From his inside jacket pocket he produces a ring and gazes up at me, his eyes bright gray and raw, full of emotion. "Anastasia Steele, I love you. I want to love, cherish and protect you for the rest of my life. Be mine. Always. Share my life with me. Marry me".
Whatever happened to delayed gratification? I got over it, and I'm now a firm advocate of instant gratification. Carpe diem, Ana, he whispers.
No man has ever affected me the way Christian Grey has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don't understand my irrational reaction.
There is something about Christian that is old-fashioned and romantic.
I'm laughing at your audacity, Mrs. Lincoln. Christian and I have nothing to do with you. And if I do leave him and you come looking for me, I'll be waiting - don't doubt it. And maybe I'll give you a taste of your own medicine on behalf of the fifteen-year-old child you molested and propably fucked-up even more than he already was.
I grab the bag and dart into the bathroom away from the unnerving proximity of naked Christian. Michelangelo's David has nothing on him.
My inner goddess is draped in a pink feather boa and diamonds, strutting her stuff in fuck-me shoes.
I am the moth and he is the flame, and I'm going to get burned. I know.
We cross the expansive, bustling lobby of the hotel toward the entrance, but Grey avoids the revolving door, and I wonder if that's because he'd have to let go of my hand.
I'm drawn, Icarus to the sun. I've been burned already, and yet here I am again.
And so a pattern develops: wake, work cry. sleep. I can't even escape him in my dreams. Gray burning eyes, his lost look, his hair burnished and bright and bright all haunt me. And the music... so much music-I cannot bear to hear any music. I am careful to avoid it at all costs. Even the jingles in commercials make me shudder.
But the only way you are going to sort the problem, whatever it is, is to talk it through with him. You can do all the thinking you like—but until you actually talk, you're not going to get anywhere.
Seeing him on his knees in front of me, feeling his mouth on me, it's so unexpected and hot. My hands stay in his hair, pulling gently as I try to quiet my too loud breathing. He gazes up at me through impossibly long lashes, his eyes scorching smoky gray.
I never set out to do this - getting to No. 1 in the 'New York Times' bestseller list wasn't even a pipedream.
Did you wish to offer your commiserations? I ask too sweetly. I think he's trying to stifle a smile, but I can't be sure.
Christ, even my staff have noticed that something's rotten in the state of fucking Denmark.
Room is the wrong word. It's not a room—it's a mission statement.
His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly.
He's not a dark knight, but a white knight in shining, dazzling armor - Anastasia Steele.
How was Jose when you went to the bar...(Ana) He was fine. (Christian) Palm-twitchingly mad. Especially now.
I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of The Communist Manifesto.
Where are my panties? I check beneath the chair. Nothing. Then I remember—he squirreled them away in the pocket of his jeans. I flush at the memory, after he … I can't even bring myself to think about it, he was so—barbarous. I frown. Why hasn't he given me back my panties?
I need him to want me like I want and need him, and deep down I know that's not possible.
Forget about the rules. Forget about all those details for tonight. I want you. I've wanted you since you fell into my office, and I know you want me.
When did I say I'd never leave?" "In your sleep, it was the most comforting thing I'd heard in so long.
I have fallen for someone who's so emotionally shut down, I will only get hurt- deep down I know this- someone who by his own admission is completely fucked up.
My worst fears have been realized. And strangely, it's liberating.
Like cross stich scrapbook cook take my dogs for walks.injoying making new nook friends.
She crosses her arms and taps her foot with a what-are-you-complaining-about look on her face. Christian stops in the doorway and clasps my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his.
And the rules? No rules. None at all? But you have needs. I need you more, Anastasia. These last few days have been hell.
Darling, you know what they say. You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.
Oh- and Anastasia, I'm glad Miss Kavanagh couldn't do the interview.