Monday, November 26, 2012

Fifty Shades Freed CHAPTER 15


CHAPTER 15

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 clasps my hand and I wince. He 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.”
“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 my 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 tense, lying on top of me, and his growing erection is digging
tantalizingly into my soft, willing flesh, distracting me. What’s this about? Brawling?
Fantasy? Will he hurt me? My inner goddess 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—and I wonder when he came to bed.
As I take a long draught, Christian trails his fingers in small circles up my
thighs, leaving tingling skin in their wake before he cups and squeezes my naked
behind. 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, sporting a boyish and playful
grin.
After placing the glass back on the bedside table, I 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.”
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 move 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 want
him—now, like I always do. I 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. 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 all hands and tongues and touch and taste, quick and urgent.
“Skin,” he murmurs hoarsely, his breathing labored. He drags me up and tugs
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
my skin and turns his attention to my other breast.
“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 I 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 lifts me up 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.
“You’re quiet,” I whisper and kiss his shoulder. He turns and looks at me, his
expression giving nothing away. “That was fun.” 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 trail a finger over his lips. His brow furrows,
as if he doesn’t quite understand the question. Absentmindedly, he kisses
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 halfmoon
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. Why did I mention her?
He stills. His eyes widen with his oh-no-where’s-she-going-with-this 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.
“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.
“Ana Tyson. Punching above your weight!” Ethan applauds as I head into the kitchen
for breakfast. He’s sitting with Mia, and Kate 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 over 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 to 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 stops. 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.
“And you don’t, oh soon-to-be sister-in-law?” I reply, grinning 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.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” Christian wakes me. “We’re about to land. Buckle up.”
I fumble sleepily for my seat belt, but Christian 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 hike and a picnic lunch on top of a spectacular mountain
have 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-you-okay 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 looks 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.
“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 by my question, I think. “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 grasp his hand. He looks at me as if he can’t comprehend what
I’m saying. He gently 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.
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
we’re here in this apartment with all its 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 askHe 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 caress his lovely face. “I had a wonderful weekend.
Thank you.”
He smiles softly. “You’re my reality, Ana,” he murmurs 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 whereis-
she-going-with-this look.
“No Anastasia, I don’t.” His voice is steady and quiet. He caresses my cheek.
“Dr. Flynn said something to me when you left, something that’s stayed with me.
He said I couldn’t be that way if you weren’t so 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.
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
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 . . .
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.
Hannah 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 e-mail 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.”
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
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.
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.
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’ll lighten up on security?
I really 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’ll 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!
Date: September 1, 2011 16:03
To: Christian Grey
I was just asking (rolls eyes). And I’ll 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
Anastasia Grey
Commissioning Editor, SIP
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?
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
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. Hannah taps on my door.
“Come in.”
Prescott is hovering outside. Odd . . .
“Hi, Ana,” says Hannah. “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 Hannah’s eyes
widen at my expression.
Leila? Fuck. What does she want?

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