She’s staring at me with pursed lips, tapping her foot. So you’ve just slept with him, given

him your virginity, a man who doesn’t love you. In fact, he has very odd ideas about you,

wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.

ARE YOU CRAZY?She’s shouting at me.

I wince as I look in the mirror. I am going to have to process all this. Honestly, fancy

falling for a man who’s beyond beautiful, richer than Croesus, and has a Red Room of Pain

waiting for me. I shudder. I’m bewildered and confused. My hair is its usual wayward

self. Just-fucked hair doesn’t suit me. I try and bring order to the chaos with my fingers

but fail miserably and give up – maybe I’ll find hair ties in my purse.

I’m starving. I head back out to the bedroom. Sleeping beauty is still sleeping, so I

leave him and head for the kitchen.

Oh no… Kate.I left my purse in Christian’s study. I fetch it and reach for my cell

phone. Three texts.

*RU OK Ana*

*Where RU Ana*

*Damn it Ana*

I call Kate. When she doesn’t answer, I leave her a groveling message to tell her I am

alive and have not succumbed to Bluebeard, well not in the sense she would be worried

about – or perhaps I have.Oh this is so confusing. I have to try and categorize and analyze

my feelings for Christian Grey. It’s an impossible task. I shake my head in defeat. I need

alone time, away from here to think.

I find two welcome hair ties at the same time in my bag and quickly tie my hair in pig-

tails. Yes! The more girly I look, perhaps the safer I’ll be from Bluebeard. I take my iPod

out of the bag and plug my headphones in. There’s nothing like music to cook by. I slip it

into the breast pocket of Christian’s shirt, turn it up loud, and start dancing.

Holy hell, I’m hungry.

I am daunted by his kitchen. It’s so sleek and modern and none of the cupboards have

handles. It takes me a few seconds to deduce that I have to push the cupboard doors to

open them. Perhaps I should cook Christian breakfast. He was eating an omelet the other

day… um, yesterday at the Heathman. Jeez, so much has happened since then. I check

in the fridge, where there are plenty of eggs, and decide I want pancakes and bacon. I set

about making some batter, dancing my way round the kitchen.

Being busy is good. It allows a bit of time to think but not too deeply. Music blaring

in my ears also helps to stave off deep thought. I came here to spend the night in Christian

Grey’s bed, and managed it, even though he doesn’t let anyone in his bed. I smile, mission

accomplished. Big time. I grin. Big, big time, and I’m distracted by the memory of last

night. His words, his body, his lovemaking… I close my eyes as my body hums at the rec-

ollection, and my muscles contract deliciously deep in my belly. My subconscious scowls

at me… fucking– not lovemaking– she screams at me like a harpy .I ignore her, but deep down I know she has a point. I shake my head to concentrate on the task at hand.

There is a state-of-the-art range. I think I have the hang of it. I need somewhere to

keep the pancakes warm, and I start on the bacon. Amy Studt is singing in my ear about

misfits. This song used to mean so much to me, that’s because I’m a misfit. I have never

fitted in anywhere and now… I have an indecent proposal to consider from King Misfit

himself. Why is he this way? Nature or Nurture? It’s so alien to anything I know.

I put the bacon under the grill, and while it’s cooking, I whisk some eggs. I turn, and

Christian is sitting on one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar, leaning on it, his face sup-

ported by his steepled hands. He’s still wearing the t-shirt he’s slept in. Just-fucked hair re-

ally, really suits him, as does his designer stubble. He looks both amused and bewildered.

I freeze, flush, then gather myself and pull the headphones out of my ears, my knees weak

at the sight of him.

“Good morning, Miss Steele. You’re very energetic this morning,” he says dryly.

“I slept well,” I stutter my explanation. His lips try to mask his smile.

“I can’t imagine why.” He pauses and frowns. “So did I, after I came back to bed.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Very,” he says with an intense look, and I don’t think he’s referring to food.

“Pancakes, bacon, and eggs?”

“Sounds great.”

“I don’t know where you keep your placemats.” I shrug, trying desperately hard not to

look flustered.

“I’ll do that. You cook. Would you like me to put some music on so you can continue

your… err… dancing?”

I stare down at my fingers, knowing that I am turning puce.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. It’s very entertaining.” His tone is one of wry

amusement.

I purse my lips. Entertaining eh? My subconscious has doubled over in laughter at me.

I turn and continue to whisk the eggs, probably beating them a little harder than they need.

In a moment, he’s beside me. He gently pulls my pigtail.

“I love these,” he whispers. “They won’t protect you.” Hmm Bluebeard…

“How would you like your eggs?” I ask tartly. He smiles.

“Thoroughly whisked and beaten,” he smirks.

I turn back to the task at hand, trying to hide my smile. He’s hard to stay mad at. Es-

pecially when he’s being so uncharacteristically playful. He opens a drawer and takes out

two black slate placemats for the breakfast bar. I pour the egg mix into a pan, pull out the

bacon and turn it over, and put it back under the grill.

When I turn back round, there is orange juice on the table, and he’s making coffee.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please. If you have some.”

I find a couple of plates and place them in the warming tray of the range. Christian

reaches into a cupboard and pulls out some Twining’s English Breakfast tea. I purse my

lips.

“Bit of a foregone conclusion wasn’t I?”

“Are you? I’m not sure we’ve concluded anything yet, Miss Steele,” he murmurs.

What does he mean by that? Our negotiations? Our, err… relationship… whatever that

is?He’s still so cryptic. I serve up the breakfast onto the heated plates and lay them on the placemats. I hunt in the refrigerator and find some maple syrup.

I glance up at Christian, and he’s waiting for me to sit down.

“Miss Steele.” He motions to one of the bar stools.

“Mr. Grey.” I nod in acknowledgement. I climb up and wince slightly as I sit down.

“Just how sore are you?” he asks as he sits down. His gray eyes dark.

I flush. Why does he ask such personal questions?

“Well, to be truthful, I have nothing to compare this to,” I snap at him. “Did you wish

to offer your commiserations?” I ask too sweetly. I think he’s trying to stifle a smile, but

I can’t be sure.

“No. I wondered if we should continue your basic training.”

“Oh.” I stare at him dumbfounded as I stop breathing and everything inside me clench-

es tight. Ooh… that’s so nice.I suppress my groan.

“Eat, Anastasia.” My appetite has become uncertain again… more… more sex… yes

please.

“This is delicious, incidentally.” He grins at me.

I try a forkful of omelet but can barely taste it. Basic training! I want to fuck your

mouth.Does that form part of basic training?

“Stop biting your lip. It’s very distracting, and I happen to know you’re not wearing

anything under my shirt which makes it even more distracting,” he growls.

I dunk my teabag in the small pot that Christian has provided. My mind is in a whirl.

“What sort of basic training did you have in mind?” I ask, my voice slightly too high,