Sunday, March 31, 2013

BOOK III - Chapter XIX - Christian and Anastasia FanFiction

A Vengeful Heart, a Tried Temper and a Touch That Hurts


The hard-workout didn't even dull the edge of my ferocious anger. I need to get our lives under control, and reprimand everyone who contributed to it starting with Katherine Kavanagh.

Still sweaty and towel hanging on my neck, I go to my study and dial Elliot. Elliot answers the phone right away.

“Hey bro! I was just going to call you! What is this on the news that someone broke into your apartment?”

“It was Jack Hyde. He broke into my apartment when I was in New York, and my security, Ryan captured him. That’s the reason I’m calling you about,” I say barely controlling my anger. “I want you to tell your girlfriend to butt the fuck out of our lives and stop trying to influence Anastasia!”

“What? What do you mean?” his voice turns serious, defensive even.

“Because of your girlfriend, I’m now raging mad at my wife, and she’s in shitload of trouble with me. There was a security protocol in place with this fucker on the loose. I went to New York on business and Anastasia was left here with the security with the condition that she only goes to work and comes home. She told me she was going to meet Kate and they were going out for a drink. I told her that she needs to be home while the perp who started the fire at SIP is on the loose which we identified to be as Jack Hyde. She agreed that she would come back to Escala with Kate until your girlfriend came to her office and convinced her to break the security protocol!”

“I thought the Hyde character was captured in your apartment. Don’t you think it was better that they were away?”

I take a deep breath.

“Elliot! My security was left shorthanded at home! Only Ryan was here. The fucker had a gun! Had tools to kidnap my wife! Duct tape, horse tranquilizers, and torture devices! You name it, he had it! How would you like it if a friend of your girlfriend kept butting into your personal life and putting lives in danger?”

“Oh, Shit!”

“Yeah! Shit! Thanks to your girlfriend, things could have been a lot worse if Ryan was overpowered! No one knew what was going on, and it shocked Sawyer and Prescott when they got home! My house has been invaded despite the layers of security levels I have in place! And all thanks to your girlfriend convincing Ana to break protocol, things could have gone horribly wrong! I shudder to think what might have happened had Hyde managed to overpower Ryan! He could have killed him!”

“But, Christian, isn't Ryan trained for this sort of situation?”

“Elliot, I don’t allow my security to carry guns in my apartment with the exception of Taylor! Hyde had a gun! Ryan didn't! Do you know the implications of dividing unarmed security? When the rest of my security and Anastasia got home, they had no idea of what had transpired only moments before! Everyone was open to danger. Hyde could have killed Ryan and Mrs. Jones and he could have been waiting to take out the rest in order to kidnap and rape my wife! Do you have any clue of how furious I am right now with everyone? All because your girlfriend inveigled her way to get Anastasia to break the security rules which were carefully put in place... I could have lost my wife, and I was clear across the country... Helpless! I don’t do helpless, Elliot! So, tell Katherine to get the fuck out of our business!”

“Fuck! I’m sorry Christian! I didn't know... I will talk to Kate, and tell her to butt out,” he says, embarrassed on behalf of his girlfriend. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes, I’ve got a lot to deal with today, as you can image. I need to talk with the detectives and allocate time for their investigation. And to top that, my apartment still looks like a war zone. So, I would really appreciate it if you could call mom and dad, and let them know we are well, and I will be busy but call them the first chance I get. The security still remains in place, because we don’t know for sure if Hyde has accomplices or not.”

“Sure thing, man! Listen, if you need anything, I’m here for you, bro... I mean it.”

“Thanks! Nothing I can’t handle,” I say and hang up.
                                                                         **** ♡ *****

When I go to the kitchen, Mrs. Jones is busy cleaning up.

“Breakfast Mr. Grey?”

“I’m not hungry, Mrs. Jones. Maybe later,” I say and she is so startled with my response, her mouth falls open, but she collects herself, and says, “Yes, Mr. Grey.”

I pour a glass of orange juice, and take it to our bedroom for Anastasia. Sawyer said she had several cocktails. This would help her feel better in the morning. I put it on the side table. She moves in the bed and slowly opens her eyes.

“There’s some orange juice for you here,” I tell her. She eyes me appreciatively. But doesn’t say anything. I want to say so much, but I will lose it.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I murmur and walk into the bathroom. I shrug off the sweats off, and turn the shower on. I walk in without waiting for the water to warm up. The initial cold water is a welcome shock to my nerves jolting me out of my thoughts. It slowly warms up and loosens my muscles. I put some shampoo into my palm and start washing my hair. I feel Anastasia slip behind me in the shower, and wrap her arms around my torso making me stiffen. She ignores my reaction, and holds me tighter, pressing her cheek on my back. I have missed her touch; I crave it, but I can’t reciprocate it knowing how angry I am, and I don’t trust myself to have control over how I’m going to behave. Old habits may slip in place, and I desperately need to maintain control of my reaction. I finally shift in the shower so we can both utilize the hot water and continue washing my hair. She cradles me in her arms, and then slowly starts trailing kisses across my back. I stiffen immediately. I can’t. If she kisses me like this, I’m going to fuck her, and I don’t know where that will lead me.

“Ana,” I say in warning tone.

“Hmm,” she murmurs, deliberately obtuse. Her hands skate over to my belly, clearly making their way down to my cock. I place my hands over hers, abruptly cutting her trail off, making my point clear.


Her hands drop immediately, as if I shocked her. I hear her loud gasp. I turn to face her. I find myself grasping her chin, and tilting it up to look at me. I gaze into her eyes warily, and look at her pained face.

“I’m still fucking mad at you,” I say in a low and solemn voice. I love her, damn it! I could have lost her last night! I’m going crazy thinking all the things that could have happened to her. I lean in and rest my forehead against hers, and close my eyes, relishing the connection. Right now, this is enough. I feel her hand reach up and caress my face.

“Don’t be mad at me, please. I think you’re overreacting,” she whispers, and that single sentence breaks the carefully erected control over my barely restrained anger.

“Overreacting?” I snarl like a wild animal. “Some fucking lunatic gets into my apartment to kidnap my wife, and you think I’m overreacting!” I shout menacingly. I barely recognize my own voice. Has my wife completely gone insane that she doesn’t value her life? She acts like a complete idiot, and talks to me as if I’m crazy! Overreacting? What should I have done? Go to the jail and congratulate Jack Hyde for succeeding  in breaking into my house and hand him a parting gift for failing to kidnap, fuck and torture my wife in lieu of the ransom he was asking? It is clear that she’s completely oblivious what her life means to me. What she means to me. That explains why she never listens! Why don’t you just rip my heart out and shove it in my fucking hands!!

“No...uhm. That’s not what I was referring to. I thought this was about me staying out,” she replies. I close my eyes and shake my head. It is also about her staying out. She didn't listen! She put everyone’s lives in danger. The images of what could have happened, the dirty mattress, the tranquilizers, and the ransom note come before my eyes unbidden.

“Christian, I wasn’t here.”

“I know,” I whisper. “And all because you can’t follow a simple, fucking request,” I say bitterly, her face blanches as if I hit her.

“I don’t want to discuss this now, in the shower. I am still fucking mad at you, Anastasia. You’re making me question my judgment.” I’m eating myself alive, gnawing... If she agreed to come with me to New York, all this heartache would have been avoided with less danger to the security. If she had listened to me, she would have been home, but closer to the fucker Hyde! Fuck this! I turn and leave the shower, grabbing a towel on the way, and I stalk out of the bathroom. I got to my closet and dress quickly in my white shirt leaving the top button open, and dress pants and leave my room as soon as my feet could carry me out.

I get into my study and call Welch.

“Mr. Grey?” he answers.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Down at the garage sir. My team is taking their pictures and observing CSI team. We’re not allowed until the crime scene is completely processed. Meanwhile Barney is processing the video feeds from the security cameras before the detectives take them off our hands.”

“Good. I need you to...” I say, and Anastasia appears at the doorway of my study. I glance up to her, and shake my head at her indicating that she’s unwelcome. Her face falls dejected, and she turns back, wandering away. I close my eyes.  The anger doesn’t subside, but I miss her proximity, too. I’m still not sure if I can control my desire to punish her. Distance is the only safeguard I can erect right now for both of our sanities.

“Sir?” Welch prompts me after my pause.

“I need you to get my lawyers up to speed, and make sure that all the ways for Hyde to post bail is blocked. I want all the evidence to prove that he’s guilt of the crimes he committed and intended to commit collected, so the fucking piece of shit is locked away for life! We already know how effective and fast the police can be. The fucker had to come into my apartment for him to be arrested, for fuck’s sake! I don’t want any chance of him getting out! Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, sir.”

 Taylor walks in as I hang up the phone.

“Talk to the security detail, and make sure what we have talked last night is instilled in each of them clearly. If I do it, someone’s getting fired, and now is not the right time to do that!”

“Yes, Mr. Grey,” he say somberly as I walk out of my office in deceptively confident strides.

When I enter into the breakfast area, Anastasia isn't there, but Mrs. Jones is clearing her plate. When she sees me, she smiles.

“Where’s Mrs. Grey?”

“She went to the bedroom, sir. Shall I make your usual breakfast?”

“Yes, please, Gail.”

Gail places my plate before me after putting my omelet and toast on it. As I’m halfway through my food, Anastasia walks in all dressed in her purple dress I like so much topped with her lightweight black jacket and her hair is made up into a bun. She’s dressed up for work.

“You’re going?” I ask incredulous.

“To work? Yes, of course,” she replies as she rests her hand on the breakfast table. I gaze at her with a blank expression. I’ve been going crazy all night, and all morning, and she is going on with her life as if nothing happened! She’s going to work.

“Christian, we've hardly been back a week. I have to go to work.”

“But...” I say and stop in exasperation. My hand forcefully rakes through my hair. Mrs. Jones senses my agitation, and quickly leaves the kitchen area, leaving us alone.

“I know we have a great deal to talk about. Perhaps if you've calmed down, we can do it this evening.”

My mouth drops open in trepidation. “Calmed down?” I ask in a frighteningly soft voice.

My tone makes her flush. “You know what I mean.” Actually I’ve no fucking clue what she means, because whatever she says to me turns out with some other meaning than I am accustomed to.

“No, Anastasia, I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t want a fight. I was coming to ask you if I could take my car.”

Take the ... what? The fucking car? Hell, no!

“No. You can’t,” I snap my answer. If she wants a fight, I’ll give her a fight.

“Okay,” she replies immediately. Her acquiescence disarms me. I blink. Did she just agree to something I have asked of her? Hallelujah!

“Prescott will accompany you,” I say with less of a menace in my tone.

Her face creases with dislike, but she doesn’t argue. Well played. The first smart thing she’s done in the last 24 hours.

“Okay,” she mutters.

She takes a step towards me. I stiffen immediately. I don’t know why I’m reacting that way. Is it because of the walls I’ve erected overnight? My eyes are wide, and I am completely, and utterly vulnerable with her proximity, her scent, and her innocent look. I hate it when we fight! I hate it when she doesn’t listen to me, and I absolutely hate it when she downplays danger. She tentatively leans in and softly kisses the corner of my mouth. I close my eyes, and momentarily relish her touch. I want to hold her, kiss her, and never let her go, but I’m so fucking angry.

“Don’t hate me,” she whispers. My eyes fling open, and I grab her hands.

“I don’t hate you,” I respond immediately. How can she possibly think that? How can I hate her when my soul is clawing me inside out? I’m incredibly worried, scared with the thought of losing her, having harm come so very close to her! Why would I worry about her if I hated her?

“You haven’t kissed me,” she whispers.

I look at her suspiciously. Is she trying to disarm me? “I know,” I mutter my response. Her intoxicating scent, her warmth exuded by her proximity, her questioning eyes pull me in, and I abruptly stand up and grab her face between my hands rather forcefully, and my lips descend on hers, sealing them. Her response is a surprised gasp. My mouth takes possession of hers, feeling it, my tongue darting into hers, claiming her. She comes to her senses, and starts responding, but I release her immediately. When I let her go, my breathing is harsh.

“Taylor will take you and Prescott to SIP,” I say with eyes blazing with need for her. Need that I can’t ask right now without detrimental risk to our relationship. I want her badly, incessantly, but it can’t be now.

“Taylor!” I call out.

“Sir,” he replies immediately standing in the doorway.

“Tell Prescott Mrs. Grey is going to work. Can you drive them, please?”

“Certainly,” he says, and turns on his heels to get Prescott.

“If you could try to stay out of trouble today, I would appreciate it,” I mutter.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says smiling sweetly. A hesitant smile tugs at my lips, but I won’t give into it.

“I’ll see you later, then,” I say coolly.

“Laters,” she whispers.

When she leaves the room, I take my head in both hands, and run them through my hair, letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

                                                                                    **** ♡ *****

Detective Clark comes in accompanied by Welch. He is tall and dark with piercing blue eyes. He jumps right into his questioning.

“Where were you last night when the incident occurred, Mr. Grey?”

“35,000 feet above the ground.”

“You were on your way back to Seattle?”

“Yes. I had a business meeting followed by a cocktail party in New York and we took flight at around 1:15 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.”

“Why didn't you stay overnight in New York? Surely you must have been tired,” he says with implication.

“I have a private jet with private quarters to sleep in. I can get all the rest I want on the way to Seattle. I wouldn't leave my wife alone with a madman on the loose.”

“So you didn't know your house was invaded until you got home?” he asks raising his eyebrows, surprised.

“Until I landed, no. Shock is not the right word, though it is part of what I felt.”

“How do you know Jack Hyde, Mr. Grey?” he asks changing gears.

“He worked at SIP as an editor. My wife was his assistant.”

“Have you and Mr. Hyde ever been friends, acquaintances, had regular conversations, meetings, or any sort of connection?”

“I’ve met him only once when I came to pick my wife up. Mrs. Grey introduced him to me. It was a brief meeting, not more than a few minutes as we had plans for the evening.”


“At a bar named Fifty’s.”

“Why at a bar?"
“A group of employees went for a drink after work from SIP and Mr. Hyde was in the group. Being my girlfriend’s boss, he introduced himself as such. That’s how I met him.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Mrs. Grey and I were dating at the time.”

“I see. Going back to the night you met Mr. Hyde... Did Mrs. Grey introduce any other co-worker to you that night?”

“No, I wasn’t there for meetings. I was there to pick my girlfriend up.”

“But you said that other employees from her work went to Fifty’s Bar.”

“Yes. When I walked into the bar, my wife was sitting and he came to sit next to her. If there were any other SIP employees next to my wife, or in the vicinity, I just didn't have the time to stay around and make time for introductions.”  

“I see. A man who never had any other contact with you other than the initial brief introduction you've had at...” he says looking down his notes, “Fifty’s...for just being your girlfriend’s boss, and he seemed to have such personal grudge against you since your security adviser Mr. Welch, and earlier you yourself claimed that he caused the arson in your company. It strikes me odd that no relationship – positive or negative between the two of you has been cultivated prior. Such personal attacks are generally caused by personal grudges,” he says with a lot of implications.

“Detective Clark; do you have any idea how many companies I run? Any idea how many hours I work? Or any idea of what it takes to run my company? How much I have to travel? I never go out of my way to cultivate new friendships. I am content with everyone in my life. I didn't need to add Hyde to the short list of my friends simply because he was my wife’s co-worker. Surely, you aren't friends with everyone you work with or the people your wife works with,” I say looking at his ring on his finger.

“Mr. Grey,” he says in a controlled patience, “I’m asking you because, I don’t have any idea what it takes to be you.”

“I work all the time...” I say, and as if to prove my point, my Blackberry buzzes. It’s Ros. “Excuse me,” I hold my finger.

“Mr. Grey! I just heard! Is everyone alright at home?”

“Yes, Ros. I am with the Detective right now. Tell Andrea to hold all my calls,” I say, and hang up. Then turn to Detective Clark and continue. “When I don’t work, I prefer to spend every spare time I have with my wife. Surely you would understand. I have neither time, nor desire in me to cultivate any other relationship, or friendship,” I say looking at him with unblinking eyes.

“But there’s the contents of his computer at work,” he says reciting what Barney had found in there.

“Why do you think he’s obsessed with you?”

“Detective, as you can also see, he started collecting that information nearly about 2 weeks after my wife was hired by SIP. If you read the Forbes magazine, I am the twenty-fifth wealthiest man on earth. There are millions of people who know of me, and possibly collect information about me from newspapers, or other online publications, and I would have no idea who they are. Simply comes with the territory. I shouldn't have to explain that to you! People are naturally obsessed. Some are more than others. I really don’t give a fuck! Because, I don’t have the time. That’s why I have a large group of professionals who are working for me to provide adequate security for me and my family,” I say indicating Welch with my hand who looks every bit of former military man he had been.

“Mr. Grey, I would understand what you are saying if Hyde was a complete stranger. But he wasn’t. Last night Mrs. Grey said that he was her boss...” he says and I interrupt him.

“Detective, did I just lapse into Swedish? Because, I have just told you the same thing. It’s not a government secret that he was briefly my wife’s boss.”

“And Mr. Hyde was fired from his job shortly after. Why?”

“If you've uncovered that he was fired from his job, I’m sure you've also learned why he was fired.”

“But, Mr. Grey, I’m asking you. You own SIP, don’t you?”

“I own SIP. Over forty thousand people work for me globally. I don’t keep track of all the hirings and firings.”

“When did you purchase SIP? Before or after your wife got a job with the company?”

 “The week she got hired,” I reply truthfully and he raises his eyebrows.


“Because I can.”

“Are you in the habit of going and purchasing companies in an impromptu fashion?”

“Detective Clark!” I say firmly. “Mrs. Grey was my girlfriend, and we were getting serious. Paparazzi were after her at every corner. On her way to work, on her way to have coffee with friends, on her way to grab a sandwich for lunch for God’s sake, and SIP had no security measures that I find adequate for my wife to be; anyone could walk into SIP with malice in mind. If you know my financial worth, and what my wife means to me, it would become completely clear to you that it was necessary to provide that safety for my wife. The safety measures of SIP were woefully behind times. If you were in my place, you would also do anything to provide for the safety and security of your loved ones. In order for me to provide complete security for my wife – then girlfriend, I found it not only necessary, but essential for her well-being to purchase the company. It wasn’t a question of SIP. Wherever she may have worked, I’d buy that company. Because, that way I can have a say in how she’s provided that security I find necessary, and necessity of that decision have abundantly been demonstrated by last night’s events,” I say in an even, controlled tone.

“Yes. But why do you think that he came to your home with intent to kidnap your wife? Was he obsessed with her? With you? Or with your family?”

 Isn't that supposed to be your job to figure out?”

“Mr. Grey, I’m asking you. You must have an opinion...” he says leaving the end of his thought open.

My gaze is impassive.

 “I would like you to find that out detective, and let me know of your findings!” I hiss in a sarcastic tone. “My helicopter has been sabotaged. A partial print may point in the direction of your man in question. He tried to burn my company down. And he broke into my fucking apartment last night, Detective Clark! Perhaps you forgot. An apartment, I might add, with layers of security measures in place! You do the math. If he’s captured and is in police custody today, that is no thanks to the Police Department despite our repeated requests for help. Had I not have my personal security, I would possibly be discussing the kidnapping, rape or murder of my wife right now! So, if your criminal is locked up right now, it’s due to my men, and not yours! Therefore, I would fucking appreciate it, if you stopped treating me and my wife like criminals, and start questioning the man in your custody! Are we done here?” I ask with blazing eyes.

“Not quite, Mr. Grey. Are you aware that Mr. Hyde was born in Detroit? You were born in Detroit, if my research is correct,” I nod in the affirmative. “There may be a connection there, sir,” says Clark. Welch’s eyes glide towards me, asking permission. I nod imperceptibly.

“Yes, we know he was born in Detroit. We have not discovered what that connection might be, but we, too are searching Detective.”

“If you find anything, we would appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Grey, Mr. Welch,” he says addressing us both. “I will also need to get Mrs. Grey’s statement. She may need to come down to the police department,” he says looking at me.

“She isn't going to come to the police department. If you need her statement, I would like you to go to her work, and get it.”

He checks his watch.

“Alright Mr. Grey. It’s almost 1:00 p.m. I should be able to visit her at 3 pm today.”

“Fine. I’ll let my wife know of your impending visit for a statement.”

“Welch, see the Detective out please,” I say dismissing Clark.

Then I quickly type an e-mail to Anastasia as I don’t want her to be surprised with the Detective’s visit. But, I’m still mad at her, so my message is brief, and to the point.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Statement
Date: August 26, 2011 13: 04
To: Anastasia Grey


Detective Clark will be visiting your office today at 3 pm to take your statement.
I have insisted that he should come to you, as I don’t want you going to the police station.

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Her responding message dings into my email box in a few minutes. It’s also short and to the point like mine. No terms of endearment. No affection. Cold, and emotionless. Just like mine was.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Statement
Date: August 26, 2011 13: 12
To: Christian Grey


A x

Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
I don’t respond to her. There’s nothing to say. I’m still boiling mad, still angry at the world, and still feel that I have no control over what is happening to us. I need control. I have to have it, otherwise all these old feelings of nothing being in my control come to mind, completely railroading, and crushing me. I can’t be in that dark place again. It’s an abyss, a horrible place of helplessness. Destructive to me and all that’s around me.

I look over the video feed Barney managed to save. I watch Hyde come to my building, and seek access to my apartment. He has a baseball cap, coveralls, and wearing gloves. His demeanor is calculated, timid and ready for anything. The camera recorded him coming up, and gaining access into my apartment. Ryan is waiting for him. It all plays before me like my worst nightmares coming true. My e-mail dings again. It’s Anastasia.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Your Flight
Date: August 26, 2011 13: 24
To: Christian Grey

What time did you decide to come back to Seattle yesterday?

Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
Why is she asking that? She senses that I came back because she was disobedient.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your flight
Date: August 26, 2011 13: 26
To: Anastasia Grey


Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Your Flight
Date: August 26, 2011 13: 29
To: Christian Grey
Call it curiosity.
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your flight
Date: August 26, 2011 13: 32
To: Anastasia Grey

Curiosity killed the cat.

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Huh?
Date: August 26, 2011 13: 35
To: Christian Grey

What is that oblique reference to? Another threat?

You know where I am going with this, don’t you? Did you decide to return because I went out for a drink with my friend after you asked me not to, or did you return because a madman was in your apartment?

Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
She knows me well. I love my wife with all that I have, all that I am. But, she can drive me into madness faster than I can blink. I don’t respond to her message. She knows why I have come back. When I don’t respond, another message dings from her.

From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Here’s the thing...
Date: August 26, 2011 13: 57

To: Christian Grey

I will take your silence as an admission that you did indeed return to Seattle because I CHANGED MY MIND. I am an adult female and went for a drink with my friend. I did not understand the security ramifications of CHANGING MY MIND because YOU NEVER TELL ME ANYTHING. I found out from Kate that security has, in fact, been stepped up for all the Greys, not just us. I think you generally overreact where my safety is concerned, and I understand why, but you’re like the boy crying wolf.

I never have a clue about what is a real concern or merely something that is perceived as a concern by you. I had two of the security detail with me. I thought both Kate and I would be safe. Fact is, we were safer in that bar than at the apartment. Had I been FULLY INFORMED of the situation, I would have taken a different course of action.

I understand your concerns are something to do with material that was on Jack’s computer here— or so Kate believes. Do you know how annoying it is to find out my best friend knows more about what’s going on with you than I do?

And I am your WIFE. So are you going to tell me? Or will you continue to treat me like a child, guaranteeing that I continue to behave like one? You are not the only one who is fucking pissed. Okay?

Anastasia Grey Commissioning Editor, SIP
She hits the nail in the head, of course. My brother and his fucking loose mouth! This is what Pella was trying to demonstrate with secrecy. My brother can’t keep his trap shut to his girlfriend. It’s not because I want to exclude Anastasia from what is going on. I have to protect my wife. She worries, and she has nightmares. I want to give her some normalcy even in the midst of terrible events, and she just needs to follow the security procedures in place.

But as ever, she’s right of course.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Here’s the thing...
Date: August 26, 2011 14: 00
To: Anastasia Grey

As ever, Mrs. Grey, you are forthright and challenging in e-mail. Perhaps we can discuss this when you get home to OUR apartment. You should watch your language. I am still fucking pissed, too.

Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Anastasia doesn’t send me a reply. And I spend the rest of the day dealing with the shit Jack Hyde left behind. I love my wife to the point of dying for her. But, God, she drives me to insanity! I want to show her how she makes me feel...helpless, inadequate, untrustworthy, frustrated, and utterly lost. The rest of the day can’t go fast enough.

When it’s close to the time for Anastasia to leave work, I take a shower, and change into my tight black t-shirt, and my over washed, pale blue denims. The ones I wear in my playroom; snug, ripped at the knee, and drive your-wife-out-of-her-mind hot jeans. The events of yesterday, not having touched my wife is driving me wild. But I need to show her how her actions make me feel. She needs to understand that she’s the single most important person in my life, and anything she does to put herself in danger is going to drive me wild.

                                                                                   **** ♡ ***** 

Anastasia comes into the great room. I’m standing by the piano.

“Good evening, Mrs. Grey. I have been waiting for you,” I greet her in a soft voice. If she was expecting anything, this isn't what she expected. She was probably looking to find a full blown war. She says nothing. Her mouth parts as she takes all of me in. My eyes never leave hers. She looks at me and her eyes briefly linger on my top undone button of my jeans. Then she finally scans me fully all the way to my bare feet. I slowly, desirously saunter towards her; my unwavering gaze is hot, incandescent with salacity for her.

“Have you now?” she whispers back. She tries to swallow.

“I have,” I purr as I smirk. I stroll closer to her. Her gaze goes to my waist, hungrily eyeing my low hanging jeans.

“I like your jeans,” she murmurs. I grin like a predator knowing how I affect my wife. Because she has the same effect on me. But I’m still angry, and that can’t be hidden. It remains just below the surface. I gaze down at her, as my eyes burn into hers. She swallows visibly again.

“I understand you have issues, Mrs. Grey,” I say softly, and pull her e-mail from the back pocket of my jeans. She is unable to take her gaze away from me.

“Yes, I have issues,” she whispers, her voice comes out breathless. She’s going to run, but I lean down and run my nose along hers. Her eyes close with my touch, relishing.

“So do I,” I whisper against her soft skin. She opens her eyes up when I speak. I straighten and look at her intensely once again.

“I think I’m familiar with your issues, Christian,” she says wryly. My wife knows me well. She knows I have control issues. She knows that her safety is at utmost importance to me. I narrow my eyes, suppressing the amusement rising in me. Anastasia takes a step back with my reaction. But she slowly inhales my scent, hating the distance, and her eyes keep running to my jeans. My distraction is working... so far. Despite that, she moves away; her reaction makes me frown.

“Why did you fly back from New York?” she whispers.

“You know why,” I reply in a warning tone.

“Because I went out with Kate?”

“Because you went back on your word, and you defied me, putting yourself at unnecessary risk.”

“Went back on my word? Is that how you see it?” she gasps.

“Yes,” I reply because it’s true.

She looks up and starts rolling her eyes, but stops after seeing me scowl.

“Christian, I changed my mind. I’m a woman. We’re renowned for it. That’s what we do,” she explains slowly as if I’m a toddler. Her response makes me blink. Changed her mind? Do I change my mind when I tell her I’m going to do something? I said I was going to New York, I went to New York. I said I had a meeting, I went to a meeting. I didn't change my mind by going someplace else, or doing something else. I did what I said I was going to do, not the opposite of what I said. How can I trust her if she can’t keep her word?

“If I had thought for one minute that you would cancel your business trip...” she says pausing, lost for words. She looks at me like she’s going to do that again sometime later. As if giving her word means little else, simply because she's a woman. Is it only my gender who is supposed to keep their word?

“You changed your mind?” I ask with derision.


“And you didn't think to call me?” I glare at her in disbelief. “What’s more, you left the security detail shorthanded here and put Ryan at risk.”

Her face shows the realization of the ramifications of her behavior for the first time. Hallelujah!

“I should have called, but I didn't want to worry you. If I had, I’m sure you would have forbidden me to go and I’ve missed Kate. I wanted to see her. Besides, it kept me out of the way when Jack was here. Ryan shouldn't have let him in,” she says still unrepentant. What would have happened to her if Ryan didn't succeed in catching Hyde? The unbidden thought makes my eyes go wild, and I close them in horror. My face tightens in worry, and agony of the possibilities. I shake my head, and pull her in my arms. Holding her tight.

“Oh Ana,” I whisper as I hold her. I can’t breathe. “If something were to happen to you...” I whisper in a barely audible voice.

“It didn't,” she says.

“But it could have. I’ve died a thousand deaths today thinking about what might have happened. I was so mad, Ana. Mad at you. Mad at myself. Mad at everyone. I can’t remember being this angry... except...” I say stopping. Except when Leila had a gun to her head.

“Except?” she probes.

“Once in your old apartment. When Leila was there.”

“You were so cold this morning,” she murmurs with her voice cracking. I wasn’t cold, I was burning with rage, and I didn't know if I could control myself. My hands move to the nape of her neck, and she takes a deep breath. I pull her head back.

“I don’t know how to deal with this anger. I don’t think I want to hurt you,” I say. I’m anxious. My eyes are wide and reflect my wariness. “This morning, I wanted to punish you, badly and...”if I were to allow myself to get close to her, to touch her, to be in bed with her, I didn't know if I wouldn't  punish her. I would spank her, and I don’t know if I could stop.

“You were worried you’d hurt me?” she says finishing my sentence.

“I didn't trust myself,” I confess truthfully.

“Christian, I know you’d never hurt me. Not physically, anyway,” she says as her hands grasp my face.

“Do you?” I ask with pain. It’s just true. I would have, could have. And where would that take us? To our end.

“Yes. I knew what you said was an empty, idle threat. I know you’re not going to beat the shit out of me.”

“I wanted to.”

“No you didn't. You just thought you did.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” I murmur. I knew how I was feeling when I left New York, and when I got home.

“Think about it,” she urges as she wraps her arms around my torso, and nuzzling my chest. “About how you felt when I left. You've told me often enough what that did to you. How it altered your view of the world, of me. I know what you've given up for me. Think about how you felt about the cuff marks on our honeymoon.”

Her reminders make me still. She’s right on all those accounts. Her arms tighten around me. I’m stiff as a board, because I’m too worried about what I could have done had I allowed myself today. How it could have impacted our relationship. But her touch relaxes me. Relaxes me to no end. The realization hits me. My wife is here, safe in my arms. I lean in and kiss her hair. She turns her face up to me, and finally my lips find hers, possessing, feeling her presence, taking what she’s offering; her love, her desire, her affection, and give her my desire, and love and my immense need of her. Seeking to fulfill this hole that had formed overnight. Begging her desperately to close it with her presence. She returns my kiss with all her passion.

“You have such faith in me,” I whisper after we’re both breathless.

“I do.” I stroke her face with the back of my knuckles and the tip of my thumb. I gaze at her intently. No more angry. She glances up at me and smiles with her shy smile.

“Besides, you don’t have the paperwork,” she whispers. My mouth drops open with her remark, both amused and shocked. I hold her to my chest again.

“You’re right. I don’t,” I say laughing.

We are once again in our little bubble, holding each other in the middle of the great room.

“Come to bed,” I whisper.

“Christian, we need to talk.”

“Later,” I urge her.

“Christian, please. Talk to me,” she begs, exasperating me once again. I sigh.

“About what?”

“You know. You keep me in the dark.”

“I want to protect you.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I am fully aware of that, Mrs. Grey,” I say as I run my hands on her sides and cup her buttocks. I flex my hips and press my impatient cock in full salute mode into her.

“Christian!” she says scolding. “Talk to me."

I sigh again. No winning. “What do you want to know?” I say resigning. I release her. I pick the e-mail up off the floor.

“Lots of things,” she mutters. I take her hand and lead her to the big sofa.

“Sit,” I order. She sits down, and I sit beside her. I lean forward, and put my head in my hands. I have a hard time wording all the dangers that surround us, because if I word them to her, then I’m weak; incapable of protecting her. I’m the husband, her protector, her lover, her provider. If I put that burden on her, what good am I? I run my hands through my hair exasperated and finally giving into her.

“Ask me,” I say looking at her.

“Why the additional security for your family?”

“Hyde was a threat to them,” I say simply. Because it’s true.

“How do you know?”

“From his computer. It held personal details about me and the rest of my family. Especially Carrick.”

“Carrick? Why him?”

“I don’t know yet. Let’s go to bed.”

“Christian, tell me!” she orders.

“Tell you what?”

“You are so...exasperating.”

“So are you,” I reply glaring at her.

“You didn't ramp up the security when you first found out there was information about your family on the computer. So what happened? Why now?” she asks. Oh, no! I narrow my eyes on her.

“I didn't know he was going to attempt to burn down my building, or...” I say stopping. “We thought it was an unwelcome obsession, but you know,” I shrug, “when you’re in the public eye, people are interested. It was random stuff: news reports on me from when I was at rowing, my career. Reports on Carrick...following his career, following my mom’s career, and to some extent, Elliot and Mia.”

She tilts her head to the side, absorbing all this news and also forming new questions in her head.

“You said or,” she probes.

“Or what?” I act dumb.

“You said, ‘attempt to burn down my building, or...’ like you were going to say something else.”

I don’t want to tell her. I can handle attempted damage to my property. I can even handle attempts against my life. But I can’t handle any harm coming to the love of my life, my reason being, for existing.

“Are you hungry?” I ask changing subject.

Her stomach grumbles in response. For once, her habit of not eating is welcome.

“Did you eat today?” I scold her with cold eyes. She flushes in response.

“As I thought. You know how I feel about you not eating. Come,” I say standing up. I hold out my hand to her. “Let me feed you,” I whisper in a sensual, seductive tone.

“Feed me?” she whispers. I nod, without taking my gaze away from her. I take her to the kitchen. Grabbing a bar stool, I take it to the other side of the island.

“Sit,” I order.

“Where’s Mrs. Jones?” she asks.

“I’ve given her and Taylor the night off.”


I gaze at her for a while, and am amused with her curiosity. Because I want to be alone with you. Because Taylor too had to endure my shit on the way back from New York, thanks to you. Because Mrs. Jones too was stressed with a lunatic breaking in. Because I can. Because I am the master of this domain!

“Because I can,” I reply simply, briefly.

“So you’re going to cook?” she smirks at me with disbelief.

“Oh, ye of little faith, Mrs. Grey. Close your eyes.”

She blinks and looks at me with wild eyes.

“Close them,” I order. She rolls her eyes, but finally closes them.

“Hmm. Not good enough,” I mutter. She opens her eyes and sees me taking out a plum-colored silk scarf out of my back pocket of my jeans.

“Close. No peeking.” I order.

“You’re going to blindfold me?” she mutters, completely dumbfounded, and breathless.


“Christian...” she says protesting. I put my finger on her lips, silencing her effectively.

“We’ll talk later. I want you to eat now. You said you were hungry.”

I kiss her on the lips softly, and tie the silk scarf behind her head and knot it.

“Can you see?” I ask.

“No,” she mutters her reply, in an exasperated tone. I know she wants to roll her eyes at me, and the thought of it makes me chuckle. Some things never change.

“I can tell when you’re rolling your eyes,... and you know how that makes me feel.”

She purses her lips in response. “Can we just get this over and done with?” she snaps.

Such impatience, Mrs. Grey. So eager to talk,” I say playfully.


“I have to feed you first,” I say and my lips brush over her temple. She’s calmed immediately with the touch of my lips.

I make my way to the kitchen and open the fridge door. I take out Sancerre, roast lamb, stuffed grape leaves, the tzatziki yogurt sauce, hummus, and pita bread lining them up on the counter. I pop the lamb into the microwave, and put the pita break into the toaster.

“Yes, I’m eager to talk,” she murmurs, shifting in her seat.

“Be still, Anastasia,” I say walking close to her. “I want you to behave...” I whisper close to her ear. She bites her lips as an automatic reaction.

“And don’t bite your lip,” I say tugging her chin, making her smile.

Then I walk back to the counter and pull the cork out of the bottle of wine, and pour it into a glass. Finally I walk to the stereo and put music on. Anastasia plays wicked games with me; I think it’s appropriate for me to play Chris Isaak singing “Wicked Games.”

Chris Isaak - Wicked Games

I turn the volume down into a background noise. I take the glass of wine, and walk to my wife, sitting blindfolded in her stool, looking every bit as hot, and desirable woman I married.

“A drink first, I think,” I whisper. “Head back,” I say and she tips her head. “Further,” I instruct her. She does. I take a sip of wine and swallow. Then take another sip. My lips are cold with wine. I touch my lips to hers and pour the wine into my wife’s mouth. She swallows. Her lips are soft, and the touch is electric.

“Hmm,” she murmurs appreciatively.

“You like the wine?” I whisper. She flushes, her face warmed, and she’s getting hot for me even though I haven’t touched her.

“Yes,” she breathes her response.


“I always want more, with you,” she replies. It’s a welcome answer making me grin wide. She grins back. 

“Mrs. Grey, are you flirting with me?”


I want her to want me. Want me as badly, as passionately I want her. I reach for the wine glass and my wedding band clinks against the glass. I take another sip of wine, swallow it, and another for Ana. I pull her head back, cradling it in my hand. I kiss her again, and deliver the wine into her mouth. She swallows and licks her lip. I kiss her again.


“I think we've already established that, Mr. Grey.”

When the microwave pings reminding the heated lamb, I release Anastasia. She sits upright. I open the microwave door, and hold the plate burning my finger.

“Shit! Christ!” I curse. I barely manage to drop the plate to the counter where it clutters.

“You okay?”

“Yes!” I snap at her. I shake my hand and blow on my finger. I go next to Anastasia.

“I just burned myself. Here,” I say easing my index finger into her mouth. “Maybe you could suck it better.”

“Oh,” she says and holds my hand, drawing my finger slowly into her mouth.

“There, there,” she says in a soothing tone, and leans forward and blows on my now wet finger, cooling it. Then kiss it gently twice. I’m breathless. Why is this so fucking sexy? She takes my finger and reinserts into her mouth and sucks gently, but with a certain greed, like she’s sucking my cock, and I feel the effect of it in every cell of my body. I inhale sharply. Her face reddens. She looks like she’s making love to me, and it’s utterly hot.

“What are you thinking?” I murmur, and pull my finger out of her mouth.

“How mercurial you are.”

I still immediately. “Fifty Shades, baby,” I finally say, and place a tender kiss at the corner of her mouth.

“My Fifty Shades,” she whispers. She reaches out and grabs my t-shirt, pulling me to her. I don’t what her to touch me, otherwise, the terms of the game will change, and I don’t want that to happen.

“Oh no you don’t Mrs. Grey. No touching...not yet.” I take her hand and pry it off my t-shirt, and kiss each and every finger.

“Sit up,” I order. She pouts.

“I will spank you if you pout. Now open wide.”

She obeys immediately, and I take a piece of lamb and dip it into the tzatziki sauce made with Greek yogurt, finely chopped cucumbers, mint, and pop it into her mouth. She chews appreciatively.

“You like?”

“Yes,” she replies. I take a bite, and I too like the taste of it.

“More?” I ask, and she nods. I give her another forkful, and she chews that bite as well. I tear a piece of pita bread and dip it into the hummus. I take it to her mouth.

“Open,” I command, and she obeys. She chews it savoring.

“More?” I ask again.  She nods.

“More of everything, please. I’m starving.” That is such a welcome sound to my ears. I grin as wide as possible. I slowly feed her with the stuffed grape leaves, roasted lamb, tzatziki sauce, hummus and bread, until she is completely full. When she finally shakes her head indicating she can’t eat another bite, “Good,” I whisper against her ear. “Because it’s time for my favorite course. You.” I scoop my wife up into my arms, and she squeals in surprise.

“Can I take the blindfold off?”


“Playroom,” I murmur. I know she could protest, but one thing she never backs down is a challenge. “Are you up for a challenge?” I ask seductively.

“Bring it on,” she murmurs, her voice laced with desire, and excitement. I carry her in my arms to the second floor.

“I think you've lost weight,” I mutter disapprovingly. She’s thin as it is. She doesn’t need to lose weight. When I come to the playroom door, I slide her off my arms, and set her on her feet. My arm is still wrapped around her waist. I unlock the door. The polished wood and citrus smell greets us. I undo the scarf, and she blinks to adjust her gaze. Softly, I pull the hairpin off her hair, and her braids fall free onto her shoulders. I grasp it and tug it gently, making her step back against me, against my erection.

“I have a plan,” I whisper into her ear.

“I thought you might,” she replies. I kiss her beneath her ear.

“Oh, Mrs. Grey, I do," I reply in a spellbinding tone. I pull her braid to the side and she is forced to tilt her head. I trail kisses down her throat.

“First we have to get you naked,” I whisper in a low hum. I turn my wife around and make her face me. Her eyes trail down to my jeans, and to the top button. Her index finger brush around my waistband, without touching my t-shirt, and feels the hair marking my happy trail. Her touch is so fucking electric, I inhale sharply. She looks up at me and meets my gaze. Her finger stops at the unfastened button. My gaze is full of carnal need and desire for her.

“You should keep these on,” she whispers.

“I fully intend to, Anastasia.”

I move so fast, I grab her with one hand on the back of her neck, and the other hand on her ass. I pull her against me, and my mouth seals her, kissing her with all I’ve got, in a life affirming way. Everything else seizes to exist except the two of us, in this kiss.

I walk her backwards as my tongue invades her mouth, and we start our erotic tango of entwined tongues.

Passion Del Tango

I push her all the way to the wooden cross, and she stops when her back touches it. I lean into her, and every rigid, desirous part of my body is pressing into her with need.

“Let’s get rid of this dress,” I whisper, and peel it up to her thighs, her hips, and her belly, letting it slowly skim over her breast.

“Lean forward,” I whisper, and she complies. I pull the dress over her head, and toss it on to the floor. She’s only in her sandals, panties, and her bra. I grasp her hands and lift them over her head. Looking at her, I blink once, and tilt my head, silently asking her permission. She’s mesmerized, captivated. She finally swallows, and nods her approval. I love the extremely sexy sight of my wife. It makes me smile. I clip her wrists into the leather cuffs on the bar above. Taking the scarf, I show it to her to make my intent clear.

“I think you've seen enough,” I murmur. I wrap it over her eyes, blindfolding her. My nose touches hers. She’s just where I want her to be, sexy as hell.

“I’m going to drive you wild,” I whisper. My hands grasp her hips, and I move her panties down, lowering them as my hands glide down her legs.

“Lift your feet, one at a time,” I order. She does. I remove the panties, then her sandals. I grasp her ankle and tug her leg gently to the right.

“Step,” I say, and cuff her right ankle, and do the same with her left. She’s spread eagled on the cross.

“Some music and toys, I think. You look beautiful like this, Mrs. Grey. I may take a moment to admire the view,” I say in a soft voice. Anastasia, in this pose is the most beautiful sight I ever laid my eyes on. Finally I walk to the chest of drawers, and take out the toys I think will drive her completely to the peaks of her senses and delirious. Then I make my way to the stereo and turn “Bach’s Goldberg Variations,” and put it on repeat.

Bach’s Goldberg Variations

I make my way back to Anastasia. She’s chewing her lip again. I grasp her chin and tug her lip free gently. She smiles a forced smile.

I run my hand from her chin, along her throat, and down to her chest to her breast. Using my thumb, I pull her bra cup down, releasing her breast from the restraints. Oh God! I have missed the sight of them and it’s only been one day! The sound I make is low and appreciative. I kiss her neck, and slowly my lips trail down to her breast, kissing and sucking all the way. My fingers move to her left breast, and I free it out of the bra cup as well. The under-wire pushes it upwards, begging for attention. My thumb skates across her left nipple, and my mouth clutches to her right one, suckling greedily. My tongue and lips expertly tugs and teases her nipple while my thumb and index finger does the same with her left one, elongating it.

“Ah!” she moans. I slowly and carefully increase the intensity of my ministrations over her nipples. She pulls against her restraints, because she is building up for an orgasm. She tries to squirm, but to no avail. Her movements are limited by her restraints.

“Christian,” she pleads.

“I know,” I murmur in a hoarse voice. “This is what you make me feel.” Peaked, helpless, without a release. Steam building, and burning inside, with no way to let it out.

“Please,” she mewls.

“Aargh..” I groan in a primal voice I can barely recognize. Then I stand up. Her chest is rising up and down in rapid succession, as if she ran a marathon, squirming. I run my hands down to her sides, pausing on her hip, and then my other hand travels down to her belly.

“Let’s see how you’re doing,” I whisper in a soft voice. I cup her sex with my hand softly, and my thumb gently glides across her clitoris; she cries out in response. She is so ready to burst at the seams. I slowly, and carefully insert one finger, and then two. She groans and thrusts her hips forward, eager to get friction, to receive release. As my fingers circle around the front wall of her vagina, I shift and turn the wand on. It makes a low buzzing noise.

“What?” she gasps, unable to understand what I have in my hand.

“Hush,” I whisper soothingly, and seal my lips over hers. She kisses me back hungrily, as if her life depends on it. When she reaches the peak of her desire, I break the kiss, bringing the wand nearer.

“This is a wand, baby. It vibrates,” I say and hold it against her chest. It has a soft round tip. I run it across her skin, between her breasts, across her breast, over her nipple, and I know the sensations are overloading her.

“Ah!” she groans. My fingers keep moving inside her as the want is moving across her skin. She tilts her head back and moans loudly as she reaches near her climax. I still my fingers inside her and remove the wand from her skin to stop the sensations.

“No! Christian,” she pleads, thrusting her hips forward begging for friction.

“Still, baby,” I whisper. I lean forward and kiss her passionately once more.

“Frustrating, isn't it?” I murmur, reminding her how she makes me feel.

“Christian, please,” she pleads again.

“Hush,” I say, and kiss her once again. “When her body is free of built up orgasm, I start moving again, wand, fingers, thumb over her clitoris, an overload of sensations with no release in sight. I shift and make sure she feels my erection. So close, yet so far away from providing her any release.

“No,” she mewls.

I plant a wet kiss on her shoulder and withdraw my finger from her, and move the wand down going between her stomach, belly, her sex, and against her clitoris.

“Ah!” she cries out, and this time she forcefully pulls against her restraints, just like I do when I yank my invisible restraints she’s bound me with.

“Christian!” she cries out.

“Frustrating, yes?” I murmur against her throat. “Just like you. Promising one thing and then...”

“Christian, please!” she begs again. I push the wand against her again and again; providing enough build up, and stop just when what my actions promise to deliver is right within her reach. Just like she does to me.

“Each time I stop, it feels more intense when I start again. Right?”  

“Please,” she whimpers finally. I turn the wand off, and kiss her. I run my nose down over hers. “You are the most frustrating woman I have ever met.”

“Christian, I never promised to obey you. Please, please...” she utters.

I move in front of her, and grabbing her buttocks, I push my hips against her, and she gasps. I rub my groin into hers, the buttons of my jeans press into her, my erection is protesting, wanting to get out. With one hand I pull her blindfold off and grasp her chin. She blinks up into my eyes.

“You drive me crazy,” I whisper, flexing my hips against her again, and again, and again. I stop when her mouth falls open at the brink of her orgasm.

“Please,” she whispers this time. I gaze down at her, unrelenting.

As my hand travels down her body once again, she starts sobbing profusely.

“Red,” she whimpers. “Red. Red,” as tears run down her face in a steady stream. I immediately freeze.

“No!” I gasp, bewildered. Oh God! What have I done! “Jesus Christ, no!”

I move quickly and unclip her hands. I embrace her around her waist and immediately lean down to unclip her ankles. When I look up, and see her put her face in her hands and weep copiously.

“No, no, no! Ana, please. No.”

I pick her up off the floor, and move her to the poster bed, I sit down and cradle her in my lap. She continues to sob despondently, completely desolate and forlorn. I reach behind me, and drag the satin sheet off the bed and drape it around her body. I wrap my arms around her, hugging her close to my body, rocking her gently back and forward.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, baby,” I murmur, my voice is completely raw. I kiss her head, and her hair over and over again. “Ana, please, forgive me.”

Hard to Say I'm Sorry - Boyz II Men

She turns her face into my neck, and continues to cry without any words. I don’t know what to do to except to hold her. I fucked up again! Oh, baby, please forgive me. I hold her in my arms and rock her back and forth. She takes the corner of the red satin sheet and wipes her nose.

“Please turn the music off,” she says sniffing.

“Yes, of course,” I say, and shift in my place to get the remote out of my back pocket. I press the off button, and the music stops. The only sound in the room is Anastasia’s shuddering breaths.

“Better?” I ask. She nods, and her sobs slowly calm down.

“Not a fan of Bach’s Goldberg Variations?”

“Not that piece,” she replies.

“I’m sorry, again,” I say apologizing.

“Why did you do that?” she asks, her voice barely audible.

I shake my head grievously. “I got lost in the moment,” I reply. Although that’s only part of the reason. She makes me feel helpless. Anytime I punish her for any transgression she has done, I feel like shit, worse than before. She turns my world upside down. I am putty in her hands. Helpless. She frowns at me knowing there’s more. Denying orgasm is a standard punishment in a dom/sub relationship, but she’s not my sub. She’s my wife. I fucked up again! Shit!

“Ana, orgasm denial is a standard tool in...You never...” I stop. She shifts about on my lap, and I wince. She flushes. “Sorry,” she mutters realizing.

She moves her hands behind her back to adjust her bra.

“Need a hand?” I ask hesitantly. She shakes her head. I know she doesn’t want me to touch her intimately. I slightly shift to be able to look at her face. Hesitantly I raise my hand, and stroke her face with my fingers gently. She leans into my touch, and as she closes her eyes, I see that the tears pooled in them again, and they gently start falling down in large beads. I can’t take it. I have hurt my wife. I’ve made her cry, and it’s entirely my fault.

“Please don’t cry,” I whisper. My heart is breaking, I am angry at myself. My eyes are desolate and reflects my distraught mood. I have myself to blame right now. I don’t know how to deal with my feelings, and I hurt the person I love the most. She takes a shuddering breath, and I keep gazing at her unblinking; fearful that if I blinked she would disappear, run away from me. I’m horrified, scared beyond belief.

“I never what?” she asks.

“Do as you’re told. You changed your mind; you didn't tell me where you were. Ana, I was in New York, powerless and livid. If I’d been in Seattle I’d have brought you home.”

“So you’re punishing me?”

I swallow, and close my eyes. Yes, that’s what I was doing. But, clearly I fucked up royally...again.

“You have to stop doing this,” she murmurs. My brows furrow. I don’t know how to stop it. God knows, I have tried all day today to stay away from her just to avoid this. Losing control brings back horrible memories. Memories I can’t handle. Then thought what could have happened to her.

“For a start, you only end up feeling shittier about yourself.” I snort in response.

“That’s true,” I mutter. “I don’t like to see you like this.” In fact, I hate seeing her like this.

“And I don’t like feeling like this. You said on the Fair Lady that you hadn't married a submissive.”

“I know. I know.” My voice is soft, and completely raw reflecting my mood. I fucked up.

“Well stop treating me like one. I’m sorry I didn't call you. I won’t be so selfish again. I know you worry about me.”

I gaze down at her, examining her expression closely. Is she just saying that to soothe me, or will she listen to me next time? My eyes are vacuous, but anxious. “Okay, good,” I finally reply. I lean down. I want to kiss her, but I know that a few  minutes ago, she didn't want my intimate touch. I lean down. I want to kiss her. I look at her to see if she will permit me to touch her lips. She raises her face to mine, and I kiss her, softly, affectionately, and tenderly.

“Your lips are always soft when you've been crying,” I murmur.

“I never promised to obey you, Christian,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“Deal with it, please. For both of our sakes. And I will try and be more considerate of your... controlling tendencies.”

I feel lost. I need control. But I need her more. More than my next breath. I’m at a loss, without a rudder, unable find my direction.

“I’ll try,” I murmur. I really, truly will, but give me something to work with Ana. Please, something.

She sighs, and her entire body shudders with it. “Please do. Besides if I had been here...”

“I know,” I say wincing. I lie back, and put my free arm over my face. Lost in thought. Lost. I haven’t felt that way in a very, very long time. She curls around me, and lays her head on my chest. We lie like this silently, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, I want to close this emotional distance between us, hating it. Hating the fight we've had, hating the anger, hating everything the fucker Hyde brought into our lives in recent weeks. I lift my hand to her hair and pull the tie out of it. Slowly I comb it with my fingers.

“What did you mean earlier, when you said or?” she asks.


“Something about Jack.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” I say peering down at her. She puts her chin on my sternum, relaxed under my finger’s caresses over her hair.

“Give up? Never. Tell me. I don’t like being kept in the dark. You seem to have some overblown idea that I need protecting. You don’t even know how to shoot, but I do. Do you think I can’t handle whatever it is you won’t tell me, Christian? I’ve had your stalker ex-sub pull a gun on me, your pedophile ex-lover harass me...” she says and I scowl. Elena wasn’t my lover!

“...and don’t look at me like that,” she snaps at me, taking control. “Your mother feels the same way about her,” she adds. What the hell?

“You talked to my mother about Elena?” I bellow, nearly shouting. Why would she do that without asking me? I’m shocked, and I can only gape at her.

“Yes, Grace and I talked about her.” I can’t string a coherent sentence in light of this information.

“She’s very upset about it. Blames herself.”

“I can’t believe you spoke to my mother. Shit!” I mutter and completely mortified, I lie down and put my arm over my face.

“I didn't go into any specifics.”

“I should hope not. Grace doesn’t need all the gory details. Christ, Ana. My dad, too?” I ask. That’s all I need. My sex life spread before the eyes of my family to dissect! Every man’s worst nightmare! Fuck!

“No!” she says shaking her head severely. “Anyway, you’re trying to distract me... again. Jack. What about him?”

I lift my arm briefly away from my eyes, and gaze at her. The pain sears me inside. I have to tell her what Jack is accused of, the root of my fears. I sigh finally, and put my arms back over my face.

“Hyde is implicated in Charlie Tango’s sabotage. The investigators found a partial print...just partial, so they couldn't make a match. But then you recognized Hyde in the server room. He has convictions as a minor in Detroit, and the prints matched his.”

I’m shuddering inside. The images.. The van... what he planned to do to my wife. It would have completely destroyed me. I would have killed him. “This morning, a cargo van was found in the garage here. Hyde was the driver. Yesterday, he delivered some shit to that new guy who’s moved in. They guy we met in the elevator.”

“I don’t remember his name.”

“Me neither. But that’s how Hyde managed to get into the building legitimately. He was working for a delivery company...” I stop. It’s hard for me to continue. What he intended to do to her is just so horrible. Words are like large boulders blocking my esophagus.

“And? What’s so important about the van?”

I remain silent. The mattress... the tranquilizers... the pain tools. I can’t formulate the words. They just don’t come out of my mouth.

“Christian, tell me.”

“The cops found...things in the van.” I stop, and embrace her tightly in my arms. As if Hyde is going to appear at the door and yank her out of my grasp. Take her away from me. And my Ana will be gone. Gone out of my life! Fear rolls though the fiber of my being in big waves. I remain quiet until I find my voice. It doesn’t happen for several minutes.

“A mattress, enough horse tranquilizer to take down a dozen horses, and a note.” My voice is low; so low that even I have a hard time hearing myself. Fear bears down its ugly weight on me, suffocating.

“Note?” she whispers, in a fearful voice.

“Addressed to me.”

“What did it say?”

I shake my head. I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want to talk about it.

“Hyde came here last night with the intention of kidnapping you.” I freeze in my spot. All the tension my body is feeling is focused on my face. She shudders in my arms.

“Shit,” she mutters.


“I don’t understand why. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I know. The police are digging further, and so is Welch. But we think Detroit is the connection.”

“Detroit?” she asks confused.

“Yeah. There’s something there.”

“I still don’t understand.”

I lift my face up and gaze at her in a pained expression.

“Ana, I was born in Detroit.”

Happy Easter...