Darker (38 page)

A memory from years ago surfaces, unwelcome—Leila smirking as she deliberately turned her back on me, knowing the consequences. “She was always so mischievous and lively. She might have harmed you. And it would have been my fault.”

If anything happened to Ana…

“But she didn’t,” Ana says. “And you weren’t responsible for her being in that state, Christian.”

“I just wanted you gone. I wanted you away from the danger, and…You. Just. Wouldn’t. Go.” My exasperation returns and I glare at Ana. “Anastasia Steele, you are the most stubborn woman I know.” I close my eyes and shake my head. What am I going to do with her?

If she stays.

She’s still kneeling in front of me when I open my eyes.

“You weren’t going to run?” I ask.

“No!” Now she sounds exasperated.

She’s not leaving me. I take a deep breath. “I thought—” I stop. “This is me, Ana. All of me, and I’m all yours. What do I have to do to make you realize that? To make you see that I want you any way I can get you. That I love you.”

“I love you, too, Christian, and to see you like this is—” She pauses as she chokes back tears. “I thought I’d broken you.”

“Broken? Me? Oh no, Ana. Just the opposite.”

You make me whole.

Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. “You’re my lifeline,” I whisper.

I need you.

I kiss each of her knuckles before pressing my palm against the palm of her hand.

How can I make her see what she means to me?

Let her touch me.

Touch me, Ana.

Yes. And before I overthink it, I take her hand and place it on my chest, over my heart.

I’m yours, Ana.

The darkness expands inside my rib cage and my breathing quickens. But I control my fear. I need her more. I drop my hand, leaving hers in place, and concentrate on her lovely face. Her compassion is there, reflected in her eyes.

I see it.

She flexes her fingers so I briefly feel her nails through my shirt. Then she removes her hand.

“No.” My response is instinctive, and I press her hand to my chest. “Don’t.”

She looks bewildered, but then she shuffles closer so our knees are touching. She reaches up.

Shit.
She’s going to undress me.

And I’m filled with dread. I can’t breathe. With one hand she awkwardly undoes the first button. She flexes the fingers trapped beneath my hand and I let her go. Using both hands, she makes light work of my buttons, and when she pulls open my shirt I gasp, and my breathing returns and starts to accelerate.

Her hand hovers over my chest. She wants to touch me. Skin to skin. Flesh to flesh. Reaching deep within myself and relying on years of control, I steel myself for her touch.

Ana hesitates.

“Yes,” I whisper my encouragement and tilt my head to one side.

Her fingertips are feather-light on my sternum, stirring my chest hair. My fear rises in my throat, leaving a knot I can’t swallow. Ana removes her hand, but I grab it, pressing it against my skin. “No, I need to.” My voice is low and strained.

I must do this.

I’m doing it for her.

She flattens her palm on me, then traces a line with her fingertips to my heart. Her fingers are gentle and warm, but they’re searing my skin. Marking me. I’m hers. I want to give her my love, and my trust.

I’m yours, Ana.

Whatever you want.

I’m aware I’m panting, dragging air into my lungs.

Ana shifts, her eyes darkening. She runs her fingers over me again and then places her hands on my knees and leans forward.

Fuck.
I close my eyes. This will be hard to bear. I tilt my head up. Waiting. And I feel her lips, with acute tenderness, plant a kiss over my heart.

I groan.

It’s excruciating. It’s hell. But it’s Ana, here, loving me.

“Again,” I whisper. She leans in and kisses me above my heart. I know what she’s doing. I know where she’s kissing me. She does it again, and then again. Her lips landing soft and gentle on each of my scars. I know where they are. I know where they’ve been since the day they were burned into my body. And here she is, doing what no one’s ever done. Kissing me. Accepting me. Accepting this dark, dark side of me.

She’s slaying my demons.

My brave girl.

My beautiful brave girl.

My face is wet. My vision is blurred. But I feel my way to her and pull her into my arms, my hands in her hair. I turn her face up to mine and claim her lips. Feeling her. Consuming her. Needing her. “Oh, Ana,” I whisper in veneration as I worship her mouth. I pull her down onto the floor and she cups my face and I don’t know if the wet is from her tears or mine.

“Christian, please don’t cry. I meant it when I said I’d never leave you. I did. If I gave you any other impression, I’m so sorry. Please, please forgive me. I love you. I will always love you.”

I look down at her, trying to accept what she’s just said.

She says she loves me, that she will always love me.

But she doesn’t know me.

She doesn’t know the monster.

The monster is not worthy of her love.

“What is it?” she says. “What is this secret that makes you think I’ll run for the hills? That makes you so determined to believe I’ll go? Tell me, Christian, please?”

She has a right to know. As long as we are together, this will always be an obstacle between us. She deserves the truth. Against my better judgment, I have to tell her.

I sit up and cross my legs and she sits up, too, staring at me. Her eyes are round and fearful, reflecting my feelings exactly.

“Ana.” I pause and take a deep breath.

Tell her, Grey.

Get it out. Then you’ll know.

“I’m a sadist, Ana. I like to whip little brown-haired girls like you because you all look like the crack whore—my birth mother. I’m sure you can guess why.” The words tumble out of my mouth in a rush like they’ve been ready and waiting for days.

She remains impassive. Still. Quiet.

Please, Ana.

Finally, she speaks, and her voice is a frail whisper. “You said you weren’t a sadist.”

“No, I said I was a Dominant. If I lied to you, it was a lie of omission. I’m sorry.” I can’t look at her. I’m ashamed. I stare down at my fingers. Like she does. But she remains mute, so I’m forced to look at her. “When you asked me that question, I had envisioned a very different relationship between us,” I add.

It’s the truth.

Ana’s eyes widen, and suddenly she covers her face with her hands. She can’t bear to look at me.

“So it’s true,” she whispers, and when she removes her hands, her face is alabaster. “I can’t give you what you need.”

What?
“No. No. No. Ana. No. You can. You do give me what I need. Please believe me.”

“I don’t know what to believe, Christian. This is so fucked up.” Her voice is choked with emotion.

“Ana, believe me. After I punished you and you left me, my worldview changed. I wasn’t joking when I said I would avoid ever feeling like that again. When you said you loved me, it was a revelation. No one’s ever said it to me before, and it was as if I’d laid something to rest—or maybe you’d laid it to rest, I don’t know. Dr. Flynn and I are still in deep discussion about it.”

“What does that all mean?”

“It means I don’t need it. Not now.”

“How do you know? How can you be so sure?”

“I just know. The thought of hurting you in any real way, it’s abhorrent to me.”

“I don’t understand. What about rulers and spanking and all that kinky fuckery?”

“I’m talking about the heavy shit, Anastasia. You should see what I can do with a cane or a cat.”

“I’d rather not.”

“I know. If you wanted to do that, then fine, but you don’t and I get it. I can’t do all that shit with you if you don’t want to. I told you once before, you have all the power. And now, since you came back, I don’t feel that compulsion at all.”

“When we met, that’s what you wanted, though?”

“Yes, undoubtedly.”

“How can your compulsion just go, Christian? Like I’m some kind of panacea, and you’re—for want of a better word—cured? I don’t get it.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘cured.’ You don’t believe me?”

“I just find it—unbelievable. Which is different.”

“If you’d never left me, then I probably wouldn’t feel this way. Your walking out on me was the best thing you ever did for us. It made me realize how much I want you, just you, and I mean it when I say I’ll take you any way I can have you.”

She stares at me. Impassive? Confused? I don’t know.

“You’re still here. I thought you would be out of the door by now.”

“Why? Because I might think you’re a sicko for whipping and fucking women who look like your mother? Whatever would give you that impression?” she snaps.

Fuck.

Ana has her claws out, and she’s sinking them into me.

But I deserve it. “Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but yes.”

She’s angry, maybe? Hurt, possibly? She knows my secret. My dark, dark secret. And now I await her verdict.

Love me.

Or leave me.

She closes her eyes. “Christian, I’m exhausted. Can we discuss this tomorrow? I want to go to bed.”

“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?”