“135?”
“Charlie Tango. She’s a Eurocopter EC135, the safest in its class.”
But not today.
“Wait a minute.” I hold up the keychain. “You gave this to me before we saw Flynn.”
Her smile is a little smug as she nods.
What?
Anastasia Steele!
“I wanted you to know that whatever Flynn said, it wouldn’t make a difference to me.”
“So all yesterday evening, when I was begging you for an answer, I had it already?” I’m feeling breathless—giddy, even—and a little pissed off.
What the hell?
I don’t know whether to be angry or celebratory. She confounds me, even now.
Well, Grey, what are you going to do about it?
“All that worry,” I murmur darkly. She gives me an impish grin and shrugs once more. “Oh, don’t try and get cute with me, Miss Steele. Right now, I want—”
I had the answer all the time.
I want her.
Here.
Now.
No. Wait.
“I can’t believe you left me hanging.”
She watches my expression as I construct a plan. Something worthy of such audacity. “I believe some retribution is in order, Miss Steele.” My voice is low. Ominous.
Ana takes a cautious step back. Is she going to run? “Is that the game? Because I will catch you.” Her smile is playful and infectious. “And you’re biting your lip,” I add.
She takes another step back and turns to run, but I pounce and grab her. She squeals and I hoist her over my shoulder, and head for my—no, our—bathroom.
“Christian!” She swats my behind.
I swat hers back. Hard.
“Ow!” she yelps.
“Shower time,” I declare, as I carry her down the corridor.
“Put me down!” She squirms on my shoulder but my arm is locked over her thighs. What’s really making me smile are her gasps and giggles. She’s enjoying this.
As am I.
My grin is as broad and as wide as the Puget Sound when I open the bathroom door. “Fond of these shoes?” I ask. They look expensive.
“I prefer them to be touching the floor.” Her words are strangled, and I think she’s feigning outrage and trying not to laugh at the same time.
“Your wish is my command, Miss Steele.” I pull off both her shoes and they clatter onto the tiles. By the vanity I empty my pockets: phone, keys, wallet, but most precious of all is my new keychain. I don’t want to get it wet. With my pockets empty, I march into the shower, carrying Ana over my shoulder.
“Christian!” she cries. Ignoring her, I turn on the water and it cascades over us both, but mostly over Ana’s backside. It’s cold. She shrieks and laughs at once, and writhes on my shoulder.
“No! Put me down!” she says between giggles. She swats me once more, and I take pity.
Releasing her, I let her wet, clothed body slide down the length of mine.
She’s flushed. Her eyes bright and beautiful. She’s captivating.
Oh, baby.
You said yes.
I cup her face and kiss her, my lips tender on hers. I worship her mouth, cherishing her. She closes her eyes and accepts my kiss, kissing me back with a sweet hunger under the streaming shower.
The water is warmer now and her hands move to my soaking shirt. She tugs its hem from my pants. And I groan in her mouth, but I can’t stop kissing her.
I can’t stop loving her.
I won’t stop loving her.
Ever.
Slowly, she begins to unbutton my shirt, and I reach for the zipper at the back of her dress. I slide it down, feeling her warm flesh beneath my fingertips.
Oh. The feel of her. I want more. I kiss her hard, my tongue exploring her mouth.
She moans and suddenly yanks my shirt open, the buttons flying off and landing in the shower.
Whoa.
Ana!
She tugs my shirt over my shoulders and pushes me against the tiles. But she can’t remove it. “Cuff links.” I hold up my wrists. Her fingers make light work of each, and she lets them fall to the floor, followed by my shirt. Her feverish fingers reach for my waistband.
Oh no.
Not yet.
Grasping her shoulders, I spin her around, giving me easier access to her zipper. I complete its journey to its bottom and pull her dress down, just below her breasts. Her arms are still in the sleeves, restricting her movement.
I like that.
Smoothing her wet hair away from her neck, I lean forward, and with my tongue, I taste the water running off her skin, from her neck to her hairline.
She tastes so good.
I run my lips along the length of her shoulder, kissing and sucking, as my arousal strains against my zipper. She braces her hands on the tiles and groans while I kiss my favorite spot beneath her ear. Gently, I unhook her bra and push it down, then cup her breasts in my hands. I moan my appreciation. She has great tits.
Responsive, too.
“So beautiful,” I whisper in her ear. She rolls her head to one side, exposing her neck and throat, and she pushes her breasts into the palms of my hands. She reaches around, still trapped by her dress, and she finds my erection.
Sucking in a breath, I push my impatient cock into her hands. The feel of her fingers through the soaking fabric is erotic.
Gently, I tug on her nipples, first between my thumb and forefinger, then pinch them between my fingers. She whimpers, loud and clear, as they harden and lengthen under my touch.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Let me hear you, baby.
I turn her around and capture her lips with mine, peeling off her dress and her underwear until she’s naked before me; her clothes a sodden mess at our feet.
She grabs the body wash and squirts some into her hand. Gazing up at me, asking for permission, she waits.
Okay. We’re doing this.
I take a deep breath and nod.
With aching tenderness, she places her hand on my chest. I freeze and slowly she rubs in the soap, skimming small circles on my skin. The darkness is quiet.
But I’m tense.
Everywhere.
Damn it.
Relax, Grey.
She means you no harm.
After a beat, I clasp her hips and watch her face. Her concentration. Her compassion. It’s all there. My breathing accelerates. But it’s cool. I can cope.
“Is this okay?” she asks.
“Yes.” I squeeze the word out.
Her hands flow across my body to wash my underarms, my ribs, down over my belly, and down farther, to the waistband of my pants.
I exhale. “My turn.” Moving us out of the shower stream, I reach for the shampoo. I squirt some onto her head and begin massaging the soap into her hair. She closes her eyes and makes an appreciative noise deep in her throat.
I chuckle, and it’s cathartic. “You like?”
“Hmm…”
“Me, too.” I kiss her forehead and continue kneading her scalp. “Turn around.” She obeys immediately, and I continue to wash her hair. When I’m done, her head is covered in suds. I ease her under the shower once more. “Lean your head back.”
Ana complies, and I rinse out all the soap.
There is nothing I love more than taking care of my girl.
In every way.
She turns around and grabs the waistband of my pants. “I want to wash all of you,” she says. I hold up my hands in surrender.