CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hi.” I feel unbearably shy when I open the door. Christian is standing on the porch in his jeans and leather jacket. “Hi,” he says, and his face lights up with his radiant smile. I take a moment to admire the pretty. Oh my, he’s hot in leather.

“Come in.”

“If I may,” he says, amused. He holds up a bottle of champagne as he walks in. “I thought we’d celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger.”

“Interesting choice of words,” I comment dryly.

He grins. “Oh, I like your ready wit, Anastasia.”

“We only have teacups. We’ve packed all the glasses.”

“Teacups? Sounds good to me.”

I head into the kitchen. Nervous, butterflies flooding my stomach, it’s like having a panther or mountain lion all unpredictable and predatory in my living room.

“Do you want saucers as well?”

“Teacups will be fine, Anastasia,” Christian calls distractedly from the living room.

When I return, he’s staring at the brown parcel of books. I place the cups on the table.

“That’s for you,” I murmur anxiously.

Crap … this is probably going to be a fight.

“Hmm, I figured as much. Very apt quote.” His long index finger absently traces the writing. “I thought I was d’Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement.” He gives me a brief wolfish smile. “Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately.”

“It’s also a plea,” I whisper. Why am I so nervous? My mouth is dry.

“A plea? For me to go easy on you?”

I nod.

“I bought these for you,” he says quietly, his gaze impassive. “I’ll go easier on you if you accept them.”

I swallow convulsively.

“Christian, I can’t accept them, they’re just too much.”

“You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that’s the end of the discussion. It’s very simple. You don’t have to think about this. As a submissive you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so.”

“I wasn’t a submissive when you bought them for me,” I whisper.

“No … but you’ve agreed, Anastasia.” His eyes turn wary.

I sigh. I am not going to win this, so over to plan B.

“So they are mine to do with as I wish?”

He eyes me suspiciously but concedes.

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’d like to give them to a charity, one working in Darfur since that seems to be close to your heart. They can auction them.”

“If that’s what you want to do.” His mouth sets into a hard line. He’s disappointed.

I flush.

“I’ll think about it,” I murmur. I don’t want to disappoint him, and his words come back to me. I want you to want to please me.

“Don’t think, Anastasia. Not about this.” His tone is quiet and serious.

How can I not think? You can pretend to be a car, like his other possessions. My subconscious makes an unwelcome vitriolic return. I ignore her. Oh, can’t we rewind? The atmosphere between us is now tense. I don’t know what to do. I stare down at my fingers. How do I retrieve this situation?

He puts the champagne bottle on the table and stands in front of me. Putting his hand under my chin, he tilts my head up. He gazes down at me, his expression grave.

“I will buy you lots of things, Anastasia. Get used to it. I can afford it. I’m a very wealthy man.” He leans down and plants a swift, chaste kiss on my lips. “Please.” He releases me.

Ho, my subconscious mouths at me.

“It makes me feel cheap,” I murmur.

Christian runs his hand through his hair, exasperated.

“It shouldn’t. You’re overthinking it, Anastasia. Don’t place some vague moral judgment on yourself based on what others might think. Don’t waste your energy. It’s only because you have reservations about our arrangement; that’s perfectly natural. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

I frown, trying to process his words.

“Hey, stop this,” he commands softly, cupping my chin again and pulling at it gently so I release my lower lip from my teeth. “There is nothing about you that is cheap, Anastasia. I won’t have you thinking that. I just bought you some old books that I thought might mean something to you, that’s all. Have some champagne.” His eyes warm and soften, and I smile tentatively up at him. “That’s better,” he murmurs. He picks up the champagne, takes off the foil top and cage, twists the bottle rather than the cork, and opens it with a small pop and a practiced flourish that doesn’t spill a drop. He half fills the cups.

“It’s pink,” I murmur, surprised.

“Bollinger Grande Année Rosé 1999, an excellent vintage,” he says with relish.

“In teacups.”

He grins.

“In teacups. Congratulations on your degree, Anastasia.” We clink cups, and he takes a drink, but I can’t help thinking this is really about my capitulation.

“Thank you,” I murmur, and take a sip. Of course it’s delicious. “Shall we go through the soft limits?”

He smiles, and I blush.

“Always so eager.” Christian takes my hand and leads me to the couch, where he sits and tugs me down beside him.

“Your stepfather’s a very taciturn man.”

Oh … not soft limits, then. I just want to get this out of the way; the anxiety is gnawing at me.

“You managed to get him eating out of your hand.” I pout.

Christian laughs softly.

“Only because I know how to fish.”

“How did you know he liked fishing?”

“You told me. When we went for coffee.”

“Oh … did I?” I take another sip. Wow, he has a memory for detail. Hmm … this champagne really is very good. “Did you try the wine at the reception?”

Christian makes a face.

“Yes. It was foul.”

“I thought of you when I tasted it. How did you get to be so knowledgeable about wine?”

“I’m not knowledgeable, Anastasia, I just know what I like.” His eyes shine, almost silver, and it makes me flush. “Some more?” he asks, referring to the champagne.

“Please.”

Christian rises gracefully and collects the bottle. He fills my cup. Is he getting me tipsy? I eye him suspiciously.

“This place looks pretty bare. Are you ready for the move?”

“More or less.”

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes, my last day at Clayton’s.”

“I’d help you move, but I promised to meet my sister at the airport.”

Oh … this is news.

“Mia arrives from Paris very early Saturday morning. I’m heading back to Seattle tomorrow, but I hear Elliot is giving you two a hand.”

“Yes, Kate is very excited about that.”

Christian frowns. “Yes, Kate and Elliot, who would have thought?” he murmurs, and for some reason he doesn’t look pleased. “So what are you doing about work in Seattle?”

When are we going to talk about the limits? What’s his game?

“I have a couple of interviews for intern places.”

“You were going tell me this when?” He arches a brow.

“Er … I’m telling you now.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Where?”

For some reason, possibly because he might use his influence, I don’t want to tell him.

“A couple of publishing houses.”

“Is that what you want to do, something in publishing?” I nod warily.

“Well?” He looks at me patiently wanting more information.

“Well what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Anastasia, which publishing houses?” he scolds.

“Just small ones,” I murmur.

“Why don’t you want me to know?”

“Undue influence.”

He frowns.

“Oh, now you’re being obtuse.”

He laughs. “Obtuse? Me? God, you’re challenging. Drink up, let’s talk about these limits.” He fishes out another copy of my e-mail and the list. Does he wander about with these lists in his pockets? I think there’s one in his jacket that I have. Shit, I’d better not forget that. I drain my cup.

He glances quickly at me.

“More?”

“Please.”

He smiles that oh-so-smug private smile of his, holds the champagne bottle up, and pauses.

“Have you eaten anything?”

Oh no … not this old chestnut.

“Yes. I had a three-course meal with Ray.” I roll my eyes at him. The champagne is making me bold.

He leans forward and holds my chin, staring intently into my eyes.

“Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee.”

What?

“Oh,” I breathe, and I can see the excitement in his eyes.

“Oh,” he responds, mirroring my tone. “So it begins, Anastasia.”

My heart slams against my chest, and the butterflies escape from my stomach into my constricting throat. Why is that hot?

He fills my cup, and I drink practically all of it. Chastened, I stare up at him.

“Got your attention now, haven’t I?”

I nod.

“Answer me.”

“Yes … you’ve got my attention.”

“Good,” he smiles a knowing smile. “So sexual acts. We’ve done most of this.”

I move closer to him on the couch and glance down at the list.

“No fisting, you say. Anything else you object to?” he asks softly. I swallow.

“Anal intercourse doesn’t exactly float my boat.”

“I’ll agree to the fisting, but I’d really like to claim your ass, Anastasia. But we’ll wait for that. Besides, it’s not something we can dive into.” He smirks at me. “Your ass will need training.”

“Training?” I whisper.

“Oh yes. It’ll need careful preparation. Anal intercourse can be very pleasurable, trust me. But if we try it and you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it again.” He grins down at me.

I blink up at him. He thinks I’ll enjoy it? How does he know it’s pleasurable?

“Have you done that?” I whisper.

“Yes.”

Holy crap. I gasp.

“With a man?”

“No. I’ve never had sex with a man. Not my scene.”

“Mrs. Robinson?”

“Yes.”

Holy shit … how? I frown. He moves on down the list.

“And … swallowing semen. Well, you get an A in that.”

I flush, and my inner goddess smacks her lips together, glowing with pride.

“So.” He looks down at me grinning. “Swallowing semen okay?”

I nod, not able to look him in the eye, and drain my cup again.

“More?” he asks.

“More.” And I’m suddenly reminded of our conversation earlier today as he refills my cup. Is he referring to that or just the champagne? Is this whole champagne thing more?

“Sex toys?” he asks.

I shrug, glancing down the list.

“Butt plug? Does it do what it says on the box?” I scrunch my nose up in distaste.

“Yes,” he smiles. “And I refer to anal intercourse above. Training.”

“Oh … what’s in other?”

“Beads, eggs … that sort of stuff.”

“Eggs?” I’m alarmed.

“Not real eggs.” He laughs loudly, shaking his head.

I purse my lips at him.

“I’m glad you find me funny.” I can’t keep my injured feelings out of my voice.

He stops laughing.

“I apologize. Miss Steele, I’m sorry,” he says, trying to look contrite, but his eyes are still dancing with humor. “Any problem with toys?”

“No,” I snap.

“Anastasia,” he cajoles. “I am sorry. Believe me. I don’t mean to laugh. I’ve never had this conversation in so much detail. You’re just so inexperienced. I’m sorry.” His eyes are big and gray and sincere.

I thaw a little and take another sip of champagne.

“Right—bondage,” he says, returning to the list. I examine the list, and my inner goddess bounces up and down like a small child waiting for ice cream.

Christian raises his eyebrow. “Well?”

“Fine,” I whisper and quickly look back at the list.

Does the Submissive consent to be blindfolded?

Does the Submissive consent to be gagged?

“We’ve talked about suspension. And it’s fine if you want to set that up as a hard limit. It takes a great deal of time, and I only have you for short periods of time anyway. Anything else?”

“Don’t laugh at me, but what’s a spreader bar?”

“I promise not to laugh. I’ve apologized twice.” He glares at me. “Don’t make me do it again,” he warns. And I think I visibly shrink … oh, he’s so bossy. “A spreader is a bar with cuffs for ankles and/or wrists. They’re fun.”

“Okay … Well, gagging me. I’d be worried I wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

“I’d be worried if you couldn’t breathe. I don’t want to suffocate you.”

“And how will I use safewords if I’m gagged?”

He pauses.

“First of all, I hope you never have to use them. But if you’re gagged, we’ll use hand signals,” he says simply.

I blink up at him. But if I’m trussed up, how’s that going to work? My brain is beginning to fog … hmm, alcohol.

“I’m nervous about the gagging.”

“Okay. I’ll take note.”

I stare up at him, realization dawning.

“Do you like tying your submissives up so they can’t touch you?”

He gazes at me, his eyes widening.

“That’s one of the reasons,” he says quietly.

“Is that why you’ve tied my hands?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t like talking about that,” I murmur.

“No, I don’t. Would you like another drink? It’s making you brave, and I need to know how you feel about pain.”

Holy crap … this is the tricky part. He refills my teacup, and I sip.

“So, what’s your general attitude to receiving pain?” Christian looks expectantly at me. “You’re biting your lip,” he says darkly.

I stop immediately, but I don’t know what to say. I flush and stare down at my hands.

“Were you physically punished as a child?”

“No.”

“So you have no sphere of reference at all?”

“No.”

“It’s not as bad as you think. Your imagination is your worst enemy in this,” he whispers.

“Do you have to do it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Goes with the territory, Anastasia. It’s what I do. I can see you’re nervous. Let’s go through methods.”

He shows me the list. My subconscious runs, screaming, and hides behind the couch.