«Really?» Christian’s grin gets bigger. «I think we could do something with that.»
What? I stare at him dumbfounded as he gracefully gets to his feet.
«Can I stay?» he asks.
«What do you mean?»
«The night.»
«I assumed that you were.» I flush.
«Good. Where’s the ice cream?»
«In the oven.» I smile sweetly at him.
He cocks his head to one side, sighs, and shakes his head at me. «Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Miss Steele.» His eyes glitter.
Oh shit. What’s he planning?
«I could still take you across my knee.»
I place the bowls in the sink. «Do you have those silver ball things?»
He pats his hands down his chest, belly, and the pockets of his jeans. «Funnily enough, I don’t carry a spare set around with me. Not much call for them in the office.»
«I am very glad to hear it, Mr. Grey, and I thought you said that sarcasm was the lowest form of wit.»
«Well, Anastasia, my new motto is if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.»
I gape at him—
«This will do just fine.» He looks up at me, eyes dark. «Ben & Jerry’s & Ana.» He says each word slowly, enunciating every syllable clearly.
I feel winded. Desire, dark, sleek, and wanton runs hot through my veins. We’re going to have fun, with food.
«I hope you’re warm,” he whispers. «I’m going to cool you down with this. Come.» He holds out his hand, and I place mine in his.
In my bedroom he places the ice cream on my bedside table, pulls the duvet off the bed, and removes both the pillows, placing them all in a pile on the floor.
«You have a change of sheets, don’t you?»
I nod, watching him, fascinated. He holds up Charlie Tango.
«Don’t mess with my balloon,” I warn.
His lips quirk upward in half a smile. «Wouldn’t dream of it, baby, but I do want to mess with you and these sheets.»
My body practically convulses.
«I want to tie you up.»
«Just your hands. To the bed. I need you still.»
«Okay,” I whisper again, incapable of anything more.
He strolls over to me, not taking his eyes off mine.
«We’ll use this.» He takes hold of my robe sash and with delicious, teasing slowness, releases the bow, and gently pulls it free of the garment.
My robe falls open while I stand paralyzed under his heated gaze. After a moment, he pushes the robe off my shoulders. It falls and pools at my feet so that I’m standing naked before him. He strokes my face with the backs of his knuckles, and his touch resonates in the depths of my groin. Bending, he kisses my lips briefly.
«Lie on the bed, face up,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening, burning into mine.
I do as I’m told. My room is shrouded in darkness except for the soft, insipid light from my lamp.
Normally, I hate energy–saving bulbs—they are so dim—but being naked here, with Christian, I’m grateful for the muted light. He stands by the bed gazing down at me.
«I could look at you all day, Anastasia,” he says, and with that crawls on to the bed, up my body, and straddles me.
«Arms above your head,” he commands.
I comply and he fastens the end of my robe sash round my left wrist and threads the end through the metal bars at the head of my bed. He pulls it tight so my left arm is flexed above me. He then secures my right hand, tying the sash tightly.
When I’m tied–up, staring at him, he visibly relaxes. He likes me tethered. I can’t touch him this way. It occurs to me that none of his subs would have touched him either—and what’s more, they would never have the opportunity to. He would have always been in control and at a distance. That’s why he likes his rules.
He climbs off me and bends to give me a quick peck on the lips. Then he stands and lifts his shirt over his head. He undoes his jeans and drops them to the floor.
He is gloriously naked. My inner goddess is doing a triple axel dismount off the uneven bars, and abruptly my mouth is dry. He really is beyond beautiful. He has a physique drawn on classical lines: broad muscular shoulders, narrow hips, the inverted triangle. He obviously works out. I could look at him all day. He moves to the end of the bed and grasps my ankles, pulling me swiftly and sharply downward so that my arms are stretched out and unable to move.
«That’s better,” he mutters.
Picking up the tub of ice cream, he climbs smoothly back onto the bed to straddle me once more. Very slowly, he peels off the lid of the tub and dips the spoon in.
«Hmm… it’s still quite hard,” he says with a raised brow. Scooping out a spoonful of the vanilla, he pops it into his mouth. «Delicious,” he murmurs, licking his lips. «Amazing how good plain old vanilla can taste.» He gazes down at me and smirks. «Want some?» he teases.
