ed blood.
“Why ha一ven’t you touched me, then?” I hiss.
“Why ha一ven’t you touched me, then?” I hiss.
“Missing my touch?” he asks grinning. He’s
amused . . . the bastard.
“Yes,” I seethe.
“Eat,” he orders.
“You’re not going to touch me, are you?”
“No.” He shakes his head.
What? I gasp out loud.
“Just imagine how you’ll feel when we’re home,” he
whispers. “I can’t wait to get you home.”
“It will be your fault if I combust here on the seventysixth
floor,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
“Oh, Anastasia. We’d find a way to put the fire out,”
he says, grinning salaciously at me.
Fuming, I dig into my sea bass, and my inner goddess
narrows her eyes in quiet, devious contemplation. We can
play this game, too. I learned the basics during our meal at
the Heathman. I take a bite out of my sea bass. It is meltin-
the-mouth delicious. I close my eyes, sa一voring the taste.
When I open them, I begin my seduction of Christian
Grey, very slowly hitching my skirt up, exposing more of
my thighs.
Christian pauses momentarily, a forkful of fish
suspended midair.
Touch me.
After a beat, he resumes eating. I take another bite of
sea bass, ignoring him. Then, putting down my knife, I run
my fingers up the inside of my lower thigh, lightly tapping
my skin with my fingertips. It’s distracting even to me,
especially as I am cra一ving his touch. Christian pauses once
especially as I am cra一ving his touch. Christian pauses once
more.
“I know what you’re doing.” His voice is low and
husky.
“I know that you know, Mr. Grey,” I reply softly.
“That’s the point.” I pick up an asparagus stalk, gaze
sideways at him from beneath my lashes, then dip the
asparagus into the hollandaise sauce, swirling the tip round
and round.
“You’re not turning the tables on me, Miss Steele.”
Smirking he reaches over and takes the spear from me—
amazingly and annoyingly managing not to touch me again.
No, this isn’t right—this is not going according to plan.
Gah!
“Open your mouth,” he commands.
I am losing this battle of wi
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