Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

than I thought. My inner goddess is prostrate… well at least she’s quiet. Christian nuzzles my hair again, inhaling deeply.
    “Well done, baby,” he whispers, quiet joy in his voice. His words curl around me like a soft fluffy towel from the Heathman Hotel, and I’m so pleased that he’s happy.
    He picks at the strap on my camisole.
    “Is this what you sleep in?” he asks gently.
    “Yes,” I breathe sleepily.
    “You should be in silks and satins, you beautiful girl. I’ll take you shopping.”
    “I like my sweats,” I murmur, trying and failing to sound irritated.
    He kisses my head again.
    “We’ll see,” he says.
    We lie for a few more minutes, hours, who knows, and I think I doze.
    “I have to go,” he says, and leaning down, he kisses my forehead gently. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft.
    I think about his question. My backside is sore. Well, glowing now, and amazingly I feel, apart from exhausted, radiant. The realization is humbling, unexpected. I don’t understand. Holy shit.
    “I’m okay,” I whisper. I don’t want to say more than that.
    He rises.
    “Where’s your bathroom?”
    “Along the corridor to the left.”
    He scoops up the other condom and heads out of the bedroom. I rise stiffly and put my sweatpants back on. They chafe a little against my still-smarting behind. I’m so confused by my reaction. I remember him saying – I can’t remember when – that I would feel so much better after a good hiding. How can that be so? I really don’t get it. But strangely, I do. I can’t say that I enjoyed the experience, in fact, I would still go a long way to avoid it, but now… I have this safe, weird, bathed in afterglow, sated feeling. I put my head in my hands. I just don’t understand.
    Christian reenters the room. I can’t look him in the eye. I stare down at my hands.
    “I found some baby oil. Let me rub it into your behind.”
    What?
    “No. I’ll be fine.”
    “Anastasia,” he warns, and I want to roll my eyes but quickly stop myself. I stand facing the bed. Sitting beside me, he gently pulls my sweatpants down again. Up and down like whores’ drawers, my subconscious remarks bitterly. In my head, I tell her where to go. Christian squirts baby oil into his hand and then rubs my behind with careful tenderness – from makeup remover to soothing balm for a spanked ass, who would have thought it was such a versatile liquid.
    “I like my hands on you,” he murmurs, and I have to agree; me, too.
    “There,” he says when he’s finished, and he pulls my pants up again.
    I glance over at my clock. It’s ten thirty.
    “I’m leaving now.”
    “I’ll see you out.” I still can’t look at him.
    Taking my hand, he leads me to the front door. Fortunately, Kate is still not home. She must still be having dinner with her folks and Ethan. I’m really glad she’s not been around to hear my chastisement.
    “Don’t you have to call Taylor?” I ask, avoiding eye contact.
    “Taylor’s been here since nine. Look at me,” he breathes.
    I struggle to meet his eyes, but when I do, he’s gazing down at me with wonder.
    “You didn’t cry,” he murmurs, then grabs me suddenly and kisses me fervently. “Sunday,” he whispers against my lips, and it’s both a promise and a threat.
    I watch him walk down the path and climb into the big black Audi. He doesn’t look back. I close the door and stand helpless in the living room of an apartment that I shall only spend another two nights in. A place I have lived happily for almost four years… yet today, for the first time ever, I feel lonely and uncomfortable here, unhappy with my own company. Have I strayed so far from who I am? I know that lurking, not very far under my rather numb exterior, is a well of tears. What am I doing? The irony is I can’t even sit down and enjoy a good cry. I’ll have to stand. I know it’s late, but I decide to call my mom.
    “Honey, how are you? How was graduation?” she enthuses down the phone. Her voice is a soothing balm.
    “Sorry it’s so late,” I whisper.
    She pauses.
    “Ana? What’s wrong?” She’s all seriousness now.
    “Nothing, Mom, I just wanted to hear your voice.”
    She’s silent for a moment.
    “Ana, what is it? Please tell me.” Her voice is soft and comforting, and I know that she cares. Uninvited, my tears begin to flow. I have cried so often in the last few days.
    “Please, Ana,” she says, and her anguish reflects mine.
    “Oh, Mom, it’s a