“Leave it on,” I insist, and reaching into my pants, I ease out my cock. “Ready?” I ask, and start to move my hand up and down, pleasuring myself. Her dark gaze strays from my hand to my face, and with a knowing smile, she turns and lies right over the stool.
“Grab the legs,” I urge, and she does, wrapping her fingers around the iron struts. Her hair brushes the floor and I move her dress so it hangs down her left side, leaving her glorious ass in view. “Let’s get rid of these,” I murmur, and run a finger across her skin above the elastic of her underwear. I kneel and slowly drag them down her legs and over her shoes. I toss them to the side and take her ass in my hands and squeeze.
“You look mighty fine from this angle, Miss Steele,” I whisper and kiss her butt. She squirms appropriately and I can’t help myself. I slap her hard so that she yelps and I ease one finger inside her. Her moan is loud and she strains her body, pushing against my hand.
She wants this.
She’s wet.
So wet.
Ana. You never disappoint.
I kiss her ass once more and stand up while moving my finger in. Out. In. Out.
“Legs. Wider,” I order as I fondle her backside. She moves her feet. “Wider.”
She shuffles them to the side until I’m satisfied.
Perfect.
“Hold on, baby.” I withdraw my hand and with infinite care slowly slide into her.
She gasps.
Fuck. She’s heaven.
I place my hand on her back and with the other I clutch the edge of the kitchen counter. I do not want to topple us both.
“Hold on,” I say once more and ease out of her, then slam into her.
“Ah!” she cries.
“Too much?”
“No. Keep going!” she whimpers.
And her wish is my command. I start to fuck her. Hard. Each stroke. Each push. Takes me away from everything, all my strife, all my worries. There’s only Ana. My girl. My lover. My light.
She cries out. Once, twice, three times. Begging me for more. And I keep going, taking her with me. Taking her higher. On and on until she calls out a strangled, loud version of my name. And she comes, over and over, with the force of a spring tide.
“Ana!” I cry and join her.
I collapse over her, then drop to the floor, taking her with me and cradling her in my arms. I kiss her eyelids, her nose, her mouth, and she puts her arms around my neck.
“How was option one?” I ask.
“Hmm…” she hums with a dazed smile.
I grin. “Same for me.”
“I’d like some more.”
“More? Jesus, Ana.”
She kisses my chest where my shirt is open, and I realize I’m still fully dressed.
“Let’s try the bed this time,” I whisper into her hair.
Ana moans. “Please!” Her hands are fastened, courtesy of her robe tie, to the spindles of her bedstead. She’s naked, her nipples long and hard, and pointing skyward, courtesy of my lips and tongue. I have her feet in one hand, pushed up on the bed near her behind, so her legs are akimbo and she’s straining for release. Slowly I ease my index finger in and out of her while my thumb circles her clitoris.
She can’t move.
“How’s this?” I ask.
“Please!” She’s hoarse.
“Do you like me to tease you?”
“Yes,” she cries.
“Do you like teasing me?”
“Yes.”
“I like it, too.” I stop my thumb and still my hand, my finger still inside her.
“Christian! Don’t stop!”
“Tit for tat, Anastasia.” She’s endeavoring to push her hips up on my hand to find her release. “Still,” I whisper. “Stay still.”
Her mouth is slack, eyes dark and full of lust and need and all a man could want.
“Please,” she whispers, and I can tantalize her no more. I release her feet and withdraw my hand. Taking hold of her knee, I run my nose and lips down her thigh to my ultimate goal.
“Ah!” she yells when my tongue swirls over her swollen clitoris. I slide two fingers inside her, pushing once, twice, and she lets out a boisterous cry and her orgasm washes over me. I kiss her belly, her stomach, between her breasts, then I slowly sink into her as her climax dies.
“I love you, Ana,” I whisper, and I start to move.
Ana slumbers beside me while above me, the tie from her robe is still attached to the bed spindles. I contemplate waking her and having my wicked way with her a third time, marveling that I still want more. Will I ever have enough of Anastasia Steele? But she needs to sleep. Tomorrow we go sailing. Just the two of us and The Grace. She’ll need her energy to help me on board. We’ll be away from everyone for three whole days, enjoying our own July Fourth celebration, and my hope is that I can finally relax, at least for a few days.
My mind drifts to my dad and his surprise apology, to menus and party favors, to the crash and the unknown saboteur. I hope Reynolds and Ryan are okay outside.
They’re keeping watch.
Ana’s safe. We’re safe.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Sitting at my desk and staring out at the distant Sound, I can’t help but notice the heartwarming glow that’s emanating either from my skin or from somewhere deep inside my chest. It could be a combination of sea, sun, and wind from being aboard The Grace for the long weekend, or it could be because I’ve spent three uninterrupted days with Anastasia. Despite all the vexing issues I’ve dealt with over the past few weeks, I’ve never felt as relaxed as I did with her on board my catamaran. Ana is food for my soul.
Anastasia is fast asleep. The early morning light shimmers through the portholes skimming over her tousled hair so that it gleams, burnished and beautiful. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I place a cup of tea on the nightstand, as The Grace bobs gently on the water in Bowman Bay. I lean over and plant a tender kiss on her cheek.
“Wake up, sleepy head. I’m lonely.”
She groans, but her expression softens. I kiss her again and her eyes flutter open, and her face shines with a breathtaking smile. Reaching up, she caresses my cheek.
“Good morning, husband-to-be.”
“Good morning, wife-to-be. I’ve made you tea.”
She chuckles, in disbelief, I think. “You dear man,” she says. “This belongs on the list of firsts!”