Come Saturday, Christian wanted to atone for his barrage of questions by keeping the dynamics between him and Anastasia light. He decided to forgo a trip to the playroom in favor of an early lunch to ensure that Ana ate properly.
They sat in companionable silence as he read the newspaper on the barstool while she chopped some cucumbers and tomatoes to add to the grilled chicken she had prepared. Christian snuck a glance her way for the umpteenth time. Not a great cook, but she'll suffice. She satisfies my tastes in other ways.
"Do you enjoy cooking?" The temptation to talk had proven too great to resist.
And here we go. At least he waited an hour this time before interrogating me.
"Not particularly," she replied dully, careful not to slice her finger for the umpteenth time. "I live alone so it's a necessary evil. I apologize. I'll try to read up on some recipes to broaden my repertoire."
"No don't," he interjected. "I could care less." As long as you eat. "Everything you've made has been delicious."
She smiled at his contrived compliment. Not it hasn't. It tastes like flavored cardboard, but you still manage to devour it like a starved caveman.
"My palette isn't very discerning — chicken, turkey and burgers with some veggies pretty much work for me," Ana shrugged, absentmindedly dropping tomato wedges on the floor as she focused all her attention on dicing the last cucumber. "I don't like to fuss. I'm low-maintenance in the grand scheme of things I suppose."
Christian scanned his lavish surroundings and his designer-label T-shirt and jeans, which stood in stark contrast to Ana's simple outfit of a beige sweater over khaki pants. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He had avoided broaching the subject before but perhaps now was the right time. "There's nothing wrong with low-maintenance. I suppose I'm the polar opposite," he chuckled nervously.
"Nothing wrong with money Sir," she giggled, distracted by the painstaking process of cutting and chopping. How the fuck do those TV chefs do this? It must be the editing.
Christian seized his opportunity. "In that case, while I know you stated in one of your addendum clauses that gifts were forbidden, would you do me the courtesy of purchasing you some new attire."
Ana scrunched her nose, but not from the burnt smell of chicken that lingered in the kitchen. "Is there something wrong with my clothes Sir?" she stammered, trying to mask her indignation.
"Absolutely not," he replied, alarmed. "I only meant that I would like to buy you something as a thank-you for the time you've bestowed on me — as a sign of my gratitude."
Ana chewed her lip searching for ways to take the sting out of her rejection. Christian sat there mesmerized, temporarily forgetting about the clothes. All he wanted to do at the moment was divest Ana of hers.
"I truly appreciate that Sir, but I have to decline your kind offer." Too 'Pretty Woman' for me. "Please don't be offended." Which you will be.
Christian scrubbed his face. "Of course. I understand," he grumbled.
"I'm just a simple girl with simple tastes, whether it's food or clothes. There's not much to me," she added matter-of-factly.
Hope bloomed in his chest. "I highly doubt that Miss Steele. Tell me more about these so-called simple tastes of yours. I'm your Dom, after all. It's my job to know your preferences. It would please me."
Nice try. I only please you within the confines of the contract buddy.
"It's your duty to know my sexual preferences Sir," she pointedly reminded him.
Christian scowled with displeasure as he folded up the newspaper he hadn't read anyway. "To understand your likes and dislikes, in that department, it helps to have a sense of the person as a whole," he scolded her.
Ana put the knife down. Enough of this constant needling. It's like I'm being grilled in some 'Law & Order' episode. This billionaire whiz-kid needs to get a clue and put two and two together that I keep my private life just that — private.
"You have the privilege of my body Sir, not my personal thoughts," she rebuked him, her voice taut.
Christian flinched, rage boiling his blood. "How dare you speak to me like that," he thundered as he slammed his fists on the counter, every muscle in his body shaking. I'm such a fucking fool. She wants a Dom, not a BFF. How much more is it going to take for the message to sink in Grey? She's not interested in your money or your charming personality. She wants your dick. All you've done is make yourself look weak and pathetic, while she craves power and punishment. Fine then. I get the hint! She wants a dick — I'll give her one!
Ana stood motionless as she awaited her punishment. I just hope it's pain not humiliation this time. Either way, she understood it was part and parcel of the package she had signed up for. Her eyes were devoid of fear or emotion, which only infuriated him even more.
"I'm your Dom and you need to remember your place. Go to the playroom right now. It's time to teach you a lesson."
"Yes Sir," Ana said, automatically dropping the knife. She rushed to the playroom, shed her clothes and assumed the position.
Christian barged in less than a minute later, fully clothed. "Remove your panties and bend over the bench," he barked, yanking a belt off the wall. She dutifully obeyed. She knew what was coming.
"15 strikes. Count Anastasia," he spat out, incensed. If I only have the privilege of your body and nothing else, then I'm sure as hell going to take advantage of it Miss Steele.
Ana blithely complied, counting down the strikes raining down on her bare ass. Christian glared at her face as he lashed her with the belt. She was neither intimidated nor affected by the blows. She had mentally checked out, which only compounded his anger — and the force of his swings.
By the 10th hit, he had broken skin. The belt clattered to the floor. Puzzled, Ana stopped counting.
"Anastasia, I'm sorry. I broke skin," he said, his voice shaky when he saw the cracks of blood marring her alabaster curves. He gently lifted her by the elbow and helped her to her feet. I not only broke skin — I broke her trust. Fuck! She has every right to declare the contract null and void. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Christian combed his hands through his hair, apologizing profusely while Ana stood dumbfounded, trying to process his mercurial mood swing. What's the big deal? It's barely a scratch. This guy looks like his puppy just got ran over.
"It's fine Mr. Grey," she tried to reassure him, in vain. He began to frantically pace the room.
"No it's not," he screamed, his booming voice echoing off the red-soaked walls. "I fucked up and I'm sorry Anastasia. I would never breach your hard limits!"
"I believe you Sir. It was an accident. I'm really alright."
His pacing was making her dizzy. "Please look at me," she requested.
He abruptly stopped and turned to face her. "It's nothing. Honestly. Please stop apologizing. I'm numb to the pain." To a lot of things. "In fact, I welcome it."
A pang of remorse stabbed him. "You should only accept pain with pleasure and within your limits."
"I do. BDSM is a business arrangement, not an exact science. Things happen."
Her blasé attitude irked him. This isn't business; this is personal. She trusted me and I let her down because I lost the one thing I pride myself on in both my personal and professional life: control. She has every right to be livid with me.
"You shouldn't forgive so easily Miss Steele," he chided her.
"And you shouldn't beat yourself up so easily Mr. Grey," she volleyed back, the pun not lost on her.
"Fair enough," he conceded. "But at least let me assist you in your room."
"No thank you Sir," she coolly brushed him off. "This is one of those moments where I prefer my aftercare to be done in private. I'll see you tomorrow." His irritation made an unwelcome comeback. She ignored it, along with his clenched fists, and gave him a courteous smile before retreating to her room.
Immature ass, Ana fumed as she walked down the hall. As soon as she entered her room, however — which was now oddly decked out in fresh roses — she shook her head, and shook off any trace of resentment. It comes with the territory Steele and it barely hurts. She turned to the mirror to examine the damage. Like I thought, hardly a mark. I've been through way worse. Skin heals, unlike other wounds. No need to overreact and blow it. This is the best a girl like you can expect out of life. The man's exceedingly considerate, if a little nosy, but it all comes from a good place. He's a decent guy, even though he'd be loathe to admit it.
Ana put on her pajamas and mindlessly peered out the window. The Seattle skyline was cloaked in darkness, reflecting her typical mood. Entranced by the flickering lights, she wondered what other people in the obscured apartment buildings were doing at that moment — the "normal" people of the world. The lucky ones. She briefly ruminated on her past but not her current choices. It never once dawned on Ana to question the lifestyle. It allowed her to function and it was a necessary evil, much like cooking. But Christian had undoubtedly spiced up her routine, though she was loathe to admit it.
I don't deserve much and I certainly don't deserve him. So grin and bear it tomorrow. Perhaps his mood will mellow and he'll fuck me properly. Regardless, one more day and then I'll have the whole week to myself, precisely the way I like it. And come the weekend, I get to maintain just the right amount of human contact to keep the demons at bay and not live like a recluse. So be a nice sub Steele but don't let him walk all over you. Remind him of the ground rules and go from there.
With her mind made up and no-nonsense attitude firmly intact, Ana drifted off into a deep slumber. Christian, meanwhile, sat at the piano most of the night.