I don’t know how to answer your comment about feeling like a whore. I know that’s not what you’ve written, but it’s what you imply. I don’t know what I can say or do to eradicate these feelings. I’d like you to have the best of everything. I work exceptionally hard so I can spend my money as I see fit. I could buy you your heart’s desire, Anastasia, and I want to. Call it redistribution of wealth, if you will. Or simply know that I would not, could not ever think of you in the way you described, and I’m angry that’s how you perceive yourself. For such a bright, witty, beautiful young woman, you have some real self-esteem issues, and I have half a mind to make an appointment for you with Dr. Flynn.
I apologize for frightening you. I find the thought of instilling fear in you abhorrent. Do you really think I’d let you travel in the hold? I offered you my private jet, for heaven’s sake. Yes, it was a joke, a poor one obviously. However, the fact is the thought of you bound and gagged turns me on (this is not a joke—it’s true). I can lose the crate—crates do nothing for me. I know you have issues with gagging—we’ve talked about that—and if/when I do gag you, we’ll discuss it. What I think you fail to realize is that in Dom/sub relationships it is the sub who has all the power. That’s you. I’ll repeat this—you are the one with all the power. Not I. In the boathouse you said no. I can’t touch you if you say no—that’s why we have an agreement—what you will and won’t do. If we try things and you don’t like them, we can revise the agreement. It’s up to you—not me. And if you don’t want to be bound and gagged in a crate, then it won’t happen.
I want to share my lifestyle with you. I have never wanted anything so much. Frankly, I’m in awe of you, that one so innocent would be willing to try. That says more to me than you could ever know. You fail to see I am caught in your spell, too, even though I have told you this countless times. I don’t want to lose you. I am nervous that you’ve flown three thousand miles to get away from me for a few days, because you can’t think clearly around me. It’s the same for me, Anastasia. My reason vanishes when we’re together—that’s the depth of my feeling for you.
I understand your trepidation. I did try to stay away from you; I knew you were inexperienced, though I would never have pursued you if I had known exactly how innocent you were—and yet you still manage to disarm me completely in a way that nobody has before. Your e-mail for example: I have read and reread it countless times trying to understand your point of view. Three months is an arbitrary amount of time. We could make it six months, a year? How long do you want it to be? What would make you comfortable? Tell me.
I understand that this is a huge leap of faith for you. I have to earn your trust, but by the same token, you have to communicate with me when I am failing to do this. You seem so strong and self-contained, and then I read what you’ve written here, and I see another side to you. We have to guide each other, Anastasia, and I can only take my cues from you. You have to be honest with me, and we have to both find a way to make this arrangement work.
You worry about not being submissive. Well, maybe that’s true. Having said that, the only time you do assume the correct demeanor for a sub is in the playroom. It seems that’s the one place where you let me exercise proper control over you and the only place you do as you’re told. “Exemplary” is the term that comes to mind. And I’d never beat you black and blue. I aim for pink. Outside the playroom, I like that you challenge me. It’s a very novel and refreshing experience, and I wouldn’t want to change that. So yes, tell me what you want in terms of more. I will endeavor to keep an open mind, and I shall try to give you the space you need and stay away from you while you are in Georgia. I look forward to your next e-mail.
In the meantime, enjoy yourself. But not too much.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Holy crap. He’s written an essay like we’re back at school—and most of it’s good. My heart is in my mouth as I reread his epistle, and I huddle on the spare bed practically hugging my Mac. Make our agreement a year? I have the power! Jeez, I’m going to have to think about that. Take him literally, that’s what my mother says. He doesn’t want to lose me. He’s said that twice! He wants to make this work, too. Oh, Christian, so do I! He’s going to try to stay away! Does this mean he might fail to stay away? Suddenly, I hope so. I want to see him. We’ve been apart less than twenty-four hours, and knowing that I can’t see him for four days, I realize how much I miss him. How much I love him.
“Ana, honey.” The voice is soft and warm, full of love and sweet memories of times gone by.
A gentle hand brushes my face. My mom wakes me, and I’m wrapped around my laptop, hugging it to me.
“Ana, sweetheart,” she continues in her soft, singsong voice while I surface from sleep, blinking in the pale pink light of dusk.
“Hi, Mom.” I stretch out and smile.
“We’re going out for dinner in thirty minutes. You still want to come?” she asks kindly.
“Oh yes, Mom, of course.” I try very hard but fail to stifle my yawn.
“Now that’s an impressive piece of technology.” She points to my laptop.
Oh, crap.
“Oh … this?” I strive for casual, surprised nonchalance.
Will Mom notice? She seems to have grown more astute since I acquired a “boyfriend.”
“Christian lent it to me. I think I could pilot the space shuttle with it, but I just use it for e-mails and Internet access.”
Really, it’s nothing. Eyeing me suspiciously, she sits down on the bed and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“Has he e-mailed you?”
“Yeah.” My nonchalance is wearing thin, and I flush.
“Perhaps he’s missing you, huh?”
“I hope so, Mom.”
“What does he say?”
Oh, triple crap. I frantically try to think of something acceptable from that e-mail I can tell my mother. I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear about Doms and bondage and gagging, but then I can’t tell her because there’s the NDA.
“He’s told me to enjoy myself but not too much.”
“Sounds reasonable. I’ll leave you to get ready, honey.” Leaning over, she kisses my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re here, Ana. It’s wonderful to see you.” And with that loving statement, she leaves.
Hmm, Christian and reasonable … two concepts that I thought were mutually exclusive, but after his e-mail, maybe all things are possible. I shake my head. I will need time to digest his words. Probably after dinner—and I can reply to him then. I climb out of bed and quickly slip out of my T-shirt and shorts and head to the shower.
I have brought Kate’s gray halter-neck dress that I wore for my graduation. It’s the only dressy item I have. One good thing about the heat is that the creases have dropped out, so I think it will do for the golf club. As I dress, I open up the laptop. There is nothing new from Christian, and I feel a stab of disappointment. Very quickly, I type him an e-mail.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Verbose?
Date: May 31 2011 19:08 EST
To: Christian Grey
Sir, you are quite the loquacious writer. I have to go to dinner at Bob’s golf club, and just so you know, I am rolling my eyes at the thought. But you and your twitchy palm are a long way from me so my behind is safe, for now. I loved your e-mail. Will respond when I can. I miss you already.
Enjoy your afternoon.
Your Ana
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your Behind
Date: May 31 2011 16:10
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I am distracted by the title of this e-mail. Needless to say it is safe—for now.
Enjoy your dinner, and I miss you, too, especially your behind and your smart mouth.
My afternoon will be dull, brightened only by thoughts of you and your eye rolling. I think it was you who so judiciously pointed out to me that I, too, suffer from that nasty habit.
Christian Grey
CEO & Eye Roller,
Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Eye Rolling
Date: May 31 2011 19:14 EST
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
Stop e-mailing me. I am trying to get ready for dinner. You are very distracting, even when you are on the other side of the continent. And yes—who spanks you when you roll your eyes?
Your Ana
I press “send,” and immediately the image of that evil witch Mrs. Robinson comes into my mind. I just can’t picture it. Christian being beaten by someone as old as my mother, it’s just so wrong. Again I wonder what damage she’s wrought. My mouth sets in a hard, grim line. I need a doll to stick pins in, maybe that way I can vent some of the anger I feel at this stranger.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your Behind
Date: May 31 2011 16:18
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I still prefer my title to yours, in so many different ways. It is lucky that I am master of my own destiny and no one castigates me. Except my mother, occasionally, and Dr. Flynn, of course. And you.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Chastising … Me?
Date: May 31 2011 19:22 EST
To: Christian Grey
When have I ever plucked up the nerve to chastise you, Mr. Grey? I think you are mixing me up with someone else … which is very worrying. I really do have to get ready.
Your Ana
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Your Behind
Date: May 31 2011 16:25
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
You do it all the time in print. Can I zip up your dress?
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
For some unknown reason, his words leap off the screen and make me gasp. Oh … he wants to play games.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: NC-17
Date: May 31 2011 19:28 EST
To: Christian Grey
I would rather you unzipped it.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Careful what you wish for …
To: Anastasia Steele
SO WOULD I.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Panting
Date: May 31 2011 19:33 EST
To: Christian Grey
Slowly …
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Groaning
Date: May 31 2011 16:35
To: Anastasia Steele
Wish I were there.
Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Moaning
Date: May 31 2011 19:37 EST
To: Christian Grey
SO DO I.
“Ana!” My mother calls me, making me jump. Shit. Why do I feel so guilty?
“Just coming, Mom.”
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Moaning
Date: May 31 2011 19:39 EST
To: Christian Grey
Gotta go.
Laters, baby.
I dash into the hall, where Bob and my mother are waiting. My mother frowns.
“Darling—are you feeling okay? You look a bit flushed.”
“Mom, I’m fine.”
“You look lovely, dear.”
“Oh, this is Kate’s dress. You like it?”
Her frown deepens.
“Why are you wearing Kate’s dress?”
Oh … no.
“Well, I like this one and she doesn’t,” I improvise quickly.