Free fifty shades darker by E.L. James Page B

to move— holy cow, a punishing, relentless . . . oh fuck —and I know it will not be long. He sets a pounding rhythm. I start to quicken, my legs tensing beneath him.
    “Come on, baby,” he gasps. “Give it to me.”
    His words are my undoing, and I explode, magnificently, mind-numbingly, into a million pieces around him, and he follows calling out my name.
    “Ana! Oh fuck, Ana!” He collapses on top of me, his head buried in my neck.

    As sanity returns, I open my eyes and gaze up into the face of the man I love. Christian’s expression is soft, tender. He strokes his nose against mine, bearing his weight on his elbows, his hands holding mine by the side of my head. Sadly, I suspect that’s so I don’t touch him. He plants a gentle kiss on my lips as he eases himself out of me.
    “I’ve missed this,” he breathes.
    “Me too,” I whisper.
    He takes hold of my chin and kisses me hard. A passionate, beseeching kiss, asking for what? I don’t know. It leaves me breathless.
    “Don’t leave me again,” he implores, looking deep into my eyes, his face serious.
    “Okay,” I whisper and smile at him. His answering smile is dazzling; relief, elation, and boyish delight combined into one enchanting look that would melt the coldest of hearts.
    “Thank you for the iPad.”
    “You are most welcome, Anastasia.”
    “What’s your favorite song on there?”
    “Now that would be telling.” He grins. “Come cook me some food, wench. I’m famished,” he adds, sitting up suddenly and dragging me with him.
    “Wench?” I giggle.

    “Wench. Food, now, please.”
    “Since you ask so nicely, sire, I’ll get right on to it.”
    As I scramble out of bed, I dislodge my pillow, revealing the deflated helicopter balloon underneath. Christian reaches for it and gazes up at me, puzzled.
    “That’s my balloon,” I say, feeling proprietary as I reach for my robe and wrap it round myself. Oh jeez . . . why did he have to find that?
    “In your bed?” he murmurs.
    “Yes,” I flush. “It’s been keeping me company.”
    “Lucky Charlie Tango,” he says, in surprise.
    Yes, I’m sentimental, Grey, because I love you.
    “My balloon,” I say again and turn on my heel and head out to the kitchen, leaving him grinning from ear to ear.
    Christian and I sit on Kate’s persian rug, eating stir-fry chicken and noodles from white china bowls with chopsticks and sipping chilled white Pinot Grigio. Christian leans against the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’s wearing his jeans and his shirt with his just-fucked hair, and that’s all. The Buena Vista Social Club croons softly in the background from Christian’s iPod.
    “This is good,” he says appreciatively as he digs into his food.
    I sit cross-legged beside him, eating greedily, beyond hungry, and admire his naked feet.“I usually do all the cooking. Kate isn’t a great cook.”
    “Did you your mother teach you?”
    “Not really,” I scoff. “By the time I was interested in learning, my mom was living with Husband Number Three in Mansfield, Texas. And Ray, well, he would’ve lived on toast and takeout if it wasn’t for me.”
    Christian gazes down at me. “You didn’t stay in Texas with your mom?”
    “No. Steve, her husband and I, we didn’t get along. And I missed Ray. Her marriage to Steve didn’t last long. She came to her senses, I think. She never talks about him,” I add quietly. I think that’s a dark part of her life, which we’ve never discussed.
    “So you came back to Washington to live with your stepfather.”
    “Yes.”
    “Sounds like you looked after him,” he says softly.
    “I suppose.” I shrug.
    “You’re used to taking care of people.”
    The edge in his voice attracts my attention, and I glance up at him.
    “What is it?” I ask, startled by his wary expression.
    “I want to take care of you.” His luminous eyes glow with some unnamed emotion.
    My heart rate spikes.
    “I’ve noticed,” I whisper.