Chapter 92

I run my nose from her ear to her shoulder and back again, inhaling her heavenly scent.

Fuck, she smells good.

“You smell as divine as ever, Anastasia.” I place a kiss beneath her ear just above her pulse.

She moans.

“Quiet. Don’t make a sound.”

From my jeans pocket I grab the hair tie, and taking her hair in my hands, I braid it, slowly, enjoying the pull and twist against her beautiful, flawless back. Deftly I fasten the end with the hair tie and give it a quick tug, forcing her to step back and press her body into mine. “I like your hair braided in here,” I whisper. “Turn around.”

She does so, immediately.

“When I tell you to come in here, this is how you will dress. Just in your panties. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl.” She’s learning fast. Her arms are by her sides, her eyes trained on mine. Waiting.

“When I tell you to come in here, I expect you to kneel over there.” I point to the corner of the room beside the door. “Do it now.”

She blinks a couple of times, but before I have to tell her again, she turns and kneels, facing me and the room.

I give her permission to sit back on her heels and she obliges. “Place your hands and forearms flat on your thighs. Good. Now part your knees. Wider.” I want to see you, baby. “Wider.” See your sex. “Perfect. Look down at the floor.”

Don’t look at me or the room. You can sit there and let your thoughts run wild while you imagine what I’m going to do to you.

I walk over to her, and I’m pleased that she keeps her head bowed. Reaching down, I tug her braid, tilting her head so that our eyes meet. “Will you remember this position, Anastasia?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Stay here, don’t move.”

Walking past her, I open the door and for a moment look back at her. Her head is bowed; her eyes stay fixed on the floor.

What a welcome sight. Good girl.

I want to run, but I contain my eagerness and walk purposefully downstairs to my bedroom.

Maintain some fucking dignity, Grey.

In my closet I strip off all my clothes and from a drawer pull out my favorite jeans. My DJs. Dom jeans.

I slip them on and fasten all the buttons except the top one. From the same drawer I retrieve the new riding crop and a gray waffle robe. As I leave I grab a few condoms and stuff them into my pocket.

Here goes.

Showtime, Grey.

When I get back she’s in the same position: her head bowed, her braid hanging down her back, her hands on her knees. I close the door and hang the robe on its hook. I walk past her. “Good girl, Anastasia. You look lovely like that. Well done. Stand up.”

She stands, keeping her head down.

“You may look at me.”

Eager blue eyes peek up.

“I’m going to chain you now, Anastasia. Give me your right hand.” I hold out mine and she places her hand in it. Without taking my eyes off hers I turn her hand palm up, and from behind my back produce the riding crop. I quickly flick the end across her palm. She startles and cups her hand, blinking at me in surprise.

“How does that feel?” I ask.

Her breathing accelerates, and she glances at me before looking back at her palm.

“Answer me.”

“Okay.” Her brows knit together.

“Don’t frown,” I warn. “Did that hurt?”

“No.”

“This is not going to hurt. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Her voice is a little shaky.

“I mean it,” I stress, and I show her the crop. Brown plaited leather. See? I listen. Her eyes meet mine, astonished. My lips twitch in amusement.

“We aim to please, Miss Steele. Come.”

I lead her to the middle of the room, beneath the restraining system. “This grid is designed so the shackles move across the grid.” She stares up at the intricate system, then back at me.

“We’re going to start here, but I want to fuck you standing up. So we’ll end up by the wall over there.” I point to the Saint Andrew’s cross. “Put your hands above your head.”

She does, immediately. Taking the leather cuffs that hang on the grid, I fasten one to each of her wrists in turn. I’m methodical, but she’s distracting. Being this close to her, sensing her excitement, her anxiety, touching her. I find it hard to concentrate. Once she’s cuffed I step back and take a deep breath, relieved.

Finally I’ve got you where I want you, Ana Steele.

Slowly I walk around her, admiring the view. Could she look hotter? “You look mighty fine trussed up like this, Miss Steele. And your smart mouth quiet for now. I like that.” I stop, facing her, curl my fingers into her panties, and oh so slowly drag them down her long legs until I’m kneeling at her feet.

Worshipping her. She’s glorious.

With my eyes locked on hers, I take her panties, crush them to my nose, and inhale deeply. Her mouth pops open and her eyes widen in amused shock.

Yes. I smirk. Perfect reaction.

I slip the panties into the back pocket of my jeans and stand, considering my next move. Holding out the crop, I run it over her belly and gently circle her navel with the keeper…the leather tongue. She sucks in her breath and tremors at the touch.

This will be good, Ana. Trust me.

Slowly I begin to circle her, drawing the crop across her skin, across her belly, her flank, her back. On my second circuit I flick the tongue at the base of her behind so it makes sharp contact with her vulva.

“Ah!” she cries, and she tugs against the shackles.