Текст книги "Fifty Shades of Grey"

Miss Steele

Always start with Wikipedia.

No more emails unless you have questions. Understood?

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Bossy!

Date:May 23 2011 18:04

To:Christian Grey

Yes… Sir.

You are so bossy.

Ana

From:Christian Grey

Subject:In Control

Date:May 23 2011 18:06

To:Anastasia Steele

Anastasia, you have no idea.

Well, maybe an inkling now.

Do the work.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

I type Submissive into Wikipedia.

Half an hour later, I feel slight queasy and frankly shocked to my core. Do I really want

this stuff in my head? Jeez – is this what he gets up to in the Red Room of Pain? I sit

staring at the screen, and part of me, a very moist and integral part of me – that I’ve only

become acquainted with very recently, is seriously turned on. Oh my, some of this stuff is

HOT. But is it for me? Holy shit… could I do this? I need space. I need to think.

For the first time in my life, I voluntarily go for a run. I find my nasty, never-used sneakers,

some sweat pants, and a t-shirt. I put my hair in pigtails, blushing at the memories they

bring back, and I plug in my iPod. I can’t sit in front of that marvel of technology and look

at or read any more disturbing material. I need to expend some of this excess, enervating,

energy. Quite frankly, I have a mind to run to the Heathman hotel and just demand sex

from the control freak. But that’s five miles, and I don’t think I’ll be able to run one mile,

let alone five, and of course, he might turn me down which would be beyond humiliating.

Kate is walking from her car as I head out of the door. She nearly drops her shopping

when she sees me. Ana Steele in sneakers. I wave and don’t stop for the inquisition. I

need some serious alone time. Snow Patrol blaring in my ears, I set off into the opal and

aquamarine dusk.

I pace through the park. What am I going to do?I want him, but on his terms? I just

don’t know. Perhaps I should negotiate what I want. Go through that ridiculous contract

line by line and say what is acceptable and what isn’t. My research has told me that legally

it’s unenforceable. He must know that. I figure that it just sets up the parameters of the

relationship. It illustrates what I can expect from him and what he expects from me – my

total submission. Am I prepared to give him that? Am I even capable?

I am plagued by one question – why is he like this? Is it because he was seduced at such

a young age? I just don’t know. He’s still such a mystery.

I stop beside a large spruce and put my hands on my knees, breathing hard, dragging

precious air into my lungs. Oh, this feels good, cathartic. I can feel my resolve hardening.

Yes. I need to tell him what’s okay and what isn’t. I need to email him my thoughts, and

then we can discuss these on Wednesday. I take a deep cleansing breath, then jog back to

the apartment.

Kate has been shopping, as only she can, for clothes for her holiday to Barbados.

Mainly bikinis and matching sarongs. She will look fabulous in all of them, yet she still

makes me sit and comment while she tries on each and every one. There are only so many

ways one can say – you look fabulous Kate.She has a curvy, slim figure to die for. She

doesn’t do it on purpose, I know, but I haul my sorry, perspiration clad, old t-shirt, sweat

pants, and sneakers ass into my room on the pretext of packing more boxes. Could I feel

any more inadequate? Taking the awesome free technology with me, I set the laptop up on

my desk. I email Christian.

__________________________________________________________________

From:Anastasia Steele

Subject:Shocked of WSUV

Date:May 23 2011 20:33

To:Christian Grey

Okay, I’ve seen enough.

It was nice knowing you.

Ana

I press send, hugging myself, laughing at my little joke. Will he find it as funny? Oh shit

– probably not. Christian Grey is not famed for his sense of humor. But I know it exists,

I’ve experienced it. Perhaps I’ve gone too far. I wait for his answer.

I wait… and wait. I glance at my alarm clock. Ten minutes have passed.

To distract myself from the anxiety that blooms in my belly, I start doing what I told

Kate I would be doing – packing up my room. I begin by cramming my books into a crate.

By nine, I’ve heard nothing. Perhaps he’s out.I pout petulantly as I plug my iPod ear buds

in, listen to Snow Patrol, and sit down at my small desk to re-read the contract and make

my comments.

I don’t know why I glance up, maybe I catch a slight movement from the corner of my

eye, I don’t know, but when I do, he’s standing in the doorway of my bedroom watching

me intently. He’s wearing his grey flannel pants and a white linen shirt, gently twirling his

car keys. I pull my ear buds out and freeze . Fuck!

“Good evening, Anastasia.” His voice is cool, his expression completely guarded and

unreadable. The capacity to speak deserts me. Damn Kate for letting him in here with no

warning. Vaguely, I’m aware that I’m still in my sweats, un-showered, yucky, and he’s just

gloriously yummy, his pants doing that hanging from the hips thing, and what’s more, he’s

here in my bedroom.

“I felt that your email warranted a reply in person,” he explains dryly.

I open my mouth and then close it again, twice. The joke is on me. Never in this or any

alternative universe did I expect him to drop everything and turn up here.

“May I sit?” he asks, his eyes now dancing with humor – thank heavens – maybe he’ll

see the funny side?

I nod. The power of speech remains elusive. Christian Grey is sitting on my bed.

“I wondered what your bedroom would look like,” he says.

I glance around it, plotting an escape route, no – there’s still only the door or window.

My room is functional but cozy – sparse white wicker furniture and a white iron double bed

with a patchwork quilt, made by my mother when she was in her folksy American quilting

phase. It’s all pale blue and cream.

“It’s very serene and peaceful in here,” he murmurs. Not at the moment… not with you

here.Finally, my medulla oblongata recalls its purpose, I breathe.

“How… ?”

He smiles at me.

“I’m still at the Heathman.”

I know that.

“Would you like a drink?” Politeness wins out over everything else I’d like to say.

“No, thank you, Anastasia.” He smiles a dazzling, crooked smile, his head cocked

slightly to one side.

Well, I might need one.

“So, it was niceknowing me?”

Holy cow, is he offended?I stare down at my fingers. How am I going to dig myself

out of this? If I tell him it was a joke, I don’t think he’ll be impressed.

“I thought you’d reply by email.” My voice is small, pathetic.

“Are you biting your lower lip deliberately?” he asks darkly.

I blink up at him, gasping, freeing my lip.

“I wasn’t aware I was biting my lip,” I murmur softly.

My heart is pounding. I can feel that pull, that delicious electricity between us charg-

ing, filling the space between us with static. He’s sitting so close to me, his eyes dark

smoky gray, his elbows resting on his knees, his legs apart. Leaning forward, he slowly

undoes one of my pigtails, his fingers freeing my hair. My breathing is shallow, and I can-

not move. I watch hypnotized as his hand moves to my second pigtail, and pulling the hair

tie, he loosens the braid with his long, skilled fingers.

“So you decided on some exercise,” he breathes, his voice soft and melodious. His

fingers gently tuck my hair behind my ear. “Why, Anastasia?” His fingers circle my ear,

and very softly, he tugs my earlobe, rhythmically. It’s so sexual.

“I needed time to think,” I whisper. I’m all rabbit/headlights, moth/flame, bird/snake…

and he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

“Think about what, Anastasia?”

“You.”

“And you decided that it was nice knowing me? Do you mean knowing me in the

biblical sense?”

Oh shit. I flush.

“I didn’t think you were familiar with the Bible.”

“I went to Sunday School, Anastasia. It taught me a great deal.”

“I don’t remember reading about nipple clamps in the Bible. Perhaps you were taught

from a modern translation.”

His lips arch with a trace of a smile, and my eyes are drawn to his beautiful sculptured

mouth.

“Well, I thought I should come and remind you how niceit was knowing me.”

Holy crap. I stare at him open mouthed, and his fingers move from my ear to my chin.

“What do you say to that, Miss Steele?”

His gray eyes blaze at me, his challenge intrinsic in his stare. His lips are parted – he’s

waiting, coiled to strike. Desire – acute, liquid and smoldering, combusts deep in my belly.

I take pre-emptive action and launch myself at him. Somehow he moves, I have no idea

how, and in the blink of an eye I’m on the bed pinned beneath him, my arms stretched out

and held above my head, his free hand clutching my face, and his mouth finds mine.

His tongue is in my mouth, claiming and possessing me, and I revel in the force he

uses. I feel him against the length of my body. He wants me, and this does strange, deli-

cious things to my insides. Not Kate in her little bikinis, not one of the fifteen, not evil

Mrs. Robinson. Me. This beautiful man wants me. My inner goddess glows so bright

she could light up Portland. He stops kissing me, and opening my eyes, I find him gazing

down at me.

“Trust me?” he breathes.

I nod, wide-eyed, my heart bouncing off my ribs, my blood thundering around my

body.He reaches down, and from his pants pocket, he takes out his silver grey silk tie… that

silver grey woven tie that leaves small impressions of its weave on my skin. He moves so

quickly, sitting astride me as he fastens my wrists together, but this time, he ties the other

end of the tie to one of the spokes of my white iron headboard. He pulls at my binding

checking it’s secure. I’m not going anywhere. I’m tied, literally, to my bed, and I’m so

aroused.

He slides off me and stands beside the bed, staring down at me, his eyes dark with

want. His look is triumphant, mixed with relief.

“That’s better,” he murmurs and smiles a wicked, knowing smile. He bends and starts

undoing one of my sneakers. Oh no… no… my feet. No. I’ve just been running.

“No,” I protest, trying to kick him off.

He stops.

“If you struggle, I’ll tie your feet too. If you make a noise, Anastasia, I will gag you.

Keep quiet. Katherine is probably outside listening right now.”

Gag me! Kate!I shut up.

He removes my shoes and my socks efficiently and slowly peels off my sweat pants.

Oh – what panties am I wearing?He lifts me and pulls the quilt and my duvet out from

underneath me and places me back down, this time on the sheets.

“Now then.” He licks his bottom lip slowly. “You’re biting that lip, Anastasia. You

know the effect it has on me.” He places his long index finger over my mouth, a warning.

Oh my.I can barely contain myself, lying helpless, watching him move gracefully

around my room, it’s a heady aphrodisiac. Slowly, almost leisurely, he removes his shoes

and socks, undoes his pants, and lifts his shirt off over his head.

“I think you’ve seen too much,” he chuckles slyly. He sits astride me again, pulls my

t-shirt up, and I think he’s going to take it off me, but he rolls it up to my neck and then

pulls it up over my head so he can see my mouth and my nose, but it covers my eyes. And

because it’s folded over – I cannot see a thing through it.

“Mmm,” he breathes appreciatively. “This just gets better and better. I’m going to get

a drink.”

Leaning down, he kisses me, his lips tender against mine, and his weight shifts off the

bed. I hear the quiet creak of the bedroom door. Get a drink. Where? Here? Portland?

Seattle?I strain to hear him. I can make out low rumblings, and I know he’s talking to

Kate – oh no… he’s practically naked.What’s she going to say? I hear a faint popping

sound. What’s that? He returns, the door creaking once more, his feet padding across the

bedroom floor, and ice tinkling against glass as it swirls in liquid. What kind of drink? He

shuts the door and shuffles around removing his pants. They drop to the floor, and I know

he’s naked. He sits astride me again.

“Are you thirsty, Anastasia?” he asks, his voice teasing

“Yes,” I breathe, because my mouth is suddenly parched. I hear the ice clink against

the glass, and he puts it down again and leans down and kisses me, pouring a delicious

crisp, liquid into my mouth as he does. It’s white wine. It’s so unexpected, hot, though it’s

chilled, and Christian’s lips are cool.

“More?” he whispers.

I nod. It tastes all the more divine because it’s been in hismouth. He leans down, and

I drink another mouthful from his lips… oh my.

“Let’s not go too far, we know your capacity for alcohol is limited, Anastasia.”

I can’t help it. I grin, and he leans down to deliver another delicious mouthful. He

shifts so he’s lying beside me, his erection at my hip. Oh, I want him inside me.

“Is this nice?” he asks, but I hear the edge in his voice.

I tense. He moves the glass again and leans down, kissing me and depositing a small

shard of ice in my mouth with a little wine. He slowly and leisurely trails chilled kisses

down the center of my body, from the base of my throat, between my breasts, down my

torso, and to my belly. He pops a fragment of ice in my navel in a pool of cool, cold wine.

It burns all the way down to the depths of my belly. Wow.

“Now you have to keep still,” he whispers. “If you move, Anastasia, you’ll get wine

all over the bed.”

My hips flex automatically.

“Oh no. If you spill the wine, I will punish you, Miss Steele.”

I groan and desperately fight the urge to tilt my hips, pulling on my restraint. Oh no…

please.

With one finger, he pulls down my bra cups in turn, my breasts pushed up, exposed and

vulnerable. Leaning down, he kisses and tugs at each of my nipples in turn with cool, cold

lips. I fight my body as it tries to arch in response.

“How niceis this?” he breathes, blowing on one of my nipples.

I hear another clink of ice, and then I can feel it round my right nipple as he tugs the left

one with his lips. I moan, struggling not to move. It’s sweet, agonizing torture.

“If you spill the wine, I won’t let you come,”

“Oh… please… Christian… Sir… Please.” He’s driving me insane. I hearhim smile.

The ice in my navel is melting. I am beyond warm – warm and chilled and wanting.

Wanting him, inside me. Now.

His cool fingers trail languidly across my belly. My skin is oversensitive, my hips flex

automatically, and the now warmer liquid from my navel seeps over my belly. Christian

moves quickly, lapping it up with his tongue, kissing, biting me softly, sucking.

“Oh dear, Anastasia, you moved. What am I going to do to you?”

I’m panting loudly. All I can concentrate on is his voice and his touch. Nothing else

is real. Nothing else matters, nothing else registers on my radar. His fingers slip into my

panties, and I’m rewarded with his unguarded sharp intake of air.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs and he pushes two fingers inside me.

I gasp.

“Ready for me so soon,” he says. He moves his fingers tantalizingly slowly, in, out,

and I push against him, tilting my hips up.

“You are a greedy girl,” he scolds softly, and his thumb circles my clitoris and then

presses down.

I groan loudly as my body bucks beneath his expert fingers. He reaches up and pushes

the t-shirt over my head so I can see him as I blink in the soft light of my sidelight. I long

to touch him.

“I want to touch you,” I breathe.

“I know,” he murmurs. He leans down and kisses me, his fingers still moving rhythmi-

cally inside me, his thumb circling and pressing. His other hand scoops my hair off my

head and holds my head in place. His tongue mirrors the actions of his fingers, claim-

ing me. My legs begin to stiffen as I push against his hand. He gentles his hand, so I’m

brought back from the brink. He does this again and again. It’s so frustrating… Oh please

Christian,I scream in my head.

“This is your punishment, so close and yet so far. Is this nice?” he breathes in my ear.

I whimper, exhausted, pulling against my restraint. I’m helpless, lost in an erotic torment.

“Please,” I beg, and he finally takes pity on me.

“How shall I fuck you, Anastasia?”

Oh… my body starts to quiver. He stills again.

“Please.”

“What do you want, Anastasia?”

“You… now,” I cry.

“Shall I fuck you this way, or this way, or this way? There’s an endless choice,” he

breathes against my lips. He withdraws his hand and reaches over to the bedside table for a

foil packet. He kneels up between my legs, and very slowly he pulls my panties off, staring