Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

him—I love him so. My tears run unchecked down my cheeks. So many sides of Christian—his sweet, gentle persona and his rugged, I-can-do-what-I-fucking-well-like-to-you-and-you’ll-come-like-a-train Dominant side—his fifty shades—all of him. All spectacular. All mine. And I’m aware we don’t know each other well, and we have a mountain of issues to overcome, but I know for each other, we will—and we’ll have a lifetime to do it.
    “Hey,” he breathes, clasping my head in his hands, gazing down at me. He’s still inside me. “Why are you crying?” His voice is filled with concern.
    “Because I love you so much,” I whisper. He half-closes his eyes as if drugged, absorbing my words. When he opens them again, they blaze with his love.
    “And I you, Ana. You make me . . . whole.” He kisses me gently as Roberta Flack finishes her song.

    We have talked and talked and talked, sitting upright together on the bed in the playroom, me in his lap, our legs curled around each other. The red satin sheet is draped around us like a royal cocoon, and I have no idea how much time has passed. Christian is laughing at my impersonation of Katherine during the photo shoot at the Heathman.
    “To think it could have been her who came to interview me. Thank the Lord for the common cold,” he murmurs and kisses my nose.
    “I believe she had flu, Christian,” I scold him, trailing my fingers idly through his chest hair and marveling that he’s tolerating it so well. “All the canes have gone,” I murmur, recalling my distraction from earlier. He tucks my hair behind my ear for the umpteenth time.
    “I didn’t think you’d ever get past that hard limit.”
    “No, I don’t think I will,” I whisper wide-eyed at him, then find myself glancing over at the whips, paddles and floggers lining the opposite wall. He follows my gaze.
    “You want me to get rid of them, too?” He’s amused but sincere.
    “Not the crop . . . the brown one. Or that suede flogger, you know.” I flush.
    He smiles down at me.
    “Okay, the crop and the flogger. Why, Miss Steele, you’re full of surprises.”
    “As are you, Mr. Grey. It’s one of the things I love about you.” I kiss him gently at the corner of his mouth.
    “What else do you love about me?” he asks and his eyes widen.
    I know it’s a huge deal for him to ask this question. It humbles me and I blink at him. I love everything about him—even his fifty shades. I know that life with Christian will never be boring.
    “This.” I stroke my index finger across his lips. “I love this, and what comes out of it, and what you do to me with it. And what’s in here.” I caress his temple. “You’re so smart and witty and knowledgeable, competent in so many things. But most of all, I love what’s in here.” I press my palm gently against his chest, feeling his steady, beating heart. “You are the most compassionate man I’ve met. What you do. How you work. It’s awe-inspiring,” I whisper.
    “Awe-inspiring?” He’s puzzled, but there’s a trace of humor on his face. Then his face transforms, and his shy smile appears as if he’s embarrassed, and I want to launch myself at him. So I do.

    I am dozing, wrapped in satin and Grey. Christian nuzzles me awake.
    “Hungry?” he whispers
    “Hmm, famished.”
    “Me, too.”
    I lean up to gaze down at him sprawled on the bed.
    “It’s your birthday, Mr. Grey. I’ll cook you something. What would you like?”
    “Surprise me.” He runs his hand down my back, stroking me gently. “I should check my Blackberry for all the messages I missed yesterday.” He sighs and starts to sit up, and I know this special time is over . . . for now.
    “Let’s shower,” he says.
    Who am I to turn down the birthday boy?

    Christian is in his study on the phone. Taylor is with him, looking serious but casual in jeans and a tight, black T-shirt. I busy myself in the kitchen fixing lunch. I have found salmon steaks in the fridge, and I’m poaching them with lemon, making a salad, and boiling some baby potatoes. I feel extraordinarily relaxed and happy, on top of the world—literally. Turning toward the large window, I stare out at the glorious blue sky. All that talking . . . all that sexing . . . hmm . A girl could get used to that.
    Taylor emerges from the study, interrupting my reverie. I turn down my iPod and take out an ear bud.
    “Hi, Taylor.”
    “Ana.” He nods.
    “Your daughter okay?”
    “Yes,