Darker (20 page)

She’s driven me to distraction during dinner.

“You know, Anastasia.” I move toward her, undoing my bow tie and then the shirt buttons at the collar. “I was so mad when you bought my auction lot. All manner of ideas ran through my head. I had to remind myself that punishment is off the menu. But then you volunteered.” Standing close, I stare down at her. “Why did you do that?”

I need to know.

“Volunteer?” Her voice is husky, revealing her desire. “I don’t know. Frustration. Too much alcohol. Worthy cause.”

She shrugs, and her eyes move to my mouth.

“I vowed to myself I would not spank you again, even if you begged me.”

“Please.”

“But then I realized you’re probably very uncomfortable at the moment, and it’s not something you’re used to.”

“Yes,” she answers, breathy and sexy and pleased, I think, that I know how she feels.

“So there might be a certain latitude. If I do this, you must promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“You will safe-word if you need to, and I will just make love to you, okay?”

She agrees readily.

I lead her to the bed, throw the comforter aside, and sit down as she stands before me in her mask and corset.

She looks sensational.

I grab a pillow and place it beside me. Taking her hand, I tug so that she falls across my lap, her chest on the pillow. I sweep her hair off her face and the mask.

There.

She looks glorious.

Now, to spice this up. “Put your hands behind your back.”

She scrambles to do my bidding and squirms on top of me.

Eager. I like that.

I tie her wrists with my tie. She’s helpless. In my power.

It’s exhilarating.

“You really want this, Anastasia?”

“Yes,” she stresses, clarifying her need.

But I still don’t get it. I thought all this was off the table.

“Why?” I ask as I caress her behind.

“Do I need a reason?”

“No, baby, you don’t. I’m just trying to understand you.”

Be in the moment, Grey.

She wants this. And so do you.

I stroke her ass once more, preparing myself. Preparing her.

Leaning over, I hold her down with my left hand and I smack her once with the other, just at the junction of her fine, fine ass and her thighs.

She moans an incoherent word.

It’s not a safe word.

I smack her again.

“Two. We’ll go with twelve.” I start counting.

I smooth her behind and spank her twice, once on each cheek. And I pull off her lacy panties, trailing them down her thighs, her knees, her calves, and over her Louboutins, where I discard them on the floor.

It’s arousing.

In every way.

Noting she’s no longer wearing the kegel balls, I spank her again, numbering each blow. She groans and writhes across my knees, her eyes shut beneath her mask. Her ass is a lovely shade of pink.

“Twelve,” I whisper when I’m done.

I caress her glowing ass and sink two fingers into her.

She’s wet.

So fucking wet.

So ready.

She moans as I rotate my fingers inside her and she comes, loudly, frantically, around them.

Wow. That’s quick. She’s such a sensual creature.

“That’s right, baby,” I murmur, and I untie her wrists. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. “I’ve not finished with you yet, Anastasia.”

I’m now uncomfortable. I want her.

Badly.

Lowering her so that her knees touch the floor, I kneel behind her. I undo my zipper and yank down my underwear, freeing my eager erection. From my pants pocket, I extract a condom and pull my fingers out of my girl.

She whimpers.

I wrap my cock in latex. “Open your legs.” She complies and I ease into her. “This is going to be quick, baby,” I whisper. I hold her hips and slowly pull out of her, then I slam into her.

She cries out. With joy. With abandon. With ecstasy.

This is what she wants, and I’m only too happy to oblige. I thrust and thrust, and then she’s meeting me. Thrusting back.

Shit.

This is going to be even quicker than I thought. “Ana, no,” I warn. I want to prolong her pleasure. But she’s a greedy girl and she takes all she can. A voracious counterpoint to me.

“Ana, shit.” It’s a strangled cry as I come and it sets her off. She screams as her orgasm rips through her, pulling on me as I sink on to her.

Man, that was good.

I’m spent.

After all the teasing and the anticipation during that meal…this was inevitable. I kiss her shoulder and pull out of her and remove the condom, tossing it into the wastebasket by the bed. That will give my mother’s housekeeper something to think about.

Ana’s still in her mask, panting, smiling. She looks satiated. I kneel over her, resting my forehead on her back as we both find our equilibrium.

“Mmm,” I murmur in satisfaction, and plant a kiss on her flawless back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Miss Steele.”

She hums a contented response from somewhere deep in her throat. I sit back and pull her onto my lap.

“We don’t have long. Come on.” I kiss her hair. She moves off my lap and sits on the bed, beginning to dress as I do up my shirt and redo my bow tie.

Ana gets up and walks over to where I’ve placed her dress. Wearing only her mask, corset and shoes, she embodies sensuality. I knew she was a goddess, but this…She’s beyond all my expectations.

I love her.

I turn away, feeling suddenly vulnerable, and straighten the comforter on my bed.

The uneasy feeling ebbs like a receding tide as I finish and see Ana examining the photographs on my bulletin board. There are many—from all over the world. My parents were fond of a foreign vacation.

“Who’s this?” Ana asks, pointing to an old black-and-white photograph of the crack whore.

“No one of consequence.” I slip on my jacket and straighten my mask. I’d forgotten about that picture. Carrick gave it to me when I was sixteen. I’d tried several times to throw it away, but I could never quite bring myself to dispose of it.

“Son, I have something for you.”

“What?” I’m in Carrick’s study, expecting a dressing down. But for what I don’t know. I hope he hasn’t found out about Mrs. Lincoln.

“You seem calmer, more collected, more yourself these days.”

I nod, hoping that my expression gives nothing away.

“I was going through some old files and I found this.” He hands me a black-and-white photograph of a sad young woman. It’s like a gut punch.

The crack whore.

He studies my reaction. “We were given this at the time of the adoption.”

“Oh,” I manage to say through my closing throat.

“I thought you might want to see it. Do you recognize her?”

“Yes.” I squeeze the word out.

He nods, and I know he has something else to say.

What more does he have?

“I don’t have any information on your biological father. By all accounts he wasn’t part of your mother’s life in any way.”

He’s trying to tell me something…It wasn’t her fucking pimp?

Please tell me it wasn’t him.

“If you want to know anything else…I’m here.”

“That man?” I whisper.

“No. Nothing to do with you,” my dad says, to reassure me.

I close my eyes.

Thank fuck. Thank fuck. Thank fuck.

“Is that all, Dad? Can I go?”

“Of course.” Dad looks troubled, but he nods.

Clutching the photo, I leave his office. And I run. Run. Run. Run…

The crack whore was a sad and pathetic creature. She looks every bit the victim in this old black-and-white. I think it’s a police mug shot but with the numbers cut off. I wonder if things would have ended up differently for her if my parents’ charity had existed then. I shake my head. I don’t want to talk about her with Ana. “Shall I zip you up?” I ask, to change the subject.

“Please,” Ana says, and turns her back to me so I can zip up her dress. “Then why is she on your bulletin board?”

Anastasia Steele, you have an answer and a question for everything.

“An oversight on my part. How’s my tie?”

She examines my tie and her eyes soften. She reaches up and straightens it, pulling on both ends. “Now it’s perfect,” she says.

“Like you.” I fold her in my arms and kiss her. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you, Mr. Grey.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Steele.”

I’m feeling grateful. Content.

I hold out my hand and she takes it with a shy but satisfied grin. I unlock the door and we head downstairs and back out to the gardens. I don’t know at which point our security joins us, but they follow us onto the terrace through the sitting room’s French doors. A few smokers are gathered there, puffing away, and they watch us with interest, but I ignore them and lead Ana toward the dance floor.

The MC announces, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the first dance. Mr. and Dr. Grey, are you ready?” Carrick nods, my mother in his arms. “Ladies and gentlemen of the First Dance Auction, are you ready?” I circle Ana’s waist and peer down at her, and she grins.

“Then we shall begin,” the MC declares with gusto. “Take it away, Sam!” The band leader bounds across the stage, turns to the band and snaps his fingers, and the band begins a cheesy version of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.” I pull Ana close as we start to dance and she falls easily into step with me. She’s captivating as I twirl her around the dance floor, and we grin at each other like the lovesick fools we are…

Have I ever felt like this?

Buoyant?

Happy?

Master of the fucking universe.

“I love this song,” I tell her. “Seems very fitting.”

“You’re under my skin, too. Or you were in your bedroom.”

Ana!
I’m shocked.

“Miss Steele, I had no idea you could be so crude.”

“Mr. Grey, neither did I. I think it’s all my recent experiences,” she says with a mischievous smile. “They’ve been an education.”

“For both of us.” I take her for a spin around the dance floor once more. The song finishes, and reluctantly I release her to applaud.

“May I cut in?” Flynn asks, appearing from nowhere. He has some explaining to do after the charade at the auction, but I step aside.

“Be my guest. Anastasia, this is John Flynn. John, Anastasia.”

Ana shoots me a nervous look and I retreat to the sidelines to watch. Flynn opens his arms and Ana takes his hand as the band strikes up “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.”

Ana is animated in John’s arms. I wonder what they are talking about.

Me?

Shit.

My anxiety returns in full force.

I have to face the reality that once Ana knows all my secrets, she’ll leave, and that trying things her way is just prolonging the inevitable.

But John wouldn’t be so indiscreet, surely.

“Hello, darling,” Grace says, interrupting my dark thoughts.

“Mother.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” She’s also watching Ana and John.

“Very much.”

Grace has taken off her mask. “What a generous donation from your young friend,” she says, but there’s a slight edge to her voice.

“Yes,” I respond dryly.

“I thought she was a student.”

“Mom, it’s a long story.”

“I figured as much.”

Something is off. “What is it, Grace? Spit it out.”

She tentatively reaches out to touch my arm. “You look happy, darling.”

“I am.”

“I think she’s good for you.”

“I think so, too.”

“I hope she doesn’t hurt you.”

“Why would you say that?”

“She’s young.”

“Mother, what are you—”

A female guest wearing the most garish gown I’ve ever seen approaches Grace.

“Christian, this is my friend
Pamela, from book club.”

We exchange pleasantries, but I want to grill my mother. What the hell is she trying to imply about Ana? The music is coming to an end, and I know I need to rescue Anastasia from my psychiatrist.

“This conversation isn’t over,” I warn Grace and head over to where Ana and John have stopped dancing.

What is my mother trying to tell me?

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Anastasia,” Flynn says to Ana.

“John.” I nod in greeting.

“Christian.” Flynn acknowledges me and excuses himself—to find his wife, no doubt. I’m confounded by the exchange I’ve just had with my mother. I sweep Ana into my arms for the next dance.

“He’s much younger than I expected,” Ana says. “And terribly indiscreet.”

Fuck.
“Indiscreet?”

“Oh yes, he told me everything,” she discloses.

Shit.
Did he really do this? I test Ana to see how much damage he’s done. “Well, in that case, I’ll get your bag. I’m sure you want nothing more to do with me.”

Ana stops dancing. “He didn’t tell me anything!” she exclaims, and I think she wants to shake me.

Oh, thank God.

I place my hand on the small of her back as the band launches into “The Very Thought of You.” “Then let’s enjoy this dance.”

And I’m an idiot. Of course Flynn wouldn’t break any professional confidences. And as Ana matches me step for step, my spirit soars and my anxiety dissipates. I had no idea I could enjoy dancing so much.

It amazes me how poised Ana is tonight on the dance floor, and for a moment I’m back in the apartment after our first night together, watching her doing a little jig with her headphones on. She was so uncoordinated then—such a contrast to the Ana who’s here with me now, following my lead perfectly and enjoying herself.

The band segues into “You Don’t Know Me.”

It’s slower. It’s melancholy. It’s bittersweet.

It’s a warning.

Ana.
You don’t know me.

And as I hold her and we sway together, I silently beg her forgiveness for a sin she knows nothing about. For something she must never know about.