Okay, so the dog gave me back SOME of my homework. Some of it is still locked in Linux-land, but I was able to get my grubby little hands on some of my chapters (Hallelujer!) So, by all means, let’s move on. Again, thank you to my fantastic readers. Though you guys were concerned about the story and getting the chapter, you were more concerned about my computer and my seriously broken heart. As a consolation, I will tell you guys that I actually have three computers, but to let you know how old they are, they are running Windows Vista and Windows XP. The “master” that ate my homework is the one that’s running Linux. Needless to say, once I get some very crucial financial situations in line, I will be buying a new computer.
To avoid the inevitable confusion that is about to take place over the next couple of chapters, in my story, Christian’s birthday is April 16, and Ana’s birthday is October 18. Anyone who has read “Journey of Miles” already knows that, and I think I may have mentioned it somewhere earlier when we talked about the strip-o-gram fiasco, but I thought I’d mention it again here for the sake of the story.
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.
Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALYSON! Muah! Muah! Muah! Muah! Many kisses to you and have a WONDERFUL DAY!
Chapter 46—All About Us
Ace smiles at me and gestures behind him. Christian shows up behind him, his face pale and tear-stained. I reach out for his hand and he grasps mine quickly.
“You stayed,” I say, my voice cracking. He nods, but doesn’t say anything. He’s still choked up. “You didn’t have to.”
“I did have to,” he says finally. “We went through it together. I couldn’t let you go through it alone.” I kiss his hands strongly.
“Do you see why I keep him around, Ace?” I say.
“Yeah, he’s a good enough guy—a little intense, but you two seem to compliment each other well enough,” Ace comments.
“Yes, we do,” I say, gently stroking his cheek while looking lovingly into his eyes. “Thank you for not getting shot,” I squeak. He turns his lips to my hands and says nothing.
“Let’s get comfortable, you two,” Ace says, breaking our moment. Christian helps me out of the recliner and we sit in the orangy-brown leather sofa. Christian is holding me protectively in his arms… cocooning me would be a better word.
“You thought Christian was shot,” Ace says.
“And you wanted to die.” I take a deep breath.
“Yes,” I say, letting the breath out.
“Do you still feel that way?” I look over at Christian and back at Ace.
I hold my head down.
“Yes,” I say just above a whisper. Christian’s arm tightens around me only slightly.
“Hmm, well, when you find a cure for that, you let me know,” Ace says, shifting in his seat. I smile at him. “There was a lot going on in those moments that you lost. Did I pull you out too soon?” I shake my head.
“I remember singing and immediately knowing that Jason was shot. I just didn’t remember a lot of what happened before it.”
“You thought Christian had been shot, so you attacked Elena. You wished she had killed you and fully intended to kill her until you heard Christian’s voice. So you lost him, then you got him back. Then you realized that he was okay, but discovered that Jason was hurt. While you’re trying to help Jason, you seek to comfort Christian and he rejects you…”
“I didn’t reject her,” Christian protests immediately.
“But that’s how she saw it. She didn’t get a chance to address it because everything happened so fast, but that’s how she saw it.” Christian shakes his head feverishly. “Do you see that that’s why she ran to Montana? Along with all the other issues that she’s dealing with, you called off the wedding. Now, you may have only postponed it, but to her, you called it off. That’s how she interpreted it and that’s what everyone saw—you called off the wedding. I know you’ve heard the sayings ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions’ and the ever-famous ‘that’s not what I meant.’ However, there is one fundamental truth that will make life a whole lot easier the moment that we understand it’s validity. As possession is nine-tenths of the law, perception is nine-tenths of the truth.” Christian is struck silent and I really don’t want to beat this horse again.
“We’ve had this talk, Ace. He understands that. My leaving was as much my fault as it was his. Please don’t beat him up about this anymore,” I tell him.
“I’m not beating him up, Ana. He needs to know what the effects of his words and actions are. He may not have meant to reject you, but he did. When he jerked away from you, you saw it as a rejection. That rejection combined with everything that happened that day is what caused you to lose those moments. I’m not blaming him for that, I’m just making him—and you—aware of his role in all of this.
“You’re very fragile and you don’t really see it, because you and everyone around you considers you strong. That’s why no one can accept the changes that you’re going through and the running and the shrinking, because their ‘strong Ana’ wouldn’t do any of that. You tell me that you were stunned when you saw the video of your beating and you didn’t speak for four days. They wanted to commit you. Yet no one saw how fragile you were. They saw you as sick—not well—but no one saw you as fragile. You run away when things become too much for you to bear; you shrink when life or events get scary; and when things get really bad, you beat someone’s ass, faint, or black out. Did I miss anything?”
Fuck! I hate him.
“So what do I do?” I sound like a child again.
“You’re the doctor. You tell me.” I glare at him.
“What am I paying you for if you’re going to give me this rhetorical shit? I’m fragile, remember? Don’t fuck with me!”
“Oh, now, you’re fragile,” he says more as a statement than a question. “You already know what to do because you’re already doing it. You’re facing your problems, getting to the root of your behaviors, and removing those things that are causing you stress and grief. In the process of that, you have to recognize when something is adding to the toxicity that is the issues in your life—even when it is unintended.” He looks over at Christian who is glaring at him.
“Glare at me all you want, Christian. It has never intimidated me with anyone before and it’s not going to intimidate me now. I’m telling my patient the truth about what she needs to know for her treatment. If you don’t want to hear the truth, feel free to leave. However, if you want to help her, then you will have to accept that—intentionally or unintentionally—your behavior can and does affect her treatment.” Christian’s glare softens infinitesimally, but he still doesn’t break his stare. Ace rolls his eyes and turns back to me.
“All of those things—thinking Christian was shot, attacking Elena, seeing Jason wounded, the rejection, and having to think fast—contributed to your black-out, Ana. No one is ‘at fault’ here except Elena,” he uses the finger-quotes with at fault, “but they all contributed to the issue. Stressors present themselves in different ways in your life. You can faint again. You can black out again. You can even be stunned again. You’re doing well to face the things at the base of why you are feeling that way. How do you feel now knowing what happened with Elena?”
“I actually feel pretty good,” I tell him. “The nightmare of it all was not knowing what happened to Christian—going through the whole story and then getting to the gunshot and then nothing. It’s terrifying in a dream, which feels so much like reality.”
“Hence, my explanation about perception. In dream state, that is your perception of reality. You do not know that it’s not reality until you awake.” I nod.
“I understand, now,” I say. “I don’t think my angry, glaring fiancé quite gets it yet, but he will.” Christian turns his glare to me and I point to him. “That’s what I mean.” His face softens immediately and he tightens his arm around me. “I’d like to leave now. I’m taking my fiancé away for the weekend and I want to get started with our trip.” Christian’s eyes grow large.
“It… h… you’re what?” he finally gets out.
“I’m taking you away for the weekend. Jason helped get the GEH jet ready. Gail is packing for us as we speak and as soon as we leave here, we are going home and getting some traveling clothes and then we are going away for the weekend… just the two of us… and Chuck and Ben, but they’ll be in different rooms, of course.”
He raises his eyebrow at me. He hates surprises unless he’s the one executing them.
“Save the glare, Grey. Get your ass in that Audi. We’re going out of town.”
Christian does everything that he can to find out where we are going, but I manage to keep him distracted with questions about Pedo-Bitch and She-Thing, Sr. as well as wedding plans and guest lists. Before we know it, we are beginning our descent in the middle of wine country—Napa Valley.
“Hmm,” he says at the announcement that we are landing at Napa County Airport. “What made you decide on wine country?”
“Because I love wine and we desperately need a getaway… together,” I respond. “You like?”
“Very much,” he says with a mischievous smile, and I know this is going to be an interesting weekend.
A black Escalade awaits us when we disembark the GEH jet to take us on the 10-minute ride that ends at the Meritage Resort and Spa. Right in the middle of Napa Valley, this four-star Tuscan-themed resort boasts a beautiful view of the surrounding vineyards, which cover Napa’s only underground spa, tasting room, and banquet facility. It’s twilight in wine country and Christian is visibly relaxed with his legs crossed in the back seat of the SUV. I am cradled in his arms as Ben drives us through the stone gateway of the luxury resort. It’s truly beautiful with the sprawling acres of grapes as its backdrop. Christian exits the vehicle first before taking my hand and helping out of the Escalade.
I’m taken aback by the simplicity of the inside of the resort—understated opulence, if there is such a thing. Ben retrieves the keys to our rooms and get us checked in while Chuck takes our bags, giving the key to the Escalade to the valet.
Our room is, again, a statement of simplicity meets opulence. The suite is decorated in all fall colors—dark browns, rust, tan, and some mauve. There are two sitting areas in the living room and the main area. One area has a rust-colored leather sectional and a mauve fabric chair with a fall-themed throw pillow. A chaise of the same material as the throw pillow completes the area with all three pieces surrounding a round wooden coffee table. The second seating area has all leather furniture—three large, leather comfy chairs—surrounding another smaller cocktail table. A flat screen television sits on a dark wood entertainment stand in front of the large comfy chairs.
The kitchen is open to the main room and has state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances with dark wood cabinets and burnt orange bar chairs around the counter. There is a large patio that has a view of the courtyard and vineyards.
To say that the bed is huge would be a massive understatement. I think this would be considered a California King, but I’m not sure. All I know is that it’s comfy, it’s big, and it’s ours for the weekend. The en suite has a large marble bath and a separate shower. The fireplace opens to both the en suite on one side and the bedroom on the other. There is another flat-screen television in the bedroom as well as another large patio balcony overlooking the vineyards. There is a bottle of sparkling wine awaiting us with a small assortment of chocolates and chocolate-covered strawberries, compliments of the resort.
Once Chuck and Ben have left the room, Christian’s hands immediately clasp my hips and pull me against him.
“I want you,” he growls against my lips, hungrily partaking in a wet, devouring kiss that leaves me dizzy and causes me to moan helplessly in his mouth. I gasp when he releases my mouth and travels down my jaw to my neck and up to my ear.
“Christian,” I breathe, steadying myself against his arms and trying not to slip into a passion-filled haze. “Baby, we haven’t had dinner, yet.” He continues his sensual, devouring kisses on my neck. I actually feel like I might swoon. He brings his lips back to my ear. I’m breathing heavily and my knees feel weak. Noticing my unsteadiness, he moves his hands to my back—flat, and holding me against him.
“I will have you,” he breathes, pressing his body against mine and I feel the fire, from his soul to mine. I whimper. He runs his tongue along my jawline, then gently nips at my chin. Oh, God, I want him so badly. “I know we need to eat, so I will wait.” He teases me with another passionate kiss—not searing or rough and not too gentle, just earnest enough to keep the fires burning inside me. I have shuddering breaths when our lips part, my eyes still closed.
“Breathe, Baby,” he says in that deep, soft, sensual voice of his. “Breathe, or I can’t let you go.” He brushes his lips against my cheek. “And if I can’t let you go, we won’t leave this room.” I hold my head back in trying to get some deep breaths in. It’s working until…
“Oh, God, that’s not helping!” he growls before he closes his lips over my exposed neck and I almost cry out. He has pressed me so close against him that he’s actually lifting me off the floor. If we don’t stop soon, we won’t be able to stop—but his kisses… oh, God, his kisses!
With one arm wrapped tightly around me, he brings his other hand around to my breast and teases my nipple through the material of my shirt and bra. I shiver almost violently at the stimulation.
“Mmmmmmm,” I moan, a tortured crying sound. He groans in my neck and rips my shirt open with one hand, buttons flying everywhere. I’m so turned on, my breath has completely evaded me. He can do whatever—and I mean whatever—he wants to me right now.
Noting my surrender, he manages to get my tattered shirt off my body without releasing his hold on me.
“So beautiful,” he says as his lips travel down my chest and his tongue teases the inside of my mounds right at my cleavage. I release a short whimpering sound, like a wounded animal. I don’t think I’ve been this turned on since the very first time we sealed the deal. I am on fire and we’re only getting started!
With his free hand, he releases my bra. Pulling the strap off one arm, he frees one breast from its prison and quickly takes it in his hand. My head still hanging back, I can feel my hair brushing against my spine. Even that turns me on. I quickly remove my bra from my other arm and just hold on to his. I am helpless in his hands. He has a firm hold on me, but he is still able to reach any part of my body he wants.
He is planting open-mouthed kisses all over my skin, tasting me everywhere—my shoulders, my arms, my neck, my breast. I nearly expire when he sucks a nipple into his mouth and begins to roll it around with his tongue.
“Aaahhaa… ha! Ha!” I’m panting wildly, my body responding everywhere to this one ministration. His free hand undoes my button and zipper and works its way down the back of my skirt and into my panties, cupping my behind. More of his skin on my skin… I think I’m going to pass out.
“Baby, you look so good, like you don’t know what to do with yourself.” That’s because I don’t! I don’t even bother to answer him. I’m a rag doll in his hands. He works my skirt and my underwear down, again with only one hand. His skill level frightens me sometimes. Still in my black Louboutin stilettos, I wrap one leg around his hip for leverage. He gently traces his fingers up my thigh while walking me backwards to the bed. Planting those same hungry kisses on my mouth, he crawls up the bed with me semi-wrapped around him.
He lays me on the bed and I already miss the feel of his strong arm holding me up. I sink into the luxurious mattress and duvet and bring my hands up around my head, panting like a thirsty puppy. Christian quickly removes his suit jacket and tie, hovering over me and looking hungrily down at me. He unbuttons two buttons of his shirt and devours my lips again, this time moaning eagerly into my mouth. I match his moan with a moan of my own, still unsure of what to do with my hands as my brain can’t seem to catch up with my libido—which by the way has taken off at a stallion’s pace and is controlling every cell of my body.
His lips close over my neglected nipple and I writhe underneath him, the fire in my body getting bigger and stronger. Oh, God, help me. Je vais exploser!
“Christian!” I moan, my mouth finally finding a word. He groans at his name coming from my mouth. He releases my nipple to remove his T-shirt. When did his top shirt come off? Oh, well…
His hands caress my body purposefully, not too rough and not too gently, as his lips travel down my body. I know where he’s heading. The hunger is evident in his movements. However, I am still not ready for when his soft lips and talented tongue reach my core. I cry out in helpless abandon as he tastes me, relishing the flavor of my arousal and moaning his own pleasure into my center. I thrust my hands into his soft hair and hold on for the ride as he hooks his arms around my hips and thighs and buries his lips between mine. He is working towards a quick orgasm for me as his tongue and lips envelope my clit, massage me with expert rhythm and precision. I want to grind into him, but the feeling is so exquisite that I can only stay still and enjoy it.
The explosion is astronomical. I try to wiggle away from him, but he groans into me, suckling my clitoris gently until I ride out the entire orgasm. I almost want to cry. My body is trembling tremendously and my thighs wrap around his ears. My hands are still caressing his head as his tongue gently massages my clit and lips until he is sure that my orgasm has finished. I’m still panting uncontrollably when he raises his head from my core. In a moment, he is out of his bottoms and naked on top of me. My hands are lying uselessly on the bed as he crawls up my body and cups my face with his hands. He kisses me passionately, yet again, and my flavor on his lips stirs my libido once more.
“My whole body yearns for you. I must have you now. I can’t wait any longer,” he confesses.
“Yes, please,” I breathe. “Take me, Christian. I’m yours… I’m all yours.”
He slides off the side of me and rolls me over on my side. In our spooning position, he lifts my leg over his hip and wraps his arm underneath me. He is so hard when he slides into me and my walls wrap around him immediately.
“Oh, God, yes,” he whispers as he moves in and out of me in forced controlled rhythm. I lay my head back on his shoulder, succumbing to the pleasure that he is bringing to every cell of my body. I close my eyes and concentrate on him loving me, stroking me in and out, in and out, his sex making me dizzy with sensual gratification. His arm tightens around me as his hand cups my opposite breast and his free hand roams my body.
“I’ve always wanted to have you like this,” he breathes, “to see how you felt. My God, you feel so good. I won’t last long this way.” My hand instinctively reaches behind me for his hair. “Kiss me,” he pleads. I turn my face to him and he takes my lips in a possessive, enduring kiss.
Oh. My. God.
I feel his erection getting stiffer and it’s spurning me on. I open my legs further for him to get in deeper. He groans in his chest and stops his stroke.
“No… no…” he breathes, “not yet.” He withdraws from me and, before I have to opportunity to lament his absence, he nestles himself between my thighs again—hard and ready to take me in the missionary position.
“Wrap your legs around me. I need to feel you all over me.” I immediately obey, only now realizing that he never removed my stilettos. It’s so fucking hot!
He enters me slowly, all the way to the hilt. I almost crawl through the headboard. He is big and long and hard and he is deep, deep inside of me. He withdraws and thrusts again, slow and deep. My eyes are open, examining him, trying to adjust to his size inside of me. I don’t know why he feels bigger this way, but he must know that something is different because he moves very slowly—withdrawing and thrusting deep into me, looking into my eyes and examining me as much I am him. My mouth opens with each thrust, taking in a deep breath trying to acclimate to him. Finally, after a few more deep, slow and steady thrusts, my body adjusts to him again, welcoming him. My breathing has again become erotic as he fills me.
“Are you okay?” His voice is labored, thick and very heavy with his arousal.
“Oui. Aime-moi. S’il te plaît,” I whisper. Groaning, he puts his arms on both sides of my head and rests some of his weight on me. Stroking sensually, in and out, in and out, he loves me slow and deep, kissing me with that deep, wet sex kiss that makes orgasms twice as intense.
“Touch me, Baby,” he says against my lips. “Touch me everywhere you can.” My hands wander under his arms and up his taut, sexy, muscular back. I caress him gently, touching him wherever my arms can reach.
“Ah, yes… just like that… just like that, Baby.” His movements become more intense, deeper. He’s grinding into me, burying himself with each thrust and grunting as he pushes himself into me. The sex kisses become longer, deeper, more passionate.
Je vais mourir. Putain, je vais mourir!
I’m moaning into his mouth, into his sex kisses, begging for mercy as my body and soul rises with each thrust. I can feel his intensity, his emotion, and his thirst.
“You’re everything to me,” he whispers into my mouth, “everything.”
With those words, my entire being detonates into a blinding and deafening orgasm that causes me to grab him and hold on for fear that we will both jolt off into the heavens never to be seen or heard from again. He presses into me, deeper and further, still flavoring me with his sex kisses until his orgasm slowly starts to rise.
“Baby… Baby… Baby… Baby…” He’s gasping with every breath, every thrust until he wraps one arm around me and pulls me into him, his other hand thrust into my hair and his mouth buried in my neck and he yells through his release and comes violently inside of me. Tears immediately burst from my eyes at the intensity of the emotion between us and I can’t help the cleansing cry that follows as I lay cradled in my man’s arms. He’s breathing heavily as I support his weight on top of me. Once he catches his breath, he kisses my eyelids and tear-stained cheeks over and over again.
“I love you… I love you… I love you…” he repeats between every kiss, his words both healing my pain and feeding my tears. It’s been one really fucked-up month with running to Montana, all the regression therapy, fighting with my friends, more crazy blonds. What we just shared was so magical, so liberating, the relief that I feel is almost too much for me to contain. All of my anguish is flowing out with the tears and being kissed away by the man that I love and adore. I feel nothing but peace, love, and gratitude—all because I planned a quick getaway to wine country.
I was almost afraid that we were about to have a repeat of the crying spell that Butterfly had when she returned from Montana, but thankfully we didn’t. After several tender kisses and several more declarations of my love, she calmed right down. I don’t know what came over me. I can usually control myself, especially when we hadn’t eaten yet, but not tonight. Tonight, there was a force between us that just kept pulling me to her. It was stronger than I was and no matter how I tried to fight it, I wasn’t going to win. Well, I can’t really use that term, now, can I?
Her hair is splayed over the bed and her arms are stretched delicately above her head with her hands meeting on the bed. She has the slightest arch in her back, one leg bent at the knee while the other is only slightly bent. She looks like one of those fine art nude photos that you see in galleries going for tens of thousands of dollars. She is exquisite. She has a look of utter contentment on her face and I would pay cash money to have her photographed like this… if I didn’t want to kill the fucker taking the pictures.
Lying next to her, I touch her stomach and she jumps and gasps. Her breathing is sensual and she sounds—and looks—like she’s in a world of her own, almost like she’s having semi-orgasmic moments without me. My lips replace my hand on her stomach and she arches her back further to me, allowing me to stroke and caress her while tasting her delicate skin. She keeps her hands above her head in her own mental bondage. Her head is thrown back in quiet ecstasy and the entire scene is driving me wild. I don’t want to fuck her. I don’t really want to sex her at all, our recent lovemaking leaving me wholly and completely sated. I just want to kiss her flawless skin and feel her respond in my hand.
“You are intoxicating,” I breath against her belly. “You take my breath away.” She shivers in response and a small moan escapes her chest. She has transcended to a whole new state of pleasure and I feel the sensuality radiating from her skin. I just want to touch her… and she lets me. After several minutes of caressing and enjoying her skin, she finally appears to float back into this realm and join us mere mortals here on planet earth. I won’t ask her what happened, but I will say that it was outstanding being a part of whatever it was.
I gently pull her face to mine and kiss her pouting lips. “Hungry?” I ask. She nods, her eyes filled with sensual satisfaction. “Room service?” She nods again, gently stroking my cheek with her delicate hand. I lean into her hand, then turn and kiss the palm. “I don’t want to leave our cocoon,” I confess.
“Go, Darling,” she says, softly, her voice full of love. “Feed us.”
Fucking hell! Would you like for me to go and slay a buffalo, skin it in the living room and cook it fresh on a spit? Anything for you, my beloved!
“In the mood for anything specific?” I ask.
“Something decadent,” she replies. She’s trying to kill me. Damn! I kiss her on the lips again and rise out of the bed, naked. I feel like Adam and she is my Eve. I won’t don a stitch of clothing until it is utterly necessary. I’m going to admire her body and allow her to admire mine. I walk into the living room and call the front desk.
“Thank you for calling Meritage Resort and Spa. You have the front desk,” a professional-sounding woman says.
“Hello. May I please have the concierge?”
“Yes, Sir, one moment please.” I hold while listening to an advertisement of the coming events in wine country before the masculine voice of the concierge answer, “Meritage Concierge, Benson Mathers speaking.”
“Hello, Mr. Mathers. This is Christian Grey in the presidential suite. I need an unusual task performed and I need to know if you’re up to it or should I just send my security staff on a wild goose chase.” There’s a chuckle on the other end.
“I’m only human, Sir, but no doubt if your security staff is capable of the task—short of breaking someone’s arm—I can probably accomplish it for you as well.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that. Now, may I be frank with you, Mr. Mathers?”
“By all means, and please, call me Benson.” That’ll be easy. I look over my shoulder to be sure that Butterfly can’t hear me. There is absolutely no movement from the bedroom.
“Good, because I don’t have time to mince words, Benson. My fiancée is in a state of sexual euphoria the likes of which have never been seen before and may never be seen again. Now, she is hungry and has only requested something decadent, which means that even the slightest misstep that will upset her delicate palate will ruin her Nirvanic state and cause me to be a very unhappy man. Money is of absolutely no consequence, but in this instance, time is. That being said, I need a decadent meal for my blissfully sated fiancée that will keep her floating on her little cloud and I need it quickly. This means that if I have to pay for you to call a yodeler on one of the mountains in the Swiss Alps to teleport here with some of the finest chocolates that human mouths have ever tasted, I will give you my Amex Black and have you do that. What can you do for me and how fast can you get it done?” Benson clears his throat.
“I have just the thing for you, Mr. Grey. I have an exclusive contact who can have a decadent buffet of taste sensations for your lady prepared fresh, presented elegantly, and delivered in 45 minutes. In the meantime, may I interest you in some chocolates and wine while you wait?”
“Well, we had some wine and chocolate waiting for us when we got here…”
“No, no, no. While that is very fine chocolate indeed, I think your lady’s current palate will require something much more, shall we say, exclusive.” I like this guy already. “May I suggest a hand-chosen Belgian assortment of spring and summer fruits, pralines, ganaches, giandujas and hazelnuts along with a rare bottle of Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon 2006 as well as our very own 2010 Proprietor’s Reserve Chardonnay.” Now my interest is piqued.
“You can get Screaming Eagle on this short notice?” I ask him.
“Yes Sir. We have a rare bottle or two stashed away for just such and occasion.” Excellent!
“Tell me more about the Chardonnay,” I inquire. I can hear him smiling through the phone.
“Aged in American and Caucasian oak, spicy with hints of Carneros citrus and slight notes of butter and caramel. If that is not to your liking, I’m sure that I can scare up a good Cristal…”
“No, actually. I think I’d like to try the Chardonnay. I don’t want to spoil her appetite for whatever culinary delight you have planned for us.”
“No worries about that, Mr. Grey. The chocolates are heavenly and the wines are liquid silk. Fifteen minutes?”
“Outstanding. I have one other question. Is your name really Benson?” He chuckles again.
“I’m afraid so, Sir. It worked out pretty well, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose it did. I will be eternally grateful if this goes well, Benson.”
“Trust me, Mr. Grey. You will be quite pleased.” I end the call and creep back into the bedroom with Butterfly. She is lying in the same place with her head turned toward the fireplace. “Butterfly?”
“Hmm?” she says without turning her head.
“What are you thinking?” She sighs contentedly.
“About the beautiful children that we are going to make,” she replies, “the wonderful home that we are going to build and the blissful life that we are going to live as man and wife.” Oh, she is so floating on cloud 9000 right now. I lie down next to her and caress her stomach, kissing her behind her ear.
“Tell me more,” I say quietly as my fingers explore her skin. She closes her eyes.
“We’re going to have a handsome boy that looks just like his father. He’s going to capture the hearts of everyone that he meets from the moment that he’s born,” she coos. I can almost see my son in my head. Christian, Jr… oh, hell no. I’ve got to come up with something better than that.
“He’s going to be brilliant, just like his daddy. He’s going to take his first steps in our family room. When he says his first words, he’s going to be lying in his crib reaching for the man who loves him most in the world. And when he falls asleep at night, he’s going to kiss us both on the cheek before curling up with his favorite plush toy while we tuck him in.”
“What about our daughter?” I ask. She laughs softly.
“Now our daughter—she will be her mother’s child. She will have long brown hair with beautiful natural red highlights to match her father’s copper tresses. Her eyes will be a pale blue… a combination of us both. She will be strong-willed and independent. She will know that she is the princess as soon as she makes her début, and she will make sure that everyone else knows it as well.
“She will do everything early—teething, speaking, potty-training—so as not to be outdone by her brother. They will be in constant competition for one thing or another while remaining the best of friends. He will be her protector, she will be his confidante. They will be inseparable, and they will know that they are loved.” My heart swells as she tells me about our life together.
“We’ll have our son first?”
“Oh, yes,” she coos. “Our princess will need a protector and our legacy will need an heir.” Our legacy. I swear, I’m about to burst.
“Tell me about our house,” I request, not wanting to leave the happy vision that she is creating for us. She chuckles softly.
“Our home is stunning,” she says, dreamily, “exquisite, yet warm…”
She goes on to describe the perfect family home, opulent yet cozy at the same time. From the two-story living room to the sunken family room, our trophy room where we will boast the family’s many achievements from my old rowing trophies to our children’s graduation from kindergarten. She even talks about a man-cave for me to tempt me out of my study from time to time. When she is talking about the Cantina doors that will open onto a lovely large stone fireplace with a stunning view of Lake Washington, I am jolted from our beautiful daydream by what sounds like a doorbell.
These places have doorbells?
“I’ll be right back, Butterfly,” I say, kissing her gently on the nose and admiring her half-smile. I want to stay in Adam-and-Eveland forever—never put any clothes back on, never deal with any of the issues awaiting us in Washington or the dramas and nightmares of trials and events past—just run away to where it is always sunny and pamper my girl until we transition together to the next life to spend eternity together. I shake myself from the daydream of heaven on earth and then heaven in heaven to put on a robe and retrieve our wine and chocolates.
“Mr. Grey, your appetizers,” the gentleman at the door greets with a rolling tray carrying a large silver serving tray, a white wine in an ice bucket, a red on the tray separately, two large-bowl wine glasses and two tall flutes. “Mr. Mathers indicated that you may want to serve the confections yourself. So I can serve them or just leave you with the cart if you like.”
I really like Benson!
“Thank you. Just bring the cart inside and I’ll take it from there.”
“Yes Sir.” The smartly dressed gentleman rolls the tray into the living room. “Would you like for me to uncork the red to allow it to breathe a bit, Sir?”
“Yes, that would be fine. Thank you.” He uncorks the red wine and places it in a convenient holder attached to the tray. I hand him a tip before showing him out then remove my robe and lay it on the chair before returning to my lady in my Adam attire.
“I have something for you, Baby.” She raises her head from her cushion of comfort to see my offering. I remove the lid to reveal an extensive assortment of fine Belgian chocolates.
“Well, that’s certainly not the welcome gift from earlier,” she croons, her voice still thick with her orgasm. Damn! Control yourself, Grey.
“No,” I say, “these came at the suggestion of the concierge… a little something to tempt your taste buds until our meal arrives. It should be here in another half-hour or so.”
“This was supposed to be my surprise,” she says with a seductive smile. I return hers with the full 32-teeth grin that I reserve for only her.
“I imposed a bit,” I sit on the bed next to her. “Forgive me?”
“Always.” She smiles a smile at me that melts my heart and makes me want to love her forever.
Benson was sure to separate the chocolates into which ones would pair better with the Cabernet and which would compliment the Chardonnay. Knowing that Cabernet is her favorite, I pour that one first into one of the large-bowl glasses, then choose one of the chocolates from the red side.
“Allow me,” I say, bringing the chocolate to her lips. She allows me to place the petite confection onto her tongue and she closes her mouth, still looking at me. Oh, good grief, this woman is oozing sex and sensuality tonight. She closes her mouth and allows the chocolate to melt on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath and savors the flavor. This experience is almost as orgasmic as the sex!
“Oh, Christian,” she purrs, “that is the most divine chocolate I have ever tasted in my life!”
Yes! Thank you, Benson! I hand her the Cabernet.
“Take a sip before all the chocolate leaves your mouth.” She obediently sips the Cabernet and gasps as the flavor caresses her tongue. She looks at the glass like it’s an alien from outer space and then at me.
“Christian! Where did you find this?” she breathes.
“It a very rare bottle. Usually sold at auction, it’s one of the rarest Screaming Eagle Napa wines that top over $1000.”
“It’s exquisite! It’s even better than the bottle from Canlis! My God!” She never raises her voice but her amazement is still evident. I feel like Superman right now. I continue feeding her chocolates and I must admit, they are as decadent as Benson promised. She moans deliciously with every bite, slowly savoring the flavor of each morsel. She takes little sips of the wine like she’s afraid that the last drop will leave her bereft. I will be searching for the rare vintages of Screaming Eagle at my first opportunity.
“Enjoy the wine, Baby,” I coax, “I’ll find more for you.” Her eyes sparkle at the thought and she takes a larger sip of the wine, closing her eyes and relishing every moment that it’s in her mouth.
She’s making me want her again…
About another 30 minutes before dinner is here, give or take…
Reading my thoughts, she places her wine glass on the nightstand and lays down in the bed, her arms stretched over her head again. I crawl over her, kissing her gently from her stomach up the valley between her breasts and to her waiting luscious lips still sweet from the wine. She moans softly into my mouth.
“I don’t want you to be all worn out before dinner gets here,” I say, aching to be inside of her again.
“This is your body, Christian,” she coos. “Do with it as you please.” Greystone stands at full attention at her words. I wrap my arms around her and lift her gently off the bed and into my arms while I’m on my knees. She looks down at me with lust and love and longing, her hair falling over her face and mine as I pull her to me. Sitting on my feet with her legs on either side of me, I pull her down onto my awaiting erection. She gasps and throws her head back as I enter her. God, she feels so good! I hold her close to me and play in The Garden with one hand while the other arm lifts her hips allowing me to rock my pelvis and slide in and out of her sex. She brings her head back up and looks at me, her eyes easily relaying my sentiment that this feeling is bliss. She runs her hands along my arms, up my shoulders, up my neck and to my face so that she is cupping my cheeks with her fingertips in my hair. She never takes her eyes off mine.
“Kiss me,” I breathe.
“Open your mouth,” she whispers. Oh, fuck. She’s going to do that kiss! I obediently open my mouth. Pulling my face to hers, she oh so slowly traces my lips with her tongue, licking the corners seductively. I’m controlling my breath as my arousal is nearly going out of control. Her tongue enters my mouth in search of mine and I gladly oblige. Allowing her to lead the dance, our tongues tango sensually while our mouths remain open and we gaze into each other’s eyes. I tighten my grip around her, trying to maintain my slow and deep stroke while running my other hand possessively up her back. Her tongue still in my mouth, her lips meet mine in a soft, deep sensual kiss. She closes her eyes for the first time to concentrate on the kiss that seems to travel straight to my heart and my loins. When she opens her eyes again, it’s pure heat and orgasmic lust.
It’s my turn to gasp.
Greystone is reaching for her spine again, but I control the stroke. No fucking tonight—we are making love. I feel my balls tightening and groan mournfully. I don’t want to come yet.
“Come for me, Christian,” she breathes, barely able to eek the words out between her aroused breaths.
“No!” I gasp, eeking out my own words, “not before you.”
“I’m… there… with you…” she says between my strokes. “Come with me… please…” With those words, she wraps her arms around my head, thrusting her hands into my hair. Pulling my face into her neck and hair, she comes around me with trembling force, pulling my juices out of me while my shaft throbs hopelessly inside of her. I pull her tightly close to me, onto me so that I am as far up into her trembling muscles as I can get. Oh hell, this is the best feeling in the world! We hold each other so close that we feel like one person. She stays on my lap, breathing wildly to catch her breath. I hold her there securely, fighting to catch my own. I know that the food will be here any minute, but they will have to wait while we savor this orgasmic moment.
Sure enough, once I release my girl after several tender kisses, the doorbell rings again. I have propped her up comfortably on the pillow—still in her Eve garb and looking like fine art—before I leave the bedroom to don the robe that I left in the living room before answering the door.
“Mr. Grey?” The gentleman asks and I recognize the voice.
“Benson, I presume,” I say as I step aside and allow him and three other men in behinds him. Damn! How much food did he order?
“A pleasure to meet you in person, Mr. Grey. Forgive the extra staff, but certain dishes can only be finalized when they are ready to be served. From our earlier conversation, I assume that the lady is… indisposed.” Wise man… she’s more like in a sex-induced haze right now.
“Yes, she is,” I answer to his knowing look.
“In that case, I will oversee the preparations and be out of your hair in a moment.” Gesturing to the gentlemen behind him, they all move quickly removing silver lids and combining courses, adding sauces and other touches, condensing the contents of the two large carts onto the third larger one for presentation.
“The menu is under here…” He shows me the placard describing our meal, “and I highly recommend the white that I sent to compliment your dinner. I can procure another bottle if you wish.”
“No, that’s not necessary. However, if you can get me a few more bottles of the rare vintage Screaming Eagle—or at least point me in the right direction—I’ll be eternally grateful. Cabernet Sauvignon is the lady’s favorite and she has extreme discerning taste buds when it comes to that particular wine. I will pay any amount—and I do mean any amount—for whatever bottles you can find before the weekend is over, and I would be willing to negotiate for further procurements.” Benson smiles.
“I’ll see what I can find for you, Mr. Grey. You won’t be disappointed,” he says. I hand him a few hundred dollar bills.
“Split this among the staff that assisted you. I will see you personally before we leave.” Knowing that his reward will be more than the few C-notes that I just handed him, he smiles widely as he hands each of the gentlemen with him $100. They all nod and say “thank you” before leaving the room.
“You are too kind, Mr. Grey. Enjoy your meal.” He smiles and leaves the room with his staff. I remove my robe again as clothing cannot breach our newly discovered Garden of Eden. I roll the large tray into the bedroom and next to our still well-stocked tray of chocolates.
“Dinner is served, my beloved,” I say to Butterfly. She looks over at the tray and lets out a coy little giggle.
“Did you order the entire kitchen?” she purrs. Her voice is still heavy with the bliss from our lovemaking and I will do anything to keep it that way.
“Not quite,” I chuckle. “It’s very small servings of quite a few taste sensations. We even have a menu…” I sit next to her and pull the menu out from under the largest plate. “Where should we start?”
“Let’s start from the top and work our way down,” she says sweetly. Sounds like a plan to me. The first dish is “Sabayon” of Pearl tapioca with island creek oysters and white sturgeon caviar followed by Maine lobster barquette, sun gold tomatoes, celery branch and horseradish crème fraîche. When Benson said decadent, he really meant decadent! The servings are small—just enough for two to share about three bites each—but they have to be as the food is so rich and delicious, the tongue can only really tolerate a few bites. Oh, but those bites… outstanding!
Our next taste sensation comes from a compressed melon salad of Hawaiian hearts of peach palm, toasted cashews, Fresno chili, cilantro shoots and Brokaw avocado purée. This is followed by Brentwood corn “Polenta” “Ris de Veau”— golden corn pudding and shaved Australian black winter truffle. This was one of the dishes that had to be prepared while I watched because they shaved the truffle in front of me.
These dishes are followed by Alaskan king crab ravioli foie gras sauce and black truffles—another of the dishes that had to be prepared before me—as well as garden escargot with spring garlic custard, nantes carrots, Hobbs’ bacon and Italian parsley.
I pour the Chardonnay into the champagne flutes—odd combination but nice presentation. As Butterfly eats and enjoys the exquisite food and delectable nectar, she almost looks like she might come again. As if our tongues weren’t dancing enough already, we were further delighted by applewood smoked bacon-wrapped Elysian Fields farm lamb with San Marzano tomato marmalade, arrow leaf spinach and “Cassoulet” of garden pole beans as well as sauteed filet of gulf coast pompano with garden radishes, Cerignola olives, brokaw avocado purée, cilantro shoots and pimenton (paprika) emulsion.
By now, our stomachs are feeling the pressure of the various dishes and we sink back into the comfort of the luxurious bed. Butterfly opts for more of the decadent chocolates and “dreamy Cabernet” as she calls it, while I sip on the Chardonnay—another vintage I will secure from Benson before we leave. Her body is so beautiful laid out on the bed like a Greek goddess.
“I apologize for putting a dent in your surprise tonight, but I couldn’t help myself. You’re so irresistible and there are moments when I simply must have you,” I say. She smiles coyly.
“That has to be the sexiest apology I have ever received in my life,” she purrs.
“That’s because you have to be the sexiest woman alive,” I respond. I run my fingers up her legs to her thighs past her hips and up to her breast. “You look so good. Mentally, I want to make love to you again, but you made me come so hard that physically I don’t think I can do it.”
“That’s okay, Baby. You do such wonderful things to my body, each time leaves me anticipating what you are going to do next.” Really? Hmm…
“Close your eyes,” I tell her. She smiles and sets down her wine glass. Putting her hands demurely above her head, she closes her eyes. I now realize that she puts her hands that way in a gesture to give herself to me.
That makes Greystone twitch a bit. I reach over to the serving tray and pull the ice bucket closer to the bed. Time to have some fun. She squirms and moans as I tantalize her body with the cold sensation of the ice followed by the warm sensation of my open mouth—her neck, her nipple, her belly button. When I have pushed her all the way to the edge, I put a cube in my mouth and attack her core sending her almost off the bed with the surprise of the simultaneous hot and cold sensations. She is grabbing ferociously at the covers behind her and I am starting to feel some heat in my lower regions.
I moan into her pussy and she shivers wildly before wrapping her legs around me again and calling out my name. I work her clit repeatedly with the ice and my tongue until the ice melts and she is still shivering in my hands. I bring her right to the edge of her orgasm and when I feel her clit pulsing in my mouth, I’ll be damned if Greystone hasn’t found some life again. I slowly crawl up her trembling body and sink into her.
“Oh, God, that feels so good,” she mewls, tangling her fingers in my hair. She’s knows I fucking love it when she does that. She’s my addiction and I can’t get enough of her.
“Baby, damn!” I growl into her neck as I wrap my hands under her shoulders and dive into her again… and again… and again…
It’s a beautiful spring April morning, the Saturday before Christian’s 30th birthday, and I have stolen him away to wine country for the weekend. Last night’s dinner plans will have to be rescheduled for this evening since my man sexed me into a cosmic stupor then topped it off with some of the most extraordinary food I have ever tasted in my life, only to complete the evening wrapped in orgasmic sensuality yet again until we both fell into a climax-induced coma. I hurt in all the right places and I stretch to get the kinks out of those under-worked sex muscles—you know, those muscles that you’re not aware of until you have a series of thrashing, screaming orgasms. Several places are popping deliciously as Christian’s hand subconsciously travels up and down my body in he semi-sleep state.
“Mmmm, you feel so good, Baby,” he groans. Is he talking to real me or dream me? I can’t tell. “Yes, right there… kiss me, Butterfly…”
Is he kidding? Between the two of us, we had to have upwards of 10 orgasms last night, and he’s having sex dreams? I roll over onto my side and watch him. His face is contorting in different pleasure—or pain—expressions, and he grabs my ass hard. I dare not wake him before he comes. I would be the epitome of spoiling a wet dream. He is physically pulling me closer to him and, even after all those orgasms, this concept is making me hot.
I don’t know if he’s slipping into consciousness when his lips meet mine but his hand cups my head possessively and he rolls me over on top of him, still kissing me hard. His erection is rubbing against my stomach and I can feel the wetness between my legs aching for him to move a little lower. I am pulsing with need. Maybe I, too, am having flashbacks from last night. He pulls my face away from his and looks at me. Now he’s awake and staring at me.
“I was asleep,” he says, confused.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“I was dreaming…” he continues.
“I know.” He looks into my eyes.
“How did you get up there?”
“You put me up here,” I respond. His confusion changes to concern.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks.
“No,” I breathe.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes!” I breathe. “Less talk, more sex!” I wiggle over his dick and manipulate his head to my core before sliding onto him.
“Ah!” he gasps and I grind into him hard and repeatedly. “Baby… wait… I had a head start…”
“So did I… aaaaaaahhhhhahhhhh!” I feel my orgasm dripping out of me and coating his dick. He grabs my hips and takes over the stroke. It doesn’t take long.
“Baby, fuck, Baby, you are incredible!” he groans as he comes hard into me. We both breathe hard as we come down from our orgasm.
“If we don’t stop this, we are never going to leave this room,” he says.
“Oh yes, we are,” I tell him, “because I have plans for us. So it’s time for you to get out of bed, Mr. Grey. This is my first time in wine country and I want to see what it has to offer.” He grumbles.
“That means that we have to put on clothes and see people,” he whines.
“That’s exactly what that means. Now come with me to this luxurious shower and let’s get dressed.”
After a quick breakfast and a wonderful shower where Christian and I still couldn’t keep our hands off each other, we get dressed for a beautiful spring day in wine country. I am wearing a white goddess mini-dress that clings just enough around my body and drapes over my shoulder with a large jewel-encrusted buckle. Luckily, I brought the sarong that I bought in St. Maarten last year—the white one with the three purple flowers—and wore it as a wrap over the dress as Christian got an instant erection watching me slip into the dress with no bra.
I finish the outfit with my purple satin Louboutin Mary Jane platform stilettos and amethyst dangle earrings with three butterflies that almost look like the flowers on my wrap. My hair is in a neat chignon off my back and I am ready to go—if Christian can keep his hands off of me.
He’s looking pretty hot himself in white pants and a white spring jacket with a pale blue tinge. He is wearing a muted blue shirt underneath that nicely frames his gorgeous chest, along with a black leather belt and black shoes. Ben and Chuck both opted for gray suits, not the usual black, but still kind of obvious.
“So are you going to tell me where we are going?” Christian asks once we are loaded into the Escalade and on our way.
“Yes.” I turn to him and cross my legs. “We are going on the Napa Valley Wine Train. We will have lunch in a restored 1952 Pullman car called the Vista Dome while we admire the beautiful view of the Napa Valley wine country out of domed windows.” I move closer to him. “Then, we will have a tour and tasting and spend the afternoon at Castello di Amorosa…”
“The Castle of Love,” he translates, looking hungrily into my eyes. I smile coyly up at him.
“Very good, Mr. Grey,” I commend him seductively. “Once we have completed our tour, a shuttle will bring us back to the station. We will proceed to the hotel and get ready for dinner.” I twitch a little in my seat remembering last night’s extravaganza and subsequent lovemaking nearly all night. He cups my face in his hand and kisses me gently.
“I enjoyed it, too,” he says, his voice husky, “very much.” How can he read me so well? “Do you have any idea how much I desire you?” he whispers.
“I have a pretty good idea,” I breathe as his lips meet mine again.
The Napa Valley Wine Train is a beautifully restored train with ten cars and a historic Canadian locomotive. Mostly gold with red and green accents, the Wine Train travels through five towns over 36 miles in three hours and past several wineries and vineyards. We are only taking half of the lunch tour as we will be debarking in St. Helena to visit the castle.
After waiting in a comfortable exclusive lounge, it is time to board the train. As we approach the train, we have to cross a bridge with a standard chain-link fence. I notice all the locks on the bridge and can’t help but think of the Love Lock bridge in Paris. That’s when I see a sign the indicates that this is the same concept. My heart falls immediately lamenting that I didn’t know this was here. I push the thought from my mind and go ahead to the train.
Christian is duly impressed with my planning as we board the train and walk through several luxurious dining cars as well as the kitchen car—placed precariously in the middle of the train—then up a flight of stairs to the Vista Dome. Except for the two large men following us around, no one even gives us a second look. I must say, I’m enjoying the anonymity. I hear the conductor announcing “All Aboard” and the engine starts to move, pulling the luxury dining cars behind it.
Christian and I are comfortably seated at our table, discussing everything and nothing when an attractive middle-age man rises up the stairs with an equally attractive younger woman holding his hand. I only see them because I am facing the stairs, but Christian’s back is to them. They take the seats across the aisle from us and this woman locks her gaze on Christian. Can you be any more obvious? Her companion is looking at the menu for today’s lunch and hasn’t seen her yet. I clear my throat to break her attention and she is snapped out of her lustful daydream.
Damn! We haven’t even been on the train 10 minutes yet!
“Be a dear and switch seats with me,” she says to her companion. “My equilibrium is off a little by the backwards travel.” He is very accommodating and switches seats with her. I realize that she now has a better view of Christian and is most likely hoping that he will get a better view of her.
I won’t turn into a jealous bitch.
I won’t turn into a jealous bitch.
“Are you okay?” Christian asks me, clearly not paying any attention to the skank at the next table. I nod.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I say, smiling warmly and immediately turning my attention away from her and back to the gorgeous man across from me while we enjoy the lovely view of wine country spreading out before us.
A/N: Je vais exploser—I’m going to explode or I’ll explode.
“Oui. Aime-moi. S’il te plaît—Yes. Love me. Please.”
Je vais mourir. Putain, je vais mourir!—I’m dying! Fuck, I’m dying!
Ana and Christian’s post-coital culinary experience came from a restaurant called “The French Laundry” in Yountsville. I checked the reviews and even for the astronomical price, patrons seemed to really enjoy the experience.
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