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I stare down at my hands. What can I say that I haven't said alreadyI want more. I want him to stay because he wants to stay with me, not because I'm a blubbering mess, and I don't want him to beat me, is that so unreasonable?
"I take it that when you said you were okay, you weren't."
I flush.
"I thought I was fine."
"Anastasia, you can't tell me what you think I want to hear. That's not very honest,"
he admonishes me. "How can I trust anything you've said to me?"
I peek up at him, and he's frowning, a bleak look in his eye. He runs both hands through his hair.
"How did you feel while I was hitting you and after?"
"I didn't like it. I'd rather you didn't do it again."
"You weren't meant to like it."
"Why do you like it?" I stare up at him.
My question surprises him.
"You really want to know?"
"Oh, trust me, I'm fascinated." And I can't quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
He narrows his eyes again.
"Careful," he warns.
I blanch.
"Are you going to hit me again?" I challenge.
"No, not tonight."
Phew... my subconscious and I both breathe a silent sigh of relief.
"So," I prompt.
"I like the control it brings me, Anastasia. I want you to behave in a particular way, and if you don't, I shall punish you, and you will learn to behave the way I desire. I enjoy punishing you. I've wanted to spank you since you asked me if I was g*y."
I flush at the memory . Jeez, I wanted to spank myself after that question. So Katherine Kavanagh is responsible for all this, and if she'd gone to that interview and asked her g*y question, she'd be sitting here with the sore ass. I don't like that thought. How confusing is this?
"So you don't like the way I am."
He stares at me, bewildered again.
"I think you're lovely the way you are."
"So why are you trying to change me?"
"I don't want to change you. I'd like you to be courteous and to follow the set of rules I've given you and not defy me. Simple," he says.
"But you want to punish me?"
"Yes I do."
"That's what I don't understand."
He sighs and runs his hands through his hair again.
"It's the way I'm made, Anastasia. I need to control you. I need you to behave in a certain way, and if you don't - I love to watch your beautiful alabaster skin pink and warm up under my hands. It turns me on."
Holy shit. Now we're getting somewhere.
"So it's not the pain you're putting me through?"
He swallows.
"A bit, to see if you can take it, but that's not the whole reason. It's the fact that you are mine to do with as I see fit - ultimate control over someone else. And it turns me on.
Big time, Anastasia. Look, I'm not explaining myself very well... I've never had to before.
I've not really thought about this in any great depth. I've always been with like-minded people," he shrugs apologetically. "And you still haven't answered my question - how did you feel afterwards?"
"Confused."
"You were sexually aroused by it, Anastasia," he closes his eyes briefly, and when he re-opens them and gazes at me, they are smoldering smoky embers.
His expression pulls at that dark part of me, buried in the depths of my belly - my libido, woken and tamed by him, but even now, insatiable.
"Don't look at me like that," he murmurs.
I frown. Jeez what have I done now?
"I don't have any condoms, Anastasia, and you know, you're upset. Contrary to what your roommate believes, I'm not a priapic monster. So, you felt confused?"
I squirm under his intense gaze.
"You have no problem being honest with me in print. Your emails always tell me exactly how you feel. Why can't you do that in conversationDo I intimidate you that much?"
I pick at an imaginary spot on my mother's blue and cream quilt.
"You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus flying too close to the Sun," I whisper.
He gasps.
"Well, I think you've got that the wrong way around," he whispers.
"What?"
"Oh, Anastasia, you've bewitched me. Isn't it obvious?"
No, not to me. Bewitched... my inner goddess is staring open-mouthed. Even she doesn't believe this.
"You've still not answered my question. Write me an email, please. But right now, I'd really like to sleep. Can I stay?"
"Do you want to stay?" I can't hide the hope in my voice.
"You wanted me here."
"You haven't answered my question."
"I'll write you an email," he mutters petulantly.
Standing, he empties his jeans pockets of BlackBerry, keys, wallet, and money. Holy cow, men carry a lot of crap in their pockets. He strips off his watch, his shoes, socks, and jeans and places his jacket over my chair. He walks round to the other side of the bed and slides in.
"Lie down," he orders.
I slip slowly under the covers, wincing slightly, staring at him. Jeez... he's staying. I think I'm numb with elated shock. He leans up on one elbow staring down at me.
"If you are going to cry. Cry in front of me. I need to know."
"Do you want me to cry?"
"Not particularly. I just want to know how you're feeling. I don't want you slipping through my fingers. Switch the light off. It's late, and we both have to work tomorrow."
So here... and still so bossy, but I can't complain, he's in my bed. I don't quite understand why... maybe I should weep more often in front of him. I switch off the bedside light."Lie on your side, facing away from me," he murmurs in the darkness.