I hope not.

I hope this is over.

“Everything okay?” Ana asks, when I join her in the bedroom. She’s wearing one of her satin nightdresses and looks every inch a goddess.

I nod as I climb into bed beside her, putting aside my thoughts about next week.

“I’m not looking forward to going back to reality,” she says.

“No?”

She shakes her head and caresses my face. “I had a wonderful weekend. Thank you.”

“You’re my reality, Ana.” I kiss her.

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“You know. The caning, and stuff,” she whispers.

Why is she asking me this? I rack my brain. The bamboo cane. This morning?

“No, Anastasia, I don’t.” I stroke her cheek with the back of my knuckles. “Dr. Flynn said something to me when you left, something that’s stayed with me. He said I couldn’t be that way if you weren’t so inclined. It was a revelation.” John encouraged me to try our relationship her way.

And look where we are…

“I didn’t know any other way, Ana. Now I do. It’s been educational.”

“Me, educate you?” she scoffs.

I smile. “Do you miss it?”

“I don’t want you to hurt me, but I like to play, Christian. You know that. If you wanted to do something…” She lifts her left shoulder in a coy shrug.

“Something?”

“You know, with a flogger or your crop—” She stops as her face colors.

Crops and floggers, eh?

“Well, we’ll see. Right now, I’d like some good old-fashioned vanilla.” My thumb skims her bottom lip, and I kiss her once more.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Bastille is kicking my ass. “Marriage is making you soft, Grey,” he taunts, flicking his dreads to the side as I struggle to my feet once more. That is the third time he has knocked me on my butt. “Maybe this is what happiness looks like.” His face brightens with a benign grin and he comes at me again with a roundhouse kick. But I block him and feint right, then bring him down with my left leg.

“Yeah,” I respond, adrenaline flying through my veins. “Maybe it does.” I bounce on my feet, fists raised, ready to take him down once more, as he leaps to his feet.

“That’s more like it, man.”

As I sip my coffee at my desk, I contemplate the last few days and Bastille’s words. Maybe this is what happiness looks like.

Happiness.

It’s a strange and unsettling emotion, one that I’ve felt often enough since I met Ana. But I’ve always thought of those as fleeting moments, sometimes euphoric, sometimes just pure joy. It’s never been my constant companion. It’s crept up on me, and now it’s with me, always—but it’s an uneasy feeling, a tightness in my chest. And I know it’s because it could be snatched from me at any moment, and I’d be left devastated.

“I don’t want you to sabotage your happiness, Christian. I know you feel you don’t deserve it.” Flynn’s words echo once more through my thoughts.

Sabotage my happiness?

How and why would I do that?

It’s like love. That was a frightening prospect, too, yet I let that in.

Shit. Why can’t I just accept this feeling and enjoy it? I could bathe in its fire and rise reborn like a phoenix…or will I perish in its flames, with what’s left of my heart destroyed?

Flowery, Grey. I snort. Get a grip.

Maybe Bastille has a point. These last few days have been idyllic. Work is going well. I’ve not had any further arguments with my wife, just fun and frolics.

She’s been…Ana. My Ana.

I recall the Shipbuilding Association dinner, a few nights back, where—at my request—Ana wore Kegel balls throughout the long meal. How she held it together I’ll never know. She didn’t when we got home. I shift in my seat, remembering her need.

My phone buzzes, interrupting my erotic reminiscence.

“Yes?”

“I have Welch for you.”

“Thanks, Andrea.”

“Mr. Grey.” His gravelly voice kills any residual lust that’s lingering in my body. “Hyde’s bail hearing is this afternoon. I’ll report back when the judge has given her verdict.”

“Let’s hope she makes the right decision.”

He clears his throat, “He’s a flight risk. I think she will.”

“Great. Let me know.”

As I put the phone down, my BlackBerry buzzes with a text.

LEILA

I wanted to thank you personally for

everything you’ve done for me.

I am trying to understand why you

won’t see me. It’s hard.

I owe you so much. Leila.

What the hell?

I switch my phone off and return to my coffee. I am not in the mood to deal with Leila Williams. She shouldn’t be texting me at all. I had hoped that Flynn had talked to her, but I’ll discuss Leila’s persistence with him later today when I see him.

Mia is more animated than usual when we meet for an early lunch at my favorite sushi restaurant. She hurls herself at me, fizzing with excitement, kissing my cheek. “It’s so good to see you,” she gushes.

“You saw me last weekend.” I return her hug, my tone wry.

“But I get you to myself—and I have news! I have a job.” She raises her hands and does a celebratory twirl before she takes her seat.