WordPress is pissing me off!!!
Every time I get the hang of how to edit and post, they change something up on me! I used to be able to post directly to Facebook, then for some reason, WordPress stopped doing that. Now. it’s going to stop posting to Twitter AND it’s changing the way that I have to edit and it’s taking more time. It’s driving me batshit!!
I’ll figure it out. Rant over.
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Episode 64—Disagreement
CHRISTIAN
Freeman’s dying.
Fuck.
No matter how angry we are with our family and what they may have done to us, death changes everything… and Freeman is dying.
My father’s brother…
My uncle’s brother…
My uncle…
Is dying… and he doesn’t have long, and Dad wants to go to Detroit with Aunt Nell.
Tomorrow.
I’ve escaped to the owner’s suite to steal a moment to myself. There was a bit of chatter after Aunt Nell made the announcement but not much, and I’m assuming nearly everyone at brunch has done the same thing—escaped to some part of the house or their own home to contemplate the situation.
I am the king of jumping on last minute arrangements, but this… How do you handle this? When Pops was dying, we all congregated at Grey Manor to be at arm’s reach for when the moment finally arrived. This is different in so many ways.
This is Freeman, the estranged brother, not the father—family, yes, but not the father.
Freeman is in Detroit, not here in Seattle where we could all gather and support him in his final hours. Detroit… fucking Detroit. Not San Francisco or Atlanta or Miami or Denver—fucking Detroit!
And again, this is Freeman—the man who assaulted my father in his own home; insulted my entire family; brutally attacked his son in the airport and is still facing charges; harassed me to the point of having a no-contact order against him from clean across the country; and alienated every single person close to him to the degree that he now has absolutely no support system in his last days.
No support system in his last days…
“Shit!” I hiss, scrubbing my face. Fucking hell. Any other time in my life, I would’ve said fuck this man and everything he stands for, but now… right now… things seem so different.
“Your father is trying to find a flight out today or tomorrow,” I hear Butterfly say. She waited for a moment after I left the table, but she had now followed me to the owner’s suite where I sit on the loveseat in the sitting room lamenting this entire situation.
“I know,” I say. “I figured he would.” Time to get the damn jet ready. She pauses again.
“You’re going, aren’t you?” she asks, and her voice sounds confrontational. I don’t respond. She already knows.
“Why do you have to go?” Butterfly protests. “Freeman most likely doesn’t even want to see you with the way your last meeting ended!” I raise an incredulous gaze to her.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me this,” I retort. “This is my father’s brother. He just found out that his brother is dying. There’s no telling what condition they’re going to find him in when they get there.”
She wants to argue so badly. She wants to tell me all the reasons that I shouldn’t go to Detroit, and I’ve already mentally gone over all the reasons that I shouldn’t go, but none are holding any water. Pops was here when he died. Nobody’s left but the sons, and one of them is about to meet his maker, too.
“Besides,” I say, “our fallout is all the more reason I should go and see him. He’s dying and I don’t want to have this on my heart. Quite frankly, neither should he.” I sigh heavily.
“My story could be so different right now,” I add. “I could be in a position where I don’t even have the chance to put this to rights, but I can. I’m ready to move on and live my life to the fullest in every way possible, and I’m not just talking about the things that my buckets of money can buy.
“I’m only just now realizing that I watched Myrick die,” I say. “He lay there bleeding out in front of me and I didn’t even know it. Unfinished business… too much unfinished business. I have no idea how the business with Myrick could’ve been finished any other way than it was—at least my business with him, but he died with unfinished business. He went through his life for decades looking for revenge on a four-year-old kid for some imagined transgression, so much that he had to change the details of the story to support his plight…” I trail off and shake my head.
“This is about Myrick?” she asks incredulously. Maybe it is, I don’t know. Maybe it’s about everything that Detroit means to me… which is selfish, since this is about my father and not me.
“It’s about unfinished business,” I say, repeating myself. “My father and uncle have unfinished business with their brother and so do I. Not only that, but I don’t know how my father is going to handle seeing his brother like this. I have to go, baby. I’m going to feel like shit if I don’t.” She twists her lips, crosses her arms, and nods.
“Fine,” she says, pointedly. “I’m going with you.” I glare at her.
“No!” I say, before I even think about it.
“Why not?” she shoots.
“There’s no reason for you to be there!” I say, sharply.
“I beg to differ,” she says firmly. “You’re going to support your father and your uncle because you don’t know how they’re going to take this. No doubt Luma and Grace will be going for moral support as well. There’s no way that they can’t. I’m going for moral support for you.”
“Anastasia…” I begin through my teeth.
“The last time we were in Michigan together, we drove through Detroit, and I could tell that you were holding your breath the entire time,” she says. “Freeman’s in rehab or hospice… in Detroit! The last I heard, he sold his house in the suburbs, and he moved to Pops’ house… in Detroit! You’ve got unfinished business. I get that, but if you’re going to put any demons to rest in Detroit, I’m going with you!”
She’s firm, but I don’t want her to go. Detroit is soiled and evil… and we’ve had one hell of a last few months…
“What about the twins?” I ask.
“We’ve left the twins before,” she says. “They’ll be fine.”
“Not with Mikey having night terrors,” I point out.
“He hasn’t had one in weeks,” she retorts. “We’ll work something out.”
“You’re pregnant,” I argue.”
“Barely at the beginning of my second trimester if not the end of my first. Try again, Grey.” I sigh heavily.
“The doctor says we need to watch you… because of the IUD,” I continue my protest. “So many things can go wrong and if they do, I do not want you in Detroit.”
“Christian, you may not be particular for the city of Detroit in and of itself, but they have some of the best healthcare in the country,” she counters, “or did you forget that that’s where your mother was licensed and honed her skills? Stop trying to find a reason for me not to go.” She sighs and folds her arms.
I close my eyes and shake my head. I can’t justify her going, especially since I know that there could possibly be some type of showdown. She makes a good argument, but no matter what she says, I can’t see myself agreeing to her going. I can’t tie her up and make her stay here, but I’m not going to agree to her going, and that’s fi…
“If I can’t go, you can’t go,” she announces, “so you decide.”
What the fuck? I’m a grown ass man and this is my fucking father! How is she going to tell me that I can’t go?
Apparently, the same way that you plan on telling her!
I sigh. She has me cornered. I feel like coming out swinging but there’s really no fight here. I feel anxious and helpless. She doesn’t understand that I have no choice but to go, but I don’t want her there. She’s dug in, but I need her to hear me. I need her to hear me…
“I call Downtime.”
Her expression hardens and eyes pierce.
“Downtime?” she says, her voice accusing.
“Yes, Downtime,” I repeat. “I call Downtime.”
“You’re kidding,” she says incredulously, a statement instead of a question. I don’t react. I said it three times.
“You do not get to call ‘Downtime’ because you want to try to get me to heel!” she declares angrily. What the…?
“Have you forgotten the rules of Downtime?” I shoot.
“No, I haven’t!” she snaps. “I sit in whatever subservient position you want me in wearing whatever you want me to wear so that I can remember that you are the trusted Dominus and I’m the treasured soumise!”
She spits that statement with so much venom that I must resist the urge to just walk out of the room.
“You have forgotten,” I say, my voice low and controlled—at least as controlled as I can get it. “Yes, Downtime is used to connect as Dominus and soumise, but it’s so much more than that. It’s supposed to be a time of open communication, among other things… a time of emotional and physical connection, whether we just want it or we’re not on the same page, or if we’ve had a disagreement and we’re looking for a way to find a common ground. Although your words didn’t cheapen the concept, your tone certainly does. So, if you would rather not, just say so, and we won’t.”
My voice is cool and sharp—sharper than I intended, in fact. I’m not calling Downtime as a method of control over her right now. I’m using it as a method of control over myself. I want to drop the iron fist and say that she can’t go to Detroit, and I know that I can’t do that. As such, I need us to be in completely, nonconfrontational territory to speak our respective pieces and this is the only way that I know to do that. I would never use Downtime against her, but I’m not going to allow her to use it against me either.
Her expression changes and I know that she’s going to allow Downtime, but I can also tell that she’s taking it as a challenge and not a request. That means that we’re not going to be on mutual ground.
“What should I wear?” she asks, and her voice sounds more like we’re having a business meeting.
“Whatever you like,” I reply. The corner of her eye narrows just slightly, and I don’t think I was supposed to see it. She strolls purposely from the room and about five minutes later, she returns in a pair of her genie pants, a wrap shirt, and black stilettos.
Alluring, but not naked or in any state of undress.
“Where would Sir like me?” she replies. Again, her voice sounds like if this is what you want, fine.
“Stop. Being. Defiant,” I challenge, weary of her arrant attitude. “It’s just a conversation.”
She doesn’t move or respond… and she’s glaring at me, not even a hint of the D/s dynamic between us.
This is no use. This was a big mistake, and I shouldn’t have tried it. She is tense, disagreeable, and inflexible at the moment, and this is a recipe for disaster. If I press Downtime right now, I’m setting a precedent.
None of the aspects of Downtime are present. It’s like I’m about to take her to the playroom and she doesn’t want to go. It doesn’t work. This aspect of the relationship—just like any D/s aspect of the BDSM relationship—has to be a 100% give-and-take.
Maybe I’m the one with the wrong concept of Downtime, because this is one of those times that I thought would’ve been perfect for it. I want to forbid her from going to Detroit and I know that I can’t do that, but I do want to have a conversation on how I feel about it without the exchange being confrontational. She, on the other hand, is dug in on making the trip to the point of being defensive. I feel like I’m at a huge disadvantage and she’s got her dukes up. We need to be on a more level playing field and even though during Downtime she is my soumise, I thought this would be that playing field because of how we use it to talk.
But it’s not.
She’s highly defensive and she thinks I’m trying to use Downtime to control her. In no time during our relationship—D/s or otherwise—am I “the boss of her,” but I think that’s what she’s seeing right now. No can do. Bad move. Maybe I need to reconsider my idea of the concept of Downtime.
I examine her for a moment, a bit disappointed though I think I hide it well, then I stand and walk to our bedroom. Her voice stops me once I open the door to the hallway.
“You call Downtime and then you walk away?” she challenges. I turn to look at her.
“This is not Downtime,” I say firmly. “You’re clearly not prepared for it, or you don’t want it. It can’t be forced or coerced. That’s not the concept of Downtime. You know it and I know it, and I’m not going to fight with you over it.” My eyes don’t leave hers as I await her reaction.
“I’m still going to Detroit,” she says with finality.
“Fine,” I reply with no malice or hesitation. A few moments later, I leave the room and head for the elevator.
*-*
Going to Detroit… geez!
I’m in my study making plans to go back to this dreadful place. I shoot off an email to the executive team that I and my wife will be in Detroit for an undetermined amount of time but that we will both be available for emergencies and meetings as circumstances allow. We’ll have to set up shop wherever we are to run things as needed. This is, after all, why we put things in motion to have a junior executive team—for just such an emergency.
I still need to pack. I don’t expect my wife to pack for me as she’s probably not feeling much like Butterfly at the moment. I push the thought out of my head and get back to the task at hand.
“Sir,” Alex answers. I stopped attempting to scold him for working on holidays. Based on a talk we had a while back, I really think this is all that he had… which is really quite sad.
“I’ll be going to Detroit sometime tomorrow for a little while… family emergency,” I tell him. “I need you to get me some information as soon as possible.”
“What do you need?” he asks. I give him a breakdown of the information that I need.
“I should have that for you in a couple of days,” he promises.
“Thanks,” I say. “Happy New Year.”
“Same to you,” he says, and we end the call. I send a text to Jason to meet me in my study. We’ve got to get some details banged out for the trip.
I don’t know how long we’re going to be there or even what to expect. I need to set some guidelines, though. I’m never good walking into uncertain situations.
Whatever happens, I won’t stay for more than two weeks. Things like this can go on and on and while I want to be there for my father, I can’t stay indefinitely.
I won’t tuck tail and run the moment Freeman says something to piss me off. I’m here for my father, so I need to make sure that he’s okay before I throw in the proverbial towel.
I won’t pick a fight with Freeman or even feed into his anger or taunting. The man is dying and he’s probably angry about it. I can’t see where this would change a lifetime of prejudice and bullheadedness. While miracles can happen, I won’t expect it but I won’t provoke or antagonize him either. I’ll only be available to the degree that I can help my dad and I will only engage Freeman if it looks to be a productive interaction.
Detroit.
Detroit never really did anything to me. It was the people and the circumstances. I don’t have to like the place one bit, but I’m giving those city limits way too much control over me when the people who caused me the most grief are dead now.
Dead now…
There is no issue with Myrick anymore. That fucker is burning in hell and I’m the one who sent him there.
Yay, me!
The crack whore has been dead for decades, so there’s that.
Even now, I’m spearheading initiatives for the homeless and for abused children in the city. So, I really need to adjust my thinking when it comes to this particular locale. Even though I had a particularly harrowing start of life there, Detroit is not to me what Henderson is to my wife. Henderson and surrounding areas really did do a number on my wife—the citizens, law enforcement, the hospitals, her guardians…
Only Myrick and the crack whore really wronged me in Motor City. Momma Bell took good care of me that I know of until Angel Lady rescued me, and both of those are memories from Detroit.
Unfinished business…
“Sir,” Jason announces his presence in my doorway. I gesture him inside.
“I’m going to Detroit with my father,” I say. “We’ll be needing to leave as soon as possible. I know that my aunt will be leaving tomorrow morning and it won’t due to arrive before she does.”
“Who’s travelling and how long?” he asks.
“At the very least, a few days. At the most, two weeks. I’m not going to be on indefinite Freeman watch. I don’t even want to be in Detroit that long, but…” I trail off.
“I understand, sir,” Jason says. “I’m already on it.” I raise my gaze to him.
“Already on it?” I ask. He raises a brow to me.
“How long have I worked for you?” he says. “I was at brunch this morning, too. I even had the timeframe down—a few days to two weeks. I’m already packed and we’re securing a pilot and preparing the jet to leave as soon as possible. Tomorrow goes without saying with it being New Year’s Day.” I nod.
“I’ll talk to my father and see if they’ve already made travel plans,” I say. “My wife will be accompanying us, so let Chuck know that he’ll be on duty.”
“The twins?” he asks. Yeah, I know.
“No,” I say. “They’ll remain at home—one of the reasons I’m limiting my trip to two weeks. I’m not even sure where we’re staying.”
“Sir, if I may,” Jason begins, “I know how you dislike the city, but since the downtown rehabilitation and the upgrades to the Riverwalk, the quality of accommodations near the riverfront are outstanding.” I raise my brow.
“And you know this because?” I press. It’s Jason’s turn to raise his brow as he cocks his head at me.
“And again, I ask, how long have I worked for you?” he replies. “The Marriot at the Renaissance Center comes very highly recommended and it’s my understanding that it’s 4-star rating is very well deserved.”
I sigh. Staying in the city. Jesus. I don’t know why I feel the need to agree to this but…
“Make sure the room is heated when we arrive,” I tell him. “If my wife so much as gets a chill in her baby toe…”
“Understood, sir,” he says. “Should I call Mr. Grey and Mr. Grey and find out what their travel and accommodations are?” I nod. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to my father yet. I’ll let Jason arrange it with him so that he doesn’t try to convince me not to go. Too much damn unfinished business…
I’m about to give him more instructions when I get an invite to join a Zoom meeting. It’s Ros.
“Get started on those things, please,” I tell him. “It appears that something is up at the office.” He raises his brow.
“Her highness won’t be happy with you working on the holiday,” he warns. I twist my lips.
“Yeah, well…” I say with no other information. I shoo him out of my office with my hand before accepting the invite from Ros. It turns out that the meeting is with Ros and Lorenz. I join the meeting and see that they’re both at home.
“Is everything okay, Christian?” Ros says immediately before I’m even able to greet them. I sigh and scrub my face.
“Are you both working today?” I ask.
“No,” Lorenz replies. “I was just checking emails in a little downtime when I saw yours…” Downtime… “So, I contacted Ros and she suggested the Zoom. I know that members of your family are in Detroit…”
“I took the liberty of giving him a bit more information on your… aversion to traveling to Detroit,” Ros adds. “I hope I haven’t overstepped my boundaries.”
I raise my brow. This isn’t a business call. This is members of my executive team calling to check on me… concerned about me. I guess this is something I’m going to have to get used to in light of the most recent developments in my life.
I take a deep breath and settle into the feeling that my team is calling me because they care. It’s… a strange feeling… good, but strange. I lean back into my chair and address the concerned faces looking back at me.
“You know that my cousins and aunt are here from California,” I begin to my captive audience. “They’re heading back tomorrow… or at least my cousins are. My aunt is going to Detroit. She just announced that my uncle Freeman is dying of cancer and doesn’t have long left.”
“Oh, Christian,” Ros says, sitting back in her seat as well. “I’m so sorry.”
“As am I,” Lorenz says. “Freeman… I’m sorry. I don’t recall that name.”
“That’s because we’re not on the best of terms,” I say. “He’s a real pill and he caused all kinds of hell when my grandfather died.” Lorenz frowns.
“This isn’t the one that we called the union for, is it?” he asks. I shake my head.
“No, that’s Stan,” I clarify. “There are four brothers—my father, Stan, Freeman, and Herman…”
“Herman,” Ros says. “That’s who I’m missing. That’s the one that married Luma, right?” I nod.
“Yeah. Freeman is the one that gave us a hard time at every turn,” I inform them. “He’s the reason that my father didn’t speak to his family for twenty years. If it weren’t for my wedding, he may have never spoken to his father again. I currently have a restraining order against him for harassment.”
Ros and Lorenz both have questioning looks on their faces, the same questions that Butterfly’s eyes were asking in our bedroom. I sigh and push my hands through my hair.
“A week ago, none of us knew if I would even see freedom again,” I say. I couldn’t see past Tuesday. It was like a brick wall was in front of my face—the world stopped and there was nothing else to do but wait. It’s the worse type of holding pattern.
“When we finally got the verdict… the decision, it was like a water balloon exploded. All the tension and questions and concerns and angst just flowed out of me all at one time and there was nothing left but this rubber shell sitting lifeless on the floor with no purpose.
“Once I was able to pick up the pieces and try to figure out what the next move would be, I’m standing there blowing free like laundry on the clothesline soaking up the sun and that fresh scent that reminds you of running through fields of flowers… only the clothes have many, many strings fraying from its edges… unspoken words, loose ends… unfinished business…”
I close my eyes and squeeze them tight, suddenly overcome with emotion. Why, I don’t know, but holding on to the possible reality that I may never see my beautiful wife and lovely children in person again… never able to touch and kiss them again… that possibility wreaked havoc on my soul and now, there’s so much to do, so much to finish…
“He’s my father’s brother,” I say, “and my father has declared that he’s running to his brother’s side in his last days no matter how rotten he had been all these years and no matter what has transpired between them. I want to be there for my father—at least for a little while—but I need to go for myself, too.
“This situation has changed me,” I say, holding my head down. “While I’ll never lose that killer instinct when it comes to business because that’s what I live for, the person—Christian Grey… he’s different. He’s a different man. It was no surprise that I was willing to kill to protect my family. The surprise was how easy it was—that I didn’t even hesitate with the thought to snuff this man’s life out… not for myself, but because of my son, and my wife, and my family.
“I didn’t have time to think about the consequences,” I raise my gaze to the screen. “I knew what had to be done at that moment and I did it… and I never regretted it. Not once did I ever regret it. Even after sitting in my home for months pondering what could happen to me, I never had a second thought. There was never any question that I would do the exact same thing all over again if the situation repeated itself.
“I now have to listen to that new guy when he’s speaking because while there are different versions of me—different personas that I present to different people—there can’t be two or three people fighting inside of me all the time. There’s this tortured little kid who hates Detroit, who’s kicking and screaming and doesn’t want to go. Then there’s the man that’ll do anything for his family, who’s willing to put his own feelings aside and be the support system they need.
“And then there’s the guy in between—the guy who needs closure, who needs to tie up loose ends. The guy who sat there for three months pondering what his fate would be… if he would be eating turkey on Christmas Day or cold bologna sandwiches; if he would be rocking his children to sleep at night or talking to them on the phone during a designated call time. That guy needs to put some monsters to bed once and for all, and holding my father’s hand in a city that I don’t even want to visit is a big part of that… but it’s only part of it.”
I rub my eyes again. There’s not much more that I can say to these two about the situation. I’ve given them just about everything I can right now.
“You have quite the way with similes, Mr. Grey,” Ros says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a clearer picture painted of anything before in my life. Is there anything we can do?” She adds, her voice kind. The genuine concern doesn’t get past me and I smile inwardly.
“Hold down the fort until I get back,” I say. “Like I said, we’ll be at your disposal even while we’re gone barring immediate emergencies that require our attention.”
“Ana’s going with you,” Lorenz says. “That’s good. Every Superman needs his Lois Lane.” I try not to roll my eyes.
“Yeah,” I say somewhat dismissively.
“You know, I never really liked the Superman movies,” Lorenz says. My brow furrows.
“Why not?” I ask, and why compare me and my wife to Superman and Lois Lane if you don’t like the movies?
“They were okay, but I think they portrayed the characters in a manner that I never pictured them. You know how you read a book and then you see the movie and they’re completely different? That’s how I felt about the movies and the comic books. Lois was pretty damn flighty in the movies, but in the comic books, she was tenacious and fearless, often a pain in the ass. She never backed down from a challenge. She found herself in some precarious positions sometimes, but Superman loved her incessantly nonetheless, no matter how much she despised his alter ego.”
Ros giggles at Lorenz’s description.
“Yes, she’s a bit of a handful,” Ros chimes in, “but Lois was a lot stronger than people gave her credit for. She didn’t mince words and she never backed down, even when she found herself in trouble. Pretty feisty girl, that Lois… and strong.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I married her.
“I’ve got to get going, you two,” I say. “I’ve got a lot to do, and I want to try to get out of here as early as my jet can be prepared. I know that my father doesn’t want to waste any time and he’s somewhere trying to get a commercial flight.”
“Ew, good luck with that!” Lorenz says. I thank them both for checking on me then exchange pleasantries and leave the meeting. I lean my head back on the seat and sigh deeply. I rest my head, close my eyes, and ponder the many things heavy on my mind right now, or I should really say heavy on my heart.
Gerald is headed to Lancaster this evening—quick deed info in hand—to get everything squared away with his father over the next few days, and he expects to have a showdown with his sisters.
We’ve taken care of Melina Vanhoutte’s husband’s medical bills and set up a fund to directly pay her operational costs for a year so that Lydie can concentrate on her studies and get into college.
Likewise, Elliot has given me the list of Valerie’s past due medical bills and I have arranged for Andrea to arrange to have them all paid next week. I’ve also given him a large down payment on the work he’ll be doing on our indoor poolroom to help him start getting ready for their new baby, as well as the name of our dog trainer so that they can prepare George for the change.
Marlow seems to be doing well in his business gentleman classes. There was no altercation or even apparent discomfort between him and Sophia yesterday. She seemed fine at lunch if not just a bit introspective. I’m assuming that it’s in anticipation of having to see her wretched mother more often since she’s out of jail now.
And now, Detroit.
I feel her presence and open my eyes. How did I not hear those angry stilettos clicking down the hall?
Maybe it’s because she’s not angry. She’s standing there just a few feet inside my study door, her hands clasped in front of her. When I bring my eyes to hers, she drops her gaze.
ANASTASIA
I know the fuck he’s not about to pull that Dom shit on me to tell me that I can’t go to Detroit.
Granted, I want to go to be a support system for him, but he can’t summarily dismiss me and declare that I can’t go.
Downtime indeed.
“Have you forgotten the rules of Downtime?” he quipped.
Of course, I haven’t, but one of the specific rules of Downtime is that I am in a position subservient to him—a perfect position to demand that I not go to Detroit with him. My head has to be below his, ready to please and obey. What other reason would he have to call Downtime at that particular moment if he wasn’t trying to put me in my place?
What other reason indeed.
What are you getting at?
Of course, that’s the only time he’s ever used Downtime was when he wanted you in a subservient position, right?
Well, no, but that’s how he was using it now…
How can you be sure?
It’s obvious! When I declared that if I couldn’t go, he couldn’t go, he called Downtime.
And of all the times that he has ever called Downtime, has he ever used it against you?
There’s a first time for everything.
She goes silent after that. Either she agrees with me or she’s tired of this back and forth. I wonder who else in the world has a clear and delineated argument with their inner Bitch.
“Gail, where is Mr. Grey?” I ask when I see her in the kitchen with Ms. Solomon. She raises her brow.
“I thought he was upstairs with you,” she says, a question in her voice. No, he’s somewhere brooding. I wonder if he’s going to shun me for the entire trip because I won’t capitulate to his demands.
“No, he’s not, but I do need to speak to you and Keri. Can we meet in your office?” No use in meeting in my office. No doubt, he’s down there in his study controlling the world since he can’t control me.
“Sure,” she says with a bit of uncertainty. “Activate two-way communications.”
The system comes alive as she’s drying her hands.
“Locate Keri Davenport.”
“Keti,” Keri’s voice echoes into the room and at the same time, a masculine voice declares, “Davenport.”
Nobody in this damn house calls him “Davenport.” Why is he still saying “Davenport?” I hope I haven’t caught them at an awkward time.
“Keri, are you busy?” Gail asks, no doubt thinking the same thing I just did.
“Noh,” she says. “Meh an Choonks mindin’ da tweens.”
“Ana says she needs to talk to us,” Gail informs her. “Can you come to my office?”
“Okeh, we be up in a minute,” she says and ends two-way communications. If I’m going to Detroit, Chuck is coming with me. He and Keri are still newlyweds. I wonder how she’s going to feel about this. I don’t even know how long we’re going to be gone.
“Is everything alright, Ana?” Gail says, and I realize that I’ve drifted off a bit while we’re waiting for Keri. I shake my head as if to shake off a thought.
“A lot on my mind, Gail,” I say, walking towards her office space.
“No doubt about the elder Mr. Grey,” she says with concern as she follows me.
“How long will you be in Detroit?” she asks. I stop short as we enter the informal-dining-room-turned-house-manager’s-office and turn to look at her.
“Who told you?” I ask. She said she hadn’t seen Christian yet.
“I’ve been working for Christian for years. Nobody had to tell me,” she says.
“Does Keri know?” I ask.
“She suspects,” she says, taking a seat at the table. “She probably knows now.”
“I always hate to take Chuck away from her,” I lament, “especially now since they’re newlyweds. She didn’t do so well when they were apart.”
“Dis is dif’rint,” Keri says coming into the dining room. “I know me Choonks come bahk.” She takes a seat at the table with us.
“I don’t know how long we’re going to be gone,” I warn her.
“Jayson seh ‘bout two weeks,” she says. “Das fine.”
I roll my eyes. Mr. Grey has been talking to everyone except me.
He tried to talk to you, remember?
Oh, you’re back now?
“I’m concerned about Mikey,” I tell them. “I’ve never been worried with two-way communications set up like monitors and such, but since he’s been having these night terrors, I don’t like for him to be left alone. They’ve been sleeping in our sitting room, as you know, but that setup requires that someone be sleeping in our bed.”
I twist my lips because we know that’s not going to happen.
“Choonks will be wit you,” Keri says. “De bebbies can sleep in mah room.” Gail looks over at her.
“Really?” she asks. I’m shocked.
“You don’t mind?” I inquire. She scoffs.
“Of cohs not,” she says. “Why dey need ta be on da udder end o’ da house when dey mama no heyah?”
“Oh, this would be perfect,” Gail says, “to have them closer to us when they wake.”
Hmm… that was easy… a bit too easy.
We don’t want to move the toddler beds that are in the sitting room down to Keri and Chuck’s apartment, so Gail agrees to have new beds set up for the twins by tomorrow night. Again, I don’t have any of the travel arrangements, so I don’t know when we’re leaving and I’m only going on Keri’s word—who got it from Jason—how long we’ll be staying.
“Did Jason give you any indication of when we’ll be leaving?” I ask Gail. She frowns at me.
“Sometime tomorrow,” she says, bemused. “Christian didn’t tell you?” I twist my lips.
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes. “He’s a bit miffed at me because I invited myself on the trip.”
“Invited yourself?” Gail asks, even more confused. “I thought it was a given that you would be going. He hates that place.” I sigh.
“I can only speculate what the issue is right now,” I say, “and right now, nothing is holding any water. So, I guess I’ll just watch everybody and see what time we’re leaving… or ask Jason. Either way, I’m going back upstairs to pack for two weeks in Detroit.” I stand and proceed out of the room.
“Do you need any help?” Gail asks.
“I don’t think so, but I’ll let you know,” I say, waving behind me as I head towards the stairs.
This is ridiculous! Gail and Keri know the details about the trip before I do and I’m the one getting on the goddamn plane!
When I get to my dressing room, I pull out my Louis Vuitton luggage. Jesus! I can’t understand why he’s being so entirely unreasonable about this!
I begin with underwear and lingerie. Lingerie. Yeah, right. The way he’s behaving, we might be sleeping in separate rooms!
I would normally help him pack, but hell, he won’t even talk to me…
And then, I see the Bitch looking at me with disapproval… as much as you can look at yourself with disapproval.
“What!” I hiss out loud.
You better cut that out. Somebody’s going to think you’re crazy.
I am crazy. I’m having an argument with myself! I’m officially certifiable!
You’re not crazy. You’re just being unfair.
How am I being unfair?
You took away Downtime.
Okay, now she’s out of her mind.
I am you and we have already established that you are not crazy.
How did I take away Downtime? He’s the one who left the room.
How is Downtime supposed to be conducive with you behaving like a bitch?
Oh, you mean like you?
Exactly like me. I have my place, but Downtime aint it and you know it.
She’s getting on my nerves pretending like she doesn’t know what was going on.
He was going to use Downtime to tell me that I couldn’t go to Detroit. I know that’s what he was going to do and so do you.
I know no such thing, and how do you know that’s what he was going to do?
That whole subservient thing… he was going to use it against me!
Have you forgotten that’s one of the bases of your relationship? If you’re going to behave like a petulant child when he exercises his right to call Downtime, he’ll never call Downtime again. Why did you agree to it if you don’t want to do it? What’s the purpose? And what are the rules of Downtime? Has he ever broken those rules? What suddenly makes you think that because this is a topic that you don’t want to discuss that he’s suddenly going to go back on his word?
Ouch! The logic is painful. We’ve called Downtime more than once and he’s never misused it at any time. I wonder why I got so defensive this time.
You know why. With Downtime, you have to listen. You have to give him an objective ear to speak his mind without that ready rebuttal that you were giving him before. You were going to Detroit no matter what he said and as far as you were concerned, Downtime was a waste of time. He walked out because you took away his option and there was nothing else to say. Her Highness has spoken. How do you feel about that?
Oh, fucking hell, the Bitch is shrinking me.
Yep! And that’s exactly why you’re having this conversation with yourself. Let that simmer for a while. I’ve said what I need to say. I’m going to take a nap.
*-*
I waited for a while—quite a while—before taking the elevator down to the ground floor. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. I just know that something went very wrong with one of the fundamental elements of our Dominus/soumise relationship earlier today and there’s no question that it was clearly my fault. In my attempt to exercise my independence, I ignored the rules and purpose of Downtime and completely besmirched its importance.
What’s more, even though I tried to ignore it, his displeasure and disappointment with the outcome were quite evident. When he first tried to connect with me, I met him with petulance and resentment. He refused to engage, crisply agreed to my demands, and dismissed the entire interaction with one dissatisfied word…
Fine.
There’s no sound coming from his study when I arrive at the door. I take a deep breath and look inside. He’s sitting there in his seat of power looking worn and defeated. His head is laying back on the chair and his eyes are closed. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was meditating.
I step into the room and wait for him to acknowledge me. It would be really rude to disturb him if he really is meditating. I didn’t tiptoe. I didn’t roll in with a sound of thunder, but I didn’t arrive on cat’s paws either. Why isn’t he acknowledging my presence?
Maybe because he looks like he’s carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders—so soon after he has just released the weight of the fucking world.
I’m not supposed to be a source of angst or stress for him. I’m supposed to be his safe place, especially when he’s dealing with things that already bring him angst. It’s just that… there are so many implications with him going back to Detroit. The monsters that he, no doubt, must face there. I just feel like… I wish…
He raises his head and looks at me. He looks tired, and his hair has that perfect bird’s nest thing going on that it usually does. I clasp my hands in front of me and drop my gaze. I sigh and resign myself to my fate. If he doesn’t want me to go that badly, I won’t go.
“I call Downtime,” I say without raising my gaze, my voice soft. I’m not sure how this is supposed to go when the soumise calls Downtime, but I guess we’ll figure it out.
I don’t hear anything for several moments, but I don’t raise my gaze. Then, I hear him stand and move about a bit. I can see his feet, and he walks over to the French doors that lead to his study. He opens them and stands there wordlessly, and I assume that he wants me—us—to go into his den. I wait for a moment, then I walk through the French doors into his den.
He closes the door behind me, then walks over to one of the sofas. I quietly follow a few feet behind him, still not raising my gaze. He stops and turns around to face me.
“Take off your clothes,” he says, “Everything except your panties.”
Here? In the den? He wants me to strip.
With the way you behaved earlier, you’re lucky he didn’t tell you to remove everything!
I thought you were taking a nap.
And miss this? Not on your life!
I step out of my stilettos and unwrap my shirt. After sliding it off my arms, I undo my bra and drop it to the floor. Then, I step out of my pants and leave it on the pile with the rest of my clothing.
He lifts my chin so that my eyes meet his. He looks at me for a moment, his pupils dilating only slightly, then he unbuttons his shirt. Without breaking his gaze from mine, he removes his shirt and hands it to me.
“Button only the second button,” he says, his voice firm but soft. I take the shirt and slide my arms into it, buttoning only the second button as instructed. I suddenly feel so sexy standing here, and the smell of him in his shirt—I can’t place it and say exactly what it is. Maybe he smells different when he’s stressed or brooding and I’m only just realizing it, but the fragrance in his shirt… it’s captivating, holding me hostage or wrapping me in his aura… or something.
He gestures to the coffee table. What does he want me to do?
“Sit,” he says. Oh… okay. I sit on the coffee table and put my hands in my lap. He begins to pace around the den.
“My uncle is dying,” he says, “a man that I don’t like, that I’ve never had a relationship with. We’ve only had harsh words to say to one another and even now, I have a restraining order against him for harassment. What’s more is that he currently resides in one of the last places on earth that I want to frequent.
“Yet, I looked at my father’s face when he found out that his brother was going to die, and that they don’t know when he’s going to die. I knew that if he could teleport to Freeman’s side at that moment, that he’d be there right now. I know that I’m the last person that Freeman wants to see, and that there may not be a civil word between us once I get there, but I know that I have to go… for my father, and for me.”
None of this surprises me. He said as much in our bedroom.
“I don’t want you to go,” he continues. “You and my children represent everything that is good and wholesome and worth having in my life and after all I’ve been through over the last few months, I just want those things to be intact and ready for me when I get home. I don’t want them tainted by that… place!”
He thrusts his hands into his hair and drops his gaze. For whatever reason, he doesn’t want me exposed to Detroit. It’s not because he wants to forbid me to go. It’s because I and the twins are his normal, and with all that has happened, he doesn’t want anything fucking with his normal. I swallow and take a deep breath.
“Okay,” I say softly. “I won’t go.” It makes me physically ill because I’m going to worry about him the entire time he’s there, wondering what’s going on and if he’s having a nervous breakdown in that place. But if this is what he needs…
“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, walking back over to me and taking a seat in front of me on the sofa.
“The very reason that I don’t want you to go is the same reason that I need you there,” he says. “I’m finishing all of my unfinished business and tying up all of my loose ends. It’s going to be a harrowing task and I can’t do it without you. I hate that place and I hate having you be tainted by that place. I really do. You’re my perfection… even in your imperfection—especially in your imperfection. You and my babies are everything and I hate for that place to touch you in anyway. But the truth of the matter is that if I have to face that horror, I need you by my side.”
I don’t understand. If he needs me, why did he protest so much?
He needed to talk it out, and you wouldn’t let him.
I sigh again. My husband is tormented by the thought of this place and what it means to him. While his head is down in contemplation, I stand and crawl over into his lap, straddling him. He raises his gaze to me and I push my hands into his hair, smoothing it down a bit. He closes his eyes and slides his arms around my waist. I put my hands on either side of his face and kiss his forehead.
“When I said I wanted to get in the air to anywhere, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” he laments.
“It’s okay,” I soothe, “I know you want to be there for your father. This is important. Everyone may pretend that Freeman’s dying is not a big deal because he’s really been an asshole, but it is a big deal. All bets are off… he’s dying.” Christian sighs.
“I have to be there for Dad,” he says. “I can see it in his eyes. There’s so much regret and remorse. I know Mom’s going to be there, but facing Freeman… I really think he’s going to need one of his sons. I don’t know why, I just do. Elliot won’t leave Valerie right now, and rightly so…” he trails off.
“The twins have the most wonderful nannies and support system here that they could possibly have,” I say, “and I’m only just breeching the three-month mark. I can fly without a problem. We’re only going to see about Freeman; we’re not moving there!”
He flinches at those last words and I sigh.
“I hate Las Vegas,” I say, “but I had to go, and you couldn’t go with me. You hate Detroit, but I know why you have to go. Do you remember how you felt when you couldn’t go to Las Vegas with me?”
His face morphs into understanding and after a few seconds, he nods. I know for certain that he felt helpless, useless, and forlorn while I was in Las Vegas without him for just one day and he knows that I’ll feel the same if he goes to Detroit without me for what we know will be longer than that. He wraps his arms around me and lays his head on my chest. I put my arms around his neck, cradle his head and kiss his hair.
We sit there like that for several moments. I was resigned not to go to Detroit if he really didn’t want me to go. I only wanted to go for selfish reasons anyway. After his initial panic, however, it appears that he needs me there.
“I love you so much,” he says, breathing into my chest. When he raises his gaze to me, I kiss him softly on the lips.
“I love you, too, Christian,” I say, my voice longing.
When he raises his gaze to me again, I kiss him softly on the lips, and again. He pulls my face to his to deepen the kiss and I allow him that… for a moment. Then, I take control.
Tilting my head and grasping his hair, I bruise his lips and tongue with mine. He groans into my mouth and it urges me on. I continue to lick his lips with mine and slowly begin to grind against him. He groans again, cupping my ass firmly as I grind against his rising erection.
He lays his head back on the sofa allowing me all the access that I want. Holding onto the back of the sofa, I continue to grind against him as I kiss, nip, and suck his neck and shoulders. His grip tightens as do the muscles in his thighs as his erection thickens underneath me. I stop the motion and reach between us. I undo his belt and pants and reach in to grasp his erection. He gasps when I grip his cock, stroking it only once and freeing it from his pants and boxer briefs. It lies flat and hard against his abs.
I straddle him again, still wearing my panties. I adjust myself so that my clit will get just the right stimulation and slowly begin to stroke the underside of his erect penis with my lace-clad pussy.
“Fuck,” he hisses softly as he grasps my thighs. Up and down, up and down, slow and hard against his frenulum, head, and that thickening vein on the underside of his cock.
“Baby, shit!” he breathes as his abs tighten with every stroke. The burn on my clit is insane and if I go any faster, I’m going to come.
I look into his eyes and watch his pupils begin to dilate and his jaw tighten as he withstands the pleasure. I continue to grind against him, rolling my hips into his, up and down. As I continue my grind, I look down between us to see his beautiful, beautiful cock—thick and angry with a tiny amount of precum seeping from the head. It thumps and rolls as my pussy rubs against it and in my eagerness to watch, I lose my angle causing my panties to slide a bit off my crotch.
His hot, veiny meat inadvertently rubs against my bare clit in the adjustment and the burn is unbearable. My leg trembles with a near orgasm and I have to stop immediately before I come.
Breathing like a bear from my own ruined orgasm, I slide quickly down to the floor and grab the waistband of his boxer briefs and pants. Seeing my intention, he deftly raises his hips and I make quick work of his clothing before nestling myself between his legs.
I want him to feel good. I want to apologize for being so difficult, for being a source of dis-ease when I should’ve been a source of comfort. I’m horny as hell, but I want him to be satisfied first. If what he says is true, my eyes are one of the deepest shades of blue that they can be without being that shade of blue. So, I pull his hips to the edge of the sofa, raise my gaze to him, and keep my eyes on his.
He groans when I take his balls into my mouth. I suck gently, rolling one then the other in my mouth. His leg trembles like mine did moments ago. He’s highly aroused, but I know that he’s not ready to come yet since the skin on his testicles are still quite loose. That’s good, because I want to draw this out a bit.
His breath is heavy as I lick his balls lusciously, his eyes also never moving from mine as I perform my task. I watch him closely as I torment them, then slowly begin to lick that thick vein leading to the head. I lick the slit a few times, then move to the frenulum and tease the sensitive skin there. His chest is rising and falling as he tries to control himself and withstand the pleasure, so I continue to torment the tender meat of his head and frenulum.
He’s leaning back on his hands and his abs are tightening madly, and I feel my clit pulsing even though nothing is touching it. My legs are open and my panties are still off to the side of my lips. So, there’s nothing touching it but air, but I still feel the burn from the friction of his cock against my clit and heat of arousal from that ruined orgasm.
After tormenting his head for a while, I lean back down to lick his balls hungrily while caressing the head of his cock still wet from my saliva with my hand. He groans another expletive in his chest as his thigh trembles again and his abs flex.
“You’re trying to kill me here,” he laments as I continue to deliciously lick and suck his balls while stroking the head of his dick with my hand. His hips rise infinitesimally into my hand and his head falls back momentarily to absorb the pleasure. He’s quickly looking at me again, however, no doubt not wanting to miss any of the show.
I run my tongue back and forth across his balls, now tightening just a bit to reveal his perineum. I pull his meat up just a bit to stimulate that tender spot with my tongue as his balls rest on my cheek.
“Jesus!” he hisses in agonized pleasure, and there’s that tremble again. Sweetheart, I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.
Back and forth across his perineum I go, tormenting it until he’s nearly whimpering in his chest while still gently stroking the head of his penis. When I think he’s suffered enough, I move to snip and kiss the tender meat on his inner thigh, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.
I run my tongue up and down his cock a few times from base to tip, releasing the head from my hand and giving him a bit of a reprieve. It’s a pretty sight and more than a bit stimulating, but nothing like what I was just doing to him. His breath is still ragged, but it’s calming a bit, until…
He gasps when I take the head of his cock into my mouth—a firm suckle at first and then a gentle tease. I’m still looking at him the entire time as I begin to felate him, up and down the top half of his shaft with just enough firmness to keep that blood flowing but not enough to bring the rain.
“Yeeesssssss,” he hisses as I feel the veiny angriness begin to thicken in my mouth. Mmmm, I like that a lot. I stroke and suck his cock several times, deepening the suction every now and then until he’s at his wits end. I know my man. I’ll make him blow once and then he’ll be ready again. If I make him blow too hard, he’ll finish me off with his hands and mouth. Either way, it’s a win for me!
I take my eyes off of him for the first time during this blowjob to adjust myself for what’s about to come next. With his cock standing at impressive attention—pulsing, thick, veiny, and purple—I close my lips at the very tip. Allowing his cock to dictate the opening, I push my head and mouth achingly slowly down on his shaft, further and further until I must relax my muscles to take the top portion of his dick into my throat.
“God! Oh, God!” he laments through clenched teeth as my lips wrap around the base of his cock and my throat massages his head. After a few moments, I slowly pull my mouth back up the length of his cock, suckling the skin as I go and releasing the head with a pop.
He’s panting wildly as his cock bobs uncontrollably, throbbing in my face like it could come all on its own right now. Oh, what a wonderful response! I think I’ll do that again.
I lick my lips for lube and push him into my mouth again. He grunts this time, clenching his fists and flexing every visible muscle as I take him into my throat. I tighten my muscles a bit around his head this time and an expletive or three escapes his lips as he thickens and hardens in my mouth. I’m sure he’s going to come this time, but when he doesn’t, I give him the same slow and torturous ascent that I did the last time, the “pop” a bit more forceful this time.
“Jesus! Jesus! Good God!” he hisses, his breathing hard once more. He’s beginning to sweat a bit. I can do this as long as you can, Grey.
Without giving his bobbing cock a reprieve this time, I sink down on it again, this time stroking ever so slightly while flexing the muscles in my throat again. I can actually hear his teeth grinding this time as his thigh muscles turn to stone.
Yep, that’s it.
I gently tickle the underside of his balls right at the frenulum as I flex those throat muscles again and he squeezes his eyes shut. His abs are insanely tight, and his thighs are Hulking up intensely. I have to get him out of my mouth because I kept him in my throat for too long and I’m not going to be able to breathe through his orgasm.
That doesn’t mean that I’m going easy on him, though.
One more slow ascent to allow me to breathe and my beloved is screaming! Cum is jetting from the head of his angry, bobbing cock the moment that I move my mouth. I grab it and pump hard through this impressive candle-lighting ceremony and he’s crawling backwards on the sofa to get away from me.
Nowhere to run, Grey.
Beautiful thick streams of cum shoot into the air and land right back onto his cock, assisting with torturous and delicious stimulation of his head as I jack him off. His legs are bouncing now as he tries to withstand this orgasm. Again, my clit is throbbing imagining his pleasure.
When he finally falls back on the sofa, I play with his cock a bit. It’s softened a bit, not completely flaccid, but not as impressive as it was before. I don’t know if he has another one in him, but I’ll soon find out.
I stand and drop my panties, still wearing his shirt. I use my panties to clean my cum-covered hands, but not his dick, still amply sodden with his seed. I straddle him backwards and sit on his pelvis, my legs and pussy open around his cock. Pressing the head between my lips, I use it to masturbate my clit. Even when it’s not completely hard, it feels divine.
My arousal is rising again quickly, not that it ever subsided. His head rubs deliciously on the underside of my clit and when I move my hips, it stimulates the head to a torturous burn. I do that over and over again until…
“Stop playing with it and fuck it!”
The feeling was so good that I almost forgot there was a person attached to that thing.
He moves back a bit with me on his lap, pulling us both up onto the sofa a bit. I raise my hips and his wet dick slides effortlessly into my sopping pussy. I mewl in pleasure as I’m truly already almost there. I lean back against him, put my feet on his thighs and fuck. He feels so fucking good inside of me. He knows I’m close. He’s always been able to play my body like a violin.
He puts his arms around me, grabbing my breast with one hand and spreading our combined juices onto my clit with the other hand.
Oh, sweet Jesus!
His fingers quickly manipulate my clit as I ride his cock, and I’m burning from the inside and the outside.
“Oh, God,” I whimper, “oh, yes…”
I don’t know which feels better, his thick cock inside of my or his masterful hand working my clit. I feel like one of those porn queens riding an impressive dick for the camera just as the stallion is about to make me come. The thought activates the freak in me and I begin to bounce wildly on my husband’s cock, my hair flying in every direction as his hand stimulates my clit—now in slower and deep circles.
Fuck! Fuck!
I’m now wondering if those sounds that the porn queens make are real because I cannot stop the crazed sounds coming from my throat and chest as I violently bounce on my husband’s dick chasing what promises to be an orgasm for the record books.
He clasps my breast and pinches the nipple with one hand and stimulates my clit to a burn with the other one as my pussy swallows his cock on every bounce. Talk about being able to pat your head and rub your belly at the same time!
My legs start to tremble, and my muscles begin to quiver. He never stops his stimulation and now begins to thrust into me as I detonate on his lap. One of my legs gives way and he holds me against him, still circling my clit and thrusting into me. I can actually feel my clit throbbing against his hand and the pleasure is insane. I can hear a woman screaming in French and it takes a moment to realize that the woman is me.
Holy cow!
I’m spent for a moment, and I have to catch my breath, but I feel my husband still thrusting into me. Once I get my bearings, I turn around to face him still clasped around his dick. I lean on his shoulders and slowly begin to ride, only the top half of his dick so thick inside me.
“You’re fucking amazing,” he says, his voice gravelly as he gently holds my feet just behind my butt.
“As are you,” I say, pressing my body against his and kissing him as I ride. I’m edging his cock inside me, just the head as I slowly try to find my rhythm.
“Are you looking for total surrender?” he says, passion lacing his voice, “because, baby, it’s yours.”
“That’s good to know,” I say as I think I’m finally finding my rhythm. “But right now, I’m just looking for pleasure.”
“Ugh!” he exclaims, rising just a bit to meet my thrust. “You got that, too.”
“That… that’s good,” I breathe. Yeah… that’s it.
“Can I… Can I fuck you now?” he says, his passion certainly about to blow again.
“Yes… yes, please…” I relent.
He puts his arms around me and holds me close to him. He slides down a bit under me and opens his legs. His cock is so thick thrusting up into me that I can feel the resistance—the slight bend with each thrust as his counterpart begs entrance to mine.
“Baby, fuck,” he breathes. “You just came! How are you so tight?”
I’m not tight, darling. You’re big! You’re thickening like never before and getting ready for the finale and from this angle, you’re hitting everything!
I don’t bother trying to answer because I’m rising quickly—again—being pushed to pleasure like only he can push me.
“Yes, baby,” he says as we both begin to reach that critical point. “Yes, baby.”
He pushes into me again and again, his cock going deeper and deeper into me, his breath becoming more and more ragged.
“Fuck… yes… fuck…” He kisses me deeply, still stroking into me. Then he breaks the kiss and moves to my neck. His lips latch on to the tender meat in a feverish love bite as he thrusts hard and hot up into me.
Jesus! Sweet Jesus!
I’m once again blinded by the orgasm that hits me. I can’t hear anything, and I can only see light. I feel cold and hot at the same time and, dammit, the room is spinning!
I don’t know how long I stayed on this funky, wonderful, psychedelic ride, but when I come back down, my husband is fiercely squeezing my ass and pushing me down on his wildly thumping and throbbing dick as he grunts out more expletives from his chest and throat.
A/N: Keri’s translation:
“Dis is dif’rint… I know me Choonks come bahk.”
“This is different… I know my Choonks will come back.”
“Jayson seh ‘bout two weeks… Das fine.”
“Jayson says about two weeks… That’s fine.”
“Choonks will be wit you… De bebbies can sleep in mah room.”
“Choonks will be with you… The babies can sleep in my room.’
“Of cohs not… Why dey need ta be on da udder end o’ da house when dey mama no heyah?”
Of course, not… Why do they need to be on the other end of the house when their mother’s not here?”
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Our profile picture is the GEH logo, the same one that I chose when I first started my business. It’s plain—black writing in a white circle with a black outline. I have no intention or desire to change it. The banner picture is the same picture of GEH that we use on our business cards—the view of the building looking up towards a clear blue sky. I remember when I chose that picture. We had purchased the building a year before and had just finished renovating it. I wanted pictures to use as promo shots, but the minute I saw that one, I knew that it would be our business cards, our letterhead, whatever I planned to use to represent the company. 
I nod, then stand from my seat and stretch. I know it’s Sunday morning, but I need a damn drink, and the reason I need a damn drink is the exact reason I can’t have one. I move over to the only window in my study and look out over the lake. The trees have changed color and it’s absolutely beautiful—something that I don’t think I’ve ever really taken the time to appreciate before now. This was the reason we were hiring a junior executive team, to be able to enjoy more of the simple things like gazing over the lake at the striking fall colors while enjoying some hot cider. I suddenly want an evening with my wife and a cup of hot chocolate in front of the fire like we planned in Italy. I need to get out on one of my boats and just ride the lake… before the ax falls.
“Christian!” Alex exclaims. I look over at the door and the first stretcher is emerging. I can see the blood from where I’m standing, even in the dark. I sprint over to the stretcher to see how badly he’s hurt. He rolls his head and looks at me.
I inconspicuously watch Keri throughout the meal. At some points, she’s tearing into her food. At other times, she’s only picking at her meal. She devoured the eggs in purgatory and artisan toast coated with olive oil but barely touched her caprese-stuffed avocado, which was actually quite tasty. When she wouldn’t eat the delightfully flakey croissookies drizzled in chocolate and coated with confectioners’ sugar that Sophie made, I began to think that she might be pregnant, until…
“Likewise,” Gerald says, taking her proffered hand, “and call me Jerry.” He gives Marilyn one of the most charming, sexy, flirty smiles I’ve ever seen on a man besides my husband which doesn’t get past anybody in the room. I cover my lips to mask my smile.
Ms. Solomon took that plain German chocolate cake decorated it beautifully with fresh pecan halves and fancy strings of chocolate buttercream icing all over the top. It’s beautiful… and delicious. Then again, I’m biased.
Butterfly Saga 