Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

soft and deadly and with one last flick of his tongue, I fall—spectacularly—embracing my orgasm, and because my legs are so far apart, it goes on and on and I am lost.
    Vaguely, I’m aware that Christian has flipped me on to my front.
    “We’re going to try this, baby. If you don’t like it, or it’s too uncomfortable, tell me, and we’ll stop.”
    What? I am too lost in the afterglow to form any sentient or coherent thoughts. I am sitting on Christian’s lap. How did that happen?
    “Lean down, baby,” he murmurs at my ear. “Head and chest on the bed.”
    In a daze I do as I’m told. He pulls both my hands backward and cuffs them to the bar, next to my ankles. Oh . . . My knees are drawn up, my ass in the air, utterly vulnerable, completely his.
    “Ana, you look so beautiful.” His voice is full of wonder, and I hear the rip of foil. He runs his fingers from the base of my spine down toward my sex and pauses a beat over my ass.
    “When you’re ready, I want this, too.” His finger is hovering over me. I gasp loudly as I feel myself tense under his gentle probing. “Not today, sweet Ana, but one day . . . I want you every way. I want to possess every inch of you. You’re mine.”
    I think about the butt plug, and everything tightens deep inside me. His words make me groan, and his fingers move down and around to more familiar territory.
    Moments later, he’s slamming into me. “Aagh! Gently,” I cry, and he stills.
    “You okay?”
    “Gently . . . let me get used to this.”
    He eases slowly out of me then eases gently back, filling me, stretching me, twice, thrice, and I am helpless.
    “Yes, good, I’ve got it now,” I murmur, relishing the feeling.
    He groans, and picks up his rhythm. Moving, moving . . . relentless . . . onward, inward, filling me . . . and it’s exquisite. There’s joy in my helplessness, joy in my surrender to him, and to know that he can lose himself in me the way he wants to. I can do this. He takes me to these dark places, places I didn’t know existed, and together we fill them with blinding light. Oh yes . . . blazing, blinding light.  
    And I let go, glorying in what he does to me, finding my sweet, sweet release, as I come again, loudly, screaming his name. And he stills, pouring his heart and soul into me.
    “Ana, baby,” he cries and collapses beside me.

    His fingers deftly undo the straps, and he rubs my ankles then my wrists. When he’s finished and I’m finally free, he pulls me into his arms and I drift, exhausted.
    When I surface again, I am curled beside him and he’s gazing at me. I have no idea what the time is.
    “I could watch you sleep forever, Ana,” he murmurs and he kisses my forehead.
    I smile and shift languorously beside him.
    “I never want to let you go,” he says softly and wraps his arms around me.
    Hmm.  “I never want to go. Never let me go,” I mutter sleepily, my eyelids refusing to open.
    “I need you,” he whispers, but his voice is a distant, ethereal part of my dreams. He needs me . . . needs me . . . and as I finally slip into the darkness, my last thoughts are of a small boy with gray eyes and dirty, messy, copper-colored hair smiling shyly at me.

Hmm.
    Christian is nuzzling my neck as I slowly wake.
    “Morning, baby,” he whispers and nips at my earlobe. My eyes flutter open and close again quickly. Bright early morning light floods the room, and his hand is softly caressing my breast, gently teasing me. Moving down he grasps my hip as he lies behind me, holding me close.
    I stretch out beside him, relishing his touch, and feel his erection against my behind . Oh my. A Christian Grey wake-up call.
    “You’re pleased to see me,” I mumble sleepily, squirming suggestively against him. I feel his grin against my jaw.
    “I’m very pleased to see you,” he says as he skates his hand over my stomach and down to cup my sex and explore with his fingers. “There are definite advantages to waking up beside you, Miss Steele,” he teases and gently pulls me round so that I’m lying on my back.
    “Sleep well?” he asks as his fingers continue their sensual torture. He’s smiling down at me—his dazzling, all-American-drop-dead-male-model-perfect-teeth smile. He takes my breath away.  
    My hips begin to sway to the rhythm of the dance his fingers have begun. He kisses me chastely on the lips and then moves down my neck, nipping slowly, kissing, and sucking as he goes. I moan.