“Well, you said no to genital clamps. That’s fine. It’s caning that hurts the most.”
I blanch.
“Or not do it at all,” I whisper.
“This is part of the deal, baby, but we’ll work up to all of this. Anastasia, I won’t push you too far.”
“This punishment thing, it worries me the most.” My voice is very small.
“Well, I’m glad you’ve told me. We’ll keep caning off the list for now. And as you get more comfortable with everything else, we’ll increase intensity. We’ll take it slow.”
I swallow, and he leans forward and kisses me on my lips.
“There, that wasn’t so bad was it?”
I shrug, my heart in mouth again.
“Look, I want to talk about one more thing, then I’m taking you to bed.”
“Bed?” I blink rapidly, and my blood pounds through my body, warming places I didn’t know existed until very recently.
“Come on, Anastasia, talking through all this, I want to fuck you into next week, right now. It must be having some effect on you, too.”
I squirm. My inner goddess is panting.
“See? Besides, there’s something I want to try.”
“Something painful?”
“No—stop seeing pain everywhere. It’s mainly pleasure. Have I hurt you yet?”
I flush. “No.”
“Well, then. Look, earlier today you were talking about wanting more,” he halts, uncertain all of a sudden.
Oh my … where’s this going?
He clasps my hand.
“Outside of the time you’re my sub, perhaps we could try. I don’t know if it will work. I don’t know about separating everything. It may not work. But I’m willing to try. Maybe one night a week. I don’t know.”
Holy cow … my mouth drops open, my subconscious is in shock. Christian Grey is up for more! He’s willing to try! My subconscious peeks out from behind the couch, still registering shock on her harpy face.
“I have one condition.” He looks warily at my stunned expression.
“What?” I breathe. Anything. I’ll give you anything.
“You graciously accept my graduation present to you.”
“Oh.” And deep down I know what it is. Dread spawns in my gut.
He’s staring down at me, gauging my reaction.
“Come,” he murmurs and rises, dragging me up. Taking his jacket off, he drapes it over my shoulders and heads for the door.
Parked outside is a red hatchback car, a two-door compact Audi.
“It’s for you. Happy graduation,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms and kissing my hair.
He’s bought me a damned car, brand-new by the looks of it. Jeez … I’ve had enough trouble with the books. I stare at it blankly, trying desperately to determine how I feel about this. I am appalled on one level, grateful on another, shocked that he’s actually done it, but the overriding emotion is anger. Yes, I’m angry, especially after everything I told him about the books … but then he’d already bought this. Taking my hand, he leads me down the path toward this new acquisition.
“Anastasia, that Beetle of yours is old and frankly dangerous. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you when it’s so easy for me to make it right …”
His eyes are on me, but at the moment I cannot bring myself to look at him. I stand silently staring at its awesome bright red newness.
“I mentioned it to your stepfather. He was all for it,” he murmurs.
Turning, I glare at him, my mouth open in horror.
“You mentioned this to Ray? How could you?” I can barely spit the words out. How dare he? Poor Ray. I feel sick, mortified for my dad.
“It’s a gift, Anastasia. Can’t you just say thank you?”
“But you know it’s too much.”
“Not to me it isn’t, not for my peace of mind.”
I frown at him, at a loss what to say. He just doesn’t get it! He’s had money all his life. Okay, not all his life—not as a small child—and my worldview shifts. The thought is very sobering, and I soften toward the car, feeling guilty about my fit of pique. His intentions are good, misguided, but not from a bad place.
“I’m happy for you to loan this to me, like the laptop.”
He sighs heavily. “Okay. On loan. Indefinitely.” He looks warily at me.
“No, not indefinitely, but for now. Thank you.”
He frowns. I reach up and kiss him on his cheek.
“Thank you for the car, sir,” I say as sweetly as I can manage.
He grabs me suddenly and yanks me up against him, one hand at my back holding me to him and the other fisting in my hair.
“You are one challenging woman, Ana Steele.” He kisses me passionately, forcing my lips apart with his tongue, taking no prisoners.
My blood heats immediately, and I’m returning his kiss with my own passion. I want him badly—in spite of the car, the books, the soft limits … the caning … I want him.
“It’s taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car right now, just to show you that you are mine, and if I want to buy you a fucking car, I’ll buy you a fucking car,” he growls. “Now let’s get you inside and naked.” He plants a swift rough kiss on me.
Boy, he’s angry. He grabs my hand and leads me back into the apartment and straight into my bedroom … no passing go. My subconscious is behind the sofa again, head hidden under her hands. He switches on the sidelight and halts, staring at me.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” I whisper.
His gaze is impassive; his eyes cold shards of smoky glass.
“I’m sorry about the car and the books …” I trail off. He remains silent and brooding. “You scare me when you’re angry,” I breathe, staring at him.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he opens them, his expression has softened. He takes a deep breath and swallows.
“Turn around,” he whispers. “I want to get you out of that dress.”
Another mercurial mood swing; it’s so hard to keep up. Obediently, I turn, and my heart is thumping, desire instantly replacing unease, coursing through my blood and settling dark and yearning, low, low in my belly. He scoops my hair off my back so it hangs down my right side, curling at my breast. He places his index finger at the nape of my neck and achingly slowly drags it down my spine, his fingernail grazing my skin.
“I like this dress,” he murmurs. “I like to see your flawless skin.”
His finger reaches the back of my halter dress midway down my spine, and hooking his finger beneath the top, he pulls me closer so that I step back against him so that he’s flush against my body. Leaning down, he inhales my hair.
“You smell so good, Anastasia. So sweet.” His nose skims past my ear down my neck, and he trails soft, featherlight kisses along my shoulder.
My breathing changes, becoming shallow, rushed, full of expectation. His fingers are at my zipper. Achingly slow, once more he eases it down while his lips move, licking and kissing and sucking their way across to my other shoulder. He is so tantalizingly good at this. My body resonates, and I start to squirm languidly beneath his touch.
“You. Are. Going. To. Have. To. Learn. To. Keep. Still,” he whispers, kissing me around my nape between each word.
He tugs at the fastening at the halter neck, and the dress drops and pools at my feet.
“No bra, Miss Steele. I like that.”
His hands reach around and cup my breasts, and my nipples pucker at his touch.
“Lift your arms and put them around my head,” he murmurs against my neck.
I obey immediately, and my breasts rise and push into his hands, my nipples hardening further. My fingers weave into his hair, and very gently I tug his soft, sexy hair. I roll my head to one side to give him easier access to my neck.
“Mmm …” he murmurs into that space behind my ear as he starts to extend my nipples with his long fingers, mirroring my hands in his hair.
I groan as the sensation registers sharp and clear in my groin.
“Shall I make you come this way?” he whispers.
I arch my back to force my breasts into his expert hands.
“You like this, don’t you, Miss Steele?”
“Mmm …”
“Tell me.” He continues the slow, sensuous torture, pulling gently.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what.”
“Yes … Sir.”
“Good girl.” He pinches me hard, and my body writhes convulsively against his front.
I gasp at the exquisite, acute pleasure/pain. I feel him against me. I moan and my hands clench in his hair pulling harder.
“I don’t think you’re ready to come yet,” he whispers, stilling his hands, and he gently bites my earlobe and tugs at it. “Besides, you have displeased me.”
Oh … no, what will this mean? My brain registers through the fog of needy desire as I groan.
“So perhaps I won’t let you come after all.” He returns the attention of his fingers to my nipples, pulling, twisting, kneading. I grind my behind against him … moving side to side.
I feel his grin against my neck as his hands move down to my hips. His fingers hook into my panties at the back, stretching them, and he pushes his thumbs through the material, shredding them and tossing them in front of me so I can see … holy shit. His hands move down to my sex, and from behind, he slowly inserts his finger.
“Oh yes. My sweet girl is ready,” he breathes as he whirls me around so I’m facing him. His breathing has quickened. He puts his finger in his mouth. “You taste so fine, Miss Steele.” He sighs.
Holy shit. His finger tastes salty … from me.
“Undress me,” he commands quietly, staring down at me, eyes hooded.
All I’m wearing are my shoes—well, Kate’s high-heeled pumps. I’m taken aback. I’ve never undressed a man.
“You can do it,” he cajoles softly.
I blink rapidly. Where to start? I reach for his T-shirt, and he grabs my hands, smiling slyly at me.
“Oh no.” He shakes his head, grinning. “Not the T-shirt. You may need to touch me for what I have planned.” His eyes are alive with excitement.
Oh … this is news … I can touch with clothes. He takes one of my hands and places it against his erection.
“This is the effect you have on me, Miss Steele.”
I gasp and flex my fingers around his girth, and he grins.
“I want to be inside you. Take my jeans off. You’re in charge.”
Holy fuck … me in charge. My mouth drops open.
“What are you going to do with me?” he teases.
Oh, the possibilities … my inner goddess roars, and from somewhere born of frustration, need, and sheer Steele bravery, I push him on to the bed. He laughs as he falls, and I gaze down at him, feeling victorious. My inner goddess is going to explode. I yank off his shoes, quickly, clumsily, and his socks. He’s staring up at me, his eyes luminous with amusement and desire. He looks … glorious … mine. I crawl up the bed and sit astride him to undo his jeans, sliding my fingers under the waistband, feeling the hair in his oh-so-happy trail. He closes his eyes and flexes his hips.
“You’ll have to learn to keep still,” I scold, and I tug at the hair under his waistband.
His breath hitches, and he grins at me.
“Yes, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, eyes burning bright. “In my pocket, condom,” he breathes.
I search in his pocket slowly, watching his face as I feel around. His mouth is open. I fish out both foil packets that I find and lay them on the bed by his hips. Two! My over-eager fingers reach for the button of his waistband and undo it, fumbling a little. I am beyond excited.
“So eager, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, his voice laced with humor. I tug down the zipper, and now I’m faced with the problem of removing his pants … hmm. I shuffle down and pull. They hardly move. I frown. How can this be so difficult?
“I can’t keep still if you’re going to bite that lip,” he warns, then arches his pelvis up off the bed so I’m able to tug down his trousers and his boxers at the same time, whoa … freeing him. He kicks his clothes to the floor.
Holy Moses, he’s all mine to play with, and suddenly it’s Christmas.
“Now what are you going to do?” he breathes, all trace of humor gone. I reach up and touch him, watching his expression as I do. His mouth shapes like a letter O as he takes a sharp breath. His skin is so smooth and velvety … and hard … hmm, what a delicious combination. I lean forward, my hair falling around me, and he’s in my mouth. I suck, hard. He closes his eyes, his hips jerking beneath me.
“Jeez, Ana, steady,” he groans.
I feel so powerful; it’s such an exhilarating feeling, teasing and testing him with my mouth and tongue. He tenses underneath me as I run my mouth up and down him, pushing him to the back of my throat, my lips tight … again and again.
“Stop, Ana, stop. I don’t want to come.”
I sit up, blinking at him, and I’m panting like him, but confused. I thought I was in charge? My inner goddess looks like someone snatched her ice cream.
“Your innocence and enthusiasm is very disarming,” he gasps. “You, on top … that’s what we need to do.”
Oh.
“Here, put this on.” He hands me a foil packet.
Holy crap. How? I rip the packet open, and the rubbery condom is all tacky in my fingers.
“Pinch the top and then roll it down. You don’t want any air in the end of that sucker,” he pants.
And very slowly, concentrating hard, I do as I’m told.
“Christ, you’re killing me here, Anastasia,” he groans.
I admire my handiwork and him. He really is a fine specimen of a man. Looking at him is very, very arousing.
“Now. I want to be buried inside you,” he murmurs. I stare down at him, daunted, and he sits up suddenly, so we’re nose to nose.
“Like this,” he breathes, and he snakes one hand around my hips, lifting me, and with the other he positions himself beneath me and, very slowly, eases me onto him.
I groan as he stretches me open, filling me, my mouth hanging open in surprise at the sweet, sublime, agonizing, over-full feeling. Oh … please.
“That’s right, baby, feel me, all of me,” he growls, and briefly closes his eyes.
And he’s inside me, sheathed to the hilt, and he holds me in place, for seconds … minutes … I have no idea, staring intently into my eyes.
“It’s deep this way,” he murmurs. He flexes and swivels his hips in the same motion, and I groan … oh my—the sensation radiates throughout my belly … everywhere. Fuck!
“Again,” I whisper. He grins a lazy grin and obliges.
Moaning, I throw my head up, my hair tumbling down my back, and very slowly, he sinks down on to the bed.
“You move, Anastasia, up and down, how you want. Take my hands,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and low and oh-so-sexy.
I clasp his hands, holding on for life. Gently I push off him and back down. His eyes are burning with wild anticipation. His breathing is ragged, matching mine, and he lifts his pelvis as I come down, bouncing me back up. We pick up the rhythm … up, down, up, down … over and over … and it feels so … good. Between my panting breaths, the deep down, brimming fullness … the vehement sensation pulsing through me that’s building quickly, I watch him, our eyes locked … and I see wonder there, wonder at me.
I am fucking him. I am in charge. He’s mine, and I’m his. The thought pushes me, weighted with concrete, over the edge, and I climax around him … shouting incoherently. He grabs my hips, and closing his eyes, tipping his head back, his jaw strained, he comes quietly. I collapse on to his chest, overwhelmed, somewhere between fantasy and reality, a place where there are no hard or soft limits.