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the water lapping against the sides of the yacht as she bobs gently on the sea.
    Oh my . I am so aroused . . . already.
    “What’s the safe word, Anastasia?”
    “Popsicle.”
    “Good.” Taking my left hand, he snaps a cuff around my wrist then repeats the process with my right. My left hand is tied to my left ankle, my right hand to the right leg. I cannot straighten my legs. Holy fuck .
    “Now,” Christian breathes, “I’m going to fuck you till you scream.”
    What? And all the air leaves my body.
    He grasps both of my heels and tips me back so that I fall backward on to the bed. I have no choice but to keep my legs bent. The cuffs tighten as I pull against them. He’s right . . . they cut into me almost to the point of pain . . . This feels weird—being trussed up and helpless—on a boat. He pulls my ankles apart, and I groan.
    He kisses my inner thigh, and I want to squirm beneath him, but I can’t. I have no purchase to move my hips. My feet are suspended. I cannot move. Holy shit.
    “You’re going to have to absorb all the pleasure, Anastasia. No moving,” he murmurs as he crawls up my body, kissing me along the edge of my bikini bottoms. He pulls the strings on each side, and the scraps of material fall away. I am now naked and at his mercy. He kisses my belly, nipping my navel with his teeth.
    “Ah,” I sigh. This is going to be tough . . . I had no idea. He traces soft kisses and little bites up to my breasts.
    “Shhh . . . ,” he soothes. “You are so beautiful, Ana.”
    I groan, frustrated. Normally I’d be grinding my hips, responding to his touch with a rhythm of my own, but I cannot move. I moan, pulling on my restraints. The metal bites into my skin.
    “Argh!” I cry. But I really don’t care.
    “You drive me crazy,” he whispers. “So I am going to drive you crazy.” He’s resting on me now, his weight on his elbows, and he turns his attention to my breasts. Biting, sucking, rolling my nipples between his fingers and thumbs, driving me wild. He doesn’t stop. It’s maddening. Oh. Please. His erection pushes against me.
    “Christian,” I beg and feel his triumphant smile against my skin.
    “Shall I make you come this way?” He murmurs against my nipple, causing it to harden some more. “You know I can.” He suckles me hard and I cry out, pleasure lancing from my chest directly to my groin. I pull helplessly on the cuffs, swamped by the sensation.
    “Yes,” I whimper.
    “Oh, baby, that would be too easy.”
    “Oh . . . please.”
    “Shh.” His teeth scrape my chin as he trails his lips to my mouth, and I gasp. He kisses me. His skilled tongue invades my mouth, tasting, exploring, dominating, but my tongue meets his challenge, writhing against his. He tastes of cool gin and Christian Grey, and he smells of the sea. He grasps my chin, holding my head in place.
    “Still, baby. I want you still,” he whispers against my mouth.
    “I want to see you.”
    “Oh no, Ana. You’ll feel more this way.” And agonizingly slowly he flexes his hips and pushes partway into me. I would normally tilt my pelvis up to meet him but I can’t move. He withdraws.
    “Ah! Christian, please!”
    “Again?” he teases, his voice hoarse.
    “Christian!”
    He pushes fractionally into me again then withdraws while kissing me, his fingers tugging at my nipple. It’s pleasure overload.
    “No!”
    “Do you want me, Anastasia?”
    “Yes,” I beg.
    “Tell me,” he murmurs, his breathing harsh, and he teases me once more—in . . . and out.
    “I want you,” I whimper. “Please.”
    I hear his soft sigh against my ear.
    “And have me you will, Anastasia.”
    He rears up and slams into me. I scream, tilting my head back, pulling on the restraints as he hits my sweet spot, and I am all sensation, everywhere—a sweet, sweet agony, and I cannot move. He stills then circles his hips, and the motion radiates deep inside me.
    “Why do you defy me, Ana?”
    “Christian,