Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

discussed limits. And I want to reiterate we have safewords, okay?”
    Holy fuck … what has he got planned that I need safewords?
    “What are they?” he asks authoritatively.
    I frown slightly at his question, and his face hardens perceptibly.
    “What are the safewords, Anastasia?” he says slowly and deliberately.
    “Yellow,” I mumble.
    “And?” he prompts, his mouth setting in a hard line.
    “Red,” I breathe.
    “Remember those.”
    And I can’t help it… I raise my eyebrow at him and am about to remind him of my GPA, but the sudden frosty glint in his icy gray eyes stops me in my tracks.
    “Don’t start with your smart mouth in here, Miss Steele. Or I will fuck it with you on your knees. Do you understand?”
    I swallow instinctively. Okay. I blink rapidly, chastened. Actually, it’s his tone of voice, rather than the threat, that intimidates me.
    “Well?”
    “Yes, Sir,” I mumble hastily.
    “Good girl,” he pauses as he stares at me. “My intention is not that you should safe-word because you’re in pain. What I intend to do to you will be intense. Very intense, and you have to guide me. Do you understand?”
    Not really. Intense? Wow.
    “This is about touch, Anastasia. You will not be able to see me or hear me. But you’ll be able to feel me.”
    I frown – not hear him? How is that going to work? He turns, and I hadn’t noticed that above the chest is a sleek, flat, matt-black box. As he waves his hand in front, the box splits in half: two doors slide open revealing a CD player and a host of buttons. Christian presses several of these buttons in sequence. Nothing happens, but he seems satisfied. I am mystified. When he turns to face me again, he wears his small I-have-a-secret smile.
    “I am going to tie you to that bed, Anastasia. But I’m going to blindfold you first and,” he reveals his iPod in his hand, “you will not be able to hear me. All you will hear is the music I am going to play for you.”
    Okay. A musical interlude. Not what I was expecting. Does he ever do what I expect? Jeez, I hope it’s not rap.
    “Come.” Taking my hand, he leads me over to the antique four-poster bed. There are shackles attached at each corner, fine metal chains with leather cuffs, glinting against the red satin.
    Oh boy, I think my heart is going to leave my chest, and I’m melting from the inside out, desire coursing through me. Could I be any more excited?
    “Stand here.”
    I am facing the bed. He leans down and whispers in my ear.
    “Wait here. Keep your eyes on the bed. Picture yourself lying here bound and totally at my mercy.”
    Oh my.
    He moves away for a moment, and I can hear him near the door fetching something. All my senses are hyperalert, my hearing more acute. He’s picked up something from the rack of whips and paddles by the door. Holy cow. What is he going to do?
    I feel him behind me. He takes my hair, pulls it into a ponytail behind me, and starts to braid it.
    “While I like your pigtails, Anastasia, I am too impatient to be at you right now. So one will have to do.” His voice is low, soft.
    His deft fingers skim my back occasionally as they work down my hair, and each casual touch is like a sweet, electric shock against my skin. He fastens the end with a hair tie, then gently tugs the braid so that I’m forced to step back flush against him. He pulls again to the side so that I angle my head, giving him easier access to my neck. Leaning down, he nuzzles my neck, tracing his teeth and tongue from the base of my ear to my shoulder. He hums softly as he does, and the sound resonates through me. Right down... right down there, inside me. Unbidden, I groan quietly.
    “Hush now,” he breathes against my skin. He holds up his hands in front of me, his arms touching mine. In his right hand is a flogger. I remember the name from my first introduction to this room.
    “Touch it,” he whispers, and he sounds like the devil himself. My body flames in response. Tentatively, I reach out and brush the long strands. It has many long fronds, all soft suede with small beads at the end.
    “I will use this. It will not hurt, but it will bring your blood to the surface of your skin and make you very sensitive.”
    Oh, he says it won’t hurt.
    “What are the safewords, Anastasia?”
    “Um… yellow and red, Sir,” I whisper.
    “Good girl. Remember, most of your fear is in your mind.”
    He drops the flogger on the bed, and his hands move to my waist.
    “You won’t