down me. “But you’ve pleased me today, and you should be rewarded.” I hear the wicked

grin in his voice, and while my body is singing from his words, his tongue starts to slowly

circle my clitoris as his hands hold down my thighs.

“Aargh!” I moan as my body bows and convulses at the touch of his tongue.

He swirls his tongue round and round, again and again, keeping up the torture. I’m

losing all sense of self, every atom of my being concentrating hard on that small, potent

powerhouse at the apex of my thighs. My legs go rigid, and he slips his finger inside me,

and I hear his growling groan.

“Oh, baby. I love that you’re so wet for me.”

He moves his finger in a wide circle, stretching me, pulling at me, his tongue mirroring

his actions, round and round, I groan. It is too much… My body begs for relief, and I can

no longer deny it. I let go, losing all cogent thought as my orgasm seizes me, wringing my

insides again and again. Holy fuck.I cry out, and the world dips and disappears from view

as the force of my climax renders everything null and void.

I am panting and vaguely hear the rip of foil. Very slowly he eases into me and starts

to move. Oh… my. The feeling is sore and sweet, and bold and gentle all at once.

“How’s this?” he breathes.

“Fine. Good,” I breathe. And he really starts to move, fast, hard, and large, thrusting

into me over and over, implacable, pushing me and pushing me until I am close to the edge

again. I whimper.

“Come for me, baby.” His voice is harsh, hard, raw at my ear, and I explode around him

as he pounds rapidly into me.

“Thank fuck,” he whispers, and he thrusts hard once more and groans as he reaches his

climax, pressing himself into me. Then he stills, his body rigid.

Collapsing on top of me, I feel his full weight forcing me into the mattress. I pull my

tied hands over his neck and hold him the best I can. I know in that moment that I would

do anything for this man. I am his. The wonder that he’s introduced me to, it’s beyond

anything I could have imagined. And he wants to take it further, so much further, to a place

I can’t, in my innocence, even imagine. Oh… what to do?

He leans up on his elbows and stares down at me, gray eyes intense.

“See how good we are together,” he murmurs. “If you give yourself to me, it will be

so much better. Trust me, Anastasia, I can take you places you don’t even know exist.”

His words echo my thoughts. He strokes his nose against mine. I am still reeling from my

extraordinary physical reaction to him, and I gaze up at him blankly, grasping for a coher-

ent thought.

Suddenly we both become aware of voices in the hall outside his bedroom door. It

takes a moment to process what I can hear.

“But if he’s still in bed, then he must be ill. He’s never in bed at this time. Christian

never sleeps in.”

“Mrs. Grey, please.”

“Taylor. You cannot keep me from my son.”

“Mrs. Grey, he’s not alone.”

“What do you mean he’s not alone?”

“He has someone with him.”

“ Oh… ”Even I hear the disbelief in her voice.

Christian blinks rapidly, staring down at me, wide-eyed with humored horror.

“Shit! It’s my mother.”

He pulls out of me suddenly. I wince. He sits up on the bed and throws the used condom

in a wastebasket.

“Come on, we need to get dressed – that’s if you want to meet my mother.” He grins,

leaps up off the bed, and pulls on his jeans, no underwear! I struggle to sit up as I’m still

tethered.

“Christian - I can’t move.”

His grin widens, and leaning down, he undoes the tie. The woven pattern has made an

indented pattern around my wrists. It’s… sexy. He gazes at me. He’s amused, his eyes

dancing with mirth. He kisses my forehead quickly and beams at me.

“Another first,” he acknowledges, but I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“I have no clean clothes in here.” I am filled with sudden panic, and considering what

I’ve just experienced, I’m finding the panic overwhelming. His mother! Holy crap.I

have no clean clothes, and she’s practically walked in on us in flagrante delicto. “Perhaps

I should stay here.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Christian threatens. “You can wear something of mine.” He’s

slipped on a white t-shirt and runs his hand through his just-fucked hair. In spite of my

anxiety, I lose my train of thought. Will I ever get used to looking at this beautiful man?

His beauty is derailing.

“Anastasia, you could be wearing a sack and you’d look lovely. Please don’t worry.

I’d like you to meet my mother. Get dressed. I’ll just go and calm her down.” His mouth

presses into a hard line. “I will expect you in that room in five minutes, otherwise I’ll come

and drag you out of here myself in whatever you’re wearing. My t-shirts are in this drawer.

My shirts are in the closet. Help yourself.” He eyes me speculatively for a moment, then

leaves the room.

Holy shit. Christian’s mother.This is so much more than I bargained for. Perhaps

meeting her will help put a little part of the jigsaw in place. Might help me understand why

Christian is the way he is… Suddenly, I want to meet her. I pull my shirt off the floor, and

I’m pleased to discover that it has survived the night well with hardly any creases. I find

my blue bra under the bed and dress quickly. But if there’s one thing I hate, it’s not wearing

clean panties. I rifle through Christian’s chest of drawers and come across his boxer briefs.

After pulling on a pair of tight gray Calvin Kleins, I tug on my jeans and my Converse.

Grabbing my jacket, I dash into the bathroom and stare at my too-bright eyes, my

flushed face – and my hair! Holy crap… just-fucked pigtails do not suit me either. I hunt

in the vanity unit for a brush and find a comb. It will have to do. A ponytail is the only

answer. I despair at my clothes. Maybe I should take Christian up on his offer of clothes.

My subconscious purses her lips and mouths the word ‘ho’. I ignore her. Struggling into

my jacket, pleased that the cuffs cover the tell-tale patterns from his tie, I take a last anxious

glance at myself in the mirror. This will have to do. I make my way into the main living

room.

“Here she is.” Christian stands from where he’s lounging on the couch.

His expression is warm and appreciative. The sandy-haired woman beside him turns

and beams at me, a full megawatt smile. She stands too. She’s impeccably attired in a

camel-colored fine knit sweater dress with matching shoes. She looks groomed, elegant,

beautiful, and inside I die a little, knowing I look such a mess.

“Mother, this is Anastasia Steele. Anastasia, this is Grace Trevelyan-Grey.”

Dr. Trevelyan-Grey holds her hand out to me. T… for Trevelyan?

“What a pleasure to meet you,” she murmurs. If I’m not mistaken, there is wonder and

maybe stunned relief in her voice and a warm glow in her hazel eyes. I grasp her hand, and

I can’t help but smile, returning her warmth.

“Dr. Trevelyan-Grey,” I murmur.

“Call me Grace,” she grins, and Christian frowns. “I am usually Dr. Trevelyan, and

Mrs. Grey is my mother-in-law.” She winks. “So how did you two meet?” She looks ques-

tioningly at Christian, unable to hide her curiosity.

“Anastasia interviewed me for the student paper at WSU because I’m conferring the

degrees there this week.”

Double crap.I’d forgotten that.