fifty-shades-of-grey

“Miss Steele, what do you mean?” he smirks. “It’ll be worse for you if I have to comeand get you.”“That’s only if you catch me, Christian. And right now, I have no intention of lettingyou catch me.”“Anastasia, you may fall and hurt yourself. Which will put you in direct contraventionof rule number seven.”“I have been in danger since I met you, Mr. Grey, rules or no rules.”“Yes you have.” He pauses, and his brow furrows slightly.Suddenly, he lunges for me, making me squeal and run for the dining room table. Imanage to escape, putting the table between us. My heart is pounding and adrenaline hasspiked through my body… boy... this is so thrilling. I’m a child again, though that’s notright. I watch him carefully as he paces deliberately toward me. I inch away.“You certainly know how to distract a man, Anastasia.”“We aim to please, Mr. Grey. Distract you from what?”“Life. The universe.” He waves one of his hands vaguely.“You did seem very pre-occupied as you were playing.”He stops and folds his arms, his expression amused.“We can do this all day, baby, but I will get you, and it will just be worse for you whenI do.”“No, you won’t.” I must not be over-confident. I repeat this as a mantra. My subconscioushas found her Nikes, and she’s on the starting blocks.“Anyone would think you didn’t want me to catch you.”“I don’t. That’s the point. I feel about punishment the way you feel about me touchingyou.”His entire demeanor changes in a nanosecond. Gone is playful Christian, and he standsstaring at me as if I’d slapped him. He’s ashen.“That’s how you feel?” he whispers.Those four words, and the way he utters them, speaks volumes. Oh no. They tell me somuch more about him and how he feels. They tell me about his fear and loathing. I frown.No, I don’t feel that bad. No way. Do I?“No. It doesn’t affect me quite as much as that, but it gives you an idea,” I murmur,staring anxiously at him.“Oh,” he says.Crap. He looks completely and utterly lost, like I’ve pulled the rug from under his feet.Taking a deep breath, I move round the table until I am standing in front of him, gazinginto his apprehensive eyes.“You hate it that much?” he breathes, his eyes filled with horror.“Well… no,” I reassure him. Jeez – that’s how he feels about people touching him?“No. I feel ambivalent about it. I don’t like it, but I don’t hate it.”“But last night, in the playroom, you… ” he trails off.“I do it for you, Christian, because you need it. I don’t. You didn’t hurt me last night.That was in a different context, and I can rationalize that internally, and I trust you. Butwhen you want to punish me, I worry that you’ll hurt me.”