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.
“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…
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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