Chapter Fifteen
I am too warm. Christian warm. His head is on my shoulder, and he’s
breathing softly on my neck while he sleeps, his legs threaded through mine,
his arm around my waist. I linger on the edge of consciousness, aware that if
I wake fully I’ll wake him, too, and he doesn’t sleep enough. Hazily my mind
wanders through the events of yesterday evening. I drank too much—boy did
I drink too much. I’m amazed Christian let me. I smile as I remember him
putting me to bed. That was sweet, real sweet, and unexpected. I conduct a
quick mental inventory of how I’m feeling. Stomach? Fine. Head?
Surprisingly, fine, but fuzzy. My palm is still red from last night. Sheesh. Idly I
think about Christian’s palms when he’s spanked me. I squirm and he
wakes.
“What’s wrong?” Sleepy gray eyes search mine.
“Nothing. Good morning.” I run the fingers of my uninjured hand through his
hair.
“Mrs. Grey, you look lovely this morning,” he says, kissing my cheek, and I
light up from within.
“Thank you for taking care of me last night.”
“I like taking care of you. It’s what I want to do,” he says quietly, but his eyes
betray him as triumph flares in their gray depths. It’s like he’s won the World
Series or the Super Bowl.
Oh, my Fifty.
“You make me feel cherished.”
“That’s because you are,” he murmurs and my heart clenches. He reaches up
to clasp my hand.
I wince. Christian releases me immediately, alarmed. “The punch?”
he asks. His eyes frost as he scrutinizes mine, and his voice is laced with
sudden anger.
“I slapped him. I didn’t punch him.”
“That fucker!”
I thought we’d dealt with this last night.
“I can’t bear that he touched you.”
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“He didn’t hurt me, he was just inappropriate. Christian, I’m okay. My hand’s
a little red, that’s all. Surely you know what that’s like?” I smirk, and his
expression changes to one of amused surprise.
“Why, Mrs. Grey, I am very familiar with that.” His lips twist in amusement. “I
could reacquaint myself with that feeling this minute, should you so wish.”
“Oh, stow your twitching palm, Mr. Grey.” I stroke his face with the injured
hand, my fingers caressing his sideburn. Gently I tug the little hairs. It
distracts him, and he takes my hand and plants a tender kiss in my palm.
Miraculously, the pain disappears.
“Why didn’t you tell me this hurt last night?”
“Um . . . I didn’t really feel it last night. It’s okay now.”
His eyes soften and his mouth twists. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than I deserve.”
“That’s quite a right arm you have there, Mrs. Grey.”
“You’d do well to remember that, Mr. Grey.”
“Oh really?” He rolls suddenly so that he’s fully on top of me, pressing me into
the mattress, holding my wrists above my head. He gazes down at me.
“I’d fight you any day, Mrs. Grey. In fact, subduing you in bed is a fantasy of
mine.” He kisses my throat.
What?
“I thought you subdued me all the time.” I gasp as he nibbles my earlobe.
“Hmm . . . but I’d like some resistance,” he murmurs, his nose skirting my jaw.
Resistance? I still. He stops, releasing my hands, and leans up on his
elbows.
“You want me to fight you? Here?” I whisper, trying to contain my surprise.
Okay—my shock. He nods, his eyes hooded but wary as he gauges my
reaction.
“Now?”
He shrugs, and I see the idea flit through his mind. He gives me his shy smile
and nods again, slowly.
Oh my . . . He’s tensed, lying on top of me, his growing erection digging
tantalizingly into my soft, willing flesh, distracting me. What’s this about?
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shakes her head— Never. She’s got her karate suit on and she’s limbering
up. Claude would be pleased.
“Is this what you meant about coming to bed angry?”
He nods once more, his eyes still wary.
Hmm . . . my Fifty wants to rumble.
“Don’t bite your lip,” he warns.
Compliantly, I release my lip. “I think you have me at a disadvantage, Mr.
Grey.” I bat my lashes and squirm provocatively beneath him. This could be
fun.
“Disadvantage?”
“Surely you’ve already got me where you want me?”
He smirks and presses his groin into mine once more.
“Good point well made, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers and quickly kisses my lips.
Abruptly he shifts and takes me with him, rolling over so I’m straddling him. I
grab his hands, pinning them to the side of his head, and ignore the
protesting ache from my hand. My hair falls in a chestnut veil around us, and I
move my head so that the strands tickle his face. He jerks his face away but
doesn’t try to stop me.
“So, you want to play rough?” I ask, skimming my crotch over his. His mouth
opens and he inhales sharply.
“Yes.” He hisses, and I release him.
“Wait.” I reach over for the glass of water beside the bed. Christian must
have left it here. It’s cool and sparkling—too cool to have been sitting here for
long. Briefly, I wonder when he came to bed. As I take a long draught,
Christian reaches forward and runs his hands up from my knees. His fingers
trail in small circles over my thighs, leaving tingling skin in their wake as they
travel to my naked behind. He cups and squeezes me. Hmm. Taking a leaf
from his impressive repertoire, I lean forward and kiss him, pouring clear
cool water into his mouth. He drinks.
“Very tasty, Mrs. Grey,” he murmurs and grins up at me, boyish and playful.
Placing the glass back on the bedside table, I then remove his hands from
my backside and pin them by his head once more.
“So I’m supposed to be unwilling?” I smirk.
“Yes.”
“I’m not much of an actress.”
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He grins. “Try.”
I lean down and kiss him chastely. “Okay, I’ll play,” I whisper, trailing my teeth
along his jaw, feeling his prickly stubble beneath my teeth and my tongue.
Christian makes a low, sexy sound in his throat and moves, tossing me onto
the bed beside him. I cry out in surprise, then he’s on top of me, and I start to
struggle as he makes a grab for my hands. Roughly, I place my hands on his
chest, pushing with all my might, trying to shift him, while he endeavors to pry
my legs apart with his knee. I continue pushing at his chest— jeez he’s
heavy—but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t freeze as he once might have. He’s
enjoying this! He attempts to grab my wrists, and finally captures one,
despite my valiant attempts to twist it free. It’s my sore hand, so I surrender it
to him, but grab his hair with my other hand and pull hard.
“Ah!” He yanks his head free and gazes down at me, his eyes wild and
carnal.
“Savage,” he whispers, his voice laced with salacious delight. In response to
this one whispered word my libido explodes, and I stop acting. Again I
struggle in vain to wrest my hand out of his hold. At the same time I try to
hook my ankles together, and attempt to buck him off me. He’s too heavy.
Gah— it’s frustrating and hot. With a groan, Christian captures my other
hand. He holds both my wrists in his left hand, and his right travels leisurely—
insolently, almost—down my body, fondling and feeling as it goes, tweaking
my nipple on the way.
I yelp in response, pleasure spiking short, sharp, and hot from my nipple to
my groin. I make another fruitless attempt to buck him off, but he’s just too on
me.
When he tries to kiss me I jerk my head to the side so he can’t. Promptly his
insolent hand moves from the hem of my T-shirt up to my chin, holding me in
place as he runs his teeth along my jaw, mirroring what I did to him earlier.
“Oh, baby, fight me,” he murmurs.
I twist and writhe, trying to free myself from his merciless hold, but it’s
hopeless. He’s much stronger than me. He’s gently biting at my lower lip as
his tongue tries to invade my mouth. And I realize I don’t want to resist him. I
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stop fighting and fervently return his kiss. I don’t care that I haven’t brushed
my teeth. I don’t care that we’re supposed to be playing some game. Desire
hot and hard surges through my bloodstream, and I’m lost, lost to him.
Unhooking my ankles, I wrap my legs around his hips and use my heels to
push his pajamas down over his behind.
“Ana,” he breathes, and he kisses me everywhere. And we’re no longer
wrestling, but quick and urgent, all hands and tongues and touch and taste.
“Skin,” he murmurs hoarsely, his breathing labored. He drags me up and
drags off my T-shirt in one swift move.
“You,” I whisper while I’m upright, because it’s all I can think of to say. I seize
the front his pajamas and yank them down, freeing his erection. I grab and
squeeze him. He’s hard. The air whistles through his teeth as he inhales
sharply, and I revel in his response.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. He leans back, lifting my thighs, tipping me down onto
the bed as I pull and squeeze him tightly, running my hand up and down him.
Feeling a bead of moisture on his tip, I swirl it around with my thumb. As he
lowers me to the mattress, I slip my thumb in my mouth to taste him while his
hands travel up my body, caressing my hips, my stomach, my breasts.
“Taste good?” he asks as he hovers over me, eyes blazing.
“Yes. Here.” I push my thumb into his mouth and he sucks and bites the pad. I
groan, grasp his head and pull him down to me so I can kiss him. Wrapping
my legs around him, I push his pajamas off his legs with my feet, then cradle
him with my legs around his waist. His lips trail from across my jaw to my
chin, nipping softly.
“You’re so beautiful.” He dips his head lower to the base of my throat. “Such
beautiful skin.” His breath is soft as his lips glide down to my breasts.
What? I am panting, confused—wanting, now waiting. I thought this was
going to be quick.
“Christian.” I hear the quiet plea in my voice and reach down, fisting my
hands in his hair.
“Hush,” he whispers and circles my nipple with his tongue before pulling it
into his mouth and tugging hard.
“Ah!” I moan and squirm, tilting my pelvis up to tempt him. He grins against
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“Impatient, Mrs. Grey?” He then sucks hard on my nipple. I tug his hair. He
groans and peers up. “I’ll restrain you,” he warns.
“Take me,” I beg.
“All in good time,” he murmurs against my skin. His hand travels down at an
infuriatingly slow speed to my hip as he worships my nipple with his mouth. I
moan loudly, my breath short and shallow, and try once more to entice him
into me, rocking against him. He’s thick and heavy and close, but he’s taking
his own sweet leisurely time with me.
Fuck this. I struggle and twist, determined to buck him off me again.
“What the—”
Grabbing my hands, Christian pins them down on the bed, my arms spread
wide, and rests his full bodyweight on me, completely subduing me. I am
breathless, wild.
“You wanted resistance,” I say, panting. He rears up over me and gazes
down, his hands still locked around my wrists. I place my heels under his
behind and push. He doesn’t move. Gah!
“You don’t want to play nice?” he asks astonished, his eyes alight with
excitement.
“I just want you to make love to me, Christian.” Could he be any more
obtuse? First we’re fighting and wrestling then he’s all tender and sweet. It’s
confusing. I’m in bed with Mr. Mercurial.
“Please.” I press my heels against his backside once more. Burning gray
eyes search mine. Oh, what is he thinking? He looks momentarily bewildered
and confused. He releases my hands and sits back on his heels, pulling me
into his lap.
“Okay, Mrs. Grey, we’ll do this your way.” He reaches around my waist, lifts,
and slowly lowers me on to him so I’m straddling him.
“Ah!” This is it. This is what I want. This is what I need. Curling my arms
around his neck, I twist my fingers in his hair, glorying in the feeling of him
inside me. I start to move. Taking control, taking him at my pace, at my
speed. He moans, and his lips find mine and we’re lost.
I trail my fingers through the hair on Christian’s chest. He lies on his back, still
and quiet beside me as we both catch our breath. His hand thrums
rhythmically down my back.
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“You’re quiet,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder. He turns and looks down at
me, his expression giving nothing away. “That was fun.” I add. Shit, is
something wrong?
“You confound me, Mrs. Grey.”
“Confound you?”
He shifts so that we’re face to face. “Yes. You. Calling the shots. It’s . . .
different.”
“Good different? Or bad different?” I reach up and trail a finger over his lips.
His brow furrows, as if he doesn’t quite understand the question.
Absentmindedly, he purses his lips to kiss my finger.
“Good different,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
“You’ve never indulged this little fantasy before?” I blush as I say it. Do I really
want to know any more about my husband’s colorful . . . um, kaleidoscopic,
sex life before me? My subconscious eyes me warily over her tortoiseshell
half-moon specs. Do you really want to go there?
“No, Anastasia, you can touch me.” It’s a simple explanation that speaks
volumes. Of course, the fifteen couldn’t.
“Mrs. Robinson could touch you.” I murmur the words before my brain
registers what I’ve said. Shit.
He stills. His eyes widen with his oh-no-where’s-she-going-withthis?
expression. “That was different,” he whispers. Suddenly I want to know.
“Good different or bad different?”
He gazes at me. Doubt and possibly pain flit across his face, and fleetingly
he looks like a man drowning. Why did I mention her?
“Bad, I think.” His words are barely audible.
Holy shit!
“I thought you liked it.”
“I did. At the time.”
“Not now?”
He gazes at me, eyes wide, then slowly shakes his head. Oh my . . . “Oh,
Christian.” I’m overwhelmed by the feelings that swamp me. My lost boy. I
launch myself at him and kiss his face, his throat, his chest, his little round
scars. He groans, pulls me to him, and kisses me passionately. And very
slowly, and tenderly, at his pace, he makes love to me once more.
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“Ana Tyson. Punching above your weight!” Ethan applauds as I head into the
kitchen for breakfast. He, Mia, and Kate are sitting at the breakfast bar while
Mrs. Bentley cooks waffles. Christian is nowhere to be seen.
“Good morning, Mrs. Grey.” Mrs. Bentley smiles. “What would you like for
breakfast?”
“Good Morning. Whatever’s going, thank you. Where’s Christian?”
“Outside.” Kate gestures with her head toward the backyard. I wander over to
the window that looks out onto the yard and the mountains beyond. It’s a
clear, powder-blue summer day, and my beautiful husband is about twenty
feet away in deep discussion with some guy.
“That’s Mr. Bentley he’s talking to,” calls Mia from the breakfast bar. I turn to
look at her, distracted by her sulky tone. She looks venomously at Ethan. Oh
dear. I wonder once more what’s going on between them. Frowning I turn my
attention back to my husband and Mr. Bentley.
Mrs. Bentley’s husband is fair-haired, dark eyed and wiry, dressed in work
pants and an Aspen Fire Department T-shirt. Christian is dressed in his
black jeans and T-shirt. As the two men amble across the lawn toward the
house lost in their conversation, Christian casually bends to pick up what
looks like a bamboo cane that must have been blown over or discarded in
the flowerbed. Pausing, Christian absentmindedly holds out the cane at
arm’s length as if weighing it carefully and swipes it through the air, just once.
Oh . . .
Mr. Bentley appears to see nothing odd in his behavior. They continue their
discussion, nearer the house this time, then pause once more, and Christian
repeats the gesture. The tip of the cane hits the ground. Glancing up,
Christian sees me standing at the window. Suddenly I feel as if I’m spying on
him. He blinks. I give him an embarrassed wave then turn and walk back to
the breakfast bar.
“What were you doing?” asks Kate.
“Just watching Christian.”
“You have got it bad.” She snorts.
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“And you don’t, oh soon-to-be sister-in-law?” I reply, grinning at her and trying
to bury the disquieting visual of Christian wielding a cane. I am startled when
Kate leaps up and hugs me.
“Sister!” she exclaims, and it’s hard not to be swept up in her joy.
~o0o~
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Christian wakes me. “We’re coming in to land. Buckle
up.”
I fumble sleepily for my seat belt, but Christian leans over and fastens it for
me. He kisses my forehead before settling back into his seat. I lean my head
on his shoulder again and close my eyes. An impossibly long walk, followed
by a picnic lunch on top of a spectacular mountain, has exhausted me. The
rest of our party is quiet, too—even Mia. She looks despondent, as she has
all day. I wonder how her campaign with Ethan is going. I don’t even know
where they slept last night. My eyes catch hers and I give a small are-youokay?
smile. She gives me a brief sad smile in return and goes back to her
book. I peek up at Christian through my lashes. He’s working on a contract or
something, reading it through and annotating the margins. But he seems
relaxed. Elliot is snoring softly beside Kate.
I have yet to corner Elliot and quiz him about Gia, but it’s been impossible to
pry him away from Kate. Christian isn’t interested enough to ask, which is
irritating, but I haven’t pressed him. We’ve been enjoying ourselves too
much. Elliot rests his hand possessively on Kate’s knee. She’s looking
radiant, and to think that only yesterday afternoon she was so unsure of him.
What did Christian call him?
Lelliot. Perhaps that’s a family nickname? It was sweet, better than
manwhore. Abruptly, Elliot opens his eyes and gazes straight at me. I blush,
caught staring.
He grins. “I sure love your blush, Ana,” he teases, stretching. Kate gives me
her self-satisfied, cat-ate-the-canary smile. Officer Beighley announces our
approach to Sea-Tac, and Christian clasps my hand.
~o0o~
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“How was your weekend, Mrs. Grey?” Christian asks once we’re in the Audi
heading back to Escala. Taylor and Ryan are up front.
“Good, thank you.” I smile, feeling shy all of a sudden.
“We can go anytime. Take anyone you wish to take.”
“We should take Ray. He’d like the fishing.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“How was it for you?” I ask.
“Good,” he says after a moment, surprised I think, by my question.
“Real good.”
“You seemed to relax.”
He shrugs. “I knew you were safe.”
I frown. “Christian, I’m safe most of the time. I’ve told you before, you’ll keel
over at forty if you keep up this level of anxiety. And I want to grow old and
gray with you.” I reach over and grasp his hand. He looks at me as if he can’t
comprehend what I’m saying. Gently taking my hand, he kisses my knuckles
and changes the subject.
“How’s your hand?”
“It’s better, thank you.”
He smiles. “Very good, Mrs. Grey. You ready to face Gia again?”
Oh crap. I’d forgotten we were seeing her this evening to go over the final
plans. I roll my eyes. “I might want to keep you out of the way, keep you safe.”
I smirk.
“Protecting me?” Christian is laughing at me.
“As ever, Mr. Grey. From all sexual predators,” I whisper.
“As ever, Mr. Grey. From all sexual predators,” I whisper.
~o0o~
Christian is brushing his teeth when I crawl into bed. Tomorrow we go back
to reality—back to work, the paparazzi, and to Jack in custody but with the
possibility that he has an accomplice. Hmm . . . Christian was vague about
that. Does he know? And if he did know, would he tell me? I sigh. Getting
information out of Christian is like pulling teeth, and we’ve had such a lovely
weekend. Do I want to ruin the feel-good moment by trying to drag the
information out of him?
It’s been a revelation to see him out of his normal environment, outside this
apartment, relaxed and happy with his family. I wonder vaguely if it’s because
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memories and associations—that he gets wound up. Maybe we should
move.
I snort. We are moving—we’re having a huge house refurbished on the
coast. Gia’s plans are complete and approved, and Elliot’s team starts
building next week. I chuckle as I recall Gia’s shocked expression when I told
her that I’d seen her in Aspen. Turns out it was nothing but co-incidence.
She’d camped out at her holiday place to work solely on our plans. For one
awful moment I’d thought she’d had a hand in choosing the ring, but
apparently not. But I still don’t trust Gia; I want to hear the same story from
Elliot. At least she kept her distance from Christian this time.
I look out at the night sky. I will miss this view. This panoramic vista . . .
Seattle at our feet, so full of possibilities, yet so far removed. Maybe that’s
Christian’s problem—he’s been too isolated from real life for too long, thanks
to his self-imposed exile. Yet with his family around him, he is less
controlling, less anxious—freer, happier. I wonder what Flynn would make of
all that. Holy crap! Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe he needs his own family. I
shake my head in denial—
we’re too young, too new to all this. Christian strides into the room, looking
his usual gorgeous but pensive self.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He nods distractedly as he climbs into bed.
“I’m not looking forward to going back to reality,” I murmur.
“No?”
I shake my head and reach up to caress his lovely face. “I had a wonderful
weekend. Thank you.”
He smiles softly. “You’re my reality, Ana,” he murmurs, leans forward, and
kisses me.
“Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?” he asks, perplexed.
“You know. The caning . . . and stuff,” I whisper, embarrassed. He stares at
me, his gaze impassive. Then doubt crosses his face, his where-is-shegoing-
with-this look.
“No Anastasia, I don’t.” His voice is steady and quiet. He caresses my
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inclined. It was a revelation.” He stops, and frowns. “I didn’t know any other
way, Ana. Now I do. It’s been educational.”
“Me, educate you?” I scoff.
His eyes soften. “Do you miss it?” he asks.
Oh!
“I don’t want you to hurt me, but I like to play, Christian. You know that. If you
wanted to do something . . .” I shrug, gazing at him.
“Something?”
“You know, with a flogger or your crop—” I stop, blushing. He raises his brow,
surprised. “Well . . . we’ll see. Right now, I’d like some good old-fashioned
vanilla.” His thumb skirts my bottom lip, and he kisses me once more.
~o0o~
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Good Morning
Date: August 29, 2011 09:14
To: Christian Grey
Mr. Grey
I just wanted to tell you that I love you.
That is all.
Yours Always
A x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Banishing Monday Blues
Date: August 29, 2011 09:18
To: Anastasia Grey
Mrs. Grey
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What gratifying words to hear from one’s wife (errant or not) on a Monday
morning.
Let me assure you that I feel exactly the same way. Sorry about the dinner
this evening. I hope it won’t be too tedious for you.
x
Christian Grey,
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Oh yes. The American Shipbuilding Association dinner. I roll my eyes . . .
more stuffed shirts. Christian really does take me to the most fascinating
functions.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Ships that pass in the night
Date: August 29, 2011 09:26
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
I am sure you can think of a way to spice up the dinner . . . Yours in
anticipation
Mrs. G. x
Anastasia (non-errant) Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Variety is the Spice of Life
Date: August 29, 2011 09:35
To: Anastasia Grey
Mrs. Grey
I have a few ideas . . .
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x
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Now Impatient for the ASA Dinner Inc.
All the muscles in my belly clench. Hmm . . . I wonder what he’ll dream up.
Hanna knocks on the door, interrupting my reverie.
“Ready to go through your schedule for this week, Ana?”
“Sure. Sit.” I smile, recovering my equilibrium, and minimize my email
program. “I’ve had to move a couple of appointments. Mr. Fox next week and
Dr.—”
My phone rings, interrupting her. It’s Roach. He asks me up to his office.
“Can we pick this up in twenty minutes?”
“Of course.”
~o0o~
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Last night
Date: August 30, 2011 09:24
To: Anastasia Grey
Was . . . fun.
Who would have thought the ASA annual dinner could be so stimulating?
As ever, you never disappoint, Mrs. Grey.
I love you.
x
Christian Grey
In awe, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Grey
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Subject: I love a good ball game . . .
Date: August 30, 2011 09:33
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey
I have missed the silver balls.
You never disappoint.
That is all.
Mrs. G. x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
Hannah taps on my door, interrupting my erotic thoughts of the previous
evening. Christian’s hands . . . his mouth.
“Come in.”
“Ana, Mr. Roach’s PA just called. He’d like you to attend a meeting this
morning. It means I have to move some of your appointments again. Is that
okay.”
His tongue.
“Sure. Yes,” I mutter trying to halt my wayward thoughts. She grins and ducks
out of my office . . . leaving me with my delicious memory of last night.
~o0o~
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Hyde
Date: September 1, 2011 15:24
To: Anastasia Grey
Anastasia
For your information, Hyde has been refused bail and remanded in custody.
He’s charged with attempted kidnap and arson. As yet no date has been set
for the trial.
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Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Hyde
Date: September 1, 2011 15:53
To: Christian Grey
That’s good news.
Does this mean you’l lighten up on security?
I real y don’t see eye to eye with Prescott.
Ana x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Hyde
Date: September 1, 2011 15:59
To: Anastasia Grey
No. Security will remain in place. No arguments.
What’s wrong with Prescott? If you don’t like her, we’l replace her.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
I scowl at his high-handed e-mail. Prescott isn’t that bad.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Keep your hair on!
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Date: September 1, 2011 16:03
To: Christian Grey
I was just asking (rol s eyes). And I’l think about Prescott. Stow that twitchy
palm!
Ana x
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Don’t tempt me.
Date: September 1, 2011 16:11
To: Anastasia Grey
I can assure you, Mrs. Grey, that my hair is very firmly attached—has this not
been demonstrated often enough by your good self?
My palm, however, is twitching.
I might do something about that tonight.
x
Christian Grey
Not bald yet CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Squirm
Date: September 1, 2011 16:20
To: Christian Grey
Promises, promises . . .
Now stop pestering me. I am trying to work; I have an impromptu meeting
with an author. Will try not to be distracted by thoughts of you during the
meeting.
A x
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Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
~o0o~
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: Sailing & Soaring & Spanking Date: September 5, 2011 09:18
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 09:25
To: Anastasia Grey
Is to spoil you, Mrs. Grey.
And keep you safe because I love you.
Christian Grey
Smitten CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
Oh my. Could he be any more romantic?
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E L JAMES
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: My life’s mission . . .
Date: September 5, 2011 09:33
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
~o0o~
The following day, I gaze at the calendar on my desk. Only five days until
September 10—my birthday. I know we are driving out to the house to see
how Elliot and his crew are progressing. Hmm . . . I wonder if Christian has
any other plans? I smile at the thought. Hanna taps on my door.
“Come in.”
Prescott is hovering outside . Odd . . .
“Hi, Ana,” says Hanna. “There’s a Leila Williams here to see you?
She says it’s personal.”
“Leila Williams? I don’t know a . . .” My mouth goes dry, and Hanna’s eyes
widen at my expression.
Leila? Fuck. What does she want?
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