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I climb onto the bed between her legs and crawl over her, holding myself above her. When the music starts again, the lone voice singing a sweet seraphic note, I follow the same pattern as the glove and the flogger—but this time with my mouth, kissing and sucking and worshipping every inch of her body. I tease each of her nipples until they are glistening with my saliva and standing at attention. She writhes as much as the restraints allow and groans beneath me. My tongue trails down to her belly, around her navel, laving her. Tasting her. Venerating her. Moving down, through her pubic hair to her sweet, exposed clitoris that’s begging for the touch of my tongue. Around and around I swirl, drinking in her scent, drinking in her reaction, until I feel her tremble beneath me.
Oh no. Not yet, Ana. Not yet.
I stop and she huffs her voiceless disappointment.
I kneel up between her legs and pull open my fly, freeing my erection. Then, leaning over, I gently undo the left shackle around her ankle. She curls her leg around me in a long-limbed caress while I release her other ankle. Once she’s free I massage and knead the life back into her legs, from her calves up to her thighs. She wriggles beneath me, raising her hips in perfect rhythm to the Tallis motet, as my thumbs work their way up her inner thighs, which are dewy from her arousal.
I stifle a growl and grasp her hips, lifting her from the bed, and in one swift, rough move I bury myself inside her.
Fuck.
She’s slick and hot and wet and her body pulses around me, on the edge.
No. Too soon. Way too soon.
I stop, holding myself still over her and in her, while sweat beads on my brow.
“Please,” she calls out, and I tighten my hold on her as I quell the urge to move and lose myself in her. Closing my eyes so I can’t see her laid out beneath me in all her wonder, I concentrate on the music; and once I’m in control again, slowly I start to move. As the intensity of the choral piece builds I slowly increase my pace, matching the power and rhythm of the music, cherishing every tight inch inside her.
She fists her hands and tilts her head back and moans.
Yes.
“Please,” she pleads between gritted teeth.
I hear you, baby.
Laying her back down on the bed, I stretch out over her, supporting my weight on my elbows, and I follow the rhythm, thrusting into her and losing myself in her and the music.
Sweet, brave Ana.
Sweat glides down my back.
Come on, baby.
Please.
And finally she explodes around me, shouting out her release and pushing me into an intense, draining climax where I lose all sense of self. I collapse on top of her as my world shifts and realigns, leaving that unfamiliar emotion swirling in my chest, consuming me.
I shake my head, trying to chase away the ominous and confusing feeling. Reaching up, I grab the remote and switch off the music.
No more Tallis.
The music definitely contributed to what was almost a religious experience. I frown, attempting but failing to get a handle on my feelings. I slide out of Ana and stretch to release her from each cuff.
She sighs as she flexes her fingers, and gently I remove the blindfold and the earbuds.
Big blue eyes blink up at me.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Hi, yourself,” she says, playful and bashful. Her response is delightful and, leaning down, I plant a tender kiss on her lips.
“Well done, you.” My voice is filled with pride.
She did it. She took it. She took it all.
“Turn over.”
Her eyes widen in alarm.
“I’m just going to rub your shoulders.”
“Oh, okay.”
She rolls over and flops down on the bed with her eyes closed. I sit astride her and massage her shoulders.
A pleasurable rumble resonates deep in her throat.
“What was that music?” she asks.
“It’s called Spem in Alium, a forty-part motet by Thomas Tallis.”
“It was…overwhelming.”
“I’ve always wanted to fuck to it.”
“Not another first, Mr. Grey?”
I grin. “Indeed, Miss Steele.”
“Well, it’s the first time I’ve fucked to it, too,” she says, her voice betraying her fatigue.
“You and I, we’re giving each other many firsts.”
“What did I say to you in my sleep, Chris—er, Sir?”
Not this again. Put her out of her misery, Grey.
“You said lots of things, Anastasia. You talked about cages and strawberries. That you wanted more, and that you missed me.”
“Is that all?” She sounds relieved.
Why would she be relieved?
I stretch out beside her so I can see her face.
“What did you think you’d said?”
She opens her eyes for a brief moment, and shuts them again quickly.
“That I thought you were ugly, conceited, and that you were hopeless in bed.” One blue eye peeks open and watches me warily.
Oh…she’s lying.
“Well, naturally I am all those things, and now you’ve got me really intrigued. What are you hiding from me, Miss Steele?”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“Anastasia, you’re a hopeless liar.”
“I thought you were going to make me giggle after sex; this isn’t doing it for me.”
Her answer is unexpected, and I give her a reluctant smile. “I can’t tell jokes,” I confess.
“Mr. Grey! Something you can’t do?” She rewards me with a broad, infectious grin.
“No, hopeless joke teller,” I say, as if it’s a badge of honor.
She giggles. “I’m a hopeless joke teller, too.”