A/N: Hope this update makes you happy. We're in the all-important seven-month separation that a lot of you were waiting for from Ripple Effects.

On another note, if you're interested in getting news on my upcoming novels, please consider following me on FB and Twitter under Lulu Astor. I'm working on a new dark romance and my mystery is in the hands of an agent right now. Keep your fingers crossed for me. :)

Mrs. JSD, where are you? I miss you. To my guest readers: I'm sorry I can't respond to you. It's so frustrating that FF doesn't allow guest reviews to be answered. Please know that I read and publish them all and I appreciate the time taken to let me know what you're thinking.

Chapter 10

Crack!

The single tail doesn't dance so much as attack, leaving a red slash that will welt in seconds. The body that owns the skin flinches before relaxing into the scalding pain. As I watch her power through it, the beast in me is temporarily soothed. If I squint my eyes I can even imagine another body there, one with long, silky hair swinging down in dark waves over a lithe frame… her sexy voice screaming in pain yet wanting more.

It's not her.

This body is dark-skinned with lots of hard-earned muscle. Araceli is a tough girl—woman—and there's nothing remotely submissive about her either. She's purely a masochist and she's here in Irina's dungeon for pain and only pain. What many might consider unendurable agony is her drug of choice. Nor does she muddle her physical need with sex. For her, pain is the most direct route to a natural high. She thrives on the endorphins that arrive with the pain.

I'm here to deliver it to her.

I won't discuss, analyze, or even briefly contemplate my sudden celibacy—it's off-limits even to myself. Delivering physical battery artfully with the whip or cane of my choosing is an activity I will not forego, however.

It's why I'm here tonight, creating a canvas of welts and stripes on this female's back, ass, legs and occasionally tits. I must admit it's a beautiful painting.

The last time I was here, I left without gaining any satisfaction. The fact that I passed up an opportunity to get laid and possibly find a perfectly suited submissive all because of the probability that the Callahan woman would report my presence to her friend who shall remain nameless infuriated me to the point where I needed to take some action. The action I opted to pursue was to inform both my publicists as well as the PR agency my firm utilizes to delete Anastasia Steele from my meta-tag notifications. In doing so, the mention of her name online or in print would not be flagged and noted by my people and thus reported to Seth and others in Grey security.

Who would report it to me.

This step was huge for me since I am a person who finds it difficult to let go once something or someone reaches obsession level for me… and the young woman in question undoubtedly did. Therefore, asking my staff to delete her from my notifications was major, and it satisfied me.

For about five minutes.

Until I begin to wonder exactly what I'm missing. I push the questions out of my mind and focus on the task at hand.

...

Saturday arrives and I need to find new ways to distract myself. I start by getting up at dawn to run along the water. It's a six-mile run from the front of my apartment building to the bike path along the water's edge and down to the park where I sit to rest for a minute and back the same way or a slightly altered path. Same distance.

Almost as soon as I return home, Grace calls. My mother insists I come for brunch today. I do my level best to avoid it but she gets choked up when I tell her I'm too busy—"…too busy to spend a meal with your parents, Christian?"

So now here I sit. Scowling. To my right is Mia, gushing about her dissertation defense, going on about such a frivolous topic like quantum physics. When I'm in a better mood, I usually appreciate the dichotomy in my sister's personality: science geek on one hand, fashion hound on the other. Beautiful and vivacious in the main… but sometimes as serious as the grave and about as humorless (the latter, it's been pointed out, she and I have in common, no doubt inherited from some Puritan ancestor lurking somewhere in our bloodline). It all depends on when and where you catch Mia. I do enjoy how it throws people first meeting her.

But today my mood can only be described as black and shriveled like a charred carcass. Much of the reason why sits to my left: Elliott and his bimbo girlfriend. Who happens to be best friends and roommates with the woman who will remain nameless, the one who rejected me. The one I'll never see again. I refuse to.

As if their presence is not insult enough, they keep talking about her. My brother is just a simpleton but the woman is doing it very intentionally for my benefit. She knows that I don't want to hear about it, so she continues to bring it up and relishes it all the while, I might add.

"Australia?" I hear Grace say to Kavanagh. "Ana is becoming quite the traveler."

What? Australia? What the hell is she doing there? I stir my espresso and a third of the liquid sloshes over the delicate white and gold demitasse cup. Just as well. I find it hard to sleep on espresso, even if drinking it this early in the day. I do my best to ignore the conversation—I'm thinking about the problems Roz identified with Jetson, the company we're analyzing for a potential buyout. It operates in a niche market, mostly doing government contracts for NASA. One of the issues involves a requirement for SF 85 certification for all personnel, which is excessively time consuming.

"…involving her husband."

Husband? My jaw clenches so hard I think my teeth just fractured. I thought I had McEvoy take care of that for her. Damn the woman, she just ignores all of my edicts and does whatever the hell she wants. Just the word husband mentioned in relation to her makes my blood fire up from simmer to boil.

Now I'm tormented further by the screechy voice of the Kavanagh woman. "Kent went with her, of course, and turned it into a business trip so he could cover Ana's expenses. He just adores Ana and the feeling… it's very mutual."

She goes out of her way to angle her blonde head and look at me. I wonder, would it be considered impolite to strike a female guest at the dinner table? My mother would probably take exception. Still, pity I don't have my whip. I picture slicing it hard over that round little ass that has Elliott panting after her like a mongrel in heat and shutting her up but good. Well, she'd be screaming. Then again, if I'm imagining a whip, I may as well add a ball gag to the fantasy.

My bad mood does not go unnoticed by my parents. They keep exchanging those parental looks, the kind that say I'm worried and answered with so am I. I find it beyond irritating so I clam up. If I'm not part of the conversation, it cannot affect me.

Finally the four-course brunch is over. I push away from the table, intending to come up with an excuse why I have to leave. Before I can get a word out my father calls my name.

"Christian, might I have a word with you?"

Why, I wonder? He sees my expression and shakes his head. "Am I asking too much, son?"

"No, of course not."

"Good. Come with me into my office."

We walk through the dining area to the common hall and down to the end where his study is located. The house has two halls that run the perimeter of the entire structure: one is centrally located and one is on the outer side and part of the interior courtyard, with the room windows facing it. Technically the hall is on the exterior but it has polished brick flooring, lighting and furniture. That's the one I'll take to leave directly from the office if I can manage it. No goodbyes and no more torture from Kavanagh.

"Come in, Christian."

I follow him through the door and he gestures for me to sit down on the small tufted leather bench. He sits across from me. I wait, trying to be patient, for him to get to the point.

Carrick leans forward, his hands clasped between his knees. This is his concerned father position. I fear I'm in for an extended paternal lecture. "Christian, want to tell me what's going on with you?"

No, I don't. But I don't dare say that to my father. Instead I play dumb, knowing it's futile but doing it anyway. "What do you mean? I have a lot going on at work."

"Son, you always have a lot going on at work. That's not what I'm asking you. This… well, it seems to be more personal in nature. Is it Ana?"

"What exactly is it, the thing to which you're referring?"

"Christian, you've been in a snit for the past few weeks. You're cranky beyond all measure and are displaying your old anti-social tendencies. I'm concerned. Your mother and I both."

"Cranky?" I almost smile. "I'm not a toddler who needs a nap, Dad. I just have a lot on my mind."

He leans back in his chair and considers me. Now I know where I get that from and it's an excellent tactic to use in business to unnerve your opponent. I don't appreciate when it's directed at me though.

"All right. How is Ana anyway? Are you two still seeing each other?"

I sigh. Might as well get it over with since it's not going to go away until I do. "No, we're through, Dad."

"So that explains your moods, I suppose."

"What moods? Mom insisted I come today when I have a lot to do. To make matters worse, I had to sit there and listen to the drivel of that insufferable woman Elliott's dating, which didn't do my so-called mood a bit of good. Now I'm being interrogated and I'm just anx—"

"Interrogated?" he interrupted. "For Christ's sake, Christian, you're having a chat with your father. I'd hardly call it an interrogation."

I say nothing, trying to keep my face placid but probably failing. I want to go home.

"Look, Christian, I just want to know everything's OK with you. If you say it is, then that's good enough for me. It's just that…" he trails off.

"It's just what?" I have to ask, not only to be polite but because I have to know.

He presses his lips together, a look of concern etched on his face. "It's just that you looked so happy when you were with Ana. We'd hoped that… well, that it would work out."

I can feel the heat of rising anger crawl up my spine and I need to get out of here. Reassure him and then fly. "Dad, it didn't but honestly everything is going well. By the end of summer things will slow down a bit at work and I'll be able to take a break, maybe do some traveling. Right now I'm just swamped and I don't want to screw things up because I'm distracted."

Nodding, Carrick says, "OK, if you say so, then it's fine. I'll let your mother know. She was worried about you too."

"Please let her know. I'm going to leave the back way, Dad, if you don't mind."

"I do mind. Come say goodbye to your mother rather than skulk out the back."

I can't help my glower but I dutifully obey him. It's not too bad. Grace is on her second or third mimosa and she's in a good mood. I give her a kiss and hug. "Thanks, Mom, for a delicious brunch. I'll see you next week at the golf course, right?"

"Oh, that's right. Yes, you will, darling. Don't work too hard."

I hide my smile over her slightly slurred words. Grace cannot hold her liquor. I know someone else who can't either but she's the nameless one. The instant she passes through my brain my momentary good mood evaporates like soda bubbles going flat in seconds. I beat a hasty retreat before I have to say my goodbyes to the sickening duo on the terrace. Mia has already escaped the party.

...

I drive fast. She's on my brain again, thinking of her in Australia with Kent. What hold does she have on the man anyway? He's fucking gay. Why the hell is he always crawling up her ass… and why did I have to think of that phrase because now I have unpleasant images in my head that I'd rather not have.

I want to be crawling up her ass if anyone is, motherfucker.

No. She fucking rejected me. Who the hell does she think she is anyway?

My life is so insulated by my wealth and position that it's a miracle she even met me. I don't generally get to meet people outside my small world. Even women. Especially women. The fact is, she wouldn't have met me if I hadn't been forced to babysit Elliott that night. I would have come later for the second, more entertaining part of the evening and accordingly would never have seen the little virgin.

Fuck.

...

Smack in the middle of a fucking rotten day my parents show up to take me to lunch. I can't fucking believe it. After an important meeting went belly up, I go into the conference room to intensively number crunch with Ted, the head of accounting and Frank from legal. Our figures hold up but that's not what I'm hearing from the current CFO and I'm not sure who's screwing up but I'm pretty damn certain it's not us. My admin texts me to inform me my parents are in the lobby and I text her back, telling her to show them into my office to wait for me.

I'm returning there when I hear the conversation. I feel guilty for eavesdropping but justified since they're talking about me. I had no idea that John Flynn had already arrived for our session. Bad timing all around but it would have been nice if my parents had given me a heads fucking up.

Grace is speaking to John Flynn now.

"…he really liked her. Yes and Carrick… she was."

Damn it. Grace speaks too softly.

"Grace, Carrick, you know I can't discuss a client with you, even if you are his parents."

"No, we understand," Carrick speaks up. "It's just that he's showing signs of retreating from other people, something he used to do as a young child. We're concerned about him, that's all."

"Thank you. I'll be vigilant about it. That's all I'm willing to say."

"That's fine, John," Grace says. "I'm sorry… bad spot… worried and thought the…it best."

They're talking about my so-called mood. I'm not retreating into my own world. I run a fucking Fortune 500 company, for God's sake. I have to deal with a multitude of people every single day of my life. What the hell do they want from me? I don't need some woman, some silly girl whom I never should have even met but for a quirk of fate, to complete my life. Besides, my personal life is my own business, for fuck's sake.

Needless to say, lunch is a pretty miserable affair.

...

I have her naked and bound on the St. Andrew's cross. In my hand is my favorite six-foot single tail. Her flawless skin beckons to me, my blank canvas. I can't wait to put my marks on it. Maybe even a design? I raise my whiphand, crack the tail, and bring it down against her round, plump backside. It slashes across the pale skin of her right ass cheek, leaving a thick red line in its wake. Her resulting scream is bloodcurdling and it makes me fucking hard. I'm a monster.

I give her a matching stripe on the left and drink in the next shriek, watch her violently flinch away but she has nowhere to go: her wrists and ankles are bound tightly. Her pussy, on the other hand, is in easy reach.

Dropping the whip, I stalk over to her, pulling her pelvis away from the cross and crawling between her legs so I'm facing her. My tongue begins tormenting her clit, round and round until she begins to moan. I stop to watch it become engorged—it must be uncomfortable.

Perfect. I return to my whip for another round.

I give her four more with the whip and then run my hands all over her body to increase the burn.

"Christian," she says in a pleading voice and begs for me to stop.

I don't.

I have to punish her—first for not heeding my directives, second, for rejecting me.

How dare she? I'm Christian Grey. I'm an important businessman. I'm not the sniveling little boy my mother couldn't stomach. Thousands depend on my decisions for their livelihood. Who is she, some little slip of a girl, to reject me? I can have any woman I want any day of the week. I have to make her understand.

"Christian, fuck me," she whispers in a husky tone.

I give a little sarcastic chuckle in her ear. I want her to know she's not manipulating me successfully. She wants my cock. My cock wants her too but I won't give it to her. Allowing her orgasms will ruin the punishment; I have to leave her frustrated but I'm not done yet. I untie her from the cross and carry her to the bed.

"Give me your wrists." She complies instantly and my dick tightens. It's so hard I could probably roll a coin on it. I lash her wrists to the bedposts and then do the same with her ankles so she's sitting up, legs spread wide. When she's all trussed up I kneel in front of her on the bed and push my cock between her soft lips. "Suck me, Ana."

She parts those luscious lips and allows me to slide my cock into her warm, wet mouth. It feels glorious and I can't stop myself from pumping. She gags and I give her a minute but start up again. She gags again and I reprimand her. Before long I'm pumping again and this time I won't be able to stop myself. I go harder and faster. I can see her eyes widen in fright: it's because I won't allow her to control the blowjob with her hands—she can't stop me from deepthroating her… from gagging her with my hard cock. I can't hold back any longer. I shove all the way in and let go. My come pumps right down her throat and I see and feel her muscles working hard to swallow the big load.

Now it's time to drive her crazy with frustration. I position myself between her legs and get started. I lick her so softly that she won't be able to get off. "Harder," she cries. I go a little harder but I slow way down. Again she mewls with frustration. "Faster, Christian. Please."

I go faster again but lighten the pressure to almost non-existent. Still I feel her leg muscles begin to tighten so I pull away. She cries out. "Stop doing that."

I don't listen. After two minutes pass by and I'm sure the orgasm has receded, I start again. This time I use the right speed and pressure but I don't go close enough to her clit. Again she whines and I want to laugh. Did she think the whip was all the punishment she'd get? She made me want her and then rejected me. That's a crash and burn offense.

I stop to look at her pussy. Her swollen clit is throbbing and trying desperately to get my attention, protruding as much as possible, practically waving at me. She's so close to coming that one false move on my part and her punishment will be over.

I could whip her pussy? That way she'd probably come but it wouldn't be as enjoyable since it would come with pain. I stand up, looking for the crop. Where is it?

I find it on the dresser and return to her quickly, tapping the crop on the palm of my hand to show her. "This is the only way you're getting off, Ana. It will hurt. Do you want it?"

"Yes, please, yes."

My dick is hard again. I strike her with the crop, starting at her ankle and work my way up across her hip to the other leg and down. I do it again, each time getting closer to the motherlode. When I'm just about there, I leave off and go up to her tits, circling each before delivering a stout whap on each nipple. She yells out and her nipples swell and grow rosy very quickly. I know it hurt. Feeling like a rock in my pants, my dick is going to explode in my jeans.

I begin to work my way down, starting between her breasts and leaving a trail of small, angry red marks. Just before I reach her clit, I glance at her face, seeing a mixture of fear and desire in her eyes, and it makes me smile… right before I bring down the crop on her clit at full force. I've never heard such a scream before. Her eyes glaze over as I watch her come, anxious now to get inside her. Her scream goes on and on and it changes tenor.

It drops in volume and changes to a whine, a monotone moan, and just doesn't stop. It keeps going on and on, and I squeeze my eyes shut. When I peel them open I realize it's the alarm clock.

Not Ana.

A dream. What's not a dream is my very real hard-on, painful now. I slap my fist down on the snooze bar, trying to get back into the dream but it's no use. The alarm ripped into the lovely fantasy and tore it to shreds. I didn't have Ana under my tongue at all. I didn't punish her at all. She doesn't want me at all.

Ana's in Australia with Kent; she's there to visit her husband.

The thought makes me feel murderous and the only cure is to fuck her hard, fuck her so hard it exhausts me. Since she's in Australia, that's impossible. My money can't fix this problem and it's enraging me to no end. Time to head over to the gym and beat some poor punching bag into submission. The clock reads 6 a.m. My first meeting is at 8:45. I text Claudia to reschedule it and get into a scorching hot shower.

The gym will help; exercise always helps. For a while. But what I really need is to dominate a girl and get laid. The problem for me is there's only one little pussy I want—my little pussy that's only been had by me. It belongs to a woman who will remain nameless.

She's on the other side of the world. Fuck me.