BOOKS BY E L JAMES Fifty Shades of Grey Fifty Shades Darker Fifty Shades Freed Grey I read the book years ago and have a hazy recollection of the plot . Read Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by Christian (Fifty Shades 4) Online, Free Novels Online, Read Book Online, Listen Novels Online. She wriggles beneath me, testing her bindings, but the tie holds fast. She's not escaping. “That's better.” I smile with relief because I have her where I want her.
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Download full-text PDF. Ebook Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by. Christian By E. L. James. Read Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey as Told by. PDF | On Jan 7, , Nanda Nadhira and others published Read Ebook [PDF] Grey: Fifty Shades of Grey. as Told by Christian By E. L. See the world of Fifty Shades of Grey anew through the eyes of Christian Grey. In Christian's Grey by E L James. download .. People Who Read Grey Also Read. ‹ ›.
My days are blending together with no distinction, and I need some kind of diversion. But I do. I frown.
The sobering truth is that the only thing to capture my interest recently has been my decision to send two freighters of cargo to Sudan. This reminds me—Ros is supposed to come back to me with numbers and logistics.
What the hell is keeping her? I check my schedule and reach for the phone. Why the hell did I agree to this? I loathe interviews—inane questions from ill-informed, envious people intent on probing my private life. The phone buzzes. At least I can keep this interview short.
I was expecting Katherine Kavanagh. I know her father, Eamon, the owner of Kavanagh Media. This interview is a favor to him—one that I mean to cash in on later when it suits me. And I have to admit I was vaguely curious about his daughter, interested to see if the apple has fallen far from the tree. A commotion at the door brings me to my feet as a whirl of long chestnut hair, pale limbs, and brown boots dives headfirst into my office.
Repressing my natural annoyance at such clumsiness, I hurry over to the girl who has landed on her hands and knees on the floor. Clasping slim shoulders, I help her to her feet.
Clear, embarrassed eyes meet mine and halt me in my tracks. The thought is unnerving, so I dismiss it immediately.
She has a small, sweet face that is blushing now, an innocent pale rose. I wonder briefly if all her skin is like that—flawless—and what it would look like pink and warmed from the bite of a cane.
I stop my wayward thoughts, alarmed at their direction. What the hell are you thinking, Grey? This girl is much too young. She gapes at me, and I resist rolling my eyes. Are you all right? Would you like to sit? In command once more, I study her. A brunette. I extend my hand as she stutters the beginning of a mortified apology and places her hand in mine.
Her skin is cool and soft, but her handshake surprisingly firm. Unable to keep the amusement from my voice as I recall her less-than-elegant entrance into my office, I ask who she is. She looks it: Does she have any sense of style at all? She looks nervously around my office—everywhere but at me, I note, with amused irony. How can this young woman be a journalist?
Bemused at my inappropriate thoughts, I shake my head and wonder if first impressions are reliable. Muttering some platitude, I ask her to sit, then notice her discerning gaze appraising my office paintings. Her profile is delicate—an upturned nose, soft, full lips—and in her words she has captured my sentiments exactly.
Raising the ordinary to extraordinary. Miss Steele is bright. I agree and watch, fascinated, as that flush creeps slowly over her skin once more. As I sit down opposite her, I try to bridle my thoughts.
She fishes some crumpled sheets of paper and a digital recorder out of her large bag. Under normal circumstances her maladroitness would irritate the hell out of me, but now I hide my smile beneath my index finger and resist the urge to set it up for her myself. As she fumbles and grows more and more flustered, it occurs to me that I could refine her motor skills with the aid of a riding crop. Adeptly used, it can bring even the most skittish to heel. The errant thought makes me shift in my chair.
She peeks up at me and bites down on her full bottom lip. How did I not notice how inviting that mouth is? Grey…stop this, now. I want to laugh. Stop being such a shit, Grey. Miss Steele blinks once more, as if this is news to her—and she looks disapproving. She should know this. The thought cools my blood. I have some questions, Mr. Obligingly, she does, then pulls herself upright and squares her small shoulders. She means business. Leaning forward, she presses the start button on the recorder and frowns as she glances down at her crumpled notes.
To what do you owe your success?
What a dull question. Not one iota of originality. I trot out my usual response about having exceptional people working for me. To succeed in business you need good people, and I can judge a person, better than most. A frisson of annoyance runs through me. How dare she? She looks unassuming and quiet, but this question? No one has ever suggested that I was lucky. Well, to hell with that. Flaunting my erudition, I quote the words of Andrew Carnegie, my favorite industrialist.
What the hell? Maybe she can see through me. I glare at her, hoping to intimidate her. That attractive blush steals across her face, and she bites that lip again. I ramble on, trying to distract myself from her mouth.
Is she deliberately trying to goad me? My annoyance grows.
See a Problem?
That gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell, twenty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so. Suck it up, baby.
I feel my equilibrium returning. Very varied. Besides, when do I get time to chill out?
She has no idea what I do. But she looks at me again with those ingenuous big eyes, and to my surprise I find myself considering her question. What do I do to chill out? Sailing, flying, fucking…testing the limits of attractive brunettes like her, and bringing them to heel…The thought makes me shift in my seat, but I answer her smoothly, omitting a few favorite hobbies. Why, specifically?
I like to know how things work: And I have a love of ships. What can I say? Oh no, baby. My heart was savaged beyond recognition a long time ago. In fact, no one knows me that well, except maybe Elena.
I wonder what she would make of little Miss Steele here. The girl is a mass of contradictions: Yes, okay, I admit it. I find her alluring. She recites the next question by rote. I go a long way to protect my privacy. She badgered and badgered my PR people, and I admire that kind of tenacity. Why are you interested in this area? Is that something you feel passionately about? This is not an area open to discussion. Move it along, Grey. Yes, her mouth needs training, and I imagine her on her knees before me.
Now, that thought is appealing. She recites her next question, dragging me away from my fantasy. If so, what is it? I like control—of myself and those around me.
You, for one. I frown, startled by the thought. I could really take care of you. Where the hell did that thought come from? Although, now that I consider it, I do need a new sub.
And here I am, salivating over this woman. I try an agreeable smile. What a ridiculous question. I blow her off with a non-answer, trying to keep my voice level, but she pushes me, demanding to know how old I was when I was adopted. Shut her down, Grey! My tone goes cold. Now she looks contrite as she tucks an escaped strand of hair behind her ear. She startles, clearly embarrassed, but she has the grace to apologize and she rephrases the question: I have a brother, a sister, and two loving parents.
Ironically, the question even my own family will not ask. How dare she! I have a sudden urge to drag her out of her seat, bend her over my knee, spank her, and then fuck her over my desk with her hands tied behind her back. That would answer her ridiculous question. I take a deep calming breath. To my vindictive delight, she appears to be mortified by her own question.
I like the way my tongue rolls around it. Are these not her questions? I ask her, and she pales. Damn, she really is attractive, in an understated sort of way. Kate—Miss Kavanagh—she compiled the questions. I scratch my chin, debating whether or not to give her a really hard time. I like the effect I have on her. Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes. Please cancel my next meeting.
I stare at her. I turn my attention back to the intriguing, frustrating creature on my couch. I want to know if there are any secrets to uncover behind that lovely face.
Oh yes—the usual effect. I just need to get through my final exams. She looks surprised, and her teeth sink into that lip again. Why is that so arousing? Grey, and I do have a long drive. The thought irritates me. She fumbles with the recorder. Her response floors me—the way those words sound, coming out of that smart mouth—and briefly I imagine that mouth at my beck and call.
The thought is unsettling. She stands and I extend my hand, eager to touch her. Yes, I want to flog and fuck this girl in my playroom. Have her bound and wanting…needing me, trusting me. I swallow. Her lips form a hard line. Miss Steele bites back! I grin behind her as she exits, and follow her out. Both Andrea and Olivia look up in shock. Yeah, yeah. Christ, Olivia is annoying—mooning over me all the time.
The jacket is worn and cheap. Miss Anastasia Steele should be better dressed. I hold it up for her, and as I pull it over her slim shoulders, I touch the skin at the base of her neck.
She stills at the contact and pales. She is affected by me. The knowledge is immensely pleasing. Strolling over to the elevator, I press the call button while she stands fidgeting beside me. Oh, I could stop your fidgeting, baby.
The doors open and she scurries in, then turns to face me. And the elevator doors close, leaving my name hanging in the air between us, sounding odd and unfamiliar, but sexy as hell. I need to know more about this girl.
My phone buzzes. Welch on the line for you. Montesano Jr.
Franklin A. Lambert, DOB: July 18, m. Frank Lambert March 1, , widowed Sept. Raymond Steele June 6, , divorced July 12, m. Stephen M. Morton Aug. Bob Adams April 6, Political Affiliations: None Found Religious Affiliations: None Found Sexual Orientation: Not Known Relationships: None Indicated at Present I pore over the executive summary for the hundredth time since I received it two days ago, looking for some insight into the enigmatic Miss Anastasia Rose Steele. Her fumbling fingers on the recorder, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the lip biting.
The lip biting gets me every time. Why are you here? I knew it would lead to this. I hate waiting…for anything. Will she? Will she even make a good submissive? I shake my head. So here I am, an ass, sitting in a suburban parking lot in a dreary part of Portland. Why no boyfriend, Miss Steele? I snort, thinking that unlikely. Perhaps I should let him know. I just need a distraction, and right now the only distraction I want is the one working as a salesclerk in a hardware store.
Showtime, Grey. A bell chimes a flat electronic note as I walk into the store. Velcro, split rings—Yeah. It takes me all of three seconds to spot her. Absentmindedly, she wipes a crumb from the corner of her lips and into her mouth and sucks on her finger.
My cock twitches in response. What am I, fourteen? Maybe this will stop if I fetter, fuck, and flog her…and not necessarily in that order. She is thoroughly absorbed by her task, and it gives me an opportunity to study her. She looks up and freezes. What a pleasant surprise.
Ah, a good response. I need to stock up on a few things. Her lips are still parted in surprise, and I have to resist the urge to tip her chin up and close her mouth. What can I help you with, Mr. Game on, Miss Steele. Oh, this is going to be fun. Shall I show you? Lead the way. Louboutins…nothing but Louboutins. Hope blooms in my chest. I smirk. Letting her walk ahead gives me the space and time to admire her fantastic ass. Her long, thick ponytail keeps time like a metronome to the gentle sway of her hips.
She really is the whole package: But the million-dollar question is, could she be a submissive? She probably knows nothing of the lifestyle—my lifestyle—but I very much want to introduce her to it. You are getting way ahead of yourself on this deal, Grey. It makes me want to laugh.
I read 50 Shades of Grey so you don’t have to
Women rarely make me laugh. Her face falls, and I feel like a shit. Is she laughing at me? But how to start? Maybe with dinner, rather than the usual interview…now, that would be novel: We arrive at the cable ties, which are arranged in an assortment of lengths and colors.
Absentmindedly, my fingers trace over the packets. I could just ask her out for dinner. Like on a date? Would she accept? I select the longer ties. They are more flexible, after all, as they can accommodate two ankles and two wrists at once. Engage her in some conversation. Unlike some people, I do my research. Christ, this girl is shy. I follow her eagerly, like a puppy. She bends down and grasps two rolls, each a different width. As she passes it to me, the tips of our fingers touch, briefly.
It resonates in my groin. She pales. I groan inwardly, trying to chase away the image of her suspended from the ceiling in my playroom.
A tremor runs through her fingers, but she measures out five yards like a pro. Pulling a utility knife from her right pocket, she cuts the rope in one swift gesture, coils it neatly, and ties it off with a slipknot. The usual. The classics. British literature, mainly. All those romantic hearts-and-flowers types. What else would you recommend? I want to hoot with laughter. Oh, baby, DIY is not my thing. I nod, stifling my mirth. Her eyes flick down my body and I tense. I put her out of her misery.
Heaven forbid I should ruin any clothing. Christ, she does things to me. She looks up and gives me a brief relieved smile. Miss Kavanagh. Publicity stills, eh? I can do that. It will allow me to spend time with the delectable Miss Steele. Work from a hotel. A room at The Heathman, perhaps.
I give her a brief nod. Yeah, I want to spend more time with you… Steady, Grey. It has my cell number on it.
5 Books to Read After Finishing 50 Shades of Grey
The thought depresses me. His eyes are all over Miss Anastasia Steele. Who the hell is this prick? My blood runs cold. Get your fucking paws off her. They fall into a whispered conversation. Maybe this guy is her boyfriend. She seems embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot. I should go. Then she says something else to him and moves out of his reach, touching his arm, not his hand, shrugging him off. Grey, this is Paul Clayton.
His brother owns the place. This woman has really gotten under my skin. Of Grey Enterprises Holdings? In a heartbeat I watch him morph from territorial to obsequious. I watch him disappear. How can I ask her? Am I ready to take on a submissive who knows nothing? Closing my eyes, I imagine the interesting possibilities this presents…getting there is going to be half the fun.
Will she even be up for this? Or do I have it all wrong?
Look at me, damn it! Finally she raises her head.
She packs the items briskly. This is it. I have to go. Until tomorrow, perhaps. This is good. I sling the bag over my shoulder and exit the store. Yes, against my better judgment, I want her. Now I have to wait…fucking wait…again. Utilizing willpower that would make Elena proud, I keep my eyes ahead as I take my cell out of my pocket and climb into the rental car. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where I can see the shop door, but all I see is the quaint storefront.
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I press 1 on speed dial and Taylor answers before the phone has a chance to ring. And Charlie Tango? So I have a few hours in Portland while I wait to see if this girl is interested in me. What to do? Time for a hike, I think. Maybe I can walk this strange hunger out of my system.
What the hell was I thinking? I watch the street from the window of my suite at The Heathman. I loathe waiting. I always have. The weather, now cloudy, held for my hike through Forest Park, but the walk has done nothing to cure my agitation. When have I ever chased a woman? Grey, get a grip. At least Taylor has arrived and I have all my shit. The prospect of a night alone again is depressing.
While I contemplate what to do my phone vibrates against the polished wood of the desk and an unknown but vaguely familiar number with a Washington area code flashes on the screen. Is it her? I answer. Well, well. A breathy, nervous, soft-spoken Miss Steele.
My evening is looking up. How nice to hear from you. Where would be convenient for you, sir? Just you, me, and the cable ties. I work at home. Maybe people do that all the time. Consider, furthermore, the way high culture and low culture have collided. Because erotica is niche to start with, this revolution took longer to reach it, and only now have we loosened up a bit. No, there is more to it than that. First, the reason sex scenes are so difficult to write is the gear change, rather than the sex itself.
It is extremely difficult to write a regular story spliced with sex, just as it would be difficult to tell a story interspersed with explicit sexual detail. That's why the Bad Sex Award exists, and is so easy to bestow. In the very act of describing sex as an incidental, you create an excruciating sex scene. EL James. Photograph: Michael Lionstar James's sex scenes are not incidental, they are the meat of the plot, the crux of the conflict, the key to at least one of and possibly both the central characters.
It is a sex book. It is not a book with sex in it. The French author Catherine Millet wrote: "For me, a pornographic book is functional, written to help you to get excited.
If you want to speak about sex in a novel or any "ambitious" writing, today, in the 21st century, you must be explicit. You cannot be metaphorical any longer. They're not looking at it from the masochist's point of view — it's in their job description not to.
If the Marquis de Sade thinks any garden— variety submissive is going to get a kick out of having their back broken on a cartwheel, he's dreaming. So that's the popularity of volume one. The second volume is a bald and rushed go at monetising the brand. The deviant stuff is largely excised, and the move towards mainstream sexual endeavour seems to bore the author. Her fantasies turn instead to what presents she'd like if she fetched up with a billionaire an iPad.
He also mentions other paperwork, but first takes her to his playroom full of BDSM toys and gear. There, Christian informs her that the second contract will be one of dominance and submission , and there will be no romantic relationship, only a sexual one. The contract even forbids Ana from touching Christian or making eye contact with him.
At this point, Christian realises that Ana is a virgin and takes her virginity without making her sign the contract. The following morning, Ana and Christian again have sex. His mother arrives moments after their sexual encounter and is surprised by the meeting, having previously thought Christian was homosexual , because he was never seen with a woman. Christian and Ana plan to meet again, and he takes Ana home, where she discovers several job offers and admits to Kate that she and Christian had sex.
Over the next few days, Ana receives several packages from Christian. She and Christian email each other, with Ana teasing him and refusing to honour parts of the contract, such as only eating foods from a specific list. Ana later meets with Christian to discuss the contract and becomes overwhelmed by the potential BDSM arrangement and the potential of having a sexual relationship with Christian that is not romantic in nature. Because of these feelings, Ana runs away from Christian and does not see him again until her college graduation, where he is a guest speaker.
Ana and Christian once again meet to further discuss the contract, and they go over Ana's hard and soft limits. Christian spanks Ana for the first time, and the experience leaves her both enticed and slightly confused. This confusion is exacerbated by Christian's lavish gifts and the fact that he brings her to meet his family. The two continue with the arrangement without Ana's having yet signed the contract.
After successfully landing a job with Seattle Independent Publishing SIP , Ana further bristles under the restrictions of the non-disclosure agreement and her complex relationship with Christian. The tension between Ana and Christian eventually comes to a head after Ana asks Christian to punish her in order to show her how extreme a BDSM relationship with him could be.
Christian fulfils Ana's request, beating her with a belt, and Ana realises they are incompatible. Devastated, she breaks up with Christian and returns to the apartment she shares with Kate. Background and publication[ edit ] James in The Fifty Shades trilogy was developed from a Twilight fan fiction series originally titled Master of the Universe and published episodically on fan-fiction websites under the pen name "Snowqueen's Icedragon".What the hell was that about?
I ask about her stepfather and she confirms my hunch. It will mean all the homes will reduce their water usage and their bills by twenty-five percent.
Jul 21, Pages download. Jun 03, Faye, la Patata marked it as will-not-read. They live in Seattle. I close my eyes to blot her out and fight the temptation, and when I open them again, my decision is made. That's why the Bad Sex Award exists, and is so easy to bestow.
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