I stare up through gaps in the sea-grass parasol at the bluest of skies, summer blue, Mediterranean blue, with a contented sigh. Christian is beside me, stretched out on a sun lounge. My husband -- my hot, beautiful husband, shirtless and in cut-off jeans -- is reading a book predicting the collapse of the Western banking system. By all accounts, it's a page-turner. I haven't seen him sit this still, ever. He looks more like a student than the hotshot CEO of one of the top privately owned companies in the United States.

On the final leg of our honeymoon, we laze in the afternoon sun on the beach of the aptly named Beach Plaza Monte Carlo in Monaco, although we're not actually staying in this hotel. I open my eyes and gaze out at the Fair Lady anchored in the harbor. We are staying, of course, on board a luxury motor yacht. Built in 1928, she floats majestically on the water, queen of all the yachts in the harbor. She looks like a child's wind-up toy. Christian loves her -- I suspect he's tempted to buy her. Honestly, boys and their toys.

"Is that a yes?" I hear his hopeful surprise.

He laughs and hugs me tightly, kissing the top of my head. "Vegas, tomorrow, it is then."

I sense his grin. "Miss Steele, are you incoherent?"

"Hmm."

"What do you want, Anastasia? Vegas? A big wedding with all the trimmings? Tell me."

"Hmm."

"Okay." He nods. "Where?"

"Can we marry tomorrow?" Christian murmurs softly in my ear. I am sprawled on his chest in the flowery bower in the boathouse, sated from our passionate lovemaking.

"A no?"

Sleepily I raise my head. "I don't think my parents would be very happy with that."

I grin. "Hmm."

He thrums his fingertips up and down my naked back, caressing me gently.

"Hmm."

"Not big… Just friends and family." I gaze up at him, moved by the quiet entreaty in his glowing gray eyes. What does he want?

Sitting back, I listen to the Christian Grey mix on my new iPod and doze in the late afternoon sun, idly remembering his proposal. Oh, his dreamy proposal in the boathouse… I can almost smell the scent of the meadow flowers…

"Okay, here. I'm sure my mom and dad would prefer that."

"Your folks' place? Would they mind?"

He snorts. "My mother would be in seventh heaven."

He strokes my hair. Could I be any happier?

I shrug.

"Hmm." Christian's smile dips. "She can have a month, that's it. I want you too much to wait any longer."

"Thank you for your altruism, Mr. Grey."

"You'll burn," Christian whispers in my ear, startling me from my doze.

"Could we do it here?" he asks tentatively.

"Out of the Mediterranean sun, Mrs. Grey."

"Surely you should ask your mother."

"So, we've established where, now the when."

"Only for you." I give him my sweetest smile. The late afternoon sun has shifted, and I am under its full glare. He smirks and in one swift move pulls my sun lounge into the shade of the parasol.

"My pleasure, Mrs. Grey, and I'm not being altruistic at all. If you burn, I won't be able to touch you." He raises an eyebrow, his eyes shining with mirth, and my heart expands. "But I suspect you know that and you're laughing at me."

"Christian, you have me. You've had me for a while. But okay -- a month it is." I kiss his chest, a soft chaste kiss, and smile up at him.

"Mrs. Grey, it's a dirty job… but that's an offer I can't refuse. Sit up," he orders, his voice husky. I do as I'm told, and with slow meticulous strokes from strong and supple fingers, he coats me in sunscreen.

"I was hoping you'd rub me down with more sunscreen." I pout against his lips.

"Modesty becomes you, Mrs. Grey. Turn over. I want to do your back."

"Yes, you would and you do. Often. It's one of the many things I love about you." He leans down and kisses me, playfully biting my lower lip.

"Would I?" I gasp, feigning innocence.

Smiling, I roll over, and he undoes the back strap of my hideously expensive bikini.

"You really are very lovely. I'm a lucky man," he murmurs as his fingers skim over my breasts, spreading the lotion.

"Displeased," he says without hesitation. "I'm not very happy about you wearing so little right now." He leans down and whispers in my ear. "Don't push your luck."

"Yes, you are, Mr. Grey." I gaze coyly up at him through my lashes.

"How would you feel if I went topless, like the other women on the beach?" I ask.

When he's finished, he slaps my behind.

I sigh and shake my head. Oh, Christian… my possessive, jealous, control freak Christian.

"You'll do, wench."

"Is that a challenge, Mr. Grey?"

His ever-present, ever-active BlackBerry buzzes. I frown and he smirks.

"No. It's a statement of fact, Mrs. Grey."

"My eyes only, Mrs. Grey." He raises his eyebrow in playful warning, slaps my backside once more, and sits back down on his lounger to take the call.

"Mam'selle? Un perrier pour moi, un Coca-Cola light pour ma femme, s'il vous plait. Et quelque chose a manger… laissez-moi voir la carte."

Hmm… Christian speaking fluent French wakes me. My eyelashes flutter in the glare of the sun, and I find Christian watching me while a liveried young woman walks away, her tray held aloft, her high blonde ponytail swinging provocatively.

My inner goddess purrs. Maybe tonight we could do some kind of floor show for his eyes only. She smirks knowingly, arching a brow. I grin at the thought and drift back into my afternoon siesta.

"I could watch you all day. Tired?"

"Me neither." He grins, puts down his BlackBerry, and stands. His shorts fall a little and hang… in that way so his swim trunks are visible beneath. Christian takes his shorts off, stepping out of his flip-flops. I lose my train of thought.

"Come for a swim with me." He holds out his hand while I look up at him, dazed. "Swim?" he says again, cocking his head to one side, an amused expression on his face. When I don't respond, he shakes his head slowly.

"Thirsty?" he asks.

I flush. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Yes," I mutter sleepily.

"Christian! Put me down!" I squeal.

Several sunbathers on the beach watch with that bemused disinterest so typical, I now realize, of the French, as Christian carries me to the sea, laughing, and wades in.

"I think you need a wake-up call." Suddenly he pounces and lifts me into his arms while I shriek, more from surprise than alarm.

I clasp my arms around his neck. "You wouldn't," I say breathlessly, trying to stifle my giggling.

He chuckles. "Only in the sea, baby."

"You're very distracting." Christian grazes his teeth along my lower lip. "But I'm not sure I want the good people of Monte Carlo to see my wife in the throes of passion."

"I know your game," he whispers and slowly sinks into the cool, clear water, taking me with him as his lips find mine once more. The chill of the Mediterranean is soon forgotten as I wrap myself around my husband.

He grins. "Oh, Ana, baby, have you learned nothing in the short time we've known each other?" He kisses me, and I seize my opportunity, running my fingers through his hair, grasping two handfuls and kissing him back while invading his mouth with my tongue. He inhales sharply and leans back, eyes smoky but wary.

I run my teeth along his jaw, his stubble tickly against my tongue, not caring a dime for the good people of Monte Carlo.

"I thought you wanted to swim," I murmur against his mouth.

"Ana," he groans. He wraps my ponytail around his wrist and tugs gently, tilting my head back, exposing my throat. He trails kisses from my ear down my neck.

Christian pulls away and gazes down at me, his eyes warm, wanting, and amused. "Mrs. Grey, you're insatiable and so brazen. What sort of monster have I created?"

"A monster fit for you. Would you have me any other way?"

"Shall I take you in the sea?" he breathes.

"Yes," I whisper.

What?

Sure enough, several sunbathers on the beach have abandoned their indifference and now regard us with interest. Suddenly, Christian grabs me around my waist and launches me into the air, letting me fall into the water and sink beneath the waves to the soft sand below. I surface, coughing, spluttering, and giggling.

"I'll take you any way I can get you, you know that. But not right now. Not with an audience." He jerks his head toward the shore.

"We have all night," he says, grinning like a fool. "Laters, baby." He dives beneath the sea and surfaces three feet away from me, then in a fluid, graceful crawl, swims away from the shore, away from me.

"Christian!" I scold, glaring at him. I thought we were going to make love in the sea… and chalk up yet another first. He bites his lower lip to stifle his amusement. I splash him, and he splashes me right back.

"You may kiss the bride," Reverend Walsh announces.

"Finally, you're mine," he whispers and pulls me into his arms and kisses me chastely on the lips.

Hmm… I lie down on my front and, fumbling with the straps, take my bikini top off and toss it casually onto Christian's sun lounge. There… see how brazen I can be, Mr. Grey. Put this in your pipe and smoke it. I shut my eyes and let the sun warm my skin… warm my bones, and I drift away under its heat, my thoughts turning to my wedding day.

I beam at my husband.

Gah! Playful, tantalizing Fifty! I shield my eyes from the sun as I watch him go. He's such a tease… what can I do to get him back? While I swim to the shore, I contemplate my options. At the lounges our drinks have arrived, and I take a quick sip of Diet Coke. Christian is a faint speck in the distance.

I am married. I am Mrs. Christian Grey. I am giddy with joy.

"You look beautiful, Ana," he murmurs and smiles, his eyes glowing with love… and something darker, something hot. "Don't let anyone take that dress off but me, understand?" His smile heats a hundred degrees as his fingertips trail down my cheek, igniting my blood.

I nod mutely. Jeez, I hope no one can hear us. Luckily Reverend Walsh has discreetly stepped back. I glance at the throng gathered in their wedding finery… My mom, Ray, Bob, and the Greys are all applauding -- even Kate, my maid of honor, who looks stunning in pale pink as she stands beside Christian's best man, his brother Elliot. Who knew that even Elliot could scrub up so well? All wear huge, beaming smiles -- except Grace, who weeps graciously into a dainty white handkerchief.

Holy crap… How does he do this, even here with all these people staring at us?

"Ready to party, Mrs. Grey?" Christian murmurs, giving me his shy smile. I melt. He looks divine in a simple black tux with silver waistcoat and tie. He's so… dashing.

"Ready as I'll ever be." I grin, a totally goofy smile on my face.

Later the wedding party is in full swing… Carrick and Grace have gone to town. They have the tent set up again and beautifully decorated in pale pink, silver, and ivory with its sides open, facing the bay. We have been blessed with fine weather, and the late afternoon sun shines over the water. There's a dance floor at one end of the tent, a lavish buffet at the other.

Kate is beside me, looking so beautiful in her long silk gown. She glances at me and frowns. "Hey, this is supposed to be the happiest day of your life," she scolds.

"Ana, it's obvious he adores you. I know you had an unconventional start to your relationship, but I can see how happy you've both been over the past month." She grasps my hands, squeezing them. "Besides, it's too late now," she adds with a grin.

"They're happy."

"Oh, Ana, what's wrong? Are you watching your mom and Ray?"

"Happier apart."

I nod sadly.

I giggle. Trust Kate to point out the obvious. She pulls me into a Katherine Kavanagh Special Hug. "Ana, you'll be fine. And if he hurts one hair on your head, he'll have me to answer to." Releasing me, she grins at whoever is behind me.

"You're having doubts?" Kate asks, alarmed.

"No, not at all. It's just… I love him so much." I freeze, unable or unwilling to articulate my fears.

"It is," I whisper.

Ray and my mother are dancing and laughing with each other. I feel bittersweet watching them together. I hope Christian and I last longer. I don't know what I'd do if he left me. Marry in haste, repent at leisure. The saying haunts me.

"Hi, baby." Christian puts his arms around me, surprising me, and kisses my temple. "Kate," he acknowledges. He's still cool toward her even after six weeks.

"Hello again, Christian. I'm off to find your best man, who happens to be my best man, too." With a smile to us both, she heads over to Elliot, who is drinking with her brother, Ethan, and our friend José.

"Can we leave our own wedding?"

"Baby, it's our party, and we can do whatever we want. We've cut the cake. And right now, I'd like to whisk you away and have you all to myself."

He smiles, his expression heating. "This beautiful dress becomes you."

"You deserve to be. You look stunning, Anastasia."

"Time to go," Christian murmurs.

"Already? This is the first party I've been to where I don't mind being the center of attention." I turn in his arms to face him.

"So do you."

He bends and kisses me. "Let's go. I don't want to share you with all these people anymore."

"This old thing?" I blush shyly and pull at the fine lace trim of the simple, fitted wedding dress designed for me by Kate's mother. I love that the lace is just off the shoulder -- demure, yet alluring, I hope.

Christian blinks at her in horror. "Come, Grandmother," he says, hurriedly taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor. He glances back at me, practically pouting, and rolls his eyes. "Laters, baby."

"Grandpa Trevelyan. And I think you can call me Grandma. Now, you two seriously need to get working on my great-grandkids. I won't last too much longer." She gives us both a simpering smile.

"Theo, Mrs. Trevelyan?"

"I won't ask you for another dance. I think I monopolized too much of your time on the dance floor as it is… I'm happy to see you happy, but I'm serious, Ana. I'll be here… If you need me."

"I'm very glad to hear that, Mrs. Grey."

"And you, beautiful Anastasia, go and make an old man happy -- dance with Theo."

I groan inwardly… Grace's mother has found us.

"Oh, there you two are! Such lovebirds."

"Christian, darling -- one more dance with your grandma?"

I giggle. "You have me for a lifetime, Mr. Grey."

As I walk toward Grandpa Trevelyan, José accosts me.

Christian purses his lips. "Of course, Grandmother."

"I have to change." I grasp his hand, meaning to pull him through the French windows and upstairs with me. He frowns, not understanding, and tugs gently on my hand, halting me.

"Correct." He gives me a lascivious grin. "But I'm not undressing you here. We wouldn't leave until… I don't know…" He waves his long-fingered hand, leaving his sentence unfinished but his meaning quite clear.

"Let's go," Christian urges.

"I mean it." His dark eyes shine with sincerity.

"José, thank you. You're a good friend."

He grins. "Good luck with that, Annie. Good luck with everything."

"Christian's grandfather," I clarify.

"I know you do. Thank you, José. Now if you'll please excuse me -- I have a date with an old man."

After my dance with Christian's ever-charming grandfather, I stand by the French doors, watching the sun sink slowly over Seattle, casting bright orange and aquamarine shadows across the bay.

He furrows his brow in confusion.

"I thought you wanted to be the one to take this dress off," I explain. His eyes light up.

"Thanks, José."

"You didn't promise to obey," she reminds me tactfully. Kate tries to disguise her snort as a cough. I narrow my eyes at her. Neither she nor my mother have any idea of the fight Christian and I had about that. I don't want to rehash that argument. Jeez, can my Fifty Shades sulk… and have nightmares. The memory is sobering.

"Okay." What has he got planned? He hasn't told me where we're going. In fact, I don't think anyone knows where we're going. Neither Mia nor Kate has managed to inveigle the information out of him. I turn to where my mother and Kate are hovering nearby.

"Christian doesn't want me to." I shrug as if this should explain everything. Her brow furrows briefly.

I flush and let go of his hand.

"I'm not changing."

"No buts, Anastasia. You look beautiful. And I want to be the one to undress you."

"What?" my mother says.

"Pack your going-away clothes," he orders. "You'll need them. Taylor has your main suitcase."

"But --"

"And don't take your hair down either," he murmurs darkly.

Oh. I frown.

Oh, Mom!

"You look so lovely, darling." Carla gently tugs at a loose tendril of my hair and strokes my chin. "I am so proud of you, honey. You're going to make Christian a very happy man." She pulls me into a hug.

"I can't believe how grown-up you look right now. Beginning a new life… Just remember that men are from a different planet, and you'll be fine."

I giggle. Christian is from a different universe, if only she knew.

"And you watched her and helped her grow up, Ray." Carla's voice is wistful.

Ray joins us, smiling sweetly at both Mom and me.

"Thanks, Mom."

"You made a beautiful baby girl, Carla," he says, his eyes glowing with pride. He looks so dapper in his black tux and pale pink waistcoat. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Oh no… so far I have managed not to cry.

"I know, Mom, but he likes this dress, and I want to please him."

Her expression softens. Kate rolls her eyes and tactfully moves away to leave us alone.

"And I loved every single minute. You make one hell of a bride, Annie." Ray tucks the same loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"You'll make one hell of a wife, too," he whispers, his voice hoarse.

"Oh, Dad…" I stifle a sob, and he hugs me in his brief, awkward way.

When he releases me, Christian is back at my side.

Ray shakes his hand warmly. "Look after my girl, Christian."

The rest of the wedding guests have formed a long human arch for us to travel through, leading around to the front of the house.

Taking my hand, he leads me under their outstretched arms while our guests shout good luck and congratulations and shower us with rice. Waiting with smiles and hugs at the end of the arch are Grace and Carrick. They hug and kiss us both in turn. Grace is emotional again as we bid them hasty good-byes.

"I fully intend to, Ray. Carla." He nods at my stepdad and kisses my mom.

"Ready?" Christian says.

"Yes."

Taylor is waiting to whisk us away in the Audi SUV. As Christian holds the car door open for me, I turn and toss my bouquet of white and pink roses into the crowd of young women that has gathered. Mia triumphantly holds it aloft, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, I hope so, Anastasia." Christian grins.

"So far so wonderful, Mr. Grey. Where are we going?"

Taylor does not head for the departure terminal as I expect but through a security gate and directly onto the tarmac. What? And then I see her -- Christian's jet… Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. in large blue lettering across her fuselage.

Taylor halts the Audi at the foot of the steps leading up to the plane and leaps out to open Christian's door. They have a brief discussion, then Christian opens my door -- and rather than stepping back to give me room to climb out, he leans in and lifts me.

Hmm… what is he planning?

"Sea-Tac," he says simply and smiles a sphinxlike smile.

Taylor holds the car door open for him. "Congratulations, sir."

"So far so good, Mrs. Grey?"

As I slide into the SUV, laughing at Mia's audacious catch, Christian bends to gather the hem of my dress. Once I'm safely in, he bids the waiting crowd farewell.

"Thank you, Taylor," Christian replies as he seats himself beside me.

As Taylor pulls away, our wedding guests shower the vehicle with rice. Christian grasps my hand and kisses my knuckles.

"Don't tell me you're misusing company property again!"

She blushes as Christian introduces her and blinks rapidly. I want to roll my eyes. Another female completely captivated by my too-handsome-for-his-own-good husband.

"Oh." Isn't that supposed to be at home?

Christian puts me down and shakes Stephan's hand. Beside Stephan stands a dark-haired woman in her -- what? Early thirties? She's also in uniform.

"Congratulations to you both," Stephan continues.

"Welcome aboard, sir. Mrs. Grey." He grins.

"All preparations complete?" Christian asks them both as I glance around the cabin. The interior is all pale maple and pale cream leather. It's lovely. Another young woman in uniform stands at the other end of the cabin -- a very pretty brunette.

"Carrying you over the threshold," he says.

He carries me effortlessly up the steps, and Taylor follows with my small suitcase. He leaves it on the threshold of the plane before returning to the Audi. Inside the cabin, I recognize Stephan, Christian's pilot, in his uniform.

"Delighted to meet you," gushes Beighley. I smile kindly at her. After all -- he is mine.

Whoa! "What are you doing?" I squeak.

"Thank you, Stephan. Anastasia, you know Stephan. He's our captain today, and this is First Officer Beighley."

"We'll get underway, sir," Stephan says. "We'll leave you in the capable care of Natalia, your flight attendant." Christian glances in her direction and frowns, but turns to Stephan with a smile.

"I see. Well, I hope to sleep through it all," says Christian matter-of-factly.

Sleep?

"Welcome aboard, sir, ma'am, and congratulations." Natalia is at our side, offering us each a glass of pink champagne.

"Not before Boston. There's a weather front over Shannon that might give us a rough ride."

Shannon? Ireland?

Boston?

"Thank you," Christian says, and she smiles politely at us and retreats to the galley.

"We have the all clear. Weather is good from here to Boston."

"Here's to a happy married life, Anastasia." Christian raises his glass to mine, and we clink. The champagne is delicious.

"Turbulence?"

"Excellent," he says. Taking my hand, he leads me to one of the sumptuous leather seats. There must be about twelve of them in total.

"Sit," he says as he removes his jacket and undoes his fine sliver brocade vest. We sit in two single seats facing each other with a small, highly polished table between us.

I gasp. Holy cow. I thought maybe we'd be going to New York or Aspen or maybe the Caribbean. I can hardly believe it. My lifetime ambition has been to visit England. I'm lit up from within, incandescent with happiness.

"I know you've always dreamed of going to Europe," he says softly. "I want to make your dreams come true, Anastasia."

"Then the South of France."

"Christian!"

"In Ireland?" We're going to Ireland!

"London," he says, gazing intently at me, trying to gauge my reaction.

Oh my…

What?

"Then Paris."

Whoa!

"Then?" I prompt.

I grin and do as I'm told.

"To refuel," he adds, teasing.

"Bollinger?" I ask.

"Shannon," Christian says, his eyes alight with excitement. He looks like a small boy.

"Buckle up."

"The first time I drank this it was out of teacups." I grin.

"I remember that day well. Your graduation."

"Back at you, Mrs. Grey," he whispers.

"You are my dreams come true, Christian."

"The same."

"Where are we going?" I'm unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

His grin broadens and he shakes his head.

He shakes his head and runs his finger across his bottom lip as he looks questioningly at me, his expression dark and unreadable.

Once we're airborne, Natalia serves us yet more champagne and prepares our wedding feast. And what a feast it is -- smoked salmon, followed by roast partridge with a green bean salad and dauphinoise potatoes, all cooked and served by the ever-efficient Natalia.

"Dessert, Mr. Grey?" she asks.

Oh… here?

As the plane taxis out onto the runway, we sip our champagne, grinning inanely at each other. I can't believe it. At twenty-two years old, I'm finally leaving the United States and going to Europe -- to London of all places.

"No, thank you," I murmur, unable to break eye contact with him. His lips curl up in a small, secret smile, and Natalia retreats.

"Come," he says, rising from the table and offering me his hand. He leads me to the back of the cabin.

"Good," he murmurs. "I'd rather planned on having you for dessert."

"There's a bathroom here." He points to a small door, then leads me on down a short corridor and through a door at the end.

Christian turns and pulls me into his arms, gazing down at me.

Another first. I gape at him, my heart pounding… the mile high club. I've heard about this.

Jeez… a bedroom. The cabin is cream and maple and the small double bed is covered in gold and taupe cushions. It looks very comfortable.

"I thought we'd spend our wedding night at thirty-five thousand feet. It's something I've never done before."

"But first I have to get you out of this fabulous dress." His eyes glow with love and something darker, something I love… something that calls to my inner goddess. He takes my breath away.

"Turn around." His voice is low, authoritative, and sexy as hell. How can he infuse so much promise into those two words? Willingly I comply and his hands move to my hair. Gently he pulls out each hairpin one at a time, his expert fingers making short work of the task. My hair falls in swaths over my shoulders, one lock at a time, covering my back and down to my breasts. I try to stand still and not squirm, but I'm aching for his touch. After our long, tiring but exciting day, I want him -- all of him.

I groan.

"You have such beautiful hair, Ana." His mouth is close to my ear and I feel his breath, though his lips don't touch me. When my hair is free of pins, he runs his fingers through it, gently massaging my scalp… oh my… I close my eyes and savor the sensation. His fingers travel on down, and he tugs, tilting my head back to expose my throat.

"You're mine," he breathes, and his teeth tug my ear lobe.

"So beautiful," he says as he deftly undoes the first button. "You have made me the happiest man alive today." With infinite slowness, he unfastens each button, all the way down my back. "I love you so much." Trailing kisses from the nape of my neck to the edge of my shoulder. Between each kiss he murmurs, "I. Want. You. So. Much. I. Want. To. Be. Inside. You. You. Are. Mine."

"Hush now," he admonishes. He sweeps my hair over my shoulder and trails a finger across the top of my back from shoulder to shoulder, following the lace edge of my dress. I shiver in anticipation. He plants a tender kiss on my back above the first button on my dress.

"Mine," he whispers once more. He peels my dress down my arms so that it pools at my feet in a cloud of ivory silk and lace.

I'm dressed in a tight, blush-pink satin corset with garter straps, matching lacy briefs, and white silk stockings. Christian's eyes travel greedily down my body, but he says nothing. He just gazes at me, his eyes wide with want.

Each word is intoxicating. I close my eyes and tilt my head, giving him easier access to my neck, and I fall further under the spell that is Christian Grey, my husband.

"Turn around," he whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse. I do so and he gasps.

"You like?" I whisper, aware of the shy blush creeping across my cheeks.

"Keep still," he murmurs, and without taking his darkening eyes off mine, he runs his middle finger over my breasts, following the line of my corset. My breath shallows, and he repeats the journey over my breasts once more, his tantalizing finger sending tingles down my spine. He stops and twirls his index finger in the air, indicating that he wants me to turn around.

"More than like, baby. You look sensational. Here." He holds out his hand and, taking it, I step out of my dress.

"Yours," I breathe.

Leaving my breasts bereft he runs his hands down my stomach, over my belly, and down to my thighs, his thumbs skimming my sex. I stifle a moan. His fingers skate down each garter, and with his usual dexterity, he simultaneously unhooks each one from my stockings. His hands travel around to my behind.

"Ah."

"Mine," he whispers.

"Stop," he says. I'm facing the bed, away from him. His arm encircles my waist, pulling me against him, and he nuzzles my neck. Gently he cups my breasts, toying with them, while his thumbs circle over my nipples so that they strain against the fabric of my corset.

For him, right now, I'd do anything.

In his thrall, I do as I'm told, and he kneels at my feet and gently tugs off each of my white bridal Jimmy Choos. He grasps the top of my left stocking and slowly peels it off, running his thumbs down my leg… He repeats the process with my other stocking.

"Mine," he breathes as his hands spread across my backside, the tips of his fingers brushing my sex.

Leaning down, he pulls back the cover on the bed. "Sit down."

"Hush." His hands travel down the backs of my thighs, and once more he unclips my garters.

"This is like unwrapping my Christmas presents." He smiles up at me through his long dark lashes.

"Let me, please." My voice is soft and cajoling. I want to undress my husband, my Fifty.

He frowns in admonishment. "Oh no, baby. This time it's really mine."

"A present you've had already…"

He sits back on his heels, and leaning forward I grasp his tie -- his silver-gray tie, my favorite tie -- and slowly undo it and pull it free. He raises his chin to let me tackle the top button of his white shirt; then once it's undone, I move on to his cuffs. He's wearing platinum cuff links -- engraved with an entwined A and C -- my wedding present to him. When I've removed them, he takes the cuff links from me and fists them in his hand. Then he kisses his fist and shoves them into his pants pocket.

"Christian, I've been yours since I said yes." I scoot forward, cupping his beloved face in my hands. "I'm yours. I will always be yours, husband of mine. Now, I think you're wearing too many clothes." I bend to kiss him, and suddenly he leans up, kisses my lips, and grasps my head with his hands, his fingers threading into my hair.

"Ana," he breathes. "My Ana." His lips claim mine once more, his tongue invasively persuasive.

"Clothes," I whisper, our breath mingling as I push back his vest and he struggles out of it, releasing me for a moment. He pauses, gazing at me, eyes wide, eyes wanting.

"Mr. Grey, so romantic."

"For you Mrs. Grey -- hearts and flowers. Always."

"Ana," he whispers, and my name is a prayer.

I take his hand and, glancing up through my lashes, kiss his plain platinum wedding ring. He groans and closes his eyes.

Reaching up to his second shirt button and mirroring him from earlier, I plant a soft kiss on his chest as I undo each of them and whisper between each kiss, "You. Make. Me. So. Happy. I. Love. You."

He groans, and in one swift move, he clasps me around the waist and lifts me onto the bed, following me down on it. His lips find mine, his hands curling around my head, holding me, stilling me as our tongues glory in each other. Abruptly Christian kneels up, leaving me breathless and wanting more.

"You are so beautiful… wife." He runs his hands down my legs, then grasps my left foot. "You have such lovely legs. I want to kiss every inch of them. Starting here." He presses his lips against my big toe and then grazes the pad with his teeth. Everything south of my waistline convulses. His tongue glides up my instep and his teeth skim my heel and up to my ankle. He trails kisses up the inside of my calf; soft wet kisses. I wriggle beneath him.

"Please…"

"I want you naked," he murmurs and slowly unhooks my corset, one hook at a time. When it's flat on the bed beneath me, he runs his tongue up the length of my spine.

"Still, Mrs. Grey," he warns, and suddenly he flips me onto my stomach and continues his leisurely journey with his mouth up the backs of my legs, to my thighs, my behind, and then he stops. I groan.

"Mine," he mouths.

"You."

"Christian, please."

"What do you want, Mrs. Grey?" His words are soft and close to my ear. He's almost lying on top of me… I can feel him hard against my behind.

"Please," I beg and he grins… a salacious, wicked, tempting, all-Fifty grin.

"And I you, my love, my life…," he whispers, and before I know it, he's flipped me onto my back. He stands swiftly and in one efficient move dispenses with his pants and boxer briefs so that he's gloriously naked and looming large and ready over me. The small cabin is eclipsed by his dazzling beauty and his want and need of me. He leans down and peels off my panties, then gazes at me.

"Christian." I moan.

"Ah… wife of mine," he murmurs, and then his mouth is on me. I close my eyes and surrender to his oh-so-adroit tongue. My hands fist in his hair as my hips swing and sway, slave to his rhythm, then buck off the small bed. He grabs my hips to still me… but doesn't stop the delicious torture. I'm close, so close.

He crawls back onto the bed and trails kisses up my right leg this time… until he reaches the apex of my thighs. He pushes my legs wider apart.

"Not yet," he breathes, and he moves up my body, his tongue dipping into my navel.

"So impatient, Mrs. Grey. We have until we touch down on the Emerald Isle." Reverentially he kisses my breasts and tugs my left nipple between his lips. Gazing up at me, his eyes are dark like a tropical storm as he teases me.

He looms up over me, his body covering mine, resting his weight on his elbows. He runs his nose down mine, and I run my hands down his strong, supple back to his fine, fine backside.

"No!" Damn! I sense his smile against my belly as his journey continues north.

"Husband, I want you. Please."

Oh my… I'd forgotten. Europe.

"Mrs. Grey… wife. We aim to please." His lips brush. "I love you."

"Eyes open. I want to see you."

"I love you, too."

"Christian… ah…," I cry, as he slowly sinks into me.

"Ana, oh Ana," he breathes, and he starts to move.

What have I done? Oh no… I'm lying on my back… Crap, crap, crap, and he's mad. Shit. He's really mad.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Christian shouts, waking me from my very pleasant dream. He's standing all wet and beautiful at the end of my sun lounge and glaring down at me.