Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

by E. L. James

  “You seem pleased to see me,” I murmur with a shy smile.

  His lips quirk up.

  “Yes, Miss Steele, I think my pleasure is pretty self-evident. Come – let me get you in the shower.”

  He undoes the next three buttons of his shirt, removes the cufflinks, tugs it over his head, and discards it on the floor. Removing his suit pants and boxer briefs, he kicks them to one side. He begins to undo the buttons on my blouse while I watch him, yearning to reach out and stroke his chest, but I contain myself.

  “How was your journey?” he asks mildly. He seems so much calmer now, his apprehension gone, dissolved by sexual congress.

  “Fine, thank you,” I murmur, still breathless. “Thanks once again for first class. It really is a much nicer way to travel.” I smile shyly at him. “I have some news,” I add nervously.

  “Oh?” He looks down at me as he undoes the last button, slips my blouse down my arms, and throws it on top of his discarded clothes.

  “I have a job.”

  He stills, then smiles at me, his eyes warm and soft.

  “Congratulations, Miss Steele. Now will you tell me where?” he teases.

  “You don’t know?”

  He shakes his head, frowning slightly.

  “Why would I know?”

  “With your stalking capabilities, I thought you might have… ” I trail off as his face falls.

  “Anastasia, I wouldn’t dream of interfering in your career, unless you ask me to, of course.” He looks wounded.

  “So you have no idea which company?”

  “No. I know there are four publishing companies in Seattle – so I am assuming it’s one of them.”

  “SIP.”

  “Oh, the small one, good. Well done.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Clever girl. When do you start?”

  “Monday.”

  “That soon, eh? I’d better take advantage of you while I still can. Turn round.”

  I am thrown by his casual command, but do as I’m bid, and he undoes my bra and unzips my skirt. He pushes my skirt down, cupping my behind as he does, and kissing my shoulder. He leans against me and his nose nuzzles my hair, inhaling deeply. He squeezes my buttocks.

  “You intoxicate me, Miss Steele, and you calm me. Such a heady combination.” He kisses my hair. Grabbing my hand, he tugs me into the shower.

  “Ow,” I squeal. The water is practically scalding. Christian grins down at me as the water cascades over him.

  “It’s only a little hot water.”

  And actually he’s right. It feels heavenly, washing off the sticky Georgia morning and the stickiness from our lovemaking.

  “Turn round,” he orders, and I comply, turning to face the wall. “I want to wash you,” he murmurs and reaches for the body wash. He squirts a little into his hand.

  “I have something else to tell you,” I murmur as his hands start on my shoulders.

  “Oh, yes?” he asks mildly.

  I steel myself with a deep breath.

  “My friend José’s photography show is opening Thursday in Portland.”

  He stills, his hands hovering over my breasts. I have emphasized the word ‘friend.’

  “Yes, what about it?” he asks sternly.

  “I said I would go. Do you want to come with me?”

  After what feels like a monumental amount of time, he slowly starts washing me again.

  “What time?”

  “The opening is at 7:30 p.m.”

  He kisses my ear.

  “Okay.”

  Inside my subconscious relaxes and then collapses, slumped into an old battered armchair.

  “Were you nervous about asking me?”

  “Yes. How can you tell?”

  “Anastasia, your whole body’s just relaxed,” he says dryly.

  “Well, you just seem to be, um… on the jealous side.”

  “Yes, I am,” he says darkly. “And you’d do well to remember that. But thank you for asking. We’ll take Charlie Tango.”

  Oh, the helicopter of course, silly me. More flying… cool! I grin.

  “Can I wash you?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so,” he murmurs, and he kisses me gently on my neck to take the sting out of his refusal. I pout at the wall as he caresses my back with soap.

  “Will you ever let me touch you?” I ask boldly.

  He stills again, his hand on my behind.

  “Put your hands on the wall, Anastasia. I’m going to take you again,” he murmurs in my ear as he grabs my hips, and I know that the discussion is over.

  Later, we are seated at the breakfast bar, dressed in bathrobes, having consumed Mrs. Jones’s rather excellent pasta alle vongole.

  “More wine?” Christian asks, gray eyes glowing.

  “A small glass, please.” The Sancerre is crisp and delicious. Christian pours one for me and one for himself.

  “How’s the, um… situation that brought you to Seattle?” I ask tentatively.

  He frowns.

  “Out of hand,” he murmurs bitterly. “But nothing for you to worry about, Anastasia. I have plans for you this evening.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I want you ready and waiting in my playroom in fifteen minutes.” He stands and gazes down at me.

  “You can get ready in your room. Incidentally, the walk-in closet is now full of clothes for you. I don’t want any arguments about them.” He narrows his eyes, daring me to say something. When I don’t, he stalks off to his study.

  Me! Argue? With you, Fifty Shades? It’s more than my backside’s worth. I sit on the bar stool, momentarily stupefied, trying to assimilate this morsel of information. He’s bought me clothes. I roll my eyes in an exaggerated fashion knowing full well he can’t see me. Car, phone, computer… clothes, it’ll be a damn condo next, and then I really will be his mistress.

  Ho! My subconscious has her snarky face on. I ignore her and make my way upstairs toward my room. So, it is still mine… why? I thought he’d agreed to let me sleep with him. I suppose he’s not used to sharing his personal space, but then, neither am I. I console myself with the thought that at least I have somewhere to escape from him.

  Examining the door, I find that it has a lock but no key. I wonder briefly if Mrs. Jones has a spare. I’ll ask her. I open the closet door and close it again quickly. Holy crap – he’s spent a fortune. It resembles Kate’s – so many clothes hanging neatly on the rail. Deep down, I know that they’ll all fit. But I have no time to think about that – I have to get kneeling in the Red Room of… Pain… or Pleasure, hopefully - this evening.

  Kneeling by the door, I am naked except for my panties. My heart is in my mouth. Jeez, I thought after the bathroom he would have had enough. The man is insatiable, or maybe all men are like him. I have no idea, no one to compare him to. Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself down, to connect with my inner sub. She’s there somewhere, hiding behind my inner goddess.

  Anticipation runs bubbling like soda through my veins. What will he do? I take a deep steadying breath, but I cannot deny it, I’m excited, aroused, wet already. This is so… I want to think wrong, but somehow it’s not. It’s right for Christian. It’s what he wants – and after the last few days… after all he’s done, I have to man up and take whatever he decides he wants, whatever he thinks he needs.

  The memory of his look when I came in this evening, the longing in his face, his determined stride toward me like I was an oasis in the desert. I’d do almost anything to see that look again. I press my thighs together at the delicious memory, and it reminds me that I need to spread my knees. I shuffle them apart. How long will he make me wait? The wait is crippling me, crippling me with a dark and tantalizing desire. I glance quickly around the subtly lit room: the cross, the table, the couch, the bench… that bed. It looms so large, and it’s made up with red satin sheets. Which piece of apparatus will he use?

  The door opens and Christian breezes in, ignoring me completely. I glance down quickly, staring a
t my hands, positioned with care on my spread thighs. Placing something on the large chest beside the door, he strolls casually toward the bed. I indulge myself in a quick glimpse at him, and my heart almost lurches to a stop. He’s naked except for those soft ripped jeans, top button casually undone. Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm. She’s so ready. I lick my lips instinctively. My blood pounds through my body, thick and heavy with salacious hunger. What is he going to do to me?

  Turning, he nonchalantly walks back to the chest of drawers. Opening one, he begins to remove items and place them on the top. My curiosity burns, blazes even, but I resist the overwhelming temptation to sneak a quick peek. When he finishes what he’s doing, he comes to stand in front of me. I can see his naked feet, and I want to kiss every inch of them… run my tongue over his instep, suck each of his toes. Holy shit.

  “You look lovely,” he breathes.

  I keep my head down, conscious that he’s staring at me while I am practically naked. I feel the flush as it slowly spreads over my face. He bends down and cups my chin, forcing my face up to meet his gaze.

  “You are one beautiful woman, Anastasia. And you’re all mine,” he murmurs. “Stand up.” His command is soft, full of sensual promise.

  Shakily, I get to my feet.

  “Look at me,” he breathes, and I stare up into his smoldering gray gaze. It is his Dom gaze – cold, hard, and sexy as hell, seven shades of sin in one enticing look. My mouth dries, and I know I will do anything he asks. An almost cruel smile plays across his lips.

  “We don’t have a signed contract, Anastasia. But we’ve discussed limits. And I want to reiterate we have safewords, okay?”

  Holy fuck… what has he got planned that I need safewords?

  “What are they?” he asks authoritatively.

  I frown slightly at his question, and his face hardens perceptibly.

  “What are the safewords, Anastasia?” he says slowly and deliberately.

  “Yellow,” I mumble.

  “And?” he prompts, his mouth setting in a hard line.

  “Red,” I breathe.

  “Remember those.”

  And I can’t help it… I raise my eyebrow at him and am about to remind him of my GPA, but the sudden frosty glint in his icy gray eyes stops me in my tracks.

  “Don’t start with your smart mouth in here, Miss Steele. Or I will fuck it with you on your knees. Do you understand?”

  I swallow instinctively. Okay. I blink rapidly, chastened. Actually, it’s his tone of voice, rather than the threat, that intimidates me.

  “Well?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I mumble hastily.

  “Good girl,” he pauses as he stares at me. “My intention is not that you should safe-word because you’re in pain. What I intend to do to you will be intense. Very intense, and you have to guide me. Do you understand?”

  Not really. Intense? Wow.

  “This is about touch, Anastasia. You will not be able to see me or hear me. But you’ll be able to feel me.”

  I frown – not hear him? How is that going to work? He turns, and I hadn’t noticed that above the chest is a sleek, flat, matt-black box. As he waves his hand in front, the box splits in half: two doors slide open revealing a CD player and a host of buttons. Christian presses several of these buttons in sequence. Nothing happens, but he seems satisfied. I am mystified. When he turns to face me again, he wears his small I-have-a-secret smile.

  “I am going to tie you to that bed, Anastasia. But I’m going to blindfold you first and,” he reveals his iPod in his hand, “you will not be able to hear me. All you will hear is the music I am going to play for you.”

  Okay. A musical interlude. Not what I was expecting. Does he ever do what I expect? Jeez, I hope it’s not rap.

  “Come.” Taking my hand, he leads me over to the antique four-poster bed. There are shackles attached at each corner, fine metal chains with leather cuffs, glinting against the red satin.

  Oh boy, I think my heart is going to leave my chest, and I’m melting from the inside out, desire coursing through me. Could I be any more excited?

  “Stand here.”

  I am facing the bed. He leans down and whispers in my ear.

  “Wait here. Keep your eyes on the bed. Picture yourself lying here bound and totally at my mercy.”

  Oh my.

  He moves away for a moment, and I can hear him near the door fetching something. All my senses are hyperalert, my hearing more acute. He’s picked up something from the rack of whips and paddles by the door. Holy cow. What is he going to do?

  I feel him behind me. He takes my hair, pulls it into a ponytail behind me, and starts to braid it.

  “While I like your pigtails, Anastasia, I am too impatient to be at you right now. So one will have to do.” His voice is low, soft.

  His deft fingers skim my back occasionally as they work down my hair, and each casual touch is like a sweet, electric shock against my skin. He fastens the end with a hair tie, then gently tugs the braid so that I’m forced to step back flush against him. He pulls again to the side so that I angle my head, giving him easier access to my neck. Leaning down, he nuzzles my neck, tracing his teeth and tongue from the base of my ear to my shoulder. He hums softly as he does, and the sound resonates through me. Right down... right down there, inside me. Unbidden, I groan quietly.

  “Hush now,” he breathes against my skin. He holds up his hands in front of me, his arms touching mine. In his right hand is a flogger. I remember the name from my first introduction to this room.

  “Touch it,” he whispers, and he sounds like the devil himself. My body flames in response. Tentatively, I reach out and brush the long strands. It has many long fronds, all soft suede with small beads at the end.

  “I will use this. It will not hurt, but it will bring your blood to the surface of your skin and make you very sensitive.”

  Oh, he says it won’t hurt.

  “What are the safewords, Anastasia?”

  “Um… yellow and red, Sir,” I whisper.

  “Good girl. Remember, most of your fear is in your mind.”

  He drops the flogger on the bed, and his hands move to my waist.

  “You won’t be needing these,” he murmurs and hooks his fingers into my panties and sweeps them down my legs. I step unsteadily out of them, supporting myself on the ornate post of the bed.

  “Stand still,” he orders, and he kisses my behind and then gently nips me twice, making me tense. “Now lie down. Face up,” he adds as he smacks me hard on the behind, making me jump.

  Hastily, I crawl onto the bed’s hard, unyielding mattress and lie down, looking up at him. The satin of the sheet beneath me is soft and cool against my skin. His gaze is impassive, except for his eyes which glow with a barely leashed excitement.

  “Hands above your head,” he orders, and I do as I’m bid.

  Jeez, my body hungers for him. I want him already.

  He turns, and out of the corner of my eye, I watch him saunter back over to the chest of drawers, returning with the iPod and what looks like an eye mask, similar to the one I used on my flight to Atlanta. The thought makes me want to smile, but I can’t quite make my lips cooperate. I am too consumed with anticipation. I just know my face is completely immobile, my eyes huge, as I gaze at him.

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he shows me the iPod. It has a strange antenna device as well as headphones. How odd. I frown as I try to figure this out.

  “This transmits what’s playing on the iPod to the system in the room,” Christian answers my unspoken query as he taps the small antenna. “I can hear what you’re hearing, and I have a remote control unit for it.” He smirks his private-joke smile and holds up a small, flat device that looks like a very hip calculator. He leans across me, inserting the ear buds gently into my ears, and puts the iPod down somewhere on the bed above my head.

  “Li
ft your head,” he commands, and I do so immediately.

  Slowly, he slides the mask on, pulling the elastic over the back of my head, and I’m blind. The elastic on the mask holds the ear buds in place. I can still hear him, though the sound is muffled as he rises from the bed. I’m deafened by my own breathing – it’s shallow and erratic, reflecting my excitement. Christian takes my left arm, stretches it gently to the left-hand corner, and attaches the leather cuff around my wrist. His long fingers stroke the length of my arm once he’s finished. Oh! His touch elicits a delicious, tickly shiver. I hear him move slowly round to the other side, where he takes my right arm and cuffs it. Again, his long fingers linger along my arm. Oh my… I am fit to burst already. Why is this so erotic?

  He moves to the bottom of the bed and grabs both of my ankles.

  “Lift your head again,” he orders.

  I comply, and he drags me down the bed so that my arms are stretched out and almost straining at the cuffs. Holy cow, I cannot move my arms. A frisson of trepidation mixed with tantalizing exhilaration sweeps through my body, making me wetter. I groan. Parting my legs, he cuffs first my right ankle and then my left so I am staked out, spread-eagled, and totally vulnerable to him. It’s so unnerving that I can’t see him. I listen hard… what’s he doing? And I hear nothing, just my breathing and the pounding thud of my heart as blood pulses furiously against my eardrums.

  Abruptly, the soft silent hiss and pop of the iPod springs into life. From inside my head, a lone angelic voice sings unaccompanied a long sweet note, and it’s joined almost immediately by another voice, and then more voices – Holy cow, a celestial choir – singing acapella in my head, an ancient, ancient hymnal. What in heaven’s name is this? I have never heard anything like it. Something almost unbearably soft brushes against my neck, running languidly down my throat, slowly across my chest, over my breasts, caressing me… pulling at my nipples, it’s so soft, skimming underneath. It’s so unexpected. It’s fur! A fur glove?

  Christian trails his hand, unhurried and deliberate, down to my belly, circling my navel, then carefully from hip to hip, and I’m trying to anticipate where he’s going next… but the music… it’s in my head… transporting me… the fur across the line of my pubic hair… between my legs, along my thighs, down one leg… up the other… it almost tickles… but not quite… more voices join… the heavenly choir all singing different parts, their voices blending blissfully and sweetly together in a melodic harmony that is beyond anything I’ve ever heard. I catch one word – ‘deus’ – and I realize they are singing in Latin. And still, the fur is moving down my arms and round my waist… back up across my breasts. My nipples harden beneath the soft touch… and I’m panting… wondering where his hand will go next. Suddenly, the fur is gone, and I can feel the fronds of the flogger flowing over my skin, following the same path as the fur, and it’s so hard to concentrate with the music in my head – it sounds like a hundred voices singing, weaving an ethereal tapestry of fine, silken gold and silver through my head, mixed with the feel of the soft suede against my skin… trailing over me… oh my… abruptly, it disappears. Then suddenly, sharply, it bites down on my belly.