Fifty Shades Darker

give me a swift chaste kiss.

I raise my lips to meet his, and in the nanosecond when our lips touch, the nature of the kiss changes-wildfire spreading through my veins from this intimate point of contact, driving me to him.

Suddenly, my fingers are curling in his hair as he grabs me and pushes me against the elevator wall, his hands framing my face, holding me to his lips as our tongues thrash against each other. And I don’t know if it’s the confines of the elevator making everything much more real, but I feel his need, his anxiety, his passion.

Holy shit. I want him, here, now.

The elevator pings to a halt, the doors slide open, and Christian drags his face from mine, his hips still pinning me to the wall, his erection digging into me.

“Whoa,” he murmurs panting.

“Whoa,” I mirror him, dragging a welcome breath into my lungs.

He gazes at me, eyes blazing. “What you do to me, Ana.” He traces my lower lip with his thumb.

Out of the corner of my eye, Taylor steps backward so he’s no longer in my line of sight. I reach up and kiss Christian at the corner of his beautifully sculptured mouth.

“What you do to me, Christian.”

He steps back and takes my hand, his eyes darker now, hooded. “Come,” he orders.

Taylor is still in the foyer, waiting discreetly for us.

“Good evening, Taylor,” Christian says cordially.

“Mr. Grey, Miss Steele.”

“I was Mrs. Taylor yesterday.” I grin at Taylor, who flushes.

“That has a nice ring to it, Miss Steele,” Taylor says matter-of-factly.

“I thought so, too.”

Christian tightens his hold on my hand, scowling. “If you two have quite finished, I’d like a debrief.” He glares at Taylor, who now looks uncomfortable, and I cringe inwardly. I have overstepped the mark.

“Sorry,” I mouth at Taylor, who shrugs and smiles kindly before I turn to follow Christian.

“I’ll be with you shortly. I just want a word with Miss Steele,” Christian says to Taylor, and I know I’m in trouble.

Christian leads me into his bedroom and closes the door.

“Don’t flirt with the staff, Anastasia,” he scolds.

I open my mouth to defend myself-then close it again, then open it. “I wasn’t flirting. I was being friendly-there is a difference.”

“Don’t be friendly with the staff or flirt with them. I don’t like it.”

Oh. Good-bye, carefree Christian. “I’m sorry,” I mutter and stare down at my fingers. He hasn’t made me feel like a child all day. Reaching down he cups my chin, pulling my head up to meet his eyes.

“You know how jealous I am,” he whispers.

“You have no reason to be jealous, Christian. You own me body and soul.”

He blinks as if he’s finding this fact hard to process. He leans down and kisses me quickly, but with none of the passion we experienced a moment ago in the elevator.

“I won’t be long. Make yourself at home,” he says sulkily and turns, leaving me standing in his bedroom, dazed and confused.

Why on earth would he be jealous of Taylor? I shake my head in disbelief.

Glancing at the alarm clock, I notice it’s just after eight. I decide to get my clothes ready for work tomorrow. I head upstairs to my room and open the walk-in closet. It’s empty. All the clothes have gone. Oh no! Christian has taken me at my word and disposed of the clothes. Shit.

My subconscious glares at me. Well, that will be you and your big mouth.

Why did he take me at my word? My mother’s advice comes back to haunt me, “Men are so literal, darling.” I pout, staring at the empty space. There were some lovely clothes, too, like the silver dress I wore to the ball.

I wander disconsolately into the bedroom, Wait a moment-what is going on? The iPad is gone. Where’s my Mac? Oh no. My first uncharitable thought is that Leila may have stolen them.

I fly back downstairs and back into Christian’s bedroom. On the bedside table are my Mac, my iPad, and my satchel. It’s all here.

I open the walk-in closet door. My clothes are here-all of them-sharing space with Christian’s clothes. When did this happen? Why does he never warn me before he does things like this?

I turn, and he’s standing in the doorway.

“Oh, they managed the move,” he mutters, distracted.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. His face is grim.

“Taylor thinks Leila was getting in through the emergency stairwell. She must have had a key. All the locks have been changed now. Taylor’s team has done a sweep of every room in the apartment. She’s not here.” He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew where she was. She’s evading all our attempts to find her when she needs help.” He frowns, and my earlier pique vanishes. I put my arms around him. Folding me into his embrace, he kisses my hair.

“What will you do when you find her?” I ask.

“Dr. Flynn has a place.”

“What about her husband?”

“He’s washed his hands of her.” Christian’s tone is bitter. “Her family is in Connecticut. I think she’s very much on her own out there.”

“That’s sad.”

“Are you okay with all your stuff being here? I want you to share my room,” he murmurs.

Whoa, quick change of direction.

“Yes.”

“I want you sleeping with me. I don’t have nightmares when you’re with me.”

“You have nightmares?”

“Yes.”

I tighten my hold around him. Holy cow. More baggage. My heart contracts for this man.

“I was just getting my clothes ready for work tomorrow,” I mutter.

“Work!” Christian exclaims as if it’s a dirty word, and he releases me, glaring.

“Yes, work,” I reply, confused by his reaction.

He stares at me with complete incomprehension. “But Leila-she’s out there,” he pauses. “I don’t want you to go to work.”

What? “That’s ridiculous, Christian. I have to go to work.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I have a new job, which I enjoy. Of course I have to go to work.” What does he mean?

“No, you don’t,” he repeats, emphatically.

“Do you think I am going to stay here twiddling my thumbs while you’re off being Master of the Universe?”

“Frankly… yes.”

Oh, Fifty, Fifty, Fifty… give me strength.

“Christian, I need to go to work.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I. Do.” I say it slowly as if he’s a child.

He scowls at me. “It’s not safe.”

“Christian… I need to work for a living, and I’ll be fine.”

“No, you don’t need to work for a living-and how do you know you’ll be fine?” He’s almost shouting.

What does he mean? He’s going to support me? Oh, this is beyond ridiculous-I’ve known him for what-five weeks?

He’s angry now, his gray eyes stormy and flashing, but I don’t give a shit.