As if on cue, my phone vibrates in my jacket pocket, signaling a message. It will be from Taylor, he’s probably close to the gallery by now. I glance at my watch.
“We have to go shortly. Taylor’s here, and you have to be up for work in the morning.” I hadn’t considered that before. She’s working now—she needs sleep. I may have to revise my plans and my body’s expectations. The thought of deferring my desire displeases me.
Ana reminds me that I need to be up for work, too.
“I function on a lot less sleep than you do, Anastasia. At least you’ve eaten something.”
“Aren’t we going back via Charlie Tango?”
“No, I thought I might have a drink—Taylor will pick us up. Besides, this way I have you in the car all to myself—for a few hours, at least. What can we do but talk?” And I can put my proposition to her.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair. Stage three of the campaign has not gone as smoothly as I anticipated.
She’s made me jealous.
I’ve lost control.
Yes. As usual, she’s derailed me. But I can turn this around and close the deal in the car.
Don’t give up, Grey.
Summoning the waiter, I ask for the check, then call Taylor. He answers on the second ring.
“Mr. Grey.”
“We’re at Le Picotin, Southwest Third Avenue,” I inform him and hang up.
“You’re very brusque with Taylor…In fact, with most people.”
“I just get to the point quickly, Anastasia.”
“You haven’t gotten to the point this evening. Nothing’s changed, Christian.”
Touché, Miss Steele.
Tell her. Tell her, now, Grey.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“This started with a proposition.”
“A different proposition,” I clarify.
She’s a little skeptical, I think, but maybe she’s curious, too. The waiter returns and I give him my card, but I keep my attention on Ana. Well, at least she’s intrigued.
Good.
My heart rate accelerates. I hope she goes for this…or I really will be lost. The waiter hands me the credit card slip to sign. I enter an obscene tip and sign my name with a flourish. The waiter seems excessively grateful. And it’s still irritating.
My phone buzzes and I scan the text. Taylor’s arrived. The waiter gives me my card back and disappears.
“Come. Taylor’s outside.”
We both stand and I take her hand. “I don’t want to lose you, Anastasia,” I murmur, and raise her hand and brush my lips against her knuckles. Her breathing accelerates.
Oh, that sound.
I glance at her face. Her lips are parted, cheeks pink and eyes wide. The sight fills me with hope and desire. I stifle my impulses and lead her through the restaurant and outside, where Taylor is waiting at the curb in the Q7. It occurs to me that Ana might be reluctant to talk if he’s in front.
I have an idea. Opening the rear door, I usher her in, and walk around to the driver’s side. Taylor gets out to open the door for me.
“Good evening, Taylor. Do you have your iPod and headphones?”
“Yes, sir, never leave home without them.”
“Great. Use them on the way home.”
“Of course, sir.”
“What will you listen to?”
“Puccini, sir.”
“Tosca?”
“La Bohème.”
“Good choice.” I smile. As ever, he surprises me. I’d always assumed his musical tastes leaned toward country and rock. Taking a deep breath, I climb into the car. I’m about to negotiate the deal of my life.
I want her back.
Taylor presses play on the car’s sound system and the stirring notes from Rachmaninov swell quietly in the background. He regards me for a second in the mirror and pulls out into the light evening traffic.
Anastasia is watching me when I turn to face her. “As I was saying, Anastasia, I have a proposition for you.”
She looks anxiously at Taylor, as I knew she would.
“Taylor can’t hear you.”
“What?” She looks perplexed.
“Taylor,” I call. Taylor doesn’t respond. I call him again, then lean over and tap his shoulder. He removes an earbud.
“Yes, sir?”
“Thank you, Taylor. It’s okay—resume your listening.”
“Sir.”
“Happy now? He’s listening to his iPod. Puccini. Forget he’s here. I do.”
“Did you deliberately ask him to do that?”
“Yes.”
She blinks in surprise. “Okay…your proposition,” she says, hesitant and apprehensive.
I’m nervous, too, baby. Here goes. Don’t blow this, Grey.
How to begin?
I take a deep breath. “Let me ask you something first. Do you want a regular vanilla relationship, with no kinky fuckery at all?”
“Kinky fuckery?” she squeaks in disbelief.
“Kinky fuckery.”
“I can’t believe you said that.” She looks anxiously at Taylor again.
“Well, I did. Answer me.”
“I like your kinky fuckery,” she whispers.
Oh, baby, so do I.
I’m relieved. Step one…okay. Keep cool, Grey.
“That’s what I thought. So what don’t you like?”
She’s silent for a moment, and I know she’s scrutinizing me in the light and shadows of the intermittent street lamps. “The threat of cruel and unusual punishment,” she says.
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you have all those—” She stops, glancing at Taylor once more, and her voice lowers. “Things in your playroom, the canes, and whips, and they frighten the living daylights out of me. I don’t want you to use them on me.”
This, I have worked out for myself.
“Okay, so no whips or canes. Or belts, for that matter,” I add, unable to keep the irony out of my voice.
“Are you attempting to redefine the hard limits?” she asks.
“Not as such. I’m just trying to understand you—get a clearer picture of what you do and don’t like.”
“Fundamentally, Christian, it’s your joy in inflicting pain that’s difficult for me to handle. And the idea that you’ll do it because I have crossed some arbitrary line.”
Hell. She knows me. She has seen the monster. I’m not going there, or I will blow this deal. I ignore her first comment and concentrate on her second point. “But it’s not arbitrary—the rules are written down.”
“I don’t want a set of rules.”
“None at all?”
Fuck—she might touch me. How can I protect myself from that? And suppose she does something stupid that puts herself at risk?
“No rules,” she states, shaking her head for emphasis.
Okay, million-dollar question.
“But you don’t mind if I spank you?”
“Spank me with what?”
“This.” I hold up my hand.
She shifts in her seat, and a silent, sweet joy unfurls deep in my gut. Oh, baby, I love it when you squirm.
“No, not really. Especially with those silver balls…”
My cock stirs at the thought. Damn. I cross my legs. “Yes, that was fun.”
“More than fun,” she adds.
“So you can deal with some pain.” I can’t keep the hope out of my voice.
“Yes, I suppose.” She shrugs.
Okay. So we may be able to structure a relationship around this.
Deep breath, Grey, give her the terms.
“Anastasia, I want to start again. Do the vanilla thing and then maybe, once you trust me more—and I trust you to be honest and to communicate with me—we could move on and do some of the things that I like to do.”