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“Hi,” he says, smiling warmly at us.

Christian puts his arm around me and nods politely.

“I’ve just moved in. Apartment sixteen.”

“Hello.” I return his smile. He has kind, soft brown eyes.

The elevator arrives and we all walk in. Christian glances down at me, his expression unreadable.

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“You’re Christian Grey,” the young man says.

Christian gives him a tight smile.

“Noah Logan.” He holds out his hand. Reluctantly, Christian takes it. “Which floor?” Noah asks.

“I have to input a code.”

“Oh.”

“Penthouse.”

“Oh.” Noah smiles broadly. “Of course.” He presses the button for the eighth floor and the doors close. “Mrs. Grey, I presume.”

“Yes.” I give him a polite smile and we shake hands. Noah flushes a little as he gazes at me a fraction too long. I mirror his flush and Christian’s arm tightens around me.

“When did you move in?” I ask.

“Last weekend. I love the place.”

There’s an awkward pause before the elevator stops at Noah’s floor.

“Great to meet you both,” he says sounding relieved and steps out. The doors close silently behind him. Christian taps in the entry code and the elevator ascends again.

“He seemed nice,” I murmur. “I’ve never met any of the neighbors before.” Christian scowls. “I prefer it that way.”

“That’s because you’re a hermit. I thought he was pleasant enough.”

“A hermit?”

“Hermit. Stuck in your ivory tower,” I state matter-of-factly. Christian’s lips twitch with amusement.

“Our ivory tower. And I think you have another name to add to the list of your admirers, Mrs. Grey.”

I roll my eyes. “Christian, you think everyone is an admirer.”

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

My pulse quickens. “I sure did,” I whisper, my breath catching in my throat.

He cocks his head to one side, wearing his smoldering, arrogant, amused expression. “What shall we do about that?”

“Something rough.”

He blinks to hide his surprise. “Rough?”

“Please.”

“You want more?”

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I nod slowly. The doors to the elevator open and we’re home.

“How rough?” he breathes, his eyes darkening.

I gaze at him, saying nothing. He closes his eyes for a moment, and then grabs my hand and hauls me into the foyer.

When we burst through the double doors, Sawyer is standing in the hallway, looking expectantly at the two of us.

“Sawyer, I’d like to be debriefed in an hour,” Christian says.

“Yes, sir.” Turning, Sawyer heads back into Taylor’s office.

We have an hour!

Christian glances down at me. “Rough?”

I nod.

“Well, Mrs. Grey, you’re in luck. I’m taking requests today.”

“Do you have anything in mind?” Christian murmurs, pinning me with his bold gaze. I shrug, suddenly breathless and agitated. I don’t know if it’s the chase, the adrenaline, my earlier bad mood—I don’t understand, but I want this, and I want it badly. A puzzled expression flits across Christian’s face. “Kinky fuckery?” he asks, his words a soft caress.

I nod, feeling my face flame. Why am I embarrassed by this? I have done all manner of kinky fuckery with this man. He’s my husband, damn it! Am I embarrassed because I want this and I’m ashamed to admit it? My subconscious glares at me. Stop overthinking .

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“Carte blanche?” He whispers the question, eyeing me speculatively as if he’s trying to read my mind.

Carte blanche? Holy fuck—what will that entail? “Yes,” I murmur nervously, as excitement blooms deep inside me. He smiles a slow sexy smile.

“Come,” he says and tugs me toward the stairs. His intention is clear. Playroom! My inner goddess wakes from her post-R8-sex slumber, wide-eyed and rar-ing to go.

At the top of the stairs, he releases my hand and unlocks the playroom door.

The key is on the Yes Seattle keychain that I gave him not so long ago.

“After you, Mrs. Grey,” he says and swings the door open.

The playroom smells reassuringly familiar, of leather and wood and fresh polish. I blush, knowing that Mrs. Jones must have been in here cleaning while we were away on our honeymoon. As we enter, Christian switches on the lights and the dark red walls are illuminated with soft, diffused light. I stand gazing at him, anticipation running thick and heavy through my veins. What will he do? He locks the door and turns. Inclining his head to one side, he regards me thoughtfully and then shakes his head, amused.

“What do you want, Anastasia?” he asks gently.

“You.” My response is breathy.

He smirks. “You’ve got me. You’ve had me since you fell into my office.”

“Surprise me then, Mr. Grey.”

His mouth twists with repressed humor and carnal promise. “As you wish, Mrs. Grey.” He folds his arms and raises one long index finger to his lips while he appraises me. “I think we’ll start by ridding you of your clothes.” He steps forward. Grasping the front of my short denim jacket, he opens it and pushes it over my shoulders so it falls to the floor. He clasps the hem of my black camisole.

“Lift your arms.”

I obey, and he peels it off over my head. Leaning down, he plants a soft kiss on my lips, his eyes glowing with an alluring mix of lust and love. The camisole joins my jacket on the floor.

“Here,” I whisper gazing nervously at him as I remove the hair tie from around my wrist and hold it up for him. He stills, and his eyes widen briefly but give nothing away. Finally, he takes the small band.

“Turn around,” he orders.

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Relieved, I smile to myself and oblige immediately. Looks like we’ve over-come that little hurdle. He gathers my hair and braids it quickly and efficiently before fastening it with the tie. He tugs the braid, pulling my head back.

“Good thinking, Mrs. Grey,” he whispers in my ear, then nips my earlobe.

“Now turn around and take your skirt off. Let it fall to the floor.” He releases me and steps back as I turn to face him. Not taking my eyes off his, I unbutton the waistband of my skirt and ease the zipper down. The full skirt fans out and falls to the floor, pooling at my feet.

“Step out from your skirt,” he orders. As I step toward him, he kneels swiftly down in front of me and grasps my right ankle. Deftly, he unbuckles my sandals one at a time while I lean forward, balancing myself with a hand on the wall under the pegs that used to hold all his whips, crops and paddles. The flogger and the riding crop are the only implements that remain. I eye them with curiosity. Will he use those?

Having removed my shoes so I’m just in my lacy bra and panties, Christian sits back on his heels, gazing up at me. “You’re a fine sight, Mrs. Grey.” Suddenly he kneels up, grabs my hips and pulls me forward, burying his nose in the apex of my thighs. “And you smell of you and me and sex,” he says inhaling sharply. “It’s intoxicating.” He kisses me through my lace panties, while I gasp at his words—my insides liquefying. He’s just so . . . naughty. Gathering up my clothes and sandals, he stands in one swift, graceful move, like an athlete.

“Go and stand beside the table,” he says calmly, pointing with his chin. Turning, he strides over to the museum chest of wonder.

He glances back and smirks at me. “Face the wall,” he commands. “That way you won’t know what I’m planning. We aim to please, Mrs. Grey, and you wanted a surprise.”