My playroom . . . eh? I gape at him—that’s a lot to take in.

“That’s why I was in here today. Trying to decide what to do.” He taps his lips with his

index finger. “Am I angry with you all the time? I wasn’t this morning.”

Oh, that’s true. I smile at the memory of Christian when we woke, and it distracts me

from the thought of what will become of the playroom. He was such fun Fifty this morning.

“You were playful. I like playful Christian.”

“Do you now?” He arches an eyebrow, and his beautiful mouth curves up in a smile,

a shy smile. Wow!

“What’s this?” I hold up the silver bullet thing.

“Always hungry for information, Miss Steele. That’s a butt plug,” he says gently.

“Oh . . .”

“Bought for you.”

What?“For me?”

He nods slowly, his face now serious and wary.

I frown. “You buy new, er . . . toys . . . for each submissive?”

“Some things. Yes.”

“Butt plugs?”

“Yes.”

Okay . . . I swallow. Butt plug. It’s solid metal—surely that’s uncomfortable? I remem-

ber our discussion about sex toys and hard limits after I graduated. I think at the time I said

I would try. Now, actually seeing one, I don’t know if it’s something I want to do. I examine

it once more and place it back in the drawer.

“And this?” I take out a long, black rubbery object, made of gradually diminishing

spherical bubbles joined together, the first one large and the last much smaller. Eight bub-

bles in total.

“Anal beads,” says Christian, watching me carefully.

Oh!I examine them with fascinated horror. All of these, inside me . . . there!I had no

idea.

“They have quite an effect if you pull them out mid-orgasm,” he adds matter-of-factly.

“This is for me?” I whisper.

“For you.” He nods slowly.

“This is the butt drawer?”

He smirks. “If you like.”

I close it quickly, flushing like a stoplight.

“Don’t you like the butt drawer?” he asks innocently, amused. I gaze at him and shrug,

trying to brazen out my shock.

“It’s not top of my Christmas card list,” I mutter nonchalantly. Tentatively, I open the

second drawer. He grins.

“Next drawer down holds a selection of vibrators.”

I shut the drawer quickly.

“And the next?” I whisper, ashen once more, but this time with embarrassment.

“That’s more interesting.”

Oh!Hesitantly I pull the drawer open, not taking my eyes off his beautiful but rather

smug face. Inside there are an assortment of metal items and some clothespins. Clothes-

pins! I pick up a large metal clip-like device.

“Genital clamp,” Christian says. He stands up and moves casually around so that he’s

beside me. I put it back immediately and choose something more delicate—two small clips

on a chain.

“Some of these are for pain, but most are for pleasure,” he murmurs.

“What’s this?”

“Nipple clamps—that’s for both.”

“Both? Nipples?”

Christian smirks at me. “Well, there are two clamps, baby. Yes, both nipples, but that’s

not what I meant. These are for both pleasure and pain.”

Oh. He takes it from me.

“Hold out your little finger.”

I do as he asks, and he clamps one clip to the tip of my finger. It’s not too harsh.

“The sensation is very intense, but it’s when taking them off that they are at their

most painful and pleasurable.” I remove the clip. Hmm, that might be nice. I squirm at the

thought.

“I like the look of these,” I murmur and Christian smiles.

“Do you now, Miss Steele? I think I can tell.”

I nod shyly, biting my lip. He reaches up and tugs on my chin so I release my bottom

lip. “You know what that does to me,” he murmurs.

I put the clips back in the drawer, and Christian leans forward and pulls out two more.

“These are adjustable.” He holds them up for me to inspect.

“Adjustable?”

“You can wear them very tight . . . or not. Depending on your mood.”

How does he make that sound so erotic? I swallow, and to divert his attention, pull out

a device that looks like a spiky pastry cutter.

“This?” I frown. No baking in the playroom, surely.

“That’s a Wartenberg pinwheel.”

“For?”

He reaches over and takes it from me. “Give me your hand. Palm up.”

I offer him my left hand and he takes it gently, skating his thumb over my knuckles. A

shiver runs through me. His skin against mine, it never fails to thrill me. He runs the wheel

over my palm.

“Ah!” The prongs bite into my skin—there’s more than just pain. In fact, it tickles

slightly.

“Imagine that over your breasts,” Christian murmurs lasciviously.

Oh!I flush and snatch my hand back. My breathing and heart rate increase. Holy cow.

“There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia,” he says softly as he leans

down and puts the device back in the drawer.

“Clothespins?” I whisper.

“You can do a great deal with a clothespins.” His gray eyes burn.

I lean against the drawer so it closes.

“Is that all?” Christian looks amused.

“No . . .” I pull open the fourth drawer to be confounded by a mass of leather and

straps. I tug at one of the straps . . . it appears to be attached to a ball.

“Ball gag. To keep you quiet,” says Christian, amused once more.

“Soft limit,” I mutter.

“I remember,” he says. “But you can still breathe. Your teeth clamp over the ball.” Tak-

ing it from me, he replicates a mouth clamping down on the ball with his fingers.

“Have you worn one of these?” I ask.

He stills and gazes down at me. “Yes.”

“To mask your screams?”

He closes his eyes, and I think it’s in exasperation. “No, that’s not what they’re about.”

Oh?

“It’s about control, Anastasia. How helpless would you be if you were tied up and

couldn’t speak? How trusting would you have to be, knowing I had that much power over

you? That I had to read your body and your reaction, rather than hear your words? It makes

you more dependent, puts me in ultimate control.”

I swallow.

“You sound like you miss it.”

“It’s what I know,” he murmurs, gazing down at me. His gray eyes are wide and seri-

ous, and the atmosphere between us has changed as if he’s in the confessional.

“You have power over me. You know you do,” I whisper.

“Do I? You make me feel . . . helpless.”

“No!” Oh Fifty . . .“Why?”

“Because you’re the only person I know who could really hurt me.” He reaches up and

tucks my hair behind my ear.

“Oh, Christian . . . that works both ways. If you didn’t want me—” I shudder, glancing

down at my twisting fingers. Therein lays my other dark reservation about us. If he wasn’t

so . . . broken, would he want me? I shake my head. I must try not to think like that.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I love you,” I murmur, reaching up to run my

fingers through his sideburn and gently stroke his cheek. He leans his face into my touch,

drops the gag back in the drawer, and reaches for me, his hands around my waist. He pulls

me against him.

“Have we finished show and tell?” he asks, his voice soft and seductive. His hand

moves up my back to the nape of my neck.

“Why? What did you want to do?”

He bends and kisses me gently, and I melt against him, grasping his arms.

“Ana, you were nearly attacked today.” His voice is soft but ice-cold and wary.

“So?” I ask, enjoying the feel of his hand at my back and his proximity. He pulls his

head back and scowls down at me.

“What do you mean, ‘so?’ ” he rebukes.

I gaze up into his lovely, grumpy face, and I’m dazzled.

“Christian, I’m fine.”