Barney has the grace to laugh. “What can I do for you, Mr. Grey?”

“Do you have any new laptops?”

“I have two right here from Apple.”

“Great. I need one.”

“Sure thing.”

“Can you set it up with an e-mail account for Anastasia Steele? She’ll be the owner.”

“How are you spelling ‘Steal’?”

“S.T.E.E.L.E.”

“Cool.”

“Great. Andrea will be in touch today to arrange delivery.”

“Sure thing, sir.”

“Thanks, Barney—and go home.”

“Yes, sir.”

I text Andrea with instructions to send the laptop to Ana’s home address, then return to the living room. Ana is sitting on the sofa, fidgeting with her fingers. She gives me a cautious look and rises.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods.

Taylor appears from his office. “Tomorrow, then,” I tell him.

“Yes, sir. Which car are you taking, sir?”

“The R8.”

“Safe trip, Mr. Grey. Miss Steele,” Taylor says, as he opens the foyer doors for us. Ana fidgets beside me as we wait for the elevator, her teeth on her plump lower lip.

It reminds me of her teeth on my cock.

“What is it, Anastasia?” I ask, as I reach out and pluck her chin. “Stop biting your lip, or I will fuck you in the elevator, and I don’t care who gets in with us,” I growl.

She’s shocked, I think—though why would she be after all we’ve done…My mood softens.

“Christian, I have a problem,” she says.

“Oh?”

In the elevator I press the button for the garage.

“W-Well,” she stutters, uncertain. Then she squares her shoulders. “I need to talk to Kate. I’ve so many questions about sex, and you’re too involved. If you want me to do all these things, how do I know—?” She stops, as if weighing her words. “I just don’t have any terms of reference.”

Not this again. We’ve been over this. I don’t want her talking to anyone. She’s signed an NDA. But she’s asked, again. So it must be important to her. “Talk to her if you must. Make sure she doesn’t mention anything to Elliot.”

“She wouldn’t do that, and I wouldn’t tell you anything she tells me about Elliot—if she were to tell me anything,” she insists.

I remind her that I’m not interested in Elliot’s sex life but agree that she can talk about what we’ve done so far. Her roommate would have my balls if she knew my real intentions.

“Okay,” Ana says, and gives me a bright smile.

“The sooner I have your submission the better, and we can stop all this.”

“Stop all what?”

“You, defying me.” I kiss her quickly and her lips on mine immediately make me feel better.

“Nice car,” she says, as we approach the R8 in the underground garage.

“I know.” I flash her a quick grin, and I’m rewarded with another smile—before she rolls her eyes. I open the door for her, wondering if I should comment about the eye rolling.

“So what sort of car is this?” she asks, when I’m behind the wheel.

“It’s an Audi R8 Spyder. It’s a lovely day; we can take the top down. There’s a baseball cap in there. In fact there should be two.”

I start the ignition and retract the roof, and the Boss fills the car. “Gotta love Bruce.” I grin at Ana and steer the R8 out of her safe place in the garage.

Weaving in and out of the traffic on I-5, we head toward Portland. Ana is quiet, listening to the music and staring out the window. It’s difficult to see her expression, behind oversized Wayfarers and under my Mariners cap. The wind whistles over us as we speed past Boeing Field.

So far, this weekend has been unexpected. But what did I expect? I thought we’d have dinner, discuss the contract, and then what…? Perhaps fucking her was inevitable.

I glance across at her.

Yes…And I want to fuck her again.

I wish I knew what she was thinking. She gives little away, but I’ve learned some things about Ana. In spite of her inexperience, she’s willing to learn. Who would have thought that under that shy exterior she has the soul of a siren? An image of her lips around my dick comes to mind and I suppress a moan.

Yeah…she’s more than willing.

The thought is arousing.

I hope I can see her before next weekend.

Even now I’m itching to touch her again. Reaching across, I put my hand on her knee.

“Hungry?”

“Not particularly,” she responds, subdued.

This is getting old.

“You must eat, Anastasia. I know a great place near Olympia. We’ll stop there.”

CUISINE SAUVAGE IS SMALL, and crowded with couples and families enjoying Sunday brunch. With Ana’s hand in mine, we follow the hostess to our table. The last time I came here was with Elena. I wonder what she’d make of Anastasia.

“I’ve not been here for a while. We don’t get a choice—they cook whatever they’ve caught or gathered,” I say, grimacing, feigning my horror. Ana laughs.

Why do I feel ten feet tall when I make her laugh?

“Two glasses of the pinot grigio,” I order from the waitress, who’s making eyes at me from beneath blond bangs. It’s annoying.

Ana scowls.

“What?” I ask, wondering if the waitress is annoying her, too.

“I wanted a Diet Coke.”

Why didn’t you say so? I frown. “The pinot grigio here is a decent wine. It will go well with the meal, whatever we get.”

“Whatever we get?” she asks, her eyes round with alarm.

“Yes.” And I give her my megawatt smile to make amends for not letting her order her own drink. I’m just not used to asking…“My mother liked you,” I add, hoping this will please her and remembering Grace’s reaction to Ana.

“Really?” she says, looking flattered.

“Oh yes. She’s always thought I was gay.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s never seen me with a girl.”

“Oh, not even one of the fifteen?”

“You remembered. No, none of the fifteen.”

“Oh.”

Yes…only you, baby. The thought is unsettling.

“You know, Anastasia, it’s been a weekend of firsts for me, too.”

“It has?”

“I’ve never slept with anyone, never had sex in my bed, never flown a girl in Charlie Tango, never introduced a woman to my mother. What are you doing to me?”

Yeah. What the hell are you doing to me? This isn’t me.

The waitress brings us our chilled wine, and Ana immediately takes a quick sip, her bright eyes on me. “I’ve really enjoyed this weekend,” she says, with bashful delight in her voice. I have, too, and I realize I haven’t enjoyed a weekend for a while…since Susannah and I parted ways. I tell her so.

“What’s vanilla sex?” she asks.

I laugh at her unexpected question and complete change of topic.

“Just straightforward sex, Anastasia. No toys, no add-ons.” I shrug. “You know—well, actually you don’t, but that’s what it means.”

“Oh,” she says, and she looks a little crestfallen.

What now?

The waitress diverts us, putting down two soup bowls full of greenery. “Nettle soup,” she announces, and struts back into the kitchen. We glance at each other, then back at the soup. A quick taste informs us both that it’s delicious. Ana giggles at my exaggerated expression of relief.

“That’s a lovely sound,” I say softly.

“Why have you never had vanilla sex before? Have you always done, what you’ve done?” She’s as inquisitive as ever.

“Sort of.” And then I wonder if I should expand on this. More than anything, I want her to be forthcoming with me; I want her to trust me. I’m never this candid, but I think I can trust her so I choose my words carefully.

“One of my mother’s friends seduced me when I was fifteen.”

“Oh.” Ana’s spoon pauses midway from the bowl to her mouth.

“She had very particular tastes. I was her submissive for six years.”

“Oh,” she breathes.

“So I do know what it involves, Anastasia.” More than you know. “I didn’t really have a run-of-the-mill introduction to sex.” I couldn’t be touched. I still can’t.