fifty-shades-of-grey

And suddenly he’s back – and all at once I’m calmer and more excited in the samebreath. Could I be more excited? I can see his feet. He’s changed his jeans. These areolder, ripped, soft, and over-washed. Holy cow. These jeans are hot. He shuts the doorand hangs something on the back.“Good girl, Anastasia. You look lovely like that. Well done. Stand up.”I stand, but I keep my face down.“You may look at me.”I peek up at him, and he’s staring at me intently, assessing, but his eyes soften. He’staken off his shirt. Oh my… I want to touch him. The top button of his jeans is undone.“I’m going to chain you now, Anastasia. Give me your right hand.”I give him my hand. He turns it palm up, and before I know it, he swats the center witha riding crop I hadn’t noticed is in his right hand. It happens so quickly that the surprisehardly registers. Even more astonishing – it doesn’t hurt. Well, not much, just a slightringing sting.“How does that feel?” he asks.I blink at him, confused.“Answer me.”“Okay.” I frown.“Don’t frown.”I blink and try for impassive. I succeed.“Did that hurt?”“No.”“This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?”“Yes.” My voice is uncertain. Is it really not going to hurt?“I mean it,” he says.Jeez, my breathing is so shallow. Does he know what I’m thinking? He shows me thecrop. It’s brown plaited leather. My eyes jerk up to meet his, and they’re alight with fireand a trace of amusement.“We aim to please, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. “Come.” He takes my elbow and movesme to beneath the grid. He reaches up and takes down some shackles with black leathercuffs.“This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.”I glance up. Holy shit – it’s like a subway map.“We’re going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we’ll end up by thewall over there.” He points with the riding crop to where the large wooden X is on the wall.“Put your hands above your head.”I oblige immediately, feeling like I’m exiting my body – a casual observer of events asthey unfold around me. This is beyond fascinating, beyond erotic. It’s singularly the mostexciting and scary thing I’ve ever done. I’m entrusting myself to a beautiful man who, byhis own admission, is fifty shades of fucked-up. I suppress the brief thrill of fear. Kate andElliot, they know I’m here.He stands very close as he fastens the cuffs. I’m staring at his chest. His proximityis heavenly. He smells of body wash and Christian, an inebriating mix, and that drags me