Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian (12 page)

I go for it. I need to possess her.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Miss Steele. Hard.”

One thrust and I’m inside her.

F. U. C. K.

She’s so fucking tight. She cries out.

Shit!
I’ve hurt her. I want to move, to lose myself in her, and it takes all my restraint to stop. “You’re so tight. You okay?” I ask, my voice a hoarse, anxious whisper, and she nods, eyes wider. She’s like heaven on earth, so tight around me. And even though her hands are on my forearms, I don’t care. The darkness is slumbering, perhaps because I’ve wanted her for so long. I’ve never felt this desire, this…
hunger
before
.
It’s a new feeling, new and shiny. I want so much from her: her trust, her obedience, her submission. I want her to be mine, but right now…I’m hers.

“I’m going to move, baby.” My voice is strained as I ease back slowly. It’s such an extraordinary, exquisite feeling: her body cradling my cock. I push into her again and claim her, knowing no one has before. She whimpers.

I stop. “More?”

“Yes,” she breathes, after a moment.

This time I thrust into her more deeply.

“Again?” I plead, as sweat beads on my body.

“Yes.”

Her trust in me—it’s suddenly overwhelming, and I start to move, really move. I want her to come. I will not stop until she comes. I want to own this woman, body and soul. I want her clenching around me.

Fuck
—she starts meeting every thrust, matching my rhythm.
See how well we fit together, Ana?
I grasp her head, holding her in place while I claim her body and kiss her hard, claiming her mouth. She stiffens beneath me…
fuck yes.
Her orgasm is close.

“Come for me, Ana,” I demand, and she cries out as she’s consumed, tipping her head back, her mouth open, her eyes closed…and just the sight of her ecstasy is enough. I explode in her, losing all sense and reason, as I call out her name and come violently inside her.

When I open my eyes I’m panting, trying to catch my breath, and we’re forehead to forehead and she’s staring up at me.

Fuck.
I’m undone.

I plant a swift kiss on her forehead and pull out of her and lie down beside her.

She winces as I withdraw, but other than that she looks okay.

“Did I hurt you?” I ask, and I tuck her hair behind her ear, because I don’t want to stop touching her.

Ana beams with incredulity. “You are asking me if you hurt me?”

And for a moment I don’t know why she’s grinning.

Oh. My playroom.

“The irony is not lost on me,” I mutter. Even now she confounds me. “Seriously, are you okay?”

She stretches out beside me, testing her body and teasing me with an amused but sated expression.

“You haven’t answered me,” I growl. I need to know if she found that enjoyable. All the evidence points to a “yes”—but I need to hear it from her. While I’m waiting for her reply I remove the condom. Lord, I hate these things. I discard it discreetly on the floor.

She peers up at me. “I’d like to do that again,” she says with a shy giggle.

What?

Again?

Already?

“Would you now, Miss Steele?” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you? Turn on your front.”

That way I know you won’t touch me.

She gives me a brief sweet smile, then rolls onto her stomach. My cock stirs with approval. I unhook her bra and run my hand down her back to her pert behind. “You really have the most beautiful skin,” I say, as I brush her hair off her face and push her legs apart. Gently I plant soft kisses on her shoulder.

“Why are you wearing your shirt?” she asks.

She’s so damn inquisitive. While she’s on her front I know she can’t touch me, so I lean back and pull my shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor. Fully naked, I lie on top of her. Her skin is warm, and melts against mine.

Hmm…I could get used to this.

“So you want me to fuck you again?” I whisper in her ear, kissing her. She squirms deliciously against me.

Oh, this will never do. Keep still, baby.

I skim my hand down her body to the back of her knee, then hitch it up high, parting her legs wide so that she’s spread beneath me. Her breath catches and I hope it’s with anticipation. She stills beneath me.

Finally!

I palm her ass as I ease my weight onto her. “I’m going to take you from behind, Anastasia.” With my other hand I grab her hair at the nape and tug gently, holding her in place. She cannot move. Her hands are helpless and splayed against the sheets, out of harm’s way.

“You are mine,” I whisper. “Only mine. Don’t forget it.”

With my free hand I move from her ass to her clitoris and begin circling slowly.

Her muscles flex beneath me as she tries to move, but my weight keeps her in place. I run my teeth along her jawline. Her sweet fragrance lingers over the scent of our coupling. “You smell divine,” I whisper, as I nuzzle behind her ear.

She starts to circle her hips against my moving hand.

“Keep still,” I warn.

Or I might stop…

Slowly I insert my thumb inside her and circle it around and around, taking particular care to stroke the front wall of her vagina.

She groans and tenses beneath me, trying to move again.

“You like this?” I tease, and my teeth trace her outer ear. I don’t stop my fingers from tormenting her clitoris, but I begin to ease my thumb in and out of her. She stiffens, but can’t move.

She groans loudly, her eyes scrunched up tight.

“You’re so wet, so quickly. So responsive. Oh, Anastasia, I like that. I like that a lot.”

Right. Let’s see how far you’ll go.

I withdraw my thumb from her vagina. “Open your mouth,” I order, and when she does I thrust my thumb between her lips. “See how you taste. Suck me, baby.”

She sucks my thumb…hard.

Fuck.

And for a moment I imagine it’s my cock in her mouth.

“I want to fuck your mouth, Anastasia, and I will soon.” I’m breathless.

She closes her teeth around me, biting me hard.

Ow! Fuck.

I grip her hair tightly and she loosens her mouth. “Naughty, sweet girl.” My mind flits through a number of punishments worthy of such a bold move that, if she were my submissive, I could inflict on her. My cock expands to bursting at the thought. I release her and sit back on my knees.

“Stay still, don’t move.” I grab another condom from my bedside table, rip open the foil, and roll the latex over my erection.

Watching her, I see that she’s still, except for the rise and fall of her back as she pants in anticipation.

She’s gorgeous.

Leaning over her again, I grasp her hair and hold her so she can’t move her head.

“We’re going to go real slow this time, Anastasia.”

She gasps, and gently I ease into her until I can go no farther.

Fuck.
She feels good.

As I ease out I circle my hips and slowly slip into her again. She whimpers and her limbs tense beneath me as she tries to move.

Oh no, baby.

I want you still.

I want you to feel this.

Take all the pleasure.

“You feel so good,” I tell her, and repeat the move again, circling my hips as I go. Slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Her insides start to tremble.

“Oh no, baby, not yet.”

No way am I letting you come.

Not when I’m enjoying this so much.

“Oh, please,” she cries.

“I want you sore, baby.” I pull out and sink into her again.
“Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine.”

“Please, Christian,” she begs.

“What do you want, Anastasia? Tell me.” I continue the slow torture. “Tell me.”

“You, please.” She’s desperate.

She wants me.

Good girl.

I increase the pace and her insides begin to quiver, responding immediately.

Between each thrust I utter one word. “You. Are. So. Sweet. I. Want. You. So. Much. You. Are. Mine.” Her limbs tremble with the strain of keeping still. She’s on the edge. “Come for me, baby,” I growl.

And on command she shudders around me as her orgasm rips through her and she screams my name into the mattress.

My name on her lips is my undoing, and I climax and collapse on top of her.

“Fuck. Ana,” I whisper, drained yet elated. I pull out of her almost immediately and roll onto my back. She curls up at my side, and as I pull off the condom, she closes her eyes and falls asleep.

SUNDAY, MAY 22, 2011

I wake with a start and a pervading sense of guilt, as if I’ve committed a terrible sin.

Is it because I’ve fucked Anastasia Steele? Virgin?

She’s snuggled up fast asleep beside me. I check the radio alarm: it’s after three in the morning. Ana sleeps the sound sleep of an innocent. Well, not so innocent now. My body stirs as I watch her.

I could wake her.

Fuck her again.

There are definitely some advantages to having her in my bed.

Grey. Stop this nonsense.

Fucking her was merely a means to an end and a pleasant diversion.

Yes. Very pleasant.

More like incredible.

It was just sex, for fuck’s sake.

I close my eyes in what will probably be a futile attempt to sleep. But the room is too full of Ana: her scent, the sound of her soft breathing, and the memory of my first vanilla fuck. Visions of her head thrown back in passion, of her crying out a barely recognizable version of my name, and her unbridled enthusiasm for sexual congress overwhelm me.

Miss Steele is a carnal creature.

She will be a joy to train.

My cock twitches in agreement.

Shit.

I can’t sleep, though tonight it’s not nightmares that keep me awake, it’s little Miss Steele. Climbing out of bed, I collect the used condoms from the floor, knot them, and dispose of them in
the wastepaper basket. From the chest of drawers I pull out a pair of PJ pants and drag them on. With a lingering look at the enticing woman in my bed, I venture into the kitchen. I’m thirsty.

Once I’ve had a glass of water, I do what I always do when I can’t sleep—I check my e-mail in my study. Taylor has returned and is asking if he can stand
Charlie Tango
down. Stephan must be asleep upstairs. I e-mail him back with a “yes,” though at this time of night it’s a given.

Back in the living room I sit down at my piano. This is my solace, where I can lose myself for hours. I’ve been able to play well since I was nine, but it wasn’t until I had my own piano, in my own place, that it really became a passion. When I want to forget everything, this is what I do. And right now I don’t want to think about having propositioned a virgin, fucked her, or revealed my lifestyle to someone with no experience. With my hands on the keys, I begin to play and lose myself in the solitude of Bach.

A movement distracts me from the music, and when I look up Ana’s standing by the piano. Wrapped in a comforter, her hair wild and curling down her back, eyes luminous, she looks stunning.

“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Why is she apologizing? “Surely, I should be saying that to you.” I play the last notes and stand. “You should be in bed,” I chide.

“That was a beautiful piece. Bach?”

“Transcription by Bach, but it’s originally an oboe concerto by Alessandro Marcello.”

“It was exquisite, but very sad, such a melancholy melody.”

Melancholy?
It wouldn’t be the first time someone has used that word to describe me.

“May I speak freely? Sir.” Leila is kneeling beside me while I work.

“You may.”

“Sir, you are most melancholy today.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, Sir. Is there something that you would like me to do…?”

I shake off the memory. Ana should be in bed. I tell her so again.

“I woke and you weren’t there.”

“I find it difficult to sleep, and I’m not used to sleeping with anyone.” I’ve told her this—and why am I justifying myself? I wrap my arm around her naked shoulders, enjoying the feel of her skin, and guide her back to the bedroom.

“How long have you been playing? You play beautifully.”

“Since I was six.” I’m abrupt.

“Oh,” she says. I think she’s taken the hint—I don’t want to talk about my childhood.

“How are you feeling?” I ask as I switch on the bedside light.

“I’m good.”

There’s blood on my sheets. Her blood. Evidence of her now-absent virginity. Her eyes dart from the stains to me and she looks away, embarrassed.

“Well, that’s going to give Mrs. Jones something to think about.”

She looks mortified.

It’s just your body, sweetheart.
I grasp her chin and tip her head back so I can see her expression. I’m about to give her a short lecture on how not to be ashamed of her body, when she reaches out to touch my chest.

Fuck.

I step out of her reach as the darkness surfaces.

No. Don’t touch me.

“Get into bed,” I order, rather more sharply than I’d intended, but I hope she doesn’t detect my fear. Her eyes widen with confusion and maybe hurt.

Damn.

“I’ll come and lie down with you,” I add, as a peace offering, and from the chest of drawers I pull out a T-shirt and quickly slip it on, for protection.

She’s still standing, staring at me. “Bed,” I command more forcefully. She scrambles into my bed and lies down and I climb in behind her, folding her in my arms. I bury my face in her hair and inhale her sweet scent: autumn and apple trees. Facing away,
she can’t touch me, and while I lie there I resolve to spoon with her until she’s asleep. Then I’ll get up and do some work.

“Sleep, sweet Anastasia.” I kiss her hair and close my eyes. Her scent fills my nostrils, reminding me of a happy time and leaving me replete…content, even…

Mommy is happy today. She is singing.

Singing about what love has to do with it.

And cooking. And singing.

My tummy gurgles. She is cooking bacon and waffles.

They smell good. My tummy likes bacon and waffles.

They smell so good.

Opening my eyes, light is flooding through the windows and there’s a mouthwatering aroma coming from the kitchen. Bacon. Momentarily I’m confused. Is Gail back from her sister’s?

Then I remember.

Ana.

A look at the clock tells me it’s late. I bounce out of bed and follow my nose to the kitchen.

There’s Ana. She’s wearing my shirt, her hair in braids, dancing around to some music. Only I can’t hear it. She’s wearing earbuds. Unobserved, I take a seat at the kitchen counter and watch the show. She’s whisking eggs, making breakfast, her braids bouncing as she jiggles from foot to foot, and I realize she’s not wearing underwear.

Good girl.

She has to be one of the most uncoordinated females I’ve ever seen. It’s amusing, charming, and strangely arousing at the same time; I think of all the ways I can improve her coordination. When she turns and spots me, she freezes.

“Good morning, Miss Steele. You’re very…energetic this morning.” She looks even younger in her braids.

“I-I slept well,” she stammers.

“I can’t imagine why,” I quip, admitting to myself that I did, too. It’s after nine. When did I last sleep past 6:30?

Yesterday.

After I’d slept with her.

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

“Very.” And I’m not sure if it’s for breakfast or for her.

“Pancakes, bacon, and eggs?” she says.

“Sounds great.”

“I don’t know where you keep your placemats,” she says, seeming at a loss, and I think she’s embarrassed, because I caught her dancing. Taking pity on her, I offer to set places for breakfast and add, “Would you like me to put some music on so you can continue your…er…dancing?”

Her cheeks pink and she looks down at the floor.

Damn.
I’ve upset her. “Please, don’t stop on my account. It’s very entertaining.”

With a pout she turns her back on me and continues to whisk the eggs with gusto. I wonder if she has any idea how disrespectful this is to someone like me…but of course she doesn’t, and for some unfathomable reason it makes me smile. Sidling up to her, I gently tug one of her braids. “I love these. They won’t protect you.”

Not from me. Not now that I’ve had you.

“How would you like your eggs?” Her tone is unexpectedly haughty. And I want to laugh out loud, but I resist.

“Thoroughly whisked and beaten,” I reply, trying and failing to sound deadpan. She attempts to hide her amusement, too, and continues her task.

Her smile is bewitching.

Hastily, I set up the placemats, wondering when I last did this for someone else.

Never.

Normally over the weekend my submissive would take care of all domestic tasks.

Not today, Grey, because she’s not your submissive…yet.

I pour us both orange juice and put the coffee on. She doesn’t drink coffee, only tea. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please. If you have some.”

In the cupboard I find the Twinings teabags I’d asked Gail to buy.

Well, well, who would have thought I’d ever get to use them?

She frowns when she sees them. “Bit of a foregone conclusion, wasn’t I?”

“Are you? I’m not sure we’ve concluded anything yet, Miss Steele,” I answer with a stern look.

And don’t talk about yourself like that.

I add her self-deprecation to the list of behaviors that will need modifying.

She avoids my gaze, busy with serving up breakfast. Two plates are placed on the placemats, then she fetches the maple syrup out of the fridge.

When she looks up at me I’m waiting for her to sit down. “Miss Steele.” I indicate where she should sit.

“Mr. Grey,” she replies, with contrived formality, and winces as she sits.

“Just how sore are you?” I’m surprised by an uneasy sense of guilt. I want to fuck her again, preferably after breakfast, but if she’s too sore that will be out of the question. Perhaps I could use her mouth this time.

The color in her face rises. “Well, to be truthful, I have nothing to compare this to,” she says tartly. “Did you wish to offer your commiserations?” Her sarcastic tone takes me by surprise. If she were mine, it would earn her a spanking at least, maybe over the kitchen counter.

“No. I wondered if we should continue your basic training.”

“Oh.” She startles.

Yes, Ana, we can have sex during the day, too. And I’d like to fill that smart mouth of yours.

I take a bite of my breakfast and close my eyes in appreciation. It tastes mighty fine. When I swallow she’s still staring at me. “Eat, Anastasia,” I order. “This is delicious, incidentally.”

She can cook, and well.

Ana takes one bite of her food, then pushes her breakfast
around on her plate. I ask her to stop biting her lip. “It’s very distracting, and I happen to know you’re not wearing anything under my shirt.”

She fidgets with her teabag and the teapot, ignoring my irritation. “What sort of basic training did you have in mind?” she asks.

She’s ever-curious—let’s see how far she’ll go.

“Well, as you’re sore, I thought we could stick to oral skills.”

She splutters into her teacup.

Hell.
I don’t want to choke the girl. Gently, I pat her on the back and hand her a glass of orange juice. “That’s if you want to stay.” I shouldn’t push my luck.

“I’d like to stay for today. If that’s okay. I have to work tomorrow.”

“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”

“Nine.”

“I’ll get you to work by nine tomorrow.”

What? I want her to stay?

It’s a surprise to me.

Yes, I want her to stay.

“I’ll need to go home tonight—I need clean clothes.”

“We can get you some here.”

She flips her hair and gnaws nervously at her lip…again.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I need to be home this evening.”

Boy, she’s stubborn. I don’t want her to go, but at this stage, with no agreement, I can’t insist that she stay. “Okay, this evening. Now eat your breakfast.”

She examines her food.

“Eat, Anastasia. You didn’t eat last night.”

“I’m really not hungry,” she says.

Well, this is frustrating. “I would really like you to finish your breakfast.” My voice is low.

“What is it with you and food?” she snaps.

Oh, baby, you really don’t want to know.
“I told you, I have
issues with wasted food. Eat.” I glare at her.
Don’t push me on this, Ana.
She gives me a mulish look and starts to eat.

As I watch her place a forkful of eggs in her mouth, I relax. She’s quite challenging in her own way. And it’s unique. I’ve never dealt with this.
Yes.
That’s it. She’s a novelty. That’s the fascination…isn’t it?

When she finishes her food I take her plate.

“You cooked, I’ll clear.”

“That’s very democratic,” she says, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes. Not my usual style. After I’ve done this, we’ll take a bath.”

And I can test her oral skills. I take a swift breath to control my instant arousal at the thought.

Hell.

Her phone rings and she wanders to the end of the room, deep in conversation. I pause by the sink and watch her. As she stands against the glass wall, the morning light silhouettes her body in my white shirt. My mouth dries. She’s slim, with long legs, perfect breasts, and a perfect ass.

Still on her call, she turns toward me and I pretend my attention is elsewhere. For some reason I don’t want her to catch me ogling.

Who is it on the phone?

I hear Kavanagh’s name mentioned and I tense.
What is she saying?
Our eyes lock.

What are you saying, Ana?

She turns away and a moment later hangs up, then walks back toward me, her hips swaying in a soft, seductive rhythm beneath my shirt.
Should I tell her what I can see?

“The NDA, does it cover everything?” she asks, halting me in my tracks as I shut the pantry cupboard.

“Why?”
Where’s she going with this? What has she said to Kavanagh?

She takes a deep breath. “Well, I have a few questions, you know, about sex. And I’d like to ask Kate.”

“You can ask me.”

“Christian, with all due respect—” She stops.

She’s embarrassed?

“It’s just about mechanics. I won’t mention the Red Room of Pain,” she says in a rush.