fifty-shades-of-grey

Kiss me damn it! I implore him, but I can’t move. I’m paralyzed with a strange, unfamiliarneed, completely captivated by him. I’m staring at Christian Grey’s exquisitely sculpturedmouth, mesmerized, and he’s looking down at me, his gaze hooded, his eyes darkening.He’s breathing harder than usual, and I’ve stopped breathing altogether. I’m in your arms.Kiss me, please. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and gives me a small shake of hishead as if in answer to my silent question. When he opens his eyes again, it’s with somenew purpose, a steely resolve.“Anastasia, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you,” he whispers.What? Where is this coming from? Surely I should be the judge of that. I frown up at him,and my head swims with rejection.“Breathe, Anastasia, breathe. I’m going to stand you up and let you go,” he says quietly,and he gently pushes me away.Adrenaline has spiked through my body, from the near miss with the cyclist or theheady proximity to Christian, leaving me wired and weak. NO! My psyche screams ashe pulls away, leaving me bereft. He has his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm’slength, watching my reactions carefully. And the only thing I can think is that I wantedto be kissed, made it pretty damned obvious, and he didn’t do it. He doesn’t want me. Hereally doesn’t want me. I have royally screwed up the coffee morning.