fifty shades darker полностью

I realize I’m holding my breath. What will she do? What will he do? But they just continue to stare at each other. Christian’s expression is raw, full of some unnamed emotion. It could be pity, fear, affection . . . or is it love? No, please, not love!

His eyes bore into her, and agonizingly slowly, the atmosphere in the apartment changes. The tension is building so that I can sense their connection, the charge between them .

No! Suddenly I feel I’m the interloper, intruding on them as they stand gazing at each other. I’m an outsider—a voyeur, spying on a forbidden, intimate scene behind closed curtains.

Christian’s intense gaze burns brighter, and his bearing changes subtly. He looks taller, more angular somehow, colder, and more distant. I recognize this stance. I’ve seen him like this before—in his playroom.

My scalp prickles anew. This is Dominant Christian, and how at ease he looks. Whether he was born to or made for this role, I just don’t know, but with a sinking heart and sickened stomach, I watch as Leila responds, her lips parting, her breathing picking up as the first flush of color stains her cheeks. No! It’s such an unwelcome glimpse into his past, agonizing to witness.

Finally, he mouths a word at her. I can’t make out what it is, but the effect on Leila is immediate. She drops to the floor on her knees, her head bowed, and the gun falls and skit-ters uselessly across the wooden floor. Holy fuck.

Christian walks calmly over to where the gun has fallen and bends gracefully to pick it up. He regards it with ill-disguised disgust then slips it into his jacket pocket. He gazes once more at Leila as she kneels compliantly beside the kitchen island.

“Anastasia, go with Taylor,” he commands. Taylor crosses the threshold and stares at me. “Ethan,” I whisper.

“Downstairs.” He responds matter-of-factly, his eyes never leaving Leila.

Downstairs. Not here. Ethan’s okay. Relief floods hard and fast through my blood, and for a moment I think I’m going to faint.

“Anastasia,” Christian’s tone is clipped in warning.

I blink at him, and I’m suddenly unable to move. I don’t want to leave him—leave him with her. He moves to stand beside Leila as she kneels at his feet. He’s hovering over her, protectively. She’s so still, it’s unnatural. I can’t take my eyes off the two of them—

together . . .

“For the love of God, Anastasia, will you do as you’re told for once in your life and go!” Christian’s eyes lock with mine as he glowers at me, his voice a blistering cold shard of ice.

The anger beneath the quiet, deliberate delivery of his words is palpable.

Angry at me? Surely not. Please—No! I feel like he’s slapped me hard. Why does he want to stay with her?

“Taylor. Take Miss Steele downstairs. Now.”

Taylor nods at him as I stare at Christian.

“Why?” I whisper.

“Go. Back to the apartment.” His eyes blaze frostily at me. “I need to be alone with Leila.” He says it urgently.

I think he’s trying to convey some kind of message, but I’m so thrown by all that’s happened that I’m not sure. I glance down at Leila and notice a very small smile cross her lips, but otherwise she remains truly impassive. A complete submissive. Fuck! My heart chills.

This is what he needs. This is what he likes. No! I want to wail.

“Miss Steele. Ana.” Taylor holds his hand out to me, imploring me to come. I am immobilized by the horrific spectacle before me. It confirms my worst fears and plays on all my insecurities: Christian and Leila together—the Dom and his sub.

“Taylor,” Christian urges, and Taylor leans down and scoops me into his arms. The last thing I see as we leave is Christian gently stroking Leila’s head as he murmurs something softly to her.

No!

As Taylor carries me down the stairs, I lie limply in his arms trying to grasp what’s happened in the last ten minutes—was it longer? Or shorter? The concept of time has deserted me.

Christian and Leila, Leila and Christian . . . together? What is he doing with her now?

“Jesus, Ana! What the fuck is going on?”

I am relieved to see Ethan as he paces the small lobby, still carrying his large shoulder bag. Oh, thank heavens he’s okay! When Taylor sets me down, I practically throw myself at Ethan, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Ethan. Oh, thank God!” I hug him, holding him close. I was so worried, and for a brief moment, I enjoy some respite from my rising panic at what is unfolding upstairs in my apartment.

“What the fuck is going on, Ana? Who’s this guy?”

“Oh, sorry, Ethan, this is Taylor. He works with Christian. Taylor, this is Ethan, my roommate’s brother.”

They nod at each other.

“Ana, upstairs, what’s going on? I was fishing for the apartment keys when these guys jumped out of nowhere and grabbed them. One of them was Christian . . .” Ethan’s voice trails off.

“You were late . . . Thank God.”