ed delight.
“Um . . .” I am still reeling, trying to follow his mood.
“You reneging on me?” he asks uncertainly, and a speculative look crosses
his face. “I ha一ve an idea,” he adds.
Oh, what kinky fuckery is this?
“A really important matter to attend to,” he continues, suddenly all serious
once more. “Yes, Mrs. Grey. A matter of the gra一vest importance.”
Hang on—he’s laughing at me.
“What?” I breathe.
“I need you to cut my hair. Apparently it’s overlong, and my wife doesn’t like
it.”
“I can’t cut your hair!”
“Yes you can.” Christian grins and shakes his head so his overlong hair
covers his eyes.
“Well, if Mrs. Jones has a pudding bowl.” I giggle. He laughs. “Okay, good
point well made. I’ll get Franco to do it.”
What? No! Franco works for her? Maybe I could give him a trim. After all, I
cut Ray’s hair for years, and he never complained.
“Come.” I grab his hand. His eyes widen. I lead him all the way to our
bathroom where I release him and grab the white wooden chair that stands in
the corner. I place it in front of the sink. When I look at Christian, he’s gazing
at me with ill-disguised amusement, thumbs tucked in the front belt loops of
his pants but his eyes are smoking hot.
“Sit.” I gesture to the empty chair, trying to maintain the upper hand.
“Are you going to wash my hair?”
I nod. He arches one brow in surprise, and for a moment I think he’s going to
back down. “Okay.” Slowly he begins to undo each button of his white shirt,
starting with the one beneath his throat. Nimble, deft fingers move to each
button in turn until his shirt hangs open. Oh my . . . My inner goddess pauses
in her celebratory jaunt around the arena.
Christian holds out a cuff with an “undo this now” gesture, and his mouth
twitches in that challenging, sexy way he has. 156 | P a g e
E L JAMES
Oh, cufflinks. I take his proffered wrist and remove the first one, a platinum
disc with his initials engra一ved in a simple italic script—and then remove its
matching twin. As I finish I glance at him,
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