Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades #2)(18)
Author: E.L. James

"Well, Anastasia, my new motto is if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em."

I gape at him –  I can’t believe he’s just said that – and he looks sickeningly pleased with himself as he grins at me. Turning, he opens the freezer and takes out the carton of Ben & Jerry’s finest vanilla.

"This will do just fine." He looks up at me, eyes dark. "Ben & Jerry’s & Ana." He says each word slowly, enunciating every syllable clearly.

Oh f**king my. I think my lower jaw is on the floor. He opens the cutlery drawer and grabs a spoon. When he looks up, his are eyes hooded, and his tongue skims his top teeth.

Oh, that tongue.

I feel winded. Desire, dark, sleek, and wanton runs hot through my veins. We’re going to have fun, with food.

"I hope you’re warm," he whispers. "I’m going to cool you down with this. Come." He holds out his hand, and I place mine in his.

In my bedroom he places the ice cream on my bedside table, pulls the duvet off the bed, and removes both the pillows, placing them all in a pile on the floor.

"You have a change of sheets, don’t you?"

I nod, watching him, fascinated. He holds up Charlie Tango.

"Don’t mess with my balloon," I warn.

His lips quirk upward in half a smile. "Wouldn’t dream of it, baby, but I do want to mess with you and these sheets."

My body practically convulses.

"I want to tie you up."

Oh. "Okay," I whisper.

"Just your hands. To the bed. I need you still."

"Okay," I whisper again, incapable of anything more.

He strolls over to me, not taking his eyes off mine.

"We’ll use this." He takes hold of my robe sash and with delicious, teasing slowness, releases the bow, and gently pulls it free of the garment.

My robe falls open while I stand paralyzed under his heated gaze. After a moment, he pushes the robe off my shoulders. It falls and pools at my feet so that I’m standing naked before him. He strokes my face with the backs of his knuckles, and his touch resonates in the depths of my groin. Bending, he kisses my lips briefly.

"Lie on the bed, face up," he murmurs, his eyes darkening, burning into mine.

I do as I’m told. My room is shrouded in darkness except for the soft, insipid light from my lamp.

Normally, I hate energy-saving bulbs – they are so dim – but being naked here, with Christian, I’m grateful for the muted light. He stands by the bed gazing down at me.

"I could look at you all day, Anastasia," he says, and with that crawls on to the bed, up my body, and straddles me.

"Arms above your head," he commands.

I comply and he fastens the end of my robe sash round my left wrist and threads the end through the metal bars at the head of my bed. He pulls it tight so my left arm is flexed above me. He then secures my right hand, tying the sash tightly.

When I’m tied-up, staring at him, he visibly relaxes. He likes me tethered. I can’t touch him this way. It occurs to me that none of his subs would have touched him either – and what’s more, they would never have the opportunity to. He would have always been in control and at a distance. That’s why he likes his rules.

He climbs off me and bends to give me a quick peck on the lips. Then he stands and lifts his shirt over his head. He undoes his jeans and drops them to the floor.

He is gloriously naked. My inner goddess is doing a triple axel dismount off the un-even bars, and abruptly my mouth is dry. He really is beyond beautiful. He has a physique drawn on classical lines: broad muscular shoulders, narrow hips, the inverted triangle. He obviously works out. I could look at him all day. He moves to the end of the bed and grasps my ankles, pulling me swiftly and sharply downward so that my arms are stretched out and unable to move.

"That’s better," he mutters.

Picking up the tub of ice cream, he climbs smoothly back onto the bed to straddle me once more. Very slowly, he peels off the lid of the tub and dips the spoon in.

"Hmm… it’s still quite hard," he says with a raised brow. Scooping out a spoonful of the vanilla, he pops it into his mouth. "Delicious," he murmurs, licking his lips. "Amazing how good plain old vanilla can taste." He gazes down at me and smirks. "Want some?" he teases.

He looks so freaking hot, young and carefree – sitting on me and eating from a tub of ice cream – eyes bright, face luminous. Oh what the hell is he going to do to me? As if I can’t tell. I nod, shyly.

He scoops out another spoonful and offers me the spoon, so I open my mouth, then he quickly pops it in his mouth again.

"This is too good to share," he says, smiling wickedly.

"Hey," I start in protest.

"Why, Miss Steele, do you like your vanilla?"

"Yes," I say more forcefully than I mean and try in vain to buck him off.

He laughs. "Getting feisty, are we? I wouldn’t do that if I were you."

"Ice cream," I plead.

"Well, as you’ve pleased me so much today, Miss Steele." He relents and offers me another spoonful. This time he lets me eat it.

I want to giggle. He’s really enjoying himself, and his good humor is infectious. He scoops another spoonful and feeds me some more, then he does it again. Okay, enough.

"Hmm, well, this is one way to ensure you eat – force-feed you. I could get used to this."Taking another spoonful, he offers me more. This time I keep my mouth shut and shake my head, and he lets it slowly melt on the spoon so that the melted ice cream drips, onto my throat, onto my chest. He dips down and very slowly licks it off. My body lights up with longing.

"Mmm. Tastes even better off you, Miss Steele."

I pull against my restraints and the bed creaks ominously, but I don’t care – I’m burning with desire, it’s consuming me. He takes another spoonful and lets the ice cream dribble onto my br**sts. Then with the back of the spoon, he spreads it over each breast and nipple.

Oh… it’s cold. Each nipple peaks and hardens beneath the cool of the vanilla.

"Cold?" Christian asks softly and bends to lick and suckle all the ice cream off me once more, his mouth hot compared to the cool of the ice.

Oh my. It’s torture. As it starts to melt, the ice cream runs off me in rivulets on to the bed. His lips continue their slow torture, sucking hard, nuzzling, softly –  Oh please!  – I’m panting.

"Want some?" And before I can confirm or deny his offer, his tongue is in my mouth, and it’s cold and skilled and tastes of Christian and vanilla. Delicious.

And just as I am getting used to the sensation, he sits up again and trails a spoonful of ice cream down the center of my body, across my stomach, and into my navel where he deposits a large dollop of ice cream. Oh, this is chillier than before, but weirdly it burns.