I close my eyes. What is happening here?

Why wouldn’t I do this with her?

“I’m so confused,” I murmur.

“Why do you say that?” she asks gently.

Opening my eyes, I look down at her wrist, which still bears the marks that I left on her. I’m trying to protect her from my old life. And this is what I do?

How can I keep her safe, when I can’t even keep her safe from me?

“Christian, these don’t matter.” She holds up her hand so the welt is on show. “You gave me a safe word. Shit—yesterday was fun. I enjoyed it. Stop brooding about it. I like rough sex, I’ve told you that before.” She sounds panicked. “Is this about the fire? Do you think it’s connected somehow to Charlie Tango? Is this why you’re worried? Talk to me, Christian, please.”

Don’t frighten her further, Grey.

She frowns. “Don’t overthink this, Christian.” She reaches for the box, opens it, and removes the camera. Switching it on, she takes the lens cap off, and raises the Nikon to her face, pointing it at me.

I loathe having my photograph taken. The last time I did it willingly was at the wedding, and before that it was for her, not so long ago, at The Heathman. That was before my life changed irrevocably. Before I knew her. She presses the button and holds it, taking a burst of photographs.

“I’ll objectify you, then,” she mutters. And once more I know she’s laughing at me, and not putting up with my bullshit. She edges closer, still looking at me through the lens. One, two, three, she takes several photos. She pokes her tongue between her teeth as she snaps each one, but I know she’s unaware that she’s doing it and I’m beguiled. She smiles and captures my answering smile.

Only you, Ana.

Only you can drag me back into the light.

I pose for her, pursing my lips in an exaggerated fashion.

Her grin broadens and she giggles, and it’s such a wonderful sound.

“I thought it was my present,” I grumble.

“Well, it was supposed to be fun, but apparently, it’s a symbol of women’s oppression.” She takes more photographs.

She’s laughing at me!

Game on, Ana.

“You want to be oppressed?” A delightful vision of her kneeling in front of me, hands tied while she services my cock, forms in my mind.

“Not oppressed. No,” she whispers, continuing to take photographs.

“I could oppress you big-time, Mrs. Grey.”

“I know you can, Mr. Grey. And you do, frequently.”

Oh. Fuck. She’s serious!

She lowers the camera and stares at me. “What’s wrong, Christian?”

I just want to keep you safe.

She frowns and lifts the camera to her eye once more. “Tell me,” she insists.

Get a grip, Grey.

I damp down my feelings. I can’t deal with them right now. “Nothing,” I answer, and drop out of her line of sight, remove the camera box from the bed, and grab Ana, dragging her down onto the comforter and sitting astride her.

“Hey!” she protests, and takes more photographs of me smiling down at her until I take the camera from her and frame her beautiful face in the viewfinder. I press the shutter and capture her loveliness for posterity.

“So, you want me to take pictures of you, Mrs. Grey?” She looks so earnest, through the lens. “Well, for a start, I think you should be laughing.” Reaching down, I start to tickle her with my free hand. She squeals and struggles beneath me and I take picture after picture.

This is fun.

She laughs and laughs. “No! Stop!”

“Are you kidding?” I’ve never tickled anyone, and hers is a particularly gratifying reaction. I put the camera down and use both hands.

“Christian!” she squeals, and thrashes around beneath me. “Christian, stop!” she pleads, and I take pity on her. Grabbing both her hands, I hold them down on either side of her head. She’s winded, flushed, her eyes dark, her hair a mess. She’s stunning. She takes my breath away.

“You. Are. So. Beautiful,” I whisper.

I don’t deserve her.

Leaning down, I close my eyes and kiss her. Her lips are soft. Her mouth welcoming. I cradle her head in my hands, my fingers weaving into her hair, and I deepen our kiss, wanting more, wanting to lose myself in her. She responds, her body rising, her hands traveling up my arms and grasping my biceps.

Her response is a torch to my arousal.

No, it’s more than that.

I want her, yes, but I need her more.

My body stands at attention, hungering for her. She’s my life raft, while I’m adrift, trying to make sense of what’s happening to me. When I’m with her, in her, all is right with the world. “Oh, what you do to me.” I groan, yearning for her. I shift quickly so I’m lying on top of her, feeling her body along the length of mine. My hand skates down to her breast, her waist, her hip, and her behind, squeezing as I go. I kiss her again, pushing my knee between her legs, running my hand down her thigh and hitching her leg over my hip. I grind against her, wanting her. Her fingers are in my hair and she tugs and holds me to her mouth, while I take all I want.

I think I’m going to combust, I want her so badly.

Fuck.

Abruptly, I stop. I need her. Now.

Standing, I pull her off the bed and undo her shorts. Kneeling down, I drag them and her panties off, then we’re back on the bed with her beneath me. My fingers make light work of my fly and free my impatient dick.

With one move, I’m inside her. Hard. Deep.

“Yes!” I hiss as she cries out.

I still and examine her face. Her eyes are closed, her head tipped back and her mouth open. I swivel my hips and drive myself deeper.