I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.
Chapter 18—Unfinished Business
“You and I have unfinished business, Anastasia.” His voice brings me out of my mental wanderings again. I turn to look at him and holy. Cow. Batman.
He is standing the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against the frame with his arms folded. He has removed his shoes and socks as well as his suit jacket and tie. He is standing there with his shirt unbuttoned and no T-shirt, his hair going in all kinds of directions boasting that ever-present JBF look, and his eyes dangerously dark… and he is smoldering! Hot damn, there should be a puddle on this bed right now.
“We do?” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Yes, we do,” he says stalking into the room towards me. I watch him moving slowly, deliberately in my direction and my breath is snatched out of my body. He knows what he does to me… Bastard! He is standing in front of me and he leans down, cocks his head to the side, and envelops my lips into a soft but passionate, suggestive, and smoldering kiss. It is the only part of our bodies that touch. I groan in his mouth and I want to tangle my fingers in his hair as he consumes my kisses, but my hands won’t move. My body feels this aura and knows what this is without him having to tell me. He pulls his lips away from mine, biting my bottom lip and sucking it gently into his mouth as we part. I am nearly panting as I look up at him through my lashes.
“Delicious,” he says to me in that voice. My hands are plastered to the edge of the bed and my clit is throbbing as I examine his body. His pecks actually look a little tanned even though we haven’t been anywhere to tan. My eyes travel down to his six pack abs and he rolls them a bit knowing that I am looking at them. Fuck! He’s killing me here and he knows it! My breath hitches as I see his slacks are hanging just enough for me to see the “V” forming in his pelvis. I follow that “V” in my minds eye and it takes me right to his erection, not full yet but quickly getting there. When my eyes stop, he flexes his penis so that I can see it move inside of his pants. My lips part instinctively as I watch it growing through the black fabric right before my eyes.
“Do you see something you like, Ms. Steele?” his voice caresses my ears.
“Yes, Sir,” I breathe. He treats and tortures me by unzipping his zipper and releasing the one-eyed-snake from its bonds. He is stroking himself, deliciously close to my face and my tongue caresses the inside of my bottom lip in anticipation, my breath now coming in short. I want to taste him and he knows it. He steps closer to me.
“Don’t move your hands,” he commands. “Kiss it… just the head.” I lean in and gently take the head between my lips, exhaling a long breath of relief through my nose. I taste his delicious skin on my tongue and close my eyes. I have memorized his texture, every vein and valley on his penis. I know each erection personally and each one is different. Right now, he is extremely turned on. If I were to open my eyes, his dick would be a combination of a luscious champagne and bright pink right now, but it will be dark pink and purple before the night is over. He will come at least twice, maybe three times, and he will make it last for quite a while. He will relish in what he is feeling and what I am feeling, and my pussy is aching right now for the games to begin.
And begin they have.
“Sssss. Yes!” There’s that sexy hiss. He cups my face with his hands and slowly begins to stroke into my mouth, not far, just the head and maybe an inch of his length.
“Tighter, Ms. Steele, just a little,” he croons, desire and arousal hiding in his voice. I apply just a bit more suction just as he’s thrusting in. “Yes, right there. Just like that.” He continues a slow stroke into my mouth and I am igniting. I open my eyes and watch the control in his abs. He is perfectly stroking the same inch or so into my mouth. On the out stroke, he pulls until the rim is right to my lips and holds it there.
“Suckle. You know what I want.” I give him the firm suction that he wants on his head and he tries to stifle a groan. He moves his hips again, but only to get the slightest stimulation inside my lips. I taste the pre-cum on his tip and clean him off with my tongue. He shudders with that move and I know that he is pleased.
“Gently,” he says, barely able to contain his arousal this time and I release his head, returning to the gentle but firm suction he wanted before. He grunts as he begins to slowly stroke my mouth again. This is not a blowjob. This is the meticulous domination of my mouth. He is controlling what I do with my lips and tongue. He is only thrusting a portion of his length inside of me even though he knows that I can take all of his impressive double-digit inches. He is making me wait… making himself wait. He has never done this before—and it’s fucking hot! I moan as he treats me with another inch or two in his next series of slow strokes.
“You like that, Ms. Steele?” he taunts as his hips press him further into my mouth. I groan my approval against his shaft, aching to touch him. I can see his balls and they are darker and harder, the skin holding his testicles now dark and wrinkled like walnut shells. His shaft is turning a darker pink and getting harder between my lips. “I like that, too,” he breathes. I dare to raise my eyes to his chest—no higher—and I can see him watching… watching as my lips encase his deliciously hard staff, leaving moisture and a hint of lip gloss in their path. I can imagine that it is a tormentingly arousing sight for him, watching his hot and hard member sliding in and out of my soft and wet mouth and feeling the effects of the slippery warmth and friction at the same time.
He is trying to remain dominant, but I feel him weakening just a bit. The pleasure must be insane because I can barely contain myself. He is standing between my legs ensuring that I am unable to squeeze my thighs together for the slightest relief. Oh, how much longer will he torture me?
I close my eyes again and concentrate on his cock sliding deliciously in and out of my mouth. His stroke never quickens, but it has gotten a bit deeper. He gently guides my head where he wants me with each stroke and even though he doesn’t make a sound, his breath matches his strokes—heavy, rhythmic, and sensual. The combination of his thrusting hips, his rolling abs covered in the slightest sheen of sweat, and his now purple, throbbing dick gliding in and out of my mouth is so cruelly arousing that I moan heavily in my throat. This causes him to thrust himself completely into my mouth, still gently and slowly but all the way. He tangles his fingers in my hair and his legs start to tremble. On the fifth stroke, he stills and I prepare myself to feel his juices slide down my throat—but they don’t. He is sheathed completely in my mouth, his tip in my throat and he is completely still.
“Don’t move,” he growls. “Don’t move a fucking muscle.” He had nearly lost control. He almost came and he didn’t want to, yet. His pelvis is pressed violently against my lips and he is holding my head firmly in place, trying to breathe it out. I don’t budge… I don’t blink, I don’t twitch, I don’t even breathe. He takes a few moments to compose himself and then achingly pulls himself out of my mouth—still hard, still purple, still throbbing.
“My God, your mouth is magnificent,” he breathes, still holding my hair and breathing. “I want you to go to the en suite and bathe.” I don’t look at him, but my body relates surprise. Bathe? “Yes, I said bathe. Exactly 15 minutes, with the lemongrass citrus and the loofa. I had some sent over earlier. When you are done, return to this room naked and follow instructions.” Follow instructions? Do I have a choice? He steps back away from me and I nearly sprint to the bathroom. Hell, I only have 15 minutes.
I run the bath and strip out of my clothes as quickly as I can. I see the lemongrass citrus on the side of the tub, just enough for one bath. I pour it into the water and let it mix only momentarily before I get into the water while it’s still running. Shit, it’s hot! I don’t have time to be concerned about that right now. Does anything need shaving? My legs are smooth and I only have the slightest hint of pubic hair, so I’ll be fine. I take the loofa and cover it in the lemongrass body wash—again, just enough for one use—and I scrub everywhere, thoroughly! Once I am done, I check the time on the clock near the sink. It’s been 10 minutes.
That was fast, Steele.
I relax for a moment, then a thought hits me. Did he mean bathe for 15 minutes or return in 15 minutes? I review his words, his exact words…
“Yes, I said bathe. Exactly 15 minutes, with the lemongrass citrus and the loofa.”
He wants me to bathe for 15 minutes. How long have I been in the tub. It couldn’t have taken more than two minutes to drop my clothes and get in the tub, so I’ve most likely been bathing for about eight minutes up to this point… Well, 10 now. I take the loofa and go over my skin again, paying closer attention to the hard to reach parts and the intimate areas. The bath has calmed my libido a bit so I am a little more prepared for what my Dom has in store for me. However, my skin is a little sensitive after using the loofa. It’s a natural fiber sponge, so it scratches just a bit. I am certainly missing a layer of dead skin and toxins after that wash, that’s for sure.
I turn back to look at the clock. Fourteen minutes have passed. I lean my head on the tub and just watch the clock, waiting for it to change over to the next minute. Once it does, I let the water out of the tub and slowly stand so as not to slip in the huge garden tub and ruin our entire night. I step out and grab a towel to dry off. Should I have washed my hair? He didn’t tell me to. I quickly and thoroughly dry myself off and step back into the bedroom.
He’s not here. There are a few candles lit and the duvet has been removed from the bed. There is still light in the room, but it is very soft. There are champagne and strawberries on the nightstand and lingerie with a note on the bed.
I hope your hair is dry. Wear nothing but this. Have two glasses of champagne and some strawberries. When I return, assume position one.
Position one—standing. I lift the lingerie. It is the red Birthday Suit suspender and a pair of red stockings, nothing else. These stockings don’t need the garter. Why does he have one here? I don’t know, but I am certain that my Dom does nothing without a reason. I attach the suspender to my waist and slide the stockings onto my legs. They feel strange against my sensitive, newly-exfoliated skin. I attach the belts to my stockings. I catch a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror.
I look hot!
I sit on the bed and pour myself a flute of champagne. It’s Moet, and it’s delicious. I indulge in the strawberries as instructed and relax just a bit, wondering what my Dom has in store for me. Several minutes pass and I am feeling a bit mellow. I hear the door opening slowly and I almost choke on a strawberry as I scramble to my feet and drop my head. I hear what I can only describe as a controlling breath when he walks into the room, still wearing his slacks and shirt, still sporting an erection. Shit, that’s impressive!
He circles me like a predator, slowly so that I only see his sexy feet, then he stops in front of me.
“The first night that I had you wrapped around me, you wore nothing but a garter belt and stockings. The Joseline suspender, I think,” he says as he walks around me again. “It hid your brand. I didn’t see it until two days later.” He gently strokes my brand and my body is aflame again. I try not to whimper. “I’m so glad you don’t have to hide it anymore.” He continues to play in “the garden” and I nearly lose my mind trying to control myself. “You smelled like this.” He inhales deeply and I’m glad I got that 15 minutes right. He walks back around to the front of me, cupping my ass and pulling me against his erection. “I wanted you so badly that night, like I want you now, but I’m going to punish you first.”
Punish me? For what!?
“Do you know why I’m punishing you, Ms. Steele?”
“No, Sir,” I say, my pitch high because I really don’t know.
“Because you waved your lovely ass relentlessly at me in Agent Provocateur causing quite the commotion before we left, and there was nothing I could do about it.” Oh… that. Yep, he’s right. He spent more money in that store than most people spend on a car and it’s all because I kept sticking my ass in his face. Take it like a woman, Steele. “Do you agree that you should be punished?”
“Yes, Sir. I do,” I say softly. He gasps a bit.
“Good girl.” He sits on the bed. “Come here.” Oh shit, he’s going to spank me.
Woman up, Steele! You’ve got this coming and you know it.
I know… I know…
I walk over to him with my head still down and he pulls me roughly onto his lap. I feel like a ragdoll when I land perfectly across his thighs, his erection fighting to get free from his slacks and placed precariously right at my sex.
Oh… je t’en supplie… pitié.
He lands the first blow on my ass and I nearly leap off of the bed. Fucking loofa!
He gently rubs my ass, then lands the second and third blows, one on each cheek. I dig my nails into the bed and whimper. He rubs my ass again then grinds his erection into me, holding me against him and causing a shock to go straight through me. Almost immediately, he lands another blow on my ass and I am instantly wet… and the pattern develops.
Smack, caress, grind…
Smack, smack, caress, grind, smack, grind some more…
Oh God, I’m losing my mind. He didn’t say I could come and my body is ablaze. Again, I feel his erection getting harder and harder, obviously seeking its counterpart. The combination of the smacks on my searing behind and the grinding into my aching pussy has an intoxicating effect—combined no doubt with the champagne that he made me drink. I want to call his name but he finally stops and jolts me to my feet. I can barely stand, still swimming in the euphoric pleasure/pain experience. I don’t know how many times he hit me. He seems cautious at first, then his body visibly relaxes.
“Did you enjoy that, Ms. Steele?” he says cockily. My ass is burning right now and my pussy is throbbing mercilessly. I sigh heavily, drunk and nearly mindless with pleasure.
“Oui, Monsieur,” I reply and he gasps.
“Ms. Steele… French?” I look up at him instinctively, my eyes wide. Did I say that out loud? Then I realize—I’m looking at him! Oh, fuck! My head falls as quickly as it rises. I open my mouth, inarticulate sounds coming from it as I want to apologize, but I don’t want to transgress by speaking.
“Ssshhh,” he says, putting his finger on my lips to silence me. “I had to stop,” he croons as he removes his shirt and drops it on the floor. Oh hell, as if that sight could get any hotter…
“Your ass is such a delicious shade of red. I don’t think it’s ever been that red before. You please me so much.” He reaches for the belts on my suspenders and releases them from the stockings. They hang long over my thighs. He reaches behind him on the bed and grabs a small white pouch. He grasps the back of my thighs and yanks me closer to him. He is still sitting on the bed when he put one leg in between mine.
“Spread your legs, Ms. Steele,” he commands. I spread my legs far apart and he pulls me over him so that I am standing over him, his bent legs between mine.
“Sit.” I sit on his legs, my thighs spread apart and my sore behind sitting on his thighs. He spreads his legs until my lips are open and my nub is exposed. The air is agonizing down there. He gently runs his hand between my folds.
“Oh, Ms. Steele, you are so fucking wet.” He rubs his hand up and down over my entire pussy, from the top all the way back to the perineum. I open my mouth to get more air into my lungs. He is masterful with his hands and my body is about to take off.
“Look at me.” I raise my eyes to his, my whole body tingling from the pleasure I feel. “Yes, that’s it. Hands on your thighs.” I clamp my hands on my thighs as he continues to stimulate my core. “Do you know how fucking beautiful you are?” How am I supposed to answer that with waves of pleasure coursing through my body? I’m trying to breathe here! “You make women jealous and men lose their minds just by walking into the room, but you belong to me. Do you understand that, Anastasia?”
“Yes… yes… Sir…” I breathe, lust and passion choking me damn near to death.
“Good. Now don’t come yet.” Hell, I know that! Stop rubbing it in!
His mouth clamps down on my breast and sucks my nipple into his mouth. I cry out. I can’t stand it. He wraps his arm around my waist to keep me from falling off of his lap. Oh God, I want to touch him so badly. I feel my nipple pebble in his mouth—it’s so hard that it’s almost painful. He removes his mouth and applies a gentle nipple clamp. Where the hell did he get those?
“We’re in Vegas,” he says, answering my silent question. Fuck, I don’t care. The shit feels good… and now he’s on to my other nipple, still tormenting my core from top to bottom. I want to wail! He won’t let me come and I don’t know how much more I can take.
“Mmm, you’re getting wetter,” he says against my breast and then he applies the other clamp. Fuck, that feels so good. He slips his finger inside of me, still holding me in place and sending jolts of pleasure through me. “I can look in your eyes and tell exactly when you are about to come. I’m warning you, I’m going to stop before you do. I don’t want you to come yet.” You bastard, stop torturing me! I whine at his confession because I feel the quiver and I know it’s coming soon if he doesn’t stop. Just before I reach the point of no return…
“There it is,” he says softly and gently removes his fingers. I breathe through my waining orgasm and I almost want to cry. “Do you decide when you come, Ms. Steele?” I shake my head, my eyes begging him.
“No, Sir.” I don’t even recognize my own voice.
“Who decides?” My Dom asks.
“You, Sir,” I whimper.
“Stand.” Are you kidding me? He takes my hand and helps me off of his lap. That’s when I notice that the nipple clamps are connected to each other and a third larger part. Oh shit. That’s a controller. These bitches vibrate. I’m going to die. There’s something else attached to the controller, but I can’t tell what it is.
He stands and removes his pants. His. Dick. Is. Huge! I hate that he has so much fucking control of his orgasms because he looks like he’s ready to blow, but I know that he can go all night if he wants to. Son of a bitch.
The white pouch is moved to the nightstand and he walks behind me. He is only there for moments and then I feel his hands on my stinging ass. They are covered with a thick oil of some kind—slippery but thick. I groan. It feels so good, so soothing…
“Your ass is still red, Ms. Steele. Is it still stinging?”
“Yes, Sir,” I respond, my eyes closed. He comes around to the front of me and I open my eyes to see him stroking his length with one of his oily hands. Now it’s pink and purple and hard and veiny and oily! My mouth is actually watering. Mon Dieu, that is so sexy!
“Oh no, Ms. Steele, not your mouth, not this time. I want the rest of you now.” He bends his legs and lets his oily penis slide in between my thighs against my sex—along the outside of my core while his oily hands grab and caress my tender ass, pushing me against him, and the fire ignites again. Feeling him rub against me—so close, but so far away—it’s hot and painful. I want him so badly.
“Do you like that?” he growls, exercising that control over himself that I hate so much.
“Yes!” I whisper, and my eyes close as the stimulation starts to build that fire inside of me again. An oiled hand smacks my ass hard and brings me back from my Nirvana. I gasp and my eyes fly open as he grabs a handful of my hair and snatches my head back so that I can look into his eyes.
“Yes. What?” he says through clenched teeth. I can easily see that this is not angry Christian. This is him trying to control his arousal and orgasm.
“Yes… Sir!” I gasp out as I am still a bit shocked by him pulling my hair and jerking my head back. I gasp again when he releases my hair and pulls his length from between my legs. I’m a little stunned. Is he angry now? I can’t tell. He has turned his back to me and he is climbing onto the bed. He is a sculptured work of art when he moves. He crawls like a panther and lies effortlessly on the bed on his back. He looks over at me and I meet his gaze, chastised.
“Come,” he commands. I crawl over the bed to him and he takes my hand. He guides me on top of him and wraps his legs around mine. This is different. My arms are on either side of him but not touching him. He pulls me against his body and I flinch as the nipple clamps pinch a little tighter. He applies more oil to his hands and begins to coat my back and my ass. My skin is still very sensitive from the loofa. With his legs still wrapped around me, he wiggles his hips until his shaft parts my lips. He rocks his hips back and forth and I get deliciously insane oily friction right against my clit.
“Ah!” This is so too much as he grabs my ass and presses me violently into him. I’m going to come. I’m fucking going to come and even he won’t be able to stop it. He starts to kiss my neck, licking my throat and biting my earlobe and now I know it’s also becoming more than he can bear.
“I’m going to mark you, Ms. Steele. I don’t care who sees it… you belong to me! Do you understand?” Oh fuck, I’m going to explode!
“Yes, Sir,” I gasp. His tongue immediately travels to my neck and it’s like gasoline on hot coals. “Oh!” I try to tilt my head to give him better access, but he thrusts his hand into my hair using his grasp to control where my head goes. He is taking total control of my body tonight, of every part of it. I’m on top of him and he’s controlling me. I don’t have to do anything but be… just be and let him use me any way that he wants. It’s fantastic!
I feel him bite my neck as an oily finger slips into my ass.
“Aaahh!” I can’t keep quiet. It’s sensation overload. He’s biting and sucking me, pulling my hair, grinding against my clit, and he has a finger in my ass going deeper and deeper with each stroke. I try not to move. I know that is not allowed, but this finger in my ass is driving me crazy and I am teetering on the edge. My orgasm is coming and I slam my eyes shut.
Oh please… please wait… not yet..
My body is not listening. Even though he is not penetrating my core, my body is about to explode. I relax my shoulders and give in. I won’t resist like before, I can’t take it…
“You’re about to come… aren’t you?” His voice is labored.
“Yes… Sir…” I breathe, already on the incline. There’s no turning back for me and he knows it.
“Open your eyes!” he commands. I can only open them a little, just enough to see his silver eyes staring back at me. His pupils are dilated almost to disappearing as he grinds against me. “Yes…” he says, answering my unasked question. I start to tighten and quiver and I fight to keep my eyes open for him. “Oh yes, come for me, Baby.” The rocking and shaking from my core rattles through my whole body as my Dom bites my breast, eliciting a primal cry from me… and I totally lose control of my body. I am shaken and ravaged and dropped on top of him like a mass of useless meat.
He breathes heavily, his erection still thumping against me as I come down from my orgasm. He is doing something between us with his dick and I have no idea what’s happening. It’s not like I can lift my head anyway. His finger is still in my ass, massaging and moving around, and it feels fantastic. Even in my exhaustion, he is still playing me like a fine instrument, making me want to push against his hand.
He bends his knees on either side of me so that his feet are flat on the bed and puts his length between my thighs again. He only strokes a few times before he adjusts himself.
“I need to be inside of you, just for a moment.” Just for a moment!? Do you mean to tell me that you don’t intend to fuck me!?
“Aaaahhh!” It really doesn’t matter now, does it? With my legs still closed and his still open, he has impaled me. As he fucks me slowly, he kisses me deeply, and I can feel something rubbing against me… against my pelvis between us. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t pay much attention as he is sexing me with my legs closed and the friction against my vaginal walls is insane. I actually feel the rise again…
“Anastasia, your body responds so well to me. It’s astounding!” he says as he continues to stroke me. “You are so wet… so damn wet…” and then, to my dismay, he withdraws placing his dick between my legs again. I whimper in protest. Just as I take consolation in the fact that at least he is still finger fucking me in the ass, he removes his hand. I almost want to cry… again.
“Put your hands behind your back,” he says. I cross my hands behind my back and he binds my hands… with my suspenders! This is fucking hot! He continues to stroke his dick between my legs and against my sex and he replaces the one finger that he removed from my ass with two fingers and I nearly explode.
“Oooooooohhh!” I couldn’t help it. Please don’t make me suffer, Sir. I can’t withstand any more. He plays with my ass for a while, stretching and teasing me and bringing me to the edge several more times. Nothing he could have done would have prepared me for what happened next. He moves his legs so that they are between mine and opens them wide, exposing me. He quickly puts the pillows behind him, causing his body to incline just a bit and causing me to slide down fractionally.
“This is what I want,” he says as he reaches between us and moves his hand a bit. The nipple clamps begin to vibrate—just as I thought—but something else is vibrating. At first I think it’s the controller, which it is, but that’s not all. The other piece attached to the controller that I couldn’t identify is a cock ring and it’s vibrating, too! Just as I make this discovery, I feel his dick rise impressively between my legs and bounce off my ass.
Oh, fuck, I know what’s happening.
My Dom raises his legs so that I rise with him just a bit and uses his hand to pop the head of his oily dick into my ass. Oh my hell! Using his hands and his hips, he pushes further and further into me until he has gotten as far into me as he can in this position—which is pretty fucking far, I might add!
“Oh yes! That’s it… that’s what I want,” he growls as he starts a slow stroke like the one that he was doing in my mouth. He is rubbing my ass cheeks, pulling them apart, then pushing them together, rhythmically with each stroke. “Oh, Baby… it’s so good…” He momentarily forgets himself, and then I think he throws caution to the wind.
“You can come,” he stays with a nice, long stroke that reverberates down to my toes.
“Sir…” I lose myself, too. This feels so extraordinarily decadent. He is making love to me anally… from the front! I am lying on his chest with my hands bound behind my back. Vibrating nipple rings gently caress my tits which could bring me to an orgasm all by itself, but in addition to this, he is pressing a vibrating cock ring against my clit and my core. He is holding me close to him, helpless and at his mercy, but also cocooned in passion, and then he kisses me…
“Whenever…” he kisses me again, “however…” he kisses me again, “and as frequently as you like.” With each phrase, he rocks himself deeper into me and with the last phrase, he’s kissing me long and hard—his tongue invading, exploring, and caressing my mouth as he loves me. He is relentless. His kiss doesn’t end and he is still manipulating my ass and hips. I don’t know what’s happening, but something is happening to me. When I enjoy myself anally, I have an orgasm in my hips, my thighs, my legs and my feet. This time, I feel it right in my ass. My Dom is stimulating everything and I am blissfully at his mercy. I groan in his mouth and he knows that it’s coming. He gently releases my mouth and my lips are throbbing and swollen.
“Yes, Baby. You look as good as you feel. Can you feel it? I’m going to explode any second…” and there it is… from my ass, down my hips, down my thighs, down my legs, to my feet.
“Oh God, Anastasia, you are so beautiful. You make me crazy. So beautiful…” and he empties into me as he squeezes my ass and presses me hard against him. This only spurs me on as I feel him throbbing inside of me and I still have the amazing vibrating nipple clamps battering me. My core is still pulsing and, after a few calming breaths, my Dom takes his cue and starts to grind into me again, his impressive length still in my ass. He’s not rocking into my ass, only grinding into me. I start to shiver a bit as I do feel the rise in my core. It’s hiding, but begging to get free.
“Baby!” I don’t know what happened, but after a few minutes his dick jerks to life again and he is on his knees trying to bury himself into me. As it turns out, the controller on the cock ring is hindering our progress. He releases my hands and lifts me off of him. He’s trying to get the cock ring off, but his dick is too hard.
“Get this thing off of me,” he growls. I oil my hands and try to remove it without hurting him, but it’s not happening. “Rip it off!” he commands.
“What!?” I ask horrified.
“Rip it the fuck off!” he commands again. This is going to hurt. Then I remember slapping his dick in Anguilla. He likes that shit. Okay…
I grab the cock ring at the base, pull it apart as much as I can with two fingers on each hand and rip it the fuck off.
He howls like a damn dog!
I’m afraid to touch him. He is panting and I know that shit had to hurt… but he’s still hard! Good God, this man is inhuman.
“Stroke it, Anastasia! Stroke it, please.” He is suffering. I grab it and caress it gently. “Harder,” he groans, his voice laced with pain, “like you’re trying to jack me off!” Inhuman, I tell you. I grab it with both hands and pump. He immediately starts to calm. “Yes… yes… like that…” I keep stroking and stroking for quite some time until he grabs me and turns me around. Still on his knees, he gently inserts himself into my anus.
“Aahh,” I moan. I wasn’t expecting to go back at it after the cock ring incident, but Mr. Grey has other plans. He leans back until he is lying back on the bed and I am lying on top of him, my back to his front. He snatches those nipple clamps off of me and the whole contraption goes flying across the room. He re-oils his hands and they travel up and down the front of my body as he rocks himself into me.
“Yes,” he groans, “that’s much better.” I close my eyes as he ravages my body. “Fuck me, Ana.”
“Oh, God, thank you!” I breathe as I roll my hips riding along his dick, matching his stroke as he pumps into my ass.
“Your ass… fuck, it’s so tight…” he growls into my neck. My eyes roll back into my head as he opens my legs with his again and the air hits my clit as his oily hands rub, pinch, and torture my nipples.
“Fuck! Oh, yes…” I groan as I reach back and grab a handful of his hair. I know that he’s marking me again and I don’t want him to stop. His hands are still rubbing over the front of my body, over my breasts, across my stomach, over my hips, and back up to my nipples. My legs are open and it’s intense and without me being prepared, it strikes.
“Baby, fu…uck!” I eek out my words as my orgasm oozes from me, a lovely little burst.
“Oh shit! Your ass just got tighter!” He strokes into me harder. “There’s another one,” he breathes. “That wasn’t it. I know your body. There’s one more…” He’s right, there is, but I don’t know if I can take it.
“Christian, please…” I beg for mercy again, aloud and in English this time.
“There’s one more, Baby. I know there is, isn’t it?” he croons softly in my ear, still stroking impressively into my ass and still gently caressing my body. I close my eyes and settle against his body.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I’m going to help you get it, okay?” he says sweetly.
“Okay,” I whisper. He turns my head to him and kisses me deeply over my shoulder, pinching and teasing my nipples again. Sure enough, I slowly start to rise again. “Christian,” I moan against his lips.
“Yes, Baby. Feel it,” he coaxes, licking my lips and moving his hands down to my hips. “Fuck, Baby, you feel so fucking good.” He has held out for a long time. This one is likely to fly him to the moon. He is pushing my hips down hard against him and I can tell that he’s growing inside me. I moan again as it feels so good, and as I feel myself rising again, he puts his hand between my legs. He pushes two fingers into me on the downstroke and pulls them all the way up, anointed with my arousal and rubs his whole wet and oily hands over my clit a few times before dipping back down inside me and repeating the process over again. This move causes me to stroke against him with abandon.
“Ana, Baby, shit!” he groans, still trying to control himself until I come. I am panting like a racehorse. He never loses his rhythm or his stroke—though his stroke gets harder. “Fuck, Ana! Fuck!” He won’t last much longer, and he won’t have to. The Dom and the sub have left the room—we are fucking now! I nearly rise off of him when it finally hits me. He clasps me around the waist and continues to slam into me and stimulate my core as I violently thrash about on top of him, trembling, wiggling, and battling out the elusive “Big One.”
“That’s it, oh fuck, that’s it!” He growls and he explodes into me, grunting like a caged animal. “Shiiiit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” He thrusts into me with each profane exclamation extending my organism as his hand is still clasped firmly onto my pussy.
“My God…” he breathes. “You beautiful girl… you beautiful, sexy, insatiable girl…” He’s kissing over my face and still holding my pussy, his dick still pulsating in my ass. No more, please, no more.
After we finally catch our breath, he gently rolls me over my side and slowly pulls out of me. We both wince at the sensation and I sink down into the bed.
“We’re oily. Do you want a shower?” he asks softly.
“Tired,” is all I can manage to say.
“Do you want me to take off your stockings and suspenders?” That’s the last that I remember.
I’ve never been a paranoid man. In fact, I’ve often considered myself very level headed and secure. Yet, I keep looking over my shoulder waiting for the worst to happen. I’m sipping my coffee and reading emails and all I can think about is losing Butterfly. It seems like I’m always thinking about her when I’m alone with my thoughts. What the hell has she turned me into?
I knew that the insane Edward David was obsessed with her. It’s been six months now and we haven’t heard anything about his insanity plea. I’ll have Allen check on that when we’re back in Washington. Now I have to wonder why this Louis Mellfield fucker was stalking her at my parents’ house or as Butterfly calls him, Ginger Creepy Guy. On top of that, Brian “Colostomy” has made it clear that he’s following us with a microscope to see if I step wrong so that he can swoop in and save the day. Now, the very person who will hopefully finally bring her justice wants her, too. Herbert Larson acted as if he could have just blown me away like a puff of smoke yesterday, yet when Butterfly spoke, he turned into a mound of malleable mush. Oh, and I’m still not certain that Luc Klevnar—the 6th dan trainer—isn’t hung up on her, too.
Do I see competition everywhere I look? Am I just fucking paranoid because she has become—dare I say it—the most important person in my life? I know that I shouldn’t, because I have a mother and father and brother and sister and if I lost any of them, I would be completely devastated. However, I feel like if I lost Butterfly, I would die… I would honestly die. What does that mean?
She didn’t want me to notice, but I saw her looking at the engagement rings in Tiffany’s yesterday. She tried to say that she wasn’t, referencing her “getting to know you” speech when we met at the community center, but I know better. She’s ready. She’s very ready, and I need to move on it because more than anything, I want her to be Mrs. Grey.
I was skimming the newspaper to see if there was anything in it this morning about Butterfly going to the AG’s office, but there’s nothing. I fold the paper since there is nothing else in there that I want to read. I lift my head to find Butterfly standing there in a sexy pair of black skinny jeans and white silk camisole and a pair of black stiletto booties with tan trim… and she definitely looks troubled.
“What is it, Butterfly?” I say examining the deep red bruises all over her neck, shoulders, and chest. Why would she choose to wear a camisole today? “Is it the love bites?” She pauses as she was walking over to the table.
“No. No.” She says it as a second thought, like she had to think about it for a moment before she answers. She sits down and takes a bite of a dry piece of toast.
“Are you okay?” I put the paper down and focus on her. She has her hair braided in one braid over her left shoulder and she starts picking with the ends. “Butterfly, please tell me before my imagination gets the best of me.” She pours herself a cup of coffee.
“I need to… do something when I get back to Seattle. I mean… I need to see someone.” See someone? This doesn’t sound good.
“Oh?” She still hasn’t drank any of her coffee. “Who?”
“I need to see… Melanie.” I sit up straight in my chair.
“Melanie? Are you serious?” She nods. “Why do you need to see Melanie?”
“Because… my mother called last night. After everything that has happened to her, she is still spiteful, self-centered, and superficial. She can only think of herself. She’s lost everything, Christian. She has absolutely no hope of redemption. After I listened to her message, all I could think was that I wouldn’t let anybody hold me prisoner anymore. I don’t know how she got my number, but I saved hers in my phone waiting for her to call me so that I could ignore her. Isn’t that ridiculous? I promised myself last night that I’m not going to live that existence anymore. I blocked her phone number and I have completely washed my hands of her. I can’t let Melanie leave this earth without washing my hands of her, too.”
I’m confused. I don’t know what she means by this. My bemusement must have been written all over my face.
“Once Melanie dies,” she continues, “I won’t have any closure from her. She’ll just be dead. If I had never met her, that would be fine, but I’ve met her now and we both need closure for this. I have to do this for myself. I can’t walk around with this anger and hatred in my heart after she’s gone. I have to let it go. I have to see her.”
“I thought you said that you couldn’t see her again—that you were going to let this go and let her die,” I respond. She has been through so much. I can’t see her putting herself through more unnecessary anguish.
“I did, but… Christian, I can’t. I can’t let her die like this. If I did, I would only be doing it to hurt her and in the process, it would hurt me. That is simply not the person that I am. I have never been that person. I got to know her, learned about her family and her suffering. She didn’t have to find me, and before she dies, I’m going to make sure that she knows how her actions affected me, but this is not me.” She finally takes a sip of her coffee.
“When I went to see her in El Nido, I let Carly know that I could tell her any story that I wanted. I could tell her that I slept with her boyfriend, got knocked up, and now I’m about to ruin her life because she took revenge on me. I didn’t tell her that. I told her the truth, and I told her why I told her the truth. To be honest, the truth probably hurt her more than any lie ever could—to accept the fact that the person that you loved and eventually wanted to marry was a rapist and most likely raped other women. Then to top it all off, he let you rot away somewhere and now you still have to pay for ‘defending his honor.’ Yet, that’s not why I told her the truth. I told her because of something else that I said to her… I am not her. I’m nothing like her. She thought I wanted to be her, but I never did. I never even envied her; I just wanted her to leave me alone. She’s a horrible, mean, rotten, hateful person and that is not me.
“As much as I would be completely within my rights to let Melanie suffer and carry this with her into the afterlife, that’s just not me. She has tried to make amends and clear her heart and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least allow her to die in peace. I know, I know, I know that you and others think that I should just let her die, and the angry and spiteful part of me feels exactly the same way. Unfortunately for all of you, the bigger part of me feels differently. I have to see her.” I shake my head.
“Are you sure about this, Butterfly? No one anywhere would blame you for turning away from this and not looking back.” She paused.
“I would blame me, Christian. She’s not my friend and I don’t hold her blameless. That was a mean, cruel, and vicious thing that happened to me and she filmed it. Then she sat on it for 11 years. She’s not getting off scot free, trust me. Just like I heard her side of the story, she’s going to hear mine. She’s going to understand what she took part in from the point of view of the victim… and then I’m going to let her die in peace, Christian. It’s the right thing to do.” Good God, this woman. I’m going to have gray hair before I’m forty.
“If it’s what you want to do, okay, but I’m coming with you.” Butterfly looks like she is going to protest, but I put up my hand to stop her. “Anastasia, the last time you spoke to this woman, you were stunned for four days. In the last 24 hours, you have passed out, panicked in a photo session in your underwear, and tossed your cookies in the attorney general’s office. If you’re going to see this woman, I’m coming with you.” I say the words slowly and precisely so that she knows that there is absolutely no room for negotiation. Her shoulders fall and I can tell that she is relenting.
“Don’t your arms get tired from holding me up all the time?” she asks. I take her hand in mine.
“Never… and I’ll do it for the rest of my life.” She smiles widely and sighs.
“Promise?” I pull her hand to my mouth and kiss it gently.
About an hour after we land at SeaTac, we are driving through Kent down E. Chicago road to a street called Wynwood. At the end of the road is a cul de sac and on the left is Melanie’s home. It sits on a hill—blue and white with a two-car garage. There are drawings on the street of a family and houses and sunny days—the drawings that children do with sidewalk chalk. The cloudy day threatens that a brisk snow or a hard rain will most likely wash it away by morning.
Now you see it… now you don’t.
Butterfly exits the Audi SUV and I see trepidation written all over her face. I grasp her hand tightly.
“Have you changed your mind?” I ask. I will put you back in this car and whisk you away, no questions asked. She never looks up at me, only at the house, and shakes her head. She takes a deep breath and walks to the porch. We have to walk up the handicapped ramp as there is no other way in at this time.
“Dr. Steele! Oh, thank God!” A man exclaims once he opens the door. “Please, please come this way.” Jason follows us into the house and takes my coat. Butterfly is wearing a waist-length studded cream leather jacket and a sheer black embellished scarf that she chooses to keep on, probably to hide the love bites from last night. The man, whom I can only assume is St. John, leads us through the house and down a long corridor to a room in the back of the house. It has lots of windows and a medical bed along with a few chairs and lots of flowers. There is medical equipment everywhere, including the beeping heart monitor, and the room smells of death. I’m quite familiar with the smell.
A frail, bald woman lies in the bed. She is wearing an oxygen mask and her breathing is very labored. There is absolutely no color in her face. There is a woman sitting in a chair next to the bed looking and the frail creature and St. John taps her on the shoulder, then whispers in her ear. The woman turns around and rises out of her chair.
“Hello,” she says softly to Butterfly. “I’m Ericka. Melanie is my sister. She… told me… who you are.” Ericka drops her head and it’s obvious that she feels some of her sister’s shame. “It’s very good of you to come.” She leaves the room without raising her head. Butterfly walks into the room and St. John gently rouses Melanie.
“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey… look who’s here.” He points over to Butterfly and Melanie slowly turns her head, no recognition in her eyes. “You’ll have to come closer,” St. John beckons. “She can’t see that well anymore.” Butterfly comes closer and sits in the seat that was previously occupied by Ericka. Melanie recognizes her face and starts to remove her mask. “No. No, you need this,” St. John scolds.
“Ana.” Her voice isn’t even a whisper. You can barely hear her over the hiss of the oxygen. “I’m… sorry… please…” She is struggling with every word.
Butterfly is still a bit trepidatious but she sighs heavily and starts to speak.
“I know,” she says. “I came to you because you need to know what your actions set in motion. You haven’t seen me all of these years, so you have no idea how this situation affected me except to know that it was horrifying and terrible for me at the time. Although I don’t think it’s fair for you to take that sin with you once you have asked for forgiveness, I also can’t offer an absolution without your knowing the results of your actions.”
Melanie looks at Butterfly then closes her eyes. She’s knows what’s coming and she nods slowly.
St. John and I sit in chairs on the perimeter of the room while Butterfly’s horrific tale unfolds. She leaves nothing out—how she awoke three weeks later to find that she had been pregnant and her baby had been murdered; how her mother never came to her bedside and it was Ray that rescued her from Green Valley; how she never really knew why any of this happened to her and she could only assume that it was because she ratted out Cody Whitmore, who did in fact rape and impregnate her when she was just a virgin.
Melanie’s eyes fill with tears as Butterfly’s tale unfolds. She weeps profusely when she hears that the Mortons brought Butterfly back to Green Valley after she thought she had escaped; that she never got any support or care from her mother and her stepfather treated her like shit; that she was so miserable that she cried every day for months; that her teenage years were stolen from her and she never got the experience of a first date, homecoming dance, or prom and that she didn’t even walk across the stage for graduation until college.
Melanie is becoming quite unhinged and St. John begs Butterfly to stop with her story, but Melanie waves him away and wordlessly beckons Butterfly to continue.
Butterfly continues into her college years—that she graduated high school early and hid out in a battered women’s shelter so that her family couldn’t find her; that she lied about her age to find work and housing until she became of age and got a full ride scholarship to college; that her self-esteem was so shot that she fell in with Edward David who mentally and emotionally abused her while he was sleeping with every woman on the Sound.
She also told Melanie that her experience was why she became a psychologist—that she wanted to help people get over traumatic situations and experiences in their lives. She shared with her a story that Maxine told her in one of her sessions. I have to admit that I was dumbfounded by that part of the conversation. I had no idea that as soon as just a few months ago, Butterfly was on the verge of giving up. She felt that the world had let her down and that there was no sense in doing good anymore because you’re fucked no matter what you do.
She talked about the kidnapping and the fact that Harris beat her until she was nearly unrecognizable. It was the only time in her life that she really felt ugly. She had felt invisible in Green Valley, unloved by the Mortons, and unwanted by the world—but she had never felt ugly until that incident. She talked about how everything is connected and is a chain reaction to the next thing that happens in life and how meeting Maxine back in college helped her to get over the trauma of her initial attack and assured that she would have someone to help her through what was to come. It helped me to understand why Maxine is so protective of her and why Butterfly took it so hard when she quit without notice.
Butterfly finally takes Melanie’s hand and you can hear the slight gasp under her oxygen mask. “I’m going to finish my job and give you the final thing that you need from your dignity therapy. I forgive you. I forgive you because I can’t hold this in my heart for the rest of my life. If I don’t forgive you, I will hate you until well after you are gone, and I will be punishing myself. I recognize that you could have died and taken this to your grave. Although I am still angry that you took so long to come forward, I’m dealing with that—and you did come forward. I hear that everything happens for a reason. I have to believe that. As you cross over, you need to believe it too. Everything happens for a reason.”
Melanie lets out a sigh of relief and smiles at Butterfly under her oxygen mask. She nods at Butterfly then closes her eyes. Butterfly watches and we both have the same thought…
Is she going to die right now?
As it turns out, she falls asleep. I felt like our deed was done and we should go now, but Butterfly just sat there holding her hand for a long time while she slept.
“She hasn’t slept this peacefully in months,” St. John whispers to me and I just look over at him.
“Prepare yourself, Michael. She’s letting go,” Butterfly responds. St. John’s face loses its color and he nods and clasps his hands in his lap. I think he’s praying. Sure enough, about 15 minutes after Butterfly announced it, Melanie’s machines start to beep. Nothing dramatic, the beeping is quiet, but we all know that she’s leaving now. St. John sits up straight and starts to shake a bit. He seems very attached to her. Ericka appears in the bedroom door and just stands there, knowing that her sister is finally dying.
Butterfly just holds her hand.
Two or three minutes later, Melanie dies.
Butterfly gives her hand one last squeeze and then rests it on her bed next to her body. She stands and walks over to me, her face impassive. St. John is gasping, like he absolutely cannot believe what he is seeing. Ericka comes into the room and removes Melanie’s oxygen mask. She strokes Melanie’s bald head and kisses her forehead. “Nighty night, Mel,” she says sweetly as a tear drops onto Melanie’s face.
St. John finally bolts out of his seat and drops to his knees as Melanie’s bedside. He is weeping bitterly and clutching her hand. “Laney! Laney! Oh God, Laney!” he cries. These are the cries of a broken heart. He was more than just her caregiver… he loved her. “No! No! Laney! Oh Goooooood…” I hear the pain in his voice. He didn’t want her to suffer anymore, but he didn’t want her to die either. He was torn between the two and now that she’s gone, his soul is being ripped from his body.
Ericka comes over to his side and puts her hands on his shoulders. He sobs and sobs for several minutes while Butterfly and I just stand there, holding each other.
“We can go now,” Butterfly whispers after I don’t know how long, and we quietly steal away from the heart-wrenching scene.
We go to the living room where I left my coat with Jason. I put on my coat and the three of us silently leave the house. We are just about to get into the SUV when I hear St. John’s voice.
“Dr. Steele! Dr. Steele, wait!” He is barreling down the handicapped ramp and over to us and he stops just short of us, grasping Butterfly’s hand, tears still streaming steadily down his face. “Thank you… thank you so much.” He forces a smile. “I knew that she was waiting for you. I knew her body would eventually give out, but she would have fought with every cell in her body until it did, hoping that you would come. Thank you… thank you…” he drops his head. Butterfly reaches up to his face and gently wipes away some of his tears. She envelops him in a warm embrace. He closes his eyes and sinks into her hold, tears still falling from his tightly closed eyes. When she pulls away, she kisses him gently on the cheek. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Michael. I didn’t know.” He shook his head.
“No one did. I just… wanted to be here for her in her last days,” he says, his voice thick with sorrow.
“I’m sure she is very happy that you were. She spoke very fondly of you,” Butterfly said with a smile. He nods and nearly breaks again.
“She’s at peace now. I’m so sorry for your experience, Dr. Steele. I had no idea…” he begins.
“How could you?” Butterfly says, gently laying her hand on his cheek again and smiling warmly. “Take care, Michael.” He nods and she gets into the Audi. I step to St. John and shake his hand.
“My condolences,” I say sincerely. He just watched the woman he loves die a slow and painful death. I can’t imagine how I would feel watching that happen to Butterfly.
“Thank you, Sir,” he says, returning my handshake. “Thank you so much for coming.” I nod and join Butterfly in the Audi.
The ride back to Seattle is silent—25 minutes and I just hold Butterfly’s hand as we ride in silence back to Escala.
Je t’en supplie… pitié – I beg you… mercy.
Oui, Monsieur – Yes, Sir
Mon Dieu – My God
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