Fifty Shades Trilogy 1. Bal Masque

Title: **Bal Masque**

Inspired by Whips and Pearls. Contains explicit content and mature language.

Two strangers indulge in their ultimate fantasy, Christian, ultimate possession, and Anastasia, complete submission, at a private Masquerade event.

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This world, someone once explained to me, made you feel alive, lit your body on fire, and transcended any sense of reality. I see it in the eyes of masked women, eyelashes fluttering and not nervously but arousing fascinated by the scene. I tug at the hem of my black silk robe aware of his eyes on me. He's watched me the entire evening a physical hand of ownership I've tried to ignore. I came alone. The invitation required masks and discretion both of which I provided. This is extremely outside of my comfort zone but a consistent fixture in my fantasies, ones I still blush head to toe from.

I listen distractedly to the moans emanating throughout the open space, the marble floors rejecting the sound with a loud echo. I breathe shallowly, affected. Heat travels up my spine but I refuse to walk over and watch. I'm permanently plastered to a wall closest to the door still debating escape. Hearing the sounds of skin slapping and those masculine groans that make my toes curl, I close my eyes to seek composure.

"Stay." A voice resounds above me, deep and tinted with an infatuating gravely tone. I open my eyes slowly, my heart a rapid beat against my ribcage hammering with anxiety. Glancing over at my hand wrapped soundly around the rod iron door handle, I uncurl each finger from the decorative curve.

"Nervous?" He asks as I finally find him leaning casually against the wall next to me. A dark gray stares back at me beneath the black silk mask he's adorning measuring me in a knowing way. A hand is wrapped around a tumbler of whiskey while the other curls gently around mine and I soften next him. "Obvious?"

He smirks squeezing my hand as an answer.

"Christian." He offers.

"Ana. It's nice to meet you." It sounds so childish considering our venue but I say it anyway.

"You're beautiful Ana." He turns to me then before blocking my view. His suit smells freshly cleaned an onyx tuxedo that complements his eyes, brightens them, with the lapels defined by black silk. My fingers dance against my thighs. I want to touch him.

"Thank you."

"Your modesty is something to be admired." He tugs playfully at the tie of my robe. I'm the only one covered. The rest of the women are either naked or in lingerie. I'm not that comfortable yet.

"I'm not used to being naked in front of a crowd." Only with one man and so my nerves fired anxiously at the thought but a small part of me wanted it. That man once told me my general delicate nature always made him hard because I blossomed beneath him in bed begging for depraved things, vulgar with language and my desires. I wanted my limits pushed and he obeyed.

"Do you trust me?" He whispers against my ear, his hands settled at my waist. I shiver at his touch before breathing a panted yes. He pulls me across the massive dining room and into the living room cleared of furniture for this evenings event. String lights hung from the ceiling intertwined with wings of white chiffon hang elegantly. I smile. I love the ethereal romance blanketing such dirty acts. Winding through small crowds of people some brazenly pleasuring each other kneeled and servicing, I inch closer to Christian who confidently leads the way. He draws me in front of him his hands falling possessively on my shoulders and I can feel his chin at the back of my head. It feels good to be claimed, more stable. He picked the perfect time to approach as my anxiety simmers.

We watch as two couples fuck in front of us and it's feral with their clawing hands and rapid thrusts. One man holds a woman's body by her hair completely in control of her and his speed. God I love that exact position and as if Christian read my mind, his hand flirts with the skin of my exposed chest dancing over the curve of my hip before riding up my thigh and under my panties. I try to frantically look around but Christian's other hand grips my jaw.

"No." He orders sternly. "Just watch them and pretend it's only you and me." I battle with the panic and the conflict I feel, knowing people have moved their attention to me. He holds my jaw in place so I have no choice but to watch while his fingers massage my clit. I watch the man take her by her hair and drag her to her knees. My sex throbs violently beneath his deft fingers.

"You're close already." He informs more than he asks. He knows.

I whimper in acquiescence trying shamelessly to move my hips so I can ride his fingers. I need them inside me. Of course he knows this and slides two fingers into me torturously slow. I whine and arch as he hooks them into me massaging until I can barely stand.

"Please." I beg but he refuses to answer, he denies me any release but pushes me to edge continuously, dip and climb, wave after wave. I feel the audience shift their attention.

"They prefer you over her, the modest woman, the quiet one screaming for me to fuck her." I dig my nails into his arm and grit my teeth seeking desperately my release but he pulls out of me then. He knew. Such talent and awareness he used knowing I'd do damn near anything for him to finish me off. My insecurity with people watching dissipated, in fact it turned me on even more now. I wanted them to watch.

Christian moves in front of me, untying my robe and taking the silk rope into his pocket. It falls to the floor and pools around my heels. He rakes his eyes down my body before meeting my eyes with a look of approval. I love that look. I like pleasing him. His hands curl beneath the straps of my black lace bra and drags them down my arms. He then unhooks the back and we both watch a piece of my modesty descend. My nipples harden beneath the cool air and everyone's fixed gazes. I feel a sharp sting as he rips my panties off, the pain melting into the pleasure and intensifying it. His fingers run over my red skin tenderly until he slaps it. I yelp until he rubs it again. Sadist.

"Stay." He orders as I watch him turn and stand at the center of the room. Magnificent is all I can think, majestic, dominant. He's so tall and overpowering with his presence. I see the other women watching him subconsciously licking their lips. He points a finger to the floor and I lower myself to my knees. Everyone's transfixed. The night has turned more seductive, more mentally arousing. This is _his _game, I'm the only player and they are the lucky audience. Christian watches me exerting his authority simply by making me wait for further instruction. With a smirk he calls me forward with his finger. He wants me to crawl. It's a challenge. I love this game.

On my hands and knees I crawl to him and I can see his eyes burn with admiration. I feel no insecurity being naked in front of everyone. The way Christian looks at me like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world shatters that. I stop at his feet naked before him as he's completely dressed. This is submission, I thought with a smile. It's at the feet of someone while overcoming your ego and modesty with the only purpose to obey. And I knew he adored the fact that we had an audience. It made it common knowledge, a concrete fact that I was his. I obeyed _him_. I transformed to indecency. I became his naughty little girl. Only. For. Him.

He bends and ties my wrists with my familiar silk, pulling at the knot so my hands rake the floor as I curl over my knees. He walks behind me then and spanks me five consecutive times, the pain building and bursting on the fifth as it enflames my entire body. My body throbs violently with my restless pleasure and visceral pain. They combine until I'm absolutely desperate for him to drive into me, touch me, or fuck me. I'll take anything but he stands before me watching me endure it.

"Please." I beg.

"Please what Anastasia?"

"Please fuck me. I need you."

"Earn it then."

People gasp, I see smiles of approval, and I'm so wet I'm sure everyone can see his effect. I sit up on my knees and raise my tied wrists. My fingers work at his belt and then his zipper until I free him. Relief at one less obstacle rages through me as I take him into my mouth. I want to make him proud. I want to make the other men and women envious so I take him deep into my throat fighting my gag reflex before pulling away.

"Good girl."

That does me in. I place my hands in my lap and look up under hooded lashes. He understands that look. Use me, it says. He does. His hands tangle into my hair as he drives into me. I feel his thumbs caressing my temples and I soften more beneath him. I want to so fervently to touch myself but I want him to have my pleasure, every single lascivious groan of it.

Pulling out of mouth, he jerks me up from my wrists and throws me over a mahogany coffee table. Pinning my arms above my head he teases my ear with his teeth while he runs his cock against my sex. I writhe.

"Are you ready for me to own you?" He asks and I smile against the wood beneath my cheek.

"You already do."

A growl erupts from his throat, pure appreciation and domination, as he thrusts into me. I arch against him as pleasure invades every cell of my body. He fucks me hard and through the lace of my mask I see their looks of envy but moreso a knowing tenderness. They're like us. They know the beauty of submission, pain, and dominance. They see it in us.

My ass stings against his violent thrusts, and I'm sure his fingers will leave bruises at my hips but I don't care. I want any mark he can give me. I want to wear each mark with pride for him. I hear the restraint of our audience snapping, growls and the shocked gasps of women as they take them. The sounds of their moans follow and I transcend everything. I feel like I'm floating. I feel weightless and when Christian winds his hand around and pinches my clit telling me to come for him, I do. The room explodes behind my eyes into a million colored fireworks as I watch paralyzed, stuck in such extreme pleasure I can't breathe. Sweat trails my chest and I shiver with the sensation.I feel the sting of my scalp as he pulls me up against him. I can't help but bite his throat with my teeth as he comes. There's my mark.

Collapsing back against the table, I pant trying to catch my breath. I try to move my limp body but can't summon the energy until I feel Christian help me up. He sets me on the table as he fixes himself and then goes to side of the room and gathers a wet washcloth from an attendant. Coming back, he kneels at my feet and wipes tenderly the inside of my thighs. I watch him wanting to cry. He wanted everyone to know he owned me as he fucked me but kneeled now to tell them I owned him just as much if not more. I run my fingers through his hair as he looks up and offers a boyish smile.

"You're mine." He mouths looking only at me.

"I'm yours." I mouth back before he stands me up and helps with my robe. No one asks either of us to play with them. They just watch and smile as we walk by.

"Thank you." I tell him as I press a soft kiss to his cheek. He just nods with a smirk before descending the front stairs and into the back of a car. I see my own driver pull up and get in. The drive to the hotel doesn't take long. I'm exhausted but glad for the pitch black of night. I'm sure I'm smiling like a foolish idiot but I don't care. It is one of the best nights of my life. I hit the privacy window and change into jeans and a sweater before we pull up to the hotel lobby. Not many people are lingering as I enter the elevator and go up to my room. I take a deep breath before applying my thumb to the the penthouse suite door waiting anxiously as it registers. I hear my husband showering before I join him.

Sitting at the vanity, I watch my husband approach from behind eyeing him with a smile.

"Happy Anniversary Mrs. Grey."

"Happy Anniversary Christian." I reply as he takes my lips against his.

"I love you." He whispers as his hand runs down the length of my hair.

"I love you too." He picks me up then and lays me down softly. His hand studies the marks he left before his lips touch each one. Rising above me, I pull his towel away and kiss each scar of his. We make love the way I taught him to.

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If this ends up getting deleted. Feel free to add me on Facebook under the name Dee Nz where I will post it in that case.


	2. Her

**Title: Her**

Christian Grey meets his match while on assignment forcing feelings he never knew he had to rise to the surface. The moment he met her, she changed everything.

Explicit content and Mature language

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Christian remembered vividly the first time he saw Anastasia. How could he not? Stuck in a dim lit room, a bed in the corner, and black pintucked leather lining the base of the walls, his profession required he notice the details. Jack Hyde sat across from him in a wingback chair, a feigned smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Christian remained composed, evenly taking sips of his whiskey with a practiced look of anticipation.

"Are you content with your choice?"

"Very." Christian answered as he looked towards the door again.

"She's an unusual choice. Most men that visit prefer the younger ones. She does still have that naive youthful look about her but most of our Russian models appear so. I'm glad though. Being 17, she's close to being put down, if I put it kindly." Christian wanted to kill him right then but he only indulged his thoughts with the fantasy of it soon to become a reality.

"I prefer her look. Those blue doe eyes, I can't wait to see them when she's on her knees."

Jack laughed, nodding in agreement.

"She has good reviews, I promise. Again, our girls are tested weekly and all have been implanted with an IUD for birth control. I run a tight ship here. But Anastasia is new. She speaks no English. " Jack replied before the door finally opened and Anastasia revealed herself. Dressed in a sheer robe, she stepped forward her hands trembling and her eyes trained to the floor. Her brown hair was pulled away from her face and she smelled fresh dripping in a too sweet floral smell.

"Anastasia drop your robe." Jack ordered in russian waving his hands obnoxiously for her to understand. Her fingers curled beneath the flimsy lapel and he watched curiously at her devised nervousness. The fabric fell to the floor and he smiled appreciatingly making sure Jack caught his admiration.

"On your knees now darling, before your new master." Anastasia refused however, lifting her chin then and he saw the strength in her eyes, the rebellion. He recognized the confidence.

"When the rich make war, it's the poor that die." She replied in russian, and he was glad to be fluent to be able to hear her speak those words.

"Excuse me." Jack spoke to him as he stood then, anger contorting every muscle in his body as he approached her. Christian looked to Ana then as she smiled. It's exactly what she wanted. Taking another sip of his drink, he watched completely entertained.

"Get. On. Your. Knees." Jack demanded in russian. Anastasia lifted her chin.

"Make me." She said in perfect english, no accent tipping her words. Plain, clear as day American English. The shock at this jarred Hyde and Christian placed his drink down, standing quietly. Anastasia used that moment to her advantage driving her elbow into Jacks nose before she grabbed for his gun situated in the back of his pants. With a thrust belying her delicate frame, the butt of the gun landed in the perfect spot to knock Hyde unconcious.

"Code?" She asked as she tore Jacks clothes off.

"Ground Zero." Anastasia nodded then as she pulled Jack towards the bed brazenly naked.

"_I'm_ going to kill him. Is that a problem?" Christian sat again, pouring more whiskey into his tumbler.

"I'm a little disappointed but no, no problem."

He watched as she tied his hands to the post of the bed. Putting the gun on the floor, she walked to a false wall, entering a code before it slid open. Knives, whips, ball gags, and other unkind instruments decorated the entire wall. She picked a ball gag and four knives before walking back over to him. Christian watched with morbid infatuation as she lined each one next to her before slapping Jack hard enough to wake him. Her confidence, the way she spun a knife between her fingers, as she approached Jack naked affected him. He never felt that way.

"Shh. Shh." She hushed him, pressing a knife tight against his neck. "Aren't you glad this room is soundproof?" Jack still dumbfounded at her English could only nod. Christian wondered how long it would take him to realize she'd been playing them since the beginning.

"You're just going to kill me anway." He gritted out.

"Not if you give me what I need."

"I want the name of your contact in Mexico."

"Fuck you!" She buried a knife in his thigh confident with the soundproof room, one of their main selling points. Grabbing another one she held it to his throat again.

"You only have three more chances to answer. What is the name of your contact in Mexico."

Christian struggled with his arousal watching her command the scene. She was beautiful to watch, confident and strong. He was drawn to the way her soft lips delivered such threats, they way her magnificent doll like face watched the pain she gave with extreme satisfaction.

"Stupid bitch."

"Wrong answer." She drove a second knife into his other thigh an inch or so from his flacid cock. Tears sprung from Jacks eyes as he endured the pain while panicking at where he was sure the next knife would be.

"Giovani!" He screamed. "God where the Fuck are my guards."

With another knife, she pressed harder against his throat.

"Giovani what?"

"Giovani Reyes."

"Thank you." Anastasia smiled as she patted his cheek condescendingly and Christian smiled at the relief that relaxed Jack when he thought she would actually allow him to live.

Grabbing the ball gag she straddled his chest and shoved it into his mouth. His eyes grew wide beneath her and he grunted, groaned as he whipped his head back and forth.

"Now be a good little boy." She whispered to him in a way that disarmed him completely. That in itself hinted his fate and Christian assumed it was something only understood between them both. She climbed off him then as Jack started to sob. It never shocked him to see men like him so weak before death. Only weak men prey on the meek, fuck without consent, and think they're doing the world a favor. There's no dignity and Anastasia refused to let him die with such. She cut meticulously and torturously and any other man might feel her ruined by such depravity but Christian admired her, the only woman he could claim he felt that way about. She left a message with Jack's body and he wished he could see the looks of the men that found him but they needed to leave right away if they wished to escape. He stood then stepping over the blood and debris of her kill. It was odd for someone like them to kill in such a manner, a way that depicted a certain lack of control but he happened to like her more because of it. He also knew he had to watch himself around her.

"Are you done playing?" She turned then and looked down at Jacks mutilated body before nodding.

"Three routes of escape, one through the basement, out of the front of the compound, or the gate west of the property. We're exiting West, that is where a vehicle waits but if we happen to separate, those are other exits." He told her as she covered herself with the robe successfully covering the blood stains on her body

"West." She agreed before opening the door to the hall where two guards lay dead. She bent down and picked up the guns handing them both to him. He removed the magazines before popping them both back in satisfied enough with what he had. He followed her down the dark hallway, the stench of blood thick in the enclosed space. She held up a hand and he fell back against the wall as she opened the door and tiptoed barefoot into the hallway.

"Anastasia, what are you doing alone?"

"I done." She answered with a convincing russian accent dressing her english.

"Where are your handlers?" Christian heard his footsteps and watched as Ana approached with a knife flush against her forearm.

She shrugged feigning confusion at his English. Within arms reach, she gripped the handle of the knife twisting it away from her skin and delivering a swift cut across his throat. She severed his artery before walking brazenly down the brightly lit hallway. She killed gracefully, each movement fluid and natural, the way she was trained to be. He needed to detach himself quickly.

They led Christian through a much different scene on the other end of the house, opulent hallways with antique furniture and art but he was reminded just how big of a business this was for them. He wasn't forced to kill until they hit the outdoors and made enough space between the house and them that sound didn't matter. He shot two guards at the gate while she killed the other until they were through. He led her through the wooded area, pulling out his phone and tracking the waiting car that way.

"You're hurt." She commented as they slid into the front seats.

"Clean shot." He replied as he pulled slowly onto the road. "Clothes are in the backseat."

She climbed back, tearing her robe off in the process before changing into jeans and a black fleece jacket. In the rear view mirror, she fixed her hair before moving back into the front seat palming the gun of choice before slipping it into the back of her jeans.

"Let me look at you." She shifted his suit coat off his shoulders before unbuttoning his white button up. He nodded towards the glove compartment where she found a mini sewing kit. With deft fingers she threaded the needle and began to stitch his wound together. His grip grew obnoxious around the steering wheel as he endured the pain.

"Which safe house have we been instructed to utilize?"

"Manhattan." He answered distractedly maneuvering the curved roads of upstate New York.

When she finished, they pulled over so she could drive. He finished the rest of the journey in the backseat, changing into jeans and a sweater and updating his contact on the information they received from Hyde.

"We're here." Christian looked up at the brownstone, maintained meticulously and even adorning Halloween decor on the front door. She pulled into the garage and he studied her as she put the car in Park and the way her shoulders fell in exasperation and relief.

"Glad to be out?"

Anastasia shrugged before getting out and leaving him alone. Christian entered the code before leading her in. It'd been a year since he last used the Manhattan safe house. She sat down and began to rifle through the yellow envelope undoubtedly holding her phone, passport, license, and social security card.

"Anastasia Steele." She read out loud.

"American." He replied with a smirk, leaning casually against the kitchen counter.

"Just call me Ana." She quipped back dramatically taking on her new identity with a higher pitched voice. "I haven't even asked your name yet."

"Christian Grey."

"Sounds wealthy."

"It works."

"I'm going to shower." He watched her ascend the stairs, perfect ass like candy to him. He remembered her naked and grew painfully hard as the memories of the night emerged. He thought about hitting a club to find a body to play with but he found himself looking towards the stairs. He only wanted her.

Christian ended up on the couch a beer in hand while he watched a storm batter the city. He heard her footsteps before he saw her.

"How's the storm?" She asked rounding the couch in a white fleece robe, her damp hair a river of brown cascading her shoulders.

"Entertaining." He replied tightening his grip around his beer. She perched herself with all that easy grace curling her legs under. They settled into an easy silence, both watching the storm.

"A week" He finally spoke and she nodded as if he'd read her mind.

"One Week." She exhaled. Her voice disarmed him, the sweet tone completely belying the murderous little fighter he watched today. "When they first delivered the assignment, I remember being happy for something longer than our usual one hit jobs. It was different than I expected."

Do you regret it?

"Of course not. My mother said regrets are for the weak."

"Is she still alive?"

Ana shook her head before she answered.

"No. My parents were both killed when I was 13. You?"

"Killed when I was 4. They trained you late."

"I was fairly skilled before they found me. My parents were Russian spies but were betrayed by our country. My parents trained me for defense."

"So they took you in?"

"Not at first. I was placed in foster care but watched because they thought I'd be approached by other Russians in the program. Then I killed a man who followed me into a dark alley and tried to rape me. That's when they took me."

christian smiled, affected yet again. He liked her. She looked over her shoulder at him, their eyes locking into a heated gaze. He'd never seen such hunger and he'd never been so starved. She stood as he placed his beer on the coffee table. Walking with all the confidence in the world, she then straddled him, eyes too bold for a face like hers challenging him. He untied her robe and pulled it off running a hand up her quivering stomach until she slapped him. Smiling, he wrapped her hair around his fist and jerked her head towards him. It was then in her eyes, he saw her detach, go somewhere else but be present for him, for sex. It made sense considering the past week, hell probably her entire life but Christian refused to fuck her this way. He pulled her down over his lap and spanked her hard three times before leaning down close to her ear.

"Stay with me now." She turned then her blue eyes burning with anger but at least she was present. She slapped him again and he blocked her knee from hitting his stomach. He pinned her to the couch. He was stronger than her but she tested his restraint. He watched her struggle beneath his weight, her chest rising and falling like a crashing wave. That's what she felt like, violent and beautiful. He pressed his cock against her and her hips undulated against him shamelessly. He kept her with him, forcing her to look at him the entire time, to see him. Finally, he let her up and she straddled him again. He held her wrists together behind her back as she struggled.

She kissed him. It shocked him so much that she was able to pull her hands from his and he prepared himself to get slapped again, maybe punched but her hands found his cheeks gently and she stole his breath. Her tongue sought his, her hips grinding against his cock, and when he finally couldn't take it anymore, he slid off his pants desperate not to break away from her. He'd never kissed any of the women he fucked not unless he needed to feign true interest. He had nothing against it, it just seemed a little too intimate like it did now except he liked it from her. She was equal, knowing of what he did, turned on by it too it seemed. And that calmed him, it centered him to know he could have this with someone. She bit his lip, nipped at it, her fingers raking his back until he gripped her hips and drove her down, burying himself inside her. God, that singular burst of hot air, her moan, ripped through the room. His fingers dug into her skin as she rode him and he snaked a hand to her chin.

"Look at me when you fuck me." Her eyes opened slowly and she obeyed in the same manner, torturously slow but when she did, she was all he could see. Leaning forward, he took a nipple into his mouth, biting hard enough to feel her tighten around him.

"You like that."

"God, yes,"

He flicked his tongue against the hardened peak before leaving a wet trail across her chest and taking the other between his teeth. Her speed increased but he maintained eye contact with her and she held him there, half aroused, and half hestitant. It amused him to see her doubtful.

He wrapped his hand around her neck and tightened with the speed her thrusts grew. She loved it, her head falling back to give him more of her elegant column. He knew she would. He read her well. They lived on a very faint line between life and death, feeling physically but detached emotionally. They were trained that way so it was moments like these, his hand around her neck, squeezing that reminded them both they were still alive. He rubbed his thumb against the pulsing vein, relishing the way it tapped against his skin with extreme speed.

"Ana?"

"I'm here." She breathed as she lifted her chin and looked at him. He threw her down then, flat against the couch and thrusting into her until only the sound of their skin slapping silenced the storm. His cock throbbed, he couldn't get deep enough couldn't thrust hard enough but she took it with pleasure.

"Harder." She choked out and he obeyed with a growl. Her skin glistened with sweat and he ran his tongue up the curve of her hip and to the swell of her tits. He couldn't get enough of her restrained moans. They drove him. God damn it, he wanted to make her scream.

He let go of her throat and turned her over the side of the couch. That devilish little smirk over her shoulder did him in. He pulled her hair and fucked her with brutal force, winding his hand beneath her to play with her clit. Her whole body tightened beneath him as he jerked her head back bringing her body flush with his.

Wrapping his fist tighter with her hair, he controlled every movement her hands clawed at his thighs, drawing blood with her vicious strokes. A deep growl reverberated but she wasn't finished. She turned her head and bit at his neck, the pain almost making him come. She raked the blood with her teeth before running her tongue with almost a soothing gesture. Alive. Christian didn't care. She was completely present for him.

"You look at me when you come." He demanded and the way she drew her eyes up to his in submission completely erupted an appetite for her. One he wasn't sure could ever be satiated.

He could see her fingers working her nipples and her hips had taken on a desperate speed as she moved against him. It was her whimpers that he listened intently to, they way they grew into cries before she finally let out a long cry, contracting hard around him that it set off his release. Her hand wrapped around his neck pressing him against her and he loved her warmth. He loved the heat as he shuddered through his orgasm.

She elongated her frame beneath him, her arms stretching out in front of her. He ran his fingers over her shoulders and over her wrist before interlacing their fingers. He saw a faint smile. Christian struggled to leave. He could stay inside of her forever which sent him into an internal panic. Pulling out of her she stood, turning and running her finger over the blood at his neck. Her eyes moved to his, amusement in them but also admiration. She left and went upstairs without another word and he collapsed on the couch chugging the rest of his beer. He needed to leave tomorrow he decided. Just as he began to plan, his phone sounded offering relief of another assignment. Unlocking the screen and opening the message, he read with disbelief. Setting it back down, he could only stare at the storm thinking how fitting it felt. He ascended the stairs and knocked on her door opening it when she answered. Curled naked beneath the sheet, her delicious silhouette becoming visible with every strike of lightening, he approached her predatorily. She looked up from her pillow and offered a look that made him still. She knew. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the gun from the back of his pants placing it against her temple.

_She's a job. She's a stranger._

But he felt like he'd known her before that they lived together once and had just found one another again. It wasn't possible, rational, or logical. He struggled with it.

"I'm tired," was all she said as if trying to make him feel better. Her hand ran against his neck again, her fingers touching her wound as if trying to imprint everything about it. "Thank you."

His mouth crashed down on hers and she inhaled him. He pulled the sheet away and rid his pants as she shook beneath him. They were both tentative, hesitant not knowing what the moment meant. He drove into her slowly, the pleasure just as lazy as it crept through him but as intoxicating as ever. She looked at him with confusion when he pulled away.

"You have to." She spoke softly and he kissed her again.

"I can't." It was all he could say. He knew what life he just sentenced them to, but he didn't care. They were alive when they were together.

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I hope you all enjoyed it! Again if this gets deleted, feel free to add me on facebook under the name Dee Nz. This was inspired by the show The Americans and the movie Salt.


	3. Fifty Lifetimes

_I wrote this within two hours. I'm sorry for the lack of editing. I don't know where this came from. It's an exhausting read, I think, depressing, and sad. There are no lemons. This is a one shot of second chances, the reminder and rekindling of love, and hopefully some relatable issue, theme or character for you. I am continuing on with my other stories. I'm so sorry for taking so long! I'm doing the best I can. Thank you so much for reading. _

Fifty Lifetimes

My mother wasn't a smart woman when it came to love. She loved men for immediate validation and when it wore off resented them for a feeling she knew was temporary. I used to look at her and wonder how? How could someone be so blind? That was until I met Christian but he taught me love in a way that surpasses every ounce of logical thought. I'm shaking as a write this and I apologize for the improper grammar but you asked for an interview and that I cannot give you. I can barely function for the day. There are times when I wake up and I hear my son Teddy calling my name from the room over that I wish for silence. It sounds awful but I'm trying to be honest. I'm a simple woman or I guess I was. I grew up in a small town with my stepfather and he raised me to be self sufficient and smart. I studied literature in college. I did everything right and I was rewarded with Christian Grey. That's honestly how it felt. He felt like a gift and I'm not saying he's perfect. Lord knows we're both just trying the best we can with each other. I'm emotional, lacking control and he's the opposite. He loves to call my anger the brown whips with the way I jerk my head around and my hair flies over my shoulder when he says something stupid which isn't often by the way. I'm married to a very intelligent man. You all know. There are articles and videos of him speaking and I watch them too. I watch the way he commands a stage or a conversation and he leads it until the very end. He's smooth and so damn smart that I often find myself rewinding parts because I was so overwhelmed with pride. It's not pride I deserve, I know. He did all the work but I love him so much that I burst with happiness anytime he does something he loves or shares wisdom I've often melted into a pool of receiving as I listen. You've hounded me for weeks and I've refused every interview and phone call. His company has released statements but you've wanted more like desperate children. I'm giving it to you and not because I truly want to. I'm doing it because I want you to leave us alone after this because after this post, I promise to refuse every email and phonecall that is not immediate family. I'll tell you the story of how it happened because I want you to know the hero my husband is.

It was a Thursday morning nothing out of the ordinary. I poured my children cereal as Christian got ready upstairs. I know you all like to assume we have a chef but that is not true. It's hard to remember the details now of every little thing of that day but certain things jump out. I remember the way Teddy hugged Christian as he walked into the kitchen mainly because I almost had a heart attack when he stood in his chair and without warning jumped to his Daddy as he walked in. Christian, with his fast reflexes caught him and spun him around pressing kisses to his head as he gently placed him back in his seat. The chaos of breakfast began again. I also remember him asking me about lunch, if I'd come to his office. I'm hesitant to admit that we'd been distant with his work schedule and the kids. When we talked it was mainly about them and half the time I was too tired to converse about anything else. At the end of the day, we both just wanted time to ourselves to think without the pressure of anyone else's demands. It bothered us both but our schedules allowed us to procrastinate on the coming conversation. The fact that he asked, I remember wanting to cry. I don't know if it was the semblance of intimacy or if I just missed him that much but I couldn't agree faster. I took both our children to school, Teddy in first grade and Phoeb's in Pre-K. I hurried home, showered, and started on myself. With care, I applied makeup the way we both preferred it and I curled my hair in loose waves. He loved me in navy blue and so I chose a shift dress in that color and nude heels. My nerves raced as I drove to his office similar to that of a first date which is comical because our initial meeting happened in his office with an interview I gave as a favor for a sick friend. I walked in and fell against the door frame of his office watching as he worked. He was passionate, a studious face and strong jaw as he read contracts, a furrowed brow as he negotiated them and a look of the upmost content when he saw me. He stared at me with relief like I saved him. I walked in after closing the door and settled myself in his lap as we hugged in silence. Words escaped us. They weren't needed. We reconnected, finally, after months of being separated by differing schedules and needs.

"Hi." He said as he squeezed me tighter against him.

"Hi." I replied as I held him harder. He was home to me, a place I could return to whenever times felt rough or hard. With him, I felt secure and content.

"Are you…"

"Just a little bit longer." I interrupted and he didn't object. His phone rang without his attention and the sound of his T.V with current stock prices echoed through out the space but we ignored everything but each other. It was just so nice to feel him, his attention focused solely on me and he felt the same way. He then confessed a story he'd hidden from me.

_Christian fell onto his daughter's twin bed, a ball of pink tumbling onto his chest. Laughter exploded and he smiled as she settled her sweet little self next to his head. He looked down at his painted toenails, more color on his skin than nail and shook his head. _

_"Daddy."_

_"Yes?" He looked up when she didn't answer. Ah. That kind of question. He waited and on cue she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. _

_"I love you Daddy."_

_"I love you too." He waited for a couple more seconds as she started to act like she just thought of something._

_"I have a great idea!" _

_"Yeah? what's that Phoebs?"_

_"Popsicles. I'm sweatin." _

_"Didn't your mother say no earlier?"_

_"But Dad I wasn't hot then." And she did it, the pout thing with her big blue eyes that her mother used on him too. Her bottom lip quivered and his heart broke. _

_"Okay but we can't tell your mother." Immediately she smiled and he narrowed his eyes at her. He was in deep shit. They tip toed past his bedroom where Ana was taking a shower and also past Gail who thankfully was on the phone. She had no loyalty anymore. _

_"You be the lookout." Phoebe nodded excitedly, her tutu catching air as she swung her hips. He grabbed two Popsicles out of the freezer. They went out on the patio and he sat in a chair with Phoebe in his lap. He ate his fast while she took her time. _

_"Thank you daddy." She mumbled as melting Popsicle ran down her hand, stained his shirt, and her eyes fluttered closed. All that work for her to just fall asleep. He smiled and pulled her head against his chest before pressing a kiss to her head._

_"You're welcome baby." _

_"Christian." His heart stopped when he heard Ana. He looked down at the evidence of spots of blue and a red stained mouth. Turning as casually as he could he raised a finger to his lips. _

_"Shh. She's sleeping." Ana smiled and nodded before heading back in. He slumped in relief and started plotting how to keep their secret._

I laughed when he finished in a way that I hadn't in a very long time. And then I cried because I loved them both so much. He wiped the tears from my cheeks with a bright smile. It's no secret to our family and friends that I'm a sugar freak. I substitute it anywhere and everywhere I can. The popsicles were gifts from Kate and Elliot that they had secretly bought for the kids over Christmas. Christian was that kind of father, the one that focused on his children without apology. He ignored his phone and the demands of every one else even me sometimes. Currently, he is the favorite but I'm also the bad cop in the situation more than he is. We decided on lunch at a nearby Italian restaurant. Hand in hand we walked out into the nervous system of his company, cubicles and offices filled with hard working employees. I looked at him; the smirk of comfort and content etched on his face and just kept telling myself that we'll always be just fine.

The first gunshot that fired, honestly, only interrupted half of the people. I remember searching the area in confusion and Christian doing the same. When the next couple sounded I stood there stunned as I watched two people fall to the floor and not in a defensive manner but in a way that they couldn't control. There's such an odd in between emotion between denial and terror. It's paralyzing. Another shot rang out and my entire body hit the floor with Christian's head palming my head holding me so tight against him I could barely breathe.

"Shhh. Shhh. Baby, stay still. Someone's shooting." He said and still it took me much longer to register his words than hear them. His entire body shook against mine and that's when I started to cry. I remember finally opening my eyes and seeing him looking at me with such love that I cried harder. Gunshots resounded around us, screams echoing and pained moans rising above it all. Warmth gushed onto my hands where I held his waist. It was wet and he still just looked at me before pushing me beneath him, smothering me. I was surrounded in his cologne, my face pressed against his chest.

"Hold your breath Ana." He demanded in a way more stern than any he had enacted anywhere else. I stilled for him, drew in a deep breath while my heart felt like it might tear through my own chest and his. I'm sorry for the tear marks you might find on this letter. I can't help it especially not in this part.

His body jerked against mine as I listened to a shrill whistle and then a piercing grunt. More warmth smothered my hands and then me as I listened to the sound of footsteps leaving. I was nauseous with fear as I pushed myself away from him grabbing his limp cheeks as I finally moved him a little. Shocked at the blood that stained his cheeks, I stared at my hands, at his barely responsive expression as real terror (the one without denial) gripped every bone and nerve in my body.

"Shhh." He whispered. "Don't scream. Everything will be okay." He reassured me with a choking sound as blood seeped from his lips. There he was, my strong husband, trying to comfort me as he was dying.

"You're okay." I kept telling him as I finally realized the blood on my hands was his. He collapsed on my chest as more shots sounded from across the room. They didn't even faze me to be honest. I just held Christian, my hands running idly through his hair. "We're going to be okay. You're just fine." I reminded him.

He nodded against me but not without much strength. I prayed. I wasn't much of a Christian, more of a holiday visitor but I promised all kinds of things. I promised to attend every Sunday. I prayed so hard I thought I might ascend to hell under the weight of my demands. I promised my life for his. I told God that he could take me in any cruel manner to save him. I told every kind of story about my children hoping that the God or the world or Karma might take sympathy on me. It wasn't until Christian stopped my quivering chin with his thumbs that I looked at him again.

"Run!" He ordered and I shook my head before bursting into sobs. "Run, Ana." He tried again barely above a whisper with his strength. I crawled out from beneath him and searched for his wounds remembering every movie and television show I'd ever seen. I knew I had to apply pressure but there were three and I was in such a state of disbelief, I could barely get my shirt off. I pressed it to one of his wounds, just above his hip where the blood seemed never ending.

"I love you so much." I pleaded. "I'm so sorry if I've failed you the past couple of months."

"No." He replied, shaking his head. "I've known. You've known. We might forget to say it but I feel it every day I see you taking care of our kids. I see it in the way you look at me in the morning when I leave and the way you search for me in the window when I arrive home. I love you Anastasia Grey. I always have. I always will and I know how much you love me."

I cried then into his chest as he shut his eyes. I thought I might pass out from the intensity of my sobs and then someone's arms snaked around my waist and pulled me from him. I punched Taylor as he dragged me from Christian's body. He took every hit, every scratch, and inappropriate name with his usual professionalism. It wasn't until I had grown so exhausted; I could barely move, that I saw his tears also. The paramedics worked on Christian for twenty minutes and on the journey to the hospital. Technically, he died twice. I passed out once. His parents and siblings gathered around his bed as they placed him in a medically induced coma and we all held hands and prayed. I'm sure they each promised the same things I once did. This time, I told God, the world, aliens, whoever was listening that I loved my husband. I imagined them in another lifetime, in another place, seeing our bright star of love thrumming with light and I'll tell them every day that it might be a dead star but it's transcended it's lifetime and continues to inspire. That's what love is, unforgettable, undeniable and forever.

_That _is what my husband taught me.

He's awake now. His eyes opened first before he panicked with the tube in his throat. There was that familiar feeling of denial but this time happiness so extreme that my chest expanded and stayed like a full balloon without relief.

"Hi." He said still trying to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

"Hi." I replied with a smile.

He's awake now, still weak, and I know there has been much criticism of how he was tended to first. I'm here to remind you he is still just a man, a family man, a husband, son, brother, and father. Just as many men were one to his wife and his children, so was Christian. He is our hero. He does the best he can and I love him for it. We are a family. We love with the same intensity as everyone else. I'd give up fifty lifetimes for just one with him. This is the story I'll tell my children. Here's your story.

-Anastasia Grey.


End file.
