Fifty Shades of Grey (Fifty Shades #1)(83)
Author: E.L. James

I flush as he comes to a halt in front of me.

"Coming," I murmur, staring anxiously up at him.

"Oh, I hope so." He gazes down at me. "You were so mad at me," he breathes.

"Yes."

"I don’t remember anyone but my family ever being mad at me. I like it."

He runs the tips of fingers down my cheek. Oh my, his proximity, his delicious Christian smell. We’re supposed to be talking, but my heart is pounding, my blood singing as it courses through my body, desire, pooling, unfurling… everywhere. Christian bends and runs his nose along my shoulder and up to the base of my ear, his fingers slipping into my hair."We should talk." I whisper.

"Later."

"There’s so much I want to say."

"Me too."

He plants a soft kiss under my earlobe while his fingers tighten in my hair. Pulling my head back, he exposes my throat to his lips. His teeth skim my chin, and he kisses my throat.

"I want you," he breathes.

I moan and reach up and grasp his arms.

"Are you bleeding?" He continues to kiss me.

Holy Fuck. Does nothing slip by him?

"Yes," I whisper, embarrassed.

"Do you have cramps?"

"No." I flush . Jeez…

He stops and looks down at me.

"Did you take your pill?"

"Yes." How mortifying is this?

"Let’s go have a bath."

Oh?

He takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. It’s dominated by a super-king size bed with elaborate drapes. But we don’t stop there. He takes me into the bathroom which is two rooms, all aquamarines and white limestone. It’s huge – In the second room a sunken bath, big enough for four people with stone steps that lead into it, is slowly filling with water. Steam rises gently above the foam, and I notice a stone seat all the way round.

Candles flicker to the side. Wow… he’s done all this while on the phone.

"Do you have a hair tie?"

I blink at him, fish into my jeans pocket, and pull out a hair elastic.

"Put your hair up," he orders softly. I do as he asks.

It’s warm and sultry beside the bath, and my camisole starts to stick. He leans over and shuts off the faucet. leadingL me back into the first part of the bathroom,he stands behind me as we face the wall-sized mirror above the two glass sinks.

"Lift up your arms," he breathes. I do as I’m told, and he lifts my camisole over my head so that I’m topless standing in front of him. Not taking his eyes off mine, he reaches around and undoes the top button on my jeans and the zipper.

"I’m going to have you in the bathroom, Anastasia."

Leaning down, he kisses my neck. I move my head to one side and give him easier access. Hooking his thumbs into my jeans, he slowly slides them down my legs, sinking down behind me as he pulls them and my panties to the floor.

"Step out of your jeans."

Grasping the edge of the sink, I do just that. I am now naked, staring at myself, and he’s kneeling behind me. He kisses and then softly bites my behind, making me gasp. He stands and stares at me once more in the mirror. I try hard to stay still, ignoring my natural inclination to cover myself. He splays his hand across my belly, the span of his hand almost reaching from hip to hip.

"Look at you. You are so beautiful," he murmurs. "See how you feel." He clasps both my hands in his, his palms against the backs of my hands, his fingers in between mine so that my fingers are splayed. He places my hands on my belly. "Feel how soft your skin is."

His voice is soft and low. He moves my hands in a slow circle then upwards towards my br**sts. "Feel how full your br**sts are." He holds my hands so that they cup my br**sts.

He gently strokes my ni**les with his thumbs over and over.

I moan between parted lips and arch my back so my br**sts fill my palms. He squeezes my ni**les between our thumbs, pulling gently so that they elongate further. I watch in fascination at the wanton creature writhing in front of me. Oh this feels good. I groan and close my eyes, no longer wanting to see that libidinous woman in the mirror falling apart under her own hands… his hands… feeling my skin as he would, experiencing how arousing it is – just his touch, and his calm, soft, commands.

"That’s right, baby," he murmurs.

He guides my hands down the sides of my body, past my waist to my hips, and across to my pubic hair. He slides his leg in between mine, pushing my feet further apart, widening my stance, and runs my hands over my sex, one hand at a time in turn, setting up a rhythm. It is so erotic. Truly I am a marionette and he is the master puppeteer.

"Look at you glow, Anastasia," he whispers as he trails kisses and soft bites along my shoulder. I groan. Suddenly he lets go.

"Carry on," he orders, and stands back watching me.

I rub myself. No. I want him, him to do it. It doesn’t feel the same. I’m lost without him. He pulls his shirt over his head and quickly takes off his jeans.

"You’d rather I do this?" His gray gaze scorches mine in the mirror.

"Oh yes… please," I breathe.

He wraps his arms around me again and takes my hands once more, continuing the sensual caress across my sex, over my clitoris. His chest hair scrapes against me, his erection presses against me. Oh soon… please. He bites the nape of my neck, and I close my eyes, enjoying the myriad of sensations; my neck, my groin… the feel of him behind me.

He stops abruptly and spins me around, circling my wrists with one hand, imprisoning my hands behind me, and pulling at my ponytail with the other. I am flush against him, and he kisses me wildly, ravaging my mouth with his. Holding, h me in place.

His breathing is ragged, matching mine.

"When did you start your period, Anastasia?" he asks out of the blue, gazing down at me. "Err… yesterday," I mumble in my highly aroused state.

"Good." He releases me and turns me around.

"Hold on to the sink," he orders and pulls my hips back again, like he did in the playroom, so I’m bending down.

He reaches between my legs and pulls on the blue string… what! And… a gently pulls my tampon out and tosses it into the nearby toilet. Holy f**k. Sweet mother of all… Jeez.

And then he’s inside me… ah! Skin against skin… moving slowly at first… easily, testing me, pushing me… oh my. I grip on to the sink, panting, forcing myself back on him, feeling him inside me. Oh the sweet agony… his hands clasp my hips. He sets a punishing rhythm – in, out, and he reaches around and finds my clitoris, massaging me… oh jeez. I can feel myself quicken.

"That’s right, baby," he rasps as he grinds into me, angling his hips, and it’s enough to send me flying, flying high.

Whoa… and I come, loudly, gripping for dear life onto the sink as I spiral down through my orgasm, everything spinning and clenching at once. He follows, clasping me tightly, his front on my back as he climaxes and calls my name like it’s a litany or a prayer.

"Oh, Ana!" His breathing is ragged in my ear, in perfect synergy with mine. "Oh, baby, will I ever get enough of you?" he whispers.

Will it always be like thisSo overwhelming, so all-consuming, so bewildering and beguiling. I wanted to talk, but now I’m spent and dazed from his lovemaking and wondering if I will ever get enough of him

We sink slowly to the floor, and he wraps his arms around me, imprisoning me. I am curled on his lap, my head against his chest, as we both calm. Very subtly, I inhale his sweet, intoxicating Christian scent. I must not nuzzle. I must not nuzzle. I repeat the mantra in my head – though I am so tempted to do so. I want to lift my hand and draw patterns in his chest hair with my fingertips… but I resist, knowing that he’ll hate it if I do. We are both quiet, lost in our thoughts. I am lost in him… lost to him.

I remember that I have my period.

"I’m bleeding," I murmur.

"Doesn’t bother me," he breathes.

"I noticed." I can’t keep the dryness out of my voice.

He tenses slightly.

"Does it bother you?" he asks softly.

Does it bother meMaybe it should… should itNo, it doesn’t. I lean back and look up at him, and he gazes down at me, his eyes a soft cloudy gray.

"No, not at all."

He smirks.

"Good. Let’s have a bath."

He uncurls from around me, placing me on the floor as he makes to stand. As he does, I notice again the small, round, white scars on his chest. They are not chicken pox, I muse absentmindedly. Grace said he was hardly affected. Holy shit… they must be burns.