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She’s crying. “Hey.” I tip her chin back. “Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she says in a breathless rush of denial. I push her hair off her face and wipe the tear that’s slipped down her cheek with my thumb, and kiss her. I shift, pulling out of her, and she winces as I do.
“What’s wrong, Ana? Tell me.”
Watery eyes stare into mine. “It’s just, it’s just sometimes I’m overwhelmed by how much I love you,” she whispers.
My heart melts and mends into one glorious whole. “You have the same effect on me.” I touch my lips to hers in the softest of kisses.
“Do I?”
Ana. “You know you do.”
“Sometimes I know. Not all the time.”
“Back at you, Mrs. Grey.”
What a pair we make, Anastasia.
Her smile lights a path for my dark soul and she leaves a trail of soft, sweet kisses over my chest and cuddles up to me, her cheek against my heart. I stroke her hair and run my fingers down her back. She’s still wearing her bra. It can’t be very comfortable; I undo it, tug down each of the straps so it falls to the floor, joining her blouse.
“Hmm. Skin on skin.” I fold her into my arms and graze my lips over her shoulder and up to her ear. “You smell like heaven, Mrs. Grey.”
“So do you, Mr. Grey.” She kisses my chest again and relaxes into me, letting out what I think is a sigh of contentment.
I don’t know how long we sit, wrapped around each other, but it’s a balm to my soul. We are one. The tension between us gone. I kiss her hair, inhale my wife’s scent, and all is right in my world once more.
“It’s late.” I’m stroking her back and I don’t want to move.
“Your hair still needs cutting.”
I laugh. “That it does, Mrs. Grey. Do you have the energy to finish the job you started?”
“For you, Mr. Grey, anything.” She drops another kiss on my chest and stands up.
“Don’t go.” I capture her hips and turn her around. Quickly, I unzip her skirt so it falls to the floor and I offer Ana my hand so she steps free of it. I take a moment to appreciate my wife wearing nothing but her stockings and garter belt. “You are a mighty fine sight, Mrs. Grey.” Sitting back in the chair, I cross my arms and gawk.
She opens her arms and twirls for me.
“God, I’m a lucky son of a bitch,” I whisper in awe.
“Yes, you are.”
“Put my shirt on and you can cut my hair. Like this, you’ll distract me, and we’ll never get to bed.”
Her wicked smile is sexy. What is she planning? I zip up my pants as she waltzes over to where my shirt lies on the floor, her hips swaying in a sensual rhythm. She bends from her waist, in a pose worthy of Penthouse magazine, leaving nothing to my imagination, collects my shirt, smells it, then, with a coy glance at me, shrugs it on.
Down, boy.
“That’s quite a floor show, Mrs. Grey.”
“Do we have any scissors?” she asks, wearing my shirt and a cheeky smile.
“My study.” My voice is hoarse.
“I’ll go search.” She prances out of the bathroom, leaving me with a semi-hard-on.
Mrs. Mrs. Mrs. Grey.
While Ana is finding scissors, I collect her clothes, fold them, and place them on the vanity. I glance at myself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the man staring back at me.
Giving up a little control in matters sexual with Ana, is extremely satisfying.
I like frantic Ana.
And greedy Ana.
I love that she loves my dick.
Yes. Especially that.
And she’s agreed to be Mrs. Grey in name, too.
I’d call that a good result.
We just have to get better at communicating with each other.
Communicate and compromise.
Ana dashes into the bathroom, catching her breath.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I just ran into Taylor.”
“Oh.” I frown. “Dressed like that?”
Ana’s eyes widen in alarm at my expression. “That’s not Taylor’s fault,” she says quickly.
“No. But still.” I don’t want anyone eyeing my nearly naked wife.
“I’m dressed.”
“Barely.”
“I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me or him.”
I bet. Poor Taylor. Or lucky Taylor. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I remember the bikini-top incident and push that quickly from my mind.
“Did you know he and Gail are, well, together?” she says, sounding a little shocked.
I laugh. “Yes, of course I knew.”
“And you never told me?”
“I thought you knew, too.”
“No.”
“Ana, they’re adults. They live under the same roof. Both unattached. Both attractive.”
She blushes. Why, I don’t know. I’m glad they have each other.
“Well, if you put it like that,” she mutters. “I just thought Gail was older than Taylor.”
“She is, but not by much. Some men like older women—”
Shit.
“I know that,” Ana snaps, scowling.
Shit. Why did I say that? Will Elena always loom over and between us?
