by James, E L
“You,” I address Prescott. “You’re fired. Get out now.” Prescott nods—resigned, I think—and makes her way around the table to leave.
Ana gapes at me. “Christian—” She pushes her chair back, and I know she’s going to stand up and berate me. I hold a finger up in warning.
“Don’t.” I keep my voice low while I struggle to contain my fury. Prescott, her face expressionless, walks past me out of the room. Shutting the door behind her, I turn to confront Leila.
She looks as I remember when she was with me: healthy and well adjusted. It’s a relief to see her looking like her old self, and I’d tell her that, if I wasn’t so fucking angry with her right now. Splaying my fingers onto the cool surface of the polished wood, I lean forward, tension tightening every muscle in my body, and snarl, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Christian!” Ana exclaims, shocked, I think, but I ignore her and concentrate my attention on Miss Leila Williams.
“Well?” I demand.
Leila’s eyes dart to mine, her face slowly draining of color. “I wanted to see you, and you wouldn’t let me,” she whispers.
“So you came here to harass my wife?”
Leila examines the tabletop again.
Well, I’m here now. You got what you wanted.
I’m mad that I’ve been played, but more livid that she’s here with Ana.
“Leila, if you come anywhere near my wife again, I will cut off all support. Doctors, art school, medical insurance—all of it—gone. Do you understand?”
“Christian!” Ana tries to interject. She looks distraught, but right now I don’t give a shit, and I silence her with a look.
“Yes,” Leila says, her voice almost inaudible.
“What’s Susannah doing in reception?”
“She came with me.”
I stand upright and run a hand through my hair.
What am I going to do with her?
“Christian, please,” Ana interjects again. “Leila just wants to say thank you. That’s all.”
Ignoring Ana, I direct a question at Leila. “Did you stay with Susannah while you were sick?”
“Yes.”
“Did she know what you were doing while you were staying with her?”
“No. She was away on vacation.”
I can’t imagine that Susannah would have stood by and let Leila lose her mind. She always struck me as a caring and considerate person.
I sigh. “Why do you need to see me? You know you should send any requests through Flynn. Do you need something?”
Leila traces her finger along the edge of the table and the silence fills the room. Abruptly, she looks up. “I had to know,” she declares, looking directly at me.
“Had to know what?”
“That you’re okay.”
What the fuck? “That I’m okay?” I don’t believe her.
“Yes.” She’s not backing down.
“I’m fine. There, question answered. Now Taylor will run you to Sea-Tac so you can go back to the East Coast. And if you take one step west of the Mississippi, it’s all gone. Understand?”
“Yes. I understand,” Leila says quietly, her expression finally contrite. It goes a long way to calming me.
“Good,” I mutter.
“It might not be convenient for Leila to go back now. She has plans,” Ana intervenes again.
“Anastasia.” My tone is arctic. “This does not concern you.” The stubborn scowl that I know so well forms on her face.
“Leila came to see me, not you,” she snaps.
Leila turns to look at Ana. “I had my instructions, Mrs. Grey. I disobeyed them.” She glances at me, then back to my wife. “This is the Christian Grey I know,” she says, and her tone is almost wistful.
What?
That’s not fair.
We role-played a relationship, for fuck’s sake. And the last time she was in a room with my wife, she had her at gunpoint! I will go to the ends of the earth to keep Anastasia safe. Leila rises, and I want to leap to my own defense, but if that’s how she’d like to rewrite history, then so be it. I don’t give a flying fuck.
“I’d like to stay until tomorrow. My flight is at noon,” she states.
“I’ll have someone collect you at ten to take you to the airport.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re at Susannah’s?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Leila turns to Ana. “Good-bye, Mrs. Grey. Thank you for seeing me.”
Ana rises and holds out her hand, and they shake. “Um, good-bye. Good luck,” she says.
Leila nods with a faint, sincere smile and turns to me. “Good-bye, Christian.”
“Good-bye, Leila. Dr. Flynn, remember.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I open the door for her to leave, but she pauses in front of me. “I’m glad you’re happy. You deserve to be,” she says, and then she’s out the door. I watch her leave, baffled by our exchange.
What the hell was that all about?
I close the door and, taking a deep breath, turn to face my wife.
“Don’t even think about being angry with me,” she snarls. “Call Claude Bastille and kick the shit out of him, or go see Flynn.” Her cheeks pink with her rising anger.
Wow. Attack as the first form of defense.
But that’s not what this is about.
“You promised you wouldn’t do this.”
“Do what?” she spits at me.
“Defy me.”
“No, I didn’t. I said I’d be more considerate. I told you she was here. I had Prescott search her, and your other little friend, too. Prescott was with me the entire time. Now you’ve fired the poor woman, when she was only doing what I asked.” Ana is on a roll. “I told you not to worry, yet here you are. I don’t remember receiving your papal bull decreeing that I couldn’t see Leila. I didn’t know that my visitors were subject to a proscribed list.” She’s mad, really mad, her voice rising and her eyes flashing with righteous indignation.
Impressive, Mrs. Grey.
I marvel at how she always stands up to me and remains as disarming as ever. And she’s funny, sucking the venom of the room with her choice of words. “Papal bull?” I ask, because it’s the most amusing and disrespectful thing I’ve heard in a while, and I hope to raise a smile.
Ana remains stony-faced.
Shit. “What?” I ask, exasperated. I had hoped that we could move on, now that she’s got everything off her chest.
“You. Why were you so callous toward her?”
What? I wasn’t callous, I was mad. She shouldn’t be here.
Hell.
Sighing, I lean against the table. “Anastasia, you don’t understand. Leila, Susannah—all of them—they were a pleasant, diverting pastime. But that’s all. You are the center of my universe. And the last time you two were in a room together, she had you at gunpoint. I don’t want her anywhere near you.”
“But, Christian, she was ill.”
“I know that, and I know she’s better now, but I’m not giving her the benefit of the doubt anymore. What she did was unforgivable.”
“But you’ve just played right into her hands. She wanted to see you again, and she knew you’d come running if she came to see me.”
I shrug. “I don’t want you tainted with my old life.”
Ana frowns. “Christian, you are who you are because of your old life, your new life, whatever. What touches you touches me. I accepted that when I agreed to marry you, because I love you.”
Where is she going with this?
Her expression is raw, full of compassion.
But this time it’s not for me, but for Leila.
Who knew Leila would find an advocate in my wife?
“She did
n’t hurt me. She loves you, too.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
And no, she doesn’t love me. How could she?
Leila knows only too well what I’m capable of…
Ana stares at me as if she’s seeing me for the first time.
Oh, baby. I told you a long time ago. Fifty Shades.
“Why are you championing her cause all of a sudden?” I ask, baffled.
“Look, Christian, I don’t think Leila and I will be swapping recipes and knitting patterns anytime soon. But I didn’t think you’d be so heartless to her.”
“I told you once, I don’t have a heart,” I mutter, and even to my own ears I sound petulant.
She rolls her eyes. “That’s just not true, Christian. You’re being ridiculous. You do care about her. You wouldn’t be paying for art classes and the rest of that stuff if you didn’t.”
I remember Leila, broken and filthy as I bathed her in Ana’s old apartment and how I felt seeing her like that.
Hell. I’ve had enough of this shit.
“This discussion is over. Let’s go home.”
Ana glances at her watch. “It’s too early.”
“Home!” I insist.
Please. Ana.
“Christian, I’m tired of having the same argument with you.” She sounds weary.
What argument?
“You know,” she continues, correctly interpreting my frown, “I do something you don’t like, and you think of some way to get back at me. Usually involving some of your kinky fuckery, which is either mind-blowing or cruel.” She shrugs.
Cruel? Shit.
Yeah, she safe-worded on you, Grey.
Fuck.
“Mind-blowing?” I ask, because I don’t want to dwell on cruel.
“Usually, yes.”
“What was mind-blowing?”
Ana looks exasperated. “You know.”
“I can guess.” Various erotic memories cloud my imagination. Ana in a spreader bar, shackled to the bed, the cross…in my childhood bedroom…
“Christian, I—” She sounds breathless; distracting her has worked.
“I like to please you.” I brush my thumb over her bottom lip.
“You do.” Her voice is petal-soft, caressing me. Everywhere.
“I know.” I whisper in her ear, “It’s the one thing I do know.” When I stand, Ana’s eyes are closed. She opens them abruptly and purses her lips, probably in response to my wicked smile.
I want her.
I don’t want to argue.
“What was mind-blowing, Anastasia?” I coax her.
“You want the list?”
“There’s a list?”
“Well, the handcuffs,” she mumbles, and for a moment she looks lost in the memory of our honeymoon tryst.
No. I grab her hand and skim my thumb around her wrist. “I don’t want to mark you.” My eyes meet hers, imploring her. “Come home.”
“I have work to do.”
“Home.”
Please, Ana. I don’t want to fight.
We gaze at each other, our battlefield the space between us as I try desperately to understand what she might be thinking. I know I’ve angered her, and at the back of my mind I’m concerned that I might be doing exactly what Flynn has warned me against—sabotaging our relationship and killing my own happiness.
I need to know we’re okay.
Her pupils widen, growing larger and darkening her eyes. I can’t resist her. Raising my hand, I caress her cheek with the back of my fingers. “We could stay here.” My voice is hoarse, betraying my desire and my need to reconnect with my wife.
Ana blinks and shakes her head, stepping back. “Christian, I don’t want to have sex here. Your mistress has just been in this room.”
“She was never my mistress.”
Only Elena fits that title.
Don’t go there, Grey.
“That’s just semantics, Christian.” She sounds weary, once more.
“Don’t overthink this, Ana. She’s history.” And I don’t know if I’m referring to Leila or Elena, but the same applies to both of them.
They’re history.
Ana sighs, and she regards me as if I’m a complex riddle to solve, her eyes beseeching me, but for what I don’t know. Suddenly, her expression changes to one of alarm, and she gasps, and I think she says no.
But she is history. “Yes,” I implore her, and press my lips to hers, to drive away her doubt.
“Oh, Christian,” she whispers, “you scare me sometimes.” She grasps my head in her hands and pulls my lips to hers, kissing me.
I’m lost. Scare her?
I fold her in my arms and whisper against her lips, “Why?”
“You could turn away from her so easily.”
This time I know she’s referring to my attitude to Leila. “And you think I might turn away from you, Ana? Why the hell would you think that? What’s brought this on?”
“Nothing. Kiss me. Take me home.” Her lips find mine once more, but this time there’s a desperate edge to her kiss.
What’s wrong, Ana?
The thought is fleeting as I surrender to her tongue.
Ana writhes beneath me. “Oh, please,” she begs.
“All in good time.” I have her exactly where I want her, on our bed in Escala, trussed up and available. She groans and pulls on the leather restraints that bind each elbow to each knee. She’s completely open to me, and helpless, as I focus my attention and the tip of my tongue on her clitoris. She groans as I tease the potent powerhouse buried in her flesh, feeling it harden under my relentless ministration.
God, I love this.
Her fingers find my hair, tugging it hard.
But I don’t stop.
She’s trying to straighten her legs. She’s close. “Don’t come.” My words float over her wet flesh. “I will spank you if you come.”
She groans and tugs harder.
“Control, Ana. It’s all about control.” And I double down on my efforts, my tongue continuing to provoke her, bringing her closer and closer. I know this is a losing battle for her, she’s so near.
“Ah!” she cries, and her climax spirals through her body. She raises her face to the ceiling and arches her back as she comes.
Yes!
I don’t stop until she screams. “Oh, Ana,” I chide her, nipping her thigh. “You came.” Flipping her onto her front, I smack her hard on her behind, so she cries out.
“Control,” I repeat, and grabbing her hips, I drive into her.
She cries out again.
And I still.
Reveling in her.
This is where I want to be.
My happy place.
Leaning forward, I unclip each cuff in turn so she’s free, and pull her fully onto my lap, driving deeper inside her.
Ana. I wrap my arm around her and caress her jaw, enjoying the feel of her back against my front.
“Move.” I whisper my demand in her ear.
She moans and rises on my lap, then back down.
Too slow.
“Faster,” I order.
And she moves. Fast. Faster. Faster still. Taking me with her.
Ah, baby.
This is heaven.
The feel of her.
I ease her head back, kissing her throat as my other hand skims down her body, caressing her skin. From her hip I trail my fingers down to cup her vulva. She whimpers as I brush my fingers against her already-sensitized clitoris. “Yes. Ana. You are mine. Only you.”
“Yes,” she cries out, and I can’t believe she’s so close. Her readiness fuels my desire. She tips her head back.
And the first shocks are there. “Come for me,” I whisper.
She lets go, and I hold
her still while I ride out her orgasm.
“Christian!” she calls, my name tipping me over the edge.
“Oh, Ana, I love you.” I groan, and I come, all the tension from earlier spiraling out of my body as I find my release.
We lie sprawled together, and we’re a tangle of limbs and cuffs. I kiss her shoulder and stroke her hair from her face before propping myself up on my elbow. While I knead her backside where I smacked her, I ask, “Does that make the list, Mrs. Grey?”
“Hmm.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Hmm.” Her lips lift in a glorious smile.
I grin. She’s incoherent.
Job done, Grey.
I kiss her shoulder again and she rolls over to face me. “Well?” I ask.
“Yes. It makes the list.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “But it’s a long list.”
She makes me feel ten feet tall.
My earlier anger is forgotten.
Thank you, Ana. I kiss her. “Good. Shall we have dinner?”
She nods and her fingers dance over my chest. “I want you to tell me something.” Sincere, curious blue eyes meet mine.
“What?”
“Don’t get mad.”
“What is it, Ana?”
“You do care.” She says the words with such compassionate sincerity that all the air is sucked from my lungs. “I want you to admit that you care. Because the Christian I know and love would care.”
Why does she do this?
From nowhere images of Leila, and Susannah, and the rest of my subs cloud my brain. All that we did. All that they did. For me. All that I did, and do for them.
Leila broken and filthy.
Hell.
That was torture. I wouldn’t want her or any of them to experience that. Ever.
“Yes. Yes, I care. Happy?”
Ana’s eyes soften. “Yes. Very.”
I frown. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you now, here in our bed, about—”
She places a finger on my lips. “We’re not. Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
I sigh and shake my head.
This woman confounds me. In every way.