"Oh, Christian, that's just not true."

"Trust me. They want you. They want what's mine." He pulls me against him, and I lift my arms to his shoulders, my hands in his hair, regarding him with amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Mine," he repeats, his eyes glowing possessively.

"Yes, yours." I rea.s.sure him, smiling. He looks mollifed, and I feel perfectly comfort- able naked in his lap on a bed in the full light of a Sat.u.r.day afternoon. Who would have thought? The lipstick marks remain on his exquisite body. I note some smears on the duvet cover though, and wonder briefy what Mrs. Jones will make of them.

"The line is still intact," I murmur and bravely trace the mark on his shoulder with my index fnger. He stiffens, blinking suddenly. "I want to go exploring."

He regards me skeptically.

"The apartment?"

"No. I was thinking of the treasure map that we've drawn on you." My fngers itch to touch him.

His eyebrows lift in surprise, and he blinks with uncertainty. I rub my nose against his.

"And what would that entail exactly, Miss Steele?"

I lift my hand from his shoulder and run my fngertips down this face.

"I just want to touch you everywhere I'm allowed."

Christian catches my index fnger in his teeth, biting down gently.

"Ow," I protest and he grins, a low growl coming from his throat.

"Okay," he says, releasing my fnger, but his voice is laced with apprehension. "Wait."

He leans behind me, lifting me again, and removes his condom, dropping it unceremoni- ously on the foor beside the bed.

"I hate those things. I've a good mind to call Dr. Greene around to give you a shot."

"You think the top ob-gyn in Seattle is going to come running?""I can be very persuasive," he murmurs, hooking my hair behind my ear. "Franco's done a great job on your hair. I like these layers."

What?

"Stop changing the subject."

He shifts me back so I'm straddling him, leaning on his propped-up knees, my feet on either side of his hips. He leans back on his arms.

"Touch away," he says without humor. He looks nervous, but he's trying to hide it.

Keeping my eyes on his, I reach down and trace my fnger underneath the lipstick line, across his fnely sculptured abdominal muscles. He finches and I stop.

"I don't have to," I whisper.

"No, it's fne. Just takes some ... readjustment on my part. No one's touched me for a long time," he murmurs.

"Mrs. Robinson?" The words pop unbidden out of my mouth, and amazingly, I manage to keep all bitterness and rancor out of my voice.

He nods, his discomfort obvious. "I don't want to talk about her. It will sour your good mood."

"I can handle it."

"No, you can't, Ana. You see red whenever I mention her. My past is my past. It's a fact. I can't change it. I'm lucky that you don't have one, because it would drive me crazy if you did."

I frown at him, but I don't want to fght. "Drive you crazy? More than you are al- ready?" I smile, hoping to lighten the atmosphere between us.

His lips twitch. "Crazy for you," he whispers.

My heart swells with joy.

"Shall I call Dr. Flynn?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," he says dryly.

Shifting back so he drops his legs, I place my fngers back on his stomach and let them drift across his skin. He stills once more.

"I like touching you." My fngers skate down to his navel then southward along his happy, happy trail. His lips part as his breathing changes, his eyes darken and his erection stirs and twitches beneath me. Holy cow. Round two.

"Again?" I murmur.

He smiles. "Oh yes, Miss Steele, again."

What a delicious way to spend a Sat.u.r.day afternoon. I stand beneath the shower, absent- mindedly washing myself, careful not to wet my tied-back hair, contemplating the last couple of hours. Christian and vanilla seem to be going well.

He's revealed so much today. It's staggering, trying to a.s.similate all the information and to refect on what I've learned: his salary details-Whoa, he's stinking rich, and for someone so young; it's just extraordinary-and the dossiers he has on me and on all his brunette submissives. I wonder if they are all in that fling cabinet? My subconscious purses her lips at me and shakes her head-don't even go there. I frown. Just a quick peek?

And there's Leila-with a gun, potentially, somewhere-and her c.r.a.p taste in music still on his iPod. But even worse, Mrs. Paedo Robinson, I cannot wrap my head around her, and I don't want to. I don't want her to be a shimmering-haired specter in our relationship.

He's right, I do go off the deep end when I think of her, so perhaps it's best if I don't.

I step out of the shower and dry myself, and I'm suddenly seized by unexpected anger.

But who wouldn't go off the deep end? What normal, sane person would do that to a ffteen-year-old boy? How much has she contributed to his f.u.c.kedupness? I don't under- stand her. And worse still, he says she helped him. How?

I think of his scars, the stark physical embodiment of a horrifc childhood and a sicken- ing reminder of what mental scars he must bear. My sweet, sad Fifty Shades. He's said such loving things today. He's crazy for me.

Staring at my refection, I smile at the memory of his words, my heart br.i.m.m.i.n.g once more, and my face transforms with a ridiculous smile. Perhaps we can make this work. But how long will he want to do this without wanting to beat the c.r.a.p out of me because I cross some arbitrary line?

My smile dissolves. This is what I don't know. This is the shadow that hangs over us.

Kinky f.u.c.kery, yes, I can do that, but more?

My subconscious stares at me blankly, for once offering no snarky words of wisdom. I head back to my bedroom to dress.

Christian is downstairs getting ready, doing whatever he's doing, so I have the bed- room to myself. As well as all the dresses in the closet, I have drawers full of new under- wear. I select a black bustier corset creation with a price tag of fve hundred forty dollars. It has silver trim like fligree and the briefest of panties to match. Thigh-high stockings, too, in a natural color, so fne, pure silk. Wow, they feel ... slinky ... and kind of hot ... yeah.

I am reaching for the dress when Christian enters unannounced. Whoa, you could knock! He stands immobilized, staring at me, gray eyes glimmering, hungrily. I blush crim- son everywhere, it feels. He is wearing a white shirt and black suit pants, the neck of his shirt is open. I can see the lipstick line still in place, and he's still staring.

"Can I help you, Mr. Grey? I a.s.sume there is some purpose to your visit other than to gawk mindlessly at me."

"I am rather enjoying my mindless gawk, thank you, Miss Steele," he murmurs darkly, stepping further into the room and drinking me in. "Remind me to send a personal note of thanks to Caroline Acton."

I frown. Who the h.e.l.l is she?

"The personal shopper at Neiman's," he says, spookily answering my unspoken ques- tion.

"Oh."

"I'm quite distracted."

"I can see that. What do you want, Christian?" I give him my no-nonsense stare.

He retaliates with his crooked smile and pulls the silver ball egg-things from his pock- et, stopping me in my tracks. Holy s.h.i.t! He wants to spank me? Now? Why?

"It's not what you think," he says quickly."Enlighten me," I whisper.

"I thought you could wear these tonight."

And the implications of that sentence hang between us as the idea sinks in.

"To this event?" I'm shocked.

He nods slowly, his eyes darkening.

Oh my.

"Will you spank me later?"

"No."

For a moment, I feel a tiny feeting stab of disappointment.

He chuckles. "You want me to?"

I swallow. I just don't know.

"Well, rest a.s.sured I am not going to touch you like that, not even if you beg me."

Oh! This is news.

"Do you want to play this game?" he continues, holding up the b.a.l.l.s. "You can always take them out if it's too much."

I gaze at him. He looks so wickedly tempting-unkempt, recently f.u.c.ked hair, dark eyes dancing with erotic thoughts, that beautiful sculptured mouth, lips raised in a s.e.xy, amused smile.

"Okay," I acquiesce softly. h.e.l.l, yes! My inner G.o.ddess has found her voice and is shouting from the rooftops.

"Good girl," Christian grins. "Come here, and I'll put them in, once you've put your shoes on."

My shoes? I turn and glance at the dove gray suede stilettos that match the dress I've chosen to wear.

Humor him! my inner G.o.ddess barks at me.

He holds out his hand to support me while I step into the Christian Louboutin shoes, a steal at three-thousand two hundred ninety-fve dollars. I must be at least fve inches taller now.

He leads me to the bedside and doesn't sit, but walks over to the only chair in the room.

Picking it up, he carries it over and places it in front of me.

"When I nod, you bend down and hold on to the chair. Understand?" His voice is husky.

"Yes."

"Good. Now open your mouth," he orders, his voice still low.

I do as I'm told, thinking that he's going to put the b.a.l.l.s in my mouth again to lubricate them. No, he slips his index fnger in.

Oh ...

"Suck," he says. I reach up and clasp his hand, holding him steady, and do as I'm told-see, I can be obedient, when I want.

He tastes of soap ... hmm. I suck hard, and I'm rewarded when his eyes widen and his lips part as he inhales. I'm not going to need any lubricant at this rate. He puts the b.a.l.l.s in his mouth as I f.e.l.l.a.t.e his fnger, twirling my tongue round it. When he tries to withdraw it, I clamp my teeth down.He grins then shakes his head, admonishing me, so I let go. He nods, and I bend down and grasp the sides of the chair. He moves my panties to one side and very slowly slides a fnger into me, circling leisurely, so I feel him, on all sides. I can't help the moan that escapes from my lips.

He withdraws his fnger briefy and with tender care, inserts the b.a.l.l.s one at a time, pushing them deep inside me. Once they are in position, he smoothes my panties back into place and kisses my backside. Running his hands up each of my legs from ankle to thigh, he gently kisses the top of each thigh where my hold-ups fnish.

"You have fne, fne legs, Miss Steele," he murmurs.

Standing, he grasps my hips and pulls my behind against him so I feel his erection.

"Maybe I'll have you this way when we get home, Anastasia. You can stand now."

I feel giddy, beyond aroused as the weight of the b.a.l.l.s push and pull inside me. Leaning down from behind me Christian kisses my shoulder.

"I bought these for you to wear to last Sat.u.r.day's gala." He puts his arm around me and holds out his hand. In his palm rests a small red box with Cartier inscribed on the lid. "But you left me, so I never had the opportunity to give them to you."

Oh!

"This is my second chance," he murmurs, his voice stiff with some unnamed emotion.

He's nervous.

Tentatively, I reach for the box and open it. Inside shines a pair of drop earrings. Each has four diamonds, one at the base, then a gap, then three perfectly s.p.a.ced diamonds hang- ing one after the other. They're beautiful, simple, and cla.s.sic. What I would choose myself, if I were ever given the opportunity to shop at Cartier.

"They're lovely," I whisper, and because they are second-chance earrings, I love them.

"Thank you."