Desire

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

Page 65 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I touch Christian’s arm, lean up and shout in his ear, “She’s on the dance floor,” brushing his hair with my nose, smelling his clean, fresh smell. All those forbidden, unfamiliar feelings that I have tried to deny surface and run amok through my drained body. I flush, and somewhere deep, deep down, my muscles clench deliciously. He rolls his eyes at me and takes my hand again, leading me to the bar. I can’t hear what he orders, but he’s served immediately—no waiting for Mr. Control Freak Grey. Does everything come so easily to him? He hands me a very large glass of iced water. “Drink,” he shouts. The moving lights are twisting and turning in time to the music, casting strange-colored lights and shadows all over the bar and the clientele. He’s alternately green, blue, white, and a demonic red. He’s watching me intently. I take a tentative sip. “All of it,” he shouts. He’s so overbearing. He runs his hand through his unruly hair, looking frustrated and angry. What is his problem? Apart from a silly drunk girl calling him in the middle of the night so he thinks she needs rescuing… And it turns out she does, from her over amorous friend. Then seeing her being violently ill at his feet. Oh, Ana, are you ever going to live this down? My subconscious is figuratively tutting and glaring at me over her half-moon specs. I sway a little, and he puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me. I do as I’m told and drink the entire glass. It makes me feel queasy. Taking the glass from me, he places it on the bar. I notice through a blur what he’s wearing: a loose white linen shirt, snug jeans, black Converse sneakers, and a dark pinstriped jacket. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and I see a sprinkling of hair in the gap. In my groggy frame of mind, he looks yummy. He takes my hand once more. Holy cow—he’s leading me onto the dance floor. Shit. I do not dance. He can sense my reluctance, and under the colored lights I see his amused, sardonic smile. He gives my hand a sharp tug and I’m in his arms again, and he starts to move, taking me with him. Boy, he can dance, and I can’t believe I’m following him step for step. Maybe it’s because I’m drunk that I can keep up. He’s holding me tight against him, his body against mine… If he wasn’t clutching me so tightly, I’m sure I would swoon at his feet. In the back of my mind, my mother’s often-recited warning comes to me: Never trust a man who can dance.

• From Story of the Eye (1928)

  Sir Edmund and I were growing annoyed at being the focus of our neighbours’ attention just when the bullfight was slackening. I leaned over and whispered to Simone, asking what had got into her. “Idiot!” she replied. “Can’t you see I want to sit on the plate, and all these people watching!” “That’s absolutely out of the question,” I rejoined, “sit down.” At the same time, I took away the dish and made her sit, and I stared at her to let her know that I understood, that I remembered the dish of milk, and that this renewed desire was unsettling me. From that moment on, neither of us could keep from fidgeting, and this state of malaise was contagious enough to affect Sir Edmund. I ought to say that the fight had become boring, unpugnacious bulls were facing matadors who didn’t know what to do next; and to top it off, since Simone had demanded seats in the sun, we were trapped in something like an immense vapour of light and muggy heat, which parched our throats as it bore down upon us. It really was totally out of the question for Simone to lift her dress and place her bare behind in the dish of raw balls. All she could do was hold the dish in her lap. I told her I would like to fuck her again before Granero returned to fight the fourth bull, but she refused, and she sat there, keenly involved, despite everything, in the disembowelments of horses, followed, as she childishly put it, by “death and destruction”, namely the cataract of bowels. Little by little, the sun’s radiance sucked us into an unreality that fitted our malaise—the wordless and powerless desire to explode and get up off our behinds. We grimaced, because our eyes were blinded and because we were thirsty, our senses ruffled, and there was no possibility of quenching our desires. We three had managed to share in the morose dissolution that leaves no harmony between the various spasms of the body. We were so far gone that even Granero’s return could not pull us out of that stupefying absorption.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I take a sip, and the wine is light, crisp, and delicious. “You’re very quiet, and you’re not even blushing. In fact, I think this is the palest I’ve ever seen you, Anastasia. Are you hungry?” I shake my head. Not for food. “It’s a very big place you have here.” “Big?” “Big.” “It’s big,” he agrees, and his eyes glow with amusement. I take another sip of wine. “Do you play?” I point my chin at the piano. “Yes.” “Well?” “Yes.” “Of course you do. Is there anything you can’t do well?” “Yes…a few things.” He takes a sip of his wine. He doesn’t take his eyes off me. I feel them following me as I turn and glance around this vast room. Room is the wrong word. It’s not a room—it’s a mission statement. “Do you want to sit?” I nod, and he takes my hand and leads me to the large off-white couch. As I sit, I’m struck by the fact that I feel like Tess Durbeyfield looking at the new house that belongs to the notorious Alec d’Urberville. The thought makes me smile. “What’s so amusing?” He sits down beside me, turning to face me. He rests his head on his right hand, his elbow propped on the back of the couch. “Why did you give me Tess of the d’Urbervilles specifically?” I ask. Christian stares at me for a moment. I think he’s surprised by my question. “Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy.” “Is that the only reason?” Even I can hear the disappointment in my voice. His mouth presses into a hard line. “It seemed appropriate. I could hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel Clare or debase you completely like Alec d’Urberville.” His eyes flash dark and dangerous. “If there are only two choices, I’ll take the debasement,” I whisper, gazing at him. My subconscious is staring at me in awe. His breath hitches. “Anastasia, stop biting your lip, please. It’s very distracting. You don’t know what you’re saying.” “That’s why I’m here.” He frowns. “Yes. Would you excuse me for a moment?” He disappears through a wide doorway on the far side of the room. He’s gone for a couple of minutes and returns with a document. “This is a nondisclosure agreement.” He shrugs and has the grace to look a little embarrassed. “My lawyer insists on it.” He hands it to me. I’m completely bemused. “If you’re going for option two, debasement, you’ll need to sign this.” “And if I don’t want to sign anything?” “Then it’s Angel Clare high ideals, well, for most of the book anyway.” “What does this agreement mean?” “It means you cannot disclose anything about us. Anything, to anyone.” I stare at him in disbelief. Holy shit. It’s bad, really bad, and now I’m very curious to know. “Okay. I’ll sign.” He hands me a pen. “Aren’t you even going to read it?” “No.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  His cool fingers trail languidly across my belly. My skin is oversensitive, my hips flex automatically, and the now-warmer liquid from my navel seeps over my belly. Christian moves quickly, lapping it up with his tongue, kissing, biting me softly, sucking. “Oh dear, Anastasia, you moved. What am I going to do to you?” I’m panting loudly. All I can concentrate on is his voice and his touch. Nothing else is real. Nothing else matters, nothing else registers on my radar. His fingers slip into my panties, and I’m rewarded with his unguarded sharp intake of air. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, and he pushes two fingers inside me. I moan. “Ready for me so soon,” he says, moving his fingers tantalizingly slowly, in, out. And I push against him, tilting my hips up. “You are a greedy girl,” he scolds softly, and his thumb circles my clitoris and then presses down. I groan loudly as my body bucks beneath his expert fingers. He reaches up and pushes the T-shirt over my head so I can see him. I blink in the soft light. “I want to touch you,” I plead. “I know.” He leans down and kisses me, his fingers still moving rhythmically inside me, his thumb circling and pressing. His other hand scoops my hair off my head and holds my head in place. His tongue mirrors the actions of his fingers, claiming me. My legs begin to stiffen as I push against his hand. He gentles his hand, so I’m brought back from the brink. He does this again and again. It’s so frustrating… Oh, please, Christian, I scream in my head. “This is your punishment, so close and yet so far. Is this nice?” he breathes in my ear. I whimper, exhausted, pulling against my restraint. I’m helpless, lost in an erotic torment. “Please,” I beg, and he finally takes pity on me. “How shall I fuck you, Anastasia?” Oh…my body starts to quiver. He stills again. “Please.” “What do you want, Anastasia?” “You…now,” I cry. “Shall I fuck you this way, or this way, or this way? There’s an endless choice,” he breathes against my lips. He withdraws his hand and reaches over to the bedside table for a foil packet. He kneels up between my legs, and very slowly he pulls my panties off, staring down at me, his eyes gleaming. He puts on the condom. I watch fascinated, mesmerized. “How nice is this?” he says as he strokes himself. “I meant it as a joke,” I whimper. Please fuck me, Christian. He raises his eyebrows as his hand moves up and down his impressive length. “A joke?” His voice is menacingly soft. “Yes. Please, Christian,” I beseech him. “Are you laughing now?” “No,” I mewl.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  spond to a deep-rooted childhood ideal, or represent some kind of personal travelling; the wife of a jeweler; a jealous woman; taboo that excites you, or suggest the person you imagine you would be if a covetous woman. you were the opposite sex. When a person has such a deep effect on you, it — THE HINDI: ART OF LOVE, transforms all of your subsequent maneuvers. Your face and gestures be-EDITED BY EDWARD WINDSOR come more animated. You have more energy; when victims resist you (as a good victim should) you in turn will be more creative, more motivated to overcome their resistance. The seduction will move forward like a good Leisure stimulates love, play. Your strong desire will infect the target and give them the dangerous leisure watches the sensation that they have a power over you. Of course, you are the one ulti-lovelorn, \ Leisure's the cause and sustenance of mately in control since you are making your victims emotional at the right this sweet \ Evil. moments, leading them back and forth. Good seducers choose targets that Eliminate leisure, and inspire them but they know how and when to restrain themselves. Cupid's bow is broken, \ His torches lie lightless, Never rush into the waiting arms of the first person who seems to like scorned. \ As a plane-tree you. That is not seduction but insecurity. The need that draws you will rejoices in wine, as a poplar make for a low-level attachment, and interest on both sides will sag. Look in water, \ As a marsh-reed at the types you have not considered before—that is where you will find in swampy ground, so Venus loves \ Leisure. . . . challenge and adventure. Experienced hunters do not choose their prey by \ Why do you think how easily it is caught; they want the thrill of the chase, a life-and-death Aegisthus \ Became an struggle—the fiercer the better. adulterer? Easy: he was idle— and bored. \ Although the victim who is perfect for you depends on you, certain Everyone else was away at types lend themselves to a more satisfying seduction. Casanova liked young Troy on a lengthy \ women who were unhappy, or had suffered a recent misfortune. Such Campaign: all Greece had shipped \ Its contingent women appealed to his desire to play the savior, but it also responded to ne-across. Suppose he cessity: happy people are much harder to seduce. Their contentment makes hankered for warfare? them inaccessible. It is always easier to fish in troubled waters. Also, an air Argos \ Had no wars to of sadness is itself quite seductive—Genji, the hero of the Japanese novel offer. Suppose he fancied the courts? \ Argos lacked

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  The French libertines of the eighteenth century called this "the moment." The seducer leads the victim to a point where he or she reveals involuntary signs of physical excitation that can be read in various symptoms. Once those signs are detected, the seducer must work quickly, applying pressure on the target to get lost in the moment—the past, the future, all moral scruples vanishing in air. Once your victims lose themselves in the moment, it is all over—their mind, their conscience, no longer holds them back. The body gives in to pleasure. Madame de Lursay lures Meilcour into the moment by creating a generalized disorder of the senses, rendering him incapable of thinking straight. In leading your victims into the moment, remember a few things. First, Use Physical Lures • 403 a disordered look (Madame de Lursay's tousled hair, her ruffled dress) has more effect on the senses than a neat appearance. It suggests the bedroom. Second, be alert to the signs of physical excitation. Blushing, trembling of the voice, tears, unusually forceful laughter, relaxing movements of the body (any kind of involuntary mirroring, their gestures imitating yours), a revealing slip of the tongue—these are signs that the victim is slipping into the moment and pressure is to be applied. In 1934, a Chinese football player named Li met a young actress named Lan Ping in Shanghai. He began to see her often at his matches, cheering him on. They would meet at public affairs, and he would notice her glancing at him with her "strange, yearning eyes," then looking away. One evening he found her seated next to him at a reception. Her leg brushed up against his. They chatted, and she asked him to see a movie with her at a nearby cinema. Once they were there, her head found its way onto his shoulder; she whispered into his ear, something about the film. Later they strolled the streets, and she put her arm around his waist. She brought him to a restaurant where they drank some wine. Li took her to his hotel room, and there he found himself overwhelmed by caresses and sweet words. She gave him no room to retreat, no time to cool down. Three years later Lan Ping—soon to be renamed Jiang Qing—played a similar game on Mao Zedong. She was to become Mao's wife—the infamous Madame Mao, leader of the Gang of Four.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  idea that presents itself, just as in the avenue de Foy our dissolute youths follow close on the heels of some strumpet, then leave her to pursue another, attacking all of them and attaching themselves to none. My thoughts are my strumpets." He meant that he let himself be seduced by ideas, following whichever one caught his fancy until a better one came along, his thoughts infused with a kind of sexual excitement. Once you enter these pages, do as Diderot advised: let yourself be lured by the stories and ideas, your mind open and your thoughts fluid. Slowly you will find yourself absorbing the poison through the skin and you will begin to see everything as a seduction, including the way you think and how you look at the world. Most virtue is a demand for greater seduction. —NATALIE BARNEY We all have the power of attraction—the ability to draw people in and hold them in our thrall. Far from all of us, though, are aware of this inner potential, and we imagine attractiveness instead as a near-mystical trait that a select few are born with and the rest will never command. Yet all we need to do to realize our potential is understand what it is in a person's character that naturally excites people and develop these latent qualities within us. Successful seductions rarely begin with an obvious maneuver or strategic device. That is certain to arouse suspicion. Successful seductions begin with your character, your ability to radiate some quality that attracts people and stirs their emotions in a way that is beyond their control. Hypnotized by your seductive character, your victims will not notice your subsequent manipulations. It will then be child's play to mislead and seduce them. There are nine seducer types in the world. Each type has a particular character trait that comes from deep within and creates a seductive pull. Sirens have an abundance of sexual energy and know how to use it. Rakes insatiably adore the opposite sex, and their desire is infectious. Ideal Lovers have an aesthetic sensibility that they apply to romance. Dandies like to play with their image, creating a striking and androgynous allure. Naturals are spontaneous and open. Coquettes are self-sufficient, with a fascinating cool at their core. Charmers want and know how to please—they are social creatures. Charismatics have an unusual confidence in themselves. Stars are ethereal and envelop themselves in mystery. The chapters in this section will take you inside each of the nine types.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  entertained him. She had never met such an intense young man. He talked one whose hair she tears out in her fury, the one of his impoverished youth, his inability to understand women. And he lis-whose \ Soft cheeks she rips tened attentively to her own complaints. He even scolded her for the bad with her nails, \ Whom she tea she had made him—somehow, even though she was a baroness, this ex-sees, eyes glaring, through a rain of tears; without cited her. whom, \ Try as she will, Lawrence returned for later visits, but now to see Frieda, not Weekley. she cannot live! \ How long One day he confessed to her that he had fallen deeply in love with her. She (you may ask) should you leave her lamenting her admitted to similar feelings, and proposed they find a trysting spot. Instead wrong? A little \ While Lawrence had a proposal of his own: Leave your husband tomorrow—leave only, lest rage gather him for me. What about the children? Frieda asked. If the children are strength \ Through procrastination. By then more important than our love, Lawrence replied, then stay with them. But you should have her if you don't run away with me within a few days, you will never see me sobbing \ All over your 424 • The Art of Seduction chest, your arms tight again. To Frieda the choice was horrific. She did not care at all about her around her neck. \ You husband, but the children were what she lived for. Even so, a few days later, want peace? Give her she succumbed to Lawrence's proposal. How could she resist a man who kisses, make love to the girl while she's crying— \ was willing to ask for so much, to take such a gamble? If she refused she That's the only way to would always wonder, for such a man only passes once through your life. melt her angry mood. The couple left England and headed for Germany. Frieda would men- — O V I D , THE A R T O F L O V E , tion sometimes how much she missed her children, but Lawrence had no TRANSLATED BY PETER GREEN patience with her: You are free to go back to them at any moment, he would say, but if you stay, don't look back. He took her on an arduous mountaineering trip in the Alps. A baroness, she had never experienced such hardship, but Lawrence was firm: if two people are in love, why should comfort matter?

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  "I have won! He is mine!" cried the nymph, and flinging aside her garments, plunged into the heart of the pool. The boy fought against her, but she held him, and snatched kisses as he struggled, placing her hands beneath him, stroking his unwilling breast, and clinging to him, now on this side, and now on that. • Finally, in spite of ail his efforts to slip from her grasp, she twined around him, like a serpent when it is being carried off into the air by the king of birds: for, as it hangs from the eagle's beak, the snake coils round his head and talons and with its tail hampers his beating wings. . . ."You may fight, you rogue, but you will not escape. May the gods grant me this, may no time to come ever separate him from me, or me from him!" Her prayers found favour with the gods: for, as they lay together, their bodies were united and from being two persons they became one. As when a gardener grafts a branch on to a tree, and sees the two unite as they grow, and come to maturity together, so when their limbs met in that clinging embrace the nymph and the boy were no longer two, but a single form, possessed of a dual nature, which could not be called male or female, but seemed to be at once both and neither. —OVID, METAMORPHOSES, TRANSLATED BY MARY M. INNES 46 • The Art of Seduction there on holiday with her mother; Rée had managed to accompany her on long walks through the city, unchaperoned, and they had had many conver- sations. Her ideas on God and Christianity were quite similar to Nietz- sche's, and when Rée had told her that the famous philosopher was a friend of his, she had insisted that he invite Nietzsche to join them. In subsequent letters Ree described how mysteriously captivating Salomé was, and how anxious she was to meet Nietzsche. The philosopher soon went to Rome. When Nietzsche finally met Salomé, he was overwhelmed. She had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, and during their first long talk those eyes lit up so intensely that he could not help feeling there was something erotic about her excitement. Yet he was also confused: Salomé kept her dis- tance, and did not respond to his compliments. What a devilish young woman. A few days later she read him a poem of hers, and he cried; her ideas about life were so like his own. Deciding to seize the moment, Nietz- sche proposed marriage. (He did not know that Ree had done so as well.) Salomé declined. She was interested in philosophy, life, adventure, not mar- riage. Undaunted, Nietzsche continued to court her. On an excursion to Lake Orta with Rée, Salomé, and her mother, he managed to get the girl alone, accompanying her on a walk up Monte Sacro while the others stayed behind.

• From The Art of Seduction (2001)

  Mythic Stars are figures of myth come to life. To appropriate their power, you must first study their physical presence—how they adopt a dis- tinctive style, are cool and visually arresting. Then you must assume the pose of a mythic figure: the rebel, the wise patriarch, the adventurer. (The pose of a Star who has struck one of these mythic poses might do the trick.) Make these connections vague; they should never be obvious to the con- scious mind. Your words and actions should invite interpretation beyond their surface appearance; you should seem to be dealing not with specific, nitty-gritty issues and details but with matters of life and death, love and hate, authority and chaos. Your opponent, similarly, should be framed not merely as an enemy for reasons of ideology or competition but as a vil- lain, a demon. People are hopelessly susceptible to myth, so make yourself the hero of a great drama. And keep your distance—let people identify with you without being able to touch you. They can only watch and dream. his or her own contrib- ution. When we speak of the myth of the star, we mean first of all the process of divinization which the movie actor undergoes, a process that makes him the idol of crowds. —EDGAR MORIN, THE STARS, TRANSLATED BY RICHARD HOWARD Age: 22, Sex: female, Nationality: British, Profession: medical student "[Deanna Durbin] became my first and only screen idol. I wanted to be as much like her as possible, both in my manners and clothes. Whenever I was to get a new dress, I would find from my collection a particularly nice picture of Deanna and ask for a dress like she was wearing. I did my hair as much like hers as 1 could manage. If I found myself in any annoying or aggravating situation . . . I found myself wondering what Deanna would do and modified my own reactions accordingly. ..." • Age: 26, Sex: female, Nation- ality: British "I only fell in love once with a movie actor. It was Conrad Veidt. His magnetism and his personality got me. His voice and gestures fascin- ated me. I hated him, feared him, loved him. When he died it seemed to me that a vital part of my imagination died too, and my world of dreams was bare. " —J. P. MAYER, BRITISH CINEMAS AND THEIR AUDIENCES 126 • The Art of Seduction Jack's life had more to do with myth, magic, legend, saga, and story than with political theory or political science. —JACQUELINE KENNEDY, A WEEK AFTER JOHN KENNEDY'S DEATH Keys to the Character S eduction is a form of persuasion that seeks to bypass consciousness, stir- ring the unconscious mind instead. The reason for this is simple: we are so surrounded by stimuli that compete for our attention, bombarding us with obvious messages, and by people who are overtly political and manipu- lative, that we are rarely charmed or deceived by them.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I swallow. No. But at the same time, my muscles clench deliciously deep inside. It is his way of showing he cares. Perhaps the only way he can show he cares—I realize that. He’s staring at me, gauging my reaction. “Was it that bad when I spanked you the first time?” Was it that bad? I remember feeling confused by my reaction. It hurt, but not that much in retrospect. He’s said over and over again it’s more in my head. And the second time… Well, that was good…hot. “No, not really,” I whisper. “It’s more the idea of it?” he prompts. “I suppose. Feeling pleasure when one isn’t supposed to.” “I remember feeling the same. Takes a while to get your head around it.” Holy hell. This was when he was a kid. “You can always use the safe word, Anastasia. Don’t forget that. And, as long as you follow the rules, which fulfill a deep need in me for control and to keep you safe, then perhaps we can find a way forward.” “Why do you need to control me?” “Because it satisfies a need in me that wasn’t met in my formative years.” “So it’s a form of therapy?” “I’ve not thought of it like that, but yes, I suppose it is.” This I can understand. This will help. “But here’s the thing—one moment you say ‘don’t defy me,’ the next you say you like to be challenged. That’s a very fine line to tread successfully.” He looks lost for a moment, then frowns. “I can see that. But you seem to be doing fine so far.” “But at what personal cost? I’m tied up in knots here.” “I like you tied up in knots.” He smirks. “That’s not what I meant!” I splash him in exasperation. He arches an eyebrow. “Did you just splash me?” “Yes.” Holy shit…that look. “Oh, Miss Steele.” He grabs me and pulls me onto his lap, sloshing water all over the floor. “I think we’ve done enough talking for now.” He clasps his hands on either side of my head and kisses me. Deeply. Possessing my mouth. Angling my head…controlling me. I moan against his lips. This is what he likes. This is what he’s so good at. Everything ignites inside me and my fingers are in his hair, holding him to me, and I’m kissing him back and saying I want you, too, the only way I know how. He groans, shifting me so I’m astride him, kneeling over him, his erection beneath me. He pulls back and looks at me, his eyes hooded, glowing and lustful. I drop my hands to grab the edge of the bath, but he grips both my wrists and pulls my hands behind my back, holding them together in one hand. “I’m going to have you now,” he whispers and lifts me so that I’m hovering over him. “Ready?”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  People stare at us as we drive through the streets. For a moment, I think it’s at him…and then a very paranoid part thinks everyone is looking at me because they know what I’ve been doing during the past twelve hours, but finally I realize it’s the car. Christian seems oblivious, lost in thought. The traffic is light and we’re soon on Interstate 5 heading south, the wind sweeping over our heads. Bruce is singing about being on fire and his desire. How apt. I flush as I listen to the words. Christian glances at me. He’s got his Ray-Bans on so I can’t see what he’s feeling. His mouth twitches slightly, and he reaches across and places his hand on my knee, squeezing gently. My breath hitches. “Hungry?” he asks. Not for food. “Not particularly.” His mouth tightens into that hard line. “You must eat, Anastasia,” he chides. “I know a great place near Olympia. We’ll stop there.” He squeezes my knee again, then returns his hand to the steering wheel as he puts his foot down on the gas. I’m pressed into the back of my seat. Boy, this car can move. The restaurant is small and intimate, a wooden chalet in the middle of a forest. The decor is rustic: random chairs and tables with gingham tablecloths, wild flowers in little vases. CUISINE SAUVAGE, it boasts above the door. “I’ve not been here for a while. We don’t get a choice—they cook whatever they’ve caught or gathered.” He raises his eyebrows in mock horror, and I have to laugh. The waitress takes our drink order. She flushes when she sees Christian, avoiding eye contact with him, hiding under her long blond bangs. She likes him! It’s not just me! “Two glasses of the pinot grigio,” Christian says with a voice of authority. I purse my lips, exasperated. “What?” he snaps. “I wanted a Diet Coke,” I whisper. His gray eyes narrow, and he shakes his head. “The pinot grigio here is a decent wine. It will go well with the meal, whatever we get,” he says patiently. “Whatever we get?” “Yes.” He smiles his dazzling head-cocked-to-one-side smile, and my stomach pole vaults over my spleen. I can’t help but reflect his glorious smile back at him. “My mother liked you,” he says dryly. “Really?” His words make me flush with pleasure. “Oh yes. She’s always thought I was gay.” My mouth drops open, and I remember that question…from the interview. Oh no. “Why?” I whisper. “Because she’s never seen me with a girl.” “Oh, not even one of the fifteen?” He smiles. “You remembered. No, none of the fifteen.” “Oh.” “You know, Anastasia, it’s been a weekend of firsts for me, too,” he says quietly. “It has?” “I’ve never slept with anyone, never had sex in my bed, never flown a girl in Charlie Tango, never introduced a woman to my mother. What are you doing to me?” His eyes burn, their intensity taking my breath away.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Christian is seated on his living room couch reading the Sunday papers. He glances up as Taylor directs me into the living area. The room is exactly as I remember it—it’s been a whole week since I’ve been here, but it feels so much longer. Christian looks cool and calm. Actually, he looks heavenly. He’s in a loose white linen shirt and jeans, no shoes or socks. His hair is tousled and unkempt, and his eyes twinkle wickedly. He rises and strolls toward me, an amused appraising smile on his beautiful sculptured lips. I stand immobilized at the entrance of the room, paralyzed by his beauty and the sweet anticipation of what’s to come. The familiar charge between us is there, sparking slowly in my belly, drawing me to him. “Hmm, that dress,” he murmurs approvingly as he gazes down at me. “Welcome back, Miss Steele.” Clasping my chin, he leans down and proffers a gentle, light kiss on my lips. The touch of his lips to mine reverberates throughout my body. My breath hitches. “Hi,” I whisper. “You’re on time. I like punctual. Come.” He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. “I wanted to show you something,” he says as we sit. He hands me The Seattle Times. On page eight, there’s a photograph of the two of us together at the graduation ceremony. Holy crap. I’m in the paper. I check the caption. Christian Grey and friend at the graduation ceremony at WSU Vancouver. I laugh. “So I’m your ‘friend’ now.” “So it would appear. And it’s in the newspaper, so it must be true.” He smirks. Sitting beside me, his whole body is turned toward me, one of his legs tucked under the other. Reaching over, he tucks my hair behind my ear with his long index finger. My body comes alive at his touch, waiting and needful. “So, Anastasia, you have a much better idea of what I’m about since you were last here.” “Yes.” Where’s he going with this? “And yet you’ve returned.” I nod shyly, and his eyes blaze. He shakes his head as if he’s struggling with the idea. “Have you eaten?” he asks out of the blue. Shit. “No.” “Are you hungry?” He’s really trying not to look annoyed. “Not for food,” I whisper, and his nostrils flare in reaction. He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “You are as eager as ever, Miss Steele—and just to let you in on a little secret, so am I. But Dr. Greene is due here shortly.” He sits up. “I wish you’d eat,” he scolds me mildly. My heated blood cools. Holy cow—the doctor. I’d forgotten. “What can you tell me about Dr. Greene?” I ask to distract us both. “She’s the best ob-gyn in Seattle. What more can I say?” He shrugs. “I thought I was seeing your doctor, and don’t tell me you’re really a woman, because I won’t believe you.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  No acts involving breath control. No activity that involves the direct contact of electric current (whether alternating or direct), fire, or flames to the body. Ugh. He has to write these down! Of course—they all look very sensible and, frankly, necessary… Any sane person wouldn’t want to be involved in this sort of thing, surely. Though I now feel a little queasy. “Is there anything you’d like to add?” he asks kindly. Crap. I’ve no idea. I am completely stumped. He gazes at me and furrows his brow. “Is there anything you won’t do?” “I don’t know.” “What do you mean you don’t know?” I squirm uncomfortably and bite my lip. “I’ve never done anything like this.” “Well, when you’ve had sex, was there anything you didn’t like doing?” For the first time in what seems to be ages, I blush. “You can tell me, Anastasia. We have to be honest with each other or this isn’t going to work.” I squirm uncomfortably again and stare at my knotted fingers. “Tell me,” he demands. “Well, I’ve not had sex before, so I don’t know.” My voice is small. I peek up at him, and he’s gaping at me, frozen, and pale—really pale. “Never?” he whispers. I shake my head. “You’re a virgin?” I nod, flushing again. He closes his eyes and looks to be counting to ten. When he opens them again, he’s angry, glaring at me. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Chapter EightChristian is running his hands through his hair and pacing up and down his study. Two hands—that’s double exasperation. His usual concrete control seems to have slipped a notch. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.” “The subject never came up. I’m not in the habit of revealing my sexual status to everyone I meet. I mean, we hardly know each other.” I’m staring at my hands. Why am I feeling guilty? Why is he so mad? I peek up at him. “Well, you know a lot more about me now,” he snaps, his mouth presses into a hard line. “I knew you were inexperienced, but a virgin!” He says it like it’s a really dirty word. “Hell, Ana, I just showed you…” He groans. “May God forgive me. Have you ever been kissed, apart from by me?” “Of course I have.” I try my best to look affronted. Okay…maybe twice. “And a nice young man hasn’t swept you off your feet? I just don’t understand. You’re twenty-one, nearly twenty-two. You’re beautiful.” He runs his hand through his hair again. Beautiful. I flush with pleasure. Christian Grey thinks I’m beautiful. I knot my fingers together, staring at them hard, trying to conceal my goofy grin. Perhaps he’s farsighted. My subconscious has reared her somnambulant head. Where was she when I needed her? “And you’re seriously discussing what I want to do, when you have no experience.” His brows knit together. “How have you avoided sex? Tell me, please.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Just these items.” His tone is clipped and cool. Damn…have I offended him? Taking a deep breath, I turn and head for the register. What is his problem? I ring up the rope, coveralls, masking tape, and cable ties. “That will be forty-three dollars, please.” I glance up at Grey, and I wish I hadn’t. He’s watching me closely, intently. It’s unnerving. “Would you like a bag?” I ask as I take his credit card. “Please, Anastasia.” His tongue caresses my name, and my heart once again is frantic. I can hardly breathe. Hurriedly, I place his purchases in a plastic bag. “You’ll call me if you want me to do the photo shoot?” He’s all business once more. I nod, rendered speechless yet again, and hand back his credit card. “Good. Until tomorrow, perhaps.” He turns to leave, then pauses. “Oh—and, Anastasia, I’m glad Miss Kavanagh couldn’t do the interview.” He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging female hormones. I spend several minutes staring at the closed door through which he’s just left before I return to planet earth. Okay—I like him. There, I’ve admitted it to myself. I cannot hide from my feelings anymore. I’ve never felt like this before. I find him attractive—very attractive. But it’s a lost cause, I know, and I sigh with bittersweet regret. It was just a coincidence, his coming here. But still, I can admire him from afar, surely. No harm can come of that. And if I find a photographer, I can do some serious admiring tomorrow. I bite my lip in anticipation and find myself grinning like a schoolgirl. I need to phone Kate and organize a photo shoot. Chapter ThreeKate is ecstatic. “But what was he doing at Clayton’s?” Her curiosity oozes through the phone. I’m in the depths of the stockroom, trying to keep my voice casual. “He was in the area.” “I think that is one huge coincidence, Ana. You don’t think he was there to see you?” My heart lurches at the prospect, but it’s a short-lived joy. The dull, disappointing reality is that he was here on business. “He was visiting the environmental science division of WSU. He’s funding some research,” I inform her. “Oh, yes. He’s given the department a $2.5 million grant.” Wow. “How do you know this?” “Ana, I’m a journalist, and I’ve written a profile on the guy. It’s my job to know this.” “Okay, Carla Bernstein, keep your hair on. So do you want these photos?” “Of course I do. The question is, who’s going to do them and where?” “We could ask him where. He says he’s staying in the area.” “You can contact him?” “I have his cell phone number.” Kate gasps. “The richest, most elusive, most enigmatic bachelor in Washington State just gave you his cell phone number?” “Er…yes.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Mr. Grey.” I nod in acknowledgment. I climb up and wince slightly as I take my seat. “Just how sore are you?” he asks as he sits down. I flush. Why does he ask such personal questions? “Well, to be truthful, I have nothing to compare this to,” I snap. “Did you wish to offer your commiserations?” I ask too sweetly. I think he’s trying to stifle a smile, but I can’t be sure. “No. I wondered if we should continue your basic training.” “Oh.” I stare at him dumbfounded as I stop breathing and everything inside me clenches tight. Ooh…that’s so nice. I suppress my groan. “Eat, Anastasia.” My appetite has become uncertain again… More sex…yes, please. “This is delicious, incidentally.” He grins. I try a forkful of omelet but can barely taste it. Basic training! I want to fuck your mouth. Does that form part of basic training? “Stop biting your lip. It’s very distracting, and I happen to know you’re not wearing anything under my shirt, which makes it even more distracting.” I dunk my tea bag in the small pot that Christian has provided. My mind is in a whirl. “What sort of basic training did you have in mind?” I ask, my voice slightly too high, betraying my wish to sound as natural, disinterested, and calm as I can while my hormones wreak havoc through my body. “Well, as you’re sore, I thought we could stick to oral skills.” I choke on my tea, and I stare at him, eyes wide and mouth gaping. He pats me gently on the back and passes me some orange juice. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “That’s if you want to stay,” he adds. I glance up at him, trying to recover my equilibrium. His expression is unreadable. It’s so frustrating. “I’d like to stay for today. If that’s okay. I have to work tomorrow.” “What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?” “Nine.” “I’ll get you to work by nine tomorrow.” I frown. Does he want me to stay another night? “I’ll need to go home tonight. I need clean clothes.” “We can get you some here.” I don’t have spare cash to spend on clothes. His hand comes up, and he grasps my chin, tugging it so my lip is released from the grip of my teeth. I’m not even aware I’ve been biting my lip. “What is it?” he asks. “I need to be home this evening.” His mouth is a hard line. “Okay, this evening,” he acquiesces. “Now eat your breakfast.” My thoughts and my stomach are in turmoil. My appetite has vanished. I stare at my half-eaten breakfast. I’m just not hungry. “Eat, Anastasia. You didn’t eat last night.” “I’m really not hungry.” His eyes narrow. “I would really like you to finish your breakfast.” “What is it with you and food?” I blurt out.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  You will have to speed, in your new car, putting yourself at unnecessary risk—I think that’s against the rules. GO TO WORK. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: SHOUTY CAPITALS Date: May 27 2011 08:47 To: Christian Grey As the object of your stalker tendencies, I think it is my business, actually. I haven’t signed yet. So rules, schmules. And I don’t start until 9:30. Miss Steele From: Christian Grey Subject: Descriptive Linguistics Date: May 27 2011 08:49 To: Anastasia Steele “Schmules”? Not sure where that appears in Webster’s Dictionary. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Descriptive Linguistics Date: May 27 2011 08:52 To: Christian Grey It’s between control freak and stalker. And descriptive linguistics is a hard limit for me. Will you stop bothering me now? I’d like to go to work in my new car. Ana From: Christian Grey Subject: Challenging but Amusing Young Women Date: May 27 2011 08:56 To: Anastasia Steele My palm is twitching. Drive safely, Miss Steele. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. The Audi is a joy to drive. It has power steering. Wanda, my Beetle, has no power in it at all—anywhere—so my daily workout, which was driving my Beetle, will cease. Oh, but I will have a personal trainer to contend with, according to Christian’s rules. I frown. I hate exercising. While I am driving, I try to analyze our email exchange. He’s a patronizing son of a bitch sometimes. And then I think of Grace, and feel guilty. But, of course, she wasn’t his birth mother. Hmm, that’s a whole world of unknown pain. Well, patronizing son of a bitch works well, then. Yes. I’m an adult—thank you for reminding me, Christian Grey—and it is my choice. The problem is, I just want Christian, not all his…baggage—and right now he has a 747 cargo hold’s worth of baggage. Could I just lie back and embrace it? Like a submissive? I’ve said I’d try but it’s an awfully big ask. I pull into the parking lot at Clayton’s. As I make my way in, I can hardly believe it’s my last day. Fortunately, the store is busy and time passes quickly. At lunchtime, Mr. Clayton summons me from the stockroom. He’s standing beside a motorcycle courier. “Miss Steele?” the courier asks. I frown questioningly at Mr. Clayton, who shrugs, as puzzled as me. My heart sinks. What has Christian sent me now? I sign for the small package and open it immediately. It’s a BlackBerry. My heart sinks further. I switch it on. From: Christian Grey Subject: BlackBerry ON LOAN Date: May 27 2011 11:15 To: Anastasia Steele I need to be able to contact you at all times, and since this is your most honest form of communication, I figured you needed a BlackBerry. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Consumerism Gone Mad Date: May 27 2011 13:22 To: Christian Grey

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Hi, my name’s Leandra. What can I get for you…er…folks…er…today, this mornin’?” Her voice trails off, stumbling over her words as she gets an eyeful of Mr. Beautiful opposite me. She flushes scarlet, and a small ounce of sympathy for her bubbles unwelcome into my consciousness because he still does that to me. Her presence allows me to escape briefly from his sensual glare. “Anastasia?” he prompts me, ignoring her, and I don’t think anyone could squeeze as much carnality into my name as he does at that moment. I swallow, praying that I don’t turn the same color as poor Leandra. “I told you, I want what you want.” I keep my voice soft, low, and he looks at me hungrily. My inner goddess swoons. Am I up to this game? Leandra looks from me to him and back again. She’s practically the same color as her shiny red hair. “Shall I give you folks another minute to decide?” “No. We know what we want.” Christian’s mouth twitches with a small, sexy smile. “We’ll have two portions of the original buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup and bacon on the side, two glasses of orange juice, one black coffee with skim milk, and one English breakfast tea, if you have it,” says Christian, not taking his eyes off me. “Thank you, sir. Will that be all?” Leandra whispers, looking anywhere but at the two of us. We both turn to stare at her, and she flushes crimson again and scuttles away. “You know, it’s really not fair.” I glance down at the Formica tabletop, tracing a pattern on it with my index finger, trying to sound nonchalant. “What’s not fair?” “How you disarm people. Women. Me.” “Do I disarm you?” I snort. “All the time.” “It’s just looks, Anastasia,” he says mildly. “No, Christian, it’s much more than that.” His brow creases. “You disarm me totally, Miss Steele. Your innocence. It cuts through all the crap.” “Is that why you’ve changed your mind?” “Changed my mind?” “Yes—about…er…us?” He strokes his chin thoughtfully with his long, skilled fingers. “I don’t think I’ve changed my mind per se. We just need to redefine our parameters, redraw our battle lines, if you will. We can make this work, I’m sure. I want you submissive in my playroom. I will punish you if you digress from the rules. Other than that…well, I think it’s all up for discussion. Those are my requirements, Miss Steele. What say you to that?” “So I get to sleep with you? In your bed?” “Is that what you want?” “Yes.” “I agree, then. Besides, I sleep very well when you’re in my bed. I had no idea.” His brow creases as his voice fades. “I was frightened you’d leave me if I didn’t agree to all of it,” I whisper.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  The muscles inside the deepest, darkest part of me clench in the most delicious fashion. The pain is so sweet and sharp I want to close my eyes, but I’m hypnotized by his eyes staring fervently into mine. Leaning down, he kisses me. His lips are demanding, firm and slow, molding to mine. He starts unbuttoning my shirt while he places featherlight kisses across my jaw, my chin, and the corners of my mouth. Slowly he peels it off me and lets it fall to the floor. He stands back and gazes at me. I’m in the pale-blue lacy perfect-fit bra. Thank heavens. “Oh, Ana,” he breathes. “You have the most beautiful skin, pale and flawless. I want to kiss every single inch of it.” I flush. Why did he say he couldn’t make love? I will do anything he wants. He grasps my hair tie, pulls it free, and gasps as my hair cascades down around my shoulders. “Mmm, I like brunettes.” And both of his hands are in my hair, grasping each side of my head. His kiss is demanding, his tongue and lips coaxing mine. I moan, and my tongue tentatively meets his. He puts his arms around me and hauls me against his body, squeezing me tightly. One hand remains in my hair, the other travels down my spine to my waist and down to my behind. His hand flexes over my backside and squeezes gently. He holds me against his hips, and I feel his erection, which he languidly pushes against me. I moan once more into his mouth. I can hardly contain the riotous feelings—or are they hormones?—that rampage through my body. I want him so badly. Gripping his upper arms, I feel his biceps. He’s surprisingly strong…muscular. Tentatively, I move my hands up to his face and into his hair. It’s so soft, unruly. I tug gently, and he groans. He eases me toward the bed, until I feel it behind my knees. I think he’s going to push me down on it, but he doesn’t. Releasing me, he suddenly drops to his knees. He grabs my hips with both his hands and runs his tongue around my navel, then gently nips his way to my hipbone, then across my belly to my other hipbone. “Ah,” I groan.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  All I’m wearing are my shoes. I’m taken aback. I’ve never undressed a man. “You can do it,” he cajoles softly. I blink rapidly. Where to start? I reach for his T-shirt, and he grabs my hands, smiling slyly at me. “Oh no.” He shakes his head, grinning. “Not the T-shirt. You may need to touch me for what I have planned.” His eyes are alive with excitement. Oh, this is news… I can touch with clothes. He takes one of my hands and places it against his erection. “This is the effect you have on me, Miss Steele.” I gasp and flex my fingers around his girth, and he grins. “I want to be inside you. Take my jeans off. You’re in charge.” Holy fuck…me in charge. My mouth drops open. “What are you going to do with me?” he teases. Oh, the possibilities… My inner goddess roars, and from somewhere born of frustration, need, and sheer Steele bravery, I push him on the bed. He laughs as he falls, and I gaze down at him, feeling victorious. My inner goddess is going to explode. I yank off his shoes, quickly, clumsily, and his socks. He’s staring up at me, his eyes luminous with amusement and desire. He looks…glorious… Mine. I crawl up the bed and sit astride him to undo his jeans, sliding my fingers under the waistband, feeling the hair in his oh-so-happy trail. He closes his eyes and flexes his hips. “You’ll have to learn to keep still,” I scold, and I tug at the hair under his waistband. His breath hitches, and he grins at me. “Yes, Miss Steele,” he says, eyes burning bright. “In my pocket, condom,” he adds. I search in his pocket slowly, watching his face as I feel around. His mouth is open. I fish out both foil packets that I find and lay them on the bed by his hips. Two! My overeager fingers reach for the button of his waistband and undo it, fumbling a little. I am beyond excited. “So eager, Miss Steele.” His voice is laced with humor. I tug down the zipper, and now I’m faced with the problem of removing his pants… Hmm. I shuffle down and pull. They hardly move. I frown. How can this be so difficult? “I can’t keep still if you’re going to bite that lip,” he warns, then arches his pelvis up off the bed so I’m able to tug down his trousers and his boxers at the same time. Whoa. Freeing him. He kicks his clothes to the floor. Holy Moses, he’s all mine to play with, and suddenly it’s Christmas. “Now what are you going to do?” All trace of his humor has gone.