Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 65—Letting Off Some Steam

My gosh, it’s a bunch of horny women in here! I’ve already told y’all that there was a baby born from my story some years ago… Ya better watch ya’selves!

And please allow me to welcome all of my newest followers and subscribers. Thank you for joining me!

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 65—Letting Off Some Steam


I’m in the shower, washing off the grime of the day. The children have been fed and all I can think about is the promise that Christian made to have me tonight. I don’t know what he has planned, but my clit has been pulsing in anticipation for hours.

Once I’ve finished my shower, I dry my skin and put on my half robe before going back out to our room. I find him sitting on the edge of our bed.

“There you are,” he says, rising like a panther and stalking over to me. He grabs me and kisses me deeply. “I need to taste you.”

Shit! He’s grinding against me hard as a rock! I’m in fucking agony here.

“Mmmmm!” he groans again in my ear, grasping my breast and thrusting his rigid erection against me. Fuck!

“Christian… you’re so hard. You know we can’t…”

“I know… I know… we won’t… just let me taste you, baby. I’ve got the rest. I’m going to try something new.” God, Christian, if you bring that thing anywhere near me, I won’t be responsible for my actions.

“Okay,” I breathe before his mouth closes over mine.

I’m lying on our bed, naked, waiting for Christian. He’s in his bathroom and has told me that he’ll be right back. Now, I’m anticipating what’s about to happen. When he comes out, he’s wrapped in a bath blanket. It’s not doing much to hide his erection as I can see it clearly from behind the terrycloth.

“Christian…” I warn.

“I know,” he whispers. “You don’t want to see it or you’ll want it. I can’t do much about it yet, but I want you too much. So close your eyes.” I do as I’m told and he lays something over my eyes. It’s only temporary—not meant to stay. I feel him on the bed between my legs, moving something, situating something… pillows I think? After a few minutes, I ask, “What are you doing?”


“When I bought the Tenga eggs, I also bought a Tenga Flip. Yes, it’s a masturbator, but I’ve looked up a way to use it hands-free so that I can feast on this delicious pussy and relieve myself at the same time.”


Now, why does that sound so fucking hot?

“I don’t get to watch?” I say, my throat dry.

“We’ll see,” he says, his voice heavy with arousal. The next thing I know, he’s over me, kissing me deeply and making me hot. I moan into his mouth. Shit! His tongue moves to my cheek, my ear, my neck and then he’s straddling me… naked.

“No fair,” I breathe.

“You can’t see me,” he says, his voice thick with sex. “Hands above your head, just for now…” I obey, and I feel his hand on me, hot and oily, right at my breasts. He massages them thoroughly, coating the mound up to the nipples, then pinching them repeatedly between his finger and thumb until they pebble, sending fiery shocks straight to my core.

“Christian,” I whine almost incoherently.

“Mm, you like that, baby? I like it, too.” I feel him move up my body and moments later, his rock hard penis is between my breasts. I can feel every single vein and see him in my mind’s eye—red and oily from my breasts, sliding between the copious mounds of meat.

“Christian!” I cry out, tortured that he’s not inside me.

“I know!” he pants. “I’m sorry. I had to feel your skin just once.” He immediately moves his penis, but continues the torturous massage of my breast. God, I’m mindless in needing him, in needing to feel some part of him. Maxie’s warning comes to mind about babies born ten months apart. I’d bear a set of triplets if he would just fuck me right now!

I feel his oily dick slide down my body and he gently takes one pebbled nipple in his mouth.

“Ah!” I cry out as the feeling once again shoots right to my core. He continues the manipulation, sucking and pinching, and as the twins have already emptied me, I’m nothing but nerves and sensation.

“Christian… please…” I squeak as the pressure builds in my pelvis.

“Sshh,” he says, now pressing his pelvis hard against mine, but not moving—no friction, it’s just… there, and I’m immobilized, while he sucks and pinches my tender nipples.

“Christian!” I plead. He doesn’t stop. The heat is unbearable, He presses harder against me, nothing moving, just pressure—building on the inside and pushing from the outside. I’m going to explode.

“Chri… stain…” I whimper as the unbelievable pressure finally reaches its mark and causes me to tremble.

“Um-hmm,” Christian says, his mouth full. He gives my nipple one final hard pinch and sucks the other one with massive pressure. I explode into volcanic eruptions and he grinds hard into my pelvis, no friction—just repeated pressure to push my orgasm deep, deep into me… fucking me without fucking me. Holy Christ. My legs open, unable to move, my hands above my head, my husband riding me and pressing me hard into the bed, my breath is snatched from my body with the one feral cry I can release as my orgasm rips my pussy and my breasts to shreds and I try to do the same thing to the sheets over my head. My makeshift blindfold has long since slid off my face.

“That’s right,” he groans. “Give me those juices, baby.” He finally releases my pelvis from its prison and it’s pulsing violently like we just fucked. How the hell did he do that? He slides from my body and after I catch my breath, I can see that he’s on his knees between my legs, his hands are both oily and he’s looking… where?

I have to focus for a moment. He’s on his knees and there are two pillows propped between my legs. He has his rock-hard, unforgiving erection in his oily hand and he’s pumping it feverishly, looking at… my pussy!

Shit, that’s hot!

“Christian,” I whine. He had to give me an orgasm first… a huge one, so that he could look at me and get himself ready.

“I know, baby,” he says, his voice tortured and aroused. “I won’t bring it near you… I don’t… want… to hurt you.” He’s so hungry, so needy… and he looks so good. He strokes himself a few more times. God, I don’t know how it turns me on so much watching him stroke himself. It’s only now that I realize that the Tenga Flip must be situated between the pillows, because that’s where he inserts his dick stroking two or three times and moaning. I’m almost jealous, until he lies flat on the pillows grabs my hips, bringing my pussy to him and eying it like a feast. He licks his lips deliciously before he licks mine.

“Ah!” I cry out at the initial contact. It feels like it’s been forever! He licks it again, and I cry out again. Fuck! I just came a minute ago! What the fuck! He moans deep and licks deeper and I think I’m going to pass out. Fucking hell! I grind into his face as much as I can, whimper and crying. He’s pushing me hard and fast, moaning into my pussy and it’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen… felt… heard. Hell, I don’t know. He moves his head from side to side to get deeper in my lips and…

“Oh God!” I can’t stand it. He’s got hold of that bundle of nerves that controls my every thought in moments like this. His tongue rims the opening of my vagina and just breaches it slightly—not too far—to collect the juices from my prior orgasm.

“Christian,” I squeak, so much pleasure lancing through me that I can hardly get the word out of my mouth.

“You can move your hands,” he speaks into my pussy and I can’t hear the words, but I know what he said. I reach down and grab his hair so that I can more easily grind into his mouth. He groans loudly and I feel the bed moving rhythmically. I look down at his body and his finely sculpted hips are grinding deliciously into those pillows.

Lucky Tenga.

I imagine that it’s me down there, being relentlessly drilled by his hard, throbbing cock. Another moan and a thrust tells me that my pussy feels… er, tastes good to him and I lift my knees and legs in the air, still gripping his hair. He groans loudly, sucking my clit and one of my lips into his mouth, his tongue lapping at my opening, and I have another screaming orgasm in his mouth. He holds my hips down, pumping violently into his Tenga Flip until he groans loudly again and stills, his hip muscles pushed firmly into the pillows. I remain still as I catch my breath, my fingers still in his hair, waiting. He’s panting into my pussy, but his tongue starts to move again, gently, slowly.

“Christian,” I protest softly. “I’m tender…”

“Um-hmm,” he says, without raising his head, but continuing the slow, gentle tasting of my genitals, careful to steer clear of my clit. I let my legs rest back on his shoulders, and he tastes my arousal from my opening again. It sends chills through me. My God, what this man does to me. His hands move from my hips to my pelvis and my stomach… and the pressure is hot.

“Oooooo,” I say involuntarily, as he continues to explore my lips, my opening, my hood. His hips begin to move again, and I realize that he’s not finished. Between the pressure on my pelvis, the not-quite stimulation of my core, and the sexy movement of his hips, I’m getting hot again.

“Christian,” I keen. He raises his eyes to me, his tongue still tasting my vagina. The way that he has me angled with my butt just at the top of the pillow, I can see his tongue liking the hood of my clit. What I see is even hotter than what I feel.

“Hold it open,” he says, his voice powerful and thick with lust. I do what he says and use my hands to separate my lips. He allows his tongue to explore the full area of my lips, clit and core while I watch. Seeing his tongue glide hard over my exposed clitoris sends delicious chills through me.

“Don’t let go,” he says, “even if you come… especially if you come.”

His tongue continues its rhythmic journey around my lips and over my clit and I watch, helplessly trembling in his mouth as his tongue runs torture over my tender clit—over and over and over again. He moans as he continues to lick, continues to thrust, his hips moving deliciously around those pillows in the same motion that his tongue moves deliciously over my clit. I’m trying to hold on, trying to hold it open, but my hands start to tremble.

His hips and tongue move slightly faster and I groan in my throat. I can’t take it. I can’t hold it open. I throw my head back, absorbing the pleasure just a bit as I try to keep my hips still and feel his mouth on me. When I raise my head, I can see my clit. It’s gotten slightly bigger, slightly redder, and it looks like the hood pulled back and right at that moment, he closes his mouth and suckles.

“Fuck!” I can’t help it. I grab his hair, close my eyes, thrust my hips forward and ride out this orgasm. It’s so intense, watching myself come in his mouth, looking in his eyes while he sucks me off. His hands clamp hard on my breasts and he’s thrusting feverishly—hard and violent, chasing his orgasm. He’s fucking that thing so hard that I don’t know how the hell it’s staying in place. He pulls me harder into his mouth, suckling deeply from the last orgasm, not letting me escape.

“Christian!” I breathe. It’s tender—still swollen and engorged. It hurts, but he’s primal, and he can’t stop. I close my eyes to bear it… try to find my subspace, but soon, the pain fades and is replaced again with pleasure. He’s still holding me down by my breasts, his fingers digging painfully into the tender meat. He’s still suckling my clit, searching for that last orgasm hiding in my loins, and pumping like a madman into those pillows and that Tenga, searching for his.

I don’t call his name anymore. He’s lost in his primal passion, sucking the juice out of me while the Tenga sucks the juice out of him. He pulls those breasts with each stroke, like he’s pulling me into him instead of this inanimate object milking his dick. His suckle is rhythm with each stroke—suck, release, suck, release, suck, release. Our primal grunts, whines, whimpers, and cries now mimic other as my fingers tangle tight in his hair and my legs clamp around his back and neck. It’s coming and it’s huge. He’s going to suck it right out of me and I can’t stop it and when it hits, I’m going to float the fuck right out of here if I don’t hold on.

His is coming, too, and he clamps down, suckles hard with maximum pressure and pinches those nipples mercilessly. No more rhythm, just constant pressure and I’m a fucking goner.

My body is shredded and thrashed in every possible direction as my pussy, breasts, and brain are mangled by an orgasm that truly rocks the foundations of the universe. I can’t see, hear, or speak and I think I interpret screaming somewhere, animal grunting, growling, howling, I don’t know. I feel bolts of electricity flowing through me, shocking me, jerking me uncontrollably. I feel high, like I have no control over time or space, and I have no idea how much time has passed when I float back down to myself and I’m crying, lying flat on the bed unable to move. My tormentor is lying beside me, holding me close and kissing my face over and over again, using words like, “amazing,” “beautiful,” and “unbelievable,” and all I can say is “please… please, no more… no more, please…”


“You are deliciously radiant, Mrs. Grey.”

We’re snuggled on the chaise in my sitting room looking out over the lake. It’s overcast and rainy, but I can’t feel it while basking in the warmth of my husband and our microfiber robes. I’m wrapped in his arms and legs on a lazy Sunday morning and he kisses my neck and shoulder after pulling my robe back to expose it a bit.

“Last night was incredible,” he says, “but I want us to wait now.’ I look over my shoulder at him

“Wait for what?” I ask.

“No more playing… no more orgasms until we have sex,” he says. “It’s only a week, but I don’t want to feel anything else until I feel you again. I want you tight, sensitive, and ready when I enter you. I want you aching for me to be inside you as much as I ache to be inside you.” I sigh heavily.

“It’s going to be hard, Mr. Grey,” I say, turning slightly in his arms and between his legs. “You turn me on so much. You just walk into a room and I want you.” I gently caress his sideburns while planting a quick, but deep kiss on his mouth, pulling his bottom lip gently between my teeth when our mouths part. “But the idea seems so titillating, I’m all for it. I think it’ll make our experience that much more explosive and exciting.” He rubs my hips and ass through the robe.

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” he says, licking my lips with the tips of his tongue and I groan lightly.

“I’m not going to make it deliberately harder,” I vow, “but I don’t promise to avoid you or keep my hands off of you.” I suck his tongue into my mouth and caress it with my own before closing my lips over his in a wet kiss, eliciting a soft moan from him. “… Or my mouth.” The hand on my ass squeezes deliberately.

“Yeah, you’re going to make this hard for me,” he whispers against my lips.

“Not any wetter than you’re going to make it for me,” I reply, absorbing his kisses as he cups my face to claim my lips.

After spending a somewhat lazy Sunday making out with my husband—nothing past second base—and taking care of our beautiful growing twins, we plot out the course of our week. Monday, we’ll be meeting with Broadmoor and the couple that hopes to sponsor us. I haven’t informed Christian, but Tuesday, I’ll be having my six-week check-up—two days early, yes, but I need to get the IUD inserted so that it will be in place when we finally consummate the birth of our children.

We’ve decided to wait until this weekend—Friday, to be exact—for that particular consummation. We’re taking a weekend away to reconnect and refresh, but we haven’t decided where we’re going yet. We know that there will be lots of wild sex and no matter how I try to ignore it, if that two-way goes off with my cooing children, all bets are off. So Luma has agreed to bring the girls over on Friday and spend the weekend helping Gail with the twins. Grace will be on call to assist if there are any problems and wherever Christian and I are, we’ll only be a phone call away. I couldn’t thank Luma enough for being willing to give up her weekend to help with the twins. She assures me that being able to spend the weekend at the Crossing with all of its amenities is more than payment enough for being able to take care of “those beautiful babies.”

I have to admit that motherhood has, so far, not been the trial that I thought it would. Granted, I really have a lot of help and I’m just getting started, but I truly prepared myself for the very worst right out of the gate and it just hasn’t happened yet, knock on wood. The babies’ one-month check-up went without a hitch a couple of weeks ago. Their feeding schedules are fairly normal as are their weight, height and head circumference, although Mikey is still a little smaller than his sister. Dr. Nahabedian tells us not to be concerned about that since his birth weight was small to begin with. He’s not unhealthy and that’s what we’re concerned about. Heart, lungs, reflexes, joints, ears, eyes, mouth, and genitals all look normal, and the umbilical stump fell off for Mikey by the time of the appointment. Minnie’s fell off a few days later.

Their fontanels are developing just fine, although Minnie’s head is still shaped a little weirdly. Once again, Dr. Nahabedian says that it will come into its own normal shape soon enough. After careful research and talking to Grace and De. Nahabedian, we’re sticking with our decision not to have Michael circumcised. We feel like there are far more health concerns involved with having it done than there are with not having it done. As long as we teach him proper hygiene practices, we’re assured that the extra foreskin shouldn’t cause him problems. Yes, my Christian upbringing is a bit at odds with this decision, but in this day and age, I think I’ve made the best decision for my son.

We’ve decided to take a trip to a small cabin resort in Oregon called Five Pine Lodge. We’ll take Charlie Tango out on Friday evening to avoid the long drive. Chance and Chuck will come with us to be on call since Jason was on call for the last trip. We won’t be doing much mingling anyway—we’ll probably only have one activity involving other people for the entire weekend, maybe one other dinner and a spa visit or something. Other than that, this time will be all about us and it’s only a couple of days to decompress as we have to come back and face the Pedophile in court that following Monday. I’m not looking forward to her trial, to dredging up all the shit that she put us through. My memories may be a little cloudy on some things, but when it comes down to her and the hell she caused, it’s as clear as a fucking bell!

I still recall the first day I met that monstrous woman. She had the nerve to show up at Christian’s apartment in that ridiculous outfit on a fucking Sunday morning! He was a full-on Dom at the time with no submissive qualities at the time. What the hell was she trying to prove? But when she later found out that he allowed me to dominate him and not her anymore, oh, she could have shit bricks. I thought she was going to give birth to a real live baby elephant right there on Grace’s lawn!

She’s been nothing but horror and pain since the day I learned of her existence. Her malfeasances are too many to list and she has the nerve to be using some sort of diminished capacity as a defense for having someone break into my apartment, steal my gun, and then try to kill the love of my life with it right before my very eyes.

And I have to go to court and recount this shit… as if living through David’s trial wasn’t enough.

It’ll be different this time, though. Whatever her attorney throws at me, I’m going to throw right back at his ass. I’ll make no apologies and I won’t censor what I say about that horrible, wretched woman. I don’t care how many times they object! I will only stop with the threat of being held in contempt of court, but everything I know about her will be put out on display. I know they’re going to try to suppress any discussion about her “other crimes,” but they’re not going to be able to, because they directly relate to this case.

I wonder how far Christian is going to go to make sure she gets a conviction?

“Elliot is sending his crew over today to start the en suite for the playroom… playpen, whatever we choose to call it,” Christian says as we’re on our way to Broadmoor. He’s driving the one of the Audi SUV’s and Ben and Chuck are following behind in one of the others. “Jason will supervise since—let’s face it, he knows everything that’s gone on in my life for nearly a decade.” I shrug.

“I never thought in a million years that I would be involved in an alternative sexual lifestyle, much less have a third party know about it and be comfortable with it,” I comment.

“We’re as discreet as we can be under the circumstances,” he says. He pauses for a minute. “Elliot said that he couldn’t oversee the renovations himself because he’s taking Valerie to the doctor today.” I turn to face him.

“What’s wrong with her?” I ask.

“He doesn’t know,” Christian says. “He wants to rule out pregnancy.” I look at him incredulously and count on my fingers.

“Since before my birthday?” I say in disbelief. “She’d know by now.” He shrugs.

“Hey, I don’t know. I just know that my brother is at the end of his rope. I’m certain that Valerie’s not seeing anybody else, but something’s wrong. Her social life is nil; he says her health is questionable; and now her job is in jeopardy. He had to give her an ultimatum to get her to go to the doctor, and he wouldn’t let her go alone because he doesn’t trust her to do it. If the general practitioner or the shrink can’t figure out what’s wrong with her, this relationship is over. I just thought you should know.”

And then she’ll have nobody. I don’t want that for her, but she won’t let me in. So I don’t know that there’s much that I can do about it.

“He’ll keep you posted?” I ask.

“So he says.” I sigh. I guess I’ll just wait.

“So about the bathroom—any idea how long it’ll take?” I change the subject.

“I told him it needs to be ready in two weeks before the furniture arrives. I figure it’ll be done while we’re away. That’s one of the reasons I decided to take Chuck and Williams with us this time, not to mention that Jason was pulling his hair out on the last trip. I had to give him a task with that asshole to keep him from losing his mind.”

“I hope the fellas have something to do this weekend because I plan to keep you to myself as much as possible,” I say.

“I like the sound of that, Mrs. Grey,” he says.

Ilene Claiborne is a bit friendlier with my husband than I like when we get to Broadmoor. She’s not overbearing or inappropriate. She just a little giddier than she should be. I have to remember that my husband’s presence is more commanding when you meet him in person—he’s a beautiful man with a beautiful body and a beautiful voice and he reeks of power and charm. Not a lot of women can withstand that even if they try. I feel a little sorry for her because his behavior of me is extremely possessive from the moment we walk into the club. He leads me around my cupping my elbow or the small of my back or by holding my hand. He sits very close to me, often with his arm on the back of my chair. His eyes are usually on documents, some focal point in the club, or me—very rarely on Ilene, and only when she’s speaking directly to him alone to not appear rude.

It’s no use; she still a puddle of goo, but she tries to camouflage it as much as possible. I have to give her credit for that and I dare not call her on it. It’s obvious that she’s doing the best that she can.

Her relief is palpable when we are joined by the couple that will be sponsoring us. Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy. We sit down to lunch to discuss the intricacies of country club membership and exactly what sponsorship means. Our standing as members won’t be diminished in any way; we just couldn’t join without sponsors since we weren’t residents of the community. Eugene and Josephine Kennedy will be our mentors, so to speak, which I plan to utilize, but if I know Christian, he’ll take those reins on for himself once we’re members.

Overall, the lunch goes very well and my initial impression of our sponsors is positive. Like us, they are a fairly young couple, with three children instead of two. Josephine and I have a brief discussion of the possible woes of a newborn as her youngest is eight months old. She sympathizes with me that I have two at once, but sings the praises of having a good nanny and staff. She admits to being more of a stay-at-home mom with a few other projects as well, but admits that she wouldn’t be able to juggle all of the tasks of being a wife and a mother to three small children without help.

I like her; she seems very genuine. It’s obvious from her conversation that she loves her husband and children very much and takes her role as wife and mother very seriously. She will not be besmirched for not working outside of the home or for needing help even though she stays at home. I don’t blame her. I don’t think stay-at-home mothers get enough credit for the work that they do to raise healthy, happy children and keep a stable home.

Eugene is a bank executive and mentioned knowing Ethan, and not liking his father very much. That immediately fared well with Christian as he doesn’t like Ethan’s father very much either. Eugene has good things to say about Ethan and his presence in the financial community, things that Christian apparently already knew, but he admits that it’s good to hear since Ethan will be marrying his little sister pretty soon. The gentlemen comment about it being a small world and make other small talk over lunch. Their connection was not as solid as mine and Josephine’s, but knowing my husband, I didn’t think it would be. In fact, it was about as good as can be expected.

We left the country club with our application intact, having paid our dues with Christian’s Amex Black. We are now the newest members of the Broadmoor Country Club. Although we have immediate access to the facilities, we’ll be notified of the next new member Meet-and-Greet.

Meet-and-Greet… ugh!

Tuesday, I don’t want to wave the flag that I’m going to see Dr. Culley for my check-up and to get my IUD inserted, so I quietly sneak out of the house with just Chuck and leave a message with Gail that if His Highness asks where I am, tell him that I went shopping. It’s not a lie—I am going to get new lingerie for our trip and poor Chuck is going to have to stand by while I shop at Agent Provocateur. But first, the six-week check-up.

“Have you only been doing yoga?” Dr. Culley says when she sees me. I nod.

“Basic and some intermediate,” I tell her. “Nothing too strenuous. I was afraid.” She frowns.

“I don’t doubt you, it’s just…” She looks at my chart, flipping through the pages. “Ana, you’ve lost all but seven pounds of your baby weight, which is probably all milk. I think your stomach is smaller than it was before you got pregnant, unless it’s just disproportionate to your breasts and your hips.”

“That’s a definite possibility,” I tell her.

“Have you been dieting?” she asks. I shake my head.

“I’ve never been a huge eater, Dr. Culley, and you know throughout the pregnancy, I couldn’t eat beef. So it’s always been basically chicken and vegetables. I did as much as I could throughout my pregnancy to try to keep my body in shape and after the babies were born, I went straight to the belly belt and then to the essential oils and the belly binding. Not only that, I’ve got two breastfeeding babies, but let’s face it.” I point conspicuously at my stomach. “There were two people in there and they’re gone now!” Dr. Culley laughs.

“This is true. It’s just that it’s just extremely rare that I see women shrink as quickly as this without doing something unhealthy. I have to ask.”

“Well, run whatever tests you need, because the real exercising is going start as soon as you clear me. Christian likes my ass, but I feel a bit like a Kardashian.” She shakes her head.

“Trust me, you don’t look like that. Because of your small frame, I will concede that you need to tone a bit, but you look nothing like that.” She looks at my chart. “IUD?”


“No penetrative sex for the last six weeks?”

“No, and I’m losing my mind!” I admit. “It’s been more like two months. Remember, I couldn’t have sex after the babies dropped.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” she says, looking through my chart further. “The urine test was negative. Have you had a period?”

“No,” I reply. She nods.

“That’s to be expected with breastfeeding.” She checks some things off my chart.

“I have a question about that. Is it true that breastfeeding can be used as a form of birth control?” I ask.

“Continuous breastfeeding, yes. In laymen’s terms. The hormones being used to produce the egg are being used to produce milk, so you don’t ovulate. However, if for some reason, you don’t keep a steady regimen of breastfeeding and your body does ovulate…” She snaps her fingers to indicate that boom—you’re possibly pregnant.

“But why wouldn’t someone keep a steady regimen of breastfeeding?” I ask. “I mean, the baby has to be fed every day.”

“If the baby is being weaned or if the baby is drinking from breast and bottle; if the baby is moving to solid foods or her eating habits change for any other reason—she sleeps more as she gets older, so she’s not feeding as regularly; or if Mom goes on a trip or plans to ingest alcohol or medication, so she stops breastfeeding for a day or so.”

“That’s too many variables,” I say. “Do you know of any women who have ever used breastfeeding as a sole form of birth control?” She ponders the question.

“I’ve heard of women doing it and again, it you stay on top of it, it works. I wouldn’t trust it though.” I nod once.

“IUD for me, doc!” I say, lying down on the table. She laughs.

“Good. Let’s get started.”


“I’ve talked to Sophie every day,” Jason tells me. “She says that Shalane has been around, but still pretty much ignores her. I know she’s been served with the papers that I’m suing her for custody, so I don’t know if that has to do with her hanging around or what. I don’t know what the hell druggies do between binges.”

It’s been so long since I was with my crack-whore mother and I was so young, I couldn’t even shed any light on this subject for him.

“Well, as you know, surveillance reports say that Shalane has been primarily at the house. Either she’s detoxing, or unfortunately, she using there. Sophie’s had to see her—do they just not speak?” Jason shrugs.

“I’ll see if I can get any other information out of her. I think she doesn’t really want to talk about it.”

“It can’t be avoided,” I tell him. “There’s a custody battle ensuing.”

“I know,” he says, scratching his head. “I really don’t want to put her in the middle of it—you know, pit her against her mother, but right now she’s the only one who can tell me what Shalane is doing and she’s pretty mum.” I nod. “And the way she spoke to Shalane before she left… she’s never spoken to her that way. It was like Sophie was the adult and Shalane was the child.”

“I noticed that, too,” I say. “Shalane looked at her for a moment like they were standing off or something. Sophie hasn’t indicated anything is wrong when you speak to her?” He shakes his head.

“She sounds fine. Except for the fact that she and Shalane don’t really speak, which is nothing different, she’s the same old Sophie. She hasn’t missed any school and she calls me every day.” We’ve both confirmed through the security reports that over the course of the last week, Sophie has, in fact, attended school every day.

“Al says that you can request that she takes a drug test based on the suspicion.”

“Not if she detoxes before we get to court!” Jason says. “I should tell you that I’m doing a little experiment.”

“And that is?” I ask.

“I stopped paying child support.” I frown deeply.

“Jason, you can’t do that. That’ll fuck up your case, not to mention you can get arrested!” I warn.

“Keep your shirt on!” he says. “I can catch up in a day, you know that. Here’s the thing. We think Shalane is using. I don’t know that she has any other source of income, but even with that small fortune that I’m paying her, her cell phones are disconnected. If I’m not paying her, she’s got to be getting that money from somewhere. If she doesn’t, she’ll be knocking on this door again. If she’s using, she’ll be jonesing for a fix and I’m not beyond blackmail to get my daughter out of that situation.” I shake my head.

“I don’t know, Jason, that’s risky.”

“Yes, it is, but if I’m wrong, I’ll pay the money to the court and call it a day. If I’m not, at least I have a bargaining chip.” I shrug.

“If you think it’ll work…”

“I don’t know if it will or not, but at this point, I’m willing to try anything. The only thing keeping me from going over there and taking Sophie from that house is the fact that I talk to her every day. I’m scared to death that something’s going to happen to her, but I don’t have any proof that Shalane is using and without a court order, I can’t make her piss in a cup. So I’ll just have to play it by ear and see where it goes.”

“Well, you know you’ve got my support.” He nods.

“Thanks, Boss, I really need it right now.” There’s silence.

“How’s the en suite coming?” I ask. He nods.

“Like you said, it’ll probably be finished when you guys get back. Have you heard from your brother?”

“No,” I say. “So that means that either he’s somewhere moping or that he and Valerie have made up and he hasn’t come up for air.”

“Maybe you should call him,” Jason says. I shrug. After a beat, I pull out my phone and dial his number. He said he would call and keep me up to speed. That was Monday. It’s Friday now and I’m about to board Charlie Tango in an hour to take my wife out of town. I’ve heard nothing. As far as I’m concerned, no news is good news. His phone goes to voice mail.

“You’ve reached Elliot Grey of Grey Construction. Please leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as quickly as possible. Thanks.”

“Elliot, it’s Christian. Just calling to see if everything’s okay. Call me.” I end the call.

“No answer?” Jason asks. I shake my head.

“Nope. Maybe she is pregnant.” Jason rolls his eyes.

“I feel sorry for the kid if she is. She’s a real goddamn harpy.”

“Tell me about it,” I respond. Jason shakes his head, then says, “I never thought I’d see the day you became a father.”

“Me, either,” I tell him. “I never even imagined. Now those two little lives and… my wife…” I sigh and drop my head. “I can’t remember my life before them… before her. I can’t see what it was.” I look up at him. “Does that make any sense?” He shrugs.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” he says. “I’m here to tell you that your life was pretty goddamn shitty before her… and you were a real fucking asshole. You’re an asshole now, but you were a real fucking asshole then.”

“And you never spoke to me that way before her,” I point out. He twists his lips.

“No, I didn’t,” he said, “but I never took a bullet for you before her either.” We’re silent for a moment again.

“Would you have taken a bullet for me before her?” I ask.

“No,” he says without pausing. A sharp pain goes through my chest and I have to push down immediate anger as I frown at him.

“What?” I ask incredulously.

“Before you met her, I was just your bodyguard. It was my job to protect you. I could have done that without taking that bullet, but you still might have gotten hit—maybe not fatally, but you would have gotten hit. I might’ve have taken a bullet for you as my employer, the guy who pays my paychecks, but last March, that’s not the guy I took the bullet for.”

I’m confused.

“When I knew that gun was going to go off, I knew you were going to get hit. There was no doubt. You would not have been able to time the dodge fast enough—you were standing still. A moving target is harder to hit, so whichever one of us she hit, she most likely wasn’t going to get a kill shot… but I couldn’t stand there and let her shoot my friend. So although I may or may not have taken a shot for my employer, the answer is no, I wouldn’t have taken a shot for my friend before Ana, because before Ana, you weren’t my friend. But if it happened again, I’d do it again.”

I twist my lips, then bite my bottom lip to rein in my emotions a bit.

“Pussy,” I hiss, and Jason bursts out into laughter.


I have been waiting for this day all fucking week. The last time I’ve had any release was the Tenga Flip a week ago, but it’s still not the inside of my wife. Shit, if I’m honest, I’ve been waiting for this day for months! She put my mind at ease by telling me that she had her IUD inserted when she went in for her six-week check-up. That had to be Tuesday as I don’t remember her leaving the house any other time. However, I have to do my best to concentrate on everything that needs to be done—like flying Charlie Tango to Sisters, Oregon to our resort cabin—and on not fucking my wife like a goddamn rubber doll once I’m finally inside her.

She’s not making it easy for me, either. She loves these goddamn wraparound shirts and the one that she’s wearing today is a full wine shirt with slit sleeves and the damn thing plunges so deep that her tits are on full display. Luckily, she closes a leather jacket and scarf over it, but fuck—I know what’s under that thing. And what does she wear as bottoms? A pair of spandex and leather pants that grab her ass and wobble with every move. Did I mention the stilettos with heels so narrow I don’t know how she’s walking on them? Fuck a compass to get us to Oregon; my dick will point us in the right direction!

God help me.

We leave from the roof of Escala to avoid any unwanted publicity. The word is going to be out soon that the Pedophile’s trial is Monday, so I don’t doubt we’ll have to deal with that stigma soon. We’ve gone unscathed for the entire week, so we count it a true blessing that we were able to get out of Seattle without incident.

An hour later, we land at Roberts Airport in Redmond and house Charlie Tango in a rented bay there for the next two days. After retrieving a Suburban SUV from Enterprise, we’re on our way down the 126 to Sisters, Oregon and Five Pine Lodge. I can’t keep my hands off of her for the thirty minutes it takes for us to get to the resort. I have no idea how I’m going to be able to contain myself through the evening.

Once we check in, we are given the keys to the Romance Cabin which is all the way in the back of the resort, purposely placed for privacy. Butterfly walks around the cozy space while I pull Chuck aside in the cabin’s entry area.

“Just giving you fair warning,” I tell him. “You or Williams may be on food duty once we’re locked down, but for now, we have reservations at Latigo in an hour. We won’t be late because the sooner we leave, the sooner we get back.” Chuck smiles knowingly and shakes his head.

“Duly noted,” he says, leaving the cabin and closing the door behind him. I walk over to my wife and put my arms around her waist from behind.

“How do you like it?” I ask.

“It’s very nice,” she says. There’s a king sized bed to the right of us and a sitting area with two chairs facing a fireplace to the left of us. Next to the fireplace is a sunken tub for two with jets surrounded by rustic rocks, one of which shoots water into the tub like a fountain. Yeah, we’ll sure as hell be using that. The full bathroom is off the bedroom with a full wall vanity and shower. I move my hands from my wife’s tiny waist up to her ample breasts.

“No kids for two days,” I say, placing open-mouthed kisses on her neck. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be anxious every now and again,” she admits, “but I’m looking forward to this time alone with my husband.”

“These will be very full,” I warn.

“I know,” she says.

“We’ll manage,” I whisper. She turns her face to me over her shoulder and I kiss her solidly. She puts her hands over mine and squeezes her own breasts with my hands. I groan in her mouth.

“God, you are so hot,” I say against her lips.

“You make me that way,” she breathes. I move my hand down to her spandex clad ass and squeeze before grinding into her, kissing her deeply once more.

“We have dinner reservations,” I tell her. “We need to go so that we can get back.” She sighs deeply.

“Okay,” she breathes, cupping my face and kissing me again before she breaks away from me. She grabs a duffle bag, her overnight case, and a garment bag and goes to the en suite. I fall backwards on the bed and commence to talking down this painful boner. Just as I do, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to find a text from Elliot.

**I’m alive, Bro. We’ll talk later. Enjoy your vacay. **

That’ll do.

Forty minutes later, I’m comfortable in a pair of black wool slacks and a charcoal gray cashmere sweater and just as I’m about to check my wife’s progress, she emerges in a simple black turtleneck sweater dress with a thin belt double-looped at the hip and a pair of platform black stiletto boots garnished with gold buckles across the foot, the back of the leg and the heel. The ensemble is so simple, yet her curves make her look so hot. Her hair is in that swooping, messy bun and she’s wearing soft make-up and nude lip-gloss.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” she says. “I needed to pump.” I take her hand.

“Don’t apologize. You look beautiful.”

“You’re biased,” she says. I take her in my arms.

“I am,” I say, brushing my lips against her cheek, “and you’re still beautiful.” I plant a soft kiss on her cheek and there’s a knock at the door, no doubt Chuck signaling us that it’s time for dinner. “Shall we?” She smiles.

“We shall.” I hold her coat open and help her into it before slipping into mine and we leave for the restaurant.

This little area of the world prides itself on the “quaint,” and Latigo is no exception. Most likely considered one of the high end restaurants of the area, but quaint nonetheless with a cozy and inviting atmosphere. We’re seated immediately as the establishment is less than a mile away from the lodge and we are right on time for our reservation. We’re seated across from each other. However, we forgo decorum and I move my seat so that I can sit directly to her left, allowing me to hold her hand, gaze into her eyes, and whisper sweetly in her ear. Her soft giggle is my reward and we have captured the attention of more than one patron in the restaurant.

“People are staring,” she says softly.

“Let them stare,” I say, kissing her hand gently. “We’re doing nothing inappropriate. I’m simply admiring my beautiful wife.” Our server comes over to the table and kindly asks what we would like to start.

“Well,” I say, “my beautiful wife recently gave birth to twins and this is our first night out in over a month. So, she can have whatever she wants.” The petite blonde raises her eyes to Butterfly.

“Congratulations,” she says. “Can I interest you in some champagne?”

“I would really love a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon if you have it,” Butterfly says, wistfully.

“We do,” the server says with a smile.

“What vintage?” I ask.

“2012 Hogue Reserve,” she says and I frown. Toilet water. Catching my expression, Butterfly says,

“It’s fine… it’s Cabernet.” She desperately wants a glass. I’m certain we can do better than that. They have to have something from the Valley.

“What other vintages do you have?” I probe. “Anything from Brandlin? Cade? Stag’s?”

“We do have Stag’s,” she stops me. “Also 2012, I think.”

“If you have the Stag’s, we’ll take the bottle.” She smiles.

“I’ll check,” she says and moves off from the table.

“I won’t be able to drink an entire bottle of Cabernet, Christian,” Butterfly says with a coy smile.

“I’ll help, but you can only buy Stag’s by the bottle.” Her mouth forms an “O” and she nods.

“Is this another $1500 bottle of wine?” she giggles. I smile.

“You remember,” I say kissing her hand.

“It’s kind of hard to forget.”

“No, it’s not, but it is about $200. The stuff she wanted to give you before was about $6 a bottle.” She makes a face.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” she says.


Moments later, our server returns with another woman and a 2012 bottle of Stag’s Leap District Napa Valley Cask 23 Cabernet Sauvignon.w677daq4b9snyldrwkfhzi4btmll-5wcgbh4zl3is7q-0

“Hello,” the woman says. “I’m Sucy, one of the owners here and I wanted to personally welcome you to Latigo. Sharon tells me that this is your first night out since the birth of your twins.”

“Yes,” Butterfly says sweetly. “We’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”

“I certainly understand,” she says. “I have two sets of twins.” Butterfly’s eyes grow large.

“You’re kidding!” she whispers. Sucy gestures demurely to Sharon to show me the bottle of wine while she engages Butterfly in conversation. I examine the vintage and nod, gesturing for her to serve my wife. Sucy continues that her twins are 12 and 4, causing Butterfly to gasp.

“Two sets… yikes.”

“If I may say, you look fantastic. How old are your twins?”

“Six weeks.” Sucy’s eyes grow large.

“Really?” she says. Butterfly nods. “Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up. You look great.” Butterfly smiles and takes the glass with the small amount of wine in it. After swirling it around the glass a bit, she takes a sip. Closing her eyes, she sighs appreciatively.

“That’s divine,” she breathes. Sucy smiles.

“I’m so glad you’re pleased. Sharon will get you anything you need and be sure to let me know if I can be of any further assistance to you. Again, my congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. She nods once and leaves the table. No doubt, it’s customary to greet the patrons personally who order a $200 bottle of wine… and it’s good business.

“Sir?” Sharon gestures to me with the bottle after she has poured Butterfly’s glass.

“Please, thank you.” She pours the adequate amount and sets the bottle on the table.

“What can I get for you to eat?” she says with a warm smile.

Butterfly and I feast on Dungeness crab cakes with lemon saffron aioli; soup du jour—which happened to be salmon chowder that day; salads with chopped artisan lettuces, shallots, feta, roasted macadamia nuts, apples, radish, and a creamy pinot noir vinaigrette; filet mignon with wild mushroom and port butter sauce, gratin dauphinoise, green beans and heirloom tomatoes; banana fritters with gelato; white chocolate & cherry terrine; and salted caramel. Although we are anxious to taste of each other, we savor our meal, feeding each other off of our plates and enjoying the wine and the attention given to us by the staff. The experience was well worth the visit and the money and once we have had our fill, I’m sure to thank the chef—who happens to be Sucy’s husband—and to leave a generous tip.

Thank God the resort is less than a mile away, because I can barely wait to get my hands on this woman. I tell Chuck to be prepared to get breakfast for us in the morning, but that I may want to go to the gym in the afternoon before I dismiss him and Williams for the evening. When I turn around, Butterfly has already disappeared into the en suite again.

“Butterfly, are you okay?” I call through the door.

“I’m fine, Baby. I’ll be out in just a minute,” she says sweetly. She sounds okay, so I proceed to get undressed. I take off my sweater and T-shirt and sit down to remove my shoes and socks. Just as I get my socks off, I hear the bathroom door open. When she said she would only be a minute, she meant that she would only be a minute… but I have no idea how she did this in a minute…

“Oh. My. God.”

Agent Provocateur has never looked so good. She’s wearing this beautiful black kimono with lace trim, falling demurely over her curves like you wouldn’t believe. No Butterfly ensemble would be complete without the Louboutin platform stilettos—black patent leather with red bottoms, of course. She’s wearing red thigh high stockings that tie the red bottoms of the shoes to the robe. Thank God I’m sitting down. My knees might buckle beneath me if I weren’t.

“Come here,” I breathe. She walks shyly over to me. She’s so beautiful, I don’t know where to start. Maybe I should start by unwrapping my gift. I pull the sash on the robe only to discover that there’s another prize underneath.

“Fuck…” I breathe. She’s trying to kill me.

The red stockings were not to compliment the red bottoms. Underneath the black kimono is a short, red slip of a nighty that fits her like a second skin. God, she is so sexy. Standing there in front of me, her eyes locked with mine, she pushes the kimono off her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor.

“You are exquisite.” I whisper. Starting from her calves, I rub both hands up the back of her legs—slowly, savoring the feeling of her skin clad in fine silk stockings with back seams against the palm of my hands. My breath catches and she shivers. As I get to the top of the stockings and the bare skin of her thigh, I stand so that my journey doesn’t end. I cup her ass, caressing it softly under the short slip, thrilled to discover that she’s not wearing any underwear… not even a thong. I linger there for a moment before moving my hands over the silk of the nighty to caress her body—her hips, her back, her stomach, and her breasts. Her breathing quickens and I have to fight every urge inside of me to just take her now. I want to… I know she’ll be tight, but if I don’t prepare her, she’ll be too tight, and I might hurt her. It’s been too long.

“Undress me,” I say. There’s nothing left but my pants and boxer briefs, but I want her to remove them. Dexterously, she undoes my belt and the button of my pants. She unzips them, but doesn’t allow them to just fall to the floor. She pushes her hands into my pants, cupping my ass and very slowly, pushes them down my legs, just as slowly as I traveled up hers a moment ago. I almost can’t breathe as she squats at the same speed that she removes my slacks until she’s nearly on the floor in front of me. Looking salaciously at my crotch, she grasps my boxer briefs at the waistband and just as slowly—if not slower—drags them down and off my legs. I swallow hard as my erection springs free. She kisses up my legs, alternating from one to the other—open-mouthed… three kisses on this one, then three on that one, then one on this one, two on that one… Fuck, she’s driving me mad! When she gets to my dick, she continues the kisses… all the way up to the head until I groan in agony.

Her trail continues up my stomach, my torso, my chest, until she’s standing before me again—big, sexy, fuck-me blue orbs staring at me while I’m trying to catch my breath and rein in my libido.

“We’ll leave these on!” I say of her lingerie and shoes, my voice raspy, my soul starving for her. I grab her by the ass and press her hard against me, bruising her lips with hungry kisses. She moans into my mouth and thrusts her hands into my hair, so ready for me to take her—but not yet. I’ll hurt you; I know I will. My dick is pulsing so hard in anticipation that I know I’ll rip that poor little pussy to shreds! I lift her by her ass and lay her down, her head near the foot of the bed, and I start to travel down her body with my lips and tongue. She squirms impatiently, moaning in protest that I won’t just take her. I suck her already taut nipple into my mouth and she cries out.

“Christian, please!” she begs. Not yet, love. Patience.

I suck and bite her other nipple and her tortured sounds imitate sobs. Her body starts to tremble almost immediately and I’m nearly set off by her responsiveness.

“Oh, God, Christian!” she cries as I move down her torso, pushing her slip up her body so that I can taste the rest of her skin. She’s too impatient. She can’t wait. Her first one will be quick. I bring my mouth down to her pelvic line and kiss and lick the tender skin there. The smell of her arousal assaults my senses and ignites that uncontrollable blazing fire inside me.

“Baby, I’m trying to take my time, but I want to devour you!” I roll her over on top of me so that I’m on my back and her pussy falls in my face. I slowly and gently begin to tantalize that clit. Once she gets over the surprise, she starts to grind my face. I’m rubbing her back and her ass, lapping her juices as they slide into my mouth and suddenly, she realizes where she is and clamps hungrily down on my aching dick.

“Aw, fuck!” I groan into her pussy. She’s on a goddamn mission. She either wants to make me want her or make me come before she does. I wrap my arms around her body and hug her close to me. Opening my legs, I fuck her mouth deeply—her hot, insatiable mouth. She wraps her arms around my thighs, grasping one thigh firmly with one hand and caressing my balls with the other. I groan again, deep and hard into her pussy and she meets me with an answering moan, grinding her hips and riding my tongue. She tastes fucking divine. I watch her luscious ass roll as her vaginal lips swell against my mouth and her clit pulses against my tongue.

Fuck, this feels so good. This looks so good and tastes so good. We’re primal—fucking and making love to each other’s mouths at the same time. I lose myself in her for a moment… in how fucking fabulous this feels and my wife’s incomparable oral skills. I hold her hard against my body and tongue that pussy like I’m probing my wife’s hungry mouth, pressing her shoulders against my hips to get deeper penetration into her mouth. She meets my challenge, fucking me with deep, hard sucks and strokes of her jaws and tongue until I groan into her pussy once more. I reach up and squeeze her ass firmly with both hands, pressing her deep against my mouth and lapping her with my tongue until she moans hard against my dick causing a violent vibration to reverberate through my legs and tingle in my toes. I’m lost in the immeasurable pleasure before I come back to myself and realize that I don’t intend to come this way. It’s agonizing and heartbreaking to have to halt her infallible effort to tantalize me to a magnificent and impeccable orgasm, but I have to concentrate—hard! Really hard!

With my arms wrapped around her luscious hips and her juicy ass, I use my fingers to part her lips from behind and open her pussy to lavish concentrated flicks on that delicate clit. Her core gets wetter right before my eyes as I hold her hostage against my mouth, concentrating my efforts on massaging her clit around and around and around. She tries to move away from me, to give the sensitive bundle of nerves a slight bit of respite, but I have her locked in place. She can only rock her hips forward against my unforgiving tongue. She groans against my dick again, but I’m transfixed on her clit now and able to refocus some of the attention away from my throbbing, burning rod and the pleasure she’s bringing me. She tries to keep her rhythm, tries to maintain control, but I can feel her falter as her clit begins to throb harder in my mouth.

That’s it, baby. You know you want to give it to me.

Since my mouth has her fully exposed and open to me, I move my hand to her ass and open those cheeks, allowing me to play with that lovely little rosette. She withstands the pleasure as long as she can before she starts to tremble and moan, then clamps harder down on my dick.


Oh, God, this is a motherfucking battle! She’s groans on my erection again and this time, the vibration sends shivers through my whole goddamn body. Fucking hell, I’m not going to make it! Time to bring out the heavy artillery.

I move my left arm around her waist, clamping her to my body and keeping her immobilized. While still relentlessly licking that clit, I bring my right arm up between her legs so that her left leg is now bent and pinned under my arm. Now, not only is her pussy wide open, but so is her ass and her rosette is fully exposed to me, I suckle that tender clit masterfully, tickling the rosette and occasionally sticking just the tip of my finger inside to make it sensitive and heighten her pleasure. Once she starts to pant and her breathing becomes erratic, I know that she’s rising. I know that I can stick my finger in her ass and have her exploding madly, but I decide to do something to blow her mind instead.

With the pads of all four fingers on my right hand, I pop that rosette directly, hard and fast.

She gasps and freezes her assault, trembling wildly. Although she’s still clamped down on my dick, she can’t move. Her body is dead weight on mine and she’s trying to process what she just felt. Before she has the chance, I pop her again. She wails hard in her throat on my dick, her clit throbbing madly in my mouth and her thighs trembling ferociously.

Victory is mine!

I pop her again… and again… and again… and again.

She yelps with every smack, involuntarily jumping at the sensation before she abandons her prior task completely, pushing her body up and away from mine and crying out in unfettered passion.

Yes, baby! I’ve got you now! Resistance is futile!

I pop her again… and again… and again… and again…

She arches her back forward and cranes her neck like a wolf howling to the moon, screeching a soul-felt painful cry from her stomach. Her whole body stiffens for several moments at first and then she’s writhing, crying out and trying to get away from the torment of my mouth. I clamp my arms down onto her body and suck deep, pulling that orgasm out of her and allowing her juices to saturate and coat her inner walls so that she’s ready for me when I slide into her, because I’m sure as fuck ready for her…


Dammit! I thought sure I would make him erupt before he made me come, especially when he started pumping in my mouth and getting so hard. It was so erotic that I couldn’t stand it anymore. I would have been panting and coming even if he weren’t licking my clit so exquisitely.

But that shit he did with my asshole… fuck! Fucking hell! Never in my life! Goddammit! I can’t see! I can’t think! Motherfuckinghell!

I’m still gasping for air and my pussy is still pulsing in pain and pleasure as he moves with speed and agility, situating me face down on the bed and shoving a pillow under my pelvis so my ass is up in the air. Seconds later, he has pushed my legs apart and has thrust himself inside of me. I cry out at the glorious intrusion, breaching my aching but hungry walls, so long left unoccupied.

“Fffffffffffuck!” he hisses deeply as he buries himself in me, swaying from side to side so that his dick hits every wall of my core. He’s hard as a rock and big as a goddamn watermelon! “You’re so fucking wet!” Well, yeah, I just came! Using my hips for leverage, he begins a grind—not too fast and not too slow, but I can feel his hips roll. I imagine him watching his swollen veiny dick sliding around my ass and in and out of my core, pink and purple with his barely contained arousal, wet and shiny—coated with the evidence of mine.

“Oh, fuck, baby!” he groans animalistically, his hips rolling more sensually, his dick hitting all the right places and causing me to rise again.

“Ah… Christian!” I cry when his grind starts to burn—so quickly after my first orgasm! I don’t stand a fucking chance! He feels so good! It’s been so goddamn long…

“Yes, baby!” he growls, his weight holding me down so that I can’t move, and he pushes me with purpose. “Oh, fuck, yes, baby!” The restraint and the probing, both are pushing me quickly to a second release. I grab the sheets with both hands and try to resist, but my body is screaming and won’t be denied.

“Aw, shit!” he hisses, and I hear the wetness from my juices as he slides in and out of me. Combined with the friction, his masterful stroke, and him holding me down so that I can’t move, I detonate in a hot, fiery, pulsing, wet orgasm around him, clinging to the sheets and crying out like a wounded animal.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fucking hell!” he growls through gritted teeth, then stills, pulsing hard against my inner walls. He holds the position for several moments, emptying hard inside of me. When he’s done, he collapses on my back and we both lay there, trying to catch our breath, but his erection doesn’t wane. I’m sweating and my body is on fire! The explosions he made me feel were astronomical and my brain is having a hard time focusing. Once he has caught his breath, he drapes my hair over the bed and away from my neck, then covers my back with sweet, sensual kisses. We’ve been affectionate during our wait, but we’ve both been anticipating this coupling for far too long.

Fuck, his dick! His dick feels so good. I’ve missed it inside of me so much. I can still feel my muscles clenching and my walls tightening around him. My body shivers involuntarily and my breath comes in short as I try to control the contractions. His lips move to my neck and then my earlobe and I whimper with sensual longing. The sound shoots straight to his shaft and I feel him rising and thumping again inside of me. Oh, God, can I take this again? He tangles his fingers in mine and pushes my legs further open with his knees. He’s going to test that theory.

“Christian… no…” I whimper, no fight left in me. Part of me wants his dick in me so badly. The other part isn’t sure that I can take anymore right now.

“Yes, baby,” he whispers as he slowly begins to move, gently thrusting into me again and again. “Can’t you feel that?” he breathes directly in my ear. “Your body is still restless. You’re still clamping around me, making me hard. You did this to me. You still want me… still need me as much as I need you. You’ve got another one, baby. You’ve got to give it to me.”

Oh, God, he’s going to kill me. He’s so goddamn hot. I just want him to fuck me and hold me and talk to me and love me. I close my eyes and raise up, leaning back into his body. He turns his face into my neck and thrusts deeper. At first, I’m a little tender. Two massive orgasms will do that to you. After just a little while, a few minutes maybe, the slow burn starts again. I start to sweat immediately.

“My God, you are so sexy,” he groans, clasping my hands tighter and using them for leverage to grind deeper into me. “This red… this red is driving me fucking crazy!” I raise my head in hopes to get some more air.

“So good,” I pant, “so good…”

“Sssssssssssss, fuck!” he hisses. He moves like lightening and scoops me up in his arms, never releasing my hands and his dick never leaving my body. Somehow, we end up on our knees, him sitting on his feet and me sitting on his lap. Both our arms are wrapped around my body and his fingers are still entwined with mine. He’s holding me powerfully and possessively against him, drilling up and into me and claiming what belongs to him. I moan and keen shamelessly with each stroke, my hair falling over my face like a mask. Again, I am unable to move and must absorb every thrust, every kiss, every bite, and every tortured moan from my husband.

I swear I’m levitating… floating in a state of carnal bliss where my husband and lover has me protectively cocooned in a sphere of never-ending pleasure and bliss. His arms around me, his sensual moans in my ear, his passionate kisses and bites on my neck and shoulders, his helpless declarations of love and ecstasy—I’m helpless, totally at his mercy and completely at risk of being shattered into a million pieces when this extraterrestrial ride ends.

I have spent quite some time in immeasurable pleasure, rising so wildly and so intensely that my body breaks into the most unladylike, uncontrollable sweat. My throat hurts from several minutes of involuntary moaning and I’m exhausted from the unrestrained ecstasy that my husband has inflicted upon me. My hair is drenched and sticking to my face and body as is Christian’s and I am reduced to quiet panting and keening. The nightie that I was wearing has somehow been removed and tossed to the four winds somewhere and I’m still on his lap in my thigh-highs and stilettos. I don’t know how this has happened as I don’t remember him releasing me from his possessive embrace, and he continues to drive into me—deeply, steadily, deliciously. After an eternity of nearly unbearable pleasure and passion, the fire, friction, and stimulation begin to culminate into that familiar pull in my thighs and stomach that signal the beginning of a massive orgasm.

“Christian,” I whine, almost afraid of what this one will do to me. He doesn’t stop. His stroke becomes more earnest and he begins to grunt and groan primally in my ear in response to my tightening core, rising a little higher with each thrust to ensure maximum penetration on his upstroke as he holds my body tighter against his.

“Oh, God!” I lament as the sensation rises through my thighs and travels simultaneously from my stomach down to my pelvis. My body knows him, responds to his movements and his earnest. He rises even higher up on his knees, taking me with him and thrusting harder and deeper into me, pulling the two sensations together at my core until…

“Aaaaaaaaaaahaaaaaaahaaaaaaaahhaaaaaaaaa!” I’m trembling and crying, unable to hold anything together anymore as I cry out through the orgasm of the century. Christian’s hips don’t stop as I pant, wheeze, and suffer through an eternity of torture, pleasure, pain, passion, and tears. After what feels like forever, he groans loudly, holding me hard against him, stilling at first as he empties into me, then pumping deeply twice to complete his climax. He lays his head forward on my shoulder, never releasing me from his captive grasp, breathing heavily as he comes down from his climax. I lay my head back on his shoulder, weeping and panting helplessly in the aftermath of mine.

He’s shivering violently, holding me so tight in his arms that my body shakes with his shivers. I’m still weeping, wrung from my orgasms as he coughs air into his lungs. I don’t get it. We’ve gone without sex before and it was good when we came back together, but not like this. Never like this! Our bodies completely shattered, we fall over onto the bed as one. Christian’s arms are still clenched around me and he’s still inside of me. He’s still trembling and I’m still crying. Our bodies are fit together like a puzzle and as I continue to weep, his trembling begins to subside and he’s kissing me on my neck, shoulders, ears and back. That’s what I remember as I drift off to sleep.

I awake sometime during the night, still wrapped in Christian Grey—his legs now wrapped around mine. I’m a bit disoriented because we’re not in our own bed. However, an involuntary shuddering breath brings recognition back to me while simultaneously causing Christian to stir. He pulls me closer to him and tightens his grip on me, clasping tighter to my hands and kissing my back in his sleep. It’s like an instant tranquilizer dart and I’m gone again.

A/N: Useless information—their pediatrician’s name is pronounced Nah-hah-BEE-dee-an. That was my son’s pediatrician 28 years ago; I just felt the need for honorable mention.

Creative license used in this chapter as Latigo wasn’t open yet at the time that Christian and Ana visited Sisters, OR.

FYI, this may be TMI, but I’m sharing anyway. That last move with 69 that had Anastasia screaming, my husband did that to me! Y’all should really try that shit!

This is only part one of the hot sex, by the way. Remember, there’s a whole weekend going on, here.  

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 64—Take Deep Breaths…

Stayed home to regroup today, so here’s a bonus chapter because I love you guys!

So, I know there will be a lot of people who will read this and say, “Damn, she’s either been through or had a friend whose been through every damn thing…”

Um… yeah. Damn near fifty years old and if I wrote a true exposé memoir of my life, it would be several volumes long and it would curl your hair, make your head spin, and have you running away screaming. But yes, the Sophie portion of the story is based on real life events.

REEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY long author’s note at the end, if you care to read it, about a few things in this chapter.

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 64—Take Deep Breaths…


It took a while for Jason and Christian to return, so I had time to feed the Minnie before they returned as Mikey hadn’t stirred yet… but when they returned…

“Six days! Six days, Shalane! Do you know what the fuck can happen in six days? Process servers, certified letters, Child Services, the police… we had to damn near send out the national guard to find you to tell you that her daughter is safe with her father. She could have run away or been kidnapped, being held hostage somewhere and you wouldn’t have even known! You would have been knocking on my door just like you are right now asking me where’s my child?” He mocks her voice on the last words.

Jason is livid as he confronts his ex-wife about her whereabouts for the last week. She and Christian had a bit of a showdown just before he arrived and Al had to direct the boys in blue to check their paperwork and they would see that we had already reported this issue to the police three days ago. The trip went from a matter of investigating possible kidnapping allegations to retrieving a child and returning her to the custodial parent.

Jason is trying to get answers while impressing upon the officers what a mistake it would be to return Sophie to Shalane without said answers, but Shalane knows her rights. She won’t engage Jason in any kind of confrontation and won’t give him the satisfaction of an explanation of her whereabouts or absence for the last several days. Just like the case worker said, she could walk right in here and take Sophie back if she corroborated Sophie’s story which, obviously, she did, to someone.

“Give me my child, Jason,” is all she says to him in front of the police.

“And then what?” he barks. “Where have you been for the last six days? She doesn’t even have a working telephone to call someone in case of emergency! Do you know that some sleaze kept coming to the house looking for you and he scared her and that’s why she left? She’s twelve years old! She’s not even old enough to babysit and you leave her alone for six days? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Shalane’s glare is steely. She’s not giving him any answers. She only has one thing to say.

“Give. Me. My. Child.”

Jason looks from her to the police and back to her.

“You’re honestly going to allow her to take this child after she didn’t know where Sophie was for six days?” he says to the officers. One of them swallows and the other sighs

“We’ve contacted Child Services, Mr. Taylor, and according to them, she has every right to take Sophia home. I’m sorry,” one of the officers tells him. He’s breathing fire.

“This is not over,” he says to Shalane between his teeth.

“Did you hear that, officers?” she says in a soft voice without moving her glare from Jason. “If my daughter comes up missing, you know where to look.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” he says coolly. “You should be getting served any day now, so make sure all your little duckies are all in a roll.” Shalane folds her arms.

“Give it your best shot, big boy,” she says with a knowing smirk. Jason narrows his eyes and turns on his heels.

“Mr. Taylor?” one of the officers calls to him.

“I’m going to get her child,” he says without turning around or stopping. Shalane falls in step behind him and I step in front of her.

“Uh-uh,” I say, squaring off against her. “He can go. If one of the officers need to go, they can go. You stay here.” Cross me if you want to; I’ll drop you in front of these blues.

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Grey,” the officer says. “We’ll all wait.” I glare at Shalane through narrowed eyes before I go to the apartment behind Jason, leaving Christian with our company.

“Don’t let her know that you have this,” Jason tells Sophie as he puts a new iPhone in her backpack. “Don’t give anybody this number; this is just for me and you. I’ll get you another phone for show in case she wants to see that one, but this one is just for emergencies. This is for emergencies, too.” He puts a credit card in her backpack, too. “The pin is our secret place.” She nods.

“I’m not moving away, Daddy,” she says softly. “I’ll be in the same place.” He sighs.

“Sophie, after this, I’ll be lucky if your mom lets me see you before you’re fifteen,” he says. Sophie looks at him with apologetic eyes and he reads them immediately. “This isn’t your fault, Baby Boo,” he says. “We’ll work it out somehow.” She nods again.

“Wait a minute.” She pulls the phone and the credit card out of her backpack. She removes her coat and unzips a secret pocket sewn into the back of it. After stuffing the phone and card into the pocket, she zips it and puts her coat back on.

“Mom checks my bags and backpack every time I leave here, to see if you’ve given me something new or some money, so you might want to give me something that she can see. She hasn’t found my secret pocket yet.” Jason is seething as he pulls out a few twenties and hands them to her, which she sticks in her backpack. “Thanks, Dad. If she doesn’t confiscate it for back child support, I’ll put it in my bank.”

“Back chi…?” Jason stops himself mid-sentence and breathes in deeply.

“I know, Dad,” Sophie says, and Jason calms immediately.

“I’m fighting her, Sophie,” he tells her. “I’m fighting for custody.” She shrugs.

“I appreciate it, but I’ll probably be an adult by the time it gets out of court and I can leave on my own,” she says with no mirth. He closes his eyes again; a pained expression comes over his face before he brings his gaze back to his daughter.

“I need you to call me… at least once a day. I need to know you’re okay. No more not being in touch, okay?”

“Okay, Dad,” she says, smiling at her father. She turns to me. “Thank you, Ms. Ana,” she says hugging me warmly.

“Anytime, Sophie… and I mean it. Anytime.” I tell her. She nods and turns to Gail.

“Momma Gail,” she says sweetly. Gail’s blue eyes suddenly become very glassy. She hugs Sophie like a mother sending her child on a long trip and kisses her on the hair.

“Pumpkin,” she whispers, unsuccessfully fighting her tears. Sophie turns to her father. He stoops down and she bolts to his arms. He hugs her very tight.

“It’s not over, Baby Boo,” he says, his voice cracking. “I love you, Sophia.”

“I love you, too, Daddy,” she says, her own tears flowing freely now. I rub my arms for the sudden chill that I feel. This is not going to go well; I just know it. As Jason leads Sophie out of the apartment, I catch a collapsing Gail and we sink to the sofa as she succumbs to her sobs.


“Jason, how far as you from the Crossing?” I’m in the car with Williams having run out of the office and given Ros instructions on what needs to be done for the rest of the projects on my desk. The one day I decide to come to work… the one day!

“About twenty or twenty-five minutes out, what’s wrong?”

“Your ex-wife is at my house,” I tell him. “She has pissed Butterfly off and I don’t know what condition we’re going to find that place in when we get there.”

“Shit!” he hisses loudly. “Sorry, Baby Boo,” he says to his daughter. “I’ll get there as soon as I can.” I end the call and try to relax for the ride home that will take almost as long as Jason’s. I can just imagine Butterfly sitting in the living room in handcuffs—or worse yet, the back of a police car—after lunging at this sorry excuse of a woman for saying the wrong thing. With any luck, or lack thereof, she’ll end up in front of Judge Hammer-Ass.

“Hurry up,” I tell Williams. Fuck the speed limit; I need to get home.

There’s only one police car and a late model red Dodge Charger in front of the house. Funny, I somewhat expected there to be more than that.

I walk into the front door and my eyes fall immediately on Sophie’s mother. I don’t know the woman, but I don’t need to know her to tell that she looks worn—old and emaciated. What the hell happened to her since Thanksgiving? She’s wearing make-up but it’s doing more harm than good, I think. If what’s under the make-up looks worse than what I’m seeing now, she looks like she’s aged ten years in three months! She’s simpering the moment she sees me and it’s making me physically ill. I roll my eyes and walk past her and the police.

“Where’s my wife?” I say to Windsor, who stands in quiet attendance of the two cops and this… woman.

“She went to tend to the children, sir,” he says.

“Children?” Ms. Deleroy says snidely in a low voice. “Did she kidnap somebody else’s baby, too?”

I snap a glare over to this shrew standing in my house insulting my wife and then to the cops standing there next to her. One of them turns his gaze to the ground while the other does a somewhat helpless shrugging gesture with his hands. Yeah, I know. You can only enforce the law and keep the peace. You can’t arrest someone for being a crass and classless bitch. Without removing my coat, I go in search of the landline in the vestibule near the back stairs and dial the code to activate the intercom.

“Nursery,” I say into the phone. A few moments later, my wife’s voice softly answers.

“Ana.” I can tell by her tone that she’s still perturbed, but that at least one of the babies is asleep.

“I’m here, Butterfly.”

“Is Jason with you?” she asks.

“Not yet, but he’ll be here any minute. Al is here, though.” I hear a sigh.

“Minnie’s just about settled. I’ll be right down.”

“Okay.” I hang up the phone and take a deep breath. When I join the party in the grand entrance, Al has come in and is giving Windsor his coat. That’s when I realize that I’m still wearing mine.

“Officers,” I greet them finally after I’ve spoken to my wife. “I’m Christian Grey.” I proffer my hand to the first officer and he accepts the shake.

“Mr. Grey,” he nods. “I’m Officer Lamar and this is my partner, Officer Odell.” I extend my hand to Officer Odell and he accepts the shake.

“This is our attorney, Allen Forsythe.”

Allen starts talking to the officers while I hand my coat to Windsor. I catch a glimpse of this unpleasant female in my peripheral and she’s melting over my suited form.

Oh, good God, I’m going to hurl.

I raise my eyes to the second-floor landing and see my wife emerge. Thank God! She descends the stairs like the angel that she is, wearing a pair of brightly colored satin or silk genie pants with a white wrap-around top and all-white belly bind covering her midsection and hips. A pair of white ballet shoes allow her to gracefully float towards me, rescuing me from the possible clutches of this witch standing behind me. For a moment, I forget where I am and focus only on her. She’s so beautiful. I greet her with a chase kiss when she gets to the bottom of the stairs.

“Hey,” I say softly in her ear.

“Hey,” she responds. “I’m glad you’re here.” We quickly break our gaze from one another and turn our attention to Al, who is talking to the police.

“Mr. Taylor is on his way,” I tell the officers. “He should be here any minute.”

“Mr. Grey, would you mind telling us exactly how Sophia Taylor came to be here at your home? Because it is your home, we would like to have a statement on file.” I look from them to Butterfly. She just gestures to them.

“Didn’t my wife tell you?” I ask.

“We started,” he says, “but the conversation was somewhat interrupted by… a difference of opinion.”

“You mean, by her saying I kidnapped her daughter and by my subsequent crying babies,” Butterfly hisses, more to Deleroy than to the officers. I put my arm around her waist and kiss her temple gently to calm her. Why does holding her around this belly wrap turn me on?

“So she knows that we have crying babies upstairs,” I say.

“Yes,” Butterfly confirms.

“So that statement she made when I came in about you kidnapping someone else’s baby was just her being a bitch, right?” I turn back to the bitch and glare at her. She has the decencyor the fearto shrink a bit.

“I guess so,” Butterfly confirms. “Wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.”

I look at Al for guidance and he gives me a nod. I know he’ll stop me if I need to shut up.

“Members of my security team and I were having a debriefing after a very trying day on Monday evening. We were nearly done when Mr. Taylor basically leapt out of his seat and attempted to leave the meeting. I asked what the problem was and he just said that he would be right back and left.”

“So Mr. Taylor was still at Grey House with you?” Lamar asks.

“No, we were all here,” I tell him. “My wife and I have been working from home since the twins were born…”

“Twins!” I hear Deleroy say under her breath. Yes, twins! Where the hell have you been, on a desert island somewhere? Has whatever you’re using fried the best of your brain cells? Butterfly looks at her in horror.

“I told her that not half an hour ago,” she says, horrified. “Did she forget that fast?” I shake my head and turn back to the officers and continue.

“Mr. Taylor and I were debriefing my wife’s security team at the end of the day,” I say continuing the story. “I was still meeting with the team when I received a text from Mr. Taylor asking me to meet him downstairs in his and Mrs. Taylor’s quarters.”

“So your head of security and his wife have quarters in your home?” Odell asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “They met and married while in my employ. My security is 24/7 and Mrs. Taylor is our house manager and part-time nanny.” Odell nods and scribbles in his notebook.

“When my wife and I get to their quarters, Sophia is there.”

“You see?” Deleroy says. “It was Monday that he kidnapped my Sophie.”

“I beg your pardon, Madam, but first it was my wife that kidnapped your child and now it’s Jason?” I say folding my arms, and she falls silent. “No one kidnapped Sophia Taylor; she got here on her own.” She scoffs.

“Sophie’s only twelve years old. She can’t make that trip all by herself!” Deleroy accuses. What the hell?

“Oh, are you saying that she’s too young to catch a bus on her own but it’s perfectly okay for you to leave her in the house for three days unsupervised?” I retort. That’s when she decides to make an enemy of me.

“Of course, he’s going to say whatever Jason wants him to say! They’re friends!” I’m immediately angered.

“Madam,” I begin, “I don’t know how things work where you come from, but I have too much money to lie. I can pay people to do that for me!”

The words are so blatantly and brutally honest that the cop next to her just scoffs a laugh while Ms. Deleroy glares at me, and I glare right back.

“You were saying, Mr. Grey?” The other cop says.

“I was saying,” I bite out, never breaking my glare with the bitch who wants to play stare with me, “that my head of security was in a debriefing with me and three other people when he received a text that pulled him out of our meeting. I later discovered that text was from our security station at the front gate indicating that your daughter…” I startle the shit out of her and ultimately “win” the stare game by emphasizing the last two words and leaning in her face at the same time. She gasps and squeals a bit, jumping back into the hands of one of the officers, breathing heavily. I pause for a moment, still glaring at her while the officer holds her like the scared rabbit that she now truly is.

“… Was at the security station after catching two buses and a taxi across town by herself because she had been left home for three days alone with no contact from you and no idea where you were. According to her, a man came looking for you twice and she no longer wanted to be there by herself.” I narrow my eyes at her, waiting for her to respond and daring her to give me that insolent fucking glare that she was giving me before.

“I’m sure that if you check the taxi companies from the day in question, you’ll most likely be able to find the fare,” I say to the officers. “I highly doubt that a well-paid security officer with covert abilities who lives in a veritable fortress and has an airtight alibi, a fleet of automobiles and other covert operatives at his disposal would employ public transportation and a taxi to kidnap his daughter! But then again, that’s just my opinion. Like I said, too much money to lie.” I throw that last statement at the shivering Ms. Deleroy.

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to glare at a bear? They tend to attack,” I say through my teeth, using my Dom voice. She visibly shivers. I feel Butterfly’s hands on my arm and gently stroking my back and the effect is immediate. A warming, then cooling sensation shoots through my body like a shocking drug and I actually flinch at how quickly it calms me before taking a deep breath and settling into the calm. I raise my eye in time to see the officers share a knowing look before one of them mumbles, “bear elixir.”

Damn straight.

I throw a glance over my shoulder at my wife and even though it’s not appropriate, I so want to fuck her right now.

Luckily, only a few more minutes pass and Jason comes storming in through the back way, still in his coat as well. He has come through the garage and the mudroom and has, no doubt, dropped Sophie off to go and get her things from the downstairs apartment. He and Deleroy have a nasty war of words which was pretty much him chewing her a new one for leaving Sophie and her demanding the return of her child. Defeated and with no ground to stand on, he goes down to the apartment to fetch Sophia. Deleroy tries to follow him, but Butterfly squares off with her and I’m only too certain that if these officers can’t put this dog on a leash very soon, we’re going to have a repeat of the cat fight between Butterfly and the Pedophile that I caught on video in my penthouse apartment two years ago. Butterfly gives Deleroy a hateful glare and causes her to freeze right where she stands before Butterfly walks off behind Jason.

They’ve been gone for about five minutes before I turn to Al and conspicuously ask, “Mr. Forsythe, have you filed those documents with the family court yet?”

“Yes,” he says, “they were filed the very next day. There should be documents served very soon.” I nod.

“This is good news,” I say. “The sooner we can put this thing to bed, the better.”

All parties in the room know to what I’m referring, and Deleroy decides to poke the bear again.

“You’re probably pretty accustomed to putting things to bed, aren’t you, Mr. Grey?” she says in a seductive voice that makes my skin crawl.

“What gave it away?” I ask, turning to face her. “My hot, sexy wife or our newborn twins?” She’s taken aback and silent for a moment. “Nothing in the world like a woman that makes you come so hard that you blow two kids at once.” Lamar coughs audibly and either he’s stifling a laugh or empathizing with the feeling.

“If you have any other questions or comments, madam, you can direct them to my attorney.” I turn my back on her.

“Okay, attorney,” she says indignantly. “What was that comment about family court referring to, because I know that was for me?”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll find out,” he says.

“Another smart ass,” she says.

“You’re damn right, and apparently a hell of a lot smarter than you,” Al retorts. “You don’t want to get into a war of words with me, ‘Little Debbie.’ I will suck out your cream filling and leave your carcass on the floor for dead.”

And with those words coupled with a few well-placed hand gestures, a little of the gay Al comes out. Deleroy doesn’t know how to take this, but readies herself anyway for a retort. What do you say to something like that?

“Ms. Deleroy,” Odell interrupts her. “Mr. Taylor has gone to get your daughter as requested. Maybe you should just let us handle this from here on out.” You can tell that she wants to say something else, but she’s interrupted by Jason and Sophie coming into the grand entry.

“Sophia, baby!” she coos as if she’s been without her daughter for a long time—which she has—and has come to rescue her. “Are you alright?”

Sophia looks at her mother for several moments then turns around and hugs Jason tight.

“I love you, Daddy,” she says, clearly, holding him for long moments. Jason is taken aback for a moment, but closes his arms around his daughter. I immediately pick up that they were most likely not allowed to show affection around Shalane.

“I love you, too, Baby Boo,” he says, closing his eyes and holding her close. When they finally break, Sophie turns and walks to her mother.

“Mom,” she says, her voice questioning, “have you lost more weight?”

Al and I look at each other, because that question speaks volumes.

“Come on, Sophia, let’s go.” Deleroy says nervously, holding her hand out to Sophie and expecting her to fall in line. Sophie chooses this moment to make an announcement.

“You’re not going to keep me from my dad anymore, Mom,” she says clearly in front of all the parties in the room.

“Come on, Sophia, we’ll talk about this later.” Deleroy latches on to Sophie’s arm. Sophie snatches her arm from her mother’s grasp.

“You’re not going to keep me from my dad anymore!” Sophie repeats and waits for her mother’s response. A knowing look passes between them and I’m certain that we haven’t seen the last of this… or Sophie.

“Fine,” she says, finally, taking Sophie’s hand and dragging her from the house. The officers excuse themselves and follow Sophie and Ms. Deleroy out the front door. Jason wordlessly turns around and walks back towards his apartment.

“Al,” I get his attention as I walk towards the back of the house. He falls in step behind me, as I ask, “Sophia saw a change in her mother in a week. Even I can tell that she’s emaciated and I’ve never committed her form to memory. What could make her deteriorate that quickly?”

“Unless she’s on chemo for cancer, that’s crystal meth,” he says. I shake my head.

“Another drugged-out mother,” I think to myself. “I’m going to order surveillance… immediately. I don’t trust her and I don’t know what’s going on with Sophie. Another child will not fall to this stigma, not under my watch.


I need relief in the worst way. The night was tension-filled and even after talking to Jason this morning and informing him that I’ve arranged for 24-hour surveillance for Sophie as well as Shalane since we’re going to need ammunition to take to family court, he’s still tense as a rubber band and angry as a bear. Butterfly and I spend the rest of the week trying to keep Gail and Jason from committing Hara-kiri, but in the meantime, we’re neglecting each other. Saturday morning, I’m happy to see a familiar face show up at the front door.

“Artemis, it’s good to see you.” I shake hands with him as Windsor takes his coat.

“It is good to see you, too, Christian,” he says with a heavy Greek accent. “It has been a long time.”

“Yes, it has. Of course, you know why I’ve called you. I’m in need of your special skills.” Artemis smiles.

“Indeed. I thought I may never see you again after that unfortunate business with…” He trails off.

“Yes, well, life goes on. Let me show you the space and what I have in mind…”

“Blue!” Artemis says once I’ve led him through the secret passages through my dressing room. “A regal color, yes, but… hardly the color for a dungeon.”

“I don’t do dungeons, Artemis. I thought we established that,” I say. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Apologies,” he says. “Old habits die hard. But even a playroom…”

“This room will be different,” I tell him. “There will be instances of punishment and pain, but this room will mostly be about passion and pleasure; exploring limits and very, very intense orgasms. So a lot of the items I have in my playroom at the penthouse will not be needed, but I will need quite a few custom pieces in here. I expect that my wife will have some requests as well, but for right now, I need to get the audio and visual operational.”

“Of course. There will be many deliveries today… and my staff…”

“Coordinate with my butler, Windsor. Whatever you need. I’m going to prepare my wife for the onslaught and… possibly get some ideas from her. She wants an electric fireplace in the room—only the light source as the ventilation, we’ve discovered, will have to provide the heat and cooling that we need.” He raises an eyebrow at me.

“You do not want a playroom; you want a playpen,” he says. I frown. I don’t think I like his implication. He raises his hand. “Do not be offended, my friend. It is only what I call the room for couples who refrain from the sadomasochism portion of the BDSM lifestyle. I understand that many couples still want the adventure—the passion, the control and submission, the dominance—without the humiliation and intense pain. Only enough to titillate or to punish if necessary. It is just a trend that I notice—more of the power exchange and less of the degradation. That is all.”

I can’t argue with the man. All of the pain and the pleasure in my and Butterfly’s playtime has to do with power exchange. Even the chastity cage was an exercise in domination and punishment when before, it was simply humiliation and pain.

“I think you understand,” I tell him. He nods.

“Now, tell me Christian. Where will the bed be?”



“Where are you, love?” I say into the two-way system.


“Can I see you in my den when you’re finished?” There’s a pause.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, love. Everything’s fine.”

“But something’s up,” she deduces.

“What makes you think something’s up?” I ask, trying not to give anything away.

“Because you’re calling me ‘love.’” She’s got me.

“Yes, something’s up, but nothing bad. Just come and see me in my den when you’re done.”

“I’m on my way. End-two way communications.” I shake my head and chuckle to myself.

“If you don’t mind me asking, most women would adore a pet name. Do you only use it when you are in trouble or you want something?” Artemis asks.

“No, I use one every day, just not that one.” He frowns.

“What do you normally use, if you don’t mind?”

“Butterfly.” Artemis laughs deep in his chest.

“Playpen,” he reinforces. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. We have samples, pictures, my laptop and Artemis’ tablets and laptop strewn all over the tables, floor, and my piano. Today, we assemble our playroom—or as Artemis refers to it—our playpen. It most likely won’t be ready by the time Butterfly is cleared by Dr. Culley, but that’s not what I want our first after-delivery experience to be, anyway. Nonetheless, looking at the equipment and planning the room has me amorous in the worst way, a situation that I plan to rectify with my Butterfly later. In the meantime, we need to make some of these decisions together.

Artemis and I are going over the specifications of a custom attachment that I want added to what would normally be a padded spanking bench when Butterfly finally comes into the den. She’s clutching both ends of a work-out towel that she has draped around her neck. She’s wearing some sexy ass yoga pants showcasing her fabulous new curves. Her running jacket is open in the front, teasing you with a peek at a sports bra barely holding in her size D tits and an exercise belt that allows you to see a bit of sweaty skin on her torso between the bra and the belt. The sweat is that fine midst that coats her body right before she comes… well, maybe it’s not, but that’s what I see.

“Christian… why didn’t you tell me that we have company.” she scolds slightly, zipping her jacket and subconsciously checking the spot on her head where her hair is shorter.

“You look beautiful. Don’t worry,” I tell her, meeting her at the door and kissing her temple while guiding her into the room. My observation is further confirmed by Artemis’ expression and his inability to control his ogling eyes at my wife’s approaching form. I think he’s forgotten where he is because he actually parts his lips conspicuously and his tongue is running along the inside of his bottom lip, like he can actually taste what he’s looking at—only he happens to be looking at my wife! I feel dirty just looking at him!

“Artemis!” I say, drawing his attention back to me. He stops licking his lips, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“Forgive me,” he says, his voice low, “It is rare that I see such true natural beauty.”

Knock it off, Artie! You better be glad you’re good at what you do!

“Put a leash on it,” I say, my voice lower than his. “This is my wife, not some random submissive.” Butterfly’s eyes shoot to my face and she gasps.

“Christian!” she breathes horrified.

“Artemis is the contractor and designer of the Escala Playroom,” I tell her, and she relaxes immediately. “He’s going to help us build ours here.” She looks at me again.

“Here? Now?” she says, somewhat surprised.

“Yes, now,” I say, giving her a gaze that relays that I would fuck her right now if I could. Her reaction is immediate. I need some way to channel this sexual energy or I’m going to explode on the spot and if I get a hold of her now, I’m going to fuck her even though we’re not supposed to. So I need to let the Dom loose, even if I can only vicariously imagine what will happen when the room is finished, then we satisfy each other later.

Her lips part just like Artemis’ did a moment ago and she makes the same movements with her tongue. Watching her and trying with all my might to talk my dick down, I almost feel sorry for poor Artie. That reaction is knee-jerk, subconscious—she doesn’t know she’s doing it. Most likely, neither did he.

“Tristan and Isolde,” Artemis says, so low that you can barely hear it, but I did.

“No,” I say, never taking my eyes off my enchanting wife. “Helen of Troy. There is no King Mark in our story. Yet, I don’t know if I’m Paris or Menelaus. However, she has already launched a thousand ships; there’s already been an epic battle for her heart; and empires can, do, and will fall at her whim.” My voice is steady as I relay an accurate historical account of the power that my love and Butterfly wields over men, but graces upon only me.

“A tragic ending, Helen,” Artemis adds. I reach down and take her left hand, stretching her arm in front of both our bodies and curling it into my left hand.

“Not my Helen,” I say, trailing three kisses from her wedding and engagement rings down her finger and ending at the back of her hand. “My Helen will ascend to Mount Olympus as Euripides recounted, but I would be most blessed and satisfied to die at her feet.” I turn her palm to my lips and kiss it softly. She shivers at my words.

“Don’t say that!” she whispers, anxiously, almost helpless, her eyes beseeching. Her free hand extends to my face and caresses my cheek and I’m lost in her gaze.

“She loves you, Christian,” Artemis says, “very much.”

“And I her,” I confirm, turning my lips to her hand that caresses my cheek.

“The blue!” he says as a revelation. “Her eyes…”

“Yes,” I confirm, taking both of my wife’s dainty hands in mine.

“It is too dark,” he says. I shake my head.

“No, it’s not,” and that’s the only explanation I offer. I lead her to one of the sofas and begin to show her some of my ideas.

“The audio/visual equipment has already been installed, and we’ve discovered that one of the walls has the plumbing behind it to add a small en suite—for clean-up purposes, only.” She raises her eyes to me.

“Who’s going to build it?” she asks.

“Elliot, who else?” she frowns.

“Do we really want him having that much information?”

“Did you forget that disastrous meeting at my parents’ house where it was already announced?” Realization dawns and she nods.

“For a moment, I did. Duly noted.” She looks back down at the displays on the tablet and laptop. “What’s that?” she points to a pentagon-shaped apparatus that sits on the floor.

“This is a base-plate. It’s extremely versatile and there are several different accessories that can be added to it. For example,” I point out each of the accessories, “the spanking horse, the V-seat slave chair, the bench set, the bondage frame, the crossbars, the steel winch, the parrot sticks, the chains, pulleys, straps, and recessed bondage rings… and, of course, the ankle and wrist restraints. The spanking horse can even be used separately, like this.” I show her a picture of the spanking horse on the floor with a model bound to it with leather cuffs.

“Dungeon-in-a-box,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “That’s very nice in terms of versatility. However, during playtime, one would not want to be assembling and disassembling the furniture they choose to use.”

“If I may,” Artemis interjects. I nod to him. “Mrs. Grey…”

“Ana,” she says. I prefer Mrs. Grey, but okay. Artemis nods.

“Ana, in such a situation, you would have more than one base. I suggest three. Normally, during your playtime, you may move from apparatus to apparatus, no?”

“Yes,” she says softly.

“Well, this piece eliminates some of the movement. If you are transitioning between two drastically different positions, then you will undoubtedly need more than one base set up for those positions. However, say that the Dominant is transferring the submissive from a paddle-spanking position to a flogging or caning position. In such a case, it is as simple as releasing the restraints from the spanking horse here…” He points out where the model is cuffed to the head of the spanking horse. “… And attaching them to the frame here.” He points to the chains and D-hooks in the top of the frame attachment. “The submissive could either stay on the horse, or the horse could be collapsed and the submissive bound to the base via the recessed bondage rings and ankle restraints. Imagine how much subspace time you can utilize by not having to disturb your submissive to move them to another apparatus.” Butterfly raises an eyebrow.

“He really knows his stuff,” she says, quietly.

“Why do you think he’s here?” I reply. She raises her eyes to me, then turns back to Artemis.

“I want a St. Andrews,” she says, her voice sultry. “Big enough for him.” I raise an eyebrow at her and Artemis is intrigued. “And a crop… like the Chanel crop, only I want a ‘B.’” I take in a quick gasp of air, lick my lips, and let it out. She’s driving me crazy and I think she’s doing it on purpose.

“Careful, Mrs. Grey,” I say in a controlled Dom voice. She looks over at me and her pupils dilate slightly.

“Why?” she says, employing her own delicate Domme voice and it shoots straight to my dick. “Careful yourself.” I run my tongue over my teeth.

“A St. Andrews is visibly pleasing, but tends to lack complete functionality,” Artemis says. “May I suggest instead the SM Wallsystem Base.” He picks up a nearby tablet, swipes a few times, then hands Butterfly the tablet. “This one is fully adjustable… wrist and ankle restraints, two spreader bars, vertical pole for torso bondage. While it does mount to the wall, you will see that the mounting equipment allows 360-degree access to the submissive.”

“Much more suitable to our… tastes,” I say in a low voice. “Imagine the possibilities.” She cocks her head at the picture and the various ways the models display its usefulness.

“Yes,” she says, “not as pretty as the St. Andrews, but much more functional.” Her voice betrays her arousal and she’s in the room with two seasoned Doms. Artemis has to control his breathing every time she says something. “Since space is a premium, I can definitely understand why these pieces will be ideal. What else do you have in mind?” She gives me the “come hither” look and I know that discussing these items is making her as hot as it is making me hard.

“The multi-bondage bank.” It looks a bit like a workout bench, but it’s pretty much an all-in-one bondage bench for quick sessions.

“The bed,” I tell her, my voice deep with promise. “The baroque four-poster won’t really fit ideally in that room, so I had this in mind as a substitute.” I show her a wrought-iron bed that—once fully assembled—becomes a bondage and suspension frame with a swing.

“Remember the corset?” I breathe in her ear. “We were trying to find a better way to use it. Here’s the better way.” I touch her skin and actually feel her pulse quicken. This is torment for both of us, because we can’t have sex for another week.

“The bed also has built-in stocks in the footboard and a queening seat in the headboard,” I add. Her hand caresses the skin on her chest just below her neck.

“A queening seat,” she says wistfully. “Is that what it sounds like?”

“If it sounds like I get to bind your hands and feet to four corners and sit you in an open seat, leaving your pussy fully exposed so that I can lick you and eat you until you scream, then yes—it is what it sounds like.” She takes a deep breath.

“Ho-kay!” she breathes out, so aroused that she can’t hide it anymore.

“I’m particularly interested in testing these lower stocks,” I tell her, showing her the lower openings in the headboard. “It not only leaves you completely helpless while I fuck you from behind, but it also puts your head at the perfect height for me to fuck your mouth.”

Her pupils dilate as I describe the different ways that I plan to use this bed. I show her how the stocks can be used to restrain me in a face-up position so that she can sit on my face; how the leather sling can be used with chains and restraints to bind either of us for oral or sexual torment; and how footboard can even be collapsed to lie on the bed and create another whipping bench.”

“Good grief, all this multifunctional furniture,” she breathes. “How will we use it all?”

“Oh, we’ll use it, but that ain’t all, Baby.”

“Wha…?” She seems a bit intimidated.

“The bed has a swing, but it’s not the swing… this is.” The large framed sex swing that I show her actually has a video demonstration. It comes with a fucking stool and even though the models are clothed—as much as a BDSM model can be—she gets the full idea of the things that can be done with this magnificent piece of machinery. She’s completely hot now and I hear poor Artemis breathing very deeply to control his Dominant nature. Poor sucker, I forgot he was in the room. It doesn’t help much that the female model has beautiful long hair just like my wife—though he ass ain’t nothing like Butterfly’s.

“Is there… any more?” she says, obviously trying to prepare herself for whatever may come next.

“Artemis, do we have those items on order from Czech and Korea?”

“We do,” he says, the picture of professionalism.

“Okay, what exactly do we need from Czech and Korea?” she asks.

“It’s going to be a surprise… one I’m sure that you’ll love.”

“And you’re not going to tell me?” she says coquettishly while drawing circles on my chest with her fingertips. Shit! Fire! “Not even a little hint?”

“You’ll have to wait, Mrs. Grey,” I reply, unable to hide my arousal. She smiles coyly.

“Keep your secrets, then, Mr. Grey,” she says, her voice sultry. “But I have ways of making you talk.”

“Do your worst,” I nearly growl and she bites her lip. Oh, fuck, my dick is going to explode from these goddamn jeans. Artemis clears his throat from across the room. I think our play is getting to be too much for him.

“Besides my surprises,” I begin, composing myself and reigning in my thumping libido, “I’ve order another chesterfield sofa and chair for our playroom.”

“Blue?” she asks, raising her eyebrow. I shake my head.

“Black,” I clarify.

“Better,” she confirms.

“All that remains now is to order our toys and accessories,” I say, so ready to wrap this up that I can barely see straight. “You mentioned a designer crop? ‘B’ for Butterfly?”

Once we have gone through the crops, whips, canes, paddles, cuffs, blindfolds, and numerous other items that we want for our playroom, I’m reminded to order two tall boys for the playroom or our toys will have no home. Artemis offers to place the order for me as well as procure the electric fireplace that I requested.

“Artemis, do you have a card?” Butterfly asks. He looks to me. I frown, but nod that he can give her his card.

“Why do you need his card?” I ask as he gathers his samples, tablet, and laptop.

“You never know, Mr. Grey. I just might have a surprise in store for you,” she replies. Oh shit. Artemis, it’s time for you to leave!

“I will call you when the deliveries begin and let you know when I and my staff will need access to the room.” I nod and he extends a hand to me. I shake it and he turns and extends a hand to my wife.

“Mrs. Grey, Ana, it has been a pleasure,” he says with a polite partial bow.

“Thank you, Artemis, the pleasure was mine. I’ll be in touch.” She slides the card in her pocket. Artemis smiles at me and leaves. I inconspicuously lock the door once he leaves and turn to my wife.

“What made you decide to work on the playroom today?” she asks.

“Playpen,” I say, stalking her. She frowns.


“Artemis calls it a playpen. It’s a room that strays from the extreme pain and wanders closer to the extreme pleasure.” I’m closing in on her and she’s backing away from me.

“I like that,” she breathes.

“I thought you would,” I say as her back meets the only wall with bookshelves in my den. I lean down and take her lips and tongue hungrily with mine. When she moans into my mouth, I’m undone. I need to be inside of her now! But I know that I can’t. I hoist her up onto the ledge that runs through the middle of the room. The books behind her protest as I push her hard against them. I steady myself with one hand on one of the walls of the bookshelf, the other stretches her arm up to hold the other wall. One of her legs is wrapped around my hip, the other around my thigh, her free hand clasping the nape of my neck.

I release her other arm and she obediently holds on to the bookshelf wall. I open her running jacket and kiss and bite the skin of her neck, shoulders, and breasts. She moans in my ear and I can feel the heat of her core through her pants… even through my jeans. I release my dick from my jeans but leave it sheathed in my boxer briefs. I nestle myself between her legs, pushing and grinding, gyrating my hips until I feel her lips part beneath her clothes. She gasps when I meet my mark.

That’s it.

I grind into her, feeling her as close to my dick as I can without being tempted to slip inside of her and fuck her. Oh, but this is fucking… the hungry kisses, the animalistic sounds, the grinding of our sex chasing our orgasms. We may not be penetrating, but we are certainly fucking!

I grab her hips and push her into me, the warmth of her core burning against my dick. I keep the pressure, the rhythm going, digging into her and between her lips. She feels so good… so fucking good… Just before I come, I stop myself, wanting to wait until tonight for what I have planned for her.

“No!” I groan, hearing the torment in my own voice, my pelvis actually cramping from aching to come.

“Christian…” she breathes between pants, desperate, grabbing my hair, “Please!”

I realize I’m not the only one on the edge and I never leave her this way. I groan deeply and start the gyrations again and almost immediately, she shamelessly moans her release. Her tortured sex cries set me off and I rub it out between her legs, my orgasm burning through my penis and emptying into my boxer briefs.

We stay there for a moment, trying to catch our breath. Once we do, I kiss her fiercely then pull away from her.

“Tonight,” I threaten, zipping my pants. “We won’t fuck, but I have plans for you. Be ready.” I release her and set her back onto the floor before going to clean the mess that I’ve made in my underwear.


A cold shower doesn’t help much. That orgasm was magnificent, but I’m still hot for my wife. I clean myself up and change into fresh clothes before I go in search of my phone. When I get down to my den, I find that I’ve left it on the piano. I swipe the screen and call Elliot.

“Hey Bro,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Hey. Do you remember that room off of my dressing room?” He’s silent for a moment.

“There are two rooms back there. Which one?”

“The one further back, the bigger room.”

“Yeah, what about it?” he asks.

“Didn’t you tell me that there was plumbing behind one of those walls that would allow for installation of a bathroom?”

“It… depends on how big you want it,” he says.

“A water closet is fine,” I tell him. “Just a working toilet and sink and a medicine cabinet.”

“Dude, you’ve got like seven or eight bedrooms in that house. Why are you building a bathroom in a room behind a wall?”

“You already know why,” I say with no further explanation. He chuckles into the phone.

“Dude, you and my sister-in-law are freaks,” Elliot says. “You workin’ on that next kid already?” I shake my head.

“No,” I say with mirth. “We haven’t even reached six weeks yet.”

“Not yet?” he questions. “I thought it was six weeks by now.”

“January 23rd, this is the last week.”

“Well, don’t kill her, Bro, but it’s going to take at least that long to get that bathroom installed. It won’t be ready by the time you are.”

“That’s fine,” I concede. “As long as it’s ready within two weeks. The furniture will be coming then.”

“Okay. I’ll get my NDA crew working on it on Monday.” I frown.

“You’re not doing it?” He sighs.

“Not if you want it done in two weeks. I’ve got something I need to do.” I pause.

“Why does that sound so ominous?” I ask him.

“Because… me and Val might be breaking up.” I can’t say that I didn’t see this coming. She’s unbearable just during the time I’m in her presence. I can’t imagine being around her 24/7.

“What, in particular, brought this on?” I ask.

“She’s unbearable, man,” he confesses, repeating my sentiment. “These crazy ass mood swings; she’s pissing everybody off. I’m isolated because nobody wants to be bothered with her! Not my friends, not her friends, not my family, nobody. She’s on a leave of absence from her job right now because they told her to get her shit together or get the fuck out. Nobody hates Ana, man. How the hell do you hate Ana? Nobody hates Ana but that Creep of the Week pedophile and her crazy ass ex-boyfriend. She’s becoming a pestilence and she’s eating away at me.”

“Okay, I can’t argue with you there, but at the risk of sounding insensitive, what does that have to do with building my bathroom.”

“She’s going to the doctor on Monday, and I’m going with her,” he says. “I think she’s pregnant or something. She swears that she’s not, but something is wrong and I need to know what it is. If it turns out that she’s pregnant, we’ll deal with it, but I have to know what the hell is going on. Living with her is a goddamn nightmare and I can’t take it anymore! She’ll pop off at me at any given moment, and sex… oh my God, sex! We’ll be hot and heavy, deep into it and the next thing you know, she’s crying! Or worse yet, she’s angry. All it takes is a weepy, sopping woman to make your Buffalo soldier lose all his valor at that crucial moment!”

Did he say Buffalo soldier?

“I haven’t had a decent nut in months! Either she flips on me and the party is over or I’m fucking rushing to come before Dr. Jekyll becomes Ms. Fucking Hyde! I gave her a goddamn ultimatum. I’ve never given a woman an ultimatum, not even Kate, but Val is going to drive me to an early fucking grave. I told her to go find out what the fuck is wrong with her or I am done!”

“Well, why won’t you just let her go to the doctor and tell you what’s up? Don’t get me wrong—I accept that you won’t be doing the bathroom, but why do you have to go with her? If she’s pissing you off that much, why don’t you let her go by herself?”

“Because I don’t fucking trust her!” He says. “I fully expect her to go to the doctor on Monday and the shrink on Tuesday and say that there’s nothing wrong and try to act normal. She hasn’t been doing well, mentally or physically, that’s why I think she’s pregnant. She’s got an appointment on Monday to see medical doctor and an appointment on Tuesday to see the shrink. If they tell me that nothing is wrong with her and I just have to deal with this, on Wednesday, I’m moving out and I’m letting her have the house!”

“Why would you do that?” I ask, appalled.

“Because it’s easier than trying to get her to move out,” he says. “I’m done with this. I’ve been abused and mistreated long enough. I can’t take this shit no more.” Well, I guess that’s that.

“You’ll tell me how it turns out?” I say.

“Oh, trust me. You’ll know, but I mean it. If she just turns out to be a raving lunatic like Kate, I’m swearing off women.” I roll my eyes.

“No, you’re not.”

“Watch me.” I think he’s serious. He’ll swear them off for a while, but he’ll be back. Pussy is too damn good to just abandon ship… although he did swear off alcohol, but alcohol ain’t pussy.

“Well, keep me posted. I’m here for you, Bro.” He sighs.

“Yeah, I know…” We say our goodbyes and end the call.

I pull up a page on my laptop and look at the “surprises” that I have in store for the playroom and for Butterfly. A sex sofa will be delivered from Czech. It has very special features for my lady’s pleasure and I can see it driving her wild in the playroom while I choose to watch or participate. It will come with a very special custom attachment that is sure to blow her mind and I will have such amazing and unbelievable fun re-introducing it to her.

The second item is a luxury sex chair, also with some custom attachments. This chair is exclusive and already comes equipped with most of the attachments, but I’ve added just a couple more—drawers in the bottom pedestal of the chair and vertical hand grips at the end of the arm rests. There are so many things that can be done with those handgrips. One of the best things about the sex chair is that it’s unisex. It can be for her pleasure as well as for mine.

I tighten up a few loose ends with items that I want to order without Butterfly’s advance knowledge—more surprises, you could say. She took Artemis’ business card. I wonder what that little vixen has up her sleeve? The sun has long since gone down, and it’s time for dinner. Once we’ve fed ourselves and fed our children, I have some serious plans for Mrs. Grey’s body.

A/N: Some of you are going to have a huge problem with how the Sophie section is going. All I can say is if you’ve never experienced this personally, don’t go there. And even if you have experienced this, still don’t go there, because every situation is not the same.

Unfortunately, I’ve had more experience with this particular topic than I care to elaborate on—up to and including the death of children. No, I’m not going to kill Sophie off, but that’s all I’m revealing right now.

I had an entire diatribe ready for people who would disparage the direction of this storyline, but I’ve changed my mind. The storyline is painful enough without me having to defend it. Moving on…

Christian (and Brian) constantly makes reference to Ana being “Helen of Troy”—the face that launched a thousand ships,” “the Trojan Horse,” “the most beautiful woman in the world,” you know the deal.

Depending on which version of the story you follow, Helen was either stolen from King Menelaus by Paris or she ran away with Paris because she fell in love. Either way, the Trojan war was launched to get her back. Here are Christian’s references:

“The face that launched a thousand ships…”—Of course, this refers to the Trojan War, where Menelaus and his army sailed to Troy to retrieve Helen. Maybe not “a thousand ships” in Ana’s case, but police cars and helicopters were “launched” to Vashon Island to get her back from David and Harris. People were shot and one was killed in the process.

“There’s already been an epic battle for her heart.”—Once again, referencing the Trojan War. In Ana’s case, the battle was epic enough for three people to end up in the hospital because of it…” Christian, Brian, AND Ana—five, if you include the in vitro twins. A years-long, lasting friendship may have fallen as a result of the battle as well (Ray and Brian).

“Empires can, do, and will fall at her whim.” —The Trojan War went on for ten years while the Greeks tried to get Helen back. In the end, the Trojan Horse sealed the final battle, and Troy and Paris fell to the Greeks. In our story, Fairlane LTD had a small hope of remaining intact until Christian discovered how the women treated his wife. Now Fairlane has no legacy whatsoever, not even his name (Finish him!), and his son has been reduced to less than nothing (Flawless execution!). Forgive the Mortal Combat references.

Artemis comments how Helen met a tragic end. He’s Greek, and in many Greek recounts, she did meet a tragic end. One account had her hanged by handmaidens in Rhodes. Another had her returned to Greece, where a death sentence awaited her. Christian refers to Euripides recount where, just after Menelaus’ return, Helen ascends back to Mount Olympus with her father Zeus and no mortal harm comes to her.

Of course, Paris dies in the battle. Hence, Christian’s declaration that he “would be most blessed and satisfied to die at her feet.”

Artemis also makes a reference to Tristan and Isolde, a 12th Century couple who ingested a love potion that made them fall hopelessly and madly in love with each other. Whether the ingestion was a setup or accidental, or whether the effects lasted for three years or a lifetime, depends on which version of the story you’re reading. Isolde is intended for Tristan’s uncle, King Mark. She marries Mark, but the relationship between the three become like that of Lancelot, Guinevere, and Arthur, where Mark loves them both and is kind to Isolde, but Tristan and Isolde can’t deny their affection for one another.

Of course, Mark finds out and sentences them both to death, but they escape to the woods. Mark finds them and makes peace with them, and Isolde is returned back to him. Tristan leaves and marries another Isolde in another land (yes, same name—Isolde/Iseult of the White Hands). Tristan is later wounded in battle and sends for the original Isolde to heal him because his current wife cannot (or will not). The ship is instructed to return with white sails if they were able to get Isolde to return and black sails if they were not. Tristan is too weak to sit up and see the sails, so he asks his current wife to tell him what color the sails are and the jealous bitch tells him that the sails are black.

Tristan falls into grief, thinking that Isolde has denied him, and dies. When Isolde gets there and finds Tristan already gone, she falls over in grief and dies, too. They are buried together in Cornwall. A rose tree grew from Isolde’s grave and a thick bramble briar (those crisscross vines with the thorns that you can never seem to get rid of) grew from Tristan’s grave, wrapped itself around the rose tree, formed a bower around the base, and took root in Isolde’s grave. King Mark had the vine cut down several times. Yet, every time the vine was cut, it just grew back again. This became a sign that no matter what happened, the two lovers couldn’t even be parted in death.

Again, it depends on what version you read. Another version has King Mark killing Tristan while he sings a love song to Isolde and the romantic “tree and vine” story never occurs.

There are several references to Helen of Troy online (and several different interpretations) as well as Tristan and Isolde (Iseult), but here’s one of each if you would like the basics:

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

The Playpen toys can be found at

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Love and handcuffs  
Lynn X

Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 63—Reinforcing the Family Dynamic

So, I’m in the process of moving my mailing list over to a new mailing service and I noticed that quite a few people have email addresses that have bounced. I’ve tried to send emails manually to you all who have bounced email and thus far, only one person has responded. So… if you do not receive an email directly from my mailing list for this chapter, please let me know. We may need to update your email address.

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 63—Reinforcing the Family Dynamic


“I would never want to be caught in negotiations with that woman,” Chuck tells me during debriefing. “She is vicious, cold, calculating—she can be manipulative, and when she goes in for the kill…” He whistles and shakes his head. He describes the meeting to me, how Butterfly used her feminine wiles to torment David, took every opportunity to exploit and expose his intentions, then dropped his position in his lap and left him sitting in his own squalor.

“Her mind works like a computer if she’s opposed to you,” Chuck continues. “She’s throwing the facts at him and as she’s talking to him, shit’s just dropping…” He’s snapping his fingers repeatedly to indicate how quickly the transactions and conversation are occurring.

“She’s reading his reactions and every time he reacts to something, more shit drops and she just throws it back at him. Just from reading his reactions, she discovered more shit that the Feds are going to find,” he says. I frown.

“Such as?” I inquire.

“Most likely, Edwise doesn’t have much income that can be traced to its actual business functions. From day one, it was probably just a storefront.” My eyes widen.

“Shit! Really?”

“Really. This is probably the reason why they quickly cleared Ana of any charges. If he’s been in business for just about five years or so and she just took custody about three months ago, ran an internal audit, then replaced any money she took out of it, there’s no way she could have been aware of what was going on. It was a simple matter of process of elimination on her part. But just sitting there, she figured out that he expected to drop the apple in her lap and for her to take the fall.”

“He couldn’t have, it’s an LLC,” I point out. Chuck shrugs.

“Yeah! Duh! We don’t know how he didn’t know this could happen. But I swear, she handled that shit like a mob boss. Who set up that meeting? Did you?” I shake my head.

“Nope. She did. She got on the phone first thing this morning as soon as she got that report. I don’t know who she talked to, but she was getting dressed before she even knew the meeting was approved. I cleared the information with Welch, had a couple of security precautions in place of my own, just for my own peace of mind, and that was it. For the most part, she did this all by herself.”

I could have protested, but I knew it wouldn’t have done any good. She needed closure. However, listening to Chuck talk about how she handled this asshole—her quick thinking and ability to read signals and exploit opportunities—is making me give some serious thought to any reservations I might have been feeling about her having to make any emergency decisions in terms of GEH. Not that I didn’t think she could do it, it’s just that GEH is in fact my baby, but I really can’t think of anyone else that I would trust in a time of turmoil if immediate decisions had to be made and I was incapacitated. I know that she would consult with the appropriate people for guidance on any matters with which she would be unfamiliar and I sincerely trust that she would make solid decisions to protect our legacy. I suddenly feel very foolish for my initial hesitation.

I didn’t even see her when she got home earlier. I had to find her and when I did, she was squirreled away in the nursery looking into Minnie’s crib. I approached quietly and found her so lost in thought that she didn’t even know that I had entered the room. She was still in that sexy white tuxedo that fell provocatively over her ass and I had to stop myself from grabbing it. I was going to say something, but I heard her murmuring to Minnie’s sleeping form and thought better of it:

“I’ll make sure you know how important you are; how special you are. The wolves won’t get to you—not because I’ll keep you sheltered, but because I’ll make you strong.”

I just backed away and out of the room and let her have that much-needed moment with her daughter. Now that I hear about the details of her meeting with David, I see why she needed to reinforce this fact with Mackenzie. It’s going to be an adventure raising a daughter with Lady Anastasia in the house. I turn my attention back to Chuck.

“What about David? What do you think we should be doing now? How did you two feel when you left that meeting?” I turn to Lawrence.

“He was decimated, sir,” Lawrence says. “He was face down on that table like a chastised little boy. He never even opened the envelope by the time we left, but I’m sure he already knew what was in it. I would say that we should probably know what kind of connections he has in prison, if any, because if he does, that’s who he’s going to be reaching out to, now. He’s not going to be able to do anything in terms of outside communication without the Feds knowing unless he has connections.”

“As far as I know, he doesn’t have any connections. I’ve got Welch looking into it,” I say. “As far as any connections that he has with his business, well, they’ve been laying pretty low. They let him ride out that fucked-up trial all by himself and now, like you said, the Feds are crawling up his ass. If they have any good sense, they’re all burning and burying paper trails right now, disavowing all knowledge of that fucker, but you never know. So, we’ll just keep our eyes open.” I steeple my fingers in front of my lips. “Decimated, huh?”

“Destroyed!” Chuck reinforces. I look over at Lawrence who splays out both hands and makes the noise like a building exploding. I smile inwardly. Don’t fuck with Madame Butterfly.

“Well, gentlemen, I think this operation was a success. We’ll keep our eye on Walla Walla, Washington and await word from the federal government on progress about Mrs. Grey’s company. My only regret is that I wasn’t there to see my wife in action.” Chuck laughs.

“I think you would have rather not seen it, sir,” he says. “There was a moment or two when she taunted that poor sucker and I thought he was going to crawl across the table at her.”

“Is that so?” I say, raising an eyebrow. He nods.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says. “My only regret is that she only allowed me to hit him three times, and not the way I wanted to… well, once. I got a good gut shot.”

“Oh, now I’m jealous.” I say, eliciting a chuckle from the other men in the room. “I still would have liked to see her bring him to his proverbial knees. From the sound of it, he was primordial ooze by the time you all left.”

“Worse,” Lawrence says. “Primordial ooze would have been an improvement. That man was really in bad shape.” I look over at Chuck who nods. Well, think about his position. He’s lost all of his worldly goods. He has no connections. The Feds are coming after him. He’s already in jail for nearly 30 years and by the time the Feds are done, he’ll most likely be in there for life unless they show some mercy and let him serve his sentences concurrently, which isn’t likely with all the charges he’s going to accumulate. He’s going to run up a shitload of fines that he won’t be able to pay. His partners are probably going to come after him. And all of this was orchestrated by a woman that he claimed to love with all his heart whom he tried to destroy. She showed up at the prison, looking like the several billion dollars that she’s worth, dropped the bomb on him and left.

Yeah, I’d say he’s less than primordial ooze, because primordial ooze had the beginning cells of life in it. He doesn’t even have that right now. I’m just about to change the direction of the conversation when Jason bolts out of his seat standing straight up, glaring at his phone. Without a word and with no regard for anyone in the room, he makes a beeline for the door.

“Jason?” I catch his attention before he makes it to the door. I haven’t dismissed the debriefing yet. Where the hell is he going? He actually turns and gazes at me like I’m interrupting him. “Where’s the fire?”

“I… um… it… I’m sorry sir I’ll be right back.” He says it all in one breath and he’s gone, obviously with no intention of stopping or explaining. That’s enough to make your hair stand on end, but it can’t be a security emergency or he would have told everyone in the room. I will definitely need to have a private word with Mr. Taylor. Seeing as to how my head of private security has bolted out of the debriefing, I decide to dismiss the meeting.

“Chuck…” I hold him back once everyone has left. “How did it feel getting back in the game?”

“Pretty good,” he said nodding. “I was itching to get my hands on that fucker almost since day one, so it felt good to be able to slap him around a little bit.”

“I wasn’t too keen on Butterfly going up there before she was cleared by the doctor, but I knew there was no stopping her once she got that report. I appreciate you keeping her safe from that fucker. I know there wasn’t much that he could do to her under the circumstances, but… well, you know how I am.”

“Yeah, I know,” he concurs. There’s a pause before I ask, “Talk to Keri lately?” He sighs.

“Every day… I think she’s got a cold or something. She hasn’t been well for the last couple of days.”

“Has she been to the doctor?” I ask.

“Nobody goes to the doctor for a cold, Christian,” he says. I raise my eyebrows at him. “And before you ask, no, she’s not pregnant. I already asked.”

“You’re sure about that?”

She is,” he says. “She got her period, so no, that’s not it. She’s just under the weather. Think about it. It’s 35 in Seattle and 80 in Anguilla.”

“Okay, but I’ve never heard of anybody getting a cold from going from cold weather to hot… just the other way around.”

“Well, I have,” he says, “and I’m worried about her. She’s a nurturer. She doesn’t tend to allow others to take care of her.”

“If it’s just a cold, what are you worried about?”

“It’s just a cold now. If she doesn’t take care of herself, you know it can get worse.” He rubs his hand over his neck.

“How are you holding up?” I ask. He shakes his head.

“Don’t ask me that,” he says, lowly. “I can’t even say.”

“But if you hold it in, it only makes it worse,” I warn. “I don’t know your personal business, but I know enough to know that you don’t have a therapist. I know that you may talk to your sponsor when you want to take a drink, but you don’t vent to anyone and Keri’s been gone for nearly three weeks after being by your side for three months. So again, I ask, how are you holding up?” His shoulders fall.

“Not good,” he admits. “Day by day, that’s all I can do. I feel like I can’t breathe without her. No one has ever affected me this way. So, all I can do is work… concentrate on my job. Keep busy. Protect Ana, protect the twins. Protect myself. Stay clean. Do everything I promised her that I would do. One day at a time… that’s all I can do.” I nod. How is it that I can empathize so well with these men who have been without their women?

“I don’t know that I could have did what you did,” I tell him. “Let her go, I mean. It took guts for you to know that your life was here and to let her go to hers, but I just don’t know that I could have done it. Wild dogs couldn’t have kept me away from Butterfly.”

“That’s so different, man,” Chuck laments.

“Yes, and no,” I tell him. “Ana might as well have been on a different planet when we first met and I loved her almost from the very beginning. You were there, you saw it!”

“Yeah, I did see it,” he says, “I thought she was going to have to get a restraining order against you, and you had me watching her!” I gesture to him as if to say, “See?”

“I know a thing or three about not being able to stay away,” I say. “That night you led us to Canlis and we dismissed you… man, I crashed a date. I’ve never crashed a date! My women were mine! I didn’t take them from anybody. If I had to take them, they weren’t mine. I’m ashamed to say this, but that woman could have had a ring on her finger and I don’t think I would have pursued her any less fervently.” Chuck frowns.

“Dude, not cool.”

Dude, didn’t matter. I loved her too much to be without her. She threatened to put me in jail and had every intention of doing so and I still had to be with her! What does that say?”

“Why was she going to put you in jail?” he asks surprised. “How??” That’s when I realized that we never told him that part of the story.

“Remember that Spyder I used to own?” He nods. “Remember it got totaled?” He nods again. “I decked the guy who hit it… in front of a cop. He was drunk driving when he rear-ended me, turned my car into a tuna can, then when he realized that it was me that he hit, he said that I slammed on the brakes and caused the accident. I was in cuffs before he hit the ground. This I Don’t Go Easy On The Rich Judge Hammerfuck wanted to make an example out of me because he was vying for his seat on the bench that year and wanted to throw the book at me. He wanted to put me in jail, but it was my first offense and he couldn’t do it, so guess who got community service and group counseling… and guess who was the facilitator?”

“Whoa!” he exclaims. “Ana was your shrink?”

“No!” I snap, feeling a bit sensitive, I don’t not why. He looks at me with mirth. “She was the facilitator of the group counseling that I was forced to attend at the community center for anger management.”

“Bullshit you had anger management!?” he says it all in one breath before he caught himself. “Sorry, sir,” he said a little sheepishly. I roll my eyes at him, but laugh inwardly.

“I know, right?” I say to lighten the mood a bit. “I bought my way out of the community service, but you know that shit wasn’t working with Butterfly. She busted my balls from day one—hated the fucking ground I walked on; walked up the front of me and down the back of me. I couldn’t understand why she felt so goddamn high and mighty and why my charm didn’t work on her, but it pissed me the fuck off… and turned me the fuck on like nothing else in the world. I was gone almost immediately, but I refused to admit it. I tried everything—charm, intimidation, domination, bribery—nothing worked. It just got worse and worse.”

“I still don’t get how this situation is the same as mine, Christian,” he says, bringing the conversation full circle.

“Tell me which is worse… loving someone and wanting to be with them so much that you can think of little else and having them an arm’s reach away, but you can’t have them because they hate you… or having an ocean between you.”

He honestly has to ponder that thought. He’s hurting because Keri is so far away and he can’t be with her, but no doubt the thought of having her near him and he couldn’t have her because she hates him would be just as agonizing if not more.

“I tried to express how I felt about her—twice—and she ran both times. The first time, she bolted. The second, she called me everything including the spawn of Satan and then she bolted.”

“That’s when you sent me to watch her?” he asks.

“No, I sent you to watch her after the first time,” I correct him. He whistles.

“You had it bad.”

Real bad… still do. I hate to say that Elena was right, but she put a spell on me. I’m lost without her…”

“I know how you feel,” he says just above a whisper. I put my hand on his shoulder.

“I’m not saying that you’ve done anything wrong or that you’re a lesser man than I am for letting her go. I’m just saying that for weeks, I was in the same position that you are right now… sick and lost because she wasn’t there. And let’s not forget that time she went to Montana and turned my entire world upside down.” Chuck winces.

“Ew! Yeah! Forgot about that,” he frowns with empathy.

“Man, I thought my life was over, I really did… not in the sense that I was going to do myself in—although had I not had my company, I have no doubt that I would have—but in the sense that I didn’t want anything or anybody near me. I didn’t want friends; I didn’t want family; I didn’t want love; I didn’t want kindness; I didn’t want light; I didn’t want anything. All I wanted to do was run my company 24-7. I was having a sleeping quarters built in my office, which is still unfinished, and it would have been useless because I don’t remember sleeping. I wanted to surround myself with business and numbers and darkness and not think about what I had lost. Every room I entered had to have as little light as possible because light meant illumination and color and I couldn’t deal with it.” Chuck looks at me almost sympathetically.

“Dude, you were worse off than I am. I don’t feel like that,” he declares. “When I think of her, I think of light, love, and good things. I’m hurting because she’s not here and she’s not with me and I want her back. That’s the only darkness… the darkness that she’s not here and I try to chase that away, not run to it. I guess the difference is that I know I’ll see her again. I don’t know exactly when, but I know we’ll be together again.”

“Well, that’s a healthy attitude,” I tell him. “And the fact that you talk every day, that’s good, too. Those are things that I didn’t have.  But you can see how I felt the loss, can’t you?” He nods.

“Yeah,” he says, “I can. It was always hard to see you as human, but then again, you wanted it that way…” My phone buzzes in my pocket and I put my finger up to pull it out.

“Excuse me,” I say as I pull it out and swipe the screen. It’s a text from Jason.

**Will you please meet me in my apartment in ten minutes? **

I frown. In his apartment? This is personal and probably not good. Has something happened? Is someone hurt?

“Is everything okay?” Chuck asks, examining my expression. He didn’t get a text, so I assume this is quite personal and I can’t betray Jason’s confidence.

“I’m… not sure, but I’ll let you know,” I say before sending a text back to Jason.

**Sure. **

I talk to Chuck a few minutes more before taking the hallway from Security Central past mine and Butterfly’s office and down the corridor towards the lower level living quarters. I’m surprised to run into Butterfly in the community sitting room, still in her tuxedo pants and a sexy black sleeveless shirt and high heels, also headed in the same direction.

“Well, don’t you look scrumptious,” I say, halting her progress. She turns around, a bit startled like she didn’t expect to see me there.

“Hey,” she says, taking the few steps to meet me. I take her in my arms an inhale her scent, kissing her gently on the lips, then the neck, indulging for a moment in the opening in her blouse and the full mounds exposed there before coming back to her lips.

You put a spell on me…

“You get a text, too?” I ask breathily. Her brow furrows slightly.

“What do you think it is?” she says softly.

“I don’t know. Let’s go find out.” I take her hand and lead her to the living quarters.

When we get there, a somewhat frightened little girl sits in the living room in the large leather chair with her legs folded under her. Gail looks at us from the kitchen and Jason is standing after letting us in. I can tell that he’s been standing the entire time.

“Sophie?” Butterfly says in a soft tone. Sophie’s blue eyes tentatively turn to Butterfly, then soften slightly.

“You’re not pregnant anymore,” she says in a small voice. Butterfly looks at Jason, who nods once at her. She steps inside and stoops in front of Sophie.

“No, I’m not,” she says softly. “I had twins, a boy and a girl.” She smiles widely.

“Really?” Sophie says. “What are their names?”

“Michael Allen and Mackenzie Anastasia.” Sophie smiles.

“I like that,” she says. “They have regular names. I’ve heard some really weird names like Lamoria and no offense, but what kid wants to go through life with a name like Andromeda? We call her Drome!” she exclaims. Butterfly laughs.

“That’s not very nice,” she giggles.

“She told us to!” Sophie retorts. “You see how weird it is? Mackenzie’ll be Kay or Kenzie or Mac—that’ll be cool… or even Ana. Michael… he’ll be Mike… or Al. Nothing weird there.” Ana nods.

“This is true. I didn’t think of that. We just liked the names. I guess we made good choices…” The two-way communications system beeps before Butterfly finishes her sentence, but nothing happens. There’s four people in this room that this thing could be summoning, but my wife springs into action first.


The response is the gentle hungry cooing of one of our children.

“Well, that’s my cue,” she says, standing to her feet. “Would you like to come and meet the twins?” she says to Sophie, “if Jason and Gail say it’s okay, that is.” Jason nods and Gail comes from around the bar in the kitchen. Sophie’s face lights up as she leaps from the seat.

“Yeah!” she says, unable to hide her glee. Butterfly smiles at her. “Um, but my hands are dirty and I’m all dusty and stuff from outside.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Butterfly says. “We’ll stop by my room, get you a fresh T-shirt, and there’s hand sanitizer everywhere!” She holds out her hand and Sophie quickly takes it. “End two-way communications.” The intercom disconnects, and the cooing of my child silences. “Um… Gail, why don’t you come, too and we’ll let the gentlemen talk and… we’ll come back?”

“Good idea,” she says, taking Sophie’s other hand. The youngster is now in Seventh Heaven, forgetting whatever trouble has brought her here as she trots off with Butterfly and Gail to tend to the twins. Jason closes the door behind them, then stands for a moment with his back to me.

“I’m off duty, sir, I’m going to fix myself a drink,” he says.

“Go ahead,” I reply. He goes to the kitchen cupboard and pulls down a bottle of some dark amber liquid. He pours two fingers of the fluid into a glass and quickly throws it back, bottoming out the glass. He replaces the bottle, rinses and replaces the glass, and joins me in the living room. He’s nothing else if not efficient.

“When I left the debriefing so quickly, I got a text from Bird at the front booth that a taxi was here looking to be paid, and my daughter was inside. Of course, I told him to pay the man and got up there as quickly as I could. As you can see, she’s not hurt or traumatized, just a little scared maybe. She’s been at that goddamn house for three days—alone! She hasn’t heard from her mother. She has no fucking idea where she is. Her cell phone is disconnected. There’s no way to get in touch with her. Some fucker has been coming to the house looking for her, scaring the shit outta Sophie.

“I don’t have custody of Sophie, just visitation that this bitch barely honors. I’m paying her a goddamn mint in child support. Why is her phone disconnected? Where the hell is she and why does my daughter look like she’s wearing hand-me-downs? And what the fuck do I do now? I can’t file a missing person’s report on this bitch. I’m not her next of kin.”

“No, Sophie is. What about her parents? Siblings?”

“Her mother’s dead. Never knew her father. I know she’s got a sister somewhere in… Colorado, I think. I don’t remember.” He thrusts his hands in his hair. “What should I do? I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, you can’t send Sophie back to that house alone,” I say, stating the obvious.

“Well, fucking duh!” he shoots. Okay, I had that coming.

“Let’s call Al,” I say. He nods frantically.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Can I ever ask for a simple day in my life with you guys?” Al laments on the speaker phone in my office. “Does this woman have a job?”

“You mean besides full-time pain in the ass?” Jason says. “No. She gets a shit-ton of child support from me and she was getting alimony before she married Deleroy. She kept that marriage from me for a year and had to pay back the alimony I paid her. I just made her put it in a trust fund for Sophie that can’t be touched until Sophie’s twenty-one, and even then, only by Sophie. I don’t know what Deleroy’s paying her, if anything.”

“Okay, so that eliminates trying to reach her at her job. You have to notify her that you have Sophie. Send a certified letter. Leave a letter at the house. Notify the school. Notify the authorities. If there’s no word after thirty days, file for custody of your daughter. I’ll have a process server try to reach her for the next few days. It might be a good idea to have Alex try to find her.”

“Yeah, as much as I would love to see her crawl under a rock and die—and no, I’m not taking it back—you might be right about Alex finding her,” Jason says.

“Should we actually file a missing person’s report, Al, or should we just notify the authorities that we have the child because she hasn’t been seen for three days?” I ask.

“Notify Child Services. They’ll notify the police so that they’ll have location of the child. Sophie can do a missing person’s report if she wants.” I look at Jason and he shrugs.

“I’ll give her the option. She doesn’t seem too shook up that her mother is missing, just afraid to be home alone. I’ll talk to her.”

“Yes, do that. You might have a bigger problem on your hands if this is a regular occurrence.”

“Only if I can prove it,” Jason says, running his hands through his hair.

“As Sophie’s father, you may not have a choice!” Al says emphatically. There’s silence for a moment.

“I’ll talk to Sophie,” Jason says.

After clearing it with Jason, I send an email to Andrea to draft a letter to Shalane Deleroy and send it via certified mail first thing in the morning notifying her of Sophie’s whereabouts and to cc a copy to Al in legal so that he can get it to a process server to try to have it served manually. Jason simultaneously contacts Alex and gives him Ms. Deleroy’s information and description and puts him on her trail in an attempt to locate her. He’s still talking to Alex when the two-way communications come to life and we both answer simultaneously.

“We were just trying to find out where you boys are,” Butterfly’s voice wafts over the intercom.

“We’re in my office, Butterfly.” I then hear Sophie say, “Oh, my God, ‘Butterfly,’ that’s so ca-yuuute!” Butterfly giggles and softly replies, “I think so, too.”

“You’re still on speaker, my love,” I inform her.

“I know this, my dear,” she responds. “Should we join you or wait for you here?”

“Join us here, please.” Once we get things cleared with Jason and his family, there a little talk I should have with Butterfly.

“On our way.”

“Who should we call at Child Services? Are they still open?” Jason asks, looking at his watch. It’s now well into the evening and we should be eating dinner soon.

“We’ll ask Butterfly. She’ll know what to do.” A few minutes later, Butterfly, Gail, and Sophie come into my office. Butterfly has changed out of her tuxedo pants and black shirt into one of her sexy wrap skirts and a wrap shirt and belly-wrap—all wrapped up like a present—and Sophie has borrowed a gray T-shirt with burgundy writing that reads “Vegan Zombies” with stick figures walking around in search of “grains” instead of “brains.” Clever. I can’t help but wonder where she got it and how long she’s had it… she’s not a vegan.

“Oh, my gosh, Dad, the twins are adorable,” Sophie says. “Miss Ana and Miss Gail let me hold them while I was sitting in the rocking chair. They’re sooooo tiny and pink. I don’t think I’ve ever seen babies that little before.” She looks around the large room with the dark furnishings. “Your office is kind of gloomy, Mr. Christian,” she says. We all smile at her innocence and marvel. Jason stands and offers his seat to his daughter. Gail takes the seat next to her and Butterfly hoists herself up onto my desk. God, she looks so sexy up there. Jason stoops in front of Sophie.

“Listen, Baby Boo, your mom has custody of you. I only have visitation. So, there’s a few things that we need to straighten out before we can continue.”

“You’re sending me back, aren’t you?” Sophie asks flatly. He shakes his head.

“Not… by yourself, no.” he says. “We just want to make sure that we cover all of our bases so that we don’t get into any trouble, okay?”

“Okay,” Sophie says, still unsure.

“I need to ask you some questions. You don’t really seem upset about your mom being gone, just that you were in the house alone. Why is that?”

“Well, she always comes back,” Sophie says.

“Always comes back?” Butterfly exclaims horrified before she could catch herself, then quickly covers her mouth. “Oops, I’m sorry,” she says.

“No,” Jason says, looking up at her. “It’s okay. I need your help.” Butterfly nods. She climbs all the way up onto my desk and crosses her legs lotus style before she turns back to Sophie. I imagine she does this so that she appears less intimidating.

“Sophie, how often does your mom leave… like… this?” she asks.

“You mean how often does she leave for days?” Sophie says, wise beyond her years. “She didn’t used to do this. Lately, it’s more frequent. I’m almost 13. I’m okay at home alone, it’s just…” she trails off.

“Just what?” Jason asks.

“This latest guy she’s seeing. He’s creepy. He came to the house and she wasn’t there. I don’t like him and I really don’t trust him. I didn’t want to be there alone if he came again.” Jason’s jaw gets tight. Butterfly brings the conversation back around.

“You said lately it’s more frequent. How frequent and how lately?” Butterfly asks. Sophie shrugs.

“Maybe once or twice a month for the last…” Sophie squints her eyes like she’s trying to think.

“Has it been months? Years?” Jason coaxes.

“It’s been months,” Sophie says.

“Since she divorced Deleroy?” Jason asks. Sophie shakes her head.

“Before that,” she says. “Maybe just about a year. A little less, maybe.”

“Just about a year, Sophia?” Jason says. “You were 11 a year ago, not nearly 13.”

“I know, Dad, but I’m okay. Nothing happened to me. God, you’re so overprotective.”

“I’m not overprotective!” Jason shoots. “You’re here at my house and you had to take two buses and a cab to get here at night! Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because my phone is off, too,” she says softly. Jason’s frown deepens.

“What!?” he nearly shouts.

“Jason…” Butterfly cautions. He looks up at her and she shakes her head. “You’re losing you temper at the wrong person.” Jason takes a deep breath and looks at the floor.

“She barely lets me see you; barely lets me talk to you. Who do you call in case of emergency?”

“You,” Sophie says, her voice small.

“You haven’t called me, though,” he says, his voice controlled, and not raising his head. “You said she does this twice a month. Who have you called before?”


“So, if you have no phone, how do you make a call in case of an emergency?”

“I try to go to a neighbor, or to Louie’s.”

“Who’s Louie?” Butterfly asks.

“The store… down the street.” Jason throws his hands ups, turns away and starts to pace. His ex-wife has all the original earmarks of a drug addict, although Sophie doesn’t look abused or neglected, thank God. It’s beginning, though… left home alone, strange men coming to the house. She basically has to fend for herself—I could see that on Thanksgiving. I’m dying to know why Sophie couldn’t spend Christmas with her father.

“Sophie, can I ask you a personal question?” Butterfly says and Sophie nods. “Have you ever been approached or… touched by one of your mother’s boyfriends?” Sophie shakes her head.

“I haven’t been abused, Miss Ana,” Sophie says softly, but matter-of-factly. “If I had, I would tell Dad… it just… I feel like she doesn’t know I’m alive. She doesn’t pay me any attention until I’ve done something wrong or she thinks I’ve done something wrong or I have to do something for her or help her look good in front of her friends. She’s never there when I get home from school and if she is, she’s never awake… or she’s shut in her room with one of her boyfriends.”

“One of her boyfriends?” Jason asks. “How many does she have?”

“Jason,” Gail interjects, “Shalane’s love life is really none of our business.”

“It is if she’s constantly traipsing strange men around my daughter!” he retorts, and I concur. It’s never good to have strange men around a young girl, but Sophie is at a delicate age right now and very pretty—pubescent and ripe for a pedophile.

“Really, Dad, they don’t pay any attention to me and I don’t pay any attention to them,” Sophie says. “It’s not like, ten, or anything like that, but I don’t keep track. I barely see them, if ever, and when I do, they completely ignore me. Except today…” She trails off again.

“What happened today, Sophie?” my wife asks.

“Well, that’s why I came over here. This guy Reggie came looking for her yesterday and she wasn’t there. I’ve never seen him before yesterday, but when I told him that she wasn’t there, he just kind of looked at me. It made me feel creepy. Then he left. He came back today and she’s still not there. He hung around for a bit and I just wanted him to leave. He really made me feel creepy. I was gonna call Dad, so I left the house to head for Louie’s, but then I just didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want him to come back and I was there by myself. So, I came here instead.” Jason’s lips form a thin line.

“Listen, Baby Boo. Do you want to file a missing person’s report on your mom?” he asks, his voice soft. She shakes her head.

“No, she’ll be back, but you know when she finds out I not there, she’s going to come looking for me.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “We’re working on that. Have you eaten anything?” Sophie shakes her head. “Well, you’ve come just in time for dinner, so we’re going to eat and we’re going to talk and figure out what our next move is, okay?”

“Okay, Dad,” Sophie says.

“So why don’t you go up with Gail and I’m going to talk to Ana and Christian for a moment.” She stands and gives her father a hug and a kiss, then walks away with Gail, headed for the kitchen. “Thank you both for your help in this situation.”

“So, what do you want to do now?” I ask him. He sighs heavily.

“I want custody of my daughter,” he says. “It sounds like her mother is going on drug binges and she’s leaving her there alone! She apparently has no way to get money to get a cab to safety, and her closest hope is Louie’s? Whatever and wherever the fuck that is.” He runs his hand through his hair again. “I hope this doesn’t mean that I have to quit, but if it does…”

“Use Al,” I tell him before he finishes the sentence. “She can stay as long as you like. If and when your apartment gets too small, you can use the guestrooms… or the boathouse… whatever will make your family comfortable. Have you talked to Gail already?” He shakes his head.

“No, but it’s something I have to do no matter what. If something happens to Sophie and I haven’t done everything I can…”

“Say no more,” I tell him. “You know we’ve already got that process underway.” He nods and turns to Butterfly.

“Child services,” he says. “Al says we have to notify them because I don’t have legal custody of Sophie. Who do I call?”

“I’ll take care of it,” she says. “Go spend time with your family. We’ll be up shortly.”

“Thank you again,” he says before turning to leave. Butterfly jumps off the desks.

“So, you know this means that we’ll have another child in the house… probably indefinitely,” she says.

“Yes, I do,” I say.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I’m fine with it. Are you?” she nods.

“Yes, it’s fine by me,” she replies. “If Shalane is on drugs, she sure hid it well at Thanksgiving.” I shrug.

“We weren’t looking for it. We were just trying to get her out of the house,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “If she’s been doing this for a year… Jesus.”

“I’m going call Children’s Services,” she says, moving to leave. I grab her arm and stop her.

“Do you have to call them this second?” Her brow furrows.

“Uh… no, I can call them anytime. They have a 24-hour emergency hotline to report the whereabouts of a child.” I gesture for her to sit.

“I need to talk to you for a minute.” She pauses for a moment, then sits in one of the chairs facing each other in front of my desk. “I have to talk to you about your share of ownership of GEH.” She sighs heavily.


“I don’t want you as partial owner of GEH.” She swallows and steels herself. She squares her shoulders and her eyes sharpen before she nods her consent.


“I need you there.” It takes her a moment to register what I’ve said, then her brow furrows.


“I need to know that if something happens and I’m unable to make decisions that someone that I trust with good common sense, scruples, critical thinking skills, the ability and knowledge to ask for help when they need it, a sense of commitment to our legacy, and the ability to command respect from others is going to be at the helm of my baby. I don’t trust anyone else but you. It has to be you. You will protect my baby like it was your own because it is your own, so I need you there.” She silently stares at me for a long time before a lone tear slides down her cheek.

“Are you sure?” she says, just above a whisper.

“The only thing I’ve ever been more certain about was marrying you,” I respond. She launches herself into my arms and plants a stinging kiss on my lips. Our bodies are melding into each other, kneading, yearning, unable to separate as the kiss burns us into one being.


I can hardly believe it. I didn’t know how much it meant to me that Christian really did want me to be partial owner of GEH until I thought he was telling me that it wasn’t what he wanted. I had convinced myself that I would be okay with the decision when he finally made it, whatever the outcome. After all, I’ve only dabbled in finances; he’s the real businessman. He built Grey Enterprises from the ground up with the first acquisition, and even though he had Pedo-bitch’s financial backing, he still did all the work to make the company great. I couldn’t be mad if he decided that he didn’t want to share the company with me even if he may have initially thought that it was what he wanted.

Now, not only does he want me to be part owner of his “baby,” but he’s made it clear that I’m the only person that he would trust to make sound decisions for our mutual interest if, for any reason, he couldn’t do it. That was a really huge concession for my billionaire master and all I wanted to do was kiss him. My heart was so overwhelmed by his unquestionable faith and trust in me that I knew—as I always did—that together, there was nothing that we couldn’t do. I was completely unable to speak, kissing him repeatedly until his massive body engulfed my small frame, kissing and gnawing at me hungrily—a warning to control myself lest we break down and fuck right here on his office floor…

And of course, that couldn’t happen… yet.

Once I had completed my wordless, emotional thank you, we tear ourselves away from each other to deal with the situation at hand—young Sophie. Where was her mother that Sophie had not seen her in three days? How often does this happen? Home alone, no cell phone, no house phone, barely communicates with the neighbors, no emergency plan, only twelve years old… granted, she’s somewhat mature for her age and I would imagine that she would have to be. It appears that she’s had to fend for herself more often than not, but she’s still only twelve—not even a teenager, yet. Is Shalane Deleroy strung out on drugs and leaving Sophie for three-day drug binges to fend for herself?

Child Services came out to the house the next day to talk to Sophie, Jason, and Gail. Sophie was pretty tight-lipped when they got there, like she had been coached for just such an emergency. She’s cool and calm when she speaks to the social worker, giving nothing away but that she and her mother often pass each other and don’t speak, so it’s not unusual for them not to see each other for days. Having not seen or heard from her mother for three days this time, she sought out her dad. It all sounds pretty harmless per se as Sophie wasn’t in any real danger, except that she was home alone with no real means of outside communication except Louie’s. I’m sure this is how Shalane had intended it.

Satisfied that Sophie was safe, the social worker left after giving Jason her business card. He informed her of his intention to immediately file for custody of Sophie, which he did that same day. The worker let him know that it may still be an uphill battle as this is the first situation that has come to light about Shalane’s behavior. Without Sophie’s cooperation, which is not totally forthcoming at present, Shalane could very well corroborate Sophie’s story that they were just passing and she never knew that Sophie wasn’t in the house. That speaks to the fact that she should be a more attentive mother, but it doesn’t make her abusive. If the home is well-kept, stocked with food, warm, and adequate for a twelve-year-old child, Shalane could walk away from this with a few parenting classes on the whole emergency plan thing and knowing where your children are… and Sophie… and child support.

“Her lawyer argued that my lifestyle and the fact that no one would be home with Sophie made giving me custody of Sophie a bad idea, and the judge agreed. Seeing how I live now—married with a wife who works from home, in a mansion, with a staff—you’re telling me that I’m going to possibly have trouble getting custody of my child from a woman who has left her home alone for four days now?” Jason asks incredulously. “What the hell is wrong with this system?”

“I understand your frustration, Mr. Taylor,” the worker says, “but I’m only stating the facts as they are now. Ms. Deleroy has legal custody of Sophie. She shows no signs of abuse and has indicated that it’s not uncommon for her and her mother not to see each other due to opposing schedules or what have you. It’s not an ideal situation for Sophie to be home alone with no telephone, but it’s not abuse. As this is the first that Child Services as heard of this, we will reach out to Ms. Deleroy and get to the bottom this to make sure that Sophie is not living in an unsafe situation. However, as it turns out right now, this is just not an ideal situation. It’s not yet cause to remove the child from the home. We have to talk to Ms. Deleroy first and see the condition of the home. However, as it stands, if she shows up with the police, she has legal custody of Sophie. She can take her home until and unless it’s determined that home is an unsafe environment for her. Having said that, without any further evidence, you’re going to be fighting on a level playing field attempting to get custody of your daughter. I wish I had better news for you, but I just want you to know the truth of what you’re dealing with.”

So, that’s that. Shalane can just go on a drug binge for however many days and just come back whenever and claim that she didn’t know Sophie wasn’t home. Never mind the fact that two of the days that Sophie was left alone was a weekend.

By Wednesday afternoon, Gail comes to me and informs me that Sophie is withdrawn and won’t leave their apartment. I noticed that Jason wasn’t at dinner after the discussion with the social worker yesterday and neither was Sophie. Gail left midway through to see what was going on with her family and didn’t return. She asks if I could talk to Sophie as she doesn’t know what to say to her right now.

When I get to the Taylor’s guest apartment, Sophie is sitting on the floor in the living room watching television.

“Hey,” I say when I see her. “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Spongebob,” she replies. She’s not sullen or moody or detached that I can see; just a kid watching cartoons.

“Can we talk?” I ask, sitting on the floor next to her. She mutes the television and turns her attention to me. “Gail is a little concerned that you won’t leave the apartment. Are you… upset with us?” She frowns.

“No,” she says, surprised. “It’s just… there’s no other kids here besides the twins and I didn’t think you guys would want me running around the house getting in the way.” I nod. That makes sense.

“It’s been five days now,” I say. “Have you ever not heard from you mom for this long?” She wraps her arms around her knees.

“I think the longest has been four days, but she always comes back,” she says. So, her binges are getting longer.

“You don’t think that something might be wrong with her?” I ask. “That she may be hurt or sick somewhere?” Sophie shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “She’s just hanging out with her friends somewhere, probably spending the nights over at one of their houses like she normally does.” I nod.

“I don’t know, I never had a real relationship with my mother, so I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like. We had one early on when I was really little. For what it was, it ended when I was about your age, but later, when it counted…” I shake my head. “So, if she had disappeared for a few days, I wouldn’t know what the hell to do because I didn’t know how to care.” She furrows her brow.

“You hated your mom that much?” she asks.

“I think she hated me,” I tell her. “We don’t even speak right now.”

“Yeah, that sucks,” she says, and it sounds like the speaks from experience. I sigh.

“It was a tormented, rocky relationship, the details of which I think you’re too young to be exposed to, no matter how mature I think you are.” I catch a glimpse of her out of my peripheral and I can see her smiling.

“You think I’m mature?” she asks. I nod.

“For a lot of reasons,” I tell her. “You knew to come and look for your father when you felt uncomfortable. Even the first time I met you, if there was the even the slightest crush on Marlow, you told your father to chill because Marlow was older than you and wouldn’t be interested, and you did so in front of a room full of people without flinching.” She shrugs.

“It’s the truth,” she says, noncommittal. “He’s in high school. What in the world would he want with a seventh grader? If anything, he’s got his hopes set on juniors and seniors!” Her speech shows once again that she’s wise beyond her years, probably from being exposed to way too many adults and not enough children her age.

“It makes me wonder why you defended your mom’s absence today,” I say. “Not that I blame you,” I add when I see her tense up. “If that’s what you really believe, that’s fine, but don’t you think it’s wrong for her to leave you for so many days without any contact?”

“She’s just being Mom,” Sophie excuses. “Mom does what she wants. She makes sure that I have what I need, but then she just goes about her business. It’s better than those parties she used to throw.” Parties? Unless they were quiet dinner parties, they couldn’t be something appropriate for a preteenager. Was she even that old when Shalane was throwing these parties?

“Everybody likes a party,” I say, treading carefully. “How can you not like a party? Music and food and dancing…”

“No kids, no music I like, half the time her friends were drunk and cursing all the time. One time, Ms. Fatima got so drunk that she got sick and threw up all over Mom’s white sofa… and all over some other lady.” She laughs heartily at the memory. I’m sickened by the idea that Shalane would think it’s okay to expose her young daughter to this, but I laugh, too, to keep the connection we’re building.

“Yeah, that would have pissed me off,” I say laughing with her.

“No kidding. The sofa was destroyed. Mom tried to get it clean, but it was useless. I don’t know about the lady.” Okay, that was funny.

“So… Jason is working in some way with Christian all day, and you know that Gail works here, too, so why do you stay locked in the apartment all day?” I ask.

“Well, like I said, there aren’t any kids here, either, and I don’t want to get in anybody’s way.” I nod.

“I can understand that,” I tell her. “I guess we need to make the house a bit more kid friendly, especially since I have two kids, now… but it’s got to be boring down here all by yourself.” She shrugs.

“I’m used to being alone. I find ways to entertain myself.” That’ll never do.

“Well, let me show you one of the ways that I entertain myself,” I tell her. “Come with me.”

We leave the apartment and walk through the community area. On the other side, I show her Atlantis.

“I’ve seen this,” she says. “The fish are really pretty. I’d like to learn what they are.”

“Watch this.” I tap on glass a few times—not too hard as it’s usually kind of bothersome to the other fish—and, just like always, my fish gracefully swims to the front. “That’s Marty. She’s a butterfly fish. I saw a fish like her on a scuba diving adventure in Anguilla and fell in love. So, when we bought this house, we had this aquarium built and filled it with fish from that trip. To my delight, Marty took an immediate liking to me.”

“So, that’s a butterfly fish?” she asks, her attention now attuned to Marty.

“One of them,” I say. “I’m told there are others.” She looks at me and frowns.

“Who told you?” she says with a little mirth in her voice. “Are you part of a fish society or something?” My turn to laugh.

“I’ve picked up bits and pieces of information here and there,” I tell her. “I’ve learned that while goldfish have a memory that spans for a few seconds, some fish have a memory that spans for up to twelve days. That would stand to reason that maybe Marty here would fall somewhere in between. However, a NatGeo article I read indicates that there are 114 species of butterfly fish and that many of them travel in schools while others are solitary until they find a partner and mate for life. If a butterfly fish mates for life, doesn’t it stand to reason that its memory span is more than twelve days? I mean, what happens… at day twelve, he looks over and sees this fish and goes ‘Oh, hello,’ and they just keep swimming?”

Sophie laughs at my analysis and I’m glad to see her loosen up.

“I guess I say that to say this. I chose Marty when I saw the fish in the reef and decided that it was my favorite, so Christian got one for my aquarium, but after that, Marty chose me. No matter how long I stay away, she… or he… swims to the window when I show up. She does tricks while I’m watching, but always stays near the front until I leave. I would say that means that her memory probably lasts more than twelve days.”

“You’re probably right,” she says, looking at Marty. “Are they trying to get you to talk to me… to get me to talk?” Hmm, she’s not a tough nut to crack.

“Yes and no,” I tell her. “Gail’s a little concerned about you not coming out of the apartment, not even for dinner. I asked if I could talk to you to make sure that you were alright. Even though Christian and I are at home for now, Jason still has his hands full with security and Gail helps me with the twins as well as runs the house for me.” She frowns at me.

“What do you do all day?” she asks.

“You promise you won’t laugh?” I ask and she nods. “I’m a shrink.” She screws up her face.

“A head doctor?” she asks. I nod. “For kids?” I shrug.

“Not necessarily,” I tell her. “I’ve worked with some kids, but I mainly just help whoever needs it. I have an office downtown, but I don’t see patients anymore. I’m assistant director at a help center now for displaced and abused families.”

“Oh,” she says. “When do you do that?”

“Not until the doctor clears me to go back to work. The twins are only four weeks old, nearly five now. I’ll be back to work in a week or so.”

“Then Miss Gail will take care of the twins?” she asks. I shake my head.

“Not all the time,” I tell her. “She’ll help a lot, but they’re my babies. Don’t you think I should take care of them?” She nods and turns back to look at Marty.

“How long… will you take care of them, I mean?” She asks. I frown.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say.

“Is there a time when you’re supposed to stop taking care of them?” She looks up at me with inquisitive blue eyes. I sigh.

“Well,” I begin, “I guess it depends. When they’re babies and even as they grow older, they’re going to depend on me… and Christian… for everything. The older they get, the more they’ll be able to do for themselves, so they won’t need me as much for the smaller things. But they’ll still need me for other things. Like when they learn to go to the bathroom, I won’t need to change their diapers.

“But when they get older, Mackenzie is going to need my advice on boys… and school… and how to wear make-up and Mikey is going to need Christian to help him learn to be a man. Then, one day, she’ll want to go to college and I’ll help her pick a school; she’ll want to go on a date and I’ll help her get ready; she’ll want to get married and I’ll help her pick a dress. She’ll have kids of her own and I’ll have to share the stories about how she kept me up in the middle of the night.”

I frown a bit as I listen to myself going through the life of my daughter before she’s even out of the crib.

“I assume Michael is going to have those things happen, too, and Christian is going to have to help him through those stages in his life. So… I guess the answer is… no, there’s never a time when I’m supposed to stop taking care of them. I can’t see a time ever when my children would come to me for something and I wouldn’t be there for them, so… no.” I look down into her knowing eyes before she turns her gaze back to Marty.

“That’s what I thought, too,” she says.


I’m able to coax Sophie out of the apartment for the rest of the afternoon and evening. We watch two of the High School Musical movies and she has dinner in the dining room. After helping me and Gail with the twins, it’s time for her to turn in. I never let on that I knew what she meant when she responded to my answer about always taking care of my children. That little girl may not be abused, but she’s certainly neglected and she knows it. She protects her mom, because in spite of what everyone else sees, she loves her mother. There are obvious moments where she may not like her very much, but she truly loves her. This custody thing is going to be an uphill battle and very painful for all parties involved.

The next day, we get our first taste of just how painful the battle is going to be. I’m in my office with Marilyn working on some plans for the ultimate layout of the daycare area of the center and on what will be the casting call—so to speak—for the initial teachers in the center as accreditation, as well as my imminent return to work, are just around the corner. We’re deep in when the two-way communications come to life. Noting that it’s about time for the twins to be feed I acknowledge the system. Expecting to hear my cooing or complaining children, I’m more than surprised to hear Windsor’s voice over the intercom.

“Mrs. Grey, the police are in the grand entry with a Ms. Deleroy. They say that need to speak to you and Mr. Grey on an urgent matter.”

By the tone of his voice, I can tell that he has most likely gone to the small vestibule beyond the formal living room and is speaking to me from the landline there.

“They haven’t asked for Mr. or Mrs. Taylor?” I ask, surprised.

“No ma’am. They’ve asked for you and Mr. Grey.” I sigh.

“I’m on my way. End two-way communications.” I remove my glasses and pinch my bridge, trying to ignore the throbbing that’s beginning in my scar.

“Are you going to get Gail?” Marilyn asks.

“Not yet. They’ve asked for me. I’ll see what’s going on. Come with me; I may need moral support.”

I’m not in the grand entrance three minutes and I have been thoroughly insulted in my own home. The two officers—I don’t even bother to remember their names—have absolutely no control over this fucking harpy. She’s standing in my house, the epitome of the tacky ex-wife, in a rabbit fur coat, stretch pants, and thigh-high black stiletto boots. Her hair looks stringy and oily like it hasn’t been washed in three days and she has make-up caked haphazardly on her face that’s unable to hide her sunken cheeks and dark circles as she didn’t take the time to groom herself that she took on Thanksgiving. Her clothes look like they’re a size too small, including her thigh-high boots, and I would have guessed that she just rolled out of bed after a hard night of partying and two hours of sleep and showed up at my door. I’m appalled that she didn’t have the good sense to make a better presentation after not having seen her child for so long.

“Sophie hasn’t seen you in nearly a week and you step in my house accusing me of kidnapping??” I ask, horrified. “Have you even checked with the police to know that we’ve made a report that Sophie was here? Do you know that we’ve contacted child services? Where the hell have you been? She’s twelve years old!”

“This is not a good look on you, Mrs. Grey!” she says with contempt. “I don’t know what Jason has told you, but it’s really not nice to attempt to kidnap someone else’s child. I realize that Mrs. Taylor is barren, but I didn’t know that you were just as desperate to hear the pitter-patter of little feet!” My mouth falls open and I gasp audibly, pointing at her.

“Is she serious?” I say, looking from Marilyn to Windsor to each of the cops. “Is she fucking serious? I’m all over the fucking news, for Christ’s sake! Has she been living under a goddamn rock? Was she fucking high the last time she was at my house?”

“Ana…” Marilyn tries to calm me.

“Mrs. Grey, there’s really no need for that language,” one of the officers says. I turn and glare at him. He’s basically allowed her to say anything she wants since she walked into my house, including insulting me in my own home, and now you’re going to try to check me about my language?

“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fucker motherfucker fuck fucker fuck this is my goddamn house!” I say all in one breath before I can catch myself. I’m losing it. I’m losing it faster than I can maintain myself. I turn to Marilyn. “Do you have your phone? I left mine downstairs.” She nods and pulls out her phone.

“Christian! Christian!” I’m doing this frantic clamping, grabbing thing with my fingers. She has that phone unlock, Christian’s number dialed, and is handing me the phone in less than five seconds. He had to go into Grey House today for business that needed his immediate attention and I’m about to interrupt his day.

“Grey,” he says as the line connects.

“Where’s Jason?” He pauses for a moment before he recognizes my voice.

“He’s gone to pick up Sophie from school.”

“Is he bringing her back here?” My voice is short and clipped. I’m barely keeping a rein on my anger.

“That’s the plan.”

“You may want to get someone to bring you back before he gets here.” There’s silence on the line.

“What’s wrong, Butterfly?” I speak loud enough for the officers—and Shalane—to hear me.

“Apparently, Ms. Deleroy has emerged from her bong, needle, or pipe long enough to come to my home and create a scene. She’s standing here accusing us—me in particular—of kidnapping and harboring her child when we have already notified all of the proper authorities, including her, that Sophie was here after she left her abandoned in that house for three days!”

I’m so angry I’ve started shaking while I’m glaring at Shalane. She knows that I’ve hit the nail and she can’t even deny it, so I know that I’m right about her being on drugs. She says nothing, but stands there with narrowed eyes examining me.

“Then she had the nerve to make some snide comment about me and Gail trying to steal her daughter because we can’t have children of our own. I guess that she was so busy trying to ride your dick at Thanksgiving that she forgot that I was standing right next to you at the time very heavy laden with child!” I growl the last words.

“She’s right in front of you, isn’t she?”

“Looking down my throat, flanked by two cops, and if she says another word to me, I going to catch a case!”

“I’m on my way,” he says.

“Bring Al,” I conclude before hanging up the phone. Simultaneously, the two-way communication system comes to life. Coupled with the knowledge that my twins are now awake and my rising anger and blood pressure, I feel my milk burst forth and begin to seep from my breast. Shamelessly, I stand and turn to leave.

“Um… Mrs. Grey, we do have a few questions,” the officer says.

“Windsor!” I call, unceremoniously and he appears almost instantaneously. I turn around to face the trio, my milk now leaking through my blouse. “Ana!” I call out to the two-way, and the room is filled with the sound of cooing babies. “Feel free to wait here. My husband informs me that he and our attorney are on their way and that Mr. Taylor and Sophia will be here any moment. I’ll notify Mrs. Taylor that you’re here and to meet you when Mr. Taylor, his daughter, and our attorney have arrived. My butler will be happy to get you refreshments in the interim. However, I am unable to entertain you anymore at the moment. As you can hear, I must attend to my children and as you can see, my milk is leaking!” They all fall silent and the men momentarily glare at my ample leaking breasts while Shalane glares at me and I glare right back at her. “End two-way communications!” I hiss, and the gentle cooing sounds of my children cease. I turn around on my heels and march out of the room.

A/N: So, as you can see, Shalane has caused a shitstorm in more ways than one. Any  guesses what’s going to happen when Jason returns and Gail emerges?

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Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X


Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 62—Reality Check

Am I wrong to say how much I LOVED everyone’s comments on their own sexual frustration? Hee hee hee…

 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 62—Reality Check


“Don’t come.”

His voice is raspy, tormented as he drills into me. I don’t know where we are. The room—I think it’s a room—is dimly lit. My hands are bound together at the wrist, over my head and behind me so that my arms are slightly bent. It feels like rope—velvet, soft. I’m bound to a vertical pole or bar of some kind. I’m partially dressed… in one of my wrap crop tops, my bust propped up on beautiful display and shimmering with sweat. Whatever skirt I’m wearing is bunched up around my hips and I’m wearing sky-high platform stilettos. I’m standing, well, tiptoeing, on some kind of platform and Christian is in front of me, naked except for the white linen shirt open and hanging from his shoulders.

“I want to touch you!” I protest, the words high in my throat, steeping in the pleasure of an orgasm that I’ve been fending off for I don’t know how long.

“I know,” he groans deep in his chest. “We’ve both been bad, Anastasia. We’ve denied each other… so now, we have to deny ourselves.” He’s holding one leg up to allow himself unfettered access to my hot pussy. He drills into me, slow, deep and purposefully, my pussy swallowing him all the way to the balls. His thrust is slow, steady and delicious when he withdraws, harder and deeper when he pumps inside of me to the hilt, one hand gripping the cheek of the leg still planted on the platform. It would gently smack then grip with each thrust to ensure maximum penetration, then slide between my ass cheeks and up my ass with every other stroke just to repeat the process over and over, drilling inside of my tight pussy, my lips wrapping around his dick and the walls so tight that he has very little purchase to move. His hips move like a meticulous sexy dance, a deep stroke, then a slow, delicious, agonizing pull, the smaller wiggle and circle as he thrusts, but a concentrated long, slow withdraw that gives me the full effect of his long, thick cock hitting every part of my pleasure center—the hungry lips that caress his shaft; the spongy inner walls that suck him into their warm tunnels and coat his skin with my wet, creamy arousal; my throbbing clit that pebbles and trembles every time he wiggles his hips and thrusts into me.

“I’m not coming yet, either, baby,” he groans. “I’m going to push into this tight, hot pussy until I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Oh, God,” I lament as his dick continues to drive into me. I open my mouth to try to breathe, but he covers my mouth with his, owning it entirely, his lips and tongue performing the same agonizing movements in sync with his hips and dick. He’s fucking my goddamn mouth and moaning hungrily into it with each stroke, each lap of his tongue. I’m dizzy when his lips slowly pull away from mine.

“My God, you’re delicious,” he says, licking across my lips before moving down my jaw to my neck and the exposed mounds of my breasts. This is a goddamn sensation overload.

“Christian… please…” I squeak.

“I know, baby,” he says. “Feel it. I feel it, too… the burn… Let it burn, baby…”

And burn, it is; I feel it everywhere, radiating from the origin in my core to every little aching hot spot on my body. When he leans over to bite one of the nipples protruding from the material of my crop top, I nearly lose it. I scream in pleasure and leap a bit, away from his grasp, but inadvertently shifting our positions.

“Mmmm, you like that,” he growls low before biting the other nipple.

“Christian!” I cry out. It sounds surreal, though, like someone else is doing it. I shift again and end up landing straight on his dick, my leg wrapped around his hip.

“Mmmmmmmmmm,” he croons, “that’s much better.” Where I was angled for him to thrust forward into me before, my repositioning had now angled him to thrust slightly up into me. He has a firmer grasp on my ass and since my leg has wrapped around his hip, he now uses both hands to grip my ass, steadying me and pushing me down onto his drilling dick. Oh God, I’m going to die.

“Yes, baby,” he grunts, passion in his voice. “Right there… right the fuck there! God, this fucking ass!” His new angle and new stroke are making me dizzy, my pussy burning and throbbing, pulsing with pain and pleasure. I can’t… I can’t take anymore.

“Christian, I… I can’t stand it… I’m going to come…”

“No,” he breathes, “Feel it. Feel me moving inside of you, filling you, burning for you so bad that it’s painful. Aaah, God, it’s so hot, so tight…” His stroke never changes as his left hand cups my ass without letting go and his right hand grabs the cheek anew with each thrust, one hand holding me and one hand pushing me in and down hard on his dick with each thrust. I feel every vein as he sinks into me and pulls out with painful deliberation, the new position causing his crown to stroke sensitive spots that I didn’t even know I had.

“Please…” I breathe, now delirious with pleasure. “Please let me come…”

“No,” he breathes, the torment of his own orgasm thick in his voice. “Feel it!” he chokes. “Hot and hard for you; my balls, thick, full, and heavy for you! The burn of me inside you; I feel you contracting. Hold it… hold it, baby. Gah!”

The feeling is agony for him just like it is for me. I don’t know how to stop the contracting once it starts, and he’s not relenting, pumping inside of me, the same maddening pace.

“Christian!” I beg. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“Hold it!” he growls into my neck. “God, this ass! This fucking ass!” He’s clutching the cheeks tighter, grasping firmer with each stroke, pushing me harder down on his dick. “So goddamn round and juicy and sexy and you still fit perfectly into my hands.” He buries his face in my neck, grunting with each stroke before he starts to lick and suck my skin.

“This is what we deny each other, baby,” he says, feasting on my skin and pumping mercilessly into my weeping pussy. “This is what we deny each other when we stay away from each other, when we refuse to satisfy each other.”

“Yes! Yes!” I pant, delirious and completely out of control.

“Fuck! Fuck! Ana!” He almost sounds feminine when he says my name and I know he can’t take it anymore. He struggles to maintain the stroke, but I feel him coming hot and wild inside of me.

“Ana!” he whines again, still stroking through his orgasm, in physical pain from holding out so long. I know the feeling. I’ve totally lost control and I don’t know what to tell my body to do now. I feel his erect dick pop out of me, still spurting juice, the moisture inside my pussy seeping out and running down my leg. He only takes a moment to compose himself before he’s inside of me again.

“We won’t… do that… again…” he pants, and I know he’s talking about the denial we’ve done by not coming to each other… but this can’t be happening now. I haven’t had my checkup. I haven’t been cleared…

“Come for me, Ana.”

I have no control over my body. I don’t know if I’m coming or not. I’m so lost in pleasure that I can’t think. Can this be happening right now? Can we be having sex right now?

Just as I try to make sense of what’s going on, the explosion begins painfully in my pelvis and causes me to sit straight up in my bed. I feel Christian’s hands nearly violently squeezing my ass and his copper curls cover the space between my legs. I scream through a detonating orgasm as he licks and sucks hungrily at my core, grunting like a starving man. I can still fucking feel him inside of me. Damn, that was hot! When I’m reduced to high-pitched whimpering and panting. He quickly releases my pussy and scoots back on his knees. When I raise my head, his dick is hard and veiny and ready to blow and he’s pumping it with his fist, unable to withstand the pressure anymore. Remembering his words in my dream…

“We won’t… do that… again…”

I scramble out of the blankets and forward to my husband, quickly latching my mouth onto his angry dick. He gasps quickly, loudly, the surprise and pleasure grabbing him like a vise.

“God…! Ana…! Fuck…!” He’s totally surprised at first, but it only takes seconds for him to surrender and fall back, sitting on his feet and cupping my head, unable to stop himself from pushing it down on his dick.

“Anaaaaaaaaa…” He makes the same nearly feminine sound that he makes in my dream, only he draws my name out more this time as he comes hard and strong in my mouth. “Gooooooood!” He almost cries as he sits paralyzed on the bed and I drain his aching balls and penis of every drop of their sensual offering. He’s breathless and weak when it’s over, breathing and wobbling like he’s hanging from invisible puppeteer’s strings. I crawl up to my knees, facing him, his gray eyes sleepy and grateful. I must have the same look in my eyes, because my body feels like spaghetti. He cups my face and kisses me with all the strength he can muster. I feel a slight twinge of eroticism when our juices mingle in our mouths. His moan and deep licking says he feels the same thing. We’re both too spent to do anything more about it right now.

It’s just past dawn and my trembling husband takes me in his arms and lies down in bed with me. We wrap ourselves in the blankets and snuggle into their warmth and each other.

“What happened?” I ask, once he catches his breath. He pauses for several moments.

“You were dreaming,” he says. “At least I think you were dreaming.”

“I was,” I confirm. I feel him nod before he kisses my hair.

“You were moaning… and writhing. I almost woke you until I realized…” He trails off. “I thought it would be cruel,” he says with an ironic laugh. I feel a little shy that he watched me have an erotic dream. “You were so sexy. You looked like a little nymph, just lost in pleasure. Your nipples got hard, then my dick got hard. I could smell you. God, you smelled so good.” He starts kissing my neck. “You were calling my name.”

I feel a small shiver run down my spine. It’s been four days since we agreed not to deny each other and yet, I have this dream.

“I was dreaming of you,” I confess.

“What was I doing?” he asks, gently cupping my breast. My breath catches in my throat.

“Loving me,” I breathe. “Fucking me. You were driving me wild—grabbing my ass and pushing me down onto you. You told me not to come…”

“I did?” He rolls me onto my back and brings his mouth to my breast, biting the nipple like he did in the dream.

“Christian!” I breathe.

“What else did I do?” he coaxes.

“That!” I pant. “You did that!”

“You weren’t dreaming,” he says. “I did do that.” He pinches my nipples between his finger and thumbs before kissing me gently. “What else did I do?”

“You… grabbed my ass…” I pant.

“Well, we know I did that,” he says, his voice husky.

“You said it was… juicy and round… and still fit… in your hand…”

“I really said that, too,” he says, kissing my breast. “I know you’re going to be working out, but do me a favor and try not to lose your ass. You know I’ll love you no matter what, but that thing is beautiful. When I was holding it that day in my office in those genie pants, and a few minutes ago, while you were coming, there was no way I could avoid blowing my load. You’re gorgeous and your body is coming together without you really trying. And you look fucking scrumptious!”

That did me a world of good!

“We can’t have sex, Mr. Grey, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to fuck your brains out right this minute!”

“Twelve days, baby,” he says. “Twelve more days and we’ll lock the doors, close the curtains, and rip the walls out of this bitch! But in the meantime…” He takes two fingers and lusciously licks them with his long tongue. When they are good and wet, he slides the moistened fingers under the covers, between my legs, and over my clit. I only have a second to gasp before he covers my mouth with his.


“Hello, beautiful girl.”

Christian is captivated by his four-week-old daughter, quietly staring up into her father’s loving gray eyes. He has a ritual with his children. Every day, he sits on the floor in the family room with his legs crossed, holding one of them in his large hands like the treasure that they are, gazing down into their eyes, and talking to them about everything and nothing. He tries to get to them both, but sometimes, baby number two is asleep before his conversation with baby number one is complete. So, he’ll try to pick up the conversation later, or the next day, so that neither child gets more Daddy Time than the other.

Today’s story brings me to tears.

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Anastasia. She had shiny mahogany hair that was three feet long and the bluest blue eyes in the whole world that sparkled like sapphires in the sun. She had a kind heart and a loving soul and brought joy and happiness to nearly everyone she met.”

I’m coming through the kitchen looking for a snack and some water after doing my yoga. He’s in front of the sofa and can’t see me. I tuck myself behind the archway between the kitchen and family room to listen to his tale.

“One day, Princess Anastasia was walking through the land and met a curmudgeonly king named Christian. He was a grumpy old sort—mean and unhappy, and his subjects were afraid of him. None of them liked him and King Christian didn’t have any friends. He was only surrounded by people who wanted to do him harm.

“When Princess Anastasia met King Christian, well, she didn’t like him much either. ‘You’re an evil narcissist,’ she said. ‘I will tell the high council and they will throw you into the dungeon and take away your kingdom!’”

I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing at his interpretation of our first fight.

“Well, King Christian couldn’t have that, so do you know what he did?” He pauses for a moment. “He frightened poor Princess Anastasia. He threatened her and made her afraid, so she had to call the Duke of Fleming and the Earl of Forsythe to come and escort her back to her cottage.” His voice is soft and full of remorse.

Did I… Did I ever tell him that?

“But soon,” he continues his story with a sigh, “King Christian fell in love with the princess against his will. He didn’t want to tell her, so he sent his knights to guard and protect her until he could find a way to tell her how he felt. At first, King Christian himself didn’t even know how he felt, but I can tell you now that it was love.”

I feel the tears burning in the back of my eyes.

“Many things tried to hinder King Christian and Princess Anastasia’s love—the evil Duchess of Pedo-Land, the wicked Midget of Mortonville and her Pickled Piper sidekick—even had the horrible Count David who kidnapped the fair princess and locked her in his dreary tower. There were even times when King Christian himself did things to sabotage their love, but they were meant to be and against all odds, they were married and King Christian made Princess Anastasia his queen.

“But then, one day, tragedy struck. Right after the dastardly Viscount Myrick was captured and sent to the stocks for trying to crumble the kingdom, a new threat would rear its ugly head in an attempt to rip our fair couple apart. For a poor peasant girl pining for King Christian and jealous of the fair Lady Anastasia attempted to the destroy the queen and her valiant knight Sir Davenport in their carriage. And while the poor peasant met her untimely demise, Lady Anastasia fell into a deep, deep sleep.”

His voice sounds tormented and Minnie’s eyes are pinned to him as if she knows exactly what he’s saying. I can just see over the sofa, and Mikey is in his napper—eyes open, sucking a binky, also mesmerized by his father’s tale.

“King Christian was devastated,” he continues. “He called on the best physicians and apothecaries in the land to stir his beautiful bride, but nothing could be done. He was content to wait for her to wake, but alas, the practitioners told him that their sorcery was only allowed to sustain her threescore days.”

He swallows hard trying to make the truth of the accident sound like a fairytale, and I can’t hold my tears back anymore.

“King Christian vowed to spend her last days with her and never left her side. All of his trusted advisors tried to get him to leave her, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand the thought of being without her for even one minute. He sat with her. He read to her. He talked to her. He cried with her. He laughed as if she could hear him. He barely slept for fear that she would awaken and he would not be there.”

I have to cover my mouth to muffle my sobs. I can feel his pain radiating across the room and wonder why he decided to tell this story at this moment.

“She smiled sometimes. She even spoke, but she didn’t wake. For days, she didn’t wake. It felt like forever, and he counted the seconds. One million. Thirty-six thousand. Eight-hundred seconds… or… something like that.”

He whispers the last three words, shaking his head as if to shake the thought and pausing for a moment.

“But…” his voice cracks a bit as he continues, “two days shy of a fortnight later, Lady Anastasia opened her beautiful sapphire eyes. King Christian was ecstatic, but alas, the fates were cruel because the beautiful queen didn’t recognize her king,” he whispers.

And I’m weeping again.

“King Christian was devastated all over again. How could this be? He had sat by her bedside for twelve days and couldn’t remember getting twelve minutes of sleep. How could she not know him? But fret not, young Michael and Mackenzie fair, for true love always knows its counterpart. While King Christian ached for his queen, Lady Anastasia’s soul called for her love and pulled her from the grasp of the dragon amnesia, returning her to the cradle of the arms of the man she loved.”

My chest is heavy and I ache all over again as I hear him tell the cruelest story in the kindest way that he can to his children about the horrible twelve days that he almost lost me; about thinking that I wasn’t coming back only to have me awaken and not recognize him. How the pain of those moments tore at him and the relief he must have felt when I finally remembered who he was.

He’s still cooing at his baby girl when I enter the room. His gaze breaks for a moment and meets mine, a deep frown forming on his face when he gets a good look at mine—tearstained and broken. I kneel beside him and use my thumbs to gently stroke his furrowed brow, pushing away the frown I see there before cupping his face with my hands.

“Queen Anastasia. Loves King Christian. With her whole heart and soul,” I breathe through my tears. His beautiful gray eyes focus on me, full of more emotion than I can identify—love, gratitude, fear, admiration… a plethora of things. I stroke his face with my hands and plant a tender kiss on his lips before gently stroking his hair, then back to his cheek as I pull my lips away from his and look into his eyes again.

“I adore you, Anastasia,” he says, his voice deep and a bit raspy, still holding his daughter. I close my eyes and lean my forehead to his.

“I know,” I whisper. “Thank you.” I sit down next to him and lean on his arm, gazing at our children. Mikey has drifted off to sleep, his binky occasionally bobbing in his mouth. Minnie’s little mouth makes a very small “O” and I know she’s not far behind her little brother. At this moment, as cliché as it sounds, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.


I put two portfolios and the tiny box containing my gifts inside the double-fold leather gift box and snap it shut. I needed my gifts to be appropriate and in light of our life together and how things are changing, I think… I hope… I’ve made the right choices. I take the black leather box and go in search of my wife. I don’t get very far. I find her at Atlantis watching her favorite fish, Marty, swimming among the ruins and I’m immediately concerned.

“Butterfly?” I ask as I cautiously approach her. She turns to face me, smiles softly, then looks back at her fish. I walk over to her and put my arm around her waist. “Are you okay?”

“Did I ever tell you that Allen and James had to come and get me from the center that day?” she asks. That’s a strange question. Is that why she’s standing here?

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I don’t remember if you told me, but I was there. I wanted to confront you. I was waiting for you, but the moment I saw you, I knew how I affected you… I think… that’s when I fell in love with you.” She turns quickly to face me, apparently shocked at my revelation, then tiptoes and slides her arms around my neck kissing me deeply. I embrace her and return the kiss, feeling the heat transfer from her body to mine and hating that I have something in my hand and can’t hold her properly.

She’s a bit breathless when our lips part, and she brushes hers against mine.

“Things just… come back,” she breathes. “It’s like… I’m living them all over again… the feelings, the love,” she whispers, brushing her cheek against mine. “It’s so fresh and new, yet so familiar.”

“You… forgot… loving me?” I ask, a little bruised.

“It’s a constant struggle, Christian,” she says, tortured. “I never forgot loving you. It’s the only thing I never forgot. I forgot our wedding. I forgot meeting you. I forgot who you were, but I never forgot loving you,” she weeps. “Most of my life came back to me in the hospital. Thankfully, I knew who you were, but even now, there are small bits still missing… and… not so small bits. As they come back… they can be a bit overwhelming.”

I gather her in my arms and try to comfort her. I don’t know what memory has caused her to feel so lost, but I just want her to know that I’m here.

“Twelve days,” she breathes, her mouth buried in my neck, “1,036,800 seconds not knowing if you would ever come back to me… I don’t think I could survive it.” Her voice cracks and she weeps again.

“Sssh,” I soothe. “You came back to me, though. I didn’t lose you. You’re here with me now.”

“But the torment… of not knowing…” She squeezes me hard. “I just… I don’t know. Maybe the emotions of post-partum depression are starting to sink in.”

Oh, we can’t have that.

I take her hand and walk her away from Atlantis, leading her to one of the barstools.

fancy-necklace-jewelry-gift-box-prestige-collection-black-44“Sit.” I gesture to the stool and Butterfly takes a seat, attempting to wipe the tears from her cheeks. I pull my handkerchief from my jean pocket and hand it to her, waiting for her to clean her face. I put the box on the bar between us. It looks like one of those leather boxes that hold expensive jewelry, like large necklaces, but there’s no jewelry in this box.

“I wanted to get everything right when I did this, and I hope that I did,” I say, sitting on the stool next to her. “I need you to know that you mean the world to me, and that I will never be able to match the two precious gifts that you have bestowed upon me…” My throat gets a little dry as I’m suddenly choked up with emotion thinking of our children, so I clear my throat. “However, in an attempt to begin to express my immense gratitude, please accept these small tokens of my appreciation, my beloved.”

I slide the box over to her and she cleans her face, grasping the handkerchief while looking at me, surprised.

84824364“Tokens?” she says. I nod. “Push gifts?” I nod again. Her delicate fingers stroke the box before popping the snap and opening it to reveal the “tiny box” and portfolios inside. She opens the tiny box on top to reveal the obvious Audi key and a wide smile grows across her face.

“You bought me a car?” she giggles cutely. I smirk.

“You might want to look at the specs first,” I say, gesturing to the first portfolio in the box. “We never replaced yours since the…” I swallow hard and sigh. “Well… you…” I drop my head. We were just talking about the accident and this was supposed to get her mind off it, and now I’ve brought us full circle, so much so that I’m feeling the effects of it myself. In true Butterfly fashion, she puts her hand on top of mine to comfort me and graces me with a wide and beautiful smile. I return her smile with one of my own and she takes the portfolio out of the box and opens it.

key1c550e201-1e9e-4ff2-9e90-9f1039476daalarge“Scuba blue metallic 2014 Audi Q7,” she reads aloud. “Twenty-inch, 10-arm-turbine design wheels with Anthracite bicolor-finish; fine Nappa leather and cloth interior with Piano Black inlay; driver and front passenger dual-stage airbags; front thorax side airbags and Sideguard head curtain airbags; rear side airbags; lower anchors and tethers for children in rear seats; panoramic sunroof; Bluetooth wireless technology; keyless start…”

She begins rattling off the many physical and safety features of her new Audi before throwing her arms around me and laughing heartily.

“Only Christian Grey could think to make me the sleekest, hottest, Audi minivan mom on Mercer Island!” she says giggling profusely.

“Well, technically, it’s an SUV, not a minivan.” She lets out a genuine but incredulous laugh.

“It has built-in car seats, a rear cargo cover, and a tailgate! It’s a minivan, Christian!” she laughs. “And it’s perfectly beautiful! I love it! Thank you!” She’s still giggling with tears in her eyes. “Where is it?”

“It’s in garage number two.”

“I wanna see it!” She leaps off her seat. I grab her arm before she escapes.

“Ah, ah, ah, not yet,” I tell her. “You have to see your second gift first.” She pokes her lip out at me. “Come on, Mrs. Grey. You can play with your new toy later. I want you to see this one first.” She mocks a pout and climbs back onto the stool.

“Two gifts,” she says removing the second portfolio.

leather-portfolio“Two babies,” I say matter-of-factly, and she smiles at me. She opens the portfolio and begins to examine its contents.

“Christian, this is…” She reads further, then starts to flip through the pages. “Christian!” Her hand flies to her lips as she realizes what she’s looking at. “Oh, my God, Christian, are you serious?”

“Yes,” I say softly as I watch her eyes dart across the pages in the portfolio. “Quite serious.”

“How…?” Her voice is barely there. “Christian… this is… Rome… Venice…” She covers her mouth and gasps loudly. “Villa… Anastasia?” she says, barely able to get the words out of her mouth. She raises glassy eyes to me. “Christian, you didn’t…”

“I did. I want us to go in June… for our first anniversary. Our honeymoon was interrupted. We won’t allow anything to interrupt us this time.” She bolts into my arms before the words are out of my mouth, winding herself around my body and weeping.

“It’s too much,” she cries into my neck.

“It’s never too much,” I croon. “Nothing is too much for you.”

“Oh, Christian,” she weeps, “I love you… I love you so much…”


Marlow and I are sitting in the deli Monday morning going over his most recent progress reports and some ideas that he has for improvements to some of the areas of his old neighborhood. I have to admit that this young man has come quite a long way since that first year I decided to mentor him at GEH. Seeing his growth firsthand has made me want to become more involved in programs that assist underprivileged children—especially since I started out as one of the forgotten myself. I know that my mother and my wife have Helping Hands and they do a lot of good work for abused families, and the Faces of Abuse PSA—which is still running—has a lot to do with bringing attention to the Center and getting the word out that there is help for those who thought there was none. However, I want to help in a different capacity, so I’m brainstorming with Marlow to come up with ideas for a more hands-on approach.

Our meeting today has a dual purpose. I also want to meet with Radcliff to see his progress and to move on to the next steps in his program, for lack of a better word. He’s been liaising through Andrea since I’ve been on paternity leave and I haven’t seen him in weeks. I barely recognize him when he walks into the deli.

“Jim?” I say questioning when he gets to our table.

“Hi, Christian,” he says, proffering his hand. He looks a hundred times better than he did when we last met. His coloring is healthier and he’s put on some weight.

“You’re looking well,” I shake his hand and gesture for him to sit. “This is Marlow Whitehead. He’s my protégé, so to speak. Marlow, this is James Radcliff.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Radcliff,” Marlow says, shaking his hand. Jim greets him with a smile. “I have to get back to school, now. I’m going to be late for Calc. So, I’ll see you later, Mr. Grey.”

“Don’t forget to ask Mr. Hemsley about that last proposal,” I remind him. He nods and waves as he leaves the deli. I turn my attention to Jim. “So, how have you been?”

“Better,” he says. “I was sick for a while, but you already know that.” The waitress brings him coffee and he orders a burger and fries. “I’m doing much better now, though. I was on some meds and rest and now I’m back to work. I got a studio close to the job. It’s all I can afford right now. I’m paying child support to Thelma and trying to put some money away to get us another place so…” He trails off and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Have you spoken to her yet?” I ask. He shakes his head.

“Not since just before Christmas. It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… I want to make sure I have something to tell her.”

“You have something to tell her,” I say and he raises his eyes to me. “Start with ‘I’m sorry.’” He drops his head and nods.

“I know you’re right, but I don’t know how.”

“What do you mean you don’t know how?” I ask, appalled. “Are you saying you’ve never apologized to anyone?”

“No, I’m saying that I don’t know how to put into words that I put her and my son in danger and I want her to forgive me for that,” he says. I nod.

“Well, I’m no shrink, but that’s a good start,” I say. “Speaking of which, have you thought about talking to one?” His eyes sharpen.

“I’m not crazy!” he snaps. Why does everybody think talking to a shrink makes you crazy?

“Do you think your wife is crazy?” I ask.

“No!” he snaps.

“Well, she talks to one. Do you think I’m crazy?” He glares at me.

“Rich people always talk to shrinks,” he says, waving me off.

“No, they don’t,” I retort. “People who need help always talk to shrinks, or at least they always should—but they don’t. But, hey, it’s your life. If you don’t need any help, by all means, just keep muddling along.” I take a sip of my coffee. He sighs.

“How do I talk to a shrink?” he says, sort of resigned and defeated.

“Look, don’t do this for me, man. You’re the one who needs to approach your wife and tell her that you put her in a life-threatening position and don’t know how. So, if you think I’m beating you down about this, don’t do it because it’s not going to help you.”

“I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I completely agree with you, but I do need help talking to my wife, so I’m going to talk to somebody, okay?” he says, begrudgingly. His voice has an edge to it and I respect the fact that he’s being honest.

“Fine. So, what’s next?” He shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I guess I have to find somebody to talk to.”

“I’ll ask my wife,” I tell him. “I know she won’t take you on, not only because she’s treating your wife and it’s a conflict of interest, but also because she really doesn’t like you.” I say honestly. He cocks his head at me.

“Your wife is a shrink?” he asks. I glare at him.

“Didn’t you know that?” I ask incredulously. He shakes his head.

“I thought she was a social worker.” My turn to shake my head.

“Shrink.” He looks into his coffee.

“That’s strangely comforting.” How so? “To know that Thelma had somebody—a professional—to talk to,” he says, answering my unasked question. There’s hope for you yet. I pull out my phone and dial Butterfly.

“Well, hello handsome. Miss me already?”

“Always, but I’m calling in a bit of an official capacity.”

“What’s up?”

“I have a friend who needs some professional guidance and I was hoping that you could point me in the right direction.”

“Psychological guidance?”


“Can you give me a little insight so that I can make an educated recommendation?” Oh boy.

“No experience whatsoever with talking to shrinks. Alpha personality, looking for an emotional and mental makeover, and needs to formulate a very difficult apology.”

“Is he an alcoholic?” she asks.


“Okay, so AA is out. No other addictions, I assume.”

“No, nothing like that.” I confirm.

“Domestic violence?”

“Not as such,” I evade.

“Elaborate,” she presses.

“Not physically abusive, per se, but… oppressive,” I admit. She gets quiet.

“James Radcliff?” she pings. Goddammit!

“Will I ever be able to keep anything from you?” I ask.

“No, and why didn’t you just say it was him?”

“Because I didn’t think you would help him,” I say honestly.

“I wouldn’t,” Jim admits. I raise my eyes to him and put my finger over my lips to silence him, but it’s too late. Butterfly’s silence tells me that she heard him.

“I’m a professional first, Christian,” she says, and at first, she says nothing else. I’m chastised and remain silent. “He needs to speak to someone who specializes in family therapy. He needs to understand his role as a husband and a father, as head of household and protector, not dominator!” Her words bite a bit and her tone is sharp, but she reels it back in. “Tell him to call CCFW and ask for Maxine. I’ll tell her to expect his call.”

“Okay,” I say, my voice soft. “Thank you… I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For questioning your professionalism.” She pauses again.

“Don’t do it again,” she says softly.

“I won’t… I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You’re still making that trip?”

“We’re about to take off now.” I clench my fist and my chest tightens.

“Be. Careful.”

“You know that I will.” I nod as if she can see me.

“Call me when it’s done.”

“I will.” We end the call. I swallow looking at the phone. Jim is looking into his coffee, at his watch, anywhere but at me. Yes, I will share tender moments with my wife no matter who’s listening. We’re granted a reprieve when the waitress brings his lunch. I scribble Maxine’s name and CCFW on a napkin and hand it to him. I had completely forgotten that Maxine was a psychiatrist. In fact, she used to be Ana’s psychiatrist.

“Call this woman. She’s at the Center for Child and Family Well-Being. I don’t know the number—you’re going to have to Google it. She’s actually a close friend. She’ll help you or at least point you in the right direction.” He takes the napkin and shoves it into his pocket before taking a large bite of his burger. “I see you got your appetite back.” He nods and chew his food.

“Lunch is the one meal I splurge on, since it’s the middle of the workday,” he says after swallowing his bite. “Everything else is dry cereal and those noodle packets. It’s okay though. I’m not starving and I do fine.” I nod. I reach into my suit jacket and pull out an envelope. I put it on the table and push it over to him. He raises his eyes to me while chewing his lunch.

“You know the house is worthless,” I tell him. “The land… I don’t think they’re going to be able to do anything with it for a long time. It’s pretty much a total loss, Jim. I’m sorry, but I figure you should walk away with something.” He sighs and wipes his hands on another napkin. Tearing open the envelope, he pulls out the cashier’s check inside and sigh heavily.

“Ten thousand,” he says. “That’s not much to some people, but it’s a mint to me.” His voice is drenched in disbelief and gratitude. “Ten thousand dollars for that deathtrap.” He covers his mouth and valiantly fights back tears. “Thank you, Christian,” he says, successfully choking down his tears.

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m… going to deposit this into an interest-bearing account and start looking for a house, see what I qualify for.”

“That’s a good idea,” I tell him.

We talk for a while longer about his plans for work and where he wants his family to live. He’s feeling better about talking to Maxine to help him talk to his wife. I can tell that he’s missing her terribly and it’s a trial just getting through each day without her, but he’s basically punishing himself for what he put her and the baby through, convinced that if he can’t get himself together—emotionally and financially—that they’re better off without him. I can’t argue with that logic, but I remind him that she married him because she loves him. She had his baby because she wanted to raise a family with him. Being without him would be more painful than being with him if he just gave up, so he can’t afford to do that. He leaves our meeting with new determination and a promise to call Maxine before day’s end.

I leave our meeting with a slight feeling of dread. After getting some long-awaited news this morning, I conceded to my wife attending a final conference that I never thought would have to occur in a million years. The encounter makes my stomach turn, and I can only sit idly by and wait until the meeting is over because I know that it’s something she must do.


“Follow me, Mrs. Grey, Mr. Davenport, Mr. Lawrence.”

Carrying only a manila envelope containing necessary documents and having turned in just about every other worldly item that we own except the clothes on our backs, we’re escorted down a well-lit hallway with large, plainly marked doors on either side. The guard opens one of the doors and steps aside to allow me to enter. Beyond the door is a nondescript gray room with one large caged window and a caged light recessed into the ceiling. Another guard stands in front of the window watching over a lone gray table with three chairs—two on my side and one on the opposite side facing me… its occupant, one scruffy, unshaven Edward David.

Quite the contrast to Mr. David, I’m vamped in a white mock tuxedo pants suit with a plunging black mock neck wrap halter top, white pumps, my signature straight Cher hair, contrast dark make-up and dark burgundy lipstick. I had fresh henna applied to my hands and halfway up my forearms yesterday, so it’s a beautiful shade of dark orangey-brown. His pupils dilate when I walk into the room. I raise a brow and smirk at him.

“Hello, Edward. You’re looking fit,” I say, my lip rising in the corner.

“Hello, Rose. You’re looking fat,” he replies with a smirk of his own. I scoff.

“You wish,” I chirp, “but that’s okay. I’ll give you the extra pound or three. I just delivered twins as I’m sure you’ve heard.” I remove my suit jacket and drape it over the back of the chair, showcasing my ample breasts in the mock halter and tiny waistline precariously held in by a remarkable pair of spanks. The French cut gives way to round hips and ass cheeks that would make Barbie jealous and my slacks fall nicely over my curves, just enough to accentuate my shape and not so tight as to give it that Kim K distorted look. His smile fades at the display and his lips part, and I know that I’ve had the desired effect. “But we’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to talk about you.”

“I don’t have shit to say to you,” he says defiantly, sitting back in his seat.

“That’s okay,” I tell him, sitting in the seat across from him. “I’ll do all the talking.” He looks at the guard over his shoulder.

“You can take me back to my cell. I don’t want to hear anything she has to say,” he says, but the guard doesn’t move.

“You know, Edward, I normally do things by the book, but I’m slowly beginning to realize that I’m the only fucking person who does! So, you know what? I’ve learned that money and power are beautiful things to have. And this time, I’ve used my money and power to pull a few strings of my own. So, I bought your time today, and your ass is mine. Do you know what that means, lover?

I spit the last word with so much disdain that it bounces off the walls and makes him and the guard behind him flinch.

“It means that you’re going to sit still, shut up, and listen to what I have to say, and if you don’t, then I’m going to use that same money and power and make the rest of the day pretty fucking hard on you. Do I make myself clear, Eddie?”

Edward frowns at me, then looks back at the guard, who folds his arms, crosses his legs, and leans against the window. Edward turns his attention back to me.

“What exactly do you want, Bitch?” he hisses. I raise an eyebrow.

“Is that any way to speak to a lady?” I say, mocking hurt. “I think not.” I look over my shoulder and nod to Chuck, who walks around the table and stands right over Edward. Edward eyes him warily, then turns his gaze back to me.

“You may have seen the news. Last year around Thanksgiving, Chuck and I were in an accident. We both nearly died. He’s been out of commission since then. Just now getting back on his feet. He’s been suffering from a bit of… cabin fever—just itching to get back to work, see some real action. On top of that…” I put the manila folder on the table and entwine my fingers on top of it. “… His girlfriend went back to Anguilla a few weeks ago, and he’s a bit on edge right now. So, if I were you, I’d be nice to me.”

“Or what?” Edward says, defiantly. “He can’t do shit to me in here!” I nod at Chuck, who hauls Edward out of the chair and lands a gut punch so hard that his lungs most likely catapult out of his chest and into the next room before pouring him uselessly back into the chair. I lean forward on the table, taunting him while he’s choking in pain and gasping for breath.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I pause while he wheezes. “Oh, I thought you were saying something.” I sit back in my seat and cross my legs. “See, you don’t get it. I have no conscience when it comes to you! There are no rules in this room. Do you need a further demonstration or do I have your attention now?”

I wait for a few more moments while he ceremoniously coughs and gags and when his performance is finally over, I continue my tale.

“You’ve been a bad boy, Edward,” I begin.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he chokes out, his voice raspy.

“Well, it looks like I’m not going to get my settlement from you after all, because your business is riddled with criminal activity.”

Various emotion flash across his face in an instant before he quickly recovers, sits up straight in his seat and declares, “I’m sure I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sure you do,” I say casually, “extortion, money laundering, identity theft—just to name a few. It’s quite the racket you’ve got going on… emphasis on the racket.

“Not my racket anymore,” he says, smugly.

“True, you sold the business to me, but you still committed the illegal activity.”

“Your problem now, not mine.”

“No, lover, not my problem. Still yours. You see, when you own a house and you commit a crime in it, just because you sold the house doesn’t mean you sold the crime.”

“I didn’t sell you a house.”

“You didn’t sell me a crime, either.” I fold my arms and lean back in my chair.

“What happened? Did someone come to collect?” A knowing smile creeps across his face. I shrug.

“If anyone comes to collect, I’ll send them to you,” I say sweetly.

“They’ll know I don’t have the money, lover,” he taunts, using my word. “They’ll follow the cash and come to collect from the business.” I twitch my lips and nod.

“Hmm, that’s too bad, because if they do, then they’ll have to collect from the Feds!”

I say the last word so hard that it echoes through the room and causes a silence that resonates like death. Edward turns pale white as a ghost and I swear he looks like he’s going to faint. With a freshly henna-clad hand, I push the envelope over to him, knowing what’s inside. It’s a copy of the United States’ Attorney General’s preliminary report delivered this morning, indicating that suitable evidence has been found to pursue criminal charges for violations of the RICO act. Also in the letter is a declaration clearing me of any charges as I was not the owner of the business during the criminal activity, but also indicating that the federal government will be seizing Edwise pending further investigation.


“The Feds…” He repeats the word like he can’t believe I said it or he doesn’t know what it means. You stupid fuck, you know exactly what it means!

“Here’s what happens now, Edward,” I say, sitting back in the seat again and placing my arms on the armrest. He’s a bit distracted by my impressive cleavage now on display through the oval opening of my shirt. I deliberately run my fingers across my exposed mound and then point to my face. “Eyes up here, lover,” I say. His jaw tightens.

“I haven’t had a woman in over a year,” he growls. “You come in here with your goddamn tits on display and you don’t expect me to look?” I giggle sheepishly.

“Of course, I expect you to look. Why do you think I wore this get-up? I need to be sure I have your attention,” I taunt, standing from the chair and stepping away from the table. I hold my hands up as if to model my outfit. I know I look good. My blouse dips in at the waist, accentuating my flattening stomach and flaring out demurely over my hips and ass and the flowing white pants that cup my frame. Nothing is too tight; everything falls just right to allow you to see the goods and leave just enough to the imagination. I spin slowly that he can take it all in. Look at what you’re missing.

“Commit it to memory,” I say, framing my body and showing of my henna hands and arms. “I’m sure you already have, only this is not the body you remember. So, yes, please… get a really good look.” He ogles me for a few moments longer before I take my seat again, then his eyes are back on my boobs. “Show’s over now. I need your attention.”

Chuck smacks him upside the back of his head like an errant child, and he throws Chuck a hateful glare.

“So, here’s my theory.” I entwine my fingers on the table again. He still hasn’t opened the envelope. “You thought you could give the business to me and not have to deal with your… partners anymore. You’ve now pushed that responsibility off onto me because—as you said—they’re going to follow the money, so they’re going to try to collect from me, or so you thought. In addition, you’ve cleaned up your debt with me because you’ve turned over all of your assets to me, effectively killing two birds with one stone. You have veritably paid one debt with another and thought you could wash your hands of them both.

“In effect, part of that is true. Your debt to me is settled. You used your assets on hand to settle your lawsuit. So, we’re even in the eyes of the law. However, in the process of trying to push your rotten eggs off into my lap, you have effectively turned over all the evidence that almost since the day you started your business, you’ve violated just about every RICO act and regulation in existence, and if they keep looking, the Feds might find that you’ve violated the entire thing.

“The evidence runs so deep that I’m certain they’ll find that your business was mainly a racketeering ring and the software and hardware company was just a front. Your dumb ass kept a paper trail and electronic records and I have spent most of your money following that trail… and I turned every single bit of it over to the Feds. All of your emails, all of your telephone records, text records, financial reports, banking information, tax returns, contacts, asset reports, correspondence, communications, properties, everything. If you had a sticky note under a desk in a storage closet in the basement, they’ve got it!”

Looking at him now, I’m sure he’s about to pass out. He’s broken out into a visible sweat and his hair is sticking to his face.

“What’s the matter, Eddie?” I ask with contempt. “Was this your last attempt to make a stab at me and yet again, it backfired on your ass? When are you going to learn that you can’t break me? Everything that you try to do to me, you might as well do it to yourself—you’ll be better off that way and it might hurt less. I have no idea who any of the people are that you were dealing with. Everything is coded and the Feds are going to break the codes; you know that… and your people know that, too. So how was this supposed to hurt me? It couldn’t be the money; I’m already a billionaire. You couldn’t have expected to stick me with this crime because you were an LLC… or is that what you expected to happen?”

His eyes are darting around and he looks like a caged animal trying to escape. I’m not sure he heard any of the last few things I said. I think he’s having an anxiety attack.

Get the fuck outta here…

“Son of a bitch,” I say incredulously, just above a whisper. “You did! You did expect for it to fall on me. How could you possibly expect this to fall on me?” I’m really talking to no one in particular now, just kind of speaking into the air. “This is Business 101. LLC—your act doesn’t follow me… how could you not know that?”

He still looks sick. Now, I’m really glad I came because I really needed to see him face-to-face for this. I take a deep breath so that I can finish this death blow.

“Bring that fucker back,” I say to Chuck.

“Pay attention!” Chuck says, slapping Edward hard in the back of his head. Edward’s hands hit flat on the table to steady himself and when he raises his eyes to me, his glare is death… and it doesn’t move me at all. I get up and walk over to his side of the table. His glare follows me as I lean down into his face.

“I’d soften that gaze if I were you. You wouldn’t want to make me nervous,” I threaten, employing Christian’s patented stare. He swallows and his gaze softens only slightly. That’s all I needed, just to see that chink in the armor.

“So, let’s weigh your options,” I say, walking back to the other side of the table and taking a seat. “You can find some kind of way to warn your contacts so that they can cover their asses, but know that the Feds are probably watching you now. Or you can turn state’s evidence and tell the Feds who those people are. They’ll probably put you in protective custody. Either way, once you’ve served your term here, you’ll most likely spend the rest of your life in federal prison. You have no money left to pay the numerous fines you’re going to accumulate for your multiple crimes, so… get comfortable, Eddie, because life as you knew it is over.

“Even though I didn’t see a penny of my settlement, you gave me an even better gift. You gave me the ammo to fry your ass for the rest of your motherfucking life. Thank you, you miserable piece of shit. If you weren’t such a selfish fucking asshole, you could have saved yourself all of this. All you had to do was not be a narcissistic piece of shit, but no, Eddie had to get his way. Eddie had to fuck everything walking. I left you alone. I walked away and you couldn’t leave me in peace. No, you had to come back and stalk me and harass me and kidnap me, cause me pain and hold me responsible for your fucked up, sadistic behavior. And look where it got you. All you had to do was leave me the fuck alone and walk away.

“When you saw me at that party, you should have kept walking, but you saw another victim. You saw another Camilla, you sick fuck! You tried to recreate that girl you victimized and it cost you everything! You should have left me alone. How does it feel now, Edward? How does it feel that you fucked with the wrong one? So, get used to it, because the best you can hope for now is to end up somebody’s jailhouse bitch!”


I stand up, smooth my shirt and put my jacket back on. I take one last look at Mr. Edward David, the man that once held my heart and at one time, could pluck my strings like no other man alive. That seems like such a long time ago, like it never happened. I don’t even recognize him anymore. He’s slumped over in the chair almost face down on the table, his shoulders heavy with utter defeat. His hands are clasped one on top of the other on top of the still unopened envelope. He doesn’t have to open it. He knows what’s inside. He knows his fate is sealed just like that envelope, and if he opens it, it will only bring the reality to light.

“To coin a phrase from one of my favorite movies, ‘I want you to know that I will forget you after this moment and never think of you again. But you, I am quite certain will think about me every single day for the rest of your life.’”

With those words from my mouth, his head falls to the table with a thud. He’s powerless and vulnerable. He has nothing left. The only thing he can possibly hope for after this is if someone takes some kind of pity on him. The only thing he has left is this institution. He can’t even go back to his parents. This is his life now. Ben knocks on the door and the guard on the other side opens it and lets us out.

We retrieve our items from reception and the warden is waiting for me when I’m just about to leave the prison.

The Warden? Christian… of course.

“Mrs. Grey?” He extends his hand to me. “I’m Ronald Holstein, superintendent of Washington State Penitentiary.” I take his hand.

“Mr. Holstein, a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“I was informed by your head of security that you would be visiting us today. I was again contacted by your husband voicing his concerns about your safety and well-being. I do hope your visit was… bearable.” I smile. How politically correct. “I don’t dare presume to say ‘pleasant.’ No one ever wants to visit this place.”

“I appreciate your candor, Mr. Holstein,” I tell him. “Yes, my visit was bearable, and quite necessary. Thank you for accommodating me on such short notice. As you know, the situation was very delicate and could not be put off.”

“I’m not aware of the intricacies of the situation. However, the details are unnecessary. I’m glad we were able to meet your needs.” He pulls a card out of his pocket. “Let me know if I can be of any further assistance and please give my regards to Mr. Grey.” I take his card and nod.

“Thank you again, Mr. Holstein,” I proffer my hand once more and he accepts the shake.

“Mrs. Grey.” He nods at me and we part ways as I head to the front gate with Chuck and Ben in tow. Pedo-Bitch is somewhere in these walls… I think. I don’t know. Her trial is coming up soon. Next month, I think. I’ll have to look at my calendar. Hell, I don’t even know if I would make a credible witness anymore. I’ve suffered memory loss.

The ride is silent from Washington State Penitentiary back to Walla Walla Airport and the GEH jet. None of us say anything until the pilot tells us that it’s safe to move about the cabin.

“Can I get you anything, Mrs. Grey?” I’m daydreaming when Constance—GEH’s newest young flight attendant—comes to offer us refreshments.

“Do you have any dry red wine?” I ask.

“Yes, ma’am,” she responds.

“Cabernet Sauvignon?” I ask, hopeful.

“Of course. Mr. Grey insists,” she smiles.

“The biggest glass you’ve got,” I say. She nods.

“Mr. Grey also insisted on large bowl glasses.”

“God, I love that man!” I sigh heavily as I lay my head back on the seat. I feel Chuck’s hand cover mine, but I don’t open my eyes.

“You okay?” he asks. I nod.

“I’m closing the book on a chapter of my life, Chuck,” I tell him. “There’s nothing else that I have to do with that man, ever.”

“Let’s hope not,” he says. “You declared total war. That’s a dangerous game. You didn’t just destroy him; you tormented that man in the process. Yet more proof that I never want to piss you off.” I sigh heavily.

“I loved that man once. I once looked into those big, brown eyes and saw my future there… my entire life.”

“You were young…”

“I was blind!” I snap, glaring at him. “I was blinded by his charm and the need to be desired by someone—genuinely desired by someone. He saw that. He was searching for that and he saw it me, just like the predator that he is. I was wearing like a goddamn banner and he groomed me just like a pedophile grooms a child. When I was ripe, he plucked me.” I turn away in disgust. “I walked right into danger just like I did with Cody Whitmore—willingly—only this time, I slept with it… for years!”

I sigh again wondering how I could have been so gullible, so stupid as to just wander aimlessly right into the mouth of the beast, not once, but twice. Constance cautiously approaches and hands me a large bowl wine glass of my beloved Cabernet. I clutch it for a moment, staring into the concoction and the answer comes to me like as if I’m staring into a crystal ball.

I was lonely and hurt. For years, I was made to feel like I was nothing and no one. I was brought up in a home of love and kindness for the first part of my life and then, out of nowhere, it was ripped away from me and I was traumatized. The foundation of security that was laid for me was torn from under me and I was cast into the wilderness—literally—with no direction, no affection, and no instruction. I could have died. I thought I would. I wanted to. I reached for any bit of hope and love that was offered to me, even if it was offered by the devil, and twice, it was.

Now, I have a daughter.

“Make sure your daughter knows what a jewel she is,” I say, turning my gaze back to Chuck. “Make sure she knows how important she is. Don’t throw her to the wolves.” He furrows his brow at me for a long moment, but the nods wordlessly. I turn and look down into the deep bowl of burgundy liquid in my hand.

“Adieu pour toujours, Monsieur David,” I say, taking a large swallow of the comforting elixir.

A/N: The quote that Ana says to Edward comes from a movie called “Ever After.” It’s a Cinderella story where Danielle—the Cinderella character—gains the favor of the prince before the ball, but when she presents herself to him, her stepmother outs her as a “slave” in her household. Having lost the prince, the stepmother sells Danielle to another evil man, but she escapes just as the Prince has come to his senses and comes to rescue her. The stepmother and the bitch stepsister that “Mom” was trying to hook up with the Prince were summoned to the castle and once there, convicted of lying to the Queen and sentenced to be stripped of her baronness title and sent to America penniless unless someone was willing to speak for her. Danielle emerges as the Princess and “speaks” for her stepmother, who is forced to bow to her and call her—of all things—Your Highness. Danielle says the infamous quote above about never thinking of her again before asking the King to send her and her daughter off to a life of servitude in the castle. The younger daughter, who had been nice to Danielle, moved into the castle with Danielle and a young knight that she had fallen in love with. Ever After Scene

Adieu pour toujours, Monsieur David”— “Goodbye forever, Mr. David.”

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

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Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X

Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 61—How To Handle Frustration

Well, we had a little excitement this week, but hopefully, that’s gone now…

 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 61—How To Handle Frustration


I feel so guilty. Saturday night before dinner, I could tell that Christian was aroused. The way that he looked at me, the things he said, and that semi-boner that he was sporting when he sat down at the table was a dead giveaway. I planned to give him a hand job or a head job or something to relieve him before he went to bed, but he and Jason stayed up talking and by the time I knew anything, it was time to feed the babies. Once that task was complete, I was too tired to do anything, let alone perform a blowjob. Yet, when he woke the next morning, he seemed bright as a bunny and in a good mood, so I guess no harm, no foul.

I have to say that I really love my post-partum choice of earthy wardrobe, though it doesn’t come off as earthy. I won’t be able to wear these things outside of the house—not until spring, anyway, and some of the ensembles I’ve chosen are pretty revealing, so I’m sure that Christian won’t allow them past the threshold or beyond the pool area. For instance, I’m very comfortable in genie pants and sarongs with wrap crop tops… the genie pants and sarongs because they can drop below my hips and allow for unhindered application of the belly binding, also an advantage of the crop tops. The wrap-around factor along with some of the best-constructed nursing bras known to woman allow for easy access to feed my children.

However, some of the genie pants are mere sheer covers with matching underpants, for lack of a better word. They’re actually spanky pants and perfectly appropriate for summertime romping or around the house, but they certainly won’t see the light of day outside of the Crossing as the size of my butt and hips make the spanky pants look very sexy underneath their sheer overlays. Sunday’s sunshine yellow pair was coupled with a tank crop top of the same color and a brightly multi-colored belly wrap after my mid-day yoga and dance.

I spend most of the day trying to catch up on my sleeping, but unable capture more than an hour’s rest because Minnie appears to be very demanding. Although I have Gail to help, I feel that as their mother, I should be the first point of contact for the twins—especially right now at the very beginning of their lives. So, when at the near end of the day, Christian finally gets a good look at me in the sunshine yellow genie pants and asks with dilated pupils if I had been dressed this way all day, I can do little more than nod and pass out on the nearest surface. Minnie had worn me out and we hadn’t even gotten to the 2:30am feeding.

By Monday, I’m wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch, not necessarily stressed out from work though my schedule seems full with planning appearances after the doctor clears me to go back to work and liaising with Grace and members of the licensing board to make sure that the learning and day care centers are up to par when the accreditations come through. No, this stress I can tell is coming from the lack of sleep and the lack of adult companionship, coupled with the lack of sex.

We are nearing the middle of week four post-baby and I haven’t had a single orgasm. It just hasn’t come to the forefront for me before now. The first week, I was totally out of commission, but we were having these major connections for the first two weeks and I was totally emotionally and physically satisfied. Over the last week or so, I’ve been distracted with David’s company and a concentrated involvement with my children as well as the aforementioned issues with scheduling and Helping Hands. So today, I think my sexual frustration has subconsciously manifested itself in yet another sexy ensemble—a black pair of sexy ass genie pants that is best reserved for a risqué trip to a night club or even a BDSM club. The pants are connected only at the hip and the ankle and they fall apart in provocative slits down both legs. The black, sleeveless, mock-turtleneck crop top is a simple pullover and showcases my newly-flattened stomach. I’m wearing a pair of strappy sandals, even though I don’t need them, and I don’t even bother with a belly binding.

I’m amazed by the condition of my belly, as is everyone else that sees me that day. I admire myself in the mirror and see that the combination of the moderate to medium exercise along with the belly binding and breastfeeding has caused me to almost regain my pre-baby belly back in a matter of four short weeks, the only exception being the obvious lack of my pre-baby abs—which I can’t really work on until I get clearance from Dr. Culley.

So now, I’ve got this tiny little waist and these really round hips and this really voluptuous ass. I almost look like Kim Kardashian—not that my boobs, hips, and ass are that big, but that my waist became really small really quickly and I look a little disproportionate in my eyes. I’ll be glad when Dr. Culley says I can really work out, because the body sculpting will be insane.

When I hear the chime from the two-way system, I respond “Ana,” fully expecting to hear one of my babies fussing in the background. I have the two-way in the nursery set as a 24-hour baby monitoring system to alert me before anyone else when the babies stir and I’m already on my feet when I hear the chime.

“Hey, where are you?” His smooth baritone voice caresses me like caramel.

“Just wandering around,” I tell him. “Maxie’s coming over.”

“Oh. Well, I just opened today’s mail to find something of interest to us both.” Now, my curiosity is piqued.

“Really? And what is that?”

“A summons.” A summons? For both of us?

“For what?” David’s case couldn’t have gone to court that quickly.

“Elena’s attempted murder trial.” Oh, fuck! I had all but forgotten about that, and not because of the accident and memory loss. It seems like forever ago and after everything, I can’t believe she’s still going to take this thing to trial.

“When?” I breathe loudly, exasperated.

“Tentative date is March 10.” Good God, could they have cut that any closer?

“That’s when I was supposed to return to work,” I protest.

“There’s one down here for you, too,” he says.

“And why is it tentative?” I ask.

“You know how they keep changing dates,” he says. “Remember David waiting right until the middle of our honeymoon to demand a speedy trial? Now you’ve just had a baby. I’m sure that if she could have gotten it before the doctor was set to clear you, she would have. She may still be trying.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint her, but even though I may not be clear for other physical exertions, Dr. Culley would clear me at any point from now for that trial. Where are you?”

“In my office.”

“I’m on my way.”

“I thought you said Maxine was on her way,” he protests.

“She is. I’m just coming to look at the summons.”

“Okay,” he says before we end two-way communications.

I’m more than a bit perturbed when I step off the elevator on the lower level. Yeah, I knew it was coming, I got too comfortable in my new life with my new husband and my new babies and my new house. We had to put this monkey to rest sooner or later. Even if they let her walk on the murder charges, she still won’t see this side of jail after her sentence for molestation.

“Okay, let me see it,” I say as I stroll across Christian’s office, putting my glasses on to see what will most likely be the smallest print of the biggest crock of bullshit I’ve ever seen in my life. Christian’s office looks slightly different than it did when we moved in. He has switched out the classic writer’s desks for larger, more imposing, enclosed oak Princeton executive desk. It fits the room better. The other desk, though it served the purposes, seemed somewhat dwarfed in this space. He hands me the envelope without raising his head and I tear it open. The document is a fictional novel. I start pacing the floor, reading her ridiculous claims of a diminished mental capacity.

“Fuck!” I hear Christian exclaim as I’m turning around to pace back towards his desk, still reading the document.

“How can they even entertain a fucking trial for this woman?” I huff. “They have her on video trying to kill you and shooting Ja—” My words are snatched out of my mouth as I walk right into my husband’s rock hard body. He snatches me flush against him with one arm and his free hand briefly grazes the bare skin of my stomach, then quickly travels up to firmly cup my breast.


Fucking hell! There’s a fire down below.

“You’ve been walking around all day like this?” he hisses through his teeth, pulling me harder against him so that I can feel him growing quickly in his jeans. “Then you come down to my office, that ass swaying all in my face, and wearing those goddamn glasses!” He tilts his head and plants a deep, bruising kiss on my lips. My nipples harden immediately and my clit begins to throb. His hand around my back travels to my ass and he clenches it firmly, pressing my pelvis against his erection. Wasn’t there something in my hand…?

Fuck, I need more!

I push against him and he loses his balance a bit, stumbling back until he’s leaning against the desk. I can’t get the angle I want. I’m trying, but my spanks have no give in them. The next thing I know, Christian has slipped his hands inside the slit of my pants and grabbed both ass cheeks with a deep moan, lifting slightly and causing my legs to part. I groan as I feel the slight burn and spark of his erection against my core. We’re still kissing ferociously, devouring each other’s lips and tongue and the need to feel his erection against my clit is almost unbearable.

I lift my leg and wrap it around his hip, attempting to open myself up to him, grinding rhythmically against him in a circle of my own.

“Yes!” he hisses into my mouth. “Fuck, yes.”

His fingers dig into the tender meat of my ass, and he grabs the thigh of the leg that’s not wrapped around him, holding it open and trying to get some control over his quickly rising passion. Mine is going insane as I grind and roll and gyrate, looking for that perfect rhythm but not quite finding it. I’m holding on to Christian’s neck and hair, rolling into him and driving him higher and higher, causing him to exclaim various profanities and dig painfully into my skin while calling out my name between hot, muffled kisses… while I only get enough vibration to spark, ignite, and burn, but not to explode.

It would be criminal to leave him like this even though it’s obvious I won’t get mine today without direct stimulation. Maxie’s warning chooses now to come blaring back to me loud and clear…

“… By all means, don’t engage the enemy for help! I can guarantee you that no matter how much will power you have, you’re going to fail, fuck him, and end up with babies born ten months apart. You’re going to smell him, see him hard, feel him rubbing up against you and you’re gonna fuck. So just don’t do it.”

Well, it’s a little late for that, but I won’t leave him like this.

I climb a little higher and with my knee on his desk and the other leg still held captive in his hand, I ride him, hard and deep.

“Oh, shit, baby!” he groans. His words and tortured voice are too much for me, making me hornier, making me want him more. I capture his mouth with mine again, probing and tasting, determined not to let him up for air until he comes. My hands hold his head captive, my fingers in his hair, and I fuck him hard with our clothes on, writhing hard in the direction his erection is pointing in his jeans so that the head can get the proper stimulation to force his ejaculation. He groans hard and deep, trying to talk under the kisses, but realizing it’s a futile exercise. He flexes his hips against mine as much as he can since he’s sitting on the desk supporting us both right on his pelvis.

His grip tightens and even his tongue stiffens and I can tell that he’s losing control of his basic muscles, so the orgasm is on its way. He groans several times into my mouth, surrendering his kisses to me and allowing me to take control of this hot moment as his body starts to tremble from the pleasure and from holding me up.

Come on, Christian, let it go.

“Aaaawwww!” he groans loudly into my mouth. “Aaaaww fuck!” he bites out as he grips my ass brutally, grinding me hard into his erection. Although I can’t feel the semen through his jeans, I can feel the violent pulsing of his penis and I know that he’s coming. I gyrate my hips hard into him, grinding my pelvis deeply as he groans in his chest, jerking and riding out the last of his orgasm. I’m kissing him deeply, fingers thrust in his hair and holding his head so that his mouth is at my mercy. My tongue is lapping feverishly into his orifice as his muscles finally begin to relax. I’m on fire—hot and pulsing—rubbing gently against him now and he slowly meets my grind, finishing the last of his satisfaction, but the indirect stimuli was not enough to get though my spanks.

“Oh, goddammit,” he breathes between kisses. “I can’t fucking wait until you’re cleared. I’m going to fuck you senseless.”

I’m breathing heavily, trying to talk myself down since I know that if Maxie isn’t already here, she’ll be here any minute.

“You didn’t come,” he observes, still trying to control his breathing

“It’s okay,” I lie. “No time. It was hot… next time.” I smile.

And this is why you don’t engage the enemy.


“You engaged the enemy!” Maxie says the moment I walk into the parlor. It’s only a few feet away from Christian’s office and I really didn’t have time to compose myself before I got the notice over the two-way that she had arrived.

“What?” I say. Surely, she can’t be reading my reactions that incorrectly.

“You engaged. You’re all flustered and flushed like you just had sex.” Close, but no cigar.

“No, I’m all flustered and flushed like I wish I just had sex!” I retort sharply. I’m wound tighter now than I was before! The platinum ring was waved in my face and snatched away before I could get it!

“Well, why are you walking around dressed like that?” she accuses. “Are you trying to tempt the hands of fate? And you bitch! What have you been doing? You look like a size four in just as many weeks after delivery.” I put both hands over my stomach.

“You’re sweet, but no,” I say, retrieving my shawl from the coat tree before sitting next to her on the sofa. I’m glad that someone had the foresight to light the fireplace in here. “Where’s Mindy?”

“Still at daycare. I left the office early to run a few errands. Don’t change the subject.” She gestures at my body. “What gives?” I shrug.

“Nothing really,” I tell her. “It’s just the breastfeeding, the belly-binding and the beginning core yoga…”

“Well, it must be the yoga,” she says, “unless it’s the belly-binding. I never really got into that.”

“I’m telling you, it’s a combination of everything,” I tell her. “I started with the post-partum belly belt right after I delivered and went straight to the belly-binding with the essential oils as soon as I got home. I waited two weeks before I started core yoga, which is nothing more than the breathing and the combination of the tightening and loosening of the diaphragm and Kegels, pulling everything in towards your chest and spine and releasing it. I’ll give you a website so that you can start doing that. If you don’t already have abs of steel, it’s a great place to start. I hate to tell you, but I’ve got a real advantage over you with the breastfeeding.” She frowns.

“How so?” she asks, accusingly. I raise my eyebrows at her.

“Geez, doctor, really? Food factory for two babies?” I reply, pointing to myself and stating the obvious.

“Oh, yeah, that,” she says. “I thought you had some other secret I wasn’t aware of.”

“Unfortunately, none of those things are doing much for the boobs and the ass. The belly-wrap helps with my hips a bit, but they’re still pretty round to accommodate the butt.”

“I’d kill for that shape,” she confesses. “I know you’re accustomed to being more compact, but right now, you look like a MILF.”

“Oh, stop it,” I say, waving her off in disbelief. “And just so that you know, you’re not completely wrong. I did engage the enemy, but we were both completely dressed and it wasn’t even planned. He called me down to his office to talk to him about something—which, come to think of it, we didn’t even talk about—and he attacked on sight. There was a lot of kissing and heavy petty and I didn’t want to leave him like that, so I finished him off and that was it.”

“You finished him off?” she asks.


“He didn’t finish you off?”


“Well, why the hell not?” she asks. What?

“You’re fucking crazy; you know that?” I accuse. “A minute ago, you were spouting ‘don’t engage the enemy,’ and now you’re asking why I didn’t let him finish me off?”

“Well, you had already engaged and you guys were fully clothed, so there was no danger. So why didn’t he finish you off?” I sigh heavily at her, exasperated.

“Well, gee, coach,” I say sarcastically, “you sent me into the game with one command—do not engage the enemy. When I realized that the only way for me to get off would require partially disrobing, said command came back to me, so I disengaged.”

“You’re damn-near naked already!” she says, gesturing to my very revealing genie pants. “What was the big deal?”

“I’m wearing spanks!” I declare. Her face changes.

“Oh! Okay. Yeah, those things are like Fort Knox—nothing in, nothing out.”

“Tell me about it!” Not even a dry-fuck orgasm! After a few moments of silence for the one that got away, she changes the subject again.

“Valerie came to see me yesterday.” Oh, great.

“Professionally?” Why did I ask the question?

“I wouldn’t be telling you if she had.”

“I know,” I say, “I don’t know why I asked that. Lack of sex, I think.”

“You are at least getting off, aren’t you?” she asks. I shake my head. She glares at me. I shake my head again. “Why not?”

“I don’t have the time,” I tell her. “Just because I’m at home doesn’t mean I’m not busy. I’m swamped with things to do. I fall asleep everywhere. I could sleep standing up. I could fall asleep right now.”

“Since before you had the babies?” I nod. “Are you insane? You’re going to lose your fucking mind! Get in bed and pop one off—soon! I’m not kidding, Ana. This is for your health, mental and physical. Do it!”

“Okay! Okay!” I feel vehemently uncomfortable with my friend encouraging me—no, more like ordering me to masturbate. “I’ll wiggle the bean. Now get back to Val.” She rolls her eyes at me.

“She was talking about you… and the babies.”

“What brought that up?” I ask.

“She saw in the paper… or on the internet or something,” she says. “You and your PA were at Marshall Fields on Wednesday?” I think back for a minute.

“Oooh, yeah. So, it was a ‘bash Ana’ session. How did that go?” I ask, unassuming.

“Not so much… well, not at first,” she says. “She was talking about how good you looked to have just had twins and that people were going to start talking about you like Beyoncé when she had Blue Ivy…”

“And the fact that nobody thought she carried Blue Ivy,” I say. I saw that as another Valerie dig.

“Right. She was talking about still wanting to be Mackenzie’s godmother. She didn’t say anything about Michael. It was like she didn’t know Michael existed.” That’s odd. She’s picking and choosing between children that she’ll probably never get within ten feet of.

“She says you hate her.” I don’t respond. I heard that from Christian, too. Part of me does, I think, for taking away one of my best friends. “The way she says it, she thinks you hate her through no fault of her own.”

“What?” I say, my face no doubt distorted beyond recognition.

“To hear her tell it, she sees herself as the victim, that you’ve changed so drastically that you don’t want her around anymore.” I am so fucking confused now.

“So, let me see if I understand this correctly. Just out of nowhere, I turned into this rich, socialite bitch who just started hating her and treating her like shit and that’s why she’s treating me like shit now?” I ask incredulously.

“Yeah, pretty much. She can’t quite grasp the fact that we’ve all been there for the entire breakdown. She didn’t even address the fact that nobody else really speaks to her and anytime anybody brings it to her attention, she turns into a cat. She was acting all bruised and broken hearted that you would turn on her like this.” Am I in the Twilight Zone?

“Should I call her?” I ask, already knowing the answer, but hopeful nonetheless.

“I wouldn’t,” Maxie says. “By the end of the conversation, you were back to being a selfish cow bitch who obviously had someone else carry your babies and probably faked your accident for attention.” I roll my eyes.

“Oy vey,” I lament, shaking my head.

“It was crazy,” Maxie continues, “it was like talking to two completely different people in a matter of fifteen minutes. I told her that I think she’s bipolar and I think she needs to talk to someone professional, maybe even medically.”

“Whoa! How did that go over?” I ask.

“Now, she’s not talking to me either,” Maxie says, sitting back on the sofa.

“You’re kidding.”

“You know me,” she says, “I was willing to go toe to toe with Christian and your father when your health was at stake. You all may have felt that I went about it the wrong way, but still would have done it. I don’t pull punches and I don’t mince words and you know that I don’t, but I’m not her doctor. I can’t force her to do anything; I can only make a suggestion. My suggestion is that whatever’s going on in her life, whatever has happened in her mind, she needs help. She needs medication or something, but she needs to talk to a doctor. The way that she’s thinking is not healthy, it’s not logical, and she needs to talk to a doctor.” I sigh.

“Christian said that he had that talk with Elliot but nobody can make her do anything.”

“Well, let’s just hope it doesn’t get to a point where someone has to make that decision for her.”


I’m so tired. I fell asleep in the recliner again and I’ve finally dragged my ass up to bed. I have just enough time to get a couple more hours of sleep before the twins are due to wake. I slide out of my sandals and genie pants when I hear the shower running. I was so sleepy that I didn’t even notice that Christian was already here. I go to his en suite as I’m pulling my crop top off—a dangerous situation, I know, but I’ll just say goodnight since I can barely keep my eyes open.

When I pull my top over my head, I’m greeted by a sight that stops me dead in my tracks. The bathroom is full of steam. My husband is in his shower, gloriously naked and hot. This was a bad idea, but I didn’t know how bad it was just yet.

Christian is standing there, wet and glistening from head to toe. Water is beading off of his skin and muscles are protruding and contracting all over his body. His hand is against the glass to steady him, somehow clinging to it and one leg is bent, his foot up on the ledge that spans around the floor of the shower. His head is down, his eyes are closed, and his hair is wet—dark and falling in curly tendrils over his face. God, he looks magnificent, like the beautiful bronze statues of the National Archeological Museum in Greece.

I move closer to him and discover that he’s fisting his erection, white-knuckled and hard, moaning in his chest and slightly trembling with each pull. I’m instantly hot as I move to the front of him, watching him meticulously gripping his dick, pleasuring himself inside some kind of white film thing that stretches over his shaft with each pull down to the base and draws out an intense moan with each push back up to his, no doubt, swollen and sensitive head.

I put my hand against the glass against his, remembering how I felt when he fucked me from behind in Paris, telling me to grab the grates of the Eiffel Tower. I swallow hard and part my lips, taking deep breaths as I watch my man masturbate—shivering with pleasure as the water ripples off his body. I don’t know how long I stand there, but he never opens his eyes, lost in the feeling of ecstasy wrapped around his dick. The closer he gets to exploding, the hotter I get watching him, until he finally calls out an expletive and comes violently inside of the… thing, whatever it is.

Suddenly, while he’s breathing heavily and shivering in the shower, I feel like a voyeur. As ice water flows through my libido, I feel hotly jealous of this thing in his hand wrapped around his dick swallowing his cum while I stand idly by and watch. Would I have felt better to have participated, even though he couldn’t come inside me? Couldn’t thrust inside me? I don’t know, but suddenly, I need to be anywhere but here.

I remove my hand from the glass and slowly back away, careful not to disturb anything on my way out. I bend down and pick up my crop top, managing to escape the en suite undetected. My throat is dry, like needles prickling in the back of my throat. I can’t be here when he comes out. I have no idea what to say to him if I saw him right now. I’m not angry, I just feel empty not being able to have him inside me and downright stupid for being jealous of some little masturbating toy thingy that brought my husband to a shivering orgasm right before my eyes.

But yes, I’m jealous.

I gather my clothes and shoes and toss them in hamper in my dressing room, shoes and all. I quickly step out of the cursed spanks and put on an oversized U-Dub jersey and a pair of biker shorts. When I come out of the dressing room, I still hear the shower going. Yes, he usually needs two, and I don’t know if that was his first or his second. Unable to shake my feeling of dejection, I wipe away a tear that has fallen and leave our bedroom and close the door behind me, resolved to sleep in the recliner until the children awaken.


Even I have to admit that I’ve been a force not to be reckoned with over the next two days. I’m wound up and tense, angry and snapping at people for no reason all day Tuesday. I actually hear Gail say that I was worse that Christian used to be. I couldn’t be angry with them. Nothing I do is helping—not dancing, not yoga, not even Atlantis. And I stay away from Christian. I don’t have the nerve to look him in the eyes after watching him garner such pleasure from the magic toy the other night and I don’t know how to confront how inadequate it makes me feel right now. Maxie had said something before she left on Monday that stuck with me:

“You should have let him get you off. He can fuck a hole in a donut right now; it’s not like you can ride B.O.B. and get the same stimulation.”

It appears that’s exactly what he did. Well, not a hole in a donut, but a hole in something. I’m not upset with him for doing that; I’m just feeling inadequate because it wasn’t me.

By Wednesday, nobody wants to be around me because I’m downright unbearable. I stay to myself most of the day. I even only talk to Marilyn by email and text and hide out in the twins’ nursery for most of the time, actually taking naps in the rocking chairs. I was actually able to do that for the entire day and night. I’ve become such a disagreeable bitch that no one wants to deal with me.

When Gail comes to help me with the babies for the 9:30 feeding that night, I apologize to her for my behavior, telling her that I’m under a lot of stress and very tense right now. I promise to try to get it under control in the days to come. She nods her understanding and smiles. We feed the children and she seems completely wiped out. Mikey goes right back to sleep, so I send her to bed while I tend to Minnie. Always the fussy one, it takes twenty more minutes to get her settled, but she finally yawns and closes her sleepy little eyes. I put Minnie down and check on Mikey. They’re both fast asleep, fed and content for the moment, thank God.

I go to our bedroom and the bed is still empty. He’s not in the sitting room either. I check both en suites and they’re both empty. I don’t know why I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m going to have to face him sooner or later. I brush my teeth and my hair, put on a nightshirt and climb into bed. I just sit there for a moment, flustered and confused and anxious as fuck. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, why I feel this way about seeing my husband pleasure himself, but I know I can’t take feeling like this anymore.

I throw the covers off of me and lie flat on the bed. I take a few deep breaths and try to relax. The flannel nightshirt is not helping and the nursing bra is very uncomfortable on my dry, sore nipples right now. I opt to sleep without one tonight, going back to the bathroom to get the olive oil to soothe the dryness. I put my shirt back on, but apply a little oil to each nipple and massage them through my open shirt.

The relief is immediate. I bring the olive oil into the bedroom and place it by the nightstand to put a little more on my aching areola and nipples. Once the oil gets into the skin and soothes the ache, the feeling soon turns to arousal. I stop, feeling a little guilty for touching myself, but aching for the small amount of relief it brought just for that moment… just a moment of not feeling flustered or confused or anxious or wound so tight that I can’t even think straight.

I have to admit that in addition to immense jealousy and little humiliation that he wasn’t playing with me instead of that goddamn toy, I was highly aroused watching him get off in his shower, so lost in his passion that he could barely stand and he didn’t even notice I was there.

I lie back on the bed and pinch my nipple again, surprised at how good it feels. I close my eyes and pinch them both, rolling them between an oily fingers and thumbs, like Christian would.

Yes… like Christian would…

I find myself arching into my own hands, cupping my own breasts, kneading and pinching, imagining that my hands are my husband’s hands. I moan in my chest at his touch. I close my eyes and slide my oiled hand down to my hot, aching clit. One stroke is like fire. I bite my lip to keep from crying out. Another stroke has me squirming in the bed, opening my legs wide and exposing myself to my hand…

His hand…


I need him. I need him to touch me… just like this…

I roll my oily fingers over my clit again and again and again, working myself into that frenzy that I need to release this tension that I’ve been holding for… how long? I don’t know. We’ve never not made love… well, we have but… oh, don’t think about that now.


It feels so good. I need it so bad. I imagine him over me, kissing me, sucking my nipple, rubbing my clit, worshipping my body like only he does.


I’m envisioning all of the hot things that have ignited me…

Christian grabbing my ass through those genie pants and grinding me against him…
Those hot orgasms during the babymoon…
Riding him hard while his hands were tied to the bed…
Sitting on his lap and him fucking me from behind while he pinches my tender nipples…
His beautiful body all wet and strained right before he came in the shower…


Almost there, I’m almost there. My Adonis. No one has ever loved me like my Adonis. He makes my body sing in ways I never thought possible. I miss his touch so much. I ache for him, yearn for him, my body calls for him, comes only for him…

I have crazy flashes of hundreds of positions and orgasms with my sex god husband, and just as I’m about to come, I breathe the litany that is sure to tip me over the edge.


Just then, a heavy hand stops my ministrations and I’m jolted from my orgasmic ascent back to the real world. His gray eyes are right in my face, glaring at me, accusing, I think, as he hovers over me and stills my hand. Why did he make me stop? I was almost there! My heart is aching as is my body, and I can only release a shuddering breath as he glares at me with what looks like pure hatred and anger in his eyes.

He can’t be mad at me! How can he be mad at me?

I don’t know what to say… or do. He’s looking at me like I’ve betrayed him,  making me feel like I’ve cheated on him, but I know I haven’t. I’ve watched him jacking off, lost in pure agonized ecstasy just a few days ago. Yet, I feel like I’ve done something wrong, and that’s how he’s looking at me right now. I just lie there in carnal conviction, trying and failing to keep my bottom lip from trembling. Disappointment and heartache flood over me as my long-awaited orgasm sinks back into my core, away from my reach. Satisfaction ebbs into darkness and my inner bitch falls to her knees, naked, with her arms wrapped around herself, wailing mourning sobs at its departure… sobs that I hear echoing in my ears.

His face changes immediately; it morphs into something else… something softer. I don’t know. Maybe I’m seeing things because my eyes are clouded by tears. His fingers gently push mine aside, and my breath is snatched away by his probing hands expertly massaging my clit. I vaguely hear something in the back of my head about engaging the enemy, but I don’t care. My hands fall helplessly to my sides and I push my body back into the bed as the pleasure is much deeper than I was bringing to myself. His eyes never leave mine and he never says a word as two fingers masterfully rub my clit in an upward and circular motion, causing me to sob in my chest from the pleasure and the rush of emotion that I can’t control. It feels so good that it would completely break me if he doesn’t let me come. I might run from the house screaming in my nightshirt and bare feet if he were to deny me now.

He’s relentless with his stroke, bringing his face closer to mine as I rise higher and higher, sobbing deeper and harder as he brings me closer and closer to my release. I clench my fists beside me and prepare for the ultimate denial as the burn becomes so intense that it’s almost painful. Just as I reach that precipice, Christian’s free hand grabs my nape and he quickly lifts my head so that my lips fall open to him, allowing him to kiss me—hotly and passionately, his tongue filling my mouth roaming every crevice as his fingers continue to work my burning, aching clit.

I explode in several directions, shrieking and crying into his mouth and jerking violently, reaching for anything that will ground me from the burning, searing flames between my legs. I can’t stand it! It’s too intense! Over and over, it rings from my chest, through my stomach, through that sensitive bundle of nerves that ached and ached and ached for release; and the kiss that essentially gagged me from crying out keeps the explosion internal, combustible, and nearly caused me to go insane.

An eternity later, my throat hurts. I can barely breathe. I’m panting and wheezing like a wounded animal. I’m drenched in my own sweat and tears and I can’t move. I feel him hovering over me, but I can’t open my eyes. His hand strokes the hair stuck to my face and I hear a soothing “Ssshhhh.” My body shudders from the aftershocks of my orgasms, from weeping, from not being able to cry out. He wraps his arms around me, cuddling me to his body, calming my tremors and stroking my hair and face, kissing my tears away until I fall asleep.


I can hardly believe what I’m seeing! I come to my bedroom after I’ve been toiling over a solution to her issue with GEH ownership and find her writhing in bed fucking herself thinking of God only knows what! God only knows who! I was right downstairs! We’re suffering from the same fucking frustration! I’ve been trying to spare her because I want to explode from the need to be inside her! If it weren’t for those goddamn eggs, I think my head would pop off!

But now, here I stand watching her in the throes of passion in our bed just about to reach her climax while I’m downstairs pulling my goddamn hair out! She breathes something and my eyes narrow. I’m furious! I move over to her and still her hand, just like I would one of my naughty subs when I found them pleasuring themselves without my permission. I know the ache is infernal. The pain is physical and the frustration is unbearable—I could see it in the surprise in her eyes. My hand is firm on hers and I glare at her, hard. I’m seething! I was right downstairs! Are you enjoying yourself?!

But what I see in her face at that moment causes me to freeze… and what I hear… and what I heard. She’s… crying… no… sobbing… anguished. Her chest heaves heavily and she looks… God, she almost looks like she’s mourning. I don’t recognize her. I’ve seen something like this before… haven’t I? No, I don’t think I have. She lay still, looking at me, her eyes filling with tears, her hand still covering her sex and my hand covering hers. Her chest is heaving and the sounds coming from her are pained… aching… begging. The most sorrowful sounds… God, they tear right through me… just like her sad, broken, glassy blue eyes.

Why didn’t she just come to me? Why didn’t she just tell me that she needed me? I need her, too.

Then, my brain drifts back to what I heard when I came into the room, right before I stopped her hand. I sift through the red fury in my head and eyes and focus on the gentle sound that wafted to my ears…


She did. She did come to me. Maybe not physically, but in her head and her heart, she came to me. I gaze into her heart, my poor broken Butterfly, what I’ve reduced her to—trying to spare her by fucking those goddamn eggs, I’ve denied her, and now she’s aching and wanting… and I’ve denied her again. No, this time, I’ve forbidden her. And she’s completely broken.

My poor, beautiful Butterfly.

Her chest is still heaving when I push her hand aside. I recognize the oil immediately as the olive oil that she uses for her tender breasts. I know then that this wasn’t planned. It just happened, fueled by immediate need and yearning, and I’ve just made it worse.

Don’t worry, Baby… I’ll take care of you.

Using the generous amount of oil already on her clit, I begin to massage with three of my fingers. One won’t be enough. I’ve treated her like a sub, and now, I need to pull on some of my old knowledge… of when I denied them orgasms for weeks as a punishment, bringing them to the brink of sanity, then sending them away frustrated only to continue the game week after week. The longest I played that game was six weekends before that submissive safeworded, and I let her come.

Six weeks… how ironic.

Her orgasm was explosive. She was chained to the ceiling in my playroom and wailed her safeword as her body trembled. I stopped stimulation immediately and she wept, much like Butterfly is weeping now, but I felt nothing for her then. I told her that she could come, finished her off with a wand, and left her hanging there for a while.

But not my Butterfly.

I feel everything right now, raw and wanting and aching—pleasure and pain concentrated in this tight bundle of nerves as she whimpers helplessly under my intense ministrations. I maintain her gaze as she heaves and sobs, her clit hot and sharp like a thousand tiny little knives. I only change my stroke enough to gather a bit of her arousal from her opening and spread it around her inner lips, never stopping the pressure on her clit. It doesn’t take long for her to rise; she was already there, but I know it’s not the same. It’s not the same pressure—her doing it herself—as when I do it.

That’s it, baby… I’ve got you.

Her sobs sink into her chest—deep, mournful cries that beseech, coming from the deepest part of her soul, wringing anguish and pleasure at the same time.

Don’t stop, Grey. No matter what happens, don’t stop.

I move closer to her. I can’t see her eyes through her tears, but I maintain eye-contact as I continue to stimulate the pebbling ball of flesh, so hard and throbbing. Her groans are short and clipped, matching her sobbing breaths. Her hands are fisted at her sides. Her orgasm has already started and I don’t even think she knows it; her eyes haven’t changed yet, but the muscles in her pelvis, at her mans right at the top of her pussy, are hard as a rock—pulsing hard against my palm. I’ll have to restrain her, to gag her somehow or her cries will wake the dead.

I don’t stop the steady stimulation of her clit—deep and searing, like I’m working the pain out of a sore muscle. This is not tender. It can’t be. It has to be firm, to pull out the days and weeks of denial and the frustration that I imposed upon her just moments ago. And now, the second phase of her orgasm has begun, as her sobs become guttural and her body starts to jerk. Her weeps almost sound like wailing now and she still doesn’t take her eyes off mine. That small bundle of nerves has now become one hard block under my fingers and I continue kneading the knot as she stiffens. She’s going to come so hard…

When the first unstoppable wave begins and I see the blue change in her eyes, I lift her head at the back of her neck to immobilize her and cover her mouth with mine, creating a seal so that no sound escapes, but also sucking to pull in her cries as they release. God, she’s feral… primitive… it’s so goddamn hot! I thrust my tongue deep into her mouth, not only to act as a gag, but also to taste the secretions from her cheeks—the sweet juice that releases when she comes. God, she’s irresistible. I moan along with her as I hold her captive, gobbling her shamelessly, my tongue roaming and tasting and fueling my own desire for her. She tastes divine. I continue firmly and relentlessly massaging her clit as it pounds against my fingers; I won’t stop until it stops stabbing against me, and I know that she’s experiencing wave after agonizing wave of orgasm.

Oh, yes, Butterfly… release it all to me.

She’s wailing and sobbing and mourning through her repeated orgasms and I know what she’s feeling. I’ve seen it many times after a sub released after being denied for so long, but never held them… never loved them… never kissed them… never felt their euphoric pain and made sure to see the pleasure through to the very end. I only made them come, then left them there, wherever they were. Not this time. This time, it has to be complete, down to her soul and her very being. Her pelvis throbs hard in my hand as her primitive weeping cries wane in my mouth and I don’t stop until the stabbing stops against the pads of my fingers. My dick is aching, hard, painful, and tight in my boxers imagining the spongy inside of her vibrating, clenching, pulsing pussy right now. I have to breathe through my erection, it hurts so bad. I gather my love against me and take a deep breath, breathing her in, soothing her while I let her fragrance soothe me.

Don’t cry, I will her as I cuddle her close to me, kissing her face over and over and stroking her hair. Please, don’t cry…

I wrap my legs and a blanket around her trembling, wrung body, hold her close to me, and rock her to sleep.


She still hasn’t stirred when I return to bed after Gail and I have tended to the twins and gotten them settled back in their cribs… and I still haven’t slept. Part of me thinks it’s because I’m yet unsatisfied, having spent every night for the past five nights with a Tenga egg. The other part of me needs to keep watch over my wife, hoping that I haven’t caused damage to her delicate psyche after my silent accusation. No words passed between us when I came into the bedroom this evening, but I don’t need anyone to tell me that I’m an extremely intense man. I’ve used that intensity more than once to cause seasoned businessmen to break into cold sweats in the boardroom, and this evening, it brought my fragile wife and the mother of my children to heart-wrenching sobs that didn’t cease even through what I know were soul-shattering orgasms.

Her angelic face is in a contented, restful state as she sleeps and I wonder if she’s dreaming. What’s going on behind those eyelids right now? Is she running through meadows with our children—advanced to toddlers in her dreams? Maybe she’s floating on the water somewhere, blissfully tranquil without a care in the world. Or maybe she’s just resting in silent solace, no pictures disturbing her slumber whatsoever.

Almost on cue, her breathing changes and she whimpers a bit. Sighs, maybe? I don’t know. I can’t tell. Her head turns on my arm and after a beat, her eyes blink open. She looks at me as if she doesn’t remember where she is. Her gaze doesn’t change, and I think she still doesn’t remember. Probably still caught on the remnants of her dream, still drifting on an ocean somewhere…

I slide my arm from under her head until my hand rests at her nape again. Gently cupping her neck there, I press kisses on both of her eyelids. A soft, shuddering breath reminds me of the sobs from earlier this evening, and my chest aches. My lips move to her cheeks, down her jawbone, and finally to her mouth, pressing a soft, searing, yearning kiss there, prodding and massaging until another whimper escapes her throat.

Oh… she’s scrumptious.

I allow my tongue to lap in her flavor a few more times before I slowly pull my lips from hers, just barely. Only breaths away from her mouth and never taking my eyes from her swollen lips, I whisper,

“Touch me.”

Her small hands immediately move to rummage through my hair. Perfect. I take her mouth again, one last soft but searing kiss before my lips move to her jaw, then her neck. She sighs her protest at the parting of our lips, but is soon panting when my teeth nip the tender meat of her neck and my tongue lines the skin along her clavicle. A harsh intake of breath signals her arousal as my lips travel down her chest to her swollen heavy breasts. Without breaking contact with the soft, supple mounds, I reach to the night stand for the olive oil left there from earlier in the evening and apply liberal amounts to my fingers. I seek out her nipples and gently massage the oil onto the tender tips while I kiss and nip the plump, round glands.

“Christian!” My name is a breathy gasp. I hardly recognize it. She’s on fire, igniting and burning with sensual need all over again like I hadn’t driven her to the brink of emotional and sexual insanity just hours ago, but she needed this. More than anything at this moment, she needed this.

I move my mouth to one nipple, then the other, giving each a long lick then a gentle suck. She arches her back, offering herself to me like a sexy little nymph… and it drives me wild. It makes me want her, but not to fuck her. It makes me want to satisfy her, to make her come, to make her writhe in pleasure and pulsate in ecstasy until her body is sated beyond measure, and all unpleasant memories of last night are totally erased. I suck her tender nipple again and she sighs and moans, grasping my head and spurring me on. One tiny drop of her milk releases and I can’t resist licking it from her nipple.

It’s sweet. Somehow, I knew it would be.

Still cupping and massaging her full, tender breasts, I begin my trek down her body, raining kisses down her torso, her abdomen, to her pubic hairline.

Her pubic hairline… this is new.

Butterfly is normally always waxed or shaven. Earlier, I hadn’t noticed that a bit of hair had grown over her pussy—soft and silky with only the slightest curl. I run my tongue along the top of the hairline, then bury my nose in it, taking a deep breath.

“Oh, God,” I moan into her pussy. Her musky smell sends a jolt of fire right to my dick. Fuck, it aches so bad and it’s hard as a goddamn rock! I stiffen my tongue and tease the top opening of her lips. She tries to control her breathing. She knows what’s coming. Using the stiffness of my tongue to part the soft hairs and her hot lips, I lick slowly, moving further into her wetness with each lick. She keeps her hips still to absorb the sensation, delicate whimpers escaping her throat and open mouth with each pass.

Oh, baby, I’m not sure I can take much more of this.

The next two passes bring my tongue to the hood of her clit and I taste the olive oil from earlier mixed with a slight hint of her previous arousal spread there by my fingers. I can’t resist softening my tongue and lapping the delicious flavor, completely forgetting my intention of a slow descent to her pleasure center. She cries out in unrestrained ecstasy and Greystone peeks shamelessly out of the waistband of my boxer briefs, seeking his counterpart and weeping precum as he knows he won’t be able to indulge. The elastic rubs against the tender rim of my head and I have to remain still to keep it from burning.

I dive hungrily into her sex, alternating between gentle licks and flicks to devouring suckles of the pebbling, throbbing clit. I’m voracious and she’s shamelessly wanton. Between the two of us, we are filling insatiable appetites desperate to be curbed. I haven’t tasted her pussy in weeks… weeks! A delicacy I have needlessly denied myself in a misguided attempt to allow her respite and peace from caring for newborn twins on a crazy schedule. In return, she hasn’t received the mind-blowing orgasms that I know my skills can render upon her. As a result, we’ve both been in a state of confusion, madness, and frustration.

Her first orgasm ripples through her with the soft, coaxing licks and I taste the slight slide of her juices on my tongue. It only fuels the fire and I have to have more of her. My dick now bangs mercilessly against my stomach and I ignore the chaffing feeling of the elastic against the tender head. My aching balls are taking precedent, anyway and I have to open my legs and press them against the mattress for relief. I ignore her cries to stop and clamp down hard on her pebbled clit, calling louder to me than her mouth. She grasps my hair hard, begging, nearly crying, then almost seconds later, pushing her pussy into my suckling lips. I wrap my arms around her hips, now rising off the bed with no help from me, and rest my hands back on her deliciously plump breasts.

God, she is delicious and she feels magnificent! My mouth is open, wide open over her pussy, devouring her clit and core with no mercy and sucking dry every bit of juice that escapes and trust me, she is pouring! The flow of her sweet, creamy arousal is intoxicating and endless, and I have hit a spot and an angle that just keeps it coming. My God, at this rate, I’m sure to dry her out, but I dare not stop. She’s so turned on, she’s saying such deliciously nasty things to me:

“Eat me, baby…”
“Fuck me…”
“Yes… right there…”
“Don’t stop…”
“Eat it… Eat it deep…”
“Imma come so hard… Fuck!”

Her voice is a harsh, sensuous whisper and her body is stroking into me deliciously and rhythmically. I have to move my body to match her stroke for stroke and we are fucking, madly! She feels so fucking good and tastes so fucking good…. We are locked together, synchronized in our movements. I feel her body start to stiffen and her tone gets higher as she coaches me not to stop.

Not on your life.

“That’s it… right there… right there… harder… harder… don’t stop… don’t stop… don’t… don’t…”

A shrill cry rips from her body as her creamy arousal coats my tongue, not a squirt, but a thick, delicious cream almost like a small ejaculation and I gobble it up while keeping the motion we had set before her body stiffened in orgasm. She cries again in pleasure, begging me not to relent as she rides out this roller coaster. Her breasts are seeping milk over my hands and her body’s euphoric release and my constant motion to keep her orgasm going causes me to forget—or not realize—something else.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmm! Mmmmmm! Mmmm! Mmmm! Mmmmmmm!”

Hot shots of semen drench my boxer briefs as I come violently all over myself, muffling my moans in her vagina. My dick and balls are pulsing madly between me and the mattress as my mindless movements to satisfy my wife masturbated my dick between my body and the mattress. Butterfly’s explosion into my mouth was that last erotic push that I needed to tip me over the edge and now, I am deliciously and happily sated from both ends as I push into the mattress and eek out the rest of the orgasm while I lap deliciously at the remaining juices from my wife’s tender, pulsing pussy.


“You were aching,” I tell her. She’s lying on her stomach, hugging the pillow while I caress her back. I’ve removed my T-shirt and cum-soaked boxer briefs and lay next to her. Finally sated and relaxed, she opens her eyes and looks at me questioning.

“Hmm?” she asks as we lay naked next to one another.

“You were aching,” I repeat, stroking her spine. “Your body was aching. I could see it in your face. It wasn’t just that I stopped you from touching yourself. You were walking around looking like a sexpot for several days and then, today—well, yesterday—I didn’t see you at all, not once the whole day. I knew that you were here because the staff prepared to part like the Red Sea when I entered the room and they thought I was you.”

Her face betrays her conviction. She was irritated and she was avoiding me… and she was clearly aching for me. But why?

“Why didn’t you come for me?” I ask her. “Why did you suffer through the whole day and then decide to masturbate instead of coming to get me?”

Her face falls. It’s almost like she’s embarrassed. I stroke her hair, pushing it behind her ear in a gentle gesture, coaxing her to talk to me… to tell me why she would allow herself to suffer instead of coming to get me. Since she had the babies, she had gotten me off twice, and she hadn’t come once. Four weeks and not once! I’ve been coming into those damn eggs to keep from attacking her, and she hadn’t come once. I can tell.

“I… wanted to,” she said, her breath soft. “I wanted to touch you… to have you touch me, but I wanted you so much… want you so much, I knew I would fuck you. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself…”

“I would’ve stopped you,” I tell her.

“Why tempt the hands of fate?” she says sadly with a shrug. I stroke her hair again. “Even now, if you cover me with your body, I won’t be able to stop you. I crave you—your touch, your smell, to feel you inside of me—I crave you, so much that it’s painful sometimes, and if you tried to love me right now, I would welcome it, and I wouldn’t stop you.”

Her words go right to my heart, and if I’m honest, my dick, too. But I can control this. I have to be strong for both of us.

“I saw you.”

I raised my eyes to her. Saw me what?


“I saw you… in the shower a couple of days ago…”

In the shower? She saw me in the shower? Oh, shit. She saw me in the shower! That means she saw me masturbating and didn’t say anything, and I was just asking her why she didn’t come to me.

“You were so beautiful,” she says, dreamily, almost whispering. “Your body was hard and your dick was hard and you had completely lost control. You looked so good, so hot. When I was masturbating, that’s one of the things I was thinking of… the pleasure and abandon that was on your face; every muscle in your body taut with pleasure and the water dripping in streams and rolling off your body, touching where I couldn’t touch at that moment or it would ruin the orgasm… an orgasm that I wasn’t bringing to you.”

I frown deeply. She… what? She can’t be!

tenga“Baby,” I say incredulously. “Tell me that you’re not telling me that you avoided me for an entire day because you were jealous… of a Tenga egg.”

“Is that what it was?” she says, softly. “All I know is that it was bringing you amazing pleasure—shivering pleasure—and it wasn’t me,” she adds shyly.

“Butterfly,” I say, sliding closer to her. “It does feel amazing, I’ll admit that, but it’s just a temporary substitute and a poor one at that. Nothing in this world feels like the inside of you. Even if I just hold you and kiss you and grind against you, a Tenga egg can’t do that. A Tenga egg gives me temporary physical pleasure, but it can’t make me feel the fire that you do! How could you possibly be jealous of that… thing?”

“How did you feel when you stilled my hand?” she asks. “How did you feel when you came to the bedroom and I was masturbating without you?”

Ow, that stings. Duly noted.

“We have to stop doing this to each other,” I say, bringing my lips gently to hers. “Your pleasure belongs to me, and mine belongs to you. We won’t do this again.” I kiss her temple and play in the garden. “I know we’ll want to pleasure ourselves, and that’s okay, but we won’t deny one another again. I’ll take care of you and you take care of me.”

“But,” her voice is breathy, aroused, “what if I want to fuck you? I want to fuck you right now…”

“Then you’ll trust me,” I tell her. “You’ll trust me to have the will power for both of us. Just two more weeks, baby, then we can fuck each other into the next dimension. Until then, you trust me to make sure that you’re thoroughly satisfied. No more of this aching and yearning, and I’ll come to you before I reach for Tenga, or if you like, we can play with Tenga together.” She closes her eyes as I brush her lips with mine.

“That sounds promising,” she whispers, and I take her mouth with mine, moving her pillow to eliminate the space between us and give attention to the body once again aching for my touch.

A/N: So, for those of you aching for Ana to catch him, she caught him. What do you think of that? It’s strange, too, because I wouldn’t want my husband to catch me masturbating either, although in the past, he has caught me… and then, like Christian, he took over. What about you?

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Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X