Fifty Shades of Grey (book 1+ 2)

Chapter 30

"Pouilly Fume okay with you?"

"I know nothing about wine, Christian. I'm sure it will be fine." My voice is soft and hesitant. My heart is

thumping. I want to run. This is seriously rich. Seriously over-the-top Bill Gates style wealthy. What am I

doing hereYou know very well what you're doing here - my subconscious sneers at me. Yes, I want to

be in Christian Grey's bed.

"Here." He hands me a glass of wine. Even the glasses are rich... heavy, contempo-rary, crystal. I take

a sip, and the wine is light, crisp, and delicious.

"You're very quiet, and you're not even blushing. In fact - I think this is the palest I've ever seen you,

Anastasia," he murmurs. "Are you hungry?"

I shake my head. Not for food.

"It's a very big place you have here."

"Big?"

"Big."

"It's big," he agrees, and his eyes glow with amusement. I take another sip of wine.

"Do you play?" I point my chin at the piano.

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Yes."

"Of course you do. Is there anything you can't do well?"

"Yes... a few things." He takes a sip of his wine. He doesn't take his eyes off me. I feel them following

me as I turn and glance around this vast room. Room is the wrong word.

It's not a room - it's a mission statement.

"Do you want to sit?"

I nod, and he takes my hand and leads me to the large off-white couch. As I sit, I'm struck by the fact

that I feel like Tess Durbeyfield looking at the new house that belongs to the notorious Alec

D'Urberville. The thought makes me smile.

"What's so amusing?" He sits down beside me, turning to face me. He rests his head on his right hand,

his elbow propped on the back of the couch.

"Why did you give me Tess of the D'Urbervilles specifically?" I ask. Christian stares at me for a

moment. I think he's surprised by my question.

"Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy."

"Is that the only reason?" Even I can hear the disappointment in my voice. His mouth presses into a

hard line.

"It seemed appropriate. I could hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel Clare or debase you

completely like Alec D'Urberville," he murmurs, and his gray eyes flash dark and dangerous.

"If there are only two choices, I'll take the debasement." I whisper, gazing at him. My subconscious is

staring at me in awe. He gasps.

"Anastasia, stop biting your lip, please. It's very distracting. You don't know what you're saying."

"That's why I'm here."

He frowns.

"Yes. Would you excuse me a moment?" He disappears through a wide doorway on the far side of the

room. He's gone for a couple of minutes and returns with a document. © NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

"This is a non-disclosure agreement." He shrugs and has the grace to look a little embarrassed. "My

lawyer insists on it." He hands it to me. I'm completely bemused. "If you're going for option two,

debasement, you'll need to sign this."

"And if I don't want to sign anything?"

"Then it's Angel Clare high ideals, well, for most of the book anyway."

"What does this agreement mean?"

"It means you cannot disclose anything about us. Anything, to anyone."

I stare at him in disbelief. Holy shit. It's bad, really bad, and now I'm very curious to know.

"Okay. I'll sign."

He hands me a pen.

"Aren't you even going to read it?"

"No."

He frowns.

"Anastasia, you should always read anything you sign," he admonishes me.

"Christian, what you fail to understand is that I wouldn't talk about us to anyone, anyway. Even Kate. So

it's immaterial whether I sign an agreement or not. If it means so much to you, or your lawyer... whom

you obviously talk to, then fine. I'll sign."

He gazes down at me, and he nods gravely.

"Fair point well made, Miss Steele."

I lavishly sign on the dotted line of both copies and hand one back to him. Folding the other, I place it

my purse and take a large swig of my wine. I'm sounding so much braver than I'm actually feeling.

"Does this mean you're going to make love to me tonight, Christian?" Holy shit. Did I just say that His

mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly.

"No, Anastasia it doesn't. Firstly, I don't make love. I f**k... hard. Secondly, there's a lot more paperwork

to do, and thirdly, you don't yet know what you're in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to

show you my playroom."

My mouth drops open. Fuck hard! Holy shit, that sounds so... hot. But why are we looking at a

playroomI am mystified.

"You want to play on your Xbox?" I ask. He laughs, loudly.

"No, Anastasia, no Xbox, no Playstation. Come." He stands, holding out his hand. I let him lead me

back out to the corridor. On the right of the double doors, where we came in, another door leads to a

staircase. We go up to the second floor and turn right. Producing a key from his pocket, he unlocks yet

another door and takes a deep breath.

"You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on stand-by to take you whenever you want to go, you can

stay the night and go home in the morning. It's fine whatever you decide."

"Just open the damn door, Christian."

He opens the door and stands back to let me in. I gaze at him once more. I so want to know what's in

here. Taking a deep breath I walk in.

And it feels like I've time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.

Holy f**k.

Chapter Seven

The first thing I notice is the smell; leather, wood, polish with a faint citrus scent. It's very pleasant, and

the lighting is soft, subtle. In fact, I can't see the source, but it's around the cornice in the room, emitting

an ambient glow. The walls and ceiling are a deep, dark bur-gundy, giving a womb-like effect to the

spacious room, and the floor is old, old varnished wood. There is a large wooden cross like an X

fastened to the wall facing the door. It's made of high-polished mahogany, and there are restraining

cuffs on each corner. Above it is an expansive iron grid suspended from the ceiling, eight-foot square at

least, and from it hang all manner of ropes, chains, and glinting shackles. By the door, two long,

polished, ornately carved poles, like spindles from a banister but longer, hang like curtain rods across

the wall. From them swing a startling assortment of paddles, whips, riding crops, and funny-looking

feathery implements.

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