“No, not really,” I whisper.

“It’s more the idea of it?” he prompts.

“I suppose. Feeling pleasure, when one isn’t supposed to.”

“I remember feeling the same. Takes a while to get your head around it.”

Holy hell.This was when he was a kid.

“You can always safe-word, Anastasia. Don’t forget that. And, as long as you follow

the rules, which fulfill a deep need in me for control and to keep you safe, then perhaps we

can find a way forward.”

“Why do you need to control me?”

“Because it satisfies a need in me that wasn’t met in my formative years.”

“So it’s a form of therapy?”

“I’ve not thought of it like that, but yes, I suppose it is.”

This I can understand. This will help.

“But, here’s the thing – one moment you say don’t defy me, the next you say you like

to be challenged. That’s a very fine line to tread successfully.”

He gazes at me for a moment, then frowns.

“I can see that. But you seem to be doing fine so far.”

“But at what personal cost? I’m tied up in knots here.”

“I like you tied up in knots,” he smirks.

“That’s not what I meant!” I splash him in exasperation.

He gazes down at me, arching an eyebrow.

“Did you just splash me?”

“Yes.” Holy shit… that look.

“Oh, Miss Steele.” He grabs me and pulls me onto his lap, sloshing water all over the

floor. “I think we’ve done enough talking for now.”

He clasps his hands on either side of my head and kisses me. Deeply. Possessing

my mouth. Angling my head… controlling me. I moan against his lips. This is what he

likes. This is what he’s so good at. Everything ignites inside me and my fingers are in his

hair, holding him to me, and I’m kissing him back and saying I want you too the only way

I know how. He groans, shifting me so I’m astride him, kneeling over him, his erection

beneath me. He pulls back and looks at me, his eyes hooded, glowing and lustful. I drop

my hands to grab on to the edge of the bath but he grips both my wrists and pulls my hands

behind my back, holding them together in one hand.

“I’m going to have you now,” he whispers and lifts me so that I’m hovering over him.

“Ready?” he breathes.

“Yes,” I whisper, and he eases me on to him, slowly, exquisitely slowly… filling me…

watching me as he takes me.

I groan, closing my eyes, and I revel in the sensation, the stretching fullness. He flexes

his hips, and I gasp, leaning forward, resting my forehead against his.

“Please let my hands go,” I whisper.

“Don’t touch me,” he pleads, and releasing my wrists, he grabs my hips.

Clasping the bath ledge, I move up and then down slowly, opening my eyes to gaze at

him. He’s watching me. His mouth open slightly, his breathing halted, stilted – his tongue

between his teeth. He looks so… hot. We’re wet and slippery and moving against each

other. I lean down and kiss him. He closes his eyes. Tentatively, I bring my hands up to

his head and run my fingers through his hair, not taking my lips from his mouth. This is

allowed. He likes this. I like this. And we move together. I tug his hair, tipping his head

back and deepen the kiss, riding him – faster, picking up the rhythm. I moan against his

mouth. He starts to lift me faster, faster… holding my hips. Kissing me back. We are wet

mouths and tongues, tangled hair, and moving hips. All sensation… all consuming again.

I am close… I am starting to recognize this delicious tightening… quickening. And the

water… it’s swirling around us, our own whirlpool, a stirring vortex as our movements

become more frantic… sloshing everywhere, mirroring what’s happening inside me… and

I just don’t care.

I love this man. I love his passion, the effect I have on him. I love that he’s flown so

far to see me. I love that he cares about me… he cares. It’s so unexpected, so fulfilling.

He is mine, and I am his.

“That’s right, baby,” he breathes.

And I come, my orgasm ripping through me, a turbulent, passionate, apogee that de-

vours me whole. And suddenly Christian crushes me to him… his arms wrapped around

my back as he finds his release.

“Ana, baby!” he cries, and it’s a wild invocation, stirring and touching the depths of

my soul.

We lie staring at each other, gray eyes into blue, face to face, in the super king bed, both

hugging our pillows on our fronts. Naked. Not touching. Just looking and admiring, cov-

ered by the sheet.

“Do you want to sleep?” Christian asks, his voice soft. He is beautiful; the mix of col-

ors in his hair vivid against the white Egyptian cotton pillowcase, gray eyes, smoldering,

expressive. He looks concerned.

“No. I’m not tired.” I feel strangely energized. It’s been so good to talk – I don’t want

to stop.

“What do you want to do?” he asks.

“Talk.”

He smiles.

“About what?”

“Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“What’s your favorite film?”

He grins.

“Today, it’s ‘The Piano’.”

His grin is infectious.

“Of course. Silly me. Such a sad, exciting score, which no doubt you can play? So

many accomplishments, Mr. Grey.”

“And the greatest one is you, Miss Steele.”

“So I am number seventeen.”

He frowns at me not comprehending.

“Seventeen?”

“Number of women you’ve um… had sex with.”

His lips quirk up, his eyes shining with incredulity.

“Not exactly.”

“You said fifteen,” My confusion is obvious.

“I was referring to the number of women in my playroom. I thought that’s what you

meant. You didn’t ask me how many women I’d had sex with.”

“Oh.” Holy shit… there’s more… How?I gape at him. “Vanilla?”

“No. You are my one vanilla conquest,” he shakes his head, still grinning at me.

Why does he find this funny? And why am I grinning back at him like an idiot?

“I can’t give you a number. I didn’t put notches in the bedpost or anything.”

“What are we talking – tens, hundreds… thousands?” My eyes grow wilder as the

numbers get larger.

“Tens. We’re in the tens, for pity’s sake.”

“All submissives?”

“Yes.”

“Stop grinning at me,” I scold him mildly, trying and failing to keep a straight face.

“I can’t. You’re funny.”

“Funny peculiar or funny ha ha?”

“A bit of both I think.” His words mirror mine.

“That’s a damned cheek, coming from you.”

He leans across and kisses the tip of my nose.

“This will shock you, Anastasia. Ready?”

I nod, wide-eyed, still with the stupid grin on my face.

“All submissives in training, when I was training. There are places in and around Se-

attle that one can go and practice. Learn to do what I do,” he says.

What?

“Oh.” I blink at him.

“Yep, I’ve paid for sex, Anastasia.”

“That’s nothing to be proud of,” I mutter haughtily. “And you’re right… I am deeply

shocked. And cross that I can’t shock you.”

“You wore my underwear.”

“Did that shock you?”

“Yes.” My inner goddess pole-vaults over the fifteen-foot bar.

“You didn’t wear your panties to meet my parents.”

“Did that shock you?”

“Yes.”

Jeez, the bar’s moved to sixteen feet.

“It seems I can only shock you in the underwear department.”

“You told me you were a virgin. That’s the biggest shock I’ve ever had.”

“Yes, your face was a picture, a Kodak moment.” I giggle.

“You let me work you over with a riding crop.”

“Did that shock you?”

“Yep.”

I grin.

“Well, I may let you do it again.”

“Oh, I do hope so, Miss Steele. This weekend?”

“Okay,” I agree, shyly.

“Okay?”

“Yes. I’ll go to the Red Room of Pain again.”