Darker Read online

  "You're not going?" I can't believe it.

  "Do you want me to go?"

  "No! I thought you would leave once you knew."

  Her expression is softer, but she still looks confounded.

  Please don't go, Ana.

  Life will be unbearable if you go.

  "Don't leave me," I whisper.

  "Oh, for crying out loud--no!" she shouts, startling me. "I am not going to go!"

  "Really?" Unbelievable. She astonishes me, even now.

  "What can I do to make you understand I will not run? What can I say?" She's exasperated.

  And to my surprise an idea springs to mind. An idea so wild and out of my comfort zone that I wonder where it came from. I swallow. "There is one thing you can do."

  "What?" she snaps.

  "Marry me."

  Her mouth drops open, and she gapes at me.

  Marriage, Grey? Have you taken leave of your senses?

  Why would she want to marry you?

  She's stunned but then her lips part and she giggles. She bites her lip--I think it's to try and stop herself. But she fails. She flops down on the floor and her giggling turns to peals of laughter that echo through my living room.

  This is not the reaction I was expecting.

  Her laughter becomes hysterical. She drapes her hand across her face and I think she might be sobbing.

  I don't know what to do.

  Gently I lift her arm off her face and wipe her tears with the back of my knuckles. I try for something light. "You find my proposal amusing, Miss Steele?"

  She sniffles and, reaching up, caresses my cheek.

  Again, not what I expected.

  "Mr. Grey," she whispers. "Christian. Your sense of timing is without doubt..." She stops, her eyes searching mine as if I'm a crazy fool. And maybe I am, but I need to know her answer.

  "You're cutting me to the quick here, Ana. Will you marry me?"

  Slowly she sits up and places her hands on my knees. "Christian, I've met your psycho ex with a gun, been thrown out of my apartment, had you go thermonuclear Fifty on me--"

  Fifty?

  I open my mouth to plead my case, but she holds up her hand to stop me, so I remain mute.

  "You've just revealed some quite frankly shocking information about yourself, and now you've asked me to marry you."

  "Yes, I think that's a fair and accurate summary of the situation."

  "Whatever happened to delayed gratification?" she asks, confounding me once more.

  "I got over it, and I'm now a firm advocate of instant gratification. Carpe diem, Ana."

  "Look, Christian, I've known you for about three minutes, and there's so much more I need to know. I've had too much to drink, I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I want to go to bed. I need to consider your proposal just as I considered that contract you gave me. And"--she pauses and purses her lips--"that wasn't the most romantic proposal."

  Hope stirs in my chest. "Fair point well made, as ever, Miss Steele. So, that's not a no?"

  She sighs. "No, Mr. Grey, it's not a no, but it's not a yes, either. You're only doing this because you're scared and you don't trust me."

  "No, I'm doing this because I've finally met someone I want to spend the rest of my life with. I never thought that would happen to me."

  And that's the truth, Ana.

  I love you.

  "Can I think about it, please? And think about everything else that's happened today? What you've just told me? You asked for patience and faith. Well, back at you, Grey. I need those now."

  Faith and patience.

  I lean forward and smooth a wayward lock behind her ear. I would wait an eternity for her answer, if it meant that she didn't leave me.

  "I can live with that." Leaning forward again, I give her a swift kiss.

  She doesn't recoil.

  And I feel a brief sense of relief. "Not very romantic, eh?"

  She shakes her head, her expression solemn.

  "Hearts and flowers?" I ask.

  She nods and I give her a smile.

  "You're hungry?"

  "Yes."

  "You didn't eat."

  "No, I didn't eat," she says without rancor, and sits back on her heels. "Being thrown out of my apartment after witnessing my boyfriend interacting intimately with his ex-submissive considerably suppressed my appetite." She places her hands on her hips.

  I get to my feet, still amazed that she's here. I hold out my hand. "Let me fix you something to eat."

  "Can't I just go to bed?" She puts her hand in mine and I help her to her feet.

  "No, you need to eat. Come."

  I lead her a few feet to a barstool, and once she's sat down I explore the fridge.

  "Christian, I'm really not hungry."

  I ignore her as I look through the contents of the fridge. "Cheese?" I offer.

  "Not at this hour."

  "Pretzels?"

  "In the fridge? No," she says.

  "You don't like pretzels?"

  "Not at eleven thirty. Christian, I'm going to bed. You can rummage around in your refrigerator for the rest of the night if you want. I'm tired, and I've had far too interesting a day. A day I'd like to forget." She slides off the stool just as I find the dish Mrs. Jones prepared earlier this evening.

  "Macaroni and cheese?" I hold it up.

  Ana gives me a sideways look. "You like macaroni and cheese?" she asks.

  Like? I love mac and cheese. "You want some?" I try and tempt her.

  Her smile says all she needs to say.

  I pop the bowl into the microwave and press heat.

  "So, you know how to use the microwave, then?" Ana teases. She's back on the barstool.

  "If it's in a packet, I can usually do something with it. It's real food I have a problem with."

  I set up two place mats, plates, and cutlery.

  "It's very late," Ana says.

  "Don't go to work tomorrow."

  "I have to go to work tomorrow. My boss is leaving for New York."

  "Do you want to go there this weekend?"

  "I checked the weather forecast, and it looks like rain," she says.

  "Oh, so what do you want to do?"

  The microwave pings. Our supper is ready.

  "I just want to get through one day at a time right now. All this excitement is...tiring."

  Using a cloth, I remove the steaming bowl from the microwave and place it on the kitchen counter. It smells delicious, and I'm pleased that my appetite has returned. Ana dishes a spoonful onto each plate as I take my seat.

  It's staggering that she's still with me, in spite of all I've told her. She's so...strong. She never disappoints. Even when facing Leila, she kept her cool.

  She takes a bite of her food, as do I. It's exactly how I like it.

  "Sorry about Leila," I mutter.

  "Why are you sorry?"

  "It must have been a terrible shock for you, finding her in your apartment. Taylor swept through it earlier himself. He's very upset."

  "I don't blame Taylor."

  "Neither do I. He's been out looking for you."

  "Really? Why?"

  "I didn't know where you were. You left your purse, your phone. I couldn't even track you. Where did you go?"

  "Ethan and I just went to a bar across the street. So I could watch what was happening."

  "I see."

  "So, what did you do with Leila in the apartment?"

  "You really want to know?" I ask.

  "Yes," she replies, but in a tone that makes me think she's not sure. I hesitate, but she glances at me once more and I have to be honest. "We talked, and I gave her a bath. And I dressed her in some of your clothes. I hope you don't mind. But she was filthy."

  Ana remains mute and turns away from me. My appetite vanishes.

  Shit. I shouldn't have told her.

  "It was all I could do, Ana," I try to explain.

  "You still have feelings for her?"

  "No!" I close my eyes as a visi
on of Leila, sad and waiflike, comes to mind. "To see her like that--so different, so broken. I care about her, one human being to another." I let go of the image and turn to Ana.

  "Ana, look at me."

  She stares at her untouched food.

  "Ana."

  "What?" she whispers.

  "Don't. It doesn't mean anything. It was like caring for a child, a broken, shattered child."

  She closes her eyes, and for a horrid moment I think she's going to burst into tears. "Ana?"

  She stands and takes her plate to the sink and scrapes the contents into the trash.

  "Ana, please."

  "Just stop, Christian! Just stop with the 'Ana, please'!" she shouts with exasperation and starts to cry. "I've had enough of all this shit today. I'm going to bed. I'm tired and emotional. Now let me be." She storms out of the kitchen toward the bedroom, leaving me with cooling, congealing macaroni and cheese.

  Shit.

  WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15, 2011

  * * *

  I put my head in my hands and rub my face. I can't believe I asked Ana to marry me. And she didn't say no. But she didn't say yes, either. She may never say yes.

  In the morning, she'll wake and come to her senses.

  The day started so well. But it's been a train wreck since this evening, since Leila.

  Well, at least she's safe and getting the help she needs.

  But at what cost? Ana?

  She now knows everything.

  She knows I'm a monster.

  But she's still here.

  Focus on the positive, Grey.

  My appetite has gone the same way as Ana's, and I'm exhausted. It's been an emotional evening. I get up from the kitchen counter. I've experienced more in the last half hour than I would have thought possible.

  This is what she does to you, Grey. She makes you feel.

  You know you're alive when you're with her.

  I can't lose her. I've only just found her.

  Confused and overwhelmed, I deposit my plate in the sink and head to my bedroom.

  It will be our bedroom if she says yes.

  Outside the bathroom, I hear a stifled noise. She's weeping. I open the door and she's on the floor, curled up in the fetal position, wearing one of my T-shirts and sobbing. The sight of her in such despair is like a swift kick to my gut that leaves me breathless. It's intolerable.

  I crawl onto the floor. "Hey," I murmur, as I pull her into my lap. "Please don't cry, Ana, please." She snakes her arms around me and clings to me, but her crying shows no sign of abating.

  Oh, baby.

  Gently I stroke her back, thinking about how much more her tears affect me than Leila's did.

  Because I love her.

  She's brave and strong. And this is how I reward her, by making her cry.

  "I'm sorry, baby," I whisper, holding her, and I start to rock to and fro as she weeps. I kiss her hair. Eventually, her crying subsides and she shudders, racked with dry sobs. I stand with her in my arms, carry her to the bedroom, and lay her down on the bed. She yawns and closes her eyes while I strip out of my pants and shirt. Leaving my underwear on, I slip into a T-shirt and switch off the lights. In bed, I hold her close. Within seconds, her breathing deepens and I know she's asleep. She's exhausted, too. I dare not move for fear of waking her. She needs sleep.

  In the dark I try to make some sense of all that has occurred this evening. So much has happened. Too much, too much...

  Leila stands before me. She's a waif and her stench makes me take a step back.

  The stench. No.

  The stench.

  He smells. He smells of nasty. And dirt. It makes sick come into my mouth.

  He's mad. I hide under the table. There you are, you little prick.

  He has cigarettes.

  No. I call my mommy. But she doesn't hear me. She lies on the floor.

  Smoke comes out of his mouth.

  He laughs.

  And he holds my hair.

  The burn. I scream.

  I don't like the burn.

  Mommy is on the floor. I sleep beside her. She is cold. I cover her with my blankie.

  He's back. He's mad.

  Crazy. Stupid. Bitch.

  Get out of my way, you stupid fucking runt. He hits me and I fall.

  He goes. He locks the door. And it's Mommy and me.

  And then she's gone. Where is Mommy? Where is Mommy?

  He holds the cigarette in front of me.

  No.

  He takes a puff.

  No.

  He presses it against my skin.

  No.

  The pain. The smell.

  No.

  "Christian!"

  My eyes flick open. There's light. Where am I? My bedroom.

  Ana's out of bed, holding my shoulders, shaking me.

  "You left, you left, you must have left," I mumble incoherently. She sits down beside me. "I'm here," she says, and lays her palm on my cheek.

  "You were gone."

  I only have nightmares when you're not here.

  "I just went for a drink. I was thirsty."

  Closing my eyes, I rub my face, trying to separate fact from fiction. She hasn't left. She's looking down at me: kind, kind Ana. My girl. "You're here. Oh, thank God." I pull her down beside me on the bed.

  "I just went to get a drink," she says, as I wrap my arms around her. She strokes my hair and my cheek. "Christian, please. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

  "Oh, Ana." My mouth claims hers. She tastes of orange juice...sweetness and home.

  My body responds as I kiss her, her ear, her throat. I tug her bottom lip with my teeth as I caress her body. My hand pushing up the T-shirt she's wearing. She trembles as I cup her breast and she moans into my mouth as my fingers find her nipple. "I want you," I whisper.

  I need you.

  "I'm here for you. Only you, Christian."

  Her words light a fire inside me. I kiss her again.

  Please never leave me.

  She grabs my T-shirt and I move so that she can pull it off. I pull her upright while kneeling between her legs and drag off her T-shirt. She looks up at me, her eyes dark and full of hunger and longing. Holding her face, I kiss her, and we sink onto the mattress. Her fingers tangle in my hair as she kisses me back, matching my fervor. Her tongue in my mouth, eager to please.

  Oh, Ana.

  Suddenly, she pulls back and pushes against my arms. "Christian. Stop. I can't do this."

  "What? What's wrong?" I murmur against her throat.

  "No, please. I can't do this, not now. I need some time, please..."

  "Oh, Ana, don't overthink this," I whisper, as my anxiety returns. I'm fully awake. She's rejecting me. No. I'm desperate. I tug her earlobe with my teeth and her body bows under my touch and she gasps. "I'm just the same, Ana. I love you and I need you. Touch me. Please." I stop and rub my nose against hers and stare down at her, holding my weight on my arms as I wait for her response.

  Our relationship rests on this moment.

  If she can't do this...

  If she can't touch me.

  If I can't have her.

  I wait.

  Please, Ana.

  Tentatively, she reaches up and places her hand on my chest.

  Heat and pain spiral across my chest as the darkness unleashes its claws. I gasp and close my eyes.

  I can do this.

  I can do this for her.

  My girl.

  Ana.

  She runs her hand up to my shoulder, her fingertips scalding my skin. I groan; I want this so much and I dread it so much.

  To dread your lover's touch. What kind of fuckup am I?

  She pulls me down to her and moves her hands to my back, holding me. Her palms on my flesh. Branding me. My strangled cry is half groan, half sob. I bury my face in her neck, hiding, seeking solace from the pain, but kissing her, loving her, as her fingers cross the two scars on my back.

  It's almost unbearable.

&nbs
p; I kiss her, feverishly, losing myself in her tongue and her mouth as I fight my demons, using only my lips and my hands. They skim over her body while her hands move over mine.

  The darkness is swirling, trying to dislodge her, but Ana's fingers are on me. Caressing me. Feeling me. Gentle. Loving. And I steel myself against my fear and the pain.

  I trail my lips down to her breasts and close them around one nipple, tugging until it's hard and standing at attention. She groans as her body rises to meet mine and she scrapes her fingernails across the muscles on my back. It's too much. Fear erupts in my chest, hammering my heart. "Oh, fuck, Ana," I cry out and stare down at her. She's panting, eyes bright and brimming with sensuality.

  This is turning her on.

  Fuck.

  Don't overthink this, Grey.

  Man up. Go with it.

  Taking a deep breath to slow my pounding heart, I skate my hand down her body, over her belly, to her labia. I cup her and my fingers are wet with her anticipation. Easing them inside her, I circle them and she pushes her pelvis up to meet my hand.

  "Ana." Her name is an invocation. I release her and sit up, and her hands fall away so she's no longer touching me. I feel relieved and bereft at once. I remove my boxers, freeing my cock, and lean over to the bedside table for a condom. I hand it to her. "You want to do this? You can still say no. You can always say no."

  "Don't give me a chance to think, Christian." She's breathless. "I want you, too." She rips open the foil with her teeth and slowly, with trembling fingers, slides it onto me.

  Her fingers on my erection are torture. "Steady. You are going to unman me, Ana."

  She gives me a quick, possessive smile, and when she's done I stretch over her. But I need to know she wants this, too. I roll us both over, quickly.

  "You, take me," I whisper, staring up at her.

  She licks her lips and sinks down on me, taking me, inch by inch.

  "Ah." I tilt my head back and close my eyes.

  I'm yours, Ana.

  She grabs my hands and starts to move, up and down.

  Oh, baby.

  Leaning forward, she kisses my chin and runs her teeth over my jaw.

  I'm going to come.

  Shit.

  I still her with my hands on her hips.

  Slow, baby. Please, let's take this slow.

  Her eyes are full of passion and excitement.

  And I steel myself once more. "Ana, touch me, please."

  Her eyes widen with sheer delight and she spreads her hands on my chest. It's blistering. I cry out and thrust deep inside her.

  "Ah," she whimpers, and her fingernails trail through my chest hair. Tantalizing me. Teasing me. But the darkness is pushing at each point of contact, determined to rupture my skin. It's so painful, so intense, tears spring to my eyes, and Ana's face blurs in a watery vision.

  I twist so that she's underneath me. "Enough. No more, please."