Mending Dr. Steele: Chapter 71—I’ll Be Watching You

WhistlesThanks to my readers who recognize and understand that this is my story to write and to those of you who offered your support and encouragement. I really appreciate it. I partially apologize for the zinger monster that showed up on Facebook, but only partially. You can only antagonize me so far before those wings start flappin and the Queen of Zing comes back. 

Warning–there are only about 10 more chapters left (that’s a rough estimate) until the end of Book II. It’s been two years and I think it’s time to get the book published, so I will be focusing on that during my break between Book II and Book III. Once the next round of editing is complete, the first installment of The Butterfly Sage will be ready to publish. Although the premise is the same, the story is very different. I will even be tweaking the backstory (Journey of Miles) as several things have changed since I first wrote it. For that reason, those on my mailing list want to pay attention and stay tuned. You of course will get first crack at the book and… Paging Dr. Steele will have to come down, from here and from Fanfiction. 

One of my readers asked for a “heads up” on his YouTube Channel, so if you are into gaming or have children or friends who are into gaming, please go check out his channel at this link. His first few vids are some really cool walk-throughs of Resident Evil (I think it’s Resident Evil REmake, but I’m not much of a gamer). My son used to play those games and I could never watch them because I have a problem with first person POV, and it makes me nauseous. However, they’re still pretty cool and he gives instructions and everything, so go check it out!

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

Chapter 71—I’ll Be Watching You


It’s Sunday, and Butterfly and I have decided to lounge around the villa this morning and have dinner out this evening. I have gotten my emails down to a manageable number, and called Welch to get security out to Pops’ property. Uncle Herman agreed to have security there while he comes back to talk to Pops about long-term plans for the house. He’ll talk to his brothers and explain what’s happening before he returns to Seattle on Tuesday. Personally, I think he should just let the house go and let his brothers do what they want. He doesn’t plan on moving back and, sick or well, Pops is staying in Seattle. I don’t see the use in keeping it, especially with the bad things I hear about Detroit these days—but I don’t live there anymore. In fact, I don’t remember much about the city from when I did live there.

I also understand working hard for something and not just wanting to let it go. So I certainly won’t disparage my grandfather for wanting to keep his family home and I’ll do whatever needs to be done to help him hold on to it if that’s what he wants.

Butterfly is sunbathing by the pool in yet another hot bathing suit—this one is a strapless bikini. I’m at the bar in the courtyard with Jason discussing the information that I got from Uncle Herman today as well as our tentative itinerary for the next few days.

“Boss, I’m going to step over the line here, so I figure I’d warn you in advance.” I shift in my seat to face him.

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“As your staff, we’re going to remain professional at all times. As men… man, you’re truly testing us.” What in the hell…?

“What do you mean?”

“My wife is not here. I’m not going to see her for another two weeks. Can you go easy on us with the courtyard fuckfests?” I snicker and do my best to hide the laughter that threatens to bellow from my chest. I keep my voice subdued so that Butterfly doesn’t hear me.

“In all fairness, Jason, I did warn you not to look over that wall,” I remind him.

“Who needs to look?” he says, widening his eyes. “Man to man, I don’t know what was happening down there last night, but Adrien was on his way down those stairs if I hadn’t told him that you were fucking.”

“How did you know if you didn’t look?”

“Again, how long have I worked for you?” I shrug. “I know that if there is screaming going on, someone is being beaten or fucked and I know the difference between the two. You were outside and she was screeching like a wolf howling at the moon.” I snicker again.

“Don’t tell her that,” I warn him.

“Do I have to ask again?” he glares at me. “He was thoroughly impressed before I sent him to his room.”

“You sent him to his room?” He nods.

“Do keep in mind, though, your security staff will go inside and close the doors, but you do have neighbors. You might want to consider that the next time you copulate in the outdoor Jacuzzi.” I chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Sergeant. While Butterfly and I do love Jacuzzis, you can only do that so many times. I’m very certain that we got our fill last night.”

“TMI, Boss,” he says, shaking his head and we laugh.

Jason has a long call with Gail after lunch and he, Butterfly, and I decide to walk around the area surrounding the villa. You have to walk down this hill to get to the street as no cars are allowed on the road near the villa. Many of the streets are just narrow pathways for walking. They are stone roads or dirt roads or paved roads just wide enough for a stroll. A lot of them have stairs as Santorini is a caldera that is basically all up- or downhill. The houses are all built on top of each other—you can’t tell where one ends and another begins. In her curiosity, Butterfly strikes up a conversation with one of the English-speaking locals. She asks if they mind that the houses are so close. The lady told her that the community all help each other. They work as a team, so they don’t mind the houses being built together that way. It’s a beautiful island, but I would lose my mind with my neighbors constantly being that close to me.

We find a quiet spot near the edge of a cliff and watch what has to be the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen in my life. It brought Butterfly to tears. I’m told the sunset is best from Oia and I plan to see it before we leave, but I have a hard time believing that it looks better than this. During our walk to dinner, we continue our conversation about our future and what we plan to do from here. I ask her about moving to a house.

“I don’t really see the need to move right now unless you want to,” she replies. “It’s just us and Escala has plenty of room.”

“I know, but we’re man and wife now. It’s a new life and I like the idea of starting it in a new place that’s just ours. We’ll be starting a family soon and… I was thinking about the description of our home that you gave me when we were in wine country.” She looks up at me and smiles that smile that makes me want to go out and slay that buffalo again.

“You were?” she says with sweet surprise in her voice. I nod.

“I want to get started living that life as soon as possible. I want to live all of the beauty that you described to me and I don’t want to wait for it. Besides, with all the sex we’ve been having, we’re well on our way to making our baby and starting our family. Why not have our home ready for when he arrives?”

He, huh?” she says, still smiling.

“You’re the one who predicted that our first baby would be a boy,” I say, wrapping my arms around her.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” she says, gazing into my eyes and stroking my arms. I pull her to me and kiss her gently.

“Do you have any idea how in love with you I am?” I say, touching my forehead to hers. Her beautiful blue eyes examine mine for a moment before she takes my face in her hands and kisses me, soft and probing, igniting that fire in me that only she can.

“Yes, Christian,” she whispers, against my lips with her eyes still closed, “I do.” Even in a whisper, her voice is longing and calling to my soul. I embrace her, lifting her into my arms and kissing her passionately just after sundown on the street in Santorini.


Butterfly loved the walk yesterday evening, so we decide to take a hike around the caldera from Fira to Oia. Hiking in Santorini is something better done in good sneakers rather than hiking boots. We see more of the narrow streets and roads from yesterday, but the real adventure is walking the roads along the cliffs. I remember a similar hike like this in Anguilla and not wanting Butterfly to walk those trails because they were so narrow and it was a long way down. It’s still a long way down, but these trails are a bit different. They’re wider and more traveled. The dirt trails are flat and the stone trails are firm and not rocky like the ruins. The roads can get steep and there are lots of little spots to rest along the way, with good reason.

Butterfly takes several pictures of the caves along the cliff wall. Both cities—Fira and Oia—are built basically hanging on the sides and walls of a cliff. However, many of the houses built on the cliffs were once caves dug out of the cliff walls by the original inhabitants of the islands. They have mostly been converted to residences and some into hotels and villas, but there are still a few of the original caves to be seen along the way along with the Prophet Elijah’s Church,

There are fantastic views of the rock formations on the opposite side of the caldera as well as the islands that were formed from the volcanic eruptions that created what is Santorini today. Butterfly gets several pictures of those as well. I haven’t yet told her that we will be taking a cruise tomorrow where we will get to see these things up close. The water surrounding the islands inside the caldera is peaceful, not tumultuous like the rest of the sea. Even with the various fishing boats, dinghies, ferries, yachts, catamarans, and cruise ships that frequent the various ports and travel the waters below, they seem calm and serene. Butterfly and I enjoy a light picnic lunch that we packed of sandwiches, water, fruit, and trail mix along the hike as we admire the island and the sea. It was a long, tiring day and we enjoyed every minute of it.

Oia and the surrounding areas give you an idea of just how popular Santorini really is. The nightlife is just beginning when we finish our hike and the place is full of nightclubs and restaurants ready to cater to the many tourists that descend on the island for spring break and honeymooners like Butterfly and me. Even though the area is teaming with tourists, it’s still very romantic and pleasant. After seeing the sunset yesterday, we make it a point not to miss it again the entire time we are in Santorini. This time, we have dinner at a restaurant in Oia. It turns out that watching the sunset in Oia is a big thing in Santorini. The locals and tourists crowd roads, balconies, and restaurants here to see the sunset, and I can see why. It was truly beautiful from our little spot by the road near the villa, but here—it’s spectacular!

After sleeping peacefully with my Butterfly curled around me and I around my Butterfly, I awake well-rested on Tuesday morning and sink into my wife’s heavenly core. After waking her with orgasms, we kiss and clean each other thoroughly in the shower before getting dressed and starting our day. Since I am well aware that all work and no play makes one grumpy and edgy, I decide that all of the security is off-duty and invite them to join us on the catamaran that I have rented for the day. Everyone agrees to join us except for Charles, who decides that he would rather stay in and check out the surrounding area a little later. I’m no idiot—he’s going in search of some ass.

After breakfast around 10:00, we head to the port and our day-long cruise on the catamaran. Unfortunately, unless I wanted to buy a boat and plant it in the Aegean Sea, no amount of money could get me a large, private boat for the entire day on Santorini without more advance notice than a day or so. So we had to share this cruise with six other people. I’m not good around other people in a social setting, I’ve learned. If I don’t already know you, we may not hit it off too well because I generally don’t trust people that I don’t know. I sit on the seats in front of the catamaran with my wife in my arms, watching her charm people like she always does.

I’m making my claim known to the other men on the boat, but that doesn’t stop them from smiling those 32-teeth grins at my seemingly unsuspecting Butterfly. They’re not falling all over her, but two of them appear to be hanging on her every word. They’re smiling a little too hard at her statements and asking about her profession. Their dates don’t seem particularly pleased at the attention that they are giving my wife. Rather than be rude, she cuddles closer into me and answers their mundane questions. This doesn’t dissuade them, however. As long as she is giving them attention, they are eating it up.

She’s somewhat evasive about who she is, giving roundabout answers as two of the couples are American. I don’t say much or even let on that their over-friendliness is bothering me. I mean, let’s face it—she’s literally in my arms with the sea-breeze blowing through our hair and we’re enjoying a fantastic boat ride. Go ahead and drool, fellas.

Drinks and hors d’oeuvres are served just before we get to our first stop. Butterfly declines the wine saying that she’s suffering from a bit of motion sickness and she’s sure that it will pass, but she devours a handful of the hors d’oeuvres. Our first stop is the Red Beach. It’s pretty amazing to see. The red cliffs stretch high up above the beach and the pebbles below are a mixture of red and black rocks with a small amount of brown and tan as well. The red rocks and soil are magma, and the high iron deposits make them red. Butterfly’s camera goes mad again as her two admirers try to coax her out of her cover-up and into the water.

“No, thanks, guys. I’m going to stay on board and catch some sun with my husband, but I’m sure the ladies would love a swim,” she says, sweetly, gesturing to the companions these two buffoons all but forgot they had brought on the cruise with them. Their attentions immediately turn to the ladies standing on the deck and fuming, no doubt plotting how to make their companions pay for ignoring them for the last hour or so. Butterfly walks to the back of the catamaran leading me by my hand to the lounging trampolines.

She finally removes her cover to reveal a black hip-hugger bikini with a wraparound top that provocatively hugs her body around and under her luscious breasts. She spreads out on the trampoline with those big sunglasses that she always wears and relaxes with her arms above her head. I take the suntan lotion out of her backpack and begin to spread it over her body.

“You’re like honey, you know that?” I whisper to her as I spread the lotion over her arms and shoulders. “They’re drawn to you like bees.” She smirks a bit.

“They had better be drawn to those women they brought with them. I mean, really. They had steam coming out of their ears.” I move down to her legs and thighs and cover them amply with the suntan lotion. “You missed some parts,” she says.

“No, I didn’t,” I reply before kissing her stomach and licking her navel. Her stomach quivers and her breath catches.

“You’re being naughty,” she warns. I kiss up her sternum and over the bikini to the valley of her breasts, and place open-mouthed kisses and nips on her mounds. “Christian, please,” she croons, desire hidden in her voice. “People can see us.”

“I know. That’s why I’m trying to control myself.” I spread lotion on her stomach and breasts and lay down beside her. “I can’t blame them. You’re so beautiful.”

“Well, thank you Mr. Grey,” she says with a smile. “I’m glad they didn’t cross the line and very proud that you kept your cool.”

“Only because they didn’t cross the line, but I think their dates would beg to differ.” I put my hand on her cheek and turn her face to me. “May I kiss you, Mrs. Grey?”

“Of course you can, Mr. Grey.” I close my mouth over her lips and hope those hungry fuckers are looking at us now. I can’t spend too much time thinking about them though, as I concentrate on the delicious flavor of my Butterfly.

A late lunch is served on the catamaran and we have fresh grilled calamari, onion and garlic prawns sautéed in olive oil with a wine and tomato sauce, and roasted vegetables served with one of the prized wines of the island. Butterfly opted for water instead as she was insanely parched and didn’t want to make it worse with wine.

Conversation flows freely as we eat on the boat now moored at the White Beach. Like the Red Beach, white cliffs rise high out of the sea formed by volcano pressure pushing layers and layers of limestone up and over the rocks. Ana’s admirers have apparently been chastised and are now paying attention to their dates. The third couple, however, keep sharing little secrets between them, then looking at Butterfly. I wonder if they recognize her.

We cruise a little more and catch more sun as the captain tells us about the eruption that caused Santorini, which was once one big island, to become a caldera with several islands in the center. We’re told that the blast was equal to 80 nuclear bombs exploding at once and supposedly, the soil of Santorini made it as far as Greenland. It’s a very relaxing and educational journey. We discover that the Greeks still call Santorini Thera named after King Thera of the Spartan Empire. Under Venetian rule, the island was renamed Santorini after Saint Irene.

We also learn that a large portion of Oia was destroyed by tremors and eruptions in the 1950’s. On a small island known as Palia Kameni, or Old Burnt One, there is one of many hot sulfur springs. The island was formed completely from volcanic eruptions, the latest of which was in the lava flow in 1956 that formed the little peninsula that holds the little chapel of St. Nicolas. The hot springs are behind the chapel and Butterfly has been waiting for this leg of the journey to swim in the hot sulfur springs. The boat can’t dock too close to the springs, so we have to swim several feet to get there. This is quite the shock for Butterfly as the water near the boat is very cold. When she peels out of that cover-up, those damn idiots start drooling again. I leap right into the water, too, and emerge waiting for Butterfly. At first, she was going to walk down the stairs into the water, but thought better of it when her feet touched the coolness. She went back to the top and opted to dive right in.

“Fuck! It’s cold!” she exclaims when she emerges and pushes her hair off her face.

“Race you to the hot springs,” I challenge her.

“Readysetgo!” she says all in one word and swims feverishly towards the springs. That little minx! I swim behind her and almost catch her, but she got too big of a head start.

“You cheated,” I scold her when I catch up to her.

“You’re just sore ’cause you lost,” she says floating seductively in the orange water. The closer you get to the shore, the water is a different color than the rest of the sea because of the sulfur and iron deposits. The minerals are supposed to be good for your skin and it’s definitely warmer than the water by the boat. I quickly slither to her and press her hard against my body.

“I should punish you,” I threaten.

“Because I won?”

“Because you didn’t play fair,” I hiss holding her close to me and reaching into her bikini bottoms.

“Christian!” she gasps, trying to push away from me. I pull her body tight and go straight for the gold. “Ah!” she whispers.

“Ssshhh,” I soothe in her ear, “someone might hear you.”

“Christian… someone might… see us…” she pants.

“You’re under the water. Relax and take your punishment,” I say, kissing her neck and her ear. She grunts and tries to stay quiet as I fuck her with my fingers and massage her clit with my thumb.

“Christian…” she whispers.

“Don’t fight it, Baby. Let it go.”


“Come on, Baby. You’re so beautiful when you come.” I see more of the passengers making their way into the springs including Butterfly’s two admirers. I don’t want them to see her come. “Do you want me to stop, Baby?” I ask. I know the concept of leaving her hanging is probably more agonizing than coming in a hot spring.

“No…” she breathes.

“Then give it to me,” I coax. Moments later her breathing is erratic and I feel her pulsing on my fingers. “Kiss me, Baby.” She thrusts her hands into my hair and kisses me with fervor as she trembles out her orgasm. I caress her tongue with mine and draw her out as long as possible until her lips leave mine and she’s fighting for air. I hold her up with both arms now as she leans on me with her full weight.

“So beautiful,” I whisper in her ear as I kiss her cheek, neck, and ear. Over her shoulder, I can see that her admirers are wading not far away with their companions, waiting for an opportunity to approach.

“That was… amazing,” she breathes.

“You’re amazing,” I respond. “I love making you come.”

“Mr. Grey, what you do to me.” Her voice is a seductive whisper and she’s still trying to catch her breath.

“No more than you do to me, Mrs. Grey,” I tell her. “I live to make you feel good.”

“Oh, you do,” she croons, “God knows you do.” She leans on my shoulder and I am holding her up as we enjoy the hot springs for several minutes. The admirers don’t dare approach. It’s time for us to make our way back to the boat and Butterfly is still leaning on my shoulder.

“How do you feel, Baby?” I ask her.

“My skin is all tingly,” she coos. I chuckle.

“Can you make it to the boat or do you want me to carry you?” She raises her head and looks at me.

“How would you carry me in the water?” she asks.

“I would swim to the boat with you on my back,” I respond. She looks at me, then kisses me gently.

“You’re remarkable, Mr. Grey,” she says softly. “I can swim.” I release her and her body moves fluidly and beautifully to the water towards the boat. I catch up quickly to avert any would-be assisters from trying to lend a helping hand.

It’s late in the evening now and the boat is docked outside Oia for the sunset. We have had dinner on the boat as well of seared cod and grilled lamb, boiled greens and roasted potatoes. After having the best seat in the house for the sunset, we go ashore to one of the many nightclubs we saw when we hiked this way yesterday. We have had bad experiences with nightclubs on vacation. We decide to give it another chance and see if it goes any better. I and my bodyguards along with the rest of the people from the boat go into a nightclub full of people with loud music blasting and dancing everywhere. Jason is nervous as fuck, Butterfly just pulls me into the crowd and begins to dance. She’s wearing this little blue and white plunging mini-dress over her bikini and the bottom of this thing is swinging wildly. I’m determined to have a good time and not let every nightclub experience we have be a nightmare, so I just push up to her and dance.

And we dance the night away.


We make our way back to the villa with the New York phone number of the last couple that was on the boat. They’ve asked us to join them for dinner sometimes when we find ourselves on the east coast. They seemed friendly enough and the husband—older guy, salt-and-pepper hair, mostly salt—wasn’t putting the moves on my wife, so you never know. She is exhausted when we get back to the villa and I know that it is certainly time for beddy-bye. We walk into the villa on the first floor with Jason, Norbert, and Adrien and walk right into what I knew was happening… but didn’t know was happening.

Charles is skinny-dipping with a caramel beauty in the leisure pool.

“Oh, fuck!” Butterfly says, turning her back to the pool. “Damn it, Chuck. That’s a scene I’m never going to get out of my head now!”

“Shit!” Charles says, instinctively rising out of the pool and reaching for a towel. “I’m sorry! We lost track of time.”

“I’ll just bet you did,” I say, perturbed. How could he be so careless and why would he bring someone back here? I expected him to get some ass, but not in this villa. Norbert and Adrien stand silently looking from Charles to the familiar woman in the pool. Jason is just glaring at him. I think there will be some words there—once I’m done with him, that is. “Gentlemen, will you give the lady some privacy so that she can get out of the pool?” Adrien and Norbert nod and go off to their villa. Jason is still glaring at Charles.

“Oh, I’ll turn around, but I’m not going anywhere. We need to talk.” He turns around military-style and folds his arms. He is livid. I think he’s angrier than I am.

“I’m turning around, too. I’m not going anywhere.” I turn my back and hear the movement of water and then silence. After a kiss, Charles says, “Wait for me inside, Keri.”

“Keri?” Butterfly turns around quickly and sees what I recognized before. Charles has flown his Anguilla fling into Greece and is no doubt putting her up here at the villa. “Keri, hi!”

“Ana. It is good to see you,” she replies in that island accent that I remember.

“I would hug you, but you’re naked,” she says with a laugh. “Come.” She takes Keri’s hand. “I think the men need to talk.” She drags a reluctant Keri into Charles’ villa. Keri looks longingly back over her shoulder and I realize that this is more than just a fling, for her anyway. I turn my attention to Charles, who has donned some cargo shorts while our attention was deterred. I look from Charles to Jason and they appear to be having a conversation with their eyes. Without words, Jason walks past Charles and into his villa, closing the door behind him. I don’t know what’s going on there, but Jason is angrier than I have seen him in a long time. I turn my attention to Charles.

“I knew when you declined to join us on the boat that you were going in search of pussy. How long has she been here?”

“Since yesterday, sir,” he replies.

“Yesterday!” I exclaim. “A whole day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did Jason know?”

“Nobody knew,” he responds. He’s in stance and I can tell that he’s preparing for me to fire him, which I really should.

“Are you testing me, Charles? Are you trying to see how far you can go before I release you?”

“Before I respond, I have an honest question for you, sir. I’m not being sarcastic or defensive. It’s a valid question.” Oh, this should be good.


“Is It your rule that when we are on assignments that last several days or several weeks that I’m not allowed to have sex?” What the fuck? I frown at him.

“Are you trying to justify bringing that girl here when you are on duty?”

“Sir, I’m asking you a valid question that requires an answer. Is it your rule…” I put my hand up.

“I heard you the first time, and no, I don’t care what you do with your dick!” I nearly hiss.

“Okay, that being said, can you tell me what does it matter if I sleep with someone I know versus if I sleep with a stranger?” Oh, he’s good. His logic is almost flawless… almost. I fold my arms.

“That’s a good question. I’ll answer that with two things. First, like I said, I don’t care what you do with your dick. Second, why didn’t you tell me she was here when she first arrived?” He fidgets a bit.

“I didn’t want to get into trouble,” he admits. I point a finger at him.

“Bingo!” I say. “You thought that for some reason, there may be a problem with your opposite-sex company staying in a villa that I paid for without my permission, correct?” He rubs his neck then his chin.

“Um, maybe not in those words, but kind of, yeah,” he says nervously.

“Okay, if not in those words, what words then?”

“I just… really didn’t want you exposed to that part of my life. I didn’t think about the space per se until just now. It wasn’t a problem when she stayed with us in Anguilla, but then I do realize that she did have permission to stay with us in Anguilla. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful, sir. I just thought that since it was Keri, it wouldn’t be such a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, Charles. I didn’t let Jason bring his wife! I’m a high-profile individual in a foreign country. I need you sharp—ready to do your job, not splitting your time between trying to entertain your girlfriend and protecting my wife. What’s more, this is my honeymoon, not yours. So while I’m really not concerned what you do with your dick, I really don’t care if you get laid or not. Justify this any way you want, but flying her in here and putting her up in the villa that I paid for without permission is insubordination.” He turns pale at the words.

“I really wasn’t trying to be insubordinate, sir. I’m really very sorry. I’ll get her on the next plane back to Anguilla. Please forgive my thoughtlessness.” I roll my eyes.

“You need to talk to Jason,” I tell him. “You’ve got ready pussy laying in the bed next to you and I didn’t let him bring his wife, not to mention that there are two other men here and we know nothing about their personal lives, so to speak. They could be eying your woman or anything. Let Jason decide what you need to do. Tell him to let me know.” I know he doesn’t want to let Jason decide because he’s seriously pissed off, probably that Gail is not here and Keri is.

“Can I do that tomorrow, sir? It’s not like I’m going to be able to find her a flight tonight.”

“You tell me. Do you want to leave him in there pissed off or do you want to go talk to him?” Charles looks at the door of Jason’s villa.

“I should go talk to him,” he says, sighing heavily.

“Charles?” I stop him before he gets to Jason’s door. “I meant what I said. This is insubordination and there will be consequences for this.” His mouth forms a thin line.

“I understand, sir,” he says.

“Send my wife down when she’s done with her visit.” I walk down the stairs to our villa.


Well, last night was interesting. Keri and I talked for quite some time while the men hashed out her being here. Chuck came back to the villa looking like hell warmed over and just sent me downstairs to Christian. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation.

I awake the next morning and Christian is looking at some emails after a message that he got from Grey House, so after my shower, I put on a gray scoop neck full tank top and a pair of white leggings and go upstairs to see if anyone is awake yet. Chuck is sitting in one of the loungers drinking coffee. He doesn’t look like he slept much.

“Good morning,” I say. He looks up at me and shakes his head.

“If you say so,” he mumbles.

“That bad, huh?” He sighs.

“J is hot, and I do mean hot. He’s so mad that he couldn’t even talk to me last night.” I frown.

“What were you doing all that time that Keri and I were talking?”

“Talking to your husband and trying to explain to J what was going on.”

“He didn’t respond to you?” I ask.

“Barely. I talked forever trying to explain. You know that she works with kids. Well, her vacation came early. If I didn’t see her now, I wouldn’t get to see her until Christmas.” I cock my head at him.

“You two are serious,” I say. He looks at me.

“Oh, no, Doctor,” he says. “You’re not getting me down the aisle. We spend time together. I like her, but we’re not in love.”

“You risked your job to fly her to Greece and you’re telling me that it was just for a piece of ass?”

“That’s not what I said,” he corrects me. “She’s not just a piece of ass. I care about her… quite a bit. We spend time together, but we’re not in love… and I may have lost my job to fly her to Greece.”

“Christian fired you?” I ask, glaring at him.

“No, but he said that I was insubordinate and that there will be consequences. He questioned whether I was testing him to see how far I could push him before he fired me. I think he’s waiting to see what J is going to say before he makes a decision about what’s going to happen to me, and J won’t even talk to me.”

“Jason is probably miffed that you have Keri here and he doesn’t have Gail. Did you think of that?”

“Yeah, but I think he’s more pissed that he didn’t know what was going on before you all caught us in the pool,” he says. “J would normally have my back on things like this, but if he doesn’t know…”

“Normally?” I ask. “This has happened before?”

“Well, there’s been a time here and there in my employ where I wasn’t where I should’ve been—let’s just put it that way. As long as J knew where I was and I didn’t leave us short-handed, everything was okay. This time, he was ambushed. I didn’t want to tell him that Keri was here because he couldn’t bring his wife and I didn’t want to rub it in, and Keri’s only going to be here until Saturday. I thought I could get away with it.”

“So what was the plan—to keep that poor girl hiding out in that room for five days? Smuggle in food whenever you got a chance? She’s on this beautiful island and she doesn’t even get a chance to see it?”

“God, it sounds so bad when you say it like that,” he whines.

“That’s because it doesn’t sound bad—it is bad, Chuck. You could have saved yourself so much trouble if you had just gotten her a room here in Santorini and let Christian and Jason know that you wanted to see her when you were off duty.” I scold.

“You’re not listening, Ana. Think about what you said. Jason couldn’t bring Gail. Christian wants us sharp 24-7, only with permission to stand down when he gives it to us.”

“So your solution was to bring her here and hide her in your room?”

“It was the only way that I would be able to see her,” he defends. “I figured this way, I was still on the premises and no one would be the wiser.”

“And look how that worked out,” I say sarcastically. He sighs. “Jason won’t talk to you?”

“Last night, his words to me were ‘go get fucked and get out of my room,'” he says.

“Oh shit, he’s mad,” I confirm. Chuck nods.

“I tried to tell him everything that I told you. I even told him that Christian said it was up to him if Keri had to leave today. She’s all packed and ready to go just in case.”

“Do you think he’ll make her leave?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but I still may not have a job when this is all said and done.” I shake my head at him.

“Well, it was a dumb move on your part, but if Christian were going to fire you, he would have fired you last night. You and I both know that.” He twists his lips.

“He’s down there thinking up some great punishment for my insubordination,” he says. For some reason, when he mentions punishment, I have a picture in my head of Chuck shackled to a St. Andrews cross being worked over with a crop and a flogger by an identified Dominatrix. That’s what happens when you see your bodyguard naked in the pool, making out by moonlight. I shake the thought from my head.

“You may be right about that. Just take your medicine like a man. You know you have it coming.” I tell him. He nods, resigned to his fate. “Not that I want to dump on you or anything, Chuck, but there’s something that you and I need to discuss, too.”

“What did I do now?” he asks. Interesting choice of words.

“I do understand that you work for Christian, but if you are going to report my every single move, we’re going to have a problem.” Chuck frowns at me.

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

“I’m saying that I don’t mind you reporting my whereabouts to him and I am fully aware that questionable events or things that may threaten my safety would have to be relayed to him. But really, Chuck, my bachelorette party?” I lament. He looks at me like I’m speaking Greek.

“Okay, now you’ve lost me,” he says. “You really need to get to the point on this one.” I twist my lips at him and try to control the anger that is boiling up inside me.

“Chuck, the man ruined my party! You had to know that he was going to show up after you told him what was going on. This is Christian Grey we’re talking about!” His pupils constrict and his eyes grow large.

“He was there? He showed up? When?” Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.

“After you told him about the dancing!” I nearly yell.

“Is that what he said?” he yells back. “He showed up and he said I told him?” His hands are flailing a bit. Wait a minute. He’s really clueless.

“Didn’t you tell…” I trail off.

“Ana, I didn’t tell anybody anything about your bachelorette party. I was required to tell Jason when you left and that was it. I didn’t even know Christian was there. When was he there?” I fall into a nearby seat. What does this mean? How did he know? I know Chuck was there. I know other staff was there. How did he know?

“Did Jason say that… someone else told him about the bachelorette party?” Chuck shakes his head.

“He didn’t mention anything to me. That I knew of, everybody was supposed to report suspicious activity to me. I was handling the first guy that was all touchy-feely when I saw the second guy get it in the nuts. You were on your way to the bathroom by the time I knew anything and I wasn’t following you in there. When did Christian get there?”

“I don’t know exactly when.” My mind is racing. I’m trying to put this all together. “He was there after that incident and he must not have wanted anyone to know because no one even saw him.” When did he get there? How much did he see? How did he know?

“Ana…” I look up at Chuck. “You’re bruising your forehead.” I quickly put my hand down, still trying to figure out the logistics of this. I don’t understand. Chuck is always in charge and he only answers to Jason. If Chuck didn’t know…

Was Christian spying on me?

“Ana?” I look up at Chuck again. “What’s up?”

“He was spying on me,” I say, disappointed. “He was spying on me at my hen party. He didn’t trust me.” That’s why he went all Neanderthal on me. He didn’t trust me. He hinted at it when he said “goodbye.” He didn’t trust me.

“I never said…” Chuck begins.

“You didn’t have to,” I interrupt him. “Someone at that party told him where I was and what was going on. It wasn’t my friends, I can tell you that. You say that it wasn’t you. That means that he had one of his extra goons there that either you didn’t know about or he wasn’t answering to you. He had someone spying on me that either reported directly back to him or directly back to Jason. Son of a bitch!” I jump up and start down the stairs to the private villa.

“Ana, wait!” Chuck is trying to stop me, but I’m a woman on a mission. How dare he think it’s okay to spy on me! Who the hell does he think he is? I am down those stairs and through that courtyard in no time. I open the door to the dining room with enough of a flourish to get his attention. He looks up from his laptop and knows in a moment that something is amiss.

Damn right, something’s amiss.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks, closing his laptop. I walk into the dining room and fold my arms.

“I’m having a hard time putting something together and I was hoping that you could help me,” I say, attempting to control my temper.

“Okay,” he says cautiously, “what is it?”

“You see, I can’t figure out for the life of me how you knew exactly where I was on my bachelorette night.” His expression hardens just a bit when he realizes that I am calling him to task for his behavior.

“Your safety is very important to me,” he says flatly. “I thought you knew that.”

“Oh, I’m very aware of that, which is why I agreed to have Chuck follow me everywhere I go. Shit, he watches me do every damn thing but take a piss. Yet, when I asked him why he outed me at my hen party—the one time that I thought I could stretch my legs a bit—he had no fucking idea what I was talking about. Now why do you suppose that is?”

“There were more guards on staff that night, Anastasia. There had to be enough of them in case things got out of hand.”

“Yes, I am aware of that, too. I’m also aware that they were all supposed to report to Chuck. So again I ask how it came about that Chuck not only had no idea that you were at the McElvoy, but he also has no clue how you find out where we were?” Tread lightly, Grey. This wick is short and getting shorter by the second. I can see the wheels turning in his head. He doesn’t know how to handle me right now.

Very carefully, Grey, very fucking carefully.

“You see, I was so concerned with what actually happened when you got there that I never even thought about how you knew where to find me. It never even crossed my mind. It was just one of those things that blended in with the godlike aura that you have. ‘Of course he would know where I was. Of course he would know what I was doing. Why wouldn’t he know? Christian Grey knows everything.’ I was certain that Chuck had ratted me out, so I called him on it. Imagine my surprise when he had no fucking idea what I was talking about.”

“What exactly did he say?” he says, his voice controlled.

“Uh-uh, Grey,” I say, my voice firmer than I expected. He blanches a bit at the expression. “Don’t try in any way to put this on Chuck. This is all on you. You know, I’m fully aware of your controlling tendencies. I accept them. I make allowances for them because it’s part of why I love you, but I foolishly believed that our bachelor parties were off-limits! I mean, hell, if you’re in my presence, of course I’m not going to dance with every guy in the damn bar! It may not have been the smartest thing to do, but it was all in fun! Nothing horrible happened and the worst of it was one guy got too comfortable and the other one touched me inappropriately and he ended up curled up on the floor choking on his balls!” He winces at the description, but recovers quickly.

“I thought we had sort of buried this hatchet already,” he says, a bit subdued.

“Oh no, we sort of buried what happened after you got to the party—you know, running in there like a crazed lunatic, beating your chest and fucking me in the bathroom like a goddamn caveman! We sort of buried that! We never discussed how you knew exactly where I was and what I was doing at my bachelor party when I had no fucking clue what you were doing at yours. No, we never talked about that, Christian!”

I can see the CEO exterior rising as he has no idea what to say right now. You’re going to come clean, and you’re going to talk to me like a wife and not a possession and if you don’t, then we’re going to fight. So let’s have it, Grey. Which one is it going to be?

“I don’t know what you expect me to say here, Anastasia. My security reports to me…”

“Bullshit! You were spying on me. Admit it… or don’t! I know that’s what you were doing!” I’m yelling now. “You knew that Chuck wouldn’t do it, so you got one of those unknown lemmings to report in to you or Jason. Were you afraid I was going to fuck someone!?”

“Ana!” he snaps, more than appalled by my question.

“What?” I snap back, equally appalled by this entire situation. “Do you really think this was okay? Is something in your mind really telling you that this was okay?”

“I was concerned about you,” he says. He was clearly not expecting me to come at him with this. He had nothing prepared and the whole idea that something in him thinks that this is okay is infuriating me.

“Oh, really?” I say with heavy cynicism that I know cuts to the quick. “Is that how you’re going to sell this? Is that how you’re going to wrap this up and give it to me? Tie it up in the pretty bow of you were concerned? You sent a fucking army with me that night. You know damn well that there was no reason for you to be concerned. Try again!”

“Anastasia, be careful,” he says, his voice dropping to that tone. I have to steel myself a bit, but I’m angry enough to pull it off.

“Oh, no, Mr. Grey. This is not your sub you’re talking to. This is your wife—your very fucking pissed off wife! And I’m going to make one thing very clear to you so that there is no misunderstanding. If these people are here to protect me, to watch my back and keep me safe, I can deal with that. If these people are here to spy on me, you can shove ’em up your ass!” I’m breathing hard and my fists are clenched. I feel the adrenaline, but there are no tears. This is pure rage, and I’m ready for whatever he wants to throw at me. He sighs so hard that he growls a bit and runs his fingers through his hair. He’s never had to explain himself, so he wasn’t prepared to have to present this to me.

“You can’t go around without security, Ana,” he says, his voice saying that he’s out of patience.

“I can if you think that the purpose for them being with me is to keep tabs on me and to tell you what I’m doing!” I hiss. He’s about to say something when his blackberry buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and examines it, then rolls his eyes and puts it back in his pocket. “They’re a little slow on the notification, huh? No need to really check in since I’m never out of your sight here, right?” I spit. That fact that he didn’t address it lets me know that someone upstairs did indeed text him just now, and part of me is chomping to know what it says. The other part of me is too pissed off to care.

“I will not allow you to put a tether on me because you’re afraid of what’s going to happen if I’m out of your sight. I’ve proven to you that I would be faithful to you, that you had nothing to worry about. I’ve proven it to you over and over and over again, even when you’ve acted like a fucking idiot!” I am boiling! I don’t know how to turn this fire down. By now, he has risen from his seat at the table and he is eyeing me cautiously. His earlier ire has morphed into something that I can’t identify and my feelers are numb, so I can’t connect to him right now. Whatever he chooses to throw at me, I’m ready to shoot back at him! With a bazooka!

“I had to know what was happening!” he admits. “I needed to know that everything was okay, and what do I hear? That you’re dancing with every guy in the bar! What if someone had seen you? What if someone had recognized you? That would make quite the tabloid sensation, don’t you think? I expected to hear that you were drinking a little too much, maybe that one or two assholes were getting a little close. I didn’t know that I was going to get a report that you were making your rounds!” I gasp at his last statement—loud, long, and hard—and my eyes are so wide that my pupils hurt from the stretching.

“Making my rounds!?” I screech. “Making my rounds!?” Is he serious? “Making my rounds!?” Is that what he really thinks? I’m looking around the room like I’m going to find the answer to this question and I’m so livid that I am no longer paying him any attention. Don’t break anything. Don’t hit anything.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that,” he tries to apologize. He’s too late. The volcano has erupted and the lava is about to burn his ass.

“Isn’t it amazing how with one move, you can so quickly make me feel like nothing,” I say between my teeth. “I don’t mean taking me to a public bathroom and treating me like one of your miscellaneous subsidiaries. I mean keeping tabs on me all night through my bachelorette party to make sure that your precious little Butterfly behaves within acceptable parameters. I guess you taught me my lesson for making my rounds… Sir!” I hiss the words with so much venom that he winces.

“Okay. Okay, I get it,” he mumbles. Christian never mumbles. Speak up, CEO! You had all this power a minute ago when you declared that I was making my rounds; a week ago when you had one of your goons spying on me. Where is all that omnipotence now, oh untouchable one?

“I don’t think you do! I think you just want me to shut up!” I snap.

“I understand what you mean,” He says, and I hear the slightest bit of impatience in his voice and it sets me off again.

“Do you?” I almost scream. “I can understand your alpha-male tendencies—your need to dominate, to maintain control—and as long as you don’t get carried away with it, most often I can deal with it. But this? This shit? Whistles! Whistles, Christian! Fucking whistles!” I turn around and storm out of the dining room screaming my safeword all the way up the stairs and until I dive head first into the pool.


She turns around and storms away from me, yelling her safeword repeatedly until I hear a splash upstairs. Goddammit! That’s something that I hoped I would never hear come from her mouth except when I asked what her safeword was. Now, she screams it about 10 times while making a hasty escape from my presence. I thrust my hands in my hair and ponder my current situation. She is way too mad to talk to me right now and with good reason. I wait for a minute or three before I call upstairs to Jason.

Sir.” He doesn’t sound happy.

“Please keep an eye on her. She’s pissed and she’ll swim until she can’t move, then sink down into the water.”

I’ll tell Chuck. She’s not speaking to me.” I frown.

“What? Why not?”

Because she’s not sure that I didn’t have anything to do with this… and I need to talk to you.”

“Not now, Jason…”

“Right now, Christian!” The call is ended and I know he’s on his way downstairs. What the fuck? Where does he get off speaking to me like that? I find out just a few moments later.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jason says, bursting into the villa like he owns the place.

“Jason Taylor! You may be my friend, but you still work for me!” I yell.

“Feel free to fire me when this conversation is over!” He yells. “I realize that you’re a big, hotshot, invulnerable billionaire, but do you realize how many rules you’ve broken?”

“Quite frankly, it’s none of your fucking business what I do with my wife!”

“Quite frankly, it’s always my business! You make it my business! It’s supposed to be my business, you fucking moron, but right now, I’m not talking about her! I’m talking about me!”

Okay, that shut me up. What is he talking about? What rules did I break with Jason? My bewildered look is enough to throw ice water on his flaming anger and he calms immediately, but his ire is still evident. He sits down on the bench on the other side of the dining table and rubs his neck, obviously waiting for me to take a seat across from him, which I do.

“Can you please tell me how someone on my watch had separate job duties and I didn’t know it?” he asks.

“Is that was this is about?” I ask, bemused.

“‘Is that was this is about?'” he says, mimicking my tone, and I’m ready to leap across the table at his smug ass. “Make your move! I don’t give a fuck about how you feel right now! The fact that I had to find this shit out from one of my subordinates? Who found it out from the fucking person that he was guarding? About somebody that was his subordinate? What the hell were you aiming for—the world’s biggest clusterfuck!?” Whoa! Shit. It sounds so bad when he puts it that way. I drop my head and run my hands through my hair.

“I… didn’t think about it that way.”

“Of course you didn’t. I don’t know how you got to be so rich and powerful in the business world when you make so many dumb moves in your personal life. I mean I thought you had completely lost all of your marbles when you called off the wedding, but this?” He waves his hand like he doesn’t know what else to say. “You never told her the whole story?” he asks me. I shake my head. “Man, when you dig a hole, you dig a big one!”

“What was I supposed to tell her? ‘Yeah, Butterfly, I had a spy planted at your hen party, but don’t take it personally?’ Don’t you guys do any kind of debriefing when this shit is over? Shouldn’t Charles have known better than to let the cat out of the bag?”

“Oh, no. You are not going to blame me or Chuck for this one, Buddy. It’s kind of hard to have a ‘debriefing’ when you don’t even know what the fuck was going on. First off, you gave me some Reader’s Digest version of some dude with his hand up her ass and you going batshit, and second, what you said to me, you told me in confidence in the limo and that night in your room. I wasn’t aware that was supposed to be common knowledge.” I run my hand through my hair again.

“No,” I lament, “it wasn’t.”

“Finally, this is what you get for straying from the plan. Hen night was her night. You had no business there at all—not a surprise appearance, and certainly not anybody giving you a play-by-play of what’s going on. ‘Stags and Hens’ is supposed to be ‘Vegas’ and you know it, and you sent somebody to spy on her and you acted all crazy-possessive-beating-your-chest when you showed up somewhere you weren’t even supposed to be. To top it all off, you’re all tipsy, blind, and angry and you didn’t see that she had already handled the situation, so you proceed to humiliate her in some way that I don’t even want to know, so much so that she ditched her own bachelorette party. The party was completely salvageable after she kneed Homer McHands in the balls, but you put the cork on that one, and now you want to find a way to blame me and Chuck? Not gonna happen.

“I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when you had to look at her and tell her that you spied on her during her bachelorette party. I don’t even know how to tell you how to get out of this one, and when I find the fucker that was reporting her actions back to you, he won’t be on another detail with me.” I glare at him.

“You can’t fire someone for taking direct orders from me, Jason. That’s insubordination.”

“No more insubordinate than the first three minutes of this conversation. Besides, I never said I was firing anybody. I said that he wouldn’t be on another detail with me. Chuck is with that woman damn near every waking moment. Anything that goes wrong, he is right on top of it. The only time he has ever taken his eye off the ball was when she ran to Montana, and that’s only because she took special pains to make sure that none of us knew that she was leaving. Even then, he was the first one to find her. She doesn’t need extra security.

“That man is like a dog with a bone when it comes down to her, but I told him that her bachelor night was her business, and not to report activities to me that weren’t detrimental because she knows how to act and how to have fun. She has proven it many times, but you already knew that. You knew that she would behave because you know her well, and you knew that we weren’t going to report her every move, so you sent in a stool pigeon behind my back, behind Chuck’s back, and behind her back. No matter what, you just had to be in the room. So congratulations, you got what you wanted, but at what cost? I’ll bet my pension that you have now shattered her trust and I’m wavering a bit on you right now, too.

“If you think it’s okay to have people under my command—under my supervision—and I don’t know what they’re doing, you’re sorely mistaken. If you want to have a cluster of guys to be a special “Spy on Ana” force, you be my guest, but they won’t work under me. If I haven’t learned anything from the Harris fiasco, I’ve learned that I have to trust who I’m working with, and for someone to do a covert operation for most of the night under my command and I don’t even know about it… I don’t trust him. What’s more, I’m pissed because I don’t agree with the tactic. So when I find out who he is—and I will find out, he won’t be doing another detail with me.”

“You know, you take a lot of liberties with me to be my employee, Jason,” I say matter-of-factly.

“I’m your employee because I’m the best at what I do and you I am. I take liberties with you because I’m your best friend and while I did take a bullet for you, I won’t take any of your shit. Anytime you want me to lay my job down, I’ll turn in my badge, but I’ll still be your best friend and I still won’t take any of your shit!” he barks.

Fuck! My decision to keep an eye on Butterfly was very far-reaching that night. I usually try to think things through, but it looks like all common sense went out the window on every decision that I made the night before our wedding. I drop my face in my hands and shake my head.

“Jason,” I say from behind my hands, “Please don’t berate me right now. I don’t know what to do.” There’s silence in the room for a few moments and then he sighs heavily.

“I don’t know what to tell you to do,” he replies. “Every time I think you fucked up big, you fuck up bigger. Half the time, I don’t know whether to feel sorry for you or give you a good swift kick. And for Christ’s sake, what was the ‘whistling’ all about?” I raise my head. Whistling?

“What whistling?” I ask.

“Whistles! Whistles! Whistles!” he says, waving his hands like a lunatic.

“Don’t ask!” I say firmly, dropping my face back in my hands. I had almost forgotten that Butterfly ran upstairs screaming her safeword… almost. I feel sick, physically sick. I can’t believe how badly I fucked up this time. I think this is probably the worst thing I’ve done in our whole relationship, and that says a lot. I guess I must look like someone ran over the family dog, because Jason puts his hand on my shoulder.

“I’m still pissed at you, but don’t lose hope. She’ll come around. It’s like I said the last time we had this conversation—she loves you. She kind of expects for you to do stupid shit, but don’t keep testing her. One day, you might fail.” I feel his hand move from my shoulder and hear him rise from his seat. “Now, I’m going upstairs to find out who the fuck thought it was okay to run a covert operation on my watch.”

“It was Grant,” I say from behind my hands. More silence for a few moments.

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. I would have found out. You didn’t have to tell me.”

“Yes, I did. I fucked up enough. No need in making it worse.”

“Should I take your confession to mean that there won’t be a ‘Spy on Ana’ squad?” he asks. I shake my head.

“There won’t be a ‘Spy on Ana’ squad,” I confirm.

“Good. I’m going to leave you with your thoughts, now, because I seriously think you need a time-out!” He leaves the villa and I am left alone with deafening silence.

It’s not that I think what I did was wrong. I’m not really sure if it was right or wrong because I have no gauge. If I want somebody watched, they’re watched. It’s that simple. I didn’t think it was that big a deal… until it was. I know that Ana is well aware of my control freak tendencies. It’s not like I make it a secret, but that night, I had the worst feeling of impending doom and I had to know what was going on. I don’t know what I expected. I don’t know what I would have done if I had found at that she had acted inappropriately or run off with some guy. Now, I’m thinking that those feelings may have set in motion the exact thing I may have feared.

Maybe the feelings of doom where warning me to police my own actions and I completely misread them. I generally treat people with mistrust, but not Ana… never Ana. The only other time I treated her with any mistrust was Flynngate and that turned out to be a nightmare. I thought I would lose my mind when she wasn’t speaking to me. I certainly can’t deal with that again. Oh, and there was also the time I silently accused her of possibly sleeping with Elliot, but we were brand new at the time and didn’t know each other yet. So there was never another time that I called her integrity into question after Flynngate.

Does calling off the wedding count as a test of her trust? I mean, it’s a stretch, but I have to look at it from all angles to see what she may be thinking. I didn’t trust her enough to talk to her and come to the decision together of what should be our next step. I just went off by myself and made the decision on my own. Will she see that as mistrust, too? On their own, these things are solved and done—things of the past that we don’t need to address anymore, but when you’re angry and/or irrational, all related events happened yesterday!

I can’t hash this out right now. She doesn’t even want to talk to me. I need to do something to take my mind off of this. I open my laptop and do some work. It will be morning in Seattle soon…

A/N: It had to happen. Y’all know it had to happen. Sooner or later, she was going to confront Chuck about it, and it had to come out. I wrote sex scene after sex scene after sex scene trying to tucker her ass out, and she kept tapping me on the shoulder asking me when I was going to approach the elephant in the room. I told you these people are alive and well and living in my head…

Don’t forget to check out the Pinterest boards to follow Christian and Ana on the honeymoon.

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

Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn x

Mending Dr. Steele: Chapter 70–Mingling With the Gods

I want to thank Seralynsmom for not barking at me when I used her comment as a platform to air my grievances about trends that I had been seeing in emails and responses from different platforms. She very well could have, but she allowed me to vent and then responded with decorum and grace. If you haven’t read my rant, I suggest that you do… it’s kind of important to where the story might go from here.

I’ve had a few readers tell me that it’s too much history–very few, in fact. Far more of you tell me that the detail puts you right in the story and you like it. I feel the same way. I already know that there won’t be as much history in the rewrite when I publish, but here in this blog, I hope my readers will forgive me because I am writing these Greek chapters as something that “I” would enjoy reading. So the history will continue.

People were guessing right out the gate what that picture was. I guess you guys really wanted a bonus chapter, huh? LOL. We had some wonderful alternate guesses. We had Christian looking up at a chandelier, a stained-glass window, a supernova, a woman’s silhouette, a New Year’s ball, the vision into an eye or the pupil of an eye. I think it was Sara that had one of the most detailed descriptions. I know someone else came after her with an extremely detailed description as well… forgive me if I can’t remember who it was right now, but Sara was the first that I saw. It is actually the Golden Eye for the lighting of the 2012 Olympic Cauldron in London. What you see in a view from inside the cauldron looking up after all of the petals have risen, dropped, and settled to make one big cauldron. I can’t remember who commented that this picture was before the cauldron actually settled. This was actually the final picture. There was a hole in the middle after it settled, hence “The Golden Eye.” I put that picture there to prompt people to watch the 9-minute lighting ceremony on my Pinterest page. I hope at least some of you watched it, even if you have already seen it or was there for the lighting, it as a truly profound and emotional thing to see.

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

Chapter 70—Mingling With the Gods


I open my eyes and Butterfly is stroking my hair and gently shaking my shoulder to rouse me to consciousness. Did I fall asleep? What the hell? I feel a bit ashamed. I never leave her wanting. My dick is still tender from that orgasm, but I can still satisfy her. She’s smiling down at me as she strokes my hair and I feel so content. She kisses my forehead and rises from the floor, still naked. She looks glorious. She reaches for me to join her like she did last night on the floor. I take her hand as I rise and she leads me to the en suite.

There’s a bubble bath waiting for us. Damn! I must have slept like a damn log! I swear I only closed my eyes for a moment. I gesture to help her into the tub, but she shakes her head.

“You first,” she says sweetly. I smile at her and sit on the edge of the tub. I swing my feet around and get into the heavenly hot water and silken bubbles. Oh… this feels wonderful. For just a moment, I forget that someone should be in the tub with me. I open my eyes and see her beautiful naked form in front of the mirror, arranging her hair into a bun. When she turns around, her perfect breasts stare back at me. I’m feeling the sense of arousal, but Greystone is still asleep after that magnificent hand job.

Come on, Dude. Wake up!

She takes a towel, a glass, and two bottles and sets them at the top of the tub.

“Sit up, Baby,” she says, and I oblige. She sits on the edge and I smile to myself as she has to do a tiny jump and scoot before swinging around. She slides to the top of the tub behind my head, but she doesn’t get in.

“Hold your head back.” I do as I am told and, as I assumed, she uses the glass to wet my hair. I am in Nirvana again as her fingers massage the soap into my hair and her nails scratch my scalp. Nobody scratched my scalp before Butterfly, or pulled my hair. Then again, it wasn’t like I allowed anyone to do it. When my hair is clean, she gently rinses the soap away and applies the conditioner, which she massages into my hair and scalp as well. When she wets one of the natural sponges that she bought from Plaka, it becomes clear to me… Butterfly is taking care of me. I’m always the one who takes care of her. Now the tables have turned.

She washes my shoulders, arms, and back from her position behind me, then carefully rinses the soap away. After she has rinsed the conditioner from my hair, she walks around me in this huge tub and sinks down into the water in front of me, the bubbles caressing her breast as they envelop her body.

Oh, good hell, she’s a goddess!

Kneeling between my legs, she washes my feet, calves, and thighs. She moves closer to me and washes my chest and my stomach just below the water line. When she gets to my penis, she is very gentle, like she knows that it’s still tender. She gently cleans my penis and balls and her hands and that sponge feel so good down there. I settle back in the tub and let her clean every inch of me. When she’s done, she straddles me and continues to rinse my body with water from the sponge. I can’t help the small moans that escape my throat as I am so content that I could fall asleep again. She kisses my neck a few times and when she stops, I raise my head to meet her eyes. She looks content, too.

“Good morning,” she says, still squeezing water from the sponge to my skin.

“Good morning, Butterfly,” I answer, just above a whisper.

“How do you feel?” she coos.

“Perfect,” I respond, gently caressing her skin under the water. “What about you?” She shakes her head.

“I’ve already had my bath. This is for you,” she replies, “but to answer your question, I feel quite splendid.” I watch her for a few moments as she runs the sponge over my shoulders and chest.

“You are extraordinarily remarkable,” I say. She smiles widely.

“Thank you,” she says softly, “and you are unbelievably incredible.” She pauses and her face is serious. “I know why I never told you that you were my soul mate.”

“Butterfly…” I interrupt her, but she gently puts her finger on my lips to halt my protest. Her fingertips replace her finger and gently stroke my lips as she speaks.

“A soul mate implies that there is another part of you—a mate to your soul that makes you complete. If there is a mate, then you are just separated until you find that mate. That’s not what you are to me.” She scoots up further so that her breasts touch my chest. Even now, with our genitals so close, I’m not aroused. I’m feeling that connection again that I felt last night—so cosmic that it caused us both the collapse and nearly pass out from the intensity. I hold her close to me by her hips and nearly lose my breath when her hands travel up the nape of my neck to my hairline, her palms on my jaws and her thumbs caressing my face.

“I am you and you are me,” she says. “You are every part of me. I existed before you; I live now that you’re with me; I would die if you ever left.” Good God, my chest is going to explode. She brushes her lips over my face as she speaks. “You ignite every one of my senses and I bloom when I see myself through your eyes,” she breathes. “I have never felt more beautiful, more desired, or more loved than I do when you look at me… when I’m in your arms… when you make love to me…” She gently kisses my eyes. “I have never had more intense feelings in my heart, soul, and mind, than the ones that I have when I’m near you… when I think of you… when I hear your voice…” She kisses one cheek and then the other. “… When you touch me.” She brushes her cheek against mine. I breathe deeply to absorb her love and the emotions that she’s causing in me right now or I just may end up a crying, unconscious fool again.

“You are all of me, Christian—my heart, my soul, my mind, my blood and bones, my body… all of me. I could never call you my soul mate… because you are so, so much more…” Her voice cracks a little with those words, but thank God she doesn’t cry. I can’t stand it when she cries and a part of me dies each time she does.

Kiss me, Lady Anastasia… please…

Her lips slowly move to mine and she brushes them gently. At her gentle urging, I part my lips slightly and grant her entry. Our lips brush and her tongue caresses mine. Though our lips touch, our mouths never close—a variation of our open-mouthed kiss, more sensual, more connecting. We entwine our fingers together under the water and close our eyes, absorbing each other’s energy. The feeling is electric. The force between us could light the city of Athens and the surge caused by a separation at this moment could result in a blackout on three continents. My God, I know what she means. I know how she feels. I know what she’s saying. I couldn’t survive without her. Dear God, please never let me know what that feels like.

Who needs a fucking soul mate when I’ve got this?


After confirming my plans for the day and asking if she could dress me, Butterfly chose a casual short-sleeved shirt for me and a comfortable pair of jeans. She’s wearing a blue linen halter sundress with a pair of denim wedges. I told her that we may have quite a bit of walking ahead of us. Her exact reply was, “Trust me, my wedges are as comfortable as any sneaker that I could wear… and they’re cuter.”

She manages to get us all packed after a late breakfast since this is our last day in Athens before we fly to the Greek Islands, and we are off for a day trip to Delphi. Since Adrien is most familiar with the streets of Greece, he will be driving with Jason as his second, so to speak. Once again, Butterfly and I are canoodling in the back seat for a long ride and I assume that Jason must have spoken to Adrien—he never takes his eyes off the road or reacts at all to any conversation or heavy breathing in the back seat. Halfway through the two-hour trip, Butterfly falls asleep in my arms and I relax in her warmth and contentment, nearly falling asleep myself.

“We’ll be at the Marmaria in about 10 minutes, Sir,” Adrien says, and that’s my cue to rouse Butterfly. I gently stroke her cheek to bring her out of her sleep. She purrs at my touch and I just want to cuddle her to death—or to life.

“Wake up, Butterfly. We’re almost there.” She stretches on my lap and slowly opens her eyes.

“Are we there yet?” she says sleepily.

“About five minutes, Baby,” I tell her.

“Mm-hmm,” she says, rubbing her arms and sitting up.

“Are you cold?”

“Uh-uh,” she says, sitting up but curling up on my shoulder and never opening her eyes.

Isn’t she just delicious?

She stretches some more, takes a deep breath and lets it out, then finally opens her eyes.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Only about an hour,” I reply. She nods.

“I don’t know why I was so tired.”

“You had a long night,” I reply. She giggles sleepily.

“No longer than yours,” she retorts weakly.

“I had more sleep than you, Beautiful Girl.” She smiles up at me.

“That is true,” she says as the car comes to a stop. I release both of our seatbelts and we get out of the car.

“I remember how taken you were with Athena at the Acropolis, so our first stop will be at the Tholos of Delhi and the Temple of Athena Pronoia.”

“It seems like I’m not the only one taken with Athena. She has temples everywhere doesn’t she?” I nod.

“It’s no different from the Christian churches or Catholic temples all over the States,” I tell her.

“Very good point, Mr. Grey,” she says with a smile. We walk around the short zigzag road that will take us to the ruins.

“I’ve done my homework, Mrs. Grey. As you shared the Prison of Socrates with me, may I share the story of Delphi with you?” She smiles widely.

“Please, do,” she says sweetly. I entwine my fingers with hers as we turn the last bend on the road to get to the ruins of the temple and tholos.

“As the story goes, Zeus sent two eagles from the eastern and western ends of the world. Where they met would be considered the center of the world. They crossed paths here in Delphi, which Zeus considered the navel of Gaia—or the center of Grandmother Earth.” I gently fondle her navel through her dress when I reference the navel of Gaia, causing her stomach to flutter and her breath to catch.

“This is the site of the more recent Temple of Athena Pronoia. That is the Tholos of Delphi and behind it is where an older Athenian Temple was built.” She looks at me with those beautiful ocean blue eyes and I almost forget what I’m saying. “I know that there are many more stones here than at the other ruins we’ve seen, but hey, who wants to mess with the center of the earth, right?” She giggles and the sound melts my heart. It’s such a contrast from the heaviness of her spirit yesterday. I hold my hand out to her. “Watch your step, I don’t want you to slip.” She smiles and takes my hand as we maneuver around some of the ruins to get a better look at the Tholos. She sits among the ruins there and I take a picture of her with my phone and her camera.

We walk a little ways down a dirt road to see the gymnasium where the youth used to play and train before we walk back to the road. Not far up the road and around the bend is our next destination in Delphi. As we look up the hill, we can see the Temple of Apollo and the Theatre behind it. It’s pretty profound being here among the ruins, knowing what they meant to the ancient Greeks. Even in their ruin, they are quite breathtaking. The car stops to let us out and we take a trek up to the ruins.

“Oh, Christian, this is beautiful,” Butterfly says.

“Yes, it is,” I say, kissing her hand and leading her into the ruins. You have to walk quite a winding road past several ruins before you get to the main attraction. I point out the ruins that I can identify along the way—the Monument of Argos, the Siphnian Treasury, the Treasury of the Athenians, the Stoa of the Athenians right in front of the Manumission Wall with the polygonal stones. Once we pass the Altar of Chios, there before us stands the Sanctuary of Apollo. We walk up a ramp and past six columns still standing at the entrance into the temple of Apollo.

“Consider yourself privileged, Lady Anastasia,” I say, getting her attention. “The supplicants who often visited this temple first had to wash their hands and hair in the underground Castalian Fountain. You have been spared this ritual.” She smiles at me.

“Well, thank you, Sir Christian,” she says, and her voice sparks something in me. Suddenly, I want to make this little expedition as sensual as possible. I put my hand on the small of her exposed back and I feel her shiver just a bit.

“Come,” I say to her as I guide her through the ruins. “The Castalian Springs lie a few hundred feet down the road. It’s said to be the location where Apollo killed the Python, the mythical serpent that guarded the navel of Gaia, earning him this sanctuary. Delphi used to be known as Pytho, and Pythia were the oracles that dispensed the advice of the god Apollo from this temple.” My mouth is close to her ear when I speak in a low, deep tone, purposely allowing my breath to caress her ear, neck and shoulder. I can feel the goose bumps rising on her skin and, of course, it excites me.

“How… did it become Delphi?” she asks softly. I smile.

“Apollo led the Cretans here to claim the land. He did so in the form of a dolphin.”

“Ooohhh… dolphin/Delphi…” I stroke her back again and halt her thought. “That’s clever,” she sighs.

“Yes, it is,” I say, purposely directing my breath towards her upper back. Her back arches only slightly in response and she closes her eyes. “Now, supplicants visited the Pythia there,” I point to the ruins of the adyton just in front of what would be the cella. “Go, take a closer look.” She walks slowly and delicately around the ruins until she gets to where I am pointing. Like a good little student, she stands there with her back to me without moving. Just as I thought, she looks exquisite and flawless standing there with her back to me with the wind blowing her hair and the material of her dress. I not only take a few pictures of her, but I also take a video of her with my phone standing there once again, looking like a goddess—like she belonged in this temple with the oracle and the prophets and the priceless treasures when it stood at its glory. I make my way over to her and stand behind her.

“Tell me about the oracle,” she says softly, without turning around to face me. It’s a good thing I did my homework. I take her hand and we sit on one of the large stones. I turn her body so that her back is nestled in my side.

“Close your eyes,” I say softly and she obeys immediately. I wrap both our arms around her and take both her hands in mine. “Many people consulted the oracle,” I whisper. “Politicians and peasants, rich and poor, from many different lands…”

I whisper the entire story of how the supplicants who came to see the oracle had already most likely completed a long and arduous journey, but still had to undergo shamanic preparations that often left them in a very meditative state and quite aroused—very Euphoric and receptive. The oracle wasn’t too far off herself. She was always a priestess over 50 years old that was said to have eaten bay leaves—depending on who you ask—and then got high from vapors that rose from a crevice in the floor of the temple. When the supplicant asked his question, the oracle would utter some garbled sounds, which the priest would interpret to the whomever came looking for guidance. Her words were believed to be the interpretations of Apollo himself and were taken very seriously.

By the time I’m finished with this explanation, Butterfly is in a Euphoric state of her own. She opens her eyes slowly and turns around to look at me over her shoulder with smoldering “fuck me” eyes. Trying not react to my nature and take her back to the car and fuck her senseless in the back seat, I lift her chin and bring her lips to mine, kissing her with all of the passion that I can muster out in the open with tourists all around us. I want her as much as she wants me. She has made me feel special and loved and I just want to kiss and touch and love her all over.

When our lips part, she makes it clear that the kiss was not enough by hooking one arm under mine and grabbing my shoulder from behind. Her free hand goes to the back of my head and into my hair dragging me back down to her. With one arm across her upper back and the other holding her body securely so that she doesn’t fall, I dip her dramatically as we bury ourselves in a sensuous, devouring kiss, completely forgetting where we are and who’s around. Who am I to deny the lady what she wants?

“We have to stop,” I whisper, when I’m sated enough to break the kiss.

“I know,” she breathes, her eyes still closed. “You make me…” she trails off.

“I know,” I respond, slowly bringing her back to a seated position. I take a deep breath and rub my nose against hers. She assumes her position with her back nestled in my side.

“What about the theater?” she says with a heavy sigh, referring to the theater just north of the temple.

“Plays and performances during the winter. Something to occupy the townspeople when the oracle was silent,” I say, still nuzzling her ear. “The stadium is bigger… and we could probably use the walk.” She nods.


I send Jason and Adrien ahead in the car. This time, I have the map on my phone and we follow a little trail as far as we can headed towards the stadium. When we run into a cluster of trees, I ask Butterfly if she wants to turn back as the terrain might get a little rough. She assures me that her wedges are quite comfortable and that she’ll be careful. Once we are inide the trees and out of sight, I lift her in my arms and push her against a nearby tree. The make-out session that follows could start a forest fire. God, I could just eat her alive. I want her so badly that it’s painful, and I’m not talking about my dick. We kiss until our lips are numb and have to repeat the mantra…

I will not fuck her in the woods.
I will not fuck her in the woods.

I don’t know how long we’re necking in the Greek woods before I feel my blackberry buzz. I compose myself enough to set Butterfly on her feet and check my blackberry.

**Check in, Sir.**

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m not dead. I haven’t been mauled by a bear, only a Butterfly.

**Checking in. On our way.**

“Jason is making sure we haven’t been attacked by killer mosquitoes,” I tell her. When I look back at her, she is still sporting fuck me eyes. “Oh, Baby…” I kiss her passionately once more. “Not here, Baby. I can barely resist you, but not here.”

“Okay,” she breathes, “Okay.” Her chest is rising and falling and causing me to definitely feel something in my lower extremities. It’s definitely time to get the hell out of these woods!

When we clear the trees, I see the car on the road and proceed to the entrance of the stadium. It looks to be as large as the new stadium in Athens, if not bigger.

“This is the Delphi Stadium. The Olympics actually started here as the Pythian Games, held every four years with competitions in sports, music, and poetry. The games at Olympia, however, were more important as Delphi had other significance, being the center of the earth and all.” She smiles at me.

“You really did your homework, didn’t you?” she asks.

“That I did,” I say, leading her down the track a bit. “That concludes our tour of Delphi, unless you want to go to the museum…” She shakes her head.

“No, I don’t feel up to walking through a museum right now,” she says. “I think you’ve given me a wonderful picture of how important Delphi is, now and then.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her into me again. I like standing behind her and holding her in my arms. I sniff her hair and her neck, and instinctively, my hand slips into the side of her dress and under the full mound of her breast. She takes in a deep breath and leans into me. Putting my other arm around her waist, I move my hand up to her bare nipple and roll until it pebbles.

“Christian…” she protests, covering my hand with hers.

“I can’t help it, Baby,” I breathe into her neck. “Your skin makes me hungry.” She whimpers quietly and leans back on my shoulder.

“Oh je t’aime mon chri…” she whispers.

“Je t’aime aussi, Papillon…”

The ride back to Athens takes no time at all as Butterfly and I are all kinds of inappropriate in the back seat of that car without giving a good goddamn about the two gentlemen in the front seat. We’re on our honeymoon… get used to it.

We only stop briefly at the Hotel to get our bags and flag a taxi for Charles and Norbert to get back to the airport, where the six of us catch a first class commercial flight to the island of Santorini. It’s a 45-minute flight, about 200 miles off the coast of the mainland. A driver is there to meet us in a minivan and roughly three miles from the airport down more narrow winding roads almost right next door to Pyrgos is the private villa I have rented for us for the next seven days.

The villa has four separate living quarters that contain eight bedrooms, nine bathrooms, four kitchens, five dining quarters including one indoor public area that seats 12 and one outdoor dining area in the private villa on the sublevel that seats 8-10. Three of the living quarters can be entered from the first level courtyard and the private villa on the sublevel has its own entrance. There is a full-sized pool on the first level and two outdoor Jacuzzis—one on the rooftop terrace and one in the courtyard of the private villa. There are courtyards and terraces on all four levels, so plenty of places to catch the sun… though Butterfly has done that already. We will relax and regroup here in the peace and quiet of this quaint little island, then become tourists on the bustling island of Crete for the last leg of our honeymoon.

It’s early evening when we arrive. Charles, Norbert, and Adrien unload our luggage while I pull Jason aside and Butterfly goes inside to explore. I already know the lay of the villa.

“There are four sections of this villa—four completely different houses. That means if I don’t want to see any of you, I don’t need to see any of you. As it is my intention to be naked as frequently as possible, I’m sure that none of you want to share a space with me. As it is also my intention for my wife to be naked as frequently as possible, I don’t want to share a space with any of you mugs. Having said that, the section that I’m sharing with my wife has three bedrooms. Each of the other three sections has one bedroom each. Two of them have lofts. Work it out.”

I walk with him over to where the walls separate the private villa on the sublevel from the other villas on the first and second level.

“If you stretch yourself a bit, you can see the lovely private yard and Jacuzzi. Do you see it?”

“It takes some real doing, but yes, sir,” he answers.

“Make sure that’s the last time you or anybody else sees it. I plan on using that Jacuzzi thoroughly. Anybody that I see looking over this wall or any other wall into our private area will be fired without pay and can get back to their home country the best way that they can.”

“Sir, how long have I worked for you?”

“A long time, but those others haven’t. Make sure they know that I’m serious,” I tell him. He nods once.

“Understood.” Our conversation ends just as Butterfly comes out of the largest of the villas on the first level, takes off her shoes, and sits on the edge of the pool with her feet wading in the water. Jason nods at me and goes off somewhere, presumably to talk to the rest of the security staff. I walk over to Butterfly and squat next to her.

“This place is huge,” she says. “Simple. Modest in its decoration and quite quaint, but huge. These ceilings are insane. These two have two-story ceilings. Have you seen it?”

“Yes, I have, but you haven’t even seen our villa yet.” Her eyes widen.

“There’s more?” she asks and I nod.

“Put your shoes on and I’ll show you.” She takes her feet out of the pool and I dry them with a nearby towel. After she put her shoes back on, I walk her to the corner of the courtyard and down two short flights of stairs to the private villa on the sub level.

We enter the courtyard first and there is the large private Jacuzzi and outdoor dining area. The ground is gray cobblestone and there are several doors along the villa wall.

“Hmm, we get to choose,” Butterfly says and I gesture her to the doors. She opens the first one and it opens into the master bedroom—nice-sized bed, queen double I think. The hallway has a bathroom on either side, one with a shower. We move on through to the kitchen with all stainless steel appliances, sink, and cookware. This is where the second door meets the courtyard. Butterfly is pleased with the kitchen and I think she plans on preparing a meal or three in that kitchen. I’ll wait until later to tell her that we have chef service.

The inside dining area is small, but the living area is rather spacious. Both areas have doors to the courtyard as well. The utility and laundry room branches off from the dining area while the other two bedrooms branch off from the living area. The largest of the bedrooms has a sitting area and a full bathroom attached and could actually be the master bedroom as well, since this is where the bathtub is located. I will ask Butterfly which bedroom she wants us to use. The other bedroom has more natural light, but opens directly to the courtyard. This one, though not as large as the master bedroom, has its own seating area and the only bathtub in the villa. The outside door is through the sitting room, not directly in the bedroom. I’m opting for this room and, as if she is reading my mind, Butterfly declares that she likes this room best as well.

Jason loudly announces his presence at the top of the stairs above the courtyard and I come out to meet him.

“Your luggage is upstairs. Do you want the staff to bring it down?”

“Yes, please,” I tell him.

“I’m told that dinner will be ready soon. Would you like to be served down here or upstairs?” I look over at Butterfly who shrugs.

“Down here,” I tell him. “Let the staff know that this refrigerator needs to be stocked with water, sparkling water and lots of cranberry juice. We’ll also need some fresh fruits and vegetables…”

“And some kind of bread,” Butterfly adds. “French bread or bruschetta or something like that. I’d love some fresh basil and mozzarella, too… and a good virgin olive oil, please…” Butterfly continues to rattle off a shopping list and Jason pulls out his blackberry to note everything that she needs. The staff brings our luggage down and puts it in the bedroom that we have chosen. Butterfly changes immediately into a swimsuit and cover-up and informs me that she’s going to take a quick dip in the pool. I decide this would be a good time to catch up on a few things.

I set up my laptop in the dining area and begin to comb through my emails. Nothing too much of any consequence jumps out at me immediately, just the same old boring stuff. I delete as many as I can as I already know that my email will be teeming by the time I get back from my honeymoon. I send off an email to Dad to see how Pops and Uncle Herman are doing. I’m distracted by activity outside and the sight of Butterfly walking by in the sexiest black swimsuit. Damn, how did I miss that?

Dinner is being set up outside and Butterfly has gone off to shower. Time just flew by as I was reading those emails. I close my laptop and stretch. Yeah, I was sitting there longer than I thought.

The staff lays out a dinner of swordfish, shrimp, grilled steak and calamari with spinach pie and zucchini, stuffed grape leaves, and artichokes. There’s baklava and our choice of a red or white wine. My mouth is watering for that steak, but I don’t know how Butterfly is going to react to it. Red meat has been the devil since the whole “murder burger” incident. I’m going to wait and see if she’ll let me eat it.

I don’t have long to wait as she comes strolling out of the villa in this sexy black chiffon mini-maxi halter dress. It’s a mini dress with a sheer maxi chiffon maxi skirt. I walk over to her and put my arms around her.

“Good evening,” I say kissing her neck. She purrs a bit.

“Good evening. Did you get any work done?”

“Very little. Just cleaned out some emails so that I won’t be buried when I finally do get back to work. How was your swim?” I take her hand and lead her to the table.

“Relaxing,” she says. “Maybe a bit too relaxing. I gave myself a bit of a workout in that pool. Did you know that it was a countercurrent pool?”

“No, actually I didn’t,” I say, pulling out her chair so that she can sit.

“Oh, yes,” she says putting her napkin on her lap. “It’s wonderful. Not too strenuous. I think I may add swimming to my exercise regimen. That and I may do a little more running. I haven’t really been on my game since I fired Luc.”

“Are you thinking about hiring him again?” I ask. She shakes her head as she takes some of the grilled jumbo shrimp and the spinach pie.

“My yoga is fine, and like I said, running and swimming, the occasional heavy-bag. I just have to do it. Planning the wedding and all of the tiny catastrophes of my life took precedent over the last several months. Maybe now, I can do a little more working out.” She looks around the table. “No water?”

That’s odd. She’s right, there’s no water. I go into the kitchen and grab a couple of bottles out of the refrigerator. “There’s beef on the table, Butterfly.” She looks up at me.


“Under that dome. Steak. Grilled. And I want it.” I sound like a toddler. Mommy can I have steak, please?

“Let’s see.” I lift the dome and show her two perfectly grilled prime cuts of steak. My mouth is watering just looking at them.

“How are they cooked?”

“Medium. Marinated.” I bring the steaks closer so that she can see them. She sniffs them, then twists her lips.

“No violent reaction. Go for it.” Oh, joy! “I won’t be eating any of it, though. No need in tempting the hands of fate.”

“Fret not, Butterfly,” I say, putting the massive chunks of beef on my plate. “They won’t go to waste!” She giggles as she digs in to her shrimp.

We have a wonderful conversation as we eat our meal. We mull over the sights we’ve already seen and what we want to see before we leave. I tell her that I sent an email to Dad about my grandfather and uncle and that I will likely call him later to see if they have gotten settled okay. She admits that she hasn’t touched base with anyone from the states except a quick text to Al and she hasn’t checked to see if there was a response. We continue to talk about nothing and everything until we finish our meal and the sun goes down. The staff comes back to clear the table, and Butterfly and I relax in one of the chaises in the courtyard enjoying the Greek night sky.

Moments later, my little Butterfly is purring in her sleep, smiling and off in dreamland. I take an afghan off a nearby chaise and cover her with it. Kissing her gently on the cheek, I go back into the dining room where my computer is and I have a clear view of the courtyard in case she wakes.

I clear a few more emails, then look at the time. Ten o’clock here means that it’s noon in Seattle.

“Hello, Christian!” Mom answers the phone very chipper. Is she happy to hear from me or just happy in general?

“Hi, Mom. How are things?”

“They’re fine and you’re on your honeymoon. Why are you calling? Is something wrong? Is Ana okay?” I have to smile at my mom’s concern.

“Ana’s fine, Mom. She’s napping in the courtyard under the stars. We flew to the Greek islands today and we are staying in a private villa. She’s taking full advantage of it.”

“That sounds wonderful, Son. That still doesn’t tell me why you’re calling on your honeymoon when you should be relaxing with your wife.”

“I’ve been concerned about Pops. I just wanted to know if he and Uncle Herman got settled in okay,” I tell her.

“Oh,” she says, still in that chipper voice, “yes, Herman and BJ have settled in just fine. They’ve taken the guest wing that we never used before your wedding. It’s actually perfect since it has its own entrance and that old servants’ elevator that we never used. It works really well for BJ on the days when he has dialysis and is kind of tired from it. He had his first treatment on Monday, but it took some doing with all of his doctors still in Michigan and no documentation here to speak of. Herman has gone back to get things settled and he will be back Monday or Tuesday. He has already shipped some of their things and letting the rest of the family know where they will be.”

“Is he having any trouble?” I ask her.

“He’s meeting a bit of resistance from his and Cary’s other brothers, but it’s not like there’s anything they can do about it. As it turns out, Herman has been on disability all this time and he’s just been taking care of BJ. They’re not broke, thank God, but I can imagine how hard it must have been taking care of BJ all alone.”

“Yeah, that must’ve been pretty hard. Did he mention that he may have needed any help getting things squared away in Detroit?”

“No, not really. I think it’s all a matter of just getting addresses changed and meds and doctors set up. The biggest headache he’ll have to contend with is the family house.”

“What’s the problem?” I ask her.

“I think the brothers are fighting over it, but it’s not like anyone can do anything with it as long as BJ is still alive. It’s one of those really big houses in the historical district. So of course, they’re tryingto figure out what to do with it.”

“How does Pops feel?”

“He thinks it’s kind of a waste—a big house in Detroit that no one is living in and he’s out here in Seattle.”

“Let me talk to Herman. I’ll see if there’s some way I can help.”

“That’s good, Christian. I knew that you would. How’s Greece?”

“It’s wonderful, Mom…”

I tell her about all of the sights we have seen so far and all of the pictures that we have taken, how Butterfly has educated me on Socrates and Plato while I educated her on Delphi. I told her that we are now in the Greek islands and that our adventure in Santorini begins tomorrow. While I’m filling her in on our trip and she’s absorbing it like a sponge, I see movement in the courtyard. The faint light from the lanterns illuminate Butterfly’s body as she stands and stretches.

“I have to go, Mom. I want to check on Ana and it’s getting kind of late here.”

“Okay, Son. Kiss her for me and you two have a wonderful time.”

“We will, Mom. Love you.”

“I love you, too, Christian.” I end the call and turn off the light intent on walking outside to greet Butterfly. I stand in the doorway and watch as she glides to the hot tub and unties the halter on her dress. I am mesmerized, licking my lips as she pushes the dress down her naked body and lets it pool on the floor. With her back to me, she climbs into the hot tub and slowly sinks down into the water… and I am drooling. She is naked in the hot tub. Fuck! I have to get out there!


I’ve known that I wanted to do this the moment that I saw we had an outdoor Jacuzzi in a private courtyard. I remove my dress and climb into the heavenly hot water and powerful bubbling jets. Naked in the Jacuzzi… it’s magnificent!

That nap was just what I needed. Now I just want to feel the warm water wrap around me. The  Jacuzzi is not as hot as I thought it would be, but that’s good. I still have a bit of a full stomach and super-hot water wouldn’t be too comfortable. I close my eyes and relax a moment, luxuriating in the feel of the jets pulsing on my skin. I hear the door open and I see him walk out of the dining area. He looks hungry. I sit up so that my bare nipples peak right over the bubbles from the jet, appearing then disappearing with the water flow, taunting my observer.

“Join me,” I say softly.

“Gladly,” he says, snatching his shirt over his head with no regard for the buttons and sliding simultaneously out of his pants and boxer briefs so that his growing erection springs forth. Oh, yes. I haven’t had that in… three days? I am so ready for some of that!

He sinks down into the water across from me and his gray eyes and beckoning me. I cross over to him and he immediately takes my lips in a hungry kiss.

“We’ve been teasing each other all day,” he says as he pulls me onto his lap, grabs my bare ass with both hands and grinds my sex into his erection.

“Ugh! Yes, we have,” I whisper.

“Yes, we have, and all I’ve wanted to do all day is make you scream.” He sucks a nipple into his mouth and teases it with his tongue.

“Mmm! You have?” I squeak. I’m so hot, I could heat this tub by myself.

“Mm-hmm,” he says as he bites down gently on my nipple, pushing me higher and higher. I moan deep in my chest. He feels so good touching me this way. He turns me around in his lap so that I am facing away from him and nestles me down in his lap. What is he doing? By the time I figure it out, he has pinned my legs open with his and his hand is holding my lips open exposing my clit and causing it to protrude. The jet from across the Jacuzzi is pushing water hard and hot against my clit and it burns.

“Christian!” I protest.

“Wait,” he says soothing. Shit, this is too much! I squirm to get out of his grasp, but he has me locked down.

“Christian, please!” I want him to stop. This is uncomfortable.

“Trust me, Baby,” he breathes in my ear. “Relax. Give it a moment. Breathe.” I try to relax and breathe and this shit is still hurting. Then, after a moment or two, the heat starts to penetrate under my clit and into my core and the water brushes upward over the delicate skin while the pulsing gives a deep, hot massage.

“Ah! Ah!” The sensation is surprising. It was painful and uncomfortable at first, but now, it’s intensely pleasurable… almost unbearable. “Aaahh! Aaaaahhh!”

“Feeling better, Baby?” he croons as he opens my lips wider with his fingers.

“Y-yes! Yes!” I can’t buck towards the water, because he has me pinned down. His arm is across my body, holding me in place and tweaking my nipple at the same time. “Aaahh, Christian!” I lay my head back on his shoulder and I don’t know what to do with my hands. He holds me harder against him, pushing his erection against my ass so that I can feel it.

“Get ready, Baby,” he croons while driving me crazier still with the tweaking of my nipple, “you’re going to come really, really hard.”

“I… I…” Oh hell, the pleasure is so intense that I can barely speak. “Aaaaaagh…! I… want you to… fuck me!”

“And I will, thoroughly, but first you’re going to come really, really hard.” He runs his finger across my clit then releases my lips. It doesn’t matter. My clit is standing up on its own. He crosses his arms over my body and tweaks both nipples mercilessly.

“Ooooooo!” I groan. This is so too much. This heat and this friction, I can’t close my legs, and now he’s pinching and rolling my nipples, which is enough to make me come by itself. I am sweating from the heat and the intensity and before I have enough time register what is happening, the pulsing the heat the tweaking, something goes straight to my core and flips that switch. I burst into this hot, burning, painful orgasm that causes me to lose control of my fucking senses.


What the fuck is that? Oh, fuck… that’s me! I sound like a damn cow mooing in pain or something. Christian’s arm shoots across the top of my body and holds me down across my shoulders and his other hand pins my body to his across my abdomen and his legs still have mine pinned down as I thrash about wildly in this water, swatting uselessly at nothing with my hands and groaning loud enough to make my throat hurt while my insides are being burned out of me by a sadistic lover and a Jacuzzi jet. It goes on and on, it seems, ripping me apart from the inside out until I just can’t take it anymore.

When he and the Jacuzzi have juiced all of the pleasure out of me that they’re going to get from this round, I put my hand in front of my clit signaling that I have had enough. He moves us both to the right and out of the way of the jet. He holds me there for a moment while I catch my breath. My throat hurts like fuck, so he leaves me there and retrieves another bottle of water from the refrigerator. I down the whole damn thing. Fuck that was intense, but he did warn me.

He slips back into the water and sits in his original spot. He picks me up and puts me on his lap again straddling him. I hadn’t noticed that Athena’s spear was at full staff until I feel him slowly sliding me down on it.

“Oohhoho,” I moan, both because I’m still so tender and because he feels so good inside of me.

“Love me… slowly…” he breathes. I rise and fall on him, in exquisite pain and pleasure.

“Baby… Damn, Baby, you’re still pulsing,” he groans, as his hands slide around my thighs and to my hips. “That’s it, Baby… slowly… mmm, yes…” He moves his hips only slightly to meet my stroke and it’s fantastic. He’s rubbing my ass and my hips as he pushes them down onto him with every down stroke and caresses with every lift. When he starts to groan in his chest, he holds my ass open with both hands and sticks a long fingertip into my asshole.

Oh, fuck, he knows I love when he does that.

“Uuuugh! Christian!” I moan, throwing my head back and trying to keep the pace we have developed. I’m starting to rise again and I want to bounce and come and make him come with me, but I fight to keep the rhythm. Just when I think I can maintain, I notice that on my up stroke, that fucking jet is blasting into my fucking ass while Christian massages it. Holy cow, Batman! It feels so good that I almost lose the battle with the bounce.

My shiver and groan alerts Christian to something amiss and he almost immediately zeroes in on what it is. This fucker holds my ass open and begins to stroke up into me. Fucking hell! I put my hands on his shoulders, throw my head back and settle in for the ride. Now not only is the hot jet shooting into my ass, but the stroke he has going means that it is actually stroking my perineum and core as well—right where he’s entering me, which means he’s getting an insane massage on his dick and balls on the upstroke.

“Damn… Oh, fuck…” He grunts, confirming my suspicions and I just let him hold me up and fuck me since he’s doing it so well. I’m mewling or yelping or something each time he thrusts into me because it feels so good that I’m going to be a ball of mush any second now. I’m still in the “worshiping the stars” position when he stroke quickens and he’s taking care of the bouncing for me.

“Fuck, Baby!” He exclaims as he slams into me as much as the water will allow him, still holding me in the line of this wonderful jet. Some of the water breaches my rosette and when I push it out, my core tightens around him and he groans loudly, thrusting hard into me.

Oh… My… God… I’m…

“Oh… fuck… baby… don’t… move…” he hisses.

Okay, so he’s holding my ass open and the super jets are thumping onto my rosette while he’s pulsing into me. This orgasm is blasting through me and he’s telling me not to move. I am trembling violently trying not to drop down on him and he is holding me firmly in place while he growls loudly and his rock hard dick expands and throbs into me all on its own, no doubt emptying every drop of cum that his body has to offer.

I dig my nails into his shoulders and hold on. I hear him grunting with each pulse and his fingers grip my ass cheeks to the point of pain. My whole body shakes and I growl some inhuman groan out of my chest. It’s moments like this that make me understand why dogs get stuck in this position.

“Ooooooohhhh fuuuuuuuck,” he groans deeply, now slightly thrusting into me and spawning me into what feels like another orgasm as the water curves up around my body and his dick and rushes over my clit. I whine in my throat, still unable to move as he is holding me firmly in place. I am dizzy with pleasure, light-headed from the intensity. When he finally releases his grip on my ass, I collapse onto his chest, completely breathless. We both have to sit there for a moment before either of us is able to move.

“Goddamn!” he groans. “That was fantastic. I’ve had some of the most intense orgasms of my life with you. I wonder why that is.”

“It’s the emotion,” I breathe. “You’re loving me with your dick and with your soul. Your dick knows the difference.”

“I’ll say,” he says, caressing my body. “Let’s get out of here. The chlorine’s not good for your skin and I’m sure it’s gotten in some places that it shouldn’t have.” I giggle and slowly rise off his dick. I kiss him quickly on the lips and get out of the hot tub. We forgot to bring towels, so I walk into our en suite and go straight to the shower. I’ll just rinse this chlorine water off and I think it’s time for bed. As I’m rinsing the chlorine off with warm water, I watch as the water streams down my breast and I’m fascinated. They do look a little bigger, a little rounder. They’ve always been perky, but they’re sitting up and—dare I say—beautiful. What the fuck do you eat to get bigger boobs and where do I find more of it?

I’m so distracted by my boobs that I didn’t notice Christian standing inside the doors with his once-again erect member in his hand, stroking deliciously. Are you kidding me?

“I watched you walk away, and your wet ass was twitching at me… calling me…” Oh, he wants my ass. That could be fun. “Then I come in here and you’re playing with your breasts. What are you trying to do to me?” I raise my eyebrow to him and bend my index finger in the “come hither” motion. He steps into the bathtub still stroking his shaft and I proceed to rinse the chlorine off of his body. When he is all rinsed and nearly shivering in his own hand, I replace the shower head and get on my knees. Taking him in my mouth, I suck hard, over and over while he groans helplessly. I don’t want him to come, I just want to taste him, so I do—over and over until he nearly cries for me to stop. When I do, I stand and turn around. Facing the wall, I stick my ass out to him. I know that I’m ready because that jet more than prepared this ground for the farmer. He groans, then proceeds to position his head at my rosette. When I feel him there, I push back into him and feel his head pop into me.

“Ah! Ah, fuck! Wait!” Wait? Really? He stands there for a moment and takes a few deep breaths. I smile as I realize he is about to come and doesn’t want to come so soon. “Bed! I want you on the fucking bed.” Okay, Mr. Grey. I realize this will give you the opportunity to calm yourself. He pulls out of my ass with a hiss and off he goes to parts unknown.

Um… okay.

I turn off the water and dry myself off. I go into the bedroom and lie face down on the bed and wait for him.

A few minutes later, he comes back into the bedroom completely dry, except for his oily dick. He rolls my towel and puts it under my pelvis to raise my ass. He straddles me from behind and opens my ass checks. After pouring the oil onto my rosette and massaging generously—working me into yet another frenzy—he positions himself at the opening again and with little effort, slips right in. We both groan at the entrance and I push back against him again, slowly and with short strokes so that I can acclimate to him. He hisses and groans with every movement as I push him further and further into me, accepting all that he has to offer. He doesn’t move a muscle as I pull him into me, barely breathing except for the occasional groan of pleasure.

“Tell me when… you’re ready.” He could barely get the words out around his pleasure and desire. No use making him wait any longer.

“I’m ready,” I breathe. He slowly pulls out of me a slowly pushes back in, the oil—which I assume is olive oil—making for a smooth entry and exit as well as deliciously slick friction.

“Oh, Christian,” I moan, and he picks up the pace. “Yes, Baby… that’s it.” I try to push against him, but his hips have mine pushed down and he’s giving new meaning to the phrase, “bump and grind.”

“Fuck, Anastasia! I love your ass!” He says, shoving his hands under my thighs and pushing them against him, lying on my back, and pumping furiously into my ass. It’s glorious!

“Yes, Christian… yes… please don’t stop…” He feels so good in my ass and I love it. I love that he’s feeling so good that I can tell that he’s losing control. His grunts and groans in my ear are spurning me on and I’m getting hotter and hotter by the second. His strokes become shorter and deeper and the massage is maddening.

“Oh, God, Christian!” I cry out, grabbing handfuls of bedding as I push against him.

“Baby… fuck, you’re too much… too fucking much…” I feel his hips still moving, but I know that he’s about to come because the rest of him goes stiff. As he is digging into me and rolling his hips around, that wonderful feeling that starts in my midsection and bursts everywhere when he’s fucking me in the ass takes control. My body stiffens and I ride the wave. This also means that my asshole tightens…

“Fuck! Ba-by!” He thrusts into me once more and I feel him squirting inside me. “Baby… Baby… baby, fuck!” he grunts, and this orgasm seems to be longer than the first. When he is finally done, he collapses on my back, panting like a puppy.

“Oh my God. I’m going to die if we keep this up.” You? “More? I’ll eat the skin off that pussy right now if you…”

“No! No! I can’t come anymore. I’ll lose my fucking mind!” The thought of having another searing orgasm like the ones I’ve had tonight makes me tremble, and not in a good way.

“Are you sure?” he asks, rubbing his hands up my arms.

“I’m positive!” I say. No doubt about it, Grey. I won’t let you go without sex for three nights again. You tried to kill me on the third night… and I made you come this morning! He kisses me on my shoulder, then pulls out of me and I swear it feels like his dick is a mile long. I hiss when he finally clears my rosette, take a deep breath and finally relax.

“Damn, Baby. That ass must’ve have sucked the hell out of my dick.”

“Besides the obvious, why would you say that?”

“Creamypies.” Just as he says it, there is the unwelcome feeling of ooze between my legs.

Oh, ew!

“Ugh!” I say, shaking my hands as if the goop were on my fingers. Christian chuckles at me.

“Stay right there, Baby.” It seems to take him forever to go into the en suite and come back with a wet washcloth. He opens my legs and ass and cleans me thoroughly, thank God, and the yucky feeling is soon replaced with the feeling of being loved and cherished. When he goes back to the en suite, I realize that we fucked right on top of the duvet. Oops. I pull it off the bed, thankful that we avoided staining it, and climb back in bed waiting for Christian.

I am roused awake when he comes to bed and snuggles me next to his body. Did I fall asleep? What took him so long?

“Huh?” I say intent on asking the question.

“You had a shower earlier, Baby. I only had a rinsing.” He kisses me on the forehead. “Sleep now, Butterfly. I love you.”

“Mmmm,” I say while drifting back to sleep.


Really, Christian, it’s nothing to worry about. The house is still in Dad’s name and no one can do anything about that. I won’t let my brothers or their wives harass him about what he plans to do with it. My biggest concern is that I don’t want it to be empty while we’re not here and I don’t want to rent it out to someone who won’t take care of it.”

I’m up with the dawn, so I called Uncle Herman in Detroit to get a better idea of what Mom may have been talking about. Butterfly is still asleep after our hot tub/bedroom workout last night and I don’t plan to disturb her. It’s late in Detroit, but I thought I’d take the chance anyway.

“Why not let one of your brothers stay in the house? I assume the idea is to keep it in the family, right?”

Unfortunately not. Stan and Freeman both own houses and they would only want to sell it. I don’t know, maybe I should just sell, huh?”

“What does Pops want?” I ask.

He wants to keep it,” he says. “It’s in the Boston-Edison Historical District—huge house with a great property value even with the housing crash. Plus, he raised his family there. He doesn’t want to see it in the hands of strangers.”

“Is it a money issue, Uncle Herman?”

No, that’s not it at all,” he sighs. “I’m not trying to slight you or anything, Christian, but here in Detroit, the factory workers live the good life. They make the good money compared to the average working man—maybe not compared to you, but… anyway, when it comes down to the house, it was never money. Dad owns it free and clear and never took out any loans on it, especially after Mom died. He wanted to make sure that no matter what happened, we always had somewhere to call home. I’m rambling…”

“No, I completely understand. So, now the biggest issue that you have is having someone in the house that will make sure that it’s taken care of. What do you plan to do with it in the long run? Do you and Pops plan on moving back to Detroit?” He sighs.

I don’t know, Christian. Everything is up in the air right now. I mean, as much as I hate to say this, I’m waiting to see if my father is going to live or die. I know that if the prognosis remains grim, he’s going to want to stay in Seattle with Rick and Gracie and the rest of you. Wherever he is, that’s where I’ll be. When he’s gone…” the line goes quiet.

“You’ll still have us if you want to stay, Uncle Herman, and we’re going to do everything we can to make sure Pops gets well. So I know it’s difficult under the circumstances, but let’s try not to think that way, okay?” I hear him sniffing on the other end.

Okay. Anyway, I just… don’t know what to do with the house. I can’t let them sell it, at least not while Dad is alive… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that, but I think you know what I mean.” I know exactly what he means.

“Forgive my saying so, but it seems like your brothers are just vultures waiting for the kill. I mean, they didn’t seem to take a personal interest in taking care of Pops while he was there. Now, he’s only been gone a week—and he’s not even passed away—and they’re trying to sell his house. Is there something I’m missing here?”

They’re not bad guys, Christian. It’s just… I don’t know, it’s every man for himself. They’ve got their families and they’re doing their own thing…”

“You’re defending them, Uncle Herman,” I say softly, “and that’s okay. Those are your brothers, but don’t let it cloud your judgment. In the meantime, I’ll see about getting a full-time caretaker for your father’s house until you guys decide what you want to do with it.”

A caretaker? My brothers definitely won’t stand for that.”

“Oh, but they want to sell it?” I’m getting a little angry now. “Tell one of them to move into it, then!” I have to calm myself when I realize that I’m raising my voice a bit. “I have other properties that I don’t visit often. They have caretakers, people who professionally live in other people’s houses and take care of them. It won’t be permanent—just until you and Pops decide what you want to do with the property. There will be security as well…”

I don’t want this to become a war, Christian.”

“And it won’t, as long as your brothers don’t try to bully you and Pops into selling the house if you’re not ready. The caretaker will be there for the property and the security with be there for the caretaker. We can most likely find you a couple that will be willing to do this, but it could take time. I could put my PA on it and hopefully find someone to take the position in a few weeks.” I hear him sigh.

We don’t have that much time.”

“You have all the time in the world, Uncle Herman. It just depends on how far you want to go with this and if you want to keep the house. Your brothers are going to fight you—you can’t avoid it. It all depends on what you want to do. I can have security posted in and around that house in 24 hours until we find you a caretaker couple. You just need to say the word.” He sighs again.

I just want my father to be well and happy. That’s all I want.”

“So you don’t have time to be worried about his house. Be open and honest with your brothers. Tell them what you are doing and why. Let them know that nothing is going to happen to that house without your father’s permission and if and when that fateful day happens, you will all decide what happens to the house. Until then, no one is selling Pops’ house and that’s it. If they decide to make it a war from there, we will get an injunction and go all out. Not that I’m trying to slight your brothers, but I am a relentless businessman with nearly endless resources and I won’t allow my grandfather to be bullied out of his home. Now tell me what you need.”

You’re a good man, Christian…” And there’s that phrase again. It’s official, I’m getting soft.


Don’t forget to check out the Pinterest boards to follow Christian and Ana on the honeymoon.

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

Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn x

Mending Dr. Steele: Chapter 69—Soul Mates?


Anybody who can tell me EXACTLY what this picture is will earn readers a bonus chapter on Wednesday. You have to tell me EXACTLY what I’m seeing, not just the setting. Be sure to post your answer in the comments.

So, there are two things that I want to address because I do care about my readers.

First, the comments were split on the last chapter. Many people felt that Christian put his foot in his mouth and shouldn’t have said what he said. Others felt like he had a right to his opinions and a right to express how he felt and that Ana is just being hormonal because of a supposed pregnancy. I had to come to a realization when I read comments and reviews that I may not have liked and I’m sharing this with you because I need readers to remember…


Having said that, who’s right in this particular situation? They both are. Christian has a right to feel what he feels and to tell Ana how he feels… but Ana is not now, nor will she ever be, required to take it with a smile. That’s it for that one… for now.

Second, I am TOTALLY FINE AND OKAY with comments and predictions about Ana being pregnant. Everybody knows that I throw hints and clues out there that can be interpreted as two different things:

1) The murder burger could have just been a murder burger—no hidden content.
2) She WAS exhausted from planning her wedding. It’s a wonder she didn’t faceplant on the concrete somewhere!
3) My boobs are getting bigger and more sensitive as we speak (which I find strange and a little scary) and I’ve been fixed! I can’t get pregnant! So how do we explain that?

I’m just saying that to say that it could be more than one thing, but I have no problem with you guys predicting a pregnancy. It’s actually fun to read the comments and people screaming at Ana about her occasional wine. I do have one problem, though…

I have had more people than I am comfortable with tell me in comments and emails that I need to announce a supposed pregnancy “in the next chapter.” Please allow me to gently remind you who is writing this story and to refer you to a specific post about rushing a storyline— When I am ready to announce a pregnancy, I will announce one. Until then, try to enjoy the story and just go with the flow, okay?

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

Chapter 69—Soul Mates?


I quickly make my way to the en suite and close the door behind me. Shoving a towel in my mouth, I wail uncontrollably at Christian’s latest revelation.

How could he not know?

What I feel for Allen is so different than what I feel for Christian. You can’t even compare the two! I suddenly feel like there will be a competition for my attention. Oh, God, I couldn’t stand that. What is he thinking? How could he possibly think that my relationship with Al infringes on who he is to me in any way?

I lament my current predicament longer than I intend to, then proceed to wash my face. My eyes are a bit swollen and I feel kind of crappy, but the cold water helps.

How could he not know?

I go to the bedroom and get dressed—a light blue package hip mini-dress and a pair of baby-blue wedges. I leave my hair down and put on some moisturizer and nude lip gloss. I don my Jackie-O’s, grab a large sunhat, and go in search of my Louis Vuitton backpack.

I find it in the living room on one of the chairs there. When I turn around, Christian is sitting on the sofa facing away from me. His head is lying on the back of the sofa as if he would be looking straight up at the ceiling… if his arm wasn’t thrown over his eyes. I didn’t even know he was in here. Didn’t he hear me come in?

“Christian?” I say softly, so as not to startle him. It didn’t work. He jumps to his feet and spins around to face me. He’s wearing a cotton button-down shirt open at the neck, a pair of tan pants, and loafers. He looks beautiful. I see his ID bracelet under his cuff and it warms me a bit.

“Butterfly,” he says, walking over to me. He gently cups my cheek and I lean into his hand, taking comfort in his touch.

“Constitution Square?” he asks.

“Yes, please…”


We go to the Parliament Building, and then watch the changing of the guard at Syntagma Square and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Again, I am plagued with thoughts of my birth father as well as the Evzone who leaped off the Acropolis draped in the Greek flag during the German occupation. It’s a very revered and meticulous process and I watch in awe as the Evzones demonstrate such precision in the process.

I have to say that the visit to the National Gardens was quite timely. They’re stunning. The first thing that you notice are the rows of beautiful, tall palm trees. I lived in Vegas and I don’t know that I’ve seen palm trees so tall. There are fountains and sculptures and statues, beautiful shrubbery and landscaping of course. There are even ruins inside of the garden as wherever a building may have crumbled or broken apart in Greece, unless they used the materials in another building, they left the ruins right where they were. Some stone columns or bases from some ancient structure are right here in the midst of all this beautiful flora.

The Gardens are 38 acres of arched walkways, breathtaking flowers and gazebos, a botanical garden… and a pond—a real pond with ducks, large rocks to sit on, and a bridge. I wander to the bridge alone for a while. The water spirit in me awakes as I watch the ducks flock on the bank and in the pond. I’m ready for my aquarium now. I knew it when I visited the Aquarium again in Seattle. Although leaving was scary and nerve-racking, being inside made me feel like it always did—calm and serene, at one with the water. Christian has assured me that I won’t have to take care of it, so yes, I’m ready for my aquarium.

Christian gives me a little space as I commune with this small body of water. I want to be myself again. I feel like a part of me may be slipping away. I’m feeling particularly rudderless right now, thinking about Christian’s statement this morning…

I try not to take it personally. Allen has said that you two were soul mates. He has even said it about James, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that about me.

I had to say it at some point. I had to. He’s the very core of my being. I can barely remember my life before him.

How could he not know?

We continue to stroll around the beautiful gardens and Christian keeps me close. I don’t push him away because I don’t want him to go away. I do, however, spend most of the time in quiet contemplation—and he lets me. He holds my hand a lot; sits really close to me when we take a break; holds me close and brushes my hair out of my face. He’s very attentive without being overbearing. He just wants me to know that he’s there.

There’s a gazebo in the middle of what looks like a cluster of pink and white daisies. They are very beautiful and they hold my attention for a moment. Right now, I’m taking solace in the silence of the garden. Even though we’re in the middle of Athens, for some reason the noise of the city only faintly invades the garden. These flowers are pretty. A splash of some blue and yellow and this would make a beautiful bunch of wildflowers… or the perfect flower bed for a home garden. After a lovely stroll through the gardens, we decide that it’s time to go to our next stop—the National Archeological Museum.

I wander into the doors, my mind in its own place. I already know that I like the Acropolis Museum better, but there is a lot to see here and I do want to take advantage of it. I have my little map—anal as I am—that will make sure that I won’t miss anything. Even though the museum is one big square, the displays are a bit of a maze and one can easily get lost in here.

Directly in front of me is the Neolithic, Cycladic, and Mycenaean Exhibits. Mycenae is where the tale of the Trojan War heralds from, as King Agamemnon ruled here and led the Greeks in the war. The gold funeral mask of Agamemnon can be found in this exhibit as well.

Back out in the main lobby, I show my ticket to the guard again, then turn right to begin my circle around the museum. First is the Archaic Era—where the statues all stand straight up and down like the Peplos Kore. The male statues are Kouros and are always naked. I’ve noticed that the art of ancient Greece will often portray the males complete naked or nearly naked while the females are almost always fully clothed.

Next begins the Classical Greece tour. Where the Korai and Kouroi are stiff and almost military in their stance, these statues show more detail in the body and more fluid movement—and yes, the men are still naked. I pay close attention to the bronze statue of Zeus or Poseidon. It’s a lovely piece of work, not because the god is naked and his body is incredible, but because this is where the Greek began to pay more attention to detail and the normal movement and flow of the human body. We’re not sure if the statue is Zeus or Poseidon as his left hand is stretched out to balance him and his right hand is poised to throw some sort of spear-like object, but the spear-like object is gone. To that end, we don’t know if it’s Poseidon’s trident or Zeus’ lightning bolt.

Moving on, I am standing in front of an impressive display of bronze and iron arrowheads and spearheads recovered from the Kolonos Hill. This is said to be the culmination of the Battle of Thermopyles where Spartans and Thespians decided to defend the pass of Thermopyles to prevent the Persian army from penetrating Greece. It was a vicious and bloody battle, portrayed in the movie 300, where 700 Thespians and 300 Spartans actual prevented an army of 100,000 to 1 million Persians—they never got the number right, I’m told—from getting into Central Greece. They all died in the final battle at Kolonos Hill with the Spartans being the last to die, but they succeeded in their task. This battle also marks the beginning of the Persian defeat in those wars. The tale of the heroic and seemingly impossible victory-in-defeat breathed new life, energy, and confidence into the Greek forces.

Further down are the Bronze, Egyptian, and Stathatos Collections with artifacts from several centuries. This is where I see several pieces of the Antikythera Mechanism—gears and cogs and sprockets of what is claimed to be the world’s first computer. I immediately wonder how someone’s mind actually comes up with these things. I mean with necessity being the mother of invention, there is always the need to invent mechanisms and come up with ideas just for everyday survival, much like this machine that helped to tell time based on the sun and the moon and their positions in reference to each other. It just never ceases to amaze me how much civilization has advanced based on someone’s desire to build the better mousetrap.

Upstairs, the Thera Collection from Santorini boasts some very beautiful frescoes, which are beautiful wall paintings done in layers of what looks like metallic paint in some of them—all in dramatic and vivid colors. I spend quite a bit of time admiring the pieces depicting boats leaving or arriving in the port, boxing matches, animals, or just scenes from everyday life. There are also fantastic and detailed vase collections and jewelry up here, but I think the frescoes were more interesting.

Back down the stairs and down a long hallway is the Late Classical and Hellenistic Art. I take special note of the fact that the statues now take on more fluid and natural movement, such as the bronze Boy Jockey and Horse. The horse is actually in motion and the detail is exquisite, a far cry from the statues of earlier periods. In the center of the next room, still in the classical period, is the famous bronze statue of the Artemision Youth. He is a fine specimen indeed—rock hard abs and buns of steel, although it makes me wonder if all the men had little penises or did the artists at the time tend toward a standard size for the flaccid penis and just chose not to illuminate a difference. Of course, I would think of that.

I also see the first statue of a nearly-naked woman—the statue of Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty. Her breasts are exposed, but a himation—the Greek wrap worn by men and women—is protecting her modesty. Later on, I see the statue of Aphrodite and the satyr Pan. This one makes me laugh. She is still naked, her fingertips now protecting her modesty. She is fending off the sexual advances of the god Pan, who has the feet of a goat. She has a sandal in her right hand, ready to whack him with it, and the winged-god Eros is trying to help her fight of Pan’s intentions by pushing Pan away by his horns. It’s wonderful to see that in all of this history and seriousness, the ancient Greeks were able to insert their sense of humor.

I turn around to share my discovery with Christian only to find that he has wandered off somewhere, but of course, there’s Chuck standing inconspicuously in the corner watching me. I only quickly breeze through the Roman Collection, more looking for Christian than at the heads on marble pedestals and the naked woman lying on a chaise in a “pass me a grape, darling” type of pose. Having covered the entire museum, I stroll over to Chuck.

“Did you look at any of the exhibits?” I ask. He shrugs.

“A little,” he replies. “I’m on the clock. I can’t be distracted.” I nod. I must remember to ask him what happened the night of my bachelorette party. There are some holes that I need to fill, but now is not the time or the place. Besides, I’m still really distracted with other thoughts…

… Like how could he not know?

“Where is he now?” I ask him, and I think I may have been a little chillier than I intended. Without missing a beat, Chuck looks at his phone.

“In the Classical section… this first one.” Thanks for narrowing that down, Chuck, because there’s like five of them. I nod and head over to the Classical section to see what has caught his eye.

I find my husband at the statue of Zeus/Poseidon. I can tell that he is lost in some kind of thought because he’s just looking up at the thing with no regard for the audience that has gathered around him. A crowd of women and a few men—tourists and locals, young and old—all cluster around the exhibit. At first glance, you would think they were admiring the bronze god on the pedestal aiming his weapon at some unknown target. Upon closer inspection, it’s clear to see that the majority of them is admiring the real-life ginger standing in front of it, oblivious to the crowd that he has attracted. C’est la vie.

I stand there and admire him for a moment as well, standing in front of his bronze counterpart. I don’t think he knows the effect that he has on women. He knows that he’s attractive and sometimes, it irritates him. He’s very turned off by people who are attracted to the outer and the material, willing to throw their souls away before they get to know the person. I don’t think he truly realizes that his beauty and his strength can literally cause a woman’s knees to fail from a distance. He’s fantastically gorgeous, his physique is incredible, his baritone voice sounds like fresh honey, and his dominance and aura affects everything in a 10-foot radius. That’s why men can’t stand him. They see it, too, and it affects them in the opposite way. Add to that the money, the power, and the astronomical sex skills, and you’ve got one potent and deadly combination that tends to drive Pedophile blonds mad… but I digress.

I walk behind him to the dismay of many women in the room and put my hand on his arm. He confirms my suspicion that he was lost in thought as he turns a blank stare to me, then jumps a bit in recognition.

“Hey,” he says softly, taking his hand from his pocket and caressing my elbow.

“Hey,” I say with a faint smile before looking up at the statue and back down at him.

“Lunch?” he says, sweetly. I nod and smile. As usual, he puts his hand in the small of my back and leads me out of the museum. I love when he does that. It makes me feel safe and secure… and loved.

At a quaint family restaurant, I enjoy a lunch of grilled chicken and a type of eggplant dish called mousaki. It’s similar to eggplant parmesan, but not as saucy. It’s normal is made with ground beef, but they were happy to accommodate my request for no ground beef and bring me the delicious vegetable medley creation. I couldn’t get my cranberry spritzer, but I was able to have a tall, refreshing glass of cranberry juice. Christian has lamb, roasted potatoes, and some type of delicious salad with yogurt and lemon. I know this because I ate half of his salad.

After our lunch feast, we journey next to the Panatheniac Stadium. It looks surprisingly average from the front—just a regular outdoor stadium with a whole bunch of seats—but I know better. Once we get inside to take a closer look, the stadium stretches way back, and I mean way back. The track is 670 feet around and the stadium can seat 40,000 – 50,000 people.

We take the time to walk up the stairs of the marble bleachers to the top of the stadium. The view up here is amazing! I think you can see the Acropolis from anywhere in Athens, but it looks great from this vantage point. We walk around the seats until we get to the middle where we can see from the back of the stadium straight down the field to the front. Christian is still his attentive self, holding my hand and staying close as I maneuver the stairs and the seats.

After I take a few pictures of the field and the Acropolis from here, we walk back down to the bottom where the emperor’s seats are and we each take a picture sitting in the place of royalty. I can’t help but think that he looks a lot more comfortable and at home in that spot than I do, but that’s just my opinion. Of course, while he’s sitting there, he gingerly places me on his lap and makes Chuck take a picture of us. When I see the picture, I’m looking at the camera with a small smile and Christian is looking at me.

I can’t read the look on his face. It’s longing or something.

“You’re not looking at the camera,” I say softly.

“I must have forgotten,” he answers and I know that he’s still staring at me. I love him. I really do, but something inside of me is aching right now and as much as I try to ignore it, I can’t stop it. My heart hurts and I can’t understand why he said what he said about us being soul mates. Surely, I’ve told him… surely he knows… he has to know…

How could he not know?

He quietly takes my hand and leads me down the stairs to the field. We are standing on the track where the Olympics was born—well, maybe not on the exact track as the stadium has been rebuilt, but in the same place. This was the site of the athletic portion of the ancient Panathenaic Games and hosted the first modern Olympics in 1896. At the games in Olympia, the flame in the Temple of Hera burned throughout the games. Today, the Olympic flame is ignited at the site of the Temple there and the cauldron holding the flame is brought here to the Panatheniac Stadium. The Olympic torch is lit from that flame and begins its journey around the world to the host country for the Olympics every four years. The flame stays lit in the cauldron of the host country throughout the games just like it was in Ancient Greece.

There have been some pretty dramatic lighting ceremonies, and I particularly remember the one from last year and that amazing multi-torch cauldron in London. I remember watching that ceremony on television and crying when I saw how beautiful it was. I’m not much for watching the Olympics, but the opening and closing ceremonies are usually pretty spectacular, and London truly delivered the goods in the 2012 ceremonies.

My reminiscing is broken when Christian gently slides his arm around my waist. His expression is cautious now, and I console him with a small smile. I take pictures of the track and the two herms on either side of the field. Herms are sculptures that are just under five feet tall, usually made of marble or bronze. The pillar portion of the herm is called the “shaft,”—adequately named for two reasons. First, the shaft carries the head of the Greek god Hermes. Although he is known as the messenger of the gods, god of trade, thieves, travelers, sports, athletes, and border crossings, he has once or twice been mistaken as the god of fertility. Some herms may have the head of his brother Dionysos or of Apollo. Nonetheless, they are still called herms. Others are double herms with Hermes on one side and Dionysos or Apollo on the other.

Second, the shaft of the herm has a phallic symbol on the front and down just below the center of it—a perfect frieze of a dick and balls and the damn thing looks like it has wings. Now I’ve seen it all.

We spent quite a bit of time at the stadium before finally moving on to the Temple of the Olympian Zeus. This was a monster of a building—the columns are 56 feet tall! Only 15 of the original 104 Corinthian columns still stand and one lies toppled over on the ground after it fell during a storm in 1852. The rest of them were taken away and used for building materials after the building’s unknown demise. Building started on it in the 6th century BC, but it wasn’t finished until 700 years later when Emperor Hadrian completed it. He built the Arch of Hadrian as a gateway to the temple to join Roman Athens with the ancient city.

The Classical Greeks of the 4th and 5th century BC refused to complete the temple because they felt that man was comparing himself to the gods. It kind of reminds me of the story of the Tower of Babel in the Bible. They were intent on building a tower that reached heaven and the Lord was having none of that. He confused their tongue and speech and scattered them among the land so that they never finished the tower. The temple may have been finished, but like many of the other landmarks, it doesn’t stand anymore.

We are now traveling down Ermou street and the downtown shopping district, but I just don’t see anything that I really want to buy. Most of these stores are the same as what we have back home and nothing jumps out at me to buy. The walk down the street is calming, though. Christian holds my hand and points out little unusual things. We even do a little people-watching together. I am truly exhausted and very hungry by the time we decide to eat dinner, and I want fish… lots and lots of fish! Christian feeds me a buffet of swordfish, red mullet, cod, and shark, with lots of lemon and very little side dishes. All I want is fish! I finally tapped out when I finished the lobster and I am certain that I won’t be able to make it back to the hotel. It’s late when we get back and all I want to do is sleep. Like a good husband, Christian helps me get into a comfortable sleep shirt before crawling into bed with me, curling his arm around me and cuddling me close to him until I fall asleep.


I’m standing here in ancient Agora looking at my little map and trying to find my bearings. I wander over to the area where my research and map tells me that I should find Socrates death cell. After having a quiet breakfast this morning, I put on a green, yellow, and a tan colorblock sundress and my braided Louboutin wedges while Christian wears a cotton shirt and gray pants much like yesterday. We’ve already seen the other site that claims to be the Prison of Socrates. When you look it up, it leads you to a location called the Arcade of the Book. When you go to the location, it’s right in the middle of the city—literally on a city street. No ruins, no prison, no nothing unless you’re looking for a sale of 70% off suits and coats or looking to deposit some money into the Alpha Bank.

Further investigation and questioning took me to the cells dug out of the Philopappos Hill that I described to Christian two nights ago. Knowing what I know of ancient Athens and their practices, I’m even more certain that this place in ancient Agora is the proper death cell of Socrates—not the cells in Philopappos Hill and certainly not wherever “the Arcade of the Book” is located. Further driving this belief home is that many pictures depict the location of the “Prison of Socrates” to be a small church, oddly shaped with a rounded steeple dome. This church is the Church of the Holy Apostles that sits on the southeast corner of ancient Agora.

Walking to the ruins southwest of ancient Agora just outside the border, I spot the platform that was the courtyard for Agora state prison. Once I clear the trees, I can see the foundation blocks perfectly laid out just like my map and the building plans say they should be. Socrates’ cell was a two-celled room at the northwest point of the prison. Following my map, I enter the cell. In my mind’s eye, the walls rise from the foundation of the floor and form the two-part cell. Directly in front of me is the door to the inner room, which is where Socrates would have taken his last bath and dressed in his funeral shroud. I walk into the space and I can see the circular stone tub, still damp from his last bath–or it could be the water storage hole, I’m not sure. I choose to say that it was the tub.

I enter the main cell and recall a picture I had studied—the painting of The Death of Socrates by Jacques-Louis David. In the picture, Socrates is about to drink the hemlock being handed to him by a forlorn youth while still spouting out his teachings while he can. Plato’s depiction of Socrates death in his writing Phaedo notes a student named Crito, who was there at the time. Plato contends that he was ill and was not present. Though Crito was real and was a student of Socrates, some historians contend that Plato was actually speaking of himself when he spoke of Crito. Based on that theory, I open the picture on my cell phone and imagine where everyone was placed.

Socrates bed or cot was near the wall by the door. While he speaks of his theories and his teachings, he freely drinks the hemlock handed to him. Based on what I know, Crito was either the person in the picture handing him the hemlock or the young man in the picture mourning at the doorway. I stand in the place near the door where Crito would have stood and then in the spot where I think the young man stood while handing Socrates the cup of poison. I take a picture of my feet with my phone, intent on sending the picture to Al with a three-word caption.

**Plato stood here.**

Ever since I woke up this morning thinking about coming to this place, I’ve been thinking about Al and Christian and our relationships; about how Christian could possibly compare them. Even though Al is one of the most important people in the world to me, he could never fill Christian’s place and Christian could never fill his. Al and I did try to be lovers when we were teenagers, but it just didn’t work out for obvious reasons. Hell, nobody seemed to like the fact that Al and I have such a close relationship—not my lovers anyway. David couldn’t stand him, but I think that had a lot to do with homophobia. Now Christian has taken to comparing our relationship to that of me and Al!

Plato didn’t say that split-aparts had to be lovers. He even said that some people meet their split-apart and it is too much for them, so they don’t end up staying together whatever together means in this sense. Split-aparts are the other half, but they don’t have to be lovers. What if Val was my split apart? Would I get the same reaction from these people if my split-apart were a female—or would they just be expecting to take part in some hot girl-on-girl action?

I stand there, still staring at my shoes and trying to remember when I would have relayed to Christian that he is my soul mate. I know that I have… I just know it…

“They’re brands.”

“Ana… did I hear you say brands? Like cattle brands?”

“Exactly like cattle brands.”

“Ana! They branded you!?”


“Who? Why?”

“I had the audacity to allow myself to be raped by the most popular boy in school. When I exposed him, he called me a liar and this happened to me.”

“Who did this? Did he do this to you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ana, look at me… Ana, please… look at me… How can you not be sure who did this to you?”

“Because it was dark, and I was scared… and they were… all… w… wearing masks!”

“Do you remember where you were?”

“N… no! They at-tacked me… me from… behind… and put me… in the trunk of… a c… car!”

“How many of them were there, Ana?”

“I… don’t know. A… a lot!”

“Baby, how did you get away?”

“I didn’t. Someone found them… someone… stopped them… before they… finished the brand. It was supposed to be whore.”

“Someone stopped them, but no one was arrested?”

“I don’t… know what happened… I was… un… unconscious.”

“Who found you?”

“The cop… on the report.”

“What was his name?”


“What was his name? The fucker that raped you… what was his name?”

“N-n-no. No!”

“Ana! Ana, what is it? What’s wrong? Baby, what is it? Please talk to me.”

“Please, Christian… p-please… leave it a… alone… please…”


“Please! P… please, Christian…”

“Okay, Baby. I’ll leave it alone.”

“You… you will?”

“Yes. Baby, I will.”

Of course, he didn’t leave it alone, but in the long-run I’m glad he didn’t. That’s when I first started feeling something for him, but didn’t dare label it as love… after he showed me his playroom and vowed that no one would ever hurt me again. He was asleep when I was examining his scars, or at least I thought he was…


“I’m sorry… I… I didn’t touch them. I promise.”

“I know.” He put my hand on his chest.


“Your pain… your pain is my pain, too.”

“Christian, please…” I try to move my hand, but he pulls it back.

“I want to heal you, Ana. I want to take away your pain… and your fear, but…”

“What? Christian, what is it?”

“Who’s going to heal me?”

“I will,” I whisper. “I will, if you let me.” Don’t worry, Baby. Dr. Steele is here now.

“All better,” I say as I kiss one scar. “All better,” I repeat as I move from scar to scar, gently kissing each as if to pull his pain into myself and negate my own.

“There’s more.” I hear through his chest.

“What?” I squeak, softly. More? There’s more? Oh, God. Christian rolls over and returns to his spot next to me to reveal more circular bruising on his back.


“My birth mother… was a drug addict. She had sex with men to feed her habit… and her pimp’s habit. I don’t know if I came along before or during, but I know that I was in the way. I lived in squalor and filth—the son of a crack whore—that’s what he called me… all the time. On days when he was particularly mad at her… or me… or the world… or no one in particular… he liked to put cigarettes out on my skin.”

“Who else has seen these?” I ask.

“Only a few people, but no one has ever touched them.”

“Christian, are you telling me that you’ve never let anyone touch your back or your chest?”

“Not on purpose. Only my little sister, and even then, only with clothes on.”

“Not even your mother—your adopted mother?”

“Not even her.”

“Not even your… Domme?”

Especially not her.”

“Oh, Christian,” I said, gently touching his back and leaning in to place tender kisses on the scars there. I straddle his back and gently massage his neck, shoulders and back. As I read the contentment in his voice, I begin to hum a tune that seems appropriate for what we are both feeling right now.

“What’s that song?” He asks softly after several moments of allowing me to caress him.

“It’s called ‘Love All The Hurt Away.'” I reply. He spins around artfully underneath me and captures me in his arms, surprising me a bit.



That’s when I chose—we chose—our song, two broken souls trying to find a place. I wouldn’t have told him then. Even though I had very strong feelings for him very early on, it was still too soon, but when was it…?

“Christian…” My voice is strained.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No… I…”

“What is it, Baby?”

“I want to say something… but I’m afraid.”

“You can tell me anything, Butterfly.”

“You won’t run?”

“I’ll never run from you, Ana.”

“I think I love you, Christian.”

“I know I love you, Ana.”

“I… I didn’t think I could… I didn’t think…”

“Talk to me.”

“I didn’t think… I could love again. I didn’t… know where to start… or what to do…”

“You are perfection, Anastasia. You are beauty, and intelligence, and independence, and strength, and sensuality and every desirable and good thing all rolled into one package. He damaged you. He took you for granted. But you came back from that—and now here you are presenting yourself to me… a damaged, confused, battered shell of a man…”

“Christian, no… You are so much more than that. You’re tender, and gentle, and caring, and compassionate… You dropped everything to come and see about me… twice… even though I wasn’t in any danger. You sent your goons to look after me, even though one of them doesn’t know his asshole from a hole in the ground, and when you saw the brands…”

“I’m afraid, too.”

“Of what?”

“Of losing you. Of you leaving me. Of not being worthy of you. Of being so damaged that I can’t be fixed…”

“Christian, please… stop… Please, Christian, you mean so much to me. You showed me that I can love again. And if you’re damaged, confused, and battered, then we can be damaged, confused, and battered together. I’ll never leave you. You’ll never lose me…”

“Please, Baby, stop crying. I can’t take it when you cry.”

“I’ll stop crying if you stop saying those horrible things about yourself. I can’t take that.”

“Ok, you’ve got a deal. No more crying now, okay?”


I don’t know if that timing would have been perfect or not. Oh, Christian, when did I tell you?

“Nice shoes,” I hear in front of me. I raise my head and look at Chuck. “You’ve been standing here for a while. I was just making sure you’re okay.” I look around and notice that there’s no Christian… again. I look back down at my shoes.

“I’m okay. Just having one of those profound historical moments,” I lie. “Where is he?”

“He went to get water,” he replies. “Where are you?” I look up at him and sigh. I’m in the place that started this whole emotion avalanche in the first place.

“I am in the cell where Socrates died,” I tell him.

“Hmm, profound,” he says. “‘The unexamined life is not worth living for a human being.‘” I look at him, surprised.

“You know Socrates!” I exclaim. He shrugs.

“I took one Philosophy class in school. Some of it stuck with me—not much, but some. Tell me what we’ve got here…”

I tell him the story about Socrates’ refusal of amnesty and escape and how he welcomed death in this room by toasting his poison to a happy afterlife and reminding Crito to sacrifice a cock to Asclepius, the god of medicine. I finish the tale by telling him that I placed myself where I think Plato may have stood since he’s the only reason I would know of Socrates at all, and that’s why I was standing there staring at my feet. He nods.

“You know, you seem a bit adrift,” he says. “So does he.” He gestures his head behind me and I know that Christian is back there somewhere, but not too close or Chuck wouldn’t be talking about him. “I’ve been around you, so I know when something is on your mind, but I’m not used to seeing him this way. You two should talk.”

He winks at me and starts to walk back toward the Agora ruins. I’m watching him leave and I feel like he’s walking through walls. My brain says, “Why don’t you just use the door?”

I send the text to Al and turn to face Christian and he’s leaning against a tree at the end of the ruins behind the courtyard, standing on the outside like he’s waiting to be invited inside. I take a deep breath and walk toward him. He stands up straight and he’s holding a large bottle of water as I approach. I’m walking in his direction and still trying to think of when I told him that we were soul mates…

After I was kidnapped? No…
In Anguilla? No…
When I got back from El Nido? No…
The engagement? No…


She’s standoffish again. I thought after a good night’s sleep, we would have put this monster to rest. We’ve covered a lot of ground today, what with the visit to two separate sites where of the prison should be. I thought sure that it would have been those caves in Piporopus… Philipenis… fuck it, that hill, but she’s certain that this is the spot. Having covered both of those sites and the Museum in the Stoa of Attalos, we took a break for a lunch of Souvlaki and gyros, which by the way were absolutely delicious. Now we are back in the ruins of Agora.

There are quite a few ruins to be seen in ancient Agora and we have seen them all. Going through the extensive collections at the museum helped me understand more clearly what we were looking at. The most preserved building is the Temple of Hephaistos. It still stands in the northwest corner of Agora and is one of the buildings that can be seen from the Acropolis. We spend the better part of the afternoon identifying the other ruins in Agora—the Altar of Aphrodite Urania, about four other stoas, the Tholos, the old and new bouleuterion, two possible courthouses, the fountain house, the mint, the strategeion, and some little place that Butterfly called Simon the Cobbler’s shop.

She openly shared our archeological finds until we started heading to the prison. That’s when she started to get quiet and introspective again. She didn’t miss my presence when I stopped walking with her around the strategeion, so I decided to let her explore this place on her own. It meant so much to her to be here and I don’t want to ruin it for her.

Just beyond the trees and across the street is a little café that thankfully sells bottled water. I buy a small bottle for myself and down it immediately, then buy a large bottle for me and Butterfly to share. I make my way back across the street and through the trees to the site of the prison. I almost got lost in this mini-forest, but I see her beautiful dress billowing in the wind. She’s standing there looking at the ground and I wonder what she’s thinking. I could watch her for hours and that feels exactly like what I did until I see Charles walk over to her and start talking.

So Charles is allowed in but I’m not.
What are you talking about? You exiled yourself.

After a few minutes, I come to myself and she’s walking towards me. Shit, was I staring? Her eyes are full of questions and I just open the water for her as she approaches.

“Thirsty?” I ask. I’ve had a lot of one-word questions for her. It’s like I don’t know what to say.

“Yes, very,” she says as she gladly takes the water from my hand and takes several very healthy swallows. “Would you like to see?” she asks. I smile.

“Yes, please,” I respond, sincerely. If it’s important to her, it’s definitely important to me, but I didn’t want to intrude. She leads me into the ruins to the far end of the “building.” I can see the foundations for several rooms.

“There is only one way into the prison, through those doors.” She points at imaginary doors at the north end of the prison at the end of the “hallway” where we are standing. “Those are the guards’ rooms.” She leads me to the foundations on our right. “There are four of them, see? One, two, three, four…” I can clearly see the separation of the four rooms.

“Yes, I see,” I say, moving closer to examine the dimensions of the rooms.

“The rest of them are cells. There are eight rooms—six one-room cells and one two room cell. Three are there, five are there.” She points out the rooms to me and suddenly, this is more fascinating than any of the ruins I’ve seen.

“This is where the medicine bottles were found… in the museum,” I say with realization. Butterfly gazes at me thoughtfully.

“Yes,” she says. “Those bottles most likely contained the hemlock used for executions.” She walks to the second cell from the end. “This is Socrates cell,” she says as she walks through and opening in the foundation as if she is walking through an actual door. I follow her out of respect instead of walking over the foundation stones. “That other room is the inner room. The only way into it was through this room.” We walk through a second “door” to the inner room. “This was his en suite, for lack of a better word,” she says with a shrug as she walks around a circle in the ground in the middle of the room. “This is where he bathed and dressed to prepare to die.” God, that sounds so morbid.

“He had to prepare his own body before death?” I ask, my voice low. She nods.

“Socrates wasn’t afraid of death,” she says, walking back into the other room and leaving me by the “bathtub.” “He knew that he was either on his way to a dreamless sleep or the next level of his soul’s transition. Neither aspect frightened him.” I gaze at her as she explains death like she’s talking about the weather. I nod my acknowledgement, and she continues.

“Socrates could have prevented his death. He was asked what his sentence should be in court and gave some ludicrous answer, so they sentenced him to die. He was granted amnesty when three of his accusers recanted their stories after his sentence was announced. Two of his other students—one of them was Plato—came up with his “bail” so that he could leave. One of his students or benefactors—I can’t remember which right now—bribed one of the guards to let him escape. He refused all attempts to spare his life.”

“Maybe he was ill?” I say, thinking immediately of my grandfather back in the states and wondering how he’s doing and if he’s settled okay. Butterfly shakes her head.

“It’s always a possibility, but not very likely. Socrates was 70 years old when he died and before he was arrested, he was still walking the streets of Athens teaching his philosophies. I would venture to say that he was a very healthy man, but you never know” She turns her attention to the front of her, like there’s a scene playing out there. “I’ve seen lots of pictures, but from the one that I saw that resembles this room, his bed would have been there.” She points to the space near the foundation that indicates his bed would have been near the wall. She walks over towards the space and stands there for a moment.

“There were more than a few mourning gentlemen in the room when Socrates spoke his last words. He actually chastised them for crying, saying that he sent his wife away for just that reason. This is why Crito—or Plato—left the room… he couldn’t control his grief.” She looks at the empty space where she says Socrates bed was. “I’ve narrowed it down to two people in the picture that could have been Plato based on his age at the time and the description of Socrates death in Phaedo. They don’t exactly agree, but I assume that the artist may have taken some creative license when he painted the picture. He would have either been standing here, giving the cup to his friend…” She walks over to the doorway and stares in front of her again, like she can see the bricks that compose the frame. “…Or here, leaning against the doorway out of sight of Socrates, weeping for the loss of his mentor and friend.”

She stands there staring down at her shoes like she was when I saw her alone in the cell a few minutes ago. I move to the first spot where she was standing and imagine being in Plato’s shoes. I can’t even imagine having to assist in Jason’s suicide. I close my eyes and remember the day that he was shot in my office. I thought he was going to die and I actually cried. You never really know how important someone is to you until you face the aspect of losing them. After everything that they tried to do to save him, Socrates chose death over life. I can only imagine this group of loyal friends and students holding out hope that he would take one of the other options and choose life rather than accept his sentence and leave this earthly realm. All the way to the moment he took the poison, there was hope. Once he swallowed the hemlock, it was done. There would only be a few moments remaining before the voice of a great man would be silenced forever.

The levity of the situation is a bit overwhelming. If that was Jason, I would be the kid crying against the door jamb. I would throw a temper tantrum and knock the poison out of his hands, knock him unconscious, and carry him out of this room to safety, slaying anyone in my path that tried to stop me. I would… oh, who am I kidding? Jason is a bear of a man and my emotion alone would guarantee that I would lose that fight.

I would have to watch my friend die.

I sigh heavily and drop my head. I don’t think I could every resign myself to the idea of watching my best friend die. Thank God I’ll hopefully never be in the position. I shake my head to shake off the thought, then open my eyes and look at the sky. It’s a beautiful day in Greece, and we’re all alive and well. No one’s dying—except Gramps—and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen. I take another deep breath, hold it, then let it out. I have to say that I momentarily forgot Butterfly was there with me until I looked over and she is examining me. She probably thinks I’m crazy.

“Thank you,” I tell her, “for sharing this with me.” She pauses for a moment, then smiles widely.

“You’re welcome.”


Our experience in Socrates’ cell apparently thawed all of the chill from the prior two days. We leave the ruins and go to Monastiraki, holding hands and canoodling the entire time. She would buy a little something from this shop or that booth, and then we’d find ourselves in some quiet alley or in some little cubby somewhere in Anafiotika making out like teenagers. Our last stop for the day is Lycabettus Hill. We have the choice of walking up the hill or taking the funicular to the top. That climb is a long climb and it’s been a long day. I ask Butterfly who makes it only too clear that she has no intentions on climbing that hill. So, the funicular it is!

To keep from completely accosting her on the funicular in front of families riding to the top, I tell her what I know about Lycabettus Hill while kissing her behind the ear. The ride is short and I only have time to tell her about the legend where Athena took a large rock from Mount Penteli with the intent to move it to another location and build her temple close to the heavens. During transit, two blackbirds approached her with bad news about something that required her immediate attention. In haste and anger, she dropped the rock, and here it sits in the middle of Athens. It’s the highest point in Athens and you can see if from anywhere in the city, assisted by the little white church that sits on its peak.

When we get to the top, there is a lovely café with lots of outdoor seating—a wonderful place for climbers to stop and get a much-needed drink. There is also an amphitheater that normally hosts some sort of performance or rock concert. However, nothing is on the venue for tonight. The most spectacular part about Mount Lycabettus is the view! You can see every corner of Athens clear out past the coastlines. From here, it’s easy to see that Athens is a booming metropolis and although you can tell where the smaller towns are, the entire landscape lays out before you with quaint rooftops, large buildings, clusters of lush green trees, and historic ruins in every direction.

The chapel of Agios Georgios or Saint George is the landmark that sits at the top of the hill. It’s been rebuilt and refurbished, but it really is a beautiful little building. Having only heard about Agios Georgios, I had no idea that there was another church on Lycabettus. It’s lies in the shadow of Agios Georgios and it’s called the Church of Agii Isidori. You enter a gate, then climb a long flight of stairs to this quaint little building front. Once you get inside, there’s a cave in there! The building front is attached to a cave and the back of the church is the cave! Though Agios Georgios is more famous and well-known, in my eyes Agii Isidori is certainly more interesting. Who would have ever known that there was a little church on Lycabettus Hill with a cave inside?

Butterfly has loosened up and become a bit giggly watching the sights and the beautiful sunset from the hill. There is a small military ceremony for the lowering of the flag, and I watch with my lady contentedly snuggled in my arms. I am so relieved that she has dropped what has been burdening her.

We are having dinner outside on the terrace at Orizontes before I take my girl dancing later. We start our meal with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin, La Grande Dame. Pleurotus mushrooms with rosemary and small tomatoes from Santorini island; wrapped shrimp in a crispy kataifi pastry with black ink fish sauce and gruyere cheese from Naxos island; chicken pose in a wine of Samos with a variety of mushrooms and fresh fries cut by hand; mignion veal fillet with roasted vegetables and fresh fries; and crushed milles feuilles with vanilla cream and ice cream. We have eaten our fill and tantalizingly fed one another all through dinner before going back to the hotel to change clothes—and guards—and go dancing.

I’m waiting in the living room of the suite in a charcoal gray pinstripe suit, white shirt with thin burgundy stripes, and a black textured tie with gray threading and small silver and pink diamonds. I’m also wearing the Hublot watch that Butterfly gave me. I thought I was looking pretty smart until Butterfly emerges from the bedroom. She’s wearing a black embroidered lace very-mini dress and you can see her arms through the lace sleeves. She’s also wearing black Louboutins sparkling stiletto booties with sheer nude zigzag designs. Her hair is in large barrel curls framing her face and cascading down around her breasts. She’s wearing the Chanel Charleston earrings and she looks phenomenal.

I walk over to her and put my arm around her only to discover that the dress drapes down to the small of her back. Fuck, I’m going to be fighting a boner all night.

“I am not letting you out of my sight,” I growl in her ear. She shivers and smiles seductively at me as we leave the suite.

We go to one of the trendy nightclubs in the Gazi district. It wasn’t hard to find one because they are everywhere. When I say everywhere, I mean everywhere! We get inside of a club that plays 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s music from all genres—right up Butterfly’s alley. We are able to find a booth with a view of the dance floor, our security not far away. Butterfly is very amorous and I like it that way. We order drinks and we are canoodling and people-watching in our own little corner again.

“Dance with me,” she says softly and the music slows to a romantic tempo. I lead her out of our booth and to the dance floor now occupied by other canoodling couples. I am nearly giddy to get her out here and show off her beauty. At the same time, I don’t want any of these horny tourists or cocky locals to get any ideas. So I pull this gorgeous woman close to me, putting my hand in the small of her bare back. Holding her other hand between us, I sway her sexy body, then whirl her around the floor while the Isley Brothers sing For The Love Of You. Every so often, I plant a tender kiss on her lips before I twirl her this way or that way.

As if in answer to my prayers, the DJ plays song after song that allows me showcase my Butterfly on the dance floor while holding her close to me and kissing her gently to show these hopeful suckers that she is definitely taken. Al Green starts to sing Let’s Stay Together and our tempo changes. Her body melds to me and she follows my lead effortlessly and flawlessly as if we were professionals, moving as one person. I spin her around so that her back is to my front, place my hands on the front of her thighs and my lips on her shoulder, and we move to the music. As she lays her head back on my chest and shoulder, her hand moves up to my hair and I have to remember that we are in a public place.

When we’ve had enough of foreplay on the dance floor, we walk back to our table to cuddle some more. Butterfly asks for cold water and cranberry juice and take a double shot of bourbon, neat. She has worked up a sweat and I am hungrily licking it from her neck when our drinks arrive. Butterfly quickly downs half of her water, but when she puts it back on the table, she freezes. Something to the right of us has caught her attention and not in a good way. I look over my shoulder to see some guy wandering over to our table. Why does he look familiar?

“So, we meet again,” he says to Butterfly. Again? I look over at her and her expression is a mixture of horrified and frightened.

“Are you following me?” she nearly screeches. She has her right arm around me and I can feel her body begin to shake just a bit. She’s definitely not pleased with his presence.

“No, I’m just drawn to beauty and beauty is drawn to me,” he responds. What am I, chopped liver? Does he not see me sitting here? Boy, he’s got balls the size of Texas! That’s when I remember where I saw him. He was at the Acropolis Museum and I sent Jason to chase him away so that I wouldn’t kill him.

“You’re really brave when it comes to another man’s woman. How did you become so brazen?” I ask him as if to remind him that there is a man attached to this wife. He shrugs noncommittal.

“Like I said, I’m drawn to beauty. I just came over to see if the lady would like to dance.” This is one cocky bastard! You didn’t see us damn-near dry-fucking on the dance floor a moment ago? Maybe he did and now wants to taste the goods himself.

“The lady’s not interested,” I tell him and I feel Butterfly moving closer to me.

“I think that’s for her to say…”

“The lady’s not interested. Now go away!” Butterfly exclaimed. “I told you before that I’m on my honeymoon. What’s wrong with you? Are you insane?” She turns her head away from him and snuggles further into my side. He is making her visibly uncomfortable and I don’t like it.

“I think you need to move along before I lose my temper,” I say through my teeth.

“No need to be violent,” he says in a voice too calm for me. “If the lady doesn’t want me, you have nothing to worry about.” He moves closer to Butterfly and even though her head is turned away, she burrows into me like she can feel his presence. “I’m not so sure the lady doesn’t want me. Her spirit is electric despite her reaction.”

“Christian…” she whimpers into my neck. Okay, I’ve had enough.

“Step away from this table,” I warn, holding Butterfly protectively. I catch Jason rising out the corner of my eye.

“Or what?” Oh, he is a cocky bastard!

“You don’t know me, but I can make you regret you ever laid eyes on my wife.” He laughs a cocky chuckle.

“What? You have your hired goons over there beat me up? I hear that all the time. Yet, it won’t change the fact that your wife may want me… or someone else. You don’t know me either,” he boasts.

“Let me show you how easily that can be fixed.” I know his type. He won’t quit and that comes from practice, so he has a reputation. I waive down a waitress. When she comes to the table, Casanova’s face falls. Oh, I’ve picked the right one. I reach into my pocket and pull out two $100 bills. “Can you tell me who he is?” I say pushing the bills in her direction.

“Keep your money. I’ll tell you for free,” she says with a heavy Greek accent. “His name is Owen Petrakis. He’s a common kópanos that trolls the museums and nightclubs looking for tourists and young, unhappy… how you say, prize wives.” Oh, that makes Butterfly unhappy. He thinks she’s a trophy wife. We just had this conversation. “He has at least three supporting him now from different countries. I made mistake of thinking he liked me, so I gave him mouní. In return, he give me clap!” She writes something on her order tablet and tears it off. “Here,” she says, slamming the paper on the table. “Here is home address and phone number… his!” She turns to Owen. “You not supposed to be here. I’m going to get Bobo. You leave now or he’ll fuck you up, maláka!”

She storms away from the table as Owen screams something at her in Greek and she screams right back. He must have forgotten that we were sitting here, because he turns to look at us with surprise.

“You heard the lady, Owen,” I say as Butterfly shrinks further and further into my side. “She’s going to get Bobo. You should probably leave.” By now, Jason and Adrien have long since moved to the front of our table. Jason is glaring at Owen and Adrien stands ready to pounce. Owen looks from face to face and decides that he should leave. “Oh, and Owen?” He stops and turns around. “The only reason you are not out fucking cold right now is because my wife is clinging to me. The next guy might not be so kind. If you see us again, keep walking, because if I see you within 50 feet of my wife, Bobo is going to be the least of your worries.”

His eyes narrow and he glares at me. I take the piece of paper with his personal information on it and shove it in my inside pocket.

“Ma’am…” He speaks as one last attempt to get Ana’s attention and with lightning speed, Adrien gives him one to the gut. Adrien says something to him in Greek while he’s doubled over in pain coughing. Butterfly comes out of her cocoon to see what is going on. Adrien grabs Owen by the tie, but he’s too late. Not a moment too soon, this guy who has to be 6′ 7″ and 400 pounds grabs Owen by the back of his jacket like a rag doll. This must be Bobo. Bad move, Owen. You should have left when you had the chance.

“Wow,” Butterfly says, looking up at the tree now holding Owen, whose feet are dangling from the floor. Bobo is saying something to Owen that I can’t understand and is now carrying him out like a sack of potatoes. I turn back to Butterfly and kiss her gently on her cheek. Holding her chin, I ask, “Are you alright?” She nods.

“He just frightened me, Christian. He was so brazen, like he didn’t have anything to lose. I didn’t know what he was going to do next. He scared me.”

“Well, he’s gone now, and I don’t want him to ruin our night.” She nods and I kiss her on the lips. I turn to Jason and give him a quick nod, which he returns.

“Thank you… Adrien… for what you did,” Butterfly says. Adrien nods tightly and follows Jason back to their table.

“That was like pulling teeth, wasn’t it?” I say with a laugh.

“Don’t ruin a good evening,” she says before sticking her tongue out at me.

We snuggled, danced, and made out some more in the nightclub before finally calling it a night. Butterfly located the waitress that gave us the information and insisted that she take the money. She convinced the waitress by telling her that it’s the least she deserves for being bamboozled by a clap-infected gigolo. Now we are back at the hotel and Butterfly is out cold before we even get out of the car. I carry her to the suite and lay her in bed without even changing her clothes.

I’m not tired yet. I’m somewhat dreading the morning. Butterfly went to bed last night and everything seemed fine. Then she woke this morning feeling somber and kept that somber mood for the better part of the day. Now, she’s fallen asleep again after a fun and intimate evening—with one minor hiccup—and I don’t know what awaits me when the sun rises.

I find myself at the piano in the living room. Though the piano is a fine piece of machinery and well-tuned, it’s not my piano. I play one song and it brings me no comfort. I do some research for where I want to take Butterfly tomorrow, then I go back to the bedroom and look at Butterfly sleeping contentedly in her sexy black dress. I remove my jacket, tie, and shoes and climb in bed behind her. I kiss her hair and neck as she snuggles into position in my arms.

“Please don’t wake up melancholy,” I whisper to her just before I drift off to sleep.


I wake to a cold and empty bed. It’s still dark outside so I check my watch—3:24am. Where’s Butterfly? I change out of my clothes into some pajama pants and a T-shirt and go in search of her. I find her in the living room in her nightgown, sitting on an ottoman and looking out the window. I walk over to her and she speaks before I do. I can tell she’s been crying.

“I never told you,” she says softly. Huh? Never told me what? Oh hell, what new revelation is this? “I thought it many times. I was sure that I said it… but I never told you…”

“Never told me what?” I take the leap, possibly opening the door to an eternal downward spiral.

“That you were my soul mate,” she says. I knew it! I knew that’s what this was about. Two days of her honeymoon, she’s been mulling this over because I’m a greedy, selfish asshole.

“Butterfly, please let this go. I don’t know what got into me. I don’t know why I brought that up to you…”

“You hadn’t heard it,” she says. “I’ve felt it, more than once. I’ve told you that you are my soul, that you are in my soul, but I never said those words. I thought you knew…” She starts crying again.

“I did know, Baby,” I say falling to my knees on the floor in front of her. “I do know.”

“I know how it feels to want everything, to want to be sure. I know the emptiness of not knowing. You feel something and you hope it’s real, but you’re not 100% sure. There’s this tiny doubt without confirmation. I’m not explaining this right…”

“Yes, you are!” I say taking her hands. “You’re explaining it perfectly. I want everything. I created the concept. I’m greedy and self-centered and you’ve shown me time and time again that you love me. Yet, I still want more. What I want is unreal and impractical and I know that. I know that it’s impossible for me to be everything to you, just like it’s impossible for you to be everything to me. I never should have said that to you…”

“Yes, you should have,” she says, trying to wipe her tears with her hands. “You have a right to your feelings. I just… I don’t know what to do here. If I say it now, it will only be because I didn’t say it before.” She drops her head. I’m not accustomed to her drying her own tears. I always did that. I remove my T-shirt and begin to dry her eyes and face with it. The gesture elicits a small laugh from her.

“I’m afraid that if I’m not everything to you, one day you may not need me anymore,” I finally admit. She looks up at me with shock in her eyes.

“Christian! No!” she gasps and embraces me warmly. The feeling is electric—not erotic, but profound. I feel the heat from her body moving into my mine and it’s almost crippling. She pushes both hands into my hair and holds me close to her, but not close enough. I gasp at what I am feeling. I can’t explain it, but it’s bigger than I am. She’s panting a bit and after a few moments, she’s tearing at her nightie, shredding it in places.

“Get this thing off of me!” she hisses and I rip it from her body with one movement. She thrusts herself back into my arms and sighs deeply, breathing heavily like she had been holding her breath. I hold her close to me, my eyes closed, gripping her back—like I’m hoping to absorb her into me. Her essence is surrounding me, consuming me. She pushes back to look into my eyes and although she lovingly strokes my face, I’m quietly lamenting the space between us.

She pushes my shoulders away so that she can stand. I stand with her and watch in silence as she removes her panties and kneels on the floor. She looks up at me expecting and holds her hand out to me.

No, Butterfly. I don’t want to have sex now. It doesn’t feel like the right time.

She doesn’t move. She kneels in that same spot and holds her hand out for me to join her. If this is what she needs, I’ll give it to her. I remove my pajama bottoms and take her hand, joining her on my knees. Using just her fingertips, she starts at my shoulders and slowly runs her fingers down both arms… and there’s that electricity again. She never takes her eyes off mine, those ocean blue pools that invite me to swim, so I do. I get lost in the coolness of her eyes and the heat of her touch.

She takes my hands and places them on her thighs. Her skins feels soft and… cool and… warm, all at the same time. I feel her energy. It’s pulsing and invigorating… and comforting. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Her hands move back up to my arms and to my chest, brushing gently over the small coating of hair there until…

She finds them. Her fingers find my scars. I gasp heavily.

Breathe… breathe…

She never takes her eyes off mine and I try to get lost in the pools again, but she won’t let me. She makes me concentrate on the scars. She circles them one after another with her fingertips. I’m frozen. I don’t know what to do. She has touched my chest before, but never like this—never paying attention to the scars this way, never forcing me to pay attention to them. It’s too much.

I remember her kissing them when she first saw them…

All better… All better…

I want to close my eyes to absorb that mantra, but something in her eyes won’t let me. My lips are parted and I’m panting, but I still feel her energy flowing through me. It’s overwhelming. After she has caressed each scar, her hands move to cover my chest and she climbs into my lap, straddling me. I sit on my butt with my legs open and my knees bent, giving her space to sit between them. She wraps her legs around me and my hands move instinctively to her back. She takes a deep breath and releases it through her parted lips. Her arms wrap around me and I know she is searching for the scars on my back. I take a deep breath, secure in the fact that it will be easier this time since I know that it’s coming.

I was right.

The feeling is just as electric, mesmerizing, dizzying… but not as shocking since I am prepared for it. I feel heat and light and comfort—like I’m flying or floating, or high. I try taking deep breaths, but they only come out as shuddering pants. That’s when I realize that I’m crying, but she won’t let me go. The emotion is so intense, it feels like I’ll expire if she breaks the connection.

She continues to caress the scars on my back as our bodies begin to rock, gently and slowly, back and forth—like a dance of our inner beings, but I don’t know who’s leading. I focus only enough so see that the blue pools are wet. She’s crying, too. It’s our connection. Her hands stop moving, but her fingertips are still on my scars, my most vulnerable place. I pay attention to my hands and realize that they are on her scars, too. We are eye to eye, mouth to mouth—not kissing, but breathing the same air. We are connected at our most vulnerable parts, sharing the same energy… and it’s euphoric, better than any drug or drink, better than anything I’ve ever felt. It’s even better than sex. While sex is a coupling of the body, this is a coupling of the mind and spirit—of the eternal being. Nothing has ever felt like this. I bask in the bondage and the freedom of this feeling connected to my wife, and float away into Nirvana…

I awake on the floor, lying on a pillow and a sheet and covered by the softest throw—but there’s no Butterfly in my arms. When I try to turn over to find her, I feel her warmth behind me. She’s snuggled into my back, her mane covering parts of my body, her legs tangled in mine… and she’s spooning me! What the hell happened last night? I feel like a million bucks and this beautiful woman is spooning me! I know we didn’t have sex, but that connection was outrageous.

I feel her move behind me. I didn’t mean to wake her. I know she must be tired. She lifts her head and I feel the warmth of her hair leaving me. I lament the chill until I feel her kiss my back. Mmmm. With the arm that spooning me, she reaches down to caress my penis.


The response is immediate. I love the feel of her hands wrapped around me. Come to think of it, I love the feel of her anything wrapped around me. As in response to my wishes, she wraps her hand around me and pumps, slow and hard. Oh, hell, it feels like fire. I’m panting almost immediately as she strokes me into a fury. I feel myself getting harder and harder in her hand as she leans over me from behind, her tiny hand wrapped around my dick and bringing me immense pleasure. I lean back into her as my body begins to stiffen from my impending orgasm. I am groaning in my chest as her free hand slides into my hair and pulls while she simultaneously bites down on the tender meat of my neck.

“Aaaaghh!” I cry out ready to blow. I’m grabbing for sheet, carpet, whatever will stabilize me when this cosmic orgasm strikes. When she pulls my hair hard once more, I explode with extreme force and intensity in her hand. I have kicked the cover off in the melee and I am squirming uncontrollably under her touch. She keeps pumping and pumping until I have ejaculated every bit of my juice out of me, and I am lying on the floor on my back, breathless…

A/N: My description of Socrates’ death comes from the school of thought that when Plato spoke of Crito when he wrote of the incident in the Phaedo, he was actually speaking of himself. If you believe/read/know of another school of thought, please don’t bite my head off. This is the one that I’m going with.

Kópanos—jerk, prick
I may have those translations wrong, but I looked them up and they are supposed to be slang, so… yeah.

For those who may not know, “clap” is gonorrhea.

Don’t forget to check out the Pinterest boards to follow Christian and Ana on the honeymoon.

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

Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn x

Mending Dr. Steele: Chapter 68—It’s All Greek To Me

The Acropolis – Athens, Greece

I apologize for skipping last week, but I was simply too busy to post. It would take too long to explain. I will also admit that my muse took a beating over the last two weeks, but I think she’s back in action now. The honeymoon is taking a lot out of me. Too much detail is overkill and not enough detail is boring. I’m having a hard time finding a balance, but I’m working on it. I mean seriously–you can’t honeymoon in Greece and just say “We visited the Parthenon and Parliament, then we went home” now can you?

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

Chapter 68—It’s All Greek To Me


“Olive oil,” I say as we sit in that luxurious marble bath after magnificent sex and astronomical orgasms. “That’s new. Why that particular choice?”

“Because it’s thick and it coats smoothly. Baby oil has a mineral oil base and tends to be a bit abrasive after too much friction. Olive oil absorbs into the skin and makes a fabulous lubricant. Oh… and it’s edible.” I look over my shoulder at him.

“How did you learn this, Mr. Grey?”

“Well, like you,” he cups both of my breasts and squeezes firmly, “I like to stay abreast of things.” I giggle and he chuckles a bit at his tiny joke. “I was actually looking for the perfect massage oil that was versatile enough for our… playtime when the clerk at my favorite little discreet toy shop recommended an oil with an olive oil base. As she started explaining the benefits of the oil, I thought, hey, why not just use pure olive oil? None of the additives of the massage oil, it serves the same purpose, it’s good for your skin, and no perfumed aftertaste.”

“Yes,” I coo, remembering the taste of his skin coated in olive oil, “the taste is divine.”

“Behave, Mrs. Grey, or we’ll never leave this suite,” he warns.

“Well,” I begin, turning around and straddling him in the bath, “as much as I am anxious to see historic Athens and all the Greece has to offer, I can’t say that I mind spending quality time with my hot husband.”

“Is that so?” he says, wrapping his arms around my body and pulling me close to him.

“Yes, Mr. Grey,” I slide my arms around his neck and nestle in his lap. “That is very so.” I kiss him deeply, tasting his flavor and essence, remembering how his mouth feels and how he responds to me. He groans just before our lips part and he is slow to open his eyes.

“I like that,” he says in a low sexy tone. “You’re exploring…”

“Is that what I’m doing?” I ask in my own sexy tone. He nods.

“It’s exciting,” he confesses. “It adds another dimension to our intimate time… and it’s hot!”

“Mmmm,” I moan, moving my lips down his jaw brushing only slightly, remembering how his skin feels and committing his shiver to memory, “that’s good, because you drive me wild.” I continue down his jaw, over his neck, and back to where his neck meets his shoulder, then sink my teeth into the tender meat there. He hisses and sits up straight, both his hands instinctively traveling to my ass.

“You want to come again, don’t you?” he whispers harshly.

“Mm-hmm,” I answer, not releasing my mouth or my teeth from their target. He wraps one arm around me and lifts me with ease. When he sets me back down again, I’m in Nirvana…

We’re eating breakfast nearly at the crack of dawn to be able to tour the Acropolis before it gets too hot. We want to see as much as we can before the sun beats down on us, then we will have lunch at the New Acropolis Museum Café and stroll around the ancient artifacts for the afternoon. I was smarter in my dress this time a chose some comfortable shorts and a sheer cotton blouse with a pair of wedges that tied up around my ankle and leg and I put my sneakers in my backpack with my digital camera. There was no way that I was going to be caught unprepared while we are visiting the Acropolis. Christian admits to not being as learned about Athens as he was about Paris and confesses that we will be learning the history together. I won’t tell him that I know a lot about Greece already, but I am soon to discover that even my knowledge doesn’t even scratch the surface.

Jason and Norbert join us in the taxi while Chuck and Meathead stay behind at the hotel. This is probably quite the boring trip to Chuck so far, but he doesn’t seem to be complaining. Norbert speaks to the taxi driver and a few minutes later, we are in the Plaka district. Athens is really a very beautiful city—picturesque and historic. I remember seeing the Acropolis lit up from our table at dinner last night and it literally gave me chills. Then again, it could have been Christian, but I think it was the upper city.

A beautiful pedestrian road in the Plaka district takes us to the marble paths that lead to the Acropolis. Once I discover that I won’t be allowed to take my backpack to the Acropolis, I change into my sneakers and we begin our tour of the famous historic location. We grab a guide at the Propylaea—the entrance—to help fill in the blanks for us on our tour.

I’ve seen many photos, but nothing prepares you for seeing the Parthenon up close. It’s glorious and beautiful, majestic and tragic—strength in its endurance and weakness in its collapse. It’s being rebuilt, has been and will be for several years, but the emotions elicited from being here are very profound. You feel kind of small in its presence—not because of the size, although it is quite massive, but because of everything that it represents, everything the city has endured, the fact that you can see history playing out before you when you stand here.

Going from structure to structure, the guide tells us the difference between the three types of architecture on the Greek columns—Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian. That’s information that I may never use again, but it’s interesting to see the columns graduate from the old Doric style to the newer and more flamboyant Corinthian.

Christian is shocked to discover that, contrary to popular belief, the Parthenon was not the religious temple of the Acropolis. That particular honor belongs to the Erechtheion. This temple is dedicated to the Greek goddess of war, Athena and the Greek god of the sea, Poseidon. Athena and Poseidon competed to see who would become the patron of the city. Athena won the competition by causing an olive tree to grow by touching the ground with her spear. Hence, the city of Athens was named after her. Poseidon’s feat of causing a spring to burst from a rock by striking it with his trident only earned him a small village in Syros—further example providing ample opportunity to rib Sir Christian that “girls rule and boys drool.”

Our guide tells us that the Erechtheion marks the end of what is known as the Panathenaic Way. This is the ceremonial path from the town below that leads up to the Acropolis where a procession took place as part of a huge religious festival that involves sporting events as well as cultural competitions.

The Erechtheion has two porches, but the south porch is most well-known. Overlooking a beautiful green carpet with several stone ruins almost laid out like a historic graveyard is the porch of the Caryatids. I take several pictures of this structure said to contain the grave of Kekrops, the half-man-half-dragon king. Unlike the north porch supported by six Ionic columns, the south porch is supported by six Korai or maidens in lieu of columns. The famous Caryatids have been removed and we will see four of them when we go to the new Acropolis Museum this afternoon. These ladies are replicas of the originals, as evidenced by the change in the color of the stone between the maidens and the porch. It’s nonetheless very beautiful in its ruin.

Standing at the northeast corner of the Acropolis, you will find the location of the Greek flag. Our guide tells us one of many stories that he has told us today concerning the history of war on this site, but this one seemed to affect me the most. As the story goes, an Evzone guarded the flag that flies over the Acropolis. Evzones are mountain units and infantry of the Greek Army and they still guard the tomb of The Unknown Soldier at Parliament in Syntcegma Square today, and they raise and lower the flag here at the Acropolis every Sunday. During World War II, German soldiers ordered an Evzone to take the flag down, which he did. Instead of handing the flag over to the Germans, he wrapped the flag around him, then jumped off the Acropolis and killed himself.

Hearing this story and the many stories about the buildings and temples of this city gave me a whole new respect for the ground on which I am standing and the people who stood here before me and who inhabit the area today. It seems like whoever was at war at whatever time in history made their way to the religious center of Greece and declared “We’re going to destroy your culture!” Many of them are probably rolling over in their graves knowing that their actions only added to Greece’s already unbelievably rich history and makes it even more amazing that these temples still stand—even in ruin…

…A small Athenian temple at the Propylaea was dismantled by the Turks in 1686 to be used as a platform for a large cannon. It’s been rebuilt, dismantled again, and rebuilt again, and here I am in 2013 on my honeymoon—able to stand on it and see all the way out to the ports where ships are waiting and across the water to the islands and the mountains.

..The Turks used the Parthenon to store gunpowder and the Venetians attacked it in 1687. A Venetian cannon ball struck the gunpowder and blew it up.

…The current Erechtheion temple sits on the northeast corner of what used to be the original temple. The original was burned and destroyed by the Persians in 480 BC.

…After the Greek flag was removed, the Nazi flag flew over the Acropolis during the occupation in World War II. A plaque by the flag today includes the names of two heroes who removed the German flag in 1941.

Any wise strategist knows that the best way to destroy a culture is to attack its religion. These failed attempts to conquer the capital of Greece remind me of a movie I saw called “The Book Of Eli.” In the movie, the main villain was desperate to get his hands on a copy of the Bible after the Apocalypse. He knew that not only would weak minds be easily swayed, but that people hungered for real leadership and for something and someone to put their faith in. He knew that he could rule with that Bible and he went to all ends to get a copy of it from “Eli.” When he finally obtained the Bible after thinking he had killed Eli, he couldn’t read it. It was written in Braille.

Athens is very proud of its history and the fact that you can walk the same trek as many of the great thinkers, sit in the theaters where the original Greek tragedies played out, and walk down many village streets and run right into historic ruins.

Below the Acropolis the Rock of Areopagos. If you dare climb the rock, which from my vantage point I can see that many people have done just that, you will get a spectacular view of Athens and the surrounding villages. This is the site of St. Paul’s speech to the people of the city of Athens depicted in chapter 17 of the book of Acts in the Bible. Although we didn’t go to the rock, we were told by the guide that there is a bronze tablet at the top of the stairs that contains the words to St. Paul’s speech to the men of Athens.

We travel down the south slope of the Acropolis and I get pictures of the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, or Theater of Herod, and the Theater of Dionysus Eleuthereus. Though the Theater of Herod is more well-preserved, the Theater of Dionysus is said to be more significant. The Theater of Herod was mostly used—and still is—for cultural performances. The Theater of Dionysus is the first stone theater and the site of the great Greek tragedies. This location was also later rebuilt to house the gladiator fights.

Our history lesson is set to continue as we reach the New Acropolis Museum and the fantastic view of the ongoing underground excavation in the Atrium before you enter. As fascinating as all of this is, I need to eat! Though I had no intention of hiding this fact from Christian, my growling stomach gave me away and alerted him that although we could make our way through the Gallery of the Slopes and the glass floor that further boasts the ongoing excavation under the Acropolis, most of the Museum would have to wait until after lunch.

We decide to go straight to the Museum Café and Restaurant, where our table is decked out with fresh shrimp with ouzo, cherry tomatoes, orzo and red saffron, veal scaloppini with oregano, sautéed vegetables with lime, trachanas with mushrooms and crunchy Greek prosciutto, and fresh pasta with minced meat and kefalotiri cheese. The pasta and minced meat reminded me of the spaghetti and meatballs, but didn’t seem to torture me like red meat has been since the murder burger incident. I should really sue that place. They may have ruined a good steak for me forever! The fresh shrimp was so tasty that Christian had to request a second order as I finished it off before he had gotten any.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I scold him. “We’ve been traipsing around ancient ruins all morning. I’ve worked up an appetite and at least my feet don’t hurt!” He gazes at me with laughter in his eyes before taking a bite of the pasta and minced meat while waiting for the shrimp.

We finish our lunch and visit the exhibits in the museum starting with the Parthenon Gallery since we are somewhat working our way backwards at this point. This exhibit is the home of the Parthenon Frieze—a relief that once adorned the cella of the Parthenon. It was made up of 115 relief sculpture blocks and depicted the Panathenaic procession. It was once in rich color on a deep blue background. Its restoration and preservation here in the museum means that parts of it had to be reconstructed or cleaned with lasers and pieces of the puzzle are still missing. Those that remain show men, women, and children, gods, goddesses, horses and chariots, and various other animals marching around the perimeter of the center wall of the gallery—constructed to match the dimensions of the original cella—and meeting up like they did on the east end of the Parthenon cella to hand over the peplos to the goddess Athena. The outer walls of the Parthenon Gallery are glass. So while you take in the pictures on the frieze as well as the relief sculptures on wall blocks supported by beams and displayed outside and above the Parthenon Frieze, you have a beautiful view of the Parthenon itself, standing majestically in the background and watching over its former treasures.

Working our way down, I see the actual Caryatids that were removed from the Temple of Erechtheion. There are only five of them here… well, four and a half I should say. Four of the maidens have been rescued from the elements to be displayed safely here in their original positions from the South Porch. A fifth stands here in pieces in the back far right position of the porch. It appears to be her torso, pieces of her dress and a piece of her head or maybe a representation of her head, but the rest of her is gone. The maiden in front and second to the left is missing, her position obviously empty—like the “missing man formation”—and as some Athenians have told me, waiting for her return. She is referred to as “The Stolen Caryatid” and she stands now in the British Museum along with pieces of the original Parthenon Frieze and other artifacts and treasures from the Acropolis and ancient Greece. There is an ongoing battle to return these treasures, called the Elgin Marbles, to their homeland to be properly displayed in their place of origin.

From the second floor balcony, you can see the Archaic Gallery display, various busts and statues, sculptures and reliefs, all situated in various locations on podiums around the room. When you walk into the Museum, you almost feel like you’re interacting with the art, like you’re in the marketplace and some random conversation is going on and it’s just another day in Athens. I don’t know if everyone in ancient Greece was as pretty as these statues, but I find myself gazing into the blank eyes of a beautiful Greek kore wondering if she posed for this sculpture or if she was etched so well in someone’s mind that they sculpted her from memory. Where did the artist see her? Was she his lover? A model? Someone that he admired from afar? What was her life like in ancient Greece? Was she one of the inhabitants of the nearby villages? Was she the daughter of an aristocrat? Was she…

“She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?”

I turn to investigate the voice with the Greek accent that I don’t recognize. A tall, attractive gentleman with black hair is standing behind me and to my right. He’s casually well-dressed like Christian, and carries himself like he comes from money. Oh, shit.

“Yes, she is.” Please leave me alone.

“American,” he observes.

“She’s American?” I ask, confused. He laughs that same controlled laugh that Christian has.

“No. I meant you,” he says in a low, soft voice.

“Oh,” I say, cautiously, “Yes, I am.” I turn back to the kore, a bit put off by the fact that he’s interrupting me.

“Are you here on vacation?” he asks, his voice a bit closer to me than it was before. I look over my shoulder at him in my peripheral. He’s about 5′ 11″, well-built. He smells good, but he’s not my Christian.

“Honeymoon,” I clarify, without making eye contact and look back at the kore. Hey, you, say something to this guy and make him go away.

“Ah, honeymoon. When were you married?” Why do you want to know?

“Saturday,” I say, trying to hide my ire.

“Well, well, very newly married. Congratulations.” Isn’t that what honeymoon generally means?

“Thank you.” End of discussion, right?

“Are you and your husband enjoying Greece so far?” Wrong.

“Yes, we are, very much.” I say. I would think that my short answers would signal that I’m not interested in conversation or whatever he has to offer, but apparently it doesn’t.

“We have many beautiful attractions here… very beautiful indeed,” he says suggestively, and here we go.

“I’m aware of that,” I say, turning around to face him. “My husband and I plan on seeing as much as we can while we’re here.” I walk away from him go over to another display, this one a frieze of a man’s profile.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” He’s behind me again. I turn around to face him and fold my arms.

“No, you don’t, but my husband could make you uncomfortable. Why are you talking to me? I told you that I was married.”

“I just like the company of extraordinarily beautiful women,” he says, his voice honey smooth and seductive. Do they teach this shit somewhere?

“How often has that worked for you?” I ask.


“That line.” He smirks at me.

“You do not think you are beautiful?” Oh, no, diversion is not going to work.

“Okay, let’s try this. Please go look for the company of another extraordinarily beautiful woman. I am only interested in being in the company of my husband.”

“Hmm,” he says, rubbing his chin. “Your husband… he’s keeping you happy?” He asks, reaching for my hand. Before it gets there, another hand is on his wrist holding firmly. It’s not Christian.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the voice says. It’s Jason.

“Ah, you must be the husband,” the unknown guy says, snatching his arm away from Jason.

“No, the bodyguard, luckily for you,” Jason says calmly. Unknown Guy looks at me.

“Bodyguard,” he says impressed. “Hmm, extraordinary indeed.” I roll my eyes.

“You don’t give up, do you?” I ask appalled.

“Not usually,” he answers with a smile.

“Please, just leave me alone,” I tell him. “I don’t want a scene and I am not interested in your company—at all. I told you that I’m married and you are being very disrespectful.” His piercing black eyes gaze at me before he bows slightly.

“I do not wish to cause you disrespect. I will go. Should you change your mind, I am Owen.”

“I won’t, Owen. Please leave,” I insist. He nods again, throws a look at Jason, who is ready to strike like a serpent, then walks out of the gallery. I drop my head into my hands and rub my face. “Where is he?” I ask, my face still covered.

“About 20 feet to your seven o’clock,” he says. I don’t even want to turn around. I didn’t want to turn around for the entire conversation for fear that the Neanderthal was going to pop up and destroy all of the Greek artifacts in a 500-foot radius. I don’t want to move.

“Are you okay?” Jason asks. I sigh heavily and nod, just waiting for the Wrath of Grey to fall down on me. Why didn’t he come over when he saw Owen getting fresh with me? Could he hear me saying that I was married from that far away? Oh, I wish one of those famous Greek gods would just swoop down and take me anywhere but here right now. Did he touch me? No, he didn’t. Jason stopped him before that happened. I just stand here for a moment, trying to figure out what I should do next. I didn’t do anything wrong, but I didn’t do anything wrong at the hen party either and look how that turned out. I don’t know if I stand there for a few more moments or minutes, but I get my answer.

“Stop doing that,” he says in a low firm voice. I feel him reach around my body and grab my wrists, stilling my hands that were rubbing my face moments before. I freeze. I don’t know what to say or what to expect right now. Still standing behind me, he brings my hands down to my chest and asks, “Are you okay?”

I’m still frozen, a little shocked, but I manage to nod stiffly. He knows me well. He turns me around and forces me to look up into his eyes. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me, and I can’t interpret the emotions that flash through his stare in the few seconds that we gaze at each other, but he cups my face and says “I’m sorry.”

Huh? Sorry? For what?

“For what I did,” he says softly, “at your bachelorette party.” Oh my God, we’re having this conversation here?

“Not here…” I begin.

“Yes, here!” he says firmly but quietly. “I was an ass—a barbaric, unfeeling ass—and I’m sorry. I don’t know how to react when a man touches you. I’m trying, that’s why I stayed by the beam. I love you so much. You’ve made be feel things I’ve never felt before and the thought of losing them or sharing them…” He stops abruptly and drops his head, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that… or like this.”

He knows me too well. He totally nailed it. I had no idea what he was going to do while this guy was putting the moves on me. I was frozen with panic and uncertainty and I just wanted him to go away. It took an intervention from Jason—who has now conveniently disappeared in that way that he does—to make that guy stop. I’m feeling kind of numb now—not sad, not scared, not relieved, just… numb.

“Butterfly?” I look up in his eyes, large and questioning. “Please forgive me.” I’m still having a problem finding my words, so I just nod. He brings his lips to mine and kisses me, pulling my body closer to him. I melt instantly, momentarily forgetting that we’re standing in the middle of a busy museum. I cup his face in my hands and just let him kiss away my uncertainty.


She’s so beautiful. I’m leaning against one of the large, gray beams in the center of the Archaic Gallery and I just watch her as she goes from display to display, marveling at the history laid out before her. She stops at a statue of a peplos kore and I can almost imagine her standing there having a conversation with the woman about fashion or the latest gossip. She’s lost in thought as she stares at the statue and I’m wondering what heavenly ideas are going through her mind. She looks utterly adorable standing there still as a statue herself gazing at the maiden like it holds the secrets to the universe. I don’t know how long I stand there gazing at the light of my life before I see some slick-haired Greek slither up to her and start conversation.

…And the light just got dark.

I can tell that she’s paying him no attention, but it seems the more she tries to shun him, the more determined he becomes. He’s one of those, wear you down until you say ‘yes,’ and then…

“Do you want me to take care of it, Boss?” Jason’s voice breaks my chain of thought and I realize that although my arms are crossed and I am still leaning on the beam, my fists are clenched to the point where my knuckles are white. I want to kill this fucker. Get away from my Butterfly! She folds her arms and takes a stance that says that she clearly wants him to leave her alone. Do I go charging in again? Will I embarrass her?

“Yes, Jason, please,” I say. I don’t think I can handle this situation diplomatically. In an official capacity, Jason may be able to defuse the situation and get rid of this loser without making a scene. He gets over to them not a moment too soon. This asshole was about to touch my Butterfly. Easy, Grey, easy. Nothing has happened. Don’t lose your cool. I’m no longer leaning on the beam. In fact, I’m ready to leap over these statues in a minute.

Cool, Grey. Be cool. Let Jason handle it.

The greasy Greek snake has slithered away and I can tell by the glance Jason just threw at me that she just asked about me. She doesn’t turn around though. She just stands there rubbing her face in that way that she rubs her forehead like she’s going to start a fire. What is she doing? Turn around, Butterfly. Let me see your face. She won’t move. She nods at Jason, but she won’t drop her hands and she won’t move.

Come to me, Butterfly.

Nothing. It’s not like she can hear me, though. Jason looks over at me after a few more moments of watching her trying to start a fire on her face. It only takes a moment to realize what must be going through her head. I walk over to them, reach around her and clasp her wrists, forcing her to stop rubbing her face. When I turn her around to face me, it’s written in her eyes.

I’m such an asshole.

I don’t know what I say to her, but all I know is that I am begging her to forgive me in my heart. I’m so sorry I made you feel this way. I’m so, so sorry. I know it wasn’t your fault. I’m so sorry.

Before I know it, we are kissing deeply in the middle of the museum and I just want to get her out of here.

“Do you want to see more of the exhibits?” I ask her.

“No. I’ve seen enough. I’m ready to go,” she says softly. I have to stop myself from carrying her out of the museum. She seems vulnerable and I’m her protector; that’s my first instinct. We stroll the rest of the way through the museum, slowing down to view the glass floor and the exhibits of the Gallery of the Slopes since we basically ran through it on our way in. Once we get out into the fresh air, Butterfly seems to loosen up a bit, thank God. We decide to take the five-minute walk over to the Plaka district to do some tourist shopping and have dinner.

The Plaka district is characterized by very narrow roads, most of which do not allow cars. The area is very small, only 6 blocks wide and 10 blocks long. However, this is the area of the old village buildings, wrought iron balconies, and picturesque cobblestone streets. Every space is being used and the shops are nearly one on top of the other. You can find just about anything in the Plaka district. The shops have their wares all hanging or displayed on the outside of the stores and both locals and tourist buzz around looking for a deal.

We have gone to many of the shops so far, purchasing Greek pottery, fresh sponges from the Mediterranean, hats and souvenirs, and now we find ourselves in a small shop of unique handmade jewelry… and I’m watching her again. She is carefree as she talks to the shopkeeper about her choices. Norbert has taken most of the items we have purchased back to the hotel and Adrien and Charles will return and relieve Jason for the evening. I must admit that she is choosing some stunning original pieces, but I would have to say that my favorite pastime is Ana-watching.

I love the way her body moves. She’s curvier lately and her ass fits perfectly in these little shorts she’s wearing. I remember seeing her in a similar pair in Anguilla and just thinking that I wanted to cup her ass all night, not necessarily fuck her, just cup her ass. Now, it’s rounder than it was then and I could just wrap my hands around those cheeks and never let go. She glides to another display of some black and silver necklaces and I move to where I can get a better view of her. She is so beautiful with her chocolate locks cascading down her back. She moves her shirt in an effort to cool herself and it only brushes against her luscious body and makes me want her. I’ll make you hot, Baby. I’ll make you so hot, you can’t see straight.


I’m a little embarrassed that Charles caught me eye-fucking my wife, but hey, we’re married and if he sticks around, he may accidentally see more than that.

“Yes?” I respond.

“Just letting you know that we’re here, sir,” he says. I nod and turn back to my Butterfly gazing. Her body is changing. She’s more sensitive and sensual. She can go as long as I can if not longer sometimes, and that’s new. I don’t remember ever having a woman who wasn’t worn out before I was and didn’t need a little coaxing. Now this new exploration thing that she’s doing, that’s fucking hot! The looks on her face when she realizes her full orgasm. The way that her insides vibrate, tighten, then release when she is concentrating on the sensation… shit, I better stop thinking about this before I give Charles a view he’ll never forget.

Down, Greystone.

Butterfly buys her wares and I swear she turns around and looks right at my dick. She looks up at me and smiles, walking the short distance across the shop over to me. She leans her body against mine and gives me a soft kiss.

“Do you need a moment?” she whispers in my ear. My eyebrows furrow when I look at her. She gestures her head down to the area that she is craftily covering with her body. Charles, like Jason, knows when to get lost and has retreated out of the shop and is standing just outside the door with Adrien. “What were you thinking about?” she asks.

“You,” I answer honestly, “and you hot ass and your firm breasts and how you make me so hard and want you so much that I can’t fucking see straight.” Her eyebrows shoot up and I can tell that she is a bit taken aback by my confession.

“You do the same thing to me, Mr. Grey, but…” She looks down at my dick again. “My arousal is not so visible.” Shit, I’m coaxing Greystone down and he’s rising higher to the challenge. The little jewelry shop is so tiny and there’s nowhere to hide. I’m going to have to go into the street like this.

“I’ll get it to calm down,” I say, not so sure of myself.

“I’m just a little worried about you,” she says with mirth. “It can’t be very comfortable in those jeans.”

“No,” I tell her, “but the tightness against…” I trail off and she raises her eyebrows again. Yes, Butterfly, I like it.

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

“I’ll talk it down,” I tell her as we leave the jewelry store.

Yeah… that didn’t work.

I’m walking down the streets of the Plaka district, examining more things to buy and every female eye walking in my direction goes straight to my dick. It doesn’t matter if they are 25 or 75, they are looking at the package, and Greystone is looking right back at them. It’s not because he wants any of them; it’s because he refuses to settle down. He is pumping hard and to the left and I’m trying to ignore him, but it’s doing no good. Butterfly is becoming aggravated with the additional attention to my unwelcome erection and begins to somewhat separate herself from me. That doesn’t make me happy. If she was trying to have the effect of making it deflate, that worked.

She’s looking at some colorful scarves on a display and I am standing behind her, watching her ass and thinking about what I could do with those scarves. Oh, for Christ’s sake! I cross the tiny street and look at some boring postcards of the Parthenon and the surrounding ruins. Charles and Adrien will make sure no harm comes to Butterfly.

My mind must have wandered to parts unknown and my thoughts are interrupted by the voice of a young Greek woman.

“See anything you like?” she asks in a mild Greek accent. I look at the postcards in my hands.

“Just looking for now.” I reply.

“Are you in Greece on business?” she asks. I raise my eyes to her. Young and beautiful and making the moves on me. Oh, shit.

“On second thought, I’m not interested in anything.” I put the postcards back on the rack and do an “about-face” back to my wife and the scarves. That’s the last thing I need is for her to see some young Greek girl on the prowl, chatting me up while I’m standing there with a boner. Well, the boner is gone now, but the last she saw, I had a boner. She finishes her transaction and turns around to face me. She seems surprised to see me standing there.

“She’s pretty,” she says, putting her wallet into her backpack. Fuck. She saw me.

“Who?” I ask with an obtuse frown. She twists her lips at me and her eyes are screaming, “Seriously, Grey?”

“The girl that you were talking to,” she says with a little spice. I look back over at the woman who is now examining me and Butterfly.

“Oh,” I say non-committal. “Yeah, I guess she’s kind of pretty.” I turn back to Butterfly. “I hadn’t noticed. I was looking at the postcards. I heard a voice ask me if I was interested and I said, ‘no.’ I think postcards are kind of cheesy. Everybody knows that we’re here, so why send a postcard?” Keep talking, Grey.

“The same reason you buy souvenirs,” she says, her voice tainted with skepticism.

“Yes, but a souvenir is different,” I say, keeping the conversation going and willing her to move away from the shop with the staring Greek girl. “A souvenir is a tangible reminder of where you’ve been or gift from your trip that you give to someone else. A postcard… it’s just a picture. You’ve taken a million pictures. Why do you need postcards?”

“Then why were you looking at them?” she accuses. I know what she’s doing. She’s feeling a bit of the same thing that I felt in the museum and I can’t blame her for it.

“Because they are boring and they kept my mind off your ass and my dick at a manageable size,” I tell her honestly. Her eyes go immediately to my pants and although Greystone thumps at the thought of her eyes on him, my erection has considerably subsided.

“Oh,” she says somewhat dismissively. “Well, let’s go find something else boring to look at besides the beautiful Greek girl,” she says almost in a pout. I smile and put my arm around her waist.

“Like I said, I hadn’t noticed,” I respond, reaching down to squeeze her ass and leading her away from the offending shop.

The sun has set and we have covered the Plaka district, sending Adrien back to the hotel with Butterfly’s acquisitions twice during the trip. We are now in a lovely Greek restaurant with wooden and wicker chairs and red and white tablecloths about to enjoy some delicious food. A mention that we are newlyweds got us a quiet table inside of what looks like a discreet little cave inside the wall.

“You moved away from me while we were shopping,” I observe. She looks up from her menu and examines me. “You didn’t think I noticed?”

“You didn’t notice the pretty Greek girl,” she says with no malice looking back at her menu.

“She’s not you,” I reply immediately without taking my eyes off her. She looks back up at me just as the waiter comes to take our order. There aren’t many choices, so we ask for beer and wine and literally, whatever’s cooking and send him away. I look back up at Butterfly. “You didn’t answer my question,” I press.

“You didn’t ask one,” she says softly.

“I did, but I’ll ask again. You moved away from me while we were shopping. You didn’t think I noticed?” She looks down at her hands. I reach across the table and put my finger under her chin, lifting her eyes back to me. I know what it was, but I want her to tell me. She tries to lower her head again, but I won’t let her. Talk to me.

We stare at each other for quite some time, I don’t really know how long, until the waiter comes back with our drinks and salad. I know that we will have some time now before the food comes. I entwine my fingers in hers across the table.

Talk to me, Butterfly.

“I don’t know what to say,” she says shyly. “I just wanted it to stop.” Now we’re getting somewhere.

“I was trying, Baby, but you know what you do to me.”

“I know,” she says, still unable to make eye-contact with me. “It’s just… there was nothing that I could do about it.”

“Well, maybe not at that moment, but…”

“Not that,” she interrupts me. “The staring. I wanted it to stop. It… I didn’t like it.” I know you didn’t, Baby.

“While they were looking at me, I was only looking at you,” I try to comfort her.

“I know, but…” It doesn’t seem to be working. She finally raises her eyes to mine. “Think about it, Christian. I’ve likened you to a Greek god many times before. Now here you are walking down the streets of Greece—a beautiful man with a beautiful body, strikingly beautiful gray eyes and beautiful wavy red hair… in perfectly fitting jeans with an erection the size of the Parthenon. I can’t make women not look at you on a normal day. What the hell am I supposed to do when you’re waving Athena’s spear at them?”

She’s not angry, but she is perturbed by the situation, and I am doing my very best not to laugh at that description.

I fail miserably.

“Athena’s spear?” I say through my laughter. “Greece has really gotten to you, hasn’t it?”

“It’s not funny, Christian!” she says swatting me on my wrist. I point at her face, still unable to control my glee.

“Then why are you laughing?” I ask. She tries to hide her chuckle and I take this moment to move next to her in the cove-booth. I put one arm around her and shield her from the view of the restaurant. She gasps quietly as I gently stroke the tender meat inside of her thigh. She spreads her legs a bit for me and I move further up her thigh.

“This spear only sharpens for you, Baby,” I whisper in her ear, still making light of the situation.

“I still don’t like them looking,” she breathes, arousal thick in her voice. These tables are nothing like the tables at the restaurant last night. Not only are we hidden away in the corner of a quiet little cove with few patrons in the restaurant, but the table cloths are much longer and shield my actions from prying eyes. I could make her come right now, but I won’t. This excites me immensely, but concentrating on driving her crazy keeps the woody at bay.

“I feel the same way,” I say, brushing my lips against her cheek. I wrap my ankle around hers, locking her foot with mine and pulling her legs apart. “The thought of another man looking at you… admiring you… touching you… It’s more than I can bear.” I move my hands further up and inside the leg of her shorts to the crease in her thigh and caress her there. She takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes as I close my lips over that space on her neck right under her earlobe. I am able to travel under her underwear and tease her just over her lips. “Then, I remember that you will only allow me here. No one else… that I am the only one who can touch you here, taste you here, feel you here…” I slip my fingers between her lips and into her hole, massaging just enough to get her wet and lubricate my fingers.

Two quick breaths escape her throat as she settles into the feeling. She’s doing it again. She’s absorbing the pleasure and concentrating on the sensation. This is a whole new dimension for us and I love watching her. I love every minute of it. The fact that we are doing this in a public restaurant makes it just that much hotter.

“Only me,” I whisper in her ear as my wet fingers now massage her clit. She stifles her groan and sinks back onto the seat and into my arm.

“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes closed, one hand clenching the seat and the other grasping my shirt and she exercises control over her breathing.

“You do this to me,” I breathe, stroking her clit slowly just for sensation, not for orgasm. “This is what you make me feel. Only you, Lady Anastasia.” She whimpers a bit at my declaration. “Kiss me.”

Her free hand moves from the seat to my cheek and she kisses me deeply, almost making me forget where I am. I taste her hunger and her yearning in her kiss. She moves me in every way.

“Christian,” she breathes, “stop… stop…” I know that she no more wants to come right now than I want her to come. So I move my fingers from her clit to just inside the lips, minimal stimulation so that she doesn’t come crashing to the ground. Her breathing regulates a bit as I move my fingers to the outside of her lips. She still feels so good and my fingers are still drenched in her wetness. She releases a deep breath when my hand emerges from her shorts. Before I have a chance to do anything, she grabs my hand with both of hers and brings it to her mouth. She wraps her lips around my fingers and sucks them firmly, cleaning all of her juices from my hand. She raises her eyes to mine as she licks between the fingers and kisses each fingertip seductively, even the ones that didn’t pleasure her. I lick my lips and my dick is getting hard again.

“That’s what makes me want to fuck you every night,” I confess.

“It’s our honeymoon. Nothing’s stopping you.”

“Make sure you eat all of your dinner,” I warn. “You’re going to need your strength.” She gasps again. Oh yes, Butterfly. I plan on making you scream to the Acropolis.

Her appetite is as healthy as ever and that pleases me. I feel the need to carry her when we leave the Plaka district, so she tells me to squat and she climbs onto my back. People stare and point, smiling at us while Butterfly giggles and whispers in my ear during her piggyback ride from the Plaka district all the way back to Syntagma Square. Even after a full meal, she is as light as a feather.

When we get back to the hotel, I quickly get her out of her clothes and into bed. That crazy erection comes back with a vengeance and I sink into her over and over again, unable to control my aching and burning need for her. I try to control myself, but the beast inside me needs her to calm it and Greystone is completely helpless. Dom Dick is brick hard and saluting with no sign of surrender. Butterfly comes more times than I can remember and I blow several times before he is willing to submit. By the time I am sated, Butterfly has screamed herself voiceless and is begging me to stop and let her rest. She collapses in my arms and we both fall into a deep sleep.

I awake on Thursday morning, content and still sated from the night before, but the bed is empty.

Where’s Butterfly?

I get out of bed and go to the bathroom, intending to search for her once I relieve myself, and I find her there at the vanity in one of the Grande Bretagne robes.

“Well, good morning,” I say to her, before coming behind her and kissing her neck. “You’re up early.”

She spits and rinses her mouth. “Good morning,” she says, wiping her mouth. “I haven’t worked out in forever. I just wanted to get one in. I really need to burn all these calories I’m taking in.” Damn. I guess I had better enjoy the round ass while I can.

“You did a lot of walking yesterday,” I tell her. “You had to have burned off enough for a few people with that trek.” I look at the toilet and realize that I don’t think we’ve ever used the bathroom in front of one another, except last year when she was stunned. I shake that thought and point to the toilet. “Do you mind?” She looks at me through the mirror.

“Do I mind what?” she asks.

“If I piss in front of you.” She looks at me bemused.

“You’re kidding, right?” Okay, what does that mean? She doesn’t care if I piss in front of her or she would be utterly appalled and I should have not even ask?

“We’ve… never done that in front of each other,” I say with a shrug. She turns around slowly and faces me with one hand on her hip.

“Christian, I’ve had your dick in my throat and you’re seriously asking me if I care if you take a leak in front of me?” Well, when you put it that way…

“You never know. Some people are squeamish about that kind of thing,” I say, whipping out my dick and handling my business.

“I think you should know me better than that. Would you care if I pissed in front of you?” she asks. I turn around after putting myself away and look at her as if to say “seriously?”

“Exactly,” she says as she begins flossing her teeth. I walk behind her and grab her ass.

“I’m going to miss this,” I say giving it a squeeze. She leans on the vanity.

“Are you saying that you like my ass flabby?” she says.

“Your ass is far from flabby, Ana, but it is curvy and round and yes, I liked it before just fine before you ask, but I do like the curvy and round.” I kiss her neck and grab her ass again before she gets me into one of those “what was so wrong with my ass before” conversations. Seeing that she has already showered and washed her hair, I get in the shower and decide to take advantage of the rainwater and wall jets. I so need to get one of these built. Those jets feel fantastic on my balls.

When I come out of the shower, Butterfly is already gone. I dry my hair and brush my teeth, then go in search of Butterfly again. She is enjoying her breakfast at the dining table and looking at her phone.

“You couldn’t wait for me?” I ask. She looks up at me.

“It just got here and I was hungry. I heard the shower go off, so I knew you wouldn’t be long.” She says, eating a piece of a croissant. I have nothing to worry about. That ass isn’t going anywhere. “Do you have the day planned yet?”

“No,” I say, uncovering a tray and digging in to some eggs and pancakes. Butterfly is gobbling down some fresh fruit. “I figured we would just play it by ear.”

“Good, because I want to see the Parliament Building and the changing of the guards. Then, I’d like to see the National Gardens. I’ve heard that they’re very lovely. Did you have anything that you wanted to do today?” she asks.

“I want to go to the National Archeological Museum,” I tell her. She presses something on her phone.

“That’s a bit north, but not too far. So we can go to the museum after the National Gardens then swing back to the Olympic Stadium and the Temple of Zeus.” She is typing away. What is she doing?

“Butterfly, what are you doing?” I ask her before taking a sip of my coffee.

“I’m planning our day,” she says, looking up from her phone momentarily. “There are so many things to see in Athens and while I don’t think we can possibly see everything, I want to see as much of the ‘must-see’ places as possible.” I nod.

“Okay, so what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” I ask.

“Well, we still haven’t seen Socrates Prison in Philopappos Hill, although I don’t think that was the prison that held Socrates at all, but that’s neither here nor there…”

“Oh, really?” I interrupt her. “And why, oh great scholar, would you dispute the great people of Greece?” She looks up at me.

“Lots of reasons,” she says, folding her arms. “First of all, there were no prisons at the time. Detention was not the preferred punishment for offenders. You were either exiled, fined, set free, or killed—well, forced to kill yourself.”

“Whoa! Good God!” I almost choke on my coffee. “How the fuck do you force someone to kill themselves?”

“You force them to drink poison, in this case, hemlock,” she says nonchalantly.

“In this case? There were other ways to kill someone? I mean poison seems pretty effective.”

“Well, yes, there’s always another way to kill someone, Christian…”

“I know that,” I interrupt her, “but I mean, forcing someone to drink their own poison knowing that they are going to die soon, that’s psychological warfare.” She twists her lips in thought.

“I guess you’re right about that, but the hemlock death was very humane and only reserved for those who could afford it,” she said, as if she were talking about buying shoes or something. “The other method of death at the time was a type of bloodless crucifixion. You were bound to a board with irons by your wrists, ankles, and neck and strangled slowly. It took days to die.” I instinctively reach for my neck.

“So what you’re telling me is that if you had money, you could buy your own hemlock, take it yourself, and…” I trail off.

“Your body would just go numb from your feet to your head. When the numbness got to your heart, you died quietly.” Oh, joy, how neat… not!

“Okay, you could buy your own poison or you could be strangled for days.”


“And one of these happened to Socrates in his prison cell?” I ask and she nods.

“He took the hemlock,” she says, finishing her fruit.

“Okay, so you said that you don’t think that the prison at Philiphophis Hill is actually Socrates prison. What is it then and where is Socrates Prison?” She giggles.

“It’s Philopappos Hill and no, I don’t think that was the prison. It’s too modern and looks more like someone created it. Many scholars and… other important people,” she says with a wave of her hand, “agree that this was most likely not the death cell of Socrates. This was built much later and is now used as a tourist trap. I mean, do you really want to tell a tourist that the place of Socrates’ death no longer stands when you have these perfectly intact cells inside of a cave at the bottom of an ancient hill in the city where Socrates lived?” How the fuck did we get on this conversation? It’s absolutely morbid!

“Okay, so, where was his cell?”

“Well…” she punches something into her phone and shows it to me. “It most likely was here.” She’s pointing to a map with yellow squares and arrows on it and I have no idea what I’m looking at. “This would have been the site of the ‘Agora State Prison,'” she says, “just southwest of the boundaries of Agora. It was illegal to execute anyone inside the borders, so this area was most likely where it happened. There were eight cells here and four rooms for the guards. The building is gone now and only the foundation is still there, but it will be easy to see where the death cell was. That’s one of the places I want to go tomorrow, too.”

“Oh, Butterfly, that is so macabre. You want to go stand in the place where Socrates drank hemlock and died?” I ask. She looks at me.

“It’s no different from visiting the Lorraine Motel and Civil Rights Museum in Memphis where Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and killed, or the Ford’s Theater in Washington, D.C. where Abraham Lincoln was shot and the Petersen House where he later died. It’s a part of history, Christian, nothing more.” I think she’s a little sensitive about my statement. I certainly didn’t mean to offend her.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Her gaze doesn’t turn from me and I think she may be expecting me to say something else offensive. “Well, you didn’t seem to know a lot about the Parthenon and the Acropolis and I was sure that you would. How do you know so much about Socrates?” She settles a bit, almost relieved I think that I didn’t say something stupid.

“I’ve told you many times that Al and I are split-aparts,” she says. I nod.

“Yes.” How can I forget?

“That theory was introduced by Plato.” I nod. “Who do you think Plato’s teacher was?” And it all makes sense now.

“Socrates.” She nods. I look down at my food, which has gone cold. Something inside of me suddenly goes cold. “I try not to take it personally. Allen has said that you two were soul mates. He has even said it about James, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that about me.” Did I just say that out loud? I said I would never say that to her! I would never tell her those feelings. I look up at her and she is horrified, I mean utterly horrified. Shit, shit, shit!

“How…” I think she is at a complete loss for words. She’s kind of suspended in time. “Why… how…” I’m only getting one word. I don’t dare say a thing. There’s nothing that I can say after that declaration. I can only wait for her response. “How could you not know?” she finally says. Not know what? That Allen is your soul mate and I’m not? That I’m really your soul mate? I’ve never had the kind of relationship with anyone outside of my family that she has with Allen. I watched him kiss her tenderly on the dance floor at my wedding reception and had anyone else kissed her like that, I would have ripped out his throat.

What do I say? I feel ashamed, but not. I want to be in that place, to be her split-apart, but I can’t. That spot is taken by another man, and I’m not allowed to be angry about it. It’s completely foolish to be angry about it, but part of me is. Part of me feels like there’s a part of her that I will never have, that will always belong to someone else, and he’s stomping and kicking and throwing a temper tantrum like a three-year-old because of it—but I can’t tell her that.

I look in her eyes right now and I can’t even describe what I see—confusion and hurt and anger, but not, just a mishmash of “I don’t know” and “Why” and “What the fuck.”

Shit, I fucked up.

“Butterfly…” I reach for her and she pulls away from me. That shit hurt.

“After everything we’ve been through… you still don’t know?” she asks, her voice small. It’s such an all-encompassing question and I don’t know what she’s asking me. Please tell me what you mean.

“Butterfly, I don’t doubt for one moment what you feel for me; what I mean to you. I don’t want you to think that I don’t know, that I don’t understand. It’s that selfish bit in my that wants to be your everything and knows that’s not possible.”

“But you are my everything, Christian,” she says, her imminent tears evident in her voice.

“No, I’m not, but that’s okay. There are supposed to be other people in your life that fill other needs for you. I can’t help wanting to fill every need that you have, to be everything that you need. I can’t help wanting you to need only me because you mean so much to me, but that’s not realistic and I know it. Please hear what I’m saying, please.” I fall on my knees in front of her and take her hands while the tears fall from her eyes onto her robe.

“I love you so totally and completely that I have a hard time accepting that I can’t fill every single void in your life. Everyone needs more than one someone in their life, and it wasn’t until I met you that I needed anyone in mine. I mean, I needed people, but I didn’t understand that I needed people until I met you. You came with your own cheering section and people flocked to you and there were these two remarkable men in your life that gave you just about everything that you needed… except that romantic love. That’s where I came in. You became everything for me and I became everything for you. But you can’t love me like Mia does, or Grace… and I can’t love you like Allen or Ray. It makes me a little jealous, that I can’t fill every need, but that’s the unreasonable, selfish part of me that I’m still working on. Please, please just know that I love you with everything that I am and I know that you love me just as much. Please know that.”

She closes her eyes tight and takes a deep, shuddering breath. She nods wildly while she takes in another sobbing breath.

“I know,” she chokes quickly. “I know.” I crush her in my arms while she cries. I’m sorry, Butterfly. I’m such a fucking idiot. I fucking hate Socrates… fuck, Plato. Shit, I hate them both, but they’re already dead. “I… need to… clean up… pull my… self toget… together.” She’s trying to escape. I know she is, but this time, I think she needs to. I cup her face in my hands and kiss her gently but she’s unable to return the kiss through her sobs.

“I’m sorry,” I try to tell her. “I’m an idiot and my mouth runs before my brain sometimes. Please forgive me.”

“I… under… stand,” she says, still sobbing. “Let me… go and… fix myself… o-okay?” she needs to get away. I nod and release her, sitting back on my feet and letting her walk hurriedly back to our bathroom. I run my hands through my hair. I feel like a fool. It’s hard to explain what I’m feeling. I don’t doubt her feelings for me. I know that they are genuine and I trust her with my life. I’m just so… consumed with her and that fact that there could be somewhere, sometime that she doesn’t need me scares the shit out of me. I just don’t know how verbalize it without diminishing the relationship that she has with her best friend, or her father… or fuck, even with me. I’m such and idiot. I know that she’s going to be thinking about this for a long time and I don’t know how to fix it.

Shit, I’m such and idiot.

A/N: I took Greek and Roman studies a loooooooooooooooooooooooong time ago. Even with those classes and the hours and hours and hours of research that I did, I know that I could not scratch the surface of the rich history of Athens and of Greece as a whole. To that end, if my Greek readers see that any of my facts, points, or spellings are flawed, would you please shoot me an email and let me know. I would also appreciate it if in that email, you would include a link of some kind if you could so that I can double-check those facts. You all know that I am a research fanatic and a stickler for details and accuracy and I would hate to offend anyone by getting the history wrong.

I didn’t intend for their honeymoon to become a history lesson for my readers, but it was unavoidable. You can’t visit Greece without going through the history—there is absolutely no way. It also adds dimension to the physical beauty of the location.

The missing man formation is an aerial salute performed as part of a flypast of aircraft at a funeral or memorial event, typically in memory of a fallen pilot. Several variants of the formation are seen that display either an aircraft splitting off of the formation and flying away or an aircraft missing from the display. In all cases, the aircraft performing the split off or missing from the formation is honoring the person (or persons) who have died, and it represents their departure to the heavens.

Don’t forget to check out the Pinterest boards to follow Christian and Ana on the honeymoon.

Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn X

Mending Dr. Steele: Chapter 67—Opa!

As we go into the second chapter of the honeymoon, I would like to send out special thanks to my friend Vanessa for always coming through in a pinch and helping me with story points and accurate translations. I would also like to send a HUGE and EXTREMELY sincere note of gratitude to Gia, without whom I would not have even been able to approach this chapter and the chapters to come at all. She gave me fantastic pointers and information about Greece from a Greek point of view and I appreciate it more than you will ever know.

Certain inconsistencies have been brought to my attention. I will address them as I change them. Thanks to my Eagle-Eyed readers who have brought these things to my attention. It is very important to me to get these things right!

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

Chapter 67—Opa!


My petite little flower is eating enough for three linebackers once more. Apparently, the concerns about her ass are out the window and she has absolutely no problem with French cuisine except for red meat. She scarfed down a lunch of escargot, soupe à l’oignon, coquilles Saint-Jacques, and Sole Meunière. Yet, the moment my Hachis Parmentier was brought to the table, she nearly passed out on the spot. They took it away and brought me Blanquette de Veau instead and she was fine until the end of our meal when someone at the next table ordered boudin noir aux pommes—blood sausage over baked apples. She was out of that restaurant before I even had a chance to pay the bill.

“What is it with you and beef lately?” I ask when we get into the Audi and head for the Arc de Triomphe. “You never used to react this violently to it.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s flashbacks of the murder burger. I was sick for days after that thing. It’s hard to get past the mental trauma of that.” She’s rubbing her ankles inside of her boots.

“Come here.” I reach down and grab her feet, bringing them to my lap. It’s a little harder than it should be to get her boots off and she actually sighs with relief when I have them removed.

“Butterfly,” I say after removing her ankle socks. “Your feet are all red.”

“Hours walking down the Avenue,” she says, her voice tortured. I start to rub her feet and ankles and she jumps in pain.

“I told you not to wear those boots,” I scold, massaging more gently while she closes her eyes and moans in pleasure. “Didn’t you buy some flats?” She raises her head at me.

“You mean those Ralph Lauren loafers? I’m not wearing those to the Arc de Triomphe!” she announces.

“Well, you better think of something, because your feet aren’t going back in those.” I point to her boots.

“It’s just my ankles, I’m sure,” she protests. “I can wear the shoes I got from Armani.”

“No, you can’t,” I retort. “Your feet are red and I know they are sore. You will only go to the Arc de Triomphe if you wear flats. Butterfly, you had to be walking around for about six hours or so before you even sat down. You were so hungry that you almost passed out. Did you really expect to run around in stilettos all day and not pay the price?” She looks at me with sad eyes. “If you don’t like the flats, why did you buy them?”

“The marble gets cold in the winter,” she says. “I bought them as slippers.”

“Well, you’re going to wear them as shoes today,” I tell her. She pouts.

“It’s not that they’re ugly. I’m going to have a problem walking in them since I’m so accustomed to stilettos. I have high arches, not to mention I’m going to look about three feet tall walking next to you.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. You’re my wife and it doesn’t matter what other people think. Besides, you may be short, but you’re hot. So what’s it going to be… Ralph Lauren or the GEH jet?”


A few minutes later, I am walking towards the Arc de Triomphe with my mini-wife, who has completely forgotten about her Ralph Lauren flats as she examines the sculptures bursting out of the Arc.

“Now, I get to dazzle you with my knowledge again, Mrs. Grey,” I say coming up behind her and slipping my arms around her waist while she admires the architecture.

“Proceed, Mr. Grey,” she smiles.

“This particular Arch of Triumph is the second largest in the world. The largest is in North Korea. Napoleon commissioned this one to mark his victories in battle, which is ironic since he never got to see the finished product.”

“Hmm, Shangri-la and now the Arc de Triomphe—I see a theme developing here,” she says. “I happen to know that Napoleon was exiled after he lost at Waterloo, which is why he never saw it finished.”

“He wouldn’t have seen it anyway,” I inform her. “They stopped building it after he was exiled and didn’t start building it again until 20 years later, well after he died.” She nods.

“How did I not know they stopped building it?” she asks, mostly to herself, I think.

“No worries, Mrs. Grey. That’s why you have me.” I wink at her before taking her hand and leading her closer to the magnificent edifice. “Now, I saw you admiring the statues. This one,” I point to the one on our right, “is La Marseillaise. Those are French soldiers and citizens and that is the Roman goddess of war…”

“Bellona,” she finishes my sentence.

“Very good, Mrs. Grey. Now what’s that one?” I ask, pointing to the statue on the left.

“That, Mr. Grey, is The Triumph. It depicts Napoleon being crowned by Victoria, the Roman goddess of victory, after one of his many triumphs while the defeated bow at his feet. Now, on the opposite side of this one is The Resistance.”

“Ah, you’re getting ahead of me, Mrs. Grey,” I scold. “We’re not done with this side yet.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Grey. Do continue.”

“Thank you. Now, the reliefs at the top are depictions of Napoleon’s many battles and victories, and way up there,” I bring her back a bit to see the top of the Arc, “you will see 30 shields with the names of battles he won.” I lead her underneath the Arc. “Now these are lists of the names of French generals. The underlined ones died in battle.” We walk around under the Arc for a bit, admiring the architecture and examining the many indications that Napoleon was very proud of his victories. Butterfly also stops in silent contemplation at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but she seems miles away.

“I wish Alexandria hadn’t been such a bitch,” she says softly. “I would have liked to know more about Harry—my… father.” I put my hands on her shoulders. She seems so small right now, but I dare not tell her that for fear that she’ll march back to the car in search of stilettos.

“I know it must be hard to have that door opened and not be able to walk in, but a wise woman once told me that everything happens for a reason. I have to believe this is one of those situations,” I tell her, trying to ease the sting of maybe never being able to learn about a father that she never knew.

After several minutes we get to the other side of the Arc to Resistance, where Butterfly tells of the soldier defending his family under Antevorte, the Roman goddess of future. On the opposite side, things get back to normal and the French citizens go back to their daily lives as a French soldier sheaths his sword under the watchful eye of the Roman warrior goddess Minerva, and the statue is appropriately called Peace. There’s no doubt that Napoleon had nothing to do with this particular statue.

“How are your feet?” I ask, noting that she’s moving around easily with no pain.

“They’re fine. Shall we go inside?” she says, quickly dismissing my question. We go inside and there is a large spiral staircase that takes you all the way to the museum at the top. Did I mention that the Arc de Triomphe is over 160 feet high?

Yeah, not doing that.

We locate the elevator which is normally just for the infirm and with a little insistence, we take a ride up to the museum. The museum was okay, but not much to look at, but the view! Good fuck, the view! It’s really spectacular. Living in Escala, I’m accustomed to seeing marvelous views of a fantastic city, but the view from the top of the Arc de Triomphe is unbelievable. The Arc sits right in the center of a large circle where the 12 Grand Avenues converge and branch out like a starburst. Butterfly is mesmerized by the view and I silently enjoy watching her while she watches the view. After several minutes of quiet contemplation, she yawns, and I know that she has had enough excitement for one day.

“That’s Paris, Lady Anastasia… well, a small part of it anyway. What do you think?”

“I think it’s fantastic and dreamy and I can’t believe you were able to squeeze so much into 24 hours. You are amazing, Christian.” She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me sweetly. “Thank you so much. I do have one question though. Why do you keep calling me ‘Lady Anastasia?'”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “It seems to fit.”

“Hmmm. Well, I like it. Don’t stop, Sir Christian.”

“That definitely fits,” I tell her, holding her close to me as she yawns again. “We should get to the jet. Athens awaits and you look like you can use a nap.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she says. “It’s nowhere near bedtime.”

“It’s only been one day, Love. I’m certain that it’s jetlag.” She nods and leans on me. We stand and wait for the elevator for so long that she finally convinces me that she can take the stairs as going down is not as taxing as going up. She was wrong. She nearly collapses when she gets to the bottom floor.

“Butterfly!” I catch her just as her knees begin to buckle. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know… as soon as the fresh air hit me, I just got light-headed.” I scoop her up in my arms and start walking towards the car. My heart is beating so fast that I can barely control it. What if she had collapsed on the stairs? I was walking behind her. I wouldn’t have been able to catch her.

“Christian, really, I can walk,” she protests softly. I don’t respond. I just want to get her to the car. Adrien jumps in response as we approach and opens the back door. I place her on the seat and close the door.

“Get us to the airport,” I say before walking around the car and sliding into the backseat. I turn to Butterfly and fasten her securely in her seatbelt before releasing a breath that I was holding. I sink back into the seat.

She’s secure. She’s safe now.

“Christian?” her soft voice startles me. I look over into her questioning face. I sigh again and shake my head.

“I’m sorry,” I say, thrusting my hands through my hair. “For a fleeting moment, I saw you tumbling down an insanely long spiral staircase—all 284 stairs.” I look back up at her. “Another piece of useless information,” I add with a strained smile. She looks at me sympathetically and strokes my hair.

“I’m fine,” she says. “It’s been a pretty big day—Love Lock Bridge, at least $1,000,000 on Avenue Montaigne, enough food to feed an army, then I foolishly decide to take the stairs down the Arc de Triomphe. I’m going to need some rest from my honeymoon and it’s only been one day.”

“I planned too much,” I lament.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” she scolds. “This day was outstanding! The shopping, the sites, the sex…” she whispers the last part. “I wouldn’t change a thing, except maybe I’d wear sneakers instead of stilettos.” She laughs and my mood is immediately lightened. I kiss her hand firmly.

“I don’t know why I freaked out so badly. I’m just… I’m happier than I have ever been and I’m afraid something is going to happen to ruin it.”

“Nothing is going to ruin it,” she says caressing my cheek. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, Mr. Grey, so you might as well get used to it. So stop worrying… that’s an order.”

“Yes, Dr. Grey… Dr. Steele-Grey,” I stumble and smile.

“You can call me Dr. Grey. I’ll save Steele-Grey for the office,” she purrs. I hear a little grunt from the front seat and turn to see Adrien glaring at Norbert. Was he clearing his throat? I’m not accustomed to my bodyguards reacting to my conversations unless I include them. I’ll have a word with Norbert in case that’s what just happened.


Butterfly was asleep before the plane took off. I didn’t want to wake her when we landed in Greece four hours later. Carrying her down the stairs of the Jet was a tricky maneuver, but now, here we lay in the royal suite at the Hotel Grande Bretagne. Norbert and Adrien are in a nearby suite while Jason and Charles are in a separate suite. I decided to dispense with the formalities of Davenport as if I can call two French strangers by their first names, surely I can refer to Charles as such. He’s been working for me for quite some time.

I look over at Butterfly’s sleeping body. She’s lying on her stomach in this soft blue chemise. She’s been sleeping for several hours and she’s right, her butt is bigger. It’s rounder—still fit and firm, but rounder. I like it. The light is bursting into the room from the windows on both sides of the large bed and she shows no signs of stirring. I watch her body rise and fall with her breathing, her long mahogany hair still sporting some of the curls from our wedding day. She is so beautiful. I could watch her all day.

She must have been exhausted from yesterday’s excursions. Counting the hours of sleep on the plane and that fact that she shed her clothes the moment we got to the suite and was asleep the second her head hit the pillow, I would say that she has easily been asleep for a combined 12 or 13 hours. If it was that rough on her, she’s likely to be sore when she wakes.

I outline her body like I did that day at the McElvoy when she was dancing to that Enigma song. I’m careful not to touch her so that I don’t wake her, but I’m taking from her energy. She’s my wife now… Mrs. Anastasia Grey. She is my dream come true and she’s all mine now, even though I risked fucking it up royally the night before our wedding. Damn, I’ve got to put that paranoid, possessive, out-of-control fucker on a goddamn leash.

I don’t know how long I watch her before she finally stirs. I wait to see if she is actually coming out of her slumber or just switching positions before I touch her. She tucks her head under her arm and does this ball stretch before slowly extending each limb. I hear her shoulder pop on one of the stretches and several other joints during the rest of the stretch and I know that I’m right; she did overdo it yesterday. She rolls over on her back and continues to stretch her aching joints without opening her eyes, groaning with a few of the movements. No, there will be no strenuous outings for the Butterfly today.

She stretches her arms out to the side and jumps when I catch her hand from swatting me in the face. She lazily opens one eye and I can clearly tell that she didn’t expect for me to still be in bed. She groans something indecipherable and closes her eye again. I slide my hand under her against her back and the other arm around her waist. Pulling her to me, I kiss her deeply until her body melts into mine. She can’t take much of anything right now, I know. So even though I could fuck her all day, every day, several times a day, she’s getting a reprieve on this particular day.

“Hello, my love,” I breathe against her lips.

“Hi,” she says, barely able to find her voice. “What time is it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I respond. “You need rest.”

“I don’t want to stay in bed,” she protests. “We’re in Greece.”

“And we have three weeks to see it.” I kiss her again. “No outings today. You need to relax.” She pouts at me.

“You’re going to make me stay in the room?” she whines.

“No, I didn’t say that. First, I’m going to wash your tired body. After that, we’re going to have a lovely breakfast delivered and we’re going to eat at that massive dining table that seats way too many people.” She giggles and the sound is music to my ears. “Then, you’re going downstairs to the spa and have some relaxing massages, treatments, aroma therapy… whatever you need to rejuvenate you. If you’re feeling up to it later, we may do a little sightseeing or just have dinner on the rooftop with a view of the Acropolis. Don’t lie to me, Butterfly. If you’re tired, we can do all those things tomorrow or the next day or the next—we have three weeks.” She nods.

“Yes, Sir,” she concedes. “I’m very achy.”

“I know. I’ll order room service and I’ll call you when your bath is ready.”

The bathroom is a statement in total Grecian opulence. Two Grecian columns greet you as you enter the bathroom. There is floor-to-ceiling marble—white marble walls with blue marble trim, a blue and gold marble vanity and an insanely large blue and gold marble tub sitting in the middle of the room. On the other end of the bathroom to the right of a small foyer that is framed by four more Grecian columns is a huge shower with floor-to-ceiling frosted windows allowing in the bright morning light. There’s even a blue and white marble chaise inside the shower so that you can sit back and allow the water to run over your body.

There are two luxurious ottomans between the vanity and the tub. On the other side of the tub in front of a large floor-to-ceiling window covered with white sheers and heavy drapes is a cream chaise. The vintage light fixtures on the walls match the chandelier that hangs over the tub and gold fixtures, towel rings, wall hangings, and accessories complete the décor. This is extraordinary even by my taste.

Double doors on the other side of the small foyer lead to a workout room with a treadmill, a flat screen television, and a massage table. I turn on the water to fill the tub and come back to the bedroom to retrieve the toiletries bag.

“Oh, you are going to love this,” I say to Butterfly as I grab the case with the soaps, lotions, and conditioners.

“Tell me,” she says, sitting up in bed.

“I’ll do better than that,” I say, reaching for her hand. “Come and see for yourself.” I lead her into the bathroom and the steam from the massive tub rises to make the marble feel warmer.

“Oh my God,” she says, walking slowly into the bathroom and taking in the décor. “This is amazing.” She takes a seat on one of the ottomans. “Queen Anne legs.”

“Queen Who What?” I ask and she giggles.

“The ottoman—those are Queen Anne legs, and the chaise… those are close, but not quite.” I’ll take her word for it. “Is that a marble chaise in the shower?”

“That certainly is,” I tell her while adding bath salts to the water.

“Wow!” she says, stunned. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“Do you want one?” She looks up at me wide-eyed, then smiles.

“No, the showers at Escala are just fine. No need in cluttering them with a chaise.”

“I don’t mean Escala. I mean our home—when we find what we like or build what we like.” She’s staring at me wide-eyed again.

“You would really do that, wouldn’t you?” she asks.

“Why not? You can have whatever you like in your home, so if you want a marble chaise like the one at the luxury hotel in Greece, then you can have one.”

“Oh Christian, that thing probably costs a small fortune.”

“Yes, and I’ve amassed a large one,” I say turning off the water. “You said it yourself—we spent somewhere in the million-dollar range on clothes, shoes, and jewelry yesterday. You think I can’t afford a marble chaise? Now come on over here and get into this wildly expensive bathtub so I can wash that beautiful body.” She smiles that million-dollar smile at me and stands. I drop my boxer briefs and step into the water first. It’s high off the floor, so I have to sit on the edge and swing my legs into the tub. Butterfly’s little feet are dangling slightly over the edge when she sits on the side to swing her legs over.

“Careful. The water is really hot,” I say as I take her hand and help her into the tub. She looks like one of these Greek goddesses I keep seeing as she sinks into the steaming water. God, she is so beautiful.

There’s plenty of room for both of us in this mini swimming pool, but I just want to hold her for a while. Also, I know this hot water and bath salts will do wonders for her aching muscles.

“How this?” I ask as I caress her skin anywhere that I can reach.

“Mmmm… it’s heavenly, Christian,” she says, leaning back into my chest and onto my shoulder.

“Maybe we should get one of these, too,” I say softly. She chuckles.

“I’ll never be able to get into it alone. I’d feel like a toddler.”

“Well, yes, there is that,” I chuckle and she elbows me gently in the ribs. “Hey, you said it.” I reach around her and cup her breasts. Are they bigger, too? “Your breasts are magnificent, Butterfly,” I say massaging them gently.

“And very sensitive,” she breathes.

“Are you about to have your period?” We’ll have to adjust because I’m fucking you senseless over the next three weeks.

“No. I had one before the wedding. It was short, but I had one. I said sensitive, not sore. It’s the hot water…”

“Mmmm,” I say, caressing the right one while pinching the left.

“Ah! Christian, stop,” she whines. “I’m too weak.”

“Too weak for what, Baby?” I ask, now pinching both nipples.

“An orgasm,” she breathes. “I’ll fall asleep in this water.”

“I’ll wake you for breakfast,” I croon as my hand slips down to her clit.

“Ah! Oooooo.” She stiffens almost immediately.

“Oh, you are so ready. Don’t hold out on me, Baby. It’ll relax those tired muscles.” I stroke her clit up and down, up and down, allowing only my fingertips to enter her core while I massage her. She grabs my thighs and in a matter of a few minutes, she is trembling between my legs.

“That’s my girl,” I say, continuing to massage her until she is panting and the trembling stops.

“What… about you?” she asks wearily.

“Later,” I tell her. “Let me wash and feed you.”

After a bath that lasted forever and a thorough washing and drying of Butterfly’s hair, we enter the dining room in the soft-as-baby-bottoms terrycloth hotel robes. Butterfly is taken aback to see the hotel butler standing there waiting to serve us breakfast. I take her hand and lead her to the chair at the head of the table. She sits on her feet and wraps her robe comfortably around her, smiling at me the whole time.

The butler serves us a pretty large breakfast which should make Butterfly happy. First, there’s an omelet with graviera cheese and Greek pancakes called tignatites with honey and walnut. There’s also a pasta dish called trahanas, which looks a little like round rice or porridge, sprinkled with small chunks of fresh feta cheese. There’s some fresh fruit thrown in for good measure and a sweet milk pie called galatopita. There are also chunks of siglino, which is smoked pork, and I’m thinking she’ll send it away with her violent reaction to meat lately, but she digs right into it declaring how tasty it is.

She doesn’t eat as much as she has been, but she still eats more than normal. What happened to the petite little girl who only ate bagels and cream cheese or fruit for breakfast? Nowadays, she’s likely to gnaw your arm off if you come anywhere near her plate.

After breakfast, I dress casually and kiss Butterfly before heading off to the cigar bar to meet Jason. I don’t know if she plans to go to the spa or stay in the room and sleep, but either will be fine with me.

“Her Highness let you up for air?” Jason says when I enter the bar. I laugh.

“She is exhausted,” I inform him. He raises his eyebrow.

“I stand corrected… and you look as fresh as a shiny new penny. How do you do that?”

“It’s not what you think,” I correct him.

“Sure, it’s not,” he teases.

“Oh, shut up. I didn’t wear her out. I just got her off… and why am I telling you this?”

“Because I’m a bundle of joy and laughter and you can’t help spilling your guts to me, besides the fact that I’m your best friend and took a bullet for you.”

“You’re going to milk that for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

“As often as I can,” he says shamelessly with a big smile. I roll my eyes.

“We did some serious shopping on the Montaigne yesterday. I mean serious shopping. She’s just really tired.”

“Tired after shopping? That doesn’t sound right.”

“Well, we covered the length of the Avenue and back, from D&C down to Valentino.”

“Sorry, Boss, you lost me there,” he says. The cigar expert brings the tray over and I allow Jason to pick a light-bodied cigar for me. I only smoke them maybe twice a year or so.

“Well, it was a short walk for what it was, but all day in stiletto boots…”

“She wears stilettos everywhere. I don’t know who she is when she’s not wearing them. She’s so small…”

“She took them off yesterday and don’t say that in front of her,” I tell him. The cigar expert clips my cigar and lights it for me. As she is lighting Jason’s, I request a cognac.

“She took ’em off, huh? Well, that ended that trip, no doubt.”

“Nope. She begrudgingly wore a pair of Ralph Lauren flats that she bought on the Avenue and we went to the Arc de Triomphe. Then she almost passed out when we came down the stairs as we were leaving.” His hand pauses as he’s bringing his cigar to his lips.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asks. I twist my lips at him.

“Nothing,” I say. “The Arc de Triomphe has 284 steps on a spiral staircase.”

“Yeah, and until a couple of months ago, she worked out in Krav Magna with a sixth dan black belt. She doesn’t strike me as the type to tire easily.”

“Well, this was more than a workout after a day of teetering around in those damn boots and spending enough money to feed a small country for a year. Now stop saying shit that’ll make me worry. I carried her from the Arc to the car yesterday because I freaked out.” My cognac finally arrives and I take a welcome sip. It’s very good with the cigar.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to scare you. Could she be pregnant?” I shake my head.

“I wish, but she says she had her period about a week or so ago, so that’s not likely.”

“You thought so, too?”

“Well, it hadn’t crossed my mind, but the topic came up in an unrelated conversation, so I know she’s had her period.”

“Unrelated, huh?” He raises his eyebrow at me. “You ready to start a family already?”

“I was ready to start a family before we got married. She came home one day and announced that Maxine is pregnant, and I could tell that she was a little sour that it wasn’t her. I felt bad for her, but a little happy at the same time that she’s open to starting a family.”

“You guys never talked about it?” He takes another draw from his cigar.

“Yeah, we talked about it, but she was on birth control and she had to stop. Then we heard that it could happen immediately or it could take several months. We haven’t been necessarily trying per se, but it’s kind of like when it happens, it happens. I’ll be one happy fucker when it does.” I take a draw on my cigar.

“Christian Grey… husband and father. Wow. I never thought I’d live to see the day. I mean, I fully expected for one of those crazy broads to come back with a baby…”

“It could still happen,” I lament.

“Yeah, it could, but I never thought I’d see the day when you would get married, not ever.”

“Me either. I walked into that community center full of disdain and resentment and she hit me like a steamroller. I didn’t think for one second that she would affect me the way that she did, but lo and behold…” I trail off and sip my cognac.

“She brought you down, Man,” he says. “I remember that first day—I could see it in your eyes and I was sure that I was mistaken. Christian Grey? Stricken? Impossible! She played you like a violin and neither of you knew it. It took you, what, a month to get her in bed?”

“Eighteen days,” I correct him.

“Eighteen days. He who waves his magic wand and has a woman naked in hours. I thought for sure that last bimbot was signing on for the long haul.”

“Yeah, so did she. So did the Pedophile. Hell, so did I.” We both fall silent for a few moments

“It seems surreal, doesn’t it?” he asks. I look up at him. “I never thought I’d marry again, but then Gail just…” He trails off like he can’t find his words. “She’s all the good things the world has to offer all rolled into one person. When the opportunity came to marry her, I grabbed it with both hands.” His melancholy stare drops to his cigar.

“I couldn’t bring her on this trip, Jason, I’m sorry. I need you to work.” I can tell that he’s missing her even though it’s only been two days and we still have 19 more to go.

“I know,” he says, his voice solemn. “It’s the nature of the beast, right? We’re lucky to work in the same place for the same guy, but I know that she can’t tag along with me everywhere. It’s just not practical.” He puts his cigar in the ashtray.

“What do you think about Adrien and Norbert?” I ask. I never got his professional opinion.

“They’re good men,” he responds. “Alex set them up, so I trust his judgment of course. Norbert is intense—straight-laced, starched collar. He’d be the one to jump in front of the bullet.”

“There you go again.”

“I’m just saying, he’s that guy. Adrien is a bit cocky. He’s good at what he does and he knows it, so he’s a little elitist.”

“Is that a bad thing?” I ask.

“It depends. He’s not the one to jump in front of the bullet because he will make sure that you are not in the place where the gun will be. By the same token, he strikes me as the kind of guy who feels like you should earn his services, not purchase them.” I nod.

“So he has probably not been a bodyguard to the stars. He has more been a bodyguard to dignitaries and royals,” I observe and Jason nods.

“That’s what I would say. He’s accustomed to a very particular caliber of people. You wouldn’t see him at a Rolling Stones concert backstage beating off groupies, no matter what the price. You would most likely see him guarding a count, or a duchess, or a billionaire,” he gestures to me, “because he knows that these people will behave differently.” I twist my lips.

“Should we swap him out? I’m not one to be concerned about how I behave around my staff. What’s more, he and Norbert need to learn a bit more about discretion.” He frowns.

“Why? What’s up?”

“You know how I am. I expect staff to be seen and not heard unless utterly necessary. If I want to fuck that woman in the back seat of the car going down the I-5 at 60 miles per hour, I expect the people in the front seat to pay attention to the road and shut the fuck up. What I don’t expect is for them to turn around trying to get a glimpse of Ana’s ass or to react to my conversations when I’m talking to my wife.”

“Please tell me we’re talking about the latter…”

“We are. I put it together later. Butterfly’s first impression of Adrien was not a good one. Stepping out of the airport, he made a comment about the ‘little lady’ being mesmerized by the ‘pretty lights’ and falling victim to a pickpocket, not knowing that Butterfly speaks fluent French.”

“Oh, I bet that went over well,” he interjects.

“Like an undertaker in a convalescent home,” I point out. “Needless to say, he pissed her off and she’s been calling him ‘Meathead’ ever since.”

“Meathead!” he barks with laughter. “That’s classic.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, on our way back to the airport, we had a brief conversation about Dr. Grey vs. Dr. Steele-Grey. I was stumbling over the name and she said that I could just call her Dr. Grey. She would save Dr. Steele-Grey for the office. Norbert grunted or laughed or cleared his throat, I don’t know which, and I didn’t put it together until later that they most likely had a conversation about Adrien’s encounter with Butterfly. Now that you’ve told me about his elitist attitude, I’m pretty certain that the conversation involved Meathead thinking Ana is a trophy wife. Norbert reacted when he discovered that Ana was a doctor and Adrien flashed a glare at him. I’m certain that’s what was going on.”

“Oooohh, that’s what that was about,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“Last night when we all met up to discuss protocol and such, I mentioned that her call-name is Her Highness, that she likes to be called Ana, but if she doesn’t like you, she will probably make you call her Dr. Grey. Norbert openly laughed, but Adrien just frowned and nodded. I assumed she told him to call her Dr. Grey.”

“She hasn’t told him to call her anything,” I say. “She doesn’t speak to him and I can guarantee that she will only speak to you or Charles if she needs something. That’s why I was asking if we should swap him out. We don’t need a bodyguard who speaks English, French, and Greek anymore—just English and Greek.” He shakes his head.

“I don’t think it’s necessary, Boss. The guy is a cocky asshole, but he seems like he’s good at his job. I’ll keep an eye on him and give Alex a call to find a backup just in case.” I nod.

“Good enough. So, what is Gail doing while we’re gone? Have you talked to her yet?”

“Every day…”

We talk a little while about his wife while we puff on cigars and I sip on cognac. Then the conversation shifts to anything and everything. I very rarely spend a lazy afternoon just doing nothing. There’s always a fire to be put out or a crisis to be averted. This afternoon, I simply sit here enjoying a quality cognac, a smooth cigar, and the company of a good friend.

Our conversation has gone on for quite some time when I see Jason looking over my shoulder. I turn around and there’s this woman walking into the cigar bar. Her head is turned and she’s talking to someone at the door. She’s wearing a white crochet mini-dress with a flowy skirt and a zigzag hemline that stops mid-thigh with just a tease of what’s underneath. It has wide shoulder straps that hold her ample breasts up quite nicely. Her hair is full and she is wearing strappy nude stiletto sandals. I try to remind myself that I am now a married man and I am desperately talking my dick down when the woman turns around to look at me…

It’s my wife… and she looks fucking hot! What the hell did they do at that spa?

Her hair is straight, but shiny and full of body, bent slightly at the ends. It’s been cut, but it’s still quite long, cascading down her shoulders and caressing her breasts. Her makeup is understated, like she always wears it, with slightly heavier mascara than usual and soft pink lipstick. My dick gets harder and harder as she strolls over to us, the skirt gently brushing her thighs and taunting me the entire time.

“Boss! Boss!” I turn back to Jason. Was he saying something?

“Huh?” I say a bit dazed. He laughs at me.

“Yeah, you’re gone. Give me a call if you two plan on going somewhere.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say flippantly, quickly turning my gaze back to Butterfly.


Good grief, that spa was amazing! I spent hours in that place getting body wraps, oil massages, hot stone treatments and facials. They even had this treatment called a Flight Reviver to help your body reset from jet lag. It must have worked because I feel like a million bucks!

After the hours of rejuvenating my body from the exhaustion of traveling and teetering in those damn boots for hours yesterday, I spent some more time in the salon getting the most luxurious wash and conditioning treatment I think I have every had. My hair is full, fluffy, light, and shiny. I had them take about six inches off the ends after all of the curling and spritzing for the wedding and it still hangs well down my back. After making a stop back at the suite to change into something pretty, I go in search of my husband. It’s nearly dinner time and although I had delicious hors d’oeuvres and champagne in the spa, I haven’t had lunch and I’m ready for a real meal.

I don’t know exactly where to find him, but he said that he would be around. Since he’s not in the suite sneaking in some work, he must be in one of the bars or restaurants, in the workout room or at the pool. It occurs to me that I could just call him, but I left my phone in the room. So I’ll just see if I can find him and if I can’t, I’ll go back to the room and call him. I start with the Winter Garden and the Cellar and he’s not in either place. When I go to Alexander’s, the bartender tells me to check the cigar lounge. Christian doesn’t smoke. Then again, cigar smokers aren’t typical smokers. They just smoke every now and again to unwind. That sounds like Christian.

The décor is very elegant and sophisticated, but not stuffy—cozy, yet classy. I am greeted by a woman in a three-piece suit with a gray tie. When I describe my husband, she points me in the direction of two gentlemen who have been here all afternoon. I follow her gaze to a smiling Jason and a spellbound Christian. Jason says something to him and stands from the table, walking towards me.

“You look great, Your Highness. Go easy on him,” he says with a chuckle as he walks past me and out of the lounge.


I walk over to Christian who still can’t seem to find his words and pause for a moment.

“Christian?” He’s eying me from head to toe. He’s checking me out! “Christian!” I say, nearly stomping my feet. He quickly makes eye contact with me and stands from his seat.

“Baby,” he says almost dreamily while taking my hand. “You look stunning.” The Bitch inside of me is giggling. Okay… you’re forgiven for clocking out on me.

“Thank you,” I say like a bashful schoolgirl. He slides his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him. He places a long, sensual kiss on my cheek and my neck.

“Now that’s Chanel,” he says seductively.

“Yes, it is,” I respond, enjoying his breath on my neck.

“Where would you like to eat? Here at the hotel on the roof or do you want to go out?” His lips move to my temple. Shit! I want to go to bed and fuck, but I know that we need sustenance.

“I think I’d like to stay here,” I say softly. “The idea of having dinner on the roof sounds very pleasant.”

“To the roof we go, then,” he says, his voice full of promise.

He looks so good standing across from me in the elevator, examining me thoroughly but saying nothing. I take advantage of the time that we have alone in this small space and close the distance between us. I undo one button of his linen shirt and place my hand on the exposed part of his chest. I feel his breath quicken just a bit against my cheek, causing me to raise my eyes to his lips. His hands never leave the rail as I stand on my toes a bit and gently bring my lips to his. I taste the flavor of the cigar on his lips and the slight hint of cognac. It turns me on. I gently and slowly caress his lips and tongue with my own, delicately stroking the soft hairs on his chest until the elevator signals that we have reached the roof. I reluctantly pull myself away from him and walk out of the elevator, waiting for him to follow me.

I feel him move behind me and slide his hand to the small of my back. I take a deep breath to subdue the shiver that threatens to bring me to my knees. I love this silent game of seduction that we’re playing. I can only hope that it will end with some delicious kinky fuckery later on. We are led to a table with a beautiful view of the Acropolis, although if I’m honest, every table in the restaurant has a beautiful view of the Acropolis. I’m hoping that we will get to go there tomorrow as the Acropolis and the new museum are on the top of my list of things to see while I’m here.

I instruct the waiter on how to prepare my cranberry spritzer as I have already had champagne this afternoon. Christian opts for a soft drink. We examine the menu in silence, the sexual tension between us rising like a thick fog. When we order our food, the waiter takes the menu away and we are in our silence again. I place my hand flat on the table next to his and caress it with my thumb. We don’t take our eyes off of each other as he covers my other hand with his, gently caressing the back and suggestively fingering my palm. I bite my lip suggestively, but only momentarily, allowing it to slide from between my tongue wet and plump. He takes his eyes from mine to move them to my breast, his tongue playing with his lips as he examines them—and he’s making me hot again. Piercing, gray orbs rise back to mine again and we are back to the game of silent visual seduction.

I want to fuck you, I think to myself. I want to ride you until I’m drenched in sweat and completely wrung out from coming so many times that I can’t move anymore. I want to scream your name and hear you call mine in agonized passion. I’m so hot for you right now that I can barely stand it.

I’m so lost in my desire and need for him that I don’t even realize our drinks have come until he puts his to his mouth and takes a drink. Drink. Yes. I need one. I should have ordered something stronger.

Dinner is sweet torment, with an intentional brush here and a soft, gentle hiss there. At one point, I worked my way out of one of my stilettos and caressed his calf with my toes. He shamelessly reached under the table and grabbed my leg, placing it in his lap so that he could fondle my leg. I didn’t dare touch his package, though heaven knows I wanted to, not to mention that I was sitting across from him and there wasn’t much to cover us in terms of the tablecloth. The food was divine, but the real meal didn’t start until we were back in the elevator again.

He’s gazing at me again from across the car and this time, I’m plastered to the wall. While we went from ground to roof to get to the restaurant, we only have a couple of floors to get back to our suite. He’s looking at me with those hungry eyes that he’s had all night, and I feel like the walls are closing in on us. When the elevator rings to announce our floor, he grabs me and lifts me by my thighs hoisting my up to him. Instinctively, I thrust my hands into his hair and kiss him viciously, devouring his mouth and causing him to groan deep in his throat. Fuck if I know how we made it to the door or if anybody saw us, but I’m so ready to take him that I can barely breathe.

Somehow, he gets the door open and scrambles inside with me still attached to his lips. He slides my feet to the floor and grabs my hands from around his neck, pinning them against the wall as he now controls the kiss, causing my head to spin, bruising my lips and deliciously teasing my tongue. His body is rock hard against me, restraining me—he feels so good.

His hands slide down my arms and one lands at my waist while the other keeps going, down my hips and to the hem of my dress, up my thigh and inside my silky mesh panties. I groan in his mouth when he meets his mark.

Relax. Breathe. You are always so quick to come. Enjoy. Breathe.

He pulls his lips away from mine and looks into my eyes. I can’t control my breathing and control my orgasm, so my breathing is erratic and I attempt to rein my body’s slavish reaction to his ministrations. He’s a master at when he does and my body is his instrument. He knows how to make it sing every note on the scale.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says as he massages my clit. “Tell me what you feel.”

“Burning,” I breathe. “The friction… it feels… good… intense.” I close my eyes and try to breathe through the sensation. “The pleasure starts… from the outside… and moves in…”

“What about now?” He thrusts two fingers deep into me and curls them forward almost sending me over the edge while his palm presses into my clit.

“Ah!” I cry, fighting the urge to come, breathing through it to prolong the pleasure.

“You are so sexy,” he says before he kisses me. I feel his erection on my hip. “Tell me, what are you feeling now?”

“Inside… and out… b-both!” My chest is heaving.

“Touch me!” he commands. My hands fly immediately to his dick. He grunts when I grab him and grants my pussy a reprieve. He knows I was about to come, so he moves both hands to my ass and squeezes firmly as I press my hand hard against his erection. He groans as he strokes into my hand. He’s getting harder and harder and he begins to shiver with each stroke. He stops abruptly and plunges his tongue into my mouth. I don’t think he came… he’s still hard against my hand. He’s breathing heavily when he pulls his mouth away from mine.

“Stay here,” he says, nearly growling. “Don’t move.” I nod. He disappears around the corner, giving me a few moments to compose myself while he’s gone. He makes me so hot and it looks like tonight, I did the same thing to him. I don’t dare move from this wall before he gets back.

He’s not gone long and when he returns, he’s wearing only the white shirt—all buttons open—and his black boxer briefs. I get hot all over again at the sight of him. He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom, but not to the bed. He stops at the wall that separates the sleeping area from the parlor and takes me to the oversized chair there. On the table, I can see the cord tieback from one of the drapes from somewhere in the suite, olive oil, and something else that I can’t quite make out. He turns me around and slowly removes my dress. He then cups my ass under the sheer panties and pushes my underwear off and down my legs. I lift each leg so that he can remove them and he licks my clit only once on his way back up, causing me to moan.

I’m standing there in the sheer demi-bra and the nude strappy stilettos. He runs his thumbs over the outside of the bra, the material right over my nipples. He’s working them to a pebble with just his thumbs.

“They’re so full and beautiful. I thought it was a push-up… it’s all you.” He kisses me deeply. “I want to fuck them.”

“Okay,” I breathe. The idea of his dick between my tits is making my clit throb again because I love the way that he looks when he’s very aroused. I love when his dick gets pink and purple and he’s about to come. It’s a beautiful sight. He kisses me again and instructs me to clasp my hands behind my back. When I do, he binds my arms at the elbows with the cord and pulls them together a bit.

“Okay?” he asks. I nod. “Good. Sit.” He directs me to sit in the chair with the mirror on the wall above it, which I do. My breasts protrude out because of the way that I am bound and I’m still in my bra. He goes over to the table and now I recognize that contraption. It’s the vibrating nipple and clit suction cups from Anguilla. Oh shit.

“I love that you are practicing absorbing your pleasure,” he says as he manipulates my nipples again. I shiver at his touch, but focus on his eyes so as not to rise too quickly. “I want to see you do it again. I want you to absorb the pleasure for a while.” He attaches both suction cups to my breast. I hear the pump and they squeeze only a little.

“When you do come, pull it inside,” he instructs as he moves his hand to my clit. I swallow my whimper. “You will control your orgasm. You will determine its intensity.” Fuck, he’s turning me on so much, then telling me that I will control my orgasm! Okay… focus… focus… I bite my lip to keep from crying out when he attaches the cup to my clit. “Are you ready, Baby?” I nod.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“Open your legs, Baby.” I spread my legs wide. “Wider. Put your feet up on the seat of the chair.” I flatten my hands behind me and lift my legs, bending my knees so that my core is fully exposed.

“Yes,” he hisses. “Just like that.” I hear the pump again and feel the cups tighten. Fuck, they feel so good. “Here we go,” he warns. When he turns on the vibrator, I do cry out. The sensation almost drives me insane. He stands and backs away from me, observing his creation.

“Baby, you look so good. I wish you could see it, but it would only make you come too soon,” he says as he pushes and ottoman up against the chair where I’m sitting. He removes his shirt and then his boxers. His impressive erection springs forth and he takes it in his hand. Now, he uses a bit of the olive oil, pouring a bit on his dick, and even more on my breasts and right over the sheer material of my bra. He’s careful not to let it reach the suction cups. He lets it drip across and between my breasts as he takes a seat on the ottoman. He increases the suction on the cups just a bit, causing my eyes to roll back in my head.

“Is it good, Baby?” he asks while working his hand up and down his erection. Fuck, yes, it’s good, and you look fucking delicious, Mr. Grey.

“Yes,” I breathe, “very good… so good…”

“Mmmm, you look good, too,” he says, stroking himself harder. “Breathe through it, Baby. Feel it. Do you like it?”

“So much,” I say, as I absorb the pleasure, intent on riding it through and enjoying it. He’s getting harder and pinker and now, he’s shiny, too. “You look so good,” I tell him, watching his dick begin to throb.

“Do I?” he asks, his voice thick with pleasure. I nod, never taking my eyes off his dick. “Good, because I’m about to fuck your tits now.” He stands from the ottoman and kneels on the seat in front of me, placing his legs between mine so that I can’t close them. “Tell me if the restraints become too uncomfortable.”

What restraints?

He slips his dick under my bra and between my breasts and throws his head back as he groans loudly. His stroke is immediate. He steadies himself with his hands on the back of the chair and he is stroking madly, fucking my tits like he fucks my pussy.

“Damn it! Goddamnit! Fuck, it feels so good…” He thrusts repeatedly between my breasts and I know that he’ll be blowing soon. I look up at him and he is alternating between watching his dick between my breasts and watching himself in the mirror. His face is determined, focused, concentrating on the task until he throws his head back. “Fuck! It’s so good!” he groans. I look down at his dick between my tits, throbbing and purple and oily, and my pussy burns to release. I suddenly remember the cups on my tits and clit and the suction is suddenly very intense. I was so busy watching him that my mind wandered away from what was going on down there.

He is no longer looking in the mirror. His head is back and he is concentrating on what he’s feeling… and so am I. The suction and vibration are pulling me deeper and deeper, the feeling becoming so intense that I can feel myself shaking. I drop my head and wait for my opportunity and at just the right moment, he thrusts up and I open my mouth and clamp down.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck! Oh, fuuuuuck!” he cries out as he instinctively grabs my hair and presses me down onto his head as he continues to stroke between my breasts. The moment I get the taste of his skin in my mouth, I detonate! I pull the sensation in like he instructed and the orgasm is huge and causes me to growl deep in my throat. This halts Mr. Grey’s motion, causing him to groan mournfully and empty hotly into my mouth. I clamp and suck hard, sucking every bit of juice out of him that I can as I ride out this universally cosmic orgasm.

“Baby! Oooowwwww!” he cries as he pushes me down onto his dick, not allowing me to let go, and I don’t intend to either. That puppy is going to be as limp as my pussy is tender when this ride is over.

My orgasm has waned and my clit is actually pretty tender under the suction cup. I try to ignore it as Christian trembles and breathes out his orgasm, but it’s starting to hurt a bit. He catches his breath quickly and, knowing my body the way that he does, he quickly removes the suction cups much to my relief. He reaches around me and unties the cord and, looking down, he cups my breasts again.

“God, they are so beautiful,” he says. “Stand up and turn around.”

I rise gracefully from the chair and turn around, my back to his front, and come face to face with myself in the antique mirror above the chair. His hands travel under my arms and up around my breasts again, his index fingers teasing me like his thumbs did earlier.

The party’s not over yet.

He unhooks my bra and pushes it off my shoulders, exposing my hungry breasts… hungry for him to touch me again.

“On your knees on the chair.” I get on my knees and I fully expect him to take me from behind, but he doesn’t.

“Look how beautiful you look,” he says as he scans my reflection in the mirror. He takes my hands and clamps them on the back of the seat. I am now leaning into the mirror, my breasts round and reaching for my reflection, my nipples pink and protruding.

“Watch,” he commands. “Don’t let go. See how beautiful you are.” He disappears from behind me and I feel him slide underneath me, his breath now on my clit and his tongue very gently teasing me. To say that I can’t breathe is an understatement. My clit is still sore, but he is gentle and tender with his caress. As he slowly and meticulously works me back into a sexual frenzy, I have this gasping, whimpering, Chihuahua-barking thing going on as I hold firmly to the back of the chair.

“Watch,” he says into my core. I look at the wanton creature in the mirror as he caresses and teases my clit. She looks… vulnerable. As he continues to lick and suck my clit, she transforms. Her blue eyes are piercing; her lips are parted; she looks primal, sexy… and hot.

His hands slowly rise to my breasts and I watch as he gently pinches my now-oily nipples, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger before his hands cover both breasts and massage gently. His palms sliding over my nipples are driving me wild and the vision of his hands covering my breasts and kneading as I push forward into them is one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. Although I can’t see his head between my legs, I can see the top of my hips grinding sensually and I know what’s going on down there. The visual assault coupled with his open-mouthed attack on my core and his tongue licking and circling my clit…

“Aaaahhhh!” I groan loudly, throwing my head back at the incredible pleasure.

“Hold on,” he coaxes, still talking into my pussy.

“Yes!” I declare, still grasping the back of the oversized chair while absorbing the sensations he’s unleashing on me. I raise my head again to examine the girl in the mirror. Her once straight hair is now wild and flowing over her shoulders and breasts, partially covering his hands. Her eyes are hungry, her pupils dilated. She’s panting, feverish in her passion. She watches his hands tighten on her breasts, holding them firmly. I drop my head and see him watching me intently. I can only see his eyes and part of his hair and he’s gazing unblinking at me as he loves me deeply and hotly with his mouth and tongue. A small tortured cry escapes my mouth as I see the pleasure evident in his eyes. He’s enjoying this immensely—not as much as I am, no doubt, but immensely nonetheless. He groans into me and I close my eyes to concentrate on the burn. My God, it’s so good… I can’t stand it…

“Open your eyes. Look at yourself,” he says, his face buried in my pussy. I open my eyes again and the poor creature in the mirror has lost control. Her breath is erratic and her chest is rising and falling madly. She’s covered in a sheen of sweat and the ends of her once-fluffy hair are sticking to her breasts. She is tortured, her face contorted into a helpless and mournful expression of ecstasy, agony, and surrender.

“Uuuuugggghhhh!” I cry as the burning intensifies. Oh, God, please….

“Don’t close your eyes! Watch yourself come.”

Seconds after he says the words, I watch her face stretch and transform as beads of sweat form instantly on her forehead and temples. Her cries are helpless and agonizing and her nails threaten to pierce the fabric of the chair as the inferno that’s bellowing through her threatens to devour her very soul. I watch in helpless amazement and wonder as my expressions and gyrations interpret the eruption that is happening in my body and core, literally tearing me limb from limb as I fight to hold myself together and get lost in the liberating release all at the same time. I now know why he likes to watch me come. It’s magnificent! Seeing it and feeling it at the same time is almost unbearable!

The release has waned a bit, but the pleasure and burning have not stopped when he stealthily slides his body up the chair, positions himself at my core, and slides me down onto his massive shaft. I moan loudly as he begins this grinding, rocking motion into me. He is slouched down into the chair so that I can still see my reflection. He wraps his arms around me so that he can control my movement and begins to thrust into me—harder and faster. At the same time, he takes one of my nipples into his mouth and sucks hard! I cry out—loud and high—wrapping my arms around his head and thrusting my fingers into his hair.

Unable to match his relentless stroke, I stay there on my knees with him pounding mercilessly into me, over and over again. He moves to the other breast and I hear him grunting and feel him growing inside of me. I love this part. This is the part where he begins to lose himself, begins to rise to his release. He will either try to fight it or make it more intense. His next words tell me that he’s going for option two.

“Tell me,” he growls. “Tell me what you feel.” Everything! Like my fucking head is going to pop off any second!

“Hard… stiff…” I choke, rising again with him. Fuck, he’s getting bigger! “Filling me… pushing me… friction… ugh… oh, God!” I can see his magnificent dick in my head—pink and purple and fat and wet and drilling into me. “Oh God!”

“What?” he grunts, still thrusting into me. “Tell me!” Fuck, he is hitting the spot, over and over and I’m having the hardest time forming any words whatsoever. I open my eyes again and watch this helpless creature being driven to her third orgasm.


“Tell me!” he commands me again, thrusting and grinding as one arm holds me possessively and motionless against him while the other hand wanders roughly over my ass. He grabs one cheek, holding it open and using it to guide my hips and his fingers are so long that one of them only slightly breaches my rosette, sending a shock of pleasure through me that goes straight to my head and is visible in my eyes.

“Uuuugggghhhh! Christian!”

“Tell me!” he demands, now slamming my hips down onto his and looking up at me, though I can’t see his eyes—only the reflection of his upturned head as I admiringly watch this beautiful vixen in the mirror coming apart all over again.

“Heat!” she breathes at me. “Fire! Fire! Friction… tingling, then… burning! Don’t stop! Please! Don’t stop!” she begs.

“Take it, Baby!” he grunts. “Feel it! I feel… everything you do… Make me feel it, Baby…! Make me feel it!”

“Aaahhh! Christiaaann!” Fuck that mirror. I throw my head back and feel it, just like he said. I’m clamping on to his shoulders and pulling that orgasm all the way in. I think I’m drawing blood with my fingernails as my pelvis is concentrating on grinding into that magnificent dick and pulling every bit of pleasure out of it that I can harvest.

“Yes, Baby! Fuck!” He yells a few moments later as he pounds up into me, then stills, then pounds again, then stills again, then repeats this rhythm three or four more times before he collapses back into the chair with me in his arms, completely out of breath.

A/N: escargot, soupe à l’oignon, coquilles Saint-Jacques, and Sole Meunière. – Snails, onion soup, scallops, and sole.

Hachis Parmentier—shepherd’s pie

Blanquette de Veau—Veal ragout or stew

Don’t forget to check out the Pinterest boards to follow Christian and Ana on the honeymoon.
The day trip to Paris is here:
The adventure in Greece is here:

AFTERNOTE–AFTERNOTE–AFTERNOTE–AFTERNOTE: I HAD TO READDRESS THIS ISSUE because there were so many people that were UTTERLY APPALLED that Christian had a NATURAL MALE REACTION to seeing an attractive woman. Let me point three things out for you:

1) He did not have this reaction to some random woman… IT WAS HIS WIFE! True, he may not have known that it was her, but it was still her!

2) He didn’t get up and go over to the woman like, “Hey Baby, what’s yo’ sign?” He just admired her from afar!

3) I don’t care how long you have been together with your significant other, how long you have been married, or how faithful he or she is. If you think for one moment that–during the course of your relationship–they have NEVER seen someone that they found attractive and took a moment to appreciate it, or never had a little fire in the nether regions over some fine specimen of woman or man that may have crossed their path, you’re living in a fantasy world. Allow me to invite you to the real world with the rest of us! The only way a man or a woman will not have an inner reaction to someone that they find attractive is if they are dead or castrated! Finding someone attractive and acting on it are two different things–give the man a fucking break!!

Love and Handcuffs!
Lynn X