“You wanted hearts and flowers,” he murmurs.I blink at him, not quite believing what I’m seeing.“You have my heart.” And he waves toward the room.“And here are the flowers,” I whisper, completing his sentence. “Christian, it’s lovely.”

“[Ana] “You’re a sadist?”“I’m a Dominant.” His eyes are a scorching gray, intense.“What does that mean?” I whisper.“It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things.”I frown at him as I try to assimilate this idea.“Why would I do that?”“To please me,” he whispers as he cocks his head to one side, and I see a ghost of a smile.Please him! He wants me to please him! I think my mouth drops open. Please Christian Grey. And I realize, in that moment, that yes, that’s exactly what I want to do. I want him to be damned delighted with me. It’s a revelation.”

“Anastasia, I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat. “There’s something about you, though,and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured that out already.”

“I want you, Anastasia,” he murmurs. “I love and I hate, and I love arguing with you. It’s very new. I need to know that we’re okay. It’s the only way I know how.” “My feelings for you haven’t changed,” I whisper. His proximity is overwhelming, exhilarating. The familiar pull is there, all my synapses goading me toward him, my inner goddess at her most libidinous. Staring at the patch of hair in the V of his shirt, I bite my lip, helpless, driven by desire—I want to taste him there. He’s so close, but he doesn’t touch me. His heat is warming my skin. “I’m not going to touch you until you say yes,” he says softly. “But right now, after a really shitty morning, I want to bury myself in you and just forget everything but us.”

“Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn’t tear, I find a beautiful red leatherbox. Cartier. It’s familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch.Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver, or platinumor white gold—I don’t know, but it’s absolutely enchanting. Attached to itare several charms: the Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a helicopter—CharlieTango, a glider—the soaring, a catamaran—The Grace, a bed, and an ice creamcone? I look up at him, bemused.“Vanilla?” He shrugs apologetically, and I can’t help but laugh. Of course.“Christian, this is beautiful. Thank you. It’s yar.” He grins.My favorite is the heart. It’s a locket.“You can put a picture or whatever in that.”“A picture of you.” I glance at him through my lashes. “Always in my heart.”He smiles his lovely, heartbreakingly shy smile.I fondle the last two charms: a letter C—oh yes, I was his first girlfriend touse his first name. I smile at the thought. And finally, there’s a key.“To my heart and soul,” he whispers.”

“I love you,” I murmur, and he smiles his heart-achingly shy smile, and I melt. “I will always love you, Christian.”“And I you,” he says softly.“In spite of my disobedience?” I raise my eyebrow.“Because of your disobedience, Anastasia.” He grins.”

“No. No!” he says.“I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know.“You can’t go. Ana, I love you!”“I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—”“No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. “Christian . . .”“No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move. What? “Christian, what are you doing?”He continues to stare down, not looking at me. “Christian! What are you doing?”My voice is high-pitched. He doesn’t move. “Christian, look at me!” I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene . . . expectant.Holy Fuck . . . Christian. The submissive.”