He places it on the large chest beside the door. Reaching up, he pulls at my chin, his touch

searing me.

“You’re biting your lip,” he breathes. “You know what that does to me,” he adds

darkly. “Turn around.”

I turn immediately, no hesitation. He unclasps my bra and then taking both straps,

he slowly pulls them down my arms, brushing my skin with his fingers and the tip of his

thumbnails as he slides my bra off. His touch sends shivers down my spine, waking every

nerve ending in my body. He’s standing behind me, so close that I feel the heat radiating

from him, warming me, warming me all over. He pulls my hair so it’s all hanging down my

back, grasps a handful at my nape, and angles my head to one side. He runs his nose down

my exposed neck, inhaling all the way, then back up to my ear. The muscles in my belly

clench, carnal and wanting. Jeez, he’s hardly touched me, and I want him.

“You smell as divine as ever, Anastasia,” he whispers as he places a soft kiss beneath

my ear.

I moan.

“Quiet,” he breathes. “Don’t make a sound.”

Pulling my hair behind me, to my surprise, he starts braiding it in one large braid, his

fingers fast and deft. He ties it with an unseen hair tie when he’s finished and gives it a

quick tug so I’m forced back against him.

“I like your hair braided in here,” he whispers.

Hmm… why?

He releases my hair.

“Turn around,” he orders.

I do as I’m bid, my breathing shallow, fear and longing mixed together. It’s an intoxi-

cating mix.

“When I tell you to come in here, this is how you will dress. Just in your panties. Do

you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He glowers at me.

“Yes, Sir.”

A trace of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth.

“Good girl.” His eyes burn into mine. “When I tell you to come in here, I expect you

to kneel over there.” He points to a spot beside the door. “Do it now.”

I blink processing his words, turn, and rather clumsily kneel as directed.

“You can sit back on your heels.”

I sit back.

“Place your hands and forearms flat on your thighs. Good. Now part your knees.

Wider. Wider. Perfect. Look down at the floor.”

He walks over to me, and I can see his feet and shins in my field of vision. Naked feet.

I should be taking notes if he wants me to remember. He reaches down and grasps my

braid again, then pulls my head back so I am looking up at him. It’s only just not painful.

“Will you remember this position, Anastasia?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Stay here, don’t move.” He leaves the room.

I’m on my knees, waiting. Where’s he gone? What is he going to do to me? Time

shifts. I have no idea how long he leaves me like this… a few minutes, five, ten? My

breathing becomes shallower, the anticipation is devouring me from the inside out.

And suddenly he’s back – and all at once I’m calmer and more excited in the same

breath. Could I be more excited?I can see his feet. He’s changed his jeans. These are

older, ripped, soft, and over-washed. Holy cow. These jeans are hot. He shuts the door

and hangs something on the back.

“Good girl, Anastasia. You look lovely like that. Well done. Stand up.”

I stand, but I keep my face down.

“You may look at me.”

I peek up at him, and he’s staring at me intently, assessing, but his eyes soften. He’s

taken off his shirt. Oh my… I want to touch him. The top button of his jeans is undone.

“I’m going to chain you now, Anastasia. Give me your right hand.”

I give him my hand. He turns it palm up, and before I know it, he swats the center with

a riding crop I hadn’t noticed is in his right hand. It happens so quickly that the surprise

hardly registers. Even more astonishing – it doesn’t hurt. Well, not much, just a slight

ringing sting.

“How does that feel?” he asks.

I blink at him, confused.

“Answer me.”

“Okay.” I frown.

“Don’t frown.”

I blink and try for impassive. I succeed.

“Did that hurt?”

“No.”

“This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” My voice is uncertain. Is it really not going to hurt?

“I mean it,” he says.

Jeez, my breathing is so shallow. Does he know what I’m thinking? He shows me the

crop. It’s brown plaited leather. My eyes jerk up to meet his, and they’re alight with fire

and a trace of amusement.

“We aim to please, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. “Come.” He takes my elbow and moves

me to beneath the grid. He reaches up and takes down some shackles with black leather

cuffs.“This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.”

I glance up. Holy shit– it’s like a subway map.

“We’re going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we’ll end up by the

wall over there.” He points with the riding crop to where the large wooden X is on the wall.

“Put your hands above your head.”

I oblige immediately, feeling like I’m exiting my body – a casual observer of events as

they unfold around me. This is beyond fascinating, beyond erotic. It’s singularly the most

exciting and scary thing I’ve ever done. I’m entrusting myself to a beautiful man who, by

his own admission, is fifty shades of fucked-up. I suppress the brief thrill of fear. Kate and

Elliot, they know I’m here.

He stands very close as he fastens the cuffs. I’m staring at his chest. His proximity

is heavenly. He smells of body wash and Christian, an inebriating mix, and that drags me

back into the now. I want to run my nose and tongue through that smattering of chest hair.

I could just lean forward…

He steps back and gazes at me, his expression hooded, salacious, carnal, and I am help-

less, my hands tied, but just looking at his lovely face, reading his need and longing for me,

I can feel the dampness between my legs. He walks slowly round me.

“You look mighty fine trussed up like this, Miss Steele. And your smart mouth, quiet

for now. I like that.”

Standing in front of me again, he hooks his fingers into my panties, and at a most un-

hurried pace, peels them down my legs, stripping me agonizingly slowly, so that he ends

up kneeling in front of me. Not taking his eyes off mine, he scrunches my panties in his

hand, holds them up to his nose, and inhales deeply. Holy fuck. Did he just do that?He

grins wickedly at me and tucks them into the pocket of his jeans.

Uncoiling from the floor, rising lazily, like a jungle cat, he points the end of the riding

crop at my navel, leisurely circling it – tantalizing me. At the touch of the leather, I quiver

and gasp. He walks round me again, trailing the crop around the middle of my body. On his

second circuit, he suddenly flicks the crop, and it hits me underneath my behind… against

my sex. I cry out in surprise as all my nerve endings stand to attention. I pull against the

restraints. The shock runs through me, and it’s the sweetest strangest, hedonistic feeling.

“Quiet,” he whispers as he walks around me again, the crop slightly higher around the

middle of my body. This time when he flicks it against me in the same place, I’m anticipat-

ing it… oh my.My body convulses at the sweet, stinging bite.

As he makes his way around me, he flicks again, this time hitting my nipple, and I

throw my head back as my nerve endings sing. He hits the other… a brief, swift, sweet

chastisement. My nipples harden and elongate from the assault, and I moan loudly, pulling

on my leather cuffs.

“Does that feel good?” he breathes.

“Yes.”

He hits me again across the buttocks. The crop stings this time.