Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian Read online

  Ana suddenly jumps, startled by my presence.

  Yes. I’m here because of your e-mail.

  She pulls out her earbuds and the sound of tinny music fills the silence between us.

  “Good evening, Anastasia.”

  She stares at me dumbfounded, her eyes widening.

  “I felt that your e-mail warranted a reply in person.” I try to keep my voice neutral. Her mouth opens and closes, but she remains mute.

  Miss Steele is speechless. This I like. “May I sit?”

  She nods, continuing to stare in disbelief as I perch on her bed.

  “I wondered what your bedroom would look like,” I offer as an icebreaker, though chitchat is not my area of expertise. She scans her room as if seeing it for the first time. “It’s very serene and peaceful in here,” I add, though I feel anything but serene or peaceful right now. I want to know why she’s said no to my proposal with no discussion whatsoever.

  “How…?” she whispers, but she stops, her disbelief still evident in her quiet tone.

  “I’m still at The Heathman.” She knows this.

  “Would you like a drink?” she squeaks.

  “No thank you, Anastasia.” Good. She’s found her manners. But I want to get on with the business at hand: her alarming e-mail. “So, it was nice knowing me?” I emphasize the word that offends me most in that sentence.

  Nice? Really?

  She examines her hands in her lap, her fingers nervously tapping against her thighs. “I thought you’d reply by e-mail,” she says, her voice as small as her room.

  “Are you biting your lower lip deliberately?” I inquire, my voice sterner than I’d intended.

  “I wasn’t aware I was biting my lip,” she whispers, her face pale.

  We gaze at each other.

  And the air almost crackles between us.

  Fuck.

  Can’t you feel this, Ana? This tension. This attraction. My breathing shallows as I watch her pupils dilate. Slowly, deliberately, I reach for her hair and gently tug on the elastic, freeing one of her braids. She watches me, captivated, her eyes never leaving mine. I loosen her second braid.

  “So you decided on some exercise?” My fingers trace the soft shell of her ear. With great care, I tug and squeeze the plump skin of her earlobe. She’s not wearing earrings, though she does have pierced ears. I wonder what a diamond would look like twinkling there. I ask her why she’s been exercising, keeping my voice low. Her breathing quickens.

  “I needed time to think,” she says.

  “Think about what, Anastasia?”

  “You.”

  “And you decided that it was nice knowing me? Do you mean knowing me in the biblical sense?”

  Her cheeks pink. “I didn’t think you were familiar with the Bible.”

  “I went to Sunday school, Anastasia. It taught me a great deal.”

  Catechism. Guilt. And that God abandoned me long ago.

  “I don’t remember reading about nipple clamps in the Bible. Perhaps you were taught from a modern translation,” she goads me, her eyes shining and provocative.

  Oh, that smart mouth.

  “Well, I thought I should come and remind you how nice it was knowing me.” The challenge is there in my voice, and now between us. Her mouth drops open in surprise, but I glide my fingers to her chin and coax it closed. “What do you say to that, Miss Steele?” I whisper, as we stare at each other.

  Suddenly she launches herself at me.

  Shit.

  Somehow I grab her arms before she can touch me, and twist so that she lands on the bed, beneath me, and I have her arms stretched out above her head. Turning her face to mine, I kiss her, hard, my tongue exploring and reclaiming her. Her body rises in response as she kisses me back with equal ardor.

  Oh, Ana. What you do to me.

  Once she’s squirming for more, I stop and gaze down at her. It’s time for plan B.

  “Trust me?” I ask, when her eyelids flutter open.

  She nods enthusiastically. From the back pocket of my pants I extract the tie so she can see it, then sit astride her and, taking both of her offered wrists, bind her to one of the iron spindles of her bedstead.

  She wriggles beneath me, testing her bindings, but the tie holds fast. She’s not escaping. “That’s better.” I smile with relief because I have her where I want her. Now to undress her.

  Grabbing her right foot, I start to undo her sneakers.

  “No,” she grumbles with embarrassment, trying to withdraw her foot, and I know it’s because she’s been running and she doesn’t want me to remove her shoes. Does she think perspiration would put me off?

  Sweetheart!

  “If you struggle, I’ll tie your feet, too. If you make a noise, Anastasia, I will gag you. Keep quiet. Katherine is probably outside listening right now.”

  She stops. And I know that my instincts are right. She’s worried about her feet. When will she understand that none of that stuff bothers me?

  Quickly I remove her shoes, socks, and sweatpants. Then shift her so she’s stretched out and lying on her sheets, and not that dainty, homemade quilt. We’re going to make a mess.

  Stop biting that fucking lip.

  I brush my finger over her mouth as a carnal warning. She purses her lips in the semblance of a kiss, prompting my smile. She’s a beautiful, sensual creature.

  Now that she’s where I want her, I take my shoes and socks off, undo the top button of my pants, and remove my shirt. She doesn’t take her eyes off me.

  “I think you’ve seen too much.” I want to keep her guessing, and not knowing what’s coming next. It will be a carnal treat. I’ve not blindfolded her before, so this will count toward her training. That’s if she says yes…

  Sitting astride her once more, I grab the hem of her T-shirt and roll it up her body. But rather than taking it off, I leave it rolled over her eyes: an effective blindfold.

  She looks fantastic, laid out and bound. “Mmm, this just gets better and better. I’m going to get a drink,” I whisper, and kiss her. She gasps as I climb off the bed. Outside her room, I leave her door slightly ajar and enter the living room to retrieve the bottle of wine.

  Kavanagh looks up from where she’s sitting on the sofa, reading, and her eyebrows rise in surprise. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a shirtless man, Kavanagh, because I won’t believe you. “Kate, where would I find glasses, ice, and a corkscrew?” I ask, ignoring her scandalized expression.

  “Um. In the kitchen. I’ll get them for you. Where’s Ana?”

  Ah, some concern for her friend. Good.

  “She’s a little tied up at the moment, but she wants a drink.” I grab the bottle of chardonnay.

  “Oh, I see,” Kavanagh says, and I follow her into the kitchen, where she points to some glasses on the counter. All the glasses are out, I assume to be packed for their move. She hands me a corkscrew and from the fridge she removes a tray of ice and breaks out the ice cubes.

  “We still have to pack in here. You know Elliot is helping us move.” Her tone is critical.

  “Is he?” I sound uninterested as I open the wine. “Just put the ice in the glasses.” With my chin I indicate two glasses. “It’s a chardonnay. It’ll be more drinkable with the ice.”

  “I figured you for a red-wine kind of guy,” she says, when I pour the wine. “Are you going to come and help Ana with the move?” Her eyes flash. She’s challenging me.

  Shut her down now, Grey.

  “No. I can’t.” My voice is clipped, because she’s pissing me off, trying to make me feel guilty. Her lips thin, and I turn around to leave the kitchen, but not before I catch the disapproval in her face.

  Fuck off, Kavanagh.

  No way am I going to help. Ana and I don’t have that kind of relationship. Besides, I can’t spare the ti
me.

  I return to Ana’s room and shut the door behind me, blotting out Kavanagh and her disdain. Immediately I’m appeased by the sight of the enchanting Ana Steele, breathless and waiting, on her bed. Setting the wine down on her bedside table, I take the foil packet out of my pants and place it beside the wine, then drop my pants and underwear on the floor, freeing my erection.

  I take a sip of wine—surprisingly, it’s not bad—and gaze down at Ana. She hasn’t said a word. Her face is turned toward me, her lips parted with anticipation. Taking the glass, I sit astride her once more. “Are you thirsty, Anastasia?”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  Taking a sip of wine, I lean down and kiss her, pouring the wine into her mouth. She laps it up, and deep in her throat I hear a faint hum of appreciation.

  “More?” I ask.

  She nods, smiling, and I oblige.

  “Let’s not go too far; we know your capacity for alcohol is limited, Anastasia,” I tease, and her mouth splits in the widest of grins. Leaning down, I let her have another drink from my mouth, and she wriggles beneath me.

  “Is this nice?” I ask, as I lay down beside her.

  She stills, all seriousness now, but her lips part as she inhales sharply.

  I take another swig of wine, this time with two ice cubes. When I kiss her, I push a small shard of ice between her lips, then lay a trail of icy kisses down her sweet-smelling skin from her throat to her navel. There, I place the other shard, and a little wine.

  She sucks in a breath.

  “Now you have to keep still. If you move, Anastasia, you’ll get wine all over the bed.” My voice is low, and I kiss her again just above her navel. Her hips shift. “Oh no. If you spill the wine, I will punish you, Miss Steele.”

  She moans in response and pulls at the tie.

  All good things, Ana…

  I release each of her breasts from her bra so they’re supported by the underwire cups; her breasts are pert and vulnerable, just how I like them. Slowly I tease them both with my lips.

  “How nice is this?” I whisper, and blow gently on one nipple. Her mouth slackens in a silent “Ah.” Taking another piece of ice in my mouth, I slowly trace down her sternum to her nipple, circling a couple of times with the ice. She moans beneath me. Transferring the ice to my fingers, I continue to torture each nipple with cool lips and the remaining ice cube that’s melting in my fingers.

  Whining and panting beneath me, she’s tensing but managing to stay still. “If you spill the wine, I won’t let you come,” I warn.

  “Oh. Please. Christian. Sir. Please,” she begs.

  Oh, to hear her use those words.

  There’s hope.

  This is not a “no.”

  I skim my fingers over her body toward her panties, teasing her soft skin. Suddenly her pelvis flexes, spilling the wine and the now-melted ice from her navel. I move quickly to lap it up, kissing and sucking it off her body.

  “Oh dear, Anastasia, you moved. What am I going to do to you?” I slip my fingers into her panties and brush her clitoris as I do.

  “Ah!” she whines.

  “Oh, baby,” I whisper with reverence. She’s wet. Very wet.

  See. See how nice this is?

  I push my index and middle finger inside her and she trembles.

  “Ready for me so soon,” I murmur, and push my fingers slowly in and out of her, eliciting a long sweet moan. Her pelvis starts lifting to meet my fingers.

  Oh, she wants this.

  “You are a greedy girl.” My voice is still low and she matches the pace I’m setting as I begin to circle her clitoris with my thumb, teasing and tormenting her.

  She cries out, her body bucking beneath me. I want to see her expression, and reaching up with my other hand, I slip her T-shirt off her head. She opens her eyes, blinking in the soft light.

  “I want to touch you,” she says, her voice husky and full of need.

  “I know,” I breathe against her lips, and kiss her, all the while keeping up the relentless rhythm with my fingers and thumb. She tastes of wine and need and Ana. And she kisses me back with a hunger I’ve not felt in her before. I cradle the top of her head, keeping her in place, and continue to kiss and finger-fuck her. As her legs stiffen, I drop the pace of my hand.

  Oh, no, baby. You’re not coming yet.

  I do this three more times while kissing her warm, sweet mouth. The fifth time I still my fingers inside her, and I hum soft and slow in her ear, “This is your punishment, so close and yet so far. Is this nice?”

  “Please,” she whimpers.

  God, I love to hear her beg.

  “How shall I fuck you, Anastasia?”

  My fingers start again and her legs begin to quiver, and I gentle my hand once more.

  “Please,” she breathes again, the word so low I barely hear her.

  “What do you want, Anastasia?”

  “You…now,” she pleads.

  “Shall I fuck you this way, or this way, or this way? There’s an endless choice,” I murmur. Withdrawing my hand, I snatch the condom from the bedside table and kneel up between her legs. Keeping my eyes on hers, I pull her panties off and discard them on the floor. Her eyes are dark, full of promise and longing. They widen as I slowly put the condom on.

  “How nice is this?” I ask, as I wrap my fist around my erection.

  “I meant it as a joke,” she whimpers.

  Joke?

  Thank. The. Lord.

  All is not lost.

  “A joke?” I query, as my fist slides up and down my cock.

  “Yes. Please, Christian,” she begs.

  “Are you laughing now?”

  “No.” Her voice is barely audible, but the little shake of her head tells me all I need to know.

  Watching her needing me…I could explode in my hand just looking at her. Grabbing her, I flip her over, keeping her fine, fine ass in the air. It’s too tempting. I slap her cheek, hard, then plunge inside her.

  Oh, fuck. She’s so ready.

  She tightens around me and cries out as she comes.

  Fuck. That’s too quick.

  Holding her hips in place, I fuck her, hard, riding through her orgasm. Gritting my teeth, I grind into her, again and again, as she begins to build once more.

  Come on, Ana. Again, I will her, pounding on.

  She moans and whimpers beneath me, a sheen of sweat appearing on her back.

  Her legs begin to quiver.

  She’s close.

  “Come on, Anastasia, again,” I growl, and by some miracle her orgasm spirals through her body and into mine. Thank fuck. Wordlessly I come, pouring myself into her.

  Sweet Lord. I collapse on top of her. That was exhausting.

  “How nice was that?” I hiss against her ear as I draw air into my lungs.

  As she lies flat on the bed, panting, I pull out of her and remove the wretched condom. I get off the bed and quickly get dressed. When I’m done, I reach down and unfasten my tie, freeing her. Turning over, she stretches her hands and fingers and readjusts her bra. Once I cover her with the comforter I lie down beside her, propped up on my elbow.

  “That was really nice,” she says with a mischievous smile.

  “There’s that word again.” I smirk at her.

  “You don’t like that word?”

  “No. It doesn’t do it for me at all.”

  “Oh—I don’t know…it seems to have a very beneficial effect on you.”

  “I’m a beneficial effect now, am I? Could you wound my ego any further, Miss Steele?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with your ego.” Her frown is fleeting.

  “You think?”

  Dr. Flynn would have plenty to say about that.

  “Why don’t you like to be touched?�
� she asks, her voice sweet and soft.

  “I just don’t.” I kiss her forehead to distract her from this line of questioning. “So, that e-mail was your idea of a joke?”

  She gives me a coy look and an apologetic shrug.

  “I see. So you are still considering my proposition?”

  “Your indecent proposal…yes, I am.”

  Well, thank fuck for that.

  Our deal is still in play. My relief is palpable; I can almost taste it.

  “I have issues, though,” she adds.

  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

  “I was going to e-mail them to you, but you kind of interrupted me.”

  “Coitus interruptus.”

  “See? I knew you had a sense of humor somewhere in there.” The light in her eyes dances with mirth.

  “Only certain things are funny, Anastasia. I thought you were saying no—no discussion at all.”

  “I don’t know yet. I haven’t made up my mind. Will you collar me?”

  Her question surprises me. “You have been doing your research. I don’t know, Anastasia. I’ve never collared anyone.”

  “Were you collared?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “By Mrs. Robinson?”

  “Mrs. Robinson?” I laugh out loud. Anne Bancroft in The Graduate. “I’ll tell her you said that; she’ll love it.”

  “You still talk to her regularly?” Her voice is high-pitched with shock and indignation.

  “Yes.” Why’s that such a big deal?

  “I see.” Now her voice is clipped. She’s mad? Why? I don’t understand. “So you have someone you can discuss your alternative lifestyle with, but I’m not allowed.” Her tone is petulant, but once again she’s calling me out on my shit.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it like that. Mrs. Robinson is part of that lifestyle. I told you, she’s a good friend now. If you’d like, I can introduce you to one of my former subs. You could talk to her.”

  “Is this your idea of a joke?” she demands.