Grey (46 page)

Her brows knit together. “I told you. I am pleased you're here. Thank you for coming all this way.” She sounds sincere.

“It's my pleasure.” I lean down and kiss her, and she opens like a flower, offering and wanting more. I pull back. “No. I think I want some answers first before we do any more.”

She sighs, her wary look returning. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, how you feel about our would-be arrangement, for starters.”

She makes a moue with her mouth, as if her response will be unpalatable.

Oh dear.

“I don't think I can do it for an extended period of time. A whole weekend being someone I'm not.” She looks down, away from me.

That's not a “no.”
What's more, I think she's right.

Grasping her chin, I tilt her head up so I can see her eyes.

“No, I don't think you could, either.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Yes, but in a good way.” I kiss her again. “You're not a great submissive.”

Her mouth drops open. Is she feigning offense? And then she laughs, a sweet, infectious laugh, and I know she's not offended.

“Maybe I don't have a good teacher.”

Good point well made, Miss Steele.

I laugh, too. “Maybe. Perhaps I should be stricter with you.” I search her face. “Was it that bad when I spanked you the first time?”

“No, not really,” she says, her cheeks flushing a little.

“It's more the idea of it?” I ask, pressing her further.

“I suppose. Feeling pleasure when one isn't supposed to.”

“I remember feeling the same. Takes a while to get your head around it.”

We are finally having the discussion. “You can always use the safe word, Anastasia. Don't forget that. And, as long as you follow the rules, which fulfill a deep need in me for control and to keep you safe, then perhaps we can find a way forward.”

“Why do you need to control me?”

“Because it satisfies a need in me that wasn't met in my formative years.”

“So it's a form of therapy?”

“I've not thought of it like that, but yes, I suppose it is.”

She nods. “But, here's the thing—one moment you say ‘don't defy me,' the next you say you like to be challenged. That's a very fine line to tread successfully.”

“I can see that. But you seem to be doing fine so far.”

“But at what personal cost? I'm tied up in knots here.”

“I like you tied up in knots.”

“That's not what I meant!” She dashes her hand through the water, soaking me.

“Did you just splash me?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Oh, Miss Steele.” I wrap my arm around her waist and tug her onto my lap, slopping water onto the floor once again. “I think we've done enough talking for now.”

I hold her head between my hands and kiss her, my tongue teasing her lips apart, then delving into her mouth, dominating her. She runs her fingers through my hair, returning my kiss, twisting her tongue around mine. Angling her head with one hand, I shift her with the other so she's astride me.

I pull back to take a breath. Her eyes are dark and carnal, her lust plain to see. I pull her wrists behind her back and grasp them in one hand. “I'm going to have you now,” I declare, and I lift her so that my erection is poised beneath her. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she breathes, and slowly I lower her onto me, watching her expression as I fill her. She moans and closes her eyes, thrusting her breasts forward into my face.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

I flex my hips, lifting her, burying myself even deeper inside her, and lean forward so our foreheads are touching.

She feels so good.

“Please, let my hands go,” she whispers.

I open my eyes and see her mouth open as she drags air into her lungs.

“Don't touch me,” I plead, and release her hands and grasp her hips. She grabs the edge of the bath and slowly starts to take me. Up. Then down. Oh so slowly. She opens her eyes to find mine on her face. Watching her. Riding me. Leaning down, she kisses me, her tongue invading my mouth. I close my eyes, reveling in the sensation.

Oh yes, Ana.

Her fingers are in my hair, tugging and pulling as she kisses me, her wet tongue entwining with mine as she moves. I hold her hips and start lifting her higher and faster, vaguely aware that water is cascading out of the bath.

But I don't care. I want her. Like this.

This beautiful woman who moans into my mouth.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Over and over.

Giving herself to me. Taking me.

“Ah.” The pleasure catches in her throat.

“That's right, baby,” I whisper, as she quickens around me, then cries out as she explodes into her orgasm.

I wrap my arms around her, embracing her, holding her tightly as I lose myself and come inside her. “Ana, baby!” I cry, and I know I never want to let her go.

She kisses my ear.

“That was—” she breathes.

“Yeah.” Holding her arms, I urge her back so I can study her. She looks sleepy and sated, and I imagine I must look the same. “Thank you,” I whisper.

She looks confused.

“For not touching me,” I clarify.

Her face softens and she raises her hand. I tense. But she shakes her head and traces my lips with her finger.

“You said it's a hard limit. I understand.” And she leans forward and kisses me. The unfamiliar feeling surfaces, swelling in my chest, unnamed and dangerous.

“Let's get you to bed. Unless you have to go home?” I'm alarmed at where my emotions are going.

“No. I don't have to go.”

“Good. Stay.”

I stand her up and climb out of the bath to fetch us both towels, and dismiss my unsettling feelings.

I wrap her in a towel, drape one around my waist, and drop another on the floor in a vain attempt to clean up the water sloshed on the floor. Ana wanders over to the sinks as I drain the bath.

Well. That was an interesting evening.

And she was right. It was good to talk, though I'm not sure we've resolved anything.

She's brushing her teeth with my toothbrush when I walk through the bathroom to the bedroom. It makes me smile. I pick up my phone and see that the missed call was from Taylor.

I text him.

Everything okay?

I'll be leaving to go gliding at 6 a.m.

He responds immediately.

That's why I was calling.

Weather looks good.

I'll see you there.

Good night, sir.

I'm taking Miss Steele soaring! My delight bubbles up into a broad grin that widens when she comes out of the bathroom wrapped in the towel.

“I need my purse,” she says, looking a little shy.

“I think you left it in the living room.”

She scampers off to fetch it, and I brush my teeth, knowing that the toothbrush has just been in her mouth.

In the bedroom I discard the towel, pull back the sheets, and lie down, waiting for Ana. She's disappeared into the bathroom again and closed the door.

Moments later she returns. She drops her towel and lies down beside me, naked except for a shy smile. We lie in bed facing each other, hugging our pillows. “Do you want to sleep?” I ask. I know we have to get up early, and it's nearly eleven.

“No. I'm not tired,” she says, her eyes shining.

“What do you want to do?”
More sex?

“Talk.”

More talking. Oh Lord.
I smile, resigned. “About what?”

“Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“What's your favorite film?”

I like her quick-fire questions. “Today, it's
The Piano.
”

She beams back at me. “Of course. Silly me. Such a sad, exciting
score, which no doubt you can play. So many accomplishments, Mr. Grey.”

“And the greatest one is you, Miss Steele.”

Her grin broadens. “So I am number seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

“Number of women you've, um…had sex with.”

Oh, shit.
“Not exactly.”

Her smile vanishes. “You said fifteen.”

“I was referring to the number of women in my playroom. I thought that's what you meant. You didn't ask me how many women I'd had sex with.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Vanilla?” she asks.

“No. You are my one vanilla conquest.” And for some strange reason, I feel insanely pleased with myself. “I can't give you a number. I didn't put notches in the bedpost or anything.”

“What are we talking—tens, hundreds…thousands?”

“Tens. We're in the tens, for pity's sake.” I feign outrage.

“All submissives?”

“Yes.”

“Stop grinning at me,” she says haughtily, trying and failing to stifle hers.

“I can't. You're funny.” And I feel a little light-headed as we beam at each other.

“Funny peculiar or funny ha-ha?”

“A bit of both, I think.”

“That's damned cheeky, coming from you,” she says.

I kiss her nose to prepare her. “This will shock you, Anastasia. Ready?”

Her eyes are wide and eager, full of delight.

Tell her.

“All submissives in training, when I was training. There are places in and around Seattle that one can go and practice. Learn to do what I do.”

“Oh,” she exclaims.

“Yep, I've paid for sex, Anastasia.”

“That's nothing to be proud of,” she scolds me. “And you're right, I am deeply shocked. And cross that I can't shock you.”

“You wore my underwear.”

“Did that shock you?”

“Yes. You didn't wear your panties to meet my parents.”

Her delight is restored. “Did that shock you?”

“Yes.”

“It seems I can only shock you in the underwear department.”

“You told me you were a virgin. That's the biggest shock I've ever had.”

“Yes, your face was a picture, a Kodak moment.” She giggles, and her face lights up.

“You let me work you over with a riding crop.” I'm grinning like the fucking Cheshire cat. When have I ever stretched out naked beside a woman and just talked?

“Did that shock you?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I may let you do it again.”

“Oh, I do hope so, Miss Steele. This weekend?”

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay?”

“Yes. I'll go to the Red Room of Pain again.”

“You say my name.”

“That shocks you?”

“The fact that I like it shocks me.”

“Christian,” she whispers, and the sound of my name from her lips spreads warmth through my body.

Ana.

“I want to do something tomorrow.”

“What?”

“A surprise. For you.”

She yawns.

Enough. She's tired.

“Am I boring you, Miss Steele?”

“Never,” she confesses. I lean across and give her a quick kiss.

“Sleep,” I order, and switch off the bedside light.

And a few moments later I hear her even breathing; she's fast asleep. I pull a sheet over her, roll onto my back, and stare up at the whirring ceiling fan.

Well, talking isn't so bad.

Today worked out after all.

Thank you, Elena…

And with a sated smile, I close my eyes.

THURSDAY, JUNE 2, 2011

N
o. Don't leave me.” The whispered words penetrate my slumber, and I stir and wake.

What was that?

I look around the room. Where the hell am I?

Oh yes, Savannah.

“No. Please. Don't leave me.”

What?
It's Ana. “I'm not going anywhere,” I mutter, bemused. Turning, I prop myself up on my elbow. She's huddled beside me and she looks like she's asleep.

“I won't leave you,” she mumbles.

My scalp prickles. “I'm very glad to hear that.”

She sighs.

“Ana?” I whisper. But she doesn't react. Her eyes are closed. She's fast asleep. She must be dreaming…what is she dreaming about?

“Christian,” she says.

“Yes,” I respond automatically.

But she says nothing; she's definitely asleep, but I've never heard her talk in her sleep before.

I watch her, fascinated. Her face is illuminated by ambient light from the living area. Her brow crinkles for a moment, as if an unpleasant thought is plaguing her, then it's smooth once more. With her lips parted as she breathes, her face soft in sleep, she's beautiful.

And she doesn't want me to go, and she won't leave me. The candor of her subconscious admission sweeps through me like a summer breeze, leaving warmth and hope in its wake.

She's not going to leave me.

Well, you have your answer, Grey.

I smile down at her. She seems to have settled and stopped talking. I check the time on the radio alarm: 4:57.

It's time to get up anyway, and I'm elated. I'm going soaring.
With Ana.
I love soaring. I place a quick kiss on her temple, rise, and head into the main room of the suite, where I order breakfast and check the local weather report.

Another hot day with high humidity. No rain.

I shower quickly, dry myself, then gather Ana's clothes from the bathroom and lay them out on a chair near the bed. As I pick up her panties I remember how my devious plan to confiscate her underwear backfired.

Oh, Miss Steele.

And after our first night together…

“Oh, by the way, I'm wearing your underwear.” And she yanks the waistband up, so I can see the words “Polo” and “Ralph” peeking over her jeans.

I shake my head, and from the armoire I take a pair of my boxer briefs and deposit them on the chair. I like it when she wears my clothes.

She mumbles again, and I think she said “cage,” but I'm not sure.

What the hell is that about?

She doesn't stir, but remains blissfully asleep while I dress. As I pull on my T-shirt there's a knock on the door. Breakfast has arrived: pastries, a coffee for me, and Twinings English Breakfast tea for Ana. Fortunately the hotel stocks her favorite blend.

It's time to wake Miss Steele.

“Strawberry,” she mutters, as I sit down beside her on the bed.

What's with the fruit?

“Anastasia,” I summon her gently.

“I want more.”

I know you do, and so do I.
“Come on, baby.” I continue to coax her awake.

She gripes. “No. I want to touch you.”

Shit.
“Wake up.” I lean down and gently tug her earlobe with my teeth.

“No.” She screws her eyes tight.

“Wake up, baby.”

“Oh no,” she protests.

“Time to get up, baby. I'm going to switch on the side light.” I reach across and switch it on, bathing her in a pool of dim light. She squints.

“No,” she whines. Her reluctance to wake is amusing and different. In my previous relationships a sleepy submissive could expect to be disciplined.

I nuzzle her ear and whisper, “I want to chase the dawn with you.” I kiss her cheek, kiss each eyelid in turn, kiss the tip of her nose, and kiss her lips.

Her eyes flicker open.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

And they close again. She grumbles, and I grin down at her. “You are not a morning person.”

She opens one unfocused eye, studying me. “I thought you wanted sex,” she says, her relief obvious.

I suppress my laugh. “Anastasia, I always want sex with you. It's heartwarming to know that you feel the same.”

“Of course I do, just not when it's so late.” She hugs her pillow.

“It's not late, it's early. Come on—up you go. We're going out. I'll take a rain check on the sex.”

“I was having such a nice dream.” She sighs, peering up at me.

“Dream about what?”

“You.” Her face warms.

“What was I doing this time?”

“Trying to feed me strawberries,” she says with a small voice.

That accounts for her babbling. “Dr. Flynn could have a field day with that. Up—get dressed. Don't bother to shower, we can do that later.”

She protests but sits up, ignoring the sheet that slips down to her waist and exposes her body. My cock stirs. With her hair mussed, cascading over her shoulders and curling around her
naked breasts, she looks gorgeous. Ignoring my arousal, I stand up to give her some room.

“What time is it?” she asks, her voice sleepy.

“Five thirty in the morning.”

“Feels like three a.m.”

“We don't have much time. I let you sleep as long as possible. Come.” I want to drag her out of bed and dress her myself. I can't wait to get her airborne.

“Can't I have a shower?”

“If you have a shower, I'll want one with you, and you and I know what will happen then—the day will just go. Come.”

She gives me a patient look. “What are we doing?”

“It's a surprise. I told you.”

She shakes her head and beams, very much amused. “Okay.” She climbs out of bed, oblivious to her nudity, and notices her clothes on the chair. I'm delighted that she's not her usual shy self; maybe it's because she's sleepy. She slides on my underwear and gives me a broad smile.

“I'll give you some room now that you're up.” Leaving her to dress, I wander back into the main room, sit down at the small dining table, and help myself to some coffee.

She joins me a few minutes later.

“Eat,” I order, motioning for her to take a seat. She stares at me, transfixed, her eyes glazed. “Anastasia,” I say, interrupting her daydream. Her eyelashes flutter as she comes back from wherever she's been.

“I'll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?” she asks hopefully.

She's not going to eat.

“Don't rain on my parade, Anastasia.”

“I'll eat later, when my stomach's woken up. About seven thirty, okay?”

“Okay.” I can't force her.

She looks defiant and stubborn. “I want to roll my eyes at you,” she says.

Oh, Ana, bring it on.

“By all means, do, and you will make my day.”

She looks up at the fire sprinkler on the ceiling. “Well, a spanking would wake me up, I suppose,” she says, as if she's weighing the option.

She's considering it? It doesn't work that way, Anastasia!

“On the other hand, I don't want you to be all hot and bothered; the climate here is warm enough.” She gives me a saccharine smile.

“You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele.” My voice is droll. “Drink your tea.”

She sits down and takes a couple of sips.

“Drink up. We should go.” I'm keen to get on the road—it's quite a drive.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see.”

Stop with the grinning, Grey.

She pouts with frustration. Miss Steele, as ever, is curious. But all she's wearing is her camisole and jeans; she'll be cold once we're airborne. “Finish your tea,” I order, and leave the table. In the bedroom I rifle through the armoire and pull out a sweatshirt. This should do. I call the valet and tell him to bring the car out front.

“I'm ready,” she says as I return to the main room.

“You'll need this.” I toss the sweatshirt to her as she gives me a bewildered look.

“Trust me.” I plant a swift kiss on her lips. Taking her hand, I open the door to the suite and we head for the elevators. There's a hotel employee standing there—Brian, according to his name tag—also waiting for the elevator.

“Good morning,” he says, giving us both a cheerful salute as the doors open. I glance at Ana and smirk as we enter.

No shenanigans in elevators this morning.

She hides her smile and peers at the floor, her cheeks coloring. She knows exactly what's going through my mind. Brian wishes us a good day as we exit.

Outside, the valet is waiting with the Mustang. Ana arches a
brow, impressed by the GT500. Yeah, it's a fun drive, even if it's only a Mustang. “You know, sometimes it's great being me,” I tease her, and with a polite bow I open her door.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see.” I get behind the wheel and ease the car into drive. At the stoplight I quickly program the address of the airfield into the GPS. It directs us out of Savannah toward I-95. I switch on my iPod via the steering wheel, and the car is filled with a sublime melody.

“What's this?” Ana asks.

“It's from
La Traviata.
An opera by Verdi.”

“
La Traviata
? I've heard of that. I can't think where. What does it mean?”

I give her a knowing look. “Well, literally, ‘the woman led astray.' It's based on Alexandre Dumas's book
La Dame aux Camélias.
”

“Ah. I've read it.”

“I thought you might have.”

“The doomed courtesan,” she recounts, her voice tinged with melancholy. “Hmm, it's a depressing story,” she says.

“Too depressing?” We can't have that, Miss Steele, especially when I'm in such a good mood. “Do you want to choose some music? This is on my iPod.”

I tap the navigation screen and bring up the playlist.

“You choose,” I offer, wondering if she'll like anything I have in iTunes. She studies the list and scrolls through it, concentrating hard. She taps on a song, and Verdi's dulcet strings are replaced by a pounding beat and Britney Spears.

“ ‘Toxic,' eh?” I observe, with wry humor.

Is she trying to tell me something?

Is she referring to me?

“I don't know what you mean,” she says innocently.

Does she think I should wear a warning?

Miss Steele wants to play games.

So be it.

I turn the music down a tad. It's a little early for this remix, and for the reminder.

“Sir, this submissive respectfully requests Master's iPod.”

I glance away from the spreadsheet I'm reading and study her as she kneels beside me, her eyes cast down.

She's been exceptional this weekend. How can I refuse?

“Sure, Leila, take it. I think it's in the dock.”

“Thank you, Master,” she says, and stands with her usual grace, without looking at me.

Good girl.

And wearing only red high heels, she teeters over to the iPod dock and collects her reward.

“I didn't put that song on my iPod,” I tell her breezily, and floor the gas, throwing us both into the back of our seats, but I hear Ana's small, exasperated huff above the roar of the engine.

As Britney continues at her sultry best, Ana drums her fingers on her thigh, radiating disquiet as she stares out the car window. The Mustang eats up the miles on the freeway; there's no traffic, and dawn's first light is chasing us down I-95.

Ana sighs as Damien Rice begins.

Put her out of her misery, Grey.

And I don't know if it's my good mood, our talk last night, or the fact that I'm about to go soaring—but I want to tell her who put the song on the iPod. “It was Leila.”

“Leila?”

“An ex, who put the song on my iPod.”

“One of the fifteen?” She turns her full attention to me, hungry for information.

“Yes.”

“What happened to her?”

“We finished.”

“Why?”

“She wanted more.”

“And you didn't?”

I glance at her and shake my head. “I've never wanted more, until I met you.” She rewards me with her bashful smile.

Yes, Ana. It's not just you who wants more.

“What happened to the other fourteen?” she asks.

“You want a list? Divorced, beheaded, died?”

“You're not Henry the Eighth,” she scolds me.

“Okay. In no particular order, I've only had long-term relationships with four women, apart from Elena.”

“Elena?”

“Mrs. Robinson to you.”

She pauses for a moment, and I know she's scrutinizing me. I keep my eyes on the road.

“What happened to the four?” she asks.

“So inquisitive, so eager for information, Miss Steele,” I tease.

“Oh, Mr. When Is Your Period Due?”

“Anastasia, a man needs to know these things.”

“Does he?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want you to get pregnant.”

“Neither do I. Well, not for a few years yet,” she says a little wistfully.

Of course, that would be with someone else…the thought is disquieting…She's mine.

“So the other four, what happened?” she persists.

“One met someone else. The other three wanted—more. I wasn't in the market for more then.”
Why did I open this can of worms?

“And the others?”

“Just didn't work out.”

She nods and stares out the window as Aaron Neville sings “Tell It Like It Is.”

“Where are we headed?” she asks again.