“Enough!” he growls. Reaching behind me, he frees my hands with one tug on my panties. I flex my wrists and stare from under my lashes into scorching eyes that gaze back at me with love and longing and lust. And I realize it’s me that wants to fuck him seven shades of Sunday. I want him badly. I want to watch him come apart beneath me. I grab his erection and scoot over him. Placing my other hand on his shoulder, very gently and slowly, I ease myself onto him. He makes a guttural, feral noise deep in his throat and, reaching up, pulls off my blouse, letting it fall to the floor. His hands move to my hips.
“Still,” he rasps, his hands digging into my flesh. “Please, let me savor this. Savor you.”
I stop. Oh my … he feels so good inside me. He caresses my face, his eyes wide and wild, his lips parted as he breathes. He flexes beneath me and I moan, closing my eyes.
“This is my favorite place,” he whispers. “Inside you. Inside my wife.”
Oh fuck. Christian. I cannot hold back. My fingers glide into his wet hair, my lips seek his, and I start to move. Up and down on my toes, savoring him, savoring me. He groans loudly, and his hands are in my hair and around my back, and his tongue invades my mouth greedily, taking all that I willingly give. After all our arguing today, my frustration with him, his with me—we still have this. We will always have this. I love him so much, it’s almost overwhelming. His hands move to my backside and he controls me, moving me up and down, again and again, at his pace—his hot, slick tempo.
“Ah,” I groan helplessly into his mouth as I’m carried away.
“Yes. Yes, Ana,” he hisses, and I rain kisses on his face, his chin, his jaw, his neck. “Baby,” he breathes, capturing my mouth once more.
“Oh, Christian, I love you. I will always love you.” I’m breathless, wanting him to know, wanting him to be sure of me after our battle of wills today.
He moans loudly and wraps his arms around me tightly as he climaxes with a mournful sob, and it’s enough—enough to push me over the brink once more. I clutch my arms around his head and let go, and I come around him, tears springing to my eyes because I love him so.
“HEY,” HE WHISPERS, TIPPING my chin back and gazing at me with quiet concern. “Why are you crying? Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I mutter reassuringly. He smoothes my hair off my face, wipes away a lone tear with his thumb, and tenderly kisses my lips. He is still inside me. He shifts, and I wince as he pulls out of me.
“What’s wrong, Ana? Tell me.”
I sniff. “It’s just … it’s just sometimes I’m overwhelmed by how much I love you,” I whisper.
After a beat, he smiles his special shy smile—reserved for me, I think. “You have the same effect on me,” he whispers, and kisses me once more. I smile, and inside my joy unfurls and stretches lazily.
“Do I?”
He smirks. “You know you do.”
“Sometimes I know. Not all the time.”
“Back at you, Mrs. Grey.”
I grin and gently place feather light kisses over his chest. I nuzzle his chest hair. Christian caresses my hair and runs a hand down my back. He unclasps my bra and pulls the strap down one arm. I shift, and he tugs the strap down the other arm and drops my bra on the floor.
“Hmm. Skin on skin,” he murmurs appreciatively and folds me in his arms again. He kisses my shoulder and runs his nose up to my ear. “You smell like heaven, Mrs. Grey.”
“So do you, Mr. Grey.” I nuzzle him again and inhale his Christian smell, which is now mixed with the heady scent of sex. I could stay wrapped in his arms like this, sated and happy, forever. It’s just what I need after a full day of back-to-work, arguing, and bitch-slapping. This is where I want to be, and in spite of his control freakery, his megalomania, this is where I belong. Christian buries his nose in my hair and inhales deeply. I let out a contented sigh, and I feel his smile. And we sit, arms clasped around each other, saying nothing.
Eventually reality intrudes.
“It’s late,” Christian says, his fingers methodically stroking my back.
“Your hair still needs cutting.”
He chuckles. “That it does, Mrs. Grey. Do you have the energy to finish the job you started?”
“For you, Mr. Grey, anything.” I kiss his chest once more and reluctantly stand.
“Don’t go.” Grabbing my hips, he turns me around. He straightens then undoes my skirt, letting it drop to the floor. He holds his hand out to me. I take it and step out of my skirt. Now I am dressed solely in stockings and garter belt.
“You are a mighty fine sight, Mrs. Grey.” He sits back in the chair and crosses his arms, giving me a full and frank appraisal.
I hold out my hands and twirl for him.
“God, I’m a lucky son of a bitch,” he says admiringly.
“Yes, you are.”
He grins. “Put my shirt on and you can cut my hair. Like this, you’ll distract me, and we’ll never get to bed.”
I can’t help my answering smile. Knowing that he’s watching my every move, I sashay over to where we left my shoes and his shirt. Bending slowly, I reach down, pick up his shirt, smell it—hmm—then shrug it on.
Christian’s eyes are round. He’s redone his fly and is watching me intently.
“That’s quite a floor show, Mrs. Grey.”
“Do we have any scissors?” I ask innocently, batting my eyelashes.
“My study,” he croaks.
“I’ll go search.” Leaving him, I walk into our bedroom and grab my comb from the dressing table before heading to his study. As I enter the main corridor, I notice the door to Taylor’s office is open. Mrs. Jones is standing just beyond the door. I stop, rooted to the spot.
Taylor is running his fingers down her face and smiling sweetly at her. Then he leans down and kisses her.
Holy shit! Taylor and Mrs. Jones? I gape in astonishment—I mean, I thought … well, I kind of suspected. But obviously they are together! I flush, feeling like a voyeur, and manage to get my feet to move. I scamper across the great room and into Christian’s study. Switching on the light, I walk to his desk. Taylor and Mrs. Jones … Wow! I’m reeling. I always thought Mrs. Jones was older than Taylor. Oh, I have to get my head around this. I open the top drawer and am immediately distracted when I find a gun. Christian has a gun!
A revolver. Holy fuck! I had no idea Christian owned a gun. I take it out, slip the release, and check the cylinder. It’s fully loaded, but light … too light. It must be carbon fiber. What does Christian want with a gun? Jeez, I hope he knows how to use it. Ray’s perpetual warnings about handguns run quickly through my mind. His army training was never lost. These will kill you, Ana. You need to know what you’re doing when you’re handling a firearm. I put the gun back and find the scissors. Retrieving them quickly, I bolt back to Christian, my head buzzing. Taylor and Mrs. Jones … the revolver …
At the entrance to the great room, I run into Taylor.
“Mrs. Grey, excuse me.” His face reddens as he quickly takes in my attire.
“Um, Taylor, hi … um. I’m cutting Christian’s hair!” I blurt out, embarrassed. Taylor is as mortified as I am. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it quickly and stands aside.
“After you, ma’am,” he says formally. I think I’m the color of my old Audi, the submissive special. Could this be more embarrassing?
“Thank you,” I mutter and dash down the hallway. Crap! Will I ever get used to the fact that we’re not alone? I dash into the bathroom, breathless.
“What’s wrong?” Christian is standing in front of the mirror, holding my shoes. All of my scattered clothes are now neatly piled beside the sink.
“I just ran into Taylor.”
“Oh.” Christian frowns. “Dressed like that.”
Oh shit! “That’s not Taylor’s fault.”
Christian’s frown deepens. “No. But still.”
“I’m dressed.”
“Barely.”
“I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me or him.” I try my distraction technique. “Did you know he and Gail are … well, together?”
Christian laughs. “Yes, of course I knew.”
“And you never told me?”
“No.”
“Ana, they’re adults. They live under the same roof. Both unattached. Both attractive.”
I flush, feeling foolish for not having noticed.
“Well, if you put it like that … I just thought Gail was older than Taylor.”
“She is, but not by much.” He gazes at me, perplexed. “Some men like older women—” He stops abruptly and his eyes widen.
I scowl at him. “I know that,” I snap.
Christian looks contrite. He smiles fondly at me. Yes! My distraction technique was successful! My subconscious rolls her eyes at me—but at what cost? Now the unmentionable Mrs. Robinson is looming over us.
“That reminds me,” he says brightly.
“What?” I mutter petulantly. Grabbing the chair, I turn it to face the mirror above the sinks. “Sit,” I order. Christian regards me with indulgent amusement, but does as he’s told and sits back down in the chair. I start to comb through his now merely damp hair.
“I was thinking we could convert the rooms over the garages for them at the new place,” Christian continues. “Make it a home. Then maybe Taylor’s daughter could stay with him more often.” He watches me carefully in the mirror.
“Why doesn’t she stay here?”
“Taylor’s never asked me.”
“Perhaps you should offer. But we’d have to behave ourselves.”
Christian’s brow furrows. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Perhaps that’s why Taylor hasn’t asked. Have you met her?”
“Yes. She’s a sweet thing. Shy. Very pretty. I pay for her schooling.”
Oh! I stop combing and stare at him in the mirror.
“I had no idea.”
He shrugs. “Seemed the least I could do. Also, it means he won’t quit.”
“I’m sure he likes working for you.”
Christian stares at me blankly, then shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“I think he’s very fond of you, Christian.” I resume combing and glance at him. His eyes don’t leave mine.
“You think?”
“Yes. I do.”
He snorts a dismissive yet content sound as if he’s secretly pleased that his staff may like him.
“Good. Will you talk to Gia about the rooms over the garage?”
“Yes, of course.” I don’t feel the same irritation I did before at the mention of her name. My subconscious nods sagely at me. Yes … we done good today. My inner goddess gloats. Now she’ll leave my husband alone and not make him uncomfortable.
I am ready to cut Christian’s hair. “You sure about this? Your last chance to bail.”
“Do your worst, Mrs. Grey. I don’t have to look at me, you do.”
I grin. “Christian, I could look at you all day.”
He shakes his head, exasperated. “It’s just a pretty face, baby.”
“And behind it is a very pretty man.” I kiss his temple. “My man.”
He grins shyly.
Lifting the first lock, I comb it upward and snare it between my index and middle finger. I put the comb in my mouth, take the scissors, and make the first snip, cutting an inch off the length. Christian closes his eyes and sits like a statue, sighing contentedly as I continue. Occasionally he opens his eyes, and I catch him watching me intently. He doesn’t touch me while I work, and I’m grateful. His touch is … distracting.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m done.
“Finished.” I’m pleased with the result. He looks as hot as ever, his hair still floppy and sexy … just a bit shorter.
Christian gazes at himself in the mirror, looking pleasantly surprised. He grins. “Great job, Mrs. Grey.” He turns his head from side to side and snakes his arm around me. Pulling me to him, he kisses and nuzzles my belly.
“Thank you,” he says.
“My pleasure.” I bend and kiss him briefly.
“It’s late. Bed.” He gives my behind a playful slap.
“Ah! I should clean up in here.” There is hair all over the floor.
Christian frowns, as if the thought would never have occurred to him. “Okay, I’ll get the broom,” he says wryly. “I don’t want you embarrassing the staff with your lack of appropriate attire.”
“Do you know where the broom is?” I ask innocently.
This stops Christian in his tracks. “Um … no.”
I laugh. “I’ll go.”
AS I CLIMB INTO bed and wait for Christian to join me, I reflect on how differently this day could have ended. I was so mad at him earlier, and he with me. How am I going to deal with this running-a-company nonsense? I have no desire to run my own company. I am not him. I need to head this off at the pass. Perhaps I should have a safeword for when he’s being overbearing and domineering, for when he’s being an arse. I giggle. Perhaps the safeword should be arse. I find the thought very appealing.
“What?” he says as he climbs into bed beside me wearing only his pajama pants.
“Nothing. Just an idea.”
“What idea?” He stretches out beside me.
Here goes nothing. “Christian, I don’t think I want to run a company.”
He props himself up on his elbow and gazes down at me. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s not something that has ever appealed to me.”
“You’re more than capable, Anastasia.”
“I like to read books, Christian. Running a company will take me away from that.”
“You could be the creative head.”
I frown.
“You see,” he continues, “running a successful company is all about embracing the talent of the individuals you have at your disposal. If that’s where your talents and your interests lie, then you structure the company to enable that. Don’t dismiss it out of hand, Anastasia. You’re a very capable woman. I think you could do anything you wanted if you put your mind to it.”
Whoa! How can he possibly know that I’d be any good at this?
“I’m also worried it will take up too much of my time.”
Christian frowns.
“Time I could devote to you.” I deploy my secret weapon.
His gaze darkens. “I know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, amused.
Damn it!
“What?” I feign innocence.
“You’re trying to distract me from the issue at hand. You always do that. Just don’t dismiss the idea, Ana. Think about it. That’s all I ask.” He leans down and kisses me chastely, then skims his thumb down my cheek. This argument is going to run and run. I smile up at him—and something he said earlier today pops unbidden into my mind.
“Can I ask you something?” My voice is soft, tentative.
“Of course.”
“Earlier today you said if I was angry with you, I should take it out on you in bed. What did you mean?”
He stills. “What did you think I meant?”
Holy shit! I should just say it. “That you wanted me to tie you up.”
His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Um … no. That’s not what I meant at all.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised by my slight twinge of disappointment.
“You want to tie me up?” he asks, obviously reading my expression correctly. He sounds shocked. I blush.
“Well …”
“Ana, I—” he stops, and something dark crosses his face.
“Christian,” I whisper, alarmed. I move so that I am lying on my side, propped up on my elbow like him. I caress his face. His eyes are large and fearful. He shakes his head sadly.
Shit! “Christian, stop. It doesn’t matter. I thought that’s what you meant.”
He takes my hand and places it on his pounding heart. Fuck! What is it?
“Ana, I don’t know how I’d feel about you touching me if I were restrained.”
My scalp prickles. It’s like he’s confessing something deep and dark.
“This is still too new.” His voice is low and raw.
Fuck. It was just a question, and I realize that he’s come a long way, but he still has a long way to go. Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty. Anxiety grips my heart. I lean over and he freezes, but I plant a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.
“Christian, I got the wrong idea. Please don’t worry about it. Please don’t think about it.” I kiss him. He closes his eyes, groans, and reciprocates, pushing me down into the mattress, his hands clasping my chin. And soon we’re lost … lost in each other again.