Hello, Persephoneers! I’m back with highlights from Chapter Twenty-One of Fifty Shades Darker. We’re almost done with the second book and then will move on to the third and final book. So let’s enjoy the cringeworthy, laugh-inducing final parts of this book while we can.
He presses some buttons, and after a moment, the sound of a subway train echoes round the room. He turns it down so that the slow, hypnotic electronic beat that follows becomes ambient. A woman starts to sing, I don’t know who she is but her voice is soft yet rasping and the beat is measured, deliberate . . . erotic. Oh my. It’s music to make love to.
Well, I never knew that the sounds of the subway were romantic. Something new to try, huh?
I swallow compulsively, pressing my thighs together. I’m already damp between my legs. My inner goddess is stripped naked and standing in line, ready and waiting and begging me to play catch-up. I pull the robe away from my shoulders, my eyes never leaving his, and shrug, letting it fall billowing to the floor. His mesmerizing gray eyes heat, and he runs his index finger over his lips as he gazes at me.
Just by reading this passage, I can deduce that there are more than two people in this room. But it’s just a little confusing, don’t you think?
“I want you to kneel up on this,” he says when we’re at the table.
Oh, okay. What does he have in mind? My inner goddess can’t wait to find out–she’s already scissor-kicked onto the table and is watching him with adoration.
His proximity is intoxicating. This man is going to be my husband. Can one lust after one’s husband like this? I don’t remember reading about that anywhere.
Nope. You’re just supposed to lie back and think of England.
I’m suspended high–high above a wide, wide ravine, and I’m soaring then falling giddily at the same time, plunging to the Earth. I can hold on no more, and I scream as my body convulses and climaxes at the overwhelming fullness. As my body explodes, I’m nothing but sensation–everywhere.
Recalling his close call with Charlie Tango yesterday, I shudder at the thought and tears pool in my eyes. If anything ever happened to him–I love him so. My tears run unchecked down my cheeks. So many sides of Christian–his sweet, gentle persona and his rugged, I-can-do-what-I-fucking-well-like-to-you-and-you’ll-come-like-a-train Dominant side–his fifty shades–all of him. All spectacular. All mine. And I’m aware we don’t know each other well, and we have a mountain of issues to overcome, but I know for each other, we will–and we’ll have a lifetime to do it.
I don’t think his Dominant side is very appealing, but she’s already been drinking too much of the Kool-Aid to know that. Because if she marries him he’ll change and it will be all sorts of awesome. Right?
“That dress is very short,” he adds.
“You like it?” I give him a quick twirl. It’s one of Caroline Acton’s purchases. A soft turquoise sundress, probably more suitable for the beach, but it’s such a lovely day on so many levels. He frowns and my face falls.
“You look fantastic in it, Ana. I just don’t want anyone else to see you like that.”
Shit! I take a deep breath. “Hi, Dad.”
“Christian has just asked me if he can marry you,” Ray says.
Oh Shit. The silence stretches between us as I desperately think what to say. Ray as usual stays silent, giving me no clue as to his reaction to this news.
“What did you say?” I crack first.
“I said I wanted to talk to you. It’s kind of sudden, don’t you think, Annie? You’ve not known him long. I mean, he’s a nice guy, knows his fishing . . . but so soon?” His voice is calm and measured.
My subconscious is glaring at me over her half-moon glasses, a willow switch in her hand. Shit. I think about what little experience I have with men. I’ve never lived with a man before–well, except Ray–and for some reason he doesn’t count.
Yay! I want to get married and live with some man I’ve only been dating for a month or two and who has some serious issues and whom I don’t know that well all because I’ve never done those things before! I’m such a badass!
But I feel strongly that I should wear what I like. I remember his rules. Yes, this must be hard for him, but he sure as hell paid for this dress. He should have given Neimans a better brief. Nothing too short!
This skirt isn’t that short, is it? I check in the large mirror in the lobby. Damn. Yes, it is quite short, but I’ve made a stand now. And no doubt I’ll have to face the consequences.
If your boyfriend has certain “rules” you must follow, chances are it isn’t going to be such a wonderful relationship. To put it mildly.
And that’s all for today!