zarre reason the thought pleases me . . . I grin. Why
does that make me happy? He grins, too.
“I don’t know why you’re grinning, Mrs. Grey.”
“Me neither.”
He wraps himself around me and places his head on my chest. We are a
tangle of naked and denim-clad limbs, and satin red sheets. I stroke his back
with one hand and run the fingers of my other hand through his hair. He sighs
and relaxes in my arms.
“It means I can trust you . . . to stop me. I never want to hurt you,”
he murmurs. “I need—” He halts.
“You need what?”
“I need control, Ana. Like I need you. It’s the only way I can function. I can’t let
go of it. I can’t. I’ve tried . . . And yet, with you . . .” He shakes his head in
exasperation.
I swallow. This is the heart of our dilemma—his need for control and his need
for me. I refuse to believe these are mutually exclusive.
“I need you, too,” I whisper, hugging him tighter. “I’ll try, Christian. I’ll try to be
more considerate.”
“I want you to need me,” he murmurs.
Holy cow. Of course I need him!
“I do.” My voice is impassioned. I need him so much. I love him so much.
“I want to look after you.”
“You do. All the time. I missed you so much while you were away.”
“You did?” He sounds so surprised.
“Yes, of course. I hate you going away.”
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I sense his smile. “You could ha一ve come with me.”
“Christian, please. Let’s not rehash that argument. I want to work.”
He sighs as I work my fingers gently through his hair.
“I love you, Ana.”
“I love you, too, Christian. I will always love you.”
We both lie still in the calm, quiet after our storm. Listening to the steady beat
of his heart, I drift exhausted into sleep.
I wake with a start, disorientated. Where am I? The playroom. The lights are
still on, softly illuminating the bloodred walls. Christian moans again, and I
realize this is what woke me.
“No,” he groans. He’s sprawled out beside me, his head back, his eyes
screwed shut, his face contorted in anguish.
Holy shit. He’s ha一ving a nightmare.
“N
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