Chapter 21


It’s weird waking up the next morning and seeing the things of my old room surrounding me. It’s been so long since I’ve been home that everything that was once familiar to me now feels like like a collection of ancient relics from a past life. A simple life, unconvoluted by mind fuck games, media attention, pending university investigations, or the beautiful man that is currently wrapped around me, lost in sleep.

I worm my way out of his grip, careful not to wake him, as I slip out of bed and make my way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee and try and figure out what to do for breakfast. As I make my way down the hallway, I check my phone which has blown up over night.

From Kate:

Expert Journalist Opinion: That interview went FANTASTIC! You looked beautiful, Christian looked alright, lol. Are you in Boston? 😉

From Carter:

Anastasia Steele, you shady lady! Fuck that secretary girl or whatever she is.

From Elliot:

I think the interview went great, although I’m surprised they managed to get Christian’s big head in the frame. Haha, JK. Hope you’re both having a great weekend, we need to hang out soon. LY

From Christian:

You’re asleep next to me, but I thought you should see this very interesting article I have been reading tonight:

From Luke:

You need to text me and tell me where you’re at. What were you thinking going out of town without security, Ana? I watched the interview. You two are so perfect, it’s nauseating. Haha. Seriously though, text me.


From Bob:

Good job, kiddo. Your mom will call you later, but I just want you to know that I’m glad you’re happy.

From Grace:

So happy to see you two so in love again! I knew you’d find a way back to one another! My house for Sunday dinner?

From Mia:

I had to work through the interview but I heard it went great. I’m still mad at Christian but I’m glad you two are back together. Can we have lunch or something soon? Just you and me?

From Ethan:

Nationally televised interview? Banana is going places in the world. I didn’t know you and Grey were back together… When did that happen? Kate never tells me anything.

I shake my head and start my long list of responses, but just as I’m typing out a text to Luke about how he should be worrying about Leah this weekend, not me, my phone rings.

“Hi, Mom,” I answer.

“Well, that interview was a little… surprising,” She says, and I take a deep breath as I prepare myself for the lecture I know is coming.

“Surprising?” I ask.

“When you said this was all lies, I thought you meant you weren’t involved with him at all… When I turned on this interview, I wasn’t expecting to watch him basically propose to you on national TV.”

“He didn’t propose, Mom. He was just… making a statement about a future we are both hoping for.”

“So, you two are just back together? Just like that?” She asks and I can hear the disapproval in her voice.

“No, not just like that. We’ve worked at this, Mom, both of us.”

“You’ve been there for two weeks, Anastasia.”

“But we’ve been working towards this moment for two years. He hasn’t tricked me into being in a relationship with him, Mom. I’m here because this is where I want to be. I love him, and he loves me, and there’s no reason we shouldn’t be together.”

“Oh, I can think of a few reasons!” She says and I let out an irritated huff.


“So after everything he put you through, you’re just going to take him back? You don’t care that he lied, or that he hurt you and everyone around him, or that he doesn’t even seem to care?”

“Stop it, Mom. He does care, and he apologized to me and to his family. There are other things going on here, bigger things than just one day in history. He made a mistake, he owns that, but he can’t rewrite the past. He apologized for what happened that day, and for all the hurt that it caused. I forgave him. We’re moving on, you need to, too.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than an apology for me to forgive him for what he did to you, for what I had to watch my daughter go through because of him. He’s dangerous for you, Anastasia, and I don’t approve of your relationship with him.”

“Well, that’s just too bad then. You’ll have to forgive me for not wanting to take relationship advice from someone who’s been married four times.”

“Anastasia Rose-“

I hang up the phone. I’m not going to fight with my mom. This is not about her and I’m not going to let her turn my happiness into a personal attack on her. This is another reason I miss Ray. I know that he would just want me to be happy, and as long as that was true, he’d be supportive.

I decide the best bet for breakfast is to probably go out since going to the grocery store to find something to make just isn’t worth the effort, but as I make my way back to my bedroom to wake Christian, I find myself pausing at the closed door to my father’s bedroom.

Pushing aside the childhood guilt that screams, “off limits!”, I slowly turn the knob, push open the door, and let myself inside. The room is tidy, but that isn’t odd. A lifetime of military service has made my father an extremely clean and well organized man. There isn’t, however, a tattered, second hand book resting on his nightstand or the picture of him with my mom and I on the first day of the State Fair in Puyallup from when I was seven on the dresser, and their absence is a blatant reminder that Ray is gone.

I give the room a long examining look, thinking I might take something to keep with me for his last year away. I walk into the small, walk-in closet to my right, and when I open the door to see the line of neatly hung shirts hanging in the dark, I feel a wave of warmth wash over me.

I can smell him.

I reach out and grab onto the sleeve of one of his jackets and pull it to my face, inhaling the faint but comforting scent of linen, mowed grass, and sawdust that is wholly and entirely my dad. I pull the jacket off the hanger and wrap it around me, feeling the scent envelop me like a warm hug, and then look carefully through his sweatshirts for anything else I can take with me.

“What are you doing?” I hear Christian say from the entrance of the closet, and the surprise of hearing his voice makes me jump.

“Christian,” I gasp, feeling my heart pound in my chest. He smirks at me before reaching up and pulling the cord on the light hanging from the ceiling.

“Why are you in a dark closet, Ana?” He asks.

“I… I just… I was thinking about maybe taking a few of my dad’s things with me to have after we leave.”

“Do you have a problem wearing your own clothes?” He asks, amused as he nods to his Harvard t-shirt peeking out underneath my dad’s jacket.

“I don’t even want to hear from you, panty thief,” I say dismissively. I reach up and pull a tattered black sweatshirt from my dad’s company off the hanger and then follow Christian out of the closet and back into my bedroom. Once we’re dressed, I take him to a restaurant in town called The Beehive for breakfast.

When we walk through the door, I look around and realize that I recognize everyone seated in the restaurant, and when we’re shown a table, each different group comes over to say hi and ask about Ray and how I’m doing at Harvard. Only a few people seem to know who Christian is, and even that only seems to be because they watched the interview on TV last night. They gush about how handsome he is, and tell him what a wonderful girl I am, and while my cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment, Christian is gracious and assures them he’s well aware how lucky he is to have me as his girlfriend.

“You’re quite the local hero,” Christian says, smiling at me as the last of the restaurant patrons to come over to say hi heads back to their table.

I roll my eyes. “It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone and everyone’s business,” I tell him. “I’ve just been gone for a while and they probably need some new gossip, which I’m sure we provided in droves thanks to that interview last night.”

The breakfast selection is not impressive. I order my dad’s favorite, biscuits and gravy, and to my surprise, rather than try to invent some kind of high protien, low fat menu substitute, Christian orders blueberry pancakes and bacon. I spend the morning giggling over my breakfast, while Christian glances from table to table, making up the dramatic life stories of each person in the restaurant. He’s on his sixth different affair when he’s interrupted by his phone ringing.

“Hold on, it’s Ros,” He says. He slips some cash into the black book on the table and then gets up to answer the phone. I wait for the waitress to pick it up, politely decline her offer for change, and then follow after Christian, who I find pacing in the parking lot.

“No, of course not. I’ll speak with Andrea and have anything that can’t be postponed rescheduled to do over WebEx. Get a private plane and charge it to my expense account. Good, I’ll see you Monday.”

“What was that about?” I ask as he hangs up the phone and we climb into the Lincoln.

“Ros and I have to go to New York on Monday. I’ll be gone for three days,” He says.

“Oh,” I say, slightly disappointed.

“You should come with me.”

“I can’t go with you, I have an actual job now, and I’m very busy,” I tell him and he frowns.

“Three days is a long time though… especially if we’re not having sex this weekend,” He says.

“We’ll survive,” I reply, but I have to admit that six days without him feels like a lot now. Especially since we haven’t been apart for more than a few hours since we’ve been back together. I like it that way.

“You’ll be okay alone in the apartment?” He asks. “It’s kind of lonely by yourself.”

“Yeah,” I shrug. “Luke will be there.”

“And Mrs. Jones,” He adds as though he would prefer that was the company I focused on. Hmm… maybe a few days alone in his apartment with Luke isn’t the best way to ease his concerns about our friendship…

“Would you care if I asked Kate to come and stay with me?” I ask and he looks relieved.

“No. I’d feel better knowing you weren’t alone,” He says and I nod.

“I will then.”

When we get back to the house, Christian spends the entire morning on the phone with Andrea, Ros and Taylor, changing his schedule around and then filling the empty spaces with meetings with some new prospective client in New York. It’s a beautiful summer morning, so while he’s dealing with work things, I decide to take some of the manuscripts I’ve brought with me out back to read in the hammock Ray has strung between the two oak trees in the back yard, but when I get there, I find it laying on the ground hidden in the sea of unruly, too long grass.

I bite down on my lip as I look around at the dishevelled state of the yard. Even though I’m here, and I have all of my Dad’s things around me, this just illustrates that he’s not here. Just like me, this place seems to be falling apart without him. I have a brief vision of him coming home and seeing everything looking like this and then having to put everything back together on his own. In that moment, I realize that, for as much as I want this to be home, I don’t live here anymore. If Ray gets home in time to see me graduate, I’ll still be living in Cambridge and when I come back, I’ll most likely be moving to Seattle, back into Escala to really start my life with Christian.

When Ray comes home, it’s going to be to an empty house and that thought is like a knife twisting in my stomach. I don’t wanting him coming home and feeling abandoned, his broken down home reflecting feelings of being forgotten. Left behind.

I’m not going to let that happen.

I walk purposefully over to the vegetable garden my father always slaved over every summer and begin yanking up the weeds that have taken over. There are so many to pull that thirty minutes later, I have a heaping pile next to me but am only just starting to see the soil below. My hands feel raw from repeatedly yanking on the difficult, sharp stems of the noxious plants. I know I should have gotten gloves out of the garage before doing this, but I don’t want to stop now. I’ve resolved that today, I’m going to turn this place around and right now, I’m on a roll.

I hear the screen door from the garage groan and then slam closed with a high pitched rattle as Christian’s footsteps make their way to me across the backyard.

“Here you are,” He says, when his shadow falls over me. “What are you doing?”

“Pulling weeds,” I say, finally stopping to turn and look up at him.

“I see that,” He says, staring down at the pile next to me. “Why are you pulling weeds?”

“So my dad doesn’t think I abandoned him,” I say, and I don’t even need to see his reaction to realize how stupid that sounds. “Look, we don’t have much… but all of this means a lot to him. I just don’t want him to come home and see the yard like this.”

“He’s not coming back for over a year, Ana…” Christian says. “Properties have to be maintained. Pulling weeds now isn’t going to matter a year from now.”

“Then I’ll come back. Every weekend if I have to,” I argue.

“I think that’s a little unrealistic, don’t you think?” He asks.


“Ana, I can hire someone take care of this. You really don’t have to sit out here and ruin your hands…”

“I’m fine,” I tell him. I turn back to the garden, hearing his low, frustrated sigh, and then feel the sun on my back once again as I listen to him walk away. He doesn’t understand and that’s fine. He grew up differently than I did. He’s never had to be responsible for these kinds of things. He’s always had gardeners, landscapers, housekeepers… Maybe he doesn’t understand the sense of pride that goes into it.

I’m just getting back into my groove when once again I hear the screen door to the garage and when I turn around again, a smile creeps across my face. Christian is walking back out into the yard, dragging my dad’s lawn mower behind him. He doesn’t even look over at me as he reaches down and pulls on the cord that brings the motor to life.

I finish the garden before Christian finishes with the yard, so I take the garden sheers out of the garage and begin trimming the bushes. When Christian leaves for the local hardware store to buy some things to fix my dad’s fence, I pull the dock for my iPod out of my room so we have music to listen to while we work. Like Luke, Christian has a myriad of complaints about my taste in music but as we team up to wash down all the outdoor windows together, I hear him absentmindedly singing the Snoop Dogg part of California Gurls under his breath.

All that ass, hangin’ out, I sing loudly at him, and he turns to glare at me.

“This song is terrible,” He says quickly and I roll my eyes.

“Is that why you know every word?” I ask.

“I do live in the world, Anastasia. It’s not my fault that this song has played literally everywhere I’ve gone for the last year.”

“Oh, no I get it babe… You just accidentally learned all the words to a Katy Perry song. It’s fine,” I laugh.

His eyes narrow again and he picks up the hose in his hand and sprays the window I’m scrubbing with the sponge so that the water sprays all over me.

“Ah!” I scream as I scurry away from the splash zone, and then try and pull my now soaking wet t-shirt away from my skin.

“Oops,” Christian says with a mischievous smile. “Sorry.”

“Oh, you’re going to be…” I say with a laugh, and I run over to the bucket filled with soapy water and pick it up.

“Don’t do it, Anastasia!” He warns, backing away quickly, but I jerk the bucket towards him, drenching him with freezing cold, soapy water.

He gasps as the water soaks through his clothes, and then looks at me incredulously. I stand there, staring nervously at him until the look of shock on his face morphs into a wide, good natured smile.

“You’re so fucking dead,” He says. I scream as he picks up the hose and sprays me right in the chest. Laughter bubbles out of me as I try to run away from him, but he’s faster than me, and when he catches me, he brings me down to the ground, continuing to spray me until I’m soaked from head to toe. The second the water stops, Christian’s lips come down on my mind and, though his face is cold, I kiss him back eagerly. I roll over so that I’m on top of him and run my fingers through his wet hair as I continue to kiss him. When I pull away, he looks up at me with an emotion I can’t read gleaming behind his eyes.

“What?” I ask, smiling down at him so broadly my cheeks hurt.

“I just forgot what this feels like,” He says, and I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Being wet?” I ask with laugh, but he shakes his head.

“No,” He says. “Being happy.”

My smile falters at his disarming confession, but before I can say anything in return, he reaches up and pulls my lips back down to his.

Once we’ve finished with the yard, we each take a shower and then get ready for a night on the town. There is a bar downtown that my dad used to go to with his buddies, and although I’ve never been inside before, I know they have a pool table and liquor, so I figure it can’t be a bad time.

Charlie’s Tavern is small, smoky, and a little run down. Our shoes stick to the floor as we make our way through the surprisingly crowded space towards the bar, but before I make it there, a pair of hands wraps around my arm and I’m pulled into a surprise hug.

“Anastasia Steele!” A girl squeals happily, and as I pull away, I find myself staring at Marissa Freeman, the girl who had everything in high school. Head cheerleader, President of Student Council, head of the Yearbook Committee, Prom Queen, and the girlfriend of the hottest guy at Montesano High School. She’s what I imagine Kate would have been had her parents not moved to Mercer Island before our Freshman year. The key difference between Kate and Marissa though, Kate is my best friend and Marissa Freeman hates my guts.

“Hey…” I say, shocked by her overly friendly attitude.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Seattle. I saw you on TV last night with…” Her voice trails off as she looks over my shoulder and sees Christian standing behind me. “Christian Grey,” She whispers, nearly awe struck.

“Do you want a drink, baby?” He asks, and I turn back to him and nod.

“Yeah, but I’ll come with you,” I reply, because despite Marissa’s apparent 180 on her attitude-about-Ana, I’m not super excited to hang out with her for the whole night. I smile at her in a way that I hope comes across as nice but that isn’t inviting for her to join us, but apparently it’s not good enough because she reaches out her hand for Christian.

“Christian, I’m Marissa. I was really good friends with Anastasia in High School,” She says, smiling sweetly at him.

“Oh,” Christian says, surprised. “Pleased to meet you.”

“We should get a table together, we can catch up, Ana,” She says, and feel my fake smile waver a little.

“Actually… I think we’re just going to wander around for awhile,” I tell her. “But we’ll see you around.”

“You should give me your number!” She says excitedly. “We could have lunch sometime!”

“Uh… Sorry. I don’t have a pen. I’ll Facebook you.”

“Great!” She says, “I’ll hold you too it!”

“Okay!” I reply with the same forced enthusiasm she uses, and then I covertly push against Christian so that we can flee.

“You don’t use Facebook,” He says accusatorily as we head for the bar.

“Yeah, I know. That girl hated me in high school. One guess as to why her attitude has suddenly changed.”

“The interview?”

“Christian Grey,” I say in the same dreamy whisper she used when she spotted him behind me, and he rolls his eyes. When we finally make it to the bar, I try to flag down the bartender, who I’m surprised to see is my dad’s friend, Bill.

“Hey, what’s that girl doing in here?” He yells as a broad smile crosses his face. “You’re not old enough to be in a bar!”

“Yes I am!” I say with a laugh. “I have an ID to prove it and everything!”

“I won’t believe it,” He says. “The Anastasia Steele I know is still eighteen years old and excited to leave for her first year at Harvard.”

“Well now she’s 21 and excited about graduation,” I tell him, and he smiles and reaches over the bar to hug me.

“Sharon said you were on the TV last night with some millionaire guy…” He says.

“A hot, millionaire guy,” I reply, gesturing over my shoulder to Christian, and Bill’s eyes widen with shock.

“Oh, hey there,” He says.

“Bill, this is my boyfriend, Christian Grey. Christian, this is Bill Morgan. He’s friends with my dad.”

“How are you, sir?” Christian asks, shaking his hand and Bill looks at him suspiciously.

“I’m well,” He replies and then turns to me. “Ray know about this boyfriend of yours, Ana?” He asks.

“Uh… not yet. It’s kind of new. Sort of…” I tell him, guiltily. “But I’m going to talk to him on Father’s Day, so I’ll tell him then.”

“I see…” He says, “Well, what can I get you to drink?”

“A round of tequila shots and a couple of beers,” I say. Christian pulls out his credit card and hands it to Bill.

“I’ll just buy out the bar for the rest of the night, put everyone’s drinks on this,” He says and Bill’s eyes widen with shock.

“You’re sure?” He asks.

“Of course I am. Please,” Christian says, holding his card out further for Bill to take.

“Well, that’s mighty generous of you, uh… Mr. Grey,” He says, and Christian gives him a knowing smile.

“It’s my pleasure,” He replies. “And, maybe you could put in a good word about me to Ray.”

Bill laughs. “Oh I don’t know how much that’s going to help, son. Ray Steele has always been very overprotective of his daughter. She’s all he’s got in the world. That man would kill for her, and you’d do well to remember that.”

“Alright, alright!” I say, shaking my head at Bill. “Don’t go scaring him off now.” Christian squeezes my hand, as if to reassure me he isn’t going anywhere, while Bill finally gets around to pouring our drinks. Christian and I both slam down a shot, and I have to hold back a laugh as I watch him grimace.

“Ugh, tequila, huh?” He asks as he takes a drink of beer to wash it down.

“Lightweight,” I tease him. I grab ahold of my beer as we turn and make our way back into the crowd.

With free alcohol for the remainder of the night, everyone around us is having a great time. We make our way around the bar, and I introduce Christian to the people I grew up hanging out with. I do notice that the more times I introduce him as my boyfriend, the more confident he seems to grow… especially with his hands. A couple of guys I only kind of remember from high school ask us if we want to play them in a round of pool and as I agree, I feel Christian’s hand grip tightly to my ass.

“Watch it, now,” I warn him, and he laughs.

“It slipped,” He replies innocently.

We order our fourth round of tequila and a couple more beers each as we head for the pool table. Tom and David are great pool players, Christian and I, not so much. I try to tell myself it’s the alcohol, but really, I think I just suck. I can’t tell if Christian is also terrible, or if he’s just too distracted watching me lean over the table over and over again to care about the outcome of the game.

“We need to be better at this,” I tell him as I watch David sink another ball in the pocket. “Kate and Elliot love to go out and play pool, and we can’t do that with them unless we know we can beat them. I can’t lose to Elliot at anything, I won’t survive.”

“Well, I just put that new pool table in the game room. We can practice on it. I love watching you stretch out over the table baby… and I’d love it even more if you were naked… and wet.”

He leans down and grabs my ass again as he kisses me. I moan as he slips his tongue in my mouth, and even though I take just a second to enjoy it, I pull away and give him a reproachful glance.

“I think you’re drunk, Mr. Grey!” I say.

“A little bit,” He agrees with a slight smile, and he leans down to kiss me again.

“Alright, quit sucking face, Grey,” Tom yells at him. “It’s your shot.”

By the time Christian calls the cab to take us home that night, we’re both a little more than buzzed. He at least can walk out of the bar without stumbling, but the moment we’re in the back seat of the taxi, he pulls me into him and his lips come crashing down on mine. I feel his hand slide down my thigh as he tugs gently to bring my leg up and hook it over his knee. His fingers leave a trail of goosebumps as he lightly runs them up and down my bare arms. I kiss him back ardently, feeling desire begin to bloom inside of me. I want him, and I can practically taste his need for me in his kiss.

Thankfully, it takes us less than three minutes to get back to my house, and Christian hands the driver a $20 bill for our $4.20 fare, not bothering with change as we both hurry out of the cab. Once we’re out in the cool, night air, he wraps me in his arms and kisses me again as he guides me backwards through the darkness towards the house. It’s a surprise when he pushes me against the door, and the way his hands begin to grope my body, I worry that he plans to take me right here, on the front step.

I reach down blindly for the doorknob as I feel his lips and tongue ravishing me, and when I finally find it and push open the door, we’re so lost in one another that we nearly fall to the floor.

“I want you, Anastasia,” Christian whispers against my now slightly swollen lips, and I moan. Whatever reservations I had before are hard to justify or even rationalize in my slightly intoxicated, entirely enamored state of mind.

“I want you too, Christian,” I tell him as I begin pulling off my jacket.

“You’re sure?” He asks, “What about the chair and the Christmas presents?”

“Fuck the chair,” I tell him. “Take me to bed.”

He moans, grabs me by the hips, and lifts me into the air. I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms secured tightly around his neck, and I kiss him again, relishing in his taste and in his fervor. He makes it down the hall in record time, only breaking our kiss to throw me down on the bed and climb over the top of me like a hungry predator. His teeth sink into my bottom lip as his hands find the collar of my button down shirt, and he yanks it open, sending buttons scattering across the floor as he reaches greedily for my breasts. I worry he’s going to try and tear my bra away too, but instead, he pulls me up so that I’m sitting, and hastily peels my open shirt off of me before turning his attention to the hooks on the back of my bra.

Once I’m divested of my shirt and my breasts are free, he lets out a deep, guttural sound that is almost feral as he takes my breast with his mouth. I whimper slightly when his teeth graze my nipple a little too hard, but he releases it immediately and sooths the throb away with his tongue. As he leans over me, I can feel his erection pressing into my leg and I feel heat begin to blossom deep inside of me as I anticipate what is to come.

“Ana,” Christian says in a low, husky voice as he runs his tongue up my cleavage and along the curve of my breast. “I want to try something.”

“What?” I breathe, my voice so full of my need for him that I sound desperate.

“Do you trust me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I say, Anastasia. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” I tell him although the intensity behind his gaze leaves me slightly wary of his intentions.

“I want to tie you up.”

He stares at me, his hands and mouth still for the first time since we left the bar while he waits for my answer. I’m panting as I consider his request. I wouldn’t be able to move, and that thought is slightly intimidating… but he’s restrained me before, with his hands and with his body. It’s always more intense when he holds me still and forces me to absorb the pleasure rather than allow me to fight against it. And, with his hands free, he could do so much more, push me so much further. He hasn’t hurt me before, so I’m not worried about that, and some of the rougher things he’s done have actually been good… really good.

“Okay,” I agree but he doesn’t move away or shift his gaze from mine.

“You’re sure?” He asks.

“Yes, tie me up, Christian.”

He gets off the bed and looks around the room. The patterned, dark gray tie he wore in the interview yesterday is hanging over the back of the chair and he grabs it and turns back to me.

“Put your hands and your wrists together,” He tells me, and I hold my arms out for him. He positions my hands so that my palms are touching and then he begins to wrap the silky tie around my wrists.

“Lie back,” He says, and I move backwards on the bed, something that is made a little difficult by my inability to use my hands, and I lie down so that my head rests on my pillow. “Lift your arms.” He says, and I do, watching with interest as he ties the other end of the necktie in a quick, efficient knot around one of the iron bars in my headboard.

Once my hands are secure, Christian inhales sharply through his teeth and then drags his hands down my arms to my breasts which he kneads firmly, capturing my nipples through his index and middle finger and pulling slightly. He climbs onto the bed and replaces his fingers with his mouth as he begins work on the buttons of my jeans. I groan with protest when his tongue leaves my breast and he moves to the end of the bed to remove my shoes and socks before pulling on my jeans and inching them down my legs. I note that he’s careful to remove my pants and my panties separately, and once he pulls my underwear over my naked feet, I know why. I give him a knowing look as he very deliberately tucks the panties into the pocket of his jeans and the, I don’t give a fuck, smile he gives me in return is a silent challenge.

“Open your legs for me, Anastasia,” He commands, and when I do he grabs both of my legs around my shins and lifts them so I bend my knees, but my feet remain flat on the sheet beneath me. His hands comb over my thighs, pushing my legs as far open as they can go without falling flat to the bed again.

Very slowly he leans down, gripping each of my feet and massaging the arch with his thumbs while his lips move to my right ankle. I moan as I feel his tongue swirl around it once before moving up and leaving a trail of kisses up my calf. He pauses every now and then, at my knee and mid-thigh, to leave a longer, softer kiss before nipping gently at my skin and then brushing over the shadow of indentations left by his teeth with his tongue.

I’m squirming by the time he makes it to the end of my legs, watching with fascination as he drags his tongue up the joint between my thighs and my lower lips. His breath is hot and wet as it washes over me and I can feel my muscles clench with anticipation of what I know is coming.

“You’re so beautiful, Anastasia,” He whispers reverentially as he stares down at my glistening center and gently traces his fingers over my lips, sending tingling shivers down my legs. “And you smell intoxicating.”

He leans forward and presses his face into me, pushing against me until he can’t progress any further, and I feel his mouth begin to move. A long, throaty moan escapes my lips as I pull harshly against my restraints but am unable to move my arms. I want to twist my fingers into his hair, hold him to me, but he doesn’t need my encouragement. He devours me like a starving man, releasing a deep, guttural groan into me as his tongue and lips work their magic. My back arches high off the bed, but his hands hold my hips down to keep me in place. I feel the molten heat begin to spread through my body, flowing down my legs and up through my torso, spreading through my arms, my neck and finally escaping my lips in loud, harsh gasp.

I’m grinding against him, greedily taking everything he gives to me and waiting for more. The heat begins to burn hotter, twisting my body tighter and tighter until finally the dam breaks and I come in his mouth. He moans as he feels me convulsing against his tongue, but he doesn’t stop. He pulls me closer into him, the tenacity in which his mouth moves against me only increased as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. It feels as though it never ends. It simply goes on and on until I’ve been completely wrung out. Still, when the quivering stops and my body relaxes from the near seizure of erotic euphoria that grips me, he doesn’t stop. His mouth is as insistent as ever, and it’s overpowering me.

“Christian,” I whimper, squirming away from him, and while his hands clamp down over my hips to hold me in place, his mouth does move away from me, leaving kisses over my clitoris and pubic bone before he looks up at me.

“You’re mine tonight, Anastasia,” He says in a gravelly voice. “I will do to you as I please and until I have had my fill. I will not stop until I do.”

I bite my lip at the promising implication of his threat and his eyes darken. His fingers brush over me again, dipping inside of me and then swirling around my clitoris as he moves up and lowers his lips to mine. I can taste my arousal in his mouth as he entangles his tongue with mine and between the sensuality of the kiss and his fingers enticing me below, I feel the promising echo of an orgasm begin to rise again.

“Christian, I want you,” I beg him.

“Not yet, baby. There’s so much more I want to do to you,” He says. His teeth sink briefly into my bottom lip, tugging gently on it as he pulls away. He grips onto me and rolls me over onto my stomach, moving me carefully since my arms are tied above my head.

“Get on your knees,” He orders. “Bring that glorious ass into the air.”

I do as he says, and then turn to look at him as he reaches down and opens the drawer in my bedside table. He shifts around the few notebooks, pens, and the pair of glasses I used to wear in middle school before I got contact lenses, but nothing he finds seems to interest him. On the contrary, he frowns.

“Where is it, Anastasia?” He asks and I look at him, confused.

“Where’s what?” I ask.

“Your vibrator. I want to use it on you. Is it under the mattress?”

“No, I haven’t been in this room since I was in High School, Christian. There isn’t a vibrator in here.”

“Come on, Ana,” He says, skeptically.

“Sorry, Grey. I’m clean,” I tell him, and then narrow my eyes. “Stay out of my drawers in Cambridge, though.”

He smiles wickedly at me, the salacious fire still burning brightly behind his eyes. “No toys…” He says. “We’re going to have to improvise then.”

He reaches over, opens my closet door, and begins examining what he finds inside. I stare at him wearily, but in the end all he pulls out is one of the brightly colored, sheer scarves that were big when I was in Middle School. My suspicion returns though, when he stalks back towards me, pulling the scarf taught in his hands.

“I’m going to blindfold you, Anastasia. Everything will feel more intense if you can’t see what I’m doing.” He says. He holds my gaze, waiting for my consent. I nod and he moves to the side of the bed, carefully wrapping the scarf around my eyes until everything is black. I feel a nervous tension as I listen to him move around the room, trying to guess what each sound he makes is. I can distinguish the sound of his jeans hitting the floor, but that’s it. The bed moves as he climbs onto it behind me and I jump when his hands wrap around my hips.

“Relax, Ana,” He says, soothingly. I feel his fingers, no, the tip of his erection brush against me, slowly moving up and down until he’s lubricated by my arousal. “I’m going to fuck you this way, and I’m going to fuck you hard. You’re not going to come. Do you understand me?”

No. No, I do not understand him. I can’t come? What’s the point in that? I don’t even know how to stop it…

“Answer me.”

“No,” I tell him.

“Your pleasure belongs to me, Anastasia. You will come only when and if I allow you to. You will wait until you have my permission, understood?”


I feel the sharp sting of his hand coming down hard on my behind and my words cut off. “If you don’t think you can control yourself, I can stop you from getting off myself. Is that what you want, Anastasia?”

“No,” I whine. He’s still brushing himself over me, teasing me, and I’m aching to push back on him.

“Then you’ll wait until I give you my permission to come?” He asks. The very tip of his erection pushes inside of me and I let out a shaky, needy, gasp of desire. “Promise me, Anastasia.”

“Okay,” I acquiesce. “I won’t come until you tell me.”

“Good girl,” He says. “And I will hold you to that promise. If you do, there will be consequences, Anastasia.”

“Wha-” I begin, but my words are cut off by a loud, unexpected cry when he thrusts forward and buries himself inside of me. His fingers dig into my hips as he pulls me back onto him, doubling the ferocity of the pace he sets as he slams into me again, and again. My hands grip tightly to his tie, stretched tight and straining against the knots securing it to the headboard as I’m pulled back towards Christian on the bed. I can see nothing, but it only amplifies the other sensations. I’m hyper aware of his hands on me, each minute increase in pressure, each shift in his grip, and of course each exquisite movement of him inside of me. He was right, it is more intense this way, and as I moan and pant through the pleasure, I feel the forbidden heat begin to rise within me once again.


I try everything I can think of to stay my orgasm, not thinking about it (or trying to at least), over thinking about it, picturing unsexy things, reciting poetry in my head… but I can’t concentrate on anything besides the feel of him and the increasingly urgent promise of release.

“Don’t do it, Anastasia,” Christian warns me as he feels me begin to tighten around him.

“I can’t…” I protest, partially wishing he would stop and give me a minute to compose myself, but mostly desperately needing him to continue.

“Control it, Anastasia,” He commands, but it’s too far out of reach to me to pull back now. He thrusts into me again, and I detonate. I scream out his name as I fall under the weight of the overwhelming pleasure radiating through my body and to my surprise, Christian doesn’t stop what he’s doing. In fact, he reaches around and begins to massage my clitoris as I clench, helplessly, around him, and the sensation intensifies my orgasm. I’m breathless when I come down, clinging tightly to the restraints around my hands as I struggle to hold myself up. I’m intoxicated, my head spinning and not just from the alcohol. From somewhere far off and distant in the blackness that still covers my eyes, I hear Christian click his tongue disapprovingly.

“Oh, Ana… You came.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, still trying to regain my bearings. “I couldn’t stop it.”

“You knew the rules,” He says, “And I told you what I would do if you came without permission.” I wince slightly as he pulls out of me and then feel a wave of trepidation as I feel, rather than see, him climb off the bed. His fingers tilt my chin so that I’m facing him (I think) and then his lips are on mine. I kiss him eagerly, wondering how the sensual way his tongue moves with mine counts as a consequence until I feel his hand run down my back from my shoulder to my behind…

“I’m going to spank you, Anastasia,” He whispers. “I’m going to hit you eight times, and then I’m going to fuck you again. If you don’t like it, you can tell me to stop, okay?”

Spanking. I’ve done that before, and it’s not all that bad… I can do spanking.

“Okay,” I whisper, and he kisses me again just before I feel his hand leave my behind.

I hiss sharply as his hand comes down, hard. He pauses for a second, gaging my reaction, and then he raises his hand and hits me again. It’s not the same as the other times he’s spanked me in the past. Each swat leaves a biting sting in my rear end that lingers for a moment and just as it begins to dissipate, he hits me again. I’m jolted forward by the sixth swat and now that I’m becoming accustomed to it, it hurts a little less and I find myself starting to enjoy it. The slight pain from each blow resonates in my groin and I revel in it. When he hits me for the seventh time, his aim is a little lower and I feel his hand slap against the lips of my vagina, and the harsh gasps that escape with each blow morph into a high, keening moan.

“You like that?” Christian asks, his tone dark and sultry.

“Yes,” I whisper and he lets out a low, sexy, satisfied sound in response. Once more he raises his hand in the air, and hits me again, and, once again, his fingers slap against my labia. He doesn’t pull his hand away this time, though. Instead, two of his fingers sink into me.

“Oh!” I moan as he slides them in and out of me.

“That’s it, baby. Jesus, you’re so fucking wet,” He whispers as he leans down to kiss me once more. “You really do look so beautiful like this, tied up and at my mercy.” His hands brush over my body again and I imagine him standing back to admire me, which is embarrassing as I can still feel the sting in my behind from my spanking and I assume it has left angry, red marks all over my derriere.

“On your stomach, Ana,” He instructs me, and I do as he asks, flattening myself out as best I can with my hands still tethered. He grabs a hold of me and helps me roll over so that I’m on my back again and then he crawls over the top of me. His lips press gently into my skin randomly as he positions himself at my center and then enters me again. I’m starting to get sore, so I wince slightly as he pushes forward, and he freezes. But the last thing I want is for him to stop. I’ve come undone twice now because of his sexpertice. Now, I want him to fall apart because of me.

“Don’t stop, Christian,” I moan.

“You sure? Do you think you have one more in you?” He asks, as he begins to move again.

“Only one way to find out,” I tell him, and he lets out a low mischievous laugh.

“Let’s see, shall we?”

He lifts my leg over his shoulder so that he can push deeper inside of me. I brace myself, clinging tightly to him with my legs to steady myself as he lifts my behind off the bed to take me from a better angle.

“Ah!” I cry out as he hits the place inside of me that is the epicenter of all of my pleasure receptors. I lose myself in the sound of his moans, finding my own delectation in his ecstasy. His thrusts grow more purposeful while at the same time becoming wilder, and it tells me he’s getting closer to release. He lowers me down on the bed and lies over the top of me so that my breasts press into his chest and as his thrusts become more powerful, I feel myself beginning to build.

“Are you going to come, Ana?” He asks.


“Ask me.”


“Ask me if you can come,” He demands. I’m mewling, hardly able to control the small, lust filled cries that escape my lips, but he is in control of me right now and I know that if I don’t comply, he’ll stop and I’ll be left wanting.

“Please,” I beg. “Please, let me come.”

“Oh, baby,” He groans. His fingers travel down and begin rubbing against my clitoris and I know that I won’t last much longer. “Give it to me, Anastasia. Come for me. Show me how much you love this.”

“Fuck, Christian!” I scream and he growls deep in his throat.

“Master,” He corrects me. “I want you to call me Master.” I cry out again as I’m just about to tip off the edge and his fingers pinch tightly around my clitoris, eliciting a scream from me.

“Say it, Anastasia!” He commands me.


His fingers release my clitoris and I’m ripped apart by my orgasm. The roiling, shaking pleasure is too much for me to simply absorb this time and I begin thrashing beneath him. He’s hands are firm against me, determined to hold me in place and while I lose myself in the dark, masochistic hedonism of him taking control and possession of my body, I feel him find release inside of me.

“Fuck!” He hisses and, to my surprise, rather than pushing deeper inside of me as he usually does, he pulls away and I feel his come fall hot and wet onto my stomach and my breasts. He finishes by rubbing the head of his erection over my still trembling clitoris, coating me in his semen.

“Mine,” He whispers, gruffly, and just as I start to come down, he briefly pushes back inside of me.

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