Mending Dr. Steele: Chapter 29—And The Winner Is…

I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.

Chapter 29—And The Winner Is…


How the hell do I handle this? Christian barely has anyone that he wants to invite to the wedding and I’m trying to get him to put someone on the list. With the exception of the Scooby Gang and the few people that Dad may want to invite, our list may just barely reach 100 people. Yet, Grace wants to invite the whole of Seattle society and when I said that she couldn’t, she turned to Christian for reinforcement. This is our wedding, not hers! How could she do that? Is she going to undermine every decision I try to make? If this was anyone but Grace, I would cut them down at the knees—but this is his mother. What the hell am I supposed to do?

Ladies, I need to speak with my fiancée for a moment. Please don’t leave, there is a lot that we need to discuss. Can you excuse us for a moment?” Christian holds his hand out to me. I must have an expression of utter bemusement on my face because he just stands there waiting for me. “Come on, Baby,” he coaxes. I take his hand and we leave a bewildered Grace and Tammy in the dining room.

Talk to me,” he says as he closes the door to the study behind us.

What do you want me to say?” I ask.

I saw how you responded when Mom turned to me for backup,” he points out.

Tell him. If you don’t, it’s going to come up again somewhere, and it may not be this simple.
I sigh and spit it out.

I would never do that to you, Christian. I would never, ever put you in that position–to ask you to take sides between me and your mother. I would never want you to do that to me with Ray, but I feel like that’s what she just did to me. She’s your mother, Christian. How do I tell her that?” I hear the tears in my voice.

You don’t,” he says flatly, opens the door to his study and goes to the dining room.

Tamara, please excuse this interruption. I need my mother. I promise that we won’t be long…”

I can come back tomorrow,” I hear Tammy offer.

No, please. Don’t leave. This won’t take long at all.” A few moments later, Christian and Grace come back into the study. This is exactly what I didn’t want… a showdown. I drop my face into my hands.

Christian, please, don’t do this,” I beg.

I’m sorry, Baby, but I have to,” he says. “Mom, can you please tell me who is getting married?” Grace looks at Christian bemused.

My son,” she says, her voice laced with confusion.

Okay, let me rephrase, Mom. Whose wedding is this?” She gets quiet and I think she finally gets it. I still haven’t made eye-contact with her.

It’s your wedding,” she says, resigned.

Your wedding meaning whom, Mom?” Christian presses. Please don’t upset her… please…

It’s yours and Ana’s wedding,” she replies, sounding a bit agitated now.

Good. I’m glad we’ve established that. I love you, Mom, very much. Know that will never change. Ana is going to be my wife. As far as I’m concerned, she already is. We are just having a ceremony to make it official. I will never, ever choose sides between you and my wife. Don’t ever put me in that position again. Do you understand, Mom?” He speaks firmly but with no malice.

Yes, Christian,” Grace says a little too sharply for my taste. Christian picks up on it, too.

Mom, no. If you feel hurt or upset right now, then I can’t help it, but that wasn’t my intention. However, I don’t feel guilty at all about telling you that you have to cut down your list because this is what we agreed on before you showed up tonight. I wasn’t taking Ana’s side against you. I was going with what we agreed. I will tell you this, though. If this wedding becomes a problem, I will take my fiancée and we will elope.”

I groan when I hear this. If he does that, everyone will be unhappy—including me. All of a sudden, I want to be anywhere but in this room. At this point, I’m willing to let Grace invite her 800 friends, including the mothers and the daughters, if it means that it will keep the peace.

Please, just let her invite whoever she wants,” I say, wanting this conversation to end more than anything and trying to think of the biggest venues that we can find to accommodate this onslaught of people. Christian can afford it and I know that is what Grace is thinking. Why have a quaint little wedding with two or three hundred guests when you can have one with two or three thousand, right?

No… she can’t,” Christian says, his voice going more and more into CEO mode, “and stop rubbing your forehead. It’s turning red.” He grabs my hands and holds them down. “Look at me.” I hold my head up and Grace gasps.

Good God, Ana! What…?” Grace is at a loss for words and I’m almost afraid to know what my face looks like.

It’s a nervous habit. She does it anytime she’s upset or nervous or frustrated—like my hair-pulling and Elliot’s neck rubbing—although I’ve never seen her quite this nervous before.” He looks me in the eye. “Are you okay?” I nod.

I just want this to be over,” I say, trying to put my hand on my forehead again, only to be halted by Christian’s strong grip.

Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” He guides me to his desk chair and I sit down. “I’ll be back. I’m going to get you something to drink.” I nod and he leaves. The room is deadly silent for a few moments before I hear his command from somewhere in the apartment, “Put your hands down, Anastasia.” I clasp my hands in my lap, not even realizing that they had gone to my forehead again.

A disagreement with Grace—this is the last person that I expected to be at odds with… ever!

Anastasia, I… I didn’t mean to upset you, dear, it’s just that… well, I never thought that Christian would get married at all, let alone be the first to get married. I may have gotten carried away…” She sighs heavily. I can tell that she’s fighting to express herself.

I don’t want this fighting. I just want to have a beautiful wedding with the man that I love. I don’t want to elope and I don’t want jealous women glaring at me as I walk down the aisle. I’m terrified that the press will find out and that my wedding will become a nationally televised event with paparazzi coming down the damn chimney!” I’m crying before I know it. Grace pulls me into her arms and is attempting to comfort me.

My mother!” I bark, my face buried in my hands. “Did you know that my damn mother is talking to the press? I can’t even get a gag order against her! She’s spewing shit about me leaving her to live in poverty while I’m living in the lap of luxuryHello Magazine has deemed us the Princess Daughter and the Pauper Mother, urging their readers to take sides. Do you have any idea what that could mean for me? For my reputation as a doctor? She’s spitting all these lies while I’m constantly saying that I can’t talk about it because it’s an open case. Who do you think they are believing right now?” I feel my heart breaking all over again and I want to curl into a ball and die.

This Green Valley thing won’t leave me alone! I wish we had never dug it up! I have to relive this thing over and over and over again—for the deposition, on the witness stand, in my nightmares, every time one of those fucking dime-store reporters shoves a camera in my face!” I’m wailing now. I hear my own voice and the pain that I hear is breaking me more than the pain that I feel.

Then I have to worry about this crackpot Edward David—my first love and my worst love! Good God, how could I have ever loved that psychopath? His case is set to start somewhere in June and so is my wedding. Isn’t that just wonderful? And they might let this crazy fucker off on an insanity plea! It wouldn’t be far from the truth… he is insane! A psych ward won’t cure his kind of crazy, though. He’s crazy on a cellular level and after four years, I thought this was over, but here he is again. Can a bitch catch a break? When will this ever end?”

I am shrieking from my soul now. I feel like I’m going to explode, like the pressure from all of this shit is going to crush me and destroy me, leaving my brains, bones, and entrails splattered all over the walls. However, I have one more displeasure to voice…


I’m weeping so hard that I am gasping for breath. The broken, worn, and battered beam that has held up my façade all of this time has snapped in two and I find myself in a huddled mess on the floor, mourning the loss of my sanity. Any second now, I feel like the men in the funny suits will run into this room and put me in one of those wonderful jackets where I get to hug myself for hours. I just want to rip my hair out and scream! Anybody would be at the edge of their wits just dealing with one of these things. I’m dealing with them all at the same damn time!

What the hell?” I hear Christian’s surprised voice over my yowling. “Mom, what did you say?”

It wasn’t me, Christian! I didn’t…” No. Christian, it’s not her fault. I grasp onto her in an effort to show her that I know this. Christian tries to move his mother, but she can’t get free.

She won’t let got, Christian. It’s no use.”

Christian comes behind me and tries to lift me off the floor, but I am still clinging to Grace. She has to know that I don’t blame her and that this isn’t her fault. The dam just burst and I can’t control it. Even though my brain is forming cognitive thoughts, my mouth can’t seem to make it happen. I look up at her with pleading eyes.

Make it… stop… make it… stop,” I beg her. The pain is excruciating. I can’t take all of this at once, I’m going to lose my mind. “Please… make i… it s-stop…” Her eyes narrow and she seems to understand what I am asking her. She nods and tells Christian that she will be back.

I curl into the smallest ball that I can. I know that I’m shrinking and I don’t care. This hurts so badly—this complete and utter lack of control. At this moment, this very moment, I briefly understand why people use drugs and alcohol to escape. I would hope that I would never become a drug addict or an alcoholic, but in this brief moment of insane grief, I understand. My mind goes to Stephen Morton and I wonder if something happened in his life that caused him to be such a miserable bastard and die an alcoholic. Did he have some kind of trauma in his life or did the drink just take him over and he tumbled into the bottomless pit that eventually cost his life—and why the fuck am I thinking about him now?

It’s official. I’ve completely lost my mind.

My muscles are starting to hurt from holding myself in this little ball, but I’m afraid that if I let go, I will unravel completely. My heart will go in one direction, my soul in another, my brain up to the ceiling… I don’t feel Christian’s touch and I only know that he’s still there behind me because I see his hands holding me and I hear his voice. I can’t make out what he’s saying, I just hear his voice. I am cracking the fuck up! I am literally going insane! All of this crazy shit has finally sent me over the cuckoo’s nest!

A few moments later, Grace is in front of me with rubber gloves and a hypodermic needle. I still can’t hear what she’s saying, but I’m assuming that there some magic potion in this funny little tube that will somehow make it all better. I nod frantically at her. Please, please, just give it to me. I can’t take this anymore—I feel like I’m dying! I don’t feel the needle prick, but the effects of whatever she gave me is immediate. My muscles relax, my head stops pounding, and I can breathe.

Ana?” she says my name softly. “Can you hear me, Dear?” I look up at her and nod. “You’re going to be okay, but you will be very sleepy very soon. When you wake from your nap, you should feel much better, okay?” I nod again. I think I tell her “thank you,” I’m not sure. I just remember her smiling face as darkness surrounds me, enclosing me in comfort and silence.


I wake in our bed and it’s after nightfall now. Christian is lying next to me, fast asleep as well. I figure it must be the middle of the night since Christian is asleep, but we are both still fully dressed. I raise my head slowly, looking for after effects of whatever sedative or muscle relaxer Grace gave me. Nothing. My head is as clear as a bell. I still feel sorrowful, but not insane or out of control.

Baby?” Christian’s concerned sleepy voice lets me know that my movement has awakened him. I look over at him, still lying on the bed with his arm around me.

Hi,” I say softly. My throat is scratchy and I look for water. Christian sits up and hands me a glass that is on his nightstand.

Here.” I take a few sips and my throat feels much better. “How do you feel?”

Better,” I say, setting the glass on my nightstand. I stretch, still feeling the tightness of my muscles from earlier. I may need to soak them later. “Where’s Grace?”

She went home. I told her that I will call her and let her know how you are doing. Needless to say, she will have her list of 100 people here tomorrow.” He adds that last part as a joke, but I don’t laugh. I certainly wasn’t trying to guilt her into cutting her list. I just want her to understand that I don’t want our wedding to be a Broadway production.

Did she tell you what she gave me?” I ask, just in case I need to watch for side effects.

A very light muscle relaxer and sedative. She says that you will be fine, but she still wants me to call her. You’ve only been asleep for a few hours.” I nod.

Why don’t we just have the big wedding? She apparently wants everyone to see her son get married. I can certainly understand her enthusiasm even if I don’t agree with it,” I say.

Christian puts his hand on my cheek and turns me to face him. After examining me for a moment, he answers, “because that’s not what you want. Every bride wants one wedding day, and she wants it to be perfect. You get what you want on your day.”

Isn’t he just so perfect? I have to stop myself from jumping his bones right now.

What happened to Tammy? Did I avoid humiliating myself completely?” I lament.

Um… yes, but just barely. She heard the crying about your mother and made a hasty retreat. She missed the demand for Lincoln’s whereabouts.” I groan at his response. I know that horrid woman is up to something. She is not the type to go quietly into the night. If that were her intention, she would be in police custody right now. No, she’s planning something. I know it.

What do you think she’s doing, Christian?” I ask. He looks at me, puzzled.

What do you mean? I mean, I don’t think she’s doing anything and to be honest with you, I don’t care what she’s doing. I’m more concerned about Cholometes.” I frown.

Well, I’m more concerned about She-Thing. She has been persistent as hell, never taking ‘no’ for an answer to the degree of risking bodily harm to prove to us that she wasn’t going anywhere. Now, suddenly, she’s gone. That woman is up to something, and while you’re keeping an eye on Brian, at lease we know where he is.” I get out of bed and go to the bathroom. I relieve myself and I am happy to see that there are no signs that I tried to tattoo my forehead with my bare hands. I wash my hands and go back to the bedroom. Christian is eying me with skepticism.

Are you upset with me that I am more concerned about Colostomy than I am about the Pedophile?” he asks warily. I lean against the wall.

No. I just don’t want you to take this lightly. You’re a shrewd businessman and you know that the quiet always comes before the storm. Unless there was some big theatrical production that takes her out of commission—like her being publicly swallowed up by a crack in the earth—her silence should make you nervous.” He rises from the bed and puts his arms around me.

I will have our team look under every rock until we find her. Until then, I will beef up security to be sure that she doesn’t get to us, okay?” I look into his eyes to see if he’s just placating me. “Do you want another guy with you? Is Davenport enough? I can assign Lawrence as well if you like.” I shake my head.

No, I think Chuck and I can handle it for now, but I’ll let you know if I change my mind,” I say. “Thank you for taking me seriously, Christian.” He kisses me on the nose.

If you’re concerned, it’s very serious.” He takes my hand and leads me out of the bedroom. “Tamara made an appointment for us to see the Rainer Club and the castle in Lakewood tomorrow. She says that we can change it if we want, but if we decide that we want the castle, we have to act fast as it gets booked pretty quickly. Right now, our wedding weekend is free, but it most likely won’t be for long.” I nod.

I guess we should go check it out as soon as possible. I’m fine with tomorrow if you are,” I tell him. He nods.

The sooner we get the location locked down, the sooner we can decide exactly how many people we want. I don’t mind keeping it small, but Mom is no doubt seeing that Grand Lobby where the benefit was held and is thinking to herself ‘how many people can we fit in here?’” We both laugh. I look at the alarm clock. It’s just past 7pm.

So, what do you want to do for the rest of the evening?” I ask.

We should probably get something to eat,” he says, holding his hand out to me.

We talk some more about the wedding as we finish our dinner and decide that we want to cuddle by the fire. Christian calls Grace to let her know that I’m awake and feeling fine, and just as I am ending the call from thanking her for saving me during my nervous breakdown, Christian and Jason are having one of those silent conversations that they have with their eyes.

What’s going on?” I ask them. Jason looks from me to Christian. Grey, if you keep anything from me…

What’s up, Jason?” Christian asks.

The landline has been disabled. I can’t see how it’s been done and I’ve already put in a call to the in-house maintenance and the phone company. Maintenance is checking things out as we speak but the phone company won’t even send anyone out until Monday,” Jason says.

Why is this such a cause for concern?” I ask. “Everyone in the apartment has a cell phone.”

The security system runs through the phone lines. The inner alarms, motion detectors, and silent door and window alarms all run on a separate power source. However, the panic buttons and police alerts all run through the landline. It could be some kind of unknown malfunction, but if it’s not, it’s someone who knows a lot about this apartment and how we run things in here.” I don’t like the sound of that.

Are we safe here?” Christian asks.

My money says spend the weekend elsewhere, Sir. If this is deliberate, we would all be sitting ducks if we lost the main power source. True, we have our cell phones, but this is a big place to maneuver in the dark.” Christian nods.

When is the last time Ana’s apartment was swept?”

Mid-week,” Jason replies. “If you plan on going there, I’d like to have some of the team sweep it again and then set up shop there if it’s okay.”

Someone would have to sleep in Al’s room,” I comment.

I’m sure he won’t mind under the circumstances,” Christian says, then turns to Jason. “Have it swept as soon as possible. We’re leaving within the hour.”

As promised, we are getting out of the RS7 in the parking garage of my condo about an hour later. Christian has packed a small duffel bag for himself and, hell, this is my apartment. I have plenty of clothes here. The elevator pings at the 29th floor and Christian insists on opening the door before me.

You did say the apartment was swept, didn’t you?” I ask him. He shrugs.

Better safe than sorry,” he says as he opens the door. We are greeted by Ben and Williams—I still don’t know his first name, but he’s never around me long enough for me to get to know him. Taylor is staying behind with some other security staff that I don’t know to make sure Escala is secure and Gail is spending the weekend with some of her friends. I offered for her to come to the condo with us, but with me and Christian and security sleeping here for a moment, there’s not going to be much room. So she opted to go elsewhere. Chuck will come in tomorrow and relieve Williams, who will come back on Monday and relieve Ben.

I immediately go to the kitchen to see if anything is salvageable since our last visit only to find that someone has been grocery shopping. The refrigerator is stocked. I turn and look at Christian.

What’s all this?” I ask him.

The security detail comes in twice a week, to sweep the place and to sit for a while—just so that it doesn’t look vacant or empty. They are instructed to keep the kitchen stocked for just in case you want to… stop by.” I know he’s referring to that time I came here after the fight with Heather and the day I officially fired Luc as my trainer. It made me think of Marlow. I close the refrigerator door.

How’s Marlow been doing?” I ask him. “He doesn’t come to the center that often since you’ve been mentoring him.”

I’d say that’s a good thing. Wouldn’t you?” Christian asks. I nod tentatively.

He still needs help, Christian,” I warn. “He’s still very angry and has to deal with that anger so that it doesn’t fester inside of him and he doesn’t become his father. That happens, you know. It’s not going to go away because he has found something else to occupy his mind.” Christian nods.

I’ll talk to him and remind him that he shouldn’t miss his sessions with you, okay?” he says a little begrudgingly. “He’s been working pretty hard on a couple of projects, Ana, one of them being the requirements for the schools that he wants to attend.” I sigh and slump my shoulders.

I know,” I say, walking back to my room and looking blankly into the closet. Marlow was doing much better the last time that we talked. He was very focused on the project Christian had given him, and happy… happier than I have ever seen him. He’s nothing at all like the angry boy that I saw staring out of the window all those months ago. I would say at this point that he only needs what I call “maintenance meetings” to make sure that he’s not harboring any destructive feelings and to talk about how things are going in his life. Those are usually once a month or as needed, but the truth is…

Butterfly?” Christian is by my side stroking my arm. “What’s wrong, Baby?”

I’m being silly. I know that I am, but the truth is…

I miss him,” I say softly. “He’s a patient and I know I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do.”

Christian puts both hands on either of my arms and turns me to face him.

He’s a friend, and you should feel that way.” He pulls me into his arms. “You’re a wonderful person, Anastasia Steele. He’s lucky to have you as a friend, and I can’t wait to make you my wife.” I look up at him.

You told your mother that I already was your wife,” I say with a smirk. He snatches me hard against his body and I gasp. The air leaves my chest at once as he presses me against him, and shivers of desire, lust, and passion surge through me as he caresses the exposed skin of my back through my halter-dress, playing in the garden of my tattoo. He brushes his lips against mine as I feel my nipples harden against his chest and his erection begin to take form against my belly.

I did say that, didn’t I?” he says in a deep, sensual voice before his lips close over mine.


The Rainier Club is a beautifully opulent manor right down the street from Escala. It’s very convenient it terms of distance, but almost too convenient for me in terms of the paparazzi. Nonetheless, it’s a lovely location and very worth the consideration. It’s a historical building situated on a hill right in the middle of downtown Seattle. On this sunny Sunday morning, it looks a little out-of-place against the sleek skyscrapers and high-rises that compose the Seattle skyline, yet there it sits—untouched by the city’s growth around it. In the midst of all of this metal and glass sits this brick mansion that has been there for 125 years.

I love that the Club can take care of all the catering and decorating needs if we choose, as well as provide the suites for before and after the wedding for whomever decides to stay. I’d like to do something similar to what we did for Maxine’s wedding, but with Allen being my man of honor, I don’t know how any of this will pan out. I haven’t even told him yet, but I’m sure that he won’t turn me down. Note to self—call Allen and tell him that he should be doing some of this footwork, I laugh to myself.

Christian, Tammy, and I walk through the large ballroom of the Rainier Club, admiring the floor-to-ceiling windows and the huge fireplace. Grace could easily fit 500 of her 1000 guests in this room, I think to myself. We look at pictures of prior weddings hosted in this space and it could very likely accommodate anything that we may have in mind.

What I don’t like about the Rainier Club is the location and ease of access. It sits right on the street, so unless we are willing to block off both the streets that encompass the building, we are not going to be able to keep people from blocking the entrance. I highly doubt that the city of Seattle will tolerate us blocking off two of their downtown city streets for our little wedding.

If I felt that the Rainier Club was too close, then Thornwood Castle was exactly the opposite. I had no idea what I was in for when I told Tammy that I wanted to see this Castle. We had to drive an hour down the I-5 to get there! I’m glad we opted for the Q7 or I would have been stiff as a board by the time we arrived! I fell asleep after the first 20 minutes of the drive, but I awoke just as we were exiting the freeway. A right turn at exit 123 off of the I-5 and we are entering Lakewood city limits.

Trees. Nothing but trees.

The little, two-lane, somewhat winding road goes for about a mile and if you blinked, you would miss the turn onto the road that takes you to the castle. Tammy drives up to a large intercom box and presses a button. After she speaks into the box, the two wrought iron gates in front of us swing open, granting us entry to a private drive with cobblestone cottages lining the road. The trees are massive and placed close together, forbidding the view from the outside world. The drive up this tiny road takes us around yet another curling road flanked by trees until you get to a clearing at the end…

…and there it is.

It’s beautiful. I haven’t even gone inside and I am utterly enchanted. Thornewood is an English Tudor Gothic castle with classic slanted roofs, multiple chimneys, and constructed with deep orangish-red bricks. Some of the building looks refurbished while other parts of it show significant age, adding to the charm and the historical nature of the castle. We travel down the long, circular drive to the large archway and meet Tammy at the front entrance. She is all smiles when she steps out of her bronze Volvo XC90.

I think you guys are really going to love this place,” she beams. “Ana, I know that you were worried about ostentatious, but trust me—this place says class and sophistication, with historic English charm. You have the privacy that you need as there is only one way in and one way out, which you just saw. You can post your own security there and for an extra fee, the Castle will post security there as well. Presidents have stayed here in the past and, lets face it, this is Seattle’s own Prince Charming marrying his Snow White. It absolutely has to be in a castle.”

We walk to the outdoor brick foyer where large carved wooden doors open to reveal a smartly-dressed woman flashing a full 32-teeth smile.

Hello, Mr. Grey, Ms. Steele. My name is Deanna Robinson. I am one of the innkeepers of Thornewood Castle. We are simply delighted that you are considering Thornewood for your wedding. Please, let me show you around.” Deanna guides us into the Great Hall and raves on and on about the 500-year-old staircase and oversized limestone fireplace. Thornewood is built from pieces of a dismantled castle brought over from England in the early 1900s and reconstructed here in the Pacific northwest by Chester Thorne as a present for his wife, whose name happens to have been Anna. The oak architecture and 15th century stained-glass windows are absolutely stunning.

The castle is huge and we didn’t get a chance to see the entire structure, but Deanne made sure that we saw the Grandville Suite, Presidential Suite, and Anna’s Bridal Suite—the three most exclusive and luxurious suites in the castle. I am extremely impressed with what I see, but Christian maintains his impassive face. We exit the castle to explore the grounds and I nearly faint when I see the sunken “Secret Garden.” This space is huge and breathtaking! Old, large wooden gates lead down a flora-trimmed brick walkway to a hidden oasis—emerald green, finely-manicured lawn that seems to go on and on and on flanked by beautiful wide stone staircases at either end. A reflection pool with a statue of a water bearer is right in the center, and walls covered withwisteria, purple clematis, climbing hydrangea, and pillar roses protect this hidden gem from prying eyes. Throughout the garden is an impressive array of statues, stairs, and pillars, and probably every flower that can be found in Washington state if not the country! There goes my thought of not having an outdoor wedding.

Ana? Ana, are you still with us?” I hear Tammy’s voice pulling me back to the here and now. I turn to face her as if she is some sort of alien.

Huh?” I say, a bit confused.

I was giving you a little more history, but I don’t think you heard me,” Deanna says with a chuckle.

Oh. Oh! I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I was just… um…” I’m mesmerized by the beauty of this place and I don’t want to show too much excitement in case Christian is totally against it. He will want to have his security in place wherever we have the wedding and have total control of who leaves and who stays. With only a few months until the wedding, I’m not sure he’ll be able to put that kind of lockdown on an historical castle!

Baby?” He pulls me from my thoughts once more and I look up at him. His eyes narrow as he examines me. “This is it, isn’t it?” he says so that only I can hear. I say nothing. I only look at him, all deer-stuck-in-headlights and gaped-mouthed. I want to have my wedding here. Inside and out, this place is stunning and I would be happy with either setting, but nothing I have seen has compared to this place. This is definitely it. He nods and turns to Tammy and Deanna.

Ms. McDaniels, Ms. Robinson, my fiancée is speechless. I think we have our location,” he says. I am trying not to leap into the reflection pool and dance with joy around the water-bearer.


Location—check, check!
Wedding party… shit! Wedding party!

Christian, have you thought anymore about who is going to be in your wedding party?” I ask on our drive back to Seattle. We are heavy from a lovely late lunch provided by the Castle as we etched our date in stone and outlined our initial needs with them and we are now on our way back to my apartment.

Nope. You stole Al from me, so I have Elliot, Jason, and Ethan.”

Okay, and I’ll have Al, Val, Maxie… I really would like to ask Gail too… Damn, should I ask Mia, too? She’ll be hurt if I don’t.”

Do you really want to ask Mia, or are you asking her to keep her from getting hurt?” Christian asks. I shrug.

I think a little bit of both. She welcomed me from the first day that she met me, and she has been a wonderful sweetheart to me ever since—a little energetic, but a sweetheart nonetheless. So yes, I do want to ask her.”

So now you have five and I have three,” Christian says.

Okay, so ask James and Phil. I know they would love to stand up in our wedding,” Christian makes the contemplative face.

You realize that means that Allen and Elliot will be leading the wedding party out of the church.”

Why don’t we let Allen and James lead the wedding party out of the church? They are a couple after all,” I suggest. Christian cocks his head at me.

Why does your man of honor and his escort get to lead the wedding party? Why can’t my best man and his companion do it?” Christian is half-kidding, but half-serious too. I sigh.

I don’t really care who leads the party out of the church. You work that out. Have we decided on your groomsmen now?” I sound impatient, I know, but I have bigger fish to fry than who is leading whom out of the church.

We’re going to have a gay couple in our wedding… together,” he says after a pause. “You don’t have a problem with that?”

Not one little bit!” I say quickly. “Why? Do you?”

No,” he says casually. “I actually kind of like the idea. It will throw the press for a loop when they get wind of the story,” he adds with a chuckle. I roll my eyes.

Yeah, I guess it will,” I reply, trying to hide my smirk.

I’m tired when we get back to the condo. The drive to and from the castle took forever, and now I’m marinating a luxurious lunch in my belly and I could really use a nap. I go into my room and start removing my jewelry. I begin to put it on the nightstand when an eerie feeling hits me. I see something definitely out of place… definitely wrong. The moment I make the realization, I get a sickening feeling in my stomach.

Christian?” I call to him. This is a catastrophe… a fucking catastrophe.

What is…” He steps into my bedroom and I must look a fright because he looks like he is about to catch me from falling. “Baby, what is it? What’s wrong?”

I’m looking down. No… not wrong… very wrong… horribly, frightfully wrong.

When is the last time Jason said someone swept this apartment?” I ask him, trying to remain calm.

Before yesterday, mid-week. Why? What’s wrong?” His gaze follows mine and he can’t see what I see… or what I don’t see.

My Beretta… it’s gone.”


She looks like she has seen a ghost when I walk into the room. What the fuck is she looking at? What’s going on?

When is the last time Jason said someone swept this apartment?” Her voice has an almost eerie calm to it and I know that something is definitely wrong. I’m looking where she’s looking and I can only see an open drawer in the nightstand. There are a few papers there; nothing looks amiss. What’s the problem?

Before yesterday, mid-week. Why? What’s wrong?” I need her to tell me what has her frozen to this spot, looking at this piece of furniture as if it might get up and run away.

My Beretta…” she says before raising her eyes to me. “It’s gone.”

It takes me a moment to register what she said. Her Beretta is gone. Her Beretta is gone…

Oh, fuck! Her Beretta!

I thought your guns were in the safe at Escala!” I bark before I know it.

Not the Beretta! It stayed here—and this drawer is locked when I’m not here!” she barks back. I run my hands through my hair. Shit! She pulls out her iPhone and starts to dial.

What are you doing?” I ask her.

I’m calling the police.”

No! Don’t! I don’t want to get them involved in this unless we have to,” I say trying to stop her.

Christian!” she snaps at me, hard. “A firearm that is registered to me is missing. I don’t know how long it’s been missing, who has it, or where it is. It’s floating around the city of Seattle—fuck, the state of Washington somewhere—and someone could use it to commit a crime. I have to call the police and report it stolen. End of discussion!” Whoa! Yes Mistress. She’s right, though. I hadn’t thought about that. I nod reluctantly and while she dials 911, I dial Jason.

Jason, was anything out-of-place in any way when you had the apartment swept on Wednesday?”

Not that I was informed, Sir,” Jason replies, his voice wary.”

Ana’s apartment has been compromised, too. I think we should come back to Escala.”

No, Sir,” Jason interjects. “It’s a smaller space and easier to manage. Let front desk security know there is a possible breach and to keep their eyes open.”

Front desk security? You mean the same company that allowed her car to get vandalized in June in the middle of the damn day and has now allowed someone to breach her apartment and steal her gun?” I bark. I’m ready to sell this piece of shit company if they keep hiring these incompetent assholes! The line is quiet for a little too long. “Jason!”

Did I hear you correctly? They stole her gun?”

Yes! They stole her gun!” I bark. He sighs heavily.

Is anything else missing?”

She hasn’t said so, and she only just realized that her gun was missing.”

Does that mean that she wasn’t looking for it until now or it was there yesterday and now it’s gone?” What is he getting at?

I don’t know, what’s the difference?”

Well, the first one is that you guys were in the apartment… with security. Other than that, I need know if anything else is missing from the apartment.”

I’ll ask her…” I turn to question Butterfly about the situation. She is still on the phone with the police making a report about her gun.

Well, don’t you want to come and take fingerprints?” I hear her nearly wail into the phone. “What if someone commits a crime with my gun!? What if they kill someone!?”

I’ll have to call you back, Jason. Ana is starting to panic.” I end the call and walk over to her. “Give me the phone, Baby.” She looks up at me and just hands me the phone. “Hello, to whom am I speaking?”

This is Officer Robert Henry, who is this?

Robert? Oh, fuck no… and two first names, too?

This is Christian Grey.” The line is momentarily silent.

Yeah… sure it is. What can I do for you, Mr. Grey?” he says, smugly.

You can get me Detective Gerald Crab. Is he on duty today?”

Why certainly, Mr. Grey. Let me get him for you,” the condescending asshole says on the other line and puts me on hold. A few minutes later, Gerald is on the phone. “Christian?”

Gerald! Thank God! Someone with some competence! That idiot has Ana all upset and screaming into the phone. One of her guns has been stolen from her apartment.”

Oh. He most likely told her that she had to come down and make a report,” Gerald says.

Most likely, only there’s no sign of forced entry and my security team sweeps this apartment at least twice a week. None of them knows what happened and nothing else has been disturbed that we know of.” I look over at Butterfly and she shakes her head confirming my suspicions. “We think this might be big, Gerald. The phone lines have been disabled at my apartment meaning that our alarm systems have been compromised. That’s why we’re here at Ana’s. Now it looks like her apartment has been compromised as well. It’s bigger than a missing gun—even though that’s pretty big all by itself—and she’s afraid.”

I’ll be there in about twenty. I’ll bring Officer Henry with me, too. I’m sure he’ll be just thrilled to meet you.” I can hear the mirth in Gerald’s voice.

Oh, by all means. I would love to meet that asshole, too.” We end the call and I turn around to face a shaking Butterfly. I immediately envelop her in my arms. “I know this is scary, so I won’t just say that everything will be alright. I will say that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and to find out who has your gun, okay?” She looks up at me, her eyes full of longing.

Thank you, Christian. I love you. I know you will.” She lays her head on my chest and her vulnerability is palpable. I’m ready to put her in that little box again and keep her safe, but I know that butterflies are meant to be free. I kiss her hair and inhale her scent.

I have no idea what to look for, but Jason wants to know if anything else is missing. So we should look around a bit,” I say. She nods. Davenport is behind me in moments.

Sir, Jason says that the Beretta is missing?” he says, his voice etched with concern.

Yes,” I say flatly, pointing to the open drawer in the nightstand.

When did you notice it was missing… just now?” he asks. Butterfly nods.

That drawer is normally locked…” she begins.

I know,” he interrupts. I raise my eyebrow at him. “It’s one of our checkpoints, Sir. We were informed that the gun was on the premises, so we always checked to see if the drawer was locked. It was locked yesterday, Sir. Ben says he checked it himself.”

Fuck! Whoever did this knows that we’re here. They waited until we left and struck before we got back.

We. Are not. Staying here,” I say with finality. “Call Jason. Tell him that the police are on their way to take a report and then we are leaving. He can give me suggestions about where to go or I will come up with something myself, but we are not staying here.” Davenport nods and leaves the room.

Where will we go, Christian?” Butterfly asks, a bit forlorn. “Whoever they are, they got to Escala. Now they attack my condo. What is this about?” A million thoughts run through my head… Cholometes, an angry competitor, the Pedophile, a disgruntled ex-employee, fucking Mini-Morton, someone related to those Green Valley assholes… it could be anybody and we have no clue where to start.

A few minutes later, Gerald is standing in Butterfly’s living room with a very nervous Officer Henry. Although Gerald is wearing is signature two-piece suit—well-fitting with crisp white shirt and black tie—Henry is wearing the typical “flatfoot” uniform—light blue shirt with dark blue pants and outer jacket. He has enough courtesy to remove his hat when he steps into the apartment. I’m not sure if that’s because he’s scared shitless or if it’s because he is in the presence of a lady. Either way, the fucker removed his hat.

Officer Henry, meet Christian Grey,” Gerald says. Henry swallows hard and clears his throat.

Sir,” he says nervously with a humble nod. Yeah, motherfucker, it really is me.

This is Anastasia Steele, his fiancée and the young woman who made the call,” Gerald continues. Henry turns to Butterfly and proffers his hand. She begrudgingly but politely accepts his handshake.

Robert Henry, Ma’am. Nice to meet you.” Butterfly freezes and snatches her hand away from him, backing into me like a scared rabbit. He is surprised, but Gerald and I are not.

She hasn’t had good luck with ‘Roberts,’” I say a little more harshly than I should have, “or with men with two first names.” He actually looks a little hurt.

I’m sorry,” she says softly without making eye-contact with him. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” Don’t apologize to that asshole, Butterfly! He doesn’t deserve your kindness.

None taken, Ma’am,” he says, kindly, smiling sweetly at my Butterfly. Hey—I’m still standing here, fucker!

Gerald discreetly elbows him and leans in to him. He speaks to Henry in a very low voice, teeth clenched and barely moving his lips.

I know she’s hot, but this man will fry you. Get a grip!”

I laugh to myself. I never knew that Gerald was caught in the beauty that is Butterfly. He always handles himself so well. I have to say, I love how he’s handling Henry at the moment. Henry straightens his stance a bit while I envelop Butterfly in my arms for the umpteenth time today.

Ana, when did you notice that the gun was missing?” Gerald asks.

Right before I called it in. I just got a bad feeling and looked down at my drawer. It was slightly open. I normally check the moment I get into the apartment, but I was distracted yesterday with the whole ‘telephone’ thing at Escala and the wedding planning that I didn’t check this time. Chuck says they checked yesterday and the drawer was locked…”

Chuck?” Gerald interrupted.

Charles Davenport, my bodyguard. He says that Ben… Benjamin Lawrence, another member of the security team… checked it himself. It’s one of the checkpoints in the apartment because they know my gun is in there.” Gerald nods.

Beretta… that’s not one of the guns you picked up after the kidnapping is it? You had a Glock and a…” Gerald is thinking hard trying to remember the other gun.

Magnum,” I say, finishing his thought after several seconds.

Yeah, a Magnum. Are those guns secure?”

I still carry the Magnum. It’s in my purse. The Glock is in the safe back at home.” Huh?

You carry the Magnum when we’re together?” I ask her, trying to hide my horror.

Christian, I was kidnapped in broad daylight by two men who drugged me and were able to get me to an island and shackled to a bed before I even knew what was happening. I carry the Magnum at all times!” She hisses at me letting me know that this topic is not open for discussion. When it comes down to her guns, I try to stay out of it as much as I can. However, I must admit that I wish she wouldn’t carry that thing when we are together.

Excuse me,” Henry interrupts. “You said that the Glock is in a safe at home. Forgive me, I thought this was home.” Polite as fuck now, aren’t you?

No. This is my apartment, but this is home #2 now. Escala is where we live.” Oh, that is such music to my ears.

Okay, we’re getting a bit of track here. May I have the details of the Beretta?” Gerald asks.

It’s a 9mm Px4 Storm Type F Sub-Compact with a reversible magazine. It’s registered, so the serial number and ballistic information is already on file with you guys,” Butterfly says.

That makes it easier. Good. Is anything else missing from the apartment?”

We were just about to check that out when you arrived…”

We do another sweep of the apartment together with the police and our security and, from what Butterfly says, everything seems to be intact. She does note that she’s not going to notice anything small or seemingly insignificant missing until she notices that it’s missing—meaning she doesn’t know until she’s specifically looking for it.

Fingerprints on the drawer will most likely be of no use since numerous prints are on the drawer handle from the many people who checked the drawer to see if it was locked. However, Gerald calls forensics in to take fingerprints from the drawer and the front door anyway. I put a call into to Vansteen directly to have the tapes searched from today to see if anyone entered the apartment while we were gone. I wasn’t going to fight with those fuckers at the security desk today.

It was hours before the police finally left the condo. Butterfly is totally exhausted now and looks completely disheartened. She just had a fucking breakdown yesterday. Is another one on the horizon?

Let me take care of you,” I say to her as I take her hand.

I thought we weren’t staying here tonight,” she says.

Nobody dare try anything with the police crawling all over this place today. We should be fine for one more night. Come. I want to take care of you.”

I wash her body and hair thoroughly in that heavenly rain-water shower that she has. She knows that this brings me comfort when I feel that there’s nothing more that I can do at the moment. I’ve always taken care of my submissives, but not like I take care of Butterfly. I cared for them—for their well-being and such—but I love Butterfly. Taking care of her is a necessary part of my existence. It’s one of the ways that I need her, and I know that she still needs me.

I dry her hair then lay her down, feasting on her juicy, luscious fruit and bringing her to two shivering orgasms. I kiss her all over while her second release wanes, then cradle her in my arms intent on going to sleep. Butterfly has other plans. She rolls over and hungrily kisses me. I’m trying to control myself, but she is ravenous, like I didn’t just make her come twice. She rolls over on top of me and works my pajama pants down with her feet. Dropping her hot little body down onto my begging shaft, she rides me, loves me, hard and slow until we both find earth-shattering release.


My first order of business when I get to Grey House on Monday morning is to order an internal audit on Vansteen Security. I need to know if the company is doing the same shabby job at all of their sites that they are doing at Butterfly’s condo. I make it known that this is high priority—and want a team in there, not just one auditor, and I want the results in no more than three weeks. The company is fairly small and with a team, it shouldn’t take longer than that.

I see that some of the shooting for the Faces segment will take place tomorrow. Unfortunately, GEH doesn’t own any filming studios—yet—so I have a meeting with McIntyre and with Saul Mitchell from Victory Studios at 10 this morning to wrap up the details and the sequence of the candidates. I will be the first to film my segment and I will bring Butterfly with me to film hers as well. Except for me, each person only has one line and it’s the same line for everyone. However, it’s still a big production to get them prepared for that one line and to get it recorded correctly. It’s my understanding that each person will most likely be recorded up to five times saying the same line to make sure that they get a good take. After that, the behind-the-scenes crew will come in and edit the segment together into the finished product.

Williams escorted me to the office while Davenport, as usual, took Butterfly to work. Jason is still at Escala trying to determine who or what compromised the phone system and if any other systems have been breached. This is very frustrating to me. We can’t go back to Escala and we can’t go back to the condo. I don’t want to stay in a fucking hotel but I don’t want to put any of our family at risk either. What the fuck do we do?

I must admit that I feel my control slipping a bit again. However, I’m a businessman, and a very successful one at that. I’ve played mind games with the best of them, even those who have attempted to play with me. I’ve never lost. Never. Even with Butterfly, I lost the battle at the community center, but I won the war in the end because I got the girl.

I got the girl.

I feel my control slipping… but I know how to get some of it back.


Christian, you’re slipping. It’s been at least a week since I sent Ana those flowers,” he says, his cockiness apparent in his tone. I note that he calls me by my first name—his first power play. We’re not friends and no one calls me by my first name but family and the very few friends that I have now. I put that on the mental shelf for possible use later.

And how did that work out for you, Cholometes?” I say calmly.

You should know. She tells you everything, right?” he says. An attempt at a jab. He’s coming out swinging.

Well, not everything,” I say with mirth. “Ladies do have their little secrets and she pulls hers out at just the right moments. Just last Friday, she came to my office and… oh, maybe I shouldn’t say anything. A gentleman doesn’t tell, but I will say this. I had no idea she could do that!” I speak wistfully, thinking about Ana edging me on the sofa in my office until I thought my eyes would pop out of my fucking head.

I’m only too sure that she would love to hear about you talking about her sexual escapades like it’s locker-room conversation,” he nearly growls.

Oh, by all means, give her a call and inform her. She finds agonizingly wonderful ways of making my pay for my transgressions. Valentine’s Day was a fucking doozy because I had a slip of the tongue at her friends bridal shower, and that was two weeks earlier. She let that shit marinate for two weeks and then unleashed hell on me!” This is working out better than I thought. Talking about our sex life is a little juvenile and not very gentlemanly and I have to be very careful what I actually reveal, but it does let this interloper know exactly where he stands… and exactly where stand.

You’re not fooling anybody. I fully know who wears the pants in that relationship and who wears the hot, sexy, mini-skirts and four-inch stilettos.” Is he serious? That was even more juvenile than the “locker-room” talk. Now I know what he meant and why he laughed when I called him “Colostomy.” He had me on the ropes that night and he knew it, but now the tables have turned.

You know, you’re right. I’m usually the one—how should I put this delicately—in charge, but I love it when she takes control.” My voice drops on the last few words, just enough to give him the visual of that sexy mini-skirt and those four-inch stilettos dominating me. He was about to say something when Andrea’s voice floats over my intercom.

Excuse me, Mr. Grey?”


I’m sorry to disturb you, but Ana’s assistant left a message to remind you to call your mother about her guest list. She says that if you don’t get the list to calligrapher today, they won’t be able to do the save-the-date cards until next week.”

Thank you, Andrea.” Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect. “Find out what she’s doing for lunch. I’ve composed my guest list as well and I want to compare it to hers before we send them to the calligrapher.”

Yes, Sir.”

I chuckle to myself before I get back to Cholometes. “Sorry about that—silly little wedding stuff. You were saying?”

What exactly is the purpose of this conversation—for you to call me and embarrass Ana by making her sound like a wanton, sex-starved nymphomaniac?” Sex-starved? Hardly! Wanton nymphomaniac? Abso-fucking-lutely, but only for me. I laugh out loud at his terminology. You don’t know just how right you are, Colostomy.

Honestly, I have no idea why I called you. I would beat my chest like an ape and tell you to stay away from my wife, but I already know that you won’t so I won’t bother,” I say, still maintaining the CEO calm.

She’s not your wife yet, Grey.” Grey. He’s slipping.

That’s just a formality. That woman is as good as down the aisle and you know it. That’s what that whole flower thing was about—’don’t forget about me, Ana,’” I say in a soft voice.

And she won’t, I guarantee it,” he says confidently.

That’s fine, Brian,” I resort to his first name now, strategically placed when the first big blow is about to take place. “If you’re okay with her thinking about you every now and again—some fond memory of some great thing that she did with you and her father—that’s fine by me. I won’t lose any sleep about you taking up some of her mental real estate because in the end, it’s my ring that she’s wearing, my name she’ll be called, my home that she comes back to, my bed she’s lying in, my arms that hold her, and my children she’ll be carrying. So no matter how much she thinks about you, she’ll be loving me.” The words flow out of my mouth like velvet and no doubt cut his ears like knives.

So again, that bears to question, why are you calling me?” His voice is a low hiss now. This man is not a Dom. His power plays at their very best are weak and now he’s on the defensive. The only time that he had control over me was when he had Butterfly’s attention and when I was drunk. He hasn’t controlled this conversation from the moment that he called me Christian.

Well, all things considered, I don’t think there is anything that I need to say to you… oh, except that I pulled your card and I know all about you.” Leave that open and just let him walk in.

You’re the one that leaves breadcrumbs around, Grey, and you don’t know anything about me that I don’t allow you to know,” he taunts.

No? Keep hope alive, Pet.” I play my first real power play. One of two things is going to happen, now:

One—he’s going to break out in a cold sweat wondering how I could possibly know or…
Two—he’s going to get unbelievably pissed that I dare treat him like a sub.

The line goes silent.

What the fuck did you just call me?” he hisses. Okay, that could be one disguised as two.

What’s the matter, Brian? Did I say something wrong?” I say, my voice a bit more firm.

You know what the hell you said, Asshole!” he says.

Ah, ah, ah—watch your temper. I might take it personally.” I employ a bite of the voice that has boardrooms quaking and subs shaking in their stilettos.

You don’t talk to me like I’m one of your fucking toys!” he hisses. Bingo!

What toys do you mean, Brian? My cars? My jet? My 10-million-dollar helicopter? My priceless grand piano? What toys are you referring to, because I don’t talk to those things.”

You know what I mean, Grey!” He is really losing his cool now. I’ve got you, you little prick!

No, unfortunately, I don’t know what you mean. You see, you’re too busy throwing innuendo at my wife to be a man and come to me and tell me what you mean.” My voice is still very calm as I break him down. “You tell me to my face that you want my woman, but then you sneak in the back door like a sniveling little thief and try to take her. All may be fair in love and war, Brian, but there are rules of engagement, and when you break the rules, all bets are off, Little One.” Another sub name… I know it and he knows it.

Do not refer to me like I’m one of your fucking subs,” he says, his voice low and menacing.

Subs?” I say, mocking innocence. “I don’t have subs. I have a fiancée. She wouldn’t put up with that shit.”

I can destroy you, Grey,” he says calmly, attempting to gain control of the situation that he never had. “I can cost you your reputation and everything you have, including your wife!” He hisses the last word. Okay, Little Fish, time for the finishing move.

You go right ahead.” I am in full-on CEO/Dom mode now. This motherfucker has played his highest trump, but he doesn’t know that I have the last trick. “You just remember something while you’re standing in the ring thinking you have omnipotent power in this situation. You are a fox about to go up against a dragon—an evil, wicked, vicious, fire-breathing, dragon. You have a crush on that woman. You are infatuated with her. You desire her. You may even be smitten with her. Me? I’m in love with her. I breathe her. She has infiltrated my body, mind, and soul in every way possible.

I will relinquish my power, sell my last company, spend my last dime, use my last resource, and breathe my last breath making her happy. If she ever left me, I would follow her to the pits of hell to get her back. You know as well as I do that she is loyal to eternity, and right now, she’s loyal to me. I will endeavor for the rest of my life to be worthy of that loyalty, but anyone who tries to rob me of it would be better off going up against Satan himself.

I will cut you down and everything that you hold dear if you cross me in business, but when it comes to the woman that I love, my reason for waking up in the morning, my heartbeat—I will leave you as a bloody, mangled carcass in the street… and I don’t care if you tell her I said so. I don’t do warnings, Cholometes, so take me very seriously. Do not play this game with me. You will. Lose!”

The line is quiet. I just wait. I want to know what this fucker has to say. There’s no comeback from that. We are playing the telephone version of stare. The line is quiet for several minutes and even though he’s not physically in the room, my eyes don’t flutter. I don’t even check the phone to see if he’s still there. I know that he is.

Finally, he blinks.

I see that you’ve made your stance quite clear,” he says firmly.

For your sake, let’s hope so,” I respond, not backing down for a moment.

Goodbye, Mr. Grey,” he says with finality.

Brian,” I say, before ending the call.


For those of you who may not know, an internal audit may or may not have to do with money. For the most part, it’s a lot like what Christian did with GEH when he returned from Anguilla. “Auditors” come in with a fine-toothed comb and see how the company is running—assessing organizational risks, analyzing controls, operations, compliance with laws and policies, etc. Although it is very personal that things keep happening to Ana, Christian is a businessman. If other locations are having the same issues that Ana’s condo is having, this company could cost him a lot of money in the end in lawsuits, restitutions, and compensations.

On the ropes—boxing term. When an opponent is being hit hard, he is usually leaning “on the ropes” either because a) he’s trying to keep from falling or b) he’s usually getting his head pounded in against the ropes and there’s nowhere for him to go. The referee usually has to end the fight after that. 

Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc. can be found at

You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page. Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.

Feel free to review—it is greatly appreciated.

Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn x

One Shot–They Still DO That?

This is my response to a “Kill Elena” challenge that a Facebook group posted. There were some really good ones out there and I just put in my two cents. All just say that one should probably do your research before you travel to foreign countries.

One Shot – They Still DO That?

She was making her way through a sightseeing vacation through Nepal. She had made her escape from Seattle when, unable to withstand her “training” anymore, her latest underage sub confessed their relationship to his parents. She learned the hard way that not all young boys were willing to do anything for a fuck. Victor’s parents came after her with a vengeance. It was her word against his and he had no proof of her abuse besides the bruising on his body from the whips and canes. However, when the police searched her Bellevue home for the proof that young Victor assured them would be there, Elena had dismantled the playroom and destroyed all evidence of her prior BDSM activities. There was no way to convict her or even make an arrest stick.

Victor’s parents were relentless in their plight for Elena’s demise. Public outcries were made for any other young boys that had been victimized by her to come forth, but none did. Her name was dragged through every tabloid and newspaper on the west coast. She was virtually worthless in the eyes of high society. Even though there was no arrest and no conviction, the stigma attached to the accusation of molesting 14-year-old boys was more than anyone wanted to be associated with. Her salon business slowly dwindled until it failed. Christian was following that mousy little bitch around like a lost puppy—five years and three kids later and he still hasn’t seen her for the worthless little skank that Elena felt she was. She had lost everything of any real value to her—her salons, her love, her name…

…But she still had her fortune.

Rather than be run out of town on a rail, Elena decided to take a trip around the world and decide where she wanted to lay new roots. She no longer wanted to sit and watch Christian play happy little father if she couldn’t have him. No man anywhere could resist her charms—or so she thought—except for Linc… and Victor…

…and Christian.

On the advice of a travel agent friend, she decided to travel through Asia. American money went very far in some of the countries—particularly in comparison to the Nepalese rupee. Starting her trip in Kathmandu admiring the House of the Living Goddess, Elena continued a 60-day trek through Nepal. She visited Patan, Bhaktapur. Pokharal, Lumbini, Gorkha, and Nagarkot. Her trip would take her back to Kathmandu and she would continue to Sri Lanka where she planned to spend 15 days being pampered and exploring ancient cities. She couldn’t help but think it was all very Eat, Pray, Love.

Today had found her in Bhaktapur. The architecture and history were enchanting. However, drawn to her old ways, Elena could not resist the men with their dark hair, chiseled features, full lips, and mysterious dark eyes. They were just as enchanted with the beautiful blonde American and her American money. She didn’t speak the language, but had a “guide” of sorts named Bibek that she paid to travel with her and translate for her. Elena took great joy in tasting the flavors of Nepal… namely Himal and Raju and his brother Suraj. She only had two days left in Bhaktapur, but could not resist her urges when she saw him…

Muscular, gorgeous and young! Built like a man and beautiful… much like Christian was when he was younger. She could tell that he was poor… from a local farm, no doubt.

“What is your name, Boy?” She spoke and Bibek translated for her.

“Nischal,” he respond.

“Mmmmm, Nischal. You are beautiful. I am Elena. Would you like to have lunch with me?” Without waiting for Bibek to translate, Nischal answers.

“Yes, I will have lunch with you.” Elena is pleased to know that there is no language barrier.

“How do you know English?” she purrs.

“Many tourists come through here. We must learn the language to make the money,” he says honestly. His voice is honey smooth and again, she thinks of Christian. She dismisses Bibek for now and takes Nischal to lunch at Khwapa Chhen Guest House and Restaurant, where she had a room apart from her hotel. She wouldn’t want to be seen bringing a child to her hotel room… but to Elena, this was no child. This was a… pre-man, yes! That’s what she’ll call him… a pre-man waiting for someone to pluck his young cherry, she thought. That’s just what she did… several times over the course of the next few days. He was virile and eager and horny as fuck, just like she liked them. He didn’t last long his first time and she immediately knew that he was a virgin. But he caught on in no time flat, affording Elena the long, hard, relentless fucks her body yearned that she didn’t get from the other men she had sampled on her trip.

The day came when Elena had to journey to her next destination. She feigned sorrow in leaving her latest plaything behind. The only sorrow she felt was that she couldn’t take him with her and continue the exquisite fucking. What a wonderful pet he would make. He’s already putty in my hands, she thought to herself… he would do anything I asked. Yet, she left him as just a memory and continued with her trip.

She tasted more flavors of Nepal in Pokharal, Lumbini, and Gorkha… endless flavors, to be exact. Bibek is back by her side for the rest of the trip and didn’t take kindly to playing her pimp.

“I’m paying you handsomely for your services,” Elena says in her Domme voice that has absolutely no effect on Bibek. “Keep your opinions to yourself, or I will find someone else!” she spit. Bibek glares at her, still anxious to get her American dollars but despising the very ground that she walks on. To him, she is an utter abomination to his country and his culture and he wants her gone. He has now been her translator, pimp, guide and errand boy for 47 days and he wants nothing more than to ditch the American blonde demon and get back to his family. She is an unscrupulous, nasty, filthy whore and he has no idea why any of his countrymen would want to touch her let alone bed her! She is outwardly attractive, but there is a devil inside—one that makes you want to run away and never look back.

This is her last night in Gorkha, and Elena has decided to spend it preparing for her journey to Nagarkot the next day. Her bags are packed and she has just finished a bath when a knock at her hotel room door reveals a stricken Nischal. He looks tired and depressed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked the 14-year-old Nepalese boy.

“I come to find you. I see you with all those other men. You say you love me!” he accuses. Elena snatches him into the room and, after checking the hallway for other guests, closes the door behind him.

“Did anyone see you come up here?” she barks.

“Why you sleep with other men when you love me?” he shouts.

“Did anyone see you come up here!?” she snaps again. Her Domme voice brings Nischal to heel and he immediately becomes contrite.

“No. No one saw me,” he responds, softly, bowing his head like a good little pet. Dammit, I wish I could keep him, Elena thought to herself. He’s a natural submissive and I’ve only fucked him… I haven’t taught him anything yet. She dropped her robe to reveal her naked body to him—perfectly tucked tummy, full silicone breasts, surgically lifted and rounded ass.

“Those men meant nothing to me, Nischal. It’s you that I want,” she taunted the teenager as he helplessly once again succumbed to her evil charms.

The next day, Bibek looks on in disgust as Elena once again proclaims her love to a broken Nischal and leaves him standing on the street to continue her vacation. He is not surprised when, on their second day in Nagarkot, Nischal has caught up with them again. This time, the brokenhearted teenager has interrupted a perfectly good fuck with another local stallion and Elena is livid.

“You stupid child!” she scolds. ‘Go back to your farm and your family. This was a fuck! That’s all! Brag to your friends about the blonde American goddess that took your virginity, but for God’s sake, stop following me around!” Nischal is completely crestfallen at her words. He leaves her room in broken silence and Bibek has witnessed the whole thing. He comforts the child in the hallway and gives him the witch’s American money to get back to his village. Bibek has a child not much younger than Nischal. He pulls out the picture of his wife and three children and examines his 13-year-old son, Bikash. This could have been my child, he thought to himself. This could have been anyone’s child. This was someone’s child. This evil creature seems to have an unending fountain of American dollars and no conscience whatsoever. Money and power and no responsibility or morals… that is a dangerous combination to unleash upon the world. She must be stopped.

Elena and Bibek are about to leave Nagarkot to spend the final seven days of her trip back in Kathmandu. “Miss, I am having troubles at home and I must send money. May I be paid for the trip so far?” Elena’s face contorts.

“Our agreement was that I would pay your expenses and a portion of your fees until I left Kathmandu at which time I would pay you the balance,” she says with a scowl.

“I know, Miss, but if I can’t send money home, I must leave you and take care of family problem.” Elena is clearly perturbed but doesn’t want to break in a new guide for her last week in Nepal.

“Very well, but I won’t pay you for the last seven days until your work is completed,” she spits.

“Thank you, Miss,” Bibek says as Elena counts out full payment for the trip minus the last seven days. Once they are on the road back to Kathmandu, Bibek announces that they must detour to switch cars. Elena is not pleased with this news, but consents as long as they are back on the road to Kathmandu without delay. After several minutes of driving, they pull into a small village. How will he switch cars here, Elena thought?

“Come, Miss. We hurry,” Bibek says and he and the driver exit the car and run inside… a hut? Elena steps out of the car and is immediately surrounded by a horde of Nepalese women. They scowl and sneer at her and she is immediately uneasy.

“Devil!” one woman spits at her. Elena scowls and clings to her purse.

“What is this!?” she snaps. “Get away from me!” All ugly Nepalese women—clearly they are jealous of her, she thought.

“Demon!” another one jeers, and the circle closes in on Elena. She is now very afraid for her safety and she calls out for Bibek.

“Wicked!” she hears from behind her as she is hit in a head with a rock. She immediately grabs her head and feels blood trickling through her hair.

“What have I done to you? Please, leave me alone. Bibek! Bibek!” she screams, but no one comes to her rescue. The women hit Elena with stones, pull at her hair, kick her and beat her mercilessly while she screams in agony and begs the women to stop, beseeching them to tell her how she has wronged them. After several minutes of unrelenting battering, Elena finally loses consciousness.

She awakes in excruciating pain. She is naked and covered in blood, cuts, and black and blue bruises. Her hair has been pulled out at the roots in several patches and she is sure that she is suffering from at least a broken wrist, arm, and several ribs. These things are not what terrifies her the most. She is horrified to find that she if crammed into what looks like a dog cage, approximately 4x4x4 if she had to guess. What the hell is going on here, her mind screams, but when she opens her mouth, she is greeted with more excruciating pain and only mumbling sounds. Her nightmare continues when she discovers that they have cut out her tongue.

“She is awake! The witch is awake!” she hears a voice yell. It is now beyond nightfall in the obscure village. There is no light here, no electricity. The only light comes from a huge bonfire set in the middle of a cluster of huts. The villagers all begin to gather around the animal in the cage.

“Let me out of here!” Elena’s words are saying, but words are just an incoherent mumble. She feels some relief to see Bibek walking through the crowd. Oh thank God, she thought, he’ll save me!

“Miss, you have committed a crime,” he says to her as he approaches her cage. Her relief is short-lived and she is overcome with terror again. She shakes her head wildly indicating that she has committed no crime. “But you have, Miss. This is Nischal’s village… old county goes by old ways.” Nischal… my little pet. This is about him. Where is Nischal?

Bibek chooses his words carefully. The villagers speak English, but he knows that one word can have two meanings. “You must plead your case, Miss,” he says. Anything, she thinks, anything, just get me out of here! “You want Nischal?” Bibek asks. Elena nods. If she can convince these wood-dwellers that she will take care of Nischal, hopefully they’ll let her go… long enough to get to the American Embassy and get the hell out.

“You have to have him, to possess him.” Yes, yes, she nods, hurry up!

“You want him to be yours!” he asks with fervor. Yes, forever and ever, happily ever after. Can I go now?

“You enchanted him!” he barks, accusing. Well, of course! Any many would be enchanted with me, she thought. This naïve little idiot didn’t stand a chance against me and my skills, she thinks haughtily as she nods her agreement.

“Wiiiiiitch!” someone screams from the crowd. Oh, there’s no need for name calling, Elena thought. Nischal is probably promised to someone and that’s his intended screaming names! Her ignorance is soon broken when the entire mob begins to quietly chant the word…


No! No! They can’t think that, Elena thinks in terror. They think I’m a real witch.

“No! No!” she mumbling from her swollen mouth and her lack of tongue. “No! No!”

“I see her!” Bibek accuses. She now realizes that it is he who is her accuser and not Nischal. Where is Nischal!? He will tell them, she thinks to herself.

“She lure them in and they follow. She lured Nischal. Many days, she cast her spells on him and then send him away. He leave his family to follow her. She lure him in for another day. I see it! I try to save him but her evil push me back.” Nischal, please save me, her soul prays.

“Who would want her?” Bibek continues. “She is old and foul-tempered. Her parts are not real, yet they fall at her feet like she is Kumari! I see it. Many, many men… more than the stars. I never see her sleep… just many men. She must be a witch!”

“No!” Elena’s muffled cries fall on deaf ears.

“Look at Nischal,” a woman cries. “She take his soul. He not meditate. He not eat or sleep for many days. He disappear and he come back, he not Nischal. She take his soul!” This must be his mother. “You hear her. You see her nod. She say she enchant him!”

Elena begins to feel stabs from many spears aiming at her in the cage. She can’t squirm away because when she does, another spear hits her from the side to which she escapes. Someone stabs her viciously in the chest and her silicone breast bursts. The villagers gasps when the contents start to seep out of her boob. One of the ladies scream,

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch. Burn her!” Elena is now nearly hysterical in her pain and she can’t help but see the irony in this situation. She has beaten and bruised several teenage boys in her lifetime. Yes, she drew blood on more than one occasion. She sometimes ignored their cries to end their torment, whether it was physical or sexual. She knows for certain that some of them became strong, handsome, powerful men—like her Christian—while some of them turned to drugs, crime, and even committed suicide. That wasn’t her fault though, she thought to herself as she sit bleeding and no doubt dying in a cage like an animal with silicone leaking out of her breast. She tried to help them, tried to turn their miserable lives into something worthwhile. They just didn’t follow her teaching.

Her cage is carried to a pile of hay and dry wood. She watches as the women who had tormented her earlier that day circle around her cage, each of them with a young boy of varying ages standing in front of them. It had to be twenty of them there… at least. The mothers all have their hands on the shoulders of their sons as they watch in complete silence the ritual that unfolds before them. Elena doesn’t bother to beg for her life anymore. She knows this is the end.

Each mother takes her turn dousing Elena and her kindling with kerosene. She looks at the boys one by one, the oldest of them maybe 16, the youngest looks to be around eight. She knows that she is in a cage in Nepal about to meet her fate, yet each of these boys seem to take on the face of one her pets… Shane, Marcus, Henry, Allen, Victor… When she sees the gorgeous copper-haired, gray-eyed 15-year-old Christian, she smiles. The fates have allowed her one last glimpse of him before she dies. She clings to the cage and stares at him, still no apology in her heart for the pain that she has caused so many, only longingly staring at the one person who could have brought joy to her life.

Her view of her beloved is blocked by an angry Nepalese boy with a torch. When she raises her head to see his face, it is a scowling Nischal who lights the wood and hay underneath her. The catch is immediate and in seconds, Elena’s body is covered in flames. Her mumbled screams are only tortured gargles in her throat and only last until the flames burn through her skin to her nerves and the pain sends her body and mind into a state of shock then unconsciousness.

Bibek puts his hand on Nischal’s shoulder. “The spell is broken, but you will still feel pain,” he says to the young boy. “You will think of her often… but you will heal,” he adds with a smile. Nischal drops his head before throwing the torch into the barbeque and going with his family back to his hut.

Several days later, the news reaches Seattle to Christian and Ana as they sit in their family room. Teddy and Phoebe are playing with their black Labrador puppy while Christian cuddles young baby Lydia in his arms.

“Oh my God!” Ana says, more out of intrigue than surprise or horror.

“What is it, Baby?” Christian asks.

“Elena Lincoln is dead,” she says a little flatly still reading the article on her iPad. Christian frowns.

“Really? What happened to her?” he asks.

“You’re not going to believe this. It says here that she was found by the side of the road in Bhaktapur, Nepal in a cage burned beyond recognition. An anonymous call tipped off the authorities that it was an American tourist named Elena Lincoln.”

“In a cage? Who the hell did she piss off Nepal?” Christian gasps.

“I don’t know, but it says here that this execution has all the benchmarks of a witch burning,” Ana announces. Christian couldn’t help his burst of disbelieving laughter.

“Well, that would be quite appropriate,” he says before laying his youngest daughter in a nearby bassinet and sitting next to his wife. “Don’t they usually burn witches at the stake?”

“I don’t know. Cages make for easier disposal, I guess. What’s so bad is that is says that she wasn’t dead yet when they found her. She was balled up, her body parts burned together. She had been stabbed several times before they burned her, and her tongue was cut out. There was nothing they could do for her and they wouldn’t euthanize her. So she just died very slowly and painfully over the next several hours,” Ana says.

“Ouch, that’s cruel.” Christian shudders. “They still do that? I didn’t think they burned witches anymore.”

“Apparently there are still a few hidden villages that go by the old ways,” Ana replied. “So, to answer your question, yep, they still do that.”


Kumari—living goddess

Although this is based on a true story, I don’t know of any small Nepali villages that all speak English. So for the sake of the story, let’s just say that we found one.



Paging Dr. Steele: Chapter 60: I’m A Woman Of My Word

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 60—I’m A Woman of My Word


Christian made love to me last night in every way imaginable. I don’t know what got into us, but we were all over that damn suite! I came so many times, I absolutely lost count, and I am certain that Christian held out because he only came once. Granted, it was pretty cosmic when he did, but it was only once. We both know that I’m quite multi-orgasmic. I might have to see just how multi-orgasmic my boyfriend is. For now, I put on a pair of workout shorties, a sports bra, and my athletic shoes and head for the gym to make good on my promise to do some working out before my muscles get all wimpy.

The third-floor gym actually has a punching bag which is right up my alley. Oh, joy! I let out some steam on that puppy and it feels great! I imagine the Pedo-bitch’s face, David’s balls, Carla’s head, Stephen’s gut—it’s fabulous, cathartic even. I don’t know how much work I’ve put in, but I’ve worked up a good dripping sweat when I hear “Yoo hoo” off to the right of me. I stop and catch the punching back to see Christian standing in the door, looking delicious in black jean shorts and his signature linen shirt.

“Hey,” I say, jumping from foot to foot to cool down and trying to catch my breath. “Why are you standing way back there?” I pant.

“Because the last time I got between you and a punching bag, I ended up with a black eye,” he says entering the room. Oh yeah, I forgot about that. “You hit that thing with some serious precision.” I dance around a bit more swinging at the air.

“Yeah. Luc’s a pretty good teacher… when he’s not being a pompous, chauvinistic asshole, that is.” I start to cool down and catch my breath.

“I think he has a thing for you,” Christian says.

“Not for me, just my skills,” I say, matter-of-factly. “We talked during our last session. I told him that if he ever pulled that macho bullshit on me, I was going to break his neck. After the workout, he admitted that he was sure that I was good enough to go pro and he thought that I would. So that whole exhibition room workout was just him and his sour grapes.”

I’m stretching now as my breathing has regulated and I’m starting to feel the pull in my muscles from the workout. I’m definitely going to need the hot tub. Hmmm… indoor or outdoor?

“Good God, Ana, do you usually sweat this much? You work out like a man.” I shrug.

“I tend to overdo it sometimes, especially if I’m working off some aggression,” I answer.

“Yes, I’ve seen that. What aggression would you be working off today?” he asks cautiously.

“Same shit—thoughts of the Mortons, Pedo-Bitch, that bastard Edward David…” I say, taking a swing at the bag again.

“Can I see the strength of your strike?” I’m assuming he wants to use the target focus boxing mitts.

“Okay.” He puts the mitts on and takes stance, one foot behind the other and bending his knees so that his hands are at a height comfortable for me. “No unexpected moves, Grey. I’ll lay you out and not even know that I hit you,” I warn. He chuckles a bit.

“Really?” he responds with mirth.

“Yes, really. I’ve done it twice before with big guys who didn’t think I could, and I’ve already given you a black eye once.” I’m a little affronted. Are you being a chauvinist, too, Mr. Grey? He shrugs.

“Duly noted,” he says, taking his stance again. What is it with men? They look at my stature and automatically assume I’m too weak to defend myself. That’s right, underestimate me… please!

I put my fists up and decide to show Mr. Grey a thing or two. He went a round with Hysterical Me who probably—like any hysterical person—has the strength of 10 men. He’s never gone a round with, well, just Me.

Remembering Luc’s instructions about force and pressure, I let loose on those focus mitts, laying into Christian’s hands with everything I’ve got. I hit with pinpoint precision every time, right at the palm—strike, follow through, and snatch back—with my best speed and strength. Halfway through, I notice that he has to stiffen his stance. He didn’t prepare for the hits to be so hard. I tried to tell you—don’t let the bite-sized body fool you. I continue to pound mercilessly on those focus mitts, never making eye contact with Christian and never giving his palms an opportunity to rest before the next hit comes. I’m concentrating so deeply that his voice actually startles me.

“Okay, pause,” he says a little sternly, and I stop, surprised. “Jesus! Did I piss you off?” he asks.

“Huh?” I say, successfully feigning confusion. He takes his hands out of the mitts and flexes his hands.

“Hell, it feels like you were trying to take my hands off!” he says, accusing.

“That’s how I hit!” I say, my voice going up an octave or two. “Didn’t you see me with the punching bag?”

“You said you were picturing people who you hate with the bag. Is that what you were doing with my hands?” See? That’s what you get for underestimating me, you big pussy!

“Christian,” I shift my weight to one leg and fold my arms, “this is one of my workouts. In case you don’t know, you have to punch with some force and drive otherwise you’re just wasting your time. I’m not playing ‘patty-cake’ here, you know.”

“I know you’re not playing ‘patty-cake,’ Anastasia. That just seemed a little personal.” Anastasia. Okay. It was personal, Grey. You laughed at me, but I think I made my point now.

“You know what?” I say, laughing sarcastically and ripping off my gloves. “One thing I’m not going to do is stand here and argue with you about how hard I hit. I’m going to take a shower.” I turn around and march out of the workout room, taking the stairs two at a time. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you presumptuous, condescending idiot!

After a quick shower to wash off the grime, I put on my black strapless bikini with fashionable holes lining the top of the bra and all along the sides of the panties and my Raybans, grab a bag of my candy and go to the outdoor hot tub to relax my muscles a bit. I kept about eight pounds of the chocolate and nuts and sent the rest back with Keri to give to kids or whatever. What the hell was I going to do with 100 pounds of candy? I rarely eat candy as it is!

The hot water and the jets are relaxing my muscles and I’m lying back, eating my candy and gazing at the thin fluffy clouds in the sky when he walks into my line of sight and looks down at me.

“May I join you?” he asks.

“It’s a free country,” I respond. I’m still a little salty with you, Grey, but not salty enough to send you away. He sinks down into the hot tub, gasping a bit as he relaxes into the heat.

“Admit it, Ana. You were purposely putting a little force behind those strikes, weren’t you?” he asks.

“I was a little miffed at your disparaging me, but that is how I hit. You said yourself that you wanted to see my strength and I wasn’t going to go easy just because it was you,” I respond.

“When did I disparage you?” he asks innocently. I raise my head to look at him.

“Cut the crap, Grey,” I say, calmly. “The only person you’re fooling is yourself. You know damn well that you were snickering at me when I told you not to make any sudden moves.” He snickers again. “And there it is,” I say, pointing at him.

“I’m sorry, baby. I had this little woman telling me that she would lay me out,” he says, snickering again.

“Um-hmm, and that’s why your hands hurt,” I say, laying my head back again and closing my eyes this time. The laughter stops.

“Touché,” I hear from the other side of the hot tub. I hear the water splash a bit and when I raise my head, he’s in front of me, his hands on either side of me.

“Forgive me?” he says, his face breaths away from mine.

“I’m not going to screw you in this hot tub, Grey,” I say firmly.

“Mmm, that’s a lovely idea, but I hadn’t planned on it,” he says, kissing my neck and stretching his arms so that his hands reach mine, entwining our fingers, “and stop calling me Grey.”

His tongue runs up my neck to my ear and he gently sucks the lobe between his lips. I gasp and instinctively push my chest forward, nearly forgetting what I said about refusing to screw him in the hot tub. His tongue follows around my jawline to my chin and he gives it a little nip, eliciting another little gasp. I open my eyes and he looks at me, expecting.

“Christian,” I say, just above a whisper, and his mouth gently finds mine, his lips molding against my lips and his tongue seeking entry. I open my mouth to accept the intruder and he hungrily devours my kisses, causing me to moan salaciously against him. His hands slide back up my arms and into the water, landing on the seat on both sides of me. He pushes himself between my thighs and I instinctively wrap both of my legs around him.

“I’m not screwing you in this hot tub, Christian,” I repeat.

“No, but you will come in this hot tub,” he says as his hand quickly slides into my bikini bottoms and finds my sex. I gasp loudly.

“Christian, no!” I exclaim quietly, trying to move away from his delightful hand, but there’s actually nowhere I can go as he has me trapped against the tub and the seat.

“Yessss,” he hisses, as his fingers search my folds and find their destination.

“Aah!” I gasp as his index and middle finger sink into me, immediately finding that magic spot and making me tremble.

“Ssssshhh,” he coaxes, “someone might come outside. You don’t want them to know what I’m doing to you.”

No, I don’t want that.

His mouth finds mine again as he massages me with his fingers. I don’t have much room to move so I can only absorb the feeling as his fingers thrust in and out of me rubbing that spot on the inside that makes me burn while his thumb stimulates the pleasure center on the outside.

“My God, Christian!” I whisper, fighting to keep from crying out.

“You like that, baby?” he says against my lips.

“Yes, oh, yes,” I gasp.

“I like that, too,” he moans. “I love the way you feel… all of you… in my hands, on my dick, in my mouth. I can’t get enough of you,” he breathes. Oh, hell, his words are doing as much to bring me to orgasm as is hands are!

“Christian…” I breathe, lost in the ecstasy he’s wrapping around me. I bring my hands up to his shoulders and wrap my arms around him.

“That’s right, baby,” he says softly in my ear. “Hold me. Let me feel you.” He kisses me on my neck, then my shoulder-blade. His tongue follows my collar-bone around to the other side where he repeats the process, kissing the exposed skin while continuing the intense massage of my core.

“I’m addicted to you. If I could kiss you and make you come 100 times a day, that’s all I would do… watch you come apart in my arms, taste your flavor on my lips and feel you wrap around me and pull the juices from me with your magnificent body.”

Oh, fuck… I felt that in my chest, and I can’t cry out. The things this man makes me feel are insane. His voice can make me wet… I wonder if it can make me come? No matter, because I’m about to come in a matter of moments.

“God, Christian… you drive me wild,” I whisper as I sink my hands into his hair and throw my head back.

“Then we’re even,” he says as he slips his free arm around my waist and pulls me against him, assaulting my mouth again with his. The warm water swirling around me, Christian’s hard body pressing against me, his delicious mouth and tongue teasing mine, and his skilled hand thrumming my ladyparts while he releases a hungry, vibrating moan into my mouth—I’m gone.

I explode from all the mental and physical stimulation, crying out into his mouth almost weeping from the pleasure. I tremble against his hand and shake out the last of my pelvic spasms. He starts to kiss me softly, repeatedly as I come down from my orgasm. Good God, how many orgasms have I had in the last 24 hours and this man has only had one!? That’s it. I vow to myself that at some point during this weekend, I’m going to make him come so many times that he’ll have to beg me to stop.

“I’m going to pay you back for that, Mr. Grey,” I say, completely satisfied. He pulls back to look me in the face.

“Is that a threat?” he says almost humming.

“Oh, no,” I say in the sexiest voice I can muster, looking at him with I’m going to fuck you eyes before closing the space between us and licking his mouth salaciously, moaning as my tongue rolls over his kiss-swollen lips. “That’s a promise,” I whisper, stretching out the “s” a little longer. He gasps and I feel his manhood twitch between us.

“You said I couldn’t fuck you in the hot tub,” he warns.

“You can’t… and we won’t,” I say, my voice still dripping with sex, “but when I do get a hold of you, I am going to make you scream.”

“Sweet Mother of God, can I possibly love and want you any more than I do right now?” he growls.

“We’ll find out.”


Christian has decided that we will spend the rest of the weekend alone. I thought my promise may have prompted this decision, but he assures me that he had this planned from the beginning. He told me to pack for overnight and to include something nice to wear, but to wear something casual and athletic for the day.

Hmm… okay.

I have plans for my beloved boyfriend. I have worn my angel outfit—now it’s time for my naughty outfit, which I quickly pack into my dress bag with my evening dress. I go to his underwear drawer and grab the restraints. Mr. Grey will be quite the happy camper when I’m done with him. I then notice that he had brought more toys than I thought he had—some of them still in the packaging. I look among them to see if there was anything that would aid in my plight. Besides the flavored massage oil, I thought I’d bring the blindfold and… what’s this? A wand? Dirty little thoughts go flying through my head at the speed of light. Oh yes! This is perfect! I shove the toys into the overnight case with my toiletries and we take off.

Christian informs me that he wants to take me to the top of this cliff that he hiked the other day. When I tell him that I had no wish to do any cliff walking—yes, I heard him—he tells me that there was a way to get there that doesn’t involve cliff walking, but it means that we have to walk through the brush. We leave our bags in the car and park just before the thick brush that surrounds the road to Anguillita. Christian has a picnic satchel on one arm and holds my hand tightly with the other. Before going into the brush, he points out the route that he had hiked a few days earlier. I’m not afraid of heights but I don’t prefer them. So, I tell him that I would take his word for it without looking over the edge. He smiles at me and leads me through the brush to the end of the long trail and oh… my… God.

The water is so blue, and we are up so high, you can see clear across the island.

“That’s Anguillita,” he says, pointing west to the little cay just off the shore.

“That little patch of land there?” I ask. I was expecting it to be so much more, especially the way that he talked about it. I’m quickly reminded by a tropicbird soaring overhead that this experience was not about the size of the island, but about the journey getting there actually being able to see it. I stand there for a moment looking out over the beautiful blue water and a little blue bird with a white chest lands on my shoulder. This moment seems a little surreal to me. I mean, seriously… birds don’t just come and land on your damn shoulder. I’m not Cinderella, for Christ’s sake.

Am I?

Christian is setting up our picnic lunch. Picnic on a cliff… imagine that. He hasn’t noticed the bird on my shoulder. “Christian!” I call quietly but earnestly, trying to get his attention without startling the bird. “Christian!” I call again.

“Yeah, baby, what’s up?” I hear him say behind me.

“Look,” I say, straining my neck to look over at the little bird. I hear Christian quietly come up behind me. “What is it?” I ask.

“It’s a bird, Butterfly,” he laughs. Don’t make me slap you, Grey!

“I know that! I was asking if you knew what kind of a bird it was,” I snap quietly.

“I know, baby. I was just teasing you. I think it’s a partridge… no, maybe a sparrow…” he guesses.

“Are partridges and sparrows common in Anguilla?” I ask, still standing very still so that I don’t disturb my new friend.

“I’m not sure. I think sparrows are pretty common here. So, I’d say it’s a sparrow.” I smile at my little friend.

“I’ll call you Bleu,” I say, straining my neck a bit to see him… or her. “Simple enough, right?” Bleu does this little chirping thing and I get a bit too comfortable. I lift my finger towards the sparrow, but I knew before I did it that it was a daring move. Sure enough, Bleu quickly spreads her little wings and takes off into the brush. I smile at Christian in disbelief.

“Nothing like that has ever happened to me before,” I gasp. “A bird landed on my damn shoulder!” I’m feeling a little giggly.

“You attract good things, Butterfly,” he says, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me against him. “Good things happen when you’re around.” He kisses my hair. I wish I could believe him. “Talk to me, Butterfly,” he says, instantly noticing my tension.

“Well… I just…” I sigh. “Bad things keep happening to me, Christian. Horrible things. I can’t help but wonder who I pissed off up there that unthinkable things keep befalling me.” I shake a little at my own words. “I was raped and tortured. I have the worst mother in the world… well, maybe not the worst, but pretty damn bad. A whole town of people conspired against me. Now I get kidnapped by my psycho ex.” I drop my head. “I’ve never been the ‘woe me’ type, but I seriously want to know when I’ll be able to just take a breath and live.” Christian turns me around to face him.

“I want you to be happy,” he says, his eyes soft and caressing mine with his love. “I want to be one of the reasons why you are happy. I want to love you and protect you… and make sure that these bad things don’t cross your path ever again. We’ll take down every last one of those Green Valley bastards and David’s ass, too. Then we’ll make sure the world knows that the invincible Anastasia Grey is no one to fuck with.” He smiles then gently presses his lips to mine. I tangle my fingers in his hair and sink into his embrace.

Then it hit me.

I quickly pull away to make eye contact with him. He is at first confused, then worried.

“What’s wrong, Baby?” he asks.

“Christian, did you hear what you said?” I ask, searching his eyes. Still confusion.

“Yes. Did I say something wrong?” Now the worry is back.

“Did you hear what you called me?” I ask softly, trembling a bit in his arms. I can see him playing the conversation over in his head, then realization dawns and he looks down at me.

“Well, you said you would marry me,” he replies, his eyes now content boasting a beautiful sleepy gray. I gasp.

“You remember,” I squeak, fighting back the tears. He pulls me closer to him again.

“Of course, I remember. The love of my life said that she would marry me… when the time is right. A guy doesn’t forget something like that,” he says dreamily.

“Oh, Christian!” I jump into his arms and we fall back on the blanket he has laid out for our picnic. God, I want to fuck him right here, but I’ll have to make do with some serious Christian Grey petting and making out. That’ll do me just fine… for now.


Anastasia Grey. I called her Anastasia Grey. Thank God she didn’t run away screaming. It just seemed so natural, so perfect.

My wife.
My baby.
My Butterfly.
Anastasia Grey.

I could never tire of hearing it, but I certainly don’t want to pressure her before the time is right for us. There’s so much that we need to do to get our lives on track and going in the same direction. We have a wonderful talk during our picnic on the cliff… after all the kissing and groping, that is. I can’t help wanting to touch her so much. She has this little bite-sized body that fits into my hands so perfectly; insane muscle tone that allows her to climb me like a damn tree; a delectable, round ass that I can cup with a whole cheek in each hand; and her breasts… good God, her breasts! She’s the smallest D-cup I’ve ever seen! You would think they would be too big for someone so petite, but not Butterfly. They fit perfectly on her beautiful toned body, and they’re so round and flawless—natural and exquisite. Women pay good money to have breasts that look like that. She has them naturally… and they’re all mine to play with!

I want to put her in a plexiglass box and lock her away from the world and everything that could harm her, but I’m the first person to know that Butterfly is a free spirit and cannot be tied down that way. That’s one of the things that drew me to her, as much as I didn’t want to admit it. The fact that she didn’t want me and couldn’t be controlled by me made me want her more. It’s also one of the reasons that, even though I’m afraid, I’m ready to let go of the way that I used to cope with things. I can exercise all the control that I need in the boardroom, and as much as is necessary in the bedroom. She loves that, and so do I, but I’ll need her help to make sure that I don’t go too far.

We enjoy the breeze and the sea air as we lunch on grilled chicken salad, crab cakes, fresh fruit cocktail, gourmet cheese and crackers, and wine spritzers. We talk for hours about her fears and mine and how we plan to tackle them when we got back to Seattle. It turns out that, for the most part, we want the same things. We both want a house and a family before we get too old to deal with teenagers. We’re both open to how many children we want, agreeing that nature should take its course depending on where we are in our lives. She wants to help me through what she knows will be a difficult and delicate transition, but she’s afraid of blurring the lines between girlfriend and psychiatrist. It’s something that we’ve agreed that we’ll need John’s help with, though I still don’t think Butterfly completely trusts him. She’ll do it for me, though, and I only ask that she give it a chance before she writes poor John off completely.

I ask her, cautiously, if she wants to go back to her condo anytime soon… as in, to live. I would prefer that she stay with me and won’t pressure her to stay or go either way, but I would like to know if it’s something that she plans on doing any time soon. David’s in jail and he can’t hurt her now and Harris is dead. Though there’s still the Mortons to be concerned about and the paparazzi since everyone now knows that she’s my girlfriend, I would worry myself sick if she left and went to that condo alone. I’m so accustomed to having her with me every night, I would probably just follow her anyway, like I did before all the back-to-back fiascos started happening. She indicates that she wants to go and check things out, make sure that the neighbors don’t think she has moved away completely, but she has no interest in staying in the condo at the present.

“I still love my condo,” she assures me, “I just don’t want to stay there right now… if that’s okay.”

Of course, it’s okay! I’m having a wall taken out in my bedroom so that your clothes can fit in my closet! Elliot is already examining the apartment to decide where to best install the waterwall, and I’m hoping we can find some local art pieces here that you can put in your office… and anywhere else you choose.

Of course, I don’t say these things out loud. I’ll suggest the art pieces when we’re shopping tomorrow. Nonetheless, for the most part, Butterfly has already moved in with me, and that’s how I’ll see it until she tells me otherwise.

We make our way back through the brush and down to the car around 3pm. We stop by the villa to get Davenport and he drops us at the airport with our bags. We’ll take a charter plane back to St. Maarten where we will get a flight through WinAir to take us to Saba Island for the night. I have given the “staff” instructions to enjoy the evening and to pick us up tomorrow just after lunchtime so that we’ll have time to do some shopping. Nothing will happen to us on Saba Island. The entire island is only about eight square miles.

The trip is very short to Saba Island. It’s only about 30 miles from St. Maarten, so the flight was 15 minutes tops. Butterfly has a hard time with the flight as WinAir’s plane was an older propeller plane and the ride is a little bumpy. The landing, however, is the worst part.

We watch Saba Island come into view from the windows of the small propeller plane. Saba Island is a dormant volcano, most of which is usually in the clouds as the highest point of the island is 3000 feet. However, as you approach the Saba Island “airport” for lack of a better word, you can see the entire landing strip from the window of the plane! The damn thing is only 1300 feet long I would later discover—most runways are 5000 – 7000 feet long—with “X’s” at the end of each end of the runway. The “X’s” are actually there to denote that the runway is closed to all air traffic except for those aircraft given waivers from the Netherlands Antilles’ Civil Aviation Authority.

The pilot later tells me that you have to land between those “X’s” which is actually only 1000 feet of runway—not 1300. On the other side of each X—should you miss the mark—is a cliff and a 200-foot drop into the Caribbean Sea… no pressure, though.

Oh, but it still gets worse. The moment that the loud, buzzing, antiquated airplane hits the runway, it stops. I mean it stops on a damn dime! It hits the ground and brake! You don’t know if you crashed, or something malfunctioned or what. Poor Butterfly can’t wait to get off of this thing, and I have to say that I share her sentiment. I hate to see what kind of adventure taking off tomorrow is going to be.

A taxi is waiting to take us to our overnight accommodations—the Carolina Cottage. Butterfly’s eyes bulge out of her head when she sees the size of the place.

“I thought you said this was a cottage,” she says, taking her bag from the taxi.

“It is a cottage,” I say, looking at the large white edifice.

“This is not a cottage, Christian. This is a house! A big house! Boy, you go big or go home, don’t you?” she says with mirth.

“To be honest, I didn’t know it was this big either. That explains the price.” I take her bag from her as we enter the “cottage”—living room, dining room, media room, kitchen, two bedrooms, three bathrooms, grilling area, terrace and a hammock porch… not to mention the full-sized outdoor pool. Butterfly was right, this is a house.

“Well, it’s kind of late, close to dinner. What would you like to do?” I ask, remembering her threat to make me scream.

“We should have dinner, Mr. Grey. You’re going to need your strength,” she says, coyly before grabbing her dress bag and overnight case and sashaying her round ass off to the bedroom. Fuck! My dick is getting hard already!

Thirty minutes later, I’m waiting for Butterfly in the living room. I was banned to the guest room as I was not allowed to interfere with her while she was getting dressed.

Now I know why.

Butterfly emerges from the bedroom in a sexy long-sleeved lavender wrap mini-dress, black sheer thigh-high stockings, and a pair of Louboutin leather purple peep-toe stilettos. I can tell that the stockings are thigh-high because every time she moves, I can see the top of the stockings in the split of the wrap.

“Butterfly… you look stunning,” I breathe.

“Thank you,” she says, walking over to me. “Are we ready?”

“Taxi will be here in just a few minutes.”

“Good,” she says with a smile and turns to walk away from me. That’s when I see that those stockings have a black seam up the back… and my dick is hard again.

She’s going to torture me all evening.

We have dinner at a restaurant called Eden. How appropriate as I feel like I’m going to be taking a bite straight from the forbidden fruit tonight. The moment we’re seated, Butterfly sashays off to the ladies’ room, literally assaulting me with a view of her irresistible curvy ass leaving the room, those seams a road map to the promised land. Sure as hell, I look around and several men in the restaurant are watching her walk away as well… including men with dates. One of them turns around, catches my glare, and immediately buries his face in his menu.

When she returns to the table, I watch her glide back into the dining area. I can tell that she feels sexy because of how she’s carrying herself—and that sexy walk… subtle but sassy. Her breasts are sitting up beautifully and perfectly in that dress and her ass is swaying back and forth with just enough tease for you to want to see what’s under the gift wrapping but not enough sway to reveal the forbidden fruit.

“You have to stop doing that,” I warn as she takes her seat.

“Doing what?” she purrs. Shit, even her voice is sexy tonight.

“Walking and moving your ass like that. I’m going to have an incurable hard-on all night if you don’t stop and so is every other man in a 50-foot radius,” I growl, gently stroking her thigh and quickly moving my hands.

“Well, I can’t help every other man, but you… that’s my intention,” she states, never tearing her sensual blue eyes from mine.

“Anastasia, if you don’t stop, I’m going to grab your ass—blatantly and openly—and hold it until that wiggle calms down.” Her eyes get big, then she leans into me and says,

“Just use a soft grip.” She quickly runs her tongue across her bottom lip then to the corner of her mouth before sinking her teeth into her lip… and I’m about to explode out of my pants.

“Anastasia,” I warn, attempting to adjust my painful erection, “you’re going to unleash something that you can’t tame.”

“Oh, I can tame it… and I plan to prove it,” she says, now looking at her menu. I’m a dead man.

She teases me all through dinner with that dress. I pull every trick in the book to try to get the upper hand and she just plays off of every little thing I do.

I reach over during dinner and seductively stroke the exposed skin of her breast.
She opens the dress a bit so that I can get a peek of whatever sexy-as-hell purple and black lingerie she’s wearing.

She has some chocolate mousse on her lip and I sensually lick it off.
She takes her fork and put some of the confection in the valley of her breasts. Once she brings it to my attention, she scoops it out with her fingertip and sticks the finger in her mouth, suggestively sucking her finger clean then seductively saying, “Mmmmm, delicious.”

After that, I have her sit next to me so that I can torture the tender meat of her inner thighs. She opens her legs and moves my hand to her crotch, stroking it up and down on her thong.

“Much better, isn’t it?” she says, trying to hide her arousal. Oh, but now you’re playing with fire Butterfly.

“You know I will make you come in this restaurant,” I threaten, pinching her clit through her panties. She gasps.

“I’ll just do the same thing to you,” she says, and her hand is squeezing and rubbing my dick through my pants… hard! “And I won’t be discreet,” she growls, and I notice that she has worked my zipper down and has her hand inside my pants, now working her way around my boxer briefs. When I feel the skin of her hand against me, I know that she is dead serious. I grab her wrist with my free hand and pinch her clit once more before ending my assault.

“Okay, okay, I believe you.” I remove both of our hands from each other’s genitals. “What has gotten into you?”

“You,” she says without missing a beat, “several times, last night. For whatever reason, you only came once. I intend to rectify that. ” She takes another sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon.

“You know you don’t have to do that,” I say. Our relationship has never been quid pro quo in that sense. I make her feel good because it makes me feel good. Not coming just means I last longer.

“Oh, on the contrary, Mr. Grey, I look forward to it,” she says, licking the rim of her glass. That’s it for me…

“Check please!”


I did everything I could to get the upper hand, but tonight, I’m out of my league. Butterfly means business, and I’m about to discover that this is a night that I won’t soon forget.

The bedroom is dimly lit, and we’re standing on opposite sides. She’s leaning against the wall looking at me and I’m standing with my hands in my pocket gazing at her.

“Take off your shirt,” she says softly. When I don’t move, she repeats herself, enunciating every word…

“Take. Off. Your. Shirt.”

Okay… she means business. I pull my shirt out of my slacks and remove my cuff links. I unbutton my shirt and remove it.

“Drop it,” she commands, and I let it fall to the floor. “Your shoes and socks.” I quickly toe out of my shoes and remove my socks.

“Now your T-shirt,” she says, emerging out of the shadows and moving closer to me. I see that wiggle and I get hard… again. I remove my T-shirt and it joins the rest of my clothes in the pile on the floor. She walks over to me and places open-mouthed kisses on my chest.

“Butterfly,” I moan as I take in her scent and the feel of her kisses.

“I’ll take care of these,” she says as she rubs my dick again through my pants. Shit, that feels good.

“Sssss, Baby…” I warn. You’ve been teasing me all night. I don’t know how much more I can take before this party starts without you!

“Oh Christian, we’re just warming up,” she says as she undoes my belt, then my zipper and button and drops my trousers for me. She pulls my face down to hers and kisses me deeply while she grabs my ass and I return the favor. She steps back from me then sticks her hand down the front of my boxer briefs.

“Oh, hell, Ana…” I almost can’t think with her hand grasping me. “Shit, baby.”

“You like that?” she asks, pumping my erection.

“Oh, yes, very much.”

“Well, there’s much more where that came from,” she says as she moves her hand around and removes my underwear.

“I’m going to restrain you. Is that okay?” Huh?

“Restrain me with what?” I ask.

“I brought the restraints.” She brought the restraints. Ms. Steele has a plan and she’s serious. So, let’s see where this takes me.

“You can do anything you like, Butterfly. Where do you want me?” I ask softly.

“Anywhere and everywhere I can get you, but right now, I’ll take you in the chair behind you,” she responds shamelessly. I turn around and there’s a metal reclining chair with a black frame and gray padding. Something is underneath the chair and I’m assuming that’s where she has the restraints. I follow instructions and sit in the chair.

“Put your hands on your lap,” she says, and I obey. She attaches the adjustable straps tightly to each armrest then she produces the restraints.

“Your wrists, Mr. Grey,” she says, her voice husky and sexy. I hold my wrists out to her, and she attaches the wrist restraints. She clips each restraint onto an armrest and then bends over in my face, planting deep wet kisses on my mouth.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Ms. Steele,” I say, aching to see her out of that dress.

“I know,” she says backing away and running her hands up her body, “a situation that I intend to rectify right now.” She brings her hand to the sash on the hip of her barely decent mini-dress and slowly starts to pull. “I was going to blindfold you,” she begins, prolonging the agonizing process, “but I think you might want to see the freaky things that’ll transpire tonight.”

Fuck! Those words have my dick throbbing already! It’s a good thing I’m already free of clothing.

“Move your ass to the edge of the seat. Don’t worry, it’s sturdy enough for my requirements.”

Her requirements. She really has planned this out. The last time she planned something out this meticulously, I was begging to come all day… and it was fabulous!

I scoot my ass to the edge of the seat and sit back. The chair reclines just slightly, but not enough to lift the foot rest.

“Open your legs,” she commands, “I want to see my dick.”

Sweet hell, she’s something else today! I can tell she’s not in Domme mode, but she’s pretty damn close, and I’m going to obey like she is because she’s so close to the edge that she can slip in at any second. As she pulls the last sash, her dress falls open and she lets it fall to the floor.

“Oh… my… God.” Those are the only words that I can get out of my mouth. She looks edible. She’s wearing a purple and black striped structured corset and her perfect breasts are nearly spilling out of the top of it. She’s wearing a purple thong with shiny silver accents and the damn thing has a large hollowed-out butterfly stretched across her pelvis and down to her pussy. The thigh highs have no suspenders, so nothing is blocking my view of those soft, slightly bronzed, sun-kissed thighs… and she’s still wearing those sexy purple stilettos.

Greystone is at full attention and my legs fly open almost involuntarily. He wobbles around a bit to take in his surroundings and I swear, he stops to stare at Anastasia.

I know, right?

She goes over her purse and pulls out her glasses. What? She puts them on and slowly walks over to me and bends so that those perfect breasts are in my face again… and I can’t touch them. She looks at me over those glasses and licks her lips. It’s a good thing she tied me down, otherwise I would be balls deep in her at this very moment.

“I’m going to make you come many different ways tonight until you beg me to stop,” she says, her mouth breaths away from mine so that I can feel the heat of her words against my lips. “You can use your sexual safeword if it becomes uncomfortable for you. Otherwise, you can just tell me to stop and I will stop. When it gets good to you, whatever I’m fucking you with, I want you to fuck me back. I want you to thrust into whatever is satisfying you because I want to see those sexy abs ripple in ecstasy. Do you understand?”

“Baby, you are beautiful, and you are sexy, and you can do whatever you want to me, but if you make me come while you’re wearing those glasses, I’ll never allow you to wear them in public again.”

At first, she looks affronted, just for a flash. Then she fights a snicker, takes the glasses off, and puts them on the nightstand.

She comes back to stand in front of me and says, “I wish I had brought one of your collars.” I knew she was a sneeze away from Domme mode, and it’s driving me wild. She reaches down and grabs my erection and slowly begins to stroke me.

“Ah!” I moan. I was aching for her to touch me. “Shit, that feels good.” She smiles at me.

“Oh, Mr. Grey,” she laughs softly, “the night is young.” She steps back and slowly rubs her thighs. She brings her hands up her body, pausing momentarily to moan and appreciate her sweet pussy, but then continuing up to her luscious breasts. I’m pulsating violently as she pushes those two ripe melons together and the first hook comes open on her corset.

“Oops,” she says coyly, and she moves her hands down and squeezes her body again, popping the second and then the third hooks. She’s fucking torturing me. Greystone is having a temper tantrum, begging her to come and play with him. He’s getting harder and pinker by the second. Once she’s out on display, her corset half-open and her beautiful tits calling to me, she drops on her knees in front of me and pushes my legs further apart.

Here we go.

She reaches under the seat and produces a bottle of massage oil. Oh, hell, Grey, you are going to come tonight. She puts an ample amount of oil on her hands and spreads it over her breasts. As she pinches her nipples and they become taut, she moans in pleasure and bites her lip.

“Fuck, baby, you’re killing me here,” I complain, my manhood now banging viciously against my stomach.

“Oh, really? Well, we should do something about that.” In a second, her oily hand is gripping and stroking my dick—deep and hard.

“Goddammit!” I growl, and my hips rise out of the seat. “Damn, damn, damn!” This feels so good, but it’s over almost the moment it starts. I see the look in her eye, and I’m hopeful as hell for what’s coming next. Is she going to do what I think she is!? Oh, please tell me she is. Good God, she positions herself over me and I know what she’s about to do.

She’s going to let me fuck her tits…
Or fuck me with her tits…
Who cares? She’s going to make me come with her tits!

I’m like a little kid at Christmas! I can barely control my breathing as she positions me at the valley of her breasts and pushes them together over my manhood. Then she starts to move, slowly at first pushing me up between those soft, juicy, oily, beautiful balls of flesh. The visual almost makes me lose it completely.

“Oh, Ana, this is… so… hot…” I grunt as I feel my hips stiffening to allow her more access to Greystone, who keeps happily peeking out of the tops of her breasts.

“You like that, baby?” She asks as she pushes her breasts together and begins to pick up the pace.

“Ugh! Oh, God, yes!” I grunt again and start to move my hips to match her strokes. “Ah, fuck.”

“That’s it, baby. Fuck my tits,” she growls, and with those words, I’m off. My hands are gripping the chair and she’s skillfully holding my legs open with her body. There’s nowhere for me to go but deeper into her breasts, which I do gladly. I’m wildly stroking between her lady mounds, once again, a perfect fit. I get a little carried away and my dick slips out of its happy place. That’s no problem for the beautiful Anastasia. She grabs my dick and rubs it between her left breast and her hand.

“Ah, fuck!” I exclaim as the feeling is so good and I know I’m going to come any minute now. She replaces Greystone into Happy Valley and continues to fuck me with her breasts. I stroke deeply and I know my explosion is not far off.

“Open your eyes,” she commands. I didn’t know I had closed them. “Don’t look away. I want you to see this.” I train my eyes on her and watch her bend down and suck the head of my dick into her mouth each time it emerges between her breasts.

“Ah! Aw fuck!” I’m a goner. Watching that shit and feeling the suction on my head from her mouth and the oily friction on my shaft from her tits, I’m pumping like a jackhammer, coming ferociously and watching my seed squirt into her mouth. I grunt loudly with each stroke as I watch her accept long squirts of my release in her mouth and it spurs me on further. It’s so fucking hot, and I sound like a damn animal—grunting out my orgasm. Her strokes slow and I finally try to get a handle on my breathing.

“My God, Anastasia. That was incredible,” I choke out between breaths. I love titty-fucking and I didn’t know if or when I would get the chance to do it with Butterfly. She rises from her knees.

“You get a moment to compose yourself,” she says before gently kissing my lips. I taste myself in her mouth and it’s so arousing. Greystone slightly starts to twitch again, and I know he’s getting himself ready for round two. She moves off to the right of me somewhere and then I hear music begin to play. I hear a woman’s voice, high-pitched and sexy, and my Butterfly is back in my view. The song is old, and the woman sounds like she’s in ecstasy, talking about loving to love.

Butterfly begins to sway in front of me and suddenly, I resent being in these damn restraints. My baby can move, and she looks so sexy and I just want to touch her so badly. She sways back and forth in front of me and rubs her hands over her body, making the same sounds as the woman in the song. She stands with her legs apart and throws her head back. When she makes eye contact with me again, she squeezes her body once more releasing the last three hooks on her corset and this sexy ass song is still playing. She picked the right music because it’s doing things to me, and Greystone is starting to respond again.

She releases her lovely body from the corset, and I get to see these pretty panties that she’s wearing while she caresses her body again, twisting her nipples and licking her lips.


The word escapes my lips before I know it and Butterfly responds by straddling me. The music changes tempo a bit and I’m now getting the most luscious lap dance as Butterfly grinds her hips and her panty-clad sex over my erection.

“Ugh!” I grunt at the stimulation. She puts one hand on the chair over my head and the other on my arm to steady herself and she’s grinding into my dick. “Oh, yes, that is so good, baby.”

“I know,” she breathes, and I know she’s aroused. Her lips come down on mine and she bites my lip before sucking it into her mouth. Oh, God, I’m going to expire. She runs her tongue through my mouth then moves her lips to my ear. “I’m wet, baby,” she pants. “Can you feel it?” Fuck yeah, I feel it! Your panties are drenched.

“Yes,” I growl as she bites and licks my earlobe. She stops her movement suddenly and grabs my face, her eyes closed.

“No… no…” she breathes, more to herself than to me, her forehead on mine. I know she just stopped herself from coming. Oh, hell. Is she going to deny herself every orgasm? This is going to be intense. Just as she rises from me, the song changes and a base beat fills the room shortly followed by a male group talking about getting freaky and licking someone all over. Right at that moment, Butterfly bends over and sticks her ass out at me as she slides her panties down her legs.

I think Greystone just squirted a bit.

She backs her ass up against my dick and sits right on my nuts. I have this delicious view of my dick—erect and hungry—between her ass cheeks as she starts to rock a bit. My erection sways from side to side between her butt cheeks and her wet pussy is squeezing and massaging my nuts, literally twitching on my balls. The feeling is phenomenal, and I’m losing my breath again, panting because I can feel her core tightening on my balls while her ass is rocking back and forth on my dick.

“Oh, damn, baby,” I breathe as she moves in time with the music and I’m watching my dick throbbing against her ass, rocking and growing. She’s supporting her weight on my knees with her hands as she grinds into me. When the music changes and Maxwell talks about screwing until somebody calls the cops, she shifts to pull me between her thighs teasing me again by stroking my dick with her wet folds, driving me wild again. I drop my head back and absorb the pleasure as, once again, I can’t go anywhere. She’s so fucking good, and she’s about to show me just how good she is.

She closes her legs and start to slide up and down my erection, just in that space between her vagina and her thighs.

“Oh shit, shit, shit!” I groan and my cock is hard as a damn rock. She drops some more oil between her legs to make it good and slippery. Then she leans back onto me, clasps her hands on my wrists to steady herself, crosses her legs at the ankle and begins to stroke.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! She’s squeezing my dick in the gap between her sweet, hot pussy and those insanely muscular thighs and she’s stroking like she’s fucking and chasing an orgasm. She’s even moaning!

“Ana…shit!” I pant. Here comes number two. I can’t stop it. She’s enjoying herself too much and Greystone doesn’t stand a chance.

“Ana! Ah, shit!” As instructed, I thrust hard into that opening between her thighs against her pussy. I now realize that she’s getting some stimulation from the friction which is why she’s moaning… which in turn is making me stroke faster and harder, ensuring that I’ll blow any fucking second! It’s hot… and slick… and tight… and it feels so good.

“Oooooo, baby,” she mews, “that’s it. Stroke it hard, baby. Mmmm, come on, baby. Come for me,” she says as she lays her head back on my shoulder and bites my earlobe, squeezing her thighs together even tighter—as if she could. The shot of pain from my earlobe goes straight to my dick. I look down her body and see my engorged head popping up between her legs with each stroke. I feel my legs trembling a bit and I explode, thrusting myself hard between her legs and cursing shamelessly as my second orgasm burns through me. She grabs the head of my dick around the sensitive rim with just her fingertips and squeezes hard as I’m cursing out my release and I swear that with this explosion, Greystone is down for the count.

But my Sex Vixen has other plans.


That’s two, and with that last violent shake, I think he may need motivation before I get a rise out of him again… but he hasn’t begged me yet, so I’m not stopping.

That last one almost sent me over the edge, feeling his hard dick between my legs, the friction and pressure heating up my clitoris. I couldn’t stop until he came and it’s a good thing he did because I was almost there… right there.

I take a moment to compose myself because what I plan to do next will have me coming in an instant if I don’t wait a moment. The product of his orgasm has squirted all over my stomach and we’re both struggling a bit to catch our breath.

“You make me so hot, Christian,” I whisper as I reach behind me and tangle my fingers in his hair. I smear some of his seed on my finger and move down to my clitoris, gently spreading his wetness there while making him watch. It’s almost unbearable and I hear him gasp. He leans down and bites the meat on my shoulder.

“Ahaa!” I moan and fuck if he didn’t almost make me come. I snatch a handful of his hair and pull. Naughty boy!

“Stop it!” I say through clenched teeth, still stroking my clitoris. He gasps and hisses and I know he’s getting aroused again.

“Yes. Yes. Okay. Sorry,” he whispers, and I feel him twitch underneath me again. He’s responding but he’s not quite there yet. I slowly rise from him and slap him gently across the face. His eyes turn glassy and sharp, desire and heat buried dangerously therein. I stand over him and grab his hair again, jerking his head back hard.

“Ah!” he breathes as I bring his eyes to meet mine.

“Don’t touch unless I say that you can!” I hiss. That does it. I feel him jerk straight up and the head of his dick brushes against my pussy.

“O… kay…” he breathes, barely able to contain his arousal. This is why we have to tweak our BDSM lifestyle, but we can’t get rid of it altogether because we like it too much. Christian loves to be handled roughly—pain turns him on. A small sting gets me going but pain is his aphrodisiac. We’re going in for round three, folks. Three is usually his limit, but I’ve learned that Christian Grey is an extremely virile young man and his dick can almost respond on command. Lucky me! I reach under his chair, grab the cloth that hides my “tools” and clean his seed from my stomach. His erection is staring at me, expecting—not as hard as it has been tonight, but hard, nonetheless. In a moment of spontaneity, I slap it to the side.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck!” He jerks from his chair and drops back to his seat. His fists are clenched, and he’s breathing hard, nearly growling like an angry animal. I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing until he growls,


He startles me so badly that I reflexively slap the shit out of his dick.

GOD! Oh God!” He flexes back in the seat, his dick sticking straight up at me. He looks glorious—tortured and aroused, begging me to slap his dick and cause this exquisite pain he yearns.

“Again, oh God… Ana… again… please…” Far be it from me to deny the man his request. I slap him again a little harder this time and he cries out, his head back and his mouth hanging open. Before he has the chance to ask me again, I slap it again, and again, and again until he is nearly wailing, and I see pre-cum present on the head of his dick. Fuck, I can’t take this shit anymore. He looks absolutely fucking irresistible. I drop to my knees and slam his dick into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat, down to the balls.

“AaaaahaahaahaaaaooooohGod!” he cries and if the arms of the chair weren’t metal, they’d be broken. My little move hurt my throat a bit—I was too anxious. However, I adjust myself after I quickly wipe away my gag tears and now, I’m ferociously attacking this delicious penis-pop, sucking and slurping like my life depends on it.

“God! Godohgod! God, yes! Yes!” He’s banging his head against the back of this chair. I’m working him too hard and too fast for him to even thrust into my mouth. I’m using every move I know on this man at this moment because this dick feels and tastes damn good.

Cupping my hands just under his balls to push them up to my mouth, I run my tongue roughly and salaciously over his balls while giving open-mouthed wet sucking kisses up and down the side of his shaft, deliciously running my lips hungrily along his length.

I clamp my hands around the base of his balls and the base of his dick and lick continuously with long strokes from the bottom of his nuts to the head of his dick. He rises out of the chair each time I get to the head. The last time I get to the head, I clamp down on it and suck hard and now he’s thrusting into my mouth, calling out to a higher power and begging me not to stop. I reach both hands up to his chest and scratch hard while I clamp onto his dick with the full intent to bring him to his third orgasm.

“Baby! Baby! Fu-uck!” he cries as I scratch him again and he thrusts a few more times into my mouth before his dick throbs his release down my throat. That’s three.

I release him with a pop and he now has his head down… again… trying to catch his breath. I push a large ottoman over in front of him and sit down, waiting for him to tell me that he’s had enough. I’m sitting there in front of him, wearing only my stockings and stilettos and waiting for the magic words, but he doesn’t say them.

“I’m okay,” he says, “I just need to… breathe for a second.” That’s as close as I’m going to get to surrender, I’m sure… for now anyway.

I lean back on the ottoman and grab the massage oil. I squirt it down my naked body and start to rub it into my skin. I like my Anguilla tan. I’ve always been so pale, and I never thought about tanning or anything, but I look pretty damn hot with a little glow to my skin. I may be looking into tanning when I get back to Seattle. I run my hands along my skin, across my breasts, down my tight stomach, admiring my muscle tone in my pelvis and my thighs. My vagina has a light dusting of hair as it has been a little minute since I got my last Brazilian wax. I run my fingers through the hair there and make the mistake of grazing my clit.

“Ah,” I breathe as the heat from the refused orgasm ignites again. I press my hand down over my sex, one finger sliding inside, and I sink into the stimulation.

“Ah!” I whimper again as I throw my head back and lose myself. The feeling is exquisite, and I am on fire. I thrust into my finger, wondering at the feeling I’m bringing myself.

“Fuck, you look so good.” His voice nearly breaks my concentration. I actually forgot he was there.

Right, Steele, you have a mission here. Enough wiggling your bean.
Just a little longer… I won’t come.
Yeah, good luck with that.

I throw my legs over his arms still tied down to the armrests and I pleasure myself while sitting on the ottoman in front of him.

“Oh, Ana, you’re so wet,” he encourages. “Go deeper. It looks so good.”

I follow directions and go deeper and cry out from the ecstasy.

“It’s so hot, Christian,” I say, “and tight. It feels so good.” I’m breathing heavily and I start to sweat a bit. I lick my lips and pinch my nipple and right before I come, I stop. “Ah! Ah! No, no, not yet,” I pant. That was fucking close. I make eye contact with Christian and his eyes are fire again. That drove him nuts because I just denied myself an orgasm… for the third time.

I rise from the ottoman and straddle him again, pushing my boobs together and pressing my breasts into his mouth.

“Suck!” I say salaciously, and he obeys, pulling a nipple into his mouth sucking and licking expertly. I don’t know where I got this bright idea because this can make me come, too. His skills bring me to the edge like they always do and now I’m all hot and horny which of course makes him hot and horny.

“I can smell your arousal, baby,” he says against my breast.

“Of course, you can smell me. I’m unbelievably hot for you,” I state the obvious. I reach down and grab his cock, pumping it with my fist between my legs. He groans and intensifies his technique on my breast. Oh, shit…

“Stop,” I say soft and longing and he releases my nipple immediately. I moan a little as I sit down on the ottoman, his semi-erection still in my hands. I concentrate on his cock—his beautiful pink cock. I put a little more oil on my hand and set out to give him a full hand job while R. Kelly is telling us to bump and grind.

“Oh, Ana,” he breathes as his semi-erection becomes a full erection. I work my oily hands up and down his shaft in opposing circles, first soft and fast and then strong, tight strokes from base to tip. He’s going to have to give in soon because dammit I want to come, and I said I would wait until he did. This is starting to kill me.

“Damn. Your hands are magic!” he groans as his dick pulsates in my hands. I work him some more, stroking that beautiful piece of meat in my hands and loving every minute of it. I’ve slowed down enough that he can stroke into my hand and I see his leg tremble a bit. Time to wrap this up. I grab the head of his dick and stimulate—stroke and squeeze—just the top half and most sensitive part, from middle to head. With my other oily hand, I massage his balls.

“Christ! Oh, Christ!” He stiffens again, his hips thrust forward to absorb the pleasure. “Oh… G… God, Ana… y… you’re… magnifi… cent!” he chokes just before his orgasm. Yes, I know.

“Look at me,” I command as I clamp both hands on his dick again and pull repeatedly. He opens his eyes just in time to watch his come spray over my tits.

“Oh fuck! God, b… baby! F… fuck,” he stutters as his leg bounces violently and he chokes over his release. I’m not even giving him a chance to recuperate from this one. What I have planned next will do all the work for him and blow his fucking mind.

Time to pull out the big guns.

I’ve waited for years to be able to do this to someone, so I’m extremely excited to see how this turns out. I reach for the cloth again and clean my breasts and then push the ottoman all the way against the foot rest of the chair. I recline the back a little more which causes Christian’s hips to go forward and up a bit. He looks at me puzzled as I open my legs around his recliner. I pull him forward and rest either of his legs on top of mine so that his legs are wide open, and his dick, balls, perineum, and anus are fully exposed.

“Oh, good hell,” he says softly, because he knows that he’s at my mercy now and that whatever I’m about to do is going to be very intense and quite memorable. I can tell that he’s preparing himself for sexual torture, as well he should. Once I have him in position, I reach down and reveal the wand.

His eyes have become a glassy gray, almost clear, and I can tell that he’s not thrilled about the idea of having this kind of toy used on him. I can only assume that it has something to do with She-Thing and her sub training, but I don’t want to think about that, and I don’t want him to think about that either. If this goes as planned, this will be the grand finale. So, I can guarantee that he doesn’t want to miss this.

“This will be all for your pleasure,” I say seductively. “I would never do anything to emasculate you or make you feel uncomfortable. Do you trust me?”

He pauses for a moment and I can still see uncertainty in his eyes. Nonetheless, he nods hesitantly.

“Good. Now I want you to sit back and relax, baby. Remember, if anything becomes too intense for you, use your sexual safe word. If you’re uncomfortable with anything, just tell me to stop, and I’ll stop immediately. Okay?” He nods again. “I need to hear you say it.” I tell him, putting my hand gently on his cheek.

“Okay. Yes, I understand. I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it,” he says softly, almost like a child. What did she do to him? Part of me almost doesn’t want to do this, but the sexual sensual Bitch is jumping up and down and daring me to back out now. I kiss him gently on his lips, then his chest, then his stomach before I push his shoulders back to recline the chair then sit on the ottoman in front of him—my legs open and his legs open. He’s laid out in front of me like the sacrificial lamb. If he has anything left after this one, I’ll declare him the winner and sex his brains out. I’ve let three orgasms pass me by so that I could keep my passion and my nature up and I could screw a damn light pole right now! Let the sexual torture begin!

He’s completely flaccid as he had his most recent orgasm not 10 minutes ago. I cover my hands with the massage oil and gently caress his balls. He’s watching me carefully and he’s still unsure about this. He’s going to have to relax. I move one hand further down and back to his perineum and his anus, only spreading oil on the skin on the outside. I know that his prostate is right behind the perineum and ultimately, the most intense stimulation would be a finger in his butt and a direct massage of the prostate. However, I have a feeling that She-Thing has done something cruel or unthinkable to him—something that made his beautiful gray eyes turn white at the mere thought of a toy near his genitals—so invasive ass-play is out.

I continue to gently massage his testicles, applying a small amount of pressure as I rub the perineum. I look seductively into his eyes and lick my lips as I massage him, and I feel his body relax just a fraction with that gesture.

“Only for you pleasure, okay?” I say softly. He nods again.

“Yes… okay,” he responds, his voice barely audible. I can hear the simultaneous fear and arousal when he speaks. I reach under his balls and tickle his anus and he stiffens again. I stand and place a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Relax,” I whisper.

“Okay.” His voice is shaking a bit. I put more oil on my hands and massage his testicles some more. When I hear his breathing slow a bit, I begin to gently massage his penis with my oily hands—no stroking, just gentle rubbing. He’s starting to twitch just a bit, so I continue to rub the oil on his penis and testicles, holding my hands vertically on his manhood and allowing it slide between my fingers as I bring my palms back down to his balls. After a few moments of this massage, I can feel Christian start to relax and his sex starts to respond to my touch.

Now it’s time for the wand. When I turn it on, he immediately tenses again. I don’t make eye contact with him this time. He has to know that I’m confident that he’ll enjoy what I’m about to do. I set the wand on its second lowest setting and place it gently on his perineum just under his balls so that his scrotum and his prostate get a nice little humming vibration from the outside. He jumps and tenses for a moment, but with the chair slightly reclined, there was nowhere that he can run.

I don’t make any sudden moves… and still no eye contact. I gently move the wand over his perineum, rubbing the top of his scrotum and softly pressing them into the wand. He slowly begins to relax again, and I think he’s beginning to enjoy the sensation. Good, I knew that he would. He seems afraid to close his eyes—he wants to watch. He doesn’t want any surprises, but he’s starting the clench the arms of the chair slightly and after a minute or so, his balls begin to jump. They are once again getting hard along with his shaft and starting to fill the nut sack.

I guess he finally decides to trust me because his head falls back and his chest starts to rise and fall intensely. The flag will be flying at full-staff once again in just a few moments. Every so often, a deep quite moan escapes with his breathing. That’s right, baby. Let it happen. I’m going to make you feel so good… and forget about whatever it is that bitch did to you.

I increase the setting on the wand just one notch, and I know that he’s getting a good and constant vibration on his prostate. I know it’s not high enough to be uncomfortable, but I have to wait to see if it’s high enough to be productive since I’m massaging from the outside and—let’s face it—this is my first time trying this. I know what’s supposed to happen, I just don’t know if it will. I move it around just a bit and apply a small amount of pressure. I think it’s having the desired result because Christian starts to twitch a bit—a little reaction to the stimulation. His eyes are screwed shut and I can see the sweat starting to form on his chest, which is rising and falling faster than before.

“Do you want me to stop?” I say softly without removing the wand or ceasing the rotation.

“Yes…! No…! I don’t know… no! Don’t stop!” His voice is very breathy, and he never raises his head. His fingers are stretched out straight and his palms are flat… hard onto the armrests like they’re stuck there. This is a new feeling for him, I know. Allowing someone anywhere near his prostate would put him at their mercy… in a position of weakness, so to speak—and Master Grey does not do weakness, nor are you likely to find him at anyone’s mercy. Yet here he is, trusting me not to violate him when all the signs indicate that he has been violated this way before. I’m even more determined to make sure that he never forgets this experience, but I have to be careful not to make him come too soon. We just want the milk… the orgasm comes later, and it will be insane!

Christian is now panting, and his dick is getting harder and harder, but I won’t touch it because that stimulation is sure to lead to his release. I’m still only massaging the prostate with a gentle stroke now and then on the balls. His dick is once again turning that shade of pink with the purple veins and now, he’s so aroused that his dick looks like a tree truck—every vein protruding from his skin. Careful, Steele, that bomb is going to blow before you’re ready.

I lean down and blow gently on the head in an attempt to tame the monster.

“Ah! Ana!” he mewls. That’s different. He mewled! Hmm… I think I’m going to like this. I know that his penis is tender from the number of times that he has already come which is why I’m almost sure this will be our finale, but the pleasure that he’s feeling right now is overriding any tenderness or discomfort. What’s more is that he can’t do anything to stop this arousal because I’m stimulating one of the three glands that is the direct cause for arousal and ejaculation. The other two are building up nicely in his balls for the final “presentation.”

Christian is gently pressing back against the wand intensifying the depth of the vibration to his perineum and subsequently, to his prostate. He’s now sitting on the very edge of the chair and his legs are open as far as they can go. This is delicious! He looks so sexy and vulnerable like this and it’s everything I can do not to stick a finger into my pussy and just come all over his sexy ass! I push the wand back against him, giving him the pressure that he’s seeking and here comes the first milking.

Wow! I did it… without having to invade his asshole!

It’s white, like I expected, but very watery—not thick at all since the other two components of come are not present—and there are only a few drops of it escaping from the slit at the mouth of his erection, maybe five or six drops at the most. Now I’ve done my research and with each milking, all of the milk has to come out and sometimes it needs a little help. I take my free hand and run my thumb against the length of his penis over that thick vein in the front, then squeeze the rim of his head gently to release the drops of watery white fluid. There’s no stroking or groping or this party will be over. This feeling is supposed to be pleasurable and refreshing, but not like an orgasm.

Sure enough, Christian is moaning gently between pants, his head thrown back almost in a state of comfort and resignation, beautiful sun-kissed fiery copper hair hanging from his scalp over the back of the chair. He has never had his prostate milked before and I’m certain that this is a whole new experience for him. He’s not jerking or twitching at this moment. He’s holding very still, riding out whatever sensation there is from the massage and the milking. There’s no tension in his body whatsoever—except of course the rock-hard dick—and he begins gently pressing against the wand again for that penetration to his prostate. The look on his face, his body reaction, and even his gentle moaning, is almost like he’s in a subconscious state all by himself… and I don’t say a word. I’m only going to bring him pleasure and he’s going to take from this experience what he needs.

When his first milking is over, he slowly raises his head trying to breathe. His breath is staggered like he has held it for a while. He relaxes his hips for a moment while he tries to take in oxygen.

“How does it feel, baby?” I ask softly. Watching his reaction is making me so hot, I’m only too certain that my voice is dripping with sex, but my boyfriend is too far gone to notice.

“Good… It feels good… It feels good…” he whispers between pants before dropping his head back again. Now I’ve seen the videos where men have used stimuli to milk themselves up to eight times in a session. We won’t be doing that to Mr. Grey. This man has already come four times. My hat goes off to him, he’s a fucking machine—pun intended. A few more minutes of gentle stimulation and one more milking and we should be reading to put the icing on the cake, so to speak.

I increase the setting on the wand once again and gently rub his penis, just enough to bring the blood a little more to the surface, but not enough to cause the volcano to erupt. Now he’s back to gripping the arms of the chair again and the sweat in forming more and more on his body… his hair starting to turn dark brown where it has come in contact with his perspiration. I can tell that the intensity is starting to get to him. Now I’m alternating between my oily hand and the wand on his perineum and his balls. While massaging his balls with the oily hand, I have the wand on prostate. When I run the wand up the perineum to his balls, I rub the prostate area with my oily fingers. He actually yelps at the feeling since my finger occasionally wanders to bundle of nerves that is his anus, but I don’t break the barrier, and the wand is now stimulating the sack that will empty for our “swan song.”

“Oh, Ana… oh my God… oh, that feels so good…” Again… different… His voice is probably three keys higher than I’m accustomed to and he almost sounds like he’s softly whining. I have never in my life heard this man this aroused… I swear, he sounds like me. He’s working to control his breath and still moaning his pleasure. He starts to jerk again, and soon the milky watery liquid is dripping from his erection again.

“Oh… oh… oh… oh… oh…” he moans with each breath. He sounds like he is floating! I’m a little jealous! This man is off on a sexual starship and he has left me behind! Oh well, the show must go on.

Once I’ve jerked the rest of the milk from the head, I know it’s time for the big one. I increase the speed of the wand once again. It’s now set on the setting below its highest setting. The highest setting might send him to the moon and he’s already on a starship! Maybe we’ll test that theory… I start working the wand slowly up his dick. Now he’s really starting to squirm since the vibrations are directly on his shaft. He’s thrusting forward a bit and his legs begin to tremble. His feet are flat on the floor and his butt is starting to rise out of the chair. His abs are rock hard, tensed beautiful and on display, and he’s completely at my mercy. His head thrown back and high-pitched—well, high-pitched for Christian anyway—cries of ecstasy shamelessly escape his throat while his erection is subjected to my will and the vibrations of the wand.

As he’s obviously approaching his orgasm, his body is tensed and almost completely straight in this recliner, his feet still on the floor and his dick still thrusting forward into the vibrations of that wand. At one point, he actually picked up the chair… which is pretty lightweight anyway. His poor dick is pulsating and bouncing around like crazy. Purple is an understatement… he’s so engorged, he’s almost blue! I’m still relentlessly running this wand slowly up and down his erection and now picking up speed the closer I get to his head. I sit the wand at the base for a few seconds, and he’s standing again, his mouth hanging open…

“Ah… (pant)… ah… (pant)… aah… (pant)… aaah… (pant)… aah…”

I’ve got him on the run now. I roll the palm of my free oiled hand around on the head of his dick and there’s nowhere that he can go, although I’m sure that he would have taken flight at that moment if he could.

“Mmmmmmmm! Mmm! Mm! Mm! Mm!” Oh, he can’t take much more of this, I’m sure. His nuts are literally dancing now! I lean down and lick them salaciously, running my tongue over every part of his exposed skin and pulling them gently into my mouth, one by one, teasing them with my tongue and letting them pop out through my lips—all while moving the wand along the bottom half of his dick and my hand around the head. His legs are shaking violently, and I don’t know how they are holding him up.

“Ana… h… h… God… h… h… Ana…” his voice is barely a whisper and he’s suddenly drenched in sweat… like someone threw a bucket of water on him! I switch my hand and the wand… hand at the base and the wand at the head…

…and my boyfriend becomes a bitch.

“Aaaaaaaaaahh!” He is wailing! When I say wailing, I mean mourning widow wailing! I think it was more from the surprise at first and then from the sensation. I mean let’s be realistic—blue-purple highly engorged aroused penis head meets powerful wand on its second to highest setting. Hmmm…

I squeeze the base of his dick, stroking madly, still licking his balls while I run the wand on the underside of his shaft from the center up to that little sensitive spot right under the head. He’s shamelessly lost in his arousal. His cries are higher than I’ve ever heard, and his dick is harder than I have ever seen. Time to end this torment.

I put the wand on its highest setting and stabilize his dick with my free hand, pressing the wand against the vein and the head at a faster pace to push him to orgasm. We had to build up to this because if we had jumped to this in the beginning, he would be hurting before his release. As it stands, I expect for him to not be able to do anything once this is over. Each time that wand moves up to the head, I get a high-pitched moan out of him, so I know he’s about to come. I know there was a tiny buildup in his balls now from the fluids that weren’t released during the prostate milking. So, although I expect an ejaculation, I don’t expect it to be huge.

Boy, was I wrong!

I don’t dare stop moving this wand or release my hand and right when I see that the pulsating has reached the fever pitch and he is about to let go, I move the wand right to the underside of the head to that sensitive part at the rim and leave it there.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH GGGOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD!” He cries out high and loud and explodes wildly! I could hear him echoing off the mountain! I swear, they had to hear him on the big island! And he is spurting… hard! I’m moving the wand up and down at the head only about an inch and his first spurt shot clean up to his chest, leaving a trail from his chest to his stomach. He spurts like that six more times, each spurt a little shorter than the last. I keep that wand going until he stops screaming and trembling, because his dick is still hard, and he’s still pushing against the wand. He’s now sitting back in the chair, his head drooped forward, completely out of breath, drenched in sweat and covered in his own come.

“Stop… stop… no more… please… no more…”

And there it is. I told you that you would beg me to stop. I turn off the wand and drop it on the floor.

A/N: Soundtrack for this chapter:
Donna Summer – Love to Love You baby (extended version)
Silk – Freak Me
Maxwell – Til The Cops Come Knocking
R. Kelly – Bump N Grind Remix
Marvin Gaye – Sexual Healing and Let’s Get It On (not mentioned in the story)

When I did the French Kiss, I gave you a link to medical diagram of the vagina. If you would like a medical diagram of the penis, it is here: 

I searched a lot of sources, but if you are interested in learning more about prostate massage, some good information can be found at these two sites:

You’ll find some good videos if you search on YouTube as well (yes, really!).

Pictures for this chapter are at 

You can join my mailing list on the “Contact Me” page.  Just click the link and it will lead you to a form to join the list.

~~love and handcuffs


Mending Dr. Steele: Chapter 28—Reckoning

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 fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.

Chapter 28—Reckoning


“You knew it would cause problems, Ana. You had to know, so why did you go?” Ace asks at our session as I explain to him that Christian and I haven’t spoken since the short blow-up about Cassie Hamilton last night.

“She’s not the only woman that I’m going to run into that slept with my man,” I defend. “Hell, she’s not the only woman who I’ve already run into that slept with my man,” I add, nearly hissing as I think of the stank-ass, slutty, nasty, filthy, slimy, Pedo-Bitch She-Thing demon from hell.

“And how did that work out for you?” he says, knowing exactly where my mind went.

“It’s not the same, Ace. What I’m trying to say is that I can’t live my life in a bubble and I can’t run away every time one of his exes shows up.”

“You don’t have to run to them though, either.” He’s so damn logical and he doesn’t even raise his voice. He drives me nuts. I rub my forehead.

“Her work is dreamy,” I lament. “Exquisite. I so hoped we could get past the whole ‘Christian’ thing and she would plan our wedding.” Ace is silent for a while.

“You really wanted her, didn’t you?” I look up at him over my hand.

“I really did,” I nod. “I had to see for myself that it was a totally lost cause before I just threw in the towel. Mandy convinced me that I live in the real world and I am likely to run into one of my fiancé‘s exes sooner or later and that it didn’t make sense to exclude her just because she and Christian were once intimate. It made so much sense at the time to me because if one of Edward’s exes came to me on a professional level, I would help her—as long as it wasn’t about him since I have an open case against him right now…” Hearing myself going off on a tangent, I bring the conversation back to me and Christian. “My point is that one day I am very likely to run into someone who Edward fucked since he has covered so much ground in Seattle, and they shouldn’t feel strange in my presence for any reason. By the same token, I should have no problem encountering one of Christian’s exes, but apparently they must all be holding torches for him. So when I see them coming—if I see them coming—I have to avoid them now. How the hell do I know?”

“You don’t, and you can’t live your life hiding either, but you can’t willingly run into a bad situation, Ana.”

“I wouldn’t have if I had known that the woman was certifiable. That’s why I was upset with Christian. He didn’t tell me the whole story until after I had met this batty bitch! If he had told me, I wouldn’t have gone.”

“He tried to tell you not to go, Ana. Does he always have to explain himself?” Ace asks.

“No, but in this instance, he should have. I explained myself and my argument was profound enough for him to relent. What if this girl was nutso-cuckoo and tried to hurt me? She wants Christian badly, Ace. That outfit that she was wearing should not even be allowed in public—very thin material painted onto all of her body parts. You could see everything but her clit!” I spit. Ace held his head down and threw up one of his hands.

“Um, my wife is in the next room. I don’t need that visual,” he protests. I twist my mouth.

“Sorry,” I say begrudgingly. He rolls his eyes and continues.

“So, why didn’t you just leave?” Yes, I know. I should have left, but at this point, I couldn’t. I knew what she was after. “Dr. Steele, I know why you didn’t leave, but I want you to say it.” He always calls me Dr. Steele when he wants me to know that he’s not putting up with any of my bullshit.

“I wanted to rub it in, okay?” I admit. “I knew that she was hoping to see Christian. I mean, I didn’t know at first, but when she came out dressed like… dressed that way, I knew that she was gunning for my man. I mean seriously, think about this. She was hoping that Christian would be there but she knew for sure that I would—and she still showed up dressed that way! Seriously? How could she possibly be that disrespectful? Her tactics may have been driven to get Christian’s attention, but they were blatantly disrespectful to me and she knew that! She showed that she was horny and desperate for him and I wasn’t running away. Yes, I wanted her to see what he had now and that he didn’t want or need her anymore.”

“And it turned out badly,” he says. I nod. “And you blamed Christian.” I look up at him.

“I didn’t blame him for my actions, Lordis!” Now, I’m getting pissed. His eyes narrow at the mention of his legal name and now I have his attention. “I do hold him responsible for not telling me that this woman was desperate and manipulative when they were together. That information would have alerted me that she is most likely still desperate and manipulative and I would have stayed the hell away from her. Is that so hard to understand? Is it so hard to comprehend that I made an initial decision to meet with her based on the fact that I only had some of the information and a key piece of it was omitted?” I’m nearly screaming now. I’m panting hard and my hands are suspended beside me. Ace examines me for a while.

“Ana, is that really why you’re angry?” he says, his gaze never leaving mine.

“Yes! That’s really why I’m angry!” I snap. He tilts his head to the side the same way that Christian does when he’s analyzing me. Why the fuck does he do that?

“Okay,” he says, straightening his back. “Is there anything else on your mind?”

Huh? Now I’m confused.

“That’s it?” I ask him. No more tearing this thing apart and trying to blame me for it?

“That’s it. If that’s really why you’re angry, then nobody can fix this but Christian. When you tried to talk to him about it, you all ended up not speaking. I’m your psychiatrist—we have to speak. So, that’s it.” What the hell…?

“What are you up to, Ace?” What kind of method is this?

“I’m not up to anything. You’re getting angry with me because of my point of view. That means that anything that I say to you right now is falling on deaf ears. Our progress is halted because you are dug in on how you feel and until you get past it, we can’t go any further. So, maybe you need to marinate in your anger and misery a little longer until you and I or you and Christian can overcome this stalemate. In the meantime, we can discuss another topic if you like.” I know this is reverse psychology and it’s really pissing me off.

“You’re going to use a textbook technique with me? Really?” I bark.

“I’m going to use whatever works, Ana. Now what do you want to do? The ball is in your court,” he answers calmly.

“What the fuck do you expect me to say?”

“Well, first of all, you’re going to stop cursing at me, because I don’t deserve that. Cursing in general, cursing about a situation, we’re okay. Cursing at me, we’re not going to do that!” That’s the sharpest I have heard his voice all night.

“Fine! I’m sorry!” I say through clenched teeth.

“Next, I don’t expect you to say anything, but I do want you to find out why you’re really angry, and you know what you need to do to answer that question. It can be tonight, it can be next week, it can be next month, but you know what you need to do.”

This son-of-a-bitch always goes right to the infection and makes you stare at it. I mean, he takes that damn scalpel and cuts your ass wide open, then makes you look at this festering, oozing sore for what it really is—no fucking anesthetic! I fucking hate his ass!

“I’m angry because this bitch told me that she can have my man!” I snap.

“Do you think she can get him?”

“No, but she thinks she can!” I sigh. “I’m angry because I don’t know exactly how many of them there are out there. They could be anywhere. I could be at the Marketplace and one of them could be bagging my strawberries or standing right next to me at the flower stand. I have no defense against a threat that I can’t see…”

“You feel vulnerable.” I look up at him.

“Yes,” I say after a pause. “I feel like I walked right into the lion’s den and had to scramble to find the weapons that I needed to defend myself because Christian failed to warn me about what I was facing.” Ace nods.

“So now you need a defense mechanism to engage when you start to feel this way. However, step one is realizing that Christian did not sleep with every woman in Washington, and that even if that number may be a fairly high number—which I don’t know—the chances are still very slim that you would meet any of these women in passing. He saw a danger coming your way and he tried to warn you away from it. Was he effective? No, he should have been a little more persuasive, but bear something else in mind. How many people were present when you were discussing this?”

“There were two other people present, but that’s not an excuse, Ace. If he wants me to himself, he is quick to dismiss other people from the room,” I tell him.

“Okay, I get that, but you my dear still need to find a way to deal with your insecurities on this matter.”

“I am not insecure…”

“That’s exactly what this is and don’t argue with me on this!” Ace says sharply. “I can play this game with you and tell you exactly what you want to hear or I can look you in your eye and tell you the truth—that you are insecure about Christian’s exes. You’re not concerned about him succumbing to one of them because you know better. You’re concerned about having to fight that battle with them each time you run into one of them; that every time you see them, you are going to have to prove what you have that she didn’t have because she was so certain that she had him locked down… that is, until she didn’t. Each time one of them sees you, she’s going to see her shortcomings and she’s not going to see for the life of her how you could be everything that he needed when she was not. That’s going to make her more and more determined to prove that she can get him back—even if she only makes you believe it—and that scares you to death.”

I hate him. I hate him passionately!

“So what am I supposed to do?” I say, my voice small and full of defeat.

“First of all, stop torturing yourself by seeing Christian’s exes everywhere. They’re not everywhere. There’s more of a chance that they have moved on and don’t even live in the city than it is that you are going to run into one of them. In the off-chance that you do, get the hell out of the situation before it becomes Cassie Hamilton all over again… that is, unless you like feeling this way. She’s going to try to egg you on because she wants to see what you’re made of. She wants to identify your weakness so that she can exploit it. The wisest thing that you did was to cut off her last sentence and leave. You showed her that you that you had already won the argument and you were just leaving. Anything that she does now will be a true act of desperation and she knows that, so you most likely will never hear from Cassie Hamilton again.”

“Well, then, doesn’t that make it a good thing that I confronted her? I mean, had I just left when I saw her attire, wouldn’t that have been a sign of weakness–like someone throwing a rock at you and you just run away even though it didn’t hit you?”

“No,” Ace says, “it would have been an act of defiance. You would have shown her right then and there that you knew what she was up to and you didn’t have time for her petty bullshit. She was in a win-win situation with you sitting in that lobby. She either had her shot at Christian or at a huge commission, and you would have let her know that she had lost them both without saying a word.”

Did I mention that I fucking hate him?

“I need to go home now. I need to talk to my fiancé.”

“I’ll say that you do.” He stands when I do and I head towards the door, head down. “Ana?” I turn around like a chastised toddler. “If it makes you feel any better, I think he should have told you that she was certifiable, too,” he adds with a smile. I smile weakly and leave his office, 25 minutes into my session.

It’s later than usual when I get back to the apartment. Christian is still not here and I can’t help but feel like he’s avoiding me. I stand by the fact that if I had known that she was a bit unstable that I wouldn’t have made the meeting in the first place, but I know that my actions also fanned the fire.

“Ana?” Gail’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Still at the office?” I say.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” I nod. Feeling more defeated than ever, I walk to the stairs. I put one foot on the first stair and stop, take out my phone, and call Chuck before he leaves the parking garage.


“Hello, Ms. Steele,” Chris greets me as I walk into the lobby at Grey House. This was one of the first people who I met coming into this building last June and he wouldn’t let me up to see Christian. I think I called him Robo-Security-Man at the time.

“Hi, Chris. Is he still up there?” I ask softly.

“Yes, Ma’am. He’s in a meeting, though. Did you want me to let him know that you’re coming?”

“No. I was just bringing him some dinner. I just go up and wait in the lobby until he’s done if that’s okay,” I respond.

“Sure. You know the way. Have a good evening, Ms. Steele,” he says with a smile. I step over to the elevator, get in, and ride up to Christian’s floor. Andrea is standing at the elevator ready to leave when the doors open.

“Hi, Ana,” she greets me in a friendly voice. “Oh, food. Good idea. He’s had a long day.”

“He has?” I say, still trying to find my voice. She looks at me.

“Yes, he has… and from the sound of it, so have you.” I’m still standing in the elevator with the dinner Gail has packed in my hands when the bell rings and the doors begin to close. Andrea reaches out and holds the doors with the arm carrying her purse and reaches for me with her free hand.

“Come on, Ana,” she says leading me off the elevator. Jason comes around the corner a few moments after Andrea leads me off the elevator.

“Ana, is everything okay?” he asks, clearly surprised to see me at the office.

“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?” I ask him softly. He looks behind me at Andrea and then back to me. “I just brought some food for you guys since it’s late. Chuck is still downstairs, so if I’m interrupting anything…”

“No, no. You’re not interrupting anything. I have some things that I need to take care of for a new employee starting on Monday and I’m sure that Andrea is ready to start her weekend…” Jason says.

“More than ready!” Andrea says. “The new employee is mine! I have training in my future,” she jests.

“Please, don’t let me keep you. I’m sorry I zoned out in the elevator,” I apologize to Andrea. I hand Jason the smaller bag that I am carrying. “Gail sent this for you. This is for Christian and… me, since I haven’t eaten yet either.” Jason takes his dinner.

“Go on in, Ana. Just call my office when you two are ready to leave,” he says and I nod.

I open the large door that leads to Christian’s office. I’m still not accustomed to the size of this place. I mean, I think my entire suite could fit in this one room. He’s behind his desk, his hand covering his face. When I close the door behind me, he begins to rub his eyes.

“I watched someone die today,” he says, his voice full of sorrow. What? That’s horrible. What happened?

“You did?” I reply, my voice full of surprise. He raises his head so fast that I’m afraid he hurt his neck. I forgot that he wasn’t expecting me.

“Ana.” Now, his voice is full of surprise. He really wasn’t expecting me. I clear my throat.

“Hi,” I say softly, still standing near the door.

“Hi,” he replies, a little stunned. He rises from his seat and my heart nearly stops beating. He is wearing a pair of wine-colored slacks that fit him so well—not too tight and they hang on him in just the right way. His loose-fitting cotton turtleneck is tucked into his belt that match his shoes perfectly. He looks casual and professional at the same time and I’m trying not to drool.

“Please, come in,” he says softly and I realize that I still haven’t moved from my spot. My feet feel a little heavy as I stride across the floor to his desk. My boots have a thick heel—high, but not thin like the stilettos that I am accustomed to. Everything feels heavy all of a sudden—my coat, my gloves, my scarf… everything. I make my way to the front of his desk and he comes around to meet me.

“What’s this?” he asks, looking at the insulated food carrier in my hands.

“Dinner,” I say, my voice escaping me once more. “Mrs. Jones… Mrs. Taylor… Gail packed… dinner for us and I thought I…” I can’t even form my words right now. He puts his hands over mine on the carrier.

“That’s very sweet of you,” he says, his voice low and caressing my ears. I release the carrier to him and he puts it on a nearby table before coming back to stand in front of me.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask, still not looking in his face.

“Yes,” he says softly, taking my hand in his. “May I?” he asks. I nod. He slowly pulls each finger out of my glove and removes first my right glove and then my left. He moves to my scarf, pulling the tails out of the loop then lifting it from my neck. He drops the scarf and gloves in a chair behind him before untying the belt on my cashmere coat.

“You… said that you… watched someone die today,” I say, just above a whisper. He continues to slowly undo the knot in my belt.

“Yes… I did,” he responds, his voice like honey with a hint of sadness.


“A young woman on life-support—beaten to death by the father of her children.” I gasp as he finally unties the knot and begins to unbutton my coat.

“That’s horrible!” I say softly, finally looking up to his face. He stops unbuttoning my coat and looks at me.

“Yes, it was. It was very sad. I sat with her mother while she died,” he says. “You’ve been crying.” I drop my head again. I only had a small episode in the car on the way back to Escala after my session. It wasn’t bad, but he can always tell. He finishes with my buttons, slides his hands under my coat and over my satin blouse and pushes my coat off my shoulders. Catching it in his right hand, he tosses on the chair with my scarf and gloves.

“Are you okay?” he asks when I don’t respond to his comment about crying. I nod slowly. He runs his hands up the sleeves of my shirt, gently caressing my arms and causing me to get goose bumps. I shiver a bit. “Are you cold?” I shake my head. “Use your words, Baby.” Oh my God, there’s a flood in my underwear.

“No,” I say, sounding like a small child.

“She reminded me of you,” he says, brushing my hair out of my face and tucking it behind my ear. “She was young… 24 years old. She was unrecognizable. It made me think of you and Green Valley.” He closes the small space between us. “Her mother was so strong, stronger than I ever could have been.” He brings his forehead down to mine. “I never want to be without you, Butterfly.”

His hands start at my shoulders and brush up my neck until they reach my jaws and cheeks. Cupping my face, he tips my head and slowly brings his lips to mine, tilting his head and closing his eyes just before our lips meet. His kiss is romantic and gentle, yet hungry and yearning at the same time. I close my eyes as he molds his mouth to my lips, his tongue gently caressing mine and snatching my breath away. I feel like he hasn’t touched me in days… weeks

Oh God, I love this man so much. I can’t stand not touching him one more second!

I pull his shirt from his pants and push my hands under the shirt and T-shirt, running my fingers over his chest. I feel him shiver slightly, but his kiss doesn’t change. I am momentarily content to feel the warmth of his skin against my hand and the soft fuzz on his chest under my fingertip while he kisses me, until he releases my lips. I push his shirts up his body as far as his height will allow me to go before he reaches for them and removes them completely. I rest both hands flat on his chest and lovingly kiss his scars.

“Ana,” he breathes as his head falls back and his hands tangle in my hair. He watched someone die today and it reminded him of me. It’s must have been terrifying for him. I bring my hands down to his hips where his belt and pants meet his bare skin and look in his eyes. Looking down at me, he slowly unbuttons my black satin blouse, first the front, then the cuffs. He brushes his fingers over my shoulders again—just the fingertips this time—and my shirt falls off my body to the floor. He reaches behind me and unzips my gray wool mini-skirt and pushes it off of me as well. As I step out of it, he leads me to sofa and beckons me to sit.

He gets on his knees in front of me and gently pulls off my black suede knee boots one by one and starts to kiss up my legs. When he gets to my knees, I raise my hips so that he can remove my panties and my tights at the same time. I stop his assault and stand, pulling him to his feet as well. He’s wearing too many clothes for me. I begin to undo his belt while he quickly but smoothly kicks off his shoes and uses the opposite foot to remove both of his socks. His pants fall easily and he steps out of them as I trace my finger around the elastic of his boxer briefs. A short gasp of breath escapes as his dick begins to rise in his underwear.

He strokes my arms as I rub his erection through his boxer briefs. His breathing becomes slightly ragged and he quickly gets stiffer and stiffer under my touch. I turn him around to the sofa and urge him to sit like he did to me moments earlier. I kneel in front of him and he raises his hips for me to remove his briefs. Pulling them past his feet, I pull his knees so that his hips slide forward an his head is right at the top back of the sofa. I push his knees apart as far as the sofa will allow and his staff sticks straight up in the air, his balls already tight at the base. I look in his eyes as I take his head into my mouth and suck hard. He hisses loudly and his erection begins to pulsate immediately. I run my tongue over and into the slit, tasting the pre-cum before it has a chance to escape.

“Ah!” he gasps, not sure what to do with his hands right now. I drop my mouth down onto his erection and caress his chest. He tries to move his feet closer to me, but I use my elbows to push his legs apart.

“Ah! Ana!” he moans deep in his throat, and his hands are on my shoulders now. His mouth is wide and his breath is harsh. I revel in the strong rise and fall of his chest under my hands as he closes his eyes and his head falls back on the sofa. Now I can really get to work.

I pull my teeth back and start a deep relentless suck—slow and hard, up and down, tip to balls and back. Tortured sounds of arousal escape from his throat, chest, and mouth as his hands move from my shoulders to cupping my head until the fingertips nearly meet in my hair at the nape.

“Oh, God… so good…!” he groans as he tries again to bring his legs together to deepen the trust. Oh, no, Mr. Grey, I’m controlling this one. I push his thighs apart again with my elbows and he whines in defeat as his breath quickens even more.

“Baby… please… I can’t take it! I gonna come!” he pleads, his imminent release in his voice. I put my hands on either thigh and push his legs back—all the way apart. I pull my mouth all the way to the tip of his penis and repeatedly stroke the tiny pinch of meat on the underside of his head just under the rim with my tongue.

“Baby… don’t… ah!” He tries to push my head down for a deeper stroke, but I know what I’m doing. I maintain that stimulation—very small, rhythmic strokes, occasionally pulling the head into my mouth while I do it and using my tongue around the rim before going right back to the small, rhythmic strokes under the head.

“Shi… aw, shit… ah…” His legs start to tremble with this relentless stimulation and I watch his balls start to rise. He’s stronger than me but he won’t try to overpower me with his dick in my mouth. Thus, he must sit here and absorb the pleasure with his legs pushed open… just like he does to me.

“Fu… fuck… f-fuck…” He’s stuttering. He wants to come so badly, but his mind can’t process the pleasure that he’s feeling on this one small part of his dick. I’m going to keep going until you give in, Grey.

Finally, his hips start to tremble and his grip on my head tightens even though he doesn’t dare push me down on him. With the first squirt of his orgasm into my mouth, I hear a sound that I have never heard from him before…

“Mmmmmmmmmmmm!” A loud, deep growling groan.

I raise my head and his eyes are screwed shut, his chin pressed into his chest, and looks like he’s in pain. His upper body is jerking in rhythm with his orgasmic squirts. I let a little of his cum seep out of my mouth and down his shaft until it catch it with my hand and use it to lubricate his balls as I massage them and drop down on his pulsating penis, forcing the head back into my throat.

“Aaahhaaaa, FUCK!” he screams as his eyes pop open and his body jerks violently. I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, I would say that I set off another orgasm. He is now holding my head against him, still jerking madly, his erection still throbbing in my cheeks and throat.

“Sh… shhhhh… shh… sh… sh… shhhh… shit!” Well, it took a while to get that word out, didn’t it?

I don’t know how many minutes or seconds pass before his body finally loosens and he falls back limp onto the sofa.

“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God,” he keeps repeating in a whisper as he catches his breath and I kiss his inner thighs, the creases of his pelvis, his pubic hairline, his abdomen… Before I know it, he has lifted me off the floor and into his arms. He lies down on the floor on his back with me on top of him and quickly wiggles so that his mouth is at the promised land. Before I have time to think, he has sucked my clit into his mouth and is ferociously feasting away at my core.

“Aaaah!” I scream and I don’t know what to do with my hands.

“On your thighs!” he commands into my pussy. My hands fly to my thighs and squeeze as his talented tongue does things to me that I didn’t know were possible.

“Fuck!” I yell as he eats me masterfully, paying me back—or rewarding me—for that blowjob moments ago. Over and over again, he is stimulating my entire core—lips, clit, hole, everything. I don’t know how he can cover so much ground at once!

His strong hands wander all over my body, rubbing, kneading, grabbing, and not allowing me to escape. My breasts, my stomach, my back, my waist, my hips, my ass, my legs—nothing is neglected while his head rolls relentlessly and deliciously underneath me. He grabs both of my breasts with his large hands and squeezes possessively, pushing them together until the front hooks of my bra release. Without missing a beat with his mouth, he slides the bra down my arms to my wrists and somehow hooks his hands into the straps, pulling them in opposite directions behind me. He now has my hands bound in my bra behind me while he holds the straps tight, hindering my escape and still able to dig his fingers deep into my thighs, hips, and ass cheeks.

“Fuck me!” he mumbles into my pussy, and I gladly oblige. I roll my hips into his mouth and against his tongue. The burn is deep and I scream again as his tongue invades my hole. How does he do that? His tongue runs up my pussy again and his whole mouth attacks my lips and clit.

“Aahhaaahaaa!” I cry out as I throw my head back, seriously about to expire.

“I said ‘fuck me!'” he growls again into my pussy and the vibrations send waves through my body. I grind into him again, and this time I don’t stop. He does magnificent things with his mouth and I just enjoy the ride. Whimpering, I feel my release coming and so does he. He groans into my core and releases my bra straps. I wiggle free, reach down and grab his hair. He reaches up and grabs my back and again, I can’t escape.

“Baby…” I whimper once as a volcanic orgasm rips through my body. I can’t speak, I can’t scream, I can only shake as he holds me down and sucks my release from my very soul. After an eternity, when it finally begins to wane, he brings his hands between my legs so that my thighs are now around his chest. He stretches his long arms up and puts his hands in my armpits, lifting me off of him so that he can sit up. Slowly and effortlessly, he slides my body down onto his waiting erection.

“I can’t…” I protest, my body limp against his.

“Ssshhhh,” he breathes, attempting to mask his arousal as he rocks into me.

“Christian… I’m so tired…” I groan, as I lay on his shoulder.

“Relax, Baby. Let me love you,” he whispers, his hands possessively on my back, pressing my against him as he fills me, stroking slowly but strongly into me. I’ve missed this. I’m too weak to respond, but I need him. I haven’t had him since… Monday? Sunday? Yes, it was Sunday. This is why we can’t let things keep us from having our day. We spent a little time together on Wednesday, but we didn’t have our day. Now with the abuse segment and the wedding planning and the standoffs, we haven’t made love for nearly a week!

Desire begins to rise in me again as I calculate the days that have passed since my man has been inside me. I am still weak from my orgasm, but he infuses me with energy more and more with each stroke. His hands lovingly caress my back and he kisses my shoulders, cheeks, ears, and neck.

“Christian…” I whimper as I feel a surge run through my body.

“I feel you, Baby,” he says softly as he continues to kiss me wherever his lips can reach, still thrusting into me—deep and slow. Oh, God, it’s so good. I groan as I feel the pleasure rising, my release hiding deep inside, inching its way to the surface. I raise my head and kiss his shoulder, stroking his upper back on the other side. His arms clench tighter around my body and he groans a soft and sensual moan. Oh… this is soooooo good!

I kiss his neck, up to his ear, then his cheek before pulling my face back to look into his eyes—his pupils almost pure black with a thin slate gray rim hiding under heavy lids. I caress his hair with both hands, never taking my eyes off of his… and we move in unison, forever it seems. Our breathing matches and we say nothing. Our bodies stick together as only one part of us is moving—that part that is combined and now makes us one person. I whimper when the quiver begins, not wanting this to end… not yet… please…

“Kiss me…” he breathes, and I can’t resist. I pull his lips to mine and bury my soul in this kiss, moaning into his mouth. His answering moan lets me know that he approves and his arms tighten around me even more, sending my body spiraling into the first stages of my release. I break the kiss and cry out as my body follows his slow stroke with a slow, paralyzing orgasm that makes me dizzy with desire. He brings my lips back to his and takes over the kiss as my body is once again ravaged by his will.

“Yes, Baby,” he says between kisses. “Yes, Baby,” he kisses me again. “Baby, I love you so much…” My body finally has its last explosion with these words and I once again fall limp in his arms, my core pulsating wildly around him. It doesn’t take long for him to find his release, coming hard, hot, and violently inside of me and still holding me so close to him that not even air could pass between us.

He holds me up so that I can rest while he catches his breath. We are both drenched in sweat. He puts his hand under my chin and lifts my face. I’m too weak to open my eyes, so he kisses my eyelids, then my cheeks gently. When he moves to my neck and shoulder, Ace’s words choose this time to come back to me. I open my eyes while looking over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper in his ear. He pauses and looks me in the eye.

“I know. I’m sorry, too. I should have told you,” he says, stroking my cheek.

“I should have left,” I confess. He nods.

“We’ll handle it better next time?” he asks. His statement has so many implications. Yes, at some time in our forever, I will run into another one of his subs. Each time that happens, it can’t end up like this. I nod at him.

“Better next time,” I whisper.


We nourish ourselves on shrimp alfredo with French garlic bread and asparagus tips with butter and lemon sauce. Butterfly tells me about her day and her near-showdown with Dr. Avery and I fill her in on the terrible story that is… or was… Débora Arias. She sheds a few tears at the sheer sadness of it, but mostly lets me talk about how I feel about personally watching this young life cut so short. This wasn’t like when Melanie Coleman died—the slow deterioration that is cancer and could not be avoided. This is a senseless, violent death that did not have to happen. Listening to Richard’s reaction to Débora’s death, Butterfly seems to think that he might be bipolar, particularly when it seems that a dress sent him into a blind rage and that he had no idea that he had beaten Débora so terribly. He seemed so remorseful about his actions, begging Luma to take care of his girls and fully resigned to pay for his deed. I still feel like the bastard should burn in hell, but shit—I can’t tell you how the human mind works. I’m still battling with mine.

By the time Jason finally got us back to Escala, it’s after 11pm and Butterfly is too tired to form a coherent sentence. I’m able to get her out of the car, but she’s damn-near asleep on her feet by the time we got to the elevator. So I just carried her the rest of the way. She’s gone by the time the elevator gets to the penthouse. I lay her gently in our bed, removing her outerwear and boots and covering her with the duvet before I turn out the lights and leave the room.

I haven’t spent much time at my piano these days. After I pour myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, I sit on the bench in the presence of my once-frequent companion.

Hello, Old Friend. It’s been a while…

I open the cover and caress the black and white keys, occasionally pressing one or two of them. Still in tune… always in tune.

I take a swallow of my wine, place my foot on the pedals and begin to play. The first time I had heard this song, my mother was watching a movie with Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly. It’s amazing that I just realized how much Grace has affected my taste in music. I heard a children’s choir sing the song at a recital once—something somewhere where I was donating some money, I don’t remember. I just remember that I liked the children’s version more than I liked the Crosby/Kelly version.

I effortlessly reconnect with my piano as I let the music and the sheer act of playing wash away the events of the day… watching the poor girl die and hearing her mother grieve; trying to figure out what kind of rage has to take over a man’s mind to cause him to kill someone with this his bare hands, much less the woman he claimed to love for so many years. I still hear his agonizing cries as he turned himself over to the police and begged Luma to take care of his girls. I almost lose control over my song until my mind drifts to the day’s end and making love to Butterfly. I close my eyes and allow my fingers to dance over the keys and I recall our sensual exchange in my office this evening—Butterfly giving herself to me, and me giving myself to her.

Who is this man that I have become, I ask myself as I start into another of my mother’s favorites. I still bring grown men to shivering messes in the boardroom, but when it comes to Butterfly, I’m the shivering mess. I had locked away every feeling and emotion that could make me appear weak or vulnerable. Now, I’m debating over blue invitations with silver writing or white invitations with blue writing. If the me of a year ago had seen me now, he would have said, “No fucking way in hell!” He was happy to be the whip-wielding, powerful, reclusive CEO for the rest of his life…

…until he met her.

She walked into his life, called him a narcissistic egomaniac and everything changed. I think of her as my fingers translate the portion of the song where Doris Day is dreaming of a summer with 1000 July’s. I see us in my head, dancing at our wedding—her in some exquisite white creation and me in a black tuxedo, dancing on a shiny ballroom floor that magically turns into clouds.

I am such a fucking sap. Where did this shit come from?

I sigh heavily as I move into my next song—The Very Thought of You. How appropriate. I agreed to explore these new feelings so that I can be a better man, but am I a better man? Different, yes, but better? I don’t know. I don’t recognize myself anymore. Granted, the things I don’t recognize were all the things that were leading me to a lonely lifetime of subs and self-destruction. I guess I just don’t like the feeling of being susceptible to so many more outside forces. I’m not fond of being so ready to let everyone in.

This is what happens when a wasp meets a butterfly, I guess. Mr. Wasp is happy flying around and being avoided. Even the big, bad humans are afraid of him. He runs things in this little garden and everybody gets out of his way. Then, he happens upon a Butterfly who is not only unwilling to accept his omnipotent power, but she also breaks down all of his barriers and façades. She shows him all the beauty of the garden and its inhabitants… well, some of them anyway. She changes his outlook so much that not only does he not recognize himself, but the other creatures don’t recognize him either…

Again… some of them anyway…

I don’t know how many songs I have played now while I contemplate my transformation. I admit, sometimes the road is rougher than others. Sometimes, I miss the unfeeling Dom—the man that could whip a woman until her ass was too red to touch and then fuck her until she couldn’t walk. He had a cockiness that can’t be imitated, but at what cost? Would I rather be him or the man that I am now… or the man that I am becoming?


I want all of those things. I’m looking forward to all of those things. Unfortunately, cocky, unfeeling Dom doesn’t fit in there anywhere.

…But she loves it when I’m Dominant. We both love it.

However, no one loves it when you are cocky and unfeeling… only you, and he’s even getting on your nerves more often than not these days.

I morph into yet another tune. I think my music has wandered into the 80’s now and as I’m playing, I hear the words in my head of falling in love between the moon and New York. Even my music is changing… well, I don’t know. I mean, I knew these songs before, I just didn’t play them. Hell, if I remember correctly, I sat up all night one night playing Moon River over and over again.

We are learning to combine the D/s lifestyle with our sex life—and quite well, in fact. Butterfly is willing to try nearly anything, as a Domme and as a sub, and our sex life is really fantastic. I’m certainly not missing anything there. So why do I have this feeling of impending doom?

I think I’ve made it through the 80’s as I am finishing “Glory of Love” when I see her reflection in the glass wall. I don’t move as she comes to stand next to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. I examine her beautiful body, wrapped in a short burgundy satin nightie, before I reach her even more beautiful face framed by a halo of gorgeous mahogany hair.

“Hi,” I greet her softly.

“Hi,” she responds, her voice a bit wistful and her eyes longing.

“Do you want me to play something for you?” I ask.

“I thought they were all for me,” she says. I review my song list in my head…

True Love…
You Go To My Head…
The Very Thought Of You…

I chuckle a bit. “Yes, I guess they were, weren’t they?” I concede, still touching the keys. “How long have you been here?”

“Since about 1965,” she croons. She slides onto my lap, straddling me. She removes my turtleneck and T-shirt so that my upper body is exposed and gently caresses my shoulders.

“Play another one,” she whispers.

“I can’t reach the keys,” I protest, but not really.

“Yes, you can,” she challenges softly. “Adjust.”

She wraps her legs and arms around me as I pull us both closer to the piano along with the piano bench. She’s really putting me on the spot, here. I know that she’s eclectic like me, so I pick one that I’m sure that she will know, thought not easily translated to piano. When she hears the first notes of the song, her lips travel to my cheek, then down my neck. Shit. I’m not getting horny, but I’m feeling some fucking fire! I can’t concentrate on the song and one of my hands reach for her.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers as her lips brush over my shoulder and her hands caress gently wherever they can reach. Damn! This is not going to happen. I can’t even focus, so I start to sing while I play.

I will be your fortress, tall and strong,
I will keep you safe, I’ll stand beside you, right or wrong

She looks into my eyes and, holding my face in her hands, she sings the chorus with me:

I will cross the ocean for you
I will go and bring you the moon
I will be your hero, your strength
Anything you need
I will be the sun in your sky
I will light your way for all time
Promise you, for you I will

I can’t take it anymore. I close her in my arms and crush her against me, kissing her deeply like that night in Anguilla—when we just wanted to be close. I break the kiss and only pull her away by an inch, just enough to look into her eyes.

“Do you know how much I love you? How much I need you?” I ask, gazing into her eyes. She stares at me for a moment and then nods.

“Do you know that you are everything to me? That without you, I feel like I can’t breathe?” she whispers, her hands on my face. “Do you understand that I wake up every day asking myself how I could possibly be so lucky to have you… even when I’m mad at you? Do you know that I can’t wait for my day to end just because I know that at some point thereafter, I will be in your arms?” I tighten my arms around her and she gasps before closing her eyes. “Yes,” she says as she brings her lips down to mine and kisses me gently. “Like that… just like that…”

How could I possibly love someone this much and they love me back?

“Come to bed, Baby. It’s very late and you haven’t had any sleep,” she says, sweetly, and I nod. I kiss her again then release my hold on her. She rises from my lap and leads me back to our bedroom. She lovingly finishes undressing me, like she did earlier in my office, then removes a pair of pajama pants from my chest of drawers. I step into them and she pulls them up around my waist before taking my hand and leading me to our bed. She gets in first and slides over to her side, facing me, then holds her hands out for me to join her. I slide under the covers and she wraps her legs and arms around me. We lie there staring at each other, holding each other, caressing each other…

“We’ll always be together, won’t we?” she asks me softly.

“Forever,” I respond, before kissing her gently on the lips.


When I wake, I am lying on my back and Butterfly is sprawled across my chest, fast asleep. The sun is breaking through the windows and, if I had to guess, I would say it’s around 9 or 10 am. As far as I know, there is nothing on the agenda today, but I don’t know if Butterfly has anything planned. I stretch, feeling like I’ve slept soundly for an entire night. Butterfly stirs a bit then covers her eyes from the invading sunlight.

“What time is it?” she asks groggily. I look up at the alarm clock.

“It’s 9:32,” I reply. She stretches, purring as different points in her body pop audibly, then rubs my bare chest.

“We kissed so long, I didn’t think I’d have any skin left on my lips,” she says with a smirk, her eyes still closed.

“Are you complaining?” I ask seductively.

“Uh-uh,” she shakes her head without opening her eyes and snuggles into my side as I cuddle her in my arms.

“No wedding planning stuff today?” I ask.

Lots of wedding planning stuff today,” she answers. “You and I need to finalize our part of the guest list and your mother should have her list to me by 2pm. Tammy will be here with all of our stationery to make the final decision and the save-the-date cards should go out Monday or Tuesday once the calligrapher has addressed them.”

“Mmm,” I kiss her forehead. “Have we thought anymore about the location?” She stretches again then sits up in the bed next to me.

“Yes. I’m leaning towards the Rainer Club and, like I said, I love the idea of the Marion Oliver McCaw Hall. It was so opulent the night of the benefit. Tammy says she wants me to consider something outside of the greater Seattle area. She mentioned a refurbished castle in Lakewood.” Lakewood? That’s way outside of the greater Seattle area.

“A castle? Seriously? Isn’t that a bit ostentatious? Didn’t we say no Buckingham Palace?” Butterfly laughs.

“Yes, we did say that. If you rather not, then we don’t have to do it, but I figure we should at least look it. If nothing else, I’ll get to see a castle in Washington that I didn’t know was here,” she shrugs. I twist my lips.

“Well, it couldn’t hurt to go look at it, huh?” I ask. She shrugs, noncommittal.

“I’m with you. If it’s too ostentatious, we’ll scrap the idea,” she says. “We need to talk about the bridal party,” she says, standing and putting on her robe.

“Okay…” she’s waiting for me to say something.

“Well, who do you want?” she asks. Uh…

“I… have no idea.” Her face falls.

“Oh, you must be kidding. You have no one that you can’t think of that you want to be your best man and your groomsmen?” I shrug as I put on a T-shirt.

“Elliot as my best man, most likely. Groomsmen… Ethan, Al, maybe Jason…”

“Oh, no. You don’t get Al. He’s mine.” What the fuck…?

“Excuse me? Al’s yours? What do you mean Al’s yours?” She turns around and looks me squarely in the eye.

“Exactly what I said. Al is mine. He’s going to be my man of honor. He’s my best friend and I’ve loved him for 12 years. I have seniority. Get over it. He’s mine.” She’s standing there with her fists on her hips and I swear that she is about to stomp her feet. She is serious. This would be funny if I wasn’t resisting the urge to fuck her right now.

“Okay, but you get to tell Elliot that’s who he is escorting out of the wedding,” I say with a wink. She immediately bursts into laughter and for some reason the sound shoots straight to my dick. I snatch her off the floor and pin her against the closet door, my erection pressing through my pajamas right at the perfect spot.

“Ah!” she gasps as I lick the sweet skin of her neck with a groan. “No, Mr. Grey. We have things to do today,” she protests, hardly convincing. I rock into her, pressing my erection into her core. She moans again.

“I know,” I say into her neck as I grind into her. Her legs wrap around me and I know that she is losing the fight. “Quickie?”

“Quickie,” she breathes, her voice full of need. Thank fuck, I think to myself as I free my erection from my pajama pants and thrust into her.


“How do you make me want you every second of every day?” I say as I kiss her neck. We are stretched out on the floor in the Great Room in front of the fire. We have showered and had breakfast and she is decked out in this flowered maxi halter-dress that looks more like a bra with a maxi skirt attached by a small piece of fabric at the sternum. It’s nearly backless and even with her back against the sofa, I have a side view of the Butterfly Garden, making me want to kiss it like I promised.

“Christian, we just had sex not two hours ago. Control yourself,” she says with a giggle. We have assorted items from the wedding planning pile spread out around us on the floor and we are slowly checking things off the list—slowly because I can’t seem to keep my hands and lips off of her.

“I’m making up for lost time,” I say, pushing her hair off of her delicate shoulder so that I can suck and nibble her earlobe. She moans softly.

“Christian, stop,” she whines gently.

“What?” I whisper as I lick the shell of her ear. I feel the shiver go through her body as I turn her face to mine and close my lips over hers in soft, wet kisses. I’m just putting my hands in her hair when I hear that unmistakable throat clearing that is Jason Taylor.

“Oh, you are so fired,” I tell him between kissing my Butterfly. “Aren’t you supposed to be off today?”

“Well, I thought so, but someone didn’t answer the landline. Your wedding planner is downstairs. Should I send her away?” Jason responds, smugly.

“Of course not, and we didn’t hear the landline ring,” I tell him.

“I know you didn’t, you seem a little tied up,” Jason says before calling down to the front desk from his blackberry. I look at Butterfly.

“Did the phone ring?” I ask her.

“No, it didn’t,” she says frowning. She turns and looks at Jason. “Jason, the phone didn’t ring.” He twists his lips.

“Ana…” he begins skeptically.

“Jason,” she cuts him off, “my fiancé is an incredible kisser, but his kisses don’t affect my hearing. The phone didn’t ring.” He looks at her for a moment and I see the look of realization pass over his face that he can mask from anyone except someone who has worked so closely with him for so many years. It was only an instant, but for me, it was eternity. What the hell is he thinking right now?

“Okay, Ana. I’ll check it out,” he says.

“Oh, you’ll believe her but not me?” I say, making light of the situation. He immediately gets my intention and answers, “Yep.”

Something’s wrong… or could be wrong.

“Jason,” I call before he gets to the kitchen, “my mother will be here shortly.” I know he catches my meaning when he nods once and goes on to the kitchen. I look down at Butterfly and she’s eying me carefully.

“Of course, you will tell me whatever he finds, right?” she says to me. I frown. How could she possibly know? “Seriously, Christian? I’ve shared your bed, you home, your space, your life for the last eight months and you don’t think I can read you yet? I can read strangers, Christian. You’re my second skin and you don’t think I can read you?” Well, I’ll never be able to keep a secret from her. I shake my head.

“Of course, I’ll tell you if he finds anything. From the looks of it, I’ll never be able to keep anything from you anyway,” I respond matter-of-factly.

“Damn straight!” she says before going to the door to greet Tamara.

“Hey, Sweets!” Tamara breezes into the room with three shopping bags of God only knows what. She and Butterfly have become fast friends as they hug in that way that friends do—not the fake hug that I had become accustomed to seeing from people like the Pedophile. “Hey, Hot Stuff!” she greets me as well, then notices the wedding paraphernalia spread out in front of me. “Um, no offense, Kiddies, but Tammy doesn’t sit on the floor. I’m just not dressed for it.”

I think I like her, too.

“We can put everything on the dining table for you,” I say as I start to move things from the floor to the table. “What do you need first, Butterfly?”

“The blue board,” she says, which is the corkboard that she has created for all things blue.

“Butterfly?” Tammy says. “He calls you Butterfly?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Butterfly nods.

“All the time?” she presses. Butterfly looks at me then back at Tamara.

“Mmm-hmm,” she confirms with another nod.

“How did I not know this? This is important stuff… really!” she says, shaking her head and walking to the dining table. Butterfly looks at me and shrugs. “What do you call him?”

“Christian,” Butterfly says. I laugh to myself because it’s true unless…

“Is that all you call him?” Tamara presses.

“No, sometimes I call him Mr. Grey…” oh shit, “or just Grey…” Woman… “or Baby.” Tamara rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, unfortunately, can’t do anything with those, but Butterfly has possibilities. We just need to keep it classy and stay away from the cheesy.” Tamara says making notes in her little planner. I bring the rest of the items from the floor to the table and we sit. “So, here is the first mock-up of the invitations and the final mock-up for your save-the-date cards…”

We are approving the invitations and save-the-date cards—which turned out perfectly I might add—when my mother arrives.

“Christian, Ana.” She kisses us both and I can tell immediately that there is something on her mind. “Ana, Darling, there is no way that I’m going to get this list down to 100 people,” Mom says forlorn.

“One-hundred pe—” Tamara begins and Butterfly puts her hand up to silence Tamara.

“Grace, we’ve had this conversation. Your initial list has to be 100 people or less,” Ana tells her.

“My initial list. This means that there is a likelihood that I will have more people than 100 invited, correct?” Mom reasons.

“There’s a possibility, yes,” Butterfly says.

“Then why can’t I use my ‘more people’ now?” Mom says.

“Because your ‘more people’ haven’t shown up yet. During the planning of this wedding, you are going to think of some people who you want to be invited. When you do, you have to run them by me and Christian and we will decide if they will be invited, which is why you want to pick your first 100 very carefully. Do you have your list?” She rolls her eyes and reaches into her purse, handing several pages to Butterfly. Mom never rolls her eyes. Who is this woman? Butterfly looks at the list and frowns.

“How many people are on this list?” she asks incredulously.

“I really don’t know,” Mom says. Yes, you do, Mom. I know you do.

“I can tell you.” Tamara takes the list from Butterflies hands. “Arial, 12 point font, 1-inch margins; that means about 50 lines.” She flips through the pages. “Most of these are Mr. and Mrs. or Guest plus one. With 50 lines and you have…” She counts the pages. “…eight and a half pages, you have anywhere from 400 to 1000 people on this list.” Tamara casually hands the list back to Butterfly who gapes at my mother.

“Mom, do you even know that many people?” I ask her. “I maybe expected 200 or 250, but 1000? You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve made a lot of friends, Christian. They would feel slighted if they didn’t get an invitation to my son’s wedding.”

“Let them feel slighted! We’re having a wedding, not a rock concert!” I tell her. “Are any of the mothers and the daughters on that list?” Mom looks at me like I’ve grown two heads.

“The who and the what?” she asks. That’s when I realize that is mine and Elliot’s name for them and Mom knows nothing about it.

“Those women from your event-planning group. The mothers that keep trying to get me to date their undate-able daughters who wouldn’t give me the time of day in high school but think I’m the ‘bees knees’ now. You know who I’m talking about, Mother… the ones that were making evil faces at Ana the day that you met her?” Her mouth forms the realizing “O.”

“Well, of course the committee is on the wedding list, Christian. I work closely with those women on a regular basis.”

“Scratch them… all of them. I don’t want any of those women at our wedding throwing evil eyes at my wife! I mean it, Mom, none of them. Not one of them. Are we clear?” My mother looks a little hurt, but I don’t care right now. I need her to understand that I am clear about this one—no crazy cackling hens or their jealous chicks at my damn wedding!

“Fine,” she says, disheartened. “I’ll take them off.”

“How many is that?” Butterfly asks.

“About 30 or 40,” Mom answers.

“Thirty or 40,” Butterfly laments, looking at the list. “Tammy’s right. There has to be about seven or 800 people on this list. Nearly everyone is a plus one.” She hands the list back to Mom. “You are really going to have to do some cutting. As a matter of fact, if I were you, I would just start over.” Mom’s face falls.

“Christian?” She turns to me looking for support on the issue. My eyes go immediately to Butterfly. Her whole body sinks—she actually looks like she might be shorter. She’s looking at my mother who is looking at me. I know what just happened, but I don’t think my mother does.

“Mom, if Ana says you need to cut that list, then you need to cut that list. We already talked about this and you already knew,” I say with finality. “You may have an extra day since we are still working on our list, but it has to be back tomorrow because the calligrapher is getting the save-the-date cards off by… when is it, Butterfly?” She shakes her head a bit to drop the trance of staring at my mother.

“Um…” She has completely lost her thought.

“Tuesday,” Tamara interjects. “It may be Wednesday now, but you never know. You can’t rush calligraphy, you know,” she says with a light-hearted smile. She can tell that the room has all of a sudden gotten very frosty.

“Well, fine,” Mom pouts while folding the list and putting it back into her purse. “I’ll start over and have my handful of guests by tomorrow.” Butterfly’s gaze immediately falls to the table. She is pretending to be interested in something on her blue board, but I know better. I’m going to need to speak to my mother…

A/N: For those who may not know, the move that Ana performs on Christian on the sofa in his office is called “edging.” It’s normally used in orgasm control where a Domme would bring a sub to the brink of orgasm and then let it wane only to do it again and again until the sub explodes (or in the case of orgasm denial, just goes insane). There are still debates about the male g-spot. So as not to get into one here, I will concede for now that there are two. There is one g-spot that is the prostate (most of us know of that one) and the other is the spot on the underside of the penis right at the base of the hood. It’s usually a pinched piece of skin in most men but it can be smooth in others. If he is very hard and extremely well lubricated, a practiced and constant finger or tongue stroke up and down on that spot will bring him so close to orgasm for so long, he will lose his mind but not come. Any variation to that move–or if you do it for too long with men who are not accustomed to it–and he will come… powerfully! This is why Ana was combining the move with the occasional stimulation of the head and the sensitive “buds” around the rim of the “hood” or “head.” 

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Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn x

Mending Dr. Steele: Chapter 27—Bad News

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 fanfic in MY interpretation as a fan. I hope you—as a fellow fan—enjoy it, too.

Chapter 27—Bad News


“Please, Anastasia. Take a seat.” Her inner office is the exact opposite of her lobby. Tan mostly with various browns, creams, and taupes spread about. Her accolades are blown up almost to life-sized color and plastered over her walls—Seattle Times, The Stranger, Beaconhill News, Kent Report and even the Island Guardian have all sung her praises, to name a few. If she wasn’t such a skank-ass whore tramp out to seduce my fiancé, we could plan a fantastic wedding together. I know that I should have just left when I realized what was going on, but I just can’t admit defeat that way. I know that she’s going to show her cards, and actually, I want her to.

“I hear good things about you, Cassie,” I say, taking a seat in front of her desk.

“Oh?” she says, raising her eyebrows.

“Of course,” I bait her further, knowing what she is hoping. “My soon-to-be… sister-in-law follows all of your work. I think her words were ‘fantastic’ and ‘outstanding.'” She’s good, but she’s not that good, I think to myself as I watch her balloon visibly deflate before me. No, Bitch, Christian doesn’t talk about you.

“Well, it’s good to know that my reputation precedes me,” she says in a voice that makes it clear that she is not speaking of her professional reputation. Nice try, Cassie.

“I have to ask your forgiveness in advance as I don’t know much about you at all,” I lie sweetly, and watch yet another deflation in her eyes. “My friend Valerie set this up for me and when Mia—my sister-in-law—heard your name, she insisted that I take the meeting, so here I am. I’d like to show you some of my ideas,” I say, pretending that there is still hope that she will be assisting with the wedding. “I’m afraid that I haven’t gotten very far as we have only just gotten engaged this weekend.” I lay out my portfolio, knowing that it’s a complete mess, but not really caring at this point.

“My, you have been a busy little thing, haven’t you?” she says, her tone condescending. I narrow my eyes at her while she continues to look at my portfolio. “Royal blue and silver… for a June wedding?” she almost sneers as she looks at me.

“Yes,” I try not to snap at her. Noting my tone, she looks up at me.

“I’m sorry,” she lies, “it’s just that silver as a wedding color is a bit… gauche!” She waves her hand nonchalantly as she insults our color scheme.

“Hmm… well, I’m sure that’s not the word that you meant to use, but I’ll be sure to let Christian know that you feel that way. Silver was his choice,” I respond. Her head jerks up.

“His choice?” she gasps. “Well, no, that’s not what I meant. What I meant to say was…”

“I know what you meant to say, Cassie.” It’s time to end this charade. “I can tell by the fact that you walked right past me in the lobby, that you’re trying to find out how much I know about you, and that you’re wearing barely enough material in a way that should get you a ticket for indecent exposure–it’s quite clear exactly what you mean. I know that my fiancé is attractive and that women want him, but this is ridiculous!” I hiss. She has the nerve to look shocked.

“What are you talking about?” she gasps, feigning injury.

“Oh, please. Save it, okay? Are you honestly trying to tell me that you show up for work every Thursday looking like you’re ready to be bent over the desk and fucked?” I stand up and walk over to one of her many newspaper articles. “That looks like a wedding planner,” I say, pointing to a picture where she is wearing a dark-colored shift dress. “And that!” I point to another picture where she is wearing a block color career dress. “And that!” I continue, pointing to yet another one where she dons a two piece pants suit. “This is a dog in heat!” I gesture to her obviously inappropriate office attire. “This is your office, and if you want to pretend like this is what you wear everyday, then so be it. I really couldn’t care less, but don’t insult my intelligence or your own by trying to play innocent. Hell, you’re not even wearing any underwear!” Her shocked expression leaves her face and she folds her hands.

“Christian proposed to you,” she jeers. “He certainly has changed his standards.”

“You bet your sweet ass he changed his standards. He raised them,” I retort, taking a seat again. She is unshaken.

“I’d love to see how he handles you,” she continues. “You don’t seem like his type at all.” Oh, she’s moving into dangerous territory.

“Really?” I say, feigning interest. “What would you know about his type?” I add. Did you not notice how similar we are–physically, that is. She smiles as if she has one up on me.

“I’m certain of his type. After all, women dream about him… about allowing him to take over their bodies. Do you think you’re the first one with hopes of snagging Christian Grey?” Hopes? Is she on crack? I am beyond hopes—I’m planning our wedding!

“No, I don’t think I’m the first one. I’m not that naïve.” Catch my double meaning, bitch. “However, the number of delusional women that I manage to encounter never ceases to amaze me.” That shakes her foundation a bit. I can do this all afternoon, Cassie.

“I think you should be more concerned about your own delusions, Anastasia,” she purrs again. “It takes a special type of woman to capture and hold a man like Christian Grey. Any little tart can entice a man, even make him think he’s in love, but Christian Grey is one of a kind. He’s brilliant, charming, handsome, dominant…” she pauses after that last word. You just fucked up, Ms. Hamilton. I cross my legs and clasp my hands together on my lap.

“Hmm, a special type of woman… and apparently, you weren’t that woman, were you?” I reply coldly and her expression falls. “Be careful, Cassie. You are dangerously close to violating your NDA,” I say with a smirk. The color momentarily leaves her face, but she recovers quickly.

“So you know,” she says confidently.

“Yes, Ms. Hamilton, I know. You see, I was trying to give you the professional benefit of the doubt even though I knew who you were, but you have shown me that you are unable to be a professional. You just let your pussy cheat you out of quite possibly the biggest commission you would ever see in your life. As you have wasted quite enough of my valuable time, I think it’s time I wish you good day.” I stand to leave.

“What’s wrong? Afraid of a little competition, Ms. Steele?” Oh, she must be kidding. I turn around smiling the biggest smile my face can manage.

“Oh, Ms. Hamilton, there is no competition, here,” I say, sweetly. “You had him, and he dismissed you. I have him now. What’s more, I’ve got the ring,” I say, waving a finely manicured hand at her decked with my engagement ring on my ring finger and my Cartier Love ring on my middle finger. She snarls at me.

“I can have him again anytime,” she hisses. I fold my arms.

“So why don’t you have him now? You clearly want him, it’s written all over your…” I look her up and down, “…tits and ass. However…” I open my hands and gesture around the office. “He’s not here, is he?”

“That’s only because he doesn’t know that you’re here,” she says sitting back in her seat. I put my hands on my hips.

“Think about what you just said,” I say waiting for her reaction. She raises an eyebrow at me like she has no clue what I’m talking about. I walk over to her and lean on her desk, my hands spread on either side of me. “This is Christian Grey we’re talking about,” I purr. “I don’t walk, breathe, or come without his knowledge–but you already know that.” She squirms in her seat, no doubt recalling her days as his sub. Her skin is flushed.

“Careful, Ms. Steele. You’re about to violate your NDA.” Oh my God, she doesn’t know! I laugh hysterically.

“See, that’s your problem. You can’t seem to tell the difference between you and me! You were a pet while I’m a fiancée! I never signed an NDA. I never had to.” Now, I have shaken that cocky demeanor that she has held throughout our meeting. She thought I was a sub turned wifey, but I never was a contracted sub.

“You had to audition… apply for your ‘relationship.'” I continue calmly. “He just walked in and saw me and all of you little toys became a thing of the past. Eight months later, I’m planning my trek down the aisle to become Mrs. Grey and you have the audacity to tell me that you can still have him? You think so, huh? Is that what you keep telling yourself—holding out for the day that he’ll come back looking for you only to be confronted with his fiancée? How does it feel to literally be caught with your panties down and your pride in your hands? You say that you can have him? Well, then, go ahead and try. Be my guest, because if he wants you, then I certainly don’t want him. So by all means, go for it. Don’t let a little thing like me and my 3-carat-engagement ring stop you. Take your best shot any day of the week.”

“You seem very sure of yourself,” she says, smugly. I laugh.

“No, I’m very sure of Christian. He has given me no reason whatsoever to doubt his loyalty to me, so you and your antics and threats don’t bother me one bit. I can’t blame you, though, Cassie. He’s a wonderful man. He’s the total package in every way—rich, handsome, considerate, a phenomenal lover… You probably tear your hair out at night wonder what you did to make him send you away. Many of you tried to land him—to be that one—and you failed, so I completely understand why you feel the way that you feel right now. I don’t have time or desire to run around the city of Seattle trying to find out how many of you are pining away for Christian. I’m not in competition with any of you because read my lips—I’ve got the man.

“You were referred to me through a mutual friend and I’ve seen your work. It’s really beautiful. The only reason why I hadn’t contacted you before now was because the two people whose weddings I was planning before couldn’t afford you… but I can. Mine and Christian’s relationship is built on total honesty. So the moment that he heard your name, he immediately told me who you were and refused to come to this meeting. Had you not been a wedding planner at a time when I needed a wedding planned and we didn’t share a mutual friend, I still wouldn’t know who you were today.

“Whatever competition you see is all in your head. My man never mentioned you and I had no idea who you were to him before Monday. Now I see that you never had any intention on helping me plan my wedding—foolish little optimist that I am. You wanted to size me up and hopefully get close to Christian again. Well, I hope I met your expectations. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to go because I need to find another wedding planner and spend an exorbitant amount of money on what is sure to be the event of the decade.” I turn to leave, but turn back with one last warning for her. “Don’t forget your NDA again! Have a good day, Ms. Hamilton.” I walk towards the door.

“You’re not all that, Honey. Any of us could…” Any of who, Bitch—the Fallen Subs?

“Your NDA, Ms. Hamilton!” I bark, cutting her off and apparently startling her to silence. I walk to the door again. “Have a good day,” I hiss without turning around. This game is over. Convince yourself that you can have him if you want, but if I see you within 50 feet of my man, they will be scraping your ass off the concrete. So much for giving people the benefit of the doubt. I walk the few steps to Val’s car with Chuck behind me.

“Wow, that was fast. How did it go?” she asks.

“It was a disaster. She still wants Christian and made it clear to me that she could get him back any time that she wanted him. I pulled a ‘Pretty Woman’ and left.” I shrug.

“Reminded her how much money she was throwing away?” Val asks.

“Exactly. She was still talking shit as I was leaving the office. It’s a good thing that I didn’t cancel that appointment with Tamara McDaniels.” Val laughs.

“Cassie is going to hate that. T-Mac is her biggest competitor,” Val points out.

“Well, she should have thought of that before she put her Manolo Blahniks in her mouth!” I say as we head back to Escala.


T-Mac, as Val calls her, agreed to meet with me this evening back at the penthouse. I’ll admit that I hadn’t seen any of her work before, but I was completely blown away with her portfolio and her ideas! I don’t know how she could possibly be considered second in comparison to Desperate Cassie. Her work is exquisite. She had ideas that she built off of my ideas before I even had the chance to say anything. We had hammered down extensive plans in the small amount of time that we met that evening. I knew that my unconventional request may cause a problem.

“I’m not going to have a maid of honor,” I tell her. Her eyes widen.

“You what?” she nearly gasps. “What do you mean you’re not going to have a maid of honor?”

“I’m going to have a man of honor. My best friend, Al—I won’t have it any other way. We have to make it work.” She looks at me like I have lost my mind.

“Is Christian going to have a best girl?” she asks perplexed and I can’t help but laugh.

“I doubt it,” I chuckle. She scratches behind her ear and types something into her laptop.

“A best man and a man of honor… We’ll find a way to make it work. They wouldn’t happen to be gay would they?”

“Al is. I think Christian’s brother is going to be the best man, and he is very straight.” She shakes her head again.

“We’ll make it work.”

We talk well into the evening with her shooting down ideas of mine that simply will not work and me shooting down ideas of hers that I simply will not have. She suggested changing our invitations but I had become attached to them since Christian actually picked them out. She happened to agree with Hamilton that darker blues were more winter colors and silver was mostly reserved for parties and other celebrations and not for weddings. That pill was easier to swallow the way that she explained it. However, I diverted to her motto of “We’ll make it work,” and stood my ground on the colors.

We still haven’t worked out the guest list, but we know that one way or another there will be at least 100 people at this wedding and if Mia and Grace have their way, it will be upwards of 500 people there. Not a chance in hell! However, I do have to allow for the fact that there could very well be 200-300 people in attendance. Since I don’t want to leave my wedding to the chance of the weather, we have to look at larger venues for the wedding and reception. Christian still has not confirmed if he was open to a church wedding, so we leave options open for the Rainer Club, Seattle First Baptist Church, Seattle Unity Church, and the Marion Oliver McCaw Hall where the Adopt-A-Family affair was held. That site—though ideal in my eyes—presents a larger problem with the two-story glass walls and no protection from outside prying eyes. Tammy insists that we can pull of our wedding there if we want, but I’m not so sure. We will have to see how that works out.

I put in a call to Grace to have a preliminary guest list to me by Saturday and she sounds like she’s choking on the other line.

“Saturday?” she exclaims. “There’s no way I’ll have a guest list ready by Saturday.”

“Well, you will have to, Grace, because we have four months to get this party started and I have to get save-the-date cards sent out by next week. My wedding planner has hired someone to address them for me, but it will take all week to get them addressed and mailed out. Keep your initial list down to 100 people because you know that you will have some add-ons by the time this is all over.”

“Oh, Ana, seriously… 100 people? You’ll have that many people at the rehearsal dinner!” Is she kidding? She’s kidding, right?

“No, Grace, we won’t. We will only have the wedding party and necessary family friends at the rehearsal dinner. This will not be a three-ring circus. We are going to be taking offers from local and national publications as to which one will get the exclusive rights to the story. That’s how the world will see our wedding. We will not be inviting half of Seattle and parts of the United States to our wedding.”

“But, Ana…” she whines and I cut her off.

“I have to put my foot down, here, Grace. It’s not going to happen. If I don’t keep control over this event, it’s going to turn into a ridiculous Hollywood production and I won’t have it—not for our wedding day. Everything that happens will have to go through me and Christian directly, and right now, I need your list by Saturday.” She sighs.

“I’ll be open to add more people later?” she asks.

“Within reason and only with prior approval, and if Christian looks at your list and says that someone can’t come, then they can’t come—so choose wisely,” I warn.

“Well, there goes his cousin Marshall,” she says.

Just as I was hanging up from Grace and wrapping things up with Tammy, Christian and Taylor walk in the front door. He looks totally worn. Tammy and I meet him at the door just as I am showing her out.

“Tammy, this is my fiancé Christian Grey. Christian, this is Tamara McDaniels, our wedding planner.” He raises an eyebrow at me and proffers his hand to Tammy.

“Ms. McDaniels, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says with a small smile. She accepts his hand.

“Mr. Grey, the pleasure is mine. I’m very happy to be planning yours and Ana’s wedding. I promise you that it will be a classy event. Thank you for the opportunity,” she says pleasantly. “It’s late, and I’ll be going now. Remember, Ana, guest list by Saturday and we will have to narrow down venues in two weeks. It’s going to be hell trying to get something with only four months to work with, but we’ll make it happen.”

“I have no doubt,” I say as we walk to the door. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I say as I hug her before closing the door behind her. I turn around to face a totally worn-out Christian. He actually looks like he’s aged a bit.

“I take it that Cassie Hamilton was a ‘no?'” he says, his voice laced with exhaustion.

“Cassie Hamilton was a hell ‘no!'” I reply. “The bitch was damn near naked when I showed up, walked right past me because she was looking for you, and almost violated her NDA.” Christian was loosening his tie but freezes in the spot.

“Excuse me?” he says, turning around to face me.

“I didn’t stutter, Christian. That bitch made it a point to tell me that I could not handle you because it takes a special type of woman to be with you. Her words were, ‘Many women have dreamed of being controlled by Christian Grey,’ and she made a point of telling me that you were charming, handsome, and dominant—right before she told me that she could have you anytime she wanted.”

“In a pig’s eye!” he says. “So, Ms. Hamilton has loose lips, huh? I’ll take care of that!”

“You’ll do no such thing!” I snap. “That woman wants nothing more than for you to come running to her… no matter what the circumstances.”

“Oh, I’m not going to come in contact with or have any communication with her. Second to Naomi, she was the shortest contract I’ve ever had and it seems that she is still exercising the bad judgment that got her terminated,” he responded. I know that I’m going to regret this.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask. He examines me, then completely removes his tie.

“You don’t need those details in your head, Butterfly, but I will tell you this—1 ½ months. That’s how long she lasted. She started contacting my old subs, pumping them for information or egging them on about being my current. She never overtly did anything to break her NDA, but she skated so close that I terminated our contract. That was a little over two years ago and she’s still doing the same shit.”

“The tangled web unravels,” I say under my breath as I start the gather the swatches of material and different pieces of wedding paraphernalia from the sofas and floor.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Why do you look like you’ve been through hell today?” I ask, diverting the conversation.

“That would be because I’ve been through hell today, now what did you say?” I straighten up and look at him.

“I said ‘nothing.’ What I said before that was an internal observation that I didn’t mean to vocalize and I’m not going to expound on it. Now do you want to talk about your day or no?” His eyes become piercing and he squares his shoulders a bit.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I asked you not to go and see that woman and this is exactly why!” he snaps.

“You didn’t tell me that this woman was going to gun for me, Christian, and you had an inkling that this would happen based on the fact that your relationship ended so sourly!” I accuse. Oh, that was the wrong thing to say.

“Oh, now this is my fault? I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of the relationships I’ve had with my ex-subs, Anastasia. Besides, I told you not to go. That should have been enough!” he barks.

“Oh, yes, of course! Heaven forbid that anyone defy the word of the great Christian Grey!” I hiss. His frown deepens and he looks horrified.

“Where the fuck did that come from? You had a meeting with one of my ex-subs and you didn’t expect that to go badly?” he retorts, his voice high and incredulous. We are getting absolutely nowhere, and this discussion is getting more and more heated with no hope of resolution.

“You know what? It’s not a good idea for us to argue about who’s wrong or right in this situation right now,” I say, turning around and continuing to gather my wedding information.

“You’re right, it’s not!” he nearly growls before marching in that pissed-off CEO way to his study and slamming the door behind him.

Just fucking great.

I won’t even bother trying to analyze what just happened. He did tell me not to go, but he should have warned me about this certifiable bitch. I’m not an unreasonable woman. I could have gone my whole life not having the experience that I had with Cassie Hamilton this afternoon. If he had given me some hint of what I was walking into, I definitely would have ‘walked’ in the other direction and gone straight to Tammy!

I thought you said you weren’t going to analyze what happened…
Shut the fuck up—I’m a shrink.

I continue putting my belongings into the bags and binders that I have for each task. The woman had her melons on display for Christ’s sake, the way that slinky material was cupping her breast and the way that it slid across her naked ass—she was screaming “Take me, take me now!”

You should have left the moment you saw that. You knew it was only going to be downhill from there.
That may be true, but you know as well as I do that when she sashayed her ass back in that room, she threw down the gauntlet.
You didn’t necessarily have to pick it up though.
Seriously? I mean, seriously?
Um… yeah… well, there is that, but still…

I finish gathering my things and take them up to the old subs’ room where I have the rest of the things spread out. Suddenly, I hate being in this room. She was here. They were all here. I have done so well not to ponder on the thought of the women that Christian slept with before me… in this bed, in the playroom, in the showers around the apartment. My skin starts to crawl. I gather my things together and quickly move them down the hall to the spare bedroom. I have accumulated so much stuff that it takes two more trips—not including my laptop. I feel like I’m suffocating the last time I go into that room.

I gather my laptop and rush out of the room, slamming the door behind me like the monsters are going to follow me out if I don’t. I lean against the door and take a few deep breaths to chase away the psychological beasts and walk down the hall to the guest room.

This room is much more comfortable than the sub room. The king sized bed is made with a multicolored duvet and the walls are a soft tan. The room is very understated with just one nightstand and a dresser with a lamp. This works for me. No bad memories in here to chase me out… I hope.

I spread my stuff out again and try to organize the mess that I’ve made hurriedly moving my things from the subs’ room. I think I’m going to need some corkboards or bulletin boards and dry erase boards. I start to separate things as much as I can. I skip dinner and work well into the night.

Wedding dress ideas…
Which shade of silver…?
Too many choices for wedding favors…
I decided against that venue altogether so it’s completely out of the running.
Those bridesmaids dresses are horrendous—what was I thinking?
Water…definitely near some water…
Hmm, balloons… no, definitely no balloons. This is a wedding, not a birthday party…
Ooo, now that dress is stunning! The girls will love to wear those…
Ascots!? Fuck, no!
Old, new, borrowed… shit, what the hell can I borrow?


I knew it! I knew it was a bad idea for her to meet Cassie. I should have forbidden her to go! You better fucking believe that shit won’t happen again. The next time there is any possibility of her coming within 100 feet of one of my ex-subs, I’m nipping that shit in the bud… quickly! Fucking Cassie Hamilton, I’ll send a message to that bitch.

“Yes, Sir?” he answers on the first ring.

“Welch, find out who holds the reins on Cassie Hamilton—her business, her living situation, her finances. See if she has another Dom. You know where to look,” I say, throwing my suit jacket and tie in a nearby chair.

“Yes, Sir.” I end the call take a bottle of water from the bar. I’ve reached for the bourbon a little too much these days and it’s time to slow that down. I sit down and open my email. I don’t even want to think about this shit anymore.

To: Christian Grey

Subject: Final Arrangements

Date: February 28, 2013 19:29

From: Elva McIntyre

It was a hell of a day, but we’ve got everyone in place now. We are only waiting for one secondary background check to come back and two of the original candidates got the ix-nay from Alex. One was a budding young actress looking for some camera time and the other just didn’t seem to sit well with him. You might want to ask him why. I would also like to know how an actress found out about the segment when we have kept things quiet all of this time. Anyway, we now have 25 lined up with 5 alternatives—not including you and Anastasia—and shooting will begin next week. They will come to the studio anonymously and will only be allowed inside during their specific time slots. We will start on Tuesday and hope to have it all wrapped up by the end of the week. Here is the list again, although I know that you have already seen it. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Elva McIntyre, CCO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I peruse the list and see the names of the two people that got the ax at the end of the list. Nothing looks strange to me, but I’ll ask Welch about it later. I’ve already got him working on the Cassie Hamilton situation.

Today was a real monster of a day. Although I was tucked away in another room, I personally took part in selecting each of the participants in the Faces of Abuse PSA. I had no idea it would come together so quickly, but once we put the word out to the right people, it was pretty much like shooting crabs in a barrel. Key people actually came to us asking to be part of the project, and we only had to fill in the blanks… and the diversity! Good God, abuse truly doesn’t discriminate.

The story that is most heavily weighing on me is that of Débora Arias. Débora’s mother moved here before Débora was born, married an American businessman and started a family. Débora fell in love with an American as well, Richard Parker. Although they didn’t marry, they did have two children together and were living in Tacoma. According to Débora’s mother Luma, one day Richard just snapped. He and Débora were going out one night and he felt what she was wearing was too revealing. No one knows what happened after that, but Débora is now in the hospital—beaten beyond recognition and on life support—and Richard is nowhere to be found.

Luma is taking care of Débora and Richard’s two small children now and is unable to make ends meet. She can’t find any childcare that is affordable and has missed several days of work while her daughter has been hospitalized. Her job is threatening to fire her now and Débora’s condition is deteriorating, meaning that Luma may now have two small children that she must raise…

…all because some asshole didn’t like the length of his girlfriend’s skirt.

I can’t save them all, but I can save one.

I couldn’t do anything to save Luma’s job. Unfortunately, she is a personal assistant for another personal assistant for a downtown executive. If you’re not there, you can’t work… and we need our personal assistants. However, at this time, she needs to be able to sort her family. Her husband passed away five years ago from prostate cancer. Besides any family that she may have in Brazil, Débora and her two girls are the only family she has left in the States. I’ve arranged for Débora to get the best care at the hospital. After all, these may be her last days. I was late coming home because I actually went to the hospital after everyone left GEH to see for myself just how bad off she really was and, to my dismay, the prognosis was just as poor and Luma said.

Beaten to death at 24… that could have been my Butterfly at 15.

I sat with Luma at the hospital, who was surprised to see me there. I told her Butterfly’s story—not all of the details, but the story nonetheless. It’s a matter of public record anyway. I told her how Butterfly was in a coma for three weeks with no one there to encourage her or talk to her. I comforted her and let her know how good it was that she was there to hold Débora’s hand and watch over her during this time. I thought about Butterfly the entire time.

Débora’s two girls were asleep on the sofa in the hospital room—head to head. They looked like two little angels, no doubt somewhat oblivious to what is about to happen. I asked Luma if they had eaten, and she indicated that she had given the girls some snacks and granola bars so that they would not be hungry, but never indicated that she had eaten anything. I had Jason bring dinner to the hospital so that they could all have a proper meal. Tomorrow, when the girls are in school, I will bring Luma back to GEH to discuss with her how I can help her during this time. She should not be worrying about money or a job while her daughter is dying.

No doubt, by the time I had gotten home, not only was I not in the mood for what hit me, but I wasn’t even prepared! Ana was in a foul mood and blaming me for the horrible meeting that she had with Cassie. I told her not to go—how is this my fault? She’s buried in wedding shit and talking to a woman I later learned is our wedding planner Tamara, and I’m thinking everything is okay. I assumed that the meeting with Cassie didn’t go well, but apparently it was a fucking disaster. According to Ana, Cassie was served up and ready for action, and when the afternoon didn’t go as she planned, she let loose on Ana—which is somehow my fault. Never again… never a-fucking-gain…

I have to admit that I was very productive for it to have been so late in the evening and I had already put in a full day’s work as well as emotional overtime at the hospital. I read hundreds of emails, nearly clearing out my inbox—nearly being the operative word. My inbox is never cleared. I approved R&D on four new projects and testing on eight. I reviewed the information on at least three—maybe four—new mergers, approved one for the go-ahead, two for further investigation, and shot one down. I’ve made several lists of things that I need Andrea to sort out for me in terms of scheduling, some background checks that I want done, intel on some other things that may have slipped through the cracks, and some other miscellaneous items.

My mind wanders aimlessly to the Pedophile. We still haven’t heard anything from her lately. She has the impending trial though there’s no official date yet and the heat is definitely on now that the latest pictures were found in her library. All those children… so many young boys she has gotten her claws into and no one knows exactly how many or who they all are. She’s most likely in hiding somewhere, but she can’t hide forever. She is such an evil bitch and she will surely rot in jail for a long time before she rots in hell.

My neck and back are starting to get stiff and I realize that I am absolutely famished. I stand up and stretch, and looking at my watch, I realize that it’s 3am. What time was it when I got home? Seven? Eight? I haven’t heard a peep all evening. I don’t know if it was because Ana never moved, or because I was concentrating on what I was doing. I wander out to the kitchen. The apartment is dark except for the lights over the breakfast bar. I open the refrigerator and remove the turkey, a tomato, lettuce, mayonnaise, sliced cheddar cheese. I take the whole wheat bread from the bread box and begin to assemble my sandwich.

I used to do this a lot before Butterfly came along. During my nighttime wanderings, I would get hungry and make a sandwich, so Gail knew to always keep fresh bread and sliced turkey around. It’s been a while since I made one of my midnight runs, so I’m surprised we still have this stuff in here. Then again, Butterfly eats light most of the time. She can eat a lot, but she still eats light food mostly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her eat fried chicken or pizza. If I ever see her with a fast food burger, I think I would pass out! I finish making my sandwich and put the ingredients away. After pouring myself a glass of milk, I dig into the sandwich. Good God, I’m starving. Will this be enough? It will have to do. It’s too late—or early—for a full-course meal.

The sandwich is gone in moments, and I steal a few cookies from the counter and take my milk with me to the bedroom. Butterfly is not here… again. This time, I don’t panic, although I am a little angry. Why the fuck is she sleeping in the subs’ room? Is she trying to make a fucking point? My first inclination is to leave her ass there and let her sulk, but my anger gets the best of me. I find myself storming up the stairs to the subs’ room. When I throw the door open, and there is nothing but eerie silence. The bed is perfectly made and there is no sign of the papers, material, books, and even Butterfly’s laptop that littered the bed earlier in the week.

Now, I’m starting to panic.

Did she take this worse than I thought? I don’t want fucking Cassie Hamilton! Shit, when I had her, I dumped her—what the fuck is this all about?

I slam the door to the subs’ room and trek down the hall to her office. It’s no surprise that she’s not there either. I am becoming more and more pissed as the seconds pass. This is really childish behavior and I am sick of it. That’s when I notice that there is light shining from underneath the door of the guest room.

There she is!

I throw the door open, warm and ready for a full-on showdown. I am cooled immediately by the sight before me. There on the guest room bed is Butterfly—her array of wedding confusion sprawled all over the multicolored duvet; her laptop on the pillow, the screen black from timing out and going into sleep mode. Her hand is lying on a binder, still clutching a beautiful custom-made metal and wooden butterfly pen that she got for herself not too long ago. She is still wearing her glasses and is curled up in the only space on the duvet that is not covered with pieces of her current task… fast asleep.

I nearly melt in a mound of mush right there on the floor standing in the doorway. I love her dearly, but she can be so damn trying sometimes. I sigh heavily and roll my eyes I enter the room. Originally intent on moving her to our bed, I think better of it again. She may still be angry with me as I must admit that I am not wholly pleased with her right now, I don’t want to break her rest just to possibly spawn another argument. I take the blanket that I know is in the closet in this room and throw it over her, kiss her on her forehead, and quietly leave the room without disturbing her.

I shower quickly and climb into our bed. It’s unusually cold. I grab another blanket and climb back into bed only to discover that it’s still not any warmer. Maybe I should have let the shower wait until morning. That’s when I realize that the chill is not coming from the temperature. It’s coming from the fact that there’s no one lying next to me. The one that keeps my bed and heart warm at night is upstairs asleep in the guest room. I still don’t know if she did that on purpose. I only know that I wish she hadn’t.

I find sleep just as I see the sun peeking over the horizon.


I hear her creeping quietly around the room. I imagine that she is getting dressed and gathering her things for the day, still angry no doubt. I lay still and listen to her movements, my eyes closed so as not to alert her that I am awake. It only takes her a few moments to gather her things and then there is a moment of silence. What is she doing now?

Seconds later, I feel her—her breath on my face followed by a quick and gentle kiss on my lips. I moan inwardly and a tiny bit audibly, but just enough for her to still think that I am asleep. I want to grab her and drag her into the bed with me and make love to her until we forget about last night, but if that were what she wanted, she would be in bed with me now. She was careful not to wake me, so I will leave it be for now.

I open my eyes once I am sure that she has left the room. I will not fight with Butterfly about my ex-subs. Not that I’m bragging, but there were too many of them. I’m going to make an example of Cassie and then I’m going to pass the word of what is going to happen to them if they cross my wife again… I mean, soon-to-be wife.

I honestly did enough work last night to be able to take the day off, but I told Luma Arias to meet me in my office at 10am. So I get dressed in a pair of slacks and a white turtleneck. I don’t even feel like being too formal today. I don’t know what it will hold, so I might as well be comfortable. Luma is already in the lobby when I arrive at the office.

“Ms. Arias, I’m glad that you could make it,” I greet her with a handshake as I enter the lobby.

“Mr. Grey, thank you. I’m sorry I’m so early, but I had to drop the girls off at school and it’s far away from my house, so I just got on the bus here instead of going back home,” she explains.

“No apologies necessary. Have you had breakfast already?” I ask, knowing that she hasn’t.

“Well…” She is hesitant to answer.

“Jason, could you please send breakfast up to my office?” I instruct him and he nods. I lead her to the express elevator.

“So, Ms. Arias, tell me—candidly, please—what would make your life easier during this difficult time?” I ask when we get to my office. She frowns and starts to cry immediately.

“I’m afraid, Mr. Grey,” she says. My turn to frown, now.

“Afraid of what?” I ask her.

“Richard. He called last night. He says he wants his girls.” The children. This sick fuck has basically killed their mother and now he wants the children.

“They’re at school. Can’t he take the from school?” I ask concerned.

“No. The staff has been informed that the police are looking for him. They won’t let the children go with him. There is a restraining order to keep him away from the girls.”

“What are you afraid of?” I question.

“The girls don’t know the whole story. They don’t know that their daddy hurt their mommy. They don’t know that mommy’s dying. They don’t know that they could be in danger if Daddy gets to them. They might go with him willingly when my back is turned. He might come back and hurt me trying to get to them. He might even hurt them…” I am hearing the Damon Johnson story all over again. What is it with these weak-minded men that have to brutalize their women as a show of strength? That’s not strength—that’s a complete and utter lack of control.

Didn’t you do the same thing, Grey—beat little brown-haired girls to show your strength? No… that was different. Yes, it helped me regain control, but each of those women were willing participants. It was a give-and-take. I never touched anyone in anger or against their will, and I certainly never landed anyone in the fucking hospital. So, no, it most certainly was not the same thing.

“How did he contact you?” I ask her.

“I don’t know. The number was unknown. With so many people needing to know what’s going on with the girls—social services, the school, the police—I just answered the phone, and it was him. I called the police immediately, but because he used something that they called a ‘burner,’ there was nothing that they could do to track him. I was terrified leaving the house this morning.” I run my hands through my hair. This fucker has this poor woman afraid to breathe. She jumps suddenly, startled by something. She fishes into her purse and pulls out her cell.

“Hello?” All of the color leaves her face. Is it him? Is it that fucker. “I… I… I’m on my way.” A single tear falls as she ends the call.

“I… have to go to the hospital, Mr. Grey,” she says in a faint voice. “It’s Débora… it won’t be long now.” She cannot raise her head. I call Jason.

“Bring the car around. We need to get to the hospital right now,” I say before ending the call. “It’s Christian, and I’m going with you,” I say to Luma. She raises her head and examines me with tear-filled, painful, light-brown eyes.

“Luma,” she says, barely above a whisper.


I stand silently in the corner by the door while Luma holds her daughter’s hand. She speaks to her in Portuguese, so I cannot make out what she is saying. At a certain point, she pulls out a rosary and begins to pray. We have been here for most of the day and the children will be out of school in a little over an hour. She doesn’t want to leave her daughter’s side, but it will be inevitable in a moment. She has to pick up the children.

Seconds after I mentally make that realization, Débora’s machines start beeping. Luma goes pale. “Débora?” she squeaks. “Débora? Bebê ?” Her pain is palpable. The doctors and nurses burst into the room and I go over to Luma.

“Luma?” I say, reaching for her arms. She won’t let go. “Luma, we have to let the doctors work…”

“It’s no use,” she says, her voice heavy with grief as she releases Débora’s hand. “She’s already gone. Her spirit has left. There is nothing but her body,” she cries as she turns to me and buries her face in my chest, weeping. I freeze.

She’s touching me. She’s touching my chest.

I can’t freak out. I won’t. I’ll be okay. I breathe in and out deeply and think of Butterfly. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.

Once the machines begin to beep steadily, I try to lead Luma out of the room knowing that the defibrillators and different things that are about to happen to try to bring Débora back will not be a pleasant sight. As soon as the machine is rolled in, Luma reacts.

“Oh, God,” she says as they start to shock her daughter before I am able to get her out of the room. I don’t know if they have forgotten that we are standing there, but they continuously charge and shock, hoping to get a response. I don’t know how many times they tried to bring her back and just as they are preparing to send the jolts of electricity through her again, I hear Luma’s voice.

“No!” she declares in a voice louder than I have ever heard and everyone stops. “Let her rest,” she says, her voice more contained. “She’s gone now. She is no longer with us. Let her rest.” The nurses and interns all look at the doctor, who nods and turns off the wailing machine announcing that Débora has indeed left us.

“We’ll give you a few moments, Mrs. Arias,” the doctor says as he clears the room. I hold Luma close to me and allow her to grieve—no panic going through me, no freaking out, just comforting a mother who just watch her daughter die, who now has the responsibility of raising her two young grandchildren, who is afraid for her life and the lives of her grandchildren because of the man who took the life of her only child.

Without looking at me, she sits in the seat next to her daughter again. She takes her hand and strokes it gently, speaking to her in Portuguese like she did in the moments before Débora died. Her rosary still in her hand, she stands and places Débora’s hand on her stomach. She leans over and kisses her daughter’s warm body one last time before her crossing her body and turning to me.

“I must get the children, now. If it is not too much trouble…”

“No trouble at all, Luma,” I say as I gently tuck her hand into my arm and lead her from the room.

We arrive at the children’s school just as the bell rings for dismissal. When Luma gets out to get the children, I apprise Jason of the situation and the need to have protection on Luma and the children. Before I finish my last sentence, Jason has leapt from the SUV and is charging in the direction that Luma just walked. I’m out of the car and behind him in moments, but not enough time before he has some guy pinned against a chain link fence.

“What the hell are you doing? Get your hands me, you crazy asshole!” the guy protests. It only takes me a moment to analyze the situation. Luma’s face is completely drained of color and the children are confused and yelling for “Daddy.” This is Richard.

“You sick fuck! I know exactly who you are. I should kill you right here!” Jason growls at the vermin. I quickly go over to Luma.

“Who the hell are you? What is this about?” Richard’s eyes reflect a combination of anger and fear. Yeah, not so strong when you’re dealing with a man, now, are you?

“Luma, get the girls to the car, quickly. Lock the doors,” I say to her with urgency. I watch as she hurriedly put the girls in the SUV, then turn around to face Jason.

“Jason, there are many children around, including his. I need you to settle down just a bit,” I speak in a calming voice, noticing that all activity around us has stopped as all eyes are on the spectacle that is unfolding in the front of the school. Jason is like an angry bear and I know he will tear this guy apart on command. It takes a few moments before he releases Richards coat but still won’t let him pass.

“Don’t you fucking move or I’ll break your neck with my bare hands and I don’t care who’s watching!” Jason warns loud enough for only the three of us to hear.

“That won’t be necessary, Jason. He won’t go anywhere, will you, Richard?” Richard’s head snaps over to me and we glare at one another. Noting my stance and demeanor without even looking at me, Jason hisses, “Oh, no, Sir. You won’t dirty your hands with him. This one is all mine!” His voice that concerns me.

Please Mr. Wife Beater, don’t piss him off any further.

“What is this about? Where are you taking my children?”

“Far, far away from you,” I say calmly. “There’s a protection order against you for those kids and their grandmother. You won’t be able to get near them without being arrested.”

“You can’t keep me from my girls,” he says, almost pleading. “I would never hurt my girls. I love my girls!” I raise my eyebrow.

“Oh, and did you love their mother, too?” I ask, still controlling my voice. His pupils constrict and he starts to sweat.

“This was all just a big misunderstanding. Just let me talk to Deb and I’m sure we could straighten this whole thing out,” he says, his voice shaken. I nod.

“I sure you could. There’s a lot of people who would like to talk to Deb and straighten this whole thing out,” I say, deliberately leaving out the key piece of information.

“Look, I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you gentlemen, but I just want to see Deb and my girls, that’s all.”

“I’ll just bet you would like to see Deb, wouldn’t you?” Jason hisses again. I watch as the schoolyard slowly clears, parents hurriedly taking their children to waiting cars or scurrying down the street away from the spectacle. Richard apparently sees his saving grace slipping away. I am hoping beyond hope that someone had the wherewithal to call the police, but I’m not 100% certain. If no one shows up in the next five minutes or so, this could get really ugly. I have a strange sense of calm about me with this encounter, nothing like the time we encountered Marlow’s father in the deli. I can only assume it’s because Jason is absolutely full of rage and I have to keep him calm.

“Okay, I know I’ll be looking at doing some time for losing my temper with Deb. I’m okay with that. Just please let me see my girls,” he pleads.

“Losing your temper? You call this losing your temper? Have you seen what you did to that girl?” I ask him horrified. Calm is gone! I couldn’t even distinguish a face on that poor creature that was laying in that hospital bed. Her death was cruel and unnecessary and he calls that losing his fucking temper? Maybe I should just let Jason lose his temper all over you! Instead, I have a better idea.

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t know yet.” I get right in his ear. “Débora Arias died about an hour ago from the injuries she sustained at your hands,” I tell him calmly. He gasps and his shoulders fall, the grief of the man who has lost the woman that he loves. Yeah, you probably should have thought about that before you beat her to death, Sport! “Yeah, thanks to you, a mother now has to bury her only daughter, and your children will now be raised without their mother and their father, because you’re not going up for battery, Asshole. You’re going up for murder!”

He wants to run. I see it in his eyes. He gives Jason a push that really doesn’t budge him and tries to escape. Jason grabs Richard by the neck with his left hand—not even his dominant hand—and slams him against the fence again.

“Are you trying to tempt the hands of fate?” Jason says, eerily calm and staring into Richard’s eyes while he is gasping for breath and turning red. “Didn’t I look you in your beady little eye and tell you that I will kill you?” Richard starts to squirm and gag.

“Jason? Calm.”

“I am calm, Sir,” he says coolly.

“Release, Jason. Please.” Don’t poke the lion, I think to myself. Jason releases Richard’s neck and he is gasping for air and holding his neck.

Now, the schoolyard is empty. There’s no one out here but Jason, Richard, and me. A decision has to be made. We can’t just stand here and I can’t, in good conscience, just let this man walk away. Like a beacon in the night, Seattle’s finest shows drives up behind the SUV. Thank God!

Ironically, it’s the same cop that came to the deli. I laugh out loud, literally laugh out loud. I put my hands up.

“Well, at least you know who I am,” I say, my laughter a little nervous. The officer stops and proceeds towards us again.

“Mr. Grey… what’s going on here?” he says.

“Pretty much the same thing, but on a larger scale. I didn’t put my hands on him this time, though,” I respond. “This is Richard Parker. He beat his girlfriend and the mother of his children to death. She died in the hospital about an hour ago. Her mother and I are working together on a project and she explained the situation to me. While we were meeting in my office, Mrs. Arias got the call that her daughter was breathing her last breaths. We went to the hospital and sat with Débora until she passed away. Mrs. Arias still hasn’t had time to grieve her daughter’s death because she immediately had to leave the hospital to collect the girls. I don’t know if anything transpired between Mrs. Arias and Mr. Parker because I had no sooner explained to him what happened when Mr. Parker encountered Mrs. Arias. My bodyguard was out of the car before I could stop him.”

I finally take a moment to look over at Richard and he is weeping bitterly. I don’t even know what to say to this guy. I don’t doubt that he didn’t intend to kill her, but the bottom line is he killed her!

“Oh my God,” he moans as he slides to the ground. “Oh my God, she’s dead… she’s dead. I did this… oh my God…” None of us really know what to do right now. “I’m sorry,” he weeps into his hands. “I’m so, so sorry…”

To our surprise, Luma is out of the car and gently pushing Jason to the side. She looks at the man weeping in a bundle at her feet. She stoops down and touches his shoulder. He looks up at her, and shame and anguish fill his eyes as he sees the pity in hers. He drops his head and weeps from his soul, his cries almost make me want to cry for him. Even Jason is forced to step back and reconsider at this spectacle.

“What happened, Richie?” Luma asks.

“I don’t know, MaMah!” he wails. “I don’t know! I’m a monster! I’m a horrible, horrible monster and I don’t deserve to live!” Not many people will disagree with you right now, but I am surprised at Luma’s compassion for the man who took her daughter’s life.

“Why, Richie? Why did you do this?”

“I snapped. I don’t even remember what happened. I saw the dress and I snapped. MaMah! She’s gone. I want to die! She’s gone! My girls. Oh, my girls! Take care of my girls, MaMah!”

“I will take care of the girls, and I forgive you, Richie.” His eyes shoot up as her, the whites so red that I can’t see his true eye color at all.

“How!?” he asks, horrified. “How? I killed this beautiful creature… with my own hands! I’m an evil, horrible creature! I don’t deserve to live! How can you forgive me, MaMah? How!?” he is screaming.

“Because it was not Richie who killed my anjinho. I know this now, but you must pay for the deed, Richie. She is gone, and you must pay for the deed. Do you understand?” she says comforting.

“Yes, MaMah,” he says, heartbroken. “I understand. I’m sorry, MaMah. I’m so sorry. Tell my girls that I am sorry and that I love them. Please take care of my girls, MaMah.” His sadness is palpable. Either he’s a very good actor, or he really didn’t mean to do this. Either way, it’s off to the hoosegow with him.

“You will tell them yourselves—when you are ready,” she says softly, comforting. “They will not forget you, Richie. You are their father.” He shakes his head.

“I’m a monster,” he mumbles. “I love you, MaMah.”

“I know, Richie. Go with these men now,” she instructs him and he nods. He rises from the ground and never raises his head. I walks over to the police and offers no resistance.

“Officer, can you wait for just one moment?” I say as they flank Richie. The officer nods and I turn to Luma. “Go to the car. Don’t let the children see this.” She nods and goes to the SUV. When she has the girls in her arms and shielding them from the events, I nod to the police and they cuff the docile Mr. Parker who still hasn’t raised his head.

“Mr. Grey… please… my girls…” he says, beseeching.

“They’ll be fine,” I assure him.

“I’m not a bad person, Mr. Grey. I did a horrible thing and I don’t know how I did it, but I’m not a bad person… at least… I wasn’t.” I still don’t know what to say to him so I remain silent as they put in him the police car. I walk over to the SUV and sit in front with Jason. We leave before the police pull off.


“What do you mean gone? I thought you said that Mommy was sleeping,” young Mariah asks. She is the oldest of the two children at six and four-year-old Celida just listens, not knowing what to make of the situation.

“I mean that… she is gone to the preparation and she will be waiting for us when it is our time,” Luma tries to explain.

“You said Grampa was gone to the preparation,” Mariah presses.

“Yes, he is, and now he and Débora are together.”

“Well then, want to go to the preparation!” Marian exclaims, tears in her eyes. This is heartbreaking.

“Me, too!” Celida says, taking a cue from her big sister. Luma sighs heavily.

“I know, my darlings, but it is not our time. When our work here on earth is done, then we will all go to the preparation if we live a good clean life, and pray, and do not forget mass and communion, and then we will all go to Heaven together—but we must wait until it is our time. It is a hard thing to wait when someone that we love goes to the preparation before we do, but this is one of the things that make you strong.” She pulls the girls into her arms. “You will miss her, and you will want to cry. I will miss her too, so I need you to help me be strong, and I will help you. It’s okay to cry and to be sad, but don’t be sad for too long because your MaMah would not like that.”

The tears begin to fall from Mariah’s eyes. “She’s not coming back, is she?” she says sadly. Luma purses her lips and shakes her head.

“No, Mariah, she’s not coming back.” Mariah gets a look of determined hatred in her eyes.

“I hate the preparation! It took my MaMah away!” she cries before breaking down in sobs, Celida following behind her.

“No, no, little ones. Do not say that. The preparation did not take your MaMah away. Your MaMah was hurt and very sick. She was suffering and unhappy. It was time for her pain and suffering to end, so she began her new journey since her journey here on Earth had ended. The Holy Virgin will make sure that she is safe and happy until we get to meet her again.” Mariah looks up at her grandmother with unassuming eyes.

“She will?” she asks. Luma nods.

“Yes, she will. It is our job now to live lives that your MaMah will be proud of. We may not be able to hear her, but she can see us and we want her to be pleased.” Mariah nods sadly.

“I will miss you, MaMah,” she says sweetly.

“Me, too,” Celida chimes in. I notice that she follows behind her sister’s lead. They will need each other more than ever during this time.

“That’s good girls.” She kisses them on their forehead. “We will do this together, yes?”

“Yes, Nana,” Mariah says with a smile.

“Yes, Nana,” Celida follows her lead.

“Very good. Now go and get your coats. We need to be going now.” They nod to her as Mariah takes her little sister’s hand and leads her to the lobby just outside my office where Andrea is patiently waiting. It’s nearly 6pm and we have all had a perfectly horrendous day.

“Luma, I am arranging for a car to be delivered to your home tomorrow. It’s nothing fancy, I didn’t think you would want anything really flashy, but it’s very reliable. It will be in your name and already registered and it will help you get the children to school.” She nods. I think she is beyond arguing with me, so I press on. “Did Débora have any advance funeral arrangements?”

“I have no idea. Only Richie would know that,” she says sadly. She’s still calling him Richie.

“Choose a funeral home and I will cover the cost of the arrangements.” She nods again. “Do you really forgive him, Luma?” I ask and she looks up at me.

“Yes, I do, Christian,” she says without pausing.

“How? Why?” I am so puzzled. I could never forgive something like this and how she could is beyond my comprehension. She smiles at me.

“God says that I must. I will not forget the pain that he has caused me and the girls. It will take a long time for that to heal, but I forgive the action. He will be judged. It is not my place,” she says to me. I still don’t agree with it, but in essence, I understand.

“You’re a remarkable woman, Luma,” I say to her. “So, I suppose you won’t be wanting to do the ‘Faces of Abuse’ segment now.”

“Oh, absolutely,” she says, surprising me. “It’s more important now than ever, don’t you see? I forgive his abusive action, but that action still took my daughter away. Even though I never saw any signs of it, I don’t know if this was the first time that this has happened before. I only have one requirement.”

“Anything,” I tell her.

“I planned on using a beautiful picture of my anjinho, but I do not want to use it now. I want to use this one.” She scrolls through her phone, chooses a picture and hands it to me. It is an absolutely horrific picture of Débora lying in the hospital bed on life support.”

“Are you sure, Luma? I mean, it sure drives the point home but… are you certain?”

“Absolutely positive, Christian. I want to save other mothers from the anguish that I am feeling now. There may not have been anything that could have been done to save my daughter, but someone who is being beaten constantly can be saved before it gets to that.” I look at the picture again then back at her. I send the picture to McIntyre with instructions and copy the picture to my phone.

“Then it will be so,” I say as she walks to the door and out to the lobby. “Andrea, are you still looking for another assistant?” I ask.

“Yes Sir,” she says.

“Anything promising?”

“I have a couple of prospects, but nothing concrete yet.” I look over at Luma.

“Would you mind giving Mrs. Arias a try?” I look over at Luma who is gaped-mouth. “That is, if you want to,” I say to Luma.

“Yes! Yes Sir, absolutely!” she beams like all of her problems have been solved. Andrea shrugs.

“Sure. No problem. When would you like to start?” she says.

“Well,” I interrupt, “would part-time be okay for the first week or so as a trial basis? Mrs. Arias unfortunately has some immediate family issues to attend to. I still want her to get full salary, though. These things can’t be avoided.”

“Whatever you say, Sir,” Andrea nods. “Would you like to come in on Monday, say around 10:00? We can get you started, show you around, make it a short day—four hours?” Luma nods.

“Certainly! Yes! Thank you! Thank you both so much.” That’s one less thing to worry about.

“Jason, call up to Welch. Let him know that Mrs. Arias will be needing an employee’s access badge on Monday, and have Lawrence see her and her granddaughters safely home,” I tell him.

“Yes, Sir,” he says dialing his phone.

After Luma leaves I dismiss Andrea for the evening and go back to my office. I sit in my office chair and let the weight of the day sink down into the leather. I put my elbow on the desk and cover my eyes with my hands, rubbing them in an attempt to wipe away the events of the day. I hear my door open and immediately address Jason without lifting my head.

“I watched someone die today,” I say, still rubbing my eyes and imagining the image of the poor girl lying in bed, her life slowly slipping away.

“You did?” That’s not Jason. My head shoots up immediately as I do recognize the voice.

It’s her.


Pretty Woman—Google or YouTube the scene where Julia Roberts asks the shop girl if she works on commission and then says “Big mistake… big… huge… I have to go shopping now.”


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Feel free to review—it is greatly appreciated.

Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn x