Fifty Shades Trilogy 02 - Fifty Shades Darker

on my lifejacket. He tosses it to one side and gazes intently down at me, eyes dark, dilated.  
    I’m already lost and he’s barely touched me. He raises his hand to my face, and his fingers move down my chin, the column of my throat, my sternum, searing me with his touch, to the first button of my blue blouse.
    “I want to see you,” he breathes and dexterously undoes the button. Bending, he plants a soft kiss on my parted lips. I am panting and eager, aroused by the potent combination of his captivating beauty, his raw sexuality in the confines of this cabin, and the gentle sway of the boat. He stands back.
    “Strip for me,” he whispers, eyes burning.
    Oh my. I’m only too happy to comply. Not taking my eyes off his, I slowly undo each button, savoring his scorching gaze. Oh, this is heady stuff. I can see his desire—it’s evident on his face . . . and elsewhere.
    I let my shirt fall to the floor and reach for the button on my jeans.
    “Stop,” he orders. “Sit.”
    I sit down on the edge of the bed, and in one fluid movement he’s on his knees in front of me, undoing the laces of first one and then the other sneaker, pulling each off, followed by my socks. He picks up my left foot and raising it, plants a soft kiss on the pad of my big toe, then grazes his teeth against it.
    “Ah!” I moan as I feel the effect in my groin. He stands in one smooth move, holds his hand out to me, and pulls me up off the bed.
    “Continue,” he says and stands back to watch me.
    I ease the zipper of my jeans down and hook my thumbs in the waistband as I sashay then slide the denim down my legs. A soft smile plays on his lips, but his eyes remain dark.  
    And I don’t know if it’s because he made love to me this morning, and I mean really made love to me, gently, sweetly, or if it was his impassioned declaration— yes . . . I do —but I don’t feel embarrassed at all. I want to be sexy for this man. He deserves sexy—he makes me feel sexy.  
    Okay, it’s new to me, but I’m learning under his expert tutelage. And then again, so much is new to him, too. It balances the seesaw between us, a little, I think.
    I am wearing some of my new underwear—a white lacy thong and matching bra—a designer brand with a price tag to match. I step out of my jeans and stand there for him in the lingerie he’s paid for, but I no longer feel cheap. I feel his.  
    Reaching behind I unhook my bra, sliding the straps down my arms, and drop it on top of my blouse. Slowly, I slip my panties off, letting them fall to my ankles, and step out of them, surprised by my grace.
    Standing before him, I am naked and unashamed, and I know it’s because he loves me. I no longer have to hide. He says nothing, just gazes at me. All I see is his desire, his adoration even, and something else, the depth of his need—the depth of his love for me.
    He reaches down, lifts the hem of his cream-colored sweater, and pulls it over his head, followed by his T-shirt, revealing his chest, never taking his bold gray eyes off mine. His shoes and socks follow before he grasps the button of his jeans.
    Reaching over, I whisper, “Let me.”
    His lips purse briefly into an ooh shape, and he smiles. “Be my guest.”
    I step toward him, slip my fearless fingers inside the waistband of his jeans, and tug so he’s forced to take a step closer to me. He gasps involuntarily at my unexpected audacity then smiles down at me. I undo the button, but before I unzip him I let my fingers wander, tracing his erection through the soft denim. He flexes his hips into my palm and closes his eyes briefly, relishing my touch.
    “You’re getting so bold, Ana, so brave,” he whispers and clasps my face with both hands, bending to kiss me deeply.
    I put my hands on his hips—half on his cool skin and half on the low-slung waistband of his jeans. “So are you,” I murmur against his lips as my thumbs rub slow circles on his skin, and he smiles.
    “Getting there.”
    I move my hands to the front of his jeans and pull down the zipper. My intrepid fingers move through his pubic hair to his erection, and I grasp him tightly.  
    He makes a low sound in his throat, his sweet breath washing over me, and he kisses me again, lovingly. As my hand moves over him, around him, stroking him, squeezing him tightly, he puts his arms around me, his right hand flat against the middle of my back and his fingers spread. His left hand is in my hair, holding me to his