t you. Please.”
20 | P a g e
E L JAMES
He looms up over me, his body covering mine, resting his weight on his
elbows. He runs his nose down mine, and I run my hands down his strong,
supple back to his fine, fine backside.
“Mrs. Grey . . . wife. We aim to please.” His lips brush. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Eyes open. I want to see you.”
“Christian . . . ah . . . ,” I cry, as he slowly sinks into me.
“Ana, oh Ana,” he breathes and he starts to move.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Christian shouts, waking me from
my very pleasant dream. He’s standing all wet and beautiful at the end of my
sun lounger and glaring down at me.
What? What ha一ve I done? Oh no . . . I’m lying on my back . . . Crap, crap,
crap and he’s mad. Shit. He’s really mad.