and from it hang all manner of ropes, chains, and glinting shackles. By the door, two long, polished, ornately carved poles, like spindles from a banister but longer, hang like curtain rods across the wall. From them swing a startling assortment of paddles, whips, riding crops, and funny-looking feathery implements.
　　Beside the door stands a substantial mahogany chest of drawers, each drawer slim as if designed to contain specimens in a crusty old museum. I wonder briefly what the drawers actually do hold. Do I want to know? In the far corner is an oxblood leather padded bench, and fixed to the wall beside it is a wooden, polished rack that looks like a pool or billiard cue holder, but on closer inspection, it holds canes of varying lengths and widths. There’s a stout six-foot-long table in the opposite corner – polished wood with intricately carved legs – and two matching stools underneath.
　　But what dominates the room is a bed. It’s bigger than king-size, an ornately carved rococo four-poster with a flat top. It looks late nineteenth century. Under the canopy, I can see more gleaming chains and cuffs. There is no bedding... just a mattress covered in red leather and red satin cushions piled at one end.
　　At the foot of the bed, set apart a few feet, is a large oxblood chesterfield couch, just stuck in the middle of the room facing the bed. An odd arrangement… to have a couch facing the bed, and I smile to myself – I’ve picked on the couch as odd, when really it’s the most mundane piece of furniture in the room. I glance up and stare at the ceiling. There are karabiners all over the ceiling at odd intervals. I vaguely wonder what they’re for. Weirdly, all the wood, dark walls, moody lighting, and oxblood leather makes the room kind of soft and romantic… I know it’s anything but, this is Christian’s version of soft and romantic.
　　I turn, and he’s regarding me intently as I knew he would be, his expression completely unreadable. I walk further into the room, and he follows me. The feathery thing has me intrigued. I touch it hesitantly. It’s suede, like a small cat-of-nine-tails but bushier, and there are very small plastic beads on the end.
　　“It’s called a flogger,” Christian’s voice is quiet and soft.
　　A flogger… hmm. I think I’m in shock. My subconscious has emigrated or been struck dumb or simply keeled over and expired. I am numb. I can observe and absorb but not articulate my feelings about all this, because I’m in shock. What is the appropriate response to finding out a potential lover is a complete freaky sadist or masochist? Fear… yes… that seems to be the over-riding feeling. I recognize it now. But weirdly not of him – I don’t think he’d hurt me, well, not without my consent. So many questions cloud my mind. Why? How? When? How often? Who? I walk toward the bed and run my hands down one of the intricately carved posts. The post is very sturdy, the craftsmanship outstanding.
　　“Say something,” Christian commands, his voice deceptively soft.
　　“Do you do this to people or do they do it to you?”
　　His mouth quirks up, either amused or relieved.
　　“People?” He blinks a couple of times as he considers his answer. “I do this to women who want me to.”
　　I don’t understand.
　　“If you have willing volunteers, why am I here?”
　　“Because I want to do this with you, very much.”
　　“Oh,” I gasp. Why?
　　I wander to the far corner of the room and pat the waist high padded bench and run my fingers over the leather. He likes to hurt women. The thought depresses me.
　　“You’re a sadist?”
　　“I’m a Dominant.” His eyes are a scorching gray, intense.
　　“What does that mean?” I whisper.
　　“It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things.”
　　I frown at him as I try to assimilate this idea.
　　“Why would I do that?”
　　“To please me,” he whispers as he cocks his head to one side, and I see a ghost of a smile.
　　Please him! He wants me to please him! I think my mouth drops open. Please Christian Grey. And I realize, in that moment, that yes, that’s exactly what I want to do. I want him to be damned delighted with me. It’s a revelation.
　　“In very simple terms, I want you to want to please me,” he says softly. His voice is hypnotic.
　　“How do I do that?” My mouth is dry, and I wish I had more wine. Okay, I understand the pleasing bit, but I am puzzled by the soft-boudoir-Elizabethan-torture set up. Do I want to know the answer?
　　“I have rules, and I want you to comply with them. They are for your benefit and for my pleasure. If you follow these rules to my satisfaction, I shall reward you. If you don’t, I shall punish you, and you will learn,” he whispers. I glance at the rack of canes as he says this.
　　“And where does all this fit in?” I wave my hand in the general direction of the room.
　　“It’s all part of the incentive package. Both reward and punishment.”
　　“So you’ll get your kicks by exerting your will over me.”
　　“It’s about gaining your trust and your respect, so you’ll let me exert my will over you. I will gain a great deal of pleasure, joy, even in your submission. The more you submit, the greater my joy – it’s a very simple equation.”
　　“Okay, and what do I get out of this?”
　　He shrugs and looks almost apologetic.
　　“Me,” he says simply.
　　Oh my. Christian rakes his hand through his hair as he gazes at me.
　　“You’re not giving anything away, Anastasia,” he murmurs, exasperated. “Let’s go back downstairs where I can concentrate better. It’s very distracting having you in here.” He holds his hand out to me, and now I’m hesitant to take it.
　　Kate had said he was dangerous, she was so right. How did she know? He’s dangerous to my health, because I know I’m going to say yes. And part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me wants to run screaming from this room and all it represents. I am so out of my depth here.
　　“I’m not going to hurt you, Anastasia.” His gray eyes implore, and I know he speaks the truth. I take his hand, and he leads me out of the door.
　　“If you do this, let me show you.” Rather than going back downstairs, he turns right out of the playroom, as he calls it, and down a corridor. We pass several doors until we reach the one at the end. Beyond it is a bedroom with a large double bed, all in white… everything, furniture, walls, bedding. It’s sterile and cold but with the most glorious view of Seattle through the glass wall.
　　“This will be your room. You can decorate it how you like, have whatever you like in here.”
　　“My room? You’re expecting me to move in?” I can’t hide the horror in my voice.
　　“Not full time. Just say, Friday evening through Sunday. We have to talk about all that, negotiate. If you want to do this,” he adds, his voice quiet and hesitant.
　　“I’ll sleep here?”
　　“Yes.”
　　“Not with you.”
　　“No. I told you, I don’t sleep with anyone, except you, when you’re stupefied with drink.” His eyes are reprimanding.
　　My mouth presses in a hard line. This is what I cannot reconcile. Kind, caring Christian, who rescues me from inebriation and holds me gently while I’m throwing up into the azaleas, and the monster who possesses whips and chains in a special room.
　　“Where do you sleep?”
　　“My room is downstairs. Come, you must be hungry.”
　　“Weirdly, I seem to have lost my appetite,” I murmur petulantly.
　　“You must eat, Anastasia,” he admonishes and, taking my hand, leads me back downstairs.
　　Back in the impossibly big room, I am filled with deep trepidation. I am on the edge of a precipice, and I have to decide whether or not to jump.
　　“I’m fully aware that this is a dark path I’m leading you down, Anastasia, which is why I really want you to think about this. You must have some questions,” he says as he wanders into the kitchen area, releasing my hand.
　　I do. But where to start?
　　“You’ve signed your NDA, you can ask me anything you want, and I’ll answer.”
　　I stand at the breakfast bar watching him as he opens the refrigerator and pulls out a plate of different cheeses with two large bunches of green and red grapes. He sets the plate down on the worktop and proceeds to cut up a French baguette.

　　“Sit.” He points to one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar, and I obey his command. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to have to get used to it. I realize he’s been this bossy since I met him.
　　“You mentioned paperwork.”
　　“Yes.”
　　“What paperwork?”
　　“Well, apart from the NDA, a contract saying what we will and won’t do. I need to know your limits, and you need to know mine. This is consensual, Anastasia.”
　　“And if I don’t want to do this?”
　　“That’s fine,” he says carefully.
　　“But we won’t have any sort of relationship?” I ask.
　　“No.”
　　“Why?”
　　“This is the only sort of relationship I’m interesting in.”
　　“Why?”
　　He shrugs.
　　“It’s the way I am.”
　　“How did you become this way?”
　　“Why is anyone the way they are? That’s kind of hard to answer. Why do some people like cheese and other people hate it? Do you like cheese? Mrs. Jones – my housekeeper – has left this for supper.” He takes some large, white plates from a cupboard and places one in front of me.
　　We’re talking about cheese… Holy crap.
　　“What are your rules that I have to follow?”
　　“I have them written down. We’ll go through them once we’ve eaten.”
　　Food. How can I eat now?
　　“I’m really not hungry,” I whisper.
　　“You will eat,” he says simply. Dominating Christian, it all becomes clear. “Would you like another glass of wine?”
　　“Yes, please.”
　　He pours wine into my glass and comes to sit beside me. I take a hasty sip.
　　“Help yourself to food, Anastasia.”
　　I take a small bunch of grapes. This I can manage. He narrows his eyes.
　　“Have you been like this for a while?” I ask.
　　“Yes.”
　　“Is it easy to find women who want to do this?”
　　He raises an eyebrow at me.
　　“You’d be amazed,” he says dryly.
　　“Then why me? I really don’t understand.”
　　“Anastasia, I’ve told you. There’s something about you. I can’t leave you alone.” He smiles ironically. “I’m like a moth to a flame.” His voice darkens. “I want you very badly, especially now, when you’re biting your lip again.” He takes a deep breath and swallows.
　　My stomach somersaults – he wants me… in a weird way, true, but this beautiful, strange, kinky man wants me.
　　“I think you have that cliché the wrong way round.” I grumble. I am the moth and he is the flame, and I’m going to get burnt. I know.
　　“Eat!”
　　“No. I haven’t signed anything yet, so I think I’ll hang on to my free will for a bit longer, if that’s okay with you.”
　　His eyes soften, and his lips turn up in a smile.
　　“As you wish, Miss Steele.”
　　“How many women?” I blurt out the question, but I’m so curious.
　　“Fifteen.”
　　Oh… not as many as I thought.
　　“For long periods of time?”
　　“Some of them, yes.”
　　“Have you ever hurt anyone?”
　　“Yes.”
　　Holy shit.
　　“Badly?”
　　“No.”
　　“Will you hurt me?”
　　“What do you mean?”
　　“Physically, will you hurt me?”
　　“I will punish you when you require it, and it will be painful.”
　　I think I feel a little faint. I take another sip of wine. Alcohol - this will make me brave.
　　“Have you ever been beaten?” I ask.
　　“Yes.”
　　Oh… that surprises me. Before I can question him on this revelation further, he interrupts my train of thought.
　　“Let’s discuss this in my study. I want to show you something.”
　　This is so hard to process. Here I was foolishly thinking that I’d spend a night of unparalleled passion in this man’s bed, and we’re negotiating this weird arrangement.
　　I follow him into his study, a spacious room with another floor-to-ceiling window that opens out on to the balcony. He sits on the desk, motions for me to sit on a leather chair in front of him, and hands me a piece of paper.
　　“These are the rules. They may be subject to change. They form part of the contract, which you can also have. Read these rules and let’s discuss.”
　　RULES
　　Obedience:
　　The Submissive will obey any instructions given by the Dominant immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner. The Submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the Dominant excepting those activities which are outlined in hard limits (Appendix 2). She will do so eagerly and without hesitation.
　　Sleep:
　　The Submissive will ensure she achieves a minimum of seven hours sleep a night when she is not with the Dominant.
　　Food:
　　The Submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and wellbeing from a prescribed list of foods (Appendix 4). The Submissive will not snack between meals, with the exception of fruit.
　　Clothes:
　　During the Term, the Submissive will wear clothing only approved by the Dominant. The Dominant will provide a clothing budget for the Submissive, which the Submissive shall utilize. The Dominant shall accompany the Submissive to purchase clothing on an ad hoc basis. If the Dominant so requires, the Submissive shall during the Term any adornments the Dominant shall require, in the presence of the Dominant and any other time the Dominant deems fit.
　　Exercise:
　　The Dominant shall provide the Submissive with a personal trainer four times a week in hour-long sessions at times to be mutually agreed between the personal trainer and the Submissive. The personal trainer will report to the Dominant on the Submissive’s progress.
　　Personal Hygiene/Beauty:
　　The Submissive will keep herself clean and shaved and/or waxed at all times. The Submissive will visit a beauty salon of the Dominant’s choosing at times to be decided by the Dominant, and undergo whatever treatments the Dominant sees fit.
　　Personal Safety:
　　The Submissive will not drink to excess, smoke, take recreational drugs, or put herself in any unnecessary danger.
　　Personal Qualities:
　　The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on the Dominant. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings, and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of the Dominant.
　　Failure to comply with any of the above will result in immediate punishment, the nature of which shall be determined by the Dominant.
　　Holy fuck.
　　“Hard limits?” I ask.
　　“Yes. What you won’t do, what I won’t do, we need to specify in our agreement.”
　　“I’m not sure about accepting money for clothes. It feels wrong.” I shift uncomfortably, the word ‘ho’ rattling round my head.
　　“I want to lavish money on you, let me buy you some clothes. I may need you to accompany me to functions, and I want you dressed well. I’m sure your salary, when you do get a job, won’t cover the kind of clothes I’d like you to wear.”
　　“I don’t have to wear them when I’m not with you?”
　　“No.”
　　“Okay.” Think of them as uniform.
　　“I don’t want to exercise four times a week.”
　　“Anastasia, I need you supple, strong, and with stamina. Trust me, you need to exercise.”
　　“But surely not four times a week, how about three?”
　　“I want you to do four.”
　　“I thought this was a negotiation?”
　　He purses his lips at me.
　　“Okay, Miss Steele, another point well made. How about an hour on three days and one day half an hour?”
　　“Three days, three hours. I get the impression you’re going to keep me exercised when I’m here.”

　　He smiles wickedly, and his eyes glow as if relieved. “Yes, I am. Okay, agreed. Are you sure you don’t want to intern at my company? You’re a good negotiator.”
　　“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I stare down at his rules. Waxing! Waxing what? Everything? Ugh.
　　“So, limits. These are mine.” He hands me another piece of paper.
　　Hard Limits
　　No acts involving fire play
　　No acts involving urination or defecation and the products thereof
　　No acts involving needles, knives, piercing, or blood
　　No acts involving gynecological medical instruments
　　No acts involving children or animals
　　No acts that will leave any permanent marks on the skin
　　No acts involving breath control
　　Ugh. He has to write these down! Of course – they all look very sensible, and frankly, necessary… any sane person wouldn’t want to be involved in this sort of thing surely? Though I now feel a little queasy.
　　“Is there anything you’d like to add?” he asks kindly.
　　Crap. I’ve no idea. I am completely stumped. He gazes at me and furrows his brow.
　　“Is there anything you won’t do?”
　　“I don’t know.”
　　“What do you mean you don’t know?”
　　I squirm uncomfortably and bite my lip.
　　“I’ve never done anything like this.”
　　“Well, when you’ve had sex, was there anything that you didn’t like doing?”
　　For the first time in what seems to be ages, I blush.
　　“You can tell me, Anastasia. We have to be honest with each other or this isn’t going to work.”
　　I squirm uncomfortably again and stare at my knotted fingers.
　　“Tell me,” he commands.
　　“Well… I’ve not had sex before, so I don’t know.” My voice is small. I peek up at him, and he’s staring at me, mouth-open, frozen, and pale - really pale.
　　“Never?” he whispers. I shake my head.
　　“You’re a virgin?” he breathes. I nod, flushing again. He closes his eyes and looks to be counting to ten. When he opens them again, he’s angry, glaring at me.
　　“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” he growls.
　　Christian is running both his hands through his hair and pacing up and down his study. Two hands – that’s double exasperation. His usual concrete control seems to have slipped a notch.
　　“I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me,” he castigates me.
　　“The subject never came up. I’m not in the habit of revealing my sexual status to everyone I meet. I mean, we hardly know each other.” I’m staring at my hands. Why am I feeling guilty? Why is he so mad? I peek up at him.
　　“Well, you know a lot more about me now,” he snaps, his mouth presses into a hard line. “I knew you were inexperienced, but a virgin!” He says it like it’s a really dirty word. “Hell, Ana, I just showed you,” he groans. “May God forgive me. Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?”
　　“Of course I have.” I try my best to look affronted. Okay… maybe twice.
　　“And a nice young man hasn’t swept you off your feet? I just don’t understand. You’re twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You’re beautiful.” He runs his hand through his hair again.
　　Beautiful. I flush with pleasure. Christian Grey thinks I’m beautiful. I knot my fingers together, staring at them hard, trying to conceal my goofy grin. Perhaps he’s near-sighted, my subconscious has reared her somnambulant head. Where was she when I needed her?
　　“And you’re seriously discussing what I want to do, when you have no experience.” His brows knit together. “How have you avoided sex? Tell me, please.”
　　I shrug.
　　“No one’s really, you know.” Come up to scratch, only you. And you turn out to be some kind of monster. “Why are you so angry with me?” I whisper.
　　“I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with myself. I just assumed… ” He sighs. He regards me shrewdly and then shakes his head. “Do you want to go?” he asks, his voice gentle.
　　“No, unless you want me to go,” I murmur. Oh no… I don’t want to leave.
　　“Of course not. I like having you here.” He frowns as he says this and then glances at his watch. “It’s late.” And he turns to look at me. “You’re biting your lip.” His voice is husky, and he’s eyeing me speculatively.
　　“Sorry.”
　　“Don’t apologize. It’s just that I want to bite it too, hard.”
　　I gasp… how can he say things like that to me and not expect me to be affected.
　　“Come,” he murmurs.”
　　“What?”
　　“We’re going to rectify the situation right now.”
　　“What do you mean? What situation?”
　　“Your situation. Ana, I’m going to make love to you, now.”
　　“Oh.” The floor has fallen away. I’m a situation. I’m holding my breath.
　　“That’s if you want to, I mean, I don’t want to push my luck.”
　　“I thought you didn’t make love. I thought you fucked hard.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.
　　He gives me a wicked grin, the effects of which travel all the way down there.
　　“I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we’ll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you really need to have some idea what you’re getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight – with the basics. This doesn’t mean I’ve come over all hearts and flowers, it’s a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do too.” His gray gaze is intense.
　　I flush… oh my… wishes do come true.
　　“But I haven’t done all the things you require from your list of rules.” My voice is all breathy, hesitant.
　　“Forget about the rules. Forget about all those details for tonight. I want you. I’ve wanted you since you fell into my office, and I know you want me. You wouldn’t be sitting here calmly discussing punishment and hard limits if you didn’t. Please, Ana, spend the night with me.” He holds his hand out to me, his eyes are bright, fervent… excited, and I put my hand in his. He pulls me up and into his arms so I can feel the length of his body against mine, this swift action taking me by surprise. He runs his fingers round the nape of my neck, winds my ponytail around his wrist, and gently pulls so I’m forced to look up at him. He gazes down at me.
　　“You are one brave young woman,” he whispers. “I am in awe of you.”
　　His words are like some kind of incendiary device; my blood flames. He leans down and kisses my lips gently, and he sucks at my lower lip.
　　“I want to bite this lip,” he murmurs against my mouth, and carefully he tugs at it with his teeth. I moan, and he smiles.
　　“Please Ana, let me make love to you.”
　　“Yes,” I whisper, because that’s why I’m here. His smile is triumphant as he releases me and takes my hand and leads me through the apartment.
　　His bedroom is vast. The ceiling height windows look out on a lit up, high-rise Seattle. The walls are white, and the furnishings are pale blue. The enormous bed is ultra-modern, made of rough, grey wood, like driftwood, four posts, but no canopy. On the wall above it is a stunning painting of the sea.
　　I am quaking like a leaf. This is it. Finally, after all this time, I’m going to do it, with none other than Christian Grey. My breath is shallow, and I can’t take my eyes off him. He removes his watch and places it on top of a chest of drawers that matches the bed, and removes his jacket, placing it on a chair. He’s dressed in his white linen shirt and jeans. He is heart-stoppingly beautiful. His dark copper hair is a mess, his shirt hanging out – his gray eyes bold and dazzling. He steps out of his Converse shoes and reaches down and takes his socks off inpidually. Christian Grey’s feet… wow… what is it about naked feet? Turning, he gazes at me, his expression soft.
　　“I assume you’re not on the pill.”
　　What! Shit.
　　“I didn’t think so.” He opens the top drawer of the chest and removes a packet of condoms. He gazes at me intently.

　　“Be prepared,” he murmurs. “Do you want the blinds drawn?”
　　“I don’t mind.” I whisper. “I thought you didn’t let anyone sleep in your bed.”
　　“Who says we’re going to sleep?” he murmurs softly.
　　“Oh.” Holy hell.
　　He strolls slowly toward me. Confident, sexy, eyes blazing, and my heart begins to pound. My blood’s pumping around my body. Desire, thick and hot, pools in my belly. He stands in front of me, staring down into my eyes. He’s so freaking hot.
　　“Let’s get this jacket off, shall we?” he says softly, and takes hold of the lapels and gently slides my jacket off my shoulders. He places it on the chair.
　　“Do you have any idea how much I want you, Ana Steele?” he whispers. My breath hitches. I cannot take my eyes off his. He reaches up and gently runs his fingers down my cheek to my chin.
　　“Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?” he adds, caressing my chin.
　　The muscles inside the deepest, darkest part of me clench in the most delicious fashion. The pain is so sweet and sharp I want to close my eyes, but I’m hypnotized by his gray eyes staring fervently into mine. Leaning down, he kisses me. His lips are demanding, firm and slow, molding mine. He starts unbuttoning my shirt while he places feather-like kisses across my jaw, my chin, and the corners of my mouth. Slowly he peels it off me and lets it fall to the floor. He stands back and gazes at me. I’m in the pale blue lacy perfect-fit bra. Thank heavens.
　　“Oh, Ana,” he breathes. “You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I want to kiss every single inch of it.”
　　I flush. Oh my… Why did he say he couldn’t make love? I will do anything he wants. He grasps my hair tie, pulls it free, and gasps as my hair cascades down around my shoulders.
　　“I like brunettes,” he murmurs, and both of his hands are in my hair, grasping each side of my head. His kiss is demanding, his tongue and lips coaxing mine. I moan, and my tongue tentatively meets his. He puts his arms around me and hauls me against his body, squeezing me tightly. One hand remains in my hair, the other travels down my spine to my waist and down to my behind. His hand flexes over my backside and squeezes gently. He holds me against his hips, and I feel his erection, which he languidly pushes into me.
　　I moan once more into his mouth. I can hardly contain the riotous feelings or is it hormones that rampage through my body. I want him so badly. Gripping his upper arms, I feel his biceps, he’s surprisingly strong… muscular. Tentatively, I move my hands up to his face and into his hair. Holy Moses. It’s so soft, unruly. I tug gently, and he groans. He eases me toward the bed, until I feel it behind my knees. I think he’s going to push me down on to it, but he doesn’t. Releasing me, he suddenly drops to his knees. He grabs my hips with both his hands and runs his tongue around my navel, then gently nips his way to my hipbone, then across my belly to my other hipbone.
　　“Ah,” I groan.
　　Seeing him on his knees in front of me, feeling his mouth on me, it’s so unexpected,, and hot. My hands stay in his hair, pulling gently as I try to quiet my too-loud breathing. He gazes up at me through impossibly long lashes, his eyes a scorching smoky gray. His hands reach up and undo the button on my jeans, and he leisurely pulls down the zipper. Without taking his eyes off mine, his hands move beneath the waistband, skimming me and moving to my behind. His hands glide slowly down my backside to my thighs, removing my jeans as they go. I cannot look away. He stops and licks his lips, never breaking eye contact. He leans forward, running his nose up the apex between my thighs. I feel him. There.
　　“You smell so good,” he murmurs and closes his eyes, a look of pure pleasure on his face, and I practically convulse. He reaches up and tugs the duvet off the bed, then pushes me gently so I fall on to the mattress.
　　Still kneeling, he grasps my foot and undoes my Converse, pulling off my shoe and sock. I raise myself up on my elbows to see what he’s doing. I’m panting… wanting. He lifts my foot by the heel and runs his thumbnail up my instep. It’s almost painful, but I feel the movement echoed in my groin. I gasp. Not taking his eyes off mine, again he runs his tongue along my instep and then his teeth. Shit. I groan… how can I feel this, there. I fall back on to the bed, moaning. I hear his soft chuckle.
　　“Oh, Ana, what I could do to you,” he whispers. He removes my other shoe and sock, then stands and removes my jeans. I’m lying on his bed dressed only in my bra and panties, and he’s staring down at me.
　　“You’re very beautiful, Anastasia Steele. I can’t wait to be inside you.”
　　Holy shit. His words. He’s so seductive. He takes my breath away.
　　“Show me how you pleasure yourself.”
　　What? I frown.
　　“Don’t be coy, Ana, show me,” he whispers.
　　I shake my head.
　　“I don’t know what you mean.” My voice is hoarse. I hardly recognize it, laced with desire.
　　“How do you make yourself come? I want to see.”
　　I shake my head.
　　“I don’t,” I mumble. He raises his eyebrows, astonished for a moment, and his eyes darken, and he shakes his head in disbelief.
　　“Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.” His voice is soft, challenging, a delicious sensual threat. He undoes the buttons of his jeans and slowly pulls his jeans down, his eyes on mine the whole time. He leans down over me and, grasping each of my ankles, quickly jerks my legs apart and crawls onto the bed between my legs. He hovers over me. I am squirming with need.
　　“Keep still,” he murmurs, and then he leans down and kisses the inside of my thigh, trailing kisses up, over the thin lacy material of my panties, kissing me.
　　Oh… I can’t keep still. How can I not move? I wriggle beneath him.
　　“We’re going to have to work on keeping you still, baby.” He trails kisses up my belly, and his tongue dips into my navel. Still he’s heading north, kissing me across my torso. My skin is burning. I’m flushed, too hot, too cold, and I’m clawing at the sheet beneath me. He lay down beside me, and his hand trails up from my hip, to my waist, and up to my breast. He gazes down at me, his expression unreadable, and gently cups my breast.
　　“You fit my hand perfectly, Anastasia,” he murmurs and dips his index finger into the cup of my bra and gently yanks it down freeing my breast, but the under wire and fabric of the cup force it upward. His finger moves to my other breast and repeats the process. My breasts swell, and my nipples harden under his steady gaze. I am trussed-up by my own bra.
　　“Very nice,” he whispers appreciatively, and my nipples harden even more.
　　He blows very gently on one as his hand moves to my other breast, and his thumb slowly rolls the end of my nipple, elongating it. I groan, feeling the sweet sensation all the way to my groin. I am so wet. Oh please, I beg internally as my fingers clasp the sheet tighter. His lips close around my other nipple and he tugs, I nearly convulse.
　　“Let’s see if we can make you come like this,” he whispers, continuing his slow, sensual assault. My nipples bear the delicious brunt of his deft fingers and lips, setting alight every single nerve ending in my body so that my whole body sings with the sweet agony. He just doesn’t stop.
　　“Oh… please,” I beg, and I pull my head back, my mouth open as I groan, my legs stiffening. Holy hell, what’s happening to me?
　　“Let go, baby,” he murmurs. His teeth close round my nipple, and his thumb and finger pull hard, and I fall apart in his hands, my body convulsing and shattering into a thousand pieces. He kisses me, deeply, his tongue in my mouth absorbing my cries.
　　Oh my. That was extraordinary. Now I know what all the fuss is about. He gazes down at me, a satisfied smile on his face, while I’m sure there’s nothing but gratitude and awe on mine.
　　“You are very responsive,” he breathes. “You’re going to have to learn to control that, and it’s going to be so much fun teaching you how.” He kisses me again.