Shit. This could be the end.
“I could try,” she says, her voice low.
It’s my turn to exhale. I’m still in the game. “Good.”
“Now term.” Clause eleven. “One month instead of three is no time at all, especially if you want a weekend away from me each month.” We’ll get nowhere in that time. She needs training and I can’t stay away from her for any length of time. I tell her as much. Maybe we can compromise, as she suggested. “How about one day over one weekend per month you get to yourself—but I get a midweek night that week?”
I watch her weighing the possibility. “Okay,” she says eventually, her expression serious.
Good.
“And please, let’s try it for three months. If it’s not for you, then you can walk away anytime.” “Three months,” she says. Is she agreeing? I’ll take it as a “yes.”
Right. Here goes.
“The ownership thing, that’s just terminology and goes back to the principle of obeying. It’s to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I’m coming from. And I want you to know that as soon as you cross my threshold as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that, and willingly. That’s why you have to trust me. I will fuck you, anytime, any way I want— anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me.
“But I know you ’ve not done this before. Initially, we’ll take it slowly, and I will help you. We’ll build up to various scenarios. I want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn your trust, and I will. The ‘or otherwise’—again, it’s to help you get into the mind-set; it means anything goes.”
Some speech, Grey.
She sits back—overwhelmed, I think.
“Still with me?” I ask, gently. The waiter sneaks into the room, and with a nod I give him permission to clear our table.
“Would you like some more wine?” I ask her. “I have to drive.”
Good answer.
“Some water, then?” She nods.
“Still or sparkling?” “Sparkling, please.”
The waiter leaves with our plates.
“You’re very quiet,” I whisper. She’s barely said a word. “You’re very verbose,” she shoots straight back at me.
Fair point, Miss Steele.
Now for the next item on her list of issues: clause fifteen. I take a deep breath. “Discipline. There’s a very fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don’t believe me now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing that you can’t handle.” I cannot emphasize this enough. “Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Ana?”
“Yes, I do,” she says immediately. Her response knocks me sideways: it’s completely unexpected. Again.
Have I gained her trust already?
“Well, then, the rest of this stuff is just details.” I feel ten feet tall. “Important details.”
She’s right. Concentrate, Grey.
“Okay, let’s talk through those.” The waiter reenters with our entrées.
“I hope you like fish,” I say, as he places our food before us. The black cod looks delicious. Ana takes a bite.
Finally, she’s eating!
“The rules,” I continue. “Let’s talk about them. The food is a deal breaker?” “Yes.”
“Can I modify to say that you will eat at least three meals a day?” “No.”
Suppressing an irritated sigh, I persist. “I need to know that you’re not hungry.” She frowns. “You’ll have to trust me.”
“Oh, touché, Miss Steele,” I mutter to myself. These are battles I’m not going to win. “I concede the food and the sleep.”
She gives me a small, relieved smile. “Why can’t I look at you?” she asks.
“That’s a Dom/sub thing. You’ll get used to it.”
She frowns once more, but looks pained this time. “Why can’t I touch you?” she asks. “Because you can’t.”
Shut her down, Grey.
“Is it because of Mrs. Robinson?”
What? “Why would you think that? You think she traumatized me?” She nods.
“No, Anastasia. She’s not the reason. Besides, Mrs. Robinson wouldn’t take any of that shit from me.”
“So nothing to do with her,” she asks, looking confused. “No.”
I can’t bear to be touched. And, baby, you really don’t want to know why.
“And I don’t want you touching yourself, either,” I add. “Out of curiosity, why?”
“Because I want all your pleasure.”
In fact, I want it now. I could fuck her here to see if she can be quiet. Real quiet, knowing we’re within earshot of the hotel staff and guests. After all, that’s why I’ve booked this room.
She opens her mouth as if to say something, but closes it again and takes another bite of food from her largely untouched plate. “I’ve given you a great deal to think about, haven’t I?” I say, folding up her e-mail and tucking it into my inside pocket.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go through the soft limits now, too?” “Not over dinner.”
“Squeamish?” “Something like that.”
“You’ve not eaten very much.” “I’ve had enough.”
This is getting old. “Three oysters, four bites of cod, and one asparagus stalk, no potatoes, no nuts, no olives, and you’ve not eaten all day. You said I could trust you.”
Her eyes widen.
Yeah. I’ve been keeping count, Ana.
“Christian, please, it’s not every day I sit through conversations like this.” “I need you fit and healthy, Anastasia.” My tone is adamant.
“I know.”
“And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she whispers. “We haven’t had dessert.” “You want dessert?” When you haven’t eaten your main course?
“Yes.”
“You could be dessert.”
“I’m not sure I’m sweet enough.” “Anastasia, you’re deliciously sweet. I know.”
“Christian. You use sex as a weapon. It really isn’t fair.” She looks down at her lap, and her voice is low and a little melancholy. She looks up again, pinning me with an intense stare, her powder-blue eyes unnerving…and arousing.
“You’re right. I do,” I admit. “In life you use what you know. Doesn’t change how much I want you. Here. Now.” And we could fuck here, right now. I know you’re interested, Ana. I hear how your breathing has changed. “I’d like to try something.” I really want to know how quiet she can be, and if she can do this with the fear of discovery.
Her brow creases once more; she’s confused.
“If you were my sub, you wouldn’t have to think about this. It would be easy. All those decisions— all the wearying thought processes behind them. The ‘Is this the right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now?’ You wouldn’t have to worry about any of that detail. That’s what I’d do as your Dom. And right now, I know you want me, Anastasia.”
She tosses her hair over her shoulder, and her frown intensifies as she licks her lips.
Oh yes. She wants me.
“I can tell because your body gives you away. You’re pressing your thighs together, you’re flushed, and your breathing has changed.”
“How do you know about my thighs?” she asks, her voice high-pitched, shocked, I think.
“I felt the tablecloth move, and it’s a calculated guess based on years of experience. I’m right, aren’t I?”
She’s quiet for a moment and looks away. “I haven’t finished my cod,” she says, evasive but still blushing.
“You’d prefer cold cod to me?”
Her eyes meet mine, and they’re wide, pupils dark and large. “I thought you liked me to clear my plate.”
“Right now, Miss Steele, I couldn’t give a fuck about your food.” “Christian. You just don’t fight fair.”
“I know. I never have.”
We stare at each other in a battle of wills, both aware of the sexual tension stretching between us across the table.
Please, would you just do as you’re told? I implore her with a look. But her eyes glint with sensual disobedience and a smile lifts her lips. Still holding my stare, she picks up an asparagus spear and deliberately bites her lip.
What is she doing?
Very slowly, she places the tip of the spear in her mouth and sucks it.
Fuck.
She’s trifling with me—a dangerous tactic that will have me fucking her over this table.
Oh, bring it on, Miss Steele.
I watch, mesmerized, hardening by the second. “Anastasia. What are you doing?” I warn. “Eating my asparagus,” she says with a coy smile. “I think you’re toying with me, Miss Steele.”
“I’m just finishing my food, Mr. Grey.” Her lips curl wider, slowly, carnal, and the heat between us rises several degrees. She really has no idea how sexy she is…I’m about to pounce when the waiter knocks and enters.
Damn it.
I let him clear the plates, then turn my attention back to Miss Steele. But her frown is back, and she’s fidgeting with her fingers.
Hell.
“Would you like some dessert?” I ask.
“No thank you. I think I should go,” she says, still staring at her hands. “Go?” She’s leaving?
The waiter exits quickly with our plates.
“Yes,” Ana says, her voice firm with resolve. She gets to her feet to leave. And automatically I stand, too. “We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow,” she says.
This is not going according to plan at all.
“I don’t want you to go,” I state, because it’s the truth. “Please, I have to,” she insists.
“Why?”
“Because you’ve given me so much to consider, and I need some distance.” Her eyes are pleading with me to let her go.
But we’ve gotten so far in our negotiation. We’ve made compromises. We can make this work. I have to make this work.
“I could make you stay,” I tell her, knowing that I could seduce her right now, in this room. “Yes, you could easily, but I don’t want you to.”
This is all going south—I’ve overplayed my hand. This isn’t how I thought the night would end. I rake my hands through my hair in frustration.
“You know, when you fell into my office to interview me, you were all ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir.’ I thought you were a natural-born submissive. But quite frankly, Anastasia, I’m not sure you have a submissive bone in your delectable body.” I walk the few steps that separate us and look down into eyes that shine with determination.
“You may be right,” she says.
No. No. I don’t want to be right.
“I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do.” I caress her face and her lower lip with my thumb. “I don’t know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am.”
“I know,” she says.
Lowering my head so my lips hover over hers, I wait until she raises her mouth to mine and closes her eyes. I want to give her a brief, chaste kiss, but as our lips touch, she leans in to me, her hands suddenly fisting in my hair, her mouth opening to me, her tongue insistent. I press my hand to the base of her spine, holding her against me, and deepen the kiss, mirroring her fervor.
Christ, I want her.
“I can’t persuade you to stay?” I whisper against the corner of her mouth, as my body responds, hardening with desire.
“No.”
“Spend the night with me.” “And not touch you? No.”
Damn. The darkness uncoils in my guts, but I ignore it.
“You impossible girl,” I mutter, and pull back, examining her face and her tense, brooding expression.
“Why do I think you’re telling me good-bye?” “Because I’m leaving now.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“Christian, I have to think about this. I don’t know if I can have the kind of relationship you want.” I close my eyes and rest my forehead against hers.
What did you expect, Grey? She’s not cut out for this.
I take a deep breath and kiss her forehead, then bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her sweet, autumnal scent and committing it to memory.
That’s it. Enough.
Stepping back, I release her. “As you wish, Miss Steele. I’ll escort you to the lobby.” I hold out my hand for what could be the last time, and I’m surprised how painful this thought is. She places her hand in mine, and in silence we head down to reception.
“Do you have your valet ticket?” I ask as we reach the lobby. I sound calm and collected, but inside I’m in knots.
From her purse she retrieves the ticket, which I hand to the doorman. “Thank you for dinner,” she says.
“It’s a pleasure as always, Miss Steele.”
This cannot be the end. I have to show her—demonstrate what this all means, what we can do together. Show her what we can do in the playroom. Then she’ll know. This might be the only way to save this deal. Quickly I turn to her. “You’re moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” I ask.
“We’ll see. Maybe,” she says.
That’s not a “no.”
I notice the goose bumps on her arms. “It’s cooler now, don’t you have a jacket?” I ask. “No.”
This woman needs looking after. I take off my jacket. “Here. I don’t want you catching cold.” I slip
it over her shoulders and she hugs it around herself, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply.
Is she drawn to my scent? Like I am to hers?
Perhaps all is not lost?
The valet pulls up in an ancient VW Beetle.
What the hell is that?
“That’s what you drive?” This must be older than Grandpa Theodore. Jesus! The valet hands over the keys and I tip him generously. He deserves danger pay.
“Is this roadworthy?” I glare at Ana. How can she be safe in this rust bucket? “Yes.”
“Will it make it to Seattle?” “Yes. She will.”
“Safely?”
“Yes.” She tries to reassure me. “Okay, she’s old. But she’s mine, and she’s roadworthy. My stepdad bought it for me.”
When I suggest that we could do better than this she realizes what I’m offering and her expression changes immediately.
She’s mad.
“You are not buying me a car,” she says emphatically.
“We’ll see,” I mutter, trying to keep calm. I hold open the driver’s door, and as she climbs in I wonder if I should ask Taylor to take her home. Damn. I remember that he’s off this evening.
Once I’ve shut the door, she rolls down the window…painfully slowly.
For Christ’s sake!
“Drive safely,” I growl.
“Good-bye, Christian,” she says, and her voice falters, as if she’s trying not to cry.
Shit. My whole mood shifts from irritation and concern for her well-being to helplessness as her car roars off up the street.
I don’t know if I’ll see her again.
I stand like a fool on the sidewalk until her rear lights disappear into the night.
Fuck. Why did that go so wrong?
I stalk back into the hotel, make for the bar, and order a bottle of the Sancerre. Taking it with me, I head up to my room. My laptop lies open on my desk, and before I uncork the wine, I sit down and start typing an e-mail.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tonight
Date: May 25 2011 22:01
To: Anastasia Steele
I don’t understand why you ran this evening. I sincerely hope I answered all your questions to your satisfaction. I
know I have given you a great deal to contemplate, and I fervently hope that you will give my proposal your serious consideration. I really want to make this work. We will take it slow.
Trust me.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I glance at my watch. It will take her at least twenty minutes to get home, probably longer in that deathtrap. I e-mail Taylor.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Audi A3
Date: May 25 2011 22:04
To: J B Taylor
I need that Audi delivered here tomorrow.
Thanks.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Opening the Sancerre, I pour myself a glass, and picking up my book, I sit and read, trying hard to concentrate. My eyes keep straying to my laptop screen. When will she reply?
As the minutes tick by, my anxiety balloons; why hasn’t she returned my e-mail? At 11:00, I text her.
Are you home safe?
But I get nothing in response. Perhaps she’s gone straight to bed. Before midnight I send another e-mail.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tonight
Date: May 25 2011 23:58
To: Anastasia Steele
I hope you made it home in that car of yours.
Let me know if you’re okay.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
I’ll see her tomorrow at the graduation ceremony and I’ll find out then if she’s turning me down.
With that depressing thought I strip and climb into bed and stare at the ceiling.
You’ve really fucked up this deal, Grey.
THURSDAY, MAY 26, 2011
Mommy is gone. Sometimes she goes outside. And it is only me. Me and my cars and my blankie.
When she comes home she sleeps on the couch. The couch is brown and sticky. She is tired. Sometimes I cover her with my blankie.
Or she comes home with something to eat. I like those days. We have bread and butter. And sometimes we have macrami and cheese. That is my favorite.
Today Mommy is gone. I play with my cars. They go fast on the floor. My mommy is gone. She will come back. She will. When is Mommy coming home?
It is dark now, and my mommy is gone. I can reach the light when I stand on the stool. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light.
I’m hungry. I eat the cheese. There is cheese in the fridge. Cheese with blue fur. When is Mommy coming home?
Sometimes she comes home with him. I hate him. I hide when he comes. My favorite place is in my mommy’s closet. It smells of Mommy. It smells of Mommy when she’s happy.
When is Mommy coming home?
My bed is cold. And I am hungry. I have my blankie and my cars but not my mommy. When is Mommy coming home?
I wake with a start.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I hate my dreams. They’re riddled with harrowing memories, distorted reminders of a time I want to forget. My heart is pounding and I’m drenched with sweat. But the worst consequence of these nightmares is dealing with the overwhelming anxiety when I wake.
My nightmares have recently become more frequent, and more vivid. I have no idea why. Damned Flynn—he’s not back until sometime next week. I run both of my hands through my hair and check the time. It’s 5:38, and the dawn light is seeping through the curtains. It’s nearly time to get up.
Go for a run, Grey.
THERE IS STILL NO text or e-mail from Ana. As my feet pound the sidewalk, my anxiety grows.
Leave it, Grey.
Just fucking leave it!
I know I’ll see her at the graduation ceremony.
But I can’t leave it.
Before my shower, I send her another text.
Call me.
I just need to know she’s safe.
AFTER BREAKFAST THERE’S STILL no word from Ana. To get her out of my head I work for a couple of hours on my commencement speech. At the graduation ceremony later this morning I’ll be honoring the extraordinary work of the environmental sciences department and the progress they’ve made in partnership with GEH in arable technology for developing countries.
“All part of your feed-the-world plan?” Ana’s shrewd words echo in my head, and they nudge at last night’s nightmare.
I shrug it off as I rewrite. Sam, my VP for publicity, has sent a draft that is way too pretentious for me. It takes me an hour to rework his media-speak bullshit into something more human.
Nine thirty and still no word from Ana. Her radio silence is worrying—and frankly rude. I call, but her phone goes straight to a generic voice mail message.
I hang up.
Show some dignity, Grey.
There’s a ping in my inbox, and my heartbeat spikes—but it’s from Mia. In spite of my bad mood, I smile. I’ve missed that kid.
From: Mia G. Chef Extraordinaire
Subject: Flights
Date: May 26 2011 18:32 GMT-1
To: Christian Grey
Hey, Christian,
I can’t wait to get out of here! Rescue me. Please.
My flight number on Saturday is AF3622. It arrives at 12:22 p.m. and Dad is making me fly coach! *pouting! I will have lots of luggage. Love. Love. Love Paris fashion.
Mom says you have a girlfriend. Is this true?
What’s she like?
I NEED TO KNOW!!!!!
See you Saturday. Missed you so much. À bientôt mon frère.
Mxxxxxxxxx
Oh hell! My mother’s big mouth. Ana is not my girlfriend! And come Saturday I’ll have to fend off my sister’s equally big mouth and her inherent optimism and her prying questions. She can be exhausting. Making a mental note of the flight number and time, I send Mia a quick e -mail to let her know I’ll be there.
At 9:45 I get ready for the ceremony. Gray suit, white shirt, and of course that tie. It will be my subtle message to Ana that I haven’t given up, and a reminder of good times.
Yeah, real good times…images of her bound and wanting come to mind. Damn it. Why hasn’t she called? I press redial.
Shit.
Still no fucking answer!
At 10:00 precisely, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Taylor. “Good morning,” I say, as he comes in.
“Mr. Grey.”
“How was yesterday?”
“Good, sir.” Taylor’s demeanor shifts, and his expression warms. He must be thinking of his daughter.
“Sophie?”
“She’s a doll, sir. And doing very well at school.” “That’s great to hear.”
“The A3 will be in Portland later this afternoon.” “Excellent. Let ’s go.”
And though I’m loath to admit it, I’m anxious to see Miss Steele.
THE CHANCELLOR’S SECRETARY USHERS me into a small room adjacent to the WSU auditorium. She blushes, almost as much as a certain young woman I know intimately. There, in the greenroom, academics, administrative staff, and a few students are having pre-graduation coffee. Among them, to my surprise, is Katherine Kavanagh.
“Hi, Christian,” she says, strutting toward me with the confidence of the well-heeled. She’s in her graduation gown and appears cheerful enough; surely she’s seen Ana.
“Hi, Katherine. How are you?”
“You seem baffled to see me here,” she says, ignoring my greeting and sounding a little affronted. “I’m valedictorian. Didn’t Elliot tell you?”
“No, he didn’t.” We’re not in each other’s pockets, for Christ’s sake. “Congratulations,” I add as a courtesy.
“Thank you.” Her tone is clipped. “Is Ana here?”
“Soon. She’s coming with her dad.” “You saw her this morning?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I wanted to know if she made it home in that deathtrap she calls a car.”
“Wanda. She calls it Wanda. And yes, she did.” She gazes at me with a quizzical expression. “I’m glad to hear it.”
At that point the chancellor joins us, and with a polite smile to Kavanagh, escorts me over to meet the other academics.
I’m relieved that Ana is in one piece, but pissed that she hasn’t replied to any of my messages. It’s not a good sign.
But I don’t have long to dwell on this discouraging state of affairs—one of the faculty members announces it’s time to begin and herds us out into the corridor.
In a moment of weakness I try Ana’s phone once more. It goes straight to voice mail, and I’m interrupted by Kavanagh. “I’m looking forward to your commencement address,” she says as we walk down the hallway.
When we reach the auditorium I notice it’s larger than I expected, and packed. The audience, as one, rises and applauds as we file onto the stage. The clapping intensifies, then slowly subsides to an expectant buzz as everyone takes their seats.
Once the chancellor begins his welcome address I’m able to scan the room. The front rows are filled with students, in identical black-and-red WSU robes. Where is she? Methodically I inspect each row.
There you are.
I find her huddled in the second row. She’s alive. I feel foolish for expending so much anxiety and energy on her whereabouts last night and this morning. Her brilliant blue eyes are wide as they lock with mine, and she shifts in her seat, a slow flush coloring her cheeks.
Yes. I’ve found you. And you haven’t replied to my messages. She’s avoiding me and I’m pissed. Really pissed. Closing my eyes, I imagine dripping hot wax onto her breasts and her squirming beneath me. This has a radical effect on my body.
Shit.
Get it together, Grey.
Dismissing her from my mind, I marshal my lascivious thoughts and concentrate on the speeches. Kavanagh gives an inspiring address about embracing opportunities—yes, carpe diem, Kate—and gets a rousing reception when she’s finished. She’s obviously smart and popular and confident. Not the shy and retiring wallflower that is the lovely Miss Steele. It really amazes me that these two are
friends.
I hear my name announced; the chancellor has introduced me. I rise and approach the lectern.
Showtime, Grey.
“I’m profoundly grateful and touched by the great compliment accorded to me by the authorities of WSU today. It offers me a rare opportunity to talk about the impressive work of the environmental sciences department here at the university. Our aim is to develop viable and ecologically sustainable methods of farming for third world countries; our ultimate goal is to help eradicate hunger and poverty across the globe. Over a billion people, mainly in sub-Saharan Africa, South Asia, and Latin America, live in abject poverty. Agricultural dysfunction is rife within these parts of the world, and the
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