the white, hit it, and in my impatience, miss the black completely. I wait for the blow—but

it doesn’t come. Instead he leans right over me, flattening me against the table, takes the cue

out of my hand and rolls it to the side cushion. I can feel him, hard, against my backside.

“You missed,” he says softly in my ear. My cheek is pressed against the baize. “Put

your hands flat on the table.”

I do as he says.

“Good. I’m going to spank you now and next time, maybe you won’t.” He shifts so

he’s standing to my left side, his erection against my hip.

I groan and my heart leaps into my mouth. My breath comes in short pants and a hot,

heavy excitement courses through my veins. Gently, he caresses my behind and curls his

other hand around the nape of my neck, his fingers fisting in my hair, his elbow at my back,

holding me down. I am completely helpless.

“Open your legs,” he murmurs and for a moment, I hesitate. And he smacks me hard—

with the ruler! The noise is harsher than the sting, and it takes me by surprise. I gasp, and

he hits me again.

“Legs,” he orders. I open my legs, panting. The ruler strikes again. Ow—it stings, but

its crack across my skin sounds worse than it feels.

I close my eyes and absorb the pain. It’s not too bad, and Christian’s breathing becomes

harsher. He hits me again and again, and I moan. I am not sure how many more strokes I

can bear—but hearing him, knowing how turned on he is, feeds my arousal and my will-

ingness to continue. I am crossing to the dark side, a place in my psyche I don’t know well

but have visited before in the playroom—with the Tallis. The ruler strikes once more, and I

moan loudly, and Christian groans in response. He hits me again—and again . . . and once

more . . . harder this time—and I wince.

“Stop.” The word is out of my mouth before I’m even aware that I’ve said it. Christian

drops the ruler immediately and releases me.

“Enough?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“I want to fuck you now,” he says, his voice strained.

“Yes,” I murmur with longing. He undoes his fly, as I lie panting on the table, knowing

that he’s going to be rough.

I marvel once more at how I have managed—and yes, enjoyed— what he’s done to me

up to this point. It’s so dark but so him.

He eases two fingers inside me and moves them in a circular motion. The feeling is

exquisite. Closing my eyes, I revel in the sensation. I hear the telltale rip of foil, then he’s

standing behind me, between my legs, pushing them wider.

Slowly he sinks into me, filling me. I hear his groan of pure pleasure, and it stirs my

soul. He grasps my hips firmly, eases out of me again, and this time slams back into me,

causing me to cry out. He stills for a moment.

“Again?” he asks softly.

“Yes . . . I’m fine. Lose yourself . . . take me with you,” I murmur breathlessly.

He moans low in his throat, eases out of me once more, then slams into me, and repeats

this over and over slowly, deliberately—a punishing, brutal, heavenly rhythm.

Oh fucking my . . .My insides begin to quicken. He feels it, too, and increases the

rhythm, pushing me, higher, harder, faster—and I surrender, exploding around him—a

draining, soul-grabbing orgasm that leaves me spent and exhausted.

I’m vaguely aware that Christian, too, is letting go, calling my name, his fingers dig-

ging into my hips, and then he stills and collapses on me. We sink to the floor, and he

cradles me in his arms.

“Thank you, baby,” he breathes, covering my upturned face in soft feather-light kisses.

I open my eyes and gaze up at him, and he wraps his arms tighter around me.

“Your cheek is pink from the baize,” he murmurs, rubbing my face tenderly. “How was

that?” His eyes are wide and cautious.

“Teeth-clenchingly good,” I mutter. “I like it rough, Christian, and I like it gentle, too.

I like that it’s with you.”

He closes his eyes and hugs me even tighter.

Jeez, I’m tired.

“You never fail, Ana. You are beautiful, bright, challenging, fun, sexy, and I thank

divine providence every day that it was you that came to interview me and not Katherine

Kavanagh.” He kisses my hair. I smile and yawn against his chest. “I’m wearing you out,”

he continues. “Come. Bath, then bed.”

We are both in Christian’s bath, facing each other chin-deep in foam, the sweet scent of

jasmine enveloping us. Christian is massaging my feet, one at a time. It feels so good it

should be illegal.

“Can I ask you something?” I murmur.

“Of course. Anything, Ana, you know that.”

I take a deep breath and sit up, flinching only slightly.

“Tomorrow—when I go to work—can Sawyer just deliver me to the front door of the

office then pick me up at the end of the day? Please, Christian. Please,” I plead.

His hands still as his brow creases. “I thought we agreed,” he grumbles.

“Please,” I beg.

“What about lunchtime?”

“I’ll make myself something to take from here so I don’t have to go out, please.”

He kisses my instep. “I find it very difficult to say no to you,” he mutters as if he senses

this is a failing on his part. “You won’t go out?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

I beam at him. “Thank you.” I lean up onto my knees, sloshing water everywhere, and

kiss him.

“You’re most welcome, Miss Steele. How’s your behind?”

“Sore. But not too bad. The water is soothing.”

“I’m glad you told me to stop,” he says, gazing at me.

“So is my behind.”

He grins.

I stretch out in bed, so tired. It’s only ten thirty, but it feels like three in the morning. This

has to be one of the most exhausting weekends of my life.

“Didn’t Ms. Acton provide any nightwear?” Christian asks, his voice laced with disap-

proval as he stares down at me.

“I have no idea. I like wearing your T-shirts,” I mumble sleepily.

His face softens, and he leans over and kisses my forehead.

“I need to work. But I don’t want to leave you alone. Can I use your laptop to log in to

the office? Will I disturb you if I work from here?”

“S’not my laptop.” I drift.

The alarm clicks on, startling me awake with the traffic news. Christian is still asleep be-

side me. Rubbing my eyes, I glance at the clock. Six thirty—too early.

It’s raining outside for the first time in ages, and the light is muted and mellow. I’m

cozy and comfortable in this vast modern monolith with Christian at my side. I stretch and

turn to the delicious man beside me. His eyes spring open and he blinks sleepily.

“Good morning.” I smile and caress his face, leaning down to kiss him.

“Good morning, baby. I usually wake before the alarm goes off,” he murmurs in won-

der. “It’s set so early.”

“That it is, Miss Steele.” Christian grins. “I have to get up.” He kisses me, and then he’s

up and out of bed. I flop back against the pillows. Wow, waking up on a school day next to

Christian Grey. How did this all happen? I close my eyes and doze.

“Come on, sleepyhead, get up.” Christian leans over me. He’s shaved, clean, fresh—

Hmm, he smells so good—in a crisp white shirt and black suit, no tie—the CEO is back.

Holy Moses, he looks good like this, too.

“What?” he asks.

“I wish you’d come back to bed.”

His lips part, surprised by my come-on, and he smiles almost shyly. “You are insa-

tiable, Miss Steele. As much as that idea appeals, I have an eight thirty meeting, so I have

to go shortly.”

Oh, I’ve slept for another hour or so . Shit.I leap out of bed, much to Christian’s amuse-

ment.

I shower and dress quickly, wearing the clothes I set out yesterday: a fitted, gray pencil