Holy cow . . . another first. I gape at him, my heart pounding. . .the mile high club. I've heard about this.
"But first I have to get you out of this fabulous dress." His eyes glow with love and something darker, something I love . . . something that calls to my inner goddess. He takes my breath away.
"Turn around." His voice is low, authoritative, and sexy as hell. How can he infuse so much promise into those two words? Willingly I comply and his hands move to my hair. Gently he pulls out each hairpin one at a time, his expert fingers making short work of the task. My hair falls in swathes over my shoulders, one lock at a time, covering my back and down to my br**sts. I try to stand still and not squirm, but I'm aching for his touch. After our long, tiring but exciting day, I want him - all of him.
"You have such beautiful hair, Ana." His mouth is close to my ear and I feel his breath, though his lips don't touch me. When my hair is free of pins, he runs his fingers through it, gently massaging my scalp . . . oh my . . . I close my eyes and savor the sensation. His fingers travel on down, and he tugs, tilting my head back to expose my throat.
"You're mine," he breathes and his teeth tug my ear lobe. I groan.
"Hush now," he admonishes. He sweeps my hair over my shoulder and trails a finger across the top of my back from shoulder to shoulder following the lace edge of my dress. I shiver in anticipation. He plants a tender kiss on my back above the first button on my dress.
"So beautiful," he says as he deftly undoes the first button. "You have made me the happiest man alive today." With infinite slowness, he unfastens each one, all the way down my back. "I love you so much." Trailing kisses from the nape of my neck to the edge of my shoulder. Between each kiss he murmurs, "I. Want. You. So. Much. I. Want. To. Be. Inside. You. You. Are. Mine."
Each word is intoxicating. I close my eyes and tilt my head, giving him easier access to my neck, and I fall further under the spell that is Christian Grey, my husband.
"Mine," he whispers once more. He peels my dress down my arms so that it pools at my feet in a cloud of ivory silk and lace.
"Turn around," he whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse. I do so and he gasps.
I'm dressed in a tight, blush-pink satin corset with garter straps, matching lacy briefs, and white silk stockings. Christian's eyes travel greedily down my body, but he says nothing. He just gazes at me, his eyes wide with want.
"You like?" I whisper aware of the shy blush creeping across my cheeks.
"More than like, baby. You look sensational. Here." He holds out his hand and taking it, I step out from my dress.
"Keep still," he murmurs and without taking his darkening eyes off mine, he runs his middle finger over my br**sts, following the line of my corset. My breath shallows and he repeats the journey over my br**sts once more, his tantalizing finger sending tingles down my spine. He stops and twirls his index finger in the air, indicating that he wants me to turn around. For him, right now, I'd do anything.
"Stop," he says. I'm facing the bed, away from him. His arm encircles my waist, pulling me against him, and he nuzzles my neck. Gently he cups my br**sts, toying with them, while his thumbs circle over my ni**les so that they strain against the fabric of my corset.
"Mine," he whispers.
"Yours," I breathe.
Leaving my br**sts bereft he runs his hands down my stomach, over my belly, and down to my thighs, his thumbs skimming my sex. I stifle a moan. His fingers skate down each garter, and with his usual dexterity, he simultaneously unhooks each one from my stockings. His hands travel around to my behind.
"Mine," he breathes as his hands spread across my backside, the tips of his fingers brushing my sex.
"Ah."
"Hush." His hands travel down the backs of my thighs, and once more he unclips my garters.
Leaning down, he pulls back the cover on the bed. "Sit down."
I do as I'm told in his thrall, and he kneels at my feet and gently tugs off each of my white bridal Jimmy Choos. He grasps the top of my left stocking and slowly peels it off, running his thumbs down my leg . . . Oh my. He repeats the process with my other stocking.
"This is like unwrapping my Christmas presents." He smiles up at me through his long dark lashes.
"A present you've had already . . ."
He frowns in admonishment. "Oh no, baby. This time it's really mine."
"Christian, I've been yours since I said yes." I scoot forward, cupping his beloved face in my hands. "I'm yours. I will always be yours, husband of mine. Now, I think you're wearing too many clothes." I bend to kiss him, and suddenly he leans up, kisses my lips, and grasps my head with his hands, his fingers threading into my hair.
"Ana," he breathes. "My Ana." His lips claim mine once more, his tongue invasively persuasive.
"Clothes," I whisper, our breath mingling as I push back his vest and he struggles out of it, releasing me for a moment. He pauses, gazing at me, eyes wide, eyes wanting.
"Let me, please." My voice is soft and cajoling. I want to undress my husband, my Fifty.
He sits back on his heels, and leaning forward I grasp his tie - his sliver-gray tie, my favorite tie - and slowly undo it and pull it free. He raises his chin to let me tackle the top button of his white shirt; then once it's undone, I move on to his cuffs. He's wearing platinum cufflinks - engraved with an entwined A and C - my wedding present to him. When I've removed them, he takes the cufflinks from me and fists them in his hand. Then he kisses his fist and shoves them into his pants pocket.
"Mr. Grey, so romantic."
"For you Mrs. Grey - hearts and flowers. Always."
I take his hand, and glancing up through my lashes, I kiss his plain platinum wedding ring. He groans and closes his eyes.
"Ana," he whispers and my name is a prayer.
Reaching up to his second shirt button, and mirroring him from earlier, I plant a soft kiss on his chest as I undo each of them and whisper between each kiss,
"You. Make. Me. So. Happy. I. Love. You."
He groans, and in one swift move he clasps me around the waist and lifts me on to the bed, following me down on to it. His lips find mine, his hands curling around my head, holding me, stilling me as our tongues glory in each other. Abruptly Christian kneels up, leaving me breathless and wanting more.
"You are so beautiful . . . wife." He runs his hands down my legs then grasps my left foot. "You have such lovely legs. I want to kiss every inch of them. Starting here." He presses his lips against my big toe and then grazes the pad with his teeth. Everything south of my waistline convulses. His tongue glides up my instep and his teeth skim my heel and up to my ankle. He trails kisses up the inside of my calf; soft wet kisses. I wriggle beneath him.
"Still, Mrs. Grey," he warns, and suddenly he flips me on to my stomach and continues his leisurely journey with his mouth up the back of my legs, to my thighs, my behind, and then he stops. I groan.
"Please . . ."
"I want you naked," he murmurs and slowly unhooks my corset, one hook at a time. When it's flat on the bed beneath me, he runs his tongue up the length of my spine.
"Christian, please."
"What do you want, Mrs. Grey." His words are soft and close to my ear. He's almost lying on top of me . . . I can feel him hard against my behind.