Christian is running both his hands through his hair and pacing up and down his study. Two hands -- that's double exasperation. His usual concrete control seems to have slipped a notch.

"Of course I have." I try my best to look affronted. Okay… maybe twice.

"I don't understand why you didn't tell me," he castigates me.

"The subject never came up. I'm not in the habit of revealing my sexual status to everyone I meet. I mean, we hardly know each other." I'm staring at my hands. Why am I feeling guilty? Why is he so mad? I peek up at him.

"Well, you know a lot more about me now," he snaps, his mouth presses into a hard line. "I knew you were inexperienced, but a virgin!" He says it like it's a really dirty word. "Hell, Ana, I just showed you," he groans. "May God forgive me. Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?"

Beautiful. I flush with pleasure. Christian Grey thinks I'm beautiful. I knot my fingers together, staring at them hard, trying to conceal my goofy grin. Perhaps he's nearsighted, my subconscious has reared her somnambulant head. Where was she when I needed her?

"And a nice young man hasn't swept you off your feet? I just don't understand. You're twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You're beautiful." He runs his hand through his hair again.

"No, unless you want me to go," I murmur. Oh no… I don't want to leave.

"And you're seriously discussing what I want to do, when you have no experience." His brows knit together. "How have you avoided sex? Tell me, please."

I gasp… how can he say things like that to me and not expect me to be affected.

I shrug.

"Of course not. I like having you here." He frowns as he says this and then glances at his watch. "It's late." And he turns to look at me. "You're biting your lip." His voice is husky, and he's eyeing me speculatively.

"We're going to rectify the situation right now."

"What do you mean? What situation?"

"Why are you so angry with me?" I whisper.

"No one's really, you know…" Come up to scratch, only you. And you turn out to be some kind of monster.

"I'm not angry with you, I'm angry with myself. I just assumed…" He sighs. He regards me shrewdly and then shakes his head. "Do you want to go?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"Don't apologize. It's just that I want to bite it too, hard."

"Come," he murmurs.

"What?"

"Sorry."

"That's if you want to, I mean, I don't want to push my luck."

"I thought you didn't make love. I thought you fucked hard." I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.

"Your situation. Ana, I'm going to make love to you, now."

"Oh." The floor has fallen away. I'm a situation. I'm holding my breath.

He gives me a wicked grin, the effects of which travel all the way down there.

I flush… oh my… wishes do come true.

"I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we'll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you really need to have some idea what you're getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight -- with the basics. This doesn't mean I've come over all hearts and flowers, it's a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do, too." His gray gaze is intense.

"Forget about the rules. Forget about all those details for tonight. I want you. I've wanted you since you fell into my office, and I know you want me. You wouldn't be sitting here calmly discussing punishment and hard limits if you didn't. Please, Ana, spend the night with me." He holds his hand out to me, his eyes are bright, fervent… excited, and I put my hand in his. He pulls me up and into his arms so I can feel the length of his body against mine, this swift action taking me by surprise. He runs his fingers round the nape of my neck, winds my ponytail around his wrist, and gently pulls so I'm forced to look up at him. He gazes down at me.

"But I haven't done all the things you require from your list of rules." My voice is all breathy, hesitant.

"I want to bite this lip," he murmurs against my mouth, and carefully he tugs at it with his teeth. I moan, and he smiles.

His words are like some kind of incendiary device; my blood flames. He leans down and kisses my lips gently, and he sucks at my lower lip.

"You are one brave young woman," he whispers. "I am in awe of you."

"Yes," I whisper, because that's why I'm here. His smile is triumphant as he releases me and takes my hand and leads me through the apartment.

I am quaking like a leaf. This is it. Finally, after all this time, I'm going to do it, with none other than Christian Grey. My breath is shallow, and I can't take my eyes off him. He removes his watch and places it on top of a chest of drawers that matches the bed, and removes his jacket, placing it on a chair. He's dressed in his white linen shirt and jeans. He is heart-stoppingly beautiful. His dark copper hair is a mess, his shirt hanging out -- his gray eyes bold and dazzling. He steps out of his Converse shoes and reaches down and takes his socks off individually. Christian Grey's feet… wow… what is it about naked feet? Turning, he gazes at me, his expression soft.

"Please Ana, let me make love to you."

His bedroom is vast. The ceiling-height windows look out on a lit-up, high-rise Seattle. The walls are white, and the furnishings are pale blue. The enormous bed is ultra-modern, made of rough, grey wood like driftwood, four posts, but no canopy. On the wall above it is a stunning painting of the sea.

He strolls slowly toward me. Confident, sexy, eyes blazing, and my heart begins to pound. My blood's pumping around my body. Desire, thick and hot, pools in my belly. He stands in front of me, staring down into my eyes. He's so freaking hot.

"Do you have any idea how much I want you, Ana Steele?" he whispers. My breath hitches. I cannot take my eyes off his. He reaches up and gently runs his fingers down my cheek to my chin.

"Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?" he adds, caressing my chin.

"Be prepared," he murmurs. "Do you want the blinds drawn?"

"I don't mind." I whisper. "I thought you didn't let anyone sleep in your bed."

"Who says we're going to sleep?" he murmurs softly.

"Oh." Holy hell.

"Let's get this jacket off, shall we?" he says softly, and takes hold of the lapels and gently slides my jacket off my shoulders. He places it on the chair.

What! Shit.

"I assume you're not on the pill."

"I didn't think so." He opens the top drawer of the chest and removes a packet of condoms. He gazes at me intently.

"Oh, Ana," he breathes. "You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I want to kiss every single inch of it."

The muscles inside the deepest, darkest part of me clench in the most delicious fashion. The pain is so sweet and sharp I want to close my eyes, but I'm hypnotized by his gray eyes staring fervently into mine. Leaning down, he kisses me. His lips are demanding, firm and slow, molding mine. He starts unbuttoning my shirt while he places feather-like kisses across my jaw, my chin, and the corners of my mouth. Slowly he peels it off me and lets it fall to the floor. He stands back and gazes at me. I'm in the pale blue lacy perfect-fit bra. Thank heavens.

"I like brunettes," he murmurs, and both of his hands are in my hair, grasping each side of my head. His kiss is demanding, his tongue and lips coaxing mine. I moan, and my tongue tentatively meets his. He puts his arms around me and hauls me against his body, squeezing me tightly. One hand remains in my hair, the other travels down my spine to my waist and down to my behind. His hand flexes over my backside and squeezes gently. He holds me against his hips, and I feel his erection, which he languidly pushes into me.

I flush. Oh my… Why did he say he couldn't make love? I will do anything he wants. He grasps my hair tie, pulls it free, and gasps as my hair cascades down around my shoulders.

"Ah…" I groan.

Seeing him on his knees in front of me, feeling his mouth on me, it's so unexpected, and hot. My hands stay in his hair, pulling gently as I try to quiet my too-loud breathing. He gazes up at me through impossibly long lashes, his eyes a scorching smoky gray. His hands reach up and undo the button on my jeans, and he leisurely pulls down the zipper. Without taking his eyes off mine, his hands move beneath the waistband, skimming me and moving to my behind. His hands glide slowly down my backside to my thighs, removing my jeans as they go. I cannot look away. He stops and licks his lips, never breaking eye contact. He leans forward, running his nose up the apex between my thighs. I feel him. There.

I moan once more into his mouth. I can hardly contain the riotous feelings -- or are they hormones? -- that rampage through my body. I want him so badly. Gripping his upper arms, I feel his biceps, he's surprisingly strong… muscular. Tentatively, I move my hands up to his face and into his hair. Holy Moses. It's so soft, unruly. I tug gently, and he groans. He eases me toward the bed, until I feel it behind my knees. I think he's going to push me down on to it, but he doesn't. Releasing me, he suddenly drops to his knees. He grabs my hips with both his hands and runs his tongue around my navel, then gently nips his way to my hipbone, then across my belly to my other hipbone.

Still kneeling, he grasps my foot and undoes my Converse, pulling off my shoe and sock. I raise myself up on my elbows to see what he's doing. I'm panting… wanting. He lifts my foot by the heel and runs his thumbnail up my instep. It's almost painful, but I feel the movement echoed in my groin. I gasp. Not taking his eyes off mine, again he runs his tongue along my instep and then his teeth. Shit. I groan… how can I feel this, there? I fall back on to the bed, moaning. I hear his soft chuckle.

"Oh, Ana, what I could do to you!" he whispers. He removes my other shoe and sock, then stands and removes my jeans. I'm lying on his bed dressed only in my bra and panties, and he's staring down at me.

"You smell so good," he murmurs and closes his eyes, a look of pure pleasure on his face, and I practically convulse. He reaches up and tugs the duvet off the bed, then pushes me gently so I fall on to the mattress.

"You're very beautiful, Anastasia Steele. I can't wait to be inside you."

Holy shit. His words. He's so seductive. He takes my breath away.

"Keep still," he murmurs, and then he leans down and kisses the inside of my thigh, trailing kisses up, over the thin lacy material of my panties, kissing me.

"Show me how you pleasure yourself."

"Don't be coy, Ana, show me," he whispers.

I shake my head.

"Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that." His voice is soft, challenging, a delicious sensual threat. He undoes the buttons of his jeans and slowly pulls his jeans down, his eyes on mine the whole time. He leans down over me and, grasping each of my ankles, quickly jerks my legs apart and crawls onto the bed between my legs. He hovers over me. I am squirming with need.

Oh… I can't keep still. How can I not move? I wriggle beneath him.

What? I frown.

"How do you make yourself come? I want to see."

He raises his eyebrows, astonished for a moment, and his eyes darken, and he shakes his head in disbelief.

"We're going to have to work on keeping you still, baby." He trails kisses up my belly, and his tongue dips into my navel. Still he's heading north, kissing me across my torso. My skin is burning. I'm flushed, too hot, too cold, and I'm clawing at the sheet beneath me. He lies down beside me and his hand trails up from my hip, to my waist, and up to my breast. He gazes down at me, his expression unreadable, and gently cups my breast.

"I don't know what you mean." My voice is hoarse. I hardly recognize it, laced with desire.

I shake my head. "I don't," I mumble.

"You fit my hand perfectly, Anastasia," he murmurs and dips his index finger into the cup of my bra and gently yanks it down, freeing my breast, but the underwire and fabric of the cup force it upward. His finger moves to my other breast and repeats the process. My breasts swell, and my nipples harden under his steady gaze. I am trussed up by my own bra.

"Very nice," he whispers appreciatively, and my nipples harden even more.

He blows very gently on one as his hand moves to my other breast, and his thumb slowly rolls the end of my nipple, elongating it. I groan, feeling the sweet sensation all the way to my groin. I am so wet. Oh please, I beg internally as my fingers clasp the sheet tighter. His lips close around my other nipple and when he tugs, I nearly convulse.

"Let's see if we can make you come like this," he whispers, continuing his slow, sensual assault. My nipples bear the delicious brunt of his deft fingers and lips, setting alight every single nerve ending so that my whole body sings with the sweet agony. He just doesn't stop.

Oh my. That was extraordinary. Now I know what all the fuss is about. He gazes down at me, a satisfied smile on his face, while I'm sure there's nothing but gratitude and awe on mine.

"Let go, baby," he murmurs. His teeth close round my nipple, and his thumb and finger pull hard, and I fall apart in his hands, my body convulsing and shattering into a thousand pieces. He kisses me, deeply, his tongue in my mouth absorbing my cries.

My breathing is still ragged as I come down from my orgasm. His hand moves down my waist, to my hips, and then cups me, intimately… Jeez. His finger slips through the fine lace and slowly circles around me -- there. Briefly he closes his eyes, and his breathing hitches.

"Oh… please," I beg, and I pull my head back, my mouth open as I groan, my legs stiffening. Holy hell, what's happening to me?

"You are very responsive," he breathes. "You're going to have to learn to control that, and it's going to be so much fun teaching you how." He kisses me again.

"You're so deliciously wet. God, I want you." He thrusts his finger inside me, and I cry out as he does it again and again. He palms my clitoris, and I cry out once more. He pushes inside me harder and harder still. I groan.

"Don't worry," he breathes, his eyes on mine. "You expand too." He leans down, his hands on either side of my head, so he's hovering over me, staring down into my eyes, his jaw clenched, eyes burning. It's only now that I register he's still wearing his shirt.

Suddenly, he sits up and tugs my panties off and throws them on the floor. Pulling off his boxer briefs, his erection springs free. Holy cow… He reaches over to his bedside table and grabs a foil packet, and then he moves between my legs, spreading them further apart. He kneels up and pulls a condom onto his considerable length. Oh no… Will it? How?

"You really want to do this?" he asks softly.

"Pull your knees up," he orders softly, and I'm quick to obey. "I'm going to fuck you now, Miss Steele," he murmurs as he positions the head of his erection at the entrance of my sex. "Hard," he whispers, and he slams into me.

"Please," I beg.

"Aargh!" I cry as I feel a weird pinching sensation deep inside me as he rips through my virginity. He stills, gazing down at me, his eyes bright with ecstatic triumph.

His mouth is open slightly, and his breathing is harsh. He groans.

"Yes." It's a plea.

"Again?" he breathes.

"You're so tight. You okay?"

He eases back with exquisite slowness. And he closes his eyes and groans, and thrusts into me again. I cry out a second time, and he stills.

And he moves, but this time he doesn't stop. He shifts onto his elbows so I can feel his weight on me, holding me down. He moves slowly at first, easing himself in and out of me. And as I grow accustomed to the alien feeling, my hips move tentatively to meet his. He speeds up. I moan, and he pounds on, picking up speed, merciless, a relentless rhythm, and I keep up, meeting his thrusts. He grasps my head between his hands and kisses me hard, his teeth pulling at my lower lip again. He shifts slightly, and I can feel something building deep inside me, like before. I start to stiffen as he thrusts on and on. My body quivers, bows; a sheen of sweat gathers over me. Oh my… I didn't know it would feel like this… didn't know it could feel as good as this. My thoughts are scattering… there's only sensation… only him… only me… oh please… I stiffen.

"Yes," I breathe. He does it once more, and stills again.

"I'm going to move, baby," he breathes after a moment, his voice tight.

I nod, my eyes wide, my hands on his forearms. I feel so full. He stays still, letting me acclimatize to the intrusive, overwhelming feeling of him inside me.

Oh.

"More?" he whispers, his voice raw.

I groan, my body accepting him… Oh, I want this.

I am still panting, trying to slow my breathing, my thumping heart, and my thoughts are in riotous disarray. Wow… that was astounding. I open my eyes, and he has his forehead pressed against mine, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. Christian's eyes flicker open and gaze down at me, dark but soft. He's still inside me. Leaning down, he gently presses a kiss against my forehead then slowly pulls out of me.

"Come for me, Ana," he whispers breathlessly, and I unravel at his words, exploding around him as I climax and splinter into a million pieces underneath him. And as he comes, he calls out my name, thrusting hard, then stilling as he empties himself into me.

"Ooh." I wince at the unfamiliarity.

"Did I hurt you?" Christian asks as he lies down beside me propped on one elbow. He tucks a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. And I have to grin, widely.

"You are asking me if you hurt me?"

"The irony is not lost on me," he smiles sardonically. "Seriously, are you okay?" His eyes are intense, probing, demanding even.

"You're biting your lip, and you haven't answered me." He's frowning. I grin up at him impishly. He looks glorious with his tousled hair, burning narrowed gray eyes, and serious, dark expression.

I stretch out beside him, feeling loose-limbed, my bones like jelly, but I'm relaxed, deeply relaxed. I grin at him. I can't stop grinning. Now I know what all the fuss is about. Two orgasms… coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow. I had no idea what my body was capable of, could be wound so tightly and released so violently, so gratifyingly. The pleasure was indescribable.

"Would you now, Miss Steele?" he murmurs dryly. He leans down and kisses me very gently at the corner of my mouth. "Demanding little thing, aren't you? Turn on your front."

I blink at him momentarily, and then I turn over. He unhooks my bra and runs his hand down my back to my behind.

"I'd like to do that again," I whisper. For a moment, I think I see a fleeting look of relief on his face, before the shutters come down, and he gazes at me through hooded eyes.

"So you want me to fuck you again?" he whispers in my ear, and he begins to trail feather-light kisses around my ear and down my neck.

"Why are you wearing your shirt?" I ask. He stills. After a beat, he shuffles out of his shirt, and he lies back down on me. I feel his warm skin against mine. Hmm… it feels heavenly. He has a light dusting of hair across his chest, which tickles my back.

His hand moves down, skimming my waist, over my hip, and down my thigh to the back of my knee. He pushes my knee up higher, and my breath hitches… oh my, what's he doing now? He shifts so he's between my legs, pressed against my back, and his hand travels up my thigh to my behind. He caresses my cheek slowly, and then trails his fingers down between my legs.

"You really have the most beautiful skin," he murmurs. He shifts so that one of his legs pushes between mine, and he's half lying across my back. I can feel the buttons of his shirt pressing into me as he gathers my hair off my face and kisses my bare shoulder.

"I'm going to take you from behind, Anastasia," he murmurs, and with his other hand, he grasps my hair at the nape in a fist and pulls gently, holding me in place. I cannot move my head. I am pinioned beneath him, helpless.

His long fingers reach round to gently massage my clitoris, circling slowly. His breath is soft against my face as he slowly nips me along my jaw.

"You are mine," he whispers. "Only mine. Don't forget it." His voice is intoxicating, his words heady, seductive. I feel his growing erection against my thigh.

"You like this?" he asks softly, his teeth grazing my outer ear, and he starts to flex his thumb slowly, in, out, in, out… his fingers still circling.

"Keep still," he orders, his voice soft but urgent, and slowly he inserts his thumb inside me, rotating it round and round, stroking the front wall of my vagina. The effect is mind-blowing -- all my energy concentrating on this one small space inside my body. I moan.

"You smell divine," he nuzzles behind my ear. His hand rubs against me, round and round. Reflexively, my hips start to circle, mirroring his hand, as excruciating pleasure spikes through my blood like adrenaline.

I close my eyes, trying to keep my breathing under control, trying to absorb the disordered, chaotic sensations that his fingers are unleashing on me, fire coursing through my body. I moan again.

"See how you taste," he breathes against my ear. "Suck me, baby." His thumb presses on my tongue, and my mouth closes round him, sucking wildly. I taste the saltiness on his thumb and the faint metallic tang of blood. Holy fuck. This is wrong, but holy hell is it erotic.

"You're so wet, so quickly. So responsive. Oh, Anastasia, I like that. I like that a lot," he whispers.

I want to stiffen my legs, but I can't move. He's pinning me down, keeping up a constant, slow, tortuous rhythm. It's absolutely exquisite. I moan again, and he moves suddenly.

"I want to fuck your mouth, Anastasia, and I will soon," his voice is hoarse, raw, his breathing more disjointed.

Fuck my mouth? I moan, and I bite down on him. He gasps, and he pulls my hair tighter, painfully, so I release him.

"Open your mouth," he commands and thrusts his thumb in my mouth. My eyes fly open, blinking wildly.

"Naughty, sweet girl," he whispers, and then reaches over to the bedside table for a foil packet. "Stay still, don't move," he orders as he releases my hair.

And slowly he eases into me, slowly, slowly, until he's buried in me. Stretching, filling, relentless. I groan loudly. It feels deeper this time, delectable. I groan again, and he deliberately circles his hips and pulls back, pauses a beat, and then eases his way back in. He repeats this motion again and again. It's driving me insane -- his teasing, deliberately slow thrusts, and the intermittent feeling of fullness is overwhelming.

"We're going to go real slow this time, Anastasia," he breathes.

"Oh no, baby, not yet," he murmurs, and as the quivering ceases, he starts the whole delicious process again.

"You feel so good," he groans, and my insides start to quiver. He pulls back and waits.

He rips the foil while I'm breathing hard, my blood singing in my veins. The anticipation is exhilarating. He leans down, his weight on me again, and he grabs my hair, holding my head immobile. I cannot move. I'm enticingly ensnared by him, and he's poised and ready to take me once more.

"Oh, please," I beg. I'm not sure I can take much more. My body is wound so tight, craving release.

"You. Are. Mine. Come for me, baby," he growls.

"Tell me," he murmurs.

"Please, Christian," I whisper.

"You, please."

I moan.

His words are my undoing, tipping me over the precipice. My body convulses around him, and I come, loudly calling out a garbled version of his name into the mattress. Christian follows with two sharp thrusts, and he freezes, pouring himself into me as he finds his release. He collapses on top of me, his face in my hair.

He increases the rhythm infinitesimally, and his breathing becomes more erratic. My insides start quickening, and Christian picks up the rhythm.

I groan again. He pulls out and moves slowly back into me, circling his hips once more.

I groan.

"Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I've been here. Only me. You are mine."

"What do you want, Anastasia? Tell me."

"You. Are. So. Sweet," he murmurs between each thrust. "I. Want. You. So. Much."

"I want you sore, baby," he murmurs, and he continues his sweet, leisurely torment, backward, forward.

I wrap the duvet round me and quietly pad down the corridor toward the big room.

"Fuck. Ana," he breathes. He pulls out of me immediately and rolls onto his side of the bed. I pull my knees up to my chest, utterly spent, and immediately drift off or pass out into an exhausted sleep.

Christian is at the piano, completely lost in the music he's playing. His expression is sad and forlorn, like the music. His playing is stunning. Leaning against the wall at the entrance, I listen enraptured. He's such an accomplished musician. He sits naked, his body bathed in the warm light cast by a solitary freestanding lamp beside the piano. With the rest of the large room in darkness, it's like he's in his own isolated little pool of light, untouchable… lonely, in a bubble.

When I wake, it's still dark. I have no idea how long I've slept. I stretch out beneath the duvet, and I feel sore, deliciously sore. Christian is nowhere to be seen. I sit up, staring out at the cityscape in front of me. There are fewer lights on amongst the skyscrapers, and there's a whisper of dawn in the east. I hear the music. The lilting notes of the piano, a sad, sweet lament. Bach, I think, but I'm not sure.

I pad quietly toward him, enticed by the sublime, melancholy music. I'm mesmerized watching his long skilled fingers as they find and gently press the keys, thinking how those same fingers have expertly handled and caressed my body. I flush and gasp at the memory and press my thighs together. He glances up, his unfathomable gray eyes bright, his expression unreadable.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

A frown flits across his face. "Surely, I should be saying that to you," he murmurs. He finishes playing and puts his hands on his legs.

"You should be in bed," he admonishes.

"Transcription by Bach, but it's originally an oboe concerto by Alessandro Marcello."

I notice now that he's wearing PJ pants. He runs his fingers through his hair and stands. His pants hang from his hips, in that way… oh my. My mouth goes dry as he casually strolls around the piano toward me. He has broad shoulders, narrow hips, and his abdominal muscles ripple as he walks. He really is stunning.

"That was a beautiful piece. Bach?"

"I find it difficult to sleep, and I'm not used to sleeping with anyone," he murmurs.

"How long have you been playing? You play beautifully."

"How are you feeling?" he asks when we are back in the room. He switches on a sidelight.

"Since I was six."

"It was exquisite, but very sad, such a melancholy melody."

His lips quirk up in a half smile.

I can't fathom his mood. He seems a little despondent, but it's difficult to tell in the darkness. Perhaps it was the tone of the piece he was playing. He puts his arm around me and gently walks me back to the bedroom.

"Oh." Christian as a six-year-old boy… my mind conjures an image of a beautiful, copper-haired little boy with gray eyes and my heart melts -- a moppet-haired kid who likes impossibly sad music.

"I woke and you weren't there."

"I'm good."

We both glance down at the bed at the same time. There's blood on the sheets -- evidence of my lost virginity. I flush, embarrassed, pulling the duvet tighter around me.

"Bed," he orders. "You'll be exhausted in the morning."

"Well, that's going to give Mrs. Jones something to think about," Christian mutters as he stands in front of me. He puts his hand under my chin and tips my head back, staring down at me. His eyes are intense as he examines my face. I realize that I've not seen his naked chest before. Instinctively, I reach out to run my fingers through the smattering of dark hair on his chest to see how it feels. Immediately, he steps back out of my reach.

"Get into bed," he says sharply. "I'll come and lie down with you." His voice softens.

"Bed," he orders again. I climb back onto the bed, trying not to think about the blood. He clambers in beside me and pulls me into his embrace, wrapping his arms around me so that I'm facing away from him. He kisses my hair gently, and he inhales deeply.

I drop my hand and frown. I don't think I've ever touched his torso. He opens a chest of drawers and pulls out a t-shirt and quickly slips it on.

"Sleep, sweet Anastasia," he murmurs, and I close my eyes, but I can't help feel a residual melancholy either from the music or his demeanor. Christian Grey has a sad side.