If this is what she wants…
Outside on the terrace, I hold her. “Lot to take in?” I ask.
She nods.
“I wanted to check that you liked it before I bought it.”
“The view?”
I nod.
“I love the view, and I like the house that’s here.”
“You do?”
“Christian, you had me at the meadow,” she says with a shy smile.
This means she’s not leaving.
Surely.
I cup her face, my fingers in her hair, and pour all my gratitude into one kiss.
“THANKS FOR LETTING US look around,” I say to Miss Kelly. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grey. Ana,” she says, eagerly shaking hands with each of us.
Ana likes it!
My relief is palpable as we climb into the Saab. Olga has switched on the external lights and the driveway is edged with winking lamps. The house is growing on me. It has a sprawling, grand quality to it. I’m sure Elliot can work his magic on the place and make it more ecologically sustainable.
“So, you’re going to buy it?” Ana asks when we’re on our way back to Seattle.
“Yes.”
“You’ll put Escala on the market?”
“Why would I do that?”
“To pay for—” She stops.
“Trust me, I can afford it.”
“Do you like being rich?”
I want to scoff. “Yes. Show me someone who doesn’t.”
She chews her finger.
“Anastasia, you’re going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes.”
“Wealth isn’t something I’ve ever aspired to, Christian.”
“I know. I love that about you. But then again, you’ve never been hungry.”
In the periphery of my vision, I see her turn and look at me, but I can’t make out her expression in the darkness.
“Where are we going?” she asks, and I know she’s changing the subject.
“To celebrate.”
“Celebrate what, the house?”
“Have you forgotten already? Your acting-editor role.”
“Oh yes.”
“Where?”
“Up high at my club.” They’ll still be serving food at this hour, and I’m hungry.
“Your club?”
“Yes. One of them.”
“How many do you belong to?”
“Three.”
Please don’t ask me about them.
“Private gentleman’s clubs? No women allowed?” she teases, and I know she’s laughing at me.
“Women allowed. At all of them.” Especially one. A Dominant’s haven. Though I haven’t been for a while.
She gives me an inquisitive look.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says.
I LEAVE THE CAR with the valet and we travel up to The Mile High Club at the top of Columbia Tower. Our table isn’t ready immediately, so we sit at the bar.
“Cristal, ma’am?” I hand Ana a glass of chilled champagne.
“Why, thank you, Sir.” She stresses the last word and bats her eyelashes at me. She moves her legs, drawing my attention to them. Her dress is hiked up, exposing a little more of her thigh.
“Are you flirting with me, Miss Steele?”
“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am. What are you going to do about it?”
Oh, Ana. I love when you throw down the gauntlet.
“I’m sure I can think of something,” I murmur. Carmine, the ma?tre d’, gives me a wave. “Come—our table’s ready.”
I step back and hold out my hand while she gracefully slips off the barstool, and I follow. Her ass looks great in this dress.
Ah. A wicked idea pops into my mind.
Before she sits down at our table, I touch her elbow. “Go and take your panties off,” I whisper in her ear. “Go.” Now.
She inhales quickly, and I remember the last time she went pantyless and how she turned the tables on me then; maybe she will again. She gives me a haughty look, but without saying a word hands me her glass of champagne and saunters to the ladies’ restroom.
While I wait at the table I scan the menu. It reminds me of our dinner in the private room at The Heathman. I summon the waiter and hope that Ana won’t give me a hard time because I’m ordering her meal.
“Can I help you, Mr. Grey?”
“Please. A dozen Kumamotos, to start. And then two orders of the sea bass with hollandaise sauce and sautéed potatoes. And a side of asparagus.”
“Very good, sir. Would you like anything from the wine list?”
“Not right now. We’ll stick to the champagne.”
The waiter scuttles off and Ana appears, a secret smile playing on her lips.
Oh, Ana. She wants to play…but I’m not going to touch her. Yet.
I want to drive her crazy.
Standing, I motion to the seat. “Sit beside me.” She slides in and I join her, mindful not to sit too close. “I’ve ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind.” Careful not to touch her fingers with mine, I give her back her glass of champagne.
She fidgets beside me but takes a sip of the Cristal.
The waiter returns with the oysters on ice. “I think you liked oysters last time you tried them.”
“Only time I’ve tried them.” Her breathing stalls. She’s…eager.
“Oh, Miss Steele—when will you learn?” I tease, taking an oyster from the dish. I lift my hand from my thigh and she leans back in anticipation of my touch, but I reach for some lemon.
“Learn what?” she whispers, as I squeeze lemon juice over the shellfish.
“Eat.” I hold the shell up to her mouth. She parts her lips and I rest the shell on her bottom lip. “Tip your head back slowly.”
With a smoldering look, she does as she’s told and I tip the oyster into her mouth. She closes her eyes in appreciation, and I help myself to one.
“Another?” I ask.
She nods, and this time I add a little mignonette sauce, and still I don’t touch her. She swallows and licks her lips.
“Good?”
She nods.
I eat another, then feed her one more.
“Hmm…” she says, and the sound resonates the length of my cock.
“Still like oysters?” I ask, as she swallows the final one.
She nods again.
“Good.”
I place my hands on my thighs, flexing my fingers, and I’m gratified when she shifts beside me. But as much as I want to, I refrain from touching her. The waiter tops off our champagne and clears our plates. Ana squeezes her thighs together and rubs her hands over them. And I think I hear a frustrated sigh.
Oh, baby. Craving my touch?
The waiter returns with our entrées.
Ana eyes me with suspicious recognition as the food is placed on the table. “A favorite of yours, Mr. Grey?”
“Most definitely, Miss Steele. Though I believe it was cod at The Heathman.”
“I seem to remember we were in a private dining room then, discussing contracts.”
“Happy days. This time I hope to get to fuck you.” I reach for my knife and she fidgets beside me. I take a bite of sea bass.
“Don’t count on it,” she mutters, and I know without looking that she’s pouting.
Oh, playing hard to get, Miss Steele?
“Speaking of contracts,” she continues. “The NDA.”
“Tear it up.”
“What? Really?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure I’m not going to run to The Seattle Times with an exposé?”
I laugh, knowing how shy she is. “No. I trust you. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Ditto,” she says.
“I’m very glad you’re wearing a dress.”
“Why haven’t you touched me, then?”
“Missing my touch?” I tease.
“Yes,” she exclaims.