Fifty Shades of Grey

"MOM!"

"Go talk to him."

"I can't. I came here to see you."

"Ana, you came here because you're confused about that boy. It's obvious you two are crazy about each other. You need to talk to him. He's just flown three thousand odd miles to see you, for heaven's sake. And you know how awful it is to fly."

I flush. I haven't told her about his private plane.

"What?" she snaps at me.

"He has his own plane," I mumble, embarrassed, and it's only two and a half thousand miles, Mom.

Why am I embarrassed Her eyebrows shoot up.

"Wow," she mutters. "Ana, there's something going on between you two. I've been trying to fathom it since you arrived here. But the only way you are going to sort the problem, whatever it is, is to talk it through with him. You can do all the thinking you like - but until you actually talk, you're not going to get anywhere."

I frown at my mother.

"Ana, honey, you've always had a tendency to over-analyze everything. Go with your gut. What does that tell you, sweetheart?"

I stare at my fingers.

"I think I'm in love with him," I mutter.

"I know darling. And he with you."

"No!"

"Yes, Ana. Hell - what do you needA neon sign flashing on his forehead?"

I gape at her and tears prick the corner of my eyes.

"Ana, darling. Don't cry."

"I don't think he loves me."

"I don't care how rich you are, you don't drop everything and get in your private plane to cross a whole continent just for afternoon tea. Go to him! This is a beautiful location, very romantic. It's also neutral territory."

I squirm under her gaze. I want to go and I don't.

"Darling, don't feel you have to come back with me. I want you happy - and right now I think the key to your happiness is upstairs in room 612. If you need to come home later, the key is under the Yucca plant on the front porch. If you stay - well... you're a big girl now. Just be safe."

I flush stars and stripes red. Jeez, Mom.

"Let's finish our Cosmos first."

"That's my girl, Ana." She grins.

I knock timidly on room 612 and wait. Christian opens the door. He's on his cell. He blinks at me in complete surprise, then holds the door open wide and beckons me into his room.

"All the redundancy packages concluded?... And the cost?... " Christian whistles between his teeth. "Sheesh... that was one expensive mistake... And Lucas... "

I glance around the room. He's in a suite, like the one at the Heathman. The furnishings here are ultra modern, very now. All muted dark purples and golds with bronze starbursts on the walls. Christian walks over to dark wood unit and pulls open a door to reveal a mini-bar. He indicates that I should help myself, then wanders into the bedroom.

I assume it's so I can no longer hear his conversation. I shrug. He didn't stop his call when I entered his study that time. I hear water running... he's filling a bath. I help myself to an orange juice. He ambles back into the room.

"Have Andrea send me the schematics. Barney said he'd cracked the problem... "

Christian laughs. "No, Friday... There's a plot of land here that I'm interested in... Yeah, get Bill to call... No, tomorrow... I want to see what Georgia will offer if we move in."

Christian doesn't take his eyes off me. Handing me a glass, he points to an ice bucket.

"If their incentives are attractive enough... I think we should consider it, though I'm not sure about the damned heat here... I agree Detroit has its advantages too, and it's cooler... " His face darkens momentarily. Why "Get Bill to call. Tomorrow... Not too early." He hangs up and stares at me, his face unreadable, and the silence stretches between us. Okay... my turn to talk.

"You didn't answer my question," I murmur.

"No. I didn't," he says quietly, his gray eyes wide and cautious.

"No you didn't answer my question or no you didn't love her?"

He folds his arms and leans against the wall, and a small smile plays upon his lips.

"What are you doing here, Anastasia?"

"I've just told you."

He takes a deep breath.

"No. I didn't love her." He frowns at me, amused yet puzzled.

I can't believe I'm holding my breath. I sag like an old cloth sack as I release it. Well, thank heavens for that. How would I feel if he actually loved the witch?

"You're quite the green-eyed goddess, Anastasia. Who would have thought?"

"Are you making fun of me, Mr. Grey?"

"I wouldn't dare." He shakes his head solemnly, but he has a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, I think you would, and I think you do - often."

He smirks as I give him back the words he's said to me before. His eyes darken.

"Please stop biting your lip. You're in my room, I haven't set eyes on you for nearly three days, and I've flown a long way to see you." His tone has changed to soft, sensual.

His BlackBerry buzzes, distracting us both, and he switches it off without glancing to see who it is. My breath hitches. I know where this is going... but we're supposed to talk.

He takes a step towards me wearing his sexy predatory look.

"I want you, Anastasia. Now. And you want me. That's why you're here."

"I really did want to know," I whisper as a defense.

"Well, now you that you do, are you coming or going?"

I flush as he comes to a halt in front of me.

"Coming," I murmur, staring anxiously up at him.

"Oh, I hope so." He gazes down at me. "You were so mad at me," he breathes.

"Yes."

"I don't remember anyone but my family ever being mad at me. I like it."

He runs the tips of fingers down my cheek. Oh my, his proximity, his delicious Christian smell. We're supposed to be talking, but my heart is pounding, my blood singing as it courses through my body, desire, pooling, unfurling... everywhere. Christian bends and runs his nose along my shoulder and up to the base of my ear, his fingers slipping into my hair."We should talk." I whisper.

"Later."

"There's so much I want to say."

"Me too."

He plants a soft kiss under my earlobe while his fingers tighten in my hair. Pulling my head back, he exposes my throat to his lips. His teeth skim my chin, and he kisses my throat.

"I want you," he breathes.

I moan and reach up and grasp his arms.

"Are you bleeding?" He continues to kiss me.

Holy F*ck. Does nothing slip by him?

"Yes," I whisper, embarrassed.

"Do you have cramps?"

"No." I flush . Jeez...

He stops and looks down at me.

"Did you take your pill?"

"Yes." How mortifying is this?

"Let's go have a bath."

Oh?

He takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. It's dominated by a super-king size bed with elaborate drapes. But we don't stop there. He takes me into the bathroom which is two rooms, all aquamarines and white limestone. It's huge - In the second room a sunken bath, big enough for four people with stone steps that lead into it, is slowly filling with water. Steam rises gently above the foam, and I notice a stone seat all the way round.

Candles flicker to the side. Wow... he's done all this while on the phone.

"Do you have a hair tie?"

I blink at him, fish into my jeans pocket, and pull out a hair elastic.

"Put your hair up," he orders softly. I do as he asks.

It's warm and sultry beside the bath, and my camisole starts to stick. He leans over and shuts off the faucet. leadingL me back into the first part of the bathroom,he stands behind me as we face the wall-sized mirror above the two glass sinks.

"Lift up your arms," he breathes. I do as I'm told, and he lifts my camisole over my head so that I'm topless standing in front of him. Not taking his eyes off mine, he reaches around and undoes the top button on my jeans and the zipper.

"I'm going to have you in the bathroom, Anastasia."

Leaning down, he kisses my neck. I move my head to one side and give him easier access. Hooking his thumbs into my jeans, he slowly slides them down my legs, sinking down behind me as he pulls them and my panties to the floor.

"Step out of your jeans."

Grasping the edge of the sink, I do just that. I am now naked, staring at myself, and he's kneeling behind me. He kisses and then softly bites my behind, making me gasp. He stands and stares at me once more in the mirror. I try hard to stay still, ignoring my natural inclination to cover myself. He splays his hand across my belly, the span of his hand almost reaching from hip to hip.

"Look at you. You are so beautiful," he murmurs. "See how you feel." He clasps both my hands in his, his palms against the backs of my hands, his fingers in between mine so that my fingers are splayed. He places my hands on my belly. "Feel how soft your skin is."

His voice is soft and low. He moves my hands in a slow circle then upwards towards my breasts. "Feel how full your breasts are." He holds my hands so that they cup my breasts.

He gently strokes my nipples with his thumbs over and over.

I moan between parted lips and arch my back so my breasts fill my palms. He squeezes my nipples between our thumbs, pulling gently so that they elongate further. I watch in fascination at the wanton creature writhing in front of me. Oh this feels good. I groan and close my eyes, no longer wanting to see that libidinous woman in the mirror falling apart under her own hands... his hands... feeling my skin as he would, experiencing how arousing it is - just his touch, and his calm, soft, commands.

"That's right, baby," he murmurs.

He guides my hands down the sides of my body, past my waist to my hips, and across to my pubic hair. He slides his leg in between mine, pushing my feet further apart, widening my stance, and runs my hands over my sex, one hand at a time in turn, setting up a rhythm. It is so erotic. Truly I am a marionette and he is the master puppeteer.

"Look at you glow, Anastasia," he whispers as he trails kisses and soft bites along my shoulder. I groan. Suddenly he lets go.

"Carry on," he orders, and stands back watching me.

I rub myself. No. I want him, him to do it. It doesn't feel the same. I'm lost without him. He pulls his shirt over his head and quickly takes off his jeans.

"You'd rather I do this?" His gray gaze scorches mine in the mirror.

"Oh yes... please," I breathe.

He wraps his arms around me again and takes my hands once more, continuing the sensual caress across my sex, over my *oris. His chest hair scrapes against me, his erection presses against me. Oh soon... please. He bites the nape of my neck, and I close my eyes, enjoying the myriad of sensations; my neck, my groin... the feel of him behind me.

He stops abruptly and spins me around, circling my wrists with one hand, imprisoning my hands behind me, and pulling at my ponytail with the other. I am flush against him, and he kisses me wildly, ravaging my mouth with his. Holding, h me in place.

His breathing is ragged, matching mine.

"When did you start your period, Anastasia?" he asks out of the blue, gazing down at me. "Err... yesterday," I mumble in my highly aroused state.

"Good." He releases me and turns me around.

"Hold on to the sink," he orders and pulls my hips back again, like he did in the playroom, so I'm bending down.

He reaches between my legs and pulls on the blue string... what! And... a gently pulls my tampon out and tosses it into the nearby toilet. Holy f*ck. Sweet mother of all... Jeez.

And then he's inside me... ah! Skin against skin... moving slowly at first... easily, testing me, pushing me... oh my. I grip on to the sink, panting, forcing myself back on him, feeling him inside me. Oh the sweet agony... his hands clasp my hips. He sets a punishing rhythm - in, out, and he reaches around and finds my *oris, massaging me... oh jeez. I can feel myself quicken.

"That's right, baby," he rasps as he grinds into me, angling his hips, and it's enough to send me flying, flying high.

Whoa... and I come, loudly, gripping for dear life onto the sink as I spiral down through my orgasm, everything spinning and clenching at once. He follows, clasping me tightly, his front on my back as he climaxes and calls my name like it's a litany or a prayer.

"Oh, Ana!" His breathing is ragged in my ear, in perfect synergy with mine. "Oh, baby, will I ever get enough of you?" he whispers.

Will it always be like thisSo overwhelming, so all-consuming, so bewildering and beguiling. I wanted to talk, but now I'm spent and dazed from his lovemaking and wondering if I will ever get enough of him

We sink slowly to the floor, and he wraps his arms around me, imprisoning me. I am curled on his lap, my head against his chest, as we both calm. Very subtly, I inhale his sweet, intoxicating Christian scent. I must not nuzzle. I must not nuzzle. I repeat the mantra in my head - though I am so tempted to do so. I want to lift my hand and draw patterns in his chest hair with my fingertips... but I resist, knowing that he'll hate it if I do. We are both quiet, lost in our thoughts. I am lost in him... lost to him.

I remember that I have my period.

"I'm bleeding," I murmur.

"Doesn't bother me," he breathes.

"I noticed." I can't keep the dryness out of my voice.

He tenses slightly.

"Does it bother you?" he asks softly.

Does it bother meMaybe it should... should itNo, it doesn't. I lean back and look up at him, and he gazes down at me, his eyes a soft cloudy gray.

"No, not at all."

He smirks.

"Good. Let's have a bath."

He uncurls from around me, placing me on the floor as he makes to stand. As he does, I notice again the small, round, white scars on his chest. They are not chicken pox, I muse absentmindedly. Grace said he was hardly affected. Holy shit... they must be burns.

Burns from whatI blanch at the realization, shock and revulsion coursing through me.

From cigarettesMrs. Robinson, his birth mother, whoWho did this to himMaybe there's a reasonable explanation, and I'm over-reacting - wild hope blossoms in my chest

- hope that I am wrong.

"What is it?" Christian's face is wide-eyed with alarm.

"Your scars," I whisper. "They're not from chicken pox."

I watch as in a split second he closes down, his stance changing from relaxed, calm, and at ease, to defensive - angry, even. He frowns, his face darkening, and his mouth presses into a thin, hard line.

"No, they're not," he snaps, but he does not elaborate further. He stands, holds his hand out for me, and hauls me to my feet.

"Don't look at me like that." His voice is colder and scolding as he lets go of my hand.

I flush, chastened, and stare down at my fingers, and I know, I know that someone stubbed cigarettes out on Christian. I feel sick.

"Did she do that?" I whisper before I can stop myself.

He says nothing, so I'm forced to look at him. He's glaring at me.

"SheMrs. RobinsonShe's not an animal, Anastasia. Of course she didn't. I don't understand why you feel you have to demonize her."

He's standing there, naked, gloriously naked, with my blood on him... and we're finally having this conversation. And I'm naked too - neither of us has anywhere to hide, except perhaps the bath. I take a deep breath, move past him, and step down into the water.

It is deliciously warm, soothing, and deep. I melt into the fragrant foam and stare up at him, hiding among the bubbles.

"I just wonder what you would be like if you hadn't met her. If she hadn't introduced you to your... um, lifestyle."

He sighs and steps down into the bath opposite me, his jaw clenched with tension, his eyes frosty. As he gracefully submerges his body beneath the water, he's careful not to touch me. Jeez - have I made him that mad?

He stares impassively at me, his face unreadable, saying nothing. Again the silence stretches between us, but I hold my counsel. It's your turn Grey - I am not caving this time.

My subconscious is nervous, anxiously biting her nails - this could go either way. Christian and I stare at each other, but I am not backing down. Eventually, after what seems like a millennium, he shakes his head, and he smirks.

"I would probably have gone the way of my birth mother, had it not been for Mrs.

Robinson."

Oh! I blink at him. Crack addict or whorePossibly both?

"She loved me in a way I found... acceptable," he adds with a shrug.

What the hell does that mean?