Fifty Shades Darker Part 41

"Do I drive you wild?" I whisper.

"In all things, Anastasia. You are a siren, a G.o.ddess." And he reaches for me, grasping my leg above my knee and hitching it around his waist, so that I am standing on one leg, leaning into him. I feel him against me, feel him hard and wanting above the apex of my thighs as he runs his lips down my throat. I moan and wrap my arms around his neck.

"I'm going to take you now, Anastasia," he breathes and I arch my back in response, pressing myself against him, eager for the friction. He groans deep and low in the back of his throat and boosts me higher as he undoes his fy.

"Hold tight, baby," he murmurs, and magically produces a foil packet that he holds in front of my mouth. I take it between my teeth, and he tugs, so that between us, we rip it open.

"Good girl." He steps back a fraction as he slides on the condom. "G.o.d, I can't wait for the next six days," he growls and gazes down at me through hooded eyes. "I do hope you're not overly fond of these panties." He tears through them with his adept fngers, and they disintegrate in his hands. My blood is pounding through my veins. I am panting with need.

His words are intoxicating, all my angst from the day forgotten. It's just him and me, doing what we do best. Without taking his eyes off mine, he sinks slowly into me. My body bows and I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, relishing the feel of him inside me. He pulls back and then moves into me again, so slow, so sweet. I groan.

"You're mine, Anastasia," he murmurs against my throat.

"Yes. Yours. When will you accept that?" I pant. He groans and starts to move, really move. And I surrender myself to his relentless rhythm, savoring each push and pull, his ragged breathing, his need for me, refecting mine. It makes me feel powerful, strong, desired and loved-loved by this captivating, com- plicated man, whom I love in return with all my heart. He pushes harder and harder, his breathing ragged, losing himself in me as I lose myself in him.

"Oh, baby," Christian moans, his teeth grazing my jaw, and I come hard around him.

He stills, clutches me, and follows suit, whispering my name.

Now that Christian is spent, calm and kissing me gently, his breathing eases. He holds me upright against the elevator wall, our foreheads pressed together, and my body is like jelly, weak but gratifyingly sated from my climax.

"Oh, Ana," he murmurs. "I need you so much." He kisses my forehead.

"And I you, Christian."

Releasing me, he straightens my skirt and does up the two b.u.t.tons on my shirt, then punches the combination into the keypad that starts the elevator again. It rises with a jolt so that I reach out and clasp his arms.

"Taylor will be wondering where we are," he grins lasciviously at me.

Oh c.r.a.p. I drag my fngers through my hair in a vain attempt to combat the just-f.u.c.ked look, then give up and tie it in a ponytail.

"You'll do." Christian smirks as he does up his fy and puts the condom in his pants pocket.

Once more he looks the embodiment of an American entrepreneur, and since his hair looks just f.u.c.ked most of the time, there's very little difference. Except now he's smiling, relaxed, his eyes crinkling with boyish charm. Are all men this easily placated?

Taylor is waiting when the doors open.

"Problem with the elevator," Christian murmurs as we both step out, and I cannot look either of them in the face. I scurry through the double doors to Christian's bedroom in search of some fresh underwear.

When I return, Christian has removed his jacket and is sitting at the breakfast bar chatting with Mrs. Jones. She smiles kindly at me as she puts out two plates of hot food for us.

Mmm, it smells delicious-coq au vin, if I am not mistaken. I am famished.

"Enjoy, Mr. Grey, Ana," she says and leaves us to it.

Christian fetches a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and as we sit and eat, he tells me about how much nearer he's getting to perfecting a solar-powered mobile phone. He's animated and excited about the whole project, and I know then that he hasn't had an en- tirely s.h.i.tty day.

I ask him about his properties. He smirks, and it turns out he only has the apartment in New York and Aspen, and Escala. Nothing else. When we're done, I collect his plate and mine and take them to sink.

"Leave that. Gail will do it," he says. I turn and gaze at him, and he's watching me intently. Will I ever get used to having someone clean up after me?

"Well, now that you are more docile, Miss Steele, shall we talk about today?""I think you're the one who's more docile. I think I'm doing a good job in taming you."

"Taming me?" he snorts, amused. When I nod, he frowns as if refecting on my words.

"Yes. Maybe you are, Anastasia."

"You were right about Jack," I murmur, serious now, and I lean across the kitchen is- land gauging his reaction. Christian's face falls and his eyes harden.

"Has he tried anything?" he whispers, his voice deathly cold.

I shake my head to rea.s.sure him. "No, and he won't, Christian. I told him today that I'm your girlfriend, and he backed right off."

"You're sure? I could fre the f.u.c.ker." Christian scowls.

I sigh, emboldened by my gla.s.s of wine. "You really have to let me fght my own battles. You can't constantly second-guess me and try to protect me. It's stifing, Christian.

I'll never fourish with your incessant interference. I need some freedom. I wouldn't dream of meddling in your affairs."

He blinks at me. "I only want you safe, Anastasia. If anything happened to you, I-"

He stops.

"I know, and I understand why you feel so driven to protect me. And part of me loves it. I know that if I need you, you'll be there, as I am for you. But if we are to have any hope of a future together, you have to trust me and trust my judgment. Yes, I'll get it wrong sometimes-I'll make mistakes, but I have to learn."

He stares at me, his expression anxious, spurring me to walk round to him so that I am standing between his legs while he sits on the barstool. Grabbing his hands, I put them around me and place my hands on his arms.

"You can't interfere in my job. It's wrong. I don't need you charging in like a white knight to save the day. I know you want to control everything, and I understand why, but you can't. It's an impossible goal ... you have to learn to let go." I reach up and stroke his face as he gazes at me, his eyes wide. "And if you can do that-give me that-I'll move in with you," I add softly.

He inhales sharply, surprised. "You'd do that?" he whispers.

"Yes."

"But you don't know me." He frowns and sounds choked and panicky all of a sudden, very un-Fifty.

"I know you well enough, Christian. Nothing you tell me about yourself will frighten me away." I gently run my knuckles across his cheek. His expression turns from anxious to dubious. "But if you could just ease up on me," I plead.

"I'm trying, Anastasia. I couldn't just stand by and let you go to New York with that ...

sleazeball. He has an alarming reputation. None of his a.s.sistants have lasted more than three months, and they're never retained by the company. I don't want that for you, baby."

He sighs. "I don't want anything to happen to you. You being hurt ... the thought flls me with dread. I can't promise not to interfere, not if I think you'll come to harm." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I love you, Anastasia. I will do everything in my power to protect you. I cannot imagine my life without you."

Holy cow. My inner G.o.ddess, my subconscious, and I all gape at Fifty in shock.

Jeez, three little words. My world stands still, tilts, then spins on a new axis; and I savor the moment, gazing into his sincere, beautiful gray eyes."I love you, too, Christian." I lean over and kiss him, and the kiss deepens.

Entering unseen, Taylor clears his throat. Christian pulls back, gazing intently at me.

He stands, his arm around my waist.

"Yes?" he snaps at Taylor.

"Mrs. Lincoln is on her way up, sir."

"What?"

Taylor shrugs apologetically. Christian sighs heavily and shakes his head.

"Well, this should be interesting," he mutters and gives me a crooked grin of resigna- tion.

f.u.c.k! Why can't that d.a.m.ned woman leave us alone?"

CHAPTER 12

Did you talk to her today?" I ask Christian as we wait for Mrs. Robinson's arrival.

"Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I said that you didn't want to see her, and that I understood your reasons why. I also told her that I didn't appreciate her going behind my back." His gaze is impa.s.sive, giving nothing away.

Oh, good. "What did she say?"

"She brushed it off in a way that only Elena can." His mouth fattens to a crooked line.

"Why do you think she's here?"

"I have no idea." Christian shrugs.

Taylor enters the great room again. "Mrs. Lincoln," he announces.

And here she is ... Why is she so d.a.m.ned attractive? She's dressed entirely in black: tight jeans, a shirt that emphasizes her perfect fgure, and a halo of bright, glossy hair.

Christian pulls me close. "Elena," he says, his tone puzzled.

She gapes at me in shock, frozen to the spot. She blinks before fnding her soft voice.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had company, Christian. It's Monday," she says as if this explains why she's here."Girlfriend," he says by way of explanation and tilts his head to one side and smirks.

She smiles, a slow, beaming smile directed entirely at him. It's unnerving.

"Of course. h.e.l.lo, Anastasia. I didn't know you'd be here. I know you don't want to talk to me. I accept that."

"Do you?" I a.s.sert quietly, gazing at her and taking all of us by surprise. With a slight frown, she moves farther into the room.

"Yes, I get the message. I'm not here to see you. Like I said, Christian rarely has com- pany during the week." She pauses. "I have a problem, and I need to talk to Christian about it."

"Oh?" Christian straightens up. "Do you want a drink?"

"Yes, please," she murmurs gratefully.

Christian fetches a gla.s.s while Elena and I stand awkwardly gazing at each other. She fdgets with a large silver ring on her middle fnger, while I don't know where to look.

Finally, she gives me a small tight smile and approaches the kitchen island and sits on the bar stool at the end. She obviously knows the place well and feels comfortable moving around here.

Do I stay? Do I go? Oh, this is so diffcult. My subconscious scowls at the woman with her most hostile harpy face.

There's so much I want to say to this woman, and none of it complimentary. But she's Christian's friend-his only friend-and for all my loathing of this woman, I am innately polite. Deciding to stay, I sit as gracefully as I can manage on the stool Christian's vacated.

Christian pours wine into each of our gla.s.ses and sits between us at the breakfast bar. Can't he feel how weird this is?

"What's up?" he asks her.

Elena looks nervously at me, and Christian reaches over and clasps my hand.

"Anastasia's with me now," he says to her silent query and squeezes my hand. I fush, and my subconscious beams at him, harpy face forgotten.

Elena's face softens as if she's pleased for him. Really pleased for him. Oh, I don't understand this woman at all, and I'm uncomfortable and edgy in her presence.

She takes a deep breath and shifts, perching on the edge of her bar stool and looking agitated. She glances nervously down at her hands and starts manically twisting the large silver ring around and around on her middle fnger.

Jeez, what's wrong with her? Is it my presence? Do I have that effect on her? Because I feel the same way-I don't want her here. She raises her head and looks Christian squarely in the eye.

"I'm being blackmailed."

Holy s.h.i.t. Not what I expected out of her mouth. Christian stiffens. Has someone found out about her penchant for beating and f.u.c.king underage boys? I suppress my revulsion, and a feeting thought about chickens coming home to roost crosses my mind. My subcon- scious rubs her hands together with ill-disguised glee. Good.

"How?" Christian asks, his horror clear in his voice.

She reaches into her oversized, patent-leather, designer purse, pulls out a note, and hands it to him.

"Put it down, lay it out." Christian points to the breakfast bar counter with his chin."You don't want to touch it?'

"No. Fingerprints."

"Christian, you know I can't go to the police with this."