Fifty Shades of Grey Read online

  that was something else. I don’t know yet if I’ll give my silly gift to him. He might think it’s childish – and if he’s in a strange mood, maybe not. I am both eager to return and apprehensive of what awaits me at my journey’s end. As I mentally flick through all the scenarios that could be ‘the situation’, I become aware that once again the only empty seat is beside me. I shake my head as the thought crosses my mind that Christian might have purchased the adjacent seat so that I couldn’t talk to anyone. I dismiss the idea as ridiculous – no one could be that controlling, that jealous, surely. I close my eyes as the plane taxis towards the runway.

  I emerge into the Sea-Tac arrivals terminal eight hours later to find Taylor waiting and holding up a board that reads Miss A Steele. Honestly! But it’s good to see him.

  “Hello, Taylor.”

  “Miss Steele,” he greets me formally, but I see a hint of smile in his sharp brown eyes.

  He looks his usual immaculate self – smart charcoal suit, white shirt, and charcoal tie.

  “I do know what you look like Taylor, you don’t need a board, and I do wish you’d call me, Ana.”

  “Ana. Can I take your bags, please?”

  “No, I can manage. Thank you.”

  His lips tighten perceptibly.

  “But, if you’d be more comfortable taking them,” I stammer.

  “Thank you.” He grabs my backpack and my newly acquired wheelie case for the clothes my mother has bought me. “This way, ma’am.”

  I sigh. He’s so polite. I remember, though I would like to erase it from my memory, that this man has bought me underwear. In fact – and the thought unsettles me – he’s the only man who’s ever bought me underwear. Even Ray’s never had to endure that hardship.

  We walk in silence to the black Audi SUV outside in the airport parking lot, and he holds the door open for me. I clamber in, wondering if wearing such a short skirt for the return to Seattle was a good idea. It was cool and welcome in Georgia. Here I feel exposed. Once Taylor has stowed my bags in the trunk, we set off for Escala.

  The journey is slow, caught up in rush hour traffic. Taylor keeps his eyes on the road ahead. Taciturn does not begin to describe him.

  I can bear the silence no longer.

  “How’s Christian, Taylor?”

  “Mr. Grey is preoccupied, Miss Steele.”

  Oh, this must be ‘the situation.’ I am mining a seam of gold.

  “Preoccupied?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I frown at Taylor, and he glances at me in the rear-view mirror, our eyes meet. He’s saying no more. Jeez, he can be as tightlipped as the control freak himself.

  “Is he okay?”

  “I believe so, ma’am.”

  “Are you more comfortable calling me, Miss Steele?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Well, that curtails our conversation, and we continue in silence. I begin to think that Taylor’s recent slip, when he told me that Christian had been hell on wheels, was an anom-aly. Perhaps he’s embarrassed about it, worried that he’s been disloyal. The silence is suffocating.

  “Could you put some music on please?”

  “Certainly, ma’am. What would you like to hear?”

  “Something soothing.”

  I see a smile play on Taylor’s lips as our eyes meet briefly again in the mirror.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He pushes a few buttons on the steering wheel, and the gentle strains of Pachelbel’s canon fills the space between us. Oh yes… this is what I need.

  “Thank you.” I sit back as we drive slowly but steadily along the I-5 into Seattle.

  Twenty-five minutes, later he drops me outside the impressive façade that is the entrance to Escala.

  “In you go, ma’am,” he says, holding the door open for me. “I’ll bring up your luggage is.”H expression is soft, warm, avuncular even.

  Jeez… Uncle Taylor, what a thought.

  “Thank you for meeting me.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Miss Steele.” He smiles, and I head into the building. The doorman nods and waves.

  As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, a thousand butterflies stretch their wings and flutter erratically in my stomach. Why am I so nervous? And I know it’s because I have no idea what kind of mood Christian’s going to be in when I arrive. My inner goddess is hopeful for one type of mood, my subconscious, like me, is fraught with nerves.

  The elevator doors open, and I’m in the foyer. It is so strange not to be met by Taylor.

  Of course, he’s parking the car. In the great room, Christian is on his BlackBerry talking quietly as he stares out of the glass doors at the early evening Seattle skyline. He’s wearing a gray suit with the jacket undone, and he’s running his hand through his hair, he’s. H agi-tated, tense even. Oh no – what’s wrong? Agitated or not, he’s still beyond beautiful. How can he look so… arresting? It’s such a pleasure to stand and drink in the sheer sight of him.

  “No trace… Okay… Yes.” He turns and sees me, and his whole demeanor changes.

  From tension to relief to something else: a look that calls directly to my inner goddess, a look of sensual carnality, gray eyes blazing.

  My mouth goes dry and desire blooms in my body… whoa.

  “Keep me informed,” he snaps and shuts off his phone as he strides purposefully toward me. I stand paralyzed as he closes the distance between us, devouring me with his eyes. Holy shit… something’s amiss – the strain in his jaw, the anxiety around his eyes.

  He shrugs out of his jacket, undoes his dark tie, and slings them both on to the couch en route to me. Then his arms are wrapped around me, and he’s pulling me to him, hard, fast, gripping my ponytail to tilt my head up, kissing me like his life depends on it. What the hell? He drags the hair tie painfully out of my hair, but I don’t care. There’s a desperate, primal quality to his kiss. He needs me, for whatever reason, at this point in time, and I have never felt so desired and coveted. It’s dark and sensual and alarming all at the same time. I kiss him back with equal fervor, my fingers twisting and fisting in his hair. Our tongues entwined, our passion and ardor erupting between us. He tastes divine, hot, sexy, and his scent – all body wash and Christian is so arousing. He drags his mouth away from mine, and he’s staring down at me, gripped by some unnamed emotion.

  “What’s wrong?” I breathe.

  “I’m so glad you’re back. Shower with me – now.”

  I can’t decide if it’s a request or a command.

  “Yes,” I whisper, and he grabs my hand, leading me out of the big room into his bedroom to his bathroom.

  Once there, he releases me and sets the water running in the far too spacious shower.

  Turning slowly, he gazes at me, eyes hooded.

  “I like your skirt. It’s very short,” he says, his voice low. “You have great legs.”

  He steps out of his shoes and reaches down to take each of his socks off, never taking his eyes off me. I am rendered speechless by the look of hunger in his eyes. Wow… to be this wanted by this Greek god. I mirror his actions and step out of my black flats. Suddenly, he reaches for me, backing me up against the wall. Kissing me, my face, my throat, my lips… running his hands into my hair. I feel the cool, smooth tiled wall at my back as he pushes himself against me so that I’m flattened between his heat and the chill of the ceramic. Tentatively, I place my arms on his upper arms, and he groans as I squeeze tightly.

  “I want you now. Here… fast, hard,” he breathes, and his hands are on my thighs, pushing up my skirt. “Are you still bleeding?”

  “No.” I flush.

  “Good.”

  His thumbs hook over my white cotton panties, and abruptly he drops to his knees as he tugs them off. My skirt is now rucked up so that I’m naked from the waist down and panting, wanting. He grabs my hips, pushing me against the wall again, and kisses me at the apex of my thighs. Grabbing my upper thighs, he forces my legs apart. I gr
oan loudly, feeling his tongue circling my clitoris. Oh my. Tipping my head back involuntarily, I moan as my fingers find their way into this hair.

  His tongue is relentless, strong and insistent, laving me – swirling round and round, again and again – non-stop. It’s exquisite, the intensity of feeling – it’s almost painful. My body starts to quicken, and he releases me. What? No! My breathing is ragged as I pant, gazing at him with delicious anticipation. He grabs my face with both hands, holding me firmly, and he kisses me hard, thrusting his tongue into my mouth so I can taste my arousal.

  Unzipping his fly, he frees himself, grabs the backs of my thighs, and lifts me.

  “Wrap your legs around me, baby,” he commands, his voice urgent, strained.

  I do as I’m told and wrap my arms around his neck, and he moves quickly and sharply, filling me. Ah! He gasps, and I groan. Holding my behind, his fingers digging into my soft flesh, he begins to move, slowly at first – a steady even tempo… but as his control unravels, he speeds up… faster, and faster. Ahhh! I tip my head back and concentrate on the invading, punishing, heavenly sensation… pushing me, pushing me… onward, higher, up… and when I can take no more, I explode around him, spiraling into an intense, all-consuming orgasm. He lets go with a deep growl, and he buries his head in my neck as he buries himself inside me, groaning loudly and incoherently as he finds his release.

  His breathing is erratic, but he kisses me tenderly, not moving, still inside me, and I blink, unseeing into his eyes. As he comes into focus, he gently pulls out of me, holding me steady while I place my feet on the floor. The bathroom is now cloudy with steam…

  and hot. I feel overdressed.

  “You seem pleased to see me,” I murmur with a shy smile.

  His lips quirk up.

  “Yes, Miss Steele, I think my pleasure is pretty self-evident. Come – let me get you in the shower.”

  He undoes the next three buttons of his shirt, removes the cufflinks, tugs it over his head, and discards it on the floor. Removing his suit pants and boxer briefs, he kicks them to one side. He begins to undo the buttons on my blouse while I watch him, yearning to reach out and stroke his chest, but I contain myself.

  “How was your journey?” he asks mildly. He seems so much calmer now, his apprehension gone, dissolved by sexual congress.

  “Fine, thank you,” I murmur, still breathless. “Thanks once again for first class. It really is a much nicer way to travel.” I smile shyly at him. “I have some news,” I add nervously.

  “Oh?” he looks down at me as he undoes the last button, slips my blouse down my arms, and throws it on top of his discarded clothes.

  “I have a job.”

  He stills, then smiles at me, his eyes warm and soft.

  “Congratulations, Miss Steele. Now will you tell me where?” he teases.

  “You don’t know?”

  He shakes his head, frowning slightly.

  “Why would I know?”

  “With your stalking capabilities, I thought you might have… ” I trail off as his face falls.“Anastasia, I wouldn’t dream of interfering in your career, unless you ask me to, of course.” He looks wounded.

  “So you have no idea which company?”

  “No. I know there are four publishing companies in Seattle – so I am assuming it’s one of them.”

  “SIP”

  “Oh, the small one, good. Well done.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead.

  “Clever girl. When do you start?”

  “Monday.”

  “That soon, eh? I’d better take advantage of you while I still can. Turn round.”

  I am thrown by his casual command, but do as I’m bid, and he undoes my bra and unzips my skirt. He pushes my skirt down, cupping my behind as he does, and kissing my shoulder. He leans against, me and his nose nuzzles my hair, inhaling deeply. He squeezes my buttocks.

  “You intoxicate me, Miss Steele, and you calm me. Such a heady combination.” He kisses my hair. Grabbing my hand, he tugs me into the shower.

  “Ow,” I squeal. The water is practically scalding. Christian grins down at me as the water cascades over him.

  “It’s only a little hot water.”

  And actually he’s right. It feels heavenly, washing off the sticky Georgia morning and the stickiness from our lovemaking.

  “Turn round,” he orders, and I comply, turning to face the wall. “I want to wash you,”

  he murmurs and reaches for the body wash. He squirts a little into his hand.

  “I have something else to tell you,” I murmur as his hands start on my shoulders.

  “Oh, yes?” he asks mildly.

  I steel myself with a deep breath.

  “My friend José’s photography show is opening Thursday in Portland.”

  He stills, his hands hovering over my breasts. I have emphasized the word ‘friend.’

  “Yes, what about it?” he asks sternly.

  “I said I would go. Do you want to come with me?”

  After what feels like a monumental amount of time, he slowly starts washing me again.

  “What time?”

  “The opening is at 7:30 p.m.”

  He kisses my ear.

  “Okay.”

  Inside my subconscious relaxes and then collapses, slumped into an old battered arm-chair.“Were you nervous about asking me?”

  “Yes. How can you tell?”

  “Anastasia, your whole body’s just relaxed,” he says dryly.

  “Well, you just seem to be um… on the jealous side.”

  “Yes, I am,” he says darkly. “And you’d do well to remember that. But thank you for asking. We’ll take Charlie Tango.”

  Oh, the helicopter of course, silly me. More flying… cool! I grin.

  “Can I wash you?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so,” he murmurs, and he kisses me gently on my neck to take the sting out of his refusal. I pout at the wall as he caresses my back with soap.

  “Will you ever let me touch you?” I ask boldly.

  He stills again, his hand on my behind.

  “Put your hands on the wall Anastasia. I’m going to take you again,” he murmurs in my ear as he grabs my hips, and I know that the discussion is over.

  Later we are seated at the breakfast bar, dressed in bathrobes, having consumed Mrs.

  Jones’s rather excellent pasta alle vongole.

  “More wine?” Christian asks, gray eyes glowing.

  “A small glass, please.” The Sancerre is crisp and delicious. Christian pours one for me and one for himself.

  “How’s the um… situation that bought you to Seattle?” I ask tentatively.

  He frowns.

  “Out of hand,” he murmurs bitterly. “But nothing for you to worry about, Anastasia. I have plans for you this evening.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I want you ready and waiting in my playroom in fifteen minutes.” He stands and gazes down at me.

  “You can get ready in your room. Incidentally, the walk-in closet is now full of clothes for you. I don’t want any arguments about them.” He narrows his eyes, daring me to say something. When I don’t, he stalks off to his study.

  Me! Argue? With you, Fifty Shades? It’s more than my backside’s worth. I sit on the bar stool, momentarily stupefied, trying to assimilate this morsel of information. He’s bought me clothes. I roll my eyes in an exaggerated fashion knowing full well he can’t see me. Car, phone, computer… clothes, it’ll be a damn condo next, and then I really will be his mistress.

  Ho! My subconscious has her snarky face on. I ignore her and make my way upstairs toward my room so, it is still mine… why? I thought he’d agreed to let me sleep with him.

  I suppose he’s not used to sharing his personal space, but then, neither am I. I console myself with the thought that at least I have somewhere to escape from him.

  Examining the door, I find that it has a lock but no key. I wonder briefly if Mrs. Jones has a spare. I’ll ask her. I open
the closet door and close it again quickly. Holy Crap – he’s spent a fortune. It resembles Kate’s – so many clothes hanging neatly on the rail. Deep down, I know that they’ll all fit. But I have no time to think about that – I have to get kneeling in the Red Room of… Pain… or Pleasure – hopefully this evening.

  Kneeling by the door, I am naked except for my panties. My heart is in my mouth. Jeez, I thought after the bathroom he would have had enough. The man is insatiable, or maybe all men are like him. I have no idea, no one to compare him too. Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself down, to connect with my inner sub. She’s there somewhere, hiding behind my inner goddess.

  Anticipation runs bubbling like soda through my veins. What will he do? I take a deep steadying breath, but I cannot deny it, I’m excited, aroused, wet already. This is so… I want to think wrong, but somehow it’s not. It’s right for Christian. It’s what he wants – and after the last few days… after all he’s done, I have to man up and take whatever he decides he wants, whatever he thinks he needs.

  The memory of his look when I came in this evening, the longing in his face, his determined stride toward me like I was an oasis in the desert. I’d do almost anything to see that look again. I press my thighs together at the delicious memory, and it reminds me that I need to spread my knees. I shuffle them apart. How long will he make me wait? The wait is crippling me, crippling me with a dark and tantalizing desire. I glance quickly around the subtly lit room; the cross, the table, the couch, the bench… that bed. It looms so large, and it’s made up with red satin sheets. Which piece of apparatus will he use?

  The door opens and Christian breezes in, ignoring me completely. I glance down quickly, staring at my hands, positioned with care on my spread thighs. Placing something on the large chest beside the door, he strolls casually toward the bed. I indulge myself in a quick glimpse at him, and my heart almost lurches to a stop. He’s naked except for those soft ripped jeans, top button casually undone. Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm. She’s so ready. I lick my lips instinctively. My blood pounds through my body, thick and heavy with salacious hunger. What is he going to do to me?