Happy Monday! And here’s the recap of Chapter Eight of Fifty Shades of Grey. Now before plodding on, I’m going to give you fair warning: This chapter isn’t only not safe for work, but also has the unsexiest sex scene I’ve ever read. So make sure you’re not eating or drinking something, because you may spit out whatever is in your mouth in either laughter or disgust.
Beautiful. I flush with pleasure. Christian Grey thinks I’m beautiful. I knot my fingers together, staring at them hard, trying to conceal my goofy grin. Perhaps he’s nearsighted, my subconscious has reared her somnambulant head. Where was she when I needed her?
Clearly drunk on the job!
“I thought you didn’t make love. I thought you fucked hard.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.
He gives me a wicked grin, the effects of which travel all the way down there.
“I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we’ll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you really need to have some idea what you’re getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight – with the basics. This doesn’t mean I’ve come over all hearts and flowers, it’s a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do, too.” His gray gaze is intense.
I flushâ€¦ oh myâ€¦ wishes do come true.
“You are one brave young woman,” he whispers. “I am in awe of you.”
His words are like some kind of incendiary device; my blood flames. He leans down and kisses my lips gently, and he sucks at my lower lip.
His bedroom is vast. The ceiling-height windows look out on a lit-up, high-rise Seattle. The walls are white, and the furnishings are pale blue. The enormous bed is ultra-modern, made of rough, grey wood like driftwood, four posts, but no canopy. On the wall above it is a stunning painting of the sea.
I am quaking like a leaf. This is it. Finally, after all this time, I’m going to do it, with none other than Christian Grey. My breath is shallow, and I can’t take my eyes off him. He removes his watch and places it on top of a chest of drawers that matches the bed, and removes his jacket, placing it on a chair. He’s dressed in his white linen shirt and jeans. He is heart-stoppingly beautiful. His dark copper hair is a mess, his shirt hanging out â€“ his gray eyes bold and dazzling. He steps out of his Converse shoes and reaches down and takes his socks off individually. Christian Grey’s feetâ€¦ wowâ€¦ what is it about naked feet?
Yeah, what is it about naked feet? Because I think I’ve missed out. Are you a foot fetishist, Ana?
Still kneeling, he grasps my foot and undoes my Converse, pulling off my shoe and sock. I raise myself up on my elbows to see what he’s doing. I’m pantingâ€¦ wanting. He lifts my foot by the heel and runs his thumbnail up my instep. It’s almost painful, but I feel the movement echoed in my groin. I gasp. Not taking his eyes off mine, again he runs his tongue along my instep and then his teeth. Shit. I groanâ€¦ how can I feel this, there? I fall back on to the bed, moaning. I hear his soft chuckle.
Shit, I don’t know. Maybe he practices reflexology?
[M]y whole body sings with the sweet agony. He just doesn’t stop.
“Ohâ€¦ please,” I beg, and I pull my head back, my mouth open as I groan, my legs stiffening. Holy hell, what’s happening to me?
“Let go, baby,” he murmurs.
Calling her baby all the time is. Not. Sexy.
“I’m going to fuck you now, Miss Steele,” he murmurs as he positions the head of his erection at the entrance of my sex. “Hard,” he whispers, and he slams into me.
“Aargh!” I cry as I feel a weird pinching sensation deep inside me as he rips through my virginity. He stills, gazing down at me, his eyes bright with ecstatic triumph.
Virginity is a social construct, just an FYI. And you know who she sounds like?
I stretch out beside him, feeling loose-limbed, my bones like jelly, but I’m relaxed, deeply relaxed. I grin at him. I can’t stop grinning. Now I know what all the fuss is about. Two orgasmsâ€¦ coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow. I had no idea what my body was capable of, could be wound so tightly and released so violently, so gratifyingly. The pleasure was indescribable.
Then why are you describing it?
“Open your mouth,” he commands and thrusts his thumb in my mouth. My eyes fly open, blinking wildly.
“See how you taste,” he breathes against my ear. “Suck me, baby.” His thumb presses on my tongue, and my mouth closes round him, sucking wildly. I taste the saltiness on his thumb and the faint metallic tang of blood. Holy fuck. This is wrong, but holy hell is it erotic.
“I want to fuck your mouth, Anastasia, and I will soon,” his voice is hoarse, raw, his breathing more disjointed.
Fuck my mouth! I moan, and I bite down on him.
“Oh, please,” I beg. I’m not sure I can take much more. My body is wound so tight, craving release.
“I want you sore, baby,” he murmurs, and he continues his sweet, leisurely torment, backward, forward.
“Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine.”
Um…does this creep you out, too?
His playing is stunning. Leaning against the wall at the entrance, I listen enraptured. He’s such an accomplished musician. He sits naked, his body bathed in the warm light cast by a solitary freestanding lamp beside the piano. With the rest of the large room in darkness, it’s like he’s in his own isolated little pool of light, untouchableâ€¦ lonely, in a bubbleâ€¦.I notice now that he’s wearing PJ pants.
His piano playing is stunning. His apartment is stunning. The painting over his bed is stunning. The view from his apartment is stunning. Did I mention how stunning he is? And he’s wearing PJ pants…holy fuck, is he stunning in those!
We both glance down at the bed at the same time. There’s blood on the sheets â€“ evidence of my lost virginity. I flush, embarrassed, pulling the duvet tighter around me.
“Well, that’s going to give Mrs. Jones something to think about,â€ Christian mutters as he stands in front of me.
He must have a high turnover in housekeepers, huh?
And that’s a wrap for the day. If you’re not mentally and emotionally scarred and need some serious brain bleach, you’re made of stronger stuff than I am!