Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

there?
    As I pull open the top drawer I realize my blood is pounding through my veins. Why am I so nervous? This feels so illicit, as if I’m trespassing, which of course I am. But if he wants to marry me, well . . .
    Holy fuck, what’s all this? An array of instruments and bizarre implements—I don’t have a clue what they are, or what they’re for—are carefully laid out in the display drawer. I pick one up. It’s bullet-shaped with a sort of handle. Hmm . . . what the hell do you do with that ? My mind boggles, though I think I have an idea. Jeez, there are four different sizes! My scalp prickles and I glance up.
    Christian is standing in the doorway, staring at me, his face unreadable. How long has he been there? I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
    “Hi.” I smile nervously at him, and I know my eyes are wide and that I’m deathly pale.
    “What are you doing?” he says softly, but there’s an undercurrent in his tone.
    Oh shit. Is he mad? I flush. “Er . . . I was bored and curious,” I mutter, embarrassed to be found out. He said he’d be two hours.
    “That’s a very dangerous combination.” He runs his long index finger across his lower lip in quiet contemplation, not taking his eyes off me. I swallow and my mouth is dry.  
    Slowly, he enters the room and closes the door quietly behind him, his eyes liquid gray fire. Oh my. He leans casually over the chest of drawers, but I think his stance is deceptive. My inner goddess doesn’t know whether it’s fight or flight time.
    “So, what exactly are you curious about, Miss Steele? Perhaps I could enlighten you.”
    “The door was open . . . I—” I gaze at Christian as I hold my breath and blink, uncertain as ever of his reaction or what I should say. His eyes are dark. I think he’s amused, but it’s difficult to tell. He places his elbows on the museum chest and rests his chin on his clasped hands.
    “I was in here earlier today wondering what to do with it all. I must have forgotten to lock it.” He scowls momentarily as if leaving the door unlocked is a terrible lapse in judgment. I frown—it’s not like him to be forgetful.
    “Oh?”
    “But now here you are, curious as ever.” His voice is soft, puzzled.
    “You’re not mad?” I whisper, using my remaining breath.
    He cocks his head to one side, and his lips twitch in amusement.
    “Why would I be mad?”
    “I feel like I’m trespassing . . . and you’re always mad at me.” My voice is quiet, though I’m relieved. Christian’s brow creases once more.
    “Yes, you’re trespassing, but I’m not mad. I hope that one day you’ll live with me here, and all this”—he gestures vaguely round the room with one hand—“will be yours, too.”
    My playroom . . . eh? I gape at him—that’s a lot to take in.
    “That’s why I was in here today. Trying to decide what to do.” He taps his lips with his index finger. “Am I angry with you all the time? I wasn’t this morning.”
    Oh, that’s true. I smile at the memory of Christian when we woke, and it distracts me from the thought of what will become of the playroom. He was such fun Fifty this morning.
    “You were playful. I like playful Christian.”
    “Do you now?” He arches an eyebrow, and his beautiful mouth curves up in a smile, a shy smile. Wow!
    “What’s this?” I hold up the silver bullet thing.
    “Always hungry for information, Miss Steele. That’s a butt plug,” he says gently.
    “Oh . . .”
    “Bought for you.”
    What? “For me?”
    He nods slowly, his face now serious and wary.
    I frown. “You buy new, er . . . toys . . . for each submissive?”
    “Some things. Yes.”
    “Butt plugs?”
    “Yes.”
    Okay . . . I swallow. Butt plug. It’s solid metal—surely that’s uncomfortable? I remember our discussion about sex toys and hard limits after I graduated. I think at the time I said I would try. Now, actually seeing one, I don’t know if it’s something I want to do. I examine it once more and place it back in the drawer.
    “And this?” I take out a long, black rubbery object, made of gradually diminishing spherical bubbles joined together, the first one large and the last much smaller. Eight bubbles in total.
    “Anal beads,” says Christian, watching me carefully.
    Oh ! I examine them with fascinated horror. All of these, inside me . . . there! I had no idea.
    “They have quite an effect if you pull them out mid-orgasm,”