Fifty Shades of BLACK SILK

BLACK SILK: Part 4

"Hey Maddie!" Jeremy called and then blushed. "Sorry, Madison," he corrected.

You've told him a million times that you don't like to be called Maddie. His mistakes were cute in the beginning, but now you're starting to get tired of it. But you know he's trying to get your attention in some way, and this is the only way he knows, so you don't give it to him. Instead, you smile and reply, "Hey, what's up?"

"Heard you went to see Grey again."

Grey? Now we're on a surname's basis. It's become so official. "Yup," you nod. "Business." As if it needed clarification.

"Oh. How did it go?"

Well, Jeremy, I got finger-fucked in the booth of his restaurant, how do you think? You stop yourself from uttering those very words. You like Jeremy, not in the way that he likes you, but you still can't stand to hurt him. Jeremy is that people-pleaser type of guy. The one who doesn't aggressively go out and get what he wants. He's part of the art department as their photographer-slash-editor. He's talented, sweet, kind, and with that blonde hair, chiselled jawline, and black-rimmed glasses, you wouldn't have thought so in the beginning. He's tall and well-toned, his stubble peeking through on a constant basis. When you first met him, he was the hottest guy working. Now, he's too sweet to be the bad guy. Not like Christian. The only difference between the two is that you know Christian isn't good for you. Worse, he doesn't want you in the long run. Why do you want him? Why do you crave him?

Is it his touch? His hands, so soft superficially but controlled in strength.

Is it his eyes? Broodingly dark, almost sinister, like he has unnatural thoughts about you. Thoughts you wish he voiced but at the same time are afraid to hear.

Is it his money? The security of a financially rich man is wonderful, but is that enough? Is it ever?

Is his body enough? His perfectly cut abs, his rounded pecs, his Zeus-complex, his chilling disposition towards other people. But when he comes to you—when he makes you come!—when he meets your gaze, brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, stares at them with bared teeth almost as if he wants to take a bite.

Oh, Christian Grey is no good news. And you know that for a fact. So why can't you rid him from your mind? Why must you think about him all the time? Why, even as you walk alongside Jeremy to your office, that you compare the two?

Are you a good girl? Or a bad girl?

Jeremy departs from interrogating you and you sit in your closed office, exhausted, in your chair, the pressure huffs in welcome. The silence is your best friend now. No thoughts, no worries, nothing to keep you unnecessarily occupied. The frosted glass of your Vanity Fair office is all but uncomfortable. It reminds you of ice, cold and alarming to the touch. Just what you need. The heat rising to your cheeks as you thought about Christian earlier is not easy to deal with. Think about ice, the cold, snow, live it, breathe it, touch it, taste it—your mind flashes to Christian's taste of you. He enjoys you. He wants you. More of you. All of you.

"Shit," you hiss angrily. Then, you lightly chuckle as you think he penetrates more than your mind.

The phone beeps dully. You press the button marked 'assistant'. "Yes?"

"Miss Harper, EIC wants to see you in her office."

You lift your finger off the button and sigh. You press the button again. "Okay, I'll be right there." You're not in the mood to see your EIC but you have no choice, so pucker up and look alive!

You keep your eyes on the floor as you pace down the carpeted hallway and make a left. More cubicles hit you and you dance through the maze to make your way down to the far end of the room. The EIC has two assistants, you greet them both with a nod, without even giving second thought as to why they're giggling and craning their necks to see into the EIC's office.

You tap two knocks on the door with your knuckles, wait a second and then turn the knob. The EIC is unnaturally bubbly. Her wispy, white, cropped hair pulled to one side, she stands from her chair revealing her longline white dress with a black panel in the middle.

"Madison," she smiles. You are too taken aback by EIC's controlled enthusiasm to notice the figure in the silver-bullet suit standing before her desk, with his hands behind his back. "I'm sure you two have met."

The only word you heard in that sentence was 'wet' and you're sure you're mistaken. It's too late to correct the situation though, just like it's too late to turn back now.