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 51—Steele Introspections
I thought my brain was simply going to explode right out of my head. What I’m feeling for Christian is scaring me to death. I have all these crazy emotions and thoughts about what has happened to me—David and Harris and the Mortons and Green Valley… and Christian has told me that bleached-blonde bitch tried to connect with him before we left Seattle. I take in a deep breath as we ride through the beautiful trees and trails that line the beach, but my mind is still a jumbled mess. I catch Christian looking at me a few times as I examine the flora along the trail. I had better put on the happy face before I fall victim to the Spanish Inquisition!
The wading is magnificent—to have this glorious beast between my thighs as I bask in the cool sea water. It’s fantastic. I’m told that horses can read the moods of their riders… that they can tell when you’re afraid or angry or uncomfortable or unsure. I don’t know how true it is, but the moment we emerge from the water—from my calming kindred element—all I can think was that I want to be free… free from all the crazy shit that’s floating through my mind and all the plans that’ll be put into action when I return to the states. I’m on my first day of a possible 10-day vacation, and all I can think of is the hell waiting for me when I get back to home.
I need to be free—if only for a moment.
Without much prompting from me at all, Jazz breaks into a steady gallop and we’re flying down the beach! I snatch my hat off and crush it into my bag hanging on the saddle. I bend my knees and raise my butt, leaning into the stately creature and holding on to her reins. We’re moving as one—nearly in flight—coasting down the beach. I know that I can’t run her like this for too long, but it feels like she’s taking in the same breath as I, feeling the same freedom and having her cares washed away by the fresh Caribbean air. I’m only basking in this feeling for a few moments when I catch a glimpse of Christian and his horse out of the corner of my eye… and he does not look happy.
Oh shit, I wasn’t thinking. Here we go. Jazz and I enjoy our gallop for a few more moments before I bring her down into a canter, then a pace, then a trot and a walk before having her stop completely.
“Easy, girl,” I say, just loud enough for Jazz to hear me. “Good girl,” I encourage while stroking her mane.
“Do you want to tell me what that was all about?” Christian barks at me. Actually, no, I don’t want to tell you. I needed just a few moments to clear my head and I don’t feel like explaining it. He’s content to just ask me not to take off like that again without letting him know something. I dismount my horse. I know she could use a little rest. I walk over to some rocks, leading Jazz behind me. This went off just great, didn’t it?
“Butterfly, please tell me what’s wrong.” Christian is begging. He knows something is up, and I promised not to shut him out anymore. We’re a team now, remember? After a few meaningless, jumbled words, I hand him the package Al had retrieved for me from my apartment… where it sat for years… and in apartments and dorms before that… for seven years, in fact… waiting for Christian. I wanted to give him this big meaningful speech. Instead, I sit there speechless as he opens the handcrafted box I had found for it once it was the last thing left of my jewelry.
My heart is in my stomach and my stomach is in my throat. I tell him the story behind the necklace… that it spoke to me and it knew who it belonged to, but it was up to me to find that man and give it to him. As much as I thought it was David at the time, it most certainly was not… it was Christian—dark, mysterious, magical and beautiful, just like the key. The catch was that he had to accept it. I couldn’t just give it to him and say, “Here’s this pretty little trinket.” He surprises me when he gives it back to me and tells me to put it on him.
I guess I do have to give it to him after all—the proper way.
Once I fasten the clasp, he nearly snatches my breath out of my body bending me over his lap in a passionate Hollywood kiss and oh… my… God! I can’t breathe. The next thing I know, I’m wearing this fabulous… and I mean fabulous… butterfly-shaped promise ring! He tells me that he doesn’t think I’m supposed to wear it on my ring finger—probably because it’s not an engagement ring. The hell I won’t! You just asked me to declare that I’m yours—basically proposing to me, but not officially because it’s obviously too soon—and then tell me not to wear the ring on my ring finger? Are you insane? We once again seal our commitment with a kiss before going off in search of the rest of our party and our long past due lunch.
A short way down the beach, we finally get to Gail, Jason, Chuck, and some unknown woman who’s talking to Chuck. She looks like a tourist—blonde, very pretty, and young… too young. For shame, Chuck!
“Well, hello, Chuck,” I say as Christian and I approach the group on our horses. Christian looks a bit displeased by the extra company. “Who do we have here?”
“This is Tiffany,” Chuck deadpans. He doesn’t seem too happy with his newfound company. “Tiffany, these are my bosses—Mr. Grey and Dr. Steele.”
Okay, he’s definitely not happy with his newfound company. Chuck never—and I mean never—introduces me as Dr. Steele. I’m about to extend the usual pleasantries to Tiff here when I, of course, see her ogling my man. Okay, I can’t blame her. He’s all sunkissed and sweaty, looking sexy in a pair of cargo shorts and a wet ass T-shirt clinging to every crease and sinew of his chest; his beautiful, unkempt copper hair looking redder than ever in the Anguillan sun. Thank God those gorgeous panty-twisting gray eyes are hiding behind an I’m-sexy-and-I-know-it pair of Raybans. Yeah, I’m on vacation. I guess you can look for a while…
Just a while…
Okay, that’s long enough!
“Um, Trixie?” I say, and every member in my party snickers. Her prior lustful gaze at Christian turns into a hateful glare when she looks at me.
“My name is Tiffany,” she spits in a full-on angry valley girl accent.
“Oh… my God.” I couldn’t even resist. I was going to tease Chuck about snagging a preschooler on the island, but this is worst. “Well, Tiffany,” I say, mimicking her valley accent, which didn’t get past her, “when you’re done eye-fucking my boyfriend, you can tell us what brings you to the island,” I say in a sickly false pleasant voice.
“I’m here on vacation with my friends,” she retorts, still 100% valley and completely ignoring the fact that I called her out. I just shake my head at her. I’ve had all the valley I can take. She has to be 18 or 19 at the very most and even though I know nothing of Chuck’s tastes, I know my man is not the slightest bit interested in teenyboppers.
“Throw this one back, Chuck. It’s not done yet,” I say, leading Jazz around the piece of driftwood that Chuck has turned into a seat.
“Coming from someone who’s old enough to be my mother,” she snaps. Oh, she’s got a little fire in her.
“Only if your mother was five when she had you,” I say flatly before turning to Chuck. “She acts like a toddler, but I didn’t know she actually was one.” Jazz and I stand there for a while in case Ms. Fire in The Mouth has something else that she wants to say. She just glares at me again but says nothing. What… nothing to say after the toddler crack? That was too easy. When I see that she had no more witty comebacks, I walk Jazz over to where Gail and Jason have tied their horses for some shade and I dismount. I tie the reins to the post and smooth Jazz’s coat.
“That’s a good girl.” While I am calming Jazz, I hear Christian conspicuously tell Chuck, “If your little friend can’t behave herself around your employer, you probably need to send her back to the sandbox.”
Christian rides up next to me, dismounting and tying Biscuit to the post as well.
“That was interesting,” he says, also smoothing the coat of his steed. I look up at him and roll my eyes. Interesting… yeah. Tiffany Teenager would screw you on the beach while I watched if you let her and then has the nerve to think she’s old enough to run zingers with me… and that’s interesting to you.
“She’s still watching,” he says. I’ll just bet she is. I’m not giving her the satisfaction of looking over at her to see. He starts to undo his sandal.
“You want to give her something to look at?” I turn to look at him. What the hell does he have up his sleeve? He’s still fumbling with his sandal.
“I’m trying to give you a head start.” He gets one sandal off and starts on the other. Oh my, Mr. Grey wants to play.
“You should be running,” he says seductively.
I break into involuntarily loud giggles and sprint towards the water. He’s behind me in seconds. He moves silently, like a panther—I didn’t even know he was back there until I looked. I do a couple of fake-outs when I hit the water, barely managing to escape his attempts to grab me. He finally catches me around the waist from behind and hoists me into the air, causing me to squeal in surprise. With one arm fastened securely around me, he starts to tickle my ribs.
“Christian! Stop!” I giggle trying to choke the words out between my laughter.
“Say please,” he says, still tickling my side.
“Please! Please!” I choke.
“Oh, you’re so easy,” he says, turning me around in his arms and lowering me to the ground underneath him. We lay at the water’s edge, the tide coming in and occasionally brushing our feet.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says seductively licking my lips. Oh, what this man does to me. “I find it so hard to control myself around you… and these tiny little tight ass shorts. Damn, woman!” I feel his erection growing slightly against me. Damn, Christian. One day, I’m going to see just how many times you can come before that thing stops rising!
“I’ve noticed,” he begins carefully, “that you didn’t wear a shirt or anything to cover your back.” I know that he’s talking about my brand. Part of me wonders why he’s so preoccupied with it, but the other part of me knows that he’s aware that all my clothes cover it—even the back-out clothing—so this is nothing more than concern for my comfort.
“Christian, I’ve decided that I just don’t care anymore. You’ve made me feel so loved and so beautiful and desirable that I truly realize that these scars are no different from any other scar I’ve had. I want to thank you for that. For so long, I really let them define me, in a way. I don’t feel that way anymore and I never will again. So, it doesn’t matter if they show or not… I’ll wear what I want to wear.” He presses his lips against mine passionately then rubs my nose with his.
“Thank God. I’m so happy to hear that,” he says breathily. “I never wanted anyone near my chest until you, but I never purposely hid it. I didn’t allow anyone to touch it, but I didn’t take great pains to hide it. Of course, my scars are significantly smaller, and I do have hair to camouflage them. People will look… and they’ll see them… but those scars are just an indication that you survived. They don’t define who you are.” I can see his eyes gazing at me through his Raybans.
“Yes,” I say softly, touching his face. “I understand that now.” He sighs.
“I knew something had changed when you dropped your dress for the Mortons. I could see it in your eyes at that very moment. I don’t know what happened to you when you showed it to them, but something happened,” he confesses.
“I don’t know what happened either. I don’t know if anything happened. All I know is that it just doesn’t have the power that it used to have over me.” He looks up past my head and kisses me again.
“You absolutely know that there is no other woman in the world for me, right?” he says looking lovingly into my eyes, “especially not a child.”
“Yes, Baby,” I say softly, holding up my promise ring. “I absolutely know.”
He kisses the tip of my nose and rises off me, holding out his hand and helping me get to my feet. He brushes the sand off my back and hair before tucking me under his arm and walking me over to the tartan blanket laid out for us next to Gail and Jason.
“Well, that was interesting,” Jason says as we sit next to them.
“Is that everyone’s thought? That’s interesting?” I say as I open a canister of fresh fruit and dig in.
“I thought we were going to have another girlfight!” Jason says, and Gail punches him in the arm. “Ow! Well, I did. The little tart comes sashaying her ass up to Chuck… didn’t dare look at me, thank God.”
“She knew better,” Gail growls, taking a healthy bite of a tuna salad sandwich. Jason looks over at her then continues talking.
“When the Boss came trotting up, I knew I was granted an indefinite reprieve. I need someone to explain the logic of the female brain to me. She comes over to talk to Chuck, but she’s been eyeballing every man who goes by.”
“That’s not something that you need to understand about women, Jason, because we don’t all do that—only the skanky ones,” I reply. He shakes his head. “Oh, men do it, too. As a matter of fact, men are worse than women. Women are usually kind of coy about it. Men are pretty doggish—they’ll be in the same room with two women that they’re sleeping with at the same time and not break a sweat over it.”
“That’s insane,” Christian declares. “Why would you be sleeping with two women at the same time that could actually be in contact with each other?”
“See, you my dear are an anomaly,” I say after I swallow a mouthful of salad. “Even with your unconventional relationships, you’ve always been monogamous. It has unfortunately been my experience that a lot of young men who are sowing their wild oats, as well as a few older ones that don’t know when to quit, look to divide and conquer as many women as they possibly can. They don’t care if the women are sisters, best friends, enemies, or play with the same bridge club. If they can get away with it, they’ll do it; and if one is a girlfriend and the other already knows it, the other woman will cover like nothing’s going on.”
“Now that’s what I never understood,” Gail chimes into the conversation. “Why would any self-respecting woman want to sleep with another woman’s man?”
“The situation varies,” I say, chewing on some more fruit. “I, personally, don’t condone it… ever. I don’t think there’s ever a reason that a woman should be sleeping with another woman’s man, but that’s just my opinion. Others feel like it’s justified depending on the situation. I don’t put anybody in judgment for it unless it’s my man that they’re sleeping with—then, we have a problem. But in my profession, I see it all the time. I have patients that tell me that they’re cheating on their spouses or significant others or that they’re cheating with someone who’s already attached, and they want me to tell them that this is okay. I won’t do it.
“I’ve lost patients because although I am open-minded, and I won’t judge them for extracurricular activities or extramarital affairs, I won’t condone it. That’s not the kind of doctor I am. I’m not going to tell you what you want to hear; I’m going to tell you what you need. What kind of therapist would I be if I told people that it was okay for them to do destructive, hurtful, amoral things just because that’s what they want to hear? That would be like sending someone with a broken leg home with a band-aid.” I take a healthy swallow of water.
“Without betraying any confidences, what are some of the reasons that you hear people cheat?” Gail asks me. I have everyone’s undivided attention, now. Even Chuck has dismissed his toddler, come over and grabbed a sandwich to partake in this conversation. I shrug.
“‘My husband or wife doesn’t understand me,’ ‘he or she is always working and doesn’t have time for me,’ ‘he or she is cheating on me so I’m cheating on them,’ the list goes on and on.” I think of Edward and the times that he left me at home alone—how many opportunities I had to find someone else, but I didn’t. “In my case, my boyfriend was just a hoe. He wasn’t talking to anyone about any problems, didn’t have any self-esteem issues or anything like that. He was just a hoe. He was a real charmer and he could quickly get into any pair of panties that he wanted—and did. He had the women trained to tell me that nothing was going on. For a while, he had me completely convinced that I was paranoid and delusional. That’s a whole different discussion.
“The fact is that no matter who’s cheating or who’s involved, they always somehow or another feel justified. The woman who sleeps with a married man feels justified—either she loves him, or he has convinced her that his wife is a nut. Either way, she sees no wrong in what she’s doing and even if she did see the wrong in it, she has no consideration whatsoever for the wife because that’s not her concern. She doesn’t care about the negative Karma that she’s putting into the universe for herself. Her only concern is the gratification that she feels from being with this man. She’s not the one who vowed in front of God and friends to be faithful to this woman, he is. So, as far as she’s concerned, her responsibility in this situation is completely expunged. Then when she can’t find a man of her own or her husband turns around and does the same thing to her, she’s crying and asking why.” I shake my head and pop a grape into my mouth.
“People don’t want to hear it, but it’s the truth. It’s reality. One of my favorite quotes comes from a neuroanatomist named Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor…”
“A neur-what-a-who?” Chuck asks me.
“A doctor who studies the anatomy of the brain after you die. Anyway, she said, ‘Please take responsibility for the energy that you bring into this space.’ Each of us occupies a space in time for a limited amount of time. During that time, we come in contact with other people thereby occupying the space of someone else. In some way, you leave something with each person that you contact—directly or indirectly—and you have to take responsibility for what you leave with that person… in their space. A woman who takes a man’s time away from his wife is indirectly affecting that wife’s space, and she needs to take responsibility for that.” I explain.
“I disagree. She doesn’t owe anything to this wife, the husband does. You said it yourself—she didn’t make the vow, the husband did.” Chuck defends.
“And the day that you come home and find your wife or girlfriend in bed with another man, try that rationalization while you’re choking the shit out of him,” I deadpan. Chuck’s face flushes a bit.
“That’s one of the biggest misconceptions of the mistress,” I continue. “She holds herself blameless because she doesn’t owe the wife anything. A lot of times, she feels like the husband owes her over the wife—don’t ask me where that logic comes from, but I’ve seen it more often than not. I personally don’t know how anybody manages to get past a cheating spouse or a situation involving infidelity. It’s such an ultimate act of betrayal that I can’t wrap my mind around how you recuperate from something like that. I know that forgiveness is powerful and very possible, especially if you love someone, but I’ve never been able to understand how you get past the shattered trust. It’s completely beyond me and that’s why I don’t do marriage counseling. I have not yet mastered the ability of looking a man or woman in their eyes and telling them to forgive a lying cheating spouse or significant other for breaking their promises.”
The group falls silent for a moment after this revelation. It’s Gail that breaks the silence.
“You speak from experience,” she acknowledges. I can see Christian’s gaze turn to me in my peripheral. I nod to her and swallow the last of my sandwich.
“Edward. He was a bona fide hoe. After I left him, I wanted him back immediately. After it sunk in, I wanted nothing to do with him. He kept pursuing me, I kept denying him. I thought that if I spoke to him like a human being to tell him why we would never be, he would go away quietly. I was wrong—but I never fully forgave him for what he did to me and I never forgot how he made me feel. Do be mistaken, the person that tells you that they have completely forgiven someone for some horrible thing that they’ve done is lying to you and they are lying to themselves. We get to a point where we may not hold a grudge, or the pain of the act doesn’t consume our everyday lives or dictate our actions. However, as much as we like to believe that we can exercise the forgiveness of Christ, we can’t.
“That’s why the saying goes ‘to err is human; to forgive divine,’ because only divinity can forgive completely. We are humans, we are not divine. We do not have the ability to offer perfect forgiveness because the pain of what happened will always be there… even if we don’t exist or dwell in it. We can get past or get over what happened to us… and to the degree that we are able to put things behind us is how we measure forgiveness, which is why smaller crimes or malfeasances are easier to forgive because they are easier to overlook. The larger the misconduct, the harder it is to overlook, and the more likely it is that you won’t receive what we feeble humans call forgiveness.”
“You have a lot of wisdom for one so young,” Gail says kindly.
“Thank you, Gail,” I say with a sad smile. “Some of it is education but unfortunately, a lot of it is experience.” Christian pulls me into his arms.
“My girl is pretty remarkable, isn’t she?” he says, sweetly.
“Sorry about the toddler, Ana,” Chuck says finishing his lunch. “She just kind of showed up and I let her stick around while I waited for you guys. She really did turn out to be quite annoying.”
“I really wish you had brought someone with you, now,” I say, feeling guilty about the two couples here snuggling on tartan blankets. Chuck waves me off.
“There’s a reason single people don’t bring a date to the islands,” Chuck says. “You guys are in committed relationships, so this would be something that you would want to share. Notwithstanding the toddlers, the islands are a smorgasbord of beautiful woman of all different shapes, sizes, and colors. For somebody like me, bringing a date here would be like going to a live concert and listening to your iPod!”
We all burst into laughter at his comparison. I guess he’s right about that. I just hope he gets the chance to have some fun while we’re here.
We gather the remnants of our lunch and pack the basket and blankets back into the car. It’s well into the late afternoon when we get the horses back to the stable. I didn’t realize how tired I’m until I fall asleep on the drive back to the villa. Hell, it’s only three miles! I assume that the water and the ride—particularly the gallop with Jazz—relaxed me enough that I just need a nap to rejuvenate. This is actually a good idea since I’m no doubt still suffering from jet lag and don’t want to be early to bed early to rise for the entire trip. Christian carries me to the master suite bedroom when we get back, and I decide that a nice nap is exactly what I need.
“Hello, Bitch!” I open my eyes to see whose snarling voice has awakened me. It can’t be! You’re dead! It can’t be!
“Did you think you could get away from me that easily? A couple of bullets and I’ll be gone from your life forever? You wish! I may be in hell, but I can take you with me!”
No! No! This can’t be happening! This is my imagination! He’s not here… he can’t control me like this!
“You don’t think so? Watch me! I’ve got you right where I want you. Hell isn’t so bad if this is how I get to spend eternity,” he snarls. I reach out to slap him, but I can’t move. I look at my arms, and I’m chained to the bed… that bed. Oh my God, please don’t let this be happening.
“You can’t win, Harris. I won’t let you win,” I say, my voice shaking.
“Oh, it looks like I’m winning right now!” he says, and I feel the slap land viciously on my cheek.
“Oh my God! No! No!” I’m screaming and flailing my arms, desperately trying to get this monster away from me.
“Baby! Baby! Stop!” That’s not Harris’ voice. That’s Christian. “Butterfly! Wake up! I’m here, Baby!” He has me in a bear hug, my arms pinned against his body. No Harris. There’s no Harris here. Oh, please, no… please, this can’t be happening. I finally get a grip on my scars and this bastard is terrorizing me in my goddamn sleep. My body goes limp in Christian’s arms and I cry into his chest.
Christian is determined to get my mind off the terrible nightmare I had about the attack and Harris, so he tells me to get dressed in my finest and we go to dinner—just him and me. I like the idea very much since we spent all day with the group. I also just feel the need to be alone with my man. So much seems to be happening at once and even though I know that dreams are largely a product of your subconscious, I never underestimate spiritual importance and power. I don’t know if my Feng Shui is out of balance or something is off with my chi or the planets aren’t aligned properly, or the gods aren’t listening, or I’m surrounded by negative Karma or however you want to label it, but I don’t scoff at the power of energy and spirits in your life. No doubt, my ride through the brush at Cove Bay and the negative thoughts of all the people who hurt me invited this parasite into my dreams. I just don’t know what to do about it right now.
Christian is clinging to me like plastic wrap. He won’t let me out of his sight. He has kept me protectively under his arm close to him all night, covering as much of my body with his as possible. He would protect me from the air if he could. I know that he feels helpless to protect me from the ghosts that haunt me in my sleep, especially since I told him that the ghost was Robert Harris, but it could also have something to do with my attire for the evening. I’m wearing a Michael Kors crimson draped dress with a cowl neckline and capped sleeves. It has ruching around the hips and meet in the front just under my abdomen and the dress fits me like a second skin. I accessorized with Christian Louboutin Very Riche Swarovski embellished pumps and a matching gold Swarovski clutch. I find that ever since I’ve been given the beautiful new nickname that I’m obsessed with everything butterfly! So, I am wearing my hair in a messy bun and swoop bang with two embellished Swarovski butterfly hair combs. I complete the ensemble with my butterfly jewelry that Christian bought for me—my third time wearing it in a week and it compliments my promise ring very nicely. I only needed a small amount of concealer to cover the bruising around my eye thanks to Gail’s miracle tea.
Christian has arranged for the shuttle to take us to Da’Vida, a beautiful five-star restaurant on Crocus Bay. We’re almost immediately the center of attention when we enter the restaurant. It’s no secret that you did not come to Da’Vida if you can’t afford it, but apparently Christian and I may be a tad overdressed for an island dining experience—even a five-star island dining experience. Christian is looking edible in his Alfani gray sharkskin slim fit pants and Arrow New York black dress shirt with Stacey Adams Valencia sandals. Men and women alike are silenced as we’re led through the restaurant to our table. Oh, well… don’t hate us because we’re beautiful.
The atmosphere of the restaurant is very welcoming. Wind chimes sing from beautiful wooden beams, the rich smell of which complement the soft music coming from a live band. I am, of course, drawn to the soothing water wall—a floor-to-ceiling stone creation where water cascades down the stones and are collected into the pool at the foot of the fountain. Ambient light cast a yellow-orange hue into the warm setting—like a sunset. You can hear the waves from the beach as you enter, and you can choose to go to the bar on your left furnished with sofas and comfortable chairs for lounging and socializing, or to the elegant dining area on your right, dimly lit and accented by candlelight.
Christian and I feast on Asian shrimp dumplings and tropical seafood chowder as appetizers. The entire time, he gazes at me like he wants to take me on the table right there and then. He kisses my hand several times, twirling the ring he had placed there earlier that day. I can tell that he’s so proud to see it on my finger. It solidifies for him that my heart is his and no one else’s. I love being tagged as Christian’s. I love that he feels that possessiveness over me that makes me feel desired and cherished. I love that he would protect me from the world if he could. I know that I made the right choice in loving this man, not that I had an option… my heart made the decision for me.
We gaze longingly and lovingly into each other’s eyes while playing with each other’s hands and fingers and sipping delicious aged Caribbean rum from sifters. Since my alcohol tolerance is pretty low, I’m careful to only take a small amount of the delicious libation. By the time our entries are served, I could swear that everyone in the restaurant is captivated by us. I try not to pay too much attention, but it’s hard not to notice a room full of people attempting to go unnoticed while stealing glances in your direction. Christian and I share half servings of coconut crusted scallops, Little Bay pan seared snapper, grouper, Katouche crayfish tails, blackened Fiji shrimp, and grilled vegetable salad with goat cheese fritters. The food is utterly divine. We feed each other from various plates until we have had our fill of the tastes of the sea.
Christian leads me to a clearing on the floor where we make our own makeshift dancing space while the waitstaff clears our entries. The band plays a smooth island sound with calypso undertones while Christian and I sway softly in each other’s arms.
“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he says, one arm protectively around my waist, the other clasping my hand and holding it close to my chest.
“Several times, but don’t let that stop you,” I coo, matching the sexy, coy smile that he’s giving me.
“I just want to hold you in my arms and never let you go. Protect you and shield you from all the bad in the world.” His eyes whisper promises to my heart.
“I would love nothing better, Mr. Grey, but we live in the real world and we both know that’s not going to happen… though it’s a wonderful thought.” I tiptoe and kiss him tenderly on the lips. He puts his forehead on mine and closes his eyes.
“I love you, Anastasia Rose Steele. I’ll never let anything happen to you again.” I know he’s still feeling the guilt of what happened last weekend… the kidnapping and the beating. This is complicated by the fact that I have now had a nightmare about Harris. There’s really nothing he could do to prevent that. If anything, it was my fault for foolishly leaving security behind when I knew that a psychopath was out to get me.
“I love you, too, Christian Trevelyan Grey… and I believe you.” I know he needs to hear it. He needs to know that I totally understand that he will do everything in his power to protect me and to keep me safe, and that makes me love him more.
“Thank you,” he whispers pulling me closer to him and bringing his lips to my cheek where they rest the entire time we dance. I really do feel safe and loved when I’m in his arms. I lean into his lips as he repeatedly places tender kisses on my cheek. Both arms now move around me and he splays his hands over my back, pulling me closer into him.
“My Ana,” he whispers into my ear and I gasp for the closeness and the warmth, his breath and his words sending shivers down my back as I slide my fingers into his hair. I feel like I’m literally floating on a cloud as the summer beach breeze blows through the building and we glide softly in our own world to a smooth calypso melody.
“Dinner was wonderful, Christian. Thank you.”
“Anything for my girl,” he says as he tips the shuttle driver and closes the car door once I get out. We realize that we’re the first to return from our evening out as Christian gave the staff the night off so that we could dine together.
“Would you like some wine, Ms. Steele?” Christian asks.
“Yes, Mr. Grey, I would. Thank you.” I smile at him as he goes to the kitchen for wine. I take off my shoes and leave them in the great room with my clutch. I walk out the sliding doors and sit on the wide chaise near the pool, leaving the doors open so that Christian will know where I went. The silence of the night is very comforting, and I lay back on the chaise like those women in the roman art sculptures from my art history class. I’m living in the lap of luxury, vacationing where the rich and famous go… in the company of the most gorgeous and wonderful man on God’s green earth.
“There you are.” Speaking of whom…
He brings me a glass of sparkling champagne. I never know what we’re drinking here. I only know that imported wines cost a pretty penny here on the island, so you must be careful not to waste any. We take a few sips in silence. I know him well and he knows me. He’s thinking about my dream. He pulls my feet onto his lap and massages them deeply, first the pads and toes, then the heel, and finally the instep. The massage isn’t sensual, it’s relaxing… although any touch from Christian has the potential to make me want him. He moves up to my legs and massages my calves, paying attention to any tightness there. He moves his hands up to my thighs outside of my dress and quickly slides me across his lap.
“I just want to touch you… and kiss you… nothing more. Can I do that?” he asks, his arm around me, his free hand caressing various parts of my body, his lips brushing against mine. Surprisingly, that’s exactly what I want… for him to touch me, hold me, and kiss me.
“Yes, Christian, please,” I whisper, my hand on his cheek beckoning him to make good on his promise. He closes his lips over mine, sensuously molding my lips before his tongue begs entrance. I welcome the skilled, wet intruder that has brought my body so much pleasure in so many ways and is now caressing my mind in a way I haven’t felt before. His hands travel everywhere, exploring and kneading and discovering my body in different ways, as if there’s any part of my body that he doesn’t know very well and quite intimately. Somehow in our exchange, Christian has managed to get his shirt open and pulled from his pants.
“Touch me, Baby… please,” he breathes. My hand still on his cheek, I move it slowly and methodically down his face to his neck and then to his chest where I run my fingers deeply through the hair there, gently scratching the skin underneath. He lets out a fast gasp of air and sucks it in again. His lips are slack, and his eyes are closed, his face registering complete ecstasy. I move my hand to his nipple and tease it gently, feeling it stiffen under my touch. He hisses as if I am directly touching his erection, which coincidentally is growing under me now. I wiggle a bit to acknowledge its presence and he grabs my hips stopping the gyration.
“Ah! No, Baby. No.” Huh? “I just want to touch you… to feel you touch me… please.”
“But… I want you, Christian,” I mewl softly. He groans in his chest.
“I want you, too, Butterfly… so much, but tonight, I just need us to touch each other. Can you do that?”
Oh, this will be torture. My body craves this man on a regular basis and tonight has been an absolutely perfectly perfect night—the date and the romance, the attention and the emotion. As I sit on his lap, I think about dancing at Da’Vida—making a dance floor where there was none so that we could share that moment in each other’s arms. Our love spread through the restaurant so that other couples eventually joined us, getting lost in each other the same way Christian and I did. We could finish this night with him buried inside me, both of us chasing our release… but he needs a different kind of connection. I don’t know why, but he needs to feel me in a different way tonight. It’ll be hell denying myself the benefit of his sexual symphony, but I can do this. I can give him this connection that he needs and enjoy his closeness at the same time. I take a deep breath and steady myself—coaching my libido to please, please take the night off.
“Yes, Baby. I can do that,” I whisper, trying to find strength in my own words because I want this man… so much… but I’ll be strong tonight and seek the connection that he’s looking for. He covers my mouth again with his and my hands travel to his hard, muscular back. He moans in my mouth as I run my hands up and down his rhomboids. I thought he would expire completely when I gently dig my fingers in and pull my nails across his back.
“Ah! Butterfly!” he breathes into my mouth and rewards me by taking a healthy handful of my ass and squeezing hard.
“Hah! Ah!” The sound is involuntarily. My libido is beginning to win but I push her back down again. It’s not time for you tonight, sister… maybe tomorrow. I can almost feel my body pout in protest. I grab his sweaty back and sink into his delicious kiss, moaning into his mouth as he moans into mine. I don’t get to release tonight, but I can’t deny the benefits of a full-on, no holds barred, make-out session with Christian Grey.
I wake the next morning completely naked and tied up in Christian Grey. We agreed to sleep naked because we needed the skin-to-skin contact after the passionate touching and the borderline sexual insanity that we were suffering by the end of the night. It was magical, though. Just being touched my him and simply allowing him to explore my body while I explored his. I never knew his legs were so defined… I mean, I knew, but I didn’t know. They’re like chiseled stone with a coating of velvety skin. The hills and valleys on his exquisite chest and back… and watching him roll his six-pack while he was trying to control his nature—it was magnificent. I sigh my contentment recalling the entire experience as I sink my body into his.
“What are you thinking about?” he mewls in my ear.
“Touching you last night. How much I enjoyed it,” I answer honestly. He moans.
“You make me feel so good,” he says, kissing my shoulder and pulling me into him. I don’t know if we’re continuing our restraint from last night, but the steely erection that’s beating a tattoo against my back is beckoning me in every single way.
“Why didn’t you want to make love last night?” I ask. He kisses my shoulder again, gently sinking his teeth into my wing and causing me to moan involuntarily. Shit, man, you have to stop that!
“I needed to just… feel you. I needed to have you close to me, to just feel your body with no other distractions. I didn’t know if I could do it. I had no idea it would be so hard for you, too,” he confesses. He can always read my body well and I know that he was aware how badly I wanted him last night.
“It was wonderful,” I admit. “Difficult, but wonderful… getting to feel you, to touch you, and having you touch me…”
“I need to touch you now, Butterfly,” he interrupts me as his hands reach around me and squeeze my nipple, the jolt of desire going straight from my breasts to my core. I’m instantly hot and wet for him, and if he expects me to hold out again like last night, he’s going to be disappointed.
“Oh, Christian, please…” I moan, pressing my breasts further into his hands.
“What is it, Baby? What do you want?” Oh, to hell with this.
“You! Inside me… I need you, now!” I almost wail. I don’t know how he does it, but somehow, I’m now on top of him, pressed hard against his chest and straddling him. He’s kissing me deeply and passionately and I feel his unyielding erection sliding inside my folds and relentlessly teasing my sex. I moan hard into his mouth.
“Christian, please!” I squeak when he pulls his lips from mine. My hands are resting on his pecks, my body pulled close to him and held in place by his strong arms.
“Keep your chest on mine. Don’t sit up,” he says, his voice a low, baritone whisper thick with lust and desire.
“Okay,” I breathe, barely able to contain myself. He reaches around me and positions himself at my opening. Simultaneously rocking his hips forward and pushing me down onto him, he enters me easily sliding into my super wet, hot center and filling me completely. We both cry out at the contact.
“Are you okay?” he croaks, his voice betraying his desire.
“Yes! Yes!” I breathe, afraid if I move too quickly in any direction, I’m going to come immediately.
“Don’t. Move,” he orders me, and I hear it in his voice. The Dom is there. Again, it shoots right to my center and my legs start to tremble.
“Yes, Sir,” I whimper. I feel his erection jump inside me at the address.
“Don’t. Come,” he continues. Oh, hell. I take a deep breath and again, close my eyes, try to steel myself and keep my libido at bay.
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper.
“Open your eyes,” he commands. My eyes shoot open and I look up into lust-filled storm gray nearly black dilated pupils. “Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.”
“Yes, Sir.” I’m going to implode from the anticipation. He opens his legs wide, causing mine to open as well—very wide. He grabs my butt with both hands and while his arms still hold me against him, he starts a deliberate, grinding, burning rhythm—in and out, in and out, deep and hard. It feels so good that I can barely breathe. The way my legs are wrapped around his, I couldn’t really move if I wanted to. The way he’s holding me against his body doesn’t give me much purchase either. The way he has me positioned so that my legs are open wide, and his erection is impaling me, I’m completely at his mercy… and it is glorious! His hands are digging into my ass cheeks and he is grinding into me viciously, pushing me down onto his pelvis and making me absorb all the pleasure since I am unable to move.
“Sir…” I whimper. He’s going to make me come. I can’t stop it.
“Quiet!” he growls as he continues to punish my throbbing pussy. He groans as he feels the quiver begin and starts to concentrate his movements. He’s trying to make me come.
“Ah! Sir… I…” my voice is so high, I don’t recognize it. This is torture… fabulous torture. I can’t speak, I can’t close my eyes, I can’t move, and I can’t come. My legs start to tremble violently.
“If you come, I’m going to spank you, Anastasia.” Okay, is that supposed to make me not come!? Have you met me!? I squeeze my hands on his chest, digging my nails into his pecks attempting to regain some control over myself.
“Ow, damn!” he says, slamming himself into me harder for my transgression. He brings his hand up to my mouth and forces his middle finger inside.
“Suck it!” he demands while still impaling my nether regions. I suck his finger hard trying to distract myself from the hot, hard fuck he’s giving me and the fact that I am about to come any minute. It’s not helping. It’s only making me think of sucking his dick… which is making me hotter.
“Open!” he breathes, his own imminent release heavy in his voice. I release his finger and he moves his hand back to my ass, now torturing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his newly wet finger.
“Ah, yes,” he says as he feels my body respond. “How much longer can you hold out, Anastasia?” he says, still masterfully holding me in place while his dick and his hand execute erotic torment. “I feel you squeezing my dick, baby. It feels so good.” he says as he grinds his pelvis into me.
“Haaahaaah. Oh God! Ooooh…!” I can’t take much more of this.
“You look so sexy trying not to come. Your eyes are begging me to let you release.” His voice is growling deeper. He’s racing to make me come before he does. There’s no way that I’m going to win this. I can already feel the burning and tingling starting in my toes and my pelvis. He knows that I’m trying to resist, so his wet finger breaks the barrier and slips past my sensitive rosebud into my ass. Combined with the punishing pounding of his throbbing dick, I’m seconds away from detonation!
“Uuuuugghaaahh!” I cry, signaling to all body parts that there will no longer be any fighting from this moment forward. In T minus 10… 9…
I close my eyes as the pleasure becomes too much for me to bear and my body starts to stiffen.
8… 7… 6…
The burning is wrapping around my hips following the trail of his fingers as he squeezes tightly, and I hear the primal grunting sounds of his pending orgasm.
5… 4… 3…
“Open your eyes!” he growls in a voice I don’t recognize. My eyes shoot open in shock at the sound of the stranger about to wreak total havoc on my pussy. As soon as I see the hunger in his eyes, the veins tightening in his forehead and neck indicating his imminent release, the party is over.
We have lift-off!
I howl in pleasure as a highly intense orgasm rips through my body. “Aide moi!” I cry as my entire body goes stiff against him and my pussy clenches violently while my legs tremble.
“Gah, yes!” Christian groans as he buries himself in me a few more times, then forcefully finds his release.
“Aaaaaahaaahaahaha shit!” He’s squeezing my ass and pressing me hard into him as his hips raise us both off the bed. I feel his hot cum spill into me and it has an almost dizzying effect on me. “Baby… fuck, baby!” he cries as he’s pumping into me in midair. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he grunts as we both jerk out the rest of our release. I collapse on his chest as he continues to stroke, grunting and coming for quite some time. His hips finally fall to the bed as he fights to catch his breath.
“Fuck, that was intense!” he pants.
“It was building all night,” I reply, exhausted.
“You came,” he admonishes.
“I know,” I breathe. “I couldn’t help it. I don’t know how I could resist.”
“I owe you a spanking.”
“I know.” I couldn’t fight right now if I wanted to.
“I think we are both too sated right now to even enjoy it,” he laughs.
“I think you’re right,” I concur.
“I will reserve my spanking for later. Agreed?”
“Agreed… although I don’t think you play fair,” I accuse. He raises my head to look at me.
“What do you mean?” he says, looking into my eyes.
“I had no chance of not coming. You pulled out a new position, new moves, and you were relentless—after you worked me up last night and then made me wait. I didn’t stand a chance,” I inform him.
“That’s the whole idea, Ms. Steele, to push you to your very limits to see how long you can hold out.”
“Yes, but you pushed me past my limit.” I point out. “I wasn’t even prepared for the possibility of denial until you were inside me telling me not to come,” I argue my point with logic and not malice. I mean, honestly, how can you truly argue with someone for making you have an orgasm that threatens to explode your head?
“I seem to remember a certain minx who shall remain nameless bringing me to my sexual brink many times before I was allowed to release,” he says, reminding me of our TPE two weeks ago.
“You are correct, Mr. Grey. But if you remember, I gave you a sexual safe word.” Realization dawns on his face. “You just launched a surprise attack on me with delectable sexual prowess and exploited my undeniable desire for you, unleashing sensuous hell on me and my burning, hot, horny body… and then told me not to come.” He squirms underneath me.
“I just came hard as fuck, but the way you just described that was so fucking hot!” he growls. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Exactly… and that was just the description. Imagine being subjected to it!” I finish. He nods.
“Point taken, Butterfly. I’ll compromise. You have a spanking coming… but you have to ask for it.” I can deal with that.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
We’re taking breakfast on the patio again. It’s later than yesterday since we all went out last night and slept in… or fucked in… a little this morning. I stick to regular orange juice this morning as Gail comes floating out of the villa wearing an indigo goddess dress that crisscrosses over her breasts. She actually looks kind of hot in it. Did someone get laid last night?
“Good morning, Ana,” she chimes as she takes a seat at the table and pours herself some orange juice from the carafe.
“Well, good morning yourself! You’re in a good mood.” I smile at her and she blushes.
“I don’t know what you mean.” She says, coyly. I briefly examine her closely.
“Oh, you know exactly what I mean.” I say knowingly. “You’re glowing like a Christmas tree, and I certainly don’t remember hearing you and Jason enter last night.” She scoffed playfully at me.
“That would be because you were a bit distracted at the pool last evening, young lady!” she announces. Oh my god, they saw us. Now, I’m blushing.
“Well, it was very PG, thank you very much!” I defend.
“Just barely!” she clarifies. “If you two are that passionate at the pool—fully dressed—I don’t know how you manage to keep your hands off of each other.” I laugh loudly.
“We don’t!” I exclaim. “All he has to do is walk into a room and I’m a useless mound of goo!” I say, recalling our delightful morning session. Gail giggles at me.
“I’ve learned to control it as of late around Jason. After all, we do have the same employer, but it’s not easy,” she says, her voice husky. I giggle a bit, thinking of the times that I have seen her and Jason steal glances at one another when they think no one is looking. I think it’s wonderful the way that they look at each other and they work so well together in their separate capacities.
“So, where are the fellas this morning?” I ask. I know Christian should be down any minute and I have no idea where Chuck and Jason are.
“Jason was still getting dressed when I came to breakfast and I think Chuck may have had a bit too much fun last night. Mr. Grey is not going to be happy about that,” she says.
“What do you mean? What happened?” I ask.
Well, Jason and I heard him come in last night and it sounded like he was stumbling. I could be wrong…” she says.
“Oh, God. I hope you are. Christian will not be pleased with that at all if you’re not,” I concur, drinking some more of my orange juice.
“No, he wouldn’t. I realize that yesterday was his day off, but in his line of work, he always has to be ready to function. I would not call ‘hung over’ ready to function and neither would Mr. Grey!”
“Indeed,” I agree. At that moment, Gail gasps and her hand flies to her chest. What the hell is wrong? I’m about to ask if she’s okay when I catch a flicker of brilliant yellow and the unmistakable rainbow reflection of carats. My hand flies up to my chest, mimicking the action she had performed moments before. We’re both in a state of shock as we simultaneously point at each other and exclaim,
“Is that what I think it is!?”
A/N: Rhomboids are muscles along the back. I didn’t know so someone else might not know either.
“Aide moi!”—”Help me!”
Make sure that you check out the pictures of the trip at http://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/paging-dr-steele-the-trip-to-anquilla/
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