Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian (14 page)

Though it’s no good for wax play…

“Oh, please,” she pleads.

“Hmm, I like it when you beg me, Anastasia.”

She moans.

“Tit for tat is not my usual style, Miss Steele,” I whisper
against her flesh. “But you’ve pleased me today, and you should be rewarded.” And I hold down her thighs, opening her up to my tongue, and slowly start circling her clitoris.

She cries out, her body rising off the bed.

But I don’t stop. My tongue is ruthless. Her legs stiffen, her toes pointed.

Ah, she’s close, and slowly I slip my middle finger inside her.

She’s wet.

Wet and waiting.

“Oh, baby. I love that you’re so wet for me.” I start to move my finger clockwise, stretching her. My tongue continues to torment her clitoris, over and over. She stiffens beneath me and finally cries out as her orgasm crashes through her.

Yes!

I kneel up and grab a condom. Once it’s on, slowly I ease myself into her.

Fuck, she feels good.

“How’s this?” I check.

“Fine. Good.” Her voice is hoarse.

Oh…
I start to move, reveling in the feel of her around me, beneath me. Again and again, faster and faster, losing myself in this woman. I want her to come again.

I want her sated.

I want her happy.

Finally, she stiffens once more and whimpers.

“Come for me, baby,” I utter through clenched teeth, and she detonates around me.

“Thank fuck,” I cry, and let go, finding my own sweet release. Briefly I collapse on her, glorying in her softness. She moves her hands so they are around my neck, but because she’s tied she can’t touch me.

Taking a deep breath, I rest my weight on my arms and stare down at her in wonder.

“See how good we are together? If you give yourself to me, it will be so much better. Trust me, Anastasia, I can take you places you don’t even know exist.” Our foreheads touch and I close my eyes.

Please say yes.

We hear voices outside the door.

What the hell?

It’s Taylor and Grace.

“Shit! It’s my mother.”

Ana cringes as I pull out of her.

Leaping out of bed, I throw the condom in the wastepaper basket.

What the hell is my mother doing here?

Taylor has diverted her, thank heaven. Well, she’s about to get a surprise.

Ana is still prostrate on the bed. “Come on, we need to get dressed—that’s if you want to meet my mother.” I smile at Ana as I pull on my jeans. She looks adorable.

“Christian—I can’t move,” she protests, but she’s grinning, too.

Leaning down, I undo the tie and kiss her forehead.

My mother is going to be thrilled.

“Another first,” I whisper, unable to shift my grin.

“I have no clean clothes in here.”

I slip on a white T-shirt, and when I turn around she’s sitting up, hugging her knees. “Perhaps I should stay here.”

“Oh no you don’t,” I warn. “You can wear something of mine.”

I like her wearing my clothes.

Her face falls.

“Anastasia, you could be wearing a sack and you’d look lovely. Please don’t worry. I’d like you to meet my mother. Get dressed. I’ll just go and calm her down. I’ll expect you in that room in five minutes, otherwise I’ll come and drag you out of here myself in whatever you’re wearing. My T-shirts are in this drawer. My shirts are in the closet. Help yourself.”

Her eyes widen.

Yes. I’m serious, baby.

Cautioning her with a pointed look, I open the door and exit to find my mother.

Grace is standing in the corridor opposite the foyer door, and Taylor is talking to her. Her face lights up when she sees me.
“Darling, I had no idea you might have company,” she exclaims, and she looks a little embarrassed.

“Hello, Mother.” I kiss her proffered cheek. “I’ll deal with her from here,” I say to Taylor.

“Yes, Mr. Grey.” He nods, looking exasperated, and heads back into his office.

“Thank you, Taylor,” Grace calls after him, then turns her full attention to me. “Deal with me?” she says in rebuke. “I was shopping downtown and I thought I might pop in for coffee.” She stops. “If I’d known you weren’t alone…” She shrugs in an awkward, girlish way.

She has often stopped by for coffee and there
was
a woman here…she just never knew.

“She’ll join us in a moment,” I admit, putting her out of her misery. “Do you want to sit down?” I wave in the direction of the sofa.

“She?”

“Yes, Mother. She.” My tone is dry as I try not to laugh. And for once she’s silent as she wanders through the living room.

“I see you’ve had breakfast,” she observes, eyeing the unwashed pans.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No. Thank you, darling.” She sits down. “I’ll meet your…friend and then I’ll go. I don’t want to interrupt you. I had a feeling that you’d be slaving away in your study. You work too hard, darling. I thought I might drag you away.” She looks almost apologetic when I join her on the sofa.

“Don’t worry.” I’m thoroughly amused by her reaction. “Why aren’t you at church this morning?”

“Carrick had to work, so we thought we’d go to evening Mass. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’ll come with us.”

I raise an eyebrow in cynical contempt. “Mother, you know that’s not for me.”

God and I turned our backs on each other a long time ago.

She sighs, but then Ana appears—dressed in her own clothes,
standing shyly in the doorway. The tension between mother and son is averted, and I stand in relief. “Here she is.”

Grace turns and gets to her feet.

“Mother, this is Anastasia Steele. Anastasia, this is Grace Trevelyan-Grey.”

They shake hands.

“What a pleasure to meet you,” Grace says with a little too much enthusiasm for my liking.

“Dr. Trevelyan-Grey,” Ana says politely.

“Call me Grace,” she says, all at once amiable and informal.

What? Already?

Grace continues, “I’m usually Dr. Trevelyan, and Mrs. Grey is my mother-in-law.” She winks at Ana and sits down. I motion to Ana and pat the cushion beside me, and she comes and takes a seat.

“So how did you two meet?” Grace asks.

“Anastasia interviewed me for the student paper at WSU because I’m conferring the degrees there this week.”

“So you’re graduating this week?” Grace beams at Ana.

“Yes.”

Ana’s cell phone starts ringing and she excuses herself to answer it.

“And I’ll be giving the commencement address,” I say to Grace, but my attention is on Ana.

Who is it?

“Look, José, now’s not a good time,” I hear her say.

That fucking photographer. What does he want?

“I left a message for Elliot, then found out he was in Portland. I haven’t seen him since last week,” Grace is saying.

Ana hangs up.

Grace continues as Ana approaches us again, “…and Elliot called to say you were around—I haven’t seen you for two weeks, darling.”

“Did he now?” I remark.

What does the photographer want?

“I thought we might have lunch together, but I can see you
have other plans, and I don’t want to interrupt your day.” Grace stands, and for once I’m grateful that she’s intuitive and can read a situation. She offers me her cheek again. I kiss her good-bye.

“I have to drive Anastasia back to Portland.”

“Of course, darling.” Grace turns her bright—and if I’m not mistaken, grateful—smile on Ana.

It’s irritating.

“Anastasia, it’s been such a pleasure.” Grace beams and takes Ana’s hand. “I do hope we meet again.”

“Mrs. Grey?” Taylor appears on the threshold of the room.

“Thank you, Taylor,” Grace responds, and he escorts her from the room and through the double doors to the foyer.

Well, that was interesting.

My mother’s always thought I was gay. But as she’s always respected my boundaries, she’s never asked me.

Well, now she knows.

Ana is worrying her bottom lip, radiating anxiety…as she should be.

“So the photographer called?” I sound gruff.

“Yes.”

“What did he want?”

“Just to apologize, you know—for Friday.”

“I see.” Maybe he wants another shot at her. The thought is displeasing.

Taylor clears his throat. “Mr. Grey, there’s an issue with the Darfur shipment.”

Shit.
This is what I get for not checking my e-mail this morning. I’ve been too preoccupied with Ana.

“
Charlie Tango
back at Boeing Field?” I ask Taylor.

“Yes, sir.”

Taylor acknowledges Ana with a nod. “Miss Steele.”

She gives him a broad smile and he leaves.

“Does he live here? Taylor?” Ana asks.

“Yes.”

Heading into the kitchen, I pick up my phone and quickly
check my e-mail. There’s a flagged message from Ros and a couple of texts. I call her immediately.

“Ros, what’s the issue?”

“Christian, hi. The report back from Darfur is not good. They can’t guarantee the safety of the shipments or road crew, and the State Department isn’t willing to sanction the relief without the NGO’s backing.”

Fuck this.

“I’m not having either crew put at risk.” Ros knows this.

“We could try and pull in mercenaries,” she says.

“No, cancel—”

“But the cost,” she protests.

“We’ll air-drop instead.”

“I knew that’s what you’d say, Christian. I have a plan in the works. It will be costly. In the meantime, the containers can go to Rotterdam out of Philly and we can take it from there. That’s it.”

“Good.” I hang up. More support from the State Department would be helpful. I resolve to call Blandino to discuss this further.

My attention reverts to Miss Steele, who’s standing in my living room, regarding me warily. I need to get us back on track.

Yes. The contract. That’s the next step in our negotiation
.

In my study, I gather the papers that are on my desk and stuff them into a manila envelope.

Ana’s not moved from where I left her in the living room. Perhaps she’s been thinking about the photographer…my mood takes a nosedive.

“This is the contract.” I hold up the envelope. “Read it, and we’ll discuss it next weekend. May I suggest you do some research, so you know what’s involved?” She looks from the manila envelope to me, her face pale. “That’s if you agree, and I really hope you do,” I add.

“Research?”

“You’ll be amazed what you can find on the Internet.”

She frowns.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I don’t have a computer. I usually use the computers at school. I’ll see if I can use Kate’s laptop.”

No computer?
How can a student not have a computer? Is she that broke? I hand her the envelope. “I’m sure I can, um—lend you one. Get your things, we’ll drive back to Portland and grab some lunch on the way. I need to dress.”

“I’ll just make a call,” she says, her voice soft and hesitant.

“The photographer?” I snap. She looks guilty.

What the hell?
“I don’t like to share, Miss Steele. Remember that.” I storm out of the room before I say anything else.

Is she hung up on him?

Was she just using me to break her in?

Fuck.

Maybe it’s the money. That’s a depressing thought…though she doesn’t strike me as a gold digger. She was quite vehement about me not buying her any clothing. I remove my jeans and put on a pair of boxer briefs. My Brioni tie is on the floor. I stoop to pick it up.

She took to being tied up well…
There’s hope, Grey. Hope.

I stuff the tie and two others into a messenger bag along with socks, underwear, and condoms.

What am I doing?

Deep down I know I’m going to stay at The Heathman all next week…to be near her. I gather a couple of suits and shirts that Taylor can bring down later in the week. I’ll need one for the graduation ceremony.

I slip on some clean jeans and grab a leather jacket, and my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Elliot.

I’m driving back today in your car.

Hope that doesn’t screw up your plans.

I text back.

No. I’m coming back to Portland now.

Let Taylor know when you arrive.

I buzz Taylor through the internal phone system.

“Mr. Grey?”

“Elliot is bringing the SUV back sometime this afternoon. Bring it down to Portland tomorrow. I’m going to stay at The Heathman until the graduation ceremony. I’ve left some clothes that I’d like you to bring down as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And call Audi. I may need the A3 sooner than I thought.”

“It’s ready, Mr. Grey.”

“Oh. Good. Thanks.”

So that’s the car taken care of; now it’s the computer. I call Barney, assuming he’ll be in his office, and knowing he’ll have a state-of-the-art laptop lying around.

“Mr. Grey?” he answers.

“What are you doing in the office, Barney? It’s Sunday.”

“I’m working on the tablet design. The solar-cell issue is bugging me.”

“You need a home life.”

Barney has the grace to laugh. “What can I do for you, Mr. Grey?”

“Do you have any new laptops?”

“I have two right here from Apple.”

“Great. I need one.”

“Sure thing.”

“Can you set it up with an e-mail account for Anastasia Steele? She’ll be the owner.”

“How are you spelling ‘Steal’?”

“S.T.E.E.L.E.”

“Cool.”

“Great. Andrea will be in touch today to arrange delivery.”

“Sure thing, sir.”

“Thanks, Barney—and go home.”

“Yes, sir.”

I text Andrea with instructions to send the laptop to Ana’s home address, then return to the living room. Ana is sitting on the sofa, fidgeting with her fingers. She gives me a cautious look and rises.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods.

Taylor appears from his office. “Tomorrow, then,” I tell him.

“Yes, sir. Which car are you taking, sir?”

“The R8.”