Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

leans down and runs his nose against mine, so it’s the only contact between us. I am so hot in the confines of this elevator with him. I want him—now.
    “I think you do, Miss Steele. I think you like to drive me wild.”
    “Do I drive you wild?” I whisper.
    “In all things, Anastasia. You are a siren, a goddess.” And he reaches for me, grasping my leg above my knee and hitching it around his waist, so that I am standing on one leg, leaning into him. I feel him against me, feel him hard and wanting above the apex of my thighs as he runs his lips down my throat. I moan and wrap my arms around his neck.
    “I’m going to take you now, Anastasia,” he breathes and I arch my back in response, pressing myself against him, eager for the friction. He groans deep and low in the back of his throat and boosts me higher as he undoes his fly.
    “Hold tight, baby,” he murmurs, and magically produces a foil packet that he holds in front of my mouth. I take it between my teeth, and he tugs, so that between us, we rip it open.
    “Good girl.” He steps back a fraction as he slides on the condom. “God, I can’t wait for the next six days,” he growls and gazes down at me through hooded eyes. “I do hope you’re not overly fond of these panties.” He tears through them with his adept fingers, and they disintegrate in his hands. My blood is pounding through my veins. I am panting with need.  
    His words are intoxicating, all my angst from the day forgotten. It’s just him and me, doing what we do best. Without taking his eyes off mine, he sinks slowly into me. My body bows and I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, relishing the feel of him inside me. He pulls back and then moves into me again, so slow, so sweet. I groan.
    “You’re mine, Anastasia,” he murmurs against my throat.
    “Yes. Yours. When will you accept that?” I pant. He groans and starts to move, really move. And I surrender myself to his relentless rhythm, savoring each push and pull, his ragged breathing, his need for me, reflecting mine.  
    It makes me feel powerful, strong, desired and loved—loved by this captivating, complicated man, whom I love in return with all my heart. He pushes harder and harder, his breathing ragged, losing himself in me as I lose myself in him.
    “Oh, baby,” Christian moans, his teeth grazing my jaw, and I come hard around him. He stills, clutches me, and follows suit, whispering my name.

    Now that Christian is spent, calm and kissing me gently, his breathing eases. He holds me upright against the elevator wall, our foreheads pressed together, and my body is like jelly, weak but gratifyingly sated from my climax.
    “Oh, Ana,” he murmurs. “I need you so much.” He kisses my forehead.
    “And I you, Christian.”
    Releasing me, he straightens my skirt and does up the two buttons on my shirt, then punches the combination into the keypad that starts the elevator again. It rises with a jolt so that I reach out and clasp his arms.
    “Taylor will be wondering where we are,” he grins lasciviously at me.  
    Oh crap. I drag my fingers through my hair in a vain attempt to combat the just-fucked look, then give up and tie it in a ponytail.  
    “You’ll do.” Christian smirks as he does up his fly and puts the condom in his pants pocket.  
    Once more he looks the embodiment of an American entrepreneur, and since his hair looks just fucked most of the time, there’s very little difference. Except now he’s smiling, relaxed, his eyes crinkling with boyish charm. Are all men this easily placated?
    Taylor is waiting when the doors open.
    “Problem with the elevator,” Christian murmurs as we both step out, and I cannot look either of them in the face. I scurry through the double doors to Christian’s bedroom in search of some fresh underwear.

    When I return, Christian has removed his jacket and is sitting at the breakfast bar chatting with Mrs. Jones. She smiles kindly at me as she puts out two plates of hot food for us. Mmm, it smells delicious— coq au vin , if I am not mistaken. I am famished.
    “Enjoy, Mr. Grey, Ana,” she says and leaves us to it.
    Christian fetches a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and as we sit and eat, he tells me about how much nearer he’s getting to perfecting a solar-powered mobile phone. He’s animated and excited about the whole project, and I know then that he hasn’t had an entirely shitty day.  
    I ask him about his properties. He smirks, and it turns out