"He tongued at my chocolate starfish before thrusting three fingers between my quivering butt cheeks and wiggling his fingers around like he was searching for something he dropped inside of my ass."

"His voice is warm and husky like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel... or something."

"And from a very tiny, underused part of my brain - probably located at the base of my medulla oblongata near where my subconscious dwells comes the thought: He's here to see you."

"I feel the colour in my cheeks rising again. I must be the colour of The Communist Manifesto."

"His lips part, like he's taking a sharp intake of breath, and he blinks. For a fraction of a second, he looks lost somehow, and the Earth shifts slightly on its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position."

"He smiles, then strides with renewed purpose out of the store, slinging the plastic bag over his shoulder, leaving me a quivering mass of raging female hormones."

"I can almost hear his sphinx-like smile through the phone."

"Holy crap! He's wearing a white shirt, open at the collar, and tray flannel pants that hang from his hips."

"His tone is so... so directorial, his usual control freak. I imagine him as an old-time movie director wearing jodhpurs, holding an old-fashioned megaphone and a riding crop. The image makes me laugh out loud."

"The orange juice tastes divine. It's thirst-quenching and refreshing."

"I flush at the waywardness of my subconscious - she's doing her happy dance in a bright red hula skirt at the thought of being his."

"My very small inner goddess sways in a gentle victorious samba."

"I had no idea giving pleasure could be such a turn-on, watching him writhe subtly with carnal longing. My inner goddess is doing the merengue with some salsa moves."

"I eye Christian's toothbrush. It would be like having him in my mouth. Hmm..."

"What's wrong? What did that creepy good-looking bastard do?"

"He steps out of his Converse shoes and reaches down and takes his socks off individually. Christian Grey's feet. Wow. What is it about naked feet?"

"Now I know what all the fuss is about. Two orgasms! Coming apart at the seams, like the spin cycle on a washing machine, wow."