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"I like touching you." My fingers skate down to his navel then southward along his happy, happy trail. His lips part as his breathing changes, his eyes darken and his erection stirs and twitches beneath me. Holy cow. Round two.
"Again?" I murmur.
He smiles. "Oh yes, Miss Steele, again."
What a delicious way to spend a Saturday afternoon. I stand beneath the shower, absentmindedly washing myself, careful not to wet my tied-back hair, contemplating the last couple of hours. Christian and vanilla seem to be going well.
He's revealed so much today. It's staggering, trying to assimilate all the information and to reflect on what I've learned: his salary details - Whoa, he's stinking rich, and for someone so young; it's just extraordinary - and the dossiers he has on me and on all his brunette submissives. I wonder if they are all in that filing cabinet?
My subconscious purses her lips at me and shakes her head - don't even go there. I frown. Just a quick peek?
And there's Leila - with a gun, potentially, somewhere - and her crap taste in music still on his iPod. But even worse, Mrs. Paedo Robinson, I cannot wrap my head around her, and I don't want to. I don't want her to be a shimmering-haired specter in our relationship.
He's right, I do go off the deep end when I think of her, so perhaps it's best if I don't.
I step out of the shower and dry myself, and I'm suddenly seized by unexpected anger.
But who wouldn't go off the deep end? What normal, sane person would do that to a fifteen-year-old boy? How much has she contributed to his f**kedupness? I don't understand her. And worse still, he says she helped him. How?
I think of his scars, the stark physical embodiment of a horrific childhood and a sickening reminder of what mental scars he must bear. My sweet, sad Fifty Shades. He's said such loving things today. He's crazy for me.
Staring at my reflection, I smile at the memory of his words, my heart brimming once more, and my face transforms with a ridiculous smile. Perhaps we can make this work. But how long will he want to do this without wanting to beat the crap out of me because I cross some arbitrary line?
My smile dissolves. This is what I don't know. This is the shadow that hangs over us.
Kinky f**kery, yes, I can do that, but more?
My subconscious stares at me blankly, for once offering no snarky words of wisdom. I head back to my bedroom to dress.
Christian is downstairs getting ready, doing whatever he's doing, so I have the bedroom to myself. As well as all the dresses in the closet, I have drawers full of new underwear. I select a black bustier corset creation with a price tag of five hundred forty dollars. It has silver trim like filigree and the briefest of panties to match. Thigh-high stockings, too, in a natural color, so fine, pure silk. Wow, they feel... slinky... and kind of hot... yeah.
I am reaching for the dress when Christian enters unannounced. Whoa, you could knock! He stands immobilized, staring at me, gray eyes glimmering, hungrily. I blush crimson everywhere, it feels. He is wearing a white shirt and black suit pants, the neck of his shirt is open. I can see the lipstick line still in place, and he's still staring.
"Can I help you, Mr. Grey? I assume there is some purpose to your visit other than to gawk mindlessly at me."
"I am rather enjoying my mindless gawk, thank you, Miss Steele," he murmurs darkly, stepping further into the room and drinking me in. "Remind me to send a personal note of thanks to Caroline Acton."
I frown. Who the hell is she?
"The personal shopper at Neiman's," he says, spookily answering my unspoken question."Oh."
"I'm quite distracted."
"I can see that. What do you want, Christian?" I give him my no-nonsense stare.
He retaliates with his crooked smile and pulls the silver ball egg-things from his pocket, stopping me in my tracks. Holy shit! He wants to spank me? Now? Why?
"It's not what you think," he says quickly.
"Enlighten me," I whisper.
"I thought you could wear these tonight."
And the implications of that sentence hang between us as the idea sinks in.
"To this event?" I'm shocked.
He nods slowly, his eyes darkening.
Oh my.
"Will you spank me later?"
"No."
For a moment, I feel a tiny fleeting stab of disappointment.
He chuckles. "You want me to?"
I swallow. I just don't know.
"Well, rest assured I am not going to touch you like that, not even if you beg me."
Oh! This is news.
"Do you want to play this game?" he continues, holding up the balls. "You can always take them out if it's too much."
I gaze at him. He looks so wickedly tempting - unkempt, recently f**ked hair, dark eyes dancing with erotic thoughts, that beautiful sculptured mouth, lips raised in a sexy, amused smile.
"Okay," I acquiesce softly. Hell, yes! My inner goddess has found her voice and is shouting from the rooftops.
"Good girl," Christian grins. "Come here, and I'll put them in, once you've put your shoes on."
My shoes? I turn and glance at the dove gray suede stilettos that match the dress I've chosen to wear.
Humor him! my inner goddess barks at me.
He holds out his hand to support me while I step into the Christian Louboutin shoes, a steal at three-thousand two hundred ninety-five dollars. I must be at least five inches taller now. He leads me to the bedside and doesn't sit, but walks over to the only chair in the room.
Picking it up, he carries it over and places it in front of me.
"When I nod, you bend down and hold on to the chair. Understand?" His voice is husky.
"Yes."
