Shades Of Grey Quotes

Laters, baby.

- "Why don't you like to be touched?" - "Because I'm fifty shades of fucked-up, Anastasia

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.

You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince

We aim to please Miss Steele

Never trust a man who can dance.

What is it about elevators?

Don't get your panties in such a twist... and give me back mine.

I'd like to bite that lip.

I've kissed a prince, Mom. I hope it doesn't turn into a frog.

Oh, fuck the paperwork

I am going to have coffee with Christian Grey... and I hate coffee.

I want you sore, baby,” he murmurs, and he continues his sweet, leisurely torment, backward, forward. “Every time you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I’ve been here. Only me. You are mine.

Just think how many books I could've sold if Harry had been a bit more creative with his wand." -[On the success of 50 Shades of Grey]

There's a very fine line between pleasure and pain. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other.

Men aren't really complicated, Ana, honey. They are very simple, literal creatures. They usually mean what they say. And we spend hours trying to analyze what they've said - when really it's obvious. If I were you, I'd take him literally. That might help.

Why don't you like me ?" "Because you never stay with me.

It's very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you're not perfect.

Why don't you like to be touched" Ana whispered, staring up into soft grey eyes. "Because I'm fifty shades of fucked-up, Anastasia

I still want more," I whisper. "I know," he says. "I'll try." I blink up at him, and he reliquishes my hand and pulls at my chin, releasing my trapped lip. "For you, Anastasia, I will try.

Supposing I’ve said I hate him, or worse still, that I love him, in my sleep.

I gasp, and I'm Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he's the serpent, and I cannot resist.

I've never wanted more, until I met you. - Christian Grey, Fifty Shades of Grey

I have discovered with advancing years that few things are entirely black or white, but more often different shades of grey.

My inner goddess is jumping up and down, clapping her hands like a five year old.

It's much easier to wear your pain on the outside...

Was it harder to die, or harder to be the one who survived?

Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?” I ask sweetly. Pompous ass.

Raising the ordinary to extraordinary

I hate fighting with you,” he whispers. “Well, stop being such an arse.” He chuckles and the captivating sound reverberates through his chest. He tightens his hold on me. “Arse?” “Ass.” “I prefer arse.” “You should. It suits you.

He grabs me suddenly and yanks me up against him, one hand at my back holding me to him and the other fisting in my hair. "You're one challenging woman," He kisses me, forcing my lips apart with his tongue, taking no prisoners. "It's taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car, just to show you that you're mine, and if I want to buy you a fucking car, I'll buy you a fucking car," he growls.

This is a man in need. His fear is naked and obvious, but he's lost. . . Somewhere in his darkness. His eyes wide and bleak and tortured. I can soothe him. Join him briefly in the darkness and bring him into the light.

From: Christian Grey Subject: My Life's Mission... Date: September 5, 2011 09:25 To: Anastasia Grey Is to spoil you, Mrs. Grey. And keep you safe because I love you. Christian Grey Smitten CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Sweet Jesus, you're wearing stockings."--Christian Grey

He's naked except for those soft ripped jeans, top button casually undone. Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm.

Love was that way. You could not render it in black or white. It always came down to the strange, blended shades of grey.

Of course. Silly me. Such a sad, exciting score, which no doubt you can play? So many accomplishments, Mr. Grey.” “And the greatest one is you, Miss Steele.

Placing my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I am crying over the loss of something I never had. How ridiculous. Mourning something that never was - my dashed hopes, my dashed dreams, and my soured expectations.

I have fallen for someone who's so emotionally shut down, I will only get hurt- deep down I know this- someone who by his own admission is completely fucked up.

P.S. I also note that you included the Stalker's Anthem "Every Breath You Take" I do enjoy our sense of humor, but does Dr. Flynn know?

Even a pain in the ass needs someone to care about them

What happened to her?” “We finished.” “Why?” “She wanted more.” “And you didn’t?” He shakes his head. “I’ve never wanted more, until I met you.

To whoever wrote Fifty Shades of Grey," Cam eyes the sky like he's thanking the Lord. We all laugh and drink.

I want my world to start and end with you.

I've never wanted more, until I met you.

I was waiting for you," he says softly, his eyes dark gray and luminous. "That's... that's such a lovely thing to say." "It's true. I didn't know it at the time." He smiles his shy smile. "I'm glad you waited." "You are worth waiting for, Mrs. Grey.

Okay, this is the wisdom. First, time spent on reconnaissanse is never wasted. Second, almost anything can be improved with the addition of bacon. And finally, there is no problem on Earth that can't be ameliorated by a hot bath and a cup of tea.

His head turns fractionally toward me, his eyes darkest slate. I bite my lip. “Oh, fuck the paperwork,” he growls. He lunges at me, pushing me against the wall of the elevator. Before I know it, he’s got both of my hands in one of his in a vice-like grip above my head, and he’s pinning me to the wall using his hips. Holy shit. His other hand grabs my ponytail and yanks down, bringing my face up, and his lips are on mine. It’s only just not painful. I moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth. I have never been kissed like this.

Inside me! I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils.

Your stepfather? I'd like to meet him." Oh no... why? "I'm not sure that's a good idea." Christian unlocks the door, his mouth in a grim line. "Are you ashamed of me?" "No!" It's my turn to sound exasperated. "Introduce you to my dad as what? 'This is the man who deflowered me and wants to start a BDSM relationship'. You're not wearing running shoes.

Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Christian?” Holy shit. Did I just say that? His mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly. “No, Anastasia it doesn’t. Firstly, I don’t make love. I fuck… hard. Secondly, there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom.” My mouth drops open. Fuck hard! Holy shit, that sounds so… hot. But why are we looking at a playroom? I am mystified. “You want to play on your Xbox?” I ask. He laughs, loudly. “No, Anastasia, no Xbox, no Playstation. Come.”… Producing a key from his pocket, he unlocks yet another door and takes a deep breath. “You can leave anytime. The helicopter is on stand-by to take you whenever you want to go, you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It’s fine whatever you decide.” “Just open the damn door, Christian.” He opens the door and stands back to let me in. I gaze at him once more. I so want to know what’s in here. Taking a deep breath I walk in. And it feels like I’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition. Holy fuck.

It's taking all my self-control not to fuck you on the hood of this car, just to show you that you're mine, and if I want to buy you a fucking car, I'll buy you a fucking car" Christian Grey

The cucumber and the tomato are both fruit; the avocado is a nut. To assist with the dietary requirements of vegetarians, on the first Tuesday of the month a chicken is officially a vegetable.

I don’t think I have the right parts to appreciate '50 Shades of Grey'.

I know you've always dreamed of going to Europe," he says softly. "I want to make your dreams come true, Anastasia." "You are my dreams come true, Christian." "Back at you, Mrs. Grey," he whispers.

Why does he have such an unnerving effect on me? His over-whelming good looks maybe? The way his eyes blaze at me? The way he strokes his index finger against his lower lip? I wish he'd stop doing that.

I Ignore the unwelcome stab of disappointment. Why do I want to spend every single minute with this controlling sex god? Oh yes, I've fallen in love with him, and he can fly.

My subconscious is furious, medusa-like in her anger, hair flying, her hands clenched around her face like Edvard Munch's Scream.

The only man I’ve ever been attracted to, and he comes with a bloody contract, a flogger, and a whole world of issues.

So you've just slept with him, given him your virginity, a man who doesn't love you. In fact, he has odd ideas about you, wants to make you some sort of kinky sex slave.

Oh...a lot of one and some of the other.

From: Christian Grey Subject: One more request Date: June 10, 2011 00:15 To: Anastasia Steele Dream of Me. x Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprise Holdings. Inc.

Well, Anastasia, my new motto is, 'If you can't beat'em, join'em

The safest course was actually the simplest-do nothing at all and hope everything turned out for the best. It wasn't a great plan, but it had the benefits of simplicity and a long tradition.

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.

...the physical pain from the bite of the belt is nothing, nothing compared to this devastation.

Who’s he kidding? He’s no gentleman. He has my panties

See how good we are together," he murmurs. "If you give yourself to me, it will be so much better. Trust me, Anastasia, I can take you places you don't even know exist.

I struggle to keep up with him because my wits have been thoroughly and royally scattered all over the floor and walls of elevator three in the Heathman Hotel.

Good evening, Mrs. Grey," Christian says softly. He's standing by the piano, dressed in a tight black T-shirt, and jeans...those jeans- the ones he wore in the playroom. Oh my. They are over washed pale-blue denim, snug, ripped at the knee and hot. He saunters over to me, his feet bare, the top button of the jeans undone, his smoldering eyes never leaving mine. "Good to have you home. I've been waiting for you.

He sighs. "I want to give you the world, Anastasia." "I just want you, Christian. Not all the add-ons." "They're part of the deal. Part of what I am.

But we were at your parents' dining table." I stare up at him, completely bewildered. "No one's ever said no to me before. And it's so - hot.

I am very cautious of people who are absolutely right, especially when they are vehemently so.

‎"Grey—you're on my shit list and I'm watching you.

He pulls up outside my duplex. I belatedly realize he’s not asked me where I live - yet he knows. But then he sent the books, of course he knows where I live. What able, cell-phone-tracking, helicopter owning, stalker wouldn’t.

It's because I'm pregnant, Christian." He snorts, and his mouth twists into an ironic smile. "If I knew getting you knocked up was going to make you eat, I might have done it earlier.

Do you trust me Ana?" Ana! "Yes,I do."I respond spontaneously, not thinking...because it's true-I do trust him. "Well,then"he looks relieved. "The rest of this stuff is just details" "important details

Do you want me to kiss you. Anastasia?" he whispers softly in my ear. "Yes," I breathe. "Where?" "Everywhere.

The best lies to tell are the ones people want to believe.

And soon you will be my wife to have and to hold... To love and to cherish... "With my body I will worship you." Christian Grey--Fifty Shades Darker, E.L.James

I was holding you and you were looking up at me all ‘kiss me, kiss me, Christian’,” he pauses and shrugs slightly, “I felt I owed you an apology and a warning.

My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail.

Yes, I'm rich. Get use to it. -- Christian Grey

[Ana] “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 assimilate 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 revelation.

The world isn't black and white, Annie, it's shades of grey.

Would you like something to eat?" I ask. He nods slowly. "Yes. You." he murmurs.

And in this quiet moment, as I close my eyes, spent and sated, I think I'm in the eye of the storm. And in spite of all he's said and what he hasn't said, I don't think I have ever been so happy.

I know you’re rolling your eyes at me,” he murmurs, and I hear the trace of humor in his voice.

A man can drown in shades of grey.

Don't cry, Ana, please," he murmurs against my mouth. "It was long ago. I am aching for you to touch me, but I just can't bear it. It's too much. Please, please don't cry.

How does he do this to me? He's just touching a small area of my body and the hormones are flying.

You sound like a control freak." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. "Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Steele," he says without a trace of humor in his smile.

You've brushed your teeth," He says, staring at me. "I used your toothbrush." His lips quirk up in a half smile. "Oh Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?

There´s something about you and I´m finding it impossible to stay away

From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Moaning Date: May 31 2011 19:39 EST To: Christian Grey Gotta go. Laters, baby. ..... From: Christian Grey Subject: Plagiarism Date: May 31 2011 16:41 To: Anastasia Steele You stole my line. And left me hanging. Enjoy your dinner. Christian Grey CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Perhaps Mr. Grey insists on all his employees being blonde. I’m wondering idly if that’s legal.

To: Christian Grey You've made me cry again. I love the iPad. I love the songs. I love the British Library App. I love you. Goodnight. Ana xx

Anastasia, I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me.” He closes his eyes as if in defeat. “There’s something about you, though,and I’m finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you’ve figured that out already.

I want to bite this lip,” he murmurs against my mouth, and carefully he tugs at it with his teeth.

I don't make love . . I fuck . . hard

You see? I know where every single book used to be in the library.' She pointed to the shelf opposite. 'Over there was Catch-22, which was a hugely popular fishing book and one of a series, I believe.

Interviews seem like such artificial situations, everyone on their best behavior trying desperately to hide behind a professional facade. Did my face fit? I shall have to wait and see.

... Yet today, for the first time ever, I feel lonely and uncomfortable here, unhappy with my own company

There is something about Christian that is old-fashioned and romantic.

Christian Grey just sent me a winkey ... Oh my. I fire up Google.

Adulthood isn't black and white - it's a thousand shades of grey. Or taupe. It's not who you are, it's where you are.

And the baby?" The words are anguished, breathless. "The baby's fine, Mr. Grey." "Oh, thank God." The words are litany... a prayer, "Oh, thank God.

Hmm.. you and I, we're giving each other many firsts.

You see, Ana men think that anything that comes out of a woman's mouth is a problem to be solved. Not some vague idea that we'd like to kick around and talk about for a while and then forget. Men prefer action.

People will always prefer black-and-white over shades of grey, and so there will always be the temptation to hold overly-simplified beliefs and to hold them with excessive confidence

How can i eat now? I'm going to Seattle by helicopter with Christian Gray..And he wants to bite my lip..

You are one brave woman," he whispers, "I am in awe of you.

Only when the last leaf has fallen, the last tree has died, and the last fish been caught will we realize that we cannot eat money.

Are you gay, Mr. Grey?" He inhales sharply, and I cringe, mortified. Crap. Why didn't I employ some kind of filter before I read this straight out? How can I tell him I'm just reading the questions? Damn Kate and her curiosity! "No Anastasia, I'm not." He raises his eyebrows, a cool gleam in his eyes. He does not look pleased.

Almost anything can be improved with the addition of bacon.

Do you have a girlfriend?" I blurt out. Holy crap--I just said that out loud? His lips quirk up in a half-smile, and he looks down at me. "No, Anastasia. I don't do the girlfriend thing," he says softly.

Trust me, They want you. They want what's mine." He pulls me against him, and I lift my arms to his shoulders, my hands in his hair, regarding him with amusement. "Mine," he repeats, his eyes glowing possessively. "Yes, yours." I reassure him, smiling.

God, I’m a lucky son of a bitch.” - Christian Grey

Oh Ana!" he cries out loudly as he finds his release, holding me in place as he pours himself into me. He collapses, panting hard beside me, and he pulls me on top of him and buries his face in my hair, hold me close. "Oh baby," he breathes. "Welcome to my world.

You really are a bastard, aren't you? Christian Grey has nothing on you. My name might be similar, but I'd never say "Laters, baby.

Holy shit. What does that mean? Does he white-slave small children to some God-forsaken part of the planet?

Just-fucked hair doesn't suit me.

I'd never beat you black and blue. I aim for pink." -- Christian Grey

I just told you I didn't - and I don't like to be doubted," he scolds. "I didn't go anywhere last weekend. I sat and made the glider you gave me. Took me forever," he adds quietly.

I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of The Communist Manifesto.

I need you more, Anastasia. These last few days have been purgatory. All my instinct tell me to let you go, tell me I don't deserve you.

His words make sense. He's not the man for me. This is what he meant, and it makes his rejection to accept... almost. I can live with this. I understand.

This quote – Tess says it to her mother after Alec D’Urberville has had his wicked way with her.” “I know,” muses Kate. “What is he trying to say?” “I don’t know, and I don’t care. I can’t accept these from him. I’ll send them back with an equally baffling quote from some obscure part of the book.” “The bit where Angel Clare says fuck off?” Kate asks with a completely straight face. “Yes, that bit.

Don't place some vague moral judgement on yourself based on what others might think. Don't waste your energy.

Goodbye, Christian," I murmur. "Ana, goodbye," he says softly, and he looks utterly, utterly broken,a man in agonizing pain, reflecting how I feel inside. I tear my gaze away from him before I can change my mind and try to comfort him. The elevator doors close close and it whisks me down to the bowels of the basement and to my own personal hell.

You're used of taking care to people." The edge in his voice attracts my attention, and I glance up at him. "What is it?" I ask, startled by his wary expression. "I want to take care of you." His luminous eyes glow with some unnamed emotion.

Oh my.

My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves.

You many have noticed I have a temper ... but when I calmed down, I realized that this world, blighted and imperfect as it is, would be better with you in it.

Does this mean you’re going to make love to me tonight, Christian?” Holy shit. Did I just say that? His mouth drops open slightly, but he recovers quickly. “No, Anastasia it doesn’t. Firstly, I don’t make love. I fuck… hard. Secondly, there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom.

You can do all the thinking you like – but until you actually talk, you’re not going to get anywhere.

Amy Studt is singing in my ear about misfits. This song used to mean so much to me; that's because I'm a misfit.

Having the thought of you being with someone else is like a knife twisting in my dark soul

You never cease to amaze me, Anastasia. After a day like today - or yesterday, rather - you're not whining or running off into the hills screaming. I am in awe of you. You're very strong." "You're a very good reason to stay," I murmur.

I will never get enough of you. Don't leave me," he murmurs and kisses my belly. "I'm not going anywhere, Christian, and I seem to remember that I wanted to kiss your belly," I grumble sleepily. He grins at my skin. "Nothing stopping you baby.

We knew, and to see her there like that with you-and armed. I think I died a thousand deaths, Ana.

I've never wanted more, until I met you." I gasp, reeling. Oh my. Isn't this what I want? He wants more. He wants it, too! My inner goddess has back-flipped off the podium and is doing a cartwheels around the stadium. It's not just me.

I didn't set out to discover a truth. I was actually sent to the Outer Fringes to conduct a chair census and learn some humility. But the truth inevitably found me, as important truths often do, like a lost thought in need of a mind.

In this nasty-ass strip club bathroom full of pissing dudes and possible rogue ejaculators, Shades is no longer some guy I love fucking. He’s some guy I fucking love.

We always hurt the ones we love, darling. You’ll have to tell her you’re sorry. And mean it and give her time. - Grace Trevelyan-Grey to Christian Grey

Are you gay, Mr. Grey?

Ten thousand dollars." I hear Lily's gasp of disbelief behind me. Oh fuck. "Fifteen" Twenty," counters Christian quietly. Twenty-five," the stranger says. "One hundred thousand dollars," he says his voice ringing clear and loud through the marquee. "What the fuck?" Lily hisses audibly behind me, and a general gasp of dismay and amusement ripple through the crowd.

How was Jose when you went to the bar...(Ana) He was fine. (Christian) Palm-twitchingly mad. Especially now.

Coveralls," I reply, and I know I'm no longer screening what's coming out of my mouth. He raises a eyebrow, amused yet again. "You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing." I gesture vaguely in the direction of his jeans. "I could always take them off." He smirks.

Ned was clad in a white linen doublet with the direwolf of Stark on the breast; his black wool cloak was fastened at the collar by his silver hand of office. Black and white and grey, all the shades of truth.

Oh, 'twould be marvelous if the world and its moral questions were like some game board, with plain black players and white, and fixed rules, and nary a shade of grey.

Can I take the cap and gown off now? I feel kind of dorky." You look kind of dorky...my subconscious is at her snarky best. So are you going to introduce Ray to the man you're f**king? She is glaring at me over her wing-shaped spectacles. He'd be so proud.

Look at the huge success of Fifty Shades of Grey. The girl in the book lets a rich guy beat her and ritually rape her, and she likes it! She finds it erotic! But imagine if Christian Grey wasn't a billionaire. Imagine if he lived in a dirty old trailer down by the river. Then that story wouldn't be a sexy romance novel, but an episode of CSI.

Do you know what you mean to me?" he murmurs, "If something happened to you, because of me..." His voice trails off, his brow creasing, and the pain that flashes across his face is almost palpable. He looks so vulnerable - his fear very much apparent.

He is Jason and Hercules and Perseus---a figure so strong and beautiful and heroic that the blood of the gods must flow through him, because how else could a being so fine exist in this world?

I turn and gaze at him midway. Chin up Steele, I chide myself. “Oh... by the way, I’m wearing your underwear.” I gave him a small smile and pull up the waistband of the boxer briefs I’m wearing so he can see. Christian’s mouth drops open, shocked. What a great reaction. My mood shifts immediately, and I sashay into the house, part of me wanting to jump and punch the air.

The platinum Omega watch he gave me at breakfast on our first morning in London obscures the red line. The inscription still makes me swoon. Anastasia You are My More My Love, My Life Christian

The pain is such that I refuse to acknowledge it. I feel numb. I have somehow escaped from my body and am now a casual observer to this unfolding tragedy.

We didn’t-?” I whisper, my mouth drying in mortified horror as I can’t complete the question. I stare at my hands. “Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive,” he says dryly.

Inside, I'm doing graceful cartwheels in my head, knowing full well that's the only place I can do graceful cartwheels.

She says that I have to abstain from all sexual activity for the next four weeks.” Christian’s mouth drops open in shock, and I cannot keep a straight face any longer and grin at him like an idiot. “Gotcha!” He narrows his eyes, and I immediately stop laughing. In fact, he looks rather forbidding. Oh shit. My subconscious quails me in the corner as all the blood drains from my face, and I imagine him putting me across his knee again. “Gotcha!” He says and smirks.

How could he mean so much to me in such a short time?

Besides, immense power is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things.

If he wants me to stay away, he should leave me alone.

Laters, baby.

In my groggy frame of mind, he looks yummy.

Oh, fuck the paperwork.

I shrug, trapped. I don’t want to lose him. In spite of all his demands, his need to control, his scary vices. I have never felt as alive as I do now. It’s a thrill to be sitting here beside him. He’s so unpredictable, sexy, smart, and funny. But his moods… oh – and he wants to hurt me. He says he’ll think about my reservations, but it still scares me. I close my eyes. What can I say? Deep down I would just like more, more affection, more playful Christian, more… love.

Because I want to have sex with him--and because that's sinful--I'm blushing and flushing furiously under his scrutinizing scrutiny.

I was wondering about my eyes; one of my eyes–-the left–-saw everything golden and yellow and orange, and the other eye saw shades of blue and grey and green; perhaps one eye was for daylight and the other was for night. If everyone in the world saw different colors from different eyes there might be a great many new colors still to be invented.

I like my tea like I like my men,” I say. With the last name “Grey.” But I realize that’s too forward, so I add, “Black.” He raises an eyebrow. “I mean, not that I exclusively like black men,” I say, trying to recover. “I like other kinds of tea. And men.” “Have you ever tasted...white tea, Anna?

Defiance through compliance.

Sitting beside me, he gently pulls my sweatpants down again. Up and down like whores

I want to own this woman, body and soul. I want her

From: Christian Grey Subject: &*%$&*&* Date: August 23 2011 11:23 To: Anastasia Grey Believe me when I say there are a great many things he'd like to do to your ass right now. Firing you is not one of them. Christian Grey CEO & Ass man, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.

I need him to want me like I want and need him, and deep down I know that's not possible.

Magic ran between them like a current, a cord, and he wondered who she would have been if she’d stayed in Grey London. If she’d never picked his pocket, never held the contents ransom for adventure. Maybe she would never have discovered magic. Or maybe she would have simply changed her world instead of his.

Hungry?" Christian murmurs so only I can hear. I know he's not referring to the food, and the muscles deep in my belly respond. "Very," I whisper, boldly meeting his gaze, and Christian's lips apart as he inhales. Ha! See... two can play at this game.

Drawing up my knees, I fold in on myself. I want to make myself as small as possible. Perhaps this nonsensical pain will be smaller the smaller I am. Placing my head on my knees, I let the irrational tears fall unrestrained. I am crying over the loss of something I never had. How ridiculous.

We’re coming near to the end of the bridge, and the road is once more bathed in the neon light of the street lamps so his face is intermittently in the light and the dark. And it’s such a fitting metaphor. This man, whom I once thought of as a romantic hero, a brave shining white knight—or the dark knight, as he said. He’s not a hero; he’s a man with serious, deep emotional flaws, and he’s dragging me into the dark. Can I not guide him into the light?

And so a pattern develops: wake, work cry. sleep. I can't even escape him in my dreams. Gray burning eyes, his lost look, his hair burnished and bright and bright all haunt me. And the music... so much music-I cannot bear to hear any music. I am careful to avoid it at all costs. Even the jingles in commercials make me shudder.

That scares me... you scare me... I am completly caught up in your spell, considering a lifestyle with you that I didn't even know existed until last week, and then you write something like that and I want to run screaming into the hills. I won't of course, because I'd miss you. Really miss you. I want us to work, but I am terrified of the dept of feeling I have for you and the dark path you're leading me down. What you are offering is erotic and sexy, and I'm curious, but I'm also scared you'll hurt me- physically and emotionally. After threee months you could say good-bye, and where will that leave me if you do?

I don't need you to agree with me," she said quietly." I'll go away happy with a little bit of doubt. Doubt is good. It's an emotion we can build on. Perhaps if we feed it with curiosity it will blossom into something useful, like suspicion - and action.

He moves suddenly so that his hand is cupping my sex, and one of his fingers sinks slowly into me. His other arm holds me firmly in place around my waist. “This is mine,” he whispers aggressively. “All mine. Do you understand?” He eases his finger in and out as he gazes down at me, gauging my reaction, his eyes burning. “Yes, yours…” Abruptly, he moves, doing several things at once: Withdrawing his fingers, leaving me wanting, unzipping his fly, and pushing me down onto the couch so he’s lying on top of me. “Hands on your head,” he commands through gritted teeth as he kneels up, forcing my legs wider… “We don’t have long. This will be quick, and it’s for me, not you. Do you understand? Don’t come, or I will spank you,” he says through clenched teeth.

Subject: Sundown Date: June 14 2011 09:35 To: Christian Grey Dear Completely & Utterly Smitten I love waking up with you, too. But I love being in bed with you and in elevators and on pianos and billiard tables and boats and desks and showers and bathtubs and strange wooden crosses with shackles and four poster beds with red satin sheets and boathouses and childhood bedrooms. Yours Sex Mad and Insatiable xx

The candle flame is too hot. It flickers and dances in the over-warm breeze, a breeze that brings no respite from the heat. Soft gossamer wings flutter to and fro in the dark, sprinkling dusty scaled in the circle of light. I'm struggling to resist, but I'm drawn. And then it's to bright, and I am flying too close to the sun, dazzled by the light, fried and melting from the heat, weary in my endeavers to stay airborn. I am so warm. The heat... It's stiffling, overpowering. It wakes me.

If you enjoyed laughing in the face of death, you might like to have a crack at High Saffron. One hundred merits, and all you have to do is take a look.' 'I understand there's a one hundred percent fatality rate?' 'True. But up until the moment of death there was a one hundred percent survival rate. Really, I shouldn't let anything as meaningless as statistics put you off.

I growl with frustration at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is fifty shades messed up. Why is it so kinky and out of control? I need to stop sleeping with it wet. As I brush my long brown hair, the girl in the mirror with the brown eyes too big for her head stares back at me. Wait... my eyes are blue! It dawns on me that I've been staring at a poster of Kristen Stewart for five minutes. My own hair is fine.

The iris of his good eye was a curious pale grey, almost silver; the edges were darker, as if tarnished like a coin, and the artist made a brave attempt to paint the other eye to match. The eyebrow had been finely painted, with the most miniature of brushes, the most delicate of strokes, but it was a shade too yellow. The blank eye gazed beyond her.

You must be Warden Ramirez." This is the part where I got nervous. Ramirez loved women. Ramirez never shut up about women. Well, he never shut up about anything in general, but he'd go on and on about various conquests and feats of sexual athleticism and— "A virgin?" Lara blurted. Lara blurted. She turned her head to me, grey eyes several shades paler than they had been, and very wide. "Really, Harry, I'm not sure what to say. Is he a present?

He holds out his hand, and in his palm are two shiny silver balls linked with a thick black thread … Inside me! I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils … Oh my … It’s a curious feeling. Once they’re inside me, I can’t really feel them—but then again I know they’re there … Oh my … I may have to keep these. They make me needy, needy for sex.

The first dance will be with me, okay? And it won't be on the dance floor," he murmurs lasciviously into my ear. My giggles subside as anticipation fans the flames of my need. Oh, yes! My inner goddess performs a perfect triple Salchow in her ice skates. "I look forward to it." I lean over and plant a soft, chaste kiss on his mouth. Glancing around, I realize that our fellow guests at the table are astonished.

The finished clock is resplendent. At first glance it is simply a clock, a rather large black clock with a white face and a silver pendulum. Well crafted, obviously, with intricately carved woodwork edges and a perfectly painted face, but just a clock. But that is before it is wound. Before it begins to tick, the pendulum swinging steadily and evenly. Then, then it becomes something else. The changes are slow. First, the color changes in the face, shifts from white to grey, and then there are clouds that float across it, disappearing when they reach the opposite side. Meanwhile, bits of the body of the clock expand and contract, like pieces of a puzzle. As though the clock is falling apart, slowly and gracefully. All of this takes hours. The face of the clock becomes a darker grey, and then black, with twinkling stars where numbers had been previously. The body of the clock, which has been methodically turning itself inside out and expanding, is now entirely subtle shades of white and grey. And it is not just pieces, it is figures and objects, perfectly carved flowers and planets and tiny books with actual paper pages that turn. There is a silver dragon that curls around part of the now visible clockwork, a tiny princess in a carved tower who paces in distress, awaiting an absent prince. Teapots that pour into teacups and minuscule curls of steam that rise from them as the seconds tick. Wrapped presents open. Small cats chase small dogs. An entire game of chess is played. At the center, where a cuckoo bird would live in a more traditional timepiece, is the juggler. Dress in harlequin style with a grey mask, he juggles shiny silver balls that correspond to each hour. As the clock chimes, another ball joins the rest until at midnight he juggles twelve balls in a complex pattern. After midnight, the clock begins once more to fold in upon itself. The face lightens and the cloud returns. The number of juggled balls decreases until the juggler himself vanishes. By noon it is a clock again, and no longer a dream.

ROSE of all Roses, Rose of all the World! The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurled Above the tide of hours, trouble the air, And God’s bell buoyed to be the water’s care; While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a band With blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand. Turn if you may from battles never done, I call, as they go by me one by one, Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace, For him who hears love sing and never cease, Beside her clean-swept hearth, her quiet shade: But gather all for whom no love hath made A woven silence, or but came to cast A song into the air, and singing past To smile on the pale dawn; and gather you Who have sought more than is in rain or dew Or in the sun and moon, or on the earth, Or sighs amid the wandering starry mirth, Or comes in laughter from the sea’s sad lips; And wage God’s battles in the long grey ships. The sad, the lonely, the insatiable, To these Old Night shall all her mystery tell; God’s bell has claimed them by the little cry Of their sad hearts, that may not live nor die. Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World! You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing. Beauty grown sad with its eternity Made you of us, and of the dim grey sea. Our long ships loose thought-woven sails and wait, For God has bid them share an equal fate; And when at last defeated in His wars, They have gone down under the same white stars, We shall no longer hear the little cry Of our sad hearts, that may not live nor die. The Sweet Far Thing

The youthful stationmaster wore a Blue Spot on his uniform and remonstrated with the driver that the train was a minute late, and that he would have to file a report. The driver retorted that since there could be no material differene between a train that arrived at a station and a station that arrived at a train, it was equally the staionmaster's fault. The stationmaster replied that he could not be blamed, because he had no control over the speed of the station; to which the engine driver replied that the stationmaster could control its placement, and that if it were only a thousand yards closer to Vermillion, the problem would be solved. To this the stationmaster replied that if the driver didn't accept the lateness as his fault, he would move the station a thousand yards farther from Vermillion and make him not just late, but demeritably overdue.

We’re going to rectify the situation right now.” “What do you mean? What situation?” “Your situation. Ana, I’m going to make love to you, now.” “Oh.” The floor has fallen away. I’m a situation. I’m holding my breath. “That’s if you want to, I mean, I don’t want to push my luck.” “I thought you didn’t make love. I thought you fucked hard.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. He gives me a wicked grin, the effects of which travel all the way down there. “I can make an exception, or maybe combine the two, we’ll see. I really want to make love to you. Please, come to bed with me. I want our arrangement to work, but you re­ally need to have some idea what you’re getting yourself into. We can start your training tonight – with the basics. This doesn’t mean I’ve come over all hearts and flowers, it’s a means to an end, but one that I want, and hopefully you do too.” His gray gaze is intense

If you call yourself an "authoress" on your Facebook profile, you suck at life. You are stupid and your children are ugly. It doesn't matter if you're just trying to be cute and original. You're not. You are about as original as all those other witless twits "writing" the one millionth shitty Fifty Shades clone. Or maybe you're trying to show your 2000 fake Facebook "friends" that you are an empowered feminist who will not stand for sexist terminology. But you're not showing people that you are fighting the good fight, you're showing people that you are a sheep, who's trying just a little too hard to ride the current wave of idiotic political correctness. The word "author" is no more gender-discrimination than the word "person." Do you call yourself a personess? No, of course not, because then you might as well wear a sign around your neck that says, "Hello, I'm a retard.

I was Mrs. Taylor yesterday.” I grin at Taylor, who flushes. “That has a nice ring to it, Miss Steele,” Taylor says matter-of-factly. “I thought so, too.” Christian tightens his hold on my hand, scowling. “If you two have quite finished, I’d like a debrief.” He glares at Taylor, who now looks uncomfortable, and I cringe inwardly. I have overstepped the mark. “Sorry,” I mouth at Taylor, who shrugs and smiles kindly before I turn to follow Christian. “I’ll be with you shortly. I just want a word with Miss Steele,” Christian says to Taylor, and I know I’m in trouble. Christian leads me into his bedroom and closes the door. “Don’t flirt with the staff, Anastasia,” he scolds. I open my mouth to defend myself—then close it again, then open it. “I wasn’t flirting. I was being friendly—there is a difference.” “Don’t be friendly with the staff or flirt with them. I don’t like it.” Oh. Good-bye, carefree Christian. “I’m sorry,” I mutter and stare down at my fingers. He hasn’t made me feel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin, pulling my head up to meet his eyes. “You know how jealous I am,” he whispers. “You have no reason to be jealous, Christian. You own me body and soul.

The world was young, the mountains green, No stain yet on the Moon was seen, No words were laid on stream or stone When Durin woke and walked alone. He named the nameless hills and dells; He drank from yet untasted wells; He stooped and looked in Mirrormere, And saw a crown of stars appear, As gems upon a silver thread, Above the shadow of his head. The world was fair, the mountains tall, In Elder Days before the fall Of mighty kings in Nargothrond And Gondolin, who now beyond The Western Seas have passed away: The world was fair in Durin's Day. A king he was on carven throne In many-pillared halls of stone With golden roof and silver floor, And runes of power upon the door. The light of sun and star and moon In shining lamps of crystal hewn Undimmed by cloud or shade of night There shone for ever fair and bright. There hammer on the anvil smote, There chisel clove, and graver wrote; There forged was blade, and bound was hilt; The delver mined, the mason built. There beryl, pearl, and opal pale, And metal wrought like fishes' mail, Buckler and corslet, axe and sword, And shining spears were laid in hoard. Unwearied then were Durin's folk; Beneath the mountains music woke: The harpers harped, the minstrels sang, And at the gates the trumpets rang. The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge's fire is ashen-cold; No harp is wrung, no hammer falls: The darkness dwells in Durin's halls; The shadow lies upon his tomb In Moria, in Khazad-dûm. But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere; There lies his crown in water deep, Till Durin wakes again from sleep. -The Song of Durin

ah yes I know them well who was the first person in the universe before there was anybody that made it all who ah that they dont know neither do I so there you are they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and the pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.