completely taking me by surprise, so I am on top. Whoa.

“You—take me,” he murmurs, his eyes glowing with a feral intensity.

Oh my, and slowly, oh-so-slowly, I sink down on to him. He tilts his head back and

closes his eyes as he groans. I grab his hands and start to move, reveling in the fullness

of my possession, reveling in his reaction, watching him unravel beneath me. I feel like a

goddess. I lean down and kiss his chin, running my teeth along his stubbled jaw. He tastes

delicious. He clasps my hips and steadies my rhythm, slow and easy.

“Ana, touch me . . . please.”

Oh.I lean forward and steady myself with my hands on his chest. And he calls out, his

cry almost a sob, and he thrusts deep inside me.

“Ahh,” I whimper and run my fingernails gently over his chest, through the hair there,

and he groans loudly and twists abruptly so I am once more beneath him.

“Enough.” He moans. “No more, please.” And it’s a heartfelt plea.

Reaching up, I clasp his face in my hands, feeling the dampness on his cheeks, and pull

him down to my lips so that I can kiss him. I curl my hands around his back.

He groans deep and low in his throat as he moves inside me, pushing me onward and

upward, but I can’t find my release. My head is too cloudy, cloudy with issues. I am too

wrapped up in him.

“Let go, Ana,” he urges me.

“No.”

“Yes,” he snarls. He shifts slightly and gyrates his hips, again and again.

Jeez . . . argh!

“Come on baby, I need this. Give it to me.”

And I explode, my body a slave to his, and wrap myself around him, clinging to him

like a vine as he cries out my name, and climaxes with me, then collapses, his full weight

pressing me into the mattress.

I cradle Christian in my arms, his head on my chest, as we lie in the afterglow of our love-

making. I run my fingers through his hair as I listen to his breathing return to normal.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he whispers, and I roll my eyes in the full knowledge that he

can’t see me.

“I know you’re rolling your eyes at me,” he murmurs, and I hear the trace of humor in

his voice.

“You know me well,” I murmur.

“I’d like to know you better.”

“Back at you, Grey. What was your nightmare about?”

“The usual.”

“Tell me.”

He swallows and tenses before he sighs, a long drawn-out sigh. “I must be about three,

and the crack whore’s pimp is mad as hell again. He smokes and smokes, one cigarette

after another, and he can’t find an ashtray.” He stops, and I freeze as a creeping chill grips

my heart.

“It hurt,” he says, “It’s the pain I remember. That’s what gives me nightmares. That and

the fact that she did nothing to stop him.”

Oh no. This is unbearable. I tighten my grip around him, my legs and arms holding him

to me, and I try not to let my despair choke me. How could anyone treat a child like that?

He raises his head and pins me with his intense gray gaze.

“You’re not like her. Don’t ever think that. Please.”

I blink back at him. It’s very reassuring to hear. He puts his head on my chest again,

and I think he’s finished, but he surprises me by continuing.

“Sometimes in the dreams she’s just lying on the floor. And I think she’s asleep. But

she doesn’t move. She never moves. And I’m hungry. Really hungry.”

Oh fuck.

“There’s a loud noise and he’s back, and he hits me so hard, cursing the crack whore.

His first reaction was always to use his fists or his belt.”

“Is that why you don’t like to be touched?”

He closes his eyes and hugs me tighter. “That’s complicated,” he murmurs. He nuzzles

me between my breasts, inhaling deeply, trying to distract me.

“Tell me,” I prompt.

He sighs. “She didn’t love me. I didn’t love me. The only touch I knew was . . . harsh.

It stemmed from there. Flynn explains it better than I can.”

“Can I see Flynn?”

He raises his head to look at me. “Fifty Shades rubbing off on you?”

“And then some. I like how it’s rubbing off at the moment.” I wriggle provocatively

underneath him and he smiles.

“Yes, Miss Steele, I like that, too.” He leans up and kisses me. He gazes at me for a

moment.

“You are so precious to me, Ana. I was serious about marrying you. We can get to know

each other then. I can look after you. You can look after me. We can have kids if you want.

I will lay my world at your feet, Anastasia. I want you, body and soul, forever. Please think

about it.”

“I will think about it, Christian. I will,” I reassure him, reeling once more. Kids? Jeez.

“I’d really like to talk to Dr. Flynn, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Anything for you, baby. Anything. When would you like to see him?”

“Sooner rather than later.”

“Okay. I’ll make the arrangements in the morning.” He glances at the clock. “It’s late.

We should sleep.” He shifts to switch off his bedside light and pulls me against him.

I glance at the alarm clock. Crap, it’s three forty-five.

He curls his arms around me, his front to my back, and nuzzles my neck. “I love you,

Ana Steele, and I want you by my side, always,” he murmurs as he kisses my neck. “Now

go to sleep.”

I close my eyes.

Reluctantly, I open my heavy eyelids and bright light fills the room. I groan. I feel

cloudy, disconnected from my leaden limbs, and Christian is wrapped around me like ivy.

I’m too warm as per usual. Surely it’s just five in the morning. The alarm has not gone off

yet. I stretch out to free myself from his heat, turning in his arms, and he mumbles some-

thing unintelligible in his sleep. I glance at the clock. Eight forty-five.

Shit, I’m going to be late. Fuck.I scramble out of bed and dash to the bathroom. I am

showered and out within four minutes.

Christian sits up in bed watching me with ill-concealed amusement coupled with wari-

ness as I continue to dry myself while gathering my clothes. Perhaps he’s waiting for me to

react to yesterday’s revelations. Right now, I just don’t have time.

I check my clothes—black slacks, black shirt—all a bit Mrs. R, but I don’t have a sec-

ond to change my mind. I hastily don black bra and panties, conscious that he’s watching

my every move. It’s . . . unnerving. The panties and bra will do.

“You look good,” Christian purrs from the bed. “You can call in sick, you know.” He

gives me his devastating, lopsided, one hundred and fifty percent panty-busting smile. Oh,

he’s so tempting. My inner goddess pouts provocatively at me.

“No, Christian, I can’t. I am not a megalomaniac CEO with a beautiful smile who can

come and go as he pleases.”

“I like to come as I please.” He smirks and cranks his glorious smile up another notch

so it’s in full Hd imax.

“Christian!” I scold. I throw my towel at him and he laughs.

“Beautiful smile, huh?”

“Yes. You know the effect you have on me.” I put on my watch.

“Do I?” he blinks innocently.

“Yes, you do. The same effect you have on all women. Gets really tiresome watching

them all swoon.”

“Does it?” He cocks his eyebrow at me, more amused.

“Don’t play the innocent, Mr. Grey, it really doesn’t suit you,” I mutter distractedly as

I scoop my hair into a ponytail and pull on my black high-heeled shoes. There, that will do.

When I bend to kiss him good-bye, he grabs me and pulls me down onto the bed,

leaning over me and smiling from ear to ear. Oh my.He’s so beautiful—eyes bright with

mischief, floppy just-fucked-again hair, that dazzling smile. Now he’s playful.

I’m tired, still reeling from all the disclosures of yesterday, while he’s bright as a button