een my legs to roll on a
condom. He hovers over me and I’m panting, gazing up at
him with raging need, and I realize he’s naked. When did
he take off his clothes?
He stares down at me, and there’s wonder in his eyes,
wonder and love and passion, and it’s breathtaking.
“I want you so badly,” he says and very slowly,
exquisitely, he sinks into me.
I am sprawled on top of him, wrung out, my limbs hea一vy
and languid, as we lie on top of his grand piano. Oh my.
He’s much more comfortable to lie on than the piano.
Careful not to touch his chest, I rest my cheek against him
and keep perfectly still. He doesn’t object, and I listen to
his breathing as it slows like mine. Gently he strokes my
hair.
“Do you drink tea or coffee in the evening?” I ask
sleepily.
“What a strange question,” he says dreamily.
“I thought I could bring you tea in your study, and then
I realized I didn’t know what you would like.”
“Oh, I see. Water or wine in the evening, Ana. Though
maybe I should try tea.”
His hand moves rhythmically down my back, stroking
me tenderly.
“We really know very little about each other,” I
murmur.
“I know,” he says, and his voice is mournful. I sit up to
gaze at him.
“What is it?” I ask. He shakes his head as if to rid
himself of some unpleasant thought, and raising his hand,
he caresses my cheek, his eyes bright and earnest.
“I love you, Ana Steele,” he says.
The alarm blasts on with the six am traffic news, and I am
rudely awakened from my disturbing dream of over-blond
and dark-haired women. I can’t grasp what it’s about, and
I’m immediately distracted because Christian Grey is
wrapped around me like silk, his unruly-haired head on my
chest, his hand on my breast, his leg over me, holding me
down. He’s still asleep, and I am too warm. But I ignore
my discomfort, tentatively reaching up to run my fingers
gently through his hair, and he stirs. Raising bright gray
eyes, he grins sleepily. Holy cow . . . he’s adorable.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says.
“Good morning, bea
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