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 67 of 344 · 20 per page

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  For a moment, I think I see a fleeting look of relief on his face, before the shutters come down, and he gazes at me through hooded eyes. “Would you now, Miss Steele?” he says dryly. He leans down and kisses me very gently at the corner of my mouth. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you? Turn on your front.” I blink at him momentarily, then turn over. He unhooks my bra and runs his hand down my back to my behind. “You really have the most beautiful skin.” He shifts so one of his legs pushes between mine, and he’s half lying across my back. I feel the buttons of his shirt pressing into me as he gathers my hair off my face and kisses my bare shoulder. “Why are you wearing your shirt?” I ask. He stills. After a beat, he shuffles out of his shirt, and he lies back down on me. I feel his warm skin against mine. Hmm… It feels heavenly. He has a light dusting of hair across his chest, which tickles my back. “So you want me to fuck you again?” he whispers in my ear, and he begins to trace soft kisses around my ear and down my neck. His hand moves down, skimming my waist, over my hip, and down my thigh to the back of my knee. He pushes my knee up higher, and my breath hitches… What’s he doing now? He shifts so he’s between my legs, pressed against my back, and his hand travels up my thigh to my behind. He caresses my cheek slowly, then glides his fingers down between my legs. “I’m going to take you from behind, Anastasia.” And with his other hand, he grasps my hair at the nape in a fist and pulls gently, holding me in place. I cannot move my head. I am pinioned beneath him, helpless. “You are mine,” he whispers. “Only mine. Don’t forget it.” His voice is intoxicating, his words heady, seductive as his erection presses against my thigh. His long fingers reach around to gently massage my clitoris, circling slowly. His breath is soft against my face as he slowly nips me along my jaw. “You smell divine.” He nuzzles behind my ear while his hand rubs against me, around and around. Reflexively, my hips start to circle, mirroring his hand, as excruciating pleasure spikes through my blood like adrenaline. “Keep still.” His voice is soft but urgent, and slowly he inserts his thumb inside me, rotating it around and around, stroking the front wall of my vagina. The effect is mind-blowing—all my energy concentrating on this one small space inside my body. I moan. “You like this?” he asks, his teeth grazing my outer ear, and he starts to flex his thumb slowly, in, out, in, out…his fingers still circling.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I moan between parted lips and arch my back so my breasts fill my palms. He squeezes my nipples between our thumbs, pulling gently so they elongate further. I watch in fascination at the wanton creature writhing in front of me. Oh, this feels good. I groan and close my eyes, no longer wanting to see that libidinous woman in the mirror falling apart under her own hands…his hands…feeling my skin as he would, experiencing how arousing it is—just his touch and his calm, soft commands. “That’s right, baby,” he murmurs. He guides my hands down the sides of my body, past my waist to my hips, and across to my pubic hair. He slides his leg in between mine, pushing my feet farther apart, widening my stance, and runs my hands over my sex, one hand at a time in turn, setting up a rhythm. It is so erotic. Truly I am a marionette and he is the master puppeteer. “Look at you glow, Anastasia.” He trails kisses and soft bites along my shoulder. I groan. Suddenly he lets go. “Carry on,” he orders and stands back, watching me. I rub myself. No. I want him to do it. It doesn’t feel the same. I’m lost without him. He pulls his shirt over his head and quickly takes off his jeans. “You’d rather I do this?” His gray gaze scorches mine in the mirror. “Oh yes, please,” I breathe. He wraps his arms around me again and takes my hands once more, continuing the sensual caress across my sex, over my clitoris. His chest hair scrapes against me, his erection pressing against me. Oh, soon…please. He bites the nape of my neck, and I close my eyes, enjoying the myriad sensations: my neck, my groin…the feel of him behind me. He stops abruptly and spins me around, circling my wrists with one hand, imprisoning my hands behind me, and pulling at my ponytail with the other. I’m flush against him, and he kisses me wildly, ravaging my mouth with his. Holding me in place. His breathing is ragged, matching mine. “When did you start your period, Anastasia?” he asks out of the blue, gazing down at me. “Yesterday,” I mumble in my highly aroused state. “Good.” He releases me and turns me around. “Hold on to the sink,” he orders and drags my hips back again like he did in the playroom so I’m bending down. He reaches between my legs and pulls on the blue string—What?!—and gently takes my tampon out, tossing it into the nearby trash can. Holy fuck. Sweet mother of all… And then he’s inside me… Ah! Skin against skin, moving slowly at first. Easily, testing me, pushing me… Oh my. I grip the sink, panting, forcing myself back on him, feeling him inside me. Oh, the sweet agony… His hands clasp my hips. He sets a punishing rhythm—in, out, and he reaches around and finds my clitoris, massaging me… I can feel myself quicken.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I close my eyes, trying to keep my breathing under control, trying to absorb the disordered, chaotic sensations that his fingers are unleashing on me, fire coursing through my body. I moan again. “You’re so wet, so quickly. So responsive. Oh, Anastasia, I like that. I like that a lot.” I want to stiffen my legs, but I can’t move. He’s pinning me down, keeping up a constant, slow, tortuous rhythm. It’s absolutely exquisite. I moan again, and he moves suddenly. “Open your mouth,” he commands and thrusts his thumb in my mouth. My eyes fly open, blinking wildly. “See how you taste,” he breathes against my ear. “Suck me, baby.” His thumb presses on my tongue, and my mouth closes around him, sucking wildly. I taste the saltiness on his thumb and the faint metallic tang of blood. Holy fuck. This is wrong, but holy hell is it erotic. “I want to fuck your mouth, Anastasia, and I will soon.” His voice is hoarse, raw, his breathing more disjointed. Fuck my mouth! I moan, and I bite down on him. He gasps, and he pulls my hair tighter, painfully, so I release him. “Naughty, sweet girl,” he whispers, then reaches over to the bedside table for a foil packet. “Stay still, don’t move,” he murmurs as he releases my hair. He rips the foil while I’m breathing hard, my blood singing in my veins. The anticipation is exhilarating. He leans down, his weight on me again, and he grabs my hair, holding my head immobile. I cannot move. I’m enticingly ensnared by him, and he’s poised and ready to take me once more. “We’re going to go real slow this time, Anastasia.” And slowly he eases into me, slowly, slowly, until he’s buried in me. Stretching, filling, relentless. I groan loudly. It feels deeper this time, delectable. I groan again, and he deliberately circles his hips and pulls back, pauses a beat, and then eases his way back in. He repeats this motion again and again. It’s driving me insane—his teasing, deliberately slow thrusts, and the intermittent feeling of fullness is overwhelming. “You feel so good,” he groans, and my insides start to quiver. He pulls back and waits. “Oh no, baby, not yet,” he murmurs, and as the quivering ceases, he starts the whole delicious process again. “Oh, please,” I beg. I’m not sure I can take much more. My body is wound so tight, craving release. “I want you sore, baby,” he murmurs, and he continues his sweet, leisurely torment, backward, forward. “Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine.” I groan. “Please, Christian.” “What do you want, Anastasia? Tell me.” I groan again. He pulls out and moves slowly back into me, circling his hips once more. “Tell me.” “You, please.” He increases the rhythm infinitesimally, and his breathing becomes more erratic. My insides start quickening, and Christian picks up the rhythm.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Kneeling by the door, I am naked except for my panties. My heart is in my mouth. Jeez, I thought after the bathroom he would have had enough. The man is insatiable, or maybe all men are like him. I have no idea, no one to compare him to. Closing my eyes, I try to calm myself down, to connect with my inner sub. She’s there somewhere, hiding behind my inner goddess. Anticipation runs bubbling like soda through my veins. What will he do? I take a deep, steadying breath, but I cannot deny it—I’m excited, aroused, wet already. This is so…I want to think wrong, but somehow it’s not. It’s right for Christian. It’s what he wants—and after the last few days…after all he’s done, I have to man up and take whatever he decides he wants, whatever he thinks he needs. The memory of his look when I came in this evening, the longing in his face, his determined stride toward me like I was an oasis in the desert. I’d do almost anything to see that look again. I press my thighs together at the delicious memory, and it reminds me that I need to spread my knees. I shuffle them apart. How long will he make me wait? The wait is crippling me, crippling me with a dark and tantalizing desire. I glance quickly around the subtly lit room: the cross, the table, the couch, the bench…that bed. It looms so large, and it’s made up with red satin sheets. Which piece of apparatus will he use? The door opens and Christian breezes in, ignoring me completely. I glance down quickly, staring at my hands, positioned with care on my spread thighs. Placing something on the large chest beside the door, he strolls casually toward the bed. I indulge myself in a quick glimpse at him, and my heart almost lurches to a stop. He’s naked except for those soft ripped jeans, top button casually undone. He looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm. She’s so ready. I lick my lips instinctively. My blood pounds through my body, thick and heavy with salacious hunger. What is he going to do to me? Turning, he nonchalantly walks back to the chest of drawers. Opening one, he begins to remove items and place them on the top. My curiosity burns, blazes even, but I resist the overwhelming temptation to sneak a quick peek. When he finishes what he’s doing, he comes to stand in front of me. I can see his naked feet, and I want to kiss every inch of them…run my tongue over his instep, suck each of his toes. Holy shit. “You look lovely,” he breathes.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I squirm inwardly. I cannot lie to this man. “Nothing specific at the moment.” “Well, we can start with: How was last night for you?” His eyes burn, filled with curiosity. He’s anxious to know. Wow. “Good,” I murmur, and I can’t help my shy smile. His lips lift slightly. “For me, too. I’ve never had vanilla sex before. There’s a lot to be said for it. But then, maybe it’s because it’s with you.” He runs his thumb across my lower lip. I inhale sharply. Vanilla sex? “Come, let’s have a bath.” He leans down and kisses me. My heart leaps and desire pools way down low…way down there. The bath is a deep, egg-shaped white stone, affair, very designer. Christian leans over and fills it from the faucet on the tiled wall. He pours some expensive-looking bath oil into the water. It foams as the bath fills and smells of sweet, sultry jasmine. He stands and gazes at me, his eyes dark, then peels his T-shirt off and casts it on the floor. “Miss Steele.” He holds his hand out. I’m standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and wary, my arms wrapped around myself. I step forward while surreptitiously admiring his physique. I take his hand, and he bids me to step into the bath while I am still wearing his shirt. I do as I’m told. I’ll have to get used to it if I’m going to take him up on his outrageous offer… If! The water is enticingly hot. “Turn around, face me,” he demands, his voice soft. I do as I’m told. He’s watching me intently. “I know that lip is delicious, I can attest to that, but will you stop biting it?” he says through clenched teeth. “Your chewing it makes me want to fuck you, and you’re sore, okay?” I gasp, automatically unlocking my lip, shocked. “Yeah,” he challenges. “Get the picture?” He glares at me. I nod frantically. I had no idea I could affect him so. “Good.” He reaches forward and takes my iPod out of the breast pocket, and he puts it by the sink. “Water and iPods—not a clever combination,” he mutters. He reaches down, grasps the hem of the shirt, lifts it above my head, and discards it on the floor. He stands back to gaze at me. I’m naked for heaven’s sake. I stare down at my hands, level with the base of my belly, and I desperately want to disappear into the hot water and foam, but I know he won’t want that. “Hey,” he summons me. I peek up at him, and his head is cocked to one side. “Anastasia, you’re a very beautiful woman, the whole package. Don’t hang your head like you’re ashamed. You have nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s a real joy to stand here and look at you.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I gaze at him, unable to express myself. I’m on shifting tectonic plates. Try to be cool, Ana, my tortured subconscious begs on bended knee. “Books,” I whisper, but inside, my subconscious is screaming, You! You are my thing! I slap it down instantly, mortified that my psyche is having ideas way out of its league. “What kind of books?” He cocks his head to one side. Why is he so interested? “Oh, you know. The usual. The classics. British literature mainly.” He rubs his chin with his long index finger and thumb as he contemplates my answer. Or perhaps he’s just very bored and trying to hide it. “Anything else you need?” I have to get off this subject. Those fingers on that face are beguiling. “I don’t know. What else would you recommend?” What would I recommend? I don’t even know what you’re doing! “For a do-it-yourselfer?” He nods, his eyes alive with wicked humor. I flush, and my gaze strays to his snug jeans. “Coveralls,” I reply, and I know I’m no longer screening what’s coming out of my mouth. He raises an eyebrow, amused yet again. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your clothing.” I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans. “I could always take them off.” He smirks. “Um.” I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of The Communist Manifesto. Stop talking. Stop talking NOW. “I’ll take some coveralls. Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing,” he says dryly. I try to dismiss the unwelcome image of him without jeans. “Do you need anything else?” I squeak as I hand him the blue coveralls. He ignores my inquiry. “How’s the article coming along?” He’s finally asked me an easy question, away from all the innuendo and the confusing double-talk…a question I can answer. I grasp it tightly with two hands as if it were a life raft, and I go for honesty. “I’m not writing it, Katherine is. Miss Kavanagh. My roommate, she’s the writer. She’s very happy with it. She’s the editor of the newspaper, and she was devastated that she couldn’t do the interview in person.” I feel like I’ve come up for air—at last, a normal topic of conversation. “Her only concern is that she doesn’t have any original photographs of you.” “What sort of photographs does she want?” Okay. I hadn’t factored in this response. I shake my head, because I just don’t know. “Well, I’m around. Tomorrow, perhaps…” “You’d be willing to do a photo shoot?” My voice is squeaky again. Kate will be in seventh heaven if I can pull this off. And you might see him again tomorrow, that dark place at the base of my brain whispers seductively at me. I dismiss the thought. Of all the silly, ridiculous…“Kate will be delighted—if we can find a photographer.” I’m so pleased, I smile at him broadly.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “They want two?… How much will that cost?… Okay, and what safety measures do we have in place?… And they’ll go via Suez?… How safe is Ben Sudan?… And when do they arrive in Darfur?… Okay, let’s do it. Keep me abreast of progress.” He hangs up. “Ready to go?” I nod. I wonder what his conversation was about. He slips on a navy pinstriped jacket, picks up his car keys, and heads for the door. “After you, Miss Steele.” He opens the door for me looking casually elegant. I pause, fractionally too long, drinking in the sight of him. And to think I slept with him last night, and after all the tequila and the throwing up, he’s still here. What’s more, he wants to take me to Seattle. Why me? I don’t understand it. I head out the door recalling his words—There’s something about you. Well, the feeling is entirely mutual, Mr. Grey, and I aim to find out what his secret is. We walk in silence down the corridor toward the elevator. As we wait, I peek up at him through my lashes, and he looks out of the corner of his eyes down at me. I smile, and his lips twitch. The elevator arrives, and we step in. We’re alone. Suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, possibly our proximity in such an enclosed space, the atmosphere between us changes, charged with an electric, exhilarating anticipation. My breathing alters as my heart races. His head turns fractionally toward me, his eyes the darkest slate. I bite my lip. “Oh, fuck the paperwork,” he growls. He lunges at me, pushing me against the wall of the elevator. Before I know it, he’s got both of my hands in one of his in a viselike grip above my head, and he’s pinning me to the wall using his hips. Holy shit. His other hand grabs my hair and yanks down, bringing my face up, and his lips are on mine. It’s only just not painful. I moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth. I have never been kissed like this. My tongue tentatively strokes his and joins his in a slow, erotic dance that’s all about touch and sensation, all bump and grind. He brings his hand up to grasp my chin and holds me in place. I’m helpless, my hands pinned, my face held, and his hips restraining me. His erection is against my belly. He wants me. Christian Grey, Greek god, wants me, and I want him, here…now, in the elevator. “You. Are. So. Sweet,” he murmurs, each word a staccato.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I climb slowly out of bed and note that my dress is hanging outside the wardrobe and my bra is on the chair. Where are my panties? I check beneath the chair. Nothing. Then I remember—he squirreled them away in the pocket of his jeans. I flush at the memory, after he removed them… I can’t even bring myself to think about it—he was so…barbarous. I frown. Why hasn’t he given me back my panties? I steal into the bathroom, bewildered by my lack of underwear. While drying myself after my enjoyable but far too brief shower, I realize he’s done this on purpose. He wants me to be embarrassed and ask for my panties back, and he’ll either say yes or no. My inner goddess grins at me. Hell…two can play that particular game. Resolving then and there not to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction, I shall go meet his parents sans culottes. Anastasia Steele! my subconscious chides me, but I don’t want to listen to her—I almost hug myself with glee because I know this will drive him crazy. Back in the bedroom, I put on my bra, slip into my dress, and climb into my shoes. I remove the braid and hastily brush out my hair, then glance down at the drink he’s left. It’s pale pink. What’s this? Cranberry and sparkling water. Hmm…it tastes delicious and quenches my thirst. Dashing back into the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror: eyes bright, cheeks slightly pink, slightly smug look because of my panty plan, and I head downstairs. Fifteen minutes. Not bad, Ana. Christian is standing by the panoramic window, wearing the gray flannel pants I love, the ones that hang in that unbelievably sexy way off his hips, and, of course, a white linen shirt. Doesn’t he have any other colors? Frank Sinatra sings softly over the surround-sound speakers. Christian turns and smiles as I enter. He looks at me expectantly. “Hi,” I say softly, and my sphinxlike smile meets his. “Hi,” he says. “How are you feeling?” His eyes are alight with amusement. “Good, thanks. You?” “I feel mighty fine, Miss Steele.” He is so waiting for me to say something. “Frank. I never figured you for a Sinatra fan.” He raises his eyebrows at me, his look speculative. “Eclectic taste, Miss Steele,” he says, and he paces toward me like a panther until he’s standing in front of me. His gaze is so intense, it takes my breath away. Frank starts crooning…an old song, one of Ray’s favorites, “Witchcraft.” Christian leisurely traces his fingertips down my cheek, and I feel it all the way down there. “Dance with me.” His voice is low and husky.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  He stops kissing me, and opening my eyes, I find him gazing down at me. “Trust me?” he asks. I nod, wide-eyed, my heart bouncing off my ribs, my blood thundering through my body. He reaches down, and from his pants pocket, he takes out his silver-gray silk tie… That silver-gray woven tie that leaves small impressions of its weave on my skin. He moves so quickly, sitting astride me as he fastens my wrists together, but this time, he ties the other end of the tie to one of the spokes of my white iron headboard. He pulls at my binding, checking it’s secure. I’m not going anywhere. I’m tied, literally, to my bed, and I’m so aroused. He slides off me and stands beside the bed, staring down at me, his eyes dark with want. His look is triumphant mixed with relief. “That’s better,” he murmurs and smiles a wicked, knowing smile. He bends and starts undoing one of my sneakers. Oh no…no…my feet. No. I’ve just been running. “Not my shoes,” I protest, trying to kick him off. He stops. “If you struggle, I’ll tie your feet, too. If you make a noise, Anastasia, I will gag you. Keep quiet. Katherine is probably outside listening right now.” Gag me! Kate! I shut up. He removes my shoes and my socks efficiently and slowly peels off my sweatpants. Oh, what panties am I wearing? He lifts me and pulls the quilt and my duvet out from under me and places me back down, this time on the sheets. “Now, then.” He licks his bottom lip slowly. “You’re biting that lip, Anastasia. You know the effect it has on me.” He places his long index finger over my mouth, a warning. Oh my. I can barely contain myself, lying helpless, watching him move gracefully around my room. It’s a heady aphrodisiac. Slowly, almost leisurely, he removes his shoes and socks, undoes his pants, and lifts his shirt off over his head. “I think you’ve seen too much.” He chuckles slyly. He sits astride me again, pulls my T-shirt up, and I think he’s going to take it off me, but he rolls it up to my neck and then pulls it up over my head so he can see my mouth and my nose, but it covers my eyes. And because it’s folded over, I cannot see a thing through it. “Mmm,” he breathes appreciatively. “This just gets better and better. I’m going to get a drink.” Leaning down, he kisses me, his lips tender against mine, and his weight shifts off the bed. I hear the quiet creak of the bedroom door. Get a drink. Where? Here? Portland? Seattle? I strain to hear him. I can make out low rumblings, and I know he’s talking to Kate. Oh no, he’s practically naked. What’s she going to say?

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Fuck, this is sexier than the toothbrush. I follow his orders immediately. Can I even touch my ankles? I find I can, with ease. The T-shirt slides up my back, exposing my behind. Thank heavens I have retained my panties, but I suspect I won’t for long. He places his hand reverently on my backside and very softly caresses it with his whole hand. With my eyes open, I can see his legs through mine, nothing else. I close my eyes tightly as he gently moves my panties to the side and slowly runs his finger up and down my sex. My body braces itself in a heady mix of wild anticipation and arousal. He slides one finger inside me, and he circles it deliciously slowly. Oh, it feels good. I moan. His breathing halts and I hear him gasp as he repeats the motion. He withdraws his finger and very slowly inserts the objects, one slow, delicious ball at a time. Oh my. They’re body temperature, warmed by our collective mouths. It’s a curious feeling. Once they’re inside me, I can’t really feel them—but then again I know they’re there. He straightens my panties and leans forward, and his lips softly kiss my behind. “Stand up,” he orders, and shakily I get to my feet. Oh! Now I can feel them…sort of. He grasps my hips to steady me while I reestablish my equilibrium. “You okay?” he asks, his voice stern. “Yes.” “Turn around.” I turn and face him. The balls pull downward and involuntarily I clench around them. The feeling startles me but not in a bad way. “How does that feel?” he asks. “Strange.” “Strange good or strange bad?” “Strange good,” I confess, blushing. “Good.” There’s a trace of humor lurking in his eyes. “I want a glass of water. Go and fetch one for me please.” Oh. “And when you come back, I shall put you across my knee. Think about that, Anastasia.” Water? He wants water—now? Why? As I leave the bedroom, it becomes abundantly clear why he wants me to walk around—as I do, the balls weigh down inside me, massaging me internally. It’s such a weird feeling and not entirely unpleasant. In fact, my breathing accelerates as I stretch up for a glass from the kitchen cabinet, and I gasp. Wow… I may have to keep these. They make me needy, needy for sex. He’s watching me carefully when I return. “Thank you,” he says as he takes the glass from me. Slowly, he takes a sip, then places the glass on his bedside table. There’s a foil packet, ready and waiting, like me. And I know he’s doing this to build the anticipation. My heart has picked up a beat. He turns his bright, gray gaze to mine. “Come. Stand beside me. Like last time.” I sidle up to him, my blood thrumming through my body, and this time…I’m excited. Aroused. “Ask me,” he says softly. I frown. Ask him what?

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Unless that company’s P&L improves, I’m not interested, Ros. We’re not carrying deadweight… I don’t want any more lame excuses… Have Marco call me. It’s shit-or-bust time… Yes. Tell Barney that the prototype looks good, though I’m not sure about the interface… No, it’s just missing something… I want to meet him this afternoon to discuss… In fact, him and his team. We can brainstorm… Okay. Transfer me back to Andrea…” He waits, staring out the window, master of his universe, looking down at the little people below from this castle in the sky. “Andrea—” Glancing up, he notices me at the door. A slow, sexy smile spreads across his lovely face, and I’m rendered speechless as my insides melt. He is without a doubt the most beautiful man on the planet, too beautiful for the little people below, too beautiful for me. No, my inner goddess scowls at me, not too beautiful for me. He is sort of mine, for now. The idea sends a thrill through my blood and dispels my irrational self-doubt. He continues his conversation, his eyes never leaving mine. “Clear my schedule this morning, but get Bill to call me. I’ll be in at two. I need to talk to Marco this afternoon; that will need at least half an hour… Schedule Barney and his team in after Marco or maybe tomorrow, and find time for me to see Claude every day this week… Tell him to wait… Oh?… No, I don’t want publicity for Darfur… Tell Sam to deal with it… No… Which event?… That’s next Saturday?… Hold on.” “When will you be back from Georgia?” he asks me. “Friday.” He resumes his phone conversation. “I’ll need an extra ticket, because I have a date… Yes, Andrea, that’s what I said. A date. Miss Anastasia Steele will accompany me… That’s all.” He hangs up. “Good morning, Miss Steele.” “Mr. Grey.” I smile shyly. He walks around his desk with his usual grace and stands in front of me. He gently strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers. “I didn’t want to wake you; you looked so peaceful. Did you sleep well?” “I am very well rested, thank you. I just came to say hi before I had a shower.” I gaze at him, drinking him in. He leans down and gently kisses me, and I can’t help myself. I throw my arms around his neck and my fingers twist in his still-damp hair. Pushing my body flush against his, I kiss him back. I want him. My attack takes him by surprise, but after a beat, he responds, a low groan in his throat. His hands slip into my hair and down my back to cup my naked behind, his tongue exploring my mouth. He pulls back, his eyes hooded. “Well, sleep seems to agree with you,” he murmurs. “I suggest you go have your shower, or shall I lay you across my desk now?”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I do as I’m told, completely seduced. He pushes the tip of the crop into my mouth, like my dream. Holy shit. “See how you taste. Suck. Suck hard, baby.” My mouth closes around the crop as my eyes lock on his. I can taste the rich leather and the saltiness of my arousal. His eyes are blazing. He’s in his element. He pulls the tip from my mouth, and he stands forward and grabs me and kisses me hard, his tongue invading my mouth. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me against him. His chest crushes mine, and I itch to touch, but I can’t, my hands useless above me. “Oh, Anastasia, you taste mighty fine,” he breathes. “Shall I make you come?” “Please,” I beg. The crop bites my buttock. Ow! “Please what?” “Please, Sir,” I whimper. He smiles at me, triumphant. “With this?” He holds the crop up so I can see it. “Yes, Sir.” “Are you sure?” He looks sternly at me. “Yes, please, Sir.” “Close your eyes.” I shut the room out, him out…the crop out. He starts small, biting licks of the crop against my belly once more. Moving down, soft small licks against my clitoris, once, twice, three times, again and again, until finally, that’s it—I can take no more—and I come, gloriously, loudly, sagging weakly. His arms curl around me as my legs turn to jelly. I dissolve in his embrace, my head against his chest, and I’m mewling and whimpering as the aftershocks of my orgasm consume me. He lifts me, and suddenly we’re moving, my arms still tethered above my head, and I can feel the cool wood of the polished cross at my back, and he’s popping the buttons on his jeans. He puts me down against the cross briefly while he slides on a condom, and then his hands wrap around my thighs as he lifts me again. “Lift your legs, baby, wrap them around me.” I feel so weak, but I do as he asks as he wraps my legs around his hips and positions himself beneath me. With one thrust, he’s inside me, and I cry out again, listening to his muffled moan at my ear. My arms are resting on his shoulders as he thrusts into me. Jeez, it’s deep this way. He thrusts again and again, his face at my neck, his harsh breathing at my throat. I feel the build up again. Jeez, no…not again… I don’t think my body will withstand another earth-shattering moment. But I have no choice…and with an inevitability that’s becoming familiar, I let go and come again, and it’s sweet and agonizing and intense. I lose all sense of self. Christian follows, shouting his release through clenched teeth and holding me hard and close as he does.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist—and I was holding you and you were looking up at me—all ‘kiss me, kiss me, Christian’—” He pauses and shrugs. “I felt I owed you an apology and a warning.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Anastasia, I’m not a hearts-and-flowers kind of man. I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat. “There’s something about you, though, and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured that out already.” My appetite vanishes. He can’t stay away! “Then don’t,” I whisper. He gasps, his eyes wide. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” “Enlighten me, then.” We sit gazing at each other, neither of us touching our food. “You’re not celibate?” Amusement lights up his eyes. “No, Anastasia, I’m not celibate.” He pauses for this information to sink in, and my cheeks warm. The mouth-to-brain filter is broken again. I can’t believe I’ve just said that out loud. “What are your plans for the next few days?” he asks, his voice low. “I’m working today, from midday. What time is it?” I panic suddenly. “It’s just after ten; you’ve plenty of time. What about tomorrow?” He has his elbows on the table, and his chin is resting on his long, steepled fingers. “Kate and I are going to start packing. We’re moving to Seattle next weekend, and I’m working at Clayton’s all this week.” “You have a place in Seattle already?” “Yes.” “Where?” “I can’t remember the address. It’s in the Pike Market District.” “Not far from me.” He smiles. “So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?” Where is he going with all these questions? The Christian Grey Inquisition is almost as irritating as the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition. “I’ve applied for some internships. I’m waiting to hear.” “Have you applied to my company, as I suggested?” I flush. Of course not. “Um…no.” “And what’s wrong with my company?” “Your company or your company?” “Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?” He tilts his head to one side, and I think he looks amused, but it’s hard to tell. I flush and glance down at my unfinished breakfast. I can’t look him in the eye when he uses that tone of voice. “I’d like to bite that lip,” he whispers darkly. I inhale sharply, completely unaware that I’m chewing my bottom lip and my mouth pops open. That has to be the sexiest thing anybody has ever said to me. My heartbeat spikes, and I’m a panting, quivering mess…and he hasn’t even touched me. I squirm in my seat and meet his dark glare. “Why don’t you?” “Because I’m not going to touch you, Anastasia—not until I have your written consent to do so.” His lips hint at a smile. What? “What does that mean?”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  The waiter chooses this moment to knock and, unbidden, enter. He glances briefly at Christian, who frowns at him but then nods, so the waiter clears our plates. The waiter’s arrival has broken the spell. And I grasp this precious moment of clarity. I have to go. Our meeting will only end one way if I stay, and I need some boundaries after such an intense conversation. As much as my body craves his touch, my mind is rebelling. I need some distance to think about all he’s said. I still haven’t made a decision, and his sexual allure and prowess doesn’t make it any easier. “Would you like some dessert?” Christian asks, ever the gentleman, but his eyes still blaze. “No thank you. I think I should go.” I stare down at my hands. “Go?” He can’t hide his surprise. The waiter leaves hastily. “Yes.” It’s the right decision. If I stay here, in this room with him, he will fuck me. I stand, purposefully. “We both have the graduation ceremony tomorrow.” Christian stands automatically, revealing years of ingrained civility. “I don’t want you to go.” “Please, I have to.” “Why?” “Because you’ve given me so much to consider, and I need some distance.” “I could make you stay,” he whispers. “Yes, you could easily, but I don’t want you to.” He runs his hands through his hair, regarding me carefully. “You know, when you fell into my office to interview me, you were all ‘Yes, sir,’ ‘No, sir.’ I thought you were a natural-born submissive. But quite frankly, Anastasia, I’m not sure you have a submissive bone in your delectable body.” He moves slowly toward me as his speaks, his voice tense. “You may be right,” I respond. “I want the chance to explore the possibility that you do,” he murmurs, staring down at me. He reaches up and caresses my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “I don’t know any other way, Anastasia. This is who I am.” “I know.” He leans down to kiss me but pauses before his lips touch mine, his eyes searching mine, wanting, asking permission. I raise my lips to his, and he kisses me, and because I don’t know if I’ll ever kiss him again, I let go—my hands moving of their own accord and twisting into his hair, pulling him to me, my mouth opening, my tongue stroking his. His hand grasps the nape of my neck as he deepens the kiss, responding to my ardor. His other hand slides down my back and flattens at the base of my spine as he pushes me against his body. “I can’t persuade you to stay?” he breathes between kisses. “No.” “Spend the night with me.” “And not touch you? No.” He groans. “You impossible girl.” He pulls back, gazing down at me. “Why do I think you’re telling me goodbye?” “Because I’m leaving now.” “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  He grips me harder. In warning? I don’t know. His fingers dig into the flesh of my behind as I lay panting, so I purposefully still. Very slowly, he starts to move again…out and then in…agonizingly slowly. Holy fuck—please! I’m screaming inside. And as the number of voices in the choral piece increases, so does his pace, infinitesimally, he’s so controlled…so in time with the music. And I can no longer bear it. “Please,” I beg, and in one swift move, he lowers me back onto the bed, and he’s lying on top of me, his hands on the bed beside my breasts as he supports his weight, and he thrusts into me. As the music reaches its climax, I fall…free-fall…into the most intense, agonizing orgasm I have ever had, and Christian follows me, thrusting hard into me three more times, finally stilling, then collapsing on top of me. As my consciousness returns from wherever it’s been, Christian pulls out of me. The music has stopped, and I can feel him stretch across my body as he undoes the cuff on my right wrist. I groan as my hand is freed. He quickly frees my other hand, gently pulls the mask from my eyes, and removes the earbuds. I blink in the soft, dim light and stare up into his intense gray gaze. “Hi,” he murmurs. “Hi yourself,” I breathe shyly back at him. His lips quirk up into a smile, and he leans down and kisses me softly. “Well done, you,” he whispers. “Turn over.” Holy fuck, what’s he going to do now? His eyes soften. “I’m just going to rub your shoulders.” “Oh, okay.” I roll stiffly onto my front. I am so tired. Christian sits astride me and starts to massage my shoulders. I groan loudly. He has such strong, knowing fingers. Leaning down, he kisses my head. “What was that music?” I mumble almost inarticulately. “It’s called Spem in Alium, a forty-part motet by Thomas Tallis.” “It was…overwhelming.” “I’ve always wanted to fuck to it.” “Not another first, Mr. Grey?” “Indeed, Miss Steele.” I groan again as his fingers work their magic on my shoulders. “Well, it’s the first time I’ve fucked to it, too,” I murmur sleepily. “You and I, we’re giving each other many firsts.” His voice is matter-of-fact. “What did I say to you in my sleep, Chris—er, Sir?” His hands pause their ministrations for a moment. “You said lots of things, Anastasia. You talked about cages and strawberries. That you wanted more, and that you missed me.” Oh, thank heavens for that. “Is that all?” The relief in my voice is evident. Christian stops his heavenly massage and shifts so he’s lying beside me, his head propped up on his elbow. He’s frowning. “What did you think you’d said?” Oh crap. “That I thought you were ugly, conceited, and that you were hopeless in bed.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “And two more Cosmos, please,” I add, looking anxiously at Christian. I am drinking with my mother—no way can he be angry about that. “Please pull up a chair, Christian.” “Thank you, Mrs. Adams.” Christian pulls a nearby chair over and sits gracefully down beside me. “So you just happen to be staying in the hotel where we’re drinking?” I ask, trying hard to keep my tone light. “Or you just happen to be drinking in the hotel where I’m staying,” Christian replies. “I just finished dinner, came in here, and saw you. I was distracted, thinking about your most recent email, and I glance up and there you are. Quite a coincidence, eh?” He cocks his head to one side, and I see a trace of a smile. Thank heavens—we may be able to save the evening after all. “My mother and I were shopping this morning and on the beach this afternoon. We decided on a few cocktails this evening.” I feel I owe him some sort of explanation. “Did you buy that top?” He nods at my brand-new green silk camisole. “The color suits you. And you’ve caught some sun. You look lovely.” My face warms, speechless at his compliment. “Well, I was going to pay you a visit tomorrow. But here you are.” He reaches over, takes my hand, and squeezes it gently, running his thumb across my knuckles to and fro…and I feel the familiar pull. The electric charge zapping beneath my skin under the gentle pressure from his thumb, firing into my bloodstream and pulsing around my body, heating everything in its path. It’s been more than two days since I saw him and I want him. My breath hitches. I blink at him, smiling shyly, and see a smile play on his lips. “I thought I’d surprise you. But as ever, Anastasia, you surprise me by being here.” I glance quickly at Mom, who is staring at Christian. Yes, staring! Stop it, Mom. As if he’s some exotic creature, never seen before. I mean, I know I’ve never had a boyfriend, and Christian only qualifies as such for ease of reference—but is it so unbelievable that I could attract a man? This man? Yes, frankly—look at him! my subconscious snaps. Oh, shut up! Who invited you to the party? I scowl at my mom—but she doesn’t seem to notice. “I don’t want to interrupt the time you have with your mother. I’ll have a quick drink and then retire. I have work to do,” he states earnestly. “Christian, it’s lovely to meet you finally,” Mom interjects, finally finding her voice. “Ana has spoken very fondly of you.” He smiles at her. “Really?” He raises an eyebrow at me, an amused expression on his face, and I flush again. The waiter arrives with our drinks. “Hendrick’s, sir,” he says with a triumphant flourish. “Thank you,” Christian murmurs in acknowledgment. I sip my latest Cosmo nervously. “How long are you in Georgia, Christian?” Mom asks.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Enjoy your afternoon. Your Ana From: Christian Grey Subject: Your Behind Date: May 31 2011 16:10 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Miss Steele, I am distracted by the title of this email. Needless to say it is safe—for now. Enjoy your dinner, and I miss you, too, especially your behind and your smart mouth. My afternoon will be dull, brightened only by thoughts of you and your eye rolling. I think it was you who so judiciously pointed out to me that I, too, suffer from that nasty habit. Christian Grey CEO & Eye Roller, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Eye Rolling Date: May 31 2011 19:14 ET To: Christian Grey Dear Mr. Grey, Stop emailing me. I am trying to get ready for dinner. You are very distracting, even when you are on the other side of the continent. And yes—who spanks you when you roll your eyes? Your Ana I press send, and immediately the image of that evil witch Mrs. Robinson comes into my mind. I just can’t picture it. Christian being beaten by someone as old as my mother, it’s just so wrong. Again I wonder what damage she’s wrought. My mouth sets in a hard, grim line. I need a doll to stick pins in; maybe that way I can vent some of the anger I feel at this stranger. From: Christian Grey Subject: Your Behind Date: May 31 2011 16:18 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Miss Steele, I still prefer my title to yours, in so many different ways. It is lucky that I am master of my own destiny and no one castigates me. Except my mother, occasionally, and Dr. Flynn, of course. And you. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Chastising…Me? Date: May 31 2011 19:22 ET To: Christian Grey Dear Sir, When have I ever plucked up the nerve to chastise you, Mr. Grey? I think you are mixing me up with someone else…which is very worrying. I really do have to get ready. Your Ana From: Christian Grey Subject: Your Behind Date: May 31 2011 16:25 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Miss Steele, You do it all the time in print. Can I zip up your dress? Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. For some unknown reason, his words leap off the screen and make me gasp. Oh…he wants to play games. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: NC-17 Date: May 31 2011 19:28 ET To: Christian Grey I would rather you unzipped it. From: Christian Grey Subject: Careful what you wish for… Date: May 31 2011 16:31 To: Anastasia Steele SO WOULD I. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Panting Date: May 31 2011 19:33 ET To: Christian Grey Slowly… From: Christian Grey Subject: Groaning Date: May 31 2011 16:35 To: Anastasia Steele Wish I were there. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Moaning Date: May 31 2011 19:37 ET To: Christian Grey

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I stand paralyzed as he closes the distance between us, devouring me with his eyes. Holy shit, something’s amiss—the strain in his jaw, the anxiety around his eyes. He shrugs out of his jacket, undoes his dark tie, and slings them both onto the couch en route to me. Then his arms are wrapped around me, and he’s pulling me to him, hard, fast, gripping my ponytail to tilt my head up, kissing me like his life depends on it. What the hell? He drags the hair tie painfully out of my hair, but I don’t care. There’s a desperate, primal quality to his kiss. He needs me, for whatever reason, at this point in time, and I have never felt so desired and coveted. It’s dark and sensual and alarming all at the same time. I kiss him back with equal fervor, my fingers twisting and fisting in his hair. Our tongues entwine, our passion and ardor erupting between us. He tastes divine, hot, sexy, and his scent—all body wash and Christian—is arousing. He drags his mouth away from mine, and he’s staring down at me, gripped by some unnamed emotion. “What’s wrong?” I breathe. “I’m so glad you’re back. Shower with me. Now.” I can’t decide if it’s a request or a command. “Yes,” I whisper, and he grabs my hand, leading me out of the big room into his bedroom to his bathroom. Once there, he releases me and turns the water on in the far-too-spacious shower. Spinning around slowly, he gazes at me, eyes hooded. “I like your skirt. It’s very short,” he says, his voice low. “You have great legs.” He steps out of his shoes and reaches down to take off each of his socks, never taking his eyes off me. I am rendered speechless by the look of hunger in his eyes. Wow, to be this wanted by this Greek god. I mirror his actions and step out of my black flats. Suddenly, he reaches for me, backing me up against the wall. Kissing me, my face, my throat, my lips…running his hands through my hair. I feel the cool, smooth tiled wall at my back as he pushes himself against me so I’m flattened between his heat and the chill of the ceramic. Tentatively, I place my arms on his upper arms, and he groans as I squeeze tightly. “I want you now. Here…fast, hard,” he breathes, and his hands are on my thighs, pushing up my skirt. “Are you still bleeding?” “No.” I flush. “Good.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Yes. Good night, José.” I hang up, not waiting for his response. “What was that all about?” Katherine demands, her hands on her hips. I decide honesty is the policy. She’s looking more intractable than ever. “He made a pass at me on Friday.” “José? And Christian Grey? Ana, your pheromones must be working overtime. What was the stupid fool thinking?” She shakes her head in disgust and returns to packing crates. Forty-five minutes later, we pause our packing for the house specialty, my lasagna. Kate opens a bottle of wine, and we sit among the boxes eating, quaffing cheap red wine, and watching crap TV. This is normality. It’s so grounding and welcome after the last forty-eight hours of…madness. I eat my first unhurried, no-nagging, peaceful meal in that time. What is it about him and food? Kate clears the dishes and I finish packing up the living room. We are left with the couch, the TV, and the dining table. What more could we need? Just the kitchen and our bedrooms left to pack up, and we have the rest of the week. The phone rings again. It’s Elliot. Kate winks at me and skips off to her bedroom like she’s fourteen. I know that she should be writing her valedictorian speech, but it seems Elliot is more important. What is it about the Grey men? What is it that makes them totally distracting, all-consuming, and irresistible? I take another slug of wine. I flick through the TV channels, but deep down I know I’m procrastinating. Burning a bright-red hole in the side of my purse is that contract. Do I have the strength and the wherewithal to read it tonight? I put my head in my hands. José and Christian, they both want something from me. José is easy to deal with. But Christian… Christian takes a whole different league of handling, of understanding. Part of me wants to run and hide. What am I going to do? His burning gray eyes and his intense smoldering stare come into my mind’s eye, and my body tightens at the thought. I gasp. He’s not even here and I’m turned on. It just can’t be about sex, can it? I recall his gentle banter this morning at breakfast, his joy at my delight with the helicopter ride, him playing the piano—the sweet, soulful, oh-so-sad music. He’s such a complicated person. And now I have an insight as to why. A young man deprived of his adolescence, sexually abused by some evil Mrs. Robinson figure… No wonder he’s old before his time. My heart fills with sadness at the thought of what he must have been through. I’m too naive to know exactly what, but the research should shed some light. But do I really want to know? Do I want to explore this world I know nothing about? It’s such a big step.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  He takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. It’s dominated by a super-king-size bed with elaborate drapes. But we don’t stop there. He takes me into the bathroom, which is two rooms, all aquamarines and white limestone. It’s huge. In the second room, a sunken bath, big enough for six people with stone steps that lead into it, is slowly filling with water. Steam rises gently above the foam, and I notice a stone bench that runs all the way around the bath. Candles flicker to the side. Wow…he’s done all this while on the phone. “Do you have a hair tie?” I fish into my jeans pocket and pull out a hair elastic. “Put your hair up.” I do as he asks. It’s warm and sultry beside the bath, and my camisole starts to stick. He leans over and shuts off the faucet. Leading me back into the first part of the bathroom, he stands behind me as we face the wall-size mirror above the two glass sinks. “Take your sandals off,” he says, and I oblige quickly, dropping them to the sandstone floor. “Lift up your arms.” I do as I’m told, and he lifts my camisole over my head so I’m topless in front of him. Not taking his eyes off mine, he reaches around and undoes the top button on my jeans and the zipper. “I’m going to have you in the bathroom, Anastasia.” Leaning down, he kisses my neck. I move my head to one side to give him easier access. Hooking his thumbs into my jeans, he slowly slides them down my legs, sinking down behind me as he pulls them and my panties to the floor. “Step out of your jeans.” Grasping the edge of the sink, I do just that. I am now naked, staring at myself, and he’s kneeling behind me. He kisses and then softly bites my behind, making me gasp. He stands and stares at me once more in the mirror. I try hard to stay still, ignoring my natural inclination to cover myself. He splays his hand across my belly, the span of his hand almost reaching from hip to hip. “Look at you. You are so beautiful,” he whispers. “See how you feel.” He clasps both my hands in his, his palms against the backs of my hands, his fingers in between mine so that my fingers are splayed. He places my hands on my belly. “Feel how soft your skin is.” His voice is soft and low. He moves my hands in a slow circle, then upward toward my breasts. “Feel how full your breasts are.” He holds my hands so they cup my breasts. He gently strokes my nipples with his thumbs over and over.