Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Steele.” He smiles, and I head into the building. The doorman nods and waves.
As I ride up to the thirtieth floor, a thousand butterflies stretch their wings and flutter erratically in my stomach.
Why am I so nervous? And I know it’s because I have no idea what kind of mood Christian’s going to be in when I arrive.
My inner goddess is hopeful for one type of mood; my subconscious, like me, is fraught with nerves.
The elevator doors open, and I’m in the foyer.
It is so strange not to be met by Taylor.
Of course, he’s parking the car. In the great room, Christian is on his BlackBerry, talking quietly as he stares through the glass doors at the early evening Seattle skyline.
He’s wearing a gray suit with the jacket undone, and he’s running his hand through his hair.
He’s agitated, tense even. Oh no, what’s wrong?
Agitated or not, he’s still a fine sight. How can he look so…arresting?
“No trace?… Okay… Yes.” He turns and sees me, and his whole demeanor changes. From tension to relief to something else: a look that calls directly to my inner goddess, a look of sensual carnality, his eyes scorching.
My mouth goes dry and desire blooms in my body. Whoa.
“Keep me informed,” he snaps and shuts off his phone as he strides purposefully toward me.
I stand paralyzed as he closes the distance between us, devouring me with his eyes.
Holy shit, something’s amiss—the strain in his jaw, the anxiety around his eyes.
He shrugs out of his jacket, undoes his dark tie, and slings them both onto the couch en route to me.
Then his arms are wrapped around me, and he’s pulling me to him, hard, fast, gripping my ponytail to tilt my head up, kissing me like his life depends on it. What the hell?
He drags the hair tie painfully out of my hair, but I don’t care.
There’s a desperate, primal quality to his kiss.
He needs me, for whatever reason, at this point in time, and I have never felt so desired and coveted.
It’s dark and sensual and alarming all at the same time.
I kiss him back with equal fervor, my fingers twisting and fisting in his hair.
Our tongues entwine, our passion and ardor erupting between us.
He tastes divine, hot, sexy, and his scent—all body wash and Christian—is arousing.
He drags his mouth away from mine, and he’s staring down at me, gripped by some unnamed emotion.
“What’s wrong?” I breathe.
“I’m so glad you’re back. Shower with me. Now.”
I can’t decide if it’s a request or a command. “Yes,” I whisper, and he grabs my hand, leading me out of the big room into his bedroom to his bathroom.
Once there, he releases me and turns the water on in the far-too-spacious shower. Spinning around slowly, he gazes at me, eyes hooded.
“I like your skirt. It’s very short,” he says, his voice low. “You have great legs.”
He steps out of his shoes and reaches down to take off each of his socks, never taking his eyes off me.
I am rendered speechless by the look of hunger in his eyes.
Wow, to be this wanted by this Greek god.
I mirror his actions and step out of my black flats.
Suddenly, he reaches for me, backing me up against the wall.
Kissing me, my face, my throat, my lips…
running his hands through my hair. I feel the cool, smooth tiled wall at my back as he pushes himself against me so I’m flattened between his heat and the chill of the ceramic.
Tentatively, I place my arms on his upper arms, and he groans as I squeeze tightly.
“I want you now. Here…fast, hard,” he breathes, and his hands are on my thighs, pushing up my skirt. “Are you still bleeding?”
“No.” I flush.
“Good.”
His thumbs hook over my white cotton panties, and abruptly he drops to his knees as he tugs them off.
My skirt is now rucked up so that I’m naked from the waist down and panting, wanting.
He grabs my hips, pushing me against the wall again, and kisses me at the apex of my thighs.
Grabbing my upper thighs, he forces my legs apart.
I groan loudly, feeling his tongue circling my clitoris.
Oh my. Tipping my head back involuntarily, I moan as my fingers find their way into his hair.
His tongue is relentless, strong and insistent, washing over me, swirling around and around, again and again—nonstop.
It’s exquisite, the intensity of feeling—it’s almost painful.
My body starts to quicken, and he releases me.
What? No! My breathing is ragged as I pant, gazing at him with delicious anticipation.
He grabs my face with both hands, holding me firmly, and he kisses me hard, thrusting his tongue into my mouth so I can taste my arousal.
Unzipping his fly, he frees himself, grabs the backs of my thighs, and lifts me.
“Wrap your legs around me, baby,” he commands, his voice urgent, strained.
I do as I’m told and wrap my arms around his neck, and he moves quickly and sharply, filling me.
Ah! He gasps, and I groan. Holding my behind, his fingers digging into my soft flesh, he begins to move, slowly at first, a steady even tempo…
but as his control unravels, he speeds up, faster and faster.
Ahhh! I tip my head back and concentrate on the invading, punishing, heavenly sensation, pushing me, pushing me…
onward, higher, up…and when I can take no more, I explode around him, spiraling into an intense, all-consuming orgasm.
He lets go with a deep growl, and he buries his head in my neck as he buries himself inside me, groaning loudly and incoherently as he finds his release.
His breathing is erratic, but he kisses me tenderly, not moving, still inside me, and I blink, unseeing, into his eyes. As he comes into focus, he gently pulls out of me, holding me steady while I place my feet on the floor. The bathroom is now cloudy with steam…and hot. I feel overdressed.
“You seem pleased to see me,” I murmur with a shy smile.
His lips quirk up. “Yes, Miss Steele, I think my pleasure is pretty self-evident. Come—let me get you in the shower.”
He undoes the next three buttons of his shirt, removes the cuff links, tugs it over his head, and discards it on the floor.
Taking off his suit pants and boxer briefs, he kicks them to one side.
He begins to undo the buttons on my blouse while I watch him, yearning to reach out and stroke his chest, but I contain myself.
“How was your journey?” he asks mildly. He seems so much calmer now, his apprehension gone, dissolved by sexual congress.
“Fine, thank you,” I’m still breathless. “Thanks once again for first class. It really is a much nicer way to travel.” I smile shyly at him. “I have some news,” I add nervously.
“Oh?” He looks down at me as he undoes the last button, slips my blouse down my arms, and throws it on top of his discarded clothes.
“I have a job.”
He stills, then smiles at me, his eyes warm and soft.
“Congratulations, Miss Steele. Now will you tell me where?”
“You don’t know?”
He shakes his head, frowning. “Why would I know?”
“With your stalking capabilities, I thought you might have—” I stop as his face falls.
“Anastasia, I wouldn’t dream of interfering in your career. Unless you ask me to, of course.” He looks wounded.
“So you have no idea which company?”
“No. I know there are four publishing companies in Seattle—so I am assuming it’s one of them.”
“SIP.”
“Oh, the small one, good. Well done.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Clever girl. When do you start?”
“Monday.”
“That soon, eh? I’d better take advantage of you while I still can. Turn around.”
I am thrown by his casual command but do as I’m bid, and he undoes my bra and unzips my skirt. He pushes my skirt down, cupping my behind as he does and kissing my shoulder. He leans against me and his nose nuzzles my hair, inhaling deeply. He squeezes my buttocks.
“You intoxicate me, Miss Steele, and you calm me. Such a heady combination.” He kisses my hair. Grabbing my hand, he tugs me into the shower.
“Ow,” I squeal. The water is practically scalding.
Christian grins down at me as the water cascades over him. “It’s only a little hot water.”
And actually he’s right. It feels heavenly, washing off the sticky Georgia morning and the stickiness from our lovemaking.
“Turn around,” he orders, and I comply, turning to face the wall. “I want to wash you,” he murmurs and reaches for the body wash. He squirts a little into his hand.
“I have something else to tell you,” I murmur as his hands start on my shoulders.
“Oh yes?” he asks mildly.
I steel myself with a deep breath. “My friend José’s photography show is opening Thursday in Portland.”
He stills, his hands hovering over my breasts. I have emphasized the word friend.
“Yes, what about it?”
“I said I would go. Do you want to come with me?”
After what feels like a monumental amount of time, he slowly starts washing me again. “What time?”
“The opening is at seven thirty p.m.”
He kisses my ear. “Okay.”
Inside my subconscious relaxes and then collapses, slumped into an old battered armchair.
“Were you nervous about asking me?”
“Yes. How can you tell?”
“Anastasia, your whole body’s just relaxed,” he says dryly.
“Well, you just seem to be, um…on the jealous side.”
“Yes, I am,” he says darkly. “And you’d do well to remember that. But thank you for asking. We’ll take Charlie Tango.”
Oh, the helicopter, of course. Silly me. More flying—cool! I grin. “Can I wash you?” I ask.
“I don’t think so,” he murmurs, and he kisses me gently on my neck to take the sting out of his refusal.
I pout at the wall as he caresses my back with soap. “Will you ever let me touch you?” I ask boldly.