Fifty Shades Darker

Oh! I flush and snatch my hand back. My breathing and heart rate increase. Holy cow.

“There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia,” he says softly as he leans down and puts the device back in the drawer.

“Clothespins?” I whisper.

“You can do a great deal with a clothespins.” His gray eyes burn.

I lean against the drawer so it closes.

“Is that all?” Christian looks amused.

“No…” I pull open the fourth drawer to be confounded by a mass of leather and straps. I tug at one of the straps… it appears to be attached to a ball.

“Ball gag. To keep you quiet,” says Christian, amused once more.

“Soft limit,” I mutter.

“I remember,” he says. “But you can still breathe. Your teeth clamp over the ball.” Taking it from me, he replicates a mouth clamping down on the ball with his fingers.

“Have you worn one of these?” I ask.

He stills and gazes down at me. “Yes.”

“To mask your screams?”

He closes his eyes, and I think it’s in exasperation. “No, that’s not what they’re about.”

Oh?

“It’s about control, Anastasia. How helpless would you be if you were tied up and couldn’t speak? How trusting would you have to be, knowing I had that much power over you? That I had to read your body and your reaction, rather than hear your words? It makes you more dependent, puts me in ultimate control.”

I swallow.

“You sound like you miss it.”

“It’s what I know,” he murmurs, gazing down at me. His gray eyes are wide and serious, and the atmosphere between us has changed as if he’s in the confessional.

“You have power over me. You know you do,” I whisper.

“Do I? You make me feel… helpless.”

“No!” Oh Fifty… “Why?”

“Because you’re the only person I know who could really hurt me.” He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear.

“Oh, Christian… that works both ways. If you didn’t want me-” I shudder, glancing down at my twisting fingers. Therein lays my other dark reservation about us. If he wasn’t so… broken, would he want me? I shake my head. I must try not to think like that.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I love you,” I murmur, reaching up to run my fingers through his sideburn and gently stroke his cheek. He leans his face into my touch, drops the gag back in the drawer, and reaches for me, his hands around my waist. He pulls me against him.

“Have we finished show and tell?” he asks, his voice soft and seductive. His hand moves up my back to the nape of my neck.

“Why? What did you want to do?”

He bends and kisses me gently, and I melt against him, grasping his arms.

“Ana, you were nearly attacked today.” His voice is soft but ice-cold and wary.

“So?” I ask, enjoying the feel of his hand at my back and his proximity. He pulls his head back and scowls down at me.

“What do you mean, ‘so?’ ” he rebukes.

I gaze up into his lovely, grumpy face, and I’m dazzled.

“Christian, I’m fine.”

He wraps me in his arms, holding me close. “When I think what might have happened,” he breathes, burying his face in my hair.

“When will you learn that I’m stronger than I look?” I whisper reassuringly into his neck, inhaling his delicious scent. There is nothing better on the planet than being in Christian’s arms.

“I know you’re strong,” Christian muses quietly. He kisses my hair, then to my great disappointment, releases me. Oh?

Bending down I fish another item out of the open drawer. Several cuffs attached to a bar. I hold it up.

“That,” says Christian, his eyes darkening, “is a spreader bar with ankle and wrist restraints.”

“How does it work?” I ask, genuinely intrigued. My inner goddess pops her head out of her bunker.

“You want me to show you?” he breathes in surprise, closing his eyes briefly.

I blink at him. When he opens his eyes, they are blazing.

Oh my. “Yes, I want a demonstration. I like being tied up,” I whisper as my inner goddess pole vaults from the bunker onto her chaise longue.

“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs. He looks pained all of a sudden.

“What?”

“Not here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you in my bed, not in here. Come.” He grabs the bar and my hand, then leads me promptly out of the room.

Why are we leaving? I glance behind me as we exit. “Why not in there?”

Christian stops on the stairs and gazes up at me, his expression grave.

“Ana, you may be ready to go back in there, but I’m not. Last time we were in there, you left me. I keep telling you-when will you understand?” He frowns, releasing me so that he can gesticulate with his free hand.

“My whole attitude has changed as a result. My whole outlook on life has radically shifted. I’ve told you this. What I haven’t told you is-” He stops and runs his hand through his hair, searching for the correct words. “I’m like a recovering alcoholic, okay? That’s the only comparison I can draw. The compulsion has gone, but I don’t want to put temptation in my way. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He looks so remorseful, and in that moment, a sharp nagging pain lances through me. What have I done to this man? Have I improved his life? He was happy before he met me, wasn’t he?

“I can’t bear to hurt you because I love you,” he adds, gazing up at me, his expression one of absolute sincerity like a small boy telling a very simple truth.

He’s completely guileless, and he takes my breath away. I adore him more than anything or anyone. I do love this man unconditionally.

I launch myself at him so hard that he has to drop what he’s carrying to catch me as I push him up against the wall. Grabbing his face between my hands, I pull his lips to mine. I can taste his surprise as I push my tongue into his mouth. I am standing on the step above him-we’re at the same level, and I feel euphorically empowered. Kissing him passionately, my fingers twisting into his hair, I want to touch him, everywhere, but restrain myself, knowing his fear. Regardless, my desire unfurls, hot and heavy, blossoming deep inside me. He groans and grabs my shoulders, pushing me away.

“Do you want me to fuck you on the stairs?” he mutters, his breathing ragged. “Because right now, I will.”

“Yes,” I murmur and I’m sure my dark gaze matches his.

He glares at me, his eyes hooded and heavy. “No. I want you in my bed.” He scoops me up suddenly over his shoulder, making me squeal, loudly, and smacks me hard on my behind, so that I squeal again. As he heads down the stairs, he stoops to pick up the fallen spreader bar.

Mrs. Jones is coming out of the utility room when we pass through the hall. She smiles at us, and I give her an apologetic upside-down wave. I don’t think Christian notices her.

In the bedroom, he sets me down on my feet and drops the spreader on to the bed.

“I don’t think you’ll hurt me,” I breathe.

“I don’t think I’ll hurt you, either,” he says. He takes my head in his hands and kisses me, long and hard, igniting my already heated blood.

“I want you so much,” he whispers against my mouth, panting. “Are you sure about this-after today?’

“Yes. I want you, too. I want to undress you.” I can’t wait to get my hands on him-my fingers are itching to