“But it looks like we have company. Come.” He grabs my hand and heads for the garage elevator. He pushes the call button and as we wait, the driver of the BMW joins us. He’s young, casually dressed, with long, layered, dark hair. He looks like he works in the media.
“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.