Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 52—Discoveries!

So normally, I would post every two weeks, but I found myself needing to connect with you guys after the immense stress of this week, so here it is…


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 52—Discoveries!


I almost dread joining the rest of the guests for dinner. Butterfly and I had quite the afternoon, with the cosmic orgasm she gave me in the bathtub after we had made love all night, then the late brunch naked in our room—it’s the most relaxing day we’ve had all weekend. However, she insists on joining the activities for dinner as each night has a different speaker before we head to blissful class for our final lesson. Tonight’s speakers for the dinner will be a labor and delivery nurse and two birth doulas. In the blissful class after dinner, there will be birth henna, which Butterfly really wants to do. I have to admit that I’m excited about that. We decided against the belly casting because it just seemed too creepy to me, but birth henna on that beautiful belly—that, I can really get into.

My wife emerges in this two-piece elegant ensemble that almost makes me want to make her change clothes. It’s a champagne maxi-skirt with a crop top that I can only liken to a sports bra with lace sleeves attached. Her gorgeous belly is on display for everyone to see and it reminds me of that sexy prenatal photo shoot.

Settle down, Neanderthal. She’s perfectly decent.

“You don’t like it,” she says, reading my reaction. “I chose it the moment I read the brochure and saw that they would do henna…”

“No, no, that’s not it at all, Butterfly,” I say walking to her and taking her in my arms. “You’re just so beautiful,” I say, placing my hand on her bare belly and kissing her on her temple. “This is a view of you that I don’t normally share with other people. It just takes some getting used to.” She smiles as I rub her stomach.

“You always know the right things to say,” she says.

“That may be so, but it’s true,” I say, kneeling down to kiss her bare stomach. “You’re so beautiful and I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.” She covers her face with her shawl, half-playfully.

“Stop, Christian… you’re going to make me cry,” she says, her face buried in her hands. I rise to my feet and move her hands from her face.

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” I say, using my finger to lift her chin. When our eyes meet, I gently brush her lips with my own, breathing her breath and enjoying our closeness. She sighs softly, and that small surrender makes me want to just gobble her up! I softly caress her scalp where her scar is and her breath catches in her throat. She leans her head slightly into my hand and with her head tilted this way, I can’t resist slipping my tongue between her luscious lips.

She tastes divine.

Before I know it, we’re panting and mauling each other, her with handfuls of my hair in her fists and me with my mouth buried in her neck, tasting her skin and inhaling her essence. Fuck, what this woman does to me.

“Baby, we better stop or we’re not going to make it to dinner,” I protest, tasting her soft skin once more.

“I know… I know…” she breathes, her body literally puddy in my hands except for the death grip she has on my hair. That shit drives me wild!

“Let go of my hair,” I growl. “You know what that does to me!” Her hands release and immediately drop to my shoulders and I dive into her lips once more—a deep, searing kiss, before pulling her back and looking into her eyes.

“You’re so goddamn irresistible,” I hiss against her lips. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to control myself. And then you reveal this delicious ensemble…” I roughly kiss her lips and gently caress her bare stomach at the same time. “I’m not letting your sexy ass out of my sight!”

“Yes, Sir!” she breathes, her eyes closed. Aw, fuck, I really have to get her out of this room now! I kiss her again and slide my hands down to hers. After I take a deep breath to settle myself, I lead her to the door.

“Come,” I command her. “Let’s see what improvements they think they can make on perfection.” A wide smile graces my wife’s beautiful face as she glides out of the hotel room door.


“Well, where have you guys been?” Sheila asks when we get to dinner. “We wanted you to come shopping with us, but we haven’t seen you all day!”

“We’ve um… um…” Butterfly is having a hard time telling her newfound friend that we’ve been fucking all day.

“We decided to spend some quality time together today… in our room,” I say, getting Butterfly off the hook.

“Really,” Sheila asks. “All day?”

“All day,” Butterfly confirms.

‘Hmm,” Sheila remarks, “that explains the glow.” She raises her eyebrow and smirks at Butterfly, who blushes beet red. I can’t believe she’s still so shy sometimes.

“I can’t help it,” I say, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “She’s so irresistible.” I lean down and kiss her gently behind her earlobe.

“Christian,” she warns in that voice, and it doesn’t serve to calm my libido at all.

“I’m sorry,” I say to the couple standing in front of us.

“Don’t apologize,” Sheila says, putting her arm around CJ. “I know the feeling. Sometimes I think I have to cuff this one if I want a moment’s peace!” CJ chuckles and kisses his wife lovingly on the cheek. Butterfly and I share a knowing glance as cuffs have the opposite effect on us.

“Shall we go in to dinner?” I say, gesturing to the dining room. We all head in for dinner and of course, pass Kiley and her asshole husband on the way. She’s wearing an outfit similar to Butterfly’s, but her bottoms are hip-hugging pants that reveal her baby bump. The ensemble is not nearly as appealing as my wife’s.

“I wish I had the nerve to display my baby bump,” Sheila says. “The stretch marks and discoloration… and my linea nigra just looks awful!”

“Don’t say that, baby,” CJ scolds. “She doesn’t believe me when I tell her she’s beautiful,” he says to me and Christian.

“I know, what’s that all about?” Christian says. “I mean, I realize that I’m biased because I’ve always felt that my wife was beautiful, but I just think that this is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her in my life and I don’t think she believes me.” I’m waiting for some scoff or smart comment to come from my right where Daniels is standing and I swear, this time I’ll deck him and give him his lawsuit.


“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Christian,” she protests. “It’s just that it’s really hard to feel pretty when you’re this big.”

“You can say that again,” Sheila confirms.

“Baby, I don’t think you understand that being ‘this big’ is part of what makes you beautiful,” CJ says to his wife. “There’s life in there… a little human being created by our love. There’s nothing more beautiful than that in the world. Every time I look at you…” He places his hand over her stomach. “Your swollen body and the changes that you’re going through… Oh, baby, it makes me love you more and more every day.”

Sheila looks into her husband’s eyes and her gaze is one that I’ve seen from my wife on several occasions—that her world begins and ends right there. He cups her cheek with his free hand and they share a tender kiss as if they were the only two people in the room. I put my arms around my precious wife and our children, caressing her bare stomach and kissing her shoulder, waiting for our new friends to finish their special moment. When Sheila turns back to us, she’s completely starry-eyed.

“And you wonder why we spent the day in our room,” Butterfly says matter-of-factly, placing her hands over mine on her belly. Hey! What happened to that shy, blushing little Butterfly that was standing here a minute ago?

“No, I don’t,” Sheila breathes, placing her hand on her chest in an effort to compose herself. She looks up beyond Butterfly and her expression changes slightly. We all follow her gaze to Kiley, who is standing just inside the dining room entrance with her annoying ass husband eyeing the four of us. She’s smiling softly at the exchange she just witnessed before turning away and entering the dining room. Sheila sighs.

“I feel so sorry for her,” she says. “I haven’t seen him show her one bit of affection or tenderness all weekend.”

“Me either,” Butterfly says.

I know why, I think to myself. He’s been showing his tenderness and affection to somebody else all weekend.

“How does she tolerate him?” Sheila says as we proceed in to dinner. “I mean, I know love is blind, but that’s ridiculous!”

“For all intent and purposes, everything she’s done and said all weekend gives me the impression that he’s not such a willing participant and she knows fully well that she might be doing this on her own,” Butterfly says clinging to my arm. That small gesture shows me just how happy she is that I’m with her. I cover her hand with mine to reassure her.

“Her outfit is cute,” Sheila comments as we enter the dining room and find a table. “She must be getting the birth henna…”

This conversation goes on through the appetizers, and I can’t help but wonder why Daniels came to this weekend at all. He’s clearly not interested in any of the activities much less his very pregnant wife. Quite frankly, she doesn’t appear to show much interest in him, either. As I ponder how these two could have ever copulated to make a baby, I realize that I’m glaring at him. He meets my glare only momentarily, then turns back to his meal.

Oh… now he’s getting some scruples about fucking with me?

I turn my attention back to my wife and our dinner companions, not wishing to spend two moments too many on that asshole.

Now… I have to say that I didn’t know what to expect when these people started talking about birth henna. I mean, I know what henna is, and I pretty much knew that the henna would be on the women’s baby bump. But watching this art form come to life on several pregnant bellies simultaneously through a small tube of some kind of brown compound is quite a sight to see. At the risk of sounding corny, it’s somewhat spiritual to watch all of these women transform into walking, talking works of art.

And my wife… Good God, my wife!

She’s got this design spiraling out from her belly button with similar designs on each hand. When the artist posed her for a picture with one arm cupping the twins and the other draped over her belly, I had to concentrate to keep from drooling! My God, this is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen! And she’s fully dressed!

“Um, excuse me…” I pause waiting for the artist’s name.

“Gada,” she says sweetly.

“Gada, may I please have a copy of that picture?” She smiles widely.

“Of course you can, Mr…”

“Just call me Christian,” I tell her. “This is my wife, Ana.” She smiles again.

“Oh, yes, the Greys,” she says. “You’re joining us from Seattle.” After my curious look, she says, “I make it a point to know everyone’s name.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, trying to appear nonchalant.

“I’ll have that picture for you tomorrow before we leave,” she says. “Your wife is actually very beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I say, “for the picture and the compliment.”

“Don’t mention it. How large do you want it?” I’m taken aback.

“I get to choose?” I say like a kid at Christmas. She laughs good-naturedly.

“Yes, Christian, you get to choose. Why don’t I just do a poster?” My heart leaps.

“And an 8×10? And a wallet size? I’ll pay extra,” I coax. She laughs again.

“I wouldn’t think of it. She’s so beautiful, she inspired me. The pictures will be free. A prenatal gift.” She smiles again.

“I can’t thank you enough,” I say, feeling like I just hit the jackpot.

“Live well and take care of those babies… and keep in touch. Let us know how you’re doing once the babies are born and send pictures for our wall of fame, if you don’t mind.”

“Will do,” I reply, shaking her hand before I rejoin my beautiful wife again, currently admiring her henna in a full-length mirror. “Hello, gorgeous,” I say from behind her.

“Hello, yourself,” she says, smiling widely at my reflection.

“I know I say it all the time, but you look beautiful.” Her smile widens.

“This time, I believe you,” she says, her voice full of mirth. She turns her attention back to her reflection. She looks so sensual with her henna-graced hands framing and delicately caressing her adorned belly. It sends a spark through me that I can’t explain.

“Oh, God, please stop,” I say, sliding my hands under hers and cupping her stomach, placing gentle kisses on her neck and shoulders.

“You find this arousing, Mr. Grey?” she says in a sultry voice.

“I find it unbelievably sexy,” I whisper, grazing her skin with my teeth and causing her to gasp before replacing my teeth with my lips. I’m never ashamed of PDA’s, but I resign myself to stop before I mount my wife here in front of the entire assembly. When I raise my head and examine the room, I discover that many of the other couples are caught in the same lovey-dovey spell that we are. I continue to indulge in her delicious skin, and that’s when I realize…

“Butterfly, did you realize that your back is exposed?” I ask cautiously. She pauses for a moment, then freezes. I was so concerned with getting used to her stomach and maternal beautiful on display for the world that I complete forgot about her back.

And I think she did, too.

“My back!” she exclaims in a desperate whisper. “The brands!” She’s starting to panic.

“Breathe, baby. I’m behind you.” She starts to slowly calm, but I can tell that she’s still nervous. Her back hasn’t been out since the accident and she may still be in the mindset that she was before the tattoo.

The tattoo.

“Baby, listen to me,” I say, reaching for her shawl on a nearby chair and draping it gently over her shoulders. She goes to close it completely, but I won’t let her. I know she’s looking for security from the warmth, but she’ll just have to get it from me.

“Christian,” she protests.

“Listen to me… Did you forget about the beautiful garden on your back?” She pauses for a moment.

“The garden,” she says, as if she’s testing the word.

“Yes, the garden. I only mentioned your back because I was paying so much attention to the fact that this outfit has no front that I wasn’t paying no attention to the fact that this outfit has no back. I didn’t mean to unnerve you. I’m sorry.” She examines herself in the mirror again, true admiration in her eyes at the reflection.

“The garden,” she says again. She slowly drops her shawl and it falls useless to the floor. “Yes… the garden,” she says as she caresses her stomach once more with her fingertips.

I back away from her, leaving her to commune with her reflection, and sit in the chair that the shawl previously occupied. I gaze on her as she connects with her prenatal beauty… finally. How can I not love her? She’s exquisite. She’s the embodiment of everything I could have possibly hoped for in a woman. She’s so beyond perfect that I can’t believe she belongs to an undeserving wretch like me. She sees redemption in me. I don’t see it without her.

I don’t know how long I sit there admiring her admiring herself, but I can’t stand not to touch her anymore. The last time I remember her lost in her own beauty and sensuality this way was in the playroom at Escala when I revealed the hidden cameras and monitors and she watched herself play with her own ass. Fuck, I need to be near her, now. If this is what henna does to her—to us—I’ll fucking hire an artist to come to the house every week!

I rise from my seat and replace one of her hands on her stomach with mine, the other on the small of her back. She shivers… as always…

The ink.

“You’re driving me wild over there,” I confess. She turns her face to me, her eyes boring through me. Good God, that look! She could bring any man to his knees with that look! Her ocean-blue eyes—limpid, just like the cliché—yearning and innocent at the same time. I can’t explain it, but the force is unimaginable and I can’t take it anymore.

She puts one hand flat on the side of my face and it’s like fire, spreading through my cheek and down through my soul. We don’t say anything; we just stare at one another. There’s no one else in this time and space but her and me. I’m a lonely demon, floundering in my own mire and she is my savior, come to rescue me from the muck and sludge that was my existence… my existence before her.

I move to face her and she puts both hands on both sides of my face and pulls me down to her for a soft, possessive kiss and the world floats away again. How can she do this to me? She causes me to lose all control, all reason. Without her, I’m doomed.

“I want to dance with you,” I breathe against her lips. “Somewhere, anywhere… I don’t care. I need to have you in my arms.”

“Where?” she whispers, bending to my will. I take her hand, careful of the henna, and lead her to the main room of the hotel. There’s a small space on the other side of the fireplace.

There! That will do.

I lead her to our makeshift dance floor and pull out my phone. I quickly open Pandora and pull up my favorite oldies dance tune station and the first song that plays couldn’t be more perfect.

I turn to my beautiful wife who’s gazing at me much like Sheila looked at CJ earlier. I stroke her cheek with my knuckles and get lost in those eyes for just a moment. I place the softest kiss on her lips that lasts only a few seconds, but feels like eternity. I can’t stand not having her in my arms one more second.

I move behind her and pull her close to me, as close as we can possibly get—one hand on top of her belly, the other underneath, framing it like she often does. I bury my face in her neck like I always do when we dance this way and do my best to meld into her, pull her into me, body and soul. When we’ve achieved that oneness, her breath catches in her throat and she lays her head back on my shoulder. With her hands over mine, we sway gently to “The Very Thought of You.”

Here in this moment, with my life in my arms, I am home. I need nothing else but her love to make everything right in the world. I don’t even know how many songs played or how long we stayed in the lobby, behind the fireplace, lost in each other. I don’t remember anything but hearing Nat King Cole and being lost in my love.

I don’t know how much time passes, but I can feel that she’s a bit weary. When I open my eyes, we appear to have accumulated a few other dancing couples behind the fireplace, some from our class and others from God only knows where. When I hear the ending of “Walking My Baby Back Home,” I kiss my beloved on her shoulder. If I didn’t know better, I would swear that she had fallen asleep on my shoulder, though that’s impossible since we were both on our feet.

“Let’s go upstairs, Butterfly. You’re tired.” She smiles coyly and nods. I retrieve my phone and apologize to the other couples that the music is leaving as the leading lady needs her rest. I see our henna artist sitting on a nearby loveseat, smiling pleasantly. I go over to her to thank her once more for her talent and the pictures I’ll be getting tomorrow. Butterfly asks her about how to make sure the henna lasts as long as possible and how she should care for it. I catch a glimpse of Jason in my peripheral sitting at the bar. I excuse myself and go over to him and as I approach, I see Daniels at the other end of the bar. We make quick eye-contact and he just as quickly diverts his attention back to his drink. I sit on the stool next to Jason.

“Drinking on the job, Jason?” I jest.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he says. “I couldn’t help it. The Pepsi was calling my name.” I chuckle at him.

“Are you down here keeping an eye on that guy?” I ask. He looks at me, but says nothing. “I think you can stand down from the asshole. He hasn’t said two words since yesterday afternoon.”

“Really?” Jason says, and his reaction is mediocre at best. I examine him, then smirk knowingly.

“What did you do?” I ask. He shrugs.

“We just had a little talk,” he says. He picks up his soft drink and looks down the bar at Daniels. He raises his glass to Daniels and proceeds to take a drink. Daniels’ expression doesn’t change, but he glares at Jason for a moment—making no eye-contact with me—and walks away from the bar.

“He won’t have anything to say to you or Her Highness for the rest of your stay here,” he says, taking another sip of his soda. I laugh to myself.

“Well, there’s not much time left seeing that we leave tomorrow, but thanks for the moment’s peace you afforded us.” I pat him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man.”

“Thanks, boss.”

“Get some rest. We’re turning in. Her Highness is falling asleep on her feet.” He nods.

“Goodnight, sir,” he says, still sipping his drink. “I’ll just finish this.” I smirk.

“Good man,” I say, rising from the stool and going back to Butterfly. When I get there, she’s thanking Gada and I help her out of her seat. Someone else has started music on their phone and the dancing continues behind the fireplace.

“Geez, you guys bring love and happiness everywhere you go, huh?” Sheila meets us at the bottom of the stairs.

“I guess so,” Butterfly chuckles.

“Christian,” CJ pulls me aside. “I’ve never asked. What do you do?” Oh, if you only knew.

“Some of everything, CJ,” I admit. “There aren’t many industries I don’t ‘dabble’ in.”

“Really?” he says, surprised. “That’s good to hear. I think you’re a good guy and you seem to have a steady head on your shoulders. I’d like to get together and talk shop sometimes. Maybe we could come up with some really profitable joint ventures. I know you’re all the way in Washington, but hey, you never know, right? Worst case scenario, the four of us meet up in Wine Country once a year and we talk about being new fathers, huh?” He hands me a business card. I smile and open my phone case, pulling out one of my personal business cards and placing his inside.

“That’s sounds really good to me, CJ,” I say, handing him the card. He looks at the card and his brow furrows. Then he looks back up at me.

“You’re kidding, right?” he says in disbelief. I shake my head. “Son of a bitch,” he says under his breath. “I never even put it together. All weekend—Christian and Ana Grey. Geez, I feel like a dope.”

“Don’t,” I say with a smirk, “It’s refreshing to be able to spend some time in public with my wife and not be recognized. That’s why I chose this place. It’s pretty remote.”

“You chose this place?” he says, surprised. I nod.

“The babymoon was a Christmas present for my very busy wife,” I tell him. “That little frame packs a lot of power and she uses every bit of it every day. I wouldn’t mind so much if she wasn’t pretty much a human functioning incubator for our bundles, but she really needed a break since the babies are due very soon.”

“That really considerate… but still, I should have known,” he laments.

“Don’t worry, that Daniels asshole had me pegged almost from the beginning. If I had to choose, I would rather it had been the other way around. Look at it this way. You would have acted completely differently had you known who I was.” He nods.

“Yeah, I would’ve,” he admits. I nod back and point to his hand.

“In which case, you wouldn’t be holding that card,” I tell him. “You were a decent guy to me and my wife without knowing who I really am. That says a lot. I’d be happy to see what we could come up with if we put our heads together.” He looks at the card.

“Will I be able to get through to you?” he asks. “I am a businessman. No offense, but I know how this usually works… ‘Have your people call my people…’” he says. He’s right, that’s usually how it works. I point to the card again.

“My cell is on that card. Very few people get that that card,” I reinforce. He looks at the card and proffers his hand to me. I accept the gesture.

“Thanks a lot, Christian,” he says, shaking my hand, “or should I call you Mr. Grey now?”

“Only if we’re around colleagues or my employees. I try to keep it formal with my employees, except with that lug sitting at the bar.” I gesture to Jason. “He’s my bodyguard and best friend. He took a bullet for me once.” Why do I always tell people that?

Hi, meet Jason. He took a bullet for me once.

“I was wondering what the deal was with him, but you know… you don’t pry into other people’s business—unless it’s business.” He raises an eyebrow at me. I nod.

“Yes, indeed,” I confirm.

“I didn’t mean to ambush you, but the wife and I are leaving early tomorrow, so I just wanted to catch you before we left.” I shake his hand again.

“I’m glad you did. Give me a call in a week or two. Let’s see what we can get going.”

“I sure will,” he says with a big smile.

“I know that shake!” Sheila interrupts us. “You said no business this weekend, CJ!”

“It’s not what you think, baby,” CJ excuses.

“It’s my fault, Sheila,” I say, taking the blame. “CJ was just saying ‘goodbye’ because you guys are leaving early tomorrow. We exchanged business cards so that we could keep in touch and it just ran away from there. You know how businessmen get. We weren’t cutting any deals at the bottom of the stairs, just making an appointment for contact in a couple of weeks. Is that okay?” I give her the big gray-eyed apologetic gaze. She twists her lips.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she acquiesces, “and I’m immune to that shit. He does it, too.” Butterfly unsuccessfully stifles a chuckle. When I look at her, she just smiles and shrugs. “Your eyes are strikingly gorgeous, Christian, but they ain’t got nothin’ on my husband’s sleepy brown, come-hither, bedroom eyes. Sorry.” She walks over to CJ. “Let’s get going, Big Money,” she teases.

“That’s my cue,” he says. “Goodnight, Ana, Christian. Next week or so.”

“Good deal,” I say, putting my arm around my wife as they ascend the stairs. I lead Butterfly to the elevator just beyond the stairs and we stand in silence while we wait. I allow her to enter first and push the button for our floor once inside. When the doors close, I stand on the other side of the elevator and just stare at her. She’s holding her shawl around her, careful not to let it touch the dried henna paste on her hands and stomach. She actually looks like she should be in a magazine spread or something, with her hair cascading over her shoulder and down around her belly. The elevator rings to signal our floor and I gesture for her to exit.

“After you, Mrs. Grey,” I say. She exits the elevator and closes her shawl over her chest as she proceeds to our room. I walk far enough behind her to watch her glide.

“Are you watching me walk?” she accuses softly without turning around.

“Mmm-hmm,” I confirm, still enjoying the show. She then removes her shawl so that I can enjoy her full form—those round hips and that gorgeous ass parading down the hall in front of me; that beautiful garden beckoning me to come and play. I take a deep breath in through my nose, and let it out quietly through my lips. This woman is amazing and I’m literally drooling at her walking away from me. Oh, I have plans for you, Mrs. Grey… just for you.

When we get to the room, I ask why she hasn’t removed the henna paste yet.

“Gada says the longer I leave it on, the longer it will stain, so I’m going to try to leave it on overnight and then however long it lasts after that…” She shrugs. Fair enough. I push her against the wall and plant a bruising kiss on her lips while removing her top, which I discover has a built-in bra. Good, less clothes to fumble with. I quickly remove her skirt, underwear, and shoes and instruct her to lie flat on the bed.

With the sash from her robe, I tie her hands together, palms flat in a praying position to save her henna, then I worship her body like the goddess that she is, gently tasting her skin and nipples, knees, thighs and earlobes, and finally her clit and sweet juices when I get to her sex, bringing her to shivering orgasms before cocooning her in my arms as much as I can without disturbing the henna paste and falling into a vastly contented sleep.


I honestly don’t think we’ve ever had that much sex in the span of a few days. Not that I can remember anyway and I unfortunately don’t remember much these days, but I sure the hell remember several times in the early morning hours of Wednesday morning and again after I got out of bed intent to help with New Year’s Day brunch. Then there was Saturday night into Sunday morning and several times that day, culminating with two blasting orgasms in the wee hours of this morning… Hmm, that’s only three days out of the last six. It seemed like more to me, but it’s still a lot of orgasms.

I’m able to get in the morning yoga and Christian, Jason, and I are able to enjoy breakfast—unfortunately without Sheila and CJ, with Daniels looking over our shoulder sans his beautiful wife. He dare not say anything to us. That altercation with Christian must have scared him shitless.

Around noon, we have packed and are gathering our things to get ready to head back to Seattle. The babymoon continues for a few other couples, but we need to get back to work and get ready for the babies. With only a few minor hiccups, I have to say that Project Babymoon was a success. I am thoroughly decompressed and ready to take on the world. I’m feeling sexy and sensual again and I’m excited about the babies. I have to admit; this was just what I needed.

Just as the men are loading the car, I see Kiley at the front desk. She appears to be settling the bill and Arthur is nowhere in sight. He made her pay for her own babymoon? What a fucking deadbeat!

“Hey, Kiley,” I say, just as she receives her receipt.

“Hey, Ana,” she replies, perky as ever. This must be an act. She has to be miserable as fuck living with this guy.

“Listen…” I reach into my purse, pull out a business card and hand it to her. “I want you to keep in touch, okay? And if you need anything, please call me and let me know.”

She looks at my card and smiles.

“I sure will, Ana, and thank you for everything.” She hugs me as warmly as our bellies will allow us and begins to leave. Looking at my card again, she turns around and comes back to me.

“I don’t want you to worry about me, Ana. I’ll be okay. Really, I will,” Kiley says. “My husband only thinks I’m oblivious to his philandering and spending the money from my trust fund on his fly-by-night females. What he doesn’t know is that this baby is not even his.” I frown deeply.

“What?” I ask, appalled.

“I know. I quietly sit by and allow his bad behavior to speak for itself and say nothing until it becomes unbearable. He thinks I’m the meek little, submissive, unknowing wifey because I don’t put up a fuss about what he’s doing, but I’ve known since shortly after his second indiscretion… or was it his third?”

I stand there gaped-mouth, staring at her, unable to completely process what she’s telling me. She knows that her husband is unfaithful and to top it off, she’s being unfaithful, too?

“Yes, I can understand if your view of me has changed, but please remember. I never misrepresented myself. I only acknowledged my husband’s ghoulish behavior and continued with this educational and relaxing weekend. When he had the nerve to tell me that he had been hanging out with Christian when I knew that he was holed up with that bitch in room 305, it took everything in me not to let the cat out of the bag,” she says, her smile a combination of spiteful and knowing. “If he had any good sense, he would count back and realize that at the time this baby was conceived, he was too busy in the company of Slut #6 to give me any of his time.”

Oh, God, this story is just getting worse and worse.

“How can he possibly think this is his child if you haven’t had sex?” I ask, still spellbound.

“Because he’s arrogant and stupid. Haven’t you met him?” she declares matter-of-factly. “For one thing, he doesn’t think I would ever cheat on him. I couldn’t possibly be with another man, but for another thing, he does think he slept with me.” I frown again.

“What do you mean? How can that be?” I know if I fucked my husband. It’s not in my imagination.

“When I missed my period, I took a home pregnancy test. The day that it came up positive, I guilt-tripped him into staying home with me that evening. I fixed a lovely dinner, slipped him a mickey, and while he was barely conscious and quite incoherent, gave him a handjob until he came and passed out. He awoke sated, with me naked in his arms. I’ll never forget the look of disappointment on his face when he rolled over and realized that it was me lying next to him.” She drops her head, the first sign of remorse I’ve seen from her throughout this entire discussion. “He hasn’t slept with me since. When I told him that I was pregnant, he asked no questions. That was five months ago. I’m nearly seven months pregnant.”

“Why don’t you just leave?” I ask. “He’s clearly unrepentant about his actions and, quite frankly, two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“That’s just it. I’m not trying to make a right, Ana!” she retorts. “I don’t want him to see the err of his ways. I want him to have just a tiny bit of the pain and humiliation that he’s caused me over these years. These women calling the house and hanging up; him coming home wreaking of some other woman and sex, and then lying in bed next to me without even having the decency to shower; spending the money from my trust fund on weekend getaways, jewelry, clothes for these little gold-diggers! No, I don’t want right! I want him to hurt! I want him to know that the little wifey knew all along and was never exactly who he thought she was!”

“And how will you do that?” I inquire incredulously. “He’s spending all your money and he’s still sleeping with these women. He brought one here for your weekend getaway!” She smiles widely.

“He’s only spending what I allow him to spend,” she says triumphantly. “I took the lion’s share of my trust fund and invested it… ironically, with the help of the guy whose baby I’m carrying. With the earnings from those investments, I have more money than I started with. Trevor is wealthy in his own right, so he doesn’t need my money, but he showed me how to multiply my investment tenfold. It only took me 18 months to regenerate and surpass the money Arthur pilfered away on his hoes. And because he thinks I’m such a scatterbrain, he had no problem signing a prenup. So when the money in that account is gone, he has no rights to the additional money that I’ve made. So, hopefully before the summer, I’ll be divorced and on my way to live my life with Trevor… or even without him. However I chose to live it, it will be without Arthur. And my ultimate, ultimate revenge will be for him to be standing in the delivery room waiting to see his son and when the doctor presents the baby, he’ll be born black!”

Fucking hell. I’m flabbergasted. All this time, I’ve been sitting here thinking this woman was the poor unsuspecting victim when the entire time, she’s been plotting her revenge. I don’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed!

“I don’t know, Kiley. You know what they say about karma,” I warn.

“I’m very well accustomed to bitches getting over on me, Ana, so she can just get in line,” she retorts with no remorse. “I don’t regret meeting you. You made this weekend bearable and I hope everything goes well for you and Christian and the twins.” She smiles and walks toward the door. I’m standing there, stunned, still unable to believe the tale that has unfolded before me. I mean, I’ve heard and seen worse, but she had me so fooled all this time, I just can’t believe it.

“Butterfly… you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Christian draws my attention from the door that Kiley just exited. I shake myself as if to shake loose a bad thought.

“No, I just… I was saying goodbye to Kiley,” I tell him. He put his arms around me.

“I feel sorry for her tethered to that guy and having to bear his child.” Don’t… she’s got that all under control.

“I think she’ll be okay,” I say dismissively. I don’t even want to repeat her tale at this point. It’s too much on my poor psyche. Christian examines me for a moment, but decides to let the matter lie.

“Come on, let’s go home. Jason is aching to get out of this place after seeing absolutely no action for four days—sexual or otherwise,” he says, placing his hand in the small of my back and guiding me out the door.


We had our last Lamaze class when we got home, but it seemed a bit of a waste with everything we learned from the babymoon. I think I was hoping to make a similar connection with the people in the class as the ones I made with the couples at the retreat, but it just wasn’t going to happen. At the retreat, we were Christian and Ana Grey. Here in Seattle, we’re AnaChris. It’s a bit depressing. Making new friends felt so wonderful, so fresh—just everyday, average people, not the country-club type and contacts that I know I’ll make when we get into Broadmoor. Yes, I’ll need those contacts, but I’ve never been a country-club girl. I’m a chameleon and I know I’ll fit in, but I’ll never be able to be myself around them… not like I was this weekend when we met up with Sheila and CJ, even when we talked to Kiley—minus her gorilla husband. Is Val right? Have I changed that much?

I suddenly feel the need to be near my husband. A good, swift kick from one of the soccer players indicates that’s a pretty good idea. I stop in the kitchen for some apple juice—heaven only knows why I want apple juice—and head down to his office. He’s been holed up in there since just after we got back from Lamaze.

“Come in,” I hear from the other side of the door. I open the door and I am greeted with an unbelievable sight—poster-sized pictures of me all over the room! They’re everywhere! You can’t even make out the room for the tripods all around the floor, which is impressive considering the size of Christian’s office…

My henna stomach framed by my henna hands above and below…
Both hands on Christian’s face as we share a tender kiss…
Me admiring myself in the mirror, both me and the reflection in the photograph…
The same picture with Christian sitting in a seat nearby gazing adoringly at me…
Us and our reflections in the mirror as we both frame my stomach…
My back with Christian’s hand partially covering the garden…
Us dancing behind the fireplace…

“Where… how did you…?” I’m speechless.

“They’re extraordinary. I only asked for one—that one,” he says, pointing at the first picture I saw. “I had no idea she would take all of these, and she wouldn’t let me pay her. She wouldn’t accept a dime. She said that we were one of the most cosmically connected couples she has ever met and she’s been doing this for 15 years—she even does weddings!” He’s admiring something on his desk and as I get closer, I realize that it’s more pictures of me… and us—some different ones and some smaller ones of the pictures I’ve already seen.

“She talked about you the most—how beautiful you are, your extraterrestrial energy, how the camera loves you, how the henna makes you glow… I thought she had fallen in love with you for a moment,” he says, without malice, but also without mirth. How did we get these home and I never even saw them?

“She had to get them developed, so they were here when we got back from Lamaze, tripods and all,” he says in that eerie way he has of reading my mind.

“That must have cost her a fortune!” I say. Just how much money does she make doing birth henna—or henna at all?

“I’ll say,” he says. “Not a fortune for me, but a fortune for most people.” He continues to flip through the pictures. I look up at his computer screen and his file explorer is open—more pictures of me, thumbnails on a grid. Just how many pictures did this woman take and how did I not see her?

“She sent the digital originals?” I ask.

“Digital copies,” he says. “She keeps the originals. She sent a release form for us to sign and get back to her saying that we didn’t mind if she used our pictures in her classes and ads. I emailed her and told her that I had to talk to you first, since you’re the star of the show. I’m nothing more than background.” I climb into his lap with my legs over the arm of his massive desk chair and put my arms around his neck.

“You’re quite the background, Mr. Grey,” I say in a husky voice.

“And you’re quite the star, Mrs. Grey,” he replies, wrapping his arms around me. “Did you enjoy this weekend?”

“More than you know,” I reply. “Thank you so much. You’re so considerate.”

“You’re so worth it,” he replies and we share a chaste kiss.

“I think we should wait until after the babies are born and we make our announcements before she uses our photos. Someone is bound to recognize us.” He ponders for a moment, then nods.

“That’s a good plan,” he says, looking at the pictures again. “I wish she would have let me pay her. These pictures are out of this world. Look at this one.” He points to the picture with his hand on my back. “These are some fucking amazing candid shots, and we didn’t even know we were being photographed.”

“I love this one,” I say about the picture of him sitting in the seat gazing at me while I look in the mirror. “There’s no amount you can pay for a moment like that. I didn’t know you were looking at me.” I turn to face him. “But that look in your eyes… it makes me feel like the world, Christian. I’m so glad she caught it on film.” Much better than a belly cast.

“You are the world, Anastasia. You’re my world.” Oh, the things this man says to me. I embrace him tight around his neck as he holds me close to him.

“I love you, Christian,” I choke. I won’t cry. I’m too happy to cry.

“I love you, too, Butterfly.” I hold him a moment longer before releasing the death grip I have on his neck and admiring the pictures some more.

“Chuck started physical therapy today,” he says as we look through more of the pictures.

“He did?” I ask, Christian nods. “That’s great news! I need him on his toes for when the children are born.”

“Ben will still most likely be with you guys,” he says. “Maybe more covert, but still with you since he knows your routines. Marilyn’s guy says he has a hard time keeping up with her, so she might want to get him a daily itinerary before she starts the day.” I scoff at the statement.

“I have a hard time keeping up with Marilyn and I know where she is every minute of every day. Who do you have on her?” He frowns.

“Um, I think it’s Bronson,” he says.

“And how old is Bronson?” He shrugs.

“I don’t know, late 30’s, I think.” I nod.

“Marilyn is like a walking talking energy drink. She’s two steps ahead of me no matter what I do. I have to ask her to translate sometimes, she’s moving so fast. She can hit three unrelated topics in one sentence and never miss a beat. Today is Monday… night! I could tell her right now that I need a formal planned for Saturday for 200 people complete with invitations and she could pull it off without a hitch.” He stiffens a bit when I tell him this. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “I just think we might need to change her guy.”

“Why?” I ask. “Is he no good?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I think she might need someone more… energetic.”

“Damn straight, she needs someone energetic, but why do I get the feeling that’s not all?” He sighs.

“Butterfly, I love you, but you’ve got to stop seeing trouble where there is none,” he scolds.

“I’m not seeing trouble where there is none, Christian. Your whole body tensed when I said that. I know something’s not right.” He ponders for a moment, twists his lips, then rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” he says firmly but gently. “There are many ways to get to you, Butterfly. I’m just trying to make sure that none of them are weak spots… the children, Marilyn, my mom, the center… it’s a full-time job, baby. I don’t want you worrying about it all the time, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t.” I smile softly.

“You’re a wonderful man, Christian, but stop worrying about everything or you’re not going to make it to 50, and I kind of need you around,” I say, rubbing my stomach with my fingertips. He touches his forehead to mine.

“I know, baby, but when you love someone as much as I love you…” He trails off and sighs, closing his eyes. I touch his cheek and he turns his lips to my hand, gently kissing my palm. I reciprocate by softly kissing his cheek, then his jaw, then his ear… He turns his face back to mine and kisses me deeply, and we’re instantly lost in each other.


I look at my henna the next morning before I shower. The paste has begun to crumble from my skin, so I finish removing it from my hands and baby bump. I stand in the mirror and admire the beautiful reddish/brown tattoo on my now smooth stomach. It’s beautiful and I can finally caress it. I think I’ll be getting henna more often. It makes me feel so beautiful even though it’s only visible to the public on my hand.

I was very happy to hear that Chuck started physical therapy yesterday. I like Ben, but Chuck is like my right arm. Yes, I know that should be Marilyn, but she’s more like my saphenous vein, which would make Christian my jugular.

Okay… this is getting morbid.

Tuesday morning seems a bit quiet… too quiet. I should have known something was amiss.

“You look great, Ana,” Grace says when she comes into my office. “You should get away more often.”

“It was a wonderful weekend,” I say. “I almost didn’t want to come back. I learned so much and Christian and I made some interesting new friends…”

“Wait… Christian made a new friend?” she asks incredulously.

“Yes, can you believe that?” I reply, “They’re extremely chummy.”

“Well, go figure…” Her statement is interrupted by a knock at the door. It’s Courtney.

“Ana, I—I… I think you need to come… like, right now.” She’s stuttering and nervous. What the hell is going on?

“What is it, Courtney? What’s wrong?” I ask. I won’t walk into some unknown situation unprepared.

“Please, come now,” she insists, “please.”

“Do I need to get security?” I ask, rising from my seat.

“No. Well… no… not yet. It’s just… I don’t know what to do. Please, come… you too, Miss Grace, please? Now… please?” Miss GraceOkay, now I have to go see what the hell is going on. I follow her into one of the classrooms with Grace right behind me. There’s a frail frame in the room alone sitting in a chair facing away from us.

“Good, he’s still here,” she breathes and walks over to the form in a hoodie and old, soiled jeans. “Jack? I brought Ana. I brought Miss Grace, too. She’s a doctor… a pediatrician I think.”

From under the hoodie comes the most haunted pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. My God, what happened to this kid?

“Jack? Is that your name?” I say approaching cautiously. His gaze falls on me and he nods. He looks as if he could just give up the fight and die any second. “My name is Ana. I should tell you, I’m a shrink. This is my mother-in-law, Grace. Courtney’s right, she’s a pediatrician.” I hold my hand out to him and timidly shakes it; his grip couldn’t thread a needle.

“Hi… I’m Jack.” His voice is weak, timid and hollow. He’s nervous as he introduces himself to me yet again.

“Can I sit with you, Jack?” His glassy eyes look up at me and I notice a horrible shiner on his right eye. He looks down again and nod infinitesimally. I pull a chair next to him and sit.

“You’re still pregnant,” he says. Still… I nod.

“Yes, I am,” I reply. “I’m due next month.”

“I miss my mom,” he says, sadly.

“Where is your mom, Jack?” I ask. He frowns deeply.

“Dead,” he says. “She died when I was six. Cancer.”

“So you live with your dad now?” I ask. He nods, clearly fighting his tears. “Did he do this to you?” He shakes his head feverishly. “Who then?”

“My… my stepmom,” he says with a quivering jaw and a cracking voice. “She’s horrible. She’s a monster. I can’t take it anymore. I really can’t! I can’t go back.”

“How long, Jack?” He’s sobbing now. “How long has your stepmom been doing this?”

“I don’t know… years. I don’t know.” He wipes his eyes with red, bruised hands and my heart breaks.

“And what does your father say?” I ask, trying to control my voice. “He just lets this happen?” He shakes his head again.

“He doesn’t have a choice,” he says. “She does this to him, too. Worse sometimes. He’s so scared. She threatens him and… she’s got money and she knows people. She keeps saying that she’ll take me away because he’s not fit, but she’s horrible and I can’t go back. I can’t!” Sobs wrack his tiny body. What is he, 10? He’s so small, but he seems older.

“How old are you… Jack?” I ask.

“Sixteen.” Like hell, he’s sixteen! He can’t be sixteen. He’s just saying that because he knows that he’s free to leave home at that age, but there’s no way in hell I’m sending him back to his stepmother. Just his eye and hands look horrific and we haven’t even seen the rest of him.

“Jack, listen to me. We won’t send you back, but you have to be honest with me. How old are you?” He sighs heavily and his body sinks and gets smaller, as if it could.

“Thirteen,” he whispers. I nod.

“Where do you live?” I ask. “Just the city—you don’t have to tell me any more.”

“Redmond.” Shit, that’s on the other side of Belleville!

“How did you get here?” Grace asks.

“The 545,” he says, “drops me off right across the street. I…” He shudders for a moment. “I’ve been here lots of times. I just never came inside. I saw you on TV.” He looks up at me. “I saw you when you did that commercial—about the abused faces…” The Faces of Abuse PSA. That far back? “Then I heard that you got into a car accident and you might die.” He drops his head and tears fall onto his soiled jeans. “I prayed for you,” he said. “I prayed that you would get better, and you did. I said if you got better that I would come inside… for me and my dad… and you did… so here I am.”

I’ve been better for months, though…

“What took you so long, Jack?” I ask. “That was last November. Why did you wait?”

“I was waiting for Dad,” he said. “He’s so scared… He won’t come. He won’t leave, but I can’t stay. I can’t take it anymore. I’d rather die!” He wails. I know he speaks the truth. It’s written all over him. He may very well take his own life if we send him back.

“Jack, will you take your hood off, please?” I ask. Jack removes his hood and he looks like hell. His hair is dirty and messy and he looks like he hasn’t eaten. He’s badly bruised and his ear looks red and swollen.

“Have you been living on the streets?” I ask. He nods.

“In the park, under porches, anywhere that I could sleep. I’ll go back to that if I have to. I’ll go to the mountains, anything! But I won’t go back there!”

“How long?” I ask. He shrugs.

“A few days, I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“And how did you get the black eye and the bruises?”

“I went back… for food… for Dad…” His voice trails off. “She… she was there. She saw me… she got mad and… did this.” He points to his eye. I’ve heard enough.

“Are you hungry?” I ask. He nods. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You can have a bath and some clean clothes and some food. Can Grace look at your ear and dress your bruises, just to make sure that they won’t get infected?” He looks up at Grace.

“I won’t hurt you, Jack. I promise,” Grace says. “If I do anything that causes you pain or makes you feel uncomfortable, you just tell me to stop and I’ll stop, okay?” He eyes her nervously, but doesn’t answer.

“I’ll come with you if you want, Jack,” Courtney says, her gaze concentrated on the frightened teenager. Hope dawns in his face.

“You will?” he asks eagerly.

“Sure,” she says, “if Miss Grace says it’s okay.” She looks up at Grace, questioning. A small smile begins to form on Grace’s lips, but she suppresses it and nods to Courtney. Courtney turns her smile back to Jack and holds out her hand to him. He quickly takes her hand and rises out of the seat.

“Come on, we’re gonna have to go to someplace more private,” she tells him. “She’s a doctor, so you might have to put on one of those gowns. If you do, I’ll turn away so I don’t see your junk, okay?” and away they go. Grace looks at me, her face mirroring the utter shock that I feel before she follows Courtney and our newest resident. Once I recover from the scene that just unfolded in front of me, I go back to my office and page Marilyn.

“I hear you’ve been giving your security detail the flux,” I tell her. She frowns.

“What?” she replies, taken aback.

“Christian says your security is having a hard time keeping up with you.” She takes a seat in the chair in front of my desk with her iPad.

“You mean Chuckie?” she says, twisting her lip. I look up from my notepad.

“His name is Chuck, too?” I ask, surprised.

“No, his name is Victor. I just call him Chuckie. Get it? Bronson? Charles Bronson? He’s just as old and not as useful.” She taps something on her iPad. I shake my head and sigh.

“Charles Bronson is dead, dear,” I tell her. “If he were alive, he’d be nearly 100 years old.”

“My point exactly,” she says, without missing a beat. I snicker.

“Marilyn, I’m told Bronson is only in his late thirties…”

“Then, get me someone in their late twenties,” she says. “I have a busy schedule. I don’t have time to pull Grampa behind me.”

“It can’t be that bad,” I protest.

“Look,” she says, setting her iPad in her lap. “I have no problem complying with a security detail for obvious reasons, but they have to be able to keep up. You’re a very busy woman and your schedule is busier than even you know.” I frown.

“What do you mean?” She raises her head.

“Do you know how many public appearances I have to turn down for you?” she says. “How many statements have been diverted to PR at GEH? How many small things I have to do to make sure that the big things go well? I have to coordinate your personal and business schedule, run your errands, filter your emails, make sure you’re available when Christian or GEH has a function… Did you know that Andrea and I are Facebook friends?

“I have to know what you want before you ask for it and where to find it. I have to remind you of things that you don’t remember and make sure that unnecessary evils do not fall in your lap and upset you or King Christian is going to have a coronary. I have to know that for the last month, you crave fresh chicken kabobs with tomato, green yellow and red pepper but no onion every Wednesday, but I can’t get them from that place on Third anymore—which you love, but you can’t eat them because they cook them on the same grill with the beef kabobs.

“I’m your factfinder, concierge, butcher/baker/candlestick maker and don’t get me wrong… I can handle it. I love my job and I’m not complaining, but you are a full-fledged celebrity and coordinating your life is a huge duty and a major responsibility. I need somebody who’s going to understand that, or they’re going to hinder me instead of help me, and thus, hinder you. I won’t stand for that as I work very hard to make sure that doesn’t happen. So if Chuckie is having problems keeping up, get me someone else.”

She picks up her iPad and continues to scroll through it. I smile widely. Where would I be without her?

“Duly noted, Ms. Caldwell,” I say. “I actually told Christian as much last night. Let’s see if he got the message on to our security team.” She looks up at me and I wink at her. She smiles and looks back down at her tablet.

I had no idea I had such celebrity status, nor did I know that she was fending off and diverting so many calls for me or that being my PA was such a busy task. Yet another reason why I want to make the connections I know that I can make at the Country Club.

Marilyn is invaluable! She’s stuck with me for life!

“I have to add another duty to the roster today,” I say, handing her the note I’ve been scribbling. “This young boy came into the center today. Very badly bruised and beaten. Here’s his description and this is all the information I have on him right now—no last name, unfortunately. Contact Missing Persons and find out if there’s a current report on him. I’d like to get in touch with his father if I can. It appears that he may be being abused as well. I’m not sending the boy back. He’ll go into the system if he has to, but he won’t return.” She takes the note from me and reviews the details.

“Thirteen,” she says with dismay. “That fucking sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” I concur. “Let me know what you find, Wonder Woman,” I add with a smile.

A/N: Christian and Ana’s dancing song list all by Nat King Cole:
The Very Thought Of You
Walkin’ My Baby Back Home
Blue Moon
Mona Lisa
That Sunday, That Summer
A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square
When I Fall In Love

You can find the songs along with pictures of places, things, and fashions on my Pinterest page at

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

Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X



Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 51—Decompress

Double Chapter… because I love you guys so much.

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 51—Decompress


I didn’t expect to meet so many people on our babymoon. I expected it to be like Lamaze class—like we’re all there, but we pretty much keep to ourselves and do what we do and learn what we learn. I have to say that except for our encounter with Arthur Daniels, I’m really enjoying this interaction with the other mothers and couples. Sheila Jordan and I became acquainted when our husbands were tardy to dinner, no doubt discussing their mutual obsession with all things baby as revealed to me by Sheila. Kiley eventually showed up for dinner alone, and Sheila and I welcomed her to our circle on the condition that she would just depart if her asinine husband showed up to join the party—her condition, as she is ghastly embarrassed by his behavior. None of us protested as we would rather chew nails than to be subjected to that man’s company even for a moment.

The belly binding class was very informative. Christian bought so many support belts for me earlier in my pregnancy that he didn’t know that he actually bought some post-partum belly belts, too. I can wear those immediately after delivery, but for the long-term—once I get home and for six to eight weeks postpartum—I think I’m going to do the Bengkung sacred binding with essential oils, muslin, and silk. It’s just as effective for shrinking your stomach and uterus as well as preventing Diastasis and it’s much nicer than the belly belts. If done correctly, you can actually where it outside of your clothes and it looks very stylish.

Baby mapping was a new and interesting concept for me. Apparently, for a natural childbirth, the baby’s ideal position is anterior and favoring the left side. Anterior means that the babies should be facing my back as opposed to posterior, which means they are facing my stomach—in which case, their heads will be on my spine and I’m looking at a possible hard lumbar labor.

Mapping should actually begin in the second trimester, and it’s a bit harder when you’re dealing with twins. We decided to skip the interactive portion as it would require that I expose my stomach, which was out of the question since I was wearing a dress. So we watched as two other mothers went through the mapping process, discovering the positions of their babies and having their husbands paint pictures on their stomachs with finger paint. I thought it was just adorable and Christian and I have vowed to give it a try if we have any time before the babies are born. We briefly saw what was involved in belly casting and decided that we didn’t want to try that.

Birth movies were interesting. I was surprised to find that Christian watched the gory films all the way through to the end without showing a single sign of squeamishness. If fact, every father in the room sat spellbound watching the wonder of childbirth without one complaint or slight obvious moment of physical discomfort. We saw natural childbirth, Cesarean sections, water birth, breach birth, and forceps delivery—I didn’t even think they used forceps anymore. The fathers had more questions than the mothers once the movies concluded.

When the time comes to turn in, Christian sends me to the room with Sheila and Kiley in tow while he stops at the bar to request water and ice for the night. Arthur never opted to rejoin us for the evening, thank God. The ladies—and Calvin—drop me at my room and continue on to theirs. I have time for a short and quick shower before Christian comes back to the room.

“That took a long time,” I scold.

“Yeah, you would have thought they had to chip the ice straight from Everest!” he shoots. “Anyway, I checked in with Jason, too. Nothing new on the front, but he’s suffering ‘cabin fever’ already. There’s nothing for him to do for the next three days but keep an eye on the resort.”

“Poor guy,” I say while brushing my hair. “He’s probably missing Gail terribly.”

“He is. Since we’ve been pretty stationery since our honeymoon, he became a bit complacent… spoiled is a better word for it. He’ll get used to it.” He puts the ice in the kitchen area and fills two cups with crisp ice and clear spring water. I take the glass and drink it down immediately, requesting a second glass by handing the empty one back to him. “I saw that Daniels asshole, too. Boy, that guy really rubs me the wrong way.”

“I don’t think that man rubbed anybody the right way since he got his wife pregnant!” I retort, eliciting a hearty laugh from Christian as I take my second glass of water from him.

“Good one, baby!” he commends me. “Now, let’s get that gorgeous ass to bed so that you don’t miss any of tomorrow’s festivities.”

“You enjoy them as much as I do,” I tease, putting my half-full water glass on the nightstand on my side of the bed. He twists his lips.

“True, I do,” he says. “I’d really like to try that belly mapping, but we’re both so busy…”

“I know,” I say, kissing his cheek before curling up on my pillow. “Don’t worry. If we get to it, we’ll do it. If not, no fret. Okay?” He leans down and kisses me on the cheek.

“Okay, Butterfly.


The early Morning Mamas Yoga class is just what I need to start my Saturday morning. I connect with the soccer players through the stretching, balancing, and meditating exercises while Christian and Jason go for a run. At 9:30, we meet up again and the three of us go in to breakfast. As I am perusing the choices on the buffet-style breakfast, I spot the Daniels’ sitting nearby. Kiley is enjoying a pastry with her nose planted in a book and Arthur appears to just be finishing the sports section while drinking his coffee. I turn my back to them and fill my plate with fresh fruit, eggs benedict, sausage, and home fries as Christian makes his way over to me.

“Did you see the Daniels’?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say matter-of-factly. “No concern of mine as long as he’s present.” I look over at them and Arthur smiles a creepy smile that chills my spine.

“Why is he smiling at me?” I ask.

“He’s not smiling at you. He’s smiling at me,” Christian says. I look over at him and furrow my brow.

“What? Why?” I inquire.

“Trust me, it’s a story that doesn’t bear repeating,” he says. I look down at his plate… plates, I should say—scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, hash browns, shrimp and grits, biscuits and gravy, and a stack of pancakes.

“And which one of us is pregnant?” I ask looking at the mountain of food. He laughs.

“I’m a growing boy,” he excuses, “I need my nourishment.” I twist my lips.

“That’s enough nourishment for three people,” I say, walking towards one of the empty tables. He’s about to retort when our conversation is rudely interrupted.

“Hey, Christian! Come on over! Have a seat!”

It’s Arthur! Is he crazy? Have I stepped off into some alternate dimension somewhere? Why in the world would we want to have a meal with him and why is he calling my husband by his first name?

“I’ll pass,” Christian says flatly and continues with me and Jason towards the empty table.

“Did I miss something?” I ask, flagging down a waiter in the process.

“No, you didn’t. He’s still an asshole and I don’t know what he’s playing at,” Christian responds.

“Do I need to keep an eye on him?” Jason asks as he takes his seat.

“Not too closely,” Christian says. “He’s just a classless pain in the ass, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Jason says as he digs in to his food. I turn my attention to the waiter.

“A tall glass of orange juice for me, two cups of coffee—one black for my husband and two sugars, no cream for the gentleman.” The waiter nods and leaves.

“Bravo, Mrs. Grey,” Jason says over his French toast.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I scold playfully as I begin to tuck in to the eggs benedict.

“May we join you?” I hear in front up me. We all raise our heads to see Sheila and CJ.

“Absolutely!” I declare, still chewing my eggs benedict.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Jason scolds.

Breakfast is uneventful after Arthur’s unwelcome invitation to join him. Sheila tells me about her morning walk through the redwood trails with CJ and I inform her that each day has an early morning yoga session, which she didn’t know. We both want to see what the “Sacred Feminine and Ecstatic Birth” is all about. Christian and CJ decide to hang back for the “Sacred Feminine” portion after finding out the subject matter. “Sacred Feminine” was a religious movement that defined divinity in terms of the feminine and not the masculine—that the masculine “Father” when referring to God was developed from the human tendency to attach human qualities to the unknown. From being in a patriarchal society and automatically labeling God as a man, the full spirituality of the human race has been stymied. We have not been able to recognize our full spiritual potential and development because we have closed our eyes to the true concept of Divine Essence—that God is neither male nor female, but a powerful balance and unification of both, transcending far beyond duality and form. It’s where we recognize the female influence in this unification that we are able to examine the concept of the Sacred Feminine.

Being raised Christian and always recognizing God as “My Heavenly Father,” this concept is a little difficult for me to grasp. However, intellectually, I can relate to the theory. It’s a little illogical for one to believe that God has a gender if we are created in His image. It’s more reasonable to assume that God is not gender-specific, but is the embodiment of the perfection and essence of both genders.

Unfortunately, that means I think too much.

Sacred Feminine and Ecstatic Birth go hand-in-hand in that woman must embrace the first concept to recognize her inner divinity and spiritual essence. Ecstatic Birth is also known as Blissful or Orgasmic Birth, and is said to be just that—a pleasurable feeling during labor and some form of orgasmic release upon delivery. This is the simplified definition, but that’s the trust of it. Of course, our husbands returned when this discussion began, rendering the excuses, “It’s not that I’m sexist, but…”

Yeah… okay.

Willow, our instructor, walks us through the concept of ecstatic birth and how a woman’s total connection with her inner self, her body, and her baby could totally be an orgasmic experience. She describes the different manifestations of orgasmic birth…

Waves of pleasure between contractions…
Actually fantasizing, masturbating, or making love during labor…
An actual orgasm as the baby is being delivered, known as a “birthgasm…”

That second one is unheard of to me and that last one seems a bit hokey, not to mention that the thought of having an orgasm while delivering my babies kind of creeps me out. The first one seems a tad bit more realistic…

Waves of pleasure between contractions.

“A woman can enter an altered state and ride the waves of the sensation,” Willow instructs. “If she allows herself to expand into the pleasure, she will increase the release of the pleasure hormones and sexual energy and let’s face it—that’s where the orgasmic experience originates.”

Okay, she’s losing me again.

“Are you saying that we should liken the birthing process to sex?” one mother asks. “I couldn’t imagine ever seeing sex the same again after that.”

“Not so much with sex, but with love,” Willow corrects. “Your child is a product of your love. Sex was just the avenue to plant the seed. So no, you don’t want to liken the act of birthing your baby with the act of having sex, but more with the euphoria and pleasure you may feel. Of course, we’re not talking about some sleazy motel hook-up you may have had at some time, although if that’s what turns you on, actual masturbation and orgasm have been known to increase contractions and speed up labor. The vagina does expand two inches—or just over five centimeters—with sexual arousal. That’s half your dilation.”

Some of the women are smiling a knowing and understanding smile while others are frowning, completely not getting the concept. I’m still somewhere in the middle.

“I think where we’re having the communication breakdown is at the juncture where we relate the birthing process with pleasure, which is the entire thrust of this conversation,” Willow continues. “Let’s move from calling it orgasmic or ecstatic birth and use the third term—blissful birth. When I say the word ‘bliss,’ what comes to mind?”

“Happiness,” one mother says.

“Peace,” another blurts out.

“A feeling of joy and contentment,” a third pipes in.

“Excellent examples,” Willow commends. “Bliss is all of those things, as is blissful birth. The definition of ‘bliss’ that I like the best is ‘to reach a state of perfect happiness, typically so as to be oblivious of everything else.’ This describes the ability to completely transcend the present and evolve into another state of being.”

“Sounds like subspace,” Christian whispers in my ear. He’s right; to some degree, it sounds exactly like subspace.

“Blissful birth is ‘birthing in love…’ a state of filling your body and being with the love hormone and then surrendering to your inner power. At this point, you’re using your beta-endorphins for more than just attracting a love interest or turning yourself into a sexpot. I’m sure you’ve all heard of the benefit of releasing your body’s natural endorphins. They assist relaxation; they help with depression; receptors in your brain react to endorphins and reduce the perception of pain. At higher levels, they can be more powerful than morphine.”

“Yep, that’s subspace,” Christian confirms. I shoot a quick smirk at him and turn my attention back to Willow.

“You need to look at this as your body’s natural function,” she continues. “The body has many ways of protecting itself from unwanted events—natural antibodies converge to attack bacteria; the brain may trigger happy memories to offset unpleasant ones; if you become too hot, your body releases sweat to cool down. This is no different. This is you using your natural inner power to turn what can be a very painful, very trying, very long and tedious process into something more pleasurable, more enjoyable, more blissful.

“This energy, this love, this hormonal ecstasy is exchanged between you, your partner, and your baby. Before you know it, you’re transmuting the pain and entering this altered state of consciousness and hormonal ecstasy. This state is where you experience undisturbed and orgasmic birth.”

“I ain’t buying it,” Arthur says. I knew he had to chime in sooner or later. “My mother, her mother, her sisters, every woman I’ve ever known has always told me how painful labor is and that it can last hours or even days. There was never anything pleasurable about it. Now you want us to believe that with some simple Jedi mind trick, not only can she avoid the pain, but she can make it all sunshine and flowers and pleasurable. Nope, not gonna happen. There’s an epidural in our future.” Kiley looks at her husband with the usual disgust and simply rolls her eyes.

“That’s unfortunate, sir,” Willow says unmoved, “unfortunate because your wife was obviously interested in this birthing technique which is why she opted to sit through a two-hour class to learn about it. However, it will be completely unsuccessful without a strong support system and as you are the primary pillar of that system, I can see that she doesn’t have it. So, clearly, this method is not for you.”

And just like that, Arthur’s objections and smart comments are slammed to the ground and Willow continues with the class.

“I won’t mislead you,” she says to the rest of us. “This is clearly mind over matter, but so is meditation… and prayer… and physical ecstasy of any kind. Sex, pleasure, and orgasm are all based on mental stimuli. Yes, they come from a physical act, but your mind interprets the stimuli and send that interpretation to the rest of your body. Is this someone that you love? Someone you are physically attracted to? Will this end up being a pleasurable experience? Or are you doing this against your will? Is this action unsatisfying to you? It’s all in the mind, and based on that concept, you can overcome the difficulties of labor and delivery and turn this into a more pleasurable experience.”

“Yeah, good luck, suckers,” Arthur shoots.

“Sir, as you have indicated that you are not interested in this subject matter, I’m going to ask you only once to please leave so that I can inform the other couples who are interested or I will have security forcibly remove you from the premises.”

She’s calm and cool and doesn’t say anything else. We all turn to Arthur and wait for his response. Not to be outdone, Arthur decides to pick a fight.

“You’re mad at me because I’m not buying into your hocus pocus?” he asks defensively. Willow reaches into her pocket and removes what looks like a cell phone. She punches one button and speaks one word into it.


Just like that, she shows this attention-seeking asshole that she’s having none of his bullshit. Arthur narrows his eyes at her and slowly rises from his seat.

“Come on, Kie, we’re going home.”

“You can go, Arthur, but I’m staying.” He frowns at her just as Willow’s “phone” comes alive.

“Yes, Ms. Willow?” a disembodied male voice replies.

“Stand by,” she responds. Arthur glares at her again, then back at his wife.

“I said we’re going home, Kiley,” he says through his teeth.

“And I said I’m staying, Arthur,” Kiley retorts, also through her teeth.

“Little Miss Weed up there says you can’t do this without me,” he shoots.

“Oh?” she retorts. “I can do anything I want, and last I checked, I was carrying this baby. And you can be in the room or across town, but still have to deliver him. So you can have all the epidurals you want, but I intend to be fully conscious and drug-free when this baby makes his entrance into the world.” Go, Kiley!

“Kiley…” Arthur protests.

“She has security on stand-by, Arthur. You’ve had enough run-ins with security to know how that works. I’d like to finish the class. I really think you should leave.” Kiley’s patience is clearly short, but she maintains a calm demeanor as she ceremoniously dismisses her husband. Arthur looks at his wife incredulously. Then his face transforms into a knowing smirk.

“You and the rest of the suckers,” he says with a scoff and proceeds to the door just as two gentlemen in blazers are entering—security, no doubt. They stand aside and allow him to leave before fully entering the room.

“Is everything okay, Ms. Willow?” one of the gentlemen asks.

“Yes, sir, our problem just left,” she says with a kind smile. “Thank you, gentlemen.” They nod and leave the room. I lean in to Christian.

“Why did they come anyway when she told them to stand by?” I ask him.

“Because she originally alerted them to a problem, but didn’t explain the nature of the problem. When they responded, she told them to ‘stand-by,’ not ‘stand down.’ Stand by means wait; stand down means everything’s okay. They waited a few minutes and with no response, they have to come and investigate.” I nod.

“Good to know,” I reply.

“Kiley… may I call you Kiley?” Willow asks and Kiley nods. “He is right about one thing. Without the proper support system, this won’t be very effective. It’s like trying to sleep with rock music blaring in speakers around your bedroom.” Kiley smiles.

“Thank you, Ms. Willow,” she replies. “I’m fully holistic. I truly believe something about this class will be able to help me through my labor and delivery. The concept of Sacred Feminine was absolutely incredible and if it’s okay, I’d like to finish the remainder of the Blissful Birth sessions alone.” Willow smiles at her as do many of the mothers in the room.

“Absolutely, Kiley,” she says sweetly and turns her attention to the rest of the class. “Gentlemen, if you do plan to participate, your cooperation and support is paramount. But ladies, make no mistake, the mind is extremely powerful and controls every reflex, every function, every single little thing your body does. This is an experience that you would definitely want to share with your significant other. However, Kiley leaves me no doubt that she could do this alone if she has to.”

Kiley beams with pride at the recognition, and I am immediately flooded with a feeling of contentment and gratefulness for the baby-obsessed control freak sitting next to me. I slide both of my arms around him, hug him tight, and kiss him gently on the cheek. He returns my hug with one arm and looks at me questioning.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks, examining my eyes.

“I’m just fine, Mr. Grey,” I say with a smile, sinking into his grasp.


God, I really hate that guy.

I’ve only had a couple of encounters with him and he just makes my very asshole itch. I don’t know how or why that woman puts up with him, or any woman for that matter.

Once the birthing class is over, Sheila and Butterfly make a beeline to Kiley to make sure that she’s okay. I go over to CJ and chew the fat for a while about our wives and our mutual dislike for Kiley’s husband, yet another thing that we have in common. After their little tête-à-tête, Butterfly and I decide to make our way down to the beach for a walk in the cool air.

“You know, they’ve only been married for a few years,” she says, grasping my arm.

“Who, Sheila and CJ?”

“No, Kiley and her raised-by-wolves husband,” she says and I chuckle.

“You like that term, don’t you?” I ask. She looks up at me with her brow furrowed. “I’ve heard you use it a few times before. It’s like you’re trying to be politically correct, but you don’t really know what to say.” She shrugs.

“It’s all I can think of when someone seems like they don’t know how to act around regular people, in social situations, or in any circumstance where their behavior is just completely and totally unacceptable,” she says. “She says that it was really great at first, but the in a matter of a few months, he turned into this guy.”

“Why did she stay?” I ask. “After a few years, he hasn’t gotten any better.”

“She says that she held out hope that things would get better and, quite honestly, by the time that she realized that he was just a plain asshole, she was pregnant and felt like it was too late. She says that she’s used to it and knows how to handle it. I don’t think I could ever get used to that.” She shivers.

“Don’t worry, baby,” I say, cuddling her in my arms. “You’ll never have to.” She smiles up at me and holds me closer.

“This is really nice,” she says. It’s crisp outside, about 45 degrees, but still much warmer than Seattle. “I surprised you didn’t get a feel for him last night.”

“Oh, I got a feel for him and I can’t stand the guy,” I tell her. “He seems to just want to spoil everybody’s good time.” She frowns.

“I got the impression that you guys had some kind of heart-to-heart last night.” Oh, fuck, what has she heard?

“From whom?” I ask, incredulously.

“Kiley,” she responds. “She was remiss to ask me, but she wanted to know if you had left the room for anything last night. I reluctantly told her that the only time I was in the room alone was when you went for ice and that was no more than 20 minutes. She told me that Arthur led her to believe that you guys had spent some quality time together last evening, which is why he invited us to join him for breakfast this morning.”

“You can’t be serious!” I exclaim. “I saw the guy at the bar while I was getting ice. Our brief conversation was terse at best. I definitely wouldn’t call that quality time!”

By no means, would I call that quality time! I’m already disgusted by the guy, but what I saw and heard last night just drove it home for me.

Butterfly heads to the elevator with Sheila, CJ, and Kiley and I veer left to get an ice bucket and some bottled water. She wakes up in the middle of the night sweating and thirsty and I don’t want her to have to wait for room service at 2:00 in the morning since she doesn’t drink water from the tap.

“May I have a full ice bucket and a few bottles of water?” I ask the bartender.

“Sure thing, sir.” As he goes off to get the ice and the water, I hear something off to the right that makes me cringe.

That irritating ass voice of the Napoleonic Arthur Daniels. He’s not short, per se, but he is a very small man trying to make himself look big—mostly to the embarrassment of his wife—and that irritates me.

“I know, baby,” he says to someone on the phone. “I’m sorry.”

Is he making amends with his wife for his barbaric behavior? Maybe there’s hope for him, yet… unless it’s the alcohol talking.

“I’ll make it up to you, sugar,” he says. Yeah, you just ought to make it up to her. You acted like a total fucking jackass and embarrassed her in front of a room full of people when she’s supposed to be here to relax!

Don’t you worry about it, luscious. I can’t wait to see you. The things I’m going to do to that body…”

Well, damn, not two hours ago, he was just alluding to his disgust with the size of a pregnant woman. Now he can’t wait to get his hands on her?

“Like I said, don’t worry about it, sweet cheeks. You just get that sweet ass up here as soon as you can and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Fucking hell. He’s not talking to his wife. He’s planning a goddamn hook-up on the weekend getaway he’s having with his wife to learn about the birth of their fucking baby. Fuck me sideways. 

“Sir?” My attention is drawn back to the bartender. “It’s going to be a minute. We’re having a bit of trouble with the ice machine.” I try not to roll my eyes.

“Fine,” I say, waving him off. He nods and walks back to the back of the bar. I look back over at Daniels and now, he’s glaring right at me. On top of being a practiced and professional asshole, he’s a fucking cheat. I can’t resist the eye roll this time.

“I’ll see you in a few, baby,” he says and ends his call. He comes down to where I’m standing. “What’chu know there, Grey?” he says and I turn an irritated gaze to him.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I shoot. He examines me for a moment.

“Temper, temper, there,” he says. “You have that ‘crush you like a bug’ look in your eye. You’re a powerful man, I can tell. And that rock on your wife’s hand ain’t no bargain basement, department store, pawn shop deal. That tells me that you’re full of hot air every time you jump in my face, because if you put your hands on me, I can sue you and be set for life.” My brow furrows.

“Wow, you’re worse than I thought,” I say in a condescending tone. “You’re a prize-winning asshole to everyone you meet, you pick fights with the hope of getting a beat down so that you can make some money off of it, and to top it all off, you’re cheating on your wife and the woman who’s carrying your child by flying in some take-out pussy. You beat ‘em all, man. You have absolutely no redeeming qualities.” He laughs.

“You’ll just do well not to mention this to my wife,” he says. “There are so many ways and reasons to sue somebody.”

“First of all,” I say, turning to him, “I gives a flying fuck what you do with your dick. Second, if you push me to put these hands on you, I’m going to make that beat down worth every penny, of which you won’t see any off it, because I would keep that case so tied up in court that if you’re lucky, your son may be the surviving relative that collects from my estate. So if you want that kind of beat down and that kind of long-term pain and suffering with no hope of actually ever seeing one red cent, you let me know and I’ll be happy to oblige.” That confident smirk is not so confident anymore.

“Third, you have me pegged right as a powerful man. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, so I’m not trying to throw any of that around, but in the future, you might want to be careful who you threaten. You truly have no idea who you’re fucking with.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, same old song and dance. You can ruin me and make my life a living hell and blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all before.” This guy is a professional provoker. Time to put an end to this.

“Well, I don’t know who you’re accustomed to dealing with, but I have a bodyguard upstairs who can make you disappear without a trace. You wanna try me, little man?” I glare into his eyes and await his response. After about 30 seconds of the staring game, he breaks gaze first and nervously looks down at his phone. Apparently, a text is coming through.

“Your ice and water, Mr. Grey,” I hear beside me. I take the tray with the bucket and the bottles and thank the bartender without turning my gaze from Daniels. He raises his eyes back to mine.

“Looks like your home-wrecking whore is trying to get in touch with you. You might want to go play with the little twat and leave the men alone.” I glare at him for a few seconds more and, after the blink, I tell him, “have a good time, asshole,” before proceeding to the elevators to head to my room and my Butterfly.

He called that exchange at the bar “quality time?” I was ready to wring his fucking neck!

“What exactly did he say… or did she tell you?” I ask. Butterfly looks at me questioning.

“What’s going on, Christian?” she asks. I shake my head. I don’t want to tell her that Daniels is a philandering son-of-a-bitch, but I have to tell her something.

“You know what an ambulance chaser is, right?” I ask. She nods.

“Yeah, those unscrupulous lawyers who seek out accident scenes and unfortunate events, then follow the ambulance to the hospital to try to talk the victim into a lawsuit.” I nod.

“He’s worse. He’s the guy in the ambulance and he deliberately does it. I would imagine that he’s probably had a gaggle of slip-and-falls, but his real hustle is scoping out the big money and setting himself up for a lawsuit. It’s probably the only reason he’s here this weekend, to find new bait.” Butterfly is horrified.

“Wait a minute… what exactly… what…?” she can’t form a complete sentence.

“He said it last night—that he’s met my type, he can pretty much smell power, and if I put my hands on him, I’m going to have a lawsuit against me.” Her mouth falls open.

“No!” she says in incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I’m dead serious. That’s why when he started talking about quality time, I was so damn shocked. Maybe to him, it was quality time.” I shake my head.

“Boy, he’s a real piece of work,” she says. “Kiley says that he didn’t come back to their room almost until dawn and he said he was with you.”

Now I’m gaped-mouthed. He said what? He’s somewhere in the hotel fucking some trick and he uses me as his alibi, of all people? This is one cocky little bastard! We have two more days left at this place and I refuse to allow him the power to ruin our getaway. I’ll have a word or two with Mr. Daniels at another time, but for right now…

“Well, as you know, he wasn’t with me,” I say coolly. Butterfly stops walking. I look down at her questioning. “What?”

“You’re not mad enough,” she says, matter-of-factly.

“What?” I’m confused.

“This irritating, conniving, raised-by-wolves, sorry excuse of a man openly lied on you and you’re not mad enough. Why?” She folds her arms.

“What do you want me to do—go storming through the hotel, find him, and beat him to a pulp?” I ask, my brow furrowed.

“No, but I’m afraid that you might do that later, when I’m not around to calm you down. If you did it now, you know I could talk you away from him. If you wait until later, it’s just going to simmer and simmer and simmer and you’re going to get madder and madder and madder until when you do find him, there won’t be any words left,” she accuses. Damn, my wife knows me well.

“I do intend to talk to him. I don’t intend to put my hands on him. That’ll just give him what he wants now, won’t it?” I guess my logic is enough to calm her fires a bit, but she still feels the need to caution me.

“Christian…” she says in that tone, dragging the last syllable in my name out a bit.

“Butterfly, I won’t put my hands on him unless he puts his hands on me first, and he doesn’t have the balls. Not only that, it defeats his whole purpose.” Once again, my statements calm her fires and she starts to walk again.

“Good,” she says, “because bailing you out of jail is not my idea of a relaxing weekend.”

She hooks her arm into mine and we’re walking again. To be honest, I have no idea how to handle this fucker. He has no scruples or conscience and in order for his plan to work, he has to throw out his sense of self-preservation. Sun Tzu put it best when he wrote, “The way to avoid what is strong is to strike what is weak.” Every businessman, every political success, even every successful sports personality knows that when you deal with an opponent, you focus on his weaknesses. So far, his only revealed weakness is that he doesn’t want his wife to know what he’s doing.

He knew to back down when security was on the way because Willow wouldn’t fight with him. That seems to be his only area of self-preservation—knowing when to back down when an authority force or figure is eminent. I wonder if he’s read Sun Tzu.

There are all kinds of ways the situation with Willow could have been construed had she gotten into an altercation with him before security arrived. By the time it was all said and done, he’d be suing her, the sponsors of the trip, and the hotel. Brute force and the promise of repeated visits could whip him into shape, but who has time for that?

“You’re quiet, Christian,” Butterfly says, breaking my thoughts.

“I’m thinking,” I admit.

“I know that,” she says. “About what?”

“How to get this guy off my back.”

“He’s not on your back, Christian…”

“Oh, but he is, Baby,” I correct her. “I’m his target for the weekend. He’s made that plain to me verbally and through you and his wife. No, he hasn’t gotten too overt with his actions besides using me as his alibi, but I need to nip it before he does.”

“Christian, please, we’re supposed to be relaxing…” she whines.

“And we are, Butterfly,” I assure her. “Don’t you worry. He’s not going to ruin our weekend one bit.” She looks up at me with those beautiful, guileless blue eyes.

“Promise?” she says with those luscious, pouty lips.

“Cross my heart,” I respond before closing my lips over hers.


Butterfly is changing for dinner while I wait in the sitting area of our suite. I need to somehow exploit Mr. Daniels’ one identified weakness. Though he seems very disrespectful to her and not loving at all, he’s obviously afraid of his wife discovering his extra-curricular activities. I pull out my phone and call Jason.

“Yeah, boss,” he answers, quite detached.

“Enjoying yourself?” I ask, noting his nonchalant demeanor.

“The opposite. I’ve done six perimeter checks, walked behind you the entire time you were on the beach and now I’m bored out of my skull.” What? He was behind us?

“You followed us?” I ask, surprised. “How did I not know?”

“That’s my job,” he says, matter-of-factly. Well, he’s right.

“Well, maybe I have something that might fill your empty time for a moment or three,” I say.

“Really? What?” He’s quite interested.

“The asshole. He had company last night and I need to know if she’s still here.”

“Oh, the Jessica Rabbit wannabe,” he says. “Yeah, she’s still here. She has a room on the other side of the hotel.” And that’s why I like him.

“He spending a lot of time with her?” I ask.

“Yeah, quite a bit…” and probably telling his wife that he’s with me. “He’s with her now, in fact.”

“Any way you can get me some pictures?” He scoffs.

“Have we met?” he chuckles.

“Good man. I’ll need them as soon as you can get them to me… and yes, the protocol has changed. Keep your eye on that fucker.” I hear a pause.

“What’s happened?” he asks. I tell him about my conversation with Daniels and the subsequent conversation with Butterfly.

“Oh, one of those,” he says matter-of-factly. “I got it. You should have pictures within the hour.”

“Thanks, Jason,” I say before ending the call. Butterfly is still in the shower, so I take the opportunity to slip out for a moment.

I really don’t like drinking around Butterfly these days. I don’t know why. I’m not an alcoholic and of course, she doesn’t mind my having a drink or an occasional night cap. I guess it’s because I know that she’s missing her wine and I just don’t want to rub it in. Dinner will be served very shortly, so I go to the bar and get a double-shot of Bourbon neat.

I’m sitting here pondering the life I’m looking forward to with my beautiful wife and children. We talked briefly about the blissful birth concept, and Butterfly would like to go to the class again tonight and tomorrow. She admits that she’s interested in anything that will assist with pain management and making this a memorably pleasant experience for her, but she just can’t reconcile the whole orgasmic concept of it. She also admits to having a problem with embracing the concept of Sacred Femininity. Intellectually, she gets it. Spiritually, she can probably connect to it. Religiously, there’s a roadblock that she can’t seem to overcome. It’s something to do with God being part-woman or something like that. I’ll be honest—I didn’t get it from the moment she started explaining it.

My thoughts are interrupted by my phone vibrating in my pocket. I have text messages from Jason. I open them to see pictures of Daniels and his Jessica Rabbit wannabe, as Jason refers to her. Oh, boy, she’s the visual epitome of a gold digger—bottle-job flaxen red hair, boob-job and hips that are far too large for her body. I wonder if he paid for her work? In the picture, she’s kissing him at the door of one of the rooms while wearing a white satin robe that’s barely enough to cover her purchased ass. In the pictures that follow, we get a full on view of that nip-and-tuck as Daniels’ hands roam up the back of her, pushing the robe up so that he can get handfuls of silicone—or whatever they put in an ass enlargement—as he and the nearly-naked woman shamelessly make out in the hallway in front of her room. I shake my head and scoff in disgust. The pictures are time-lapsed so that each one falls seconds after the one before it. It’s like watching the intro of a porno movie.

I take another sip of my drink and shoot a text off to Jason that I’ve received the pictures and thanking him for working so fast. Just as I hit send, I spot Daniels heading towards the bar. I don’t want this confrontation and I promised Butterfly that I wouldn’t provoke it. I finish the rest of my drink and make to leave, but I’m too late.


“Hey, there, Grey,” he says, haughtily. “We just keep bumping into each other.” He seems to have regained the bravado he was lacking when I left his company last night.

“No, we’re not bumping into each other, Daniels. You keep seeking me out. Now, get the fuck out of my way.” I try to go around him without touching him.

“What’s your hurry?” he asks, smiling cockily. Fucking hell. I’m closer to him now and for the amount of money one of you paid on the plastic job on that bitch, you would think she’d have better taste in perfume!

“Well, for one thing, my beautiful wife is waiting for me and I don’t like to keep her waiting. For another thing, besides the fact that I can’t stand your presence, the stench of that cheap ass perfume your whore wears is choking me and I need some fresh air. So you might want to shower and change before your wife smells you,” I shoot. His eyes narrow, but he quickly recovers.

“That’s okay, Grey. I can understand your frustration. I have this luscious hunk of sex at my beck and call and she’s wearing me out. On the other hand, I can only imagine that you haven’t been fucked right in months, if at all, since you can’t even find your wife’s pussy.”

What. The. Fuck.

Before I know it, this bastard is bent backwards over the bar and I want to kill him. I’m not touching him, but my presence is so imposing on his that he can’t move. He looks so small, so much smaller than I remember. Small little man…

“How fucking dare you compare my wife to that slut you’ve got tucked away in that room up there!” I growl in his face and for the first time, I see fear. He talks a good game, but when it really comes down to it, he can’t take a beating. He doesn’t want me to put my hands on him, but he’s pushed me across the line and although my conscious is screaming at me, I’m not sure that I can come back.

“You want to cheat on your wife, I really don’t care. You do whatever the hell you want to do, but don’t you ever tie me up in your shit again or I’ll tell her all about your ass and I don’t give a shit how you think you can sue me, you philanderous fuck!”

I am enraged! I’m so pissed off that I can hear the blood thrumming in my ear. I could hit this man so hard right now that the top half of him would separate from his body and fly across the room while the bottom half of it would still be sitting on that goddamn stool! Looks like he’s going to get his wish and there may be a lawsuit in his future. I hear Butterfly’s voice in my head begging me to step away. I’m trying to, baby, but he really needs a good ass-kicking so that he can know not to do this shit again.


Jason’s voice bellows through the room and snaps me slightly out of my murderous trance. I’m still pressed over this asshole. I still haven’t touched him, but I’m breathing in his face like a bull. Oh, how I want to pummel him…

“Don’t dirty your hands with him, Boss…” Jason is in my ear now. I’m trying to control my breathing, trying to step away from him, but my will to kill is stronger than my will to stand down.

“Christian, please.”

That soft, beautiful voice does not belong to Jason. No, that’s my Butterfly. I didn’t imagine her voice; she was really here—watching me about to tear this man limb from limb and begging me not to. My angry subsides only fractionally at the thought.

“Come on, Boss,” Jason entreats, “step away from the asshole.”

I glare in his eyes, my face so close to his that his two eyes look like one.

“You should be thankful,” I growl, low enough that only he can hear me. “The goddess you insulted earlier just saved your ass.” I hear him swallow hard as I straighten up while he’s still bent over the bar. Jason knows not to touch me, but puts his arm between us, forming a barrier that neither of us will cross. Without another word, I take three steps back from him, glaring at him the entire time. When Jason feels that I’m safe distance, he moves his arm.

Daniels stands, pulling at the collar of his shirt and visibly sweating. He makes to say something, but looks to his left and sees Kiley standing there.

Was she there the whole time? Did she hear what I said to him?

She walks over to him and shows minimal concern about his condition, asking if he’s alright and touching his arm. He responds that he’s okay and makes some comment about me being a lunatic, probably hopeful that he can still get some kind of payout from this. He’s so engrossed in his performance that he doesn’t see his wife’s face change—drastically! She stands motionless next to him, moving only her head and leaning in, her expression contemplative. Her brow furrows before she straightens, her expression changing to stoic.

“You’re fine?” she says, flatly. He turns his glare to me.

“You saw him!” he accuses. “He tried to attack me! He would have killed me if no one was around.”

“But he didn’t touch you, so you’re fine,” she announces, extinguishing his hopes for a possible claim. She closes her wrap around her shoulders and proceeds to the dining room, leaving him there at the bar to continue his performance. Jason is next to me, looking from the retreating Kiley back to Daniels and waiting for his next move. He looks at me, then at his retreating wife before proceeding behind her. Kiley was cold to him—colder than usual. I quickly replay her actions right before she left—her leaning her head in and… what was she doing? Then I remember our conversation before this all happened…

“Well, for one thing, my beautiful wife is waiting for me and I don’t like to keep her waiting. For another thing, besides the fact that I can’t stand your presence, the stench of that cheap ass perfume your whore wears is choking me and I need some fresh air. So you might want to shower and change before your wife smells you.”

Smelling him… she was smelling him. She caught that same stench that I did, but she didn’t flip out.

She already knows.

“You okay, Boss?” His voice breaks my glare and I run my hands through my hair.

“Yeah,” I mumble, “yeah, I’m fine.”

“Don’t speak too soon.” I look over at him and he gestures over my shoulder. I look around and Butterfly is standing there, silent and expecting. She’s wearing another beautiful dress and has opted for a wrap as well, which she now holds closed tightly around her body like she’s cold. I walk closer to her.

“Christian, you promised,” she says with sad eyes as I reach her.

“I didn’t touch him,” I defend, my voice lower than I can control. “I just came to have a drink. I didn’t even look for him. I was here alone; you can ask the bartender.” Her eyes are still sad and I know that she’s still recalling my promise. “I swear to God, the moment I saw him, I tried to walk away, but he wouldn’t let me pass. I told you he had me targeted,” I defend. “Then when he tried to compare you to that tramp he has holed up in 409…”

“What?” she interrupts me. That got her attention. Shit, I said that I wasn’t going to say anything. She talks to Kiley too much. I look around to make sure that no one is in close proximity. Even Jason has subtly disappeared. I sigh heavily and pull out my phone. I opening the gallery and hand her the phone.

“He’s had his pussy delivered ala carte,” I tell her as she scrolls through the pictures. “That quality time that he was talking about last night… While I was waiting for them to fix the malfunctioning ice machine, he was at the other end of the bar setting up a booty call.” She raises her eyes to me. “That’s when he revealed his M-O about lawsuits and I discovered that his biggest weakness is Kiley finding out about this other woman.”

“Did you take these pictures?” she asks, no doubt subconscious about the birds-eye view of the woman’s naked ass. I shake my head.

“No. Jason. Not even half an hour ago,” I tell her. She frowns.

“How could he compare me to her?” she asks, and I can see her insecurities showing. “I’m like 900 pounds and she’s…” She trails off. Oh, we’ll have none of that.

“That’s what he was trying to emphasize,” I tell her. “He was trying to imply that this nipped, tucked, bottle-job, classless, tasteless, home-wrecking, plastic bitch had anything over my beautiful, sexy, goddess wife,” I say, lifting her chin so that she can see my eyes, “and I just couldn’t take it. I really did want to wring his fucking neck. She’s just a piece of ass—constructed from a box or bag somewhere. Your classic, natural beauty can’t be matched. So yes, even though I didn’t touch him, I wanted to because he had the nerve to compare Mona Lisa to a fucking comic book character!” I close my eyes, take a deep breath and compose myself. When I open them again, her expression has changed.

“You’re going to have to grow a thicker skin,” she says softly. “You’re always ready to defend me and my honor, and I love you for it… but I’m your weakness, and I don’t want to see you destroyed because of it.”

She places her hand on my cheek and I lean into it. Everybody tells me the same thing, but I just don’t know how to turn down my emotions and reactions when it comes to her. I’ve tried, I really have, but when it comes to my Butterfly, I’m all raw—completely exposed nerves pulsing at the slightest wind.

“Learn to pick your battle, baby,” she says. “You almost walked right into his trap.”

“I know,” I say, closing my eyes and concentrating on the warmth of her hand. “I’m really trying, I swear. I just love you so much…”

“I know you do,” she says sweetly. “I love you, too.”

“I didn’t break our promise,” I reiterate. “I wanted to hit him—God knows I did, but I didn’t do it. I won’t ruin our weekend, I swear…” She puts her finger over my lips.

“Ssshh.” She replaces her lips with her finger and it’s the most heavenly feeling. I cup her face with my hands and reciprocate, kissing her deeply in the middle of the main room. God, I love this woman! I touch my forehead to hers when our lips part, my eyes closed, basking in her warmth and presence.

“We need to go to dinner, Mr. Grey,” she whispers and I nod, kissing her softly once more. I take her hand and head towards the dining room. I stop her right before we enter.

“Oh, and by the way…” I lean down and scoop her up bridal style in my arms, causing her to gasp and giggle. “You don’t weigh 900 pounds.”

The look of adoration on her face warmed me inside and kept the flame going until the early morning hours.


I don’t know what I’m going to do with my husband. He’s got to understand that someone is constantly going to use me against him and he has to resist the urge to strike every time. If there’s a threat, I completely understand, but sometimes—most times—it’s just bravado trying to get to him. I’m the one area where he has absolutely no control.

I have to say, though, that I didn’t mind that state of affairs last night. He carried me into the dining room where we had a delicious roast chicken dinner. Most of the couples applauded as we entered, the women all exclaiming how cute it was; some of them admitting that their poor husbands’ backs would be out of whack if they tried it with them. I swore I saw Arthur come into the dining room with Kiley, but when we entered, I saw Kiley sitting alone. About twenty minutes into dinner, Arthur joined her, his face pale and his hair wet. Don’t tell me that fucker went to get a quickie before dinner!

Christian fed me every bite of my meal, nearly failing to eat his own. I could tell that he had the need to take care of me, most likely a result of that asshole’s insensitive comments. He wanted to carry me to the blissful birth class, but I gently declined, asking if he would just hold hands with me in an attempt to sooth any feelings of rejection. He smiled and said,

“You win this one, Mrs. Grey, but I will be carrying you to our room.”

His voice was so seductive and full of promise that I could barely wait for blissful birth to be over. I tried to concentrate, but it was no use. I couldn’t pay attention to anyone or anything in that room. I tried to play it cool when class was over, but Christian was having none of it. He quickly made our excuses and dragged me to the elevator. His hand was up my dress and down my panties almost before the doors closed. By the time we got to our floor, he had me so worked into a frenzy that I could barely walk. As promised, he carried me to our room—my body wrapped around his like a vine and his hands firmly gripping my ass.

We could barely get into the room and he couldn’t get me out of my clothes fast enough. Our first orgasm was hot and quick—both of us, but then his mouth traveled all over my body and worked us both back up again. He was insatiable, loving and kissing me and telling me how beautiful I am; kissing my stomach and thanking me for carrying our children. At one point, I cried. His words were so beautiful and his actions so loving, and he was making me feel so good that I exploded emotionally and physically. I never cried through an orgasm before. It’s mind-blowing and dizzying—you feel like you’ve surrender total control of everything you are to this emotion pouring out of you and you are at its mercy. It’s the most exquisite surrender you will ever feel.

Now, I’m lying here in bed in my husband’s arms, the morning sun shining through the window. I look lazily over at him. We’ve fallen asleep somewhat face to face. I’m lying half on my back and half on my side. His body is partially covering mine, his arm draped over my body. His usually JBF hair is more mussed than usual, wild and wooly from the many times I pulled it last night and this morning in the heated throes of ecstasy. His face eludes contentment, his lashes fanned over his cheeks and his lips parted infinitesimally to accommodate his exhausted breathing.

We wore each other out last night… this morning, him more than me as he seemed to just go on and on and on, loving me until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. When it was all said and done, I don’t know who fell asleep first. Now it’s morning, however, and the bathroom is calling me.

I try to slip out of his grasp without waking him, but he slowly opens his eyes, his gray gaze meeting mine as he tightens his arm around me.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asks, sleepily, snuggling back into me. Oh, I could lay here all day…

“I have to pee,” I confess, almost as remiss as he is to leave our love nest.

“Well, we can’t hold that up, can we?” he says, and kisses me on the forehead before releasing me. I want to hurry and go pee and come back to his arms, but going to the bathroom is a bit tedious these days. The toilet is more like a water closet—separate from the rest of the bedroom, and the tub is huge—freestanding and above the floor—in a separate corner of the bedroom by itself, in front of a glass wall with a view of the ocean.

After what feels like an eternity, I finally emerge from the toilet to find that my snuggle-buddy has left the bed. I can’t hide my disappointment. I guess this means we have to face the world. As I’m contemplating what I want to wear for today activities, a naked god emerges from the other end of the suite. Good God, my mouth is watering and we just sexed all night.

“I know you’re not looking for clothes,” he scolds.

“Um… I was,” I say, my voice small. He takes my hand.

“It’s already after noon, Mrs. Grey. The masses can do without us until dinner, don’t you think?” The Bitch is doing cartwheels!

“I couldn’t agree more,” I say, allowing him to lead me to the bathtub. It smells of jasmine and ginger—a delightful combination. I can see the oils mixing in the water and floating on top. I watch has his beautifully chiseled body steps into the tub first then holds his hand out for me. We haven’t taken a bath together in so long, it seems. I’m quite excited by this. I take his hand and step into the bathtub. He sits first then helps me sit, cuddled between his legs in this larger-than-life bathtub.

“It’s not too hot, is it?” he asks. “I mean, for the babies…”

“No,” I purr. “It’s just right.” He gets a sponge and begins to wet my body with it.

“I was thinking about Mom’s idea of a coming out party for the babies,” he begins. What? He can’t be serious! “Not a party, but maybe some kind of formal announcement once the babies are born.” Whew! He had me worried for a while there.

“What kind of announcement?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he replies, “something simple that just informs the world that they’re here. There’s going to be all kinds of crap once the babies are born. At least we would be able to control this part of the propaganda, so to speak.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” I concur. “I rather like the idea of the story being released on our terms.”

“I thought you would,” he says, the sponge making its way over my body. We have a few more conversations about what we plan to do when the babies are born and how we think Gail will adjust to being a nanny, the entire time, his hands and this damn bath sponge are working me into a tizzy. I finally still his hand and turn around to face him, much to his shock. It’s easier to move in the water.

“My turn,” I say, taking the sponge from him and wetting his shoulders. His eyes go from confused to comfort in no time and as our conversation continues, to seduced. He closes his eyes and leans his head back on the bathtub, allowing my hands and the sponge to roam wherever they want. However, Mr. Grey can hide his rising erection underneath me.

Well, well, well… it would be such a shame to let that go to waste.

I gently kiss his neck and shoulder and he moans in response. I brace myself momentarily, position myself over his erection, and slide down onto it.

“Ah!” he gasps, not quite expecting that move. His hands clench the ridge of the tub and I continue to clean his body with the sponge.

“Baby…” he whispers, not moving his head or his hands from their resting positions.

“Sshh,” I sooth, and slowly begin to move while I continue to clean him.

“Ah!” he gasps again. “Baby…” His hands move to my thighs, squeezing gently as I slowly roll on top of him, rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall. He raises his head and his sultry gray eyes me mine. Suddenly, I’m on fire and I have to control the blaze. I put my hands on my shoulders and steady myself as I begin to ride him. His hips rise only slightly to meet my downstroke.

Fuck, this is sexy!

I’m panting trying to control my swift rise, carefully not to change my stroke and bounce too hard down on him. My muscles start to quiver and grip around him. I grab onto the tub behind him for traction and continue my torturous stroke.

Got to keep it slow.
Got to keep it slow.
Got to keep it slow.

“I feel you,” he breathes. “Damn, you feel so good…” I cover his mouth with a possessive kiss as his words only prove to spur me on and make me want to fuck him harder. I’m in control. I won’t let this orgasm move any faster than I’m ready for it to move. But, God, he feels so good—filling me and growing inside me. He knows what I’m doing and it’s torment not to put his arms around me. I almost lose my plight when he groans into my mouth, heat and anguish in his throat, no doubt at my torturing pace. I gently pull his hair back and our lips part. I feel him jerk inside of me. He’s almost there.

“Do you love me?” I whisper, my lips brushing his.

“Yes!” he breathes immediately. “Oh, God, yes…”

“Tell me,” I coax.

“I love you, Anastasia,” he breathes against my mouth. “I love you so much that it hurts.”

There’s that catch in my chest again. The tears threaten, but I won’t let them fall.

“Do you want me?” I whisper, that familiar feeling creeping into my toes.

“Yes,” he breathes, “I want you with everything in me. I need you… I need you like I need water to live.”

Oh my God, I feel the heat and I can’t stop it. I can’t control it. It’s creeping up my thighs and into my pelvis like it always does. Christian’s breathing has become labored and I breathe in his breaths as he breathes them out.

“Yes, Baby,” I say, slowing grinding into him and gazing upon him, slowly coming apart underneath me… admiring him like he’s my own creation, feeling the friction we cause as I slowly rise and fall, and his shaft rubs burning against my insides. Oh God, I don’t know if I can take it anymore…

“Baby… sss, baby…” he protests, grabbing my ass with both hands, kneading and massaging as I ride him, slow, soft, and deep.

“Yes,” I say as my thighs start to give out, a sure sign that my orgasm is moments away.

Come for me, Christian. Please, come for me…

We’re still breathing each other’s air and making the most primal, arousing, sexy, animalist sounds when…

“Baby… I… ugh!” He wraps his arms tight around me and comes violently. As I feel him throbbing and emptying inside of me, my muscles tighten and I explode with the sensation. I hold my head back as I can barely breathe, and Christian’s face is buried in my breasts as he grunts and jerks with unforgiving spasms. I sit there holding his head and panting for what seems like forever until I feel his head lift almost sleepily from my bosom. We kiss one another, sensually, each of us giving as much as we take, while our bodies settle into delicious aftershocks wrapped in the warmth and fragrance of our afternoon bath.

A/N: I don’t know all there is to know about Sacred Femininity or Blissful/Orgasmic/Ecstatic Birth, but there are lots and lots of books and videos out there if you are interested. I did manage to get a link to a video of an orgasmic birth from the 70’s that only shows the actually delivery. It’s only a couple of minutes long and it’s in black and white. I must say that it’s pretty incredible. You can find it along with other pictures of places, things, and fashions on my Pinterest page at

Christian mentions Sun Tzu. He’s speaking of Sun Tzu—The Art of War, renowned military strategist whose tactics have been successfully applied to many things including battle, business, education, and athletics.

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

Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X



Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 50—On With the Newness

subI 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 50—On With the Newness


She’s beautiful, she loves me, and she’s a good fuck. What more could a man ask for?

I saw in her eyes last night when she remembered what happened last year—right before she kissed me so deeply that she stole my breath and reason and made me want to fuck her right there by the empty pool. I don’t exactly know what she recalled, but I know her well enough to know that she didn’t want a repeat of Lincoln-Crash-and-Burn any more than I did.

She looked so luscious sleeping on the sofa in the entertainment room, contentment gracing her beautiful face. It wasn’t the smoothest of evenings, beginning with her crying spell over Marshall and then getting all snippy about the whole Mistress thing. Then by the time we came full circle back to Marshall again, Elliot shows up and commands mine and Mia’s attention until Butterfly is fast asleep. He asked to stay the night, which I gladly obliged, but I was more than curious to know how Mighty Marshall was going to feel about that.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I expect my cell to be exploding in the morning when she finds out that I’m not back yet.”

“Don’t tell me she doesn’t know you’re gone,” I lamented.

“No, she doesn’t, but she’ll have an idea where I am when she wakes up,” he replied. “I’m getting tired of her putting me in a position where I have to choose between her and my family on important days. It’s getting old and it’s not going to keep happening.” I could hear the frustration in his voice.

“I really don’t know why you stay, Elliot,” Mia said. “I swear, she’s worse than Kate… Okay, maybe that’s a bit much. Nobody’s worse than Kate, but she’s becoming a close second.”

“Please, M,” Elliot chided, “I know nobody understands what’s going on with her. Hell, I don’t understand what’s going on with her, but I really love her… more than Kate, and I’m going to find out what’s going on.”

“What if it’s the same thing that it was with Kate?” I pointed out. Elliot looked at me and frowned. “You know… Roger?” He dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Then I’m swearing off women,” he said with no mirth. Mia and I waited for the punchline, but none came.

“You’re kidding, right?” Mia pressed. Elliot shook his head.

“You would swear off women because of the actions of two harpies?” I asked.

“No, I would swear off women because if the two women that I fell in love with both turned out to be raging bitches using me until they got to the next ride, then I really am living out some horrible karma for my past behavior and I choose not to continue! I refuse to believe that my Angel is some vapid, raving shrew who just put on bitch panties for no reason or is just riding me and resenting me because she can’t quietly move on to the next dick, especially since I give it to her when she wants it, how she wants it, and as long as she wants it!”

Okay, that’s too much information.

“Elliot, it’s not always about sex,” Mia intervened.

“I know that, Mia,” he answered, a bit perturbed. “And for your information, we’ve had this conversation. I’ve opened the door to her more than once to leave if there was someone else that she wanted with no hard feelings and no explanation needed. I’m sure that I’m the only one. It’s something else.”

I wish I shared his certainty.

“I appreciate your concern,” he continued, “but I just want to spend some time with my family and not think about this anymore, and wake up to one of Montana’s great New Year’s Day brunches or some kind of substitute. So can we please change the subject?”

His eagerness to get off the subject of the woman he loves drove it home for me that I had to be sure that Marshall wasn’t just another hoochie that was going to break my big brother’s heart. Granted, I don’t doubt that the manwhore has a few broken hearts coming to him for the trail that he has left behind in his day, but I can’t help it. It won’t happen on my watch. I quickly dropped the topic and moved on to Pops’ condition and Mia and Elliot’s take on it, but at my earliest opportunity, I snuck away from the party and put a call in to the ever-conscious Alex Welch to put a tail on Marshall immediately and start reporting her habits to me as soon as anything material surfaces.

I didn’t have the heart to wake Butterfly until all of the other guests decided to start calling it a night. I had the distinct feeling that Allen and James were looking forward to some serious alone time, so they were the first to retire. Chuck is walking around on his cast now, so we’re expecting him to be out of it on his next visit doctor’s visit, but he has that hungry “first fuck of the year” look in his eye towards Keri as well. I directed everyone towards the guest rooms and sent them on their way while I took a few more moments to gaze at my sleeping Butterfly.

It’s hard to explain what I was feeling for her at that moment. There’s the same overflowing love that I always feel, the same reverence for her carrying my children, but there’s something else… there’s this warmth that I want her next to me, inside of me like one person—not sexually, though that’s there, too. But it’s something else. Something more psychological, more emotional, more… primitive. I don’t know…

I don’t know what she saw in my eyes when I carried her to our room and laid her in our bed, but whatever it was reflected in her expression and I was suddenly very hungry for her—in every way. Tasting her only made me want her more and when I finally entered her and she closed around me, pulling me into her more and more, then pushing hard against me satisfying her own carnal need, I was like a pubescent boy totally unable to control my erection and my first ejaculation was fast and hard! But I wanted her so badly and she was nowhere near finished. So when she started playing with herself—and me—I was more than ready for round two.

It was exquisitely mind-blowing edging myself in that beautiful pussy. She won’t admit it, but I know she loves it, too. I watch how her body responds even though her mouth may say something else. Her voice was begging me to let her come, but her body was puddy in my hands—delicious, hot, searing, sexy puddy. Her sex was hungry for me, as hungry as I was for her, and we spent the wee hours of the morning in shivering, trembling, uncontrollable, Star-Spangled orgasms.

I open my eyes to discover that she’s not in the bed with me anymore. Only a little concerned, I roll out of bed, put on my robe and go in search of her. I find her in the sitting room on the loveseat, staring at the fire. I only know that it’s morning, but I have no idea what time it is. She’s wearing one of my shirts—she hasn’t done that in a while, and there’s a very obvious reason for it. She can only button the first three buttons and the rest of it falls open seductively around her baby bump. My dick twitches just looking at her, but I can tell by her expression that she doesn’t feel the same way about the fit.

Down, Greystone.

I quietly walk over and stand next to her. She inconspicuously tries to close the shirt over her baby bump.

Oh, no. There’ll be none of that.

I kneel in front of her and part her legs, positioning myself between them and placing my hands flat on the loveseat before placing a soft kiss on her lips. She gasps softly, the response I was looking for.

“I didn’t hear you get up,” I say, my voice smooth and low as one hand travels over the bare skin of her baby bump. Her breath catches infinitesimally in her throat.

That’s two.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” she replies softly. “I wanted to go help with brunch in whatever way I could.”

“Really?” I ask, my voice inviting as my hand travels up her baby bump to barely graze her breast on the outside of my shirt. She shivers… that’s three. “In only my shirt?”

“I was…” she pants and swallows, “I was going… to get dressed first.”

“So what was the purpose of this?” I ask, bringing my face closer to hers, so close that we nearly share the same breath as one hand caresses the bare skin on her thigh and the other fondles her nipple through my shirt. I won’t take it off. I want her to know how incredibly hot she looks in it. “To force me to make love to you again?” I whisper.

She’s looking at my lips now, her own parted with small breaths in and out while her nipple pebbles under my thumb.

“I won’t stop you,” she breathes, and that’s all I need. I undo my robe and free my erection. Pulling her luscious hips to the edge of the loveseat, Greystone seeks her sex and I gently slide into her again.


We all try to ignore that poor Elliot is the only one at brunch that doesn’t look completely and totally sated this afternoon. Mia and Ethan, Maxine and Phillip, even Gail and Jason along with our other guests, all look like they’ve spent the night in the utter throes of ecstasy and have joined us this morning with not a care in the world. Marilyn looks as if she’s utterly floating on air while Gary sports the proud stud expression, and Allen and Keri are positively glowing as their significant others sit protectively close by. I already know that Butterfly and I look like we’ve made several trips to Seventh Heaven—as we have—and I only hope that Elliot doesn’t feel too out of place. If anyone else in the room feels like I do, we just can’t help our expressions.

It’s a pleasant brunch, delicious as always, even though I wouldn’t allow my beloved wife to assist this time. She is very pregnant and we have cooking staff for just this reason, so she begrudgingly sat this one out. She does, however, enjoy the meal immensely without being exhausted.

Allen and James announce their wedding date of April 5 and Allen informs Butterfly that she will of course be the matron of honor, but he doesn’t want a really big ceremony. He wants something tasteful and small with just a few friends and family and a wonderful party to follow—much like what Amanda and Ray had. At the break of spring, Butterfly asks if he wants it indoors or out.

“We should have two venues just in case,” he says. “I want it outdoors, but it may rain. It is Seattle in April, after all.”

“How about having it here, then?” she suggests. “The backyard is perfect if the weather allows, and if it doesn’t, we can convert the family room and the connected patio. What do you think?” I can tell Allen is mulling the thought over in his head before he turns his gaze to James.

“Whatever you want is fine by me, Allie,” James says. “I think it’s a good idea. This place is Fort Knox and we don’t have to worry about anybody crashing that we don’t want to see.” Allen turns and looks at me. I shrug.

“Fine by me, too, Allie,” I tease.

“Hey!” James protests, playfully. “I don’t call her Butterfly, don’t call him Allie.” I hold my hands up in surrender.

“Point taken,” I secede. “It’s fine by me if it’s what you all want, Allen.” He and Butterfly look at each other.

“I guess it’s a go, then,” he says. Butterfly claps like a schoolgirl.

“Have you decided on colors?” she asks, almost squealing.

“I figured I’d let you help me with that part,” he confesses.

“Um. Sir?” Jason gets my attention and I notice the formality immediately, which doesn’t get by Butterfly, either.


“We have a visitor,” he says.

“Who?” I ask. He looks at Elliot and before I can put the thoughts together, Marshall comes rushing into the dining rooms.

“Elliot?” she says, her voice cracking and her face tear stained. He looks over at her, perturbed at first, then immediately concerned.

“Angel?” He rises out of his seat and walks over to her, taking her in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“I woke… and you were gone… and I waited… and you didn’t come back… and I thought…” She trails off hiding her face in his chest and weeping. I haven’t seen this Valerie in a while.

“Baby, why didn’t you just call me?” he asks, closing her in his arms.

“I didn’t want… not over… the phone…” She’s panic-stricken. She thought he left her and she’s completely panic-stricken. I’m keeping the watch on her so that we may be able to get some kind of idea of what’s going on with her, but I’m fairly certain that it’s not another man, unless she’s the best actress in the world. I look over at Butterfly who is observing the exchange with just as much interest as everyone else.

“You thought I was leaving you?” he asks her incredulously. None of us can see her response and she is shielded by Elliot’s body, but I assume that she nods against him. “I just wanted to spend some time with my family,” he chides. “I’m not leaving, Angel.” She continues to weep and won’t raise her head. “C’mon, let’s go home,” he says, before looking over at me.

“I’ll come back for my car later if that’s okay, Bro,” he says.

“That’s fine, or I can have one of the staff drop it off to you later,” I tell him. He nods.

“Thanks, that’ll be great. C’mon, Angel.” He wraps a protective arm around Valerie’s shoulder and leads her out of the dining room. It’s silent for a while.

“I’d like some of that spice coffee I had on Christmas,” Butterfly says. “Can that be arranged?”

“I think it can,” Gail responds. “Would anyone else like anything?”

“Regular coffee for me,” I say.

“Same here…”

“Decaf if you have it…”

“I’ll have some orange juice…”

“Can I get another Mimosa…?”


I’m sitting in my study after everyone has gone home, attempting to plan my year and get my mind off of my wife’s thighs. It’s a very difficult task since everything that I’m looking at inadvertently or directly has to do with her.

No new news on Myrick’s wife.
We have to do further investigation on Edwise’s business dealings so that Butterfly and GEH doesn’t inherit a mess.
Helping Hands will be getting a check for approximately $1.3 million from David’s—now Butterfly’s—liquid assets.
Aragon is back in Detroit and quiet; no red flags flying in our direction for now.

Probably the most interesting thing I’ve seen is the report about the Melon Bitch’s activities. I can hardly believe my eyes when I see what has happened to her. Boy, I bet she absolutely hates coming on to my wife in the worse way. It has set in motion probably some of the most traumatic moments of her life.

“Activate two-way communications… locate Anastasia Grey.”


“Where are you, Butterfly?” I ask.

“In my recliner watching a movie. Do you need me?” I chuckle.

“I always need you, but right now, I have something to show you.” There’s a pause.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in my office.”

“Do you want me to come down there?”

“No, I’ll come to you. I’ll be there in a minute.”


“End two-way communications.” Picking up the report, I take the elevator to the first floor and go to our family room. She’s snuggled in her recliner with her favorite throw and some potato chips watching some old black and white movie that I immediately recognize as I Was a Male War Bride.

“What is it?” she asks as I pull an ottoman over to her seat.

“Your friend, Courtney,” I say, handing her the report. “Have you looked at the reports that security give you for her?”

“I haven’t had a chance,” she says. “I don’t see her as a real threat anymore, Christian, so I didn’t bother. Was I wrong?” She takes the report from my hand.

“No, but you might be surprised,” I caution. She takes the report from my hands and looks it over.

“Oh good Lord, really?” she says with disdain, shaking her head. “I knew something was up, but this? Her grandparents can’t know…”

“I don’t think her grandparents care,” I tell her. “She has no car, no money, no phone, no resources, nothing.”

“Well, that would explain why she begged me not to call Addie,” Butterfly says, sitting up in her seat. “I’m taking security and we’re going down there tomorrow.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask cautiously.

“I don’t know, but don’t worry. I don’t have any intention of bringing home any stray puppies,” she says.


Operation Babymoon is a definite go for this weekend. New Year’s Day was pretty uneventful except for Val’s impromptu visit to collect Elliot where she spoke to no one else in the room—weird, but perfectly fine by me if the alternative is to be subjected to her endless insults.

Early Thursday morning, Ben and I go to the address that Christian gave me yesterday. I might as well get this out of the way now since we plan to leave for our babymoon tomorrow morning and we won’t be back until Monday afternoon. It’s not a terrible place. It’s like the Center—clean and well-kept, but it’s temporary housing, and I know that Courtney will have to go somewhere else very soon. I enter the lobby and ask for her at the front desk. The attendant tells me that she’s in the community room. That’s good, because if she had been in one of the private areas, she may not have come down to see me. After she gives me directions, Ben and I head down the hallway, pass a couple of running, laughing children, and reach the community room.

I see her sitting at a table in the same jeans and sweatshirt I’ve had to see her in at least five times. She has the end of a pen in her mouth as she toils over a newspaper. She looks positively flustered. When I see her circling something, sigh, and lean her head on her hands, I realize that she’s looking at the classifieds. I tell Ben to hang back at the door before walking over to her, surprised that she doesn’t look up and notice that a whale is walking in her direction.

“How’s the search going?” I ask.

“Not so good,” she says, looking up at me. Then she does a double-take when she realizes who she’s talking to. She sits up straight like she’s talking to the principal. I sit down at the table next to her. It’s a task, but I do it.

“What are you looking for?”

“Anything that’ll hire someone with no skills and no work experience,” she says truthfully. I look at what she’s circled already.

“Can you dance?” I ask. She shrugs.

“About as well as the next person,” she says.

“I mean exotic dancing,” I add. She frowns.

“No!” she states emphatically.

“Then you’re going to want to scratch that one… and that one… and that one, too,” I say, pointing at three of the choices she has circled. She quickly crosses out the jobs I’ve pointed out. “Unless you want to be a paid escort to some greasy old man, you want to scratch that one, too.” She crosses out another ad. “That’s a fish-slinger at the Market.” She tosses her pen down and covers her face. “Do your grandparents know that you’re here?”

“No, and don’t tell them. It won’t matter,” she laments. “They think I went back to Chuktapaw.”

“You’ve spoken to them?” I ask. She shakes her head. “So, you’re going to let them worry about you? And then what? Just show up and everything’s going to be okay again?” She chuckles sadly.

“Yeah, I’d expect you to think that of me, but why not? Everybody else would.” She turns away from me and just scratches her head like we’re talking about the weather. “No, my grandparents aren’t worried about me. Once they discovered that I was just waiting for them to die so that I could get their money, they washed their hands of me completely. They said that I was just like my mother and they wanted nothing more to do with me.”

“So, your mother is their child.” She nods.

“My grandmother’s child… You didn’t know?” she asks with a frown.

“It never came up,” I tell her. She shrugs.

“Well, apparently, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree… but I can’t turn out like my mother. I should have seen it sooner, but I didn’t. So now, here am I praying that it’s not too late for me to do something with myself.”

“It’s never too late, but why didn’t you just volunteer here? Why come to Helping Hands?” She drops her head.

“Something Christian said, if you can believe it,” she laughs sadly. “When he had me hemmed up in the ladies’ room at the Hookah Lounge… I know you still don’t believe it, but he did. He loves you a lot—a billionaire risks being arrested in the ladies’ room of a Hookah Lounge…” Another tragic laugh. “Anyway, he said that you had the power to make me a better person if I allow it because you did that for him and I wanted to see if that was true.” Her voice cracks at the end. I examine her carefully. I’ve seen a big change in her over the last week, but I still find it very hard to trust her.

“I’m a rotten person,” she continues. “I don’t know how not to be rotten. Nobody ever taught me. So, right now I just… shut up and watch. I stay to myself and I just shut up and watch. I’ve been around rotten people all my life. Even my so-called friends deserted me as soon as my grandparents disowned me. And when I look back on it, they were all just like me… rotten to the core. So, I just watch. I just watch how regular people act. I don’t say much. I just do what I’m told… and watch.”

That’s pretty much what Jessie said. The only word that she could use to describe her was “humble.” God, I love it and hate it when someone I have pretty much vowed to despise somehow sees the light and I am bound by my inner good conscious to pay it forward.

“The classifieds are the hardest way possible to find a job, Courtney,” I tell her, struggling to get into the seat next to her, “especially if you don’t have any job experience. How much longer do you have to stay at this shelter?” Her eyes form a confused frown for a brief moment, then quickly return to normal.

“I’ve only been here for about a week. I think I still have about a week left before they start to give me a hard time about being here… maybe two before they just make me leave altogether. So, it’s pretty important that I find a job. I’ll do anything.”

“Will you dance?” I ask sarcastically, and the frown is back. “Then don’t say that you’ll do anything. You’re starting from ground zero—no skills at all, nothing in customer service, no social skills in dealing with people, no life skills, nothing. Looking for a job is not where you need to start. I assume that you graduated from high school living with your grandparents.” She nods.

“Yes, I have my high school diploma,” she says.

“Good. Then the first thing you’re going to need to do is apply for some public assistance.” Her brow furrows deeply and she looks as if I just hit her in the stomach. “Correction! The first thing you’re going to have to do is swallow that damn pride that I see all over your face!”

“It’s not pride, Ana!” she snaps. “I don’t want to be anything like my mother! All I can remember is welfare and food stamps and public aid and nothing more! I don’t want to live like that! It’s not pride, I just know that I don’t have to live like that!”

“Then don’t!” I snap back. “Public assistance was never meant to be a ‘living!’ It was meant to be exactly what the name says… ‘assistance!’ Allow them to help you while you have no other means of support and you’re trying to get on your feet… or should I just call Kitten’s Cabaret and forget about it?” She sighs heavily.

“I’m sorry,” she shoots like a petulant child, thrusting her hands in her hair and resting her elbows on the table. I can tell she’s been at this for the last few days and, having no experience with being on this side of nothing and having to fend for herself, she’s quite flustered.

“It’s not going to be easy,” I tell her, “but you’ll be alright if you just make a few changes and do a few necessary things. You don’t have any life skills, Courtney, we’ve got to start there. What do you want to do with your life?”

“I have no idea,” she says, honestly, her head still down and her face somewhat buried. “I’ve never had to think about it.”

“Well, now you have to,” I press.

“Ana, can’t you tell I don’t even know where to start?” She raises hopeless eyes to me and for once in my life, I’m looking at someone with whom I can’t even empathize. Even as a child, I’ve always known that I wanted to do something… anything. I wanted to travel when I lived at home with Mommy and Daddy. More than anything in the world, I wanted to get the fuck away from Vegas when I lived with Steven and Carla. Once I was free, I was rudderless for just a moment, but then I just wanted to help people—make sure that no one felt lost and alone like I did ever again. Everything I ever did was an end to justify a means… but I always had a purpose, and she seems to have none except not to be like her mother.

“Well, you’ll need some goals, honey. Without them, there’s no way to know what you can do. You’re of legal age, so we’ll see if there’s some kind of position that we can give you at Helping Hands so that you can get some work experience, but it won’t be enough to support you. So you will still need to apply for public assistance.” She sighs.


“How do you get around?” I ask.

“The shelter gave me an ORCA card to get to and from interviews. I’ve been using it to get to Helping Hands until I could decide what I was going to do.”

“How much is left on it?”

“About ten days or so,” she says. I nod.

“Have you teamed up with a social worker here?” She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, but I told her pretty much the same thing that I told you and she just handed me the classifieds.” I frown. Hmm… I’ve met that type. I know they won’t help you if you’re not willing to help yourself, but there are some that won’t go an inch further than they have to, let alone the extra mile. Unfortunately, Courtney doesn’t quite give the first impression as someone for whom you would want to go the extra mile.

“What are your plans for the day?” I ask. She gestures to the classified ads. “Get your coat. You’re going to need a better game plan than this. I’m not going to hand you anything, Courtney, but you’ve got nothing, and I can get you going in the right direction.” She twists her lips. “What?”

“How did you know I was here?” she asks. I sit back and fold my arms.

“You threatened me,” I say matter-of-factly. “My security team is watching you.” Her head jerks then she twists her lips again.

“I don’t know whether to be grateful or offended,” she says with no malice.

“I know what you mean. Ponder it later. Let’s go.” I struggle out of my seat.


I’m leaning back in the recliner as Christian renders the most decadent foot massage I think I’ve ever felt in my life. Chuck went to the doctor today and had his cast removed. He couldn’t be happier. He’s deliberately bending and twisting it in every possible direction to get ready for therapy next week. At this moment, he joyfully has it twisted around Keri as the two of them cuddle on the love seat while Maddie and Nelson listen attentively to his tale.

“So Allen says that the lawsuit against Joe has been filed, but it was hard to tell which court has jurisdiction,” he says. “I may have to file it back home. I think that’s what I’m going to do.”

“Couldn’t that get to be expensive, son?” Nelson asks.

“I don’t care what it costs, Dad. After what he’s put me through, I need this.”

“What do you really hope to gain from it? Joey doesn’t have any money. It’s not that I’m defending him, because he was certainly very wrong—but honestly, he’s flat broke.”

“I don’t want any money from Joe,” Chuck says. “I have more money than I know what to do with, and that’s the truth. My hazard pay from the accident was nothing less that obscene! Christian and GEH took care of all of my medical needs and even my personal needs thereafter. My only expense has been utilities for the house. Believe me, I could retire right now and live a very comfortable life, but that’s not it. I didn’t have my parents—my family—for nearly 15 years. That was a horrible feeling. He was my only connection to you, to all of you, and he hated me. He made me feel like you all hated me or worse, that you were possibly dead. He’s not listening to anyone. Mom damn near had a nervous breakdown telling him how wrong he was and how many people he hurt and he still didn’t hear her. He still blamed me! Maybe if the courts tell him that he’s wrong—even if I don’t get a judgment—then he’ll hear them.”

“That’s all you want? For someone to tell him that he’s wrong?”

“No, I want him to know that he’s wrong,” Chuck says. “I want him to understand why he’s wrong. You can’t do this to people and think it’s okay and he needs to understand that.”

“Is it worth it to go through all of that, Chuckie?” his father asks. “He’s already lost everything and it hasn’t changed him for the better one bit, it seems. I know Joey needs to know that making everybody think you were dead was wrong, but I just see a judge seeing things your way.”

“Something has to be done, Nelson,” Maddie says. “I can’t put Joey through what he put us through or what he put Chuckie through, but he can’t get away with this. I wish I could just take him over my knee and beat the hell out him!”

“Momma…” Nelson chides.

“It’s true!” she spits. “What he did was selfish and childish and disrespectful and several other words that I can’t use because I’m a lady. Then he has the nerve to act all bruised about it, like he’s the one who’s been wronged all these years. All the people he’s hurt—all the lives he’s affected… His own children were without their uncle. I didn’t have my son—my son! And he blamed Chuckie for that! He blamed Chuckie because he intercepted Chuckie’s every effort to contact us and then convinced the entire family the he was dead and convinced Chuckie that we wanted nothing to do with him. That’s not the son that I raised. I don’t know what’s gotten into him, but that’s not my Joey! Chuckie’s right. Something has to be done, and if we can’t take him out to the back forty and give him the flogging that he so rightfully deserves, then this is the next best thing!”

Maddie is clearly displeased. Ever since her breakdown on Christmas day, she has been steadfastly inconsolable when it comes to the situation of her two sons. She’s not crying and weeping all the time, but she’s dug in about the harm that Joey has done to her and her family.

“In fact,” she continues, “you all might want to know that Joey will be quite surprised when he is served the notice of the lawsuit.”

Okay, she’s got everyone’s attention now.

“Momma, what are you talking about?” Nelson asks. A few of us look over at Chuck, who is giving nothing away.

“I’ve added my name to Chuckie’s lawsuit. My case may be dismissed, but I want Joey to know just how serious what he did really is. I swear, if he doesn’t come around this time…” She trails off.

“Mom,” Chuck says, sitting up a bit with Keri still in his arms. “I don’t want you to disown Joe. That’s not what this is about. If you do, I’ll be no better than he is. You will have swapped one son for another, and then how will you feel? That’s why you’re hurting now. True, this time it would be your choice and in my case, he took that choice away from you—but I’m certain that if you did that, you would regret it, so please don’t. He’s an asshole, but he is still your son, and you would hurt if you turned your back on him. I don’t want him causing you any more pain.”

“You’re hurt and angry right now, Maddie,” I interject. “Don’t make this decision while your emotions are so raw.” She huffs like a petulant child.

“I’ll think about it,” she says, conceding for the moment without fully giving in.

“That’s all I ask,” I say with a gentle smile.

“Anyway, Dad, Allen thinks he may have found a spin to put on the case so that a judge will hear it as slander. If he does, that will open the door for personal injury for me and for Mom. Again, I don’t want anything from Joe, but he needs to know that his actions have consequences. What happened to him with Sonny and the boys and his financial situation, that’s just him being an asshole. So far with this situation, he’s gotten off Scot free. He thinks that once you and Mom get back to South Dakota, everything is going to be just fine. He’ll be able to fill your head with garbage again and everything will be like it was before. Rest assured, that’s what he’s hoping.”

“Well, he’s in for a rude awakening,” Maddie says. “I love Joe, I truly do, but I swear that I’ll never be able to forgive him for this.” Nelson squeezes his wife’s hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss on her fingers before placing their joined hands in his lap.

“Da mon is evilous,” Keri says. “No one tweet ya family dat way. Ya nevah noh wen ya don hab dem no moh. Him don care who he huht. Him madda and fadda go tru dis pain all dese yeahs—and fah what? Nuh ting! Him bad mout mi Choonks, den bawl out and bruk out and get all bringle wen dibbi dibbi ting come to light. Him need backsiding like Madda sed!”

Keri’s angry again—and I don’t understand a word she said… well, maybe a word.

Maddie tries to hide her mirth as the rest of us look at one another, then at Chuck for translation.

“Easy nuh,” he says, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close to him. She sinks into him immediately and it’s the cutest thing in the world to hear him speak on her terms… one that we understand, anyway. He turns his attention to the room and translates her rant.

“She rightfully says that Joe is evil,” he begins. “That no one should treat their family this way because you never knew when you’re not going to have them anymore. He apparently doesn’t care who he hurts because he put Mom and Dad through this for no good reason, and then he comes around acting all bruised and butt-hurt because he’s lies came out and he needs his butt whipped, just like Mom said.”

Maddie can no longer hold her laughter and bursts out before covering her mouth. Keri chuckles to herself as she is no stranger to the fact that her language is very colorful when she gets mad.

“You forgot the part where he bad-mouthed her ‘Choonks,’” I tease.

“No, I didn’t forget,” Chuck says. “You’re just like an annoying little sister, you know that?”

I stick my tongue out at him to drive the point home and the room fills with much-needed laughter.


I almost think I’m more excited for this babymoon that Butterfly is. I can’t wait to get her away from all this drama and headache we’ve faced over the last two months and just relax and think of nothing else but ourselves and those beautiful babies growing inside her. I’ve got to send Ace a thank you card or a bottle of wine or something for convincing her to stop and take some time away sooner rather than later. It had the potential of being a little bumpy when I wanted to break some news to her this morning before we left the crossing.

“In the spirit of complete honesty, I want you to know that I put a tail on Valerie Marshall.” I tell her. She frowns deeply.

“Now, why on earth would you do something like that?” she inquires.

“To see if my brother just turns women into raving lunatics, or if—like Kavanaugh—she has simply transformed into an utter bitch because there’s someone else.” As if it could, her frown deepens even more.

“She wouldn’t cheat on Elliot!” she defends vehemently. “She adores Elliot! If Val is nothing else, she’s loyal to a fault!” I raise my eyebrow at her.

“Is she, now?” I ask matter-of-factly, just leaving the question open so that she can realize for herself what she just said. Realization dawns almost immediately, and she is suddenly crestfallen. That wasn’t the reaction that I was going for, but I did need her to see that she might be wrong about Marshall, although…

“What have you found?” she asks flatly, looking down at her hands in her lap. I sigh. I didn’t mean to upset her. I just wanted to keep her informed, and now…

“Nothing, yet,” I confess. “We’ve only been watching her for a short time.”

“Do you expect to find something?” She sounds hurt. I sit on the ottoman in front of her and take her hands in mine, forcing her to look up at me.

“I have no idea,” I say honestly, “but like you, I just want answers. I examine every possibility with every resource available to me. You saw that Kavanaugh was a wretched bitch by the time everything went down. If Elliot is heading for the same type of a train wreck with Valerie, I’d like for him to know that the light at the end of the tunnel is a locomotive heading in his direction so that he can get off the tracks before it mows him down.” She nods, a sad expression marring her face.

“That’s only fair,” she says in a small voice.

Luckily, the conversation didn’t go any further than that and, with Dr. Culley’s ‘okay,’ we are on our way to the Sonoma Coast for three nights and four days of relaxation for my girl and our babies. She’s sleeping comfortably in one of the reclining chairs on the jet while I go through some preliminary information on Edwise that confirms what James and Allen suspected. He’s got some shady dealings and has been using his business as a cover-up for those under-the-table operations. I shoot off an email to Allen to make sure that the internal audit begins as soon as possible and to get the information to the proper authorities once we find out the extent of his illegal activity. With any luck, maybe we can get him in jail for life once he’s tried for his white collar offenses.

I’m not surprised to discover that several of the members—also past, current, and possible future business associate—of Broadmoor Country Club have emailed me to request that they be allowed to sponsor me and Butterfly for membership. I haven’t approached her with it yet and just decide to put it on the back burner until after the babymoon. I’m not too particular about who sponsors us, as long as we’re not dealing with any closet pedophiles or possible rapists, thieves or murderers or…

In fact, …

To: Alexander Welch

Subject: Background Checks

Date: January 3, 2014, 09:31;15

From: Christian Grey

I will be forwarding you some emails over the next few minutes. Please initiate background checks on each of the original senders as well as their spouses and significant others. Go as deep as you need to if you find anything questionable and let me know as soon as you get the results.

Happy New Year,
Christian Grey, CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I look up to see Butterfly gazing sleepily at me.

“You’re working,” she accuses, groggily.

“Only while you’re sleeping,” I confess, looking at her over my laptop. “Are you still sleeping?”

“I’ll let you know in a minute,” she says, closing her eyes and slipping quickly back to sleep.

“Well, that was a quick minute,” Jason says, tapping into his phone without looking up. He’s only along for the trip just in case. The babymoon is at an inn and it’s all-inclusive except for one or two possible outings. Jason’s going to be pretty bored for the most part. I turn my attention back to my laptop and begin approving the final distribution of what’s left of Fairlane LTD.

A little over two hours after we leave Seattle, the jet lands in at the Schultz Sonoma County Airport where a black Escalade awaits to take me and my precious cargo to our resort hideaway on the Sonoma coast. After an hour-long drive along winding roads in some of the most beautiful Redwood country you’ve ever seen, we arrive at an ocean-side resort on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. Even this early in the year, you can take a deep breath and fill your lungs with relaxation.

Butterfly closes her coat around her as she exits the SUV and smiles widely as she takes in the scenery. I come behind her and put my arms around her.

“You like?” I ask softly in her ear.

“I like,” she says wistfully as she snuggles against me.

Our room is simple—comfortable double-bed with a seating area, fireplace, and deep above-the-floor bathtub with a full glass wall that offers a spectacular view of the ocean. The large balcony with hot tub boasts the same view with plenty of privacy from other rooms or hikers on the trails below.

The inviting bathtub and hot tub are almost a tease for my poor wife who adores hot baths, but can’t take one until after the babies are born. Most of our time will spent out of this room, however, as the babymoon is meant for Mom to be pampered and learn different techniques and information to help her cope with being a new mother. There are activities for Dad, too, as well as Mom and Dad, but I’m more focused on making sure that Butterfly gets to decompress as much as possible before we return to Seattle and real life.

We unpack before examining the babymoon “menu” and decide that we would both like massages and pedicures before a late lunch and the evening meet-and-greet of the other parents that are here for the weekend. Butterfly, of course, enjoys her massages in her condition and I withstand as much as I can before she slips into ultimate relaxation. However, I have to stop the masseuse as I can’t stand for anyone to touch me that way except for a few chosen people. I’ve come a long way from where I used to be, but not far enough to withstand a massage on my bare skin from anyone else but Butterfly.

I apologize to the poor crestfallen little thing as my wife has now slipped contentedly into slumber again and I am able to explain to the masseuse that it’s not her fault. Because of the nature of the retreat, I’m not allowed to give her a tip, but I assure her that it’s a personal phobia that keeps me from being touched on my back and nothing that she has done wrong. She seems content in the explanation and leaves me to gaze upon my beautiful Butterfly in her contented bliss. I love seeing her like this. She’s lying on her side, her hand draped over our children and her face the picture of ultimate peace. I lay on my side just staring at her. I want to reach over and touch her flawless skin so that I can feel the softness under my fingertips, but I’m so sure that I will wake her and I don’t want to do that, so I just stare. I hadn’t noticed we had been left in the room alone until I hear a voice calling my name.

“Mr. Grey? Excuse me, Mr. Grey?”

I raise my eyes to see two young ladies standing there with trays full of products.

“We can do your pedicures here, sir, or we can wait and do them in the reclining chairs in the salon,” one of the ladies says. I look at Butterfly and back at the ladies.

“Can we wait just a little longer?” I ask. “I really don’t want to disturb her just yet.” She smiles and nods.

“No problem, Mr. Grey. We’ll check on you in fifteen?” I nod and she turns to leave. Then I hear something that I probably wasn’t supposed to hear. “Pick up your tongue and close your mouth, Liz. That one’s a goner.” I chuckle to myself as they leave.

“Sure is, Liz,” I say to myself once they’ve left.


Butterfly is happily refreshed and ready to see what the weekend has in store for us when she presents herself ready for the Meet and Greet with the other expectant parents. I can barely believe how luscious she looks in this emerald green maternity maxi-dress—sleeveless, with a knot right under her bosom, showcasing her gorgeous breasts along with the plunging neckline. Thank God she’s on my arm tonight!

“You look deliciously ravishing, Mrs. Grey,” I whisper in her ear.

“Really?” she says, looking down at her dress. “I was just going for comfort.”

“Well, I love your concept of comfort” I reinforce, kissing her gently where her shoulder and neck meet. She shivers slightly. “I love that your hair is up,” I kiss her again. “I’ll be able to do this whenever I want.”

“Christian, behave,” she keens. I kiss her once more.

“I’ll try,” I say. “That’s all I can promise.” I slide my arm around her waist. “Let’s go, baby.”

The main room of the small resort looks more like a hunting lodge, with large milk-chocolate-brown leather chairs around round oak tables, a large bar with similar wooden bar chairs, vaulted ceilings with log-cabin wooden beams, a second floor balcony, dining area overlooking the main room—also made of wood—and a floor-to-ceiling burnt cobblestone fireplace near the center of the room. Butterfly and I take to one of the large armchairs near the front of the fireplace and wait for the other couples and the facilitators. It appears that we’re a bit early, but that only gives me time to partake in my wife’s company.

“How are you feeling, baby?” I ask, once I have her snuggled comfortably in my lap.

“I feel the decompression beginning already,” she says, contentedly, resting her head on my shoulder as I caress her baby bump.

“Have they been behaving?” I ask, kissing her forehead.

“So far, so good,” she replies. “Am I too heavy?”

“You’re as light as a feather,” I coo.

“You’re a liar, I weigh a ton,” she says with mirth.

“You do not weigh a ton,” I chastise. “You’re beautifully swollen with my babies and to me, you’re as light as a feather.” I outline her face with my fingertip before placing it under her chin and lifting her face to plant a tender kiss on her lips.

“You always make me feel like a schoolgirl,” she giggles sweetly.

“Damn! You must work out like a linebacker!” I look past Butterfly to see that some gruff asshole has actually directed that statement to me… and Butterfly’s schoolgirl glow has faded as quickly as it grew. Motherfucking son of a…

“What?” I snap, unable to hide my ire.

“I’m just saying, my legs would have cracked under that pressure a long time ago,” he says with a loud guffaw. I glare at him, ready to rip his fucking tongue out.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the tact of an elephant?” I hiss at the intruder who has so rudely interrupted our tender moment. He doesn’t even have the conscience to be taken aback, so I try a different tactic.

“No offense, ma’am,” I direct to his female companion before I turn my attention back to this fucker. “I don’t know or care how you refer to the woman who’s carrying your child, but if you ever say anything like that about my wife again, you will have to deal directly with me!” He raises an eyebrow at me.

“A bit henpecked there, aren’t ya, fella?” he says, still refusing to take me seriously. I sit up to move Butterfly off my lap.

“Christian,” she cautions and I meet her gaze.

“Baby,” I respond. Let me handle this asshole. She sighs infinitesimally and rises gracefully from my lap. I’m just slightly over eye-to-eye with the fucker when I stand just a foot away from him with my wife behind me.

“I’m assuming you misunderstood what I said, so I’d be more than happy to have a private conversation with you outside,” I nearly growl at him. His resolve is shaken only slightly, but he’s determined to be a Class-A asshole.

“Damn… that pussy must be dipped in gold,” he says, his voice low, and now I’m in his face.

“After you,” I hiss, my fists clenched. He puts his hands up defensively.

“Take it easy, man,” he back-peddles. “I was just kidding. No harm, no foul. You’re supposed to be here to relax—lighten up, for Christ’s sake.” He quickly takes refuge next to the woman whom I assume is his wife, and who appears thoroughly embarrassed. Butterfly slides her hand into mine and I immediately calm. “I didn’t mean nothing by it, lady,” he says to Butterfly and I’m instantly defensive again. “It’s just that pregnant women get big. I’m sure you were a real bombshell before the baby…”

“She’s still a bombshell!” I interrupt and his glare snaps to mine. He finally waves me off.

“Oh, fuck it,” he says, and walks over to the bar. His companion’s eyes follow him dismally before she turns her attention back to us, protectively holding her baby bump.

“I’m Kiley Daniels,” she says with a sighing tone. “The gorilla who just went to the bar is my husband, Arthur. Please forgive his crassness. His tongue just takes off before his brain gets started.”

“My condolences,” I say, before I have a chance to catch myself.

“Christian!” Butterfly scolds.

“I’m sorry, Butterfly,” I apologize insincerely. “My tongue took off before my brain got started.” She rolls her eyes.

“It’s understandable,” Kiley says. “He brings out the worst in people before he brings out the best in them.” Again, my condolences.

“I’m Ana Grey and this is my husband, Christian,” Butterfly introduces us.

“I meant no offense, Mrs. Daniels,” I say, recalling what I said to her husband earlier about how he refers to the mother of his child. She waves me off.

“Think nothing of it,” she says with no malice. “And please, it’s Kiley. After being married to Arthur for three years, you develop a thick skin. How long have you two been married?”

“Newlyweds,” Butterfly says proudly, showing Kiley her ring. Wow, we’ve been through so much together—the kidnapping, the murderous blonde pedophile, the hacker, the accident—it seems like a lifetime has passed already when it’s not even been two years since we’ve met… in fact, not even six months since we were married.

“My God, that’s beautiful! You must have saved every dime you had to pay for that thing!” Kiley exclaims.

“Yeah, it cost me a pretty penny or three, but mine is just as exquisite.” I show her my beautiful art-deco ring given to me by my Butterfly.

“Wow,” Kiley says wistfully, “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Yes, my Butterfly is very good to me,” I say with a smile. She throws a knowing look at me.

Butterfly,” Kiley repeats wistfully. “That’s really sweet… Arthur used to call me Cupcake once upon a time.” Geez, what did the guy do—impregnate her and suddenly didn’t want her anymore?

More couples begin to fill the main room and we are granted a reprieve from Kiley’s melancholy. I take my seat again and place my wife conspicuously back up on my lap, daring anyone else to make a comment about her size. Hell, there are women in this room twice the size as my Butterfly. What—are they having triplets?

I notice that some of the couples look at us strangely as they enter the room, but I keep my attention focused on Butterfly, asking if she’s comfortable and placing gentle kisses on her temple while she’s cradled in my arms.

“Newlyweds,” I hear Daniels say to one of the other fathers. “That lovey-dovey shit’ll fade soon enough.”

At first, I want to get up and slug him one, but then I realize… that fucker must really be miserable.

He wasn’t in the room when we told Kiley that we were newlyweds, so she must have passed the information on to him when he came back. How she lives with this character, I’ll never know. He gives a whole new meaning to the word “caveman.”

“Hello everyone, and welcome.” My attention is drawn to the two women standing at the fireplace—facilitators, no doubt. “I’m Cindy from Mellow Mommy and this is Hannah from MamaLove. Everyone here has booked a babymoon with one of the services and you either have the weekend, 5-day, or 7-day package. As the first three days and nights of both packages are the same, we thought why not combine the packages for the weekend and just do one orientation? You’ll also get to mingle with more couples and maybe make a few new friends.”

She seems so damn friendly, almost too friendly, and I want to tell her that if the Daniels’ were part of the other group, she could have kept this whole “join-together” idea to herself and let me and my wife enjoy our weekend without his cynicism.

“Hopefully, you’ve all had an opportunity to indulge in the decompressing massage,” Hannah continues. “In about 20 minutes, dinner will be served and our special guest speaker is a lactation expert and will be on hand to answer your questions.”

“There goes my appetite,” Daniels declares crassly, gaining questioning looks from several of the fathers and dirty looks from even more of the expectant mothers—including Butterfly. “What?” he says, feigning ignorance.

“He’s a real jackass,” Butterfly whispers to me.

“I can think of a few other choice names for him,” I respond, wrapping my arm tighter around her.

“Following dinner,” Hannah continues after a conspicuous eye roll at Daniels, “there will be a class for the mommies on the benefits of belly binding. You daddies are welcome to attend if you are interested.”

“That’s something I’m definitely interested in,” Butterfly says softly. “It helps you to get your pre-baby belly back once the babies are born.”

“If you’re interested, then I’m there, baby,” I tell her, earning me her beautiful smile.

“If you’re still up for spending some time with us after the binding class, we will have belly mapping, belly casting, and birth movies at 9pm.”

“Oh God, I think I’m going to puke,” Daniels exclaims again.

“Man, why are you here?” one exasperated father finally asks. “This weekend is a babymoon! ‘Mellow Mommy?’ ‘MamaLove?’ Do you see a bit of a trend here? Did you see that in the brochure or on the website when you booked the trip? We’re here to learn about the birth of our children and to help our wives and girlfriends relax before the babies get here. If that’s not why you’re here, then why did you come?”

This Napoleonic conflictionist motherfucker hell bent on causing problems this weekend turns around and tears into this father much like he tried to lay it on with me. Before we know it, three men are in his face telling him to shut the hell up with his wisecracks or get the hell out of the huddle while the rest of us try to enjoy the packages that we paid for. Butterfly stays firmly planted in my lap and I know that she doesn’t want me to get involved in the exchange as I was the first target of his ire this evening.

“I paid good money for my wife to enjoy this weekend and you are not going to ruin it,” one father says.

“You need to get it together, man, because if you don’t want to be here, you can always leave, but don’t ruin it for the rest of us,” another says.

“What woman in her right mind would have your child?” a third declares. By now, I’ve noticed that poor Kiley had already left the room and has not been privy to any of this exchange. I can’t help but wonder if she left at the puking comment or if the three-man tag-team chastisement chased her away. Realizing that his sole purpose for being at this soiree has deserted him, Daniels begins to leave.

“Hey Arthur,” I call after him. I don’t look back to make eye-contact, but I hear him pause. “Tell Kiley Mr. Grey says she’s a saint.” After a few more moments of silence, I hear Daniels’ footsteps proceed on to parts unknown.

“That poor woman,” Butterfly says quietly. “What she must endure behind closed doors.” I hold her tighter.

“So,” Cindy says, “shall we proceed to dinner?” She gestures toward the dining room. After Butterfly rises gingerly from my lap, I stand and take her hand. As we proceed to the dining room, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see an African American gentleman standing there, the first to tear into Daniels.

“Can I talk to you for just a second?” he asks. I turn to Butterfly and kiss her hand.

“I’ll be right there, baby,” I tell her. She smiles and proceeds to the dining room. I turn my attention back to the gentleman. “What can I do for you?”

“My name’s CJ,” he says, proffering his hand to me. I accept the shake.

“Christian,” I say.

“I mean no disrespect, but I just want to know… how do you do that?” he asks. My brow furrows.

“Do what?” I ask.

“Sit that long with her on your lap.” Oh fuck, not another one. He puts his hands up in defense. “Hold on, let me explain what I mean,” he adds. Stand down, Grey. “I don’t know if you saw my wife, Sheila, but she’s the most beautiful flower God ever created. She’s due to deliver in February and honestly, she’s never been this big in her whole life. She’s so self-conscious about it and I try to tell her that it doesn’t matter—she’s still so beautiful, but she can’t get past the size. If I’m honest, she is very heavy—very heavy—but hell, she’s carrying another person inside of her! Your wife is very beautiful—not as beautiful as my Sheila, at least to me, but beautiful. And I can tell that you two honestly love each other very much. She seems okay with her size and body changes and the fact that she’s… how many months?”

“Eight,” I tell him, “with twins.”

“Shit, man, you’re my hero,” he says almost wistfully, and I don’t know if it’s a compliment or a crack at Butterfly’s weight because she still sits on my lap. “All I can say is that it’s a trial getting Sheila out of a chair sometimes, let alone her possibly sitting on my lap. Your wife is eight months pregnant with twins and she looks so beautiful and so confident, and I know that being able to sit on your lap this late in the pregnancy has a little to do with it if not a lot. And I just want to know… how? I need Sheila to know how beautiful she is, no matter what she weighs.”

After his explanation, I finally see where he’s getting. It’s not about Butterfly’s weight at all—it’s about wanting his wife to know that she’s a goddess even with her changing body.

“Well, CJ,” I begin, “Butterfly has always been very light before she was pregnant, so carrying the twins only put her maybe slightly above the weight of an average woman. She’s extremely physically fit—yoga and Krav Maga before we even met and she can rip a body bag out of the ceiling. Only 5’3”, but don’t let the small package fool you. Then I work out several days a week, so holding her weight is pretty much nothing for me.” His shoulders fall.

“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, CJ. Do you tell her that you love her every day?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, “several times a day.”

“And you tell her and show her how beautiful she is? You touch her often and kiss her often? Hold her every chance you get and rush to her arms when you see her after a long day?”

“Well, I try to get to her after a long day, but my daughter often gets me at the door as soon as I get home,” he says sadly. “She’s actually Sheila’s daughter from a prior relationship, but as far as we’re concerned, I’m her dad.” He’s a real stand-up guy and I have no doubt that he’s showing his wife all the love that he can.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, CJ. It sounds like you’re doing a great job. As long as you make her feel like she’s the only woman in the room, she won’t focus on the weight as much. Unfortunately, it does come with the territory. How involved are you in the baby’s development and birth?” He gestures around us.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he says. “I’m watching every in vitro milestone. I’m very anal about what she eats and what she does. I’m at every doctor’s appointment…” He sounds like me.

“I really would say that you’ve got this thing taken care of and you’re worried for no reason. Relax. Enjoy your baby’s development with your wife. Continue to show her that you love her and that precious little girl and that’s all you can really do. Be a good husband and father. From what you’re telling me, you’ve got this thing all wrapped up.” He sighs heavily.

“I sure hope so,” he says. “The woman is everything to me…”


A woman’s voice interrupts our conversation and I look up to see an African American woman standing in the entrance to the dining room with my wife.

“Jesus, Calvin, you interrogate every father you meet,” she says, walking over to him and kissing him on the cheek. “I hope he wasn’t too annoying, Mr. Grey.”

“Not at all, ma’am, just new father stuff as you would expect,” I respond to CJ’s relief.

“I knew it,” she says, twisting her lips at her husband. “Come, my beloved. Your wife needs nourishment.”

“Yes, my enchantress,” he responds, and his wife giggles playfully. Yeah, he’s got it all wrapped up. Butterfly slides her hand into mine and gives me a sweet smile as the four of us proceed to the dining room.

A/N: The resort where they stayed is not an actual resort. I kept finding resorts with perfect locations, but less-than-substandard accommodations. Then I would find resorts with excellent accommodations, but the location sucked. So I created my own space for their getaway out of accommodations and locales that I wanted. Don’t try to find it because if you do, you may locate a similar location and a room from one hotel and then another room from a hotel on the other side of the country… or the world!

Pictures of places, cars, fashion, etc., can be found at

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

Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X

Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 49—Year Of The Greys

So I had a four-day weekend and I’ve been a writing fool the whole time! My Muse went batshit! Several chapters and story pieces and the heifer went left on me, so expect a twist in the near future! In the meantime, here’s the chapter!

I’ll send the email out tomorrow… I’m too tired tonight and I didn’t want you guys to have to wait any longer.

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 49—Year Of The Greys


I couldn’t leave her after finding her at the bar crying her eyes out before the party even started. I’ll admit that it smarted a bit that she ribbed me about studying the materials about childbirth and pregnancy. I take her health and the healthy birth of our children very seriously, but I certainly wasn’t that upset about it—a little ego bruised at best, but nothing so bad as to reduce my wife to this.

But after some gentle chiding, I discover that it really isn’t my reaction that brought her to this, at least not totally. It’s the absence of one shrew named Valerie Marshall.

At first, I’m pissed. Another party destroyed—though indirectly—because of this harpy. Then, I re-evaluate the situation and realize that Butterfly has every right to feel the way that she does. She and Valerie spent several years crying on each other’s shoulder and sharing each other’s secrets. Based on the timeline, Valerie was the first real friend that she made after all the terrible things that happened in Green Valley. Now, when she’s her most vulnerable and in need of her friends, not only is one of her closest friends not here, but she has also drawn battle lines and is standing on the other side of them. I just don’t know what to do.

I hate Marshall for what Butterfly is going through, but like Butterfly, I can’t for the life of me pinpoint why the sudden and drastic change in her demeanor. Could she be jealous? That can’t be it. Elliot loves the ground she walks on and he’s not shy of a dime or three. I know that he would allow her to want for nothing, if that were the case. I know it couldn’t be about the wedding or us getting married, because she was a part of every event and nearly every decision, although there were a few head bumps with the planning. Could that be it? Could all of this bad behavior and destroying a friendship that lasted the better part of a decade be all chalked up to petty jealousy? If that’s the case, then that’s really sad. Even I have to give Marshall more credit than that!

Although I truly can’t see what else it could be. Butterfly hasn’t changed. She’s the same person she’s always been. What could possibly be Marshall’s major malfunction?

Elliot is sticking by her like glue, so she can’t be all bad. Then again, he stuck by Kavanaugh, too, all the way until he found out there was someone else.

Could there be someone else?

I don’t dare approach Elliot with that possibility, but I think I’m going to put a tail on Kavanaugh… er, I mean Marshall, just in case. If I don’t find anything, I won’t say anything. No one will be the wiser. Maybe I should tell Butterfly, though. Yeah, I’ll tell her, just not today.

I’m so preoccupied with my thoughts that I don’t notice that people have begun to arrive. James was already here with Allen, but Maxine and Phillip arrive—with little Mindy, of course—and Marilyn has also arrived with Gary just behind her. I don’t know yet if my brother or sister will make it. Mia said that she would try, but we all know that Elliot most likely won’t be in attendance. The arrival of the guests signals Gail and Ms. Solomon, along with the few staff members that stayed on to help with the cooking and serving, to start bringing the food down to the entertainment room. Before the party gets into full swing, I remember that there’s a bit of information that I haven’t yet shared with Butterfly.

“Baby,” I say, leading her towards the rear access stairwell. “I forgot to update you on something today. It sort of slipped my mind.”

“What is it?” she asks, expecting.

“I talked to Welch today. It appears that Mr. Russo’s representative is satisfied that we’re on the same page.” Her brow furrows.

“How do you know?” she asks. I just told her that Welch told me…

“He had a meeting with the guy. He was bugged.”

“That’s risky,” she interjects.

“Yeah, but as it stands, they know that Myrick and I are definitely not friends. In fact, they knew before he made the visit.”

“Then why did he come?”

“Tying up loose ends; following every lead. They really want this guy.”

“So just like that, we’re safe,” she says incredulously. “How can you be so sure? How can you trust him?”

“We can’t, so stay locked and loaded, but based on the conversation that I saw today, it’s safe to say that both sides are content in the fact that we all want this bastard dead. The problem is that revenge has no face, so if this fucker comes anywhere near us, shoot first and ask questions later—I’m certain that’s what Russo’s people plan to do. We’ve got enough on him and his son to justify self-defense should he come anywhere within a thousand feet of us and I’m not kidding, Ana. Shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Yeah, but you can pick this guy out of a crowd. I wouldn’t know him if he walked right up to me and said, ‘Hello.’” That’s exactly what his son did in Butterfly’s office. He had been on her waiting list and strolled right in uninhibited as soon as he got the chance. I get a sudden chill at the thought of that monster anywhere near my beloved wife. I suddenly want him on a slab in the worst way.

“I’m having the latest known pictures of him circulated to the security team. I’ll make sure that you get them, too. I’m trying to put your mind at ease a bit, but it appears that I’ve only made things worse.”

“I live in the real world, Christian,” she says folding her arms. “There’s a mobster looking for someone closely related to you—though not by choice—and that has led one of his henchmen, for lack of a better word, right to our doorstep from the better of nearly 3000 miles away. He gave you a fake name so that you couldn’t find him and walked right into your office. On a worse day, I’d be identifying your remains right now.”

Goddammit, woman, do you have to be so damn graphic? And accurate?

“On top of that,” she continues, “he made a veiled threat towards me and the twins and it was enough for you to load up your Glock and encourage me to stay strapped—something that you have never done, even after you learned how to shoot.”

“I have carried my Glock before,” I retort, or has she forgotten the day she nearly fucked the skin off my dick when I came home in the shoulder holster? Her momentary blank expression tells me that she did, in fact, forget that I was carrying during Operation Sniff-Out-Robin-Myrick.

“Okay, but you’ve never encouraged me to carry mine, ever. Of that I’m certain.”

She’s got me there.

“I always want you to be safe, and you can never be too careful,” I tell her. “I don’t know their complete M-O, but I can tell you this. They don’t want us; they want him. Like his screwed-up son, he already had them convinced that I was the reason for his lifetime woes. They knew about me long before this. If they wanted me dead, I would have been gone way before now. What prompted the visit from Russo’s number one is that I visited Ionia to see if that fucker was still safe in a cell and they’re watching the prison, too. Nothing more, nothing less. Welch has convinced them that I’m not in the same league as they are and that the only thing I want from Myrick is his demise. I saw the whole thing on video. They won’t bother us again. However,” I put my hands on her arms, “I live in the real world, too, and I don’t doubt that someone is keeping an eye on us. If Myrick comes calling, I have no doubt that Russo’s people have the same orders that we do…”

“Shoot first and ask questions later,” she says, her voice heavy. “Get me that picture. I’m fucking tired of people fucking with my goddamn peace. All I want to do is be happy and raise my goddamn babies, for Christ’s sake!” And now she’s pissed. All the fear and melancholy have left her voice and she’s ready for action now—and not in a good way.

“Stay focused, Butterfly,” I chide gently. “I need you to be careful.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Daddy trained me well. If that asshole comes anywhere near me, he better hope Chuck or Ben gets the first shot. If they don’t, I’m sending him to hell with Harris.”

Now, why did that just turn me on?

“Don’t look at me like that, Grey. We’ve got company.” And she walks pass me back into the entertainment room. So much for sulking about Marshall.


The announcement about Russo and his consiglieri had the exact opposite effect on Butterfly than I expected. Granted, I didn’t expect for her to be moping around and melancholy, but I did, maybe expect a tad bit of introspection. No, she’s walking around, greeting everyone and having a great time like nothing at all is wrong in the world. I can’t complain. Not an hour ago, she was reduced to tears before her party even started. Now, she’s socializing, being the perfect hostess—not at all miffed that she can’t have a drink, though many people brought sparkling grape juice and non-alcoholic champagne so that she would be able to toast the new year with a glass of bubbly. Maxine has also committed to a non-alcoholic evening. I don’t know if she’s breastfeeding Minerva or no, but she sticks to the sparkling grape juice with Butterfly.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk business, but I have an update on Edwise Software and Programming.” Al gets my attention with James close behind him. I set my wine on the counter and turn my attention to them. Edwise is David’s—now Butterfly’s—computer hardware and software company. She really doesn’t want anything to do with it and has asked me to oversee the merging of the company with GEH’s electronics sector.

“Is something wrong?” I ask them. I’ll sell that company in a blink before I allow anything with that man’s name on it to cause any more disruption in our lives.

“No, nothing’s wrong that we know of,” James tells me. “It’s actually a pretty lucrative company. However, I would suggest that you allow it to operate independently for another year before you absorb it into GEH.” I frown.

“Why would I do that?” I ask. “The tax implications alone indicate that merging is a better option.”

“Remember that little fiasco with the miscellaneous subsidiaries?” Allen points out. Now he has my attention. “It’s very likely that some of Mr. David’s income streams and expense spendings are a bit on the shady side. You want to leave this as an independent operation before you immediately absorb the company… and its problems.”

“What about Butterfly?” I ask. Technically, it’s her company. We’re only absorbing it because she’s part owner of GEH. “Where does this leave her if the company is unethical in any way?”

“We’ll protect her by doing the internal audit like we did on the subsidiaries,” Allen says. “There was no audit for the lawsuit, just a valuation. By performing the audit, she’s practicing due diligence. She’ll have to cover the expense of the audit, though.” I look at Allen like he’s grown two heads.

“Have we met?” I ask him.

“He’s telling you this because although the company is quite self-sustaining right now, she was hoping to liquidate whatever could be liquidated and donate it to Helping Hands. That may not be feasible now with this upcoming expense,” James points out.

“I don’t see how this is a problem,” I tell them. “Liquidate what needs to be liquidated, like Ana asked you to. Have a cashier’s check cut to Helping Hands as soon as possible. I know she was hoping this could have been done before the new year—tax implications, once again. Now, it looks like that’s not possible seeing that this is New Year’s Eve and we’re having this discussion. Nonetheless, do as she asked. Liquidate only what belongs to Edward David and what is liquid from the company where funds are not allocated to another expense or won’t leave the company with negative owner’s equity. Donate that as soon as you can, like yesterday, please. As far as the cost of the audit, half of my money belongs to her. Begin the internal audit on the 2nd of the month if it hasn’t begun already. If the income from the company is not enough to sustain the cost of the internal audit, she will infuse personal funds back into the company, enough to cover the audit and operating expenses until the audit is complete. It’s perfectly legal as long as we can account for all of the money changing hands. What am I missing here?”

“You’re missing that we don’t want to cross the books…” Allen begins.

“You’re not crossing the books,” I interject. “You do the liquidation and donation first. It’s a charitable contribution. It’s a tax write-off—one that we’ll unfortunately have to recognize next year, now. Once that’s done, you start the internal audit. If we must infuse personal funds back into the business, it’s no different than borrowing money from the bank for an unknown expense, except without the interest and repayment. It’s increased owner equity as long as we put it on the books as such.

“We will disclose the findings of the internal audit to the proper authorities to be handled correctly. That’s it. What am I missing?” Allen and James look at each other and back at me.

“Well, nothing as far as I can see,” Allen says. “As long as we can definitely keep the books separate and show that Ana is taking not funds from the company during the audit, I can’t see any problem with your description. We should run it by accounting to make sure it will work exactly as you say.” I twist my lips at him.

“I didn’t become a multi-billionaire by not knowing what I’m talking about,” I tell him. “In fact, that’s what should have happened with the miscellaneous subsidiaries, but I got cocky. There’s no telling how many fuckers got one over on me without me knowing what was going on.” I shake my head.

“I should tell you that Edwise operates on a fiscal year that ends in February, so if you still want to take advantage of that charitable contribution, you can as long as you allow the company to finish this last fiscal year as usual. Then you can convert to a calendar year in 2014, since it’s the first year that Jewel will be recognizing income anyway.”

“Well, that’s good news. We need to find out as soon as possible what kind of problems we could be facing with this company. What does the internal structure look like?”

“Oh, no you don’t!” I hear her powerful little voice behind me. “There will be no discussion of business tonight. This is a party and I want to hear nothing of mergers and acquisitions.”

“We weren’t talking mergers and acquisitions,” I defend.

“Oh?” she retorts, folding her arms over the babies. “I could have sworn I heard you ask about internal structure. That sounds like business to me.”

“It was business,” Allen interjects, “but it wasn’t mergers and acquisitions. We were talking about Edwise.” She frowns.

“Should that mean something to me?” she questions.

“Um… yes, that’s your company!” Allen says, his voice a bit scolding.

My company… good. As the owner, I hereby declare that whatever you’re talking about can wait until tomorrow.” She stares at each of us awaiting our surrender.

“Yes, Mistress,” I say in a low voice, but apparently not low enough. She turns her glare to me.

“Seriously?” she says, her blue eyes glassy and sharp. My first instinct is to shrug playfully, then I see that Mistress is not so playful. I frown.

“Oh, come on,” I begin, pronouncing every syllable. “You can’t be uptight about that, as much as you say ‘Yes, Sir.’” And now, she’s clearly uptight and I have no idea why. Her lips form a thin line before she plasters the phoniest smile on her face that I have ever seen on her in the nearly two years that I’ve known her.

“Of course not, Christian,” she chirps. “Carry on.” And away she goes, back in the direction that she came. What the fuck was that? Al sighs heavily. I turn to him and wait for an explanation. When he gives me none, I just stare at him.

“What?” he says finally.

“The first time she and I had a fight, you identified a pregnant pause over the phone. That’s because you know people enough to read the signs. I know you well enough to know there’s more to that sigh than just heavy breathing. Spill it, Forsythe, what the fuck was that?” He sighs again.

“You have just encountered someone that you may only encounter every other year—Passive-Aggressive Ana. I don’t know why she’s so hormonal about the Mistress thing since she’s in familiar company, but be prepared to be sweetly ignored for the rest of the night.” Oh fuck, not this again! I spent most of last New Year’s Eve with my face buried in a glass of alcohol while that asshole Brian pissed all over my girl and she didn’t even want to kiss me! The fuck if we’re having a repeat of that shit…

Wait a minute… How the hell could he know what Mistress means? Everybody calls me ‘sir,’ so he couldn’t have deduced it from that, unless…

I look over at him and he gives me a knowing gaze. I look at James, whose face is more impassive, but I can see that he knows, too.

“She told you?” I ask, horrified. “About us?”

“She didn’t have a choice, Chris,” Allen replies. “That party you guys had—right after you met ‘Marine’s Daughter Ana,’ I saw you. I saw what you were doing, I saw how you were acting, and I saw how you handled her, so I asked her what was up. I thought you were abusing her and I wanted to know. She can’t lie to me… she never could.”

I turn a horrified gaze from Allen to James. Fuck, they know?

“She gave us a few pointers,” James adds, and I’m just getting the thrust of what Al meant when he said “familiar company.” I swallow hard and run my hands through my hair.

“Don’t feel subconscious about it, Chris,” Al says. “We can certainly understand the attraction to the lifestyle.” James slides his hand into Al’s and he blushes beet red. No mistaking who’s the top and who’s the bottom here. “I’m sorry, Chris, I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable…”

“That doesn’t make me uncomfortable,” I say about their canoodling. I’ve seen a lot in the scene. This is certainly not the weirdest.

“Good,” James adds, “because I plan on kissing my man at midnight, and I don’t promise to be PC.” Al’s blush is a even more obvious this time. Yeah, yeah, that’s sweet and all, but back to this passive-aggressive shit.

“So what do I do?” I ask Al. “I’m not accustomed to women being passive-aggressive with me, so I’m a bit out of my element here.”

“Wait until she’s over it,” Al says with a shrug. “She’ll come out of it and stop acting all pissy when she’s ready.”

“Is that so?” I saw, stealing a glance at my wife. Wait until she’s over it… like last year? When she shunned me all night and I found her weeping in the great room? The fuck I will wait until she’s over it! This pouting, pissy shit is not going to go on all fucking night. I’m giving her thirty minutes to get her bratty ass attitude together and then I plan on taking matters into my own hands.

“Chris,” Al says, cautiously. I turn my gaze back to him. “Should I be worried?”

“No, not at all. We’re gonna be just fine,” I tell him before going back into the entertainment room to join the others.

Thirty minutes.

For thirty minutes, I watch her mingle and be the usual social butterfly that she always is… to everyone but me. She shuns me like the plague. Anytime I look at her, she rolls her eyes at me and rolls her head and acts like a belligerent, petulant little child! I have to start counting at minute twenty to keep my temper in check. By minute twenty-eight, I’ve had enough. I march right over to where she’s holding a delightful conversation with Marilyn, Gary, and Phil and clamp my hand onto her wrist.

“Excuse us,” I tell them and gently pull her arm to follow me.

“Christian, don’t be rude!” she retorts. “We’re in the middle of a conversation!”

“Which is why I said ‘excuse us,’” I say, trying not to talk between my teeth and glaring at my wife, my fragile temper hanging on by the finest of threads. In three seconds, I feel her resistance fall and she follows me as I try not to drag her back to the area near the rear stairwell. She’s almost panting, trying to keep up with me and once we are well tucked away in a corner, I pin her tight against the wall. My resolve is slipping fast and several conversations are going on in my head. The loudest one causes me to pin her arms above her head before she has a chance to fight, hold her face and plant a deep, bruising, possessive kiss on her mouth.

You are mine, goddammit!

After a short bit of resistance, her body melts and she submits to my kiss. I explore her mouth shamelessly, tasting her hunger, her uncertainty, and her fear. That last one made me stop. I owe her an explanation.

“We are not. Going to have a repeat. Of last New Year’s Eve!” I say, holding her chin in my hand. “Whatever bug you’ve got up your butt because I called you ‘Mistress,’ get rid of it. I won’t have you shunning me all night like you did last year. Are we clear?” I feel defensive… and dominant at the same time. She made me feel like shit last year because that conniving bitch Elena cornered me in the goddamn bathroom. I didn’t do anything this time and she’s going to get that shit together or I’ll make all these people go home and fuck her into next year—literally!

Shocked blue eyes stare back at me as I have her hands pinned over her head and I know immediately that the tables have turned… she won’t move unless I tell her to. I move my hand from her chin and it joins the other, pinning her wrists above her head. With my tongue, I outline those delicious, pouty lips before licking the top one and biting the bottom one. She gasps and her breathing changes. I feel her hot breath on my lips—short puffs, attempting to control herself.

I don’t want you to control yourself. I control this moment!

I feel the Neanderthal rising in me and I fight to keep him on a leash. I’m feeling feral and angry, but not. She drives me crazy!

I slowly slide my hands down her arms, never breaking eye-contact and like a good little submissive, she doesn’t move them from over her head. When I reach her breasts, I run my thumbs across her nipples and they pebble instantly through the thin material of her shirt. She’s panting now and I gently kiss his lips once more. I don’t relent with the tender massage and after a minute or so, her breath is heavy and uneven.

Yes! You belong to me! Don’t forget it!

I move one hand down to her plump, round ass and massage, enjoying the feeling of the meat in my hands. God, I love her ass. I want to fuck her right here!

But, I won’t.

I bring my other hand down to her ass and lift her off the ground so that she’s at eye-level with me. Her breath catches in her throat, but she still doesn’t move her arms.

Good girl.

“Wrap your legs around me,” I whisper. She wraps her legs around my waist and even this pregnant, I feel the warmth of her core against my swiftly rising erection.

I won’t fuck her here.
I won’t fuck her here.
I won’t fuck her here.

Holding her pelvis against me and still gripping her ass, I grind into her and she ignites immediately. She was already on the rise when I was playing with her nipples, and now her eye color changes slightly. I bruise her lips with a deep kiss as I grind into her through our clothes. She moans into my mouth, spurning me on. Fuck she feels good!

When I pull back from her, she’s wanton, hungry, rising into ecstasy, and I have to fight to control the animal inside.

“Put your arms around me!” I growl, and her arms wrap around my neck. I feel her body starting to tremble and her legs tighten around my waist.

Yes, Baby!

“You. Belong. To me!” I say with each grind. She whimpers as the last grind is circular and deep, to pull out the orgasm I know is hiding there. She closes her eyes and her head falls back on the wall.

“Yes… yes, Sir,” she breathes.

“Open your eyes!” I command, and her eyes shoot to mine. I knew it… she’s right there… right there.

“Kiss me,” I breathe against her lips, and her mouth meets mine—gently at first, then tasting my mouth and tongue. When her head starts to roll, so does my hips. She whimpers in my mouth and shivers in my hands until…


Her hands thrust into my hair as her body stiffens and jerks at the same time. That’s it, Baby. Give it to me. I grind into her until her orgasm wanes and she’s panting into my mouth. This is what New Year’s Eve will be, not that shit from last year. I kiss her gently over her face and on her lips as she catches her breath. When she’s a bit composed…

“I’m going to put you down now,” I say. She nods, her eyes closed. I set her gently on the floor. I put my hand under her chin and lift her eyes to mine.

“Whenever I look at you tonight, I want you to remember this. I want you to remember that I didn’t come and I want you to think about my dick—hard and throbbing in my pants and waiting for you. I will have you tonight, but not here.” I take her hand from around my neck and press it against my aching dick. Her lips part and I imagine my cock sliding between them and against her tongue.

“Remember this!” I command, rubbing her hand against my erection. “Hard and anxious and waiting for you!”

“Yes, Sir!” she whispers, shamelessly wanton all over again. I take her in a deep kiss once more and when our lips part, I’m the one breathless and horny. I still her hand and slowly back away from her. She’s like a cat standing against the wall, ready to climb me and fuck me with complete abandon. It’s written all over her face.

“Are you wet?” I ask, already knowing the answer. She nods. “Good. Every time I look at you…” She nods again. I back further away from her and escape up the back stairs to talk down this maddening boner.


Holy. Cow. Batman.

I am at a total loss for words.

He makes me so mad sometimes. How dare he blurt that out in front of company that way! Granted, I know that James and Al dabble in the lifestyle, but I still don’t feel comfortable having it flaunted like cocktail conversation that way. I didn’t even know how to react when he called me Mistress in front of them. I seem to recall him doing that once before, but I can’t remember…

Oh yeah, the Pedo-Bitch.

I have to admit that I glad that I don’t remember much about her, except that she raped my husband then tried to kill him, wounding Jason instead. That was a terrifying day—the flash from the gun, then seeing my love and Jason go down at the same time. Then I remember singing some nursery rhyme. Was it “Row Row Row Your Boat?” I don’t remember. Then there was blood…

All that blood…

I shake the thought from my head and continue my conversation with Phil about Mindy’s sleeping habits when Christian appears out of nowhere and yanks me from the conversation, excusing us through his teeth. What the hell is eating him now?

I’m nearly running behind him as he drags me to the same spot I occupied earlier that evening near the back stairwell and pins me against the wall with a rough, possessive kiss.

What the hell? The fuck if I’m going to deal with the Neanderthal shit tonight! I squirm between him and the wall, barely able to move, but trying to wiggle from his grasp…

… But there’s something different in his kiss, like he’s trying to speak to me and I have to listen. My body surrenders before my mind does and the Bitch still wants to fight, wants him to get off of me, let my hands go, and tell me what this is all about! Yet, that part of me that connects directly with that part of him responds louder to his siren call than the Bitch can protest and suddenly, I want him—badly! But I’m also confused and full of trepidation.

“We are not. Going to have a repeat. Of last New Year’s Eve!” What happened last New Year’s Eve? “Whatever bug you’ve got up your butt because I called you ‘Mistress,’ get rid of it. I won’t have you shunning me all night like you did last year. Are we clear?”

I shunned him?? Why did I shun him? Pictures quickly flash through my mind and I remember Brian and Daddy’s wedding. There was some kind of disagreement, I know that, but it’s not coming fast enough. I’m frozen to the wall, unable to sort these thoughts as quickly as they’re coming to me, but unable to move either. He’s very unhappy about whatever I can’t piece together right now that happened last year. There is absolutely no mistaking that Sir is not pleased!

What did I do to him?

He grasps my wrists and teases me with his tongue before his hands move to my breasts and torment my nipples, shooting fire straight to my core. I see him battling with himself, but I feel him rising against me as his hands wander over my body.

Fuck, I’m hot.

Before I know it, he lifts me by my ass and grinds his erection into my core through our clothes. Oh, God, I gasp inwardly, my arms still above my head against the wall.

“Wrap your legs around me!” he commands me quietly. I comply and before long, he is grinding me and kissing me to a feverish orgasm. We didn’t even expose ourselves! He’s the only man that’s ever made me come that way—and so hard! Then again, there was only him and David. David was good, I admit, but nowhere near as good as Christian.

He kisses me tenderly as I descend from Euphoria and leaves me in a rubber-kneed tangled mess as he commands me to remember that he’s hard and throbbing for me and that he intends to rectify that situation later. When he escapes up the back stairs, I’m left standing there, flushed and post orgasmic and having to rejoin my guests back in the main entertainment area. Good Lord, how am I going to pull this off?

I try to compose myself for a few minutes before I rejoin my guests. Leave it to Mr. Forsythe to notice my long absence and zero right in on my current state of afterglow.

“Must you fuck at every party?” he chides quietly.

“What?” I reply, feigning ignorance. He twists his lips.

“Oh, please!” he scolds. “You’re flushed and he’s missing. You fucked.” I laugh quietly at my best friend. There’s no getting anything past him. I don’t even know why I try.

“We didn’t fuck, Al,” I correct him—not in the traditional sense anyway. He narrows his eyes at me.

“Well, he made you come,” he says, matter-of-factly. “It’s written all over your face. Don’t bother trying to deny it.” I don’t deny it. I’m walking around in wet underwear as a reminder of what’s waiting for me later. “That’s the only thing I envy about you bitches—that fucking clit. A good, stiff wind will have you jerking in ecstasy.”

“Al!” I exclaim in not-so-mock horror. “Must you be so crass?” I scold. He folds his arms.

“Don’t be coy with me, heifer. It’s not like James and I can go rub one out and join the party like nothing happened. And don’t give me that false modest shit, either. I don’t feel one bit of remorse. I’m hateful right now because you got to come and I’m sitting here watching Chocolate Deliciousness parade around the room in front of me while I’m all hot and bothered!” My eyes grow large and my mouth falls open as neither of us realize that we’re not alone.

“Did I just hear you say you’re all hot and bothered?” A caramel voice wafts through the air and lands between us, forcing Al into a dead silence as he turns slightly to greet the inquisitive face of his fiancé.

“I… uh…” Well, this is a first. Allen Forsythe stunned into stuttering. Someone call 911!

“Don’t worry, Baby,” James says, quietly, though not quietly enough. “I’ll fuck and suck you tonight until you can’t see straight.” Now, Al’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open while I gulp and shut mine quickly, composing myself and having to pretend like I didn’t hear what James said to him.  He kisses Al gently on the lips and, after throwing me a coy smile and a wink, walks off to the bar to join Phil and Ethan. He and Mia must have arrived while I was “rubbing one out” with my husband. I turn a knowing eye back to one candy-apple-red-faced Allen Forsythe, who is shamelessly ogling his man’s ass as he walks away before he realizes that he’s not alone in the room.

“Oh, shut up!” he shoots, attempting to regain his composure. I giggle gleefully.

“I didn’t say a word,” I say, hooking my arm in his. “C’mon, you can buy me a drink…”


“I really don’t know how you do it, Ana,” Mia says while snuggling comfortably in Ethan’s lap. “No offense, because I can’t wait to see my niece and nephew, but you look like you’re gonna blow any second now.”

“I feel like it, too,” I lament, not bothering with the phony sensitivity about my size. I’m big as a house and I dare not step on a scale of any kind. Christian may love the curves, but I can’t wait to drop this load. I still have six whole weeks until my due date and I’m half ready for Dr. Culley to just reach up in there and pull these guys out, for crying out loud.

“How are your ankles?” Maxie asks with a smirk.

“Like water balloons,” I reply. “I know that the time is coming soon enough, but what I wouldn’t give for a glass of wine right now.” She laughs a knowing laugh.

“Yeah, I remember that,” she sympathizes. “It’s going to seem like forever, but trust me, it’s not. Try not to concentrate on it every moment of every day. I know that seems impossible, but if you do, you’re going to drive yourself nuts. Concentrate on your work and be sure to do more of the things that you love to do as often as you can… as your body allows.”

“I was about to say that I love to dance…” I begin.

“Then dance!” Maxine exclaims. “I’m not telling you to do backflips and pirouettes, but dance. Do the pre-baby yoga. The exercising will actually help when labor comes.” I sigh.

“I can barely move, Maxie.” She smiles.

“I know. So just do what you can,” she says. I shrug.

“Christian is supposed to be taking me on a babymoon,” I announce, somewhat changing the subject.

“What’s a babymoon?” Ethan asks.

“It’s a vacation of sorts,” Christian begins, “geared towards expecting mothers to help her decompress a bit before the babies are born.”

“Now, why didn’t I think of something like that?” Maxine says. “Although the massages and girls’ day on your birthday weekend were just what the doctor ordered!”

The room suddenly gets quiet as everyone must be having the same thought… Val.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a Debbie Downer,” Maxie apologizes. I wave her off.

“Don’t be,” I respond. “I was thinking about it earlier myself.” Christian pulls me closer to him on the sofa and slides his fingers between mine, holding me protectively. I guess he’s afraid I’m going to break down again. I hope I don’t.

“It’s just not right,” Gary adds. “It’s not right that she’s not here. We’ve never been like this. I look at you two as my sisters—closer than my blood sisters. You helped this geeky kid fit in and made me feel loved almost from the day we met. And now… it’s just not right. I can’t understand… I can’t even comprehend how we’re not all sitting here chewing the fat right now.”

“I wish I knew,” I tell him. “Believe me, I’d fix it in a heartbeat if I could. Make no mistake, she’s horrible to me. I seem to turn on her bitch button every time she sees me, but I miss her like you wouldn’t believe—so much that my heart hurts sometimes.”

“No, her bitch button is on all the time, Jewel. It’s not just you, remember?”

“She only turned on you because you’re an extension of me. You have the gumption to give back to her exactly what you get. I just don’t have the strength. It’s a battle that I can’t fight because I don’t know why I’m fighting it. I don’t know why my friend hates me in the first place.”

“Well, Al’s right, it’s not just you,” Mia chimes in. “She has two words to say to me when she sees me and she’s pretty frosty towards Mom, which is why she doesn’t come to any family functions. Dad won’t even acknowledge her. It’s like Katherine Kavanaugh all over again.”

“I was afraid of that,” Christian sighs. I look over my shoulder at Christian and he’s just shaking his head.

“I don’t know what to say, you guys,” I say, trying to apologize for Val’s behavior. “Something is really very wrong because she’s never, ever been like this.”

“I can attest to that,” Maxine says. “I can’t begin to tell you what’s happening in her life, but this is a Valerie Marshall that I’ve never seen and I’ve known her for years.”

“I just don’t get it,” Gary continues. “The Val I knew would give up a kidney for you. What the hell has gotten into her?” I shake my head.

“I have no clue, but I have to say that I’m glad this whole thing isn’t just my imagination.”

“It’s not,” Maxie says, “but I’ll bet dollars to donuts that whatever’s going on with her was going on way before that outburst at your birthday party. I mean my wedding wasn’t at a castle with a classic car, but it wasn’t too damn shabby, either. That comment that she made about the big wedding, it wasn’t taken out of context because I felt the same way that you did when she said it.”

“Remind me again what she said,” Christian probes. Oh, geez, must we?

“Well, first, she kept saying things that she had to follow up with ‘no offense, Ana.’ Then she made this crack about a big wedding being just for show for everyone else. When we called her on it, she got really defensive—but mostly towards Ana, not towards me. The real stick of dynamite came when Ana refused to give her details about some falling out that you guys had and right there in front of Grace, God, and everybody, she asks Ana if she cheated on you.”

“Ooooh,” I lament as I recall this conversation in its full and ugly detail, and the soccer players literally do a flip flop in my stomach.

“Okay, well, that’s enough of that,” Christian says, noting my obvious discomfort. “For some reason unknown to anyone, Valerie Marshall has clearly lost her marbles and we are going to leave her in La-La-Land until and if she finds them. Now, I hereby declare that it is one hour to midnight and although we have eaten some delicious food and have settled into satisfied comfort, there is not nearly enough music or dancing going on for this to be a party and I see little to know ‘libations’ floating around this soiree. So how about we really get this party started? Allen? James? Have you two set a date, yet?” He’s up and on his way to the bar and just like that, the conversation is diverted and the party takes on a more jovial atmosphere.

I take Maxie’s advice and dance as much as my belly will allow. She right that I couldn’t do all my moves, but it was so much easier to just let go and feel the music than I thought! My husband has zeroed in on my musical tastes over the last couple of years and kept the Motown and jazz going on a playlist that he had loaded into the sound system.  Little Mindy awoke at about 15 minutes to the new year, much to Maxie and Phil’s delight as they wanted to bring the year in with their entire family. Marilyn is hopelessly attached to Gary with that whole starry-eyed girly thing going on and I think it’s adorable. I don’t think she’s been this smitten since I’ve known her. Mia has spent the entire night in Ethan’s lap and Gail and Jason along with Chuck and Keri have mostly just been cuddled up with each other and watching our interactions and conversations about the infamous Valerie and wedding dates and birthing plans and what have you. There’s no mistaking that love is in the air at Grey Crossing.

Just before midnight, we all don our warm coats and scarves and head out to the pool area to see the fireworks at midnight. We’re a bit far from the Space Needle, so we can only see those in the distance, but this year, as luck would have it, there will be fireworks on the lake on a vessel just behind our house. Christian holds me very close to him as we approach midnight, and I bask in his warmth. The patio and pool have been cleared of snow and our party all stand in anticipation as the clock finally gets to those last ten seconds before the new year arrives. The countdown begins and Christian pulls me still closer to him, my back to his front, and just before the stroke of midnight, he leans over my shoulder, turns my head to him, and plants a delicious kiss on my lips.

I’m swept away and can just vaguely make out our companions celebrating the arrival of the new year. I can hear the blast of the fireworks and see the flashes through my closed eyelids. The effect is so overwhelming that I don’t know if it’s the fireworks or the kiss that has me seeing stars. When he pulls away from me, his beautiful gray eyes are a mixture of sadness and relief.

“Happy New Year, Mrs. Grey,” he says softly, gazing into my eyes. And suddenly, I remember…

Pedo-Kiss! That’s what he was talking about. Her red lipstick all over his face and the horrible way that I treated him afterwards. It hit me like a freight train. Brian making him feel like shit in his own home and me doing the same…

I spin around in his arms, tangle my fingers in his hair, and pull his face down to me. Taking his lips with mine, I kiss him with fever and passion, bruising and burning, our tongues tangling until he moans into my mouth, pressing me against him until I feel his erection. He’s breathless when our lips part.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Grey,” I whisper, my eyes still closed and my lips brushing his.

“My God, Ana…” he breathes, before searing my lips with another kiss. My arms slide around his neck and his hands slide up my back as we shamelessly devour each other’s lips yet again.

“We have guests,” I whisper when our lips part momentarily.

“Then they should be kissing,” he replies, closing his lips over mine once more.


I’m drinking my sparkling grape juice and snuggling in Christian’s arms. It’s about 1:30am and I’m fighting the urge to give in to the Sandman. No one is yet ready to admit defeat to sleep, but I am quickly losing the battle. I think I actually did fall asleep, because I’m startled out of comfort by a sudden change in Christian’s demeanor. I open my eyes to a sight I swear I didn’t think I’d see tonight.

Elliot. Just standing there looking at us.

“Hey,” he says a bit sheepishly.

“Hey,” Christian responds. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just wanted to see my brother.”

“Valerie?” Christian probes. Elliot shrugs.

“She’s alright. Asleep. I didn’t want to… you know…” he trails off.

“Sure, man,” Christian says, shifting me to the sofa and standing up. “Do you need to talk?”

“Not really,” Elliot replies. “I just wanted to hang out… if that’s okay.”

“Of course, it’s okay,” Christian says, grasping Elliot firmly on the shoulder. “Baby?” he says, turning to me.

“Absolutely,” I say, without hesitation. “I would get up, but it’ll be dawn by the time I get out of this seat,” I jest.

“That’s okay,” he says, leaning down and kissing me on the cheek. “Hey, Ana Montana.”

“Hey, Elliot,” I reply with a smile. “There’s still food if you’re hungry and plenty to drink.”

“Anything non-alcoholic?” he asks. Boy, he’s really sticking to that teetotaler thing.

“Of course. Pregnant woman on the premises.” I direct him to the bar and the various fruit juices, soft drinks, and non-alcoholic champagnes.

Elliot falls right into the party and I’m glad to discover that there was no fight or falling out between him and Valerie—just because I didn’t want him to be in a sour mood. He just wanted to see his family and waited until Valerie was asleep to do it. At one point, he, Mia, and Christian fall into a bit of a hushed conversation, and I watch as the siblings appear to be discussing something of great importance. It makes me miss Val again—my only sister—but not too much…

I awake in his arms as he steps off the elevator. His chest is solid and warm and I’m floating in the custody of my protector. I don’t want to move because I’m so comfortable. He gently lays me on the bed and I gaze back at him with hooded, sleepy eyes. I can barely make out his face in the dark, but it’s as clear as if the morning sun were shining into our bedroom.

He wants me.

I’m suddenly wide awake and my panties are just as wet as they were when he left me at the bottom of the rear stairwell last night. My lips part to get more air into my lungs as the look he’s giving me could burn down the rainforests!

“Sit up,” he says softly. I comply, struggling into a sitting position. He stands over me in the dark, looking at me like a starving man. He sits on the bed next to me, takes my face in his hands, and outlines my gaping lips with his tongue. I’m frozen in my arousal, my eyes closed and my breath coming in short.

Oh, God, Christian…

My body is aflame as his mouth closes over my lips and his tongue tangles with mine. I want him… I need him. Now!

I feel forlorn when his lips leave mine and he rises from the bed. He disappears into his bathroom and I close my eyes and breathe, reeling from the passion he just dumped on me and sitting—once again—in a puddle of my own arousal. I try to take in oxygen to calm down, but it’s not working. When I open my eyes again, he’s standing at the foot of the bed… watching me. Even in the dark, I can see him clearly standing there with only the bottom two buttons of his shirt done and his chest exposed. I swear he looks like Mr. Darcy.

And I’m panting again.

He comes to the side of the bed and grasps my pants and underwear. I lift my hips and he removes them both in one move. Back at the foot of the bed again, he just stands there gazing at me. Although I’m still wearing my shirt and bra, I feel naked in front of him. Naked and horny. Crawling up the bed like a panther, he plants soft, wet kisses on my skin starting at my feet and moving up my calves to my inner thigh. There’s no use in trying to control my breathing anymore, because this man has me gasping for air.

“Lie down, Baby,” he instructs, still tormenting the tender meat of my inner thigh. “Breathe…”

I lay back and try to breathe, but it’s no use. What breath I have left is snatched from my body when he runs his tongue the length of my vagina from core to pelvis.

“Aaaaaahhhhh,” I breathe. The pleasure is almost unbearable. Then he does it again. He’s tasting me… one long stroke from bottom to top and I nearly squirm out of his grasp. With his arms under my thighs, he reaches up and grasps both of my hands firmly, entwining his fingers in mine. I’m trapped and can’t get away.

“Noooooooo,” I whine helplessly.

“Sssshhh,” he soothes, before returning to his task. He tastes me twice more before his tongue begins to circle my clit, gently and torturously… once, twice, three times. He’s savoring my flavor, spreading it over his entire tongue. It’s so good and my entire body feels the unbelievable pleasure.

His saliva coats my lips and he gently nips the left one, giving my clit a rest but sending chills through me nonetheless.

Plus! S’il vous plaît ne vous arrêtez pas…

His tongue is moving again, inside my lips and around the opening of my core where he tastes the juices there, mingling them with his saliva and using the combination to anoint my anxious clit. I’m immobilized in rapture—the steady sensual massage, around and around; constant strokes first gently, then deep and burning, keeping me on the edge, but yearning for that imminent orgasm that promises to tear me apart. He suckles my clit causing me to rise a bit with each pass, then blows to ease the burning. The torture is delectable and I almost hate to admit that I’m loving this rise then delayed gratification. It makes the journey incredible and the destination that much sweeter.

There was no need to admit anything. He reads my body like a book.

He sucks ever so gently on that small bundle of nerves, following it with a gentle burst of warm yet cool air to cease the stimulation. He does this a few times until I’m mindless with anticipation.

Orgasm? No. Orgasm? No. Orgasm? No.

“Pleeease…” I groan mournfully.

“Ssshhh,” he soothes again as he makes a meal of tormenting me. He sucks me into his mouth and teases me several more times until we both know that I’ve reached the point of no return. He releases my hands and clasps his hands over my hips. His mouth descends on my core, licking and sucking relentlessly. My hands thrust into his hair and my hips thrusts forward repeatedly, seeking and receiving the pleasure that he is bestowing upon me. As I burst into flames, he groans into my pussy, hungrily lapping away at my juices while I surf his tongue and ride to blinding Nirvana.

He moves like lightning and in seconds, he’s naked behind me, kissing me wherever his lips can reach and cupping my breasts firmly. He’s primitive in his passion. As he masterfully undoes the buttons on my shirt from behind, I can smell my juices on his breath and it makes me hot all over again. I reach behind me and rub his erection and he groans deeply as he finally gets my shirt open and thrusts his hands under my bra. I gasp when he pinches my nipples and kisses my shoulder. His erection hardens further still in my hand and I want nothing more than to have him inside of me.

He groans in his throat as he pushes his hardening shaft against my hand, pinching my nipples harder until they pebble between his fingers.

Please… take me…

Removing his hands from my hungry, eager nipples, he pulls my shirt from my shoulders and makes very quick work of the clasps of my bar. His cock still thrums in my hand when he cups my breasts again.

“They’re so firm and beautiful,” he says, massaging my mounds while he nips at the skin on my neck and back, driving me absolutely wild. I wrap my hand around his dick and squeeze and pull firmly. Enough of this! I want you now!

“Ah!” he gasps almost silently. He wasn’t expecting that. “Impatient?” he pants.

“Yes!” I breathe, frustrated and expecting, still pulling his penis so that my palm strokes the head and my fingertips bruise his frenulum with each pass. He hisses and moves my hand away from his erection. He quickly throws my leg over his hip and holds my thigh firmly while his dick thumps the outside of my now burning vaginal lips.

“Put it where you want it, baby,” he growls into my neck.

Fuck! That is so fucking hot!

I reach down and feel his erection between my legs. I stroke is gently with my fingers once or twice.

“For the love of God, Anastasia…” he moans in my ear while squeezing the tender meat of my thigh. Okay, I’ve repaid you for your torment. Stroking him once more with my hand, I guide the head of his rod to my core and push him inside. It still takes a moment for me to acclimate to him. He hisses again and groans deeply as I slowly push myself back and down onto him. He moans a long, deep lament once I have taken all of him, moves his hand from my thigh to my hip and stills me. I sigh and moan in frustration.

“Please…” he begs, “just let me feel you like this. You feel so good; I don’t want to come yet.”

I try to keep still. I really try, but my body yearns for him… and he’s inside of me. My muscles tighten involuntarily, beckoning him to move.

“Baby, please…” he pleads, fighting for control.

“This is what you do to me,” I confess, helpless, unable to control my body’s response to him. “I can’t stop it.”

“Ugh,” he groans. “Oh, God, baby…” At that point, I remember our experience in Anguilla. Neither of us moved, but the orgasm that followed was intense! My core tightens again at the delicious memory.

“You’re doing that,” he groans mournfully. “Stop it…”

“I’m not, I swear,” I reply, but I’m no longer willing to wait. “But I am doing this,” I breathe, and push my hips back into his.

“Aaaaaahhh!” he groans, trying to still my hips again. “Baby, please,” he chokes as he hardens inside of me.

“No,” I pant, pushing against him and pulling away, stroking while my muscles wrap firmly around his cock. “I want you. I want this… now!”

“Baby!” he grunts as I feel him begin to tremble. Fuck, I love it! I love this feeling. I know he’s going to come soon, but I can’t help it. I can’t stop. I roll my hips, push and pull, push and pull, push and pull…

“Baby…!” he almost shouts, grasping my hip with one hand and my breast with the other. “Baby… fuck… no…”

“Yes!” I demand as I push back hard against him, swirl my hips, and pull again… and again… and again. He’s panting, fighting a losing battle, his rod getting stiffer and stiffer inside me until…

“Ba-by fuuuckkkk!” he groans, pushing himself hard into me. I reach between my legs and grab his balls, now tight and hard like one large walnut, and massage deeply—my finger pressing hard on the muscle at the base that pushing his semen though his dick and into me.

“Mmmmmmmmm!” his moan is deep and tortured as he grabs my arm and squeezes, trying to ground himself. His leg slides between mine, pinning one down, but angling us both so that he can push further into me.

Is he trying to still my hand? I don’t know, but it is of no use. As he pushes into me, his balls only grind harder against my hand as I feel them dancing and pumping with his orgasm.

“God… my God,” he whispers as he continues to grind into me, deep hard grinds that only make me hornier while he’s riding out his climax. When it’s finally done, he’s breathless, lying partially on my back and panting wildly. Again, I try to stay still, but my sex won’t be denied… and after a few minutes, she throbs and squeezes again.

“Aah!” he grunts, and moves his hand from my arm to my hip again. My hand is still on his balls as he pulls my legs open once more. My clit is hungry and now exposed to the air, but my hands feel his balls—not quite empty it seems, but significantly lighter. His dick pulses ever so slightly under my palm and I can’t help but run my fingers from his balls to the base, down the shaft to where he is still inside me—thrumming and responding to my tightening muscles, my hungry sex having swallowed his offering completely and greedily demanding more.

I can’t help it. I stroke my fingers from his hardening cock past my opening to my throbbing clit. I can’t suppress the moan that escapes or the tremble in my thighs. I want to come. I want him to fuck me and make me come.

“Do it again,” he whispers roughly in my ear. I thought my little self-play had gotten past him, but it hadn’t. I don’t hesitate. I reach for his balls again and feel his shaft disappearing into me. He pulls out slightly, and I gather a bit of our mixed arousal and circle my clit just as he pushes deliciously into me again.

“Aahh,” I moan, pushing my head back into his chest.

“Again!” he commands sensually, his voice now controlled since his orgasm. We do it again, our movements synchronized and pushing me further to that anticipated explosion.

“Christian!” I breathe as he stills, his dick filling me as my walls tighten and release involuntarily around him.

“Again!” he breathes into my ear, feasting on my neck and ears while waiting for me to comply. Fuck, his control is maddening! And hot! I stroke once more, and the combined feeling of my fingers and his delicious cock stroking inside of me almost sends me over the edge. I cry out.

“That’s enough,” he says as he moves my hand from my sex to the bed. With his hand on my hip, he grinds hard against me, pushing in as far as he can go and wiggling just a bit to hit every wall. In and out, he torments me several times, delicious! So fucking delicious! Fuck, my whole body trembles with the possession and I almost lose my fucking mind!

“Fuck…” he says as he begins again, stroking deeply into me and gently sinking his teeth into the flesh of my back as he possessively cups my breast and holds me against him.

“Ah!” I gasp as the feeling on his teeth grazing my skin and the many sensations taking over my body right now.

“You are exquisite,” he breathes as he loves me. “Fucking exquisite…”

“Christian… please…” I whisper as that familiar feeling starts in my feet and begins to creep up my legs.

“Yes, Baby,” he breathes, slipping my nipple between two of his fingers while still cupping my breast. “Feel it, Baby.”

That debilitating feeling of pleasure seizes my thighs and I know it won’t be long now. He pulls out of me to the head, then pushes only partly into me. He meticulously continues his stroke, up and into me from behind then down and out—not his full length, yet; just about half of his erection so that I can feel the friction on my lips, the inner walls of my vagina, and right behind my clit. This is the perfect position for him to hit the spot—that spot that drives me utterly insane. He continues the maddening rhythm for several minutes, teasing me relentlessly and deliciously with the promise of an explosive release… but just a promise.

“Christian…” I whine, helpless and wanton, completely at his mercy.

“Yes, Baby,” he whispers directly in my ear, his own orgasm hiding in his voice. His hand slides possessively around my neck and chin, turning my head to him as he peppers my skin with gentle kisses and nips beginning at my shoulder and ending where a dusting of hair only just covers my scar. The gesture sends a maddening sensation through me and I can’t stop the inevitable.

“Christian!” I wheeze, barely able to recognize my own voice.

“Yes, Baby,” he groans, cupping the meat at the top of my sex and grazing his long finger over my clit only twice. As my climax begins, he presses down with his palm and strokes his full length into me—slowly, deeply, repeatedly. I’m completely undone. My entire body convulses in deep pleasure and I grasp handfuls of the sheet in front of me, once again trying not to float away in this orgasmic euphoria. When he sucks my earlobe into his mouth, the sensation begins anew and I cry out. It’s too much for both of us.

“Yes, Baby! Oh, yes, Baby!” he groans as his stroke becomes slightly deeper, slightly harder and I explode into a second orgasm before the first one subsides. I’m groaning loudly in my throat, blind and delirious from ecstasy, when Christian rolls me almost over on top of him—one arm across my body so that his hand is grasping the opposite shoulder and the other hand still firmly cupping my sex and pushing me down onto him with each stroke. My God, it’s searing and delicious!!!

As I’m shaking, convulsing, and thrumming from the crazy aftershocks of this wild explosion, he’s grunting primally in my ear. Each stroke is long and deep and his sensuous moans sound almost painful to him until he finally stills, and I feel him throbbing and emptying inside of me as a mournful groan escapes his chest. With his face buried in my hair, both hands still holding me in position, he pants, jerks, and shivers through his own aftershocks.

Plus! S’il vous plaît ne vous arrêtez pas…
More! Please Don’t Stop

Couldn’t have 2014 ring in like 2013 did. In the rephrased sentiments of one Christian Grey, “There’ll be none of that shit!” 

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Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X