"Mom, it's fine. Ray will be there."

The following day, I call my mom when I'm home from work. It's been a relatively peaceful day at Clayton's, allowing me far too much time to think. I'm restless, nervous about my showdown with Mr. Control Freak tomorrow, and at the back of my mind, I'm worried that perhaps I've been too negative in my response to the contract. Perhaps he'll call the whole thing off.

My mom is oozing contrition, desperately sorry not to make my graduation. Bob has twisted some ligament which means he's hobbling all over the place. Honestly, he's as accident-prone as I am. He's expected to make a full recovery, but it means he's resting up, and my mother has to wait on him hand and sore foot.

"Ana, you sound distracted -- are you okay, baby?"

"Yes, Mom," Oh if only you knew. There's an obscenely rich guy I've met and he wants some kind of strange kinky sexual relationship, in which I don't get a say in things.

"Ana, honey, I'm so sorry," my mom whines down the phone.

"Have you met someone?"

I close my eyes. Her precious words give me a warm glow inside.

"No, Mom." I am so not going there right now.

Subject: Your Issues

From: Christian Grey

Date: May 24 2011 01:27

"Bye."

====================

"Will do, honey. Bye."

I have strayed into my bedroom with the phone. Idly, I switch the mean machine on and fire up the e-mail program. There's an e-mail from Christian from late last night or very early this morning, depending on your point of view. My heart rate spikes instantly, and I hear the blood pumping in my ears. Holy crap… perhaps he's said no -- that's it -- maybe he's canceling dinner. The thought is so painful. I dismiss it quickly and open the e-mail.

"Love you too, Mom. Say hi to Bob, and I hope he gets better fast."

"Well, darling, I'll be thinking of you on Thursday. I love you… you know that, honey?"

To: Anastasia Steele

Dear Miss Steele

submissive [suhb-mis-iv] -- adjective

Following my more thorough examination of your issues, may I bring to your attention the definition of submissive.

compromise [kom-pruh-mahyz] -- noun

1. tractable, compliant, pliant, amenable.

Antonyms: 1. rebellious, disobedient.

Subject: My Issues… What about Your Issues?

From: Anastasia Steele

My initial feeling is one of relief. He's willing to discuss my issues at least, and he still wants to meet tomorrow. After some thought, I reply.

May I offer a definition for you to consider for our meeting:

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Synonyms:

1. inclined or ready to submit; unresistingly or humbly obedient: submissive servants.

Christian Grey

To: Christian Grey

Sir

Date: May 24 2011 18:29

2. marked by or indicating submission: a submissive reply.

====================

Please bear this in mind for our meeting on Wednesday.

Origin: 1580-90; submiss + -ive

Please note the date of origin: 1580-90. I would respectfully remind Sir that the year is 2011. We have come a long way since then.

2. passive, resigned, patient, docile, tame, subdued.

1. a settlement of differences by mutual concessions; an agreement reached by adjustment of conflicting or opposing claims, principles, etc., by reciprocal modification of demands.

Ana

To: Anastasia Steele

Sir

From: Anastasia Steele

At your hotel at 7:00?

4. an endangering, esp. of reputation; exposure to danger, suspicion, etc.: a compromise of one's integrity.

Subject: 2011 -- Women can drive

From: Christian Grey

Dear Miss Steele

====================

I would prefer to meet you somewhere.

To: Anastasia Steele

Date: May 24 2011 18:32

3. something intermediate between different things: The split-level is a compromise between a ranch house and a multistoried house.

Subject: What about My Issues?

====================

From: Christian Grey

Date: May 24 2011 18:40

I refer to my e-mail dated May 24, 2011 sent at 1:27 and the definition contained therein.

To: Christian Grey

Date: May 24 2011 18:43

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Where shall I meet you?

I have a car. I can drive.

Ana

Subject: Stubborn Young Women

====================

Good point, well made, as ever, Miss Steele. I will collect you from your apartment at 7:00 tomorrow.

Christian Grey

2. the result of such a settlement.

From: Christian Grey

Christian Grey

I would like to drive.

Date: May 24 2011 18:55

Date: May 24 2011 18:49

Subject: Not So Intractable Men

Christian Grey

====================

My hotel at 7:00.

Christian Grey

He's even grumpy by e-mail. Doesn't he understand that I may need to make a quick getaway? Not that my Beetle is quick… but still -- I need a means of escape.

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Subject: Exasperating Women

Date: May 24 2011 18:52

To: Anastasia Steele

I'll meet you in the Marble Bar.

Do you ever think you'll be able to do what you're told?

====================

From: Christian Grey

====================

I call Ray, who is just about to watch the Sounders play some soccer team from Salt Lake City, so our conversation is mercifully brief. He's driving down on Thursday for graduation. He wants to take me out afterward for a meal. My heart swells talking to Ray, and a huge lump knots in my throat. He has been my constant through all Mom's romantic ups and downs. We have a special bond that I treasure. Even though he's my stepdad, he's always treated me as his own, and I can't wait to see him. It's been too long. His quiet fortitude is what I need now, what I miss. Maybe I can channel my inner Ray for my meeting tomorrow.

To: Christian Grey

Subject: Exasperated Men

Date: May 24 2011 18:59

From: Anastasia Steele

You're welcome.

Please.

Ana

====================

To: Anastasia Steele

Thank you.

From: Anastasia Steele

Ana x

To: Christian Grey

Subject: Intractable Men

Mr. Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Fine.

"Paul, I never thought it was a good idea to date the boss's brother."

"No."

"And I'll be in Seattle as of Saturday and you'll be in New York soon. We couldn't get much further apart if we tried. Besides, I do have a date this evening."

Kate and I concentrate on packing, sharing a bottle of cheap red wine as we do. When I finally go to bed, having almost finished packing my room, I feel calmer. The physical activity of boxing everything up has been a welcome distraction, and I'm tired. I want a good night's sleep. I snuggle into my bed and am soon asleep.

"With José?"

Yes… you'd think you'd take the hint.

Paul is back from Princeton before he sets off for New York to start an internship with a financing company. He follows me round the store all day asking me for a date. It's annoying.

"You're finishing here on Friday. You're not working tomorrow."

"No, you don't, you're just saying that to avoid me. You're always avoiding me."

"Paul, for the hundredth time, I have a date this evening."

"Who then?"

"Paul… oh." My sigh is exasperated. He's not going to let this go. "Christian Grey." I cannot help the annoyance in my voice. But it does the trick. Paul's mouth falls open, and he gapes at me, struck dumb. Humph -- even his name renders people speechless.

"You have a date with Christian Grey?" he says finally, once he's over the shock. Disbelief is evident in his voice.

"Yes."

"I see." Paul looks positively crestfallen, stunned even, and a very small part of me resents that he should find this a surprise. My inner goddess does, too. She makes a very vulgar and unattractive gesture at him with her fingers.

Kate has lent me two dresses and two pairs of shoes for tonight and for graduation tomorrow. I wish I could feel more enthused about clothes and make an extra effort, but clothes are just not my thing. What is your thing, Anastasia? Christian's softly spoken question haunts me. Shaking my head and endeavoring to quell my nerves, I decide on the plum-colored sheath dress for this evening. It's demure and vaguely businesslike -- after all, I am negotiating a contract.

After that, he ignores me, and at five I am out of the door, pronto.

"Just keeping it real, Ana. The whole package -- looks good. Keep the dress. You'll have him eating out of your hand."

She grins.

I shower, shave my legs and underarms, wash my hair, and then spend a good half hour drying it so that it falls in soft waves to my breasts and down my back. I slip a comb in to keep one side off my face and apply mascara and some lip gloss. I rarely wear makeup -- it intimidates me. None of my literary heroines had to deal with makeup -- maybe I'd know more about it if they had. I slip on the plum-colored stilettos that match the dress, and I'm ready by six thirty.

"Boy, you scrub up well, Ana." She nods with approval. "You look hot."

"That too, but most of all, hot. The dress really suits you and your coloring. The way it clings." She smirks.

"Kate!" I scold.

"Hot! I'm aiming for demure and businesslike."

My mouth presses in a hard line. Oh, you so have that the wrong way round.

"Well?" I ask Kate.

"Wish me luck."

"You need luck for a date?" Her brow furrows, puzzled.

"Yes, Kate."

"Well then -- good luck." She hugs me, and I am out the front door.

I have to drive in my bare feet -- Wanda, my sea-blue Beetle, wasn't built to be driven by stiletto-wearers. I pull up outside the Heathman at six fifty-eight precisely and hand my car keys to the valet for parking. He looks askance at my Beetle, but I ignore him. Taking a deep breath and mentally girding my loins, I head into the hotel.

Christian is leaning casually against the bar, drinking a glass of white wine. He's dressed in his customary white linen shirt, black jeans, black tie, and black jacket. His hair is as tousled as ever. I sigh. Of course he looks gorgeous. I stand for a few seconds in the entrance of the bar, gazing at him, admiring the view. He is beyond beautiful. He glances, nervously I think, toward the entrance and stills when he sees me. Blinking a couple of times, he then smiles a slow, lazy, sexy smile that renders me speechless and all molten inside. Making a supreme effort not to bite my lip, I move forward aware that I, Anastasia Steele of Clumsyville, am in high stilettos. He walks gracefully over to meet me.

"You look stunning," he murmurs as he leans down to briefly kiss my cheek. "A dress, Miss Steele. I approve." Taking my arm, he leads me to a secluded booth and signals for the waiter.

"I'll have what you're having, please." See! I can play nice and behave myself. Amused, he orders another glass of Sancerre and slides in opposite me.

My lips quirk up in a quick, sly smile as I sit and slide into the booth -- well, at least he's asking me.

"They have an excellent wine cellar here," he says, cocking his head to one side. Putting his elbows on the table, he steeples his fingers in front of his beautiful mouth, his gray eyes alive with some unreadable emotion. And there it is… that familiar pull and charge from him, it connects somewhere deep inside me. I shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny, my heart palpitating. I must keep my cool.

"Yes."

"What would you like to drink?"

"Me, too," he whispers conspiratorially. My eyes shoot up to meet his. Him. Nervous. Never. I blink at him, and he smiles his adorable lopsided smile at me. The waiter arrives with my wine, a small dish of mixed nuts, and another of olives.

"Are you nervous?" he asks softly.

He leans forward.

"So, how are we going to do this?" I ask. "Run through my points one by one?"

"Well, I could ask you what you thought of the weather today?"

"Well… yes."

"Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?"

"Impatient as ever, Miss Steele."

He smiles, and his long fingers reach down to collect an olive. He pops it in his mouth, and my eyes linger on his mouth, that mouth, that's been on me… all parts of me. I flush.

He frowns at me. "You'd think I'd coerce you into something you don't want to do, and then pretend that I have a legal hold over you?"

"I am fully aware of that, Miss Steele."

"Anastasia, it doesn't matter if it's legal or not. It represents an arrangement that I would like to make with you -- what I would like from you and what you can expect from me. If you don't like it, then don't sign. If you do sign, and then decide you don't like it, there are enough get-out clauses so you can walk away. Even if it were legally binding, do you think I'd drag you through the courts if you did decide to run?"

"I thought the weather was particularly unexceptional today," he smirks.

"You don't think very highly of me at all, do you?"

"You haven't answered my question."

"I am, Miss Steele."

"You know this contract is legally unenforceable."

"Were you going to tell me that at any point?"

I take a long draft of my wine. My subconscious taps me hard on the shoulder. You must keep your wits about you. Don't drink too much.

Oh my, we've cut to the chase quickly. How far he can take me. Holy shit. What does that mean?

"So it's quite simple, Anastasia. Do you trust me or not?" His eyes are burning, fervent.

"Because they were all established submissives. They knew what they wanted out of a relationship with me and generally what I expected. With them, it was just a question of fine-tuning the soft limits, details like that."

"Did you have similar discussions with, um… the fifteen?"

"Then how?"

"Relationships like this are built on honesty and trust," he continues. "If you don't trust me -- trust me to know how I'm affecting you, how far I can go with you, how far I can take you -- if you can't be honest with me, then we really can't do this."

"Is there a store you go to? Submissives R Us?"

"Why not?"

"Is that what you want to discuss? Or shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Your issues, as you say."

"No."

He laughs. "Not exactly."

He narrows his eyes. "You have to eat, Anastasia. We can eat down here or in my suite. What would you prefer?"

"Do you think that would stop me?" he says softly, a sensual warning.

"No." My voice is small.

Placing my hand in his, I slide out and stand up beside him. He releases me, and his hand reaches for my elbow. He leads me back through the bar and up the grand stairs to a mezzanine floor. A young man in full Heathman livery approaches us.

Oh no… food.

"Bring your wine," he murmurs.

"Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public." He smiles at me enigmatically and climbs out of the booth, holding his hand out to me.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, distracting me from my thoughts.

My eyes widen, and I swallow again.

"No."

He smiles sardonically.

I swallow. Do I trust him? Is that what this all comes down to -- trust? Surely that should be a two-way thing. I remember his snit when I phoned José.

"I hope so."

"Have you eaten today?"

I stare at him. Honesty… Holy crap, he's not going to like my answer.

"I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground."

We follow him through a plush seating area to an intimate dining room. Just one secluded table. The room is small but sumptuous. Beneath a shimmering chandelier, the table is all starched linen, crystal glasses, silver cutlery, and white rose bouquet. An old-world, sophisticated charm pervades the wood-paneled room. The waiter pulls out my chair, and I sit. He places my napkin in my lap. Christian sits opposite me. I peek up at him.

"No, that's fine," I acquiesce.

"Mr. Grey, this way sir."

I frown. Damn it. I don't even know that I'm doing it.

"I've ordered already. I hope you don't mind."

"Don't bite your lip," he whispers.

"It's good to know that you can be amenable. Now, where were we?"

Frankly, I'm relieved. I'm not sure I can make any further decisions.

"The nitty-gritty." I take another large sip of wine. It really is delicious. Christian Grey does wine well. I remember the last sip of wine he gave me, in my bed. I blush at the intrusive thought.

"Yes, your issues." He fishes into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. My e-mail.

"My sexual health. Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months for all the health risks you mention. All my recent tests are clear. I have never taken drugs. In fact, I'm vehemently anti-drugs. I have a strict no-tolerance policy with regards to drugs for all my employees, and I insist on random drug testing."

"Clause 2. Agreed. This is for the benefit of us both. I shall redraft."

I blink at him. Holy shit… we are going to go through each of these points one at a time. I just don't feel so brave face to face. He looks so earnest. I steel myself with another sip of my wine. Christian continues.

Wow… control freakery gone mad. I blink at him shocked.

I nod, impassive.

"Your next point I mentioned earlier. You can walk away any time, Anastasia. I won't stop you. If you go, however -- that's it. Just so you know."

"Okay," I answer softly. If I go, that's it. The thought is surprisingly painful.

"I have never had any blood transfusions. Does that answer your question?"

"Really? Well." He reaches for one. "All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that." He gazes at me, and I know what he's referring to. I blush scarlet. He grins at me, squirts some lemon juice onto his oyster, and then tips it into his mouth.

The waiter arrives with our first course. How can I possibly eat? Holy Moses -- he's ordered oysters on a bed of ice.

"I hope you like oysters," Christian's voice is soft.

"Hmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea," he grins at me. "Go on," he encourages.

"No, Anastasia, you don't." His eyes are alight with humor. He looks so young like this.

I bite my lip and his expression changes instantly. He looks sternly at me. I reach across and pick up my first ever oyster. Okay… here goes nothing. I squirt some lemon juice on it and tip it up. It slips down my throat, all seawater, salt, the sharp tang of citrus, and fleshiness… ooh. I lick my lips, and he's watching me intently, his eyes hooded.

"I've never had one." Ever.

"So, I don't chew it?"

"Well?"

"I'll have another," I say dryly.

"I suspended them from my playroom ceiling. In fact, that's one of your questions. Suspension -- that's what the carabiners are for in the playroom. Rope play. One of the ropes was tied too tightly."

"Obey me in all things. Yes, I want you to do that. I need you to do that. Think of it as role-play, Anastasia."

"How did you hurt them?"

"Hurt you how?"

"Physically." And emotionally.

"Yes, I have. It was a long time ago."

"Good girl," he says proudly.

"Did you choose these deliberately? Aren't they known for their aphrodisiac qualities?"

"Do you really think I would do that? Go beyond any limit you can't take?"

"You've said you've hurt someone before."

"But I'm worried you'll hurt me."

"No, they are the first item on the menu. I don't need an aphrodisiac near you. I think you know that, and I think you react the same way near me," he says simply. "So where were we?" He glances at my e-mail as I reach for another oyster.

He reacts the same way. I affect him… wow.

I hold my hand up, begging him to stop.

"How about, one day over one weekend per month you get to yourself -- but I get a midweek night that week?"

"So obeying, do you think you can manage that?"

"The ownership thing, that's just terminology and goes back to the principle of obeying. It's to get you into the right frame of mind, to understand where I'm coming from. And I want you to know that as soon as you cross my threshold as my submissive, I will do what I like to you. You have to accept that and willingly. That's why you have to trust me. I will fuck you, any time, any way I want -- anywhere I want. I will discipline you, because you will screw up. I will train you to please me. But I know you've not done this before. Initially, we'll take it slowly, and I will help you. We'll build up to various scenarios. I want you to trust me, but I know I have to earn your trust, and I will. The "or otherwise" -- again it's to help you get into the mindset; it means anything goes."

He stares at me, his gray eyes intense. The seconds tick by.

"I could try," I whisper.

He can't stay away from me? What?

"I don't need to know any more. So you won't suspend me then?"

"Okay."

"Not if you really don't want to. You can make that a hard limit."

"Okay."

"Three months?" I'm feeling railroaded. I take another large sip of wine and treat myself to another oyster. I could learn to like these.

"And please, let's try it for three months. If it's not for you then, you can walk away anytime."

"Good." He smiles. "Now term. One month instead of three is no time at all, especially if you want a weekend away from me each month. I don't think I'll be able to stay away from you for that length of time. I can barely manage it now," he pauses.

The waiter comes to the door, and Christian subtly nods permitting the waiter to clear our table.

He's so passionate, mesmerizing. This is obviously his obsession, the way he is… I can't take my eyes off him. He really, really wants this. He stops talking and gazes at me.

"Some water then?"

"I have to drive."

I nod.

"Would you like some more wine?"

The waiter leaves.

"Sparkling, please."

"Discipline. There's a very fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other. I can show you how pleasurable pain can be. You don't believe me now, but this is what I mean about trust. There will be pain, but nothing that you can't handle. Again, it comes down to trust. Do you trust me, Ana?"

"You're very quiet," Christian whispers.

"You're very verbose."

"Still or sparkling?"

"Still with me?" he whispers, his voice rich, warm and seductive. He takes a sip of his wine, his penetrating stare holding mine.

Ana!

He smiles.

"Yes, I do." I respond spontaneously, not thinking… because it's true -- I do trust him.

"I hope you like fish," Christian says mildly.

My head is swimming with all his words. I should have brought Kate's mini-disc player so I can listen back to this. There is so much information, so much to process. The waiter re-emerges with our entrees: black cod, asparagus, and crushed potatoes with a hollandaise sauce. I have never felt less like food.

"Well then," he looks relieved. "The rest of this stuff is just details."

"Okay, let's talk through those."

I make a stab at my food and take a long drink of my sparkling water. I vehemently wish it was wine.

I frown. Why? "You'll have to trust me."

"The rules. Let's talk about them. The food is a deal breaker?"

He gazes at me for a moment, and he relaxes.

"Yes."

He purses his lips. "I need to know that you're not hungry."

"Important details."

"Touché, Miss Steele," he says quietly. "I concede the food and the sleep."

"No." I am so not backing down on this. No one is going to dictate to me what I eat. How I fuck, yes, but eat… no, no way.

"Can I modify to say that you will eat at least three meals a day?"

"No. And I don't want you touching yourself, either."

What? Ah yes, the no masturbation clause.

"Is it because of Mrs. Robinson?"

Oh… but I have to. I pout.

"So nothing to do with her."

I nod.

"No, Anastasia. She's not the reason. Besides, Mrs. Robinson wouldn't take any of that shit from me."

He looks quizzically at me. "Why would you think that?" And immediately he understands. "You think she traumatized me?"

"Why can't I look at you?"

"Because you can't."

His mouth sets in a mulish line.

Will I?

"Why can't I touch you?"

"Out of curiosity… why?"

"That's a Dom/sub thing. You'll get used to it."

Oh… I have no answer for that. On one level it's up there with, 'I want to bite that lip'; on another, it's so selfish. I frown and take a bite of cod, trying to assess mentally what concessions I've gained. The food, the sleep, I can look him in the eye. He's going to take it slow, and we haven't discussed soft limits. But I'm not sure I can face that over food.

"Because I want all your pleasure," his voice is husky, but determined.

"I need you fit and healthy, Anastasia."

"You want dessert?" he snorts.

I swallow. Peel me out of Kate's dress. I feel the pull deep in my belly. Muscles that I'm now more acquainted with clench at his words. But I can't have this. His most potent weapon, used against me again. He's so good at sex -- even I've figured this out.

"You've not eaten very much."

Jeez. He's kept an inventory.

"Yes."

"I've given you a great deal to think about, haven't I?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," I murmur quietly. "We haven't had dessert."

"And right now, I want to peel you out of that dress."

He smiles. "Squeamish?"

"I know."

"Something like that."

"You could be dessert," he murmurs suggestively.

"Christian, please, it's not every day I sit through conversations like this."

"Do you want to go through the soft limits now, too?"

"Not over dinner."

"I've had enough."

"Yes."

"Three oysters, four bites of cod, and one asparagus stalk, no potatoes, no nuts, no olives, and you've not eaten all day. You said I could trust you."

"I'd like to try something," he breathes.

"Christian. You use sex as a weapon. It really isn't fair," I whisper, staring down at my hands, and then looking directly at him. He raises his eyebrows, surprised, and I see he's considering my words. He strokes his chin thoughtfully.

"You're right. I do. In life you use what you know, Anastasia. Doesn't change how much I want you. Here. Now."

"Anastasia, you're deliciously sweet. I know."

How can he seduce me solely with his voice? I'm panting already -- my heated blood rushing through my veins, my nerves tingling.

I frown. He's just given me a shit load of ideas to process and now this.

"If you were my sub, you wouldn't have to think about this. It would be easy." His voice is soft, seductive. "All those decisions -- all the wearying thought processes behind them. The -- 'is this the right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now?' You wouldn't have to worry about any of that detail. That's what I'd do as your Dom. And right now, I know you want me, Anastasia."

"I'm not sure I'm sweet enough."

My head jerks up to glare at him, and his gray eyes burn molten silver with compelling need.

"You'd prefer cold cod to me?"

Holy shit, he's answering my unspoken question. Is he psychic as well?

"… Your body gives you away. You're pressing your thighs together, you're flushed, and your breathing has changed."

"I felt the tablecloth move, and it's a calculated guess based on years of experience. I'm right, aren't I?"

I flush and stare down at my hands. That's what I'm hindered by in this game of seduction. He's the only one who knows and understands the rules. I'm just too naïve and inexperienced. My only sphere of reference is Kate, and she doesn't take any shit from men. My other references are all fictional: Elizabeth Bennet would be outraged, Jane Eyre too frightened, and Tess would succumb, just as I have.

My frown deepens. How can he tell?

"How do you know about my thighs?" My voice is low, disbelieving. They're under the table, for heaven's sake.

"I haven't finished my cod."

"I can tell because…"

OK, this is too much.

Christian's eyes widen infinitesimally, but I notice.

Christian shifts in his seat. "I think you're toying with me, Miss Steele."

"I know. I never have."

"Christian. You just don't fight fair."

"Right now, Miss Steele, I couldn't give a fuck about your food."

"I thought you liked me clearing my plate."

I feign innocence. "I'm just finishing my food, Mr. Grey."

The waiter chooses this moment to knock and, unbidden, enter. He glances briefly at Christian, who frowns at him but then nods, so the waiter clears our plates. The waiter's arrival has broken the spell. And I grasp this precious moment of clarity. I have to go. Our meeting will only end one way if I stay, and I need some boundaries after such an intense conversation. As much as my body craves his touch, my mind is rebelling. I need some distance to think about all he's said. I still haven't made a decision, and his sexual allure and prowess doesn't make it any easier.

My inner goddess frowns at me. You can do this, she coaxes -- play this sex god at his own game. Can I? Okay. What to do? My inexperience is an albatross around my neck. Picking up a spear of asparagus, I gaze at him and bite my lip. Then very slowly put the tip of my cold asparagus in my mouth and suck it.

I bite off the tip. "Eating my asparagus."

"Anastasia. What are you doing?"

"Go?" He can't hide his surprise.

"Please… I have to."

The waiter leaves hastily.

He runs his hand through his hair, regarding me carefully.

Christian stands automatically, revealing years of ingrained civility.

"I could make you stay," he threatens.

"Would you like some dessert?" Christian asks, ever the gentleman, but his eyes still blaze.

"Why?"

"No, thank you. I think I should go." I stare down at my hands.

"Because you've given me so much to consider… and I need some distance."

"I don't want you to go."

"Yes, you could easily, but I don't want you to."

"Yes." It's the right decision. If I stay here, in this room with him, he will fuck me. I stand, purposefully. "We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow."

"You know, when you fell into my office to interview me, you were all 'yes, sir', 'no, sir'. I thought you were a natural born submissive. But quite frankly, Anastasia, I'm not sure you have a submissive bone in your delectable body." He moves slowly toward me as his speaks, his voice tense.

"I know."

"I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do," he murmurs, staring down at me. He reaches up and caresses my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "I don't know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am."

He leans down to kiss me, but pauses before his lips touch mine, his eyes searching mine, wanting, asking permission. I raise my lips to his, and he kisses me and because I don't know if I'll ever kiss him again, I let go -- my hands moving of their own accord and twisting into his hair, pulling him to me, my mouth opening, my tongue stroking his. His hand grasps the nape of my neck as he deepens the kiss, responding to my ardor. His other hand slides down my back and flattens at the base of my spine as he pushes me against his body.

"No."

"You may be right," I breathe.

He groans.

"I can't persuade you to stay?" he breathes between kisses.

"You impossible girl." He pulls back, gazing down at me. "Why do I think you're telling me goodbye?"

"Spend the night with me."

"And not touch you? No."

"Because I'm leaving now."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"Christian, I have to think about this. I don't know if I can have the kind of relationship you want."

"Do you have your valet ticket?"

"As you wish, Miss Steele," he says, his face impassive. "I'll escort you to the lobby." He holds out his hand. Leaning down, I grab my purse and place my hand in his. Holy crap, this could be it. I follow him meekly down the grand stairs and into the lobby, my scalp prickling, my blood pumping. This could be the last goodbye if I decide to say no. My heart contracts painfully in my chest. What a turnaround. What a difference a moment of clarity can make to a girl.

He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against mine, giving us both the opportunity to slow our breathing. After a moment, he kisses my forehead, inhales deeply, his nose in my hair, and then he releases me, stepping back.

I fish into my clutch purse and hand him the ticket, which he gives to the doorman. I peek up at him as we stand waiting.

"Thank you for dinner," I murmur.

"It's a pleasure as always, Miss Steele," he says politely, though he looks deep in thought, completely distracted.

"Here. I don't want you catching cold."

As I peer up at him, I commit his beautiful profile to memory. The idea that I might not see him again haunts me, unwelcome and too painful to contemplate. He turns suddenly, staring down at me, his expression intense.

"It's cooler now, don't you have a jacket?"

"You're moving this weekend to Seattle. If you make the right decision, can I see you on Sunday?" He sounds hesitant.

"We'll see. Maybe," I breathe. Momentarily, he looks relieved, and then he frowns.

"No."

He shakes his head in irritation and takes off his jacket.

I blink up at him as he holds it open, and as I hold my arms out behind me, I'm reminded of the time in his office when he slipped my coat onto my shoulders -- the first time I met him -- and the effect he had on me then. Nothing's changed; in fact, it's more intense. His jacket is warm, far too big, and it smells of him. Oh my… delicious.

"Oh, Anastasia, I think we can do better than this."

"Yes. She will."

"Is this roadworthy?" He's glaring at me now.

"Yes."

"Drive safely," he says quietly.

"We'll see," he says tightly.

"What do you mean?" Realization dawns. "You are not buying me a car."

My car pulls up outside. Christian's mouth drops open.

He glowers at me, his jaw tense.

"That's what you drive?" He's appalled. Taking my hand, he leads me outside. The valet jumps out and hands me my keys, and Christian coolly palms him some money.

"Yes," I snap, exasperated. "Okay she's old. But she's mine, and she's roadworthy. My stepdad bought it for me."

"Safely?"

He grimaces as he opens the driver's door and helps me in. I take my shoes off and roll down the window. He's gazing at me, his expression unfathomable, eyes dark.

"Will it make it to Seattle?"

"Goodbye, Christian." My voice is hoarse from unbidden, unshed tears -- jeez, I'm not going to cry. I give him a small smile.

As I drive away, my chest constricts, my tears start to fall, and I choke back a sob. Soon tears are streaming down my face, and I really don't understand why I'm crying. I was holding my own. He explained everything. He was clear. He wants me, but the truth is I need more. I need him to want me like I want and need him, and deep down I know that's not possible. I am just overwhelmed.

I don't even know how to categorize him. If I do this thing… will he be my boyfriend? Will I be able to introduce him to my friends? Go out to bars, the cinema, bowling even, with him? The truth is I don't think I will. He won't let me touch him and he won't let me sleep with him. I know I've not had these things in my past, but I want them in my future. And that's not the future he envisages.

What if I do say yes, and in three months' time he says no, he's had enough of trying to mold me into something I'm not? How will I feel? I'll have emotionally invested three months, doing things that I'm not sure I want to do. And if he then says no, agreement over, how could I cope with that level of rejection? Perhaps it's best to back away now with what self-esteem I have reasonably intact.

But the thought of not seeing him again is agonizing. How has he gotten under my skin so quickly? It can't just be the sex… can it? I dash the tears from my eyes. I don't want to examine my feelings for him. I'm frightened what I'll uncover if I do. What am I going to do?

From: Christian Grey

I park up outside our duplex. No lights on. Kate must be out. I'm relieved. I don't want her to catch me crying again. As I undress, I wake up the mean machine and sitting in my inbox is a message from Christian.

Subject: Tonight

====================

To: Anastasia Steele

'Anastasia, you should steer clear of me. I'm not the man for you.'

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Trust me.

Christian Grey

His e-mail makes me weep more. I am not a merger. I am not an acquisition. Reading this, I might as well be. I don't reply. I just don't know what to say to him. I fumble into my PJs and, wrapping his jacket around me, I climb into bed. As I lie staring into the darkness, I think of all the times he warned me to stay away.

Date: May 25 2011 22:01

I don't understand why you ran this evening. I sincerely hope I answered all your questions to your satisfaction. I know I have given you a great deal to contemplate, and I fervently hope that you will give my proposal your serious consideration. I really want to make this work. We will take it slow.

'I don't do the girlfriend thing.'

'This is all I know.'

'I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of guy.'

'I don't make love.'

And as I weep into my pillow silently, it's this last idea I cling to. This is all I know, too. Perhaps together we can chart a new course.