For a moment she seems distracted, then she tilts her head to one side and smiles. “If you imagine for one minute that I think you ceded control to me, well, you haven’t taken into account my GPA. But thank you for the illusion.”
“Miss Steele, you are not just a pretty face. You’ve had six orgasms so far and all of them belong to me.” Why does that mere fact make me glad?
Her eyes stray to the ceiling, and a fleeting guilty expression crosses her face.
What’s this? “Do you have something to tell me?” I ask.
She hesitates. “I had a dream this morning.”
“Oh?”
“I came in my sleep.” She flings her arm over her face, hiding from me, embarrassed. I’m stunned by her confession but aroused and delighted, too.
Sensual creature.
She peeks over her arm. Does she expect me to be angry?
“In your sleep?” I clarify.
“Woke me up,” she whispers.
“I’m sure it did.” I’m fascinated. “What were you dreaming about?”
“You,” she says in a small voice.
Me!
“What was I doing?”
She hides beneath her arm again.
“Anastasia, what was I doing? I won’t ask you again.” Why is she so embarrassed? Her dreaming about me is…endearing.
“You had a riding crop,” she mumbles. I move her arm so I can see her face.
“Really?”
“Yes.” Her face is bright red. The research must be affecting her, in a good way. I smile down at her.
“There’s hope for you yet. I have several riding crops.”
“Brown plaited leather?” Her voice is tinged with quiet optimism.
I laugh. “No, but I’m sure I could get one.”
I give her a swift kiss and stand to dress. Ana does the same, pulling on sweatpants and a camisole. Collecting the condom off the floor, I knot it quickly. Now that she’s agreed to be mine, she needs contraception. Fully dressed, she sits cross-legged on the bed watching me as I grab my pants. “When is your period due?” I ask. “I hate wearing these things.” I hold up the knotted condom and pull on my jeans.
She’s taken aback.
“Well?” I prod.
“Next week,” she answers, her cheeks pink.
“You need to sort out some contraception.”
I sit on the bed to slip on my socks and shoes. She says nothing.
“Do you have a doctor?” I ask. She shakes her head. “I can have mine come and see you at your apartment—Sunday morning, before you come and see me. Or he can see you at my place. Which would you prefer?”
I’m sure Dr. Baxter will make a house call for me, although I haven’t seen him for a while.
“Your place,” she says.
“Okay. I’ll let you know the time.”
“Are you leaving?”
She seems surprised that I’m going. “Yes.”
“How are you getting back?” she asks.
“Taylor will pick me up.”
“I can drive you. I have a lovely new car.”
That’s better. She’s accepted the car as she should, but after all that champagne she shouldn’t be driving. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Did you get me tipsy on purpose?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you overthink everything, and you’re reticent, like your stepdad. A drop of wine in you and you start talking, and I need you to communicate honestly with me. Otherwise you clam up, and I have no idea what you’re thinking. In vino veritas, Anastasia.”
“And you think you’re always honest with me?”
“I endeavor to be. This will only work if we’re honest with each other.”
“I’d like you to stay and use this.” She grabs the other condom and waves it at me.
Manage her expectations, Grey.
“I have crossed so many lines here tonight. I have to go. I’ll see you on Sunday.” I stand up. “I’ll have the revised contract ready for you, and then we can really start to play.”
“Play?” she squeaks.
“I’d like to do a scene with you. But I won’t until you’ve signed, so I know you’re ready.”
“Oh. So I could stretch this out if I don’t sign?”
Shit. I hadn’t thought of that.
Her chin tilts up in defiance.
Ah…topping from the bottom, again. She always finds a way.
“Well, I suppose you could, but I may crack under the strain.”
“Crack? How?” she queries, her eyes alive with curiosity.
“Could get really ugly,” I tease, narrowing my eyes.
“Ugly, how?” Her grin matches mine.
“Oh, you know, explosions, car chases, kidnapping, incarceration.”
“You’d kidnap me?”
“Oh yes.”
“Hold me against my will?”
“Oh yes.” Now, that’s an interesting idea. “And then we’re talking TPE twenty-four-seven.”
“You’ve lost me,” she says, perplexed and a little breathless.
“Total Power Exchange—around the clock.” My mind whirls as I think of the possibilities. She’s curious. “So you have no choice,” I add, with a playful tone.
“Clearly.” Her tone is sarcastic and she rolls her eyes to the heavens, perhaps looking for divine inspiration to understand my sense of humor.
Oh, sweet joy.
“Anastasia Steele, did you just roll your eyes at me?”