He rubs his thumb over the tips of his fingers. He's itching to touch me, I can tell, but he suppresses the urge. Taking a deep breath and beyond courageous, I reach for the hem of my T-shirt and lift it over my head so I am naked before him. His eyes don't leave mine, but he swallows and his lips part.
"You are Aphrodite, Anastasia," he murmurs.
I clasp his face in my hands, tip his head up, and bend to kiss him. He groans low in his throat.
As I place my mouth on his, he grabs my hips, and before I know it, I am pinned beneath him, his legs forcing mine apart so that he's cradled against my body between my legs. He's kissing me, ravaging my mouth, our tongues entwined. His hand trails from my thigh, over my hip, along my belly to my breast, squeezing, kneading, and pulling entic-ingly on my nipple.
I groan and tilt my pelvis involuntarily against him, finding a delicious friction against the seam of his fly and his growing erection. He stops kissing me and gazes down at me bemused and breathless. He flexes his hips so his erection pushes against me... . Yes. Right there.
I close my eyes and moan, and he does it again, but this time I push back, relishing his answering moan as he kisses me again. He continues the slow delicious torture - rubbing me, rubbing him. And he's right - getting lost in him - it's intoxicating to the exclusion of everything else. All my worries are obliterated.
I am here in this moment with him - my blood singing in my veins, thrumming loudly through my ears, mixed with the sound of our panting breaths. I bury my hands in his hair, holding him to my mouth, consuming him, my tongue as avaricious as his. I trail my fingers down his arms, down his lower back to the waistband of his jeans and push my intrepid, greedy hands inside, urging him on and on - forgetting everything, except us.
"You're going to unman me, Ana," he whispers suddenly, breaking away from me and kneeling up. He briskly pulls down his jeans and hands me a foil packet.
"You want me, baby, and I sure as hell want you. You know what to do."
With anxious, dexterous fingers, I rip open the foil and unroll the condom over him. He grins down at me, his mouth open, eyes misty gray and full of carnal promise. Leaning over me, he rubs his nose against mine, his eyes closed, and deliciously, slowly, he enters me.
I grasp his arms and tilt my chin up, reveling in the exquisitely full feeling of his possession. He runs his teeth along my chin, eases back, and then slides into me again - so slow, so sweet, so tender - his body pressing down on me, his elbows and his hands on either side of my face.
"You make me forget everything. You are the best therapy," he breathes, moving at an achingly leisurely pace, savoring every inch of me.
"Please, Christian - faster," I murmur, wanting more, now.
"Oh no, baby. I need this slow." He kisses me sweetly, gently biting my lower lip and absorbing my soft moans.
I move my hands into his hair and surrender myself to his rhythm as slowly and surely my body climbs higher and higher and plateaus, then falls hard and fast as I come around him."Oh, Ana," he breathes as he lets go, my name a benediction on his lips as he finds his release.
His head rests on my belly, his arms wrapped around me. My fingers forage in his unruly hair, and we lie like this for I don't know how long. It's so late and I am so tired, but I just want to enjoy the quiet serene after-glow of making love with Christian Grey, because that's what we've done, gentle, sweet lovemaking.
He's come a long way, as have I, in such a short time. It's almost too much to absorb.
With all the f*cked-up stuff, I am losing sight of his simple, honest journey with me.
"I will never get enough of you. Don't leave me," he murmurs and kisses my belly.
"I'm not going anywhere, Christian, and I seem to remember that I wanted to kiss your belly," I grumble sleepily.
He grins against my skin. "Nothing stopping you now baby."
"I don't think I can move I'm so tired."
Christian sighs and shifts reluctantly, coming to lie beside me with his head on his elbow and dragging the covers over us. He gazes down at me, his eyes glowing, warm, loving.
"Sleep now, baby." He kisses my hair and wraps his arm around me and I drift.
When I open my eyes, light is filling the room, making me blink. My head is fuzzy from lack of sleep. Where am I? Oh - the hotel...
"Hi," Christian murmurs, smiling fondly at me. He's lying beside me, fully dressed, on top of the bed. How long has he been here? Has he been studying me? Suddenly, I feel incredibly shy as my face heats under his steady gaze.
"Hi," I murmur, grateful that I am lying on my front. "How long have you been watching me?"
"I could watch you sleep for hours, Anastasia. But I've only been here about five minutes." He leans over and kisses me gently. "Dr. Greene will be here shortly."
"Oh." I'd forgotten about Christian's inappropriate intervention.
"Did you sleep well?" he inquires mildly. "Certainly seemed like it to me, with all that snoring."
Oh, playful teasing Fifty.
"I do not snore!" I pout petulantly.
"No. You don't." He grins at me. The faint line of red lipstick is still visible around his neck."Did you shower?"
"No. Waiting for you."
"Oh... okay."
"What time is it?"
"Ten fifteen. I didn't have the heart to wake you earlier."
"You told me you didn't have a heart at all."
He smiles, sadly but doesn't answer. "Breakfast is here - pancakes and bacon for you.
Come, get up, I'm getting lonely out here." He swats me sharply on my behind, making me jump, and rises from the bed.
Hmm... Christian's version of warm affection.
As I stretch, I'm aware I ache all over... no doubt a result of all the sex, dancing, and teetering in expensive high-heeled shoes. I stagger out of bed and make my way into the sumptuously appointed bathroom while going over the events of the previous day in my mind. When I come out, I don one of the over-fluffy bathrobes that hang on a brass peg in the bathroom.
Leila - the girl who looks like me - that's the most startling image my brain conjures for conjecture, that and her eerie presence in Christian's bedroom. What did she want? Me?
Christian? To do what? And why the f*ck has she wrecked my car?
Christian said I would have another Audi, like all his submissives. The thought is unwelcome. Since I was so generous with the money he gave me, there's not a lot I can do.
I wander into the main room of the suite - no sign of Christian. I finally locate him in the dining room. I take a seat, grateful for the impressive breakfast laid before me. Christian is reading the Sunday papers and drinking coffee, his breakfast finished. He smiles at me.
"Eat up. You're going to need your strength today," he teases.
"And why is that? You going to lock me in the bedroom?" My inner goddess jerks awake suddenly, all disheveled with a just-f*cked look.
"Appealing as that idea is, I thought we'd go out today. Get some fresh air."
"Is it safe?" I ask innocently, trying and failing to keep the irony from my voice.
Christian's face falls, and his mouth presses in a line. "Where we're going, it is. And it's not a joking matter," he adds sternly, narrowing his eyes.
I flush and stare down at my breakfast. I don't feel like being scolded after all the drama and such a late night. I eat my breakfast in silence, feeling petulant.
My subconscious is shaking her head at me. Fifty doesn't joke about my safety - I should know this by now. I want to roll my eyes at him, but I refrain.
Okay, I'm tired and testy. I had a long day yesterday and not enough sleep. Why, oh why does he get to look as fresh as a daisy? Life is not fair.
There's a knock at the door.
"That'll be the good doctor," Christian grumbles, obviously still smarting from my irony. He stalks from the table.
Can't we just have a calm, normal morning? I sigh heavily, leaving half my breakfast, and get up to greet Doctor Depo-Provera.
We're in the bedroom, and Dr. Greene is staring at me open-mouthed. She's dressed more casually than last time in a pale pink cashmere twin set and black pants, and her fine blond hair is loose.
"And you just stopped taking it? Just like that?"
I flush, feeling beyond foolish.
"Yes." Could my voice be any smaller?
"You could be pregnant," she says matter-of-factly.
What! The world falls away at my feet. My subconscious collapses on the floor retching, and I think I'm going to be sick, too. No!
"Here, go pee in this." She's all business today - taking no prisoners.
Meekly, I accept the small plastic container she's offered and wander in a daze into the bathroom. No. No. No. No way... No way... Please no. No.
What will Fifty do? I go pale. He'll freak.
No, please! I whisper a silent prayer.
I hand Dr. Greene my sample, and she carefully places a small white stick in it.
"When did your period start?"
How am I supposed to think about such minutiae when all I can do is stare anxiously at the white stick?
"Er... Wednesday? Not the one just gone, the one before that. June first."
"And when did you stop taking the pill?"
"Sunday. Last Sunday."
She purses her lips.
"You should be okay," she says sharply. "I can tell by your expression that an un-planned pregnancy would not be welcome news. So Medroxyprogesterone is a good idea if you can't remember to take the pill every day." She gives me a stern look, and I quail under her authoritative glare. Picking up the white stick, she peers at it.
"You're in the clear. You've not ovulated yet, so provided you've been taking proper precautions, you shouldn't be pregnant. Now, let me counsel you about this shot. We dis-counted it last time because of the side effects, but quite frankly, the side effects of a child are far-reaching and go on for years." She smiles, pleased with herself and her little joke, but I can't begin to respond - I'm too stunned.
Dr. Greene launches into full disclosure mode about side effects, and I sit paralyzed with relief, not listening to a word. I think I'd tolerate any number of strange women standing at the end of my bed rather than confess to Christian that I might be pregnant.
"Ana!" Dr. Greene snaps. "Let's do this thing." She pulls me out of my reverie, and I willingly roll up my sleeve.
Christian closes the door behind her and gazes at me warily. "Everything okay?" he asks.
I nod mutely, and he tilts his head to one side, his face tense with concern.
"Anastasia, what is it? What did Dr. Greene say?"
I shake my head. "You're good to go in seven days," I mutter.
"Seven days?"
"Yes."
"Ana, what's wrong?"
I swallow. "It's nothing to worry about. Please, Christian, just leave it."
Christian looms in front of me. He grasps my chin, tipping my head back, and stares emphatically into my eyes, trying to decipher my panic.
"Tell me," he snaps insistently.
"There's nothing to tell. I'd like to get dressed." I pull my chin out of his reach.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frowning at me. "Let's shower," he says eventually.
"Of course," I mutter, distracted, and his mouth twists.
"Come," he says sulkily, clasping my hand firmly. He stalks toward the bathroom as I trail behind him. I am not the only one in a bad mood, it seems. Firing up the shower, Christian quickly strips before turning to me.
"I don't know what's upset you, or if you're just bad-tempered through lack of sleep,"
he says while unfastening my robe. "But I want you to tell me. My imagination is running away with me, and I don't like it."
I roll my eyes at him, and he glares back at me, narrowing his eyes. Shit! Okay... here goes. "Dr. Greene scolded me about missing the pill. She said I could be pregnant."
"What?" He pales, and his hands freeze as he gazes at me, suddenly ashen.
"But I'm not. She did a test. It was a shock, that's all. I can't believe I was that stupid."
He visibly relaxes. "You're sure you're not?"
"Yes."
He blows out a deep breath. "Good. Yes, I can see that news like that would be very upsetting."
I frown.... upsetting? "I was more worried about your reaction."
He furrows his brow at me, puzzled. "My reaction? Well, naturally I'm relieved... it would be the height of carelessness and bad manners to knock you up."
"Then maybe we should abstain," I snap.
He gazes at me for a moment, bewildered, as if I'm some kind of science experiment.
"You are in a bad temper this morning."
"It was just a shock, that's all," I repeat petulantly.
Clasping the lapels of my robe, he pulls me into a warm embrace, kisses my hair, and presses my head against his chest. I'm distracted by his chest hair as it tickles my cheek.
Oh, if I could just nuzzle him!
"Ana, I'm not used to this," he murmurs. "My natural inclination is to beat it out of you, but I seriously doubt you want that."
Holy shit. "No, I don't. This helps." I hug Christian tighter, and we stand for an age in a strange embrace, Christian naked and me wrapped in a robe. I am once again floored by his honesty. He knows nothing about relationships, and neither do I, except what I've learned from him. Well, he's asked for faith and patience; maybe I should do the same.
"Come, let's shower," Christian says eventually, releasing me.
Stepping back, he peels me out of my robe, and I follow him into the cascading water, holding my face up to the torrent. There's room for both of us under the gargantuan show-erhead. Christian reaches for the shampoo and starts washing his hair. He hands it to me and I follow suit.
Oh, this feels good. Closing my eyes, I succumb to the cleansing, warming water. As I rinse off the shampoo, I feel his hands on me, soaping my body: my shoulders, my arms, under my arms, my breasts, my back. Gently he turns me around and pulls me against him as he continues down my body: my stomach, my belly, his skilled fingers between my legs - hmm - my behind. Oh, that feels good and so intimate. He turns me around to face him again.
"Here," he says quietly, handing me the body wash. "I want you to wash off the remains of the lipstick."
My eyes open in a flurry and dart quickly to his. He's staring at me intently, soaking wet and beautiful, his glorious, bright gray eyes giving nothing away.
"Don't stray far from the line, please," he mutters tightly.
"Okay," I murmur, trying to absorb the enormity of what he's just asked me to do - to touch him on the edge of the forbidden zone.
I squeeze a small amount of soap on my hand, rub my hands together to create a lather, then place them on his shoulders and gently wash away the line of lipstick on each side. He stills and closes his eyes, his face impassive, but he's breathing rapidly, and I know it's not lust but fear. It cuts me to the quick.
With trembling fingers, I carefully follow the line down the side of his chest, soaping and rubbing softly, and he swallows, his jaw tense as if his teeth are clenched. Oh! My heart constricts and my throat tightens. Oh no, I'm going to cry.
I stop to add more soap to my hand and feel him relax in front of me. I can't look up at him. I can't bear to see his pain - it's too much. I swallow.
"Ready?" I murmur and the tension is loud and clear in my voice.
"Yes," he whispers, his voice husky, laced with fear.
Gently, I place my hands on either side of his chest, and he freezes again.
It's too much. I am overwhelmed by his trust in me - overwhelmed by his fear, by the damage done to this beautiful, fallen, flawed man.
Tears pool in my eyes and spill down my face, lost in the water from the shower. Oh, Christian! Who did this to you?
His diaphragm moves rapidly with each shallow breath, his body is rigid, tension radiating off him in waves as my hands move along the line, erasing it. Oh, if I could just erase your pain, I would - I'd do anything - and I want nothing more than to kiss every single scar I see, to kiss away those hideous years of neglect. But I know I can't, and my tears fall unbidden down my cheeks.
"No. Please, don't cry," he murmurs, his voice anguished as he wraps me tightly in his arms. "Please don't cry for me." And I burst into full-blown sobs, burying my face against his neck, as I think of a little boy lost in a sea of fear and pain, frightened, neglected, abused - hurt beyond all endurance.
Pulling away, he clasps my head with both hands, tilts it backward, and leans down to kiss me.
"Don't cry, Ana, please," he murmurs against my mouth. "It was long ago. I am aching for you to touch me, but I just can't bear it. It's too much. Please, please don't cry."
"I want to touch you, too. More than you'll ever know. To see you like this... so hurt and afraid, Christian... it wounds me deeply. I love you so much."
He runs his thumb across my bottom lip. "I know. I know," he whispers.
"You're very easy to love. Don't you see that?"
"No, baby, I don't."
"You are. And I do and so does your family. So do Elena and Leila - they have a strange way of showing it - but they do. You are worthy."
"Stop." He puts his finger over my lips and shakes his head, an agonized expression on his face. "I can't hear this. I'm nothing, Anastasia. I'm a husk of a man. I don't have a heart."
"Yes, you do. And I want it, all of it. You're a good man, Christian, a really good man.
Don't ever doubt that. Look at what you've done... what you've achieved," I sob. "Look what you've done for me... what you've turned your back on, for me," I whisper. "I know.
I know how you feel about me."
He gazes down at me, his eyes wide and panicked, and all we can hear is the steady stream of water as it flows over us in the shower.
"You love me," I whisper.
His eyes widen further and his mouth opens. He takes a huge breath as if winded. He looks tortured - vulnerable.
"Yes," he whispers. "I do."
I cannot contain my jubilation. My subconscious gapes at me open-mouthed - in stunned silence - and I wear a face-splitting grin as I gaze longingly up into Christian's wide, tortured eyes.
His soft sweet confession calls to me on some deep elemental level as if he's seeking absolution; his three small words are my manna from heaven. Tears prick my eyes once more. Yes, you do. I know you do.
It's such a liberating realization as if a crushing millstone has been tossed aside. This beautiful, f*cked-up man, whom I once thought of as my romantic hero - strong, solitary, mysterious - possesses all these traits, but he's also fragile and alienated and full of self-loathing. My heart swells with joy but also pain for his suffering. And I know in this moment that my heart is big enough for both of us. I hope it's big enough for both of us.
I reach up to clasp his dear, dear, handsome face and kiss him gently, pouring all the love I feel into this one sweet connection. I want to devour him beneath the hot cascading water. Christian groans and encircles me in his arms, holding me as if I am the air he needs to breathe.
"Oh, Ana," he whispers hoarsely, "I want you, but not here."
"Yes," I murmur fervently into his mouth.
He switches off the shower and takes my hand, leading me out and enfolding me in my bathrobe. Grabbing a towel, he wraps it around his waist, then takes a smaller one and begins to gently dry my hair. When he's satisfied, he swathes the towel around my head so that in the large mirror over the sink I look like I'm wearing a veil. He's standing behind me and our eyes meet in the mirror, smoldering gray to bright blue, and it gives me an idea.
"Can I reciprocate?" I ask.
He nods, though his brow creases. I reach for another towel from the plethora of fluffy towels stacked beside the vanity, and standing before him on tiptoe, I start to dry his hair.
He bends forward, making the process easier, and as I catch the occasional glimpse of his face beneath the towel, I see he's grinning at me like a small boy.
"It's a long time since anyone did this to me. A very long time," he murmurs, but then frowns. "In fact I don't think anyone's ever dried my hair."
"Surely Grace did? Dried your hair when you were young?"
He shakes his head, hampering my progress.
"No. She respected my boundaries from day one, even though it was painful for her. I was very self-sufficient as a child," he says quietly.
I feel a swift kick in the ribs as I think of a small copper-haired child looking after himself because no one else cares. The thought is sickeningly sad. But I don't want my melancholy to hijack this blossoming intimacy.
"Well, I'm honored," I gently tease him.
"That you are, Miss Steele. Or maybe it is I who am honored."
"That goes without saying, Mr. Grey," I respond tartly.