Fifty Shades Trilogy 01 - Fifty Shades of Grey

I’ll have emotionally invested three months, doing things that I’m not sure I want to do. And if he then says no, agreement over, how could I cope with that level of rejection? Perhaps it’s best to back away now with what self-esteem I have reasonably intact.
    But the thought of not seeing him again is agonizing. How has he gotten under my skin so quickly? It can’t just be the sex… can it? I dash the tears from my eyes. I don’t want to examine my feelings for him. I’m frightened what I’ll uncover if I do. What am I going to do?
    I park up outside our duplex. No lights on. Kate must be out. I’m relieved. I don’t want her to catch me crying again. As I undress, I wake up the mean machine and sitting in my inbox is a message from Christian.

    From: Christian Grey
    Subject: Tonight
    Date: May 25 2011 22:01
    To: Anastasia Steele
    I don’t understand why you ran this evening. I sincerely hope I answered all your questions to your satisfaction. I know I have given you a great deal to contemplate, and I fervently hope that you will give my proposal your serious consideration. I really want to make this work. We will take it slow.
Trust me.
    Christian Grey
CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
    His e-mail makes me weep more. I am not a merger. I am not an acquisition. Reading this, I might as well be. I don’t reply. I just don’t know what to say to him. I fumble into my PJs and, wrapping his jacket around me, I climb into bed. As I lie staring into the darkness, I think of all the times he warned me to stay away.
    ‘Anastasia, you should steer clear of me. I’m not the man for you.’
‘I don’t do the girlfriend thing.’
‘I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of guy.’
‘I don’t make love.’
‘This is all I know.’
    And as I weep into my pillow silently, it’s this last idea I cling to. This is all I know, too. Perhaps together we can chart a new course.

Christian is standing over me grasping a plaited, leather riding crop. He’s wearing old, faded, ripped Levis and that’s all. He flicks the crop slowly into his palm as he gazes down at me. He’s smiling, triumphant. I cannot move. I am naked and shackled, spread-eagled on a large four-poster bed. Reaching forward, he trails the tip of the crop from my forehead down the length of my nose, so I can smell the leather, and over my parted, panting lips. He pushes the tip into my mouth so I can taste the smooth, rich leather.
    “Suck,” he commands, his voice soft. My mouth closes over the tip as I obey.
    “Enough,” he snaps.
    I’m panting once more as he tugs the crop out of my mouth, trails it down and under my chin, on down my neck to the hollow at the base of my throat. He swirls it slowly there and then continues to drag the tip down my body, along my sternum, between my breasts, over my torso down to my navel. I’m panting, squirming, pulling against my restraints that are biting into my wrists and my ankles. He swirls the tip around my navel then continues to trail the leather tip south, through my pubic hair to my clitoris. He flicks the crop and it hits my sweet spot with a sharp slap, and I come, gloriously, shouting my release.
    Abruptly, I wake, gasping for breath, covered in sweat and feeling the aftershocks of my orgasm. Holy hell. I’m completely disorientated. What the hell just happened? I’m in my bedroom alone. How? Why? I sit bolt upright, shocked… wow. It’s morning. I glance at my alarm clock – eight o’clock. I put my head in my hands. I didn’t know I could dream sex. Was it something I ate? Perhaps the oysters and my Internet research manifesting itself in my first wet dream. It’s bewildering. I had no idea that I could orgasm in my sleep.
    Kate is skipping around the kitchen when I stagger in.
    “Ana, are you okay? You look odd. Is that Christian’s jacket you’re wearing?”
    “I’m fine.” Damn, should have checked in the mirror. I avoid her piercing green eyes. I’m still reeling from my morning’s event. “Yes, this is Christian’s jacket.”
    She frowns.
    “Did you sleep?”
    “Not very well.”
    I head for the kettle. I need tea.
    “How was dinner?”
    So it begins.
    “We had oysters. Followed by cod, so I’d say it was fishy.”
    “Ugh… I hate oysters, and I don’t want to know about the food. How was Christian? What did you talk about?”
    “He was attentive,” I pause.
    What can I say? His HIV status is clear, he’s heavily into role-play, wants me to obey his every