A tentative knock interrupts me.
“Come in.”
Ana pokes her head around the door. “It’s nearly midnight,” she says with a winsome smile. She eases the door open and stands on the threshold dressed in one of her satin nightgowns. The soft material caresses her body, molding itself to every curve and dip, leaving nothing to my imagination. My mouth dries and my body responds, hot and heavy with longing.
“Are you coming to bed?” she whispers.
I ignore my arousal. “I have a few more things to do.”
“Okay.” She smiles, and I half smile in return, because I love her. But I’m not going to concede on this. She has to come to her senses. Ana turns to leave but gives me a quick provocative look over her shoulder before closing the door and leaving.
Once more I’m on my own.
Hell.
I want her.
But she won’t obey and that’s pissed me off. Big-time.
I turn back to the latest figures from Barney’s division at GEH. They’re not nearly as seductive as the delectable, and disobedient, Miss Steele.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Ana is fast asleep when I crawl into bed beside her. Ever thoughtful, she’s left my bedside light switched on so I won’t be lost in the dark. And yet, that’s exactly how I feel. Lost. And if I’m being honest, discouraged. Why can’t she understand? It’s not that big a deal, is it? Is it?
Watching her lovely, tranquil face and the steady rise and fall of her breasts as she sleeps, an ugly undercurrent looms beneath my ribs; it’s envy. I’m lying here, bewildered and miserable, and she’s sleeping like she hasn’t a care in the world.
But would I want her any other way?
Of course not. I want her happy and I want to protect her. But how can I do that if she’s not willing to obey me?
Deal with it, Grey.
Sighing, I lean over and brush her hair with my lips; it’s the gentlest of touches, as I don’t want to wake her. But I silently implore her to change her mind.
Please, Ana. Grant me this.
Switching off the light, I stare, unflinching, into the dark, and suddenly the silence in the room is deafening and oppressive. My heart rate doubles and I’m dragged down into a swamp of despair. It’s overwhelming. Maybe this is a huge mistake. Our marriage is never going to work if she can’t do this.
What was I thinking?
Maybe I want—no, need—someone more submissive.
I need to be in control.
Always.
Without control, there is chaos. And anger. And hurt, and fear…and pain.
Shit. What am I going to do?
This is an impossible hurdle to overcome.
Isn’t it?
But living without Ana would be unbearable. I know what it’s like to bathe in her light. She is warmth and life and home. She is everything. I want her by my side. I love her.
How can I get her to reconsider?
I rub my face, trying to fend off my bleak thoughts.
Get a grip, Grey. She’ll come around.
I close my eyes and try to utilize Dr. Flynn’s mindfulness exercises and find my happy place. Maybe a flowery bower in a boathouse…
I’m walking on air, soaring high in the sky above Ephrata. The Washington landscape is a patchwork beneath me. I wing over and marvel at the quilt of browns and blues and greens crisscrossed by roads and irrigation canals. Catching a thermal I rise above a ridge on the Beezley Hills. The sky is unencumbered, a dazzling, shimmering blue, and I’m at peace. The wind my companion. Constant. Rushing. The only sound. I am alone. Alone. Alone. I wing over again. My world turned upside down. And Ana is in front of the cockpit, her hands stretched out to the canopy, squealing with joy. And wonder. My heart is brimming. This is happiness. This is love. This is what it feels like. I bank, and suddenly I’m in a tailspin. Ana’s disappeared. I stamp my feet, but the rudder’s gone. I fight the control stick, but the ailerons don’t respond. I have no control. All I hear is the roar of the wind and someone screaming. We’re going down. Fuck. Spinning. Down. Down. Down. Shit. I’m going to hit the ground. No. No!
I wake with a start.
Fuck.
I’m wrapped around Ana, and she’s threading her fingers through my hair. Her scent is soothing and it’s filling the desperate emptiness that’s deep in my soul. “Good morning,” she says, and immediately I’m calmer. Back to earth.
“Good morning,” I whisper, confused. I normally wake before Ana.
“You were having a bad dream.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s just after seven-thirty.”
“Shit. I’m late.” I give her a brief, chaste kiss and bound out of bed.
“Christian,” she calls.
“I can’t stop. I’m late,” I mutter as I disappear into the bathroom, recalling her defiance from last night.
And I’m still pissed.
At my desk, I eye the model glider that Anastasia gave me when she left. It took me a whole day to make. Unease circles my gut; maybe it’s the echo of that dream or a reminder of the desolation I felt when she was gone. I touch the wing tip, holding the cool plastic between my thumb and forefinger; I never want to feel like that again.
Ever.
I shake off the feeling and take a sip of the espresso that Andrea has prepared, followed by a bite of fresh croissant. I glance at my iMac to see an e-mail has arrived from Ana.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Eat!
Date: July 6 2011 9:22
To: Christian Grey
My dearest husband-to-be
It is not like you to skip breakfast. I missed you.
I hope you’re not hungry. I know how disagreeable that is for you.
I hope your day is a good one.
Axxx
I’m comforted by the number of small x’s at the end of her message, but I glance at her portrait on my office wall, close the e-mail, and summon Andrea into my office to go through my schedule.
I’m still pissed.
After lunch, I’m in the elevator returning from an external meeting with Eamon Kavanagh when I check my BlackBerry. There’s another e-mail from Ana.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Are you okay?
Date: July 6 2011 14:27
To: Christian Grey
My dearest husband-to-be