Fifty Shades Darker (Fifty Shades 2) - Chapter 113

Oh. He takes it from me.

“Hold out your little finger.”

I do as he asks, and he clamps one clip to the tip of my finger. It’s not too harsh.

“The sensation is very intense, but it’s when taking them off that they are at their most painful and pleasurable.” I remove the clip. Hmm, that might be nice. I squirm at the thought.

“I like the look of these,” I murmur and Christian smiles.

“Do you now, Miss Steele? I think I can tell.”

I nod shyly, biting my lip. He reaches up and tugs on my chin so I release my bottom lip. “You know what that does to me,” he murmurs.

I put the clips back in the drawer, and Christian leans forward and pulls out two more.

“These are adjustable.” He holds them up for me to inspect.

“Adjustable?”

“You can wear them very tight… or not. Depending on your mood.”

How does he make that sound so erotic? I swallow, and to divert his attention, pull out a device that looks like a spiky pastry cutter.

“This?” I frown. No baking in the playroom, surely.

“That’s a Wartenberg pinwheel.”

“For?”

He reaches over and takes it from me. “Give me your hand. Palm up.”

I offer him my left hand and he takes it gently, skating his thumb over my knuckles. A shiver runs through me. His skin against mine, it never fails to thrill me. He runs the wheel over my palm.

“Ah!” The prongs bite into my skin – there’s more than just pain. In fact, it tickles slightly.

“Imagine that over your br**sts,” Christian murmurs lasciviously.

Oh! I flush and snatch my hand back. My breathing and heart rate increase. Holy cow.

“There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, Anastasia,” he says softly as he leans down and puts the device back in the drawer.

“Clothespins?” I whisper.

“You can do a great deal with a clothespins.” His gray eyes burn.

I lean against the drawer so it closes.

“Is that all?” Christian looks amused.

“No…” I pull open the fourth drawer to be confounded by a mass of leather and straps. I tug at one of the straps… it appears to be attached to a ball.

“Ball gag. To keep you quiet,” says Christian, amused once more.

“Soft limit,” I mutter.

“I remember,” he says. “But you can still breathe. Your teeth clamp over the ball.” Taking it from me, he replicates a mouth clamping down on the ball with his fingers.

“Have you worn one of these?” I ask.

He stills and gazes down at me. “Yes.”

“To mask your screams?”

He closes his eyes, and I think it’s in exasperation. “No, that’s not what they’re about.”

Oh?

“It’s about control, Anastasia. How helpless would you be if you were tied up and couldn’t speak? How trusting would you have to be, knowing I had that much power over you? That I had to read your body and your reaction, rather than hear your words? It makes you more dependent, puts me in ultimate control.”

I swallow.

“You sound like you miss it.”

“It’s what I know,” he murmurs, gazing down at me. His gray eyes are wide and serious, and the atmosphere between us has changed as if he’s in the confessional.

“You have power over me. You know you do,” I whisper.

“Do I? You make me feel… helpless.”

“No!” Oh Fifty… “Why?”

“Because you’re the only person I know who could really hurt me.” He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear.

“Oh, Christian… that works both ways. If you didn’t want me – ” I shudder, glancing down at my twisting fingers. Therein lays my other dark reservation about us. If he wasn’t so… broken, would he want me? I shake my head. I must try not to think like that.

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you. I love you,” I murmur, reaching up to run my fingers through his sideburn and gently stroke his cheek. He leans his face into my touch, drops the gag back in the drawer, and reaches for me, his hands around my waist. He pulls me against him.

“Have we finished show and tell?” he asks, his voice soft and seductive. His hand moves up my back to the nape of my neck.

“Why? What did you want to do?”

He bends and kisses me gently, and I melt against him, grasping his arms.

“Ana, you were nearly attacked today.” His voice is soft but ice-cold and wary.

“So?” I ask, enjoying the feel of his hand at my back and his proximity. He pulls his head back and scowls down at me.

“What do you mean, ‘so?’ ” he rebukes.

I gaze up into his lovely, grumpy face, and I’m dazzled.

“Christian, I’m fine.”

He wraps me in his arms, holding me close. “When I think what might have happened,” he breathes, burying his face in my hair.

“When will you learn that I’m stronger than I look?” I whisper reassuringly into his neck, inhaling his delicious scent. There is nothing better on the planet than being in Christian’s arms.

“I know you’re strong,” Christian muses quietly. He kisses my hair, then to my great disappointment, releases me. Oh?

Bending down I fish another item out of the open drawer. Several cuffs attached to a bar. I hold it up.

“That,” says Christian, his eyes darkening, “is a spreader bar with ankle and wrist restraints.”

“How does it work?” I ask, genuinely intrigued. My inner goddess pops her head out of her bunker.

“You want me to show you?” he breathes in surprise, closing his eyes briefly.

I blink at him. When he opens his eyes, they are blazing.

Oh my. “Yes, I want a demonstration. I like being tied up,” I whisper as my inner goddess pole vaults from the bunker onto her chaise longue.