Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

interrupting us for a moment.
    “Why?” I ask when she’s gone.
    He smiles sardonically.
    “Do you really want to know?”
    “Yes.”
    “I didn’t want to. She was all I wanted, needed. And besides, she’d have beaten the shit out of me.” He smiles fondly at the memory.
    Oh, this is way too much information – but I want more.
    “So if she was a friend of your mother’s, how old was she?”
    He smirks.
    “Old enough to know better.”
    “Do you still see her?”
    “Yes.”
    “Do you still… err…?” I flush.
    “No.” He shakes his head and smiles indulgently at me. “She’s a very good friend.”
    “Oh. Does your mother know?”
    He gives me a don’t-be-stupid stare.
    “Of course not.”
    The waitress returns with venison, but my appetite has vanished. What a revelation. Christian the submissive… Holy shit. I take a large slug of Pinot Grigio – he’s right, of course, it’s delicious. Jeez, all these revelations, it’s so much to think about. I need time to process this, when I’m on my own, not when I’m distracted by his presence. He’s so overwhelming, so Alpha Male, and now he’s thrown this bombshell into the equation. He knows what it’s like.
    “But it can’t have been full time?” I’m confused.
    “Well, it was, though I didn’t see her all the time. It was… difficult. After all, I was still at school and then at college. Eat up, Anastasia.”
    “I’m really not hungry, Christian.” I am reeling from your disclosure.
    His expression hardens.
    “Eat,” he says quietly, too quietly.
    I stare at him. This man – sexually abused as an adolescent – his tone is so threatening.
    “Give me a moment,” I mutter quietly. He blinks a couple of times.
    “Okay,” he murmurs, and he continues with his meal.
    This is what it will be like if I sign, him ordering me around. I frown. Do I want this? Reaching for my knife and fork, I tentatively cut into the venison. It’s very tasty.
    “Is this what our, err… relationship will be like?” I whisper. “You ordering me around?” I can’t quite bring myself to look at him.
    “Yes,” he murmurs.
    “I see.”
    “And what’s more, you’ll want me to,” he adds, his voice low.
    I sincerely doubt that. I slice another piece of venison, holding it against my mouth.
    “It’s a big step,” I murmur and eat.
    “It is.” He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, they are wide and grave. “Anastasia, you have to go with your gut. Do the research, read the contract – I’m happy to discuss any aspect. I’ll be in Portland until Friday if you want to talk about it before then.” His words are coming at me in a rush. “Call me – maybe we can have dinner – say, Wednesday? I really want to make this work. In fact, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this to work.”
    His burning sincerity, his longing, is reflected in his eyes. This is fundamentally what I don’t grasp. Why me? Why not one of the fifteen? Oh no… Will that be me – a number? Sixteen of many?
    “What happened to the fifteen?” I blurt.
    He raises his eyebrows in surprise, then looks resigned, shaking his head.
    “Various things, but it boils down to…” He pauses, struggling to find the words I think. “Incompatibility.” He shrugs.
    “And you think that I might be compatible with you?”
    “Yes.”
    “So you’re not seeing any of them anymore?”
    “No, Anastasia, I’m not. I am monogamous in my relationships.”
    Oh… this is news.
    “I see.”
    “Do the research, Anastasia.”
    I put my knife and fork down. I cannot eat any more.
    “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to eat?”
    I nod. He scowls at me but chooses not to say anything. I breathe a small sigh of relief. My stomach is churning with all this new information, and I’m feeling a little lightheaded from the wine. I watch as he devours everything on his plate. He eats like a horse. He must work out to stay in such great shape. The memory of the way his pajamas hung from his hips comes unbidden to my mind. The image is totally distracting. I squirm uncomfortably. He glances up at me, and I blush.
    “I’d give anything to know what you’re thinking right at this moment,” he murmurs. I blush further.
    He smiles a wicked smile at me.
    “I can guess,” he teases softly.
    “I’m glad you can’t read my mind.”
    “Your mind, no, Anastasia, but your body – that I’ve got to know quite well since yesterday.” His voice is