Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

he adds matter-of-factly.
    “This is for me?” I whisper.
    “For you.” He nods slowly.
    “This is the butt drawer?”
    He smirks. “If you like.”
    I close it quickly, flushing like a stoplight.
    “Don’t you like the butt drawer?” he asks innocently, amused. I gaze at him and shrug, trying to brazen out my shock.
    “It’s not top of my Christmas card list,” I mutter nonchalantly. Tentatively, I open the second drawer. He grins.
    “Next drawer down holds a selection of vibrators.”
    I shut the drawer quickly.
    “And the next?” I whisper, ashen once more, but this time with embarrassment.
    “That’s more interesting.”
    Oh ! Hesitantly I pull the drawer open, not taking my eyes off his beautiful but rather smug face. Inside there are an assortment of metal items and some clothespins. Clothespins! I pick up a large metal clip-like device.
    “Genital clamp,” Christian says. He stands up and moves casually around so that he’s beside me. I put it back immediately and choose something more delicate—two small clips on a chain.
    “Some of these are for pain, but most are for pleasure,” he murmurs.
    “What’s this?”
    “Nipple clamps—that’s for both.”
    “Both? Nipples?”
    Christian smirks at me. “Well, there are two clamps, baby. Yes, both nipples, but that’s not what I meant. These are for both pleasure and pain.”
    Oh. He takes it from me.
    “Hold out your little finger.”
    I do as he asks, and he clamps one clip to the tip of my finger. It’s not too harsh.
    “The sensation is very intense, but it’s when taking them off that they are at their most painful and pleasurable.” I remove the clip. Hmm, that might be nice. I squirm at the thought.
    “I like the look of these,” I murmur and Christian smiles.
    “Do you now, Miss Steele? I think I can tell.”
    I nod shyly, biting my lip. He reaches up and tugs on my chin so I release my bottom lip.
    “You know what that does to me,” he murmurs.
    I put the clips back in the drawer, and Christian leans forward and pulls out two more.
    “These are adjustable.” He holds them up for me to inspect.
    “Adjustable?”
    “You can wear them very tight . . . or not. Depending on your mood.”
    How does he make that sound so erotic? I swallow, and to divert his attention, pull out a device that looks like a spiky pastry cutter.
    “This?” I frown. No baking in the playroom, surely.
    “That’s a Wartenberg pinwheel.”
    “For?”
    He reaches over and takes it from me. “Give me your hand. Palm up.”
    I offer him my left hand and he takes it gently, skating his thumb over my knuckles. A shiver runs through me. His skin against mine, it never fails to thrill me. He runs the wheel over my palm.
    “Ah!” The prongs bite into my skin—there’s more than just pain. In fact, it tickles slightly.
    “Imagine that over your breasts,” Christian murmurs lasciviously.
    Oh ! I flush and snatch my hand back. My breathing and heart rate increase. Holy cow.
    “There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia,” he says softly as he leans down and puts the device back in the drawer.
    “Clothespins?” I whisper.
    “You can do a great deal with a clothespins.” His gray eyes burn.
    I lean against the drawer so it closes.
    “Is that all?” Christian looks amused.
    “No . . .” I pull open the fourth drawer to be confounded by a mass of leather and straps. I tug at one of the straps . . . it appears to be attached to a ball.
    “Ball gag. To keep you quiet,” says Christian, amused once more.
    “Soft limit,” I mutter.
    “I remember,” he says. “But you can still breathe. Your teeth clamp over the ball.” Taking it from me, he replicates a mouth clamping down on the ball with his fingers.
    “Have you worn one of these?” I ask.
    He stills and gazes down at me. “Yes.”
    “To mask your screams?”
    He closes his eyes, and I think it’s in exasperation. “No, that’s not what they’re about.”
    Oh?
    “It’s about control, Anastasia. How helpless would you be if you were tied up and couldn’t speak? How trusting would you have to be, knowing I had that much power over you? That I had to read your body and your reaction, rather than hear your words? It makes you more dependent, puts me in ultimate control.”
    I swallow.
    “You sound like you miss it.”
    “It’s what I know,” he murmurs, gazing down at me. His gray eyes are wide and serious, and the atmosphere between us has