And you’re mine. Again.
Crawling up the bed, I kiss her ankles, the insides of her knees, her thighs, her hip, her soft belly; my tongue swirls around her navel and she rewards me with a loud moan. I lick the underside of one breast, then the other. And take her nipple in my mouth, teasing it, elongating it as it hardens between my lips. I tug hard, and she writhes brazenly beneath me, calling out.
Patience, baby.
Releasing that nipple, I lavish my attention on its twin.
“Christian, please.”
“Please what?” I murmur between her breasts, enjoying her need.
“I want you inside me.”
“Do you, now?”
“Please.” She’s all breathy and desperate, just how I like her. I push her legs apart with my knees. Oh, I want you, too, baby. I hover over her, poised and ready. I want to savor this moment, this moment when I reclaim her beautiful body, reclaim my beautiful girl. Her dark, smoky eyes meet mine and slowly, slowly, I sink into her.
Fuck. She feels so good. So tight. So right.
She tilts her pelvis up to meet me, throws her head back, her chin in the air, and her mouth is open in soundless adulation. She grasps my upper arms and groans without restraint. What a wonderful sound it is. I place my hands around her head to hold her in place, ease out of her, then slide into her again. Her fingers find my hair, tugging and twisting, and I move slowly, feeling her tight, wet warmth around me as I relish every single fucking inch of her.
Her eyes are dark, her mouth slack, as she pants beneath me. She looks gorgeous.
“Faster, Christian, faster. Please,” she pleads.
Your wish is my command, baby.
My mouth finds hers, claiming that, too, and I start to move, really move, pushing and pushing. She’s so damned beautiful. I have missed this. Missed everything about her. She feels like home. She is home. She’s everything. And I lose myself, burying myself in her over and over again.
She starts building around me, reaching her peak.
Oh, baby, yes. Her legs tense. She’s close. So am I.
“Come on, baby. Give it to me,” I whisper through my gritted teeth. She cries out as she detonates around me, clenching and drawing me deep inside her, and I come, pouring my life and soul into her.
“Ana! Oh, fuck—Ana!”
I collapse on her, pressing her into the mattress, and bury my face in her neck, inhaling her delicious, intoxicating Ana perfume.
She’s mine once more.
Mine.
No one will take her away from me, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her.
Once I’ve caught my breath I lean up and take her hands in mine as her eyes flutter open. They are the bluest of blue, clear and sated. She gives me a shy smile and I trail the tip of my nose down the length of hers, trying to find the words to express my gratitude. In lieu of any suitable words, I offer her a swift kiss as I reluctantly ease out of her. “I’ve missed this.”
“Me, too,” she says.
I grip her chin and kiss her once more.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me a second chance.
“Don’t leave me again,” I whisper. Ever. And I’m in the confessional, disclosing a dark secret: my need for her.
“Okay,” she answers with a tender smile that flips my heart into overdrive. With one simple word she stitches my torn soul together. I’m elated.
My fate is in your hands, Ana. It’s been in your hands since I met you.
“Thank you for the iPad,” she adds, interrupting my fanciful thoughts. It’s the first gift I’ve given her that she’s accepted with grace.
“You’re most welcome, Anastasia.”
“What’s your favorite song on there?”
“Now, that would be telling,” I tease her. I think it might be the Coldplay, because it’s the most apt.
My stomach growls. I’m starving, and it’s not a condition I tolerate well. “Come cook me some food, wench. I’m famished.” I sit up and pull her onto my lap.
“Wench?” she repeats, giggling.
“Wench. Food. Now. Please,” I order, like the caveman I am, while nuzzling her hair.
“Since you ask so nicely, sire, I’ll get right on it.”
She wriggles in my lap as she gets up.
Ow!
When she climbs off the bed she shifts her pillow. Beneath it is a rather sad, much deflated helicopter balloon. I pick it up and look at her, wondering where it’s from.
“That’s my balloon,” she stresses.
Oh yes, Andrea sent a balloon with flowers when Ana and Katherine moved into this apartment. What is it doing here? “In your bed?”
“Yes. It’s been keeping me company.”
“Lucky Charlie Tango.”
She returns my smile as she wraps a robe around her beautiful body.
“My balloon,” she warns, before she sashays out of the bedroom.
Proprietary, Miss Steele!
Once she’s left I remove the condom, knot it, and toss it in the trash basket at Ana’s bedside. I fall back onto the pillows, examining the balloon. She kept it and slept with it. Every time I stood outside her apartment pining for her, she was curled up in this bed and pining for me, holding this.
She loves me.
I’m suddenly awash with mixed, bewildered emotions and panic rising in my throat.
How can this be?
Because she doesn’t know you, Grey.
Shit.
Don’t dwell on the negative. Flynn’s words fog my brain. Focus on the positive.
Well, she’s mine once more. I just have to keep her. Hopefully we’ll have the whole weekend together to get to know each other again.
Hell. I have the Coping Together Ball tomorrow.
I could skip it—but then my mother would never forgive me.
I wonder if Ana will accompany me?
She’ll need a mask if she agrees.
On the floor, I find my phone and text Taylor. I know he’s seeing his daughter in the morning, but I hope he can source a mask.
I’m going to need a mask for
Anastasia for tomorrow’s event.
Do you think you can source something?
TAYLOR
Yes, sir.
I know just the place.
Excellent.
TAYLOR
What color?
Silver or dark blue.
And as I text I have an idea, which may or may not work.
Could you get me a lipstick, too?
TAYLOR
Any particular color?
No. I’ll leave that to you.
ANA CAN COOK. The stir-fry is delicious. I’m calmer now that I’ve had something to eat and I can’t remember being this casual or relaxed with her. We’re both sitting on the floor, listening to music from my iPod, as we eat and sip chilled pinot grigio. What’s more, it’s gratifying to see her devour her food. She’s as hungry as I am.
“This is good.” I’m appreciating every forkful.
She glows in response to my compliment and tucks a stray strand of unruly hair behind her ear. “I usually do all the cooking. Kate isn’t a great cook.” She’s cross-legged beside me, her legs on display. Her rather worn robe is a fetching shade of cream. When she leans forward it hangs open and I glimpse the soft swell of her breast.
Grey, behave.