Grey
Page 47
“By Mrs. Robinson?”
“Mrs. Robinson?” I laugh out loud. Anne Bancroft in The Graduate. “I’ll tell her you said that; she’ll love it.”
“You still talk to her regularly?” Her voice is high-pitched with shock and indignation.
“Yes.” Why’s that such a big deal?
“I see.” Now her voice is clipped. She’s mad? Why? I don’t understand. “So you have someone you can discuss your alternative lifestyle with, but I’m not allowed.” Her tone is petulant, but once again she’s calling me out on my shit.
“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it like that. Mrs. Robinson is part of that lifestyle. I told you, she’s a good friend now. If you’d like, I can introduce you to one of my former subs. You could talk to her.”
“Is this your idea of a joke?” she demands.
“No, Anastasia.” I’m surprised by her vehemence and shake my head to reinforce my denial. It’s perfectly normal for a submissive to check with exes that their new Dominant knows what he’s doing.
“No—I’ll do this on my own, thank you very much,” she insists, and reaches for her comforter and quilt, pulling them up to her chin.
What? She’s upset?
“Anastasia, I…I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended. I’m appalled.”
“Appalled?”
“I don’t want to talk to one of your ex-girlfriends, slave, sub, whatever you call them.”
Oh.
“Anastasia Steele, are you jealous?” I sound bewildered…because I am. She flushes beet red, and I know I’ve found the root of her problem. How the hell can she be jealous?
Sweetheart, I had a life before you.
A very active life.
“Are you staying?” she snaps.
What? Of course not. “I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow at The Heathman. Besides, I told you, I don’t sleep with girlfriends, slaves, subs, or anyone. Friday and Saturday were exceptions. It won’t happen again.”
She presses her lips together with her stubborn expression. “Well, I’m tired now,” she says.
Fuck.
“Are you kicking me out?”
This is not how this is supposed to go.
“Yes.”
What the hell?
Disarmed again, by Miss Steele. “Well, that’s another first,” I mutter.
Kicked out. I can’t believe it.
“So nothing you want to discuss now? About the contract?” I ask, as an excuse to prolong my stay.
“No,” she grunts. Her petulance is irritating, and were she truly mine, it would not be tolerated.
“God, I’d like to give you a good hiding. You’d feel a lot better, and so would I,” I tell her.
“You can’t say things like that. I haven’t signed anything yet.” Her eyes flash with defiance.
Oh, baby, I can say it. I just can’t do it. Not until you let me. “A man can dream, Anastasia. Wednesday?” I still want this. Why, though, I don’t know; she’s so difficult. I give her a brief kiss.
“Wednesday,” she agrees, and I’m relieved once again. “I’ll see you out,” she adds, her tone softer. “If you give me a minute.” She pushes me off the bed and pulls on her T-shirt. “Please pass me my sweatpants,” she orders, pointing to them.
Wow. Miss Steele can be a bossy little thing.
“Yes, ma’am,” I quip, knowing that she won’t get the reference. But she narrows her eyes. She knows I’m making fun of her, but she says nothing as she slips her pants on.
Feeling a little bemused at the prospect of being tossed out onto the street, I follow her through the living room to the front door.
When was the last time this happened?
Never.
She opens the door, but she’s staring down at her hands.
What is going on here?
“You okay?” I ask, and brush her lower lip with my thumb. Perhaps she doesn’t want me to go—or perhaps she can’t wait for me to leave?
“Yes,” she says, her tone soft and subdued. I’m not sure I believe her.
“Wednesday,” I remind her. I’ll see her then. Bending down, I kiss her, and she closes her eyes. And I don’t want to go. Not with her uncertainty on my mind. I hold her head and deepen the kiss and she responds, surrendering her mouth to me.
Oh, baby, don’t give up on me. Give it a try.
She grasps my arms, kissing me back, and I don’t want to stop. She’s intoxicating and the darkness is quiet, calmed by the young woman in front of me. Reluctantly, I pull back and lean my forehead against hers.
She’s breathless, like me. “Anastasia, what are you doing to me?”
“I could say the same to you,” she whispers.
I know I have to leave. She has me in a tailspin, and I don’t know why. I kiss her forehead and walk down the path toward the R8. She stands watching me from the doorway. She hasn’t gone in. I smile, pleased that she’s still watching as I climb into the car.
When I look back, she’s gone.
Shit. What just happened? No wave good-bye?
I start the car and begin the drive back to Portland, analyzing what’s taken place between us.
She e-mailed me.
I went to her.
We fucked.
She threw me out before I was ready to leave.
For the first time—well, maybe not the first time—I feel a little used, for sex. It’s a disturbing feeling that reminds me of my time with Elena.
Hell! Miss Steele is topping from the bottom, and she doesn’t even know it. And fool that I am, I’m letting her.
I have to turn this around. This soft-sell approach is messing with my head.
But I want her. I need her to sign.
Is it just the chase? Is that what’s turning me on? Or is it her?
Fuck, I don’t know. But I hope to find out more on Wednesday. And on a positive note, that was one hell of a nice way to spend an evening. I smirk in the rearview mirror and pull into the garage at the hotel.
When I’m back in my room I sit down at my laptop.
Focus on what you want, where you want to be. Isn’t that what Flynn is always harassing me about, his solution-based shit?
From: Christian Grey
Subject: This Evening
Date: May 23 2011 23:16
“Mrs. Robinson?” I laugh out loud. Anne Bancroft in The Graduate. “I’ll tell her you said that; she’ll love it.”
“You still talk to her regularly?” Her voice is high-pitched with shock and indignation.
“Yes.” Why’s that such a big deal?
“I see.” Now her voice is clipped. She’s mad? Why? I don’t understand. “So you have someone you can discuss your alternative lifestyle with, but I’m not allowed.” Her tone is petulant, but once again she’s calling me out on my shit.
“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it like that. Mrs. Robinson is part of that lifestyle. I told you, she’s a good friend now. If you’d like, I can introduce you to one of my former subs. You could talk to her.”
“Is this your idea of a joke?” she demands.
“No, Anastasia.” I’m surprised by her vehemence and shake my head to reinforce my denial. It’s perfectly normal for a submissive to check with exes that their new Dominant knows what he’s doing.
“No—I’ll do this on my own, thank you very much,” she insists, and reaches for her comforter and quilt, pulling them up to her chin.
What? She’s upset?
“Anastasia, I…I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended. I’m appalled.”
“Appalled?”
“I don’t want to talk to one of your ex-girlfriends, slave, sub, whatever you call them.”
Oh.
“Anastasia Steele, are you jealous?” I sound bewildered…because I am. She flushes beet red, and I know I’ve found the root of her problem. How the hell can she be jealous?
Sweetheart, I had a life before you.
A very active life.
“Are you staying?” she snaps.
What? Of course not. “I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow at The Heathman. Besides, I told you, I don’t sleep with girlfriends, slaves, subs, or anyone. Friday and Saturday were exceptions. It won’t happen again.”
She presses her lips together with her stubborn expression. “Well, I’m tired now,” she says.
Fuck.
“Are you kicking me out?”
This is not how this is supposed to go.
“Yes.”
What the hell?
Disarmed again, by Miss Steele. “Well, that’s another first,” I mutter.
Kicked out. I can’t believe it.
“So nothing you want to discuss now? About the contract?” I ask, as an excuse to prolong my stay.
“No,” she grunts. Her petulance is irritating, and were she truly mine, it would not be tolerated.
“God, I’d like to give you a good hiding. You’d feel a lot better, and so would I,” I tell her.
“You can’t say things like that. I haven’t signed anything yet.” Her eyes flash with defiance.
Oh, baby, I can say it. I just can’t do it. Not until you let me. “A man can dream, Anastasia. Wednesday?” I still want this. Why, though, I don’t know; she’s so difficult. I give her a brief kiss.
“Wednesday,” she agrees, and I’m relieved once again. “I’ll see you out,” she adds, her tone softer. “If you give me a minute.” She pushes me off the bed and pulls on her T-shirt. “Please pass me my sweatpants,” she orders, pointing to them.
Wow. Miss Steele can be a bossy little thing.
“Yes, ma’am,” I quip, knowing that she won’t get the reference. But she narrows her eyes. She knows I’m making fun of her, but she says nothing as she slips her pants on.
Feeling a little bemused at the prospect of being tossed out onto the street, I follow her through the living room to the front door.
When was the last time this happened?
Never.
She opens the door, but she’s staring down at her hands.
What is going on here?
“You okay?” I ask, and brush her lower lip with my thumb. Perhaps she doesn’t want me to go—or perhaps she can’t wait for me to leave?
“Yes,” she says, her tone soft and subdued. I’m not sure I believe her.
“Wednesday,” I remind her. I’ll see her then. Bending down, I kiss her, and she closes her eyes. And I don’t want to go. Not with her uncertainty on my mind. I hold her head and deepen the kiss and she responds, surrendering her mouth to me.
Oh, baby, don’t give up on me. Give it a try.
She grasps my arms, kissing me back, and I don’t want to stop. She’s intoxicating and the darkness is quiet, calmed by the young woman in front of me. Reluctantly, I pull back and lean my forehead against hers.
She’s breathless, like me. “Anastasia, what are you doing to me?”
“I could say the same to you,” she whispers.
I know I have to leave. She has me in a tailspin, and I don’t know why. I kiss her forehead and walk down the path toward the R8. She stands watching me from the doorway. She hasn’t gone in. I smile, pleased that she’s still watching as I climb into the car.
When I look back, she’s gone.
Shit. What just happened? No wave good-bye?
I start the car and begin the drive back to Portland, analyzing what’s taken place between us.
She e-mailed me.
I went to her.
We fucked.
She threw me out before I was ready to leave.
For the first time—well, maybe not the first time—I feel a little used, for sex. It’s a disturbing feeling that reminds me of my time with Elena.
Hell! Miss Steele is topping from the bottom, and she doesn’t even know it. And fool that I am, I’m letting her.
I have to turn this around. This soft-sell approach is messing with my head.
But I want her. I need her to sign.
Is it just the chase? Is that what’s turning me on? Or is it her?
Fuck, I don’t know. But I hope to find out more on Wednesday. And on a positive note, that was one hell of a nice way to spend an evening. I smirk in the rearview mirror and pull into the garage at the hotel.
When I’m back in my room I sit down at my laptop.
Focus on what you want, where you want to be. Isn’t that what Flynn is always harassing me about, his solution-based shit?
From: Christian Grey
Subject: This Evening
Date: May 23 2011 23:16
