50 Shades Darker (#3) by E.L. Woods

“Are you 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 silently open. He presses some buttons, and the sound of a subway train echoes around 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.

Christina 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 brown creased once more.

“Are we in here because you think I want to be in here?” His words are softly spoke, 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 down nonchalantly on the arm of the chesterfield 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 legs. My inner goddess is stripped naked and standing in line, ready and waiting and begging me to play catch-up. I pull the robe away from my shoulders, my eyes never leaving his, and shrug, letting it fall billowing to the floor. His mesmerizing gray eyes heat, and he runs his index finger over his lips as he gazes at me.

Slipping the spaghetti straps of my gown off my shoulders, I gaze at him for a beat, then release them. My nightdress skims and ripples softly down my body, pooling at my feet. I am naked and practically panting and oh-so-ready.

Christian pauses for a moment, and I marvel at the frankly carnal appreciation in his expression. Standing up, he makes his way over to the chest and picks up his silver gray tie – my favorite tie. He pulls it through his fingers as he turns and strolls casually toward me, a smile playing on his lips. When he stands in front of me, I expect him to ask for my hands, but he doesn’t.

“I think you’re underdressed, Miss Steele,” he murmurs. He places the tie around my neck, slowly but dexterously ties it in what I assume is a fine Windsor knot. As he tightens the knot, his fingers brush the base of my throat and electricity shoots through me, making me gasp. He leaves the wide end of the tie long, long enough so the tip skims my pubic hair.

“You look mighty fine now, Miss Steel,” he says and bends to kiss me gently on my lips. It’s a swift kiss, and I want more, desire spiraling wantonly through my body.

“What shall we do with you now? He says, and then picking up the tie, he yanks sharply so that I’m forced forward into his arms. His hands dive into my hair and pull my head back, and he really kisses me, hard, his tongue unforgiving and merciless. One of his hands roams freely down my back to cup my behind. When he pulls away, he’s panting too and gazing down at me, his eyes molten gray; I’m left wanting, gasping for breath, my wits thoroughly scattered. I’m sure my lips will be swollen after his sensual assault.

“Turn around,” he orders gently and I obey. Pulling my hair free of the tie, he quickly braids and secures it. He tugs the braid so my head tilts up.

“You have beautiful hair, Anastasia,” he murmurs and kisses my throat, sending shivers running up and down my spine. “You just have to say stop. You know that, don’t you?” he whispers against my throat.

I nod, my eyes closed, and relish his lips on me. He turns me around once more and picks up the end of the tie.

“Come,” he says, tugging gently, leading me over to the chest where the rest of the box’s contents are on display.

“Anastasia, these objects.” He holds up the butt plug, “This is a size too big. As an anal virgin, you don’t want to start with this. We want to start with this.” He holds up his pinkie finger and I gasp, shocked. Fingers…there?  He smirks at me, and the unpleasant thought of the anal fisting mentioned in the contract comes to mind.

“Just finger – singular,” he says softly with that uncanny ability he has to read my mind. My eyes dart to his. How does he do that?

“These clamps are vicious.” He prods the nipple clamps. “We’ll use these.” He places a different pair of clamps on the chest. They look like giant black hairpins but with little jet jewels hanging down. “They’re adjustable,” Christian murmurs, his voice laced with gentle concern.

I blink up at him, wide-eyed. Christian, my sexual mentor. He knows so much more about all of this than I do.  I’ll never catch up. I frown. He knows more than me about most things… except cooking.

“Clear?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper, my mouth dry. “Are you going to tell me what you intend to do?”

“No. I’m making this up as I go along. This isn’t a scene, Ana.”

“How should I behave?”

His brow creases. “However you want to.”

Oh!

“Were you expecting my alter ego, Anastasia?” He asks, his tone vaguely mocking and bemused at once. I blink at him.

“Well, yes. I like him,” I murmur. He smiles his private smile and reaches up to run his thumb down my cheek.

“Do you now,” he breathes and runs his thumb across my lower lip. “I’m your lover, Anastasia, not your Dom. I love to hear your laugh and your girlish giggle. I like you relaxed and happy, like you are in Jose’s photos.  That’s the girl that fell into my office. That’s the girl I fell in love with.”

My mouth drops open, and a welcome warmth blooms in my heart. It’s joy – pure joy.

“But having said all that, I also like to do rude things to you, Miss Steele, and my alter ego knows a trick or two. So, do as you’re told and turn around.” His eyes glint wickedly, and the joy moves shaprly south, seizing me tightly and gripping every sinew below my waist. I do as I’m told. Behind me, he opens one of the drawers and a moment later he’s in front of me again.

“Come,” he orders and tugs on the tie, leading me to the table. As we walk past the couch, I notice for the first time that all the canes have vanished. It distracts me. Were they there yesterday when I came in? I don’t remember. Did Christian move them? Mrs. Jones? Christian interrupts my train of thought.

“I want you to  kneel up on this,” he says when we’re at the table.

Oh, okay. What does he have in mind? My inner goddess can’t wait to find out – she’s already scissor-kicked onto the table and is watching him with adoration.

He gently lifts me onto the table, and I fold my legs beneath me and kneel in front of him, surprised by my own grace. Now we are eye to eye. He runs his hands down my thighs, grasps my knees, and pulls my legs apart and stands directly in front of me. He looks very serious, his eyes darker, hooded…lustful.

“Arms behind my back. I’m going to cuff you.”

He produces some leather cuffs from his back pocket and reaches around me. That is it. Where’s he going to take me this time?

His proximity is intoxicating. This man is going to be my husband. Can one lust after one’s husband like this? I don’t remember reading about that anywhere. I can’t resist him, and I run my parted lips along his jaw, feeling the stubble, a heady combination of prickly and soft, under my tongue. He stills and closes his eyes. His breathing falters and he pulls back.

“Stop. Or this will be over far quicker than either of us wants,” he warns. For a moment, I think he might be angry but then he smiles, and his heated eyes are alight with amusement.

“You’re irresistible.” I pout.

“Am I now?” he says dryly.

I nod.

“Well – don’t distract me, or I’ll gag you.”

I like distracting you,” I whisper, looking mulishly at him and he cocks his eyebrow at me.

“Or spank you.”

Oh! I try to hide my smile. There was a time, not very long ago, when I would have been subdued by this threat. I would never have had the nerve to kiss him, unbidden, while he was in this room. I realise now, I’m no longer intimidated by him. It’s a revelation. I grin mischievously, and he smirks at me.