Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

Thank you,” I whisper.
    “Was it more?” he asks, his voice tinged with hope.
    “Much more,” I breathe, and he grins.
    “Come.” He holds out his hand for me, and I clamber out of the cockpit.
    As soon as I’m out, he grabs me and holds me flush against his body. Suddenly his hand is in my hair, tugging it so my head tips back, and his other hand travels down to the base of my spine. He kisses me, long, hard, and passionately, his tongue in my mouth. His breathing is mounting, his ardor… Holy cow – his erection… we’re in a field. But I don’t care. My hands twist in his hair, anchoring him to me. I want him, here, now, on the ground. He breaks away and gazes down at me, his eyes now dark and luminous in the early morning light, full of raw, arrogant sensuality. Wow. He takes my breath away.
    “Breakfast,” he whispers, making it sound deliciously erotic.
    How can he make bacon and eggs sound like forbidden fruit? It’s an extraordinary skill. He turns, clasping my hand, and we head back toward the car.
    “What about the glider?”
    “Someone will take care of that,” he says dismissively. “We’ll eat now.” His tone is unequivocal.
    Food! He’s talking food, when really all I want is him.
    “Come.” He smiles.
    I have never seen him like this, and it’s a joy to behold. I find myself walking beside him, hand in hand, with a stupid, goofy grin plastered on my face. It reminds me of when I was ten and spent the day in Disneyland with Ray. It was a perfect day, and this is sure shaping out to be the same.
    Back in the car, as we head back along I-95 towards Savannah, my phone alarm goes off. Oh yes… my pill.
    “What’s that?” Christian asks, curious, glancing at me.
    I fumble in my purse for the packet.
    “Alarm for my pill,” I mutter as my cheeks flush.
    His lips quirk up.
    “Good, well done. I hate condoms.”
    I flush some more. He’s as patronizing as ever.
    “I like that you introduced me to Mark as your girlfriend,” I murmur.
    “Isn’t that what you are?” He raises an eyebrow.
    “Am I? I thought you wanted a submissive.”
    “So did I, Anastasia, and I do. But I’ve told you, I want more, too.”
    Oh my. He’s coming round, and hope surges through me, leaving me breathless.
    “I’m very happy that you want more,” I whisper.
    “We aim to please, Miss Steele.” He smirks as we pull into the International House of Pancakes.
    “IHOP.” I grin back at him. I don’t believe it. Who would have thought…? Christian Grey at IHOP.
    It’s 8:30 a.m. but quiet in the restaurant. It smells of sweet batter, fried food, and disinfectant. Hmm… not such an enticing aroma. Christian leads me to a booth.
    “I would never have pictured you here,” I say as we slide into a booth.
    “My dad used to bring us to one of these whenever my mom went away to a medical conference. It was our secret.” He smiles at me, gray eyes dancing, then picks up a menu, running a hand through his wayward hair as he stares down at it.
    Oh, I want to run my hands through that hair. I pick up a menu and examine it. I realize I’m starving.
    “I know what I want,” he breathes, his voice low and husky.
    I glance up at him, and he’s staring at me in that way that tightens all the muscles in my belly and takes my breath away, his eyes dark and smoldering. Holy shit. I gaze at him, my blood singing in my veins answering his call.
    “I want what you want,” I whisper.
    He inhales sharply.
    “Here?” he asks suggestively, raising an eyebrow at me, smiling wickedly, his teeth trapping the tip of his tongue.
    Oh my… sex in IHOP. His expression changes, growing darker.
    “Don’t bite your lip,” he orders. “Not here, not now.” His eyes harden momentarily, and for a moment, he looks so deliciously dangerous. “If I can’t have you here, don’t tempt me.”
    “Hi, my name’s Leandra. What can I get for you… er… folks… er… today, this mornin… ?” Her voice trails off, stumbling over her words as she gets an eyeful of Mr. Beautiful opposite me. She flushes scarlet, and a small ounce of sympathy for her bubbles unwelcome into my consciousness because he still does that to me. Her presence allows me to escape briefly from his sensual glare.
    “Anastasia?” he prompts me, ignoring her, and I don’t think anyone could squeeze as much carnality into my name as he does at that moment.
    I swallow, praying that I don’t go the same color as poor Leandra.
    “I told you, I