I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues…Chapter 24—Black Friday
Once again, the Grey women—and friends—have left one of Seattle’s upscale malls with nothing but bones for its future shoppers. The paparazzi were out as usual, but if any of them got one good shot of me, I would be completely surprised. My family and friends were very protective and very careful to keep me shielded from the cameras, not that I care, mind you. If they’re that desperate to get a picture of the big pregnant woman, then fine. Just don’t interrupt my shopping.
Our entrance into Grey Crossing is anything but subtle. There’s lots of cackling from the ladies… and Al, and it’s clear that we’ve covered all bases and cannot wait to review our wares. Spa Day will begin in about an hour and Vickie should be here any minute with my gowns for tomorrow’s event. We descend upon the family room only to find that the men have set up shop and are watching the Seahawks play whoever they’re playing. I never watched football, so I couldn’t tell you who was on the field. I only know the Seahawks because they’re the home team. I’m happy to see that Elliot has joined us again, indicating that Val opted to go see her parents since he wasn’t going to stay at home with her. I refrain from making a comment.
I see that hot wings, snacks, and beer are the order of the afternoon and immediately search the room for Chuck. Hmm, no Chuck. Jason’s here, Pops and Herman, Carrick, Christian and James. Daddy and Phil are missing, which I think has something to do with Harry and Mindy, but…
“Where’s Chatlez?” Keri asks. Oh, hell. Am I going to have to divert her attention away from her ailing boyfriend for the entire day?
“He’s downstairs,” Jason says, and I see Christian roll his eyes. What happened? “He’s resting.”
“Resting?” Keri asks, bemused. Christian raises his eyes to meet mine and I know immediately that something has happened.
“Well, that’s good,” I pipe in. “His body’s been pretty beaten up. He needs all the rest he can get. It’ll help him heal.” That one statement reprograms Keri’s protective instinct to go check on her man and she immediately reconsiders.
“Well, it’s good to see my men all together today, as they should be,” Grace says, kissing each of the Grey men including Pops and Herman. She’s thrilled that Elliot is joining us for the usual Thanksgiving festivities. “Will you be joining us for brunch and the Adopt-A-Family Affair tomorrow?” she asks Elliot.
“Yes, Mom, I’ll be here. I’ll just be dateless,” Elliot responds.
“Don’t feel bad, Elliot,” Jason chimes in. “I’ll be a stag, too, but I’ll be in an official capacity.” Elliot chuckles softly and shrugs.
“It’s okay. It is what it is,” he says. Jason holds his arms out to Sophie.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Baby Boo?” he says to her and she nods enthusiastically.
“Ms. Ana and Ms. Gail let me build bears for the babies!” she tells her father and snuggles into his arms. Her face lights up as she tells him about the High School Musical boy and girl bears that she constructed at Build-A-Bear for the twins and the Topaz bear for herself. He listens attentively and engages her conversation as she talks about the characters in the movie that he surely has no interest in, but it’s clear to the onlooker that he is overjoyed to have her here and will spend every possible moment with her… even if it means hearing about how cute Troy is and how she hates Sharpay. This child is a very different child from the girl that was dropped off yesterday—more adult than she should be, and filled with a bit more disdain for her mother than most teenage girls, and she’s not even a teenager yet. Watching her behavior today, I realize that if given the opportunity, this little girl just wants to be a little girl.
“Well, ladies, it’s about time that we prepare ourselves to be pampered,” I say gleefully. “You know the drill. Since the gentlemen have taken over the family room, we’ll have to use the entertaining room downstairs…”
“No can do,” Christian informs me. “The entertaining room is baby central.” I sigh.
“Fine, then we’ll use the community bar.”
“What if we disturb Charles while he’s resting?” Mother Hen Keri pipes in. Now, I’m getting perturbed.
“Okay,” I sing, a little irritated. “Does anyone have any objection to my parlor?” I think at this point, if anyone did have an objection to my parlor, they wouldn’t say so. I was going to use my parlor for my fitting, but now, I guess I just have to make other arrangements. While I’m standing there pouting, Ben informs us that Vickie has arrived, so I guess those other arrangements have to be now.
“Gail,” I whisper conspiratorially. “I know my husband and something happened while we were gone. Chuck’s not just resting.”
“You picked up on that, too,” she says, informing me that she already knows that something’s awry in the atmosphere.
“Well, we know that he’s not sick or anything, or they wouldn’t be calmly sitting up here watching football. You’re on babysitting duty until I get back. Don’t let Keri go to their room and try to figure out what’s going on with him. Get the ladies to my parlor as quietly as possible so that he doesn’t know that we’re back either, because he’ll probably come looking for her. I swear, that girl is a pressure cooker and she needs to decompress. I’ll be down as soon as I can.” Gail nods. “Ladies, I have to leave you for a moment. I must be wardrobed for tomorrow’s event. I won’t be long. Gail will show you all to my parlor. Mandy, Mia, you two come with me, please. I’ll need honest opinions on my dresses.” Christian frowns and looks at me.
“Don’t get sour-faced,” I tell him. “You don’t get to see it until tomorrow.” His expression doesn’t change and again, I know my husband. It’s not the dresses that have him sour-faced, it’s something else. We really have to talk. “Gentleman, please make sure that our purchases get to the parlor.” Ethan jumps into action and kisses Mia before I whisk her away with me.
Vickie is wearing this wicked pant suit with panels of long fringe that drape from the pockets to the ground and a tailored cutoff jacket. It is hot and I want that outfit after the babies are born!
“The dresses are stunning,” Mandy says as I model my final gown in my sitting room. We were banished to my bedroom for the fittings. It was either that or my office. “How are you going to choose just one?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “Shame on you, Vickie! I couldn’t choose between the two that I wanted, so you altered three!”
“Well, I knew how much you loved all three dresses and they all look good on your body type. What’s more, the way that they flow, you can wear them after you deliver the babies if you want. The lilac gives you a bit of the sex appeal while the chiffon iridescent complements your baby bump and highlights femininity. For the season and the occasion, though, I recommend the blue. It’s perfect with your eyes and with those blue Louboutin pumps you showed me? Exquisite!” I look at myself in the mirror and I have to admit that the blue altered Alexander McQueen knockoff does look very feminine—sweetheart neckline, strapless, free-flowing, and when I frame my stomach with my hand under my bump, it actually looks very feminine and alluring. I’ll have my hair in cascading curls over my shoulder covering the short spot, and I’ll wear one of my Chanel collections.
“Mia, have you chosen a dress for the gala yet?” Vickie coos. “I’m sure I could find something that could compliment your shape quite beautifully.”
Now why did that statement suddenly make me feel dirty?
“Oh, yes, I did,” Mia chirps. “I found a purple slim gown draped at the hip with a jeweled bodice and cut-out cleavage, but the next affair that we have, I’m going to have to give you a call. Do you have a card?” Vickie smiles widely and pulls a business card out of her pants pocket.
“Call me anytime,” she says sweetly, “even short notice. I’ll be happy to fit you.” She hands Mia her card. “I do formals, business wear, casual, ‘after five,’ even lingerie.” Wow, she is desperate for Mia’s business!
“That’s great! I’m getting married next September. I’m sure I’m going to need some things.”
“Oh, you must let me size you up before you get married,” Vickie says. I can’t help but giggle as Mandy helps me out of my evening gown without ruining it. That’s it. She’s sizing Mia up! Poor little naive Mia—I can’t believe she hasn’t picked up on it yet.
“You okay in there?” Vickie says.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I say, unable to hide my mirth anymore. I’m covering my bare boobs, still laughing when Mandy gets me out of the dress.
“Boy, something really has you tickled,” Mandy says.
“Yeah, it does,” I say, still giggling as I put my bra back on. Luckily, I’m not uncomfortable naked around gay women—just straight men, except my husband. I pull my sweater over my head and readjust my headband. “Vickie, I don’t know how to thank you. Not only did you work on short notice, but these dresses are divine.”
“I’m so glad you like them, Ana. So I can look forward to you calling again when you need to be wardrobed?”
“That you can. Ladies, you can go on down to the parlor. Let me get Vickie squared away.”
“Don’t forget to call me, Mia,” Vickie calls after Mia.
“Sure thing!” Mia pipes back as she’s leaving.
“I certainly hope so,” she responds, lowly not low enough. I laugh again as I take my things to my dressing room.
“I’ll be right there, Vickie,” I call back to her.
“Take your time,” she says. I hang the dresses on a nearby rack and come back to the bedroom.
“So, does Christian know you’re gay?” I ask, sitting on an ottoman and putting my socks back on. She chuckles quietly.
“Was it that obvious?” she says, showing no remorse.
“Maybe not to the object of your affection, but yes, it was,” I laugh. She rolls her eyes playfully and takes a seat.
“Yes, he knows,” she confesses. “I’ve had a crush on Mia for years and she’s blissfully ignorant of it.”
“Ooo, Christian doesn’t like that, huh?” I ask. She shrugs.
“No, but he was more concerned about you.” I raise my eyebrows.
“Should he be?” I ask, curiously. She laughs.
“I’ll tell you like I told him. I like this thing called breathing. You’re a very attractive woman, but not enough for me to risk my life.” She stands up and straightens her pants and suit jacket. “You know Christian covered the bill already, right?”
“Yeah, I know. I just wanted to rag you a bit,” I say. She laughs good-naturedly. “I’ll take one of those cards. You have my number. I don’t have yours.”
“Oh, hell, how could I forget that!” she says, reaching into her pocket and handing me a card.
“You had Mia on the brain,” I tease. She chuckles a bit.
“You won’t tell her?”
“Keep it up, I won’t have to,” I alert her. She’s a good sport about the ribbing.
“I’m glad you’re not all stuck-up and prudish,” she says, putting her other clothing bags over her arm.
“My best friend is gay,” I tell her. “It looks like we’ll be planning his wedding soon, too. Doesn’t pay to be homophobic when your split-apart plays for the same team.” Her brow furrows.
“Long story. I’ll tell you one day. I’ve been Al’s fag hag for nearly 15 years—though I’m the only one who can say that. I become violent when people call my friend a fag.” She smiles widely.
“Bravo,” she commends me. She picks up her purse, a beautiful cream Peekaboo Fendi bag with the continent of Africa on it and the silhouette of several black and white birds flying freely.
“Every gay woman has the one fantasy, that one straight girl that she thinks she can turn. It usually never happens, but the pursuit is a lot of fun.”
“Well, I hate to tell you this, but Mia is absolutely stricken with Ethan. That ship has sailed, my friend.” She shrugs.
“Ah, the chimera… a girl can hope,” she says, walking towards the door.
“Keep hope alive,” I jest. She laughs heartily as I throw the door open and see Christian standing there about to come inside. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. “Did you come up to help, Babe?” I say innocently. “Vickie, you can give those bags to Christian. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking them down for you,” I say to Vickie, never letting on for a second that I have no doubt whatsoever why he’s standing outside our bedroom door. Vickie smiles widely.
“I’ve got it,” she says, her voice laced with mirth. “I’m used to hauling these things around.”
“I insist,” Christian says, his voice honey smooth and hiding his true intentions.
“How chivalrous of you,” Vickie says, handing the bags to Christian. She raises her eyebrows as he takes the bags. “Thank you, it does help with the whole breathing thing.” I have to fight not to burst into spontaneous laughter at her statement. I decide to torture Christian a bit. I hook arms with Vickie. Seeing my purpose, she puts her free hand over mine. Christian’s ears flush a bit red.
“I love my dress, Vickie,” I tell her sincerely as we walk down the stairs. “You picked just the right style and fit. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“When it’s time for the after-baby, new spring wardrobe, don’t forget about me,” she says.
“I sure won’t.” Ben has brought her car to the portico and takes her bags when we get downstairs.
“Until next time,” I say giving her a hug. She nods and waves at Christian before leaving. I hook my arm in Christian’s and we stand inside the door until Vickie drives away.
“She’s really nice,” I say. “She has exquisite taste and I like her a lot.”
“Yes, she’s very good at what she does. Only the best use her services,” he admits.
“Something you forgot to tell me about her?” I say, looking coyly up at him. He looks down at me and realization crosses his face.
“You. Knew,” he says, partially perturbed and partially amused. “That’s why you did that whole ‘hooking arm’ thing.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Grey, you’re not turning this around on me!” I retort, shaking my finger at him. “You withheld very valuable information from me. I was getting undressed in front of that woman! What if I had taken an issue with her sexuality and having her see me naked?”
“She saw you naked?” he asks, serious now.
“Yes, Mr. Grey, she saw my boobs, but apparently you don’t have a problem with that because you didn’t even think I needed to know about her.” I stand there with my hands on my hips, challenging him to dispute me.
“When did you figure it out?” He asks coolly.
“When I was getting dressed, and to answer your unasked question, had I known beforehand, I still would have changed in front of her because I don’t have a problem with gay women. That woman wasn’t slightly interested in me, but she was ready to mount your little sister right there in front of us. I think the only person who might have been clueless to it was poor Mia!” He covers his eyes.
“I can’t believe that woman saw you naked,” he laments.
“Well, get over it.” He raises his head and glares at me. “You put us together. Her taste is impeccable. She picks just the right thing for you to look just the right way and she’s staying in my life… and she will see me naked again because she will have to fit me for new clothes.” I cross my arms.
“Now how would you feel if I said something like that about Allen?” he asks, his brow furrowed. I giggle.
“You picked the wrong one,” I chuckle. “Allen is my best friend. I trust him implicitly and I trust you implicitly. He would stand there licking his lips, admiring your chiseled abs and your sculpted ass…” I reach around him and give it a squeeze while I’m talking, “…and he might even salivate a bit over your endowment, but he would never touch you. And you should probably know that he called you ‘Diamond Dick’ the moment he met you.”
“Oh, God, change the subject,” he laments. Mission accomplished. It’s been my experience that very straight men are more uncomfortable with the concept of gay men seeing them in the nude than straight women are about gay women.
“Good idea. What’s going on with Chuck?” I ask frankly. He turns impassive eyes to me.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t what do you mean me, Grey,” I say firmly, and his pupils dilate a bit. “I saw that look you gave me when I asked Mia to come upstairs with me and now, I know why. I also saw your reaction when the subject of Chuck came up, and I should tell you that Gail saw Jason’s reaction. The only one blissfully ignorant right now is Keri. So I’ll ask you again. What’s going on with Chuck, because I’m not buying that resting shit?” I stand firm in the grand entry and await his answer. He runs his fingers through his hair.
“We had a disagreement,” he says. I stand gape-mouthed glaring at him. The man is in a wheelchair, for Christ’s sake!
“About what?” I ask in that tone.
“About those goddamn meds!” he says a little louder than either of us would like. Hearing his words echo through the grand entry, he lowers his voice. “Did you know that man can’t even get dressed without pain?” he asks, his eyes piercing. “I made the rounds to get the guys together for breakfast and the game, and he’s in there grunting just trying to get into a sweater! He’s suffering and he doesn’t have to. That poor girl is probably losing her goddamn mind just trying to help him put on his fucking underwear in the morning.” He notices that he’s getting louder, so he takes a breath to contain himself again.
“I told him to take the meds. I wasn’t even pushy about it. Of course, he protested and when I said it again, he snapped at me! We exchanged words and he’s getting all sarcastic about me being his boss and shit. I wasn’t even talking to him as his boss, I was talking to him as…”
He almost said it. He doesn’t like to let people in, but when you do something for him that means a lot to him, he lets you in whether he wants to or not. I successfully hide my smile, but my gaze softens.
“I’m done,” he says. “I’m not going to argue with a grown man about whether or not he wants to take an aspirin. If he wants to sit there and suffer unnecessarily, then let him suffer. What he’s doing to Keri is criminal, though. It’s selfish and it’s cruel and he won’t even hear it when you try to tell him. Maybe if she wasn’t around to take care of him, he’d understand exactly what he’s doing to her.” His hands run through his hair again. I put my hand on his chest.
“We can’t force it, Christian,” I tell him. “If he’s not going to take them, he’s not going to take them. There’s nothing else that we can do. We’ve made him as comfortable as we can and he wants us to ignore his pain. I don’t know what it’s going to take for him to take those meds, but we have to accept the fact that he may not take them at all.” He sighs.
“I’m not going to sit and watch that shit, Ana,” he says, flatly. Ana… he’s serious. “I won’t hound him about his meds anymore, but when I see that he’s uncomfortable or in pain, I’ll just make sure that I’m somewhere else, because this situation pisses me off, and I’m not going to watch it.” I nod.
“I understand,” I tell him. “So why is he in his room? Is he pouting?”
“Pretty much. I told him to call if he needed anything and sent breakfast down with one of the staff. I haven’t heard anything from him since.”
“Maybe somebody should go check on him,” I suggest.
“That’s exactly what he’s waiting for,” he replies. “Jason’s been down there twice. He’s still sulking, waiting for Keri to come and rescue him. Speaking of which, get your ass down to the spa. The team from Miana’s is already here and Keri’s probably chomping at the bit to get to Chuck.” He says his name with a bit of contempt. “We have a few things we need to talk about when you’re done—nothing bad, but things I consider important and I think you will, too.” I nod.
“Okay. I’ll see you when we’re done.” I kiss him on the cheek and proceed to the elevator to join the ladies downstairs.
Thankfully, when I get there, the treatments have already begun. The ladies are giggling, eating all sorts of finger sandwiches and hors d’oeuvres and getting beautified. I find Keri sitting comfortably in a reclining chair getting a full-service pedicure complete with leg and foot massage. Her eyes are closed and her face portrays peace and heavenly tranquility.
“So what did I miss, ladies?” I say.
“Nothing,” Gail says. “We just got started a few minutes ago. Come on, let’s get you changed.” She leads me back to the changing area of my spa room. “Did Christian talk to you?”
“About Chuck?” She nods. “Yes,” I say stepping behind the changing curtain to get undressed. “He says he’s washing his hands of it. He’s not going to try to convince him to take the meds anymore.”
“That’s pretty much what Jason says, too,” Gail says. “He’s becoming cantankerous in his pain, and from what I understand, badgering him about the meds is just making it worse. So they’re just going to leave that topic alone.”
“Christian has vowed to leave the area if his pain is visible. He’s angrier that Keri has to suffer through this. Really, she’s here all the way from Anguilla and she has to sit and watch this? It makes me angry, too.”
“I guess I compartmentalize things more than others,” Gail says. “I’ve had to, working for Christian these last years.”
“I can imagine so,” I say, donning a terrycloth robe. “I don’t watch him in pain, either, and undoing the damage that it does to Keri can get a bit taxing.”
“Tell me about it,” Gail laments. I shake my head and emerge from behind the curtain.
“Well, we can leave that responsibility to someone else right now.” I say with a shrug and a smile. “Let’s go get pampered.”
When we go back into the makeshift spa, Keri is wide awake, still getting her pedicure while a woman is trying to convince Keri to let her work on Keri’s locs. Keri is adamant about not wanting anyone to tamper with her dreads as she doesn’t trust the products used in America. She will use her own natural mixes when she has the time.
“I assure you, ma’am,” the stylist says, removing her head covering. “I’m a lockologist. I only use the best and most natural ingredients.” She reveals her own locs, not as long as Keri’s—smaller, in fact—but thick and neat and beautiful. Keri’s eyes grow large.
“You do yuh own?” Keri asks in amazement and the stylist smiles and nods. “May I?” Keri says, reaching for her hair. The stylist agrees and Keri examines her locs carefully. “Theh beautiful!” Keri says in awe. “Yes, please! And call me Keti,” she says enthusiastically.
“Keri, my name’s Gina. We’re going to start with an ACV rinse. It’s raw apple cider vinegar and baking soda. It will remove any build-up trapped inside the locs. Then we’ll shampoo with a Shea moisture black soap shampoo. My conditioner is hand-mixed—natural aloe vera straight from the plant, tea-tree oil, jojoba oil, and Jamaican castor oil. We’ll follow this with a hot oil treatment of extra virgin olive oil, coconut oil, and almond oil to rejuvenate your hair from the damage of the frigid winter temperatures. We’ll let that sit while you’re getting your massage.”
“Mmmm, I want that,” I say, listening to all the delicious essential oils and ingredients. The ladies laugh and Gina smiles at me.
“The conditioner might be a bit heavy for your hair, Miss, and you certainly don’t need the ACV rinse with that gorgeous mane! However, I recommend the hot oil treatment for all hair types.”
“I’ll take one of those!” I say enthusiastically.
“Me, too,” Grace chimes in.
“My hair is just too delicate for that oil,” Al teases, “but I do want some of that aloe vera mixed in with my conditioner.” Gina is pleased with the support she’s getting for her suggestions. Gail also agrees with the aloe vera for her and Sophie’s hair. Sophie is happily sitting at one of the manicure stations getting her nails polished.
The afternoon turned out just delightful—great food, great company, mimosas for the drinkers and a delicious, citrus tangerine mix for me, Sophie, and the breastfeeding mom, Mandy. I got another of those delightful maternity massages and had my ends clipped again. The winter is brutal on my hair, but I only had three inches clipped. My stylist took extra care massaging my short spot and the scar with the aloe vera just before the hot oil treatment. It was divine.
Having peeled out of our shopping clothes, we all don something that we bought today after our treatments are done. I’m wearing an olive maternity T-shirt dress that hugs all of my curves just right—not too tight, but it makes me feel really sexy. My hair has such a lovely gloss to it that I just allow it to fall over my shoulders, no headband this time. Keri’s hair is magnificent and we can’t stop raving over how fresh and beautiful it looks.
As we pass the community room, Daddy and Phil are still there. The television in here is playing, but it appears to just be background noise as they are lost in conversation about God only knows what.
“Give me my baby,” Maxie says playfully when she sees Phil. The men are speechless as their other halves take the babies.
“You look fantastic,” Phil says, spellbound. Daddy doesn’t have to tell Mandy that he’s pleased as the minute she reaches for Harry, he grabs her instead. I laugh as I watch the couples interact.
“Has Charles come by heyh?” Keri asks. At first, there’s no response from either of them, so I clear my throat.
“Um, gentlemen?” They both snap out of their romantic stupors. “Did Chuck come through here?”
“Oh! Yeah, he went upstairs,” Daddy responds. I shake my head and laugh.”
“Thank you, Father,” I say with a nod and he playfully rolls his eyes at me. The rest of us head upstairs to the family room to join the rest of the men.
“Well, aren’t you just so pretty!” Jason says, holding his hands out to Sophie, who runs into her father’s arms.
“Me and Ms. Gail had aloe vera treatments. My hair is so soft, see? Feel it, Daddy!”
“It’s beautiful, Baby Boo,” he says, kissing his daughter on the cheek and throwing an adoring smile at Gail.
“Well, I may not be as beautiful as these ladies, but I’m a scrubbed, clipped, and clean just for you,” Al says playfully, flirting with James.
“Oh, oh the contrary, you look very good to these eyes,” James says, holding his hand out to his fiancé. Al blushes completely crimson before taking a seat next to James. James entwines his fingers in Al’s and kisses the back of his hand and then affectionately kisses his cheek, reducing my best friend to a mountain of blushing, girly mush.
“And who is this beautiful creature?” Carrick says making his way over to Grace.
“Oh, stop, you old coot,” she says, playfully waving him off. “You are so full of it.”
“And you are just as beautiful as the day I met you,” he says, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her on the cheek.
“Oh, Cary,” she giggles girlishly.
“Oh, good God, my parents are making out in my family room,” Christian says, sliding his arms around me and smelling my hair.
“Tell me about it,” Elliot pipes in, sitting next to Pops and Herman, who are laughing at his and Christian’s discomfort with their parents’ PDA. I look around for Mia and Ethan and they are nowhere to be found. I’m not going to bring attention to their absence, but while I’m looking for them, I spot Chuck—spellbound and gazing at Keri. No one else is paying attention as she walks over to him.
“What did you do to your hair?” he asks her. She frowns.
You don like it?” she asks.
“It’s beautiful,” he says wistfully, caressing her locs between his fingers. “It’s so soft and shiny.” She smiles widely.
“A deep washing and condition fuh locs,” she say. “I want to be mah best fuh you.”
“Now, if he could just return the sentiment,” Christian says, lowly. I gently slap his hand around my waist and quietly shush him. Luckily, no one else heard him. He leans down and kisses my hair. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look,” he says. “Your hair, and this dress… You look absolutely edible, Mrs. Grey.” He gives me a squeeze that makes me smile and feel all warm inside. He leans his head over my shoulder and spread his hands over my belly. “How are my children? Have they given you too much trouble today?”
“No,” I say, covering his hands with mine—as much as they can anyway, “they’ve had a restless moment every now and then, but I’ve been feeding them like crazy. So I think they’ve been lulled into complacency by food.” We both laugh quietly.
“Okay, we can’t hear you, but we know that you’re making out, too, so cut it out,” Elliot teases. Christian give me a final squeeze and kiss on the cheek before he releases me.
“For your information, Mr. Grey,” I say addressing Elliot, “he was asking me about your niece and nephew.” I rub my stomach, “Who have just now decided to wake up.”
“Are they kicking?” Elliot asks, his voice childlike. I nod. “Can I feel ‘em? I’ve never felt a baby kick before. Christian, do you mind?” He asks. I look at Christian. He shrugs.
“It’s fine with me if Butterfly doesn’t mind,” Christian says. I walk over to Elliot and place his hand on my stomach. Just when his hand touches my stomach, one of the soccer players—I think it’s my son—gives his hand a good kick.
“Whoa!” Elliot snatches his hand back and I laugh. “What was that all about?”
“Uh, I don’t know, but just to test a theory of mine, do it again.” Elliot puts his hand on my stomach again and a few seconds later, there goes that goal kick again.
“Fuck! I mean, damn! I mean… shit! Sorry, Mom.” Elliot turns his attention back to me. “That kid can kick!”
“I see!” I say, amazed. “Christian, come here, please.” When Christian comes over to me, I instruct him to put his hand on the same spot that Elliot touched. When he does, nothing happens.
“Christian, don’t move your hand. Elliot, come and touch my stomach again.” Elliot touch my stomach again, and nothing happens. We wait for a few moments and just as he is about to move his hand, wham! Young Master Grey kicks the shit out of him! I laugh loudly.
“How is that possible?” I exclaim through my laughter.
“What is it?” Grace asks.
“My son knows that Elliot is not his father!” I laugh. It might be my daughter, but whichever kid it is, they know that’s not Dad! Christian bends down to my belly.
“That’s my boy!” he says to my stomach, causing the entire room to erupt in laughter.
Butterfly is in her dressing room changing for bed while I get a fire going in the fireplace. It’s a nippy night and I don’t want to take a chance of her catching a cold. The extra dark walls in here ensure that this room doesn’t get as much sunlight during the day and therefore, doesn’t retain as much heat. So a fire is perfect for a cold, winter night.
Just about everyone called it a night pretty early just after dinner once we all saw our significant others emerge from the spa treatments. No doubt everyone was feeling a bit amorous and didn’t want to waste time conversing with one another instead of indulging in each other. I have to admit that I feel the same way, but there are a few bases that needed—and still need—to be covered before we escape to Loveland. Butterfly had a phone session with Ace today. She confided in me that she discussed the shrinking and the running, which she had previously remembered, but had slipped out of her mind just as quickly as she had recalled it. He helped her recall some of her coping techniques and even some of the major events that brought her to this point. Luckily, full-on regression wasn’t necessary. Unfortunately, a side effect of her TBI is that she may frequently have to be reminded of major or minor details. I know it’s inconvenient, but as long as I have my Butterfly, I’ll remember for both of us.
She comes into the bedroom looking as cute as a button in an oversized tartan plaid brushed cotton flannel sleepshirt. She’s absolutely adorable and I just want to gobble her up. I take both of her hands in mine.
“So, we need to talk about some things,” I begin. “Snuggle here, or would you like for me to build a fire in the sitting room?” She smiles coyly. Bad news and snuggle never fit in the same sentence, so she’s ready for our talk.
“Snuggle here,” she says. I nod and climb into bed under the covers, beckoning her to join me. She climbs into bed and snuggles into my arms under the covers. I have to force myself to remember that we need to talk.
“Comfy?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her.
“Mmm hmm,” she purrs, burrowing into my body and sharing my warmth.
“Good. So, the first order of business is Pops,” I begin. “I’d like for him and Uncle Herman to stay on with us. It wouldn’t be permanent, maybe just for a week after the Thanksgiving weekend if that’s okay with you.”
“Mmm, have you talked to them about it?” she asks.
“I mentioned it to Pops and we’ll talk about it in more detail with the rest of the family, but I wanted to clear it with you first.” I feel her smile.
“That’s very sweet. I think it would be very nice to have Pops and Herman around for a little while.” I sigh.
“Good. That was probably the most difficult thing I had to talk about,” I chuckle. “We’ll bring it up at brunch? I don’t see it being a problem, but I’d just like to spend a little time with my grandfather, that’s all.”
“And I’m sure if you present it that way that no one would argue with you,” she says. I kiss her forehead.
“What do you think about this whole welcoming ceremony for the babies? Don’t you think that seems like a bit much?” She sighs.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” she says. “I know that the grandparents and the auntie are all gung-ho for it, but that seems ostentatious and unnecessary. Isn’t that what the christening ceremony is for? We invite people to that and they’ll be able to bring gifts and meet the children formally. It’s still usually just family and close friends. I say ‘no’ to the welcoming ceremony.”
“Mia’s going to be disappointed,” I warn. “Probably Mom and Ray, too.”
“Whose children are these?” she reinforces. “They’ll have to be happy with the christening and that’s it… unless you wanted the welcoming ceremony.”
“I don’t even know what a welcoming ceremony is,” I respond. “What’s the purpose of it? How would you even go about planning one?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I say ‘no.’ We’ll have a christening and that’s it—a good, old-fashioned christening. I can’t even begin to imagine how over-the-top a welcoming ceremony would be—a Mia welcoming ceremony, no less! Can you imagine that headline, because it would no doubt make it to the paper? Mia would organize some crazy gala affair like she did with the PSA announcement, where she had to get rid of the marquee lights. The paps would be out en masse trying to get a picture of ‘Lady and Master Grey in their designer welcome attire’—no! Absolutely not! No! It would be a fucking circus.” Shit, why did I even bring this up?
“Okay, that’s a definite ‘no,’” I say, rubbing her arms and attempting to calm her. “We won’t even talk about it anymore except to tell our families that it won’t be happening, okay?” She calms down a bit and sighs.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get upset. It’s just that I remember the way we had to have a similar conversation with the family about our wedding. It’s like we have these events in our lives and they just want to turn them into these ridiculously huge, grandiose media events, then they want to make us feel guilty for throwing ice on the whole idea. Do you remember your mother’s first guest list?” I scoff.
“How could I forget?” I lament. “She had like a thousand people on that list—and she actually expected me to approve that… when you had already said ‘no!’”
“This will be a kajillion times worse. No, we’ll let them know when and where the christening will be. They can come or they don’t have to, but no welcoming ceremony.”
“I second that,” I say, closing the conversation. “Now, about Lady and Master Grey. They need names, Baby. When you were sick and I thought you may not come back to me, one of my worst thoughts was that we hadn’t named our babies yet.” She shivers a bit.
“That was your worst thought?” she asks.
“I said one of them,” I correct her. “It was pretty rough for me when you were in that coma. I was both grateful and resentful that you had advanced directives. I don’t think I could ever make the decision to take you off of life support if it came to that, but I was tormented by the thought that I may only have had 60 days left to be with you. I didn’t know which was worse, but in the end, I realized that having to make that decision would have been worse. So… even though I didn’t intend to have this conversation now, I think I should tell you that I now have advanced directives, too.” She looks up at me.
“You do?” she asks, and I nod. “What are they?”
“They’re exactly the same as yours,” I tell her. “It seems reasonable, and I wouldn’t want you holding out hope if I were to become unresponsive. I wouldn’t want to live my life as a vegetable, either, Ana. For a guy like me, that would be cruel and unusual punishment.” She nods.
“I understand,” she says. “Can we change the subject now?” She squeezes my waist and I pull her closer to me. Okay, baby, enough of the macabre.
“Baby names,” I reroute the conversation. “Have you thought of any?”
“I was thinking of ridiculous names one day… during one of my maudlin moments. I hadn’t given any serious thought to names, but…” she trails off.
“But what, Baby?” I prompt her.
“I’ve always liked Al’s name—not because he’s my best friend, but because I’ve always liked his name. I always said that if I had a son, that’s what I would name him.”
“You want to name him ‘Allen?’” I ask, my brow furrowed.
“Yes, but no,” she says. “I like his name, but I like it reversed.” I frown deeper.
“Nella?” I ask, dismayed. She laughs heartily.
“No, you nut!” she says, slapping my chest. “Will you let me finish?”
“Please, do!” There’s no way in hell I’m calling my son Nella—or my daughter. It’s too fucking close to Ella.
“His name is Allen Michael. I like the sound of Michael Allen,” she says finally. I ponder that thought. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to… we can come up with something else.”
“No, no, let’s not dismiss it,” I say. “Michael… it’s a good name. It’s strong and traditional. Michael Allen Grey… I think I like it.”
“You do?” she says, her voice hopeful. “You’re not just saying that?”
“I love you, dearly, Butterfly, but we are talking about the name of my first born son, here. If I didn’t like it, I would definitely tell you.” She smiles up at me.
“Al is going to piss bricks!” she giggles. “Let’s wait until after they’re born to tell him.”
“That’s fine by me,” I concur.
“Well, since I pretty much had free reign with the boy, maybe you should name the girl,” she says.
“Are you sure about that?” I scoff.
“As long as she’s not named after any of your ex-submissives, I’m fine,” she says. I shiver.
“God, no!” I growl. She laughs at my calamity, and I know just how to pay her back. “Anastasia.” She pauses for a moment, then she gets my meaning.
“Christian, no!” she whines. “I didn’t even consider Christian because you never slightly indicated that you wanted a ‘junior…’” That’s because I didn’t. “… Now you want to name the girl after me?”
“I love your name. I think it’s classic and beautiful.” She sighs that impatient girl sigh that reeks of displeasure.
“I don’t want her to be named Anastasia,” she whines shamelessly, and I can tell that she really doesn’t want her to be named Anastasia, but I really do.
“We’re going to have to compromise,” I tell her. “I love the name Anastasia, and yes, it is because it’s your name, but it’s also because of what it means. It means ‘resurrection,’ and that’s exactly what you did to me. You brought life to my dark, dead soul and I’ll never forget that. You definitely don’t want our daughter to be named Anastasia, but I gave you Michael Allen with no qualms. So, you have to give me Anastasia. I’ll take it as a middle name if a first name is a bit much for you.” She looks up at me.
“Don’t you want to name her after your mom or Mia or somebody?” she asks as a last ditch effort.
“No, I want Anastasia, and if I can’t have it as a first name, then I’ll take it as a middle name.” She sighs and I sense her surrender.
“Okay,” she says, still none too pleased. “What about a first name? And don’t fucking tell me that you want to name her Rose!” she hisses. I laugh a bit at her calamity this time.
“No, but I did have some backups in case you didn’t go with Anastasia, and I think they would go well with her middle name.”
“Let’s hear them,” she says, still a bit miffed.
“Well, I did look up some names, and I was of course drawn to names that represented beauty or portrayed beauty just in the sound of them—like Sabrina. Unfortunately, we can’t use that one now.”
“Why not?” she whines again.
“Sabrina Anastasia… it’s too choppy. First name ends with an A, middle name begins with an A…” She frowns.
“Yeah, no. Not a good idea.”
“So I thought about Lily or Bonnie…”
“Lily, maybe… Bonnie, no.” Okay, scratch Bonnie.
“Randi and Helen…”
“Helen’s an old woman’s name,” she says. “Randi seems too informal. She’s got to grow up with this name and get a job one day.”
“Then we’re going to the more formal names,” I say. “Diane, Brittany, Geraldine, Mackenzie, Carmen, Isabelle…”
“Wait, stop!” She bolts up out of my arms.
“Isabelle?” I ask. It’s pretty.
“Carmen?” My voice goes higher as I repeat the names I rattled off.
“No, Mackenzie,” she says.
“Mackenzie,” I repeat. Yes, that was one of my choices. It actually does mean “fair, favored one” in the masculine and “little princess” in the feminine. I think it’s perfect.
“Mackenzie Anastasia… I actually like that,” she says, nodding. “I can live with the ‘Russian princess’ name in that combination.”
“So… Michael Allen Grey and Mackenzie Anastasia Grey.” I test how the names sound on my tongue. “We have our children’s names?” She smiles.
“I think we do,” she says. “Congratulations, Mr. Grey.”
“And you as well, Mrs. Grey.” I return her smile and kiss her gently on the lips. Her eyes change when our lips part and she climbs on top of me straddling my lap while I’m sitting against the headboard.
“I have a feeling,” she purrs, “that there’s a lot of sex going on in this house right now.”
“Do you, now?” I ask, gently rubbing her thighs until my hands end up squeezing her ass cheeks.
“Mmm-hmm,” she says, unbuttoning my pajama shirt and kissing gently down my chest. Greystone twitches immediately in my pants. Damn, man! Give her a chance to get started!
“What do you suggest we do about that?” I ask, my voice thick with desire.
“I have a few ideas,” she whispers into my neck. I close my eyes as her lips and tongue lick my skin. Just her closeness and her smell drives me wild. I have to control my breathing to keep from losing it completely.
She grinds slightly on my lap as she finishes with the buttons on my shirt. I groan from the friction and squeeze her thighs, absorbing the heat from her core through my pajama pants. Two quick movements and I could be inside of her, but I’ll wait. It’s killing me, but I’ll wait.
She brings her face to mine and thrusts her tongue into my mouth. Her lips play a sensual game with mine, possessing and commanding my kiss as she roughly clutches my hair. The action shoots fire to my groin and I grab her body tight, groaning into her mouth as she kisses me feverishly, still grinding into me and making me want to explode in my pants.
“Impatient, Mr. Grey?” she says against my lips.
“You have no idea!” I grumble into her mouth.
“Mmm,” she says, pulling her lips from mine. “Then let’s not keep you waiting any longer.” She escapes my grasp and quickly removes my pajama pants and boxer briefs. Moving like a sexy cat, she crawls onto my legs and takes my dick in her mouth. I almost choke on air when she slides her lips down onto me. I’m panting and grunting like an animal as her lips drop and pull relentlessly on my pulsating rod. Fuck, I want to open my legs. It’s so fucking hot! I need air down there!
As if she heard my thoughts, she wiggles until she is between my legs, my knees on either side of her. The air hits my balls and feels so good, but I soon discover that her motive was not to give my balls some air. She’s on her knees on all fours on the bed between my legs. While supporting her weight on one hand, she’s using the other to hold and stroke my dick at the base while her mouth bobs masterfully on the head and shaft.
Dear God, I feel like my eyes are going to pop out of my head any second. I can’t even describe the burn in my dick and balls right now. She is fucking my dick and I am wildly fucking her mouth! My legs are bent and my feet are flat on the bed as I pump fast against her powerful lips. Watching her work my dick is unbearable as I tilt my head from side to side to get a better view. I palm her head as I thrust into her mouth, but the exercise is only a gesture because she has total control over this stroke. I grimace and grunt indecipherable sounds as the explosion builds in my pelvis and my balls. I try to tell her to stop, to slow down, something, but Greystone has a chokehold on my vocal cords, allowing only those animalistic grunts to escape.
The trembling starts and I try to slow the stroke, but it only allows her a more stationary target to clamp and suck and torment. I groan loudly, unable to contain my agony anymore. I dare not drop my hips or she would lock down on my erection and suck my balls through my dick like a straw. Greystone keeps tormenting me, coming to the height of pleasure and making me think he’s going to squirt and then subsiding just a little with the “not yet” tease.
“Aaahhaaahaaa,” I groan, anguished that he’s doing this to me. I swear, he hasn’t done this since—well, shit, for at least 10 years.
Take it, Bitch, he teases. I feel him getting harder and so does Butterfly. She hums her approval and intensifies her assault. In the name of God, come, you son of a bitch.
“Uuuuuggghhhuuuugghhhhaaaaahhhh!” This is unbearable agony. I’m frozen in air, my dick pulsing and throbbing in Butterfly’s mouth as her tight, hot, wet lips mercilessly coax the cum to rise from my tightening balls through my reluctant dick.
Had enough? Greystone taunts. You wanna come now, little bitch boy?
“Yes! Yes! For the love of God, yes!” Now, he decides to release my vocal cords! As he has caused me to be sucked into total and undisputed submission, he also released the grip he has on my libido. Butterfly’s next downstroke is like flaming hot fire and the skin of my dick is made of gunpowder. There is no description for the blasting sensation and eruption that occurs in my loins. I don’t know what part of my mouth I’m biting, but I. Taste. Blood. I can’t scream, I can’t move, my jaw is tight and I can’t function. I can’t breathe and I hear tearing—from where, I don’t know. The fire in my hips, my dick, my balls, and my pelvis will. Not. Stop. I hear myself. I sound like a wounded animal, but I can’t see a thing and she’s not letting up on that sucker until it drops.
Who’s the master?
I dare not answer that, not like I could anyway. This burning is insane and it’s not stopping.
Okay, I think you’ve had enough now. You get a break, but I ain’t finished. So make the most of it, bitch boy!
What did I do to deserve this abuse?
The burning and tingling finally begin to subside and I’m no longer afraid to let my hips drop to the bed. My dick is still on fire, throbbing with pleasure and the reminiscence of the ultimate death it just experienced—the most awful and horrifyingly magnificent thing I’ve ever felt in my life! I’m panting, more like gasping, trying to suck air into my lungs like I’m suffocating. The tearing heard earlier—our sheets. The blood—from my lip. I’m wheezing, sweat dripping from my brow onto the bed, my hair wet like I’ve just taken a shower.
“Christian…?” Her concerned voice snaps Greystone’s hold on me and my eyes shoot open. “Are you okay?”
I bolt upright and look at her, watching me with questioning eyes. I quickly but gently push her down on the bed, her head at the foot. I’m on autopilot and she gasps as I grab her nightshirt from the bottom and rip straight up, causing buttons to fly in various directions around the room.
“Christian!” she gasps, but I don’t give her time to protest. I swoop down quickly on her core, thrusting my tongue deep into her canal. She heaves loudly, taking in a huge amount of air as I descend upon her. She cries out hopelessly, writhing underneath me as I fuck her relentlessly with my tongue. Locking my arms around her hips, I take her entire fruit in my mouth—lips, clit, everything. Her cries are deeper, more helpless, more mournful as I nibble on every area, lick every crevice, suck and tease her clit incessantly. I won’t introduce my finger until she is numb, trembling, and mindless with pleasure. She tastes so good. Her arousal is unending. Each time I think she has juiced and flowed as much as she can, she feeds me more—more of her never-ending delicious nectar. I can’t get enough. I’ll lap it up until she’s done, then I’ll clean the remnants from her pulsing pussy.
“Christian, pleeeeeeease!” she cries. She feels what I felt, mind-numbing pleasure that snatches away all reason and takes over your entire body. Her hands grasp my hair, trying to halt my assault—or localize it, I don’t know—but I continue, digging and licking and sucking and biting and tasting. Her legs get stiff and clench around me. She’s wheezing at a high pitch, her head hanging off the edge of the bed. She’s grinding into my mouth and I feel the muscles in her hips harden. She’s pulling my hair violently, painfully, and it only spurs me on more. Her back rises off the bed and she almost looks possessed—groaning and grunting through a brain-freezing orgasm. I don’t have time to insert my finger and I dare not move away. I continue to suck deeply on her clit as she emits the same animal sounds that I did minutes before. Her body jerks and she whimpers repeatedly, her clit hard as a rock and pulsing against my tongue. I—like her, moments before—refuse to relent until she stops pulsing in my mouth. She finally softens against my tongue and I release, blowing gently on her clit as she keens. Both of my hungers have been sated, immensely, but Greystone reminds me that he’s not quite done with the beautiful creature. I don’t have the heart to mount her right now. She’s puffing and panting and fighting to catch her breath. I know you’re in charge, dude, but look at her.
I gently kiss the soft meat on the inside of her thighs. Her smell is so arousing, and I try to absorb it, to allow myself to be content with where I am. I rub her hips and her thighs and out of nowhere, she sits straight up and looks at me again—hungry, primal.
Yes, that’s her intention. She pushes me back on the bed like I did her minutes before, only I’m back on the headboard again. Greystone is hard as a rock and she climbs right on top of it, sliding down slowly and never taking her eyes off mine. I hiss without closing my eyes as she rises and falls on me. We breathe into each other’s mouths, the same way that we do when we are making our connection. Her eyes still locked on mine, she grasps my face in both her hands, holding me still as she rides me, evenly, slowly.
Oh, God, I can’t take it.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her in the yabyum position—the position we normally take when we are connecting. Too late to stop it, I realize that what we’re doing. We’re connecting right now—during sex. Won’t that ruin our connecting? I thought we took special pains not to be intimate during our connections. It changes the dynamic, doesn’t it?
She senses my trepidation. Her arms slide around my neck, pulling me closer to her. I still feel her moving against me, over me, but only slightly… only enough for me to feel the warmth of her walls, the small amount of friction to keep me aroused. We are as close as two—or four—people could be right now. I would normally caress her skin right now, but I can’t. I can only hold her against me. She parts her lips wide, breathing in and out in staccato breaths. I taste her panting in my mouth and realize that she’s giving her breath to me, a common practice in our connecting. I open my mouth and accept it gladly and soon, her breaths are more even as she gives them to me.
This is heavenly, more than my little mind can stand.
I begin to rock gently into her, only as much as she is moving against me. It’s a collaboration… a dance. Our bodies are the instruments, our breath is the music, our hearts are the drums. We have transcended making love—we are one, now… one soul, one spirit, one being. I look into her eyes and I see… eternity. I can’t see where she begins and I end. It’s just… forever.
Our lips are so close, but we don’t kiss. We simultaneous extend our tongues, just so that the tips touch and we are allowed to taste each other’s essence. It’s absolutely delightful, and it’s agony at the same time. My soul wants to wrap itself around her, consume her, absorb her completely… become one entity so that we’re never apart again.
I hold her close and fight to maintain control—not to squeeze her too hard; not to press my lips against hers and taste her sweet kiss with total abandon; not to hold her down on my aching member and thrust wild and deep into her until she cries out in pleasure. No—there are other forces at work here that won’t let me do it, that prompt me to rein in my primal urges and maintain control over the passion beast.
I give in to the force that’s stronger than me and close my eyes. They were burning and watering anyway. Almost immediately, it feels like something grabs me from the inside and snatches my breath away. I see soft light behind my eyelids even though our room is dark.
Is it the fire? Is that why I feel so warm?
Suddenly, I’m floating. I’m encased in her caress, in her embrace, and I’m floating—higher and higher in light and warmth until all sight, sound, and sensation culminate in a cosmic, celestial release from my loins and my eyes. I hear my voice, wheezing or weeping… I don’t know which. As my head falls forward, helpless in her bosom, she cradles it gently, keening her own song as her body gently trembles… an ethereal sound, barely audible. I can do nothing—no talking, no moving, nothing—but join in the rhythm of the rise and fall of her breast…
… And breathe.
We fell asleep in our usual position after we’ve made a connection—wrapped in each other and still breathing the same air. I awake before she does and watch her sleep for several minutes. Occasionally, she purrs in her sleep, probably dreaming of fairies and unicorns again.
“Mon amour, mon âme…”
Mmm, that’s not unicorns… that’s me.
I suddenly feel a bit of wetness between us. Sweat? I’m not hot and neither is she… well, she is, but not in that way. I pull back a bit to investigate. By the slight light of the sun shining into our room, I see it.
That can’t be… can that be?
I look closer, and the wetness is… yes, it is! It’s small drops of milk, leaking from her breasts! Not a lot, just enough to notice.
My heart is instantly full. Isn’t it too early? Should I be worried? No. No, I shouldn’t. This is beautiful. This is a beautiful women and sign of the love and life that my wife is carrying. She’s smiling sweetly in her sleep. I slide down to her breast and watch with wonder as both nipples glisten with moisture. I take her nipple in my mouth and lick and suck it gently, only once before moving to the other and repeating the process. She continues to smile, but she doesn’t wake.
And I take this moment to hold her and bask in the pleasure of tasting the first fruit of life from my wife’s body.
A/N: Just in case someone doesn’t know, a chimera is a thing which is hoped for but is illusory or impossible to achieve.
Mon amour, mon âme—my love, my soul (if I’ve got that wrong, someone correct it for me, please).
FYI, Colostrum is produced at about 16-22 weeks of pregnancy, but it’s usually hard to express so Mom doesn’t know it yet. Mom produces at the rate the baby consumes—most of the time—but in the beginning, she produces very, very little, so she’s not leaking. It’s not unusual for her to leak before delivery, though I don’t have the actual numbers of how common it could be. This will addressed a little further in the story.
Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc., can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/becoming-dr-grey/
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Love and handcuffs 🙂