BOOK III - Chapter IX - Christian and Anastasia FanFiction

LONDON

Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately set

Many an arch high up did lift,

And angels rising and descending met

With interchange of gift.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Palace of Art”

CHAPTER IX

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” Geoffrey, our personal butler greets us after I walk into our penthouse with Anastasia in my arms crossing through another threshold, Taylor following me with our luggage.

“Welcome to the Sheraton Park Tower Hotel. I hope you have a pleasant stay. How may I be of service this evening?” he asks with bright eyes, expectant. I didn't want the butler tonight, but he’s here already.

Anastasia looks up at me after I let her stand up on her feet, amused. She already knows that I wanted us to be alone as soon as possible.

“Geoffrey, we won’t be needing your services tonight,” I say, and his face falls; he was expecting to do something for us.

“But, you can look after Taylor’s needs tonight,” I say pointing at Taylor whose eyes go wide. He’s not sure if he heard me correctly.

“Sir?” Taylor manages to utter.

“Geoffrey, will tend your needs this evening, and I think we’ll turn in since we've had a very long day,” I respond with an impassive face. He flushes crimson. Taylor never had anyone serve him aside from Mrs. Jones, and I don’t want to know the extent of the service. That’s between the two of them.

“Yes, sir. Come on Geoffrey,” he says acquiescing, and ushers the butler out of the penthouse.

“Well, Mrs. Grey,” I say looking at my wife with dark eyes. “We’re alone at last.”

“That we are Mr. Grey. Now that we are alone, what do you intend to do with me?” she asks coyly.

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

“I sure am, Mr. Grey,” she says looking up at me from her long eyelashes.

“Come,” I hold her hand, “let’s find the bedroom, and the bathroom. I think we need a bath.” Her breath hitches and she looks at me desirous; her response turns me on big time. We walk into a large bedroom with wall to wall windows overlooking the London Eye and Hyde Park.

Anastasia takes one look at the sparkling view and she’s mesmerized. “Wow! It’s completely amazing!” she utters, her eyes transfixed at the view before her. I leave her gazing out the window as I find the large marble bathroom; pour some bath oil into the water and start running the bath water. Once the water slowly starts filling the tub, it starts foaming and a very sweet scent of jasmine fills the bathroom as the suds grow, I scatter red rose petals from the basket by the bath into the bathwater. I light the fresh scented candles creating an ambient mood. I finally go back to my wife who is standing and staring the London skyline before her, completely mesmerized with its beauty. I come behind her and wrap my arms around her waist and nuzzle her neck, pulling her body to mine. This is heaven!

“You look like you’re enjoying the view, Mrs. Grey,” I say nibbling her earlobe. She tilts her head to the side to give me easy access.

“Yes. I’m loving it! What am I looking at Christian? I recognize the London Eye and Hyde Park from the pictures I’ve seen. But what are the other buildings?” she asks.

Without letting go of her, I point with my right hand though my left arm still wrapped around her, and my front flush with her back, I point to the left side of the panorama: “See that skyscraper on the left, way over there?” I ask, and she nods.

“That’s Gherkin. It’s London’s main financial district. Their Wall Street,” I say, and she point to the London Eye.

“That giant Ferris wheel is the London Eye. What’s that behind it?”

“Well, that giant Ferris wheel is situated on the banks of the famous river Thames.”

“Oh yes, I would like to see Thames. I always loved the poem by Kipling describing the river.

Twenty bridges from Tower to Kew,

Wanted to know what the River knew,

Twenty Bridges or twenty-two,

For they were young, and the Thames was old

And this is the tale that River told...*”

“Mrs. Grey, you never cease to surprise me. I’m so glad you like London. I would be delighted to show you everything you ever wanted to see,” I say excited with the prospect of putting the city of London before my wife.

“The building behind the London Eye is the very famous St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

“Is it an Anglican cathedral?” she asks making me smile.

“Well, yes, I would assume most churches are in England. It’s on Ludgate Hill which is the highest point in London, and I believe it’s the seat of the Bishop of London,” I explain.

“I think the Royal Family holds most of their important events, like marriages, funerals, and christenings at the Westminster Abbey. Can we please, please, please visit it? I want to see the Poet’s Corner there!” she begs.

“Anastasia, you surprise me at every turn. Yes, I don’t see why we can’t do that tomorrow, but first, I want to take you into that marble bath over there, and lose myself in you! Come!” and I swooping her into my arms, I walk her into the pale marble bathroom.

The bathroom is filled with the scents of freesia and rose. When Anastasia walks in with me, her mouth is agape with the view before her. I stand before her and gaze at her with dark eyes. And in goes her lip into the captivity of her teeth. I lean down and pull that lip out with mine and suck it, making her moan. I tilt her chin up and hold it in place and I start kissing her. Desire unfurls in her and she reciprocates fully, thrusting her tongue into my mouth rather forcefully, and her hands start unbuttoning my white linen shirt. Unable to unbutton the last two, she pulls it apart frustrated, scattering the buttons around the bathroom floor, rolling and finally coming to a stop. Her passion makes me smile as I continue to devour her lips.

“Husband, I want you!” she breathes into my mouth.

I break our connection, and take the hem of her dress and pull it off her. She stands before me in her lacy bra and her lacy panties. Tops of her breast are showing and pushed up with her bra, making them the perfect size to fit into my palms. I pull the bra cup down and capture her nipple between my teeth making her gasp. As I hold it between my teeth gently, my tongue teases it, rolling around. It extends and elongates under my assault. My left hand pulls the other bra cup and I need her other nipple and breast under my fingers. She tilts her head back and moans, I smile and suck harder.

“Agh!” she groans, and her hands both dip into my hair, pushing me into her breast. My mouth travels down, between her breast, to her naval, to the belly, and above her pubic bone. She gasps and moans.

“Hush now baby,” I say, and I dip one finger into her sex and then two. She’s completely wet, and thrusting her pelvic into my hand. “How ready you are for me, baby!” I say, my voice reverential.

I stand up immediately, and slide her panties off her, and they pool at her feet; I walk her out of them. I pull her into me, my hands snake around her to find her bra’s clips, as my arousal digs into her through the thick fabric of my jeans. She grinds her pelvis into me in order to get a feel of my erection greedily.

“You have too many clothes...” she complaints.

“I’m not stopping you, baby. You can take them off,” I say with my gaze full of desire for her. Her hands reach down, and deftly unbuckle the top button of my jeans, and I hear the telltale of the zipper without breaking my gaze from her. Without taking my pants and the boxers off, she dips her hand into my pants in a bold gesture, grasping my erection and my balls stroking, up and down, up and down in a rhythmic motion. My lips make an ‘o’ shape with her sudden assault. Although it is unexpected, it’s hot as hell. Her other hand dips in and travels to my behind, first caresses and then squeezes my ass. Finally she moves both hands skating around my waist, and let my jeans and the boxers fall off to the fall at the same time.

My gaze is locked on her, and I know what she wants to do next. She looks up at me from her long eyelashes. Will I ever get enough of this sight, as Anastasia on the floor before me like a goddess, and her lips are around my manhood. Her lips sheaths my cock slowly, her tongue swirling around the tip, slightly sucking, focusing on the tip, then she dips her head, and takes me all in as her tongue travels on my length, giving me the most delicious tingling sensation I have ever experienced. As she pulls her mouth back, she slightly grazes my cock with her teeth while her tongue provides the pleasure sensation. She’s learning to give pain and pleasure both at the same time.

I don’t want to come like this, and make this a short experience. I slowly, but reluctantly pull Anastasia up, and merge her lips with mine. First slowly, molding into each other, then desire taking over me, and I kiss her fervently, sucking, and dipping my tongue into her mouth, thrashing with hers, leaving both of us breathless, and wanting more.

“Baby, wrap your legs around me,” I say as I lift her off the ground. She does as she’s told. Guiding my erection into her, I slowly lower her, and we are merged hilt deep and start to move. She wraps her arms around my neck, and her lips finding mine, she lifts and lowers herself in time with my thrusts, making sure she gets the maximum friction. My hands are holding her below her ass, and just as she descends on my cock, I slap her butt cheek close to her sex hard, and she groans with pleasure. I switch hands, and slap her with my right hand on her left buttock still close to her sex during her descent. She bites my lower lip slightly.

“I’m going to move us to the bathtub,” I murmur into her mouth, and as she slows her up and down movements, I walk the few steps to the marble bathtub, and put one foot in and then the other and finally slowly sink into the sudsy hot water with my wife still riding my cock. When in water, my hands move to her breasts, cupping them and my lips descend on one of them capturing in my mouth, sucking and twirling my tongue on it. She tilts her head back; and the motion thrusts her breast further into my mouth, and her ponytail reaches into the suds, getting wet. She continues to ride up and down, and gyrate her hips to rub on a particularly special location, making me grin.

My hands travel to her buttocks guiding her in her movements, and I start thrusting into her forcefully when she comes down on me. Our lips meet again, and this time tongues trashing, and we’re both groaning we reach our peak together. As she collapses onto my chest, I thrust into her three more time, finding my own release, lost to the moment, and lost in my wife.

“Oh, Anastasia! I love you so much!” I say fervently as I hold her closer to me.

“I love you too, Christian!” she replies, and snuggles into my chest, sloshing water without breaking our connection. I grin at her.

“Let me wash you baby,” I say, and wash my wife, dry her and carry her to our bed where we soon fall asleep.

*****

I wake up before Anastasia does as usual. I don’t need as much sleep. I look at her sleeping figure propped up on my elbow, her hair spread over the pillow. While she's still asleep, I reach for my Blackberry and text Taylor, then put the it back on the side-table  and turn and gaze at my sleeping girl. She looks so young, so innocent. As I try to move, her hand searches for me in her sleep. She wants me in her close proximity. I take the hand looking for me and kiss it and hold it to my heart. Her eyes flutter open to small slits and a small, lazy smile creeps over her lips.

“Good morning Mrs. Grey,” I whisper.

“Good morning Mr. Grey. How long have you been up?” she asks.

“Not very long, just a few minutes. Are you hungry?” I ask.

“Actually, famished after last night’s exertions, Mr. Grey” she says still groggy.

“Mrs. Grey, if you so desire, we can relive those again this morning. So, breakfast or sex?”

“Sex,” she replies in a breathy voice, and a wicked smile brings her lips up to meet mine.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” I say and pushing her down into the mattress, I cover Anastasia’ body with mine.

I decide to have breakfast served in our suite because I want to give my gift to Anastasia in the privacy. We shower and dress, and come back to the living room, and Geoffrey is standing in full suit with a white towel hanging from his arm. He also is wearing white gloves.

“Your breakfast is served Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” he says in a cultured voice. He directs us to the dining chair pulling Anastasia’s chair first, and seating and pushing her chair in, then pulls my chair and pushes in. Anastasia is having pancakes, bacon and omelet, Twinings English breakfast tea, black and bag out, and I’m having egg whites, toast, fruits and coffee. I thank Geoffrey and dismiss him.

“This is like having a British and male Mrs. Jones!” gushes Anastasia making me laugh.

“What are we doing today Christian?” she asks excitedly. “There are soooo many things I want to see in London! I don’t even know where to begin!”

“How about we finish our breakfast first,” I say. The gift I want to give to Anastasia is burning a hole in my pocket. After she finishes eating her pancakes cleaning off her plate, I’m totally pleased.

“Mrs. Grey! I should work you out more rigorously in the morning to ensure that you will eat,” I say lasciviously. She gives me her thousand megawatts smile in response and takes a sip of her tea.

“I have something for you,” I say my voice husky, my face impassive.

“Oh?” she asks. I take out the small gift wrapped package out of my pocket, and give it to her without breaking my gaze. Her eyes shine.

She rips the wrapping of the package, and finds the Omega box inside. Opening it up, she finds the platinum Omega watch housed inside the box. She looks up at me blinking.

“This is absolutely beautiful!” she whispers.

“Turn it over and look inside of it,” I murmur, and she does. Her eyes widen, and she blinks several times to push back her tears.

Anastasia

You are my More

My Love, My Life

Christian

She reads in a soft tone. “Oh Christian!” she says unable to hold her tears back, and pushing her chair away speedily she rushes to my side and I barely have time to stand up and catch her as she hurls herself at me. 

“You, husband, say and write the most romantic things any girl could ever wish for! You are my More, you are my Love, and you are my Life! I love you so much!” she sobs onto my white linen shirt and sniffles.

“Hey! I didn't want to make you cry! Hush now...” I soothe her, and holding her chin up with my index finger, I kiss her lips as my hand softly runs over her hair.

“Your lips are always softer after you cry, baby,” I say, and tears continue to stream down.  “I love you! Don’t cry...”

“I’m crying because I’m so happy,” she says whimpering.

“Yes, I’m getting used to the idea that happiness sometimes triggers tears in women,” I say smiling. “But, come, no more tears today. I have so much planned for us,” I say smiling and trying to distract her. She wipes her eyes with my shirt.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Oh, but a good guide would never disclose his trade secrets baby,” I say. “Let me show you London.”

The first place I instructed Taylor to take us is the Westminster Abbey. I know she would love it there!

Our personal guide Fredrick meets us outside of the Abbey. He’s a young man, probably around my age with dark hair and bright blue eyes. He’s tall, and he appears to work out regularly and has a friendly demeanor. He’s dressed in a white shirt and tie, and wearing dress slacks with loafers on his feet for probably walking all day.

“I am positively delighted to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Grey. My name is Fredrick Lovelace,” he greets us with a genuine smile extending his hand.

Anastasia’s eyes glint with a surprised look, and she tries to suppress her smile after hearing his last name. She clears her throat while I shake the guide’s hand.

“Mr. Lovelace, how very nice to meet you,” she says, and shakes his hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, ma’am. Please, call me Fredrick,” he says already taken with my wife holding her hand a little longer than necessary. Alright, break it up! She’s mine! I wrap my arm around her shoulder territorially and pull her closer to me, staring at him pointedly.

He then turns to Taylor says, “Mr. Taylor,” in greeting. I lean into Anastasia’s ear and whisper, “Keep calling him Mr. Lovelace.”  No need to be friendly with him. She looks up at me narrowing her eyes. I smile at her innocently.

“ You've come to London at a very pleasant time of the year,” he says in his very British accent in a charming tone. I hold Anastasia’s hand, and squeeze it tightly making her smile. Standing at a reasonable distance from the entrance, he gestures grandly with his hands towards the Abbey. “Please notice the great edifice that is rising before you. Westminster Abbey, with her great Gothic spires rising magnificently and nearly touching the sky. The masonry arch you’re seeing extending off the outside of the building along the length of the nave of the cathedral is Flying buttresses of Westminster Abbey,” he explains and Anastasia giggles.

I look down at her quizzically. She whispers in a low voice, “I just thought of the odious Mr. Collins.”

“Who?” I ask. Who is Mr. Collins, how does she know him, and why is she thinking about him right now - on our honeymoon?

“Elizabeth Bennett’s cousin who was so enamored with the Rosings Estate owned by Lady Catherine de Bourgh so much so that he said, ‘one chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds’“ she says in a thick fake British accent. “I just thought it was funny that he’s talking about the hard core buttresses of the Westminster Abbey,” she whispers with a wicked gleam as Lovelace is still going on about grandeur of the buttresses. Leave it to Anastasia to make everything exciting. 

Lovelace talks about the history of the Abbey, and to my surprise, Anastasia devours all the information he’s giving with greed. When we finally enter into the building, we find the abbey bathed in the sunlight. The Abbey is open to the tourists and several groups are swarming in and out of the giant doors with their guidebooks, and tour guides are uttering their memorized lines. Anastasia turns 360 degrees around her taking everything in, and the enormity of the Abbey awes her. She inhales deep.

“It smells like metal and cold stone for some reason,” she says.

“I didn't know cold stone had a scent,” I reply teasing.

“Sure it does. I think it smells like congestion and also like an old, unused masonry, tastes like needles, feels like rigidity, and looks like a regal, ancient, ageless building,” she summarizes her feelings.

“Mrs. Grey, you never cease to amaze me,” I say pulling her hand. “Come, I want to show you something special, after Lovelace finishes his speech,” I whisper.

“Westminster Abbey belongs to the Queen and is independent from the rest of the Church of England. Kings and Queens have been crowned and buried here since 1066. Aside from the royalty, many of England’s national heroes and events are celebrated and remembered here. In fact because it has the most Kings and Queens buried here, I shall show you the poem by Francis Beaumont on the Tombs in Westminster Abbey,” he says and starts reciting in a very poetic tone, sounding like a troubadour.

“MORTALITY, behold and fear
What a change of flesh is here!
Think how many royal bones
Sleep within these heaps of stones;
Here they lie, had realms and lands,
Who now want strength to stir their hands,
Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust
They preach, "In greatness is no trust."
Here's an acre sown indeed
With the richest royallest seed
That the earth did e'er suck in
Since the first man died for sin:
Here the bones of birth have cried,
"Though gods they were, as men they died!"
Here are sands, ignoble things,
Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings:
Here's a world of pomp and state
Buried in dust, once dead by fate.”

Anastasia claps her hands in excitement. “I always wanted to see that poem here!”

“It’s in the Poets’ Corner ma’am. I shall take your group there right now,” says Lovelace. He walks us slowly pointing at various artifacts and architectural marvels in the church and we finally make our way to the southeastern corner of the church. Sunlight pours through the rose window overhead.

“Mr. Grey thought that this would be a favorite spot of yours ma’am. Poets’ Corner is a national shrine for Britain’s most celebrated writers. It actually came to be by chance,” he says pausing, “through the presence of Chaucer’s grave who is of course...” he says and Anastasia interrupts him.

“...the father of English Literature!” she gushes making us all look at her admiringly.

“Yes ma’am! Precisely! You’re quite smart! Indeed. The grave is in the south transept of the Abbey, this way, Miss Grey,” he says.

“Missus Grey!” I correct him.

“My apologies. Mrs. Grey,” he corrects himself. Shut up and stop flirting with my wife! Anastasia narrows her eyes on me.

“Chaucer was buried in 1400 here. Then the burial of Edmund Spenser followed and thus began the tradition of burying or commemorating poets, writers, or dramatists began in this corner of Westminster Abbey.”

 “You are actually walking on the graves,” he points to the floor.

“I thought Shakespeare wasn’t buried here...” Anastasia comments after seeing his name on a plaque.

“He isn't ma’am. He’s buried at Stratford-upon-Avon in 1616. What you are seeing here is just a commemoration," he says, then changing the topic he adds, "The only American writer honored in the Poets’ Corner is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. This beautiful bust,” he says pointing to a marble bust, “was installed in 1884.”

“Coleridge, Samuel Johnson, Chaucer, Edmund Spenser, Robert Burns... Oh God! Christian, can you imagine what these literary geniuses would talk about if they were to hang out daily with each other! Simply amazing! Thank you for making my dream come true, Christian!” she gushes, and kisses me chastely on the lips in the company of the two British security detail I’ve hired, Taylor, and Lovelace. I return my wife’s kiss with a slight fervor.

“You somehow know exactly what I want!” she whispers, blushing.

“How could I not? It’s my life’s purpose to understand my wife to the best of my ability, and make her dreams come true,” I reply in a voice only she can hear.

When the Westminster tour is over, Lovelace shakes my hand, and when Anastasia extends her hand to him, he takes it, and kisses it on top slightly. Smooth, fucker!

I take Anastasia to One Twenty One Two Restaurant for lunch. The restaurant is gracing the banks of the Thames, One Twenty One Two is named after the universally famous telephone number, Whitehall 1212, in commemoration of the hotel’s former neighbor, Scotland Yard. It’s also only minutes away from theatreland, Charing Cross and Trafalgar Square. The menu is exquisite, and Ana wants to sit on the terrace. We order Gressingham duck breast, poached halibut with a saffron shellfish broth. The wine list is impeccable. For desert we order caramelized banana tarte tartin and autumn apple compote with calvados custard.

After lunch I take Anastasia to the Kew Gardens which is the Royal Botanic Gardens. It’s such a big place; I only take her to parts where I know she would be interested in. The next stop is the British Museum. When we enter it, we realize that it’s enormous and there’s a lot Anastasia wants to see. We couldn't possibly cover it in one day. There’s Africa, Americas, Asia, Britain, Egypt, Europe, Greece, Japan, Middle East, Pacific, Rome as well as Museum and exhibition. Anastasia claps her hands like a small child who is just taken to her favorite candy store. She squeals in delight!

“Oh my gosh, Christian! I could spend days in here!”

“Well, we can come back tomorrow. We can only spend a couple of hours today, baby. I have dinner plans, and we are going to the opera tonight.” She pouts, and then grins.

“Okay, let’s not waste the daylight hours, then!” she says pulling me in the direction of the mummies.

“No, baby,” I smile at her again. “We have a guided tour, here. I didn't want you to miss anything.”

“Lovelace is here?” she asks curious.

“Noo! Someone else,” I say angrily.

“Taylor, wait for us here for the guide. I need to have a word Mrs. Grey,” I say and hold her hand firmly and take her.

“Christian, where are we going?” she asks, but I don’t answer. She doubles her steps to catch up after me from being dragged behind me. 

I finally slow down and spot a man who is part of the cleaning crew in the museum, and discreetly follow him to find a utility closet. He unlocks a door and takes out a mop and cleaning supplies, and walks away as the door starts slowly shutting down. I put my foot in the doorjamb it before it locks. I look around and pull Anastasia in.

“Why are we in here?” asks Anastasia whispering.

“You know why!” I say. And my hands are on her, all over her body, and my mouth covering hers. “You drive me crazy, you make me jealous!” I say fervently through teeth and mouth and demanding kisses.

“I didn't mean to,” she whispers in my mouth.

“Too late for that. I’m going to fuck you here and now, and we don’t have much time. I have to show you who you belong to, Mrs. Grey!” I say enunciating.

“Oh,” she whispers.

“This is going to be quick, baby. Turn around,” I say and make sure the door remains locked. I lift her skirt up, and ease my finger into her sex from the side of her panties. Finding her wet already arouses me. My finger dips into her sex and my thumb rubs over her clitoris, and she moans, and I slap her ass.

“Hush now! We’re in a public place,” I murmur.  “Bend down baby, and hold onto that shelf. She obeys readily, already panting.

I pull my zipper down, and ease myself into her making her gasp. I slowly pull back, and slam back into her, ease out and slam back three times, and holding her butt cheeks I start thrusting forward and pull her ass to meet my cock at the same time. Locating her sweet spot, I rub it with the tip of my cock, and pull back and slam into it again. She pushes her hip back to me to meet me thrust for thrust stifling her moans. When I feel the usual tightening of her sex, I increase my speed and give her all I’ve got pushing both of us over the top and our orgasms roll through each other, hers in waves, and mine in spurts, mixing and getting us lost. When the last waves of our ecstasy rolls through us, I pull out of her, and locating a roll of paper towel, I clean us both, pull my zipper up, and put Anastasia to her rights.

Still sated with her orgasms, Anastasia holds onto me as I fix her underwear, and put her skirt in place. I push her back to the wall, and kiss her possessively. My tongue darting into her mouth, sucking and nipping.

“You are mine! Don’t you forget it!”

“Yes, yours,” she says in a breathy voice. “I should get you jealous more often. I loved the closet fuck. It’s hot and raw and passionate,” she murmurs.

“Careful! You don’t want to push me over my limits baby. I might lose it,” I say my eyes darkening. I hear someone placing a key into the keyhole trying to open the utility closet door. I open the door, and pulling Anastasia by the hand, I walk away. A middle aged lady in her staff uniform, with her key midair stares behind us speechless as we walk away to find Taylor and the guide.

A smartly dressed young woman with her dark hair in ponytail comes to greet us. She’s a brunette, and my wife’s face changes with a hint of jealousy. The young lady’s eyes widen when she sees me, and nervously she tucks her hair behind her ears, and blinks about a hundred times, before she can open her mouth and utter a greeting to us. Anastasia rolls her eyes, although I’m not seeing what she’s doing, I always know when she rolls her eyes. That makes me very pleased. I want my wife’s world to start and end with me, and her possessiveness makes me feel...elated. I want her to declare her territory. I suppose I want to know that she’d shown her feline side to others ogling me. I know it’s just a pretty face, but I want her to want me as much as I desire her. Is it too much to ask of one’s wife?

Anastasia wraps her arm around my waist and sticks her hand into my back pocket squeezing my butt possessively. Her reaction is a welcome one, and makes me grin. I look at her darkly.

“Welcome to the British Museum Mr. Grey,” she says, and shakes my hand and holds onto it a little longer.

“I’m Mrs. Grey!” says Anastasia and cocks her eyebrows at her, extending her hand. The guide whose name we still don’t know reluctantly lets go of my hand and turns to Anastasia.

“Welcome Mrs. Grey. I’m Martha Davis. I’ll be your guide today,” she says. “British Museum boasts over 13 million artifacts and it has quite a few sections to see which you can spend many days to view. What would you desire,” she says looking at me, “to see?”

“My husband and I desire to see the Egyptian section, Miss Davis!” Anastasia says sharply, and a ghost of a smile creeps over my lips.

“Yes, of course, ma’am,” she replies. She walks us to the Ancient Egypt section or as she calls it, Egyptology Section.

She shows us various statues from different dynasties and different artifacts, occasionally glancing at me. We finally make it to the section where they house the mummies, and look at mummies from different dynasties and periods in Egypt. The rooms seem to be well organized. I came here with my parents in 1998 and back then the rooms were jam packed and worn and full of Egyptian funerary displays. Explanatory labels were meager, lighting was poor and the crowds were overwhelming. But now, they’re redone, organized, explanations in place, displays are well lit, related artifacts and mummies are exhibited together. It is now worth seeing.

“The earliest ancient Egyptian buried their dead in small pits in the desert. Of course, the desert heat and dry air of the sand dehydrated the bodies quickly, and the bodies were naturally mummified,” she says pointing to a displayed mummy in infant position.

“Every one of our British Museum’s mummies was once a living, breathing Egyptian going about their everyday life. Meet Nesperennub...” she says pointing a mummy case which hasn't been opened for over 100 years. “He lived nearly three thousand years ago in Thebes...” she starts explaining.

When she’s nearly done with the Egyptian section, Anastasia remembers something and gushes.

 “Can we please see the Rosetta Stone before we leave?” she asks.

“Yes, ma’am,” Miss Davis replies. “It too is in the Egyptian section. This way please,” she leads us in her professional demeanor.

“The Rosetta Stone is one of the most famous objects in the British Museum. The Stone itself is a broken part of a bigger stone slab. There is a message carved into it written in three types of scripts. What is very important about that is that it helped Egyptologists to read the hieroglyphs. The Stone is an official decree about King Ptolemy V. He was only 13 years of age. The message simply said that the priests of a temple in Memphis supported the king. That simple message inscribed in Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, Demotic script and the Ancient Greek gave a key in understanding the hieroglyphs.”

At the end of the Egyptian tour, I remind Anastasia that we need to get back to the hotel since I have plans for the night. Taylor and the added security detail drive us back to the hotel. Geoffrey greets us at the door.

“Your orders have arrived sir. I had the tuxedo, and the dress hanging in your closet. Is there anything you wish sir?” he asks politely.

“No Geoffrey. Thank you,” I respond, and Anastasia looks at me quizzically.

“Dress and tux?”

“For the dinner and the opera,” I say.

“When did you order them?”

“Earlier from Harrods,” I reply.

“Come, a quick shower, and we must get going.”

Once we are showered, Anastasia dries her hair and rolls it into a well-made bun. She puts on her panties and bustier on. She looks breathtaking. I can’t take my gaze away from her.

“Are you ogling me, Mr. Grey?” she asks.

“Yes, Mrs. Grey. I need you to wear something for me,” I say my eyes darkening.

“What?” she asks.

“This,” I say holding her favorite toy. She grins.

“To the Royal Opera House? Mr. Grey, you are so kinky!” she looks shocked.

“Mrs. Grey, you don’t know the half of it.”

Once our favorite toy safely inserted into my wife, she puts her silver dress on I specifically picked for the occasion. It’s a strapless hand-sewn dress with a slit on her right side all the way up to her thigh with a £14,000 price tag and she's worth every pence of it! I have two teardrop earrings emphasizing her kissable to her long neck. She puts light, natural make up on, and wears long gloves. She looks stunning!

I’m in my black tux, bow-tie, and white shirt.

Taylor and the added British security drive us.

“Where are we going to dine?” asks Anastasia curiously.

“At the Opera.”

“The Opera?”

“Yes,” I say my thumb grazing her knuckles, giving her shivers. “I was going to reserve a private dining room Paul Hamlyn Hall but they weren't cozy enough for us,” I say darkly.

"Not cozy enough?" she asks her breath catching.

"So, Taylor reserved us a private dining room at the Covent Gardens."

“Oh," she says in a breathy voice. "Then?” she probes after a breath.

 “Then we go to our private box in the Opera, Mrs. Grey,” I say grinning.

“What are we going to see tonight?” Anastasia ask curiously.

“Le Nozze di Figaro,” I reply.

“The marriage of Figaro?” she asks.

“The same,” I reply with dark eyes.

All through the dinner I make sure I don’t touch Anastasia, and she’s aching for connection. Once the food is delivered to our private room, I say, “I don’t want you to touch your food.”

“What?” she asks curiously.

“I am going to feed you Mrs. Grey,” I murmur without breaking my gaze. She shifts in her seat, aroused, and expectant she moves to find a comfortable position to sit making the balls shift inside her as well. She stifles a gasp, looking at the backs of the security heads.

Tonight will be a night she’ll never forget.

*The River's Tale

TWENTY bridges from Tower to Kew - Wanted to know what the River knew, Twenty Bridges or twenty-two, For they were young, and the Thames was old And this is the tale that River told:- "I walk my beat before London Town, Five hours up and seven down. Up I go till I end my run At Tide-end-town, which is Teddington. Down I come with the mud in my hands And plaster it over the Maplin Sands. But I'd have you know that these waters of mine Were once a branch of the River Rhine, When hundreds of miles to the East I went And England was joined to the Continent. "I remember the bat-winged lizard-birds, The Age of Ice and the mammoth herds, And the giant tigers that stalked them down Through Regent's Park into Camden Town. And I remember like yesterday The earliest Cockney who came my way, When he pushed through the forest that lined the Strand, With paint on his face and a club in his hand. He was death to feather and fin and fur. He trapped my beavers at Westminster. He netted my salmon, he hunted my deer, He killed my heron off Lambeth Pier. He fought his neighbour with axes and swords, Flint or bronze, at my upper fords, While down at Greenwich, for slaves and tin, The tall Phoenician ships stole in, And North Sea war-boats, painted and gay, Flashed like dragon-flies, Erith way; And Norseman and Negro and Gaul and Greek Drank with the Britons in Barking Creek, And life was gay, and the world was new, And I was a mile across at Kew! But the Roman came with a heavy hand, And bridged and roaded and ruled the land, And the Roman left and the Danes blew in - And that's where your history-books begin!"

BOOK III - CHAPTER III - Christian and Anastasia FanFiction

ALL I WANT IS YOU...

CHAPTER III

As I slam the door to the Playroom I walk in brisk footsteps to my bedroom. Mrs. Jones cooking in the kitchen and “Mr. Grey, the dinner will be...” she says and noticing my naked state, she shields her eyes with her hand turning her head, trying to gain her composure, clearing her throat, “oh, dear,” she squeaks in a slightly high pitched voice, and I see Taylor’s shocked expression who is standing in the great room. He gains his composure first, and says “Gail!” rather forcefully and nods his head asking her to leave the room. She retreats in quick steps.

“What!?!” I seethe with anger at Taylor.

“Nothing, sir,” he says slightly shaking his head, half amused half annoyed.

I walk into my bedroom still angry... beyond angry, raging mad, I pace around. I walk outside again. Taylor is surprised once again to see me naked, but he’s not shocked this time.

“Taylor, find Bastille! 3 hour session, at my gym. Have him meet me in 30 minutes,” I order and walk back to my bedroom without waiting for his response.

I walk into the shower and turn the water on full blast, and walk under it. The initial full blast of cold water jolts my senses back into me, and does something to turn down the fire a notch. Gradually, the water heats up, and relax my tense muscles. I reach up for the shampoo and start washing my hair rather forcefully. Why won’t she obey? Why is it so hard for her to accept that I am only trying to protect her? I stand under the water closing my eyes, letting the shampoo run down my back in lazy rivulets.  I feel her fingers slowly, and hesitantly touch the back of my arm, making me tense.

“Christian, don’t be mad,” she says softly. I say nothing, closing my eyes.

My other arm reaches to her hand, and I find myself saying, “Don’t,” rather forcefully breaking her connection with me. I’m still fucking mad. Shit! I know she’s disobedient...a lot. I know she’s refreshing in her witty ways, but hell, this is marriage! She should know better. What else will she delete from the vows? I turn around, and her face is fallen; she looks hurt. Shit! That’s not what I want. I want her to understand me.

“Christian, why is this a big deal for you?” she asks softly.

“Are you shitting me, Anastasia?” I say locking her in place with my blazing gaze. I’m breathing through my nose, like a raging bull.

“Do you have any idea of the purpose of the wedding vows, and what you’re denying me?”

“What am I denying you?” she asks as if I slapped her.

“The vows are derived from marriage contracts which mean they’re all the rights and responsibilities conferred upon marriages.”

“Christian, surely you must realize that the only rights and responsibilities are not limited to a few lines couples say during the marriage ceremony. I think the couples acquire thousands of rights as a result of the ‘marriage contract’,“ she says making air quotes, “and there is no possible way to cover all of them during a wedding ceremony. I’m betting that it’s a lot longer than your submissive contract,” she says.

 I try hard to stifle a smile. I have to focus and hold onto my anger and not give into her charms. “I mean, I think we can declare our love and mutual respect and to care for each other no matter what the circumstance. That’s why I wanted us to write our own vows. Because we’re unique. We don’t mold into ‘one size fits all’ category,” she says looking at me expectantly. She’s trying to distract me from my goal. She’s good at that; whenever she finds me saying something she disagrees; she finds a way to distract me. It won’t work this time.

“Tell me Anastasia, what other ‘one size fits all’ requirement from the vows are you intending to delete? I want to know...” I look at her with an impassive gaze, I feel nothing but.

“What do you mean?” she asks defensively.

“I mean the vows are simple: All you have to say is I, Anastasia Rose Steele, take thee, Christian Trevelyan-Grey, to be my lawful wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth. I want to know, what other words in these vows offend you greatly? Is it, ‘for better or worse’, or could it be ‘for richer or poorer’... or how about, ‘in sickness and in health’? How about ‘love’? Or ‘cherish’? There is also ‘till death do us part’...” I say my gaze darkening. I close the distance between us trapping her to the shower wall with my hands firmly placed on the wall next to her shoulders, barely touching, so close, so hot, so desirous, yet so distant. “Tell me Ana,” I whisper near her ear, “...Is there an expiration date on your love? Tell me Anastasia, I want to know!” I say trying to hide my hurt; my eyes are dark with passion with her close proximity.

“You are an ass, Christian!” she says hurt trying to push me away with her palms firmly placed on my chest but I won’t budge.

“I know! I’m worse than an ass! I’m a fucked up son of a crack whore! Is this why you won’t say it? You don’t find me worthy of obeying? Believe me baby, I’ll take you any way you are willing to give me, but, this torturing me inside! Why Ana?” I look at her begging. “Why, won’t you have me in all the ways I am? You just want to pick and choose?”

She stops pushing me, anger and hurt replaced by concern. Her hands reach up to my face caressing, my fucking body is so in tune with her touch I find myself leaning in to her caress and close my eyes.

“Christian, it’s not about you! It’s about me.” My eyes open blazing as if she slapped me; I take couple of steps back to look at her incredulous.

“Fuck, Ana! How could that not be about me? Are you not marrying me? So how could this be about you?”

She takes a slow step forward, and I hold my hands up to halt her coming closer. She sighs, tries to hide her hurt.

“Christian, this is about me, about keeping my individuality. You are... you know, you! This megalomaniac who is always in charge, always in control, always opinionated... And I love that about you, but in the other hand, this is me,” she says her right hand firmly placed between her breasts on her chest.

“The girl you fell in love with has her own opinions. I want to please you, but I want to be....me!” she says fervently. “Can’t you just accept me as I am?”

I run both my hands through my wet hair, sighing in complete exasperation. I mentally count. Ten...nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... three... two... one...

“All I’m asking you is just to consider saying it Ana. That’s all I ask,” I say as my gaze hot with raw emotions I had no idea I was capable of possessing, connecting with her eyes asking her with a plea.

“I have a session scheduled with Claude. You have to eat dinner by yourself,” I say as I walk out of the shower grabbing a towel.

“Oh!” she says. “I’m going to meet your mother and your sister. They wanted to run some of their ideas by me,” she says in a murmur.

I turn to her lightning fast. “When were you planning to tell me?”

“Just now,” she says slowly. Your sister called and left a message when we were... uhm, in the Playroom.” I let out a lungful of air.

“Make sure you eat before you go! And no driving! Take Sawyer with you!” I order.

“Uhm... about dinner...” she starts speaking and I know she wants to skip eating dinner.

“Right, there!” I say rather forcefully pointing an accusatory finger at her. “That’s what I’m talking about, Anastasia. You never listen even though I’m looking out for your own interest because you are unwilling to do it!”

She sighs exasperated, getting angry.

“Are you done, Mr. Grey?” she says putting her hands to her hips. Those hot hips, her lifted elbows, and tossed back arms like she’s doing now, does something to her breasts lifting them up in protest. The slight chill in the bathroom perks her nipples up. I shake my head to get it out of the gutter if I want to focus. My fucking dick is betraying me with his halfcocked gun salute! Anastasia tries to hide her smile and look stoic and her voice gets huskier but she tries to focus on her anger.

“Your mother and your sister who are working on planning our wedding,” she emphasizes, “asked me to come and taste some food samples a caterer will be delivering to your parents’ house. If I eat now, I won’t be able to totally enjoy the food, and I may not be able make a taste distinction to decide on a full stomach, Christian. It’s not because I’m trying to defy you. And this is what I’m trying to tell you. If I obey you 100% of the time, like now, eat and go, then I won’t be able to make a good decision on food later. You have to trust my judgment as well.  Can we at least agree on that?” she asks.

I exhale my exasperation.

“Take Sawyer with you... I’ll have work out, and later I have a lot of work to catch up with. Call me when you are ready to come back,” I say and walk to my closet to quickly dress up in my sweats. I’m too wired up, and too stressed. Fuck! She will not obey! Ever, or some of the time? How can I change her mind?

Can she be truly mine if she doesn't obey? I want her every fucking way possible! I crave her to belong to me. If she doesn't completely recite all the words of the marriage vows, doesn't it void it some way? Fuck! I'm losing my mind! She appears at the closet door partially dressed, in those black boy shorts, and lacy bra. Fuck! How I want to have her and give her a lesson in obedience! I'll go overboard... I want to be close to her now, but I can't. I have to leave! She watches my every movement.  She wants to say something... She hesitates.

"Christian?"

"What?" I snap, and instantly regret it. I'm too jumpy. She can get me riled up with one word, or a glance. I soften my gaze on her. "What, Ana?"

"Wouldn't you want to taste the food that would be served in our wedding?"

"I have more pressing business, tonight. I know you and my mom and sister are capable of making great choices. I trust your judgment. I'll have to pass this detail," I reply.

"But?"

"Ana, I just want you! I wouldn't care if you decide to serve cheese and crackers, and tea! Well, I'd order wine, but, tonight is not a good night for me. It's just been a stressful day. You go and have fun. But make sure you call me before you leave, and don't stay too late."

"Don't be mad at me..." she says in a soft tone.

"Anastasia, I'm not mad. I'm furious. All I'm asking you to say is one fucking word, and you won't do it!"

"It’s a big word, Christian. I'm not saying it!"

"The hell you aren't!"

"In that case Christian, I'll see you after you beat the shit out of Claude Bastille, because I don't want to be on the receiving end of that anger. I have to go!" she says and turns around angrily.

"Why are you turning your back to me?"

"Really, Sherlock! You couldn't figure that out? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not your submissive, and I'm not going to sign up as a submissive, because saying that word will always trigger those thoughts. I want to be your wife. Not your sub!"

"Fuck it, Anastasia! You have never been my sub! You will not be my sub. How can I explain it to you? I have to have control. I have to know you are safe! I have to know that you will take enough precautions to heed my concerns over your well-being. How can I achieve any of those if you do not listen to me and obey me? And you.never.do! You make me feel helpless!" I utter exhausted.

"We'll talk about this when you are more rational Christian..."

“Anastasia...” I say in a soft voice... too soft to be confused with anything other than anger.

“I really, really want to take you over my knee, and punish you...” I say.

She looks at me with a little apprehension and a little anticipation, but shakes her head deciding against whatever she was thinking.

“Well, Mr. Grey I would love to indulge both you and me...but when you have calmed down, we’ll revisit,” she says and walks away.

What the hell just happened? This woman, my woman, the owner of my heart and soul says less than two sentences and my fucking world is upside down, and I am incapable of knowing which way is up! Fuck! I'm losing control, and we're not even married yet! Fuck! Where the hell is Bastille?

I walk out into the living room where Taylor is waiting, and he looks like he's going to deliver some bad news. I think I've already reached my limit today.

"Mr. Grey, Bastille is out of town..." he starts.

"What?" I snap, I pace within three foot radius making Taylor uneasy, and stop right in front of him.

"Where the hell is he?"

"He was visiting his sister. Today is not his usual day for your workout. He is on his way back, but it'll take him about three hours or a little less depending on when he leaves... Should you wish sir, he'll meet you in three hours."

"Three hours... three hours... Three fucking hours!" I'm either having a heart attack, or a panic attack. My heart is pounding, my chest hurts, and it's getting harder to breathe. There's an awful pit in my stomach.

Anastasia comes out dressed up in her plum dress that I like so much which hugs her curves at all the right places.

"Sawyer!" I call and he comes out to the living room.

"Take Miss Steele to my parents' house. Call me when you get there, and text me when you're leaving."

"Yes, sir," he replies.

"Bye Christian, I'll see you tonight," she says and gives me a chaste kiss right on the corner of my lips. As she's taking a step away to go; hating the distance between us, I grab her hand by the wrist, and pull her forcefully to me and she's flush with my body. I take her face in my hands and kiss her passionately. I'm not one for public affection, but I desperately want her to know that she's mine, that I desire her to be mine in every fucking way possible! By the time I'm done kissing her, we're both breathless.

"Uhm...” she says swallowing, flushed tomato red, "I'll see you later tonight."

"Yeah. I'll be working late."

(I love you and I hate you – Pride and Prejudice)

She and Sawyer disappear into the elevator, and the doors close.

"I'm running to Flynn's," I say to Taylor without a preamble.

"If you give me two minutes I will join you in your run. But, I must insist that you let me drive, sir."

"Taylor, I need to be on the move, I want to run."

"I'll run with you sir."

"I'd rather be alone, Taylor!"

"Mr. Grey, paparazzi has camped ten mile radius of Escala, sir. And they've been camping all around our regular route to catch a glimpse of you or Miss Steele. Since we have had two encounters today, I would highly suggest that I drive you sir, or at least let me run with you."

"Fine! Suit up!" I say like a petulant child.

Taylor is nothing if he's not an efficient man. Without wasting an extra word in the discussion, he turns around and runs to his quarters to get changed. I take out my Blackberry and dial Flynn.

"Good evening, Christian," he answers the phone at the second ring.

"Flynn, I'm have to see you in your office. Meet me in twenty."

"Well, Christian, it so happens that I haven't left my office yet. But, let me call my wife and inform her I'll be late since this isn't your scheduled session."

"Fine," I say and hang up.

As I make my way to the foyer, Taylor comes out.

"Mr. Grey, let's take a different route to Dr. Flynn's office this time. Sawyer had to elude some paparazzi as he was driving..." he says and I cut him off.

"Are they okay? Is Miss Steele alright?"

"Yes, sir. Nothing he couldn't handle. I suggest that we take the back exit," he says and waits for me to lead the way. “It was nothing like this morning, and your talk with the press this afternoon dispersed the larger crowd. These are probably the late comers.”

*****

We exit Escala from the delivery door, and run to Flynn’s office. I’m so fucking wired up, I find myself running as fast as, or even faster than Taylor, who is faster than a greyhound. My mind is examining through hundred different scenarios how I can make Anastasia see sense. Punishment is fucking out! I don’t want her to leave me and I’ll feel like shit, if I hurt her. Fuck! She’s more stubborn than a Missouri mule! She’s my match! She kicks my ass mentally...every.fucking.time! I stop in my tracks, and Taylor who’s been speeding, runs ten steps before he stops to jog back to me.

“Is everything alright sir?”

“Yes,” I reply absently.

I haven’t tried everything yet. She can’t resist me. I can’t resist her for that matter, but I have more control over my desires. How can I punish her in bed? Orgasm denial? It’s a standard tool. Over-sexing her? She desires me as much as I desire her. Deny her sex as a punishment? She initiates sex with me as often as I do with her. That’s one thing we have no problems with. It’d be a cold day in hell if anyone would dare to keep me away from her body; it’d be a torture for me as well to deny her sex, because I’d be clawing my own fucking skin! What to do? What to do? Maybe Flynn will have some answers. Or not...

As we reach Flynn’s office, Taylor opens the door to his lush office. His secretary is already gone home for the day. John comes out of his office with a casual outfit.

“Hello Christian,” he says.

“John,” I reply.

“Taylor,” he nods at him in greeting with a warm smile.

“Evenin’ Dr. Flynn,” replies Taylor with an impassive face.

“Well, shall we Christian?” he says pointing the way to his office with his extended hand.

“What brings you here this evening Christian?” he asks once we walk into his office, and he closes the door behind me.

“John, I’m falling apart here!” I start.

“I see... Wedding jitters? Second thoughts? Problems at home? I need a little insight.”

I pace around his office and John’s gaze patiently follows my movements. I’m breathing hard. Finally I walk to his desk and lean down with both my palms placed on his desk which Flynn notices and jots down something into his leather covered tablet.

I take a big gulp of breath as if my lungs can’t get enough of it.

“Anastasia won’t obey me!” he looks up at me patiently.

“Elaborate...” he says simply as if he’s just met me.

 “The fucking wedding vows! She won’t say the traditional wedding vows! She wants to write her own!”

“Why do you see this as something wrong?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I don’t kid when I’m in this office, Christian. You know that,” he says ignoring my meaning.

“Control is very important to me. I need it, and God knows she needs it! She has no self-preservation sense when it comes to her well-being. It terrifies me! I am having panic attacks! I thought it was stroke or heart attack or something! She makes me feel helpless. I feel like a caged wild animal,” I explain.

“Do you feel that she confines you?” he asks and I snort. I weigh the nuances of the word in my head.

“What I feel is this enormous desire to protect her. What I feel is that when I’m in her orbit, or she’s in mine, I don’t know which way is up.”

“If she says she’ll obey, what do you think that will make you gain in your marriage to Anastasia?” he asks.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’ll be protecting her better! I’ll know she’s safe because I will know what to do...”

“By that token, do you mean that she doesn’t know how to protect herself?” he asks.

“Yes!”

“I see. Has she ever been in any kind of accident? Has she taken risks that are harmful to her well-being?”

“I don’t think she’s ever been in an accident,” I answer considering the question. “That one time she drank excessively and...” I pause not willing to give him more on that. “But there are other things. I dropped her off to work this morning with expressed order that she is not to leave SIP building, and the first thing she does is to leave the building. She goes to a deli nearby with Sawyer, and she was ambushed by paparazzi in the bathroom of all places! Had she just listened to me, this could have been all avoided. She was frantic, as was I!”

“Yes, but what she did, going to a deli to get something to eat surely isn’t something out of the ordinary. People do that every day. Why is her safety such a big concern to you Christian?”

“Isn’t your wife’s safety a concern for you?” I turn the question back to him.

“One’s family is always a concern, Christian. But my wife is an adult woman. She knows what to do. I have to give her that trust. Sometimes women are stronger than we give them credit for.”

“You don’t understand...” I say sagging into the leather chair, leaning down, my elbows on my knees, I capture my face in my hands. I feel the onslaught of thoughts weighing me, and giving me a headache.

“I love her excessively! Better than my own life. I can’t bear to live in a world where she didn’t exist because I couldn’t protect her properly. My life is complicated, John. More complicated than yours or a lot of other people’s. What she had before she was with me was simple and uncomplicated. I come with a 747 shitload of fuckeduppedness she has to deal with! It could be my past that could harm her. It happened before. With Leila nearly...” I stop unable to bring the rest of my sentence. “Surely, you know better. You’ve been treating her.”

He nods his agreement for the first time, however imperceptivity.

“Christian, you’ve isolated yourself from the world that’s surrounding you and put layers upon layers to keep that distance. You want to include Anastasia into that bubble, and protect her,” he summarizes.

“Yes!” I sigh.

“However...” he adds, “you would be excluding her from the world she’s been a part of.”

“I want to be her world!” I exclaim.

“The gilded cage. But do you think that’s what she wants? “

My eyes go wide in uncontained fear. I blink to clear those thoughts away.

“She said she wants me,” I repeat in a soft voice.

“She wants Christian, the man. Maybe, not Christian the cage. What would be a happy middle ground for both of you?”

“There’s no middle ground! If I have to protect her and care for her, it must be my way.”

“Well, given the fact that you are here, I gather that she’s not agreeing to your terms, Christian. Therefore, a happy medium is a must. So, tell me, how can you compromise?”

“I don’t think I can... Not when it comes to her. I can’t lose her.”

“Christian,” he says in a soft, but almost chiding voice. “You cannot control the world you live in. Despite the fact that you have layers upon layers of protection, you’ve noticed that things happen without our control. There is a reasonable limit when it comes to those we love. Because if you are pressing too much, it will become overbearing, and you’ll suffocate her. I know that would defeat your purpose of happily keeping her in your life.”

I know that to be true. Anything that could get her out of my life, or make her cold to me, would kill me! Agony grips me in the guts and squeezes tight. I shut my eyes for the pain to subside, my hands fisted on my lap.

“I would hate myself if I turned her off. What do I do, John? How do I protect her?”

“We’ll find the answers together. But let me ask you this first. What exactly offends you if she has actually written her vows? Do you know what she wrote? Is it unsatisfactory to you?”

“I haven’t seen it... Not yet anyway. I don’t know if she’s finished it, or still working on it. She just sprung it on me today.”

“Christian, let’s examine one other pressing issue that neither one of us has mentioned today. Besides your concerns over her safety, which I can see is monumental; but I think there may be a subconscious reason, one you haven’t given much thought about.”

I look at him narrowing my eyes. He knows that I know what he’s thinking.

“Do you want a submissive in Anastasia?”

“No, I don’t...” I rack my brain for an honest answer. “Not anymore. I know she doesn’t want that, and anything she doesn’t want is like the bubonic plague to me. I’d do anything to avoid it; but had she wanted it, I’d go out of my way to make her happy, and fulfill her desires. And the fact that I’ve explored things with her I didn’t know was possible in the past, you know, incorporating love and sex and now her touch, I find myself craving those feelings like a starving man in an all you can eat banquet! She’s made me taste emotions, desires, and passion I didn’t know existed. It was all possible because of her. I felt the fucking nirvana! And she’s more than willing to accommodate me and loves my kinky fuckery...” I say unable to help myself but smile.

“Alright...” he says pausing. “Do you think that any of your submissives within the limitations of your “submissive contract” could have achieved this with you?”

“Never!” I reply and add, “But this also brings the other worry I have: she’s one of a kind. She’s priceless. She’s got no equal. If I lose her, I lose myself,” I say fervently. “Doesn’t anyone protect what’s so priceless?” I ask unblinking.

“Yes, but you must observe limitations with people. They’re not artifacts. You must work within their character traits. Anastasia is a vivacious woman. Strong-willed, like you. And by your own admission, she loves you unconditionally. There is a list of character traits that makes up Anastasia. My question in the end becomes, everything she’s offering you in your upcoming marriage... her love, her body, her ways, her own brand of character...” he stops letting it all sink in. “Are they not enough for you to live with? Would you love her any less if she disobeyed you? Would you not want her if she didn’t say she’ll obey?”

My heart stops for a few second with the impact of his words.

“I want her any shape and form she’s willing to have me! But I can’t get rid of this fear in me, gnawing at my soul, I have a pit in my stomach, and I find myself restless thinking about it. I’m going out of my fucking mind! How do I stop this? I have to have control! But, I can’t live without her even in the hypothetical.” I sink back into the chair again.

“Christian, all these years, you’ve taught yourself rather grudgingly by Elena that in order to have control of your life, you must control your surroundings. In business it may hold true. In relationships however, if you exceed the allowed limit, then you run into you your Hard Limits,” he says. Now, he’s talking in terms I can understand.

“Can you consider obedience as her Hard Limit?” he says, and I blink.

“John, I’d rather think of it as her Soft Limit and see how we can work around it. She obeys in the bedroom; in fact she rather enjoys it immensely, I just want to expand it to other things in our relationship,” I say petulantly.

“Do it to an acceptable degree. But then, I’m not your partner in this relationship. Anastasia is. She would be the best one to give you this feedback. But now you have a workable starting point.  This is the first real relationship you have, Christian. She isn’t going to behave the way your subs did,” he says and I snort.

“But the joy in that this type of relationship is that whatever she gives you is willingly given. You haven’t ordered her to give it to you. She wanted you to have it,” he explains.

“John, if it was at all possible, I’d be merged with her all the time. Not just sex, fucking, making love, but be in constant contact with all of her! Hold her, touch her, kiss her, wrap her in my arms,” I say fervently, “Although just fucking is reason enough. Her words are capable of caressing my soul as if she dipped her hands into my heart. At the same time, they’re also are also capable of wounding me, branding me, searing me from inside out! You see, we’ve never had problems with physically giving to each other. God knows, it’s one department we’re completely satisfied, but I’ll always have this sharp pang in my side, and be anxious until I know she’s completely safe. That’s one feeling I can’t get rid of.”

“Talk to her, and compromise,” he says. I do not like the sound of that word.

I stand up from my seat and exhale loudly. “I can’t yet John. I’m not ready,” I say. As I go to the door to take my leave, I turn around, “how’s Leila’s progress?”

“She’s coming along well. Following directions, taking her medication and showing interest in some art classes.”

“Good,” I say absently. “Keep me updated.”

“Oh, she wants to speak to you. I told her that it’s taking several steps back in her progress. But, since you asked me to pass all the information pertaining to her, that’s what she asked.”

“Why the fuck would she want to see me for?”

“She didn’t say.”

“I don’t want to see her! I haven’t forgiven her for putting a gun to Anastasia’s head either! She needs to remain in mental care facility until she’s well enough to travel to her folks in Connecticut. I don’t want her in the west coast, not near Anastasia. Not now, not ever! Pass that on. Once she’ll well enough to travel, I’ll pay for her travel, care, medical and schooling. But, my condition is that she is never to come close to Anastasia. Ever!”

“Did you want to speak to her or see her? She asks for you every time I see her.”

“What the fuck for, John? I don’t give a shit that she wants to see me. I have Anastasia in my life. I’m not going to jeopardize my relationship with Ana because Leila is too fucked up, and wants to see me. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do for her, but in return she’ll have to move on.”

“Alright, I pass your terms, Christian. And remember, just talk to Ana.”

“I’ll do what I can, John,” I say sighing, and walk out; Flynn follows me to see me to the door. Taylor is waiting. His face is impassive.

“Bastille will be at the gym in the next half hour, sir. Do you want to head there?”

“Yes,” I say monosyllabic.  And we run.

*****

“Fuck Grey! You’re a top level fighter, but something is off today. You’re aggressive but, you’re not completely here. I need your mind here, and now! You should never leave your penthouse without your brain attached to your head! Come on man! I kicked your ass seven times in the last...”he says looking at his watch, “twenty six minutes; by the looks of it a ten year old could kick it! Get it together!” Bastille scolds me.

(Claude Bastille)



“Fuck off, Bastille!” I reply.

“I’d love to Grey, but I don’t swing that way,” he says trying to lighten the mood. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, man! We’re going to do a conditioning circuit since all the bruises I could give you won’t heal until after your honeymoon. I don’t want your fiancée hating me because I damaged your girlish figure. Let’s begin with heavy low-repetition exercises. Right now weighted pull-ups followed by plyometric movements like medicine ball smashes and then weighted plunges sound good to me. We’ll go with 10, 10, 10. We’ll improvise as we go.” When I head to the bars, he says, “No, I have a different warm up on the treadmill in mind. Get the treadmill to the highest speed and highest incline you can handle. I want it in a way that you can’t maintain your pace for more than 30 seconds.”

“I’m game,” I say determined.

“Jump on and sprint all out for 20 seconds! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!” I give it all I got.

“Now jump your feet to both sides and rest for only ten seconds then jump back on for twenty seconds, then rest for ten, and jump for twenty. This is a repeat for 10 short sprints!”

“Tabata intervals?”

“Exactly! Go!” I jump, sprint on the treadmill for twenty seconds, and then rest for ten seconds on the side and go for twenty seconds, and jump for ten second rest again. Without any stop after I complete the tabata intervals he’s already picked the next two weight training exercises. He quickly ties 60 lbs. of weighed chain around me, and put me on the bars to do pull ups.

“Go for ten, Grey!” he orders and I pull myself up.

“Pull all the way up, Grey! I wanna see your shoulders above the bars! Knees bent! Lift those legs up! Keep it up there for two seconds! Four... Five... Six... Seven... Eight... Nine... Ten! Jump down! Take the weights off!”

I shred off the chained weighed around my torso.

“Now run to the medicine ball! Ten slams, Grey!” he orders as I try to make my way quickly to the medicine ball, “I ain’t getting any younger here! Ball above your head! Lift it up! Good... Make sure you rise on your toes like you’re Kobe Bryant and you’re going to toss your three pointer, except that you’re going to slam that ball with all you got!” I mentally count it.

“Speed Grey, speed! That’s it. Seven... Eight! Nine! And ten!”

“Let’s work those upper arms, Grey! Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go! That’s it! Push it as far as you can! We’ll go with two sets of ten! Up, down! Up, down! Up, down!” He pushes me hard.

“Keep going Grey, if you aren’t breathing hard, and your legs aren’t shredding, you aren’t doing it right! Come on man!” he forces me, and that’s good, because it focuses me on the task at hand. Because they’re short in duration, I have no time to occupy my mind with something or someone else. Just the exercise.

“Five second hold, ten times, Grey! Legs on the bench, sideways, elbow and forearms on the mat! Hold the waist off the ground! Left arm on your waist! Keep breathing! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Now lower your hip! Good job! Now, lift up and hold for five seconds again!” We repeat the cycle for ten lifts.

“Roll to the other side without getting off, Grey! Let’s repeat on the other side. Left arm on the mat, right arm on the waist! Good job! Nine! And ten! Off the bench, now, now, now! Thirty pound dumbbell lunges!” he says pushing me to the next task he has in mind not leaving me a second of time to think. I have thirty pound hanging from each hand and I do ten sets of lunges with the weights.

“Come on Grey! Get low, and drive up hard! Come on! Chest up, Grey! Watch your posture! Breathe in, breathe out! Now ten lunges to the other direction Grey! Good job! Now weights down! Don’t stop! Use the rectangular bench to explode up now!” he orders me into doing the bent leg jumps. “One leg bent when you reach up... Yes! That’s it! Keep the other leg straight when you bend one, Grey! Explode up! Higher man, higher! This is not for speed, Grey, this is for power! Up! Higher! We’ll go with twenty on this!”

I jump using a bench for vertical lift, and explode up. The second that exercise is over he orders me into the next one.

“Now, hit the bikes! Go very hard for one minute! Jump off immediately, rest 30 seconds and repeat! We’re going for 10 repetitions with this cycle!”

When I’m done with the bike, I’m breathing hard, but nothing I can’t handle.

“Grey, you’re going to run the length of the gym. We’ll start with about 100 yard sprint; then you will do 20 pushups, then you sprint to 80 yards where I’ll set a marker for you, you will do 20 crunches. We’ll go down with 20 yard intervals. Sprint, 20 pushups, sprint, 20 crunches, sprint, pushups, and sprint crunches until we get to the 0 marker! Now, run!”

By the time I am done with the anaerobic exercises, I’m gasping for breath!

“Now, you’re focused, Grey! Hydrate, and let’s see what you can do on the mat!”

When I manage to get Bastille sprawled on the floor, he tries to go for a takedown. I manage to get on top, and place my arm under his neck and through his armpit and lock it with my other arm and grasping well past my bicep! When he tries to resist, I raise my hips and I start throwing some knees to his head which in return he brings his left hand to defend, giving me a good grasp to further lock my hand aiding me to shove it as deep as possible. Then I dip my head to the side to protect my head, dip my shoulder in, twist my hips to get as much power as possible to roll to my side, once I have him, I snatch him up, and walk into him. He’s completely under my control, and he taps out. If he doesn’t, he can lose consciousness within minutes, because the anaconda chokehold interrupts the blood flow to the brain.

“Good job, Grey! Finally managed to focus!” he says. “Not too bad for a man whose brain is still elsewhere!” he says, but I ignore the remark with an impassive gaze.

*****

I have showered and cleaned up and in my pajama bottoms with a t-shirt on top, working in my office. I check the time. No phone calls, or text yet.  It’s been four hours since Anastasia left to go to my parents’ house. How long does it take to taste some food? My hand goes to my phone, and I force myself to stop. I want her to call me. I force myself to go over business reports analyzing numbers, when finally Anastasia calls.

“Hi,” she says in her girlish soft voice. That simple word just tugs at my heart strings.

“Hi,” respond my voice deep and husky, but don’t say anything else.

“Sawyer’s driving me back right now,” she says, pausing.

“Okay,” I reply in a low murmur.

“Are you still mad at me?” she asks in a soft tone. I sigh.

“Maybe...”

“Oh,” she says, and that single word tells me she’s disappointed, and that one simple word out of her lips breaks my heart.

“I’ll see you home, then...” she replies in a whisper.

“Okay,” I reply, wanting to say so much, and unable to. Acting like a fucking teenager!

“I love you, Christian,” she says making me shiver to the core. I close my eyes, and let the words sink into my soul. Craving for her words, for her touch, just...craving for her...

Hungry Eyes (pride and prejudice) 

“I know,” is all I can say in a soft murmur. What I want to say is that I love her more than words can express. That I love her better than I love myself, or any one thing or a combination of things and people I have ever loved in my life. I love her so much it hurts to think about it! Yet, all I can say is, ‘I know,’ to her declaration of love. Fuck me!

She sighs. “I’ll see you soon, then, Christian.”

“Okay,” I reply like a broken record. She doesn’t hang up, staying on the line.

“Bye, Christian.”

“Bye, Ana.”

My fucking heart hurts when she finally hangs up.

One fucking word, Ana! One word! How hard could it be to say it? Am I not worthy of that?

I start going over the reports Alex Pella created, but my heart isn’t in it. My ears are at half attention waiting for her footsteps in the apartment. The buzzing of the phone jumps me, because there’s no other noise.

“Mr. Grey? Welch’s here.”

“Yes,” I say, frowning.

“I wanted to go over the report Mr. Pella created, and give you some of our findings. Do you have time sir?”

“Go ahead,” I reply.

“I wanted go with the elimination of some of the suspects you wanted me to search,” He goes through a small list of former business associates.

“Each one was either out of town or their activities near and after your accident implied that they had nothing to do with it, or had no knowledge of it.”

“What about Elena Lincoln and her boyfriend?” I ask.

“They’re both clear, sir.”

“Without the shadow of any doubt?”

“Yes, sir,” he says with certainty. “The boyfriend was in California at the time, and she was working all day, the day before and during. I’ve confirmed it with people who worked and got the list of other clients who have seen her at work.”

“What about Mr. Lincoln?” I ask reluctantly.

“He was in town, but he was working. A lot of people confirmed seeing him all day at his work site. But that means little. He wouldn’t do it himself if it was him. So our best bet is to locate the owner of the partial print that was recovered, and find out whether he worked alone, or with someone else.”

“Fine. I want the list of names that are responsible with access to Charlie Tango, all the way to the top.”

“I have them ready, sir. I’ll e-mail them to you.”

“Call Andrea, and have her schedule top fucker first thing tomorrow morning! Someone will have to answer for the unacceptable security lapse.”

“Mr. Grey, I personally researched it myself: the lack of security, and the access to Charlie Tango was incredibly easy. It’s not because the rules aren’t in place, but because people aren’t doing their jobs. I’ll send you images, and a report summarizing my findings in a few minutes. I have already grilled them on the lack of security, and they’re tightening the security, and ease of access to GEH aircrafts.”

“A day late, a dollar short, Welch! I want some heads rolling for the fuckup that nearly cost me and Ros our lives! I want the management waiting for me first thing tomorrow morning!”

“Yes, sir. I’ll have Andrea schedule it.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s all for now, sir. I still haven’t completed going over all reports in detail Mr. Pella created.”

“Update me when you do. I want increased security for all my family, and here at Escala as well. E-mail me the list of names and backgrounds, and CC to Taylor, and coordinate with him,” I say before I hang up.

I sag back in my chair. A lunatic is after me, and very likely after Anastasia. Fucking paparazzi ambushing her in the public bathroom for God’s sake! I’m doing all I can to try to protect my woman, and she won’t fucking cooperate with me! She won’t fucking obey! Ripping my heart out by hand would be less agonizing!

Exasperated I get back to my work.

*****

My door opens slowly. Anastasia walks in with hesitating steps and closes the door behind her. My gaze dons the impassive mask, giving away nothing. I don’t blink. She steps into the room, and the distance between us feels like miles away.

“I’m back,” she says simply. I don’t dare to swallow. “I brought you something,” she adds, and I notice the plate in her hand for the first time.  She walks in slow steps as if she’s walking towards a wild animal she’s trying not to make timid. She places the plate on the table as if she’s making an offering. Her hands slowly retract back. I don’t blink.

“Would you like wine to go with your seafood?” she asks.

“Yes,” I breathe, yearning for her. She nods her head slowly.

“Okay,” she says swallowing. “I’ll go get you a glass,” she whispers.

She turns to go, I say, “Ana?” she turns to look at me expectant. I shake my head.

“White wine,” I say, kicking myself mentally. ‘Say something, stupid!’ I chide myself. She turns to leave, and walk out of my study. It feels lonely without having her close to my vicinity. Fucking lonely, miserable and I’m so fucking stubborn, and so is she over a word, neither one giving an inch to the other! It’s an important word, but a word nonetheless.

She comes back with a chilled glass of white wine.

“Join me?” I ask hopeful.

“No, I ate already...a lot I think with all the food to taste and had wine at your parents. I don’t think you want me to drink too much. I feel light headed already,” she says her gaze not leaving mine. Both of us look at each other yearning, wanting the other and unable to get passed our stubborn streak.

“It’s late. I want to go to bed. Are you coming?” she asks expectantly. I speak before I can think.

“I have to work. Lots to catch up,” I say softly, still unblinking, still my heart breaking with the distance we are erecting between each other; neither one willing to back down. Words remain unsaid. She stands in the study awkwardly. Finally deciding against some conflicting emotion in her head, she walks forward, and chastely kisses me, leaving me frozen for a few seconds, but I manage to respond with the charge that passes through our connection. Our bodies betray us; I pull her into my embrace, and hold her tightly, feeling her warmth in my proximity, and inhale her scent, finally kissing the top of her head.

“Go to bed now, baby. I’ll have to work a little more.”

“Come to bed,” she pleads, and I want to. Oh, I want to so badly! But I’m afraid to give in or worse, I’ll want to punish her with sex, and get carried away. My eyes widen in response, I shake my head.

“Too much to do. Can’t wait. We only have a short month, and I better get these done,” I say indicating my computer screen.

She nods her head, but the glimpse of hurt is there in her eyes.

“Okay,” she says in a whisper, and as she steps away, her hand that was in mine slowly drifts away from me, leaving me feeling bereft.

Celine Dion - Falling into you

I remain in my office another four hours working hard; sleep not finding me. When I finally make my way into my room, I slowly turn my side table lamp on. Pull a chair up, and watch Anastasia sleep. She’s looking so innocent, so lovely; her lips slightly parted, her hair spread to her pillow. She sighs, and turns. Her hand absently extends to my side of the bed as if to find something missing next to her. A connection... She rolls, and not finding what she’s looking for in her sleep, she moans as if in pain. I hear a soft call of my name, barely audible. Did she wake up? I lean in, and her eyes are closed. But she is looking for me in her sleep. She automatically turns to my warmth. We’re drawn to each other even in sleep, and we’re fucking meaningless without each other. I take my shirt off and slowly ease into bed pulling her into my arms, and finally for the first time all day long, I feel complete.

*****

It’s dark. I can’t see a thing. I can’t feel my way. There isn’t any light, no sound, nothing. It’s a deep abyss. My heart is pounding. She’s here. I know she’s here.

“Christian, help me!” I hear her.

“Where are you Ana?”

“I’m here! Help me!” she screams. I don’t know which way is the right way to get to her. I run full speed, but the voice is getting distant.

“Ana, where the hell are you? Talk to me! Let me find you!”

All I hear is a blood curdling scream. My name laced in her scream, ripping my  soul apart!

There is a dim light in the distance. So dim, if you blinked, you would lose it. I wouldn’t dare to blink. I have to focus. I come to a dirty door that had seen better days. The smell... I know the smell. It’s pungent, nasty. It oozes out of the door, taking a form. It stinks like...death.

Agony grips my heart and tears sting my eyes, my hands fists on my side. I kick the fucking door nearly pulling it off its hinges. It hangs askew. I’m breathing hard, my heart is at my throat beating hard, trying to get out of my chest. I enter and look around in the dim light. The smell draws me like the hands of the devil, so strong. It’s laced with fear and evil. It’s odor reeks with blood, and hurt. I’m afraid to call out to her name. I’m afraid that she won’t answer. I’m terrified! I smell her scent, her brand of woman, her natural perfume smelling like sweet spices, outdoors, and freshness... and blood.

“Ana?” I whisper. “Ana, talk to me, baby! I’m here... I’m here, Ana. Answer me, baby...” No response. My eyes bewildered looks around.

Then I find her. Her blood crusted body is naked on the dirty concrete floor. Whip lines criss cross her back, and her chest. Her hair matted with blood and dirt. Her face is bruised. Her lifeless body has endured unimaginable pain. A shriek comes to my ears I don’t recognize. Oh... It’s me. I’m the one screaming in agony, falling on my knees, holding her tightly in my arms and rocking her back and forth.

“How do you like it now?” asks an unknown voice. It gets louder and louder still.

“How do you like it, Master?” asks Leila’s voice and her hazy face. The face slowly shifts, ripples and changes.

“How do you like it, Christian? I saved you from your gold digging whore! You can thank me later,” says Elena‘s voice and face changing on the hazy figure. Her large leather whip flies and hits Anastasia’s lifeless legs.

“Stop it! Stop! Leave her alone!” She laughs, and the face ripples once again.

“How does it feel young Christian Grey when someone else fucks your woman?” says the contorting face changing into Mr. Lincoln in the haze. He leans his head in examining her wounds with pride in his green gaze. “I have to say, she rather enjoyed the punishment. She was a good girl, screaming when I wanted her to scream... at exactly the right pitch... Did it hurt you enough? I was aiming for soul shredding effect,” he says his voice lilting, completely pleased with himself.

I try to shield Ana’s lifeless body, getting colder by the second. I can’t fucking do anything to make her alive! I scream and rock her back and forth harder.

Faces change rapidly with the unknown body, finally the face of the pimp emerging.

“How do you like it now, bastard? You killed her. Like you killed your mother! You are a murderer! You are a murderer! You.are.her.murderer! But then, you only deserve her dead body!” his voice seethes poison, his breath stinking cheap beer and Camel cigarettes.

“Look, what we have here. The little whore that is your mama. There she is!” he points at another lifeless body. “Better get to her boy! She’s getting cold awfully fast!” he says his face distorting into a menacing form. “What the fuck have you done to her? That crazy fucked up bitch! Shit! Fuck! Get out of the way you little shit!” he yells kicking me, and all of a sudden I’m little, helpless, hurt...

“No! No! No! Mommy!” There’s her lifeless body lying on the dirty green carpet. I want my mommy! I’m here and I’m not here. I look at myself. A hungry, dirty, unwanted little boy and the policewoman is taking my blankie away.

“Mommy!” I run to her, and I’m stopped by the large hands of death grasping me on my shoulder with the face of the pimp.

“You better make your choice, you little shit!” says the pimp. “What will it be? Your mommy’s dead body or your lover’s dead body? What will you keep?” he whispers menacingly, taunting me.

I run between two bodies in this abyss unable to save neither. I see the faces turning around Ana’s body. All sorts of faces! Elena, Leila, the pimp, Mr. Lincoln... unknown faces. Trying to claim her as their own! They want to take her away from me!

“No! No! No! Leave her the fuck alone! She’s mine!” I shield her lifeless body with mine. Tears flow freely with agony ripping my heart and soul apart.

(Unbreak My Heart – Toni Braxton)

“Don’t die on me baby! Don’t go! I love you so much! Don’t just leave me!” Tears spring down on their own volition. “Take me, too, Ana! I cannot live without my heart. I cannot live without my soul,” I grieve in utter despair. She doesn’t hear me or respond. My baby is dead! I cry out in agony. I want to die, too!

“Christian! Christian!” It’s her voice! Is it from heaven? She sounds urgent, pulling me away from the depths of my despair. “I’m here, Christian. I’m here,” she shakes me.

My eyes open, clouded with tears making it hard to see. She’s leaning over me, grasping me my shoulders, shaking me, her face too is etched with anguish, and her beautiful, alive blue eyes are wide and brimming with tears.

“Ana,” I say unbelieving in a breathless whisper, fear lacing my mouth, oozing out of my pores. “You’re here. You’re well,” I utter, unbelieving.

“Of course, I’m here.”

“I had a dream...” I say breathless.

“I know. I’m here. I’m here,” she says reassuring.

“Ana,” I breathe her name like a talisman against the choking nightmare gripping my soul, the fear killing me inside.

“Hush, I’m here,” she says curling her arms around me, her limbs cocooning me, her warmth giving life, forcing the devils of my nightmare away. She’s my life, she’s my sun; she is my everything! I can’t exist without her.

“Ana, please, let’s not fight,” I say in a hoarse voice, embracing her within my arms. Holding her, and feeling her.

“Okay, okay,” she says calming me.

“The vows. No obeying, I can do that. We’ll find a way,” I say. I am just glad that she’s alive. I don’t care that she doesn’t obey. I just want her!

“Yes. We will. We always find a way,” she whispers and descends her lips sealing mine, both silencing me, and jolting me back to life, and existence. I roll over her pulling t-shirt off her body in one swift move, and merge my body with hers.