Excitement

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 46 of 182 · 20 per page

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  For some reason, possibly because he might use his influence, I don’t want to tell him. “A couple of publishing houses.” “Is that what you want to do, something in publishing?” I nod warily. “Well?” He looks at me patiently wanting more information. “Well, what?” “Don’t be obtuse, Anastasia. Which publishing houses?” he scolds. “Just small ones,” I murmur. “Why don’t you want me to know?” “Undue influence.” He frowns. “Oh, now you’re being obtuse.” He laughs. “Obtuse? Me? God, you’re challenging. Drink up. Let’s talk about these limits.” He fishes out another copy of my email and the list. Does he wander about with these lists in his pockets? I think there’s one in his jacket that I have. Shit, I’d better not forget that. I drain my cup. He glances quickly at me. “More?” “Please.” He smiles that oh-so-smug private smile of his, holds the champagne bottle up, and pauses. “Have you eaten anything?” Oh no…not this again. “Yes. I had a three-course meal with Ray.” I roll my eyes at him. The champagne is making me bold. He leans forward and holds my chin, staring intently into my eyes. “Next time you roll your eyes at me, I will take you across my knee.” What? “Oh,” I breathe, and I can see the excitement in his eyes. “Oh,” he responds, mirroring my tone. “So it begins, Anastasia.” My heart slams against my chest, and the butterflies escape from my stomach into my constricting throat. Why is that hot? He fills my cup, and I drink practically all of it. Chastened, I stare up at him. “Got your attention now, haven’t I?” I nod. “Answer me.” “Yes, you’ve got my attention.” “Good.” He smiles a knowing smile. “So, sexual acts. We’ve done most of this.” I move closer to him on the couch and glance down at the list. APPENDIX 3 Soft Limits To be discussed and agreed between both parties: Does the Submissive consent to: Masturbation Cunnilingus Fellatio Swallowing semen Vaginal intercourse Vaginal fisting Anal intercourse Anal fisting “No fisting, you say. Anything else you object to?” he asks softly. I swallow. “Anal intercourse doesn’t exactly float my boat.” “I’ll agree to the fisting, but I’d really like to claim your ass, Anastasia. But we’ll wait for that. Besides, it’s not something we can dive into.” He smirks at me. “Your ass will need training.” “Training?” I whisper. “Oh yes. It’ll need careful preparation. Anal intercourse can be very pleasurable, trust me. But if we try it and you don’t like it, we don’t have to do it again.” He grins down at me. I blink up at him. He thinks I’ll enjoy it? How does he know it’s pleasurable? “Have you done that?” I ask. “Yes.” Holy crap. I gasp. “With a man?” “No. I’ve never had sex with a man. Not my scene.” “Mrs. Robinson?” “Yes.” Holy shit…how? I frown. He moves on down the list. “And…swallowing semen. Well, you get an A in that.”

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “I am amazed you let me take control,” I shout. “You’d be amazed what I’d let you do, Miss Steele. Back to me now.” I feel the joystick move suddenly, and I let go as we spiral down several feet, my ears starting to pop again. The ground is getting closer, and it feels like we could be hitting it shortly. Whoa, that’s scary. Christian sounds his usual authoritative self as he talks to the tower. The tower squawks back at him over the radio, but I don’t understand what they say. We sail around again in a wide circle, sinking slowly to the ground. I can see the airport, the landing strips, and we’re flying back over Interstate 95. “Hang on, baby. This can get bumpy.” After another circle we dip, and suddenly we are on the ground with a brief thump, racing along the grass. Holy shit. My teeth chatter as we bump at an alarming speed along the ground, until we finally come to a stop. The plane sways then dips to the right. I take a deep lungful of air while Christian leans over and opens the cockpit lid, clambering out and stretching. “How was that?” he asks, and his eyes are a shining, dazzling silver gray. He leans down to unbuckle me. “That was extraordinary. Thank you.” “Was it more?” he asks, his voice tinged with hope. “Much more,” I exclaim, and he grins. “Come.” He holds out his hand for me, and I clamber out of the cockpit. As soon as I’m out, he grabs me and holds me flush against his body. Suddenly his hand is in my hair, tugging it so my head tips back, and his other hand travels down to the base of my spine. He kisses me, long, hard, and passionately, his tongue in my mouth. His breathing is mounting, his ardor. Holy cow, his erection… We’re in a field. But I don’t care. My hands twist in his hair, anchoring him to me. I want him, here, now, on the ground. He breaks away and gazes down at me, his eyes dark and luminous in the early morning light, full of raw, arrogant sensuality. Wow. He takes my breath away. “Breakfast,” he whispers, making it sound deliciously erotic. How can he make bacon and eggs sound like forbidden fruit? It’s an extraordinary skill. He turns, clasping my hand, and we head back toward the car. “What about the glider?” “Someone will take care of that,” he says dismissively. “We’ll eat now.” His tone is unequivocal. Food! He’s talking food, when really all I want is him. “Come.” He smiles.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Tell me and you can.” “What?” “You heard me.” “You’re bargaining with me?” His voice resonates with astonished disbelief. I nod. Yes…this is the way. “Negotiating.” “It doesn’t work that way, Anastasia.” “Okay. Tell me and I’ll roll my eyes at you.” He laughs, and I get a rare glimpse of carefree Christian. I’ve not seen him for a while. He sobers. “Always so keen and eager for information.” He gazes at me speculatively for a moment, then gracefully climbs off the bed. “Don’t go away,” he says and exits the room. Trepidation lances through me, and I hug myself. What’s he doing? Does he have some evil plan? Crap. Suppose he returns with a cane, or some weird kinky implement? Holy shit, what will I do then? When he does return, he’s holding something small in his hands. I can’t see what it is, and I’m burning with curiosity. “When’s your first interview tomorrow?” he asks softly. “Two.” A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Good.” And before my eyes, he subtly changes. He’s harder, intractable…hot. This is Dominant Christian. “Get off the bed. Stand over here.” He points to beside the bed, and I scramble up and off in double time. He stares intently down at me, his eyes glittering with promise. “Trust me?” he asks. I nod. He holds out his hand, and in his palm are two shiny silver balls linked with a thick black thread. “These are new,” he says emphatically. I look questioningly up at him. “I am going to put these inside you, and then I’m going to spank you, not for punishment, but for your pleasure and mine.” He pauses, gauging my wide-eyed reaction. Inside me! I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils. “Then we’ll fuck, and if you’re still awake, I’ll impart some information about my formative years. Agreed?” He’s asking my permission! Breathlessly, I nod. I’m incapable of speech. “Good girl. Open your mouth.” Mouth? “Wider.” Very gently, he puts the balls in my mouth. “They need lubrication. Suck,” he orders, his voice soft. The balls are cold, smooth, surprisingly heavy, and metallic tasting. My dry mouth pools with saliva as my tongue explores the unfamiliar objects. Christian’s gaze does not leave mine. Holy hell, this is turning me on. I squirm. “Keep still, Anastasia,” he warns. “Stop.” Gently, he tugs them from my mouth. Moving toward the bed, he throws the duvet aside and sits down on the edge. “Come here.” I stand in front of him. “Now turn around, bend down, and grab your ankles.” I blink at him, and his expression darkens. “Don’t hesitate,” he admonishes me softly, an undercurrent in his voice, and he pops the balls in his mouth.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  He frowns. “Anastasia, you should always read anything you sign.” “Christian, what you fail to understand is that I wouldn’t talk about us to anyone anyway. Even Kate. So it’s immaterial whether I sign an agreement. If it means so much to you, or your lawyer, whom you obviously talk to, then fine. I’ll sign.” He gazes at me and nods gravely. “Fair point well made, Miss Steele.” I lavishly sign on the dotted line of both copies and hand one back to him. Folding the other, I place it in my purse and take a large swig of my wine. I’m sounding so much braver than I’m actually feeling. “Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Christian?” Holy shit. Did I just say that? His mouth drops open, but he recovers quickly. “No, Anastasia, it doesn’t. First, I don’t make love. I fuck, hard. Second, there’s a lot more paperwork to do. And third, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run from here screaming! Come, I want to show you my playroom.” My mouth drops open. Fuck hard! Holy shit, that sounds so…hot. But why are we looking at a playroom? I am mystified. “You want to play on your Xbox?” I ask. He laughs loudly. “No, Anastasia, no Xbox, no PlayStation. Come.” He stands, holding out his hand. I let him lead me back out to the corridor. On the right of the double doors, where we came in, another door leads to a staircase. We go up to the second floor and turn right. Producing a key from his pocket, he unlocks yet another door and takes a deep breath. “You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on standby to take you whenever you want to go; you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It’s fine, whatever you decide.” “Just open the damn door, Christian.” He opens the door and stands back to let me in. I gaze at him once more. I so want to know what’s in here. Taking a deep breath I walk in. And it feels like I’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition. Holy fuck.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I hear a faint popping sound. What’s that? He returns, the door creaking once more, his feet padding across the bedroom floor, and ice tinkling against glass as it swirls in liquid. What kind of drink? He shuts the door and shuffles around and unzips his pants. There’s a thud on a floor, and he steps out of them, and I know he’s naked. He sits astride me again. “Are you thirsty, Anastasia?” he asks, his voice teasing. “Yes,” I breathe, because my mouth is suddenly parched. The ice clinks against the glass, and he leans down and kisses me, pouring a delicious, crisp liquid into my mouth. It’s white wine. It’s so unexpected, so hot, though it’s chilled and Christian’s lips are cool. “More?” he whispers. I nod. It tastes all the more divine because it’s been in his mouth. He leans down, and I drink another mouthful from his lips… Holy crap. “Let’s not go too far; we know your capacity for alcohol is limited, Anastasia.” I can’t help it. I grin at his teasing, and he leans down to deliver another delicious mouthful. He shifts so he’s lying beside me, his erection at my hip. Oh, I want him inside me. “Is this nice?” he asks, but I hear the edge in his voice. I tense. He moves the glass again and leans down, kissing me and depositing a small shard of ice in my mouth with a little wine. He slowly and leisurely skims chilled kisses down the center of my body, from the base of my throat to between my breasts, down my torso to my belly. He pops a fragment of ice in my navel in a pool of cool, cold wine. It burns all the way down to the depths of my belly. Wow. “Now you have to keep still,” he whispers. “If you move, Anastasia, you’ll get wine all over the bed.” My hips flex automatically. “Oh no. If you spill the wine, I will punish you, Miss Steele.” I groan and desperately fight the urge to tilt my hips, pulling on my restraint. Oh no…please. With one finger, he pulls down my bra cups in turn, my breasts pushed up, exposed and vulnerable. Leaning down, he kisses and tugs at each of my nipples in turn with cool, skilled lips. I fight my body as it tries to arch in response. “How nice is this?” he breathes, blowing on one of my nipples. I hear another clink of ice, then I feel it around my right nipple as he tugs the left one with his lips. I moan, struggling not to move. It’s sweet, agonizing torture. “If you spill the wine, I won’t let you come.” “Oh…please…Christian… Sir… Please.” He’s driving me insane. I hear him smile. The ice in my navel is melting. I’m beyond warm—warm and chilled and wanting. Wanting him, inside me. Now.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I climb warily to my feet. He stares at me and his mouth quirks up. “You’re shattered, aren’t you?” I nod shyly. “Stamina, Miss Steele.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet. Hold out your hands in front as if you’re praying.” I blink at him. Praying! Praying for you to go easy on me. I do as I’m told. He takes a cable tie and fastens it around my wrists, tightening the plastic. Holy hell. My eyes fly to his. “Look familiar?” he asks, unable to conceal his smile. Jeez…the plastic cable ties. Restocking at Clayton’s! It all becomes clear. I gape up at him as adrenaline spikes though my body anew. Okay, that’s got my attention—I’m awake now. “I have scissors here.” He holds them up for me to see. “I can cut you out of this in a moment.” I try to pull my wrists apart, testing my bonds, and as I do, the plastic bites into my flesh. It’s sore, but if I relax my wrists they’re fine—the tie is not cutting into my skin. “Come.” He takes my hands and leads me over to the four-poster bed. I notice now that it has dark red sheets on it and a shackle at each corner. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “I want more—much, much more.” And my heartbeat starts pounding again. Oh boy. “But I’ll make this quick. You’re tired. Hold on to the post.” I frown. Not on the bed, then? I find I can part my hands as I grasp the ornately carved wooden post. “Lower,” he orders. “Good. Don’t let go. If you do, I’ll spank you. Understand?” “Yes, Sir.” “Good.” He stands behind me and grasps my hips, and then quickly lifts me backward so I’m bending forward, still holding the post. “Don’t let go, Anastasia,” he warns. “I’m going to fuck you hard from behind. Hold the post to support your weight. Understand?” “Yes.” He smacks me across my behind with his hand. Ow… It stings. “Yes, Sir,” I mutter quickly. “Part your legs.” He puts his leg between mine, and holding my hips, he pushes my right leg to the side. “That’s better. After this, I’ll let you sleep.” Sleep? I’m panting. I’m not thinking of sleep now. He reaches up and gently strokes my back. “You have such beautiful skin, Anastasia.” He bends down and kisses me along my spine, gentle featherlight kisses. At the same time, his hands move around to my front, palming my breasts, and as he does this he traps my nipples between his fingers and tugs them gently. I stifle my moan as I feel my whole body respond, coming alive once more for him.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I also have the José issue. He’s left three messages and seven missed calls on my cell. He’s also called home twice. Kate has been very vague as to where I am. He’ll know she’s covering for me. Kate doesn’t do vague. But I have decided to let him stew. I’m still too angry with him. Christian mentioned some kind of written paperwork, and I don’t know if he was joking or if I’m going to have to sign something. It’s frustrating trying to guess. And on top of all the angst, I can barely contain my excitement or my nerves. Tonight’s the night! After all this time, am I ready for this? My inner goddess glares at me, tapping her small foot impatiently. She’s been ready for this for years, and she’s ready for anything with Christian Grey, but I still don’t understand what he sees in me, mousey Ana Steele—it makes no sense. He is punctual, of course, and waiting for me when I leave Clayton’s. He climbs out of the back of the Audi to open the door and smiles warmly at me. “Good evening, Miss Steele,” he says. “Mr. Grey.” I nod politely as I climb into the back seat of the car. Taylor is sitting in the driver’s seat. “Hello, Taylor,” I say. “Good evening, Miss Steele.” His voice is polite and professional. Christian climbs in the other side and clasps my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that echoes through my body. “How was work?” he asks. “Very long,” I reply, and my voice is husky, too low, and full of need. “Yes, it’s been a long day for me, too.” “What did you do?” I manage. “I went hiking with Elliot.” His thumb strokes my knuckles, back and forth, and my heart skips a beat as my breathing accelerates. How does he do this to me? He’s only touching a very small area of my body, and the hormones are flying. The drive to the heliport is short. When we arrive, I wonder where the fabled helicopter might be. We’re in a built-up area of the city, and even I know helicopters need space to take off and land. Taylor parks, climbs out, and opens the door for me. Christian is beside me in an instant and takes my hand again. “Ready?” he asks. I nod and want to say For anything, but I can’t articulate the words as I’m too nervous, too excited. “Taylor.” He nods curtly at his driver, and we head into the building, straight to a set of elevators. Elevator! The memory of our kiss this morning comes back to haunt me. I have thought of nothing else all day, daydreaming at the register at Clayton’s. Twice Mr. Clayton had to shout my name to bring me back to earth. To say I’ve been distracted would be the understatement of the year.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Oh, please, don’t let this be about money, Ana. Elliot said it’s very unusual for Christian to date anyone.” “Did he?” My voice hitches up several octaves. Too obvious, Steele! My subconscious glares at me, wagging her long, skinny finger, then morphs into the scales of justice to remind me he could sue if I disclose too much. Ha, what’s he going to do—take all my money? I must remember to Google “penalties for breaching a nondisclosure agreement” while I’m doing the rest of my “research.” It’s like I’ve been given a school assignment. Maybe I’ll be graded. I flush, remembering my A for this morning’s bath experiment. “Ana, what is it?” “I’m just remembering something Christian said.” “You look different,” Kate says fondly. “I feel different. Sore,” I confess. “Sore?” “A little.” I flush. “Me, too. Men,” she says in mock disgust. “They’re animals.” We both laugh. “You’re sore?” I exclaim. “Yes…overuse.” I giggle. “Tell me about Elliot the overuser,” I ask when I’ve stopped giggling. Oh, I can feel myself relaxing for the first time since I was in line at the bar, before the phone call that started all this—when I was admiring Mr. Grey from afar. Happy, uncomplicated days. Kate blushes. Oh my… Katherine Agnes Kavanagh goes all Anastasia Rose Steele on me. She gives me a dewy-eyed look. I’ve never seen her react this way to a man before. My jaw drops to the floor. Where’s Kate? What have you done with her? “Oh, Ana,” she gushes. “He’s just so…everything. And when we…oh…really good.” She can hardly string a sentence together, she’s got it so bad. “I think you’re trying to tell me that you like him.” She nods, grinning like a lunatic. “And I’m seeing him on Saturday. He’s going to help us move.” She clasps her hands together, leaps up off the couch, and pirouettes to the window. Moving. Crap—I’d forgotten all about that, even with the packing cases surrounding us. “That’s helpful of him,” I say appreciatively. I can get to know him, too. Perhaps he can give me more insight into his strange, disturbing brother. “So what did you do last night?” I ask. She cocks her head at me and raises her eyebrows in a what-do-you-think-stupid look. “Pretty much what you did, though we had dinner first.” She grins at me. “Are you okay really? You look kind of overwhelmed.” “I feel overwhelmed. Christian is very intense.” “Yeah, I could see how he could be. But he was good to you?” “Yes,” I reassure her. “I’m really hungry. Shall I cook?” She nods and picks up two more books to pack. “What do you want to do with the $14,000 books?” she asks. “I’m going to return them to him.” “Really?” “It’s a completely over-the-top gift. I can’t accept it, especially now.” I grin at Kate, and she nods.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  And suddenly he’s back—and all at once I’m calmer and more excited in the same breath. Could I be more excited? I see his feet. He’s changed his jeans. These are older, ripped, soft, and overwashed. These jeans are hot. He shuts the door and hangs something on the back. “Good girl, Anastasia. You look lovely like that. Well done. Stand up.” I stand, but I keep my face down. “You may look at me.” I peek up at him, and he’s staring at me intently, assessing, but his eyes soften. He’s taken off his shirt. Oh my… I want to touch him. The top button of his jeans is undone. “I’m going to chain you now, Anastasia. Give me your right hand.” I give him my hand. He turns it palm up, and before I know it, he swats the center with a riding crop I hadn’t noticed in his right hand. It happens so quickly that the surprise hardly registers. Even more astonishing—it doesn’t hurt. Well, not much, just a slight ringing sting. “How does that feel?” he asks. I blink at him, confused. “Answer me.” “Okay.” I frown. “Don’t frown.” I blink and try for impassive. I succeed. “Did that hurt?” “No.” “This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?” “Yes.” My voice is uncertain. Is it really not going to hurt? “I mean it,” he says. Jeez, my breathing is so shallow. Does he know what I’m thinking? He shows me the crop. It’s brown plaited leather. My eyes jerk up to meet his, and they’re alight with fire and a trace of amusement. “We aim to please, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. “Come.” He takes my elbow and moves me to beneath the grid. He reaches up and takes down some shackles with black leather cuffs. “This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.” I glance up. Holy shit—it’s like a subway map. “We’re going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we’ll end up by the wall over there.” He points with the riding crop to where the large wooden X is on the wall. “Put your hands above your head.” I oblige immediately, feeling like I’m exiting my body—a casual observer of events as they unfold around me. This is beyond fascinating, beyond erotic. It’s singularly the most exciting and scary thing I’ve ever done. I’m entrusting myself to a beautiful man who, by his own admission, is fifty shades of fucked up. I suppress the brief thrill of fear. Kate and Elliot, they know I’m here. He stands very close as he fastens the cuffs. I’m staring at his chest. His proximity is heavenly. He smells of body wash and Christian, an inebriating mix, and that drags me back into the now. I want to run my nose and tongue through that smattering of chest hair. I could just lean forward…

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I frown and return to my now-cold food. I’m too excited to eat, Christian. Don’t you understand? my subconscious explains. But I’m too much of a coward to voice these thoughts aloud, especially when he looks so sullen. Hmm, like a small boy. I find the thought amusing. “What’s so funny?” he asks. I shake my head, not daring to tell him, and keep my eyes on my food. Swallowing my last piece of pancake, I peek up at him. He’s eyeing me speculatively. “Good girl,” he says. “I’ll take you home when you’ve dried your hair. I don’t want you getting ill.” There’s some kind of unspoken promise in his words. What does he mean? I leave the table, wondering for a moment if I should ask permission but dismissing the idea. Sounds like a dangerous precedent to set. I head back to his bedroom. A thought stops me. “Where did you sleep last night?” I turn to gaze at him still sitting in the dining room chair. I can’t see any blankets or sheets out here—perhaps he’s had them tidied away. “In my bed,” he says simply, his gaze impassive again. “Oh.” “Yes, it was quite a novelty for me, too.” He smiles. “Not having…sex.” There. I said the word. I blush—of course. “No.” He shakes his head and frowns as if recalling something uncomfortable. “Sleeping with someone.” He picks up his newspaper and continues to read. What in heaven’s name does that mean? He’s never slept with anyone? He’s a virgin? Somehow I doubt that. I stand staring at him in disbelief. He is the most mystifying person I’ve ever met. And it dawns on me that I have slept with Christian Grey, and I kick myself. What would I have given to be conscious to watch him sleep? See him vulnerable. Somehow, I find that hard to imagine. Well, allegedly all will be revealed tonight. In his bedroom, I hunt through a chest of drawers and find the hair dryer. Using my fingers, I dry my hair the best I can. When I’ve finished, I head into the bathroom. I want to brush my teeth. I eye Christian’s toothbrush. It would be like having him in my mouth. Hmm… Glancing guiltily over my shoulder at the door, I feel the bristles on the toothbrush. They are damp. He must have used it already. Grabbing it quickly, I squirt toothpaste on it and brush my teeth in double time. I feel so naughty. It’s such a thrill. Grabbing my T-shirt, bra, and panties from yesterday, I put them in the shopping bag that Taylor brought and head back to the living area to hunt for my bag and jacket. Deep joy, there is a hair tie in my bag. Christian is watching me as I tie my hair back, his expression unreadable. I feel his eyes follow me as I sit down and wait for him to finish. He’s on his BlackBerry talking to someone.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Taking my hand, he leads me over to the antique four-poster bed. There are shackles attached at each corner, fine metal chains with leather cuffs, glinting against the red satin. Oh boy, I think my heart is going to jump out of my chest, and I’m melting from the inside out, desire coursing through me. Could I be any more excited? “Stand here.” I am facing the bed. He leans down and whispers in my ear. “Wait here. Keep your eyes on the bed. Picture yourself lying here, bound and totally at my mercy.” Oh my. He moves away for a moment, and I can hear him near the door fetching something. All my senses are hyperalert, my hearing more acute. He’s picked up something from the rack of whips and paddles by the door. Holy cow. What is he going to do? I feel him behind me. He takes my hair, pulls it into a ponytail behind me, and starts to braid it. “While I like your pigtails, Anastasia, I am impatient to have you right now. So one will have to do.” His voice is low, soft. His deft fingers skim my back occasionally as they work down my hair, and each casual touch is like a sweet, electric shock against my skin. He fastens the end with a hair tie, then gently tugs the braid so I’m forced to step back flush against him. He pulls again to the side so that I angle my head, giving him easier access to my neck. Leaning down, he nuzzles my neck, tracing his teeth and tongue from the base of my ear to my shoulder. He hums softly as he does, and the sound resonates through me. Right down…right down there, inside me. Unbidden, I groan quietly. “Hush, now,” he breathes against my skin. He holds up his hands in front of me, his arms touching mine. In his right hand is a flogger. I remember the name from my first introduction to this room. “Touch it,” he whispers, and he sounds like the devil himself. My body flames in response. Tentatively, I reach out and brush the long strands. It has many long fronds, all soft suede with small beads at the end. “I will use this. It will not hurt, but it will bring your blood to the surface of your skin and make you very sensitive.” Oh, he says it won’t hurt. “What are the safewords, Anastasia?” “Um…yellow and red, Sir,” I whisper. “Good girl. Remember, most of your fear is in your mind.” He drops the flogger on the bed, and his hands move to my waist. “You won’t be needing these.” He hooks his fingers into my panties and sweeps them down my legs. I step unsteadily out of them, supporting myself on the ornate post of the bed.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  The elevator stops, the doors open, and he pushes away from me in the blink of an eye, leaving me hanging. Three men in business suits look at both of us and smirk as they climb on board. My heart rate is through the roof. I feel like I’ve run an uphill race. I want to lean over and grasp my knees…but that’s just too obvious. I glance at him, and he looks so cool and calm, like he’s been doing The Seattle Times crossword. How unfair. Is he totally unaffected by my presence? He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, and he gently blows out a deep breath. Oh, he’s affected all right—and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba. The businessmen exit on the second floor. We have one more floor to travel. “You’ve brushed your teeth,” he says, staring at me. “I used your toothbrush.” His lips quirk up in a half smile. “Oh, Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?” The doors open at the first floor, and he takes my hand and pulls me out. “What is it about elevators?” he mutters, more to himself than to me as he strides across the lobby. I struggle to keep up with him, because my wits have been thoroughly and royally scattered all over the floor and walls of elevator three in The Heathman Hotel. Chapter SixChristian opens the passenger-side door to the black Audi SUV, and I clamber in. It’s a beast of a car. He hasn’t mentioned the outburst of passion that exploded in the elevator. Should I? Should we talk about it or pretend it didn’t happen? It hardly seems real—my first proper no-holds-barred kiss. As time ticks on, I assign it mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost City of Atlantis status. It never happened; it never existed. Perhaps I imagined it all. No. I touch my lips, swollen from his kiss. It definitely happened. I’m a changed woman. I want this man desperately, and he wanted me. I glance at him. Christian is his usual polite, slightly distant self. How confusing. He starts the engine and reverses out of his space in the parking lot. He switches on the sound system. The car interior is filled with the sweetest, most magical music of two women singing. Oh wow…all my senses are in disarray, so this is doubly affecting. It sends delicious shivers up my spine. Christian pulls out onto Southwest Park Avenue, and he drives with easy, lazy confidence. “What are we listening to?” “It’s Delibes’s “Flower Duet,” from the opera Lakmé. Do you like it?” “Christian, it’s wonderful.” “It is, isn’t it?” He grins, glancing at me. And for a fleeting moment, he seems his age: young, carefree, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. Is this the key to him? Music? I sit and listen to the angelic voices teasing and seducing me. “Can I hear that again?”

• From Story of the Eye (1928)

  Simone walked about naked under a white dress that was flimsy enough to hint at the red garter-belt underneath and, in certain positions, even at her pussy. Furthermore, everything in this city contributed to making her radiate such sensuality that when we passed through the torrid streets, I often saw cocks stretching trousers. Indeed, we virtually never stopped having sex. We avoided orgasms and we went sight-seeing, for this was the only way to keep from having my penis endlessly immersed in her fur. But we did take advantage of any opportunities when we were out. We would leave one convenient place with never any goal but to find another like it. An empty museum room, a stairway, a garden path lined with high bushes, an open church, deserted alleys in the evenings—we walked until we found the right place, and the instant we found it, I would open the girl’s body by lifting one of her legs and shoving my cock to the bottom of her cunt in one swoop. A few moments later, I would pull my steaming member from its stable, and our promenade would continue almost aimlessly. Usually, Sir Edmund would follow at a distance in order to surprise us: he would turn purple, but he never came close. And if he masturbated, he would do it discreetly, not for caution’s sake, of course, but because he never did anything unless standing isolated and almost utterly steady, with a dreadful muscular contraction. “This is a very interesting place,” he said one day in regard to a church, “it’s the church of Don Juan.” “So what?” replied Simone. “Stay here with me,” Sir Edmund said to me. “And you, Simone, you ought to go round this church all by yourself.” “What an awful idea!” Nevertheless, however awful the idea, it aroused her curiosity, and she went in by herself while we waited in the street. Five minutes later, Simone reappeared at the threshold of the church. We were dumbstruck: not only was she guffawing her head off, but she couldn’t speak or stop laughing, so that, partly by contagion, partly because of the intense light, I began laughing as hard as she, and so did Sir Edmund to a certain extent. “Bloody girl,” he said. “Can’t you explain? By the by, we’re laughing right over the tomb of Don Juan!” And laughing even harder, he pointed at a large church brass at our feet. It was the tomb of the church’s founder, who, the guides claimed, was Don Juan: after repenting, he had himself buried under the doorstep so that the faithful would trudge over his corpse when entering or leaving their haunt.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Oh, by the way, I’m wearing your underwear.” I give him a small smile and pull up the waistband of the boxer briefs so he can see. Christian’s mouth drops open, shocked. What a great reaction. My mood shifts immediately, and I sashay into the house, part of me wanting to jump and punch the air. YES! My inner goddess is thrilled. Kate is in the living room packing her books into crates. “You’re back! Where’s Christian? How are you?” Her voice is fevered, anxious, and she bounds up to me, grabbing my shoulders, minutely analyzing my face before I’ve even said hello. Crap… I have to deal with Kate’s persistence and tenacity, and I’m in possession of a signed legal document saying I can’t talk. It’s not a healthy mix. “Well, how was it? I couldn’t stop thinking about you—after Elliot left, that is.” She grins mischievously. I can’t help but smile at her concern and her burning curiosity, but suddenly I feel shy. I blush. It was very private. All of it. Seeing and knowing what Christian has to hide. But I have to give her some details, because she won’t leave me alone until I do. “It was good, Kate. Very good, I think,” I say quietly, trying to hide my embarrassed tell-all smile. “You think?” “I’ve got nothing to compare it to, do I?” I shrug apologetically. “Did he make you come?” Holy crap. She’s so blunt. I go scarlet. “Yes,” I mumble, exasperated. Kate pulls me to the couch and we sit. She clasps my hands. “That is good.” Kate looks at me in disbelief. “It was your first time. Wow, Christian must really know what he’s doing.” Oh, Kate, if only you knew. “My first time was horrid,” she continues, making a sad comedy face. “Oh?” This has me interested, something she’s never divulged before. “Yes, Steve Patrone. High school, dickless jock.” She shudders. “He was rough. I wasn’t ready. We were both drunk. You know, typical teenage post-prom disaster. Ugh, it took me months before I decided to have another go. And not with him, the gutless wonder. I was too young. You were right to wait.” “Kate, that sounds awful.” Kate looks wistful. “Yeah, took almost a year to have my first orgasm through penetrative sex, and here you are, first time?” I nod shyly. My inner goddess sits in the lotus position looking serene except for the sly, self-congratulatory smile on her face. “I’m glad you lost it to someone who knows his ass from his elbow.” She winks at me. “So when are you seeing him again?” “Wednesday. We’re having dinner.” “So you still like him?” “Yes. But I don’t know about…the future.” “Why?” “He’s complicated, Kate. You know—he inhabits a very different world to mine.” Great excuse. Believable, too. Much better than He’s got a Red Room of Pain, and he wants to make me his sex slave.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  “Exactly what I say.” He sighs and shakes his head at me, amused but exasperated, too. “I need to show you, Anastasia. What time do you finish work this evening?” “About eight.” “Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and I’ll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours.” “Why can’t you tell me now?” “Because I’m enjoying my breakfast and your company. Once you’re enlightened, you probably won’t want to see me again.” What does that mean? Does he traffic small children to some godforsaken part of the planet? Is he part of some underworld crime syndicate? It would explain why he’s so rich. Is he deeply religious? Is he impotent? Surely not—he could prove that to me right now. I pale thinking about the possibilities. This is getting me nowhere. I’d like to solve the riddle that is Christian Grey sooner rather than later. If it means that whatever secret he has is so gross that I don’t want to know him anymore, then, quite frankly, it’ll be a relief. Don’t lie to yourself, my subconscious yells at me. It’ll have to be pretty damned bad to have you running for the hills. “Tonight.” He raises an eyebrow. “Like Eve, you’re so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge.” “Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?” I ask sweetly. Pompous ass. He narrows his eyes at me and picks up his BlackBerry. He presses one number. “Taylor. I’m going to need Charlie Tango.” Charlie Tango! Who’s he? “From Portland at, say, 20:30… No, standby at Escala… All night.” All night! “Yes. On call tomorrow morning. I’ll pilot from Portland to Seattle.” Pilot? “Standby pilot from 22:30.” He puts the phone down. No please or thank you. “Do people always do what you tell them?” “Usually, if they want to keep their jobs,” he says, deadpan. “And if they don’t work for you?” “Oh, I can be very persuasive, Anastasia. You should finish your breakfast. And then I’ll drop you off at home. I’ll pick you up at Clayton’s at eight when you finish. We’ll fly up to Seattle.” “Fly?” “Yes. I have a helicopter.” I gape at him. I have my second date with Christian Oh-So-Mysterious Grey. From coffee to helicopter rides. Wow. “We’ll go by helicopter to Seattle?” “Yes.” “Why?” He grins wickedly. “Because I can. Finish your breakfast.” How can I eat now? I’m going to Seattle by helicopter with Christian Grey. And he wants to bite my lip… I squirm at the thought. “Eat!” he says more sharply. “Anastasia, I have an issue with wasted food. Eat.” “I can’t eat all this.” I gape at what’s left on the table. “Eat what’s on your plate. If you’d eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be declaring my hand so soon.” His mouth sets in a grim line. He looks angry.

• From Tropic of Capricorn (1934)

  In between “The Midnight Fire Alarm” and “Marche Militaire” I would get my inspiration, which was to destroy all the existent forms of harmony and create my own cacophony. Imagine Uranus well aspected to Mars, to Mercury, to the Moon, to Jupiter, to Venus. It’s hard to imagine because Uranus functions best when it is badly aspected, when it is “afflicted,” so to speak. Yet that music which I gave off Sunday mornings, a music of well-being and of well-nourished desperation, was born of an illogically well-aspected Uranus firmly anchored in the Seventh House. I didn’t know it then, I didn’t know that Uranus existed, and lucky it was that I was ignorant. But I can see it now, because it was a fluky joy, a phony well-being, a destructive sort of fiery creation. The greater my euphoria the more tranquil the folks became. Even my sister who was dippy became calm and composed. The neighbors used to stand outside the window and listen, and now and then I would hear a burst of applause, and then bang, zip! like a rocket I was off again—Velocity Exercise No. 947½. If I happened to espy a cockroach crawling up the wall I was in bliss: that would lead me without the slightest modulation to Opus Izzit of my sadly corrugated clavichord. One Sunday, just like that, I composed one of the loveliest scherzos imaginable—to a louse. It was spring and we were all getting the sulphur treatment; I had been poring all week over Dante’s Inferno in English. Sunday came like a thaw, the birds driven so crazy by the sudden heat that they flew in and out of the window, immune to the music. One of the German relatives had just arrived from Hamburg, or Bremen, a maiden aunt who looked like a bull-dyker. Just to be near her was sufficient to throw me into a fit of rage. She used to pat me on the head and tell me I would be another Mozart. I hated Mozart, and I hate him still, and so to get even with her I would play badly, play all the sour notes I knew. And then came the little louse, as I was saying, a real louse which had gotten buried in my winter underwear. I got him out and I put him tenderly on the tip of a black key. Then I began to do a little gigue around him with my right hand; the noise had probably deafened him. He was hypnotized, it seemed, by my nimble pyrotechnic. This trancelike immobility finally got on my nerves. I decided to introduce a chromatic scale, coming down on him full force with my third finger. I caught him fair and square, but with such force that he was glued to my fingertip. That put the St. Vitus Dance in me. From then on the scherzo commenced.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  How come that does not surprise me? I sigh heavily. “Just set it up on the dining table over there.” I wander into the kitchen to join Kate. “What is it?” she says inquisitively, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. She’s slept well, too. “It’s a laptop from Christian.” “Why’s he sent you a laptop? You know you can use mine.” She frowns. Not for what he has in mind. “Oh, it’s only on loan. He wanted me to try it out.” My excuse sounds feeble. But Kate nods her assent. Oh my. I have hoodwinked Katherine Kavanagh. A first. She hands me my tea. The laptop is sleek and silver and rather beautiful. It has a very large screen. Christian Grey likes scale. I think of his living area, in fact, his whole apartment. “It’s got the latest OS and a full suite of programs, plus a 1.5 terabyte hard drive so you’ll have plenty of room, 32 gigs of RAM. What are you planning to use it for?” “Uh…email.” “Email!” he chokes, raising his eyebrows with a slightly sick look on his face. “And maybe internet research?” I shrug apologetically. He sighs. “Well, this has full wireless N, and I’ve set it up with your Me account details. This baby is all ready to go, practically anywhere on the planet.” He looks longingly at it. “Me account?” “Your new email address.” I have an email address? He points to an icon on the screen and continues to talk at me, but it’s like white noise. I haven’t got a clue what he’s saying, and in all honesty, I’m not interested. Just tell me how to switch it on and off. I’ll figure out the rest. Kate whistles, impressed when she sees it. “This is next-generation tech.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Most women get flowers or maybe jewelry,” she says suggestively, trying to suppress a smile. I scowl at her but can’t keep a straight face. We both burst into a fit of giggles, and computer man gapes at us, bemused. He finishes up and asks me to sign the delivery note. As Kate shows him out, I sit with my cup of tea and open the email program, and waiting for me is an email from Christian. My heart leaps into my mouth. I have an email from Christian Grey. Nervously, I open it. From: Christian Grey Subject: Your New Computer Date: May 22 2011 23:15 To: Anastasia Steele Dear Miss Steele, I trust you slept well. I hope that you put this laptop to good use, as discussed. I look forward to dinner Wednesday. Happy to answer any questions before then, via email, should you so desire. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc. I hit reply. From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Your New Computer (on loan) Date: May 23 2011 08:20 To: Christian Grey I slept very well, thank you—for some strange reason—Sir. I understood that this computer was on loan, ergo not mine. Ana

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I want to move, to writhe—to escape or to welcome each blow, I don’t know; it’s so overwhelming. I can’t pull my arms…my legs are stuck…I am held very firmly in place…and again he strikes across my breasts. I cry out. And it’s a sweet agony—bearable, just. No, not immediately, but as my skin sings with each blow in perfect counterpoint to the music in my head, I am dragged into a dark, dark part of my psyche that surrenders to this most erotic sensation. Yes—I get this. He hits me across my hip, then moves in swift blows over my pubic hair, on my thighs, and down my inner thighs…and back up my body…across my hips. He keeps going as the music reaches a climax, and then suddenly the music stops. And so does he. Then the singing starts again…building and building, and he rains down blows on me…and I groan and writhe. Once again, it ceases and all is quiet…except my wild breathing…and wild yearning. For… Oh, what’s happening? What’s he going to do now? The excitement is almost unbearable. I’ve entered a very dark, carnal place. The bed moves and shifts as I feel him clamber over me, and the song starts again. He’s got it on repeat. This time, it’s his nose and lips that take the place of the fur…running down my neck and throat, kissing, sucking…trailing down to my breasts… Ah! Taunting each of my nipples in turn, his tongue swirling around one while his fingers relentlessly tease the other. I groan, loudly I think, though I can’t hear. I am lost. Lost in him, lost in the astral, seraphic voices, lost to all the sensations I cannot escape… I am completely at the mercy of his expert touch. He moves down to my belly, his tongue circling my navel, following the path of the flogger and the fur. I moan. He’s kissing and sucking and nibbling, moving south, and then his tongue is there. At the junction of my thighs. I throw my head back and cry out as I almost detonate into orgasm… I’m on the brink, and he stops. No! The bed shifts, and he kneels between my legs. He leans toward the bedpost, and the cuff on my ankle is suddenly gone. I pull my leg to the middle of the bed…resting it against him. He leans over to the opposite post and frees my other leg. His hands travel quickly down both my legs, squeezing and kneading, bringing life back into them. Then, grasping my hips, he lifts me so my back is no longer on the bed. I am arched, resting on my shoulders. What? He’s kneeling up between my legs, and in one swift, slamming move, he’s inside me. Oh fuck! And I cry out again. The quiver of my impending orgasm begins, and he stills. The quiver dies—oh no, he’s going to torture me further. “Please!” I wail.

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  Christian glances down at me, a slight smile on his lips. Ha! He’s thinking about it, too. “It’s only three floors,” he says dryly, his eyes dancing with amusement. He’s telepathic, surely. It’s spooky. I try to keep my face impassive as we enter the elevator. The doors close, and it’s there, the weird electrical attraction crackling between us, enslaving me. I close my eyes in a vain attempt to ignore it. He tightens his grip on my hand, and five seconds later the doors open onto the roof of the building. And there it is, a white helicopter with the name GREY ENTERPRISES HOLDINGS, INC. written in blue with the company logo on the side. Surely this is misuse of company property. He leads me to a small office where an old-timer sits behind the desk. “Here’s your flight plan, Mr. Grey. All external checks are done. She’s ready and waiting, sir. You’re free to go.” “Thank you, Joe.” Christian smiles warmly at him. Oh. Someone deserving of the polite treatment from Christian. Perhaps he’s not an employee. I stare at the old guy in awe. “Let’s go,” Christian says, and we make our way toward the helicopter. When we’re up close, it’s much bigger than I thought. I expected it to be a roadster version for two, but it has at least seven seats. Christian opens the door and directs me to one of the seats at the very front. “Sit. Don’t touch anything,” he orders as he climbs in behind me. He shuts the door with a slam. I’m glad the area is floodlit; otherwise, I’d find it difficult to see inside the small cockpit. I sit down in my allotted seat, and he crouches beside me to strap me into the harness. It’s a four-point harness with all the straps connecting to one central buckle. He tightens both of the upper straps so I can hardly move. He’s so close and intent on what he’s doing—if I could only lean forward, my nose would be in his hair. He smells clean, fresh, heavenly, but I’m fastened securely into my seat and effectively immobile. He glances up and smiles, like he’s enjoying his usual private joke, his eyes heated. He’s so tantalizingly close. I hold my breath as he pulls at one of the upper straps. “You’re secure. No escaping,” he whispers. “Breathe, Anastasia,” he adds softly. Reaching up, he caresses my cheek, running his long fingers down to my chin, which he grasps between his thumb and forefinger. He leans forward and plants a brief, chaste kiss on my lips, leaving me reeling and my insides clenching at the thrilling, unexpected touch. “I like this harness,” he adds. What?

• From Fifty Shades of Grey (2011)

  I don’t think I have ever seen him so happy—bossy, but happy. I clamber in, settling down into the leather seat. It is surprisingly comfortable. Christian leans over, pulls the harness over my shoulders, reaches between my legs for the lower belt, and slots it into the fastener that rests against my belly. He tightens all the restraining straps. “Hmm, twice in one morning, I am a lucky man.” He kisses me quickly. “This won’t take long—twenty, thirty minutes at most. Thermals aren’t great this time of the morning, but it’s so breathtaking up there at this hour. I hope you’re not nervous.” “Excited.” I beam. Where did this ridiculous grin come from? Actually, part of me is terrified. My inner goddess—she’s under a blanket behind the sofa. “Good.” He grins back, stroking my face, then disappears from view. I hear and feel his movements as he climbs in behind me. Of course he’s strapped me in so tightly I can’t move around to see him…typical! We are very low on the ground. In front of me is a panel of dials and levers and a big stick thing. I leave everything alone. Mark Benson appears with a cheerful grin as he checks my straps and leans in and checks the cockpit floor. I think it’s the ballast. “Yep, that’s secure. First time?” he asks me. “Yes.” “You’ll love it.” “Thanks, Mr. Benson.” “Call me Mark.” He turns to Christian. “Okay?” “Yep. Let’s go.” I am so glad I haven’t eaten anything. I am beyond excited, and I don’t think my stomach would be game for food, excitement, and leaving the ground. Once again, I am putting myself into this beautiful man’s skilled hands. Mark shuts the cockpit lid, strolls over to the plane in front, and climbs in. The Piper’s single propeller starts, and my nervous stomach relocates itself to my throat. Jeez, I’m really doing this. Mark taxis slowly down the runway, and as the cable takes the strain, we suddenly jolt forward. We’re off. I hear chatter over the radio set behind me. I think it’s Mark talking to the tower—but I can’t make out what he’s saying. As the Piper picks up speed, so do we. It’s very bumpy, and in front of us the single prop plane is still on the ground. Will we ever get up? And suddenly, my stomach disappears from my throat and free-falls through my body to the ground—we’re airborne. “Here we go, baby!” Christian shouts from behind me. And we are in our own bubble, just us two. All I hear is the sound of the wind ripping past and the distant hum of the Piper’s engine. I’m gripping the edge of my seat with both hands, so tightly my knuckles are white. We head west, inland, away from the rising sun, gaining height, crossing over fields and woods and homes and Interstate 95.