When unworldly student Anastasia Steele first encountered the
driven and dazzling young entrepreneur Christian Grey it sparked a
sensual affair that changed both of their lives irrevocably.
Shocked, intrigued, and, ultimately, repelled by Christian’s
singular erotic tastes, Ana demands a deeper commitment. Determined
to keep her, Christian agrees.
Now, Ana and Christian have it all—love, passion,
intimacy, wealth, and a world of possibilities for their future.
But Ana knows that loving her Fifty Shades will not be easy, and
that being together will pose challenges that neither of them would
anticipate. Ana must somehow learn to share Christian’s opulent
lifestyle without sacrificing her own identity. And Christian must
overcome his compulsion to control as he wrestles with the demons
of a tormented past.
Just when it seems that their strength together will
eclipse any obstacle, misfortune, malice, and fate conspire to make
Ana’s deepest fears turn to reality.
This book is intended for mature audiences.
關於作者：
E L James is a former TV executive, wife and mother of two
based in West London. Since early childhood she dreamed of writing
stories that readers would fall in love with, but put those dreams
on hold to focus on her family and her career. She finally plucked
up the courage to put pen to paper with her first novel, Fifty
Shades of Grey.
內容試閱：
PROLOGUE
Mommy! Mommy! Mommy is asleep on the floor. She has been
asleep for a long time. I brush her hair because she likes that.
She doesn’t wake up. I shake her. Mommy! My tummy hurts. It is
hungry. He isn’t here. I am thirsty. In the kitchen I pull a chair
to the sink, and I have a drink. The water splashes over my blue
sweater. Mommy is still asleep. Mommy wake up! She lies still. She
is cold. I fetch my blankie, and I cover Mommy, and I lie down on
the sticky green rug beside her. Mommy is still asleep. I have two
toy cars. They race by the floor where Mommy is sleeping. I think
Mommy is sick. I search for something to eat. In the freezer I find
peas. They are cold. I eat them slowly. They make my tummy hurt. I
sleep beside Mommy. The peas are gone. In the freezer is something.
It smells funny. I lick it and my tongue is stuck to it. I eat it
slowly. It tastes nasty. I drink some water. I play with my cars,
and I sleep beside Mommy. Mommy is so cold, and she won’t wake up.
The door crashes open. I cover Mommy with my blankie. He’s here.
Fuck. What the fuck happened here? Oh, the crazy fucked-up bitch.
Shit. Fuck. Get out of my way, you little shit. He kicks me, and I
hit my head on the floor. My head hurts. He calls somebody and he
goes. He locks the door. I lay down beside Mommy. My head hurts.
The lady policeman is here. No. No. No. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch
me. Don’t touch me. I stay by Mommy. No. Stay away from me. The
lady policeman has my blankie, and she grabs me. I scream. Mommy!
Mommy! I want my mommy. The words are gone. I can’t say the words.
Mommy can’t hear me. I have no words.
“Christian! Christian!” Her voice is urgent, pulling him from
the depths of his nightmare, the depths of his despair. “I’m here.
I’m here.”
He wakes and she’s leaning over him, grasping his shoulders,
shaking him, her face etched with anguish, blue eyes wide and
brimming with tears.
“Ana.” His voice is a breathless whisper, the taste of fear
tarnishing his mouth. “You’re here.”
“Of course I’m here.”
“I had a dream . . .”
“I know. I’m here, I’m here.”
“Ana.” He breathes her name, and it’s a talisman against the
black choking panic coursing through his body.
“Hush, I’m here.” She curls around him, her limbs cocooning
him, her warmth leeching into his body, forcing back the shadows,
forcing back the fear. She is sunshine, she is light . . . she is
his.
“Please let’s not fight.” His voice is hoarse as he wraps his
arms around her.
“Okay.”
“The vows. No obeying. I can do that. We’ll find a way.” The
words rush out of his mouth in a tumble of emotion and confusion
and anxiety.
“Yes. We will. We’ll always find a way,” she whispers, and her
lips are on his, silencing him, bringing him back to the now.
CHAPTER ONE
I stare up through gaps in the sea-grass parasol at the bluest
of skies, summer blue, Mediterranean blue, with a contented sigh.
Christian is beside me, stretched out on a sun lounge. My
husband—my hot, beautiful husband, shirtless and in cut-off
jeans—is reading a book predicting the collapse of the Western
banking system. By all accounts, it’s a page-turner. I haven’t seen
him sit this still, ever. He looks more like a student than the
hotshot CEO of one of the top privately owned companies in the
United States.
On the final leg of our honeymoon, we laze in the afternoon
sun on the beach of the aptly named Beach Plaza Monte Carlo in
Monaco, although we’re not actually staying in this hotel. I open
my eyes and gaze out at the Fair Lady anchored in the harbor. We
are staying, of course, on board a luxury motor yacht. Built in
1928, she floats majestically on the water, queen of all the yachts
in the harbor. She looks like a child’s wind-up toy. Christian
loves her—I suspect he’s tempted to buy her. Honestly, boys and
their toys.
Sitting back, I listen to the Christian Grey mix on my new
iPod and doze in the late afternoon sun, idly remembering his
proposal. Oh, his dreamy proposal in the boathouse . . . I can
almost smell the scent of the meadow flowers . . .
-----
“Can we marry tomorrow?” Christian murmurs softly in my ear. I
am sprawled on his chest in the flowery bower in the boathouse,
sated from our passionate lovemaking.
“Hmm.”
“Is that a yes?” I hear his hopeful surprise.
“Hmm.”
“A no?”
“Hmm.”
I sense his grin. “Miss Steele, are you incoherent?”
I grin. “Hmm.”
He laughs and hugs me tightly, kissing the top of my head.
“Vegas, tomorrow, it is then.”
Sleepily I raise my head. “I don’t think my parents would be
very happy with that.”
He thrums his fingertips up and down my naked back, caressing
me gently.
“What do you want, Anastasia? Vegas? A big wedding with all
the trimmings? Tell me.”
“Not big . . . Just friends and family.” I gaze up at him,
moved by the quiet entreaty in his glowing gray eyes. What does he
want?
“Okay.” He nods. “Where?”
I shrug.
“Could we do it here?” he asks tentatively.
“Your folks’ place? Would they mind?”
He snorts. “My mother would be in seventh heaven.”
“Okay, here. I’m sure my mom and dad would prefer that.”
He strokes my hair. Could I be any happier?
“So, we’ve established where, now the when.”
“Surely you should ask your mother.”
“Hmm.” Christian’s smile dips. “She can have a month, that’s
it. I want you too much to wait any longer.”
“Christian, you have me. You’ve had me for a while. But okay—a
month it is.” I kiss his chest, a soft chaste kiss, and smile up at
him.
-----
“You’ll burn,” Christian whispers in my ear, startling me from
my doze.
“Only for you.” I give him my sweetest smile. The late
afternoon sun has shifted, and I am under its full glare. He smirks
and in one swift move pulls my sun lounge into the shade of the
parasol.
“Out of the Mediterranean sun, Mrs. Grey.”
“Thank you for your altruism, Mr. Grey.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Grey, and I’m not being altruistic at all.
If you burn, I won’t be able to touch you.” He raises an eyebrow,
his eyes shining with mirth, and my heart expands. “But I suspect
you know that and you’re laughing at me.”
“Would I?” I gasp, feigning innocence.
“Yes, you would and you do. Often. It’s one of the many things
I love about you.” He leans down and kisses me, playfully biting my
lower lip.
“I was hoping you’d rub me down with more sunscreen.” I pout
against his lips.
“Mrs. Grey, it’s a dirty job . . . but that’s an offer I can’t
refuse. Sit up,” he orders, his voice husky. I do as I’m told, and
with slow meticulous strokes from strong and supple fingers, he
coats me in sunscreen.
“You really are very lovely. I’m a lucky man,” he murmurs as
his fingers skim over my breasts, spreading the lotion.
“Yes, you are, Mr. Grey.” I gaze coyly up at him through my
lashes.
“Modesty becomes you, Mrs. Grey. Turn over. I want to do your
back.”
Smiling, I roll over, and he undoes the back strap of my
hideously expensive bikini.
“How would you feel if I went topless, like the other women on
the beach?” I ask.
“Displeased,” he says without hesitation. “I’m not very happy
about you wearing so little right now.” He leans down and whispers
in my ear. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Is that a challenge, Mr. Grey?”
“No. It’s a statement of fact, Mrs. Grey.”
I sigh and shake my head. Oh, Christian . . . my possessive,
jealous, control freak Christian.
When he’s finished, he slaps my behind.
“You’ll do, wench.”
His ever-present, ever-active BlackBerry buzzes. I frown and
he smirks.
“My eyes only, Mrs. Grey.” He raises his eyebrow in playful
warning, slaps my backside once more, and sits back down on his
lounger to take the call.
My inner goddess purrs. Maybe tonight we could do some kind of
floor show for his eyes only. She smirks knowingly, arching a brow.
I grin at the thought and drift back into my afternoon siesta.
“Mam’selle? Un Perrier pour moi, un Coca-Cola light pour ma
femme, s’il vous plait. Et quelque chose a manger . . . laissezmoi
voir la carte.”
Hmm . . . Christian speaking fluent French wakes me. My
eyelashes flutter in the glare of the sun, and I find Christian
watching me while a liveried young woman walks away, her tray held
aloft, her high blonde ponytail swinging provocatively.
……
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