Happy Thursday, all! Let’s get through the rest of this week with the help of Chapter Seven of Fifty Shades Darker. No worries, it just gets worse with each chapter, but that doesn’t mean we can’t laugh at it!
My subconscious has finally decided to make an appearance, and she’s wearing her Edvard Munch “Scream” face.
“˜I don’t know whether to worship at your feet or spank the living shit out of you.’
Oh, I know what I want right now. I gaze up at him, blinking through my mask. I just wish I could read what’s in his eyes.
“˜I’ll take option two, please,’ I whisper frantically as the applause dies down. His lips part as he inhales sharply.
I’ll take spanking the living shit out of me for two hundred, Alex!
I swallow convulsively, and the ache that has been bothering me for the last couple of hours is roaring now, raw and wanting. Seeing him standing there on the royal blue carpet in that mask . . . it’s beyond erotic. I want him. Now. Any way I can get him. I have to resist launching myself at him and ripping his clothes off. He waltzes over to me slowly.
Waltzing is erotic! Who knew? Did you guys fuck to the Danube waltz, too?
I note with dispassionate interest that I did not remove my shoes during our illicit tryst.
She’s like, so kinky! She wore her Leboutons during their quickie up in his old bedroom!
As I make my way to the powder room, I remember I have left my purse on the dinner table, so I head down to the marquee. When I enter, it’s still lit but quite deserted, except for a couple at the other end, who really ought to get a room!
Just like you and Christian just did?
I don’t know what the social conventions are for meeting known molesters of children. She’s smiling sweetly and gesturing for me to sit at the table. And because I am lacking any sphere of reference, I do as she asks out of stunned politeness, grateful that I am still wearing my mask.
Miss Manners’s article last week was about that. You must Google that for next time.
A hundred images dance through my head: the iPad, the gliding, flying to see me, all his actions, his possessiveness, one hundred thousand dollars for a dance. Is this love?
Wait, so you think his possessiveness is love? What are you smoking again?
He leads me across the lawn toward the luxurious temporary restrooms. Mia said they had been delivered for the occasion, but I had no idea they came in deluxe versions.
“˜Dr. Greene is coming to sort you out. Plus, I have a surprise for you.’
“˜Dr. Greene!’ I halt.
“˜Because I hate condoms,’ he says quietly. His eyes glint in the soft light from the paper lanterns, gauging my reaction.
“˜It’s my body,’ I mutter, annoyed that he hasn’t asked me.
“˜It’s mine, too,’ he whispers.
I gaze up at him as various guests pass by, ignoring us. He looks so earnest. Yes, my body is his . . . he knows it better than I do.
Clearly Ana has never read The Handmaid’s Tale. Soon she’ll be known as Ofchristian.
“˜Mr. Grey, the tires on Ms. Steele’s Audi have been slashed and paint thrown all over it.’
Holy shit. My car! Who would do that?
Ana, if you wanted a new car, why didn’t you just tell him instead of going to all of the trouble to have your friends trash your old one for you?
And that’s it for this week!