“I hope you like oysters,” Christian’s voice is soft.
“I’ve never had one.” Ever.
“Really? Well.” He reaches for one. “All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that.” He gazes at me, and I know what he’s referring to. I blush scarlet. He grins at me, squirts some lemon juice onto his oyster, and then tips it into his mouth.
“Hmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea,” he grins at me. “Go on,” he encourages.
“So, I don’t chew it?”
“No, Anastasia, you don’t.” His eyes are alight with humor. He looks so young like this. I bite my lip, and his expression changes instantly. He looks sternly at me. I reach across and pick up my first ever oyster. Okay… here goes nothing. I squirt some lemon juice on it and tip it up. It slips down my throat, all seawater, salt, the sharp tang of citrus, and fleshiness… ooh. I lick my lips, and he’s watching me intently, his eyes hooded.
“Well?”
“I’ll have another,” I say dryly.
“Good girl,” he says proudly.
“Did you choose these deliberately? Aren’t they known for their aphrodisiac qualities?”“No, they are the first item on the menu. I don’t need an aphrodisiac near you. I think you know that, and I think you react the same way near me,” he says simply. “So where were we?” He glances at my email as I reach for another oyster.
He reacts the same way. I affect him… wow.
“Obey me in all things. Yes, I want you to do that. I need you to do that. Think of it as role-play Anastasia.”
“But I’m worried you’ll hurt me.”
“Hurt you how?”
“Physically.” And emotionally.
“Do you really think I would do that? Go beyond any limit you can’t take?”
“You’ve said you’ve hurt someone before.”
“Yes, I have. It was a long time ago.”
“How did you hurt them?”
“I suspended them from my playroom ceiling. In fact, that’s one of your questions.
Suspension – that’s what the karabiners are for in the playroom. Rope play. One of the ropes was tied too tightly.”
I hold my hand up begging him to stop.
“I don’t need to know any more. So you won’t suspend me then?”
“Not if you really don’t want to. You can make that a hard limit.”
“Okay.”
“So obeying, do you think you can manage that?”
He stares at me, his gray eyes intense. The seconds tick by.
“I could try,” I whisper.
“Good.” He smiles. “Now term. One month instead of three is no time at all, especially if you want a weekend away from me each month. I don’t think I’ll be able to stay away from you for that length of time. I can barely manage it now,” he pauses.
He can’t stay away from me? What?
“How about, one day over one weekend per month you get to yourself – but I get a midweek night that week?”
“Okay.”
“And please, let’s try it for three months. If it’s not for you then, you can walk away anytime.”
“Three months?” I’m feeling railroaded. I take another large sip of wine and treat myself to another oyster. I could learn to like these.
“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, any time, 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 mindset, it means anything goes.”
He’s so passionate, mesmerizing. This is obviously his obsession, the way he is… I can’t take my eyes off him. He really, really wants this. He stops talking and gazes at me.
“Still with me?” he whispers, his voice rich, warm and seductive. He takes a sip of his wine, his penetrating stare holding mine.
The waiter comes to the door, and Christian subtly nods permitting the waiter to clear our table.
“Would you like some more wine?”
“I have to drive.”
“Some water then?”
I nod.
“Still or sparkling?”
“Sparkling, please.”
The waiter leaves.
“You’re very quiet,” Christian whispers.
“You’re very verbose.”
He smiles.
“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. Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Ana?”
Ana!
“Yes, I do.” I respond spontaneously, not thinking… because it’s true – I do trust him.
“Well then,” he looks relieved. “The rest of this stuff is just details.”
“Important details.”
“Okay, let’s talk through those.”
My head is swimming with all his words. I should have brought Kate’s mini disc player so I can listen back to this. There is so much information, so much to process. The waiter re-emerges with our entrees: black cod, asparagus, and crushed potatoes with a hol-landaise sauce. I have never felt less like food.
“I hope you like fish,” Christian says mildly.
I make a stab at my food and take a long drink of my sparkling water. I vehemently wish it was wine.
“The rules. 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.” I am so not backing down on this. No one is going to dictate to me what I eat.
How I fuck, yes, but eat… no, no way.
He purses his lips.
“I need to know that you’re not hungry.”
I frown. Why?
“You’ll have to trust me.”
He gazes at me for a moment, and he relaxes.
“Why can’t I look at you?”
“That’s a Dom/sub thing. You’ll get used to it.”
Will I?
“Why can’t I touch you?”
“Because you can’t.”
His mouth sets in a mulish line.
“Is it because of Mrs. Robinson?”
He looks quizzically at me.
“Why would you think that?” And immediately he understands. “You think she trau-matized me?”
I nod.
“No Anastasia. She’s not the reason. Besides, Mrs. Robinson wouldn’t take any of that shit from me.”
Oh… but I have to. I pout.
“So nothing to do with her.”
“No. And I don’t want you touching yourself, either.”
What? Ah yes, the no masturbation clause.
“Out of curiosity… why?”
“Because I want all your pleasure,” his voice is husky, but determined.
Oh… I have no answer for that. On one level it’s up there with, ‘I want to bite that lip’, on another, it’s so selfish. I frown and take a bite of cod, trying to assess mentally what concessions I’ve gained. The food, the sleep, I can look him in the eye. He’s going to take it slow, and we haven’t discussed soft limits. But I’m not sure I can face that over food.
“I’ve given you a great deal to think about haven’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go through the soft limits now too?”
“Not over dinner.”
He smiles.
“Squeamish?”
“Something like that.”
“You’ve not eaten very much.”
“I’ve had enough.”
“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.”
Jeez. He’s kept an inventory.
“Christian, please, it’s not every day I sit through conversations like this.”
“I need you fit and healthy Anastasia.”
“I know.”
“And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress.”
I swallow. Peel me out of Kate’s dress. I feel the pull deep in my belly. Muscles that I’m now more acquainted with clench at his words. But I can’t have this. His most potent weapon, used against me again. He’s so good at sex – even I’ve figured this out.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I murmur quietly. “We haven’t had dessert.”
“You want dessert?” he snorts.
“Yes.”
“You could be dessert,” he murmurs suggestively.
“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,” I whisper, staring down at my hands, and then looking directly at him. He raises his eyebrows, surprised, and I see he’s considering my words. He strokes his chin thoughtfully.
“You’re right. I do. In life you use what you know, Anastasia. Doesn’t change how much I want you. Here. Now.”
How can he seduce me solely with his voice? I’m panting already – my heated blood rushing through my veins, my nerves tingling.
“I’d like to try something,” he breathes.
I frown. He’s just given me a shit load of ideas to process and now this.
“If you were my sub, you wouldn’t have to think about this. It would be easy.” His voice is soft, seductive. “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.”
My frown deepens. How can he tell?
“I can tell because… ”
Holy shit he’s answering my unspoken question. Is he psychic as well?
“… Your body gives you away. You’re pressing your thighs together, you’re flushed, and your breathing has changed.”
O, this is too much.
“How do you know about my thighs?” My voice is low, disbelieving. They’re under the table for heaven’s sake.
“I felt the tablecloth move, and it’s a calculated guess based on years of experience.
I’m right aren’t I?”
I flush and stare down at my hands. Thattraged, Jane Eyre too frightened, and Tess would succumb, just as I have.
“I haven’t finished my cod.”
“You’d prefer cold cod to me?”
My head jerks up to glare at him, and his gray eyes burn molten silver, with compelling need.
“I thought you liked me clearing 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.”
My inner goddess frowns at me. You can do this, she coaxes – play this sex god at his own game. Can I? Okay. What to do? My inexperience is an albatross around my neck.
Picking up a spear of asparagus, I gaze at him and bite my lip. Then very slowly put the tip of my cold asparagus in my mouth and suck it.
Christian’s eyes widen infinitesimally, but I notice.
“Anastasia. What are you doing?”
I bite off the tip.
“Eating my asparagus.”
Christian shifts in his seat.
“I think you’re toying with me, Miss Steele.”
I feign innocence.
“I’m just finishing my food, Mr. Grey.”
The waiter chooses this moment to knock and, unbidden, enter. He glances briefly at Christian, who frowns at him but then nods, so the waiter clears our plates. The waiter’s arrival has broken the spell. And I grasp this precious moment of clarity. I have to go. Our meeting will only end one way if I stay, and I need some boundaries after such an intense conversation. As much as my body craves his touch, my mind is rebelling. I need some distance to think about all he’s said. I still haven’t made a decision, and his sexual allure and prowess doesn’t make it any easier.
“Would you like some dessert?” Christian asks, ever the gentleman, but his eyes still blaze.
“No, thank you. I think I should go.” I stare down at my hands.
“Go?” He can’t hide his surprise.
The waiter leaves hastily.
“Yes.” It’s the right decision. If I stay here, in this room with him, he will fuck me. I stand, purposefully. “We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow.”
Christian stands automatically, revealing years of ingrained civility.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“Please… I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve given me so much to consider… and I need some distance.”
“I could make you stay,” he threatens.
“Yes, you could easily, but I don’t want you to.”
He runs his hand through his hair, regarding me carefully.
“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.” He moves slowly toward me as his speaks, his voice tense.
“You may be right,” I breathe.
“I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do,” he murmurs, staring down at me. He reaches up and caresses my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “I don’t know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am.”
“I know.”
He leans down to kiss me, but pauses before his lips touch mine, his eyes searching mine, wanting, asking permission. I raise my lips to his, and he kisses me and because I don’t know if I’ll ever kiss him again, I let go – my hands moving of their own accord and twisting into his hair, pulling him to me, my mouth opening, my tongue stroking his. His hand grasps the nape of my neck as he deepens the kiss, responding to my ardor. His other hand slides down my back and flattens at the base of my spine as he pushes me against his body.“I can’t persuade you to stay?” he breathes between kisses.
“No.”
“Spend the night with me.”
“And not touch you? No.”
He groans.
“You impossible girl.” He pulls back, gazing down at me. “Why do I think you’re telling me goodbye?”
“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.”
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine, giving us both the opportunity to slow our breathing. After a moment, he kisses my forehead, inhales deeply, his nose in my hair, and then he releases me, stepping back.
“As you wish, Miss Steele,” he says, his face impassive. “I’ll escort you to the lobby.”
He holds out his hand. Leaning down, I grab my purse and place my hand in his. Holy
crap, this could be it. I follow him meekly down the grand stairs and into the lobby, my scalp prickling, my blood pumping. This could be the last goodbye if I decide to say no.
My heart contracts painfully in my chest. What a turnaround. What a difference a moment of clarity can make to a girl.
“Do you have your valet ticket?”
I fish into my clutch purse and hand him the ticket, which he gives to the doorman. I peek up at him as we stand waiting.
“Thank you for dinner,” I murmur.
“It’s a pleasure as always, Miss Steele,” he says politely, though he looks deep in thought, completely distracted.
As I peer up at him, I commit his beautiful profile to memory. The idea that I might not see him again haunts me, unwelcome and too painful to contemplate. He turns suddenly, staring down at me, his expression intense.
“You’re moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?” He sounds hesitant.
“We’ll see. Maybe,” I breathe. Momentarily, he looks relieved, and then he frowns.
“It’s cooler now, don’t you have a jacket?”
“No.”
He shakes his head in irritation and takes off his jacket.
“Here. I don’t want you catching cold.”
I blink up at him as he holds it open, and as I hold my arms out behind me, I’m reminded of the time in his office when he slipped my coat onto my shoulders – the first time I met him – and the effect he had on me then. Nothing’s changed, in fact, it’s more intense.
His jacket is warm, far too big, and it smells of him. Oh my… delicious.
My car pulls up outside. Christian’s mouth drops open.
“That’s what you drive?” He’s appalled. Taking my hand, he leads me outside. The valet jumps out and hands me my keys, and Christian coolly palms him some money.
“Is this roadworthy?” He’s glaring at me now.
“Yes.”
“Will it make it to Seattle?”
“Yes. She will.”
“Safely?”
“Yes,” I snap, exasperated. “Okay she’s old. But she’s mine, and she’s roadworthy.
My stepdad bought it for me.”
“Oh, Anastasia, I think we can do better than this.”
“What do you mean?” Realization dawns. “You are not buying me a car.”
He glowers at me, his jaw tense.
“We’ll see,” he says tightly.
He grimaces as he opens the driver’s door and helps me in. I take my shoes off and roll down the window. He’s gazing at me, his expression unfathomable, eyes dark.
“Drive safely,” he says quietly.
“Goodbye, Christian.” My voice is hoarse from unbidden, unshed tears – jeez I’m not
going to cry. I give him a small smile.
As I drive away, my chest constricts, my tears start to fall, and I choke back a sob.
Soon tears are streaming down my face, and I really don’t understand why I’m crying. I was holding my own. He explained everything. He was clear. He wants me, but the truth is, I need more. I need him to want me like I want and need him, and deep down I know that’s not possible. I am just overwhelmed.
I don’t even know how to categorize him. If I do this thing… will he be my boyfriend?
Will I be able to introduce him to my friends? Go out to bars, the cinema, bowling even, with him? The truth is, I don’t think I will. He won’t let me touch him and he won’t let me sleep with him. I know I’ve not had these things in my past, but I want them in my future.
And that’s not the future he envisages.
What if I do say yes, and in three months’ time he says no, he’s had enough of trying to mold me into something I’m not. How will I feel? I’ll have emotionally invested three months, doing things that I’m not sure I want to do. And if he then says no, agreement over, how could I cope with that level of rejection? Perhaps it’s best to back away now with what self-esteem I have reasonably intact.
But the thought of not seeing him again is agonizing. How has he gotten under my skin so quickly? It can’t just be the sex… can it? I dash the tears from my eyes. I don’t want to examine my feelings for him. I’m frightened what I’ll uncover if I do. What am
I going to do?
I park up outside our duplex. No lights on. Kate must be out. I’m relieved. I don’t want her to catch me crying again. As I undress, I wake up the mean machine and sitting in my inbox is a message from Christian.
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.
His email makes me weep more. I am not a merger. I am not an acquisition. Reading this, I might as well be. I don’t reply. I just don’t know what to say to him. I fumble into my PJs, and wrapping his jacket around me. I climb into bed. As I lie staring into the darkness, I think of all the times he warned me to stay away.
‘Anastasia, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you.’
‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing.’
‘I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of guy.’
‘I don’t make love.’‘This is all I know.’
And as I weep into my pillow silently, it’s this last idea I cling to. This is all I know, too.
Perhaps together we can chart a new course.
Christian is standing over me grasping a plaited, leather riding-crop. He’s wearing old, faded, ripped Levis and that’s all. He flicks the crop slowly into his palm as he gazes down at me. He’s smiling, triumphant. I cannot move. I am naked and shackled, spread-eagled on a large four-poster bed. Reaching forward, he trails the tip of the crop from my forehead down the length of my nose, so I can smell the leather, and over my parted, panting lips.
He pushes the tip into my mouth so I can taste the smooth, rich leather.
“Suck,” he commands his voice soft. My mouth closes over the tip as I obey.
“Enough,” he snaps.
I’m panting once more as he tugs the crop out of my mouth, trails it down and under my chin, on down my neck to the hollow at the base of my throat. He swirls it slowly there and then continues to drag the tip down my body, along my sternum, between my breasts, over my torso down to my navel. I’m panting, squirming, pulling against my restraints that are biting into my wrists and my ankles. He swirls the tip around my navel then continues to trail the leather tip south, through my pubic hair to my clitoris. He flicks the crop and it hits my sweet spot with a sharp slap, and I come, gloriously, shouting my release.
Abruptly, I wake, gasping for breath, covered in sweat and feeling the aftershocks of my orgasm. Holy hell. I’m completely disorientated. What the hell just happened? I’m in my bedroom alone. How? Why? I sit bolt upright, shocked… wow. It’s morning. I glance at my alarm clock – eight o’clock. I put my head in my hands. I didn’t know I could dream sex. Was it something I ate? Perhaps the oysters and my Internet research manifesting itself in my first wet dream. It’s bewildering. I had no idea that I could orgasm in my sleep.
Kate is skipping around the kitchen when I stagger in.
“Ana, are you okay? You look odd. Is that Christian’s jacket you’re wearing?”
“I’m fine.” Damn, should have checked in the mirror. I avoid her piercing green eyes.
I’m still reeling from my morning’s event. “Yes, this is Christian’s jacket.”
She frowns.
“Did you sleep?”
“Not very well.”
I head for the kettle. I need tea.
“How was dinner?”
So it begins.
“We had oysters. Followed by cod, so I’d say it was fishy.”
“Ugh… I hate oysters, and I don’t want to know about the food. How was Christian?
What did you talk about?”
“He was attentive,” I pause.
What can I say? His HIV status is clear, he’s heavily into role-play, wants me to obey his every command, he hurt someone he tied to his bedroom ceiling, and he wanted to fuck me in the private dining room. Would that be a good summary? I try desperately to remember something from my encounter with Christian that I can discuss with Kate.
“He doesn’t approve of Wanda.”
“Who does, Ana? That’s old news. Why are you being so coy? Give it up, girlfriend.”
“Oh, Kate, we talked about lots things. You know – how fussy he is about food. Incidentally, he liked your dress.” The kettle has boiled, so I make myself some tea. “Do you want tea? Would you like me to hear your speech for today?”
“Yes, please. I worked on it last night over at Lilah’s. I’ll go fetch it. And yes, I’d love some tea.” Kate races out of the kitchen.
Phew, Katherine Kavanagh sidetracked. I slice a bagel and pop it into the toaster. I flush remembering my very vivid dream. What on earth was that about?
Last night I found it hard to sleep. My head was buzzing with various options. I am so confused. Christian’s idea of a relationship is more like a job offer. It has set hours, a job description, and a rather harsh grievance procedure. It’s not how I envisaged my first romance – but, of course, Christian doesn’t do romance. If I tell him I want more, he may say no… and I could jeopardize what he has offered. And this is what concerns me most, because I don’t want to lose him. But I’m not sure I have the stomach to be his submissive
– deep down, it’s the canes and whips that put me off. I’m a physical coward, and I will go a long way to avoid pain. I think of my dream… is that what it would be like? My inner goddess jumps up and down with cheerleading pom-poms shouting yes at me.
Kate comes back into the kitchen with her laptop. I concentrate on my bagel and listen patiently as she runs through her Valedictorian speech.
I am dressed and ready when Ray arrives. I open the front door, and he’s standing on the porch in his ill-fitting suit. A warm surge of gratitude and love for this uncomplicated man streaks through me, and I throw my arms around him in an uncharacteristic display of affection. He’s taken-aback, bemused.
“Hey, Annie, I’m pleased to see you too,” he mutters as he hugs me. Setting me back, his hands on my shoulders, he looks me up and down, his brow furrowed. “You okay, kid?”
“Of course, Dad, can’t a girl be pleased to see her old man?”
He smiles, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners, and follows me into the living area.
“You look good,” he says.
“This is Kate’s dress.” I glance down at the grey chiffon halter neck dress.
He frowns.
“Where is Kate?”
“She’s gone to campus. She’s giving a speech, so she has to be early.”
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