BOOK II - CHAPTER XX - Christian and Anastasia FanFiction

COME HOME WITH ME

CHAPTER XX

I direct Anastasia to turn left to head north toward the Interstate 5. Anastasia hits the gas so fast it first pushes me back into my seat then she lets go of the gas realizing her car’s power and I’m jolted to the dashboard where I barely have time to grab for relative safety.

“Hell Ana, gentle,” I chide her. I think she’s so used to her three and a half horsepower engine of her Beetle after thirty-six and a half of them died a long time ago which possibly required her to floor the gas every time to get up to twenty-five miles an hour in order to pull all that dead weight! But it’s enough just to tap the gas on this one to get to sixty-five – all of the horses in the horsepower are still stallions; no need to floor the gas. She conveniently rolls her eyes at me as Van Morrison starts crooning “A fantabulous night to make romance, Neath the cover of October skies...” and floors it again!

“Slow down, Ana!” I find myself raising my voice as I hold on to the dashboard once again.

“Fine! I’m slowing down! Sheesh!” she says. What a frustrating female! It’s impossible to have her simply obey without qualms, and when she does, it’s a fucking miracle, requiring a hallelujah! I sigh.

“What did Flynn say?” I ask anxiously. Translation: Did he tell you to dump my ass? Better yet, what did you ask him?  Why was it necessary for me to be out of the room? Were they afraid that I’d be making my own case? I’m worried, I’m anxious, I’m in love; I want to know!

“I already told you Christian. He said that I should give you the benefit of the doubt,” she says, and signals to pull the car over. What the hell is she doing? Did she get her driver’s license at the Pike fish market, or what?

“What the hell are you doing?” I yell panicking. I never know what she’s up to!

“I’m going to let you drive,” she says calmly.

“What the hell for?”

“Because I wanna look at you,” she says making me laugh out loud.

Oh, no, Miss Steele! You were so insistent to the point of fighting about driving. I’m gonna enjoy this and let you drive.

“No, no, no, no Miss Steele,” I say with a gleam in my eyes. “Remember, you wanted drive. You may drive, and I in the other hand, will get to look at you.” Being Anastasia, she’s none too happy for not getting her way, and glowers at me full on.

“My God, Anastasia! Keep your eyes on the road!” I find myself yelling. What does she do instead? Does she look at the road, and drive safely? No, this is Anastasia we’re talking about who always does the unexpected. She rapidly pulls over to the curb right before a stoplight, quickly parks, and just storms out of the car slamming the door behind, and she runs to the sidewalk, folds her arms in a defensive gesture and her eyes blaze at me in fury! What the hell! I quickly get out of the car to get her back in the car.

“What are you doing Ana? You can’t park here!” I ask infuriated, standing only inches away from her and staring down at her.

“I know I can’t!” she glares back at me.

“Why have you then?” I ask, completely exasperated with her.

“You have to ask me, why? Because I’m tired of you barking constant stream of orders at me! Either shut up about my driving and stop being a side seat driver, or drive the damned car yourself!”

We can’t just park right in the middle of the street, at a stop light because Anastasia decides to have a temper tantrum!

“Ana get back in the car before we get a ticket here!”

“No!” she yells stubbornly.

She frustrates me and drives me mad! Drives me insane! Talks back to me, stands toe to toe with me, and even at a fucking stop light, she mind fucks me! Even in anger, the attraction between us is quite palpable and just out of this world.  Even in anger we are turned on. I hate and I love this. I feel alive with her! I blow out a lungful of breath and give up. I run both my hands through my hair in double exasperation. Angry and hot, and anxious, and stupefied, I just stare at her being at a loss of words. In an ever changing mood, she starts smiling at me. Really? Here? When we’re fighting, right when I get exasperated, anxious and hot, and just about ready to fuck on the street to give her what for, she smiles at me?

“What the hell are you grinning at?” I snap at her.

“You,” she replies amused. Well, I’m glad I’m the sideshow providing the entertainment here. My woman is the most frustrating girl, and for fuck’s sake, I couldn’t settle with anyone other than her.

“Baby, you are the most frustrating woman on the planet,” I say throwing my hands in surrender. “Alright! I’ll drive,” I say ready to get back to the car and she grabs my jacket pulling me to her.

“I may be the most frustrating woman, but then, you, Mr. Grey are the most frustrating man on the planet,” she says exasperated.

She’s made for me! We fit like a well-made glove. “Well Miss Steele, I think we are meant for each other,” I say softly leaning into her ear as I run my nose in her hair inhaling her scent deeply. Her arms snake around my body as I hold her waist and we are wrapped around each other in this manner at a street corner, her car parked in front of a stoplight. I finally feel the tension leave her body.

“God... Ana, Ana, Ana,” I whisper as I kiss her hair, and she just embraces me harder, and just like that, our stress is relieved, and we made up.

(I hate you then I love you)

This time, taking her hand I say, “Come, let’s go,” and take her to the passenger door, and make sure she gets in, then finally walk around to the driver’s side. With one last look at her, I start the car, and move into the traffic. I start Van Morrison 's  “Moondance” from the beginning. I always loved this song, and with a relaxed mood, I absently start singing along.

→ (Moondance by Van Morrison link) ←

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance
With the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
Neath the cover of October skies
And all the leaves on the trees are falling
To the sound of the breezes that blow
And I'm trying to please to the calling
Of your heart-strings that play soft and low
And all the nights magic seems to whisper and hush
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

Can I just have one a more moondance with you, my love
Can I just make some more romance with a-you, my love
[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/v/van+morrison/moondance_20143043.html ]
Well, I wanna make love to you tonight
I can't wait 'til the morning has come
And I know that the time is just right
And straight into my arms you will run
And when you come my heart will be waiting
To make sure that you're never alone
There and then all my dreams will come true, dear
There and then I will make you my own
And every time I touch you, you just tremble inside
And I know how much you want me that you can't hide

Well, it's a marvelous night for a moondance
With the stars up above in your eyes
A fantabulous night to make romance
Neath the cover of October skies
And all the leaves on the trees are falling
To the sound of the breezes that blow
And I'm trying to please to the calling
Of your heart-strings that play soft and low
And all the nights magic seems to whisper and hush
And all the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush

One more moondance with you in the moonlight
On a magic night
La, la, la, la in the moonlight
On a magic night
Can't I just have one more dance with you my love

From my peripheral vision, I see Anastasia turn and look at me as her mouth drops open in shock of seeing me singing, and then she frowns. What? I didn’t think my singing was that bad... But I sing all the way through anyway and in a minute or so, I see her features soften. Once the song is over I turn to her and smile.

“Anastasia, did you know that if we had gotten a ticket, the ticket would have gone to you because the title of this car is in your name,” I say reminding.

Just as Van Morrison Starts singing →“Days Like This,”← Anastasia says, “Then it’s a good thing I got a promotion. I can afford an illegal parking ticket, Mr. Grey,” smugly making me suppress a smile.

I get on the northbound Interstate 5. Anastasia looks at me quizzically, completely unaware and totally curious to find out where we are going.

“Where are you taking us Christian?” she asks overcome with curiosity.

“It’s a surprise. Tell me, what else did Flynn say to you?” I ask. She knows I’m changing topics, and her question isn’t going to be answered. Giving up, she sighs.

“Dr. Flynn said that you’re trying SSFFTB or something like that,” she says.

“It’s called SFBT; it stands for Solution Focused Brief Therapy. It’s the latest therapy option he’s trying on me,” I mutter almost to myself.

She looks surprised. “Do you mean to say that you’ve tried other therapy options?”

I snort remembering all of them. 50 Shades of fuckeduppedness doesn’t clean up easily and so far nothing has worked, but this one seems a little more effective. I briefly turn to her and then look where I am driving back again. “I’ve been subjected to all of the available therapy options baby. The works... Freud, Gestalt, cognitivism, functionalism, behaviorism, enactivism... Over the years, the shrinks tried all one me,” I say bitterly. And nothing worked. Nothing... I think resentfully. Well, not until now. Until I met Ana. She is my therapy. That’s why the fear of losing her is so frightful. If I lose her, I will lose myself. Anastasia’s question gets me out of my reveries.

“Do you think this particular approach will be helpful?” she asks, but I don’t want to think about that right now.

“What else did Flynn say to you?”

“He told me not to dwell on your past; instead to focus on your future on where you want to be,” she says. I know, he keeps telling the same, so I nod knowing, but also I dismiss it by shrugging at the same time. My mind is still occupied trying to find out what else they discussed since they were there alone for twenty eight minutes. There’s got to be a lot more to it than she’s telling me.

“Go on, what else?” I probe further. I want to know everything.

“Then he talked about your fear of being touched, but he used a scientific name for it,” she says trying to remember what term he used, but unable to. It’s called haphephobia, but I don’t interrupt her. I nod so she continues.  

“Then he also talked about your nightmares, and I think he called them night terrors, and he also spoke about your self-abhorrence,” she says glancing at me trying to gauge my reaction. Apparently Flynn tried to put everything forth for Anastasia’s benefit in a non-judgmental subjective, but his ever present shrink way. I’m lost in thoughts trying to assess what all that means for us absently chewing my thumbnail. More importantly, what did she think of all that I wonder to myself and turn to look at Anastasia. But this time she chides me:

“Keep your eyes on the road Mr. Grey, not on me.”

Getting information out of Anastasia is like pulling teeth. “Come on Anastasia...” I coax, “You were in Flynn’s office talking with him forever. I’m sure you’ve talked about other things. What else did he say?” I ask determined to learn every single word uttered.

She looks ahead and swallows. What?

“Dr. Flynn doesn’t think you are a sadist,” she whispers in a small voice.

Huh... “Really?” I ask quietly, and disagreeing with his assessment, I frown. I’m a sadist, and that’s where Flynn and I disagree. Though I don’t have the compulsion anymore since Anastasia and I’ve got back together. Although the fear that it might someday return is ever present, worrying me. Because I know Anastasia would leave me if I ever practiced any of the shit I’ve been used to practicing. The thought is depressing.

“Dr. Flynn was saying that psychiatry no longer recognizes the term since the nineties,” she says in one breath. I give an inward groan. His assessment is all theoretical. What those theories suggest and what I feel, or have felt are two different things. The thought that I had those urges up until recently is depressing, darkening my mood; I exhale a lungful of air slowly in frustration.

“The good doctor and I differ in that assessment,” I find myself saying quietly.

Anastasia shrugs. “Dr. Flynn said that you tend to always think the worst of yourself. I know that to be true. I think he also talked about sexual sadism and he said that it was different because it was a lifestyle choice, and that wasn’t a psychiatric condition. I don’t know if that’s what you are thinking about,” she murmurs unsure; but her conclusion makes me mad, and I give a piercing glance at her angrily, and my mouth is set on a thin line. I’ve known my fucking tendencies for years. I am fucked up; there is no way of buttering or fancying it up, and making it look better. I am depraved. I take my anger out on Anastasia.

“Yeah! You go and talk to Flynn once, and all of a sudden you are an expert!” I say sharply my words dripping acid possibly hurting Anastasia’s feelings.

“Listen Christian, you have been pestering me to learn what Dr. Flynn had said. If you don’t want to hear about it, then don’t ask me,” she says in a soft voice. She turns her head to the side, away from me and looks out the window, not in any particular place; she’s distancing herself. Just lost in her own thoughts. I can’t take her silence. It’s worse. I want to know. I have to know. Fuck! I behaved like an ass again!

“I want to know what you two talked about,” I say as I finally make my exit from the freeway heading toward west as the day is coming to a close. It’s twilight.

She sighs and answers slowly. “Dr. Flynn called me your lover.”

Finally we agree on something. “Did he now? Flynn is nothing if he’s not choosy about his terms. But I would say that it’s an accurate description, Anastasia. Don’t you think so?”

“How about your subs? Did you think of them as your lovers?” she asks. Curious or jealous? I already know the answer to that one, but thinking about the contents of my past relationships with the subs, I know that no emotions were involved with them for me, and I certainly didn’t love any of them. It was only sex with them.

“No, they never were lovers; just sexual partners,” I murmur. This is a delicate subject with her, because she has a hard time handling that I have a past... a past that needs overhauling. I nearly lost her again after Leila broke into her place. I’m cautious, and worried about the direction of the topic. But I want her to know. It’s only been her. “You’re my one and only lover Anastasia. But I want you to be more,” I add reminding her that I want to marry her.

“I know Christian. I just need a little more time to get my head around the last few days,” she says as I reach a stop light. I look at her face anxiously trying to decipher her words. Is that a no? Or will she just think? When the light turns green, I force my gaze to the road ahead.

We’ve come full circle as Van Morrison starts singing “Moondance” again. I drive through the roads lined with spruce and pine, and finally checking my mental map, I make a turn into a residential neighborhood, and make my way to west towards the Sound. Anastasia’s curiosity piques.

“Where are we going Christian?” she asks again as I make another turn. I won’t tell her until we get there.

“It’s a surprise, baby,” I say again. Patience is a virtue in this case Anastasia.

We drive past the single story, well-manicured, wood or vinyl siding affluent homes with yards. There are children playing in the front yards, or biking in the neighborhood. I finally arrive at my destination after turning left, and come to the property with ornately decorated wrought iron gates set in six foot high sandstone walls. I punch in the given code to me, and the doors swing open. I’m nervous now. Knowing she hasn’t given me an answer yet, would she feel like she’s being forced to make a decision? Putting the cart before the horse? Oh shit! I hope she can keep an open mind... I was so excited to see this property on the market, and I wanted to get my hands on it before anyone else...If Anastasia likes it that is. It’s my hope for more. I glance at Anastasia nervously. I hope she likes it! I hope she loves it! I hope...

She’s puzzled with my expression, and grows concerned.

“What is it Christian?” she asks.

“It’s just an idea,” I say without giving anything, still hoping, and drive the car through the gates. The private road winds down toward the house and lined with shade trees; it is wide enough to accommodate two cars. The trees on the left side of the road are more densely populated as opposed to the right side which opens up to grassland. It’s green and lush and dotted with wildflowers. Anastasia is curiously gazing out the window looking at the wildflowers with the last lights of the setting sun.

The drive finally curves around and the Mediterranean style house with soft pink sandstone shows its impressive stature. The realtor’s black BMW is parked in front of the four car garage. I park the car outside of the grand portico. I turn off the car, and turn to Anastasia more anxious than ever. I might get a sense about her answer after she’s seen what I want to show her.

“Would you keep an open mind Anastasia?” I ask in a pleading voice. She frowns at me and I know that look. She’s going to retort with something.

“I believe I needed an open mind since the day I’ve met you Christian,” she says, and how right she is. I nod in agreement. “Fair point well made, Miss Steele. Let’s go, then.”

The realtor, a Miss Olga Kelly comes out of the dark heavy wood doors. She’s sporting her brown hair, a ‘ready to make a sale’ smile and dressed in her lilac color suit, and Louis Vuitton heels. Anastasia’s gaze is measuring her, and though she tries to hide it, she’s not happy to see another brunette and dislikes the realtor’s appreciative gaze on me. Her possessiveness makes me feel a little bit better. You already own me baby!

“Hello Mr. Grey,” she says in greeting with a big smile and shakes my hand.

“Miss Kelly,” I respond to her greeting. She turns to Anastasia to introduce herself.

“I’m Olga Kelly,” she says extending her hand to Anastasia.

“Ana Steele,” says Anastasia automatically still unable to decipher who she is. Olga Kelly steps aside and lets us into the house. When we enter into the property, Anastasia looks around, and completely surprised to find a house devoid of furnishings. The walls are now a fading primrose yellow with the eerie scuffmarks on the walls where pictures of a family must once have been hung showing its once lived appearance, looking as if the empty house is longing to house another happy family again. One thing that is a remnant of the old occupants is the hanging old fashioned chandelier. Not my taste. I like modern fixtures. The floors are now dulled and wax worn off the walnut hardwood floors which are also not my taste. Anastasia is taking in the house, but I’m not interested in the house. Should she like what’s outside, I’ll purchase the property; because I intend to demolish the house.

I pull her hand, and lead her through the archway into an inner vestibule as the double wrought iron staircase tries to draw her attention to its former grandeur. I haul her through the grand living area which only houses a faded gold rug to match the faded walls. Anastasia’s eyes drift to the four oversized crystal chandeliers hanging lonely from the ceiling in the grand room. But, this isn’t what I want to show her either. I pull her further through the room, “Come, we’re not there yet,” I say. When I finally reach the double French doors, I get excited with the prospect of the wonderful scenery from the back yard. We walk through the open doors, and step onto the large terrace paved with dulled, thick pale color travertine pavers giving it an old world charm. The patio opens up to a sloping, neatly trimmed lawn, and further down is the Sound reflecting the shimmering last lights of the day.

The scenery I’m watching is the reverse of what I watch from my catamaran when I sail. From this side we can clearly see the Bainbridge Island lazily laying in the distance; beyond it is the sinking sun in the western horizon over the Olympic National Park. Colors of the evening is magical; as if there is a fire in the sky perfectly reflecting the mood in my soul...all fired up, but calming. Water is still, twilight is painting a heavenly image, and Anastasia is captivated, barely breathing. My eyes are fixed on her, anxious to see and hear her reaction.

“Did you bring me here to admire this beautiful view Christian?” she asks in a whisper. I can only nod. My heart is at my throat. I want this view to house our future home. I hope to have her as my wife.

“The view is simply magnificent. Thank you for showing this Christian,” she murmurs turning her head back to it to admire it some more. I want to say so much to her. The emotions I’m going through right now are overwhelming. I want her in my life permanently more than anything. I want her to be my wife; she gives me hope for more. Hope of a family even... How can I perfectly express what I think, what I want, what’s in my heart? Are my own words enough? What Charles Dickens expressed in Our Mutual Friend reflects my sentiments in such a way that I couldn’t have said it better myself:

“You know what I am going to say. I love you. What other men may mean when they use that expression, I cannot tell; what I mean is, that I am under the influence of some tremendous attraction which I have resisted in vain, and which overmasters me. You could draw me to fire, you could draw me to water, you could draw me to the gallows, you could draw me to any death, you could draw me to anything I have most avoided, you could draw me to any exposure and disgrace. This and the confusion of my thoughts, so that I am fit for nothing, is what I mean by your being the ruin of me. But if you would return a favorable answer to my offer of myself in marriage, you could draw me to any good--every good--with equal force.”

But I’m too overcome with emotion and all I can say in a single breath is, “How would you like to look at this view for the rest of your life Anastasia?”

Her head just whips up to look at me, mouth agape, and expression vacant. She so looks stunned, and stupefied, I could have knocked her over with a feather.

I don’t know what that expression means. But, when I still have the courage, I keep going. “I always wanted to live on the coast, and I always sail up and down the Sound, and maybe I always coveted one of these homes because of this scenery. And when I saw this house come on the market, I was interested. I want to buy the house, and demolish it and build a new house...” I say, and swallow, anxious to finish my thought. “...for us, Anastasia,” I whisper, my eyes hopeful, my heart in my hand, I’m the most vulnerable as I’ve been in so long. I hope... I hope... Hope is a good thing, maybe best of the things. I hope to have a future with Ana... I hope for more.

She still says nothing. Doesn’t she like the idea? Did I scare her? Is it another one of my fuckups? I don’t know! Say something Ana... a gesture even.

“It’s just an idea,” I add not to further screw up things. Her senses are finally coming back to her. She turns her head and looks back in the direction of the house. Her face is unreadable. Maybe readable, but I’ve never seen this expression on her face before.

“Why do you want to demolish the house?" She asks unexpectedly. My face falls thinking she doesn’t like the place. I can’t get a read on her.

“Uhm... I wanted to build a more ecologically sustainable house. Elliot is experienced in it; he can build it.”

Anastasia looks at the interior of the house tenderly. Her eyes move to the realtor who is close enough to answer any questions, but far enough to give us privacy. Then Anastasia look up at the double-height ceiling that is making the grand room even grander. The staircase from the vestibule leads to a balcony which overlooks to the grand room. An intricate, gigantic fireplace is the centerpiece of the room, and there is a a line of French doors opening up to the terrace from the grand room. Her gaze misses nothing. What she says next, surprises me the most:

"Could we please take a look around the house?"

What? She wants to see the house? Does that mean she's interested? I blink in surprise. "Sure," I say shrugging.  

Anastasia's words are like music to Miss Kelly's ears as she takes us back into the house, and she lights up like dynamite, and gets on us like a chicken on a June bug.  She takes us on a tour of the house. I can hardly listen to Miss Kelly, because my mind is preoccupied trying to decipher what Anastasia might mean. Does she like the house? Does this mean more for us?

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele," says Miss Kelly, her words dripping honey. "This beautiful house is twelve thousand square feet and the property is situated on six acres of land most of which is overlooking the Sound. As you have seen outside, this property boasts an exceptional prime waterfront which measures up well over eighty yards. This stunning home was designed by a well-known European architect. This main living room boasts 20 feet high cathedral ceilings," she says as she walks us along with her into the kitchen.

“This kitchen looks industrial size but warm and charming with Spanish tiles as backsplash, and Italian marble on the floors as you can see. The countertops are brought all the way from Spain!" she gushes. "Of course it can accommodate large parties and is built with at least two chefs in mind for any party or catered event. As we move into the dining room, you can see that it too can accommodate large dinner parties,” she says moving us further after her. I watch Anastasia as she's taking in everything Miss Kelly is saying like a sinner at a church.  

"Miss Steele, do you like reading?" asks Miss Kelly to Anastasia. Anastasia looks puzzled.

"Yes, I love reading," she replies with a quizzical look on her face.

"Well, you are in luck! The next room I'm going to show you is the library, and we even have a music room as in the tradition of old grander Mediterranean homes. There is of course a rather large study," she says looking at me.

"Adjacent to the kitchen,” she says as she gestures with her hand, “if you please come this way," herding us into another very large room, "...is a family room." Anastasia's eyes go wide with the mention of 'family.’ Oh God! Hope springs in me.  

"There is of course an indoor swimming pool, a gym, a sauna, and a steam room all within the same exercise complex," she says showing us all of the rooms. 

"Now, if you follow me this way," she says walking us though a surprisingly well lit hallway, we descend down through another wrought iron staircase into the basement.  

"Here we have the entertainment room with your private theater," she says. Dark brown leather reclining chairs have been fixed in place, and the white movie screen is looking rather inviting. 

"Right next to the theater," she says taking us into another large room, "is we have the game room." Anastasia immediately looks up at me, and blushes. I can barely hide a smile to her reaction.   

"If you please follow me to the second floor this way," says Miss Kelly and leads us up to the second floor climbing up on the grand staircase. Anastasia's hands caress the wrought iron balustrades like she's comforting it. Then she turns to me and asks, "Christian, couldn't you make the existing house more ecological and self-sustaining? It ought to be doable."  

What? I'm beyond shocked. You're giving me hope Anastasia. I would love to have hope, but why haven't you answered me yet. I blink at her in surprise.

"Possibly, but I would have to ask my brother Elliot. He's the eco and sustainability expert in construction."  She nods deep in thought. As we arrive in the second floor, Miss Kelly stops us dramatically before a bedroom.

"Mr. Grey, Miss Steele," she gushes before the ten foot double doors obscuring a large bedroom. "Here we have the master suite," she says, then opening the double doors, she allows us to enter into the master suite. 

"The room might need a little TLC, however, the full height windows, and the limestone balustrades of the balcony overlooking the water outside of this suite, watching the Bainbridge Island is a view to die for! As you can see that there is a 90' dock and it has two lifts," she says admiring. Anastasia is just too mesmerized, and lost in the view.  

"We have five additional bedrooms on this floor," says Miss Kelly and continues the tour. I'm not listening to whatever she's saying after that. I'm too busy watching Anastasia interact with her, like a woman who is getting ready to make a home for her family.  The words "her price is far above the rubies," echoes in my head. She's my woman. But she hasn’t said 'yes' yet. Why hasn't she given me an answer? Why the torture?

Somehow Miss Kelly must have walked us downstairs back to the grand room. She walks away to give us more privacy, and I take Anastasia by the hand to the terrace again. The sun has completely set, and now only the twinkling lights from the towns are glimmering on the surface of the water. I pull Anastasia into my arms, hold her tight, and with my index finger, I tilt her chin up and gaze down at her searching her face.

"Is this a lot to take in?" I ask. I try to keep my face expressionless; but there are hurricanes, tornadoes brewing inside my soul. I'm yearning for her to accept my proposal, to be mine. She nods without saying anything.

"I wanted to see if you liked it before I bought it."

"You mean if I liked the view?" she asks. I nod in answer, words stumbled to one another in my throat and nothing comes out.

"I love the view Christian. But I also like, no, love the house! This house," she says gesturing it with her hand. What? Hope floods my heart.

"You do?" I ask.

She smiles her shy smile. "I do, Christian. You had me at the meadow."

Her words are my undoing, and inhale sharply with her response, and grin ear to ear, as my hands fist into her hair forcefully and my lips descend on hers, and the kiss consumes us both. I'm in heaven!

We thank Miss Kelly, and I tell her that she will be contacted with an offer.

The listing price is 12.8 million Dollars. The property tax is over fifty-four grand a year. And yet, I feel, if I purchase this property, I will be making an investment for my future family with Anastasia. I hope...  

After getting into the car, I drive us towards Seattle, and I’m completely elated.  

"So, will you be buying the house?" asks Anastasia.

"Yes, especially since you like it," I answer.

"Will you put Escala on the market?" she asks.

"No, why would I want to do that?"

"To pay for the other..." she trails off. I smirk at her in response.

"Don't worry baby, I can afford it."

"Christian, let me ask you something," she says curiously. "Do you enjoy being rich... do you really like it?"

I like the power money brings me. I like the freedom and control it gives me. I answer Anastasia truthfully. "Yes. Show me someone who doesn't like it," I say ominously. The fact is, everyone likes being rich.

She looks uncomfortable. I don't want her to be uneasy around me because of my wealth. She's never been hungry. She's never been dirt poor. She's never had a mother who died in poverty, who was pushed down so much because of it; she couldn't even stand up for her own child. But, I want Anastasia to not to be intimidated with my wealth.

"You will have to learn to be rich, as well, if you say yes to me Anastasia," I say in a soft voice.

She sighs. "It's just that, I have never aspired to be wealthy, to be rich, Christian."

"I know and that is one of the things I love about you. But in the other hand, you have never been hungry," I say. Not that I would ever wish that upon anyone. But that's the reality. She nods, and changes the topic.

"Where are you taking us now Christian?" she asks.

"To celebrate your role as the acting editor, of course. How quickly have you forgotten!" I say.

"Oh, yeah. Where?" she says grinning.

"We'll be celebrating it at my Mile High Club," I say smiling.

"Your club?"

"Yes, one of them," I reply.

"Where is it?"

"Seventy sixth floor of Columbia Tower," I say grinning. Anastasia's eyes are wide.

When we get to my club, we sit at the bar while we wait for a table with privacy.

I hand Anastasia a chilled flute of Cristal champagne. “Would you like Cristal ma’am?” I ask.

“I’d love to, sir,” she says coquettishly batting her eyelashes at me. She’s definitely flirting with me, and she knows what it does to me.

“Why Miss Steele, are you flirting with me?”

“I am, Mr. Grey. What are you going to do about it?”

Oh, I can think a number of things. But, I’m thinking in the line of sexual frustration knowing how she likes instant gratification, and I can delay my own urges for later; after all, anticipation only amplifies the intensity of the end result. She’s been making me suffer all week without an answer, and the only way I can repay her is in kind: frustrate her equally.

“Miss Steele, I’m quite sure I can think of something,” I say in a low, desirous voice. “Let’s go, our table is ready.”

I take Anastasia’s elbow, but as we approach our table, I lean in and whisper into her ear, “Go to the restroom, and take your panties off for me.” She stops in her tracks, and with hopeful desire, she looks up at me.

“Go now,” I order her in a whisper. She searches my face to make sure I’m serious. I’ve never been more serious about anything today. I feel her demeanor change to one of wanton. Without a word, she hands me her champagne flute, and turn back heading to the restroom.

When the waiter seats me at our table, he asks:

“Would you like to wait for the lady to order sir?”

“No. I already know what we want.”

“Certainly, sir. What can I get for you both?”

“For the starters, I want a bed of oysters.” Looking at the menu I say, “Then I want sea bass, with asparagus, sautéed potatoes, and hollandaise sauce for both of us.”

“Would that be all, sir?”

“Yes, thank you,” I say and the waiter hurries away to put our order in.

Anastasia arrives after a few minutes. I stand up when she returns to our table. I have put up my calm façade for her benefit and the other patrons. She looks to read my expression, trying to decipher what I will do, but unable.

“Sit next to me,” I say to Anastasia, and she slides into the seat next to me.

“I’ve already ordered for you Anastasia, I hope you don’t mind,” I say gazing at her. I hand her champagne flute. She frustrated me all week waiting for her answer; making me want to scream, beg even for her to say yes. Yet, she said nothing; but tonight, I will equally frustrate her as she frustrated me. By the time I’m finished with her, the universe will be laughing her ass off at the irony!  Tit for tat, Anastasia.

Not long after Anastasia is seated next to me, the waiter arrives with the bed of oysters. I smile at her with the memory of Heathman Hotel and the oysters.

“Anastasia, if I remember it correctly, you liked oysters the last time you tried them,” I whisper in a seductive tone.

“That was the only time I’ve tried oysters,” she says in a husky tone, desirous, remembering. I smile at Anastasia knowing I set the fire to burn hot. Game’s on!

“Miss Steele, when will you learn?” I ask amused. I take an oyster, and making a show of lifting my hand from my thigh, I bring my hand up. I see Anastasia’s breath catches, and her entire body trembles in anticipation; she and I are so attuned to each other’s bodies. But I have control, I’m the driver. When she sees my hand reaching a slice of lemon, I see disappointment cross her face.

“Learn what?” she asks absently. Learn that I can torture her with unfulfilled desire, I can get her hot, and wanting, and no end in sight; I can make her beg for me to touch her. I can almost hear her little heart fluttering; her jugular in her neck is pulsing wildly. I squeeze the lemon on the oyster, and bring the shell to her lips; I whisper, “eat.”

Her lips part in anticipation, but the only contact she has is with the oyster shell. I’m not touching her at all.

“Tip your head back baby,” I whisper in a salacious tone. She does, and I tip the oyster shell into her mouth and the oyster slides down to her mouth and I can see her throat working to swallow it smoothly. So fucking sexy!

I take another shell of oyster, and squeeze the lemon, and bring it to my lips as my gaze is on hers, and tip the shell back and let the oyster slide down my throat. She swallows hard, her lips part to accommodate her breathing. I take another oyster shell, and take another slice of lemon and squeeze it on the oyster again. I put one hand down on my hip and run it up my thigh. Her gaze goes down to my hand anticipating my touch on her leg, which of course doesn’t happen. I take the oyster shell to her lips again, and once more I hand feed her, and watch the oyster slide down her throat. I take the next oyster for me, and she is almost panting. I continue my torture with all twelve oysters. I make no physical contact; just the idea of touching, building up desire, expectation, anticipation but never connecting skin to skin. It’s driving her insane. When I put my hand back on my thigh, her eyes follows my hand yearning, longing. I run my hand along the length of my thigh slowly, and she just looks at my hand’s movements almost ready to jump me at the table.

I then make a show of lifting my hand off my leg and place it on the table. She looks at my hand like it’s the grand prize on a game show; wanting, desiring.

When the waiter comes back again, our entrée is brought, and he also tops our champagne flutes. When Anastasia notices what I ordered, she smiles.

“Is this a favorite dish of yours Mr. Grey?” she asks with a glint in her eyes remembering Heathman.

“It certainly became one, Miss Steele. Although, it was cod at the Heathman,” I say reminding her. I let my hand back on my thigh again and run it along. My gaze is on her. Her chest starts rising up and down in quick succession, distracted, fiery.

Without leaving her gaze from my hand, she says, “Well, we were in a private dining room back then, and I remember that we were discussing contracts.”

I smile at the memory. She’s coming along the ride just as I wanted her. I take it up a notch with a licentious smile. “Those were the happy days. But this time Miss Steele, I hope to get to fuck you,” I say and without waiting her response, I pick up my knife and cut into my sea bass. She’s practically bursting in the seams. But, upon noticing that I’m not acting upon my words, her frustration rises in her.

“I wouldn’t count on it, Mr. Grey,” she mutters pouting. It’s working. She then turns her head to me and says, “Speaking of contracts, I was going to ask you something about the NDA.”

“No need. Tear the damn thing up,” I say.

“Huh? What? You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, Mr. Grey... Don’t you think I might just run to Seattle Times with an expose on you?” she says in a teasing voice I now come to recognize.

“No, you won’t. Because, I trust you, Miss Steele. I too am going to give you the benefit of the doubt.” She looks up to me with her admiring gaze, and her shy smile I’ve come love. “Ditto, Mr. Grey,” she whispers.

Time for the next wave of the assaults. “Anastasia, I’m so glad you are wearing a dress tonight,” I murmur with wanton desire for her benefit. She narrows her eyes on me and hisses angrily:

“I can’t tell Mr. Grey. If that was the case, why haven’t you even touched me?”

“Are you missing my touch Miss Steele?” I asks smiling, taunting her. My lips part, exhaling.

“Yes,” she says fuming.

“Eat, baby,” I order her.

She lifts her gaze up at me and looks pointedly. “You’re not intending to touch me, are you Christian?” she asks.

“Nope,” I say shaking my head.

“What? Why?” she gasps.

I lean into her ear, and whisper, “Just imagine how this built up desire will make you feel when we’re home. Oh, baby, I can’t wait to get you home, and have you.” More fuel to the fire.

“Christian, you’re going to make me combust on the seventy-sixth floor of Columbia Tower, and it’ll be entirely your fault,” she hisses through her gritted teeth, anger seething.

“Oh, baby, I’m quite sure we can find a way to put your fire out,” I say grinning desirously, completely in charge. She looks at me contemplating. She’s up to something. She dips her fork into her fish, and breaks up a piece. When the food touches her lips, she closes her eyes savoring the taste, looking lost in pleasure. Once she swallows, she flutters open her lashes, and her hand goes down to her leg, and she slowly pulls her skirt up to expose her beautiful thigh. She’s paying me in kind, and trying to defeat me in my own game. My fork halts in midair. She wants me to touch her. But I make an effort to ignore her which isn’t easy to do when she’s panting and offering herself to me. I pretend that her recent game doesn’t affect me, and continue eating. Anastasia puts her knife down, and brings her hand slowly and sensually to her lower thigh and slowly starts tapping, inviting, and trying to pull me in. It is working. I pause again, but regain control. After a beat, I lean in and whisper in a low, husky voice, I say, “Anastasia, I know what you are up to.”

“Mr. Grey, I know that you do,” she replies in her soft voice. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it.”

She then takes a stalk of asparagus, and dips it in the sauce, and takes it to her lips, swirling, and swirling, as if she’s fellating it with her tongue. She’s trying to put her game on me, once again.

But baby, I’ve been in this game longer than you have. I reach up, and to her shocked eyes, I pluck the asparagus from her lips without touching her, and say, “Why Miss Steele, do you think I’d let you to turn the tables on me?”

I hold the asparagus in my fingers and order her, “Open your mouth baby.”

She’s panting as she gazes up at me under her long eyelashes. I’m not immune to her charms by a long shot. I just have better control. I’m always a half-cocked gun when it comes to Anastasia, ready to shoot. Constant fucking state of arousal! One look from her will trigger that. She parts her lips only enough for the air pass through. Then her tongue slowly appears and runs across her lower lip. Oh, fuck! I can only smile, but my eyes darken with wanton desire.

“Open wider,” I breathe. As my lips part, my tongue is between my unclenched teeth. She opens wider, accepting. Her tongue is waiting; her lips are luscious and pink. I take a sharp intake of breath. Her gaze is on mine without blinking. She takes the asparagus spear from me, and putting it into her mouth, she sucks, slowly, gently, desirously. Fuck me sideways!

I close my eyes to suppress the rising desire, but when I open them back up again, I too am burning hot for her. Seeing my reaction she groans and her hand reaches out to touch my thigh. I catch her hand. Nope. The game isn’t over. We are still playing.

“Oh no, Miss Steele. You don’t touch,” I murmur softly for her benefit. I hold her hand up and bring it to my lips kissing it. I then slowly place her hand back on her own knee.

“Christian, you don’t play fair!” she scolds me pouting.

“I know,” I say regaining the control of the game once again. I hold my champagne and toast congratulating on her promotion. We clink glasses.

“Yes, it was sort of unexpected,” she says; remembering what Jack the fucker almost did to her, my expression darkens. But, I don’t want him to dampen our mood here. “I want you to eat now. Because we are not going home until you’ve finished all of your meal. Then we can really celebrate your success at home,” I say with a dark gaze.

“I’m not hungry for food,” she fusses; ready to be fucked right now.

“Anastasia, either eat now, or I will put you on my knees right here in the Mile High Club, and we shall give an entertainment to the other patrons they won’t forget,” I say threatening.  She squirms in her seat, and her mouth goes into a taut line, and she just stares at me. I take a stalk of asparagus, and dip it into the hollandaise sauce. I hold it up, and offer it to her.

“Eat this,” I say in a whispering seductive voice. Her gaze is connecting with mine, she opens her lips, and receives the tip. Slowly sucks, and then bites.

“You don’t eat enough baby, and that concerns me. You’ve lost some weight since I’ve known you,” I say in loving, gentle tone.

“The food isn’t in my mind right now. All I want to do is to go home and make love to you,” she mutters dismally, making me smile at her declaration.

“As do I, baby, and we shall. But first, you must finish eating.”

Then realizing we won’t be going home until she eats all her food, she gives up, and starts eating.

“How long have you known Kate Kavanagh, Anastasia?” I ask casually.

“Since I started college,” she answers.

“I see... Is this also how long you’ve known Ethan Kavanagh?” I ask nonchalantly.

“Yes, I suppose,” she says squinting her eyes trying to decipher where I’m going with this line of questioning.

“I’ve never met them until after I met you, but I’ve known their father quite some time and we’ve done some business together from time to time,” I say trying to distract her line of thought.

“Really? I didn’t know that,” she says surprised.

“Have you ever gone out with Ethan?” I ask, barely suppressing the jealousy.

She shakes her head. “No. He’s just a good friend. My best friend’s brother,” she replies. Ethan would think otherwise. He has the hots for Anastasia. By the way he looks at her makes me think they had sex five days a week and he didn’t quite quench his thirst for her. But, of course I know it not to be true. I just don’t want other men salivating over my woman!

“How’s your food?” I ask as I place my leg on my thigh so close to hers, but never touching. She blinks. The question doesn’t even register in her head for a minute; she’s so distracted with my ministrations.

“Still eating,” she says absently. I smile. Within the next few minutes, she finally manages to finish all her food, and places her knife on her plate.

“All done,” she smiles like a small child who accomplished something monumental.

“Good girl,” I praise her. My words are full of promise of what she will get for her reward, and she squirms in her seat.

“What do we do now?” she asks panting.

“Now, we leave, baby. I believe you have certain expectations of me, and I intend to fulfill them all to the best of my ability,” I answer her, and she nearly convulses in her seat.

“Wha... the best...of your...a..bil..ity?” she says unable to form a coherent sentence. The desire is oozing out of her. I stand up and extend my hand. She asks me if we don’t have to wait for the bill.

“No, since I’m a member here, they’ll send me a bill. Come, baby, after you,” I say smiling.

I look at my woman with dark desire, undressing her with my eyes, imagining all the things I’m going to do to her in a short time. I can’t wait to see her reaction. She stands up regally, and stands in front of me and fixes her dress slowly, taking her time smoothing it on her thighs. I know what she’s doing. I lean in and whisper, “I can’t wait to get you home and fuck you.” She’s stunned in her place. On the way to the elevators, I ask the maître d’ to have the valet bring out Anastasia’s car and have it ready when we are downstairs. I don’t have time to wait around; I have my woman to please.

We go to the elevators, and I press the button to call an elevator. There’s a middle aged couple waiting for an elevator with us. When an elevator car comes up and opens its doors, I hold Anastasia by the elbow, and take her to the very back of the elevator. Anastasia glances at the dark smoked-glass mirrors surrounding us in the elevator. When I enter into the elevator, an older businessman named George Stathakis standing with his wife recognizes me. He’s a self-made millionaire in import and export. He knows where to get the lowest deals and supplies from around the world and sell them to the wholesalers and merchants around the country.

“Grey,” he greets me. I nod in response. There are two couples in front of us who are all chatting away about the local gossip, divulging more than they should possibly due to their state of semi intoxication.

Elevator doors close, and I lower myself down to retie my shoe laces to not to raise anyone’s suspicion for what I’m about to do. After redoing my shoelaces, I discreetly place my hand on her ankle, and Anastasia gets startled and completely goes rigid. I slowly rise up from the ground with my hand sliding up on Anastasia’s leg, and when I reach my full height, my hand is cupping her ass, and squeeze it. Anastasia quickly stifles a choked gasp. My free arm snakes around her front as I pull her body to the wall of the elevator, and fix her in place. My index finger dips into her already desirous sex, and start circling inside. My head is on her shoulder, and I hold her tight as we look to the back of the other elevator passengers’ backs of their heads. As my finger goes in knuckle deep, Anastasia tries hard to stifle another groan. The elevator stops at fifty third floor, and some more people get on the elevator, and I pull her into my embrace even tighter. This is the second most exhibitionist sexcapade I’m attempting with her. I dip another finger into her sex, and continue with my delicious torture. My fingers find her wet, and her sex aroused. I lean into her ear, and whisper in a voice only she can hear.

“Always so hot and ready for me, Miss Steele.” She squirms, and gasps, barely able to control herself.

“I want you to keep perfectly still, and completely quiet,” I order into her ear. The elevator stops at forty fifth floor, and takes in some more people. There are now eight people who are oblivious to what I’m doing to her. I take her to the corner, and continue dipping my fingers in and out of her sex. I can feel the lips of her sex swelling up, and she slowly grinds herself to my fingers. “Hush now,” I give her another warning. I am so fucking hot right now!  To the other passengers we probably look like a young couple so in love, oblivious to the world, canoodling in the corner of the elevator. No one bothers to turn around to pay any attention to us.

I take my finger out and rub her sensitive nub, then dip my finger back into her sex again, adding another finger, feeling her from inside. She sags herself into my embrace, but I don’t want her to come. I want her fully desirous for me for when we get home.

“I don’t want you to come,” I order her firmly. “I want to fuck you senseless later.”  My free arm is holding her in place while my hand is splayed on her belly pressing it down gently fixing her body in place, and actually making it easier for my other hand to dig into her, and deliciously torture her.

The elevator finally reaches the first floor, and I take my fingers out of her delicious sex, kissing the top of her head. George Stathakis turns to say a polite goodbye, and taking his wife out, exits the elevator. She turns to look at me, spent, desirous, unfinished, hot and bothered. We’re the last two people in the elevator to exit. “Ready, baby?” I ask as I put my index and middle fingers that just finger fucked Anastasia only a minute ago into my mouth and suck them. “You taste incredibly fine Anastasia,” I whisper at her.

“Christian, I can’t believe you’ve done that,” she says nearly falling apart.

“You have no idea what I can do, baby,” I say reaching out and tucking an escaped strand of hair behind her ear.

“I want to take you home, but maybe we can only make it as far as the car,” I say grinning and take her out of the elevator before it yanks us up again.

“Come, Miss Steele,” I say pulling her hand.

“Yes, I want to, but you won’t let me,” she mutters petulantly.

“Miss Steele, how rude!” I reprimand her in a mock horror.

“On the other hand, I’ve never had sex in a car,” she mutters. She better not have! I stop in my tracks and turn to her, holding her chin up to gaze into my eyes. “I’m quite happy hear that Miss Steele. I would be utterly surprised if you had sex in a car, not to mention boiling mad,” I hiss through my gritted teeth. She doesn’t know how jealous I get of her. Even the idea of her with someone else drives me mad. She’s mine, and mine alone.

“Christian, that’s not what I meant, and you know it!” she retorts back.

“What the hell did you mean than, Ana?” I ask in a harsh tone.

“It was just an expression for heaven’s sake!” she replies.

“You mean the famous, “oh, I’ve never had sex in a car,” expression, that one? It’s amazing how easily it trips off the tongue Miss Steele,” I glare at her. Most people are afraid of jealousy, hate it even. But Sidonie Gabrielle Colette said that ‘jealousy is not at all low, but it catches us humbled and bowed down, at first sight,’ and my love and desire for Anastasia is so great that even the idea of someone else having her the way I do, looking at her with the same desirous eyes, slices my heart by the a thousand cuts, slowly bleeding me to my death.

“I wasn’t even thinking about what I was saying Christian. For God’s sake, you’ve just... done that to me in an elevator full of people. I’m not at all myself right now,” she mutters.

“What exactly did I do to you Anastasia?” I ask wanting her to tell me, show me that I’m the one who makes her hot, desirous, wanton, and salacious. I want to her to tell me I’m her man!

She narrows her eyes at me scowling. “You know very well what you did Mr. Grey! You aroused me with eight other people in an elevator, and left me hot, bothered and desirous for you. Now, take me home, and fuck me!” she says in one angry breath, surprising me. My jaw drops open. This is more than I expected, and she elates me and makes me laugh.

“What a born romantic you are Miss Steele,” I say and take her hand and head out of the building to her Saab by the waiting Valet.

Hi everyone! Next chapter update will be upcoming Monday. I have to translate a technical book and it will consume most my time. I worked in an extra week into my contract that way I can write to be able to post once a week. Hope you're all well!