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“I am going to push this inside you, very slowly.” I gasp, anticipation and anxiety charging through me.

“Will it hurt?”

“No, baby. It’s small. Once it’s inside you, I’m going to fuck you real hard.” I practically convulse. Bending over me, he kisses me once more between my shoulder blades.

“Ready?” he whispers.

Ready? Am I ready for this?

“Yes,” I mutter quietly, my mouth dry. He runs another finger down past my ass and perineum and slips it inside me. Fuck, it’s his thumb. He cups my sex and his fingers gently caress my clitoris. I moan . . . it feels . . . good. And gently, while his fingers and thumb work their magic, he pushes the cold plug slowly into me.

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“Ah!” I groan loudly at the unfamiliar sensation, my muscles protesting at the intrusion. He circles his thumb inside me and pushes the plug harder, and it slips in easily, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m so turned on or if he’s distracted me with his expert fingers, but my body seems to accept it. It’s heavy . . . and strange . . . there!

“Oh, baby.”

And I can feel it . . . where his thumb swirls inside me . . . and the plug presses against . . . oh, ah . . . He slowly twists the plug, eliciting a long drawn-out moan from me.

“Christian,” I mumble, his name a garbled mantra, as I adjust to the sensation.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He runs his free hand down my side until it reaches my hip. Slowly he withdraws his thumb, and I hear the telltale sound of his zipper opening. Grasping my other hip, he pulls me back and parts my legs further, his foot pushing against mine. “Don’t let go of the table, Ana,” he warns.

“No,” I gasp.

“Something rough? Tell me if I’m too rough. Understand?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and he slams into me and pulls me onto him at the same time, jolting the plug forward, deeper . . .

“Fuck!” I cry out.

He stills, his breathing harsher and my panting matches his. I try to assimilate all the sensations: the delicious fullness, the tantalizing feeling that I am doing something forbidden, the erotic pleasure that spirals outward from deep within me. He pulls gently on the plug.

Oh jeez . . . I moan, and I hear his sharp intake of breath—a gasp of pure, unadulterated pleasure. It heats my blood. Have I ever felt so wanton . . . so—

“Again?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“Stay flat,” he orders. He eases out of me and rams into me again.

Oh . . . I wanted this. “Yes,” I hiss.

And he picks up the pace, his breathing more labored, matching my own as he thrashes into me.

“Oh, Ana,” he gasps. He moves one of his hands from my hips and twists the plug again, tugging it slowly, pulling it out and pushing it back in. The feeling is indescribable, and I think I’m going to pass out on the table. He never misses a 119/551

beat as he takes me, again and again, moving strong and hard inside me, my insides tightening and quivering.

“Oh fuck,” I moan. This is going to rip me apart.

“Yes, baby,” he hisses.

“Please,” I beg him and I don’t know what for—to stop, to never stop, to twist the plug again. My insides are tightening around him and the plug.

“That’s right,” he breathes, and he slaps me hard on my right buttock, and I come—again and again, falling, falling, spinning, pulsing around and around—and Christian gently pulls the plug out.

“Fuck! ” I scream and Christian grabs my hips and climaxes loudly, holding me still.

The woman is still singing. Christian always puts songs on repeat in here. Strange.

I am curled in his arms on his lap our legs tangled together, with my head resting against his chest. We’re on the floor of the playroom by the table.

“Welcome back,” he says, peeling the blindfold off me. I blink as my eyes adjust to the muted light. Tipping my chin back, he plants a soft kiss on my lips, his eyes focused on and anxiously searching mine. I reach up to caress his face.

He smiles.

“Well, did I fulfill the brief?” he asks, amused.

I frown. “Brief?”

“You wanted rough,” he says gently.

I grin, because I just can’t help it. “Yes. I think you did . . .” He raises his eyebrows and grins back at me. “I’m very glad to hear it Mrs.

Grey. You look thoroughly well fucked and beautiful at this moment.” He caresses my face, his long fingers stroking my cheek.

“I feel it,” I purr.

He reaches down and kisses me tenderly, his lips soft and warm and giving against mine. “You never disappoint.” He leans back to gaze down at me. “How do you feel?” His voice is soft with concern.

“Good,” I murmur, feeling a flush creep across my face. “Thoroughly well fucked.” I smile shyly.

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“Why, Mrs. Grey, you have a dirty, dirty mouth.” Christian feigns an offended expression, but I can hear his amusement.

“That’s because I’m married to a dirty, dirty boy, Mr. Grey.” He grins a ridiculously stupid grin and it’s infectious. “I’m glad you’re married to him.” He gently takes hold of my braid, lifts it to his lips, and kisses the end with reverence, his eyes glowing with love. Oh my . . . did I ever have a chance of resisting this man?