"And yet you choose to defy me," he murmurs baffled, his hand stilling in my hair.
I frown. Holy cow! Do I do that deliberately? My subconscious removes her half-moon glasses and chews the end, pursing her lips and nodding. I ignore her. This is confusing - I'm his wife, not his submissive, not some company he's acquired. I'm not the crack whore who was his mother . . . Fuck. The thought is sickening. Dr. Flynn's words come back to me:
"Just keep doing what you're doing. Christian is head over heels . . . It's a delight to see."
That's it. I'm just doing what I've always done. Isn't that what Christian found attractive in the first place?
Oh, this man is so confusing.
"Dr. Flynn said I should give you the benefit of the doubt. I think I do - I'm not sure. Perhaps it's my way of bringing you into the here and now - away from your past," I whisper. "I don't know. I just can't seem to get a handle on how far you'll overreact."
He's silent for a moment. "Fucking Flynn," he mutters to himself.
"He said I should continue to behave the way I've always behaved with you."
"Did he now?" Christian says dryly.
Okay. Here goes nothing. "Christian, I know you loved your mom, and you couldn't save her. It wasn't your job to do that. But I'm not her."
He freezes again. "Don't," he whispers.
"No, listen. Please." I raise my head to stare into gray eyes that are paralyzed with fear. He's holding his breath. Oh, Christian . . . my heart constricts. "I'm not her. I'm much stronger than she was. I have you, and you're so much stronger now, and I know you love me. I love you, too," I whisper.
His brow creases as if my words were not what he expected. "Do you still love me?" he asks.
"Of course I do. Christian, I will always love you. No matter what you do to me." Is this the reassurance he wants?
He exhales and closes his eyes, placing his arm over his face again, but hugging me closer, too.
"Don't hide from me." Reaching up, I grasp his hand and pull his arm away from his face. "You've spent your life hiding. Please don't, not from me."
He blinks down at me with incredulity and frowns. "Hiding?"
"Yes."
He shifts suddenly, rolling over onto his side and moving me so that I am lying beside him on the bed. He reaches up, smoothes my hair off my face and tucks it behind my ear.
"You asked me earlier today if I hated you. I didn't understand why, and now - " He stops, staring down at me as if I'm a complete conundrum.
"You still think I hate you?" Now my voice is incredulous.
"No." He shakes his head. "Not now." He looks relieved. "But I need to know - why did you safe word, Ana?"
I blanch. What can I tell him? That he frightened me. That I didn't know if he'd stop. That I begged him - and he didn't stop. That I didn't want things to escalate . . . like - like that one time in here. I shudder as I recall him whipping me with his belt.
I swallow. "Because . . . because you were so angry and distant and . . . cold. I didn't know how far you'd go."
His expression is unreadable.
"Were you going to let me come?" My voice is barely a whisper, and I feel a blush steal over my cheeks, but I hold his gaze.
"No," he says eventually.
Holy crap. "That's . . . harsh."
His knuckle gently grazes my cheek. "But effective," he murmurs. He gazes down at me as if he's trying to see into my soul, his eyes darkening. After an eternity, he murmurs, "I'm glad you did."
Oh! "Really?" I don't understand.
His lips twist in a sad smile. "Yes. I don't want to hurt you. I got carried away." He reaches down and kisses me. "Lost in the moment."
He kisses me again. "Happens a lot with you."
Oh? And for some bizarre reason the thought pleases me . . . I grin. Why does that make me happy? He grins, too.
"I don't know why you're grinning, Mrs. Grey."
"Me neither."
He wraps himself around me and places his head on my chest. We are a tangle of naked and denim-clad limbs, and satin red sheets. I stroke his back with one hand and run the fingers of my other hand through his hair. He sighs and relaxes in my arms.
"It means I can trust you . . . to stop me. I never want to hurt you,"
he murmurs. "I need - " He halts.
"You need what?"
"I need control, Ana. Like I need you. It's the only way I can function. I can't let go of it. I can't. I've tried . . . And yet, with you . . ." He shakes his head in exasperation.
I swallow. This is the heart of our dilemma - his need for control and his need for me. I refuse to believe these are mutually exclusive.
"I need you, too," I whisper, hugging him tighter. "I'll try, Christian. I'll try to be more considerate."
"I want you to need me," he murmurs.
Holy cow. Of course I need him!
"I do." My voice is impassioned. I need him so much. I love him so much.
"I want to look after you."
"You do. All the time. I missed you so much while you were away."
"You did?" He sounds so surprised.
"Yes, of course. I hate you going away."
I sense his smile. "You could have come with me."
"Christian, please. Let's not rehash that argument. I want to work."
He sighs as I work my fingers gently through his hair.
"I love you, Ana."
"I love you, too, Christian. I will always love you."
We both lie still in the calm, quiet after our storm. Listening to the steady beat of his heart, I drift exhausted into sleep.