We take the golf cart to the main building of the casino, the security team following closely behind. Immediately after coming to a stop Christian grabs my hand and catches my gaze. His mouth is still arranged in that sexy, secret smile but his eyes are what really get my attention, they’re alive with emotion, happy, sad, contrite – all of which has me a little nervous, a little excited and a whole lot curious.
Where are we going?
Firmly he drags me into the building then pulls me close as he slips his arm around my shoulders before pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re gorgeous baby,” his whispered words and warm breath on my ear like a gentle tickle down my back. I grin looking up at him, too stunned by his mysterious air and darkening irises to reply.
The casino is a riot of noise and garish, flashing lights, the harsh tinny sound of the slot mashies synthetic and jarring after the quiet tranquillity of our luxury villa. Christian picks up our pace as if he too finds it too gauche to put up with.
Clever how it’s designed I think, no matter where you want to go you have to go through the casino floor with its ringing slots to get to your destination. Quickly we clear the vast gaming floor and head into a quieter section that marks the entrance of a mini mall within the hotel, Via Bellagio.
Here the cream of designer brands form a lavish fashion row that gives bored wives and trophy girlfriends something to do while their other halves gamble the night way. Most of the stores are open until midnight but right now, half past the hour the lane seems abandoned. Prada, Fendi, Louis Viutton, Gucci, Hermès all in darkness, the elegantly attired shop assistants locking doors and leaving for what remains of the night.
When the unmistakable duck egg blue of Tiffany & Co. comes into view it draws my attention because it’s the only store that’s still illuminated, the soft glow of light echoing that of the dazzling jewels inside. Christian stops in front of the shut doors of the shop, a closed sign dangling from a chain visible through the clear glass entrance.
He turns to me, picking up both my hands and meets my expectant gaze, blue into grey I feel myself being drawn in by the sheer force of the attraction between us, an involuntary gasp escaping me as the burning intensity of his focus is lavished solely onto me.
“Mrs Grey,” he starts, his voice catching as his brow knits, sentiment engendering the shadow that flits across his features. “I’m sorry about almost wrecking our wedding night and then again today with my, uhm…, unwarranted overreactions. You know I’m a jealous man and where you’re concerned I seem to have no sense or reason. Please. Let me make it up to you.” The words flowing like he’s practised this speech a few times, his look is so remorseful, so penitent it breaks my heart.
Maybe this is how he feels when I’m the one apologising.
I reach out to touch his face, letting my fingers trace the curve of his strong jaw as I search for words to pierce his shame. “Christian, I told you earlier, I married all sides of you, eyes wide open. This time no one can accuse us of being hasty, of being blinded by love. I love you absolutely, completely. You never need to apologise for who you are, we just need to learn to express ourselves more appropriately.”
He stares at me, willing himself into my mind – checking for kinks in the armour of my words before he allows them to settle somewhere in his mind. I can only hope it’s somewhere they can lodge permanently. Finally he acknowledges my words with a beatific smile. “Yes, you did and I’ll try.” Nodding slowly he covers my hand still caressing his check with his own then guides it to his mouth where he presses a soft kiss to the centre of my palm.
“Okay,” he says taking a cleansing breath. “Not an apology then but a gift. Something meaningful, to show you how much I cherish you.” The repentant boy from a moment ago has disappeared, the potent swirling of love and awe now directed at me is heady, powerful, humbling.
“You don’t have to do this.” My voice is barely there, choked and overcome.
“Anastasia.” For a split second I think he’s going to lose his patience, his tone sharp with frustration before he has the good sense to change track, “I want to. Please don’t fight me on this. Don’t ever withhold this from me.”
He looks away, evidently thinking of a way to make me understand. When his gaze swings back to mine his eyes are bright with insight, “it’s like a language for me, a way I can express how I feel about you when I can’t find the words. You wouldn’t stop me if I said I love you, this is just another means to that end.” He combs his fingers through my hair, guiding the stray tendrils behind my ears, watching carefully for any clue to my acquiescence.
I never thought of it like that.
I feel the smile break over my features, “in that case Mr Grey I hope you buy me the whole store!”
The sound of him laughing is something I’m addicted to, especially a deep, throaty laugh like this, his head thrown back, his face relaxed. “I might just do that Mrs Grey.” Another mercurial switch has the mirth swiftly overtaken with a passion so powerful his kiss would’ve buckled my knees was it not for his steel hold around my waist.
“Breathe Mrs Grey,” he whispers against my mouth as he chuckles softly at my dazed expression.
My giggle is made up of equal parts joy and bewilderment, the image of Christian and me laden with Tiffany packages an all too real scenario.
With one hand he opens the door while steering me with the other, a firm, warm pressure in the small of my back. Walking ahead I find the store deserted but for a camp sales assistant smiling a huge milk-white smile in welcome.
He rushes forward and takes my hand, “Mr Grey, Mrs Grey, my name is Jake.” An extremely well-manicured hand touches his chest. “It’ll be my pleasure to help you this morning.”
By Christian’s smirk I realise that this is the surprise, not only the gift but the fact that I have the whole store to myself in the middle of the night. I shake my head, a tad embarrassed and very much impressed, it never ceases to amaze me – the doors that money can open. I shake my head; grudgingly laying my purchasing fate in Jakes expert hands.
“Did you have anything in mind?” he looks to Christian and hands us each a pale pink glass of Ice cold bubbly. Obviously too well trained to ask if we have a budget in mind he phrases the question in an innocuous way.
Christian in turn looks to me, thoughtfully stroking his chin with his thumb and index finger, his eyes dancing with the humour his wicked grin confirms, “hhmm…, something expensive I think.” He savours saying the word expensive, knowing just how uncomfortable all this cash flashing is making me, my blush suffusing my cheeks with blazing pink dots.
It doesn’t stop Christian from chuckling at my discomfort, winking at Jake who looks positively radiant – probably a combination of the non-existent budget and Christian’s playful attention.
Even gay men succumb to Christian’s many charms.
I follow Jake as he rubs his hands together in glee to one of two comfortable looking wingback chairs, throwing Christian’s butter-won’t-melt-in-his-mouth expression a dirty look over my shoulder.
As we take our seats Jake fusses around glass cabinets, pulling out various trays of exquisite jewels then sliding them onto the counter in front of us. When he’s satisfied with his selection he joins us from the opposite end of the counter and starts his spiel.
He doesn’t have a single highlighted hair out of place, his suit tailor made and even past midnight – pristine. He speaks with a clear and easy authority that I have to admit is engaging me in spite of myself.
The selection is a little daunting, rows and rows of beautiful, sparkling things that must be every girl’s dream except mine. I just feel out of place, like a fake. I half expect him to turn into one of those sneering sales people you sometimes come across at high-end stores that dismiss you if your outfit doesn’t match their four designer minimum.
I think my lack of enthusiasm prickles his radar as he sets down a tray and meets my lacklustre gaze, “Mrs Grey, you’ll need to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.”
I frown, not quite sure where he’s going with his analogy. I have my prince! Glancing at Christian I squeeze his knee, thrilled to have this stunning man as my own.
Jake flashes me his super white teeth, impossibly straight, “all I’m saying is don’t get discouraged, when you see the right piece, you’ll know. Jewellery finds you.”
Christian watches our exchange without hiding his amusement, sitting back in his chair his arm is draped over the back of mine and his ankle is resting casually on his knee. The two items that I’ve shown an interest in he’s rejected with a dismissive wave, a frustrating “it’s not expensive enough” comment that’s elicited some serious eye rolling on my part.
Tormentor, I think, almost growling at him.
Steeling myself for what might be a long night I turn my attention back to Jake. Christian’s wealth has never sat well with me but I recognise that I’m going to have to grow into the role of Mrs Grey in all aspects.
Jake passes me another tray, this one with pearl chokers and suddenly my interest gets piqued. Sitting up I let my fingers glide over the creamy, incandescent orbs, some in subtle hues of yellow, others white and even pink. Jake is rambling on about how the pearl should always be matched to a woman’s skin tone but I’m too lost in their beautiful luminosity, how the rainbow sheen is only visible from certain angles, to pay attention.
In my hand I hold a two-strand choker, joined every inch or so by a double diamond bead. I catch a glimpse of the price, at a measly $5000.00 definitely not something Christian will settle for.
“I like the pearl idea baby, it suits you but I think we can do better than that.” Confirming exactly what I thought he levels his challenge to Jake, not for a single moment deterred by my self-conscious cringing.
Suddenly Jake gasps then squeals not unlike a teenage girl at a One Direction concert, “Ooh! I have just the thing!” he scuttles off to a staff-only section of the store, almost skipping with excitement.
I giggle and Christian rolls his eyes in a “heavens-help-us” way, joining me with a quiet chuckle. When I look back to the pretty pearls he leans closer to me, “you know,” he starts, his timbre rich and low, lips almost touching my ear. “Pearls can be very useful in the bedroom.”
Not that I have any idea what he means but his words instantly arrows straight to my sex, triggering a delicious spasm. My whole body shivers in response; my nipples tighten then push through the thin fabric of my t-shirt, the rush of heat north bringing a stunned flush to my face.
Christian’s slate eyes falls away from my stare, his laser focus directed at my chest as his mouth curves with self-satisfaction. As if unable to help himself he skims the pad of his thumb over one prominent straining tip, his deep groan doing nothing to ease the sudden ache I have for him.
I suck in a shocked breath, my senses heightened by the fact that Jake could turn up at any moment. “Mr Grey! Behave!” my thready whisper belies the friendly warning.
Taking zero notice of my scolding he comes closer again, “do you remember the silver balls?” his cocked roguish brow emphasising his hooded look.
Bug eyed I nod, working my lip with my teeth, darting my eyes between Christian and the place where I expect Jake will emerge from.
“You get larger pearls that do the same thing. I think that and a long strand to tie your wrists with will be my next purchase.” My pulse is edging up with every fiendish word, heating my blood and wetting my panties.
“Do you know how hot you’ll look with nothing on but pearls? Dripping off your ears, around your neck,” gently he tugs on my earlobe then drags his index finger along my neck before dipping between my breasts, the demonstration leaving my breaths harsh. “Binding your hands…, inside you?”
Holy moly! Are we going to start playing again?
Just as I get the full and graphic picture he sits back, alerted by Jake’s approach who comes bounding back in. Christian plays unperturbed like the true master of control he is, the only hint a casual hand draped over his straining lap.
I, on the other hand, am not so lucky. Apart from the scarlet of my blush I also have to gain control of my racing heart and shallow panting. I splutter, covering it with a feeble, fake cough when Jake’s gaze turns troubled at the sight of me. “I’m fine,” I say weakly, “can I have a glass of water please?”
Christian – the rogue; is tenderly patting me on the back; he’s faux concern only barely masking his amusement. For that I give him my best glower, narrowing my eyes into hostile slits. Trying hard to hold back his laugh he lifts both hands in surrender, too adorable to stay mad with.
Slightly more composed I take the glass from Jake with a grateful smile. He waits for me to finish but he’s impatient to share his find, unable to sit back down he hops from one foot to the other. The moment I place my empty glass on the counter he produces a signature blue velvet box, opening the lid with a flaunt to reveal the treasure inside.
Christian and I produce a collective gasp. Ooh, the jewellery did find me! “It’s magnificent.” I utter in breathless reverence.
Christian is quick to agree as Jake lifts it out of the box for me to hold. The double strand of pearls is bright white, each pearl alternating with a set diamond, then criss-crosses with itself to form a diamond pattern. The glow of the pears and the sparkle of the diamonds give it a very subtle antique feel, an elegant look that I love. I like that I’ll be similarly comfortable wearing it with jeans as I would be if I teamed it with something formal.
Very pleased with himself and looking at the piece with admiration Jake makes his way around the counter, “let me fit it for you Mrs Grey.”
Whether it’s his possessive nature or eagerness to get his hands on me, Christian doesn’t permit him the opportunity, “allow me.” His tone firm but sensual; he’s up and behind me in one swift move, already sweeping my hair over my shoulder to give himself better access to my neck.
The light touch of his skilled fingers in my hair and on my neck, fastening the delicate clasp sends a current surging through me, making me hyperaware of even the smallest movement of his hands – every little hair on my body standing to attention.
He skates the back of a knuckle over my goose bumped flesh while locking his gaze with mine as it’s reflected in the standing mirror in front of me. “Very nice,” his hoarse words leaving me wondering if he meant me or the choker, also the mirror is bringing back some pretty steamy memories.
My hand flits to my neck to touch the pearls as much as to try and maintain my wavering decorum; already my lips are parted to accommodate my heavier breathing.
Everything with Christian is a sensual exchange.
“We’ll take it,” not batting an eye at the $23 000.00 price tag. He slides his credit card across the counter never breaking our stare, “no need to wrap it, we’re in a hurry.”
“Very well Mr Grey.” With a huge grin he dashes off to finalise the transaction.
Blinking away my surprise Christian bends forward, speaking softly, right next to my ear, “we’re going home where I can fuck you wearing nothing but that choker.”
I bite my lip, looking at him through my lashes. In answer he cocks a brow and tilts his head, as if reading my mind he asks, “home too far for you Mrs Grey?” his arrogant smirk all too knowing.
No point in being coy now. Slowly, deliberately I nod my head, my eyes suddenly overbright with anticipation.
He grabs my hand and drags me off the chair. After signing and collecting his card along the way he calls a fleeting thank you to Jake as we leave the store in a rush. Outside he pauses to take a look up and down the aisles before deciding on a direction. Decision made he heads left, his fingers still twined through mine as our close protection team scampers behind us, obviously not prepared for the change of plans.
Three stores down he makes a hard left into a passage leading to the public restrooms.
Oh my! Now that it’s reality I’m feeling more than a little jumpy.
Briskly walking past the lady’s then the men’s I wonder where he’s going. The very next door dons a gold plaque picturing a baby’s bottle; this is the door that brings Christian to a halt. Briefly he looks past me, catching Taylor’s eye to pass on some telepathic message. Together with Brandon they turn their backs to watch the corridor.
Pressing down on the handle we’re both a little surprised to find it unlocked, my nervous giggle resonating oddly through the empty space. Without preamble Christian urges me through the door before locking it behind us. When he does a quick survey of the ceiling I realise that he’s checking for security cameras.
Good thinking Mr Grey!
The tiny room is maybe nine by nine feet; the light switch is on a dimmer making it strangely romantic considering its use. One side has a marble vanity counter, the other, a plush couch. Even the baby feeding room at the Bellagio is decked out in true Italian style, the aged murals depicting an olive orchid on a sunny day.
He turns his predatory expression to me, his eyes glittering darkly with his carnal intent, “Anastasia,” just hearing him breathe my name has my blood pooling low. “Do you recall from your research that a Dom will often collar his submissive as proof that she belongs to him?”
Doe-eyed I bob my head yes, my heart hammering a stuttering beat as my fingers instinctively float to my throat, encased in the choker, his choker. Is that what’s fanning the flames of his passion for me right now?
He sees the question in my eyes his mouth twisting into a wicked grin, a solitary demand tripping off his silver tongue, “strip.”
There’s nothing left of playful Christian, I’m faced with a man on a sensual mission, already hard, he adjusts himself in his pants.
Pinned by his amorous command I inhale sharply before tugging my t-shirt over my head, slinging it onto the couch. Grateful for choosing my kitten heel slides, I kick them off. I relish how his eyes travel along with my hands down my body as I slowly pop the buttons of my jeans.
A quick shimmy leaves me in a white lace bra with a tiny matching thong and of course the pearl choker that started this erotic scene. The appreciative rumble reverberating from his chest speaks of his need to touch me but he holds back, instead rotating a single finger in the air.
Understanding his gesture I flick back my hair, tilting my head and gifting him with a flash of confident, sexy smile before pivoting on my heel, taking care to sway my hips in a wanton show. With my back turned I peek over my shoulder at him, pushing my bra straps off my arms so they dangle tantalisingly free.
Sinking my teeth into the curve of my bottom lip I watch his riveted stare, lids growing heavy with desire. Reaching behind I unclasp my bra and let it flutter to the floor then complete my revolution by facing him again. With hands on hips I wear my come-hither eyes and fuck-me smile, challenging him to join me.
Boy it’s fun to play him at his own teasing game!
He licks his lips, rubbing his thumb over his fingertips as he speaks, his voice a hoarse rasp, “keep the panties on.” A single sinuous stride places him right up against me, his hands slipping beneath the spaghetti string of my thong as he grabs a cheek in each hand, pushing himself into me.
I moan; my body overheating as I press my breasts against the hard plane on his chest. Our lips a hair breadth apart we breathe each other’s air, for now able to continue our torturous, titillating tease.
In a flowing motion he lifts me onto the vanity counter, opening my legs with his hips. His hand reaches between us, sneaking beneath the flimsy triangle of lace covering my sex he bunches it in his fist. Gently tugging upward the fabric slips between my swollen lips, capturing my clitoris inside.
I let out an ecstatic hiss, bracing myself with my palms flat on the cold marble surface. Taking pleasure in my reaction he starts a rhythm – tug, relax, tug, relax then adds another instrument to his erogenous symphony by sucking a hard peaked nipple into his hot mouth.
I mewl, my shallow breaths coming hard and fast. When he senses my leg muscles stiffening he lightly pinches the sensitive bud in the folds of my panty, rubbing his fingertips together. Head back I come hard, with a jagged cry I shriek his name.
Without even realising that he’s freed himself and simply moving my underwear aside, my body jolts when he rubs the head of his erection over my sensitised flesh, gathering my slickness as lube before he plunges inside.
“Fuck! So hot!” he manages to spit before he starts to move and find my mouth. With the same ferocity of his grinding hips he plunders my mouth, sucking and licking in wild abandon. I scissor my legs around him, drawing him deeper as he increases his tempo.
On the verge of release he reaches for my throat, his hand bracketing my neck as if the feel of the fitted strands is spurring him on. His overt show of possession so touching I start clenching anew, our bodies in tune as we reach our crescendo together.
Hugging me tight we wait for the calm to settle, me – all but naked and Christian completely dressed bar the opening in his slacks. “Thank you,” I say softly, not sure for what exactly but knowing that I’m grateful for so many things right now.
Pushing back he searches my face without the smile I was expecting to see in his eyes, “what’s wrong?” my afterglow is melting away fast.
He blinks, cupping my face, “I didn’t expect to feel that way.” I realise the emotion I see is shock.
“What way?” I ask, genuinely perplexed.
“I’ve never collared a sub, never thought I needed it but seeing it on you…”
Again my fingers find the pearls, “but this isn’t a collar.” I say lamely, not sure where this conversation is heading.
I get his shy smile, the one I adore, “I know and earlier talking about the Dom/sub thing I was just baiting you but once I got the image in my head I…,” he falters dropping the smile he looks uncertain, “now it’s all I see. I guess I got fixated on the symbolism behind it.” For a beat he remains still, ponderous, “would you hate me if I told you I love it?”
I laugh, a tinkling sound that rings through the room, “no, of course not. I love that I’m yours.” I put my arms around his neck, lacing my fingers.
I have to admit that when I first read about it, it freaked me out. Being collared seemed so animalistic, cruel even but this is different, like a wedding ring for my neck.
“Thank you for the beautiful necklace Christian.” After a swift peck on his cheek he’s beaming again.
“You’re welcome Mrs Grey. It seems beneficial for both of us.” King of the understatement he winks, still smiling he rubs my arms.
It’s my turn for serious, momentarily I drop my gaze, testing the weight of my words before speaking them. “I have something for you too.”
Because my expression is sombre he matches it but the twinkle in his eye is unmistakable, telling me he’s keen for a gift from me. “You do?”
I blow out a breath through the circle of my mouth, garnering my courage, “when Chris was born you know that Jose was listed as the father on his birth certificate.” I peek up, waiting for his reaction.
When he nods I continue, “I want us to change it, you know officially, to state the truth and so that Chris can bear your name.”
He gulps a chunk of air then gathers me in his arms. “I’d like that. Very much.” The sentiment in his statement is palpable and it warms my heart.
Still holding me he clears his throat, “baby there’s just one thing and I don’t know how I could’ve overlooked it until now but do you know that falsifying an official document is a crime?”
Thank you to my dear reader Quickster for the research on the US official birth certificate information and clearing up the restroom issue.
Be kind and review, please.