姐,我要。。。
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五十度灰英文版 - Part II 10
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  I line up on the white ball and with a swift clean stroke,
  hit the center ball of the triangle square on with such force
  that a striped ball spins and plunges into the top right
  pocket. I’ve scattered the rest of the balls.
  “I choose stripes,” I say innocently, smiling coyly at
  Christian. His mouth twists in amusement.
  “Be my guest,” he says politely.
  I proceed to pocket the next three balls in quick
  succession. Inside, I’m dancing. At this moment, I am so
  grateful to José for teaching me to play pool and play it
  well. Christian watches impassively, giving nothing away,
  but his amusement seems to ebb. I miss the green stripe by
  a hairsbreadth.
  “You know, Anastasia, I could stand here and watch
  you leaning and stretching across this billiard table all day,”
  he says appreciatively.
  he says appreciatively.
  I flush. Thank heavens I am wearing my jeans. He
  smirks. He’s trying to put me off my game, the bastard. He
  pulls his cream sweater over his head, tosses it onto the
  back of a chair, and grins at me, as he saunters over to
  take his first shot.
  He bends low over the table. My mouth goes dry. Oh,
  I see what he means. Christian in tight jeans and white Tshirt,
  bending, like that . . . is something to behold. I quite
  lose my train of thought. He sinks four solids rapidly, then
  fouls by sinking the white.
  “A very elementary mistake, Mr. Grey,” I tease.
  He smirks. “Ah, Miss Steele, I am but a foolish mortal.
  Your go, I believe.” He waves at the table.
  “You’re not trying to lose are you?”
  “Oh no. For what I have in mind as the prize, I want to
  win, Anastasia.” He shrugs casually. “But then, I always
  want to win.”
  I narrow my eyes at him. Right then . . . I’m so glad
  I’m wearing my blue blouse, which is pleasingly low-cut. I
  I’m wearing my blue blouse, which is pleasingly low-cut. I
  stalk around the table, bending low at every available
  opportunity—giving Christian an eyeful of my behind and
  my cleavage whenever I can. Two can play at that game. I
  glance at him.
  “I know what you’re doing,” he whispers, his eyes
  dark.
  I tilt my head coquettishly to one side, gently fondling
  my cue, running my hand up and down it slowly. “Oh. I am
  just deciding where to take my next shot,” I murmur
  distractedly.
  Leaning across, I hit the orange stripe into a better
  position. I then stand directly in front of Christian and take
  the rest from underneath the table. I line up my next shot,
  leaning right over the table. I hear Christian’s sharp intake
  of breath, and of course, I miss. Shit.
  He comes to stand behind me while I am still bent over
  the table and places his hand on my backside. Hmm . . .
  “Are you waving this around to taunt me, Miss
  Steele?” And he smacks me, hard.
  I gasp. “Yes,” I mutter, because it’s true.
  “Be careful what you wish for, baby.”
  I rub my behind as he wanders to the other end of the
  table, leans over, and takes his shot. Jeez, I could look at
  him all day. He hits the red ball, and it shoots into the left
  side pocket. He aims for the yellow, top right, and it just
  misses. I grin.
  “Red Room here we come,” I taunt him.
  He merely raises an eyebrow and directs me to
  continue. I make quick work of the green stripe and by
  some fluke, manage to knock in the final orange stripe.
  “Name your pocket,” Christian murmurs, and it’s as if
  he’s talking about something else, something dark and
  rude.
  “Top left-hand.” I take aim over the black, hit it, but
  miss. It skirts wide. Damn.
  Christian smiles a wicked grin as he leans over the
  table and makes short work of the two remaining solids. I
  am practically panting, watching him, his lithe body
  stretching over the table. He stands and chalks his cue, his
  stretching over the table. He stands and chalks his cue, his
  eyes burning into me.
  “If I win . . .”
  Oh yes?
  “I am going to spank you, then fuck you over this
  billiard table.”
  Holy shit. Every single muscle south of my navel
  clenches hard.
  “Top right,” he murmurs, pointing to the black, and
  bends to take the shot.
  de Saint-Exupéry, Antoine. Night Flight. Translated by Stuart Gilbert.
  New Jersey: Prentice Hall, June 1932. (First published in 1931 under the
  original title of Vol de nuit.)
  With easy grace, Christian taps the white ball so that it
  glides across the table, kisses the black and oh-so-slowly
  the black rolls, teeters on the edge, and finally drops into
  the top right pocket of the billiard table.
  Damn.
  He stands, and his mouth twists in a triumphant I-soown-
  you-Steele smile. Putting down his cue, he saunters
  casually toward me, all tousled hair, jeans, and white Tshirt.
  He doesn’t look like a CEO—he looks like a bad
  boy from the wrong side of town. Holy cow, he’s so
  fucking sexy.
  “You’re not going to be a sore loser, are you?” he
  murmurs, barely containing his grin.
  “Depends how hard you spank me,” I whisper, holding
  on to my cue for support. He takes my cue and puts it to
  one side, hooks his finger into the top of my shirt, and pulls
  me toward him.
  “Well, let’s count your misdemeanors, Miss Steele.”
  He counts on his long fingers. “One, making me jealous of
  my own staff. Two, arguing with me about working. And
  three, waving your delectable derriere at me for the last
  twenty minutes.”
  His eyes glow a soft gray with excitement, and leaning
  down, he rubs his nose against mine. “I want you to take
  your jeans and this very fetching shirt off. Now.” He plants
  a feather-soft kiss on my lips, wanders nonchalantly over
  to the door, and locks it.
  Oh my.
  When he turns and gazes at me, his eyes are burning. I
  stand paralyzed like a complete zombie, my heart
  pounding, my blood pumping, not actually able to move a
  muscle. In my mind, all I can think is—this is for him—
  the thought repeating like a mantra over and over again.
  “Clothes, Anastasia. You appear to still be wearing
  them. Take them off—or I will do it for you.”
  “You do it.” I finally find my voice, and it sounds low
  and heated. Christian grins.
  “Oh, Miss Steele. It’s a dirty job, but I think I can rise
  to the challenge.”
  “You normally rise to most challenges, Mr. Grey.” I
  raise an eyebrow at him, and he smirks.
  “Why, Miss Steele, whatever do you mean?” On his
  way over to me, he pauses at the small desk built into one
  of the bookshelves. Reaching over, he picks up a twelveinch
  Perspex ruler. He holds each end and flexes it, his
  eyes not leaving mine.
  Holy shit—his weapon of choice. My mouth goes
  dry.
  dry.
  Suddenly, I’m hot and bothered and damp in all the
  right places. Only Christian could turn me on with just a
  look and the flex of a ruler. He slips it into the back pocket
  of his jeans and ambles toward me, eyes dark and full of
  promise. Without saying a word, he drops to his knees in
  front of me and starts to undo my laces, quickly and
  efficiently, dragging both my Converse and socks off. I
  lean on the side of the billiard table so I don’t fall. Gazing
  down at him as he undoes my laces, I marvel at the depth
  of feeling that I have for this beautiful flawed man. I love
  him.
  He grabs my hips, slips his fingers into the waistband of
  my jeans, and undoes the button and zipper. He peers up
  through his long lashes, grinning his most salacious grin as
  he slowly peels my jeans off. I step out of them, glad that
  I’m wearing these pretty, pretty panties, and he grasps the
  back of my legs and runs his nose along the apex of my
  thighs. I practically melt.
  “I want to be quite rough with you, Ana. You’ll have to
  tell me to stop if it’s too much,” he breathes.
  Oh my. He kisses me . . . there. I moan softly.
  “Safe word?” I murmur.
  “No, no safe word, just tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.
  Understand?” He kisses me again, nuzzling me. Oh, that
  feels good. He stands, his stare intense. “Answer me,” he
  orders his voice velvet soft.
  “Yes, yes, I understand.” I’m puzzled by his insistence.
  “You’ve been dropping hints and giving me mixed
  signals all day, Anastasia,” he says. “You said you were
  signals all day, Anastasia,” he says. “You said you were
  worried I’d lost my edge. I’m not sure what you meant by
  that, and I don’t know how serious you were, but we are
  going to find out. I don’t want to go back into the
  playroom yet, so we can try this now, but if you don’t like
  it, you must promise to tell me.” A burning intensity born of
  his anxiety replaces his earlier cockiness.
  Whoa, please don’t be anxious, Christian. “I’ll tell
  you. No safe word,” I reiterate to reassure him.
  “We’re lovers, Anastasia. Lovers don’t need safe
  words.” He frowns. “Do they?”
  “I guess not,” I murmur. Jeez—how do I know? “I
  promise.”
  He searches my face for any clue that I might lack the
  courage of my convictions, and I’m nervous but excited,
  too. I’m much happier to do this, knowing that he loves
  me. It’s very simple to me, and right now, I don’t want to
  overthink it.
  A slow smile stretches across his face, and he starts to
  unbutton my shirt, his deft fingers making short work of it,
  though he doesn’t take it off. He leans over and picks up
  the cue.
  Oh fuck, what’s he going to do with that ? A frisson
  of fear runs through me.
  “You play well, Miss Steele. I must say I’m surprised.
  Why don’t you sink the black?”
  My fear forgotten, I pout, wondering why the hell he
  should be surprised—sexy, arrogant bastard. My inner
  goddess is limbering up in the background, doing her floor
  exercises—a great fat smile on her face.
  exercises—a great fat smile on her face.
  I position the white ball. Christian strolls back around
  the table and stands right behind me as I lean over to take
  my shot. He places his hand on my right thigh and runs his
  fingers up and down my leg, up to my behind and back
  again, lightly stroking me.
  “I am going to miss if you keep doing that,” I whisper,
  closing my eyes and relishing the feel of his hands on me.
  “I don’t care if you hit or miss, baby. I just wanted to
  see you like this—partially dressed, stretched out on my
  billiard table. Do you have any idea how hot you look at
  the moment?”
  I flush, and my inner goddess grabs a rose between her
  teeth and starts to tango. Taking a deep breath, I try to
  ignore him and line up my shot. It’s impossible. He
  caresses my behind, over and over again.
  “Top left,” I murmur, then hit the white ball. He smacks
  me hard, squarely on my backside.
  It’s so unexpected, I yelp. The white hits the black,
  which bounces off the cushion wide of the pocket.
  Christian caresses my behind again.
  “Oh, I think you need to try that again,” he whispers.
  “You should concentrate, Anastasia.”
  I am panting now, excited by this game. He strolls to
  the end of the table, sets up the black ball again, then runs
  the white ball back down to me. He looks so carnal, dark
  eyed with a lascivious smile. How could I ever resist this
  man? I catch the ball and line it up, ready to strike again.
  “Uh-uh,” he admonishes. “Just wait.” Oh, he just loves
  prolonging the agony. He wanders back and stands behind
  prolonging the agony. He wanders back and stands behind
  me again. I close my eyes once more as he strokes my left
  thigh this time then fondles my backside again.
  “Take aim,” he breathes.

  I can’t help my moan as desire twists and turns inside
  me. And I try, really try, to think about where I should hit
  the black with the white. I shift slightly to my right, and he
  follows me. I bend over the table once more. Using every
  last vestige of inner strength—which has diminished
  considerably since I know what will happen once I strike
  the white ball—I take aim and hit the white again. Christian
  smacks me once more, hard.
  Ow! I miss again. “Oh no!” I groan.
  “Once more, baby. And if you miss this time, I’m really
  going to let you have it.”
  What? Have what?
  He sets up the black ball once more and walks,
  achingly slow, back to me until he’s standing behind me,
  caressing my backside once more.
  “You can do it,” he coaxes.
  Oh—not when you’re distracting me like this. I
  push my behind back against his hand, and he smacks me
  lightly.
  “Eager, Miss Steele?” he murmurs.
  Yes. I want you.
  “Well, let’s get rid of these.” He gently slides my
  panties down my thighs and off. I can’t see what he does
  with them, but he leaves me feeling exposed as he plants a
  soft kiss on each cheek.
  “Take the shot, baby.”
  “Take the shot, baby.”
  I want to whimper, this is so not going to happen. I
  know I am going to miss. I line up the white, hit it, and in
  my impatience, miss the black completely. I wait for the
  blow—but it doesn’t come. Instead he leans right over me,
  flattening me against the table, takes the cue out of my
  hand and rolls it to the side cushion. I can feel him, hard,
  against my backside.
  “You missed,” he says softly in my ear. My cheek is
  pressed against the baize. “Put your hands flat on the
  table.”
  I do as he says.
  “Good. I’m going to spank you now and next time,
  maybe you won’t.” He shifts so he’s standing to my left
  side, his erection against my hip.
  I groan and my heart leaps into my mouth. My breath
  comes in short pants and a hot, heavy excitement courses
  through my veins. Gently, he caresses my behind and curls
  his other hand around the nape of my neck, his fingers
  fisting in my hair, his elbow at my back, holding me down.
  I am completely helpless.
  “Open your legs,” he murmurs and for a moment, I
  hesitate. And he smacks me hard—with the ruler! The
  noise is harsher than the sting, and it takes me by surprise.
  I gasp, and he hits me again.
  “Legs,” he orders. I open my legs, panting. The ruler
  strikes again. Ow—it stings, but its crack across my skin
  sounds worse than it feels.
  I close my eyes and absorb the pain. It’s not too bad,
  and Christian’s breathing becomes harsher. He hits me
  and Christian’s breathing becomes harsher. He hits me
  again and again, and I moan. I am not sure how many
  more strokes I can bear—but hearing him, knowing how
  turned on he is, feeds my arousal and my willingness to
  continue. I am crossing to the dark side, a place in my
  psyche I don’t know well but have visited before in the
  playroom—with the Tallis. The ruler strikes once more,
  and I moan loudly, and Christian groans in response. He
  hits me again—and again . . . and once more . . . harder
  this time—and I wince.
  “Stop.” The word is out of my mouth before I’m even
  aware that I’ve said it. Christian drops the ruler
  immediately and releases me.
  “Enough?” he whispers.
  “Yes.”
  “I want to fuck you now,” he says, his voice strained.
  “Yes,” I murmur with longing. He undoes his fly, as I
  lie panting on the table, knowing that he’s going to be
  rough.
  I marvel once more at how I have managed—and yes,
  enjoyed— what he’s done to me up to this point. It’s so
  dark but so him.
  He eases two fingers inside me and moves them in a
  circular motion. The feeling is exquisite. Closing my eyes, I
  revel in the sensation. I hear the telltale rip of foil, then he’s
  standing behind me, between my legs, pushing them wider.
  Slowly he sinks into me, filling me. I hear his groan of
  pure pleasure, and it stirs my soul. He grasps my hips
  firmly, eases out of me again, and this time slams back into
  me, causing me to cry out. He stills for a moment.
  “Again?” he asks softly.
  “Yes . . . I’m fine. Lose yourself . . . take me with
  you,” I murmur breathlessly.
  He moans low in his throat, eases out of me once
  more, then slams into me, and repeats this over and over
  slowly, deliberately—a punishing, brutal, heavenly rhythm.
  Oh fucking my . . . My insides begin to quicken. He
  feels it, too, and increases the rhythm, pushing me, higher,
  harder, faster—and I surrender, exploding around him—a
  draining, soul-grabbing orgasm that leaves me spent and
  exhausted.
  I’m vaguely aware that Christian, too, is letting go,
  calling my name, his fingers digging into my hips, and then
  he stills and collapses on me. We sink to the floor, and he
  cradles me in his arms.
  “Thank you, baby,” he breathes, covering my upturned
  face in soft feather-light kisses. I open my eyes and gaze
  up at him, and he wraps his arms tighter around me.
  “Your cheek is pink from the baize,” he murmurs,
  rubbing my face tenderly. “How was that?” His eyes are
  wide and cautious.
  “Teeth-clenchingly good,” I mutter. “I like it rough,
  Christian, and I like it gentle, too. I like that it’s with you.”
  He closes his eyes and hugs me even tighter.
  Jeez, I’m tired.
  “You never fail, Ana. You are beautiful, bright,
  challenging, fun, sexy, and I thank divine providence every
  day that it was you that came to interview me and not
  Katherine Kavanagh.” He kisses my hair. I smile and yawn
  against his chest. “I’m wearing you out,” he continues.
  “Come. Bath, then bed.”
  We are both in Christian’s bath, facing each other chindeep
  in foam, the sweet scent of jasmine enveloping us.
  Christian is massaging my feet, one at a time. It feels so
  good it should be illegal.
  “Can I ask you something?” I murmur.
  “Of course. Anything, Ana, you know that.”
  I take a deep breath and sit up, flinching only slightly.
  “Tomorrow—when I go to work—can Sawyer just
  deliver me to the front door of the office then pick me up
  at the end of the day? Please, Christian. Please,” I plead.
  His hands still as his brow creases. “I thought we
  agreed,” he grumbles.
  “Please,” I beg.
  “What about lunchtime?”
  “I’ll make myself something to take from here so I
  don’t have to go out, please.”
  He kisses my instep. “I find it very difficult to say no to
  you,” he mutters as if he senses this is a failing on his part.
  “You won’t go out?”
  “No.”
  “Okay.”
  I beam at him. “Thank you.” I lean up onto my knees,
  sloshing water everywhere, and kiss him.
  “You’re most welcome, Miss Steele. How’s your
  “You’re most welcome, Miss Steele. How’s your
  behind?”
  “Sore. But not too bad. The water is soothing.”
  “I’m glad you told me to stop,” he says, gazing at me.
  “So is my behind.”
  He grins.
  I stretch out in bed, so tired. It’s only ten thirty, but it feels
  like three in the morning. This has to be one of the most
  exhausting weekends of my life.
  “Didn’t Ms. Acton provide any nightwear?” Christian
  asks, his voice laced with disapproval as he stares down at
  me.
  “I have no idea. I like wearing your T-shirts,” I mumble
  sleepily.
  His face softens, and he leans over and kisses my
  forehead.
  “I need to work. But I don’t want to leave you alone.
  Can I use your laptop to log in to the office? Will I disturb
  you if I work from here?”
  “S’not my laptop.” I drift.
  The alarm clicks on, startling me awake with the traffic
  news. Christian is still asleep beside me. Rubbing my eyes,
  I glance at the clock. Six thirty—too early.
  It’s raining outside for the first time in ages, and the
  light is muted and mellow. I’m cozy and comfortable in this
  vast modern monolith with Christian at my side. I stretch
  vast modern monolith with Christian at my side. I stretch
  and turn to the delicious man beside me. His eyes spring
  open and he blinks sleepily.
  “Good morning.” I smile and caress his face, leaning
  down to kiss him.
  “Good morning, baby. I usually wake before the alarm
  goes off,” he murmurs in wonder.
  “It’s set so early.”
  “That it is, Miss Steele.” Christian grins. “I have to get
  up.” He kisses me, and then he’s up and out of bed. I flop
  back against the pillows. Wow, waking up on a school
  day next to Christian Grey. How did this all happen? I
  close my eyes and doze.
  “Come on, sleepyhead, get up.” Christian leans over
  me. He’s shaved, clean, fresh—Hmm, he smells so
  good—in a crisp white shirt and black suit, no tie—the
  CEO is back. Holy Moses, he looks good like this, too.
  “What?” he asks.
  “I wish you’d come back to bed.”
  His lips part, surprised by my come-on, and he smiles
  almost shyly. “You are insatiable, Miss Steele. As much as
  that idea appeals, I have an eight thirty meeting, so I have
  to go shortly.”
  Oh, I’ve slept for another hour or so. Shit. I leap out
  of bed, much to Christian’s amusement.
  I shower and dress quickly, wearing the clothes I set out
  yesterday: a fitted, gray pencil skirt; pale-gray silk shirt;
  and high-heeled black pumps, all care of my new
  and high-heeled black pumps, all care of my new
  wardrobe. I brush my hair and carefully put it up, then
  wander out to the great room, not really knowing what to
  expect. How am I going to get to work?
  Christian is sipping coffee at the breakfast bar. Mrs.
  Jones is in the kitchen making pancakes and bacon.
  “You look lovely,” Christian murmurs. Wrapping an
  arm around me, he kisses me under my ear. Out of the
  corner of my eye, I catch Mrs. Jones’s smile. I flush.
  “Good morning, Miss Steele,” she says as she places
  pancakes and bacon in front of me.
  “Oh, thank you. Good morning,” I mumble. Jeez—I
  could get used to this.
  “Mr. Grey says you’d like to take lunch with you to
  work. What would you like to eat?”
  I glance at Christian, who is trying very hard not to
  smirk. I narrow my eyes at him.
  “A sandwich . . . salad. I really don’t mind.” I beam at
  Mrs. Jones.
  “I’ll rustle up a packed lunch for you, ma’am.”
  “Please, Mrs. Jones, call me Ana.”
  “Ana.” She smiles and turns to make me tea.
  Wow . . . this is so cool.
  I turn and cock my head at Christian, challenging him
  —go on, accuse me of flirting with Mrs. Jones.
  “I have to go, baby. Taylor will come back and drop
  you at work with Sawyer.”
  “Only to the door.”
  “Yes. Only to the door.” Christian rolls his eyes. “Be
  careful, though.”
  I glance around and spy Taylor standing in the
  entranceway. Christian stands and kisses me, grasping my
  chin.
  “Laters, baby.”
  “Have a good day at the office, dear,” I call after him.
  He turns and flashes me his beautiful smile then he’s gone.
  Mrs. Jones hands me a cup of tea, and suddenly I feel
  awkward with just the two of us here.
  “How long have you worked for Christian?” I ask,
  thinking I ought to make some kind of conversation.

  “Four years or so,” she says pleasantly, as she sets
  about making my packed lunch.
  “You know, I can do that,” I mutter, embarrassed that
  she should be doing this for me.
  “You eat your breakfast, Ana. This is what I do. I
  enjoy it. It’s nice to look after someone other than Mr.
  Taylor and Mr. Grey.” She smiles very sweetly at me.
  My cheeks pink with pleasure, and I want to bombard
  this woman with questions. She must know so much about
  Fifty, and although her manner is warm and friendly, it’s
  also very professional. I know I’ll only embarrass both of
  us if I start quizzing her, so I finish my breakfast in a
  reasonably comfortable silence, punctuated only by her
  questions on my food preferences for lunch.
  Twenty-five minutes later Sawyer appears at the
  entrance to the great room. I have brushed my teeth, and
  I’m waiting to go. Clutching my brown paper lunch bag—I
  can’t even remember my mom doing this for me—Sawyer
  and I head to the first floor via the elevator. He’s very
  taciturn, too, giving nothing away. Taylor is waiting in the
  Audi, and I climb into the rear passenger seat when
  Sawyer opens the door.
  “Good morning, Taylor,” I say brightly.
  “Miss Steele.” He smiles.
  “Taylor, I’m sorry about yesterday and my
  inappropriate remarks. I hope I didn’t get you into
  trouble.”
  Taylor frowns in bemusement at me from the rearview
  mirror as he pulls out into the Seattle traffic.
  “Miss Steele, I’m rarely in trouble,” he says
  reassuringly.
  Oh good. Maybe Christian didn’t tell him off. Just
  me, then, I think sourly.
  “I’m glad to hear it, Taylor.” I smile.
  Jack gazes at me, assessing my appearance, as I make my
  way to my desk.
  “Morning, Ana. Good weekend?”
  “Yes, thanks. You?”
  “It was good. Get settled in—I have work for you to
  do.”
  I nod and sit down at my computer. It seems like years
  since I was at work. I switch on my computer and fire up
  my e-mail program—and of course there’s an e-mail from
  Christian.
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: Boss
  Date: June 13, 2011 08:24
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Good morning, Miss Steele
  I just wanted to say thank you for a wonderful weekend in spite of
  all the drama.
  I hope you never leave, ever.
  And just to remind you that the news of SIP is embargoed for four
  weeks.
  Delete this e-mail as soon as you’ve read it.
  Yours
  Christian Grey,
  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc. & Your boss’s boss’s boss.
  Hope I never leave? Does he want me to move in? Holy
  Moses . . . I barely know the man. I press delete.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Bossy
  Date: June 13, 2011: 09:03
  To: Christian Grey
  To: Christian Grey
  Dear Mr. Grey
  Are you asking me to move in with you? And of course, I
  remembered that the evidence of your epic stalking capabilities is
  embargoed for another four weeks. Do I make a check out to
  Coping Together and send to your dad? Please don’t delete this
  e-mail. Please respond to it.
  ILY xxx
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  “Ana!” Jack makes me jump.
  “Yes,” I flush, and Jack frowns at me.
  “Everything okay?”
  “Sure.” I scramble up and take my notebook into his
  office.
  “Good. As you probably remember, I’m going to that
  Commissioning Fiction Symposium in New York on
  Thursday. I have tickets and reservations, but I’d like you
  to come with me.”
  “To New York?”
  “Yes. We’ll need to go Wednesday and stay
  overnight. I think you’ll find it a very educational
  experience.” His eyes darken as he says this, but his smile
  is polite. “Would you make the necessary travel
  arrangements? And book an additional room at the hotel
  where I am staying? I think Sabrina, my previous PA, left
  where I am staying? I think Sabrina, my previous PA, left
  all the details handy somewhere.”
  “Okay.” I smile wanly at Jack.
  Crap. I wander back to my desk. This is not going to
  go down well with Fifty—but the fact is, I want to go. It
  sounds like a real opportunity, and I’m sure I can keep
  Jack at arm’s length if that’s his ulterior motive. Back at
  my desk there’s a response from Christian.
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: Me, Bossy?
  Date: June 13, 2011 09:07
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Yes. Please.
  Christian Grey,
  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  Jeez . . . he does want me to move in. Oh, Christian—it’s
  too soon. I put my head in my hands to try and recover my
  wits. This is all I need after my extraordinary weekend. I
  haven’t had a moment to myself to think through and
  understand all that I have experienced and discovered
  these last two days.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Flynnisms
  Date: June 13, 2011: 09:20
  To: Christian Grey
  Christian
  What happened to walking before we run?
  Can we talk about this tonight, please?
  I’ve been asked to go to a conference in New York on Thursday.
  It means an overnight stay on Wednesday.
  Just thought you should know.
  A x
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: WHAT?
  Date: June 13, 2011 09:21
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Yes. Let’s talk this evening.
  Are you going on your own?
  Christian Grey
  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: No Bold Shouty Capitals on a Monday Morning!
  Date: June 13, 2011: 09:30
  To: Christian Grey
  Can we talk about this tonight?
  A x
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: You Haven’t Seen Shouty Yet.
  Date: June 13, 2011 09:35
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Tell me.
  If it’s with the sleazeball you work with, then the answer is no,
  over my dead body.
  Christian Grey
  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  My heart sinks. Shit—it’s like he’s my dad.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: No YOU haven’t seen shouty yet.
  Date: June 13, 2011 09:46
  To: Christian Grey
  Yes. It is with Jack.
  I want to go. It’s an exciting opportunity for me.
  And I have never been to New York.
  Don’t get your knickers in a twist.
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: No YOU haven’t seen shouty yet.
  Date: June 13, 2011 09:50
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Anastasia
  It’s not my fucking knickers I am worried about.
  The answer is NO.
  Christian Grey
  Christian Grey
  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  “No!” I shout at my computer, causing the entire office to
  come to a standstill and stare at me. Jack peers out from
  his office.
  “Everything all right, Ana?”
  “Yes. Sorry,” I mutter. “I er . . . just didn’t save a
  document.” I am scarlet with embarrassment. He smiles at
  me but with a puzzled expression. I take several deep
  breaths and quickly type a response. I am so mad.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Fifty Shades
  Date: June 13, 2011 09:55
  To: Christian Grey
  Christian
  You need to get a grip.
  I am NOT going to sleep with Jack—not for all the tea in China.
  I LOVE you. That’s what happens when people love each other.
  They TRUST each other.
  I don’t think you are going to SLEEP WITH, SPANK, FUCK, or
  WHIP anyone else. I have FAITH and TRUST in you.
  Please extend the same COURTESY to me.
  Ana
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  I sit waiting for his response. Nothing arrives. I call the
  airline and book a ticket for myself, ensuring I am on the
  same flight as Jack. I hear the ping of new mail.
  From: Lincoln, Elena
  Subject: Lunch Date
  Date: June 13, 2011 10:15
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Dear Anastasia
  I would really like to have lunch with you. I think we got off on the
  wrong foot, and I’d like to make that right. Are you free sometime
  this week?
  Elena Lincoln
  Holy crap—not Mrs. Robinson! How the hell did she find
  out my e-mail address? I put my head in my hands. Can
  this day get any worse?
  My phone rings and wearily I lift my head from my
  hands and answer, glancing at the clock. It is only ten
  hands and answer, glancing at the clock. It is only ten
  twenty, and already I wish I hadn’t left Christian’s bed.
  “Jack Hyde’s office, Ana Steele speaking.”
  An achingly familiar voice snarls at me, “Will you
  please delete the last e-mail you sent me and try to be a
  little more circumspect in the language you use in your
  work e-mail? I told you, the system is monitored. I shall
  endeavor to do some damage limitation from here.” He
  hangs up.
  Holy fuck . . . I sit staring at the phone. Christian hung
  up on me. That man is stomping all over my fledgling
  career, and he hangs up on me? I glare at the receiver, and
  if it wasn’t completely inanimate, I know it would shrivel in
  horror under my withering stare.
  I open my e-mails and delete the one I sent him. It’s
  not that bad. I just mention spanking and well, whipping.
  Jeez, if he’s so ashamed of it, he damn well shouldn’t do it.
  I pick up my Blackberry and call his mobile.
  “What?” he snaps.
  “I am going to New York whether you like it or not,” I
  hiss.
  “Don’t count—”
  I hang up, cutting him off mid-sentence. Adrenaline is
  coursing through my body. There—that told him. I am so
  mad.
  I take a deep breath, trying to compose myself.
  Closing my eyes, I imagine that I am in my happy place.
  Hmm . . . a boat cabin with Christian. I shake the image
  off as I am too mad at Fifty right now for him to be
  anywhere near my happy place.
  anywhere near my happy place.
  Opening my eyes, I calmly reach for my notebook and
  carefully run through my to do list. I take a long, deep
  breath, my equilibrium restored.
  “Ana!” Jack shouts, startling me. “Don’t book that
  flight!”
  “Oh, too late. I’ve done it,” I reply as he strides out of
  his office over to me. He looks mad.
  “Look, there’s something going on. For some reason,
  suddenly, all travel and hotel expenses for staff have to be
  approved by senior management. This has come right from
  the top. I am going up to see old Roach. Apparently, a
  moratorium on all spending has just been implemented. I
  don’t understand it.” Jack pinches the bridge of his nose
  and closes his eyes.
  Most of the blood drains from my face and knots form
  in my stomach. Fifty!
  “Take my calls. I’ll go see what Roach has to say.” He
  winks at me and strides off to see his boss—not the boss’s
  boss.
  Damn it. Christian Grey . . . My blood starts to boil
  again.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: What have you done?
  Date: June 13, 2011 10:43
  To: Christian Grey
  Please tell me you won’t interfere with my work.
  I really want to go to this conference.
  I shouldn’t have to ask you.
  I have deleted the offending e-mail.
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: What have you done?
  Date: June 13, 2011 10:46
  To: Anastasia Steele
  I am just protecting what is mine.
  The e-mail that you so rashly sent is wiped from the SIP server
  now, as are my e-mails to you.
  Incidentally, I trust you implicitly. It’s him I don’t trust.
  Christian Grey
  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  I check to see if I still have his e-mails, and they have
  disappeared. This man’s influence knows no bounds. How

  does he do this? Who does he know that can stealthily
  delve into the depths of SIP’s servers and remove emails?
  I am so out of my league here.
  mails? I am so out of my league here.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Grown Up
  Date: June 13, 2011 10:43
  To: Christian Grey
  Christian
  I don’t need protecting from my own boss.
  He may make a pass at me, but I shall say no.
  You cannot interfere. It’s wrong and controlling on so many
  levels.
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: The Answer is NO
  Date: June 13, 2011 10.50
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Ana
  I have seen how “effective” you are at fighting off unwanted
  attention. I remember that’s how I had the pleasure of spending
  my first night with you. At least the photographer has feelings for
  you. The sleazeball, on the other hand, does not. He is a serial
  philanderer, and he will try to seduce you. Ask him what
  happened to his previous PA and the one before that.
  I don’t want to fight about this.
  If you want to go to New York, I’ll take you. We can go this
  weekend. I have an apartment there.
  Christian Grey
  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  Oh, Christian! That’s not the point. He’s so damn
  frustrating. And of course he has an apartment there.
  Where else does he own property? Trust him to bring up
  José. Will I ever live that down? I was drunk, for heaven’s
  sake. I wouldn’t get drunk with Jack.
  I shake my head at the screen, but figure I cannot
  continue to argue with him over e-mail. I shall have to bide
  my time until this evening. I check the clock. Jack is still
  not back from his meeting with Jerry, and I need to deal
  with Elena. I read her e-mail again and decide that the best
  way to handle it is to send it to Christian. Let him
  concentrate on her rather than me.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: FW Lunch date or Irritating Baggage
  Date: June 13, 2011 11:15
  To: Christian Grey
  Christian
  While you have been busy interfering in my career and saving
  your ass from my careless missives, I received the following e-mail
  from Mrs. Lincoln. I really don’t want to meet with her—even if I
  did, I am not allowed to leave this building. How she got hold of
  my e-mail address, I don’t know. What would you suggest I do?
  Her e-mail is below:
  Dear Anastasia, I would really like to have lunch with you. I
  think we got off on the wrong foot, and I’d like to make that
  right. Are you free sometime this week?
  Elena Lincoln
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  From: Christian Grey
  Subject: Irritating Baggage
  Date: June 13, 2011 11:23
  To: Anastasia Steele
  Don’t be mad at me. I have your best interests at heart.
  If anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself.
  I’ll deal with Mrs. Lincoln.
  Christian Grey
  CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.
  From: Anastasia Steele
  Subject: Laters
  Date: June 13, 2011: 11:32
  To: Christian Grey
  Can we please discuss this tonight?
  I am trying to work, and your continued interference is very
  distracting.
  Anastasia Steele
  Assistant to Jack Hyde, Commissioning Editor, SIP
  Jack returns after midday and tells me that New York is
  off for me though he is still going and there’s nothing he
  can do to change senior management policy. He strides
  into his office, slamming the door, obviously furious. Why
  is he so angry?
  Deep down, I know his intentions are less than
  honorable, but I am sure I can deal with him, and I wonder
  what Christian knows about Jack’s previous PAs. I park
  these thoughts and continue with some work, but resolve
  to try to make Christian change his mind, though the
  prospects are bleak.
  prospects are bleak.
  At one o’clock, Jack pokes his head out of the office
  door.
  “Ana, please could you go and get me some lunch?”
  “Sure. What would you like?”
  “Pastrami on rye, hold the mustard. I’ll give you the
  money when you’re back.”
  “Anything to drink?”
  “Coke, please. Thanks, Ana.” He heads back into his
  office as I reach for my purse.
  Crap. I promised Christian I wouldn’t go out. I sigh.
  He’ll never know, and I’ll be quick.
  Claire from reception offers me her umbrella since it is
  still pouring with rain. As I head out of the front doors, I
  pull my jacket around me and take a furtive glance in both
  directions from beneath the overlarge golf umbrella.
  Nothing seems amiss. There’s no sign of Ghost Girl.
  I march briskly, and I hope inconspicuously, down the
  block to the deli. However, the closer I get to the deli, the
  more I have a creepy sense that I am being watched, and I
  don’t know if it’s my heightened feeling of paranoia or a
  reality. Shit. I hope it’s not Leila with a gun.
  It’s just your imagination, my subconscious snaps.
  Who the hell would want to shoot you?
  Within fifteen minutes, I am back—safe, sound but
  relieved. I think Christian’s extreme paranoia and his
  overprotective vigilance is beginning to get to me.
  As I take Jack’s lunch in to him, he glances up from
  the phone.
  “Ana, thanks. Since you’re not coming with me, I’m
  “Ana, thanks. Since you’re not coming with me, I’m
  going to need you to work late. We need to get these
  briefs ready. Hope you don’t have plans.” He smiles up at
  me warmly, and I flush.
  “No, that’s fine,” I say with a bright smile and a sinking
  heart. This is not going to go down well. Christian will
  freak, I’m sure.
  As I head back to my desk I decide not to tell him
  immediately, otherwise he might have time to interfere in
  some way. I sit and eat the chicken salad sandwich Mrs.
  Jones made for me. It’s delicious. She makes a mean
  sandwich.
  Of course, if I moved in with Christian, she would
  make lunch for me every weekday. The idea is unsettling. I
  have never had dreams of obscene wealth and all the
  trappings—only love. To find someone who loves me and
  doesn’t try to control my every move. The phone rings.
  “Jack Hyde’s office—”
  “You assured me you wouldn’t go out,” Christian
  interrupts me, his voice cold and hard.
  My heart sinks for the millionth time this day. Shit.
  How the hell does he know?
  “Jack sent me out for some lunch. I couldn’t say no.
  Are you having me watched?” My scalp prickles at the
  notion. No wonder I felt so paranoid—
  someone was watching me. The thought makes me angry.
  “This is why I didn’t want you going back to work,”
  Christian snaps.
  “Christian, please. You’re being”—So Fifty—“so
  suffocating.”
  “Suffocating?” he whispers, surprised.
  “Yes. You have to stop this. I’ll talk to you this
  evening. Unfortunately, I have to work late because I can’t
  go to New York.”
  “Anastasia, I don’t want to suffocate you,” he says
  quietly, appalled.
  “Well, you are. I have work to do. I’ll talk to you
  later.” I hang up, feeling drained and vaguely depressed.
  After our wonderful weekend, the reality is hitting
  home. I have never felt more like running. Running to some
  quiet retreat so I can think about this man, about how he
  is, and about how to deal with him. On one level, I know
  he’s broken—I can see that clearly now—and it’s both
  heartbreaking and exhausting. From the small pieces of
  precious information that he’s given me about his life, I
  understand why. An unloved child; a hideously abusive
  environment; a mother who couldn’t protect him, whom he
  couldn’t protect, and who died in front of him.
  I shudder. My poor Fifty. I am his, but not to be kept
  in some gilded cage. How am I going to make him see
  this?
  With a heavy heart, I drag one of the manuscripts Jack
  wants me to summarize into my lap and continue to read. I
  can think of no easy solution to Christian’s fucked-up
  control issues. I will just have to talk to him later, face to
  face.
  Half an hour later, Jack e-mails me a document that I
  need to tidy up and polish, ready for printing tomorrow in
  time for his conference. It will take me not just the rest of
  the afternoon but well into the evening, too. I set to work.
  When I look up, it’s after seven and the office is
  deserted, though the light in Jack’s office is still on. I
  hadn’t noticed everyone leaving, but I am nearly finished. I
  e-mail the document back to Jack for his approval and
  check my inbox. There’s nothing new from Christian, so I
  quickly glance at my Blackberry, and it startles me by
  buzzing—it’s Christian.
  “Hi,” I murmur.
  “Hi, when will you be finished?”
  “By seven thirty, I think.”
  “I’ll meet you outside.”
  “Okay.”
  He sounds quiet, nervous even. Why? Wary of my
  reaction?
  “I’m still mad at you, but that’s all,” I whisper. “We
  have a lot to talk about.”
  “I know. See you at seven thirty.”
  Jack comes out of his office.
  “I have to go. See you later.” I hang up.
  I look up at Jack as he strolls casually toward me.
  “I just need a couple of tweaks. I’ve e-mailed the brief
  back to you.”
  He leans over me while I retrieve the document, rather
  close—uncomfortably close. His arm brushes mine.
  Accidentally? I flinch, but he pretends not to notice. His
  other arm rests on the back of my chair, touching my
  back. I sit up so I’m not leaning against the backrest.
  “Pages sixteen and twenty-three, and that should be
  it,” he murmurs, his mouth inches from my ear.
  My skin crawls at his proximity, but I choose to ignore
  it. Opening the document, I shakily start on the changes.
  He’s still leaning over me, and all my senses are
  hyperaware. It’s distracting and awkward, and inside I am
  screaming, Back off!
  “Once this is done, it’ll be good to go to print. You can
  organize that tomorrow. Thank you for staying late and
  doing this, Ana.” His voice is smooth, gentle, like he’s
  talking to a wounded animal. My stomach twists.
  “I think the least I could do is reward you with a quick
  drink. You deserve one.” He tucks a strand of my hair
  that’s come loose from my hair tie behind my ear and
  gently caresses the lobe.
  I cringe gritting my teeth, and I jerk my head away.
  Shit! Christian was right. Don’t touch me.
  “Actually, I can’t this evening.” Or any other evening,
  Jack.
  “Just a quick one?” he coaxes.
  “No, I can’t. But thank you.”
  Jack sits on the end of my desk and frowns. Alarm
  bells sound loudly in my head. I am on my own in the
  office. I cannot leave. I glance nervously at the clock.
  Another five minutes before Christian is due.
  “Ana, I think we make a great team. I’m sorry that I
  couldn’t pull off this New York trip. It won’t be the same
  without you.”
  I’m sure it won’t. I smile weakly up at him, because I
  I’m sure it won’t. I smile weakly up at him, because I
  can’t think of what to say. And for the first time all day, I
  feel the tiniest hint of relief that I am not going.
  “So, did you have a good weekend?” he asks
  smoothly.
  “Yes, thanks.” Where is he going with this?
  “See your boyfriend?”
  “Yes.”
  “What does he do?”
  Owns your ass . . . “He’s in business.”
  “That’s interesting. What kind of business?”
  “Oh, he has his fingers in all sorts of pies.”
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作者:佚名
章节:14 人气:0
摘要:她有个大目的1以深蓝色的蓝宝石为中心,围绕镶嵌着一圈小小的钻石。把这些宝石连接到一起的,是灿灿发光的黄金。卖点在于其非凡的品质。项链、挂坠、耳环、再加上一对手镯,共计七千四百三十万日元。旁边是一条用红宝石、钻石和水晶组合而成的项链,二千八百万日元。耳环,一千万日元--双层玻璃的背后,仿佛就像是另一个世界。一颗小小的石头,其价格甚至要超过一个大活人。但这也是没办法的事。因为它们是那样地耀眼夺目。 [点击阅读]
伊利亚特
作者:佚名
章节:32 人气:0
摘要:《荷马史诗》是希腊最早的一部史诗,包括《伊里亚特》和《奥德赛》两部分,相传是由盲诗人荷马所作,实际上它产生于民间口头文学。伊里亚特(ΙΛΙΑΣ,Ilias,Iliad,又译《伊利昂记》,今译《伊利亚特》。)是古希腊盲诗人荷马(Homer,800BC-600BC)的叙事诗史诗。是重要的古希腊文学作品,也是整个西方的经典之一。 [点击阅读]
伯特伦旅馆之谜
作者:佚名
章节:27 人气:0
摘要:在西郊地区中心,有一些小巷子,除了经验丰富的出租车司机以外,几乎没什么人知道。出租车司机们能胸有成竹地在里面游弋自如,然后得意洋洋地到达帕克巷、伯克利广场或南奥德利大巷。如果你从帕克大街拐上一条不知名的路,左右再拐几次弯,你就会发现自己到了一条安静的街道上,伯特伦旅馆就在你的右手边。伯特伦旅馆已经有很长的历史了。战争期间,它左右两边的房屋全都毁于一旦,但它却毫无损伤。 [点击阅读]
低地
作者:佚名
章节:16 人气:0
摘要:站台上,火车喷着蒸气,亲人们追着它跑过来。每一步,他们都高高扬起胳膊,挥舞。一个年轻的男人站在车窗后。窗玻璃的下沿到他的腋下。他在胸前持着一束白色碎花,神情呆滞。一个年轻女人把一个脸色苍白的孩子从火车站拽出去。女人是个驼背。火车开进战争。我啪的一声关掉电视。父亲躺在房间正中的棺材里。房间四壁挂满照片,看不到墙。一张照片中,父亲扶着一把椅子,他只有椅子的一半高。他穿着长袍,弯腿站着,腿上满是肉褶子。 [点击阅读]
你在天堂里遇见的五个人
作者:佚名
章节:27 人气:0
摘要:结局(1)这个故事讲的是一个名字叫爱迪的人,故事从结尾处爱迪死在阳光下开始。从结尾开始讲一个故事,似乎颇为奇怪。但是,所有的结尾亦是开端。我们只是当时不知道而已。爱迪生命中的最后一个小时,像大部分其它时间一样,是在“红宝石码头”——壮观的灰色大海边上的一个游乐场里度过的。 [点击阅读]
你好忧愁
作者:佚名
章节:18 人气:0
摘要:这种感情以烦恼而又甘甜的滋味在我心头索绕不去,对于它,我犹豫不决,不知冠之以忧愁这个庄重而优美的名字是否合适。这是一种如此全面,如此利己的感觉,以至我几乎为它感到羞耻,而忧愁在我看来总显得可敬。我不熟悉这种感觉,不过我还熟悉烦恼,遗憾,还稍稍地感受过内疚。今日,有什么东西像一层轻柔的、使人难受的丝绸在我身上围拢,把我与别人隔开。那年夏天,我对岁。我非常快乐。“别人”指的是我父亲和他的情妇艾尔莎。 [点击阅读]