I can’t remember if I ran into someone at a party last weekend who actually complained to me that last week we took off the half of the week where we did Fifty Shades and not Bared To You, or if I dreamed that this happened. My life is full of mysteries that are very unique to me.
The last chapter ended with Christian and Ana getting in a high speed car chase with an unknown assailant. Before bothering to get back home to safety, they fucked in a parking lot. Now back home, before bothering to talk to their security team about why, I dunno, they were in a goddamn high speed car chase, they decide having more sex is at the top of their priority list.
Christian asks Ana what kind of sex they want to have and Ana says “Surprise me!”, so…
Christian undresses Ana, bends down to “bury his nose in the apex of my thighs … inhaling sharply”, and tells Ana to turn around so he can surprise her.
A moment later, I hear him pull open a drawer.
Toys! Oh, I love, love, love this anticipation. The drawer closes and my breathing spikes. How can the sound of a drawer render me a quivering mess? It makes no sense.
I don’t know what my favorite part of this is: Ana’s trademark one-word, hyper-descriptive response, or the fact that E L James actually wrote “It makes no sense” in one of her sex scenes.
Christian Grey tells her to lean over a table and not move or he’ll spank her. But she wants to be spanked now GEE I GUESS THIS DOESN’T HAVE TO BE A FUCKING PLOT POINT ANYMORE HUH
“If you let go, I will spank you. Do you understand?”
“Do you want me to spank you, Anastasia?” [...]
“Yes.” My voice is a hoarse whisper.
Oh . . . do I have to have a reason? Jeez. I shrug.
Haha, looks like your game is up, Mr. Grey!
He traces his finger down my back, along the crack between my buttocks, and over my anus, which shrinks at his touch.
“We’re going to have with some fun with this,” he whispers.
His finger continues down over my perineum and slowly slides into me.
Okay, I’m calling bullshit. E L James can’t get herself to write “vagina”, but fucking “perineum?” You have some weird-ass boundaries, E L James.
Speaking of weird ass boundaries ohhhhhhh I’m so good at this Christian’s got a butt plug.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, breathless. Oh my … is he going to fuck my ass?
“It’s not what you think,” he murmurs reassuringly. “I told you, one step at time with this, baby.” I hear the quiet spurt of some liquid, presumably from a tube, then his fingers are massaging me there again. Lubricating me … there!
Where? I’m not sure she was clear enough.
He runs another finger down past my ass and perineum and slips it inside me.
You’re really not letting go of this “perineum” thing, are you, James?
Anyway, Christian Grey gets rough.
“Something rough? Tell me if I’m too rough. Understand?”
Ana gets confused.
I try to assimilate all the sensations: the delicious fullness, the tantalizing feeling that I am doing something forbidden, the erotic pleasure that spirals outward from deep within me. He pulls gently on the plug.
Ana once again has an absolutely dreadful sounding orgasm.
“Oh fuck,” I moan. This is going to rip me apart. [...] I come—again and again, falling, falling, spinning, pulsing around and around
I don’t know if Ana just had an orgasm or just got off of an amusement park ride.
Afterwards Ana awkwardly tries to clean the butt plug and puts it in the same pile as her dirty dishes, which is a disgusting enough thought that my roommates are just gonna have to deal with me not doing the dishes this week, I’m just gonna look at them and think of butts.
Then she goes through the photos Christian took on their honeymoon.
Picture after picture of me. Asleep, so many of me asleep, my hair over my face or fanned out across the pillow, lips parted . . . shit—sucking my thumb. I haven’t sucked my thumb for years! So many photos. I had no idea he’d taken these.
…because you were asleep. This… this isn’t that tricky.
Ana goes to Christian’s office where he’s finally looking over security footage to try to figure out who’s trying to kill him and HOLY SHIT Ana figures out that the novel’s only antagonist is the novel’s only antagonist!
Holy crap! I know who it is.
“Christian,” I whisper. “That’s Jack Hyde.”