fifty shades darker полностью

“You said you were worried I’d lost my edge. I’m not sure what you meant by that, and I don’t know how serious you were, but we are going to find out. I don’t want to go back into the playroom yet, so we can try this now, but if you don’t like it, you must promise to tell me.” A burning intensity born of his anxiety replaces his earlier cockiness.

Whoa, please don’t be anxious, Christian. “I’ll tell you. No safe word,” I reiterate to reassure him.

“We’re lovers, Anastasia. Lovers don’t need safe words.” He frowns. “Do they?”

“I guess not,” I murmur. Jeez—how do I know? “I promise.” He searches my face for any clue that I might lack the courage of my convictions, and I’m nervous but excited, too. I’m much happier to do this, knowing that he loves me. It’s very simple to me, and right now, I don’t want to overthink it.

A slow smile stretches across his face, and he starts to unbutton my shirt, his deft fingers making short work of it, though he doesn’t take it off. He leans over and picks up the cue. Oh fuck, what’s he going to do with that? A frisson of fear runs through me.

“You play well, Miss Steele. I must say I’m surprised. Why don’t you sink the black?” My fear forgotten, I pout, wondering why the hell he should be surprised—sexy, arrogant bastard. My inner goddess is limbering up in the background, doing her floor exercises—a great fat smile on her face.

I position the white ball. Christian strolls back around the table and stands right behind me as I lean over to take my shot. He places his hand on my right thigh and runs his fingers up and down my leg, up to my behind and back again, lightly stroking me.

“I am going to miss if you keep doing that,” I whisper, closing my eyes and relishing the feel of his hands on me.

“I don’t care if you hit or miss, baby. I just wanted to see you like this—partially dressed, stretched out on my billiard table. Do you have any idea how hot you look at the moment?”

I flush, and my inner goddess grabs a rose between her teeth and starts to tango. Taking a deep breath, I try to ignore him and line up my shot. It’s impossible. He caresses my behind, over and over again.

“Top left,” I murmur, then hit the white ball. He smacks me hard, squarely on my backside.

It’s so unexpected, I yelp. The white hits the black, which bounces off the cushion wide of the pocket. Christian caresses my behind again.

“Oh, I think you need to try that again,” he whispers. “You should concentrate, Anastasia.”

I am panting now, excited by this game. He strolls to the end of the table, sets up the black ball again, then runs the white ball back down to me. He looks so carnal, dark eyed with a lascivious smile. How could I ever resist this man? I catch the ball and line it up, ready to strike again.

“Uh-uh,” he admonishes. “Just wait.” Oh, he just loves prolonging the agony. He wanders back and stands behind me again. I close my eyes once more as he strokes my left thigh this time then fondles my backside again.

“Take aim,” he breathes.

I can’t help my moan as desire twists and turns inside me. And I try, really try, to think about where I should hit the black with the white. I shift slightly to my right, and he follows me. I bend over the table once more. Using every last vestige of inner strength—which has diminished considerably since I know what will happen once I strike the white ball—I take aim and hit the white again. Christian smacks me once more, hard.

Ow! I miss again. “Oh no! ” I groan.

“Once more, baby. And if you miss this time, I’m really going to let you have it.” What? Have what?

He sets up the black ball once more and walks, achingly slow, back to me until he’s standing behind me, caressing my backside once more.

“You can do it,” he coaxes.

Oh—not when you’re distracting me like this. I push my behind back against his hand, and he smacks me lightly.

“Eager, Miss Steele?” he murmurs.

Yes. I want you.

“Well, let’s get rid of these.” He gently slides my panties down my thighs and off. I can’t see what he does with them, but he leaves me feeling exposed as he plants a soft kiss on each cheek.

“Take the shot, baby.”

I want to whimper, this is so not going to happen. I know I am going to miss. I line up the white, hit it, and in my impatience, miss the black completely. I wait for the blow—but it doesn’t come. Instead he leans right over me, flattening me against the table, takes the cue out of my hand and rolls it to the side cushion. I can feel him, hard, against my backside.

“You missed,” he says softly in my ear. My cheek is pressed against the baize. “Put your hands flat on the table.”

I do as he says.

“Good. I’m going to spank you now and next time, maybe you won’t.” He shifts so he’s standing to my left side, his erection against my hip.