Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

arms, on his lap.
    “I could watch you sleep forever, Ana.”
    “Did I say anything?”
    “No. We’re nearly at your place.”
    Oh? “We’re not going to yours?”
    “No.”
    I sit up and gaze at him. “Why not?”
    “Because you have work tomorrow.”
    “Oh.” I pout.
    He smirks at me. “Why, did you have something in mind?”
    I flush. “Well, maybe.”
    He chuckles. “Anastasia, I am not going to touch you again, not until you beg me to.”
    “What!”
    “So that you’ll start communicating with me. Next time we make love, you’re going to have to tell me exactly what you want in fine detail.”
    “Oh.” He shifts me off his lap as Taylor pulls up outside my apartment. Christian climbs out and holds the car door open for me.
    “I have something for you.” He moves to the back of the car, opens the trunk, and pulls out a large gift-wrapped box. What the hell is this?
    “Open it when you get inside.”
    “You’re not coming in?”
    “No, Anastasia.”
    “So when will I see you?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    “My boss wants me to go for a drink with him tomorrow.”
    Christian’s face hardens. “Does he, now?” His voice is laced with latent menace.
    “To celebrate my first week,” I add quickly.
    “Where?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I could pick you up from there.”
    “Okay . . . I’ll e-mail or text you.”
    “Good.”
    He walks me to the lobby door and waits while I dig my keys out of my purse. As I unlock the door, he leans forward and cups my chin, tilting my head back. His mouth hovers over mine, and closing his eyes, he runs a trail of kisses from the corner of my eye to the corner of my mouth.
    A small moan escapes my mouth as my insides melt and unfurl.
    “Until tomorrow,” he breathes.
    “Goodnight, Christian,” I whisper, and I hear the need in my voice.
    He smiles.
    “In you go,” he orders, and I walk through the lobby carrying my mysterious parcel.
    “Laters, baby,” he calls, then turns and with his easy grace, heads back to the car.
    Once in the apartment, I open the gift box and find my MacBook Pro laptop, the Blackberry, and another rectangular box. What is this? I unwrap the silver paper. Inside is a black, slim, leather case.  
    Opening the case, I find an iPad. Holy shit . . . an iPad. A white card is resting on the screen with a message written in Christian’s handwriting:

     
    Holy cow. I have a Christian Grey mix-tape in the guise of a high-end iPad. I shake my head in disapproval because of the expense, but deep down I love it. Jack at the office has one, so I know how they work.  
    I switch it on and gasp as the wallpaper image appears: a small model glider. Oh my. It’s the Blanik L23 I gave him, mounted on a glass stand and sitting on what I think is Christian’s desk at his office. I gape at it.
    He built it ! He really did build it. I remember now he mentioned it in the note with the flowers. I’m reeling, and I know in that instant that he’s put a great deal of thought into this gift.  
    I slide the arrow at the bottom of the screen to unlock it and gasp again. The background photograph is of Christian and me at my graduation in the marquee. It’s the one that appeared in the Seattle Times . Christian looks so handsome and I can’t help my face-splitting grin, as my inner goddess curls up hugging herself on her chaise longue— Yes, and he’s mine !
    With a swipe of my finger, the icons shift, and several new ones appear on the next screen. A Kindle app, iBooks, Words—whatever that is.  
    Holy shit! The British Library ? I touch the icon and a menu appears: H ISTORICAL C OLLECTION . Scrolling down, I select N OVELS OF THE 18 TH AND 19 TH C ENTURY . Another menu. I tap on a title: T HE A MERICAN BY H ENRY J AMES . A new window opens, offering me a scanned copy of the book to read. Holy crap—it’s an early edition, published in 1879, and it’s on my iPad! He’s bought me the British Library at a touch of a button.
    I exit quickly, knowing that I could be lost in this app for an eternity. I notice a “good food” app that makes me roll my eyes and smile at the same time, a news app, a weather app, but his note mentioned music. I go back to the main screen, hit the iPod icon and a playlist appears. I scroll through the songs, and the list makes me smile. Thomas Tallis—I’m not going to forget that in a hurry. I heard it twice, after all, while he flogged and fucked me.
    “Witchcraft.” My grin gets wider—dancing