“No.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “She knows me as Christian Grey.”
John considers my response. “That child is part of you.”
“I know. But I want to keep him to myself for a little while longer. Get used to him.”
“Will you tell her?”
“One day. Sure.”
“You’ve only known about him for a few days. I think you’re entitled to keep him to yourself for as long as you want, Christian. Learn to love him. Forgive him. It’s in your power to do so.”
I gasp as the full weight of Flynn’s words blindside me.
Forgive him.
“What did he do that requires forgiveness?” I whisper.
John smiles at me, kindly. “He survived.”
I’m frozen. Staring at him.
“And his poor mother didn’t. You might want to direct some of your forgiveness at her, too.”
I gaze at him for what feels like minutes, then I glance at the clock. “Okay.” I blow out a breath, relieved we’re done. “As ever, you’ve given me a great deal to think about.”
“Good. That’s my job. We still have so much to discuss, but I’m sorry, we’re out of time.”
“We’re getting there, surely?” I ask.
Flynn’s grin is amicable. “Slowly. Now we’re at this point, your attachment issues alone could fill a year.”
I laugh. “I know.”
“But you’re beginning to open up to your wife. Making yourself vulnerable. These are giant steps.”
I nod, feeling like I got an A in therapy. “I think so.”
“I’ll see you next time. And congratulations, Christian.”
I frown. What?
“The baby.” Flynn grins.
“Oh, yes. Junior. Thank you.”
It’s dusk, a golden pink light filling the room. My hands in the pockets of my pants, I stare out at the Seattle skyline toward the Sound and smile—from my ivory tower, as Ana would say. And I would correct her and tell her it’s our ivory tower.
She was animated and talkative at dinner, happy to be working. After our meal she returned to her lair—well, the library—to sort through query letters that she had messengered over from SIP. Perhaps she should go into the office tomorrow. I think she’s well enough.
My mind shifts to my conversation with Flynn.
Forgive him.
Forgive her.
Perhaps it’s time. I’ve spent so long loathing the crack whore, I’m not sure I can move on from those feelings, but Ana was passionate in her defense… Forgive her. She had her own world of pain to deal with. She was a shitty mother, and you loved her.
My shrink and my wife are of one accord. Perhaps I should listen to them.
Idly I walk to the piano, sit down, and start to play Debussy’s “Arabesque No. 1.” A piece I haven’t played in forever. As the upbeat, evocative melody echoes through the room, I disappear into the music.
My phone buzzes, interrupting the second Arabesque.
I have an e-mail from my wife.
From: Anastasia Grey
Subject: My Husband’s Pleasure
Date: September 21 2011 20:45
To: Christian Grey
Sir
I await your instructions.
Yours always
Mrs. G x
I stare at it in anticipation as desire wakes my body.
Ana wants to play.
Best not to keep a lady waiting.
I type a response.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: My Husband’s Pleasure <— love this title, baby
Date: September 21 2011 20:48
To: Anastasia Grey
Mrs. G
I’m intrigued. I’ll come find you.
Be ready.
Christian Grey
Anticipative CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
She can’t be in the playroom—I’d have noticed her moving to the upper floor. I open the bedroom door, and here she is, kneeling at the entrance—eyes downcast, wearing a pale blue camisole and panties, and nothing else. On the bed she’s laid out my Dom jeans.
My heart lurches into overdrive as I gaze at her, drinking in every detail: her parted lips, her long lashes, her hair curling in luscious waves below her breasts. Her breathing’s accelerated; she’s excited. My beautiful girl is offering herself to me, wholly. Again.
Last time we were in the playroom, she safe-worded on me.
And yet she trusts me enough to go again.
What did I do to deserve her?
She’s still healing, Grey.
Fuck.
But she’s dropped enough hints these last few days.
We’ll have to see what we can do about that.
And suddenly a barrage of visions of Ana in the playroom fill my mind.
That first time.
Her nervousness.
My excitement.
Damn. She wants this…so do I. I reach for my jeans and, turning, head into the closet to change. As I strip, I think of what we could do. We’ll take it easy…easy sweet.
But I’m going to drive her wild.
A frisson of pure excitement runs down my spine to my dick.
Bring it on, Mrs. Grey.
I return to the bedroom and she’s still kneeling at the door. “So, you want to play?”
“Yes.”
Oh, Ana. You can do better than that.
When I don’t respond, she looks up at me and registers my annoyed frown.
“Yes what?” I whisper.
“Yes, Sir,” she says quickly.
“Good girl.” I stroke her hair. “I think we’d better get you upstairs now.” Offering my hand, I help her to her feet, and together we walk to the stairs and up to the playroom.
Outside the door, I bend down and kiss her, then grasp her hair and tip her head back so I can drown in the depths of her eyes. “You know, you’re topping from the bottom,” I murmur against her lips. But then, she’s been doing that since I met her.
She owns me, body and soul.
“What?” she breathes.
“Don’t worry. I’ll live with it.”