We walk down one of the cobbled streets, stalked by our security, when a fine jeweler’s store catches my eye. We pause outside, and I have a sudden urge to buy Ana a piece. Grasping her free hand, I rub my thumb along the red wheal left by the handcuff yesterday. “It’s not sore,” Ana says, correctly interpreting my look of concern. I shift so Ana has no choice but to take her other hand out of my pocket. Around that wrist, she’s wearing my wedding gift to her, which I purchased in the crazy rush to buy our rings from Astoria Fine Jewelry. It’s a white gold Omega De Ville with diamonds; I had it inscribed.
Anastasia
You Are My More
My Love, My Life
Christian
And that was never truer than now.
Yet beneath the strap lies a red mark.
That I gave her.
And all those hickeys, too.
Because I was pissed at her.
Damn. Releasing her, I gently grasp her chin and raise her eyes to mine. She stares back at me, as guileless as ever, and with the same look of love.
“They don’t hurt,” she whispers, and I take her hand again, and plant a soft kiss on her wrist.
I’m sorry, Ana.
“Come.” We head into the shop because there’s a Chanel bracelet that’s caught my eye in the window. Once inside, I waste no time and purchase it. I know if I ask Ana, she’ll politely refuse. It’s pretty—white gold with small diamonds—and it’ll look lovely on her.
“Here.” I fasten it around her wrist. It covers the red line. “There, that’s better,” I mutter.
“Better?” Her brow creases a little.
“You know why.”
“I don’t need this.” She rotates her wrist and the diamonds on the bracelet sparkle in the sunlight, throwing little rainbows around the store.
“I do,” I whisper.
It’s an apology. I just don’t know how to do this, Ana.
“No, Christian, you don’t. You’ve given me so much already. A magical honeymoon, London, Paris, the Côte d’Azur, and you. I’m a very lucky girl.”
“No, Anastasia, I’m a very lucky man.”
“Thank you.” She stretches up and puts her arms around my neck and kisses me, properly. In front of everyone.
Oh, baby.
I love you.
“Come. We should head back,” I murmur against her lips. She slips her hand into my back pocket again, and together we make our way back to the car.
The Mercedes cruises back to Cannes. Taylor is in the passenger seat up front and Ferreux is driving, but we’re hampered by the traffic. I stare out of the window, trying to figure out why I’m so agitated.
It can’t have just been my dream.
My argument with Ana, yesterday?
The fact that I’ve marked her?
I don’t understand why this feels so weird. I’ve marked women before. Not permanently. Fuck, no. Never! That’s not my scene. Two of my submissives hated it, so that was fine, and I didn’t do it. And, of course, I never marked Elena. That was impossible. She was married. And then there was Susannah. She loved that shit. Whenever she was marked, she liked me to photograph her.
Ana grips my hand, distracting me from my thoughts. She’s wearing a short skirt that exposes her legs. I look across at her and caress her knee. She has such lovely legs.
Her ankles!
They’re probably marked, too.
Shit.
Reaching down, I grasp her ankle and gently ease her foot onto my lap. She swivels in her seat and faces me. “I want the other one, too.” I need to see for myself. She looks toward Taylor and Ferreux.
She’s shy?
What does she think I’m going to do?
I press the privacy screen button and it slowly rises out of the panel in front of us until we’re partitioned off from them. “I want to look at your ankles.”
She frowns and places her other foot in my lap. I skim my thumb up her instep and she squirms.
She’s ticklish. I don’t know why I haven’t registered this before.
I undo the strap on her sandal. And there it is. Another mark. Darker than those on her wrists. “Doesn’t hurt,” she says.
I’m an inconsiderate asshole.
I massage the line in the hope that it will disappear, and look back out of the window at the passing countryside. She wriggles her foot, and her sandal falls into the footwell. But I ignore it.
“Hey. What did you expect?” she asks.
She’s gazing at me as if I’ve beamed down from Mars.
I shrug. “I didn’t expect to feel like I do looking at these marks.”
“How do you feel?”
Shitty.
“Uncomfortable,” I mutter.
And I don’t really know why.
Suddenly she unbuckles her seat belt and scoots closer to me and grabs both of my hands. “It’s the hickeys I don’t like,” she hisses. “Everything else…what you did”—her voice drops lower—“with the handcuffs, I enjoyed that. Well, more than enjoyed. It was mind-blowing. You can do that to me again anytime.”
Oh.
“Mind-blowing?” Her words are a small boost to my mood and my libido.
“Yes.” She grins and curls her toes around my more-than-interested dick.
“You should really be wearing your seat belt, Mrs. Grey.”
She teases me with her toes once more.
I glance at the glass. Could we…? But my lascivious thoughts are interrupted by my phone vibrating. Shit. I remove it from my shirt pocket.
It’s work. I check my watch. It’s early in Seattle.
“Barney,” I answer, while Ana tries to withdraw her feet from the close proximity of my dick. I tighten my hold on her feet.
“Mr. Grey. There’s been a fire in the server room.”
What? “In the server room?” How the hell did that happen?
“Yes, sir.”
The servers? Fuck! “Did it activate the fire-suppression system?”
Ana removes her feet from my lap, and this time I let her.
“Yes, sir. It did.”
I hit the button to lower the privacy glass so Taylor can hear me. “Anyone injured?”
“No, sir,” Barney responds.
“Damage?”