“Maybe I don’t have a good teacher.”

Good point well made, Miss Steele.

I laugh, too. “Maybe. Perhaps I should be stricter with you.” I search her face. “Was it that bad when I spanked you the first time?”

“No, not really,” she says, her cheeks flushing a little.

“It’s more the idea of it?” I ask, pressing her further.

“I suppose. Feeling pleasure when one isn’t supposed to.”

“I remember feeling the same. Takes a while to get your head around it.”

We are finally having the discussion. “You can always use the safe word, Anastasia. Don’t forget that. And, as long as you follow the rules, which fulfill a deep need in me for control and to keep you safe, then perhaps we can find a way forward.”

“Why do you need to control me?”

“Because it satisfies a need in me that wasn’t met in my formative years.”

“So it’s a form of therapy?”

“I’ve not thought of it like that, but yes, I suppose it is.”

She nods. “But, here’s the thing—one moment you say ‘don’t defy me,’ the next you say you like to be challenged. That’s a very fine line to tread successfully.”

“I can see that. But you seem to be doing fine so far.”

“But at what personal cost? I’m tied up in knots here.”

“I like you tied up in knots.”

“That’s not what I meant!” She dashes her hand through the water, soaking me.

“Did you just splash me?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Oh, Miss Steele.” I wrap my arm around her waist and tug her onto my lap, slopping water onto the floor once again. “I think we’ve done enough talking for now.”

I hold her head between my hands and kiss her, my tongue teasing her lips apart, then delving into her mouth, dominating her. She runs her fingers through my hair, returning my kiss, twisting her tongue around mine. Angling her head with one hand, I shift her with the other so she’s astride me.

I pull back to take a breath. Her eyes are dark and carnal, her lust plain to see. I pull her wrists behind her back and grasp them in one hand. “I’m going to have you now,” I declare, and I lift her so that my erection is poised beneath her. “Ready?”

“Yes,” she breathes, and slowly I lower her onto me, watching her expression as I fill her. She moans and closes her eyes, thrusting her breasts forward into my face.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

I flex my hips, lifting her, burying myself even deeper inside her, and lean forward so our foreheads are touching.

She feels so good.

“Please, let my hands go,” she whispers.

I open my eyes and see her mouth open as she drags air into her lungs.

“Don’t touch me,” I plead, and release her hands and grasp her hips. She grabs the edge of the bath and slowly starts to take me. Up. Then down. Oh so slowly. She opens her eyes to find mine on her face. Watching her. Riding me. Leaning down, she kisses me, her tongue invading my mouth. I close my eyes, reveling in the sensation.

Oh yes, Ana.

Her fingers are in my hair, tugging and pulling as she kisses me, her wet tongue entwining with mine as she moves. I hold her hips and start lifting her higher and faster, vaguely aware that water is cascading out of the bath.

But I don’t care. I want her. Like this.

This beautiful woman who moans into my mouth.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Over and over.

Giving herself to me. Taking me.

“Ah.” The pleasure catches in her throat.

“That’s right, baby,” I whisper, as she quickens around me, then cries out as she explodes into her orgasm.

I wrap my arms around her, embracing her, holding her tightly as I lose myself and come inside her. “Ana, baby!” I cry, and I know I never want to let her go.

She kisses my ear.

“That was—” she breathes.

“Yeah.” Holding her arms, I urge her back so I can study her. She looks sleepy and sated, and I imagine I must look the same. “Thank you,” I whisper.

She looks confused.

“For not touching me,” I clarify.

Her face softens and she raises her hand. I tense. But she shakes her head and traces my lips with her finger.

“You said it’s a hard limit. I understand.” And she leans forward and kisses me. The unfamiliar feeling surfaces, swelling in my chest, unnamed and dangerous.

“Let’s get you to bed. Unless you have to go home?” I’m alarmed at where my emotions are going.

“No. I don’t have to go.”

“Good. Stay.”

I stand her up and climb out of the bath to fetch us both towels, and dismiss my unsettling feelings.

I wrap her in a towel, drape one around my waist, and drop another on the floor in a vain attempt to clean up the water sloshed on the floor. Ana wanders over to the sinks as I drain the bath.

Well. That was an interesting evening.

And she was right. It was good to talk, though I’m not sure we’ve resolved anything.

She’s brushing her teeth with my toothbrush when I walk through the bathroom to the bedroom. It makes me smile. I pick up my phone and see that the missed call was from Taylor.

I text him.

Everything okay?

I’ll be leaving to go gliding at 6 a.m.

He responds immediately.

That’s why I was calling.

Weather looks good.

I’ll see you there.

Good night, sir.

I’m taking Miss Steele soaring! My delight bubbles up into a broad grin that widens when she comes out of the bathroom wrapped in the towel.

“I need my purse,” she says, looking a little shy.

“I think you left it in the living room.”

She scampers off to fetch it, and I brush my teeth, knowing that the toothbrush has just been in her mouth.

In the bedroom I discard the towel, pull back the sheets, and lie down, waiting for Ana. She’s disappeared into the bathroom again and closed the door.

Moments later she returns. She drops her towel and lies down beside me, naked except for a shy smile. We lie in bed facing each other, hugging our pillows. “Do you want to sleep?” I ask. I know we have to get up early, and it’s nearly eleven.

“No. I’m not tired,” she says, her eyes shining.

“What do you want to do?” More sex?

“Talk.”

More talking. Oh Lord. I smile, resigned. “About what?”

“Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“What’s your favorite film?”

I like her quick-fire questions. “Today, it’s The Piano.”

She beams back at me. “Of course. Silly me. Such a sad, exciting score, which no doubt you can play. So many accomplishments, Mr. Grey.”

“And the greatest one is you, Miss Steele.”

Her grin broadens. “So I am number seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

“Number of women you’ve, um…had sex with.”

Oh, shit. “Not exactly.”

Her smile vanishes. “You said fifteen.”

“I was referring to the number of women in my playroom. I thought that’s what you meant. You didn’t ask me how many women I’d had sex with.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Vanilla?” she asks.

“No. You are my one vanilla conquest.” And for some strange reason, I feel insanely pleased with myself. “I can’t give you a number. I didn’t put notches in the bedpost or anything.”

“What are we talking—tens, hundreds…thousands?”

“Tens. We’re in the tens, for pity’s sake.” I feign outrage.

“All submissives?”

“Yes.”

“Stop grinning at me,” she says haughtily, trying and failing to stifle hers.

“I can’t. You’re funny.” And I feel a little light-headed as we beam at each other.

“Funny peculiar or funny ha-ha?”

“A bit of both, I think.”

“That’s damned cheeky, coming from you,” she says.

I kiss her nose to prepare her. “This will shock you, Anastasia. Ready?”

Her eyes are wide and eager, full of delight.

Tell her.

“All submissives in training, when I was training. There are places in and around Seattle that one can go and practice. Learn to do what I do.”