***FREE FANFIC***@Hg2806 "I loved this start to finish. It's so different to the original, but kept the key aspects. A very addictive read."
@FeliciaSpears2 "This is such a great story I love the way you're making it your own."
***CHRISTIAN GR...
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I know I'm being totally shitty with everyone but there's not a thing I can do about it and my staff just have to suck it up.
What is it about this girl? I've fucked many women, but I've never felt anything like this for any of them. I'm angry with myself for being so weak, for not being able to discard these feelings.
I'm a Dominant for Christ's sake. I control women. They don't control me.
The only person who has any clue as to why I'm constantly in such a foul mood is Taylor, and he knows better than to make any kind of comment.
Although I really should be back in Seattle, I find I can't drag myself away from Portland because it's where Anastasia is. Her siren's call is very strong indeed. But I don't waste my time, I set up my office at The Heathman; here are plenty of things I can progress from here. I haven't completely lost the plot.
Taylor is no doubt wishing I would hurry up and get myself a nice new, willing, compliant little brown haired submissive to flog and fuck senseless in my playroom as I usually do, so that I can let off steam and get this out of my system, but I can't. I know I could have the pick of countless women who would happily jump at the chance to sub for me, but I don't want anybody else - only Miss Anastasia Rose Steele.
I feel as if a spell has been cast over me drawing me to her, and boy, is it strong magic, because I cannot get her out of my head no matter how hard I try. Even the sound of her name keeps playing like a track on repeat through my brain. Anastasia. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.
I keep trying to convince myself that I've done the right thing and that now I must move on and leave her alone, but that is so much easier said than done.
I haven't had a session with Flynn for a while, so I haven't discussed Anastasia with him yet, but I think I'm going to have to soon. He is the one person that I tell everything to, no holds barred. He knows all of my sick shit. Perhaps he can help me get my head round all these confusing feelings.
Every morning I go for a run and then put myself through a punishing work out in the hotel gym, and I've even had Claude Bastille come down to Portland so I can kickbox the shit out of him, but nothing helps.
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