CHAPTER XIX ← Christian and Anastasia FanFiction

OH, WHAT TANGLED WEBS WE WEAVE

CHAPTER XIX

She glares back at me. Mia breaks our glare with a question.

“Where did you meet Ana?” she asks.

“She interviewed me for the WSU student magazine,” I reply.

“Which Kate edits,” Anastasia adds. Mia beams at Kate who is seated opposite to Elliot and the conversation goes in the direction of the student magazine.

“Wine, Ana?” asks my dad.

“Yes, please,” she answers smiling. My dad fills the rest of the glasses. Anastasia peeks up at me as I turn to look at her, my head cocked to one side. I’m still irritated with the earlier revelation.

“What?” I ask.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” she whispers.

“I’m not mad at you,” I say, but that’s not true. I’m mad. Boiling...mad.

She knows it, and she stares at me. She reads me well. I sigh.

“Yes, I am mad at you.” I close my eyes briefly to calm my anger down.

“Palm-twitchingly mad?” she asks nervously in a whispering voice.

“What are you two whispering about?” Kate the ball-crusher asks, sticking her little nose into where it doesn’t belong. Anastasia flushes and I glare at her to butt hell out of our business. I’m minding my own business like she should be doing.

“Just about my trip to Georgia,” Anastasia answers her sweetly trying to diffuse the tension building between us. Kate smiles, and some wicked thought is crossing her mind. I wonder what the little witch is up to.

“How was Jose when you went to the bar with him on Friday?”

What the fuck? She went out with the photographer when she’s going out with me? Am I being double crossed? I don’t go out with anyone else, why is she going out with the photographer knowing how I feel about it? Knowing how jealous I get of that fucker... How could she do that to me? How much more can I handle tonight? Is she going to give me a heart attack, and send me to my early grave? I am palm twitchingly mad! To think that I have to learn this bit of information from the ball-crusher herself, and not from Anastasia! Fuck! My anger is like an overpressured pot. I'm going to explode if I don't let out some steam!

“He was fine,” Anastasia murmurs which confirms my suspicions.  She did go out with him! I lean over to her, and whisper, “Palm-twitchingly mad,” I say with barely contained volcano of emotions. “Especially now,” I say in a tone quiet and deadly. She squirms in her seat.

My mother reappears carrying two plates with Gretchen trailing behind her with trays. The phone rings, and my father excuses himself to answer the phone. My mother asks Gretchen to leave the tray on the console. Meanwhile Anastasia eyes the help with inquisitive and jealous eyes. Then she scowls and finally looks at her hands in her lap. My father returns back to the dining room.

“Call for you, darling. It’s the hospital,” he says to my mom.

“Please start everyone,” my mother invites the guests and smiles as she exists the room. Anastasia furrows her brows but she has an appetite this evening most likely caused by this afternoon’s sexual activities she’s done with me.

My mother returns a few minutes later, and my father asks if everything okay to which my mother responds sighing, “another measles case.”

“Oh no,” is my father’s response.

“Yes, a child. The fourth case this month. If only people would get their kids vaccinated,” she says shaking her head sadly, adding, “I’m so glad our children never went through that. They never caught anything worse than chicken pox, thank goodness. Poor Elliot,” she says as she sits down smiling at my brother. Elliot frowns for being put on the spot, squirms uncomfortably. “Christian and Mia were lucky. They got it so mildly, only a spot to share between them,” to which Mia giggles, and I roll my eyes. Elliot wants to move on away from the current topic.

“So, did you catch the Mariners game Dad?” he asks, and the subject is changed. I glance at Anastasia and she’s eating heartily which pleases me. Elliot, my father and I change the subject to basketball. We like talking of sports and current events.

“How are you settling in your new apartment dear?” my mother asks Anastasia politely bringing her out of her thoughts. She talks about their move, and how she and Kate have been grateful to Elliot for his help. Just then Gretchen enters into the dining room and clearing the table. She brushes me as she passes, and I notice Anastasia narrows her eyes on her automatically. Meanwhile Kate and Mia are gushing about Paris.

“Have you been to Paris, Ana?” Mia asks Anastasia bringing her out of her silent thoughts.

“No, but I’d love to go,” she responds to Mia.

“We honeymooned in Paris,” says my mother smiling lovingly at my father who grins back at her. They look so in love with each other still.

“It’s a beautiful city,” Mia agrees with them, adding, “in spite of the Parisians. Christian, you should take Ana to Paris,” Mia says firmly. (←La Vie en rose by Louis Armstrong)

“I think Anastasia would prefer London,” I respond softly to her statement. I remember her telling me how much she wanted to see where her favorite authors are from. I have a hard time not touching this beauty next to me; then I get this overwhelming desire to touch and love her. Especially when I know very well that she has nothing underneath that dress. I place my hand on her thigh. Her whole body tightens in response. She flushes and shifts in her chair, and she tries to pull away from me! I don’t want her to refuse me. Is it because of the photographer? Does she desire him instead of me? Is that why she's gone out with him? My hand clamps down on her thigh, stilling her. She’s bewildered, reaches for her wine, in desperation. I want what is mine, wherever I am. She is mine!

Gretchen comes in with the entrée: a beef Wellington. We’re served, and as she’s serving my plate, Anastasia gives this venomous look at her. I look at Anastasia quizzically not quite understanding her reaction to the help. If she likes me, and gets jealous of me, why deny me what is mine?

“So what was wrong with the Parisians?” Elliot asks Mia.

“Didn’t they take to your winsome ways?” he probes smiling.

“Ugh, no they didn’t!” gushes Mia. I wonder why? Could it be her forceful nature, or her less than discreet mouth? “And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant,” she says to which Anastasia responds by spluttering into her wine. She’s possibly thinking of me, but I don’t want her to choke.

“Anastasia, are you okay?” I ask solicitously, taking my hand off her thigh for the moment. It’s actually too funny to see her respond like that to Mia’s comment. I am in her mind then! She nods, and I pat her back gently until I know she’s recovered. Knowing that Anastasia is eating heartily this evening and this pleases me immensely. I have never seen her eat so well. It gives me joy that she’s not starving herself.

Elliot teases me about me watching Anastasia eat, and I disregard him with a joke; he can’t get me out of my good humor seeing my woman eat. Next the desert is served, and it is lemon syllabub. Mia starts talking about her exploits in Paris. Then she starts talking about how beautiful Paris is.

“Paris est fière de son histoire, Paris est merveilleuse à la tombée du jour. Grâce aux nombreux adjectifs épicènes, bien souvent, on n'a pas à se poser la question: Paris est agréable la nuit, insupportable en été, magifique à l'aube.”

Everyone turns to her and stare at Mia as if she just lapsed into Latin. Well, close... She lapsed into French and she doesn’t even realize it. She tells us that Paris is proud of its history, and looks marvelous in the dusk, it’s nice at night, unbearable in summer, and magnificent at dawn. Of course, no one at the table besides myself and Mia herself understands what she just said. We’re only ones in the family who speaks French.

“quoi?” she asks, confused, after seeing my smile. I smile broader and answer her question of ‘what?’.

“Rien… “ I say, ‘nothing’ while unable to contain myself and start laughing hard.

“Qu'est-ce qui te fait rire Christian?” she says, asking me why I’m laughing, completely confused. I laugh even harder, while the entire dinner table is staring at us.

“Pourquoi tout le monde me regarde?“ she says asking why is everyone staring at her. I laugh even harder when she still doesn’t even realize we’ve been conversing in French. She stares at me completely puzzled.

“Ils te regardent,” I say, trying to tell her that they are staring at her, while trying to contain my amusement,”eh bien…parce que tu parles en français… Nous parlons en Français... en ce moment même.” I answer her. between fits of laugher. I haven't laughed this hard in a long time. “Because,” I tell her, “you’re speaking French, actually both of us are at the moment.” She blushes, and then starts laughing with the rest of us.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even realize I was doing that!” she responds.

Elliot talks about his latest building project, a new eco-friendly community in the north of Seattle. His girlfriend Kate looks completely enamored with him, she is glowing with a mixture of love and lust for him. At least she won’t be crushing his balls... not in a bad way anyway. He turns and grins down at Kate, and a passionate wordless exchange passes through them. I notice Anastasia flushes in embarrassment. She sighs, and peaks up at me. Damn it! She flushes and tightens her legs I notice as her ankle hits mine while she’s trying to suppress her rising passion. Then in goes that bottom lip between her teeth.

I peer down at her, and raise my hand to pull at her chin.

“Don’t bite your lip,” I murmur huskily. “I want to do that.” (← When I need you by Julio Iglesias)

My mother and sister clear our desert glasses and make their way to the kitchen while my father, Katherine the ball-crusher, and Elliot discuss the merits of solar panels in the State of Washington. I participate in their conversation while put my hand on Anastasia’s knee. My fingers start traveling up her thigh. Anastasia’s breath hitches, and she presses her thighs together to stop my hand traveling up on her thigh. Oh, baby, this is the second time you denied me in the course of the dinner. I’m brimming with sexual desire, and angry, and jealous of the fucking photographer. My already pent-up sexual energy is frustrating me, and she’s just denied me by closing her legs! She can’t just deny me what’s already mine! I give her a smirk. This is not going to help me calm down, and if I was palm twitchingly mad before, I am exploding right now, and nothing but punishing and fucking her will subdue the feeling. I'm torn between strange emotions.

In one hand, no one ever has denied me before! Ever! This is the first time, anyone closed her legs to me! It’s both extremely hot, and beyond frustrating. She’s just torturing me by biting that lip... I can’t take it. I have to touch her! I have to know her sacred grounds are mine. Her body language says she desires me. Then why is she not yielding to me?  I have to get her out of here, fuck her, punish her, and calm my inner monster down.

“Anastasia, shall I give you a tour of the grounds?” I ask her openly, so others don’t go around chasing us. Knowing her, she just might say, ‘no’ to me again, so I move to my feet to be one step ahead of her. I extend my hand for her which she receives and puts her small hand and I clench it. As soon as we touch, our connection is established, and I feel this demanding pull to her again. Our gazes lock, and there is immense desire in mine, hungry, and yearning.

Anastasia turns around says, “Excuse me” to my dad, and follow me out of the dining room.

I lead her through the hallway and into the kitchen where Mia and my mother are loading the dishwasher up.

“I’m going to show Anastasia the backyard,” I say to my mother innocently, as if I’m going to acquaint her with the property. That’s something a boyfriend who is bringing his girlfriend to his parents’ home for the first time can do. It’s an innocent act. My mother waves at us as Mia heads back to the dining room.

We step out onto the gray flagstone patio lit by recessed lighting. There are shrubs in stone pots and a small elegant metal table with chairs is set up in one corner. We past these, and step into the vast lawn that leads down to the bay. The city of Seattle is in the horizon, twinkling in bright lights. Two boats are moored in the boathouse, and the silver moon is in the background over the water. Ordinarily I would pay attention to the scenery, but my mind is far removed from the surrounding. I’m more occupied with what I want to do to Miss Steele.

I am pulling Anastasia behind me, and her high heels are digging and sinking into the soft grass. She’s having a hard time following me.

“Stop, please,” she begs as she stumbles. I stop with her pleas. I gaze at her. I have my passive face on, I am anything but. Right now, I want to fuck her seven shades of Sunday right after I delivered her a good dose of spanking!

“My heels. I need to take my shoes off,” she says.

“Don’t bother,” I say, and bend down and scoop her over my shoulder. She squeals loudly with shocked surprise, and I give her a very hard slap on her behind.

“Keep your voice down,” I growl. Right now, I’m beyond angry with her, and I’m in the moment to deliver her punishment.

“Where are we going?” she breathes.

“Boathouse,” I snap a response.

She is hanging onto my hips because she’s upside down, and I aim to get her up the second floor of the boathouse and give her what for.

“Why?” she asks.  

“I need to be alone with you,” I respond.

“What for?” she asks like a particularly annoying two year old.

“Because I’m going to spank and then fuck you.”

“Why?” she whimpers softly.

“You know why,” I hiss. Because she denied me what’s mine!

“I thought you were an in-the-moment kind of guy?” she pleads breathlessly upside down by my hips.

“Anastasia, I’m in the moment, trust me.”

Baby, I’ve been waiting all evening for this moment, and the time is for your punishment.

I burst through the wooden door of the boathouse and turn some of the lights on. They’re fluorescent, harsh, and they buzz. The motor launch is floating gently in the darkness of the water. But I don’t stop. I take the wooden stairs to the second floor.

I pause in the doorway to switch the halogen lights on in the second floor which are softer in the eyes. The room is decorated in a nautical New England theme. Now ask me if I give a fuck about this place’s decoration, or that it houses my trophies. Nope! Not a single bit. I have two goals in mind both of which involves the woman I’m carrying on my shoulder like a Neanderthal would have done thousands of years ago. There furnishings are sparse here, but there is a couch I can use to fuck her. Hell, I don’t even need a couch to do that!

I set Anastasia on her feet on the wooden floor. As soon as her feet touch the ground, her eyes are on me, taking me in their captivity. She’s mesmerized, as am I with her gaze... She’s bewitching. She watches me like a prey would watch its predator. My breathing is harsh from exertion as well as anger. My eyes are blazing with anger, need, and pure unadulterated lust, all for this woman before me.

“Please don’t hit me,” she whispers pleading, completely taking me by surprise. She’s supposed to be my submissive. But, here she is, negotiating her punishment with me asking me to spare her from spanking. My brow furrows, my eyes widen, and I blink with her unexpected plea.

“I don’t want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don’t,” she pleads some more.

I’m utterly surprised, and shocked with her reaction. I want to spank her, and fuck her after it, but she tugs at my heart strings, and making me unable to do what I’m set out to do. It’s like she douses the fire of anger with her brand of extinguisher, completely disarming me.

Her hand tentatively reaches up, and her fingers lightly touch my cheek, along the edge of my sideburn, to the stubble on my chin. Her touch does something to me, calming me, and I close my eyes momentarily. My breath is shaky. I feel that longing again inside me. Nothing short of having her would calm my need down. Underneath all this anger, there is fear. As soon as my eyes are closed, I lean my face into her hand. I yearn for her touch. Nothing is enough with her. My breath hitches in my throat, and something inside my heart aches, painfully. As if her hand is reaching in and squeezing it. I want her to, despite the pain! I feel her other hand reaching up, and running into my hair, softly, gently. Babying me. Caressing like a lover. I give out an involuntary, barely audible moan, and I slowly open my eyes, warily. In complete captivation of this woman who is loving me with her fingertips.

She steps forward and her body is completely flush with mine. She gently pulls my hair, bringing my mouth down to hers, and she kisses me! She forces her tongue between my lips into my mouth. I groan. I want this! I embrace her, tightly, pulling her so close to me, not even an air molecule can pass through between us. My hands find their way into her hair. I kiss her back, hard, and possessive. She’s mine. I want to claim what is mine. Our tongues twist and tango with each other, devouring, consuming, loving, and making out. She’s my soul food. I can’t do without her. I need a life affirming experience with her. I need to know she’s mine.

I pull back suddenly, both of our breaths mingled with each other, ragged. Her hands drop to my arms, and I glare down at her with a mingled incredulity, desire, want, question, and unnamed emotions.

“What are you doing to me?” I whisper. You completely disarm me, unman me. You leave me defenseless. You make me feel helpless. You leave my life out of control, and I have this fucking feeling that’s ripping out my dark heart every time I think of you gone. I’m beyond confused.

“Kissing you,” she simply responds.

How? Why? “You said no,” I say unbelieving.

“What?” she says, confused. She doesn’t know what she said ‘no’ to.

“At dinner table, with your legs,” I clarify.  Realization dawns on her. Yes, that one!

“But Christian,” she rebuttals, “we were at your parents’ dining table,” she stares up to me bewildered. “It’s inappropriate,” she simply states. I only have wonder in my eyes, with increasing lust now.

“No one has ever said no to me before.” A submissive would never have done it. In fact, if I wanted to fuck a submissive while my parents were having dinner, she would have just laid on the table and opened her legs for me. That’s what a submissive does. Yes, here she was denying me, and by God, this is the hottest thing that was ever done to me. “And your denial, although maddening, it’s also so, fucking – hot,” I say realizing. I’m full of wonder and lust for her. My hand moves down to her behind. I pull her sharply against myself, and she can feel my full erection.

“You’re mad and turned on because I said no?” she breathes, shocked.

“I’m mad because you never mentioned Georgia to me. I’m mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk, and left you ill with a complete stranger. What kind a friend is that? And I’m mad and aroused because you closed your legs on me,” I growl dangerously, and my hands slowly lift up the hem of her dress.

I want her to know that I own her, I alone. No one else. Her body is mine to do as I wish. Not that fucking photographer who tries to get back in line with her.

“I want you, and I want you now. And if you’re not going to let me spank you – which you rightfully deserve – I’m going to fuck you on the couch this minute, quickly, and for my pleasure alone. You will not come.”

I lift her dress up, and half her ass is visible. I move suddenly and cup her sex, and sink one of my fingers into her while my other hand holding her firmly in place around her waist. She suppressed a pleasure moan.

“This is mine,” I whisper through gritted teeth. “All mine! Do you understand?” I want to declare my territory. I’m incredibly possessive of her, fear is curling through me that some other fucker might slip in and take away what’s mine. My finger eases in and out of her sex, I gaze down at her, gauging her reaction, and looking to see her response.

“Yes, all yours,” she breathes desirously, hot for me, ready to be fucked by me. Open... Relief floods me. Courses through my bloodstream. My heartbeat and hers mixes, and races each other, trying to run away from our chests and merge.

Right now, I see nothing, I feel nothing, I can think of anyone or anything except for Anastasia. My entire being has stood attention only for her. Nothing exists right this moment, but she and I alone. She consumes me, conquered me body and soul, and I have to have her. I make my move. (← Animal by The Cab)

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