"Female?"
"Apparently so." He sighs, turns into the underground garage at Escala, and punches the access code into the security keypad. The gate swings open and he drives on, smoothly parking the R8 in its designated space.
"I really like this car," I murmur.
"Me too. And I like how you handled it - and how you managed not to break it."
"You can buy me one for my birthday," I smirk at him. Christian's mouth drops open as I climb out of the car.
"A white one, I think," I add, leaning down and smirking at him. He smiles. "Anastasia Grey, you never cease to amaze me."
I shut the door and walk to the end of the car to wait for him. Gracefully he climbs out, watching me with that look . . . that look that calls to something deep inside me. I know this look well. Once he's in front of me, he leans down and whispers, "You like the car. I like the car. I've f**ked you in it . . . perhaps I should f**k you on it."
I gasp. And a sleek silver BMW pulls into the garage. Christian glances at it anxiously, then with annoyance and smirks down at me.
"But it looks like we have company. Come." He grabs my hand and heads for the garage elevator. He pushes the call button and as we wait, the driver of the BMW joins us. He's young, casually dressed, with long, layered, dark hair. He looks like he works in the media.
"Hi," he says, smiling warmly at us.
Christian puts his arm around me and nods politely.
"I've just moved in. Apartment sixteen."
"Hello." I return his smile. He has kind, soft brown eyes. The elevator arrives and we all walk in. Christian glances down at me, his expression unreadable.
"You're Christian Grey," the young man says.
Christian gives him a tight smile.
"Paul Harrison." He holds out his hand. Reluctantly, Christian takes it. "Which floor?" Paul asks.
"I have to input a code."
"Oh."
"Penthouse."
"Oh." Paul smiles broadly. "Of course." He presses the button for the eighth floor and the doors close. "Mrs. Grey, I presume."
"Yes." I give him a polite smile and we shake hands. Paul flushes a little as he gazes at me a fraction too long. Oh no. I mirror his flush and Christian's arm tightens around me.
"When did you move in?" I ask.
"Last weekend. I love the place."
There's an awkward pause before the elevator stops at Paul's floor.
"Great to meet you both," he says sounding relieved and steps out. The doors close silently behind him. Christian taps in the entry code and the elevator ascends again.
"He seemed nice," I murmur. "I've never met any of the neighbors before."
Christian scowls. "I prefer it that way."
"That's because you're a hermit. I thought he was pleasant enough."
"A hermit?"
"Hermit. Stuck in your ivory tower," I state matter-of-factly. Christian's lips twitch with amusement.
"Our ivory tower. And I think you have another name to add to the list of your admirers, Mrs. Grey."
I roll my eyes. "Christian, you think everyone is an admirer."
"Did you just roll your eyes at me?"
My pulse quickens. "I sure did," I whisper, my breath catching in my throat.
He cocks his head to one side, wearing his smoldering, arrogant, amused expression. "What shall we do about that?"
"Something rough."
He blinks to hide his surprise. "Rough?"
"Please."
"You want more?"
I nod slowly. The doors to the elevator open and we're home.
"How rough?" he breathes, his eyes darkening.
I gaze at him, saying nothing. He closes his eyes for a moment, and then grabs my hand and hauls me into the foyer.
When we burst through the double doors, Sawyer is standing in the hallway, looking expectantly at the two of us.
"Sawyer, I'd like to be debriefed in an hour," Christian says.
"Yes, sir." Turning, Sawyer heads back into Taylor's office. We have an hour!
Christian glances down at me. "Rough?"
I nod.
"Well, Mrs. Grey, you're in luck. I'm taking requests today."
Chapter Six
"Do you have anything in mind?" Christian murmurs, pinning me with his bold gaze. I shrug, suddenly breathless and agitated. I don't know if it's the chase, the adrenaline, my earlier bad mood - I don't understand, but I want this, and I want it badly. A puzzled expression flits across Christian's face. "Kinky f**kery?" he asks, his words a soft caress. I nod, feeling my face flame. Why am I embarrassed by this? I have done all manner of kinky f**kery with this man. He's my husband, damn it! Am I embarrassed because I want this and I'm ashamed to admit it? My subconscious glares at me. Stop overthinking.
"Carte blanche?" He whispers the question, eyeing me speculatively as if he's trying to read my mind.
Carte blanche? Holy f**k - what will that entail? "Yes," I murmur nervously, as excitement blooms deep inside me. He smiles a slow sexy smile.
"Come," he says and tugs me toward the stairs. His intention is clear. Playroom! My inner goddess wakes from her post-R8-sex slumber, wide-eyed and raring to go.
At the top of the stairs, he releases my hand and unlocks the playroom door. The key is on the Yes Seattle keychain that I gave him not so long ago.
"After you, Mrs. Grey," he says and swings the door open. The playroom smells reassuringly familiar, of leather and wood and fresh polish. I blush, knowing that Mrs. Jones must have been in here cleaning while we were away on our honeymoon. As we enter, Christian switches on the lights and the dark red walls are illuminated with soft, diffused light. I stand gazing at him, anticipation running thick and heavy through my veins. What is he going to do to me? He locks the door and turns. Inclining his head to one side, he regards me thoughtfully and then shakes his head, amused.