He looks casually elegant.
I pause, fractionally too long, drinking in the sight of him. And to think I slept with him last night and, after all the tequila and the throwing up, he’s still here. What’s more, he wants to take me to Seattle. Why me? I don’t understand it. I head out the door recalling his words—
There’s something about you
—well, the feeling is entirely mutual, Mr. Grey, and I aim to find out what his secret is.
We walk in silence down the corridor toward the elevator. As we wait, I peek up at him through my lashes, and he looks out of the corner of his eyes down at me. I smile, and his lips twitch.
The elevator arrives, and we step in. We’re alone. Suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, possibly our proximity in such an enclosed space, the atmosphere between us changes, charged with an electric, exhilarating anticipation. My breathing alters asmy heart races. His head turns fractionally toward me, his eyes darkest slate. I bite my lip.
“Oh, fuck the paperwork,” he growls. He lunges at me, pushing me against the wall of the elevator. Before I know it, he’s got both of my hands in one of his in a viselike grip above my head, and he’s pinning me to the wall using his hips. Holy shit. His other hand grabs my hair and yanks down, bringing my face up, and his lips are on mine. It’s only just not painful. I moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth. I have never been kissed like this. My tongue tentatively strokes his and joins his in a slow, erotic dance that’s all about touch and sensation, all bump and grind. He brings his hand up to grasp my chin and holds me in place. I’m helpless, my hands pinned, my face held, and his hips restraining me. His erection is against my belly.
Oh my
… He wants me. Christian Grey, Greek god, wants me, and I want
him
, here … now, in the elevator.
“You. Are. So. Sweet,” he murmurs, each word a staccato.
The elevator stops, the doors open, and he pushes away from me in the blink of an eye, leaving me hanging. Three men in business suits look at both of us and smirk as they climb on board. My heart rate is through the roof, I feel like I’ve run an uphill race. I want to lean over and grasp my knees … but that’s just too obvious.
I glance up at him. He looks so cool and calm, like he’s been doing the
Seattle Times
crossword.
How unfair
. Is he totally unaffected by my presence? He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, and he gently blows out a deep breath. Oh, he’s affected all right—and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba. The businessmen exit on the second floor. We have one more floor to travel.
“You’ve brushed your teeth,” he says, staring at me.
“I used your toothbrush.”
His lips quirk up in a half smile. “Oh, Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?”
The doors open at the first floor, and he takes my hand and pulls me out.
“What is it about elevators?” he mutters, more to himself than to me as he strides across the lobby. I struggle to keep up with him because my wits have been thoroughly and royally scattered all over the floor and walls of elevator three in the Heathman Hotel.
CHAPTER SIX
----
C hristian opens the passenger-side door to the black Audi SUV, and I clamber in. It’s a beast of a car. He hasn’t mentioned the outburst of passion that exploded in the elevator. Should I? Should we talk about it or pretend that it didn’t happen? It hardly seems real, my first proper no-holds-barred kiss. As time ticks on, I assign it mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost City of Atlantis status. It never happened, it never existed.
Perhaps I imagined it all
. No. I touch my lips, swollen from his kiss. It definitely happened. I am a changed woman. I want this man desperately, and he wanted me.
I glance at him. Christian is his usual polite, slightly distant self.
How confusing
.
He
I pause, fractionally too long, drinking in the sight of him. And to think I slept with him last night and, after all the tequila and the throwing up, he’s still here. What’s more, he wants to take me to Seattle. Why me? I don’t understand it. I head out the door recalling his words—
There’s something about you
—well, the feeling is entirely mutual, Mr. Grey, and I aim to find out what his secret is.
We walk in silence down the corridor toward the elevator. As we wait, I peek up at him through my lashes, and he looks out of the corner of his eyes down at me. I smile, and his lips twitch.
The elevator arrives, and we step in. We’re alone. Suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, possibly our proximity in such an enclosed space, the atmosphere between us changes, charged with an electric, exhilarating anticipation. My breathing alters asmy heart races. His head turns fractionally toward me, his eyes darkest slate. I bite my lip.
“Oh, fuck the paperwork,” he growls. He lunges at me, pushing me against the wall of the elevator. Before I know it, he’s got both of my hands in one of his in a viselike grip above my head, and he’s pinning me to the wall using his hips. Holy shit. His other hand grabs my hair and yanks down, bringing my face up, and his lips are on mine. It’s only just not painful. I moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth. I have never been kissed like this. My tongue tentatively strokes his and joins his in a slow, erotic dance that’s all about touch and sensation, all bump and grind. He brings his hand up to grasp my chin and holds me in place. I’m helpless, my hands pinned, my face held, and his hips restraining me. His erection is against my belly.
Oh my
… He wants me. Christian Grey, Greek god, wants me, and I want
him
, here … now, in the elevator.
“You. Are. So. Sweet,” he murmurs, each word a staccato.
The elevator stops, the doors open, and he pushes away from me in the blink of an eye, leaving me hanging. Three men in business suits look at both of us and smirk as they climb on board. My heart rate is through the roof, I feel like I’ve run an uphill race. I want to lean over and grasp my knees … but that’s just too obvious.
I glance up at him. He looks so cool and calm, like he’s been doing the
Seattle Times
crossword.
How unfair
. Is he totally unaffected by my presence? He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes, and he gently blows out a deep breath. Oh, he’s affected all right—and my very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba. The businessmen exit on the second floor. We have one more floor to travel.
“You’ve brushed your teeth,” he says, staring at me.
“I used your toothbrush.”
His lips quirk up in a half smile. “Oh, Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?”
The doors open at the first floor, and he takes my hand and pulls me out.
“What is it about elevators?” he mutters, more to himself than to me as he strides across the lobby. I struggle to keep up with him because my wits have been thoroughly and royally scattered all over the floor and walls of elevator three in the Heathman Hotel.
CHAPTER SIX
----
C hristian opens the passenger-side door to the black Audi SUV, and I clamber in. It’s a beast of a car. He hasn’t mentioned the outburst of passion that exploded in the elevator. Should I? Should we talk about it or pretend that it didn’t happen? It hardly seems real, my first proper no-holds-barred kiss. As time ticks on, I assign it mythical, Arthurian legend, Lost City of Atlantis status. It never happened, it never existed.
Perhaps I imagined it all
. No. I touch my lips, swollen from his kiss. It definitely happened. I am a changed woman. I want this man desperately, and he wanted me.
I glance at him. Christian is his usual polite, slightly distant self.
How confusing
.
He
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