**3/30/16 I hope this doesn't go out as an update. If it does, sorry. I just edited this. Found a few errors, nothing major. If you've already read, nothing different. The chapter is just a little more polished now. Thanks!**

I know. It's been forever, and it's the same excuse: my personal life is nutso. If you know a teacher, ask them about their first year in the field. Another thing-I have another idea for a story that has been warring in my mind with "What If?" for about a year and a half. I seem to find inspiration for that story everywhere, and struggle with this one. I really want to start posting what I have for it, but I don't want to piss off/disappoint all of you. So, let me know what you think.

This chapter is brought to you by two ice (not snow) days and spring break (in March). Thanks to the readers who have supported this story and my terrible updating skills, especially shalonda33, Rosiekin, and Von34. These people always seem to find me and leave a PM or a review to get me in gear.

To the reviewer who called me LAZY: I'm glad that you've enjoyed the story, but you should know that that is the wrong way to get an update.

The Pinterest is updated as well- pinterest naiadv / what-if /

Chapter 11: The Best I've Ever Had

Coping Together Part 2 of 2

June 11-12, 2011

Christian

"Shit," I whisper as I push a hand through my hair and stride away from our dinner table in the direction of the bar at the opposite end of the tent. I finally have a chance to compose myself with a moment away from my family and my date now that we've had dinner and endured the auction, in which my Aspen package went for a cool eighteen grand. When I involuntarily reach up to run my hand through my hair again, I change tact and shove both hands into my pants pockets instead. It's a good thing I'm not a nail-biter; my fingers would be bloody.

This evening has me a bit frustrated. More than a bit, actually.

Ana told me early this afternoon her dress would be white, and I spent a pretty good chunk of my day fantasizing about what Ana in white would look like: Ana in a white dress. Ana in white lingerie. Ana lying on white bed sheets in said lingerie. Even with these thoughts on repeat, there was absolutely no anticipating the perfection awaiting me in my parents' foyer. I've never seen anything as beautiful or tantalizing as Anastasia Steele in that. Fucking. Dress. The thigh slit, the exposed skin of her back and neck, the way her dress hugs every curve of her body. Those legs, her breasts, that ass. I didn't even notice the red lips until I'd already crossed the room to stare down at her like a lovesick moron. Needless to say, I've been sporting wood, or at least a chubby, since my arrival. And, though I'm loathe to admit it, my impression of Katherine Kavanagh has improved tremendously with the knowledge that she suggested Ana's dress.

I've spent the better part of the last two hours contemplating what kind of underwear or bra would leave Ana's body lineless under that slip of fabric. There's no fucking way she's wearing panties, because even a g-string would show through that dress. And a bra? Nope. No fucking way. So, yes, I'm hornier tonight than I was as a fifteen-year-old virgin delving into an affair with an attractive older woman who had fake tits on par with the pornstars I'd seen in Elliot's adult video and magazine collection. If I don't do something to rectify the situation in my pants soon, I'm going to explode. The level of frustration I've felt tonight is incomparable to anything felt before.

In the past, my dates have always been either a family member or Ros, and in those pairings I've never been held to any standard of coupledom. My sister or my mother always runs off and does her own thing, and Ros and I usually have a plan of attack meticulously mapped out to the minute to ensure a short stay and quick getaway; they go one way, and I go another. But tonight, Ana's been by my side since the moment I returned with our first round of drinks. Even with the prying eyes of every guest interested in who the Christian Grey brought along as his date, I've been unable to keep my hands off of her. All that exposed skin is too much to ignore, and even if someone tried tearing her away, there's no way I'd allow it. When we were walking around, I found my hands wandering over her shoulders, down her back, up her arms. While we were eating, I either held her hand under cover of the tablecloth or traced circles on the smooth skin of her bare thigh.

Even though I was completely honest when I told Ana I couldn't wait to show her off tonight, now that we're here and I've had to share her with other guests and watch too many men watch her, I want nothing more than to steal her away to some private place where we can be alone. I want her full attention, and above all, I want her to have my full attention, because with my position as one of Seattle's business elite that hasn't been the case thus far.

When I first started GEH, I thought of nights like tonight as convenient networking opportunities where I could build relationships with important people, but now I'm one of those important people. At this point in my career I'm used to every asshat with a business plan asking me for advice, and that's never bothered me. Until tonight. If I were alone, the presence of these people would be nothing more than a mild annoyance, but with Ana by my side I care even less about about Kyle or Jim's or Brad's revenue forecast or projected annual growth. Fuck them, I want to sneak away with my girl and get a taste of those cherry red lips before I spontaneously combust from the lust building in my loins.

My girl. My girl? Is that what I want? Fuck.

I tear a hand out of my pocket and shove it through my hair, pulling a bit at the roots to bring me back to myself as I step up to the bar. Almost immediately, an early twenty-something male bartender appears in front of me and swiftly takes my order.

"Dude." I turn and find Elliot settling into the free spot to my right. He leans a hip against the bar and flashes the grin I recognize as his I'm trying to piss you off expression. I can't prevent the eyeroll. "Your girlfriend is lookin' good tonight."

"She isn't-"

"-your girlfriend," he interrupts, eyes twinkling with whatever mischief he's up to this evening. "So you've told me."

Elliot spent the majority of his day at Escala with, from what I can tell, the express purpose of annoying the shit out of me while I tried to get ahead of next week's workload. He showed up with his tuxedo in a garment bag well before noon and sat on the couch in the study tossing wadded up pieces of paper at the over-the-door basketball hoop he bought me for Christmas two years ago. I've never used it, but Elliot makes sure it sees some action nearly every time he comes by the penthouse. So, really he bought himself a present. In between his hoots of triumph and curses of failure, Elliot speculated loudly over the gala's guest list, focusing heavily on which of his single high school buddies would be in attendance. When his mouth started running about which "lucky sonofabitch" would be taking Ana home tonight, I snapped and finally told him to "shut the fuck up." He just smirked at me, went back to his game, and began teasing me about my girlfriend:

"So Chin, when are you and your girlfriend getting married?"

"Hey Christian, how many kids do you think you and Ana will have? Three like our family? Or more?"

"Chris, are you excited to give up your v-card to Ana tonight?"

Normally, I have a higher tolerance threshold for Elliot's bullshit, but between dealing with him all day and fielding countless calls from my mother and sister about both my tuxedo and my date, I hit that limit early and nearly decked him just as we walked into our parents' house. Luckily, Ana had been in the foyer when we entered, and for some inexplicable reason merely seeing her put me at ease. She's absolutely stunning tonight. I mean, every time I've seen her I've been struck by her beauty, but tonight? She exudes beauty. She's a fucking goddess.

"Mr. Grey," the bartender says as he hands the drinks across the bar top with a quick nod of his head.

"Thanks," I mutter back, slipping a fifty across the counter for his trouble. He looks familiar, so I'm pretty sure he works for the catering company my family typically uses for events, and you never want to piss off the man making your drinks with a shitty tip.

"I'm with him," Elliot chimes in, hijacking my generosity and sliding his empty beer bottle over. Coors Light?

"Really?" I scoff, motioning toward the empty bottle now in the bartender's grasp.

"What?" Elliot asks, affronted by my repulsion. He gestures to the bartender and leans forward slightly to get a read on the guy's embossed name tag, "It's not that bad, right Mark?" Mark just shrugs his shoulders and turns around to grab another bottle from the cooler. Elliot turns back to me. "Mom made sure they had my beer of choice this year. If I start drinking liquor this early, I won't make it to the end of the night."

"Can't hold your alcohol anymore?" I tease, remembering what happened when Elliot did start drinking the hard stuff far too early at last year's gala. His inebriation wouldn't have been a problem if he hadn't fallen asleep during the auction and dragged Gia Matteo off to the boathouse for a late night rendezvous after waking up. Neither event was terribly obvious to the vast majority of attendees, but his conduct had been enough to piss off Grace Grey for the better part of a week. Clearly, she's taken steps to ensure his behavior this year, even if it means tarnishing her good taste with a case of Coors Light swill.

"Screw you," he fires back and takes the fresh bottle from the bartender.

"I get it," I continue, "you're getting old and mom doesn't want a repeat of last year."

"Old?" he barks, chuckling a bit before he takes a long drink of his fresh beer. "You're funny. I'm just hitting my prime. You should see the women I take out, asshole." He pauses, takes another drink, and shoots me that damn grin again. Even at thirty-one, it's hard to imagine Elliot losing his charm. He's right in that he does have a particular talent with women. "Actually, I've been meaning to mention this all night, but I still have a few condoms hidden in my bedroom, and if you need me to demonstrate on a bana-"

"Would you shut the fuck up already?" I snap, but of course, Elliot doesn't take my suggestion of shutting his mouth.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," he continues. "You should utilize the wealth of knowledge that is Elliot Grey. Heed my advice, young padawan."

"You're quite possibly the last person I'd take advice from," I deadpan, then glance over to find him still grinning. "I mean, look at your suit. It's ridiculous-"

"-ly awesome? Why thank you, Christian," he replies with a beaming smile, grasping the lapels of his jacket and puffing out his chest like a prideful cartoon character. "I really appreciate that, especially coming from someone with such great fashion sense. Who picked out your tuxedo for tonight? Mom? Mia? Gail? That fancy personal shopper on your payroll?"

He does have a point there. Very rarely do I pick out my own clothing. Caroline Acton sent this tuxedo to the penthouse a little over two months ago, and I told Gail to set out something classic black and white. I didn't have to lift a finger in this whole process until I had to get dressed. But fuck feeling like an ass over that; I spend a lot of money to keep the finer details of my life as simple as humanly possible, and I'm sure Elliot would do the same thing if he had my resources.

I turn my back on my brother and grab Ana and my drinks from the bar before taking off in the direction of our table. Why mother always insists on keeping the bar at the furthest area away from the dining tables is beyond me. Elliot follows closely behind, and we fall into an easily paced stride.

"Which one of us is ruining Mia's chance of being properly bid on tonight?" I ask, glancing at Elliot out of the corner of my eye as we continue through the tent. Every year either Elliot or I bid on Mia in The First Dance Auction in an attempt to keep any possible suitors away from our little sister. She absolutely hates it, but Elliot, our father, and I find it endlessly entertaining. I'm hoping that since I have a date tonight, Elliot will take the fall.

"Doesn't matter," Elliot murmurs, and I catch him checking out the ass on the daughter of one of dad's law partners as she walks across our intended path. "I was thinking of bidding on Coralee Singer tonight because she is looking almost as nice as your girlfriend, and I know I can hit that later tonight if I want to. So, I mean, you can bid on Mia, but that will leave Ana up for grabs. Oh! I could bid on Aimee Grant and her new tits. Four years ago, she met me in the boathouse and let me put my-"

"What do you mean Ana will be up for grabs?" I blurt, slowing my stride out of distraction and exhaling a breath I'd been holding since the moment Elliot alluded to Ana's involvement in The First Dance Auction. My grip on the glasses in my hands tightens dangerously, but when my brother turns around to find me behind him, I pick up my pace and force my grip to loosen before the fragile glass shatters and I have a mess on my hands.

"Mia says she's doing it," Elliot explains, as we fall back into step with one another.

If I can't stand the idea of men looking at her, how the hell could I get through a full three minutes and forty seconds of her body pressed close to another man's? I couldn't deal with her boss, Jackass Hyde, even talking to her last night. Though I'm sure to win the auction on Ana's behalf, there is no fucking way I'm allowing her to be thrown in front of this group of rich, horny wolves. Elliot's friends alone are pigs, but when you mix in the rest of the men here, especially the recently divorced assholes my father knows from court and the fuckers I deal with on a daily basis, I can't entertain the idea of Anastasia in all her mind-numbing, incandescent beauty parading around on stage.

Mia can be quite convincing when she puts her mind to something, but I have every intention of squirreling Ana away before the call goes out for the women to appear on the dais. I've been waiting to get her alone all evening, and this just gives me an excuse to do it sooner rather than later. For a moment, I consider all options for a quick getaway-we could head to the house, take a walk down by the water, or even head to the boathouse-but Elliot interrupts my musings.

"And I don't think she'll have a problem with bids." I narrow my eyes at him, and Elliot motions across the tent with a bob of his head and a tip of the bottle in his hand.

I turn my attention in Elliot's indicated direction and find Ana and Mia still seated where we left them at our table. They're facing one another, and while Mia is talking animatedly with her hands, Ana's listening with rapt attention, her immaculately curled ponytail bobbing as she nods along with Mia's speech. Even in profile and at a distance, the sight of Ana steals my breath away. I let my eyes linger until I can no longer ignore the imposing male figure standing just beside the table talking to Mia's date, Sean.

I'm really not surprised that Conall Cahill, Seattle's biggest asshole, is speaking with his cousin, but I most certainly do not like that he's within ten feet of Anastasia. I know my date is hottest woman in the room, and that fact has not been missed by the other male guests. She's the shiny new thing at an event that has basically the same guest list every year, and I've been aware of every glance every asshole has sent in her direction. Especially those of Conall Cahill.

Cahill must feel my eyes boring into the side of his face, because he moves his gaze from Sean over to me. With a smarmy smirk and a wink in my direction, Conall turns his attention toward Mia and Ana. From this distance, I can't hear what he's saying, and from this angle, I can't see Ana's face, but my skin feels suddenly itchy, almost like it's stretched over my body too tightly. It isn't a sensation I'd felt prior to meeting Anastasia, and it's none too pleasant. My grasp around the drinks tightens once more when Elliot and I are delayed further by a passing group of slow-moving women. I don't think I've ever been so irritated with my mother. Why the fuck does she always have to put the bar on the opposite side of tent? And this foot traffic? Ridiculous.

"I fucking hate that guy," Elliot utters, squaring his shoulders and reading my exact thought as we start moving again. "There aren't many people I dislike and there are even fewer people I hate, but I fucking hate him."

"I bought controlling interest in his father's company about a year ago," I mutter, clearing my throat before I respond. I can't bring myself to tear my eyes away from the scene across the tent, but I feel Elliot turn his gaze to me. "Conall despises me."

"Well, that might explain why he's been watching Ana all night," Elliot replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "As if he didn't already hate you. Kicked his fucking ass even though you were...What? Three years younger?"Elliot chuckles, and I can't help my lips from tipping up in a grin when I correct him.

"Two years."

There's been a mutual dislike between Conall and Elliot and I since I was a freshman and he was a senior in high school. Over Thanksgiving break that year, Elliot fucked Conall's girlfriend or ex-girlfriend-it doesn't actually matter. I'd just started at Seattle Prep after having been expelled from another of Seattle top private schools for fighting, but it didn't take long for Cahill to put two and two together and realize that the new, fucked-up freshman Christian Grey was Elliot Grey's little brother. He picked a fight expecting our age difference to afford him an easy win, but I pummeled him and was expelled only a few days later. So, buying out the company he was set to take over was just the icing on the I-hate-Christian-Grey cake.

"I'll never understand what women find appealing about the Cahills," Elliot confesses, disgust apparent in his voice. Since Elliot slept with Conall's high school girlfriend, the two have had a number of common conquests. It always seems like whomever Elliot's sleeping with is on the top of Conall's 'to do' list.

Unlike Elliot, I know exactly what women see in the Cahills, Conall especially. Mia spent her later teen years telling everyone with ears how handsome Conall Cahill was. Take his looks and mix them with his family's wealth and notoriety around the city, and you have a guy irresistible to most women, or at least to most of the women in this crowd. Despite all that, it's a widely known fact he's a complete and total fucktard. Conall Cahill is the poster child of rich, entitled playboy. He thought he would be taking over his family's company, so he skipped out on college and partied his way through Europe and more than half his trust fund.

As we near the table, I can tell that Cahill is still directing his full attention toward Ana.

"You're bidding on Mia this year, El," I grit through my clenched teeth as we round the last table between us and them. Ana turns in her chair and our eyes connect, proving that she's as aware of my presence as I am of hers. I watch as relief washes across her features, and I can't restrain my grin when she smiles at me. Ana's attention is sunshine, and I'm more than happy to bask in it.

I faintly hear Elliot chuckle a, "Got it," as we sidle up to our table.

"You're back," Ana beams, craning her neck to look up at me as I settle behind her chair. My chest tightens in response to the genuine elation she exudes now that I've returned to her side, despite the fact we've only been apart for a handful of minutes.

"I'm back," I mimic, still grinning down at Ana and actively ignoring the interloper's presence at our table. "Your drink," I murmur, proffering her beverage and sucking in a breath when her fingers brush warmly against mine. A huge part of my business portfolio involves alternative energies, and I swear the electricity generated every time Ana and I touch would be enough to light up the greater Seattle area.

"Did you give the bartender my request?" she questions, lifting a dainty and immaculately manicured brow as she carefully twirls the straw through the ice cubes. Her eyes are filled with mirth, and the blue that always draws me in is infinitely more beguiling with the banter we've developed over the course of the evening. She's been playful, and maybe a little flirty, in the very few private moments we've shared.

"Of course," I nod, grinning at her request for less alcohol. "This one should be significantly weaker than the first two."

"Let's hope so." Ana pulls the straw between her lips, hollowing out her cheeks as she sucks the pink liquid into her mouth.

The erection I managed to deflate on my jaunt to the bar twitches to life, and I wonder how she's managed to keep me this consistently aroused without seemingly trying to do so. I'm used to two types of women: those whom I contract to submit to my every whim and those who blatantly solicit me when I'm trying to mind my own business. Ana is…well, she's not doing it on purpose. Every time she bites her lip or takes an overly exuberant sip of her drink she isn't trying to seduce me, she's just…She's just Ana, and I love that she isn't trying to impress me or win me over with a gimmick or a game or an easy offer.

"It's much better," she assures me with that perfectly even smile. "I'm already feeling a little buzzed, and drunk Ana is not pretty." She chuckles softly, and I reach out with my free hand to brush a non-existent piece of lint off her shoulder. In reality, I just want to touch her.

"I'm sure drunk Ana is plenty pretty," I counter, "beautiful even. But I'd rather you have all your wits about you this evening." I grin when a blush spreads across her cheeks. I sneak a glance in Conall's direction, noticing that he's still lingering at the fringes of our group and gawking at Ana. Fucker. I lean down ever so slightly to catch Ana's gaze with mine. "Let's go for a walk," I say at a volume only she and I can hear. "Just us."

"Just us?" she parrots, a coy smile sneaking across her lips.

"Just us," I repeat, swallowing back the triumphant grin fighting to take over my countenance when she sets her drink down and gathers her skirts to stand.

I straighten and extend my hand to help Ana out of her chair. She slips her hand in mine and rises fluidly to her feet, but stumbles over her heels when she reaches for her drink. Despite her grip tightening on my fingers, Ana falls into me with her free hand landing directly in the center of my chest. I tense immediately, preparing myself for the onslaught of searing pain I've only ever experienced with direct physical contact to my chest or my back, but the pain doesn't come. In the split second it takes for me to register that I feel warm instead of burned, Ana pulls her hand back as suddenly as if she's been burned by me.

"Sorry," she exclaims, her cheeks once again that perfect shade of pink when she brings her eyes up to mine, "I shouldn't have done that. You said last night…" She trails off as I continue to stand before her, flummoxed by my nervous system's inability to respond normally to Ana's touch. Any contact, even the most rapid of touches, has always been immediately felt with great discomfort, so what is it about right now? What is about her? Whatever expression is on face causes Ana to immediately tilt her face downward, and I hardly hear when she mutters, "Maybe I should just leave my drink here."

I smile involuntarily at her comment about leaving the drink behind, because there is no way she's had enough alcohol to be tripping all over herself. Ana tries to remove her hand from mine, but I hold on a little tighter and force myself to forget the quandary of her touch for now. I'm about to get her alone and if we're lucky, we'll be able to slip away without Mia stopping us. To look her directly in the eyes, I have to bend at the waist because even though Ana has on four inch heels, the top of her head barely reaches my chin.

"You should grab your drink." Ana looks up through her long, dark eyelashes, and I give her hand another squeeze before nodding in my intended direction. "I thought we could go down to the water."

"Like to the beach?" She lifts an eyebrow and sneaks a peak to the opening at the back of the tent. "Is there a beach?"

"There's a beach, a small one, but I was thinking we could go to the dock," I explain, considering the dock's secluded position behind the boathouse. I'd be lying if I said the possibility of sneaking into the boathouse for a little privacy didn't play into my decision to head to the dock instead of the beach or another spot on the grounds.

"You do realize that walking in heels on grass is terrible, right?" She lets go of my hand and turns carefully back to the table, gingerly nabbing her near-full spritzer and sticking her tongue out to grab at the straw. "It's impossible."

I shrug my shoulders, knowing full well we'll get there somehow. "I'll carry you."

"No, you will not," she says emphatically, then takes several rapid gulps of her drink.

"What are you doing?" I laugh as she sucks more liquid through the straw.

"If I try to follow you across the yard with my drink too full, it will wind up all over this white dress that isn't even mine." She grins around that damn straw, and takes one final sip before grabbing my still outstretched hand and stepping so close to me that our fronts are almost completely flush. "Alright, lead the way."

We've taken no more than two steps away from the table before my sister's voice stops both Ana and I in our tracks.

"Where do you two think you're going?" she all but yells from where she's still seated next to Sean. Ana and I lock eyes, and she bites her lip around the smile she's trying to keep hidden from Mia.

"For a walk," I say, briefly meeting Mia's eyes over my shoulder, then turn back in the direction Ana and I were headed.

"No," Mia begins resolutely, "you are not." My body stiffens at her response. What the fuck? I thought she would be excited about me asking Ana to go somewhere private. She's been pushing the two of us together, but now that it's a real possibility she's flaking out? I don't think so. "The First Dance Auction starts any second now," she says quickly. "Ana's in it. You're going to bid on her. Coping Together is going to benefit from you being," her hands gesture wildly in the air for a moment of blessed silence, "yourself. Take your walk after."

"She doesn't want to do the Auction." I turn around and cross my arms across my chest, taking a step toward my sister and trying my best to look intimidating. And, not for the first time, I realize the tactics I use on my employees and business foes do not work with Mia Grey.

"Yes. She. Does." Mia enunciates each word clearly, mirroring me by crossing her arms as well.

"I did say I would," Ana confesses sweetly as she steps up beside me.

"See!" Mia shouts. If she thinks she's getting her way on this one, she's insane. There is absolutely no way Ana's getting up on that stage in front of Conall and the plethora of assholes in this group.

"Ana," I start, breaking eye contact with my sister and turning toward Ana, who has that delectable bottom lip between her teeth, "are you aware that Mia has signed you up to stand up on stage and be bid on by any single man in the crowd?"

"I did not know that." Ana's eyes grow wide, then they narrow before she turns back to Mia. "I don't want to do that."

"Ana, it's for a good cause," Mia whines, sounding slightly chastened but still resolute. "Christian isn't going to let anyone else win you, right Chris?"

I cringe at the shortened name. "Of course not, but-"

"It's romantic!" Mia moans. "You'll win and then the tw-"

"I don't like this 'winning' me thing," Ana interrupts. "It's misogynistic and patronizing. Why aren't the men auctioned off?"

I grin at her point, and I love that she isn't afraid to put Mia in her place; someone has to do it, and she obviously doesn't listen to me or anyone else in our family. Ros had the same complaints as Ana when Mia attempted to coax her into The Auction two years ago. My sister didn't understand the point then, and I doubt she takes any issue with being bid on like cattle or goods from an estate now. To each their own, I guess.

"Romantic?" Elliot guffaws, laughing outwardly at our sister. "The only men who have ever won the first dance with you are dad, Christian, and myself."

Mia's expression goes from annoyed to something far beyond annoyed, enraged might be the best way to describe it, and I feel a brief twinge of worry for Elliot. Rather than dwell on Mia's current state of frustration with the situation at hand, I use her inattention to start leading Ana away again.

"You're not getting away with this Christian," Mia calls after us.

"I'll double the highest offer of the night and write mom a check," I respond over my shoulder.

"Triple!" she shouts back, and since it's my mother's charity and I can afford it, I respond in kind.

"Quadruple it." I lift the hand holding Ana's, and turn a bit so that I can set my sister in my sights. "I don't care, Mia. Just tell me how much later."

Nearly twenty minutes later, The First Dance Auction has been announced, Ana and I have long since ditched our empty glasses, and we're finally emerging from the tent into the crisp night air. We found it nearly impossible to make it through the throng of people between our table and the back exit of the tent without being stopped every other step. I've told too many people to call the office to set up a time to talk, but I have absolutely no intention of ever actually setting something up with the majority of the people I brushed off with the directive. I'll have to give Andrea a heads up before the office opens on Monday.

Only a few steps away from the tent's exit, I reach behind my head and remove the mask that's been irritating me since I first put it on. Ana grins at me and follows suit as we walk toward the path that leads to the boathouse.

"Wow," Ana whispers as we round the corner of the tent and make our way to the water's edge on this end of the property. "It's beautiful out here."

"Definitely beautiful," I whisper back, wondering if she catches that I'm not talking about the night. I grin down at Ana and sling my arm around her delicate shoulders. She reaches up, tangles her fingers with mine, and melts into my side, causing my grin to grow even wider than before. "Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know," Ana whisper-giggles. She swings her eyes up to meet mine, and I'm struck momentarily dumb by the way her eyes shine and her skin glows in the moonlight. Ana is a vision too good to be true, and I am the luckiest man in the world to have her by my side. "It's just so quiet out here."

I nod, but can't get any words out of my mouth. The only sounds are those of Ana's heels clicking on the paver stones and the muffled voice of the Master of Ceremonies auctioning off women back at the tent. We walk to the boathouse in comfortable silence, with Ana gazing out at the dark water as I alternate between staring down at her and steering us in the right direction.

"So," I start, wanting to ask her about her conversation with Conall Cahill without sounding like a jealous asshole, because that's exactly what I am. I desperately want to lay some kind of claim on her, even if this is only our first date. But, is this a date? Does she consider this a date?

"Sooo," she echoes, peeking up at me through her long eyelashes and carrying out the 'o' for a beat too long.

"What," I stop myself and run my free hand through my hair as I try figuring out a way to play this cool. "Umm…What were you talking about with Conall Cahill?"

"He knows Kate," she responds with a lift of her shoulders. "He does not seem like a very nice person."

"Why do you say that?" I ask, instead of saying what I'm thinking: That's because he's not a nice person. He's an asshole.

"I don't know," Ana murmurs, sneaking another peek up at me. "He just seems like a jerk, and he started saying some not-so-nice things about you when we first got here." The question of what he said flits across my mind, but I can probably guess. "Then he mentioned he'd asked Kate out, and she said no…" Ana trails off and shrugs her shoulders before resting her head against shoulder. "That's what solidified the idea."

"Why?"

"Well," she starts, then pauses to mull over what she wants to say. "This sounds so bad, but Kate wouldn't deny it and I've said the same thing to her in the past. But, anyway, Kate isn't exactly discerning when it comes to accepting dates. She usually only turns down guys who are blatantly disrespectful or treat her like a piece of meat." Ana sighs, then chuckles softly with a shake of her head. "She's brought home some real winners."

"And what about you?" I blurt, and she shoots me a puzzled expression. "Are you discerning?"

"I'm the exact opposite of Kate in that respect," she snorts. "Like on the other end of the spectrum."

"So, Conall Cahill isn't the guy for you?" We step off the stone path and move onto the poured concrete base of the boathouse. I withdraw my arm from around Ana's shoulders and grab her hand instead, entwining our fingers and letting our hands swing between us.

"No, he isn't." She turns her face to look back up at me. "I'm into someone else," she giggles, and I love this flirty, tipsy Ana. We take a couple steps around the corner of the structure, and now we're completely out the view of anyone near the tent. "He spoke at my graduation and acts like a gentleman even when I'm mauling him in the backseat of his car."

"I doubt he considered it mauling," I laugh, stopping my stride so that my hand pulls Ana back toward me. She spins and I pull her into my front.

"Maybe not." She shakes her head, and I watch heat spread across her cheeks as she brings her eyes to mine. "He did seem to enjoy himself."

"He definitely did," I chuckle, pulling her hands up so that they rest on my shoulders as I circle my arms around the curve of her ass, all the while maintaining direct eye contact. "He probably even wants to do that again."

"You think?" she purrs, pressing her body directly against mine when she wraps her arms around my neck. I move my eyes to watch the swollen crimson curves of Ana's lips, and I nearly growl when her pink, wet tongue slides between them. Her breaths are coming faster, and her pupils are dilated with the same lust I'm feeling for her.

"I know," I mutter, knowing that I can't resist her any longer.

I've wanted to kiss her since the moment I stopped kissing her earlier this evening, so I close my eyes and bring my lips to hers. The kiss starts with a gentleness I've never experienced with another woman, and our mouths brush together once, twice, three times. When a soft moan escapes her mouth, I bite down on her bottom lip and walk her back into the wall. The move spurs Ana on, and one of her hands migrates from the back of my neck to my jaw while the nails on her other hand scratch my hairline. I've never let a woman touch me so freely, and I'm not about to stop her. This feels incredible, prodigious even, and my arousal sky rockets. Our tongues meet in a passionate tangle. Our teeth clash. My hips thrust into hers like they have a mind of their own, and she grins against my mouth. Dirty girl.

My hands move from her hips, to her ass, and up her back to the nape of her neck. If her hair were down, I'd run my fingers through it. Grab it. Use it to guide my mouth over hers. I run my fingers across her jaw and over her clavicle and down her arms. When she sucks my lip into her mouth and bites down, I press my fingers into perfect swells of her behind before trailing my fingers up her body to the front of her gown. Her breasts are the perfect fit for my hands, and I moan into her mouth. Fuck. I really don't think she's wearing a bra, and that means the only things between me and what I've been imagining to be the world's most perfect body is the thin silk of her dress. And with that thigh slit, it would be so easy to just slide my hand up her leg and check for panties.

If we keep going like this, we'll probably be on the cover of some magazine in the morning with grainy pictures of us fucking against the stone exterior of the boathouse. There's not a chance our absence inside the tent has gone unnoticed, and I wouldn't put it past someone in there to come looking for us camera in hand. I give Ana one last lingering kiss and pull my mouth off of hers. When I open my eyes, I find Ana with her head leaning back against the wall and her wild eyes fixed on me. Her chest is rising and falling with each breath, and since I can't resist her, I lean forward and press my lips to hers a final time.

"I could do that all night," I grumble against her lips.

"Then do it," Ana rushes, biting that lip and pressing herself against me. I shake my head to rid myself of libidinous thoughts. This can't go any further right now, and I'll just be frustrating myself further.

"But we need to stop for now." I peel the rest of my body away from Ana's and adjust my rock hard cock, which makes her giggle as she steps away from the boathouse. "Even though I really don't want to."

"Me either," she confesses, reaching out for my hand again.

To the sound of muted voices back at the tent and the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore, I lead Ana out onto the weathered wooden dock my parents installed nearly twenty years ago. When we get to the end of the dock, I shrug off my jacket and lay it out over the edge of the last plank so Ana doesn't have to dirty her dress on the grimy wood.

"Shall we sit?" I offer.

"Sure," Ana murmurs, "but, first-" She trails off and steps closer to me, placing one hand on my arm for balance as she removes one heel and then the other. The sound of relief that comes out of her mouth once she has both bare feet flat on the ground causes my dick to swell and my pulse to speed up. "What a relief," she sighs, beaming up at me.

"I'm sure," I reply, taking Ana's hand and helping her lower her body down onto my coat. "Ros, my VP at GEH, she wears those things every day, and complains about them every day." I seat myself next to Ana and swing my legs off the edge, knowing full well that the water is both calm enough and low enough to avoid wet feet. "I learned a long time ago not to bring up her complaining."

"Kate does that too." Ana copies me and moves her body so that her legs hang over the edge of the dock. "Except with her it's all 'patriarchy this' and 'sexism' that, but in the same breath she'll go on and on about how nice her legs look when she wears heels." She looks away from her bare feet and over at me, rolling her eyes and smiling broadly. "Even from all the way in Barbados she forced me into these. Apparently, sneakers weren't an acceptable option."

"I wouldn't have cared if you'd worn sneakers," I quip, causing her to smile reflexively back at me. I could live off her smiles. "Despite having to wear these instruments of torture, are you having a good time tonight?" I query, searching for validation and reassurance that I'm not the world's worst date.

"I am," she nods. Ana scoots closer to me so that our legs are touching, and I reach over, grabbing her hand and tangling our fingers together. My eyes drift from our enjoined hands back to her face, noticing that her lips are still a vibrant red even after 'mauling' one another minutes ago. She's nibbling on that succulent bottom lip, so I reach over with my free hand and tug it free with my thumb, then lower my lips to hers in a chaste kiss.

"I've wanted to get you alone all night," I murmur, opening my eyes to search her face with the barest measure of distance between us, "but people just kept bothering us." I press my lips against hers twice more before she's allowed to answer.

"You did warn me that would probably happen," she breathes, her voice dreamy and soft. "I just didn't realize you'd be the most popular person here tonight," she snickers, bumping her shoulder against mine when she catches my eyeroll. "You have some pretty impressive friends, Mr. Grey." She says my name with a lilting tone meant to poke fun at the formal moniker of which I'm most frequently addressed, but every time she calls me 'Mr. Grey' I picture Ana naked and spread out for our pleasure. "I mean, you're on a first name basis with Bill and Melinda Gates," she teases with a mischievous glint to her captivating blue eyes.

"Oh," I grin, squeezing her hand lightly, "so you know who Bill Gates is, but you had no idea who I am."

"You're Christian Grey," she laughs. "I know who you are."

"You know who I am now," I correct.

Ana presses her smirking face into my bicep, then readjusts after a beat to rest her head against my shoulder. With her this close, I can smell the floral scent of her shampoo or body wash or lotion. We sit like this for a minute or two, just gazing out at the water as I trace circles onto the smooth skin of the back of her hand with my thumb. The gentle lapping of the water is relaxing, so when a large round of applause and cheers breaks the relative silence of the night, Ana and I both jump.

"Jeeze," Ana gasps, a hand pressed to her sternum and her eyes wide as saucers, "that startled me!"

"Me too," I grin, cocking an eyebrow. "I think that means The First Dance Auction is over."

"Oh," she says. Her eyes move from my face to our hands, and I get the idea she's a little disappointed. "Does that mean we need to head back soon?"

"Soon," I say, equally disappointed that our alone time is coming to an end. "But not quite yet." I pull my legs back up on the dock and rise to my feet with my hand outstretched to help Ana off the ground. She places her hand in mine and I pull her up just as the familiar strains of "I've Got You Under My Skin" boom down to the water from the tent. "May I have this dance?"

"I'm an awful dancer, Christian." She shakes her head and smiles sheepishly up at me as I snake a hand to the small of her back and bend our already joined hands up at an angle.

"Just follow my lead," I reply, shooting her my best smile when her pert breasts brush across my chest. When Elena and I were first together, she taught me to dance, and even though it isn't my favorite activity, I'm not afraid to admit that I am a fantastic lead on the dance floor. Ana squints at me and lets out little huff of resignation, causing me to chuckle at her chagrin.

"You won't think it's so funny when you can't walk tomorrow because I stomped all over your toes," Ana scolds.

"We'll be fine." I pull Ana into me. Without her heels, the difference in our statures is immense. I'm at least a full head taller, and her slender figure would be completely hidden from view if you were to look at us from behind me. Given that the width of the deck is rather narrow and Ana is a dancing novice, I take it easy as we move around the space. I hum along to the song and softly sing some of the lyrics into Ana's ear. Sinatra is one of my favorites, and this song is far and away one of his best. "I love this song," I murmur.

"Me too," she replies, her voice soft, almost a whisper against the skin of my neck.

I'm taken by surprise a moment later when Ana's soft, kiss-swollen lips press against the underside of my jaw once, twice. On the third brush of her lips, I dip my head and kiss her soundly. I think this is the first time she's initiated something physical between us, and considering that isn't something I typically allow in my sexual arrangements, I'm a bit surprised by how much I enjoy her taking the initiative. I slant my mouth over hers and continue moving our bodies, only faltering when Ana's fingers begin playing with the short hair at the nape of my neck. We stay like that for the remainder of the song, kissing softly and swaying slowly until the last notes of the song echo over Lake Washington.

"Mmmmm," Ana hums when I break the kiss at the first noise of voices coming closer to the boathouse and, thus, the dock. When a drunken cackle resonates through the night, Ana whips her face around to find the intruders, but no one has come into view just yet. She turns back to me and with a woefully resigned look my way she says, "That's probably our cue."

"Unfortunately," I nod, considering the wide variety of excuses that could get both of us out of the rest of tonight's festivities with little to no grief from my sister. There isn't a clear-cut option, so with a final kiss to Ana's temple, I release my hold on her and bend over to grab my jacket from where we were seated not too long ago. When I straighten, Ana's slipping her shoes back on. "Here," I offer, taking the two steps over to her and bending to help put her shoes back on her manicured feet. Is there any part of this woman's body I don't find attractive?

"Thank you," she sighs when those fuck-me heels are back where they belong.

We both laugh when we see the state of my jacket; there are little flecks of dirt and grime and wood on the back of it, but after a proper shake and both of us wiping at it with our hands it's once again wearable. We put our masks back on, with Ana stretching up to straighten mine. I hold out my elbow once I'm suited up, and the two of us make quick work of the walk back up the lawn to the tent, staying mostly quiet as we near our destination. Right before we're set to walk through the back entrance, I halt our progress.

"Can I give you a ride home later tonight?" I ask, the words flowing out of my mouth before I really have a chance to consider the implication of what I'm asking. Do I want Ana tonight? Yes. Of course. But what I really want, is more alone time. Time for us to just be Christian and Ana without the crowd and noise.

"I'm actually staying the night," she frowns. Little lines of consternation form between her brows, and without thinking I lean in and kiss the spot. "My car's in the garage."

"I didn't realize that," I smile as I pull my lips away from her forehead. I could tell Taylor to take off. Come get me tomorrow morning. I could spend the night here. "Maybe I will too?"

"Really?" She grins excitedly shifting her weight to her toes and gripping my arms a little tighter. "Mia said you'd probably leave before the fireworks."

"I can't leave my date by herself," I chuckle as I start leading her through the entrance with a renewed spring to my step. "I'll just have to let Taylor know he can leave."

"He's here?"

"Of course he is."

"Where has he been hiding?" She sounds amused and her eyes dance over the faces in the crowded tent in search of my head of security.

"Around," I shrug, neither understanding her interest nor caring where Taylor is. "Do you see Mia or Elliot around?"

"They aren't at the table," she observes. "No one is."

We walk slowly, our eyes swinging over the other guests in search of the rest of our party. After a few minutes, I spot my siblings and Sean standing at a cocktail table between the bar and the sparsely populated dance floor. Elliot looks miserable, but he's finally made the move away from Coors Light to the harder, better stuff. Mia's mouth is going a mile a minute, and Sean is just checking out the scenery. When they see us coming, my brother's eyes light up and my sister's eyes narrow into deadly little slits.

"Where have you been?" Mia demands, almost sprinting around the table and coming to stand directly in front of us. "You've been gone forever, and I really have to go to the bathroom."

What?

"Then just go already," Elliot groans, leaning over to lightly bang his head off the table. Mia rounds on him, cuing the dramatics.

"I'm not going alone," she pouts, reaching for Ana's hand not wrapped around my forearm. Mia turns her face up to look at me. "Mom will be expecting an additional $54,000.00 added to your usual donation." I raise a brow and Mia grins at me. "Elliot and I conspired. He had Sean drive up the bid."

I do the math quickly, figuring that she's come up with the figure by quadrupling the highest bid.

"Surprised?" she quips, leaning into me and pressing a finger into my shoulder. "Didn't think anyone would go for that much?"

"No," I shoot back, "I'm surprised at the deal I'm getting."

"Then," Mia pauses, looking a little shocked but mostly defiant, "Then I'll double it."

"Do it," I dare her.

"That's a lot of money," Ana chimes in, looking and sounding a little worried. "Like more than my student loans."

"Not for him," Mia snorts. She pulls on Ana's arm, nearly causing her to break her hold on me.

"Ana," I start, weighing exactly how to say this without sounding like a pompous, entitled asshole, "I'm the CEO and sole owner of a Fortune 500 company. I'm more than able to donate that amount of money to my mother's charity." I lean in until my lips are directly next to her ear. "I would have probably donated extra this year anyway," I whisper, telling a little white lie.

"Oh," Ana murmurs, "okay."

"Bathroom," Mia grumbles, tearing Ana away from me and walking away with my date on her arm. Ana turns her head slightly, and when our eyes catch, she flashes her full smile over her shoulder.

I turn back to the table where Elliot is now standing alone. Sean, it would appear, has disappeared into the crowd, and I'd be lying if I said I hoped to see him later. I'll admit that he's higher than his cousins-Conall, Steven, and Lily-on the bell curve of people I enjoy being around, but I still don't want to hang around the guy more than I have to be.

"Thank God you brought Ana back," he croaks, taking a little sip of what I'm guessing is brandy. "Mia literally just talked my ear off about how bad she had to pee for twenty minutes. It. Was. Torture." I laugh, because I'm sure it was torture. We love our sister, but she can be a little co-dependent with her friends. She won't go the bathroom alone, or the bar or a buffet. "We got you and Ana drinks." Elliot gestures to the table, and I pick up the glass clearly meant to be mine.

"Thanks."

"No problem, bro." Elliot grips my bicep quickly, then gets that up-to-no-good spark in his eyes. "Where'd you and Ana go?" He waggles his eyebrows exaggeratedly. "Did you take her in the boathouse to get it o-"

"We went for a walk," I clip, finishing the statement with a silent to kiss and dance and kiss and touch. "And even if I did bring her to the boathouse, I wouldn't tell you." Elliot smirks at me, and we fall silent for a minute or two. "You paid $13,500.00 to dance with your sister?" I chuckle, relishing in the glare I earn with that statement.

"Our sister," he corrects, scowling. "I told Sean to drive up the bid. 'Stop at eight grand,' I said." He shakes his head reprovingly. "That little fucker drove it all the way up to $13,000."

"You should have let him win," I scoff, "then, he'd have to come up with the money out his monthly allowance from daddy dearest."

"That would have been good," he agrees, tittering softly under his breath. "Honestly, Chris, you probably would have had to pay out the ass to win Ana's first dance tonight no matter what."

My back and shoulders stiffen. "Why's that?"

Elliot clears his throat, cracks his neck, and finishes his drink to draw out my torture. "Every guy I know has asked me about her." He smirks. "I told you she was looking good tonight, and you know how these events are. It's always the same crowd." He peeks over at me and sets the empty glass on the table. "Well, obviously, considering how long you two disappeared, but Conall asked where she was during The Auction. So did Frank Reid, Carter Mimms, and Jared Kramer. And we both know Kramer's pockets are pretty deep."

I know that Ana doesn't look at me and see dollar signs like a lot of the women I encounter in my personal and professional lives, but knowing that these assholes Elliot's talking about come from money, makes me feel a little less adequate than I was feeling when Ana and I were alone. If I'm honest with myself, I know they can offer her more than I can in some respects. I'm fucked up and moody and constantly busy with building my company up into something bigger, better.

These guys probably don't have issues with being touched. And, even though that's something I'm beginning to realize I might want with Ana, the anxiety associated with being touched on my chest and my back will probably prevent me from making in real strides in that area. We've tried more than a few approaches to the issues since I was a child, but nothing seemed to work. But when Ana accidentally placed her hand on my chest earlier, something was different.

Suddenly, I feel a current run over my skin, and I turn my head away from my brother to find Ana floating through the crowd with her eyes fixed on me. God, she's an angel. With that dark hair juxtaposed against her porcelain skin and light eyes, she's unlike any woman I've ever seen before. Unfortunately, as I watch the crowd literally part to create a clear path for her, I also take note of the number of men peering at her over their drinks and between the shoulders of other invitees. I fucking hate it, but I know a way to resolve a little of the tension building up in me.

When she reaches the table, I place a proprietary hand on the smooth skin at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and watch as goosebumps rise across the expanse of skin left exposed by her dress. She looks up and smiles broadly, looking both happy and relieved to be back by my side. I feel that something expand in my chest, and I have to force myself to take a deep breath before I can even consider smiling back at her. She's so fucking gorgeous. There's something so heady about knowing I can put that kind of smile on her face. I slip a finger under the thin strap of fabric under my hand, and when she looks up at me, I drop my mouth to hers in a lingering kiss.

I might not be able to stop these asshole from coveting what's mine, but I'm at least going to remind them that Ana's here with the biggest swinging dick at this party.

I don't remember the last time I've had this much fun. Honestly, I probably never have. After our walk, Ana and I spent the rest of the evening caught up in one another. We danced and drank, watched the fireworks, then danced and drank some more. I've admitted that I'm a great dancer, but other than the obligatory dances with my mom, sister, and grandmother, I'm not usually a mainstay on the dance floor. Tonight was-is-different though. Ana hadn't been back from the bathroom more than a minute, when a friend of Elliots came by our group and asked her to dance. And there was no way I could let that happen.

Now, hours later, my siblings, Ana, and I are seated around the breakfast table in my parent's kitchen. We're all tipsy, if not flat-out drunk, and listening as Elliot regales us with a ridiculous story about this 'chick' he went on a date with last month. I usually scoff at his date stories, but tonight I find his booming voice, wild hand gestures, and promiscuity entertaining. I guess I really have had too much to drink. When I look at Mia, she's resting her face heavily on the arm she has draped across the table, looking sleepy and happy. Momentarily, I'm distracted from my brother's narrative by the mellifluous giggle vibrating in waves from Ana's drink-slackened, relaxed body.

Stretching my arms over my head, I let one fall behind Ana's shoulders and rest on the cool wood of the bench. She settles into my side gently, but keeps her arms nestled in the sleeves of my jacket still draped loosely around her tiny body. When I sneak a look over at her, she catches my gaze and we exchange what can only be described as toothy smiles. I don't know if I have ever been this happy or felt this content in my life. Her attention is both soothing and satisfying.

Elliot's forgotten where his story was headed, and starts making fun of Mia's date. "Did you see Sean's dance moves tonight? He was so smooth." My brother stops to chuckle and Mia starts poking him in the spots he's most ticklish. "How did you get so lucky, Minnie?"

"At least I had a date!" Mia's taunt and the ensuing tickle/verbal fight go largely unnoticed by me because Ana lets out a vigorous yawn. It is nearly one in the morning, and we should probably all find our way to bed sometime soon.

"Tired?" I whisper, leaning so my lips are close to her ear. She just nods her head and snuggles a little closer, resting her hand on my stomach just above the button of my pants. I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself, but having her hand so close to the part of me that wants her more than anything else.

"I've gotta hit the hay soon," Elliot says, letting Mia out of a headlock and rising to his feet. He walks away from us and heads to the refrigerator to grab another beer.

"Us too," Mia nods, also getting to her feet. She turns to Ana. "Let's go."

Ana peers up at me through her lashes, and despite her exhaustion, her azure eyes are still absolutely radiant. She smiles and whispers, "I had a great time tonight."

"Me too," I mutter, wanting desperately to kiss her again. She straightens and I pull my arm out from behind her shoulders to allow her to slide off the bench. "Sleep well."

"Goodni-," she yawns. "Sorry," she grins when her hand comes away from guarding her mouth. "Goodnight Christian."

"Night," I mutter back. The thought of where she's sleeping tonight flits through my consciousness, and I surprise myself when I realize I wish it were with me. Literally sleeping with someone has never been something I've wanted or even considered, with my nightmares being just one of the reasons why. Sharing a bed is intimate, and with my haphephobia, I have to trust implicitly anyone I choose to share my bed with. And I do trust Ana. Everything about the woman is warm and sweet and honest.

I sneak one more look at Ana as she and Mia lean on one as they make their way around the corner and toward the stairs. When I turn around Elliot's sitting across from me and his face has turned serious.

"So," he says, "you like Ana." It's a statement, not a question, and after the night we've had, he'd have to be blind not to realize that I do, in fact, like Anastasia.

I run my hand through my hair and take in a deep breath before saying, "Yeah. I'd be crazy not to." I shrug my shoulders. "Fuck, I'm exhausted."

"Well, well, well. Christian Grey is into girls." Elliot's eyes are heavy, but his smile is lively.

"Girl. Singular," I correct him.

"Well, you need to be proactive about this thing." I give Elliot my steeliest glare, not wanting or needing his advice about women. Based on the story he just finished telling and the others I've heard through the years, Elliot's experience is not with women as classy as Ana.

I raise an eyebrow at him, rap my knuckles on the table, and stand. "I'm going to bed. Are you heading up too?"

An hour later and a half later, I'm lying supine on the double bed in my old bedroom having shucked my tux for an old ratty pair of Harvard gym shorts. I can't sleep, I'm aroused, and every time I close my eyes I picture Ana lying on the bed just down the hall, her dark hair fanned over the taupe pillowcases my mother has always kept in the guest room. After being so close to her all night, I can better imagine what her body feels like and looks like under her clothes.

I run my hands over my face and sit up, deciding that I need to do something to calm the fuck down. I place my feet on the floor and rise from the mattress with the idea that I need to resort to the age-old sedation technique I've been utilizing since childhood: piano. I find a white undershirt in a drawer and pull it over my head, then head downstairs.

The house is quiet, and when I reach the stairs, the creak of a floorboard startles me. I pad through the house, and when I reach the piano, I run my fingers across the glossy black lid. When I was young, the piano faced away from the stairs so that you could look down at the lawn and lake as you played. My parents had it moved so that the player could face the stairs after they startled me too many times while I tried to play the nightmares away. Tonight, I'm going to see if I can play away a raging boner.

I lift the fall and press a finger against one key, then another. Cracking my knuckles, I take one deep breath and let my fingers sweep across the keys in a quick, but accurate, scale. I close my eyes and let my fingers do a familiar dance, Bach Marcello. Once finished, I pause for only a second before letting my fingers start in on a second song, Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." The cooperation of my fingers and my mind soothes the tension, but about halfway through the second song, I hear that creaking step and open my eyes. What I find undoes all the work I just did to get rid of my erection.

Ana is standing on the second step in the tiniest fucking sleep shorts. They make her long legs look even longer, and like they belong around my neck. On top she's wearing a camisole and it's clear that she is not wearing a bra. If it weren't for that thick cascade of brown hair, I'm sure I'd be able to see her nipples through the cottony material. My fingers stumble over the keys, and I miss a note out of distraction. Well, fuck the piano. I stand and cross the room, finding myself in front of Ana in less than ten seconds. The fantasy that kept running through my mind while I tried to sleep might actually come true.

"Did I wake you?" I ask, my voice husky and rough with desire.

Ana licks her lips and shakes her head slightly. "I couldn't sleep," she whispers, "Then I heard the piano and…" She trails off, and I notice that her face is now free of the makeup she wore earlier in the evening. Without thinking, I bend at the waist and press my lips to hers in a soft kiss.

"I couldn't sleep either," I murmur against her mouth. She plants a kiss on my lips and I reciprocate with another. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Me either."

Her eyes close and I take her small hands in mine, marveling, not for the first time, at how the size of mine engulf hers. I walk her backward to the couch with our mouths still connecting with soft, chaste kisses. When the back of her knees meets the cushions, she lets out a little squeak and breaks the kiss by looking over her shoulder.

"Oh," she giggles, turning her face back to me. I want to smile back, but I'm too overtaken with how unbelievably gorgeous she is. Her lips are swollen, bee-stung and the most alluring shade of pink. As much as the lipstick got me going earlier, seeing Ana like this, without makeup and stripped down to nothing but her natural beauty, does something indescribable to me. I was hard before, but now I'm throbbing steel. Her eyes leave mine and trail down my body, lingering on my lap-and obvious erection-before they shoot back up to my face. Then, she bites her lip. Fuck.

"Oh," I repeat back, my voice a thready whisper as I retake her mouth and gently ease her to sitting on the couch. I take the spot next to her and pull my lips away from hers, reaching out to slip a finger under the thin strap of her shirt. "Do you have any i-" idea what you're doing to me, I finish in my head, because Ana pounces.

Her mouth makes desperate contact with mine and her arms snake around my neck as she moves to straddle my lap. This feels like a dream coming true, mostly because last night I jerked off to the memory of Ana sitting on me just like this in the back of the Audi. But this is better than I imagined; Ana is wild, grinding her hips into mine with such ferocity that when I place my hands on her hips to still her, she lets out a frustrated groan and shimmies her hips harder.

I move my mouth away from hers and kiss swiftly across her cheek and along her jawline. When I get to her neck, I can no longer keep a handle on how badly I want her, so I begin sucking lightly and biting gently at the skin below her ear all the way over to the hollow at the base of her neck. I pause and pull back to take her in, finding that her eyes are wild and dilated with lust. Her chest is heaving with labored breaths, and I'm sure my appearance is quite similar.

One strap of her camisole has fallen off her shoulder, and now that they're right in front me, I can't take my eyes off the perfect swell of her breasts. Her nipples are beaded and protruding through the thin material. I look back up into those blue eyes of hers and she's staring at me intently. I gulp and lightly caress the soft skin where her neck meets her shoulder, trailing my fingers over to the remaining strap. She wiggles in my lap, drawing herself closer and rubbing her flimsily covered sex against my erection.

Ana moves her arms out of the straps and the front of the camisole is barely holding her in. I lean forward, pressing soft kisses on her sternum, her shoulder, her throat as my fingers remove the fabric from her chest. Jesus. Her breasts are fucking perfect. Consummate. The ultimate. I move both hands up and palm each swell, finding that they're the perfect handful. I let my thumbs move to her raspberry-colored nipples, skimming over the hardened peaks softly.

"You're perfect," I whisper, moving my eyes up to hers as I lean forward and take a nipple in my mouth. I suck and lick, relishing in the soft sigh that erupts from her throat. One of her hands moves to the back of my head. She's so fucking sensitive that I could probably make her come just like this.

I'm so engrossed with the taste of her skin and her soft moans of pleasure as I suck and lick her nipples, that I don't realize one of her hands has moved from my hair and made its way south. Her fingers move back and forth along the skin just above my shorts, and when she tentatively slips a hand under the soft material, I stop my ministrations to grab her wrist.

"Ana," I murmur, looking up at her. "You don't-" Have to do that, I want to finish but she interrupts me. Again.

"I know I don't," she says softly, looking back and forth between my eyes. "But I want you to feel the way I'm feeling." She sighs, closing her eyes when I brush my thumb across her nipple. When she opens her eyes, she looks at me with an expression somewhere between innocent and aroused. "I want to make you feel good."

"I-" I start, shaking my head and releasing her wrist to push some loose strands of hair behind her ear. Her fingers immediately start stroking the hair beneath my navel. "I'm-" going to come in my pants before you even touch my cock. I swallow and attempt to tamp the lust surging through my body. I've never been this hard. I've never been this aroused. Not even when I was a half-cocked teenager in Elena's basement. Never in my playroom. "I'm going to lose it too soon."

"Okay." She nods and bends slightly to take my lips in a sweet, tender kiss before pulling back and looking into my eyes. "I think," she pauses, swallowing, "I want to see that. I want to do that." Ana slips her hand beneath my gym shorts and runs her palm down my length.

"Fuuuck," I groan, lifting my hips when both her hands pull at my shorts. My erection pops out and I help her slide my pants down my legs until they're pooled at my feet. Ana settles back in my lap, once again straddling my thighs. I slip my fingers in her hair on either side of her face, pulling her to me and thrusting my tongue in her mouth. I'm eager, consumed by lust, and when her fingers once again find me, I break our kiss and lean back against the couch to watch her hand work my length. She squeezes and I have to close my eyes. For the first time since I was kid, I'm certain that I've lost control of my body and I'm going to come too fast.

I hear Ana gasp and I open my eyes to look up at her. She is a fucking sight, a scene from the wildest of my Ana fantasies. Her hair is loose, falling around her shoulders and brushing over the smooth skin at the sides of her exposed breasts. Fuck. Her eyes are cast downward, watching her hand move up and down my thick cock, then they shoot up to meet my gaze. Those blue eyes are wild, shocked looking, and her cheeks are flushed. So fucking beautiful.

"You're so hard," she murmurs, glancing down again to watch, fascinated, as her hand work over my rigid flesh.

"It's-" I pause and groan as she moves her hand up to the tip and back down, "-you. You do this to me." My voice is soft, nearly a whisper and overwhelmed with want. When I look back up at her, Ana's eyes are trained on what she's doing to me. Something in me snaps, and I sit up in a rush, scooting backward so quickly that Ana squeaks and loses her grip on me. "There is no fucking way I'm going to come before you."

One of my hands moves to the back of her head and the other hand grips her hip, dragging her body closer to mine. Her breasts press up against my chest and my erection gets trapped between my abdomen and her pussy. When our lips meet, our teeth clash.

"Mmmm," Ana moans into my mouth, before pulling away. "I don't know if I-" she trails off, resting her forehead against mine. "It might-" she sucks in a breath when I palm her breast and her cheeks flush, "I've ne-"

"Don't," I interrupt. I kiss her once again on the lips, then begin dragging my mouth down her neck and across her throat. Ana's breaths become labored, her chest rising and falling with every press of my mouth on her skin. "No." I kiss her shoulder. "Fucking." I kiss her sternum. "Way." I nip at the taut bud of her breast. "Nofuckingway I'm not watching you come tonight."

I lick and suck at her breasts, spending equal time on each perfect mound of flesh. If I were a romantic man, I would write sonnets about Ana's chest and read them below her bedroom window. They're perfect. The size, a perfect handful. The shape. The weight. Everything about her breasts is perfect. Fucking everything. I've dreamed this. I've never been with a woman in such a tame way, but there is something so arousing about this. With her. With Ana. And we're on my fucking parents couch.

"Christian," she breaths, her hand once again finding me hard and ready between us. I'm leaking precum, and she uses her thumb to spread it around the tip. "Oh my-" she sucks in a large, audible breath of air, throwing her head backward and tightening her grip on my cock as her hand and my hips thrust in unison.

I suck a nipple in my mouth and roll my tongue over the tightened tip, sucking lightly at the skin. Ana tastes unlike anything or anyone before her, fresh and sweet and Ana. With one hand braced over the skin of her lower back, I slip my other hand under her sleep shorts to rub her pussy through the fabric of her undies. The cotton is wet, stuck to her mound, and the slipperiness sends a strong jolt of arousal to my already close to exploding loins.

"You're so wet," I whisper through my harsh breathing. I'm almost there, but I need for Ana to come. When I look up at her face, her eyes are screwed shut, so I take her nipple back in my mouth, rub her pussy a little harder, a little faster.

"Oh my God," she sighs breathlessly, pumping my cock with one hand and gripping the back of my neck with the other. "Christian. Oh my God." Ana's hips start gyrating against my hand, and I know she's as close to coming as I am. I feel like I'm going to burst, and the only thing I want more than my orgasm is hers.

"Come, Ana." I breath against the damp skin of her breast, then resume my work with my tongue. "Come for me."

"I'm-I'm," she sucks in a number of short, staccato breaths, cutting off whatever she was going to say. Her body tenses for a quick second, then every muscle in her torso and legs begins quivering and shaking. Holy fuck, she's so fucking gorgeous like this. Ana gasps for breath, panting with her head thrown back. I pull my mouth away from her chest and continue rubbing her clit, slipping a finger beneath her panties and through her pubic hair to gather some of the wetness. "Ahhh," she moans. "Christian," she breathes, still shaking, still shivering through her orgasm, and somehow still pumping me.

Her hand squeezes up my cock once, and the tingle in my spine spreads through my stomach, radiates down my thighs. Her hand moves down, then back up in quick succession, and I come. I come so fucking hard watching the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in the throes of her own orgasm that white dots flash in my vision. The first spurt shoots so high and so hard that it hits Ana's chest, and the rest of my convulsions spill semen out onto her hand as she continues to pump me through my climax.

"Fuck, Ana," I growl. "Fuck." My hand at her back moves down to grip her hand in mine and halt her movement. I close my eyes and remove my hand from her shorts, trailing the fingers up her body until they thread through her hair. I pull her mouth to mine, and we kiss one another with damp, open-mouthed kisses as we breathe the same air.

Never in the history of dry hand-jobs has there been a dry hand-job this amazing. I push the back of my head into the cushion behind me, and Ana and I remove our hands from around my erection at the same time. I let out a soft grunt when her hand brushes the head.

I look up at Ana, and take in the flush that's bloomed over her chest and all the way up to her forehead. Her teeth are worrying her lip, and she definitely looks nervous or startled or some other emotion that seems out of place in this moment. I smile at her, hoping to ease whatever nerves she's experiencing, and she mirrors the expression back at me, giggling a little when she holds up her semen covered hand.

"Sorry about that," I murmur, then laugh, because I am not sorry in the least. I tug off the white shirt I threw on before coming downstairs and wipe my sticky hand on it. "Here," I proffer the shirt to her, but her eyes are fixed on me, roaming over my chest and abdomen and slightly-deflated cock in the dim lighting of the living room. I realize that I am actually completely naked, and she's mostly clothed.

"Um," she swallows and tears her eyes away from my body, "thanks." Ana takes the shirt and wipes at my orgasm where it covers her skin. I stand, pulling my shorts back up and tucking my not yet soft dick into the waistband. When I look back over at Ana only seconds later, she's pulling the straps of her camisole back up her arms and rising from the couch. "I should probably go back upstairs," she says softly, as if she's unsure of what to do. I'm a little unsure of what to do, but I know I don't want her to go anywhere without me.

"Come here," I mutter, reaching for her hand and pulling her back to the couch. "I don't want to go back upstairs just yet."

She shoots me a shy smile. "Me either."

"Good." I gentle a kiss on her shoulder, and lie down with my back pressed against the cushions. I pat the spot next to me, silently directing Ana that I want her to lie down. With a wide grin, she spreads out next to me so that we're face-to-face, and I prop myself up on an elbow to both turn out the light I switched on when I first came downstairs and grab the blanket my mother keeps on the back of the couch, shaking it out and spreading it over the two of us.

I slip an arm under her neck, and she rests her temple on my bicep as I finger a piece of hair. She slips a leg in between mine, and I pull her into me when I drape my other arm over her hip.

"Just don't-"

"I won't touch your back or chest," she interrupts, pressing a quick kiss to my Adam's apple. "I didn't take you for a cuddler," she whispers into the moonlit darkness.

"I'm not," I start, opening my mouth to continue, but closing it when I can't quite finish the thought. I ruminate on the idea of me being a "cuddler" for a moment, and decide to just be honest. "Or I'm not usually. You do something to me, and I can't really explain why, but I want…I want to do things right with you." I lean forward and peck her lips. "So, I hope that was alright for you."

"Alright?" she giggles. "It was…fantastic. Transformative."

"Transformative?" I chuckle, silently agreeing with her. That was the best orgasm I've ever had; I cannot imagine how hard I'm going to come when we have sex. I grab her hand with mine and bring her fingers up to my mouth, kissing each tip then placing it on my hip.

"I've never…"she trails off.

"Come that hard?" I can't keep the pride out of my voice with that one. I find her lips and slant a kiss across them. "Can we have a movie night tomorrow?"

"Like tomorrow evening?" she asks, her voice a little higher out of…excitement?

"Yes."

"Definitely," she nods, her eyes finding mine in the darkness of the room. "What should be watch?"

"Surprise me," I grin. "Apparently I've missed a lot."

"Okay," she whispers. She's quiet for a second, until she yawns into the skin of my neck. Her moist breath causes my cock to jump to life again, and I'm a little imprssed at the big guy's refractory period.

"You're tired?" I ask, exhaustion suddenly filling me as well.

"Yeah," she laments, "but I don't want to go back upstairs. You're comfortable."

"Like a couch?"

"No," she shakes her head, "like a bed."

I stroke Ana's hair and rub her back under the blanket. Because this has been the best night of my life and I'm not quite ready for it to end, I don't move us when Ana's breathing becomes steady and shallow. I'll let her sleep for a while, then we'll get up and sneak back to our rooms.

When I open my eyes the next morning, I can't quite place what's woken me up, but I remember immediately where I am. Still on the couch with Anastasia Steele sleeping in my arms. My chest is still bare and Ana's face is buried in my neck, my chin resting on the top of her head. Her soft breaths come in and out, and I'd be tempted to fall back asleep if I weren't so interested in watching her sleep. Her face is slack, her cheeks pink, mouth open just a bit, and she looks so young like this.

I pull away ever so slightly to get a better look at her, and she shifts in her sleep. The hand she'd been resting on my hip moves between us, and I grab it before it lands on my chest. My blood pressure picks up and my breath halts in my throat with the anxiety of her touching me there.

With my eyes closed, I count backward from ten while her hand still rests in mine. When I open my eyes, I'm calm and able to think more clearly. She touched me last night and it didn't hurt. I wasn't anxious about sleeping with her. It doesn't bother me that we were intimate and her hands were free. Could I try? Could I check my body's response to her touch while she's sleeping? I choke back the emotion welling in my throat, and set our enjoined hands on Ana's hip, still contemplating what I could do.

After a beat, I take her hand and bring it to the space between our bodies so that it's only centimeters away from the bare flesh of my chest. I duck my head and kiss her fingers, then with a final shaky breath I press her full, splayed hand over my heart. The touch is searing, but not in the normal way. It feels nice. Warm. Before I can really think about what's happening with Ana's small hand on me, a shocked gasp across the room steals my attention away.

My mother is standing at the entryway to the living room watching me with quickly dampening eyes. Her hand comes up to her mouth and I quickly move Ana's hand away from me. Grace gives me a weak smile across the room, and with a final look at Ana and I, she turns slowly and heads back toward the kitchen. Fuck. I had no intention of allowing anyone to catch us sleeping together, and I definitely didn't want anyone to see me working out my haphephobia while my girl sleeps next to me.

My girl.

After the shock of my mother catching me in such an unguarded moment passes, I bury my nose in Ana's hair and press a kiss to her forehead, rousing her from sleep. She makes a soft moan of protest and nuzzles further into my neck. A moment later, she arches her back and her eyes meet mine. Gorgeous. Her pelvis grinds into my throbbing morning boner, and she goes to pull away, but I pull her closer.

"We fell asleep," she whispers, her eyes wide and her mouth set in a little surprised 'o'.

"It's fine," I chuckle, "but we have been caught." I draw in a deep breath. "My mom just walked in."

"Oh god," she groans as she covers her face with her hands.

"None of that." I pull her hands away from her face. "I can't think of a better way to wake up."

And I really can't. I've been turned inside out since the moment I first laid eyes on Anastasia Steele. If someone told me a year ago-a month ago even-that I would enjoy getting a dry hand-job on my parent's living room sofa after bringing that same girl as a date to the gala, I would never have believed them. I can't put my finger on what it is about her that does me in, but it doesn't matter. I want more of her, and I'll take it in any way possible.