Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as told by Christian: 0 (49 page)

Relief sweeps through me. “I’d like that very much, Miss Steele.”

“We aim to please, Mr. Grey.”

“You’re okay?” I ask, humbled and anxious at once.

“More than okay.” She gives me her timid smile.

“You’re amazing.” I kiss her forehead, then climb off the bed as that ominous feeling ripples through me once more. Shaking it off, I button my fly and hold out my hand to help her off the bed.
When she’s standing I pull her into my arms and kiss her, savoring her taste.

“Bed,” I mutter, and lead her to the door. There I wrap her in the bathrobe she’s left hanging on the peg, and before she can protest I pick her up and carry her downstairs to my bedroom.

“I’m so tired,” she mumbles once she’s in my bed.

“Sleep now,” I whisper, and wrap her in my arms. I close my eyes, fighting the disquieting sensation that surges and fills my chest once more. It’s like homesickness and a homecoming rolled into one…and it’s terrifying.

SATURDAY, JUNE 4, 2011

The summer breeze teases my hair, its caress the nimble fingers of a lover.

My lover.

Ana.

I wake suddenly, confused. My bedroom is shrouded in darkness, and beside me Ana sleeps, her breathing gentle and even. I prop myself up on one elbow and run my hand through my hair, with the uncanny feeling that someone has just done exactly that. I glance around the room, peering into the shadowy corners, but Ana and I are alone.

Strange. I could swear someone was here. Someone touched me.

It was just a dream.

I shake off the disturbing thought and check the time. It’s after 4:30 in the morning. As I flop back down onto my pillow, Ana mumbles an incoherent word and turns over to face me, still fast asleep. She looks serene and beautiful.

I stare at the ceiling, the flashing light of the smoke alarm taunting me once more. We have no contract. Yet Ana’s here. Beside me.
What does this mean?
How am I supposed to deal with her? Will she abide by my rules? I need to know that she’s safe. I rub my face. This is uncharted territory for me; it’s out of my control, and it’s unsettling.

Leila pops into my mind.

Shit.

My mind races: Leila, work, Ana…and I know I won’t get back to sleep. Getting up, I pull on some PJ pants, close the bedroom door, and head into the living room to my piano.

Chopin is my solace; the somber notes match my mood and I play them over and over. A small movement at the edge of my vision catches my attention, and looking up, I see it’s Ana coming toward me, her footsteps hesitant. “You should be asleep,” I mutter, but continue playing.

“So should you,” she volleys back. Her face is firm with resolve, yet she looks small and vulnerable dressed only in my oversized bathrobe. I hide my smile.

“Are you scolding me, Miss Steele?”

“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am.”

“Well, I can’t sleep.”

I have too much weighing on my mind, and I’d rather she went back to bed and slept. She must be tired from yesterday. She disregards my mood and sits down beside me on the piano bench, leaning her head on my shoulder.

It’s such a tender and intimate gesture that for a moment I lose my place in the prelude, but I continue playing, feeling more at peace because she’s with me.

“What was that?” she asks when I finish.

“Chopin. A prelude. Opus twenty-eight, number four. In E minor, if you’re interested.”

“I’m always interested in what you do.”

Sweet Ana.
I kiss her hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” she says, not moving her head. “Play the other one.”

“Other one?”

“The Bach piece that you played the first night I stayed.”

“Oh, the Marcello.”

I can’t remember when I last played for someone upon request. For me the piano is a solitary instrument, for my ears only. My family hasn’t heard me play for years. But since she’s asked, I’ll play for my sweet Ana. My fingers caress the keys and the haunting melody echoes through the living room.

“Why do you only play such sad music?” she asks.

Is it sad?

“So you were just six when you started to play?” She continues
her questions, lifting her head and studying me. Her face is open and eager for information, as usual; and after last night, who am I to deny her anything?

“I threw myself into learning the piano to please my new mother.”

“To fit into the perfect family?” My words from our candid night in Savannah echo in her soft voice.

“Yes, so to speak.” I don’t want to talk about this and I’m surprised how much of my personal information she’s retained. “Why are you awake? Don’t you need to recover from yesterday’s exertions?”

“It’s eight in the morning for me. And I need to take my pill.”

“Well remembered,” I muse. “Only you would start a course of time-specific birth control pills in a different time zone. Perhaps you should wait half an hour, and then another half hour tomorrow morning. So eventually you can take them at a reasonable time.”

“Good plan,” she says. “So what shall we do for half an hour?”

Well, I could fuck you over this piano.

“I can think of a few things.” My voice is seductive.

“On the other hand, we could talk.” She smiles, provocative.

I’m not in the mood for talking. “I prefer what I have in mind.” I snake my arm around her waist, pull her into my lap, and nuzzle her hair.

“You’d always rather have sex than talk.” She laughs.

“True. Especially with you.” Her hands curl around my biceps, yet the darkness stays still and quiet. I trail kisses from the base of her ear to her throat. “Maybe on my piano,” I murmur, as my body responds to a mental image of her sprawled naked on the top, her hair spilling down over the side.

“I want to get something straight.” She speaks quietly in my ear.

“Always so eager for information, Miss Steele. What needs straightening out?” Her skin is soft and warm against my lips as I nudge her bathrobe off her shoulder with my nose.

“Us,” she says, and the simple word sounds like a prayer.

“Hmm. What about us?” I pause.
Where is she going with this?

“The contract.”

I stop and stare down into her shrewd gaze.
Why is she doing this now?
My fingers glide down her cheek.

“Well, I think the contract is moot, don’t you?”

“Moot?” she says, and her lips soften with the hint of a smile.

“Moot.” I mirror her expression.

“But you were so keen.” Uncertainty clouds Ana’s eyes.

“Well, that was before. Anyway, the rules aren’t moot, they still stand.” I need to know you’re safe.

“Before? Before what?”

“Before—” Before all this. Before you turned my world upside down, before you sleeping with me. Before you laid your head on my shoulder at the piano. It’s all . .
.
“More,” I murmur, driving away the now-familiar unease in my gut.

“Oh,” she says, and I think she’s pleased.

“Besides, we’ve been in the playroom twice now, and you haven’t run screaming for the hills.”

“Do you expect me to?”

“Nothing you do is expected, Anastasia.”

The
v
between her brows is back. “So, let me be clear. You just want me to follow the rules element of the contract all the time, but not the rest of the contract?”

“Except in the playroom. I want you to follow the spirit of the contract in the playroom, and yes, I want you to follow the rules—all the time. Then I’ll know you’re safe. And I’ll be able to have you anytime I wish,” I add flippantly.

“And if I break one of the rules?” she asks.

“Then I’ll punish you.”

“But won’t you need my permission?”

“Yes, I will.”

“And if I say no?” she persists.

Why is she being so willful?

“If you say no, you’ll say no. I’ll have to find a way to persuade you.” She should know this. She didn’t let me spank her in the
boathouse, and I wanted to. But I got to do it later that evening…with her approval.

She stands and walks toward the entrance of the living room, and for a moment I think she’s storming off, but she turns, her expression perplexed. “So the punishment aspect remains.”

“Yes, but only if you break the rules.” This is clear to me. Why not to her?

“I’ll need to reread them,” she says, suddenly all businesslike.

She wants to do this now?

“I’ll fetch them for you.”

In my study I fire up my computer and print out the rules, wondering why we are discussing this at five in the morning.

She’s at the sink, drinking a glass of water, when I return with the printout. I sit down on a stool and wait, watching her. Her back is stiff and tense; this does not bode well. When she turns around I slide the sheet of paper toward her across the kitchen island.

“Here you go.”

She scans the rules quickly. “So the obedience thing still stands?”

“Oh yes.”

She shakes her head, and an ironic smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as her eyes dart to the heavens.

Oh joy.

My spirits suddenly lift.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me, Anastasia?”

“Possibly. Depends what your reaction is.” She looks wary and amused at once.

“Same as always.” If she’ll let me…

She swallows and her eyes widen with anticipation. “So…”

“Yes?”

“You want to spank me now?”

“Yes. And I will.”

“Oh, really, Mr. Grey?” She folds her arms, her chin thrust upward in a challenge.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“You’re going to have to catch me first.” She wears a coquettish smile, which addresses my dick directly.

She wants to play.

I ease myself off the stool, watching her carefully. “Oh, really, Miss Steele?” The air almost crackles between us.

Which way will she run?

Her eyes are on mine, brimming with excitement. Her teeth tease her lower lip.

“And you’re biting your lip.”
Is she doing it on purpose?
I move slowly to my left.

“You wouldn’t,” she taunts. “After all, you roll your eyes.” With her eyes fixed on me, she, too, moves to her left.

“Yes, but you’ve just raised the bar on the excitement stakes with this game.”

“I’m quite fast, you know,” she teases.

“So am I.”

How does she make everything so thrilling?

“Are you going to come quietly?”

“Do I ever?” She grins, taking the bait.

“Miss Steele, what do you mean?” I stalk her around the kitchen island. “It’ll be worse for you if I have to come and get you.”

“That’s only if you catch me, Christian. And right now, I have no intention of letting you catch me.”

Is she serious?

“Anastasia, you may fall and hurt yourself. Which will put you in direct contravention of rule number seven, now six.”

“I have been in danger since I met you, Mr. Grey, rules or no rules.”

“Yes, you have.”

Perhaps this is not a game. Is she trying to tell me something? She hesitates, and I make a sudden lunge to grab her. She squeals and dashes around the island, to the relative safety of the opposite side of the dining table. With her lips parted, her expression both wary and daring at once, the bathrobe slips off one shoulder. She looks hot. Really fucking hot.

Slowly I prowl toward her, and she backs away.

“You certainly know how to distract a man, Anastasia.”

“We aim to please, Mr. Grey. Distract you from what?”

“Life. The universe.”
Ex-subs who’ve gone missing. Work. Our arrangement. Everything.

“You did seem very preoccupied as you were playing.”

She’s not backing down. I stop and fold my arms, reassessing my strategy. “We can do this all day, baby, but I will get you, and it will just be worse for you when I do.”

“No, you won’t,” she says, with absolute certainty.

I frown. “Anyone would think you didn’t want me to catch you.”

“I don’t. That’s the point. I feel about punishment the way you feel about me touching you.”

And from nowhere the darkness crawls over me, shrouding my skin, leaving an icy trail of despair in its wake.

No. No. I can’t bear to be touched. Ever.

“That’s how you feel?” It’s like she’s touched me, her nails leaving white tracks over my chest.

She blinks several times, assessing my reaction, and when she speaks her voice is gentle. “No. It doesn’t affect me quite as much as that, but it gives you an idea.” Her expression is anxious.

Well, hell!
This shines a whole different light on our relationship. “Oh,” I mutter, because I can’t think of anything else to say.

She takes a deep breath and approaches me, and when she’s standing in front of me she looks up, her eyes burning with apprehension.

“You hate it that much?” I whisper.

This is it. We are really incompatible.

No. I don’t want to believe that.

“Well…no,” she says, and relief washes through me. “No,” she continues. “I feel ambivalent about it. I don’t like it, but I don’t hate it.”

“But last night, in the playroom, you—”

“I do it for you, Christian, because you need it. I don’t. You didn’t hurt me last night. That was in a different context, and I can
rationalize that internally, and I trust you. But when you want to punish me, I worry that you’ll hurt me.”

Fuck. Tell her.

It’s truth-or-dare time, Grey.

“I want to hurt you. But not beyond anything that you couldn’t take.” I’d never go too far.

“Why?”

“I just need it,” I whisper. “I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Won’t.”

“So you know why?”

“Yes.”

“But you won’t tell me.”

“If I do, you will run screaming from this room, and you’ll never want to return. I can’t risk that, Anastasia.”

“You want me to stay.”

“More than you know. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

I can no longer stomach the distance between us. I grab her to stop her from running, and I pull her into my arms, my lips seeking hers. She answers my need, her mouth molding to mine, kissing me back with the same passion and hope and longing. The hovering darkness recedes and I find my solace.

“Don’t leave me,” I whisper against her lips. “You said you wouldn’t leave me, and you begged me not to leave you, in your sleep.”

“I don’t want to go,” she says, but her eyes are searching mine, looking for answers. And I’m exposed—my ugly, torn soul on display.

“Show me,” she says.

And I don’t know what she means.

“Show you?”

“Show me how much it can hurt.”

“What?” I lean back and stare at her in disbelief.

“Punish me. I want to know how bad it can get.”

Oh no.
I release her and step out of her reach.

She gazes at me: open, honest, serious. She’s offering herself to me once more; mine for the taking, to do with as I wish. I’m stunned. She’d fulfill this need for me? I can’t believe it. “You would try?”