This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.
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. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues…
Chapter 49—Preparing For Sunnier Climes
We all climb into the Audi SUV since we have to stop at the police station first to retrieve my belongings. It’s my hope to never have to deal with the Seattle Police Department in this capacity again. I know that I received special treatment—most likely because of a certain copper-haired, gray-eyed Adonis that I know and love—and yet, it’s still a damn nightmare getting my things back!
First, there must be a petition and a background check for me to retrieve my guns. Luckily, that process started the day that they retrieved me. I’m at the evidence warehouse and the guy is treating me like a toddler. By the time it’s all said and done, I’m flailing my hands about asking this guy who’s older than Jesus, “I have a CCW! I had to get a background check for the CCW! What’s the problem? Just tell me what I need to do to get my guns!” Instead of being helpful, this jerk prefers to stand there and make jokes about my height and my guns being bigger than I am.
Wrong move, Moses.
By the time it’s all said and done, I’ve called Gerald and then Christian and they called somebody else and the next thing I know, Christian, Williams, Gerald, and some other cop—chief, I think—are all down at the warehouse. Gerald and this Chief guy are screaming Moses down, who’s now shaking and shivering and trying to find my guns and my car. First, my car was at the impound, and then they took it somewhere else and now it’s here and blah, blah, blah… just give me my shit! By the time I get my guns, I have now wasted an hour of shopping time—thank God, we left early—and when I go out to my car, it looks like pure shit. It’s filthy. It’s covered in dirt and white dust and there are fingerprints all over it. There’s black gunk on the inside and they damaged it when they towed it.
“What the fuck happened?” Christian demands. “I was at the aquarium when they put this car on the truck. It didn’t look like this!” he shouts, looking from Williams to Gerald.
“I know. I saw it, too,” Gerald says.
“What the hell did they do to her car!?” Christian is screaming now. I tune out anything they’re saying. I look at what once was my beautiful pearl blue 2012 Chrysler 300 with matching suede interior. It’s now a dusty, dirty, grimy, damaged hunk of junk. It doesn’t even look like my car anymore. I turn away from the car and walk silently out the garage doors and to the nearby Audi SUV. Fuck it, I think to myself. First, Edward bashes the windshield out and now the police get a hold of it and treat it like a useless piece of tin. I’m still paying for the damn thing! Whatever. I get into the back seat and close the door. I fold my arms and silent tears fall down my face.
In a moment, Christian is opening the door. “Butterfly?” I wipe my tears quickly, like I’m ashamed for him to see them. “Do you want to make a report?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I want to get out of here.” The tears are still flowing as I look straight ahead.
“Are you still paying for that car, Butterfly?” he asks. I nod. “Then you should really make a report.”
“I don’t care anymore, Christian. I want to get out of here. I want to go shopping with my friends,” I reply, still trying to wipe the tears from my sore face. Christian takes out his handkerchief and gently dabs my tears dry.
“I’ll talk to Gerald and we’ll make the report. We saw the car when they loaded it.” I just nod. I don’t think he understands that car is not my car anymore. Whatever happens, I’m just going to trade the damn thing in or something, I don’t know. My beautiful 300.
“I’ll make sure it gets detailed and repaired for you, okay?” he says. Detailed. Again. Sure. I nod. I don’t care what they do with it. I didn’t even put my Boo back in it. “Are you okay, Baby?” I nod again. Gail and Maxie come back over to the SUV.
“Ana, are you okay?” Gail asks. I give her a tortured, tearful smile.
“I’ll be fine, but we have less space to fill since my car is destroyed,” I croak, trying and failing to make light of the situation.
“Lawrence can drive the other SUV. You guys can take the two SUV’s with you,” Christian says.
“What about you and Williams?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine. You don’t have many more shopping hours left—I want you to go. Okay?” He smiles at me and I suddenly feel better.
“Okay,” I reply as he dabs my eyes again.
“I’ll take care of this. No more crying,” he scolds. I nod.
“Okay.” He kisses me on my lips and the girls climb into the SUV. Lawrence gets into the other SUV and follows us to Nordstrom. We have about five hours to make a big dent in this store, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. I give my firearms to Chuck to secure in the glove box and proceed into Nordstrom to give the “Holy Grail” a workout.
When I say that we put a hole in Nordstrom, I mean that we put a hole in Nordstrom! First, we head to the summer dresses. We need tropical colors and flowing materials. Once we put a dent in that department, we wander over to blouses, then pants and leggings, swimwear, then shoes… ah, shoes! After we choose our accessories, poor Gail turns several shades of pink when I tell her that we can’t leave without lingerie.
“I’m comfortable in nightgowns and pajamas. I’ll be just fine,” she tries to protest.
“Oh, no,” I say. “We’re going to Anguilla. You’ll be wearing silk, lace, or satin every night that we’re there.”
“I’m too old for that stuff,” she says.
“You most certainly are not!” I disagree. “I’ll have you know that I’ll be wearing this stuff when I’m in my sixties and beyond. As long as Mr. Grey’s eyes work, I’ll give him something to look at. Now move your patootie!”
“Patootie?” Maxie whines. “Really Ana?”
“Just… come on you guys.”
I’m helping Gail pick out her spread for 10 days just in case. We choose a white Joquil Casablanca Satin and Lace nightgown, a Cosabella Never Say Never black stretch lace chemise, an Oscar De La Renta white print satin chemise with black lace trim, a Honeydew Intimates Emma Elegance Coral nightie with black lace bosom and trim, a Calvin Klein sultan purple nylon chemise with lace trim, a Joquil In Bloom orchid lace trapeze nightie (I bought the same nightie in black and turquoise), and the Natori Zen Floral chemise with lace bosom in heathered sea grass, which is kind of like seafoam green (I got the same nightie in black). I made sure to get her the Natori Kabibi Robe as well. Nothing too risqué—we don’t want Jason having a heart attack, but we do want him to find her utterly irresistible on this lovely, romantic, tropical island. I purchase a few pieces for me as well and a couple for Maxie… I don’t want her to feel left out.
We’ve got the poor salesgirl carrying armfuls upon armfuls of clothing and shoes and costume jewelry, nighties, and hats and bags. I even purchase luggage because I knew Christian would forget that I had none at his apartment… and I’m just not ready to go back to my condo, yet. Lawrence and Chuck are very efficient in carrying the items out to the SUVs as I watch the cash register sing higher and higher while most of Nordstrom’s inventory walks out with my security. “Is that everything, ma’am?”
Isn’t that enough? I think to myself as I observe the astronomical number on display.
“Yep, I’d say that’s everything,” I reply. Lawrence and Chuck have finally gotten the SUV’s loaded and we walk out of Nordstrom only to find that the paparazzi had been hiding and waiting for me to emerge. Oh, enough of this hiding. I put on my sunglasses to hide the worst of the bruising and walk to the SUV.
“Smile for the cameras, ladies,” I say, as I wave at the crowd of photographers a few feet away… and the cameras go wild.
“How are you feeling, Ms. Steele?” one of them yells.
“I’m doing well. Thank you for asking. Good night,” I yell back. I hurry and get into the SUV to avoid the frenzy of more questions that will follow. Chuck looks back at me.
“That might not have been the best idea, Ana,” he says.
“Well, Christian’s not here, Chuck, and I have to play it by ear. With what’s going to be happening over the next several weeks and probably the next several months, I’m going to be getting a lot of exposure whether I want it or not. With what Christian and I have planned, I need the press to be on my side. I don’t need them pegging me as a disagreeable bitch.” He nods skeptically, turns around and starts the car.
“Where would you like to go to eat?” Chuck asks.
“With paparazzi in tow, we should probably just go home. I’ll whip us up something when we get there,” I say to Chuck, and he proceeds to drive us back to Escala.
We have so much stuff that when we get back to Escala, Chuck and Lawrence just drive around to the service elevator. We help them by unloading some of the smaller bags while they unload the luggage and the larger parcels. Maxie made sure that her things were bagged separately so that she could leave when we got back and return to her beloved Phil. I give her a hug and kiss because I know it would be at least a week before I see her again. As Lawrence and Chuck are putting the last of the packages in the service elevator, I retrieve my guns from the glove compartment.
“If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, what are you working with there?” Lawrence asks when I pull my guns from the glove compartment.
“I’ll tell you if you stop calling me ma’am,” I reply. “Ask Jason and Chuck, I hate it.”
“You prefer Her Highness?” he snickers, and I laugh with him.
“That was a joke that just got carried away,” I chuckle. “So now I’m stuck with it. I actually prefer Ana. What’s your first name anyway?”
“Benjamin,” he responds.
“Benjamin,” I repeat. “That’s even more formal than Lawrence,” I say closing the glove box.
“Ben for short,” he corrects himself.
“That I can do. Ben, this is my Boo. She’s a 9mm Glock G19C with a slide lock and integrated compensator. I usually keep her in the car. She’s the ride along.” I hand him my Glock.
“Impressive,” he says testing the weight of it. “Light,” he observes.
“What can I say? I’m small.” I shrug. I pull out my revolver. “This is my carrier… .44 Magnum 629. It’s a double-action Smith & Wesson Special.” I hand him the Magnum and he returns my Boo. I check the lock before I put it back in my purse.
“Heavier metal,” he says, again testing the weight.
“Yep. Less ammo. Back at home, I have a 9mm Beretta Px4 Storm Type F Sub-Compact with a reversible magazine.”
“Whoa! Now that’s the one that means business!” he says, returning my Magnum as we walk back to the elevator. I put it in my purse with the Glock.
“Hey, I figure if you’re walking into someone’s house, you get what you deserve,” I say unapologetic.
“The Glock is your favorite.” he says as we join Chuck and Gail in the elevator and ride to the penthouse.
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
“It’s obvious, you call it your Boo,” he says, laughing. I shrug.
“Yeah, I do. I guess it’s because it’s midway between the other two. No reversible magazine like the Beretta since I’m not trying to empty two clips into anyone, but a little more fire power than the Magnum,” I say. He nods.
“Very impressive, Ana,” he says and smiles at me.
“Thank you, Ben,” I respond, and we ride the rest of the way in silence.
When we get to the penthouse, I go straight to my office. Christian has the lock box sitting on my desk with instructions that there’s a hideaway compartment in the wall behind me once I have safely locked away my firearms. I open the lockbox, take my Boo out of my purse and begin to inspect her. I release and remove the magazine. I remove each round and inspect it for tampering and damage. I pull the chamber back and release the bullet that’s inside the chamber. The carriage pops back indicating that the gun is empty. I must inspect it carefully since she has been out of my possession for the last few days. Those idiots fucked up my car; there’s no telling what they did to my guns. I check down the barrel. No obstructions. No smell of gunpowder, so it hasn’t been fired. I pull the trigger, popping the carriage back in place and engage the slide lock before I put it in the lock box. I reload the ammunition back into the magazine and place it next to my Boo in the box.
“You really know what you’re doing there.” His honey voice caresses my ears and draws my eyes to him, standing in the doorway of my office looking all delicious. His eyes are filled with wonder.
“I better—these are not toys, you know.” I wink at him as I pop open the chamber on the Magnum and empty the bullets into my hand. He comes into my office and pulls a chair beside me while I inspect the rounds I just removed from the gun.
“What are you doing?” he asks. I look up at him… he’s curious.
“I always know where my guns are—Beretta secured in my nightstand; Glock secured in my glove box, Magnum secured on me. If, for any reason, they’re not in one of those three places, I have to inspect them carefully to make sure that they’re in correct working condition,” I say while I continue to inspect the bullets.
“Do you think they broke them?” he asked.
“Well, not necessarily broke them, but they could have been mishandled or something,” I say while inspecting the chamber and the barrel. “See, look here.” He nervously leans over to me. I smile. “There are no bullets in the gun, Christian,” I say, spinning the empty chamber. He nods and moves in closer. “Look down the barrel there. Do you see the debris?”
“Yeah,” he says examining the gun.
“Now, I have to clean it before I fire it. I was going to do that anyway,” I say as I put the loose rounds in the lockbox—no use in loading a dirty gun. “When a gun is fired, the bullet doesn’t go straight through the barrel. It goes around. Each barrel is unique, so when the bullet goes around in the barrel before it is discharged, the barrel leaves markings on the bullet. That’s why ballistics can match a bullet to a particular gun.” He raises his eyebrows and nods.
“Can that debris change the markings on the bullet?” he asks. I shake my head.
“It’s not likely, but depending on the debris, it can cause the firearm to malfunction and I could get hurt.” Oh, he doesn’t like the sound of that at all. “That’s why Ray made sure I knew everything there is to know about a gun before he put one in my hands.” I pull the hammer back and pull the trigger once. Christian jumps. I told you the gun’s not loaded, Baby.
“Why do you do that… fire it with no bullets?” he asks.
“Well, I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to fire it with bullets in your glass tower. That wouldn’t be good,” I tease. Christian doesn’t find that funny. “I’m sorry, Baby. I do that to make sure it’s engaging properly… and I smell it to make sure it hasn’t been fired.”
“You smell it?” He frowns.
“Yes. If it’s been fired recently, it smells like gunpowder. Another forensics lesson… Gunpowder residue on your clothes and hands indicates that you were the shooter. Dun dun duuuuuuunnnnn!” I make the sound of ominous music to lighten the mood. It works—Christian’s shoulders relax, and he smiles. I close the chamber and put the Magnum in the lock box, then pick up my Boo and the magazine.
“This is the ammunition for this gun.” I hold up the magazine before putting it back into the box. I slide open the chamber to show him that the gun is empty. Then I pull the trigger.
“Do you see how that carriage rocks back and forth when you pull the trigger?” I say.
“I didn’t see it. Do it again.” I repeat the process so that he can see it moving. He nods.
“If you don’t know how to hold the gun properly or the gun isn’t calibrated properly, this carriage can snap back and cut your hand. Have you ever heard of recoil?” I ask.
“I’ve heard of a person recoiling,” he responds.
“It’s kinda the same thing. When the bullet is discharged, the force pushes the gun back. It can be light recoil or heavy recoil, depending on the gun and the ammo. I’m strong, but I’m still a little person, so I wouldn’t try to fire an Uzi. It would literally knock me on my ass on the first attempt. That’s why they hold them in the movies like this.” I demonstrate how the movie stars hold a large automatic weapon. “They’re not that heavy, but they hold them like they weigh a ton. That’s because they are firing multiple shots at once and the recoil is insane!” I say as I put my Boo back in the box and lock it. Christian opens the compartment behind me in the wall and I put the box inside.
“You weren’t really interested in all of that, were you?” I ask him as he secures the compartment.
“Yes and no,” he admits. “I came up here for another reason, but then I saw you taking the gun apart. I told you that I detest guns, but I was fascinated watching you and thought, well, maybe I should ask you about it. All I’ve ever known from guns is that they kill people. I’ve never tried to learn anything else. If you had asked me last week, I wouldn’t have been interested. Watching you dismantle the gun, I was interested.” I laugh.
“Oh, I haven’t dismantled it yet. That comes when I clean it,” I say. He chuckles and takes me in his arms.
“I wish you had it on you last Friday. I never thought I would hear myself say that, but I really wish you had,” he says, his eyes sincere and sad.
“Me, too,” I say, pushing my face into his chest and holding him close to me. “But I’m okay, and I’ll be all better soon,” I add, looking into his loving eyes. “Now I have to go and fix my people something to eat since we didn’t get a chance to eat while we were out,” I say giving him a peck on the lips and walking out of the office.
“Oh yeah, that’s why I came up here.” He’s following me down the stairs and to the kitchen. “Davenport said that you spoke to the paps. What was that about?” I look in the refrigerator to see what I can cook quickly. Gail had taken pork chops out for dinner, but we went shopping instead. I quickly dial back to Gail’s quarters.
“Yes, Mr. Grey?” she answers.
“It’s me, Gail. May I use your pork chops? I’m going to throw something together for us to eat since we don’t have much time.”
“Sure, do you need me to help?” she asks.
“No, you’ve got packing to do and so do I, come to think of it.”
“I’ll do your packing, Ana. You don’t have to worry about it,” she says.
“I’ll tell you what. Come and help me with dinner and we’ll pack together.”
“Okay, be there in a moment.” I hang up the phone and go back to the fridge. I take out the pork chops and begin preparing them to cook. I turn around and Christian is sitting at the breakfast bar expecting. I forgot he was there.
“I’m sorry, Baby. What did you say?” I ask.
“The paparazzi, you spoke to them…” he begins.
“Well, you weren’t there. I was on my own. I expect for us to be in the news quite a bit in the coming months. I figure it’s better to make the media a friend than an enemy.” I fill a pot halfway with water and put it on to boil. Then I put some olive oil in a pan on the stove top for the pork chops. Gail comes around the corner and grabs her apron.
“What do you need me to do?” she asks.
“Can you make a nice salad, please? We’ll have some seared pork chops with a quick pasta,” I respond. She nods and begins making the salad. “Have you and Jason eaten yet? It’s late,” I ask Christian.
“No. What did you say to them?” he says.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, why didn’t you eat?” I ask.
“You had my cook, now answer my question,” he responds flatly. I lean on the breakfast bar in front of him.
“First of all, that’s no excuse. You know better. It’s after 9:00. And before you try to use my words against me—I was shopping, we were pressed for time, and the paps were following me. You, my love, were at home.” I say pointing in his face. He does the shaking head nod as he knows I squashed that conversation. “Second, I waved to the paparazzi. They asked how I was, I told them I was very well, thanked them for asking, and said Goodnight. My dress didn’t fly up so that my cooch would end up on the front page of a tabloid and I didn’t say anything that could be used as a sound bite. Okay?” I await his approval. He smirks at me.
“Okay. Just be careful. They’ll say things to try to get a rise out of you then use your reaction against you in the media,” he warns.
“I will,” I say as I go to the stove and put the chops in the frying pan with a little lemon pepper. Since there will be six of us, I start another pan to fry the remaining chops so that I’m not in the kitchen all night. Gail is just about done with the salad. “Gail, please set the table for six when you’re done.” She nods.
“Six?” Christian asks as I put whole cloves of peeled garlic and spaghetti in the boiling water.
“Yes, six. You, me, Gail, Jason, Chuck, and Ben.”
“Ben? Who the hell is Ben?” he asks.
“Lawrence! Do you know anybody’s first name besides Jason and Gail?” I ask.
“I try not to. These people are my employees, Ana. I only started calling Gail by her first name since you got here, and I’m not too keen on sitting at the dinner table with all of them. It’s not always appropriate. Gail and Taylor, yes, they’ve been with me the longest. But Davenport and Lawrence…” He trails off.
“Where was Chuck going to eat anyway? He has to be here tonight to leave with us in the morning,” I point out.
“He was going to eat in the servant’s quarters.” Ugh, I hate that term. Gail and I were going to eat together, chew the fat and talk—but I can’t shove Chuck and Ben in the servant’s quarters like butlers while the four of us sit out here having a gay old time. I sigh.
“Gail, please set the table for two. In fact, just set the bar, and you can take dinner back to your quarters for everyone else. Is that okay?” I say to her, my voice subdued.
“Of course, Ana. Do you still want me to help you pack?” she asks. I’m feeling a little Christian-crushed right now, so I just say, “No, just have Jason or Chuck bring the little things and the luggage that I bought for myself to our bedroom and I’ll take care of it.” She nods.
“You bought luggage?” Christian asks. I really don’t want to speak to him right now.
“Yes,” I say in a controlled voice. “I didn’t have time to go back to the condo to get mine.”
“I have plenty of luggage, Butterfly,” he says.
“I’m sorry. I should have asked. I really don’t need it, I just didn’t know. I can return it…” I begin.
“No, it’s perfectly fine. You should have your own. Is it nice?” he asks, still trying to make conversation.
“It’s functional,” I reply dryly. It is rather nice, but I don’t want to sit here and talk about luggage. Gail notices the tension in the air and finds a reason to excuse herself after she sets the breakfast bar for Christian and me.
“I’m going to go set the table in the servant’s quarters and I’ll be right back,” she says softly. I nod, and she makes a fast getaway.
“And now, you’re angry with me,” Christian observes as I drain the pasta and turn the chops. I sigh.
“No, I’m not angry,” I say truthfully… disappointed, but not angry. I toss the pasta with oregano and olive oil, then cover it so that it’ll stay warm. “I understand that you have lived this structured life with order and formality all of this time and then here I come with my guns and my Your Highness and my Chuck, Jason, and Ben and rattle all of your structure. I’m not trying to change you or the way you do things. I just have to remember where I fit in.” I say, downcast. I realize that didn’t come out like I wanted it to, but I don’t know what else to say. I turn my chops once more and add lemon juice, honey, and a touch of soy sauce and let them simmer.
“Butterfly,” he comes around the breakfast bar into the kitchen and puts his arms around me, “you don’t just fit in here. You’re my life, now. Everything has to fit around you, or it has to go. I’ve never been that friendly with my staff. I like to keep the lines separate. I understand how you feel and that you’re more personable than I am, but I’ll probably never call Davenport or Lawrence by their first names and I’ve called Taylor Taylor for so long, that is his first name to me. I don’t want you to be unhappy or ever think you have to fit in. We’re a team… remember?” He says the last words with hope in his voice. “And if it means that much to you, they can eat at the table with us.”
“No, I’m fine,” I cede. “You’ll be grinding your teeth with security sitting at the table with us… be honest.” He does that yes/no nod/shake that he does, and I know that he would be doing just that. “Might as well go on and let them eat with Gail and Jason, as long as I don’t have to send Ben home hungry.” I say, taking the chops off the fire and putting enough on a serving platter for the staff. “But know this, I plan on having some meals with your staff while we’re in Anguilla. I respect that you don’t want to break bread with them all the time, but sometimes…” He cuts me off.
“Totally acceptable. I just want you to be happy and have a good time,” he says. I turn around to face him just as he goes to kiss my cheek and his mouth hits mine… and it didn’t hurt! His face is a hair away from mine and he stands there waiting for my reaction. The moment I gasp out the breath I was holding, he snatches me in his arms—my feet dangling in the air—and closes his lips over mine. The kiss is gentle, deep, and passionate. I tangle my fingers into his hair and sink into the kiss. We have been waiting days for this! I whimper into his mouth and fight the urge to wrap my legs around him. We’re mauling each other like two starving dogs… tongues and lips and teeth and oh my God! I gasp when his mouth releases mine and his lips travel down my cheek to my jaw, then my neck… fire!
“Christian…” I breathe. My loins are burning, but we don’t have time. We have to board a plane at 4:00am.
“I know. We have to stop,” he breathes into my neck. He halts his assault and I’m still stroking his hair.
“Yes,” I whisper, clearly out of breath.
“You’re hot, Baby,” he says, bringing his face up to meet mine.
“So are you,” I breathe.
“No,” he says, brushing his lips against my cheek and I shiver. “You see that? You’re hot. We may have to alleviate that later.” He blows a hot breath on my neck and I feel my nipples stiffen.
“Ah… Christian, please. We don’t have time,” I whine.
“There’s always time for an orgasm,” he says… in that voice. Oh, fuck. I shake my head and regain my senses.
“We must eat. Now. And then I must pack… and shower. I probably won’t even sleep tonight since we’re leaving here so early.” He kisses me gently on my cheek.
“You’re right,” he says as he places me back on the floor. Thank God. I was losing that battle quickly. “Wine or spritzers?” he asks.
“Spritzers. I don’t want to get too relaxed and then I can’t pack,” I say. He makes us two spritzers as I serve up our dinner. Gail comes out and takes the food back to the rest of the guys. No doubt she wandered out here during our make-out session. Her timing can’t be that perfect.
I enjoy a fast meal with Christian, then dash back to my office to make sure that all my travel documents are in order. I toss my cell in my purse with my charger. I decide to run through my mail quickly and I see a postcard from… Kate! Get outta here! It’s addressed to the office, so I can only assume that Al must have gone by there as well.
Doing some brain cleansing on the beach at St. Tropez and I thought of you. Yes, I know… strange. But you were the catalyst that let me know that I need to get myself together and now I’m thinking more clearly. Please let Elliot know that I’m fine and I think of him and hope that his life is now going the way that he hopes. Hoping that you and I can have a drink or something when I am stateside again. Until then, à bientôt!
I literally laugh aloud when I read the card. Our entire relationship started—badly, because she threw a French term at me and now she’s in the French Riviera! Speaking French! I think… How ironic.
There was nothing else for me to be concerned about in the mail that couldn’t wait until I get back. I intended to call some of my patients today, but I didn’t have a chance. There was no indication from my service or Marilyn that anyone had any emergencies, so I have to assume that all is well unless someone notifies me otherwise. I send an email to Marilyn that I’m going out of the country and will most likely not be back for at least a week. She can contact me by phone and email if there are any issues that need my immediate attention. I take the package Al brought to me earlier out of my desk and put it in my purse. I’ll need it in Anguilla.
I go into our bedroom and it looks like a garment boutique exploded in here. In addition to the pieces I bought for myself from Nordstrom, apparently my vacation wardrobe has been delivered. Good God, does this man plan on staying in Anguilla for a whole damn month!? Where am I supposed to put all of this? I can’t take it all! I go to the closet and apparently, Christian has made more room for my things in here. Not only are there more clothes hanging in here for me, but there is also plenty of room for that wardrobe he just bought me. I wonder what he did with his things? His words from earlier come back to me…
You don’t just fit in here. You’re my life, now. Everything has to fit around you, or it has to go.
I feel a little giggly when I think of it. I begin to go through the lovely things that he bought for me—dresses and shorts and blouses and skirts, shoes, lingerie, even accessories. He thought of everything… or the personal shopper he hired thought of everything. I don’t care! All I know is that I’m going to look hot in Anguilla!
I’m finally done packing everything that I plan to take with me and it is just after midnight. I’m glad I bought a separate hat carrier since I didn’t know I had so many hats. A standard hat box would be sure to be crushed by some clumsy baggage handler.
This flight is destined to be 10 to 12 hours long and I plan to be comfortable. So, I decide on my new Bailey Tower of Babel bandage tank. It’s a long black tank top with white designs that travel up the shirt like the “Tower of Babel.” I’ll compliment this with a pair of white shorts and one of Christian’s linen shirts. I’ll wear my Christian Louboutin Almeria 120 white wedges. For jewelry, I’ll wear my silver necklace with the multiple yin yang symbols, my simple yin yang earrings and some white fashion bangles to cover the healing scars on my wrist. I must say that my face is looking fantastic. My lips are totally kissable, my eyes can be covered with concealer and my cheek is almost completely back to normal. Oh, shit! I better remember to pack some of Gail’s tea. I dash out of the door and I’m stopped just outside of the door by a wall of man… gorgeous man.
“Where are you off too?” he says, slowly walking forward and walking me backwards.
“I’m… going to get… um…” The proximity is making me lose my train of thought. “Tea! I’m going to get tea!”
“You’re thirsty?” he says, seductively, still walking me backwards into our bedroom.
“No,” I whimper. Oh, good Lord, his presence alone makes me hot. “I… uh… Gail’s tea… for my face.”
“I’ve packed it already,” he says, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
“Christian,” I breathe. “I have to change… we have to leave for the airport shortly…” I try to reason with him. If he touches me, I’m gone.
“We have time, Baby,” he says before he pulls me against his hard body.
That sheen is showing up on her skin and I haven’t even touched her yet. I won’t drag this out. She’s right, we only have about two hours before we have to get to the airport. Since I won’t fuck her on the plane.… this time.… I‘ll have to get my fill of her now, and quickly. When I close the space between us and grind her with my erection, her moan and escaping breath let me know that I have her. That kiss in the kitchen set me on fire. Even while I was organizing renovations to the closet while we’re gone, checking the quality of her promise ring, tying up loose ends at GEH and making sure that her car will be as good as new when we return, I could think of nothing else but that kiss… that searing, sensuous kiss that I had been craving for over a week. Yes, our sore-lip alterations are fantastic, especially the open-mouthed tongue-play. We’re going to have to keep that one around. But Ana’s kiss…
There’s nothing in the world like Butterfly’s lips. She can do amazing things with her mouth—her oral skills are unparalleled. But when she kisses you… really kisses you… you feel it in places that you didn’t know existed. Nothing and no one has ever touched me the way this woman has. This is why I have to make sure that she knows that she’s mine… and I have to kiss her.
I bend my knees so that I’m eye level with her and kiss those delicious lips again. Mmmm… so good. When her arms wrap around my neck, I waste no time lifting her by her ass and crawling onto the bed with her in my arms. She wraps her legs around me and I almost lose it right there and then. I feel her nipples press against my chest through our clothes as I lay her down and my hands go immediately to her perfect mounds. I tease her breasts through the thin material of the dress and she trembles, moaning a tortured moan as she pulls my hair gently.
Butterfly, I warn mentally. Fuck!
I continue to assault her mouth and breasts and she starts to grind against my erection. Fucking hell… I’m about to nut in my jeans and I can tell by her body that she’s about to blow. I stop the assault on her breasts and lift her off the bed with one arm, raising her dress with my free hand. She is so impatient that she begins to remove her panties before I can get the dress off. Fuck it. I lay her back on the bed and make quick work of her panties, throwing them off somewhere to Pantyland. My mouth moves from her lips straight down to her flower. She squeals in pleasure as she thrusts her hips into my face. She is dripping wet! Absolutely dripping! I greedily devour her juices and move quickly back to the clitoris. I moan in satisfaction of her delectable sweet flavor. She has crossed her feet behind my back and she is riding my face viciously. Fuck, this is hot! She has handfuls of my hair, grinding my face into her and I’m sucking and licking that fruit like my very life depended on it. I reach my hands back around to her hungry screaming breasts, her nipples sitting up like two large, hard pebbles. Oh, hell, Baby, you are just too damn horny. When you come, it’s going to be loud and hard.
She’s writhing insanely under me, so aroused that her engorged clitoris starts to throb and stiffen. Oh shit, I know what’s coming. It’s never happened to her before–not with me anyway–but it’s about to happen now. I stick my index and middle finger into her core and massage that spongy, rigid tissue on the front of her vaginal wall. She’s making completely incoherent sounds as her body stills and she absorbs the pleasure. That’s right, Butterfly, any second now. I look up at her and I can’t see her head at all. She’s lost in the throes of this pending orgasm and her head is thrown back as far as it can go. I probably should have warned her what was coming, but my mouth is full.
“Christian… wait a… min… ute…” she protests. Relax into it, Baby. I’m told the feeling is incredible. “Ah… Christian… wa… ah…” She’s sweating profusely, trying to catch her breath. I continue with my assault—her tender nipple, her hardened clitoris, and her g-spot. The more aroused she gets, the more it pushes back against my finger.
Here it comes, Baby. I can taste your juice… it’s sweeter. I can feel you tightening around my finger. Let it go, Baby. I can’t stop and tell you… let it go… I extend my tongue to massage that spot just underneath her clitoris on the outside of her g-spot. Her breathing is heavy, labored, and loud. She can’t protest anymore… she can only ride. I pinch her swollen nipple and continue the g-spot massage and her clitoris gets rock hard against my lips and tongue.
The deep, guttural cry that I heard damn near scares the shit out of me. I feel the vibrations start in her stomach and they must have moved in both directions because her throat sounds like she’s gargling, and her pussy is vibrating so hard, it could probably suck in a 10-pound-weight. I suck her welcoming clit as her body trembles violently and seconds after her orgasm starts, she squirts in my mouth. I knew it was coming, I just couldn’t tell her. I taste her sweetness, but there is too much for me to catch. It’s running down my mouth, squirting on my chin and my shirt and down her core to her ass. It’s glorious! She’s wet and glistening and beautiful—the product of her earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm all over me, her, and my bed.
Once she has ridden out the waves of her release, I can’t get out of my clothes fast enough! My pants, shirt, and boxers take off for whatever mysterious land claimed her panties. I snatch her dress off quickly and flip her over like a pancake. She yelps at the speed and accuracy of my movements as I swiftly position her on her knees and impale her hot pussy balls deep. She is so wet, I slip right in all the way to the hilt.
“Ssssssssssssssssssshit!” I hiss, her muscles still contracting from her orgasm. “Oh, fucking hell!” I exclaim as my dick seems to dance in her walls though I remain completely still. Shit, she’s a perfect fit. It doesn’t matter if it’s a finger or two, a semi-hard erection or a completely stiff rod, she always wraps around me completely perfect… like she was made for me. I start to move—slowly, trying to savor the feeling of being inside her. She’s not having it. Her insides almost begin immediately to quiver again, and she’s whimpering as she pushes herself back against me, slapping her ass on my pelvis and pumping my pink, veiny dick for all it’s worth.
“Oh, baby, shit!” I can see the veins throbbing on the skin of my shaft, shining from her juices and sliding in and out, in and out of her hot, wet pussy.
“Baby, fuck!” I’m going to explode any second with her stroking me at this pace. I can’t even try to stop it. I grab her hips and let her run, watching as she squeezes and caresses my erection with her juicy, sexy core. Her continuous, sensual, expert movements bring me right to the edge and just as I am about to reach around and massage that tender, sweet button, she falls over into her second orgasm, her body thrusting onto mine with fervor and purpose. I put both hands on her shoulders and begin my fall into ecstasy. Right at that moment, she reaches between her legs and strokes my balls.
Holy volcanoes Batman!
“Son of a bitch!” Every single part of my body goes stiff. I can’t even scream. I can only lean in and jerk out this damn-near painful, hot, long, burning release that’s sure to leave me dizzy when I’m done. I continue to empty into her and she continues to stroke my balls. When I am finally able to make a sound, I say, “”Fuck, yes, Baby! Yes! Yes!” I thrust into her a few more times, riding out each little squirt until I collapse on top of her, pushing us both down into the bed.
“Fucking hell!” I say as I try to catch my breath. I know that I’m heavy on her. I try to roll off, but she stops me.
“No. Please. Stay,” she says between breaths.
“We can’t go to sleep, Baby,” I say softly in her ear.
“I know. I know,” she says, still breathless. We’re both sweating like we just ran a marathon. I move the hair back that’s sticking to her forehead.
“We need a shower,” I say as I kiss her temple, her ear, her neck, her back. God, she has been almost as insatiable as I have these last couple of days. Talk about carpe diem!
“What happened?” she asks, her eyes still closed. “What was that?”
“You squirted, Baby,” I say, kissing her shoulder. “I’ve tried to get you to do it before and you’ve come close, but you went all the way this time and it was delectable.”
“Oh, Christian, it was fantastic. I thought I peed on myself,” she says with a little chuckle.
“I’m sorry, I should have warned you, but by the time I knew it was happening it was too late. If I had stopped, you would have gotten your Glock and shot me.” She and I both burst out in laughter at that statement. “It starts in your bladder; that’s why it feels that way.” I kiss her shoulder again and we both wince as I pull out of her.
“Come on, Butterfly. We have to get ready.” She sighs heavily.
We reluctantly drag ourselves from the bed and go to the en suite. We opt to shower together since we’re fairly certain that neither of us will jump the others’ bones as we have both been thoroughly well-fucked. We clean each other thoroughly, hair and all. By the time I’ve dried her hair for her, it’s very close to the time for us to leave. With 11 -13 hours of travel time, I opt to go casual with a Malano two-piece white linen pants set and white Baynard sandals. When I emerge from the closet, I can’t help but laugh at Butterfly.
“What?” she asks, a little affronted.
“I just bought you a whole wardrobe and you still choose to wear one of my shirts,” I laugh. She shrugs.
“That’s because your shirts look best with my shorts,” she says. I can’t argue with that. She’s wearing these white shorts that make her legs look long and these wedge shoes that make them look even longer. The fact that she’s wearing a man’s shirt lets the vultures know that she belongs to some man. The fact that I’ll be stuck to her like glue will let them know that I’m that man!
“It’s hot, Baby.” I kiss her on the cheek. “I love when you wear my clothes.” She smiles at me. Who in the world can look that good at 2:00 in the morning… after no sleep?
“Come on, let’s go.” I lead her into the great room. Davenport and Taylor are coming out of the security office and I instruct them that her luggage is in the bedroom. They take the luggage down by the service elevator. I confirm that Lawrence and Williams will be on shifts at Escala and we we’re off. We take the service elevator as well to avoid any lurking paparazzi. As we pull out of the parking structure, we notice that there’s not a pap in sight. Nothing like sneaking out in the middle of the night.
We get to SeaTac in great time, with an hour left before takeoff. Butterfly looks a little lost as we pull into the terminal for private and charter flights. “Where are we going?” she asks.
“To Anguilla,” I reply bemused.
“No, I mean… what are we doing, sneaking in the back door?” I chuckle a bit.
“No, Baby. Private planes have a completely different loading procedure,” I inform her. She nods.
Taylor pulls up to the plane and lets us out while he takes care of the luggage and Butterfly examines my private jet. It’s a Gulf Stream IV with the name Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc across its fuselage. She whistles at the site.
“That’s pretty,” she says. I smile.
“One of my many toys. Come on, Butterfly.”
I take her and Gail up the stairs and into the jet. It’s decorated in neutral tones just like my helicopter—tans, creams, and browns.
“This is a flying house,” Butterfly says.
“Something like that,” I reply. “There is a restroom up front. Chairs and tables here. These sofas let out into beds.” I say as we walk towards the back. “This is the galley, and beyond this door,” I open the door to reveal a full-sized bed, “is the bedroom. The bathroom is there,” I say, pointing to the en suite. “All the comforts of home… but in the air.” Butterfly nods.
“It’s very beautiful. I’m impressed,” she says, walking back to the lounge and sitting on one of the sofas. “So, this is how the rich and famous live.”
“Yes, I have to say that I’m proud of it. It’s one of the perks of money,” I say taking the seat next to her. Gail sits at one of the tables and makes herself comfortable.
“This is why She-Thing thinks I’m after your money. Regular people don’t see things like this every day,” she points out, gesturing at her surroundings. “You decide to take me to a luxurious villa on an exclusive island on Wednesday and on Friday morning, we’re in the air… in a private jet! Who does that?”
“Not many people,” I say, suddenly feeling a little sour at the introduction of the Pedophile into the conversation. “She sent me an email this morning,” I confess.
“Who did?” Butterfly asks.
“The Pedophile.” Butterfly’s face turns cold.
“What did she say?” she asks, flatly.
“She saw the news coverage of your kidnapping. Told me how you were disrupting my structured life and together, she and I could rebuild it,” I reply. Butterfly’s face doesn’t change.
“And what did you say?”
“I told her that she was delusional if she thought I would ever choose her over you and not to contact me ever again without an attorney.”
A smile splits Butterfly’s face as she crawl into my lap and kisses me deeply.
After 12 hours and a stopover in North Carolina, we’re finally landing on the island of St. Maarten. Because Anguilla is so small, large jetliners can’t land on the island. The flight and layover were actually only nine hours, but we lost three hours with the time zone change. So, it’s effectively 12 hours. I didn’t understand the stopover, but Christian explained that the pilot needed to refresh himself since the flight was pretty last minute and in the wee hours of the morning.
Rather than take the public ferry to Anguilla, Christian chartered a smaller flight to get to the island. We meet up with a guy named Rinaldo Rogers, who makes sure that our bags are checked from Christian’s jet to the charter plane so that we don’t have to go through customs again and we we’re off to the tropical island of Anguilla. The flight is only 10 minutes from St. Maarten which is fine by me. Quite frankly, I’ve been on a plane long enough for one day!
Christian looks so yummy in his two-piece linen pants suit. I kind of feel like a troll next to him. No problem, though. I have beautiful tropical dresses to wear for the rest of the trip!
While the shorter plane ride was quite delightful, driving is… unique. The rental cars are American with the steering wheel on the left-hand side. Since we have five people with enough luggage for ten, we need two rentals. The uniqueness of the driving situation is that you must drive on the left-hand side—unique only to Americans, I should add—in a car that’s made for driving on the right. You also have to pay a fee to get an Anguilla driver’s license while you’re here. Gail and I let the men deal with that as she and I unequivocally decide that we won’t be driving in Anguilla.
Even though Jason and Chuck are both technically on duty, Chuck is effectively the fifth wheel on this trip. He swears that he doesn’t mind, but we know that there’ll be occasions when he wants to go off on his own during his downtime. It’s too beautiful a place to spend the entire trip alone.
This island is 17 miles long and has one main road that runs up its center. There are little feeder roads to get to various destinations on the island, but you sure as hell can’t get lost. No matter where you go, if you ask for directions, it’s “up the road.” It reminds you of driving through a city neighborhood. Locals are strolling along the road and people are always blowing their horns at you. I thought Chuck was breaking every traffic law in Anguilla until I later learn that’s just how they greet you.
The villa is owned and decorated by private owners and rented out to tourists throughout the year. All the villas and the upscale resorts are on the west end of the island. The locals are in central and east Anguilla. I wondered why it seemed like we were traveling in two different worlds on the way to the villa as the airport is closer to central Anguilla.
The villa Christian has rented for us is only a 15-minute drive from the airport and holy cow, Batman! This place is huge! It’s called the Brazilian Emerald and I thought it was a hotel when we drove up to it. It’s a large contemporary white and glass structure that sits directly on the Shoal Bay West Beach… five bedrooms, five bathrooms, and glass walls everywhere… just like home. Gail and I run around the house like giddy children, in and out of rooms just to see what’s inside. The place has housekeepers and chef service, so we don’t really know what Gail is going to be doing besides having fun. I’m glad we bought her the new wardrobe!
True to its name, the villa is decorated in jewel-tones… mostly a very tropical pastel green accented with various shades of blue and purple on stylish bamboo furniture. The green is a little too green for me, but I don’t mind since it goes so well with the beautiful trees and the view of the ocean out of every window. The great room is two stories tall and opens into a cove, the dining room and another lounge with a view of the kitchen. The two-story glass wall makes the tropical furniture look more appropriate. There’s a lovely sandalwood piano in the cove off the living room. I wonder if Christian will play at all while he’s here?
The lounge is decorated much like the great room—bamboo furniture with jewel-toned cushions and pillows. The dining room is opposite of the great room with a modern triangular glass table set with bronze chargers and flatware, crystal stemware, and the same quality bamboo chairs with green cushions. Amazingly, I like the green at the dining-room table better than I do in the great room. It seems to fit better in here.
The kitchen is full of stainless steel appliances and glass cabinets, but I don’t hang around in there for too long since I don’t plan on spending any time in that room during this trip except for maybe a midnight snack! Off to the end there’s a bedroom on the first floor that opens onto the patio.
Up the stairs to the second floor is a small office. Even though it’s out in the open and not closed away in some obscure room, hopefully, Mr. Grey doesn’t spend too much time in this area during our trip. There’s a lounge on this floor as well that overlooks the great room. It’s decorated the same as the living room and has a pool table and a game table. There’s also an entertainment room with a large screen television and another bedroom on this floor.
On the third floor, there’s a state of the art in-house gym, yet another lounge, and two more bedrooms. Finally, the fourth floor—yes, this house has four damn floors and an elevator, thank God—is a suite unto itself. The master suite has its own lounge with another large screen television along with the master bedroom suite. It has a separate sitting and changing room, a balcony, and an en suite. Although all the bedrooms have private en suites except for the first-floor bathroom, which is separate, the master bath has a sunken two-person Jacuzzi tub. The bedroom is sparsely decorated, but it has the basics—chest of drawers, dresser, night stands, a huge king-sized bed and a stunning view of the beach. I may never leave.
While Gail and I peruse the house that we’ll be inhabiting for the next four to ten days, the gentlemen deliver our luggage to our respective rooms. Chuck has decided to take the room on the first floor. Gail and Jason will take the room on the second floor. No surprise no one wanted to be on the third floor with Christian and me on the fourth floor in the master suite. As I begin to unpack my things, Christian slides his arms around me from behind and kisses me on my neck.
“You like?” he says, his voice smooth and sexy as usual.
“Oh, Christian, it’s beautiful. Have you seen the view off the balcony?” I lead him over to the balcony where you can see clear down the coastline of a semi-private beach. “It’s breathtaking. I can hardly believe I’m here.” He turns me around to face him.
“I’ve been in this villa or another villa on this island five times, and I can’t remember enjoying myself once,” he admits.
“With your subs?” The words were out of my mouth before I could catch them. He looks hurt at first, but the look in my eyes must have told him that I didn’t intend to say that. His expression softens as he kissed me on my cheek.
“With my family, but I mostly stayed inside and worked. I would join them for dinner at whatever restaurant they chose, but that was it,” he replies.
“I’m sorry, Christian. That was so thoughtless and inconsiderate of me.” I close my eyes and shake my head. He holds my chin and forces me to look at him.
“If it were me, I would have asked the same question,” he says, kissing me on my lips again. “I’ve never taken a sub on a trip with me… or any woman for that matter. Another first for me.”
“Exactly how many firsts do you think we can conquer over this vacation?” I say, mischievously. He smiles as he pulls me closer to him.
“I can think of a few,” he replies as he presses his lips to mine.
A/N: So, lots of pictures on the new board http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla/ and a few on the original board http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele/
You can also see who I envision as MY characters in PAGING DR. STEELE (not FSOG-PAGING DR STEELE) on http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-characters/.
Nothing to add down here this time, except… FUN IN THE SUN IN THE NEXT CHAPTER AND…
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