Christian bursts through the wooden door of the boathouse and pauses to flick on some lights. Fluorescents ping and buzz in sequence as harsh white light floods the large wooden building. From my upside-down view, I can see an impressive motor launch in the dock floating gently on the dark water, but I only get a brief look before he's carrying me up some wooden stairs to the room above.

He pauses at the doorway and touches another switch -- halogens this time, they are softer, on a dimmer -- and we're in an attic room with sloping ceilings. It's decorated with a nautical New England theme: navy blues and creams with a dash of red. The furnishings are sparse, just a couple of couches are all I can see.

Christian sets me on my feet on the wooden floor. I don't have time to examine my surroundings -- my eyes can't leave him. I am mesmerized… watching him like one would watch a rare and dangerous predator, waiting for him to strike. His breathing is harsh but then he's just carried me across the lawn and up a flight of stairs. Gray eyes blaze with anger, need, and pure unadulterated lust.

"Please don't hit me," I whisper, pleading.

His brow furrows, his eyes widening. He blinks twice.

Stepping forward so I am flush against him, I pull gently on his hair, bringing his mouth down to mine, and I kiss him, forcing my tongue between his lips and into his mouth. He groans, and his arms embrace me, pulling me to him. His hands find their way into my hair, and he kisses me back, hard and possessive. His tongue and my tongue twist and turn together, consuming each other. He tastes divine.

Holy shit. I could spontaneously combust from his look alone.

"I don't want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don't."

His mouth drops open slightly in surprise, and beyond brave, I tentatively reach up and run my fingers down his cheek, along the edge of his sideburn, to the stubble on his chin. It's a curious mixture of soft and prickly. Slowly closing his eyes, he leans his face into my touch, and his breath hitches in his throat. Reaching up with my other hand, I run my fingers into his hair. I love his hair. His soft moan is barely audible, and when he opens his eyes, his look is wary, like he doesn't understand what I'm doing.

Oh… that's what this is all about.

His eyes widen slightly, filled with wonder and lust. It's a heady mix. I swallow instinctively. His hand moves down to my behind. He pulls me sharply against him, and I can feel his erection.

"Kissing you."

"You're mad and turned on because I said no?" I breathe, astonished.

"At the dinner table, with your legs."

"But we were at your parents" dining table." I stare up at him, completely bewildered.

"I'm mad because you never mentioned Georgia to me. I'm mad because you went drinking with that guy who tried to seduce you when you were drunk and who left you when you were ill with an almost complete stranger. What kind of friend does that? And I'm mad and aroused because you closed your legs on me." His eyes glitter dangerously, and he's slowly inching up the hem of my dress.

"No one's ever said no to me before. And it's so -- hot."

"What are you doing to me?" he whispers confused.

"What?" No to what?

Oh my…

He pulls back suddenly, our collective breathing ragged and mingling. My hands drop to his arms and he glares down at me.

"You said no."

My dress is now barely covering my naked behind. He moves suddenly so that his hand is cupping my sex, and one of his fingers sinks slowly into me. His other arm holds me firmly in place around my waist. I suppress my moan.

"This is mine," he whispers aggressively. "All mine. Do you understand?" He eases his finger in and out as he gazes down at me, gauging my reaction, his eyes burning.

"I want you, and I want you now. And if you're not going to let me spank you -- which you deserve -- I'm going to fuck you on the couch this minute, quickly, for my pleasure, not yours."

"Yes, yours," I breathe as my desire, hot and heavy, surges through my bloodstream, affecting… everything. My nerve endings, my breathing, my heart is pounding, trying to leave my chest, the blood thrumming in my ears.

"Hands on your head," he commands through gritted teeth as he kneels up, forcing my legs wider, and reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. He takes out a foil packet, gazing down at me, his expression dark, before shrugging off his jacket so it falls to the floor. He rolls the condom down over his impressive length.

Abruptly, he moves, doing several things at once: withdrawing his fingers, leaving me wanting, unzipping his fly, and pushing me down onto the couch so he's lying on top of me.

I place my hands on my head, and I know it's so I won't touch him. I'm so turned on. I feel my hips moving already up to meet him -- wanting him inside me, like this -- rough and hard. Oh… the anticipation.

"We don't have long. This will be quick, and it's for me, not you. Do you understand? Don't come, or I will spank you," he says through clenched teeth.

With one swift thrust, he's fully inside me. I groan loudly, gutturally, and revel in the fullness of his possession. He puts his hands on mine on top of my head, his elbows hold my arms out and down, and his legs pinion me. I am trapped. He's everywhere, overwhelming me, almost suffocating. But it's heavenly, too; this is my power, this is what I do to him, and it's a hedonistic, triumphant feeling. He moves quickly and furiously inside me, his breathing harsh at my ear, and my body responds, melting around him. I mustn't come. No. But I'm meeting him thrust for thrust, a perfect counterpoint. Abruptly, and all too soon, he rams into me and stills as he finds his release, air hissing through his teeth. He relaxes momentarily, so I feel his entire, delicious weight on me. I'm not ready to let him go, my body craving relief, but he's so heavy, and in that moment, I can't push against him. All of a sudden, he withdraws, leaving me aching and hungry for more. He glares down at me.

Holy crap… how do I stop?

"Don't touch yourself. I want you frustrated. That's what you do to me by not talking to me, by denying me what's mine." His eyes blaze anew, angry again.

I nod, panting. He stands and removes the condom, knotting it at the end, and puts it in his pants pocket. I gaze at him, my breathing still erratic, and involuntarily I squeeze my thighs together, trying to find some relief. Christian does up his fly and runs his hand through his hair as he reaches down to collect his jacket. He turns back to gaze down at me, his expression softer.

I sit up, a little unsteadily, dazed.

"We'd better get back to the house."

"Here. You may put these on."

"CHRISTIAN!" Mia shouts from the floor below.

From his inside pocket, he produces my panties. I don't grin as I take them from him, but inside I know -- I've taken a punishment fuck but gained a small victory over the panties. My inner goddess nods in agreement, a satisfied grin over her face -- You didn't have to ask for them.

He turns and raises his eyebrows at me. "Just in time. Christ, she can be really irritating."

He cocks his head to one side and smiles at me as Mia comes clattering up the stairs.

"Barely," I whisper, but I can't help my smirk.

I put my hand into his, and he gives it a soft squeeze.

"Oh, there you are." She beams at us.

"Unprovoked? You kissed me." He tries his best to look wounded.

"You and your twitchy palm."

"Up here, Mia," he calls down. "Well, Miss Steele, I feel better for that -- but I still want to spank you," he says softly.

"Defense against what?"

I flush.

"But it was tolerable?" he asks softly.

"Kate and Elliot are about to leave. Can you believe those two? They can't keep their hands off each other." Mia feigns disgust and looks from Christian to me. "What have you been doing in here?"

I purse my lips. "It was attack as the best form of defense."

"I was showing Anastasia around." Christian holds his hand out to me, his gray eyes intense.

"I don't believe I deserve it, Mr. Grey, especially after tolerating your unprovoked attack."

I scowl back at him, hastily restore my panties to their rightful place, and stand with as much dignity as I can muster in my just-fucked state. Quickly, I attempt to smooth my just-fucked hair.

Jeez, she's forward. I blush scarlet.

"Showing Anastasia my rowing trophies," Christian says without missing a beat, completely poker-faced. "Let's go say goodbye to Kate and Elliot."

"I will do it again, Anastasia, and soon," he threatens quietly close to my ear, then he pulls me into an embrace, my back to his front, and kisses my hair.

"He needs antagonizing; then you can see what he's really like. Be careful, Ana -- he's so controlling," she whispers. "See you later."

Rowing trophies? He pulls me gently in front of him, and as Mia turns to go, he swats my behind. I gasp in surprise.

Back in the house, Kate and Elliot are making their farewells to Grace and Mr. Grey. Kate hugs me hard.

"I need to speak to you about antagonizing Christian," I hiss quietly in her ear as she embraces me.

I KNOW WHAT HE'S REALLY LIKE -- YOU DON'T! -- I scream at her in my head. I'm fully aware that her actions come from a good place, but sometimes she just oversteps the mark, and right now so far that she's into the neighboring state. I scowl at her, and she pokes her tongue out at me, making me smile unwillingly. Playful Kate is novel, must be Elliot's influence. We wave them off at the doorway, and Christian turns to me.

"Take care of yourself, Ana dear," Grace says kindly.

"Mom," he says, and there's an undercurrent in his voice -- reverence maybe?

"We should go, too -- you have interviews tomorrow."

I flush, and Christian rolls his eyes again. I purse my lips. Why can he do that when I can't? I want to roll my eyes back at him, but I do not dare, not after his threat in the boathouse.

Mia embraces me warmly as we say our goodbyes.

Somehow, I don't think he's teasing. I surreptitiously watch their interaction. It's obvious Grace adores him with a mother's unconditional love. He bends and kisses her stiffly.

"Mr. Grey -- goodbye and thank you." I hold out my hand to him, and he hugs me too!

"We never thought he'd find anyone!" she gushes.

"Christian, stop teasing." Grace scolds him indulgently, her eyes glowing with love and affection for him.

"Let's not frighten her away or spoil her with too much affection," he grumbles.

Christian, embarrassed or frustrated by the lavish attention I'm receiving from the remaining Greys, grabs my hand and pulls me to his side.

"Well, it seems my family likes you, too," he murmurs.

I feel some of the tension leaving my shoulders. Jeez, what a day. I am exhausted, physically and emotionally. After a brief conversation with Taylor, Christian clambers into the car beside me. He turns to face me.

Our farewells said, Christian leads me to the car where Taylor is waiting. Has he been waiting here the whole time? Taylor opens my door, and I slide into the back of the Audi.

I flounder momentarily. No -- I'll tell him. He's always complaining that I don't talk to him.

"Please, call me Carrick. I do hope we see you again, very soon, Ana."

Too? The depressing thought about how I came to be invited pops unbidden and very unwelcome into my head. Taylor starts the car and heads away from the circle of light in the driveway to the darkness of the road. I gaze at Christian, and he's staring at me.

"What?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"I think that you felt trapped into bringing me to meet your parents." My voice is soft and hesitant. "If Elliot hadn't asked Kate, you'd never have asked me." I can't see his face in the dark, but he tilts his head, gaping at me.

Oh! He wanted me there -- and it's a revelation. He doesn't seem uncomfortable answering me as he would if he were hiding the truth. He seems genuinely pleased that I'm here… a warm glow spreads slowly through my veins. He shakes his head and reaches for my hand. I glance nervously at Taylor.

"Do you want to go and see your mother?"

"Don't worry about Taylor. Talk to me."

"Anastasia, I'm delighted that you've met my parents. Why are you so filled with self-doubt? It never ceases to amaze me. You're such a strong, self-contained young woman, but you have such negative thoughts about yourself. If I hadn't wanted you to meet them, you wouldn't be here. Is that how you were feeling the whole time you were there?"

"Yes."

"Can I come with you?" he asks eventually.

I shrug. "Yes. I thought that. And another thing, I only mentioned Georgia because Kate was talking about Barbados. I haven't made up my mind."

He looks oddly at me, like he's having some internal struggle.

"Erm… I don't think that's a good idea."

What!?

He shifts as if uncomfortable. "Why?"

"I know."

In the light of the passing street lamps, I see his lips quirk up.

"Which way round?"

"Why not?"

"I was hoping for a break from all this… intensity to try and think things through."

"Funny peculiar or funny ha ha?"

"Oh yes."

"I'll leave you to figure that out."

"Oh… a lot of one and some of the other."

"I wouldn't dare, Mr. Grey," I reply with mock seriousness.

He stares at me, impassive.

I burst out laughing. "That's putting it mildly!"

"Possibly."

"You said you'd try," he murmurs.

"Are you laughing at me, Miss Steele?"

He stares at me. "I'm too intense?"

Holy crap. How did this suddenly become such an intense and meaningful conversation? It's been sprung on me, like an exam that I'm not prepared for. What do I say? Because I think I love you, and you just see me as a toy. Because I can't touch you, because I'm too frightened to show you any affection in case you flinch or tell me off or worse -- beat me? What can I say?

"Us," I whisper.

"I think you dare, and I think you do laugh at me, frequently."

"You are quite funny."

"Funny?"

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"I'm not sure if I can figure anything out around you, Anastasia," he says sardonically, and then continues quietly. "What do you need to think about in Georgia?"

I stare momentarily out of the window. The car is heading back across the bridge. We are both shrouded in darkness, masking our thoughts and feelings, but we don't need the night for that.

He squeezes my hand.

I shrug, trapped. I don't want to lose him. In spite of all his demands, his need to control, his scary vices. I have never felt as alive as I do now. It's a thrill to be sitting here beside him. He's so unpredictable, sexy, smart, and funny. But his moods… oh -- and he wants to hurt me. He says he'll think about my reservations, but it still scares me. I close my eyes. What can I say? Deep down I would just like more, more affection, more playful Christian, more… love.

"Why, Anastasia?" Christian presses me for an answer.

"Talk to me, Anastasia. I don't want to lose you. This last week…" He trails off.

We're coming near to the end of the bridge, and the road is once more bathed in the neon light of the street lamps so his face is intermittently in the light and the dark. And it's such a fitting metaphor. This man, whom I once thought of as a romantic hero, a brave shining white knight -- or the dark knight as he said. He's not a hero; he's a man with serious, deep emotional flaws, and he's dragging me into the dark. Can I not guide him into the light?

"Yes," I acquiesce. "And I'll try, too. I'll sign your contract." And it's a spur of the moment decision.

"I will." And we sit in silence for a mile or two.

I blink up at him, and he relinquishes my hand and pulls at my chin, releasing my trapped lip.

"Sign after Georgia. Think about it. Think about it hard, baby."

He gazes down at me.

I nuzzle up against him, eyes closed, my nose at his throat, drinking in his sexy Christian-and-spiced-musky-body-wash fragrance, my head on his shoulder. I let my mind drift, and I allow myself to fantasize that he loves me. Oh, and it's so real, tangible almost, and a small part of my nasty harpy self-conscious acts completely out of character and dares to hope. I'm careful not to touch his chest but just snuggle in his arms as he holds me tightly.

And that's my cue. I unbuckle my seatbelt, reach across, and clamber into his lap, taking him completely by surprise. Wrapping my arms around his head, I kiss him, long and hard, and in a nanosecond, he's responding.

"I know," he says. "I'll try."

"For you, Anastasia, I will try." He's radiating sincerity.

"Stay with me, tonight," he breathes. "If you go away, I won't see you all week. Please."

"You really should wear your seatbelt," Christian whispers disapprovingly into my hair, but he makes no move to shift me from his lap.

"I still want more," I whisper.

Relief washes through me.

He smirks at me. "Tired, Miss Steele?"

"Why don't you have a jacket?" he frowns as he shrugs out of his and drapes it over my shoulders.

All too soon, I'm torn from my impossible daydream.

Taylor opens the door for us, and I thank him shyly, aware that he's been within earshot of our conversation, but his kind smile is reassuring and gives nothing away. Once out of the car, Christian assesses me critically. Oh no… what have I done now?

"Yes, Mr. Grey." I feel bashful under his teasing scrutiny. Nevertheless I feel an explanation is in order. "I've been prevailed upon in ways I never thought possible today."

"We're home," Christian murmurs, and it's such a tantalizing sentence, full of so much potential.

Home, with Christian. Except his apartment is an art gallery, not a home.

"It's in my new car," I reply sleepily, yawning.

I gaze up at him in the elevator. I have assumed he'd like me to sleep with him, and then I remember that he doesn't sleep with anyone, although he has with me a few times. I frown, and abruptly his gaze darkens. He reaches up and grasps my chin, freeing my lip from teeth.

"Well, if you're really unlucky, I may prevail upon you some more," he promises as he takes my hand and leads me into the building. Holy Shit… Again!

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.

"One day I will fuck you in this elevator, Anastasia, but right now you're tired -- so I think we should stick to a bed."

He cocks his head to one side. "Nothing plain or old about vanilla -- it's a very intriguing flavor," he breathes.

I raise my eyebrows at him. "You're going to settle for plain old vanilla?"

"Do you need a drink or anything?"

Bending down, he clamps his teeth around my lower lip and pulls gently. I melt against him, and my breathing stops as my insides unfurl with longing. I reciprocate, fastening my teeth over his top lip, teasing him, and he groans. When the elevator doors open, he grabs my hand and tugs me into the foyer, through the double doors, and into the hallway.

"No."

"Good. Let's go to bed."

"Since when?"

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

"Sure? We cater for all tastes here -- at least thirty-one flavors." He grins at me lasciviously.

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.

"I've noticed," I reply dryly.

"Oh, my dear Miss Steele. Get into my bed," he growls. "And I'll show you."

"And for your next trick?" I prompt, teasing.

"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.

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."

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

"Mr. Grey, you are a born romantic."

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.

"Hands in the air," he commands.

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

"Ta da!" he says playfully.

He takes an involuntary step back from me, his expression for a moment fearful, and then he reins it in.

"Oh." He frowns.

"Look, you're tired, I'm tired. Let's just go to bed," he says, watching me carefully.

Okay, here goes… deep breath.

"I want to touch you."

He recovers himself. "Oh, no Miss Steele, you've had enough concessions from me this evening. And I'm saying no."

"I want you to make love to me."

"Ana, I…" He runs his hands through his hair. Two hands. Jeez, he's really bewildered.

"I thought we did?" he says eventually.

He stills and stares at me blankly. His expression darkens. Oh shit, this doesn't look good. Give him a minute! My subconscious snaps.

"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.

"Please," I whisper.

"No?"

"No," I breathe.

Oh… I can't argue with that… can I?

"No."

"Well… the door's closed. Not sure how you're going to avoid me," he says sardonically. "I think it's a done deal."

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

"It's important to me."

"Please tell me why."

"Anastasia, you know where the bathroom is. Today, at this point in our strange arrangement, 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 expect -- 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.

"Err… no."

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

"I need the bathroom." My voice is a whisper.

He frowns, bemused. "Now you're asking permission?"

"Yes. This is old news."

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.

"So touching is a hard limit for you?"

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.

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.

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.

"Come in," I splutter through a mouthful of toothpaste.

I nod. Yes… this is the way.

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

"You're rolling your eyes. Last time I did that, I ended up over your knee."

"Imagine if I said to you that you couldn't touch me."

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

"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?"

"Tell me and you can."

"Negotiating."

"You know me well enough."

He clambers onto the bed and sits cross-legged.

He rolls his eyes at me, frustrated.

"Oh, I'd like to put you there again."

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

"Because I want to know you better."

"You heard me."

Inspiration hits me.

"What?"

"You're bargaining with me?" His voice resonates with astonished disbelief.

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

"It doesn't work that way, Anastasia."

A few minutes later he joins me.

"Okay. Tell me, and I'll roll my eyes at you."

"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.

"When's your first interview tomorrow?" he asks softly.

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 hands. I can't see what it is, and I'm burning with curiosity.

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

"Two."

"Get off the bed. Stand over here." He points to beside the bed, and I scramble up and off in double-quick time. He stares intently down at me, his eyes glittering with promise. "Trust me?" he asks softly.

A slow wicked grin spreads across his face.

I nod. He holds out his hand, and in his palm are two round, shiny, silver balls, linked with a thick black thread.

"Good." And before my eyes, he subtly changes. He's harder, intractable… hot. This is Dominant Christian.

I look questioningly up at him.

"Then we'll fuck, and if you're still awake, I'll impart some information about my formative years. Agreed?"

"Stop." He tugs them from my mouth. Moving toward the bed, he throws the duvet aside and sits down on the edge. "Come here."

"Good girl. Open your mouth."

He's asking my permission! Breathlessly, I nod. I'm incapable of speech.

"These are new," he says emphatically.

"They need lubrication. Suck," he orders, his voice soft.

Inside me! I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils.

"I am going to put these inside you, and then I'm going to spank you, not for punishment, but for your pleasure and mine." He pauses, gauging my wide-eyed reaction.

Very gently, he puts the balls in my mouth.

"Wider."

The balls are cold, smooth, surprisingly heavy, and metallic tasting. My dry mouth pools with saliva as my tongue explores the unfamiliar objects. Christian's gray gaze does not leave mine. Holy hell, this is turning me on. I squirm slightly.

"Keep still, Anastasia," he warns.

Mouth?

"Don't hesitate," he admonishes me softly, an undercurrent in his voice, and he pops the balls in his mouth.

I stand in front of him.

"Now turn round, bend down, and grasp your ankles."

Fuck, this is sexier than the toothbrush. I follow his orders immediately. Jeez, can I touch my ankles? I find I can, with ease. The t-shirt slides up my back, exposing my behind. Thank heavens I have retained my panties, but I suspect I won't for long.

He places his hand reverently on my backside and very softly caresses it with his whole hand. With my eyes open, I can see his legs through mine, nothing else. I close my eyes tightly as he gently moves my panties to the side and slowly runs his finger up and down my sex. My body braces itself in a heady mix of wild anticipation and arousal. He slides one finger inside me, and he circles it deliciously slowly. Oh, it feels good. I moan.

I blink at him, and his expression darkens.

His breathing halts and I hear him gasp as he repeats the motion. He withdraws his finger and very slowly inserts the objects, one slow, delicious ball at a time. Oh my. They're body temperature, warmed by our collective mouths. It's a curious feeling. Once they're inside me, I can't really feel them -- but then again I know they're there.

"Yes." My answer is feather soft.

"Stand up," he orders, and shakily I get to my feet.

"Strange."

"Strange good," I confess, blushing.

"Strange good or strange bad?"

He straightens my panties and leans forward, and his lips softly kiss my behind.

Water? He wants water -- now -- why?

The balls pull downward and involuntarily I clench around them. The feeling startles me but not in a bad way.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice stern.

"And when you come back, I shall put you across my knee. Think about that, Anastasia."

Oh.

"Good." There's a trace of humor lurking in his eyes.

"How does that feel?" he asks.

"I want a glass of water. Go and fetch one for me please."

As I leave the bedroom, it becomes abundantly clear why he wants me to walk around -- as I do, the balls weigh down inside me, massaging me internally. It's such a weird feeling and not entirely unpleasant. In fact, my breathing accelerates as I stretch up for a glass from the kitchen cabinet, and I gasp. Oh my… I may have to keep these. They make me needy, needy for sex.

"Turn round." I turn and face him.

Oh! Now I can feel them… sort of. He grasps my hips to steady me while I reestablish my equilibrium.

What? How was your water? What does he want?

He's watching me carefully when I return.

Slowly, he takes a sip then places the glass on his bedside table. There's a foil packet, ready and waiting, like me. And I know he's doing this to build the anticipation. My heart has picked up a beat. He turns his bright gray gaze to mine.

I sidle up to him, my blood thrumming through my body, and this time… I'm excited. Aroused.

"Spank me, please… Sir," I whisper.

"Ask me, Anastasia. I won't say it again." And there's such a threat implicit in his words, and it dawns on me. He wants me to ask him to spank me.

"Ask me," his voice is slightly harder.

I frown. Ask him what?

"Thank you," he says as he takes the glass from me.

Holy shit. He's looking at me expectantly, his eyes growing colder. Shit.

"Come. Stand beside me. Like last time."

He closes his eyes momentarily, savoring my words. Reaching up, he grasps my left hand and he tugs me over his knees. I fall instantly, and he steadies me as I land in his lap. My heart is in my mouth as his hand gently strokes my behind. I'm angled across his lap again so that my torso rests on the bed beside him. This time he doesn't throw his leg over mine, but smoothes my hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. Once he's done, he clasps my hair at the nape to hold me in place. He tugs gently and my head shifts back.

"Ask me," he says softly.

"This is for pleasure, Anastasia, mine and yours," he whispers softly.

"I want to see your face while I spank you, Anastasia," he murmurs, all the while softly rubbing my backside.

Why's he not removed my panties? Then his palm disappears, and he brings it down again. I groan as the sensation spreads. He starts a pattern: left to right and then down. The down ones are the best. Everything moving forward, inside me… and in between each smack he caresses me, kneads me -- so I am massaged inside and out. It's such a stimulating, erotic feeling, and for some reason, because this is on my terms, I don't mind the pain. It's not painful as such -- well it is, but not unbearable. It's somehow manageable, and yes pleasurable… even. I groan. Yes, I can do this.

He lifts his hand and brings it down in a resounding slap against the junction of my thighs, my behind, and my sex. The balls are forced forward inside me, and I'm lost in a quagmire of sensation. The stinging across my behind, the fullness of the balls inside me, and the fact that he's holding me down. I screw my face up as my faculties attempt to absorb all these foreign feelings. I note somewhere in my brain that he's not smacked me as hard as last time. He caresses my backside again, trailing his palm across my skin and over my underwear.

His hand moves down between the cheeks of my behind, and he pushes against my sex, and the full feeling is… I moan. Oh, the sensation is exquisite.

He pauses as he slowly peels my panties down my legs. I writhe on his legs, not because I want to escape the blows, but I want more… release, something. His touch against my sensitized skin is all sensuous tingle. It's overwhelming, and he starts again. A few soft slaps then building up, left to right and down. Oh, the downs, I groan.

"Good girl, Anastasia," he groans, and his breathing is ragged.

He spanks me twice more, and then he pulls at the small threads attached to the balls and jerks them out of me suddenly. I almost climax -- the feeling is out of this world. Moving swiftly, he gently turns me over. I hear rather see the rip of the foil packet, and then he's lying beside me. He seizes my hands, hoists them over my head, and eases himself onto me, into me, sliding slowly, filling me where the silver globes have been. I groan loudly.

It is the most gentle he has ever been, and it takes no time at all for me to fall over the edge, spiraling into a delicious, violent, exhausting orgasm. As I clench around him, it ignites his release, and he slides into me, stilling, gasping out my name in desperate wonder.

"Oh, baby," he whispers as he moves back, forward, a slow sensual tempo, savoring me, feeling me.

"I enjoyed that," he whispers, and then kisses me sweetly.

"Roll over," he orders, and begrudgingly I move onto my front.

He doesn't linger for more sweet kisses, but rises, covers me with the duvet, and disappears into the bathroom. On his return he's carrying a bottle of white lotion. He sits beside me on the bed.

"How do you feel?"

"Ana!"

"The woman who brought me into this world was a crack whore, Anastasia. Go to sleep."

Holy fuck… what does that mean?

He's silent and panting on top of me, his hands still entwined in mine above my head. Finally, he leans back and stares down at me.

"We had a deal."

"Miss Steele, you know how to ruin a moment."

"Shortchanged."

"Your ass is a glorious color," he says approvingly, and he tenderly massages the cooling lotion into my pink behind.

He sighs, slides in beside me, and pulls me into his arms. Careful not to touch my stinging behind, we are spooning again. He kisses me very softly beside my ear.

Honestly, all this fuss. I feel very sleepy.

"Spill the beans, Grey," I yawn.

"How long?"

"She's dead."

"Was?"

He sighs. "She died when I was four. I don't really remember her. Carrick has given me some details. I only remember certain things. Please go to sleep."

"Goodnight, Ana."

"Goodnight, Christian."

And I slip into a dazed and exhausted sleep, dreaming of a four-year-old, gray-eyed boy in a dark, scary, miserable place.