Fifty Shades Freed, Page 6

  squirm as my fear collid in i * nenl ol I mki iwn He smacks me

  once more, lower, so he hits my sex. I groan. It feels ... so good.

  "'Keep still," he says. "And don't let go."

  "Ah."

  "This is lube." He spreads some more on me. 1 try not to wriggle beneath

  him, but my heart is pounding, my pulse haywire, as desire and anxiety pump

  through me.

  ! groan. And 1 loci something cook mctallicalK cook run down my spine.

  "I have a small present for you here." C hrislian whispers.

  An image from our show-and-tell springs to mind. Holy cow. A butt plug.

  "Ready?" he whispers.

  Ready? Am I ready for this?

  "Yes," I mutter quietly, my mouth dry. He runs another finger down past my

  ss and perineum and slips it inside me. Fuck, it's his thumb. He cups my sex and

  is fingers gently caress my clitoris. I moan ... it feels . . . good. And gently,

  hi le his lingers n I llu il irk th magic, he pi In ll Id plug slowly into

  "Ah!" I groan loudU al the iinl'amiliai sensation, my muscles protesting al the

  intrusion. He circles his thumb inside me and pushes the plug harder, and it slips

  in easily, and I don't know if it's because I'm so turned on or if he's distracted me

  with his expert fingers, but my body seems to accept it. It's heavy . . . and

  "Oh, baby."

  And I can feel it . . . where his thumb swirls inside me . . . and the plug

  presses against ... oh, ah ... He slowly twists the plug, eliciting a long drawn-out

  "Christian," I mumble, his name a garbled mantra, as I adjust to the

  "Good girl." he murmurs. I le tun-, his free hand down m> side until it reaches

  my hip. Slowly he withdraws his thumb, and I hear the telltale sound of his zipper

  opening. Grasping my other hip, he pulls me back and parts my legs further, his

  foot pushing against mine. "Don't let go of the table, Ana," he warns.

  "No," I gasp.

  "Something rough? Tell me if I'm too rough. Understand?"

  "Yes," I whisper, and he slams into me and pulls me onto him at the same

  time, jolting the plug forward, deeper . . .

  He stills, his breathing harsher and m panting matches las. 1 try to assimilate

  all the sensations: the delicious fullness, the tantalizing feeling that I am doing

  something forbidden, the erotic pleasure that spirals outward from deep within

  me. I le pulls gently on the plug.

  Oh jeez ... I moan, and I hear his sharp intake of breath — a gasp of pure,

  unadulterated pleasure. It heats my blood. Have I ever felt so wanton . . . so —

  ""Again'.'" he whispers.

  "Yes."

  " Stay lint." he orders. He eases out of me and rams into mc again.

  Oh . . . I wanted this. "Yes," I hiss.

  And he picks up lite pace, his breathing more labored, matching my own as

  he thrashes into mc.

  "Oh. Ana.'" he gasps, lie moves one of his hands from my hips and twists the

  plu i un In in lowly, pulling it out i el in The feeling is

  indescribable, and I think I'm going to pass out on the table. He never misses a

  beat as he takes inc. agam and again, mining strong and hard inside mc, my in-

  sides lightening! and qiiiering.

  "Oh fuck," 1 moan. This is going to rip mc apart.

  "Yes, baby," he hisses.

  "Please," I beg him and I don't know what for — to stop, to never stop, to

  in is! the plug again. M> inside-, are lightening around him and ihe plug.

  "That's right," he breathes, and he slaps me hard on my right buttock, and I

  come — again and again, falling, falling, spinning, pulsing around and

  around — and Christian gently pulls the plug out.

  "Fuck!" I scream and Christian grab- my hips and climaxes loudly, holding

  mc still.

  The woman is still s i ing. Christian al pi n i icat in here. Strange.

  against his chest. We're on the floor of the playroom by the table.

  "Welcome back I ling the blin fold off me. I blink as my eyes

  adjust to the muted light. Tipping my chin back, he plants a soft kiss on my lips,

  his eyes focused on and anxiously searching mine. I reach up to caress his face.

  "Well, did 1 fulfill the brief.'" he asks, amused.

  "You wanted rough," he says gently.

  He raises his eyebrows and grins back at me. "I'm very glad to hear it Mrs.

  caresses my face, his long fingers stroking my cheek.

  He reaches down and kisses me tender!;., his lips soft and warm and giving

  against mine. "You never disappoint." He leans back to gaze down at me. "How

  do you feel?" His voice is soft with concern.

  "Good," I murmur, feeling a flush creep across my face. "Thoroughly well

  fucked." I smile shyly.

  "Why. Mrs. Grey, you luue a dirty, dirty mouth." C hrislian feigns an ol'fen-

  ded expression, but I can hear his amusement.

  "Thai's because I'm married to a dirty, dirty boy, Mr. Grey."

  He grins a ridiculously slnpid grin and it's infections. "I'm glad you're mar-

  ried to him." He gently takes hold of my braid, lifts it to his lips, and kisses lire

  end with reverence, his eyes glowing with love. Oh my . . . did I ever have a

  chance of resisting this man?

  1 reach for his loll hand and plan: a kiss on his wedding ring, a plain platinum

  band matching my own. "Mine," I whisper.

  "Yours," he responds, lie curl , Ins arms around me rani presses his nose into

  my hair. "Shall I run you a bath?"

  "Hmm. Only if you join me in it."

  "Okay." he says. He sets me onto my feet and stands up beside me. He's still

  "Will you wear your . . . er . . . other jeans?"

  He frowns down at mc. "Other jeans?"

  "The ones you used to wear in here."

  rho cm he murmurs b inl d rplcxcd si ri i

  "You look very hot in them."

  "Do I?"

  "Yeah ... I mean, really hoi."

  He smiles, shyly. "Well for you, Mrs. Grey, maybe I will." He bends to kiss

  mc then grabs the sn d I on the I e thai i i in I utt plug, the tube of

  lubricant, the blindfold, and my panties.

  "Who cleans these toys?" I ask as 1 follow him over to the chest.

  He frowns at me, as if not understanding the question. "Me. Mrs. Jones."

  "What?"

  He nods, amused and embarrassed, I think. He switches off the music.

  "Well— um . . ."

  "Your subs used to do it?" 1 finish his sentence. He gives me an apologetic

  "Here." He hands me his shirt and I put it on, wrapping it around myself. His

  scent still clings lo the linen, and m> chagrin aboul bull plug washing is forgotten.

  He leaves the items on die chest, faking m> hand, he unlocks the playroom door

  ihen leads mc out and dow nslairs. I follow him meekly.

  The anxiety, the bad mood, the ihrill. fear, and cxcilcnicnl of die car chase

  have all gone. I'm relaxed — finally sated and calm. As we enter our bathroom, I

  yawn loudly and stretch ... at ease with myself for a change.

  "What is it?"' Christian asks as he turns on the faucet.

  I shake my head.

  "Tell me," he asks softly. He spills jasmine bath oil into the running water,

  lilling die room with its sweet, sensual scent.

  I flush. "I just feel better."

  He smiles. "Yes, you've been in a strange mood today, Mrs. Grey ." Standing,

  he pulls me into his arms. "I know you're worrying about these recent
events. I'm

  sorry you're caught up in them. I don't know if it's a vendetta, an ex-cmploycc, or

  a business rival. If anything were to happen to you because of me — " His voice

  drops to a pained whisper. I curl my arms around him.

  "What if something happens to you. < hristian?" I voice my fear.

  He gazes down at me. "We'll figure this out. Now let's get you out of this

  "Shouldn't you talk to Sawyer?"

  "lie can wail." 1 1 i i! 1 i i i nd I 1 I i udden | nig lit) o Sa

  ycr. What's he done to upset Christian?

  I ill es Iron loc li iemeduri ur honeymoon, but

  I decide not to tease him about them.

  "I wonder if Ryan has caught up with the Dodge?"

  "We'll see, after this bath. Get in." He holds his hand out for me. I climb into

  "Ow." My ass is lender, and the hot v ater makes me v. ince.

  "hasy. baby ." C hristian warns, bill as he says it. the uncomfortable sensation

  melts away.

  Christian strips and climbs in behind me. pulling me against his chest. I nestle

  between his legs, ami we lie idle and content in the hot water. I run my fingers

  down his legs, and gathering my braid in one hand, he 1\ iris il gently belw ecu his

  "We need to go over the plans for the new house. Later this evening?"

  "Sure." That woman is coming back again. My subconscious gazes up from

  volume 3 of Tht Complete I < >/ nil I'm with m

  subcon cious I sigli i i I i I i hill in i hieithtaking.

  " I must get my things ready for work," I whisper.

  He stills. "You know you don't have to go back to work," he murmurs.

  Oh no . . . not this again. "Christian, we've been through this. Please don't re-

  surrect that argument."

  He tugs my braid so my face tilts up and back. "Just saying . . ." He plants a

  sol'l kiss .in my lips.

  I pull on sweat p ml I ! ihcs tiom the play-

  room. As I make my way across ihe hallw ay. I hear Christian's raised voice from

  his study. I freeze.

  "Where the fuck were you?"

  Oh shi/. He's shouting at Sawyer. Cringing. ! dash upstairs 10 the playroom 1

  really don't want to hear what he has to say to him — I still find shouty Christian

  i n i I t h 1 back.

  I gather up my clothes ami C hristian's shoes, then notice the small porcelain

  bowl with the butt plug still on top of the museum chest. Well . . . I suppose I

  should clean it I add il i ] i in i i downstairs I glance

  i i! i 'inii t i lli 1. Thank heavens.

  Taylor will be back tomorrow evening, and Christian is generally calmer

  when he's around. Taylor is spending some quality lime today and tomorrow with

  his daughter. 1 wonder idly if I'll ever get to meet her.

  "Mrs. Grey — I didn't see you there." Oh, I'm Mrs, Grey ;;orv.'"Hcllo, Mrs.

  "W elcome home and congratulations." She smiles.

  "Mr-. Grey. 1 wouldn'l I'eel comfortable doing that."

  Oh! Why must everything change just because I have a ring on my finger?

  "Would you hi I i I 1 i 1 1 I in il

  me expectantly.

  "L in . . ."' Tins is not a question ! h;i e c er anticipated being asked.

  She smiles. "When i first wotked for Mr. Grey, every Sunday evening 1

  would ran through the menus Cor die upcoming week with him and list anything

  he might need from the grocery store."

  "Shall I take those for you?"

  She holds out her hands for my clothes.

  "'Oil . . . urn. Actually 1 liacn'l finished with these." And they arc hilling the

  bowl with the butt plug in! I turn crimson. It's a wonder I can look Mrs. Jones in

  the eye. She knows what we do — she cleans the room. Jeez, it's just weird having

  "When you're ready, Mrs. Grey. I'd be more than happy to ran through

  things with you."

  "Thank you \ s i u i| I si ci who stalks out of

  Christian's sludy and briskly crosses the great room, ile gives us holli a brief nod.

  not looking cither of us in the eye, and slinks into Taylor's study. I'm grateful for

  his intervention as I don't wish to discuss menus or butt plugs with Mrs. Jones

  right now. Offering her a brief smile, I scurry back to the bedroom. Will I ever get

  used to having domestic staff at my beck and call? I shake my head . . . one day,

  maybe.

  ous enough, and surprisingly clean. I don't want to dwell on that, and I wash it

  quickly wu!i soap and water. Will t licit be enough? Til ltac to ash Mr. Scxpetl it

  u should be sterilized or something. I shuddci at the thought.

  I like that Christian has turned the library over to me. It now houses an attractive

  white wooden desk I can work at. 1 take out my laptop and check my notes on the

  li c manuscripts I read on honeymoon.

  Yep, I have everything I need. Part of me dreads going back to work, but I

  can never tell Christian that. He'd seize on the opportunity to make me quit. I re-

  member Roach's apoplec . reaction w hen I loli I'm I- it- gelling married and lo

  whom, and how. shortly afterward, my position was confirmed. I realize now il

  was because I was marrying the boss. The thought is unwelcome. I am no longer

  acting commissioning editor — I am Anastasia Steele, Commissioning Editor.

  1 haven't yet plucked up the courage to tell Christian that I am not going to

  change my name at work. I think my reasons are solid. I need some distance from

  him. hut i know there will be a light when he finally realizes that. Perhaps 1

  should discuss this with him tonight.

  Sitting back in my chair, I start my final chore of the day. I glance at the di-

  i I i it 1 i i i i i i i siting Christian still

  hasn't emerged from his study, so 1 ha e lime. Taking the memory card out of the

  Nikon camera, 1 load it into the laptop to transfer the photographs. As the pictures

  upload, 1 reflect on the day. Is Ryan back? Or is he still on his way to Portland?

  Has he caught up v t I i i I man? 1 1 il lian I nd liom him? I want

  some answers. I don't care thai lie's bus_ : i want to know w hat's going on, and I

  suddenly feel a tad resentful that lie's keeping me in die dark. I rise, intending to

  our honeymoon pop up onscreen.

  Holy crap!

  Picture after picture of me. Asleep, so many of me asleep, my hair over my

  haven't sucked my thumb for years! So many photos. I had no idea he'd taken

  these. There arc r le i i t h i I leaning over the rail

  this? I smile at the photos of me curled up beneath him and laughing — my hair

  of him and me on the bed in the master cabin that he took at arm's length. I am

  cuddled on his chesi nd he i t niera. >out c love.

  His other hand cups my head, and I am smiling like a love-struck fool, but I can-

  not take my eyes off Christian. Oh, my beautiful man, his ruffled just-fucked hair,

  his gray eyes glowing, his lips parted and smiling. M beautiful man who cannot

  bear to be tickled, who could not bear to be touched just a short while ago, yet

  now he tolerates my touch. I must ask him if he likes it, or whether he lets me

  1 frown gazing ( n at his in oil in lined b my feelings foi

  hint. Someone out there w ants lo harm hull first Charlie Tango, then the fire at

  GEH, and that damned car chase. ! gasp, pulling m hand U> my mouth as an in-

  voluntary sob escapes. Abandoning my computer, I leap up to find him — not to

  c
onfront him now — just to check that he's safe.

  Not bothering to knock. 1 barge into las study. < hi islian is sitting at his desk

  and talking on the phone. He looks up in surprised annoyance, but the irritation on

  his face disappears when he sees it's me.

  "So you can't enhance it further?" he says, continuing his phone conversa-

  tion, though he doesn't take his eyes oil me. \ ithoul hesitation, I walk around his

  desk, and he turns in his chair to face me, frowning. I can tell he's thinking rluu

  does she want? Who I i mo his lap. hi 11 s sh t up in surprise. I put

  my arms around his i Idle ii 1. < rly. h puts his arm around

  "Um . . . yes, Barney. Could you hold one moment?" He cups the phone

  against his shoulder.

  "Ana, what's wrong?"

  I shake my head. Tipping my chin up, he gazes into my eyes. I pull my head

  free from his hold, tuck it beneath his chin, and curl up smaller on his lap.

  Bemused, he wraps hi c 1111 ii 1 1 t 111 e 1 kisses the top of my

  "Okay, Barney, what were you saying?" He continues, wedging the phone

  between his ear and his shoulder, and taps a key on his laptop. A grainy black ami

  white CCTV image appears on the screen. A man with dark hair wearing pale

  coveralls comes on the screen. Christian presses another key. and the man walks

  toward the camcn lull 11 s closer to the cam-

  era. Christian freezes the frame, lie's standing ii; a bright v. hile room with what

  looks like a long line 1 1 si id ibinel ol .1 khis must be GEH's server

  "Okay Barney, one more time."

  The creen sprii II I 1 1 I of the man in the

  CCTV footage and suddenly wc zoom in. I sit up, fascinated.

  "Is Barney doing this?" I ask quietly.

  "Yes," Christian answers. "Can you sharpen the picture at all?" he says to

  The picture blurs, then rel'oeuses moderately sharper of the man conscious!)

  gazing down and avoiding the CCTV camera. As 1 stare at him, a chill of

  recognition sweeps up my spine. There is something familiar in the line of his

  jaw. He has scruffy short black hair that looks odd and unkempt . . . and in the

  newly sharpened picture, I see an earring, a small hoop.

  Holy crap! I know who it is.

  "Christian," I whisper. "That's Jack Hyde."

  Chapter Seven

  "You think?" Christian asks, surprised.

  "It's the line of his jaw." I point at the screen. "And the earrings and the

  shape of his shoulders. He's the right build, too. He must be wearing a w ig or

  he's cut and dyed his hair."

  ""Barney, arc you getting this?" Christian puts the phone down on his desk

  and switches to hands-free. "You seem to have studied your ex-boss in some de-

  tail, Mrs. Grey," he murmur*, .minding none loo pleased. I scowl at him, but I'm

  saved by Barney.

  "Yes, sir. I heard Mrs. Grey. I'm running face recognition software on all the

  digitized CCTV footage right now. See where else this asshole — I'm sorry

  ma'am this man has been w ithin the organization."

  1 _1 niee in.i( I t' i iii ill pletrve He's study-

  ing the CCTV picture closely.

  "Why would he do this?" I ask Christian.

  He shrugs. "Revenge, perhaps. I don't know. You can't fathom why some

  people behave the way they do. I'm just angry that you ever worked so closely

  with him." Christian's month presses into a hard, thin line and he encircles my

  "We have the con I it ird nis loo sh Barney adds.

  "Yes, I remember. Do you have an address for Mr. Hyde?" Christian savs

  ^Yes, sir, I do."

  "Alert Welch."

  "Sure will. I'm also going to scan the city CCTV and sec if I can track his

  "Sir."

  Christian nods and gives me a smug smile.

  Christian's face burdens and lie shakes bis head. "Nothing much," he says,

  tight-lipped, bis smile forgotten.

  "Was it about you, or me?"

  "Me." He sighs.

  "What sort of things? About your lifestyle?"

  Christian shakes his head and puis his index linger against my lips to silence

  me. I scowl at him. But he narrows his eyes, and it's a clear warning that I should

  hold my tongue.

  "It's a 2006 Camaro. I'll send the license details to Welch, too," Barney says

  excitedly from the phone.

  "Good. Let me know where else that tucker has been in my building. And

  check this image against the one from his SIP personnel file." Christian gazes at

  me skeptically. "1 want to be sure we have a match."

  "Already done, sir, and Mrs. Grey is correct. This is Jack Hyde."

  ! gnu Sec'.' 1 can be useful. C hrislian rubs, his hand down my back.

  "Well done. Mrs. drey." lie smiles and his earlier rancor forgollen. To Bar-

  ney he says, "Let me know w hen you" e tracked all his mm entente at HQ. Also

  check out any other GEH property he may have had access to, and let the security

  teams know so they can make another sweep oi'all those buildings."

  "Sir."

  "Thanks, Barney." Christian hangs up.

  "Well, Mrs. Grey, it seems that you are not only decorative, but useful, too."

  Christian's eyes light up with wicked amusement. I know he's teasing.

  "Very he says qui I I tss on my lips.

  "You're much more decorative than I am, Mr. Grey."

  He grins and kisses me more forcefully, winding my braid around his wrist

  ""Hungry?" he asks.

  "No."

  "I am."

  "What for?"

  "We!! food actually. Mrs. Grey "

  "I'll make you something." 1 giggle.

  "Of me offering you food?"

  "You giggl . I lei s ty hair then I stand.

  "So what would you like to eat, Sir?" 1 ask sweetly.

  He narrows his eyes. "Are you being cute, Mrs. Grey?"

  "Always, Mr. Grey . . . Sir."

  He smiles a spltinxlike smile. "I can still ptil you over my knee."' he murmurs

  seductively.

  "1 know." I grin. Placing my hands on the arms of his office chair, I lean

  down and kiss him. "That's one of the things I love about you. But stow your

  in itching palm — you're hungry."

  lie smiles his shy smile and my heart clenches. "Oh, Mrs. Grey, what am I

  going to do with you?"

  "You're going to answer nn question. What would you like to eat'.'"

  "Something light. Surprise me," he says, mirroring m words from the play-

  "1*11 see what I can do." I sashay out of his study and into the kitchen. My

  heart sinks when 1 see Mrs. Jones is there.

  "Hello, Mrs. Jones."

  "Mrs. Grey. Are you ready for something to eat'.'"

  "Um . . ."

  She is stirring something in a pot on the stove that smells delicious.

  "I was going to make subs for Mr. Grey and me."

  She pauses for a heartbeat. "Sure," she says. "Mr. Grey likes French

  bread — there is some in the freezer cut to sub length. I'd be happy to make it for

  you, ma'am."

  "I understand. I'll give you some room."

  "This is a bolognaise sauce, it can be eaten anytime. I'll freeze it." She smiles

  warmly and turns the heat right down.

  "Um— so what does Christian like in a, um . . . sub?" I frown, struck by what

  I've just said. Does Mrs. Jones understand the inference?

  it's on French bread, he'll eat it." We grin at each other.

  "Okay, thank you." I skip to
the freezer and find the French bread cut to size

  in Ziplock bags. 1 place two of them on a plate, pop litem into the microw ave, and

  Mrs. Jones has disappeared. I frown as 1 return to the fridge to search for in-

  gredients. I suppose it will be up to me to set the parameters by which Mrs. Jones

  and I will work together. I life the idea of cooking tor Christian on the weekends.

  Mrs. Jones is more than welcome to do it during the week — the last thing I'll want

  to do when I come home from work is cook. Hmm ... a bit like Christian's

  routine with Ids submissives. I shake my head. 1 mustn't overdrink this. I find

  some ham in the fridge, and in the erispet a perfectly ripe avocado.

  As I am adding a touch of salt and lemon to the mashed avocado. Christian

  emerges from his study with the plans for the new house in his hands. He puts

  them on the brcakfasi bar. saunters toward inc. and wraps his amis around inc.

  kissing my neck.

  "Barefoot and in the kitchen," he murmurs.

  "Shouldn't that be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?" I smirk.

  He stills, his whole body tensing against me. "Not yet," he declares, appre-

  hension clear in his voice.

  "No! Not yet!"

  He relaxes. "On that we can agree, Mrs. Grey."

  "You do want kids though, don't you?"

  "Sure, yes. Eventually. But I'm not ready to share you yet." He kisses my

  neck again.

  Oh . . . share?

  "What are you making? Looks good." He kisses me behind my ear, and I

  know it's to distract me. A delicious tingle travels down my spine.

  "Subs." I smirk. rcco ering my sense ol humor,

  lie smiles against im neck am! nips im earlobe. "M knorile."

  1 poke him with my elbow.

  "Mrs. Grey, you wound me." He clutches his side as if in pain.

  ""Wimp." 1 mutter disapprovingly.

  "Wimp?" he utters in disbelief. I le slaps im behind, making me yelp. "Hurry

  up with my food, wench. And later I'll show you how wimpy I can be." He slaps

  me ploy full once more and goes to the fridge.

  "Would you like a glass of wine?" he asks.

  "Please."

  Christian spreads Gia's plans oul ocr live breakfast bar. She really has some spec-

  tacular ideas.

  "I love her proposal to make the entire dow nstairs hack wall glass, but . . ."

  "But?" Christian prompts.

  I sigh, "i don't want to lake ail the character oul of the house."

  "Character?"

  "Yes. What Gia is proposing is quite radical, but . . . well ... I fell in love

  with the house as it is . . . warts and all."

  Christian's brow furrows as if this is anathema to him.

  "I kind of like it the way it is," I whisper. Is this going to make him mad?

  He regards me steadily. "I want this house to be the way you want. Yhale cr

  you want. It's yours."

  "I want you to like it, too. To be happy in it, too."

  "I'll be happy wherever you are. It's that simple, Ana." His gaze holds mine.

  He is utterly, utterly sincere. I blink at him as my heart expands. Holy cow, he

  really does love me.

  "Well" — I swallow, fighting the small knot of emotion that catches in my

  throat — "I like the glass wall. Maybe wo could ask her lo incorporate il into the

  house a little more sympathetically."

  C hristian grin:.. "Sure. Whatever you w ant What about the plans for upstairs

  ami the basement?"

  "I'm cool with those."

  "Good."

  Okay ... I steel myself to ask the million-dollar question. "Do you want to

  put in a playroom?" I feel the oh-so-familiar flush creep up my face as I ask.

  "Do you?" he replies, surprised and amused at once.

  1 shrug. "Um... if you want."

  After all. this will be a family home."

  I'm surprised by the stab of disappointment I feel. I guess he's right ... al-

  though when arc we going to have a family? It could be years.

  "Besides, we can improvise." He smirks.

  "I like improvising," I whisper.

  He grins. "There's something 1 wan; to discuss.' Christian points to the mas-

  ter bedroom, and we start a detailed discussion on bathrooms and separate w alk-in

  When we finish, it's nine thirty in the evening.

  "Are you going back to work?" I ask as Christian rolls up the plans.

  "Not if you don't \ ant rac to." He smiles. "What would you like to do?"

  "We could watch TV." I don't want to read, and I don't want to go to bed . . .

  yet.

  "Okay," Christ t agi llingl i i I I him into the TV i i

  We have sat here three. ma he [bur limes total, and ( hrislian usually reads a

  book. ! Ic not interested in telex a, ion at all. I curl up beside him on the couch,

  tucking my legs beneath me and resting my head against his shoulder. He

  switches on the flat-screen television with the remote and flicks mindlcssK

  through the channels.

  "Any specific drivel you want to see?"

  "You don't like TV much, do you'.'" I matte! sardonically.

  II h I n it isle i ii le Bu I'll h sol hing with you."

  "I thought we could make out."

  He whips his face to mine. Make out?" lie gazes at me as if I've grown two

  heads. He stops the endless flicking. Icaing the TV on an over lit Spanish soap

  "Wc could go to bed and make out."

  TV?" I ask, shy and teasing at the same time.

  He shrugs ind sit I hi h k Pi s th n c gain he flick through

  another few channels before settling on tin old episode of The X-l-ilcs.

  "Christian?"

  "I've never done that," he says quietly.

  "Never?"

  "No."

  "Not even with Mrs. Robinson?"

  He snorts. "Baby, 1 did a lot of things with Mrs. Robinson. Making out was

  not one of them." He smirks til me and then narrow s his e es with amused curios-

  ity. "Have you?"

  I flush. "Of course." Well kind of . . .

  "What! Who with?"

  Oh no. I do not want to have this discussion.

  "Tell me." he persists.

  J gaze down ai my knolled fingers- lie gcmlv co ers my hands wiih one of

  his- When I glance up a I him. he's smiling ai me.

  "I want to know. So 1 can heal w hoevcr it was to a pulp."

  I giggle. "Well, the first time . . ."

  "The first time! There's more than one fucker?" He grow Is.

  1 giggle again. ""\ h_ so surprised. Mr. < ire}

  He frowns bne 11 an i ha I hrough h hail in looks at me as if seeing

  me in a completely different light. He shrugs. "I just am. I mean — given your lack

  of experience."

  I flush. "I've certainly made up for that since I met you."

  "You have." He grins. "Tell me. I want to know."

  1 gaze into patient gray eyes, trying to gauge his mood. Is this going to make

  him mad, or does he genuinely want to know? I don't want him sulking . . . he's

  impossible when he's sulking.

  "You really want me to tell you?"

  I Ic nods slow 1> once, and his lips Iw itch w iiii an amused, arrogant smile.

  " I was briefly in Vegas with Mom and Husband Number Three. I was in

  III III! li Hi I ! 1 I 1 1 II | I l m ph Slcs

  "How old were you?"

  "Fifteen."

  "I don't know."

  "What base did he get to?"

  "Christian!" 1 scold and suddenly lie grabs my knees, then my ankles, a
nd

  tips me up so I fall back on to the couch. He slides smoothly on top of me, trap-

  ping me beneath him, one leg between mine. It's so sudden that I cry out in sur-

  prise. He grabs my hands and raises them above my head.

  "So, this Bradley — did he get to first base?" he murmurs, running his nose

  down the length of mine. He plants soft kisses at the corner of my mouth.

  "Yes," I murmur igainsl 1 In lie r cl es one 1'hi hands so that he can

  clasp my chin and hold me still while his tongue invades my mouth, and I sur-

  render to his ardent kissing.

  "Like lliis?" Christian brealhes w hen he comes up for air.

  "No . . . nothing like that," I manage as all the blood in my body heads south.

  Releasing my chin, he runs his hand down over my body and back up to my

  "Did he do this? Touch you like this?" His thumb skims over my nipple,

  through my cami olc I pcaledlv . and it hardens undei his expert touch.

  "No." I writhe beneath him.

  "Did he get to second base?" he murmurs in my ear. His hand moves down

  across my ribs, past my waist to my hip. He takes my earlobe between his teeth

  and gently tugs.

  "No," I breathe.

  Mulder blurts from the television something about the FBI's most unwanted.

  C hrislian pauses, leans up. and presses mute on the remote, lie gazes down at

  "What about Joe Schmo numbei two'.' Did he make it past second base?"

  His eyes arc smoldering hot . . angn ' Turned on? It's difficult to say which.

  He shifts to my side and slides his hand beneath my sweatpants.

  x i his] trapped in hi 1 1 1 i * 1 1 1 t i i til is dl

  "Good." His hand cups my sex. "No underwear, Mrs. Grey. I approve." He

  kisses me again as his lingers weave more magic. Ins thumb skimming over my

  tin it tint lizin i I | 1 me with exquisite

  "We're supposed to be making out." I groan.

  Christian stills. "I thought we were?"

  "No sex, huh?" He withdraws his hand from my sweatpants. "Here." He

  traces my lips with Ins index linger, and 1 last..: nix slick saltiness. He pushes his

  finger into my mouth mirrorii - hat In .asdoinga nomenl earlier. Then shifts

  so he's between m_ 1 ind ion push it inc. He thrusts, once,

  tw ice. and again. 1 gasp as the material of my sweatpants rubs in just the right

  way. He pushes once more, grinding into me.

  "This what you want '" lie murmurs and moves his hips rhvthmically. rocking

  against me.

  "Yes." I moan.

  His hand moves back to concentrate on my nipple once more and his teeth

  scrape along my jaw. "Do you know how hot you are, Ana?" His voice is hoarse

  as he rocks harder against me. I open my mouth to articulate a response and fail

  miserabU. groaning loudh . 1 Ie captures m mouth once more, lugging al my bot-

  tom lip with his teeth before plunging his tongue into nn mouth again. He re-

  leases my other wrist and m> hands lrael greedily up his shoulders and into his

  hair as he kisses me. When I pull on his hair, he groans and raises his eyes to

  "Ah . . ."

  "Do you like me touching you?" I whisper.

  His brow furrows briefly as if he doesn't understand the question. He stops

  grinding against me. "Of course I do. 1 love you touching me, Ana. I'm like a

  starving man at a banquet when it comes to your touch." His voice hums with pas-

  Holy cow . . .

  He kneels between my legs and drags me up to haul off my top. I'm naked

  beneath. Grabbing the hem of his shin he anks it oer his head and tosses it on

  the floor, then pulls nie onto his kneeling lap. his arms clasped just above my

  behind.

  "Touch me," he breathes.

  Oh mi . . . Tentatively I reach up and brush the tips of m lingers through the

  watches me intently as nn lingers float delicately o or his skin, first to one nipple

  and then the other. They pucker beneath my caress. Leaning forward, I plant soft

  kisses on his chest, and my hands move to his shoulders, feeling the hard, sculp-

  tured lines of sinew and muscle. Jeez . . . he's in good shape.

  "I want you," he murmurs and it's a green light to my libido. My fingers

  move into his hair, pull I ' i i k so I i h u I it 1 I

  and high in my belly. He groans and pushes me back onto the couch. He sits up

  and rips off my sweatpants, undoing his fly at the same time.

  "Home run," he whispers, and sw il'tly he fills me.

  "Ah ..." I groan and he stills, grabbing my face between his hands.

  "I love you, Mrs. Grey," he murmurs and very slowly, very gently, he makes

  lo c to m 1,1 nc a| • I us. calling li i>. nai i< i ng m

  around him, never wanting to let him go.

  I lay sprawled on his chest. We're on the floor of the TV room.

  "You know nnl i i I !] i I II s trace the line of

  his pectoral muscles.

  He laughs. "Next time, Mrs. Grey." He kisses the top of my head.

  I look up to stare at the television screen where the end credits for The X-

  Files play. Christian reaches for the remote and sn itches the sound back on.

  "You liked that show?" I ask.

  "When I was a kid."

  Oh . . . Christian as a kid . . . kickboxing and X Files and no touching.

  "You're so young." Christian smiles fondly. "I like making out with you,

  Mrs. Grey."

  "Likewise, Mr. Grey." I kiss his chest, and we lie silently watching as The X-

  "It's been a hens culs three weeks. Car chases and fires and psycho cx-bosses

  notwithstanding. Like being in our own private bubble," I mutter dreamily.

  "Hmm," Christian hums deep in his throat. "I'm not sure I'm ready to share

  you with the rest of the world yet."

  "Back to reality tomorroNN ." I murmur, trying to keep the melancholy from

  Christian sighs and runs tit-, other hand through his hair. "'Security will be

  "I know. I'll be good. I promise." Which reminds me ... I shift, propping

  myself up on my elbows to see him better. "Why were you shouting at SaN yer'.'"

  He stiffens immediately. Oh shit.

  "Because we were followed."

  "That wasn't Sawyer's fault."

  He gazes at me levelly. "They should never have let you get so far in front.

  They know that."

  I blush guiltily and resume m position, resting on his chest It was my fault.

  I wanted to get away from them.

  "That wasn't—"

  "Enough!" Christian is suddenl; curl. "This is not up for discussion, Anastas-

  ia. It's a fact, and the;, won't lei it happen again."

  Aiuisi(isia 1 am Anaslasia when I am in trouble just like at home with my

  mother.

  "Okay," I mutter, placating him. I don't want to fight. "Did Ryan catch up

  with the woman in the Dodge?"

  "Oh?" I look up again.

  "Saw yer saw someone w iih iheir hair tied hack, but it w as a brief look. I le as-

  sumed it was a woman. Now, given that you've identified that fucker, may be it

  wats him. He wore his hair like lhal." The disgust in Christian's oiee is palpable.

  I don't know what h eol'ihi lews. ( s mi i i h s hand down my na-

  I lit he murium I

  "I know ." I w hisper. "1 feel the same about you." 1 shiver a! die thought.

  "Come. You're gelling cold." he says, silling up. "kefs go to bed. We can

  cover third base there." He smiles a lascivious smile, as mercurial as ever,
pas-

  sionate, angry, anxious, sexy — my Fifty Shades. I lake hi-, hand and he pulls me

  to my feet, and without a stitch on. 1 follow him through the great room to the

  The following morning, Christian squeezes my hand as we pull up outside SIP.

  He looks very much the powerful executive in his dark navy suit and matching tic,

  and I smile. He's noi been this smart since the ballet in Monaco.

  "You know you don't have to do this?" Christian murmurs. I am tempted to

  roll my eyes at him.

  "I know," I whisper, not wanting Sawyer and Ryan to overhear me from the

  front of the Audi. He frowns and I smile.

  "But I want to," I continue. "You know this." 1 lean up and kiss him. His

  frown doesn't disappear. "What's wrong?"He glances uncertainly at Ryan as

  Saw ycr climbs out of the car. "I'll miss having you to myself."

  1 reach up to caress his face. "Me, too." I kiss him. "It was a wonderful hon-

  eymoon. Thank you."

  "Go to work, Mrs. Grey."

  "You, too, Mr. Grey."

  Sawyer opens the door. I squeeze Christian's hand once more before I climb

  out onto the sidew alk. As ! head into the building. I tzi e him a little wave. Sawyer

  holds open the door and follows me in.

  ""I Ii. Ana." Claire smile:, from behind the reception desk.

  "Claire, hello." I smile back.

  "You look wonderful. Good honeymoon?"

  "The best, thank you. How's it been here?"

  "Old man Roach is the same, but securiu has beet) stepped up and our server

  Sure she will. I give Claire a friendly smile and head to my office.

  that sometimes I find her a little intimidating. But she's sweet to me, in spite of

  the fact that she's a couple of years older. She has my laite w ailing the only col-

  fee I let her get for me.

  "Hi, Hannah," I say warmly.

  "Ana, how was your honeymoon?"

  ■'Fantastic. Here for you." I pop the small bottle of perfume I bought for her

  "Oh, thank you!" she says enthusiastically. "Your urgent correspondence is

  on your desk, and Roach would like to see you at ten. That's all 1 have to report

  Just before ten there's a timid tap on my door.

  "Come in."

  Elizabeth looks around the door. "Hi, Ana. I just wanted to say welcome

  "Hey. I have to say, reading through all this correspondence, I wish I was

  back in the South of France."

  Elizabeth laughs, but her laughter is off, forced, and I cock my head to one

  side and gaze al her like Christian does to me

  "Glad you're back safely," she says. "I'll see you in a few minutes at the

  meeting with Roach."

  "Okay," I murmur, and she shuts the door behind her. I frown at the closed

  door. What was thai «/> tirade.

  "You're also the most well-read person 1 know." lie counters earnestly "You

  love a good book. You couldn't leave your job while we were on our honeymoon.

  You read how many manuscripts? Four?"

  "And you wrote full reports on all of them You're a very bright woman.

  Anastasia. I'm sure you'll manage."

  "Are you crazy?"

  "Crazy for you," he whispers.

  And I snort because it's the only expression my nod;, can make. He narrows

  "You'll be a laughing -.lock. Buy ing a company for the little woman, who has

  nly had a full time job ft I i t >i i idult life."

  "Do you think I give a fuck what people think? Besides, you won't be on

  I gape at him. He really has lost his marbles this time. "Christian, I ..." I put

  my head in my hands m> emotions hae been through a w ringer. Is he crazy?

  And from somewhere dark and deep inside 1 ha . e the sudden, inappropriate need

  to laugh. When I look up at him again, his eyes widen.

  "Something amusing you, Ms. Steele?"

  "Yes. You."

  His eyes widen further, locked bul also amused. ""Laughing at your hus-

  band? That will never do. And you're biting your lip." His eyes darken ... in that

  way. Oh no — I know that look. Sultry, seductive, salacious . . . No, no, no! Not

  "Don't even think about it," I warn, alarm clear in my voice.

  "Think about what, Anastasia?"

  ""I know that look. We're at work."

  He leans tor ss it luci I nine, i Ilea i i 1 hungr> Hoh shit!

  I sw allow instinctively. "We're in a small, reasonably sound-proofed office with a

  lockable door."

  "Gross moral turpitude." I enunciate each word carefully.

  "Not with your husband.""

  "With my boss's boss's boss." 1 hiss.

  "You're my wife."

  "Christian, no. I mean it. You can fuck me seven shades of Sunday this even-

  ing. But not now. Not here!"

  He blinks and narrows his eyes once more. Then unexpectedly he laughs.

  "Seven shades of Sunday?" He arches an eyebrow, intrigued. "I may hold

  you to that, Ms. Steele."

  "Oh, stop with the Ms Steele 1 ' 1 snap and thump the desk, startling us both.

  "For heaven's sake. Christian. If it means so much to sou. I'll change my name!"

  His mouth pops open as he inhales sharply. And then he grins, a radiant, all-

  teeth-showing, joyous grin. Wow . . .

  "Good." He claps his hands, and all of a sudden he stands.

  "Mission accomplished. Now, I have work to do. If you'll excuse me, Mrs.

  Gah — this man is so maddening! "But — "

  "But what, Mrs. Grey?"

  I sag. "Just go."

  "I intend to. I'll see you this evening. I'm looking forward to scs en shades of

  Sunday."

  "Oh, and I bas e a stack of business-related social engagements coming up,

  and I'd like you to accompany me."

  1 gape at him. Will you iu.i «o. v

  "I'll have Andrea call Hannah to put the dates in your calendar. There are

  some people you need to meet. You should get Hannah to handle your schedule

  "Okay," I nu n ipleieK bemused. I il shell li

  He leans over my desk. What now? I am caught in his hypnotic gaze.

  "Love doing bu in i i n ' 11 is ii closci as I sit para-

  lyzed, and he plants a soft tender kiss on my lips. "Laters, baby," he murmurs. He

  stands abruptly, winks at me, and leaves.

  I lay my head on my desk, feeling like I've been run over by a freight

  train — the freight train Ilia! is my helm cd husband. 1 Ic has to be the most frustrat-

  ing, annoying, contrary man on the planet. I sit up and frantically rub my eyes.

  What have I just agreed to? Okay, Ana Grey running SIP — I mean, Grey Publish-

  ing. The man is insane. There's a knock on the door, and 1 lannali pokes her head

  around.

  "'You okay?" she asks.

  I just stare at her. She frowns.

  "I know you don'l like me doing this but can 1 make you some tea?"

  J stare blankly at my computer sereen, still in shoe]... Mow can I make him

  understand.' E-mail!

  Subject: NOT AN ASSET!

  Date: August 22, 2011 14:23

  To: Christian Grey

  Mr. Grey

  Next time you conn 1 nak< 1 pointmcnt, so I cai it least have some

  prior warning of your adolescent overfx

  Anastasia Grey < please note name.

  Commissioning Editor, SIP

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Seven Shades of Sunday

  Date: August 22, 2011 14:34

  To: Anastasia Steele

  My Dear Mrs. Grey (emphasis on My)
/>
  What can I say in my defense? I was in the neighborhood.

  And no, you are not an asset, you are my beloved wife.

  As ever, you make my day.

  Christian Grey

  CEO & Overbearing Megalomaniac, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  He's trying to be funny, but I am in no mood to laugh. I take a deep breath and go

  Christian is quiet when I climb into the car that evening.

  "Hi," he responds, warily— as he should.

  "Disrupl anyone else's work today?" I ask too sweetly.

  A li 111 mil I i Only Flynn's."

  Oh.

  "Next time you go to see him, I'll give you a list of topics I want covered," I

  hiss at him.

  "You seem out of sorts, Mrs. Grey."

  I glare steadily at the backs of Ryan and Sawyer's heads in front of me.

  Christian shifts beside me.

  "Hey," he says softly and reaches for my hand. All afternoon, when I should

  have been concentrating on work, I was trying to figure out what to say to him.

  But I became angrier and angrier with each passing hour. I'c had enough of his

  cavaliei petulant i 1 i I 1 i o I tatel i> hand out hi in a

  cavalier, petulant, and childish manner.

  "You're mad at me?" he whispers.

  "Yes," I hiss. Folding my arms protectively across my body, I gaze out my

  window. He shifts beside me once more, but I will myself not to look at him. I

  I M i 1 i nad at hin ui I am. Reall fucking mad.

  As soon as we pull up outside liseala. 1 break protocol and leap out of the car

  with my briefcase. I stomp into the building, not checking to sec who is following.

  1 u UN i u in I i i In dm n i I to ih U t o pi in il

  button.

  "What?" I snap when I'm alongside him. His cheeks redden.

  "Apologies, ma'am," he mutters.

  C hrislian comes and stands beside me to wait for the elevator, and Ryan

  "So it's not just me you're mad at?" Christian murmurs dryly. I glare up at

  him and see a trace of a smile on his face.

  "Are you laughing at me?" I narrow my eyes.

  "I wouldn't dare," he says, holding his hands up like I'm threatening him at

  gunpoint. He's in hi i nil. lookii p ai i lh iloppy sex-hair and a

  "You need a haircut," I mutter. Turning away from him, I step into the

  "Do I?" he says while brushing his hair off his forehead. He follows me in.

  ""Yes." I tap the code for our apartment into the kepad.

  "So you're talking to me now .'"

  "Just."

  "What exactly are you mad about? I need an indication," he asks cautiously.

  I turn and gape at him.

  "Do you really have no idea? Surely, for someone so bright, you must have

  an inkling" 1 can't belice vou're that obtuse."

  He lakes an alarmed step back. "You really are mad. I thought we had sorted

  all this in oiii office." he murmurs, perplexed.

  "Christian, I just capitulated to our petulant demands- Hint'-, all."

  The elevator doors open and I storm out. Taylor is standing in the hallway,

  lie takes a ep back and quiekl; diuls his mouth a 1 steam past him

  "Hi, Taylor," I mutter.

  "Mrs. Grey," he murmurs.

  I I ! Ill 1 1 room. Mrs. Jones

  is at the stove.

  "Good evening, Mrs. Grey."

  "Hi, Mrs. Jones," 1 mutter once more. I head straight to the fridge and pull

  out a bottle of white wine. Christian follows me into the kitchen and watches me

  like a hawk as I take a glass down from the cupboard. He removes his jacket and

  casually places it on the countertop.

  "Do you want a drink?" I ask super sweelb

  "No thanks," he says, not taking his eyes off me, and I know that he's help-

  less. He does not know what to do with me. It's comical on one level and tragic

  on another. Well, icivu him'. I am having trouble I. .eating m compassionate sell'

  since our meeting this afternoon. Slowly, he removes his tie then opens the top

  button of his shut 1 tr n i . 1 1 I ignot blanc and Christian

  runs a hand through his hair. When I turn around, Mrs. Jones has disappeared.

  Shiil She's in; human shield. I take a slug of vv inc. 1 1mm It tastes good.

  "Stop this," Christian whispers. He takes the two steps between us so he's

  t in li in front of mi ' ie il h in 1 tnv hair bchii d u i ud tress m

  ear lobe vv ilh his fingertips, sending a shiver through inc. Is this vv hat I've missed

  all day? His touch? I shake m head, causing him ie, release my car and gaze up at

  "Talk to me," he murmurs.

  "What's the point? You don't listen to me."

  "Vv 1 do You're one of the few people I do listen to."

  I take another swig of wine.

  "Is this about your name?"

  "Yes and no. It's how you dealt with the fact thai I disagreed with you." I

  >i | i ling i i to be angered.

  His brow furrows. "Ana, you know 1 have . . issues. It's hard for mc lo let

  go where you're concerned. You know that."

  "But I'm not a child, and I'm not an asset."

  "I know." He sighs.

  "Then stop treating me as though I am." I v, hUpei. imploring him.

  He brushes the back of his fingers down my cheek and runs the tip of his

  thumb across my bottom lip.

  "Don't be mad. You're so precious to me. Like a priceless asset, like a child, "

  he w hispcrs, a somber ie erenl expression on Iris face, ills w ords distract me. Like

  a child. Precious like a child ... a child would be precious to him!

  "I'm neither of those things. ( htislian. I'm your wife. If you were hurt that I

  wasn't going to take oui name, sou should hae said."

  "Hurt?" He frowns deeply, and I know that he's exploring the possibility in

  his mind. He straightens suddenh . still frow iiing. and glances quickly at his wrist-

  watch. "The architect will be here in just under an hour. We should cat."

  Oh no. 1 groan inwardly. He hasn't answered me, and now I have to deal with

  (iia Matleo. My shitiy day just got shinier. ! scow ! at C hristian

  "This discussion isn't finished." I mutter.

  "What else is there to discuss?"

  "You could sell the company."

  Christian snorts. "Sell it?"

  "Yes."

  "You think I'd find a buyer lit today's market?"

  "How much did it cost ou?"

  "It was relatively cheap." His tone is guarded.

  "So if it folds?"

  He smirks. "We'll survive. But I won't let it fold, Anastasia. Not while

  you're there."

  "And if I leave?"

  "And do what?"

  "I don't knows Something else."

  "You've already said this is your dream job. And forgive me if I'm wrong,

  but I promised be to d v t i i i i I it t it re I

  and dearest to chcrisl on. up i p nd d n nd keep you safe at

  my side."

  "Quoting your wedding vows to me is not playing fair."

  "I've never promised to play fail -.'.here >ou're concerned. Besides." he adds,

  "you ' e wielded your vows at me like a weapon before."

  I scowl at him. This is true.

  "Anastasia, if you're still angry with me, take it out on me in bed later." His

  voice is suddenly los id full siial I i his eves heated.

  What? Bed? How?

  lie smiles indulgently down al m expression. Is he expecting me to tie him

  up? Holy crap Ms line .1 n c h i 1 earbi md starts listening

  with rap
t attention.

  "Seven shades of Sunday," he whispers. "Looking forward to it."

  Whoa!

  "Gail!" he shout brupil ind loin conds 1 i h loncs appear Where

  was she? Taylor's office? Listening? Oh jeez.

  "Mr. Grey?"

  "We'd like to eat now, please."

  "Very good, sir."

  Christian doesn't take his eyes off me. He watches me vigilantly as if I'm

  some exotic creature about to bolt. I take a sip of my wine.

  "1 think I'll join you in a glass," he says, sighing, and runs a hand through his

  "You're not going to finish?"

  "No." I gaze down 1 i 1 1 II ni I i 1 I

  an's darkening expression. Before he can say anything, I stand and clear our

  plates from the dining table.

  "Gia will be with us shortly," I mutter. Christian's mouth twists in an un-

  happy scowl, but he says nothing.

  "I'll take those, Mrs. Grey," says Mrs. lones as I walk into the kitchen.

  "You didn't like it?" she asks, concerned.

  "It was fine. I'm just not hungry."

  Giving me a small sympathetic smile, she turns to clear my plate and put

  everything in the dishwasher.

  "I'm going to n ' i couple ol ill (n i iniioiiii gis ing me an as-

  sessing look before he disappears into his studs .

  I let out a sigh of relief and head lo our bedroom. Dinner w as aw kw ard. I'm

  still mad at Christian, and he doesn't seem to think he's done anything wrong.

  Has he? My subcot ous cock an cyebiw il me and gazes benignly over hcr

  half-moon glasses. Yes, he has. He's made it even more awkward for me at work.

  He didn't wait to discuss this issue with me when we were in the relative privacy

  of our own home, li I h ci I 1 i i into hi i i !

  down the law? And to cap it all, he wants to give me SIP! How the hell could I

  I gaze out at the S idle li n earl pin light of dusk. And

  as usual, he wants to solve our differences in the bedroom . . . um . . . foyer . . .

  playroom ... TV room . . . kitchen countertop . . . Stop! It always comes back to

  > i I I 1 l] s ! i I I l t 111 i

  I wander into the bathroom and scowl at my reflection in the mirror. Coming

  back to the real world is hard. We managed to skate over all our differences while

  we were in our bubble because we were so wrapped up in each other. But now?

  Briefly I am dragged back to my wedding, icmi.mbs.rins m> concern;, thai

  day — marry in haste . . . No, I muslin think like this. I know he was Filly Shades

  when I married him. I just have lo hang in there and try lo talk litis through w ilh

  I squint at myself in the mirror. I look pale, and now 1 have that woman to

  I'm wearing my gray pencil skirt and a sleeveless blouse. Right! My inner

  cleavage. I wash my fa ill id il redo ip pply ing more mascara

  vigorously from root to tip. When I stand, my hair is a chestnut haze around me

  tii>' pumps, rather than my fiats.

  When I reemergc into the great room, Christian has the house plans spread

  out on the dining tab 11 ha n e play i ' tgh the soun stem. Il slo|

  me in my tracks.

  "Mrs. Grey," he says warmly then looks quizzically at me.

  "What's this?" I ask. The music is stunning.

  "Faure's Requiem. You look different," he says, distracted.

  "Oh. I've not heard il before."

  "It's very calming, relaxing." he savs and raises an eyebrow. "Have you done

  something to your hair?"

  "Brushed it," 1 mutter I'm! a i li ml voices Abandoning

  the plans on the table, he walks toward me. a slow saunter in lime to the music.

  "Dance with mc?" he murmurs.

  "To this 7 It's a requiem." ! squeak, shocked.

  "Yes." He pulls me into his arms and holds me, burying his nose in my hair

  and swaying gently from side 10 side, lie smells his heavenly self.

  Oh . . . I'e missed him. 1 w rap m arms around him and light the urge to cry.

  Why are you so infuriating''

  "I hale fighting with you." he whispers.

  "Well, stop being such an arse."

  He chuckles and the captivating sound reverberates through his chest. He

  lightens his hold on me. "Arse?"

  "You should. It suits you."

  He laughs once more and kisses the top of my head.

  "A le | ell 1 1 I I ill I

  He shrugs. "It's just a lovely piece of music, Ana."

  Tav lor coughs discreed;, al die enlraneevvay. and Christian releases me.

  "Miss Matteo is here," he says.

  "Show her in," Christian says. He reaches over and clasps my hand as Miss

  Gia Matteo enters the room.

  Chapter Eight

  Gia Matteo is a good-looking woman — a tall, good-looking woman. She wears

  her short, salon-blond feci 11 ered i I il'I'ed hail like a sophisticated

  crown. She's dressy] n a pale gi ( inisni In I i n lilted jacket hug hcr

  lush curves. Her clothes look epensie. At the base of her throat, a solitary dia-

  mond glints, matching the single-carat studs in her cars. She is well

  groomed — one of those women who grew up with money and breeding, though

  I I lic blouse i undone too

  far. Like mine. I flush.

  "Christian. Ana." She beams, showing perfect white teeth, and holds out a

  manicured hand to shake first Christian's, then my hand. It means I have to re-

  lease Christian's hand to reciprocate. She's a fraction shorlcr lhan Christian, but

  then site's in killer heels.

  ' (in Chttsti ii i i I i i i I

  "You both look so well after your honeymoon." she says smoothly, her

  brown eyes gazing 1 Chrisli Hum I n is. Kill lies Christian puts his

  arm around me, holding me close.

  "We had a wonderful time, thank noil" lie brushes his lips against my

  temple, taking me by surprise.

  S is; in t _ in it n n it 11 I _ i i i i Right now

  I really love you, Christian Grey. I slip my hand around his waist then into his

  rear pocket of his pants and squeeze his behind. Gia gives us a thin smile.

  "Have you managed to look over the plans?"

  "We have," 1 tnut t i i p at Chrisliai i w n at me, one eye-

  i . hi I I

  table. Taking m h h u i i > i i i i i in out wake. I finally re-

  mould you like something to drink'.'" 1 ask. "A glass of w ine'.'"

  "That would be lovely," Gia says. "Dry white if you have it."

  husband's side, I head over to the kitchen. I hear the iPod hiss as Christian

  switches off the music.

  "Would you like some more wine, Christian?" I call.

  "Please, baby," he croons, grinning at me. Wow, he can be so swoonworthy

  at times yet so aggravating at others.

  Reaching up to open the cupboard, I'm aware his eyes are on me, and I'm

  gripped by the uncanm feeling that Chrisli nd I arc putting on a show, playing

  a game together — but this time we're on the same side pitted against Ms. Matteo.

  Does he know that she's attracted to him and is being too obvious about it? It

  gives me a small rush, of pleasure w hen i realize nun be he's trying to reassure me.

  Or maybe he's just sending a message loud and clear to this woman that he's

  Mine. Yeah, bitch — mine. My inner goddess is wearing her gladialrix outfit,

  and she's taking no prisoners. Smiling to myself I collect three glasses from the

  cupboard, take the opened bottle of sauvignon blanc from the fridge, and place

  t
hem all on the breakfast bar. Gia is leaning over the table while Christian stands

  beside her and points at something on the plans.

  "I think Ana lias sonic opinions on the glass wall, but generally we're both

  pleased with the ideas you've come up with."

  "Oh, I'm glad." Gin gushes. ob ioush. relics cel. and as she says it, she briefly

  touches his arm in a small 11 in c li i liai il ens imincdialcK but

  subtly. She doesn't even seem to notice.

  Leave him the fuel ' ' i c lo he touched.

  Stepping casually aside so he's out of her reach, Christian turns to me.

  "Thirsty here," he says.

  ""Coming right up lie A pi i n lie ma him uncomfortable.

  Why didn't I see that before? That's why I don't like her. He's used to how wo-

  men react to him. I've seen it often enough, and usually he thinks nothing of it.

  I iii I 1 ( i rescue

  to my knight in distress. Offering a glass to Gia. 1 deliberately position myself

  'I ill 1 c i i ii ne of amused gratitude

  "Cheers," Christian says to us both, but looking at me. Gia and I raise our

  "Ana, you ha e sonic issue- with die glass v. all?" Gia asks.

  "Yes. I love it — don't get me wrong. But I was hoping that we could incor-

  porate it more organicalh into the house, lier all. i fell in love with the house as

  il was. and 1 don't want lo make am radical changes."

  "I just want the design lo be sympathetic. ou know . . . more in keeping with

  the original house." 1 glance up al Christian, who is gazing al me IhoughlfulK .

  "No major renovations?" he murmurs.

  "No." I shake my head to emphasize my point.

  "You like it as it is?"

  "Mostly, yes. I alw i u I needed some TLC."

  Christian's eyes glow warmly.

  (iia glances al die pair of us. and I to r checks pink. "Okay." she says. "I think I

  get where you're coming from, Ana. How about if we retain the glass wall, but

  have il open oul nl I i th i 1 j ! ilh the Medilcrran I,

  We have the stone 1^ i Ih ih i < i a p i pillars in matching slonc,

  widely spaced so you'll still have the view. Add a glass roof, or tile it as per the

  rest of the house. It'll also make a sheltered al fresco dining and seated area."

  Got to give the woman her due . . . she's good.

  "Or instead of lite dec!... we could incorporate a wood color of your choice in-

  to the glass doors — that might help to keep the Mediterranean spirit," she

  continues.

  "Like the bright blue shutters in the South of France." I murmur to Christian,

  who is watching me intent 1 I le takes a sip of w me and slangs, very noncommit-

  tal. Hmm. He doesn't like that idea but lie doesn't ocrrulc me. shoot me down, or

  make me feel stupid (iod. litis man is a mass of contradictions. His words from

  yesterday come to mind: "I want this house to be the way you want. Whatever you

  want. It 's yours. " He wants me to be happy — happy in everything 1 do. Deep

  down I think I know this. It's just — I stop myself. Don 't think about our argument

  Gia is looking a Christian lilin or him to mal t . decision. I watch as

  her pupils dilate 1111 li i ips pan. I ler loi i iiiickh, over her top

  lip before she takes a sip of her wine When 1 turn lo Christian, he's still looking

  at me — not at her at all. Yes! My inner goddess fist pumps the air. I am going to

  have words with Ms. Mattco.

  "Ana, what do you want to do?" Christian murmurs, very clearly deferring to

  "I like the deck idea. "

  "Me, too."

  I turn back to Gia. Hey, lady, look at me, not him. I'm the one making the de-

  cisions on this. "1 think I'd like to see revised drawings showing the bigger deck

  and pillars that are in keeping with the house."

  Reluctantly, Gia drags her greedy eyes away from my husband and smiles

  down at me. Docs she think km not going to notice?

  ' Sine she k ii i i i i 1 t in

  Other than you I i i ' liri tin nils to lemodel the

  There's a discreet cough from the entrance to the great room. We three turn

  as one to find Taylor standing there.

  "Taylor?" Christian asks.

  "I need to confer with you on an urgent matter, Mr. Grey."

  Christian clasps m lioul from b nd ai iddic ses Gia.

  "Mrs. Gre is in charg li is jcct. She 1 bsolnl I nehc

  Whatever she wants, it's Dots. I completely trust het instincts. She's very shrewd."

  His voice alters subtly. In it 1 hear pride and a veiled warning — a warning to Gia?

  He trusts my instincts? ( >h. litis man's exasperating. M instincts let him run

  roughshod oei m i lit t lierno n. 1 sha n h J frustration but I'm

  grateful that he s te I i 1 I i i I i tin l Oood-At-Her-Job

  just who's in charge. 1 cat ess his hand as a rests on my shoulder.

  "If you'll excuse me." Christian squeezes m> shoulders before following

  Taylor. I wonder idly what's going on.

  "So ... the master suite?" Gia asks nervously.

  out of earshot. Then calling on all my inner strength and the fact that I've been

  "You're right to be nervous, Gia, because right now your work on this project

  hangs in the balance. But I'm sure we'll be fine as long as you keep your hands

  off my husband."

  She gasps.

  "Otherwise, you're fired. Understand?" I enunciate each word clearly.

  She blinks rapidly, utterly stunned. She cannot believe what I've said. / can-

  widening brown ees.

  Don 't back down. Don 't back down! I've learned this maddening impassive

  expression from Christian who does impassive like no one else. I know that

  renovating the (n e tain residen i ] ession changes.

  ■ She s only react o th le soul guelv bitter, disgust i

  Oh, Fifty, no!

  What? He's bemuse I n i rpl ed exp I lis eves glow wide in

  Iblushand swallow, then -.tare down ai my knotted fingers. Am /?

  her? Of anyone? Nothing about her interests me." When I glance up, he's gaping

  at me as if I've grown an additional limb. He runs a hand through his hair. "It's

  only you, Ana," he says quietly. "It will only ever be you."

  ill t i i t I 1 1 i i t w ltd me and

  clasps my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

  "How can you think otherwise'.' I lave 1 evei given you any indication thai 1

  could be remotely interested in anyone else?" His eyes blaze as he stares into

  "No," I whisper. "I'm being silly. It's just today . . . you . . ." All my conflict-

  t n h i iti 1 1 i ii M It 1 1 it mfuscd I am? I've

  been confounded ami frustrated b> his behaiot ihis afternoon in m office. One

  minute he wants me to stay at home, the next he's gifting me a company. How am

  I supposed to keep up?

  "What about me?"

  "Oh, Christian" — my bottom lip trembles — "I'm trying to adapt to this new

  life that I had never imagined for myself. h erything is being handed to me on a

  plate — the job, you, my beautiful husband, who I never ... I never knew I'd love

  this way, this hard, this fast, this . . . indelibly." I take a deep steadying breath, as

  his mouth drops open.

  "But you're like a freight Irani, and I don't want to gel railroaded because the

  girl you fell in love with will be crushed. And what'll be left? All that would be

  left is a vacuous socia! -ray. Hilling from charily function lo chari
ly function." 1

  pause once more, struggling to find the words to convey how I feel. "And now

  you want me to be a company CEO, which has never even been on my radar. I'm

  bouncing between all these ideas, struggling. You want me at home. You want me

  to run a company. It's so confusing.' 1 slop, lears threatening, and I force back a

  "You've got to let me make my own decisions, take my own risks, and make

  my own mistakes, and let me learn from them. I need to walk before I can run,

  Christian, don't you see. I w am some independence. Thai's w hat my name means

  to me." There, that's what I wanted to say this afternoon.

  "You feel railroaded?" he whispers.

  I nod.

  He closes his i IK hi in II id ihli 1 li 1 U ition. "1 just want

  from it, too. Keep you safe. But I also want everyone to know you're mine. I pan-

  icked loday v lieu I gol your e-mail. Why didn'l you lell me aboul your name'.'"

  I flush. He has a point.

  1 I I I I I I II I e I 1 ! I I

  want to burst the bubble, and 1 forgot aboul it. 1 onl remembered yesterday even-

  ing. And then Jack . . . you know . it w as dislracling. I'm sorry. 1 should ha e lold

  y ou or discussed il w ill; you. bin 1 could nc er seem lo find the right time."

  C hristian" s intense gaze is unnerv ing, ii's as if he's Hying lo w ill his w ay into

  my skull, but he says nothing.

  "Why did you panic?" 1 ask.

  "For heaven's sake, I'm noi n w I ou going to get that

  he does sometimes to emphasize my point. "More than . . . eyesight, space, or

  liberty." 1

  His eyes widen. "A daughter's love?" He gives me an ironic smile.

  "No," I laugh, despite nn self. "If s the 011K quote that came to mind."

  "Mad King Lear?"

  "Dear, dear Mad King Lear." I caress his face, and he leans into my touch,

  would know that you belong to me?"

  flat. He frowns. '"Belong to ou?" lie murmurs, testing the words.

  "Mine."

  "Yours," he sas. repealing the words we spoke in the playroom only yester-

  y Oh my.

  "Does it mean that much to you?"

  "Okay." I will do this for him. < m e him the reassurance he still needs.

  "I Ik- gh >ul ahead ed i hi

  "Yes I have, but now we've discussed it further, I'm happier with my

  "Oh," he mutters, surprised. Then he sidles his beautiful, boyish yes-I-am-

  rcally-kinda-young smile, and he takes my breath away. Grabbing me by my

  waist, he swings me around. I squeal and start to giggle, and I don't know if he's

  just happy or relieved or . . . what?

  "Mrs. Grey, do you know what this means to me?"

  lie leans down and kisses inc. his lingers moung into m hair. Iioldum me in

  place.

  "It means seven shades ol'Sundax." lie murmurs against my lips, and he runs

  "i on think?" I lean hack lo gaze a; him.

  "Certain promises \c'c made. An oiler extended, a deal brokered," he whis-

  ie . Itiseesspa i ing . ill k ked delight.

  "Um ..." I am still reeling, trying to follow his mood.

  "You reneging on me?" he asks uncertainly, and a speculative look crosses

  his face. "1 have an idea," he adds.

  Oh. whai kinky fuckeiy i.s //i/V

  "A really important matter to attend to," he continues, suddenly all serious

  once more. "Yes. Mrs. Grey. A mailer of the gravest importance."

  Hang on — he's laughing at me.

  "What?" I breathe.

  "I need you to cut my hair. Apparently it's overlong, and my wife doesn't

  like it."

  "I can't cut your hair!"

  "Yes yon can." Christian grins and shakes his head so his overlong hair cov-

  ers his eyes.

  "Well, if Mrs. Jones has a pudding bowl." 1 giggle.

  He laughs. "Okay, good point wail made idl gel Franco to do it."