“Do you need a drink or anything?”

“No.”

“Good. Let’s go to bed.”

I raise my eyebrows at him.

“You’re going to settle for plain old vanilla?”

He cocks his head to one side.

“Nothing plain or old about vanilla – it’s a very intriguing flavor,” he breathes.

“Since when?”

“Since last Saturday. Why? Were you hoping for something more exotic?”

My inner goddess pops her head above the parapet.

“Oh no. I’ve had enough exotic for one day.” My inner goddess pouts at me, failing

miserably to hide her disappointment.

“Sure? We cater for all tastes here – at least thirty-one flavors.” He grins at me lascivi-

ously.

“I’ve noticed,” I reply dryly.

He shakes his head.

“Come on, Miss Steele, you have a big day tomorrow. Sooner you’re in bed, sooner

you’ll be fucked, and sooner you can sleep.”

“Mr. Grey, you are a born romantic.”

“Miss Steele, you have a smart mouth. I may have to subdue it some way. Come.” He

leads me down the hallway into his bedroom and kicks the door closed.

“Hands in the air,” he commands.

I oblige, and in one breathtakingly swift move, he removes my dress like a magician,

grasping it at the hem and pulling it smoothly and fleetly over my head.

“Ta Da!” he says playfully.

I giggle and applaud politely. He bows gracefully grinning. How can I resist him when

he’s like this?He places my dress on the lone chair beside his chest of drawers.

“And for your next trick?” I prompt, teasing.

“Oh my dear, Miss Steele. Get into my bed,” he growls. “And I’ll show you.”

“Do you think that for once I should play hard to get?” I ask coquettishly.

His eyes widen with surprise, and I see a glimmer of excitement.

“Well… the door’s closed. Not sure how you’re going to avoid me,” he says sardoni-

cally. “I think it’s a done deal.”

“But I’m a good negotiator.”

“So am I.” He stares down at me, but as he does, his expression changes, confusion

washes over him, and the atmosphere in the room shifts abruptly, tensing. “Don’t you want

to fuck?” he asks.

“No,” I breathe.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Okay, here goes… deep breath.

“I want you to make love to me.”

He stills and stares at me blankly. His expression darkens .Oh shit, this doesn’t look

good . Give him a minute!My subconscious snaps.

“Ana, I… ” He runs his hands through his hair. Two hands. Jeez, he’s really bewil-

dered.

“I thought we did?” he says eventually.

“I want to touch you.”

He takes an involuntary step back from me, his expression for a moment fearful, and

then he reins it in.

“Please,” I whisper.

He recovers himself.

“Oh, no Miss Steele, you’ve had enough concessions from me this evening. And I’m

saying no.”

“No?”

“No.”

Oh… I can’t argue with that… can I?

“Look, you’re tired, I’m tired. Let’s just go to bed,” he says, watching me carefully.

“So touching is a hard limit for you?”

“Yes. This is old news.”

“Please tell me why.”

“Oh, Anastasia, please. Just drop it for now,” he mutters exasperated.

“It’s important to me.”

Again he runs both hands through his hair, and he utters an oath beneath his breath.

Turning on his heel, he heads for the chest of drawers, pulls out a t-shirt, and throws it at

me. I catch it, bemused.

“Put that on and get into bed,” he snaps, irritated.

I frown but decide to humor him. Turning my back, I quickly remove my bra, pulling

the t-shirt on as hastily as I can to cover my nakedness. I leave my panties on, I haven’t

worn them for most of the evening.

“I need the bathroom.” My voice is a whisper.

He frowns, bemused.

“Now you’re asking permission?”

“Err… no.”

“Anastasia, you know where the bathroom is. Today, at this point in our strange ar-

rangement, you don’t need my permission to use it.” He cannot hide his irritation. He

shrugs out of his shirt, and I scoot into the bathroom.

I stare at myself in the over-large mirror, shocked that I still look the same. After all

that I’ve done today, it’s still the same ordinary girl gaping back at me. What did you ex-

pect – that you’d grow horns and a little pointy tail?My subconscious snaps at me. And

what the hell are you doing? Touching is his hard limit. Too soon, you idiot, he needs to

walk before he can run.My subconscious is furious, medusa-like in her anger, hair flying,

her hands clenched around her face like Edvard Munch’s Scream. I ignore her, but she

won’t climb back into her box. You are making him mad – think about all that’s he’s said,

all he’s conceded.I scowl at my reflection. I need to be able to show him affection – then

perhaps he can reciprocate.

I shake my head resigned and grasp Christian’s toothbrush. My subconscious is right

of course. I’m rushing him. He’s not ready and neither am I. We are balanced on the

delicate see-saw, that is our strange arrangement – at different ends, vacillating, and it tips

and sways between us. We both need to edge closer to the middle. I just hope neither of us

falls off in our attempt to do so. This is all so quick. Maybe I need some distance. Georgia

seems more appealing than ever. As I begin brushing my teeth, he knocks.

“Come in,” I splutter through a mouthful of toothpaste.

Christian stands in the doorway, his PJs hanging off his hips – in that way that makes

every little cell in my body stand up and take notice. He’s bare-chested, and I drink him

in like I’m crazed with thirst and he’s clear cool mountain spring water. He gazes at me

impassively, then smirks and comes to stand beside me. Our eyes lock in the mirror, gray

to blue. I finish with his toothbrush, rinse it off, and hand it to him, my look never leaving

his. Wordlessly, he takes the toothbrush from me and puts it in his mouth. I smirk back at

him, and his eyes are suddenly dancing with humor.

“Do feel free to borrow my toothbrush.” His tone is gently mocking.

“Thank you, Sir,” I smile sweetly, and I leave, heading back to bed.

A few minutes later he joins me.

“You know this is not how I saw tonight panning out,” he mutters petulantly.

“Imagine if I said to you that you couldn’t touch me.”

He clambers onto the bed and sits cross-legged.

“Anastasia, I’ve told you. Fifty shades. I had a rough start in life – you don’t want that

shit in your head. Why would you?”

“Because I want to know you better.”

“You know me well enough.”

“How can you say that?” I struggle up onto my knees, facing him.

He rolls his eyes at me, frustrated.

“You’re rolling your eyes. Last time I did that, I ended up over your knee.”

“Oh, I’d like to put you there again.”

Inspiration hits me.

“Tell me and you can.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re bargaining with me?” His voice resonates with astonished disbelief.

I nod. Yes… this is the way.

“Negotiating.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Anastasia.”

“Okay. Tell me, and I’ll roll my eyes at you.”

He laughs, and I get a rare glimpse of carefree Christian. I’ve not seen him for a while.

He sobers.

“Always so keen and eager for information.” His gray eyes blaze with speculation.

After a moment, he gracefully climbs off the bed. “Don’t go away,” he says and exits the

room.

Trepidation lances through me, and I hug myself. What’s he doing? Does he have

some evil plan? Crap.Suppose he returns with a cane, or some weird kinky implement?

Holy shit, what will I do then?When he does return, he’s holding something small in his