by E. L. James
Fuck. I wanted to go with her.
My grandmother leans in to talk to me. "She's delightful."
"I know."
"You look happy, dear."
Do I? I thought I was sulking at a missed opportunity.
"I don't think I've ever seen you so relaxed." She pats my hand; it's an affectionate gesture, and for once I don't withdraw from her touch.
Happy?
Me?
I test the word to see if it fits, and an unexpected warmth flares in my gut.
Yes. She makes me happy.
It's a new feeling. I've never described myself in those terms.
I smile at my grandmother and squeeze her hand. "I think you're right, Grandmother."
Her eyes twinkle and she squeezes mine back. "You should bring her to the farm."
"I should. I think she'd like that."
Mia and Ana return to the pavilion, giggling. It's a pleasure to watch them together and to witness my whole family embrace my girl. Even my grandmother has concluded that Ana makes me happy.
She's not wrong.
As Ana takes her seat, she gives me a swift carnal look.
Ah. I mask my smile. I want to ask if she's still wearing the kegel balls, but I presume she's removed them. She's done well to wear them this long. Taking Ana's hand in mine, I give her a list of auction prizes.
I think Ana will enjoy this part of the evening--Seattle's elite flashing their cash.
"You own property in Aspen?" she asks, and everyone at the table turns to look at her. I nod and put my finger to my lips.
"Do you have property elsewhere?" she whispers.
I nod. But I don't want to disturb everyone at the table with conversation. This is the part of the evening when we raise a sizable sum for the charity.
As everyone applauds a sale price of $12,000 for a signed Mariners baseball bat, I lean over and say, "I'll tell you later."
She licks her lips and my earlier frustration returns. "I wanted to come with you."
She shoots me a quick aggrieved look, which I think means that she's of the same mind, but she settles down to listen to the bidding.
I watch her get caught up in the excitement of the auction, turning her head to see who's bidding on what and applauding at the conclusion of each lot.
"And up next is a weekend stay in Aspen, Colorado. What are my starting bids, ladies and gentlemen, for this generous prize courtesy of Mr. Christian Grey?" There's a smattering of applause and the master of ceremonies continues. "Do I hear five thousand dollars?"
The bidding begins.
I contemplate taking Ana to Aspen. I don't even know if she skis. The thought of her on skis is unsettling. She's not a coordinated dancer, so she might be a disaster on the slopes. I wouldn't want her to get hurt.
"Twenty thousand dollars, we are bid. Going once, going twice," the MC calls. Ana puts her hand up and calls.
"Twenty-four thousand dollars!"
And it's like she's kicked me in the solar plexus.
What. The. Fuck.
"Twenty-four thousand dollars, to the lovely lady in silver, going once, going twice. Sold!" the master of ceremonies declares, to rapturous applause. Everyone at our table gapes at her while my anger spirals out of control. That money was for her. Taking a deep breath, I lean forward and kiss her cheek. "I don't know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you," I hiss in her ear.
"I'll take option two, please," she says quickly. Breathlessly.
What?
For a moment I'm confused, and then I realize the kegel balls have done their work. She's needy, really needy, and my anger is forgotten. "Suffering, are you?" I whisper. "We'll have to see what we can do about that." I run my fingers along her jaw.
Make her wait, Grey.
That should be punishment enough.
Or perhaps we could prolong the agony. A wicked thought comes to mind.
She wriggles beside me as my family congratulates her on her win. I drape my arm over her chair and begin to stroke her naked back with my thumb. With my other hand I take hers and kiss her palm, then rest her hand on my thigh. Slowly, I ease her hand up my thigh until her fingers are resting on my erection.
I hear her gasp, and from beneath her mask her shocked eyes meet mine.
I will never tire of shocking sweet Ana.
As the auction continues, my family returns their attention to the next prize. Ana, emboldened, no doubt, by her need, surprises me and starts to caress me through my pants.
Hell.
I keep my hand over hers so no one will be the wiser as she fondles me and I continue to stroke her neck.
My pants are becoming uncomfortable.
She's turned the tables on you, Grey. Again.
"Sold, for one hundred and ten thousand dollars!" the MC declares, bringing me back into the room. The prize is a week in my parents' place in Montana, and it's a colossal amount of money.
The whole room erupts with cheers and applause, and Ana takes her hands off me and joins in the clapping.
Damn.
Reluctantly, I applaud, too, and now that the auction is over, I plan to give Ana a tour of the house.
"Ready?" I mouth to her.
"Yes," she says, her eyes shining through her mask.
"Ana!" Mia says. "It's time!"
Ana looks confused. "Time for what?"
"The First Dance Auction. Come on!" Mia stands and holds out her hand.
Fucking hell. My annoying little sister.
I glower at Mia. Cockblocker extraordinaire.
Ana looks at me and starts to giggle.
It's infectious.
I stand, grateful for my jacket. "The first dance will be with me, okay? And it won't be on the dance floor," I murmur against the pulse beneath her ear.
"I look forward to it." She kisses me in full view of everyone.
I grin and then notice that the entire table is staring at us.
Yes, people. I have a girlfriend. Get used to it.
They, as one, look away, embarrassed to be caught gawking.
"Come on, Ana." Mia is persistent and leads Ana toward the small stage, where several women are assembled.
"Gentlemen, the highlight of the evening!" the MC booms over the PA system and the excited hum of the crowd. "The moment you've all been waiting for! These twelve lovely ladies have all agreed to auction their first dance to the highest bidder!"
Ana is uncomfortable. She looks down at the ground, then at her knotted fingers. She looks anywhere but at the group of young men approaching the stage.
"Now, gentlemen, pray gather around and take a good look at what could be yours for the first dance. Twelve comely and compliant wenches."
When did Mia get Ana involved in this fucking charade?
It's a meat market.
I know it's for a good cause, but still.
The MC announces the first young woman, giving her a hyperbolic introduction. Her name is Jada, and her first dance is quickly sold off for $5,000. Mia and Ana are talking. Ana looks engaged in what Mia is saying.
Shit.
What is Mia telling her?
Mariah is up for sale next. She seems embarrassed by the MC's introduction, and I don't blame her. Mia and Ana continue to talk--and I know it's about me.
For fuck's sake, Mia, shut up.
Mariah's first dance is sold for $4,000.
Ana glances at me, then back at Mia, who appears to be in full flow.
Jill is up next, and her first dance is sold for $4,000.
Ana stares at me, and I see her eyes glitter inside her mask, but I have no idea what she's thinking.
Shit. What did Mia say?
"And now, allow me to introduce the beautiful Ana."
Mia ushers Ana to the center of the stage and I make my way to the front of the crowd. Ana does not like to be the center of attention.
Damn Mia for making her do this.
But Anastasia is beautiful.
The MC makes another ov
erblown and ridiculous introduction. "Beautiful Ana plays six musical instruments, speaks fluent Mandarin, and is keen on yoga...well, gentlemen--"
Enough. "Ten thousand dollars," I shout.
"Fifteen." There's a call from some random guy.
What the hell?
I turn to look at who is bidding on my girl, and it's Flynn, the expensive charlatan, as Ana calls him. I'd recognize his gait anywhere. He gives me a polite nod.
"Well, gentlemen! We have high rollers in the house this evening," the MC announces to the assembled patrons.
What is Flynn's game? How far does he want to take this?
The chatter in the pavilion dies as the crowd watches us and waits to hear my reaction.
"Twenty," I offer, my voice low.
"Twenty-five," counters Flynn.
Ana looks anxiously from me to Flynn. She's mortified. And, frankly, so am I. I've had enough of whatever game Flynn is playing.
"One hundred thousand dollars," I call, so that the entire audience can hear me.
"What the fuck?" one of the women behind Ana calls out, and I hear gasps from people in the crowd around me.
Come on, John.
I give Flynn a level stare and he laughs and graciously holds up both his hands. He's done.
"One hundred thousand dollars for the lovely Ana! Going once. Going twice." The MC invites Flynn to bid again, but he shakes his head and bows.
"Sold!" the MC cries out triumphantly, and the applause and cheering are deafening. I step forward and hold out my hand to Ana.
I've won my girl.
She beams at me with relief when she places her hand in mine. I help her down from the stage and kiss the back of her hand, then tuck it under my arm. We make our way to the exit of the pavilion, ignoring the catcalls and the shouts of congratulations.
"Who was that?" she asks.
"Someone you can meet later. Right now, I want to show you something. We have about twenty minutes until the First Dance Auction finishes. Then we have to be back on the dance floor so that I can enjoy that dance I've paid for."
"A very expensive dance," she observes dryly.
"I'm sure it'll be worth every single cent."
At last. I have her. Mia is still on the stage and unable to stop me now. I guide Ana across the lawn toward the dance floor, aware that two of the close protection guys are tailing us. The sounds of revelry fade behind us as I take her through the French doors that lead into the sitting room. I leave the doors open so the guys can follow us. From there we head into the hall and up two flights of stairs to my childhood bedroom.
It will be another first.
Inside, I lock the door. Security can wait outside. "This was my room."
Ana stands in the center, drinking it all in: my posters, my bulletin board. Everything. Her eyes scan it all, then settle on me.
"I've never brought a girl in here."
"Never?"
I shake my head. There's an adolescent thrill running through me. A girl. In my room. What would my mom say?
Ana's lips part in invitation. Her eyes are dark beneath her mask and they don't leave mine. I saunter over to her.
"We don't have long, Anastasia, and the way I'm feeling right this moment, we won't need long. Turn around. Let me get you out of that dress."
She spins around immediately.
"Keep the mask on," I whisper in her ear.
She groans and I haven't even touched her. I know that she'll be craving relief after wearing the kegel balls for so long. I unzip her dress and help her out of it. I step back, drape it over a chair, and remove my jacket.
She's wearing the corset.
And thigh-highs.
And heels.
And the mask.
She's driven me to distraction during dinner.
"You know, Anastasia." I move toward her, undoing my bow tie and then the shirt buttons at the collar. "I was so mad when you bought my auction lot. All manner of ideas ran through my head. I had to remind myself that punishment is off the menu. But then you volunteered." Standing close, I stare down at her. "Why did you do that?"
I need to know.
"Volunteer?" Her voice is husky, revealing her desire. "I don't know. Frustration. Too much alcohol. Worthy cause."
She shrugs, and her eyes move to my mouth.
"I vowed to myself I would not spank you again, even if you begged me."
"Please."
"But then I realized you're probably very uncomfortable at the moment, and it's not something you're used to."
"Yes," she answers, breathy and sexy and pleased, I think, that I know how she feels.
"So there might be a certain latitude. If I do this, you must promise me one thing."
"Anything."
"You will safe-word if you need to, and I will just make love to you, okay?"
She agrees readily.
I lead her to the bed, throw the comforter aside, and sit down as she stands before me in her mask and corset.
She looks sensational.
I grab a pillow and place it beside me. Taking her hand, I tug so that she falls across my lap, her chest on the pillow. I sweep her hair off her face and the mask.
There.
She looks glorious.
Now, to spice this up. "Put your hands behind your back."
She scrambles to do my bidding and squirms on top of me.
Eager. I like that.
I tie her wrists with my tie. She's helpless. In my power.
It's exhilarating.
"You really want this, Anastasia?"
"Yes," she stresses, clarifying her need.
But I still don't get it. I thought all this was off the table.
"Why?" I ask as I caress her behind.
"Do I need a reason?"
"No, baby, you don't. I'm just trying to understand you."
Be in the moment, Grey.
She wants this. And so do you.
I stroke her ass once more, preparing myself. Preparing her.
Leaning over, I hold her down with my left hand and I smack her once with the other, just at the junction of her fine, fine ass and her thighs.
She moans an incoherent word.
It's not a safe word.
I smack her again.
"Two. We'll go with twelve." I start counting.
I smooth her behind and spank her twice, once on each cheek. And I pull off her lacy panties, trailing them down her thighs, her knees, her calves, and over her Louboutins, where I discard them on the floor.
It's arousing.
In every way.
Noting she's no longer wearing the kegel balls, I spank her again, numbering each blow. She groans and writhes across my knees, her eyes shut beneath her mask. Her ass is a lovely shade of pink.
"Twelve," I whisper when I'm done.
I caress her glowing ass and sink two fingers into her.
She's wet.
So fucking wet.
So ready.
She moans as I rotate my fingers inside her and she comes, loudly, frantically, around them.
Wow. That's quick. She's such a sensual creature.
"That's right, baby," I murmur, and I untie her wrists. She's panting, trying to catch her breath. "I've not finished with you yet, Anastasia."
I'm now uncomfortable. I want her.
Badly.
Lowering her so that her knees touch the floor, I kneel behind her. I undo my zipper and yank down my underwear, freeing my eager erection. From my pants pocket, I extract a condom and pull my fingers out of my girl.
She whimpers.
I wrap my cock in latex. "Open your legs." She complies and I ease into her. "This is going to be quick, baby," I whisper. I hold her hips and slowly pull out of her, then I slam into her.
She cries out. With joy. With abandon. With ecstasy.
This is what she wants, and I'm only too happy to oblige. I thrust and thrust, and then she's meeting me. Thrusting back.
Shit.
; This is going to be even quicker than I thought. "Ana, no," I warn. I want to prolong her pleasure. But she's a greedy girl and she takes all she can. A voracious counterpoint to me.
"Ana, shit." It's a strangled cry as I come and it sets her off. She screams as her orgasm rips through her, pulling on me as I sink on to her.
Man, that was good.
I'm spent.
After all the teasing and the anticipation during that meal...this was inevitable. I kiss her shoulder and pull out of her and remove the condom, tossing it into the wastebasket by the bed. That will give my mother's housekeeper something to think about.
Ana's still in her mask, panting, smiling. She looks satiated. I kneel over her, resting my forehead on her back as we both find our equilibrium.
"Mmm," I murmur in satisfaction, and plant a kiss on her flawless back. "I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Steele."
She hums a contented response from somewhere deep in her throat. I sit back and pull her onto my lap.
"We don't have long. Come on." I kiss her hair. She moves off my lap and sits on the bed, beginning to dress as I do up my shirt and redo my bow tie.
Ana gets up and walks over to where I've placed her dress. Wearing only her mask, corset and shoes, she embodies sensuality. I knew she was a goddess, but this...She's beyond all my expectations.
I love her.
I turn away, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and straighten the comforter on my bed.
The uneasy feeling ebbs like a receding tide as I finish and see Ana examining the photographs on my bulletin board. There are many--from all over the world. My parents were fond of a foreign vacation.
"Who's this?" Ana asks, pointing to an old black-and-white photograph of the crack whore.
"No one of consequence." I slip on my jacket and straighten my mask. I'd forgotten about that picture. Carrick gave it to me when I was sixteen. I'd tried several times to throw it away, but I could never quite bring myself to dispose of it.
"Son, I have something for you."
"What?" I'm in Carrick's study, expecting a dressing down. But for what I don't know. I hope he hasn't found out about Mrs. Lincoln.
"You seem calmer, more collected, more yourself these days."
I nod, hoping that my expression gives nothing away.
"I was going through some old files and I found this." He hands me a black-and-white photograph of a sad young woman. It's like a gut punch.
The crack whore.
He studies my reaction. "We were given this at the time of the adoption."
"Oh," I manage to say through my closing throat.
"I thought you might want to see it. Do you recognize her?"
"Yes." I squeeze the word out.
He nods, and I know he has something else to say.
What more does he have?
"I don't have any information on your biological father. By all accounts he wasn't part of your mother's life in any way."