as he leans over me from behind.
“I think we’ll dispense with this.” He grabs my T-shirt and drags it over my head, leaving me naked except for my panties. He pulls my ponytail back and kisses me.
“Stand up,” he orders against my lips and releases me. I comply immediately. He lays a towel out on the sofa.
“Take your panties off.”
I swallow but do as I’m told, discarding them by the sofa.
“Sit.” He grabs my ponytail again and pulls my head back. “You’ll tell me to stop if this gets too much, yes?”
I nod.
“Say it.” His voice is stern.
“Yes,” I squeak.
He smirks. “Good. So, Mrs. Grey… by popular demand, I’m going to restrain you.” His voice drops to a breathless whisper. Desire streaks through my body like lightning simply at those words. Oh, my sweet Fifty-on the sofa?
“Bring your knees up,” he commands softly. “And sit right back.”
I rest my feet on the edge of the sofa, my knees up in front of me. He reaches for my left leg, and taking the belt from one of the bathroom robes, he ties one end above my knee.
“Bathrobes?”
“I’m improvising.” He smirks again and fastens the slipknot above my knee and ties the other end of the soft belt around the finial at the back corner of the sofa, effectively parting my legs.
“Don’t move,” he warns and repeats the process with my right leg, tying the second cord to the other finial.
“Okay?” Christian asks softly, gazing down at me from behind the sofa.
I nod, expecting him to tie my hands, too. But he refrains. He bends and kisses me.
“You have no idea how hot you look right now,” he murmurs and rubs his nose against mine. “Change of music, I think.” He stands and strolls casually over to the iPod dock.
How does he do this? Here I am, trussed up and horny as hell, while he’s so cool and calm. He’s just in my field of vision, and I watch the flex and pull of the muscles of his back under his T-shirt as he changes the song. Immediately, a sweet, almost childlike female voice starts to sing about watching me.
Oh, I like this song.
Christian turns and his eyes lock on mine as he moves around to the front of the sofa and sinks gracefully to his knees in front of me.
Suddenly, I feel very exposed.
“Exposed? Vulnerable?” he asks with his uncanny ability to voice my unspoken words. His hands are on his knees. I nod.
Why doesn’t he touch me?
“Good,” he murmurs. “Hold out your hands.” I can’t look away from his mesmerizing eyes as I do what he asks. Christian pours a little oily liquid onto each palm from a small clear bottle. It’s scented-a rich, musky, sensuous scent that I can’t place.
“Rub your hands.” I squirm beneath his hot, heavy gaze. “Keep still,” he warns.
“Now, Anastasia, I want you to touch yourself.”
Holy cow.
“Start at your throat and work down.”
I hesitate.
“Don’t be shy, Ana. Come. Do it.” The humor and challenge in his expression is plain to see along with his desire.
The sweet voice sings that there’s nothing sweet about her. I place my hands against my throat and let them slide down to the top of my breasts. The oil makes them glide effortlessly over my skin. My hands are warm.
“Lower,” Christian murmurs, his eyes darkening. He doesn’t touch me.
My hands cup my breasts.
“Tease yourself.”
“Harder,” Christian urges. He sits immobile between my thighs, just watching me. “Like I would,” he adds, his eyes shining darkly. My muscles clench deep in my belly. I groan in response and pull harder on my nipples, feeling them stiffen and lengthen beneath my touch.
“Yes. Like that. Again.”
Closing my eyes I pull hard, rolling and twisting them between my fingers. I moan.
“Open your eyes.”
I blink up at him.
“Again. I want to see you. See you enjoy your touch.”
Oh fuck. I repeat the process. This is so… erotic.
“Hands. Lower.”
I squirm.
“Keep still, Ana. Absorb the pleasure. Lower.” His voice is low and husky, tempting and beguiling at once.
“You do it,” I whisper.
“Oh, I will-soon. You. Lower. Now.” Christian, exuding sensuality, runs his tongue along his teeth
He shakes his head, slowly. “Still.” He rests his hands on my knees, holding me in place. “Come on, Ana- lower.”
My hands glide over my stomach down over my belly.
“Lower,” he mouths, and he is carnality personified.
“Christian, please.”
His hands glide down from my knees, skimming my thighs, toward my sex. “Come on, Ana. Touch yourself.”
My left hand skims over my sex, and I rub in a slow circle, my mouth an
“Again,” he whispers.
I groan louder and repeat the move and tip my head back, gasping.
“Again.”
I moan loudly, and Christian inhales sharply. Grabbing my hands, he bends down, running his nose then his tongue back and forth at the apex of my thighs.
“Ah!”
I want to touch him, but when I try to move my hands, his fingers tighten around my wrists.
“I’ll restrain these, too. Keep still.”
I groan. He releases me then eases his middle two fingers inside me, the heel of his hand resting against my clitoris.
“I’m going to make you come quickly, Ana. Ready?”
“Yes.” I pant.
He starts to move his fingers, his hand, up and down, rapidly, assaulting both that sweet spot inside me and my clitoris at the same time. Ah! The feeling is intense-really intense. Pleasure builds and spikes throughout the lower half of my body. I want to stretch my legs, but I can’t. My hands claw at the towel beneath me.
“Surrender,” Christian whispers.
I explode around his fingers, crying out incoherently. He presses the heel of his hand against my clitoris as the aftershocks run through my body, prolonging the delicious agony. Vaguely, I’m aware that he’s untying my legs.
