Chapter Nine
Light fills the room, coaxing me from deep sleep to wakefulness.
I stretch out and open my eyes. It’s a beautiful May morning, Seattle at my feet.
Wow, what a view. Beside me, Christian Grey is fast asleep.
Wow, what a view. I’m surprised he’s still in bed.
He’s facing me, and I have an unprecedented opportunity to study him.
His lovely face looks younger, relaxed in sleep.
His sculptured, pouty lips are parted slightly, and his shiny, clean hair is a glorious mess.
How could anyone look this good and still be legal?
I remember his room upstairs…perhaps he’s not legal.
I shake my head, so much to think about. It’s tempting to reach out and touch him, but like a small child, he’s so lovely when he’s asleep. I don’t have to worry about what I’m saying, what he’s saying, what plans he has, especially his plans for me.
I could gaze at him all day, but I have needs—bathroom needs.
Slipping out of bed, I find his white shirt on the floor and shrug it on.
I walk through a door thinking it might be the bathroom, but I’m in a vast walk-in closet as big as my bedroom.
Lines and lines of expensive suits, shirts, shoes, and ties.
How can anyone need this many clothes? I tut with disapproval.
Actually, Kate’s wardrobe probably rivals this.
Kate! Oh no. I didn’t think about her all evening.
I was supposed to text her. Crap. I’m going to be in trouble.
I wonder briefly how she’s getting on with Elliot.
Returning to the bedroom, Christian is still asleep. I try the other door. It’s the bathroom, and it’s bigger than my bedroom. Why does one man need so much space? Two sinks, I notice with irony. Given he doesn’t sleep with anyone, one of them can’t have been used.
I stare at myself in the gigantic mirror above the sinks.
Do I look different? I feel different. I feel a little sore, if I’m honest, and my muscles—jeez, it’s like I’ve never done any exercise in my life.
You don’t do any exercise in your life. My subconscious has woken.
She’s staring at me with pursed lips, tapping her foot.
So you’ve just slept with him, given him your virginity, a man who doesn’t love you.
In fact, he has very odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.
ARE YOU CRAZY? she’s shouting at me.
I wince as I look in the mirror. I am going to have to process all this.
Honestly, fancy falling for a man who’s beyond beautiful, richer than Croesus, and has a Red Room of Pain waiting for me.
I shudder. I’m bewildered and confused. My hair is its usual wayward self.
Just-fucked hair doesn’t suit me. I try to bring order to the chaos with my fingers but fail miserably and give up—maybe I’ll find hair ties in my purse.
I’m starving. I head back out to the bedroom. Sleeping beauty is still sleeping, so I leave him and head for the kitchen.
Oh shit…Kate. I left my purse in Christian’s study. I fetch it and reach for my cell phone. Three texts.
RU OK?
Where RU?
Damn it, Ana!
I call Kate. When she doesn’t answer, I leave her a groveling message to tell her I am alive and have not succumbed to Bluebeard.
Well, not in the sense she would be worried about—or perhaps I have.
Oh, this is so confusing. I try to categorize and analyze my feelings for Christian Grey but it’s an impossible task.
I shake my head in defeat… I need alone time, away from here to think.
I find two welcome hair ties at the same time in my bag and quickly tie my hair in pigtails.
Yes! The more girly I look perhaps the safer I’ll be from Bluebeard.
I also take out my iPod and plug my headphones in.
There’s nothing like music to cook by. I slip it into the breast pocket of Christian’s shirt, turn it up loud, and start dancing.
Holy hell, I’m hungry.
I am daunted by his kitchen. It’s so sleek and modern, and none of the cupboards has handles.
It takes me a few seconds to deduce that I have to push the cupboard doors to open them.
Perhaps I should cook Christian breakfast. He was eating an omelet the other day…
um, yesterday at The Heathman. Jeez, so much has happened since then.
I check in the fridge, where there are plenty of eggs, and decide I want pancakes and bacon.
I set about making some batter, dancing my way around the kitchen.
Being busy is good. It allows a bit of time to think but not too deeply.
Music blaring in my ears also helps to stave off deep thought.
I came here to spend the night in Christian Grey’s bed and managed it, even though he doesn’t let anyone in his bed.
I smile, mission accomplished. Big time.
Big, big time, and I’m distracted by the memory of last night.
His words, his body, his lovemaking… I close my eyes as my body hums at the recollection, and my muscles contract deliciously deep in my belly.
My subconscious scowls at me… Fucking—not lovemaking, she screams at me like a harpy.
I ignore her, but deep down I know she has a point.
I shake my head to concentrate on the task at hand.
There is a state-of-the-art range. I think I have the hang of it.
I need somewhere to keep the pancakes warm, and I start on the bacon.
Amy Studt is singing in my ear about misfits.
This song used to mean so much to me; that’s because I’m a misfit.
I have never fit in anywhere and now…I have an indecent proposal to consider from King Misfit himself.
Why is he this way? Nature or nurture? It’s so alien to anything I know.
I put the bacon under the grill, and while it’s cooking, I whisk some eggs.
I turn, and Christian is sitting on one of the barstools at the breakfast bar, leaning on it, his face supported by his steepled hands.
He’s still wearing the T-shirt he slept in.
Just-fucked hair really, really suits him, as does his designer stubble.
He looks both amused and bewildered. I freeze, flush, then gather myself and pull the headphones out of my ears, my knees weak at the sight of him.
“Good morning, Miss Steele. You’re very…energetic this morning,” he says dryly.
“I–I slept well,” I stutter.
His lips try to mask his smile. “I can’t imagine why.” He pauses and frowns. “So did I after I came back to bed.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Very,” he says with an intense look, and I don’t think he’s referring to food.
“Pancakes, bacon, and eggs?”
“Sounds great.”
“I don’t know where you keep your place mats.” I shrug, trying desperately hard not to look flustered.
“I’ll do that. You cook. Would you like me to put some music on so you can continue your…er…dancing?”
I stare down at my fingers, knowing I’m turning puce.
“Please, don’t stop on my account. It’s very entertaining.” His tone is one of wry amusement.
I purse my lips. Entertaining, eh? My subconscious has doubled over in laughter at me. I turn and continue to whisk the eggs, probably beating them a little harder than necessary. In a moment, he’s beside me. He gently pulls my pigtail.
“I love these,” he whispers. “They won’t protect you.” Hmm, Bluebeard…
“How would you like your eggs?” I ask tartly.
He smirks. “Thoroughly whisked and beaten.”
I turn back to the task at hand, trying to hide my smile.
He’s hard to stay mad at. Especially when he’s being so uncharacteristically playful.
He opens a drawer and takes out two slate, black place mats for the breakfast bar.
I pour the egg mix into a pan, pull out the bacon, turn it over, and put it back under the grill.
When I turn back around, there is orange juice on the table, and he’s making coffee.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, please. If you have some.”
I find a couple of plates and place them in the warming tray of the range. Christian reaches into a cupboard and pulls out some Twinings English Breakfast tea.
I purse my lips. “Bit of a foregone conclusion, wasn’t I?”
“Are you? I’m not sure we’ve concluded anything yet, Miss Steele.”
What does he mean by that? Our negotiations? Our, er…relationship…whatever that is? He’s still so cryptic.
I serve up the breakfast onto the heated plates and lay them on the place mats. I hunt in the refrigerator and find some maple syrup.
I glance at Christian, and he’s waiting for me to sit down.
“Miss Steele.” He motions to one of the barstools.
“Mr. Grey.” I nod in acknowledgment. I climb up and wince slightly as I take my seat.
“Just how sore are you?” he asks as he sits down.
I flush. Why does he ask such personal questions? “Well, to be truthful, I have nothing to compare this to,” I snap. “Did you wish to offer your commiserations?” I ask too sweetly.
I think he’s trying to stifle a smile, but I can’t be sure. “No. I wondered if we should continue your basic training.”
“Oh.” I stare at him dumbfounded as I stop breathing and everything inside me clenches tight. Ooh…that’s so nice. I suppress my groan.
“Eat, Anastasia.”
My appetite has become uncertain again… More sex…yes, please.
“This is delicious, incidentally.” He grins.
I try a forkful of omelet but can barely taste it. Basic training! I want to fuck your mouth. Does that form part of basic training?
“Stop biting your lip. It’s very distracting, and I happen to know you’re not wearing anything under my shirt, which makes it even more distracting.”
I dunk my tea bag in the small pot that Christian has provided. My mind is in a whirl.
“What sort of basic training did you have in mind?” I ask, my voice slightly too high, betraying my wish to sound as natural, disinterested, and calm as I can while my hormones wreak havoc through my body.
“Well, as you’re sore, I thought we could stick to oral skills.”