Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 52—Discoveries!

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


I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues…

Chapter 52—Discoveries!


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

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

Settle down, Neanderthal. She’s perfectly decent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She tastes divine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

“Really,” Sheila asks. “All day?”

“All day,” Butterfly confirms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

“You can say that again,” Sheila confirms.

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

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

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

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

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

“Me either,” Butterfly says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And my wife… Good God, my wife!

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

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

“Gada,” she says sweetly.

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

“Of course you can, Mr…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I think she did, too.

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

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

The tattoo.

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

“Christian,” she protests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ink.

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

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

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

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

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

There! That will do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Drinking on the job, Jason?” I jest.

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

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

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

“What did you do?” I ask. He shrugs.

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

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

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

“Thanks, boss.”

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

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

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

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

“I guess so,” Butterfly chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, indeed,” I confirm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looks at my card and smiles.

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

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

“What?” I ask, appalled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She sent the digital originals?” I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, I think it’s Bronson,” he says.

“And how old is Bronson?” He shrugs.

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

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

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

“Why?” I ask. “Is he no good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Okay… this is getting morbid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I miss my mom,” he says, sadly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old are you… Jack?” I ask.

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

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

“Thirteen,” he whispers. I nod.

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

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

“How did you get here?” Grace asks.

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

I’ve been better for months, though…

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

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

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

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

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

“How long?” I ask. He shrugs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You will?” he asks eagerly.

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

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

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

“What?” she replies, taken aback.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It can’t be that bad,” I protest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X



Becoming Dr. Grey: Chapter 51—Decompress

Double Chapter… because I love you guys so much.

I do not own Fifty Shades Trilogy, or the characters. They belong to E. L. James. I am only exercising my right to exploit, abuse, and mangle the characters to MY discretion in MY story in MY interpretation as a fan. If something that I say displeases you, please, just leave. If you don’t like this story or me, please don’t spoil this experience for everyone. Just go away. For the rest of you, the saga continues…

Chapter 51—Decompress


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

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

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

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

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

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

“That took a long time,” I scold.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, Butterfly.


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

“Did you see the Daniels’?” he asks.

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

“Why is he smiling at me?” I ask.

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

“What? Why?” I inquire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unfortunately, that means I think too much.

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

Yeah… okay.

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

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

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

Waves of pleasure between contractions.

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

Okay, she’s losing me again.

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

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

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

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

“Happiness,” one mother says.

“Peace,” another blurts out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

“Come on, Kie, we’re going home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiley…” Arthur protests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good to know,” I reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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


God, I really hate that guy.

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

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

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

“Who, Sheila and CJ?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“From whom?” I ask, incredulously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” I’m confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m thinking,” I admit.

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

“How to get this guy off my back.”

“He’s not on your back, Christian…”

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have we met?” he chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

What. The. Fuck.

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

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

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

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


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

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

“Christian, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She already knows.

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

“Yeah,” I mumble, “yeah, I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of announcement?” I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, this is sexy!

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me,” I coax.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love and handcuffs 🙂 
Lynn X