Leila: I’m going to see Christian Grey today.
Susannah: How? He refuses to see you.
Leila: He loves his wife. I’ll go see her, and if I know him well enough,
he will come running to her.
Susannah: Oh, Leila. You are a master manipulator!
Leila: I like to think of myself as an outcome engineer.
CHAPTER XXIII
Tangled Webs
“Where
are we going?” Anastasia asks, squirming in her seat.
“It’s
a beautiful Saturday, and I’m taking my wife out,” I reply grinning. She
narrows her eyes, scrutinizing me.
“Huh...
I was hoping that you give me a little more information than that,” she says
trying to contain her forbidding gaze. She moves in her seat, trying to find a
comfortable position to sit in the passenger seat of the R8.
“Baby,
where’s the fun in that if I told you all my plans? Half the fun is in the
discovery, and the other half is in building the expectation,” I say winking at
her. “Besides, where we are going is not very far,” I add.
I
head northwest on 4th Avenue towards Virginia Street. When I hit a
red light on Battery Street, she turns to me and asks, “Well, are we going on a
picnic?”
“You
won’t give up, will you? Our stop is only a mile away,” I reply.
“A
mile? You mean it’s walking distance?”
“Patience
is a virtue, Anastasia.”
“I
thought you were an in the moment kind of guy.”
“I
am...for some things.” The light turns green and I move forward. When I come to
the Wall Street I signal to turn left.
“Are
we going to the big house? You've had Mrs. Jones pack a picnic basket.”
“No,
not the big house. Not today anyway,” I say suppressing an urge to smile.
When
we come to Alaskan Way, I turn left and her eyes grow big.
“We’re
going to the Grace? Are we sailing?” she asks, and I grin in response. “We are
sailing! Yesss!” she says clapping her hands and giggling as she’s trying to
jump up and down in her seat restrained by her seatbelt, and she abruptly
stops, flushing. She squeezes her legs together and holds her abdomen as if to
stop the movement of the silver balls inside her. My eyes twinkle, I look ahead to
hide my grin.
“Anything
making you uncomfortable, baby?” I ask.
“Uhm...”
she says shifting in her seat, “no, not a thing,” she replies, her voice an
octave higher. I pull to the right and park the R8 near Anthony’s Fish Bar and
get out. I walk behind my car and open the passenger door. I hold my hand for
Anastasia, and she takes it. Removing the picnic basket from the trunk, I walk
my wife to the Grace. It’s a day leftover from the summer. The breeze is
gentle, and the sun is out.
“Do
you think you’re up to it?” I challenge her.
“Well,
Mr. Grey, you've been paying for my sailing lessons, and you said that the
school was one of the best. I’m sure I can meet the demands,” she says smiling.
“We
won’t go too far. We’ll test your skills this time.”
“Nice
to see you again Mr. Grey, Ana. Welcome aboard,” says Liam McConnell in his
Irish accent. I hand him the picnic basket as we board the catamaran and give
Mac a significant look for calling my wife with her given name.
“Hi
Mac,” Anastasia chimes.
Mac
takes the basket into the cabin, and returns.
“Are
you sure you aren't going to require my services Mr. Grey?” he asks cheerfully.
“Mrs.
Grey and I,” I say emphasizing, “can handle it once we get to the open
sea. I think you can leave once we get out of the harbor.”
“Will
do, sir,” he replies with a twinkle in his eyes to which I give an impassive
look.
“Shall
we cast off, Mr. Grey?”
“Just
as soon as I get Mrs. Grey into one of the life-jackets ” I reply. I take one of
the life jackets from the chest, and walk back to her.
“Head
up,” I say, and she holds her head. Then I put the jacket from over her head,
and tighten the straps all around. I take her hand, walking her to the upper deck,
and into the cockpit.
“I’m
going to get her out of the marina, but you are going to take the wheel when I
tell you. Got it?”
“Aye,
aye, captain!” she salutes me with a happy twinkle in her eyes.
“Come here, wife,” I murmur, and pull her between
my legs.
Enya – Sail Away
Once we get the Grace out of the harbor, Mac
readies to leave.
“We are going to sail near the Hood Canal. We should
be back late afternoon.”
“Yes, sir. Radio me if you require any assistance.
I’ll be waiting at the dock.”
“Thanks Mac,” I say as I send him off.
“Mrs. Grey, it’s just you and me, sailing this
baby.”
“I’m a little nervous, Christian. I’ve only had a
few lessons. I don’t know if I’m good at it.”
“Baby, you are good at whatever you do. Besides,
we’re not going too far. If you are too nervous, we don’t have run the sails on
the way there. We can just open them on the way back,” I remind her. She gives
a sigh of relief.
“Yes, please. Let’s do that.”
I kiss her on the lips. “Well then Mrs. Grey, you
may sit on captain’s lap,” I say making her smile.
“Where are we going?”
“Some gorgeous spot called the Hood Canal area.
There are some small islands, and the scenery is just breathtaking. But on the
way back, I’m going to have you help me with unfurling the sails, operating the
pulleys, and hoisting the main sail.”
“Yes,” she replies smiling.
“For now, I’m content navigating through the
waters with my wife in my arms,” I say. She tilts her head back and kisses me.
The Hood Canal is a fjord forming the western lobe of Puget Sound. I take the
Grace through the canal, and anchor her about an hour and fifteen minutes of
sailing.
“Now, Mrs. Grey,” I say as I turn to my wife. “I
believe I wanted to fuck you on the Grace’s deck,” I say casually, and she takes
a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes widen with excitement and anticipation.
“Come,” I say pulling her hand.
“Okay,” she says following me behind.
When we reach the deck, she turns to face me. “This
place...the scenery is breathtaking,” she whispers.
“Yes, the scenery is breathtaking,” I whisper,
only seeing her. She swallows hard.
“Kiss me, Christian,” she says standing up on her
tiptoes to reach up to me, and I am more than happy to oblige. I pull her
ponytail to tilt her head just the right angle, and keep her firmly where I
want her. My tongue parts her lips and
finds hers with sensual strokes. She captures my tongue and sucks it...hard, and
I feel the tingle at the tip of my penis. I lift her off the ground, making her
wrap her legs around my torso. My cock pushes through the layers of fabric
between us to reach her.
I push her skirt up, bunching it on her waist. She
tries to rub her sex over my short. Her hand reaches between her legs, and palms
my cock through my shorts running her hand over my pressing length making me
groan for her.
“I’m going to undress you,” I say in a hoarse voice,
standing her up. Grasping the hem of her tank top, I lift up her shirt and take
it off. I slide her skirt down along with her panties. Her hands reach up to her
bra, but I stop her.
“I want that on,” I murmur.
“Oh...okay,” she whispers.
Finally, I move towards my wife, and stand before her. I pull the left bra cup down making her breast
spring upward. My hand travels over her right bra cup caressing it over the
lace, pulling her nipple, while my lips close over her left breast suckling. I
flick my tongue over her nipple and she moans loudly. Pulling the right cup
down, I switch over to her other breast. When she reaches her precipice, my
right hand travels down to her sex, and start rubbing. I pull the sting with the silver balls, and her orgasm detonates in
pulsing waves, making her shout in pleasure. My fingers relentlessly keep rubbing her sex until every ounce of pleasure vibrates through her body.
I immediately lay her down on the chaise lounge.
“Hold the sides of the chaise, and don’t let go.
Then wrap your legs around my neck,” I command. She obeys. I lift her torso off
the chaise as she’s holding onto the sides. Her sex is right before my lips,
and I seal my mouth over it, licking, and swallowing the end of her orgasm. But
soon she’s building up again as my tongue is relentlessly pressuring, and
teasing expertly. As I seal my lips over the folds of her sex, my tongue digs
deep inside her sex, swirling, and then going in and out. She shouts my name, “Christian!”
One flick of my tongue over her clitoris is enough
to drive her over the edge again. I lift
her up from the chaise.
“I need you to hold onto the railings baby. Don’t
let go, or I’ll spank you,” I warn. She holds on tight, bent, her ass lifted up
to meet my cock.
I tease the entrance of her sex with my aching
cock. Slowly, painstakingly, I feed my cock into her sex, filling her to the
brim. I slowly pull back, and hammer back into her again.
“Ah!” she groans in surprise.
“Easy, Christian. Let me...let me get used to it,”
she moans. I pull back and slowly insert my cock again.
“More?”
“Yes.”
I pull back again, and slowly spear into her.
“Once more?”
“Yes,” she replies.
I pull out, and slam back.
“Yes, go. Harder!” she groans, and I don’t hold
back." I pull back and when I pound my cock in, I pull her hips to meet me,
finding the deepest spot in her. I finally gyrate my hips. My left hand travels
to her clitoris rubbing, and stimulating. She’s building up once again.
“Hold, baby. Don’t come until I tell you,” I hiss
through my teeth.
“Can’t... hold,” she groans.
“Wait,” I order pounding.
I push into her several times quickly in rapid
succession.
“Now, come for me baby!” I command, and we both
reach our peak together and come loudly, finally collapsing on the deck, I lay
my wife on top of me.
When we come back to our senses, “hungry for a
picnic?” I ask.
“Hmmm...” is all she can answer.
*****❦ ♡ ❧*****
___________________________________________________________
From:
Anastasia Grey
Subject:
Sailing & Soaring & Spanking
Date: September 5,
2011 09:17
To:
Christian Grey
Husband
You
sure know how to show a girl a good time. I shall of course be expecting this
kind of treatment every weekend. You are spoiling me. I love it.
Your
wife
xox
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor,
SIP
___________________________________________________________
From:
Christian Grey
Subject:
My Life’s Mission...
Date:
September 5, 2011 09:24
To:
Anastasia Grey
Is
to spoil you, Mrs. Grey.
Christian Grey
Smitten CEO, Grey
Enterprises Holdings Inc.
___________________________________________________________
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: My Life’s
Mission...
Date: September 5,
2011 09:32
To:
Christian Grey
Is
to let you— because I love you, too.
Now
stop being so sappy.
You
are making me cry.
Anastasia Grey
Equally Smitten
Commissioning Editor, SIP
___________________________________________________________
It’s
going to be Anastasia’s birthday on September 10th. I want to plan a
surprise party for her. Or maybe take her someplace special. New York! I’ve
never taken her to New York and our place. Her birthday would be a great
opportunity to christen the place. Last time I had to leave the city abruptly
because... I don’t want to think about that right now. Everything is going
well, and we had a wonderful weekend, sailing, fucking, spanking on the deck of
the Grace! Soaring on Sunday.
Yes,
I should definitely take her to New York. I can take her to Blue Hill after seeing a Broadway show; it’s an
excellent place to dine. Gramercy Tavern serves lunches and their wine list is
exquisite. If we fly on Friday, I can create a fun day for her birthday on
Saturday. I can take her to Empire State
building during the day, and then to a private helicopter tour over the city in
the evening, watching the city lights. I can take her for a stroll in West
Village on Sunday. I get excited as I make a mental list of things to do in New
York for Anastasia, and start typing the activities. I can also take her to
shopping at Bergdorf and Goodman. We can browse and give a list to a personal
shopper. That way we can have more time just to have fun.
After
spending nearly thirty minutes adding and subtracting from the list, my
Blackberry buzzes with an incoming e-mail from Anastasia. I open it excitedly. I
hear an insistent knock on my office door, and without waiting for an answer from me,
Taylor walks in abruptly; his face is solemn, angry and uneasy. A
message from Anastasia and Taylor with this face can’t be good news.
“Taylor?”
I ask questioning.
“Just
received a voice-mail from Prescott. Leila and Susanna are at SIP, and
apparently they both managed to bypass security, and Mrs. Grey knows about
their presence. Prescott said that she’ll try to talk Mrs. Grey out of seeing
them. But—“
“What?”
I jump up from my seat. My hand goes to the on my e-mail on my Blackberry.
___________________________________________________________
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Visitors
Date: September 6,
2011 15:26
To:
Christian Grey
Christian
Leila
is here to see me. I will see her with Prescott.
I’ll
use my newly acquired slapping skills with my now healed hand, should I need
to.
Try, and I mean try, not to worry.
I
am a big girl.
Will
call once we've spoken.
A
x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor,
SIP
___________________________________________________________
What
the fuck! Did my wife completely lose her mind? I sink in my chair and find my
fingers hitting the #1 speed dial. The phone rings, and rings, and rings as
I anxiously grip my desk so hard, my knuckles are white. She doesn’t answer her damn Blackberry; it goes to voice mail. Her cheerful voice comes up: “Hello! You've reached
Ana Grey...” I hang up. Anastasia promised to not to defy me! And yet, here she
is doing the exact opposite of what she has said she wouldn't do! Anger is
seething through my pores. How cruel can she be to me? How could she allow Leila to see her
knowing how it nearly broke me down, broke us apart? Leila is willfully
disobeying my specific instructions and orders to never to come near Anastasia. What the hell is Anastasia doing accepting her, and where the fuck is Prescott
letting this happen? I’m not keeping in touch with Leila, and not answering her
repeated requests to talk to her. Why would Anastasia answer her request to see
her knowing she put a gun to her head?
I
dial Anastasia’s office. Her assistant answers cheerfully.
“Good
afternoon. Anastasia Grey’s office at SIP. Hannah’s speak-“ I cut her off.
“Hannah,
this is Christian Grey. I want to speak to Mrs. Grey, right now!”
“Ana
is with...”
“I
KNOW who she is with!” I shout, as I abruptly stand up, my chair is
scraping the floor. Taylor flinches. “Get her on the fucking line immediately
if you value your job!” I bark as I grab my jacket to rush to SIP. Taylor opens
my door without a word, and we head out.
“Uhm.
Yes, immediately, Mr. Grey,” she whimpers on the phone. I hear small thud as
she drops the phone on to her desk, and she picks it up, to apologize,
“Apologies Mr. Grey! The phone—“
“Just
get my fucking wife on the phone, NOW!” I hiss menacingly through
gritted teeth. The phone thuds onto Hannah's desk again, and I hear quickly
retreating heel clicks on the floor. Andrea and Olivia jump to their feet
hearing me shout. I ignore them both, and Taylor and I speed through my office
exiting to the elevators. What the hell does Leila want from Anastasia? Why
would she contact her? Why would she breach her agreement to never see her?
She knows I’d cutoff all support from her. Why then is she jeopardizing it,
unless she’s ready to check out of life! Shit! Shit! Shit! She could only get
her requests through Flynn. And now! God! I press the elevator call button repeatedly
until what feels like an eternity it reaches my floor and dings open.
I
hear her muffled conversation from a distance on the phone. Anastasia's office is close
to Hannah’s desk. She must have left the door open.
“Sorry
to interrupt you, Ana. I have Mr. Grey on the line?”
“Tell
him I’m busy.” Busy? Busy with fucking me over by completely disobeying me?
What if Leila has a gun? What if she’s not well? Fuck this! Answer the fucking
phone Ana!
“He
was quite insistent,” she says sounding tremulous.
“I
am sure he was. Would you apologize to him, and say I’ll call him back very
shortly?” Call me back? She’s dismissing me? My wife is determined to torment
me vehemently today! There is a pregnant pause for a few seconds.
“Hannah,
please!” she snaps. My hand flies to my hair in exasperation, and as I’m
forcefully running it Hannah comes back on the phone.
“Mr.
Grey, I apologize sir, but Ana said she will call you back shortly.”
“She’s
not answering?” I ask as my hand fist in my hair pulling it.
“I’m
so sorry sir. I couldn't get her—“
“Fuck
this!” I shout as I hang up. I dial Prescott’s phone.
“Mr.
Grey,” she answers.
“Prescott,
I am FUCKING
FURIOUS with you for neglecting the duties you’re hired to conduct!” I
shout as I hammer my fist down on to the brushed chrome handlebar on the
elevator wall. “You are incapable and inadequate! There’s one fucking person on
top of the proscribed list, and it’s Leila Williams! And what the fuck do you
do? You let her pass through to talk to my wife! I will deal with your ass when
I get there. Now pass the fucking phone to my wife!” I shout holding the
Blackberry before my mouth.
“Yes,
sir,” she replies meekly.
“Christian,”
Anastasia answers the phone with exasperation. She has the gull to talk to me
in exacerbation.
“What
the fuck are you playing at?” I roar with bristling rage.
“Don’t
shout at me.”
“What
do you mean don’t shout at you?” I shout even louder. Even Taylor looks angry
at her. “I gave you specific instructions which you have completely disregarded
– again! Hell, Ana, I am fucking furious!”
“When
you are calmer, we will talk about this,” she says getting ready to hang up.
Elevator doors ding open and we are at the garage.
“Don’t
you hang up on me!” I bellow with sibilation.
“Good-bye,
Christian,” she says, and hangs up on me! On me! I dial it again, and it goes
to voice mail directly. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why does she always, always make me
feel helpless, ties me up in virtual knots? She enslaves me with one word, or
action, or fucking behavior putting herself in mortal danger! I basically run
to the SUV to get to SIP. As soon as Taylor presses the button on the keyless
entry as he’s running behind me, I open the passenger door, and he slides into
the driver’s side.
“Drive
like your life depends on it!” I order.
“Yes,
sir!”
The
drive to SIP is one of my longest, second only to the flight from New York. It
appears I can’t trust my wife! What if I was out of town? Can’t I trust the
fucking security to do their job properly, either? I loosen my tie, and undo the top button of my white shirt. I
run both hands through my hair in utter desperation, anger and exasperation. I
turn the intensity of my gaze to Taylor.
“Prescott
is gone! And when this fucking thing is over, I want you to drill into the
security team who can never, EVER approach to Mrs. Grey even if they have to
drag the person away before her eyes! Otherwise, they will be replaced like
Prescott!”
“Yes,
sir.”
Out
of control! What the hell is Leila doing there? What the hell does she want?
Why is she breaking the rules? And my wife is falling right into the trap that
Leila is setting up willingly with her fucking curiosity! The ghost of Leila
with a gun to Ana’s head is still haunting my dreams, angering me. And now,
she’s with her! Again! If Anastasia’s constant defiance was the measure for
frequent flyer miles, I wouldn't need the GEH jet; because I’d be flying first
class for life! I am disintegrating inside with worry, and fear that some harm
might come to her, through her own disdain, and by the neglect and carelessness of
my own fucking security detail!
Anastasia
will be the death of me! I hope Leila doesn’t harm her, and I hope she’s okay
when I get to SIP! I’m going to be driven to brutality, wrath and rage,
although I’m already there! My wife creates my personal hell with her brand of
inferno, and shoves me in to burn my soul! Why do you make me suffer so?
Taylor
runs a red light to turn the corner, and SIP is in sight. He slows down to take
the corner to turn into the parking lot and before he comes to a complete stop,
I open the door, and run out. I hear him mutter, “Shit!” I walk with brisk
steps to SIP. The African-American girl at the reception whose name tag says
“Claire” stands up. Taylor catches up with me. Then I see Susannah sitting
there, and she pales as soon as she sees my furious face. She knows what it means
well enough: I’m in a punishing mood.
“Mr.
Grey! Shall I inform Ana or Mr. Roach of your arrival?” she asks running after
me.
“No!
Get back to your seat!” I pin her with my gaze, and sure enough other employees
come out to see what is going on.
“What's going—“ Roach sticks his head out of his office with irritated curiosity. When
he sees me, his demeanor changes, and he walks out to meet me briskly,
buttoning his jacket.
“Mr.
Grey, I didn't know you were coming here?” he says in a questioning tone.
“What
are you running here, Roach? Why the lax security? Apparently anyone could walk in here!”
He blinks a few times.
“Mr.
Grey, if you wish, I can take you to my office to discuss. Would you like something to
drink?”
“This
is not a social call, Roach! I know my way around!” I hiss in a menacingly low voice. I’m royally pissed
with the poor security around here! Taylor holds Roach back. “Get back to
work, please!” he says to others, and follows me on my heels as soon as I walk towards
Anastasia’s door. Hannah immediately stands up, flushing red.
“Uhm... Mr.
Grey! Ana is not in her office,” she says in a shaky voice.
“Where
the hell is she?” I say turning the intensity of my gaze on her.
“Oh,
she’s in a meeting room with Miss Williams, and Prescott.”
“Don’t
just sit there! Point me to the meeting room!”
“Oh
yes, sure. I’ll take you sir...” she says standing up abruptly, and as I walk
to the meeting room, I notice that other employees are coming out of their
offices, and casually trying to look busy. But I don’t give a shit about it right now. I’m
angry at Leila, for ignoring my specific order to never to come near my wife!
Angry with Anastasia for defying me! Angry at myself for hiring an incompetent
security detail! What if I was out of town? I storm through the meeting room
door. It slams back to the wall only to spring back slightly. Taylor remains
behind me. I catch the door, and close it. Anastasia is sitting at the table
with Leila. She gives Taylor a nervous smile, and he’s mad as hell as I am. I
turn around and pin both Anastasia and Leila with the intensity of my infernal
gaze. My rage and fury sweeps the room like a heat wave. Both Anastasia and
Leila look up, and their gazes lock on me. Anastasia’s eyes linger on my hair and my loosened dark tie, and
her eyes linger on my chest hair peeking through my open top shirt. Leila looks
nervous and lowers her gaze looking down at the edge of the table, running her
finger along the edge. I gaze at my wife. Noting the fact that she’s uninjured isn't enough to relieve me. I move the intensity of my gaze over to Leila, and then turn to
Prescott.
“You,”
I say in a deceivingly soft tone. “You’re fired. Get out now.”
Anastasia
winces as if she’s hit.
“Christian—“
she says making to stand up.
I
hold my index finger up, and pin her down to her seat in a warning expression.
“Don’t,” I say in a low, inauspicious tone. I’m not to be trifled with right
now. Anastasia quiets down immediately, and grounded to her seat. Prescott bows
her head shamefully, and quickly exits the meeting room to join Taylor outside.
I close the door behind her, and look at Anastasia and Leila again with a
forbidding stare and walk to the edge of the table, standing opposite to Leila;
I lean down, and place both my hands on the wooden surface. The single focus of
my rage is her at the moment.
“What
the fuck are you doing here?” I snarl at her.
“Christian!”
Anastasia gasps. I completely ignore my wife.
“Well?”
I probe, demanding an answer.
She
finally peeks up at me with wide eyes, sallow face, her voice a whisper.
“I
wanted to see you, and you wouldn't let me.” So, this is her game? Trying to
get me into submission to her demands by harassing my wife who fucking doesn’t
listen to me?
“So
you came here to harass my wife?” I say in a quiet voice with barely suppressed
rage. She looks down at the table again.
I
remove my hands from the table and rise to my full height, glowering down at
her with repugnance.
“Leila,
if you come anywhere near my wife again, I will cut off all support. Doctors,
art school, medical insurance – all of it – gone. Do you understand?”
“Christian-“
Anastasia butts in again. When I turn my gaze to here, it’s glacial,
forbidding, and silencing. Anastasia blinks, looks at me with unbelieving eyes.
“Yes,”
Leila acquiesces with a barely audible voice.
“What’s
Susannah doing in reception?” I ask. What the hell is this? Fuck Christian’s
new life with the train wreck of his former life by having a submissive reunion
at my wife’s workplace?
“She
came with me.”
Did
Susannah assist her with her harassment of my wife? I have to find out.
Exasperation courses through me again, and I run my hand through my hair,
glaring at her.
“Christian,
please,” Anastasia pleads with me. “Leila just wants to say thank you. That’s
all.”
My
wife is either an idiot, or reckless with her life for not taking into account
what Leila did to her by breaking into her apartment.
“Did
you stay with Susannah while you were sick?” I ask, singularly concentrating my
wrath on her.
“Yes,”
she replies again in a whisper confirming my suspicions.
“Did
she know what you were doing while you were staying with her?”
“No.
She was away on vacation.”
Why
then does Leila need to see me? She can pass her requests through Flynn. I run
my index finger over my lower lip contemplating. “Why do you need to see me?
You know you should send any requests through Flynn. Do you need something?” I
ask, feeling responsible once again.
Leila
runs her finger along the edge of the table, remaining silent for a minute.
“I
had to know,” she says and looks up at me directly. First time ever.
“Had
to know what?” I snap. This is not need. This is manipulation!
“That
you’re okay.”
I
gape at her. She fucking put me through a near heart attack because she wanted
to know I’m okay? Is she for real?
“That
I’m okay?” I ask in derision. This is un-fucking-believable! So, you want to
toy with Christian Grey’s life? By coming and harassing my wife, by fueling my
anger? Have you just met me?
“Yes.”
“I’m
fine. There, question answered. Now Taylor will run you to Sea-Tac so you can
go back to the East Coast. And if you take one step west of the Mississippi,
it’s all gone. Understand?”
“Yes.
I understand,” she replies quietly.
“Good,”
I reply assuaged.
Then
my wife opens her mouth again. “It might not be convenient for Leila to go back
now. She has plans,” she says defending her! Defending Leila! Did I just open
my eyes into a parallel universe? Why the hell is she getting outraged on
Leila’s behalf and running off with her cause?
I
turn my glare at my wife. “Anastasia,” I say in a chilling voice laced with
warning, “this does not concern you.”
She
just scowls at me. She crosses her arms and sits back. “Leila came to see me,
not you,” she murmurs like a petulant child. How little she knows of Leila.
Leila came to see her to lure me here. She’s only the bait.
Then
Leila turns to Anastasia and says with wide eyes, “I had my instructions, Mrs.
Grey. I disobeyed them.” Then she glances up at me nervously, wanting to say
something, trying to gather courage to say it. But not to me, to my wife. To
bring doubt to her mind.
“This
is the Christian Grey I know,” she murmurs in a sad, wistful tone. I frown at
Leila. Anastasia looks like someone punched her and left her breathless. She
gasps, her hands holds onto the edge of the table automatically to find some
support. Leila, having done the damage she sought to do, gives Anastasia a
bereft smile, and rises from the table. Then turns to me.
“I’d
like to stay until tomorrow. My flight is at noon,” she says quietly.
“I’ll
have someone pick you up at ten to take you to the airport.”
“Thank
you.”
“You’re
at Susannah’s?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
Anastasia
glares at me menacingly. I hate it that this had to play out before my wife’s eyes. Once
again, my past plays a spectacularly ugly scene before my wife.
“Goodbye,
Mrs. Grey. Thank you for seeing me.”
Anastasia
stands up and holds her hand out to Leila, and she takes it, shaking it gratefully.
“Uhm...
goodbye, then. Good luck,” Anastasia mutters. Leila nods, and turns to me.
Looking at me with wide eyes, she says, “Goodbye, Christian.” Relief floods me
for having averted a big disaster like the one in Anastasia’s apartment.
“Goodbye,
Leila,” I reply in a low voice. “Dr. Flynn, remember.”
“Yes,
Sir.”
I
open the door for her to get her out of my wife’s company. But Leila stops and
turns to me looking up as if she has been holding this thought for a hundred
years. The sudden change in her demeanor makes me nervous, stilling me, ready
for anything; wary.
“I’m
glad you’re happy. You deserve to be,” she says, and turns back without waiting
for a reply. I frown after her.
The Cardigans –
Lovefool (Say that you love me)
Taylor, who has been hovering by the door nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full
of rocking chairs looks at me for instructions, and I nod at him to follow
Leila safely out of the building. He herds her out. I close the door behind me.
It’s now time to decide what to do with my disobedient, errant wife. I gaze at
her uncertainly.
“Don’t
even think about being angry with me!” Anastasia hisses. “Call Claude Bastille
and kick the shit out of him or go see Flynn,” my wife barks at me. My mouth
drops open, completely taken aback by her outburst. Here I am mad at her as
hell, having had a near coronary, aged another ten year in the last hour, and
she’s mad at me! My brow creases.
“You
promised you wouldn't do this,” I accuse her.
“Do
what?”
“Defy
me.”
“No
I didn't ” she denies. “I said I’d be more considerate. I told you she was
here. I had Prescott search her, and your other little friend, too. Prescott was
with me the entire time. Now you've fired the poor woman, when she was only
doing what I asked. I told you not to worry, yet here you are. I don’t remember
receiving your papal bull decreeing that I couldn't see Leila. I didn't know
that my visitors were subject to a proscribed list,” she accuses me, her voice
rising an octave with her righteous cause.
I
examine my wife’s expression for a full minute with an unreadable gaze. She
never ceases to surprise or shock me. Always the demanding little madam,
sticking to her guns. I came here angry, mad at her, mad at everyone, and here
she is subduing me. My mouth twists with a suppressed smile.
“Papal
bull?” I ask amused, and the heavy load weighing my soul down lifts with her
fervor, relaxing me. As my anger ebbs and slowly eases, hers grows in leaps and
bounds.
“What?”
I ask, completely exasperated with her, once again. Her face remains resolutely straight
with her temper.
“You.
Why were you so callous toward her?”
Not that again! I sigh and shift, stepping towards her, and finally sit on the table.
Does she not understand that no other woman means anything to me, that I like
to keep my past in the past?
“Anastasia,”
I say slowly as if I’m explaining a simple concept to someone with limited
understanding. “You don’t understand. Leila, Susannah...all of them...they were
a pleasant, diverting pastime. But that’s all. You are the center of my
universe. And the last time you two were in a room together, she had you at
gunpoint. I don’t want her anywhere near you.”
If
I lose Anastasia, my entire world collapses. Nothing, and no one will mean
anything to me. She is the single point, the only individual in the universe
that makes me feel whole. The only one I love. Anything and anyone with any
potential to harm her is in my fuck-list.
“But,
Christian, she was ill.”
“I
know that, and I know she’s better now, but I’m not giving her the benefit of
the doubt anymore. What she did was unforgivable.”
“But you've just played right into her hands. She wanted to see you again, and she
knew you’d come running if she came to see me,” she says. And whose fault is
that? She’s the one who accepted to see her despite the warnings. Anastasia
needs to understand that this is nothing. Seeing Leila, or as she put it
‘playing into her hands’ is nothing. I would harrow hell for Anastasia. I shrug
it off to dismiss it.
“I
don’t want you tainted with my old life.”
She
looks surprised.
“Christian...
you are who you are because of your old life, your new life, whatever. What
touches you, touches me. I accepted that when I agreed to marry you, because I
love you,” she declares.
And
that is the best declaration I’ve heard all day. It stills me, and still has
the capability to shake me to my core. She just met a fraction of my fucked up
past, and she knows that there’s a train wreck full of it, yes, she declares
her love for me. I shake my head slowly.
“She didn't hurt me. She loves you, too.”
“I
don’t give a fuck!” What anyone else thinks of me is of no consequence to me.
Whether they love me, or hate me is immaterial. She gawks at me, shocked, once
again. Her eyes are wide, with disappointment, sorrow even. She visibly
swallows. Her hand runs to her throat. She blinks several times as if this is
going to help her comprehend me better. I close my eyes, take a deep breath,
and open them up again, gazing at her.
“Why
are you championing her cause all of a sudden?” I ask. My wife is a conundrum,
both confounding me and irritating me at the same time.
“Look,
Christian, I don’t think Leila and I will be swapping recipes and knitting
patterns anytime soon. But I didn't think you’d be so heartless to her.”
I’m
a heartless, soulless, and without care; the son of a crack whore. “I told you once,
I don’t have a heart,” I mutter with chilly gaze.
She
rolls her eyes at me, peeved.
“That’s
not true, Christian. You’re being ridiculous. You do care about her. You wouldn't be paying for art classes and the rest of that stuff if you didn't.”
This
is getting us nowhere. I just want to go home, and punish her for her defiance.
I can’t spank, paddle, or whip her! Shit! She looks at me with pity and I want
none of that! I can’t take it! She can love me, get mad at me, fuck me, flirt
with me, and even hate me time to time. But I don’t want her pity! I glare at
her, getting angrier by the second. “This discussion is over. Let’s go home.”
She
glances down and looks at the Cartier watch I bought for her. I follow her gaze.
It’s pointing to twenty past four o’clock. “It’s too early,” she mutters her
protest.
“Home,”
I demand.
“Christian,”
she sighs in an exhausted tone. “I’m tired of having the same argument with
you,” making me frown. What argument
would that be?
“You
know,” she explicates, “I do something you don’t like, and you think of some
way to get back at me. Usually involving some of your kinky fuckery which is
either mind-blowing or cruel.” She shrugs, capitulating. She closes her eyes and
takes a deep breath. She thinks our sex is mind-blowing?
“Mind-blowing?”
I ask her softly. Her eyes fly open.
“Usually,
yes.”
One
way to distract my wife is to change the topic, but I’m immensely curious. Her
casual acceptance of my abilities in bed is frankly
arousing and surprisingly sensual even if she doesn't mean it that way.
"What was mind
blowing?" I ask with delighted sensual curiosity.
"You know," she says
blushing the sweetest hue. Yes, I know everything that pleases her, and the
knowledge of it turns me on. My wife's proximity, the way she stands up to me,
even when we fight is a complete turn on.
"I can guess," I
whisper in a lascivious tone.
"Christian, I--" she
say completely astounded.
"I like to please
you," I murmur as I gingerly trace my thumb over her bottom lip.
"You do," she replies
in a hushed whisper.
"I know," I say in a
gentle voice. Leaning down forward, my voice a whispering breath in her ear,
"It's the one thing I do know." I don't touch her. Just the sight,
sound, and scent create
a sensual environment if you know how to utilize them. She
inhales my scent closing her eyes, trying to immerse herself, then opens her
eyes and looks at me. I
lean back and gaze down at her, smiling, knowing that she is under my
spell.
"What was mind-blowing,
Anastasia?" I probe with a wicked gleam in my eyes.
"You want the list?"
she asks. What? This pleasantly surprises me.
"There's a list?" I
ask.
She sighs and answers:
"Well, the handcuffs, " she mumbles, then blushes, possibly remembering our honeymoon. I don't know if I like leaving marks on her. My brows
furrow, and I hold her wrists up in my hand, and trace the pulse point on her
wrist with my thumb.
"I don't want to mark
you," I say softly. Surely, she must know how much I value her, and what
she means to me. Her breath is shallow, her eyes are dark, and wide. Desirous
for me... My lips curl into a seductive smile. "Come home," I
insist.
"I have work to
do."
"Home," I repeat
again. I want her in my house, in my bed, in my arms, and under me. I hate the
distance, I hate that we fight, but I'm always turned on after a fight with
her. I have to get her home. I feel bewildered. I look at her with determined,
hungry, wanton, molten gray eyes and she gazes at me with her astounded blue
gaze, trying to comprehend something. I want my wife to come home with me. Especially after this scare that harm would come to her, worrying me to no end, I'm not willing to leave her here. I
lift my hand to her cheek, and softly caress it.
"We could stay here,"
I say in a low, husky voice. Her eyes widen as if she's shocked with a 1000
Volts of electricity.
"Christian, I don't want
to have sex here. Your mistress has just been in this room."
"She was never my
mistress," I growl at her, my mouth goes into a grim line, and I
frown.
"That's just semantics,
Christian."
I frown again, puzzled.
"Don't overthink this, Ana. She’s history," I say dismissing Leila
and all the other subs. Her eyes widen again as if she's reliving a bad memory. Her eyes widen in fear, her face falls, her
lips open to accommodate her increased breathing; she takes two shaky breaths.
She whispers out,
“No...” in horror.
“Yes,” I counter
forcefully, and holding my hand, I grasp her chin, lean down and place a tender kiss on her lips.
“Oh, Christian, you
scare me sometimes,” she utters in complete horror. She grasps my head in her
hands. Her fingers finally travel into my hair, and she pulls my lips to cover
hers forcefully. Her sudden fervor stills me for a few seconds, but I find my
arms wrapping around her body. Why is she suddenly so upset, so fearful?
“Why?” I ask.
“You could turn
away from her so easily...”
I frown. I never
loved Leila. No one every unlocked my heart, no one ever made me feel the way
Anastasia makes me feel.
“And you think I
might turn away from you, Ana? Why the hell would you think that? What’s
brought this on?” She shakes her head.
“Nothing. Kiss me.
Take me home,” she pleads. Yes, ma’am! I lean down and kiss her with all I’ve
got.
*****❦ ♡ ❧*****
The
mood in the SUV on the way to Escala is the exact opposite of what it was on the way to SIP.
Anastasia climbs on to my lap and her arms snake around my neck.
Sting ft. Stevie Wonder –
Fragile
“Mrs.
Grey, you should be buckled up,” I say, but wrap my arms around her, holding
her tight, not letting her go. Taylor, being the professional he is,
conveniently ignores us. After the fear, anger, and anxiety I’ve endured today,
having her in my arms is like holding the most precious item in the entire
world; so soft to touch within the captivity of my arms. We are entwined with
ever interlacing curves of our bodies. She leans on my arm, and for a moment,
the evening sun reflects on her face resting on my chest. It makes me think
that there are days in life worth life and worth death. And this woman, my
wife, the center of my universe is worth to live for, and worth to die for.
At
first I didn't understand her championing Leila’s cause until I realized that
she thought I might leave her when she did something wrong that I disapproved.
She does something I disapprove nearly every day. But whatever she does is life
affirming, maddening, driving me insanity, and torturing me and yet she is the
only one who can challenge me like that. I will always want to be in control,
but the love I have for her always clashes with my tendency to be in control of
everything at all times. No matter what she does, who she talks to, or how she
disobeys willingly or otherwise, it’s not enough for her to cast me off, to
drive me away. No one can get me to be rid of my wife, or she rid of me, and no
one, no woman or other entity will every come between us. I would pursue her to
the ends of the earth. I love her madly. The debauched realities of my past, the
nightmares of the pimp’s abuse and the death of the crack whore keeping me
wakeful at night; but those pains of the past pale in comparison with the kind of the harm my wife can inflict me if she was to get hurt. Because I know that Anastasia is
the only one who can truly wound me, hurt me, drive me to insanity; make me
wander through heaven and hell within the same day.
Though
I want her to be safe during the drive to home and buckled up, at the moment I just want her face
remain pressed close to my heart. I don’t want to let her away from the close
embrace of my arms. Even though she’s made me furious, anxious and scared by
seeing Leila, having her within the safety of my arms is a slice of heaven. I
close my eyes, and inhale her scent. Then place a kiss on top of her head as
Taylor slowly pulls into the underground parking garage. As soon as he parks
the car, I take Anastasia’s hand, and pull her to my side. The ride up the
elevator is a long one. When we reach to our penthouse, I pull Anastasia’s hand
without a word, and take her in the direction of our bedroom without a word to Taylor. She scuttles
behind me, “wait, I have to put my briefcase down,” she says. I take it from
her hand and toss it on to the table by the sofa.
When
we get into our room, I close the door behind us, locking it, and as she takes a few steps
towards her closet, I yank her back to me so fast, she’s flush with me.
Excited, her chest is heaving up and down in rapid succession. I lean down,
seeking her permission to kiss her. She lifts her head up, and capturing my
face pulls me to her lips. There’s nothing gentle in our carnal expression. I
want her badly.
“I
want you bound...cuffed...” I whisper hoarsely into her lips.
“Christian—I...
I don’t know if it’s a good idea after today. Will you hurt me?”
“Ana...”
I groan. “I don’t want to hurt you. I thought cuffs were somewhere on top of
your list,” I say challenging her. “I want to please you, baby.” I murmur into
her lips nipping and sucking her lower lip. She moans, and I swallow her sound
up by sealing my mouth over hers again.
“Then...
Ohhh,” she moans, “yes, do it!”
“Wait,”
I say, and I walk to the stereo, and set it on with four songs, putting them
on repeat. Then I open a dresser drawer and get a few items out, and put them beside me as I sit on the bed to take my shoes and sock off and finally I
slowly saunter back to my wife who is watching my every move. “Take your
clothes off. Slowly...” I whisper seductively. The stereo comes to life with
the soft melody of a violin playing.
“Oh!”
Anastasia gasps. She slowly unbuttons her shirt, and lets it slide off her
arms. Then she unzips her grey pencil skirt and shimmies it down with sensual
movements of her hips. They pool at her feet. I hold her hand and let her walk
out of her skirt. She’s standing before me in her bra and the panties, her
garter belt and stockings. I slowly exhale. Fuck! I’m a lucky, lucky man! Then
velvety voice of Sting comes up singing, “Whenever I say your name.”
Sting – Whenever I Say Your Name
When
her hands reach out to unclip her stockings, I stop her.
“Keep
them on,” I murmur as I run my index finger over her chin; gentlest of touches.
“Now
the bra,” I say. She unclasps her lacy bra, and slowly slides it off her arms.
My tongue runs over my teeth and my lips.
“And,
you won’t be needing these,” I whisper and I rip off her panties. She gasps. I
slowly take my jacket off. Loosen my tie a little more, and take it off my
neck. I wrap it around my wife’s neck, and tighten it only a little.
“Unbutton
my shirt,” I order. Her eyes brighten, her nostrils widen, and she smiles. Then unbuttons my shirt all the way down, and pulls it out of my the waistband of my pants. Her hands
move to unbutton my pants, but I hold her hands.
“Just
unzip them. I want you on your knees first,” I say.
“Oh
my,” she whispers. She unzips me, and dips her hand into my boxers releasing my
erection. As she holds my erection in her hand, “Wait, baby,” I say to my
overanxious wife. “Your shoes.”
I sit
her on the bed, and take them off one by one running my thumb under the arch of
her feet. She shivers with the sensation, and supports herself with her hands.
“I
want to blindfold you, and tie your hands behind. All I want is your
mouth...for now,” I smile.
Her
breathing speeds up. I pull a chair by the bed, and toss a pillow on the floor
before the chair.
“Turn
around, baby,” I whisper.
“Christian,”
she murmurs with uncertainty.
“Do
you trust me, Ana?” I whisper my question to her ear; my voice just a breath.
She nods her head. I cuff her hands behind her.
“Now
kneel on the pillow, baby,” I say, and she obeys immediately. I sit on the
chair, and her eyes are on my substantial erection, greedy. She leans in and
captures the tip of my erection, sheathing it with her lips.
“Aghh!...
Slow baby!” I groan, holding her head still. “I still want to blindfold you.”
She
swirls her tongue over the tip of my cock. “Shit! Baby!” I buck my hips. I put
the blindfold on her eyes. I hold her head, and slowly guide her mouth over my erection.
She slowly eases my erection in and out of her mouth. She grazes her teeth
along the way as “Every Breath you take” comes on.
Sting – Every Breath You Take
A
smile creeps up on Anastasia’s lips, and she moves her mouth almost to the root
of my penis, and making me take a sharp intake of breath.
“ Ahhh!
Ana!” I utter, my voice a ragged sound. She hollows her cheeks and sucks me
hard and fast. “Yes!” I hiss. Her tongue grazes from root to tip as she pulls
her mouth back, and makes a groaning sound. Sweat mists her, glistening her skin
even more, and making my excitement grow. I’m at her mercy.
“Slow
baby... Ana! Ffffuck!” I grasp the arms of the chair as she pumps me, making me
climax.
“Baby!
Ahhh! I’m gonna come in your mouth if you don’t slow down! Ana!” groan, my toes
curling, my head falls back. She’s telling me that she owns me! Shit! This is...
so...damn...hot!
My
eyes roll back in my head as I feel the tip of my cock spurting thickly into
her mouth, and she slows her ministrations, and sucks me dry. When I come down
from my high, I manage to open my eyes up and hear the last cord on the song,
“I’ll be watching you.” When she pulls her lips away from my cock, it’s barely
semi-tamed.
I pull
her blindfold off. She blinks her eyes, and looks up at me with a satisfied
look on her face.
“Tskkk...tsskk.... tsskk...
Mrs. Grey. You confound me. Own me. I’m in awe of you,” I say lifting her off
the floor. “But I think it’s time to return the favor, baby,” I smile
lasciviously. I discard my shirt, and my pants off without taking my eyes off
my wife. I walk her backwards to bed, and she stops as the backs of her legs
hits the bed. I undo the leather cuff from one of her hands, and rub her
wrists. Pushing her back to bed, I climb over her. I take the leather cuffs and
bound each elbow to each knee. She’s trussed up, and so fucking hot.
Great Gig in the Sky – Pink Floyd
I lean
down and pin her hips opening them even further, dipping her into the bed. I
start trailing kisses up her leg, and finally reaching to her sex. I swipe and
flutter my tongue over her wet, swollen sex.
I suck her clit into my mouth, and she moans, lifting her hips up to
meet my mouth, making me grin. As I move my tongue expertly over her clit, I
lift up her buttocks and insert two fingers into her drenched sex. My mouth is
relentless on her blooming sex as my fingers dig in and out of her.
“Oh
please, Christian,” she begs, and I take my fingers out of her and slow my
tongue’s amorous assaults on her sex, and lift my head back a little, and
gently blow on her to cool the building tension.
“All
in good time,” I murmur. She was quite relentless, even tied up and
blindfolded. I should return the favor. She pulls against her restraints, but
her legs are wide open and her elbows bounds to her knees. She is forced to
bear the full effects of the pleasure I’m giving her. I lean in, and my mouth
covers the entrance to her sex. I run my tongue along her opening, and swirl it
over her clit several times. Then I dip my tongue into her sex, and expertly
swirl inside her, lapping...once, twice, three times. My tongue goes in and out
relentlessly. Her hands find my head, and she fists them into my hair. I feel
the familiar tightening of her muscle, “Don’t come,” I murmur, in a warning. “I
will spank you if you come.” She moans in response.
I want
to teach my wife how to control her urge to come, how to prolong the sensation,
how to multiply and increase the end result.
“Control,
Ana. It’s all about control,” I remind her. Then I move my tongue over her sex,
dipping, licking, sucking, and tongue fucking her relentlessly, building up her
sensations, and touching her hot spot, and she can no longer stand the built up
tension. Orgasm rolls in large waves, and I make sure I continue and suck
everything she is ready to give me. She moans, and unable to hold back any
further, she pushes her sex into my mouth, giving in.
“Oh,
Ana. You came,” I scold her. I feel victorious, being able to draw multiple orgasms out of my wife and she failed to resist, me...again. I flip her
onto her front, and she tries to support herself on her forearms. On a
particularly high note of the song, I lift my hand up and smack her across her
buttock very hard. It feels incredible.
“Ah!”
she cries out.
“Control,”
admonish her, and grab her hips up, and thrust my cock into her hard in one
swift movement, and immediately feel the rolling aftershocks of her orgasm
still tightening her muscles inside. I still deep inside her, relishing the
feel of it. Then I lean over and unclip both the cuffs. I wrap my arms around
her and pull her into my lap, her back to my front. I curl my hand beneath her
chin around her throat.
“Move,”
I order.
She
moans and rises up and down on my lap. I want her too much to make this slow
and sweet.
“Faster,”
I whisper hoarsely.
She
moves faster and faster. I groan, and tip her head back and nibble her neck. I
move my other hand across her body, starting from her hip, down to her sex, and
onto her clitoris, and closing my fingers around her sex, I start stimulating
her.
“Yes,
Ana,” I rasp softly into her ear. “You are mine. Only you,” I whisper reminding
her that no one else matters. Just her!
“Yes,”
she breathes, and her sex clenches as she moves up and down, and trying to milk
every drop out of me, sheathing my entire length.
“Come
for me,” I command her.
And
she obeys.
“Christian!”
she shouts my name, and that one word...my name is my undoing. I hold her as
her climax busts her in the seam, and I buck into her twice more, deeper, and
empty myself in her, claiming my wife inside out.
“Oh, Ana,
I love you,” I groan, as I hear Sting croon, “that’s not the shape of my
heart.”
Sting – Shape of My Heart
I kiss
her shoulder and smooth her hair from her face. “Does that make the list, Mrs.
Grey?” I murmur. She’s lying on the bed on her belly. I gently knead her
backside. I prop myself up beside her on one elbow.
“Hmm...”
“Is
that a yes?”
“Hmmm...”
she says smiling.
I grin
and kiss her again, and she rolls on her side to face me.
“Well?”
I probe, anxious to know how I performed.
“Yes.
It makes the list. But it’s a long list.”
I grin
ear to ear, somehow incredibly happy with my wife’s approval. I lean forward
and kiss her gently. “Good. Shall we have dinner?” I ask with love and
mischief.
She
nods. She then reaches over and gently pulls the little hairs on my chest. “I
want you to tell me something,” she whispers.
“What?”
“Don’t
get mad.”
“What
is it, Ana?” I ask.
“You
do care.”
What?
Why would she bring that up that right after we had mind-blowing sex? My eyes
widen. There’s no room for anyone else. It’s just her.
“I
want you to admit that you care. Because the Christian I know and love would
care.”
That
stops me in my tracks. My eyes are on hers. What does she want from me? What would
I say? I don’t love her. But I’m not made of rock. I... I don’t know. What I
feel for Leila, or think of her is nothing compared to what I feel for Ana.
Care, yes... From one human being to another. From someone who had a
relationship with... Fuck, Ana! Why do you do this to me? I open my mouth. And
close it. She looks at me as if she begs me to have a heart. Fuck! Yes, I do
have a heart!
“Yes.
Yes, I care. Happy?” I ask in a whisper.
She
sighs her relief, and smiles. “Yes. Very.”
What
the hell? I frown. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you now, here in our bed,
about--“
She
puts her finger over my lips. “We’re not. Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
I
sigh, and shake my head. “You beguile and bewilder me, Mrs. Grey.”
“Good,”
she replies with a sweet smile and kisses me.
*****❦ ♡ ❧*****
________________________________________________
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: The List
Date: September 9, 2011 09:32
To: Christian Grey
That’s definitely at the top.
:D
A x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
________________________________________________
My intercom buzzes.
“Mr. Grey, Barney wishes to
speak to you.”
“Put him through.”
“Mr. Grey, I’d like to show
you the new set-up I’ve created to stop unauthorized access to the server room
if you have time, sir.” I look at my watch. I still have about 30 minutes to
the meeting with the Taiwanese.
“Yeah... I think I have
just enough time. I’ll come over.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll show
you some schematics first, then, I’ll explain how the new entry system to the
server room works,” he says with the excitement of a new toy. A necessary new
expensive toy.
I type and send a message
to Anastasia, but the battery of my cell phone is nearly drained.
____________________________________________________
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Tell Me
Something
New Date: September 9,
2011 09:41
To: Anastasia Grey
You've said that for the
last three days.
Make your mind up. Or...we
could try something else.
;)
Christian Grey
CEO, Enjoying this Game, Grey
Enterprises Holdings Inc.
________________________________________________
I walk out of my office.
“Andrea, I’m going to check
something. I’ll be around the office, but I need you to charge my cell phone,
and if someone calls, answer and take a message.”
“Certainly, sir,” she says
and extends her hand to receive the cell phone. Taylor is standing, and ready
to follow me.
“I won’t be long Taylor.
You can go take a coffee break,” I say, and he nods. Barney’s office isn't far.
He’s got a command central set up on his desk. It’s a geek’s wet dream.
“Mr. Grey! Here’s what I
have for the new system, and I believe you are going to see how beneficial it
will be stopping any and all unauthorized access to our server room which as
you would agree is crucial to our company operations.
It takes him all but ten
minutes to explain the simple yet effective system.
“As I explained to you sir,”
he recaps as we walk to the server room, “there are ten physical security
measures we took. We've already had a lock up system, but clearly it wasn’t as
effective as we thought it was. We also had a surveillance system but now I’ve
added wall cameras as opposed to only overhead cameras to identify the face
entering into the room. We've locked up most vulnerable devises already. We
have the top of the line security system watching over the server room. Now the entry into the room is harder than getting an artifact checked out from
Vatican’s Secret Archives,” he says grinning.
“Well, I just hope that it
does not impede with the functions of the server room should you need to enter
into it quickly.”
“Of course, sir. I’ve
already implemented bypass for that like you would in a safe room. Here, let me
show you,” he says. As he starts demonstrating, Taylor runs towards us full
speed. His face is grim. What the hell happened? My heart rate increases.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure yet. Ana...”
he says, then corrects himself, “Mrs. Grey called trying to reach you.”
“Spit it out! What’s wrong
with Ana?” I ask as I briskly start walking towards my office.
“Something’s wrong, and she’s
not in her office. You need to call her immediately. Andrea said she was very
upset, near tears.”
“Where the hell is Sawyer?”
“I only had the time to
find you sir. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Fuck!” I mutter a curse.
*****❦ ♡ ❧*****
♡ Happy Birthday Khadene! ♡
