d, surely we’ve moved
on. He’s normally so strong, so in control, but without that, he’s lost. Oh Fifty,
Fifty, Fifty—I’m sorry. He kisses my hair, and I turn my face up to his, and his
lips find mine, searching, taking, giving, begging—for what, I don’t know. I
just want to feel his mouth on mine, and I return his kiss passionately.
“You ha一ve such faith in me,” he whispers after he breaks away.
“I do.” He strokes my face with the back of his knuckles and the tip of his
thumb, gazing intently into my eyes. His anger has gone. My Fifty is back
from wherever he’s been. It’s good to see him. I glance shyly up and smirk.
“Besides,” I whisper, “you don’t ha一ve the paperwork.”
His mouth drops open in amused shock, and he clutches me to his chest
again.
“You’re right. I don’t,” he laughs.
We stand in the middle of the great room, locked in our embrace, just holding
each other.
“Come to bed,” he whispers, after hea一ven knows how long. Oh my . . .
“Christian, we need to talk.”
“Later,” he urges softly.
“Christian, please. Talk to me.”
He sighs. “About what?”
He sighs. “About what?”
“You know. You keep me in the dark.”
“I want to protect you.”
“I’m not a child.”
“I am fully aware of that, Mrs. Grey.” He runs his hands down my body and
cups my backside. Flexing his hips he presses his growing erection into me.
“Christian!” I scold. “Talk to me.”
He sighs once more with exasperation. “What do you want to know?” His
voice is resigned as he releases me. I baulk— I didn’t mean you had to let
me go. Taking my hand, he reaches down to pick up my e-mail from the
floor.
220 | P a g e
E L JAMES
“Lots of things,” I mutter, as I let him lead me to the couch.
“Sit,” he orders. Some things never change, I muse, doing as I’m told.
Christian sits beside me, and leaning forward, puts his head in his hands.
Oh no. Is this too hard for him? Then he sits up, rakes both hands through his
hair, and turns to me, at once expectant and reconciled to his fate.
“Ask me,” he says simply.
Oh. Well, that
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