A/N: I have to share this with y'all. I created Ana's wedding dress completely in my head. I didn't look at photos or anything. A reader asked about my making a Pinterest board as she wanted to see the dress. Well, I can't because one, I can't figure out Pinterest. I tried long ago when my readers wanted to meet Daniel and Olivia from Complements. Second, how could I find a photo of a dress that I conjured up myself? So I Googled 1920s dresses for inspiration for Ana's bridesmaids and guess what I happened upon? A dress so close to my own design I almost fell off the bed. The only difference is that Ana's dress has an overlay with a high neck and long sleeves and this one has a low neckline and short sleeves. That's the only difference. I've uploaded the image for the story. If you can't see it/find it, let me know and I'll post it to FB.

This is the final update for Ripple Effects. If you need more of this story, don't forget I'm writing it from Christian's POV in AND I LOVE HER on FF. Also, follow me on FB and Twitter for news of my published work. Just look under Lulu Astor. Thanks, everyone, I love you all for taking this long and checkered journey with me and thanks so much to those of you who have supported my published work by buying or reading or reviewing or all three. I fucking love you all. xoxo

Chapter 49

"It's time, Ana." My mother makes the declaration after conferring with someone just outside the door.

I swallow hard and nod, all the while saying a prayer inside my head. Please God, don't let me trip, faint, rip my dress, or vomit. "OK, tell Dad to come up."

"Honey, he's in the hall," my mother says gently. "He's been there waiting for a while."

"Really?" I squeak. Nerves are sending my voice into the high registers.

She nods. "There's an entire team of people organizing out there. This wedding is a big deal," she adds with wide eyes.

Shit. I take a deep breath. Another. All that oxygen is making me a little lightheaded. OK, I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Feeling the air become charged with tension, I glance around the room at my bridal party. Multiple pairs of wide eyes, tight lips, jerky movements… we're all a little freaked out. "I think it's showtime, ladies. Are we ready?"

All of their heads bob but no one utters a word. Nervous energy shifts smoothly into kinetic and we all start moving. Every time the door opens our little bridal refuge fills with sudden noise, which then disappears when the door closes again. Great soundproofing, I suppose, and my mind drifts into the gutter for a nanosecond before I yank it out to the terrifying moment.

The girls file out first. My little sister, Malia, is the last one down before Kate. Malia is paired with Zander. Another groomsman is Justin—of the infamous Justin Case from the pool party of long ago and he's paired with Minx. My other girls are coupled with two of Christian's colleagues from GH. Kate, of course, is just before me and as her feet begin to move toward the door, I grab her arm frantically. "Kate. I'm scared. Terrified."

Her carefully arranged face splits into a genuine smile. "Of getting married?"

"No. I can't wait to marry Christian. I'm terrified of this…" I motion my arm around. "…big stupid show."

"Don't worry, Ana. You'll be OK. Just focus on that man who's waiting for you at the altar and you'll do fine. Promise, sweetie."

I'm willing to grasp at anything so yeah. Focus on my man, focus on my man. "OK. But I can't see him yet. What do I focus on until he comes into view?" I'm whispering frantically now.

"Focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Admire your pretty shoes, Ana. It took long enough to find them."

As the door opens again I see my father's face and I calm a little. He's smiling and his eyes are shining.

"Oh Ana." He shakes his head. "You are magnificent."

A man with a shiny bald head wearing a headset motions to Kate and she follows him. As soon as she's out of the way, I stumble across the threshold to my father, grabbing his arm and holding on for dear life. "Dad, please, please, don't let me trip."

"I won't, Ana."

The hallway outside the bedroom suite where we've dressed is crowded in some sort of organized chaos. Everywhere there are men in black, all wearing headsets, directing everyone. The hall is the staging area and they're sending each couple down the stairs every three minutes so each pair will be seen before the next comes into view. Right now they're directing Malia and Zander, and Kate and Elliot will be next. Christian will be brought to the altar moments before Kate and Elliot arrive so he won't be alone for long.

"Ana, what a beautiful bride you are," Elliot says when he finally is able to drag his eyeballs away from his Kate.

I watch Kate and Elliot begin down the winding staircase in sort of a trance. I'm finally alone in my bubble of panic, tuning out all the other chaos to wonder how I came to be standing here now, today, marrying a man who is someone I just chanced to meet. If not for those two moments—one in the restaurant and the other in a mansion of ill repute, both places I wouldn't normally have been—I would never have met him.

It's really my own Cinderella story. Christian is everything I've ever wanted in a mate and so much more. I still have to pinch myself to believe he wants to marry me. But he does. Out of all the women who have tried to snag him over many years, I'm the one he wants. That thought alone gives me the confidence to forge ahead.

As soon as that idea sails through my brain, I find my calm. The noise around me breaks through my bubble as if someone turned off the mute button. I see my dad looking at me with concern and I smile and nod. I'm ready.

A security guy in front of me is speaking to someone on the phone. The one side of the conversation that I'm privy to gets my back up.

"Where is she?" he asks tersely. He listens for a moment. "How did she get through our security perimeters? Does he know her?" He looks at me. "Ms. Steele, do you know someone named Antonia Stewart?"

My mouth drops open. Is the bitch for real? She's crashing our wedding. "Uh-uh. Keep her out at all costs."

He nods and speaks into his microphone. "Get her off the property." He issues the order to whoever is on the line and nods at me.

We're being married at the Grey estate even though the security is sort of a logistical nightmare. The entire perimeter of the large property is being guarded by large security men, one posted every fifteen feet or so. They look like FBI or secret service, dressed in black with high-tech walkie-talkies. Closer to the house, there are barricades set up at strategic points along the drive so vehicles won't get through without proper credentials. The big white tent will keep any helicopters from getting photos of the actual ceremony. The reception is being held out in the open but if there is too much press activity, Grace said they could easily move the party indoors to the ballroom in the left wing of the mansion.

Yes, the Greys have a ballroom.

A tall, good-looking man in black approaches us. "Ms. Steele, Mr. Steele," he nods respectfully. "I know you've rehearsed this walk so I'll be brief. You are to descend the stairs, go down the hall, and toward the right, through the sunroom, out the French doors to the rear of the house. A white carpet has been laid down for you to walk on right up to the altar. Your father will lead you to your groom and he'll take his seat. You and Mr. Grey will be flanked by your bridal party. Any questions?"

I shake my head and silently repeat his directions. For my part, I need to gracefully descend the stairs on my father's arm and then traverse the foyer to make it to the rear French doors. From there it's a relatively long walk to the white tent up a white silk carpet. There is ample time and multiple opportunities for me to trip, stumble, fall, or otherwise screw up.

Kate looks gorgeous, by the way. We decided on grey dresses for the bridesmaids and Kate's dress is a lighter, more silvery grey. The fabric has an iridescent quality so there are shades of pink and green shimmering in the depths of the hue. Her dress is sleeveless with a tight-fitting bodice that very gracefully flares out to a fuller skirt. Just below the hips and knees are v-shaped bands of satin that wrap around the dress. The rest of it is lacy embroidery, silvery thread on the grey fabric.

My other girls wear a slightly shorter hemline, ending about mid-calf to Kate's floor-length, and their dresses are a darker shade—about two shades lighter than gunmetal. Their dresses also have a bit less embroidery and only one satin v-shaped band under the hips. In addition their dresses sport slinky silvery fringe on the hemline.

My wonderfully perfect Kent is a master designer and has made all the bridal party women look sensational.

My dad and I take our position at the top of the stairs. One of the planner's men standing to my right nods his head and points to us as he listens to someone on his headset.

It's time.

I glance at my dad and he gives me a big, confident smile. "Time to get married, Ana."

"Yes."

I'm clutching his arm for dear life as we begin to go down the stairs. Flashbulbs keep going off in my face—there seems to be a photographer on every step of the long staircase.

Guests are milling around the bottom of the stairs, waiting and watching for us. Why aren't they seated? I feel as if the eyes of the world are on me—and they are. Grace has invited a few select members of the press for photos rather than allow the paparazzi scoops. I have a smile frozen onto my face but it feels so artificial to me that I'm sure everyone can see that. I look at my father to be able to stop smiling for a moment. Before too long we make it to the French doors. I'm seeing spots in front of my eyes from all the flashes. Though the light is still lovely, the late afternoon sun turning to dusk may be too dim to avoid using flash until we make it outside at least.

"Ana… Ana."

I hear someone calling my name in an exaggerated whisper. I allow myself to look and see it's Nastassja. She looks stunning—as usual— in black, but I don't have time to be jealous or process any feelings at all. She's smiling broadly and she winks at me. "You're doing fine, Ana. You're almost there."

That was nice. She must know how nervous I am. Is it completely obvious? I should have taken a sedative or something beforehand. My heart is thumping—I feel as if people can see it nearly pounding out of my chest it's slamming so hard.

There's a soft breeze coming off the sound with just the slightest tang of salt to it as we step onto the smooth bluestone of the patio leading to the great lawn. I'm concerned that my spike heels will not do well on the grass even with the silk aisle. When I get there, though, I discover there's something hard under the silk, like thick cardboard or something like it.

Bless Grace's heart.

We reach the tent as two helicopters buzz overhead—which actually calms me a bit because it takes some of the attention off me. Right now what's sustaining me is my anticipation at seeing Christian at the altar waiting for me. In his tuxedo. My automatic smile at the thought is impossible to hide.

Keeping my eyes trained on the entrance to the tent, I get excited to see we're almost there. It's rolled up and held with white satin ties, white lilies woven around them. My eyes bounce toward my father and he catches my gaze and offers me a reassuring grin.

Finally, finally, he comes into my line of sight.

The man who is my reason for being here now, for wearing this dress, for existing at this point…

Christian.

My eyes zoom in on his face, blotting out all else. Everything falls away, the world disappears, and it's only the two of us. I'm held hostage by his eyes, locked in that steel gray stare, and it's reeling me in ever closer: I couldn't look away if I wanted to… but of course I don't.

He looks even taller in black. The tuxedo he's wearing is easily the most beautiful one I've ever seen. It's bespoke, of course, custom made by an expert tailor. Clean, elegant lines with thin satin lapels. He's wearing a simple white silk shirt underneath, no bib, and a black silk tie. He is mouthwateringly handsome.

How in God's name did I get so lucky?

We enter the tent and get closer to my groom, and his eyes never leave me, never even blink. He looks as transfixed as I am. The moment my father hands me to him is the most important moment of the day… of my life. In this moment we come together, not only in body but also in mind and spirit. I willingly submit myself to him and I feel him do the same to me. It is truly a marriage of our minds as well as our lives. I've never loved anyone or anything with the magnitude of what I feel for this man and the scale of it humbles me.

As Christian takes my hands in his we face one another and he smiles. Everything slides perfectly into place. I'm no longer nervous; the crowd vanishes. Now it's only he and I, the reverend's deep, soothing voice providing the background music. I am lost in those silvery eyes, entranced, hypnotized yet somehow I manage to remember to say my vows.

"You are exquisite, Ana," he says, his voice choked.

The reverend is finishing the service. Christian looks shell-shocked and I think I must too. It's such a big moment in our lives and we're both a bit astonished that we're here. But it soon passes.

He is my anchor, right now and always. I use the confidence I can now see in his eyes, his posture, his smile even to propel me forward.

Once we are pronounced married, Christian leans down to plant a kiss on my lips. I can't really lose myself in my first kiss with my brand-new husband—I'm too aware of all the eyes on us. Thankfully, Mr. Grey keeps the kiss brief and relatively chaste. After, we turn to face the spectators, many of whom are very VIP—in Seattle and nationally. I watch as Christian holds up our entwined hands and makes an announcement.

"The acquisition is complete. She's mine!"

The chapel breaks out in exuberant applause, making me realize just how popular a man my husband is in these parts. Everyone is beaming and the air is filled with what feels like happiness. Feminists might not appreciate his little joke but everyone else does.

"Another successful merger, Mr. Grey?" I ask, my eyes wide.

One side of his lips hikes up in a lopsided grin. "I don't roll any other way, Mrs. Grey. You should know that by now."

...

"Ana!"

I turn around to see a smiling Elliot, my new bro-in-law. Christian also turns to looks and an expression of supreme annoyance crosses his face. "Can we help you, Elliot?"

"It's my turn to dance with the bride."

"You don't get a turn. Now go away."

Laughing, Elliot shoves Christian to the side and quickly jumps into his place. "You can dance with Katey, if you dare."

Practically scowling at the thought, Christian snarls, "Think I'll pass on that, but thanks."

"You know, you two are going to have to learn to get along since I'm marrying her. It's gonna be all in the family, bro."

"Fuck that," Christian spits out and walks away.

I gasp. "I can't believe he said that… did that."

Elliot tosses his head back and guffaws. "He's an asshole. You mean you haven't figured that out yet? Poor thing and you married him already."

The music grows in volume as the song deepens and Elliot's dancing is effortless. I'm impressed and I say so.

"I dated a dancer," he admits sheepishly. "She insisted I learn. Turns out I can dance, oddly enough. So… tell me, Ana. Why doesn't Christian like Kate? Do you know?"

"I think one reason was that she never let him browbeat her. Christian is very intimidating to mortals as you may or may not know and Kate just always stood her ground."

His grin grows so wide it nearly splits his face. "That's the girl who snatched my heart. It's so weird that the things I love about Katey are the same things that put him off. My brother and I are just about polar opposites. And so he's holding that against her, I take it?"

"I think so. Well, it might also involve what happened between you and her. That really bothered him."

Elliot shakes his head. "That's not for him to get upset about. It's my issue and he doesn't know the full extent of the story. I suppose I'm going to have to talk to him about it."

I look up into his Montana-sky-blue eyes. "It can't hurt, Elliot, and it might help."

"OK, I'll try. This animosity between them bothers me… you know, where there's smoke, there's fire."

"I don't think Kate feels animosity toward Christian… and what do you mean by that?"

"Never mind, Mrs. Grey. Let's just enjoy our dance, shall we?"

After my dance with Elliot I spot Christian making his way back to me but before he can get here, my father reclaims me and his father after that. For the next five songs I dance with various men. When the sixth one starts I beg off; my feet are killing me.

The second my posterior hits the chair, my groom is there next to me. "Ready for cake, Ana?"

"Definitely. I'm so glad we picked the multi-layer—I need chocolate."

"I need to have it over and done with." He grins wickedly and gives me a wink. "After the cake, we're making our great escape."

A look passes between us and I feel everything tighten to a painful pitch below my navel. I'm ready to be alone with my new husband and it seems he's ready too.

First, though, comes the cake. As we're waiting for the caterers to bring it out, Christian leans down to whisper in my ear. "Why didn't you inform me that Hans would be here?"

I turn to whisper back just for fun. "I didn't know that his mother would take him as her plus-one. Why didn't you tell me that Antonia would be here?"

This time he doesn't bother to whisper. "The crazy woman tried to crash the wedding. Mia says she's done with her, thank God."

"And I noticed that Fifi seems to have vanished. How'd that happen?"

Christian casts his face down, peering up at me. "You don't want to know, trust me. But I think she's gone for good. Happy?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"Good. Here they come. Let's do this so I can get you alone, Mrs. Grey, and ravage you. That dress has been taunting me all evening."

Good. Kent spent a lot of time designing it for just that reason. I grin. Tonight can't come soon enough and neither can I.

...

Afterward, I try hard to recall the details of my wedding day but it all seems a whirlwind of activity amid various locations. Small moments stand out like vignettes of a longer movie. My terror-filled moments in the bridal suite, the chaos of the hall, the long trek to the altar, seeing my beloved waiting for me, love shining in his eyes. Our first dance, cutting the cake, the dance with my father that was so poignant… Finally, our early exit from the festivities to get started on the honeymoon.

The most detail I can recall is that of our last dance of the evening. It was a tango of sorts, choreographed for us by the dancer Grace had hired last month to whip us into shape, and we were having fun with it.

"So… forgive the clichés but here's what I think—my recipe for a happy marriage, if you will." His eyes flashed with mischief. "My dirty…" He leaned in close to whisper in my ear. "…little, obedient submissive in the bedroom, scrupulously following all of my rules even…" He kissed just under my ear and a massive shiver ran through me. "…as we make new ones." He spun me around and then pulled me in tightly. "…my chaste and blushing bride in the ballroom."

We both turned and then stepped in close. "My collaborator in the nursery, my co-conspirator in the world at large," he whipped me around again, "my equal partner in marriage." He focused a penetrating stare on me like an intense spotlight. "If. You. Dare."

Oh, I dare, Mr. Grey.

Leaning in he kissed me, a soft brush of his delicious lips over mine. "You, Anastasia Rose Steele Trevelyan-Grey will be my—"

"Everything?" I prompted breathlessly. "Other half? Yin to your yang?" He did say clichés, after all.

His responding laughter rode on his expelled breath of air. "Nothing so trite, baby. No, you will be my complement, the only woman who has been able to successfully fill the gaping void that's been raging in the center of my universe for far too many years."

I glanced up at him, all wide-eyed and innocent when I said, "It's only fair for me to fill some gaping voids since you've been doing the same for me. And, Grey, I love how very adequately you fill those voids. You know that, right?"

His eyes heated as my dirty words registered, and he dipped me low. I knew he'd be sneaking us somewhere before too long so we could get an early start on the honeymoon.

Bring it on, Grey. I can do that.

Epilogue

Upon our return from the South Pacific we come home to lots of news. Some good, some bad.

Good news—Kate and Elliot are planning their nuptials but that was to be expected. Bad news—Minx is moving close to her graduation from med school and planning to relocate to Chicago for her residency, a fact that makes me indescribably sad. Good news—Hans has begun dating another American girl who looks an awful lot like me though Christian says the competition is not even close, Zander has a terrific crush on my little sister and the feeling appears to be mutual, my parents are toying with the idea of moving to Seattle when they retire from their respective jobs. Bad news—Mia and Antonia patched up their differences and are friends once again.

Settling back in is difficult. I grew used to being with Christian 24/7 for over three weeks. Now he's gone for most of every day except the weekends and though I have my job too, it's an emotional adjustment and I've been feeling blue. Then a week and a half after we return from our honeymoon, he needs to go to Chicago overnight and I cannot go with him because of work commitments and a prior doctor's appointment. I know I'm acting infantile but I'm depressed while he's gone so I invite Kate, Minx, and Mia over for a sleepover involving lots of alcohol and some old Ben Stiller movies. We ended up having a great time.

So... I survived the separation and now in just a few minutes I get to see my perfect, gorgeous, smokin' hot husband. I can't wait.

As soon as I hear the elevator arrive I nearly leap up from the sofa in the great room to go meet it. When the door slides silently open, I'm there ready to launch myself at his irresistible body.

Until I catch a glimpse of the look on his face and it stops me in my tracks.

"Ana," he says tersely as he steps out of the elevator.

"Uh-oh. I guess the honeymoon's over. What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead he walks over to the bench near the Louis XVII table and sits down.

"Where is your luggage?"

"Taylor took care of it for me. So…" he says, folding his hands in his lap, "do you have anything to say to me?"

"Other than I missed you? No."

His eyes narrow to slits. "Really? I understand that while I was away you had dinner and drinks with your employer."

Just the diamond-hard look in his eyes gets my heart to start racing—he can be massively intimidating. "Yes, that's right. Why?"

He rises to his feet, towering over me. "You're asking me why? Let's begin by my asking you why I might be peeved at the thought of your going out with your employer—your divorced male employer—after work hours during a period of time when I'm out of town and without my express knowledge."

"Well," I say, twirling a lock of my hair around my finger nervously, "when you put it like that…"

"When I put it like that what?" His voice drops to soft and deadly and I know I'm in trouble.

"You know, Christian. You make it sound awful. What happened was we were really busy all day and we never got to a project we needed to discuss. He asked me if I could stay a little late and I said yes, my husband is out of town so I'm just going home to a solo dinner and he asked me to join him so we could both dine and discuss how we're going to proceed with the new programming. It wasn't a late evening for I had invited my friends over for a sleepover—my girlfriends."

"And you thought it was a fine idea, Ana? Is that what you thought?"

"I knew my security would be backing me up, Christian. Plus, I trust my boss—he's an honorable guy. You are too damn suspicious and paranoid."

"Paranoid? I'm paranoid?" He turns his back to me and begins to walk into the great room but before he gains the entrance he angles his head back so I can hear him. "Dungeon in ten minutes, Ana."

I wheel around and cross my arms. "No."

Hi rotates around so slowly that I'm getting scared of him. The anger in his eyes is like a sharp blade that cuts into my defenses. "No?"

"No," I repeat. "You told me long ago that you would never take me into your playroom while you're angry, that anger and liquor are too dangerous to mix with whips and chains. Remember?"

He says nothing, just inhales deeply. "All right then. Be in the playroom in half an hour. In the interim, I will manage my anger and refrain from the aged scotch that's calling to me. It's seven now; I'll see you at seven-thirty in position."

Before I have a chance to respond, he walks briskly into the great room where staff are waiting to report to him.

I head straight to our bedroom to do some thinking. When I get there I hug myself tightly and begin to pace. I do my best thinking while pacing; I don't know why.

All right, so the question is do I meet him in the playroom or do I ignore his command? We are newly married and feeling our way around each other. It's not easy but no period of adjustment ever is. At least this one comes with tons of perks and I adore Christian with all his faults because his virtues are so much more numerous.

I love going into the playroom with him and having kinky sex. I totally enjoy handing over the reins to him when it comes to our intimacy. It has nothing to do with subjugation of women or me personally—it just has to do with my giving in to his dominant sexuality. I understand it all much better now. In fact, I think I am what is called a BDSM switch—that I can be both dominant and submissive. To complement my husband I'll stick to the submissive part.

He's taken me into the dungeon playroom four times now. Every time I enter through the locked door I become instantly aroused by just the thought of all the things that can transpire in that room. I've listened to and heeded everything Christian has told me, which is why I'm not certain if I should follow his directive now. He's very angry. Putting a flogger or whip or belt in his hand at the moment might be a grave misjudgment.

But why? Why is he so angry because I had dinner with my boss? Peter Hampton is an attractive older man but he is my employer for one thing. Second, I am not attracted in the least to older men and Peter's nearly old enough to be my father. Third, I am madly in love with my husband and never, ever glance at another man in that way. Christian is a walking, talking wet dream come true. I'd have to be insane to jeopardize that at all.

Christian Grey is young, rich, handsome as fuck, smart, sometimes personable too… and yet he's insecure. How incredibly bizarre is that?

By now I've paced so hard I'm wearing out the hardwood planks. I have twelve minutes to get to the playroom and undress if I'm going to do it.

Should I? If I don't he'll get angry again. Or angrier. If I do, we both may live to sorely regret it, sore being the operative word.

In that split second I make up my mind. I'll do it. I have a safeword and if necessary I'll use it.

Decision made, I hurry to the playroom.

...

When he permits me to look at him I see his glittering eyes as he runs his gloved hand up and down my naked body. "Do you trust me, Ana?"

"Completely." I hope my answer satisfies him. I want him to feel secure in my love for and loyalty to him. He's made me feel entirely so in his commitment to me.

"Do have any idea how much you mean to me?" His lips are so close they're grazing my skin as he whispers in my ear. "Do you?"

I nod and then remember I need to be verbal. "Yes… I think so. Sir," I quickly add.

"You think so? Hmm. I never planned to marry, you know. In fact, I had no intentions whatsoever of getting romantically involved with any woman. When I saw you in that restaurant that night I admit I was mesmerized. It came out of nowhere: I saw you and then couldn't get you out of my head. When I came across you at Irina's, I knew, I knew with my gut that it was fate. It couldn't be anything else.

"Still, to marry was just too far out of my comfort zone. Even loving you was too much." He walks around me in a complete circumference. "Yet here we are."

"Here we are," I repeat but it emerges barely audible.

His fingers run around my breasts, dive down to circle my navel, getting ever closer to the part that's throbbing for him. "Yes, but now I'm angry, you see. Jealous and angry because the woman I love allows herself to be placed in situations that make me exceedingly uncomfortable. I think I've earned the right not to be made uncomfortable. Don't you agree, Ana?"

"I do, yes. But Peter's my boss. Do you want me to quit my job?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I do. You don't need to work anymore. I'm territorial, Ana, and there's nothing that belongs to me that I feel more territorial about than you."

"I wear your ring, Christian. The world knows I'm yours."

He pinches my nipple. "It's not enough, Anastasia. I want absolutes."

I swallow my shriek at the sharp pain he inflicted. Christian always tells me I overreact. What felt very much like pain five seconds ago, though, slides into an erotic sensation and the throbbing between my legs grows more intense. I need his attention there.

Finally his fingers trail down and circle my clit. Harder. Faster. I'm about to come when he stops completely and I groan in frustration. "Don't," I whine.

"Don't?" he whispers. "Don't what, Ana?" He trails his fingers around the curve of my hip, past my rear end, and up my back. "Don't get angry? Don't get jealous? Don't deny me my orgasm?"

"All three but the most immediate one is the last."

He laughs and does it all again, brings me just to the lip of the precipice and stops cold—he's so good at sexual torment. The third time he does it and stops, I scream.

He laughs again and I want to kill him. "Stop it, Christian."

He flicks his wrist and the flogger snaps across my backside. "Ow!"

"What do you call me in here, Ana?"

"Sir. Stop it, sir."

He swats me again and I shriek again. It stings.

"I call the shots in here, Ana. You are flouting the most basic rules of this room. Now, tell me what I want to hear and I will reward you accordingly."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. I won't quit my job, Christian. End of conversation. Now fuck me. Please. Now," I growl. I'm so not good at sexual frustration—it brings out the beast in me.

"I suppose I'll have to get my bigger guns out then?"

"I do hope that's a figure of speech," I mutter and he laughs. When I see his shoes step into my line of sight, I look up. He's holding a nasty looking cane. "Like it?" he asks with a wicked grin as he runs it past my face.

"No. That's not fair. You cannot punish me for doing my job, Christian. That's not playing fair."

"I'm not, Ana. I'm punishing you for not complying with my request to quit your job. Plus, I want to see your lovely pale skin flush hot pink because it turns me on. Any other questions or comments?"

I allow him three strokes before I call out my safeword. Canes hurt too damn much but I know he gets a sexual thrill out of it so I try to tolerate a little for him. As soon as I utter the word red, he drops the nasty thing and unties me. A while ago I learned that when I make the sacrifice and take some pain from him, he's always so accommodating and affectionate afterward. Give a little, get a little, I suppose.

I finally get what I've been wanting and needing when he takes me over to the massive bed and lies down beside me. His hands roam my body as I frantically claw at his clothing, wanting him naked as soon as possible. The raw pain from the caning is there but somehow that burn adds to the sexual sensations and it's making me wild.

Finally he pushes my frantic hands away and efficiently undoes the buttons of his shirt and opens his jeans, jerking them down low enough to liberate his erection. His glorious, pulsing, hard-as-a-rock erection. As he pushes into me, it feels so unbelievable that my wits abandon me and I blurt out my secret.

Looking into his silvery eyes as he slowly fucks me I just say the words aloud, feeling such an intense alchemy of love and lust that I'm taken out of my right head. "I screwed up my birth control, Christian. I think I might be pregnant."

God, how I wish I had my phone within reach. The shock on his handsome face is just perfect, perfect, perfect.

...

To say he wasn't a hundred percent thrilled with my bombshell news is perhaps understating it a tiny bit. I had thought he might go into cardiac arrest when I first told him. After, he fucked me so hard that I had trouble walking the next day. I'm still not certain whether it was triumph or punishment as his motivation.

Now it's two weeks later and I think maybe we're OK. This morning I was sipping my coffee and planning to go into work a little late when the housekeeper notified me that the interior designer had arrived.

"Interior designer?" I dumbly repeated.

"Yes. For the nursery. Mr. Grey told me to expect her."

"Did he now? Well, then, show her in."

Melissa Cartman turned out to be a whirling dervish of a designer, with so many grand ideas for the baby's room. Melissa was the one who told me how excited Christian was when he spoke with her about doing the room. It made me happy to think that even though he wasn't ready to share it with me, he had enthusiasm for this latest joint project of ours.

Right now I'm waiting for him in our suite. I've left a trail of clues for him, beginning at the bar where he usually heads first, after being briefed by his security and house staff. The note is next to his bottle of Glenlivet. It provides the next clue.

There are six clues in total, the last one leading him to the bathroom where I await immersed in a sea of bubbles. I've planned a very special night for him because I love him and he's made my life into a fairy tale with a happy ending. My man is clever so he solves my riddles in minutes. I hear him open the outer door. When he walks into the bathroom, he's already lost his tie and belt and his shirt is gaping open.

"Hello. I must say I'm beginning to like surprises more and more since I've met you, Anastasia."

"I'm glad, Christian, for life would be boring without surprises." I extend a soapy leg for him to appreciate. He can't resist, my dirty boy, and immediately comes over to touch it.

"Yes, well, if the surprises are good I can learn to live with them. That's the caveat, of course."

I lift the other leg out. He grasps that one too. "I'm getting you all wet, aren't I?"

"The better question is, am I getting you all wet?"

"I'm in the bath; I'm wet all over."

"I like the sound of that. Shall I get in or will you get out?"

"Oh, I'll get out for a bit. Then maybe we'll both get in." I rise, my wet body covered in suds. My hair is piled behind my head in a messy bun and my dripping body is sleek and devoid of hair since I had a Brazilian earlier this week and rosy from the hot water. Dark red polish is on my finger- and toenails—I went to have a mani/pedi this morning for I wanted to look as perfect as possible for my nearly perfect husband.

He lifts me out of the large soaking tub, wraps a fluffy white towel around me and sweeps me into his arms. Not another word is exchanged until we both have spectacular orgasms. Afterward I'm lying in his arms, watching his face.

He glances down at me and his eyes are soft like the finest blue suede. "Did the decorator come?"

I nod. "She had great ideas; she said you'd discussed them with her."

"Yes."

"Christian, are you happy? About the baby, I mean?"

"Anastasia, as I told you the last time we were in the playroom: I never expected to fall in love; even less did I expect to get married. Every day with you is a new adventure. The unexpected baby is no exception... Yes, to answer your question. I'm happy." He leans in and kisses me.

I borrow a line from him. "Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?"

"It can't hurt to tell me."

"You mean the world, the sun, the universe. I've only known you for a year or so and yet I never want to live a day without you. You excite me, thrill me… make me laugh, make me warm, make me feel loved more than anything. You are the handsomest man in the whole world and you're mine. Do you have any idea how wonderful that feels to a woman my age? It's a thrill beyond imagination, Christian." I reach up and caress his gorgeous face. I think I can stare at him for the rest of my life and never tire of it.

"I feel exactly the same about you, Anastasia. You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and you're all mine. I'll never let you go and I jealously guard your time and attentions. That's why I want you to quit your job. It kills me to think that man you work for can enjoy your smiles, your pretty face, your sparkling personality—not to mention admire your smoking hot body—all on a daily basis. When it's mine, all mine and nobody's but mine and I haven't given him permission.

"Quit your job, Ana."

"Oh for God's sake, Christian, fine. If it means that much to you, I'll quit. But you don't expect me to stay home and do nothing but raise children, do you?"

"No. I'll buy you your own company to run. Whatever you want to do. As long as you're the boss and you don't hire any men between the ages of eighteen and sixty, I'm good."

I roll my eyes, knowing he hates it but it's just so satisfying an expression for it says so much with so little. "Employers cannot legally discriminate based on gender or age, Christian."

"We'll figure it out. Just quit your job."

Then he kisses me so long and hard with those sensual lips of his that I forget what we were talking about. I wrap my arms around him and tangle my fingers in his lush, silky hair, but I still can't remember.

I guess it wasn't important.

END

This is the end, beautiful friend, the end.

This is the end, my only friend, the end

It hurts to set you free

But [I hope you'll] follow me

The end of laughter and soft lies

With my apologies to The Doors