Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

groans.
    “I can taste myself. You taste better,” he murmurs against my lips. He tugs my T-shirt off and throws it carelessly onto the floor, then picks me up and tosses me onto the bed. Grabbing the end of my sweats, he tugs abruptly so that they come off in one swift move. I’m naked underneath, sprawled across his bed. Waiting. Wanting. His eyes drink me in, and slowly he removes his remaining clothes, not taking his eyes off me.
    “You are one beautiful woman, Anastasia,” he murmurs appreciatively.
    Hmm . . . I tilt my head coquettishly to one side and beam at him.
    “You are one beautiful man, Christian, and you taste mighty fine.”
    He gives me a wicked grin and reaches for the spreader bar. Grabbing my left ankle, he quickly cuffs it, strapping the buckle tightly, but not too tight. He tests how much room I have by sliding his little finger between the cuff and my ankle. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine; he doesn’t need to see what he’s doing. Hmm . . . he’s done this before.
    “We’ll have to see how you taste. If I recall, you’re a rare, exquisite delicacy, Miss Steele.”
    Oh.
    Grasping my other ankle, he quickly and efficiently cuffs that one as well, so that my feet are about two feet apart.
    “The good thing about this spreader is, it expands,” he murmurs. He clicks something on the bar, then pushes, so my legs spread further. Whoa, three feet apart. My mouth drops open, and I take a deep breath. Fuck, this is hot. I’m on fire, restless and needy.
    Christian licks his lower lip.
    “Oh, we’re going to have some fun with this, Ana.” Reaching down he grasps the bar and twists it so I flip on to my front. It takes me by surprise.
    “See what I can do to you?” he says darkly and twists it again abruptly, so I am once more on my back, gaping up at him, breathless.
    “These other cuffs are for your wrists. I’ll think about that. Depends if you behave or not.”
    “When do I not behave?”
    “I can think of a few infractions,” he says softly, running his fingers up the soles of my feet. It tickles, but the bar holds me in place, though I try to writhe away from his fingers.
    “Your Blackberry, for one.”
    I gasp. “What are you going to do?”
    “Oh, I never disclose my plans.” He smirks, his eyes alight with pure devilment.
    Holy cow. He’s so mind-bogglingly sexy, it takes my breath away.
    He crawls up the bed so that he’s kneeling between my legs, gloriously naked, and I’m helpless.
    “Hmm. You are so exposed, Miss Steele.” He runs the fingers of both his hands up the inside of each of my legs, slowly, surely, making small circular patterns. Never breaking eye contact with me.
    “It’s all about anticipation, Ana. What will I do to you?” His softly spoken words penetrate right to the deepest, darkest, part of me. I wriggle on the bed and moan. His fingers continue their slow assault up my legs, past the backs of my knees. Instinctively, I want to close my legs but I can’t.
    “Remember, if you don’t like something, just tell me to stop,” he murmurs. Bending over, he kisses my belly, soft, sucky kisses while his hands continue their slow tortuous journey north up my inner thighs, touching and teasing.
    “Oh please, Christian,” I plead.
    “Oh, Miss Steele. I’ve discovered you can be merciless in your amorous assaults upon me. I think I should return the favor.”
    My fingers clutch the duvet as I surrender myself to him, his mouth gently heading south, his fingers north, to the vulnerable and exposed apex of my thighs. I groan as he eases his fingers inside me and buck my pelvis up to meet them. Christian moans in response.
    “You never cease to amaze me, Ana. You’re so wet,” he murmurs against the line where my pubic hair joins my belly. My body bows as his mouth finds me.
    Oh my.
    He begins a slow and sensual assault, his tongue swirling around and around while his fingers move inside me. Because I can’t close my legs, or move, it’s intense, really intense. My back arches as I try to absorb the sensations.
    “Oh, Christian,” I cry.
    “I know, baby,” he whispers, and to ease up on me, he blows softly on the most sensitive part of my body.
    “Arrgh! Please!” I beg.
    “Say my name,” he commands.
    “Christian,” I call, hardly recognizing my own voice—it’s so high-pitched and needy.
    “Again,” he breathes.
    “Christian, Christian, Christian Grey,” I call out loudly.
    “You are mine.” His voice is