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She hums her approval.
“This is for pleasure, Anastasia, mine and yours.”
I lift my hand, then smack her right there.
“Ah!” she mouths, screwing up her face, and I caress her sweet, sweet ass while she adjusts to the sensation. When she relaxes, I smack her again. She groans, and I suppress my response. I begin in earnest, right cheek, left cheek, then the junction of her thighs and ass. Between each smack I fondle and knead her backside, watching her skin turn a delicate shade of pink beneath her lacy underwear.
She moans, absorbing the pleasure, enjoying the experience.
I stop. I want to see her ass in all its rosy glory. Unhurriedly, teasing her, I tug down her panties, skimming my fingertips down her thighs, the backs of her knees, and her calves. She lifts her feet, and I discard her panties on the floor. She squirms, but stops when I place my hand flat against her pink, glowing skin. Grabbing her hair again, I start anew. Gently first, then resuming the pattern.
She’s wet; her arousal is on my palm.
I grip her hair harder and she moans, eyes closed, mouth open and slack.
Fuck, she’s hot.
“Good girl.” My voice is hoarse, my breathing erratic.
I spank her a couple more times until I can bear it no more.
I want her.
Now.
I wrap my fingers around the tab and draw the balls out of her.
She cries out in pleasure. Turning her over, I pause to yank my pants off and put on a wretched condom, then lie down beside her. I grab her hands, lift them over her head, and slowly ease myself onto her and into her as she mewls like a cat.
“Oh, baby.” She feels incredible.
“I want you to make love to me.” Her words ring in my head.
And gently, oh so gently, I start to move, feeling every precious inch of her beneath and around me. I kiss her, appreciating her mouth and her body at once. She wraps her legs around mine, meeting each gentle thrust, rocking against me until she spirals up and up and up and lets go.
Her orgasm tips me over the edge. “Ana!” I call, pouring myself into her. Letting go. A welcome release that leaves me…wanting more. Needing more.
As my equilibrium returns, I push away the strange swell of emotion that gnaws at my insides. It’s not like the darkness, but it’s something to fear. Something I don’t understand.
She flexes her fingers around mine, and I open my eyes and look down into her sleepy, sated gaze.
“I enjoyed that,” I whisper, and give her a lingering kiss.
She rewards me with a drowsy smile. I get up, cover her with the comforter, pick up my PJ pants, and pad into the bathroom, where I remove and dispose of the condom. I pull on my pants and find the arnica cream.
Back at the bed, Ana gives me a contented grin.
“Roll over,” I order, and for a moment I think she’s going to roll her eyes, but she indulges me and moves. “Your ass is a glorious color,” I observe, pleased with the results. I squirt some cream on my palm and slowly massage it into her behind.
“Spill the beans, Grey,” she says with a yawn.
“Miss Steele, you know how to ruin a moment.”
“We had a deal,” she insists.
“How do you feel?”
“Shortchanged.”
With a heavy sigh I place the arnica cream on the bedside table and slip into bed, pulling Ana into my arms. I kiss her ear. “The woman who brought me into this world was a crack whore, Anastasia. Go to sleep.”
She tenses in my arms.
I still. I do not want her sympathy or her pity.
“Was?” she whispers.
“She’s dead.”
“How long?”
“She died when I was four. I don’t really remember her. Carrick has given me some details. I only remember certain things. Please go to sleep.”
After a while she relaxes against me. “Good night, Christian.” Her voice is sleepy.
“Good night, Ana.” I kiss her once more, inhaling her soothing scent and fighting off my memories.
“Don’t just pick the apples and throw them away, asshole!”
“Fuck off, you righteous dweeb.”
Elliot picks an apple, takes a bite, and throws it at me.
“Maggot,” he taunts.
No! Don’t call me that.
I jump him. Pounding my fists into his face.
“You fucking pig. This is food. You’re just wasting it. Grandpa sells these. You pig. Pig. Pig.”
“ELLIOT. CHRISTIAN.”
Dad drags me off Elliot, who is cowering on the ground.
“What is this about?”
“He’s insane.”
“Elliot!”
“He’s destroying the apples.” Anger swells in my chest, in my throat. I think I might explode. “He’s taking a bite and then throwing them away. Throwing them at me.”
“Elliot, is this true?”
Elliot turns red under Dad’s hard stare.
“I think you’d better come with me. Christian, pick up the apples. You can help Mom bake a pie.”
She’s fast asleep when I wake, my nose in her fragrant hair, my arms cocooning her. I’ve dreamed about romping through my grandfather’s apple orchard with Elliot; those were happy, angry days.
It’s nearly seven—another lie-in with Miss Steele. It’s odd waking up beside her, but odd in a good way. I contemplate waking her with a morning fuck; my body is more than willing—but she’s practically comatose and she might be sore. I should let her sleep. I climb out of bed, careful not to wake her, grab a T-shirt, gather her clothes from the floor, and wander into the living room.
“Good morning, Mr. Grey.” Mrs. Jones is busy in the kitchen.