Текст книги "Fifty Shades of Grey"
Автор книги: Erika Leonard James
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 28 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 11 страниц]
He repeats this motion again and again. It’s driving me insane – his teasing, deliberately
slow thrusts, and the intermittent feeling of fullness is overwhelming.
“You feel so good,” he groans, and my insides start to quiver. He pulls back and waits.
“Oh no, baby, not yet,” he murmurs, and as the quivering ceases, he starts the whole deli-
cious process again.
“Oh, please,” I beg. I’m not sure I can take much more. My body is wound so tight,
craving release.
“I want you sore, baby,” he murmurs, and he continues his sweet, leisurely torment,
backward, forward.
“Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only
me. You are mine.”
I groan.
“Please, Christian,” I whisper.
“What do you want, Anastasia? Tell me.”
I groan again. He pulls out and moves slowly back into me, circling his hips once
more.
“Tell me,” he murmurs.
“You, please.”
He increases the rhythm infinitesimally, and his breathing becomes more erratic. My
insides start quickening, and Christian picks up the rhythm.
“You. Are. So. Sweet,” he murmurs between each thrust. “I. Want. You. So. Much.”
I moan.
“You. Are. Mine. Come for me, baby,” he growls.
His words are my undoing, tipping me over the precipice. My body convulses around
him, and I come, loudly calling out a garbled version of his name into the mattress, and
Christian follows with two sharp thrusts, and he freezes, pouring himself into me as he
finds his release. He collapses on top of me, his face in my hair.
“Fuck. Ana,” he breathes. He pulls out of me immediately and rolls onto his side of
the bed. I pull my knees up to my chest, utterly spent, and immediately drift off or pass out
into an exhausted sleep.
When I wake, it’s still dark. I have no idea how long I’ve slept. I stretch out beneath the
duvet, and I feel sore, deliciously sore. Christian is nowhere to be seen. I sit up, staring
out at the cityscape in front of me. There are fewer lights on amongst the skyscrapers, and
there’s a whisper of dawn in the east. I hear the music. The lilting notes of the piano, a sad,
sweet lament. Bach, I think, but I’m not sure.
I wrap the duvet round me and quietly pad down the corridor toward the big room.
Christian is at the piano, completely lost in the music he’s playing. His expression is sad
and forlorn, like the music. His playing is stunning. Leaning against the wall at the en-
trance, I listen enraptured. He’s such an accomplished musician. He sits naked, his body
bathed in the warm light cast by a solitary freestanding lamp beside the piano. With the rest
of the large room in darkness, it’s like he’s in his own isolated little pool of light, untouch-
able… lonely, in a bubble.
I pad quietly toward him, enticed by the sublime, melancholy music. I’m mesmer-
ized watching his long skilled fingers as they find and gently press the keys, thinking how
those same fingers have expertly handled and caressed my body. I flush and gasp at the
memory and press my thighs together. He glances up, his unfathomable gray eyes bright,
his expression unreadable.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
A frown flits across his face.
“Surely, I should be saying that to you,” he murmurs. He finishes playing and puts his
hands on his legs.
I notice now that he’s wearing PJ pants. He runs his fingers through his hair and stands.
His pants hang from his hips, in that way… oh my.My mouth goes dry as he casually
strolls around the piano toward me. He has broad shoulders, narrow hips, and his abdomi-
nal muscles ripple as he walks. He really is stunning.
“You should be in bed,” he admonishes.
“That was a beautiful piece. Bach?”
“Transcription by Bach, but it’s originally an oboe concerto by Alessandro Marcello.”
“It was exquisite, but very sad, such a melancholy melody.”
His lips quirk up in a half smile.
“Bed,” he orders. “You’ll be exhausted in the morning.”
“I woke and you weren’t there.”
“I find it difficult to sleep, and I’m not used to sleeping with anyone,” he murmurs. I
can’t fathom his mood. He seems a little despondent, but it’s difficult to tell in the dark-
ness. Perhaps it was the tone of the piece he was playing. He puts his arm around me and
gently walks me back to the bedroom.
“How long have you been playing? You play beautifully.”
“Since I was six.”
“Oh.” Christian as a six-year-old boy… my mind conjures an image of a beautiful,
copper-haired little boy with gray eyes and my heart melts – a moppet-haired kid who likes
impossibly sad music.
“How are you feeling?” he asks when we are back in the room. He switches on a
sidelight.
“I’m good.”
We both glance down at the bed at the same time. There’s blood on the sheets – evi-
dence of my lost virginity. I flush, embarrassed, pulling the duvet tighter around me.
“Well, that’s going to give Mrs. Jones something to think about,” Christian mutters as
he stands in front of me. He puts his hand under my chin and tips my head back, staring
down at me. His eyes are intense as he examines my face. I realize that I’ve not seen his
naked chest before. Instinctively, I reach out to run my fingers through the smattering of
dark hair on his chest to see how it feels. Immediately, he steps back out of my reach.
“Get into bed,” he says sharply. “I’ll come and lie down with you.” His voice softens.
I drop my hand and frown. I don’t think I’ve ever touched his torso. He opens a chest of
drawers and pulls out a t-shirt and quickly slips it on.
“Bed,” he orders again. I climb back onto the bed, trying not to think about the blood.
He clambers in beside me and pulls me into his embrace, wrapping his arms around me so
that I’m facing away from him. He kisses my hair gently, and he inhales deeply.
“Sleep, sweet Anastasia,” he murmurs, and I close my eyes, but I can’t help feel a re-
sidual melancholy either from the music or his demeanor. Christian Grey has a sad side.
Light fills the room, coaxing me from deep sleep to wakefulness. I stretch out and open
my eyes. It’s a beautiful May morning, Seattle at my feet. Wow, what a view. Beside
me, Christian Grey is fast asleep. Wow, what a view. I’m surprised he’s still in bed. He’s
facing me, and I have an unprecedented opportunity to study him. His lovely face looks
younger, relaxed in sleep. His sculptured, pouty lips are parted slightly, and his shiny,
clean hair is a glorious mess. How could anyone look this good and still be legal? I re-
member his room upstairs… perhaps he’s not legal. I shake my head, so much to think
about. It’s tempting to reach out and touch him, but like a small child, he’s so lovely when
he’s asleep. I don’t have to worry about what I’m saying, what he’s saying, what plans he
has, especially his plans for me.
I could gaze at him all day, but I have needs – bathroom needs. Slipping out of bed, I
find his white shirt on the floor and shrug it on. I walk through a door thinking that it might
be the bathroom, but I’m in a vast walk-in closet as big as my bedroom. Lines and lines
of expensive suits, shirts, shoes, and ties. How can anyone need this many clothes? I tut
with disapproval. Actually, Kate’s wardrobe probably rivals this. Kate! Oh no.I didn’t
think about her all evening. I was supposed to text her. Crap. I’m going to be in trouble. I
wonder briefly how she’s getting on with Elliot.
Returning to the bedroom, Christian is still asleep. I try the other door. It’s the bath-
room, and it’s bigger than my bedroom. Why does one man need so much space? Two
sinks, I notice with irony. Given he doesn’t sleep with anyone, one of them can’t have
been used.
I stare at myself in the gigantic mirror above the sinks. Do I look different? I feel dif-
ferent. I feel a little sore, if I’m honest, and my muscles – jeez it’s like I’ve never done any
exercise in my life. You don’t do any exercise in your life,my subconscious has woken.
She’s staring at me with pursed lips, tapping her foot. So you’ve just slept with him, given
him your virginity, a man who doesn’t love you. In fact, he has very odd ideas about you,
wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.
ARE YOU CRAZY?She’s shouting at me.
I wince as I look in the mirror. I am going to have to process all this. Honestly, fancy
falling for a man who’s beyond beautiful, richer than Croesus, and has a Red Room of Pain
waiting for me. I shudder. I’m bewildered and confused. My hair is its usual wayward
self. Just-fucked hair doesn’t suit me. I try and bring order to the chaos with my fingers
but fail miserably and give up – maybe I’ll find hair ties in my purse.
I’m starving. I head back out to the bedroom. Sleeping beauty is still sleeping, so I
leave him and head for the kitchen.
Oh no… Kate.I left my purse in Christian’s study. I fetch it and reach for my cell
phone. Three texts.
*RU OK Ana*
*Where RU Ana*
*Damn it Ana*
I call Kate. When she doesn’t answer, I leave her a groveling message to tell her I am
alive and have not succumbed to Bluebeard, well not in the sense she would be worried
about – or perhaps I have.Oh this is so confusing. I have to try and categorize and analyze
my feelings for Christian Grey. It’s an impossible task. I shake my head in defeat. I need
alone time, away from here to think.
I find two welcome hair ties at the same time in my bag and quickly tie my hair in pig-
tails. Yes! The more girly I look, perhaps the safer I’ll be from Bluebeard. I take my iPod
out of the bag and plug my headphones in. There’s nothing like music to cook by. I slip it
into the breast pocket of Christian’s shirt, turn it up loud, and start dancing.
Holy hell, I’m hungry.
I am daunted by his kitchen. It’s so sleek and modern and none of the cupboards have
handles. It takes me a few seconds to deduce that I have to push the cupboard doors to
open them. Perhaps I should cook Christian breakfast. He was eating an omelet the other
day… um, yesterday at the Heathman. Jeez, so much has happened since then. I check
in the fridge, where there are plenty of eggs, and decide I want pancakes and bacon. I set
about making some batter, dancing my way round the kitchen.
Being busy is good. It allows a bit of time to think but not too deeply. Music blaring
in my ears also helps to stave off deep thought. I came here to spend the night in Christian
Grey’s bed, and managed it, even though he doesn’t let anyone in his bed. I smile, mission
accomplished. Big time. I grin. Big, big time, and I’m distracted by the memory of last
night. His words, his body, his lovemaking… I close my eyes as my body hums at the rec-
ollection, and my muscles contract deliciously deep in my belly. My subconscious scowls
at me… fucking– not lovemaking– she screams at me like a harpy .I ignore her, but deep down I know she has a point. I shake my head to concentrate on the task at hand.
There is a state-of-the-art range. I think I have the hang of it. I need somewhere to
keep the pancakes warm, and I start on the bacon. Amy Studt is singing in my ear about
misfits. This song used to mean so much to me, that’s because I’m a misfit. I have never
fitted in anywhere and now… I have an indecent proposal to consider from King Misfit
himself. Why is he this way? Nature or Nurture? It’s so alien to anything I know.
I put the bacon under the grill, and while it’s cooking, I whisk some eggs. I turn, and
Christian is sitting on one of the bar stools at the breakfast bar, leaning on it, his face sup-
ported by his steepled hands. He’s still wearing the t-shirt he’s slept in. Just-fucked hair re-
ally, really suits him, as does his designer stubble. He looks both amused and bewildered.
I freeze, flush, then gather myself and pull the headphones out of my ears, my knees weak
at the sight of him.
“Good morning, Miss Steele. You’re very energetic this morning,” he says dryly.
“I slept well,” I stutter my explanation. His lips try to mask his smile.
“I can’t imagine why.” He pauses and frowns. “So did I, after I came back to bed.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Very,” he says with an intense look, and I don’t think he’s referring to food.
“Pancakes, bacon, and eggs?”
“Sounds great.”
“I don’t know where you keep your placemats.” I shrug, trying desperately hard not to
look flustered.
“I’ll do that. You cook. Would you like me to put some music on so you can continue
your… err… dancing?”
I stare down at my fingers, knowing that I am turning puce.
“Please, don’t stop on my account. It’s very entertaining.” His tone is one of wry
amusement.
I purse my lips. Entertaining eh? My subconscious has doubled over in laughter at me.
I turn and continue to whisk the eggs, probably beating them a little harder than they need.
In a moment, he’s beside me. He gently pulls my pigtail.
“I love these,” he whispers. “They won’t protect you.” Hmm Bluebeard…
“How would you like your eggs?” I ask tartly. He smiles.
“Thoroughly whisked and beaten,” he smirks.
I turn back to the task at hand, trying to hide my smile. He’s hard to stay mad at. Es-
pecially when he’s being so uncharacteristically playful. He opens a drawer and takes out
two black slate placemats for the breakfast bar. I pour the egg mix into a pan, pull out the
bacon and turn it over, and put it back under the grill.
When I turn back round, there is orange juice on the table, and he’s making coffee.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please. If you have some.”
I find a couple of plates and place them in the warming tray of the range. Christian
reaches into a cupboard and pulls out some Twining’s English Breakfast tea. I purse my
lips.
“Bit of a foregone conclusion wasn’t I?”
“Are you? I’m not sure we’ve concluded anything yet, Miss Steele,” he murmurs.
What does he mean by that? Our negotiations? Our, err… relationship… whatever that
is?He’s still so cryptic. I serve up the breakfast onto the heated plates and lay them on the placemats. I hunt in the refrigerator and find some maple syrup.
I glance up at Christian, and he’s waiting for me to sit down.
“Miss Steele.” He motions to one of the bar stools.
“Mr. Grey.” I nod in acknowledgement. I climb up and wince slightly as I sit down.
“Just how sore are you?” he asks as he sits down. His gray eyes dark.
I flush. Why does he ask such personal questions?
“Well, to be truthful, I have nothing to compare this to,” I snap at him. “Did you wish
to offer your commiserations?” I ask too sweetly. I think he’s trying to stifle a smile, but
I can’t be sure.
“No. I wondered if we should continue your basic training.”
“Oh.” I stare at him dumbfounded as I stop breathing and everything inside me clench-
es tight. Ooh… that’s so nice.I suppress my groan.
“Eat, Anastasia.” My appetite has become uncertain again… more… more sex… yes
please.
“This is delicious, incidentally.” He grins at me.
I try a forkful of omelet but can barely taste it. Basic training! I want to fuck your
mouth.Does that form part of basic training?
“Stop biting your lip. It’s very distracting, and I happen to know you’re not wearing
anything under my shirt which makes it even more distracting,” he growls.
I dunk my teabag in the small pot that Christian has provided. My mind is in a whirl.
“What sort of basic training did you have in mind?” I ask, my voice slightly too high,
betraying my wish to sound as natural, disinterested, and calm as I can with my hormones
wreaking havoc through my body.
“Well, as you’re sore, I thought we could stick to oral skills.”
I choke on my tea, and I stare at him, eyes wide and gaping. He pats me gently on the
back and passes me some orange juice. I cannot tell what he’s thinking.
“That’s if you want to stay,” he adds. I glance up at him, trying to recover my equilib-
rium. His expression is unreadable. It’s so frustrating.
“I’d like to stay for today. If that’s okay. I have to work tomorrow.”
“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”
“Nine.”
“I’ll get you to work by nine tomorrow.”
I frown. Does he want me to stay another night?
“I’ll need to go home tonight – I need clean clothes.”
“We can get you some here.”
I don’t have spare cash to spend on clothes. His hand comes up, and he grasps my
chin, tugging it so my lip is released from the grip of my teeth. I’m not even aware I’ve
been biting my lip.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I need to be home this evening.”
His mouth is a hard line.
“Okay, this evening,” he acquiesces. “Now eat your breakfast.”
My thoughts and my stomach are in turmoil. My appetite has vanished. I stare at my
half-eaten breakfast. I’m just not hungry.
“Eat, Anastasia. You didn’t eat last night.”
“I’m really not hungry,” I whisper.
His eyes narrow.
“I would really like you to finish your breakfast.”
“What is it with you and food?” I blurt. His brow knits.
“I told you, I have issues with wasted food. Eat,” he snaps. His eyes are dark, pained.
Holy Crap. What is that all about?I pick up my fork and eat slowly, trying to chew.
I must remember not to put so much on my plate if he’s going to be weird about food. His
expression softens as I carefully make my way through my breakfast. I note that he cleans
his plate. He waits for me to finish, and then he clears my plate.
“You cooked, I’ll clear.”
“That’s very democratic.”
“Yes.” He frowns. “Not my usual style. After I’ve done this, we’ll take a bath.”
“Oh, okay.” Oh my… I’d much rather have a shower.My cell rings, interrupting my
reverie. It’s Kate.
“Hi.” I wander over to the glass doors of the balcony, away from him.
“Ana, why didn’t you text last night?” She’s angry.
“I’m sorry, I was overtaken by events.”
“You’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Did you?” She’s fishing for information. I roll my eyes at the expectation in her voice.
“Kate, I don’t want to talk over the phone.” Christian glances up at me.
“You did… I can tell.”
How can she tell? She’s bluffing, and I can’t talk about this. I’ve signed a damned
agreement.
“Kate, please.”
“What was it like? Are you okay?”
“I’ve told you I’m okay.”
“Was he gentle?”
“Kate, please!” I can’t hide my exasperation.
“Ana, don’t hold out on me, I’ve been waiting for this day for nearly four years.”
“I’ll see you this evening.” I hang up.
That is going to be one difficult square to circle. She’s so tenacious, and she wants
to know – in detail, and I can’t tell her because I’ve signed a – what was it called? NDA.
She’ll freak and rightly so. I need a plan. I head back to watch Christian move gracefully
around his kitchen.
“The NDA, does it cover everything?” I ask tentatively.
“Why?” he turns and gazes at me while putting the Twinings away. I flush.
“Well, I have a few questions, you know, about sex.” I stare down at my fingers. “And
I’d like to ask Kate.”
“You can ask me.”
“Christian, with all due respect.” My voice fades. I can’t ask you.I’ll get your biased,
kinky-as-hell, distorted world-view regarding sex. I want an impartial opinion. “It’s just
about mechanics. I won’t mention the Red Room of Pain.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Red Room of Pain? It’s mostly about pleasure, Anastasia. Believe me,” he says.
“Besides,” his tone is harsher. “Your room-mate is making the beast with two backs with
my brother. I’d really rather you didn’t.”
“Does your family know about your… um predilection?”
“No. It’s none of their business.” He saunters toward me until he’s standing in front
of me.
“What do you want to know?” he asks, and raising his hand runs his fingers gently
down my cheek to my chin, tilting my head back so he can look directly into my eyes. I
squirm inwardly. I cannot lie to this man.
“Nothing specific at the moment,” I whisper.
“Well, we can start with – how was last night for you?” His eyes burn, filled with curi-
osity. He’s anxious to know. Wow.
“Good,” I murmur.
His lips lift slightly.
“Me too,” he murmurs. “I’ve never had vanilla sex before. There’s a lot to be said
for it. But then, maybe it’s because it’s with you.” He runs his thumb across my lower lip.
I inhale sharply. Vanilla sex?
“Come, let’s have a bath.” He leans down and kisses me. My heart leaps and desire
pools way down low… way down there.
The bath is a white stone, deep, egg-shaped affair, very designer. Christian leans over and
fills it from the faucet on the tiled wall. He pours some expensive looking bath oil into the
water. It foams as the bath fills and smells of sweet sultry Jasmine. He stands and gazes at
me, his eyes dark, then peels his t-shirt off and casts it on the floor.
“Miss Steele.” He holds his hand out.
I’m standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and wary, my arms wrapped around myself. I
step forward while surreptitiously admiring his physique. He is just yummy. My subcon-
scious swoons and passes out somewhere in the back of my head. I take his hand, and he
bids me to step into the bath while I am still wearing his shirt. I do as I’m told. I’ll have to
get used to it if I’m going to take him up on his outrageous offer… if!The water is entic-
ingly hot.
“Turn around, face me,” he orders, his voice soft. I do as I’m bid. He’s watching me
intently.
“I know that lip is delicious, I can attest to that, but will you stop biting it?” he says
through clenched teeth. “You chewing it makes me want to fuck you, and you’re sore,
okay?”
I gasp, automatically unlocking my lip, shocked.
“Yeah,” he challenges. “Got the picture.” He glares at me. I nod frantically . I had no
idea I could affect him so.
“Good.” He reaches forward and takes my iPod out of the breast pocket, and he puts
it by the sink.
“Water and iPods – not a clever combination,” he mutters. He reaches down, grasps
the hem of my white shirt, lifts it above my head, and discards it on the floor.
He stands back to gaze at me. I’m naked for heaven’s sake.I flush crimson and stare
down at my hands, level with the base of my belly, and I desperately want to disappear into
the hot water and foam, but I know he won’t want that.
“Hey,” he summons me. I peek up at him, and his head is cocked to one side. “Anasta-
sia, you’re a very beautiful woman, the whole package. Don’t hang your head like you’re
ashamed. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s a real joy to stand here and gaze at
you.” He takes my chin in his hand and tilts my head up to reach his eyes. They are soft
and warm, heated even. Oh my.He’s so close. I could just reach up and touch him.
“You can sit down now.” He halts my scattered thoughts, and I scoot down into the
warm, welcoming water. Ooh… it stings. Which takes me by surprise, but it smells heav-
enly too, and the initial smarting pain soon ebbs away. I lie back and briefly close my eyes,
relaxing in the soothing warmth. When I open them, he is gazing down at me.
“Why don’t you join me?” I ask, bravely I think – my voice husky.
“I think I will. Move forward,” he orders.
He strips out of his PJ pants and climbs in behind me. The water rises as he sits and
pulls me against his chest. He places his long legs over mine, his knees bent and his ankles
level with mine, and he pulls his feet apart, opening my legs. I gasp in surprise. His nose
is in my hair and he inhales deeply.
“You smell so good, Anastasia.”
A tremor runs through my whole body. I am naked, in a bath with Christian Grey.
He’s naked.If someone had told me I’d be doing this when I woke up in his hotel suite
yesterday, I would not have believed them.
He reaches for a bottle of body wash from the built-in shelf beside the bath and squirts
some into his hand. He rubs his hands together, creating a soft, foaming lather, and he
closes his hands around my neck and starts to rub the soap into my neck and shoulders,
massaging firmly with his long, strong fingers. I groan. His hands on me feel good.
“You like that?” I hear his smile.
“Hmm.”
He moves down my arms, then under them to my underarms washing gently. I’m so
glad Kate insisted I shave. His hands glide across to my breasts, and I inhale sharply as
his fingers encircle them and start kneading gently, taking no prisoners. My body bows
instinctively, pushing my breasts into his hands. My nipples are tender. Very tender, no
doubt from his less-than-delicate treatment of them last night. He doesn’t linger long and
glides his hands down to my stomach and belly. My breathing increases, and my heart is
racing. His growing erection presses against my behind. It’s such a turn-on knowing that
it’s my body making him feel this way. Ha… not your mind.My subconscious sneers. I
shake off the unwelcome thought.
He stops and reaches for a washcloth as I pant against him, wanting… needing. My
hands rest on his firm, muscular thighs. Squirting more soap on to the washcloth, he leans
down and washes between my legs. I hold my breath. His fingers skillfully stimulating
me through the cloth, it’s heavenly, and my hips start moving at their own rhythm, pushing
against his hand. As the sensations take over, I tilt my head back, my eyes rolling to the
back of my head, my mouth slack, and I groan. The pressure is building slowly, inexorably
inside me … oh my.
“Feel it, baby,” Christian whispers in my ear and very gently grazes my earlobe with
his teeth. “Feel it for me.” My legs are pinioned by his to the side of the bath, holding me
prisoner, giving him easy access to this most private part of myself.
“Oh… please,” I whisper. I try to stiffen my legs as my body goes rigid. I am in a
sexual thrall to this man, and he doesn’t let me move.
“I think you’re clean enough now,” he murmurs, and he stops. What! No! No! No!
My breathing is ragged.
“Why are you stopping?” I gasp.
“Because I have other plans for you Anastasia.”
What… oh my… but… I was… that’s not fair.
“Turn around. I need washing, too,” he murmurs.
Oh! Turning to face him, I’m shocked to find he has his erection firmly in his grasp.
My mouth drops open.
“I want you to become well acquainted, on first name terms if you will, with my favor-
ite and most cherished part of my body. I’m very attached to this.”
It’s so big and growing.His erection is above the water line, the water lapping at his
hips. I glance up at him and come face to face with his wicked grin. He’s enjoying my
astounded expression. I realize that I’m staring. I swallow. That was inside me!It doesn’t
seem possible. He wants me to touch him. Hmm… okay, bring it on.
I smile at him and reach for the body wash, squirting some soap onto my hand. I do as
he’s done, lathering the soap in my hands until they are foamy. I do not take my eyes off
his. My lips are parted to accommodate my breathing… very deliberately I gently bite my
bottom lip and then run my tongue across it, tracing where my teeth have been. His eyes
are serious and dark, and they widen as my tongue skims my lower lip. I reach forward
and place one of my hands around him, mirroring how he’s holding himself. His eyes close
briefly. Wow… feels much firmer than I expect. I squeeze, and he places his hand over
mine.“Like this,” he whispers, and he moves his hand up and down with a firm grip round
my fingers, and my fingers tighten around him. He closes his eyes again, and his breath
hitches in his throat. When he opens them again, his gaze is scorching molten gray. “That’s
right, baby.”
He releases my hand, leaving me to continue alone, and closes his eyes as I move
up and down his length. He flexes his hips slightly into my hand and reflexively I grasp
him tighter. A low groan escapes from deep within his throat. Fuck my mouth… hmm.I
remember him pushing his thumb in my mouth and asking me to suck, hard. His mouth
drops open slightly as his breathing increases. I lean forward, while he has his eyes closed,
and place my lips around him and tentatively suck, running my tongue over the tip.
“Whoa… Ana.” His eyes fly open, and I suck harder.
Hmm… he’s soft and hard at once, like steel encased in velvet, and surprisingly tasty
– salty and smooth.
“Christ,” he groans, and he closes his eyes again.
Moving down, I push him into my mouth. He groans again. Ha!My inner goddess
is thrilled. I can do this. I canfuck himwith my mouth. I twirl my tongue around the tip again, and he flexes his hips. His eyes are open now, blistering with heat. His teeth are
clenched as he flexes again, and I push him deeper into my mouth, supporting myself on
his thighs. I feel his legs tense beneath my hands. He reaches up and grabs my pigtails
and starts to really move.
“Oh… baby… that feels good,” he murmurs. I suck harder, flicking my tongue across
the head of his impressive erection. Wrapping my teeth behind my lips, I clamp my mouth
around him. His breath hisses between his teeth, and he groans.
“Jesus. How far can you go?” he whispers.
Hmm…I pull him deeper into my mouth so I can feel him at the back of my throat and
then to the front again. My tongue swirls around the end. He’s my very own Christian
Grey flavor popsicle. I suck harder and harder, pushing him deeper and deeper, swirling
my tongue round and round. Hmm…I had no idea giving pleasure could be such a turn-on,
watching him writhe subtly with carnal longing. My inner goddess is doing the merengue
with some salsa moves.
“Anastasia, I’m going to come in your mouth,” his breathy tone is warning. “If you
don’t want me to, stop now.” He flexes his hips again, his eyes are wide, wary, and filled
with salacious need – need for me. Need for my mouth... oh my.
Holy crap. His hands are really gripping my hair. I can do this. I push even harder
and, in a moment of extraordinary confidence, I bare my teeth. It tips him over the edge.
He cries out and stills, and I can feel warm, salty liquid oozing down my throat. I swallow
quickly. Ugh… I’m not sure about this. But one look at him, and he’s come apart in the
bath because of me, and I don’t care. I sit back and watch him, a triumphant, gloating smile
tugging at the corners of my lips. His breathing is ragged. Opening his eyes, he glares at
me. “Don’t you have a gag reflex?” he asks, astonished. “Christ, Ana… that was… good,
really good, unexpected though.” He frowns. “You know, you never cease to amaze me.”
I smile and consciously bite my lip. He eyes me speculatively.
“Have you done that before?”
“No.” And I can’t help the small tinge of pride in my denial.
“Good,” he says complacently and, I think, relieved. “Yet another first, Miss Steele.”
He looks appraisingly at me. “Well, you get an A in oral skills. Come, let’s go to bed, I
