Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as told by Christian: 0 (15 page)

“Safe trip, Mr. Grey. Miss Steele,” Taylor says, as he opens the foyer doors for us. Ana fidgets beside me as we wait for the elevator, her teeth on her plump lower lip.

It reminds me of her teeth on my cock.

“What is it, Anastasia?” I ask, as I reach out and pluck her chin. “Stop biting your lip, or I will fuck you in the elevator, and I don’t care who gets in with us,” I growl.

She’s shocked, I think—though why would she be after all we’ve done…My mood softens.

“Christian, I have a problem,” she says.

“Oh?”

In the elevator I press the button for the garage.

“W-Well,” she stutters, uncertain. Then she squares her shoulders. “I need to talk to Kate. I’ve so many questions about sex, and you’re too involved. If you want me to do all these things, how do I know—?” She stops, as if weighing her words. “I just don’t have any terms of reference.”

Not this again. We’ve been over this. I don’t want her talking to anyone. She’s signed an NDA. But she’s asked, again. So it must be important to her. “Talk to her if you must. Make sure she doesn’t mention anything to Elliot.”

“She wouldn’t do that, and I wouldn’t tell you anything she tells me about Elliot—if she were to tell me anything,” she insists.

I remind her that I’m not interested in Elliot’s sex life but agree that she can talk about what we’ve done so far. Her roommate would have my balls if she knew my real intentions.

“Okay,” Ana says, and gives me a bright smile.

“The sooner I have your submission the better, and we can stop all this.”

“Stop all what?”

“You, defying me.” I kiss her quickly and her lips on mine immediately make me feel better.

“Nice car,” she says, as we approach the R8 in the underground garage.

“I know.” I flash her a quick grin, and I’m rewarded with another smile—before she rolls her eyes. I open the door for her, wondering if I should comment about the eye rolling.

“So what sort of car is this?” she asks, when I’m behind the wheel.

“It’s an Audi R8 Spyder. It’s a lovely day; we can take the top down. There’s a baseball cap in there. In fact there should be two.”

I start the ignition and retract the roof, and the Boss fills the car. “Gotta love Bruce.” I grin at Ana and steer the R8 out of her safe place in the garage.

Weaving in and out of the traffic on I-5, we head toward Portland. Ana is quiet, listening to the music and staring out the window. It’s difficult to see her expression, behind oversized Wayfarers and under my Mariners cap. The wind whistles over us as we speed past Boeing Field.

So far, this weekend has been unexpected. But what did I expect? I thought we’d have dinner, discuss the contract, and then what…? Perhaps fucking her was inevitable.

I glance across at her.

Yes…
And I want to fuck her again.

I wish I knew what she was thinking. She gives little away, but I’ve learned some things about Ana. In spite of her inexperience, she’s willing to learn. Who would have thought that under that shy exterior she has the soul of a siren? An image of her lips around my dick comes to mind and I suppress a moan.

Yeah…
she’s more than willing.

The thought is arousing.

I hope I can see her before next weekend.

Even now I’m itching to touch her again. Reaching across, I put my hand on her knee.

“Hungry?”

“Not particularly,” she responds, subdued.

This is getting old.

“You must eat, Anastasia. I know a great place near Olympia. We’ll stop there.”

CUISINE SAUVAGE IS SMALL,
and crowded with couples and families enjoying Sunday brunch. With Ana’s hand in mine, we follow the hostess to our table. The last time I came here was with Elena. I wonder what she’d make of Anastasia.

“I’ve not been here for a while. We don’t get a choice—they cook whatever they’ve caught or gathered,” I say, grimacing, feigning my horror. Ana laughs.

Why do I feel ten feet tall when I make her laugh?

“Two glasses of the pinot grigio,” I order from the waitress, who’s making eyes at me from beneath blond bangs. It’s annoying.

Ana scowls.

“What?” I ask, wondering if the waitress is annoying her, too.

“I wanted a Diet Coke.”

Why didn’t you say so?
I frown. “The pinot grigio here is a decent wine. It will go well with the meal, whatever we get.”

“Whatever we get?” she asks, her eyes round with alarm.

“Yes.” And I give her my megawatt smile to make amends for not letting her order her own drink. I’m just not used to asking…“My mother liked you,” I add, hoping this will please her and remembering Grace’s reaction to Ana.

“Really?” she says, looking flattered.

“Oh yes. She’s always thought I was gay.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s never seen me with a girl.”

“Oh, not even one of the fifteen?”

“You remembered. No, none of the fifteen.”

“Oh.”

Yes…only you, baby.
The thought is unsettling.

“You know, Anastasia, it’s been a weekend of firsts for me, too.”

“It has?”

“I’ve never slept with anyone, never had sex in my bed, never
flown a girl in
Charlie Tango,
never introduced a woman to my mother. What are you doing to me?”

Yeah. What the hell are you doing to me? This isn’t me.

The waitress brings us our chilled wine, and Ana immediately takes a quick sip, her bright eyes on me. “I’ve really enjoyed this weekend,” she says, with bashful delight in her voice. I have, too, and I realize I haven’t enjoyed a weekend for a while…since Susannah and I parted ways. I tell her so.

“What’s vanilla sex?” she asks.

I laugh at her unexpected question and complete change of topic.

“Just straightforward sex, Anastasia. No toys, no add-ons.” I shrug. “You know—well, actually you don’t, but that’s what it means.”

“Oh,” she says, and she looks a little crestfallen.

What now?

The waitress diverts us, putting down two soup bowls full of greenery. “Nettle soup,” she announces, and struts back into the kitchen. We glance at each other, then back at the soup. A quick taste informs us both that it’s delicious. Ana giggles at my exaggerated expression of relief.

“That’s a lovely sound,” I say softly.

“Why have you never had vanilla sex before? Have you always done, what you’ve done?” She’s as inquisitive as ever.

“Sort of.” And then I wonder if I should expand on this. More than anything, I want her to be forthcoming with me; I want her to trust me. I’m never this candid, but I think I can trust her so I choose my words carefully.

“One of my mother’s friends seduced me when I was fifteen.”

“Oh.” Ana’s spoon pauses midway from the bowl to her mouth.

“She had very particular tastes. I was her submissive for six years.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

“So I do know what it involves, Anastasia.”
More than you know.
“I didn’t really have a run-of-the-mill introduction to sex.” I couldn’t be touched. I still can’t.

I wait for her reaction but she continues with her soup, mulling
over this tidbit of information. “So you never dated anyone in college?” she asks, when she’s finished her last spoonful.

“No.”

The waitress interrupts us to clear our empty bowls. Ana waits for her to leave. “Why?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t want to. She was all I wanted, needed. And besides, she’d have beaten the shit out of me.”

She blinks a couple of times as she absorbs this news. “So if she was a friend of your mother’s, how old was she?”

“Old enough to know better.”

“Do you still see her?” She sounds shocked.

“Yes.”

“Do you still…er—” She blushes crimson, her mouth turned down.

“No,” I say quickly. I don’t want her to have the wrong idea about my relationship with Elena. “She’s a very good friend,” I reassure her.

“Oh. Does your mother know?”

“Of course not.”

My mother would kill me—and Elena, too.

The waitress returns with the main entrée: venison. Ana takes a long sip of her wine. “But it can’t have been full-time?” She’s ignoring her food.

“Well, it was, though I didn’t see her all the time. It was…difficult. After all, I was still at school and then at college. Eat up, Anastasia.”

“I’m really not hungry, Christian,” she says.

I narrow my eyes. “Eat.” I keep my voice low, as I try to check my temper.

“Give me a moment,” she says, her tone as quiet as mine.

What’s her problem? Elena?

“Okay,” I agree, wondering if I’ve told her too much, and I take a bite of my venison.

Finally, she picks up her cutlery and starts eating.

Good.

“Is this what our, um…relationship will be like?” she asks. “You ordering me around?” She scrutinizes the plate of food in front of her.

“Yes.”

“I see.” She tosses her ponytail over her shoulder.

“And what’s more, you’ll want me to.”

“It’s a big step,” she says.

“It is.” I close my eyes. I want to do this with her, now more than ever. What can I say to convince her to give our arrangement a try?

“Anastasia, you have to go with your gut. Do the research, read the contract. I’m happy to discuss any aspect. I’ll be in Portland until Friday if you want to talk about it before then. Call me—maybe we can have dinner—say, Wednesday? I really want to make this work. In fact, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this.”

Whoa. Big speech, Grey. Did you just ask her on a date?

“What happened to the fifteen?” she asks.

“Various things, but it boils down to incompatibility.”

“And you think that I might be compatible with you?”

“Yes.”

I hope so…

“So you’re not seeing any of them anymore?”

“No, Anastasia, I’m not. I am monogamous in my relationships.”

“I see.”

“Do the research, Anastasia.”

She puts her knife and fork down, signaling that she’s finished her meal.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to eat?”

She nods, placing her hands in her lap, and her mouth sets in that mulish way she has…and I know it will be a fight to persuade her to clean her plate. No wonder she’s so slim. Her eating
issues will be something to work on, if she agrees to be mine. As I continue to eat, her eyes dart to me every few seconds and a slow flush stains her cheeks.

Oh, what’s this?

“I’d give anything to know what you’re thinking right at this moment.” She’s clearly thinking about sex. “I can guess,” I tease.

“I’m glad you can’t read my mind.”

“Your mind, no, Anastasia, but your body—
that
I’ve gotten to know quite well since yesterday.” I give her a wolfish grin and ask for the check.

When we leave, her hand is firmly in mine. She’s quiet—deep in thought, it seems—and remains so all the way to Vancouver. I’ve given her a great deal to think about.

But she’s also given me a great deal to think about.

Will she want to do this with me?

Damn, I hope so.

It’s still light when we arrive at her home, but the sun is sinking to the horizon and shining pink and pearl light on Mount St. Helens. Ana and Kate live in a scenic spot with an amazing view.

“Do you want to come in?” she asks, after I’ve switched off the engine.

“No. I have work to do.” I know that if I accept her invitation I’ll be crossing a line I’m not prepared to cross. I’m not boyfriend material—and I don’t want to give her any false expectations of the kind of relationship she’ll have with me.

Her face falls and, deflated, she looks away.

She doesn’t want me to go.

It’s humbling. Reaching across, I grasp her hand and kiss her knuckles, hoping to take the sting out of my rejection.

“Thank you for this weekend, Anastasia. It’s been…the best.” She turns shining eyes to me. “Wednesday?” I continue. “I’ll pick you up from work, from wherever?”

“Wednesday,” she says, and the hope in her voice is disconcerting.

Shit. It’s not a date.

I kiss her hand again and climb out of the car to open her door. I have to get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.

When she gets out of the car, she brightens, at odds with how she looked a moment ago. She marches up to her front door but before reaching the steps she turns suddenly. “Oh, by the way, I’m wearing your underwear,” she says in triumph, and she yanks the waistband up so I can see the words “Polo” and “Ralph” peeking over her jeans.

She’s stolen my underwear!

I’m stunned. And in that instant I want nothing more than to see her in my boxer briefs…and only them.

She tosses back her hair and swaggers into her apartment, leaving me standing on the curb, staring like a fool.

Shaking my head, I climb back into the car, and as I start the engine I cannot help my shit-eating grin.

I hope she says yes.

I FINISH MY WORK
and take a sip of the fine Sancerre, delivered from room service by the woman with dark, dark eyes. Trawling through my e-mails and answering where required has been a welcome distraction from thoughts of Anastasia. And now I’m pleasantly tired. Is it the five hours of work? Or all the sexual activity last night and this morning? Memories of the delectable Miss Steele invade my mind: in
Charlie Tango,
in my bed, in my bath, dancing around my kitchen. And to think it all started here on Friday…and now she’s considering my proposal.

Has she read the contract? Is she doing her homework?

I check my phone once again for a text or a missed call but, of course, there’s nothing.

Will she agree?

I hope so…

Andrea has sent me Ana’s new e-mail address and assured me the laptop will be delivered tomorrow morning. With that in mind, I type out an e-mail.

From:
Christian Grey

Subject:
Your New Computer