Darker

  "I...want to touch you, too..." she stutters between sobs. "More than you'll ever know. To see you like this. So hurt and afraid, Christian. It wounds me deeply. I love you so much."

  I run my thumb across her bottom lip. "I know. I know."

  And she squints at me with a look of dismay, because she knows my words have no conviction.

  "You're very easy to love. Don't you see that?" she says, as the water falls around us.

  "No, baby, I don't."

  "You are. And I do," she stresses. "And so does your family. So do Elena and Leila. They have a strange way of showing it, but they do. You are worthy."

  "Stop."

  I can't bear it. I put my finger over her lips and shake my head. "I can't hear this. I'm nothing, Anastasia." I'm a lost boy, standing before you. Unloved. Abandoned by the one person who was supposed to protect me, because I'm a monster.

  That's me, Ana.

  That's all I am.

  "I'm a husk of a man. I don't have a heart."

  "Yes, you do," she cries passionately. "And I want it, all of it. You're a good man, Christian, a really good man. Don't ever doubt that. Look at what you've done. What you've achieved." She continues to sob. "Look what you've done for me. What you've turned your back on, for me. I know. I know how you feel about me." Her blue, blue eyes, filled with love, filled with compassion, leave me as raw and exposed as they did the first time I met her.

  She sees me. She thinks she knows me.

  "You love me," she says.

  Every ounce of oxygen evaporates from my lungs.

  Time suspends and all I can hear is my own blood thrumming in my ears and the splash of the water as it washes the darkness away.

  Answer her, Grey. Tell her the truth.

  "Yes," I whisper, "I do."

  It's a deep, dark confession wrenched from my soul. And yet as I say the words out loud it all becomes clear. Of course I love her. Of course she knows. I've loved her since I met her. Since I watched her sleep. Since she gave herself to me and only me. I'm addicted. I can't get enough. That's why I tolerate her attitude.

  I'm in love. This is what it feels like.

  Her reaction is instant. Her smile is dazzling, lighting up her beautiful face. She's breathtaking. She clasps my head, bringing my mouth to hers, and kisses me, pouring all her love and sweetness into me.

  It's humbling.

  It's overwhelming.

  It's hot.

  And my body responds. The only way it knows how.

  Groaning against her lips, I encircle her with my arms. "Oh, Ana, I want you, but not here."

  "Yes," she says feverishly against my mouth.

  I switch off the water and lead her out of the shower. I wrap her in her bathrobe and secure a towel around my waist. Taking a smaller one, I begin to dry her hair.

  This is what I love. Taking care of her.

  And what's more, for a change, she's letting me.

  She stands patiently while I squeeze the water from her hair and rub her head. When I look up she's watching me in the mirror above the sink. Our eyes meet and I'm lost in her loving look.

  "Can I reciprocate?" she asks.

  What does she have in mind?

  I nod and Ana reaches for another towel. Standing on tiptoe, she wraps it around my head and starts to rub. I lower my head, giving her easier access.

  Mmm. This feels good.

  She uses her nails, rubbing hard.

  Oh, man.

  I grin like a fool, feeling...cherished. When I raise my head to look at her she's peeking at me through the towel, and she grins, too. "It's a long time since anyone did this to me. A very long time," I tell her. "In fact, I don't think anyone's ever dried my hair."

  "Surely Grace did? Dried your hair when you were young?"

  I shake my head. "No. She respected my boundaries from day one, even though it was painful for her. I was very self-sufficient as a child."

  Ana stills for a moment and I wonder what she's thinking. "Well, I'm honored," she says.

  "That you are, Miss Steele. Or maybe it is I who am honored."

  "That goes without saying, Mr. Grey."

  She tosses the damp towel onto the vanity unit in front of us and reaches for a new one. As she stands behind me our eyes meet once more in the large mirror.

  "Can I try something?" she asks.

  We're doing this your way, baby.

  I nod, giving her permission, and she runs the towel down my left arm, removing all the drops of water that cling to my skin. She looks up, watching me intently, and leans forward, and kisses my biceps.

  My breathing stalls.

  She dries my other arm and leaves a trail of feather-light kisses over my right biceps. Dodging behind me so I can no longer see what she's doing. She wipes my back, respecting the lipstick lines.

  "Whole back," I offer, feeling brave, "with the towel." I take a deep breath and shut my eyes.

  Ana does as she's told and briskly dries my back. When she finishes she gives me a swift kiss on my shoulder.

  I exhale. That wasn't so bad.

  She puts her arms around me and dries my belly.

  "Hold this," she says, and hands me a face towel. "Remember in Georgia? You made me touch myself using your hands," she explains. She wraps her arms around me and stares at me in the mirror. With the towel draped over her head, she looks like a biblical character.

  The Virgin.

  She's soft enough and sweet enough, but a virgin no more.

  Grasping my hand that holds the face towel, she guides it across my chest, drying a spot. As soon as the towel touches me, I freeze. My mind empties and I will my body to endure this touch. I stand tense before her, unmoving. We're doing this her way. I start to pant with a strange mixture of fear, love, and fascination, and my eyes follow her fingers as she gently guides my hand, and wipes my chest dry.

  "I think you're dry now," she says, and drops her hand.

  In the mirror's reflection we fix our eyes on each other.

  I want her. I need her. I tell her.

  "I need you, too," she says, her eyes darkening.

  "Let me love you."

  "Yes," she replies, and I scoop her up in my arms, my lips on hers, and carry her into the bedroom. I lay her down on the bed, and with infinite care and tenderness I show her how much I honor her, cherish her, and treasure her.

  And love her.

  I AM A NEW being. A new Christian Grey. I am in love with Anastasia Steele, and what's more, she loves me. Of course, the girl needs to have her head examined, but right now I'm grateful, spent, and happy.

  I lie beside her, imagining a world of possibility. Ana's skin is soft and warm. I cannot stop touching her while we gaze at each other in the calm after the storm.

  "So, you can be gentle." Her eyes are alight with amusement.

  Only with you.

  "Hmm. So it would seem, Miss Steele."

  She grins, showing perfect white teeth. "You weren't particularly the first time we, um, did this."

  "No?" I take a strand of her hair and wind it around my index finger. "When I robbed you of your virtue."

  "I don't think you robbed me. I think my virtue was offered up pretty freely and willingly. I wanted you, too, and if I remember correctly, I rather enjoyed myself." Her smile is shy but warm.

  "So did I, if I recall, Miss Steele. We aim to please. And it means you're mine, completely."

  "Yes, I am. I wanted to ask you something."

  "Go ahead."

  "Your biological father, do you know who he was?"

  Her question is completely unexpected. I shake my head. She surprises me again. I never know what's going on in that smart brain of hers. "I have no idea. Wasn't the savage who was her pimp, which is good."

  "How do you know?"

  "Something my dad--something Carrick said to me."

  Her look is expectant, urging me on. "So hungry for information, Anastasia." I sigh and shake my head. I don't like thinking about this tim
e in my life. It's difficult to separate the memories from the nightmares. But she's persistent. "The pimp discovered the crack whore's body and phoned it in to the authorities. Took him four days to make the discovery, though. He shut the door when he left. Left me with her. Her body."

  Mommy is asleep on the floor.

  She has been asleep for a long time.

  She doesn't wake up.

  I call her. I shake her.

  She doesn't wake up.

  I shudder and continue. "Police interviewed him later. He denied flat-out I had anything to do with him, and Carrick said he looked nothing like me."

  Thank God.

  "Do you remember what he looked like?"

  "Anastasia, this isn't a part of my life I revisit very often. Yes, I remember what he looked like. I'll never forget him." Bile rises in my throat. "Can we talk about something else?"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

  "It's old news, Ana. Not something I want to think about."

  She looks guilty and, knowing she's gone too far with these questions, changes the subject. "So, what's this surprise, then?"

  Ah. She remembered. Now, this I can deal with. "Can you face going out for some fresh air? I want to show you something."

  "Of course."

  Great! I swat her behind. "Get dressed. Jeans will be good. I hope Taylor's packed some for you."

  I leap out of bed, excited to take Ana sailing, and she watches me pull on my underwear.

  "Up," I nag, and she grins.

  "Just admiring the view," she says.

  "Dry your hair," I tell her.

  "Domineering as ever," she observes, and I bend down to kiss her.

  "That's never going to change, baby. I don't want you sick."

  She rolls her eyes.

  "My palms still twitch, you know, Miss Steele."

  "I am glad to hear it, Mr. Grey. I was beginning to think you were losing your edge."

  Oh. Mixed signals from Miss Steele.

  Don't tempt me, Ana. "I could easily demonstrate that is not the case, should you so wish." I grab a sweater from my bag, fetch my phone, and pack the rest of my belongings.

  Once I'm done, I find Ana dressed and drying her hair.

  "Pack your things. If it's safe, we'll go home tonight; if not, we can stay again."

  ANA AND I STEP into the elevator. An elderly couple moves aside for us. Ana looks up at me and smirks. I squeeze her hand and grin, remembering that kiss.

  Oh, fuck the paperwork.

  "I'll never let you forget that," she says so only I can hear. "Our first kiss."

  I'm tempted to do a repeat performance and scandalize the elderly couple, but I settle for a discreet peck on her cheek that makes her giggle.

  We check out at reception and walk hand in hand through the foyer to the valet.

  "Where are we going, exactly?" Ana asks as we wait for my car.

  I tap the side of my nose and wink, trying to hide my excitement. Her face lights up with a huge smile, matching mine. Leaning down, I kiss her. "Do you have any idea how happy you make me feel?"

  "Yes. I know exactly. Because you do the same for me."

  The valet appears with my R8.

  "Great car, sir," he says, as he gives me my keys. I tip him and he opens Ana's door.

  As I turn onto Fourth Avenue, the sun is shining, my girl is beside me, and there's good music playing on my car stereo.

  I overtake an Audi A3 and suddenly remember Ana's wrecked car. I realize I've not thought about Leila and her crazy behavior for the last few hours. Ana's a good distraction.

  She's more than a distraction, Grey.

  Perhaps I should buy her something else.

  Yes. Something different. Not an Audi.

  A Volvo.

  No. My dad has one.

  A BMW.

  No. My mom has one.

  "I need to make a detour. It shouldn't take long," I inform her.

  "Sure."

  We pull into the Saab dealership. Ana looks perplexed. "We need to get you a new car," I say.

  "Not an Audi?"

  No. I'm not getting you the car I've bought all my subs. "I thought you might like something else."

  "A Saab?" She's amused.

  "Yeah. A 9-3. Come."

  "What is it with you and foreign cars?"

  "The Germans and the Swedes make the safest cars in the world, Anastasia."

  "I thought you'd already ordered me another Audi A3?"

  "I can cancel that. Come." I climb out of the car, walk to her side, and open the door. "I owe you a graduation present."

  "Christian, you really don't have to do this."

  I make it clear to her that I do and we stroll into the car showroom where a salesman greets us with a well-rehearsed smile. "My name's Troy Turniansky. Are you after a Saab, sir? Pre-owned?" He rubs his hands, sensing a sale.

  "New," I inform him.

  "Did you have a model in mind, sir?"

  "9-3 2.0T Sport Sedan."

  Ana shoots a questioning look at me.

  Yeah. I've been meaning to test drive one of these.

  "An excellent choice, sir."

  "What color, Anastasia?" I ask.

  "Er, black?" she says with a shrug. "You really don't need to do this."

  "Black's not easily seen at night."

  "You have a black car."

  This is not about me. I give her a pointed look.

  "Canary yellow, then," she says, and flips her hair over her shoulder--irritated, I think.

  I scowl at her.

  "What color do you want me to have?" She crosses her arms.

  "Silver or white."

  "Silver, then," she says, but reiterates that she'd be fine with the Audi.

  Now, sensing the loss of a sale, Turniansky pipes up. "Perhaps you'd like the convertible, ma'am?"

  Ana lights up and Turniansky claps his hands.

  "Convertible?" I ask, raising a brow. And her cheeks redden with embarrassment.

  Miss Steele would like a convertible, and I'm beyond pleased that I've found something she wants. "What are the safety stats on the convertible?" I ask the salesman, and he's prepared, reeling off a brochure's worth of stats and other information. I glance at Ana, and she's all smiles and teeth. Turniansky hurries to his desk to consult his computer on the availability of a brand-new convertible 9-3.

  "Whatever you're high on, I'd like some, Miss Steele." I pull her close.

  "I'm high on you, Mr. Grey."

  "Really? Well, you certainly look intoxicated." I kiss her. "And thank you for accepting the car. That was easier than last time."

  "Well, it's not an Audi A3."

  "That's not the car for you."

  "I liked it."

  "Sir, the 9-3? I've located one at our Beverly Hills dealership. We can have it here for you in a couple of days." Turniansky is bursting at the seams with his achievement.

  "Top of the range?" I ask.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Excellent." I hand him my credit card.

  "If you'll come this way, Mr...." Turniansky glances at the name on the card. "Grey." I follow him to his desk.

  "Can you get it here tomorrow?"

  "I can try, Mr. Grey." He nods and we begin to fill out the paperwork.

  "THANK YOU," ANA SAYS as we set off.

  "You're most welcome, Anastasia."

  The soulful, sad voice of Eva Cassidy fills the R8 when I turn on the engine.

  "Who's this?" Ana asks, and I tell her.

  "She has a lovely voice."

  "She does. She did."

  "Oh."

  "She died young." Too young.

  "Oh." Ana gives me a wistful look.

  I remember that she didn't finish her breakfast earlier and I ask her if she's hungry.

  I'm keeping track, Ana.

  "Yes."

  "Lunch first, then."

  I speed along Elliott Avenue, heading to Elliott Bay Marina. Flynn was right. I like trying thin
gs her way. I look at Ana, who's lost in the music, staring out at the passing scenery. I feel content and excited for what I have planned this afternoon.

  The car lot is crowded at the marina, but I find a space. "We'll eat here. I'll open your door," I say, as Ana makes a move to get out of the car. Together we walk toward the waterfront, arms around each other.

  "So many boats," she says.

  And one of them is mine.

  We stand on the promenade and watch the sailboats out in the Sound. Ana tugs her jacket around herself.

  "Cold?" I tuck her under my arm, closer to my side.

  "No, just admiring the view."

  "I could stare at it all day. Come, this way."

  We head into SP's, the waterfront restaurant and bar, for lunch. Inside, I search for Dante, Claude Bastille's brother.

  "Mr. Grey!" He sees me before I see him. "What can I get you this afternoon?"

  "Dante, good afternoon." I usher Ana onto one of the stools at the bar. "This lovely lady is Anastasia Steele."

  "Welcome to SP's Place." Dante grins at Ana, his dark eyes intrigued. "What would you like to drink, Anastasia?"

  "Please, call me Ana," she says, then, eyeing me, adds, "and I'll have whatever Christian's drinking."

  Ana is deferring to me, like she did at the ball. I like it.

  "I'm going to have a beer. This is the only bar in Seattle where you can get Adnams Explorer."

  "A beer?"

  "Yes. Two Explorers, please, Dante."

  Dante nods and sets up the drinks on the bar and I tell Ana that the seafood chowder that's served here is delicious. Dante writes down our food order and gives me a wink.

  Yes, I'm here with a woman I'm not related to. It's a first, I know.

  I turn my attention to Ana. "How did you get started in business?" she asks, and takes a sip of her beer.

  I give her the executive summary: With Elena's money and some shrewd but risky investments I was able to build a capital fund. The first company I acquired was about to go under; it had been developing power units for cell phones using graphene technology, but the R&D had exhausted the company's capital. The patents they held were worth exploiting, and I kept their key talent, Fred and Barney, who are now my two chief engineers.

  I tell Ana about our work on solar and wind-up technology for the home market and the developing world, and our innovative research to develop battery storage. All critical initiatives, given the depletion of fossil fuels.

  "You still with me?" I ask when our chowder arrives. I love that she's interested in what I do. Even my parents struggle not to glaze over when I tell them about my work.