Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades #2)(112)
Author: E.L. James

What! "You mean there was a possibility?"

"Oh yes."

"Let’s go back."

He turns to gaze at me and laughs. His laughter is infectious; soon we’re both laughing – wonderful, cathartic, head-held-back laughter. Reaching over, he places his hand on my knee, caressing it gently with long skilled fingers. I stop laughing.

"Patience, Anastasia," he murmurs and pulls into the Seattle traffic.

He parks the Saab in the Escala garage and turns off the engine. Suddenly, in the confines of the car, the atmosphere between us changes. With wanton anticipation, I glance at him, trying to contain my palpitating heart. He’s turned toward me, leaning against the door, his elbow propped on the steering wheel.

He pulls his lower lip with his thumb and index finger. His mouth is so distracting.

I want it on me. He’s watching me intently, his eyes dark gray. My mouth goes dry. He smiles a slow sexy smile.

"We will f**k in the car at a time and place of my choosing. Right now, I want to take you on every available surface of my apartment."

It’s like he’s addressing me below the waist… my inner goddess performs four arabesques and a pas de Basque.

"Yes." Jeez, I sound so breathy, desperate.

He leans forward a fraction. I close my eyes, waiting for his kiss, thinking – finally. But nothing happens. After a moment, I open my eyes to find him gazing at me. I can’t figure out what he’s thinking, but before I can say anything, he distracts me once more.

"If I kiss you now we won’t make it into the apartment. Come."

Gah! Could this man be any more frustrating? He climbs out of the car.

Once again, we wait for the elevator, my body thrumming with anticipation. Christian holds my hand, running his thumb rhythmically across my knuckles, each stroke echoing through me. Oh, I want his hands on all of me. He’s tortured me long enough.

"So, what happened to instant gratification?" I murmur while we wait.

Christian smirks down at me.

"It’s not appropriate in every situation, Anastasia."

"Since when?"

"Since this evening."

"Why are you torturing me so?"

"Tit for tat, Miss Steele."

"How am I torturing you?"

"I think you know."

I gaze up at him and his expression is difficult to read. He wants my answer… that’s it.

"I’m into delayed gratification, too," I whisper, smiling shyly.

He tugs my hand unexpectedly, and suddenly I am in his arms. He grabs the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling gently so my head tips back.

"What can I do to make you say yes?" he asks fervently, throwing me off balance once more. I blink at him – at his lovely, serious, desperate expression.

"Give me some time? Please," I murmur. He groans and finally he kisses me, long and hard. Then we’re in the elevator, and we’re all hands and mouths and tongues and lips and fingers and hair. Desire, thick and strong, lances through my blood, clouding all my reason.

He pushes me against the wall, pinning me with his hips, one hand in my hair, the other at my chin, holding me in place.

"You own me," he whispers. "My fate is in your hands, Ana."

His words are intoxicating, and in my overheated state, I want to rip off his clothes.

I push off his jacket, and as the elevator arrives at the apartment, we tumble out into the foyer.

Christian pins me to the wall by the elevator, his jacket falling to the floor, and his hand travels up my leg, his lips never leaving mine. He hoists up my dress.

"First surface here," he breathes and abruptly he lifts me. "Wrap your legs around me."

I do as I’m told, and he turns and lays me down on the foyer table, so he’s standing between my legs. I’m aware that the usual vase of flowers is missing. Huh? Reaching into his jeans pocket, he fishes out a foil packet and hands it to me, undoing his fly.

"Do you know how much you turn me on?"

"What?" I pant. "No… I…"

"Well, you do," he mutters, "all the time." He grabs the foil packet from my hands. Oh, this is so quick, but after all his tantalizing teasing, I want him badly – right now. He gazes down at me as he rolls on the condom, then puts his hands under my thighs, spreading my legs wider.

Positioning himself, he pauses. "Keep your eyes open. I want to see you," he whispers and clasping both my hands with his, he sinks slowly into me.

I try, I really do, but the feeling is so exquisite. What I’ve been waiting for after all his teasing. Oh, the fullness, this feeling… I groan and arch my back off the table.

"Open!" he growls, tightening his hands on mine and thrusting sharply into me so that I cry out.

I blink my eyes open, and he stares down at me wide-eyed. Slowly he withdraws then sinks into me once more, his mouth slackening and then forming an Ah… , but he says nothing. Seeing his arousal, his reaction to me – I light up inside, my blood scorching through my veins. His gray eyes burn into mine. He picks up the rhythm, and I revel in it, glory in it, watching him, watching me – his passion, his love – as we come apart, together.

I call out as I explode around him, and Christian follows.

"Yes, Ana!" he cries. He collapses on me, releasing my hands and resting his head on my chest. My legs are still wrapped around him, and under the patient, maternal eyes of the Madonna paintings, I cradle his head against me and struggle to catch my breath.

He raises his head to look at me. "I’m not finished with you yet," he murmurs and leaning up, he kisses me.

I lie naked in Christian’s bed, sprawled over his chest, panting. Holy cow – does his energy ever wane? Christian trails his fingers up and down my back.

"Satisfied, Miss Steele?"

I murmur my assent. I have no energy left for talking. Raising my head, I turn unfo-cused eyes to him and bask in his warm, fond gaze. Very deliberately, I angle my head down so he knows I am going to kiss his chest.

He tenses momentarily, and I plant a soft kiss in his chest hair, breathing in his unique Christian smell, mixed with sweat and sex. It’s heady. He rolls onto his side so I’m lying beside him and gazes down at me.

"Is sex like this for everyone? I’m surprised anyone ever goes out," I murmur, feeling suddenly shy.

He grins. "I can’t speak for everyone, but it’s pretty damned special with you, Anastasia." He bends and kisses me.

"That’s because you’re pretty damned special, Mr. Grey," I agree, smiling up at him and caressing his face. He blinks down at me at a loss.

"It’s late. Go to sleep," he says. He kisses me, then lies down and pulls me to him so we’re spooning in bed.