“I choose the desk,” she whispers at the corner of my mouth, grinding her sex against my erection.
Well, this is a surprise.
Her eyes are dark and greedy with want. “You’ve really got a taste for this, haven’t you, Miss Steele? You’re becoming insatiable.”
“I’ve only got a taste for you.”
“Damn right. Only me!” Her words are a siren’s call to my libido. Losing all self-restraint, I sweep everything off my desk, sending my papers, phone, and pens all clattering or floating to the floor, but I don’t give a damn. I lift Ana and lay her across my desk so her hair spills over the edge and onto the seat of my chair.
“You want it, you got it, baby,” I growl, whipping out the condom and unzipping my pants. Making quick work of covering my cock, I stare down at the insatiable Miss Steele. “I sure hope you’re ready,” I warn her, grabbing hold of her wrists and keeping them at her sides. With one swift move I’m inside her.
“Ah…Christ, Ana. You’re so ready.” I give her a nanosecond to adjust to my presence. Then I start to push. Back and forth. Over and over. Harder and harder. She tips her head back, mouth open in a wordless plea, as her breasts rise and fall in rhythm with each jolt to her body. She wraps her legs around me while I stand, drilling into her.
This what you want, baby?
She meets every thrust, rocking against me and moaning as I possess her. Taking her—higher and higher and higher—until I feel her stiffening around me.
“Come on, baby, give it up for me,” I grit through clenched teeth, and she does, spectacularly, crying out and sucking me into my own orgasm.
Fuck. I come as spectacularly as she does, and I slump down on top of her while her body tightens around me with aftershocks.
Damn. That was unexpected.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” I’m breathless, my lips skimming her neck. “You completely beguile me, Ana. You weave some powerful magic.”
And you jumped me!
I release her wrists and move to stand, but she tightens her legs around me, her fingers tangling in my hair.
“I’m the one beguiled,” she whispers. Our eyes are locked, her scrutiny intense, as if she’s seeing through me. Seeing the darkness in my soul.
Shit. Let me go. This is too much.
I cup her face in my hands to kiss her quickly, but as I do the unwelcome thought of her being in this position with someone else pops into my mind. No. She’s not doing this with anyone else. Ever.
“You. Are. Mine.” My words crack between us. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, yours,” she says, her expression heartfelt, her words full of conviction, and my irrational jealousy recedes.
“Are you sure you have to go to Georgia?” I ask, smoothing her hair from around her face.
She nods.
Damn.
I pull out of her and she winces.
“Are you sore?”
“A little,” she says with a timid smile.
“I like you sore. Reminds you where I’ve been, and only me.” I give her a rough, possessive kiss.
Because I don’t want her to go to Georgia.
And no one’s jumped me since…since Elena.
And even then, it was always calculated, part of a scene.
Standing, I hold out my hand and pull her to a sitting position. As I tug off the condom, she murmurs, “Always prepared.”
I give her a confounded look as I fasten my fly. She holds up the empty foil packet by way of explanation.
“A man can hope, Anastasia, dream even, and sometimes his dreams come true.” I had no idea I’d get to use it so soon, and on her terms, not mine. Miss Steele, for such an innocent, you are, as ever, unexpected.
“So…on your desk…that’s been a dream?” she asks.
Sweetheart. I’ve had sex on this desk many, many times, but always at my instigation, never at a submissive’s.
This is not how it works.
Her face falls as she reads my thoughts.
Shit. What can I say? Ana, unlike you, I have a past.
I run my hand through my hair in frustration; this morning is not going according to plan.
“I’d better go and have a shower,” she says, subdued. She stands and takes a few steps toward the door.
“I’ve got a couple more calls to make. I’ll join you for breakfast once you’re out of the shower.” I gaze after her, wondering what to say to make this right. “I think Mrs. Jones has laundered your clothes from yesterday. They’re in the closet.”
She looks surprised, and impressed. “Thank you,” she says.
“You’re most welcome.”
Her brow creases as she studies me, baffled.
“What?” I ask.
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re being more weird than usual.”
“You find me weird?” Ana, baby, “weird” is my middle name.
“Sometimes.”
Tell her. Tell her no one’s pounced on you for a long time.
“As ever, I’m surprised by you, Miss Steele.”
“Surprised how?”
“Let’s just say that was an unexpected treat.”
“We aim to please, Mr. Grey,” she teases, still scrutinizing me.
“And please me you do,” I acknowledge. But you disarm me, too. “I thought you were going to have a shower?”
Her mouth turns down.
Shit.
“Yes, um, I’ll see you in a moment.” She turns and scampers out of my study, leaving me standing in a maze of confusion. I shake my head to clear it, then begin picking up my scattered belongings from the floor and arranging them on my desk.
How the hell can she just waltz into my study and seduce me? I’m supposed to be in control of this relationship. This is what I was thinking about last night: her unbridled enthusiasm and affection. How the hell am I supposed to deal with that? It’s not something I know. I pause as I pick up my phone.
But it’s nice.
Yeah.
More than nice.
I chuckle at the thought and remember her “nice” e-mail. Damn, there’s a missed call from Bill. He must have phoned during my tryst with Miss Steele. I sit down at my desk, master of my own universe once more—now that she’s in the shower—and call him back. I need Bill to tell me about Detroit…and I need to get back on my game.
Bill doesn’t pick up, so I call Andrea.
“Mr. Grey.”
“Is the jet free today and tomorrow?”
“It’s not scheduled for use until Thursday, sir.”
“Great. Can you try Bill for me?”
“Sure.”
My conversation with Bill is lengthy. Ruth has done an excellent job scouting all of the available brownfield sites in Detroit. Two are viable for the tech plant we want to build, and Bill is certain that Detroit has the available labor force we require.
My heart sinks.
Does it have to be Detroit?
I have vague memories of the place: drunks, hobos, and crackheads shouting at us on the streets; the seedy dive we called home; and a young, broken woman, the crack whore I called Mommy, staring into space while she sat in a drab, grimy room filled with stale air and dust motes.
And him.