Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

similar discussions with, um… the fifteen?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because they were all established submissives. They knew what they wanted out of a relationship with me and generally what I expected. With them, it was just a question of fine-tuning the soft limits, details like that.”
    “Is there a store you go to? Submissives R Us?”
    He laughs.
    “Not exactly.”
    “Then how?”
    “Is that what you want to discuss? Or shall we get down to the nitty-gritty? Your issues, as you say.”
    I swallow. Do I trust him? Is that what this all comes down to – trust? Surely that should be a two-way thing. I remember his snit when I phoned José.
    “Are you hungry?” he asks, distracting me from my thoughts.
    Oh no… food.
    “No.”
    “Have you eaten today?”
    I stare at him. Honesty … Holy crap, he’s not going to like my answer.
    “No.” My voice is small.
    He narrows his eyes.
    “You have to eat, Anastasia. We can eat down here or in my suite. What would you prefer?”
    “I think we should stay in public, on neutral ground.”
    He smiles sardonically.
    “Do you think that would stop me?” he says softly, a sensual warning.
    My eyes widen, and I swallow again.
    “I hope so.”
    “Come, I have a private dining room booked. No public.” He smiles at me enigmatically and climbs out of the booth, holding his hand out to me.
    “Bring your wine,” he murmurs.
    Placing my hand in his, I slide out and stand up beside him. He releases me, and his hand reaches for my elbow. He leads me back through the bar and up the grand stairs to a mezzanine floor. A young man in full Heathman livery approaches us.
    “Mr. Grey, this way sir.”
    We follow him through a plush seating area to an intimate dining room. Just one secluded table. The room is small but sumptuous. Beneath a shimmering chandelier, the table is all starched linen, crystal glasses, silver cutlery, and white rose bouquet. An old-world, sophisticated charm pervades the wood-paneled room. The waiter pulls out my chair, and I sit. He places my napkin in my lap. Christian sits opposite me. I peek up at him.
    “Don’t bite your lip,” he whispers.
    I frown. Damn it. I don’t even know that I’m doing it.
    “I’ve ordered already. I hope you don’t mind.”
    Frankly, I’m relieved. I’m not sure I can make any further decisions.
    “No, that’s fine,” I acquiesce.
    “It’s good to know that you can be amenable. Now, where were we?”
    “The nitty-gritty.” I take another large sip of wine. It really is delicious. Christian Grey does wine well. I remember the last sip of wine he gave me, in my bed. I blush at the intrusive thought.
    “Yes, your issues.” He fishes into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. My e-mail.
    “Clause 2. Agreed. This is for the benefit of us both. I shall redraft.”
    I blink at him. Holy shit… we are going to go through each of these points one at a time. I just don’t feel so brave face to face. He looks so earnest. I steel myself with another sip of my wine. Christian continues.
    “My sexual health. Well, all of my previous partners have had blood tests, and I have regular tests every six months for all the health risks you mention. All my recent tests are clear. I have never taken drugs. In fact, I’m vehemently anti-drugs. I have a strict no-tolerance policy with regards to drugs for all my employees, and I insist on random drug testing.”
    Wow… control freakery gone mad. I blink at him shocked.
    “I have never had any blood transfusions. Does that answer your question?”
    I nod, impassive.
    “Your next point I mentioned earlier. You can walk away any time, Anastasia. I won’t stop you. If you go, however – that’s it. Just so you know.”
    “Okay,” I answer softly. If I go, that’s it. The thought is surprisingly painful.
    The waiter arrives with our first course. How can I possibly eat? Holy Moses – he’s ordered oysters on a bed of ice.
    “I hope you like oysters,” Christian’s voice is soft.
    “I’ve never had one.” Ever.
    “Really? Well.” He reaches for one. “All you do is tip and swallow. I think you can manage that.” He gazes at me, and I know what he’s referring to. I blush scarlet. He grins at me, squirts some lemon juice onto his oyster, and then tips it into his mouth.
    “Hmm, delicious. Tastes of the sea,” he grins at me. “Go on,” he encourages.
    “So, I don’t chew it?”
    “No, Anastasia, you don’t.” His