𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐘

[42] Taint Me

t a i n t  m e
CONRAD'S POV:

Thursday, a notification pops up on my laptop. It's Covey's submission to the assignment I gave the class on Monday. If I'm being completely honest, her response was the only one I looked forward to receiving. And now that it's here, shit, thank the fucking lord. 

I open the document, my eyebrows furrowing at the title. Fifty Shades of Grey. Interesting pick, but sort of a given considering who she is. It's a good book to want to change and improve.

"Six," I whisper as the blistering pain cuts across me again. I hear him drop the belt behind me, and he's pulling me into his arms, all breathless and compassionate... and I want none of him.

Oh, it's that part of the book she wanted to change—oh.

"Let go... no... " And I find myself struggling out his grasp, pushing him away. Fighting him.

Like how she's been pushing me away recently. Hmm...

"Don't touch me!" I hiss. Straightening my shoulders, I stare at him, and he's watching me as if I might bolt, the gray eyes I've grown accustomed to wide and bemused. I dash the tears angrily out of my eyes with the backs of my hands, glaring at him.

Holy fuck. Thank the dino chicken nuggets she fixed the sentence structure and grammar mistakes of the book. It's a lot easier to read now.

"This is what you really like? Me, like this?" I use the sleeve of the bathrobe to wipe my nose. "That turns you on?"

He gazes at me warily. "Ana, I warned you. I asked if you were ready. You said to give you my worst."

The change of dialogue, it shows better communication between the two of them. Is she trying to say we need to communicate more? I thought we did that. 

Instead of thinking about our relationship, almost instinctively, I reach for the copy of the book she left on the nightstand by my bed to compare the two versions from a teacher standpoint.

I shut my eyes at his response. My pride can't handle the fact that he's correct in his statement. So I open my eyes into an intense stare, and I feel the love I have for this man vanish for a second. "Well, you are one fucked-up son of a bitch."

Screw it. Forget my teacher side. What the fuck did I tell her about curse words?

"Ana," he pleads, shocked.

"Don't you dare, Ana me!" I shout, flailing my arms around. My butt is on fire and it's hard to even look him in the eyes. "You need to sort your shit out, Grey!" 

He runs a hand through his hair, and I feel so very compelled to just up and leave as his mouth opens and closes—no words come out.

So she carried out the scene, instead of having Ana run away from her problems.
But this little fucker, I told her no bad words.

"Ana," he whispers once again, yet this time his voice is shallow and husky. "Ana, I am working through my shit. That's why I have you. You can help me."

He sounds a lot like me; the words I don't say to Covey.

I'm about to let out the floodgates, but I use the rest of my willpower to hold it in. "But who's gonna help me, Christian?"

He sighs an unutterable sigh.

"You won't let me touch you. I can't fucking touch you, so how am I supposed to help?" I glare at him, but my words are soft. Almost defeated. "You don't make love, you only fuck hard. And you won't let me in, so how am I supposed to help you if you won't let me?"