’ll show you.”

  “Do you think that for once I should play hard to get?” I ask coquettishly.

  His eyes widen with surprise, and I see a glimmer of excitement.

  “Well… the door’s closed. Not sure how you’re going to avoid me,” he says sardonically. “I think it’s a done deal.”

  “But I’m a good negotiator.”

  “So am I.” He stares down at me, but as he does, his expression changes, confusion washes over him, and the atmosphere in the room shifts abruptly, tensing. “Don’t you want to fuck?” he asks.

  “No,” I breathe.

  “Oh.” He frowns.

  Okay, here goes… deep breath.

  “I want you to make love to me.”

  He stills and stares at me blankly. His expression darkens . Oh shit, this doesn’t look good . Give him a minute! My subconscious snaps.

  “Ana, I… ” He runs his hands through his hair. Two hands. Jeez, he’s really bewildered.

  “I thought we did?” he says eventually.

  “I want to touch you.”

  He takes an involuntary step back from me, his expression for a moment fearful, and then he reins it in.

  “Please,” I whisper.

  He recovers himself.

  “Oh, no Miss Steele, you’ve had enough concessions from me this evening. And I’m saying no.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Oh… I can’t argue with that… can I?

  “Look, you’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed,” he says, watching me carefully.

  “So touching is a hard limit for you?”

  “Yes. This is old news.”

  “Please tell me why.”

  “Oh, Anastasia, please. Just drop it for now,” he mutters exasperated.

  “It’s important to me.”

  Again he runs both hands through his hair, and he utters an oath beneath his breath.

  Turning on his heel, he heads for the chest of drawers, pulls out a t-shirt, and throws it at me. I catch it, bemused.

  “Put that on and get into bed,” he snaps, irritated.

  I frown but decide to humor him. Turning my back, I quickly remove my bra, pulling the t-shirt on as hastily as I can to cover my nakedness. I leave my panties on, I haven’t worn them for most of the evening.

  “I need the bathroom.” My voice is a whisper.

  He frowns, bemused.

  “Now you’re asking permission?”

  “Err… no.”

  “Anastasia, you know where the bathroom is. Today, at this point in our strange arrangement, you don’t need my permission to use it.” He cannot hide his irritation. He shrugs out of his shirt, and I scoot into the bathroom.

  I stare at myself in the over-large mirror, shocked that I still look the same. After all that I’ve done today, it’s still the same ordinary girl gaping back at me. What did you expect – that you’d grow horns and a little pointy tail? My subconscious snaps at me. And what the hell are you doing? Touching is his hard limit. Too soon, you idiot, he needs to walk before he can run. My subconscious is furious, medusa-like in her anger, hair flying, her hands clenched around her face like Edvard Munch’s Scream. I ignore her, but she won’t climb back into her box. You are making him mad – think about all that’s he’s said, all he’s conceded. I scowl at my reflection. I need to be able to show him affection – then perhaps he can reciprocate.

  I shake my head resigned and grasp Christian’s toothbrush. My subconscious is right of course. I’m rushing him. He’s not ready and neither am I. We are balanced on the delicate see-saw, that is our strange arrangement – at different ends, vacillating, and it tips and sways between us. We both need to edge closer to the middle. I just hope neither of us falls off in our attempt to do so. This is all so quick. Maybe I need some distance. Georgia seems more appealing than ever. As I begin brushing my teeth, he knocks.

  “Come in,” I splutter through a mouthful of toothpaste.

  Christian stands in the doorway, his PJs hanging off his hips – in that way that makes every little cell in my body stand up and take notice. He’s bare-chested, and I drink him in like I’m crazed with thirst and he’s clear cool mountain spring water. He gazes at me impassively, then smirks and comes to stand beside me. Our eyes lock in the mirror, gray to blue. I finish with his toothbrush, rinse it off, and hand it to him, my look never leaving his. Wordlessly, he takes the toothbrush from me and puts it in his mouth. I smirk back at him, and his eyes are suddenly dancing with humor.

  “Do feel free to borrow my toothbrush.” His tone is gently mocking.

  “Thank you, Sir,” I smile sweetly, and I leave, heading back to bed.

  A few minutes later he joins me.

  “You know this is not how I saw tonight panning out,” he mutters petulantly.

  “Imagine if I said to you that you couldn’t touch me.”

  He clambers onto the bed and sits cross-legged.

  “Anastasia, I’ve told you. Fifty shades. I had a rough start in life – you don’t want that shit in your head. Why would you?”

  “Because I want to know you better.”

  “You know me well enough.”

  “How can you say that?” I struggle up onto my knees, facing him.

  He rolls his eyes at me, frustrated.

  “You’re rolling your eyes. Last time I did that, I ended up over your knee.”

  “Oh, I’d like to put you there again.”

  Inspiration hits me.

  “Tell me and you can.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You’re bargaining with me?” His voice resonates with astonished disbelief.

  I nod. Yes… this is the way.

  “Negotiating.”

  “It doesn’t wor
k that way, Anastasia.”

  “Okay. Tell me, and I’ll roll my eyes at you.”

  He laughs, and I get a rare glimpse of carefree Christian. I’ve not seen him for a while.

  He sobers.

  “Always so keen and eager for information.” His gray eyes blaze with speculation.

  After a moment, he gracefully climbs off the bed. “Don’t go away,” he says and exits the room.

  Trepidation lances through me, and I hug myself. What’s he doing? Does he have some evil plan? Crap. Suppose he returns with a cane, or some weird kinky implement?

  Holy shit, what will I do then? When he does return, he’s holding something small in his hands. I can’t see what it is, and I’m burning with curiosity.

  “When’s your first interview tomorrow?” he asks softly.

  “Two.”

  A slow wicked grin spreads across his face.

  “Good.” And before my eyes, he subtly changes. He’s harder, intractable... hot. This is Dominant Christian.

  “Get off the bed. Stand over here.” He points to beside the bed, and I scramble up and off in double-quick time. He stares intently down at me, his eyes glittering with promise.

  “Trust me?” he asks softly.

  I nod. He holds out his hand, and in his palm are two round, shiny, silver balls, linked with a thick black thread.

  “These are new,” he says emphatically.

  I look questioningly up at him.

  “I am going to put these inside you, and then I’m going to spank you, not for punishment, but for your pleasure and mine.” He pauses, gauging my wide-eyed reaction.

  Inside me! I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils.

  “Then we’ll fuck, and if you’re still awake, I’ll impart some information about my formative years. Agreed?”

  He’s asking my permission! Breathlessly, I nod. I’m incapable of speech.

  “Good girl. Open your mouth.”

  Mouth?

  “Wider.”

  Very gently, he puts the balls in my mouth.

  “They need lubrication. Suck,” he orders, his voice soft.

  The balls are cold, smooth, surprisingly heavy, and metallic tasting. My dry mouth pools with saliva as my tongue explores the unfamiliar objects. Christian’s gray gaze does not leave mine. Holy hell, this is turning me on. I squirm slightly.