BOOK III - Chapter XIV - Christian and Anastasia FanFiction

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CHAPTER XIV

Anastasia waits for me to explain my worry, but I can’t find the words to express it. All I can do is to hold her with all I’ve got; never let her go. She takes a deep breath and starts reciting her wedding vows.

“I give you my solemn vow to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, to stand by your side in good times and in bad, to share your joy as well as your sorrow,” she recites in a low murmur. Hearing her vows freezes me in places, disarming.

“I promise to love you unconditionally, to support you in your goals and dreams, to honor and respect you, to laugh with you and cry with you, to share my hopes and dreams with you, and bring you solace in times of need.” I’m speechless and unable to respond or move a limb. I just listen to her fervent recitation of the vows she has written for me with wide eyes, scared, worried, anxious, and shaken even. My lips part, but no words come out. She continues wording the rest of her vows, reminding me what she has promised to do as a wife, and life partner.

“And to cherish you for as long as we both shall live,” she says, and sighs looking at me with probing eyes.

“Oh, Ana,” I whisper and move; our physical contact broken. We’re just lying side by side. I look at my wife in wonder. She’s trying to do all she can to be the wife she promised she would be... and I’m in my effort to protect her, derailing her attempts, however unwilling. I am in awe of her. I stroke her face gently with the back of my knuckles. What can I say in response to that but to remind what I had promised to her? Except that I too am taking my job as her husband and her protector, very seriously... She’s got to know that. She must know that! I start whispering my vows in a hoarse voice, packed with all my fears, love and devotion to her to reminding what I have promised and that she’s near and dear to my heart.

“I solemnly vow that I will safeguard and hold dear and deep in my heart, our union and you. I promise to love you faithfully, forsaking all others, through the good times and the bad, in sickness or in health, regardless of where life takes us. I will protect you, trust you, and respect you. I will share your joys and sorrows and comfort you in times of need. I promise to cherish you and uphold your hopes and dreams and keep you safe at my side. All that is mine is now yours. I give you my hand, my heart, and my love from this moment on for as long as we both shall live.”

Tears start streaming from Anastasia’s eyes. I don’t want to worry my wife, but by not talking to her, I’m hurting her. I don’t know what to do. I gaze at Anastasia with all my love and the struggle within me.

“Don’t cry,” I whisper as I wipe her tear away.

“Why don’t you talk to me? Please, Christian,” she pleads with me. I close my eyes in agony. How can I do that when my first instinct is to protect her from everything, shield her even from the world itself? Here she is asking me to expose her to them.

“I vowed I would bring you solace in times of need. Please don’t make me break my vows,” she pleads further. Making her break her vows is the furthest thing from my mind; so, with difficulty I decide to tell her. I sigh, open my eyes warily, scared, desolate, “It’s arson,” I manage to say. Her eyes widen in my response.

“And my biggest worry is that they are after me. And if they are after me...” I stop and close my eyes. I’m afraid that if I say it out loud, it may come true. I can’t take that chance. But she finishes my thoughts.

“...they might get me,” she says in a whisper. Hearing this out loud, from her lips makes me wince. She strokes my face to ease my fears. And somehow her touch softens me inside.

“Thank you,” she says. I furrow my brows at her. Is she thanking me because she’s in danger? Does she not value her life?

“What for?”

“For sharing this with me,” she replies. Well, she is the master inveigler of information. I shake my head, and for the first time since the confirmation of arson, I have the ghost of a smile on my lips.

“Oh, Mrs. Grey; you can be very persuasive.”

“And you can brood and internalize all your feelings and worry yourself to death. You’ll probably die of a heart attack before you’re forty, and I want you around far longer than that,” she says.

“Mrs. Grey, you’ll be the death of me. The sight of you on that Jet Ski nearly gave me a coronary!” I say to her and I flop back onto the bed covering my eyes with my arms. It’s not just the Jet Ski. It’s the way she disregards most everything I ask her not to do thinking of her well-being, but being Anastasia, she doesn’t listen. I have a constant ache inside me... I’m in a conundrum with her. In one hand all her antics gives me life, but in the other hand, they worry me to death. Poison and antidote in one beautiful package, that is Anastasia.   

“Christian, it’s just a Jet Ski. Can you imagine what you’ll be like when we visit your place in Aspen and I go skiing for the first time?” she asks.

It’s our place for God’s sake, and she is never going to go skiing if I can help it! She can read the horror in my face.

“Our place,” I finally manage to mutter.

She continues as if she hasn't heard me. “I’m a grown-up, Christian, and much tougher than I look. When are you going to learn this?”

I don’t know if I can ever get over that fear? She is the most valuable person that ever existed for me. How can I knowingly allow her to be in danger of any kind? If I say anything to that fact, she’ll argue with me. My mouth thins in response, but without saying anything, I just shrug.

“So, about the fire. Do the police know about the arson?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say in a serious expression.

“Good,” she replies. Now would be a good time to inform her of the added security.

“Security is going to get tighter,” I say nonchalantly, expecting opposition. But she replies with, “I understand,” then looks down at my clothes.

“What?” I ask absently.

“You.”

“Me? What about me?”

“Yes, you’re still dressed,” she says. I look down at my clothes remembering the compelling desire I’ve had to bury myself in her.

“Oh,” I reply amused, and finally get to grin at her.

 “Mrs. Grey, you know how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you, especially when you’re giggling like a schoolgirl.”

She immediately moves, and straddles me. When she raises her hands, I immediately understand that she wants to tickle me. I quickly grasp her wrists, and stop her. I can’t bear to be tickled.

“No,” I say to her firmly. She pouts, her feelings hurt. I long for Ana to touch me any way she can, but it’s all too new, and I still can’t bear to be tickled. I don’t know how I would react. Fight or flight. I don’t want that sort of trigger associated with Ana.

“Please don’t,” I say in a whisper. “I just couldn't bear it. I was never tickled as a child,” I say, and she relaxes her hands in a gesture to let me know that she won’t tickle me.

“I used to watch Carrick with Mia and Elliot tickling them and looked like a lot of fun but, I could never... I..” I’m unable to admit, unable to face those fears still. Anastasia places her index finger on my lips effectively and thankfully silencing me.

“Hush, I know...” she murmurs, and softly kisses my lip, and then curls up on my chest where I was unable to hold her in the beginning. Now it’s a welcome feeling. My arms embrace her tightly, and I bury my nose in her hair, inhaling her scent. I stroke her back gently, softly, reassuring her. We lie like this for a long time. I can’t have my fill of her. She finally asks me the question that’s been brewing in her head.

“What’s the longest you've gone without seeing Dr. Flynn?”

“Two weeks. Why? Do you have an incorrigible urge to tickle me?” I ask.

“No,” she laughs. “I think he helps you,” she says.

I make a very ungentlemanly noise. “He should, I pay him enough.” But she now made me curious. Is she worried about me? Suddenly it’s very important for me to find out. I gently pull her hair, making her face me. We are eye to eye; our gazes meet. I want to know what exactly she feels. I desperately want to know that she cares for me.

“Are you concerned for my well-being Mrs. Grey?” I ask in a soft tone.

“Every good wife is concerned for her beloved husband’s well-being, Mr. Grey,” she teases me. But her words are soothing to my soul.

“Beloved?” I whisper without being able to hide my heartbreak. I so want to be her beloved, yet I can’t get over the feeling of being undeserving of love.

“Very much beloved,” she replies, and kisses me. I lose myself in her and in our private moment.

“Do you want to go ashore to eat, Mrs. Grey?” I ask.

“I want to eat wherever you’re happiest,” she replies firmly.

“Good, that settles it then,” I say grinning. “Aboard the ship is where I can keep you safe. Thank you for my present, baby,” I say taking the camera and holding it back, I take pictures of the two us after laying all my shit, my deepest fear laid bare.

“The pleasure is all mine,” replies Anastasia, and I am find my happy place once again: in the arms of my wife.

****❦ ♡ ❧*****

Anastasia and I dine on board, but she’s awfully quiet, her mind is at a distant place.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask in a soft tone, her interrupting her reveries as I take a sip of my after dinner coffee.

“Versailles,” she replies. Yes, we've had a lot of fun there.

“Ostentatious, wasn’t it?” I grin. She looks around the Fair Lady, mistaking what I implied.

“I’m not talking about the Fair Lady. This can hardly be called ostentatious.”

“I know, but it’s still lovely. The best honeymoon a girl could ever want,” she says.

“Really?” I ask surprised. I’m very pleased to hear from her that she liked our honeymoon, despite the phone call from my work, the fire, the punishment fuck, the hickies... I’m glad I’ve done something right.

“Of course it is.”

“We only have two more days left. Is there anything else you’d like to see or do?”

“I just want to be with you,” she whispers.

“Well, could you do without me for about an hour? I need to check my e-mails, find out what’s happening at home.”

“Sure,” she says in a bright tone she reserves when she wants to hide her disappointment. In a way, her response makes me happy. I’m happy that she wants to spend time with me, and even an hour away from me is hard for her as it is for me.

“Thank you for the camera, baby,” I say and make my way to the on board office.

I fire up my laptop in the office, and start going through my e-mails. So far, there hasn't been anything new.  Welch informs me that they shared the evidence his team has collected with the police, but he’s not convinced that it’s going to be resolved quickly. He is not happy with the slow progress. I take out my Blackberry and dial his number. Welch answers on the first ring.

“Mr. Grey?”  

“Welch, what’s the problem with the police department?”

 “There is no problem with the police department Mr. Grey. But I have concerns which I didn't want to express all on an e-mail. Since you are the second biggest taxpayer in the state of Washington, the police department will find itself obliged to do everything by the book and slowly so they leave no room for error. But time isn't something we have,” he says mirroring my concerns.

“Why do you say that?” I ask in a barely controlled voice.

“They have to go through all the evidence, and establish their own conclusion. Meanwhile we wait. We now know that this is the second attempt; I put my reputation on line to claim that it’s by the same perp. First Charlie Tango, and now the Grey House. Our security wasn’t watching Charlie Tango – it was the airport security, but this is our home, so to speak...” he says, and I cut him off.

“We both know that the perp managed to bypass our security in our own territory on our own turf! So tell me Welch, where is it safe? I am making the resources available for you to find this fucker! Do what it takes, so help me God, I’ll have your balls on a platter!” I bellow and I can feel him wince.

“I understand,” he mutters in a steady voice.

“Tell me once and for all: what do you need to catch this fucker? Are you shorthanded, do you not have enough evidence to identify anything, not enough expertise? What the fuck will it take you to identify and find this prick?”  I hiss through my gritted teeth.

“As the head of your security team, I’d like your permission to bring Pella in. As you know, sir,  he’s very expensive.”

“I thought he only investigated aircraft related incidents,” I say leaning back in my chair, shoving my hand through my hair in exasperation. The leather of the chair protests with my forceful push.

“No sir, Pella has his hands in all kinds of pies, but he doesn’t like to make it known. There’s a reason why the top retired special ops guys would give their right arm and a leg to work for him, but then again, that would defeat the purpose. But I digress... They’re all tight lipped of course, but one of my sources whispered in my ear that he even provides services for governments to investigate assassinations, kidnappings, you name it...” he says lowering his voice.

“And you know this how?”

“I’d rather not reveal my sources, sir. Unspoken code of conduct. But I know it to be true...”

“Why would he investigate for governments? Clearly they would have more resources than he does,” I say momentarily intrigued.

“Backdoor policy... Plausible deniability... You name it... He has friends in every government. It’s a mystery, not to mention a source of envy of how he makes those powerful friends. This way, governments can keep their hands clean. And he can fucking go in and out of any country without fear like he owns the damn place, investigate like a shadow, and come up with results!” he says fervently.

“How does he manage to do that?”

“Because, somehow he has men and resources, everywhere, and unparalleled sense of tracking of anything with little to no trace. He won’t get his hands dirty, but I've never heard of anyone who can collect evidence,  put the puzzle pieces together, and come up with results where others have failed with such an uncanny competence. And he always sets his own rules.”

“Are you trying to say you've failed?” I ask rage building up in me.

“No sir. I’m asking you to bring in the best. The police will slow the investigation, and we need results, like last week! I’ve used all my sources to get to him, but even the elite forces are tight lipped when it comes to him; it’s as if he’s sealed their loyalty. He doesn’t make a lot of friends, and he’s extremely loyal to the few friends he makes, and he seems to think of you as his friend! He might be persuaded to come out a second time. He may just be able to find ties to the Charlie Tango sabotage with the arson where police or I can’t make the connection. He may realize ties and locate evidences and make connections from the initial Charlie Tango investigation he’s completed.”

“Fine! Get him!”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get the word to him.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s all I have for now, sir. I’ll update you as soon as any change occurs in the investigation, or if I hear a word from my contact about Pella.”

“Do it fast. Otherwise it’s your balls, Welch!”

“Yes, sir,” he replies solemnly, and I hang up.

Exasperation floods over me. I don’t like anything being out of my control: Personal, or business. I will do everything in my power to regain the control back in my life. The thought that there is a maniac out there who is after me, possibly after my wife or even my family is driving me into madness! I take a deep breath as I get up and pace the length of the room, and then I leave the office to find my wife. I see Anastasia coming to see me on the deck.  She sees my face before I can put the impassive mask in place and she silently walks into my embrace. I fold my arms over her and hold her tight for several minutes until the feeling of helplessness subsides.

****❦ ♡ ❧*****

“No! No Christian! Don’t go!”

I wake up in the dark as Anastasia trashing in bed, talking in her sleep nervously. She’s gasping for air as if someone’s choking her, having a panic attack!

“Hey,” I gently whisper to not to scare her. She’s worried and her panic scares the hell out of me. I have to be very careful what information I share with her from now on. I don’t want her to have these nightmares. It’s got to be my burden to carry, not hers.

“Oh, Christian,” she mumbles. I can hear her fluttering heart, and her distress breaks mine. I wrap my arms around her. I feel the large tear drops flow on to my arm.

“Ana, what is it?” I ask, stroking her cheek trying to soothe her and calm her down. Oh, God! Her distress torments me inside, ripping me apart.

“Nothing. Just a silly nightmare,” she whispers. I kiss her forehead, her tear-stained cheeks, and the edge of her lips softly.

“Just a bad dream baby,” I say vowing to shield and protect her from anything that might trigger this reaction again. “I’ve got you. I’ll keep you safe.”

She snuggles her head in the crook of my arm, inhaling my scent deeply. I hold her tight, cocooning her in my arms and between my legs. I hold Anastasia in my arms unable to sleep for quite sometime. She falls asleep again, but remains restless for rest of the night, and finally, I too fall into a troubled, uneasy sleep. 

****❦ ♡ ❧*****

I get up early again. Calling the past couple of nights uneasy would be the understatement of the year. Anastasia had nothing but nightmares, skittish, crying and talking in her sleep, constantly worried. Having been unable to chase her worries is silently driving me into madness. Whoever is doing this to me, to my wife will have to pay for it, once I catch up to him! I quickly take my shower, dry and put my cutoff jeans on with my gray t-shirt. Taking my Blackberry, I slowly walk out of the cabin, and go to the office. I dial Welch’s phone.

“Uhm... Good morning Mr. Grey. Sorry, I’m not sure what time it is in France right now,” he says apologizing.

“It’s 5:18 a.m.” I reply.

“Is everything alright?” he asks alert.

“Have you heard anything about Pella?” I ask, ignoring his question.

“As a matter of fact I did. I was going to wait for an appropriate time to call you, sir.”

“And?”

“He’s currently in London, but the earliest he can be in Seattle is Tuesday,” he replies.

“Tuesday... Okay,” I reply. I can live with that. “Anything new with the police investigation?”

“No, sir. Just the crime lab came and dusted again, but I doubt they’ll find anything new.”

“What about the servers? Has Barney rerouted the server room to the offsite data storage?”

“Yes sir, it’s already been done. But that’s only a temporary solution.  When Pella and his team complete their work in the server room here, we would have to resume using it. We have dedicated protection on the offsite data storage 24/7, but using our own servers here on location would still be the safest.”

“I agree. I’ll see you on Monday, then,” I say hanging up.

I pour myself a glass of wine to take the edge off even though it’s too early. I go back to the cabin. I take a small upholstered armchair and bringing it by the bed quietly, I start watching Anastasia. Her sleep is uneasy. I watch her for hours. She is talking again in her sleep once again. Some words are unintelligible. But some others are quite clear:

“Christian...” she murmurs in her sleep. The pronouncement of my name is packed with worry and anxiety. “I’m scared... Don’t hurt him!” Fuck! She’s having a nightmare about me.

“Shhh....” I coo her in a whisper. She groans and turns in bed. Her hands instinctively reach out my pillow and she feels my absence. Immediately panicked, she stirs and wakes up. Breathing harshly, still under the effects of her nightmare, she looks around the cabin for me. I put the wine glass down right away, and quickly move and stretch next to Anastasia.

“Hey, don’t panic, baby. Everything is fine,” I say gently in a soothing tone. Her eyes are wide, almost terrified. I stroke her hair affectionately, smoothing it away from her face, and that’s the only place I touch her to not to scare her. Feeling my calming presence, she’s soothed immediately. I try to put my impassive mask on, but the anxiety is so great, I fail. My eyes remain wide, and worry laced.

“ You've been so jumpy these last couple of days,” I mutter.

“I’m okay, Christian,” she says and smiles wide; the smile she reserves for when she wants to hide her fear and tension. She can’t fool me. We’re both trying to protect each other from worrying. But it’s my job to chase away all the nightmares. Not hers. The pain, worry, anxiety are all written all over her eyes.

“Were you watching me sleep?” she asks.

“Yes...” I reply, my gaze fixed on hers, studying her face. “You were talking."

“Oh?” she asks in a tone worried what she might have revealed.

“You’re worried,” I whisper. Her distress fills me with concern. It’s etched on the frown on her face. I lean in and kiss her forehead between her brows.

“When you frown, a little V forms just here. It’s soft to kiss. Don’t worry baby, I’ll look after you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, it’s you. Who’s looking after you?” she groans.

Her distress concerns me, but also tugs at my heartstrings. My wife loves me deep enough to have nightmares fearing for me. I smile at her admonishing tone. “I’m big enough and ugly enough to look after myself.” I’d be damned if last day of our honeymoon is going to be remembered with these bad memories. I have to do something to change that. Something fun. Something she wants to do... I got it!

“Come. Get up. There’s one thing I’d like to do before we head home,” I say grinning wide. She looks at me surprised, and I swat her delectable ass. She yelps in response but gets up. I get her showered, properly dressed, and fed with breakfast. Finally managing to put on life jackets on both of us, I take her to the Jet Ski. She eyes me, completely puzzled. Strapping the Jet Ski’s key to her wrist, I look at her expectantly. She blinks in surprise, her eyes widen.

“You want me to drive?” she asks incredulous.

“Yes,” I grin in her response. “That’s not too tight?”

“It’s fine. Oh... Is that why you’re wearing a life jacket?” she asks raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Yes,” I say smiling. She giggles in my response.

“Such confidence in my driving skills, Mr. Grey,” she says sarcastically.

“As ever, Mrs. Grey,” I reply.

“Well, don’t lecture me,” she forewarns. I hold my hands up in a defensive gesture, still smiling like an idiot.

“Would I dare?” I ask in a mock wounded tone.

“Yes you would, and yes you often do, and we can’t pull over and argue on the sidewalk here,” she reminds me putting her hands on her hips.

“Fair point well made, Mrs. Grey. Are we going to stand on this platform all day debating your driving skills or are we going to have some fun?”

“Fair point well made, Mr. Grey. Let’s have fun,” she says grasping the handlebars of the Jet Ski. She situates herself on the seat, and I climb behind her, kicking us away from the yacht. I note that Taylor and two deckhands are watching us, probably thinking that the control freak Christian Grey must have lost his marbles to let his wife drive the Jet Ski. They all look amused. I move forward and wrap my body around Anastasia’s as close as possible. Not even the air can pass between us. 

“Ready?” she shouts at me over the Jet Ski’s engine’s noise.

“As I’ll ever be,” I say to her ear.

Anastasia slowly squeezes the levers behind the handle bars to increase her speed. We slowly move away from the Fair Lady. Anastasia squeezes the levers harder and the Jet Ski with us on its back shoots forward.

“Whoa! Ana!” I shout, but I’m also excited. We are reaffirming life together, and it’s delightful! Anastasia speeds past the Fair Lady towards the open sea. We’re outside of the Port de Plaisance de Saint-Claude-du-Var, and Nice Cote d’Azur Airport. Anastasia, out of some bizarre curiosity directs the Jet Ski towards the airports built almost into the Mediterranean Sea. The Jet Ski moves skipping over the waves like an expertly tossed rock on water. I can feel the thrill Anastasia is experiencing. She’s in seventh heaven!

“Next time we do this, we’ll have two jet skis,” I shout over the noise. I can feel her answering grin, knowing that I will allow her to do something I deemed dangerous only yesterday. An approaching jet engine’s extremely loud roar suddenly startles Anastasia and instead of easing the throttle, she hits it.

“Ana!” I manage to shout as we’re both catapulted off the Jet Ski with our arms and legs flailing in the air and into the cooler waters of the Mediterranean. The last thing I hear is her scream as she plunges into the water in a big splash. Thanks to her life vest, she is resurfaces almost immediately but she’s coughing and spluttering seawater, and looking around to find me. I am catapulted away from her, but I swim towards Anastasia, anxious to make sure she’s alright. The Jet Ski is only a few feet away, silently floating on the surface.

“Are you okay?” I ask in a full blown panic.

“Yes,” she croaks, her throat is probably still burning from the seawater she’s swallowed. Relief floods me immediately, and I grab and hold onto her, hugging her tight to my chest as my heart is beating like the jungle drum. Then leaning back, I check her face to see if she’s really alright.

“See, Christian, that wasn’t so bad!” she says grinning. Yes, she’s okay.

“No, I guess it wasn’t. Except that I’m wet,” I groan in a playful tone.

“I’m wet too!” she squeaks.

“I like you wet,” I say ogling her.

“Christian!” she scolds me, mischievously. I grin as wide as possible, and leaning in I kiss my wife with all I’ve got. We don’t stop kissing until we are both breathless. Fuck! Now, I’m hot and heavy for my wife. Maybe I can do something about it in the shower.

“Come. Let’s head back. Now we have to shower. I’ll drive,” I say before mounting the Jet Ski again.

****❦ ♡ ❧*****

As we sit in the British Airways first class lounge at Heathrow Airport in London, we are waiting for the connecting flight to Seattle. As I’ve been reading the Financial Times, I hear the shutter noise of a camera. I look up and smile at Anastasia. Is she trying to get my attention? She’s eyeing my white linen shirt and jeans, and her eyes focus on my aviator sunglasses tucked inside the V of my open shirt.

“How are you, Mrs. Grey?” I ask.

“Sad to be going home. I like having you to myself.”

I smile at her in response, holding her hand, I raise it to my lips and kiss her knuckles. I would love to have more time alone with her, but I can’t get my mind away from the perp and he must be caught for us to have any sort of peace.

“Me, too,” I reply.

“But?” she says raising her eyebrows.

“But?” I repeat, but I sound unconvincing to her. She tilts her head to the side in her new questioning look, digging for more information. I have to work harder on my impassive gaze if I want to make her believe.

I sigh. “I just want this arsonist caught and out of our lives,” I say finally.

“Oh,” she replies, understanding my concern.

“I’ll have Welch’s balls on a platter if he lets anything like that happen again,” I say threateningly. I said as much to Welch! This time I manage to look at Anastasia impassively, daring her to oppose me at all if she’s feeling brave enough. She just smiles in response, and lifting up her camera, she immortalizes my impassive gaze.

****❦ ♡ ❧*****

We finally arrive at Escala after Sawyer picks us up from the Airport. Home sweet home! Anastasia is so tired, she’s fallen asleep in the car.

“Hey, sleepyhead, we’re home,” I murmur into Anastasia’s ear.

“Hmm,” she mumbles still half asleep. I get out, and walk to her side of the passenger door and open it. Instead of letting her walk out, I lean in, unbuckle her seat-belt and lift Anastasia into my arms, walking her to the elevators.

“Hey, I can walk,” she protests, but she’s still too sleepy. I snort. This is our first time as husband and wife in our home. I will cross her through the threshold. “I need to carry you over the threshold,” I remind her. Her arms snake around my neck all too willingly.

“Up all thirty floors?” she challenges me, smiling.

“Mrs. Grey, I’m very pleased to announce that you've put on some weight.”

“What?” she nearly shouts, waking up completely. Her reaction makes me grin.

“So if you don’t mind, we’ll use the elevator,” I say narrowing my eyes on her, teasing. Taylor opens the Escala lobby doors and smiles. “Welcome home Mr. Grey, Mrs. Grey.”

“Thanks, Taylor,” I reply. When Taylor goes back to the Audi where Sawyer is waiting for him, Anastasia turns the full force of her glare on me.

“What do you mean I’ve put on weight?” she asks. I grin even wider, and hold her closer to my chest as I walk across the lobby.

“Not much,” I say, but remembering she only regained part of the weight she’s lost when she left me. I can’t help but remember the agony I've felt when she wasn’t in my life. My face falls.

“What is it?” she asks in an alarmed voice.

“ You've put on some of the weight you lost when you left me,” I say quietly in anguish as I push the call button for the elevator.

“Hey.” Her voice is serene. Her fingers hold my face making me look at her. “If I hadn't gone, would you be standing here, like this, now?” she asks probing.

I smile. No, we wouldn't.  “No,” I say as the elevator doors open. I lean in and kiss her after I walk into the elevator with her in my arms. “But I would know I could keep you safe, because you wouldn't defy me.” 

Sometimes I miss the control. I would however, not exchange what we have now which would have never occurred had she not been defiant. All the touching, closeness, marriage all would have been a distant unreachable dream for me. Her defiance is a small price to pay.

“I like defying you,” she says narrowing her eyes.

“I know. And it’s made me so... very happy,” I say smiling at her.

“Even though I’m fat?” she asks. Her remark makes me laugh. “Even though you’re fat,” I say kissing her; our connection gets me heated, sets my blood boiling. She weaves her fingers into my hair, holding me against her, and our kiss, the tango of our tongues is intoxicating. Utterly sensual. Elevator stops at the penthouse, the doors open and we’re both breathless. I wouldn't change this for anything in the world.

“Very happy,” I murmur my declaration. My gaze is dark, my smile is salacious and it’s our first night back as husband and wife. What’s better than christening once home with mind blowing sex?

“Welcome home, Mrs. Grey,” I whisper as my lips lock on hers again, and then I smile at her.

“Welcome home, Mr. Grey,” she replies beaming at me.

I walk across the foyer, the corridor, the great room, and put her on the kitchen island, making her sit, her legs dangling. I take out two champagne flutes and a bottle of Bollinger from the fridge. I open the bottle, and pour the pale pink champagne into each flute, and hand her one of them. I part her legs, and move in between them, standing with her face to face.

“Here’s to us, Mrs. Grey,” I lift my glass.

“To us, Mr. Grey,” she whispers, smiling shyly. We clink the glasses and she lifts it to her lips to take a sip.

“I know you’re tired right now after the long trip back home,” I whisper as I rub my nose against hers. “But I’d really like to go to bed, and not to sleep,” I say kissing the corner of her mouth. “It’s our first night back here, and you’re really mine,” I say and see a shiver run through her body. I plant a soft kiss down her throat. It’s early evening, and for the residents of Seattle, it’s not time to go to bed yet, but then again, they haven’t traveled as far as we have, either.

****❦ ♡ ❧*****

I wake up feeling the eerie silence being broken by a deep sigh. I feel her gaze on me. My eyes are heavy with sleep. But immediately feeling something wrong, I’m wide awake. I find Anastasia gazing at me with something of a worry.

“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.

“Nothing. Just go back to sleep,” she says with a reassuring smile. Oh, she’s jet-lagged she can’t sleep. I stretch, and rub the sleep away from my face and then grin at her.

“Jet lag?” I ask her.

“Is this what this is? I’m unable to sleep.”

“I have the universal panacea right here, just for you, baby,” I say grinning, and she rolls her eyes while giggling. But the next thing I know, her teeth graze my earlobe sending shivers down to my core, and my cock is wide awake.

The heavy lovemaking leaves us both breathless, and tired, and pleasantly chases away jet lag and nightmares away with the surge of pheromones. When I wake up again, the first daylights of Seattle is seeping into our bedroom. I quietly get up, get into my work out gear and head down to the gym with Taylor. It’s good to be getting back to my routine; it gives me a sense of control and relieves a lot of tension.

When I get back from working out, I head to our bedroom. My presence wakes Anastasia up. She’s gloriously naked under the sheets, and it’s a draw for me, but we have a busy day ahead. We are invited to my parents’ home for lunch with the family.

“Shower?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says sitting up letting the sheet fall off her body, making me hitch my breath. I drop my gym towel on the floor absently, and scoop my wife off the bed, and carry her into the bathroom with her giggling protests.

She eyes the suitcases on the way to the bathroom. Groans.

“I have to unpack today before we go to your parents,” she complains.

“Let Mrs. Jones do it,” I reply. “Just relax this morning. But I will have to catch up with some work,” her face falls, but then she puts on her bright smile reserved for when she wants to mask her true emotions.

“No, I think it’ll keep me busy while you are working,” she replies.

****❦ ♡ ❧*****

It’s almost noon when we’re in the Audi R8 driving to my parents’ home on I-5 towards the 520 bridge. Anastasia’s mood is forlorn though she tries to hide it. She absently rubs the leather of her seat, and blurts out, “Would you let me drive this?” surprising me.

“Of course,” I reply her smiling. “What’s mine is yours. If you dent it though, I would take you into the Red Room of Pain,” I say looking at her with a fiendish grin goading her.

“You’re kidding. You’d punish me for denting your car? You love your car more than you love me?” she asks in a teasing tone.

“It’s close,” I tease her back, as my hand reaches out to squeeze her knee. “But she doesn’t keep me warm at night,” I say with a salacious smile.

“I’m sure it could be arranged. You could sleep in her!” she snaps back in a jealous tone, and her response makes me laugh. It’s so cute and so normal.

“We haven’t been home one day and you’re kicking me out already?” I ask her enthralled. She looks at me as if she's looking at a bizarre science experiment, befuddled with my reaction.

“Why are you so pleased?” she quizzes me. I give her another ear splitting grin.

“Because this conversation is so normal,” I reply. So normal that I feel I crave it after the last few stressful days with worry.

“Normal!” she says snorting. “Surely, not after three weeks of marriage!” she says, and I feel the air sucked out of my lungs, my energy draining. Does she really think that this is so bad? I was only teasing her.

“I’m kidding, Christian,” she says right away. But her mood too is gone. Her disposition changes to disconsolate.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stick to the Saab,” she mutters averting her gaze to the road outside of her window. Why is she in such a bad mood?

“Hey! What’s wrong?” I ask her without being able to hide my concern.

“Nothing,” she replies. If I learned anything from the Anastasia’s Mood 101 course, it’s that, ‘nothing’ is never ‘nothing’, but always something; in fact a lot of somethings.

“You’re so frustrating sometimes, Ana. Just tell me!” I say exasperated.

She turns and gives me a looks accompanied by a smirk. “Back at you, Grey,” she says. Shit! I’ve done something again. I frown in response.

“I’m trying to fix my ways,” I say in a soft voice.

“I know. Me too,” she says, and her simple admission raises both of our moods a little.

We are greeted at the door by my mother, and she takes us to the terrace where all the family members as well as Katherine and Ethan are assembled. My dad is manning the grill with his chef’s hat he tilted to the side, and his Licensed to Grill apron. Anastasia must find him very funny; because whenever she looks at his direction she grins, and shakes her head imperceptibly. My brother is in his usual joking mode again, using a lot of sexual innuendos. We end up trading a lot of friendly insults and discuss the new plans for our home while my mom and Mia are setting salad and side dishes on the terrace table. I hear Ethan and Kate quiz Anastasia about our honeymoon and the places we visited. I talk to my brother as I hold Anastasia’s hand toying with her rings absently. His company is supposed to remodel our new home and make it more ‘green’ and environment friendly.

“So if you can get the plans finalized with Gia, I have a window September through to mid-November and can get the whole crew on it,” says Elliot, stretching smoothly and holding his girlfriend tight.

That reminds me, I have scheduled Gia to come over tomorrow so we can move forward with our plans. I want our home to be completed soon.

“Yes, Gia is due to come over to discuss the plans tomorrow evening,” I reply him. “I hope we can finalize everything then,” I say looking at my wife. “Sure,” she responds smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s still in a bad mood. What the hell is going on? When everyone’s attention is diverted elsewhere, her face falls again as if her puppy just died. She’s lost in her thought once more. I have to find out what is eating her up even if I have to take her to the boat house for an extended spanking and fucking session!

“Ana! Are you still in the South of France?” asks Katherine. Leave it to her to nose in at the wrong time.

“Yes,” Anastasia replies with a small smile. The kind of smile you show to company, but don’t really mean.

“You look so well,” she compliments Anastasia.

“You both do,” my mom chimes in.

“To the happy couple!” my dad says raising his glass and everyone on the table cheer in.

“And of course, congratulations to Ethan for getting into the psych program at Seattle,” says Mia, commending her boyfriend.

Everyone at the table ask us about our honeymoon, and the places on our itinerary. Ana remains silent, aloof, so I fill in for us both and talk about our visit to Ireland, London, Paris, south of France, and the Fair Lady excursions. Ana just looks blank, pouty, and desolate. Nothing I say or do cheers her up. Elliot accidentally knocks his wine glass on the terrace, and to avoid staining everyone moves about to get it cleaned. Taking the opportunity I lean into Anastasia’s ear:

“I am going to take you to the boathouse and finally spank you in there if you don’t snap out of this mood,” I whisper.

The first lively reaction I get from her since this morning is her gasp. She looks at me shocked.

“You wouldn't dare!” she growls. Oh, baby! How little you know me, and how tempting is your incredulity! I cock my eyebrow at her, waiting for her to say the next thing for me to just to take her. From the direction Anastasia’s eyes travel across the table, Katherine must be watching us, but I don’t give a fuck about her. Anastasia is my wife! I spank, I fuck, I kiss, and make love: she’s my wife, and I need to find out what the hell is eating her up!

“You’d have to catch me first, and I’m wearing flats,” she hisses

.

“I’d have fun trying,” I whisper with a lascivious grin. She blushes crimson. But I decide to keep my eye on her until her mood is completely changed.

After we finish our deserts, the rain starts pouring and we all jump to our feet with our plates and glasses in hand run inside. My mom is pleased that the rain didn't start until we were done with our meal and dessert. We go inside, and I eye my parents’ piano. The piano I spent many hours practicing as a child. I press the quiet pedal and start playing is softly. Anastasia sits and socializes with my family. As I play the notes of “Wherever You May Go,” I start singing the lyrics softly to myself. In less than a minute the room is completely eerily silent, and I feel all the eyes on me. The first time I ever sang in front of any member of my family other than Anastasia was on our wedding day. That was quite a shock to everyone, but I think it’s a bigger shock to them now, because, I can just do it without thinking about it.

Charlene Soraia - Wherever You Will Go

When I stop singing and stare back at my family, my mom softly urges me to go on. I think she’s just promoted Anastasia to the level of saints after hearing me sing a second time confirming that it wasn’t just a fluke. Through my peripheral vision I see her embracing Anastasia and I hear her joyful thanks.

“Oh, darling girl! Thank you, thank you!” she utters, completely elated, like the time she heard me talk for the first time. I hear her telling Anastasia that she’s going to go make some tea in a hoarse voice. That’s her line to go to the kitchen and shed tears in private.

I get up and go to the French doors and gaze outside deep in thought.  Anastasia sashays towards me.

“Hi,” she greets me.

“Hi,” I reply, pulling her close me, I wrap my arm around her waist and she puts her hand into my back pocket.

“Are you feeling better now?”I ask. She nods in the affirmative.

“Good.”

“You certainly know how to silence a room,” she notes.

“I do it all the time,” I say grinning.

“Yes, you do it at work, but not here.”

“That’s true; no, not here.”

“So, this is only the second time they've heard you sing? Our wedding and now?”

“I suppose so,” I remark dryly. She has no idea about the depths of my feelings for her, what I’d do, how she affects me, what she makes me do just by being in my life. All of a sudden I want to take her home, and have my way with her, lose myself in her. I feel my body heating, desire coursing through my me. “Shall we go?” I ask.

She drifts her gaze up to my face trying to gauge my mood, trying to understand what I’m thinking.

“Are you going to spank me?” she asks in a whisper. Immediately all my senses are in full alert mode, and I’m completely focused on her. My eyes darken, my mouth dries, my pupils dilate, and my pulse races.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m more than happy to play,” I say sensually. She blushes and looks around the room to see if anyone is in earshot of us. Then I lean into her ear, and without making contact, whisper, “Only if you misbehave, Mrs. Grey,” I say, and I know she’s in a one tight knot inside looking for ways to misbehave.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replies in a breathy voice.

“Let’s not waste time then,” I say taking my wife's hand, ready to leave. We say our goodbyes to my family and friends, and as we walk to the R8, I throw the car keys to her.

“Here,” I say. “Don’t bend it,” I look at her narrowing my eyes, trying to be as serious as possible, “or I will be fucking pissed.” Her mouth falls open, unable to believe that I’m letting her drive my car. You have no idea what I’d let you do, baby.

“Are you sure?” she mouths, completely astonished.

“Yes, before I change my mind,” I say and I have to say, I’ve never seen her grin as wide before. I open the driver’s door, and before I can make my way to the passenger side, she turns the car on, raring to go.

“Eager, Mrs. Grey?” I ask wryly.

“Very,” she replies excitedly.

She slowly backs the car, and turns into the driveway. This is stick shift, and I don’t know if she’s going to stall the car or not. But whatever sooner earns her a spanking, the more fun for both of us. Sawyer and Ryan climb into the Audi SUV and drive behind us. When Anastasia is at the edge of the driveway, ready to merge into the main road, she turns to me and asks.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes,” I say in a tight voice, but all my instincts scream no! Of course I’ve no trust in her driving skills. I’ve seen her drive like a bat out of hell in her death trap of a car before, and she does the same thing with her Saab. She slowly inches the R8 onto the road, and I notice I’m holding tightly, my muscles tense, I’m fisting so hard, my knuckles whiten. And my wife hits the damn gas, shooting us forward! What the hell was that?

“Whoa! Ana!” I shout out loud. “Slow down, or you’ll kill us both!”

“Sorry,” she mutters, trying to be chagrined, but failing miserably. I smirk at her, counting her misdemeanor.

“Well, Mrs. Grey, that counts as misbehaving,” I say casually, and her foot immediately lifts off the accelerator, slowing us down considerably. Her eyes dart to the rear-view mirror. I follow her gaze. The Audi SUV is nowhere to be seen. There’s only a black Dodge with darkly tinted windows behind us as we are making way towards the 520 bridge. My Blackberry buzzes in the back pocket of my pants, and with the added frustration I curse an epitaph.

“What?” I bark at Sawyer.

“Am I on the speaker phone, Mr. Grey?” he asks in a flat voice.

“No,” I respond.

“Is Mrs. Grey driving the R8, sir?”

“Yes. She is,” I reply and my eyes drift to the rear-view mirror, and Anastasia’s eyes follows mine, locking gazes in the mirror.

“Okay. There’s an unsub following you. We've ran the license plate of the black Dodge a few cars behind the R8, and it came up with false plates. They are stolen, and there is a big possibility that the driver of the unsub maybe the perp we are looking for, sir.” Fuck! I mentally curse.

“I see,” I sigh out my exasperation long and hard, my hand flies to my forehead rubbing hard, tension is oozing out of my pores.

“We’re trying to catch up to you sir, but meanwhile, can you have Mrs. Grey to speed up and put some distance between you and the unsub?”

“Yes...” I say, but I don’t know if I can trust Anastasia’s driving skills in stressful situations. “...I don’t know,” I add. I see Anastasia looking at me with panic in her eyes. Panic can get us both killed. I lower the phone and press it on my chest, and address only Anastasia.

“We’re fine. Keep going,” I say and try to give her a reassuring smile.

“We’re going to try to cut the driver, but we’re still behind a few cars, and the driver is trying to catch up to you quickly, sir. How does the traffic look on 520?”

“Okay on the 520.”

“Great! As soon as you’re on 520 then, have Mrs. Grey hit the gas, and fast and head towards I-5.”’

“As soon as we hit it...”

“Yes, then have Mrs. Grey speed up to put some distance between you and the unsub...”

“Yes...”

“It would best if you let Mrs. Grey know that you are being followed, sir. That way she can understand the urgency, and you can put us on hands-free and direct her while I give you updates of what the other driver is attempting to do,” he says.

“I will,” I say reluctantly. As soon as I put the phone on the hands-free slot, Anastasia looks at me concerned.

“What’s wrong, Christian?” she asks.

“Just look where you’re going, baby,” I say in a soft tone. My gaze is on the road ahead, in the direction of the 520 on-ramp towards Seattle.

“I don’t want you to panic,” I say in a soothing voice. “But as soon as we’re on the 520 proper, I want you to step on the gas. We’re being followed." She gasps, and her mouth falls open. Her eyes dart into the rearview mirror. She now knows that the Dodge is the vehicle following us.

“Keep your eyes on the road, baby,” I coax my wife gently.

“How do you know we’re being followed?” she asks in a soft, breathy whisper.

“The Dodge behind us has false license plates.” I reply shortly. Anastasia signals to get onto the 520 on-ramp. It’s not raining anymore, but it’s late afternoon, and the traffic is reasonably light. Thank goodness it’s Sunday. I hear Anastasia taking a deep breath. Her chest is heaving up and down. Her gaze drifts onto the rearview mirror again. Anastasia slows down, and the panic rises in me! It’s not the fucking time to slow down! The Dodge also slows down behind us. Then Anastasia drops a gear, and floors the gas; R8 shoots forward towards the on-ramp of 520, slamming us into our seats. I eye the speedometer, and its at 75 mph. It takes less than seven seconds for the R8 to get to 75 miles per hour. That 6.8 seconds is enough to give an electric shock to my heart, and my nerves.

“Steady, baby,” I say in a calm voice though there are tornadoes brewing inside me. Our lives are at stake by the maniac behind us, and my wife’s less than perfect driving skills and my fucking security detail whose heads I will rip off if and when we can get home safely! Anastasia is weaving between two lanes of traffic like the frog hopper game. She’s so fucking close to the rails, when I look on the side; it appears as if we’re driving on water. My gaze is shooting daggers, I’m irritated and nervous, and if my parents are right, Anastasia will make us both walk on water! She’s completely ignoring me. My hands are clutching each other so tight; I’m surprised I didn't break a knuckle or a bone. But, I try to keep my thoughts to myself so I don’t make her even more nervous, putting us in even greater danger.

“Good girl,” I manage to breathe my encouragement for her. I look behind, and she may have lost the unsub.

 

“I can’t see the Dodge,” I mutter.

“We are right behind the unsub, Mr. Grey,” I hear Sawyer explaining.

“Good. Mrs. Grey is doing well. At this rate, provided the traffic remains light, and from what I can see it is, we’ll be off the bridge in a few minutes.”

“Sir,” he concurs.

We fly past the bridge control tower, and we've already made halfway across Lake Washington. Anastasia’s eyes dart at the speedometer which is holding a steady seventy-five miles per hour.

“You’re doing really well, Ana,” I murmur, and my gaze dart back to behind us.

“Where am I headed?” she asks in surprisingly a calm tone.

“Mrs. Grey, head for I-5 and then south. We want to see if the Dodge follows you all the way,” Sawyer says. We keep racing forward, so fucking lucky to have encountered green lights.

Anastasia glances at me nervously, and I give her a reassuring smile. But when I look ahead, there is a line of traffic we’re going to hit as we get off the bridge.

“Shit!” I swear softly and bitterly. We both glance behind us and spot the Dodge about ten cars behind us.

“Ten or so cars back?” she asks.

“Yeah, I see it,” I say. “I wonder who the fuck it is?” If Anastasia wasn’t with me, I’d stop and beat the fuck out of the driver.

“Me too. Do we know if it’s a man driving?” asks Anastasia.

“No, Mrs. Grey. Could be a man or a woman. The tint is too dark, ma’am.”

“A woman?” I ask. That possibility never occurred to me.

Anastasia shrugs and asks, “Your Mrs. Robinson?” she offers, her gaze fixed on the road. I immediately stiffen, and take the phone off the cradle to prevent my security detail delving into our personal affairs.

“She’s not my Mrs. Robinson,” I growl at her. For God’s sake! “I haven’t spoken to her since my birthday. And Elena wouldn't do this. It’s not her style.”

“Leila?”

“She’s in Connecticut with her parents. I told you,” I say completely exasperated.

“Are you sure?” she probes me further, putting me through the Spanish Inquisition. I pause. I would have known if she was out of her state. Her family signed papers stating they would inform Flynn. My payments to her are conditional to that fact.

“No. But if she’d absconded, I’m sure her folks would have let Flynn know. Let’s discuss this when we’re home. Concentrate on what you’re doing,” I warn her.

“But it might just be some random car,” she offers helpfully.

“I’m not taking any risks. Not where you’re concerned,” I snap at her. Does she not understand how important she is to me? I put the Blackberry back into its cradle, and once again we’re in contact with my security detail.

Thankfully the traffic starts thinning and Anastasia manages to speed over the Mountlake intersection toward the I-5 freeway; and once again we’re playing the frog hopper.

“What if we get stopped by the cops?” she asks.

“That would be a good thing,” I reply. Because the perp would have no choice but take off.

“Not for my license,” she responds.

“Don’t worry about that,” I say. I can get that cleared up in no time. She floors it again and we’re back up to 75 mph. But the Dodge behind us is speeding up to catch up to us. Anastasia hits the gas again and the R8 jumps to 85 mph.

“He’s cleared the traffic and picked up speed. He’s doing ninety, sir,” says Sawyer.

Anastasia hits the gas again, and we’re up to 95 mph as we approach the I-5 intersection.

“Keep it up, Ana,” I encourage her. Anastasia slows down just a bit to merge into the flow of the freeway traffic. Then she quickly moves into the left most lane immediately. We zoom forward.

“He’s hit one hundred miles per hour, sir.”

“Stay with him, Luke,” I snap at Sawyer.

A truck lurches into the fast lane, cutting Ana off, making her hit the brakes, and we are thrusted forward. We’re only held in place by our seatbelts.

“Fucking idiot!” I curse the driver. “Go around him, baby,” I say through clenched teeth. She checks the mirrors and cuts right across three lanes, passing slower vehicles, to move back into the fast lane again.

“Nice move, Mrs. Grey,” I say impressed. “Where are the cops when you need them?” I complain.

“I don’t want a ticket, Christian,” she mutters. “Have you had a speeding ticket driving this?” she asks.

“No,” I reply truthfully, amused and smirking.

“Have you been stopped?” she asks seeing me smirk.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” she says, with a questioning tone.

“Charm, Mrs. Grey. It all comes down to charm. Now concentrate. Where’s the Dodge, Sawyer?”

“He’s just hit one hundred and ten, sir,” he says.

There’s a Mustang ahead of us, and he won’t get out of our way.

“Flash the headlight,” I order Ana.

“But that’d make me an asshole,” she replies. Is this really the fucking time to have courtesy?

“So be an asshole!” I snap at her.

“Uhm. I don’t know where the headlight are,” she says.

“The indicator. Pull it toward you.”

She then flashes the driver, and he gets out of the way, but not before showing my wife the middle finger.

“He’s the asshole,” I say under my breath.

“Get off on Stewart!” I order Anastasia.

“We’re taking the Stewart Street exit,” I inform Sawyer.

“Head straight to Escala, sir.”

Anastasia slows down, checks her mirrors, signals and moves four lanes of the freeway into the off-ramp. We merge onto Stewart Street, heading south.

“ We've been damned lucky with the traffic. But that means the Dodge has, too. Don’t slow down, Ana. Get us home,” I say.

“I can’t remember the way,” she mutters panic rising.

“Head south on Stewart. Keep going until I tell you when,” I remind her anxiously. She zooms past three blocks, and the light turns yellow on Yale Avenue.

“Run the lights, Ana!” I shout, and she floors the gas.

“He’s taking Stewart,” Sawyer informs us.

“Stay with him, Luke.”

“Luke?”

“That’s his name,” I reply irritated. She turns and looks at me. Why is my wife’s attention can be disrupted by simple things such as a name?

“Eyes on the road!” I snap at her.

“Luke Sawyer,” she repeats to herself.

“Yes!” I am completely exasperated. What the fuck Ana?

“Ah,” she says, as if she’s making a mental note.

“That’s me, ma’am,” joins Sawyer into the conversation. This is fucking surreal. We’re being followed and my wife and the fucking security are talking about his name!

“The unsub is heading down Stewart, sir. He’s really picking up speed.”

“Go, Ana. Less of the fucking chitchat,” I growl at her.

“We’re stopped at the first light on Stewart,” Sawyer informs us.

“Ana, quick! In here!” I point a parking garage on the south side of Boren Avenue. Anastasia turns, the tires screeching and she swerves into the crowded parking lot.

“Drive around. Quick!” I order. “In there!” I say pointing to a parking space. Her gaze widens.

“Just fucking do it,” I say, and she parks perfectly.

“We’re hidden in the parking lot between Stewart and Boren,” I say into the Blackberry.

“Okay, sir,” says Sawyer irritated that we didn't get to Escala. “Stay where you are; we’ll follow the unsub.”

I turn to Anastasia to see if she’s alright.

“You okay?”

“Sure,” she replies in a whisper. I smirk in response.

“Whoever is driving the Dodge can’t hear us, you know.”

She gives out a cathartic laughter.

“We’re passing Stewart and Boren now, sir. I see the lot. He’s gone straight past you, sir.” We both sag in relief.

“Well done, Mrs. Grey. Good driving,” I say stroking my wife’s face with my fingertips. Anastasia jumps at the contact as if I touched her with live wire. She inhales deeply.

“Does this mean you’ll stop complaining about my driving?” she asks, making me laugh out loud.

“I wouldn't go so far as to say that.”

“Thank you for letting me drive your car. Under such exciting circumstances, too,” she say but her voice cracks at the end.

“Maybe I should drive now.”

“To be honest, I don’t think I can climb out right now to let you sit here. My legs feel like Jello,” she says and she starts shaking, almost violently.

“It’s the adrenaline, baby,” I say.

“You did amazingly well, as usual. You blow me away, Ana. You never let me down,” I confess. Touching her cheeks with the backs of my hands softly. I love this woman, and I am completely worried about her, the safety risks that just presented itself so close to us, so close to harming her, I don’t think I can handle another incident like this again! Anastasia, starts crying.

“No, baby, no. Please don’t cry,” I say and reach over to her. Unbuckling her seatbelt, I pull her onto my lap over the console, and cradle her in my arms. She sobs quietly in my arms. I stay like that holding her in my arms, soothing her.

“The unsub has slowed outside Escala. He’s casing the joint,” Sawyer voice says, startling us.

“Follow him,” I snap. Anastasia wipes her nose with the back of her hand.

“Use my shirt,” I say kissing her temple.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

“What for? Don’t be.”

She wipes her nose once again, and I tilt her chin up and kiss her lips.

“Your lips are so soft when you cry, my beautiful, brave girl,” I whisper.

“Kiss me again.”

I freeze in place, because with all the adrenaline coursing through my body, my wife in my arms, I don’t think I can just kiss her and leave it at that.

“Kiss me,” she breathes, and I have another ‘fuck the paperwork!’ moment, inhaling sharply. I lean across her, taking the Blackberry from the cradle, I toss it into the driver’s seat. Then my mouth is on hers, and my right hand moves into her hair, holding her in place. My left hand holds her face, and my tongue invades her mouth. Her hands clasp my face, her fingers run through my sideburns, she kisses me with fever pitch. I groan at her lusty response with a deep guttural noise. I lower my hands to her breasts, brushing over, to her waist and to her ass. She keeps moving and creating friction over my cock.

“Ah!” I say breaking our connection, however unwilling, completely breathless.

“What?” she mutters without leaving my lips.

“Ana, we’re in a parking lot in Seattle.”

“So?”

“Well, right now I want to fuck you, and you’re shifting around on me, and its uncomfortable,” I say.

“Fuck me then,” she says kissing my mouth. What? Now? Here? Right after a life threatening car chase?

“Here?” is all I can ask in a deep husky voice.

“Yes. I want you. And I want you now!” she says.

Tilting my head to the side, I get a good look at my wife. She’s quite hot, and I’m dying to be inside her. “Mrs. Grey, how very brazen,” I whisper. Desire unfurls inside me, and I capture her hair at the nape of her neck, holding her in place, and my mouth captures hers, kissing her hard. My hand skates down her body, over her thigh. She laces her fingers into my hair.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing a skirt,” I murmur, and slip my hand under her blue and white skirt, caressing her thigh. She squirms on my lap, making air hiss through my teeth. Fuck!

“Keep still,” I growl at her, cupping her sex with my hand, and that stops her right on her tracks. My thumb gently brushes over her clit, and her breath catches in response. She moves about again.

“Still,” I whisper my order. I kiss her once again as my thumb is circling over the sheer fine lace over her sex. Two of my fingers find their way into her sex through the side of her panties.

“Please,” she whispers.

“Oh, Mrs. Grey. You’re such a greedy girl,” I say, finger fucking her. “Do car chases turn you on?”

“You turn me on,” she replies, making me grin. I am going to fuck her hard and fast here in my car.

I scoop my arm under her knees and lift her up and turn her body facing the windshield.

“Place your legs either side of mine,” I order. She does as I tell her. Running my hand down her thighs, I pull her skirt up.

“Hands on my knees, baby. Lean forward, and lift that glorious ass in the air. Watch your head.”

I shift under hear and unbuckling my pants, I pull my zipper down, my erection springs free. I put one arm around her waist and with my other hand I pull her lacy panties sideways  and thrust my cock into her sex with one swift move, burying it deep.

“Ah!” she cries out, and grinds her sex on me, making the breath hiss through my teeth. My arms snake around her going up to her neck, and I tilt her head back to one side, reaching up, I kiss her throat. With my other hand, I grip her hip and we both start moving.

As she pushes up, I tilt myself into her, in and out, deep, hard and fast. She groans loudly. With one hand, she holds onto the hand brake and her right hand is against the door. I capture her earlobe with my teeth and graze it, and then tug her earlobe while I drill my cock into her hammering again and again, repeatedly. She in the other hand rise and fall in sync with me in a perfect rhythm. I move my hand around under her skirt to the apex of her thighs, and my fingers stimulate her sex through her sheer panties.

“Ah!” she groans again.

“Be. Quick, baby,” I breathe into her ear through my gritted teeth, as my other hand still curled under her neck. “We need to do this quick, Ana,” I say increasing the pressure of my fingers against her sex and her clit.

“Ah!” she moans, and I feel the familiar tightening of her muscles inside.

“Come on, baby,” I coax her in a raspy voice into her ear. “I want to hear you.”

She moans again loudly this time, and I groan her name loudly, my breath on her neck, still fucking hard, and still stimulating her clit and her sex.

“Yes!” I hiss as I slam my cock inside her as a wave of orgasm ripples through her, spreading her body, and into me through our connection. I come loudly, climaxing deep inside her sex.

“Oh, Ana,” I murmur. What she makes me do. I run my nose along her jaw and kiss her softly on her throat, cheek, and her temples as the lies on me, completely spent.

“Tension relieved, Mrs. Grey?” I ask, my teeth around her earlobe again. She just mewls against me, unable to speak. Her physical response makes me smile.

“Certainly helped with mine,” I add. “Have you lost your voice?”

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“Well, aren't you the wanton creature? I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist.”

She sits up right away, alarmed.

“No one’s watching are they?” she asks nervously.

“Do you think I’d let anyone watch my wife come?” I ask, reassuring her as I stroke her back.

“Car sex!” she exclaims.

I grin at her in response, as I tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Let’s head back. I’ll drive,” I say and finally our precious connection is broken. We need to head home.

Bruce Springsteen - I'm on Fire