by E. L. James
Fuck the shower. I want her now.
Stepping toward her, I clasp her head, and we step back so she’s against the tiled wall, her lips parting as she inhales. Holding her face and lacing my fingers into her hair, I kiss her: her cheek, her throat, her mouth. She’s nectar and I can’t get enough. Her breath catches in her throat and she grasps my arms, but at her touch there’s no protest from the darkness within. There’s just Ana, in all her beauty and innocence, kissing me back with a fervor that matches mine.
My blood is thick with desire, my erection painful. “I want you now. Here…fast, hard,” I murmur, as my hand runs up her naked thigh beneath her skirt. “Are you still bleeding?”
“No.”
“Good.” I push her skirt up over her hips, hook both thumbs into her cotton panties and drop to the floor, kneeling, slipping the panties down her legs.
She gasps when I grab her hips and kiss the sweet junction beneath her pubic hair. Moving my hands to the backs of her thighs, I part her legs, exposing her clitoris to my tongue. When I start my sensual assault her fingers dive into my hair. My tongue torments her, and she moans and tips her head back against the wall.
She smells exquisite. She tastes better.
As she purrs she tilts her pelvis toward my invading, insistent tongue, and her legs begin to tremble.
Enough. I want to come inside her.
It will be my skin against her skin again, like in Savannah. Releasing her, I stand and grasp her face, capturing her surprised and disappointed mouth with mine, kissing her hard. I unzip my fly and lift her, clutching her under her thighs. “Wrap your legs around me, baby.” My voice is rough and urgent. As soon as she does, I thrust forward, sliding into her.
She’s mine. She’s heaven.
Clinging to me, she whimpers as I plunge into her—slowly at first, then building as my body takes control, driving me forward, driving me into her, faster and faster, harder and harder, my face at her throat. She moans and I feel her quicken around me, and I’m lost, in her, in us, as she climaxes, crying out her release. The feel of her pulsing around me tips me over the edge and I come deep and hard inside her, growling out a garbled version of her name.
I kiss her throat, not wanting to withdraw, waiting for her to calm. We’re in a cloud of steam from the shower, and my shirt and pants are sticking to my body, but I don’t care. Ana’s breathing slows, and she feels weightier in my arms as she relaxes. Her expression is wanton and dazed as I pull out of her, so I hold her fast while she finds her feet. Her lips rise in a winsome smile. “You seem pleased to see me,” she says.
“Yes, Miss Steele, I think my pleasure is pretty self-evident. Come—let me get you in the shower.”
I undress quickly, and when I’m naked I begin undoing the buttons on Ana’s blouse. Her eyes move from my fingers to my face.
“How was your journey?” I ask.
“Fine, thank you,” she says, her voice a little throaty. “Thanks once again for first class. It really is a much nicer way to travel.” She takes a quick breath, as if she’s steeling herself. “I have some news,” she says.
“Oh?” What now? I remove her blouse and deposit it on top of my clothes.
“I have a job.” She sounds reticent.
Why? Did she think I’d be angry? Of course she’s found a job. Pride swells in my chest. “Congratulations, Miss Steele. Now will you tell me where?” I ask with a smile.
“You don’t know?”
“Why would I know?”
“With your stalking capabilities, I thought you might have—” She stops to study my face.
“Anastasia, I wouldn’t dream of interfering in your career. Unless you ask me to, of course.”
“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,” she announces.
“Oh, the small one, good. Well done.” It’s the company that Ros identified as ripe for takeover. This will be easy.
I kiss Ana’s forehead. “Clever girl. When do you start?”
“Monday.”
“That soon, eh? I’d better take advantage of you while I still can. Turn around.”
She obeys immediately. I remove her bra and skirt, then cup her behind and kiss her shoulder. Leaning against her, I nuzzle her hair. Her scent lingers in my nostrils, soothing, familiar, and uniquely Ana. The feel of her body against mine is both calming and enticing. She really is the whole package.
“You intoxicate me, Miss Steele, and you calm me. Such a heady combination.” Grateful that she’s here, I kiss her hair, then take her hand and pull her into the hot shower.
“Ow,” she squeaks and closes her eyes, flinching under the steamy cascade.
“It’s only a little hot water.” I grin down at her. Opening one eye, she lifts her chin and slowly surrenders to the heat.
“Turn around,” I order. “I want to wash you.” She complies, and I squeeze some shower gel on my hand, work up a lather, and begin to massage her shoulders.
“I have something else to tell you,” she says, her shoulders tensing.
“Oh yes?” I keep my voice mild. Why is she tense? My hands glide over her chest to her beautiful breasts.
“My friend José’s photography show is opening Thursday in Portland.”
“Yes, what about it?” The photographer again?
“I said I would go. Do you want to come with me?” The words come in a rush, as if she’s anxious to get them out.
An invitation? I’m stunned. I only get invitations from my family, from work, and from Elena.
“What time?”
“The opening is at seven thirty.”
This will count as more, surely. I kiss her ear and whisper, “Okay.” Her shoulders soften as she leans back against me. She seems relieved and I’m not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. Am I really that unapproachable?
“Were you nervous about asking me?”
“Yes. How can you tell?”
“Anastasia, your whole body’s just relaxed.” I mask my irritation.
“Well, you just seem to be, um…on the jealous side.”
Yes. I’m jealous. The thought of Ana with anyone else is…unsettling. Very unsettling. “Yes, I am. And you’d do well to remember that. But thank you for asking. We’ll take Charlie Tango.”
She flashes me a quick grin as my hands slide down her body, the body she’s given to me and no one else.
“Can I wash you?” she asks, diverting me.
“I don’t think so.” I kiss her neck as I rinse her back.
“Will you ever let me touch you?” Her voice is a gentle entreaty, but it doesn’t stop the darkness that’s swirling suddenly from nowhere and tightening around my throat.
No.
I will it away, cupping and concentrating on Ana’s ass, her fucking glorious behind. My body responds on a primal level—at war with the darkness. I need her. I need her to chase my fear away.
“Put your hands on the wall, Anastasia. I’m going to take you again,” I whisper, and with a startled glance at me, she splays her hands on the tiles. I grab her hips, pulling her back from the wall. “Hold fast, Anastasia,” I warn, as the water streams over her back.
She bends her head and braces herself as my hands sweep through her pubic hair. She squirms, her behind brushing my arousal.
Fuck! And like that, my residual fear melts away.
“Do you want this?” I ask as my fingers tease her. In answer she wiggles her butt against my erection, making me smile. “Tell me,” I demand, my voice strained.
“Yes.” Her agreement slices through the pouring water, keeping the darkness at bay.
Oh, baby.
She’s still wet from earlier—from me, from her—I don’t know. In
the moment I give a silent word of thanks to Dr. Greene: no more condoms. I ease into Ana and slowly, deliberately make her mine again.
I WRAP HER IN a bathrobe and kiss her soundly. “Dry your hair,” I order, handing her a hair dryer I never use. “Are you hungry?”
“Famished,” she admits, and I don’t know if she means it or if she’s said it merely to please me. But pleased I am.
“Great. Me, too. I’ll check where Mrs. Jones is with dinner. You have ten minutes. Don’t get dressed.” I kiss her once more and pad out to the kitchen.
Gail is washing something at the sink. She looks up as I peer over her shoulder.
“Clams, Mr. Grey,” she says.
Delicious. Pasta alle Vongole, one of my favorites.
“Ten minutes?” I ask.
“Twelve,” she says.
“Great.”
She gives me a look as I head into my study. I ignore it. She’s seen me in less than my bathrobe before—what the hell is her problem?
I check through some e-mails and my phone to see if there’s any news about Leila. Nothing—but since Ana’s arrival, I don’t feel as hopeless as I did earlier.
Ana enters the kitchen at the same time that I do, lured no doubt by the tantalizing smell of our dinner. When she sees Mrs. Jones she clutches the neck of her bathrobe.
“Just in time,” Gail says, serving our meal in two large bowls at the place settings on the counter.
“Sit.” I point to one of the barstools. Ana’s anxious eyes pass from me to Mrs. Jones.
She’s self-conscious.
Baby, I have staff. Get over it.
“Wine?” I offer, to distract her.
“Please,” she says, sounding reserved as she takes her seat.
I open a bottle of Sancerre and pour two small glasses.
“There’s cheese in the fridge if you’d like, sir,” Gail says. I nod, and she exits the room, much to Ana’s relief. I take my seat.
“Cheers.” I raise my glass.
“Cheers,” Ana replies, and the crystal glasses sing as we clink. She takes a bite of her food and makes an appreciative noise in the back of her throat. Perhaps she is famished.
“Are you going to tell me?” she asks.
“Tell you what?” Mrs. Jones has outdone herself; the pasta tastes delicious.
“What I said in my sleep.”
I shake my head. “Eat up. You know I like watching you eat.”
She pouts with mock exasperation. “You are so pervy,” she exclaims under her breath.
Oh, baby, you have no idea. And a thought springs to mind: maybe we should explore something new in the playroom tonight. Something fun.
“Tell me about this friend of yours,” I ask.
“My friend?”
“The photographer.” I keep my voice light, but she regards me with a fleeting frown.
“Well, we met the first day of college. He’s an engineering major, but his passion is photography.”
“And?”
“That’s it.” Her evasive answers are irritating.
“Nothing else?”
She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “We’ve become good friends. It turns out my dad and José’s dad served together in the military before I was born. They’ve gotten back in touch, and they’re now best buds.”
Oh. “Your dad and his dad?”
“Yeah.” She twirls more pasta around her fork.
“I see.”
“This tastes delicious.” She gives me a contented smile, and her robe gapes a little, revealing the swell of her breast. The sight stirs my cock.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Fine,” she says.
“Up for more?”
“More?”
“More wine?” More sex? In the playroom?
“A small glass, please.”
I pour her a little more Sancerre. I don’t want either of us to drink too much if we’re going to play.
“How’s the, um…situation that brought you to Seattle?”
Leila. Shit. This I do not want to discuss. “Out of hand. But nothing for you to worry about, Anastasia. I have plans for you this evening.”
I want to see if we can play this so-called arrangement of ours both ways.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I want you ready and waiting in my playroom in fifteen minutes.” I stand up, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. She takes a quick sip of her wine, her pupils widening. “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.”
Her mouth sets in a surprised o. And I give her a stern look, daring her to argue with me. Remarkably, she says nothing, and I head off to my study to send a quick e-mail to Ros telling her I want to start the process to acquire SIP as soon as possible.
I scan a couple of work e-mails, but see nothing in my inbox about Mrs. Reed. I put thoughts of Leila out of my mind; she’s preoccupied me for the last twenty-four hours. Tonight I’m going to focus on Ana—and have some fun.
When I return to the kitchen Ana’s disappeared; I presume she’s getting ready upstairs.
In my closet I remove my robe and slip on my favorite jeans. As I do, images of Ana in my bathroom come to mind—her flawless back, then her hands pressed against the tiles while I fucked her.
Boy, the girl has stamina.
Let’s see how much.
With a sense of exhilaration I collect my iPod from the living room and bolt upstairs to the playroom.
When I find Ana kneeling as she should be at the entrance facing the room—eyes down, legs parted, and wearing only her panties—my first feeling is one of relief.
She’s still here; she’s game.
My second is pride: she has followed my instructions to the letter. My smile is hard to hide.
Miss Steele does not back down from a challenge.
Closing the door behind me, I note that her bathrobe has been hung up on the peg. I walk past her barefoot and deposit my iPod on the chest. I’ve decided that I’m going to deprive her of all her senses but touch, and see how she fares with that. The bed has been made up with satin sheets.
And the leather shackles are in place.
At the chest I take out a hair tie, a blindfold, a fur glove, earbuds, and the handy transmitter that Barney designed for my iPod. I lay out the items in a neat row, plugging the transmitter into the top of the iPod, letting Ana wait. Anticipation is half the buildup to a scene. Once I’m satisfied I go and stand over her. Ana’s head is bowed, the ambient light burnishing her hair. She looks modest and beautiful, the epitome of a submissive.
“You look lovely.” I cup her face and tilt her head up until blue eyes meet gray. “You are one beautiful woman, Anastasia. And you’re all mine,” I whisper. “Stand up.”
She’s a little stiff as she gets to her feet. “Look at me,” I order, and when I look into her eyes I know I could drown in her serious, rapt expression. I’ve got her full attention. “We don’t have a signed contract, Anastasia. But we’ve discussed limits. And I want to reiterate we have safe words, okay?”
She blinks a couple of times, but remains mute.
“What are they?” I demand.
She hesitates.
Oh, this will never do.
“What are the safe words, Anastasia?”
“Yellow.”
“And?”
“Red.”
“Remember those.”
She raises an eyebrow in obvious scorn, and is about to say something.
Oh no. Not in my playroom.
“Don’t start with your smart mouth in here, Miss Steele. Or I will fuck it with you on your knees. Do you understand?”
As pleasing as that thought is, her obedience is wh
at I want right now.
She swallows her chagrin.
“Well?”
“Yes, Sir,” she says quickly.
“Good girl. My intention is not that you should use the 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?”
Her face remains impassive, giving nothing away.
“This is about touch, Anastasia. You will not be able to see me or hear me. But you’ll be able to feel me.” Ignoring her confounded look, I turn to the audio player above the chest and switch it to auxiliary mode.
I just have to choose a song; and in that moment I recall our conversation in the car after she’d slept in my bed at The Heathman. Let’s see if she likes some Tudor choral music.
“I am going to tie you to that bed, Anastasia. But I’m going to blindfold you first and”—I show her the iPod—“you will not be able to hear me. All you will hear is the music I’m going to play for you.”
I think it’s surprise I see registering on her face, but I’m not sure.
“Come.” I lead her to the foot of the bed. “Stand here.” Leaning down, I breathe in her sweet scent and whisper in her ear, “Wait here. Keep your eyes on the bed. Picture yourself lying here, bound and totally at my mercy.”
She sucks in her breath.
Yes, baby. Think about it. I resist the temptation to plant a soft kiss on her shoulder. I need to braid her hair first and fetch a flogger. From the top of the chest I grab the hair tie, and from the rack I select my favorite flogger, which I stuff into the back pocket of my jeans.
When I return to stand behind her, I gently take her hair and braid it. “While I like your pigtails, Anastasia, I am impatient to have you right now. So one will have to do.” I fasten and tug on the braid so she’s forced to step back against me. Winding the end around my wrist, I pull to the right, bending her head to expose her neck. I run my nose from her earlobe to her shoulder, sucking and biting gently.
Hmm…She smells so good.
She shivers and hums deep in her throat.
“Hush, now,” I caution, and taking the flogger from my pocket, I reach around her, my arms brushing hers, and show it to her.