She closes her teeth around me, biting me hard.
Ow! Fuck.
I grip her hair tightly and she loosens her mouth. “Naughty, sweet girl.” My mind flits through a number of punishments worthy of such a bold move that, if she were my submissive, I could inflict on her. My cock expands to bursting at the thought. I release her and sit back on my knees.
“Stay still, don’t move.” I grab another condom from my bedside table, rip open the foil, and roll the latex over my erection.
Watching her, I see that she’s still, except for the rise and fall of her back as she pants in anticipation.
She’s gorgeous.
Leaning over her again, I grasp her hair and hold her so she can’t move her head.
“We’re going to go real slow this time, Anastasia.”
She gasps, and gently I ease into her until I can go no farther.
Fuck. She feels good.
As I ease out I circle my hips and slowly slip into her again. She whimpers and her limbs tense beneath me as she tries to move.
Oh no, baby.
I want you still.
I want you to feel this.
Take all the pleasure.
“You feel so good,” I tell her, and repeat the move again, circling my hips as I go. Slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Her insides start to tremble.
“Oh no, baby, not yet.”
No way am I letting you come.
Not when I’m enjoying this so much.
“Oh, please,” she cries.
“I want you sore, baby.” I pull out and sink into her again. “Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine.”
“Please, Christian,” she begs.
“What do you want, Anastasia? Tell me.” I continue the slow torture. “Tell me.”
“You, please.” She’s desperate.
She wants me.
Good girl.
I increase the pace and her insides begin to quiver, responding immediately.
Between each thrust I utter one word. “You. Are. So. Sweet. I. Want. You. So. Much. You. Are. Mine.” Her limbs tremble with the strain of keeping still. She’s on the edge. “Come for me, baby,” I growl.
And on command she shudders around me as her orgasm rips through her and she screams my name into the mattress.
My name on her lips is my undoing, and I climax and collapse on top of her.
“Fuck. Ana,” I whisper, drained yet elated. I pull out of her almost immediately and roll onto my back. She curls up at my side, and as I pull off the condom, she closes her eyes and falls asleep.
SUNDAY, MAY 22, 2011
I wake with a start and a pervading sense of guilt, as if I’ve committed a terrible sin.
Is it because I’ve fucked Anastasia Steele? Virgin?
She’s snuggled up fast asleep beside me. I check the radio alarm: it’s after three in the morning. Ana sleeps the sound sleep of an innocent. Well, not so innocent now. My body stirs as I watch her.
I could wake her.
Fuck her again.
There are definitely some advantages to having her in my bed.
Grey. Stop this nonsense.
Fucking her was merely a means to an end and a pleasant diversion.
Yes. Very pleasant.
More like incredible.
It was just sex, for fuck’s sake.
I close my eyes in what will probably be a futile attempt to sleep. But the room is too full of Ana: her scent, the sound of her soft breathing, and the memory of my first vanilla fuck. Visions of her head thrown back in passion, of her crying out a barely recognizable version of my name, and her unbridled enthusiasm for sexual congress overwhelm me.
Miss Steele is a carnal creature.
She will be a joy to train.
My cock twitches in agreement.
Shit.
I can’t sleep, though tonight it’s not nightmares that keep me awake, it’s little Miss Steele. Climbing out of bed, I collect the used condoms from the floor, knot them, and dispose of them in the wastepaper basket. From the chest of drawers I pull out a pair of PJ pants and drag them on. With a lingering look at the enticing woman in my bed, I venture into the kitchen. I’m thirsty.
Once I’ve had a glass of water, I do what I always do when I can’t sleep—I check my e-mail in my study. Taylor has returned and is asking if he can stand Charlie Tango down. Stephan must be asleep upstairs. I e-mail him back with a “yes,” though at this time of night it’s a given.
Back in the living room I sit down at my piano. This is my solace, where I can lose myself for hours. I’ve been able to play well since I was nine, but it wasn’t until I had my own piano, in my own place, that it really became a passion. When I want to forget everything, this is what I do. And right now I don’t want to think about having propositioned a virgin, fucked her, or revealed my lifestyle to someone with no experience. With my hands on the keys, I begin to play and lose myself in the solitude of Bach.
A movement distracts me from the music, and when I look up Ana’s standing by the piano. Wrapped in a comforter, her hair wild and curling down her back, eyes luminous, she looks stunning.
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Why is she apologizing? “Surely, I should be saying that to you.” I play the last notes and stand. “You should be in bed,” I chide.
“That was a beautiful piece. Bach?”
“Transcription by Bach, but it’s originally an oboe concerto by Alessandro Marcello.”
“It was exquisite, but very sad, such a melancholy melody.”
Melancholy? It wouldn’t be the first time someone has used that word to describe me.
“May I speak freely? Sir.” Leila is kneeling beside me while I work.
“You may.”
“Sir, you are most melancholy today.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, Sir. Is there something that you would like me to do…?”
I shake off the memory. Ana should be in bed. I tell her so again.
“I woke and you weren’t there.”
“I find it difficult to sleep, and I’m not used to sleeping with anyone.” I’ve told her this—and why am I justifying myself? I wrap my arm around her naked shoulders, enjoying the feel of her skin, and guide her back to the bedroom.
“How long have you been playing? You play beautifully.”
“Since I was six.” I’m abrupt.
“Oh,” she says. I think she’s taken the hint—I don’t want to talk about my childhood.
Ow! Fuck.
I grip her hair tightly and she loosens her mouth. “Naughty, sweet girl.” My mind flits through a number of punishments worthy of such a bold move that, if she were my submissive, I could inflict on her. My cock expands to bursting at the thought. I release her and sit back on my knees.
“Stay still, don’t move.” I grab another condom from my bedside table, rip open the foil, and roll the latex over my erection.
Watching her, I see that she’s still, except for the rise and fall of her back as she pants in anticipation.
She’s gorgeous.
Leaning over her again, I grasp her hair and hold her so she can’t move her head.
“We’re going to go real slow this time, Anastasia.”
She gasps, and gently I ease into her until I can go no farther.
Fuck. She feels good.
As I ease out I circle my hips and slowly slip into her again. She whimpers and her limbs tense beneath me as she tries to move.
Oh no, baby.
I want you still.
I want you to feel this.
Take all the pleasure.
“You feel so good,” I tell her, and repeat the move again, circling my hips as I go. Slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Her insides start to tremble.
“Oh no, baby, not yet.”
No way am I letting you come.
Not when I’m enjoying this so much.
“Oh, please,” she cries.
“I want you sore, baby.” I pull out and sink into her again. “Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine.”
“Please, Christian,” she begs.
“What do you want, Anastasia? Tell me.” I continue the slow torture. “Tell me.”
“You, please.” She’s desperate.
She wants me.
Good girl.
I increase the pace and her insides begin to quiver, responding immediately.
Between each thrust I utter one word. “You. Are. So. Sweet. I. Want. You. So. Much. You. Are. Mine.” Her limbs tremble with the strain of keeping still. She’s on the edge. “Come for me, baby,” I growl.
And on command she shudders around me as her orgasm rips through her and she screams my name into the mattress.
My name on her lips is my undoing, and I climax and collapse on top of her.
“Fuck. Ana,” I whisper, drained yet elated. I pull out of her almost immediately and roll onto my back. She curls up at my side, and as I pull off the condom, she closes her eyes and falls asleep.
SUNDAY, MAY 22, 2011
I wake with a start and a pervading sense of guilt, as if I’ve committed a terrible sin.
Is it because I’ve fucked Anastasia Steele? Virgin?
She’s snuggled up fast asleep beside me. I check the radio alarm: it’s after three in the morning. Ana sleeps the sound sleep of an innocent. Well, not so innocent now. My body stirs as I watch her.
I could wake her.
Fuck her again.
There are definitely some advantages to having her in my bed.
Grey. Stop this nonsense.
Fucking her was merely a means to an end and a pleasant diversion.
Yes. Very pleasant.
More like incredible.
It was just sex, for fuck’s sake.
I close my eyes in what will probably be a futile attempt to sleep. But the room is too full of Ana: her scent, the sound of her soft breathing, and the memory of my first vanilla fuck. Visions of her head thrown back in passion, of her crying out a barely recognizable version of my name, and her unbridled enthusiasm for sexual congress overwhelm me.
Miss Steele is a carnal creature.
She will be a joy to train.
My cock twitches in agreement.
Shit.
I can’t sleep, though tonight it’s not nightmares that keep me awake, it’s little Miss Steele. Climbing out of bed, I collect the used condoms from the floor, knot them, and dispose of them in the wastepaper basket. From the chest of drawers I pull out a pair of PJ pants and drag them on. With a lingering look at the enticing woman in my bed, I venture into the kitchen. I’m thirsty.
Once I’ve had a glass of water, I do what I always do when I can’t sleep—I check my e-mail in my study. Taylor has returned and is asking if he can stand Charlie Tango down. Stephan must be asleep upstairs. I e-mail him back with a “yes,” though at this time of night it’s a given.
Back in the living room I sit down at my piano. This is my solace, where I can lose myself for hours. I’ve been able to play well since I was nine, but it wasn’t until I had my own piano, in my own place, that it really became a passion. When I want to forget everything, this is what I do. And right now I don’t want to think about having propositioned a virgin, fucked her, or revealed my lifestyle to someone with no experience. With my hands on the keys, I begin to play and lose myself in the solitude of Bach.
A movement distracts me from the music, and when I look up Ana’s standing by the piano. Wrapped in a comforter, her hair wild and curling down her back, eyes luminous, she looks stunning.
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Why is she apologizing? “Surely, I should be saying that to you.” I play the last notes and stand. “You should be in bed,” I chide.
“That was a beautiful piece. Bach?”
“Transcription by Bach, but it’s originally an oboe concerto by Alessandro Marcello.”
“It was exquisite, but very sad, such a melancholy melody.”
Melancholy? It wouldn’t be the first time someone has used that word to describe me.
“May I speak freely? Sir.” Leila is kneeling beside me while I work.
“You may.”
“Sir, you are most melancholy today.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, Sir. Is there something that you would like me to do…?”
I shake off the memory. Ana should be in bed. I tell her so again.
“I woke and you weren’t there.”
“I find it difficult to sleep, and I’m not used to sleeping with anyone.” I’ve told her this—and why am I justifying myself? I wrap my arm around her naked shoulders, enjoying the feel of her skin, and guide her back to the bedroom.
“How long have you been playing? You play beautifully.”
“Since I was six.” I’m abrupt.
“Oh,” she says. I think she’s taken the hint—I don’t want to talk about my childhood.
