Fifty Shades of BLACK SILK

BLACK SILK: Part 3

You are a professional.

You are a professional!

You're going into this with a cautious mind. No slip ups this time; and to help you you've given yourself rules to go by.

Rule number 1: don't look at him too much. His steel gaze, his dark eyes, his brooding but slightly pained glance will end you. So don't look at him too much.

Rule number 2: don't go to his home. That was the mistake you made last time. Not that you had a choice not to, it was all for the magazine. But this time, keep the meeting in a public place. Not even his office will do!

Rule number 3: if all else fails, and you need to press the red button alert, get out of there. Do whatever it takes. Lie, cheat, steal, toss him a newborn so he gets distracted and can't see you run away or protest. If all else fails, get out of there!

Good. Great. Wonderful.

You got this. You. Got. This.

"Hello, Mr. Grey," you shake his hand firmly as you locate him in a booth in the corner of the restaurant.

A slight smile curves his lips. "Hello."

"So, let's get straight into it—" you sit across from him and take out your notebook and pen and set them on the table— "do you mind if I record this conversation?"

You set the recorder on the table and are just about to press play when his hand lands on yours. You look up. His chin low, and his gaze hard through his lashes he replies, "Yes, I do."

You narrow your eyes. Damn, he's smarter than you thought. "Fine. I'll take notes. So, where shall we begin?"

"How about wine first?"

"Uhh—umm—" but before you can say anything coherent, the waiter is by your side and Christian has already asked for a $1,200 Merlot. "Christian..." your eyes remain open and focused on him. "I can't."

"Should we skip straight to dessert, then?" he appraises you as he asks so.

You break into a smile for a split second. "You're insufferable," you grumble. He laughs. "Can we just get on with the interview?"

"Madison, is it?" Christian stands and nears closer to you, forcing you to shimmy down to make room for him. You're trapped in the booth, but like Stockholm you don't want to leave your captor. You nod. "You know this was never about an interview."

You gulp. "If you don't give me something, my editor will know. She'll shoot me."

"Fine. Give me your contact information and I'll let it all through tonight."

You narrow your eyes. "My contact information? Please. A connection to you will ruin me."

He moves in closer. Your thighs touch. You can smell his sweet breath. "If you don't, I'll just keep asking for more interviews with the one and only Madison Harper."

How does he know your full name? More importantly, what lengths did he take to know more about you? Your skin tingles despite the warm temperatures inside. The waiter comes with the Merlot and pours.

"Thank you," Christian says briskly. The waiter nods and walks off.

Cristian turns to you and smiles. You look up. "So what do you want with me right now?"

Christian places a hand over your bare thigh. You bite your lip. "I want more of you."

You clutch his hand to keep him from going upwards. "You can have anyone," you breathe, your voice shaking. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" Christian taunts. Then he counters with your own question, "Why not me?"

"I...I don't know."

But you know exactly why. Christian is dangerous. Not physically. He's only ever been a good man to the untrained eye. Deep down though there's an intensity too strong a hold that has the ability to suffocate if one is too close. And you don't want to get too close. You've been burned before, but to be burned by someone like Christian Grey, someone so public yet personal, could you bear it? Would you?

Christian is the epitome of Casanova. He has power, but is it power that you can handle?

"Just tonight," you simply say.

Christian grins devilishly. "I believe it is you who should be taking orders from me, Madison."

He moves your underwear aside and quickly delves deeply inside you. You gasp loudly. Patrons turn their heads. You blush. Christian doesn't remove sight of you.

"Christian..." you breathe out sharply.

"Mmm," he purrs, "already wet for me aren't you baby?"

You nod. Just before you close your eyes the waiter comes by. "Christian the waiter."

Christian doesn't remove his hand but keeps it still, instead he shifts in his seat to look at the waiter, says something in Spanish, waits for the waiter to leave, and then turns back to you.

"Now, where was I?"

"What did you say? Aren't you afraid he'll tell?"

Christian chuckles, deep and rumbly. "I own this restaurant. These are some of the highest paid employees in Seattle. Do you really think they'll jeopardise a penthouse for a story?" You know he was exaggerating to get his point across. And he did. "Besides, that's my trusty waiter. Just for me. He knows. Now, open your legs wider."

You do as he says. He moves in deeper. You moan and lick your lips. He lunges at your lips. "I'm sick of you playing with your lips," he groans in between kisses, "teasing me with them."

"I'm sorry," you reply as he moves to your neck. "I'm sorry," your voice heightens as he penetrates in and out of you faster and faster. "I'm soh—oh—ryyy."

You lie back on the length of the chair as your whole body shivers from your orgasm. Your high heel falls off from your foot as your toes curl. Christian comes down with you, lifting up your skirt and takes a slight taste.

This has got to be a health and safety risk. You voice your concern when Christian replies, "don't worry. I clean it up."

The peculiarity of the last sentence makes you wonder. What is it that makes you uncomfortable? As you straighten yourself up and ready for the dessert, you realise it's because you're not the first he's brought here.

"I'm ready to leave," you scrunch your face, feeling icky.

Christian furrows his brows. "Why?"

"Because you're done with me," you say through gritted teeth, "you've gotten what you wanted out of me, now I want to go home."

Christian doesn't move immediately. Instead, he stares at you, sighs, and then moves out of the booth to make way for you. You know he was about to protest, but for some reason he turned against it. You gather your things and stomp out of the restaurant. Mad as a bitch on wheels. Not at him, but at yourself.

How could I let Christian Grey get to me like that? Like all those other women? I'm so stupid! You blast yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid!