Anastasia POV

After a long while of staring into the fireplace trying desperately to get my thoughts in order, I drink the rest of the whiskey that Christian fixed me earlier. My brain is sluggish, all thoughts are dragging their feet through mud, and I can't make sense of the turmoil boiling within. Does he want a relationship, or doesn't he? One minute he says one thing, and the next I don't know which way is up anymore. Fudge this.

I get up and walk to the liquor cabinet, and pour myself another drink. I know I'm a lightweight, but the confusion slash anger slash – I don't even know what all these emotions are – that are twirling inside my head call for more alcohol. Besides, perhaps a new shot of whiskey will wash away the vile taste, that the thought of Christian being seduced by that blonde witch when he was fifteen, brought up. Fifteen. Jesus Fudging Christ. And he thinks it's fine? Fine?! If it was fine, why did it mess with all his relationships from that on forward?!

She really messed with his head. What kind of a person would do that? Masturbate in front of a young teenager, then slap him and touch him. I shiver as a new surge of anger rushes through me. For the life of me I can't understand why he thinks it was okay? Does he not see that it was abuse? I bite my lip and gulp down the drink which burns on its way down my throat.

BDSM is not my forte, I don't know much more than what my meager research of Christian's, no the witch's, contract and some romance books that turned out to be a bit on the kinky side, but I've understood it is between consenting adults. Not between an adult and person beneath the age of consent for Pete's sake. I don't care that he thought he was mature enough. In the eyes of the law what she did was wrong. Why didn't his family persecute Elena when they found out? Damn, this whole thing is giving me a headache.

I pour another drink and empty my glass in one swift move. I hardly taste it.

He said he wanted a relationship with me. Didn't he? The alcohol has taken the edge of my anger, it seems. No. But I'm still angry at him. I'm just quite not sure why?

My thoughts continue their ebb and flow, switching between anger and excitement for a relationship and it's making my head spin. He wants to be my girlfriend. No that doesn't sound right. I snicker. He wants me to be his girlfriend. The thought makes me all warm and fuzzy on the inside, and I let myself indulge in imagining what it could be like, being his girlfriend. I see us walking hand in hand down the street, eating ice-cream. That beautiful picture is broken by the blonde bitch again pushing her claws our lives.

Fudge this. I can't take sitting here like this any longer. What should I do? Should I leave? But I don't want to leave.

Crap.

I'm not ready to meet Christian yet. I could go to the spare room I stayed in before and take a shower. Showering might do me good. My cheeks heat up at the memory of Christian coming all over my skin.

I tiptoe through the hallway and continue up the stairs until I reach that door that's always locked. It's become a ritual of sorts, that every time I pass it, I grab the handle just to make sure that it is indeed locked. So, once again, I place my hand on the handle, expecting it not to budge at all.

Lo and behold. The handle turns beneath my hand. Holy macaroni Batman! The door is not locked. I snatch my hand away. Fudge. Should I look inside? I really want to know what's in there. It's probably just a cleaning closet… I try talking sense into myself but I can't quench the curiosity. I'll just have a quick peek. Right? Right. Just a peek.

My heart is thumping as I turn the handle and push the door gently. The crack widens, but inside the room it's pitch dark, and the half-lit hallway doesn't do much to help. What the heck, in for a penny in for a pound. I step into the dark doom, and flick the light switch beside the door.

Holy fuck. Yes. Fuck.

Because there's no way the view in front of me could be softened to a fudge.

In front of me, there's a huge four poster bed with dark red sheets. The bed has hooks and rings built into its frames, and even though my feet barely carry me and my senses have lost most of their focus, it doesn't take me long to figure out what the bed is for. That's a bsmd, smdb… Whatever the abbreviation is, that is for tying up someone for sex. I feel my cheeks flush. The thought of Christian tying my hands and then taking me… Well, it's definitely not an unpleasant one. My inner feminist wants to protest the notion, but my libido is very much of a different opinion. Who knew I'm a pervert? Am I perverted? Surely not. Or then Christian should be crowned the king of perverts.

On the wall there's an assortment of whips, floggers, riding crops… and I don't even know what those things are. There are ropes, feathers, fur… Stunned I take in the whole interior.

There's a huge armchair facing the bed, and in front of the chair a thick Persian rug. The world spins, as I imagine kneeling on that rug in front of Christian who'd be in the chair. My inner feminist has fainted by now. Christian did say he likes women kneeling by his feet. That was basically the first things he ever said to me. I still remember how he looked down at me that day at the office.

Oh god. It finally dawns on me.

This is what he used to do with the submissives he contracted. This room is not meant for me. The thought feels like a wet rag thrown on my face. He never even told me that he has a room like this, and to be honest I don't have any idea how I feel about that.

"Ana." Christian's voice makes me freeze. Shit. I fold my arms in front of me as I turn around to face him. I take my time before I look him the eye. My emotions are all over the place, I'm angry, I'm jealous, I'm too curious for my own good, and mortified that the thought of us doing… Well, whatever is done in a room like this… Well, that it turns me on more than I'd like to admit.

"Ana… Look at me." Christian asks, or is it an order, I'm not sure, but I finally move my gaze past his tailored shirt, over his stubbled chin up to his dark grey eyes. He looks distraught, but still so good it should be illegal.

"Yes?" I try my best to not slur too much.

"What are you doing here?" He asks.

"Exploring." My tongue is thicker than I'd like.

He squints and tilts his head.

"Are you all right?"

"Sure. I had a few more whiskeys. Sorry." I shrug, and step toward him. I trail my fingers down the line of buttons. Christian freezes but doesn't stop me.

"I thought you left." He says.

"I was thinking about it. But I really didn't want to leave."

"So, you decided to come in here?" He quirks his brow.

"I didn't know about this place. You never told me that you have a… room for sex."

"Playroom. I call it the playroom."

"Is this where you used to take your submissives to… play?" I wave around the room. Jealousy burns within my veins as I think of him doing anything in this room with anyone else but me.

"Yes." He says without a hint of regret or shame.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About the room? I was waiting for the right moment."

I scoff.

"You really think there's a right moment this?" My fingers slide down the smooth handle of a bullwhip hanging on the wall.

"Never-mind that. What do you think about it? Do you see anything you like?"

Cue blush.

"Ana… You are blushing."

"Maybe it's just hot in here?" I try to divert, but he pins me down with his beautiful eyes. I lip my licks, and his eye darken.

"So, there is something you like in this room?"

"There are a few things yes." I attempt to sound casual, but I'm out of breath.

He closes in, and a heady current electrifies the air around us. My blood rushes south, and my knees nearly buckle as he lands his lips on mine and presses me flush against his body growing erection. Damn. He tastes good. We devour each other for what feels like a small eternity. We come up for air, breathless.

"Tell me, Anastasia."

"Tell you what?"

"What do you like in this room? What would you like to do in this room?"

"Um." I take a shaky step back and assess the room with renewed purpose and peaked curiosity.

The bed, with all the hooks and pillows looks tempting, but I can't take my eyes off the armchair with the soft rug in front of it.

"I like that chair." I say and fail miserably at not blushing again.

"What do you want to do in the chair?" Christian's voice is dark like chocolate and my heart skips a beat as he wraps his arms around me.

"Come on, tell me." He whispers in to the crook of my neck before nipping on the that sweet spot that sends lightning bolts of pleasure zinging all around my body.

"I want you to sit in the chair." I manage, my courage empowered by the alcohol.

Christian slips past me and sits in the chair, leaning back. I can't read his expression, but I feel his gaze on me.

"And then?"

I walk up to the chair, and kneel in between his legs, my knees resting comfortably on the lush rug.

His trousers feel soft under my touch, as I run my fingers up his legs until I reach his belt buckle. Christian tenses his abs as I work to open the buckle. It doesn't want to budge. Shoot.

"Ana. Easy, baby. Let me take this from here." His voice changes a notch darker. "Stand up."

I do as he says. And he opens the zipper to my skirt, and lets it fall to the ground. My breathing hitches when he unbuttons my blouse and drops it to the floor. He leans back and enjoys his handiwork. I stand in front of him in underwear and stockings, my core pulsing with desire, my brain foggy with a heady mix of pheromones and alcohol.

"Take off your bra."

I do as he says, and add a breathless "Yes, Sir." And his eyes darken even further which makes me feel invincible. He opens his belt-buckle and zips open his trousers.

"Kneel." He says and I do so without hesitation. My heart beats wildly.

He fists his growing erection and I lick my lips.

"Are you sure you want this?" He fondles my face and his palm feels strong and safe. I'm excited, turned on beyond belief, but safe.

"Yes, Sir."

He pulls my head closer to his erection, but leave me to decide how I take him. I lick the salty dewdrop that has formed on the tip of his dick, and then take him in as far as I can. The breath hissing out between Christian's teeth empowers me further. Doesn't take long before he has taken back control, his fingers tightly in my hair guiding my moves, in perfect rhythm with his thrusts.

"Enough." He grunts and drags me up to my feet and then plants me into the chair. He kicks off his trousers and then kneels in front of the chair, his dick bobbing freely as he pushes my underwear to the side and licks my already soaking pussy. A few gentle flicks on my clitoris and I'm moaning for more.

He places my legs on his shoulders and then thrusts into me, deep and hard.

Oh, fuck. It's pure heaven. I cry out, and he swallows my sounds by his mouth on mine.

Time ceases to exist, all doubts, worries erased and only lust remains. He moves forcefully but gently, playing my body like a musician masters the symphony.

"Oh god, Christian. Don't stop. Oh, god. Don't stop. Don't, don't stop." I grab his hair and pull his lips back onto mine, as he increases the pace, hitting all the right spots. The orgasm hits me like a supernova, and we are rendered into a carnal pulsing mess of sexual energy.

His kisses turn softer, and I float on a post-orgasmic cloud.

"I think I like this room." I mumble as exhaustion finally takes over.

I feel Christian lift me up, and then lay me down on the bed, I guess. He lays beside me, and strokes the hair off my face. He whispers sweet words in my ear, but I'm off to la la land.

AN: Thank you all for reading and reviewing!

H xx