Coffee scene from the perspective of Christian GreyThe unpleasant anger I feel toward the photographer and the guy at the hardware store begins to subside with each soft ‘no’ she utter s as we walk down the hall of the hotel after the photo shoot. I won’t admit it’s jealousy that this girl has been giving them her attention. I choose my women carefully, based on attraction, yes, but there has to be more. That submissive quality I sense in her is alluring and I’m in need of a new playmate. My relief at hearing the ‘no’s come from her lips is nothing more than the dawning possibility that my search for a new partner is coming to an end. These are the thoughts that run through my mind as I pour her a cup of coffee in the hotel cafe. Her hands wrap protectively around the cup as if seeking its warmth. I wonder, just for a moment, what it would feel like to have those soft hands wrapped around me. A twist of pain comes from deep inside, a secret memory I keep hidden from myself, and I turn away from it, just taking pleasure in the thought of touch, inhaling the aroma of the coffee as it curls its warmth inside, a touch that can’t hurt. There are noises all around us, but she sits quietly, looking down toward the table in an appropriately demure position. I’m pleased by her understanding of our relationship so far and decide to break the silence.
“You seem nervous,” I tell her while the paper surrounding her bran muffin crinkles in my hand as I unwrap it for her.
Her answer, “I find you intimidating” sends a wave of power through me that reinforces everything I’ve learned about her so far. When I tell her to eat, though, she makes an adorable play for some power of her own which I counter with my usual ploy, a statement that tends to quiet most women like her, but she throws me another of those curve balls that first caught my attention back in my office.
“That must be very boring.” That simple statement, delivered so softly, cuts straight through to that place I keep hidden. For a moment, I feel my center of gravity shift, but I can’t let her know she found a weakness. That isn’t how to conduct business, especially business like this. There can be no weaknesses.
I’ve trained myself well, though. I’m able to quickly shift the conversation back to what I really need to know. Who is close to her? Who might try to keep her away from me? Who will she talk to, exposing any secrets I choose to divulge to her? I study her body language while she tells me about her stepfather, she will not talk with him about what I have in mind. She shares a romantic spirit with her mother, that might cause some problems, she might get too attached. That’s something I need to consider carefully. There’s always the tendency for them to want to get too close. My chest tightens, my stomach draws in, perhaps she isn’t the right choice after all. With disappointment, I barely hear her mention the photo shoot, there seems to be something rushing in my ears. I have to get out, maintain control, something is starting to break loose.
I walk her quickly out the door, almost running truthfully, trying to get away from that breaking thing back at the coffee shop, but then I see a bicyclist coming straight toward her. Without even thinking, I reach out both hands to grab her and pull her closer, to safety. With her only inches from my face, I can feel my blood quicken, my body temperature starts to rise, I have to touch her, I want to feel her. The tightening in my groin is immediate when she closes her eyes and leans her head into my hand in perfect trust, my breath stops for just a moment. If only I could, but she wants love. With the cold clasp of steel, I shut my body down as much as I can. I can’t give her what she wants.
“I’m not the man for you,” I tell her, try to warn her. I’ll only hurt her, I want to hurt her in all the best ways. I want to own her, possess her entirely. Would I take it too far? What I would like to do to her. There’s a war of hot and cold inside me, never wanting to let go of her and knowing I can never be what she wants, what she’ll need. As much as I’m used to getting my own way, I am not a cruel man. What she said in my office was true. I do care about not hurting others, though I’d rather not have anyone know that fact. More than anything, I don’t want anything to ever hurt her.
I’m warning her to get away from me, yet I can’t seem to let go of her. She’s going to need to get away from me. I warn her, I tell her to steer clear of me. The tears that come to her eyes feel like they’re pulling on something deep inside me. I will my muscles into iron to keep my arms down at my sides, to keep from reaching up to brush them away.
“Goodbye, Mr. Grey,” she says in a broken voice and walks off through the crowd on the street. I watch her walk away and I already feel a yearning to pull her back again. I stand there trying to figure out how this girl has managed to have such a strong effect on me already, something I have not allowed anyone else to have. It’s good that I told her to leave. I must maintain control.