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Until I feel her pulling me inside.
She cries out and comes, taking me with her so I climax inside her, calling out her name. “Ana, baby.”
I collapse beside her feeling utterly, utterly spent, and lie for a moment, relishing my release. I cannot leave Ana trussed up so, sitting up, I unbuckle her from the spreader bar. She curls up beside me while I rub the life back into her ankles and wrists. When she wiggles her fingers and toes, I lie back down, pulling her against me. She mumbles something unintelligible and I realize she’s asleep.
I kiss her forehead, tug the duvet over her, and I sit up and watch her. Taking a strand of her hair, I rub it between my fingers.
So soft.
I curl the tendril around my index finger.
See, I’m tied to you, Ana.
I kiss the end of her hair and sit back and look out at the darkening sky. I know on the ground it will be dark, but up here, the last vestiges of the day are staining the sky pink and orange and opal. We’re still in the light.
That’s what she’s done.
Brought light into my life.
Light and love.
But she still hasn’t given me an answer.
Say yes, Ana.
Be my wife.
Please.
She stirs and opens her eyes. “I could watch you sleep forever, Ana.” I kiss her forehead once more.
She gives me a drowsy smile and closes her eyes.
“I never want to let you go.”
“I never want to go,” she rambles. “Never let me go.”
“I need you,” I whisper, and her lips lift in a tender smile as her breathing evens out.
She’s asleep.
THURSDAY, JUNE 16, 2011
* * *
Grandpa is laughing. Mia has fallen down on her butt. She’s a baby.
Mia. Mommy and Daddy sit on a blanket. We are in the orchard.
My favorite place.
Elliot is running between the trees.
I lift up Mia and she walks again. Shaky steps.
But I am behind her. Watching her. Walking with her.
I keep her safe.
We have a picnic.
I like picnics.
Mommy makes apple pie.
Mia walks to the blanket. And everyone cheers.
Thank you, Christian.
You take such good care of her, Mommy says.
Mia is a baby. She needs someone to watch over her, I tell Mommy.
Grandpa looks at me.
He’s talking now?
Yes.
Well, that’s just great. Grandpa looks at Mommy.
He has tears in his eyes. But he’s happy. Happy tears.
Elliot runs past us. He has a football.
Let’s play.
Mind the apples.
I look up and behind a tree Jack Hyde is watching us.
I wake. Instantly. My heart racing. Not from fear, but because I was startled by something in my dream.
What was it?
I can’t remember. It’s light outside, and Ana is fast asleep beside me. I check the time. It’s nearly 6:30. I woke up before the alarm. That hasn’t happened for a while—not with my dreamcatcher beside me. The radio comes to life, but I switch it off and snuggle up to Ana, nuzzling her neck.
She stirs.
“Morning, baby,” I whisper, grazing her earlobe. I run my hand up to her breast and gently caress her, feeling her nipple harden beneath my palm. She stretches beside me and I trace her skin to her hip and hold her close. My erection sits in the cleft of her behind.
“You’re pleased to see me,” she says, and wiggles, squeezing my dick.
“I’m very pleased to see you.” My fingers skate over her belly to her sex and I caress her, there and everywhere, as I remind her that there are advantages to waking up together. She’s warm, willing, and ready when I reach over to the bedside table, grab a condom, and lie on top of her, taking my weight on my elbows. I ease her legs apart, then kneel up and rip open the foil packet. “I can’t wait until Saturday.”
She looks up at me eagerly. “Your party?”
“No. I can stop using these fuckers.” I roll the condom on.
“Aptly named.” She giggles.
“Are you giggling, Miss Steele?”
“No,” she says, trying and completely failing to keep a straight face.
“Now is not the time for giggling.” I stare her down, daring her to giggle again.
“I thought you liked it when I giggle.”
“Not now. There’s a time and a place for giggling. This is neither. I need to stop you, and I think I know how.”
Slowly, I ease into her.
“Ah,” she says in my ear.
And we make sweet, unhurried love.
No more giggling.
DRESSED AND ARMED WITH a coffee and a large trash bag from Mrs. Jones, I head up to my playroom. I have one duty to perform while Ana has her shower.
I open the door, step inside, and set down my coffee. It took months to design and source everything for this room. And now I don’t know when or if I’ll use it again.
Don’t dwell, Grey.
I face the reason I’m here—in the corner, my canes. I have several, from all over the world. I run my fingers over my favorite, fashioned from rosewood and the finest leather. I bought it in London. The others are made from bamboo, plastic, carbon fiber, wood, and suede. Carefully, I load them all into the trash bag.
