“I hate arguing with you,” he breathes against my mouth, and there’s a desperate, pas-

sionate quality to his kiss that mirrors mine. Desire explodes in my body, all the tension

of the day seeking an outlet, straining against him, seeking more. We’re all tongues and

breathing and hands and touch and sweet, sweet sensation. His hand is on my hip, and

abruptly he’s pulling up my skirt, his fingers stroking my thighs.

“Sweet Jesus, you’re wearing stockings.” He moans in appreciative awe as his thumb

caresses the flesh above my stocking line. “I want to see this,” he breathes, and he pulls my

skirt right up, exposing the tops of my thighs.

Stepping back, he reaches over to press the stop button, and the elevator coasts smooth-

ly to a halt between the twenty-second and twenty-third floors. His eyes are dark, lips

parted, and he’s breathing as hard as am I. We gaze at each other, not touching. I am grate-

ful for the wall against my back, holding me up while I bask in this beautiful man’s sensual,

carnal appraisal.

“Take your hair down,” he orders, his voice husky. I reach up and undo the tie, releas-

ing my hair so it tumbles in a thick cloud around my shoulders to my breasts. “Undo the

top two buttons of your shirt,” he whispers, his eyes wilder now.

He makes me feel so wanton. My inner goddess is writhing on her chaise longue, wait-

ing, wanting, and panting. I reach up and undo each button, achingly, slowly, so that the

tops of my breasts are tantalizingly revealed.

He swallows. “Do you have any idea how alluring you look right now?”

Very deliberately, I bite my lip and shake my head. He closes his eyes briefly, and

when he opens them again, they are blazing. He steps forward and places his hands on the

elevator walls on either side of my face. He’s as close as he can be without touching me.

I tip my face up to meet his gaze, and he leans down and runs his nose against mine,

so it’s the only contact between us. I am so hot in the confines of this elevator with him. I

want him—now.

“I think you do, Miss Steele. I think you like to drive me wild.”

“Do I drive you wild?” I whisper.

“In all things, Anastasia. You are a siren, a goddess.” And he reaches for me, grasping

my leg above my knee and hitching it around his waist, so that I am standing on one leg,

leaning into him. I feel him against me, feel him hard and wanting above the apex of my

thighs as he runs his lips down my throat. I moan and wrap my arms around his neck.

“I’m going to take you now, Anastasia,” he breathes and I arch my back in response,

pressing myself against him, eager for the friction. He groans deep and low in the back of

his throat and boosts me higher as he undoes his fly.

“Hold tight, baby,” he murmurs, and magically produces a foil packet that he holds in

front of my mouth. I take it between my teeth, and he tugs, so that between us, we rip it

open.“Good girl.” He steps back a fraction as he slides on the condom. “God, I can’t wait for

the next six days,” he growls and gazes down at me through hooded eyes. “I do hope you’re

not overly fond of these panties.” He tears through them with his adept fingers, and they

disintegrate in his hands. My blood is pounding through my veins. I am panting with need.

His words are intoxicating, all my angst from the day forgotten. It’s just him and me,

doing what we do best. Without taking his eyes off mine, he sinks slowly into me. My body

bows and I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, relishing the feel of him inside me. He pulls

back and then moves into me again, so slow, so sweet. I groan.

“You’re mine, Anastasia,” he murmurs against my throat.

“Yes. Yours. When will you accept that?” I pant. He groans and starts to move, really

move. And I surrender myself to his relentless rhythm, savoring each push and pull, his

ragged breathing, his need for me, reflecting mine.

It makes me feel powerful, strong, desired and loved—loved by this captivating, com-

plicated man, whom I love in return with all my heart. He pushes harder and harder, his

breathing ragged, losing himself in me as I lose myself in him.

“Oh, baby,” Christian moans, his teeth grazing my jaw, and I come hard around him.

He stills, clutches me, and follows suit, whispering my name.

Now that Christian is spent, calm and kissing me gently, his breathing eases. He holds me

upright against the elevator wall, our foreheads pressed together, and my body is like jelly,

weak but gratifyingly sated from my climax.

“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs. “I need you so much.” He kisses my forehead.

“And I you, Christian.”

Releasing me, he straightens my skirt and does up the two buttons on my shirt, then

punches the combination into the keypad that starts the elevator again. It rises with a jolt so

that I reach out and clasp his arms.

“Taylor will be wondering where we are,” he grins lasciviously at me.

Oh crap.I drag my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt to combat the just-fucked

look, then give up and tie it in a ponytail.

“You’ll do.” Christian smirks as he does up his fly and puts the condom in his pants

pocket.

Once more he looks the embodiment of an American entrepreneur, and since his hair

looks just fucked most of the time, there’s very little difference. Except now he’s smiling,

relaxed, his eyes crinkling with boyish charm. Are all men this easily placated?

Taylor is waiting when the doors open.

“Problem with the elevator,” Christian murmurs as we both step out, and I cannot look

either of them in the face. I scurry through the double doors to Christian’s bedroom in

search of some fresh underwear.

When I return, Christian has removed his jacket and is sitting at the breakfast bar chatting

with Mrs. Jones. She smiles kindly at me as she puts out two plates of hot food for us.

Mmm, it smells delicious— coq au vin, if I am not mistaken. I am famished.

“Enjoy, Mr. Grey, Ana,” she says and leaves us to it.

Christian fetches a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and as we sit and eat, he tells

me about how much nearer he’s getting to perfecting a solar-powered mobile phone. He’s

animated and excited about the whole project, and I know then that he hasn’t had an en-

tirely shitty day.

I ask him about his properties. He smirks, and it turns out he only has the apartment in

New York and Aspen, and Escala. Nothing else. When we’re done, I collect his plate and

mine and take them to sink.

“Leave that. Gail will do it,” he says. I turn and gaze at him, and he’s watching me

intently. Will I ever get used to having someone clean up after me?

“Well, now that you are more docile, Miss Steele, shall we talk about today?”

“I think you’re the one who’s more docile. I think I’m doing a good job in taming you.”

“Taming me?” he snorts, amused. When I nod, he frowns as if reflecting on my words.

“Yes. Maybe you are, Anastasia.”

“You were right about Jack,” I murmur, serious now, and I lean across the kitchen is-

land gauging his reaction. Christian’s face falls and his eyes harden.

“Has he tried anything?” he whispers, his voice deathly cold.

I shake my head to reassure him. “No, and he won’t, Christian. I told him today that

I’m your girlfriend, and he backed right off.”

“You’re sure? I could fire the fucker.” Christian scowls.

I sigh, emboldened by my glass of wine. “You really have to let me fight my own

battles. You can’t constantly second-guess me and try to protect me. It’s stifling, Christian.

I’ll never flourish with your incessant interference. I need some freedom. I wouldn’t dream