Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey Read online

Dear Mr. Grey

  You wanted to know why I felt confused after you – which euphemism should we apply - spanked, punished, beat, assaulted me. Well, during the whole alarming process I felt demeaned, debased and abused. And much to my mortification, you’re right, I was aroused, and that was unexpected. As you are well aware, all things sexual are new to me – I only wish I was more experienced and therefore more prepared. I was shocked to feel aroused.

  What really worried me was how I felt afterwards. And that’s more difficult to articulate. I was happy that you were happy. I felt relieved that it wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. And when I was lying in your arms, I felt – sated. But I feel very uncomfortable, guilty even, feeling that way. It doesn’t sit well with me, and I’m confused as a result. Does that answer your question?

  I hope the world of Mergers and Acquisitions is as stimulating as ever… and that you weren’t too late.

  Thank you for staying with me.

  Ana

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Free Your Mind

  Date: May 27 2011 08:24

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Interesting… if slightly overstated title heading, Miss Steele.

  To answer your points:

  I’ll go with spanking – as that’s what it was.

  So you felt demeaned, debased, abused & assaulted – how very Tess Durbeyfield of you. I believe it was you who decided on the debasement, if I remember correctly. Do you really feel like this or do you think you ought to feel like this? Two very different things. If that is how you feel, do you think you could just try and embrace these feelings, deal with them, for me? That’s what a submissive would do.

  I am grateful for your inexperience. I value it, and I’m only beginning to understand what it means. Simply put… it means that you are mine in every way.

  Yes, you were aroused, which in turn was very arousing, there’s nothing wrong with that.

  Happy does not even begin to cover how I felt. Ecstatic joy comes close.

  Punishment spanking hurts far more than sensual spanking – so that’s about as hard as it gets, unless of course you commit some major transgression, in which case I’ll use some implement to punish you with. My hand was very sore. But I like that.

  I felt sated, too – more so than you could ever know.

  Don’t waste your energy on guilt, feelings of wrongdoing, etc. We are consenting adults and what we do behind closed doors is between ourselves. You need to free your mind and listen to your body.

  The world of M&A is not nearly as stimulating as you are, Miss Steele.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  Holy crap… mine in every way. My breath hitches.

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Consenting Adults!

  Date: May 27 2011 08:26

  To: Christian Grey

  Aren’t you in a meeting?

  I’m very glad your hand was sore.

  And if I listened to my body, I’d be in Alaska by now.

  Ana

  PS: I will think about embracing these feelings.

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: You Didn’t Call the Cops

  Date: May 27 2011 08:35

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Miss Steele

  I am in a meeting discussing the futures market, if you’re really interested.

  For the record – you stood beside me knowing what I was going to do.

  You didn’t at any time ask me to stop – you didn’t use either safeword.

  You are an adult – you have choices.

  Quite frankly, I’m looking forward to the next time my palm is ringing with pain.

  You’re obviously not listening to the right part of your body.

  Alaska is very cold and no place to run. I would find you.

  I can track your cell phone – remember?

  Go to work.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  I scowl at the screen. He’s right of course. It’s my choice. Hmm. Is he serious about coming to find me? Should I decide to escape for a while? My mind flits briefly to my mother’s offer. I hit reply.

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Stalker

  Date: May 27 2011 08:36

  To: Christian Grey

  Have you sought therapy for your stalker tendencies?

  Ana

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Stalker? Me?

  Date: May 27 2011 08:38

  To: Anastasia Steele

  I pay the eminent Dr. Flynn a small fortune with regard to my stalker and other tendencies.

  Go to work.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Expensive Charlatans

  Date: May 27 2011 08:40

  To: Christian Grey

  May I humbly suggest you seek a second opinion?

  I am not sure that Dr. Flynn is very effective.

  Miss Steele

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Second Opinions

  Date: May 27 2011 08:43

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Not that it’s any of your business, humble or otherwise, but Dr. Flynn is the second opinion.

  You will have to speed, in your new car, putting yourself at unnecessary risk – I think that’s against the rules.

  GO TO WORK.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: SHOUTY CAPITALS

  Date: May 27 2011 08:47

  To: Christian Grey

  As the object of your stalker tendencies – I think it is my business, actually.

  I haven’t signed yet. So rules, schmules. And I don’t start until 9:30.

  Miss Steele

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Descriptive Linguistics

  Date: May 27 2011 08:49

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Schmules? Not sure where that appears in Webster’s Dictionary.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Descriptive Linguistics

  Date: May 27 2011 08:52

  To: Christian Grey

  It’s between control freak and stalker.

  And descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me.

  Will you stop bothering me now?

  I’d like to go to work in my new car.

  Ana

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Challenging but amusing Young Women

  Date: May 27 2011 08:56

  To: Anastasia Steele

  My palm is twitching.

  Drive safely, Miss Steele.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  The Audi is a joy to drive. It has power steering. Wanda, my Beetle, has no power in it at all – anywhere, so my daily workout, which was driving my Beetle, will cease. Oh, but I will have a personal trainer to contend with, according to Christian’s rules. I frown. I hate exercising.

  While I am driving, I try and analyze our e-mail exchange. He’s a patronizing son-of-a-bitch sometimes. And then I think of Grace and I feel guilty. But of course, she wasn’t his birth mother. Hmm, that’s a whole world of unknown pain. Well, patronizing son-of-a-bitch works well, then. Yes. I’m an adult, thank you for reminding me, Christian Grey, and it is my choice. The problem is, I just want Christian, not all his… baggage – and right now he has a 747 hold’s worth of baggage. Could I just lie back and embrace it? Like a submissive? I’ve said I’d try. It’s an awfully big ask.

  I pull into the parking lot at Clayton’s. As I make my way in, I can hardly believe it’s my last day. Fortunately, the store is busy and time passes quickly. At lunchtime, Mr. Clayton summons me from the stockroom. He’s
standing beside a motorcycle courier.

  “Miss Steele?” the courier asks. I frown questioningly at Mr. Clayton, who shrugs, as puzzled as me. My heart sinks. What has Christian sent me now? I sign for the small package and open it straight away. It’s a BlackBerry. My heart sinks further. I switch it on.

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: BlackBerry ON LOAN

  Date: May 27 2011 11:15

  To: Anastasia Steele

  I need to be able to contact you at all times, and since this is your most honest form of communication, I figured you needed a BlackBerry.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  From: Anastasia Steele

  Subject: Consumerism Gone Mad

  Date: May 27 2011 13:22

  To: Christian Grey

  I think you need to call Dr. Flynn right now.

  Your stalker tendencies are running wild.

  I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home.

  Thank you for yet another gadget.

  I wasn’t wrong when I said you were the ultimate consumer.

  Why do you do this?

  Ana

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Sagacity from one so young

  Date: May 27 2011 13:24

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Fair point well made, as ever, Miss Steele.

  Dr. Flynn is on vacation.

  And I do this because I can.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  I put the thing in my back pocket, hating it already. E-mailing Christian is addictive, but I am supposed to be working. It buzzes once against my behind… how apt, I think ironically, but summoning all my willpower, I ignore it.

  At four, Mr. and Mrs. Clayton gather all the other employees in the shop, and during a hair-curlingly embarrassing speech, present me with a check for three hundred dollars. In that moment, three weeks of exams, graduation, intense, fucked-up billionaires, deflowering, hard and soft limits, playrooms with no consoles, helicopter rides, and the fact that I will move tomorrow, all well up inside me. Amazingly, I hold myself together. My subconscious is in awe. I hug the Claytons hard. They have been kind and generous employers, and I will miss them.

  Kate is climbing out of her car when I arrive home.

  “What’s that?” she says accusingly, pointing at the Audi. I can’t resist.

  “It’s a car,” I quip. She narrows her eyes, and for a brief moment I wonder if she’s going to put me across her knee, too. “My graduation present.” I try and act nonchalant. Yes, I get expensive cars given to me every day. Her mouth drops open.

  “Generous, over-the-top bastard, isn’t he?”

  I nod.

  “I did try not to accept it, but frankly, it’s just not worth the fight.”

  Kate purses her lips.

  “No wonder you’re so overwhelmed. I did note that he stayed.”

  “Yeah.” I smile wistfully.

  “Shall we finish packing?”

  I nod and follow her inside. I check the e-mail from Christian.

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Sunday

  Date: May 27 2011 13:40

  To: Anastasia Steele

  Shall I see you at 1 p.m. Sunday?

  The doctor will be at Escala to see you at 1:30.

  I’m leaving for Seattle now.

  I hope your move goes well, and I look forward to Sunday.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  Jeez, he could be discussing the weather. I decide to e-mail him once we’ve finished packing. He can be such fun one minute, and then he can be so formal and stuffy. It’s difficult to keep up. Honestly, it’s like an e-mail to an employee. I roll my eyes at it defiantly and join Kate to pack.

  Kate and I are in the kitchen when there’s a knock at the door. Taylor stands on the porch, looking immaculate in his suit. I notice the trace of ex-army in his buzz cut, trim physique, and his cool stare.

  “Miss Steele,” he says. “I’ve come for your car.”

  “Oh yes, of course. Come in, I’ll fetch the keys.”

  Surely this is above and beyond the call of duty. I wonder again at Taylor’s job description. I hand him the keys, and we walk in an uncomfortable silence – for me – toward the light blue Beetle. I open the door and remove the flashlight from the glove box. That’s it. I have nothing else that’s personal in Wanda. Goodbye, Wanda. Thank you. I caress her roof as I close the passenger door.

  “How long have you worked for Mr. Grey?” I ask.

  “Four years, Miss Steele.”

  Suddenly, I have an overwhelming urge to bombard him with questions. What this man must know about Christian, all his secrets. But then he’s probably signed an NDA. I look nervously at him. He has the same taciturn expression as Ray, and I warm to him.

  “He’s a good man, Miss Steele,” he says, and he smiles slightly. With that, he gives me a little nod, climbs into my car, and drives away.

  Apartment, Beetle, Claytons – it’s all change now. I shake my head as I wander back inside. And the biggest change of all is Christian Grey. Taylor thinks he’s a good man. Can I believe him?

  José joins us with a Chinese take-out at eight. We’re done. We’re packed and ready to go. He brings several bottles of beer, and Kate and I sit on the couch while he’s cross-legged on the floor between us. We watch crap TV, drink beer, and as the evening wears on, we fondly and loudly reminisce as the beer takes effect. It’s been a good four years.

  The atmosphere between José and I has returned to normal, the attempted kiss forgotten. Well, it’s been swept under the rug that my inner goddess is lying on, eating grapes and tapping her fingers, waiting not so patiently for Sunday. There’s a knock on the door, and my heart leaps into my throat. Is it…?

  Kate answers the door and is nearly knocked off her feet by Elliot. He seizes her in a Hollywood-style clinch that moves quickly into a European art house embrace. Honestly… get a room. José and I stare at each other. I’m appalled at their lack of modesty.

  “Shall we walk down to the bar?” I ask José, who nods frantically. We are too uncomfortable with the unrestrained sexing unfolding in front of us. Kate looks up at me, flushed and bright-eyed.

  “José and I are going for a quick drink.” I roll my eyes at her. Ha! I can still roll my eyes in my own time.

  “Okay,” she grins.

  “Hi, Elliot. Bye, Elliot.”

  He winks a big blue eye at me, and José and I are out of the door, giggling like teenagers.

  As we stroll down to the bar, I put my arm through José’s. God, he’s so uncomplicated – I hadn’t really appreciated that before.

  “You’ll still come to the opening of my show, won’t you?”

  “Of course, José, when is it?”

  “June 9.”

  “What day is that?” I suddenly panic.

  “It’s a Thursday.”

  “Yeah I should make that… and you will visit us in Seattle?”

  “Try and stop me.” He grins.

  It’s late when I arrive back from the bar. Kate and Elliot are nowhere to be seen but boy can they be heard. Holy shit. I hope I’m not that loud. I know Christian isn’t. I flush at the thought and escape to my room. After a brief not-at-all-awkward-thank-goodness hug, José has gone. I don’t know when I’ll see him again, probably his photographic show, and once again, I’m blown away that he finally has an exhibition. I shall miss him and his boyish charm. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about the Beetle. I know he’ll freak when he finds out, and I can only deal with one man at a time freaking out at me. Once in my room, I check the mean machine, and of course, there’s an e-mail from Christian.

  From: Christian Grey

  Subject: Where Are You?

  Date: May 27 2011 22:14

  To: Anastasia Steele

  ‘I am at work. I will e-mail you when I get home.’<
br />
  Are you still at work or have you packed your phone, BlackBerry and MacBook?

  Call me, or I may be forced to call Elliot.

  Christian Grey

  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

  Crap… José… shit.

  I grab my phone. Five missed calls and one voice message. Tentatively, I listen to the message. It’s Christian.

  ‘I think you need to learn to manage my expectations. I am not a patient man. If you say you are going to contact me when you finish work, then you should have the decency to do so. Otherwise, I worry, and it’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, and I don’t tolerate it very well. Call me.’

  Double crap. Will he ever give me a break? I scowl at the phone. He is suffocating me. With a deep dread uncurling in my stomach, I scroll down to his number and press dial. My heart is in my mouth as I wait for him to answer. He’d probably like to beat seven shades of shit out of me. The thought is depressing.

  “Hi,” he says softly, and his response knocks me off balance because I am expecting his anger, but if anything, he sounds relieved.

  “Hi,” I murmur.

  “I was worried about you.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t reply, but I’m fine.”

  He pauses for a beat.

  “Did you have a pleasant evening?” He is crisply polite.

  “Yes. We finished packing and Kate and I shared a Chinese take-out with José.” I close my eyes tightly as I say José’s name. Christian says nothing.

  “How about you?” I ask to fill the sudden deafening chasm of silence. I will not let him guilt me out about José.

  Eventually, he sighs.

  “I went to a fundraising dinner. It was deathly dull. I left as soon as I could.”

  He sounds so sad and resigned. My heart clenches. I picture him all those nights ago sat at the piano in his huge living room and the unbearable bittersweet melancholy of the music he was playing.

  “I wish you were here,” I whisper, because I have an urge to hold him. Soothe him. Even though he won’t let me. I want his proximity.

  “Do you?” he murmurs blandly. Holy mackerel. This doesn’t sound like him, and my scalp prickles with dawning apprehension.

  “Yes,” I breathe. After an eternity, he sighs.

  “I’ll see you Sunday?”