By Alessandra Torre
You shouldn't be here. You should be at home with your fuzzy socks on and hot chocolate brewing in the Keurig and Pretty Little Liars on the DVR. You should have never listened to that gorgeous girl in the club who pulled your hand and bought you drinks and promised you that, "It'll be fun!" The same girl who danced better than you and dressed better than you and who winked when she leaned forward and kissed you right in the middle of the dance floor. You'd pushed her off and blushed and she'd laughed and called you a prude.
And that had been the start of it all. Because you're not a prude. Really. But when she said it, flipping her hair over her shoulder and laughing, you had felt like a prude. So you'd danced harder. And downed shots. And let her grab your hand and pull you through the club and to the elevator. She was older. She was cooler. She had a key to the penthouse. And you felt, for a few brief moments, invincibly unprudish.
But then you walked into the party, a Christian Grey party, and she had disappeared and left you alone, in the corner of the room. You had pulled out your phone and pretended to be doing something important.
Now someone touches your arm and you turn, a polite rebuttal at the ready. But then you recognize his face. Everyone knows his face. But not many know how his stare feels. Like he would slay dragons for you. Buy half of Manhattan for you. Lay you down and worship your body until you came apart in pieces.
You try to speak but you can't. He gestures to a man and whispers something in his ear and the room suddenly clears. You shift in your heels and manage to introduce yourself. "Christian Grey," he says and you blush.
"Do you know what I like?"
You nod, nervously. Everyone knows what he likes. Hell, Vanity Fair did a piece on his red room.
Then he reaches out and gently brushes his hand over your shoulder, dragging the strap of your dress down, and you forget about Vanity Fair. You forget about everything but
"May I?" he repeats and you nod.
You do, and his hands swipe along your back and tug on your zipper. Then the bare skin of your back is exposed. You feel him step closer and the heat of his breath as he gently presses his lips to the top of your shoulder. He pulls the final bit of your zipper down and your dress falls and you are naked, your faint reflection in the giant expanse of penthouse windows.
He asks you to trust him and you do. He tells you to walk to the window and put your hands on the glass.
He leans closer and his breath tickles your ear. "Go to the window now. You don't want to disobey me."
You obey, even though there is an adjacent building, with curtains open and lives unfolding. The closer you step the more of their lives you see and the more of you they see. All they have to do is look up and they'll see everything. You put your palms on the cool glass, shivering when he cups your bare breasts, his fingers lightly tracing over your nipples, the sensation so light and delicious that you moan.
"Spread your legs a little and lean over. I want to see you bent over before me."
You hesitate, glancing out the window, seeing a man at his desk one story down, and Christian clicks his tongue. Unbuckles his belt and pulls it through the loops. Folds it over in his hand as you watch, your legs spreading for him, your body bending, the cold glass against your cheek as you turn to watch.
He taps the bent leather against your ass, a firm tap and you arch your back, welcoming more. He slaps the leather harder, his voice harsh when it comes. "Bend over more." You obey, your breath catching as he drags the leather down the crack of your ass and over the silk of your panties. He drags it back up, then down. Up. Down. He pauses, slapping the belt hard against your left butt cheek and you gasp.
He reaches down and unzips his pants. Opens the button of his fly, and pulls out his cock. You whimper despite yourself. It is already hard. Already ready.
"Stay there." He orders. "Just like that. You're perfect." You stay. You obey. You lose sight of him when he walks behind you and the anticipation is incredible. You move your face forward, closing your eyes briefly when his belt hits the floor and one of his hands grips your hip. He runs the head of his cock along the line of your thong and slides the material aside. Moans your name as he pushes inside of you, bigger and harder than anything you've ever had.
"Tell me you like it," he instructs, and you do.
"Look out, beautiful. Look out and see who's watching." And you do. You see the man in his office look up, his jaw dropping, his eyes widening, and you like it. You see your own reflection in the window, the swing of your breasts, the gape of your mouth, the flush of your cheeks. You look so sexy, so beautiful as he thrusts in and out of you. You look higher in the reflection and see the beautiful grip of his features. The intensity, the ownership of his face. Intensity builds as his thrusts speed up and ohmygod this is… this is… this is what an orgasm is and your world explodes, your hands slipping on the glass, your legs shaking, your reflection blurring as you lose yourself in the purest form of ecstasy you have ever experienced.
"I can't…" he gasps. "Oh god…" Christian says your name and his fingers bite into your skin. His breath pants as he loses control, his thrusts wild and unrestrained. You know when it happens, you hear the crack in his voice when he moans your name and buries himself inside of you and comes. You love when he leans over and kisses your back, pulls you upright and wraps his arms around you, your back to his chest, his mouth soft on your neck as he kisses you and gives one final thrust.
He pulls away and you miss the contact but he turns you around and gathers you in his arms.
"You are amazing." He whispers. "Absolutely incredible."
"Yeah?" you ask and you look up into Christian's face and this is beyond fifty shades of amazing, this is a hundred shades of ecstasy.
"Incredible," he repeats. "Promise me that we'll do that again."
"I'll think about it," you tease and he chuckles. It's the sexiest sound you've ever heard.
Want to see *your* Fifty Shades-themed Imagine published on Cosmopolitan.com? Submit it on Wattpad with the hashtag #CosmoFiftyShades between now and February 3, 2015. The Cosmopolitan editors, in conjunction with Wattpad, will choose our five favorite essays to appear on Cosmopolitan.com as part of our #50DaysofFiftyShades campaign. Start typing — it's what Christian Grey would want.
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Read Cosmopolitan.com's original "Fifty Shades" imagine, written by Alessandra Torre — then find out how you can submit your own for publication on Cosmopolitan.com. *Please read at your own discretion* This story is intended for readers 18+ due to...