Christian stands in a steel-barred cage. Wearing his soft, ripped jeans, his chest and feet are mouthwateringly naked, and he's staring at me. His private-joke smile is etched on his beautiful face and his eyes a molten gray. In his hands he holds a bowl of strawberries. He ambles with athletic grace to the front of the cage, gazing intently at me. Holding up a plump ripe strawberry, he extends his hand through the bars.

"Eat," he says, his tongue caressing the front of his palate as he enunciates the 'T'.

I try and move toward him, but I'm tethered, held back by some unseen force around my wrist, holding me. Let me go.

I pull and pull… let me go! I want to scream and shout, but no sound emerges. I am mute. He stretches a little further, and the strawberry is at my lips.

"Come, eat," he says, smiling his delicious crooked smile.

"Eat, Anastasia." His mouth forms my name, lingering sensually on each syllable.

I open my mouth and bite, the cage disappears, and my hands are free. I reach up to touch him, graze my fingers through his chest hair.

No. I moan.

"I want to chase the dawn with you," he says, kissing my face, my eyelids, the tip of my nose, my mouth, and I open my eyes. The sidelight is on. "Good morning, beautiful," he murmurs.

No. I want to touch you.

"Wake up, baby," he whispers, and the effect of his sweet voice spreads like warm melted caramel through my veins.

No. Please. My eyes flicker unwillingly open for a split second. I'm in bed and someone is nuzzling my ear.

"Time to get up, baby. I'm going to switch on the sidelight." His voice is quiet.

"Oh… no," I groan. I want back at his chest, back to my dream. Why is he waking me? It's the middle of the night, or so it feels. Holy shit. Does he want sex -- now?

I groan, and he smiles. "You are not a morning person," he murmurs.

"Come on, baby."

It's Christian. Jeez, it's still dark, and the images of him from my dream persist, disconcerting and tantalizing in my head.

"Wake up."

"No," I groan.

Through the haze of light, I squint and see Christian leaning over me, smiling. Amused. Amused at me. Dressed! In black.

"Anastasia."

I sit up, and the sheet pools at my waist, revealing my body. He stands to give me room, his eyes dark.

"Dr. Flynn could have a field day with that. Up -- get dressed. Don't bother to shower, we can do that later."

He sighs.

"Of course I do, just not when it's so late."

"Can't I have a shower?"

"You." I blush.

"We don't have much time. I let you sleep as long as possible. Come."

"I thought you wanted sex," I grumble.

"I was having such a nice dream," I whine.

"5:30 in the morning."

"Anastasia, I always want sex with you. It's heartwarming to know that you feel the same," he says dryly.

"It's not late, it's early. Come on -- up you go. We're going out. I'll take a rain check on the sex."

His lips twitch with a trace of a smile.

"What was I doing this time?"

"What time is it?"

"Dream about what?" he asks patiently.

We!

"Trying to feed me strawberries."

"If you have a shower, I'll want one with you, and you and I know what will happen then -- the day will just go. Come."

"Feels like 3:00 a. m."

I gaze at him as my eyes adjust to the light, but he still looks amused… thank heavens.

He's excited. Like a small boy, he's iridescent with anticipation and excitement. It makes me smile. "What are we doing?'

"It's a surprise. I told you."

"Okay." I clamber off the bed and search for my clothes. Of course they are neatly folded on the chair beside my bed. He's laid out a pair of his jersey boxer briefs, too -- Ralph Lauren, no less. I slip them on, and he grins at me. Hmm, another piece of Christian Grey's underwear -- a trophy to add to my collection -- along with the car, the BlackBerry, the Mac, his black jacket, and a set of old valuable first editions. I shake my head at his largesse, and I frown as a scene from Tess crosses my mind: the strawberry scene. It evokes my dream. To hell with Dr. Flynn -- Freud would have a field day -- and then he'd probably expire trying to deal with Fifty Shades.

"I'll give you some room now that you're up." Christian exits toward the living area, and I wander into the bathroom. I have needs to attend to, and I want a quick wash. Seven minutes later, I am in the living area, scrubbed, brushed and dressed in jeans, my camisole, and Christian Grey's underwear. Christian glances up from the small dining table where he's eating breakfast. Breakfast! Jeez, at this time.

I can't help but grin up at him.

"I want to roll my eyes at you."

I gaze up at the ceiling.

He eyes me suspiciously, and I smile very sweetly.

"Anastasia," he says sternly, pulling me out of my reverie.

"Okay." He peers down at me.

It really is too early for me. How to handle this?

"Eat," he says.

"I will eat later when my stomach's woken up. About 7:30 a. m.… okay?"

Holy Moses… my dream. I gape at him, thinking about his tongue on his palate. Hmm, his expert tongue.

"By all means, do, and you will make my day," he says sternly.

Honestly. I have to concentrate hard on not making a face at him.

"Don't rain on my parade, Anastasia," he warns softly.

"I'll have some tea. Can I take a croissant for later?"

"On the other hand, I don't want you to be all hot and bothered; the climate here is warm enough." I shrug nonchalantly.

Christian's mouth drops open.

"Well a spanking would wake me up, I suppose." I purse my lips in quiet contemplation.

Christian closes his mouth and tries very hard to look displeased, but fails hopelessly. I can see the humor lurking in the back of his eyes.

I notice the Twinings label, and inside, my heart sings. See, he does care, my subconscious mouths at me. I sit and face him, drinking in his beauty. Will I ever get enough of this man?

As we leave the room, Christian throws a sweatshirt at me.

I look at him, puzzled.

"Trust me." He grins, leans over and kisses me quickly on the lips, then grabs my hand and we head out.

"You'll need this."

"You are, as ever, challenging, Miss Steele. Drink your tea."

Outside, in the relative cool of the half light of pre-dawn, the valet hands Christian a set of keys to a flash sports car with a soft top. I raise an eyebrow at Christian, who smirks back at me.

"You'll see." He grins as he slips the car into drive, and we head out on Savannah Parkway. He programs the GPS and presses a switch on the steering wheel and a classical orchestral piece fills the car.

"You know, sometimes it's great being me," he says with a conspiratorial but smug grin that I simply can't help emulating. He's so lovable when he's playful and carefree. He opens my car door with an exaggerated bow, and in I climb. He is in such a good mood.

"Where are we going?"

Oh, my… it's lovely.

"Ah. I've read it."

"La Traviata? I've heard of that. I can't think where. What does it mean?"

Christian glances at me and smirks.

"You choose." His lips twitch up into a smile, and I know it's a challenge.

I can't see his iPod anywhere. He taps the screen on the console between us, and behold -- there is a play list.

"I thought you might."

"The doomed courtesan." I squirm uncomfortably in the plush leather seat. Is he trying to tell me something? "Hmm, it's a depressing story," I mutter.

Christian Grey's iPod, this should be interesting. I scroll through the touch screen, and find the perfect song. I press play. I wouldn't have figured him for a Britney fan. The club-mix, techno beat assaults us both, and Christian turns the volume down. Maybe it's too early for this: Britney's at her most sultry.

"It's from La Traviata. An opera by Verdi."

"Well, literally, the woman led astray. It's based on Alexander Dumas's book, La Dame aux Camelias."

"Too depressing? Do you want to choose some music? This is on my iPod." Christian has that secret smile again.

"What's this?" I ask as the sweet, sweet sound of a hundred violin strings assails us.

Oh jeez. It's too early for this kind of conversation. But he looks relaxed, happy even, and what's more, talkative.

Damien warbles away in the background as I sit stunned. An ex… ex-submissive? An ex-

"We finished."

"Leila?"

The song ends and the iPod shuffles to Damien Rice being mournful. Who? Who? I stare out of the window, my stomach churning. Who?

"What happened to her?"

"Toxic, eh?" Christian grins.

"I don't know what you mean." I feign innocence.

"It was Leila," he answers my unspoken thoughts. How does he do that?

"One of the fifteen?" I ask.

"Why?"

What? He knows what he's doing, the bastard. Who did? And I have to listen to Britney going on and on. Who… who?

"I didn't put that song on my iPod," he says casually, and puts his foot down so that I am thrown back into my seat as the car accelerates along the freeway.

"Yes."

He turns the music down a little more, and inside I am hugging myself. My inner goddess is standing on the podium awaiting her gold medal. He turned the music down. Victory!

"An ex, who put the song on my iPod."

"Okay. In no particular order, I've only had long term relationships with four women, apart from Elena."

I gasp, reeling. Oh my. Isn't this what I want? He wants more. He wants it, too! My inner goddess has back-flipped off the podium and is doing cartwheels around the stadium. It's not just me.

Elena! Holy Fuck. The evil one has a name and its all foreign sounding. A vision of a glorious, pale-skinned vamp with raven hair and ruby-red lips comes to mind, and I know that she's beautiful. I must not dwell. I must not dwell.

Jeez, he's talking -- take advantage.

"You're not Henry VIII."

"What happened to the other fourteen?" I ask.

"And you didn't?" I ask before I can employ my brain-to-mouth filter. Shit, do I want to know?

"You want a list? Divorced, beheaded, died?"

"Elena?"

"Mrs. Robinson to you." He half smiles his secret private joke smile.

"She wanted more." His voice is low, introspective even, and he leaves the sentence hanging between us, ending it with that powerful little word again.

He shakes his head. "I've never wanted more, until I met you."

"Does he?"

"Oh, Mr. When Is Your Period Due?"

Whoa, a bucket-load of information to process. I glance in the side mirror of the car, and I notice the soft swell of pink and aquamarine in the sky behind. Dawn is following us.

"Anastasia -- a man needs to know these things."

"Because I don't want you to get pregnant."

"So inquisitive, so eager for information, Miss Steele," he scolds playfully.

He glances at me briefly and just shakes his head.

"Just didn't work out."

"Neither do I! Well, not for a few years yet."

Christian blinks startled, then visibly relaxes. Okay. Christian doesn't want children. Now or never? I am reeling from his sudden, unprecedented attack of candor. Perhaps it's the early morning? Something in the Georgia water? The Georgia air? What else do I want to know? Carpe diem.

"One met someone else. The other three wanted -- more. I wasn't in the market for more then."

"And the others?" I press.

"So the other four, what happened?" I ask.

"Why?"

"I do."

"What happened to the four?" I ask to distract myself.

"Well that's quite high up on my list of diverting, kinky priorities, too." I mutter, blushing.

"Second?" I frown at him.

Oh.

"Where are we headed?" I ask, perplexed, gazing out at the I-95. We're heading south, that's all I know.

"I'm pleased to hear it," he mutters dryly.

"Indulging in you, Miss Steele. That's got to be top of my list. Any way I can get you."

"Yep. I told you my favorite this morning."

"An airfield."

"We're going to chase the dawn, Anastasia." He turns and grins at me as the GPS urges him to turn right into what looks like an industrial complex. He pulls up outside a large white building with a sign reading Brunswick Soaring Association.

I glance at his glorious profile, frowning, racking my brain.

He laughs. "No, Anastasia, we're going to indulge in my second favorite pastime."

"We're not going back to Seattle are we?" I gasp, alarmed. I haven't said goodbye to my mom. Jeez, she's expecting us for dinner.

He grins at me. "Soaring."

"So, airfield?"

The term rings a vague bell. He's mentioned it before.

"Yes."

"Yes, please!" I don't hesitate. He grins and leans forward and kisses me.

Taking my hand, Christian leads me round the building to a large stretch of tarmac where several planes are parked. Waiting beside them is a man with a shaved head and a wild look in his eye, accompanied by Taylor.

"Another first, Miss Steele," he says as he climbs out of the car.

First? What sort of first? First time flying a glider… shit! No -- he said that he's done it before. I relax. He walks round and opens my door. The sky has turned to a subtle opal, shimmering and glowing softly behind the sporadic childlike clouds. Dawn is upon us.

Taylor! Does Christian go anywhere without that man? I beam at him, and he smiles kindly back at me.

"Mr. Grey, this is your tow-pilot, Mr. Mark Benson," says Taylor. Christian and Benson shake hands and strike up a conversation which sounds very technical about wind speed, directions, and the like.

"You're flying?"

"You up for this?" he asks.

He switches off the engine.

Gliding! We're going gliding?

"Hello, Taylor," I murmur shyly.

"Anastasia," Christian summons me. "Come." He holds out his hand.

"Miss Steele." He nods a greeting at me, and I frown. "Ana," he corrects himself. "He's been hell on wheels the last few days. Glad we're here," he says conspiratorially.

Oh, this is news -- why? Surely not because of me! Revelation Thursday! Must be something in the Savannah water that makes these men loosen up a bit.

"See you later." I smile at Taylor, and giving me a quick salute, he heads back to the parking lot.

Benson gives me a dazzling smile.

"Mr. Benson, this is my girlfriend, Anastasia Steele."

"Pleased to meet you," I murmur as we shake hands.

As I take Christian's hand, there's a mounting excitement in my belly. Wow… gliding! We follow Mark Benson out across the tarmac toward the runway. He and Christian keep up a running conversation. I catch the gist. We will be in a Blanik L-23, which is apparently better than the L-13, although this is open to debate. Benson will be flying a Piper Pawnee. He's been flying tail draggers for about five years now. It all means nothing to me, but glancing up at Christian, he is so animated, so in his element, it's a pleasure to watch him.

"Likewise," he says, and I can tell from his accent that he's British.

The plane itself is long, sleek, and white with orange stripes. It has a small cockpit with two seats, one in front of the other. It's attached by a long white cable to a small, conventional single-propeller plane. Benson opens the large, clear Perspex dome that frames the cockpit, allowing us to climb in.

"I'll do that," Christian interrupts him and takes the harness off Benson, who smiles amenably at him.

"First we need to strap on your parachute."

Parachute!

"I'll fetch some ballast," Benson says and heads toward the plane.

"Miss Steele, you have no idea. Here, step into the straps." I do as I'm told, placing my arm on his shoulder. Christian stiffens slightly but doesn't move. Once my feet are in the loops, he pulls the parachute up, and I place my arms through the shoulder straps. Deftly he fastens the harness and tightens all the straps.

"There, you'll do," he says mildly, but his eyes are gleaming. "Do you have your hair tie from yesterday?"

"You like strapping me into things." I observe dryly.

I nod.

"Hmm, twice in one morning, I am a lucky man," he whispers and kisses me quickly. "This won't take long -- twenty, thirty minutes at most. Thermals aren't great this time of the morning, but it's so breathtaking up there at this hour. I hope you're not nervous."

"In you go," Christian commands. He's still so bossy. I go to climb into the back.

"No, front. Pilot sits at the back."

"But won't you be able to see?"

I don't think I have ever seen him so happy -- bossy, but happy. I clamber in, settling down into the leather seat. It is surprisingly comfortable. Christian leans over, pulls the harness over my shoulders, reaches between my legs for the lower belt, and slots it into the fastener that rests against my belly. He tightens all the restraining straps.

I quickly do as I'm asked.

"You want me to put my hair up?"

"Yes."

"I'll see plenty." He grins.

Where did this ridiculous grin come from? Actually, part of me is terrified. My inner goddess -- she's under a blanket behind the sofa.

"Excited." I beam.

"Call me Mark." He turns to Christian. "Okay?"

"Yep, that's secure. First time?" he asks me.

"Yep. Let's go."

I hear and feel his movements as he climbs in behind me. Of course he's strapped me in so tightly I can't move round to see him… typical! We are very low on the ground. In front of me is a panel of dials and levers and a big stick thing. I leave well alone.

The Piper's single propeller starts, and my nervous stomach relocates itself to my throat. Jeez… I'm really doing this. Mark taxis slowly down the runway, and as the cable takes the strain, we suddenly jolt forward. We're off. I hear chatter over the radio set behind me. I think it's Mark talking to the tower -- but I can't make out what he's saying. As the Piper picks up speed so do we. It's very bumpy, and in front of us the single prop plane is still on the ground. Jeez, will we ever get up? And suddenly, my stomach disappears from my throat and free-falls through my body to the ground -- we're airborne.

"You'll love it."

"Thanks, Mr. Benson."

Mark Benson appears with a cheerful grin as he checks my straps and leans in and checks the cockpit floor. I think it's the ballast.

"Yes."

I am so glad I haven't eaten anything. I am beyond excited, and I don't think my stomach would be game for food, excitement, and leaving the ground. Once again, I am putting myself into this beautiful man's skilled hands. Mark shuts the cockpit lid, strolls over to the plane in front, and climbs in.

"Good." He grins back, stroking my face, then disappears from view.

Oh my. This is amazing, above us only sky. The light is extraordinary, diffuse and warm in hue, and I remember José rambling on about 'magic hour', a time of day that photographers adore -- this is it… just after dawn, and I'm in it, with Christian.

I'm gripping the edge of my seat with both hands, so tightly my knuckles are white. We head west, inland away from the rising sun, gaining height, crossing over fields and woods and homes and I-95.

"Here we go, baby!" Christian shouts from behind me. And we are in our own bubble, just us two. All I hear is the sound of the wind ripping past and the distant hum of the Piper's engine.

Abruptly, I'm reminded of José's show. Hmm. I need to tell Christian. I wonder briefly how he'll react. But I won't worry about that, not now -- I'm enjoying the ride. My ears pop as we gain height, and the ground slips further and further away. It is so peaceful. I completely get why he likes to be up here. Away from his BlackBerry and all the pressures of his job.

The radio crackles into life, and Mark mentions 3000 feet. Jeez, that sounds high. I check the ground, and I can no longer clearly distinguish anything down there.

"Release," Christian says into the radio, and suddenly the Piper disappears and the pulling sensation provided by the small plane ceases. We're floating, floating over Georgia.

Holy fuck -- it's exciting. The plane banks and turns as the wing dips, and we spiral toward the sun. Icarus. This is it. I am flying close to the sun, but he's with me, leading me. I gasp at the realization. We spiral and spiral and the view in this morning light is spectacular.

I squeal loudly, my arms automatically lashing out, my hands splayed on the Perspex to stop me falling. I can hear him laughing. Bastard! But his joy is infectious, and I am laughing, too, as he rights the plane.

"Hold on tight!" he shouts, and we dip again -- only this time he doesn't stop. Suddenly, I am upside down, looking at the ground through the top of the cockpit canopy.

"Yes, in hindsight, it's good you didn't, because I'm going to do that again." He dips the plane once more until we are upside down. This time, because I'm prepared, I hang on to the harness, but it makes me grin and giggle like a fool. He levels the plane once more.

"I'm glad I didn't have breakfast!" I shout at him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he calls.

"I am amazed you let me take control," I shout.

I look at the stick that is moving slightly between my legs. Oh no, where's he going with this?

My heart is in my mouth. Holy shit. I am flying a glider… I'm soaring.

Oh shit. He's going to make me fly the plane. No!

"Yes."

"Grab hold."

I feel the joystick move suddenly, and I let go as we spiral down several feet, my ears starting to pop again. The ground is getting closer, and it feels like we could be hitting it shortly. Jeez, that's scary.

Tentatively, I grasp it and feel the pitch and yaw of what I assume are rudders and paddles or whatever keeps this thing in the air.

"Hold tight… keep it steady. See the middle dial in front? Keep the needle dead center."

"Good girl." Christian sounds delighted.

"See the joy-stick in front of you?" he shouts again.

"You'd be amazed what I'd let you do, Miss Steele. Back to me now."

We fly, swooping majestically through the air, listening to the wind and the silence, in the early morning light. Who could ask for more?

"Go on, Anastasia. Grab it," he urges more vehemently.

"Hang on, baby. This can get bumpy."

After another circle we dip, and suddenly we are on the ground with a brief thump, racing along the grass -- holy shit. My teeth chatter as we bump at an alarming speed along the ground, until we finally come to a stop. The plane sways slightly then dips to the right. I take a deep lungful of air while Christian leans over and opens the cockpit lid, clambering out and stretching.

"That was extraordinary. Thank you," I whisper.

"Much more," I breathe, and he grins.

"How was that?" he asks, and his eyes are a shining, dazzling silver gray. He leans down to unbuckle me.

"Was it more?" he asks, his voice tinged with hope.

"BMA, this is BG N Papa 3 Alpha, entering left downwind runway seven to the grass, BMA." Christian sounds his usual authoritative self. The tower squawks back at him over the radio, but I don't understand what they say. We sail round again in a wide circle, sinking slowly to the ground. I can see the airport, the landing strips, and we're flying back over I-95.

"Someone will take care of that," he says dismissively. "We'll eat now." His tone is unequivocal.

"What about the glider?"

"Come." He holds out his hand for me, and I clamber out of the cockpit.

As soon as I'm out, he grabs me and holds me flush against his body. Suddenly his hand is in my hair, tugging it so my head tips back, and his other hand travels down to the base of my spine. He kisses me, long, hard, and passionately, his tongue in my mouth. His breathing is mounting, his ardor… Holy cow -- his erection… we're in a field. But I don't care. My hands twist in his hair, anchoring him to me. I want him, here, now, on the ground. He breaks away and gazes down at me, his eyes now dark and luminous in the early morning light, full of raw, arrogant sensuality. Wow. He takes my breath away.

"Breakfast," he whispers, making it sound deliciously erotic.

How can he make bacon and eggs sound like forbidden fruit? It's an extraordinary skill. He turns, clasping my hand, and we head back toward the car.

Food! He's talking food, when really all I want is him.

Oh my. He's coming round, and hope surges through me, leaving me breathless.

I flush some more. He's as patronizing as ever.

"Isn't that what you are?" He raises an eyebrow.

His lips quirk up. "Good, well done. I hate condoms."

"What's that?" Christian asks, curious, glancing at me.

"Come." He smiles.

"I like that you introduced me to Mark as your girlfriend," I murmur.

I have never seen him like this, and it's a joy to behold. I find myself walking beside him, hand in hand, with a stupid, goofy grin plastered on my face. It reminds me of when I was ten and spent the day in Disneyland with Ray. It was a perfect day, and this is sure shaping out to be the same.

"Alarm for my pill," I mutter as my cheeks flush.

I fumble in my purse for the packet.

Back in the car, as we head back along I-95 towards Savannah, my phone alarm goes off. Oh yes… my pill.

"Am I? I thought you wanted a submissive."

"So did I, Anastasia, and I do. But I've told you, I want more, too."

"I'm very happy that you want more," I whisper.

"IHOP." I grin back at him. I don't believe it. Who would have thought…? Christian Grey at IHOP.

It's 8:30 a. m. but quiet in the restaurant. It smells of sweet batter, fried food, and disinfectant. Hmm… not such an enticing aroma. Christian leads me to a booth.

"My dad used to bring us to one of these whenever my mom went away to a medical conference. It was our secret." He smiles at me, gray eyes dancing, then picks up a menu, running a hand through his wayward hair as he stares down at it.

"We aim to please, Miss Steele." He smirks as we pull into the International House of Pancakes.

I glance up at him, and he's staring at me in that way that tightens all the muscles in my belly and takes my breath away, his eyes dark and smoldering. Holy shit. I gaze at him, my blood singing in my veins answering his call.

"I would never have pictured you here," I say as we slide into a booth.

"I know what I want," he breathes, his voice low and husky.

Oh, I want to run my hands through that hair. I pick up a menu and examine it. I realize I'm starving.

"I want what you want," I whisper.

Oh my… sex in IHOP. His expression changes, growing darker.

"Here?" he asks suggestively, raising an eyebrow at me, smiling wickedly, his teeth trapping the tip of his tongue.

"Don't bite your lip," he orders. "Not here, not now." His eyes harden momentarily, and for a moment, he looks so deliciously dangerous. "If I can't have you here, don't tempt me."

"Hi, my name's Leandra. What can I get for you… er… folks… er… today, this mornin…?" Her voice trails off, stumbling over her words as she gets an eyeful of Mr. Beautiful opposite me. She flushes scarlet, and a small ounce of sympathy for her bubbles unwelcome into my consciousness because he still does that to me. Her presence allows me to escape briefly from his sensual glare.

"Anastasia?" he prompts me, ignoring her, and I don't think anyone could squeeze as much carnality into my name as he does at that moment.

He inhales sharply.

"I told you, I want what you want." I keep my voice soft, low, and he looks at me hungrily. Jeez, my inner goddess swoons. Am I up to this game?

I swallow, praying that I don't go the same color as poor Leandra.

"No. We know what we want." Christian's mouth twitches with a small, sexy smile.

"It's just looks, Anastasia," he says mildly.

His brow creases. "You disarm me totally, Miss Steele. Your innocence. It cuts through all the crap."

"Thank you, sir. Will that be all?" Leandra whispers, looking anywhere but at the two of us. We both turn to stare at her, and she flushes crimson again and scuttles away.

"Do I disarm you?"

Leandra looks from me to him and back again. She's practically the same color as her shiny red hair.

"Shall I give you folks another minute to decide?"

"How you disarm people. Women. Me."

"You know it's really not fair." I glance down at the Formica tabletop, tracing a pattern in it with my index finger, trying to sound nonchalant.

"No, Christian, it's much more than that."

"We'll have two portions of the original buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup and bacon on the side, two glasses of orange juice, one black coffee with skim milk, and one English breakfast tea, if you have it," says Christian, not taking his eyes off me.

I snort. "All the time."

"What's not fair?"

He strokes his chin thoughtfully with his long, skilled fingers. "I don't think I've changed my mind per se. We just need to redefine our parameters, redraw our battle lines, if you will. We can make this work, I'm sure. I want you submissive in my playroom. I will punish you if you digress from the rules. Other than that… well, I think it's all up for discussion. Those are my requirements, Miss Steele. What say you to that?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

"I love that you want more," I murmur shyly.

"I agree then. Besides, I sleep very well when you're in my bed. I had no idea." His brow creases as his voice fades.

"Changed my mind?"

"So I get to sleep with you? In your bed?"

"I was frightened you'd leave me if I didn't agree to all of it," I whisper.

"Is that why you've changed your mind?"

"Yes -- about… err… us?"

"I'm not going anywhere, Anastasia. Besides…" He trails off, and after some thought, he adds. "We're following your advice, your definition: compromise. You e-mailed it to me. And so far, it's working for me."

"Pay for this meal."

"Anastasia, I appreciate the thought. I do. But no."

Of course he doesn't ask me for my mother's address. He knows it already, stalker that he is. When he pulls up outside the house, I don't comment. What's the point?

"Do you want to come in?" I ask shyly.

"I don't think so," he scoffs.

"This is probably the only place that I'll be able to afford to pay."

I purse my lips.

"Can I treat you?" I ask Christian.

"Please. I want to."

"I need to work, Anastasia, but I'll be back this evening. What time?"

He frowns at me. "Are you trying to completely emasculate me?"

I ignore the unwelcome stab of disappointment. Why do I want to spend every single minute with this controlling sex god? Oh yes, I've fallen in love with him, and he can fly.

"Don't scowl," he threatens, his eyes glinting ominously.

"How do you know?"

Christian snorts.

"Trust me. I just do." He smirks at me. He's hiding something. What?

"Treat me how?"

At that moment, Leandra arrives with breakfast and our conversation ceases. My stomach rumbles, reminding me how ravenous I am. Christian watches with annoying approval as I devour everything on my plate.

"I know."

"We talked -- last night and today. It's getting better."

Jeez. I flush bright scarlet.

"Gliding? As in a small plane with no engine? That sort of gliding?"

I wave goodbye as he drives off into the Georgia sunshine. I'm still wearing his sweatshirt and his underwear, and I'm too warm.

"How are you, darling?" she asks, and I flush because she must know what I was doing last night.

"My pleasure, Anastasia." He kisses me, and I inhale his sexy Christian smell.

"Good." She turns her attention back to the four cookery books she has open on the kitchen table.

"I'm good. Christian took me gliding this morning." I hope the new information will distract her.

In the kitchen, my mom is in a complete flap. It's not every day she has to entertain a multi-zillionaire, and it's stressing her out.

I nod.

"Wow."

She's speechless -- a novel concept for my mother. She gapes at me, but eventually recovers herself and resumes her original line of questioning.

"Try and stop me," he whispers.

"Thank you… for the more."

"How was last night? Did you talk?"

"I'll see you later."

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

"Oh, honey, that's kind of you, but I want to do it."

From: Anastasia Steele

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

Date: June 2 2011 10:24 EST

Subject: Soaring as opposed to sore-ing

Thank you

From: Anastasia Steele

I'll take either of those over your snoring. I had a good time, too.

I decide to send a quick thank-you to Christian.

Sometimes, you really know how to show a girl a good time.

Subject: Soaring vs sore-ing

Ana x

"Mom… if you like, I'll cook this evening."

From: Christian Grey

To: Christian Grey

Date: June 2 2011 10:20 EST

To: Anastasia Steele

But I always do when I'm with you.

"Okay." I grimace, knowing full well that my mother's cooking is pretty hit or miss. Perhaps she's improved since she moved to Savannah with Bob. There was a time I wouldn't subject anyone to her cooking… even -- who do I hate? Oh yes -- Mrs. Robinson -- Elena. Well, maybe her. Will I ever meet this damned woman?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

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

Subject: SNORING

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

What happened to my kiss?

You are a cad and a scoundrel -- definitely no gentleman.

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

Subject: Spill the Beans

From: Christian Grey

Date: June 2 2011 10:28 EST

Holy shit. I know I talk in my sleep. Kate has told me enough times. What the hell have I said? Oh no.

I have never claimed to be a gentleman, Anastasia, and I think I have demonstrated that point to you on numerous occasions. I am not intimidated by your SHOUTY capitals. But I will confess to a small white lie: No -- you don't snore, but you do talk. And it's fascinating.

Cad & CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

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

You are no gentleman, Mr. Grey! And you are in the Deep South, too!

I DO NOT SNORE. And if I do, it's very ungallant of you to point it out.

Date: June 2 2011 10:32 EST

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Somniloquy

To: Christian Grey

Ana

Christian Grey

To: Christian Grey

To: Anastasia Steele

So, what did I say? No kisses for you until you talk!

Date: June 2 2011 10:26 EST

But if you behave yourself, I may tell you this evening. I do have to go into a meeting now.

Subject: Sleeping talking Beauty

Date: June 2 2011 10:35 EST

Right! I shall maintain radio silence until this evening. I fume. Jeez. Supposing I've said I hate him, or worse still, that I love him, in my sleep. Oh, I hope not. I am not ready to tell him that, and I'm sure he's not ready to hear it, if he ever wants to hear it. I scowl at my computer and decide that whatever I cook, I will make bread.

Christian Grey

Laters, baby.

My mom has decided on gazpacho soup and a barbecue with steaks marinated in olive oil, garlic, and lemon. Christian likes meat, and it's simple to do. Bob has volunteered to man the BBQ grill. What is it about men and fire? I ponder as I trail after my mother through the supermarket with the shopping cart.

It would be most ungallant of me to say, and I have already been chastised for that.

CEO, Cad & Scoundrel, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Christian Grey

To: Anastasia Steele

I glance down at my phone and frown, there's a missed call from Christian. He never phones me. I call him straight back.

"Congratulations, darling! We have to buy some champagne!" She's clapping her hands and jumping up and down. Is she forty-two or twelve?

"You have a job?"

"You know the salary details?"

"Yes. Yes… that's -- I mean, I accept your offer. I'd love to come and work for you."

I beam at my mom.

"See you then. Goodbye. And thank you."

"Excellent. We'll see you Monday at 8:30 a. m.?"

"Hello?" I answer breathlessly.

"Hi," I murmur shyly.

I nod gleefully, and she squeals and hugs me in the middle of Publix supermarket.

"Oh -- hi."

"It's Elizabeth Morgan from SIP."

"Wow. That's great. Thank you!"

"I'm calling to offer you the job of assistant to Mr. Jack Hyde. We'd like you to start on Monday."

"Anastasia Steele?"

"Yes."

"Anastasia," he answers immediately.

As we browse the raw meat cabinet, my phone rings. I scramble for it, thinking it may be Christian. I don't recognize the number.

"I have to return to Seattle. Something's come up. I am on my way to Hilton Head now. Please apologize to your mother -- I can't make dinner." He sounds very businesslike.

"Nothing serious, I hope?"

"I have a situation which I have to deal with. I'll see you Friday. I'll send Taylor to collect you from the airport if I can't come myself." He sounds cold. Angry even. But for the first time, I don't immediately think it's me.

"Okay. I hope you sort out your situation. Have a safe flight."

"It's Christian. He's had to go back to Seattle. He apologizes."

Oh no. The last 'situation' he had was my virginity. Jeez, I hope it's nothing like that. I gaze at my mom. Her earlier jubilation has metamorphosed into concern.

"Oh! That's a shame, darling. We can still have our barbecue, and now we have something to celebrate -- your new job! You have to tell me all about it."

"You too, baby," he breathes, and with those words, my Christian is back briefly. Then he hangs up.

It's late afternoon, and Mom and I are lying beside the pool. My mother has relaxed to the point where she is literally horizontal now that Mr. Megabucks is not coming to dinner. As I lie in the sun, endeavoring to lose the pale, I think about yesterday evening and breakfast today. I think about Christian, and my ridiculous grin refuses to subside. It keeps creeping across my face, unbidden and disconcerting, as I recall our various conversations and what we did… what he did.

"About 6:30 p. m., darling."

There seems to be tidal shift in Christian's attitude. He denies it but -- he admits he's trying for more. What could have changed? What has altered since he sent his long e-mail and when I saw him yesterday? What has he done? I sit up suddenly, almost spilling my Dr. Pepper. He had dinner with… her. Elena.

My scalp prickles at the realization. Did she say something to him? Oh… to have been a fly on the wall during their dinner. I could have landed in her soup or on her wine glass and choked her.

Holy Fuck!

"What is it, Ana, honey?" Mom asks, startled from her torpor.

"I'm just having a moment, Mom. What time is it?"

Hmm… he won't have landed yet. Can I ask him? Should I ask him? Or perhaps she has nothing to do with it. I fervently hope so. What did I say in my sleep? Crap… some unguarded remark while dreaming about him, I bet? Whatever it is, or was, I hope the sea of change is coming from within him and not because of her.

I am sweltering in this damned heat. I need another dip in the pool.

From: Anastasia Steele

As I get ready for bed, I switch on my computer. I have heard nothing from Christian. Not even a word that he's arrived safely.

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

Your Ana. x

Dear Sir

I have arrived safely, and please accept my apologies for not letting you know. I don't want to cause you any worry, it's heart-warming to know that you care for me. I am thinking of you, too, and as ever looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.

Subject: The Situation

Date: June 2 2011 22:40 EST

Three minutes later, I hear the ping from my e-mail inbox.

Dear Mr. Grey

Please let me know that you have arrived safely. I am starting to worry. Thinking of you.

Christian Grey

Date: June 2 2011 19:36

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

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

I think it is very evident that I care for you deeply. How could you doubt that?

I sigh, Christian is back to formality.

Dear Miss Steele

From: Anastasia Steele

To: Anastasia Steele

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Sorry

To: Christian Grey

To: Christian Grey

Subject: Safe Arrival?

Date: June 2 2011 22:32 EST

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

I like very much that you care for me. The 'situation' here is not yet resolved.

Subject: Pleading Guilty

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

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

To: Anastasia Steele

To: Anastasia Steele

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Dear Miss Steele

From: Christian Grey

Sorry, could you speak up? I can't hear you.

I hope your 'situation' is in hand.

Subject: Pleading Insanity

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

From: Anastasia Steele

Your Ana x

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

To: Christian Grey

I hope it was amusing. But you should know I cannot accept any responsibility for what comes out of my mouth when I am unconscious. In fact -- you probably misheard me.

Subject: Pleading the Fifth

With regard to your PS: The answer is -- No.

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

Date: June 2 2011 19:45

Christian Grey

Date: June 2 2011 22:48 EST

Dear Miss Steele

Date: June 2 2011 19:52

Christian Grey

A man of your advanced years is surely a little deaf.

From: Christian Grey

PS: Are you going to tell me what I said in my sleep?

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

To: Anastasia Steele

From: Anastasia Steele

Cat of his own? I've never seen a cat in his apartment. No, I am not going to answer him. Oh, he can be so exasperating sometimes. Fifty shades of exasperating. I clamber into bed and lie glaring at the ceiling as my eyes adjust to the dark. I hear another ping from my computer. I am not going to look. No definitely not. No, I am not going to look. Gah! Like the fool I am, I cannot resist the lure of Christian Grey's words.

From: Christian Grey

To: Christian Grey

You are driving me crazy.

Subject: Wild Cat

Date: June 2 2011 19:59

Christian Grey

Subject: Pleading Insanity Again

Miss A. R. Steele

To: Anastasia Steele

Date: June 2 2011 22:54 EST

I possess a cat of my own for growlers.

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

To: Christian Grey

Are you growling at me, Miss Steele?

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Grrrrrr

Christian Grey

From: Anastasia Steele

Date: June 2 2011 20:05

Subject: I hope so…

I am officially pissed at you.

Goodnight.

Date: June 2 2011 23:02 EST

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Dear Miss Steele

I intend to do exactly that on Friday evening. Looking forward to it. :)

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

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From: Christian Grey

Date: June 2 2011 20:20

I'd rather hear you say the words that you uttered in your sleep when you're conscious, that's why I won't tell you. Go to sleep. You'll need to be rested with what I have in mind for you tomorrow.

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

Christian Grey

To: Anastasia Steele

Subject: What you said in your sleep

Anastasia

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh no… What have I said? It's as bad as I think, I'm sure.