No. No!” he says.<br />“I . . .” He looks wildly around the room. For inspiration? For divine intervention? I don’t know.<br /><br />“You can’t go. Ana, I love you!”<br />“I love you, too, Christian, it’s just—”<br />“No . . . no!” he says in desperation and puts both hands on his head. “Christian . . .”<br />“No,” he breathes, his eyes wide with panic, and suddenly he drops to his knees in front of me, head bowed, long-fingered hands spread out on his thighs. He takes a deep breath and doesn’t move. <i>What?</i> <br />“Christian, what are you doing?”<br />He continues to stare down, not looking at me. <br />“Christian! What are you doing?”<br />My voice is high-pitched. He doesn’t move. <br />“Christian, look at me!” I command in panic. His head sweeps up without hesitation, and he regards me passively with his cool gray gaze—he’s almost serene . . . expectant.<br /><i>Holy Fuck</i> . . . Christian. The submissive.