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.
It's clearly intended to be a party venue — there's room in here for probably twenty people to eat dinner comfortably, but there's only one small table in the room. The walls are dark wood and there's three beautiful antique mirrors hung high enough on the walls that you can see yourself when standing but not while seated. Christian releases me momentarily and pulls out my chair. I smile demurely at him and smooth my dress under me as I sit. He drapes my napkin over my lap, lightly grazing the top of my thigh with his fingers.
Yep, this dress is going to get ruined.
He takes his seat opposite me and puts his napkin in his lap before beckoning the young man over. "What would you like to drink, Anastasia?" he asks.
"I'll have whatever you're having." I'm really trying my best to be a well-behaved sub. Maybe I'm just trying to act sweet before I drop the news that I've been fooling around with Kate. Is that what I should call it?
He eyes me for a moment, a sexy smolder that makes me shift in my seat slightly.
"Two glasses of Sancerre, please," he says, not looking at the waiter. "Anastasia, do you know what you'd like to eat?" he says, motioning for the waiter to stay.
I smile slightly. "I'll have what you're having, sir."
Christian narrows his eyes and nearly growls. He speaks softly to the waiter, murmuring some complicated order I can't quite hear. The waiter turns and walks out. Just as he reaches the doorway, Christian says, "Oh, and please close the door." I hear a soft click behind me and know we're completely alone.
"So," he says, leaning forward on his elbows. "The contract."
There's a soft knock at the door. "Come," Christian commands, and the waiter comes hurrying back in with our wine. I take a sip and it's delicious — crisp and light. Just what I was looking for. I have to seriously watch myself that I don't overdo it on the drinking, though.
I hear the soft click of the door closing and lean forward onto my elbows as well. "Yes, the contract."
Christian smiles slowly at me then sits up. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out two copies of the contract, handing them both to me. He then produces a beautiful fountain pen.
"Please, look over it again, but I do so hope you'll sign before the appetizers arrive." He looks serious, all hints of his smile disappeared.
I've read this, the updated contract, three times since he sent it to me. I've practically memorized it. There's only one sentence that poses any problem at all. I guess I have to tell him. It's now or never.
I put the pen down on top of the two copies of the contract and sit up straight. I take a large gulp of wine.
"Mr. Grey, there's something I'd like to discuss with you regarding the 'Personal Qualities' clause in Appendix 1."
He looks a bit perplexed. "Personal Qualities?"
"Yes, it says, 'The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant. The Submissive will conduct herself in a respectful and modest manner at all times. She must recognize that her behavior is a direct reflection on the Dominant. She shall be held accountable for any misdeeds, wrongdoings, and misbehavior committed when not in the presence of the Dominant.'" Yeah, I guess I do have it memorized.
He smiles at me again. "Alright, Miss Steele. I have to say, I'm impressed by your capacity for memorization. I will have to keep that in mind moving forward. Now what exactly is it you take issue with? Is it the modesty thing, because that's not really that uncommon. I don't want other men ogling you while I'm not there and..."
I cut him off. I know it's disrespectful, but I don't know that I'll be able to spit it out if I don't do it right now.
"Kate Kavanagh made me come today," I nearly shout.
Christian can only be described as stunned right now. His jaw is slightly agape, a blank look on his face.
"Mr. Grey?" I say. I can feel the flush in my face. Words cannot describe how embarrassed I feel right now. I need him to react in some way so I can move on to any other emotion — anger, resentment, relief — anything! I can't take the embarrassment any longer.
"You do not cease to surprise, Miss Steele." His eyebrows raise and there's a fiery look in his eyes. Is he mad? Is he turned on? I really truly cannot tell. I'm starting to think that maybe it's both. "I didn't realize you were bisexual."
"I'm not! I mean, I don't think I am. Or I didn't think I was. Or..."
"Hm," he says. "Do you like oysters, Anastasia?"
Oysters?
There's a soft knock at the door and our waiter comes floating in, carrying a large silver tray loaded with ice and oysters. He sets it in front of us, then leaves nearly silently.
I sputter, trying to find my voice. "I've never had one."
"Have you ever tasted a woman's vagina?"
I blush crimson and simply shake my head. I can't even look at him right now.
"It tastes just like that." He reaches out and grabs one, lifting it to his lips. I stare. He tips it back and swallows it whole. "Mm, yes. Except you, Miss Steele, taste slightly sweeter." He smiles. "Just let it slide down your throat and then swallow. As I recall, you have no problem with that." I blush even further — he's definitely talking about my deep-throating abilities.
I bite my lip and shakily grab the oyster closest to me. "Put some lemon juice on it," he advises. I do as he instructs. "Now lift it to your lips and tip your head back." I feel a tickle as it slides over my tongue and down my throat. It tastes incredible and musky. My mind goes back to what he said about a woman's vagina. If it tastes like that...
"Well?"
"I like it," I say, reaching for another.
His eyes narrow further and part of me is a little scared. I try to ignore it and have another oyster and a long sip of wine. Christian refills my glass.
"Were you in a relationship with Miss Kavanagh before you met me?"
"No, I'm not in a relationship with Kate. We're just friends."
"But she made you come?"
I hesitate. "Yes."
"Please, Miss Steele, enlighten me." He is pissed. I knew it. The ire in his voice is rising. He downs another oyster before continuing. "How did she make you come?"
I shift slightly in my seat, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. I take another sip of wine. "Well, I was going to surprise you later," I murmur.
"Tell me now." Okay, he may be mad, but he does seem surprised.
I check the door briefly to make sure no one is coming. I stand up and walk over to Christian. He looks horrendously confused. I force myself to look in his eyes while I lift the hem of my borrowed dress.
I watch his eyes open widely in wonder and see his sharp intake of breath. A deep rumble sounds through his chest and he runs his hand up the inside of my thigh.
"Oh, Miss Steele, you do enjoy making me jealous, don't you?" he mutters, letting his fingers linger around my opening, smooth and sensitive. "Did she touch you like this?"
Oh god! Are we really going to do this with me standing in front of him with my skirt hitched up around my hips?
Still, I nod silently.
"Tell me what she did, Ana."
Ana!
My body reacts to the sound of my name on his lips. "She, uh, she waxed me."
"I can see that, Miss Steele. Did you enjoy it?"
I gulp. "Yes, I did."
"Did it hurt?" His finger probes my folds and I feel unsteady on my feet.
"Yes, sir."
"But you enjoyed it." It's not a question. I nod anyway. "Good. She did an excellent job. I'll have to compliment her on her handiwork later." He lets a finger slide into me slowly. "Did you come while she was waxing you?"
"No, sir." I can hardly breathe. I grab onto the back of Christian's chair with one hand and the edge of the table with the other. "She, she..."
He adds another finger into me and I moan slightly. "What did she do, Anastasia?"
"Lotion," I can only get the one word out.
"So she rubbed you with her hands," he breathes. "With her fingers." He drives his fingers into me over and over again. I feel myself getting painfully close. "Did she fuck you with her fingers?"
I shake my head no. No, she did not.
"Good. This," he pulls me to him with those fingers. "This," he nearly takes his fingers out then roughly pumps back in. "This is mine." He adds another finger and pounds into me once more. Full, I feel myself teetering at the edge of a massive orgasm. He stills completely. "Do you understand?"
I nod.
"Good." He takes his hand away and smoothes my skirt back down. "Now go sit down." He gives me a solid smack on the ass when I turn towards my seat.
I hobble over and gingerly set my tender self into my seat. Just then there's a knock at the door and our waiter comes rushing in, taking the oysters away and setting plates of roast duck in front of us. My breath is ragged as I watch Christian lick his fingers — right in front of the waiter!
"Mm, yes, definitely sweeter," he says with a satisfied grin. I'm sure I'm ten shades of scarlet. "Don't disturb us again," he calls quietly.
"Of course, Mr. Grey," the waiter says.
The door clicks and we're alone once more.
Christian leans forward again, serious. "I hope you understand that I am not pleased." He starts in on his duck, not looking up at me. This is the first time he's avoided eye contact with me. "So did you want to discuss this because you broke that rule or for some other reason?"
I take a long draught of my wine. "I'm worried I'll do it again." My voice is barely more than a whisper.
He doesn't look up. "With Kate?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you want to?"
I take another sip of my wine. I can feel the effects of it already. "I don't know."
He stops, his fork an inch from his mouth, and looks up finally. "You don't have to sign this contract, Ana. You can walk away now, no harm done."
"I want to sign," I blurt out spontaneously, not thinking. Then I realize it's true. I do want to sign. I want to be his submissive. God, I don't think I've ever wanted anything more.
"But?" He sounds like a lost boy again for a moment and I remember the fear in his voice the first time we fucked. It terrifies me.
"But I think I also want to," I stop and take another huge gulp of wine. I pour myself more. I take another long sip then the words just flow out of me like projectile word vomit. "Something's happening with me and Kate. I don't understand it and I don't know what it is, but I know that I like it and it scares me and it's hot and," I stop again and meet his eyes. "Do you remember the dream I told you about?"
His eyes widen.
"I was tied to the chair, and you cut your underwear off me and then I was naked." Oh shit, he looks furious. "You promised you wouldn't get mad."
"When did I say that?"
"I said I'd tell you about the dream if you promised not to get mad. I'm telling you about the dream. So," I realize my logic is flawed too late.
"I will try not to get mad. It was a dream. You cannot control that." He takes a deep breath and another sip of wine, refilling his own glass now.
"Well, you were trying to figure out how to punish me and then Kate was there and then you," I hesitate. I take another drink. "You started fooling around with Kate then she," another drink. "She fucked me while you fucked her and we all came together." Damn this wine is good. "It was amazing and I am not going to apologize for it."
I look at Christian but his glare is unreadable.
"Give me the contracts, Ana," he murmurs throatily. Shit.
I hand them to him.
"And the pen," he holds out his hand. I hesitate a moment before giving it to him.
This is it, this is the end. I will never see this man again. I've fucked it all up. I stare at my hands, unsure of what to do next.
"Here," he says.
I look up and he's handing them back to me. The two copies and his pen.
"You're going to read it, you're going to sign it, then I'm going to take you upstairs and fuck your brains out." The tears that have been threatening for the last five minutes burn in my eyes.
I flip through the pages then I find it. Right there, under "Personal Qualities", he's crossed out the first sentence and in neat black letters he's written:
The Submissive will not enter into any sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant. The Submissive must have explicit approval before engaging in sexual relations with anyone other than the Dominant.
I beam back at him and sign my name on the dotted line.
"I thought I told you not to bite your lip, Miss Steele," Christian says with a wicked sneer.