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?
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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.
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I feel the color in my cheeks rising again. I must be the color of The Communist Manifesto.
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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.
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You're not celibate, then?" I breathe.
Amusement lights up his eyes.
"No, Anastasia, I'm not celibate.
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This is all I know, too. Perhaps together we can chart a new course.
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You are one brave woman," he whispers, "I am in awe of you.
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Abruptly, Elliot startles us all by standing and pulling his chair back so it scrapes across the tile floor. All eyes turn to him. He gazes down at Kate for one moment and then drops to one knee beside her.
Oh. My. God.
He reaches for her hand, and silence settles like a blanket over the entire restaurant as everyone stops eating, stops talking, stops walking, and stares.
"My beautiful Kate, I love you. Your grace, your beauty, and your fiery spirit have no equal, and you have captured my heart. Spend your life with me. Marry me."
Holy shit!
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From: Christian Grey
Subject:
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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.
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