“Depends how hard you spank me,” I whisper, holding on to my cue for support. He

takes my cue and puts it to one side, hooks his finger into the top of my shirt, and pulls me

toward him.

“Well, let’s count your misdemeanors, Miss Steele.” He counts on his long fingers.

“One, making me jealous of my own staff. Two, arguing with me about working. And

three, waving your delectable derriere at me for the last twenty minutes.”

His eyes glow a soft gray with excitement, and leaning down, he rubs his nose against

mine. “I want you to take your jeans and this very fetching shirt off. Now.” He plants a

feather-soft kiss on my lips, wanders nonchalantly over to the door, and locks it.

Oh my.

When he turns and gazes at me, his eyes are burning. I stand paralyzed like a complete

zombie, my heart pounding, my blood pumping, not actually able to move a muscle. In my

mind, all I can think is— this is for him—the thought repeating like a mantra over and over

again.

“Clothes, Anastasia. You appear to still be wearing them. Take them off—or I will do

it for you.”

“You do it.” I finally find my voice, and it sounds low and heated. Christian grins.

“Oh, Miss Steele. It’s a dirty job, but I think I can rise to the challenge.”

“You normally rise to most challenges, Mr. Grey.” I raise an eyebrow at him, and he

smirks.

“Why, Miss Steele, whatever do you mean?” On his way over to me, he pauses at the

small desk built into one of the bookshelves. Reaching over, he picks up a twelve-inch

Perspex ruler. He holds each end and flexes it, his eyes not leaving mine.

Holy shit—his weapon of choice.My mouth goes dry.

Suddenly, I’m hot and bothered and damp in all the right places. Only Christian could

turn me on with just a look and the flex of a ruler. He slips it into the back pocket of his

jeans and ambles toward me, eyes dark and full of promise. Without saying a word, he

drops to his knees in front of me and starts to undo my laces, quickly and efficiently, drag-

ging both my Converse and socks off. I lean on the side of the billiard table so I don’t fall.

Gazing down at him as he undoes my laces, I marvel at the depth of feeling that I have for

this beautiful flawed man. I love him.

He grabs my hips, slips his fingers into the waistband of my jeans, and undoes the

button and zipper. He peers up through his long lashes, grinning his most salacious grin as

he slowly peels my jeans off. I step out of them, glad that I’m wearing these pretty, pretty

panties, and he grasps the back of my legs and runs his nose along the apex of my thighs.

I practically melt.

“I want to be quite rough with you, Ana. You’ll have to tell me to stop if it’s too much,”

he breathes.

Oh my.He kisses me . . . there. I moan softly.

“Safe word?” I murmur.

“No, no safe word, just tell me to stop, and I’ll stop. Understand?” He kisses me again,

nuzzling me. Oh, that feels good.He stands, his stare intense. “Answer me,” he orders his

voice velvet soft.

“Yes, yes, I understand.” I’m puzzled by his insistence.

“You’ve been dropping hints and giving me mixed signals all day, Anastasia,” he says.

“You said you were worried I’d lost my edge. I’m not sure what you meant by that, and I

don’t know how serious you were, but we are going to find out. I don’t want to go back into

the playroom yet, so we can try this now, but if you don’t like it, you must promise to tell

me.” A burning intensity born of his anxiety replaces his earlier cockiness.

Whoa, please don’t be anxious, Christian.“I’ll tell you. No safe word,” I reiterate to

reassure him.

“We’re lovers, Anastasia. Lovers don’t need safe words.” He frowns. “Do they?”

“I guess not,” I murmur. Jeez—how do I know?“I promise.”

He searches my face for any clue that I might lack the courage of my convictions, and

I’m nervous but excited, too. I’m much happier to do this, knowing that he loves me. It’s

very simple to me, and right now, I don’t want to overthink it.

A slow smile stretches across his face, and he starts to unbutton my shirt, his deft fin-

gers making short work of it, though he doesn’t take it off. He leans over and picks up the

cue. Oh fuck, what’s he going to do with that?A frisson of fear runs through me.

“You play well, Miss Steele. I must say I’m surprised. Why don’t you sink the black?”

My fear forgotten, I pout, wondering why the hell he should be surprised—sexy, ar-

rogant bastard. My inner goddess is limbering up in the background, doing her floor exer-

cises—a great fat smile on her face.

I position the white ball. Christian strolls back around the table and stands right behind

me as I lean over to take my shot. He places his hand on my right thigh and runs his fingers

up and down my leg, up to my behind and back again, lightly stroking me.

“I am going to miss if you keep doing that,” I whisper, closing my eyes and relishing

the feel of his hands on me.

“I don’t care if you hit or miss, baby. I just wanted to see you like this—partially

dressed, stretched out on my billiard table. Do you have any idea how hot you look at the

moment?”

I flush, and my inner goddess grabs a rose between her teeth and starts to tango. Tak-

ing a deep breath, I try to ignore him and line up my shot. It’s impossible. He caresses my

behind, over and over again.

“Top left,” I murmur, then hit the white ball. He smacks me hard, squarely on my

backside.

It’s so unexpected, I yelp. The white hits the black, which bounces off the cushion wide

of the pocket. Christian caresses my behind again.

“Oh, I think you need to try that again,” he whispers. “You should concentrate, Anas-

tasia.”

I am panting now, excited by this game. He strolls to the end of the table, sets up the

black ball again, then runs the white ball back down to me. He looks so carnal, dark eyed

with a lascivious smile. How could I ever resist this man? I catch the ball and line it up,

ready to strike again.

“Uh-uh,” he admonishes. “Just wait.” Oh, he just loves prolonging the agony. He wan-

ders back and stands behind me again. I close my eyes once more as he strokes my left

thigh this time then fondles my backside again.

“Take aim,” he breathes.

I can’t help my moan as desire twists and turns inside me. And I try, really try, to think

about where I should hit the black with the white. I shift slightly to my right, and he follows

me. I bend over the table once more. Using every last vestige of inner strength—which has

diminished considerably since I know what will happen once I strike the white ball—I take

aim and hit the white again. Christian smacks me once more, hard.

Ow!I miss again. “Oh no! ”I groan.

“Once more, baby. And if you miss this time, I’m really going to let you have it.”

What? Have what?

He sets up the black ball once more and walks, achingly slow, back to me until he’s

standing behind me, caressing my backside once more.

“You can do it,” he coaxes.

Oh—not when you’re distracting me like this.I push my behind back against his hand,

and he smacks me lightly.

“Eager, Miss Steele?” he murmurs.

Yes. I want you.

“Well, let’s get rid of these.” He gently slides my panties down my thighs and off. I

can’t see what he does with them, but he leaves me feeling exposed as he plants a soft kiss

on each cheek.

“Take the shot, baby.”

I want to whimper, this is so not going to happen. I know I am going to miss. I line up