Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey Read online

  I climb warily to my feet. He stares at me and his mouth quirks up.

  “You’re shattered, aren’t you?”

  I nod shyly, flushing.

  “Stamina, Miss Steele.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet. Hold out your hands in front as if you’re praying.”

  I blink at him. Praying! Praying for you to go easy on me. I do as I’m told. He takes a cable tie and fastens it around my wrists, tightening the plastic. Holy hell. My eyes fly to his.

  “Look familiar?” he asks, unable to conceal his smile.

  Jeez… the plastic cable ties. Restocking at Clayton’s! It all becomes clear. I gape up at him as adrenaline spikes though my body anew. Okay – that’s got my attention – I’m awake now.

  “I have scissors here.” He holds them up for me to see. “I can cut you out of this in a moment.”

  I try to pull my wrists apart, testing my bonds, and as I do, the plastic bites into my flesh. It’s sore, but if I relax my wrists they’re fine – the tie is not cutting into my skin.

  “Come.” He takes my hands and leads me over to the four-poster bed. I notice now that it has dark red sheets on it and a shackle at each corner.

  “I want more – much, much more,” he leans down and whispers in my ear.

  And my heartbeat starts pounding again. Oh boy.

  “But I’ll make this quick. You’re tired. Hold on to the post,” he says.

  I frown. Not on the bed then? I find I can part my hands as I grasp the ornately carved wooden post.

  “Lower,” he orders. “Good. Don’t let go. If you do, I’ll spank you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good.”

  He stands behind me and grasps my hips, and then quickly lifts me backward so I’m bending forward, holding the post.

  “Don’t let go, Anastasia,” he warns. “I’m going to fuck you hard from behind. Hold the post to support your weight. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  He smacks me across my behind with his hand. Ow… It stings.

  “Yes, Sir,” I mutter quickly.

  “Part your legs.” He puts his leg between mine, and holding my hips, he pushes my right leg to the side.

  “That’s better. After this, I’ll let you sleep.”

  Sleep? I’m panting. I’m not thinking of sleep now. He reaches up and gently strokes my back.

  “You have such beautiful skin, Anastasia,” he breathes as he bends down and kisses me along my spine, gentle feather-light kisses. At the same time, his hands move round to my front, palming my breasts, and as he does this he traps my nipples between his fingers and tugs them gently.

  I stifle my moan as I feel my whole body respond, coming alive once more for him.

  He gently bites and sucks me at my waist, tugging my nipples, and my hands tighten on the exquisitely carved post. His hands drop away, and I hear the now familiar tear of foil, and he kicks off his jeans.

  “You have such a captivating, sexy ass, Anastasia Steele. What I’d like to do to it.” His hands smooth and shape each of my buttocks, then his fingers glide down, and he slips two fingers inside me.

  “So wet. You never disappoint, Miss Steele,” he whispers, and I hear the wonder in his voice. “Hold tight… this is going to be quick, baby.”

  He grabs my hips and positions himself, and I brace myself for his assault. But he reaches over me and grabs my braid near the end and winds it round his wrist to my nape holding my head in place. Very slowly he eases into me, pulling my hair at the same time… oh, the fullness. He eases out of me slowly, and his other hand grabs my hip, holding tight, and then he slams into me, jolting me forward.

  “Hold on, Anastasia!” he shouts through clenched teeth.

  I grip harder round the post and push back against him as he continues his merciless onslaught, again and again, his fingers digging into my hip. My arms are aching, my legs feel uncertain, my scalp is getting sore from his tugging my hair… and I can feel a gathering deep inside me. Oh no… and for the first time, I fear my orgasm… if I come… I’ll collapse. Christian continues to move roughly against me, in me, his breathing harsh, moaning, groaning. My body is responding… how? I feel a quickening. But suddenly, Christian stills, slamming really deep.

  “Come on, Ana, give it to me,” he groans, and my name on his lips sends me over the edge as I become all body and spiraling sensation and sweet, sweet release, and then completely and utterly mindless.

  When sense returns, I’m lying on him. He’s on the floor, and I’m lying on top of him, my back to his front, and I’m staring at the ceiling, all post-coital, glowing, shattered. Oh… the carabiners, I think absently – I’d forgotten about those. Christian nuzzles my ear.

  “Hold up your hands,” he says softly.

  My arms feel like they’re made of lead, but I hold them up. He wields the scissors and passes one blade under the plastic.

  “I declare this Ana open,” he breathes, and cuts the plastic.

  I giggle and rub my wrists as they’re freed. I feel his grin.

  “That is such a lovely sound,” he says wistfully. He sits suddenly, taking me with him so that I’m once more sitting in his lap.

  “That’s my fault,” he says and shifts me so that he can rub my shoulders and arms. Gently he massages some life back into my limbs

  What?

  I glance up at him behind me, trying to understand what he means.

  “That you don’t giggle more often.”

  “I’m not a great giggler,” I mumble sleepily.

  “Oh, but when it happens, Miss Steele, ‘tis a wonder and joy to behold.”

  “Very flowery, Mr. Grey,” I mutter, trying to keep my eyes open.

  His eyes soften, and he smiles.

  “I’d say you’re thoroughly fucked and in need of sleep.”

  “That wasn’t flowery at all,” I grumble playfully.

  He grins and gently lifts me off him and stands, gloriously naked. I wish momentarily that I were more awake to really appreciate him. Picking up his jeans, he slides them back on, commando.

  “Don’t want to frighten Taylor, or Mrs. Jones for that matter,” he mutters.

  Hmm… they must know what a kinky bastard he is. The thought preoccupies me.

  He stoops to help me to my feet and leads me to the door, on the back of which hangs a grey waffle robe. He patiently dresses me as if I’m a small child. I don’t have the strength to lift my arms. When I’m covered and respectable, he leans down and kisses me gently, his mouth quirks up in a smile.

  “Bed,” he says.

  Oh… no…

  “For sleep,” he adds reassuringly when he sees my expression.

  Suddenly, he scoops me up and carries me curled against his chest to the room along the corridor where earlier today Dr. Greene examined me. My head drops against his chest. I am exhausted. I don’t remember ever being this tired. Pulling back the duvet, he lays me down, and even more surprisingly, climbs in beside me and holds me close.

  “Sleep now, gorgeous girl,” he whispers, and he kisses my hair.

  And before I can make a facetious comment, I’m asleep.

  Soft lips brush across my temple, leaving sweet tender kisses in their wake, and part of me wants to turn and respond, but mostly I want to stay asleep. I moan and burrow into my pillow.

  “Anastasia, wake up.” Christian’s voice is soft, cajoling.

  “No,” I moan.

  “We have to leave in half an hour for dinner at my parents’.” He’s amused.

  I open my eyes reluctantly. It’s dusk outside. Christian is leaning over, gazing at me intently.

  “Come on sleepyhead. Get up.” He stoops down and kisses me again.

  “I’ve brought you a drink. I’ll be downstairs. Don’t go back to sleep, or you’ll be in trouble,” he threatens, but his tone is mild. He kisses me briefly and exits, leaving me blinking sleep from my eyes in the cool, stark room.

  I’m ref
reshed but suddenly nervous. Holy cow, I am meeting his folks! He’s just worked me over with a riding crop and tied me up using a cable tie which I sold him, for heaven’s sake – and I’m going to meet his parents. It will be Kate’s first time meeting them, too – at least she’ll be there for support. I roll my shoulders. They’re stiff. His demands for a personal trainer don’t seem so outlandish now, in fact, they’re mandatory if I am to have any hope of keeping up with him.

  I climb slowly out of bed and note that my dress is hanging outside the wardrobe and my bra is on the chair. Where are my panties? I check beneath the chair. Nothing. Then I remember – he squirreled them away in the pocket of his jeans. I flush at the memory, after he… I can’t even bring myself to think about it, he was so – barbarous. I frown. Why hasn’t he given me back my panties?

  I steal into the bathroom, bewildered by my lack of underwear. While drying myself after my enjoyable but far too brief shower, I realize he’s done this on purpose. He wants me to be embarrassed and ask for my panties back, and he’ll either say yes or no. My inner goddess grins at me. Hell… two can play that particular game. Resolving there and then not to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction, I shall go meet his parents sans culottes. Anastasia Steele! My subconscious chides me, but I don’t want to listen to her – I almost hug myself with glee because I know this will drive him crazy.

  Back in the bedroom, I put on my bra, slip into my dress, and climb into my shoes. I remove the braid and hastily brush out my hair, then glance down at the drink he’s left. It’s pale pink. What’s this? Cranberry and sparkling water. Hmm… it tastes delicious and quenches my thirst.

  Dashing back into the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror: eyes bright, cheeks slightly flushed, slightly smug look because of my panty plan, and I head downstairs. Fifteen minutes. Not bad, Ana.

  Christian is standing by the panoramic window, wearing the grey flannel pants that I love, the ones that hang in that unbelievably sexy way off his hips, and of course, a white linen shirt. Doesn’t he have any other colors? Frank Sinatra sings softly over the surround-sound speakers.

  Christian turns and smiles as I enter. He looks at me expectantly.

  “Hi,” I say softly, and my sphinx-like smile meets his.

  “Hi,” he says. “How are you feeling?” His eyes are alight with amusement.

  “Good, thanks. You?”

  “I feel mighty fine, Miss Steele.”

  He is so waiting for me to say something.

  “Frank. I never figured you for a Sinatra fan.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me, his look speculative.

  “Eclectic taste, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, and he paces toward me like a panther until he’s standing in front of me, his gaze so intense it takes my breath away.

  Frank starts crooning… an old song, one of Ray’s favorites, Witchcraft. Christian leisurely traces his fingertips down my cheek, and I feel it all the way down there.

  “Dance with me,” he murmurs, his voice husky.

  Taking the remote out of his pocket, he turns up the volume and holds his hand out to me, his gray gaze full of promise and longing and humor. He is totally beguiling, and I’m bewitched. I place my hand in his. He grins lazily down at me and pulls me into his embrace, his arm curling around my waist, and he starts to sway.

  I put my free hand on his shoulder and grin up at him, caught in his infectious, playful mood. And he starts to move. Boy, can he dance. We cover the floor, from the window to the kitchen and back again, whirling and turning in time to the music. And he makes it so effortless for me to follow.

  We glide around the dining table, over to the piano, and backwards and forwards in front of the glass wall, Seattle twinkling outside, a dark and magical mural to our dance. I can’t help my carefree laugh. He grins down at me as the song comes to a close.

  “There’s no nicer witch than you,” he murmurs, then kisses me sweetly. “Well, that’s brought some color to your cheeks, Miss Steele. Thank you for the dance. Shall we go and meet my parents?”

  “You’re welcome, and yes, I can’t wait to meet them,” I answer breathlessly.

  “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Oh, yes,” I respond sweetly.

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod as nonchalantly as I can manage under his intense, amused scrutiny. His face splits into a huge grin, and he shakes his head.

  “Okay. If that’s the way you want to play it, Miss Steele.”

  He grabs my hand, collects his jacket which is hanging on one of the bar stools, and leads me through the foyer to the elevator. Oh, the many faces of Christian Grey. Will I ever be able to understand this mercurial man?

  I peek up at him in the elevator. He’s enjoying a private joke, a trace of a smile flirting with his beautiful mouth. I fear that it may be at my expense. What was I thinking? I’m going to see his parents, and I’m not wearing any underwear. My subconscious gives me an unhelpful I told you so expression. In the relative safety of his apartment, it seemed like a fun, teasing idea. Now, I’m almost outside with No Panties! He peers down at me, and it’s there, the charge building between us. The amused look disappears from his face and his expression clouds, his eyes dark… oh my.

  The elevator doors open on the ground floor. Christian shakes his head slightly as if to clear his thoughts and gestures for me to exit before him in a most gentlemanly manner. Who’s he kidding? He’s no gentleman. He has my panties.

  Taylor draws up in the large Audi. Christian opens the rear door for me, and I climb inside as elegantly as I can, considering my state of wanton undress. I’m grateful that Kate’s plum dress is so clingy and hangs to the top of my knees.

  We speed up the I-5, both of us quiet, no doubt inhibited by Taylor’s steady presence in the front. Christian’s mood is almost tangible and seems to shift, the humor dissipating slowly as we head north. He’s brooding, staring out of the window, and I can feel him slipping away from me. What is he thinking? I can’t ask him. What can I say in front of Taylor?

  “Where did you learn to dance?” I ask tentatively. He turns to gaze at me, his eyes unreadable beneath the intermittent light of the passing street lamps.

  “Do you really want to know?” he replies softly.

  My heart sinks, and now I don’t because I can guess.

  “Yes,” I murmur, reluctantly.

  “Mrs. Robinson was fond of dancing.”

  Oh, my worst suspicions confirmed. She has taught him well, and the thought depresses me – there’s nothing I can teach him. I have no special skills.

  “She must have been a good teacher.”

  “She was,” he says softly.

  My scalp prickles. Did she have the best of him? Before he became so closed? Or did she bring him out of himself? He has such a fun, playful side. I smile involuntarily as I recall being in his arms as he spun me around his living room, so unexpected, and he has my panties, somewhere.

  And then there’s the Red Room of Pain. I rub my wrists reflexively – thin strips of plastic will do that to a girl. She taught him all that, too, or ruined him, depending on one’s point of view. Or perhaps he would have found his way there anyway in spite of Mrs. R. I realize, in that moment, that I hate her. I hope that I never meet her because I will not be responsible for my actions if I do. I can’t remember ever feeling this passionately about anyone, especially someone I’ve never met. Gazing unseeing out of the window, I nurse my irrational anger and jealousy.

  My mind drifts back to the afternoon. Given what I understand of his preferences, I think he’s been easy on me. Would I do it again? I can’t even pretend to put up an argument against that. Of course I would, if he asked me – as long as he didn’t hurt me and if it’s the only way to be with him.

  That’s the bottom line. I want to be with him. My inner goddess sighs with relief. I reach the conclusion that she rarely uses her brain to think but another vital part of her anatomy, and at the moment, it’s a rather
exposed part.

  “Don’t,” he murmurs.

  I frown and turn to look at him.

  “Don’t what?” I haven’t touched him.

  “Over-think things, Anastasia.” Reaching out, he grasps my hand, draws it up to his lips, and kisses my knuckles gently. “I had a wonderful afternoon. Thank you.”

  And he’s back with me again. I blink up at him and smile shyly. He’s so confusing. I ask a question that’s been bugging me.

  “Why did you use a cable tie?”

  He grins at me.

  “It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s something different for you to feel and experience. I know they’re quite brutal, and I do like that in a restraining device.” He smiles at me mildly. “Very effective at keeping you in your place.”

  I flush and glance nervously at Taylor, who remains impassive, eyes on the road. What am I supposed to say to that? Christian shrugs innocently.

  “All part of my world, Anastasia.” He squeezes my hand and lets go, staring out of the window again.

  His world, indeed, and I want to belong in it, but on his terms? I just don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned that damned contract. My inner musings do nothing to cheer me. I stare out of the window and the landscape has changed. We’re crossing one of the bridges, surrounded by inky darkness. The somber night reflects my introspective mood, closing in, suffocating.

  I glance briefly at Christian, and he’s staring at me.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” he asks.

  I sigh and frown.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I wish I knew what you were thinking.”

  He smirks at me.

  “Ditto, baby,” he says softly as Taylor speeds into the night toward Bellevue.

  It is just before eight when the Audi draws into the driveway of a colonial-style mansion. It’s breathtaking, even down to the roses around the door. Picture-book perfect.

  “Are you ready for this?” Christian asks as Taylor pulls up outside the impressive front door.

  I nod, and he gives my hand another reassuring squeeze.

  “First for me, too,” he whispers, then smiles wickedly. “Bet you wish you were wearing your underwear right now,” he teases.