Grey (22 page)

“I have to drive.”

Good answer.

“Some water, then?”

She nods.

“Still or sparkling?”

“Sparkling, please.”

The waiter leaves with our plates.

“You're very quiet,” I whisper. She's barely said a word.

“You're very verbose,” she shoots straight back at me.

Fair point, Miss Steele.

Now for the next item on her list of issues: clause fifteen. I take a deep breath. “Discipline. There's a very fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don't believe me now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing that you can't handle.” I cannot emphasize this enough. “Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Ana?”

“Yes, I do,” she says immediately. Her response knocks me sideways: it's completely unexpected.

Again.

Have I gained her trust already?

“Well, then, the rest of this stuff is just details.” I feel ten feet tall.

“Important details.”

She's right.
Concentrate, Grey.

“Okay, let's talk through those.”

The waiter reenters with our entrées.

“I hope you like fish,” I say, as he places our food before us. The black cod looks delicious. Ana takes a bite.

Finally, she's eating!

“The rules,” I continue. “Let's talk about them. The food is a deal breaker?”

“Yes.”

“Can I modify to say that you will eat at least three meals a day?”

“No.”

Suppressing an irritated sigh, I persist. “I need to know that you're not hungry.”

She frowns. “You'll have to trust me.”

“Oh, touché, Miss Steele,” I mutter to myself. These are battles I'm not going to win. “I concede the food and the sleep.”

She gives me a small, relieved smile. “Why can't I look at you?” she asks.

“That's a Dom/sub thing. You'll get used to it.”

She frowns once more, but looks pained this time. “Why can't I touch you?” she asks.

“Because you can't.”

Shut her down, Grey.

“Is it because of Mrs. Robinson?”

What?
“Why would you think that? You think she traumatized me?”

She nods.

“No, Anastasia. She's not the reason. Besides, Mrs. Robinson wouldn't take any of that shit from me.”

“So nothing to do with her,” she asks, looking confused.

“No.”

I can't bear to be touched. And, baby, you really don't want to know why.

“And I don't want you touching yourself, either,” I add.

“Out of curiosity, why?”

“Because I want all your pleasure.”

In fact, I want it now.
I could fuck her here to see if she can be quiet. Real quiet, knowing we're within earshot of the hotel staff and guests. After all, that's why I've booked this room.

She opens her mouth as if to say something, but closes it again and takes another bite of food from her largely untouched plate. “I've given you a great deal to think about, haven't I?” I say, folding up her e-mail and tucking it into my inside pocket.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to go through the soft limits now, too?”

“Not over dinner.”

“Squeamish?”

“Something like that.”

“You've not eaten very much.”

“I've had enough.”

This is getting old.
“Three oysters, four bites of cod, and one asparagus stalk, no potatoes, no nuts, no olives, and you've not eaten all day. You said I could trust you.”

Her eyes widen.

Yeah. I've been keeping count, Ana.

“Christian, please, it's not every day I sit through conversations like this.”

“I need you fit and healthy, Anastasia.” My tone is adamant.

“I know.”

“And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” she whispers. “We haven't had dessert.”

“You want dessert?” When you haven't eaten your main course?

“Yes.”

“You could be dessert.”

“I'm not sure I'm sweet enough.”

“Anastasia, you're deliciously sweet. I know.”

“Christian. You use sex as a weapon. It really isn't fair.” She looks down at her lap, and her voice is low and a little melancholy. She looks up again, pinning me with an intense stare, her powder-blue eyes unnerving…and arousing.

“You're right. I do,” I admit. “In life you use what you know. Doesn't change how much I want you. Here. Now.”
And we could fuck here, right now.
I know you're interested, Ana. I hear how your breathing has changed. “I'd like to try something.” I really want to know how quiet she can be, and if she can do this with the fear of discovery.

Her brow creases once more; she's confused.

“If you were my sub, you wouldn't have to think about this. It would be easy. All those decisions—all the wearying thought processes behind them. The ‘Is this the right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now?' You wouldn't have to worry about any of that detail. That's what I'd do as your Dom. And right now, I know you want me, Anastasia.”

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and her frown intensifies as she licks her lips.

Oh yes. She wants me.

“I can tell because your body gives you away. You're pressing your thighs together, you're flushed, and your breathing has changed.”

“How do you know about my thighs?” she asks, her voice high-pitched, shocked, I think.

“I felt the tablecloth move, and it's a calculated guess based on years of experience. I'm right, aren't I?”

She's quiet for a moment and looks away. “I haven't finished my cod,” she says, evasive but still blushing.

“You'd prefer cold cod to me?”

Her eyes meet mine, and they're wide, pupils dark and large. “I thought you liked me to clear my plate.”

“Right now, Miss Steele, I couldn't give a fuck about your food.”

“Christian. You just don't fight fair.”

“I know. I never have.”

We stare at each other in a battle of wills, both aware of the sexual tension stretching between us across the table.

Please, would you just do as you're told?
I implore her with a look. But her eyes glint with sensual disobedience and a smile lifts her lips. Still holding my stare, she picks up an asparagus spear and deliberately bites her lip.

What is she doing?

Very slowly, she places the tip of the spear in her mouth and sucks it.

Fuck.

She's trifling with me—a dangerous tactic that will have me fucking her over this table.

Oh, bring it on, Miss Steele.

I watch, mesmerized, hardening by the second.

“Anastasia. What are you doing?” I warn.

“Eating my asparagus,” she says with a coy smile.

“I think you're toying with me, Miss Steele.”

“I'm just finishing my food, Mr. Grey.” Her lips curl wider, slowly, carnal, and the heat between us rises several degrees. She really has no idea how sexy she is…I'm about to pounce when the waiter knocks and enters.

Damn it.

I let him clear the plates, then turn my attention back to Miss Steele. But her frown is back, and she's fidgeting with her fingers.

Hell.

“Would you like some dessert?” I ask.

“No thank you. I think I should go,” she says, still staring at her hands.

“Go?”
She's leaving?

The waiter exits quickly with our plates.

“Yes,” Ana says, her voice firm with resolve. She gets to her feet to leave. And automatically I stand, too. “We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow,” she says.

This is not going according to plan at all.

“I don't want you to go,” I state, because it's the truth.

“Please, I have to,” she insists.

“Why?”

“Because you've given me so much to consider, and I need some distance.” Her eyes are pleading with me to let her go.

But we've gotten so far in our negotiation. We've made compromises. We can make this work.
I have to make this work.

“I could make you stay,” I tell her, knowing that I could seduce her right now, in this room.

“Yes, you could easily, but I don't want you to.”

This is all going south—I've overplayed my hand. This isn't how I thought the night would end. I rake my hands through my hair in frustration.

“You know, when you fell into my office to interview me, you were all ‘Yes, sir,' ‘No, sir.' I thought you were a natural-born submissive. But quite frankly, Anastasia, I'm not sure you have a submissive bone in your delectable body.” I walk the few steps that separate us and look down into eyes that shine with determination.

“You may be right,” she says.

No. No. I don't want to be right.

“I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do.” I caress her face and her lower lip with my thumb. “I don't know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am.”

“I know,” she says.

Lowering my head so my lips hover over hers, I wait until she raises her mouth to mine and closes her eyes. I want to give her a brief, chaste kiss, but as our lips touch, she leans in to me, her hands suddenly fisting in my hair, her mouth opening to me, her tongue insistent. I press my hand to the base of her spine, holding her against me, and deepen the kiss, mirroring her fervor.

Christ, I want her.

“I can't persuade you to stay?” I whisper against the corner of her mouth, as my body responds, hardening with desire.

“No.”

“Spend the night with me.”

“And not touch you? No.”

Damn.
The darkness uncoils in my guts, but I ignore it.

“You impossible girl,” I mutter, and pull back, examining her face and her tense, brooding expression.

“Why do I think you're telling me good-bye?”

“Because I'm leaving now.”

“That's not what I mean, and you know it.”

“Christian, I have to think about this. I don't know if I can have the kind of relationship you want.”

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against hers.

What did you expect, Grey? She's not cut out for this.

I take a deep breath and kiss her forehead, then bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet, autumnal scent and committing it to memory.

That's it. Enough.

Stepping back, I release her. “As you wish, Miss Steele. I'll escort you to the lobby.” I hold out my hand for what could be the last time, and I'm surprised how painful this thought is. She places her hand in mine, and in silence we head down to reception.

“Do you have your valet ticket?” I ask as we reach the lobby. I sound calm and collected, but inside I'm in knots.

From her purse she retrieves the ticket, which I hand to the doorman.

“Thank you for dinner,” she says.

“It's a pleasure as always, Miss Steele.”

This cannot be the end. I have to show her—demonstrate what this all means, what we can do together. Show her what we can do in the playroom. Then she'll know. This might be the only way to save this deal. Quickly I turn to her. “You're moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” I ask.

“We'll see. Maybe,” she says.

That's not a “no.”

I notice the goose bumps on her arms. “It's cooler now, don't you have a jacket?” I ask.

“No.”

This woman needs looking after. I take off my jacket. “Here. I
don't want you catching cold.” I slip it over her shoulders and she hugs it around herself, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply.

Is she drawn to my scent? Like I am to hers?

Perhaps all is not lost?

The valet pulls up in an ancient VW Beetle.

What the hell is that?

“That's what you drive?” This must be older than Grandpa Theodore.
Jesus!
The valet hands over the keys and I tip him generously. He deserves danger pay.

“Is this roadworthy?” I glare at Ana. How can she be safe in this rust bucket?

“Yes.”

“Will it make it to Seattle?”

“Yes. She will.”

“Safely?”

“Yes.” She tries to reassure me. “Okay, she's old. But she's mine, and she's roadworthy. My stepdad bought it for me.”

When I suggest that we could do better than this she realizes what I'm offering and her expression changes immediately.

She's mad.

“You are
not
buying me a car,” she says emphatically.

“We'll see,” I mutter, trying to keep calm. I hold open the driver's door, and as she climbs in I wonder if I should ask Taylor to take her home.
Damn.
I remember that he's off this evening.

Once I've shut the door, she rolls down the window…painfully slowly.

For Christ's sake!

“Drive safely,” I growl.

“Good-bye, Christian,” she says, and her voice falters, as if she's trying not to cry.

Shit.
My whole mood shifts from irritation and concern for her well-being to helplessness as her car roars off up the street.

I don't know if I'll see her again.

I stand like a fool on the sidewalk until her rear lights disappear into the night.

Fuck. Why did that go so wrong?