Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

shocked. “I want to see him. I’ve been a poor friend to him.” My subconscious is alarmed. Are you stamping your little foot ? Steady now !
    Gray eyes blaze at me. “Is that what you think?” he breathes.
    “Think about what?”
    “Elena. You’d rather I didn’t see her?”
    Holy cow. “Exactly. I’d rather you didn’t see her.”
    “Why didn’t you say?”
    “Because it’s not my place to say. You think she’s your only friend.” I shrug in exasperation. He really doesn’t get it. How did this turn into a conversation about her? I don’t even want to think about her. I try to steer us back to José. “Just as it’s not your place to say if I can or can’t see José. Don’t you see that?”
    Christian gazes at me, perplexed, I think. Oh, what is he thinking?
    “He can stay here, I suppose,” he mutters. “I can keep an eye on him.” He sounds petulant.
    Hallelujah !
    “Thank you! You know, if I am going to live here, too . . .” I trail off. Christian nods. He knows what I’m trying to say. “It’s not like you haven’t got the space.” I smirk.
    His lips quirk up slowly. “Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?”
    “Most definitely, Mr. Grey.” I get up just in case his palms start twitching, clear our plates, and then load them into the dishwasher.
    “Gail will do that.”
    “I’ve done it now.” I stand up and gaze at him. He’s watching me intently.
    “I have to work for a while,” he says apologetically.
    “Cool. I’ll find something to do.”
    “Come here,” he orders, but his voice is soft and seductive, his eyes heated. I don’t hesitate to walk into his arms, clasping him around his neck as he perches on his bar stool. He wraps his arms around me, crushes me to him, and just holds me.
    “Are you okay?” he whispers into my hair.
    “Okay?”
    “After what happened with that fucker? After what happened yesterday?” he adds, his voice quiet and earnest.
    I gaze into dark, serious, gray eyes. Am I okay? “Yes,” I whisper.
    His arms tighten around me, and I feel safe, cherished, and loved all at once. It’s blissful. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the feel of being in his arms. I love this man. I love his intoxicating scent, his strength, his mercurial ways—my Fifty.
    “Let’s not fight,” he murmurs. He kisses my hair and inhales deeply. “You smell heavenly as usual, Ana.”
    “So do you,” I whisper and kiss his neck.
    All too soon he releases me. “I should only be a couple of hours.”

    I wander listlessly through the apartment. Christian is still working. I have showered and dressed in some sweats and a T-shirt of my own, and I’m bored. I don’t want to read. If I sit still, I’ll recall Jack and his fingers on me.
    I check out my old bedroom, the subs’ room. José can sleep here—he’ll like the view. It’s about eight fifteen, and the sun is beginning to sink into the west. The lights of the city twinkle below me. It’s glorious. Yes, José will like it here. I wonder idly where Christian will hang José’s pictures of me. I’d rather he didn’t. I am not keen on looking at myself.
    Back down the hallway I find myself outside the playroom, and without thinking, I try the door handle. Christian normally keeps it locked, but to my surprise, the door opens. How strange. Feeling like a child playing hooky and straying into the forbidden forest, I walk in. It’s dark. I flick the switch and the lights under the cornice light up with a soft glow. It’s as I remember it. A womb-like room.  
    Memories of the last time I was in here flash through my mind. The belt . . . I wince at the recollection. Now it hangs innocently, lined up with others, on the rack beside the door. Tentatively I run my fingers over the belts, the floggers, the paddles, and the whips. Sheesh. This is what I need to square with Dr. Flynn. Can someone in this lifestyle just stop? It seems so improbable. Wandering over to the bed, I sit on soft red satin sheets, gazing around at all the apparatus.
    Beside me is the bench, above that the assortment of canes. So many ! Surely one is enough ? Well, the less said about that the better. And the large table. We never tried that, whatever he does on it. My eyes fall on the chesterfield, and I move over to sit on it. It’s just a couch, nothing extraordinary about it—nothing to fasten anything to, not that I can see. Glancing behind me, I spy the museum chest. My curiosity is piqued. What does he keep in