guess.” He smirks.
“It’s true that you are the only fucked-up, mercurial,
control freak that I know, intimately.”
“I thought I was the only person you know intimately.”
He arches a brow.
I flush. “Yes. That, too.”
“Ha一ve you reached any conclusions yet?”
I turn and gaze at him. He’s on his side stretched out
beside me with his head resting on his elbow, his
beside me with his head resting on his elbow, his
expression soft, amused.
“I think you’re in need of intense therapy.”
He reaches up and gently tucks my hair behind my
ears.
“I think I’m in need of you. Here.” He hands me a tube
of lipstick.
I frown at him, perplexed. It’s harlot red, not my color
at all.
“You want me to wear this?” I squeak.
He laughs. “No, Anastasia, not unless you want to.
Not sure it’s your color,” he finishes dryly.
He sits up on the bed cross-legged and drags his shirt
off over his head. Oh my. “I like your road map idea.”
I stare at him blankly. Road map?
“The no-go areas,” he says by way of explanation.
“Oh. I was kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“You want me to draw on you, with lipstick?”
“It washes off. Eventually.”
“It washes off. Eventually.”
This means I could touch him freely. A small smile of
wonder plays on my lips, and I smirk at him.
“What about something more permanent like a
Sharpie?”
“I could get a tattoo.” His eyes are alight with humor.
Christian Grey with a tatt? Marring his lovely body,
when it’s marked in so many ways already? No way!
“No to the tattoo!” I laugh to hide my horror.
“Lipstick, then.” He grins.
Shutting the Mac, I push it to the side. This could be
fun.
“Come.” He holds his hands out to me. “Sit on me.”
I push my flats off my feet, scramble into a sitting
position, and crawl over to him. He lies down on the bed
but keeps his knees flexed.
“Lean against my legs.”
I clamber over him and sit astride as instructed. His
eyes are wide and cautious. But he’s amused, too.
“You seem—enthusiastic for this,” he comments wryly.
“I’m always eager for information, Mr. Grey, and it
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