50 shades of gray

Chapter 13-Signature Dish

Not gonna lie, I avoid Kate the rest of the day. It's not super hard to do, though. I think she may be avoiding me, too.

I'm still grappling with what happened this morning. I don't know what it means for me, what it means for us, or, quite frankly, what it means for me and Christian Grey.

My mind keeps coming back to that one line in the contract:

The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant.

Shit. Strictly speaking, I haven't broken any rules at all yet because I haven't signed the contract. But really, I think that's just a technicality at this point. We both know I'm going to sign tonight at dinner.

I hope.

Kate picked out my dress and shoes for the evening on Monday. The dress is a plum-colored silk number with a deep scoop back. It's fairly short and hugs my curves closely. I definitely won't be able to wear a bra with it.

I spend about twenty minutes after my shower blow drying my hair, which is something I never do, then applying eyeliner, mascara, blush, shadow — the whole nine yards — before getting dressed.

Now comes the big decision: panties.

I take off my bathrobe and stand staring into the black hole that is my underwear drawer. Pretty much the only pair of acceptable sexy underwear I had were the ones Christian destroyed on our first date. I'm going to have to remedy that situation soon. But there's no time tonight. I check my alarm clock. It's already 6pm. I need to get a move on or I'll be late. Something tells me Christian Grey does not take kindly to tardiness.

I slip my feet into Kate's nude "fuck me" pumps while I debate. Most everything is cotton and old. A few pairs of hipsters, some boy shorts, a couple of thongs, and more granny panties than I care to admit (What? They're comfortable!). There's one possibility, but I'm quite sure they would give me VPL – visible panty lines – which simply won't do.

I walk back over to the dress and catch a glimpse of myself in my full-length mirror. Damn. I look pretty hot in nothing but Kate's platform stilettos, especially now that I'm slick as a whistle. Turning slightly, I consider my rear end. The heels make me flex some special hotness muscles in my legs and my ass looks good. Better than good. It looks great. I look great.

A smile spreads across my lips. Skipping the panties would certainly make things move slightly quicker.

I wind up having to drive Wanda, my old beat-up Beetle, barefoot. It's impossible to drive stick shift with 4 1/2" heels. That's for damn sure.

When I arrive at the Heathman, a full fifteen minutes early I'd like to point out, I hand off my keys to the valet guy. I think he might have been in my discussion group for Chemistry freshman year. I smile briefly at him and slip on my shoes before heading inside. I feel his eyes on my ass and my confidence soars.

Christian Grey is propped up against the bar looking delectable. He's in a black linen suit, white linen shirt, and a black tie. I feel a wetness between my thighs and suddenly wonder if going commando was such a good idea. I might wind up just soiling this dress.

When he sees me at the entrance to the bar, I watch his eyes drift slowly down to my shoes then back up to my face, his smile growing all along. I shift slightly, trying to be sexy, but honestly, the slipperiness on the insides of my thighs is so distracting. I start to worry that something will start dripping down my leg as I walk over to him as gracefully as I can. Thankfully he meets me halfway, wrapping a hand around my waist and kissing me lightly on the cheek. I nearly melt.

"Miss Steele, you look incredible," he murmurs in my ear before taking me by the elbow and leading me up a set of stairs. "I booked us a private dining room," he says, as a young man opens a door for us.