Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

gives us our plates and then leaves, although she lingers handing Christian his. He looks quizzically at me as I watch her close the dining room door.
    “So what was wrong with the Parisians?” Elliot asks his sister. “Didn’t they take to your winsome ways?”
    “Ugh, no they didn’t. And Monsieur Floubert, the ogre I was working for, he was such a domineering tyrant.”
    I splutter into my wine.
    “Anastasia, are you okay?” Christian asks solicitously, taking his hand off my thigh.
    Humor has returned to his voice. Oh thank heavens. When I nod, he pats my back gently, and only removes his hand when he knows I’ve recovered.
    The beef is delicious and served with roasted sweet potatoes, carrots, parsnips, and green beans. It is even more palatable since Christian manages to retain his good humor for the rest of the meal. I suspect that it’s because I’m eating so heartily. The conversation flows freely among the Greys, warm and caring, gently teasing each other. Over our dessert of lemon syllabub, Mia regales us with her exploits in Paris, lapsing at one point into fluent French. We all stare at her, and she stares back puzzled, until Christian tells her in equally fluent French what she’s done, whereupon she bursts into a fit of giggles. She has a very infectious laugh and soon we’re all in stitches.
    Elliot holds forth about his latest building project, a new eco-friendly community to the north of Seattle. I glance up at Kate, and she’s hanging on every word Elliot says, her eyes glowing with lust or love. I haven’t quite worked out which yet. He grins down at her, and it’s as if an unspoken promise passes between them. Laters, baby, he’s saying, and it’s hot, freaking hot. I flush just watching them.
    I sigh and peek up at Fifty Shades. He’s so beautiful, I could stare at him forever. He has light stubble over his chin, and my fingers itch to scratch it and feel it against my face, against my breasts… between my thighs. I blush at the direction of my thoughts. He peers down at me and raises his hand to pull at my chin.
    “Don’t bite your lip,” he murmurs huskily. “I want to do that.”
    Grace and Mia clear our dessert glasses and head to the kitchen, while Mr. Grey, Kate, and Elliot discuss the merits of solar panels in Washington State. Christian, feigning interest in their conversation, puts his hand once more on my knee, and his fingers travel up my thigh. My breathing hitches and I press my thighs together in a bid to halt his progress. I can see him smirk.
    “Shall I give you a tour of the grounds?” he asks me quite openly.
    I know I’m meant to say yes, but I don’t trust him. Before I can answer, however, he’s on his feet and holding his hand out to me. I place my hand in his, and I feel all the muscles clench deep in my belly, responding to his dark, hungry gray gaze.
    “Excuse me,” I say to Mr. Grey and follow Christian out of the dining room.
    He leads me through the hallway and into the kitchen where Mia and Grace are stacking the dishwasher. European Pigtails is nowhere to be seen.
    “I’m going to show Anastasia the backyard,” Christian says innocently to his mother. She waves us out with a smile as Mia heads back to the dining room.
    We step out onto a grey flagstone patio area lit by recessed lights in the flagstones. There are shrubs in grey stone tubs and a chic metal table and chairs set up in one corner. Christian walks past those, up some steps, and onto a vast lawn that leads down to the bay… oh my – it’s beautiful. Seattle twinkles on the horizon and the cool, bright, May moon etches a sparkling silver path across the water toward a jetty where two boats are moored. Beside the jetty stands a boathouse. It is so picturesque, so peaceful. I stand and gape for a moment.
    Christian pulls me behind him, and my heels sink into the soft grass.
    “Stop, please.” I am stumbling in his wake.
    He stops and gazes at me, his expression unfathomable.
    “My heels. I need to take my shoes off.”
    “Don’t bother,” he says, and he bends down and scoops me over his shoulder. I squeal loudly with shocked surprise, and he gives me a ringing slap on my behind.
    “Keep your voice down,” he growls.
    Oh no… this is not good, my subconscious is quaking at the knees. He’s mad about something – could be José, Georgia, no panties, biting my lip. Jeez, he’s easy to rile.
    “Where are we going?” I breathe.
    “Boathouse,” he snaps.
    I