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I don’t know.
You said you didn’t like me.
“Part of my role is to look after your needs. You said you wanted me to stay, so here I am.” Nice save, Grey. “And yet I find you like this.” You weren’t like this when I left. “I’m sure I’m responsible, but I have no idea why. Is it because I hit you?”
She struggles to sit up and flinches when she does.
“Did you take some Advil?” As instructed?
She shakes her head.
When will you do as you’re told?
I go to find Kavanagh, who’s on the sofa, seething.
“Ana has a headache. Do you have any Advil?”
She raises her eyebrows, surprised, I think, by my concern for her friend. Glowering, she gets up and stomps into the kitchen. After some rustling through boxes she hands me a couple of tablets and a teacup of water.
Back in the bedroom I offer them to Ana and sit on the bed. “Take these.”
She does, her eyes clouded with apprehension.
“Talk to me. You told me you were okay. I’d never have left you if I thought you were like this.” Distracted, she toys with a loose thread on her quilt. “I take it that when you said you were okay, you weren’t.”
“I thought I was fine,” she admits.
“Anastasia, you can’t tell me what you think I want to hear. That’s not very honest. How can I trust anything you’ve said to me?” This will never work if she’s not honest with me.
The thought is depressing.
Talk to me, Ana.
“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?” she asks, and her voice is stronger.
Shit. I can’t tell her why.
“You really want to know?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m fascinated.” Now she’s being sarcastic.
“Careful,” I warn her.
She pales at my expression. “Are you going to hit me again?”
“No, not tonight.” I think you’ve had enough.
“So.” She still wants an answer.
“I like the control it gives 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 gay.”
And I don’t want you rolling your eyes at me, or being sarcastic.
“So you don’t like the way I am.” Her voice is small.
“I think you’re lovely the way you are.”
“So why are you trying to change me?”
“I don’t want to change you.” God forbid. You’re enchanting. “I’d like you to be courteous and to follow the set of rules I’ve given you and not defy me. Simple.” I want you safe.
“But you want to punish me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“That’s what I don’t understand.”
I sigh. “It’s the way I’m made. I need to control you. I need you to behave in a certain way, and if you don’t—” My mind drifts. I find it arousing, Ana. You did, too. Can’t you accept that? Bending you over my knee…feeling your ass beneath my palm. “I love to watch your beautiful alabaster skin pink and warm up under my hands. It turns me on.” Just thinking about it stirs my body.
“So it’s not the pain you’re putting me through?”
Hell.
“A bit, to see if you can take it.” Actually, it’s a lot, but I don’t want to go there right now. If I tell her, she’ll throw me out. “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.”
I must lend her a book or two on being a submissive.
“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.” I pause to check she’s still with me. “And you haven’t answered my question—how did you feel afterward?”
She blinks. “Confused.”
“You were sexually aroused by it, Anastasia.”
You have an inner freak, Ana. I know it.
Closing my eyes, I recall her wet and wanting around my fingers after I spanked her. When I open them, she’s staring at me, pupils dilated, her lips parted…her tongue moistening her top lip. She wants it, too.
Shit. Not again, Grey. Not when she’s like this.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn, my voice gruff.
Her eyebrows rise in surprise.
You know what I mean, Ana. “I don’t have any condoms, and you know, you’re upset. Contrary to what your roommate believes, I’m not a priapic monster. So, you felt confused?”
She remains mute.
Jesus.
“You have no problem being honest with me in print. Your e-mails always tell me exactly how you feel. Why can’t you do that in conversation? Do I intimidate you that much?”
Her fingers fiddle with the quilt.
“You beguile me, Christian. Completely overwhelm me. I feel like Icarus, flying too close to the sun.” Her voice is quiet, but brimming with emotion.
Her confession floors me like a swift kick to the head.
“Well, I think you’ve got that the wrong way round,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Oh, Anastasia, you’ve bewitched me. Isn’t it obvious?”