Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (110 page)

He nods slowly, his face now serious and wary.

I frown. “You buy new, er … toys … for each submissive?”

“Some things. Yes.”

“Butt plugs?”

“Yes.”

Okay … I swallow. Butt plug. It’s solid metal—surely that’s uncomfortable? I remember our discussion about sex toys and hard limits after I graduated. I think at the time I said I would try. Now, actually seeing one, I don’t know if it’s something I want to do. I examine it once more and place it back in the drawer.

“And this?” I take out a long, black, rubbery object made of gradually diminishing spherical bubbles joined together, the first one large and the last much smaller. Eight bubbles in total.

“Anal beads,” says Christian, watching me carefully.

Oh!
I examine them with fascinated horror. All of these, inside me … 
there
! I had no idea.

“They have quite an effect if you pull them out mid-orgasm,” he adds matter-of-factly.

“This is for me?” I whisper.

“For you.” He nods slowly.

“This is the butt drawer?”

He smirks. “If you like.”

I close it quickly, feeling myself turning red as a stoplight.

“Don’t you like the butt drawer?” he asks innocently, amused. I gaze at him and shrug, trying to brazen out my shock.

“It’s not top of my Christmas card list,” I mutter nonchalantly. Tentatively, I open the second drawer. He grins.

“Next drawer down holds a selection of vibrators.”

I shut the drawer quickly.

“And the next?” I whisper, ashen once more, but this time with embarrassment.

“That’s more interesting.”

Oh!
Hesitantly I pull the drawer open, not taking my eyes off his beautiful but rather smug face. Inside there are an assortment of metal items and some clothespins. Clothespins! I pick up a large metal cliplike device.

“Genital clamp,” Christian says. He stands up and moves casually around so that he’s beside me. I put it back immediately and choose something more delicate—two small clips on a chain.

“Some of these are for pain, but most are for pleasure,” he murmurs.

“What’s this?”

“Nipple clamps—that’s for both.”

“Both? Nipples?”

Christian smirks at me. “Well, there are two clamps, baby. Yes, both nipples, but that’s not what I meant. These are for both pleasure and pain.”

Oh. He takes it from me.

“Hold out your little finger.”

I do as he asks, and he clamps one clip to the tip of my finger. It’s not too harsh.

“The sensation is very intense, but it’s when taking them off that they are at their most painful and pleasurable.” I remove the clip. Hmm, that might be nice. I squirm at the thought.

“I like the look of these,” I murmur and Christian smiles.

“Do you now, Miss Steele? I think I can tell.”

I nod shyly and put the clips back in the drawer. Christian leans forward to pull out two more.

“These are adjustable.” He holds them up for me to inspect.

“Adjustable?”

“You can wear them very tight … or not. Depending on your mood.”

How does he make that sound so erotic? I swallow, and to divert his attention, pull out a device that looks like a spiky pastry cutter.

“This?” I frown. No baking in the playroom, surely.

“That’s a Wartenberg pinwheel.”

“For?”

He reaches over and takes it from me. “Give me your hand. Palm up.”

I offer him my left hand and he takes it gently, skating his thumb over my knuckles. A shiver runs through me. His skin against mine, it never fails to thrill me. He runs the wheel over my palm.

“Ah!” The prongs bite into my skin—there’s more than just pain. In fact, it tickles.

“Imagine that over your breasts,” Christian murmurs lasciviously.

Oh!
I flush and snatch my hand back. My breathing and heart rate increase.

“There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia,” he says softly as he leans down and puts the device back in the drawer.

“Clothespins?” I whisper.

“You can do a great deal with a clothespin.” His eyes burn.

I lean against the drawer so it closes.

“Is that all?” Christian looks amused.

“No …” I pull open the fourth drawer to be confounded by a mass of leather and straps. I tug at one of the straps … it appears to be attached to a ball.

“Ball gag. To keep you quiet,” says Christian, amused once more.

“Soft limit,” I mutter.

“I remember,” he says. “But you can still breathe. Your teeth clamp over the ball.” Taking it from me, he replicates a mouth clamping down on the ball with his fingers.

“Have you worn one of these?” I ask.

He stills and gazes down at me. “Yes.”

“To mask your screams?”

He closes his eyes, and I think it’s in exasperation. “No, that’s not what they’re about.”

Oh?

“It’s about control, Anastasia. How helpless would you be if you were tied up and couldn’t speak? How trusting would you have to be, knowing I had that much power over you? That I had to read your body and your reaction, rather than hear your words? It makes you more dependent, puts me in ultimate control.”

I swallow.

“You sound like you miss it.”

“It’s what I know,” he murmurs. His eyes are wide and serious, and the atmosphere between us has changed, as if he’s at confessional.

“You have power over me. You know you do,” I whisper.

“Do I? You make me feel … helpless.”

“No!”
Oh, Fifty …
“Why?”

“Because you’re the only person I know who could really hurt me.” He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear.

“Oh, Christian … that works both ways. If you didn’t want me—” I shudder, glancing down at my twisting fingers. Therein lies my other dark reservation about us. If he wasn’t so … broken, would he want me? I shake my head. I must try not to think like that.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I love you,” I murmur, reaching up with both hands to run my fingers through his sideburns and gently stroke his cheeks. He leans his face into my
touch, drops the gag back in the drawer, and reaches for me, his hands around my waist. He pulls me against him.

“Have we finished show-and-tell?” he asks, his voice soft and seductive. His hand moves up my back to the nape of my neck.

“Why? What did you want to do?”

He bends and kisses me gently, and I melt against him, grasping his arms.

“Ana, you were nearly attacked today.” His voice is soft but wary.

“So?” I ask, enjoying the feel of his hand at my back and his proximity. He pulls his head back and scowls down at me.

“What do you mean, ‘so?’ ” he rebukes.

I gaze up into his lovely, grumpy face, and I’m dazzled.

“Christian, I’m fine.”

He wraps me in his arms, holding me close. “When I think what might have happened,” he breathes, burying his face in my hair.

“When will you learn that I’m stronger than I look?” I whisper reassuringly into his neck, inhaling his delicious scent. There is nothing better on the planet than being in Christian’s arms.

“I know you’re strong,” Christian muses quietly. He kisses my hair, but then to my great disappointment, releases me.
Oh?

Bending down I fish another item out of the open drawer. Several cuffs attached to a bar. I hold it up.

“That,” says Christian, his eyes darkening, “is a spreader bar with ankle and wrist restraints.”

“How does it work?” I ask, genuinely intrigued.

“You want me to show you?” he breathes in surprise, closing his eyes briefly.

I blink at him. When he opens his eyes, they are blazing.

“Yes, I want a demonstration. I like being tied up,” I whisper as my inner goddess pole vaults from the bunker onto her chaise longue.

“Oh, Ana,” he murmurs. He looks pained all of a sudden.

“What?”

“Not here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you in my bed, not in here. Come.” He grabs the bar and my hand, then leads me promptly out of the room.

Why are we leaving? I glance behind me as we exit. “Why not in there?”

Christian stops on the stairs and gazes up at me, his expression grave.

“Ana, you may be ready to go back in there, but I’m not. Last time we were in there, you left me. I keep telling you—when will you understand?” He frowns, releasing me so that he can gesticulate with his free hand.

“My whole attitude has changed as a result. My whole outlook on life has radically shifted. I’ve told you this. What I haven’t told you is—” He stops and runs his hand through his hair, searching for the correct words. “I’m like a recovering alcoholic, okay? That’s the only comparison I can draw. The compulsion has gone, but I don’t want to put temptation in my way. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He looks so remorseful, and in that moment, a sharp nagging pain lances through me. What have I done to this man? Have I improved his life? He was happy before he met me, wasn’t he?

“I can’t bear to hurt you because I love you,” he adds, gazing up at me, his expression one of absolute sincerity like a small boy telling a very simple truth.

He’s completely guileless, and he takes my breath away. I adore him more than anything or anyone. I
do
love this man unconditionally.

I launch myself at him so hard that he has to drop what he’s carrying to catch me as I push him up against the wall. Grabbing his face between my hands, I pull his lips to mine tasting his surprise as I push my tongue into his mouth. I am standing on the step above him—we’re at the same level, and I feel euphorically empowered. Kissing him passionately, my fingers twisting into his hair, I want to touch him, everywhere, but restrain myself,
knowing his fear. Regardless, my desire unfurls, hot and heavy, blossoming deep inside me. He groans and grabs my shoulders, pushing me away.

“Do you want me to fuck you on the stairs?” he mutters, his breathing ragged. “Because right now, I will.”

“Yes,” I murmur and I’m sure my dark gaze matches his.

He glares at me, his eyes hooded and heavy. “No. I want you in my bed.” He scoops me up suddenly over his shoulder, making me squeal loudly, and smacks me hard on my behind, so that I squeal again. As he heads down the stairs, he stoops to pick up the fallen spreader bar.

Mrs. Jones is coming out of the utility room when we pass through the hall. She smiles at us, and I give her an apologetic upside-down wave. I don’t think Christian notices her.

In the bedroom he sets me down on my feet and drops the spreader onto the bed.

“I don’t think you’ll hurt me,” I breathe.

“I don’t think I’ll hurt you, either,” he says. He takes my head in his hands and kisses me, long and hard, igniting my already heated blood.

“I want you so much,” he whispers against my mouth, panting. “Are you sure about this—after today?”

“Yes. I want you, too. I want to undress you.” I can’t wait to get my hands on him—my fingers are itching to touch him.

His eyes widen and for a second he hesitates, perhaps to consider my request.

“Okay,” he says cautiously.

I reach for the second button on his shirt and hear him catch his breath.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to,” I whisper.

“No,” he responds quickly. “Do. It’s fine. I’m good,” he mutters.

I gently undo the button and my fingers glide down his shirt to the next. His eyes are large and luminous, his lips parted as his breathing shallows. He is so beautiful, even in his fear … because
of his fear. I undo the third button and notice his soft hair poking through the large V of the shirt.

“I want to kiss you there,” I murmur.

He inhales sharply. “Kiss me?”

“Yes,” I murmur.

He gasps as I undo the next button and very slowly lean forward, making my intention clear. He’s holding his breath, but stands stock-still as I plant a gentle kiss among the soft, exposed curls. I undo the final button and lift my face to him. He’s gazing at me, and there’s a look of satisfaction, calm, and … wonder on his face.

“It’s getting easier, isn’t it?” I whisper.

He nods as I slowly push his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“What have you done to me, Ana?” he murmurs. “Whatever it is, don’t stop.” And he gathers me in his arms, thrusting both his hands into my hair and pulling my head right back so that he can have easy access to my throat.

He runs his lips up to my jaw, nipping softly. I groan. Oh, I want this man. My fingers fumble at his waistband, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes as he kisses me behind my ear. I feel his erection, firm and hard, straining against me. I want him—in my mouth. I step back abruptly and drop to my knees.

“Whoa!” he gasps.

I tug his pants and boxers sharply, and he springs free. Before he can stop me, I take him into my mouth, sucking hard, enjoying his shocked astonishment as his mouth drops open. He gazes down at me, watching my every move, eyes so dark and filled with carnal bliss. Oh my. I sheath my teeth and suck harder. He closes his eyes and surrenders to this blissful carnal pleasure. I know what I do to him, and it’s hedonistic, liberating, and sexy as hell. The feeling is heady; I’m not just powerful—I’m omniscient.

“Fuck,” he hisses and gently cradles my head, flexing his hips so he moves deeper inside my mouth. Oh yes, I want this and I swirl my tongue around him, pulling hard … over and over.

“Ana.” He tries to step back.

Oh no you don’t, Grey. I want you
. I grab his hips firmly, doubling my efforts, and I can tell he’s close.

“Please,” he pants. “I’m gonna come, Ana,” he groans.

Good. My inner goddess’s head is thrown back in ecstasy, and he comes, loudly and wetly, into my mouth.

He opens his bright gray eyes, gazing down at me, and I smile up at him, licking my lips. He grins back at me, a wicked, salacious grin.

“Oh, so this is the game we’re playing, Miss Steele?” He bends, hooks his hands under my arms, and pulls me to my feet. Suddenly his mouth is on mine. He 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.