Darker

  "So, you're going to beg?" she whispers.

  "No, Anastasia." I shake my head. "No begging." I look down at her, lust and need thickening my blood.

  Fuck, I want to be buried in her.

  I watch as her pupils dilate and her cheeks flush with desire. She wants me. I want her. She bites her lip and I can bear it no more. Grabbing her hips, I pull her against my growing erection. Her hands are in my hair and she's pulling me down to her mouth. I push her against the fridge and kiss her hard.

  She tastes so good, so sweet.

  She moans into my mouth and it's like a wake-up call that makes me harder still. I move my hand into her hair, pulling her head back so I can angle my tongue deeper into her mouth. Her tongue wrestles with mine.

  Fuck--it's erotic, raw, intense. I pull back.

  "What do you want, Anastasia?"

  "You."

  "Where?"

  "Bed."

  Needing no further prompting, I scoop her into my arms and carry her into her bedroom. I want her naked and yearning beneath me. Putting her gently on the floor, I switch on her bedside light and draw her curtains. As I glance through the window to the street below, I realize this is indeed the room I stared at during my silent vigils, from my stalker's hideout.

  She was here, alone, curled up in her bed.

  When I turn, she's watching me. Wide-eyed. Waiting. Wanting.

  "Now what?" I ask.

  She flushes.

  And I stay absolutely still.

  "Make love to me," she says after a beat.

  "How? You have got to tell me, baby."

  She licks her lips, a nervous gesture, and lust surges through me.

  Shit--focus, Grey.

  "Undress me," she says.

  Yes! Hooking my index finger into the top of her blouse, careful not to touch her soft skin, I tug gently, forcing her to step toward me. "Good girl."

  Her breasts rise and fall as her breathing accelerates. Her dark eyes are full of carnal promise, like mine. Deftly I start to unbutton her blouse. She puts her hands on my arms--to steady herself, I think--and glances at me.

  Yeah, that's fine, baby. Don't touch my chest.

  I undo the last button, slip the blouse off her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. Making a conscious effort not to touch her beautiful breasts, I reach down to the waistband of her jeans. I undo the top button and pull down the zipper.

  I resist the urge to throw her onto the bed. This is going to be a waiting game. She needs to talk to me. "Tell me what you want, Anastasia."

  "Kiss me from here to here." She trails her finger from the base of her ear down her throat.

  My pleasure, Miss Steele.

  Smoothing her hair out of the way, I gather her soft tresses in my hand and pull her head gently to the side, exposing her slender neck. Leaning in, I nuzzle her ear and she squirms as I trail soft kisses following the path of her finger and back again. She makes a soft noise in the back of her throat.

  It's arousing.

  Boy, I want to lose myself in her. Rediscover her.

  "My jeans...and panties," she rasps, breathy and flustered, and I grin against her throat. She's getting the idea.

  Talk to me, Ana.

  I kiss her throat one final time and kneel down in front of her, taking her by surprise. I push my thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and her panties and slowly pull them down. Sitting back on my knees, I admire her long legs and delectable ass as she steps out of her shoes and pants. Her eyes meet mine, and I await my command.

  "What now, Anastasia?"

  "Kiss me," she answers, her voice barely audible.

  "Where?"

  "You know where."

  I stifle my smile. She really can't say the word.

  "Where?" I coax.

  She blushes once more, but with a determined yet mortified expression, she points to the top of her thighs.

  "Oh, with pleasure," I chuckle, enjoying her embarrassment. Slowly I let my fingers travel up her legs until my hands are at her hips, then I tug her forward, onto my mouth.

  Fuck. I smell her arousal.

  I'm already uncomfortable in my jeans, but suddenly they're several sizes too small. I push my tongue through her pubic hair, wondering if I'll ever persuade her to get rid of this, but I find my goal and begin tasting her.

  Lord, she's sweet. So fucking sweet.

  She groans and fists her fingers in my hair and I don't stop. Swirling my tongue, around and around, teasing and testing her.

  "Christian, please," she begs.

  I stop.

  "Please what, Anastasia?"

  "Make love to me."

  "I am," I answer, and blow gently on her clitoris.

  "No. I want you inside me."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Please."

  No. I'm having too much fun. I continue the slow, lascivious torture of my exquisite, precious girl.

  "Christian--please!" she moans. I release her and stand, my mouth wet from her arousal, and stare down at her through hooded eyes.

  "Well?" I ask.

  "Well what?" she pants.

  "I'm still dressed."

  She seems at a loss, not understanding, and I hold my arms out in surrender.

  Take me--I'm yours.

  She reaches for my shirt.

  Shit. No. I step back.

  I forget myself.

  "Oh no," I protest. I mean my jeans, baby. She blinks as she realizes what I'm asking and suddenly drops to her knees.

  Whoa! Ana. What are you doing?

  Rather awkwardly--her usual fingers and thumbs--she undoes my waistband and fly and tugs my jeans down.

  Ah! My cock has some room.

  I step out of my pants and remove my socks while she stays kneeling in her submissive position on the floor. What is she trying to do to me? Once I've dropped my pants, she reaches up and grabs my erection and squeezes me tightly like I've shown her.

  Fuck.

  She pushes her hand back. Ah! Almost too far. Almost painfully. I groan and tense and close my eyes; the sight of her on her knees and the feel of her hand around me is nearly too much. Suddenly, her warm, wet mouth is around me. She sucks hard. "Ah. Ana. Whoa, gently." As I cup her head she pushes me deeper into her mouth, sheathing her teeth with her lips, pressing down on me.

  "Fuck," I whisper in veneration, and I flex my hips so I'm deeper in her mouth. That feels so good. She does it over and over, and it's beyond arousing. She swirls her tongue around the end, repeatedly, teasing me. She's all tit for tat today. I groan, reveling in the feel of her adept mouth and tongue.

  Christ. She's too good at this. She takes me deep into her mouth once more.

  "Ana, that's enough. No more," I insist through clenched teeth. She's unraveling my control. I do not want to come now; I want to be inside her when I explode, but she ignores me and does it again and again.

  Fucking tease.

  "Ana, you've made your point. I do not want to come in your mouth." I grunt. And still she disobeys me.

  Enough, woman.

  Grasping her shoulders, I drag her to her feet, lift her quickly, and toss her onto her bed. I reach for my jeans and fish out a condom from the back pocket and dispense with my shirt, dragging it over my head and leaving it beside my jeans. She's lying sprawled and wanton on the bed.

  "Take your bra off." She sits up and hurriedly does as she's told, for once.

  "Lie down. I want to look at you."

  She lies back on her sheets, eyes on me. Her hair is tousled and free, a luscious chestnut halo spilled across the pillow. Her body is flushed a delicate pink with arousal. Her nipples are hard, calling to me; her long legs are parted.

  She's stunning.

  I rip the foil packet open and roll on the rubber. She watches my every move, still panting. Waiting for me.

  "You're a fine sight, Anastasia Steele."

  And you're mine. Again.

  Crawling up the bed, I kiss her ankles, the insides of her kn
ees, her thighs, her hip, her soft belly; my tongue swirls around her navel and she rewards me with a loud moan. I lick the underside of one breast, then the other. And take her nipple in my mouth, teasing it, elongating it as it hardens between my lips. I tug hard, and she writhes brazenly beneath me, calling out.

  Patience, baby.

  Releasing that nipple, I lavish my attention on its twin.

  "Christian, please."

  "Please what?" I murmur between her breasts, enjoying her need.

  "I want you inside me."

  "Do you, now?"

  "Please." She's all breathy and desperate, just how I like her. I push her legs apart with my knees. Oh, I want you, too, baby. I hover over her, poised and ready. I want to savor this moment, this moment when I reclaim her beautiful body, reclaim my beautiful girl. Her dark, smoky eyes meet mine and slowly, slowly, I sink into her.

  Fuck. She feels so good. So tight. So right.

  She tilts her pelvis up to meet me, throws her head back, her chin in the air, and her mouth is open in soundless adulation. She grasps my upper arms and groans without restraint. What a wonderful sound it is. I place my hands around her head to hold her in place, ease out of her, then slide into her again. Her fingers find my hair, tugging and twisting, and I move slowly, feeling her tight, wet warmth around me as I relish every single fucking inch of her.

  Her eyes are dark, her mouth slack, as she pants beneath me. She looks gorgeous.

  "Faster, Christian, faster. Please," she pleads.

  Your wish is my command, baby.

  My mouth finds hers, claiming that, too, and I start to move, really move, pushing and pushing. She's so damned beautiful. I have missed this. Missed everything about her. She feels like home. She is home. She's everything. And I lose myself, burying myself in her over and over again.

  She starts building around me, reaching her peak.

  Oh, baby, yes. Her legs tense. She's close. So am I.

  "Come on, baby. Give it to me," I whisper through my gritted teeth. She cries out as she detonates around me, clenching and drawing me deep inside her, and I come, pouring my life and soul into her.

  "Ana! Oh, fuck--Ana!"

  I collapse on her, pressing her into the mattress, and bury my face in her neck, inhaling her delicious, intoxicating Ana perfume.

  She's mine once more.

  Mine.

  No one will take her away from me, and I'll do everything in my power to keep her.

  Once I've caught my breath I lean up and take her hands in mine as her eyes flutter open. They are the bluest of blue, clear and sated. She gives me a shy smile and I trail the tip of my nose down the length of hers, trying to find the words to express my gratitude. In lieu of any suitable words, I offer her a swift kiss as I reluctantly ease out of her. "I've missed this."

  "Me, too," she says.

  I grip her chin and kiss her once more.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me a second chance.

  "Don't leave me again," I whisper. Ever. And I'm in the confessional, disclosing a dark secret: my need for her.

  "Okay," she answers with a tender smile that flips my heart into overdrive. With one simple word she stitches my torn soul together. I'm elated.

  My fate is in your hands, Ana. It's been in your hands since I met you.

  "Thank you for the iPad," she adds, interrupting my fanciful thoughts. It's the first gift I've given her that she's accepted with grace.

  "You're most welcome, Anastasia."

  "What's your favorite song on there?"

  "Now, that would be telling," I tease her. I think it might be the Coldplay, because it's the most apt.

  My stomach growls. I'm starving, and it's not a condition I tolerate well. "Come cook me some food, wench. I'm famished." I sit up and pull her onto my lap.

  "Wench?" she repeats, giggling.

  "Wench. Food. Now. Please," I order, like the caveman I am, while nuzzling her hair.

  "Since you ask so nicely, sire, I'll get right on it."

  She wriggles in my lap as she gets up.

  Ow!

  When she climbs off the bed she shifts her pillow. Beneath it is a rather sad, much deflated helicopter balloon. I pick it up and look at her, wondering where it's from.

  "That's my balloon," she stresses.

  Oh yes, Andrea sent a balloon with flowers when Ana and Katherine moved into this apartment. What is it doing here? "In your bed?"

  "Yes. It's been keeping me company."

  "Lucky Charlie Tango."

  She returns my smile as she wraps a robe around her beautiful body.

  "My balloon," she warns, before she sashays out of the bedroom.

  Proprietary, Miss Steele!

  Once she's left I remove the condom, knot it, and toss it in the trash basket at Ana's bedside. I fall back onto the pillows, examining the balloon. She kept it and slept with it. Every time I stood outside her apartment pining for her, she was curled up in this bed and pining for me, holding this.

  She loves me.

  I'm suddenly awash with mixed, bewildered emotions and panic rising in my throat.

  How can this be?

  Because she doesn't know you, Grey.

  Shit.

  Don't dwell on the negative. Flynn's words fog my brain. Focus on the positive.

  Well, she's mine once more. I just have to keep her. Hopefully we'll have the whole weekend together to get to know each other again.

  Hell. I have the Coping Together Ball tomorrow.

  I could skip it--but then my mother would never forgive me.

  I wonder if Ana will accompany me?

  She'll need a mask if she agrees.

  On the floor, I find my phone and text Taylor. I know he's seeing his daughter in the morning, but I hope he can source a mask.

  I'm going to need a mask for

  Anastasia for tomorrow's event.

  Do you think you can source something?

  TAYLOR

  Yes, sir.

  I know just the place.

  Excellent.

  TAYLOR

  What color?

  Silver or dark blue.

  And as I text I have an idea, which may or may not work.

  Could you get me a lipstick, too?

  TAYLOR

  Any particular color?

  No. I'll leave that to you.

  ANA CAN COOK. The stir-fry is delicious. I'm calmer now that I've had something to eat and I can't remember being this casual or relaxed with her. We're both sitting on the floor, listening to music from my iPod, as we eat and sip chilled pinot grigio. What's more, it's gratifying to see her devour her food. She's as hungry as I am.

  "This is good." I'm appreciating every forkful.

  She glows in response to my compliment and tucks a stray strand of unruly hair behind her ear. "I usually do all the cooking. Kate isn't a great cook." She's cross-legged beside me, her legs on display. Her rather worn robe is a fetching shade of cream. When she leans forward it hangs open and I glimpse the soft swell of her breast.

  Grey, behave.

  "Did your mother teach you?" I ask.

  "Not really." She laughs. "By the time I was interested in learning how to, my mom was living with Husband Number Three in Mansfield, Texas. And Ray, well, he would've lived on toast and takeout if it weren't for me."

  "Why didn't you stay in Texas with your mom?"

  "Her husband, Steve, and I--" She stops, and her face clouds with what I assume is an unpleasant memory. I regret asking her and want to change the subject, but she continues. "We didn't get along. And I missed Ray. Her marriage to Steve didn't last long. She came to her senses, I think. She never talks about him," she adds quietly.

  "So you stayed in Washington with your stepfather."

  "I lived very briefly in Texas. Then went back to Ray."

  "Sounds like you looked after him."

  "I suppose," she says.

  "You're used to taking care of people."

 
It should be the other way around.

  She turns to study my face. "What is it?" she asks, concerned.

  "I want to take care of you." In every way. It's a simple statement, but it says everything for me. She's taken aback.

  "I've noticed," she says wryly. "You just go about it in a strange way."

  "It's the only way I know how." I'm feeling my way in this relationship. It's new to me. I don't know the rules. And right now, all I want is to take care of Ana and give her the world.

  "I'm still mad at you for buying SIP."

  "I know, but you being mad, baby, wouldn't stop me."

  "What am I going to say to my work colleagues, to Jack?" She sounds exasperated. But an image of Hyde at the bar, leaning over her, leering, crowding her, springs to mind.

  "That fucker better watch himself," I grumble.

  "Christian. He's my boss."

  Not if I have anything to do with it.

  She's scowling at me and I don't want her mad. We're having such a chill time. What do you do to chill out? she asked me during the interview. Well, Ana, this is what I do, eat chicken stir-fry with you while we're sitting on the floor. She's still fretting, dwelling on her work situation, no doubt, and what she should tell them about GEH acquiring SIP.

  I offer a simple solution. "Don't tell them."

  "Don't tell them what?"

  "That I own it. The heads of agreement was signed yesterday. The news is embargoed for four weeks while the management at SIP makes some changes."

  "Oh." She looks alarmed. "Will I be out of a job?"

  "I sincerely doubt it." Not if you want to stay.

  Her eyes narrow. "If I leave and find another job, will you buy that company, too?"

  "You're not thinking of leaving, are you?" Jesus, I'm about to spend a small fortune on acquiring this firm and she's talking about leaving!

  "Possibly. I'm not sure you've given me a great deal of choice."

  "Yes, I will buy that company, too."

  This could get expensive.

  "Don't you think you're being a tad overprotective?" There's a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

  Maybe...

  She's right.

  "Yes. I am fully aware of how this looks," I concede.

  "Paging Dr. Flynn," she says, rolling her eyes. And I want to reprimand her for that, but she stands and holds her hand out for my empty bowl. "Would you like dessert?" she says with an insincere smile.

  "Now you're talking!" I grin, ignoring her attitude.

  You can be dessert, baby.

  "Not me," she says quickly, as if she can read my mind. "We have ice cream. Vanilla," she adds, and smiles as if she's privy to some inside joke.