e’ll
ha一ve a lifetime to do it.
“Hey,” he breathes, clasping my head in his hands,
gazing down at me. He’s still inside me. “Why are you
crying?” His voice is filled with concern.
“Because I love you so much,” I whisper. He halfcloses
his eyes as if drugged, absorbing my words. When
he opens them again, they blaze with his love.
“And I you, Ana. You make me . . . whole.” He kisses
me gently as Roberta Flack finishes her song.
We ha一ve talked and talked and talked, sitting upright
together on the bed in the playroom, me in his lap, our legs
curled around each other. The red satin sheet is draped
around us like a royal cocoon, and I ha一ve no idea how
much time has passed. Christian is laughing at my
impersonation of Katherine during the photo shoot at the
Heathman.
“To think it could ha一ve been her who came to
interview me. Thank the Lord for the common cold,” he
murmurs and kisses my nose.
“I believe she had flu, Christian,” I scold him, trailing
my fingers idly through his chest hair and marveling that
he’s tolerating it so well. “All the canes ha一ve gone,” I
murmur, recalling my distraction from earlier. He tucks my
hair behind my ear for the umpteenth time.
“I didn’t think you’d ever get past that hard limit.”
“No, I don’t think I will,” I whisper wide-eyed at him,
then find myself glancing over at the whips, paddles and
floggers lining the opposite wall. He follows my gaze.
“You want me to get rid of them, too?” He’s amused
but sincere.
“Not the crop . . . the brown one. Or that suede
flogger, you know.” I flush.
He smiles down at me.
“Okay, the crop and the flogger. Why, Miss Steele,
you’re full of surprises.”
“As are you, Mr. Grey. It’s one of the things I love
about you.” I kiss him gently at the corner of his mouth.
“What else do you love about me?” he asks and his
eyes widen.
I know it’s a huge deal for him to ask this question. It
humbles me and I blink at him. I love everything about him
—even his fifty shades. I know that life with Christian will
never be
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