Fifty Shades Trilogy Bundle: Fifty Shades of Grey; Fifty Shades Darker; Fifty Shades Freed (116 page)

“I think you liked oysters last time you tried them.” His voice is low, seductive.

“Only time I’ve tried them.” I’m all breathy, my voice exposing me. His lips twitch with a smile.

“Oh, Miss Steele—when will you learn?” he muses.

He takes an oyster from the dish and lifts his other hand from his thigh. I flinch in anticipation, but he reaches for a slice of lemon.

“Learn what?” I ask. Jeez, my pulse is racing. His long, skilled fingers gently squeeze the lemon over the shellfish.

“Eat,” he says, holding the shell close to my mouth. I part my lips, and he gently places the shell on my bottom lip. “Tip your head back slowly,” he murmurs. I do as he asks and the oyster slips down my throat. He doesn’t touch me, only the shell does.

Christian helps himself to one, then feeds me another. We continue this torturous routine until all twelve are gone. His skin never connects with mine. It’s driving me crazy.

“Still like oysters?” he asks as I swallow the final one.

I nod, flushed, craving his touch.

“Good.”

I squirm in my seat. Why is this so hot?

He puts his hand casually on his own thigh again, and I melt. Now. Please. Touch me. My inner goddess is on her knees, naked except for her panties—begging. He runs his hand up and down his thigh, lifts it, then places it back where it was.

The waiter tops up our champagne glasses and whisks away our plates. Moments later he’s back with our entrées, sea bass—
I don’t believe it
—served with asparagus, sautéed potatoes, and a hollandaise sauce.

“A favorite of yours, Mr. Grey?”

“Most definitely, Miss Steele. Though I believe it was cod at the Heathman.” His hand moves up and down his thigh. My breathing spikes, but still he doesn’t touch me. It’s so frustrating. I try to concentrate on our conversation.

“I seem to remember we were in a private dining room then, discussing contracts.”

“Happy days,” he says, smirking. “This time I hope to get to fuck you.” He moves his hand to pick up his knife.

Gah!

He takes a bite out of his sea bass. He’s doing this on purpose.

“Don’t count on it,” I mutter with a pout and he glances at me, amused. “Speaking of contracts,” I add. “The NDA.”

“Tear it up,” he says simply.

Whoa
.

“What? Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure I’m not going to run to the
Seattle Times
with an exposé?” I tease.

He laughs and it’s a wonderful sound. He looks so young.

“No. I trust you. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Oh. I grin shyly at him. “Ditto,” I breathe.

His eyes light up. “I’m very glad you’re wearing a dress,” he murmurs. And bam—desire courses through my already overheated blood.

“Why haven’t you touched me, then?” I hiss.

“Missing my touch?” he asks, grinning. He’s amused … the bastard.

“Yes,” I seethe.

“Eat,” he orders.

“You’re not going to touch me, are you?”

“No.” He shakes his head.

What?
I gasp out loud.

“Just imagine how you’ll feel when we’re home,” he whispers. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

“It will be your fault if I combust here on the seventy-sixth floor,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

“Oh, Anastasia. We’d find a way to put the fire out,” he says, grinning salaciously at me.

Fuming, I dig into my sea bass, and my inner goddess narrows
her eyes in quiet, devious contemplation. We can play this game, too. I learned the basics during our meal at the Heathman. I take a bite out of my sea bass. It is melt-in-the-mouth delicious. I close my eyes, savoring the taste. When I open them, I begin my seduction of Christian Grey, very slowly hitching my skirt up, exposing more of my thighs.

Christian pauses momentarily, a forkful of fish suspended midair.

Touch me
.

After a beat, he resumes eating. I take another bite of sea bass, ignoring him. Then, putting down my knife, I run my fingers up the inside of my lower thigh, lightly tapping my skin with my fingertips. It’s distracting even to me, especially as I am craving his touch. Christian pauses once more.

“I know what you’re doing.” His voice is low and husky.

“I know that you know, Mr. Grey,” I reply softly. “That’s the point.” I pick up an asparagus stalk, gaze sideways at him from beneath my lashes, then dip the asparagus into the hollandaise sauce, swirling the tip around and around.

“You’re not turning the tables on me, Miss Steele.” Smirking he reaches over and takes the spear from me—amazingly and annoyingly managing not to touch me again. No, this isn’t right—this is not going according to plan.
Gah!

“Open your mouth,” he commands.

I am losing this battle of wills. I glance up at him again, and his eyes blaze bright gray. Parting my lips a fraction, I run my tongue across my lower lip. Christian smiles and his eyes darken further.

“Wider,” he breathes, his lips parting so that I can see his tongue. I groan inwardly and bite my bottom lip, then do as he asks.

I hear his sharp intake of breath—he’s not so immune. Good, I am finally getting to him.

Keeping my eyes locked on his, I take the spear in my mouth, and suck gently … delicately … on the end. The hollandaise
sauce is mouthwatering. I bite down, moaning quietly in appreciation.

Christian closes his eyes.
Yes!
When he opens them again, his pupils have dilated. The effect on me is immediate. I groan and reach out to touch his thigh. To my surprise, he uses his other hand to grab my wrist.

“Oh no you don’t, Miss Steele,” he murmurs softly. Raising my hand to his mouth, he gently brushes my knuckles with his lips, and I squirm. Finally! More, please.

“Don’t touch,” he scolds me quietly, and places my hand back on my knee. It’s so frustrating—this brief unsatisfactory contact.

“You don’t play fair.” I pout.

“I know.” He picks up his champagne glass to propose a toast, and I mirror his actions.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Miss Steele.” We clink glasses and I blush.

“Yes, kind of unexpected,” I mutter. He frowns as if some unpleasant thought has crossed his mind.

“Eat,” he orders. “I am not taking you home until you’ve finished your meal, and then we can really celebrate.” His expression is so heated, so raw, so commanding. I am melting.

“I’m not hungry. Not for food.”

He shakes his head, thoroughly enjoying himself, but narrows his eyes at me just the same.

“Eat, or I’ll put you across my knee, right here, and we’ll entertain the other diners.”

His words make me squirm. He wouldn’t dare! Him and his twitchy palm. I press my mouth into a hard line and stare at him. Picking up an asparagus stalk, he dips the head into the hollandaise.

“Eat this,” he murmurs, his voice low and seductive.

I willingly comply.

“You really don’t eat enough. You’ve lost weight since I’ve known you.” His tone is gentle.

I don’t want to think about my weight; truth is, I like being this slim. I swallow the asparagus.

“I just want to go home and make love,” I mutter disconsolately. Christian grins.

“So do I, and we will. Eat up.”

Reluctantly, I turn back to my food and start to eat. Honestly, I’ve taken my panties off and everything. I feel like a child who has been denied candy. He is such a tease, a delicious, hot, naughty tease, and all mine.

He quizzes me about Ethan. As it turns out, Christian does business with Kate and Ethan’s father. Hmm … it’s a small world. I’m relieved he doesn’t mention Dr. Flynn or the house, as I’m finding it difficult to concentrate on our conversation. I want to go home.

The carnal anticipation is unfurling between us. He’s so good at this. Making me wait. Setting the scene. Between bites, he places his hand on his thigh, so close to mine, but still doesn’t touch me just to tease me further.

Bastard! Finally I finish my food and place my knife and fork on the plate.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and those two words hold so much promise.

I frown at him. “What now?” I ask, desire clawing at my belly. Oh, I want this man.

“Now? We leave. I believe you have certain expectations, Miss Steele. Which I intend to fulfill to the best of my ability.”

Whoa!

“The best … of your a … bil … ity?” I stutter.
Holy shit
.

He grins and stands.

“Don’t we have to pay?” I ask, breathless.

He cocks his head to one side. “I am a member here. They’ll bill me. Come, Anastasia, after you.” He steps aside, and I stand to leave, conscious that I am not wearing my panties.

He gazes at me darkly, like he’s undressing me, and I glory in his carnal appraisal. It just makes me feel so sexy—this beautiful man desires me. Will I always get a kick out of this? Deliberately stopping in front of him, I smooth my dress over my hips.

Christian whispers in my ear, “I can’t wait to get you home.” But he still doesn’t touch me.

On the way out he murmurs something about the car to the maître d’, but I’m not listening; my inner goddess is incandescent with anticipation. Jeez, she could light up Seattle.

Waiting by the elevators, we are joined by two middle-aged couples. When the doors open, Christian takes my elbow and steers me to the back. I glance around, and we’re surrounded by dark smoked-glass mirrors. As the other couples enter, one man in a rather unflattering brown suit greets Christian.

“Grey.” He nods politely. Christian nods in return but is silent.

The couples stand in front of us, facing the elevator doors. They are obviously friends—the women chat loudly, excited and animated after their meal. I think they’re all a little tipsy.

As the doors close, Christian briefly stoops down beside me to tie his shoelace. Odd, his shoelaces aren’t undone. Discreetly he places his hand on my ankle, startling me, and as he stands his hand travels swiftly up my leg, skating deliciously over my skin—whoa—right up. I have to stifle my gasp of surprise as his hand reaches my backside. Christian moves behind me.

Oh my
. I gape at the people in front of us, staring at the backs of their heads. They have no idea what we’re up to. Wrapping his free arm around my waist, Christian pulls me to him, holding me in place as his fingers explore.
Holy fucking shit … in here?
The elevator travels smoothly down, stopping at the fifty-third floor to let some more people on, but I am not paying attention. I am focused on every little move his fingers make. Circling around … now moving forward, questing, as we shuffle back.

Again I stifle a groan when his fingers find their goal.

“Always so ready, Miss Steele,” he whispers as he slips a finger inside me. I squirm and gasp. How can he do this with all these people here?

“Keep still and quiet,” he warns, murmuring in my ear.

I’m flushed, warm, wanting, trapped in an elevator with seven people, six of them oblivious to what’s occurring in the corner.
His finger slides in and out of me, again and again. My breathing … Jeez, it’s embarrassing. I want to tell him to stop … and continue … and stop. I sag against him, and he tightens his arm around me, his erection against my hip.

We halt again at the forty-fourth floor.
Oh … how long is this torture going to continue? In … out … in … out …
Subtly I grind myself against his persistent finger. After all this time of not touching me, he chooses now! Here! And it makes me feel so—wanton.

“Hush,” he breathes, seemingly unaffected as yet two more people come aboard. The elevator is getting crowded. Christian moves us both farther back so that we’re now pressed into the corner, holding me in place and torturing me further. He nuzzles my hair. I’m sure we look like a young couple in love, canoodling in the corner, if anyone could be bothered to turn around and see what we’re doing … And he eases a second finger inside me.

Fuck!
I groan, and I’m thankful that the gaggle of people in front of us are still chatting away, totally oblivious.

Oh, Christian, what you do to me
. I lean my head against his chest, closing my eyes and surrendering to his unrelenting fingers.

“Don’t come,” he whispers. “I want that later.” He splays his hand out on my belly, pressing down slightly, as he continues his sweet persecution. The feeling is exquisite.

Finally the elevator reaches the first floor. With a loud
ping
the doors open, and almost instantly the passengers start exiting. Christian slowly slips his fingers out of me and kisses the back of my head. I glance around at him, and he smiles, then nods again at Mr. Badly Fitted Brown Suit, who returns his nod of acknowledgment as he shuffles out of the elevator with his wife. I barely notice, concentrating instead on staying upright and trying to manage my panting. Jeez, I feel aching and bereft. Christian releases me, leaving me to stand on my own two feet without leaning on him.

Turning, I gaze up at him. He looks cool and unruffled, his usual composed self. Hmm … This is so not fair.

“Ready?” he asks. His eyes gleam wickedly as he slips first his index, then his middle finger into his mouth and sucks on them. “Mighty fine, Miss Steele,” he whispers. I nearly convulse on the spot.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” I murmur, and I’m practically coming apart at the seams.

“You’d be surprised what I can do, Miss Steele,” he says. Reaching out, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, a slight smile betraying his amusement.

“I want to get you home, but maybe we’ll only make it as far as the car.” He grins down at me as he takes my hand and leads me out of the elevator.

What! Sex in the car?
Can’t we just do it here on the cool marble of the lobby floor … please?

“Come.”

“Yes, I want to.”

“Miss Steele!” he admonishes me with mock-amused horror.

“I’ve never had sex in a car,” I mumble. Christian halts and places those same fingers under my chin, tipping my head back and glaring down at me.

“I’m very pleased to hear that. I have to say I’d be very surprised, not to say mad, if you had.”