Grey (45 page)

“We should talk,” she whispers.

“Later.”

“There's so much I want to say.”

“Me, too.” I kiss the spot beneath her ear and tug her hair, pulling back her head to expose her throat. My teeth and lips graze her chin and down her neck as my body hums with need. “I want you,” I whisper, as I kiss the spot where her pulse beats beneath her skin. She moans and holds my arms. I tense for a moment, but the darkness stays dormant.

“Are you bleeding?” I ask between kisses.

She stills. “Yes,” she says.

“Do you have cramps?”

“No.” Her voice is quiet yet vehement with embarrassment.

I stop kissing her and look down into her eyes. Why is she embarrassed? It's her body. “Did you take your pill?”

“Yes,” she answers.

Good.
“Let's go have a bath.”

In the over-the-top bathroom I release Ana's hand. The atmosphere is hot and humid, steam gently rising above the foam. In this heat I'm overdressed, my linen shirt and jeans sticking to my skin.

Ana watches me, her skin dewy from the humidity.

“Do you have a hair tie?” I ask. Her hair will start clinging to her face. She pulls out a hair elastic from her jeans pocket.

“Put your hair up,” I tell her, and watch as she follows my command with quick, efficient grace.

Good girl. No more arguing.

A few strands escape from her ponytail, but she looks lovely. I turn off the faucet and, taking her hand, guide her into the other part of the bathroom, where a large gilded mirror hangs over two
sinks set in marble. My eyes on hers in the mirror, I stand behind her and ask her to take off her sandals. Hastily she removes them and lets them drop to the floor.

“Lift up your arms,” I whisper. Grasping the hem of her pretty top, I peel it off and over her head, freeing her breasts. Reaching around, I undo the top button and the zipper of her jeans.

“I'm going to have you in the bathroom, Anastasia.” Her eyes stray to my mouth and she licks her lips. Under the soft light her pupils gleam with excitement. Bending down, I drop tender kisses on her neck, hook my thumbs into the waistband of her jeans, and slowly peel them down over her fine ass, catching her panties in my hands on the way down. Kneeling behind her, I ease them down her legs, to her feet. “Step out of your jeans,” I order. Grabbing the edge of the sink, she obliges; now she's naked and I'm face-to-face with her ass. I pop her jeans, panties, and top onto a white stool beneath the sink and contemplate all the things I could do to that ass. I notice a blue string between her legs; her tampon is still in place, so I settle for kissing and nipping her behind gently before standing up. Our eyes connect in the mirror once more and I splay my hand out over her smooth, flat belly.

“Look at you. You are so beautiful. See how you feel.” Her breathing quickens as I take both her hands in mine and spread her fingers on her belly beneath my outstretched hands.

“Feel how soft your skin is,” I whisper. Gently I guide her hands across her torso in a wide sweeping circle, then travel them up to her breasts.

“Feel how full your breasts are.” I hold her hands beneath her breasts so she's cupping them. Gently I tease her nipples with my thumbs. She moans and bows her back, pressing her breasts into our conjoined hands. Trapping her nipples between her thumbs and mine, I tug gently again and again, and take pleasure watching them harden and lengthen in response.

Like a certain part of my anatomy.

She closes her eyes and wriggles against me, brushing her behind over my erection. She moans, her head against my shoulder.

“That's right, baby,” I murmur against her neck, enjoying her body coming alive beneath her touch. I guide her hands down her front to her hips, then in toward her pubic hair. I push my leg between hers and with my foot widen her stance as I guide her hands over her vulva, one hand at a time, over and over, pressing her fingers over her clitoris again and again.

She groans and I watch her writhe against me in the mirror.

Lord, she's a goddess.

“Look at you glow, Anastasia.” I kiss and nip her neck and her shoulder, then I let go, leaving her hanging, and she opens her eyes as I step back.

“Carry on,” I tell her, wondering what she'll do.

She falters for a moment, then rubs herself with one hand, but not nearly as enthusiastically.

Oh, this will never do.

Quickly I strip off my sticky shirt, jeans, and underwear, freeing my erection.

“You'd rather I do this?” I ask, her eyes blazing at mine in the mirror.

“Oh yes, please,” she says, a desperate, needy edge to her voice. I wrap my arms around her, my front against her back, my cock resting in the cleft of her fine, fine ass. I take her hands in mine once more, guiding them over her clitoris, one at a time, again and again, pressing, stroking, and arousing her. She whimpers as I suck and nip at her nape. Her legs begin to tremble. Abruptly I spin her around so she's facing me. I grasp her wrists in one of my hands, holding them behind her back, while I tug on her ponytail with the other, bringing her lips up to mine. I kiss her, consuming her mouth, reveling in the taste of her: orange juice and sweet, sweet Ana. Her breathing is harsh, like mine.

“When did you start your period, Anastasia?”

I want to fuck you without a condom.

“Yesterday,” she breathes.

“Good.” I step back and spin her around. “Hold on to the sink,” I command. Grasping her hips, I lift her and pull her backward so
she's bent over. My hand glides down her ass to the blue string, and I tug out the tampon, which I toss in the toilet. She gasps, shocked, I think, but I grab my cock and slide into her quickly.

My breath whistles between my teeth.

Fuck. She feels good. So good. Skin against skin.

I edge back, then sink into her once more, slowly, feeling every precious, slick inch of her. She groans and pushes against me.

Oh yes, Ana.

She tightens her grip on the marble as I pick up speed, and I grasp her hips, building…building, then hammering into her. Claiming her. Possessing her.

Don't be jealous, Ana. I want only you.

You.

You.

My fingers find her clitoris and I tease her, caress her, and stimulate her so that her legs begin to tremble once more. “That's right, baby,” I murmur, my voice hoarse as I pound into her with a punishing I-own-you rhythm.

Don't argue with me. Don't fight with me.

Her legs stiffen as I grind into her and her body starts to quiver. Suddenly she cries out as her orgasm seizes her, taking me with her.

“Oh, Ana,” I breathe as I let go, the world blurring, and I come inside her.

Fuck.

“Oh, baby, will I ever get enough of you?” I whisper as I sink onto her.

Slowly I descend to the floor, bringing her with me and wrapping my arms around her. She sits, her head against my shoulder, still panting.

Sweet Lord.

Was it ever like this?

I kiss her hair and she calms, her eyes closed, her breathing slowly returning to normal as I hold her. We're both sweaty and hot in a humid bathroom, but I don't want to be anywhere else.

She shifts. “I'm bleeding,” she says.

“Doesn't bother me.” I don't want to let her go.

“I noticed.” Her tone is dry.

“Does it bother you?”
It shouldn't. It's natural.
I've known only one woman who was squeamish about period sex, but I wouldn't take any of that crap from her.

“No, not at all.” Ana peers up at me with clear blue eyes.

“Good. Let's have a bath.” I free her and her brows knit for a moment while she stares at my chest. Her rosy face loses some of its color, and clouded eyes meet mine.

“What is it?” I ask, alarmed by her expression.

“Your scars. They're not from chicken pox.”

“No, they're not.” My tone is arctic.

I do not want to talk about this.

Standing, I hold my hand out to her and pull her to her feet. Her eyes are wide with horror.

It'll be pity next.

“Don't look at me like that,” I warn, and release her hand.

I don't want your fucking pity, Ana. Don't go there.

She studies her hand, suitably chastened, I hope.

“Did she do that?” Her voice is almost inaudible.

I scowl at her, saying nothing, as I try to contain my sudden rage. My silence compels her to look at me.

“She?” I snarl. “Mrs. Robinson?”

Ana pales at my tone.

“She's not an animal, Anastasia. Of course she didn't. I don't understand why you feel you have to demonize her.”

She bows her head to avoid eye contact, walks briskly past me, and steps into the bath, sinking into the foam so I can no longer see her body. Looking up at me, her face contrite and open, she says, “I just wonder what you would be like if you hadn't met her. If she hadn't introduced you to your, um, lifestyle.”

Damn it.
We're back to Elena.

I stalk toward the tub, slip into the water, and sit on the underwater shelf out of her reach. She watches me, waiting for an answer. The silence between us swells until all I can hear is the blood pumping through my ears.

Fuck.

She doesn't take her eyes off mine.

Stand down, Ana!

Nope. It's not going to happen.

I shake my head.
Impossible woman.

“I would probably have gone the way of my birth mother, had it not been for Mrs. Robinson.”

She tucks a damp tendril behind her ear, staying quiet.

What can I say about Elena?
I think about our relationship: Elena and me. Those heady years. The secrecy. The furtive couplings. The pain. The pleasure. The release…The order and calm she brought to my world. “She loved me in a way I found…acceptable,” I muse, almost to myself.

“Acceptable?” Ana says in disbelief.

“Yes.”

Ana's expression is expectant.

She wants more.

Shit.

“She distracted me from the destructive path I found myself following.” My voice is low. “It's very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you're not perfect.”

She inhales sharply.

Hell. I hate talking about this.

“Does she still love you?”

No!
“I don't think so, not like that. I keep telling you, it was a long time ago. It's in the past. I couldn't change it even if I wanted to, which I don't. She saved me from myself. I've never discussed this with anyone.

“Except Dr. Flynn, of course. And the only reason I'm talking about this now, to you, is because I want you to trust me.”

“I do trust you,” she says, “but I do want to know you better, and whenever I try to talk to you, you distract me. There's so much I want to know.”

“Oh, for pity's sake, Anastasia. What do you want to know? What do I have to do?”

She stares at her hands under the surface of the water. “I'm just trying to understand; you're such an enigma. Unlike anyone I've met before. I'm glad you're telling me what I want to know.”

Abruptly filled with resolve, she moves through the water to sit beside me, leaning against me so my skin sticks to hers.

“Please don't be angry with me,” she says.

“I am not angry with you, Anastasia. I'm just not used to this kind of talking—this probing. I only have this with Dr. Flynn and with—”

Damn.

“With her? Mrs. Robinson? You talk to her,” she says, her voice breathy and quiet.

“Yes, I do.”

“What about?”

I turn to face her so suddenly that water sloshes out of the bath and onto the floor. “Persistent, aren't you? Life, the universe—business. Anastasia, Mrs. R and I go way back. We can discuss anything.”

“Me?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Why do you talk about me?” she asks, and now she sounds sullen.

“I've never met anyone like you, Anastasia.”

“What does that mean? Anyone who didn't just automatically sign your paperwork, no questions asked?”

I shake my head.
No
. “I need advice.”

“And you take advice from Mrs. Pedo?” she snaps.

“Anastasia—enough,” I almost shout. “Or I'll put you across my knee. I have no sexual or romantic interest in her whatsoever. She's a dear, valued friend and a business partner. That's all. We have a past, a shared history, which was monumentally beneficial for me, though it fucked up her marriage—but that side of our relationship is over.”

She squares her shoulders. “And your parents never found out?”

“No,” I growl. “I've told you this.”

She regards me warily, and I think she knows she's pushed me to my limit.

“Are you done?” I ask.

“For now.”

Thank God for that. She wasn't lying when she told me there was much she wanted to say. But we're not talking about what I want to talk about. I need to know where I stand. If our arrangement has a chance.

Seize the day, Grey.

“Right—my turn. You haven't responded to my e-mail.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, then shakes her head. “I was going to respond. But now you're here.”

“You'd rather I wasn't?” I hold my breath.

“No, I'm pleased,” she says.

“Good. I'm pleased I'm here, too—in spite of your interrogation. So, while it's acceptable to grill me, you think you can claim some kind of diplomatic immunity just because I've flown all this way to see you? I'm not buying it, Miss Steele. I want to know how you feel.”