by James, E L
“Be still, Anastasia—I want you to behave,” I murmur, close to her ear. “And don’t bite your lip.” I tug her bottom lip free from her teeth and she smiles.
Finally!
A smile.
I open the bottle, easing out the cork, and fill a glass.
Now for some musical accompaniment. I switch on the surround speakers and select Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” from the iPod. The pluck of a guitar string resonates through the room.
Yes. This song works.
I turn it down and pick up the glass of wine. “A drink first, I think,” I say, almost to myself. “Head back.” She lifts her chin. “Farther.” Ana obliges and I take a swig of cool, crisp wine and kiss her, pouring the wine into her mouth.
“Mm.” She swallows.
“You like the wine?”
“Yes,” she breathes.
“More?”
“I always want more, with you.”
I grin. More. Our word. She grins, too.
“Mrs. Grey, are you flirting with me?”
“Yes.”
Good. I love it when she flirts with me.
I take another large sip of wine, then, holding the knot of the scarf, gently tug her head back. I kiss her, drizzling the wine into her mouth. She drinks, greedily. “Hungry?” I ask her against her lips.
“I think we’ve already established that, Mr. Grey.” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm.
Ah, there she is again…my girl.
The microwave pings, announcing that the lamb is ready. Its appetizing aroma has filled the kitchen. I pick up a cloth, open the microwave door, and grab the dish. “Shit! Christ!” It’s scalding hot where my finger touches it without the cloth. I drop it and it clatters on the counter.
“You okay?” Ana asks.
“Yes!”
No.
Ow!
I abandon the dish, wanting some TLC. “I just burned myself. Here.” I ease my poor finger into her mouth. “Maybe you could suck it better.”
Ana grabs my hand and slowly draws my finger out of her mouth.
“There, there,” she whispers, and pouts prettily and blows gently on my smarting skin.
Oh.
She might as well be blowing on my dick.
She kisses my knuckle, twice, then slowly reinserts my digit into her mouth, her tongue cradling and sucking me.
She might as well be sucking my dick.
Lust surges like a tidal wave, south.
Ana.
As she fellates my finger her forehead creases.
“What are you thinking?” I whisper, as I draw my finger out of her mouth and attempt to bring my body under control.
“How mercurial you are.”
This is not news. “Fifty Shades, baby.” I plant a kiss at the corner of her mouth.
“My Fifty Shades.” She grabs my T-shirt and tugs me closer.
“Oh, no you don’t, Mrs. Grey. No touching. Not yet.” I pry her hand from my shirt and kiss each of her fingers. “Sit up.” Ana pouts. “I will spank you if you pout.”
I stick a fork into the lamb dish, then into the accompanying sauce of yogurt and mint. “Now open wide.” She opens her mouth and I slide a forkful between her lips.
“Hmm,” she hums in appreciation.
“You like?”
“Yes.”
I try some, too, and it’s a party of delicious flavors in my mouth. I realize how hungry I am. “More?” I ask Ana. She nods, and I feed her another forkful. While she’s chewing, I tear some of the pita bread and dip it into the hummus. “Open.” Ana indulges me and eats this latest morsel with enthusiasm.
I join her.
This really is the best hummus in Seattle.
“More?” I ask.
She nods. “More of everything. Please. I’m starving.”
Her words are music to my soul. I feed her and myself, alternating between the bread and hummus and the lamb. Ana is lapping it up, thoroughly enjoying the feast, and it’s a pleasure to watch her savor the food and to feed her. Occasionally I offer her more wine, using my tried-and-trusted mouth-to-mouth technique.
When the lamb is finished, I turn to the stuffed grape leaves. “Open wide, then bite.”
She does. “I love these,” she mumbles with a full mouth.
“I agree. They’re delicious.”
When I finish feeding her, she licks my fingers clean. One by one. “More?” My voice is husky.
She shakes her head.
“Good,” I murmur against her ear, “because it’s time for my favorite course. You.” I pick her up suddenly and she squeaks with surprise.
“Can I take the blindfold off?”
“No. Playroom.” Ana stills in my arms while I cradle her to my chest. “You up for the challenge?” I ask.
“Bring it on,” she says, as I knew she would. She feels a little lighter in my arms as I carry her upstairs. “I think you’ve lost weight,” I mutter. She smiles, pleased, I think. Outside the playroom, I slide her down my body and onto her feet, keeping my arm around her waist while I unlock the door. I usher her inside, turning on the lights as we enter.
In the middle of the room, I release her, undo the scarf, and slowly draw the hairpins from her bun, freeing her braid. Grasping it as it swings between her shoulder blades, I tug gently so she steps back against me. “I have a plan,” I whisper in her ear.
“I thought you might,” she answers, as I kiss that spot beneath her ear where her pulse beats.
“Oh, Mrs. Grey, I do.” Still holding her braid, I tilt Ana’s head, exposing her neck, and skim my lips down her throat. “First we have to get you naked.” When I turn her around, her eyes flit down to the unfastened top button on my jeans. Before I can stop her, she inserts her finger into the waistband, teasing the hair at the base of my belly.
Ah!
She glances up at me from behind long lashes. “You should keep these on,” she says.
“I fully intend to, Anastasia.” I fold her in my arms, one hand at her neck, the other splayed on her backside, and I kiss her, my tongue testing and tasting her. While we kiss, I walk her backward until she’s against the playroom cross, where I press my body into hers. Her lips are greedy, her tongue as eager as mine. I pull back. “Let’s get rid of this dress.” I grasp the hem and slowly divest her of her dress, revealing her body an inch at a time as I peel it off. “Lean forward,” I say, and she complies. The dress ends up on the floor as my wife stands before me in her seductive lingerie and her sandals. Threading my fingers through hers, I raise her hands over her head and incline mine in a question.
Restraints, Ana?
Her gaze is intense, missing nothing. I bathe in it, feeling it in my groin. She swallows and then nods.
My sweet girl. She never lets me down.
I clip her wrists in the leather cuffs above her head and take the scarf from my back pocket once more. “Think you’ve seen enough,” I whisper, and blindfold her again. I run my nose down hers and deliver a promise: “I’m going to drive you wild.”
Grasping her hips, I run my hands down her body, removing her panties as I go. “Lift your feet, one at a time.” She obliges and I remove her panties, then each of her sandals in turn. Sliding my fingers around her ankle, I tug her right leg to the right. “Step,” I order. She does, and I cuff her right ankle to the cross. I repeat the process with her left ankle, buckling her up tight. When she’s secure I stand and step close to her, bathing in her warmth and her growing excitement. Holding her chin, I plant a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. “Some music and toys, I think. You look beautiful like this, Mrs. Grey. I may take a moment to admire the view.” Stepping back, I do exactly that, knowing that the longer I look at her and do nothing, the wetter she’ll get…and the harder I’ll get.
She is a might
y fine sight.
But right now, I want to teach her about orgasm denial.
I pad over to the drawers and pull out a wand and the iPod. There’s a small tin of Tiger Balm beside the wand, and I contemplate spreading a little on her clitoris.
That would heat her up.
No. Not right now. That’s too next-level.
I switch on the music system and choose something unsettling, to suit my mood.
Yes. Bach. Aria from Goldberg Variations. Perfect.
I press play, and the crisp, bright, cool notes sing out through my playroom.
Our playroom.
I put the wand in my back pocket, pull off my T-shirt, and return to my wife, who is biting her lip. Taking her chin between my fingers, I startle her, then tug so that she releases her bottom lip. Her smile is shy and sweet, and I know she was unaware of what she was doing.
Oh, Ana. What I have in store for you.
Maybe I’ll let you come.
Maybe I won’t.
I run the backs of my fingers over the soft skin of her throat to her sternum, then, using my thumb, I tug her bra cup down, freeing her breast. She has such beautiful breasts. While I kiss her throat, I release her other breast from its bra cup and toy with her nipple. My lips and my fingers tug and tease each of them, until they’re both erect and begging for more.
Ana squirms against her restraints. “Ah,” she groans. But I don’t stop; my mouth and fingers continue their slow, sensual torment. I know how easy it is to arouse her to orgasm this way.
She’s breathing hard. “Christian,” she begs.
“I know.” My voice is husky with want. “This is what you make me feel.”
She gasps.
And I continue.
Her hips press forward and her legs start to tremble. “Please,” she pleads.
Oh, baby. Feel it.
My cock is pressing against soft denim, wanting release. All in good time, Grey.
I stop and stand up, looking down at her face. Her mouth is hanging open as she drags air in to her lungs, and she writhes against the leather cuffs. I run my hands down the side of her body, leaving one to linger at her hip while I skirt the fingers of my other hand down her belly. Again, she pushes her hips forward, offering herself to me. “Let’s see how you’re doing,” I murmur. I brush my fingers over her sex, and she soaks my fingers.
My jeans get tighter.
I skate my thumb over the excited little nub at the junction of her thighs and she cries out, pushing herself into my hands.
Oh, Ana. So keen. So wet for me.
And you’re so far from coming.
If—and it’s a big if—I let you come at all.
Slowly, I insert my middle, then index finger inside her. She groans and continues to strain against my hand, searching for release. “Oh, Anastasia, you’re so ready.” I circle my fingers inside her, stroking her, tantalizing her, while my thumb continues to rouse her clitoris. Her legs start to tremble again as she strains toward me. It’s the only part of her body I’m touching. Her head is thrown back as she absorbs the pleasure. She’s close.
With my other hand, I pull out the wand from my back pocket and switch it on.
“What?” she murmurs at the sound.
“Hush.” My lips swoop down on hers, and she kisses me greedily. I pull back while my fingers still work away inside her. “This is a wand, baby. It vibrates.” I hold it against her sternum and let it float over her so it oscillates against her skin. My thumb and fingers still tease her sex, and I drag the vibrating wand down between her breasts, then across each nipple in turn.
“Ah!” she moans out loud, and her legs stiffen as she throws her head back once more and groans loudly. I stop moving my fingers and lift the wand from her skin.
“No! Christian,” she cries, and pushes her hips fruitlessly toward me.
So close. And yet so far.
“Still, baby,” I whisper, and kiss her. “Frustrating, isn’t it?”
She gasps. “Christian, please.”
“Hush.” I kiss her and slowly start to move my fingers inside her, grazing the wand across her skin between the two peaks of her breasts. I move so I’m leaning into her, my cock hard and ready against her.
She starts to climb again and I bring her close.
So close.
Then stop once more.
“No,” she whimpers, and I plant kisses on her shoulder as I withdraw my fingers from inside her and stop teasing her clitoris with my thumb. Instead, I increase the speed of the wand and let it travel down her stomach, over her belly and over the tiny swollen bud between her thighs.
“Ah!” she cries out, and pulls on her shackles.
And I stop once more, removing the wand from her skin.
“Christian!” she calls.
“Frustrating, yes?” I whisper against her throat. “Just like you. Promising one thing and then…”
“Christian, please!”
I let the wand touch her again.
And stop.
And start.
And stop.
She’s panting hard.
“Each time I stop, it feels more intense when I start again. Right?”
“Please,” she begs, and I switch the wand off and place it on the small shelf beside the cross and kiss her. Her lips are eager—no, desperate—for my touch. I run my nose down hers and whisper, “You are the most frustrating woman I have ever met.”
She shakes her head. “Christian, I never promised to obey you. Please, please—” I grab her behind and push my still clothed cock against her; rubbing myself over her. She groans, and I peel off the blindfold and grasp her chin; wild blue eyes meet mine.
“You drive me crazy.” My voice is hoarse as I flex my hips against her, once, twice, thrice, and she tips her head back, ready to come—and I stop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Please,” she whispers, and looks up at me.
Oh, baby, you can take more. I know you can.
My fingers skim her breast as they travel down her body, and she stiffens beneath my touch, and turns her face away from me. “Red,” she whimpers. “Red. Red.” As tears spill down her face.
I freeze.
Fuck.
No. No.
“No!” I breathe. “Jesus Christ, no.” I unclip her hands, and, holding her, I bend down and unclip her ankles. She puts her head in her hands and starts to weep.
“No, no, no. Ana, please. No.” I’ve gone too far. I pick her up and sit down on the bed, cradling her in my lap while she sobs. Reaching for the satin sheet behind me, I pull it off the bed and wrap it around her, and I hug her close, rocking her gently, backward and forward. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I whisper, feeling like an asshole, and shower her hair with kisses. “Ana, forgive me, please.”
She says nothing. She continues to weep; each sob a twist of the knife in my dark, dark soul.
What was I thinking?
Ana. I’m sorry.
I’m a fucking asshole.
She buries her face in my neck, and her tears scorch my skin. “Please switch the music off.”
“Yes, of course.” I move with her on my lap, easing the remote out of my back pocket, and switch off the music. All I hear is her quiet keening interspersed with her shuddering breaths.
It’s hell.
“Better?” I ask.
She nods, and gently I wipe away her tears with my thumb. “Not a fan of Bach’s Goldberg Variations?” I make a desperate attempt at humor.
“Not that piece.” She looks up at me, her eyes dulled by her inner pain, and shame washes over me in a torrent.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“W-why did you d-do that?” she stutters between shudders.
I shake my head and close my eyes.
“I got lost in the moment.”
Her brows knit together.
I sigh. I have to explain. “Ana, orgasm denial is a standard tool in— You never—”
What’s the use?
I stop and she shifts; her weight slams against my semi-erect dick and I wince.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, as her pale cheeks pink. Even now, she’s apologizing to me. This woman puts me to shame. Disgusted with myself, I lie back and take her with me so that we’re both lying on the bed, my arms around her.
She squirms and starts to readjust her bra.
“Need a hand?” I ask.
She shakes her head vehemently, and I know she doesn’t want me to touch her.
Fuck.
Ana. I’m. Sorry.
I can’t bear it. I move so that we’re facing each other. I raise my hand and wait a beat to see if she withdraws, but she doesn’t, and I stroke the backs of my fingers gently down her tearstained face. Tears well in her eyes again.
“Please don’t cry,” I mutter, as we gaze at each other.
She looks so damned hurt. It’s heartrending.
“I never what?” she asks, and it takes me a split second to realize what she’s referring to—my unfinished sentence.
“Do as you’re told. You changed your mind; you didn’t tell me where you were. Ana, I was in New York, powerless and livid. If I’d been in Seattle, I’d have brought you home.”
“So you are punishing me?”
Yes. No. Yes. I close my eyes, unable to face her.
“You have to stop doing this,” she says.
I frown.
“For a start, you only end up feeling shittier about yourself.”
I snort. “That’s true. I don’t like to see you like this.”
“And I don’t like feeling like this. You said on the Fair Lady that you hadn’t married a submissive.”
“I know. I know.”
“Well, stop treating me like one. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I won’t be so selfish again. I know you worry about me.”
We stare at each other while I weigh her words. “Okay. Good.” I lean over to kiss her. But I stop before my lips touch hers, asking for permission and begging for forgiveness. She raises her lips to mine and I kiss her with tenderness.