BOOK III - Chapter XVII - Christian and Anastasia Fan-fiction

Place me like a seal over thine heart, like a seal on thine arm. For love is as strong as death; it’s jealousy as enduring as the grave.

CHAPTER XVII

Gia Matteo enters the room followed by Taylor. Her demeanor exudes a type of predatory confidence ,making her walk into the room as if she owns the place with her coiffed bottle blond, layered hair, wearing a pale gray pantsuit. Her outfit is trying to accentuate her assets though none of it appeals to me, and she has nothing over my beautiful wife. Anastasia examines her like a sexual rival from Gia's professionally made hair to her killer high fuck-me heels, and I feel my wife go uneasy. She briefly eyes Gia's solitary diamond necklace, with the matching single carat studs in her ears. Then her eyes drift to her pale blue blouse with buttons undone nearly down to her belly button.

“Christian. Ana,” Gia greets us with a big white smile, extending her expensively manicured hand to me first. I shake it, and as I release her hand, she turns to Anastasia extending her hand. Anastasia reluctantly lets go of my hand to shake hers.

“Gia,” I respond, and Anastasia only smiles indifferently.

“You both look so well after your honeymoon,” Gia says, and unabashedly, her gaze assesses me, appraising, and appreciating what she sees. I instinctively wrap my arms around Anastasia, holding her close to me, both reassuring her and sending a message to Gia that I am completely, and absolutely taken.

“We had a wonderful time, thank you,” I say, as I kiss Anastasia’s temple who looks at me pleasantly surprised. I’m Anastasia’s, and no one else’s. I do not have the available tag hanging on my neck. I’m married, and this woman has the full claim on me! Anastasia relaxes, and her hand snakes around my waist and dips into the back pocket of my pants, and she deliberately squeezes my ass, declaring her ownership. Gia’s responding smile is forced.

“Have you managed to look over the plans?” she asks us.

“We have,” Anastasia replies, and looks up to me. She’s taking the lead, declaring her territory. If I was doing the same with another man, it would have been called a pissing contest. She’s declaring to Gia that she is the Alpha female of this territory and I’m off limits to Gia. Anastasia's her subtle, but territorial behavior immensely pleases me, and I give her a wry smile.

“Please. The plans are here,” I say gesturing the dining table. I take my wife’s hand, and lead her as Gia is following us behind. My reciprocation eases Anastasia and she turns to Gia and asks:

“Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine?”

“That would be lovely. Dry white if you have it,” replies Gia.

Anastasia moves to the kitchen, and I don’t want to be standing next to Gia. I make my way to the stereo and after choosing the music, I turn my iPod on. The stereo hisses and comes alive.

Sirens - Debussy

“Would you like some more wine, Christian?” Anastasia asks from the kitchen.

“Please, baby,” I murmur and grin at her, showing that she has all my attention. Anastasia reaches up at the cupboard, and my gaze is on her like a hawk. We are connected, and united. I can feel Gia’s body language; she's desperately trying to get my attention and deliberately competing with my wife in a subtle way! How little she knows about me. No other woman can be the recipient of my regard. Anastasia’s the queen of the castle. Knowing my wife is the jealous type, I am rather enjoying her possessive and territorial female panther behavior. Anastasia brings down three glasses from the cupboard, and taking an opened bottle of sauvignon blanc from the fridge, she places all of the items on the breakfast bar.

Gia leans in over the table as I stand beside her. She points at the glass wall on the plans.

 “So, Christian, what do you think about the changes I’m proposing on the south wall here?” she asks me.

“I think Ana has some opinions on the glass wall, but generally we’re both pleased with the ideas you've come up with,” I respond.

“Oh, I’m glad,” she gushes with relief. Then she touches my arm, slightly caressing in a subtle flirty gesture cautiously indicating that she’s available. Her touch and what it represents make me flinch. I step away from her reaching distance, and turn to my wife. What is taking her so long? Is she going to leave me alone with a man eater?

“Thirsty here,” I say, asking Anastasia to hurry up to stand next to me.

“Coming right up,” she says. Anastasia quickly pours the wine, gathering all three glasses in her hand; she comes to my side, where she belongs. She hands one glass to Gia and I take the other one from her.

“Cheers,” I say to both Anastasia and Gia, but my gaze is solely focused on my wife. She’s the center of my universe. As Anastasia takes a sip of her wine. Gia turns to her and asks, “Ana, you have some issues with the glass wall?” I ask.

“Yes. I love it, don’t get me wrong, but I was hoping that we could incorporate it more organically into the house. I fell in love with the house as it was after all, and I don’t want to make any radical changes.”

“I see.”

“I just want the design to be sympathetic, you know...more in keeping with the original house,” she says and looks up at me. I knew she wanted to stay true to the original house, but I didn't know that she only wanted minimal changes.

“No major renovations?” I ask her without making her think I dislike her idea. I just want to get a clear idea as to what she wants. Because whatever Ana wants, Ana gets. I want her to be completely happy with the house. 

“No,” she shakes her head.

“You like it as it is?”

“Mostly, yes. I always knew it just needed some TLC.”

My girl’s always trying to heal what she loves without changing. And that’s one of the many things I love about her. Gia glances at both of us, trying to see whether I agree with Ana. “Okay. I think I get where you’re coming from Ana. How about if we retain the glass wall, but have it open out onto a larger deck that’s in keeping with the Mediterranean style. We have the stone terrace there already. We can put in pillars in matching stone, widely spaced so you’ll still have the view. Add a glass roof, or tile it as per the rest of the house. It’ll also make a sheltered al fresco dining and seating area.”

Ana listens but she doesn’t respond. She’s getting good at donning the impassive face – no doubt she’s learned it from me.

“Or instead of the deck, we could incorporate a wood color of your choice into the glass doors; that might help to keep the Mediterranean spirit,” she explains. I’m watching my wife intently. I want her to like it. If she likes it, I’m sold.

“Like the bright blue shutters in the South of France,” Anastasia murmurs in a low voice. I don’t know if I’m too keen on the blue shutters. It’s appropriate for France, because most of the homes have a similar color scheme, and it’s fitting for that particular location. But, it may not be the best for our home here. I shrug, and take a sip of my wine. I don’t want to undermine her. If she’s dead set on the blue shutters, I’ll live, and I’ll learn to love them.

Gia turns her gaze at me, waiting for me to make a decision. From what I can see in the change of Anastasia’s demeanor, Gia’s body language is still making a pass at me. I don’t give a fuck about her! Anastasia is all I care about. It’s time for Gia to find out who will make the decisions on the house project.

“Ana, what do you want to do?” I murmur very clearly so Gia has no mistake of understanding that this is Anastasia’s choice, and she will decide.

“I like the deck idea.”

“Me too.”

Anastasia turns her gaze onto Gia who is apparently looking at me. “I’d like to see revised drawings showing the bigger deck and pillars that are in keeping with the house.”

From my peripheral vision, I notice Gia reluctantly looks away from me, and looks down at Ana, smiling.

“Sure. Any other issues?” she says in a capitulating tone.

Right at that moment, I hear a discreet cough from Taylor. When we all collectively turn to the entrance of the great room, we find him standing there.

“Taylor?” I ask.

“I need to confer with you on an urgent matter, Mr. Grey,” he says.

I clasp the backs of my wife’s shoulders, and gaze into her eyes. “Mrs. Grey is in charge of this project. She has absolute carte blanche. Whatever she wants, it’s hers. I completely trust her instinct,” I say enunciating that my wife, too, takes possession of what is hers, and that includes me. “She’s very shrewd,” I add letting Gia know that Ana can and will take control of the project and of Gia’s less than welcome attitude, and wipe the floor with her.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I say squeezing Anastasia’s shoulders one last time before I leave the ladies in the dining area.

“So...the master suite?” I hear Gia ask nervously as we leave the room.

                                                           ****❦ ♡ ❧*****

As soon as we’re out of the earshot, I ask, “What’s up?”

“Welch called about Hyde.”

“What about him? Did he find him?”

“No sir. That’s what he wants to explain. He’s on the phone.”

Taylor opens the door to my office and steps back. I enter, and walk around my desk to my chair. I press the blinking line on the phone.

“Grey,” I answer.

“Sir. Two of my men, Pella and I went to Hyde’s apartment,” he starts without a preamble. “The apartment had the indications of not having been occupied for a while from outside. Then we went inside and checked it just to make sure. There were moldy dishes in the sink, pizza boxes, and Chinese takeout left all over the living room. But, there were mainly a lot of empty liquor bottles. Clothes scattered around his bedroom as if he tossed them in anger. He hasn't been in his apartment for some-time. At least three or even four weeks, sir,” he says and pauses.

“Pella came with you?” I ask surprised.

“Yes sir. He flew in early this evening and called me as soon as he got settled. When I told him that we were going to check Hyde’s apartment, and he said he wanted be there. Though he already told us that we wouldn't find him in the apartment and wanted to be able to see the evidence in Hyde’s place firsthand.”

“Have you found any pictures of me or my family, hardware, computer, laptop in the apartment? Was there anything that would tie him to the fire at the Grey House?”

“Here’s the crux sir. Whatever he might have had, were carefully removed. No laptops or computers on the premise. I don’t know if he moved them to another location, or a locker someplace. No hardware evidence either. His home office was carefully emptied of evidence as if he expected us there. There were loose network wires hanging indicating that he took his computers out. Pella and I both agree that he’s the culprit.”

“Has the police been notified since we've identified him?”

“Yes, sir. But, what we have is still insufficient evidence for them. We only see Hyde's face for a very short time on the video. I've told the police that our face recognition software matched the face to be Jack Hyde. However, it’s not 100% accurate, and the police know that. They asked us if there’s anyone who can identify him in the video. But, per your orders, we haven’t told them that Mrs. Grey already identified him.”

“Is the police department dismissing our claim and evidence that this is in fact Jack Hyde?”

“Not completely sir. They will look for him, and check his apartment. They won’t find anything more than we did. We tried not to disturb any evidence, but took videos and pictures of his apartment. However, after the police department viewed the video feed and seen the face recognition findings which has an error margin of 20%, and that’s usually for the full frontal view and that we've only gotten his grainy profile image, they said that there isn't enough evidence to issue an arrest warrant. Because they know that profiles always create problems and therefore it can be easily dismissed in a courtroom. They can call him for questioning if he was around, but obviously he’s gone. If only you would allow Mrs. Grey identify him...” he says and I cut him off.

“That’s not an option! They’ll put her under duress, and it will create undue stress for her. The burden falls on us. We have to locate him. What is the best the police department going to do?”

“They will go and check his apartment, check his whereabouts, check any credit and debit activity, cell phone activity, and check with his friends. But we've already done those and it’s a dead end.”

“Fuck!” I hiss my epitaph, my anger rising.

“Indeed, sir. We are going to analyze some of the data collected tonight, and we can brief you better tomorrow.”

“Do that. And if you haven’t done so already, inform Taylor of your findings and coordinate with the rest of the security allocated for my family.”

“I’ve already talked to Taylor. Good night, sir,” he says and I hang up.

I walk back into the great room as Anastasia and Gia are finishing up their reviews. I leisurely walk towards my wife. “All done?” I ask as I wrap my arms around her waist possessively. Then I turn to Gia who answers.

“Yes, Mr. Grey,” she says with a bright but a frail smile. Mr. Grey? I was Christian when she got here, and she was all over me like white on rice. “I’ll have the revised plans to you in a couple of days.”

“Excellent. You’re happy?” I ask Anastasia, with probing eyes, lovingly. She nods and blushes.

“I’d better be going,” Gia says, ready to jump the ship. She looks like she’d rather be anywhere than here. I am too curious to find out what Anastasia has said to her. Gia extends her hand to Anastasia first, and then to me. Yes, my woman definitely declared her territory. I have a territorial panther of my own!

“Until next time Gia,” Anastasia says.

“Yes, Mrs. Grey. Mr. Grey,” she replies. Mrs. Grey? A few minutes ago, she was deferring all her questions to me, and dismissing Ana; not so belligerently, but like another female who wished to take over the territory of another. How she misjudged my wife! I’m happy to see that my girl kicked her ass. When Taylor appears at the entrance, Anastasia speaks loud enough for Taylor to hear.

“Taylor will see you out.” Gia nervously pats her hair, and turns on her five inch fuck-me in-your-dreams heels and walks out. When Taylor herds her out to the elevators, I turn my wife around and ask quizzically:

“She was noticeably cooler.”

“Was she? I didn't notice,” she says shrugging, trying to look nonchalant. It’s something I perfected, and I know she’s concealing something. “What did Taylor want?” she asks to distract me. I release her, frowning. I want her to be open to me. I start rolling up the plans, and answer her question. “It was about Hyde.” That piques her curiosity.

“What about Hyde?” she asks in a worried whisper.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Ana,” I reply. This is why I wouldn't want her to go to the police department and identify Hyde to the police. She’s scared and worried. I leave the plans on the table, and turn to my wife, pulling her into my arms. “It turns out he hasn't been in his apartment for weeks, that’s all,” I say simply. I kiss her hair then releasing her, I go back to picking up the plans. I want to find out what went on between Gia and Anastasia and also distract her from the fucker Hyde.

“So what did you decide on?”

“Just what you and I discussed. I think she likes you,” she says is a quiet voice. Ah, that’s the crux. My wife is jealous. She has nothing to worry about. I snort.

“Did you say something to her?” I ask and she turns crimson, confirming my suspicions. She looks down to her fingers, embarrassed. She has nothing to be embarrassed about. I like it when she takes ownership of me, possessively. In fact, I want her to do that excessively. That means she has no interest in anyone but me. That she loves me.

“We were Christian and Ana when she arrived, and Mr. and Mrs. Grey when she left,” I say dryly.

“I may have said something,” she mumbles. Her confirmation melts my heart. I love this woman! She is claiming ownership, and she does get jealous when others show interest in me; she is protective of me, and she loves me. I am beyond happy of her response. I gaze at her with nothing but love and passion. She looks up to meet my gaze. When our eyes meet, I remember why most women react to me the way they do. They see a pretty face, a fuckable body. No one sees the fucked up husk of a man behind the face. I lower my gaze, shaking my head with realization of what I am.

“She’s only reacting to this face,” I say bitterly. I am disgusted that this is the reaction I invoke in other women.

Anastasia’s look changes to bewildered. “What?” I ask perplexed. What is she thinking? That I would be interested in Gia Matteo? “You’re not jealous, are you?” I ask. I am horrified that she might think I have some interest in Gia.

Anastasia blushes and she swallows nervously. She is jealous! She stares down at her knotted fingers, feeling insecure.

“Ana, she’s a sexual predator. She’s not my type at all. How can you be jealous of her? Of anyone for that matter? Nothing about her interests me,” I say completely exasperated and alarmed that she would think this way. I run my hand through my hair exacerbated. “It’s only you, Ana. It will only ever be you,” I whisper. Surely, she must know that I love her indelibly, irrevocably, and completely!

You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine - Michael Buble ft Laura Pausini

I leave the plans back on the table again, and move towards my wife. Her head is back down again. I lift her chin up and make her look into my eyes.

“How can you think otherwise? Have I ever given you any indication that I could be remotely interested in anyone else?” I ask her fervently.

“No. I’m being silly. It’s just today...and you...” she says frustrated. What? Did I make her think that she’s not as important to me? What did I do?

“What about me?” I ask.

“Oh, Christian,” she says, her lips quivering. “I’m trying to adapt to this new life that I had never imagined for myself. Everything is being handed to me on a plate. My job, you...” she says looking into my eyes with some emotion that melts my heart. “my beautiful husband who I never... I never knew I’d love this way, this hard, this fast, this indelibly,” she says in one breath packed with her emotions. She stops and takes a breath. There’s something else.

“But you are like a freight train, and I don’t want to get railroaded because the girl you fell in love with will be crushed. And what’ll be left? All that would be left is a vacuous social x-ray, flitting from charity function to charity function.” She looks frightened. Bewildered, and lost even. “And now you want me to be a company CEO, which has never ever been on my radar. I’m bouncing between all these ideas, struggling. You want me at home. You want me to run a company. It’s so confusing,” she says and stops just as her eyes brim with tears. No! No! The last I want to do is to make my wife cry! Everything I do is just to protect her, to show her how much I love her, how much I want to support her in all her dreams and endeavors. Isn't that what a husband supposed to do? Isn't that what I promised to do? Is she asking me to go back on my marriage vows?

“ You've got to let me make my own decisions, take my own risks, and make my own mistakes, and let me learn from them. I need to walk before I can run, Christian, don’t you see that? I want some independence. That’s what name means to me.”

I swallow hard. My wife thinks that my love, my efforts to protect her, the way I love her railroads her? I need to know.

“You feel railroaded?” I ask in a horrified whisper.

She nods in the affirmative.

I feel like she punched me in the guts. I close my eyes in pain as I run my hand through my hair in exasperation. How do I show her that I love her if I am not allowed to express my love for her in my own way? I want to give her everything I have, lay it at her feet.

“I just want to give you the world, Ana, and everything and anything you want. And save you from it, too. Keep you safe. But I also want everyone to know you’re mine. I panicked today when I got your e-mail. Why didn't you tell me about your name?”

She never communicates with me unless I force it out of her. If she had concerns, and if that was her decision, she should have told me. Sure, I would try to persuade her otherwise, but she goes behind my back, and that’s the bottom line of my worry. She makes me panic by making decisions relating to both of us in secret knowing how possessive I am. It is unfair!

My question makes her flush.

“I only thought about it while we were on our honeymoon, and well, I didn't want to burst the bubble, and I forgot about it. I only remembered yesterday evening. And then Jack...you know, it was distracting. I’m sorry, I should have told you or discussed it with you, but I could never seem to find the right time,” she explains.

I look at her without blinking. She concealed her feelings from me, and I want to trust her, but how could I not panic when she hides important decisions from me? Doesn’t she understand that this is me, all of me, that I am offering myself to her with every flaw and every fiber of my being, good and bad. This is me... Can’t she take me as I am, and not an altered version of me?

Everything I Do – Bryan Adams

“Why did you panic?” she asks.

“I just don’t want you to slip through my fingers,” I whisper with wide eyes, my fear evident.

“For heaven’s sake, I’m not going anywhere. When are you going to get that through your incredibly thick skull? I. Love. You,” she says emphasizing. She waves her hand in the air and continues, “More than...” she searches for the right words to express her thoughts and feelings, “eyesight, space or liberty.”

What? She loves me like she loves her father? My eyes widen in surprise. Shock even. “A daughter’s love?” I ask in an ironic smile.

“No,” she laughs. “It’s the only quote that came to mind.”

“Mad King Lear?” she thinks of me like Mad King Lear?

“Dear, dear Mad King Lear,” she says as her fingers gently caress my face, and like a man starved for her affection, for her touch, I lean in, and bask myself in the feeling, closing my eyes. “Would you change your name to Christian Steele so everyone would know that you belong to me?” she asks.

My eyes fly open. She wants to show the world that I belong to her? I do belong to her, I’m hers as she’s mine! “Belong to you?” I murmur my question.

“Mine.”

“Yours. Yes, I would. If it meant that much to you.” Doesn’t she understand that there is hardly anything I wouldn't do for her?

“Does it mean that much to you?” she asks finally understanding my concern.

“Yes,” I answer her decisively.

“Okay,” she replies. What? Did she not agree to the name change already?

“I thought you’d already agreed to this.”

“Yes, I have, but now we've discussed it further, I’m happier with my decision.”

“Oh,” I reply surprised. We've reached a mutual agreement. And she’s not backed into it, but agreed to it. I’m extremely happy, I smile at my wife reflecting my mood. I grab Anastasia by the waist, and swing her around, making her squeal in delight and giggle. She’s happy, and her mood makes me happier.

“Mrs. Grey, do you know what this means to me?” I ask.

“I do now.”

I lean in and kiss her, my fingers caress her hair, finally holding her in place.

“It means seven shades of Sunday,” I murmur as my lips cover hers, and I run my nose along hers.

“You think?” she asks leaning back to gaze at me.

“Certain promises were made. An offer extended, a deal brokered,” I whisper. I am getting what she promised me come hell or high-water.

“Uhm...” she says uncertain. What? No, no, no! She promised! I want her, and I want her now!

“You reneging on me?” I ask questioning. I can improvise, and still get what I want. “I have an idea.”

“A really important matter to attend to. Yes, Mrs. Grey. A matter of gravest importance,” I say remembering what she said to me earlier about my hair.

“What?” she breathes, narrowing her eyes.

“I need you to cut my hair. Apparently it’s overlong, and my wife doesn’t’ like it.”

“I can’t cut your hair!” she says horrified.

“Yes you can,” I grin. She can do anything. I shake my head to demonstrate my hair falling over my eyes.

“Well, if Mrs. Jones has a pudding bowl,” she replies giggling.

I laugh in response. OK  if she thinks she won’t do a good job... “Alright, good point well made. I’ll get Franco to do it.” Her expression changes. I know what she’s thinking. She wouldn't want me to associate with anyone from Elena’s saloon.

“Come,” she says grabbing my hand, and pulls me. I fucking love it when my wife takes charge of me. She leads me to our master bathroom, and letting go of my hand, she brings a wooden chair and places it in front of one of the sinks. I look at my wife completely amused, my thumbs tucked in the front belt loops of my pants. I love it because she's marking her territory.  My eyes are wanton, desirous.

“Sit,” she orders.

“Are you going to wash my hair?” I ask, and she nods in response. I arch an eyebrow in surprise, but this can be good. “Okay,” I say, and slowly undo my buttons of my white shirt. She watches me with greedy eyes. I hold my cuff out to her, and gesture her to undo the cuff-links.  They are the ones she gave me as a wedding present with my initials engraved. As she’s undoing the cuff-links, my desire for her rises tenfold. My pulse races. Her proximity is always turning me on.

“Ready?” she whispers in a salacious tone.

“For whatever you want, Ana,” I reply ready for anything that would be delivered by her.

My lips part to inhale deeply. Her gaze travels from my eyes, to my lips. She leans up to kiss me, but I stop her.

“No,” I say placing both my hands over her shoulders. “Don’t. If you do that, I’ll never get my haircut. I want this,” I say. Any attention my wife deems to give me is endearing. I’m starved for her attention, and no matter how much I get, I can never have my fill.

“Oh!” she exhales. “Why?” she asks in a whispering tone.

Why? I stare at her. What is better than getting love and care from the object of your affection? “Because it will make me feel cherished,” I respond. She wraps her arms around me, and kiss my bare chest, and then nuzzles her cheek into my chest hair.

“Ana. My Ana,” I whisper. My baby, my wife, my everything. My arms wraps around her body, and we hold each other. Minutes later, she releases me, and leans back.

“You really want me to do this?” she asks. I nod, and smile at her shyly. Being shy in her presence is a new thing for me. Her responding grin is disarming.

“Then sit,” she orders again.

I obey immediately, and sit. She makes me lean my head back to the sink. She divests herself of her shoes, and unceremoniously tosses them by my shirt crumpled on the floor. She walks to the shower and grab the shampoo bottle.

“Would sir like this?” she hold the Chanel shampoo as if she’s selling it on Home Shopping Network. “Hand delivered from the South of France. I like the smell of this...” she says pausing. Then her gaze darkens, and she whispers, “it smells of you.”

“Please,” I respond grinning.

She yanks a small towel off the towel warmer.

“Lean forward,” she orders once again, and I obey. She drapes it around my shoulders, and then turns the water on and fills the sink with water.

“Lean back,” she orders, completely in charge. She’s a bossy little thing this evening and I’m loving every second of it. I pull the chair forward and till it back resting against the sink then finally tip my head back into the sink to allow her a comfortable position to wash my hair. When I gaze up, I see her warm smile looking down at me. She grabs one of the cups on the vanity, and dips into the sink she filled with warm water. She pours it down on my head, soaking my hair. She repeats the process again leaning over me. I’m momentarily intoxicated as her womanly scent inundates my senses.

“You smell so good, Mrs. Grey,” I murmur getting lost in the feeling, I close my eyes.

She keeps wetting my hair one cup at a time, her finger rubbing the water into my roots. Her touch is electrifying, both jolting my body alive making me want her, and relaxing me in a way I never knew possible. I feel loved, cherished, valued. I feel that I’m the sole focus of Ana’s reveries at the moment. The thought pleases me, and I inhale softly my lips parting. The splash of water over my closed eyes jolts me out of my reveries. “Sorry!” Anastasia apologizes.

I grab the corner of the towel and wipe the water out of my eyes.

“Hey, I know I’m an arse, but don’t drown me,” I mock chide her.

She leans down and kisses my forehead, giving me her girlish, delightful giggle. “Don’t tempt me, Mr. Grey.” Her scent, her touch, her kiss and her giggle shoots my desire for her to an all-time high. I find my hands reaching behind her head and pulling her lips to mine. I kiss her briefly, and groan with desire and contentment. I release her, looking at her expectantly. She looks back at me with what? Love? Desire? Tenderness?

She squirts some shampoo into her palm and massages it into my scalp, lathering. She starts at my temples, and work her way over to top of my head, and down to the sides and below my head. Her finger rhythmically circles my head which in return livens up all my synapses. I close my eyes in pure bliss, completely in heaven; a low murmur escapes my lips.

“That feels good,” I say with her fingers relentlessly massaging my scalp.

“Yes it does,” she mirrors my words, and kisses my forehead once again.

“I like it when you scratch my scalp with your fingernails,” I say, my eyes closed. I’m in a different place, content, joyful, feeling loved and cherished, but still vulnerable.

“Head up,” she orders and I obey without thinking. She once again reaches behind my head scraping her nails, and rubbing the suds into my scalp, her finger firmly pressing and massaging my head.

“Back,” she orders. I lean back and she rinses off the suds with warm water, using the drinking cup.

“Once more?” she asks.

“Please,” I respond serenely. A man can get used to this. She grins down at me.

“Coming right up, Mr. Grey. She fills my sink with warm water, and “For rinsing,” she explains.

She lathers my hair with shampoo again, and by this time, I am completely relaxed. If I died right at this moment, I’d die a happy, blissful man. My breathing eases, and deepens. Her hands stop for a moment, and then her fingers softly caress my cheek. I open my eyes, watching her with relaxed, sleepy eyes. She leans down and plants a soft and a chaste kiss on my lips. I smile at her tenderness, and close my eyes with utter contentment. She loves me! She loves me! This man! Christian Grey!

She saddles me and leans over me to get a better bearing. Her breasts brush over my face. “Hmm,” I murmur appreciatively. My hands move around her hips, and her ass.

“No fondling the help,” she chides me.

“Don’t forget I’m deaf,” I say with closed eyes. My hands run down past her behind and start hitching up her skirt. She swats my arm. I grin at her reaction. I feel like a boy who got caught having sex in his bedroom for the first time and chided, but still secretly proud of it. She reaches into the sink with the cup in her hand, and rinses the shampoo off my hair to wash off the suds away from my hair. My hands are still grasping her ass, intent on having her as soon as she finishes rinsing my hair. She’s so fucking hot, straddling me, her hands massaging my head, her breasts touching my face, her scent is overtaking me. My fingers travel back and forth, up and down over her delectable derriere, and she wiggles, making me growl like predator in heat. Shit! I’m going to have her whether she wants to be had or not!

“There. All rinsed.”

“Good,” I say. Time for seven shades of Sunday that was promised to me. My fingers tighten around her behind, and I immediately sit up, my wet hair dripping all over me. I pull my wife down onto my lap. My hands slowly and sensually move up from her ass to the nape of her neck. Then caressing her neck, my fingers trail to her chin, and I firmly hold her in place. She is so fucking beautiful, looking at me with love and desire. What is more irresistible to a man than a woman who is in love with him? My lips immediately find hers and covers and takes over them. My tongue pushes its way into her mouth, hard and erect ready to conquer her. I stroke her tongue in sensual licks. Her tongue hesitantly moves and enters into my mouth, and I suck it hard. Her fingers lace into my hair and curl around the wet strands. The water drops runs from my hair over to her hands and her arms, and as our kiss deepens, her face is drenched with water from my hair. I move my hand from her chin to the top button of her blouse. I just want to get her naked and fuck her with all I’ve got.

“Enough of this primping. I want to fuck you seven shades of Sunday, and we can do it in here or in the bedroom. You decide.”

My breathing grows deeper, my pulse increases, my eyes darken, and I’m full of carnal appreciation, and desire for my very fuckable wife. Water keeps dripping from my overlong hair on both of us. Her breath hitches; she’s unable to answer me. Her chest is rising up and down and I can feel her heartbeat.

“What’s it to be, Anastasia?” I ask her, as I jolt my leg to make her give me an answer.

“You’re wet,” she says.

I bend my head, and quickly shake and rub my head on the front of her blouse soaking her wet. She squeals and tries to free herself from my grasp and that reaction only excites me more. I love her putting up force in a sexual game. I crave it. And right now, I’m completely turned on, and I won’t let her go until she’s thoroughly fucked.

“Oh, no you don’t, baby!” I murmur, and when I lift my head up to look into her eyes again, I am pure lust, and full of licentious desire for her. Her blouse is soaked in water, and her nipples are poking through, inviting me to make love to her.

“Love the view,” I murmur as I run my nose around and around on one of her wet nipples making her squirm under my ministrations.

“Answer me, Ana. Here or the bedroom?”

“Here, she whispers desperately, haircut forgotten. The fierce desire in which she is basked makes me smile licentiously.

“Good choice, Mrs. Grey,” I murmur against her lushes lips. I release her chin and move my hand down to her knee, slowly hitching up her skirt, my fingers gliding over her smooth skin. A shiver runs through her body. I start trailing kisses from the base of her ear along her jaw. Oh, God!

“Oh, what shall I do to you?” I whisper into her ear. My fingers stop at the top of her stockings. I shall have her keep them. “I like these,” I murmur. I run a finger underneath the top and skim around her inner thigh waking up her nerves. She gasps and squirms responding to my touch quickly. Her reaction makes me groan, a guttural sound, coming from deep in my throat. “If I’m going to fuck you seven shades of Sunday, I want you to keep still,” I remind her.

“Make me,” she rouses me in a soft, breathy voice. I take a sharp intake of breath. She’s pushing all the right buttons tonight. I’d love to tie you up baby. My eyes narrow, and I regard her with a hot expression. Is this what she wants? Her gaze dares me, tantalizing, wanting, and pushing me.

“Oh, Mrs. Grey. You have only to ask.” I move my hand away from her stocking top to her panties. “Let’s divest you of these,” I say as I gently tug them and she shifts to make it easy. But I don’t need any help. My breath hisses through my teeth.

“Keep still,” I grumble.

“I’m helping,” she replies, pouting. You are not to pout baby! I quickly move in and capture her lower lip between my teeth.

“Still,” I growl.  I’m the alpha male. I’m in charge of this show. I slide her panties down her legs and off. Then I tug her skirt up, making it bunch around her hips. I move both hands to her waist and lift her, her panties are in my hand.

“Sit astride me,” I order staring into her other with one intent in mind: to fuck her seven shades of Sunday. She finally shifts, straddling me, and her gaze is inciting, heady and provoking.

“Mrs. Grey, are you goading me?” I ask in a warning tone. Though I am completely amused and aroused. She challenges me like no one can; stirs up emotions I never knew existed.

“Yes. What are you going to do about it?” she asks with that brave demeanor. I fucking love it! I love her putting up force in any shape or form in sex. It’s such a turn on. My cock responds immediately, raring to get out. “Clasp your hands together behind your back.”

She obeys immediately, and I tie her hands up with her panties.

“My panties? Mr. Grey, you have no shame,” she says berating.

“Not where you’re concerned, Mrs. Grey, but you already know that.” I am intense and burning with desire; a fucking volcano ready to blow. I put my hands around her waist, shift her on my lap so that she’s sitting a little further back on my lap. Her gaze is fixed on the dripping water. Her eyes are full of sexual desire, full of anticipation.

I caress her thighs and slowly skate down to her knees, pushing them further apart and also widen the gap of my own legs. Then I hold her in that position. My fingers move to the buttons of her blouse. I just want to get rid of it.

“I don’t think we need this,” I say, and slowly undo each button, keeping my eyes locked on hers. Her chest start rising up and down in quick succession as I slowly leave her clinging wet blouse open. Her breathing is shallow and her heartbeat is evident over her open blouse. I leave her damp blouse hanging open and start caressing her face with both hands. Then my fingers skim over her cheeks, and my thumb runs over her bottom lip. Her lips part in pleasure, her eyes dilate. I thrust my thumb into her mouth.

“Ssssuck,” I order in a whisper, enunciating the S.  She sucks my thumb with such an enthusiasm to convey her desire to suck me off. She fellates my thumb, and I feel the effects of it in my groin, and my cock twitches in response. She scrapes her teeth over the pad of my thumb and bite it, making me gasp, and groan desirously.

I extract my now wet, and thoroughly sucked thumb out of her lips, and trail it down her chin, down her throat and over her sternum. I hook it into the cup of her bra, yanking it down, I free her breast which is pushed up by the under-wire of her bra, bringing her nipple closer to my lips which perks up even further. My gaze is on her. I want to see each and every one of her reactions I’m eliciting from her. I want to be the cause and the provider of every pleasure she experiences. I want to be in charge and in control of her pleasures: when and how much. I want to possess her body in such a way that she surrenders herself to me completely; body and soul.

Principles of Lust - Enigma

Without leaving her gaze, I free her other breast as well and cupping both of them gently, I skim each nipple with my thumbs, circling achingly slow, teasing and taunting her. They harden and elongate under my touch. I can make her come like that. She groans and throws her head back, closing her eyes, unable to stay still.

“Shhh...” I soothe her. “Still, baby, still.” I want her to learn to control her body. I release one of her breast, and with the same hand, I reach behind the nape of her head, holding her in place. Then I take the now free nipple into my mouth and suck it hard, my wet hair falling around my face. I take the other nipple between my thumb and my forefinger and tug and twist it gently, allowing it to respond to my touch and elongate.

“Ah! Christian!” she groans and bucks forward, dying for friction over her sex. But that won’t make me stop. I love making my wife come apart under my touch, when I want, how I want. I love having control over her body. It feeds the need inside me, and arouses me beyond belief.

“Christian, please,” she whimpers when I don’t stop.

“Hmm,” I hum. “I want you to come like this,” I murmur. When I make love to Anastasia, I connect with her in the most elementary, primal fashion - calling onto her instinct, speaking in a language only exist between our bodies; only between our bodies. I call, and she comes. She moans loudly, writhing on my lap against my pants, pulling against her restraints, wanting to touch me.

“Please,” she begs in a whisper, and I feel the change in her muscles, tightening.

“You have such beautiful breasts, Ana,” I say groaning. “One day I’ll fuck them.” I lean in and suckle her breast deep again. My tongue caressing, fallating, pulling. She’s holding tight, unwilling to let go, resisting to come, asking for a friction.

“Let go,” I breathe, ordering her, and she reaches her climax, lost in her orgasm, in the rolling pleasure coursing through her body, and finally falling down onto my chest, resting her head. Her eyes remain closed until the sensation runs through her body. When she finally opens them, I am gazing down at my wife in awe.

“God, I love to watch you come, Ana,” I say in wonder. I am in awe of her.

“That was...” she says unable to finish her sentence. But, we connected, and I know exactly what she is feeling.

“I know,” I say and leaning forward, I kiss her. My hand is still holding the nape of her neck. I angle her head so I can kiss her deeper, more carnal, more loving, worshiping  She’s a goddess among women. I love her more than my own life! When I pull away from our kiss, we’re both breathless.

“Now, I’m going to fuck you, hard,” I murmur.

I grab her around her waist, lifting her up from my thighs down to the edge of my knees. With my right hand, I unbutton my navy pants. I run my fingers of my left hand up and down of her thigh, stopping at the top of her stockings, and watch her reaction intently. We’re face to face. She’s trussed up with her panties, her bra pushing her breast up to my lips, sitting on my lap and ready to receive my eager cock; so fucking close, and completely intimate. Her blue eyes locked with mine. I reach down to my zipper and my erection springs free. Her lips part, and she gasps. She’s looking down at my substantial length with carnal desire, making me smirk.

“You like?” I ask.

“Hmm...” she murmurs appreciatively as if I’ve shown her most favorite thing in the world. I wrap my hand around my erection, my gaze locked on her expression, I move my hand up and down, stroking myself. She’s extremely aroused, gazes up at me with a look that says she’s ready to devour my cock in whole, and bites her lip.

“You’re biting your lip, Mrs. Grey,” I groan.

“That’s because I’m hungry?”

“Hungry?” I ask, my mouth widening open in surprise, and when the realization downs on me, I know she wants me now.

“Hmm...” she murmurs, licking her lips.

Oh, Mrs. Grey! Two can play at this game. I smile, bite my lower lip as I continue to stroke myself.

“I see. You should have eaten your dinner. But maybe I can oblige,” I say and put my hands on her waist. I’m hungry too. “Stand,” I order softly. Well, Mrs. Grey, time for dinner. She gets to her feet.

“Kneel,” I order. She does as she’s told. I slide forward in my seat.

“Kiss me,” I say offering her my erection. She gazes up at me, and the look she gives me turns me on big time, making me lick my top teeth. She leans forward, and kisses the tip of my erection. That simple touch jolts a bolt of electricity through my body waking up every nerve ending, and making me take a sharp intake of breath, and clench my teeth. I cup the sides of her head, as she runs her tongue over the crown of my cock, sucking the single dew beading on the tip. My jaw drops open in pleasure, and I gasp further. Then she jumps on it, hollowing her cheeks, she sucks hard, pulling my cock into the depths of her throat. She pulls back and twirls her tongue around the crown and push down once again. And repeats the process.

“Jesus, Ana,” I sigh as pleasure courses through my body, spreading through every cell, curling my toes. I shut my eyes tightly. I find my hips reciprocating and matching her movements. I’m lost in my wife’s talented mouth in pleasure, unable to respond, unable to move. She conquered me, possessed me, and connected with me in such a way that no other person ever did, or ever could.

“Ah!”  I moan, and stop moving. I lean forward and grabbing her, I pull her onto my lap.

“Enough!” I growl. I reach behind her, and free her hands with one tug on her panties. Her gaze is matching mine in intensity, hungry for my cock, for what I have to deliver to her. She looks over me, and her hand wraps my erection, places it under her, and slowly lets me sink into her sex, savoring my cock filling and stretching her. The noise that comes out of me is primal, guttural and lustful. I reach up and pull her blouse off, and let it fall to the floor. I lower my hands to her hips.

“Still,” I warn her in a raspy voice, my hands digging into her soft flesh. “Please, still. Let me savor this. Savor you,” I plead. She stops. I caress her face in awe, completely mesmerized, gaze at her in a way only a man in love can look. My eyes are wild, my lips parted, I breathe in shallow breaths. I flex my cock beneath her and she moans, with the delightful taste of friction, she closes her eyes in pleasure.

“This is my favorite place,” I whisper her. “Inside you. Inside my wife.”

Her fingers glide into my still wet hair, her lips sealing mine, and she starts to move up and down on her toes. Fuck! I am lost in her. I groan loudly. My hands are in her hair, around her back, my tongue invading her mouth, taking over her, fucking and making love. I can connect with her like this, communicate with her, express her my love, affection, fears, worries, and desires in a way I cannot any other way. My hands move to her buttocks and control her movements up and down, again and again at a pace I determine.

“Ah!” she groans into my mouth.

“Yes. Yes, Ana,” I hiss and she kisses my face, chin, jaw, neck, back to my cheeks again. “Baby,” I breathe, and capture her mouth once more.

“Oh, Christian, I love you. I will always love you,” she breathes fervently. Declaring her love for me. I moan; her declaration making me reach my peak and I wrap my around her tightly as I climax, not knowing why the divine providence found me worthy enough for this woman, though I am unworthy of her, and how lucky, how incredibly blessed I am with her in my life. My climax and eventual release is a mournful sob, and she too is pushed over the brink, and clutching her arms around my head, she lets her orgasms go through her entire body in large waves. Her head falls onto my shoulders with tears springing and falling onto my back.

“Hey,” I whisper as I tip her chin back and gaze into her face with concern. “Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she mutters, her voice laced with reassurance.

I Melt with You – Nouvelle

I smooth her hair off her face, and wipe a lone teardrop away with my thumb, and kiss her tender lips. My cock is still inside her. I shift and pull out of her. I’m worried that something is wrong. She hides a lot from me.

“What’s wrong, Ana? Tell me.”

She sniffs in response. “It’s just that... sometimes I’m overwhelmed by how much I love you,” she whispers. When the weight of her words sinks in me, I smile, elated. Because that’s how I feel for her. “You have the same effect on me,” I whisper back, and kiss her again. She smiles back in response.

“Do I?” she asks making me smirk.

“You know you do.”

“Sometimes I know. Not all the time.”

“Back at you, Mrs. Grey,” I whisper. That’s how I’ve been feeling all day. I wasn’t sure, and the frustration and anxiety nearly gave me a coronary. As she nuzzles my chest hair, I caress her hair, and run my hand on her back and unclasp her bra and pull the strap down one arm. Then letting her shift, I pull the other strap down, and drop it on the floor. Now there’s nothing between us.

“Hmm. Skin on skin,” I murmur and keep her in my embrace. I plant a kiss on her shoulder and my nose runs a trail up to her ear inhaling her intoxicating scent.

“You smell like heaven, Mrs. Grey.”

“So do you, Mr. Grey,” she says nuzzling me as she inhales deeply. We hold each other like this for what...seconds, minutes, inhaling each other’s scent, holding, and caressing. She’s my safe place. She’s my love, my lover, my wife, and she sums up the meaning of my existence. But it’s getting late. I don’t want her to go without sleep.

“It’s late,” I remind her,” stroking her back.

“Your hair still needs cutting,” she says making me chuckle.

“That it does, Mrs. Grey. Do you have the energy to finish the job you started?”

“For you, Mr. Grey, anything,” she replies and kisses my chest and stands up.

“Don’t go,” I say grabbing her hips. I turn her around, and fix her skirt, and undo the button, letting it drop on the floor. I hold her hand and help her walk out of it. She’s only in her garter belt and her stockings. What a fuckable sight!

“You’re a mighty fine sight, Mrs. Grey,” I say as I sit back crossing my arms. I appraise my wife completely.

Holding her arms up, she twirls and gives me a small show of her assets.

“God, I am a lucky son of a bitch,” I say with the sight of my gorgeous wife.

“Yes, you are,” she replies acquiescing, making me grin.

“Put on my shirt, and you can cut my hair. Like this, you’ll distract me, and we’ll never get to bed.”

She just smiles in response. After sauntering to my shirt, she bend down slowly, and reaches down to pick my shirt up, and gives me a great visual of her derriere and her sex. Lifts the shirt to her nose and inhales my residual scent deeply and then shrugs it on. My eyes are solely focused on her actions completely. I redo my fly, and appreciate the show she’s putting out for my benefit.

“That’s quite a floor show, Mrs. Grey.”

“Do we have any scissors?” she asks batting her eyelashes. What the hell is she doing to me?

“My study,” I manage to croak.

“I’ll go search,” she says and leaves the bathroom. I get up and pick her clothes up and fold them neatly and put them aside by the sink. Then pick her shoes up and Anastasia dashes into the bathroom, completely out of breath as if she’s chased by the hell hounds.

“What’s wrong?” I ask worried.

“I just ran into Taylor,” she says. I frown. She’s nearly naked. I don’t want the security eyeing my wife with barely any clothes on, flushed and disheveled right after sex!

“Oh! Dressed like that,” I voice my displeasure.

“That’s not Taylor’s fault,” she replies immediately. Why is she always taking Taylor’s side? I know it’s a coincidence, but, I’m not liking it. “No. But still.”

“I’m dressed.”

“Barely.”

“I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me or him. Hey, did you know he and Gail are...well, together?” she asks making me laugh.

My wife can sometimes be unaware of the events that are happening right under her nose. I love her innocence.

“Yes, of course I knew,” I reply. It’s been going on for a while. By the looks of it, they’re so much in love, Taylor would have married Mrs. Jones had she said yes to him. I then feel a relief that Ana didn't make me wait as long as Mrs. Jones is making Taylor wait for an answer.

“And you never told me?” she scolds.

“I thought you knew, too.”

“No.”

“Ana, they’re adults. They live under the same roof, both unattached, both attractive.” She blushes with my response with realization.

“Well, if you put it like that...I just thought Gail was older than Taylor.”

“She is, but not by much.” I look at Ana, confused. Why shouldn't Taylor choose Mrs. Jones? She’s a very nice woman, beautiful, and she seems to love Taylor. Is Ana jealous of Taylor’s newly discovered relationship? “Some men like older women-“ I say, and abruptly stop, remembering Elena. This is a topic I don’t want to bring up right after we had mind-blowing sex. I am immediately chagrined. She is scowling, and what a green eyed monster I have under my hand! But I smile at her to reassure her that she has nothing to worry about. I need to distract her now; otherwise she’ll be fuming all night.

“That reminds me,” I say brightly.

“What?” she snaps. She takes the wooden chair and turns it to face the mirror. “Sit,” she orders firmly. I gaze at her to observe that she’s still fuming with the thoughts of Elena. Somehow her jealousy, her protectiveness of me makes me happy. I sit down in the chair. She starts combing my hair.

“I was thinking we could convert the rooms over the garages for them at the new place, and make it a home. Then maybe Taylor’s daughter could stay with him more often,” I say as I carefully watch her in the mirror. Her face softens.

“Why doesn’t she stay here?”

“Taylor’s never asked me,” I reply.

“Perhaps you should offer. But we’d have to behave ourselves.” I have never thought about that. My brows furrow. Of course. “I hadn't thought about that.”

“Perhaps that’s why Taylor hasn't asked. Have you met her?”

“Yes. She’s a sweet thing. Shy. Very pretty. I pay for her schooling,” I say and she stops combing my hair and looks up to meet my gaze in the mirror completely surprised.

“I had no idea,” she says. I shrug in response. Taylor’s a great employee. I feel safe with him, and I tend to be a lot calmer when he’s around. That’s a testament to his abilities as the head of my security.

“Seemed the least I could do. It also means that he won’t quit.”

“I’m sure he likes working for you,” she says, and that declaration takes me by surprise. I had not expected to hear that he likes me. “I don’t know,” I say with a blank expression on my face, as if she just said the world was flat.

“I think he’s very fond of you, Christian,” she says as she continues to comb my hair and glancing up at me. My eyes are glued with hers in the mirror.

“You think?”

“Yes. I do,” she says firmly. This is news to me. Taylor likes me... I snort dismissively, but I’m still overly pleased with this piece of information. He’s worked for me for four years, and I hadn't given a thought about it. And frankly didn't care because I didn't think he would like me, being the difficult man I am.

“Good. Will you talk to Gia about the rooms over the garage?” I ask.

“Yes, of course,” she replies. She’s finally done combing my hair, and picks the scissors up. “You sure about this? Your last chance to bail.”

“Do your worst, Mrs. Grey. I don’t have to look at me, you do.” She grins in response.

“Christian, I could look at you all day.” I shake my head exasperated. Only on the surface, baby. Only on the surface. I’m an ugly man inside! “It’s just a pretty face, baby.”

“And behind it is a very pretty man,” she says kissing my temple. “My man.”

It means the world to me that she thinks so highly of me, though I am unworthy of those reveries. It still makes me shy like an adolescent boy.

“Here it goes...” she says, and takes the first snip. I close my eyes, and enjoy the rare tranquility that comes to me, and now with the courtesy of my beautiful wife. I am in heaven. Washed, primped, satisfied, thoroughly fucked, and now getting a haircut in my wife’s hands. What else can a man ask for?

Heaven - Louis Armstrong & Ella Fitzgerald

About fifteen heavenly relaxing minutes later, “Finished,” she chimes. I open my eyes to see her handiwork, and I’m quite surprised with the elegant styling she gave me. I grin at her. “Great job, Mrs. Grey,” I say as I turn my head side to side and then wrap my arms around her. I pull her to me and kiss and nuzzle her belly.

“Thank you,” I say.

“My pleasure.” She leans down and kisses me.

“It’s late. Bed,” I say and slap her naked behind playfully.

“Ah! I should clean up here,” she says looking at the hair on the floor. I frown. I don’t want her to go out to the living room where she’ll run into another staff member.

“Okay, I’ll get the broom,” I say wryly. “I don’t want you embarrassing the staff with your lack of appropriate attire.”

“Do you know where the broom is?” she asks innocently batting her eyelashes. I stop in my track. I never needed, or used the broom in my house. Ever.

“Uhm...no, actually.” This makes her laugh. “I’ll go,” she says.

 ****❦ ♡ ❧*****

We both get ready to go to bed. Anastasia goes in to the bedroom as I’m brushing my teeth. When I get into the bedroom, she’s contemplative.

“What?” I ask, wanting to know her thoughts.

“Nothing. Just an idea,” she says as she eyes my low hanging pajama bottoms.

“What idea?” I ask, and stretch out next to her.

“Christian, I don’t think I want to run a company.”

This makes me prop myself on my elbow, and I gaze down at her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s not something that has ever appealed to me.”

“You’re more than capable, Anastasia.”

“I like to read books, Christian. Running a company will take me away from that.”

“You could be the creative head,” I try to make her see reason, and embrace her God-given talents.

This makes her frown.

“You see, running a successful company is all about embracing the talent of the individuals you have at your disposal. If that’s where your talents and your interest lie, then you structure the company to enable that. Don’t dismiss it out of hand, Anastasia. You’re a very capable woman. I think you could do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it.” She looks at me in disbelief.

“I’m also worried it will take up too much of my time. Time I could devote to you,” she says making me frown this time. I know what she’s trying to do. She’s trying to play her ‘Christian card’ knowing my weakness when it comes to her, so that I don’t encourage her to run her own business.

“I know what you are doing,” I murmur, amused with her attempt.

“What?” she says putting on an innocent face.

“You’re trying to distract me from the issue at hand. You always do that. Just don’t dismiss the idea, Ana. Think about it. That’s all I ask,” I say, and lean in and kiss her. Then I skim my thumb down her cheek. She smiles up at me.

“Can I ask you something?” she asks in a soft, tentative voice.

“Of course.”

“Earlier today you said if I was angry with you, I should take it out on you in bed. What did you mean?” This makes me stop in my tracks. With Ana it could go either way. “What did you think I mean?” I ask.

“That you wanted me to tie you up.”

I am completely taken by surprise. What? No! It had nothing to do with me being tied up!

“Uhm...no. That’s not what I meant at all.”

“Oh,” she replies completely disappointed. Her facial expression says that she wants to tie me up, but I want to confirm this.

“You want to tie me up?”  I ask, shocked again. She blushes, embarrassed.

“Well...” she mutters.

“Ana, I...” say stopping. Being tied up and trussed brings up darker memories. Memories that remind me a time when I was helpless. I don’t want that association with Ana. She’s everything good in my life. 

“Christian,” she whispers completely alarmed. She turns to me and props herself up on her elbow. I look at her with bewildered, large eyes. I shake my head with remembrance. One of the reasons I want to have control in my life is that it was taken away from me, and that power was abused. That’s the reason I am fifty shades fucked up. I want to give Anastasia what she wants, all she wants. But I can’t give her that. My heart is beating like the jungle dream; and not in pleasure, but with fear. The fear resurrects and resurfaces its ugly head unexpectedly. The memories of that fucking pimp and what he did to me by taking all the control away from me when I was already a helpless child, and the last time I subbed for Elena comes to the forefront unbidden.  

“Christian, stop. It doesn’t matter. I thought that’s what you meant,” she says. I take her hand and place it on my savagely beating heart.

“Ana, I don’t know how I’d feel about you touching me if I were restrained.”

I have barely learned to get used to and enjoy her touch when I’m unrestrained. I can’t bear to be restrained. “This is still too new,” I say in a low and painful voice.

She leans over, and the forbidden memories still on the surface I freeze. She simply plants a soft, tender kiss at the corner of my mouth.

“Christian, I got the wrong idea. Please don’t worry about it. Please don’t think about it.” She kisses me again and I close my eyes and groan, finally reciprocating her kiss. I’ll be damned if I let the pimp or Elena get between us. I push my wife into the mattress, hold her chin in place, and kiss her with all I’ve got. Hitching my t-shirt up on her torso, I move my hands on her body, and soon we are lost in each other, and our personal bubble.