Fifty Shades of Grey(71)

He leans up on his elbows and stares down at me, gray eyes intense.

"See how good we are together," he murmurs. "If you give yourself to me, it will be so much better. Trust me, Anastasia, I can take you places you don't even know exist."

His words echo my thoughts. He strokes his nose against mine. I am still reeling from my extraordinary physical reaction to him, and I gaze up at him blankly, grasping for a coherent thought.

Suddenly we both become aware of voices in the hall outside his bedroom door. It takes a moment to process what I can hear.

"But if he's still in bed, then he must be ill. He's never in bed at this time. Christian never sleeps in."

"Mrs. Grey, please."

"Taylor. You cannot keep me from my son."

"Mrs. Grey, he's not alone."

"What do you mean he's not alone?"

"He has someone with him."

" Oh... " Even I hear the disbelief in her voice.

Christian blinks rapidly, staring down at me, wide-eyed with humored horror.

"Shit! It's my mother."


He pulls out of me suddenly. I wince. He sits up on the bed and throws the used condom in a wastebasket.

"Come on, we need to get dressed - that's if you want to meet my mother." He grins, leaps up off the bed, and pulls on his jeans, no underwear! I struggle to sit up as I'm still tethered.

"Christian - I can't move."

His grin widens, and leaning down, he undoes the tie. The woven pattern has made an indented pattern around my wrists. It's... sexy. He gazes at me. He's amused, his eyes dancing with mirth. He kisses my forehead quickly and beams at me.

"Another first," he acknowledges, but I have no idea what he's talking about.

"I have no clean clothes in here." I am filled with sudden panic, and considering what I've just experienced, I'm finding the panic overwhelming. His mother! Holy crap. I have no clean clothes, and she's practically walked in on us in flagrante delicto. "Perhaps I should stay here."

"Oh, no, you don't," Christian threatens. "You can wear something of mine." He's slipped on a white t-shirt and runs his hand through his just-f*cked hair. In spite of my anxiety, I lose my train of thought. Will I ever get used to looking at this beautiful man?

His beauty is derailing.

"Anastasia, you could be wearing a sack and you'd look lovely. Please don't worry.

I'd like you to meet my mother. Get dressed. I'll just go and calm her down." His mouth presses into a hard line. "I will expect you in that room in five minutes, otherwise I'll come and drag you out of here myself in whatever you're wearing. My t-shirts are in this drawer.

My shirts are in the closet. Help yourself." He eyes me speculatively for a moment, then leaves the room.

Holy shit. Christian's mother. This is so much more than I bargained for. Perhaps meeting her will help put a little part of the jigsaw in place. Might help me understand why Christian is the way he is... Suddenly, I want to meet her. I pull my shirt off the floor, and I'm pleased to discover that it has survived the night well with hardly any creases. I find my blue bra under the bed and dress quickly. But if there's one thing I hate, it's not wearing clean panties. I rifle through Christian's chest of drawers and come across his boxer briefs.

After pulling on a pair of tight gray Calvin Kleins, I tug on my jeans and my Converse.

Grabbing my jacket, I dash into the bathroom and stare at my too-bright eyes, my flushed face - and my hair! Holy crap... just-f*cked pigtails do not suit me either. I hunt in the vanity unit for a brush and find a comb. It will have to do. A ponytail is the only answer. I despair at my clothes. Maybe I should take Christian up on his offer of clothes.