in a quagmire of sensation. The stinging across my behind, the fullness of the balls inside me, and the fact that he's holding me down. I screw my face up as my faculties attempt to absorb all these foreign feelings. I note somewhere in my brain that he's not smacked me as hard as last time. He caresses my backside again, trailing his palm across my skin and over my underwear.
Why's he not removed my panties Then his palm disappears, and he brings it down again. I groan as the sensation spreads. He starts a pattern: left to right and then down.
The down ones are the best. Everything moving forward, inside me... and in between each smack he caresses me, kneads me - so I am massaged inside and out. It's such a stimulating, erotic feeling, and for some reason, because this is on my terms, I don't mind the pain.
It's not painful as such - well it is, but not unbearable. It's somehow manageable, and yes pleasurable... even. I groan. Yes, I can do this.
He pauses as he slowly peels my panties down my legs. I writhe on his legs, not because I want to escape the blows, but I want... more, release, something. His touch against my sensitized skin is all sensuous tingle. It's overwhelming, and he starts again. A few soft slaps then building up, left to right and down. Oh, the downs, I groan.
"Good girl, Anastasia," he groans, and his breathing is ragged.
He spanks me twice more, and then he pulls at the small threads attached to the balls and jerks them out of me suddenly. I almost climax - the feeling is out of this world. Moving swiftly, he gently turns me over. I hear rather see the rip of the foil packet, and then he's lying beside me. He seizes my hands, hoists them over my head, and eases himself onto me, into me, sliding slowly, filling me where the silver globes have been. I groan loudly.
"Oh, baby," he whispers as he moves back, forward, a slow sensual tempo, savoring me, feeling me.
It is the most gentle he has ever been, and it takes no time at all for me to fall over the edge, spiraling into a delicious, violent, exhausting, orgasm. As I clench around him, it ignites his release, and he slides into me, stilling, gasping out my name in desperate wonder.
"Ana!"
He's silent and panting on top of me, his hands still entwined in mine above my head.
Finally, he leans back and stares down at me.
"I enjoyed that," he whispers, and then kisses me sweetly.
He doesn't linger for more sweet kisses, but rises, covers me with the duvet, and disappears into the bathroom. On his return he's carrying a bottle of white lotion. He sits beside me on the bed.
"Roll over," he orders, and begrudgingly I move on to my front.
Honestly, all this fuss. I feel very sleepy.
"Your ass is a glorious color," he says approvingly, and he tenderly massages the cooling lotion into my pink behind.
"Spill the beans, Grey," I yawn.
"Miss Steele, you know how to ruin a moment."
"We had a deal."
"How do you feel?"
"Short changed."
He sighs, slides in beside me, and pulls me into his arms. Careful not to touch my stinging behind, we are spooning again. He kisses me very softly beside my ear.
"The woman who brought me into this world was a crack-whore, Anastasia. Go to sleep."
Holy fuck... what does that mean?
"Was?"
"She's dead."
"How long?"
He sighs.
"She died when I was four. I don't really remember her. Carrick has given me some details. I only remember certain things. Please go to sleep."
"Goodnight, Christian."
"Goodnight, Ana."
And I slip into a dazed and exhausted sleep, dreaming of a four-year-old, gray-eyed boy in a dark, scary, miserable place.
Chapter Twenty-One
There is light everywhere. Bright, warm, piercing light, and I endeavor to keep it at bay for a few more precious minutes. I want to hide, just a few more minutes. But the glare is too strong, and I finally succumb to wakefulness. A glorious Seattle morning greets me -
sunshine pouring through the full-height windows and flooding the room with too-bright light. Why didn't we close the blinds last nightI am in Christian Grey's vast bed minus one Christian Grey.
I lie back for a moment staring through the windows at the lofty vista of Seattle's skyline. Life in the clouds sure feels unreal. A fantasy - a castle in the air, adrift from the ground, safe from the realities of life - far away from neglect,