"Yes," I murmur, smiling shyly at him.

"You're sure about this?" he asks, his gaze heated yet anxious.

Christian pauses outside the playroom.

I'm derailed by his unexpected question, and my mind goes into overdrive. One thought occurs. "I don't want you to take photos of me."

Oh, shit. I think he's going to ask me why, but fortunately he doesn't.

His eyes soften. "Anything you don't want to do?"

Placing the gift box on the chest of drawers, he takes out the iPod, switches it on, then waves at the music center on the wall so that the smoked glass doors glide silently open. He presses some buttons, and the sound of a subway train echoes around the room. He turns it down so that the slow, hypnotic electronic beat that follows becomes ambient. A woman starts to sing, I don't know who she is but her voice is soft yet rasping and the beat is measured, deliberate… erotic. Oh my. It's music to make love to.

"Okay," he murmurs. His brow furrows as he unlocks the door, then stands aside to usher me into the room. I feel his eyes on me as he follows me inside and closes the door.

He stills, and his expression hardens as he cocks his head to one side and eyes me speculatively.

"What do you want to do, Anastasia?" he murmurs, planting a soft chaste kiss at the corner of my mouth, his fingers still grasping my chin.

Christian turns to face me as I stand in the middle of the room, my heart pounding, my blood singing in my veins, pulsing -- or so it feels -- in time to the music's seductive beat. He saunters casually over to me and tugs on my chin so I'm no longer biting my lip.

"It's your birthday. Whatever you want," I whisper. He traces his thumb along my lower lip, his brow creased once more.

"Are we in here because you think I want to be in here?" His words are softly spoken, but he regards me intently.

"Oh, there are so many possibilities, Miss Steele." His voice is low, excited. "But let's start with getting you naked." He pulls the sash of my robe so that it falls open, revealing my silk nightdress, then steps back and sits down nonchalantly on the arm of the chesterfield couch.

"No," I whisper. "I want to be in here, too."

His gaze darkens, growing bolder as he assesses my response. After what seems an eternity, he speaks.

Slipping the spaghetti straps of my gown off my shoulders, I gaze at him for a beat, then release them. My nightdress skims and ripples softly down my body, pooling at my feet. I am naked and practically panting and oh-so-ready.

"Take your clothes off. Slowly." He gives me a sensual, challenging look.

Christian pauses for a moment, and I marvel at the frankly carnal appreciation in his expression. Standing up, he makes his way over to the chest and picks up his silver gray tie -- my favorite tie. He pulls it through his fingers as he turns and strolls casually toward me, a smile playing on his lips. When he stands in front of me, I expect him to ask for my hands, but he doesn't.

I swallow compulsively, pressing my thighs together. I'm already damp between my legs. My inner goddess is stripped naked and standing in line, ready and waiting and begging me to play catch-up. I pull the robe away from my shoulders, my eyes never leaving his, and shrug, letting it fall billowing to the floor. His mesmerizing gray eyes heat, and he runs his index finger over his lips as he gazes at me.

"I think you're underdressed, Miss Steele," he murmurs. He places the tie around my neck, and slowly but dexterously ties it in what I assume is a fine Windsor knot. As he tightens the knot, his fingers brush the base of my throat and electricity shoots through me, making me gasp. He leaves the wide end of the tie long, long enough so the tip skims my pubic hair.

"You look mighty fine now, Miss Steele," he says and bends to kiss me gently on my lips. It's a swift kiss, and I want more, desire spiraling wantonly through my body.

"What shall we do with you now?" he says, and then picking up the tie, he yanks sharply so that I'm forced forward into his arms. His hands dive into my hair and pull my head back, and he really kisses me, hard, his tongue unforgiving and merciless. One of his hands roams freely down my back to cup my behind. When he pulls away, he's panting too and gazing down at me, his eyes molten gray; I'm left wanting, gasping for breath, my wits thoroughly scattered. I'm sure my lips will be swollen after his sensual assault.

"Turn around," he orders gently and I obey. Pulling my hair free of the tie, he quickly braids and secures it. He tugs the braid so my head tilts up.

"You have beautiful hair, Anastasia," he murmurs and kisses my throat, sending shivers running up and down my spine. "You just have to say stop. You know that, don't you?" he whispers against my throat.

"Come," he says, tugging gently, leading me over to the chest where the rest of the box's contents are on display.

"Just finger -- singular," he says softly with that uncanny ability he has to read my mind. My eyes dart to his. How does he do that?

"Anastasia, these objects." He holds up the butt plug. "This is a size too big. As an anal virgin, you don't want to start with this. We want to start with this." He holds up his pinkie finger, and I gasp, shocked. Fingers… there? He smirks at me, and the unpleasant thought of the anal fisting mentioned in the contract comes to mind.

I nod, my eyes closed, and relish his lips on me. He turns me around once more and picks up the end of the tie.

"Clear?" he asks.

"Do you now," he breathes and runs his thumb across my lower lip. "I'm your lover, Anastasia, not your Dom. I love to hear your laugh and your girlish giggle. I like you relaxed and happy, like you are in José's photos. That's the girl that fell into my office. That's the girl I fell in love with."

His brow creases. "However you want to."

"How should I behave?"

"Yes," I whisper, my mouth dry. "Are you going to tell me what you intend to do?"

I blink up at him, wide-eyed. Christian, my sexual mentor. He knows so much more about all of this than I do. I'll never catch up. I frown. He knows more than me about most things… except cooking.

Oh!

"No. I'm making this up as I go along. This isn't a scene, Ana."

"These clamps are vicious." He prods the nipple clamps. "We'll use these." He places a different pair of clamps on the chest. They look like giant black hairpins but with little jet jewels hanging down. "They're adjustable," Christian murmurs, his voice laced with gentle concern.

"Were you expecting my alter ego, Anastasia?" he asks, his tone vaguely mocking and bemused at once. I blink at him.

"Well, yes. I like him," I murmur. He smiles his private smile and reaches up to run his thumb down my cheek.

My mouth drops open, and a welcome warmth blooms in my heart. It's joy -- pure joy.

"But having said all that, I also like to do rude things to you, Miss Steele, and my alter ego knows a trick or two. So, do as you're told and turn around." His eyes glint wickedly, and the joy moves sharply south, seizing me tightly and gripping every sinew below my waist. I do as I'm told. Behind me, he opens one of the drawers and a moment later he's in front of me again.

"Come," he orders and tugs on the tie, leading me to the table. As we walk past the couch, I notice for the first time that all the canes have vanished. It distracts me. Were they there yesterday when I came in? I don't remember. Did Christian move them? Mrs. Jones? Christian interrupts my train of thought.

Oh, okay. What does he have in mind? My inner goddess can't wait to find out -- she's already scissor-kicked onto the table and is watching him with adoration.

"I want you to kneel up on this," he says when we're at the table.

He gently lifts me onto the table, and I fold my legs beneath me and kneel in front of him, surprised by my own grace. Now we are eye to eye. He runs his hands down my thighs, grasps my knees, and pulls my legs apart and stands directly in front of me. He looks very serious, his eyes darker, hooded… lustful.

Oh! I try to hide my smile. There was a time, not very long ago, when I would have been subdued by this threat. I would never have had the nerve to kiss him, unbidden, while he was in this room. I realize now, I'm no longer intimidated by him. It's a revelation. I grin mischievously, and he smirks at me.

"Stop. Or this will be over far quicker than either of us wants," he warns. For a moment, I think he might be angry but then he smiles, and his heated eyes are alight with amusement.

"Well -- don't distract me, or I'll gag you."

His proximity is intoxicating. This man is going to be my husband. Can one lust after one's husband like this? I don't remember reading about that anywhere. I can't resist him, and I run my parted lips along his jaw, feeling the stubble, a heady combination of prickly and soft, under my tongue. He stills and closes his eyes. His breathing falters and he pulls back.

I nod.

"Arms behind your back. I'm going to cuff you."

"You're irresistible." I pout.

"Am I now?" he says dryly.

"I like distracting you," I whisper, looking mulishly at him, and he cocks his eyebrow at me.

"Or spank you."

He produces some leather cuffs from his back pocket and reaches around me. This is it. Where's he going to take me this time?

"That's better," he breathes and leans behind me once more with the cuffs. I resist touching him but inhale his glorious Christian scent, still fresh from last night's shower. Hmm… I should bottle this.

I expect him to cuff my wrists, but he attaches each cuff above my elbows. It makes me arch my back, pushing my breasts forward, though my elbows are by no means together. When he's finished, he stands back to admire me.

"Behave," he growls and stands back, gazing at me and slaps the leather cuffs across his palm. And the warning is there, implicit in his actions. I try for contrite, and I think I succeed. He approaches me again.

"Feel okay?" he asks. It's not the most comfortable of positions, but I'm so wired with anticipation to see where he's going with this that I nod, weak with wanting.

"Good." He pulls the mask from his back pocket.

"I think you've seen enough now," he murmurs. He slides the mask over my head, covering my eyes. My breathing spikes. Wow. Why is not being able to see so erotic? I am here, trussed up and kneeling on a table, waiting -- sweet anticipation hot and heavy deep in my belly. I can still hear, though, and the melodic steady beat of the track continues. It resonates through my body. I hadn't noticed before. He must have it on repeat.

My body leaps to attention as his touch sends a delicious shiver through me. His hand flexes over my neck, and it's slick with sweet-smelling oil so his hand glides smoothly down my throat, across my clavicle, and up to my shoulder, his fingers kneading gently as they go. Oh, I'm getting a massage. Not what I expected.

"I don't want to ruin my favorite tie," he murmurs. It slowly unravels as he undoes it.

I inhale sharply as the tail of the tie travels up my body, tickling me in its wake. Ruin his tie? I listen acutely to determine what he's going to do. He's rubbing his hands together. His knuckles suddenly brush over my cheek, down to my jaw following my jawline.

He places his other hand on my other shoulder and begins another slow teasing journey across my clavicle. I groan softly as he works his way down toward my increasingly aching breasts, aching for his touch. It's tantalizing. I arch my body farther into his deft touch, but his hands glide to my sides, slow, measured, in time to the beat of the music, and studiously avoid my breasts. I groan, but I don't know if it's from pleasure or frustration.

Christian steps away. What is he doing? He moves back to the chest and opens a drawer, then closes it again. A moment later he's back, and I sense him in front of me. There's a pungent, rich, musky scent in the air. It's delicious, almost mouthwatering.

My mouth is already open from panting. I open wider, and he slips a large cool metal object between my lips. Shaped like an oversized baby's pacifier, it has small grooves or carvings, and what feels like a chain at the end. It's big.

"With my body, I will worship you."

I tip my head back and moan. His fingers run through my pubic hair, over my sex, and he rubs the palm of his hand against my clitoris.

"And soon you'll be my wife to have and to hold," he whispers.

"Yes," he breathes as his palm continues to tease me. "Open your mouth."

Oh my.

"Suck," he commands softly. "I'm going to put this inside you."

I groan.

"To love and to cherish." Jeez.

"Mrs. Grey," he whispers as his palm works against me.

"You are so beautiful, Ana," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, his mouth next to my ear. His nose follows along my jaw as he continues to massage me -- beneath my breasts, across my belly, down… He kisses me fleetingly on my lips, then he runs his nose down my neck, my throat. Holy cow, I'm on fire… his nearness, his hands, his words.

"Suck," he repeats and he stops palming me.

Gently he rolls my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, and they harden and lengthen under his expert touch, sending synaptic waves of pleasure all the way to my groin.

Inside me? Inside me where? My heart lurches into my mouth.

No, don't stop! I want to shout, but my mouth is full. His oiled hands glide back up my body and finally cup my neglected breasts.

"You have such beautiful breasts, Ana," he murmurs, and my nipples harden further in response. He murmurs his approval and I moan. His lips move down from my neck toward one breast, trailing soft bites and sucks over and over, down toward my nipple, and suddenly I feel the pinch of the clamp.

"Ah!" I garble my groan through the device in my mouth. Holy cow, the feeling is exquisite, raw, painful, pleasurable… oh -- the pinch. Gently, he laves the restrained nipple with his tongue, and as he does so, he applies the other. The bite of the second clamp is equally harsh… but just as good. I groan loudly.

"Don't stop sucking."

"I'm going to put this inside you," he murmurs. "Not here." His fingers trail between my buttocks, spreading oil. "But here." He moves his fingers around and around, in and out, hitting the front wall of my vagina. I moan and my restrained nipples swell.

Oh, I do. I do. I do.

"Feel it," he whispers.

"Give me this." He tugs gently on the ornate metal pacifier in my mouth, and I release it. His hands once more trail down my body toward my sex. He's reoiled his hands. They glide around to my backside.

What's he going to do? His other hand glides down my belly to my sex, palming me once more. He eases his fingers inside me, and I moan loudly, appreciatively.

"Hush now." Christian removes his fingers and slides the object into me. He cups my face and kisses me, his mouth invading mine, and I hear a very faint click. Instantly the plug inside me starts to vibrate -- down there! I gasp. The feeling is extraordinary -- beyond anything I've felt before.

I gasp. What's he going to do? I tense up on my knees as he runs his fingers between my buttocks.

"Hush, easy," he breathes close to my ear and kisses my neck as his fingers stroke and tease me.

"Ah."

This is too much -- all this overstimulation, everywhere. My body starts to climb, and on my knees, I'm unable to control the buildup. Oh my… Will I be able to handle this?

"Ah!"

"Easy," Christian calms me, stifling my gasps with his mouth. His hands move down and tug very gently on the clamps. I cry out loudly.

"Christian, please!"

"Christian," I pant, sounding desperate even to my own ears.

"Hush, baby. Hang in there."

"So beautiful," he murmurs and suddenly he gently pushes an anointed finger inside me… there! Into my backside. Fuck. It feels alien, full, forbidden… but oh… so… good. And he moves slowly, easing in and out, while his teeth graze my upturned chin.

"Good girl," he soothes.

"Hush, feel it, Ana. Don't be afraid." His hands are now on my waist, holding me, but I can't concentrate on his hands, what's inside me, and the clamps, too. My body is building, building to an explosion -- with the relentless vibrations and the sweet, sweet torture of my nipples. Holy hell. It will be too intense. His hands move from my hips, down and around, slick and oiled, touching, feeling, kneading my skin -- kneading my behind.

"Argh!" I cry out, and Christian wraps himself around me, holding me, as my body continues to pulse mercilessly inside.

He unstraps one of the cuffs so that my arms fall forward. My head lolls on his shoulder, and I am lost, lost to all this overwhelming sensation. I'm all shattered breath, exhausted desire, and sweet, welcome oblivion.

"So beautiful, Ana."

I'm suspended high -- high above a wide, wide ravine, and I'm soaring then falling giddily at the same time, plunging to the Earth. I can hold on no more, and I scream as my body convulses and climaxes at the overwhelming fullness. As my body explodes, I'm nothing but sensation -- everywhere. Christian releases first one and then the other clamp, causing my nipples to sing with a surge of sweet, sweet painful feeling, but it's oh-so-good and causing my orgasm, this orgasm, to go on and on. His finger stays where it is, gently easing in and out.

"No!" I shout again, pleading, and this time he tugs the vibrator out of me, and his finger, too, as my body continues to convulse.

I nod and give him a reluctant grin. Jeez, any ruder and I'd have to spank the pair of us.

He pulls the mask off, but I don't have the energy to open my eyes. Finding my braid, he undoes the hair tie and leans forward, kissing me softly on my lips. Only my erratic breathing disturbs the silence in the room and steadies as I float gently back to Earth. The music has stopped.

When I persuade one eye to open, he's gazing down at me, smiling softly.

"I think you're trying to kill me," I mutter.

Vaguely, I'm aware that Christian lifts me, carries me over to the bed, and lays me down on the cool satin sheets. After a moment, his hands, still oiled, gently rub the backs of my thighs, my knees, my calves, and my shoulders. I feel the bed dip as he stretches out beside me.

"So beautiful," he murmurs.

"Hi," he says. I manage a grunt in response, and his smile broadens. "Rude enough for you?"

"Death by orgasm." He smirks. "There are worse ways to go," he says but then frowns ever so slightly as an unpleasant thought crosses his mind. It distresses me. I reach up and caress his face.

"This is what I want to do," he murmurs and reaches beneath his pillow for the music center remote. He presses a button and the soft strains of a guitar echo around the walls.

"You can kill me like this anytime," I whisper. I notice that he's gloriously naked and ready for action. When he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, I lean up and capture his face between my hands and pull his mouth to mine. He kisses me briefly, then stops.

As I tighten around him, finding my release once more, Christian unravels in my arms, his head thrown back as he calls out my name. He clasps me tightly to his chest as we sit nose to nose in the middle of his vast bed, me astride him. And in this moment -- this moment of joy with this man to this music -- the intensity of my experience this morning in here with him and all that has occurred during the past week overwhelms me anew, not just physically but emotionally. I am completely overcome with all these feelings. I am so deeply in love with him. For the first time I'm offered a glimmer of understanding as to how he feels about my safety.

"I want to make love to you," he says, gazing down at me, his gray eyes burning with bright, loving sincerity. Softly in the background, a familiar voice starts to sing "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." And his lips find mine.

Recalling his close call with Charlie Tango yesterday, I shudder at the thought and tears pool in my eyes. If anything ever happened to him -- I love him so. My tears run unchecked down my cheeks. So many sides of Christian -- his sweet, gentle persona and his rugged, I-can-do-what-I-fucking-well-like-to-you-and-you'll-come-like-a-train Dominant side -- his fifty shades -- all of him. All spectacular. All mine. And I'm aware we don't know each other well, and we have a mountain of issues to overcome, but I know for each other, we will -- and we'll have a lifetime to do it.

"Hey," he breathes, clasping my head in his hands, gazing down at me. He's still inside me. "Why are you crying?" His voice is filled with concern.

"Because I love you so much," I whisper. He half closes his eyes as if drugged, absorbing my words. When he opens them again, they blaze with his love.

We have talked and talked and talked, sitting upright together on the bed in the playroom, me in his lap, our legs curled around each other. The red satin sheet is draped around us like a royal cocoon, and I have no idea how much time has passed. Christian is laughing at my impersonation of Kate during the photo shoot at the Heathman.

"And I you, Ana. You make me… whole." He kisses me gently as Roberta Flack finishes her song.

"Not the crop… the brown one. Or that suede flogger." I flush.

"To think it could have been her who came to interview me. Thank the Lord for the common cold," he murmurs and kisses my nose.

"I believe she had the flu, Christian," I scold him, trailing my fingers idly through his chest hair and marveling that he's tolerating it so well. "All the canes have gone," I murmur, recalling my distraction from earlier. He tucks my hair behind my ear for the umpteenth time.

"I didn't think you'd ever get past that hard limit."

"No, I don't think I will," I whisper wide-eyed, then find myself glancing over at the whips, paddles, and floggers lining the opposite wall. He follows my gaze.

"You want me to get rid of them, too?" He's amused but sincere.

He smiles down at me.

"As are you, Mr. Grey. It's one of the things I love about you." I kiss him gently at the corner of his mouth.

"Okay, the crop and the flogger. Why, Miss Steele, you're full of surprises."

"What else do you love about me?" he asks and his eyes widen.

I know it's a huge deal for him to ask this question. It humbles me and I blink at him. I love everything about him -- even his fifty shades. I know that life with Christian will never be boring.

"Hungry?" he whispers.

"This." I stroke my index finger across his lips. "I love this, and what comes out of it, and what you do to me with it. And what's in here." I caress his temple. "You're so smart and witty and knowledgeable, competent in so many things. But most of all, I love what's in here." I press my palm gently against his chest, feeling his steady beating heart. "You are the most compassionate man I've met. What you do. How you work. It's awe-inspiring," I whisper.

"Awe-inspiring?" He's puzzled, but there's a trace of humor on his face. Then his face transforms, and his shy smile appears as if he's embarrassed, and I want to launch myself at him. So I do.

I am dozing, Wrapped in satin and Grey. Christian nuzzles me awake.

"Hmm, famished."

I lean up to gaze down at him sprawled on the bed.

"Me, too."

"Surprise me." He runs his hand down my back, stroking me gently. "I should check my BlackBerry for all the messages I missed yesterday." He sighs and starts to sit up, and I know this special time is over… for now.

"Let's shower," he says.

"It's your birthday, Mr. Grey. I'll cook you something. What would you like?"

Christian is in his study on the phone. Taylor is with him, looking serious but casual in jeans and a tight black T-shirt. I busy myself in the kitchen fixing lunch. I have found salmon steaks in the fridge, and I'm poaching them in lemon, making a salad, and boiling some baby potatoes. I feel extraordinarily relaxed and happy, on top of the world -- literally. Turning toward the large window, I stare out at the glorious blue sky. All that talking… all that sexing… hmm. A girl could get used to that.

"Hi, Taylor."

Who am I to turn down the birthday boy?

"Ana." He nods.

Taylor emerges from the study, interrupting my reverie. I turn down my iPod and take out an earbud.

"Your daughter okay?"

He smiles.

From: Anastasia Steele

To: Christian Grey

"Oh, good."

"Yes, thanks. My ex-wife thought she had appendicitis, but she was overreacting as usual." Taylor rolls his eyes, surprising me. "Sophie's fine, though she has a nasty stomach bug."

He gives me a tight smile. "Will that be all, ma'am?"

*Same here*

I text back.

Calling up the e-mail program, I type a quick message to Christian.

"Yes. The recovery team is on its way. She should be back at Boeing Field late tonight."

*C U this evening. Looking forward to a loooooong chat*

"Yes, yes, of course." I flush… will I ever get used to Taylor calling me ma'am? It makes me feel so old, at least thirty.

I am e-mailing to inform you that your lunch is nearly ready.

Subject: Lunch

"I'm sorry."

It will be good to talk to Kate.

Dear Mr. Grey

He nods and heads out of the great room. Christian is still on the phone. I am waiting for the potatoes to boil. It gives me an idea. Fetching my purse, I fish out my BlackBerry. There's a text from Kate.

Date: June 18 2011 13:12

"Has Charlie Tango been located?"

Famished and Wasting Away After the Morning's Exertions CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

(Your fiancée)

PS: I love your signature

Dear Mr. Grey

What aspect was most mind-blowing?

Subject: Famished?

To: Anastasia Steele

I'm taking notes.

I listen carefully for a reaction, but he's still on the phone. I shrug. Perhaps he's just too busy. My BlackBerry vibrates.

Christian Grey

PPS: What happened to the art of conversation?

And another thing -- I love you.

Subject: Kinky Fuckery

May I draw your attention to the first line of my previous e-mail informing you that your lunch is indeed almost ready… so none of this famished and wasting away nonsense. With regard to the mind-blowing aspects of the kinky fuckery… frankly -- all of it. I'd be interested in reading your notes. And I like my bracketed signature, too.

Date: June 18 2011 13:15

Birthday kinky fuckery is to be recommended.

From: Anastasia Steele

Date: June 18 2011 13:18

To: Christian Grey

From: Christian Grey

A x

And that I had some mind-blowing, kinky fuckery earlier today.

I press send and look up, and he's standing in front of me, smirking. Before I can say anything, he bounds around the kitchen island, sweeps me up in his arms, and kisses me soundly.

A x

"That is all, Miss Steele," he says, releasing me, and he saunters -- in his jeans, bare feet, and untucked white shirt -- back to his office, leaving me breathless.

(Your fiancée)

"Just let them in and leave them alone. Do you understand, Mia?" he hisses and rolls his eyes. "Good."

I've made a watercress, cilantro, and sour cream dip to accompany the salmon, and I've set the breakfast bar. I hate interrupting him while he's working, but now I stand in the doorway of his office. He's still on the phone, all thoroughly fucked hair and bright gray eyes -- a visually nourishing feast. He looks up when he sees me and doesn't take his eyes off me. He frowns slightly, and I don't know if it's at me or because of his conversation.

I mime eating, and he grins at me and nods.

PS: Since when have you been so loquacious? And you're on the phone!

"You like it?" I give him a quick twirl. It's one of Caroline Acton's purchases. A soft turquoise sundress, probably more suitable for the beach, but it's such a lovely day on so many levels. He frowns and my face falls.

All the air leaves my body at once. I take the phone and cover the mouthpiece.

"That dress is very short," he adds.

Shit! I take a deep breath. "Hi, Dad."

"I have Ray for you," he murmurs, his eyes wary.

"You told him!" I hiss. Christian nods, and his eyes widen at my obvious look of distress.

"You look fantastic in it, Ana. I just don't want anyone else to see you like that."

"I'll see you later." He hangs up. "One more call?" he asks.

Five minutes later, he's back in front of me, holding the phone.

"Sure."

His mouth twists, and either he's trying to hide his amusement or he really doesn't think that's funny. But eventually he nods, reassured. I shake my head at him -- he's actually being serious? I head back to the kitchen.

"Oh!" I scowl at him. "We're at home, Christian. No one but the staff."

"I said I wanted to talk to you. It's kind of sudden, don't you think, Annie? You've not known him long. I mean, he's a nice guy, knows his fishing… but so soon?" His voice is calm and measured.

"Christian has just asked me if he can marry you," Ray says.

The silence stretches between us as I desperately think of what to say. Ray as usual stays silent, giving me no clue as to his reaction to this news.

"No."

"What did you say?" I crack first.

"Yes. It is sudden… hang on." Hastily, I leave the kitchen area, away from Christian's anxious gaze, and head toward the great window. The doors to the balcony are open, and I step out into the sunshine. I can't quite walk to the edge. It's just too far up.

Ray is silent on the other end of the phone.

"Have you told your mother?"

"Annie… I know he's all kinds of rich and eligible, but marriage? It's such a big step. You're sure?"

"I know it's sudden and all -- but… well, I love him. He loves me. He wants to marry me, and there'll never be anyone else for me." I flush thinking this is probably the most intimate conversation I have ever had with my stepfather.

"Whoa," Ray says after a moment, his tone softer.

"He's everything."

"He's my happily ever after," I whisper.

"Oh, honey." His voice cracks, and he's quiet for a few moments, the emotion in his voice bringing tears to my eyes. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he says eventually.

"Annie, Annie, Annie. You're such a headstrong young woman. I hope to God you know what you're doing. Hand me back to him, will you?"

Oh, Ray. I love you so much… I swallow to keep from crying. "Thank you, Dad. I'll hand you back to Christian. Be gentle with him. I love him," I whisper.

"Sure, Dad, and will you give me away at the wedding?" I ask quietly.

I think Ray is smiling on the other end of the line, but it's hard to tell. It's always hard to tell with Ray.

"Sure thing, Annie. And come and visit this old man and bring that Christian with you."

I march back into the room -- pissed at Christian for not warning me -- and hand him the phone, my expression letting him know just how annoyed I am. He's amused as he takes the phone and heads back into his study.

"I have your stepfather's rather begrudging blessing," he says proudly, so proudly, in fact, that it makes me giggle, and he grins at me. He's acting like he's just negotiated a major new merger or acquisition, which I suppose on one level, he has.

Two minutes later, he reappears.

"Ana?" He interrupts my thoughts. "Why did you ask me not to take your photo?" His question startles me all the more because his voice is deceptively soft.

"Damn, You're a good cook, woman." Christian swallows his last mouthful and raises his glass of white wine to me. I blossom under his praise, and it occurs to me I'll only get to cook for him on weekends. I frown. I enjoy cooking. Perhaps I should have made him a cake for his birthday. I check my watch. I still have time.

"Ana," he snaps. "What is it?" He makes me jump, and his voice commands me to look at him. When did I think he didn't intimidate me?

Oh… shit. The photos. I stare down at my empty plate, twisting my fingers in my lap. What can I say? I'd promised myself not to mention that I'd found his version of Penthouse Pets.

He gapes at me, appalled, and nervously runs his hand through his hair as he processes this information. He rubs his chin, lost in thought, but he can't mask the perplexed annoyance etched on his face. Abruptly he shakes his head, exasperated -- but amused, too -- and a faint smile of admiration kisses the corner of his mouth. He steeples his hands in front of him and focuses on me once more.

"It's not what you think. I'd forgotten all about them. That box had been moved. Those photographs belong in my safe."

"Oh. Who? And what do you mean, 'It's not what I think'?"

His eyes widen in shock. "You've been in the safe?" he asks, incredulous.

"I found your photos," I whisper.

"In your closet. The box. I was looking for your tie, and the box was under your jeans… the ones you normally wear in the playroom. Except today." I flush.

He frowns. "I don't understand."

"Who moved them?" I whisper.

He sighs and tilts his head to one side, and I think he's embarrassed. So he should be! my subconscious snarls.

He swallows. "There's only one person who could have done that."

"Safe? No. I didn't know you had a safe."

"She knows your safe combination?"

Oh, well, that's something. He reaches out, grabbing me and pulling me to him.

He frowns. "Of course they know."

"Ana."

"This is going to sound cold, but -- they're an insurance policy," he whispers, steeling himself for my response.

The penny drops and rattles uncomfortably around and around in my empty head.

"Do they know? The girls… the subs?"

"Oh," I murmur, because I can't think of what else to say. I close my eyes. This is it. This is fifty shades of fucked-up, right here, right now. "Yes. You're right," I mutter. "That does sound cold." I stand to clear our dishes. I don't want to know any more.

"Insurance policy?"

"It could only have been Leila."

"Those photos are supposed to be in the safe. They're not for recreational use." He stops. "Maybe they were when they were taken originally. But --" He stops, imploring me. "They don't mean anything."

"Who put them in your closet?"

"Against exposure."

He shrugs. "It wouldn't surprise me. It's a very long combination, and I use it so rarely. It's the one number I have written down and haven't changed." He shakes his head. "I wonder what else she knows and if she's taken anything else out of there." He frowns, then turns his attention back to me. "Look, I'll destroy the photos. Now if you like."

"They're your photos, Christian. Do with them as you wish," I mutter.

Holy cow. How does he know that beneath my horror about these photos is my paranoia?

"Yes." I smile. "Yes, I feel like that, too."

"Don't be like that," he says, taking my head in his hands and holding my gaze to his. "I don't want that life. I want our life, together."

"A chocolate cake?"

He grins and his eyes light up like a small boy's.

"I'll see what I can do, Mr. Grey."

"Good." He leans forward and kisses me, folding me in his arms. "I'll shred them," he murmurs. "And then I have to go to work. I'm sorry, baby, but I have a mountain of business to get through this afternoon."

I blink at him, recalling our very, very pleasurable and romantic and downright dirty morning in his playroom.

"A cake?"

"You want a chocolate cake?" His grin is infectious.

I nod.

"Ana, I thought we exorcised all those ghosts this morning. I feel that way. Don't you?"

"It's cool. I have to call my mother." I grimace. "Then I want to do some shopping and bake you a cake."

He nods.

"Mom, say something."

"Darling, I just need to get used to the idea. It's a shock. I could tell in Georgia that there was something very special between you two, but marriage…?"

"You're not pregnant, are you, Ana?" she whispers in horror.

"No."

"No no no, nothing like that." Disappointment slices through my heart, and I'm saddened that she would think that of me. But then I remember with an ever-sinking feeling that she was pregnant with me when she married my father.

"Mom, can't you just be happy for me? I love him."

"Have you set a date?"

"He only held you once, and he was so proud. He thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world." Her voice is a deathly hush as the familiar tale is retold… again. She will be in tears next.

In Georgia he wanted me to be his submissive, but I won't tell her that.

Carla is stunned into silence.

"I'm sorry, darling. This is just so sudden. I mean, Christian is quite a catch, but you're so young, and you should see a little of the world."

"I wish your father was alive," she whispers. Oh no… not this. Not this, now.

"I know, Mom. I would have liked to know him, too."

He kisses me once more.

"Ana, darling, I love you so much. I am happy for you. And you must both visit."

"Oh, that's sweet. Good." She sounds melancholic, but she's making an effort.

"I don't know yet. As soon as I do, I'll call."

"Yes, it was," I murmur.

"I'm a silly old woman," she murmurs and she sniffs again. "Of course I am happy for you, darling. Does Ray know?" she adds, and she seems to have recovered her equilibrium.

"I know, Mom."

"Yes, Mom. I love you, too."

"Christian's just asked him."

Big wedding, crap. I haven't even thought about that. Big wedding? No. I don't want a big wedding.

"And then he died." She sniffs, and I know this has set her off as it does every time.

"Good. You take care now and be safe. You two need to have some fun… plenty of time for kids later."

"Bob is calling me, I have to go. Let me have a date. We need to plan… are you having a big wedding?"

Kids! Hmm… and there it is again -- a not-so-veiled reference to the fact that she had me so early.

"Mom," I whisper, wanting to reach down the phone and hold her.

Oh, come on. "Christian, they're just legs."

"You going to put some jeans on or something?"

"Love you, darling."

"Me, too, Mom. Good-bye."

"What?"

"I'm just heading to the store to pick up some ingredients."

"Okay." He frowns at me.

"Mom, I didn't really ruin your life, did I?"

She gasps. "Oh no, Ana, never think that. You were the best thing that ever happened to your father and me. I just wish he was here to see you so grown-up and getting married." She's wistful and maudlin again.

Christian's kitchen is a dream to work in. For a man who knows nothing about cooking, he seems to have everything. I suspect Mrs. Jones loves to cook, too. The only thing I need is some high-quality chocolate for the frosting. I leave the two halves of the cake on a cooling rack, grab my purse, and pop my head around Christian's study door. He's concentrating on his computer screen. He looks up and smiles at me.

"I wish that, too." I shake my head, thinking about my mythical father. "Mom, I'll let you go. I'll call soon."

"What if we were at the beach?" I take a different tack.

"We're not at the beach."

He gazes at me, not amused. This is going to be a fight. And it's his birthday. I roll my eyes at him, feeling like an errant teenager.

"Would you object if we were at the beach?"

I roll my eyes again and smirk at him. "Well, just imagine we are. Laters." I turn and bolt for the foyer. I make it to the elevator before he catches up with me. As the doors close, I wave at him, grinning sweetly as he watches, helpless -- but fortunately amused -- with narrowed eyes. He shakes his head in exasperation, then I can see him no more.

Oh, that was exciting. Adrenaline is pounding through my veins, and my heart feels like it wants to exit my chest. But as the elevator descends, so do my spirits. Shit, what have I done?

He considers this for a moment. "No," he says simply.

I have a tiger by the tail. He's going to be mad when I get back. My subconscious is glaring at me over her half-moon glasses, a willow switch in her hand. Shit. I think about what little experience I have with men. I've never lived with a man before -- well, except Ray -- and for some reason he doesn't count. He's my dad… well, the man I consider my dad.

This skirt isn't that short, is it? I check in the large mirror in the lobby. Damn. Yes, it is quite short, but I've made a stand now. And no doubt I'll have to face the consequences. I wonder idly what he'll do, but first I need cash.

I stare at my receipt from the ATM: $51,689.16. That's $50,000 too much! Anastasia, you're going to have to learn to be rich, too, if you say yes. And so it begins. I take my paltry fifty dollars and make my way to the store

And now I have Christian. He's never really lived with anyone, I think. I'll have to ask him -- if he's still talking to me.

But I feel strongly that I should wear what I like. I remember his rules. Yes, this must be hard for him, but he sure as hell paid for this dress. He should have given Neimans better instructions: nothing too short!

I head straight to the kitchen when I arrive back, and I can't help feeling a frisson of alarm. Christian is still in his study. Jeez, that's most of the afternoon. I decide my best option is to face him and see how much damage I've done. I peek cautiously around his study door. He's on the phone, staring out the window.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." I curl up in his lap, inhaling his heavenly Christian smell, feeling safe regardless of the fact that he's mad.

"I'm back. Are you mad at me?"

He sighs, reaches out for my hand, and pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. He buries his nose in my hair. "Yes," he says.

"And the Eurocopter specialist is due Monday afternoon?… Good. Just keep me informed. Tell them that I'll need their initial findings either Monday evening or Tuesday morning." He hangs up and swivels his chair around, but stills when he sees me, his expression impassive.

"Me, neither. Wear what you like," he murmurs. He runs his hand up my bare leg to my thigh. "Besides, this dress has its advantages." He bends to kiss me, and as our lips touch, passion or lust or a deep-seated need to make amends lances through me and desire flares in my blood. I seize his head in my hands, thrusting my fingers in his hair. He groans as his body responds, and he hungrily nips at my lower lip -- my throat, my ear, his tongue invading my mouth, and before I'm even aware of it he's unzipping his pants, pulling me astride his lap, and sinking into me. I grasp the back of the chair, my feet just touching the ground… and we start to move.

"Hi," I whisper. He says nothing, and my heart free-falls into my stomach. Gingerly I walk into his study and around his desk to where he's sitting. He still says nothing, his eyes never leaving mine. I stand in front of him, feeling fifty shades of foolish.

"I was. It's not like you not to respond."

I smile shyly down at him, feeling a little self-conscious, and he mirrors my expression. Jeez, are we really so different? Perhaps it's his early memories of baking. Leaning down, I plant a swift kiss on the corner of his mouth and make my way back to the kitchen.

I am all prepared when I hear him come out of his study, and I light the solitary gold candle on his cake. He gives me an earsplitting grin as he saunters toward me, and I softly sing "Happy Birthday" to him. Then he leans over and blows it out, closing his eyes.

"You sounded worried."

"I'll be done in about half an hour. I heard your message on my voice mail."

"Looking forward to it. It smelled delicious, evocative even, while it was baking."

"And I like yours." I giggle, snuggling against his chest. "Have you finished?"

"I like your version of sorry," he breathes into my hair.

He kisses my hair.

"No! Your work."

"From yesterday."

"Your cake should be ready in half an hour." I smile at him and climb off his lap.

I hug him tightly.

"Christ, Ana, you want more?"

"I can't wait to taste it, Anastasia," he murmurs, and he makes that sound so sexy. I cut us each a slice, and we dig in with small pastry forks.

"The frosting is still soft. I hope you like it."

"I've made my wish," he says as he opens them again, and for some reason his look makes me flush.

And I laugh with relief… he likes it.

"Mmm," he groans in appreciation. "This is why I want to marry you."

"Yes. Are you going to tell them?"

"Ready to face my family?" Christian switches the R8 ignition off. We're parked in his parents' driveway.

"Of course. I'm looking forward to seeing their reactions." He smiles wickedly at me and climbs out of the car.

It is seven thirty, and though it's been a warm day, there's a cool evening breeze blowing off the bay. I pull my wrap around me as I step out of the car. I'm wearing an emerald green cocktail dress I found this morning while I was rummaging through the closet. It has a wide matching belt. Christian takes my hand, and we head to the front door. Carrick opens it wide before he can knock.

"Christian, hello. Happy birthday, son." He takes Christian's proffered hand but pulls him into a brief hug, surprising him.

"Ana, how lovely to see you again." He hugs me, too, and we follow him into the house.

Before we can set foot in the living room, Kate comes barreling down the hallway toward the two of us. She looks furious.

"Er… thanks, Dad."

Oh no!

"What the fuck is this?" she hisses and waves a piece of paper at me. Completely at a loss, I take it from her and scan it quickly. My mouth dries. Holy shit. It's my e-mail response to Christian, discussing the contract.

"You two! I want to talk to you," she snarls in her you-better-not-fucking-mess-with-me voice. I glance nervously at Christian, who shrugs and decides to humor her as we follow her into the dining room, leaving Carrick bemused on the threshold of the living room. She shuts the door and turns on me.