Golden: Final Author’s Note—Read it if you feel like it

Final Author’s Note—Read it if you feel like it

I struggled with whether or not I should do this because I feel like a story should just stand on its own without a lot of explanation. Nonetheless, I decided to do this because I’m aware that I’ve taken two beloved characters and placed them in a situation completely out of canon. I’ve taken them so far away from who we know them to be that I completely changed their names and appearance and only used their real names very few times in the story. Both of their backgrounds were completely different than the original, and their familial relationships were completely opposite of what we’ve seen before.

Ray was black, for Christ’s sake.

I did that because I wanted to see if I could pull people out of what they were accustomed to and give them a completely different tale. I’ve seen so many different Christian and Ana stories in Fanfiction. I’ve seen a couple where Ana was bisexual; I’ve seen a couple where they didn’t end up together at all; I’ve even seen a couple where one of them died—really died and didn’t come back!

So, my idea was to take another facet of the BDSM relationship and explore it through this couple. I already know that there are people with smoke and steam coming out of their ears right now because Golden and Trey didn’t end up in what we would consider an “exclusive” relationship. To those people, all I can say is that you should probably do a little research on the various aspects of BDSM.

Yes, there are exclusive D/s relationships where there is one Dominant and one submissive. However, there are several relationships where there is one Dominant and many submissives. Each time any character in this story—and even Elena in the Butterfly Saga—played a Dominant, they played this particular role. There are situations where a submissive may or may not be collared, and can be married to her Dom, and he still has other submissives. That one I learned from real life talking to a submissive in that position. There are even Leather Families that can be as simple as having a familial bond to several submissives sharing the same Dom in a polyamorous relationship to several houses being a part of the same Leather Family.

I only say this because you may or may not be pleased with how the story turned out, and I understand that, but don’t feel that way because you think theirs is a relationship that could never work—many relationships like this work, BDSM and otherwise. We just may not be accustomed to it. It’s okay to feel this way because you feel like Ana and Christian would never do this. You’re accustomed to the HEA and you feel that they didn’t get it on the terms that you felt they should have.

Think about the characters for a minute—Golden hadn’t fucked anyone in an unknown number of years. Yet, she has a dick fetish and her primary role is to get men off through pain and suffering. Christian’s definitely not a submissive, but he can certainly get his jollies from a bit of masochism. He’s had two completely healthy vanilla relationships that didn’t work out because he needed more and just didn’t know what that more was.

How will they handle the additional kink he may need? We’ll assume that they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it. I did warn you guys that it wasn’t going to be the typical Christian and Ana story and I think some of you still wrapped it up in a Fifty Shades of Grey package because I used those characters. Hopefully, I didn’t disappoint everyone, though.

~~love and handcuffs

Fifty Shades Golden: Epilogue

All previous disclaimers apply.

EPILOGUE

Briana and some guy

TREY

It’s been two years since Ana and I began our arrangement. That’s even longer than Juliet and I lasted.

It turns out that I really am a bit of a masochist, just not a submissive. I can only assume that the intense things that occur in my life require intense motivation in order to be released. The same old “Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma’am” wasn’t getting it for me, and even multiple sex partners only held so much splendor for so long.

I was never into beating or punishing submissives. I thought I was because, let’s be honest, seeing my father with Bunny tied to a whipping bench and fucking the hell out of her after he flogged her turned me on. I got off on it for a while—a long while, in fact—but it turned out not to be what I wanted. It was hot, and there was always a beautiful woman ready to be flogged and fucked.

And now I know why.

This dick needs to come hard, long, and often, but my body needed something that it wasn’t getting. The pain awakens me—it heightens my senses, makes me more aware and quite frankly, it goes straight to my dick! I can’t tell you why certain people are wired this way, but apparently, I am. This is exactly what I need and dammit to hell if those orgasms haven’t become more and more powerful over the course of the two years. We still fight for dominance when we’re in the bedroom and not the dungeon, but that’s even more fun!

Lincoln Timber is no more. I held enough shares to influence Lincoln’s board to sell and even had him removed from his own board. Of course, there were other factors, like the fact that I had obtained enough timber interests to give them a run for their money and take a huge bite out of their profits. Although Linc may have wanted to fight, the board was by no means looking forward to the war they knew was coming.

It also didn’t help his case that he’s behind bars. He was arrested for unsuccessfully attempting to jump bail, and once his two accomplices rolled on him, he took a plea for conspiracy and second-degree murder for 32 years as opposed to first-degree murder and accessory to first degree murder. Quite frankly, I don’t know how you determine what the difference is. He contracted someone to kill his wife after she cashed in $10 million of their assets. That’s pretty cut and dried. What’s the appropriate penalty for that?

Nonetheless, he’s in his mid-forties now, so he’ll be somewhere in his 60’s before—and if—he’s even eligible for parole and nearly 80 if he has to serve the entire term. Turning Lincoln Timber into Golden Lumber was like taking candy from a baby.

Of course, Mom and Dad sorted things out. He’s still an asshole and I really don’t have much to say to him, but he loves my mother and she loves him. That’s all that really matters… I guess.

Mia’s doing well with the kidney. She’s dating someone that she met in dialysis. She didn’t want to tell us at first because they’re both kidney transplant patients, but I just figure that they understand each other’s plight more than anyone else would. You get happiness where you find it… it’s that simple.

Elliot is getting slimier and slimier as the days go by. Every time I see him and one of his Rent-A-Thots, I wonder if his line is low-class prostitution. He keeps bringing these tricks home to meet his family, and all we really want to know is, “Why?” It’s a different slut each time there’s a family gathering, and yes—they are sluts. Half of them are making eyes at me fifteen minutes through the door. They’re the type of women that you definitely wouldn’t want to bring home to your family, and if he married one of them, we really wouldn’t want to know about it or her.

He would make cracks about how I could never bring home “the type of women” that I date since latex and ball gags aren’t appropriate dinner attire. I simply concur and tell him that distinguished members of the lifestyle probably wouldn’t be comfortable around him and his dime store hookers. The last time he tried that shit on me, he got a little surprise.

“Elliot, stay the hell out of my life, and the next time you plan to visit your parents, clean the powder from your nose first.”

I don’t actually know that he had powder in his nose, but the fact that his hand went immediately to his face to pinch his nose made Mom leave the room, after which Dad threw him out of the house. Apparently after all this time, he’s still snorting coke. Needless to say, he didn’t crack on me again.

Speaking of bringing someone home to meet the family, neither Ana nor I are coming out to our families as a “couple.” I’m not really sure that we consider ourselves a couple. I know that we don’t in the traditional sense, but it’s more than that. Ana tries way too many cases in front of my father, and as long as he doesn’t know about our relationship, there’s no conflict of interest. The moment he’s aware of that personal link, all of Ana’s cases would have to be reassigned. My father is an asshole of a man, but I know him to be a fair and impartial judge, and my Mistress informs me that this is the case as well.

Even though we’re incognito, the relationship has caused some changes in both our lives. For example, I don’t mind if she fellates one of her clients during her scenes, but it’s understood that there will be no kissing for us that night. We both agree that even though she does what she has to do, a line has to be drawn somewhere.

Also, Ronnie has graciously agreed to be my date for red carpet events since Gisela and I normally end the night with hard fucking and that’s out of the question as Ana and I have agreed to be sexually exclusive. I simply explained to Gisela that my “woman” is back, and she wasn’t interested in accompanying me anymore.

When Ana and I are both at one of the clubs and Ana is Golden, we don’t interact. I understand the mystique involved in being unattainable, so I won’t fuck that up for her. It’s just like it was when we first met—she dances, she waits until her client is ready; and I get the front-row seat in the exhibition rooms for the performance. Sometimes, she still gets me so hot that I jack off while I’m watching. Other times, I save that nut for her. We leave the club at different times in different cars, having decided in advance if I’m going to partake of the dungeon at her house, she’s coming to my house to get fucked, or we’ll go our separate ways for the evening.

Very rarely do we go our separate ways.

I still get that magnificent pain and pleasure experience from my Mistress, and I’m the only one allowed in her private dungeon. She still makes me hurt so good that I’ve learned to accept aftercare from Blake—once in a while from her—and she still makes me come so hard that I’m certain I’ve shot skin from inside my dick when it’s done.

Yes, we have a strange relationship from the outside looking in, but that’s why nobody’s on the outside looking in. It’s nobody’s goddamn business what we do behind closed doors. Do I expect to go on like this forever? Shit, nothing is forever, but I’m going to have a fucking good time while it lasts.


GOLDEN

Boy, my guru would probably shit her pants if she saw this arrangement. For that matter, so would Elena. One gave me the mantra to make them want me and never give all. The other was correct in that once that billionaire dick got a hold of me, I wouldn’t be able to resist it. I tried for months after he fucked me, but I couldn’t do it.

When he told me… ordered me to come to his house that night, I knew my life would change. I never told him, but Elena was completely right. I would have changed my entire lifestyle for him had he told me to that night. Luckily, I played it by ear. I let him tell me what he was expecting and as it turns out, I get to have my proverbial cake and eat it too. Blondie is rolling over in her fucking grave.

Blake has become accustomed to seeing Christian around. He knew something was missing from my life even though I wouldn’t admit it, and he was certain that once I realized that I had found what I was missing in Christian, that I wouldn’t need him anymore.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

He gives me care and camaraderie that’s far beyond anything I’ve ever had with anyone. Even as a lover, Christian wouldn’t be able to achieve this level of closeness with me. I don’t think any lover would because the level of intimacy that Blake and I share can’t be imitated. It’s somewhere between father and confidante, and it’s simply irreplaceable. He still buys the groceries and stocks the house, but I was able to convince him to stop paying me.

Aunt Sheila sold the house about a year ago. She said that she felt haunted by the memories there instead of comforted, and she wanted to make a new start. I definitely felt like it was time for her to move since she was in that big house all alone, and even though the neighborhood knew her, they knew that she was alone, too. She bought a nice house in Redmond and she got a job in the real estate office that sold her the house. We all still make our way over there for Sunday dinner at least once or twice a month, so I’m still enjoying time with my family.

And speaking of family, Reynard had absolutely no way to prove that my dad was his father. Aunt Sheila wouldn’t give him the time of day unless he had some proof and none of her children were willing to help him with any kind of relative DNA test. As it stands, he was just trying to get money so that he wouldn’t lose his mom’s house.

Call me a sucker…

I contacted him and paid the debt directly on his behalf. I told him that I only did it because I really don’t know if he’s my father’s son, and Daddy would have wanted me to do it. However, the way that he accosted my family was unacceptable. I told him to take this as a parting gift and leave us alone, promising that I would make his life a living hell if he ever crossed our paths again. I’m sure he believed me.

Christian’s lawsuits for wrongful arrest and harassment from the police department are still pending. I’ve told him more than once that he most likely won’t see anything from the suits, and they’ll probably still be pending long after he’s dead. He doesn’t care. He claims that it’s the principle of the thing. At least he hasn’t had any problems out of the cops.

And Bingham… yeah, she got busted to a desk job for a while, but the truth is that she’s an effective cop—tough, and a ball-buster—so they ended up putting her back on the beat. The last thing that I want is for a good cop to be sitting at a desk, but they also need to remember that they’re here to protect and serve—not to bully and harass.

I still do yoga with Kevin, but I haven’t told him about the arrangement with me and Christian, only that things are better than they’ve ever been in my life… which is true.

Sex… yeah, sex. One of the reasons that I didn’t want to involve sex in my life—besides the inevitable emotions that often come along with it—is the fact that I was concerned that it would make me docile, take away my edge. But I have to admit that the aggressive sex that we have actually makes me hungrier. It feeds the passion monster, but it fuels me and helps me perform… on the pole, with the whip, everything!

And I couldn’t fuck just anybody. Hell, I wouldn’t want to, but I found someone with a magnificent dick who knows how to use it, can take a good flogging, and wants to watch as I work my clients over.

What the hell else can a girl ask for?

The End


A/N: Final Authors note to follow.

~~love and handcuffs

Fifty Shades Golden: Chapter 28

Here’s the finale, people! Stick around for the epilogue and an extra author’s note.

This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.

Explicit details of sex and BDSM scenes from here on out. Some may be hot while others may not be to your taste… and not necessary CG with Ana together. Proceed at your own discretion, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.

This ain’t your everyday Christian and Ana story. Don’t expect anything. Just read it as it goes along or go away. 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 new saga continues…

CHAPTER 28

Eric Dane 20

TREY

I awake in my bed, face down, hugging a pillow. My body aches from the workout, and the biggest thing reminding me that it wasn’t a dream is my stinging back.

I’m alone… again.

Did she pull that shit on me anyway? Is she playing these damn games with me again?

I pull myself up in the bed and rub my eyes. The sun is just going down and the light from my nightstand throws a soft glow over the bedroom. I thrust my hand in my hair to contemplate my situation when the en suite door opens.

Ana emerges in only my shirt with a washcloth and a bottle in her hand. She raises a brow at me then walks over to the bed.

“I don’t see any kind of antibiotic ointment in there, but I found some peroxide. Lie on your stomach. You’re going to have some terrible scars.”

I don’t respond. I just do what I’m told. This is the closest thing to aftercare I’ve ever gotten from her and I’m going to take advantage of it. The peroxide doesn’t hurt, but the washcloth does. I flinch as she dabs the scratches, gritting my teeth through the pain.

“There’s some vitamin A&D ointment under the sink,” I tell her. “It’s in a small tub.”

She goes to the bathroom and returns with the tub. The ointment is soothing the moment it touches my skin. That’s why I keep a tub of it. It’s good for everything.

“We should eat something, don’t you think?” she says, replacing the top on the ointment.

“Avoiding the obvious?” I ask. She crosses her legs lotus style on the bed.

“Yes and no,” she replies. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” I say, sitting up to face her.

“This,” she says, pointing back and forth between us. “You and me, this thing. I don’t know how.”

“You’ve never had a boyfriend, Ana?” I ask, bemused. She twists her lips.

“Nothing memorable,” she says. “The day I cashed in my V-card was about as memorable as you would expect it to be. He came and then he went. The sexual encounters after that—again, nothing memorable. In fact, nothing really memorable happened until I became a Domme.”

I instinctively lean back on my headboard and even though it’s padded, it still sets my back on fire. I leap off the bed and Ana leaps with me, startled. Once I get my bearings about me, I go over to the chest of drawers and pull out a clean T-shirt. My back is fucking raw. I hope I don’t wake up with this damn thing sticking to my wounds.

I climb back in the bed and gently lean my back against the headboard. Much better. I pat the bed next to me, and Ana climbs back into bed, taking the seat next to me this time.

“Is that what you’re expecting?” she says as I put one arm around her. “To be my boyfriend?” I shrug.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m expecting,” I say honestly. “I’m hung up on a Domme.” She nods.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I can’t have a normal relationship, Christian,” she warns. I scoff

“What the fuck is normal?” I ask. “I don’t have a normal relationship anywhere in my life. I don’t think I ever have, not even with my family. I had to give my sister a body part for her to even care that I was alive and that strained the only perfect relationship I had with my mom. My dad and my brother are both snakes in their own special, separate ways. The only semi-normal relationships I have are with my housekeeper, Taylor, and Ronnie…”

“Who’s Ronnie?” she asks.

“Yeah, Ronnie’s like my best friend, but the only reason that we’re friends now is because we realized that we suck at being bed buddies. So, she went out and found somebody normal and I’m here.” I feel her body stiffen.

“What?” I ask.

“It just…” She adjusts herself on my chest. “It has an ominous undertone.” I frown.

“What has an ominous tone?”

“‘I’m here,'” she says, mocking my voice.

“Hey, you’re the one who said you can’t do normal. I’m just agreeing with you, so I guess we’re going to have to find some kind of compromise unless we just want to go back to not seeing each other again.”

“No,” she says. “I don’t want that… I just don’t know how to do girlfriend.”

“If it helps at all, I have no fucking idea how to do boyfriend. Both times I seriously tried; it didn’t go well.”

“Why?” she asks. I twist my lips and decide to tell her the truth.

“Juliet couldn’t keep up with me,” I tell her. “I had a hunger she couldn’t feed. Ronnie’s very sweet,” I continue. “We’re still friends because she’s a really good person, but we just weren’t meant to be lovers… and she knew I was still hung up on you.”

“So, what happens when the splendor wears off?” she asks, “When we’re no longer hung up on each other?”

“I don’t know, Ana, I haven’t gotten that far yet,” I reply matter-of-factly, “and neither have you or you wouldn’t be here.”

“You said you loved me,” she points out. That I did. I’m still asking myself if it’s true.

“I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know if it’s love in the traditional sense,” I tell her. “I love Ronnie as my friend. I love my mom as my mom. I look at what I felt for Juliet—or any girl or woman that I’ve been intimate with, and I’m not really sure that I can identify love as a lover.

“I’m identifying with some feeling,” I clarify, “just as I have before. I know that I care deeply for you, but if I still feel this way after not being with you for nearly a year, having to send you away from me months ago so that the ache that I felt would stop someday but still craving you the moment I see you, then what do you call that?” She looks over at me.

“I don’t know how to love,” she says and my brows furrow. How do you not know how to love?

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in it… of course, I do. My mommy and daddy loved each other very much, and I loved my mommy and daddy, but they died. I came to love my uncle and his family, but they deserted me. I didn’t even get a chance to love Jake, and I don’t even know if I loved the guy who took my virginity. Bearing that in mind, I haven’t been properly introduced to the kind of love that a man has for a woman, so I don’t know how. I’m 34 years old and I don’t. Know how. To love.” She shrugs.

“I was right, then,” I say. She looks at me questioning. “You are messed up.” Her curiosity morphs to anger.

“I’m not damaged, Trey!” she snaps.

“And I see I’m going to be Trey when you’re mad,” I say calmly. I don’t care that she’s mad; I’m not taking it back.

“So, what is it then, Golden?” I say, stressing her name. “Can you see your future? Are you going to be 65 still trying to wield a whip? Or worse yet, are you going to turn into Elena?”

She shivers, I think at the thought of becoming what Elena did, up to and including her demise.

“I used to see my future clearly,” she admits. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

“So, one thing we can say for sure,” I say. “We’re definitely the blind leading the blind, so we’re going to have to set some rules—and they may evolve as we go along—and see what happens. It’s either that, or we walk away now.” I want her, but I will walk away as opposed to go through this cat-and-mouse thing she likes to play.

“So, what are the rules?” she asks.

“First rule,” I begin. “One of us doesn’t get to set all the rules. We both indicate what we want and what we don’t want. If the other can’t deal, then we call it a day.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Second rule. None of this disappearing, now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t bullshit. If you want out, be a woman and say so and at least give me a reason why. That I-have-the-power-over-your-soul shit that you were doing before, that’s a definite hard limit.” She nods.

“Okay… I can understand that,” she says.

“I know I’ll have more, but I want to know what you have.”

“My clients,” she says.

“What about ‘em?” I ask.

“I’m a sadist, Christian,” she says. “What do you expect me to do?”

“The same thing you do now,” I reply. “I’m not expecting you to change unless you want that. I find the power that you wield over men extremely sexy, and the fact that they can’t fuck you is even sexier… but the fact that I can is mind-boggling.”

“So, you’re seriously okay with me chaining up and beating other men and masturbating them and jacking them off.” It’s a question in the form of a statement.

“Yes,” I say, matter-of-factly. “In fact, I’m expecting you to lift that ban from me so I can watch.” She shakes her head.

“You’re weird,” she says. I lean over a bit and cock my head at her.

“And you’re not?” I accuse. She twists her lips.

“Touché,” she replies. “So… is there anything that you would prefer I don’t do?”

“Only one thing,” I say. I have her attention now. “I already know that you’re not going to let them fuck you. They can smell you if you want that, but they can’t lick your pussy.” She gazes at me for a moment.

“That’s your only condition for my clients?” she asks.

“Oh, one more… they can’t come to your house. I don’t want the same implements that you use on me being used on them.” Her eyes widen. Okay, this must be a surprise of some kind.

“Okay, well, first, I never use the same implements on any clients, except for impact instruments and binds.” I think she may have been a bit offended by that implication.

“Second, you’re only the second person who has ever come to my home in that capacity, and the first was years ago. And third, you’re still going to be a client?”

Oh, that? Did she expect me to just fuck her and that was it?

“Is that going to be a problem?” I ask. She shrugs.

“No, I just… I didn’t…” Mm-hm.

“Yeah, I know,” I stop her stuttering. “You thought I just wanted the pussy and that was it, right?” She shrugs again. “I can’t blame you. I guess I would have thought the same thing. You’ve got some good pussy, but Ana, if that’s all that I was after, it’s not worth repeatedly getting your ass beat for it.”

There’s a long pause.

“Then why do you do it?” she asks.

“The same reason your other clients do it,” I reply. “We need more. We need to be drawn out and pulled to that edge. We need that endorphin release that we get from the pain mixed with the pleasure. If all I wanted to do was fuck, I could have stayed with Juliet. She couldn’t give me what I needed. She was as vanilla as they came. I knew I needed more; I just didn’t know what I needed…”

“What about all your women?” she asks. “You said that I can keep all my clients. Am I supposed to consent to you fucking and beating anyone you want?”

“First of all, yes, I beat women in the beginning, but I discovered that it wasn’t my thing. Second, since the day that I met you, every woman that I fucked whether I was looking at her face or her ass, I was still seeing you. Balls deep in some cunt, and I’m still feeling your whip on my back. And when we fucked today and you dug your nails into my back, I still felt the pain that you inflict while enduring the massive fucking orgasms that you induce. So, tell me, Goldie—why the fuck would I want Memorex when I can get it live? Who the hell wants to shop when I can get everything I need in one place?” She laughs heartily.

“You really have a way with words,” she says, climbing out of the bed. “So, Christian,” she says, stressing my name, “I really am hungry. Do you have something to eat in this palace, or should we order some food?”

I stand and remember the sting of my back. She walks over to me.

“Let me look at it,” she says. I allow her to lift my shirt and examine my back. “Do you have any bandages here?” she asks.

“Probably nothing besides band-aids,” I reply.

“Well, you better get some,” she says, without saying anything else. She puts more ointment on my wounds. “You probably can’t do much right now but leave the shirt on over the wounds and we should check it every so often. That shirt’s going to be ruined, too.”

“I figured as much,” I say. I put on my pajama pants and put the shirt over my T-shirt, then I go to the en suite and retrieve my robe for Ana.

“Let’s go find sustenance,” I tell her as I hand her my robe. I exit my bedroom and find Mrs. Jones and Taylor in the kitchen… caught in an intimate embrace.

They’ve been working for me for years. How did I not know this?

I clear my throat startling them, then watch them leap ten feet then scramble like roaches to release one another.

“Sir,” Taylor says, stumbling over his words as Mrs. Jones needlessly smooths her clothing and her hair. “I thought you… we were just… um…”

“I’m aware of what you were doing, Taylor,” I say, raising a brow at him.

“I apologize, sir,” he says, pulling at his tie. “I… didn’t know if this… would present a problem.”

“Are you going to quit, run away, and get married?” I ask. Taylor clears his throat and sharpens his glare at me. Uh oh, did I put my foot in it?

“No, Mr. Grey,” Mrs. Jones interjects, noticing some obvious discomfort, “there’s no absconding in our immediate future.”

Taylor has his back to her, but he actually looks a little relieved.

“Then there’s no problem,” I say, nixing the subject. “Mrs. Jones, what’s for dinner? We’re famished…”

*-*

“You never told me what ‘Chopper’ meant,” I say as we’re finishing dinner at the breakfast bar. She chuckles.

“It’s something that I came up with the first time I saw you at Crimson. It’s a cross between ‘copper’ and ‘hottie.'” My brow furrows.

“Copper? Why copper?”

“Because of the color of your hair at the time,” she says. “Your hair was a browning copper. It’s a little gray now, but anyway, copper and hottie equals Chopper.” I chuckle.

“You’re one of the reasons it’s turning gray,” I jest, “you and my sister dropping the whole I need a kidney thing in my lap.”

“Yeah,” she says, “I noticed it set in rather quickly.” I raise my brow.

“Is it a problem?” I ask. She scoffs.

“I have clients who are bald, Christian. A little gray is certainly not a problem.” She feathers her hands through my hair. “In fact, it’s kind of hot.” She plays in it a little more then asks, “How is your sister?”

“Did you meet her?” I ask. She shakes her head.

“I only had Taylor call your parents. I didn’t… insert myself in any way.” Okay.

“She’s doing fine,” I tell her. “There’s always a concern for rejection, but so far, she’s doing very well. I had to have a little talk with her about keeping things from the family, not only because this is something very big and it could have killed her, but also because the secrets nearly destroyed my family.”

“Secrets?” she asks. “With an ‘s?’”

“Yes,” I confess. I’ve told Ronnie, I suppose I can tell Ana. “My sister was on dialysis for seven years; no one knew that I practice a BDSM lifestyle; and my brother couldn’t give Mia a kidney because he’s a coke-head.” Her eyes sharpen.

“Jesus, Christian!” she says. “So… all of this came out at once?”

“Pretty much,” I tell her. “Dad knew everybody’s secret and Mom knew nobody’s secret, so she wasn’t speaking to anybody for a while… except Mia. Mia’s staying with my parents now.”

“Wait a minute… your father knew that you were in the community?” she asks, a bit stunned. Hold on to your thong, Golden.

“Oh, the good judge knows all about the lifestyle,” I inform her. “It nearly destroyed his marriage to my mom and he’s the one who introduced me to it.” She shakes her head.

“All those times I’ve argued cases in front of him… I can usually spot a sub a mile away, even in hiding. I never had a clue…”

“Well, he’s not in the lifestyle anymore and he wasn’t a sub,” I clarify. “And since you work with him, I’ve already told you too much.”

“Have we met?” she asks, folding her arms. “If there’s anyone who knows only too well the importance of discretion, I think you already know that you’re looking at her. And I wouldn’t have pegged him for a Dom either—even less than I would have pegged him for a sub. He hides it very well. I had him all mapped out as the guy who smokes a pipe on Sunday while the grandkids play at his feet.”

“Far from it,” I say, but I don’t tell her anything else because I don’t want to taint her view of Judge Grey any further. “My mother loves him very much, so he’s working to get back into her good graces as we speak.”

We’re silent for a moment, then I bring the conversation back over to my nickname.

“I thought you called me Chopper because you knew that I’m a helicopter pilot.” Her eyes widen.

“You’re a helicopter pilot?” she asks, surprised. I nod.

“I don’t get into the air as much as I would like, but yes, I am.” She clears her throat.

“I’ve never even been in a helicopter before… Have you ever taken Blondie for a ride in it?” I frown.

“Who the fuck is Blondie?” As soon as the question is out of my mouth, I remember who Blondie is.

“No! No, Blondie has never been in my copter. It might have fallen out of the air from the sheer evil.” I add the last part as an afterthought.

“Do you ever feel any kind of conviction or… regret that she’s dead?” she asks. “That she died the way that she did?” I shake my head.

“Did I want her to die? Did I wish that on her? No. Do I care that she’s gone? Not in the slightest—one less psycho bitch in the world. To be honest, as conniving as she turned out to be, I’m surprised that she didn’t meet her demise sooner at the hands of someone else. I guess her little games weren’t enough for someone to want to cause her any real damage.” She clears her throat and shrugs.

“It’s late,” She says once we’ve finished our dinner. “I need to call Blake and let him know that I’m okay.” My turn to clear my throat. “What’s the matter?” she asks with a frown.

“He could be a problem for me,” I admit. She raises her brow.

“Why is that?” she asks.

“You don’t know?” I say. “He’s the only submissive you have. I know men. You don’t think he’s waiting for his chance to fuck you?”

“I know he’s not,” she replies. “That’s not the nature of our relationship at all and it never will be. We both made that very clear years ago and it hasn’t changed.”

“Yet,” I point out. “You and I made that clear, too, and look where we are.”

“You and I are quite different, and you know that, Christian,” she says firmly. “Our relationship was suggestive before it ever became physical, and I’ve never even seen Blake naked let alone touched him sexually.”

“Get rid of Taylor,” she says flatly. I can’t get rid of Taylor. It took years for him to be chiseled the way I want, to know my thoughts and habits before I know them. There’s no way in hell… and my face must say it all.

“It’s the same with Blake,” she informs me. “He’s not going anywhere… ever! When I lose my splendor, and you go your way, Blake will still be there. I’ll never let him go.”

“You have to see how inappropriate that is,” I protest.

“Why? Because he’s a man?” she asks. “Do you fuck Taylor?” I grimace.

“Of course not!” I retort.

“I don’t fuck Blake either,” I say. “You have to understand that he’s the most important person in my life second only to my parents. He was there when no one else was there. He’s my family, and if you make me choose between the two of you, there’s no contest. I choose him. And if he tries to do the noble thing and leave because of you, I’ll make you leave, too. I have many clients, but Blake’s much more than that. He’s my submissive, the only one that I have, and I won’t. Give him up. Take it or leave it, Chopper.”

I roll my eyes. I have to deal with Belvedere if I want to have Ana in my life.
But weren’t you dealing with Belvedere anyway?

“I’m confused with your logic,” she adds. You’ll allow me to suck and stroke and beat my clients—while you watch—but you want me to get rid of Blake who, to the outside observer, is nothing more than a butler.”

“But you and I know that your relationship with Blake is much more intimate than any other relationship in your life, including ours,” I point out. I shake my head.

“I can’t deny that,” she says, “but the bottom line is, I don’t fuck Blake. So, this conversation is moot. We’re a package, Chopper. You don’t have to be his best friend. You don’t even have to like him, but he’s not going anywhere.” She folds her arms.

“He wants you,” I confess. “I see it in his eyes.”

“He does not want me,” she nearly hisses. “You think everyone wants me because you want me. You can wrap your hand around your dick and make yourself come so hard that your brains will squirt out of the head and my hand will still make you come harder. Why? Because I know men, Chopper. I know you better than you know yourselves. He wants something from me, yes, but it’s not my ass. You’ll never understand what it is because you don’t know what it is, and you never will. You can’t put a label on his need, so you label it as sexual because that’s the only thing you know!

“He’s supplies something that I need, and I supply something that he needs, and I guarantee that our genitals have absolutely nothing to do with it. Stay in your lane with this one, Chopper, because you have a ‘submissive’ of sorts, too—it’s just that neither of you know it. You think Taylor stays with your insufferable ass because of the money? You think those zeroes are too much to walk away from? I dare you to ask him!”

I nearly gag.

“Are you trying to say that Taylor is my submissive?” I whisper harshly, appalled.

“That man will do anything you tell him to,” she emphasizes. “Offer him a year’s severance pay, or two years, and tell him you don’t need him anymore. Then just watch his face.” She folds her arms confidently and just stares at me.

“Blake could so easily cross that line whereas Taylor definitely will not,” I warn.

“Blake definitely will not,” she says confidently. “Take it or leave it, Christian. This is non-negotiable.” I sigh.

“If I can deal with you jacking off other clients, I guess I can deal with Belvedere,” I cede.

“Belvedere??” she asks, bemused and a bit shocked.

Oh hell, did I say that out loud?


Briana Evigan Chapter 13small

GOLDEN

I feel him coming inside me as I edge his dick. He’s pulsing and coming so hard that his cum is slipping out of me and sliding down his throbbing dick to his walnut-tight-skinned balls. He’s lost in such pleasure that he’s frozen underneath me, his mouth open wide just like his legs, gazing at me in amazement. He’s holding his breath, sweat trickling down his brow, and the only part of him that is moving is his throbbing dick. It’s fabulous!

I haven’t come yet, but the Domme in me had to watch him, feel him fall apart inside of me. I pinned his hands down on the bed with all my weight and fucked just the head of his cock with my pussy, tightening the muscles at just the right time of the stroke and every time he tried to thrust up into me, I raised my hips high so that he would only get the edging. When he realized what I was doing, he finally kept his hips still, trembling increasingly as he came closer and closer to orgasm.

Once I knew he was ready to blow, I leaned down and bit the tender meat between his neck and shoulder. He couldn’t even cry out. He just started jerking and blasting inside of me. I slowly rolled my hips to stimulate the head of his dick and just watched as his pupils nearly eclipsed his irises, his throat trying to make a sound but his lungs unable to provide him breath.

He’s coming so hard that his eyes are looking through me and he’s lost on some celestial plane.

When his chest finally gives up a massive puff of air and he’s choking to find his breath, I drop my hips down onto his still throbbing cock, taking it balls deep, and stay there. He’s still trembling and fighting for breath and I’m just watching him and enjoying his helpless state. It takes him a while, but he finally settles and closes his eyes. I release his hands and he uses them to wipe the sweat from his forehead and away from his eyes.

Yes, Christian, I know how to fuck… I just didn’t do it.

“Jesus, you’re going to fucking kill me, aren’t you?” he asks once he catches his breath.

“Well, that’s not my intention,” I clarify. He moves a bit and winces. “What?” I ask.

“My back,” he says, sitting up with me on his lap. Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.

“Let me see it,” I say, crawling off his lap. He hisses hard when his cock slides out of me.

“Let me use the restroom first,” he says. He swings his legs off the bed and heads for the bathroom. I get a look at his ass as he’s leaving—tight and firm—but I also get a look at his back. It looks irritated; the welts are redder and a bit thicker. I reach for the Vitamin A&D ointment on the bedside table and wait for him to return. I hear the toilet flush and the water running in the sink. A few moments later, he immerges from the bathroom. I hold up the tub of ointment.

“It looks bad,” I say, “like it might be irritated.”

“I suspected as much,” he says walking back to the bed. “It stings like hell. I’ll get some antibiotic ointment tomorrow.” He sits on the bed with his back to me and I apply the ointment to the scratches—eight perfect stripes. I could never get this precise with a whip.

I commit my work of art to memory and put the tub back on the nightstand. When I turn back, he’s looking at me.

“You didn’t come, did you?” he ask. I shake my head.

“I was distracted,” I admit. He scoffs a laugh.

“Ever the Domme,” he remarks, and he’s right. I was dominating him when I held him down and edged him with my pussy. “You’ve spent quite some time showing me how good you can make a man feel. Why don’t you allow me to show you how good I can make a woman feel?”

“You have shown me how good you can make a woman feel,” I protest. Why do you think I’m still here?

“No,” he protests, closing the space between us, “I haven’t.” Oh, shit. “I can’t until you give me permission, and then you have to agree to give yourself over to me. If you fight it and you try to remain in control, you’ll never feel it. And you’re a Dominant, so you know what I mean.”

Jesus, give myself over to someone? Lose myself to a man? Does he have any idea what he’s asking me?

“I’m not sure I can do that, Chopper,” I tell him. “I don’t think I’ve ever done that. I can’t lose myself in giving you something that you want.”

“I get it,” he says softly. “Domme and total surrender don’t really work in the same breath, do they?” I shake my head. “Then give me this much… pay attention to your body and not your mind. Just feel, and let’s see how far we can go. You can stop me at any time.”

“Now, you’re sounding like the Dominant,” I warn. He raises his brow.

“There’s a little of it in me, as you already know,” he admits, “but I’m a man, first… one who appreciates a woman’s body and knows how to make it feel good, but you have to let me.”

Good Lord, I won’t let this go to my head.

“Okay,” I say, still not sure that I want to let him do this.

“And you’re still thinking about it,” he says. “I can see it in your eyes. Just lie down, relax, and feel.”

He waits for me to follow his directions. They’re simple, but they’re still directions. I can get out of my head just for a minute. It’s not that hard.

I don’t allow him to see me take a deep breath. I just do what he says, lie down, and concentrate on my body. He pushes my legs up and goes right for the money. His hands and mouth begin to do wonderful things to my body, but my mind can’t relax. I simply can’t give a man control of me that way. I’m not one of those relax into it girls. I’m in control—of both orgasms. If I have to move the right way or lay the right way to get the right stroke, that I can do because I’m still controlling the stroke, thus controlling the orgasm. But just lay here and let you have control, do what you want to do to me… I can’t do that.

“You just can’t do it, can you?” Christian asks. After several minutes of doing things that feel wonderful and send shivers down my spine, I still can’t get to that place of complete and total surrender. I sigh and relax into his bed.

“No, I can’t,” I admit, looking up at the ceiling and feeling somewhat like a failure. I could lie here and beat myself up about not being a regular girl, but the truth is… I’m not a regular girl. I never will be. If that’s what he’s looking for, he’s going to be disappointed. I’m a little too deep in thought, because I don’t even feel him crawl over my body. I just look up and he’s right in my face.

“You don’t know me yet,” he says, “and you don’t trust me…”

“I know you just fine, Chopper,” I reply, rolling my eyes. I’m fucking you, for Christ’s sake.

“No. You don’t,” he says, firmly. “You don’t know me yet, and you don’t trust me, but that’s okay. It’ll take time.”

I twist my lips at him. Chopper, I know you about as intimately as I will ever know any man, but that’s okay. I won’t argue with you. He rises off of me and puts his knees on either side of my body.

“Now, roll over. I’ve denied myself that ass long enough.” My brows furrow.

“Um, Chopper, I decide when I do anal,” I chide.

“Who said anything about anal?” he says cockily, “Although I’ll be very happy when you do decide. Now are you going to roll over so I can make you come, or do we have to debate that, too?” I raise a brow at him, then look down at his flaccid cock.

“You don’t look like you’re really ready for all that,” I say, pointing out the obvious.

“Put that ass in my face and you’ll see just how ready I am,” he retorts. “Again, debating.”

He sits there on his knees waiting for me to make a decision. Fine. Since you’re so high and mighty, let’s see what you can do.

I roll over and push up on my knees, ready for doggie style. I don’t care who you are, no man in the world can get around an ass with a flaccid dick. I suddenly feel a wet finger toying with my clit.

That’s nice and all, but that’s a finger, Chopper, not a cock.

Next, his thumb thrusts into my cunt—hard. He’s doing some movement with both fingers like he’s trying to make them meet even though one is inside me and one is on my clit.

Fuck… that’s nice.

I hear him groan behind me, and his free hand grads my ass firmly and squeezes, then rubs. The next thing I know, that once-flaccid cock is between my ass cheeks, causing a mean friction and getting harder and harder. I’m concentrating on the “meeting fingers” below and wondering what kind of contorting he must be doing to do these both at the same time.

To my dismay, a few moments later, he removes the meeting fingers. However, he positions himself between my legs, pushing them open and pulling my hips closer to him. He doesn’t waste any time. I feel him guide the head of his cock right to the pussy he’d been preparing and thrust in deeply.

“Shit!” I hiss as he enters. I have to adjust myself to get the right angle, because he’s got a lot of dick! I’ve definitely seen that thing up close and personal.

He thrusts again and I adjust again. I think I got it this time. When he thrusts a third time…

“Fuck…” I groan as the breath is nearly snatched out of my body.

“Better?” he asks, his voice husky. I nod.

“Yes… better…” I say breathily, and he begins to move… long, slow, deep strokes in and out. I can tell that he’s admiring my ass because he’s grabbing it and caressing it with each stroke—holding my hips or squeezing and kneading the meat as his cock drives hotly into me from behind. Dear God, it feels so good!

“I dreamed of fucking you like this,” he grunts as he thrust. “I woke up and fucking nutted all over myself!”

He grabs my hips and ass and thrusts into me again and again, hitting perfect spots deep inside me, hard and slow. Shit, this is magnificent!

He abandons my ass and begins to rub my back, moving one hand to my shoulder to push me hard against him as he kisses my spine. I feel a shiver go straight from the kiss to my pussy and I can’t prevent the resulting gasp and slight whimper. I push back into him on every thrust, close my eyes, and prepare for the orgasm…

But Chopper’s not done, yet.

He lays on my back and reaches around my body to my breast. Cupping the mound and tweaking the nipple, he continues his deep thrusts into me. I can barely move and after a few minutes of mind-blowing nipple manipulation and a hard, thick cock driving into me and hitting all the right places, my arms buckle, and I nearly collapse onto the bed.

He catches me quickly and pulls me back, sitting me on his lap and his still-thumping cock. He moves quickly to get me into a comfortable position, but never removes that cock.

Goddamn, this man is talented.

He wraps strong arms around my torso and thrusts slowly up into me. When he pushes up into me balls deep, my body rises with his and we move as one person. I try to guide myself, my body, in the manner it needs to move or the direction I want to go, but he has me plastered against him, thrusting mercilessly into me. The only part of our body that separates between us is our hips when he pulls them back to withdrawal, then pushes forward to thrust into me again.

I feel sweat forming on the skin between us as one arm releases me and moves between my legs to my clit while the other remains firmly wrapped around me, the hand tweaking my nipple again.

Fuck, I’m going to come.

I try to hold out because I know what he’s doing. He’s pushing me. He’s still trying to gain control of my body, but I won’t let him have it… I won’t let…

“Ah!”

Just the right amount of pressure on my clit coupled with a perfect pinch of my nipple and an aptly timed thrust of his magnificent cock wrenched an unsolicited cry from me, prompting the beginning of the aforementioned interrupted orgasm.

His moves become more deliberate and I know he’s rising, too. I can tell by the reactions of his body because I know it so well, but then…

His hand moves from my breast to my neck, gripping it firmly but gently. I freeze, but he can’t feel it. His strokes are more intent. His head is pressed against me on my shoulders and he’s lost in what he’s feeling.

And I’m starting to panic.

My eyes are wide open and I’m acutely aware of my surroundings—of the hand on my neck and the fact that I can’t move. I can’t breathe… not because he’s choking me, but because I feel trapped.

Relax… relax, Golden. He’ll let you go once he comes… and he’s trying to make you come. Think about your pussy instead of your power, just this once…

Just this once, I concentrate on my pussy—how he feels thrusting in and out of me, how his fingers feel against my clit, his body pressed against mine… and his hand clasped around my neck.

For a fleeting moment, I think about how hot it would be if it was someone else being choked and fucked, and suddenly, my crotch reminds me that it’s still aching to come, still rising to the occasion when…

“Aaaaaaahhhhh…”

A violent and nearly unwilling orgasm rips through me, surprising me since I—for a brief moment—wasn’t anticipating its approach. It’s beyond blinding. It’s dizzying, and only for a second can I feel Christian trembling painfully through his own. My entire body is tight, and I’m sure that I’m going to lose some time when this is all over…

*-*

It’s still dark outside when I awake, and all I can think is that I want to be in my own space, in my own bed. I look over at Christian and he’s laid out on his pillow fast asleep. I creep out of bed and gather my clothes, donning only what I need to get to my car. Once I’m done, I pull my hair into a messy bun and secure it with a hairpin. When I turn around, Christian is staring at me.

“Where are you going?” he asks, his voice even. I don’t bother lying.

“Home,” I reply.

“It’s nearly three in the morning,” he protests, awaiting my answer.

“I need my own bed,” I tell him. “I’m not ready for the snuggling part, Christian. You’ve got to give me time.”

“Well, see, there’s a little problem with that,” he says, raising up and leaning on one arm. “When it comes to you, I have tiny little abandonment issues. I’m sure you know why.”

“I’m not abandoning you,” I say, frustrated, while rolling my eyes. “I’m just…”

“Escaping,” he finishes the sentence for me.

“Yes!” I admit. “Escaping. That’s exactly what I’m doing. It’s what I’ve done for years after every scene. I escape to myself and I reflect. It has nothing to do with you, but I’m not ready for the snuggling thing.” He examines me for a long time, then adjusts the covers over him.

“Fine,” he says calmly, “goodnight.” He turns away from me and pulls the covers over his shoulders, settling in for the night. Well, damn, Christian, do you have to act like a toddler about it? I shake my head and turn to the door.

“Ana?” he catches me just as I’m leaving. I look over my shoulder and he hasn’t moved from his position.

“I mean it,” he says. “If this is one of your games…”

“I know,” I say. “Don’t come back.” He pauses.

“As long as you understand.” He says nothing else.

I creep quietly out of his room and his apartment. The ride home is quite introspective. He ripped control from me whether I wanted him to or not, and he knows he did, but it was all in the name of pleasure. So, what am I supposed to do?

Blake awakens when I enter the house. Now, here’s two men I have to justify myself to when I’m not accustomed to justifying myself at all.

“Mistress… are you alright?” he asks, securing the belt from his robe.

“I’m fine,” I say softly. He cocks his head and examines me.

“I didn’t expect you,” he says. “I thought you would… be spending the evening with Mr. Grey.” I know what he’s saying, but like I said, I don’t justify myself to anyone.

“I did,” I say, “and now, I need my own space.” I don’t say anything else. I go into the parlor and open the farthest cabinet—where I’ve kept what was left of his vodka since the last… no, the second to last time he sent me a case. I retrieve a bottle—still unopened—and crack open the seal. I pour an entire drink glass full of it and down half of it immediately. Blake stands silently for a moment.

“Would you like a bath, Mistress?” he says calmly. I ponder for a moment.

“Yes… I would…

I tell Blake everything that happened with me and Chopper while I’m in the bath, including the somewhat limbo status of our relationship, only in limbo because we’ve only laid out a few of the terms and when I left, desperately needing my own space, he thought I was going to disappear again. He’s going to have to understand that I need that time alone after a session—or a scene—because that’s who I am. I never was a cuddler, and I don’t think I ever will be.

Blake spends the entire conversation talking to his reflection in the mirror. Even with the tub filled with bubbles, he refuses to look at me when I’m naked. He asks me if I feel anything for Christian and I honestly answer him with a “yes.” Although I’m not totally sure what it is, I’m completely sure what it’s not.

“The best way that I can explain it to you is that I definitely want him around,” I tell him. “I want what he can give me, and I want what I do to him. I don’t think I need to stress that it’s not about the gifts.”

“It’s never been about the gifts with any of your clients, Mistress,” Blake says to the mirror, “but is he still your client?” I know what he’s asking.

“In the technical sense, yes, he is. In the literal sense, we haven’t put a label on the entire scope of our relationship.” Blake nods and says nothing. “Spit it out, Blake. I know when you’re thinking something and you’re not saying it.”

“I should probably start looking for my own place, Mistress,” he says.

“You should not,” I say firmly. “Nothing has changed…”

“Everything has changed, Mistress,” he says with no malice.

“Whatever your relationship is or is not with Mr. Grey, there’s not going to be room for another man in your life as intimately as I am.”

“What the hell is it with men?” I say, frustrated, and the bathroom is silent for a moment.

“He’s had this conversation with you, too…”

“Yes, he has,” I say, looking at the side of Blake’s face, “and I’ll tell you the same thing that I told him. You are a non-negotiable factor. He wouldn’t tell me to disown a member of my family and he can’t tell me to send you away. If I were forced to choose between the two of you, I would choose you and he understands that. I thought you did, too. I thought you knew how important you are to me.”

“I do, Mistress,” he says, his voice a bit pained, “but…”

“But nothing!” I say firmly, becoming frustrated. “How could you possibly think that any relationship anywhere in any context could replace who you are to me? What you mean to me? How could you think that any body, no matter how tempting, any dick, no matter how beautiful, could possibly fill in the massive chasm that would be left in my life by losing you? I love you, Blake, and not in that ooey-gooey let’s-run-off-into-the-sunset kind of way. Losing you would be an insurmountable loss second only to the loss of my parents. I don’t think I would recover. When you are too old and unable to take care of me, I will take care of you. Do you understand that?”

For the first time, Blake turns to look at me while I’m in the tub. We stare into each other’s eyes for several moments, and then he gives me that half-smile.

“Yes, Mistress,” he says, softly. “What would you like for dinner?”

*-*

I think he was shocked to see a text from me telling him to meet me at my place on Friday night. I’m in full Golden glory and he doesn’t dawdle, heading to the dungeon the moment he sees me. I work him over hard… and well. I need to remind him that I’m still in charge of me, and sometimes, of him, too.

I don’t hold back. I rake him over the coals with agony and ecstasy. I pay close attention to him because there are several times when he cries out and I’m sure that he’s going to safeword, but he doesn’t, and I don’t let up. The truth is… I’ve missed this. I’ve missed tormenting his body, watching his reactions, and making him come so hard that his brain damn near separates from his body. Tonight, I’m making up for lost time.


Eric Dane 16 small

TREY

I don’t think I’ve been tormented this much in the entire time that I’ve known her.

I was hesitant to come when she called. I had no idea what was on her agenda. Did she want to fuck? Was she going to dismiss me like she did before? Did she plan to beat and edge me again and leave me pissed with an angrily pounding dick?

When I arrived and she was wearing what I can only describe as a gold, beaded belly-dancing outfit, gold gladiator boots, a gold cape with black accents, and a blonde wig so yellow that it was gold, too, I knew that she meant business. I told her that she would have to learn to trust me, so I decided to trust her too, determined that if she fucked me over this time, she didn’t exist anymore.

I don’t regret the decision.

I know that she’s imposing her power on me, and I let her. After all, over and above everything, she’s still my Mistress.

I have been beaten, flogged, cropped, and caned to my wits end, and throughout the entire ordeal, she’s teasing, taunting, and sucking my cock. The first orgasm was immediate, before any of her implements even touched me. I think she felt like she owed me that one. The three that follow are agony—long, drawn-out processes of extension and denial mingled with the crack of her whip, the strikes of her floggers, crops, and paddles, and the snaps of her canes.

She’s never used canes before. Those, I’m certain, were punishment for that last orgasm I ripped from her earlier in the week.

The final orgasm is particularly torturous. I’m chained to the ceiling and floor, eagle-spread like I’ve been all night. It’s been an exercise in endurance, strength, and stamina that I’ll never forget. By body is on fire, both from pain and from the massive endorphins coursing through me at the moment. My cock and balls are restrained in that torturous cock harness she used on me the last time I was down here, and once she’s sucked, beaten, and tickled me until my body is too weak to resist and my cock and balls are straining in the harness and aching to come, she removes the bottom half of her costume.

My knees nearly buckle as she turns her glorious, bare ass around to my view. She begins to sensually rub her hips and ass while I’m watching, and I discover that her hands are oiled.

Fuck! My cock begins to bob and thump at the site of it, and I nearly want to come just from watching her.

She does this for an eternity, rolling her hips and ass as she oils it thoroughly, around the globes, between the cheeks… I think I’m fucking going to die. But I’m soon rewarded for resisting the urge to depart this earthly plain.

She backs up to me, bends over with her hands on the floor, and begins to rub that ass against my rock-hard dick and painfully constrained balls. Fucking hell, I can’t take this—that beautiful fucking ass that has invaded my fucking dreams is massaging and caressing my angry veiny dick… Sweet Jesus…

Her oiled ass runs over my cock, over and over again. I want that ass so badly that the sight of it squeezing and caressing my cock is just too much for me. I can’t hold it in. I don’t even try. I’m too damn weak and broken to resist anyway.

“Mistress! Aahh!” I say through gritted teeth as I feel my balls tightening even more. Her second favorite implement to use on me is holding my ejaculation back while her big, beautiful ass grabs my entire dick, pumping and massaging it ferociously. I throw caution to the wind and thrust up into those delicious cheeks. She knows I want to fuck her; she knows I want to fuck this ass; and now she’s doing this to me?

“Aah! Aah! Mistress! Aah!” I grunt as I fuck that delicious ass. Those beautiful bubbles are stimulating me from base to tip even though there’s no actual penetration. My dick can’t tell. All it can feel is the fuck… the meat of her ass closing over its hot and sensitive skin and protruding veins. I lick my lips as I continue to fuck those beautiful ass cheeks, and she lets me.

“Mistress…” I groan again as the pleasure is become way too much for me to take without release. How the hell can she work her hips like this bent the fuck in half and touching the floor—so masterfully that I want to fucking cry right now?

It’s the pole. That goddamn pole.

She rolls and rolls and rolls, saying nothing as her round ass juices my angry, pulsing dick—and I fuck her, thrusting my hips as far as my restraints will allow into that welcoming crease until my balls finally tap out in surrender.

“Mistress! Golden! Aaaahh! Golden!” I cry out as my cock comes painfully, ignoring the restraint of the cock harness. It’s fucking painful and paralyzingly Nirvanic, and I need her to stop moving so that the agony in my cock can stop, but she doesn’t. I watch my cum shoot powerfully out of my dick and decorate the top of her asscheeks and back.

It just makes me come harder.

“Aah, Golden! Aah, God!” I wail, fighting to get out of my restraints and away from the blinding pain of this orgasm. My dick is coming and coming and coming and throbbing and bumping like those poor suckers I see at her mercy in the exhibition room. God, this shit hurts! It hurts so good! My dick is burning with a pleasure and a fury that sucks all thought from my head and I can only feel and see my massive orgasm.

My God in heaven, it’s magnificent! I’ll do anything for you, my Mistress! Give you anything! Anything! It’s yours! Your wish is my command…

I’ve lost time again. I open my eyes and I’m sitting in a chair—nearly prostrate—and no longer bound. My painful dick is flaccid, but oh, so satisfied, still aching from its massive release… and I’m alone in the dungeon. I woozily sit up, trying to stand. I don’t even bother getting dressed. I step into my boxer briefs and gather the rest of my clothes. The ass was just too much for me. I’ve fantasized about it and tried to mimic it with others, but once she put it on me… just let me run my dick between her cheeks… I’m as empty as a dry well. I ascend the stairs where I know I’ll find him.

“Do you need anything?” he asks. I don’t make eye-contact with him. I can barely raise my head.

“A bath…” I mumble, “please.”

“Right this way…”

*-*

I spent the night at Ana’s that night—in her guest room, of course. The morning after was… interesting. Neither of us knew how to act and just thought normal would be the best option. There have been many more nights and days like that since then

Dinner in the evening followed by a hot fuck…
A scene in the dungeon where I shoot the rockets’ red glare then go home—or spend the night in the guestroom if the scene was too intense…
Watching her work over one of her clients while trying not to nut in the exhibition room…

Things seem to be going well for about three weeks when something unexpected happens at Grey House. When I return from having lunch with Ronnie, there’s a visitor in my lobby—the last damn person I would expect to see. I do a double take.

“Bel… Blake?” He’s already looking at me. He saw me before I saw him. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine, sir,” he says, and nothing else. I glare at him for a moment, but he’s not going to say anything else, at least not here.

“Come with me,” I say, gesturing for him to follow me.

He stands and I escort him into the first-floor conference room and close the door. Taylor knows who he is, so he just stands outside the door.

“Have a seat,” I gesture to the conference table.

“I’d rather stand, sir,” he says. Okay, well then, I’m standing, too.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“May I speak freely, Sir?” he says. I frown.

“You’re… not my submissive. You don’t need my permission to say what you need to say,” I reply. His expression doesn’t change, but he clasps his hands in front of him and spreads his feet shoulder width. I’ve seen Taylor take this stance many times.

“I’m considering leaving,” he says. Oh, dear Lord, has God heard my prayers?

“May I ask why?” I say, my expression becoming impassive.

“Mistress doesn’t need me anymore,” he says flatly. I pause.

“I’m still not sure what you mean.” Was he fucking her before? It sure felt like she was tight as hell that first time… and that second time… shit, every time… What were we talking about again?

“Mistress was accustomed to me doing all the little things that she may not have paid attention to… unless they weren’t done. Now, she has so many things filling those blanks in her life that she didn’t know she didn’t have, that she didn’t know she needed. The ache of the emptiness left by her parents has been filled by receiving all the memoirs from her childhood once her uncle died. She has reconnected with her family, so that gap of loneliness has been filled. She has made a friend or two from the fundraisers and her yoga instructor…”

Her yoga instructor? Who is her yoga instructor?

“And for those times that she really can’t cope or may be falling apart, she has you. She doesn’t need me anymore.” Oh, shit. I see where this is going.

“Yet, before I was a factor, you weren’t considering leaving,” I point out. He doesn’t respond. “That’s not rhetorical, Blake.”

“Mistress doesn’t need me anymore,” he repeats, “she just doesn’t know it yet.”

He wants me to either say that it’s okay for him to stay or to give him permission to leave. I don’t live with Ana and that’s not something that’s likely to change anytime soon. Nonetheless…

“I’ll tell you what,” I say crossing my arms. “Go to your Mistress and tell her what you just told me. Tell her that you’re considering leaving because she doesn’t need you anymore. Don’t bother explaining anything. Just tell her what you told me and see how that goes over.” He still doesn’t move or respond, so I call him on his shit.

“You’re looking for me to tell you that it’s okay for you to leave. I’m not going to do that, Blake. You decide where your place is with your Mistress and what purpose you fill in her life—and she fills in yours—and you decide if you still want that relationship. That’s not for me to say. I have about as much bearing on your relationship with your Mistress as you have on my relationship with mine, and that’s none. I couldn’t tell her to let go of you any more than I could tell her to release any of her other clients.” His brow rises slightly.

“Your relationship is more intimate than anything that she’s ever had with any of her other… clients,” he says. “The rules have changed, and you and I both know that.”

“Yes, the rules have changed,” I concur, “but they’ve only changed for her and me. Our relationships outside of one another has nothing to do with what we do together.”

He twists his lips in disbelief. I don’t know why he’s coming to me with something that clearly has to do with him and Ana, but he’s not pulling me into it. Even though she has threatened me with sending me away if Blake leaves, that’s not why I’m not giving him permission to leave. I know that Ana would be miserable and unhappy without him, and I really don’t want to see that.

“I don’t know what this is about,” I say. “Maybe you’re not happy with the new status quo, but if you want out, Blake, I’m not giving it to you.”

“I don’t want out,” he says, forcefully, the only emotion he has shown in this entire conversation.

“Then why are we having this conversation?” I ask just as forcefully. “Each piece in Mistress’s life gives her something that she needs. I’m fulfilling a need that she may have never needed before, but she needs it now. I’m not replacing anything… or is there something you’re not telling me?” I put my hands on my hips and wait. Ball’s in your court, Blakey. He pauses for several moments.

“I have never touched Mistress sexually… ever… and she has never touched me that way,” he says calmly.

“Then, where’s the problem?” I ask. “Do you have a problem with me?”

“No, sir, I do not,” he replies. I straighten.

“If you’re calling me ‘sir’ because you’re being polite, I get it. If you’re calling me ‘Sir’ in that way, don’t,” I clarify. He raises a brow and says nothing. Then, out of nowhere I get it.

He doesn’t have a problem with me. He simply wants to be here for her like he always has been, which is the same thing that she wants, but if he feels like his being here is going to be a conflict, he’ll leave to keep her happy. He’s not a threat to me, but she’ll be miserable if he leaves and she’ll definitely resent me for it. I’m about to put this all back on him.

“Do you have a reason for leaving and you’re trying to use me?” I ask. He twists his lips.

“If I had a reason for leaving, sir, I wouldn’t need your permission…”

“Exactly!” I point out. “So, why are you asking for it now?”

“I’m not asking for it,” he says, somewhat defiantly.

“So, what is this conversation?” I cross my arms again. “Are you trying to get me to leave?” He scoffs.

“As if you would,” he says, mostly under his breath.

“Again, the reason for this conversation?” I restate. He doesn’t respond. “Talk. To your Mistress, not to me.”

“I already have,” he says confidently. I raise a brow expecting. Tell me or don’t tell me but make your point and get the fuck out of my face. “She doesn’t want me to leave.”

“And once again, the purpose for this conversation?” I ask, extending one hand in that “I don’t know” fashion.

“I really wanted your thoughts on the situation,” he says finally.

“And you got ‘em. You can’t affect my relationship with my Mistress any more than I can affect yours. Are we going to have a problem?” He twists his lips.

“No, sir, we’re not.” I raise a brow at him, and he knows why. “No, sir, we’re not,” he repeats.

“Well, then, good talk,” I say, proffering my hand to him. He looks at it and takes it in a professional, firm shake. “Will you be preparing dinner tonight or should I bring something?”

“I’ll… ask Mistress what she would like prepared,” he says.

“Good, then, I’ll see you later.”


A/N: Epilogue and Author’s Note posted separately.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fifty Shades Golden: Chapter 27

This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.

Explicit details of sex and BDSM scenes from here on out. Some may be hot while others may not be to your taste… and not necessary CG with Ana together. Proceed at your own discretion, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.

This ain’t your everyday Christian and Ana story. Don’t expect anything. Just read it as it goes along or go away. 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 new saga continues…

CHAPTER 27

Briana Evigan Ch 27

GOLDEN

I sit in my room for several hours after I leave Trey’s… Christian’s apartment. I don’t know what to think or feel. He turned me away. I want to be angry, but I can’t. I can’t muster up the outrage that I should be feeling, or at least that I think I should be feeling. I want to be angry because of what he took from me.

He took the last word.

I leave them salivating for me. I leave them wanting me, craving me… I leave them aching for the Golden treatment. He obviously wants me, but he sent me away. He told me to leave.

You win—I’m in agony; I can’t take this anymore. You make me want you, but then you say I can’t have you. Then you go away, but you make me want you again. I can’t get you out of my mind. You’re in my blood…

Please, just go, Ana. Just go…

There’s a small satisfaction in knowing that they want you, that they’ll come crawling back to you, even if they know that you’ll push them away… more than small if I’m honest. There’s that knowledge that they want to come back that speaks to the sadistic goddess inside.

He took that away from me. I was there in his home, somewhat available, and he told me to leave. The nerve of him! Although, I guess I’m being a little selfish since the man just gave his sister a kidney and could have died, and I’m stewing over what he took from me.

Instead of concentrating on Christian and his denial, I concentrate on the things that fulfill me—beating the hell out of my clients; watching them suffer and begging to come and then making them explode all over the exhibition room. I often imagine Christian watching me, salivating and nutting all over himself because he can’t have me. I think about him more than I like these days and I even dream about him some nights… dammit.

In one such dream, I was telling him why he couldn’t have me. He was begging and begging, telling me that he would give me anything to make him mine…

“You’re never going to be able to change me,” I tell him. “You’ll never change who I am. You’re saying that this is what you want. This is what you want right now. You’ll want exclusivity. You’ll want me all to yourself. You’ll even want me to get rid of Blake and that’s never going to happen. You will not want me to do to other men what I do to you. You won’t want me to do to them what I do to them. The resentment will set in, and then the hatred, and soon, you won’t be able to stand the sight of me. Why do that to yourself? Why should we do that to each other? Why not walk away now after we’ve had a good run and some good times? Take the good memories that we’ve had and don’t ruin it. Nothing lasts forever, we both know that, so let’s quit while we’re ahead.”

Then, of course, I wake up knowing that he doesn’t want to see me, and the last time he saw me, he sent me away. That indescribable feeling comes back, and I end up beating the hell out of one of my clients again… with Christian watching in my mind’s eye. I’ve actually acquired three more clients in the last two months, one of whom bought me a pair of solid gold stilettos that I’ll never wear.

Shoes are supposed to have some give, people, or you can’t walk in them!

Anywho, I’m still Golden and at least that hasn’t changed.

In other news, there has been an arrest in Blondie’s case. Some miniscule piece of evidence pointed to one guy who, if he had me as his defense, wouldn’t have been fingered for the deed. However, I’m not prone to represent the guilty, not to mention he crumbled under interrogation and confessed to the crime, offering to give up his accomplices for a plea deal as he’s looking at 25 to life. Once his plea was carved in ink, he fingered two other hired killers…

And Linc.

That doesn’t surprise me. Once I saw how badly he beat her before running off to the Bahamas, I knew that he was capable of doing much worse. Once I heard that she had liquidated some of their portfolio to pay the lawsuit, I knew that act wouldn’t go without some kind of punishment. Did I expect her to be killed? No, but I did expect some kind of retaliation. Once I saw how she died, I fully expected Linc to have done it himself. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that he watched the whole thing.

Someone asked me if I felt any conviction over the situation. There’s the fact that the lawsuit was fabricated by me over something that didn’t really happen and that her death was a direct result of paying off that lawsuit. Had it been anyone else, I might have, but let’s look at the facts.

She stole one of my clients by lying to him because I wasn’t available.
She plotted against me to ruin me in the BDSM community by siccing Magic Dick on me.
When it didn’t work out the way she had hoped she threatened my life.
She blamed me for whatever did or didn’t happen to her crummy salons, causing me to hire security so that she didn’t attack me when my back was turned.
She ganged up on me with her frosted fuck creepy husband at the fundraiser a couple of years ago.

And that’s only what she’s done to me.

She broke Christian’s arm.
She falsely accused him of battering her.
Had one thing gone differently—any one thing—after she let him loose on me, he would also be in a wheelchair or dead from a bullet from my gun.

That woman was the devil, and you can’t feel sympathy for Satan.

For me, however, life is a bit… surreal, for lack of a better word. I still get off on my sadistic lifestyle. In fact, I need it now more than ever to maintain balance—but that word…

Balance.

I feel like something is really missing from my life. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, and I refuse to accept that it has anything to do with Christian. He was a chapter in my life that is now closed, and I can deal with that. But besides that, nothing else has really changed. Yet, even with yoga, meditation, and my beloved sadism, I can’t really find the balance that I’m looking for.

In my search for balance, I’ve been spending a little more time with my family. I’ve put more pictures and keepsakes of Mommy and Daddy around the house, things that Aunt Sheila gave me after Uncle Richard died. It makes me feel so much closer to them and I’m very happy about that.

I also try to get to dinner at Aunt Sheila’s at least twice a month. She’s still dealing with Uncle Richard’s death and the fact that more and more has come out about the kind of person that he was since he passed. He was a faithful husband and family man—he just wasn’t a really good person.

One Saturday night, I agree to go with Tracy to a club in the old neighborhood. I’m definitely game for some dancing and a few drinks. So, I put on my Bodycon wine-colored party dress with a sexy side slit and my wine-colored fabric thigh boots and plan to hit the club in Tracy’s Kia. I should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy. We have to wait in line to get in and once we do, we head to a table of Tracy’s friends.

The eye-cutting begins immediately.

“I thought you said your cousin was coming,” one of the girls says accusingly. Tracy gives her a watch-it glare.

“This is my cousin,” Tracy says. “This is Ana.”

“Oh,” she replies popping her neck, and every last one of them turn their heads without addressing me.

Okay, it’s going to be this kind of night. That’s alright, I’m not looking for new friends. I’m looking to dance and drink.

I squeeze into the seat next to one of the girls, who blatantly turns her back to me. I roll my eyes and they rest on Tracy’s, who is sitting across from me. She’s talking to the girl sitting next to her and looking apologetically at me at the same time.

Well, this was a great idea, but I won’t spoil Tracy’s night. I turn my attention to the dancefloor and people watch.

“You look like you could use a dance.”

I’ve sat here for what feels like an eternity, but I know it was only a few minutes, when I look up to see where the voice is coming from.

Tall, dark, and handsome… and he wants to dance.

“I certainly could,” I say. I put my purse across my body, and he leads me to the dance floor. This is what I needed… just to be free and have a good time. I dance for four songs with the guy and as I’m leaving the dancefloor, he hands me a number. I smile prettily and thank him for the dance before I head back to the table.

“Somebody needs some deodorant,” the same girl says to no one in particular when I sit down. Then she turns away from me and sips her drink. Tracy is gone, and I assume she’s dancing. I know that I’m not emitting any odor because first, I am wearing deodorant and second, I’m not even sweating. So, I deduce that she’s just being catty and bitchy for no reason. I sigh again and mock her behavior, turning the other way, away from her and towards the dancefloor.

Tracy returns and the revelry begins at the table again—for everyone but me, that is—for a solid twenty minutes. Yet another gorgeous black guy comes and asks me to dance, and I oblige. The truth is, it wouldn’t matter if Quasimodo walked up and asked me to dance, I was leaving that table. Who wants to spend a night out with a bunch of bitter, angry women?

I dance for several songs, get another number, and head to the bar. I order a double shot of vodka and a glass of water. When the vodka comes, I throw it back quickly and take large gulps of my water. When a third dance partner approaches me—champagne skin and curly hair—I’m on the floor again.

I spend most of the evening on the dancefloor or at the bar—mostly on the dancefloor. I go to the ladies’ room to relieve myself and decide that it’s time to rejoin my party at the table, not that I want to.

“Oh, Jesus,” one of the other girls says. “She’s back.”

No, the hell I’m not. I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t need this shit.

“God, you guys are a bunch of really catty bitches! That’s embarrassing. She didn’t even do anything to you!” Tracy accuses.

“Because of her, nobody wants to dance with us!” one girl remarks. Well, that’s a crock of shit. I haven’t even been at the table most of the night.

“Well, I’m leaving, so you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” I say, standing to my feet and grabbing my purse.

“Good!” she remarks. “Bye!”

“It’s not her fault that nobody wants to dance with you, Latrice,” Tracy says, standing as well. “It’s your fucking resting-bitch-face that chases them away. Jesus, if I can’t bring anybody around you guys, I don’t need to be around you either.” She puts her purse strap on her shoulder.

“Come on, Ana,” Tracy says, hooking arms with me, “let’s go get a drink… somewhere else!” We begin to walk away from the table.

“Uncle Tom!” one of the girls yells behind us.

“Fuck you, Allie!” Tracy yells back, flipping the bird behind her without turning around. We walk arm-in-arm out of the club and go to Tracy’s Kia.

“You didn’t have to leave your friends behind for me, Tracy,” I say as she starts the car.

“It’s been a long time coming,” she says, as she drives down the road. “It’s not like we were ride-or-die, anyway. They’re unhappy and they find fault in everything. Only one of them is actually doing something to make changes in her life and that’s Vershawna. The rest of them just complain about where they are. Yeah, we’ve been friends for a long time, but you can only deal with that shit for so long. I’ve grown out of it. They’re still stuck in it.”

“It could also be because I’m white,” I say, stating the obvious.

“That’s what it is this time,” she admits. “Tomorrow they’ll see somebody with the wrong color hair, with a skirt too short, with too many kids, you name it. If they can find something wrong with the world, they will. It’s time out for that shit.” I shake my head and look out the window.

“What is it, Ana?” she asks.

“I’ve met a lot of people in my lifetime,” I begin, “from a lot of different nationalities and backgrounds. My father was black. I grew up in a black neighborhood. Most of my pro bono cases are young black boys that just deserve a break. My yoga instructor is black, my receptionist is black…”

“And you’ve said that you’ve met a lot of different nationalities, but so far, all you’re talking about is black,” Tracy points out.

“And there’s a reason for that,” I say. “I’ve met people from many walks of life, and I don’t treat anybody any differently because of it. Why is it that black women—particularly in social situations—dislike me so much? I get the whole concept of racism; I haven’t lived under a rock for the last 34 years, but this is more than that. This is I shouldn’t be seen with a black man; I shouldn’t visit the areas I grew up in… and it’s not all black people! It’s black women. And it’s not all settings—it’s in a club or a restaurant. They don’t give a fuck if I’m at the grocery store, it’s just if I’m having dinner with Kevin, or dancing with Darryl, or riding Fuckboy Jake’s bike! What the fuck is that?”

I’ve raised my voice louder than I intended and Tracy has fallen silent. I cross my arms like an errant child, certain that I’m not going to get an answer, but Tracy starts talking.

“It would take me way too long to explain that to you, Ana,” she says calmly, “but that’s not going to change. It comes from a long line and centuries of oppression and discrimination, and I think you know that. What you’re getting from black women is what black people have experienced from white people since well before you and I were gleams in our daddies’ eyes. The hatred that comes along with that has been passed down through the generations. Among the many, many other intolerances among the races, the vast majority of black women in many areas have a staunch intolerance of white women with black men. Remember, it’s only been about 50 years or so since the races could legally interact that way.

“The world is slowly changing, I know, but not everybody is changing with it—on both sides of the fence, for that matter. You never met our grandfather, did you?” I furrow my brow.

“No, I don’t think I did,” I reply.

“That’s because he went to his grave pissed at Uncle Ray for marrying Carla,” she says. I didn’t know that, but I vaguely remember something like that happening on Mommy’s side of the family, which is why I ended up with Uncle Richard and Aunt Sheila. I sigh and shake my head.

“So, I guess I’m just supposed to stay on my side of the bridge, then.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“You cross the bridge whenever you want,” Tracy replies. “That’s the only way to combat this kind of shit. Just don’t be surprised when people aren’t willing to cross that bridge with you.” I twist my lips. This isn’t new, I was just looking for some grand reason that black women hate me so much. There’s none. It’s the same reason they hated Mommy for marrying Daddy, and it’s not going to change.

“You hungry?” she asks, breaking my chain of thought. I look over at her and nod.

“Famished,” I reply.

“What do you have a taste for?” she asks.

“Greens and cornbread,” I say, without hesitation.


Eric Dane 27

TREY

I gave up a goddamn kidney; now my mother is going to have to speak to me.

It’s been months since the operation and even Dad has come by to see me. I’ve finally gotten the clearance from the doctor to resume activities as usual, and now, I’m going to my parents’ house to put this radio silence to rest.

I’m getting everything together and I’m looking for my phone, but I can’t find it. Where did I toss the damn thing? I look on the nightstand and see that the top drawer is partially opened. I open the drawer and there’s my phone.

How the fuck did it get in there?

I take it out and swipe the screen to see if I missed any important calls or texts. Just beyond the phone, I can see what else is in that drawer. It’s the handkerchief I used to wipe Golden’s lipstick away when she kissed me.

I run my thumb over the lipstick stain. She’s gone now, so I can admit that I had started to care for her. Maybe she’s right… maybe this is best. My first instinct is to put the handkerchief in the laundry to rid it of the memory of her, but then I’d look at every handkerchief I own and wonder if it’s the one. Instead, I take it to the kitchen and toss it in the trash.

The housekeeper lets me in at my parents’ house and tells me that Dad is out in the back and Mom is in the dining room. For some strange reason still unbeknownst to me, I decide to go and talk to Dad first. He’s sitting in a lawn chair facing the lake. He’s not looking left or right, just straight in front of him, like he would run out there and jump in the water and never return. Mom must not be talking to him either.

“Coming out for a father and son talk, are you?” he asks. He doesn’t look over his shoulder, so I don’t know how he knows who’s walking up to him or even if it’s me or Elliot. He’s quite maudlin and he looks like shit. He’s got a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand, but I can tell that he’s not drunk.

“I’m just making sure that you’re not out here contemplating suicide,” I say as I take the seat next to him. “I’ve never seen you like this, even when you and Mom broke up.” He turns to me.

“Concerned, son?” he asks, his voice laced with irony.

“Yeah, about my mother,” I reply matter-of-factly. He scoffs and takes a sip of his drink.

“I could die tomorrow, and you wouldn’t care,” he says, looking out over the lake. “You wouldn’t shed one goddamn tear.”

“And whose fault is that, Dad?” I ask. He turns an angry glare to me.

“You’re saying this is all my fault?” he asks incredulously. “You blackmailed me into showing you the BDSM ropes—pun intended—and you’re saying that this breakdown is all because of me?”

Touché.

“No, Dad, I’m not saying that,” I cede. “We both burned that bridge, but you kept throwing kindling on the fire for years and you know it.”

I don’t turn my gaze from him. I’m waiting for his rebuttal, but I know that he has none. He turns back to the lake.

“I hope my grandkids give all of you as much hell as you’ve given me,” he laments quietly. I scoff.

“What grandkids?” I ask, incredulously. “I’m 36 years old with no desire to have any children. Mia just got a new kidney—so that’s not happening any time soon if at all. And if you’re putting your hopes and dreams in Elliot to carry on the family name, good luck! He’s pushing 40 with a girl in every fucking port, and unless he’s got some illegitimates somewhere, sorry Dad, but this branch of the Grey family tree is dead.” He sighs.

“Well, that’s depressing,” he complains. “Looks like I’ve failed at everything.”

I shake my head. I can’t feel sorry for this man. He’s deliberately deceitful and the only time I’ve ever seen him exercise honesty and scruples is on the bench.

“I don’t know what you expect,” I say after a long pause. “I don’t know how long you were in the lifestyle during your marriage, and I’m sure Mom doesn’t either, but as soon as she found out and the bottom fell out from under your life as a husband, you stopped being a father. I’ll take what happened to our relationship because of how I held that whole thing over your head, but what the hell happened to Elliot? He finished college; he had the education; he was on the right track. What they hell happened?”

My father finally throws a glare at me.

“Yeah, you know,” I say nodding. “That’s what you do. Ever since you lost your woman, you wanted everybody to be as miserable as you. So, you went on this campaign to get everybody under your thumb. I don’t know how that served you, but you did it to the point where you had something on everybody. Me and BDSM—yeah, that’s a taboo lifestyle and it could cause some damage in certain circles, not to mention that it certainly was going to hurt Mom. Elliot and cocaine, and whatever the fuck else you’ve got hanging over his head, well, that goes without saying. But Mia, Dad? You were holding her hostage through dialysis? Seriously?”

“I wasn’t holding her hostage,” he defends.

“The hell you weren’t!” I retort. “I understand not wanting to put Mom through any undue stress, but something you said along the way scared the shit out of Mia about telling Mom what was going on, and I saw it in her face. Mom should’ve known what was going on with Mia. It was going to come out one way or another and she was fucking blindsided when it was. You thought that was the better option? You’re the fucking parent, Dad. Did you lose all of your paternal instinct when you were swinging that fucking whip at Bunny?”

My father doesn’t answer.

“Mia had another reason for not telling Mom about dialysis and I’m going to find out what it was, but you—you were just plain selfish. Whatever imagined power you thought you had, you’ve lost it all, and now you’re sitting out here concerned again that you may have lost your woman. Since you’ve forsaken everything to keep her and she’s probably all you’ve got left, you might want to get your shit together and figure out how to make this up to her.”

I turn my gaze to the lake. It’s beautiful with the evening sun glistening off it. I get lost in its peace for a moment.

“It was this bad,” he adds. I frown.

“What was?” I ask.

“Breaking up with your mom,” he says. “It was worse, you just didn’t see it.” He looks out at the lake and takes another sip of his drink, his eyes glazing over.

“I never wanted to die before, but without her, I did. I wasn’t suicidal, I just wanted the pain to stop. It was the worst pain of my entire life. I swear there was nothing else to live for… nothing.”

Gee, thanks, Dad.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, without turning his gaze to me. “Not five minutes ago, you confirmed that you wouldn’t bat an eye if I dropped dead in front of you.”

“I didn’t say that,” I protest.

“You didn’t have to,” he retorts. “It doesn’t matter, though. It’s my bed and I have to lie in it.” He’s quiet for a few minutes.

“I’m going to talk to Mom,” I say, standing from the seat. “If she’s not going to speak to me, she’ll have to do it to my face. Get your shit together, Dad,” I say as I walk back to the house. Mom is standing at the French doors with a glass of wine in her hands as I approach.

“You and your father talking. There’s a twist,” she says, sarcastically. “Then again, you have so much to share!” Okay, I had that coming.

“All I can say is that I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t openly lie to you, but I wasn’t totally truthful. I can tell you this about me, though—about all of us. Each, in our own way, was trying to spare you more discomfort. You had been through hell with Dad and we saw that. We watched you suffer and whatever we may feel about each other, we all love you very much. You’re the only reason why we tolerate each other’s presence when it’s time to come together when we’d much rather not. Mia’s a spoiled nagger, Elliot’s an asshole, I’m a cocky motherfucker, and Dad’s a snake…” Mom throws a chastising glare at me.

“I’m sorry for my language, and you may love him, but we both know it,” I say frankly. “But we all love you, and we wanted to spare you as much pain as we possibly could.” She turns back to her wineglass.

“After what your father put me through,” she begins, “I don’t know if I can forgive him for keeping this many secrets from me.” She takes a swallow of her wine and walks back into the dining room. So that’s why he looks so damn miserable. I follow her and join her at the table.

“Do you love him, Mom?” I ask.

“Of course, I love him!” she says, her head snapping to me. “That’s why he’s still here!”

“Then, you’ll forgive him,” I say. “And he’ll fuck up again, and you’ll forgive him, then, too… as long as he doesn’t do any big shit, again—then I’ll have to come and kill him.” I think she scoffs a laugh, but her face doesn’t change. “You know what they say about the road to hell, Mom. We all had the best intentions, even though none of us executed the best strategy.”

I don’t tell her that I really believe that Dad was keeping the secrets because he wanted to later use them as leverage. For what, I don’t know, but unless he has more ammo on my sister and brother, his well is empty.

“Why did you keep this from me, Christian?” she asks sadly. “Your secrets were the most painful.”

“Why mine, may I ask?” I say.

“You said it yourself, Elliot is a fuck-up,” she says. “I don’t know what he’s into—except cocaine now—but I know it’s nothing legitimate. Whatever he’s doing, he has that snaky, slimy look about him. And the women he brings around—why would you bring any of these women to your parents’ home? I’m preparing myself to hear some terrible news about him, and I can only hope it won’t be the very worst, but I expect for something to be deceitful about him.

“And Mia… well, Mia, I don’t know. Was she really trying to spare me, or did she have that whole stupid ‘I can do this on my own’ attitude that she has about nearly everything else? How the hell did she think she could go through this for seven years and we not find out? There’s no other way this could have ended except for her in a body bag.

“But you,” she shakes her head. “You’re into that same shit that your father was in, that nearly tore our family apart and how do I find out? From the cocaine addict who was simply trying to pull other people under the bus with him. But what you did with your kidney was worse.” I frown.

“How?” I say, my voice squeaking. I saved Mia’s life!

“Because you could have died!” she shoots. “Is that how you wanted me to find out you gave Mia a kidney?”

I don’t dispute her. My portion of the surgery was much easier than Mia’s. It was mostly done by laparoscope. It was the whole swinging-crutches-at-people-losing-my-shit thing that caused complications. And the press must’ve really been spooked, because I haven’t seen one picture of us or heard anything about the surgery even in the gossip rags.

“I’ll start with the first question,” I begin. “I didn’t tell you about my sexual lifestyle because of your history of it with Dad, but tell me, Mom. Is that the only reason why you’re appalled by the BDSM lifestyle?”

“I’m appalled because I’ve seen what they do!” she shoots.

“You haven’t seen everything, Mom,” I correct her, “I can guarantee it. If you’ve Googled anything, you’ve probably seen the grittiest that there is to see, and that’s not all there is to the lifestyle. You probably don’t want any BDSM lessons, and I don’t blame you because of what you’ve been through. But you can’t judge what you don’t know, and if you do that to me, you’re judging me for participating in a lifestyle that may be off the beaten path a bit, but is completely legal and based on the concept that every activity is safe, sane, and consensual. It’s no different than being homophobic or discriminating against someone because they’re transgender, or black, or physically disabled, or different than you in any way. And that would make you wrong, Mom.” Her eyes widen.

“How so?” she asks horrified.

“If Dad cheated on you with a Mexican woman and you discovered that I was marrying a Mexican woman, would you be angry with me for that?” I ask. She’s still stunned. “How about a vegan? Would you hate all vegans if Dad cheated on you with a vegan? What if he turned out to be bisexual and he cheated on you with a man—would you disown me for being gay?” Her face falls impassive.

“It’s the same thing, Mom,” I tell her. “You’re not attracted to women; you eat meat; you married a white man… and you don’t practice BDSM, but you can’t put those of us in judgement who do. This…” I pause and point at her, “is why I didn’t tell you.” She closes her eyes and I can see them rolling behind her eyelids.

“You’re… going to have to give me some time to deal with this,” she says. “In the meantime, I would really rather not know about any of your escapades.”

“Tell that to Elliot,” I say matter-of-factly. “You would have never known about any of it if I had my way.”

“Then, you still would have been lying to me,” she points out.

“But you don’t want to know, so where do I win in this?” I ask. She thinks about it, then changes the subject.

“What about Mia’s kidney?” she says. “We already knew that she needed one. There was no need to lie about it.” I sigh.

“Well, I told you that in the hospital, but I also suspected that Elliot was doing something—like what he was doing—that meant that he couldn’t donate a kidney. I was trying to avoid what happened, but it happened anyway, so that was all for nothing.

“Elliot has made some really fucked-up choices and he hates that he’s not in the spotlight. Anytime that spotlight gets turned on me, he finds some way to make it a bad thing. When he thought I was leaving town for Mia’s surgery, he was talking shit then. When he found out that I was the one who gave her the kidney, he was talking shit then. Mia was upset with me for shit that she really felt was my fault. Elliot was just fucking pissed because he couldn’t be ‘the golden boy,’ as he calls me. Do you realize that I was in a lose-lose situation all around?” She holds her head down. She’s clearly suffering from information overload.

“Christian, I love you,” she says, calmly. “You’re my baby boy, but if you keep another secret like this from me again, I’ll never forgive you and I may not survive it. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

“Are there any other secrets?” she asks.

“That woman they found dead last year, Elena Lincoln—the one who threw a potted plant at me and broke my arm?” My mother’s brow rises.

“Yes?” she says expecting.

“We had an affair years ago,” I confess. She waves me off.

“Oh, I knew that,” she says.

“How did you know?” I ask, my brow furrowed.

“That woman found the strength of Hercules and hurled a concrete pot at you. No woman causes that kind of damage to a man unless it’s self-defense or she’s known him Biblically,” she says. “Hell hath no fury…” I shrug.

“Then unless you want to know the details of my BDSM lifestyle, no, I have no other secrets.” She silent for a moment.

“Do you whip those women?” she asks.

“Do you really want to know?” I’ll tell you, but it’s all or nothing, Mom. She shakes her head.

“I don’t want to know,” she says, shaking her head. I stand, lean over and kiss her on the cheek.

“I love you, Mom,” I say. “Forgive me for my half-truths and omission lies.” She looks into her glass of wine.

“I’m working on it,” she says. That’s all I can ask. I walk through the dining room and head to the stairs to go check on Mia, who has been at home with Mom and Dad since the surgery. As I bend the corner, I see my father has come back into the house and is standing at the French doors.

“Don’t hurt my mother again,” I tell him. “I meant what I said.”

“You didn’t tell her that I was the one who introduced you to the lifestyle,” he says. His voice is defeated, but it could still be a veiled threat.

“Do you want me to tell her now?” I shoot. You’re not holding this over my head anymore.

“I just wanted to know why you didn’t tell her,” he asks, raising weary eyes to me. I sigh inwardly.

“I did tell her,” I say. “I didn’t blurt it out like a general public service announcement, but in so many words, I told her—and Dad, I think she already knows…”

“You can stop your sorry attempt at murmuring! I know!” Mom yells from the dining room. I twist my lips at my father.

“She knows,” I say sarcastically. “Don’t. Hurt my mom again.” I walk past him towards the stairs.

“Get your ass in there and grovel,” I add without looking back at him.


Briana Evigan Ch 27 2

GOLDEN

I’m standing in front of the ominous glass building, Grey House, trying to get the nerve to go inside. I’ve stood here many times before over the course of the past several months, never once daring to go inside. What the hell would I say to him? Why am I even here?

I know why I’m here… because I can’t get him out of my mind. We have unfinished business, but hell if I know how to finish it. He haunts my dreams when I’m asleep; he haunts my thoughts even when I’m with another client… another client. He’s not my client anymore. There’s absolutely nothing between us.

“Fuck,” I say, losing my nerve like I’ve done a million times before and turning to the parking structure.

“Ana!”

I turn towards the voice calling my name and there he is, walking down the street towards his building with Taylor close behind him… and now towards me.

Oh, shit.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. He raises his brow.

“This is my building,” he says, stating the obvious. I roll my eyes.

“No, I mean, what are you doing out here instead of up there?” He twists his lips. I’m positive that he wants to say none of your business, but he doesn’t.

“I was having lunch with a friend,” he says matter-of-factly. “What are you doing here?”

“I work downtown,” I say, a bit indignantly.

“No, what are you doing here?” he says, pointing in front of him and using my words against me. I don’t have an answer. I never got pass the point of meeting him face to face. I never came up with the magic Golden speech to give the poor suffering subject once I met him. So… here I am.

He reads my silence and puts his hand in the small of my back, effortlessly guiding me into the parking structure of his building. Is he sending me away again?

I soon find that he’s just moving us off the sidewalk and away from prying eyes. Taylor disappears somewhere as we walk to a secluded corner of the garage.

“What do you want, Golden?” he asks his voice low. Oh… Golden… we’re here again. I gird myself for the conversation ahead.

“I want to know why you sent me away,” I ask, the truth rushing out of my mouth before I have the chance to catch it.

“For the same reason that you sent me away,” he replies. “I couldn’t deal with it.”

“I never said I couldn’t deal with it…” I begin.

“Are you serious?” he interrupts. “You didn’t have to. Actions speak louder than gold and you made it perfectly clear that you were having all kinds of problems with everything happening between us. Your wiring short-circuited because of the kiss, and you went completely radio-silent after we had sex. You really think you needed to say you couldn’t deal with it?”

“Look, Christian,” I say, looking around the parking structure to make sure no one is around, “the only thing I was looking for is the respect that a Mistress is due!”

“I never disrespected you!” he retorts quietly.

“The hell you didn’t!” I counter angrily. “You showed up unexpected at my home and had the nerve to question me about a conversation that you shouldn’t have even been privy to! Any other time, there was a protocol when you left—it was how we operated. And you get all sensitive when I reacted the way that a Mistress would the next time I had you in my dungeon!”

“I was not your submissive!” he hisses. “I never will be!”

“And yet you and your kisses and your sex are supposed to change me?” I bark.

“Why do you keep saying that I’m trying to change you?” he demands. “I never gave you that impression! Not once! I can’t make you not be who you are any more than you can make me not be who I am. The only difference is that I didn’t know who I was until I got the full spectrum. One woman couldn’t satisfy me, because one woman couldn’t give me what I wanted—what I needed! Even after you beat the hell outta me, I needed to fuck… hard!

“Do you have any idea how many women I’ve fucked to your face? How many times I came into some deep, hot, tight orifice seeing you the entire time? It didn’t matter to me that you got some poor sucker off the day before or that you were getting him off right there and then. What mattered was that I was blasting the rocket’s red glare and I was seeing you! I was feeling your flogger on my back, smelling your smell, seeing your tight body and imagining that it was you wrapped around my cock! And then when you finally gave me what I wanted—sweet Jesus! I had hit Nirvana. Then you cut me off like a kid asking for a lollipop the day after Halloween… completely! Without a word. You and those fucking games! I can’t take those fucking games anymore!” He throws his hands up in the air. “Why am I even telling you this? It’s not like you fucking care!”

“Because I do care!” I yell at him. “I don’t want to, but I do! I don’t want to change who I am… who I was… but nothing makes sense anymore. I’m nothing like who I used to be. I can go through the motions. I can inflict the pain. I can make them come… but I’m not who I used to be! It’s not the same… something is missing. Something’s not right…”

I’m still a sadist and I’m still a Dominatrix, but I’m just not who or what I was. I simply can’t wring the pleasure from the experience that I used to… and I know why. Son-of-a-bitch, I know why. I don’t want to admit it and the words are ripping a hole in my chest, fighting to get out. They won’t be denied. I shriek in anger as I spew the confession burning in my throat and chest.

“Goddammit!” I sob. “Elena was right! She was right! You have spoiled me for other men! I’m ruined! I’ll never be the same! I’ll never fucking be the same! Damn you, Elena Lincoln! Damn you straight to hell! And damn you, too!” I yell at him as I make a B-line to my Range Rover. I dream about this man. I want this man. I can’t function properly without this man! What the fuck am I supposed to do now?


c50b50fe03562a62f3e07c4fdd3dfb38

TREY

She’s running away… again! She’s basically told me that she can’t live without me and now, she’s trying to run again.

I’m behind her before I can stop myself. I reach her right before she gets to her truck and snatch her back into my arms. She’s still weeping when I cover her lips with mine, branding her lips with a searing kiss. They’re salty and soft and irresistible, and when she wraps her arms around me and returns the kiss, I back her against her truck and press my body into hers, taking all of her that I can in case she gets away.

What the fuck am I doing? Why the fuck am I even doing this to myself? Because she’s goddamn addictive, and now that I’ve had her, I can’t think of anything else!

“I love you and I hate you!” I seethe as I bury my face in her neck. “Why do I let you do this to me!”

She’s still sobbing as I take mouthfuls of her flesh, tasting her everywhere my lips can reach, her weeping only ceasing when I take her lips.

“Why don’t you turn me loose?” I question against her lips, my hand thrust in her hair and holding her captive as I reposition my lips and feast on her neck.

“I… can’t!” she chokes. “I tried… I… keep trying… I can’t!”

Her hands thrust into my hair and I kiss every part of her that I can reach, fighting not to ravish her right here in the parking lot.

Breathe, Grey, breathe. Think about this. Think about what you’re doing.

I close my eyes and press my forehead against hers and we’re both panting like marathon runners, her breaths mingled with tearful whimpers.

“What are we supposed to do with this?” I breathe fiercely.

“I… don’t know,” she says in a sobbing voice. “I’m out of my element here.”

“I can’t take your fucking games, Ana,” I admit, my voice still harsh while I hold her close to me. “You’re hot for me one minute and the next minute, you’re cold, aloof, and invisible.”

“I know, I know,” she says, her voice helpless.

“I’d rather you walk away from me forever than to keep me on that goddamn rollercoaster. Let me go and let me get you out of my system… out of my blood!” I squeeze her harder with every word, my fingers digging into her body.

“No… no… please…” Her fingers tighten in my hair and I slam my lips against hers again, our teeth clashing together as our tongues hungrily search for each other, driving fiercely into each other’s mouth and devouring unspoken words.

I told her I loved her. Did I mean that? Did I mean that I love her or that I love what she does to me?

I break our kiss. We need to talk. We can’t do this here… none of this.

“Meet me at my penthouse,” I breathe raggedly against her lips. “Twenty minutes. We have to… work this out.”

She quickly nods at me with wide, glassy, brown eyes. I take a deep, ragged breath and release it before I let her go. I turn away from her and walk to the elevator, thrusting my hands into my hair on the way. What the fuck am I getting myself into? Wouldn’t it just be simpler to send her the fuck away? She’d just come back… like she did today.

“Ana?” I say, turning to face her. She hasn’t moved from her spot, but she quickly raises her head to look at me.

“Don’t play with me,” I say finitely. “If you’re not there when I get there, I’ll never see you again.” I mean it. I don’t have time for her games. She nods at me with a tearful sniffle.

*-*

About 45 minutes after I leave Ana in the parking garage at Grey House, I arrive at the lobby of Escala. I don’t know why I waited so long. I think I was just stalling, certain that she was playing with me again and that she wouldn’t be there—that she was stringing me along with her Golden lasso like Wonder Woman, leaving me totally helpless to her powers once again.

When I exit the elevator from the parking garage and walk into the lobby, she’s sitting there waiting for me, watching the front of the building like she expects me to walk in the front door. I guess she did.

“Ana,” I call out firmly to her. Her head snaps in my direction and she stands immediately. Her stride doesn’t have that confidence that I’m accustomed to. She’s not weak or anything, but that edge isn’t there. That edge that I love and hate.

Love and hate.

When she reaches me, I take her hand and wordlessly head to the elevator. Jason is already in the penthouse having gone up before me. So, she and I ride silently to the penthouse. The air is so thick in the elevator, you can hardly breathe. I stare at her while she stares at the numbers above us, rising to indicate that we’re headed for the top floor. When the bell rings and the doors open, she’s gotten a bit of her stride back and she slowly walks into the foyer. I follow behind her, reaching around her to open the doors of my penthouse.

She takes a deep breath and walks inside, immediately placing her purse on the sofa closest to the door. It’s the middle of the afternoon and my apartment is a ghost town—nobody expects us to be here.

I close the door behind me and walk over to her. She has her back to me and I total intend to ask if she wants something to drink for our talk, but she turns around and looks up at me, lips parted, brown eyes wide and wanting.

Shit! Fuck now, talk later.

I gather her in my arms, lifting her off the floor before she has the chance to think or protest. I burn her lips with a passionate kiss as I hurriedly carry her to my bedroom. I kick the door closed and place her feet on the floor. We stop kissing only long enough to remove our respective suit jackets and shirts. She quickly tugs at… something, and her hair releases from a tight bun and cascades down her back.

Fuck. I need her now.

She’s back in my arms and I’m undoing her skirt as she loosens my belt and unzips my fly. Both pieces of clothing fall down our legs and we each step out of them and our shoes, leaving them in mounds on the floor.

Lifting her in my arms again, I carry her to my bed, still hungrily devouring her kisses and I sit on the edge, forcing her to straddle me. I feel the heat of her core between us and my cock is hardening fast. I reach under her hair and unhook her bra, causing her breasts to spill out freely. I take one of her nipples into my mouth, taunting, teasing and tasting it. She gasps and drops her head back. I put my hand into the small of her back, holding her down onto my erection as I tease her nipple to tautness.

She whimpers loudly, the ends of her hair brushing my hand as I immobilize her against my body, against my cock. I put my other hand flat on her spine, move my mouth over to the other nipple, and begin to grind into her, against her exposed clit through her silk panties. She gasps loudly and thrusts her hand into my hair. She tries to move, but I have her firmly pressed against me, burning that clit with my rock-hard cock.

I’m going to make you come, Ana.

With nowhere to go, she drops her head back again and settles in for the ride. I suck her nipples hard, occasionally giving one or the other a gentle nip. Her whimpering becomes wheezing and her grip on my hair tightens. Moments later, her body stiffens and she’s crying out her orgasm. Her stiffening body begins to tremble as I continue to grind into her, squeezing out every single pulse of that clit. When her legs tighten against my thighs and she falls shivering against my body, I know that she’s had enough.

I stop my ministrations against her and lay her panting body on the bed. I remove her panties, suspenders and stockings all in one slow but efficient motion, tossing them in the mound of clothes we’ve created next to my bed. Giving her a brief moment to catch her breath, I remove my boxer briefs and socks, and they join the pile as well. I crawl back onto the bed and settle between her legs, the smell of her sex juices assaulting my senses. I use my nose to separate her lips and inhale deeply, blowing gently on her clit when I exhale. Her back bows and she grabs handfuls of the bedsheet.

I won’t make her cum again this way, but I’ll get her good and ready.

I am merciless on that clit. I mean, I am seriously porno-licking this pussy. Saliva is mixing with her juices from her orgasm and dripping down to her asshole. I use my fingers to spread the juices to her lips and tease her opening as my tongue torments the tip and underside of her clit. She nearly growls with pleasure as she arches into my mouth.

“Ah! Ah!” she cries as I fuck her with my tongue and suck her cunt until she’s trembling on the bed. I eat that pussy until her cries change and become high-pitched, then I crawl up her body, pushing her legs open with mine. I entwine my fingers into hers and pin her hands down on the bed. I gyrate my hips until the head of my cock finds the opening of her pussy. It takes all I have not to thrust into her balls deep, but I’m so fucking hard that I’m certain I’ll hurt her if I do… no matter how wet she is. I push into her, slow but hard.

Fuck, she’s just as tight as she was the last time.

I take a deep breath and push into her again.

Almost there…

I put pressure on my knees and push once more… hard. A squeaking noise comes from her throat this time and I pause, my cock buried balls deep inside her.

“You okay?” I ask, my voice and breath ragged. She’s panting underneath me, her eyes closed tight. “Ana?”

“Yes! Yes!” she says without opening her eyes. “Again!”

Her pussy is so hot and tight that I have to concentrate not to nut like a fucking teenager. I pull out of her—only halfway—and thrust deep into her again. She squeals softly again and the sound shoots straight to my dick.

“Again!” she breathes. “Don’t stop!”

Your fucking wish is my command.

I pull out of her halfway and plunge into her again… and again… and again. Her squeals become whimpers, then moans as I bury myself deep inside her over and over again and again, using our entwined hands for leverage. Jesus, it’s like we fit together perfectly, like nothing and no one I’ve ever felt in my life.

“Christian…” she breathes, turning her head to the side and closing her eyes. I bury my face in her neck and feast on her skin while I bury my cock deep inside her core. Unable to free her hands from mine, she wraps her legs around me and meets me thrust for thrust.

Goddamn, this shit feels so good.

“Christian… oh, God…” Her body bows again, and she locks her legs around my body. It doesn’t hinder my stroke, though. I’m thrusting freely and deeply into her now as she encourages me with various sex phrases…

“Yes…”
“Don’t stop…”
“Right there…”
“Again…”
“Please…”
“Oh, God…”

I’m getting hot and hard and my cock is just about ready to blow inside this soft, warm, tight pussy.

“Let me go… please… let me go…”

I release her hands and she wraps them under my arms and around my body, pulling me tight against her as she attempts to match my strokes.

“Kiss me… Christian… please…” she breathes. I put my hands on either side of her head and thrust my tongue into her mouth, licking and tasting and exploring as I stroke into her core with intent and purpose. My body is on fire.

She mewls into my mouth and strokes fast and hard on my dick, tightening her legs around me. When I feel her juices flowing and her walls tightening, I stroke deeper to pull her orgasm out of her, but then she bends her fingers and sinks her nails into my back, raking roughly across the skin.

“Fuuuucck!” I yell involuntarily against her mouth, my eyes closing tight from the pain, and my balls popping hard and emptying with force and anger inside her. I’m certain that she drew blood and if she didn’t, I have eight of the reddest tiger stripes across my back you’ve ever seen.

My back is throbbing with the pain… and so is my cock, giving up its final offering and I fall listlessly onto Ana’s panting body.


A/N: So, they sealed the deal again… but there’s still another chapter to go. What do you think?

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~~love and handcuffs

 

Fifty Shades Golden: Chapter 26

Two more chapters after this…

This is a work of creativity. As such, you may see words, concepts, scenes, actions, behaviors, pictures, implements, and people that may or may not be socially acceptable and/or offensive. If you are sensitive to adverse and alternative subject matter of any kind, please do not proceed, because I guarantee you’ll find it here. You have been warned. Read at your own risk.

Explicit details of sex and BDSM scenes from here on out. Some may be hot while others may not be to your taste… and not necessary CG with Ana together. Proceed at your own discretion, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you.

This ain’t your everyday Christian and Ana story. Don’t expect anything. Just read it as it goes along or go away. 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 new saga continues…

CHAPTER 26

Eric Dane 26

TREY

I didn’t get the whole lowdown on sexual activity once I’m released from the hospital, so I’m pretty sure that I’m just going to take it easy until I’m cleared by the doctor. In light of that, I have one last hurrah on Sunday night. I do every freaky thing in the book—anal, deep throat, titty fucks, you name it…

And I don’t come once.

I know it’s a combination of being worried about the surgery—if Mia will be okay, if there’ll be any complications for either of us—and the fact that I still have residual thoughts of Golden.

 

She let me call her Ana while we were maki… having sex. I don’t refer to her as that anymore.

I let Ronnie know that I’m going to be unreachable for about a month and a half so that she doesn’t think I’ve dropped off the face of the earth. I told her to call me if she needs me, but that I’m really going to be tied up in a very important project. Of course, she gave me a hard time about the pun. I’m really glad that we’re still friends.

I’ve already packed my bag and I’m heading out of the penthouse with Jason when I look back at Mrs. Jones standing in the kitchen. Her hands are clasped together, and her expression is unreadable. She’s clearly concerned. I hand my bag to Jason, walk over to her, and I take her clasped hands in mine.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell her with more conviction than I feel. “People do this all the time.” She nods quickly and looks at the floor.

“Yes, sir,” she whispers.

“I’ll need lots of your soup,” I say, trying to lighten the situation. She scoffs a chuckle-sob.

“Yes, sir,” she says again. I kiss her hands and she never raises her gaze to me. I quickly walk out the door with Jason before I get all emotional and lose my nerve.

When I get to the hospital on Monday morning, I have Jason wait in Admitting while I go see Mia. I’ve been here just about every other day to make sure that she’s okay. At first, she was surprised. Now, she’s accepting of it even though I think she may be kind of cautious. I still haven’t told anybody that I’m going to be her donor. Like Ronnie, I tell them that I had some important business that couldn’t be rescheduled.

“Wow, Christian,” Elliot jibes. “You couldn’t put your business on hold for even a minute to make sure your sister is going to be okay?” I ignore him. I could blow his entire world with three sentences right now…

“Why yes, brother, I did in fact put my business on hold to make sure that my sister is going to be okay. I’m her donor since you are somehow physically unfit to donate your kidney. Why don’t you tell us how that came about?”

That’s not the priority right now, however. Mom has that same question in her eyes as I move next to Mia’s bed.

“Hey, Pest,” I say, taking her hand.

“Hey, Lucifer,” she replies with a smile. She’s scared. I can tell.

“You ready?” I ask, sitting on her bed next to her. She shrugs.

“I really don’t have a choice, do I?” she laments.

“We talked about this,” I remind her. “You’re going to come through this okay, and you’re going to take better care of yourself, right?” She nods quickly.

“Right,” she whispers.

“Aw, isn’t this sweet?” Elliot chimes in. “Hell has officially frozen over. Lady Capulet and Lord Montague are playing nice and all we needed was a life-threatening emergency. Go figure.”

“Elliot, stop being such an asshole,” Mia says without looking over at Mom, which she usually does when she curses. I think we all know that she gets a few “gimmes” today.

“So, look, I really have to get going, but I know you’re gonna knock this thing outta the park. Just give it as much hell as you’ve given me.” She smiles weakly.

“Get better,” I say, trying to make a hasty getaway. She raises sad eyes to me.

“Come on,” she begins. “Admit it. Your life would be a whole lot simpler without me.” Her voice is maudlin with a touch of that sarcasm I know so well.

“Of course, it would,” I reply with a half-smile, “but I don’t want you to die… because it would also be quite boring.” I fight the urge to hug her. I’m sure that I’ll spill my guts if I do. “I gotta go, Pest. I gotta see a man about a dog.”

“Of course, you do,” she says, her sarcasm returning. She drops her head again and I can’t resist. If this doesn’t work out right, I may not see her alive again. I lean down and kiss her on the cheek. She raises surprised eyes to me that quickly soften when we make eye-contact.

Yeah, sis, I may not like you that much, but I do love you.

“What’s your hurry, bro?” Elliot taunts. “What could possibly be more important than your sister’s health?” I turn a hateful glare to him.  I could destroy him in front of everybody right now with the information that the doctor insinuated and come out the hero for giving up a perfectly functioning piece of my body to a woman who obviously hates me… well, hated me, but I don’t do that.

I don’t know how long I stand there glaring at him, but I watch as his expression changes under my cold stare. I don’t have time to play this game with him. I have to go and get checked in myself.

“Nothing,” I nearly growl in response, and I’m about to prove it when you can’t, you asshole. I leave the eerily silent room and, as usual, Elliot has to have the last word. He just wasn’t brave enough to say it in my face.

“Then, why are you leaving?” he yells out of the room. “She could die, you know!” I hear my mother scolding him.

“I’m aware of that, Asswipe,” I say lowly to no one. “That’s what I’m trying to prevent.”

I walk slowly down the hall and press the elevator button to head to admissions, pretending that this isn’t the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

*-*

You get this drunk, hungover feeling without the headache when you wake up from anesthesia. My mouth feels like cotton and my throat stings a bit.

“Mr. Grey, you’re awake,” some nurse says. “That’s good. Let me get some readings from you and the doctor will be in shortly.” I smack my chops trying to create some saliva in my arid mouth.

“Dry mouth?” she asks. I nod. “We’ll get you some water for that.” She marks something on her chart and leaves the room. I look around and see that I’m in what looks like a common recovery room. Well, I don’t like that.

“Sir?” I slowly turn my head and Taylor is walking into the recovery room. “Just checking on you, sir.” I gesture my hand around the room. “They’re going to be moving you to a private room soon, sir.”

Yeah, soon. The last thing I want is for my parents—or heaven forbid—Elliot or Mia to see me in here.

Mia!

My facial expression must have given it away.

“No one knows we’re here, sir,” he says, “so I haven’t been able to get any information on your sister.” I lay my head back on the pillow. I don’t even want to open my mouth.

“Mr. Grey, how do you feel?” The next voice I hear is a large black man in scrubs—our doctor. I open my mouth and point inside.

“You’re hungry?” he asks. “That’s new.” I make a gesture like I’m drinking something.

“Oh, you’re thirsty,” he says. “Well, that’s good. We’ll get you some water.” Like an angel from heaven, the nurse comes back with a picture of ice water and looks at the doctor for approval. He nods and she hands me the small picture.

“Small sips, Mr. Grey,” she says while helping me raise my head. My tongue and throat are saying, “That’s not gonna happen,” but when I get the straw to my mouth, my strength says, “Small sips.”

“Your stats are looking really good, Mr. Grey,” the doctor says. He shines that infernal light in my eyes, and I blink and glare at him. He does a couple of other things to test my reflexes and such. When my throat feels better and my head is slightly clearer, I’m able to form a word.

“Mia,” I say, my voice rough. The doctor looks up at me and raises his brow.

“It looks really good, Mr. Grey,” he says. “She’s tired as you would expect. Her resistance and immune system aren’t as strong as yours with the dialysis, but she’s looking good.”

I nod. The last thing I want is for her to go downhill, especially since part of me is inside her now.

A while later, I’m hungry and cantankerous, and I want to go to a private room. I’m tired of laying in this bed and I want some food. I’m wearing a catheter and I fucking hate it. After enough bellyaching, either they finally got my room ready or the squeaky wheel got the oil.

I’m in a wheelchair and Taylor is rolling me down the hall with the nurse walking close by—not my nurse, but a nurse. The minute we exit the recovery unit, I hear it before I see it. It’s the unmistakable raucous of the press. What the hell are they doing inside the hospital? The moment we round the corner, I see them, a cluster of them trying to get into one of the rooms. I’m only glad the poor bastard in the room ain’t me. I make to hide my face until I see something that causes me to cringe.

“What are you doing here? Get away! This patient has had major surgery and is trying to recover. What’s wrong with you people? How did you even get in here?”

That’s my doctor demanding that these vultures cease and desist. My doctor… Wait a minute! Does that mean…? He turns around and sees me in the wheelchair about 50 feet from him and his brown skin turns white. His expression tells me everything I need to know.

That’s Mia’s room.

And suddenly, I feel no pain… just pure rage.

I’m up out of that chair and storming down the hall before anybody can stop me. The catheter bag is dragging on the floor behind me and I don’t know what disconnected. Somewhere along the way I get my hands on a crutch from God only knows where and bellow at these fuckers as loud as I can… which turns out to be pretty loud for a guy who just gave up a kidney.

“Move the fuck outta my way!”

My voice carries over the clamor of the reporters and they all stop. A nurse rushes down the hall and moves to assist me.

“Get your hands off me!” I demand, and she nearly leaps away from me, startled. “How the fuck did they get in here?” I roar. “This is a goddamn hospital! Why the fuck are they here?”

“I… I don’t know, sir…”

“Get security and the police on the phone and do something!” I turn back to the press. “Get the fuck away from her room or I’ll start swinging crutches and anything I can get my hands on.”

“And we’ll sue you for everything you have, billionaire boy,” one of the reporters says.

“Good luck convincing a judge about a man in the hospital in a gown hours after giving his sister a kidney!” I raise the crutch and they begin to back away, enough for me to get into Mia’s room.

I walk in and there’s a nurse smiling for the cameras over a sleeping Mia.

“You!” I bark, and another nurse nearly jumps out of her skin. I read her badge and commit her name to memory. “I’m going to have your fucking life in the palm of my hands. Kiss your career goodbye!” With the crutch at the ready, I start swinging. Fuck a warning—I’ll blame the meds.

“Get the fuck outta my sister’s room!” I demand. The crutch cuts through the air and the crowd leaps back, Dammit, I missed every one of them. Now, I want blood. I swing again, but these bastards are fast.

“If I see one picture of me or my sister in the press, you will all sorely regret it! I promise you that!” I swing again and connect with a wall. Pain rings through my hand and wrist and shoots up my arm… the bad arm. Fuck, I forgot about that thing.

The crack of the metal crutch against the wall was enough to clear the room, except for the petrified nurse.

“You inconsiderate, hateful, selfish, heartless bitch!” I seethe. She takes a step back as I walk toward her. “How could you? How could you violate her privacy that way? She’s unconscious! Totally indisposed! What the fuck is wrong with you?” I’m angrily pointing at Mia to illustrate her helpless condition and when I throw a glance at her, she’s looking at me. I’m shocked to see her eyes open.

“Mia?” I squeak, caught off guard by her gazing at me.

“Chr… Christian…” she says weakly. “Wh… what are you… doing here?”

That’s right. She doesn’t know that I’m the one who gave her the kidney.

“I…” As soon as I try to formulate the words, something happens. My head gets fuzzy and starts to spin and I feel weakness in my body. I think I say something, I don’t know, but suddenly, all I see is darkness.

*-*

When I open my eyes, my head feels like lead. I can feel that irritating oxygen tube in my nose and I can’t move a muscle. My body weighs a ton. I’m trying to focus—it looks like I’m in a different room—more machines, more IV bags, more fucking tubes. Whatever happened, I ain’t gettin’ up no time soon.

I turn my head and try to focus on the form sitting next to my bed, but I can’t make it out for shit. Nobody but Taylor should know that I’m here, so maybe it’s a nurse.

Shit!

Mia knows I’m here now. She probably knows that I’m the one who gave her a kidney. So, there’s no telling who this is by my bed. I try to focus my eyes a little more, but it’s hard as hell. I can tell by the fuzziness that they’ve got me on some drugs. I fight harder to focus, and the blob begins to take form. These must be some really good drugs because that woman looks like Golden.

This is so unfair. When I’m at my weakest and can’t clear my mind enough to fend off thoughts of her, she haunts me in my drug-induced haze.

“Go away,” I manage. Maybe if I can fully wake up, I can make the apparition disappear.

“What?” Oh, dear Lord, and it speaks, too.

“Go away!” I say again. Haven’t you hurt me enough?

“I hurt you?” it asks. Did I say that aloud? Of course, I didn’t. Hallucinations are all in your head, so of course they can read your mind. I close my eyes and try to make her disappear. “I warned you not to fall in love with me, Chopper.”

Chopper. Fuck. I forgot all about that name.

“And as far as I knew, I didn’t,” I retort weakly, “but I like you enough to be confused. Now go away and stop haunting me.”

“Haunting you?” it asks. “What do you mean haunting you?

Oh, for fuck’s sake! I swat at the apparition, hoping it will dissipate and leave me the hell alone. A manicured hand reaches up and catches my wrist, stopping it cold before it gets anywhere near the apparition.

The apparition… what the fuck?

I glare at the hand, then into the face of one very angry madam.

Oh, hell, the haze is clearing up now!

I have no idea what expression is on my face, but whatever it is, hers morphs from anger to sheer confusion to questioning uncertainty. I, on the other hand, haven’t cleared the haze enough to know where or when I am, but I know one damn thing for sure.

“Mi… Mistress??”

7bd497e296c232ffba49c6bffa0997f6-briana-evigan-beautiful-things

GOLDEN

So, from what I can see, Linc is the primary suspect in his wife’s murder and the prosecutor’s office is looking for an indictment. This is a high-profile case, and they’re pressed to solve it.

The coroner’s report was gruesome. Elena died from blunt force trauma. The thing is… she didn’t just get cracked over the head and die. Somebody beat the hell out of her—brutally. The medical examiner is a friend of mine from college, and she gave me all the gory details.

Blondie was beaten and kicked and strangled mercilessly. Her body was bludgeoned so badly from head to toe that some of the strikes actually broke the skin on her body. Her face was so swollen that she was nearly unrecognizable. Although she was identified at the crime scene, her identity had to be officially confirmed by fingerprints and dental records.

After all of that, she took 15 blows and kicks directly to her head. That’s what killed her. The bleach was a means to clean the body of DNA and evidence. So far, it’s been pretty effective. However, since they discovered that Linc had motive, they’ve been on his ass, combing his financials, tracing his every step to pin it on him. His passport has been revoked—not seized, revoked. He can’t even go to Canada or Mexico. He even tried to move back into his house, but the police have it sealed off as a crime scene… even after all these months.

I really hope he did it—not because I’m that macabre or because I want to see him go down, but because they’re combing the very hairs in his asshole to find evidence against him. If they find out that he’s guilty, then he deserves it. If they don’t find anything or it turns out that someone else did it, he’ll be the victim of the biggest and worst persecution campaign I’ve ever seen in my life.

While spending the holiday with my father’s family—my family—I discovered that Reynard approached them first. I knew he had approached Richard, but I didn’t know he had approached the entire family. He displayed about the same amount of grace, poise, and tact with them as he did with me. Except for that empty shit he said leaving my house, he hasn’t made any real threats. Nonetheless, even though the Blondie threat is no longer an issue, I still keep Jesse around.

I come home one day after another big win and a heavy fee being transferred to my account to Blake preparing a delicious dinner.

“Well, this is wonderful,” I say.

“I’m sure you closed Hamilton and Ryers successfully, Mistress,” he says matter-of-factly.

“I did,” I say, trying to see what he’s preparing.

“Make yourself at home, Mistress. I will set the table.”

I change into jeans and a sweater and I return to the dining room. We have a delicious meal of gazpacho with pa amb tomàquet, paella, empanadas, and homemade churros for dessert. He tells me about his day while we eat, that his whore ex-wife has finally sold the house to a nice family, which means that the home will be used as it was intended at last. I tell him about the cocky male corporate lawyers who underestimated me once again. We’re toasting to my success when he rolls his eyes and reaches for his phone.

“I apologize, Mistress,” he says. “It’s incessant.” I try not to be irritated as he pulls out the phone and looks at it. He frowns, looks at me, then back at his phone.

“What?” I say.

“It’s nothing, Mistress,” he says, and puts his phone on the table. He begins to clear the dishes from the table, and his phone buzzes again… and again… and again.

“Blake, what is it?” I ask again.

“It’s nothing,” he says, putting his phone back in his pocket without looking at it.

“It’s clearly something. Your phone is buzzing like a ticking timebomb, now what is it?” His expression is a combination of melancholy, regretful, and angry… which is some fucking combination.

“What do you hear of Christian Grey these days?” he asks, and I’m totally taken aback to the degree that I jerk like someone just hit me.

“Are you telling me that your phone is going batshit because of Christian Grey?” I ask, nearly in horror. Blake doesn’t respond. “Who in the fuck is texting you like a goddamn crackhead over Christian Grey?” I ask sincerely irritated.

“They’re not texts, Mistress,” he confesses. “They’re more like… notifications.”

Notifications? What the… Never mind.

“I hear nothing of Christian Grey these days,” I say, pretending that I’m not fucking dying to know what those damn notifications are all about. “And I really don’t want to,” I add for effect.

“Mistress,” he sighs, “there’s something you should know.”

“What?” I ask, impatiently.

“It’s about Mr. Grey.” I roll my eyes.

“Look,” I begin. “I thought we had this conversation. Trey is no more. He doesn’t exist to me and I really don’t want to hear about him. What is your obsession with this man?”

“Permission to speak frankly, Mistress,” Blake says coolly.

“Not if you’re going to disrespect me,” I retort.

“I would never do that, Mistress, but I am going to say something that you may not want to hear.” I cross my arms. Fine, fire away.

“Permission granted,” I say firmly.

“He does exist,” Blake says. “He’s a walking, breathing person right here in the county where you live. He has affected you and although you may deny his existence, he’s alive and kicking and still on this side of eternity. He has permeated that shell that you’ve erected for everyone else that doesn’t work with me. I know you care for him and that he has affected you and you think of him often because you’ve changed—not enough for anyone else to see, but enough for me.”

I’ve changed alright. I’ve changed back to who and what I was before I met Trey—to that sadistic, hedonistic goddess that has my clients clamoring for me. There’s not a damn thing wrong with that.

“Are you finished?” I shoot.

“Not quite,” he says softly. “You’re right. I am obsessed with Christian Grey—the same way that I’m obsessed with Caldwell Lincoln, Reynard Stamper, Kevin Sheardon, and the same way that I was obsessed with the late Richard Steele and Elena Lincoln. I’m obsessed with these people only to the degree that they affect you. And he affects you, so I just keep tabs on him from time to time.”

“Well, there’s no need,” I say flatly. “I’m fully aware of Christian Grey’s new love interest and it doesn’t affect me,” I say with more conviction than I feel.

“Well, that’s good to hear, but you may be interested in knowing that he’s not with his new love interest anymore. The relationship didn’t last three weeks. They’re good friends now, but not lovers.”

Are you kidding? I don’t talk to the man for months and he hooks up with someone for three weeks—three fucking weeks—and I see them during that damn three weeks? That shit knocked me completely off my square, made me totally doubt everything I was and everything I felt, and they weren’t together for three fucking weeks. This is why I don’t get attached. That shit is too damn messy.

“Well, I’m sorry for him that his relationship didn’t work out. This has nothing to do with me, and I’m weary of this conversation.” I turn to leave.

“One more thing before we conclude… please, Mistress.” I roll my eyes and turn back to my errant submissive. If it were the nature of our relationship, I would chain him to the ceiling and lash him until he wept.

“Yes?” I seethe.

“Are you at all familiar with the term nephrectomy?” I frown.

“No,” I reply, waiting for him to get to the point.

“It’s the procedure where one of your kidneys is removed.” My eyes widen.

“What?” I say just above a whisper. “Are you trying to tell me that Christian has renal failure?”

“No, but his sister does, so he donated one of his kidneys to her.” He pauses. “I’m still a little gray on the details—no pun intended—but something happened, and he’s had some complications. He’s not doing well.”

I suddenly feel my throat constrict. Something’s happening in my chest and I feel a bit lightheaded. My arms fall to my side as I attempt to appear unaffected.

“What hospital is he in?” I ask.

“Seattle General,” Blake informs me. I take a deep breath and purse my lips.

“Send some flowers,” I say before turning and leaving the room.

“Yes, Mistress,” I hear from the room I just left. I ascend the stairs, go into my bedroom and close my door. I almost can’t breathe. Christian is in the hospital, he’s short one kidney, and he’s having complications. What kind of complications? Why didn’t I ask that question before I left the room? What if he doesn’t make it? Will I be okay? I said that he didn’t exist to me, but is that what I really want? What if he really didn’t make it? What if he dies?

What was that you said about not getting attached?

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and grab my car keys.

*-*

“He hasn’t had any visitors,” the nurse says. She didn’t want to give me any information, but I effectively convinced her that I’m close friends with him and just wanted to make sure that he was okay. “He didn’t list anyone as next of kin except his bodyguard, Jason Taylor. His sister didn’t even know that he gave her a kidney until the anesthesia wore off and she’s been in no condition to come and see him, so…” She trails off. Even though she didn’t give me everything, she may have still given me too much information.

“I’ll make sure that his family knows,” I tell her. She raises a brow at me.

“You’re associated with the family?” she asks. I nod.

“I know his father very well,” I tell her. “We’re colleagues.” She looks at me skeptically.

“The judge?” she questions.

“Yes,” I say, reaching into my purse and giving her a business card. “Like I said, we’re colleagues.” Her expression softens as she reads my business card.

“Oh,” she says. I’m startled by a somewhat familiar voice down the hall.

“Ms. Olivet?” I turn to see that a confused Taylor is coming down the hall with two coffees in his hand. I turn to the nurse.

“Thank you,” I say with a nod.

“You’re welcome,” she says softly. I walk towards Taylor.

“How is he?” I ask when I close the space between us. At first, he doesn’t answer. “Taylor? How is he?”

“He…” he begins. Then he breezes past me to a door where another guy is standing. He hands him one of the coffees, then peeks into the room. Expressionless, he comes back over to me and gestures me to a community waiting area.

“Have you seen him?” he asks.

“No,” I reply. “What’s happening? I know that he gave a kidney to his sister.” He looks at me in surprise. This must have been the world’s best kept secret if his family didn’t know—not even the sister who received the kidney. Taylor is looking at me now no doubt wondering how I found out. Don’t look at me; I’m trying to figure out how Blake found out.

“Taylor, please tell me before my imagination starts running away with me,” I beg, trying not to sound too desperate.

“He had some trauma only hours after he left surgery,” he begins. “Right before they were to remove the catheter, he discovered that the press was in his sister’s room. An unscrupulous guard apparently colluded with an equally unscrupulous nurse and… the rest is history. Mr. Grey physically kicked them out of Mia’s room and collapsed shortly thereafter. Apparently, once his adrenaline dropped, he succumbed to his condition. There was some tearing, some internal bleeding, something about a fistula or something… They had to take him back to surgery. He… he’s been out for three days. He’s not comatose, but he should be awake by now.”

“And you haven’t called his family, Taylor?” I scold. “Really?” He avoids my gaze. “I know Carrick Grey,” I tell him, and his eyes rise to mine.

“For God’s sake, Taylor, he may not wake up! If you don’t tell his family what’s going on with him, goddammit, I will. And I think they would rather hear this from someone that they’re somewhat familiar with than a total stranger, but if you can’t do it, I guarantee you that I can have Carrick Grey’s home number in twenty minutes.” I sit there folding my arms. He rolls his eyes.

“I’ll call his mother,” he cedes.

“You better,” I warn. “I’ll put my guy on getting that number just in case.”

“I’ll call her,” he says like an errant child, and I believe him. I nod.

“Can I go in and see him… or should I just leave?” He twists his lips and shakes his head.

“I really don’t know,” he says. “He’s… different lately… even before the surgery.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Go,” he says, scrolling through his phone. “Go in before I lose my nerve to make this call.” He puts the phone to his ear, and I walk to the door that I assume is Christian’s. “Ms. Olivet?” I turn back to him.

“If I find myself unemployed, I’ll be knocking at your door for a job.” I have to suppress a smile as he turns back to his call. “Mrs. Grey?… Hello, ma’am, this is Jason Taylor… Yes, Christian’s security…” I leave him to his call and make eye contact with the guy standing at the door before I go inside.

the-tragic-demise-of-mark-sloan-1518199391

I’m not prepared for the sight that greets me. He looks weaker and more helpless than I’ve ever seen him. There’s a tube down his throat helping him breathe and he’s attached to more machines than I’ve ever seen on one person. Jesus, is he dying?

I sit next to his bed and say nothing. What can I say?

Hiya Chopper, remember me? I was your Domme once, but we had sex and it blew my mind. I didn’t know how to handle it or you, so I cut you off, but now that I think you might be dying, I’m back. So, how the hell are ya?

I sit there for several minutes, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat on the monitor. It’s comforting… somewhat. At least he’s still here.

He’s still here…

“He does exist. He’s a walking, breathing person right here in the county where you live. He has affected you and although you may deny his existence, he’s alive and kicking and still on this side of eternity. He has permeated that shell that you’ve erected for everyone else…”

How do I deal with this? I’m not satisfied anymore with this life. I want… something else. But this? Can I give up who I am for this? Do I want that? Does he even want that?

My thoughts are interrupted by the door opening, followed by the ceremonious entering of what looks like doctors and nurses.

“His numbers look better and his saturation… Who are you?” I stand from my seat.

“I’m… a friend,” I reply.

“Mr. Grey asked not to have any visitors,” the doctor says firmly.

“It’s okay,” Taylor says coming into the room behind the doctors and nurses. “Ms. Olivet, if you’ll come with me, the staff need to do some things for Mr. Grey.” He holds his hand out to me. I look back at Christian and weave through the inquisitive faces with an “excuse me” or two before joining Taylor.

“What’s going on? Can you tell me?” I ask as we walk toward the community area again.

“Well, the good news is that his stats are looking better,” Taylor says, guiding me past the community area and to the elevator. Is he kicking me out? “They want to remove his catheter and his breathing tube.”

I sigh and try to appear unaffected… again. The elevator rings and he gestures for me to get inside. I want to say something like, “Tell him I was here,” or “Don’t tell him I was here.” Instead, I just step inside. To my surprise, he steps inside with me.

What does he think? That I’m going to troll around the hospital or something? He presses the button for the first floor and continues what he was saying.

“The bleeding has stopped from what they can see, but there were some other complications that went way over my head. It was touch and go for a while, but any improvement is better than unconscious for three days.”

The elevator rings on the first floor and he gestures for me to exit. I leave and turn towards the outside doors.

“Wrong way, Ms. Olivet,” he says. When I turn around, he’s standing at the elevator gesturing in the opposite direction. I don’t question. I follow him and he leads me to the cafeteria as he continues to apprise me of Christian’s condition.

“Would you like something?” he asks. “Some food or some juice or coffee?” He gets two more coffees and I frown.

“You guys drink a lot of coffee,” I say. “Didn’t you just bring coffee a couple of minutes ago?” He frowns.

“No, I got coffee for us when you went in to see Mr. Grey,” he says, bemused.

“That’s what I said,” I reply, equally bemused. He pauses.

“Do you know how long you’ve been in there?” he asks. I shrug. I don’t even remember what time I got here. His expression softens.

“Would you like a muffin… or a Danish? Something else?” he asks. “A bagel, maybe?”

“Taylor, how long have I been in that room?” I ask him.

“About three hours,” he says matter-of-factly. “There are salads and sandwiches on the other side, or maybe you’d like something hot?”

What the fuck?!?

“Three hours?” I say horrified. “You gotta be kidding!”

“No, ma’am, and I’m certain that very soon, his parents are going to be here.” I roll my eyes and rub my neck.

Don’t get attached. Yeah, sure.

“Do they have corned beef?”

*-*

“Taylor, how long has he been like that?”

An older, beautiful blonde woman is grilling Taylor about Christian’s condition. She looks terribly worried and I deduce that this must be Christian’s mother.

“About three days, ma’am,” Taylor replies. “He’s doing much better than he was.”

“Much better?” the woman exclaims. “He was worse? He looks like he’s dying!” My sentiments exactly.

“Please, Mrs. Grey, let me take you to talk to the doctor. I’m certain that he’ll put your fears to rest.” Taylor begins to lead Mrs. Grey away just as the elevator rings.

“Grace!” I hear a familiar voice call.

“Cary,” her voice cracks. I drop my head so that my hair falls over my face and watch through my tresses as Carrick Grey opens his arms to accept his wife in a warm embrace. She weeps gently on his shoulder as he rubs her back and comforts her. The inner me rolls my eyes at the display. The outer me can’t help but gaze at them in awe of their love and care for each other and wonder what it must be like to have that. After more than three decades on earth, I’ve never had that.

Judge Grey puts his arm around his wife, and they follow Taylor down the hall. Goddammit, these feelings! I don’t want these fucking feelings! Why the hell can’t they just leave me alone?

It would be so easy to just stand up, go downstairs, walk the hell out of here and don’t look back. So, why can’t I just fucking do it?

“Ms. Olivet?”

Taylor is rousing me from my sleep. My head feels like a rock and there’s a crick in my neck. I fell asleep in the chair in the waiting room.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“It’s just after 2am,” he says. “My replacements are here and I’m about to call it a night. Why don’t you go home and get some rest now?”

I stretch and look around. The staff appears to have changed and there’s no one in the waiting room.

“Are his parents still in there?” I ask. He shakes his head.

“They’ve gone to see Mia. Then, they’re going home for the night.” I nod.

“I’m confused,” I say. “Why didn’t his sister tell his parents what he did and that he was here?” He shakes his head and sighs.

“They’re a strange family, Ms. Olivet,” he replies. “I couldn’t answer that question for you because I don’t know.” I nod again.

“Maybe I’ll just go in and say goodnight,” I say, standing and cracking my stiff joints. Taylor nods and walks with me to the door. He holds it open and I go inside. Christian looks a lot better now. That tube is gone, and he has the small oxygen tube in his nose. He looks like he’s sleeping now as opposed to dead.

I sit in the chair and gaze at him again. He’s such a handsome man. He looks so peaceful, but still very weak and vulnerable. I’m just feeling sympathy for him, that’s all. It’s nothing more than that. I don’t want him to die and I’m concerned about him. That’s all this is…

“Go away…” I hear a frail voice say. I slip out of my daydream and focus on wet, gray eyes groggily gazing at me.

980x“What?” I ask. I’ve been here for hours worrying about your ass, afraid that you were going to die, sleeping in a very uncomfortable waiting-room chair and your first words to me are go away, you ungrateful asshole?

“Go away!” he repeats. “Haven’t you hurt me enough?”

Are you kidding? Is he serious? He knew what this was.

“I hurt you?” I ask incredulously. He doesn’t reply. He just closes his eyes tight, like he’s trying to wish me away. “I warned you not to fall in love with me, Chopper.”

“And as far as I knew, I didn’t, but I like you enough to be confused. Now go away and stop haunting me.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Haunting you?” What the fuck? “What do you mean haunting you?

He raises his hand and swats at me like he’s trying to swat away a fly. You disrespectful… I grab his flailing wrist and hold on tight. You better put that thing away. You’re short one vital organ. You want to be short a limb, too?

He stares at my hand grasping his wrist in disbelief, then up at me—and I am pissed. How dare you fucking swing at me, you insolent…

But his face… he’s horrified. It’s like he’s seeing a ghost, or death itself has walked into the room. He’s silent for several moments before he breathes, “Mi… Mistress?”

Oh, shit. How did that happen? Does he regularly talk to manifestations of me? Should I be afraid? Instead, I just sigh and shake my head.

“I’m not your Mistress anymore, Chopper… Trey,” I say, placing his arm gently back on the bed. I only ever really called him Chopper during a scene—maybe a few other times.

“I know… I mean…” His voice is still weak. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you weren’t well,” I say, crossing my legs and girding up my armor, “or I should say I heard that you weren’t doing well.”

“How did you hear that?” he asks. “Are you having me followed?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I reply. “I know people who know people…”

“But no people knew I was in here, so how did you know? My parents don’t even know.”

Somebody knew,” I tell him, “and your parents know now.”

“What?” he shoots, and his monitors spike. I stand and put my hands on his chest.

“You need to calm down,” I tell him. “You became upset and from what I understand, you may have attacked some reporters. You ripped your sutures—inside and out—and you put yourself at risk. A lot of people thought you may not make it. You’ve been out for nearly four days. I know your father—he’s presided over a lot of my cases. I threatened Taylor that if he didn’t call him, I would. Taylor and I both agreed that it would be better that they hear this news from someone that they know as opposed to hearing it from a stranger.”

“Let’s see if he still feels that way when I fire his ass,” he croaks.

“Then, he’ll just come and work for me,” I say, and Christian glares at me. “If I was a mother, I would very much rather come and see my very alive son who may not be doing well than to come to the hospital and identify his remains when I didn’t even know that he was sick, much less that he gave my daughter a kidney.”

“You know too damn much,” he squeaks. You’re right. I do.

“Are you in pain? Do you need any pain meds?”

“Yes, and yes,” he says, laying his head back on the bed. I press the button for the nurse. He tries to adjust himself in the bed, but he can’t move. A few moments later, a petite nurse enters the room.

“Mr. Grey,” she says, her voice bubbly. “Ma’am,” she nods at me and I nod back before she comes to the side of the bed. “You’ve decided to join us. How do you feel?” She looks at his chart and some of the machines.

“In pain… and I’m thirsty,” he croaks. She nods.

“Let me get the doctor and we’ll see what we can get you, okay?” She proceeds to check his pulse and blood pressure, looks at his IV bag and checks some other stats.

“Glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Grey. Your vitals look good and I’ll be right back with the doctor.” She smiles and nods at me again before leaving the room.

Christian and I are completely silent for several minutes. Neither of us knows what to say to each other. When I thought he was dying, I could think of nothing but getting to him, being by his side. Now that I know he’ll be fine, I just want to get the hell away from him—put as much distance between us as possible.

“Mr. Grey, hello. We must stop meeting like this…” The doctor comes into the room and starts talking to Christian, and I take this moment to make my getaway.

“Mi… Go… Ana!” He’s coherent enough to go through all of my names before I make it to the door. He’s still weak and fragile, but his eyes are beseeching. I give him a weak smile.

“I’ll check on you,” I say softly. I turn away and walk out before I lose my nerve and stay. I look at the guard at the door—some guy I don’t know—and he gives me a nod. I turn away and walk to the elevator.

What was the purpose of this exercise? I keep asking myself that question during the entire ride home. I went running to this man’s beside like… like… like he meant something to me. Why the hell did I do that? The minute I saw that he was going to be okay, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. So, why did I go in the first place?

I sit in front of my house for several minutes when I get home. I’m seeing Judge and Mrs. Grey, holding each other warmly in the hospital hallway when they didn’t know what was going on with Christian. It was very tender and loving, and you could tell that they cared for each other very deeply. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be dependent on anybody and I don’t want anybody to be dependent on me… do I? I look at my front door and see Blake there waiting for me to come in. I sigh heavily, open the door and step out of the truck. I close and lock the door behind me and proceed towards the only man in the world who can see right through me.


Image result for eric dane in bed

TREY

I should have known. I don’t know why I was surprised. Day one and day two, I watched that door. I asked Taylor if he had heard anything from her or seen her, or even if she asked if I were dead or alive. Nothing. Nothing at all. Day three, I have a lovely showdown with my family… in a fucking hospital bed.

“Christian,” Mom says, her voice pained, “why didn’t you tell us? They just told us that they had found a donor. They didn’t tell us that it was you.”  I can’t come up with an answer for her.

“I asked you,” she accuses. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you, Mom, I avoided the truth,” I defend.

“It’s the same thing, Christian!” she says, fighting back her tears. “I could’ve lost two of my children and I wouldn’t have known until they were gone!” She covers her mouth and turns away. Dad raises his eyes to me.

“This was an incredibly selfless thing that you did, son,” he says, sounding more fatherly than I’ve heard him sound in decades, “and very foolish to do on your own. Your mother needs to know… and I need to know… why?” I sigh and try to rely on divine intervention to give me an answer, but I realize that nothing is going to suffice but the truth.

“I don’t know why Mia hates me,” I begin, “but she does, or at least she did. It can’t just be Harvard. It can’t. There has to be something else. I’ll never find out what that is, but she hated me. If she knew that she was getting my kidney, she might’ve said ‘no’ just to spite me. She would’ve thought I would try to use it to hold over her head, like she would be indebted to me for the rest of her life! And she would’ve said ‘no.’ Then what? She goes back to the end of the list and hopes for another kidney because she turned down a perfectly good one. And then we hope that she finds one before she dies? I couldn’t take that chance. We couldn’t afford for that to happen!”

“Is that what you thought?”

I hear Mia’s voice and look over at the door. She’s sitting in a wheelchair just outside the threshold.

“You thought I hated you so much that I wouldn’t take your kidney?” I sigh. Jesus, she wasn’t supposed to hear that.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” I scold.

“No,” she retorts. “I’m doing a hell of a lot better than you because I wasn’t swinging crutches at people three hours after surgery.” Oh, shit, she saw that. “You really thought that, Christian? That I wouldn’t accept your kidney?”

“And once again, the golden boy has to take the spotlight,” Elliot jeers. “You weren’t the only kidney, Mr. Perfect. Did you forget I was a match, too?” God, did he have to use that word? I’m still not 100% sure her visit wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

“Then why didn’t you give your kidney?” I ask. I won’t out him, but if he keeps it up…

“Oh, because billionaire boy beat me to it!” he snaps.

“How was that possible when they tested you first?” I ask. “The doctor told me that I was the perfect match—the perfect choice to save Mia and to extend her life. Now, why would they even need to test me if they had already found a match with you?” Drop it, Elliot.

“Most likely because of his cocaine use,” Dad blurts out. Elliot’s head whips over to Dad and my eyes transform to the size of saucers.

“Dad? Seriously?” Elliot accuses.

“Yes, seriously!” Dad retorts. “I’ve had enough of you walking around here like you’re so goddamn high and mighty. This isn’t about you!”

“Dear God, Elliot! Cocaine?” Mom exclaims horrified. “How long? Never mind! Never mind! I don’t want to know.” Elliot smiles nervously.

“Chill out, Mom,” he says in that slimy voice that he uses to make your skin crawl. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s just a little nose candy.”

“I’m not hearing this!” Mom says, throwing her hands up. “I am not hearing this.” She turns to Dad. “Carrick? You knew?” Dad sighs.

“Unfortunately, I did,” he says to her before turning to me. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t!” I reply, awestruck. “The doctor wouldn’t tell me, but he was adamant that I was Mia’s best chance of survival even though we were both a match.” Elliot is clearly floundering, so instead of walking that plank that he was standing on and taking his medicine like a man, he decides to shoot a hole in the bottom of the boat.

“Well, since we’re telling secrets,” he says with a devious smile, “I suppose you already know that Christian is into that same shit Dad was into.”

You can actually hear the skin ripping as his knife sinks into the bodies of nearly every person in the room and drags down their torsos, spilling fresh blood onto a sterile floor.

“Wha…?” Mom shrieks. Dad and I quickly look at each other and have a silent conversation about what really needs to be said here. Elliot is looking to drag everybody down with him, even if it destroys Mom in the process.

“Christian, is this true?” Mom shrieks. I screw up my courage and spit it out.

“Yes, Mom, it’s true,” I say impassively, “but Mom, you can’t be angry with me. I’m a consenting adult. This was after Juliet—I wasn’t in a committed relationship, so nobody was hurt. I shielded you, the family, and everybody from it, and if it wasn’t for Chicken Little over there, you still wouldn’t know.”

“How did Chicken Little know?” Dad asks.

“I heard the two of you talking,” Elliot says victoriously, and Mom turns her horrified glare to Dad. Oh, great.

“I asked questions, Mom,” I clarify. “It was no secret that he was familiar with the lifestyle and I was curious. I didn’t want to go wandering off into some crazy cult shit… so I asked.”

Mom looks back and forth between me and Dad, not sure which of us to be angry with more, no doubt, but Elliot’s not done yet.

“Yeah, Dad has dirt on everybody. He’s been holding us hostage for years. So, since my secret is out, let’s lay everybody’s dirty laundry on the table. So, what about the Little Princess over there—Little Miss Throw-Everybody-In Judgment? What’s the dirt on Mia?” Elliot says snidely.

“You just saw the dirt on Mia,” Dad hisses without looking at him, then turns to Mom.

“Mia’s been on dialysis for the last seven years. You’d already been through so much we didn’t want to tell you. Of course, it got to the point where we couldn’t keep it a secret anymore.”

Seven years… dear God. Even I didn’t know that. It wasn’t that she wasn’t taking care of herself. It was just that… she was waiting. It was time.

“Secrets,” my mother chokes through her tears. “Secrets and lies! That’s all this family is built on—secrets and lies!” She runs out of the room in tears. Dad sighs mournfully and looks down at Mia.

“Are you okay?” he says softly. She shrugs.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m glad it’s out. We’ll work on the rest later.” Dad takes her hand and looks over at me. I give him a half shrug to indicate that I’m indifferent about the whole thing, but there are really no hard feelings. He raises angry eyes to Elliot but says nothing. Then he leans down to kiss Mia’s cheek, releases her hand, and leaves the room, most likely to go find Mom. I turn to Elliot.

“Well, congratulations,” he sneers. “You’re the golden boy once again.” And there’s that word. I glare at him.

“You thought I was leaving her hanging for a business trip, and I was shit. You find out that I gave her a goddamn kidney, and I’m still shit.” I just look at him and shake my head.

“Get the fuck outta my room, Elliot,” I say with no emotion. I’m totally done with my brother, and I have nothing else to say on the matter. He gazes at me for a moment, then at Mia who has her back to him and hasn’t raised her head, and wordlessly leaves the room. Mia wheels over to me.

“It’s Harvard, Christian,” she says, placing her hand on the bed on top of mine but still not raising her eyes. “It’s always been Harvard. I resent you… resented you because I didn’t get a chance to go. Everything fell apart between Mom and Dad right after you dropped out, and I didn’t get a chance to go. It was my dream to go to Harvard, and I felt like you took it away from me. I resented you, but I don’t hate you. I never hated you.” She sniffles.

“When I saw you in that room with that crutch, swinging it at strangers and cursing out some nurse with your ass hanging out…” I try not to laugh. That’ll be in somebody’s paper if it’s not already. “… All I could think was, ‘What the hell is he doing here?’ When I finally shook the anesthesia, the doctor told me that you had given me your kidney and that you weren’t doing too well.” Her voice cracks on the last words. I swallow hard.

“You looked so weak every time I came to see you,” she squeaked. “I kept thinking, ‘He gave me the kidney to make up for stealing my chance to go to Harvard.’ I just wanted you to wake up, so I could say ‘thank you’ and ask you why you didn’t want me to know… but when I came in and heard the real reason…” She trails off and begins to weep. I turn my hand over and grasp hers in mine. She’s been crying a lot these days, and I don’t know if I can get used to it. She’s always been outspoken, and she can be a real pill, but I’ve never seen soft Mia.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry. How can I ever make this up to you?” I squeeze her hand.

“By taking care of your body and living a good life… and agreeing to stop all this bickering. I think we’ve both seen that life is too short for this shit.” She nods through her tears.

“And Mia?” She raises her gaze to me.

“You’re smart, you’re resourceful, and you do a good thing. I’m proud of you for chasing the bad guys… but I’m not one of them.” She nods again.

“I know,” she says, still in tears. “I wanted to make you the bad guy, and I found a way through the whole ‘capitalist’ thing, but… I’ve always known.” I nod.

“So… you’ll give your brother a break?”

“This one,” she says, wiping her eyes and I deflate a bit.

“You’re going after Elliot?” I ask, knowing how this will affect our already upset Mom.

“No,” she says. “There’s nothing to go after. I don’t know what he does, and I don’t have the will or energy to chase him down. I’ve always known he was a creep and now—today—I know he’s a drug addict. I don’t see any redeeming qualities and until he shows me some, I have to let that go. Besides,” she strokes my hand gently, “I’ve got some serious bridges to mend on this side of the water.”

I don’t tell her that she never really hurt me; she was just a pain in my ass, but she needs to work through how she’s feeling, and I’ll be there to help her. I’m glad to have my little sister back.

“We’ll get through it,” I say softly, twisting my lips to avoid that twinge in my chest that’s making me feel a bit sappy.

“Christian,” she says just above a whisper, “thank you.” I squeeze her hand again.

“You’re welcome.”

*-*

Day four, Mia is my only visitor, and we spend the entire day together, including meals. Day five, we both get to go home. Elliot is M.I.A. as expected. Mom and Dad come to get Mia and Taylor comes to retrieve me. My mother doesn’t speak to me and that smarts. It’s a double-edged sword along with the cat-and-mouse game that Golden keeps playing with me. I get in the car after hoping—futilely—that my mother would at least acknowledge my presence. And suddenly, I’m weak again. I’m weak and I’m tired and even though I spent a week in bed, I just want to get back in bed again.

“Taylor, I need a little help,” I say when we get back to the penthouse. I feel like all the energy has been sapped out of me just by leaving the hospital and getting in the car.

“Do you need a doctor, sir?” he asks. “Should we go back to the hospital?

“No, the doctor said this might happen…” Sudden drains of energy, feelings of emptiness, loss, and depression. I just have a feeling that this isn’t just from the nephrectomy, that it’s quite possibly more emotional than physical.

“Can you just help me get to bed please?”

I put my arm over his shoulder, and he helps me to the elevator.

I spend the rest of that day as well as the next several in my bed. Mrs. Jones brings me meals and Taylor checks on me regularly. I shower each morning and change my pajamas, just to get back into bed and lay there or watch TV or talk to Mia or Ronnie—who reams me a new one once I tell her what really happened.

I deserved that… and she comes to check on me when she can.

The rest of the time, I think about Mom… and her.

Until day ten… when she shows up at my penthouse. She’s like a ray of sunshine showing up in my room and my spirits suddenly soar.

“I… said I would check on you,” she says almost timidly.

“That was more than a week ago,” I reply. “I could’ve been dead.”

“But you aren’t,” she says.

“What took so long?” I ask, really needing to know why she made me wait for ten days.

“I… I was busy,” she says, and I immediately see her whipping some poor, fortunate soul chained to the ceiling in her dungeon.

Cat-and-mouse. She’s playing with me again.

I told you not to fall for me, Chopper.
I’m not your Mistress anymore, Chopper.

Indeed, you aren’t, and suddenly, I’m weary again.

“I need you to leave,” I say, quietly. She’s silent for several moments.

“What?” she asks.

“You can’t fathom the concept that someone wants you to go away, can you?” I ask, wearily. “I said the same thing to you at the hospital—basically the same thing—when I didn’t know it was actually you sitting there, and your reaction was exactly the same. You said, ‘What,’ like you couldn’t comprehend the words that were coming out of my mouth. So, I’ll say them again so that you’ll know that I’m not under the influence of any drugs. I need you to leave,” I repeat, shaking my head and barely believing that I’m hearing myself say it.

“You play with me,” I continue, “I’m one of your toys. You’re a true sadist—you said it yourself. You win—I’m in agony; I can’t take this anymore. You make me want you, but then you say I can’t have you. Then you go away, but you make me want you again. I can’t get you out of my mind. You’re in my blood. I’m pussy-whipped, and it’s not because you fucked me. I was pussy-whipped long before that. I had dreams about you; I saw you in other women before and after you cut me off. It’s always been you and as far as I know, it’ll probably always be you. Fuck, I almost took a damn bullet for this shit!

“You got what you wanted!” I say with clenched fists. “You broke me down after I swore that another woman wouldn’t do that to me. I’m your ultimate trophy! Or maybe not—maybe I’m just another notch in your belt. But congratulations! You win. You really are a sadist—a divine, magnificent, beautiful, horribly cruel sadist. Whoever fucked you up, you got them back in spades—with me! Now, please, just leave before I make a bigger fool of myself than I already have.”

I grit my teeth to keep from saying what I really want to say; to keep from begging her to stay with me if only for tonight. I can’t take this anymore. My emotions are way more involved than I ever intended and it’s just too damn much.

“Christian…”

“For God’s sake, just go!” I yell. Her soft, concerned voice is like nails on the chalkboard of my soul—literally. And hearing her say my name smarts even more.

“Please, just go, Ana,” I say softly. “Just go…” I shut her down. I can’t hear her anymore. I don’t know how long I sit there in my bed with my head down, but the next voice I hear…

“Can I get you something, sir?” Taylor says. “Or I can have Mrs. Jones make something for you…” I sigh heavily.

“Something to drink, please,” I say, my voice barely audible. “Maybe some soup, too. My throat hurts.”


A/N: This was one of the chapters that I wrote near the middle of the book when I decided how to expand on the family dynamic. It was very hard to write.

We’re really closing in on the finale. So, remembering the warnings I’ve been spouting all through the story, any predictions at this point on how the story will end?

Will it be a “Your girl is lovely, Hubbell” ending like in The Way We Were?

Will it be the moment when Sayuri finally wins the affections of the Chairman in Memoirs of a Geisha?

Or will it be some calm (or wild) variance in between—The Secretary? Wild Orchid? The Story of O?

Two more chapters to find out…

The Pinterest board for this story can be found at https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/fifty-shades-golden/.

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