Whoa.

“Christian,” she whimpers, lewd and needy, and I withdraw my thumb.

She’s breathless.

“Good girl,” I murmur. Leaving the plug in its place, I trace my fingers down her side until I reach her hip. Undoing my fly and freeing my dick, I grasp her hips with both hands, and pull her ass toward me. With my foot, I force her to widen her stance. “Don’t let go of the table, Ana.”

“No,” she pants.

“Something rough? Tell me if I’m too rough. Understand?”

“Yes,” she whispers. And in one swift move, I yank her toward me and slam inside her, to the hilt.

“Fuck!” she cries.

And I still, relishing the feel of my girl around me.

She’s doing good, her breathing as harsh as mine. I reach between us and gently tug on the plug.

She lets out a breathtaking moan of pleasure.

It almost tips me over the edge.

“Again?” I whisper.

“Yes,” she says, and she sounds desperate, begging for more.

“Stay flat,” I insist, and ease out of her, then slam into her again.

“Yes,” she hisses with loud, sibilant fervor. I pick up the pace, slamming inside her with a wild abandon that’s exhilarating.

It’s never felt like this.

Taking Ana to a darker side.

I fucking love it.

“Oh, Ana,” I pant, and twist the plug around again.

She cries out as I keep rocking into her. Taking her. Consuming her. Owning her.

“Oh, fuck,” she cries.

And I know she’s close.

“Yes, baby,” I whisper.

“Please,” she begs.

“That’s right.”

You goddess, Ana.

I slap her hard and she lets go, screaming out loud and proud as she’s gripped by her orgasm. I tug the plug out and toss it in the bowl.

“Fuck!” she screams, and I tighten my hold on her hips and let go, holding her to me and losing myself in my release.

I sag over her, spent but elated. Pulling her into my arms, I sink to the floor, curling her into my embrace as I catch my breath. She’s gulping in air, her head resting on my chest.

“Welcome back,” I say, removing the blindfold. She blinks, a little dazed, as her eyes adjust to the muted light. She looks okay. I tip her head back and press my lips to hers, anxiously trying to gauge how she’s feeling.

Reaching up, she strokes my face.

I smile with relief. “Well, did I fulfill the brief?” I ask.

Her brow creases. “Brief?”

“You wanted rough.” My tone is cautious.

Her face brightens. “Yes. I think you did.”

Her words wrap around my soul. “I’m very glad to hear it. You look thoroughly well fucked and beautiful at this moment.” I caress her cheek.

“I feel it,” she hums. Holding her face, I kiss her with all the tenderness that she deserves. Because I love her.

“You never disappoint.” Ever. “How do you feel?” I breathe.

“Good,” she whispers and a telltale flush crosses her face. “Thoroughly well fucked.” Her smile is shy and sweet and telling. And totally at odds with her profanity.

“Why, Mrs. Grey, you have a dirty, dirty mouth.”

“That’s because I’m married to a dirty, dirty boy, Mr. Grey.”

I can’t argue with that.

And I’m buoyant, grinning back at her. I must resemble the Cheshire Cat. “I’m glad you’re married to him.” My fingers grasp her braid, and I lift the end to my lips and kiss it. I love you, Ana. Never leave me.

She reaches for my left hand and, raising it to her lips, kisses my wedding ring. “Mine,” she whispers.

“Yours,” I answer, and I tighten my hold on her and drive my nose in her hair. “Shall I run you a bath?”

“Hmm. Only if you join me in it.”

“Okay.” I help Ana to her feet and stand up.

She points to the jeans I’m still wearing. “Will you wear your, er, other jeans?”

“Other jeans?”

“The ones you used to wear in here.”

“Those jeans?” My Dom jeans. The DJs.

“You look very hot in them.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. I mean, really hot.”

How could I refuse? I want to look hot for my wife.

“Well, for you, Mrs. Grey, maybe I will.” I kiss her and grab the small bowl that contains our afternoon’s entertainment, and I walk over to the chest of drawers to switch off the music.

“Who cleans these toys?” Ana asks.

Oh. Ah. “Me. Mrs. Jones.”

“What?” Ana gasps in shock.

Yep. Gail knows everything, all my dirty little secrets, and she still works for me.

Ana is still gaping at me as if she expects more information. I switch off the iPod. “Well. Um—”

“Your subs used to do it?” Ana says, finally figuring it out.

All I have is an apologetic shrug. “Here.” I offer her my shirt and she dons it quickly, and says no more about toy-cleaning. I leave our stuff on the chest and, taking Ana’s hand, unlock the playroom door, and we head downstairs to our bathroom. She pauses on the threshold, yawns and stretches, a secret smile etched on her face.

“What is it?” I ask, turning on the faucets.