Текст книги "Fifty shades darker"

Автор книги: Erika Leonard James

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

“135?”

“Charlie Tango. She’s a Eurocopter 135, the safest in its class.” Some unnamed but

dark emotion crosses his face briefly, distracting me. What isn’t he saying? Before I can

ask him, he stills and looks down at me, frowning, and for a moment I think he’s going to

tell me. I blink up into his speculative gray eyes.

“Wait a minute. You gave this to me before we saw Flynn,” he says, holding up the

keychain. He looks almost horrified.

Oh dear, where’s he going with this? I nod, keeping a straight face.

His mouth drops open.

I shrug apologetically. “I wanted you to know that whatever Flynn said, it wouldn’t

make a difference to me.”

Christian blinks at me in disbelief. “So all yesterday evening, when I was begging you

for an answer, I had it already?” He’s dismayed. I nod again, trying desperately to gauge

his reaction. He gazes at me in stupefied wonder, but then narrows his eyes and his mouth

twists with amused irony.

“All that worry,” he whispers ominously. I grin at him and shrug once more. “Oh, don’t

try and get cute with me, Miss Steele. Right now, I want . . .” He runs his hand through his

hair, then shakes his head and changes tack.

“I can’t believe you left me hanging.” His whisper is laced with disbelief. His expres-

sion alters subtly, his eyes gleaming wickedly, his mouth twitching into a carnal smile.

Holy hell. A thrill runs through me. What’s he thinking?

“I believe some retribution is in order, Miss Steele,” he says softly.

Retribution? Oh shit!I know he’s playing—but I take a cautious step back from him

anyway.

He grins. “Is that the game?” he whispers. “Because I will catch you.” And his eyes

burn with a bright playful intensity. “And you’re biting your lip,” he says threateningly.

All of my insides tighten at once. Oh my.My future husband wants to play. I take an-

other step back, then turn to run—but in vain. Christian grabs me, and in one easy swoop

while I squeal with delight, surprise, and shock. He hoists me over his shoulder and heads

down the hall.

“Christian!” I hiss, mindful that José is upstairs, though whether he could hear us is

doubtful. I steady myself by clasping his lower back, then on a brave impulse, I swat his

behind. He swats me right back.

“Ow!” I yelp.

“Shower time,” he declares triumphantly.

“Put me down!” I try and fail to sound disapproving. My struggle is futile—his arm is

firmly clamped over my thighs—and for some reason I cannot stop giggling.

“Fond of these shoes?” he asks amused as he opens the door to his bathroom.

“I prefer them to be touching the floor.” I attempt to snarl at him, but it’s not very ef-

fective as I can’t keep the laughter out of my voice.

“Your wish is my command, Miss Steele.” Without putting me down, he slips off both

of my shoes and lets them clatter to the tile floor. Pausing by the vanity, he empties his

pockets—dead Blackberry, keys, wallet, the keychain. I can only imagine what I look like

in the mirror from this angle. When he’s finished, he marches directly into his overlarge

shower.

“Christian!” I scold loudly—his intent is now clear.

He switches the water on at max. Jeez!Arctic water spurts over my backside, and I

squeal—then stop, mindful once more that José is above us. It’s cold and I’m fully clothed.

The chilling water soaks into my dress, my panties, and my bra. I’m drenched and I cannot

stop giggling.

“No!” I squeal. “Put me down!” I swat him again, harder this time, and Christian re-

leases me, letting me slide down his now soaked body. His white shirt is stuck to his chest

and his suit pants are sodden. I am soaked, too, flushed, giddy and breathless, and he’s

grinning down at me, looking so . . . so unbelievably hot.

He sobers, his eyes shining, and cups my face again, drawing my lips to his. His kiss

is gentle, cherishing, and totally distracting. I no longer care that I am fully clothed and

soaking wet in Christian’s shower. It’s just the two of us beneath the cascading water. He’s

back, he’s safe, he’s mine.

My hands move involuntarily to his shirt as it clings to every line and sinew of his

chest, revealing the hair scrunched beneath the white wetness. I yank the shirt hem out of

his pants, and he groans against my mouth, but his lips do not leave mine. As I unbutton his

shirt, he reaches for my zipper, slowly sliding the clasp down my dress. His lips become

more insistent, more provocative, his tongue invading my mouth—and my body explodes

with desire. I tug his shirt hard, ripping it open. The buttons fly everywhere, ricocheting off

the tiles and disappearing onto the shower floor. As I strip the wet material off his shoulders

and down his arms, I press him into the wall, hampering his attempts to undress me. “Cuf-

flinks,” he murmurs, holding up his wrists where his shirt hangs sodden and limp.

With scrambling fingers, I release first one and then the other cuff, letting his gold cuf-

flinks fall carelessly to the tiled floor and his shirt follows. His eyes search mine through

the cascading water, his gaze burning, carnal, heated like the water. I reach for the waist-

band of his pants, but he shakes his head and grabs my shoulders, spinning me round so

I am facing away from him. He finishes the long journey south with my zipper, smoothes

my wet hair away from my neck, and runs his tongue up my neck to my hairline and back

again, kissing and sucking as he goes.

I moan and slowly he peels my dress off my shoulders and down past my breasts, kiss-

ing my neck beneath my ear. He unclasps my bra and pushes it off my shoulders, freeing

my breasts. His hands reach around and cup each one as he murmurs his appreciation in

my ear.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

My arms are trapped by my bra and dress, which hang unfastened below my breasts,

my arms still in the sleeves but my hands are free. I roll my head, giving Christian better

access to my neck and push my breasts into his magical hands. I reach round behind me

and welcome his sharp intake of breath as my inquisitive fingers make contact with his

erection. He pushes his groin into my welcoming hands. Dammit, why didn’t he let me

take his pants off?

He tugs on my nipples, and as they harden and stretch under his expert touch, all

thoughts of his pants disappear and pleasure spikes sharp and libidinous in my belly. I lean

my head back against him and groan.

“Yes,” he breathes and turns me once more, capturing my mouth with his. He peels

my bra, dress and panties down so they join his shirt in a soggy heap on the shower floor.

I grab the body wash beside us. Christian stills as he realizes what I am about to do.

Staring him straight in the eye, I squirt some of the sweet-smelling gel into my palm and

hold my hand up in front of his chest, waiting for an answer to my unspoken question. His

eyes widen, then he gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

Gently I place my hand on his sternum and start to rub the soap into his skin. His chest

rises as he inhales sharply, but he stands stock-still. After a beat, his hands clasp my hips,

but he doesn’t push me away. He watches me warily, his look intense more than scared, but

his lips are parted as his breathing increases.

“Is this okay?” I whisper.

“Yes.” His short, breathy reply is almost a gasp. I am reminded of the many showers

we’ve had together, but the one at the Olympic is a bittersweet memory. Well, now I can

touch him. I wash him using gentle circles, cleaning my man, moving to his underarms,

over his ribs, down his flat firm belly, toward his happy trail, and the waistband of his pants.

“My turn,” he whispers and reaches for the shampoo, shifting us out of range of the

stream of water and squirting some on to the top of my head.

I think this is my cue to stop washing him, so I hook my fingers into his waistband. He

works the shampoo into my hair, his firm, long fingers massaging my scalp. Groaning in

appreciation, I close my eyes and give myself over to the heavenly sensation. After all the

stress of the evening, this is just what I need.

He chuckles and I open one eye to find him smiling down at me. “You like?”

“Hmm . . .”

He grins. “Me, too,” he says and leans over to kiss my forehead, his fingers continuing

their sweet, firm kneading of my scalp.

“Turn round,” he says authoritatively. I do as I’m told, and his fingers slowly work over

my head, cleansing, relaxing, loving me as they go. Oh, this is bliss. He reaches for more

shampoo and gently washes the long tresses down my back. When he’s finished, he pulls

me back under the shower.

“Lean your head back,” he orders quietly.

I willingly comply, and he carefully rinses out the suds. When he’s done, I face him

once more and make a beeline for his pants.

“I want to wash all of you,”

I whisper. He smiles that lopsided smile and lifts his hands in a gesture that says “I’m

all yours, baby.” I grin; it feels like Christmas. I make short work of his zipper, and soon

his pants and boxers join the rest of our clothing. I stand and reach for the body wash and

the freshwater sponge.

“Looks like you’re pleased to see me,” I murmur dryly.

“I’m always pleased to see you, Miss Steele.” He smirks at me.

I soap the sponge, then retrace my journey over his chest. He’s more relaxed—maybe

because I’m not actually touching him. I head south with the sponge, across his belly, along

the happy trail, through his pubic hair, and over and up his erection.

I peek up at him, and he regards me with hooded eyes and sensual longing. Hmm . . . I

like this look.I drop the sponge and use my hands, grasping him firmly. He closes his eyes,

tips his head back, and groans, thrusting his hips into my hands.

Oh yes! It’s so arousing. My inner goddess has resurfaced after her evening of rocking

and weeping in the corner, and she’s wearing harlot-red lipstick.

His burning eyes suddenly lock with mine. He’s remembered something.

“It’s Saturday,” he exclaims, eyes alight with salacious wonder, and he grasps my

waist, pulling me to him and kissing me savagely.

Whoa—change of pace!

His hands sweep down my slick, wet body, round to my sex, his fingers exploring, teas-

ing, and his mouth is relentless, leaving me breathless. His other hand is in my wet hair,

holding me in place while I bear the full force of his passion unleashed. His fingers move

inside me.

“Ahh,” I moan into his mouth.

“Yes,” he hisses and lifts me, his hands beneath my backside. “Wrap your legs around

me, baby.” My legs fold around him, and I cling like a limpet to his neck. He braces me

against the wall of the shower and pauses, gazing down at me.

“Eyes open,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”

I blink up at him, my heart hammering, my blood pulsing hot and heavy through my

body, desire, real and rampant surging through me. Then he eases into me oh-so-slowly,

filling me, claiming me, skin against skin. I push down against him and groan loudly. Once

fully inside me, he pauses once more, his face strained, intense.

“You are mine, Anastasia,” he whispers.

“Always.”

He smiles victoriously and shifts, making me gasp.

“And now we can let everyone know, because you said yes.” His voice is reverential,

and he leans down, capturing my mouth with his, and starts to move . . . slow and sweet. I

close my eyes and tilt my head back as my body bows, my will submitting to his, slave to

his intoxicating slow rhythm.

His teeth graze my jaw, my chin, and down my neck as he picks up the pace, pushing

me onward, upward—away from this earthly plane, the teeming shower, the evening’s

chilling fright. It’s just me and my man moving in unison, moving as one—each complete-

ly absorbed in the other—our gasps and grunts mingling. I revel in the exquisite feeling of

his possession as my body blooms and flowers around him.

I could have lost him . . . and I love him . . .I love him so much, and I’m suddenly

overcome by the enormity of my love and the depth of my commitment to him. I will spend

the rest of my life loving this man, and with that awe-inspiring thought, I detonate around

him—a healing, cathartic orgasm, crying out his name as tears flow down my cheeks.

He reaches his climax and pours himself into me. With his face buried in my neck, he

sinks to the floor, holding me tightly, kissing my face, and kissing away my tears as the

warm water spills down around us, washing us clean.

“My fingers are pruny,” I murmur, postcoital and sated as I lean against his chest. He raises

my fingers to his lips and kisses each in turn.

“We should really get out of this shower.”

“I’m comfortable here.” I’m sitting between his legs and he’s holding me close. I don’t

want to move.

Christian murmurs his assent. But suddenly I’m bone tired, world-weary. So much has

happened this last week—enough for a lifetime of drama—and now I’m getting married. A

disbelieving giggle escapes my lips.

“Something amusing you, Miss Steele?” he asks fondly.

“It’s been a busy week.”

He grins. “That it has.”

“I thank God you’re back in one piece, Mr. Grey,” I whisper, sobering at the thought of

what might have been. He tenses and I immediately regret reminding him.

“I was scared,” he confesses much to my surprise.

“Earlier?”

He nods, his expression serious.

Holy shit.“So you made light of it to reassure your family?”

“Yes. I was too low to land well. But somehow I did.”

Crap. My eyes sweep up to his, and he looks grave as the water cascades over us. “How

close a call was it?” He gazes down at me.

“Close,” he pauses. “For a few awful seconds, I thought I’d never see you again.”

I hug him tightly. “I can’t imagine my life without you, Christian. I love you so much

it frightens me.”

“Me, too,” he breathes. “My life would be empty without you. I love you so much.”

His arms tighten around me and he nuzzles my hair. “I won’t ever let you go.”

“I don’t want to go, ever.” I kiss his neck, and he leans down and kisses me gently.

After a moment, he shifts. “Come—let’s get you dry and into bed. I’m exhausted and

you look beat.”

I lean back and arch an eyebrow at his choice of words. He cocks his head to one side

and smirks at me.

“You have something to say, Miss Steele?”

I shake my head and clamber unsteadily to my feet.

I am sitting up in bed. Christian insisted on drying my hair—he’s quite skilled at it. How

that happened is an unpleasant thought, so I dismiss it immediately. It’s after two in the

morning, and I am ready to sleep. Christian gazes down at me and reexamines the keychain

before climbing into bed. He shakes his head, incredulous once more.

“This is so neat. The best birthday present I’ve ever had.” He glances at me, his eyes

soft and warm. “Better than my signed Guiseppe DeNatale poster.”

“I would have told you earlier, but as it was your birthday . . . What do you give the

man who has everything? I thought I’d give you . . . me.”

He puts the keychain down on the bedside table and snuggles in beside me, pulling me

into his arms against his chest so that we’re spooning.

“It’s perfect. Like you.”

I smirk, though he can’t see my expression. “I am far from perfect, Christian.”

“Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”

How does he know? “Maybe.” I giggle. “Can I ask you something?

“Of course,” he nuzzles my neck.

“You didn’t call on your trip back from Portland. Was that really because of José? You

were worried about me being here alone with him?”

Christian says nothing. I turn to face him, and his eyes are wide as I reproach him.

“Do you know how ridiculous that is? How much stress you put your family and me

through? We all love you very much.”

He blinks a couple of times and then gives me his shy smile. “I had no idea you’d all

be so worried.”

I purse my lips. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull that you

are loved?”

“Thick skull?” His eyebrows widen in surprise.

I nod. “Yes. Thick skull.”

“I don’t think the bone density of my head is significantly higher than anywhere else

in my body.”

“I’m serious! Stop trying to make me laugh. I am still a little mad at you, though that’s

partially eclipsed by the fact that you’re home safe and sound when I thought . . .” My

voice fades as I recall those anxious few hours. “Well, you know what I thought.”

His eyes soften and he reaches up to caress my face. “I’m sorry. Okay.”

“Your poor mom, too. It was very moving, seeing you with her,” I whisper.

He smiles shyly. “I’ve never seen her that way.” He blinks at the memory. “Yes, that

was really something. She’s normally so self-possessed. It was quite a shock.”

“See? Everyone loves you.” I smile. “Perhaps now you’ll start believing it.” I lean

down and kiss him gently.

“Happy birthday, Christian. I’m glad you’re here to share your day with me. And you

haven’t seen what I’ve got for you tomorrow um . . . today.” I smirk.

“There’s more?” he says, astounded, and his face erupts into a breathtaking grin.

“Oh yes, Mr. Grey, but you’ll have to wait until then.”

I wake suddenly from a dream or nightmare, and my pulse is thumping. I turn, panicked,

and to my relief, Christian is fast asleep beside me. Because I’ve shifted, he stirs and

reaches out in his sleep, draping his arm over me, and rests his head on my shoulder, sigh-

ing softly.

The room is flooded with light. It’s eight o’clock. Christian never sleeps this late. I lie

back and let my racing heart calm. Why the anxiety? Is it the aftermath of last night?

I turn and stare at him. He’s here. He’s safe. I take a deep steadying breath and gaze at

his lovely face. A face that is now so familiar, all its dips and shadows eternally etched on

my mind.

He looks much younger when he’s asleep, and I grin because today he’s a whole year

older. I hug myself, thinking about my present. Oooh . . . what will he do? Perhaps I should

start by bringing him breakfast in bed. Besides, José may still be here.

I find José at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. I can’t help but flush when I see him.

He knows I’ve spent the night with Christian. Why do I suddenly feel so shy? It’s not as if

I’m naked or anything. I’m wearing my silk floor-length wrap.

“Morning, José,” I smile, brazening it out.

“Hey, Ana!” His face lights up, genuinely pleased to see me. There’s no hint of teasing

or salacious contempt in his expression.

“Sleep well?” I ask.

“Sure. Some view from up here.”

“Yeah. It’s pretty special.” Like the owner of this apartment. “Want a real man’s break-

fast?” I tease.

“Love some.”

“It’s Christian’s birthday today—I’m making him breakfast in bed.”

“He awake?”

“No, I think he’s fried from yesterday.” I quickly glance away from him and head to the

fridge so he can’t see my blush. Jeez, it’s only José.When I take the eggs and bacon out of

the fridge, José is grinning at me.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

I purse my lips. “I love him, José.”

His eyes widen momentarily then he grins. “What’s not to love?” he asks gesturing

round the great room.

I scowl at him. “Gee, thanks!”

“Hey, Ana, just kidding.”

Hmm . . . will I always have this leveled at me? That I’m marrying Christian for his

money?

“Seriously, I’m kidding. You’ve never been that kind of girl.”

“Omelet good for you?” I ask, changing the subject. I don’t want to argue.

“Sure.”

“And me,” Christian says as he saunters into the great room. Holy fuck, he’s wearing

only pajama bottoms that hang in that totally hot way off his hips– Jeez!

“José.” He nods.

“Christian.” José returns his nod solemnly.

Christian turns to me and smirks as I stare. He’s done this on purpose. I narrow my

eyes at him, desperately trying to recover my equilibrium, and Christian’s expression alters

subtly. He knows that I know what he’s up to, and he doesn’t care.

“I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

Swaggering over, he wraps his arm around me, tilts my chin up, and plants a loud wet

kiss on my lips. Very unFifty!

“Good morning, Anastasia,” he says. I want to scowl at him and tell him to behave—

but it’s his birthday. I flush. Why is he so territorial?

“Good morning, Christian. Happy birthday.” I give him a smile, and he smirks at me.

“I’m looking forward to my other present,” he says and that’s it. I flush the color of the

Red Room of Pain and glance nervously at José, who looks like he’s swallowed something

unpleasant. I turn away and start preparing the food.

“So what are your plans today, José?” Christian asks, seemingly casual as he sits down

on a barstool.

“I’m heading up to see my dad and Ray, Ana’s dad.”

Christian frowns.

“They know each other?”

“Yeah, they were in the army together. They lost contact until Ana and I were in college

together. It’s kinda cute. They’re best buds now. We’re going on a fishing trip.”

“Fishing?” Christian is genuinely interested.

“Yeah—some great catches in these coastal waters. The steelheads can grow way big.”

“True. My brother Elliot and I landed a thirty-four pound steelhead once.”

They’re talking fishing? What is it about fishing? I have never understood it.

“Thirty-four pounds? Not bad. Ana’s father though, he holds the record. A forty-three

pounder.”

“You’re kidding! He never said.”

“Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Thanks. So, where do you like to fish?”

I zone out. This I do not need to know. But at the same time I’m relieved. See, Chris-

tian? José’s not so bad.

By the time José makes to leave, both of them are much more relaxed with each other.

Christian quickly changes into T-shirt and jeans and barefoot he accompanies José and me

to the foyer.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” José says to Christian as they shake hands.

“Anytime,” Christian smiles.

José hugs me quickly. “Stay safe, Ana.”

“Sure. Great to see you. Next time we’ll have a proper evening out.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He waves at us from inside the elevator, and then he’s gone.

“See, he’s not so bad.”

“He still wants into your panties, Ana. But can’t say I blame him.”

“Christian, that’s not true!”

“You have no idea, do you?” He smirks down at me. “He wants you. Big time. ”

I frown. “Christian, he’s just a friend, a good friend.” And I’m suddenly aware that I

sound like Christian when he’s talking about Mrs. Robinson. The thought is unsettling.

Christian holds up his hands in a placating gesture.

“I don’t want to fight,” he says softly.

Oh! We’re not fighting . . . are we?“Me neither.”

“You didn’t tell him we were getting married.”

“No. I figured I ought to tell Mom and Ray first.” Shit.It’s the first time I’ve thought

about this since I said yes. Jeez—what are my parents going to say?

Christian nods. “Yes, you’re right. And I . . . um, I should ask your father.”

I laugh. “Oh, Christian—this isn’t the eighteenth century.”

Holy shit. What will Ray say?The thought of that conversation fills me with horror.

“It’s traditional.” Christian shrugs.

“Let’s talk about that later. I want to give you your other present.” My aim is to distract

him. The thought of my present is burning a hole in my consciousness. I need to give it to

him and see how he reacts.

He gives me his shy smile, and my heart skips a beat. For as long as I live, I’ll never

tire of looking at that smile.

“You’re biting your lip,” he says and pulls on my chin.

A thrill runs through my body as his fingers touch me. Without a word, and while I still

have a modicum of courage, I take his hand and lead him back to the bedroom. I drop his

hand, leaving him standing by the bed, and from under my side of the bed, I take out the

two remaining gift boxes.

“Two?” he says, surprised.

I take a deep breath. “I bought this before the, um . . . incident yesterday. I’m not sure

about it now.” I quickly hand him one of the parcels before I can change my mind. He gazes

at me, puzzled, sensing my uncertainty.

“Sure you want me to open it?”

I nod, anxious.

Christian tears off the packaging and gazes in surprise at the box.

“Charlie Tango,” I whisper.

He grins. The box contains a small wooden helicopter with a large, solar-powered rotor

blade. He opens it up.

“Solar powered,” he murmurs. “Wow.” And before I know it he’s sitting on the bed

assembling it. It snaps together quickly, and Christian holds it up in the palm of his hand.

A blue wooden helicopter. He looks up at me and gives me his glorious, all-American-boy

smile, then heads to the window so that the little helicopter is bathed in sunlight and the

rotor starts to spin.

“Look at that,” he breathes, examining it closely. “What we can already do with this

technology.” He holds it at eye level, watching the blades spin. He’s fascinated and fasci-

nating to watch as he loses himself in thought, staring at the little helicopter. What is he

thinking?

“You like it?”

“Ana, I love it. Thank you.” He grabs me and kisses me swiftly, then turns back to

watch the rotor spin. “I’ll add it to the glider in my office,” he says distractedly, watching

the blade spin. He moves his hand out of the sunlight, and the blade slows down and comes

to a stop.

I can’t help my face-splitting grin, and I want to hug myself. He loves it. Of course,

he’s all about alternative technologies. I’d forgotten that in my haste to buy it. Placing it on

the chest of drawers, he turns to face me.

“It’ll keep me company while we salvage Charlie Tango.”

“Is it salvageable?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. I’ll miss her, otherwise.”

Her?I am shocked at myself for the small pang of jealousy I feel for an inanimate

object. My subconscious snorts with derisory laughter. I ignore her.

“What’s in the other box?” he asks, his eyes wide with almost childish excitement.

Holy fuck.“I’m not sure if this present is for you or me.”

“Really?” he asks, and I know I have piqued his interest. Nervously I hand him the

second box. He shakes it gently and we both hear a heavy rattle. He glances up at me.

“Why are you so nervous?” he asks, bemused. I shrug, embarrassed and excited as I

flush. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“You have me intrigued, Miss Steele,” he whispers, and his voice runs right through

me, desire and anticipation spawning in my belly. “I have to say I’m enjoying your reac-

tion. What have you been up to?” He narrows his eyes speculatively.

I remain tight-lipped as I hold my breath.

He removes the lid of the box and takes out a small card. The rest of the contents are

wrapped in tissue. He opens the card, and his eyes dart quickly to mine—widening with

shock or surprise. I just don’t know.

“Do rude things to you?” he murmurs. I nod and swallow. He cocks his head to one

side warily, assessing my reaction, and frowns. Then turns his attention back to the box. He

tears through the pale-blue tissue paper and fishes out an eye mask, some nipple clamps,

a butt plug, his iPod, his silver-gray tie—and last but by no means least—the key to his

playroom.

He gazes at me, his expression dark, unreadable. Oh shit. Is this a bad move?

“You want to play?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“For my birthday?”

“Yes.” Could my voice sound any smaller?

A myriad of emotions cross his face, none of which I can place, but he settles for anx-

ious. Hmm . . .Not quite the reaction I was expecting.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Not the whips and stuff.”

“I understand that.”

“Yes, then. I’m sure.”

He shakes his head and gazes down at the contents of the box. “Sex mad and insatiable.

Well, I think we can do something with this lot,” he murmurs almost to himself, then puts

the contents back in the box. When he glances at me again, his expression has completely

changed. Holy cow, his gray eyes burn, and his mouth lifts in a slow erotic smile. He holds

out his hand.

“Now,” he says, and it’s not a request. My belly clenches, tight and hard, deep, deep

down.

I put my hand in his.

“Come,” he orders, and I follow him out of the bedroom, my heart in my mouth. Desire

races slick and hot through my blood as my insides tighten with hungry anticipation. My

inner goddess somersaults round her chaise longue. Finally!

Christian pauses outside the playroom.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks, his gaze heated yet anxious.

“Yes,” I murmur, smiling shyly at him.

His eyes soften. “Anything you don’t want to do?”

I’m derailed by his unexpected question, and my mind goes into overdrive. One thought

occurs. “I don’t want you to take photos of me.”

He stills, and his expression hardens as he cocks his head to one side and eyes me

speculatively.

Oh shit.I think he’s going to ask me why, but fortunately he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he murmurs. His brow furrows as he unlocks the door, then stands aside to

usher me into the room. I feel his eyes on me as he follows me inside and closes the door.

Placing the gift box on the chest of drawers, he takes out the iPod, switches it on, then

waves at the music center on the wall so that the smoked glass doors glide silently open.

He presses some buttons, and after a moment, the sound of a subway train echoes round

the room. He turns it down so that the slow, hypnotic electronic beat that follows becomes

ambient. A woman starts to sing, I don’t know who she is but her voice is soft yet rasping

and the beat is measured, deliberate . . . erotic. Oh my. It’s music to make love to.

Christian turns to face me as I stand in the middle of the room, my heart pounding, my

blood singing in my veins, pulsing—or so it feels—in time to the music’s seductive beat.

He saunters casually over to me and tugs on my chin so I’m no longer biting my lip.

“What do you want to do, Anastasia?” he murmurs, planting a soft chaste kiss at the

corner of my mouth, his fingers still grasping my chin.

“It’s your birthday. Whatever you want,” I whisper. He traces his thumb along my

lower lip, his brow creased once more.

“Are we in here because you think I want to be in here?” His words are softly spoken,

but he regards me intently.

“No,” I whisper. “I want to be in here, too.”

His gaze darkens, growing bolder as he assesses my response. After what seems an

eternity, he speaks.

“Oh, there are so many possibilities, Miss Steele.” His voice is low, excited. “But let’s

start with getting you naked.” He pulls the sash of my robe so that it falls open, revealing

my silk nightdress, then steps back and sits nonchalantly down on the arm of the chester-

field couch.

“Take your clothes off. Slowly.” He gives me a sensual, challenging look.

I swallow compulsively, pressing my thighs together. I’m already damp between my