Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian(88)
Author: E.L. James

“Stay with me tonight. If you go away, I won’t see you all week. Please,” I whisper.

“Yes,” she murmurs. “And I’ll try, too. I’ll sign your contract.”

Oh, baby.

“Sign after Georgia. Think about it. Think about it hard.” I want her to do this willingly—I don’t want to force this on her. Well, part of me doesn’t. The rational part.

“I will,” she says, and nestles against me.

This woman has me tied up in knots.

Ironic, Grey.

And I want to laugh because I’m relieved and happy, but I hold her, breathing in her redolent and comforting scent.

“You really should wear your seatbelt,” I scold, but I don’t want her to move. She stays wrapped in my embrace, her body slowly relaxing against mine. The darkness inside me is quiet, contained, and I’m confused by my warring emotions. What do I want out of her? What do I need out of her?

This is not how we should be progressing, but I like her in my arms; I like cradling her like this. I kiss her hair, and lean back and enjoy the ride into Seattle.

Taylor stops outside the entrance to Escala. “We’re home,” I whisper to Ana. I’m reluctant to release her, but I lift her onto her seat. Taylor opens her door and she joins me at the entrance to the building.

A shiver runs through her.

“Why don’t you have a jacket?” I ask as I slip mine off and drape it over her shoulders.

“It’s in my new car,” she says, yawning.

“Tired, Miss Steele?”

“Yes, Mr. Grey. I’ve been prevailed upon in ways I never thought possible today.”

“Well, if you’re really unlucky, I may prevail upon you some more.” If I get lucky.

She leans against the wall of the elevator as we travel up to the penthouse. Under my jacket she looks slim and small and sexy. If she wasn’t wearing her underwear I could take her in here… I reach up and free her lip from her teeth. “One day I will fuck you in this elevator, Anastasia, but right now you’re tired—so I think we should stick to a bed.” I bend down and gently take her bottom lip in my teeth. Her breath catches and she returns the gesture with her teeth and my upper lip.

I feel it in my groin.

I want to take her to bed and lose myself in her. After our conversation in the car I just want to be sure she’s mine. When we exit the elevator I offer her a drink, but she declines.

“Good. Let’s go to bed.”

She looks surprised. “You’re going to settle for plain old vanilla?”

“Nothing plain or old about vanilla. It’s a very intriguing flavor.”

“Since when?”

“Since last Saturday. Why? Were you hoping for something more exotic?”

“Oh no. I’ve had enough exotic for one day.”

“Sure? We cater for all tastes here—at least thirty-one flavors.” I give her a lascivious look.

“I’ve noticed.” She raises one fine eyebrow.

“Come on, Miss Steele, you have a big day tomorrow. Sooner you’re in bed, sooner you’ll be fucked, and sooner you can sleep.”

“Mr. Grey, you are a born romantic.”

“Miss Steele, you have a smart mouth. I may have to subdue it some way. Come.”

Yeah. I can think of one way.

Closing the door of my bedroom, I feel lighter than I did in the car. She’s still here. “Hands in the air,” I order, and she does as she’s told. I grip the hem of her dress and in one smooth move pull it up and over her body to reveal the beautiful woman beneath.

“Ta-da!” I’m a magician. Ana giggles and gives me a round of applause. I bow, enjoying the game, before placing her dress on my chair.

“And for your next trick?” she asks, eyes glittering.

“Oh, my dear Miss Steele. Get into my bed, and I’ll show you.”

“Do you think that for once I should play hard to get?” she teases, tilting her head to one side so her hair tumbles over her shoulder.

A new game. This is interesting.

“Well, the door’s closed. Not sure how you’re going to avoid me. I think it’s a done deal.”

“But I’m a good negotiator,” she says, her voice soft but determined.

“So am I.”

Okay, what’s going on here? Is she reluctant? Too tired? What? “Don’t you want to fuck?” I ask, confused.

“No,” she whispers.

“Oh.” Well, that’s disappointing.

She swallows, then says in a small voice, “I want you to make love to me.”

I stare at her, bemused.

What exactly does she mean?

Make love? We do. We have. It’s just another term for fucking.

She studies me, her expression grave. Hell. Is this her idea of more? All the hearts-and-flowers shit, is that what she means? But we’re just talking semantics, surely? This is semantics. “Ana, I—” What does she want from me? “I thought we did.”

“I want to touch you.”

Fuck. No. I step back as the darkness closes around my ribs.

“Please,” she whispers.

No. No. Haven’t I made it clear?

I can’t bear to be touched. I can’t.

Ever.

“Oh no, Miss Steele, you’ve had enough concessions from me this evening. And I’m saying no.”

“No?” she queries.

“No.”

And for a moment I want to send her home, or upstairs—anywhere away from me. Not here.

Don’t touch me.

She’s watching me warily and I think about the fact that she’s leaving tomorrow and I won’t see her for a while. I sigh. I don’t have the energy for this. “Look, you’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed.”

“So touching is a hard limit for you?”

“Yes. This is old news.” I can’t keep the exasperation out of my voice.

“Please tell me why.”

I don’t want to go there. This is not a conversation I want to have. Ever. “Oh, Anastasia, please. Just drop it for now.”

Her face falls. “It’s important to me,” she says, a hesitant plea in her voice.

“Fuck this,” I mutter to myself. At the chest of drawers I pull out a T-shirt and throw it to her. “Put that on and get into bed.” Why am I even letting her sleep with me? But it’s a rhetorical question: deep down I know the answer. It’s because I sleep better with her.

She’s my dream catcher.