Chapter 31


    Beside the door stands a substantial mahogany chest of drawers, each drawer slim as if designed to


    contain specimens in a crusty old museum. I wonder briefly what the drawers actually do hold. Do I


    want to know In the far corner is an oxblood leather padded bench, and fixed to the wall beside it is a


    wooden, polished rack that looks like a pool or billiard cue holder, but on closer inspection, it holds


    canes of varying lengths and widths. There''s a stout six-foot-long table in the opposite corner - polished


    wood with intricately carved legs - and two matching stools underneath.


    But what dominates the room is a bed. It''s bigger than king-size, an ornately carved rococo four-poster


    with a t top. It lookste neenth century. Under the canopy, I can see more gleaming chains and


    cuffs. There is no bedding... just a mattress covered in red leather and red satin cushions piled at one


    end.


    At the foot of the bed, set apart a few feet, is arge oxblood chesterfield couch, just stuck in the


    middle of the room facing the bed. An odd arrangement... to have a couch facing the bed, and I smile


    to myself - I''ve picked on the couch as odd, when really it''s the most mundane piece of furniture in the


    room. I nce up and stare at the ceiling. There are karabiners all over the ceiling at odd intervals. I


    vaguely wonder what they''re for. Weirdly, all the wood, dark walls, moody lighting, and oxblood leather


    makes the room kind of soft and romantic... I know it''s anything but, this is Christian''s version of soft


    and romantic.


    I turn, and he''s regarding me intently as I knew he would be, his expressionpletely unreadable. I


    walk further into the room, and he follows me. The feathery thing has me intrigued. I touch it hesitantly.


    It''s suede, like a small cat-of-nine-tails but bushier, and there are very small stic beads on the end.


    "It''s called a flogger," Christian''s voice is quiet and soft. Exclusive ? material by N?(/v)elDrama.Org.


    A flogger... hmm. I think I''m in shock. My subconscious has emigrated or been struck dumb or simply


    keeled over and expired. I am numb. I can observe and absorb but not articte my feelings about all


    this, because I''m in shock. What is the appropriate response to finding out a potential lover is a


    now. But weirdly not of him - I don''t think he''d hurt me, well, not without my consent. So many


    questions cloud my mind.


    WhyHowWhenHow oftenWhoI walk toward the bed and run my hands down one of the intricately


    carved posts. The post is very sturdy, the craftsmanship outstanding.


    "Say something," Christianmands, his voice deceptively soft.


    "Do you do this to people or do they do it to you?"


    His mouth quirks up, either amused or relieved.


    "People?" He blinks a couple of times as he considers his answer. "I do this to women who want me


    to."


    I don''t understand.


    "If you have willing volunteers, why am I here?"


    "Because I want to do this with you, very much."


    "Oh," I gasp. Why?


    I wander to the far corner of the room and pat the waist high padded bench and run my fingers over the


    leather. He likes to hurt women. The thought depresses me.


    "You''re a sadist?"


    "I''m a Dominant." His eyes are a scorching gray, intense.


    "What does that mean?" I whisper.


    "It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things."


    I frown at him as I try to assimte this idea.


    "Why would I do that?"


    "To please me," he whispers as he cocks his head to one side, and I see a ghost of a smile.


    Please him! He wants me to please him! I think my mouth drops open. Please Christian Grey. And I


    realize, in that moment, that yes, that''s exactly what I want to do. I want him to be damned delighted


    with me. It''s a revtion.


    "In very simple terms, I want you to want to please me," he says softly. His voice is hypnotic.


    "How do I do that?" My mouth is dry, and I wish I had more wine. Okay, I understand the pleasing bit,


    but I am puzzled by the soft-boudoir-Elizabethan-torture set up. Do I want to know the answer?


    "I have rules, and I want you toply with them. They are for your benefit and for my pleasure. If you


    follow these rules to my satisfaction, I shall reward you. If you don''t, I shall punish you, and you will


    learn," he whispers. I nce at the rack of canes as he says this .


    "And where does all this fit in?" I wave my hand in the general direction of the room.


    "It''s all part of the incentive package. Both reward and punishment."


    "So you''ll get your kicks by exerting your will over me."


    "It''s about gaining your trust and your respect, so you''ll let me exert my will over you.


    I will gain a great deal of pleasure, joy, even in your submission. The more you submit, the greater my


    joy - it''s a very simple equation."


    "Okay, and what do I get out of this?"


    He shrugs and looks almost apologetic.


    "Me," he says simply.


    Oh my. Christian rakes his hand through his hair as he gazes at me.


    "You''re not giving anything away, Anastasia," he murmurs, exasperated. "Let''s go back downstairs


    where I can concentrate better. It''s very distracting having you in here."


    He holds his hand out to me, and now I''m hesitant to take it.


    Kate had said he was dangerous, she was so right. How did she know He''s dangerous to my health,


    because I know I''m going to say yes. And part of me doesn''t want to.


    Part of me wants to run screaming from this room and all it represents. I am so out of my depth here.


    "I''m not going to hurt you, Anastasia." His gray eyes implore, and I know he speaks the truth. I take his


    hand, and he leads me out of the door.


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