Chopin is my solace; the somber notes match my mood and I play them over and over. A small movement at the edge of my vision catches my attention, and looking up, I see it’s Ana coming toward me, her footsteps hesitant. “You should be asleep,” I mutter, but continue playing.
“So should you,” she volleys back. Her face is firm with resolve, yet she looks small and vulnerable dressed only in my oversized bathrobe. I hide my smile.
“Are you scolding me, Miss Steele?”
“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am.”
“Well, I can’t sleep.”
I have too much weighing on my mind, and I’d rather she went back to bed and slept. She must be tired from yesterday. She disregards my mood and sits down beside me on the piano bench, leaning her head on my shoulder.
It’s such a tender and intimate gesture that for a moment I lose my place in the prelude, but I continue playing, feeling more at peace because she’s with me.
“What was that?” she asks when I finish.
“Chopin. A prelude. Opus twenty-eight, number four. In E minor, if you’re interested.”
“I’m always interested in what you do.”
Sweet Ana. I kiss her hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” she says, not moving her head. “Play the other one.”
“Other one?”
“The Bach piece that you played the first night I stayed.”
“Oh, the Marcello.”
I can’t remember when I last played for someone upon request. For me the piano is a solitary instrument, for my ears only. My family hasn’t heard me play for years. But since she’s asked, I’ll play for my sweet Ana. My fingers caress the keys and the haunting melody echoes through the living room.
“Why do you only play such sad music?” she asks.
Is it sad?
“So you were just six when you started to play?” She continues her questions, lifting her head and studying me. Her face is open and eager for information, as usual; and after last night, who am I to deny her anything?
“I threw myself into learning the piano to please my new mother.”
“To fit into the perfect family?” My words from our candid night in Savannah echo in her soft voice.
“Yes, so to speak.” I don’t want to talk about this and I’m surprised how much of my personal information she’s retained. “Why are you awake? Don’t you need to recover from yesterday’s exertions?”
“It’s eight in the morning for me. And I need to take my pill.”
“Well remembered,” I muse. “Only you would start a course of time-specific birth control pills in a different time zone. Perhaps you should wait half an hour, and then another half hour tomorrow morning. So eventually you can take them at a reasonable time.”
“Good plan,” she says. “So what shall we do for half an hour?”
Well, I could fuck you over this piano.
“I can think of a few things.” My voice is seductive.
“On the other hand, we could talk.” She smiles, provocative.
I’m not in the mood for talking. “I prefer what I have in mind.” I snake my arm around her waist, pull her into my lap, and nuzzle her hair.
“You’d always rather have sex than talk.” She laughs.
“True. Especially with you.” Her hands curl around my biceps, yet the darkness stays still and quiet. I trail kisses from the base of her ear to her throat. “Maybe on my piano,” I murmur, as my body responds to a mental image of her sprawled naked on the top, her hair spilling down over the side.
“I want to get something straight.” She speaks quietly in my ear.
“Always so eager for information, Miss Steele. What needs straightening out?” Her skin is soft and warm against my lips as I nudge her bathrobe off her shoulder with my nose.
“Us,” she says, and the simple word sounds like a prayer.
“Hmm. What about us?” I pause. Where is she going with this?
“The contract.”
I stop and stare down into her shrewd gaze. Why is she doing this now? My fingers glide down her cheek.
“Well, I think the contract is moot, don’t you?”
“Moot?” she says, and her lips soften with the hint of a smile.
“Moot.” I mirror her expression.
“But you were so keen.” Uncertainty clouds Ana’s eyes.
“Well, that was before. Anyway, the rules aren’t moot, they still stand.” I need to know you’re safe.
“Before? Before what?”
“Before—” Before all this. Before you turned my world upside down, before you sleeping with me. Before you laid your head on my shoulder at the piano. It’s all . . . “More,” I murmur, driving away the now-familiar unease in my gut.
“Oh,” she says, and I think she’s pleased.
“Besides, we’ve been in the playroom twice now, and you haven’t run screaming for the hills.”
“Do you expect me to?”
“Nothing you do is expected, Anastasia.”
The v between her brows is back. “So, let me be clear. You just want me to follow the rules element of the contract all the time, but not the rest of the contract?”
“Except in the playroom. I want you to follow the spirit of the contract in the playroom, and yes, I want you to follow the rules—all the time. Then I’ll know you’re safe. And I’ll be able to have you anytime I wish,” I add flippantly.
“And if I break one of the rules?” she asks.
“Then I’ll punish you.”
“But won’t you need my permission?”
“Yes, I will.”
“And if I say no?” she persists.
Why is she being so willful?
“If you say no, you’ll say no. I’ll have to find a way to persuade you.” She should know this. She didn’t let me spank her in the boathouse, and I wanted to. But I got to do it later that evening…with her approval.
She stands and walks toward the entrance of the living room, and for a moment I think she’s storming off, but she turns, her expression perplexed. “So the punishment aspect remains.”
“Yes, but only if you break the rules.” This is clear to me. Why not to her?
“I’ll need to reread them,” she says, suddenly all businesslike.
“So should you,” she volleys back. Her face is firm with resolve, yet she looks small and vulnerable dressed only in my oversized bathrobe. I hide my smile.
“Are you scolding me, Miss Steele?”
“Yes, Mr. Grey, I am.”
“Well, I can’t sleep.”
I have too much weighing on my mind, and I’d rather she went back to bed and slept. She must be tired from yesterday. She disregards my mood and sits down beside me on the piano bench, leaning her head on my shoulder.
It’s such a tender and intimate gesture that for a moment I lose my place in the prelude, but I continue playing, feeling more at peace because she’s with me.
“What was that?” she asks when I finish.
“Chopin. A prelude. Opus twenty-eight, number four. In E minor, if you’re interested.”
“I’m always interested in what you do.”
Sweet Ana. I kiss her hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” she says, not moving her head. “Play the other one.”
“Other one?”
“The Bach piece that you played the first night I stayed.”
“Oh, the Marcello.”
I can’t remember when I last played for someone upon request. For me the piano is a solitary instrument, for my ears only. My family hasn’t heard me play for years. But since she’s asked, I’ll play for my sweet Ana. My fingers caress the keys and the haunting melody echoes through the living room.
“Why do you only play such sad music?” she asks.
Is it sad?
“So you were just six when you started to play?” She continues her questions, lifting her head and studying me. Her face is open and eager for information, as usual; and after last night, who am I to deny her anything?
“I threw myself into learning the piano to please my new mother.”
“To fit into the perfect family?” My words from our candid night in Savannah echo in her soft voice.
“Yes, so to speak.” I don’t want to talk about this and I’m surprised how much of my personal information she’s retained. “Why are you awake? Don’t you need to recover from yesterday’s exertions?”
“It’s eight in the morning for me. And I need to take my pill.”
“Well remembered,” I muse. “Only you would start a course of time-specific birth control pills in a different time zone. Perhaps you should wait half an hour, and then another half hour tomorrow morning. So eventually you can take them at a reasonable time.”
“Good plan,” she says. “So what shall we do for half an hour?”
Well, I could fuck you over this piano.
“I can think of a few things.” My voice is seductive.
“On the other hand, we could talk.” She smiles, provocative.
I’m not in the mood for talking. “I prefer what I have in mind.” I snake my arm around her waist, pull her into my lap, and nuzzle her hair.
“You’d always rather have sex than talk.” She laughs.
“True. Especially with you.” Her hands curl around my biceps, yet the darkness stays still and quiet. I trail kisses from the base of her ear to her throat. “Maybe on my piano,” I murmur, as my body responds to a mental image of her sprawled naked on the top, her hair spilling down over the side.
“I want to get something straight.” She speaks quietly in my ear.
“Always so eager for information, Miss Steele. What needs straightening out?” Her skin is soft and warm against my lips as I nudge her bathrobe off her shoulder with my nose.
“Us,” she says, and the simple word sounds like a prayer.
“Hmm. What about us?” I pause. Where is she going with this?
“The contract.”
I stop and stare down into her shrewd gaze. Why is she doing this now? My fingers glide down her cheek.
“Well, I think the contract is moot, don’t you?”
“Moot?” she says, and her lips soften with the hint of a smile.
“Moot.” I mirror her expression.
“But you were so keen.” Uncertainty clouds Ana’s eyes.
“Well, that was before. Anyway, the rules aren’t moot, they still stand.” I need to know you’re safe.
“Before? Before what?”
“Before—” Before all this. Before you turned my world upside down, before you sleeping with me. Before you laid your head on my shoulder at the piano. It’s all . . . “More,” I murmur, driving away the now-familiar unease in my gut.
“Oh,” she says, and I think she’s pleased.
“Besides, we’ve been in the playroom twice now, and you haven’t run screaming for the hills.”
“Do you expect me to?”
“Nothing you do is expected, Anastasia.”
The v between her brows is back. “So, let me be clear. You just want me to follow the rules element of the contract all the time, but not the rest of the contract?”
“Except in the playroom. I want you to follow the spirit of the contract in the playroom, and yes, I want you to follow the rules—all the time. Then I’ll know you’re safe. And I’ll be able to have you anytime I wish,” I add flippantly.
“And if I break one of the rules?” she asks.
“Then I’ll punish you.”
“But won’t you need my permission?”
“Yes, I will.”
“And if I say no?” she persists.
Why is she being so willful?
“If you say no, you’ll say no. I’ll have to find a way to persuade you.” She should know this. She didn’t let me spank her in the boathouse, and I wanted to. But I got to do it later that evening…with her approval.
She stands and walks toward the entrance of the living room, and for a moment I think she’s storming off, but she turns, her expression perplexed. “So the punishment aspect remains.”
“Yes, but only if you break the rules.” This is clear to me. Why not to her?
“I’ll need to reread them,” she says, suddenly all businesslike.
