I blink my eyes open, and he stares down at me wide–eyed. Slowly he withdraws then sinks into me once more, his mouth slackening and then forming an Ah… , but he says nothing. Seeing his arousal, his reaction to me—I light up inside, my blood scorching through my veins. His gray eyes burn into mine. He picks up the rhythm, and I revel in it, glory in it, watching him, watching me—his passion, his love—as we come apart, together.
I call out as I explode around him, and Christian follows.
«Yes, Ana!» he cries. He collapses on me, releasing my hands and resting his head on my chest. My legs are still wrapped around him, and under the patient, maternal eyes of the Madonna paintings, I cradle his head against me and struggle to catch my breath.
He raises his head to look at me. «I’m not finished with you yet,” he murmurs and leaning up, he kisses me.
I lie naked in Christian’s bed, sprawled over his chest, panting. Holy cow—does his energy ever wane? Christian trails his fingers up and down my back.
«Satisfied, Miss Steele?»
I murmur my assent. I have no energy left for talking. Raising my head, I turn unfocused eyes to him and bask in his warm, fond gaze. Very deliberately, I angle my head down so he knows I am going to kiss his chest.
He tenses momentarily, and I plant a soft kiss in his chest hair, breathing in his unique Christian smell, mixed with sweat and sex. It’s heady. He rolls onto his side so I’m lying beside him and gazes down at me.
«Is sex like this for everyone? I’m surprised anyone ever goes out,” I murmur, feeling suddenly shy.
He grins. «I can’t speak for everyone, but it’s pretty damned special with you, Anastasia.» He bends and kisses me.
«That’s because you’re pretty damned special, Mr. Grey,” I agree, smiling up at him and caressing his face. He blinks down at me at a loss.
«It’s late. Go to sleep,” he says. He kisses me, then lies down and pulls me to him so we’re spooning in bed.
«You don’t like compliments.»
«Go to sleep, Anastasia.»
Hmm… But he is pretty damned special. Jeez… why doesn’t he realize this?
«I loved the house,” I murmur.
He says nothing for a moment, but I sense his grin.
«I love you. Go to sleep.» He nuzzles my hair, and I drift into sleep, safe in his arms, dreaming of sunsets and French doors and wide staircases… and a small copper–haired boy running through a meadow, laughing and giggling as I chase him.
«Gotta go, baby.» Christian kisses me just below my ear.
I open my eyes and it’s morning. I turn to face him, but he’s up and dressed and fresh and delicious, leaning over me.
«What time is it?» Oh no… I don’t want to be late.
«Don’t panic. I have a breakfast meeting.» He rubs his nose against mine.
«You smell good,” I murmur, stretching out beneath him, my limbs pleasurably tight and creaky from all our exploits yesterday. I wrap my arms around his neck.
«Don’t go.»
He cocks his head to one side and raises his eyebrow. «Miss Steele—are you trying to keep a man from an honest day’s work?»
I nod sleepily at him, and he smiles his new shy smile.
«As tempting as you are, I have to go.» He kisses me and stands. He’s wearing a really sharp dark navy suit, white shirt and navy tie, and he looks every inch the CEO… the hot CEO.
«Laters, baby,” he murmurs and he’s off.
Glancing at the clock I note it’s already seven—I must have slept through the alarm.
Well, time to get up.
In the shower, inspiration hits me. I’ve thought of another birthday present for Christian. It’s so difficult to buy something for the man who has everything. I’ve already given him my main present, and I still have the other item I bought at the tourist shop, but this is one present that will really be for me. I hug myself in anticipation as I switch off the shower. I just have to prepare it.
In the walk–in closet, I put on a dark red fitted dress with a square neckline, cut quite low. Yes, this will do for work.
Beneath them, I find a large, black, flat cardboard box. It piques my interest immediately. What’s in here? I stare at it, feeling like I’m trespassing again. Taking it out, I shake it. It’s heavy as if it holds papers or manuscripts. I cannot resist, I open the lid—and quickly shut it again. Holy fuck—photographs from the Red Room. The shock makes me sit back on my heels as I try to wipe the image from my brain. Why did I open the box? Why has he kept them?
I shudder. My subconscious scowls at me—this is before you. Forget them.
She’s right. Standing up I notice his ties are hanging at the end of his clothes rail. I find my favorite and exit quickly.
