He sits up on the bed cross-legged and drags his shirt off over his head. Oh my. "I like your road map idea."

I stare at him blankly. Road map?

"The no-go areas," he says by way of explanation.

"Oh. I was kidding."

"I'm not."

"You want me to draw on you, with lipstick?"

"It washes off. Eventually."

This means I could touch him freely. A small smile of wonder plays on my lips, and I smirk at him.

"What about something more permanent like a Sharpie?"

"I could get a tattoo." His eyes are alight with humor.

Christian Grey with a tatt? Marring his lovely body, when it's marked in so many ways already? No way!

"No to the tattoo!" I laugh to hide my horror.

"Lipstick, then." He grins.

Shutting the Mac, I push it to the side. This could be fun.

"Come." He holds his hands out to me. "Sit on me."

I push my fats off my feet, scramble into a sitting position, and crawl over to him. He lies down on the bed but keeps his knees fexed.

"Lean against my legs."

I clamber over him and sit astride as instructed. His eyes are wide and cautious. But he's amused, too.

"You seem-enthusiastic for this," he comments wryly.

"I'm always eager for information, Mr. Grey, and it means you'll relax, because I'll know where the boundaries lie."

He shakes his head, as if he can't quite believe that he's about to let me draw all over his body.

"Open the lipstick," he orders.

Oh, he's in uber-bossy mode, but I don't care.

"Give me your hand."

I give him my other hand.

"The one with the lipstick." He rolls his eyes at me.

"Are you rolling your eyes at me?"

"Yep."

"That's very rude, Mr. Grey. I know some people who get positively violent at eye- rolling."

"Do you now?" His tone is ironic.

I give him my hand with the lipstick, and suddenly he sits up so we are nose to nose.

"Ready?" he asks in a low, soft murmur that makes everything tighten and tense inside me. Oh wow."Yes," I whisper. His proximity is alluring, his toned fesh close, his Christian-smell mixed with my bodywash. He guides my hand up to the curve of his shoulder.

"Press down," he breathes, and my mouth goes dry as he directs my hand down, from the top of his shoulder, around his arm socket then down the side of his chest. The lipstick leaves a broad, livid red streak it in its wake. He stops at the bottom of this ribcage then directs me across his stomach. He tenses and stares, seemingly impa.s.sive, into my eyes, but beneath his careful blank look, I see his restraint.

His aversion is held in strict check, the line of his jaw is strained, and there's tension around his eyes. Midway across his stomach he murmurs, "And up the other side." He releases my hand.

I mirror the line I've drawn on his left side. The trust he's giving me is heady but tem- pered by the fact that I can I count his pain. Seven small, round white scars dot his chest, and it's deep, dark purgatory to see this hideous, evil desecration of his beautiful body.

Who would do this to a child?

"There, done," I whisper, containing my emotion.

"No, you're not," he replies and traces a line with his long index fnger around the base of his neck. I follow the line of his fnger with a scarlet streak. Finishing, I gaze into the gray depths of his eyes.

"Now my back," he murmurs. He shifts so I have to climb off him, then he turns around on the bed and sits cross-legged with his back to me.

"Follow the line from my chest, all the way round to the other side." His voice is low and husky.

I do as he says until a crimson line runs across the middle of his back, and as I do, I count more scars marring his beautiful body. Nine in all.

Holy f.u.c.k. I have to fght the overwhelming need to kiss each one and stop the tears pooling in my eyes. What kind of animal would do this? His head is down, and his body tense as I complete the circuit round his back.

"Around your neck, too?" I whisper.

He nods, and I draw another line joining the frst around the base of his neck beneath his hair.

"Finished," I murmur, and it looks like he's wearing a bizarre skin-colored vest with a harlot-red trim.

His shoulders slump as he relaxes, and he turns slowly to face me once again.

"Those are the boundaries," he says quietly, his eyes dark and pupils dilated ... from fear? From l.u.s.t? I want to hurl myself at him, but I restrain myself and gaze at him in wonder.

"I can live with those. Right now I want to launch myself at you," I whisper.

He gives me a wicked smile and holds out his hands, a gesture of supplication.

"Well, Miss Steele, I'm all yours."

I squeal with childish delight and catapult myself into his arms, knocking him fat. He twists, letting out a boyish laugh flled with relief that the ordeal is over. Somehow, I end up beneath him on the bed.

"Now, about that rain check," he breathes and his mouth claims mine once more.

CHAPTER 6.

My hands fst in his hair while my mouth is feverish against Christian's, consuming him, relishing the feel of his tongue against mine. And he's the same, devouring me. It's heav- enly.

Suddenly he drags me up and grasps the hem of my T-shirt, whipping it over my head and throwing it on the foor.

"I want to feel you," he says greedily against my mouth as his hands move behind me to undo my bra. In one smooth move, it's off and he pitches it aside.

He pushes me back down onto the bed, pressing me into the mattress, and his mouth and hand move to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. My fngers curl into his hair as he takes one of my nipples between his lips and tugs hard.

I cry out as the sensation sweeps through my body, spikes, and tightens all the muscles around my groin.

"Yes, baby, let me hear you," he murmurs against my overheated skin.

Boy, I want him inside me, now. With his mouth, he toys with my nipple, pulling at it, making me squirm and writhe and yearn for him. I sense his longing mixed with-what?

Veneration. It's as if he's worshipping me. He teases me with his fngers, my nipple growing hard and elongating under his skillful touch. His hand moves to my jeans, and he deftly undoes the b.u.t.ton, tugs the zipper down, and slips his hand inside my panties, sliding his fngers against my s.e.x.

His breath hisses out as his fnger glides into me. I push my pelvis up into the heel of his hand, and he responds, rubbing against me.

"Oh, baby," he breathes as he hovers over me, staring intently into my eyes. "You're so wet." His voice is flled with wonder.

"I want you," I murmur.

His mouth joins with mine again, and I feel his hungry desperation, his need for me.

This is new-it's never been like this except perhaps when I came back from Geor- gia-and his words from earlier drift back to me ... I need to know we're okay. This is the only way I know how.

The thought unravels me. To know that I have such an effect on him, that I can offer him so much solace, doing this-my inner G.o.ddess purrs with pure pleasure. He sits up, grasps the hem of my jeans, and tugs them off, followed by my panties.

Keeping his eyes fxed on mine, he stands, takes a foil packet out of his pocket, and tosses it at me, then removes his jeans and boxers in one swift motion.

I rip the packet open greedily, and when he lies beside me again, I slowly roll the con- dom on to him. He grabs both my hands and rolls on to his back.

"You. On top," he orders, pulling me astride him. "I want to see you."

Oh.

He guides me, and hesitantly I ease myself down onto him. He closes his eyes and fexes his hips to meet me, flling me, stretching me, his mouth forming a perfect O as he exhales.

Oh, that feels so good-possessing him, possessing me.

He holds my hands, and I don't know if it's to steady me or keep me from touching him, even though I have my road map.

"You feel so good," he murmurs.

I rise again, heady with the power I have over him, watching Christian Grey slowly coming apart beneath me. He lets go of my hands and grabs my hips, and I place my hands on his arms. He thrusts into me sharply, causing me to cry out.

"That's right, baby, feel me," he says, his voice strained.

I tip my head back and do exactly that. This is what he does so well.

I move-countering his rhythm in perfect symmetry-numbing all thought and reason.

I am just sensation lost in this void of pleasure. Up and down ... again and again ... Oh yes ... Opening my eyes, I stare down at him, my breathing ragged, and he's staring back at me, eyes blazing.

"My Ana," he mouths.

"Yes," I rasp. "Always."

He groans loudly, closing his eyes again, tipping his head back. Oh my . . . Seeing Christian undone is enough to seal my fate, and I come audibly, exhaustingly, spinning down and around, collapsing on top of him.

"Oh, baby," he groans as he fnds his release, holding me still and letting go.My head is on his chest in the no-go area, my cheek nestled against the springy hair on his sternum. I am panting, glowing, and I resist the urge to pucker my lips and kiss him.

I just lie on top of him, catching my breath. He smoothes my hair, and his hand runs down my back, caressing me as his breathing calms.

"You are so beautiful."

I lift my head to gaze at him, my expression skeptical. He frowns in response and sits up quickly, taking me by surprise, his arm sweeping round to hold me in place. I clutch his biceps as we are nose to nose.

"You. Are. Beautiful," he says again, his tone emphatic.

"And you're amazingly sweet sometimes." I kiss him gently.

He lifts me and eases out of me. I wince as he does. Leaning forward, he kisses me softly.

"You have no idea how attractive you are, do you?"

I fush. Why's he going on about this?

"All those boys pursuing you-that isn't enough of a clue?"

"Boys? What boys?"

"You want the list?" Christian frowns. "The photographer, he's crazy about you, that boy in the hardware store, your roommate's older brother. Your boss," he adds bitterly.