fifty-shades-of-grey

I climb slowly out of bed and note that my dress is hanging outside the wardrobe andmy bra is on the chair. Where are my panties? I check beneath the chair. Nothing. ThenI remember – he squirreled them away in the pocket of his jeans. I flush at the memory,after he, I can’t even bring myself to think about it, he was so – barbarous. I frown. Whyhasn’t he given me back my panties?I steal into the bathroom, bewildered by my lack of underwear. While drying myselfafter my enjoyable but far too brief shower, I realize he’s done this on purpose. He wantsme to be embarrassed and ask for my panties back, and he’ll either say yes or no. My innergoddess grins at me. Hell… two can play that particular game. Resolving there and thennot to ask him for them and not give him that satisfaction, I shall go meet his parents sansculottes. Anastasia Steele! My subconscious chides me, but I don’t want to listen to her – Ialmost hug myself with glee because I know this will drive him crazy.Back in the bedroom, I put on my bra, slip into my dress, and climb into my shoes. Iremove the braid and hastily brush out my hair, I then glance down at the drink he’s left.It’s pale pink. What’s this? Cranberry and sparkling water. Hmm… it tastes delicious andquenches my thirst.Dashing back into the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror: eyes bright, cheeksslightly flushed, slightly smug look because of my panty plan, and I head downstairs. Fifteenminutes. Not bad, Ana.Christian is standing by the panoramic window, wearing the grey flannel pants that Ilove, the ones that hang in that unbelievably sexy way off his hips, and of course, a whitelinen shirt. Doesn’t he have any other colors? Frank Sinatra sings softly over the surroundsound speakers.Christian turns and smiles as I enter. He looks at me expectantly.“Hi,” I say softly, and my sphinx-like smile meets his.“Hi,” he says. “How are you feeling?” His eyes are alight with amusement.“Good, thanks. You?”“I feel mighty fine, Miss Steele.”He is so waiting for me to say something.“Frank. I never figured you for a Sinatra fan.”He raises his eyebrows at me, his look speculative.“Eclectic taste, Miss Steele,” he murmurs, and he paces toward me like a panther untilhe’s standing in front of me, his gaze so intense it takes my breath away.Frank starts crooning… an old song, one of Ray’s favorites. ‘Witchcraft.’ Christianleisurely traces his fingertips down my cheek, and I feel it all the way down there.“Dance with me,” he murmurs, his voice husky.Taking the remote out of his pocket, he turns up the volume and holds his hand outto me, his gray gaze full of promise and longing and humor. He is totally beguiling, andI’m bewitched. I place my hand in his. He grins lazily down at me and pulls me into hisembrace, his arm curling around my waist, and he starts to sway.I put my free hand on his shoulder and grin up at him, caught in his infectious, playfulmood. And he starts to move. Boy can he dance. We cover the floor, from the window tothe kitchen and back again, whirling and turning in time to the music. And he makes it soeffortless for me to follow.