My hands fist in his hair while my mouth is feverish against Christian’s, consuming him, relishing the feel of his tongue against mine. And he’s the same, devouring me. It’s heavenly. Suddenly he drags me up and grasps the hem of my T-shirt, whipping it over my head and throwing it on the floor.
“I want to feel you,” he says greedily against my mouth as his hands move behind me to undo my bra. In one smooth move, it’s off and he pitches it aside.
He pushes me back down onto the bed, pressing me into the mattress, and his mouth and hand move to my breasts. My fingers curl into his hair as he takes one of my nipples between his lips and tugs hard.
I cry out as the sensation sweeps through my body, spikes, and tightens all the muscles around my groin.
“Yes, baby, let me hear you,” he murmurs against my overheated skin.
Boy, I want him inside me, now. With his mouth, he toys with my nipple, pulling at it, making me squirm and writhe and yearn for him. I sense his longing mixed with—what?
Veneration. It’s as if he’s worshipping me.
He teases me with his fingers, my nipple growing hard and elongating under his skillful touch. His hand moves to my jeans, and he deftly undoes the button, tugs the zipper down, and slips his hand inside my panties, sliding his fingers against my sex.
His breath hisses out as his finger glides into me. I push my pelvis up into the heel of his hand, and he responds, rubbing against me.
“Oh, baby,” he breathes as he hovers over me, staring intently into my eyes. “You’re so wet.” His voice is filled with wonder.
“I want you,” I murmur.
His mouth joins with mine again, and I feel his hungry desperation, his need for me.
This is new—it’s never been like this except perhaps when I came back from Georgia—and his words from earlier drift back to me . . . I need to know we’re okay. This is the only way I know how.
The thought unravels me. To know that I have such an effect on him, that I can offer him so much solace, doing this—my inner goddess purrs with pure pleasure. He sits up, grasps the hem of my jeans, and tugs them off, followed by my panties.
Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he stands, takes a foil packet out of his pocket, and tosses it at me, then removes his jeans and boxers in one swift motion.
I rip the packet open greedily, and when he lies beside me again, I slowly roll the condom on to him. He grabs both my hands and rolls on to his back.
“You. On top,” he orders, pulling me astride him. “I want to see you.” Oh.
He guides me, and hesitantly I ease myself down onto him. He closes his eyes and flexes his hips to meet me, filling me, stretching me, his mouth forming a perfect O as he exhales.
Oh, that feels so good—possessing him, possessing me.
He holds my hands, and I don’t know if it’s to steady me or keep me from touching him, even though I have my road map.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs.
I rise again, heady with the power I have over him, watching Christian Grey slowly coming apart beneath me. He lets go of my hands and grabs my hips, and I place my hands on his arms. He thrusts into me sharply, causing me to cry out.
“That’s right, baby, feel me,” he says, his voice strained.
I tip my head back and do exactly that. This is what he does so well.
I move—countering his rhythm in perfect symmetry—numbing all thought and reason.
I am just sensation lost in this void of pleasure. Up and down . . . again and again . . . Oh yes . . . Opening my eyes, I stare down at him, my breathing ragged, and he’s staring back at me, eyes blazing.
“My Ana,” he mouths.
“Yes,” I rasp. “Always.”
He groans loudly, closing his eyes again, tipping his head back. Oh my . . . Seeing Christian undone is enough to seal my fate, and I come audibly, exhaustingly, spinning down and around, collapsing on top of him.
“Oh, baby,” he groans as he finds his release, holding me still and letting go.
My head is on his chest in the no-go area, my cheek nestled against the springy hair on his sternum. I am panting, glowing, and I resist the urge to pucker my lips and kiss him.
I just lie on top of him, catching my breath. He smoothes my hair, and his hand runs down my back, caressing me as his breathing calms.
“You are so beautiful.”
I lift my head to gaze at him, my expression skeptical. He frowns in response and sits up quickly, taking me by surprise, his arm sweeping round to hold me in place. I clutch his biceps as we are nose to nose.
“You. Are. Beautiful,” he says again, his tone emphatic.
“And you’re amazingly sweet sometimes.” I kiss him gently.
He lifts me and eases out of me. I wince as he does. Leaning forward, he kisses me softly.
“You have no idea how attractive you are, do you?”
I flush. Why’s he going on about this?
“All those boys pursuing you—that isn’t enough of a clue?”
“Boys? What boys?”
“You want the list?” Christian frowns. “The photographer, he’s crazy about you, that boy in the hardware store, your roommate’s older brother. Your boss,” he adds bitterly.
“Oh, Christian, that’s just not true.”
“Trust me. They want you. They want what’s mine.” He pulls me against him, and I lift my arms to his shoulders, my hands in his hair, regarding him with amusement.
“Mine,” he repeats, his eyes glowing possessively.
“Yes, yours.” I reassure him, smiling. He looks mollified, and I feel perfectly comfortable naked in his lap on a bed in the full light of a Saturday afternoon. Who would have thought? The lipstick marks remain on his exquisite body. I note some smears on the duvet cover though, and wonder briefly what Mrs. Jones will make of them.