fifty-shades-of-grey

Christian stands in a steel-barred cage. Wearing his soft, ripped jeans, his chest and feetare mouthwateringly naked, and he’s staring at me. His private-joke smile etched on hisbeautiful face and his eyes a molten gray. In his hands he holds a bowl of strawberries.He ambles with athletic grace to the front of the cage, gazing intently at me. Holding up aplump ripe strawberry, he extends his hand through the bars.“Eat,” he says, his tongue caressing the front of his palate as he enunciates the ‘t’.I try and move toward him, but I’m tethered, held back by some unseen force aroundmy wrist, holding me. Let me go.“Come, eat,” he says, smiling his delicious crooked smile.I pull and pull… let me go! I want to scream and shout, but no sound emerges. I ammute. He stretches a little further, and the strawberry is at my lips.“Eat, Anastasia.” His mouth forms my name, lingering sensually on each syllable.I open my mouth and bite, the cage disappears, and my hands are free. I reach up totouch him, graze my fingers through his chest hair.“Anastasia.”No. I moan.“Come on, baby.”No. I want to touch you.“Wake up.”