She blinks a couple of times, but before I have to tell her again, she turns and kneels, facing me and the room.

I give her permission to sit back on her heels and she obliges. “Place your hands and forearms flat on your thighs. Good. Now part your knees. Wider.” I want to see you, baby. “Wider.” See your sex. “Perfect. Look down at the floor.”

Don’t look at me or the room. You can sit there and let your thoughts run wild while you imagine what I’m going to do to you.

I walk over to her, and I’m pleased that she keeps her head bowed. Reaching down, I tug her braid, tilting her head so that our eyes meet. “Will you remember this position, Anastasia?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Stay here, don’t move.”

Walking past her, I open the door and for a moment look back at her. Her head is bowed; her eyes stay fixed on the floor.

What a welcome sight. Good girl.

I want to run, but I contain my eagerness and walk purposefully downstairs to my bedroom.

Maintain some fucking dignity, Grey.

In my closet I strip off all my clothes and from a drawer pull out my favorite jeans. My DJs. Dom jeans.

I slip them on and fasten all the buttons except the top one. From the same drawer I retrieve the new riding crop and a gray waffle robe. As I leave I grab a few condoms and stuff them into my pocket.

Here goes.

Showtime, Grey.

When I get back she’s in the same position: her head bowed, her braid hanging down her back, her hands on her knees. I close the door and hang the robe on its hook. I walk past her. “Good girl, Anastasia. You look lovely like that. Well done. Stand up.”

She stands, keeping her head down.

“You may look at me.”

Eager blue eyes peek up.

“I’m going to chain you now, Anastasia. Give me your right hand.” I hold out mine and she places her hand in it. Without taking my eyes off hers I turn her hand palm up, and from behind my back produce the riding crop. I quickly flick the end across her palm. She startles and cups her hand, blinking at me in surprise.

“How does that feel?” I ask.

Her breathing accelerates, and she glances at me before looking back at her palm.

“Answer me.”

“Okay.” Her brows knit together.

“Don’t frown,” I warn. “Did that hurt?”

“No.”

“This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Her voice is a little shaky.

“I mean it,” I stress, and I show her the crop. Brown plaited leather. See? I listen. Her eyes meet mine, astonished. My lips twitch in amusement.

“We aim to please, Miss Steele. Come.”

I lead her to the middle of the room, beneath the restraining system. “This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.” She stares up at the intricate system, then back at me.

“We’re going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we’ll end up by the wall over there.” I point to the Saint Andrew’s cross. “Put your hands above your head.”

She does, immediately. Taking the leather cuffs that hang on the grid, I fasten one to each of her wrists in turn. I’m methodical, but she’s distracting. Being this close to her, sensing her excitement, her anxiety, touching her. I find it hard to concentrate. Once she’s cuffed I step back and take a deep breath, relieved.

Finally I’ve got you where I want you, Ana Steele.

Slowly I walk around her, admiring the view. Could she look hotter? “You look mighty fine trussed up like this, Miss Steele. And your smart mouth quiet for now. I like that.” I stop, facing her, curl my fingers into her panties, and oh so slowly drag them down her long legs until I’m kneeling at her feet.

Worshipping her. She’s glorious.

With my eyes locked on hers, I take her panties, crush them to my nose, and inhale deeply. Her mouth pops open and her eyes widen in amused shock.

Yes. I smirk. Perfect reaction.

I slip the panties into the back pocket of my jeans and stand, considering my next move. Holding out the crop, I run it over her belly and gently circle her navel with the keeper…the leather tongue. She sucks in her breath and tremors at the touch.

This will be good, Ana. Trust me.

Slowly I begin to circle her, drawing the crop across her skin, across her belly, her flank, her back. On my second circuit I flick the tongue at the base of her behind so it makes sharp contact with her vulva.

“Ah!” she cries, and she tugs against the shackles.

“Quiet,” I warn, and prowl around her once more. I flick the crop against her in the same sweet spot and she whines on contact, her eyes closed as she absorbs the sensation. With another twitch of my wrist, the crop snaps against her nipple. She throws her head back and moans. I aim again, and the crop licks her other nipple, and I watch it harden and lengthen beneath the bite of the leather keeper.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” she rasps, eyes closed, head back.

I smack her across her behind, harder this time.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir,” she cries.

Slowly and with care, I lavish strokes, licks, and flicks over her stomach and her belly, down her body, toward my goal. With one flick, the leather tongue bites her clitoris and she shouts out in a gargled cry, “Oh, please!”

“Quiet,” I command, and reprimand her with a harder flick across her backside.

I skim the leather tongue down through her pubic hair, against her vulva to her vagina. The brown leather is glistening with her arousal when I pull it back. “See how wet you are for this, Anastasia. Open your eyes and your mouth.”

She’s breathing hard, but she parts her lips and stares at me, her eyes dazed and lost in the carnality of the moment. And I slip the keeper into her mouth. “See how you taste. Suck. Suck hard, baby.”

Her lips close around the tip and it’s like they’re around my dick.

Fuck.

She’s so fucking hot and I can’t resist her.

Easing the crop from her mouth, I wrap my arms around her. She opens her mouth for me as I kiss her, my tongue exploring her, reveling in the taste of her lust.

“Oh, baby, you taste mighty fine,” I whisper. “Shall I make you come?”

“Please,” she pleads.

One flick of my wrist and the crop smacks her behind. “Please, what?”

“Please, Sir,” she whimpers.

Good girl. I step back. “With this?” I ask, holding up the crop so she can see it.

“Yes, Sir,” she says, surprising me.

“Are you sure?” I can barely believe my luck.

“Yes, please, Sir.”

Oh, Ana. You fucking goddess.

“Close your eyes.”

She does as she’s told. And with infinite care and not a little gratitude, I rain quick, stinging licks over her belly once more. Soon she’s panting again, her arousal heightened. Moving south, I gently flick the leather tongue over her clitoris. Again. And again. And again.

She pulls at her restraints, moaning and moaning. Then she’s quiet and I know she’s close. Suddenly she throws her head back and mouth open and she screams her orgasm as it shudders through her entire body. Instantly I drop the crop and grab her, supporting her as her body dissolves. She sags against me.

Oh. We’re not done, Ana.

With my hands under her thighs, I lift her trembling body and carry her, still shackled to the grid, toward the Saint Andrew’s cross. There I release her, holding her upright, pinned between the cross and my shoulders. I tug my jeans, undoing all the buttons, and freeing my cock. Yanking a condom from my pocket, I rip the foil packet with my teeth and with one hand roll it over my erection.

Gently I pick her up again and whisper, “Lift your legs, baby, wrap them around me.” Supporting her back against the wood, I help her wrap her legs around my hips, her elbows resting on my shoulders.

You are mine, baby.