"Make love to me."

"I am," he murmurs, gently blowing against me.

"No. I want you inside me."

"Are you sure?"

"Please."

He doesn't stop his sweet, exquisite torture. I moan loudly.

"Christian ... please."

He stands and gazes down at me, and his lips glisten with the evidence of my arousal.

Holy cow ...

"Well?" he asks.

"Well what?" I pant, staring up at him in frantic need.

"I'm still dressed."

I gape at him in confusion.

Undress him? Yes, I can do this. I reach for his shirt and he steps back.

"Oh no," he admonishes. s.h.i.t, he means his jeans.

Oh, and this gives me an idea. My inner G.o.ddess cheers loudly to the rafters, and I drop to my knees in front of him. Rather clumsily and with shaking fngers, I undo his waistband and fy, then yank down his jeans and boxers, and he springs free. Wow.

I peek up at him through my lashes, and he's gazing at me with ... what? Trepidation?

Awe? Surprise?

He steps out of his jeans and pulls off his socks, and I take hold of him in my hand and squeeze tightly, pushing my hand back like he's shown me before. He groans and tenses, and his breath hisses through clenched teeth. Very tentatively, I put him in my mouth and suck-hard. Mmm, he tastes good.

"Ahh. Ana ... whoa, gently."

He cups my head tenderly, and I push him deeper into my mouth, pressing my lips together as tightly as I can, sheathing my teeth, and sucking hard.

"f.u.c.k," he hisses.

Oh, that's a good, inspiring, s.e.xy sound, so I do it again, pulling his length deeper, swirling my tongue around the end. Hmm ... I feel like Aphrodite.

"Ana, that's enough. No more."

I do it again-Beg, Grey, beg-and again.

"Ana, you've made your point," he grunts through gritted teeth. "I do not want to come in your mouth."I do it once more, and he bends down, grasps me by my shoulders, hauls me to my feet, and tosses me on the bed. Dragging his shirt over his head, he then reaches down to his discarded jeans, and like a good boy scout, produces a foil packet. He's panting, like me.

"Take your bra off," he orders.

I sit up and do as I'm told.

"Lie down. I want to look at you."

I lie down, gazing up at him as he slowly rolls the condom on. I want him so badly. He stares down at me and licks his lips.

"You are a fne sight, Anastasia Steele." He bends over the bed and slowly crawls up and over me, kissing me as he goes. He kisses each of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and teases my nipples in turn, while I groan and writhe beneath him, and he doesn't stop.

No ... Stop. I want you.

"Christian, please."

"Please what?" he murmurs between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"I want you inside me."

"Do you now?"

"Please."

Gazing at me, he pushes my legs apart with his and moves so that he's hovering above me. Without taking his eyes off mine, he sinks into me at a deliciously slow pace.

I close my eyes, relishing the fullness, the exquisite feeling of his possession, instinc- tively tilting my pelvis up to meet him, to join with him, groaning loudly. He eases back and very slowly flls me again. My fngers fnd their way into his silken unruly hair, and he oh-so-slowly moves in and out again.

"Faster, Christian, faster ... please."

He gazes down at me in triumph and kisses me hard, then really starts to move-holy cow, a punishing, relentless ... oh f.u.c.k-and I know it will not be long. He sets a pounding rhythm. I start to quicken, my legs tensing beneath him.

"Come on, baby," he gasps. "Give it to me."

His words are my undoing, and I explode, magnifcently, mind-numbingly, into a mil- lion pieces around him, and he follows calling out my name.

"Ana! Oh f.u.c.k, Ana!" He collapses on top of me, his head buried in my neck.

CHAPTER 4

As sanity returns, I open my eyes and gaze up into the face of the man I love. Christian's expression is soft, tender. He strokes his nose against mine, bearing his weight on his elbows, his hands holding mine by the side of my head. Sadly, I suspect that's so I don't touch him. He plants a gentle kiss on my lips as he eases himself out of me.

"I've missed this," he breathes.

"Me too," I whisper.

He takes hold of my chin and kisses me hard. A pa.s.sionate, beseeching kiss, asking for what? I don't know. It leaves me breathless.

"Don't leave me again," he implores, looking deep into my eyes, his face serious.

"Okay," I whisper and smile at him. His answering smile is dazzling; relief, elation, and boyish delight combined into one enchanting look that would melt the coldest of hearts.

"Thank you for the iPad."

"You are most welcome, Anastasia."

"What's your favorite song on there?"

"Now that would be telling." He grins. "Come cook me some food, wench. I'm fam- ished," he adds, sitting up suddenly and dragging me with him.

"Wench?" I giggle."Wench. Food, now, please."

"Since you ask so nicely, sire, I'll get right on to it."

As I scramble out of bed, I dislodge my pillow, revealing the defated helicopter bal- loon underneath. Christian reaches for it and gazes up at me, puzzled.

"That's my balloon," I say, feeling proprietary as I reach for my robe and wrap it round myself. Oh jeez ... why did he have to fnd that?

"In your bed?" he murmurs.

"Yes," I fush. "It's been keeping me company."

"Lucky Charlie Tango," he says, in surprise.

Yes, I'm sentimental, Grey, because I love you.

"My balloon," I say again and turn on my heel and head out to the kitchen, leaving him grinning from ear to ear.

Christian and I sit on Kate's persian rug, eating stir-fry chicken and noodles from white china bowls with chopsticks and sipping chilled white Pinot Grigio. Christian leans against the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He's wearing his jeans and his shirt with his just-f.u.c.ked hair, and that's all. The Buena Vista Social Club croons softly in the background from Christian's iPod.

"This is good," he says appreciatively as he digs into his food.

I sit cross-legged beside him, eating greedily, beyond hungry, and admire his naked feet.

"I usually do all the cooking. Kate isn't a great cook."

"Did you your mother teach you?"

"Not really," I scoff. "By the time I was interested in learning, my mom was living with Husband Number Three in Mansfeld, Texas. And Ray, well, he would've lived on toast and takeout if it wasn't for me."

Christian gazes down at me. "You didn't stay in Texas with your mom?"

"No. Steve, her husband and I, we didn't get along. And I missed Ray. Her marriage to Steve didn't last long. She came to her senses, I think. She never talks about him," I add quietly. I think that's a dark part of her life, which we've never discussed.

"So you came back to Washington to live with your stepfather."

"Yes."

"Sounds like you looked after him," he says softly.

"I suppose." I shrug.

"You're used to taking care of people."

The edge in his voice attracts my attention, and I glance up at him.

"What is it?" I ask, startled by his wary expression.

"I want to take care of you." His luminous eyes glow with some unnamed emotion.

My heart rate spikes.

"I've noticed," I whisper. "You just go about it in a strange way."

His brow creases. "It's the only way I know how," he says quietly.

"I'm still mad at you for buying SIP."He smiles. "I know but you being mad, baby, wouldn't stop me."

"What am I going to say to my work colleagues, to Jack?"

He narrows his eyes. "That f.u.c.ker better watch himself."

"Christian!" I admonish. "He's my boss."

Christian's mouth presses into a hard line. He looks like a recalcitrant schoolboy.

"Don't tell them," he says.

"Don't tell them what?"

"That I own it. The heads of agreement was signed yesterday. The news is embargoed for four weeks while the management at SIP makes some changes."

"Oh ... will I be out of a job?" I ask, alarmed.

"I sincerely doubt it," Christian says wryly, trying to stife his smile.

I scowl. "If I leave and fnd another job, will you buy that company, too?"

"You're not thinking of leaving, are you?" His expression alters, wary once more.