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

ANASTASIA

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.

“Security.”

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 I 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.

CHRISTIAN

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.

Shit.

“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.

“Boss!”

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.

ANASTASIA

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 https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/becoming-dr-grey/

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