Fifty Shades: Submission and Strength

Chapter 16

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Short but sweet. Don't get too used to it though. Plenty more angst after this (it is, after all, a story about depression). I've got the next few chapters almost done so I'll try to post them quickly. In the meantime, please keep reviewing – I love your feedback. (And to my "1st world issues" guest reviewer, I did throw in that color reference thinking about your minestrone metaphor ;)

True to his word, Christian stuck to his plan and didn't veer off course. He spent the day sailing the brisk waters of the Puget Sound, showing Ana how to tie different knots while dispatching Mac on pointless errands.

Ana smiled to herself. Convenient how all those errands seemed to be on the opposite end of wherever we were on the boat. This jealous nut is a trip. What in the world is he worried about? Mac's not exactly Dom material. But I'm glad he stayed out of our way. I wouldn't want anyone else to see my klutzy ass trying to do one of those tricky sailor knots. Christian seemed pretty amused though by my bumbling attempts. I'll definitely leave the rope-tying though to the master.

Ana took one last whiff of the crisp salt air as they crossed the street and entered a cozy-looking restaurant. An older man with weathered skin and a white beard instantly approached his loyal client.

"Mack, this is Anastasia Steele," Christian said, proudly introducing Ana to the barkeep at his favorite Irish pub, situated a stone's throw from the marina. He still didn't know how to navigate the whole "friend-versus-girlfriend" label, so he just omitted it altogether.

Ana glanced up at him. "Another Mack?" she whispered.

"A different one. A better one," he grinned. One you can flirt with all you want. If I'm threatened by an 80-year-old guy, then I've got bigger problems. "It's short for Mackenzie." The other Mac's real name is Leonard. Where the fuck he got Mac as a nickname is beyond me.

"Hello," Ana beamed. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Why hello there little lady," he said, the gravelly baritone of his voice aged by whiskey and cigars. "Pleasure to meet you as well. Nice to see someone keeping this crotchety sailor over here company for a change."

Ana thought of the younger Mac. "You have no idea how crotchety this sailor can be," she winked.

OK, that's enough flirting.

"And he's only going to get more crotchety if we don't get some food," Christian interjected, leading Ana to a secluded booth in the corner overlooking the marina. "Mack, can we start with two beers and two cups of that clam chowder of yours?"

"Aye aye captain!"

Ana quirked her brow in surprise. "Mr. Grey partakes in beer?"

"Mr. Grey partakes in anything that tastes good," he crooned, rubbing his hand along Ana's thigh.

"And your appetite never seems to be sated," she flashed him a devious smile.

"With you, no. But first, we eat. Mack has the best clam chowder in town. You'll love it."

Ana didn't have the heart to tell him she hated clam chowder.

It didn't take him long to figure it out once he saw her picking at the potatoes bobbing in her soup.

"What's wrong? You don't like it?"

"Ahh, I'm just a little full."

"From what?"

"Well, it could be from the lumberjack stack of pancakes from iHop that you made me eat this morning. Or the massive steak lunch that Juan expertly prepared. Or the chocolate-covered strawberries we had."

"That was hours ago Ana. And I think it's safe to say we worked up an appetite. Now tell me what's really wrong."

"I'm just not a fan of clam chowder, although this version is excellent."

"What?" he exclaimed. "I thought you liked soup?"

"Just because I like soup doesn't mean I like all kinds of soup," she giggled. As a submissive, she would've eaten whatever was placed in front of her. But she was finding herself more and more at ease expressing her opinion.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You had already ordered before I could."

"I always order," he said, mildly affronted.

"It is the 21st century. Women can vote and even order for themselves occasionally," she quipped.

Christian's mouth went slack. As a dominant, he would've whipped her into place by now. But he was finding himself more and more thrilled every time Ana expressed an opinion.

"What about the halibut and Brussels sprouts I ordered?"

"I like halibut. I prefer broccoli but I'll give the sprouts a try."

Christian scooted down the booth to stand up.

"Where are you going?" Ana asked, alarmed.

"To tell the kitchen to change your order."

"No, please don't. Sit back down."

Christian slid his body next to hers again.

"I thought you said you didn't like Brussels sprouts though?"

"But I want to give them a try. Remember, we're broadening our horizons?"

He leaned over to give her a deep, long kiss. "Mmmm, that we are Miss Steele. So what do you want to do after this? I know what I want to do, but since we've still got a little daylight left, is there anything you'd like to do outdoors before we shelter indoors?"

"Well, there is one thing," she panted.

"Tell me," he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

"As long as we're at the marina, we could watch the sunset."

Christian remembered the last time she did that, alone and unaware that he was across the street spying on her.

"Do you often do that?"

"Yes. It's pretty. I have a park bench I can show you. It comfortably seats two, assuming my homeless friend isn't taking," she joked, mocking his earlier description of his yacht.

"In that case, consider it a date Miss Smarty-Pants."