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.
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.
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. https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/mending-dr-steele-off-to-greece/
Love and Handcuffs!