Chapter Eighteen
Dr. Greene is tall, blond, and immaculate, dressed in a royal-blue suit. I’m reminded of the women who work in Christian’s office. She’s like an identikit model—another Stepford blond. Her long hair is swept up in an elegant chignon. She must be in her early forties.
“Mr. Grey.” She shakes Christian’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Christian says.
“Thank you for making it worth my while, Mr. Grey. Miss Steele.” She smiles, her eyes cool and assessing.
We shake hands, and I know she’s one of those women who doesn’t tolerate fools gladly. Like Kate. I like her immediately.
She gives Christian a pointed stare, and after an awkward beat, he takes his cue.
“I’ll be downstairs,” he mutters, and he leaves what will be my bedroom.
“Well, Miss Steele. Mr. Grey is paying me a small fortune to attend to you. What can I do for you?”
After a thorough examination and lengthy discussion, Dr. Greene and I decide on the mini pill.
She writes me a prepaid prescription and instructs me to pick the pills up tomorrow.
I love her no-nonsense attitude—she has lectured me until she’s as blue as her dress about taking it at the same time every day.
And I can tell she’s burning with curiosity about my so-called relationship with Mr. Grey.
I don’t give her any details. Somehow I don’t think she’d look so calm and collected if she’d seen his Red Room of Pain.
I blush as we pass its closed door and head back downstairs to the art gallery that is Christian’s living room.
Christian is reading, seated on his couch. A breathtaking aria is playing on the music system, swirling around him, cocooning him, filling the room with a sweet, soulful song. For a moment, he looks serene. He turns and glances at us when we enter and smiles warmly at me.
“Are you done?” he asks as if he’s genuinely interested. He points the remote at a sleek white box beneath the fireplace that houses his iPod, and the exquisite melody fades but continues in the background. Standing, he strolls toward us.
“Yes, Mr. Grey. Look after her; she’s a beautiful, bright young woman.”
Christian is taken aback—as am I. What an inappropriate thing for a doctor to say. Is she giving him some kind of not-so-subtle warning?
Christian recovers himself. “I fully intend to,” he mutters, bemused.
Gazing at him, I shrug, embarrassed.
“I’ll send you my bill,” she says crisply as she shakes his hand.
“Good day, and good luck to you, Ana.” She smiles, her eyes crinkling, as we shake hands.
Taylor appears from nowhere to escort her through the double doors and out to the elevator. How does he do that? Where does he lurk?
“How was that?” Christian asks.
“Fine, thank you. She said that I had to abstain from all sexual activity for the next four weeks.”
Christian’s mouth drops open in shock, and I cannot keep a straight face any longer and grin at him like an idiot. “Gotcha!”
He narrows his eyes, and I immediately stop laughing. In fact, he looks rather forbidding. Oh, shit. My subconscious quails in the corner as all the blood drains from my face, and I imagine him putting me across his knee again.
“Gotcha!” he says and smirks. He grabs me around my waist and pulls me up against him.
“You are incorrigible, Miss Steele.” He stares into my eyes as he weaves his fingers through my hair, holding me firmly in place.
He kisses me, hard, and I cling to his muscular arms for support.
“As much as I’d like to take you here and now, you need to eat and so do I.
I don’t want you passing out on me later,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Is that all you want me for—my body?” I whisper.
“That and your smart mouth.”
He kisses me again passionately, then abruptly releases me, taking my hand and leading me to the kitchen.
I’m reeling. One minute we’re joking and the next…
I fan my heated face. He’s just sex on legs, and now I have to recover my equilibrium and eat something.
The aria is still playing in the background.
“What’s the music?”
“‘Villa Lobos,’ an aria from Bachianas Brasileiras. Good, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I murmur in total agreement.
The breakfast bar is laid for two. Christian takes a salad bowl from the fridge. “Chicken Caesar salad okay with you?”
Oh, thank heavens, nothing too heavy.
“Yes, fine, thank you.”
I watch as he moves gracefully through his kitchen. He’s so at ease with his body on one level, but then he doesn’t like to be touched…so maybe deep down he isn’t. No man is an island, I muse—except perhaps Christian Grey.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, pulling me from my reverie.
My face heats. “I was just watching the way you move.”
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “And?” His tone is wry.
“You’re very graceful.”
“Why, thank you, Miss Steele.” He sits down beside me, holding a bottle of wine. “Chablis?”
“Please.”
“Help yourself to salad.” His voice is soft. “Tell me—what method did you opt for?”
I am momentarily thrown by his question, when I realize he’s talking about Dr. Greene’s visit. “Mini pill.”
He frowns. “And will you remember to take it regularly, at the right time, every day?”
Jeez…of course I will. How does he know? I blush at the thought—probably from one or more of the fifteen. “I’m sure you’ll remind me,” I murmur dryly.
He glances at me with amused condescension. “I’ll put an alarm on my calendar.” He smirks. “Eat.”
The chicken Caesar is delicious. To my surprise, I’m famished, and for the first time since I’ve been with him, I finish my meal before he does. The wine is crisp, clean, and fruity.
“Eager as ever, Miss Steele?” he smiles down at my empty plate.
I look at him from beneath my lashes. “Yes.”
His breath hitches. And as he stares at me, the atmosphere between us slowly shifts, evolving…charging. His look goes from dark to smoldering, taking me with him. He stands, closing the distance between us, and tugs me off my barstool and into his arms.
“Do you want to do this?” he breathes, looking down at me intently.
“I haven’t signed anything.”
“I know—but I’m breaking all the rules these days.”
“Are you going to hit me?”
“Yes, but it won’t be to hurt you. I don’t want to punish you right now. If you’d caught me yesterday evening, well, that would have been a different story.”
Holy cow. He wants to hurt me… How do I deal with this? I can’t hide the horror on my face.
“Don’t let anyone try to convince you otherwise, Anastasia. One of the reasons people like me do this is because we either like to give or receive pain. It’s very simple. You don’t, so I spent a great deal of time yesterday thinking about that.”
He pulls me against him, and his erection presses into my belly. I should run, but I can’t. I’m drawn to him on some deep, elemental level that I can’t begin to understand.
“Did you reach any conclusions?” I whisper.
“No, and right now, I just want to tie you up and fuck you senseless. Are you ready for that?”
“Yes,” I breathe as everything in my body tightens at once… Wow.
“Good. Come.” He takes my hand, and leaving all the dirty dishes on the breakfast bar, we head upstairs.
My heart starts pounding. This is it. I’m really going to do this. My inner goddess is spinning like a world-class ballerina, pirouette after pirouette. He opens the door to his playroom, standing back for me to walk through, and I am once more in the Red Room of Pain.
It’s the same—the smell of leather, citrus-scented polish, and dark wood, all very sensual.
My blood is running heated and scared through my system—adrenaline mixed with lust and longing.
It’s a heady, potent cocktail. Christian’s stance has changed completely, subtly altered, harder and meaner.
He gazes down at me and his eyes are heated, lustful… hypnotic.
“When you’re in here, you are completely mine.” Each word is slow and measured. “To do with as I see fit. Do you understand?”
His gaze is so intense. I nod, my mouth dry, my heart feeling as if it will jump out of my chest.
“Take your shoes off.”
I swallow, and rather clumsily, I take them off. He bends to pick them up and deposits them beside the door.
“Good. Don’t hesitate when I ask you to do something.
Now I’m going to peel you out of this dress.
Something I’ve wanted to do for a few days, if I recall.
I want you to be comfortable with your body, Anastasia.
You have a beautiful body, and I like to look at it.
It is a joy to behold. In fact, I could gaze at you all day, and I want you unembarrassed and unashamed of your nakedness. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” He leans over me, glaring.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Do you mean that?” he snaps.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Lift your arms over your head.”
I do as instructed, and he reaches down and grabs the hem.
Slowly, he pulls my dress up over my thighs, my hips, my belly, my breasts, my shoulders, and over my head.
He stands back to examine me and absentmindedly folds my dress, not taking his eyes off me.
He places it on the large chest beside the door.
Reaching up, he pulls at my chin, his touch searing me.
“You’re biting your lip. You know what that does to me,” he says darkly. “Turn around.”