Fifty Shades Darker Part 9

"Stop teasing me. You don't fght fair."

He stifes his grin by biting his lower lip. He looks simply adorable ... playful Chris- tian toying with my libido. If only my seduction skills were better, I'd know what to do, but not being able to touch him does hamper me.

My inner G.o.ddess narrows her eyes and looks thoughtful. We need to work on this.

As Christian and I gaze at each other-me hot, bothered and yearning and him, relaxed and amused at my expense-I realize I have no food in the apartment.

"I could cook something-except we'll have to go shopping."

"Shopping?"

"For groceries."

"You have no food here?" His expression hardens.

I shake my head. c.r.a.p, he looks quite angry.

"Let's go shopping, then," he says sternly as he turns on his heel and heads for the door, opening it wide for me.

"When was the last time you were in a supermarket?"

Christian looks out of place, but he follows me dutifully, holding a shopping basket.

"I can't remember."

"Does Mrs. Jones do all the shopping?"

"I think Taylor helps her. I'm not sure.""Are you happy with a stir-fry? It's quick."

"Stir-fry sounds good." Christian grins, no doubt fguring out my ulterior motive for a speedy meal.

"Have they worked for you long?"

"Taylor, four years, I think. Mrs. Jones about the same. Why didn't you have any food in the apartment?"

"You know why," I murmur, fus.h.i.+ng.

"It was you who left me," he mutters disapprovingly.

"I know," I reply in a small voice, not wanting that reminder.

We reach the checkout and silently stand in line.

If I hadn't left, would he have offered the vanilla alternative? I wonder idly.

"Do you have anything to drink?" He pulls me back to the present.

"Beer ... I think."

"I'll get some wine."

Oh dear. I'm not sure what sort of wine is available in Ernie's Supermarket. Christian remerges empty handed, grimacing with a look of disgust.

"There's a good liquor store next door," I say quickly.

"I'll see what they have."

Maybe we should just go to his place, then we wouldn't have all this ha.s.sle. I watch as he strolls purposefully and with easy grace out of the door. Two women coming in stop and stare. Oh yes, eye my Fifty Shades, I think despondently.

I want the memory of him in my bed, but he's playing hard to get. Maybe I should, too.

My inner G.o.ddess nods frantically in agreement. And as I stand in line, we come up with a plan. Hmm ...

Christian carries the grocery bags into the apartment. He's carried them as we've walked back to the apartment from the store. He looks odd. Not his usual CEO demeanor at all.

"You look very-domestic."

"No one has ever accused me of that before," he says dryly. He places the bags on the kitchen island. As I start to unload them, he takes out a bottle of white wine and searches for a corkscrew.

"This place is still new to me. I think the opener is in that drawer there." I point with my chin.

This feels so ... normal. Two people, getting to know each other, having a meal. Yet it's so strange. The fear that I'd always felt in his presence has gone. We've already done so much together, I blush just thinking about it, and yet I hardly know him.

"What are you thinking about?" Christian interrupts my reverie as he shrugs out of his pinstripe jacket and places it on the couch.

"How little I know you, really."

He gazes at me and his eyes soften. "You know me better than anyone."

"I don't think that's true." Mrs. Robinson comes unbidden, and very unwelcome, into my mind."It is, Anastasia. I am a very, very private person."

He hands me a gla.s.s of white wine.

"Cheers," he says.

"Cheers," I respond taking a sip as he puts the bottle in the fridge.

"Can I help you with that?" he asks.

"No it's fne ... sit."

"I'd like to help." His expression is sincere.

"You can chop the vegetables."

"I don't cook," he says, regarding the knife I hand him with suspicion.

"I imagine you don't need to." I place a chopping board and some red peppers in front of him. He stares down at them in confusion.

"You've never chopped a vegetable?"

"No."

I smirk at him.

"Are you smirking at me?"

"It appears this is something that I can do and you can't. Let's face it, Christian, I think this is a frst. Here, I'll show you."

I brush up against him and he steps back. My inner G.o.ddess sits up and takes notice.

"Like this." I slice the red pepper, careful to remove the seeds.

"Looks simple enough."

"You shouldn't have any trouble with it," I mutter ironically.

He gazes at me impa.s.sively for a moment then sets about his task as I continue to pre- pare the diced chicken. He starts to slice, carefully, slowly. Oh my, we'll be here all day.

I wash my hands and hunt for the wok, the oil, and the other ingredients I need, re- peatedly brus.h.i.+ng against him-my hip, my arm, my back, my hands. Small, seemingly innocent touches. He stills each time I do.

"I know what you're doing, Anastasia," he murmurs darkly, still preparing the frst pepper.

"I think it's called cooking," I say, futtering my eyelashes. Grabbing another knife, I join him at the chopping board peeling and slicing garlic, shallots, and French beans, con- tinually b.u.mping against him.

"You're quite good at this," he mutters as he starts on his second red pepper.

"Chopping?" I bat my eyelashes at him. "Years of practice." I brush against him again, this time with my behind. He stills once more.

"If you do that again, Anastasia, I am going to take you on the kitchen foor."

Oh, wow. It's working. "You'll have to beg me frst."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe."

He puts down his knife and saunters slowly over to me, his eyes burning. Leaning past me, he switches the gas off. The oil in the wok quiets almost immediately.

"I think we'll eat later," he says. "Put the chicken in the fridge."

This is not a sentence I had ever expected to hear from Christian Grey, and only he can make it sound hot, really hot. I pick up the bowl of diced chicken, rather shakily place a plate on top of it, and stow it in the fridge. When I turn back, he's beside me."So you're going to beg?" I whisper, bravely gazing into his darkening eyes.

"No, Anastasia." He shakes his head. "No begging." His voice is soft, seductive.

And we stand staring at each other, drinking each other in-the atmosphere charg- ing between us, almost crackling, neither saying anything, just looking. I bite my lip as desire for this beautiful man seizes me with a vengeance, igniting my blood, shallowing my breath, pooling below my waist. I see my reactions refected in his stance, in his eyes.

In a beat, he grabs me by my hips and pulls me to him as my hands reach for his hair and his mouth claims me. He pushes me against the fridge, and I hear the vague protesting rattle of bottles and jars from within as his tongue fnds mine. I moan into his mouth, and one of his hands moves into my hair, pulling my head back as we kiss, savagely.

"What do you want, Anastasia?" he breathes.

"You." I gasp.

"Where?"

"Bed."

He breaks free, scoops me into his arms, and carries me quickly and seemingly with- out any strain into my bedroom. Setting me on my feet beside my bed, he leans down and switches on my bedside lamp. He glances quickly round the room and hastily closes the pale cream curtains.

"Now what?" he says softly.

"Make love to me."

"How?"

Jeez.

"You have got to tell me, baby."

Holy c.r.a.p. "Undress me." I am panting already.

He smiles and hooks his index fnger into my open s.h.i.+rt, pulling me toward him.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and without taking his blazing eyes off mine, slowly starts to unb.u.t.ton my s.h.i.+rt.

Tentatively I put my hands on his arms to steady myself. He doesn't complain. His arms are a safe area. When he's fnished with the b.u.t.tons, he pulls my s.h.i.+rt over my shoul- ders, and I let go of him to let the s.h.i.+rt fall to the foor. He reaches down to the waistband of my jeans, pops the b.u.t.ton, and pulls down the zipper.

"Tell me what you want, Anastasia." His eyes smolder and his lips part as he takes quick shallow breaths.

"Kiss me from here to here," I whisper trailing my fnger from the base of my ear, down my throat. He smoothes my hair out of the line of fre and bends, leaving sweet soft kisses along the path my fnger took and then back again.

"My jeans and panties," I murmur, and he smiles against my throat before he drops to his knees in front of me. Oh, I feel so powerful. Hooking his thumbs into my jeans, he gently pulls them and my panties down my legs. I step out of my pumps and my clothes so that I'm left wearing only my bra. He stops and looks up at me expectantly, but he doesn't get up.

"What now, Anastasia?"

"Kiss me," I whisper.

"Where?""You know where."

"Where?"

Oh, he's taking no prisoners. Embarra.s.sed I quickly point at the apex of my thighs, and he grins wickedly. I close my eyes, mortifed, but at the same time beyond aroused.

"Oh, with pleasure," he chuckles. He kisses me and unleashes his tongue, his joy- inspiring expert tongue. I groan and fst my hands into his hair. He doesn't stop, his tongue circling my c.l.i.toris, driving me insane, on and on, round and round. Ahhh . . . it's only been ... how long ... ? Oh ...

"Christian, please," I beg. I don't want to come standing up. I don't have the strength.

"Please what, Anastasia?"