50 Shades of Styles

Chapter 15

Everything in it is entirely imaginary and intended only for entertainment; I created it for fun. I did not write 50 Shades of Grey or any of its characters, and I do not own them.

Chapter 15

"Hi." I feel unbearably shy when I open the door. Harry is standing on the porch in his jeans and leather jacket.

"Hi," he says, and his face lights up with his radiant smile. I take a moment to admire the pretty. Oh my, he's hot in leather.

"Come in."

"If I may," he says amused. He holds up a bottle of champagne as he walks in. "I thought we'd celebrate your graduation. Nothing beats a good Bollinger."

"Interesting choice of words," I comment dryly.

He grins. "Oh, I like your ready wit, Louis."

"We only have teacups. We've packed all the glasses."

"Teacups? Sounds good to me."I head into the kitchen. Nervous, butterflies flooding my stomach, it's like having a panther or mountain lion all unpredictable and predatory in my living room.

"Do you want saucers as well?"

"Teacups will be fine, Louis," Harry calls distractedly from the living room.

When I return, he's staring at the brown parcel of books. I place the cups on the table.

That's for you," I murmur anxiously.

Crap... this is probably going to be a fight.

"Hmm, I figured as much. Very apt quote." His long index finger absently traces the writing. "I thought I was D'Urberville, not Angel. You decided on the debasement." He gives me a brief wolfish smile. "Trust you to find something that resonates so appropriately."

"It's also a plea," I whisper. Why am I so nervous? My mouth is dry.

"A plea? For me to go easy on you?"

I nod.

"I bought these for you," he says quietly his gaze impassive. "I'll go easier on you if you accept them."

I swallow convulsively.

"Harry, I can't accept them, they're just too much."

"You see, this is what I was talking about, you defying me. I want you to have them, and that's the end of the discussion. It's very simple. You don't have to think about this. As a submissive, you would just be grateful for them. You just accept what I buy you because it pleases me for you to do so."

"I wasn't a submissive when you bought them for me," I whisper.

"No... but you've agreed, Louis." His eyes turn wary.

I sigh. I am not going to win this, so over to plan B.

"So, they are mine to do with as I wish?"

He eyes me suspiciously but concedes.

"Yes."

"In that case, I'd like to give them to a charity, one working in Darfur since that seems to be close to your heart. They can auction them."

"If that's what you want to do." His mouth sets into a hard line. He's disappointed.

I flush.

"I'll think about it," I murmur, I don't want to disappoint him, and his words come back to me. I want you to want to please me.

"Don't think, Louis. Not about this." His tone is quiet and serious.

How can I not think? You can pretend to be a car, like his other possessions, but my subconscious makes an unwelcome vitriolic return. I ignore him. Oh, can't we rewind? The atmosphere between us is now tense. I don't know what to do. I stare down at my fingers.